#maybe this will reach the web weaving community

[ghostsofmemories]

from bigger dreams of mine

#experimenting with different ways to post here #maybe this will reach the web weaving community #aka the best place on the internet #the line is mine btw #it's from a poem about being fifteen and suffering #which is basically all of my poems #writing #my writing #wemst #poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #art #writers on tumblr #poems #my poetry

[written-in-flowers]

The Drifter: The Weaved Web (1.01)

Pairing: Chan x Demon!fem!Reader (future)

Genre: adventure, fantasy, romance, fluff

AU: western!au, fantasy!au, bounty hunter!au,

Word Count: 20k

Overall Summary: A demonic bounty hunter drifts into the sleepy seaside town of Levanter Bay, and there is where she finally finds a real home.

Tags: western!au, demon!reader, fantasy!au, high fantasy, kidnapping, child kidnapping, demon summoning, mentions of death, mentions of trauma/PTSD, arachnophobia, descriptions of violence,

Disclaimer: These works are completely fictious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of Stray Kids. The events within never took place.

Please do not repost/translate!

****

Episode 1: Sacrifices.

Episode Summary: A rash of child kidnappings has unsettled the quaint town of Levanter Bay, Sheriff Bahng and his deputies are at a loss until a strange demon comes riding into town.

***

‘Welcome to Levanter Bay, The Sunny Side.”

Levanter Bay appeared anything but sunny. An overcast sky blocked any sunlight that might’ve shone on the open bay. The water washing up on the docks appeared gray and dark, small waves lapping at the wooden stilts holding up the port. From the top of the hill, the small town resembled a semi-circle of small buildings leading out to the docks far off. It did not seem any different than any other country town, and after a week of riding and camping, a warm bed and a hot meal sounded good. Giving gentle kicks to Summer's sides, the black mare started to walk down from the hills. 

“What do you think, girl?” You asked your mount with a soft pat. “How does a warm night in a stable of hay sound?” When Summer huffed, you said, “I know we're low on money. With a bit of luck, this place will have a bounty board and we can get some coin. It'll all work out, I promise.” 

Summer gave another snort, and you furrowed your brow. “Don't be bitter. That thing with the snakes turned out okay in the end. We got the reptile guy's amulet and returned it to the villagers. Everything was fine like all the other times. Whatever job we find next will be just as easy, and we can end the day with a good pint of ale and some hay….” You then scratched her neck, “And maybe an apple? A sugarcube?”

You smiled when Summer whinnied softly. Reaching the bottom of the hill, you saw the quiet town up ahead of the dirt road. People riding their own horses and driving wagons passed you on their way into town, likely on their way to the ships at the end of the main road. You considered taking one of them when you finish up business in town. The destination itself never mattered to you. Each location offered up more chances at new experiences and new lessons. The Shadowlands provided nothing but melancholy and pain. The mortal world teemed with life, and you wanted to feel it all. 

Once you entered town, you saw the scope of the townspeople. People of all races, human and magic, lived side by side in harmony. You spotted a werewolf in human form, his ears and nose a dead giveaway, talking to an elderly man through a post office window. Out of the local bank came a blond man, counting bills before sticking them in his bill fold. Two women, one a feline werecat and the other a reptilian walked together to a market stall run by a young human. Back home, the only people around were other demons like yourself. Those who passed through The Mar already departed the mortal realm, therefore could not be considered “alive”. They’d been shadows who could do nothing but wail in their misery. You made eye contact with a skinny elf walking out of a barbershop, and grinned.

“Morning, sir,” you nodded at him as you rode past. 

Townspeople in such a tight knit community tended to eye strangers closely, but they appeared extra suspicious of you. A young mother walking past with her children spotted you, and held them closer to her sides, rushing away from you. It's your horn stumps, no doubt. No amount of hair or hats could hide the two stumps on the front of your head. The first tell-tale sign of a demon was their horns, their markings being the second. You covered yours with your jacket and gloves, but if anyone did see them, they'd see the ancient fire runes inked onto your shoulders and wrists in adolescence. It’d been your markings that drew Him to you in the first place. 

‘Children of the flames are mighty and strong. I can make you stronger.’ 

Summer gruffed when a reptilian woman crossed her path, but you calmed her down immediately. Clearly, your dreadsteed hadn't gotten over her last encounter with reptiles. You apologized to the woman, then asked:

“Excuse me, can you tell me where your inn or hotel is around here?”

“In the market square,” she said a tad affronted, closing her coat over her chest with folded arms. “The White Pearl, is the name. Ask for Changbin, he'll get you a room, Miss.”

“Thank you, and sorry again about my horse,” you patted Summer's neck, “She's…skittish.”

The woman gave a contemptuous huff, then walked away. Riding into the large town square, you pass vendors selling their wares until you find an inn nestled into a corner. You guessed it by the hanging sign that read “The White Pearl” with an open clam shell underneath. Through saloon doors and large windows, you saw patrons already enjoying a drink and a meal inside. The thought of a hot breakfast crossed your mind, and your stomach growled. Dismounting Summer, you tied her up to a pole next to other horses, and walked inside. 

Nobody noticed you walk in, since everyone appeared focused on their own conversations. Good. You didn't want anyone seeing you. Crowded places tended to have too many eyes, and too many eyes also meant too many mouths. You've run out of enough taverns to know to keep a low profile until you've taken a good look around. 

‘Mortals are weak and simple. They are meant to be beneath our feet.’ 

“Howdy there,” a voice caught your attention.

He stood behind the bar cleaning pint glasses. Seeing his muscled arms and short stature, you guessed a dwarf but he appeared a bit too tall. A forest dwarf, then. He wore a flannel shirt rolled up his forearms and a white apron around his waist. You gave a small smile and head nod as you approached. 

“Welcome to The White Pearl,” he glanced up at your horn stumps, but did not linger long, “What can I get you? We have our daily lunch special, a hot sandwich with a drink of choice.”

It sounded good, but your light purse felt heavier than ever. “I'll take a bit of water for now, thanks.”

The innkeep went to work pouring water into a glass. “Just passing through, ma'am?”

“For the moment,” you answered, taking a drink from the cold mug. “I was wondering if your sheriff’s office had a bounty board? My horse and I  came from Newport a few miles west, and we've gotten cleaned out since then.”

“A bounty hunter, hm?” The man nodded, taking you in for a moment. “Yeah, Chan has a hero's board outside the station. You won't find anything that pays well there though.”

“Poor town? I thought with the port nearby you'd be off better than some other places.”

“You'd think that right?” He noted, “But since our docks were invaded by pirates a few months ago, our mayor has been working on rebuilding it. You'll be doing quite a few jobs I expe-Hey, you!” He snapped from his friendly tone to a harsh one. You looked to see a child walking secretly out of the tavern, guilt on his face. “What did I tell you about pickpocketing, Eunwoo? Come here, empty them out.”

The young moon elf, detected by his high pointed ears and soft lavender skin, came over to the bar. From his pockets he withdrew a leather bill fold, two gold coins, a single dice and a silver spoon. 

“A spoon?” The innkeep questioned, lifting the utensil. “Eunwoo, who could you have sold the spoon to?”

“People always need spoons, Changbin,” the boy shrugged. “There can be somebody eating soup and not have a spoon.”

“I've told you before,” Changbin slid the contents into a wooden box behind the counter, “If you're hungry, I'll give you a free plate and a drink. You don't have to steal.” 

“Sorry, Changbin,” he pouted apologetically. 

“Now, go on into the kitchen and tell Wooyoung to give you a lunch plate. You can feed Honey too, if you want.” 

The elf child smiled brightly, then rushed through a door behind the bar. He turned back to you, “Seo Changbin, I own this place. You are?”

“YN,” you answered, “Just YN.”

“You're a demon? I thought demons had strange names? I met one during the war named Tarhez.”

You giggled, taking a drink, “I changed it when I decided to live in the mortal world.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“Multak,” you said, your true name sounding rough and deep. You laughed at his stunned expression, “Told you it's hard on mortal ears. In my language it means ‘shield of fire’.”

“Interesting,” he replied sincerely. “If you couldn't tell from the patrons eyeballing you right now, we don't get many demons around here.”

“Not many of us decided to stay when the war ended.” 

You almost could not go home when the war against Nor'goth ended. The evil, primordial demon lord escaped from your realm into the mortal one, claiming that all humankind deserved punishment and enslavement. While most demons joined him, a fair few of you went against him. The Blind One, Sakmarth, led a force to defeat Nor'goth once and for all. You might have not known mortals at the time, but you knew nobody deserved enslavement. It simply went against your code. The image of the mighty, dark demon sent a sickly chill over your body. Glowing orange eyes that saw into your soul and tentacles that tore down several men at a time came to the forefront. He’d been monstrous. Even now, so many years later, you still heard his guttural voice in your head. 

‘You are mighty, shield of fire. Join me, and together we can bring this world to its knees.’ 

You’d told him ‘no’ before sending him back into the abyss. 

“What about you? If I'm correct, you're a dwarf, no?”

“Woodland Dwarf,” he smiled, “And proud of it. I came down from the Blue Mountains far west, with nothing but a dream, my axe, and my bear.”

“Bear?” Your eyes widened. 

“Yeah, my bear Honey. She's right there,” he nodded over to an open window where you saw a massive grizzly bear walk past. “I've had her since she was a cub. She's dangerous and looks like it, but if you give her some food and a head scratch, she’ll love you until the day you die.”

“Like my Summer,” you pointed out your own horse outside, “She's a dreadsteed. That's like a demon horse to mortals.”

“A dreadsteed? I think I saw those on the battlefield. Some demons I knew had them.”

“They're faster than lightning, stronger than oxes, and make good war horses,” you added. “She's gotten me out of a few jams in the past. I bet your Honey did the same.”

“She did. I took her into battle myself…Seems we both have war stories to tell,” he drawled, gazing over you again. “Listen, if you want a good paying gig, Sheriff Bahng always has open bounties in the station documents. If he thinks you're up to snuff, he'll pass on something to you. He should be there now.”

You finished your water, then nodded appreciatively. “Thanks, I'll go check out the board, then I can come back for that special.” 

He gave you a nod, and you left the inn. Summer shifted her feet when you untied her. “The place seems alright,” you told her. “They got a pet bear, but I'm sure it's not in the stables.”

Changbin said you’d find a listing outside the sheriff’s office. Feeling your light coin purse and hearing your rumbling stomach again, you knew you’d need to find a job soon. Walking through the busy market square towards the sheriff’s station, you spotted the wooden bulletin board covered in different colored papers. Reading some of them, you realized most involved hunting down excess wildlife in the forests beyond the town, finding lost items or relatives, or helping settle disputes. Nothing particular stuck out to you, but mindless work was better than no work at all.

“What do you think, Summer?” you turned to the black horse you’d guided by the reins to the board. “Want to go hunt down some feral boars with me?” The black stead huffed and shook her long black mane, almost as if declining the offer. You chuckled, “Alright, that’s a no.” You looked at the board again, “Well, we gotta pick something. I might be demonkin and you might be a dreadsteed, but we have to eat too.” 

You continued looking for a proper posting when someone came out of the office. He wore a beige button down and denim jeans with black boots. The badge on his breast glinted in the morning light, the word ‘sheriff’ across the top with the town sigil on it. Black curls kept back from his face, even with his big nose he was handsome. At least, other women might think so. You turned to him right as he stretched and basked in the warm sun. 

“Excuse me, Sheriff?” 

“Oh, good morning,” he smiled, noticing you standing there, “I've never seen your face around here before. You're new in town?”

“Just stopping here,” you explained. “I was checking out your listings board.”

He sized you up for a moment. You caught him looking over your black jacket, plain shirt and boots, getting a sense of you before his eyes landed on the crown of your head. Your horns were the price you paid to live amongst humans. His eyes stayed on them a moment, then he looked back at your face. 

“What’s a demonkin doing so far from home?” he asked curiously. 

The usage of your peoples’ true name surprised you. “Living.”

“Clearly, you’re not keen on doing it for long if you’re looking at our board,” he said, almost amused. “Do you have a speciality?”

“Warlock,” you answered, “Sort of goes hand-in-hand with my kind.”

He nodded again, “How long have you been drifting?”

“Since the war ended.”

“You fought?”

“Yes, sir. I fought with the Mortal Armies.” 

“Against your own people?”

“Not all of us see other races as beneath us. I like to think of myself as one of the good ones. Now,” you stepped closer, “Does your office have any private work or do I help Mrs. Young with her feral boars? The innkeep at the White Pearl said you might.”

The sheriff gave you another once over, then said, “Tie your horse up there and come in. I think I have something up your alley.”

You tied Summer to a post outside the door, and followed the sheriff inside. “I’m Chan, by the way,” he introduced himself in the main hall, offering his hand. 

“YN,” you replied, shaking it firmly. 

“A demonkin named YN,” he mused, “Never thought I'd see one of your type around here.”

You looked around the small office to see two other men already in the room. One of them was short with cheeks expanded by the donut he’d stuffed into his mouth. By the long fluffy tail sticking from behind the chair and his black nose, you saw the squirrel hybrid immediately. The man jotting down notes in a book had two slits in his shirt that revealed the dark purple wings close to his body. When he looked up at you, his eyes matched his wings. A shadow fairy. The squirrel hybrid only nodded, but the dark fae sat stock still. You registered the stunned expression and realized he recognized you. Not many mortals knew you by sight, mostly by name and your demon name at that. 

“YN, these are my deputies: Han Jisung and Lee Minho,” he pointed to the hybrid first, then the fae, “Boys, this is YN. She’s come looking for work. I thought she could help us with the Hook Clan.”

Both men also sized you up like their sheriff. Han spoke up first, “Speciality?”

“Warlock,” you answered again. To prove it, you flicked your wrist to make the donut in his hand disappear and reappear. “That’s nothing compared to what I can really do.”

“Hm,” Han stuffed the other half into his mouth before you could do it again. 

“As I live and breathe…” Minho said softly, “Multak.”

“You know her, Minho?” Jisung questioned in surprise. 

“Have we met before, sir?” you asked him next. 

“Not personally,” he answered, “But every shadow fairy who was at the Battle of Incheon knows the fire demon Multak.”

Incheon, home of the dark fae race. You recalled it fondly: tall dark trees with their canopies of leaves hiding the light-sensitive species, and wooden houses sitting on stilts or floating on boats throughout the wide rivers and lakes. Shadow fae came in all shapes and sizes, but they proved to be fierce and formidable allies. Nor’goth’s forces kidnapped and drained the fairies of their powers to weaken them, even breaking their bodies to do it. Your heart had gone out to the wisps, the smallest and most gentle of them all. All they do is tell fortunes and guide people to their fates. 

“Wait…” Chan stood still, examining you once again, “You’re the fire demon?”

“I’m a fire demon,” you said, not wanting to go into the differences between the demon clans in The Mar. 

“She stopped Nor’goth almost single handedly-”

“-Almost-” you emphasized, “It was a group effort.” 

If the Orcs had not distracted his people with their fiery catapults and if the elves had not shielded you, you wouldn’t have been able to strike. Your sword, a runic blade of fire, struck Nor’goth right in his heart. 

“I don’t know,” Minho said in a sing-song tone, “It was your flaming sword that vanquished him in the first place.”

“You have a flaming sword?” Jisung’s eyes widened with wonder. 

“It’s a runic blade,” you turned to Chan, “So, who is this Hook Clan?”

Minho sensed the change in subject, but you knew he wasn’t done. Nor’goth and the war are the last things you wished to discuss in detail. You did not agree with the Shadow Lords about Nor’goth’s sentence; banishing him to the underworld prison, The Abyss, will not hold him forever. You didn't care how weak they'd made him. 

“They’re outlaws at the edge of town,” Chan answered, going over to a desk where he kept a stack of folders. He brought it over to you, withdrawing reports and documents for you to see. “They started off with stealing cattle or crops from the farmers, but they’ve escalated in recent weeks.”

“Escalated how?”

You noticed the three men appeared apprehensive, a tension starting to stiffen between them.

“They started kidnapping children,” said Minho. “The last kidnapping was Wang's little girl, Hyeyoung. Before that was Seo Dobin, and before that was Lee Sanghee. The only connections we’ve been able to make,” he flipped through his notebook and found a page. He walked over to you and showed you the page, “All three were between eight and ten, taken from farmlands, and in broad daylight. We don’t know where they are, why the clan is taking them, or what they plan to do with them.”

“What makes you think it was them?”

“The clan always paints a red hook somewhere when they’ve struck. It’s been found at each scene.”

“That���d be foolish of them to do,” you noted, reading more of his notes. “That’s basically telling you that it was them.” 

“They’re not the brightest bunch, if I’m being honest,” Minho replied. 

“Which means they’re least likely to have done it,” Chan told him. “Kidnappings like this require a thought process and planning. The Hooks have always operated loosely: pick a target, slaughter anyone who gets in the way, and take what they want. If they are kidnapping these children, they would’ve slipped up at some point.” 

“They could be hired by somebody else,” Han chimed in from his desk. “Red Hook will work for whoever pays him enough. If they’re taking kids, it’s likely someone is paying them to do it.”

“Then who?” Chan looked over to ask him. 

One person came to mind, but you’d sound foolish. Nor’goth is currently imprisoned in the Abyss, an island floating in a dark void, powerless and useless to anyone. You read Chan’s reports and cross-checked them with Minho’s notes. You hated to think it, but some dark warlocks and shadow magic practitioners use children in their rituals. Just because a ritual lists ‘innocent blood’ or ‘innocent souls’ does not mean the caster needed a child. Even demonkin preferred using animals over defenseless children. 

“-I think it’s just too easy to scapegoat a group because of their reputation,” Chan’s voice caught your ear. “I want to catch Red Hook and his band of outlaws, but I want to arrest them for crimes they actually committed.”

“His mark’s has been found at each scene-”

The outlaws must be hired to help. They reminded you of a band of thieves back in the capital city who were stealing resources from a nearby mine. It turned out they stole them for greedy goblins. 

“Do you know anything about this clan aside from their crimes?” you interrupted them. “Their leader? Anything significant?”

“We don’t have a name, but he calls himself the Red Hook,” Chan told you. “According to people who’ve seen him, they say he’s a magic user.”

“Human?” you directed this at Minho. 

“Can’t say for sure, since the clan is a mixed bag,” he replied, “But the people we interviewed said they didn’t see any magical distinctions.” 

“Where do they hide out?” 

“Around,” Chan shrugged. “Last location was an abandoned farmhouse northwest of here. We checked it out already, and they’re no longer there. They tend to drift around to keep us a step behind them all the time.”

“My friends in the forest tell me when they see them,” Jisung said, “But they’re pretty well hidden a lot of the time. It’s likely Red Hook is concealing them somehow.” 

“Friends?” 

“The animals,” he explained. “The rabbits, squirrels, gophers, moles, and the like. I can talk to birds sometimes, but not always. It helps to have eyes in the trees,” he grinned mischievously, picking up a bag of trail mix. 

“I’d like to talk to the families,” you said, seeing the children’s names once more. 

You didn’t see anything peculiar other than they’d taken two girls and a boy so far. Some rituals called for a certain number of souls, but never spoke about sexes. It can certainly be a coincidence. Although, you rarely came across those in your line of work. 

“We already did,” Minho told you, “They don’t know anything.”

“I’d still like to talk to them myself. Their children might have something in common that you missed.” 

“Does this mean you’ll take the job?” Chan asked, and you detected a glimmer of hope in his voice. 

“For a fee.”

“Naturally,” he nodded. 

“With a demon on our team,” Minho said, “We’ll have this case wrapped up by supper.” 

“I don’t know about all that, but I’ll do my best,” you insisted. 

Chan moved to his nearby office when the door opened. In walked a rotund, dark-skinned man in a blue suit, wearing a bowler hat and checking his pocket watch. He didn’t look at the men at first, but when he looked up, his eyes settled on you. Shock took over his broad, square face and brown eyes widened with realization. 

“Good afternoon, Mayor,” Chan intervened before the man could speak, “What can I do for ya?”

“Chan, there is a demon in our station,” he said, voice quivering slightly. 

“She’s a bounty hunter,” he assured him. “She’s come to help with the missing children.”

“Demons don’t like children.”

“We do, actually,” you retorted, arms crossed. “And no, not to eat them,” you added disdainfully. 

“YN's a bounty hunter, Gerald,” Chan said. “She's just agreed to help us with the missing children. I think it'd be beneficial to have someone like her helping us. YN, this is our Mayor, Gerald Wallace.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you tried keeping the annoyance from your voice. 

“I don't know, Chan,” the mayor said, “You know folks around here. They won't take kindly to a…demon being in town right now.”

“I only want to help,” you fixed your jacket, “But if you don't want me here and want your children to keep being snatched up, then I'll be on my way.”

“Wait, wait,” Minho came to your side and faced the mayor, “Mayor Wallace, this demon isn't a normal demon. She's the demon who ended the war.”

Did he really have to keep telling people that?

“Impossible,” the mayor scoffed, “There's no way that demon stuck around after the war.”

“I did,” you said. “Do you want my help or not?”

“We do,” Chan answered quickly. “We do.”

“Chan,” Mayor Wallace turned to him stiffly, “May I speak to you in private, please?”

“Of course,” he gestured to let him pass, “This way.”

He shot you an apologetic glance, then followed the mayor into an office. 

“Sorry about that,” Minho said, “I promise our townspeople normally aren't this prejudiced. Things have been uneasy around here, so you can imagine a newcomer strolling into town concerning people.”

“Explains everyone's apprehension,” you replied, seeing Chan and Mayor Wallace through a window. You can see both men starting to heat up during the conversation. “It doesn't bother me as much as it used to,” you said, “I understand my people did heinous things when they came here. Not everyone is so quick to forgive.” 

“But not everyone is like that here,” Han reassured you. “They'll warm up to you soon enough.”

You didn't particularly care if the little people liked you. You didn't plan on staying too long anyways. 

“Where are you staying in town?” asked Minho, walking over to a small bookshelf behind his own desk. “The White Pearl?”

“I need money for a room and a stable first,” you told him, feeling that rumble in your stomach again. “I hoped I might get at least an advance. We've rode a long way.”

“We can talk about that when Chan finally finishes with Gerald,” he casted a glance over to the window. Chan appeared to have quieted the mayor down, but the man remained unconvinced. “You can go on ahead and tell Changbin I sent you. He'll give you a room, and some feed for your horse.”

“Appreciated,” you nodded, “Tell Chan he can find me there.”

“-Chan, I'm telling you this isn't a good idea!” Mayor Wallace said, coming out of Chan’s office. “We already got the docks to rebuild, the town council is on my behind about the merfolk situation and now we have our children going missing! Then, you got Han over there who'll tell anybody that'd listen that we got a demon and cause a damn hysteria!”

Chan appeared more amused than upset by now, and asked, “Han, you planning on causing a hysteria?”

“Not today, Chan.”

“See? Gerald, you put me in charge of the safety of this town,” he patted his shoulder, “Trust me.”

Wallace's shoulders sagged, and he gave you an uncertain glance, “Alright. I trust you. You never let us down before.”

“There you go,” Chan concluded, steering Mayor Wallace to the door. “You tell the council we have our best people on this…”

“He really knows how to de-escalate a situation, huh?” you asked, impressed.

“That's why he is the sheriff,” Han nodded. “Come on, I'll take you back to the inn. You can get settled before the work begins.”

Han led you out the door, and you untied Summer. “Looks like we got a job after all,” you grinned, petting her side. She huffed and you said, “No, no snakes this time…I think.”

“Wow,” Han marveled at Summer, taking in her fiery eyes and black mane. “A real dreadsteed.” He wiggled his nose at Summer, who nodded her head. When he gave a grin, cheeks puffing out, he said, “She's a tough cookie, huh? She says you guys just came from Newport.”

“You can talk to her?” You guided Summer back to the inn. 

“Animal hybrid,” he pointed at his own chest. “I can talk to all kinds of animals, even demonic ones.” He glanced at her again, “Summer is an interesting name for a dreadsteed. Is that her real name or a new one?”

“It's her name,” you said. “I gave it to her when we came back to the mortal realm. I named her that because summer is my favorite season. We don't have seasons where I'm from.”

“How dreadful,“ Han frowned, “I can't imagine living anywhere that is so desolate. I used to live in the forest before Chan found me and brought me here.”

“Found you?”

He scrunched up his nose guiltily, “I might not have been the most law-abiding squirrel at the time. I'd been caught stealing food from different farms, and rather than send me up the road, he gave me a place to stay and a job.”

“During or after the war?”

“After,” you both reached the steps of the inn, “A group of demons attacked my village and destroyed everything. I didn't have anywhere to go, so I ended up outside town. Chan found me hiding in someone's boat and took me in.”

“That's awfully kind of him.”

“That's the kind of guy he is,” he shrugged. “He really cares about everyone.” 

Han and Changbin helped you and Summer settle into The White Pearl. By the time Chan arrived, you'd devoured a hot sandwich and given Summer hay and an apple for her patience. 

“Everything squared then?” You asked him. “Your mayor seems…”

“He's only being cautious,” Chan insisted, “But with a bit of convincing, he's willing to pay the 50 gold price.”

Fifty sounded more than fair to you. After that, he insisted on taking you to the childrens’ families himself. You both mounted your horses and headed towards the first farm. 

“What can you tell me about their families?” you asked him, riding Summer alongside him on his own horse. 

“Seo Dobin, the first kid taken, lives at the Seo vineyard not too far out of town,” he began. “His parents grow grapes and berries and are part of the Seo pack.”

“Pack? He's a werewolf?”

“Yes, but don't worry. Junhwan and Eunji are good people. Dobin's dad can be a bit of a hothead; I’ve had to put him in holding once or twice, but he’s usually a nice man. His mother, Eunji, does some work at the bakery here from time to time.” He noticed your pensive stare, and said, “They’re all good people. Each and every one of them.”

“Good people can have enemies too,” you replied. “Enemies that they don’t know about, even. What do the other families do for work? Minho said the children were taken around farms?”

“The farms are the least guarded parts of Levanter,” he said, “Since they’re owned by the families and not the town. The Seo family mainly deals in grapes and berries to make into wine; The Wang family grows wheat, and the Lee family grows corn.”

“All crops where the stalks can grow high,” you added to your mental list of notes. 

“Where the children can be snatched without anyone seeing them,” Chan added, nodding to himself. “I thought the same thing. It’d be harder to take them from a pig, horse or cattle farm because there’s always people patrolling those types of places. A crop of plants? Easier to walk through them and wait for the kid to go right by them instead.” 

“Are there any other farm-”

“-I already told them not to let their kids go running off into their fields or in the woods,” he answered ahead of your question. “I told the kids at the schoolhouse to go straight home after school, and don’t talk to any strangers they meet on the road.”

“Did you instill a curfew?”

“I’ve considered it, but I don’t think it’ll help much. These kids are taken during the day off their families’ own land. I’ve asked a few of our local hunters and mountain men to keep an eye and an ear out for anything suspicious too.” He hesitated, and you worried what question would follow it. “Minho’s convinced it’s the gang, but it’s not them.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“And I think you already have an idea who it is.”

“The idea that magic casters use children in their rituals was a myth perpetuated by religious zealots who fear magic and everything it can do,” you said, keeping the bite out of your voice. “While innocent blood or souls are called for in a good chunk of blood magic rituals, anyone who truly knows magic and reads magic texts will know that it means an animal. Whoever this person is either is a magic user who doesn’t care about translations, or a magic user who doesn’t understand the magic they are trying to wield.” 

“You say ‘magic user’. Do you mean, like, a human using magic?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Fae, demons, merfolk, some species of hybrids are all born with magic already inside of us. It’s in our bones, and in our blood. Our specialty, if we have one, is just a choice we make in using our magic. Humans…No offense, Sheriff, but humans were not meant to have magic.” 

“Really?”

“That’s not a jab at humankind. I’ve met plenty of human mages and warlocks who use their gifts rightly,” you said quickly. “I mean, physically. Their bodies are not meant to hold it. Yes, they can perform little rituals and incantations and make potions, but real magic? No. It'd kill them, so they likely wear trinkets or charms that harness their power. I think whoever is taking these children plans to use them for something, otherwise you would’ve found their bodies by now.”

“Perhaps they're using them to gain more power?” He suggested. 

You considered the idea. “It's a possibility.”

You both arrived at the Seo farm, where you saw a farmhouse, barn, and a chicken coop. Beyond the house, you saw rows upon rows of vineyard bushes. The barn door wide open, you saw two young men pouring fermented grapes into a barrel. Briefly you pictured a young wolf pup running around the front yard area, maybe with a toy plane or a kite while his mother watched over him from a window. The same woman who happened to be outside the house with a tub and washing board. 

“Sheriff!” She gasped, dropping the board in the water and coming his way. “Sheriff, have you found him? Have you found Dobin?”

“I'm sorry, Eunji,” Chan frowned, getting off his horse and removing his hat. “But, I have someone here who'd like to speak with you about that day.”

“Who?” she looked at you. Even with the crinkles on the sides of her eyes, Mrs. Seo looked younger than you expected. Her wolf ears perked at the sight of you, and you saw her nose twitch slightly. Her claws long and black, led to furry arms underneath her linen dress. “A demon? What's a demon doing here?”

“I'm here to help, ma'am,” you answered, dismounting Summer and standing in front of her. “Sheriff Chan told me about the children in the area, and I want to help you.”

You expected her to question you like so many others, but instead she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness! We need all the help we can get. Dobin has been missing for three weeks now, and nobody can find him.”

Worry filled her eyes and you spotted the shaking hands she wrung together. You pitied her and said, “Where was the last place you saw him?”

“Back here. Come with me.”

She led you both around the house to a backyard. You saw the typical horse and wagon tied up outside the barn in a stall, calmly eating hay. The vineyard started behind a wooden fence that bordered the entire crop, and seeing the uniform rows stretching for acres made it the perfect kidnapping spot. You imagined a small boy being snatched without anyone seeing him or his kidnapper. 

“He was down there,” she brought you both behind the fence to point down a middle row, “Helping one of our pickers gather grapes. He always loves helping pick the grapes,” she smiled fondly, “We know he sneaks some, but we let him. Our picker, Taeyong, said he turned his back to put some buckets in a wagon, and when he looked back, Dobin was gone. At first,” she wrung her apron in her hands nervously, “At first, we thought the little rascal was hiding from us. You know, the way children play hide and seek? He does that from time to time and it worries me something awful,” you heard the panic in her voice even speaking about it, “But when it…it started to grow dark,” her eyes began watering and her lip trembled, “We…Oh, why did I let him go?! Something told me not to, but he was with Taeyong! He was safe! I should've been more careful! Why?! Why didn't I pay more attention?!” 

Chan embraced her as she started to sob. She reminded you of the women in the villages during the war. Women who grieved for their fallen children, who begged you to find their lost sons and daughters. Their pain radiated onto yours, stinging your eyes and bringing a bout of helplessness. This warlock, whoever they were, needed to be stopped. 

You nodded at Chan, then proceeded into the vineyard. Cautiously, you walked outside of the trodden path where you saw dozens of footprints having worn down the grass into the dirt. Wheel marks told you they'd just finished collecting ripe grapes for the day, and it's unlikely you will find any child size footprints here. Taking a whiff of the air, you only smelled freshly toiled earth and ripening grapes, not flesh. If you concentrated, you caught wisps of human sweat but nothing of a child. Time would’ve drowned out any proper scent. You envisioned a small boy, eight-years-old and greedily munching on grapes he'd picked off the vines. He'd have walked away from Taeyong. What could make him walk away from the safety of an adult? Standing in the middle of the row, you scanned over the vines to only see more grapes. He had plenty to pick from here, so why did he walk away? 

“Taeyong,” you sensed Chan walking up behind him, “Did you ever interview him?”

“We did.”

“What's his story?”

“Exactly what Mrs. Seo just told you,” he said, “He was picking, turned around, and the boy was gone.” 

That sounded too convenient. “Any idea why the boy would walk away?” 

“More grapes? Berries, maybe?” 

You started walking alongside the path again.  Turning to face one of the hedges, you noticed breakages in the foliage. 

“He went through here,” you said, seeing a break between two stalks. You then spotted small footprints still in the dirt. “Yes, yes, he went through here. Otherwise Taeyong would've seen him walking away.” 

You pushed through the vines to the other side without another word. Dobin didn't stop here. He kept going. You inhaled deeply, trying to mesh through the various earthy scents for something human. Scanning the floor in the second to last row, you saw them. Embedded in the hard packed dirt were small paw prints. Four toes with a palm, they went one in front of the other through the dirt. You crouched to touch one, and realized they were cat prints. 

“Do The Seos have any pets?” You asked Chan, who just broke through a brush behind you. 

“A dog, some chickens and two horses.”

“No cats?”

“No cats.”

Slowly, you followed the cat prints until they went out past the fence. “He followed a cat,” you concluded, “Into the forest.”

“How did we miss these?” Chan wondered, following the prints with his eyes. 

“Because they were hidden,” you answered simply. You took a few sniffs, then said, “A cat. Yeah, definitely a cat.” 

“So, our kidnapper can turn into a cat,” Chan said, standing beside you at the threshold of the forest. “Clever. Most children like animals, especially children who live around them. Dobin likely saw the cat and followed it.”

The image of Dobin, innocent and cheerful, following a cat before being snatched gave you shivers. Stepping further, you let your sense of smell guide you, but sadly it wasn't as strong. 

“Deputy Han,” you looked at Chan, “He's an animal hybrid.”

“Yeah, obviously.” 

“How good is his sense of smell?”

“Pretty damn good.”

“Have him come here. He can help me track down this cat.”

“I'll have Eunji call the station.”

You saw a rush of adrenaline pump through him. He finally had a lead. According to his notes, Dobin, a werewolf, went missing three weeks ago; Sanghee, a garden fairy,  disappeared two weeks ago, and Hyeyong, a werecat, was a week ago.  Two girls. One boy. All from farm families outside of town. All of them are magical. The connections seemed too close to be a coincidence. Thinking of the timeline again, you realized they'd taken a child each week. They'd need a fourth, if they follow their pattern. Problem? You had no idea which farm they'd strike next. 

****

“Alright, children, remember what Sheriff Bahng said. You're all to go home straight after school, and don't talk to strangers.”

A rustle of books and papers sounded at dismissal. Slyvia followed the other children outside of the schoolhouse, her lunch box swinging from her clawed hand and books to her other side. She saw classmates rushing ahead of her to the general goods store for sweets, while others waited for their parents to retrieve them. Her own mother had taken to coming for her since the disappearances began, but not today. She had too much work. Slyvia immediately thought of all the chores waiting for her back at the ranch. Her mother will need help with the washing, and then she has to muck out the stables. She hated cleaning the stables, but with her brother and father away in the big city, there is nobody else to do it. Walking past The White Pearl, her sensitive nose already smelled the manure. 

“Hey Slyvia! Wait up!”

The reptilian child turned around to see a boy running to catch up to her. Barney Pebbles was a lumpy elf halfling boy who lived on the farm next to her family's ranch. Sandy blond hair fell behind his pointy ears, and she saw the run bring pink into his cheeks. Slyvia smiled a toothy grin at him regardless. 

“Want to…Want to walk home together?” He huffed, catching his breath as he came up beside her. “My Ma says it's safer if there's two…two of us.”

“Sure!” Slyvia beamed. “Sheriff Bahng says we need to look out for one another.”

The pair continued walking together. “Did you hear about the demon?” he asked, pushing blond hair from his forehead. 

“Demon? What demon?” She wouldn't deny the pang of fear that struck her. “Where?”

“My Pa was leaving the bank when he saw a demon on a big horse riding past him,” he explained as they reached the end of town, “He says she had these stumps on her head, and her horse had flaming eyes!”

“But don't they have wings? My Uncle Sithlin says some have wings.”

“I didn't think to ask,” he grew quiet, then said, “Do you think they're behind the other kids?”

“But that started happening before they came.” 

Slyvia thought about her missing classmates. Dobin, a boy slimmer than a tree branch, once offered to split blueberries they found near the school. Sanghee, a garden fairy, always radiated kindness and befriended her on her first day. Hyeyoung, a werecat kitten, helped her find her bonnet when it flew off her head. Their disappearances worried everyone. Slyvia hoped her friends were okay, and that Sheriff Bahng would find them in time. Her father told her Sheriff Bahng was really smart and made of tough stuff. 

The other kids said he could talk to sea creatures. 

Slyvia and Barney walked down the dirt road leading out of town. They passed by merchants going in and out of town, and greeted neighbors they saw along the way. They continued talking about the newcomer, and she couldn't stop the bundle of nerves in her stomach. She remembered the stories her Pa and uncles told her about demons. They're supposed to be evil made into flesh. Thinking about a winged monster gave her jitters. 

“-Mr. Edwards says that the demons he saw were super tall! As tall as trees, and they could breathe fire.”

Slyvia listened to his story while she looked up the forest lined path ahead. She saw the crossroads where it split between the town, another village and the capital city. The tall directory signs were her first milestone back home. 

“Maybe they're helping whoever is taking the other kids,” she suspected. “My Nana says they use babies in their rituals, and feast on newborns.”

“You think?”

‘Meow!’

The two children stopped in their tracks at the sound. When it sounded again, they realized it came from the forest bushes nearby. Slyvia's nerves stood on end. Barney stepped closer to the threshold, bending to peek into the bushes. 

“Barney…”

“It's a cat,” he said, “I think it's hurt.”

“Barney, don't go in there.”

She could smell it the closer she came. Barney, ever the animal lover, ignored her warning and walked further into the forest. 

“Slyvia, come quick,” he said worriedly. “It's hurt.”

Slyvia came up behind him, and sniffed the air. Most cats smelled according to their environment. Barn cats smelled like horses and pigs; house cats smelled like coffee and linens. A wild cat carried the scent of leaves and trees. This cat didn't have any of those. She walked behind Barney, her heart starting to race. 

“Barney Pebbles, you come back here,” she said, panic building in her voice. “We're not supposed to wander off.”

“It might be really hurt, Slyvia,” he replied over his shoulder. 

Feet crunching the forest floor, Slyvia tried peeking into the shrubs from behind him, but couldn't see anything. 

“Come here, kitty,” Barney crouched in front of it, “It's okay. I won't hurt you. Hey! Wait!” 

The sound of rustled leaves told her the cat scurried from the bushes. Barney went after it, and Slyvia followed. A downward wind brought a scent to her flat nostrils. Not a cat. Not a dog. Not a bird, rabbit or wolf. She gasped. It was human. She saw a flash of black and white dart behind one of the trees, Barney only a few paces behind. 

“Barney Pebbles! Come back here now!”

“Calm down, Slyvia. It's only a-AH!” 

“Gotcha!”

“Barney!”

Slyvia cried out his name as an arm grabbed him from behind a tree. She froze in place, her breath becoming haggard and drying her throat. She could hear Barney struggling, and a man’s voice drowning him out. The sound of snapping twigs came from her right, and she spotted them. Three men wearing red armbands stepped out from behind the trees, malice on their faces. Slyvia ran. Her heart pounded in her chest with each foot step. Panic put them right on her heels, and she beat the ground harder. 

“Get her!” She heard the silvery voice say from the distance. “Don't let her get away!”

The young chameleon ran through dense shrubbery, the tiny branches snagging on her dress and scratching her colorful scales. She'd do what her Papa taught her. With a quick glance back, Slyvia dove into a nearby bush and closed her eyes. She envisioned herself turning from her usual pale green and yellow to a dark brown. She brought her knees to her chest and tucked her head and tail inwards. The footsteps charging after her came right beside her bush, and she stuffed her face into her dress to muffle her breathing. 

“Where'd she go?” One of the men asked. “She can't have gone far!”

“If Maurice hears we lost her he'll burn us alive!”

“Ah shoot, Suho, does it really matter? That was a girl, and Maurice only needed a boy.”

“She can go blabbing to the sheriff and his deputies,” the other man retorted. “We're so close, Baekhyun. I can taste it now. If we help that old man with his ritual, he'll give us whatever we want. That means gold and women!” 

“I…I don't know, Suho,” a higher voice said uncertainly. “They're kids. I thought we didn't harm youngins.”

“We're not harming them. Maurice says they'll be fine. It'll only hurt for a little bit.”

“You believe that?”

“Of course, I do. Now, you go that way; Chanyeol, you go that way and I'll check down here. She can't have gone too far.”

Slyvia heard the men split up. The last image of Barney being lifted off the ground came to her, and she shivered. The men, whoever they were, also kidnapped the other children. She needed to tell someone quickly. When the coast was clear, Slyvia gingerly climbed up the tree behind her. Her fingers sticking to the branches, the child moved from one tree to another with ease. The Seo family lived not too far from this spot; she can go to them to call the law. She needed to find Sheriff Bahng. He needed to know that Barney is in trouble. 

****

Han and Minho appeared some time later, the pair having appeared through a portal. 

“I thought it'd be faster than horses,” Minho explained, closing it with a wave of his hand. “What have you found?”

“There's paw prints,” you told Han as you both walked to the blocked off spot in the dirt, “But no animal scent.”

“You think it might be a hybrid?” 

“It doesn't smell like an animal or hybrid,” you said. “It's…I don't know. Chan said you have the best nose, so I thought you could track what I can't.” You stopped right by the forest entrance, “They go about three or four yards into the woods, then it goes cold.”

Han nodded, “It shouldn't be that hard. If we can't track the cat,” he pulled out a small handkerchief from his pocket, “We can track Dobin.”

“What's that?” You eyed the blue and white cloth in his hand, seeing grape vines stitched into the border. 

“Dobin's head scarf,” he answered. “He wears it when he goes into the field. His mother thought it might help.” 

You watched him take a deep inhale of the scarf, closing his eyes in concentration. Soft black nose wiggling, tail twitching at the new scent, Han immediately glanced up to the tree ahead. He started walking without saying anything to anyone, sniffing occasionally as he went. 

“You think it's a human shifted into a cat then, huh?” Minho asked, coming up beside you. 

“I can't pick up anything to the contrary,” you told him. “My sense of smell isn't very strong here. He might find out what I can't.”

Minho grew quiet while Han stuck himself into a bush. “I was looking through my library at the station. I keep it there for research purposes and all that, you know? I thought while you and Chan checked out the different locations, Han and I could try finding any magic rituals that require sacrifices.”

“Psh, that's a lot. What did you find?”

“That the shadow casters of yesteryear really enjoyed sacrificing things to ancient gods,” he snorted. “But I did come across a few rituals of interest. One in particular intrigued me.”

“What was it?”

“The Secrets of the Mystics by Arnold B. Miller described this group of ancient mystics who called upon gods to sustain their power,” he began. “They regularly sacrificed people to a god named Yuth’ik. I couldn’t find anything that gave any background on Yuth’ik other than that he was defeated by a warlock named Vivian Moon and several others centuries ago. They banished him into another realm, where he’s likely laid dormant for thousands of years. If the Hook clan are really working for someone, it’s someone who wants to release Yuth’ik.” 

“For what purpose? More power?”

“Most likely.” He gave a slight scoff and shook his head, “If they’d gone to an actual magical being, we’d tell them what a stupid idea that is. I will say this: I pity whoever this person is.”

“Why?”

“The ancient gods weren’t known for their kindness,” he said. “A lot of the stories in the book mentioned the summoner having to give something in return.”

“Four souls isn’t enough?”

“That’s just to open the cage. If Yuth’ik really is a god, they'll expect gifts. The person behind this doesn’t understand that once you summon a god or a demon or any powerful being, you’re their servant for life,” he looked over at you, dark eyes serious and stern, “For life.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. Shaking your head, you said, “Will they ever learn?”

A part of you expected Minho to take your words offensively; he does live amongst humans, and is close to them. Yet, you heard him snort and say, “Never.” 

The three of you traveled further into the forest. Han sniffed every bush, tree and flower patch that carried a wisp of Dobin’s scent. You admitted his sense of smell must be incredible if he can follow a trace three weeks old. His bushy trail flicked and wiggled whenever he caught a particularly strong scent. Both you and Minho kept your eyes on the trees around you, searching for the slightest change or movement. 

Underneath the canopy of leaves and sunlight, you took in the vibrancy of the world around you. Nothing grew in The Mar. No trees, flowers or grass thrived there; the only animals around were the vicious beasts lurking around the mountain ranges and rocky canyons. A cool breeze wafted through the trees, brushing your cheeks and hair, and you inhaled deeply. Why would anyone wish to destroy such a glorious place? Nor’goth’s armies tore down trees, burned wheat fields, and polluted rivers to keep the mortals from feeding themselves. He believed cutting off their supplies left them powerless, but the people you’d met proved the opposite. 

“Did you guys hear that?” Han sprung up from the newest bush, whipping his head side to side in a panic. 

“Hear what?” Minho asked, irritably. “Jisung, we’ve been walking for ages. Have you found anything yet-”

“-Shush!” he interrupted him, putting a hand up for silence. 

The two of you watched the hybrid carefully walk sideways, his head pointed up into the trees. A feeling of apprehension came over you when he stopped underneath one of the thicker trees. The smooth motion of an arrow being notched caught your attention, and you turned to see Minho’s bow armed and ready to loosen. Han braced his hands up against the rough bark, and sniffed. The immediate image of an enemy dropping onto him had you withdrawing your sword from your back. 

“Jisung…” Minho whispered harshly, but Han ignored him. 

 “Slyvia?” Han said, confused. “Honey, what are you doing up there?”

Both you and Minho shook when a figure jumped down from the tree onto their feet. Minho unleashed his arrow, but thankfully it stuck into the tree inches above the child’s head. Skin the color of the trees, the chameleon-hybrid’s scales gradually changed to light green and yellow in seconds. Bulbous, beady eyes were on either side of her nose, full of fear and worry. 

“Deputy Han!” she cried, immediately wrapping herself around his middle, “Deputy Han, you have to help me!”

Han bent down to her level right as you and Minho reached her. Her heavy breaths making her chest rise and fall, you saw tears spilling from her black eyes and shoulders shuddering in every sob. 

“It’s Barney!” she sobbed, voice cracking at the end. “They took him! The bad people took him! You have to help him! Sheriff Bahng has to get him!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Han said, hands rubbing her shaking shoulders, “Just take a deep breath, honey. You mean Barney Pebbles? Fred’s little boy?”

“Yes! We were walking home together, and he-and he saw this cat in the bushes and I told him, sir, I told him to not wander off but he did! Then, we chased it-it- in-into th-the woods and this bad man picked him up and these other men started chasing me! We have to save him! We have to!” she fell back into Han’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder as his eyes met Minho’s. 

“Where did this happen, Slyvia?” Minho asked next, bending down to look into her face. “How far?”

“That way,” she pointed behind him. “I don-don’t know where!”

“Alright, alright, you go with Deputy Han and talk to the sheriff,” he said to her gently. “My friend and I will go look for Barney.” 

Slyvia took one glance at you, then buried her face in Han’s neck. You expected that reaction. Crouching beside Minho, you said, “We’re going to find your friend, and bring him back, okay?” She flinched when you met her eyes again. 

“You’re a demon…” she said, voice muffled by Han’s shirt collar. 

“I am,” you nodded, standing with Han and Minho, “And you want to know what that means?”

“You’ll eat my friends!”

“No,” you giggled, “It means bad guys are scared of me. The bad people who took your friend will hand him right back to me if they know what’s good for them.”

This seemed to calm her slightly, though not enough for her to look at you. “I’ll take her to Chan,” Han said. “We can get in contact with her folks, and Barney’s parents.”  

“I’ll give him a heads up.” 

Minho reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew dark blue dust. Putting a pinch between his fingers, he blew it out into the air. Rather than disappear or fall to the ground, the glowing swirl of dust stayed in the air. 

“Chan, we found Slyvia Eleon. She says Barney Pebbles was just grabbed. Han’s bringing her to you; YN and I are going to scout the area.” With another puff of air, the dust cloud quickly darted away from you and down back to the farm. “We should go to where he was taken,” he said to you, “We could check it out while their footprints and scent are fresh.” 

“Good idea.”

“Slyvia,” he addressed the little girl again, “Sweetie, do you remember any details about where he’d been taken? A tree or flower or a specific place?”

Slyvia turned her head, sniffling, and thought for a moment. “It was near the direction sign. I remember because I live past it.”

“On which side?”

“The…left. The left side of the road.”

“Alright, thank you, Slyvia,” he petted her head, “Don’t worry. My friend and I are going to find Barney.” 

“They’re going to kill him,” she broke back into a sob. “They’re going to kill him and eat him!”

“Nobody is killing and eating anyone,” Han assured her, rubbing her back as he began walking away. “Mrs. Seo just came back from the bakery too. She can give you a snack and you can tell Sheriff Bahng…” 

Watching Han take the girl away, you looked to Minho, “Do you know the sign she’s talking about?”

“I do. It’s far though. Take my hand.”

You didn’t question it. Taking his hand, you watched the dark fae aim his outstretched palm to the ground. Glowing and sparkling a bright purple, you recognized the spiraling and crisp winds of a teleportation circle. In a flash of light, you and Minho left your spot in the forest. You could feel yourself being thrown into a tornado, spinning and spinning through gushes of wind, before landing on soft grass.

“Here we are,” Minho said, removing the circle with a closed fist. 

You found yourself on the dirt road a mile from town. On the crossroad corner stood a tall post with different directions on it. ‘Levanter Bay 1 mile’ ‘Gold Rush 5 miles’ ‘Sunwind 10 miles’ went in various directions. 

“Slyvia said they saw the men down towards town,” Minho started walking in that direction. “Their footprints will still be in the dirt; we can follow those.” 

“This Barney kid,” you caught up with his quick strides, “What do you know about him?”

“A bit simple-minded, but a really nice kid,” he answered. “His family owns a pig farm. He loves animals, so it’s no surprise he followed a cat into the woods despite all sense.”

“They took him from off the road instead of a farm,” you noted. “They’re getting desperate. This ritual of theirs must be happening soon.”

“Yuth’ik’s ritual can happen at any time. They just need the four souls and the right words,” he said. “They need all four in order to open the portal to let him through.”

“That explains the rush. It’s risky to be snatching kids from the side of a somewhat busy road,” you nodded at a passing wagon, “Someone might’ve seen the two of them going off the path.” 

“Perhaps, but if they went deep enough, nobody would’ve heard them.” 

You both stopped when you reached two sets of clear footprints going off into the grass. Minho and you walked along them, and that’s where you picked up a scent. Barney Pebbles must sweat pretty heavily if you could pick it up so quickly. It started by one of the trees at the edge, then carried off through a large bush. When you looked inside, you saw tiny prints in the dirt and a breakage in the leaves. 

“The cat hid in here,” you told Minho, “And he followed it.” 

“There are more prints over here,” Minho called from nearby. You saw him standing between two large trees, looking at spots behind them. “The shapeshifter had accomplices. Two or three by the looks of the sets.” 

“What were they planning to do? Ambush the kid?” 

“To make sure he didn’t escape,” he examined one of the trunks with his hand. 

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small piece of blue chalk. Well, at least you thought it was chalk. Minho started rubbing the blue stick onto the thick brown bark as one might a piece of paper. You came up to him, and saw the blue chalk having outlined handprints along the edge of the trunk. You counted two large hands on one side, then two more on the other. 

“Two over here,” Minho went and did the same to the other tree, “And one more over here. Three culprits.”

“What is this?” you asked him, wiping some of the chalk with your finger. 

“It’s a little invention of mine,” he said, putting the chalk away. “I enchanted a few pieces of chalk so I can lift prints. It’s damn helpful when investigating scenes. I got a fingerprint off one of them,” he said, putting a thin piece of film into the pouch, “I can cross check it back at the station. If it’s one of the Hook Clan, we’ll know who.” 

“Intriguing,” you nodded, “I never heard of an enchantment that can do that.”

“I like to experiment with magic,” he shrugged. You both walked back to the scene of the kidnapping, “Magic is so versatile and fluid. It can be used for anything, if one puts their mind to it.”

“That bit of powder you used to contact Chan,” you said, “You invented that too?”

“I wish,” he said, “It’s one of the ways fairies communicate away from home. Fairy dust,” he petted the leather pouch. “Can transport messages or people from one place to another.” 

“Just think happy thoughts?” you joked, remembering the stories.

Minho laughed, “No, no happy thoughts required. Just a deep breath before you teleport.” He stopped at the spot where you smelled Barney and his kidnapper the strongest. “What can you smell?”

“Male,” you sniffed the air, and let the aroma linger in your nose, “At least 30-years-old. He’d been standing right here,” you pressed yourself against the tree. You put your nose to the trunk, catching a bit of his sweat on the skin. Something then threw you off, “Coal.”

“What?”

“Coal,” you sniffed the spot again, “Or something like it. He had some sort of dust on him.”

“The clan sometimes hang out in abandoned mines or lumber yards,” Minho said, putting his fingerprint dust on the bark next to you. “That might be where it comes from.” 

“We should tell Chan and Han,” you advised, “Then we can see what they learned from the little girl.” 

“Alright.”

He took your hand a second time, and opened up a transport circle once more. In another howling winds, you left the wilderness for the hustle and bustle of Levanter Bay. Stumbling forward a moment, you caught yourself in a deep breath. Hardly anyone appeared bothered by the demon and fairy who’d just popped up in the middle of the town square. 

“Minho,” Changbin came down the steps of the inn, wiping his hands with his apron, “Is it true? Was Barney taken?”

“News travels fast, huh?” he quipped. 

“His dad is in here,” he nodded to the inn behind him, “Hollering about someone taking his boy and that he was gonna hunt the bastard himself.”

“Oh god, no,” Minho groaned. “Don’t tell me he went into the woods?”

“No, no, I talked him down, but he’s more pissed off than Honey when she can’t catch any fish,” he said. “You didn’t find him, did you?”

“We didn’t, but we have leads,” he answered. “Just…make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”

“People know the clan is involved,” Changbin said seriously. “Fred was talking about going to the Brandstone Mine south of here.”

“The mine?” Minho looked over at you, then back at Changbin, “Why there?”

“Rumor has it that Red Hook and his boys are up there,” he answered, looking between the both of you. “It’s only a matter of time before someone takes it upon themselves to take them out.”

“That’s a dumb idea,” you snapped. “It can cause them, or whoever they’re working for, to do something rash.” 

Like kill their captives and dispose of their corpses. Minho was about to give Changbin instructions when a voice called out from behind him, “Lee! Hey, Lee!”

A big burly man with a thick blond beard and short blond hair came storming down the steps towards him. From his red face, you could tell he’d been ranting for a good while now. Minho sighed irritably, “You go to Chan. I’ll handle Fred.” 

You nodded, and watched Minho reach Fred first. Fred, standing several inches above Minho, started shouting right away. You thought Minho might flinch at the sudden rush of anger, but the deputy remained cool. Deciding Minho and Changbin could handle the distressed parent, you walked ahead back to the station. Inside, you found a group of people sitting in the middle of the room. Slyvia sat on the lap of a woman who could only be her mother, and another chameleon hybrid who must be her father. A slender woman with blond hair was beside them, anxiously listening to everything they were saying. Barney’s mother, no doubt. Chan and Han sat in front of the girl, talking to her softly and gently.  

“-Did you see what they looked like?” Chan asked her. “Anything particularly different or noticeable about them?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I was hiding.”

“Could you hear what they were talking about?”

“They said that they’d get burned alive for not getting me,” she said. “But the other man said they didn’t need me.”

Slowly, you approached and put the pieces of her story together. “Did they say any names?”

“Suho, Baekhyun and Maurice.”

“Kim Junmyeon,” Chan grunted, “How’d I know he’d be involved?”

“And Baekhyun too,” added Han. 

“Who are they?” Slyvia’s mother asked. 

“Part of the Red Hook clan,” Chan told her. “We think they’ve been taking the kids. But, Maurice…I don’t know any Maurice around here. Jisung?”

Han thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope, nobody comes to mind. Does that name mean anything to you?” he asked the parents, and they shook their heads. 

The moment Slyvia’s parents spotted you, they gasped. Her mother clutched her tightly, while the male stood in front of them. You didn’t make any move towards them, instead deciding to keep your distance. 

“That must be who they’re working for,” you finally spoke up. “Minho and I found four sets of prints on the trees near where he was taken.” 

“That’s a demon!” the man said, “Sheriff, you got a demon in here!”

“She’s a friend, Salazar,” Chan insisted, standing up to put himself between you and the father. “A friend.” 

“That’s a damn demon! There ain’t no demon that's friendly! I’ve seen what those things can do! I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the one taking all the children!”

“I’m only here to help, sir,” you said from your spot. 

‘Their kind will never accept us! They know nothing of respect or obedience! They must be subdued!’

You shut out Nor’goth’s voice from your head. “Minho and I found some information that backs your daughter’s story,” you said. 

“She’s his niece,” Barney’s mother said, stepping in front of him to address you. When she tucked hair behind her ear, you saw a point at the curve. A Sunwind Elf. “You’re here to…to help us?” you heard the disbelief in her voice. She looked at your horn stumps, then back to your face. “With Barney?”

“Yes, ma’am. I take it you’re his mother?”

“I am,” she nodded. You noticed her puffy eyes, and trembling lips. “Slyvia says he was taken by a shapeshifter.” 

“We believe so,” Chan answered. 

“Your husband is a human, isn’t he? I saw him outside,” you asked her, coming closer. 

“He is,” she nodded. “I’m from Sunwind. What does that have to do with anything?”

“So, your son is a halfling,” you looked to Chan, “Dobin is a wolf pup. Sanghee is a garden fairy, and Hyeyoung is a werecat. They’re all children with magic inside of them.” You turned to Minho’s desk where you found a book left open. When you turned a page, you saw a chapter titled: ‘Yuth’ik: God of the Trees’. Rather than tell Chan that these magical children are likely being used for their magic, you said, “There has to be a connection, right?”

Chan glanced at the open book, then at you, “Yes, there might be.”

“It was those damn bandits in the woods,” Mrs. Pebbles snapped. “They did this. They must have. Who else is vile enough to kidnap innocent children? On a count of them being magical, no less!” 

“Them, and someone they’re working for,” Chan told her, putting up a hand to calm her. “Wilma, go find Fred. Lord knows he’s bound to do something crazy.”

“Too late, Sheriff,” Han said with a deadpan voice as he looked out the window. 

“What?”

Everyone converged by the window where a group of people on horses started kicking up dirt. Their calls and cries mixed together, and you knew what happened by their angry faces. 

They started a damn mob. 

“Damnit!” Chan cursed, grabbing a rifle from beside the door and rushing outside. With all of you behind him, he called out to the crowd, “Hey, hey, hey! What the hell's going on here?! Minho!”

Minho and Changbin tried closing off the horsemen, but there were too many. Fred Pebbles, sat upon a white palomino, glared down at Chan. 

“They got my boy, Sheriff!” he said, voice hoarse and deep. “Those bastards have my boy!”

“We know, but there’s a way to go about this!” Chan shouted over the ruckus, “Hey now! Hey!” 

“Pebbles, damnit man!” Mayor Wallace appeared from the mercantile with a few other customers, “What are you doing?!”

“I'm gonna make this all right!”

“Like hell you are!” the mayor blustered. “We are civilized people! Not animals!”

“So what are we supposed to do?! Let those filthy sons of bitches take our children?!”

“Of course not, but Fred, riling people up and going out there like this can make stuff worse!” Mayor Wallace wiped his brow and said, “Let's all go into the town hall and discuss this-”

“-I'm tired of listening to y'all. You ain't don't nothing-”

Chan cocked his rifle and fired it into the air. The loud gunblast caught everyone’s attention, some of the people ducking and others whipping around angrily. The crowd focused on him, Chan walked up the steps of The White Pearl, and he glared down at them. 

“What the hell’s gotten into all of you? I thought we were people, not animals!”

“They keep taking our children, Chan!” one woman shouted from her horse. “Somebody’s gotta do something!”

“I understand that, but if we went around hanging every single person we thought was guilty, we’d be no better than them,” he remarked. “I know you’re all worried. I know you’re all hurting, but we need to be smart about how we handle this. Red Hook might have his morals-”

“-Horse shit!-

“-But the person he’s working for doesn’t,” he continued. “Now, thanks to Slyvia and our bounty hunter, we’ve discovered some new information.”

“Such as?” Mayor Wallace asked. 

“They’re operating in a coal mine,” Minho said, getting up onto the porch beside Chan. “Anybody know any abandoned mines around here?” 

“There’s the Willfire mine up north,” the woman on the horse called out. “My husband used to work there before the war.”

“The old Brandstone mine too,” said Mayor Wallace. “But, that was gold, not coal.”

“The coal could be dirt,” suggested Changbin, the woodland dwarf. “If they’re living in there, they likely got the dirt on their clothes and hands.” 

“It’s a long shot,” an elderly man said from atop his horse, “But they could also be at my family’s mine. It’s gotten run over by spiders, but if they could’ve exterminated them before moving in.” 

You shuddered thinking about the large arachnids. 

“Alright,” Chan nodded at their answers, “I say we split into groups and search these mines while they’re off guard. Deputy Han will lead a group to the Brandstone mine; Deputy Lee will lead one to the Willfire mine, and I’ll take a group up to Mr. Choi’s mine. If you find them, do not engage,” he said these words firmly, “We need to catch them off guard. Whoever is helping them will not hesitate to kill anyone who opposes them. We need to be vigilant and patient.” 

“And I will stay with the rest of the town here,” Mayor Wallace said to Chan. “Changbin and I will organize something for the children and the families. You know, keep everybody calm during this whole thing.”

“Sounds good…”

“They’re going after magical children,” you whispered to Minho and Han. “They plan to use their magic to open the gates.”

“Makes sense,” Minho nodded. 

“Those poor babies,” Han frowned worriedly. 

“We need to find them quickly,” you told them. “Now that they have four children, they can start their ritual.” 

“Seungmin! Seungmin, where are you?” Chan’s words interrupted you, as he looked through the crowd. 

“Right here, Sheriff.” 

Dressed in a pin-striped shirt with an apron around his waist, Seungmin fixed his glasses on his nose and looked up at Chan. Just by the golden eyes, black wolf’s nose, and furry pointed ears, you realized Seungmin was a werewolf. 

“Where’s your pack at?” Chan addressed him. 

“Likely back home at the den,” he answered. “We’ve been looking ever since little Dobin was taken. He’s one of us, you know. I’ll get word to my father about your search parties.”

“I’ll call on the wisps!” 

A young fairy came floating up to the steps. Black hair in front of his face, the garden fairy’s bright green wings batted as he landed on the floor. You noticed he held onto the medical bag across his body. “They can fly faster than light and move between the different parties if they find something. The trees may have information too.” 

“The trees?” the words left your mouth before you could stop them. 

“They don’t say much,” he said, “But they will speak to me.” 

“Jeongin,” Han said to you, “Garden fairy. He’s also our doctor, believe it or not.” 

“And who the hell is she?!” another woman in the crowd asked. 

“That’s a demon!” the elderly miner gasped, taking a few steps back. A couple others did the same, but you did not react to their shock. “Sheriff, Sheriff, did you know you got a demon next to you?”

“I do, and she’s been extremely helpful since she arrived this morning,” Chan said. 

“I told you,” Mayor Wallace hissed at him. “I said they wouldn't take kindly to her.”

“How do you know she ain’t got anything to do with this?” asked Fred, taking a few steps back on his horse. “Their kind eat children!”

“We don’t eat human flesh,” you rolled your eyes, annoyed. “I don’t know what human started that rumor, but demons who still hold up to our code never harm the young.” You briefly recalled the children who’d get lost in the afterlife, and end up in the terrifying Mar. “I’m only here to help,” you said. 

“For some gold, I expect!” 

“And because whoever is doing this is harming children, and children are sacred to my kind,” you replied sharply. “Their souls are pure and precious.” Whenever a lost soul passed through your gates, a demon always took them back over to the heavenly cloud world of Divinity. 

“Get your heads out of the sand,” Changbin said to the group, “She’s good people.”

“How would you know?” the old man asked. 

“Because I've met dangerous people before, and she's dangerous in a different kind of way.”

“That's just her demon magic working on you!”

“Alright, if you don't believe me then let's get someone else's opinion.”

Changbin whistled through two fingers, and from behind the inn came an enormous grizzly bear. Far too big to be a normal bear, you suspected. Honey came right up to Changbin’s feet, sniffing for a scrap of food. It was when she smelled your scent that she moved over to you. Yes, it was silly of you to reach out to a bear, but you put the back of your hand to her wet nose. She gruffed once, nudging your hand with her nose, and then putting her head underneath it for a few scratches. 

“Honey’s never been wrong about anyone before,” Changbin gave them a satisfied smile. 

“Plus, she’s a war hero,” Minho said, “She killed Nor’goth.” 

The name sent a ripple of uneasiness through the crowd. Even you, who defeated him, couldn't help shifting at the words. Skin hard as rocks and dark purple Nor'goth towered several feet above anyone else. Burning orange eyes stared at you with hate as you challenged him. If it weren't for your allies, you may have died trying to defend your people and the mortal world. 

‘I will not suffer your insolence anymore, Multak! Prepare to meet your doom!”

“Is that true?” One man said with wide eyes. 

“It is,” he answered for you. “I don't know about you all,” he said, going down the steps, “But I think it's pretty handy having a demon around.”

An agreement mumbled amongst the townspeople, but you didn't care. “Chan, we're running out of time,” you hissed at him. “The longer we wait, the closer they get to completing their ritual.”

“To do what?”

“What else? Summon a being they have no business summoning,” you said. “It is going to blow up in their faces, and a lot of people can get hurt if we don't get a move on.”

“Alright,” he nodded. 

All the groups split evenly, everyone mounted their horses and began riding out of town. You looked around for Summer, realizing you'd left her at the Seo farm. No matter. You whistled a three note tune, and a burst of fire came from across the square. Summer dashed through the portal, charging past other people and horses to get right in front of you. She kicked the ground, head swishing as the commotion riled her up. Taking her reins, you held her still before mounting her. 

“YN!” Chan rode up to you on a white horse, “You’re with me. We’re checking the Choi mine.”

You gulped thickly, “Isn’t that the, um, spider one?”

“It is…” he then smirked and your cheeks burned, “Is our strong fire demon afraid of itty bitty spiders?”

“They are not ‘itty bitty’ and they’re gross!” 

His laugh made you grumble, and you charged ahead of him. Summer snorted, making you kick her sides lightly. “Hey, I didn’t pick on you about the snakes.” 

Running behind the group headed to the last old mine, you already pictured the eight-legged creatures likely waiting at the end. The old man mentioned that they’ve likely been driven out by the gang, so you clung onto that. Your skin crawled at the idea of having to fight ginormous spiders when a flash of white caught your attention. Chan’s horse, snowy white, came up to you once again. You got a good look at the animal, seeing the shimmer in its white coat and strands of silver streaked through its mane. Rather than fully black, the beast’s eyes glimmered a dark green color. 

How did Chan get his hands on a sea steed? 

“Where’d you get it?” you asked over the clopping feet. 

“What?”

“Your horse! It’s a sea steed! How’d you get it?”

He gave you a proud smile, “My Ma gave it to me!”

“Your Ma?!”

“She's a mermaid! You should meet her sometime!” He added.

“Your mother is a mermaid?!”

“Yeah, from the Southern Sea,” he said. “My Pa worked as a fisherman, and that's how they met.”

“You're a halfling then?”

“That's usually what people call me.” He then turned to you with a grin, “Not all of us halflings are so obvious.”

“What can you do then? Besides gathering search parties and solving crimes,” you smirked at him. For once, you're not the one under scrutiny. 

“Nothing extraordinary really,” he shrugged. “I used to sing whenever I worked on my dad's boat, since the fish would always come to me. But then I felt bad about luring them to their deaths so I stopped. I can breathe underwater…I could live in Hydrus if I wanted.”

“Hydrus?”

“It's the merfolk capital of the world,” he said. “My Ma sits on the city council. She's a healer there and has her own apothecary. She told me I could always come live with her, but I prefer being on land.”

“How come?”

“My Pa mostly,” he answered honestly. “He needs me more than her. She has her family down there; he's only got me and our dog. My sister lives with her, but she and my cousin come to visit sometimes.”

“Your sister?” 

“Hannah. She's got more mermaid than human, so she struggles living on land. Do you…Do demons have families?”

You gave it a thought. “In a way?” You decided, “We have our clan, which is a family. The Keepers are our parents, and everyone your age is a brother or sister; anyone older is an aunt or uncle.”

“Are you allowed to visit home or are you banished or something like that?”

You shook your head, “I can go if I wish. My horns…” you hesitated, “They're what I traded to live here, but I'm not exiled like some of my kin.”

“So, in a way, you fought against your family.”

“I did. I wasn't happy about it, but I did what I had to do.”

You pictured the demons you fought against during your ride. Brothers and sisters, standing on the other side of the field, severed their ties with the Shadowlands and became Nor’goth’s servants. It hurt you to fight them; you'd grown alongside most of them, and saw them as family. But, Sakmarth said those who break their vows are no longer part of the demon realm. You found that easy to understand but hard to carry out. 

The Choi mines happened to be several miles outside of town. Dusk began to set by the time you reached the outskirts of the mine. The trees around gave almost no sunlight. Whatever light did come through broke through the dark leaves in the canopies. The same canopy where you saw the thin, silver strands of webs. Cobwebs hung from the dark branches and stuck to the tree roots at the bottom. Apprehension settled into your stomach seeing them so high. Already, you felt their pincers snapping close to you and their furry legs skittering when they rushed around. However, seeing Chan and the other townspeople getting off their horses, you knew showing fear would disappoint them. You are Multak, fire demon and vanquisher of Nor'goth. You can't be afraid of anything. 

“Mr. Choi,” Chan looked at the wizened old man coming over to him, “What direction do we take from here?”

“Down this dirt path to the end,” he pointed at the path leading further inside. “My family sold the land when those damned tentaculars started nesting there. If the gang's anywhere, it is right here.”

Chan nodded and let him take the lead. He and several others kept their pistols and rifles ready as you carefully moved through the dead forest. One false step or loud twig might send a signal to any beasts in the area. You kept your hands firmly wrapped around the sword handle, doing your best to not tremble. You peered between thick patches of webbing; tricks of light and shadows created long legs and thick bodies creeping behind the silvery webs. There’d be no way for the gang to survive in arachnid infested woods; they’d be cocooned and devoured in minutes. Their warlock must have cleared them out; you might run into nothing along the way. At least, that’s how you comforted yourself. 

“I thought demons weren't scared of anything,” Chan teased. 

“I'm not scared.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

“Am not.”

“Don't worry, YN. If a spider comes, I'll kill it for you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the image left you feeling nauseous. Going deeper into the dense forest, you began hearing small cracks of twigs or rustling of leaves on the ground. The clicking and clacking of the tentacular species pinched your ears; you thought you might throw up right there. There used to be dozens back home, and you always avoided their nests. This forest is their ideal environment. 

“Wait,” Mr. Choi whispered, putting up a hand, “I see lights. Yeah, they're right there.”

A glowing orange light broke the darkness of the forest on your left. Everyone turned to see it hiding behind dense bushes and trees. Anxiousness stiffened your bones when you saw thicker webs in the trees above you. They must have scared them off not long ago if the webbing appeared so fresh.

“Fred,” Chan called the burly man, “You take Ryu, Harold and Donny and flank them on the right. Mr. Choi, Samantha, and Jenny will take them from the left.”

“And you, Sheriff?” the woman, Samantha, asked.

“YN and I will draw their attention.”

You hardly heard Chan’s orders. You didn’t keep your eyes off the trees for a moment. Phantom hissing and clicking sent shivers up your spine, leaving you in a cold sweat that wet your palms. Back home, clearing out spider nests or infestations was left to the newest soldiers. Shadowland spiders looked nothing like mortal ones. Their venom burned through flesh and bone, and their pinchers stabbed like sharp knives. You hated them. You pushed them from your memory as Chan encouraged you forward. Steeling yourself, you tried keeping your fears deep in your gut instead of on your face. You’re supposed to be a big, scary demon. You are a demon of the fire clan, a warrior forged from rock and flame; not a baby afraid of a few pests.

Very large pests

Carefully, you both walked towards the firelight. Chan kept his rifle pointed ahead and you kept your sword at the ready. The sounds of chatter and laughter caught your ears first. When you and Chan reached a small bundle of bushes, you crouched down to peek through the foliage.

Around a campfire sat four men. One of them, broad and wide, turned sausages in a skillet over the fire while another, slender and narrow, poured more ale from a barrel nearby. One lounged back against large sacks, his hat over his face and a fourth sat on the floor arranging coins into small piles.

“I got twenty gold here, Suho,” the one with the gold said. “That’s five pieces each. I thought you said Maurice would make us rich! This ain’t rich!”

“The real money’s coming soon,” Suho, turning sausages, said. “After he’s done with those kids, he’ll hand over the rest.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Idiots…” you whispered to yourself. The realization came to you right away, and you shook your head. “They’re the gifts.”

“Gifts?”

“In order to appease Yuth’ik, the summoner has to offer gifts to the god. This warlock did not really need lackeys to kidnap children; they could have done it themselves. They hired these bandits to then hand them over to Yuth’ik.”

“A double-cross…Suho wouldn’t like that.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Follow my lead.”

Chan stepped out through the bushes first, casually walking into the light. You went right after him, eyes sticking to your surroundings. From the rocky face behind them, you guessed they must not be far from the mine entrance.

“Evening, y’all,” Chan said in a friendly tone, “How’re you doing tonight?”

The four men scrambled to their feet. They each reached for a nearby weapon to hold up, but you noticed the shock in their eyes. Only Suho appeared calm and easy.

“Evening, Sheriff,” he replied in a casual tone, “We were just enjoying a nice campfire, some ale and the night time breeze. Care for some?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I’m here on sheriff’s business tonight.”

“Is that so?” Suho glanced at his members, who sneered back at him. “That’s a shame,” he cocked his pistol, “Because I’m in the mood for bandit’s business tonight.”

“Do you happen to know anyone named ‘Maurice’, Suho?” Chan took a step forward, unafraid of the gun pointed at him.

“Nah, don't ring a bell, I’m afraid,” Suho shook his head.

“Hm, that’s strange. A little reptile hybrid said you might, and a few friends of mine have been looking high and low for him.” You heard his friendly, polite tone turn serious. “I thought The Hook clan didn’t harm children.”

“We don’t,” he said.

“But the person you’re working for does, and that’s okay by you?”

“I don’t work for anybody but myself,” Suho said.

“Stop with the games, Junmyeon,” Chan cut across him. “I know you and your gang have been kidnapping children from the town. You might be a thieving, no-good outlaw, but I never thought you’d be the type to hurt kids.”

“We don’t have anything to do with that.”

“We have your fingerprints on the trees where Barney Pebbles was taken,” he said. “Who’s Maurice and what is he doing with the kids?”

“I don’t know a ‘Maurice’.”

“Junmyeon…these children could be in serious danger. They’re innocent, and I know you wouldn’t let some psychotic warlock kill them.”

“Again, Sheriff, sorry to disappoint you, but we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you even know the man you're working for, Junmyeon?” 

“I only work for myself, so yeah, I do know the man I work for.”

“Whoever he's summoning tonight is going to expect human sacrifices…and it's not the kids.”

“What'd you mean?” Asked the shortest one, wide eyed and worried. 

“He needs the kids to open the portal, but he has to have gifts to offer the tree god thing. I'm guessing that's you and your boys. Now,” he took another step, “You can tell us where he is and we stop him or you become an ancient being's dinner.”

You heard a small twig snap from somewhere behind you, and every nerve in your body stood on edge. It could either be a friend or a foe. A big, furry, hungry foe. Up in the sky, you saw the russet colors slowly fading to black. You’re running out of time.

“I still don't know what you're talking about,” Suho declared, but not as strongly. 

“-Junmyeon,” Chan came closer, “Don’t make this harder on yourself. Tell me where Maurice is, and you'll be free to move on.”

“Ha, I doubt that. You’ll have me cuffed before I even talk.”

“You're telling me you want to get eaten then?!”

You grunted and walked past Chan into the light. Eyes glaring at him, you let the fire light wash over you to give them a better view. All four men froze in place at the demon standing on the other side of their campfire. The cracking, burning wood crunched under your boots when you kicked their skillet aside and stood in the fire. The burning flames licked up your legs to your thighs, but you hardly felt them. You might as well have stepped into a warm bath. 

“Listen, scumbag,” you growled, making sure he heard it, “Tell us what you know about the warlock and where he is before I pull you into this fire with me.”

Suho, clearly not one to back down easily, pointed his pistol right at you. “Stay away, demon,” he said stiffly, though you could smell the sweat coming through his pores. Fear. Your demonic roots savored the fragrance, “Or I’ll shoot!”

In a swift motion, you reached out and brought the heavy man right to the edge of the fire. High pitched screams followed his panic kicking as flames danced close to his ankles. Suho tried uncurling your fingers from his shirt collar, but to no avail. You bore your eyes into his as you spoke.

“Where is Maurice, human?”

Too afraid of being burned, Suho did not answer you right away. You quickly looked to the men around him, seeing how they’d backed up and away from you. “I asked you a question,” you grunted, lowering him closer to the fire, “Where is he? Where?!”

“Pl-please!”

“Innocent children will have their lives sucked out of their bodies, and you’re standing there refusing to help them?!” You dragged him into the fire at last, though kept him above the lowest of the flames. The sound of running feet told you his members left him behind to be tortured. “Do you know what we do to people who harm children in the Shadowlands? Hm?” You brought him in closer, “We burn them!”

You dropped him into the fire, and Suho screamed hysterically. Rolling away, he rustled around on the ground to put out the tiny flickers on his back. Panting and sweating, the gang leader stared up at you in horror. Most likely because the fires burning inside you had finally reached your eyes. Their mortal hue turned into burning coals, and your fingers itched to set him aflame.

“In the mines!” he screamed, cowering under your fiery gaze. “He’s in the mines! He has his little pets helping him! Please, don’t eat me! Please!”

“Where’s the entrance?”

Suho whimpered, not answering.

“Where’s the entrance?!” you demanded. 

“Tha-th-that-t- wa-ay!”

He pointed to his left, and you nodded. Storming off into the nearby path, you already saw the sky gradually becoming darker and darker. The warlock could start their ritual at any moment.

“Hey!” you heard several pairs of feet coming up behind you, “Hey, what was that?”

Chan came up beside you, but you kept on moving. “Intimidation,” you said, “You weren’t getting answers, and we’re running out of time, so I stepped in.” You smirked over your shoulder, “Nothing makes a man talk more than under the threat of eternal flames.”

“You weren’t going to actually kill him though, right? That…That isn’t how we do things here.”

“Of course not,” you scoffed. “Yes, people like Suho deserve whatever fate they have coming, but when that happens is not up to me.”

“Oh…”

You knew why he asked that. “I’m not that kind of demon, Chan,” you told him, “I might be a demon, but I’m not a thrill killer. I only do it when-”

You stopped at the sight of metal tracks some yards away. The mine entrance was on the other side of them, dimly lit and foreboding. Empty cargo carts sat on the tracks, and you saw crates stacked on top of one another. Whoever worked this mine abandoned it long ago, and several residents had taken it up. All the fire from before extinguished when you saw the gargantuan spiders roaming the area. The stinging sensation of bile crept up your throat, and your skin started crawling again. Big and hairy, most of them varied in colors of white, gray and black. You almost turned back, but knew to do so now would be abandoning the children and also negating any perceived toughness. 

“Kind of hard to intimidate a wild beast, huh?” Chan asked, humored by your weak attempts. “Especially big ones with several pairs of eyes-”

“-Nothing needs that many eyes or that many legs!” you harshly whispered. “How can we get past them?”

“Fire,” Mr. Choi croaked from behind, pulling out a large matchbox. “It’s how my grandfather used to do it back in the day.”

“Works for me,” Chan shrugged, turning back to you, “YN? Would our fire demon like to handle the big nasty spiders?”

You stuck out your tongue at his smug smile. “I’d love to,” you responded pointedly. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

“Please, be my guest.”

He then made a hissing sound that made you punch his shoulder. You knew he was only teasing. Any other time, you’d tease him back but the sight of a spider coming down from the mountain with a bundle between two legs caught your attention. Fire. Warmth and light always scared off nocturnal beasts. 

Taking a step out of the treeline, a prickling sensation went up your legs, most likely the formation of goosebumps all over your body. You searched for a starting point for the flames, which happened to be the light shedding of webs along the tracks. In a single thrust of your hand, a bolt of red-hot fire shot from your palm and onto the metal tracks. 

Like a spark to gunpowder, the fire quickly began spreading. The beasts sensed the fire right away, and scurried away from the light. When one of them spotted you, it screeched loudly and scuttled over to you. With a high scream, your entire body went into a panic and you shot both hands out. Shrieking screams pierced your ears as the flames engulfed the creature, whose cries died out along with a few others. Your comrades, not wanting to miss out, started shooting. Gun blasts added to the fires scaring off the spiders; some of them took several shots while the proper marksmen got them between the eyes. 

“Come on,” Chan took one of your wrists, “Let’s get inside.”

“Inside?!”

You imagined more spiders awaited you in there, “This is no time to be a baby! Let’s go!”

Guiding you through the scorched earth, you kept your eyes peeled for any more spiders, but they’d appeared to have been killed or scared off. You’d gotten right into the entrance when your party came up behind you. 

“There’s more where they came from,” said Mr. Choi, “But don’t you worry. I grew up in this mine. I know it in and out.”

“Yuth’ik is an earth god,” you deduced from research, “He’s likely far underground where there’s roots.”

“I know the right place,” he nodded. 

Chan and Mr. Choi led the group, and you did your best to keep your shaking legs moving normally. Someone came up beside you. 

“You really showed Suho.” It was Fred, carrying his rifle across his chest. “I ain’t ever seen a man scared out of his wits like that before.”

“Being the good cop wasn’t working,” you shrugged, “So I played the bad one.”

“We could have used someone like you when this all started.” Once he realized how that sounded, he recovered, “I mean, the sheriff and his deputies are great at their jobs. It's…Things weren't being done quick enough.”

“I understand,” you said. The amount of webs did not match the spiders outside. There are more of them. “He was doing the best he could with what he had. I'm glad to be of some use here.”

Fred moved to talk again, but the group then stopped. In the spacious coal mine, you saw them right when everyone else did. High above the floor, cocoons hung from the ceiling and stuck to the walls. Bundles long and short were covered in several lengths of sticky webbing. You gulped back the fear burning in your throat, and stepped over to a nearby cocoon. About the average size of an adult, you poked it with your sword. When it didn't move, you looked at Chan with a worried stare. Your suspicions proved true when you cut a hole in the head to see the corpse of a young elf maiden inside. Sickly pale and blue, her paper thin skin and hollowed cheeks suggested she'd died ages ago. 

“How horrible…” Samantha frowned, opening another to find an old man. 

“Donny,” Chan looked at Fred’s farmhand, “Stay here with Samantha and start cutting the bodies down.”

“Harold and I'll keep watch,” Fred said, pulling out a flint to light a nearby stick. 

“Good idea,” he nodded his approval. 

As the other four started removing bodies, the rest of you went further into the mine. It didn't take much longer to reach the heart of the mine, and it was there that you thought you might scream. Dozens of spiders small and large covered the walls, and stood on the ground around a platform of rocks. None of them caught your scent yet, but one false move will have you setting the place on fire in a panic. You flinched when a warm hand grabbed yours. 

“Stay with me,” Chan whispered, his fingers gently taking your wrist this time. “We need to stick together.”

“The kids!” Mr. Choi gasped, pointing at the platform. 

Wrapped from the neck down in white webs, four children wriggled around an archway carved into the stone wall. You heard their sobbing pleas through the unrest amongst the beasts, and you forced out your fears. They needed you. It was then that you finally saw the warlock named Maurice. The top half of his body was a human torso, aged but strong with white hair braided back from his face. The bottom half was a spider's form, eight legs keeping him standing high above the children. That explained why the creatures hadn't killed any of the clan members. 

“My children!” He said, his voice a delicate hiss, “Tonight we bring forth the power of the old magic! We bring forth our salvation! We bring forth our victory!” 

The beasts approved, clicking and clacking in their language. 

“For centuries, mortals have feared our presence! They run from us! They hunt us down and kill us!” He continued, “But tonight, sweet children, the old god Yuth’ik will give us our redemption. We will have our revenge!”

“Ugh, disgusting creature,” Mr. Choi scoffed. “Let's get him-”

“-Not yet,” Chan stilled him with a hand. He scanned the area and shook his head, “There are too many of them. They'll overpower us. We have to be smart about this.”

“Or extremely dumb,” you said, a thought coming to you. “You stay hidden and wait for my signal.”

“YN!” 

Your knees wobbled walking towards the entryway into the main area. A human would be of no concern to the spider hybrid, but a demon from The Mar might keep him distracted. 

“-No more will you cower in your nests, feeding off scraps! You will have fresh meat!-”

“I wouldn't say my meat is fresh!” You shouted over the chatter of the room, “But demons are an acquired taste, I've been told.”

Maurice paused in surprise at the sight of you. Black eyes held you in their gaze. He had four of them. Nobody needed that many eyes.

“Ah,” he grinned, teeth sharp and white, “Here's the demon I've heard so much about. Was it you who harmed my children outside?”

“They were in my way.” 

Confidently, you walked through the horde, which parted to make way for you. Glittering black eyes stayed on you as you moved. Having them all in one place suffocated any fresh winds coming through the tunnel passages. Your skin prickled having them so close to you. You kept a tight grip on your sword at your hip, gripping so tight the pummel dug into your palm. No fear. Show no fear. 

“You know summoning an imprisoned god is against the celestial laws, Maurice,” you continued. “The Blind One doesn't take kindly to people who disobey him. I suggest you release those children and take your spider friends back where they came from.”

Maurice gave a mocking laugh, “As if you could do anything to stop me. Once my ritual is complete, no mortal alive could stop me.” 

He turned away from you to face the archway. “You'll have to give him something in return,” you said, “And be in servitude to him for life. I don't think you want to be someone's puppet, do you?”

“I will do anything I must,” he said. “I shall be the ultimate supreme lord. Everyone will bow down to me or suffer the wrath. The weak mortals you so eagerly helped will be scum beneath my feet.”

“Please, help us!” A red-haired girl with leaves in her hair cried. Sanghee, no doubt. “Help us!”

“Please!” said the werecat Hyeyoung. 

“He's going to kill us, please help!” pleaded a blond boy with concurved ears. “Help! I want to go home!”

“Silence!” Maurice shouted angrily over his shoulder. 

He lifted his head towards the arch and began muttering the incantation. It brought forth a vortex of black and blue, and gradually a white light broke through. You gasped at the recognizable swirls of The Abyss. Unrest rippled throughout the horde, who'd begun moving away as the portal opened. 

“Children,” the warlock called out to the spiders, “Dinner.”

You screamed as several spiders hurried towards you, some clawing over others to reach you. Fear and panic set inside you again, and erupted on its own. Bursts of fire cracked and burned the ground around your feet, keeping a protective circle as you started launching fireballs at any beast in sight. 

‘Bulgakgan!’

Flames shot out continuously from your hands, and as you moved in a clockwise circle, spiders were incinerated. One minute there, the next a stumbling ball of fire. Sensing a greater foe, the rest of the spiders began crawling away. This boosted your confidence significantly, and you switched to your sword. With another command, the dragonfire runes on your sword burned red and heated up the steel blade. Swinging and slashing the air, the spiders burned from the flaming steel alone. You hardly noticed the grunting and struggling occuring on the platform above you. 

Chan was locked in a struggle with Maurice. He blocked the hybrid's long legs with his arms, then gave a swift kick to the steady legs on one side. Maurice shot bolts of gray and black shadow magic at him. One barely grazed his bicep, and you heard his loud painful cry. Maurice, believing him finished, sent more shadow bolts at him just as Chan rolled away. Getting onto his feet, you watched through your own fight as Chan turned around. Mr. Choi, holding his own against his own foes, tossed him a rifle. Maurice chuckled right as Chan raised his weapon. 

“For Levanter Bay!” 

You heard the war cry from behind you. Fred, Samantha and Donny appeared, sweating and fueled with adrenaline as they covered the front entrance. A gunshot bounced off the walls, though the thick webs kept the sound suppressed. Chan's bullet missed, which amused Maurice, who curved his hands until more dark matter materialized between his palms. Chan quickly reloaded, but Maurice rushed at him. With another shadow bolt, he knocked Chan squared in the chest and launched him back several feet. 

You hurled a fireball at his legs, causing him to fall against the wall. This split second diversion was all Chan needed to shoot a bullet into Maurice's forehead from the ground. Their leader defeated, propped up by his legs, the other spiders disappeared from battle up through ceiling tunnels leading further into the mountain. You took deep breaths, heart pounding in your chest as you rushed over to Chan's side. 

“Chan, are you alright?” you asked, looking him over. 

The shadow bolt singed his shirt, the black mark vibrant against his chest, but otherwise no blood. It hadn't gone through completely. 

“Thick skin,” Chan winced through a laugh. “Merfolk side, they say.”

You both stood up on shaking legs, “Still, shadow magic is nothing to sniff at. You need to get that checked out.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he saluted halfheartedly. 

The thought of Chan being mortally wounded by shadow magic came to you. You'd grown to like Chan. You felt glad for his merfolk blood. His eyes glimmered even in the dim torch light, and his soft smile warmed your cheeks. You turned from him to see Mr. Choi cut the children out of their cocoons. To avoid more butterflies, you started helping him. 

“Papa!” 

Barney Pebbles ran to his father the second you freed him, weeping and reaching out before the man embraced him tightly. The other children took comfort in the adults who'd saved them. 

“Sheriff Bahng!” Dobin, furry with a black snout, ran over to him, “I knew you'd come! I told everyone you'd come for us!”

“Of course I did.” Chan hugged him and patted his back. “Your parents have been worried to all hell about you. Let's not keep them waiting.”

“Or stick around for more of those things!” You added, shuddering and sheathing your blade. 

The rest agreed and walked with you out of the mine. You took in deep breaths of fresh air, feeling the breeze cool down your body. Heat never bothered you, but it still felt nice to fan your flames. You watched Barney and Fred riding back on his horse, the young boy protected by his arms. Being raised in The Mar by the warrior fire clan, people thought your clan were cruel. In fact, it'd been the opposite. You sat on your horse, remembering the time an air demon healer soothed your cries after a particularly nasty spar in the yard. 

“Ma'am?” Hyeyoung sat on Samantha's horse, tearful and shivering. “Are you a real demon?”

“Yes, I am.”

“But demons are supposed to be mean.”

“I'm only mean to the bad guys.”

She grinned at this, but said nothing else as she leaned into Samantha's embrace. When you reached the main road, you caught up with Minho and Han towards town. Minho found nothing at his mine, and Han only ran into vagrants with nowhere to live. What you really anticipated was the missing children with their parents. Word spread about your mission while you'd been gone, and as you rode to the town square, all four children rushed to their parents. Cries of joy and smooching kisses reached your ears, and it brought warmth into your chest. 

“Oh, thank god!” Mayor Wallace appeared from the school house building, which doubled as a meeting hall apparently. He hustled over to Chan, “Chan, Chan, thank goodness you came back safely! And you got the children back too!”

“It wasn't all my doing, Gerald,” Chan insisted, dismounting his horse. “I had help.”

Mayor Wallace looked at you once more. You expected words of suspicion or caution, but instead he held out his hand, “Thank you, YN. We wouldn't have our children back if you'd not stepped in on time.”

“I was only doing my job, sir.”

“And a fantastic one you did.” 

Someone called him from afar, and he excused himself. The weight of the battle, using your own magic, and the adrenaline wore you down. The hazy feeling of exhaustion came over you  within minutes. You looked on the townspeople being reunited with friends and loved ones fondly, similar to scenes you'd come across during the war. The fear of the past few weeks lifted at the return of the four children. Taking a seat outside The White Pearl, you continued observing them. 

Nor’goth used to claim that humans were selfish beings that knew nothing of loyalty. They were animals that killed each other needlessly. The people of Levanter Bay proved him wrong. The mortal world proved him wrong. When the tides grew high and the odds stacked against them, mortals banded together under one flag. They created The Allies, and stood as one against a common enemy. The Shadowland cities did no such thing until the war, and Sakmarth liked to say mortals had much to teach them. You couldn't help being in awe of them at that moment. 

“Hey there, Honey,” you said kindly as the bear waddled up the steps towards you. She sniffed your palm once more, then licked it. “You should've mentioned you liked spiders. I would've brought back some legs.”

“They're too boney and don't have enough meat for her.”

With the pet came its tamer. Changbin stood at the door a foot away, leaning on the frame. 

“She usually eats salmon or roots and berries I pick up on my hunts,” he took a seat beside you to watch the community. “You really pulled it off, huh?”

“You doubted I would?”

“Not for a minute,” he shook his head, “But it's amazing. The kids are saying you had a flaming sword?”

“It's a rune blade.”

“Interesting,” he nodded thoughtfully. “You'll make big money off of this. Saving children from a spider hybrid must be-Haha, what's with the shudder?”

“I hate spiders,” you grumbled. “Why did it have to be spiders?”

He laughed and patted your back, “Come inside, hero. We cooked up a feast to celebrate. You look like you could use a drink or two too.”

“Good, I'm starving!” 

You went inside with him to find tables of food laid out. You went in right away, sneaking apples to give to Summer later on. As you tore into a chicken leg, Han and Minho appeared in front of you with their own plates.

“Spider hybrid, huh?” Minho sniffed, “I suppose we were wrong about the human warlock theory.”

“Very,” you nodded, taking a huge bite of your chicken leg before turning it over. “He hardly got a chance to summon Yuth’ik.”

“Chan said you got there in the nick of time,” Han said, forking mashed potatoes into his mouth. “He said he might have gotten killed if you hadn't come along.”

“And that he inherited his mother's skin,” Minho sipped an ale cup before saying, “Well done, Multak. I told you we'd have this thing finished by supper.”

You both grinned at one another before digging into your supper.

****

The festivities carried on through the night into morning. You crashed into your bed upstairs and passed out instantly. When you left your room for the common area downstairs the next morning, you were met with applause. This reaction startled you, But not as much as the praise. 

“Thank you, YN!” Fred Pebbles came over from the bar and lifted you into a bear hug. “From me and mine, thank you!”

“Woah, okay!” You laughed out your surprise. 

“We mean it,” Wilma walked up from behind him, holding out something to you. “Here, take this as a thank you.”

Made of pure tiger's eye, someone engraved the blazing sun into the small charm. It hung from a thick string that glistened in the sunlight.

“It's a tiger's eye,” she explained. “My people wear certain stones for different things. This charm will protect you on future quests.”

“Appreciated, Matriarch.”

She smiled at the elvish title. “No, thank you. Barney is our only son. When we heard he'd been taken, we thought he'd be dead for sure. It was by the light's grace that you showed up when you did.” You saw her watery eyes and hugged her tightly.

It then occurred to you that The Pebbles' weren't the only ones with tokens of gratitude. When Wilma and Fred left, the other parents met you outside. Sanghee’s grandmother gifted you a valerian plant, meant to bring strength and knowledge to you. Dobin's father and mother gave you a wolf tooth, a special gift given to allies of specific werewolf packs; Hyeyoung's werecat parents did something similar with a cat claw. But, it was the children who warmed you the most. 

“There's the demon lady!” Dobin said from across the square. 

They'd all been standing in the middle of the market with Han, who smiled at you. “Well, go on,” he encouraged, “Jump her.”

You flinched at the gaggle of children coming your way. They didn't jump on you, but they surrounded you. 

“Do you really have a flaming sword?”

“Can you make people turn into dust?”

“Hyeyoung said you set the spider man on fire!”

“Ms. Demon Lady, did you die?!”

You didn't know which one to answer first. However, their barrage of questions ended when Chan appeared. 

“Come on now,” he said, shepherding them away, “Don't crowd YN. You got school.”

The children groaned in disappointment, but still walked away. You fixed your jacket on your shoulders, watching them going towards the schoolhouse. Most people you helped handed you the money, and then sent you on your way. The people in those towns usually didn't know you'd helped them at all; they only cared when their own people rushed into danger. Yet, the cold reception you received when you arrived turned warm and friendly. 

“You've become pretty popular around here,” Chan told you. “You're all the kids have been talking about.”

“And clearly their opinion is the only one that matters,” you smiled in amusement. “How are the kids doing?”

“They're still shaken up, since, you know, a spider hybrid kidnapped them and planned on sacrificing them to a tree god,” he answered, “But they're happy to be back home. Thanks to you.”

“And you,” you added. “How's your chest? That bolt hit you pretty bad.”

“Minho took care of it for me,” he shrugged, though you noticed the slight wince when he did. “It just stings. Nothing to worry about.” He then fished in his pocket to withdraw a leather pouch, “The mayor wanted me to pass this onto you. Your payment.”

You opened the pouch to see dozens gold and silver coins in the bottom of the bag. With an approving nod, you already budgeted what amount went to what expense. 

“So, um, where do you plan to go now?” Chan asked you, hands in his pockets as he walked with you to the stables behind the White Pearl. “You can always pick up other jobs around here. Someone always needs help. Mrs. Young still has a boar problem; she says they keep eating her cabbages. I didn't know they even ate cabbage,” he added with a soft laugh. 

You chuckled, coming up to Summer's stable. Your horse kicked the ground gently, a greeting. “As tempting as Mrs. Young's boars sound, Summer and I were planning on heading to the capital.” You pet Summer's snout, smiling softly as she huffed. “Don't worry. We'll take a ferry there.”

Chan stayed silent, then said, “Um, that might be a problem.”

“How come?”

“The ferry isn't running right now,” he said, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Our local sea serpent has been seen close to the bay, and the King declared the ferry closed to keep people safe. You know these sea monsters. They like knocking boats over and eating people.”

“The King said this?” You faced him, arms crossed in disbelief. “I didn't hear anything about that.”

“It came in an hour ago,” he said. “Private government papers and other boring stuff. The damn thing nearly swallowed a whole navy ship, so imagine a little transport ferry. Psh, they'd stand no chance.”

Not once did you ever hear a royal decree not being posted or spoken about anywhere. Looking over Chan, you noticed the slight curls in his black hair, pushed back from his face and left to grow out. Brown eyes looked at you with a twinkle of hope inside them. You supposed you could stay a little bit longer. It isn't as if you had important business anywhere else. Levanter Bay did not seem to be a terrible place; the sunshine is something to be desired, but the people were actually nice. You touched the tiger's eye necklace you'd been given, as if rubbing it might produce an answer. 

“I guess we can hang around here,” you said casually. “What do you think, Summer?” You asked your horse, “Want to hang around here for a bit?” You laughed when she grazed on the hay inside a feed bag. “I guess that's a ‘yes’.” 

“Great,” Chan grinned. “That's really great.”

“Looks like you're in luck then,” you walked up to him, casually, “You'll have someone help your station get out from under the bounties up on that board.”

“I'm not proudful. We could use a demon in this town. Except, maybe one that doesn't burn down a whole cave because of a few spiders.”

“There were more than ‘a few’,” you punched his shoulder, but he only laughed. “There were hundreds, and I took out a good amount before everyone else joined in. I noticed you, Sheriff, didn't fight any spiders.”

“I was fighting the biggest one!”

The two of you talked about Maurice and his disgusting army on the way back to the inn. You had enough gold to buy you food and board at the inn, and you actually liked Changbin and Honey didn't scare Summer. 

It's not such a bad place after all. 

***

A/N: Wow, my first Stray Kids fic (well, a real one. The last one doesn't count too much to me). I hope you guys really enjoyed this one! I have one for each of the members coming up soon! Like, comment, and reblog! it keeps posts alive <3

Episode 2 >

#stray kids #bang chan #han jisung #seo changbin #yang jeongin #kim seungmin #lee felix #lee minho #hwang hyunjin #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fantasy au #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #chan x female reader

[tipsycad147]

The Heart Deserves to Be Held: Motherwort Plant Profile

By  Alexis J. Cunningfolk

I’ve been planning on sharing this plant profile with you for a few months, corresponding with the release of my newest course, Solace: Herbs & Essences for Highly Sensitive People (which has been a joy to create and if you have a moment, please check it out). The time has arrived and I sit here writing this, heart-breaking, as the world moves closer to what seems like another wave of impossible horror that has become all too real again.

Sometimes it feels like there are too many wars, too many social and environmental battles, too many things which need to be fought, and too little hope that anything can be won.

That old and ancient part of my brain tries to calculate what it can do, singly, and with great effort, to turn the tide. Counting resources, making maps to find hidden answers, calculating transactions of courage and desperation. It’s a part of many of our brains that has been overactive for years now as the world seems to be coming undone over and over.

And yet, an even older part of myself, the most ancient heart and seat of primordial consciousness reaches out and finds a vast collective reaching back. It takes many hands to hold a heart throughout a lifetime, to support its growth, to mend its wounds, to tend to its spark of life. And I start to remember… It is not about moving beyond the collective to become something individually extraordinary, but to tend to the weave and weft of our community web so that when a need of any one of us arises, deft hands of support mend and repair, hold and affirm, strengthen and love.

So I continue to do what I am called to do alongside the new things which must be adapted to. I teach about plants and the ways they connect us to our humanity, to our experience of and being Land, and the ways we care for ourselves when it seems like we’re all having to learn to breathe underwater. Because the point is not to win and be right and righteous, but to live fully in the immensity of the collective during times that seek to make us feel divided and small.  

Maybe Motherwort (Leonurus cardiaca) knew that they would be needed now and planted the seed in my mind to wait to write about them until this late winter season. It’s the sort of magick that Motherwort is known for. They are in so many ways one of the best allies to be offering insights about right now and I hope you’ll find some inspiration and comfort with the healing gifts they carry.

Motherwort

(Leonurus cardiaca)

Common + Folk Names : Lion’s ear, lion’s tail, throw-wort, parentwort, niibiishikaabijigan

Element : Fire, Air

Zodiac Signs : Leo

Planet : Sun, Venus

Moon Phase : Full Moon

Parts Used : Aerial parts

Habitat : Native to Europe and western Asia, naturalized worldwide.

Growing Conditions : Partial shade to full sun with light, sandy soil.

Collection : Collect the flowering tops.

Flavour : Pungent, bitter

Temperature : Cool

Moisture : Dry

Tissue State : Tension, Dryness

Constituents : Beta-carotene, calcium, potassium, flavonoids, citric and malic acid, alkaloids, bitter glycosides, caffeic acid, essential oil, phytoesterols, tannins, resin, triterpenes, leonurine, vitamin A.

Actions : Antispasmodic, antifungal, antirheumatic, anxiolytic, cardiotonic, hypotensive, diaphoretic, hemostatic, hypotensie, astringent, bitter, parturient, emmenagogue, nervine, sedative, vasodilator, thymoleptic, immunostimulant, antiviral, antibacterial.

Main Uses

Motherwort is a classic heart tonic in the Traditional Western Herbalism materia medica. Look at its Latin binomial and you’ll get insight into the herb’s qualities as a “Lion Hearted” herb. Motherwort improves the condition of a weakened or out-of-sync heart including arrhythmia, angina, and a heart muscle that lacks tone. Signs to look for when considering Motherwort are heart palpitations (especially those caused by stress, nervousness or anxiety), shortness of breath, and those who need some “mothering” or compassionate parenting. The herb reduces high blood pressure, alleviates palpitations and hypertension, and generally strengthens the heart’s tone. It also reduces high cholesterol and atherosclerosis.

The herb’s connection to the heart is also closely linked to the uterus, making it an herb of the birthing room, helping to start labor, relieve the pain of childbirth, and prevent postpartum infections. Look for signs of emotional distress during labor where the birthing parent doesn’t feel like “they have the heart” to continue on with labor because they feel tired and worn down (the flower essence is especially useful in these situations, too). The herb and/or essence is also useful for midwives, birth assistants, and doulas to take while supporting labor and postpartum. After labor, Motherwort also helps with the birth of the placenta. It is a wonderful herb to include in postpartum blends to prevent and alleviate postpartum blues and depression. On an additional level, herbalist Karen M. Rose notes that Motherwort "teaches us to flow from the heart, addressing deep rooted ancestral trauma stored in the womb." 

As we’ll look at further in the Motherwort Personality section below, Motherwort is an ally that helps folks to connect with the energy of a nurturing parent who is unwavering in their love and kindness. It is one of my favorite plants to recommend to all folks who are going through the work of reparenting themselves and especially highly sensitive people who may have been rejected in some way by caregivers and/or peers because of their sensitivity. Listen for language that the inner child needs caring for.

The other medicinal reproductive qualities of Motherwort include helping to bring on delayed menses and to relieve cramp and back ache. The herb is good for PMS that brings on feelings of agitation, frustration, and anger, as well as other signs of heat, such as hot flashes and menstrual headaches. During perimenopause and menopause, Motherwort can act as an ally in these times of change both emotionally and physically (such as helping to alleviate hot flashes). Motherwort can also be used in a douche or vaginal steam for infections such as candida and bacterial vaginosis.

Motherwort is a useful herb for pain-relief and management, alleviating conditions such as neuralgia, sciatica, rheumatism, and postpartum pain. As an herb with powerful emotional uplifting qualities, Motherwort helps relieve depression and has been used in the treatment of bipolar conditions. The herb works on the sympathetic nervous system, bringing calm and soothing energy, which can help to alleviate nervousness, insomnia, restlessness, and general anxiety. It is especially useful for all of these reasons during menopause. Motherwort is like a hug in a tea cup and is an herb that shifts energy for the better faster than most other herbs I have encountered.

Digestively, Motherwort is a bitter with a side of joy. It is excellent for those whose digestion gets tied in knots because of anxiety and nervousness. Think of folks who would be best served by receiving some of their parent’s best home cooking. The herb stimulates digestion, awakens the metabolism, and helps with the absorption of nutrients. As a cooling herb it alleviates overly hot and acidic digestion which can lead to heartburn.

Other uses of Motherwort include during times of fever, ‘flu, and cold when there is debility and exhaustion. It is especially good in the recovery period. The herb calms an overactive thyroid. In general, Motherwort is calming to many body systems, especially when there is a notable influence by anxiety or nervousness.

Magickal Uses

Motherwort is protective in general but especially during pregnancy and childbirth. Keep as a charm in the home to bring about peace. Use to connect with the energy and wisdom of the Lion. The herb protects against harmful entities and spirits. I think it is especially useful in helping alleviate hauntings, whether emotional hauntings of the spirit and mind, or unwanted ghosts. Motherwort has a long folkloric tradition of being allied with those who identify as womxn. Herbalist Deb Soule has wise words to share about the connection between womxn-identified folk and Motherwort and what she writes is similar to the oral traditions that I was taught  about Motherwort, too:

Leonurus cardiaca means lion hearted. I think motherwort is strong medicine for women to put in dream pillows, to have in dried flower arrangements near our beds, by the telephone, in our workplaces, and to have growing in our gardens. We need courage to heal the various ways we have been wounded and have not been allowed to be the powerful, intelligent, wise women that we are. Motherwort gives us courage to be our true selves and to develop a strong heart, like the lion's heart. Strong hearts filled with courage are able to do anything. It takes a lot of courage to mother ourselves and children in a world that does not yet entirely value mothering, women, and children.

The Motherwort Personality

ARGH! The Motherwort person groans and shouts. They are impatient and snappish, letting folks know they are irritated and unhappy. Their heart races, there is redness in their face, and they can’t seem to rest and calm down. Motherwort folk are frustrated and agitated. Their heart feels heavy, over-heated, and wild. They may even be feeling heartbroken. Sometimes their anger is quiet and smoldering, but it is still burning them up. Motherwort is for the frustrated folks crying hot tears. The herb will help them cool off, calm down, and find their peace. Perhaps as children anger was the only way to feel heard and/or to feel safe, but now it is an overdeveloped force that needs to be balanced with other tools of emotional expression.

They will not find their peace by fighting their way towards peace and Motherwort will help them lay down the parts of their anger that is no longer serving them. Motherwort helps folk to connect with the energy of a nurturing parent who is unwavering in their love and kindness - sometimes it helps us to connect with an actual parent, but more often it helps us to reparent ourselves. In the end Motherwort teaches gentleness, especially gentleness towards themselves, by showing gentleness, so they may be gentle towards others and find the connection they are seeking in appropriate ways.

Contraindications : Do not use in cases of menorrhagia. Use only in the last part of pregnancy with supervision of an herbalist as it can start labor.

Drug interactions : None known.

Dosage : Standard Dosage, but drop dosage is a common recommendation for Motherwort, especially for emotional support: 1 - 3 drops (1:2 fresh or 1:5 dried 60% alcohol extract), 1 - 3 times daily.

🌿

I hope this post finds folks who are need of the type of support that Motherwort can provide. And in the spirit of supporting the collective, here are a round-up of resources for supporting the people of Ukraine.

Let's continue to work for peace, share resources, and take care of one another.

http://www.wortsandcunning.com/blog/the-heart-deserves-to-be-held-motherwort-plant-profile

[weinsteinpollock0]

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[mybg3notebook]

Lore: Details about the “Orb”

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

Let's start with the context, because everything related to Gale is packed heavily with Forgotten Realms lore, and since the game is not fully released, whatever extra information that the game could provide to help us understand this is not there yet. Also, it's always important to keep in mind this post about "Context, persuasion, and manipulation" to be sure we are talking in the same terms. 

The lore

I'm going to enumerate some objects or elements related to Forgotten Realms lore that I personally see worth checking out in addition to other “orbs” that I've seen the fandom put attention on. All this information can be expanded using the references and sometimes wiki, even though I personally distrust forgotten realm wiki, unless I can check that info from the original sources.

Shadow Weave

The Shadow Weave is the space between the strands of the Weave. If the Weave is a spider's web, the gaps in between are the Shadow Weave. Shadow Weave reaches everywhere the Weave does, and more. It is not subject to Mystra’s laws or state of well being. If Mystra were to die and the Weave collapses, the Shadow Weave would persist. [Magic of Faerûn 3e. Personal Comment: Yes. It explicitly says in the book that it’s independent of Mystra’s well being. Clearly this has been modified in 4e since the Shadow Weave needs the structure of the Weave to be somehow stable. It collapsed when the Weave did so, so we can see this begins a series of inconsistencies]

Shadow Weave is a dark and distorted copy of the Weave created by Shar, more suited for spells that drag life or confuse the mind (necromancy, control, illusion schools), and gives more difficulty to cast spells that manipulate energy or matter (evocation or transmutation schools). It can't sustain spells that produce light. Both Weave and Shadow Weave are means to use Raw Magic (see at the end of the post). The more familiar a mortal becomes with the secrets of the Shadow Weave, the more detached they become from the Weave. Shadow Weave is NOT a part of Mystra, so Mystra can't block people from accessing magic via Shadow Weave. 

It’s a common mistake to make the analogy that the Shadow Weave is to Shar the same way the Weave is to Mystra. No. Shadow Weave is NOT Shar, while the Weave is Mystra. Shar never developed that level of commitment, making herself one with the Shadow Weave. This is one of the reasons why she could not sustain the Weave during the Spellplague when she tried to corrupt it completely into Shadow Weave. 

All this information belongs to Magic of Faerûn 3e and the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3e and novels of 4e. There is nothing about Shadow Weave in 5e. If it weren't for Ed Greenwood's twitter, we should have guessed it disappeared from the lore. So far we know it's slowly recovering in the same way the Weave is. And the Shadow Weave doesn't feed on Weave. For some mysterious reason, fandom started to think so due to BG3.

Death moon orb

This artefact belongs to the 3rd edition, created by a Netheril wizard. From him, it passed to the hands of Szass Tam, who saw it destroyed when the Spellplague corrupted the magic in it. I won't give more details about this object because it looks so unrelated to what Gale has in his chest. Not only is its shape inconsistent with what we see in-game, its powers and properties are unrelated to what is explained in EA. The object is cursed, compelling its owner to cause greater acts of evil; it has a size that changes and looks like a violet-black sphere. In my opinion, the only detail in common with Gale's “orb” is the name "orb". Which is a fallacy, since Gale says explicitly that he uses the word "orb" for the lack of a better one, because clearly what Gale has in his chest is not an orb, but a mass of Black Weave. 

Netherese orbs

These objects are found in Neverwinter MMO in the quest Whisper in Darkness:

The Netherese are foul plague upon this world, corrupting everything they touch. They have cursed the Gray Wolf Tribe, turning them into bloodthirsty monsters. We must find what the Netherese intend to do with their werewolf slaves. The Shadovar Emissaries use the Netherese Orbs powered by Soul Shards to communicate orders from the Prince of Shadow.

This is all the information we have of this object. That's all. It comes from a Neverwinter MMO game which belongs to 4th edition. Once more, the concept that Gale's “orb” is not an orb but a black mass of untamed magic makes me believe that these objects don't apply either. The nature of their magic is compatible though: Netherese orbs are made from shadow magic by Shadovar, descendant of Netheril stuck in the Plane of Shadow (called Shadowfell later on, read more in the post of "The Netherese in 1492DR"). This plane is the source of Shadow Magic, they don't use Raw Magic. Ethel explicitly said in BG3 that Shadow Magic is Netherese Magic, so maybe we can consider this object filled with Netherese magic? In any case, these Netherese orbs are used for communication... which has nothing to do with Gale's “orb”'s properties. There is also no reference of consuming Weave to remain stable.

Devastation orb

The mention of a "devastation orb" happens only in Yartar in Princes of the Apocalypse (related to the god Tharizdun, the mad god): 

In page 5 we have some context: Four elemental cults grow in power in the Sumber Hills, claiming abandoned keeps that connect to an underground fortress once part of an ancient dwarven kingdom. The leaders use elemental magic to create devastation orbs capable of ravaging the countryside. They’ve been testing these magic weapons, bolstering the cults’ ranks, and infiltrating various communities, all directed by visions the prophets receive from the Elder Elemental Eye (Tharizdun). These orbs are plainly described as: essentially bombs of elemental energy to unleash natural disasters.

In page 222 we have a more detailed explanation of what these elements are: 

Devastation Orb: (Wondrous item, very rare) A devastation orb is an elemental bomb that can be created at the site of an elemental node by performing a ritual with an elemental weapon. The type of orb created depends on the node used. For example, an air node creates a devastation orb of air. A devastation orb measures 12 inches in diameter, weighs 10 pounds, and has a solid outer shell. The orb detonates 1d100 hours after its creation, releasing the elemental energy it contains. The orb gives no outward sign of how much time remains before it will detonate. Regardless of the type of orb, its effect is contained within a sphere with a 1 mile radius. The orb is the sphere’s point of origin. The orb is destroyed after one use.

Again, I don't see a real connection with Gale's “orb”. These devastation orbs are not netherese-based, they have elemental energy, and despite the explosion, they don't have any mechanics that resemble the consumption of Weave to remain stable. However, I do find a link between these devastation orbs, their process of construction, and the book that Gale found out. The remotest concept I can scratch here is that, whoever crafted the book with that piece of blackest Weave, could have used the knowledge of the construction of these devastation orbs. Instead of filling them with elemental magic, they filled it with a blackest weave of netherese magic. A procedure that could have been applied to the netherese tadpoles as well.

That's all the information I could gather that remotely is called “orb” or has some vague chance to be that blackest weave.

The Game BG3

In the game, all the info that Gale provides in EA about the “orb” is given before his revelation. The what it is, the how it works and the how it feels. In the revelation scene we only learn the details that are personal and intimate for Gale: the why he ended up with the orb, and potential solutions he can guess so far. To show proofs:

During the meeting:

Tav [Wisdom/tadpole] Try peering into his mind. If he won't open up, you'll sneak in.  [Success] Narrator: For a split second you see a swirl of untamed magic – then his defences drop like a portcullis. 

During the Protocol:

Tav: I simply want to know what it is you're keeping from me Gale: I'm dangerous. Not because I want to be, but because of... an error I made in the past.  [before Gale speaks of his loss] It makes me dangerous – even in death. [after Gale speaks of his loss/tadpole intrusion] I told you how I sought to win the favour of Mystra. I did this by trying to control a form of magic only one wizard ever could. I failed to control it. Instead it infested me. It makes me dangerous... even in death. […] Tav: The darkness inside you, what is it? Gale: It's magic from another time and another place. It is something that is beyond me, yet inside me. That makes me dangerous... even in death. 

During the stew scene or the ask for artefacts in neutral or lower approval

Tav: [Wisdom/tadpole] you sense secrecy and danger. Use your tadpole to probe Gale's thoughts. [Success] Narrator: you become one with Gale's mind and you can feel something sinister oppressing you. It's... inside of you, a mighty darkness radiating from your chest. You could try to push further, but your hold over Gale feels brittle. It won't be easy delving deeper without him noticing. Delve deeper: [Success] Narrator: “ you see through gale's eye, staring down the corridor of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. It's teeth, it's claws, it's unstoppable as it digs through you and becomes part of you. And gods, is it ever-hungry.

Gale: The only way to “appease” said condition is for me to take powerful magical artefact and absorb the Weave inside. [...]Tav: What happens if you don't consume any artefact? Gale: Catastrophe. [...] Think of it as... tribute. The kind a king might pay to a more powerful neighbour to avoid invasion. As long as I pay there will be peace. But should I ever stop, along comes a war. I can assure the battlefield would extend well beyond the borders of my body alone. [...] I will consume the magic inside. What was a powerful artefact will be rendered no more than a trinket. But it will save my life- even if only temporarily.

Tav: That condition of yours is a very expensive one. Gale: I obtained it in Waterdeep. Nothing there comes cheap.

Artefacts scenes:

Gale: I can feel the storm abating. [...] I will feel it stir again – like a distant thunder sending tremors through the soul. I will need to consume another artefact before the lightning strikes. There's no choice but to find more. [...] It's good to perceive this constant fear repressed into a quiet scare. Let's hope it will last a good long while.

During Revelation scene:

Gale: The gist of it is that he sought to usurp the goddess of magic so that he could become a god himself. He almost managed but not quite, and his entire empire – Netheril – came crashing down around him as he turned to stone. The magic unleashed that day was phenomenal, rolling like the prime chaos that outdates creation. A fragment of it was caught and sealed away in a book. No ordinary book, mind you; a tome of gateways that contained within it a bubble of Astral Plane. It was a fragment of primal Weave locked out of time – locked away from Mystra herself. ‘What if’, the silly wizard thought. ‘What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the Goddess?”

Narrator: You feel the tadpole quiver as you realise Gale is letting you in. Into the dark. You see through Gale’s eyes, staring down the corridors of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. It’s teeth, it’s claws, it’s unstoppable as it digs through you and becomes part of you. And gods, is it ever hungry… [...] This Netherese taint.. this orb, for lack of a better word, is balled up inside my chest. And it needs to be fed. As long as it absorbs Weave it remains stable – to an extent. The moment it becomes unstable, however.. [...] It will erupt. I don’t know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I’d say even a fragment as small as the one I carry…. It’d level a city the size of Waterdeep

Tav : I should godsdamned kill you GALE: Perhaps that is what I deserve, but you deserve no such thing. To kill me is to unleash the orb. 

So far, if we don't use the tadpole, we learn from Gale that he is unwillingly dangerous, there is an ancient magic stuck in his chest—acquired in Waterdeep—that he never could control and it inspires a dreadful state of mind (constant fear). It requires Weave to stay stable, and if it is not fed, a catastrophe will happen that will extend past his body. 

With the Tadpole we learn, in addition, part of the details we can learn during the revelation scene: it's a swirl of untamed/chaotic magic which is an ever-hungry "blackest weave". 

During the Revelation Scene all the information acquired by the tadpole intrusion is given, in addition to describing this mass of magic as an "orb" despite its inaccuracy. We also learn that killing Gale will only unleash the orb instead of putting an end to the problem. 

Gale said everything that is important related to the orb before the party scene, excluding only the personal information since he is a private person. This was exactly the boundary he set when he promised during the stew scene that he was going to explain the what, not the why. With the use of the tadpole we only learn details, simple extra descriptions; all information that Gale will willingly share during the revelation scene anyway.

We can learn a bit more of the “orb”'s function if we explore the goblin party. There, Gale explains part of the mechanism of the “orb” in a "poetic" way, that may or may not be taken exactly as such:

Gale: Two shadows are darkening my soul.The shadow within and the shadow without: you. You led me down this path. [...] I don't know myself anymore. All this... It's not who I am. Around you, I'm not who I want to be. I should leave. 

Tav: [Insight] Stay. We make each other stronger. We make each other survive. /OR/ [Deception] You don't stand a chance alone. You're free to go. I dare you. 

[Success][DC15] Gale: [...]. Few things are more powerful than the will to live. But carnage such as this.... the shadow within is spreading like poison, corrupting kindness and compassion. [...]. Tonight I need to wash my hands of blood and my mind of shattering memories. 

This shows that when playing an Evil Tav who sides with the Goblins, we have an extra description for this “orb”. Again, I ponder every bit of information with its context: Gale is a poet, and he tends to speak with metaphors specially when it comes to emotional painful states of mind or when it comes to the “orb” (which puts him in a very emotional state that even the tadpole doesn't), so these lines can perfectly be understood as a poetic way to describe his deep regret for participating in massacring the Tieflings. However, there is this detail that I can't overlook: the shadow within, understood as the blackest Weave, is spreading across his body, corrupting his good essence. As we saw in the post of "Extensive list of Gale's approvals", compassion and kindness are key elements in Gale's personality. This scene shows a potential that is not explored in EA: the “orb” seems to set a path in which it will corrupt Gale. 

Now this could be considered as a potential beginning of a shift of alignment, but it goes against what Sven said several times in interviews and presentations: he stated that they were not considering to change alignments in the companions (if you can imagine all the extra branches that it opens up, it makes sense not to allow it given the already colossal proportions of the game), so it's hard to suspect how Gale would evolve from here, or if this situation will give him reasons to attempt to kill this Evil Tav eventually (which is my personal guess). Sven suggested many times that companions could potentially kill Tav or other companions during their sleep. We saw this happening in EA with Astarion. Using datamining content, we saw the same with Lae'Zel and Shadowheart. I don't see why not to give in-character reasons to make this mechanism work with Gale as well.

As an extra (datamining) detail, we have Ethel's vicious mockery line emphasising the concept of "the shadow within":

Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages wizard, you're all rot and ruin.

Putting aside the unnerving detail that Gale's concept art has bandages on one of his hands while the game is oblivious to this, the idea of Gale's “orb” as a source of rot and ruin, in combination with that necrotic aura when he dies, gives us a sure idea that there is a “disease” spreading in Gale's body as a consequence of this blackest weave stuck in his chest.

All the in-game information was presented, so now let's drag conclusions: Comparing all the information extracted from the scenes, we can now consider how much potential has the lore object named before:

Shadow Weave: Could Gale's “orb” be a fragment of Shadow Weave?

Strengths of the argument: Gale's “orb” is described as "blackest weave". It could barely be a hint, even though the Shadow weave has no canon colour nor physical description in the corebooks. So this is a very weak strength.

Weaknesses of the argument: Shadow Weave doesn't feed on Weave (this is a fallacy so far I've checked. It would make no sense to feed on the same object that it needs to exist.) Shadow Weave doesn't explode nor is chaotic. 

Death moon orb:

Strengths: It's called an "orb". And it was made by a netherese arcanist, so it must contain “netherese magic”.

Weaknesses: This object was destroyed during the Spellplague. It's a physical orb which changes size, but it's not an "amorphous mass" of magic. It doesn't consume Weave.

Netherese Orb:

Strengths: It's called an "orb". It's made of shadow magic (which is not netherse magic in corebooks but in game Ethel used both denominations as synonymous). We know Shadovar are masters of Shadow Magic. Read more in the post "The Netherese in 1492DR".

Weaknesses: This object doesn't appear in the corebooks. It's used for communication. It doesn't seem to have any explosive properties nor consumes Weave.

Devastation orb:

Strengths: It's called an "orb". They explode with the intensity to destroy a city. 

Weaknesses: It's made of elemental magic (not netherese magic). It's a solid object, a bomb (not an amorphous mass). It doesn't consume weave.

Personal speculation

I don't think any of these canon objects are or inspired Gale's “orb”. If we take the descriptions in-game as they are, and considering the importance that Karsus and his folly have been given in the whole game (to the point that Larian added ingame books explaining part of it) I support two hypothesis that, by now, they must be obvious for lorists since I want to work with what the game (and datamining) gives me: 

1- The concept that this is a piece of corrupted Weave that Karsus' Avatar allowed to have access to when he disrupted the Weave. Gale calls it “primal weave” as well, which is a concept that doesn't exist so far in the corebooks, and one could relate, very barely, with raw magic. Maybe.

2- Heavy magic (key concept during 2e)

To understand this we need MORE lore (I know, this has no end; this is why I think a lot of misunderstandings with Gale’s character come from the big holes of lore that EA leaves, which is obvious, it's EA) So, allow me to clear out the concepts: 

Karsus' Avatar is the name of the spell that caused Karsus' folly and made him a god for just an ephemeral moment. The notes regarding the spell’s essence were nowhere to be found. It’s believed that Mystra, the reincarnated form of Mystryl, snatched the spell information from the ruins of Karsus’s enclave and sent it “on an eternal journey to the ends of the universe” (who knows what this means). Besides, as if this were not enough precaution, Mystra changed the rules of magic on the material plane making it impossible to cast spells over 10th level. Karsus' Avatar was a 12th level spell.

Raw Magic is “the stuff of creation, the mute and mindless will of existence, permeating every bit of matter and present in every manifestation of energy throughout the multiverse. Mortals can't directly shape this raw magic. Instead, they make use of a fabric of magic, a kind of interface between the will of a spellcaster and the stuff of raw magic. The spellcasters of the Forgotten Realms call it the Weave and recognize its essence as the goddess Mystra.” [Player's Handbook 5e]

The creation of the Weave allowed all mortals to have access to magic through study. The Weave works like a barrier and an interpreter to use the real source of magic: Raw Magic. For more information on this, check the wiki (otherwise each of these posts will be mini books of lore). Few mortals can tap magic from the raw magic. Spells like silver fire are part of the raw magic. Some wild mages can tap into it as well, but at the cost of making their spells very random. Only Weave-disruptive events can allow an uncontrolled influx of raw magic into the world (which can be considered what happened during Karsus' folly)

Mythalars are immense artefacts that work like intermediates of the Raw Magic. They don't use the Weave, they have direct access to Raw Magic and were used to power up magical artefacts around them (thanks to these objects the Netheril cities floated in the air). Touching a mythalar causes instant death since Raw magic is harmful for most mortals.

So the first hypothesis (corrupted Weave) means that when Karsus cast this spell and became the Weave itself for a brief moment, he may have access to Raw magic directly. His spell Karsus' avatar started using common Weave, but in the second he connected deeply with the Weave and with Mystryl's powers, he had access to Raw magic as a god. His spell may have changed the source of its power from the Weave to Raw Magic, adding the latter's randomness and chaos to the spell itself and therefore, corrupting the Weave. The transition, so violent like the whole event, may have corrupted part of the Weave that was being used while casting the spell. According to Gale's description, the “orb” stuck in his chest is a piece of Weave with the active effect of Karsus' Avatar (the spell), but the Narrator gives us the extra information that it's corrupted. Apparently Gale never realised this object was corrupted, or may have known it and he tried to cleanse it so he could return it to Mystra. Either way, the source of the corruption may have been the sudden transition to Raw Magic during the casting. My main problem with this hypothesis is how a spell can be stuck in a piece of Weave, since Gale's “orb” maintains Karsus's avatar's effect. 

On one hand, Karsus' Avatar main effect is “to absorb god-like powers”. In that moment of history, this spell was aimed at Mystryl, and therefore to the Weave. The disruption of the event “stuck” the effect of “absorbing weave” in a piece of Weave, while the chaotic nature of this “orb” could be attributed to the direct presence of Raw Magic, also stuck in it. Now, another weakness of this hypothesis is that nothing of this causes a "corruption disease" as Gale implies it (we only know that the failure of the spell turned Karsus into stone). So we don't have a good argument for this effect beyond the one “I believe that since the moment was disruptive, it must have corrupted something, and that corruption is quite unhealthy in a mortal body”. Which it's not of my liking, but this is what we get up to this point in EA.

The second hypothesis I talked about is another lore concept intimately related to Karsus in 2e: Heavy Magic (which I personally prefer over the first hypothesis). 

Heavy magic is physical, tangible magic, usually presented as a viscous mass of chaotic nature. It can crawl, entering into cracks of a wall or a body, for example. Karsus created a distilled version of this magic called super heavy magic, and experimented with people. The subject eating a bit of this magic will have heavy magic spread on all the inner walls of their body and will kill them (it's not a disease, but it spreads inside and kills). The usual effect of the stable super heavy magic was to magnify the powers of a spell or enchantment (it allowed spells to be stuck in it), however it could be used for everything. 

Karsus used this element to enhance enchantments on walls, for example projecting illusions endlessly. This means that this product has the ability of keeping a spell functioning in it (as we see that this black weave keeps the function of the Karsus' avatar). [Dangerous Games, 2e]

Naturally, heavy magic absorbs life energies (maybe another characteristic fitting the concept of disease and necrotic effects). There is an event (2e) related to this aspect in which the renegade arcanist Wulgreth became a lich after heavy magic overflew him [Power and Pantheons, 2e]

As it is easy to see, this concept shares a lot of similarities with the object stuck in Gale's chest. But there is still more:

In the novel Dangerous Games (2e), strongly focused on how Karsus experimented with Heavy Magic, it is explicitly said that Karsus infused himself with super heavy magic before casting Karsus' avatar (probably to magnify the spell power but we also know that heavy magic can get spells stuck in it). He grew taller, and glowed in a white-silver radiance. Babbling arcane chants, the super heavy magic raged within him until he came into a state of being between a man and deity. Then it followed his folly. Karsus “died”, turning his body into red-hued stone, bound in eternal torment to relieve repeatedly the moment he became aware of his folly. 

So there exists a chance that a pieces of super heavy magic (in which Karsus was infused when all this happened) may have kept Karsus' Avatar effect stuck in them. One of these pieces could have been recovered later around the red stone where Karsus is now. This could potentially be the object or, at least, in what it had inspired Gale's “orb”. It's also worth noticing that one of the main characters in this novel Dangerous Games was looking for ways to safely contain heavy magic and avoid its damaging effect, so there is extra lore information about vessels that could justify the sealed book that Gale found in Waterdeep. 

As an extra detail on this matter, we know that the runes of teleportation may have been made with heavy magic: "Gale: See that rune? Netherese, I think. Weave's so thick on it, it's almost viscous." 

Since Gale is calling "Weave" to the element attached to the teleport runes, it makes me wonder if this was a slight variation that Larian made of the canon concept of Heavy Magic to not add new concepts to the already complex world of Forgotten Realms. Maybe, in the end, both hypotheses are the same: the second one is strictly more canon-related than the first one, which is more or less the same but simplified in terms and concepts. 

As a last conclusion from my personal point of view, I see no much sense in calling this thing “orb”. In game it's clearly described as an amorphous black mass, not an orb. And it made me remember Gale's original description, when the EA was not released yet: it's the only way where I can see its nonsensical origin, which was done in a completely different context. 

Gale has one ambition: to become the greatest wizard Faerûn has ever known. Yet his thirst for magic led to disaster. A Netherese Destruction Orb beats in his chest, counting down to an explosion that can level a city. Gale is confident he'll overcome it, but time is not on his side.

After the game was released in EA, Gale's description changed radically, and therefore his current description has a different approach entirely, removing the concept of "orb" for what we know in the game: “ancient chaotic magic”. 

Wizard prodigy: Gale is a wizard prodigy whose love for a goddess made him attempt a dread feat no mortal should. Blighted by the forbidden magic of ancient Netheril, Gale strives to undo the corruption that is overtaking him and win back his goddess’ favour before he becomes a destroyer of worlds.

This is one of the many details that make me believe that Gale's original concept/character was changed significantly before the EA release. But this is a mere personal speculation. For more details on netherese magic, read the post of "The Netherese in 1492DR".

Source: 

2nd edition: Powers and Pantheons, Netheril: Empire of Magic, Dangerous Games by Emery Clayton. 3rd Edition: Faith and Pantheon, Magic of Faerûn 4th edition Player's Handbook 5th edition: Player's Handbook, Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide

This post was written in May 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

#bg3 meta #bg3 lore #bg3 early access #gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale

[stefciastark]

Vines

Rating: T

Characters/Themes: Tony & Peter (Irondad), Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Nick Fury

Genre: H/C

Words: ~1600 and counting

A/N: Originally made for Day 11 of Webpril (a little late, whoops), I have also published this into a separate fic. If you'd like to stay up to date with how this pans out for chapter 2-3, you'll find that on my AO3 or FFN on the 'Standalone Fic' links below :) x

~Read it on AO3 | Webpril | Standalone Fic

~Read it on FFN | Webpril | Standalone Fic

Peter had never thought he’d be afraid of plants. Alright, maybe poison ivy and rhubarb, but not vines of all things. He also never thought he’d see the day when plants came to life...well okay, plants were already alive, but sentient was a whole other can of worms that Peter wished was never opened.

“Remind me to add a herbicide feature to the suits next time,” Tony chimed in over the comms. Peter couldn’t see his whereabouts, a cloud of smoke barring his view. It seemed like no matter how many explosives or sheer blunt force they sunk into these things, they were getting nowhere.

“New York is struggling with the trees as is, Tony, I don’t think we need you nuking the last patch of grass in Central Park,” Clint fired back.

“Look, can we talk about saving the forests later? I could use some more hands on deck here.” Steve was about a block and a half away from the rest of the team, having appointed himself to ‘perimeter’ duty but had soon been confronted with a writhing mass of vines that sprouted from the ground like heads sprouted from a Hydra.

Steve’s request was met by an enthusiastic “coming!” from Peter, who promptly proceeded to assume the role of a modern George of the Jungle, but instead the jungle was made of concrete, and the vines were...well the vines were vines.

Peter locked on to the small speck of blue weaving in between a forest of green, and proceeded to deploy the four mechanical arms that erupted from the back of the Iron Spider. Each arm seemed to operate on Karen’s schedule, but Peter couldn’t complain; the AI had faster reactions than Peter ever would, and if he thought about that too much it scared him.

As each metal appendage slashed and carved its way through the thick stems, thick sap oozed out like blood, but as soon as the incisions appeared, they were gone, replaced by cell membranes that were multiplying way too fast.

“Uh, guys? This isn’t working…”

“You’re telling me,” Clint grumbled, feeling more useless than ever. It didn’t matter if his arrows were covered in acid, produced flames, or were laced with electricity - the outcome was still the same. As soon as Clint came to that realisation, he had perched himself on the balcony of a nearby highrise, not wanting to risk being caught amongst the chaos. There was many a time he wished he weren’t as human. Moreso, he wished he weren’t as fragile.

“Hold on, I’ve got this.” Tony rounded the corner of the sidestreet nearest to Peter and moments later as the suit brushed past Steve, a long thin pike that exploded out from a Tylenol sized capsule dug into the ground right next to one of the vines besides Peter.

Within less than a second, Peter felt a shudder beneath the ground, followed by a geyser of dirt. The vine writhed for a moment before falling limp with a heavy thud. It suddenly looked so much smaller, no longer resembling a gigantic green tube man from outside the local car dealership.

“Well that wasn’t so bad.”

Peter groaned internally, not needing his Spidey Sense to tell him that those would be Tony’s famous last words.

The vine began convulsing, and Peter was reminded of the nurses from Silent Hill. For a moment he wished they were; then he wouldn’t have to deal with something at least half the size of his apartment building.

Rising once more to its full stature, half a dozen smaller vines broke out from the soil beneath it. Now it really resembled a Hydra.

Tony registered simultaneously the resurrection-including-birth and his position that put him at the epicentre of it all. Firing all repulsors at maximum capacity, he took off aiming vaguely for Hawkeye’s vantage point on the balcony.

That would’ve been the plan.

One of the smaller vines had snaked its way around the suit’s foot, up the ankle, and began to relentlessly squeeze. Sparks were beginning to fly out of Tony’s right foot repulsor before sputtering and going dark, and in that brief window where full-flight momentum had been compromised, the vine arched back.

Peter watched with mild panic as Tony whipped into the ground with the vine still stubbornly attached. He knew the suit could handle a lot, but what he never knew - and he was fairly sure Tony didn’t really know either - was if the suit was going to be able to come back to the workshop in one piece, preferably with Tony in one piece in it. And speaking of the workshop, after the dust cleared Peter’s heart sunk as he took in the scuffs and the scattered uneven plates that normally fit together like a puzzle. Of course, with all of their recent calls to action over the last few days and most of the other suits undergoing major upgrades and testing during an almost two month long quiet period - which turns out was a major oversight - the only suitable suit candidate was already semi out of commission.

Tony’s communications stuttered back online, jarred momentarily by the impact, and a low groan filtered over the comms.

“Tony, you alright?” Steve was almost 300-feet away, jumping back in after spending an frustratingly inordinate amount of time trying to pull an answer out of S.H.I.E.L.D who had sent a few airborne vehicles to try and scan and triangulate.

“Just. Peachy.” Each word was punctuated by a forceful attempt to remove the vine’s grip from the suit. Tony didn’t want to admit it out loud, but the strength at which it was constricting was starting to hurt. A lot. He really didn’t want to think about how much pressure the baby vine had to be exerting for him to feel it beneath the suit. He was suddenly a lot more alarmed about the larger vines.

S.H.I.E.L.D used that moment to broadcast, Nick Fury’s voice filtering over the present team’s radios. “I see we might have a bit of a weed problem. I would’ve thought gardening was a bit below the Avengers’ paygrade.”

“Just tell us how to get rid of these things, they’re giving me the creeps.” Clint broke his silence, his time surveying the convulsing vines of chaos in Central Park not bringing him any answers.

Fury was all business now. “This thing’s set up camp over by the boat house to your north. Scans picked up a large form that looks like a bulb about 32-feet below the surface. Find it, kill it, and we can all go home.”

“Roger that,” Steve replied, shifting his shield to sit more securely. “Tony, are you rea -”

“I’m gonna need a bit. As kinky as being tied up would be in any other situation…” Tony never quite finished his thought, turning off his radio as the vine constricted once more and he gritted his teeth against the crushing pressure. More of the baby vines had seemed to smell the nearby prey and had turned their attention to his figure lying supine on the ground.

Peter winced, hearing the (almost) disguised strain in Tony’s voice. The parent vine didn’t seem to care about his mentor anymore, and if it had eyes, Peter was sure they’d be twinkling in a lazy kind of sadistic pleasure. It had minions to do its dirty work now.

“Alright Queens, you and I have got this.” Steve looked at Peter and nodded. Clint had one arrow left and that method of attack had so far proven incredibly useless. Except…

Peter swung his way up to the balcony Clint was occupying near the East Green section of Central Park. “Hey, can I have your last boom arrow? Maybe it’ll work, but I’ve got a plan.”

Clint raised an eyebrow, loathe to give over his last projectile and cementing how inessential he had begun to feel. Pressing his lips together, he reached behind him and pulled out his last arrow. “Just press this bit in the middle of the arrowhead, okay? After that you’ve got about five seconds before you need to get the hell out.”

“Cool, got it. Arrowhead, five seconds, run. Thanks!” And as soon as Peter had appeared, he had started his commute back towards Steve.

Tony was lying incredibly still. He discovered that if he barely twitched a muscle - which these abominations could somehow tell beneath a layer of armour - the rate at which the squeezing increased slowed down.

“Today would be great.” Tony turned his head towards Steve, who had just shifted his attention to Peter who had arrived with an arrow in hand. Steve at once understood the plan.

“Hold tight, Tony.” Steve’s voice dripped with an authority that Tony found profoundly irritating but Peter found comforting.

“Not going anywhere, Cap.”

Steve took off at a sprint next to Peter, who was using the surrounding trees and lamp posts as targets for his webs. The closer they got to the epicentre of it all, the more concentrated the vines were. What started as sporadically placed vegetation now looked more like a dense jungle.

Peter landed softly on the grass as Steve slowed to a jog. Looking up, they were confronted with a writhing mass that looked more like a Kraken than it did a plant.

As they deliberated their next course of action, Peter’s blood ran cold as over the radio he heard Tony’s agonised scream.

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #irondad fic #irondad fanfiction #the avengers #avengers fanfic #my fic #bamf peter parker #protective avengers #h/c fanfiction #iron man #spiderman #hurt tony stark #steve rogers #clint barton #nick fury #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #ao3fic #ffnet

[feminist-propaganda]

Single Mothers Will Probably Cry During Every Episode Of  Queen’s Gambit - Episode 1

I’ll start this long piece with a quote by Toni Morrisson. She once said : “If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.”

After watching Queen’s Gambit yesterday I rushed to the Internet to see if someone had written all of the things I am about to write, all of the symbols I saw in the miniseries, all of the dog whistles, the references.  I found articles about chess. About how the community had adopted the film, about which grandmasters the characters were based off of, about chess moves and theories, about production and the unexpected success of the series.

According to me, this is quite mediocre commentary. I eventually clicked on the New Yorker article that seemed to be a tiny bit smarter. After a couple of paragraphs I realized that the male writer was only going to rant about how the actress is “too pretty” to be Beth Harmon, and this seems to upset him. A lot.

But no one talked about Beth’s mother. Or the name of the series. Or the embroidery. The chess board. The tranquilizers. The math. The flashbacks. The exchange of queens. The sacrifice of the queen. Did no one see it? Or is it again one of those things; where the world is so obsessed with single mothers and representing them as huge, massive, quite literal train wrecks, but no one actually wants to look at them in the eye, talk to them, help them?

Let me tell you, as a single mother, this miniseries had me in tears the whole time. It’s really difficult to watch. It’s downright triggering.

Single mothers like to keep their silence. That’s because we know the world doesn’t like it when we start talking. It hurts. A lot. So instead, the world likes to make memes about how single moms are whores, how they are drunks or over worked. How they’re psychotic. How they ramble. They don’t make any sense. Bipolar. Crazy. How their children stare at the television all day, the way they microwave bad food. We laugh at them, and use them as comical relief in our ... what exactly? Cultural objects. Then we move on. We send a message to single mothers when we do this, and the message is important. You suck. Shut Up. Don’t exist. It’s your fault. 

We make an entire mini series about a single mother who killed herself to save her kid, we put on the television images that hurt and harm single mothers and then the public responds with nothing. They don’t even bat an eyelash. Miss the point entirely. Great series about chess! Except it’s not about chess. Not at all. It’s about raising children alone, when the world hates you. It’s about a trailer. In the middle of nowhere. A strong willed woman who was a mathematician in the 1940s. Who taught her daughter everything she could. Realized she couldn’t do more. And made the ultimate sacrifice, the queen’s gambit. The riskiest, most reckless, bravest move of all.

So let me tell you about what it’s like to watch Queen’s Gambit when you’re a single mother. So that somewhere in the AI, it’s written. So that when our great grand children will try to understand our times, they’ll read it.

I’ll write an essay for each episode. And in each essay I will review the important lession that Alice passed on to young Beth, and how this takes her to Moscow, where she can live a much more fulfilling life than in the U.S.A.

Lesson 1 : Find A Two Dimensional Algebric Plane. Study It. Control It.

I recently learned from instagram user @itllbeokbaby and Amsterdam based artist and weaver Liza Prins that the words textile and text have the same origin as the word texture. 

Text derives from the Latin textus (a tissue), which is in turn derived from texere (to weave). It belongs to a field of associated linguistic values that includes weaving, that which is woven, spinning, and that which is spun, indeed even web and webbing. Textus entered European vernaculars through Old French, where it appears as texte and where it assumes its important relation with tissu (a tissue or fabric) and tisser (to weave).

Women have been weaving, beading, sowing and stitching since the dawn of times. We also know that women used this technology not just to create clothes, tents or shoes. They used it as a container of information. As cultural DNA. 

In South America, in places where writing as we know of it was never created, women would bead important tribal information into skirts. They would then use the skirts as a database of the tribe. To track births, deaths, epidemics, droughts and other important group defining events.

In modern times, women still use embroidery as a means of expression. My memories from childhood contain strong images of my aunts and grandmothers, sewing my name and date of birth onto pillow cases, bathrobes and bedcovers. They would do this by the pool, at the bottom of the ski slopes, on the beach or in the train. They would engage into conversation as they embroidered; as this activity required some concentration, but not their full attention. It was their way of being present; but also transcending into the past and projecting into the future. They sewed our lives into the cloth.

I once heard my grandmother counting the holes in the cloth she was decorating with her beautiful colours. I asked what she was doing. She said that to build the letters on the cloth, you needed to count the squares. Two to the top, four to the right, ten to the middle, etc etc. I was quite mesmerized. I was maybe eight at the time, the same age as Beth when she loses her mother. I had started learning some math in school but somehow the math in school seemed to be presented to me as the epitome of something quite different than this excruciatingly feminine passtime. 

Math was presented to me as masculine, out of reach to us girls. And now I was disovering that these women in my family were geometry experts, fluent in linear algebra, and that at a higher level, they were database account managers.

In the first episode of the miniseries, in the first couple of minutes; we discover two Beths. The first Beth is in Paris, the beautiful, the chic; the glamourous Paris. Paris will always be the undisputed capital of Fashion. 

Paris is the undisputed capital of fashion not because it is the home of polluting massive textile industries like the ones in Pakistan or Zara’s empire in Spain. Paris is the capital of fashion because it is the capital of Haute Couture. And Haute Couture is custom made, sowed by hand, piece by piece, bead by bead, sequin per sequin. It is delicate. It is slow. It is sacred. It is what my aunt’s did. 

It is the opposite of industrial, the opposite of a sewing machine, the opposite of an engine. The opposite of yield failures, punching in and punching out. It is lace. Delicate, personal, eternal.

The second Beth we see is the eight year old Beth, that has just lost her mother. She stands on a bridge. Two cars have crashed into one another. And she stares on at the police officers. One says “Not a scratch on her. It’s a miracle”. The other says “I doubt she’ll see it like that”. 

My theory is that the miniseries explain how Beth eventually begins to “see it like that”. 

The first time we see 8 year old Beth she is wearing a dress, with her name embroidered on it. It reads Beth, in pink. Feminine. Purple flowers surround it. The embroidery is delicate. It’s on her heart. 

We follow eight year old Beth as she gets sent to an orphanage. In the first couple of scenes at the orphanage, we think, for a minute, that maybe Beth will be okay here. The head mistress smiles, has nice hair. Shows her around. Yes, the bed is by the lavatory, but at least she has a bed, a roof over her head.

We only start despising this new mother figure when she takes Beth to choose new clothes. Beth takes off her dress, and stares at her name, written on the front. The headmistress selects a white shirt and grey dress for Beth. She hands to her these new items, symbol of her new life, of her integration within the orphanage and later mainstream society. The headmistress then grabs the dress with the name embroidered and looks at it with disgust. Then, she says “I think we’ll burn this one” and disapears.

Beth then understands that she is no longer allowed to love her mother. That to fit in this school, this orphanage, to survive, she must let go of the embroidery and all of the things she associates with her mother. Her mother, in the words of the teacher was a “victim” of “a carefree life”. A free spirited whore, a lesbian, a witch. There’s a lot of words we liek to use to describe women who don’t conform. And Beth’s mother, as we learn, never conformed.

At night, Beth sees her mother’s eyes, she hears the last words her mother uttered before dying in the car crash. “Close your eyes”. She said it with tears in her eyes and an air of great determination. She knew what she was doing, which is something Beth doesn’t want to tell anyone. Not even her new friend Jolene. Beth’s secret is her mother wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t crazy at all.

Then, Beth discovers the board. One day, she gets sent to the basement and sees the janitor playing chess. Later in the miniseries, Beth tells the journalist from Life it was the board that attracted her. Not the pieces.

As the first episode unfolds, Beth learns that the squares have names. She learns the names. And at night when she looks up at the ceiling she sees the board. She visualizes the pieces moving on the 64 squares. She moves them in her mind and imagines all of the alternatives. What the board would look like if she moved this piece to that square. What would her opponent do then? 

To the journalist of the Life magazine, Beth says that the Chess board was a universe of 64 squares, and that she could control this space. All she had to do was study it.

The board is much like the cloth that Beth’s mother Alice would sew information onto when she was a young child. You count the squares and move your material through it. As you go, you make shapes, patterns, motifs. Beth looks up at the ceiling at night and the first night, without the tranquilizers, she sees her mother say “Close your eyes” which is too painful or such a young child. A young child doesn’t understand yet why a mother would say “Close your eyes” and then crash on purpose into a truck. A young child doesn’t know about the world yet.

Alice aknowledged that she was about to do something extremely risky, that the outcome was uncertain. Alice told Beth that she was going to purposely provoke the car crash. 

But when Beth takes the tranquilizers at night, and now that she knows about chess, she can transfer her love for her mother into her growing obsession with Chess. She looks up at the ceiling and instead of seeing Alice’s last thoughts, she sees the Chess board. Which is the small piece of universe that Alice controlled, when she was alive. The cloth that she sewed her daughter’s name on: “So that you’ll always remember who you are”.

#feminism #single mom #the queen's gambit

[hopeswriting]

FANDOM: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

EVENT: Flufftober 2020 

PROMPT: Cuddling

AUTHOR: @hopeswriting​

RATING: G

PAIRING: Adult!Lal & Adult!Fon

SUMMARY:

Lal comes home after yet another unsuccessful meeting with an agent. [Modern!AU]

Tag warning: Self depreciating language, Non serious wish of self harm (Lal is just being dramatic)

WORDS: 582 (BONUS: 1413)

*

Lal doesn’t slam the door closed behind her. She doesn’t throw her bag nor her coat down the leaving room, and doesn’t kick away her shoes after removing them like they’re soccer balls.

She closes the door and collapses on the previously-blanketed-and-pillowed-by-Fon floor, half in the entryway, half in the living room, still fully clothed.

Fon sends a “Quicksand Lal” text to the others to let them know they can’t come in right now.

At least her eyes weren’t red-rimmed, and she didn’t look about to burst into tears.

“I’m the one mistake god kept in this world to remind themself to never commit such an atrocity again.”

Fon winces. Well then, now he would just have to find the name of this last agent, editor, whoever, so they can have a little chat.

Did they have to make her leave their meeting in such a state every time?

He thinks the fuck not.

“You’re my very favorite person on earth, and I simply would have had to fist fight god to make you if he didn’t already do it.” Fon lies down too in the other direction, his head at the same level as Lal’s. “I would have won too, by the way.”

Lal huffs a laugh, sad and weak. She hides her face with her hood, closer to tears than Fon first thought.

“Why do I even keep trying?”

“Because it’s who you are. You never let the world put you down for long, and you’re not about to start now. I won’t let you.”

“Why fucking bother?” She kicks the bag at her feet, sends it flying against the wall. “How hard can it be to write a decent book? I’m just incompetent.”

Fon gently removes the hood and the hair out of her face. He brings her close, and lies on his back so she can rest her head on his chest.

“It’s very hard. But you’ll work on it again and make it better.”

“If you truly have any ounce of love for me at all, you’d snap my neck right now and spare me the humiliation of my existence.”

“You’ll work on it again as many times as you need, until every one else recognize its worth.”

“If you truly care for me, you’d burn to the ground any traces of my writing you could find.”

“And then we could make the round of all these agents who refused you, and throw a copy of your published book in their face.” Fon weaves his fingers through her hair, scratches her scalp. He peers down at her. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Lal glances at him briefly, and grows more of a dead weight on him. “You don’t even like my book.”

“I don’t like any books. I’m illiterate, remember? Words pretty to look at, hard to read.”

Lal snickers, something brief but genuine, and flicks him blindly somewhere along his jawline. She crawls on her knees to drape herself over him like some heavy, comfort-seeking blanket.

Fon wraps his arms around her and holds her tight, stroking her back in a soothing manner.

“Hey?” he says softly. She hums. “There’s people out there waiting to have their whole life changed by your book, so I better see you working on it.”

Lal nuzzles his neck. “Deal.”

“I brought ice-cream too. Chocolate and hazelnuts flavored.”

Lal sighs dreamily. “You’re the only man I’ll ever lie my life down for. Marry me.”

Fon chuckles. “Well, don’t go tell Colonnello that.”

*

BONUS:

Okay buckle up because I have thoughts for this verse.

This is a Civilians!Arco, Roommates!Arco, Polyamory!Arco, Slice of Life, Adulting Wrong, Modern AU.

But let's just go with the Arcobaleno Adulting Wrong AU lol.

(And I say civilians as in, their flames are dormant, but they could become active at literally any given moment, because I think it has the potential to be funny but I just didn’t figure out how yet.)

------

Lal and Fon meets in high school. Fon is the new foreign student in her class, and she’s asked to be the person he can turn to if he needs help.

They become best friends, stick together from then on, through high school and college, and decide they’ll live together.

They find themselves a nice two rooms apartment, but it turns out quickly it’s too nice for them.

So they send the word they're looking for a roommate.

------

Reborn and Colonnello are childhoods best friends. They stick together until high school, then go their separate way after that.

(They do stay in contact though, even if it’s nothing significant at all.)

Reborn majors in Math and minors in Social Studies, and comes out of college as its best student ever without breaking a sweat.

He opens a coffee shop, and finds a studio within his budget, and everything is fine.

Except nothing is fine because Reborn can live in nothing else but at least above average comfort, and his studio definitely does not qualify.

Until his business gets popular and he gets rich, he figures he can bear living with someone else in the meantime.

He finds Lal’s and Fon’s add, but the part he’s supposed to pay still doesn’t quite fit in his budget.

He calls Colonnello.

------

Colonnello is a rich boy. He doesn’t live with his parents anymore, but still absolutely depends on them financially.

They’re the one paying his nice apartment while he’s going through college. He majors in International Business while being the college star basketball athlete.

Here’s the thing though, Colonnello couldn’t care less about it all. He’s doing it because that’s what he’s expected to do.

(Well, he does like baseball, and sports in general, but he doesn’t want to make that for a living.)

But here’s the other thing, Colonnello doesn’t know what the hell he wants to do with his life.

He’d love to step out of the path decided for him to his own path—that’s the only thing he wants actually—, but he literally never knew anything else?

He only ever had to conform to others’ expectations of him, so he kind of comes empty when he tries to think of the alternative.

Somehow he comes to the conclusion serving in the army is what will give him answers.

But then Reborn calls, and he figures becoming independent of his parent’s money is maybe a more reasonable first step to take.

He becomes Reborn’s business partner, and moves in with him with Lal and Fon.

------

Skull hates school. He’s good at school, but he can’t believe he has to legally waste so much time of his life in there.

His parents are adamant he makes it all the way through college, so he makes a deal they won’t be allowed to tell him ever again how to live his life once he does.

He majors in Communication, Social Media and Web Marketing, minors in Sustainable Fashion Design, and then spends every walking living second of his life working to become a pro dancer and nothing else.

Except he still needs a roof above his head, but doesn’t want it to be a too big responsibility on his shoulders, so he looks for roommates.

He finds Lal’s and Fon’s add, but they already have Reborn and Colonnello, but even with the four of them the rent proves to be too pricey still, so they let Skull sleeps in the living room while they look for a new apartment.

They find a nice, four bedrooms apartment, of someone looking for roommates, and thankfully they don’t mind there are five of them.

Skull becomes Reborn’s and Colonnello’s business partner, takes care specifically and only of marketing them on social media, and points out that maybe they’d want to hire some employees for the shop.

------

Verde is the one living in the four room apartment, looking for roommates.

Verde is still a genius in this, and his parents were genius of their own, and they’re dead now but they left him loaded with money.

That’s how he pays the apartment, and everything else in his life, because he lives as a literal hermit and certainly does not have a job.

He never had a job in his whole life actually, and he’s fine with it.

Here’s the thing though, he’s terrible with money. And yeah his parents were geniuses, but the average kind of geniuses, and he’s starting to run kind of low in terms of money.

So he looks for roommates to buy himself as much time as he can.

And he sucks it up when he sees what kind of roommates exactly he summoned in his life lol.

------

Viper is… fucking tired of living in a Society, actually. Did they fucking ask? They fucking didn’t.

They make it until high school and straight up refuse to go to college, no matter what their parents say.

But, yes, they suppose they have to do something with their life. Yes, they’re working on it, they are, they swear.

It’s their 24th birthday, and their parents tell him if by next year they didn’t get their shit together, they’ll have no choice but to kick him out.

Viper immediately tweets this injustice, because, you see, they’re an influencer.

“Influencer.”

It started with them live blogging their whole life with a heavy dose of complaints and dark humor and cynicism, and somehow they made it popular.

And then companies started reaching out to them and, well, they weren’t about to say no to some money.

I wouldn’t say they’re liked though.

Popular? Yes. Liked? Let’s not go that far lmao. Make people talk about them and distract them from their own life? Absolutely.

Viper would die within the first 30 minutes of living in the streets, so they look for a part-time job to try to soothe their parents.

They become cashier at the coffee shop.

Except it doesn’t soothe their parents at all, so when they meet the deadline, they just move in with the others Arcobaleno.

------

Luce is… I’m still hesitating for Luce.

She can be their neighbor, and the only one among them who actually has her life together and under control and going exactly as she wants it to go.

And they kind of secretly hates her because of it, but the spite helps them try harder to get their shit together.

On the other hand she’s genuinely very supportive of them, which not many people in their life are—if any—, because she believes in the beauty and strength and bravery of pursuing your dreams no matter what, and they love her so much for it.

Also she indulges and encourages every last one of their bad decisions, which undoubtedly makes everything worse, but everyone is happy not to point it out.

OR she can be just like them, doing what is essentially procrastinating into adulthood.

I think both have the potential to be funny, but let’s go with the second one for consistency’s sake.

------

Luce has a whole thriving enterprise to inherit from her parents, but no, thank you very much, she wants to make her own mark in the world.

She majors in European & International Business, minors in Entrepreneurship & Innovation, and sets out to make her own mark in the world.

She works in her parent’s enterprise in the meantime, but only because she’ll need money to make her own mark in the world, and also, you know, to live until she makes her own mark in the world.

Which is absolutely a work in progress, she’s working on that right now. Making her own mark in the world.

Luce doesn’t have any fucking clue what she wants her own mark in the world to be. Or more like, she wants to do so many things!

When she talks to Colonnello about saving money so she can try to do as many things as she needs to, he tells her about how they totally could use another roommate to pay their bills.

She becomes a server at the coffee shop.

*

Okay so I do have more thoughts for this verse, but it’s going to be too long if I write them all at once lol. Here’s part 2!

Thank you for reading! Any and all review are appreciated ^^.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr fanfic #flufftober 2020 #khr fon #khr lal #cuddling #lal & fon #khr aaw au #this verse is really fun to think about! #can't wait to share what else i came up with with you guys #also i have no clue if you actually meet the agents;editors;whoever in person? #oh well lol #arcobaleno adulting wrong au #mine

[squid--inc--writes]

purgatory

so, I decided to finally finish writing that piece from a really fucked up dream I had. this probably doesn`t cover a quarter of it, but I enjoyed it, and its the first solid writing piece I`ve had in 2 years, so I`m proud.

@schwarzekatzen @wettthepottterheadss4120

warning: gore, gross descriptions, vague psychological bullshit, bullying, violence, etc.

word count:  2281

summary: you follow Trith (not mentioned in the story) on her first round to meet some of the residents within this particular realm of purgatory. Because, frankly, who else can?

My eyes open to a hollow ceiling, peering right into an attic where a familiar rocking hair rocks away. Not a care in the world about how it's up there. That would be Granny Gin. Don't know her real name, but still. She's there. Dead as ever, and knitting away. Sometimes I sleep in long enough that her scarf reaches the floor.

Standing up, groggy, I make my way to do my rounds. Someone's got to make sure the dead don't panic. The first round doesn't have to be me all dressed up. Not like they care about the smell. At least I don't think they do. Can the dead smell? I don't know. At Kirby's request, I started keeping a journal so he can remember what last happened and get one step closer to getting out of here. I also want to help everyone else out of purgatory, so this is why I'm writing this. Brand spanking new. Right up on a blank page. Yep.

So, I guess my next ghastly figure is Heidi. She stands in the bathroom all day. Touching up her makeup, not changing a thing. Aside from the usual changes extended stays can cause. I think she starved to death. Couldn't tell you. She's standing there, takes a glance at me in the mirror, nods, then tries another colour of lipstick. She's been here a while, so that means three eyes, each one a distinct colour of red, blue or yellow. She also has glowing skin, and her legs are becoming more horse like. Maybe her puzzle would be solved by getting her life a little STABLE. Hah. Get it? Why would I write down my laugh?

Whatever, I'm not going to erase anything or cross it out. The thoughts of the living might help, even abstractly.

The next is the hallway. Bert walks along, holding a gas can thing. Y'know, an old timey thing they used to gas bugs? I'm not sure, I can't recall ever needing an exterminator.

He tips his hat to mean, "hey there, lil' lady. Didn't the landlord tell ya to keep out of the building for the next day or so? Don't worry. I'll wait to do my work until you get out. I'll just let 'im know I'll be a bit late starting."

I nod, "thank you." Sometimes it's easier to play along. I feel he's been a tad testy, so I try not to agitate him. Usually I can pass by just fine. Maybe he had anger issues. Try and work his puzzle out like that. Ironically, he resembles a cockroach by now. He doesn't have hands, but the rigid limbs that should have been his hands were made of a hardened skin. It chipped away from his bones like it knew it wasn't supposed to look like that. I rarely look him in the face, both because he looks… interesting, but also because it tends to aggravate him. Maybe it's the way I look at him. He's yelled at me for being a large bug before, not always a roach. I just don't want to get hit again. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

Next up, Theodore and Teddy. They have the same name, and they yell at each other from across the hall. They each have their own rooms. Sometimes they switch rooms. They seem to be connected at this point, literally. They have long strings of flesh swinging from between their bodies. At one point, they got cut, and you see everything pouring out. They acknowledge it in their recent arguments, getting mad at the other for not making enough of an effort to keep it all in. Theodore usually doesn't have a jaw anymore, since it melted down, combined with his clothes. I can't check on Mindy anymore thanks to them. I don't think I want to.

However, I think the problem revolves around they're communication. But that's an obvious point. Maybe they need to accept their own responsibility for their misfortunes.

Mindy… last time I saw her, she had dolls connecting to her through thousands of strands of veins, and nerves, and all other sorts of things. They aren't all made of plastic anymore, last time I saw her.

Theodore says to me, as if his chin wasn't sitting where his stomach would be, "hello dear. How are you today?"

"I'm doing well. Thank you. How are you and Teddy today?"

Teddy snorts from the other room, dusting off an old hat, and placing it on his head, "I'm fine. Perfectly."

Theodore rolled his eyes, "we're as well as ever. Just a lovers' quarrel."

Teddy got offended, ripping the hat off, "oh, NOW we're lovers?"

I nod, and quickly leave before they start trying to pull their guts to their respective sides, and spitting insults. It never ends well.

Next up, Patty and Simone, standing on the stairs. They are actually quite friendly with each other. Patty asking Simone about her husband, Simone asking how Patty's been, after her being widowed and all. They swap recipes regularly. Patty very much seems like she killed her husband. And some of the recipes they swap sound as if Simone is trying to kill her husband. If what she says is true, he deserves it. God do I hope it's not.

Simone has morphed into the railing at this point, spine jutting from bloodless flesh so she can lean on the staircase. I feel the one they used to talk at was a lot lower, considering Simone is almost nine feet in the air. Patty, however, seems to be turning to a bone statue. Her legs can no longer move, not that she moved much to begin with. Wait, no, this time she seems to be turning to ice. Her legs are quite transparent, but there's a layer of frost surrounding her feet. They never used to acknowledge me, but Simone seems to have spread to the stairs, and she'll scold me for walking too roughly. Patty gives me the most judgmental look. I think if they could move on from husband's they'd probably be home free. But that is what their lives revolved around for so long, so I'm not sure that could be easy.

Once I sneak down the stairs without slipping, or getting yelled at, it's into the kitchen I go. Sid is at the fridge constantly stuffing his face. Somehow, he's a part of the fridge. Everything drops out of his stomach back into the fridge, into a pile of slop. Like something a pig would eat. If he's particularly frantic, he'll tear chunks out of himself. I don't think they can feel it when they hurt themselves. Not unless they're supposed to…

I have no clues as to how Sid can save his puzzle. He doesn't tend to talk. I'm not sure he has vocal cords anymore. He barely has eyes.

Moving from the kitchen is the parlor. I'm not sure how this place works, so I'm not sure this is in the right place. Either way, the parlor has about seven people in here. Kirby plays checkers with Daniel, Maud watches TV with Lainey, Paula and Shess pick on Lily. 

Paula and Shess would probably be gone if they could stop, and just sincerely apologize. I'm not sure Lily is really a person though, because she's never changed once. I think she kind of looks like a mannequin, but moving. She's meant to play a part, being small, and easy to pick on. Shess shattered her arms at one point, and now just has gooey, bloody stumps with bone shards sticking out that she uses to punch lily with, and her head is being engulfed by her own skin, but her eyes seemed to have multiplied, hair having started to attach and grow off of the eyes. Like the world's grossest ice-cream cone. Paula, on the other hand, started turning into blades. Her fingernails are long and sharp, her arms have started to thin at the edges, and splinter into more blades, even her nose resembles a knife. I passed her once, her hair brushed my cheek, and I had a long cut from my temple to my chin. That wasn't fun. I can't talk to either of them. They're always caught up in bloodlust.

Lainey and Maud try to ignore Shess and Paula as much as possible. They are actually aware of their surroundings. I don't think they need my help out, because they've been fading lately, so maybe they're ready to pass on. They generally talk about the movie they're watching. Sometimes they get new snacks from an unknown source. Usually they just coo at each other about how much they love each other, and what signs to look for to find each other again. They told me that Purgatory allows you the chance to return to when you died, the chance to fade completely, or to join the better place in whatever you believed in. Purgatory is for learning lessons. They both believe in reincarnation, and fully believe they'll still love each other, no matter the timeline. It's one of the nicer conversations.

Daniel and Kirby are next up. Daniel has no idea what's going on ever. His skin seems to be made from webs, and these small black creatures weave over him all the time, anytime something starts breaking down. Which happens at every move.  Daniel seems actually peaceful here. Maybe he needs to take a stand. Especially with Kirby always cheating. He doesn't even do it subtly, he straight up takes pieces, and places them where they shouldn't be. Daniel would probably tear all his 'skin' off at this point if he tried to do something.

Kirby, however, seems to increasingly be made of greasy Hawaiian print shirts. Yes, you are made of shirts. I almost slip when I pass your table because it's not, like, slightly caked on grease, it's literally dripping, and doesn't spread past a three foot radius. Maybe if you apologized for Dan, it would help. How's that sound?

Okay, three more rooms, then I start getting ready. So, I leave the other side of the parlor, head into the hall, and head to the basement. Shimi is down here. They're just a long, skinny eel at this point. With multiple heads that bite at Shimi's main body. I'm not even sure when Shimi showed up, and I've never seen much else, so I'm not sure they can leave. I don't try to go into the water. Too scared. It's undefinably deep. Some places you can see the ground, others are holes, others are so obfuscated by flesh that has yet to melt down and turn into water. I'm sure Shimi's been here for thousands of years.

Heading back upstairs, I check on the, what I can only assume, ballroom. It's huge, and usually has a few dancing couples. This room changes a lot, and has the least mutated people in it. I remember I helped one couple realize the intense emotion they couldn't move on from was rage, at the fact that they had cheated on each other. They both felt wronged, but they were both no better than each other. The puzzle they solved involved them no longer dancing together, and finding new partners. Today it stood completely empty. Not unusual, but still. The room always unnerves me.

Next up, I like to call the nook. It's not quite in the library, but it's very cozy right outside it.

A rough, sweet voice says, "what took you so long?"

I smile at Ronnie. She's very nice. I think she is, maybe was, actually my age when she died. We're both around seventeen. She however has skin made from literal porcelain, although that does mean when she moves too much, her body starts leaking blood, like from her eyes and joints . Her hair is nearly laid around her head, a warm auburn. And I don't mean that figuratively. It literally feels the way a room with plenty of blankets and a fireplace would feel like. The nook doesn't have a fireplace, it just has Ronnie.

She rasps out, "well, are we going to have a nap? You're my favourite snuggle buddy, and I can't have one without you."

I'm pretty sure she can't leave because she's trapped in her childhood. She's told me about all her dolls, and toys. I think her house might have burned down, and she wouldn't leave them behind. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get her to leave.

I give her a closed mouth smile, and step forward, "yeah, I can help you take a nap."

I wind up cuddling up to her. And, I think I won't write much until after I get ready. Too tired. Need to wake up more.

When I'm finally up, I look up to see the hollow attic. No floor at all. Grandmother Gin rocking away in her rocking chair, completely unaware of the lack of floor.im not sure if that's actually her name. Sometimes I get up so late that her blanket actually gets in my way trying to get up. At least I don't usually get dressed up to do my first round. I don't think the dead care about when the living stink. They don't seem to care about much. I do. Speaking of stink, I am doing this for my pal Kirby. Try to keep a record and write down everything that happens. Maybe I can help him, and some of the others, out of here. That's why I'm writing this. Right here. Blank page. Well, not blank anymore. But, hey, first page, first to go.

#violence #tw violence #tw gore #gore #writblr #writing #my writing #vaguely horror #horror #short story #tw mutilation #gross descriptions #predictable but still fun

[appleinducedsleep]

My Journey Under the Midnight Sun @readerbookclub​ review

*spoilers, this is full of spoilers*

Keigo Higashino weaves an intricate web of crime and loyalty, where one detective is doggedly committed to solving the murder that started it all. Even if it takes 20 years. What we got was a fast-paced bleak history, where you could trust no-one.

What are your thoughts on the plot? What were the things you liked and the things you didn't like? How did it feel to read a book where almost all the characters are bad people?

I have a love for detective stories, and this one was pretty epic. I loved that it spanned 20 years, I even liked the time jumps, everytime it was like, okay what happened now. Did it get worse, can it get worse?

I actually liked the evolution of cyber crime, and the stock market, and the cyanide. It was all different but connected. I didn’t even mind the golf, because I was interested to see why it was important. Everything was a puzzle piece. Everything was a necessary evil, and we were on the outside looking in. Just like the rest of the characters. It was really dark though, and there wasn’t a lot of gray area. I like my villains to be morally ambiguous. But I wasn’t ever rooting for Ryo and Yukiho.

Did the story play out in the way you expected, or did it surprise you?While reading it did you have any theories about what was happening? Did they turn out to be true?

I don’t know why the big reveal actually surprised me... I kind of stopped caring about that murder, because of all the other crimes that kept being sprinkled around. It was distracting. I felt Ryo and Yukiho were sociopaths, but they were also children at the time of the first murder. I didn’t think so much about why they acted like they did, I just thought it was the thrill of the crime. 

I never doubted that everything that followed was orchestrated by whatever twisted relationship they had. The pistol shrimp and the goby, and all that.

Also, the general lack of trust and communication was slightly painful. Maybe if  Imaeda hadn’t played his cards so close to his chest, he could have lived and had a happy life with Eri Sugawara at their Detective Agency (okay, probably not, but I can dream). Noriko staying quiet, and Sasagaki just lucking out by seeing the album (why ever did Ryo take her along to Osaka). Eriko never fully trusting Yukiho, but never speaking out. Makota stranded at the hotel, without a way to reach Chizuru Misawa. That conversation between Ryo’s mum and Sasagaki at her bar... like way to bury the lead.

Is this a book you would have otherwise read? If not, are you more open to similar books in the future? Would you consider re-reading it in the future?

Definitely, it’s a genre I gravitate towards. I think it would be interesting to reread this book, with all that I know now. I’m curious to see if there were clear hints that I completely missed.

What did you think of the authors style? Have you read any of their books before? Would you read their work in the future? Each chapter, the book jumps from one character to another. What did you think of this approach? Was it difficult to keep up?

So we went from the point-of-view character of Detective Sasagaki; to Toshio Tagawa; to Eriko Kawashima; to Yuichi Akiyoshi; to Tomohiko Sonomura; to Namie Nishiguchi. That’s not even all. That’s only the first three chapters. Some characters return, others don’t. Lots of side-stories, lots of names, lots of minor characters.

It could get confusing at times, some of the names were very similar. All the crazy time jumps didn’t exactly help, because a lot of the plot happened and you were playing catch up all the time.

I did like the style, it was an interesting way of telling a story. It all was very to-the-point, no filler pieces. I would be interested in reading more of Keigo Higashino‘s work.

Throughout the book, we follow the adventures of quite a few characters. Which of these sub-plots did you enjoy most?

1) Eriko. She was right in the viper’s nest, and eventually got punished for cultivating some confidence. I really hated how her life turned out. She became just another reason for Kazunari to grow suspicious of Yukiho, like we see on page 336:

“My ex-girlfriend,” Kazunari said, then closed his mouth tightly.

“OK,” Imaeda took a sip of his coffee. It had gone lukewarm. “What happened there, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Something bad. Almost the worst that could happen to a woman. That event was what drove us apart. So,” Katzunari continued, “I guess you could say that I’ve met with misfortune, too.”

2) Chizuru Misawa. I wanted her to be happy. Like obviously she cheated with Makoto, and sure, that Ryo and Yukiho master-minded the whole thing doesn’t make it right in the least, but I still was slightly rooting for true love. It seemed like one of the only happy stories out of all those 537 pages.

3) I liked Eri. I liked their undercover operation, and that she was excited to do some detectiving, and it was bittersweet when Sasagaki visited her at Imaeda Detective Agency, where she now like lived. Not accepting that Imaeda was most definitely dead.

How much would you rate this book? Why?

I gave it a 4 star rating on Goodreads. It’s well-crafted and suspenseful. I wanted more Ryo and Yukiho interaction though... even if the power was clearly in not showing it. I felt the story was a little bloated with characters at times, they were necessary, but it did make for a long book. I didn’t like the part about Mika, and I wondered what it was about her that made Ryo and Yukiho more cruel.

I would recommend it to every who loves psychological thrillers.

#readerbookclub #keigo higashino #journey under the midnight sun #bookclub #book review #apples reviews #booklr #bookshelf

[dailyaudiobible]

02/11/2021 DAB Transcript

Exodus 32:1-33:23, Matthew 26:69-27:14, Psalms 33:1-11, Proverbs 8:33-36

Today is the 11th day of February welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is an honor and a privilege, it is a joy to come in out of the cold and come around the Global Campfire together with you and just let it go, let any…any of the things that are pulling us in all kinds of negative directions just let them go for a minute and let this be an oasis for God's word, for the Scriptures to be read and for us to bring them into our minds and hearts. I will say it probably 100 times before this year’s over. I mean we don't have to drag the anxiety in here. This is a safe place. We’re here together. We’re here together for one reason. We don’t have to guard ourselves. We’re here together for one reason, to hear the Scriptures. We can go back into the anxiety when we’re done, We can even amp it up. We can leave here as if it doesn't matter and go right back and pick all that up or maybe we can catch our breath in here and maybe we can go back out into the world with a renewed perspective and that happens more than it doesn’t. And, so, let’s just let go, whatever’s going on. We just have a few minutes. We can take a break. If we want all that anxiousness, if we want all that depression, we can go pick it back up. But we can let go while we’re in here and see what God does through His…His word today. So, we’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week going back to the book of Exodus and God has been meeting with Moses on the top of Mount Sinai. He has been laying out the expectations and weaving together the tapestry of a culture that will be formed out of these former slaves who…who are Hebrew people. He’s reforming them and the people have been all around the mountain freaking out. Moses has been gone a long time up in the clouds, the…the glory of the Lord upon the mountain. And, so, they don't know what's going on. And we’re gonna see…we’re gonna some things today that shouldn't have happened and we’re going to see ourself in those things. Exodus chapters 32 and 33 today.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in the book of Exodus, the story of the golden calf, that's a pretty famous story. And so…well…chances are we've encountered it in one way or another before. This happens because Moses has been gone too long in the presence of God hearing from the Lord what he, you know, how to lead the people and what the expectations are, all the stuff that we’ve been reading for the last several days. Meanwhile this…this whole thing takes 40 days, and the people are down around the mountain going, “whatever happened Moses?” And “where do we go from here because we don't know what happened to him?” And, so, they decide to make a god, the gods for themselves to lead them forward and leave Moses behind. And, so, they commission Aaron. And we know this will story. Then God tells Moses to go down and Moses goes down and he throws down the tablets and they shatter, and this visually represents the breaking, like almost the instantaneous breaking of the covenant, the breaking of the law of the expectations of God. And he confronts the people about their idol worship. He confronts his brother Aaron about their idol worship. Aaron does all this whole back side-stepping blurring of the whole situation that we’ve probably seen so many times in our lives or even done so many times in our lives. Aaron is directly confronted about what he has participated in and he’s like, “what? How? You know. What? You know how these people are. You know how they are. And I don't really know what I did wrong. I just told them give me all your jewelry and I threw it over here in the fire and out came this idol and so we worshiped it”, which of course…I mean…it’s like, “dude couldn’t you’ve…you don't think very quickly on your feet do you? Like we can all see through this.” And Moses is just exasperated. He has been in the presence of God receiving this revelation about this people and formation. And, so, it's like quite a contrast to come down off the mountain and see what's going on. So, he grinds up the…the golden calf and everybody has to drink the water that it's poured into and then Moses goes back up onto the mountain and it gets really interesting because Moses is back up on the mountain kinda changed. Like he knows how ornery and rebellious these people are. He's one of them. He knows, but it’s like things just went to a new level. God has done so many miraculous things to rescue and protect this people. And they are around this mountain that God is descended upon and spoken. Like they’ve heard the voice of God at this mountain. It terrified them to the point that they asked Moses to be the spokesman for God and not God be the spokesman for God. So, they know God is upon this mountain and they know Moses is upon this mountain. So, Moses is back up on the mountain and God is like, “I'm not gonna go with you. It’s time…you need to lead to people but I'm not going to go so I don't destroy the people.” This is like a whole change in complexion for Moses where he's realizing deeply the gravity of the situation. He's realizing for himself no matter how good of a leader he might be and no matter how revered he may be, he's got almost 0% chance of success. Like if God doesn't go this is not gonna work knows it. So, he's pleading and asking like, “if you don't want to go then just take me out of the story altogether because there's no way.” And Moses says something really really riveting that we should be saying and meditating upon. He says, “you said” so, he's speaking to God, “you said I know you by name.” In other words, Moses is saying, “you told me you knew who I was. And you also told me that you found favor with me. So, if indeed I have found favor with you” and I'm quoting here, “please teach me your ways and I will know you so that I might find favor with you.” God's response to that is “my presence will go with you and I will give you rest.” May we remember that as we go out into the chaos of the day. Like if we’re gonna pick all that stuff up we were just talking about at the beginning, may we remember Moses and his leadership here. We don't have a grandstander, we don't have an arrogant person, we don't have a power-hungry person here and Moses. We’re seeing a leadership style here in the Scriptures as we see the posture of Moses. And Moses is a human being and has done all kinds of things including asking God to send somebody else, but here we are. We've gone through all that, and now Moses reaches this point where he realizes very clearly, there really is no other way to lead or navigate life without an acute awareness of the utter dependence that we have on God. And when we acknowledge that then we are surrendering our own power and control into the hands of the Almighty knowing that there is no other way. And God responds, “my presence will go with you and I will give you rest.” May we remember that today.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit come into that. When we surrender it feels counterintuitive because it feels like we have to put our hope and trust outside of what we can control or speculate or see it forces us into this other realm called faith, that we believe in what we can’t see or prove, that we believe in Your power, that You are mighty to save and we are not. We need to know this. We need to live this. It could rescue us from so much damage. So, come Holy Spirit and help us learn to surrender. Help of us learn to acknowledge You in all things as we are seeing built into this culture may we find all of the things that will continually remind us of Your goodness and make them a part of our practice as we are continually reminded of who we are, Your children, and who You are, the most-high God and where we are going -wherever You go where all things are made new. Come Holy Spirit we pray in Jesus name, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com, that is home base, that is that where you find out what's going on around here and how to get connected and how to find the resources that are available that surround this journey through the Bible that we are on. So, check that out. Of course, if you have the Daily Audio Bible app then you can check most of these things out as well said, so, indeed do that.

One thing that's in the app or on the web would be the Community section. This is where to begin to get connected. This is where the Prayer Wall lives. This is where we can always reach out to each other and reach back to each other. Also in the Community section are different links of places to be connected on social media. So, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible in the mission that we share collectively to do what we’re doing and bring God's spoken word read fresh every day and offered to anyone who will listen anywhere any time then to build community around that so that we’re never alone and we’re aware of that, clearly aware of that. If that has been a life-giving source to you than thank you for your partnership. There’s a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi, everyone it's Christy and this is Tim from Kentucky. We wanted to call and let you know that we are keeping each of you in our prayers as we hear your prayer requests and I just want to say as special hello to Abigail and Desiree in Golden. I just want you to know that we have been listening and praying along with you and your names are just etched on my heart lately, just such young people with so much faithfulness to call in and we thank you so very much and will be praying for each of you. Also, I just want to let Tiffany know that we will be praying for you and Tom and also for Emily. Just all of your calls were so heartfelt. And we want you to know that your family, your DAB family is lifting you up in prayer. Also, Kingdom Seeker Daniel, brother we are praying for you. You and your wife are so very special and just praying for your children and we too are battling some issues with my husband's children. So, we understand, and we are praying for you. Also, if you would please keep Chris Thurston’s family in your prayers Pam Carlyle’s family in your prayers, Gene and also Dottie one of the ladies from our church. We…we've had to say goodbye to four of those in the past month. And, so, if you would, we'd ask you to pray for them and I just thank you for that. They’re now home with Jesus. I just wanted to ask for your prayers. Alright everyone. We love you so much and we pray each of you are having a most blessed and lovely day.

Hi, everyone it's Desiree. I called in January regarding about my mother with the drug addiction. I want to thank all…all of you guys who have been praying for my mother. She is still the same. I’ve been getting…I've been listening to all the prayers that you guys have done they melt my heart. And I want to say thank you to all of you guys, even though you may not call, thank you though for keeping Her and I in your hearts Lord. I'm thanking the Lord for all that. So, after I submitted my video, I just want to say she…after some of your prayers that you've done, she called after 8 months of not knowing what was going on with her. So, that was a big crazy time for us. And with all that's been going on though I want to say that you guys hit it right on the nail. I mean, my life has been so much better living here with my aunt and uncle. My grades are good. I'm an A, B student A+ B+ student. I still have problems with school you know that teenage little attitude. So…so, I just…I'm getting to know God so much more than I've known before. And I just want to say that’s thanks to my parents…well…my adopted parents but it's all because of them and mostly because of God. So, I just want to say thank you to all of you guys that have been praying for us and I love you guys and I'll be listening to you guys and I just want to say I'm praying for you guys as well, who have been having problems. So…

Hi, this message is for Tyler from the February 8th podcast of the Daily Audio Bible. My name is Jessica from __ California and I just wanted to say a prayer for you. You said that you've been praying because you have a pitiful spirit. And I just wanted to let you know or share that God's been working with me lately. Those are thoughts from the enemy and every time I think about, you know, I need to lose weight or condemn myself for eating something or not exercising enough, God's been just having me repeat this over and over again when one of those thoughts comes in my head. He has me say, “thank you God for just the way I am. Thank you God for just the way I am.” And I know it sounds kinda silly but actually it's only been less than a week and these thoughts are coming less and less into my mind. So, you know, I know it's hard to love ourselves sometimes and the enemy really can get ahold of us but just know that Jesus loves you so much and you're not a beautiful spirit. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. And I know people have told me that before and I'm like, “sure, sure. Easy for you to say.” But really, just believe it and just like right now actually have…I have a sheet covering my mirror, so I don't look at myself, I don't judge myself every day. I know it kind of sounds weird, but he really just has me trusting him and saying, “thank you God for just the way I am. Thank you God for just the way I am.” So, I encourage you Tyler that God loves you just the way you are, and you should be thankful for it. In Jesus’ name I pray.

This is Dave from the United States calling. This prayer call is for Haneron from New Zealand. Once I heard your call it stopped me in my tracks. You've been through some tough times. You've had the strength to call in and ask for prayer. And in detail you asked for a covering. I will be covering. This family, Daily Audio Bible will be your covering and the Holy Spirit will be your covering. I pray that you continue to call in anytime that you need strength from your covering. We will be here. And anytime give this family a call. Someone on this planet will be praying for you. I'm going to commit to a day to pray and fast for you and your family and the Holy Spirit be there for you. Thank you so much for calling and giving me the opportunity to ask our savior to pray and cover you and keep you…keep you covered as your request is.

Hi DAB family this is triple T calling to encourage those of you today who are longing for a spouse, longing for a child, longing for friendships just to be surrounded by love in a like tangible way. I know leading up to Valentine's Day and that time frame is always quite difficult on people. I have many people in my life who are struggling and just want to encourage you guys, just press into the Lord and to seek Him and just to keep going after Him and letting him be or strength, your love, you're all in all. In psalms 34 17 and 18 it says the righteous cry out and the Lord hears them. He delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. So, Lord we just come to You right now. God, I thank You for these men and women across the globe. God You see their hearts, You hear the cry of their hearts Lord longing for a spouse, longing for a child, longing for a friend that they can walk through life with. God we just pray that You would open the doors of opportunity, Lord that You would give men wives and give women husbands Lord Jesus and give them together children Lord Jesus, that You would bring friendships that are unified Lord and strong and growing and encouraging and accountable Lord and just pressing into You God. Through all these things and their waiting in Your time and God we know Your timing is perfect. May You give them the strength to continue, may they press into You even more. Lord Jesus may You be their everything. All that they are, all that they have Lord may they press into You. We love You, we glorify Your name Jesus, for in Your name we pray all these things. Blessings and love. Bye.

Good morning DAB family this is Doctor John in Illinois good this morning I was listening to the prayers and I hear Greg from Washington. Brother it’s hard to hear all your troubles in your families but I guess what I hear…what I hear most of all is your love for your family and your concern. Again, your honestness and your contriteness is what I hear more than anything. And I want to read to you, this is psalms 57:15. For thus says the one who is high lifted up who inhabits eternity whose name is holy, I dwell in a high and holy place had also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite. Just know brother that He hears here. The word says there's nothing outside His hand. There's nothing He doesn't see or touch or hear. And Father I pray for my brother right now for Greg and for all these Lord that petition you for their families. Lord would you woo their hearts. Just know brother that there's a lot of people, a lot of brothers and sisters in this group, in this family, this wonderful family that are praying and believing for you that God will make a way for you. So, I pray, God bless you. Keep your head up and trust in God. Wait on the Lord and be of good courage for He strengthens your heart.

[land-of-brains-and-chocolate]

you know when the symbiote tries to leave eddie for peter and the next time it’s just fine and you’re like WAIT and i’m also like WAIT

Eddie wakes up in a nightmare. He’d like to think so, at least.

A thin mat under his back. The faint smell of lemon cleaner. Lights, far too bright for bleary eyes.

When he moves, there’s a horrible, unnatural ache all throughout him, like his insides are rubbing together wrong, like he’s been internally stripped of a layer. He stumbles forward, bare feet on cold concrete, catches himself against the transparent wall and looks out into the structure he’s found himself in, engineered to drive a man to hopelessness. The Vault.

His fingers curl into fists, smearing his handprints across the surface. He had, to put it lightly, not planned on ending up here again.

Eddie reaches behind himself and pulls through, punching the reinforced glass. The impact vibrates through his knuckles. He bares his teeth at the guard across the hallway, who says nothing, doesn’t move. Most of his face obscured, mouth in a thin, straight line. Will he descend into jeering, too? Will he mock his pain? His mission?

It’s bad enough, being watched. Trapped. Exposed. Permeated by the gaze of judgement and control. It reminds him of the tube, or the tubes, plural, it echoes with pain that isn’t his own, that is...

...Not present.

Eddie blinks.

He can’t feel it.

The fear he’d expect- The gratitude, for being able to recede into his body-

No. No longer. His body, it wasn’t a sanctuary anymore, it was just another cage-

His Other- Except it wasn’t his-

Eddie's head starts swimming. He sways backwards, drops onto the cot. For a moment, he sits there, stunned, hands hovering. Then he pats himself down, pulls at his clothes, standard issue, stiff, scratchy, and definitely, definitely not alive.

What did it do to him?

What did they do to it?

He looks around himself, frantic. He has to get out. He has to get to it. Spider-Man already has his venomous fangs lodged in its soul, him and his kind could destroy it utterly. It can’t end like this. No matter what.

Eddie lifts his arm, fully intending to break his fingers against the glass. They'll have to open the cell, then. He can figure out how to proceed from there. He’s almost looking forward to choking the guard out, thinks that, maybe, the stiffness of his posture isn’t discipline, maybe he’s heard of what happened to the last one, maybe he can still use that fear to his advantage-

Just as he gains momentum, something pulls him back. The slightest mental nudge. Soft and pleading and familiar. Eddie whips around, but there’s nothing, nowhere... Except, he now realises, some vague sensation at the back of his neck. His hands fly towards it, and when they meet a thin tendril, a sharp breath pushes itself out of his chest.

He slides the soft strand through his fingers, brings it to the front of his head, and sees nothing there, nothing but a vague shimmer.

It’s camouflaging. Hiding. It’s completely cut itself off.

It tried to leave him. And it’s still receded from him, as far as it can.

Eddie grinds his teeth.

He grabs the symbiote like a rope and pulls, pulls down, leans into it with all his weight, but it soon refuses to budge. That’s fine. He stretches it taut. 

It squirms underneath his fingers. “I just want to talk,” he forces out, putting one foot up against the wall, then the other. It extends out of nowhere, refusing to let him ascend towards it, but he keeps reaching forward like a man in the middle of a very convincing pantomime routine.

Until, of course, he is dropped flat on his back. 

From there, he takes a deep breath. Tries to feel it out. It’s still... somewhere up there, definitely. In some corner of the ceiling, as far away as it can get. Maybe... spanning across it? Like a web, thinned out to be less visible?

Eddie quickly stops thinking about it. It must still be attached to him, he thinks instead, loudly, with no idea whether the volume of his internal voice makes any difference, and gets back on his feet. Where, oh where could it be coming from, he thinks, rubbing at his neck. It must have moved. He can’t even tell that it’s permeating his skin anywhere, so it must be covering that sensation up, too.

He reaches under his shirt, feeling for some protrusion. Makes quick work of taking it off and flinging it into the corner. “I know,” he says, contorting himself to examine the skin between his shoulder blades, “I know you can’t actually get out.” Unceremoniously, he pulls off his pants. “No matter how hard you try.” He raises one knee to step on the cot, then pokes his way up his calf.

It’s not that he needs to find it. He just needs to get close enough to distract it. Make it focus on shifting away from him down here, so it won’t shift away up there. 

He runs his hands up his thigh, closed around it - not enclosing all of it, of course. There’s... some hint of a reaction, maybe? Some twitch? It must be nearby. He moves further up, into the curve of his hipbone, and...

Hm.

There’s something. Eddie narrows his eyes. He moves back down, places one hand squarely on the inside of his thigh, and gives it a squeeze.

Okay.

That’s not the kind of distraction he was going for, but he’s pretty sure he wasn’t the one who, just for a second, longed to be enveloped in the density of his muscles again. 

He’s not the one getting a very specific kind of antsy when he slides one hand under the waistband of his boxers, either. 

Eddie tries not to crack up. This is a serious situation.

With the symbiote in a bind, and without so much as a thought’s worth of warning, he bounces on his back leg, jumps from the cot, pushes up the wall, blindly scrapes the corner of the ceiling-

And comes away, or rather, stays there, with a tight fist full of goo, relenting into its usual, shimmering black, quite miserably stretching downwards with his weight. Otherwise, it’s stretched across the ceiling in countless strands, which it must’ve weaved itself into to stave off a nervous breakdown. Eddie’s feet are still planted, firmly, against the wall. He’s practically perpendicular. He’s got the core strength for it.

In fact, he wraps the symbiote around his hands and keeps walking up the wall, feet well above his head, until he hits the ceiling, arms trembling.

Upside-down and near-naked, he looks straight into the visor of the guard standing outside. A single drop of sweat appears to be rolling down his chin.

I’ve got you, Eddie thinks, then, for lack of air. Talk to me. I’m not going to stop until you do.

He pulls his hands apart. It’s like laffy taffy. A distinct hissing sound fills the air.

You know, he thinks, you know, more than anyone, that I won’t. 

He only gets tense silence in response.

I’m going to let go now, he thinks, and does.

In a split second, the symbiote rushes to catch him, pulling his head away from where it could’ve broken his neck, shooting tendrils towards his arms and legs, wrapping around him until he’s tangled up in its netting. “There you go,” he chokes out, bouncing in it. “You still care.”

All at once, the symbiote drops them both onto the cot. It puts some distance between them, stiff and stringy, eyes narrowed in what it understands to be a threat display, but just looks like it's pouting. He can tell, now, that it's scared, scared of his reaction, scared of living in a constant state of rejection. Scared it'll be trapped in the bond it found freedom in. Scared of the same things he's scared of.

It fully expects him to lash out. It's prepared to lash out in return. 

Worse: It's prepared to keep its distance.

It's ruined everything, it thinks.

Then and there, Eddie makes a decision. He may deny it, but he does. He turns his brain around, and it takes off in the direction of whatever will bring them relief.

Not being good enough still makes him want to run and hide. But he can’t run or hide from the symbiote, so he's good enough for it. Being rejected still makes him feel like a trapped animal, lashing out with teeth and claws. But that’s not what he wants to do. Not to it, anyway. And so, he hasn’t been rejected.

He just needs it to work with him.

“Tell me,” he says, only a little desperately, “what he did to you.”

The symbiote’s tendrils rise. Every second without an accusation seems to be setting it on edge.

“Just one more time.”

It looks him up and down. Communicates, weakly. He...

“He cast you aside,” he interrupts. “He used you. You loved him... And still, he abandoned you. As soon as you were no longer a means to an end.”

It stares. Then it pulls into itself, looking like chewing gum that’s been stretched out and left behind on the sidewalk. Eddie gets on his knees, leaning over the slime.

“Tell me, does that sound like something you would do? After experiencing that for yourself, does it really make sense that you’d do the same thing to me?”

Eddie reaches out to it. The symbiote recedes under his fingers, trembling. 

“I would never hurt you,” Eddie says. “I’m not like him. And you...”

It’s not like him, either. Of course not. There’s distress, some memory of feeling compelled, feeling the need to return, to do better, to be loved again. But it hadn’t done anything wrong in the first place, and it hadn’t ever been loved. None of it, none of it was true. None of it was what it really wanted.

Gently, he strokes across the symbiote’s mass. Slowly, it flattens out.

It was him, it thinks, bitterly. Eddie exhales with relief.

“Yes,” he says. “You let him into your heart. Now he’s made a home there.”

He sits back on his feet, feeling a little light-headed.

“He’s... controlling you, still. As he did. You have to resist his... machinations. You have to emancipate yourself.”

The symbiote, finally, slides towards him, across his skin, underneath it. Finally, it starts to heal the damage left behind by the forceful separation. Finally, it shows its true nature again, warm and soothing, yet burning with purpose, allied only to him.

“How would that best be done, do you think? How can you destroy the one inside you?”

It has to destroy the one outside it, first. Black tar in his lungs. Teeth in his throat. Claws on his heart.

“Yes,” Eddie says. “Yes, you understand. The more pain he deals us, the stronger we become. The more injustice he brings into the world, the harder we’ll strike him down. You can’t... We can’t falter, anymore.”

They’re eager to get back to it, both. Eager to get out. The symbiote emerges from his wrists, flowing upwards, rolling around his fingers and covering his hands until he has claws to admire, snug against his skin. Eddie does wonder.

“If you were trying to hide,” he says, softly smiling down at it, “there are many ways you could’ve done better...”

#now the universe is back in the balance #one not fluff for every fluff #i just love in-between canon snippets #symbrock

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG166!

- It still amuses me that the end of the season 4 put to the foreground that the architecture of the Fears was extremely subjective, a way to try to perceive and describe them that wasn’t exactly it since they’re fundamentally indivisible… and yet Jon is back to using the division. It makes sense! The list of fourteen was, after all, used in Jonah’s incantation as he made it so that fourteen facets would reshape our world, with Beholding on top (MAG160: “all that is fear, and all that is terror, and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!”); the fact that Jon was marked by these fourteen, and the fact that Jon had an understanding of the Fears as a divisionto in fourteen, also probably influenced the way they reshaped reality into what it is now. We see the lines blurring (the “trenches” with sprinkles of Desolation, Corruption, Buried; the “sick village” with bits of Beholding fears and Lonely existence; the carousel with the logic of The Hunt; maybe a bit of Desolation with this one), but it also seems like Jon&Martin will have to experience thirteen domains before reaching the place The Eye is at its more powerful, The Panopticon/Institute? Jon said he knew what he was doing, he’s been gradually describing the process a bit more, and he’s still using the Smirke designations:

(MAG162) MARTIN: Back to the Archives? ARCHIVIST: Seems the best place to start. [RUMBLE OF THUNDER] MARTIN: Uh… Y–eah, alright! [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] ARCHIVIST: Martin… It’s going to be a hard journey.

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: It means the journey will be the journey, regardless of how we choose to make it. […] You could see that tower from anywhere on Earth. And it can see you. And if you walk towards it, eventually you’ll get there. But you have to go through everything in-between. […] MARTIN: What do you mean, “everything”? What’s out here? ARCHIVIST: […] Nightmares. [BANG IN THE DISTANCE] Come on – that trench is our first.

(MAG164) MARTIN: How much further do we still need to go? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: A long way. Through many dark and awful places…

(MAG165) MARTIN: But. You said we needed to go through these places. … Is that even going to work here? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] We need to go through them… metaphorically. MARTIN: Mm… ! ARCHIVIST: Psychologically, we need to… “experience” them. […] You might want to take a bit of a walk. This… feels like a strange one… [LOUDER SCREAMS IN THE DISTANCE] MARTIN: What does “strange” mean, with something like this? […] I kinda want to hear that tape now, see how artistic The Stranger actually is.

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: I… It’s hard to put into words. Loo–l… [SIGH] Look, we can talk about it later, we’re– coming to a… “domain of The Buried”, and [STATIC RISES] I would really rather… […] [LONG EXHALE] God, I hate The Buried. [DEEP BREATHS] … End recording.

Since Jon told Martin the trenches were their “first” nightmare, the cabin didn’t count. So we got The Slaughter, through The War and butchery; The Corruption, through fungi and paranoia/xenophobia (the sick love and hate, the sense of community turned wrong); The Stranger, through the carousel, the identity-stealing and the loss of self; The Buried, through limitations, poverty and the crush of a system only allowing for unobtainable hope – The Stranger and The Buried even being namedropped outside of the statements. So what “rips”, what “crawls”, what “hides” and what “chokes”.

Still remaining: what “blinds” (Dark), what “falls” (Vast), what “twists” (Spiral), what “leaves” (Lonely), what “weaves” (Web), what “burns” (Desolation), what “hunts” (Jonah didn’t even bother finding a synonym for The Hunt, uh.), what “bleeds” (Flesh) and what “dies” (End). And we already got glimpses of the Spiral and Web’s activities through Helen and Annabelle. I think the hardest for Jon and Martin, given their own life-experiences, will probably be The Web and The Lonely? Though given that Annabelle is finally revealing herself, it might be a way to get them the Web-experience without going through a physical domain (though if there is one, I’d still bank on Hill Top Road on their way to the Panopticon).

- Same thing as in MAG164, where the enemies were “pigs” and “rats” and thus had animal’s faces to the other side’s eyes: people felt like “worms” during their lives, so were turned into beings which operated like ones:

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: “When had the crushing pressure in his chest become literal? When had the empty promise of the horizon finally vanished completely, replaced by the pitch darkness of this ‘forever wall of earth’? […] His existence was static, and eternal. […] But these things, grim and fearful as they were, were not unfamiliar. The aching hunger was not new, not simply a gift of the eager soil. He had flashes of an empty belly not assuaged by hands, cracked and calloused from long, grim hours of labour. There was a shadow in his mind of sleepless nights, spent toiling, tired and shaking, desperate for some relief from the relentless pressure that crushed the life of the man who had been Sam – before he was a worm. And a worm he surely was, for what else could spasm, crawling limbless through the ground, millimetre by millimetre, making its lonely way towards some secret destination no human could understand? Perhaps he did still have arms or legs or the luxury of both; but down here, it was impossible to tell, pressed so close together that to draw a line between a torso and a folded, bending limb was pointless. If it moves like a worm, thinks like a worm, and screams its awful agonies towards the distant taunting sky like a worm… well. The conclusion is obvious.”

(I… didn’t mentally represent them as “worms” in my mind, but really like humans who had bent and discoloured due to the lack of sun and the conditions they were living in.)

So, nightmare logic, in which metaphors and similes (people who were condemned to poverty, stagnation and a crushing life of debt) become literal, and reshape people’s world.

This season reaaaaaally isn’t escapism (and is even plain unpleasant/disgusting at times for me) when it comes to inter-personal violence, with victims consistently furthering other victims’ misery: soldiers killing each other while trying to alleviate their own pain and nurses turning their backs on the injured (MAG163), villagers blaming “foreigners” for the village’s misery, telling on each other to protect themselves and burning the targeted person as retribution/protection (MAG164), fair-goers salvaging and robbing each other of shards of identity to alleviate their own pain (MAG165), people tearing each other to pieces to try and improve their chance of “climbing” to a better place (MAG166). It’s, honestly, the aspect that makes me the most uneasy this season, and “sweet” JonMartin moments don’t really help at all to alleviate these upsetting bits – I’m not really feeling “fear” or “horror” (mostly disgust and discomfort), and Jon&Martin being cosy and domestic just feels… out of place and almost disrespectful at times, honestly…? ;; (It doesn’t really work as a “compensation” or as a way to try to erase the aftertaste when people are still suffering and living hell…)

However, this episode did assuage my concerns a bit regarding what is truly condemned, what is truly held responsible, and where the narration seems to be standing in regards to accountability:

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: [EXHALE] [STATIC RISES] “Down; down; down, down. [STATIC FADES] Down below the earth, there was a worm. He had not always been a worm, of course, but time and tide and life had pushed him to it. His name, he dimly recalled, was Sam; and he was, as definitely always had been the case… trapped. Boarded on all sides with no escape, and no recourse. Even in his faint and fading memories of a life that wasn’t simply stone and rancid, reeking soil, he wasn’t sure he’d ever known a thing that might be called freedom. […] Poor Sam has no way to know his neighbour’s name is Richard, that he once struggled in a life as hard and desperate as his own. That his dreams of the light, and painful screaming climb towards it, is just as keen and gruelling. All that matters is that this new worm is facing up; and Sam, because of how he entered the tunnel, is facing down. How do you fight, when you cannot move beyond the slowest inching crawl, without limbs or weapons or the kinetic force of violence? You do it slowly, pressing, biting; tearing gradually through each other until at the very end… one of you is still. There is no light, for Sam is faced away from it and blocking it from his opponent. But even were it bathed in stark illumination, no one could have said for sure where the sticky mud ended and the ragged, bloody faces began. A cloying mass of teeth and tears and torn skin, as two terrified victims… slowly chew through each other, over a distant hope that neither would ever be allowed to achieve. When it is done, Richard is dead, or quiet enough as makes no difference, and the tunnel belongs to Sam. It is identical to the one that he has left, in all ways other than that he had to do an awful thing to get it. And still, he faces downwards. […] But at last, Sam has his victory: he has claimed another tunnel, and he can see the light. Perhaps this one will be better, will let him squirm up higher. But underneath is still that lurking fear that maybe… it is worse. [RAIN BEGINS TO FALL, HARSHLY] The truth is plain enough, though, even as he fights so hard not to know it – there is no difference. [THE BURIED SONG FADES] And as the rains begin to fall once again, he knows the world will never let him escape the depths to which he has fallen. Better to keep him Buried, neatly away.”

I felt that the pity was more obvious than in previous statements, and it tied in neatly with Helen’s and Jon’s explanations of how the new world operates: that there is a system, feeding on people’s pain and suffering, creating circumstances in which their options are reduced to causing more harm or allowing others to inflict it on them, but that fundamentally, the system feeds from it, is dependant on it, and is at fault in the first place. I was really really fearing that we were heading towards a “oh, actually, it’s HUMAN NATURE, and HUMANS ARE FUNDAMENTALLY BAD” conclusion, but no, this episode made clearer that the series is still on the “side” of humans – and denouncing oppressive systems that rely on their suffering, orchestrate everything to squeeze it out of them, pit them against each other and make collaborative efforts impossible. Yes, in the story, Richard would rightfully have grievance to have been gored by Sam; but Sam didn’t get any benefit out of it (outside of surviving a bit longer), unlike The Buried and The Eye (who put them there and are fed by their distress). Jon spitting “God, I hate The Buried.” afterwards highlighted that he was extremely conscious of it.

… It does however raise a few questions regarding avatars’ and monsters’ own accountability, and I felt like Jon’s discomfort this episode might lead towards more in that regard (but more about this later). I’m also a bit ;; going back to being worried about how season 5 will end: I’m not that much “worried” over Jon and Martin meeting a tragic end (it’s a given anyway, and they’re main characters, I’m fine with that), but I’m concerned about humanity as a whole. How do you go back to normal after living these nightmares of tearing each other down? Can you even do that? And, if the system is at fault: it would feel very odd if the outcome were for Jon, outside-of-the-box yet a necessary gear in the system, to be the one to undo it and fix everything (only someone inside of the system could undo it and be a Saviour to all of humanity? Suuuper weird). I’m thinking more and more than… no, there won’t be anything, no way to “fix” this and to separate the Fears from people, and either people will be stuck like this forever, either Jon will (accidentally or not) provoke an Extinction cataclysm to free them from their misery – which is… well, “main characters get to decide the fate of all humanity” is honestly not my cup of tea. The most hopeful scenario I can picture is Jon creating enough of a fracture to allow people to regain some agency in the nightmares, allowing them to collaborate and to fight against the fears on their own, but I’m really not sure. There was a big theme in the episode of The Buried relying on the hope that things could get better, pushing you towards an unreachable goal only to rob it from you and basking in your misery before the process begins again – it’s… uncannily fitting to Jon&Martin’s current quest, their hope of managing to do something about the apocalypse.

- On a lighter note: so we finally know why the Coffin sang when it rained!!

(MAG002, Joshua Gillespie) “It was almost… melodious. It sounded almost like singing, if it was muffled by twenty feet of hard-packed soil. At first I thought it might have been coming from one of the other flats in my building, but as it went on, and the hairs on my arms began to stand on end I knew, I just knew, where it was coming from. I walked to the living room and stood in the doorway, watching as the sealed wooden box continued to moan its soft, musical sound out at the rain. […] And so it continued for a few months. Whatever was in the casket would scratch at anything placed on top of it and moan whenever it rained, and that was that.”

(MAG101) [LOW BACKGROUND SOUNDS, POSSIBLY VOCAL; VOICES SOUND AS IF SOMEWHERE BELOW GROUND] […] NIKOLA: Now could you two please move that thing somewhere far, far away? BREEKON: Not really. HOPE: Needs to be near us. NIKOLA: Well, just… just move yourselves away, and take it with you. BREEKON: Gotcha HOPE: Right you are. [CHAINS RATTLE AS THEY PICK UP THE COFFIN AND DEPART; CHORAL HUM FADES, REPLACED BY BACKGROUND SOUND OF RAIN OUTSIDE, SOMEWHERE]

(MAG132) DAISY: I, I, I can’t move, I can’t… and I can’t… breathe, and… ARCHIVIST: Oh god… DAISY: [LABOURED] Just… alone, I, I think… I think… I hear this, sometimes, s–singing, when it’s, uh, when it’s wet, or, or scratching, trying to get out… but I don’t… I don’t th… don’t think there is anyone… there; it’s… it’s just, just me… ‘till now.

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: “Until the rains begin to fall. The rains fall here as they do so many places in this new world: thick, and oily drops that taste of bitter salt; torrential tears plummeting from the watching sky, thumping and squelching onto the thirsty soil in which the worms writhe painfully towards a surface that does not want them. [THE BURIED SONG BEGINS, RISING IN INTENSITY] The ground softens. Shifts. And starts to slip and flow into a torrent of black mud. [RUMBLE OF THUNDER] Deep below, Sam feels rain begin to drip upon his forehead, and he knows exactly what it means. He wants to scream again, but he is so tired by his ascent that the only sound he can produce is a low, defeated wail. And as has happened so many times before in his poor defeated life, he feels the walls begin to shift and soften, as the slippery flood pushes him down; down; [MUFFLED THUMP] down. [MUFFLED THUMP] Deeper, perhaps, than he has ever been before, so deep the light is almost gone, but never is the darkness fully complete.”

Same as the calliope music last episode, I really wasn’t expecting to hear the Coffin song again. And it was the echoing “defeated wail(s)” of people trapped inside of it, knowing they would get their hopes once again crushed by the rain pushing them back down. (So Daisy&Jon probably contributed to the song when they were whimpering because of the pressure getting worse, in MAG132…)

- I love (and cry about) how the Coffin expedition remains a lingering trauma for Jon – he was marked by all fourteen, but it really feels like out of them, Mr. Spider, Jane Prentiss and the Coffin impacted him the most in the entire show?

(MAG132) ARCHIVIST: Right, hum… [CLEARS THROAT] Uh… [STATIC] H–how are you feeling? DAISY: Uh… Scared. I–I’m, I’m, I’m scared. I’ve been scared the whole time here. Not just when it’s, when it’s cr–crushing, when it f–fills your, y–your mouth with d–dirt… I–it knows when to stop, wh–when to ea–ease back, so you don’t… don’t lose it or, or grow numb… L–leaves you terrified for when it s–starts a–again and, wh–when it does, you, you’re s–scared that it’ll… n–never–never stop… I thought, thought I’d… I’d ne–never see the s–sky again, never… never s–see Basira…

(MAG133) ARCHIVIST: And give Daisy a break. She was there eight months. [EXHALE] I was only in there for three days, and I– BASIRA: Yeah, I know. I just…

(MAG136) DAISY: [QUICKLY] You’re not babysitting me, alright?! I know that’s what the others think, sometimes, but… that’s not it. I just… don’t like… being on my own if I can help it. You know. Flashbacks, panic attacks, the usual. Just trying to avoid it if I can. ARCHIVIST: I know, Daisy, I–I do. It’s hard.

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: [LONG EXHALE] … God, I hate The Buried. [DEEP BREATHS] … End recording.

;; Of course Jon would be most sensible to The Buried’s logic of repeatedly giving hope and denying a positive outcome: he was deeply impacted by it although he “only” experienced it for three days (so. It was really bad.), and it might uncomfortably resonate with his current journey – after all, Jon and Martin are heading towards the Archives in the hope that they could fix the mess, without any certainty that they will be able to. It’s making them move forwards. But it has also been stated in MAG162 that The Eye wanted Jon/the Archive to “emerge” from the cabin – what if Jon&Martin were only pushed to make that journey, motivated by hope, just to further entertain Beholding when there is no chance in the first place that they could ever succeed?

- I really appreciated how Jon’s outburst mirrored the first time he had revealed his true feelings about his situation to Martin, back in season 1:

(MAG039) ARCHIVIST: I still think most of the statements down here aren’t real. Of the hundreds I’ve recorded, we’ve had maybe… thirty, forty that are… that go on tape. Now those, I believe, at least for the most part. MARTIN: Then why do you– ARCHIVIST: Because I’m scared, Martin! Because when I record these statements it feels… it feels like I’m being watched. I… I lose myself a bit. And then when I come back, it’s like… like if I admit there may be any truth to it, whatever’s watching will… know somehow. The scepticism, feigning ignorance. It just felt safer. MARTIN: Well… It wasn’t. ARCHIVIST: No. No, it wasn’t.

(MAG166) MARTIN: Sure! Okay, that’s… I mean, that’s really not that complicated, Jon – I don’t see why you were being so coy about it! ARCHIVIST: [OVERLAPPING] Because I’m ashamed, Martin. MARTIN: … “Ashamed”? ARCHIVIST: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I… destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it; the fact that… I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please; the fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are… so many others, that I still want to revenge myself on! [EXHALE]

Jon keeping it all in until it’s too much, until Martin probes him and he has to explain the actual feelings motivating him. Back then, the “worms” were The Hive threatening them from outside the safe room, an enemy and an invader which hurt and killed people; back then, Jon was assuming that there was nothing left of Jane Prentiss as a person, and that it was just a monster going after them. Now… the “worms” are miserable people, pressured by exterior forces feeding from them, pushed to do terrible things for survival and hope, right under their feet. Enough of an echo, but enough to also highlight how the main “enemy” seems to have shifted, from punctual monsters to the Fear-machinery itself?

- I spent the whole time since MAG142 not-super-fond-of-Jon, and I’m surprised that this episode made me genuinely side with him so much! Mostly, he said things that I have been needing to hear from him? It worked better on me than the previous moments Jon had expressed guilt about his new abilities and what had happened:

(MAG161) MARTIN: Well, just as well I don’t remember my dreams. ARCHIVIST: I do. MARTIN: Uh– What? ARCHIVIST: They… I see most of the suffering around here. When it’s quiet, it just… it’s like… I can see it, like I’m watching all of it. MARTIN: You haven’t been opening the curtains? ARCHIVIST: No, I don’t need to. “It” can see us here, and… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] And I can see out as well. MARTIN: O–kay, we’ll just file that under… ominous, for now. […] Jon, it’s not your fault… ARCHIVIST: Martin, can we not do this again. MARTIN: Sorry. ARCHIVIST: I’m just… I’m mourning a world I killed…! MARTIN: I know… ARCHIVIST: And we’re all trapped in its rotting corpse…! MARTIN: [FIRMLY] Enough, Jon.

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: Look, I’ve no interest in your… gloating. HELEN: What would I have to gloat about? Much as I am delighted by this brave new world in which we find ourselves, I can take no credit for it. This was all… you! ARCHIVIST: You could’ve–! … You knew what was happening. […] HELEN: Oh, such devotion…! You really don’t deserve it. But of course… you know that already! [LAUGHS AND LAUGHS, ECHOING] This is nice! I am really glad we get to spend some proper, quality time together now.

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] MARTIN: … Ssso, are we going to talk about it…? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: Or…? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] [BAG JOSTLING] ARCHIVIST: What’s to talk about. MARTIN: What happened back there? What you did to Sa– … ARCHIVIST: Go on. Say it. MARTIN: … What you did to “that thing”. ARCHIVIST: I… killed it! [SILENCE] I… finally have the power; so I killed it! […] MARTIN: Sure! Okay, that’s… I mean, that’s really not that complicated, Jon – I don’t see why you were being so coy about it! ARCHIVIST: [OVERLAPPING] Because I’m ashamed, Martin. MARTIN: … “Ashamed”? ARCHIVIST: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I… destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it; the fact that… I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please; the fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are… so many others, that I still want to revenge myself on! [EXHALE]

Obviously, I don’t blame Jon for having been used to unleash the apocalypse; but I’m still relieved to know that he feels guilty about it, and, more importantly here, that he’s uncomfortable with his current situation. Because Jon, even if he didn’t actively pursue that goal, even if he didn’t embrace being an agent of Beholding relying on other people’s pain (whether he “chose” it or not is debatable since… Jon still made the “choice” of waking up in MAG121, and had enough information at the time to know what that was meant to encompass)… still is. He’s still feeding from this world, operating through it, able to know everything he wants. He’s not trapped in one of the nightmares, forced to go to War, or taken over by fungus, or prisoner of the gory carousel, or buried and crushed with no way to reach the sky. Jon was powerful enough to understand what the cabin was doing to him, and to leave it, and to go towards the Panopticon, and to observe the nightmares without being taken over by them:

(MAG163) MARTIN: J–J–Jon, Jon, w–we’re not alone. ARCHIVIST: I–ignore them, they’re not… Just ignore them. MARTIN: … They’re not… real? [VOICES SHOUTING IN THE DISTANCE] ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLING] No…! They’re real; they were… normal people before the– … Before me. But now they’re here, meat for the grinder. I just mean there’s no point… talking to them. […] They won’t hear you, Martin, they’re all… too busy waiting to die.

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: We’re fine. MARTIN: A–are we? I mean, that place is– … I don’t, I don’t feel fine, okay, and you were there a long time doing your… y–you–your guidebook, which, you know, I get it, but that place is… I–it’s–it’s infectious, and, I don’t– ARCHIVIST: We’re not infected, Martin, that place, it– … It isn’t for us. […] MARTIN: Are we safe, traveling like this? ARCHIVIST: Yes… Yes, sort of, we’re… I don’t know how to phrase it, we’re… something between a pilgrim and a moth. We can walk through these little worlds of terror, watching them; separate, and untouched.

(MAG165) MARTIN: Just get back! [THUMP] NOT!SASHA: I can’t believe you’d decide to pass through my neighbourhood and not say hello, to – dear – old – Sasha. ARCHIVIST: Just ignore it, Martin. […] God forbid you actually catch us. NOT!SASHA: [FURIOUS SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: Doesn’t bear thinking about…! MARTIN: Jon, what are you talking about? NOT!SASHA: [FURIOUS SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: She can’t touch us. We’re so far beyond her now. NOT!SASHA: [FURIOUS SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: She’s just like everything else here, rules by The Eye. [CHUCKLING] And she hates it…!

Jon hasn’t mentioned getting “hungry” since the beginning of the season, and Jonah had announced that Jon would be tailored for this new world, and Jon has already demonstrated that, by his own nature, he is, more than anyone:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here – in the world that we have made.”

(Season 5 trailer) MARTIN: Are you still… [SIGH] “feeling it”? Seeing everything? ARCHIVIST: Yes, I, I’m trying not to, but… all of the fear, th–the anguish, i–it just… [INHALE] It keeps coming at me in waves, rolling over me, filling my head with such… awful sights. MARTIN: … I’m sorry. That sounds… [SMALL EXHALE] That sounds horrible. ARCHIVIST: … I wish it was, Martin. I really wish it was. … But it feels… right. [MIRTHLESS HUFF]

(MAG161) MARTIN: Jon, I… This isn’t healthy. ARCHIVIST: Healthy? I am an avatar of voyeuristic terror, whose unquestioned craving for knowledge has condemned the entire world… to an eternity of torment, “healthy” i–isn’t, i–it’s not…! MARTIN: Fine–fine. I get it. [CREAKING SOUND] ARCHIVIST: … Besides… G… [SHAKY EXHALE] Grief… is healthy. I–if nothing else, it pushes away the other feelings that that… thing wants me to experience.

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: This cabin. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It’s not right. And, when I thought that, I–I felt… It, it all poured out of me down… into the tape. MARTIN: [SIGH] ARCHIVIST: A–a–an–and it… felt good. It–it felt… right.

(MAG163) MARTIN: … How do you know all this stuff? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Not sure…! I just do.

(MAG164) MARTIN: A–alright, but… but how do you know that– ARCHIVIST: I just do. I just know it. [SILENCE] [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: You’ve been knowing a lot lately. ARCHIVIST: … Yes. MARTIN: A lot more than you used to. ARCHIVIST: Y… [SIGH] Yeah. And it, it feels more… deliberate. L–like I have more control now. MARTIN: Okay. So… how much can you see? What else do you know? ARCHIVIST: Uh… Maybe everything…! MARTIN: What’d you mean, “everything”? ARCHIVIST: I don’t… Ask me a question. O–one I can’t… possibly know already. […] HELEN: Hello, Jon! [FOOTSTEPS] [THE DOOR CREAKS CLOSE] ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] How did you find us? HELEN: Oh! I thought you’d know everything by this point. […] And please: my name is “Helen”. ARCHIVIST: Like you said, I can know everything now. Including how much of a lie that really is. HELEN: Don’t mistake “complication” for “falsehood”, dear Archivist.

(MAG165) MARTIN: But. You said we needed to go through these places. … Is that even going to work here? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] We need to go through them… metaphorically. MARTIN: Mm… ! ARCHIVIST: Psychologically, we need to… “experience” them.

(MAG166) HELEN: We’re all here, Martin. The Stranger; The Buried; The Desolation; all of us. But The Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid. And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well… To be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.

Sure, Jon needs to “pour out” into the tapes when they’re near a domain, but it takes fifteen minutes and it is done. He has a way to fix that discomfort.

So: yes, not responsible. But I still needed him to feel guilt about it, to feel ill-at-ease with his status as an “observer” (especially the outburst about being a “fucking tourist”: because YES, it’s extremely uncomfortable to hear him narrate these pockets of people’s suffering so he himself can feel better, untouched by it, lightly bantering with Martin?), to still reject his own enjoyment because he continues to cling to a moral compass (inflicting pain, even on a monster, shouldn’t feel good and satisfying), to be afraid of what he can do with his powers. Helen was right that “guilt” and “sadness” alone didn’t prevent Jon from doing terrible things last season (he felt guilty about attacking people, yet still concealed it, still clung to the hope that it wasn’t really him doing that… and did nothing to prevent further victims. There should have been only one victim of it at most, not five); but in that situation, it was also guilt and disgust that prevented him from embracing it like Helen had done, and from just accepting it as his new reality. Guilt, grief and sadness are not ideal, sure, but what would be the alternative? Indifference?

- ;; Really glad that Jon is not happy about what he did to the Not!Them and what it implied, because the circumstances in which he did… were terrifying.

* Jon had just established to Martin that the Not!Them couldn’t reach them, could only taunt, that it was stuck in a situation it hated, “ruled by The Eye”. It wasn’t a threat to them.

* Jon didn’t use his powers against it because it was hurting innocents – Jon turned against it because it was taunting him about Sasha. Jon did out of an outburst of flaring anger, disregarding everything else (and might have made its victims’ situation even worse, since the carousel was creaking in a dangerous-sounding way when they ran off).

* It was a personal revenge and Jon… spent half of season 4 with Daisy. Jon knows intimately how personal revenge and killing monsters tend to turn you into a monster, how it’s never-ending, how you can’t both be judge and executioner. (Adelard Dekker feels like he managed to navigate well-enough in that, but: we saw him tracking monsters when and while they were hurting innocents. He was by no means perfect either: after all, he discussed his theories with Peter Lukas… while there was no way he didn’t know that Peter was a Lonely avatar, and Peter acknowledged that he was mostly left alone (ha) because he was staying in his lane. That still involved sacrificing innocents.)

* Jon directly invoked Beholding when killing the Not!Them, used his connection to The Eye to do it. If the “feeding what feeds you” logic still applies: yes, on the one hand, it means that people’s suffering (from the Not!Them) fed The Eye, and Jon used it back against the Not!Them to exterminate it. On the other hand: still feeding the Fear-machine, still using the system, still feeding The Eye, given how it delights in overall suffering no matter the source.

* There is something very concerning about the fact that The Eye wanted Jon to leave the cabin in the first place (MAG162: “This place wishes to be our tomb. But The Eye does not wish that. No. [STATIC INCREASES] The Eye wishes instead that it be my chrysalis. It is time that I emerge…”), so it’s probably benefitting from what he’s doing… right now.

- I wonder if we’ll get something concrete about The Archivist’s connection to The Eye, since it’s been mentioned multiple times that that title has a special status when it comes to being connected to the Fears:

(MAG079) NOT!SASHA: I wonder, if I wear you, will I really become the Archivist? Rob The Eye of its pupil? Probably not. Better to just kill you, I think. Yes… I think that would be best.

(MAG120) ELIAS: And at last, the Archivist looks up. [STATIC INTENSIFIES] At last, he looks into The Eye that sees all, and knows all, and clutches at the secret terrors of your heart. The Ceaseless Watcher of all that is, and all that was; the voracious, infinite hunger that tears at his soul, invoking him to discover, to observe, to experience all and everything and forever. It stares into him, and it stares out of him, and he is falling into the devouring eternity of its pupil. He wants to cry out in horror, but he cannot. He. is. whole.

(MAG161) ARCHIVIST: They… I see most of the suffering around here. When it’s quiet, it just… it’s like… I can see it, like I’m watching all of it. MARTIN: You haven’t been opening the curtains? ARCHIVIST: No, I don’t need to. “It” can see us here, and… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] And I can see out as well.

(MAG166) HELEN: And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well… To be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.

- I’m not really surprised at Martin thinking that killing the Not!Them was not that bad and that they could keep doing that, since he… wasn’t against violence himself when confronting monsters: Tim had to discourage him when facing Michael, Martin burned statements to get Elias to focus on him; Martin wasn’t against killing Jonah’s real body per se in MAG158 either, he just didn’t want to participate in Elias and Peter’s game (unaware that sparing Jonah was, incidentally, making Jonah win). That last one might have made it worse for him, since killing Jonah might have killed a lot of Institute members… but he and Jon would probably have survived, and the apocalypse would have been avoided. It’s possible that Martin might be especially down for violence right now if he feels like it might fix things or make them less bad? Since the beginning of the season, he’s been occasionally down for it (at least in theory):

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: No, no, lo–look… I, I–I was listening, and I–I was filled with this… hatred. This anger; I–I wanted to leave, and hunt down Elias, a–and…! MARTIN: W–wow, okay… […] So should we… destroy it, before we go? [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND, BUT LOUDER AND CONFRONTATIONAL] [DISTANT RUMBLE OF THUNDER] ARCHIVIST: I honestly don’t know if we can. MARTIN: Hm. ARCHIVIST: Besides, there’s… far worse out there. Better to try and avoid it, I think. MARTIN: We’re not even gonna try? We, we’ve got your lighter, maybe we could just– ARCHIVIST: We can’t fight the world, Martin. MARTIN: [AMUSED DEFIANT HUFF] Says you. ARCHIVIST: [WITH A SMILE] Let’s go.

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: [PANTS] MARTIN: … Whoa–oh–oh! ARCHIVIST: I, uh… MARTIN: What was that?! ARCHIVIST: … I–I destroyed it. [ECHOING CREAKING SOUNDS] Ki–killed her.

(MAG166) MARTIN: [LONG EXHALE] [SILENCE] … No; no, I actually think you’re good on that front. ARCHIVIST: … What? MARTIN: Yeah, I, I–I think we should go for it, get our murder on. ARCHIVIST: Sorry, what?! HELEN: [DELIGHTED] Yes, Martin! MARTIN: Thi–this isn’t like it it was before! We’re not talking about… innocent bystanders in cafes here, Jon; these things are… th–they’re just evil. Plain and simple; and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone! If you want to stop them and have the power to, then… then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill!

… possible because he wasn’t around Jon during season 4. Jon saw that the lines were blurrier than he wanted to think: since Jane was “afraid” when she gave her statement, since The Hive was probably still (partially) her, when did she become a monster? Jon has been wronged by so many people – but what about Daisy, who confessed that she had wanted to kill him for months, and who apologised and developed a genuine friendship with him after the Coffin? How could Jon decide who “deserves” to die and who doesn't, if his personal feelings are the only judge? We spent part of season 3 and a good amount of season 4 focusing on avatars’ trajectories, how they arrived at their current situation; at which point is a human’s turning into an avatar not “simply” being pressed by their circumstances and when do you become guilty of truly “serving” and benefitting from the Fear-machinery? Echoing the episode’s statement: wouldn’t Richard have every right to seek revenge and murder on Sam, since Sam butchered him? If Jon’s own victims were to declare that he should die, wouldn’t it be their right, since he wronged them and was a “monster” to them, following the same logic? And moreover, Jon knows, first-hand, that his own powers were dependant on his feeding from people: these are not clean powers, these are a direct result of other people’s pain. Martin’s situation regarding the fears has been different: when we saw him using Lonely powers to avoid Georgie, it didn’t seem to have cost something to anyone else than himself. And Martin’s overall way of dealing with monsters/avatars, unless he was overpowered, was to make out the best with whatever power he was given (like using Peter’s knowledge to leak what info he was gathering to Jon&co). What I’m concerned about is that Martin is absolutely failing at taking Jon’s discomfort into account: it’s already there, and it was obvious that Martin wasn’t convincing him. So. Could very well develop into full-blown conflict, or, at least, put a strain on Jon’s desire to confide to him (since Jon sounded… a bit out of it/almost sulking between Helen’s departure and the beginning of the statement? Martin, the fact that Helen was super-excited about what you said is a big indicator that NOP, you don’t want to encourage or enable Jon’s potential for violence ;;)

- I’m still ;; worried about this bit Jon said, starting the season:

(MAG161) MARTIN: It just… It hurts me to see you wallowing, like this. ARCHIVIST: [SHARPLY] Well, some of us weren’t able to cut ourselves off from the world before it ended. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] MARTIN: That’s not fair. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: [SOFTER] No, it’s not, I’m, I’m sorry, I just… [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] [INHALE, EXHALE] It hurts.

“some of us weren’t able to cut ourselves off from the world before it ended” seemed extremely heavy back then, so… I’m still thinking that it might have been a reference to his Lonely-isation and that there are still lingering consequences as of now? A lot of Martin’s interaction with his surroundings outside of Jon still sounds extremely performative to me:

(MAG163) MARTIN: Good. Good. [SILENCE PUNCTUATED BY PANTING] … J–J–Jon, Jon, w–we’re not alone. ARCHIVIST: I–ignore them, they’re not… Just ignore them. MARTIN: … They’re not… real? [VOICES SHOUTING IN THE DISTANCE] ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLING] No…! They’re real; they were… normal people before the– … Before me. But now they’re here, meat for the grinder. I just mean there’s no point… talking to them. MARTIN: Don’t be a prick, Jon. Hey! I’m, I’m sorry about him. He’s–he’s going through a lot – well… we all are, I suppose, but well… “Hi”, I guess. [SILENCE] Hello? ARCHIVIST: They won’t hear you, Martin, they’re all… too busy waiting to die. MARTIN: Jon… […] It’s dangerous. Could… get yourself blown up, like all these poor… [PLASTIC RATTLING] Who d’you think they were? Really don’t see why we can’t just… go round, picked a better place to… [STEPS THROUGH LIQUID] [SIGH] I guess there… aren’t really any “better” places anymore, are there? [STEPS THROUGH LIQUID] It’s all this. Or worse, or… or different.

(MAG165) MARTIN: Hm! [SILENCE] D’you think we could get that experience just… walking along the edge? Because, uh… [LOWER] I really don’t like the look of those riders. ARCHIVIST: Would you believe me if I said they were the victims? MARTIN: … At this point, I’m not even surprised. […] Well, did it stir any feeling in you? ARCHIVIST: Yes! “Nausea”. Because of the horrible things in it! MARTIN: That’s not quite what I meant. […] I kinda want to *hear* that tape now, see how artistic The Stranger actually is. ARCHIVIST: Or just look up. [SIGH] See it for yourself. MARTIN: Uh… Hm. No. No thanks. Trying to avoid thinking about it, actually.

(MAG166) MARTIN: [SIGH] [SILENCE] [BAG JOSTLING] … Kind of wish the apocalypse had some magazines. … A–ac–actually, no, second thoughts, probably not. Mmh! Def, definitely not. [BAG JOSTLING] [SIGH] Come on Jon…! How long does it take to describe… “scary mud”… [STATIC] [LOUDER, CLOSER HOWLS] [GASP] Oh, o–okay – okay, okay, sorry, sorry! Sorry.

(Before, I would have said that Martin would have accepted it if Jon wanted to sacrifice himself in order to save the world. Lately, I’m thinking more and more that he could be ready to leave the world to rot if it means keeping Jon alive/safe.)

- Regarding Helen’s binary:

(MAG166) HELEN: And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are *afraid*. And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well… To be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.

… Where does that put Martin?

Where does it put Basira, if she’s tracking Daisy?

Melanie&Georgie, given how Georgie doesn’t feel fear anymore and Melanie is out of the Watcher’s grasp?

(And if Jon can turn one into the other, does it mean that he could technically turn a victim into something that is feared?)

- I’m also pondering about the denunciation of the Fear-system because. The idea is that, amongst the humans, there is no winner. I’m not sure I absolutely trust Helen when she classified beings between “those who are feared and those who are afraid” given how such a huge amount of turned-avatars (so, those who are now feared) were initially motivated by their own feelings of fear… including Jonah. There have been a few mentions of him since the start of the season, setting him up as The Big Bad, and! Obviously! Why wouldn’t he be! He is the worst! He killed, manipulated and engineered other people’s suffering for his own safety! He was the one destroying the world for his own benefit!

(MAG161) MARTIN: [SIGH] Gloating, Jon. [CREAKING SOUND] Elias won, and there were some tapes he’d kept for himself, and he wanted to gloat. So, he sent them! ARCHIVIST: He’s not… MARTIN: I–I don’t see– ARCHIVIST: … “Elias”. MARTIN: Jonah, then. I don’t know, I find it hard to think of him as… I don’t really like to think of him!

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: “This place wishes to be our tomb. But The Eye does not wish that. No. [STATIC INCREASES] The Eye wishes instead that it be my chrysalis. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It is time that I emerge…” [STATIC REACHING A PEAK] [CRIES OUT] [COLLAPSES] […] MARTIN: Look, Jon, I… I, I know it hurts, but you’ve just got to… ARCHIVIST: No, no, lo–look… I, I–I was listening, and I–I was filled with this… hatred. This anger; I–I wanted to leave, and hunt down Elias, a–and…! MARTIN: W–wow, okay… ARCHIVIST: But, when I thought it… the–there was… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] There was something else. Th–this place, it… it didn’t want me, it… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] didn’t want us to go. […] MARTIN: Do you think it’ll do anything? Confronting Elias? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] I… [SIGH] Maybe?

(MAG164) MARTIN: What about Elias? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: He’s inside the Panopticon; the tower, far above the world. MARTIN: That one? ARCHIVIST: Yes. [PAUSE] MARTIN: How is he? ARCHIVIST: Hard to say. The, the way this works, this… “new sight”, the knowledge is, is… [SIGH] It’s somehow wrapped up in the Panopticon? An eye can’t… see inside itself. MARTIN: Mm. ARCHIVIST: But I can feel him in there. MARTIN: Hm. That sounds… gross. ARCHIVIST: It is! [CHUCKLES]

(MAG166) HELEN: It’s very satisfying though, isn’t it? Teasing out vague information; you see why Elias got a kick out of it. ARCHIVIST: Shut up! MARTIN: Jon…!

But I’m also wondering: at which point during the 19th century did it turn out that he was “rotten”? His actions went from someone afraid that others could ruin the world and condemn him (and others) to eternal suffering, to seeking to end the world himself in order to ensure him a better spot? He didn’t create the Fears, they already existed – the Fear machine already existed before him.

I don’t know how to explain, but I’m less and less confident that he’s good and fine in the Panopticon at the moment? And given Jon’s shame regarding the Not!Them, not sure either that Jon… is meant to smite him too, or to feel any catharsis in the process if he does?

(It’s a weird thing to say, but I get the impression that if you want to make someone like Jonah crumble, you don’t really have to deal with him as a Worthy Opponent and a master manipulator in control of the situation; you have to look down on him and shatter his ego by telling him “I forgive you; you, too, were just a pathetic tool manipulated by Fears, after all.”)

(- Am squinting a bit about the “We’re not talking about… innocent bystanders in cafes here, Jon” mention since: yes, it would make sense that this would come to Martin’s mind, since he took Jess Tyrell’s complaint. But it could also be a narrative reminder that this thing happened, because they’ll cross the path of one of Jon’s victims again soon?)

- SQUINT about Helen being assumedly oh-so-very-busy and yet hovering around the boys so much, and saying she is delighted about the new world… when the Not!Them made it clear that it was still feeling the pressure of The Eye. Could be because The Stranger and The Eye were kind of opposites on the spectrum (Dark avatars might not be pleased either) but HUMMM.

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: What – do – you – want. HELEN: To be friends again! All three of us! ARCHIVIST: [AGGRAVATED SIGH] HELEN: Look at this place, look at this… [DEEP INHALE] wonderland! This is the world now, and we are strong and free! There’s really no reason for us not to hang out. [SILENCE] [SCOFF] Goodness, he is in a mood. Has he been like this the whole time? […] Anyway. Sorry to love you and leave you, but I must dash. It’s a very busy time for me, lots of things to do, people to… well. You know! ARCHIVIST: I don’t doubt it. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … What? HELEN: Just… taking a moment to look. You two are just such an adorable couple! ARCHIVIST: Enough! [THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN] HELEN: See you soon!

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: Don’t get too close. [THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN] [DISTORTION’S STATIC] Hello, Helen. HELEN: Oh, hello! [FOOTSTEPS] In a better mood, are we? Feeling more secure now you’ve learned how to kill~?

Helen. Do you have a genuine death/destruction wish that you’re trying to hide / can’t reveal because that would be too straightforward? How come you’re not trapped in a pocket nightmare either, but coming and going like this?

- cRIES and pours one out for Tim, as Martin is taking on the mantle of pop-culture references:

(MAG040) TIM: There were loads of them. Some jumped at me as I ran inside so I dodged out the way, but ended up sprawling into this pile of boxes that I thought were case files. Instead, I found myself lying on top of a whole bunch of CO2 canisters – which are damn hard by the way. The worms were still coming, so I used them. I mean, I went full Gas-Rambo.

(MAG116) ARCHIVIST: Do you– … Are you going to keep it together? TIM: Look. If you’re worried I’m gonna go all… Redrum and start hacking off random waxworks, don’t be. I’m not gonna give us away. I want this to work.

(MAG166) MARTIN: Thi–this isn’t like it it was before! We’re not talking about… innocent bystanders in cafes here, Jon; these things are… th–they’re just evil. Plain and simple; and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone! If you want to stop them and have the power to, then… then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill! ARCHIVIST: [LOW] I, I, I haven’t seen it…

(eisduje not surprise at all for Jon but also HIGHFIVE I haven’t seen it either.)

- Martin had said that he would answer the phone ;;

(MAG163) MARTIN: Uh… Jon? [OLD PHONE RINGING] Uh, Jo–Jon, the, uh, the payphone that’s… here, for some reason, it’s–it’s ringing? [OLD PHONE RINGING] Jon, is–is that… [ASKING AROUND] I–is anyone gonna get that? [OLD PHONE RINGING] … Unless it’s for me? [OLD PHONE RINGING] [SIGH] Yeah, it’s for me. Uh… nnno. [OLD PHONE RINGING] N–no, no, I don’t think so, actually! Hum, thanks, but that, that sounds like a really… terrible idea! [OLD PHONE RINGING] Hm, sorry! [SILENCE] … Huh. Wwwell, alright then! [BODIES WADING THROUGH LIQUID] ARCHIVIST: Martin, you need to keep up. It’s not safe. … Martin? You okay? MARTIN: Uh, I… Th–ther–there was a phone – that phone. ARCHIVIST: … Oh. MARTIN: It… Yeah, it was ringing? ARCHIVIST: Oh. Right… Did you answer it? MARTIN: No. ARCHIVIST: Hm. [INHALE] Probably for the best…! MARTIN: Yeeaahh.

(MAG164) MARTIN: Okay, okay, uh, what else, what else, hum… Oh! Hum, uh, who was, uh–uh, phone – hum, wh–who was calling me? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: … I think it was Annabelle Cane. MARTIN: Hm. ARCHIVIST: That’s… weird, I, I know The Web was wrapped around that phone, but, but I can’t… see her. A–at all. At least with Georgie and Melanie, I have a vague sense they’re still alive, i–in London, and, or– Well, what was London. [STATIC DECREASES] But Annabelle…? Nothing. [STATIC FADES] Hm. MARTIN: W–well, I’ll… I’ll ask her, next time she calls. ARCHIVIST: Well, I know that’s a bad idea…! MARTIN: What, do you? ARCHIVIST: … Okay, no, that one was a… very reasonable guess. MARTIN: Ha!

(MAG166) [MUFFLED BUZZING] MARTIN: … Oh, god, what now? [FOOTSTEPS] [MUFFLED BUZZING] [FOOTSTEPS] What, seriously? A spade? [MUFFLED BUZZING] Isn’t that like kind of… I don’t know, insensitive? Given where you are? [MUFFLED BUZZING] [SIGH] Fine, fine! Fine. [BAG JOSTLING] [SIGH] [SHARP METALLIC SOUND] [EARTH BEING DUG UP] [MUFFLED BUZZING] [NOKIA RINGTONE, MUFFLED] [MUFFLED BUZZING] MARTIN: For God’s sake…! [WIPING HIS HANDS] [NOKIA RINGTONE, CLEARER] [MUFFLED BUZZING] [BAG JOSTLING] [BEEP] MARTIN: Hello? ANNABELLE: Hello? Is that Martin? MARTIN: Don’t do that. ANNABELLE: What? No stomach for games? MARTIN: Well, your “games” aren’t exactly fun for everyone, are they? ANNABELLE: Very few games are…! MARTIN: [SIGH] Look, look, look, I’m talking to Annabelle Cane, right?

* SOB because in his conversation with Jon in MAG164… he say that he would answer, but I’m pretty sure that Jon took it as a joke, and didn’t think that Martin truly WOULD.

* The irony of Martin having to DIG with a SHOVEL, when he had been the one to read that statement in season 3. (Was it a genuine coincidence, or a nudgenudge from Annabelle implying that she was already watching him back then?)

* Laughing really hard because OF COURSE, a Nokia would survive the apocalypse. (Francisco Tárrega’s “Gran Vals”, recognisable despite the years!)

- I. really. wasn’t. expecting. to hear Annabelle so soon and so casually. To just speak over the phone.

I’m amused, because her conversation with Martin reminded me a LOT of my first impressions of Elias in MAG017: I was already spoiled that he was a big bad, and yet, he had struck me as non-threatening and boring? But I’ve Learned, so I obviously don’t trust, but I’m still “!” that I’m getting the same impression with Annabelle right now.

(Also, it’s very funny that Jon gave her such a carnivorous edge while reading her statement in MAG147 and she… felt almost chill and courteous here.)

- Obvious squinting that she didn’t say who she was:

(MAG166) MARTIN: [SIGH] Look, look, look, I’m talking to Annabelle Cane, right? ANNABELLE: You never gave me your name – so why should I offer mine?

If she hadn’t been credited as “Annabelle Cane”, I would have seriously doubted it was really her, but there were the credits. Still, squinting a bit? (And squinting a bit at how she teased Martin: was it a jab at his non-existent middle name, furthering that she was keeping a close eye (ha) on Jon&Martin?)

- I!! Don’t know!! What!! To!! Think!! Of her call!!

(MAG166) MARTIN: Just, what do you want? ANNABELLE: *I* want to help you, of course. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … No. Thank you. ANNABELLE: It’s a hard place to find yourself in, maybe I can be of some… assistance…! MARTIN: You can assist me by giving the… “creepy phone” thing a rest…! ANNABELLE: He is more powerful here than he’s ever been, isn’t he? [PAUSE] And you’re not sure what that means for you. MARTIN: [INHALE] I’m hanging up now. ANNABELLE: Does he even need you at all?

And that’s the most Web thing, isn’t it? Making you unsure whether she’s trying to manipulate or is just saying random things, and which direction she is pointing towards? Why dig at Martin’s potential insecurities regarding Jon not needing him? Is it to plant a seed of doubt, like what had happened to Agnes (MAG139: “A tiny… hairline fracture, which destroys everything.”)? Technically, Jon “needing” Martin was already a point covered with MAG159 when Jon got him out of The Lonely’s influence: Jon did say he needing him, but he also did bigger, he chose Martin (and made Martin see “him”). Which doesn’t invalidate the possiblity that right now, it could be hurting Martin, given that… he was used to act as a caretaker for so long, and Jon is absolutely in charge at the moment. Is Annabelle trying to get Martin to take risks? Is it to alienate them from each other? A few possibilities:

* It’s for shits&giggles, she was mostly introducing herself for later but didn’t need any particular reaction out of Jon & Martin at the moment (but hey, free snack).

* She needs them to go their separate ways for some reason and is stirring up conflict to make that happen; whether it’s to prevent them from reaching the Panopticon, or because she needs them elsewhere. Saying it outright would make Jon categorically refuse because it’s The Web, so she’s using a roundabout.

* She… is preparing them for The Lonely-zone, making sure that insecurities/potential sources of conflicts are worked out NOW and not later, to up their chances of making it to the Panopticon?

Right now, I’m anticipating Martin’s reactions: will he hide the phone conversation from Jon? Will he share what happened, what was said? Has he kept the phone? Will Martin try to “fix” the problem by taking unnecessary risks…?

(- WOW, ANNABELLE IS VERY GOOD AT TIMING HER PHONE CALLS FOR WHEN JON IS AWAY, ISN’T SHE. HOW FUNNY THAT BOTH TIMES SHE CALLED, THE RECORDER HAD CLICKED ON AND SHOWN THAT MARTIN WAS ALONE ALREADY, BEFORE THE PHONE RANG.)

  … It feels extremely weird to realise that “next episode is MAG167”. 7th episode already; last season, it was the equivalent of “Remains To Be Seen” (do you sometimes just Think about Dr Jonathan Fanshawe and his vitriolic letter). So little has happened, and yet… already quite a few things? I feel like we learned things about past (and dead) characters this season, mostly; a few things have been installed (Helen visiting Jon&Martin, the Distortion’s corridors set up to be relevant; Annabelle finally revealing herself; Jon’s new activity of “pouring” into the tape recorders; the current goal of reaching the Panopticon requiring to “metaphorically” experience the Fears and witnessing their domains; Jon’s status as The Eye’s favoured son and/or an extension of it; Georgie&Melanie’s status being conspicuously unclear; Basira still after monster!Daisy; Jonah still at the Panopticon; the hints about setting the building on fire; the fact that there is a faint hope of undoing the apocalypse, altogether with it being complicated), but since MAG163, the series has mostly been following a new formula without much new things happening to Jon&Martin themselves? Season 4 was the outlier in that regard.

Anyway: season 5’s titles make the content harder to guess, though they make sense in retrospect, and MAG167 feels the same! No strong conviction but potential ideas: Vast (because space reference + something about the drive); I saw someone suggest a potential connection with Daisy (and! It would be a clever one) so could be Hunt, with monster!Daisy and Basira at the end…; Flesh (am thinking about something Jared said); Spiral (because kind of how the Distortion works); Beholding, and specifically OG!Elias somehow (have we listened to all the tapes Jon&Martin had received?). I see how there could be a connection to that too, so potentially a glimpse of Georgie&Melanie (and The Admiral)?

#the magnus archives #tma season 5 #mag166 #long post/ #tma spoilers/ #tma liveblog

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 37

Warnings:  angry Tyler.  Is that a warning? lol

Tagging: @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @thorsbathroomchicken, @innerpaperexpertcloud @valkyrie-of-the-light

It’s been two days since the incident at McMann’s house, and the worst of the physical aftereffects have begun to dissipate.  The pain that lingers in the shoulder has lessened; nothing more than a dull, throbbing ache that settles right in the joint and often travels straight down to his fingers. The black eye is at its peak, a vivid shade of purple and some blue that spreads to the top of the cheek and over to the side of his nose. The scalp is still tender to the touch, but the headache is gone, and he’s no longer plagued by periods of dizziness and nausea; the concussion…or at least the worst of it…now behind him.

They’ve been in hiding for forty eight hours.  No contact with the outside world aside from phone calls home and the video chats with Nik on the FBI’s secure satellite link. Even Yaz has stayed his distance; working closely with Mark on finding any information regarding Heather McMann’s -and the children’s- whereabouts. It’s been nothing but dead ends.  McMann hasn’t attempted any communication; there’s been radio silence from his end of things. Yet Tyler knows he’s out there. That either he…or someone he’s recruited or hired…is just lying in wait for the chance to get revenge. In McMann’s eyes he’s crossed a line; going to the house without permission, discovering the things he had, leaving four men dead in the backyard. He’s out for blood now.  The need for finding his children now outweighed by the need for vengeance.  He’s in on it. Working side by side with his wife; a sick and twisted game that only leads to more questions and dead in.  Tyler just can’t prove it. He knows there’s a connection, but he can’t seem to find what he needs to join all the loose ends. While Heather’s abduction was very much stage, the nightmare the kids are being put through is very real. What is the purpose? On faking one but following through with the others? With weaving a web so tight and so intricate? And what kind of sick person uses their children like that in the first place?

Proof. He needs proof.

And answers. So many answers.

He leaves Esme sleeping and journeys out onto the balcony; a cup of coffee from room service in one hand, SAT phone in the other, and he takes a seat on one of the plastic chairs and places his feet up on the metal railing.  He’s tired; mentally and physically. It’s six in the morning; eleven at night -previous day- in Colorado, and he briefly considers calling the house phone before dialing Ovi’s cell instead.  He doesn’t want to wake the kids, or startle his mother in law, or even let Nik know that he’s reaching out.  He’s tired of things being sugar coated; of being told that everything is fine when his instincts are telling him that they’re far from it.   Maybe the kids aren’t feeling it; they’re little and still so pure and innocent and the only thing that matters to them is that mommy and daddy call at least once a day.  And eventually come home. But he knows there is more going on than what Nik is telling him. Things have been so fucked up from the get go and there’s no way some of that hasn’t reached Colorado by now.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks, after Ovi’s given the standard ‘what’s up?’ and a loud yawn.  

“I was starting to doze.  The kids made me sleep in the backyard in the tent. Again. This is the fifth night in a row. My back hurts.”

“You guys aren’t out there by yourselves, are you? There’s guys keeping in eye on things, yeah?”

“There’s a few,” Ovi confirms. “They switch out every couple of hours.”

“Have the kids said anything? About why these guys are there?”

“They’ve asked a couple times. Why there’s people walking around and checking things out. I just told them that it makes you and Esme feel better that they’re here. That you guys hate being that far from home and you worry about them and having people here makes you worry less.  That makes them happy. They like that answer.”

“And they’re doing okay?”

 He misses them…misses his life…terribly. So much it’s physically painful at times.   And for a brief second he wishes he could back in time; to when they still been in that little apartment in Australia, before Ovi had started receiving all those threats and photos.  So he could make a different decision. Say no when it became apparent that his help was needed and there was no one else would could do the job. Things would be so different.  They never would have gotten caught up in that kind of bullshit; they’d never would have ended up in Mumbai and then back in Dhaka. Where the nightmare had started in the first place.

The other side of him holds onto the old adage that ‘things happen for a reason’.  If  he’d never gone to help Ovi the second time around, the chances were slim to none that he would have become part of their family. He’d never would have gone to see Mahajan Senior and pushed the issue of guardianship and Ovi would have been stuck in Mumbai and the vicious circle of him always needing Tyler’s help would have continued. Gaspar had been right about that; there was no way to keep him safe with his old man in jail. And the kid still would have never known what it was like to be loved. To have people that legitimately care about him and his well being.  They hadn’t just taken Ovi in to protect him, but to give him somewhat of a normal life. The chance to respected and seen as a person, not an object. To be loved.

“They get a little sad every now and then,” Ovi says. “They miss you guys.  TJ is taking it the worse. He gets really upset. Really angry.”

“Yeah, unfortunately he’s got a mix of his mother’s sensitive side and my temper. So he tends to go off from time to time. No more fights? No one has beaten the shit of anyone lately?”

“No lately. But Millie is a lot tougher than she looks. She totally kicked his ass.”

“She’s small, but she’s mighty. Like her mother.  She’s a force to be reckoned with that one.  But other than that, they’re okay? They haven’t driven anyone to drink excessively yet? Grandma hasn’t found a bridge to jump off of? That that would be a horrible thing, but…”

“No,” Ovi laughs.  “Everything is good. No one has gone crazy. Yet. Chloe is really good with them. She has a lot more patience than I do. And they really love her.  They like having her around.”

“Yeah?” Tyler grins. “I bet you like having her around too.”  

“Maybe,” Ovi sheepishly admits.  “Just a little.”

“That’s how it all starts. You get used to having them around, you realize how much you like it when they are, you don’t ever want them to leave, and the next thing you know, you’re married and you’ve got four kids and one on the way and…”

“Wait? What? I think there’s something wrong with the connection.  I thought I just heard you say one on the way? Is that what you said?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “We just found out. Two days ago.  You’re the only back home who knows. So if you’d just keep it on the down low for now…”

“This is amazing!” Ovi gushes. “Another baby! You guys make such cute babies.  You should have more. Like two or three more and…”

“This is the last one. We’re done. We’re closing up shop. Five will be more than enough. Besides, in a few years you’re probably going to be out on your own and you’re going to find someone to have your own babies with.  You won’t need to rely on us to get your baby fix.”

“I’m not going anywhere for a long time,” Ovi declares.

It’s the immaturity creeping in; the trauma that been inflicted on him making him seem so much younger than his years. As if he’s the old Ovi again; that terrified and scarred yet trusting teenager that got him to open up about his own life and the mistakes of his past. It seems like a lifetime ago; when he’d had nothing to lose and death seemed like a welcome escape. Now death is what terrifies him the most. Back then he would have welcomed it, now he’s desperately trying to escape it.  

“I just want to stay with you guys,” Ovi says.  “Forever.”

“Well, we don’t mind if you do. We kind of like having you around. But one day you are going to want to move on with your life. We’re not always going to be the most important people in your world.”

“Yes,” Ovi says. “You are. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay. With you and Esme. And the kids. I’d miss you all too much.  You guys are my family.  You’re not my real parents, but you’re still my parents. You’re still my mom and dad. Even if we don’t have the same blood and our skin isn’t the same.”

Emotion chokes at him; stunned by the teenager’s heartfelt honesty.  He’d never really considered himself to be the kid’s dad. A big brother, maybe. A father figure for sure. But he’d never used the ‘d word’ and Ovi had never dropped it until now.  But he knows he loves that kid; like one his own.  And he’d lay his life down on the line for him the same way he would for the kids he’d actually had a hand in making.  

“I’m happy for you guys,” Ovi says.  “That you’re having another baby. That I get another brother or sister.”

“Well if Esme has her way, it’ll be another girl,” Tyler smiles at the mere thought of it. Having another little girl. One that looks like her mother; dark hair and huge dark eyes and a smile that can bring even the strongest of men to their knees. “ I think she’s tired of there being so many guys in the house. And Millie definitely will not want another brother. She wanted to trade Declan in for a puppy when he was born.”

Ovi laughs at that.

“Look, mate,” Tyler begins, and take a swig of coffee. “I need you to be straight with me. When I ask you what I’m about to ask. Because I don’t think I’m getting the honest truth from Nik. And I need you to tell me the truth. Even if you think it’s going to piss me off. Can you do that?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t need you to think so. I need you to know so. Because this is fucking hard; being so far from my kids. And I don’t trust a lot of people and I’m over here trying to put all I have into guys I’ve never even met. I’m trusting complete strangers to take care of my kids and it’s fucking killing me. There isn’t a second of the day that goes by where I don’t want to say ‘fuck it’ and get on the next plane and come home.  So I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Okay,” the kid sounds nervous, but steadfast.  “I’ll tell you the truth.”

“How are things really? Because shit is hitting the fan over here and I’ve pissed some people off that won’t think twice about bringing trouble there.  They won’t hesitate getting revenge on me by going after my family. Because they know that’s what would hurt the most. What would destroy me. They won’t come after me because they know it would take a lot to kill me. So they’ll resort to doing anything they can to break me.”

It still haunts him. What he’d seen when he’d found Erin Ferguson in that room.  The things that had been done to her. The way her naked body had been mutilated and put on display. And he knows…with one hundred conviction…that if they’d been caught in McMann’s ‘bunker’, the things they would have done to Esme would have been even worse. And they would have done whatever it took to make sure he was fully conscious and able to watch what they were doing.

There mere thought makes him feel sick to his stomach. Tears burn his eyes. And he squeezes them shut as tight as he can in hopes of ridding himself of not only what he saw, but what he imagines he could have seen.

“How are things there?” he asks. “How are they really? Don’t bullshit me, mate. I need the truth.”

“The kids are doing really good. They’re behaving themselves and Chloe and I are making sure we keep them busy and happy.”

“I don’t mean that. I trust you. You’re one of the few people I do trust. I know the kids are in good hands. What I need to know is if there’s been anything weird going on. If there’s been any kind of trouble. Any suspicious shit going on.”

Ovi sighs.  “Nik told me not to talk to you about this…”

“Fuck Nik. I stopped listening to Nik a long time ago.  She thinks she knows what’s best for me and in reality she knows shit. What’s going, kid? Tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s been some things,” he reluctantly admits.  “Nothing too bad, but…”

“What kind of things?”

He knew it was coming. That it was bound to happen. As soon as he’d nearly crushed McMann’s throat and he became enemy number one, the clock was ticking. He went from being the only one who could save the McMann kids to being the first on the other man’s shit list.  For that alone he wanted to tell McMann to go fuck himself and just get on the next plane home. But he can’t. His conscience won’t let him.  Those kids are still out there. Still being tortured in some kind of sick and twisted game being conducted by their own mother. If he doesn’t get them out, no one will. And that guilt and blame will follow him forever.

“People calling the house and hanging up. There were some pictures. Someone put them in the mailbox.”

His stomach lurches. “What kind of pictures?”

“Pictures of the kids. Out on the street. Some of them at school. Pictures of Esme and Millie together downtown. Pictures of all of you together.”

In the grand scheme of things, pictures are relatively harmless. It’s the threat that usually accompanies them or follows them that’s the issue.

“What else? I can tell there’s something else, Ovi. What is it?”  He doesn’t use the kid’s name that often, as strange as it sounds. The last time he’d used in while addressing him personally was when the kid had still been in the midst of all his mental health issues and causing all kinds of shit at home and they’d had an epic blow out about it.

“They showed up at the house.”

His chest tightens. As do his hands. The left one immediately forming a fist so tight his knuckles crack and start to turn to white. The fingers of the right pressing into the sides of the phone with enough force to crack the plastic protective covering. There’s no anxiety. No fear. Just rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.

“They? Who is ‘they’?” he asks, and he can hear it in his own voice; his temper threatening to take hold. In the same way it had when he’d nearly broken McMann’s neck with his bare hands.

“I don’t know.  Three guys. They came here looking for you.”

“Did you see them? What did they look like?”

“I didn’t see them. I only heard them. As soon as Nik saw them pull into the driveway, she made me take the kids into the basement. Where you’ve always told me to take them in case there’s trouble. But I could hear them. Talking to her. They had accents. They weren’t American.”

“Were they Irish? Were they Irish accents?”

“No. I would have recognized that for sure.  They almost sounded just like you. But different. Words sound a certain way when you say them. You have slang words for different things. Their slang words weren’t the same. But their accents sounded a lot like yours does, but they were still different at the same time.”

“New Zealand? Were they from New Zealand?”

“I don’t know what New Zealand people sound like,” he admits.

“They sound like me. But a little different like you said.    Shit…fuck…” he drags a hand through his hair. His brain can’t quite possibly handle trying to put this all together on its own. The meds, the damage that had been when he’d lost so much blood and been oxygen deprived, the depression, the anxiety…all working together to completely fuck with him.

It doesn’t make any sense. He all but expected McMann to send someone. He’d been waiting for it, actually. But someone connected to the Buckman family? And why the fuck would they show up in Colorado in the first place? They have to know he is already Ireland, or else he wouldn’t have been made the second he got on the damn plane.

It’s a ploy. It has to be. Either a  scare tactic to get him off the trail in Ireland and have him running back home to protect his own family, or to actually make sure he isn’t in Colorado, meaning that his family is alone and vulnerable.

“Do me a favour,” he says to Ovi. “Go on the internet and look up New Zealand accent. Go and google it. Do it right now. Don’t hang up. Go and look it up and listen to it and then tell me if it’s the same.”

“Okay…”

He sits with an elbow on his knee and his palm pressed to his forehead; the adrenaline has started to stir. And he can’t stop himself from vigorously shaking his thigh from side to side or repeatedly tapping his toes against the concrete below; top teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“It’s the same,” Ovi confirms when he finally returns. “That’s the accent I heard.”

“You’re one hundred percent sure? I need you to be one hundred percent sure, mate.”

“I’m sure. No doubt about it. I know that’s the accent I heard.”

“Okay, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I want you to do everything I say, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Go into the garage. You know where the loft area is? Go up there. There’s a trunk with a lock on it. I’ll text message you the combination. There’s money in there. A lot of money. And there’s weapons. Lots of them.  I need you to take both, understand me?”

“I understand.”

“I want you to take the kids and Chloe and get them the fuck out of there. Even the dog. Take him too. He’s what will keep the kids from losing their shit. I want you to get away from the house. I don’t care if it’s just to Denver or if you have to go to an entirely different state. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going and do not call anyone except me when you get there. Tell Esme’s mom to go back home. Tell her I said not to talk to anyone. That if someone comes to her place looking for information, she doesn’t give them any. Are you getting all of this?”

“I am,” he confirms.

“I want you get a different cell phone. To call me from. Even get Chloe a new one. Use some of the money I told you about. You don’t use any phone but that one to get in contact with me, you hear me?”

“I do.”

“Do not go back to the house unless I tell you too. You find a place for all of you to stay and you keep your ass there. The only time I want you leaving is if you think people have found you.”

“What about Nik? What do I tell her?”

“I’ll worry about Nik. I’ll deal with her. She won’t want me to, but I will.  I’ve to go. I’ve got shit I need to piece together somehow. As soon as I hang up, you start getting everything going. Do not contact me until you’ve got a new phone. Get rid of the other one. Burn it, stomp on it, I don’t give a shit. Just get rid of it.”

“Okay…” he sounds nervous. Like that fourteen year old kid back in Dhaka. “Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“Things are going to be okay, right?”

“I hope so, mate,” he says.  “I really hope so.”

****

He leaves a hastily written note on her pillow; right next to her head, so she won’t miss it.  She’ll panic if she wakes up and not only finds his side of the bed empty, but him missing from the room entirely. So he let’s her know that he’s gone to see Yaz, and that if he’s not back in an hour after she discovers the note, THAT’s when she needs to start freaking out.  And he tells her not to open the door. To anyone. Not room service, not housekeeping , not even Mark if he shows up.

He takes the stairs as opposed to the elevator. Less chance of running into someone; the confined space of the elevator only putting him at a serious disadvantage if someone did climb aboard with the sole intent of causing trouble. He takes the stairs two at a time; the rage has fully taken over, making him numb to any physical pain that he knows he should be feeling. He’s pissed off; at McMann for holding back information, at Heather McMann for using her kids and allowing people to abuse and torture them, at Nik for keeping the truth from him, at whoever has the goddamn nerve to show up at his house. At himself for even getting mixed up in such a godawful shitty mess.

He reaches Yaz’ room and pounds his fist against the door. To hell with your average, normal knocking.  He is way beyond being being polite; all decorum and niceties completely out the window. And when he gets no answers, he uses the toe of one of his boots to get the job done; repeatedly slamming it against the wood until it violently shakes and makes an audible crack.

“What the fuck, man?” Yaz speaks from a slit in the door; not opening it farther than the chain will allow.

“Open the door.”

“No. This isn’t a good time. Can’t you read? The sign says ‘do not disturb’.”

“Open the fucking door, now!” Tyler bellows, and Yaz gives a started blink and then hurriedly tends to the chain.

“What the hell is wrong? What…?”

He pushes his way into the room. “Did you know? About the people that came to my house? Did you know about that?”  And it’s then that he sees the half naked woman in Yaz’ bed, frazzled and embarrassed, trying her best to throw on some clothes.  The waitress from the coffee shop they’d visited their second day in town.

“Do you mind?” she shrieks.  

“Yeah, I fucking do! Get your shit…” Tyler snags the remaining apparel off the floor and tosses it at her. “…and get the fuck out!”

“Don’t argue,” Yaz address her.  “Not when he’s like this. Not when he’s capable of tearing us both to pieces.”

He paces the room as Yaz helps his guest get herself sorted and out the door; raking his hands through his hair, wincing when his fingers come in too close of contact with the stitches in his scalp.  The rage is intense; almost unbearable. Sweat beading on his brow, forming at his temples, his breathing irregular.  He knows he needs to get it together; Yaz isn’t the enemy. And at this point he’s liable to beat the ever loving shit out of him if he even glances at him the wrong way.

“What the fuck man?” Yaz snarls. “Do you see me interrupting you when you’re about get laid?”

“I don’t give a shit where you were about to stick your dick, mate.  I don’t give a fuck if it was the waitress from the coffee shop or you hired a hooker. Did you know? About what’s been going on at my house? About the pictures? About the phone calls? About people showing up there?”

“Tyler…just calm down, man…just…”

“Did you fucking know?!” he snarls, and Yaz holds his hands up in a plea for mercy when he takes a step towards him.

“Okay…okay…you need to just take a breath and calm down…”

“That’s my family! That’s my fucking kids! There’s people sending shit to my house! They’re showing up there. Where my fucking kids live! Don’t you tell me to take a breath and calm down.  Did you know about it? Did your sister tell you?”

“Yes…” he reluctantly admits. “…she did. But…”

“But? How can there be a but?! You knew that people were threatening my family and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Nik asked me not to. She knows what you get like. We both know what you get like.  I mean, you’re here, flipping your shit on me.  I’m not the enemy here, Tyler. I’m not the one that is threatening your family. But you’re acting like I’m personally involved in it somehow.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me. That makes you just as bad. So don’t give me that shit. Don’t play the victim.”

“I knew if I told you, this would happen. That you’d completely lose it.”

“Do you blame me? Do you really fucking blame me? Those are my kids, Yaz. My family. The only reason I’m still alive and I didn’t put a bullet in my head years ago. They’re the only reason I keep doing this shit; trying to solve everyone else’s goddamn problems while my own life feels like it’s falling apart! It never should have come to this. I should never have gotten mixed back up in this shit. When your sister asked four years ago, I should have told her to go fuck herself and to find someone else.”

“But you didn’t. And you know why?”

“I’m fucking brain damaged, that’s why. Maybe the doctors shouldn’t have worked so hard when I coded in the OR. Maybe it would have been better if they’d just let me die. Because I wouldn’t be here right now putting up with all this bullshit! I wouldn’t be thousands of miles away from kids while some asshole is sending people to prey on them.”

“If you’d died, those kids wouldn’t even exist,” Yaz reminds him. “Your life, the one you know, wouldn’t exist.”

“Yeah, and maybe that’s the way it should have been. None of this existing. Because my kids shouldn’t have to put up with this. My wife shouldn’t have to put up with this; me taking off to fight other peoples fucking battles and not even taking the time to fix ours.”

“I thought things were good. I thought…”

“I’m not talking about now. I’m talking about when she kicked my ass out because she was tired of me breaking her goddamn heart all the time. And yet she still took me back.  Even though I didn’t deserve another chance. I promised her it would be different. That I’d be different. And now look. Now look at the fucking mess I’m in. That I’ve brought her into. She deserves better than this, Yaz. She’s always deserved better than this. Better than me.”

“You’re each other’s ride or die,” he says. “Always have been. Since the beginning.”

“Well I’d rather my wife not die, if it’s all the same to you.  Why didn’t you tell me? Why’d you keep this from me?”

“Nik asked me to.”

“Excuse me for saying this, but fuck Nik.  You should have told me. We’re friends. We’re friends and this is my family we’re talking about.”

“She knew if you found out that you’d leave. That you could back home.”

“Do you really blame me? I should go home. I should get on the next plane out of here and go home to my kids. Because they need me. Now more than ever.”

“The McMann kids need you too.”

“I’m sorry if this sounds harsh or makes me look like an asshole, but my kids are more important to me than those two.”

“And they should be.  But you need to do this. And you know you need to do this. That you need to stay and find them. Would you be able to live with yourself, Tyler? Knowing you left them hear to die.”

He shakes his head, giving a derisive snort.  “Don’t do that. Don’t put that on me. Don’t ask me to choose between my family and complete strangers. Because my family will come first. Every time.”

“Tyler, your family is safe.  There’s people that can protect them. But the McMann kids? They have no one. There’s no one else looking for them. There’s just you.  No one else cares. Not even their own parents. If you leave, they die. It’s as simple as that. They only have you. Whether they realize that or not.  And I know you, man. I know how your brain works. You’d go home and you’d try and go on with your life but you wouldn’t stop thinking about them. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing that you just up and abandoned them and sealed their fate.”

He heaves a heavy sigh, then sinks into one of the chairs at the table near the patio window.  Elbows on his knees,  rocking slightly back and forth; eyes riveted on the floor, the fingers of his right hand absentmindedly fidgeting with his wedding band. Attempting to calm himself; to rid himself of the intense anger that has every nerve ending on fire and his chest feeling impossibly tight.

“Look…” Yaz approached cautiously, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.  “…I didn’t keep it from you to hurt you, okay? I kept in front you because I needed you to keep your head in the game.  I knew once you found out, everything would just go to shit. That you’d be hell bent on getting home.  Your kids are safe, Tyler. They’re in good hands. But the McMann kids? They have no one. Just you.”

“I can’t solve the world’s problems, Yaz. I’m sick of this fucking life. I’m sick of putting my wife through this.  I’m sick of putting her and my kids in danger. They deserve better than that. You know they do.”

“I do. But I also know the McMann kids deserve better than what’s happening to them. Tyler, you’re all they have.”

“I don’t even know where they are. I’m no closer to finding them now than I was a week ago.”

“We’re getting closer. We know Heather McMann is involved. If we can find people who know her…if we can break her husband…”

“He’s out to kill me, Yaz. Or kill my family.  He doesn’t want my help. All he cares about now is revenge.”

“You can break him, Tyler. You know you can. If you set something up…arrange to meet him…let him know everything you know…you can break him. You will break him.”

“What if he kills me first? Then I’m no good to his kids or mine.”

“Mark and I will keep an eye on things. And he has people. Here in Ireland. They’ve been watching you for the past week. Keeping an eye on you and Esme. Marines.”

“A lot of fucking good they did two days ago when I was getting my ass handed to me by four guys and a fucking shovel.”

“That was…unfortunate…”

Tyler snorts. “You think?”

“But we get them involved. We put eyes on you. And a wire. You go and you meet with McMann and you do whatever you have to get information out of him. And if you have to kill him after you get it out of him, I heard nothing and  I saw nothing. You read me?”

He nods. “Loud and clear.”

“And we have Esme going tonight to talk that IRA guy. The bartender, so…”

“No. She’s not going.  She changed her mind.”

“What? She can’t change her mind. This was her idea! It was her idea to do this in the first place and now she’s bailing? What the fuck?”

“She has her reasons. I’m not letting her go, Yaz. No way.”

“Just because you’ve got some jealous hang out about her being around other dudes…”

“That is not it. Trust me. That is not it.”

“…we need her to do this. This was all her idea. This was her baby. And because she doesn’t want to upset your fragile ego…”

“Yaz…drop it. She’s not going. I told her she wasn’t and she agreed with me. I’m not taking the chance that something could happen to her.”

“Nothing will happen to her. She’ll be wearing a wire. We won’t be far away. We will get there before anything could happen. What the fuck man? I get you two have your issues but…”

“This isn’t about our issues. This is about me wanting to keep her safe. I can’t have anything happen to her. Especially not now.”

“Especially not now? What the hell is that supposed to mean? What…?”

“She’s having a baby,” Tyler confesses, and he watches as the other man’s eyes widen in surprise.

“She’s pregnant? Esme’s pregnant?

“We just found out. Yesterday. We don’t even know how far along she is. She took a test…two tests…and they were both positive.”

“Are you sure?”

“Did you not just hear me? I said she took two tests. Both positive.”

“Was this intentional? Like were you guys planning on having another one or…”

“We’ve been trying,” Tyler confirms. “Actively.”

“Jesus…” Yaz sighs, and runs a palm over his mouth.  “…I take back what I said.  I’m not pissed now that she changed her mind.”

“I can’t take the chance, mate. I just can’t.  Not just with her. But with the baby.  And believe me, I’d send her home right now if I knew she’d be safe there. But she’s not. It’s better for her…and the baby…if she stays here with me. Where I can protect her. Protect them.”

Yaz nods in agreement.  “I get it, man. I do. This is big.  This is huge.  Congrats…” he offers a hand, and Tyler shakes it. “…another Rake, huh? May God have mercy on us all.”

Tyler smirks.

“There’s a still a way you know. To get information out of this Billy guy.”

“How? I’m not sending her in there Yaz. There’s no way. So…”

“What if you both go in there. Just surprise him.”

“He’ll know who I am. I’ve been made. So have  you. That’s why we had Esme come here to begin with.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Whether this guy knows you or not. He’s not involved. This isn’t the IRA that has these kids. The IRA is pissed right? At McMann? At the Buckmans? They’re pissed and they’re out for blood. So what if you help them. What if you offer your help to get McMann and the Buckmans? What if  you worked with them?”

“Yaz, you’re asking me to team up with a terrorist organization.”

“You’re not teaming up with them to do terrorist shit though. You’re teaming up with them to get back at McMann. To get the Buckmans. To find those kids. If you go in there and just lay all your cards out on the table, tell this Billy what you’re there for and what you want from them, he’s going to go along with it.  The IRA is after McMann and if they even have the slightest inkling about where Heather McMann is…”

“It could lead me to the kids,” Tyler finishes for him.

“Exactly! What do you think? Is it worth a shot?”

Tyler nods.  “I think it could work.”

It has to work.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #sanctuary #chris hemsworth character