#of who he is now that his new identity as a reluctant father was snatched away

[oflgtfol]

man this fic series was never meant to be a genuine prediction of how mando s3 happens but i did include some things i WANTED from s3 in broad strokes, such as like, most importantly, “long journey towards din and grogu reuniting” which is such a basic expectation from s3. only for bobf to render that moot basically instantly. like sorry for constantly harping on this but im forever going to be in indignant awe over it. like what a stupid fucking decision

[ring-my-dang-doo]

I’m just as illiterate as Abigail but decided to write a goofy fanfic? Sorry in advance for littering this site with Micah smut 🤷🏼‍♀️☺️

Tw: sex, fighting, kidnap, lack of syntax and grammar, Micah.

Word count: 7384 (hefty)

“Fuck!” The girl spat bitterly into the frigid air, her bow was in her right hand and the elk that she had just shot was way over a hundred metres away with one of her arrows still lodged in its shoulder. She was about eight miles from home already and was very reluctant to move further away on her new horse, he was trying his best, she could tell but he’d get spooked by elk and up and bolt for no reason at all with the girl still on his back, holding on for dear life.

She thought about her cupboards back at the cabin, she’d ran out of any salted meats and she couldn’t leave the mountains in this weather. Pressing on, further through the mountains, she found herself struggling to find any type of life, there was no elk, no deer, not even a moose in the white abyss. There wasn’t even a chance that she could track anything as the snow just continued to cover any type of track, not that she knew much about that anyway. She put her head down, despite wearing a balaclava to shield herself from the bitter cold, her eyes were streaming and needed that extra protection, her horse rode on for another few minutes, while she rested.

She heard it before she saw it. She sat up as straight as an arrow on her saddle and immediately locked eyes with it, it was a bighorn ram. Almost as soon as they had time to register each other, he darted away.

The girl nudged the horse slightly with the heel of her boot, he took off galloping. The girl drew an arrow from her quiver that rested on her hip and set it on the nook of her bow, she pulled the arrow back and waited for the right moment to arrive.

As her horse began to tire, so did her arm, she knew it was now or never and released the arrow. It hit the ram and she gasped in relief when the creature didn’t get up again.

The girl was soon to dismount and scrambled over to the fresh corpse.

As she went to reach for her hunting knife, a gunshot rang out in the air, it was as clear as a bell and it made every part of her seize up- she was frozen there for a second, incredibly similar to the ram that had been stood before her a few moments prior, she refused to have the same fate as the sheep though, that wasn’t even an option. She began to back away slowly from the corpse, her father always told her to, in these types of situations, just put your hands up and comply and so she began to back away from the carcass and shuffle closer and closer to her horse, who was bucking and whinnying.

Then, once again, seemingly out of nowhere, there was another gunshot, she saw it hit the snow this time and it landed about two feet in front of her. The horse reared and immediately took off running, if the person on the other end of the rifle wanted to kill her, then they would have already and so she continued to hold her hands up and wished to disappear into her hood, her breath was unsteady and she felt extremely exposed.

Three horses made their way down from Mount Hagen, they kicked up a trail of powdery snow behind them and made their way over towards her. They must have been the men that shot at her, they certainly didn’t look too friendly and so she quietly prayed under her breath, hoping that she wouldn’t die and that this was all one big case of mistaken identity.

The men approached and she continued to hold her hands up, her bow was stowed on her horse and so other than her hunting knife, she had absolutely nothing to defend herself with if anything were to happen. “You fucking idiot” she cursed to herself, too quiet for them to hear.

They all dismounted their horses and made their way over, there was a tall man with dark hair that hung by his crooked cheekbones, a slightly shorter, skinny man with thinning hair and last to dismount his horse was a medium build man with shoulder length blonde hair and a handle-bar moustache, each of the men wore hats, casting a shadow across each of their faces.

“It’s good to finally meet ya, ya bastard” The short man growled, he spat on the ground in front of her, “I’m gonna enjoy this!”

Before the girl could even apologise, the man grabbed her by her shoulders and threw her to the snowy ground, he began bombarding her with punches. Was she being robbed? The girl grabbed one of the stray jabs and punched him back, she got him right in his hooked nose and he backed away, groaning and clutching his face. The girl scrambled to her feet and stood waiting for the next attempt at a fight.

“You’re gonna regret that, you son of a bitch!” He growled, the punch she threw wasn’t enough to make his nose bleed, but it did give her a minute to get her bearings, everything that her daddy taught her about compliance in these situations had gone entirely out of the window.

While she got ready for the skinny man to continue the fight, she glanced at the other two men, the taller one seemed ready to get involved, he was very tense, while the blonde one was standing with his hands on his either side of his hips, clutching his belt with a stupid grin on his face,

“Punch that half-pint bastard, Cleet!” He yelled.

The man, who she assumed was ‘Cleet’ started towards her, the girl quickly removed her gloves and threw them in the snow beside her, hoping that she’d pack a better punch without the soft leather to pad her already soft fists, and it worked.

As soon as he tried to strike her, she slapped him with her backhand. Which caused a stir in the blonde man who was watching from the distance, “You hit like a little bitch!” He sneered, Cleet didn’t think so, his cheek immediately turning red from the smack and quickly made up for it by socking the girl straight in the jaw. She felt tears pricking her eyes slightly, getting punched was definitely as unpleasant as she remembered.

The girl realised that there was no way that she was going to win this fight with her slapping him to death, although the thought did amuse her slightly when it really shouldn’t have, so instead she waited for him to get ready to punch and she tackled him, he immediately fell to the floor with a grunt and she pummelled his face with punches.

The punches were not regular punches, they were erratic, hammer-fisted blows to his entire face.

She’d totally forgotten about the men behind her, when she suddenly felt a strong blow to the back of her skull, she lurched forward and staggered to her feet, stepping on Cleet. She turned around and concluded that the taller man had kicked her in the back of the head. It seemed as though Cleet wasn’t getting back up and his friend decided to step in instead, it was apparent that the blond man was steering clear from any of this.

The man towered over her, there was no way that she could win this fairly.

The girl quickly reached into her knife sheath and pulled out her hunting knife, before swiping furiously at him, cutting a sizeable slice into his cheek. The man cried out in pain.

“Micah, gimme your knife.” He grunted, the girl backed down slightly, contemplating turning around and sprinting away, but then realised that it was a ridiculous plan because these men had horses and guns.

The blond man, who she assumed was Micah scoffed slightly, “You can’t even handle a man half your height? What the hell is wrong with you? I’ll finish it myself.”

‘Man?! What a pair of clowns’ she thought, still clutching her knife with white knuckles. The taller man fell back whilst the louder, blond man stepped towards her.

“You ain’t so tough, half-pint” He snarled, flipping and catching his knife. She scowled at him, ready to cut him whenever he wanted to advance. Then, he ran at her, it was so quick she had no clue what to do, she stood upright with her legs apart to steady her balance and tried to counter whatever he threw at her.

He took a few swings at her with the knife, all of which she managed to get away from.

As she readied her knife to sink it into his right side, he brought his foot up and kicked her, right in between the legs, she grunted slightly, it was a very hard kick- it hurt a lot but any man would have been incapacitated by the blow. Micah looked down at her, wide eyed by her lack of any reaction,

“What the hell?” He cried, she took the opportunity to try to take the knife off of him. She grabbed his hand and began trying to pry it open to get him to drop it, he refused and got around the back of her, he scooped his arms under her shoulders and held her close to him, restraining her from any sort of movements, she struggled in his grip and she kicked and grunted but he was not letting go, she stopped struggling and lay her head back, it fell against Micah’s chest, she was much shorter than him, there was no way she could get out of this hold without being killed.

“Joe, come finish this bastard off.” He ordered, waving his knife around, the taller man sauntered over, he had a stupid grin on his face and he snatched Micah’s knife.

“He cut my face up, Micah. Where am I getting this bastard first?” Joe spat. Micah chuckled darkly in her ear and went to place a hand on the left side of her chest, her face burned red under the wool balaclava that she was wearing, as instead of the flat pectoral he was expecting, he instead clutched her left breast.

“Right he-“ he paused for a minute “what in the hell?!”

Joe stopped in his tracks as Micah let the girl go and threw her down on her back it knocked the air out of her and she sputtered slightly. Micah was quick to straddle her,

“What the hell is going on here?” He muttered under his breath, he brought his hand up to her hood and yanked it down and then peeled off her balaclava.

The apples of her cheeks became rosy with the sudden exposure to the cold and her breathing became shallow as he laid eyes on her, properly. He had a look about him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something cruel and plotting.

As soon as the blond man had taken her balaclava off, his eyes had lit up, the way that her hair painted the snow behind her head like a halo, the way that her eyes burned with anger and frustration and how her lips were so full and inviting.

“Look at what we have here, Joe.” Micah purred, he put a hand to her cheek, her skin was soft to the touch, like a flesh coloured velvet and a small trail of blood was leaking from her right nostril. Joe’s ugly head came into frame, and he sneered at her,

“He’s a girl?!”

Micah glared at him, “Yeah she is, a mighty fine looking one, too. Women are different to men, Joe. They’re much easier to get information out of”

The girl scowled at him, she’d play along with his stupid games, for compliance sake.

The golden haired man acknowledged her look of disgust and smirked ever so slightly,

“I’m sorry, Miss. What’re you doing all the way out here?” He asked in a tone so nice it came across as sour. He wasn’t going to believe anything she said, either way.

“I was out here hunting.” She squeaked, “I killed a bighorn, it’s over there.”

He shook his head and shushed her,

“If you were hunting bighorn, you’d need a horse and a gun. You don’t have either.”

She felt her blood boil in frustration,

“This bighorn is right over there and you shot at my horse, he ran away!”

Micah shook his blond head,

“Now now, missy, don’t raise your voice. As far as me and joe here are concerned, you’re a dirty Pinkerton, you only came here to spy on us, you’re gonna have to come back with us. Joe, go grab that bighorn!”

He saw her shoot the bighorn, after all, he was the one to take the shot at her horse, originally he did think that she was a Pinkerton but this did all add up to him.

Joe walked away from them and out of the girl’s line of sight. Micah grabbed a slack piece of rope that hung from his waist and pulled it straight, he maintained eye contact with the girl while he did so, “Now look, you’re coming back with us and I don’t want a fight from you, or else you’ll end up like the bighorn, do you understand?”

The girl took a deep breath in and thought about the compliant approach that she’d need to take, how that was the only way she’d be able to escape from this situation.

“Yes sir.” She breathed, the man barked with laughter, making the girl jump and he began tying her wrists together,

“I like that. I like that a lot.”

The binds on her wrists were tight, so tight that they sort of burned, when he was finished he stood up, scooped her up over his shoulder and began to walk back in the direction that he came from, she looked up at Joe who was a few feet behind them and was carrying her ram carcass,

“What’re we doing about Cleet?”

Micah suddenly leaned forward and the girl was back on her feet again, he gestured towards the horse and she scrambled to get on, which was proving difficult without the use of both her arms but she managed.

“Wake him up, we don’t have time to be loitering” he barked, “Me and the woman are heading back to camp, I’ll meet you and Cleet back there.”

Joe stowed the ram and sighed, a visible gash in his face from the fight that had broken out a few minutes prior.

Before the girl even had time to think about where he was taking her, the horse began to gallop away, she wobbled slightly as his riding was erratic but she steadied herself and he carried on.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” His tone had entirely changed since he’d realised that she was in fact a woman. She paused for a moment, she can’t say she felt comfortable with handing this man her name but at the same time she had to comply to get out of here and she knew that this man was not very patient and so she lied. It was a stupid lie, not a very believable one but it didn’t register to the girl how stupid it was until it left her mouth.

“I don’t have one.”

She cursed herself, internally but to her surprise, the man seemed indifferent,

“I’ve got a few names in mind for ya.”

“So, lamb-chop, your cute little ass was out huntin’ all damn day? Why didn’t your big, strong husband go do it for you, instead?” Micah’s speech was slurred, he had a slight pink glow to his cheeks and he reeked of bourbon and cigarettes.

The girl scowled at the back of his head, hoping that somehow she’d get through his dense skull,

“Look Mister, I don’t have a husband, I live out here alone!”

The words tumbled from her lips and she immediately wished that she could put them back, she couldn’t be certain but she was sure that she felt Micah chuckle slightly. The girl had no idea where they were, the thick blanket of snow totally knocked any bearings that the girl had. The girl straightened her back up and checked over Micah’s shoulder, a camp stood. There were three wooden buildings that stood a few hundred yards before them and a campfire, “It’s been a while since the boys in camp have seen a lady, I hope for your sake that they behave.”

The girl shuddered, there were more of these men? It had never even crossed her mind that men as toxic as this could congregate in such large groups.

Micah hitched his horse in camp, she’d elicited no reaction as of yet from the men gathered around a larger campfire. Micah helped her off the horse and led her over towards the campfire by the binds between her wrists. There were about a dozen men shivering around the fire, 24 sets of teeth chattering away in unison. The girl wanted to turn around and sprint away from the scene, one million and one scenarios running through her head.

A few heads turned as the pair approached the glow of the burning wood and Micah paraded her around the outside of the campfire, “Don’t any of you even think about touching her, she’s nobody’s business.”

He pulled the girl over to an unused hitching post behind the fire and pushed her back against the post. The pair stood inches away from each other for an awkward moment of silence and she finally got a good look at him, her eyes glazed every part of his face- he was oddly good looking, despite his loud mouth and his bad attitude. Micah’s eyes were like nothing she’d ever seen before, they reminded her so much of the frozen lake near her cabin, they were pleasant to look at but the contact their eyes had was terrifying, she felt that if she stared any longer that she’d crash through the ice and drown. His face was pale but he had a consistent pink glow to the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, in fact if she wasn’t in this situation, she could see herself being quite infatuated with him.

He must have picked up on her staring and furrowed his brows at her, “What do you want? You look scared stiff” His voice was cold and mocking and she retorted by quickly tearing her eyes away from his features. Micah chuckled slightly, placing a gloved hand on her covered shoulder and caressing it ever so slightly,

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I have that effect on most women.”

Micah’s idea of flirting was interrupted by a shout from the other side of camp, he looked over his shoulder at the commotion and then looked back at her,

“Looks like Cleet’s back and he don’t look too happy, sweetheart.”

The girl had hoped she’d killed him, honestly but alas here he was, trudging angrily through the snow towards the pair.

“Where is she, Micah?!” He growled, his hands balled into fists. Micah removed his hand from her shoulder, leaving a warm print of where he had been and stood in front of her, turning to face Cleet head-on.

“Cleet, go sleep it off, you backed her into a corner, she’s a fine woman.” The flattery in his voice was almost cringeworthy however he continued to shield her from Cleet, who had poked his head over Micah’s shoulder to get a better look at her,

“You’d better watch yourself, you stupid little bitch.” His voice was a sharp hiss that made her try to back off slightly, but he soon gave up and angrily huffed over to the fire. Micah turned back around to the girl who stood with her back pressed against the hitching post,

“Look.” He started, nothing he said sounded authentic to her, it all sounded so disingenuous and taunting, “We ain’t good men, we’re bad people and honestly, the Pinkertons showing up is not something I want to happen right now. If you’re honest about you just hunting, then the Pinkertons shouldn’t show up and you can go free tomorrow morning.”

The girl processed what he said and nodded,

“Yes sir, thank you.” Micah brought his hand up and squeezed the girl’s cheeks in between his thumb and forefinger,

“You’d better not be crooked, Girl because I wouldn’t take any pleasure from putting a bullet between those eyes.” He spoke in a purr, his accent a sultry drawl, he produced a knife from his sheath and to her surprise cut her ties, “Now come drink with us, the boys won’t bite!”

The girl sat beside Micah at the campfire, the evening was creeping up on them, the sky had turned from a stone grey to a warm orange colour. The girl sat and stared at the sun setting below the horizon, maybe this would be the last sunset she’d ever see. The girl felt a cold pressure against her thigh, she turned her head to Micah who had a slight smirk on his lips and a bottle of whisky resting on her thigh, “Drink up, sweetheart. It’s good whiskey!”

The girl took the bottle from him and brought it to her lips, the contents didn’t go down too well, it was a harsh taste that made her grimace. As she handed the bottle back to Micah, Cleet and Joe sat on the logs opposite them.

“You boys doin ok?” Micah queried, the girl felt all confidence built with Micah crumble as soon as they’d sat and she shifted her view away from any particular person and to the snowy ground.

Joe grunted in affirmation, whereas Cleet piped up, “I’m fucking freezing, Micah. My face aches, thanks to that little whore and I’m stuck in this frozen shithole.” Micah had to admit, he’d never seen Cleet so heated up in the entire time he’d known the man and he turned his attention to the girl, she kicked the snow beneath her feet, seemingly indifferent to the cold as she found refuge in her warm, sheepskin coat that was as sexy as a potato sack. Micah kicked her gently in the shin, not to hurt her, just to get her attention.

“Take your coat off.” He barked, the girl was quick to protest but was cut off by Micah, “You hurt Cleet pretty bad, least you can do is lend him your coat!”

Reluctantly, she began to unbutton it, she felt the silent, judgemental gazes from the rest of the camp as she slipped it off her shoulders and held it out towards Cleet, who quite happily took the coat and wrapped it around his slender frame. Micah wasn’t looking at Cleet, he was much more invested in the girl, she wore a frilly chemise that carelessly slipped off of her shoulders as her arms wound around herself in a futile attempt to protect herself from the cold, he’d cupped a generous handful of her full chest while the pair were scuffling, however he had no idea that she was so well formed. Micah shook the bottle in the girl’s direction and she was hasty to get another burning shot down her throat.

“It’s nice to see a docile young woman like yourself put away her liquor like it’s nobody’s business” His voice back to the same sickly sweet tone. The girl shrugged and offered him back the bottle. The blonde haired man was drunk, he swayed from side to side on the log, wrapping his arm around the girl’s waist and shuffling slightly over towards her.

The girl felt Micah edge closer and she didn’t mind it, the whiskey had warmed her cheeks and brought a dizzying veil over her vision but the rest of her was cold and Micah was an extra source of heat for her. Joe put down his bottle and groaned at the display,

“I’m sorry Micah, this doesn’t seem safe.” It was the most she had heard him say, her head raised slightly to look at him talk, but Micah had already cut in,

“What doesn’t seem safe?” He slurred, tightening his grip around the girl. Joe exhaled through his nose, the girl could tell that he really didn’t like any confrontation between himself and Micah,

“She doesn’t wanna be here, you’re all over her right now but what’s to say that she won’t just run away?” He was totally right, that’s what the girl wanted to do.

“She ain’t gonna run, Joe. Look at her, she’s a scared little lamb, if you stand within a foot of her you can hear her fluttering little heart in that... superb chest”

“I understand that she’s meek, but I really don’t think we can just let her drink with us. She’s probably a Pinkerton.” Joe was far more cautious than she’d first thought, she thought that there wasn’t much going on behind his dead eyes, but turns out there was a whole lot of paranoia.

“She’ll do exactly what I tell her to, Joe. As I said, she’s a lamb”

Micah got up real close to her, the closer he got, the more she turned her head to get away from him, he gripped her face in his hands and turned her head to face him,

“And you know exactly what that makes me, don’t you little girl? I’m a god damn lion and you are nothing more than a lamb. Is that understood?”

The total change in behaviour towards her straightened her back up, his words were replaying in her head over and over, she was prey to this man, “uhuh” she grunted in compliance.

He tutted and gripped her thigh in his other hand, “I thought you knew better than that, sweetheart... Say it again, properly.”

“Yes sir.”

Micah exhaled, a smile playing on his lips, he loosened his grip of the girls waist and took another swig of whiskey, men on the other side of camp had begun to head off to their lodgings one by one, eventually it was just gonna be her and Micah and the thought of that terrified her. Micah handed her the bottle,

“Wrap your lips around that, lamb chop or else the cold will get to ya”

There was a small amount left in the bottom of the bottle that she finished off, letting the empty bottle drop to the snow. Micah chuckled slightly, “I’ll go get us another one, don’t you worry your pretty little head, lamb chop.”

Micah managed to pry his hand from her waist and stumble away towards the cabins, leaving the girl alone, aside from the two rat-men opposite her. She wasn’t looking, but she heard the footsteps approach from opposite her, when the feet came into her view, she saw the fur trim of her coat, it was Cleet.

He sat down beside her, where Micah had just been and she reluctantly looked up at him,

“It’s a shame you had to go and punch me.” He hissed. The girl furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side,

“What do you mean? You would have killed me”

Cleet scoffed, “I was just roughing you up a bit”

The girl shook her head. She could have died and yet he was acting as though nothing was ever wrong.

“I was!” He assured, “If I’d have known you were a... Lady, I’d have never.”

She squinted her eyes at him, the alcohol must have been giving her some kind of a second wind as she laughed in his face, it wasn’t the type of laugh you would do in the company of a friend, it was a scornful cackle.

“I’m serious! You obviously don’t like Micah so stop being a bitch and come and drink with me, instead!” He was trying to flirt, the desperation was painful to watch and she found herself not wanting to laugh, but feeling herself getting angrier, her blood began to boil and she finally managed to spit her words out,

“I may not like Micah, but at least he’s not a leech like you, you’re a total parasite, you can’t fight, you can’t flirt and you sure as hell wouldn’t be alive without Micah because I’d have broken your skull open back there without him.” Cleet huffed out a laugh in disbelief and stood up, he walked back to Joe in silence and she thought that was going to be the end of it, that is before Cleet pulled out his revolver and pointed it in the direction of the girl.

“Ok, I can’t flirt, I can’t fight but I’ll tell you what, I’ll do more than a good job when I’m cleaning the pieces of your skull out of the snow.” The girl honestly thought that that was going to be it, she was going to die on Mount Hagen, that was until she felt an arm snake around her waist and the strong smell of bourbon filled her nose.

“Cleet... How disrespectful.” Micah breathed it right down her neck, goosebumps instantly littered her arms, “You’d draw on an unarmed girl?”

Cleet’s face contorted into an angry bunch and he spat into the snow.

“You best watch where you step, girl.” Cleet pointed his gun at her for a few seconds more before returning it to his holster and storming off. Micah moved his hand up and clutched her bare arm.

“You’re freezing. Too bad you didn’t bring a coat.” He hissed, his eyes glistening as though chaotic fireworks were going off behind them, she met his tease with a small smile and took the bottle of bourbon from him. Joe shot Micah a steely look and shook his head before making a swift exit in the same direction as Cleet. Micah found himself grinning at the scene that his men had made, he gestured back to the makeshift bench that the pair were just sat at. The girl didn’t budge, he turned his attention from the campfire back to the woman in his grip, she was staring at him once again, he’d notice her do this once before, her brows were knitted together and her cheeks and nose were dusted with a rosey tint.

“What’s the matter, lamb chop?” He tightened his grip on her waist and felt her scoot slightly closer in an attempt to escape his crushing hold.

“I’m freezing, can we not go somewhere warmer?”

Micah chuckled deeply and licked his lips, before leaning into the girl and trying to get as close to a whisper as possible:

“Are you implying that you wanna come back to my room?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at the blonde man and smiled slightly,

“If it’ll get me out of the cold, then I suppose I am.”

Micah felt a small chill up his spine and noticed his hands becoming clammy, he often felt the need to make a scene in order to hide such weaknesses, but showed restraint for a reason that even he wasn’t too sure about. “Come on then, lambchop.”

The pair trudged through the snow, around the campfire towards the large cabin. Thoughts of freedom ran through the girl’s head, while Micah drowned in thoughts of anxiety. He knew that his quarters was no place for a lady, his bed was unkempt, he’d have been better off asking to use Joe’s camp, not that he’d have allowed him to.

He did the honours of opening the door for the girl, he pushed her indoors, swiftly and followed her in, bolting it behind her.

It was the first time in a while that she had been free from Micah’s arm around her and so she gingerly approached the beds to the left.

“Which one’s yours?” She queried, turning to look at her captor. He was removing his leather coat with his back to her, upon asking the question she watched him flinch and he glanced at her over his shoulder, his anxiety was apparent. He plucked the hat from his head and threw it on the impromptu table in the centre of the room, this also housed a hunting knife and a book of “the American inferno” by Evelyn Miller, this caught the girl off guard, he didn’t strike her as a philosopher.

Micah pointed to the far bed and the girl made her way over. She snatched up the canvas bedroll and wrapped it around her bare arms. She was looking at her boots, but she could hear him sauntering over and felt the weight shift on the bed. She looked up at the man who now sat beside her, he wasn’t hiding beneath the shadow of his hat and she found herself strangely charmed, his hair wasn’t the honey-blonde that she’d taken it for, although she was sure that it once was, it was a sweptback greying-blonde, matching his moustache. As she admired his facial hair, she noticed a deep scar on his chin.

“Where’d you get that scar?” It was the alcohol talking, she didn’t often ask people about their scars or where they got them, but the words found themselves falling out of her mouth. He brought his hand up to his jaw and ran his thumb along the damaged tissue,

“Where’d you learn to ask annoying questions?”

The girl scoffed and took a swig of bourbon.

“Same place you learned to shave” The girl watched his face contort into a scowl, before smiling and placing a hand on his knee, “I’m kidding.”

His shoulders dropped and he faked a laugh,

“Very good, Lamb chop.”

She tightened her hold on his leg and drank some more bourbon,

“I’m not a Pinkerton.” She offered him back the bottle and he gladly took it, a smirk hidden beneath his facial hair.

“I can believe that, but it’s late, I couldn’t have a girl like yourself getting lost in the snow....” his tone made her hair stand on end, he leaned in close to her ear, his breath was heavy and his moustache tickled her soft cheek as he gently trailed off in a drunken drawl “...There’s a lot of men out there who’d do terrible things to you.” The girl found herself smirking, her chemise fell from its shelf on her left shoulder with help from Micah’s groping hands. Micah pulled away from her ear, his eyes were narrow and his gaze was fixed on her own. Despite his offensive exterior, she felt herself gravitating towards him, she knew exactly why he was making her stay, he had a one track mind. His lips collided with hers, her lips were so plump and soft in comparison to his, his rough facial hair catching her upper-lip, slightly. He tugged at her wrist, guiding her hand down to his crotch. The girl was inexperienced, although this wasn’t her first time, the thought of touching a man in such a lewd area made her cheeks burn. She rubbed him through his jeans and she felt him stir beneath the fabric, and he ran both of his hands up her legs under her chemise, working his way up. The fingers of his left hand dug fiercely into her hips, while his right hand played with what he was there for.

As soon as he pressed his thumb against the small knot of nerves, a small parcel of shock escaped her throat and developed into a moan. His lack of awareness as to how rough he was being shocked her more than anything else. He smirked, his eyes twinkling with malevolence,

“You like that, don’t you, lamb?” His thumb began to move: cruel, torturous movements, the girl’s eyes were wide and her mouth was agape at his unrefined technique, he was thrilled with her expression- what was once a shy girl he had turned into a dripping-wet mess. With his thumb still in place, he ran his middle finger down until he found the opening, she was saturated, Micah’s unbearably rough method somehow worked. Denied of her orgasm, Micah ripped his hand away from her sex and began hurriedly unbuckling his jeans, as though he was under some time of time constraint, his jeans dropped as far as his knees would allow them too before he awkwardly shuffled them down his shins, the only sounds were the faint noise of the camp outside, a rustling of fabric and Micah’s heavy breathing.

By the time he was finished drunkenly battling with his pants, he was stood up, he let out a loud sigh and looked at the girl, who was eagerly awaiting his return. He crawled up the bed, a hand on either side of her, their faces parallel to each other, his mane of gold and silver hung from his head. His hand was busy fumbling down below his belt, his arm moving in an erratic way as he prepared himself.

“I’m ready for you, princess.” He was breathless already and as he pulled her chemise down and grabbed her breast, she took note of how clammy his hands were. Micah cursed himself mentally, the girl was bored and he could tell, her eyelids grew heavy and his window was very slowly closing.

Without warning, he slid the tip of his member up her entrance, the warm, welcoming wetness of it felt like a Utopia next to the tundra that they were stuck in. He looked down at her, with eyes full of lust and her lip bitten, she waited in sheer anticipation for him to slowly ease his way into her entrance, there wasn’t much light from the near-extinguished lantern, but the little that there was showed him all he needed to see, her breasts were soft and her nipples erect from a combination of arousal and sheer cold. Micah looked directly into her eyes, his gaze almost as cold as outside and he suddenly thrust his entire length into her.

Instinctively she cried out, it was one of the most arousing and beautiful symphonies that he’d ever heard in his life, the way that her walls clung to him snuggly, with every thrust it felt like she was pushing him out and he loved every moment of this struggle. He carried on forcing his way through, with every thrust she felt her insides cry out. Micah’s thrusts were anything but regular, these were strong, painful and unpredictable rams that hit her deep. Micah grunted as he carried on, he’d developed a sheen on his forehead, she could just about see his face in this low light, his pale blue irises contrasted with the dark circles that stained the skin around his strangely pretty eyes.

“Like what you see, lamb chop?” The blond huffed rhetorically, between breaths. His thrusts were getting stronger and deeper now and his breaths were shallow grunts that alchemized into dreamy clouds of fog due to the harsh weather.

Her head spun and with every thrust of his, she felt a strange sensation deep within her, an odd numbness, similar to pins and needles but far less painful, her short breaths had slowly but surely gotten louder and turned into little moans. Micah leaned in closer to her and chuckled quietly, “You’re close, lamb chop.”

He cupped his left hand on her corresponding breast and wrapped his right hand around her throat, his deep, unpredictable pushes had turned into quick jabs, each one hitting her deeply. At this rate, he was forcing the moans from between her lips, the numbness was ringing out throughout her entire womanhood now, every nerve ending singing at the mercy of Micah’s length and then it was upon her: like nothing she’d ever felt before, she just about managed to cry out a strained “Micah” despite his grip on her throat, before her legs began to twitch and her walls collapsed around Micah’s shaft.

Micah released his grip from her delicate throat and raised his hand to her face, he cupped the girl’s cheek and bit his lower lip, slightly swollen from the chill,

“There’s a good little lamb, but don’t forget, I’ve still gotta finish, too.”

The girl nodded, “Yes sir.” She whimpered, she was being overstimulated and toyed with, his thrust was still strong and ruthless and he loved seeing the pathetic, helpless little look on her face as he continued to stir up her insides. Micah groaned deeply, she began to claw at the blankets beneath her, he was unsure if she was writhing or drowning in pleasure, but he knew that he loved it.

Moans began spilling out, desperate, pleading moans, they sounded intoxicated with pleasure as the writhing mess before him began to clutch at what she could of Micah, the girl weaved her fingers into his greying hair and Micah, in turn brought his face closer to her own.

“You alright there, lamb chop?” His voice a hiss, he knew exactly how good this must have felt for her, he just wanted to hear it for himself, her eyes latched to his and he felt his heart flutter slightly, like he’d ever admit it; her eyelids were heavy, she parted her lips slightly and her eyes quickly fell, despite everything he was doing to her, she was still shy. Then she spoke, quiet as a mouse, she breathed:

“Like nothing I’ve ever felt...” As soon as he heard it, he pushed his lips up against her own. The kiss wasn’t an ounce passionate, it was cold and lustful, his teeth lingered on her lower lip and he bit down reasonably hard, coaxing a muffled sound from within the girl.

His thrusts had become harder, slower and more deliberate, he was close and he wanted to savour every moment that he spent inside of her, as he pushed deeper and harder, he’d find himself trying to hold back the curses from under his breath. As he felt himself reaching the end of his tether, he gripped a handful of the girl’s hair which was greeted with a small Yelp,

“Now, missy. I’m gonna use you for what you’re good for.” He purred, his voice a total drawl, “You’re gonna take my seed, Lamb chop and you’re gonna take it like a good girl.” She went to protest, but all that managed to escape was a moan: a back arching, feminine moan that made the hair on the back of Micah’s neck stand on end and managed to push him over the edge.

Micah’s release wasn’t anywhere near as audible as the girl’s was, but the small growl he summoned behind his gritted teeth was just as real to her, his release was more than either of them could have expected, it immediately spilled out of her and dripped onto the bedroll beneath her. Micah, although out of breath and very drunk, sat back to see what he’d done and almost immediately a smile tugged at his lips,

“And they said Arthur was the artist of the gang...” He scoffed, before laying down next to the girl,

“Who the hell is Arthur?” She pressed, a smile on her face to match his, Micah shook his head as if to say ‘forget about it’.

His chest was far too inviting to her and so she rolled over and rested her head on the right side of his chest, he was warm and strangely comforting which was unexpected. The girl looked up at him and he smirked slightly, eyes not leaving her’s, “You’re such a good, obedient girl, lamb chop…” he breathed, putting his hand up against her head and holding her close to his chest, “and to think that I was just gonna kill you and rob you.”

The girl’s blood ran cold at the thought of it, Micah laughed it off once more and then yawned loudly.

“You’ve really took it out of me, lamb chop” He said, groggily, it honestly surprised the girl how quickly he managed to get to sleep, it was almost instantaneous, but there she was stuck, truly a lamb in the arms of a lion, a snoring, drunk, old lion.

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Hyo-jin Moon and guns

▲ Hyo-jin with his father, Sun Myung Moon

In The Shadow Of The Moons: My Life In The Reverend Sun Myung Moon’s Family by Nansook Hong Little, Brown & Co.  Boston, New York, Toronto & London, 1998  

extracts:

page 57 I did not know Hyo Jin well but I had heard enough to know he was the black sheep of the Moon family. He was in elementary school when the Moons moved to America. He had been a diligent, if reluctant, student in Korea. Peter Kim, the Reverend Moon’s personal assistant, was assigned to tutor the young heir apparent. Hyo Jin vowed that when he went to America, he would have more freedom than he had known in Seoul.

The move to the United States was not an easy transition for him. Life was even more isolated in the Moon compound in Tarrytown than it had been in Seoul. At home the Moon children were left to the care of church elders and baby-sitters. At school they were the ultimate outsiders.

They were sent to the private Hackley School, where their identities as Moonies subjected them to teasing or outright scorn. Hyo Jin was expelled from Hackley in middle school for bringing a BB gun to school and shooting at several classmates.

page 58 After Hyo Jin was expelled from Hackley, the Reverend Moon sent him to live with Bo Hi Pak, one of his original disciples, in McLean, a wealthy Virginia suburb outside of Washington, D.C. It was the Reverend Moon’s theory that his followers were responsible for rearing the Messiah’s children. The Reverend Moon, after all, was responsible for the care of the world. It was an odd theory for a man who claimed to be the model father of the ideal family, and no one felt the dichotomy more than Hyo Jin Moon.

Hyo Jin’s behavior only deteriorated in Washington. In a large public school, there were fistfights and worse. It was in Washington that he was first introduced to illegal drugs.

page 59 A frustrated Reverend Moon sent Hyo Jin back to Korea for high school, hoping that the supervision of church elders in his own culture would straighten him out. It did not work out that way.

page 60 “When I went to Korea, I started going out with many girls,” he confessed in his 1988 speech to members.

“I really loved one in particular and wanted to marry her. Her parents liked the idea; they thought Father had a lot of money. They encouraged both of us, invited me to their home. They were nice to me. We became very close, almost lived together. I had sex with her. I wanted to do everything in my power to stay with her. I wanted to be matched with her or nobody else. After school, I would sleep over at her house and she at my house, all through high school.

I drank a bottle of whiskey a day. If I didn’t have money, I would buy corn whiskey, cheap and potent. I had to be drunk all the time…I touched bottom. I was listening to my heart cry. I started suffocating. I wanted to kill myself. How could I face Father. I thought the best way was to disappear, then I would have no burden. Many times I sat with a gun pointed to my head, practiced what it would be like. I only cared about my physical body. I was worse than other kids. I was so physical and selfish. I didn’t care how I affected other people. That’s how I grew up.”

▲ Moon married 15-year-old Nansook Hong to Hyo Jin Moon. Sun Myung Moon broke New York State law.

page 182 Manhattan Center became the fuel that powered Hyo Jin’s moral collapse. It was a source of ready cash to finance his cocaine habit, his growing arsenal of guns, and his nightly drinking binges.

He would order his inner circle to accompany him to Korean bars in Queens, where he cavorted openly with “hostesses” and drank himself senseless.

▲ Nansook Hong in 1999

His verbal abuse of me had grown from obscenity-laden insults to threats of physical harm. He would open the gun case he kept in our bedroom and stroke one of his high-powered rifles. “Do you know what I could do to you with this?” he would ask. He kept a machine gun, a gift from True Parents, under our bed.

page 166

[Mrs. Moon] returned from her closet safe with a Gucci handbag. It contained a hundred thousand dollars in cash. This was “seed money” for our family’s future, she told me. I should invest it wisely, perhaps in gold. Later, she said, she would give us another three hundred thousand dollars. Was she bribing me? I was advised to store it in a safe deposit box in a bank in Tarrytown. Had I deposited it in a savings account we would have to do the unthinkable: pay taxes on it. The safe deposit box was a mistake, of course. It provided Hyo Jin with ready access to cash. He used the money that was earmarked for our children’s future to buy a thirty-thousand-dollar gold-plated gun for Father and motorcycles for himself and his brothers.”

__________________________________________

Divorce, Drugs, Jail, a Nasty Custody Battle—Family Woes Lay Bare the Dark Side of the Reverend Sun Myung Moon

By Alex Tresniowski

The disillusioned seem to include many of his children, who were raised with a lack of parental supervision in an atmosphere of incredible luxury at two sprawling Westchester County estates, East Garden and Belvedere. The kids were treated to private hairdressers and fawning attendants and were brought up mainly by nannies while the Moons traveled. When Un Jin expressed an interest in horses, Moon built her a $10 million riding facility; Hyun Jin’s fondness for guns led to construction of a huge shooting range. “The sons, especially, are very arrogant,” says the former Moon friend. “They have egos that you couldn’t fit into a banquet hall.”

In 1996, Hyo Jin spent three months in a Massachusetts jail for failing to pay lawyers’ fees related to his divorce, and this February he was locked up for 20 days in Westchester County jail for violating an order of protection obtained by his wife. That followed his 1994 arrest for drunk driving and two 1995 stays at substance-abuse treatment centers, including the Betty Ford Center in California. Hong’s affidavit claims that Hyo Jin—now working as a music producer at the church-affiliated Manhattan Center Studios in New York City—once brought home a box filled with $1 million in cash, then spent $400,000 “buying cocaine and alcohol, entertaining his friends every night and giving expensive gifts to other women.” In September of 1996, during his ongoing divorce proceedings, Hyo Jin filed for bankruptcy (he later withdrew the filing). A deposition in the case quotes him as stating, “All I like was guns and music.”

Hardly the kind of devotion that is likely to attract new followers to the cause. Even so, says attorney Herbert Rosedale, a prominent Moon critic, “the church’s activities are still strong, and their recruitment is still very active.” Indeed, the church still owns the influential conservative newspaper Washington Times, is developing vast tracts of land in South America and operates various foundations that promote Moon’s family-values message.

Link to the full Alex Tresniowski story

__________________________________________

Ashamed to be Korean

Kook-jin Moon out shooting

Second Generation gives a testimony on life with Hyo Jin Moon

Hyo Jin Moon came to court in Concord in the company of no fewer than four high-priced attorneys to fight Nansook Hong

Nansook Hong’s video gets over one million views with FULL TRANSCRIPT of the ‘60 Minutes’ with Mike Wallace

Hyo-jin Moon jailed for 90 days for failing to pay Nansook Hong as ordered by the court

Nansook Hong, transcripts of three interviews, including ‘60 Minutes’

Nansook Hong interviewed by Herbert Rosedale

Nansook Hong: “I snatched my children from Sun Myung Moon”

Nansook Hong – In The Shadow Of The Moons book

Whitney Houston a no-show at Moon’s mass wedding ceremony

Nansook Hong – The Dark Side of the Moons

A review of Nansook Hong’s revealing book

_________________________________

Spanish

Nansook Hong entrevistada

‘A la Sombra de los Moon’ por Nansook Hong

Secta Moon, a modo de introducción

_________________________________

French

J’ai arraché mes enfants à Moon – Nansook Hong

« L’ombre de Moon » par Nansook Hong

Transcription de Sam Park vidéo en Français

_________________________________

German

Nansook Hong – Ich schaue nicht zurück

Niederschrift von Sam Parks Video

_________________________________

Japanese

Nansook Hong’s interview on ‘60 minutes’ translated into Japanese

TV番組「60分」で洪蘭淑インタビュー

わが父文鮮明の正体 – 洪蘭淑

文鮮明「聖家族」の仮面を剥ぐ – 洪蘭淑

サム·パークビデオの書き起こし文

_________________________________

Polish

„W cieniu Moona” – Nansook Hong

Sam Park i jego historia

[shapeshiftersandfire]

the little orange rabbit  from tolerant ephraim au, with @ssttitdramon

They left him alone with her. His parents and grandmother had gone out, to run one errand or another. Harold was out, where Ephraim didn’t know, and Ephraim… Ephraim was home alone, taking care of his infant sister, who can do little more than cry and wail. It’s not a riveting conversation, and it’s decidedly one-sided.

And it’s giving Ephraim a headache.

He’s trying to work on his homework, but Sarah’s incessant wailing from the next room is distracting him. He keeps staring at the same problem, trying to remember where he left off, but each time he looks up as Sarah’s wailing starts from a high note and peters out, he looks down and forgets what he’d been doing.

At first, he lets her cry. She’ll wear herself out eventually, he thinks, he’s sure, but an hour goes by, and then two, and Sarah still has yet to stop crying.

At that point, Ephraim begrudgingly throws down his pencil with half a mind to storm into Sarah’s room, though he hardly know what he’s supposed to say to an infant who can hardly understand him, and listens. He’s heard Sarah cry before, and Harold—he was but four years old when Harold was born, but he remembers when Harold cried, it was for a variety of reasons: he was hungry, he was tired, he needed a diaper change.

Ephraim quickly rules out Sarah being tired. If she were, she would have gone to sleep already.

Which leaves two options, only one of which is greatly preferable to the other.

He doesn’t know how Mother did it.

How she still does.

(Although he’s noticed she seems to want to do it decidedly less.)

(He hasn’t quite grasped why, although he thinks it has something to do with the way Sarah looks. She’s noticeably paler than the rest of the family. Her hair is lighter, almost white and her eyes have yet to change color. They’re still a pale, pale blue.)

Hmm. Ephraim pushes his chair away and goes to Sarah’s room. She cries when he walks in, as though she doesn’t hear him over the sound of her own wailing, but the moment he appears in her vision, she stops. Almost instantly.

Ephraim glowers at her. “What do you want?” he asks.

As he expected, Sarah says nothing. She stares up at him, quietly.

“All right, then,” he says, and turns to leave.

And immediately Sarah’s crying starts up again.

Brat! He grinds his teeth. That’s all it is, she’s just being a brat. She wants attention. That’s all.

But do infants understand that kind of concept? He’s not sure.

Maybe she’s hungry then?

Ephraim goes downstairs to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle and heads back up, but when he offers it to Sarah she makes no move to take it. She stares up at him with curious wonder, ignoring the bottle Ephraim holds in front of her face.

He frowns deeply, pulls it away, then offers it again, but still Sarah stares up at him instead. Ephraim pulls the bottle away again, feeling frustration well in his chest. “What do you want?” he asks, and not without and edge to his voice. But instead of looking afraid, as he might have expected, Sarah offers him something that looks like the beginning of a smile.

Is she—Smiling? At him? Ephraim reels. Had Harold ever smiled at him when he was Sarah’s age? Or had he been so disinterested in holding his baby brother he hadn’t noticed? It must have been the latter. He doesn’t remember Harold ever smiling at him the way Sarah does.

“No,” Ephraim mutters to himself, turning away from the crib. “No, I’m not doing that, no—” But Sarah starts crying again when he turns away, vanishes from her field of vision. He groans in frustration. Fine! He all but slams the bottle down on the dresser, not that it does anything to interrupt Sarah’s crying even in the slightest, and goes to the edge of the crib. This time, Sarah’s crying only slows, but doesn’t stop, not entirely.

This time, she stares up at him with tears in her eyes. Ephraim feels a twinge of something in his chest.

He has half a mind to walk away and let her cry, just so he can finish his homework, but the way she looks at him…

I can’t leave her like that. What would Father say?

(Mother wouldn’t care. But Father? He loved Sarah enough for both of them, and then some.)

So it’s with great reluctance and wild uncertainty that Ephraim scoops his little sister up into his arms and holds her against his chest, the way Mother does, or so he tries. He’s not sure if he’s doing it right—he’s got Sarah’s head propped up in the crook of one arm, and the other arm he has curled underneath her—but he’s not immediately afraid he’s going to drop her, so that’s something.

And what’s more, is once Sarah’s in Ephraim’s arms, she’s quiet. Not another peep comes out of her, not even the threat of more crying. She’s perfectly quiet, looking up at with with big, pale eyes. Ephraim has the immediate urge to put her down, something about a small child staring at him like that is unnerving and he’s not prepared for it in the least, but he doesn’t. He holds onto her, and stares at her as equally curious as Sarah.

Those eyes, the color, it’s just like Mother’s. Her eyes are a pale color Ephraim hasn’t yet decided is gray or blue or a combination of both. Not that he’s had much time to figure it out; between the way her eyes change in certain lighting and the way she doesn’t let him hold her gaze long. He thinks she might be ashamed of her eyes, but he doesn’t quite understand why. Maybe it’s for the same reason she doesn’t want much to do with Sarah?

She has Mother’s eyes. That’s undeniable.

(And on the brighter side, there’s no indication that Sarah needs to be changed.)

(She’s lonely, then, Ephraim concludes. He’s not sure what to do with that.)

It’s a moment of quiet, as he and his sister stare at each other, until Sarah tentatively reaches for Ephraim’s tie. He gently closes his hand around her small hand and draws it away from his tie. “No, no,” he says gently, and it met with a gentle stream of babbling from Sarah.

She sucks at her bottom lip, looking up at him expectantly. She wiggles, just a little, but it’s enough to send a bolt of fear through Ephraim’s heart. What if he drops her—but Sarah settles down and returns to quietly staring at him.

Ephraim blinks slowly. He can’t possibly put Sarah back in her crib now, she’ll cry if he leaves her, and she won’t stop unless he’s there in the room with her, where she can see him. He’ll have to take her back to his room with him.

With another sigh and a slight readjustment of his hold on Sarah, Ephraim makes the short trip back to his room. His heart races each time Sarah wiggles in his arms, as though she’s trying to get a good look at everything in the hallway. It’s not spectacular to Ephraim, but to an infant who hasn’t seen very much of the house, it’s a whole new expanse in her small, small world.

And, evidently, his room is the most fascinating thing she’s seen, despite it being nearly identical in structure and decoration to her own. She starts babbling, nonsensical and incomprehensible, the moment Ephraim walks into his room, and doesn’t stop, even when he’s gotten her set up on a thick blanket on the floor. He sits back at his desk and watches her a moment, squirming on the blanket, waving her hands at things only she can see, kicking at the blanket.

Ephraim feels a twinge of something else.

She’s almost…endearing.

(He almost sees why Father loves her. And Harold.)

He watches her a moment longer before he’s content she can’t get into any trouble lying on the blanket, and returns to his homework. At last he’s able to get through more than one problem; when he glances over at Sarah, he more than once finds her having paused in her shuffling to stare at him with wide, curious eyes. It lasts only a moment before she’s back to staring at the ceiling and pawing at the air.

And then, as Ephraim gets overly absorbed in his work and finds himself nearing the end, he hears something new. The sound of fabric swishing on fabric, something heavier than a blanket but lighter than Sarah being dragged along the floor.

Ephraim looks up, and what does he find in Sarah’s hand, being shuffled around the blanket by the ear but his old stuffed rabbit, an orange thing with one eye he’d stashed away under his bed but a year ago.

You’re growing up now, Mother had said, looking at the rabbit with an even look of disdain. You’ll have to leave such childish things behind.

Now, in all fairness, Mother had never suggested what he do with the rabbit, so in what Ephraim considered a minor act of defiance, he’d hidden the rabbit away under his bed where she wouldn’t find him. She never looked under the beds, anyhow. Sylvie had found it once when she’d gone through his room and all it had taken was one look at the horror on his face for her to promise not to say anything to Delanie.

And so the rabbit, named Cowslip after the small red flowers he’d seen in a book once, remained tucked away under his bed, where Ephraim could reach him if need be but where Mother would never find him. Now, one orange ear is gripping in Sarah’s tiny hand, and he’s being jerked around across the blanket. Ephraim watches a moment, filled with equal parts shock and anger and the urge to snatch Cowslip away from Sarah—How could you treat him like that?—but then as she heavily pats Cowslip’s head it occurs to him (at the same time that he reminds himself Sarah is a baby and doesn’t know any better) that she…likes him? When she manages to get get a good enough hold on the rabbit, she hugs him by the neck, looking up at Ephraim with a smile.

Ephraim finds himself smiling back. He abandons his homework and settles himself down on the blanket beside Sarah and looks the rabbit over. For the year it spent under his bed, gathering dust, it still looks as good as the day Ephraim put him away. “He’s still as handsome isn’t he?” he asks, more to himself than Sarah, who laughs as Ephraim talks to her, and clutches the rabbit tighter.

“What?” he asks, as Sarah laughs again. “Is my voice funny to you?”

Sarah laughs some more, and Ephraim watches her, fighting the smile he feels blossoming on his face. He lets it slip, just a little. Sarah smiles wider. And then she holds out the rabbit to Ephraim. He hesitates to take it from her. It’s been a year since he touched it. What if Mother came through the door now and saw him with it? What would she say?

Ephraim frowns (which Sarah evidently finds funny, judging by the way she giggles). Mother says I’m supposed to be growing up now. Well, then I can make my own decisions! And he happily takes the rabbit, who, after a year under the bed is still as soft as Ephraim remembers, and waves it around in front of Sarah. She smiles happily, reaching for Cowslip’s soft nose.

“Guess what I used to call him?” Ephraim asks, shaking the rabbit back and forth, letting his ears flop around. This time when Sarah laughs, Ephraim lets himself smile. Her eyes aren’t even on him anymore, they’re all for the rabbit. She laughs and reaches for Cowslip each time Ephraim waves him around. It’s almost…endearing.

“Cowslip,” Ephraim says, and lowers the rabbit to rub his nose against Sarah’s.

Sarah’s still laughing, even as she wriggles and reaches for the little orange rabbit.

Ephraim lifts the rabbit away, then lowers it and gently presses Cowslip’s nose into Sarah’s cheek twice more before he finally lets her take the rabbit from him with a sound that almost sounds like she thinks she’s won. He leans his hand on his chin as he watches her hold Cowslip tightly, alternating between holding the rabbit and sucking on his nose, all while looking up at Ephraim and smiling.

“He’s a good rabbit,” Ephraim says. “He’ll take good care of you.” He runs his hand over Sarah’s soft, still-grown hair as she looks up at him, Cowslip’s nose in her mouth and covered in spit. Ephraim wonders if he’d ever chewed on Cowslip’s nose when he first got him.

As Sarah sighs contently, Ephraim reaches for his homework and brings it down to his lap. In between problems he glances at Sarah, quiet and alternating between staring around at the room and staring at him as she sucks on Cowslip’s nose. And then, finally, the next time he looks at her, she’s fallen asleep, Cowslip’s nose still in her mouth.

Ephraim sighs, sets his book aside and gently scoops his sister into his arms, rabbit and all. He carries her back to her room, tucks her into her bed. It almost pains him to have to let Cowslip go for real this time, but the little rabbit is far better off with someone who can love him like Ephraim has instead of being stuffed away under a bed. He pulls the blanket over Sarah and Cowslip, then returns to his room to finish up the last of his homework..

                                                         [***]

The front door swinging shut and Mother’s shrill voice from the hall announcing their arrival home makes his heart leap. Sarah still has his rabbit tucked in her arms. He manages to slip it from her arms and tuck it under the bed, where he hopes Mother won’t be able to see it. Then he makes his way downstairs to greet his parents, just taking off their coats.

Mother looks relieved to see him. “How are you, Ephraim?”

“Well,” he says. “I’ve finished my homework.”

Mother nods, pleased. “And Sarah?” Her expression noticeably darkens.

“She cried for a good while,” Ephraim says, frowning. “She’s finally calmed down.”

Mother huffs, then begrudgingly goes up the stairs to check on her youngest child. Ephraim’s heart races as he thinks about what she’ll say if she sees the rabbit. He’s got an excuse lined up before the hem of her dress disappears from view.

Father, on the other hand, takes his time hanging his hat on the hook, and not without a tired sigh at Mother’s frustrations with her youngest. But he pats Ephraim on the shoulder with a small, knowing smile. Ephraim sighs with relief.

[crmediagal]

To those who may be interested: I’ve resumed posting my WIP fic, Seeds of Redemption, at my personal website: www.crmediagal.com. I had deleted the story on fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own last year due to unnecessary negativity, so I’m happy to share that the story is back, being  revised, and updates are continuing!

* * * If you would like to receive updates and access to the story, please fill out the form on the Contact page and you’ll be granted access! * * *

Story: Seeds of Redemption Chapter 7 -  https://crmediagalhome.wordpress.com/sor-chap7/

Synopsis: The First Order may have fallen, but the Proclamation has   risen in its stead. As the galaxy is threatened by the coming of a   Second Darkness, Ben Solo must painstakingly navigate both sides, the   Dark Side and the Light. Only he is no longer alone in this fight, with far more at stake to lose than he ever would have dreamed. Rated M, AU, Post-TRoS.

Excerpt from Chapter 7:

“Ami,” Ben tried to reach her speedily, speaking in a hushed, urgent tone, “please, don’t be frightened. It’s your father; it’s me. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

“NO! You – You – You’re him!” Her voice suddenly shattered and it took all of Ben’s willpower not to rush at his eldest and scoop her up in his arms. “All this – this time, you – you were him!” Tears prickled her eyes, which frantically darted back and forth between his distinguishable face—a face she had thought to be warm and wonderful and loving all her life—and the bone-chilling reality that was Kylo Ren, its identity slung beneath his arm. Her mind was scrambling to make sense of how the two men could possibly be the same individual and Ben noted the immense mental struggle, wanting nothing more than to alleviate her pain and confusion.

“Ami, it’s all a cover—”

“BUT IT’S YOU!” she shrilled, pointing at the mask determinedly. “You’re… You’re Kylo Ren!” Her mouth drew open in shock and dismay, and the sore expression that soon took shape left Ben broken. “How could you?”

The question was small, dreadfully quiet and fragile, like a star burning out the last of its light. In that moment, Ben could only stare, observe the silent tears trickling down Amidala’s handsome face; at the stabbing sense of betrayal being projected in her wounded, watery eyes. A combination of reds and blues danced before his sight, playing on his daughter’s anguish and injury at being so horribly deceived.

And she has been betrayed; they all have been, Ben lamented to himself, thinking painfully on his two other children whom he had yet to disclose this identity to.

How was he to go forward from here? It had been absurd, and yet, absolutely crucial to Ben to reveal himself to the children when they were taken hostage. Rey had been reluctant with his decision but supported him, nevertheless; he only wished she could be here now, occupying this cell with him at this very moment instead of being locked up where she was, to help their daughter better understand.

Get them out of here, his conscience reminded him, willing him not to crumble. Get them home. They have to trust you.

Revealing the face behind Kylo Ren hadn’t been in Ben’s plans, but with his wife and children unexpectedly snatched by the Proclamation, a dire situation forced the double agent’s hand. It was the only way to gain their confidence—or so he had told Rey when he had suggested the idea—and he was forced to keep reiterating that end goal to himself before entering Amidala’s cell.

He had thought Amidala might take the news better than the younger ones, though, and if this was the gut-wrenching reaction he was to expect from the littler ones he so loved as well, how could he possibly tell Han and Astrid, too?

Ben clenched his jaw and finally replied, his voice strained and subdued, “I… I did what I had to do, Ami.”

Amidala’s brow furrowed, not following. “So…you became this – this monster? You became Commander of the Proclamation? You joined the Dark Side? How could you, Dad?”

“Ami—”

“They’re evil! YOU‘RE EVIL!”

Brought up short by that acid remark, Ben saw no point in contending it. His daughter may be young and naïve about most things, but she was correct on this one: he was evil. Well, Kylo Ren was epitome of everything worth despising.

“I…” Ben started to explain, but the words he needed were nowhere to be found. He struggled to keep his gaze steady and on Amidala; to keep his mind on the intent. “You’re right, little star,” he bemoaned and slightly slumped his shoulders, “Kylo Ren is evil but… But I’m not. I promise you, I’m not…”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” she choked, pushing her back farther into the corner.

“Ami, what I do I do to protect you, your sister, your brother, and your mother—”

“Protect me?” Amidala startled Ben by cracking up. The laughter was crazed rather than whimsical and childlike, unlike the sound that normally made the reformed Jedi’s heart lighter to hear. “By plotting Darkness and destroying planets and—”

“Ami, listen—”

“—and killing any of those who stand in the Proclamation’s path?” she screamed over him. “Kylo Ren is an enemy of the Resistance and a murderer! YOU‘RE A MURDERER!”

“I’m not that person, Ami!” Ben beseeched before going abruptly silent, barely able to utter a soft-pleading, “Not… Not anymore.” He lowered his gaze at last, unable to bear the hate and resentment swarming in Amidala’s judgmental eyes.

Available to read in its entirety at www.crmediagal.com

[ascension-soliloquy]

Mistborn book 2 - The Well of Ascension part 2.0 chapters 12-19 - first read

[Spoilers for the chapters covered and all previous chapters]

Predictions:

•Where to begin? Who got body snatched? Would the kandra know to imitate Spook’s Eastern street slang, and laugh at Breeze’s story about poisoning the camp’s water supply? Probably not. Breeze noted that Ham’s sense of humor was getting worse, could it be him? Clubs didn’t seem too suspicious to me, so that means it’s most likely him, but if I had to choose right now, I’d probably say Dockson, since he didn’t appear in that last chapter. Ooo, the real kick in the head would be if it was Elend. Was Vin ever away from him long enough? No, it’s not him.

•We still don’t have an identity for the Watcher, but I still say it’s Reen. Except, it’s more likely to be a new character we’ve never met before. 

•Will Marsh betray Sazed? Yes...yes he will. 

Part 2.0: Ghosts in the Mist (chapters 12-19)

Chapter 12

Marsh and Sazed reach Seran. They go down into the fortress. Marsh is certain it is empty, but isn’t sure why. They explore it. Sazed records his observations into a coppermind. “You should not care about the Inquisitors. They are not worthy of your record.” Marsh seems to be ashamed of the Inquisitors. So far he’s defying my expectations. I don’t know how to feel about this. 

They split up. Sazed finds a stairway and goes further down. He finds a wall that has text scratched into it. It is the writing of Kwaan, quotes of which are at the beginning of each chapter. He begins to read it, when Marsh comes back to him, and says it was a mistake to come here, and that they should leave. Sazed convinces him to let him take charcoal rubbings of the etchings. 

I spent the entire chapter waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it never did. They haven’t left yet, so there’s still time for things to go south in the next Sazed chapter. However, I have to admit perhaps I have misjudged Marsh, and I have no clue where the story will go from here. I still find him creepy, and I’m not sure I’ll ever fully trust him, but this chapter has eased my mind about him a little bit. On the other hand, he felt inexplicably drawn here, and after they got here he seemed agitated and wanted to leave. I’m not sure what to make of that. There may be more going on here than meets the eye. 

I wonder what the rest of Kwaan’s text will say?

Chapter 13

Vin questions OreSeur to find out what she can learn about kandras, to see if she can figure out who the impostor is. Some questions he answers willingly, some he has to be commanded to answer, and some he won’t answer even if she commands him. “The kandra is a spy, sent to gather information for another human.” Ham, Dockson, Clubs, and Spook all have hours unaccounted for, so none of them can be ruled out. An Allomancer can’t Riot or Soothe the emotions of a kandra. Kandra can’t use Allomancy. 

“Then I may leave? ...You do not wish to command me, so our Contract is dissolved?” It’s claimed that kandra are great actors, but I feel at certain points in this conversation, such as this one, OreSeur misunderstands Vin. Can they really be so convincing if they misunderstand the humans they are supposed to be infiltrating? Or is it just the relationship between these two particular characters that causes misunderstanding. Vin has trouble understanding OreSeur, so it goes both ways, I suppose. 

She asks OreSeur what he loves and hates, but he doesn’t want to say. She tells him she loves the mists, the power, the freedom. She hates being afraid. 

Vin feels the bronze pulse that she felt when she encountered the misty figure. She finds it inside a building. She asks it, “Why have you been watching me?” It seems to disappear, but then it attacks her, grabbing her arm. She falls out the window. Flaring metal, she survives the fall. OreSeur asks if she needs assistance, but she shakes her head and runs away. 

Elend is meeting with Breeze, Ham, Spook, Dockson, and Clubs. “Any of these men could be an impostor, Elend thought. The thought still seemed insane to him.” This section is an Elend POV, so that rules him out as the impostor. They talk about how they are going to deal with the two armies. After discussing different possibilities, Elend says he wants to get the two armies to attack each other. 

The guard, Captain Demoux interrupts to say the guards caught someone eavesdropping on the meeting. It was a Terriswoman that Elend recognized from being at the assembly. She wants to speak to Elend alone. When the others hesitate, she says the Mistborn outside the window should be able to deal with her. 

Chapter 14

The Terriswoman admits she lied about Vin being outside the window. She begins instructing Elend to be more commanding and kingly. She says the people don’t respect him, and so he needs to demand respect if he is going to be a leader. Her name is Tindwyl. 

Vin comes back, and Tindwyl leaves. Vin doesn’t like what giving up the kingdom would do to Elend. Vin asks Elend what he knows about the Deepness.  She is worried about the misty figure, but reluctant to tell Elend, because he didn’t believe her last time. When he leaves, she sees mist outside the window. “I will not fear you...and I will find your secret.”

Chapter 15

Eight days after leaving Seran, Sazed wakes up alone. Marsh is gone. Grrrr Marsh, what are you up to? Don’t break my not-quite-trust so soon. Sazed decides to go without him. He comes to a village. He can smell death coming from it. “These people had died of starvation and dehydration.” 

“I must be mistaken about the starvation...it must have been a plague...a disease.” He finds one living man. He is terrified of going outside because of the mist. He says that the mist didn’t go away after a few hours; that it stayed for days; weeks. The mist let some get away, but killed others. Once again, my guess is that this is an effect of the Deepness. The man had turned to cannibalism to survive. Sazed pulls the man outside, and he runs away. 

Sazed realizes something is very wrong in the world. He puts on a steelmind with months worth of strength stored in it to run quickly to Luthadel. 

Chapter 16

Vin looks through the logbook of the Hero, looking for clues of the misty figure, and of the Deepness. Seems like she is about to, if she hasn’t already, come to the same conclusion I did about the mist and the Deepness. She finds a passage that describes a dark thing that follows him, perhaps made of a black fog, or mist. The references to the Deepness make it clear that it is dangerous, killing thousands, but not saying what it is. 

She comes across a page where the Hero says that he has to assume he is not mad, that the thing following him is real, and he must make the decision to continue on his quest. Vin determines she must make the same choice. 

Tindwyl has Elend try on a military style uniform, and tells him he can’t wear anything else until the siege is over. She tells him, “a good king is one who is trusted by his people—and one who deserves that trust.”

Chapter 17

Elend and Vin go to meet the messenger Straff sent, and Vin recognizes him as the Watcher. His name is Zane. So is that his real name, or an alias? At least we now have a name besides just “the Watcher.” He says Straff wants Elend to meet at Straff’s tent. Elend tells Zane he will think about it. 

Later that night while Vin is out doing her rounds, Zane shows up. They have a showdown, with some chasing and some sparring. Vin realizes he is better at Allomancy than she is, and so she wants to continue sparring with him to hone her skills. 

Chapter 18

Zane hears the voice of “God” telling him to kill any person he sees. He ignores it most of the time. He knows he is insane, but can mostly keep it under control. He is Elend’s half brother, but his existence was kept secret. He considers himself a weapon. He thinks Vin’s senses are better than any Allomancer he has ever fought. A spy left him a message. I’m guessing that’s the kandra. 

Well, so far my predictions aren’t very accurate (aside from Vin being badass, that’s always true). The Watcher isn’t Reen; Marsh hasn’t betrayed Sazed (yet). I’m sure everyone is laughing at me. I’m sure I’ll be laughing at myself once I finish the series and look back at these. 

Zane meets with Straff. A servant girl had wanted to kill Straff, so Zane helped her poison his tea. Straff is able to smell the poison, so he has the girl executed, then drinks the tea anyway. He asks what the spy said. Zane says that the spy thinks he is suspected by the others, and he hasn’t found out anything about the atium. 

After Zane leaves, Straff calls for a former mistress who is good with herbs. He had drank the poison just to show Zane he isn’t weak. He has her make a remedy to counteract the poison. 

Straff is awful, especially when it comes to women. I kind of hope Zane gives in to the voice he hears when he’s around Straff one of these times. How did Elend turn out to be so decent with this thing for a father?

Chapter 19

On his way back to Luthadel, Sazed encounters an army of large blue humanoid creatures known as koloss. He spies on them from the distance at the top of a tree, but as he finishes, he realizes that some have entered the grove of trees where he is hiding. They surround him, and one tells him to come down. Weighing his options, he decides he probably won’t be able to escape, so he drops down out of the tree. Koloss are violent creatures, attacking and killing each other with little provocation. They lead Sazed through the army to a tent, which is guarded by humans. 

Inside the tent is a man Sazed recognizes as a friend of Elend, Jastes Lekal. He calls himself king Lekal. He is headed to Luthadel, and he knows about the other armies, claiming he will give Elend a better deal than Cett or Straff will. Jastes wants Sazed to serve him, but Sazed is able to talk Jastes into letting him go. 

As far as plot lines where people get captured go, this went rather smoothly. It didn’t last more than a chapter, and Sazed was able to talk his way out of it. 

So we meet the orcs/trollocs of this story*: big, ugly, bloodthirsty brutes hellbent on destruction. A complaint I’ve seen about trollocs is that they started out being scary, but as the protagonists leveled up in power they turned into cannon fodder**. Will the koloss suffer the same fate, or will they stay dangerous throughout the books? My guess is Vin will wipe them out just by staring them down. 

(*and I was doing so good about not referencing other series in this entry, just to blow it at the end.)

(**I’m not sure I agree with that complaint. Tarmon Gai’don got pretty hairy for the light side just by the sheer number of shadow spawn)

Until next time...

[astraltwelve]

Astronomy and Mythology

Since almost 6,000 years ago, our ancestors have made attempts to catalogue the heavens that expanded above us. The Greeks and the Romans made the biggest contribution to most of the world’s view of the stars. The earliest references to a mythological connection to the stars may be in Homer’s Iliad in the 7th century B.C.E.,wherein he described the creation of Achilleus’s shield by Hephaistos, the craftsman God. 

On it he made the earth, and sky, and sea, the weariless sun and the moon waxing full, and all the constellations that crown the heavens, Pleiades and Hyades, the mighty Orion and the Bear, which men also call by the name of Wain: she wheels round in the same place and watches for Orion, and is the only one not to bathe in Ocean  (Iliad XVIII 486-490).

Around Homer’s time, most of the constellations weren’t necessarily connected with any specific myth, but were instead known simply as the animal or object they represented. Lyre was simply the Ram. It wasn’t until around the 5th century B.C.E. that the constellations became connected to certain myths. Eratosthenes in his Catasterismi, completed this evolution and gave each constellation mythological significance. The Lion became specifically the Nemean Lion that was overcome by Hercules. The line between mythology and astronomy became so blurred it was virtually indistinguishable.

The most thorough astronomical catalogue of ancient times was the Roman Ptolemy of Alexandria, who compiled 1022 stars into 48 constellations during the 2nd century C.E. His work didn’t include the constellations only visible in the southern hemisphere, but laid the foundation for the modern list of 88 constellations officially designated by the International Astronomical Union. 

The influence of both Greek and Roman works is quite evident; the myths behind the constellations are still well known, and their Latin names are still in use. 

Aries Mythology

Aries represents the Golden Fleece sought by Jason and the Argonauts. Mercury originally presented the ram to Nephele when her husband took a new wife, Ino, who persecuted Nephele’s children. The Ram flew away to the East with Phrixus and Helle on its back, in an attempted by Nephele to keep the two safe. Helle fell off between the Aegean Sea and the Sea of Marmara, but Phrixus safely made it to the eastern shore of the black sea, where the ram was then sacrificed and its Golden Fleece was offered to King Aeetes.  

Taurus Mythology

Taurus represents the bull form Jupiter assumed when attempting to woo Europa, princess of Phoenicia.

Majesty and love go ill together, nor can they long share one abode. Abandoning the dignity of his sceptre, the father and ruler of the gods, whose hand wields the flaming three-forked bolt, whose nod shakes the universe, adopted the guise of a bull; and mingling with the other bullocks, joined in their lowing and ambled in the tender grass, a fair sight to see. His hide was white as untrodden snow, snow not yet melted by the rainy South wind. The muscles stood out on his neck, and deep folds of skin hung along his flanks. His horns were small, it is true, but so beautifully made that you would swear they were the work of an artist, more polished and shining than any jewel. There was no menace in the set of his head or in his eyes; he looked completely placid. (Metamorphoses II 847-858).

Europa was impressed by the gentle beauty of the bull, and played with it on the beach, eventually climbing on its back. He then swam out to sea with her, taking her to Crete where he revealed his identity. 

Gemini Mythology

Gemini represents Castor and Pollux, twin brothers birthed by Leda and therefore half-brothers to Helen. Leda was impregnated one night by Jupiter in the form of a swan; she was also impregnated by her husband, king Tyndarus of Sparta, the same night. Pollux was Jupiter’s son, and therefore immortal famous for his incredible strength. Meanwhile, human born Castor was famous for his equine skills. They both fought in the Trojan War to bring their sister home to her husband, and therefore are often depicted armed with spears atop matching white horses.

When the mortal Castor died, grief-stricken Pollux begged Jupiter to share the immortality. Jupiter consented and reunited the pair in the heavens. 

Cancer Mythology

While the exact mythological origin of Cancer is uncertain, the most widely accepted story is that Cancer was the crab sent to harass Hercules while he was on his second labor. Juno in her infinite jealousy sent Cancer to nip at the hero’s heels as he battled Hydra, only to watch as the crab eventually became crushed beneath Hercules’s feet. To reward the crab for its faithful service, Juno placed it in the heavens. 

Leo Mythology

Leo represents the Nemean Lion, killed by Hercules during his first labor. The Lion, according to legend, had impenetrable skin, which Hercules got around by wrestling the lion and strangling it to death. He then removed one of its claws, and used it to skin the lion, and Hercules wore the Nemean Lion’s skin as protection from then on. 

Virgo Mythology

According to some ancient poets, Virgo the Virgin is sometimes known as Astraea, who lived on earth during the Golden Age of man.

First a golden race of mortal men were made by the immortals who have Olympian homes. They lived in Kronos’ [Saturn’s] time, when he ruled the sky, they lived like gods, with carefree heart, free and apart from trouble and pain; grim old age did not afflict them, but with arms and legs always strong they played in delight, apart from all evils; They died as if subdued by sleep; and all good things were theirs; the fertile earth produced fruit by itself, abundantly and unforced; willingly and effortlessly they ruled their lands with many goods. But since the earth hid this race below, they are daimones by the plans of great Zeus [Jupiter], benevolent earthly guardians of mortal men, who watch over judgments and cruel deeds, clothed in air and roaming over all the earth  (Hesiod, Works and Days 109-125).

Presumably, Astaea is the daimone (invisible spirits that watch over men) who’s domain is justice. Her emblem was the scales, which we now see next to her as Libra. 

Libra Mythology

Libra represents the balance or scales, representative of the fall equinox – when days and nights are equal, the sun and moon are in balance. 

An alternative interpretation, is that Libra works as a “hinge point” or “center of balance,” between the two. Virgo is the Virgin, and Scorpio tends to be associated with sex. Virgo is analytical, Scorpio is visceral. Libra provides the balance between these two points

Scorpio Mythology

The Scorpion is generally believed to be responsible for the death of the great hunter Orion. As to the reasoning; some myths state that Scorpius stung Orion in response to his boast that he could defeat any beast, while others maintain that the Scorpion was sent by Apollo, who was concerned about his sister Diana’s continued chastity. To avoid further conflict, Scorpio was placed on the opposite side of the sky from Orion. 

Sagittarius Mythology

Sagittarius represents the centaur Chiron (although there is now an asteroid as his namesake). Most mythological centaurs were regarded as bestial, but due to the Greeks immense respect for the horse, they were reluctant to make centaurs wholly “bad.” Chiron was, in fact, renowned for his gentleness; he was an excellent archer, musician, and physician, and even tutored Achilles, Jason, and Hercules.

One fateful day, Hercules accidentally shot and wounded Chiron with an arrow that had been dipped in the poison of the Lernaean Hydra. This greatly inflicted suffering upon Chiron, so severe that his talents as a physician couldn’t cure himself. He was an immortal, so despite his agony he could not find relief in death, so he offered himself as a substitute for Prometheus (who’s punishment for giving fire to man was chaining him to a rock, and having an eagle devour his liver, only to have it regrow to be consumed the next day). Jupiter, at the request of Hercules, agreed to release Prometheus, in exchange for Chiron surrendering his immortality and being sent to Tartarus in place of Prometheus. In recognition of Chiron’s goodness, Jupiter placed him in the stars, where he can be seen laying low in the southern sky during the summer. 

Capricorn Mythology

Bacchus was feasting on the banks of the Nile when suddenly Typhoeus, the earthborn giant appeared. He jumped into the river, and the part of him that was below the water was transformed into a fish, while his upper body became that of a goat. He then saw Typhoeus attempting to dissemble Jupiter, and blew a shrill note on his pipes that frightened Typhoeus, causing him to flee. Grateful Jupiter placed the new shape of Bacchus in the heavens under the new name Capricornus, as a thanks for the rescue. 

Aquarius Mythology

Aquarius represents Ganymede, the lovely young Phygrian son of Tros, king of Troy. Jupiter saw Ganymede tending his father’s flocks, and became enamored with the boy, so he flew down in the form of a large bird, whisking Ganymede away to the heavens, where he became the cupbearer to the gods.

Ovid wrote of Orpheos song that chronicles the tale:

“The king of the gods was once fired with love for Phrygian Ganymede, and when that happened Jupiter found another shape preferable to his own. Wishing to turn himself into a bird, he none the less scorned to change into any save that which can carry his thunderbolts. Then without delay, beating the air on borrowed pinions, he snatched away the shepherd of Ilium, who even now mixes the winecups, and supplies Jove with nectar, to the annoyance of Juno”.

Pisces Mythology

When Typhoeus suddenly appeared (the same instance that caused the transformation of Bacchus into Capricornus), Venus and her son Cupid were bathing on the banks of the Euphrates River. They took on the shapes of a pair of fish to escape the danger. Minerva immortalized their ordeal by placing the figures of two fish among the stars.

In other versions, Venus and Cupid were rescued by two fish who carried them to safety. In a similar Syrian mythology, two fish known as “Ikhthyes" (or “Ichthyes”) were the ones that rescued the gods.

Whatever version, the mythology of Pisces always refers to two fish, never one. Most versions of the Typhon escape legend speak of the tails of the fish being tied together to avoid losing each other. The constellation of Pisces represents two fish with their tails tied together. 

[dutifullymadameashley]

Stonathan Fanfiction: A Study in Attraction: Chapter 9

Reluctant to leave Troy’s side, Steve attempted to make himself comfortable on the living room sofa. For a long time he was too anxious to rest. When sleep did come, it was fraught with confusing, unpleasant dreams.

One moment he was swimming in a placid pool, the next he was being pulled beneath the surface with gut-wrenching force. He struggled for air, thrashing against his unseen enemy until an eerie serenity ensued. He felt warm hands on his face, coaxing his weakened body to the surface. The invisible adversary defeated, tender lips caressed his own and he grew heady with the scent of Love’s Baby Soft.

Just as Steve was relaxing into Nancy’s touch, he was once again dragged down into the deep, his opponent stronger this time and somehow more familiar. On the verge of tears, he was seized by the shoulders and ruthlessly shaken, his father’s whisky-tinged breath stinging his eyes and turning his stomach, even as firm fingers were grasping his arm and yanking him from the suffocating water.

A warm mouth closed over his gasping lips, breathing fresh air into his lungs then withdrawing to whisper into his ear, “We can go wherever we please /and everything depends upon / how near you stand to me.” Steve’s heart raced as Jonathan began to kiss his neck but soon Troy’s disgusted voice was interrupting his pleasure: “You’re one of them, aren’t you? I knew it.”

The hurtful words were still echoing in his mind as Steve became aware of another distinct sound. The phone was ringing, its digital gurgle so close at his ear that it seemed to emanate from within his skull. He stretched, his eyes flying open at the unexpected sensation of cool leather against his bare skin.

It was morning and he was back in his living room with Troy, who continued to snore on the nearby loveseat. The elder Harrington sat up, pushed aside the damp towel he’d been using as a pillow and tugged the vibrating receiver from between the sofa cushions, pressing the talk button. “Harrington residence,” he announced, trying for an alertness that he wasn’t feeling, and praying to God that it wasn’t his father on the line.

“Steve?” Jonathan’s tone was all concern, as unnerving as it was sweet.

Steve breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Hey, Byers, how’s it going?” he drawled, yawning into the phone in an effort to establish a façade of calm.

“My mom and I are going to bring your car around, if that’s all right. Will you be home for the next fifteen minutes or so?” Byers sounded confused by Harrington’s casual tone, but didn’t question it.

Steve stood and placed a gentle hand on his brother’s forehead. No fever, no damp. “Yeah. Totally. Come on by,” he said softly into the phone, then hung up.

“Troy. Troy, wake up. You’ve got to take these,” he whispered, nudging the boy awake and gesturing at the aspirin and water that had gone untouched on the coffee table from previous night.

The boy squinted at his older brother with a disoriented, unhappy look, and Steve half-expected to be subject to more of the verbal nastiness from his nightmare. Instead, Troy’s face crumpled and he burst into tears.

**************

Steve had just gotten his troubled brother settled in bed when the doorbell rang. Clad in only his pajama bottoms, he debated throwing on a T-shirt but reconsidered on the off chance that his toplessness would prove distracting enough to spare him an interrogation by Jonathan. His day had already started terribly, the last thing he needed now was to have an emotional breakdown on his front porch.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and greeted Byers with a forced smile meant to convey a specific message: “I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.” By the sadness in Jonathan’s eyes, it was clear that Steve was deceiving no one.

“Hey,” Byers said quietly, hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket. “How is…everything?”

Steve exhaled, buying himself some time with a glance at the rusty Pinto parked in his driveway. Joyce gave a little wave through the windshield, and he brought two fingers to his brow in a shy salute.

Turning to meet Jonathan’s expectant gaze, Harrington sighed and briefly relayed Troy’s version of events from the previous night: meeting up with a couple guys at the arcade, plans for a sleepover at Dylan’s house shelved when an older boy produced a half-empty bottle of vodka from his knapsack. Between the four of them, the boys succeeded in polishing off the booze in the back alley and Troy had made his slow way home, throwing up every few blocks.

“Jesus,” Jonathan muttered. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s going to be all right,” Steve replied, as much to convince himself as anyone else.

“No, I mean, you – are you okay?” Byers corrected, moving to place his hand on Steve’s bare shoulder then - seeming to recall Joyce in the waiting car - reconsidered and shoved it back into his pocket. “I know if Will did something like that I’d be…pretty messed up.”

“Yeah, mostly I’m just dreading my parents coming home and finding out…somehow this will end up being my fault and then….” Steve didn’t elaborate, but judging by Jonathan’s somber nod he understood.

Byers produced a set of car keys from his pocket and handed them over, his fingers deliberately lingering against Steve’s palm. “I have to work this afternoon,” he said gently. “But maybe tonight, I mean, if you’re not busy…” Jonathan caressed Steve’s wrist with his thumb and gave him a last meaningful look before heading down the steps to his mom’s car.

**************

The Harringtons arrived home less than an hour later, too consumed with bickering to pay their sons much mind. Predicting that this inattention would be short-lived, Steve seized on the one activity that always cleared his head: he went for a run.

Even the anticipation of a good sprint triggered a sort of catharsis for him: the cool nylon of his track shorts, the threadbare Springsteen T-shirt he reserved for just this purpose, the determination with which he laced up his Nikes.

Despite his dark mood, Harrington managed a smile as he popped a particular cassette into his Walkman – the mixtape that had miraculously appeared in his locker just last week. He recalled with fondness the sour sneer of disdain on Jonathan’s face when he learned that Steve was wearing out a favourite running tape with repeated listens of “Don’t Stop Believing.”

The new mixtape was entitled “Running Away from the Journey” – a testament to Jonathan’s dry sense of humour - and the lead-off track was Billy Idol’s “Dancing With Myself.” The rollicking opening riff blared from his headphones and Steve set out with no particular destination in mind. He would simply run until he didn’t have to anymore, and then he would turn back.

After twenty minutes at a steady dash, he was unsurprised to find himself standing at the end of the Byers’ driveway. Although he knew that Jonathan wasn’t home, it would feel good to cool his heels on friendly ground before heading home to confront whatever hostility awaited him there.

He stopped short as he approached the house. Will was sitting on the front step, elbows on his knees, his chin resting in his hands, a dejected expression on his face. He brightened a little when he noticed Steve, calling to him and explaining with some regret that Jonathan wasn’t home.

Harrington wiped the sweat from his brow with the front of his T-shirt. “I know. I was just out for a run. Are you alright?” he managed, still catching his breath.

“Oh, I’m waiting for my Dad,” Will replied with a wan smile.

Before Steve could respond, Joyce’s angry voice was heard through the screen door. “Lonnie, would it really hurt you to be on time for a change?” She stormed out onto the porch, clapping a hand to her mouth when she realized her mistake. “Oh shit, Steve, I’m sorry! I thought you were…someone else.”

“It’s fine. Really,” Harrington assured her, trying to decide how long to linger with mother and son in this awkward moment.

From within the house, the phone began to ring. Joyce scowled, guessing at the identity of the caller, and went inside. Soon the ringing ceased and one half of a heated argument commenced.

“He’s not coming,” the younger boy remarked, almost to himself. He stood up, gave the front step a single hard kick and moved to go indoors. On impulse, he turned to Steve, “Can you wait here? I’ll be right back.”

When he returned, Will was carrying a chilled glass of Tang and a bright red Frisbee. He handed the cold drink to Harrington with a shy grin, and mimed a flick of the disc. “I don’t have any plans. Do you?”

Will giggled as Steve downed the Tang like he was shotgunning a beer, and set the glass down on the porch with a soft thud. “Well,” Harrington announced, snatching the disc from the boy’s hand and jogging across the lawn. “I do plan to give you the run of your life! Go long, Byers!”

[bellimoon]

When the Star Glows, the Heart Grows

My piece for the Miraculous Ladybug A Little Light Zine. It was an honor to be selected as a writer!

about / ordering

With a toss of her hair and a pout on her lips, Chloe threw open the doors to her former nursery.

A light layer of dust was stirred into a cloud, the particles illuminated by the light shining from behind. It was too dark to see anything but the nearest piles of toys, so she flipped the switch and beheld her massive collection of youthful indulgences.

The nursery, later doubling as a play den and now a storage room, was filled to the brim with a variety of trinkets, knickknacks, and baubles. Anything a child could want sat unused and unloved in the abandoned room. Everything still remained in almost like-new condition; nothing had been played with for long before Chloe had moved on to the next object of fascination.

She wouldn't have given the place a second thought if not for her father. He had insisted that Chloe donate a selection of old toys to a holiday charity. Neither truly felt anything in the spirit of it—the thought of peasant children was horribly distasteful—, but it was, as her father had put it, “good for their reputation and would increase the chances of a reelection.”

Bah, humbug.

Chloe picked over the items, giving a second-glance to none. Whichever caught her eye as ugly and dull, she pulled it from its place and tossed it across the doorway. She figured she could get away with giving the bare minimum, and that was what she planned to do. There were better things to do with her time, and charity simply did not make the list.

Chloe stuck her hand into a wooden chest, feeling around for something small and insignificant. Out came a plastic horse, a ballerina figurine, and, lastly, a tiny plastic star. At the press of her fingers, it began to pulse with a warm, golden glow.

The familiar light aroused a memory that had been stowed away, left to collect the dust of time and age.

Snowflakes clung stubbornly to Chloe’s hair. She was relieved to escape from the insistent flurry of white as she and her father entered the department store. An entourage of body guards trailed after the mayor and his young daughter, long since faded into the background of familiarity.

No more than five years of age, Chloe gripped her father’s hand as they paraded around the floor. Mayor Bourgeois had brought the girl to Paris’ largest toy shop, where only the richest children could dare to explore. Chloe hardly batted a lash at the grandeur and luxury.

The pair passed sprawling shelves of colorful and enticing toys. She was to pick anything she wanted—and there was so much to choose from. Planes and trains and cars. Dolls and dresses and dainty little tea sets. Balls and board games and puzzles… The overwhelming desire to have anything and everything made Chloe giddy with excitement.

And then… she saw it.

Sitting on a pile of identical shimmering boxes, a finely dressed doll smiled down at the girl. With voluminous blonde hair, a cranberry-red gown, and cheery painted lips,  there was nothing else that Chloe could see. It was the one.

As soon as she had laid eyes on her prize, she was swept around the corner and taken further into the store.

Desire seized Chloe with a demanding grip. Nothing else in the world would ever satisfy her until she had that doll in her possession. Her heart was set, and Chloe always got what she wanted.

She whined to her father to go back. Her hair whipped her cheek as she turned her head, yearning to go back for the toy. Her free hand pointed behind, outstretched for that which she could no longer see.

Chloe was only tugged along. “There is still more that you haven’t seen yet,” explained her father. “Why don’t we finish having a look around?”

“No,” she wailed, fat tears budding in her eyes. “I want the doll, and I want it now!” Chloe stamped her foot against the marbled floor, rubbing a tiny fist against her wet cheeks.

Her father looked at her in panic, eager to placate his daughter’s fiery temper. “Okay, we’ll go back and—”

Not waiting to hear the end of his sentence, Chloe tore her hand from her father’s grasp and dashed away. She ducked between the legs of the guards who made a grab for her, as wild and reckless and flitting as only a child could be.

Running through the store, the only goal in mind was to return to the holiday doll that had entranced her so. However, it soon came to Chloe’s realization that she had no knowledge of where to go, much less of where she was now. When before the tall aisles had provided a convenient means for escape, they now looked more like the walls of a labyrinth.

Chloe began to cower and shake. The shelves formed a suffocating barricade. The toys leered down at her mockingly. Are you lost, little girl? Can’t find Mommy and Daddy?

But it was not the toys who had spoken, though at first it felt that they had. Chloe spun around, surprised to see an elderly woman peering at her with worry and concern.

Chloe’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying. Her nose dripped with mucus, and she reached an arm up to wipe it away.

Before she could bring her sleeve to her face, the woman tutted disapprovingly and pulled a tissue from her purse. “Here, cherie, use this instead. We wouldn’t want you to ruin those nice clothes of yours, no?”

Chloe hesitantly reached out for the tissue. The woman was smiling kindly and appeared to have no ill-intent. She snatched it from her hand and blew into the paper with a loud honk.

“There, there, child. No more tears, d’accord?”

Chloe nodded, wadding up the tissue and shoving it into a pocket.

“How would you like some candy?” A round, red-striped mint was placed in the girl’s palm.

Chloe looked down at the candy. “Daddy said not to take candy from strangers; they could take me away.”

The woman laughed. “He’s right. But an old grandma like me can’t put up much of a fight against someone like you.”

“Grandma? Do you have grandkids like me?”

“I do. A little girl about your age. She loves these mints, so I thought you might like one, too. But, I suppose if you don’t want it…”

Chloe pulled her hand back, fingers closing protectively around the sweet. “No, I want it.” She unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth. It melted on her tongue instantly, a delightful burst of sugar that made everything feel a little bit better.

The woman turned back to her purse, fishing out one more item for the girl. A small yellow star was held between her fingers. She put it on the palm of Chloe’s hand. “Look,” she said, and pressed gently on its center.

Chloe watched wide-eyed as the star began to light up, casting a soft halo of gold onto her skin. Her eyes shone with wonder, catching the light and reflecting it a hundred times over.  She felt her chest loosen, her shoulders relax. The glow wavered slowly, dimming faintly before regaining its bright light. Over and over, like a heartbeat, like steady breathing.

It was only Chloe and the star and the light.

She felt… hopeful, again. All of her worries faded away, like being in a loving embrace. There was no thought but joy and warmth and happiness. There was no thought but light.

Chloe was shaken from her stupor as the intercom crackled to life.

Miss Chloe Bourgeois, please come to the front of the store. Mister Bourgeois is waiting for you at Customer Assistance.

Chloe blinked, remembering her situation. A fresh wave of tears threatened to overtake her; she still didn’t know the way to her father.

Sensing this, the woman took her hand. “You are Chloe, I presume?” The girl nodded her confirmation. “All right, then. I’ll take you to your dad. I’m sure he’s worried sick about you.”

She lead Chloe out of the maze of shelving, back to the wide walkways along the edge. Chloe clutched the toy star as if were a lifeline, not realizing the pair had long since passed the doll she had previously wanted.

Soon, as if it had been both forever and no time at all, Chloe saw her father standing anxiously at the front of the store, wringing his hands in worry.

She took a hasty step forward, but paused. Looking back at the elderly woman who had cared for and comforted her, Chloe was reluctant to return the little light in her palm.

The woman smiled encouragingly. “Keep it.” She let go of Chloe’s hand.

The girl ran towards her father, crying out, “Daddy!”

The man turned to her in surprise and joy, gathering his daughter in his arms and lifting her in the air. The two spun, and Chloe’s father pulled her into a crushing embrace.

In all seriousness, he asked her a flurry of questions, fretting over his child. The mayor scolded the guards for doing a poor job, then scolded his daughter for running away. Chloe didn’t care. All was well again, after all.

“What about that thing—the doll?” Her father furrowed his brows. “Don’t you still want it?”

Chloe shook her head. She told him she didn’t want to stay any longer; Chloe was finished for the day.

Her father was surprised, but followed her request to return home. He had Chloe and she had him, and that was all they needed.

Chloe’s heart fluttered with those long forgotten feelings. The star seemed smaller now that she had grown, but the power of its light only grew.

As if she had opened her eyes for the first time, Chloe began to appreciate the world around her, even if only in the slightest bit. The toys around her no longer felt like junk, but she didn’t want to keep them for herself. There was something she had to do.

Chloe dashed out of the room and to her father, who jumped in place at her sudden appearance.

“Chloe? Did you pick out what you want?”

“I’ll give everything away,” she said, her voice strong as it had never been before. “Tell someone to send down every single piece.”

Her father frowned. “Now, you know you don’t have to donate everything—”

“I want to.” Chloe turned the star around with her fingertips. “All except this one,” she added quietly.

And so it was. The news rejoiced over the generous gift of toys for the children's charity, applauding the unexpected kindness from the mayor’s family. Chloe didn’t care for the gratitude; for once, she took pleasure in the simple act of giving.

As for the little star, she placed it permanently on her night stand, so that she may find solace in its hopeful light again.