#God listens to children more than adults he answers their prayers more quickly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

julemmaes · 4 years

Note

Hey, I really enjoy "Love her like she should be loved" and I was wondering if you'll update it soon? Like.. I've been looking at A03 page everyday waiting, no rush tho. Have a good day!

You’re Not Alone (3)

Cassian and Nesta Archeron modern au

A/N: I know yall always tell me not to be sorry, but I AM AND I CAN’T HELP IT. I’m sorry I made you wait sooo fucking long for this, but I’m kinda struggling with things rn and I really hate it so yeah, hope you can understand that.

Also, this didn’t went as good as I thought, but I took inspiration from what I think would go down with people I know in real life in a situation like this and I really hope it makes sense for you too. Enjoy!:)

part one, part two

Word count: 6,665

Nesta had responded to Feyre's message the next morning with a simple 'Okay, we can meet for dinner tonight.' and then invited the entire group to her house.

When she warned Cassian that he would have to go grocery shopping for everyone, he was shocked for a moment, looking at her carefully and trying to figure out if she was joking.

"Are you serious?" he asked her, taking a seat at the table and holding the cup of warm milk in his hands.

Nesta arched an eyebrow, throwing a glance over her shoulder, "What?"

Cassian had to tell himself to calm down, because the anger he had managed to repel all night was surfacing again. Not at Nesta, but at Rhysand, Morrigan. "I understand that you want to settle things with your sisters and..." he stammered, "and the others, but invite them here for dinner. Are you sure it won't end badly and that it won't contaminate this safe space?"

Nesta had stopped washing the dishes and although she had her back turned, he knew that her eyes were closed. Cassian stiffened, ready to stand up in case she needed physical comfort. The girl closed the faucet and turned towards him, taking a deep breath, "Tonight will not be easy," she announced.

Cassian nodded as he finished his breakfast and stood up, "I know it won't be easy, that's why I worry," he moved her from her position in front of the sink and put his cup in it, "If tonight goes poorly and you feel overwhelmed, you won't be able to go back to your house in a quiet and peaceful place and calm down." he took to washing the dishes for her, looking down at her face.

"I know, Cass." she passed her hand through her hair sighing, untangling it. She looked at him in turn, looking for confirmation, "But if I let them in here, maybe they will think that I'm really trying to apologize and that I want things to work out." she took one hand to her lips, biting the edge of her nail.

Cassian put the last cutlery in the dishwasher and took her wrist, taking her hand away from her mouth and bringing it to his, before leaving a kiss on her palm. Nesta smiled at him, but that happiness lasted only a few seconds because she grew grim, closing her eyes, "I'm afraid of messing everything up".

"I know, sweetheart." he whispered to her, "I'm afraid too."

She opened her eyes, frowning.

"I'm afraid that Rhys will be so blinded by hatred that he won't hear anything we say." he began, "I'm afraid that Mor will say things that - even if they are not true - will find a way to get under your skin."

Nesta leaned towards him, taking both hands to his chest, "I'm afraid that Elain will understand and that Feyre won't." she murmured, "I'm afraid that they will fight because of me. I'm terrified that this will affect Rhysand and Feyre's relationship more than I can imagine."

Cassian took a deep breath. He hadn't thought about that.

"Listen to me," he took her face in his hands, Nesta looked him straight in the eye, "both your sisters and my family are adults. We're not talking to children. We're talking to people who can think logically and who know what it means to be mentally ill."

She hesitated for a long moment and then nodded with conviction before shaking her head vehemently. She took a trembling breath and Cassian saw the moment Nesta's insecurities appeared on the surface when her eyes became lucid.

She slipped away from his touch, giving him her shoulders and leaning against the island. She was taking deep and quick breaths.

Cassian knew he didn't have to touch her when she was having an anxiety attack, but that didn't stop him from going near her and trying to calm her down. He spoke to her softly, but firmly, "I know it's scary Nesta. I know it's not easy, but you're not alone." he clenched his hands when her breath broke and the instinct to take her in his arms became overwhelming.

"You are not alone and whatever happens tonight we can stop. Whether it's when they arrive and they're still outside the door or it's halfway through dinner, you can get up and leave the room." she still had her eyes closed and a few tears were streaming down her cheeks. "You just have to look at me and I will understand Nes. I will send them away. You don't have to worry about that."

Nesta put a hand on her chest. "Breathe sweetheart. Focus on my voice."

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

"What if they all start to turn against me?" she asked in a voice so weak that it broke his heart.

Cassian tightened his jaw, knowing full well that this could be one of many options, "If they even dare to gang up on you, I'll take care of it. I'm not lying when I say that you are not alone."

Nesta held her breath, pressing the back of her hand over her cheeks. Then she nodded once and turned towards him. "I am not alone." she repeated like a prayer.

"You are not alone."

He held her in his arms when she threw herself at him and swung into her kitchen for another twenty minutes before they both had to leave to go to class.

During the morning Cassian had tried to concentrate as much as possible on what the teachers had explained, but as he could well imagine, there had been no way to follow a single lesson. Every single thought he had was focused on the dinner that would take place that evening.

Around lunchtime, Nesta had warned him that there would be six of them. Azriel and Amren would not be there.

He hadn't commented on this choice. After all, he knew that it would already be very complicated to talk to her sisters, with the fact that Morrigan and Rhysand would also be there. Cassian felt slightly relieved that they would not have to endure the enigmatic silence of his older brother and the mocking looks of his friend. He would have thought about it another day to set the record straight with the two of them.

He left campus at five o'clock and very slowly walked to his car. He arrived downtown half an hour later and sat in the supermarket parking lot for a long time, his hands tight around the steering wheel and his eyes fixed onto the void, too deep in his thoughts.

He would not have been able to hold back that night, if Rhysand had even tried to say anything negative or if he had tried to minimize Nesta's problems. He did not know if he would be able to stop if he crossed the line.

He ran his hand over his face, taking a deep breath and breaking that trance he had been in for what seemed like centuries.

Luckily he only had to buy a few things. He had almost finished - he was looking for olives for the Greek salad and couldn't find them in any of the aisles - when his phone rang. The ringtone was not the personalized one he used for Nesta and he didn't bother to answer it quickly.

He frowned when he saw that it was Mor, but brought the phone to his ear nonetheless, accepting the call, "Hello?".

"Where are you?"

Cassian looked around confused, "At the mall, why?"

"And are you with Nesta?"

"No, she's home."

He heard Mor mumbling something and then huffing, "Understood, well, couldn't you tell your sweetheart to open the door to the house for us?" she asked exasperated.

The blood froze in Cassian's veins, "Why are you already there?" he asked as he walked towards the cashiers, hurrying up shortly afterwards. He removed the phone from his ear, looking at the time, "Mor, it's half past six, why the hell are you already there?".

He heard his friend's indignation even through the phone, "Don't use that tone with me, I didn't show up here earlier out of spite-" she was interrupted by someone, presumably Rhysand, who warned her by saying her name. She huffed, "Nesta told us to come at this time."

Cassian cursed under his breath and hurried to put all the things on the tape, remaining silent while thinking which way would be the fastest to get to Nesta's house.

"Cassian?”

He passed the money to the cashier, waiting for the change before answering, "Yes, Mor, I'm still here".

"So?"

"Did you ring?" he asked, running towards the parking lot.

"Do you think we are brainless? Of course we rang the doorbell!" Cassian thought at that very moment that if Mor hadn't dropped the attitude by the time dinner arrived, he would have pulled her hair out one by one.

"I'll call you back in ten minutes," he told her, throwing the bags in the back seats and letting the food fall out.

"Ten minutes?" asked the blonde in a distraught tone, "I'm not going to wait that long just because that bitc-" movement was heard through the speaker and Cassian had to refrain from yelling at Morrigan. A few seconds later, he heard Feyre's voice, "No problem Cass, we're going for a drive around here and we'll be back in ten minutes, please text me when you're there."

Cassian thanked her, praying to every god on earth that others would be as forgiving as she was during dinner. He quickly typed in Nesta's number and drove out of the parking lot, focusing more on what he would want to say to Mor than on the street.

She didn't answer immediately and Cassian had to call her back twice, starting to worry that Nesta had changed her mind at last and that something serious had happened. When she answered on the fourth call, he released a relieved laugh.

"What is it Cass? I was taking a shower," she said irritated, "You interrupted the music eighty times," she mumbled annoyed.

Cassian put his hand over his mouth, "Hey baby, listen," he started, going straight to the point, "what time did you say everybody was coming?"

"At 7:30, why?" she asked and he could imagine her naked in the middle of the bathroom with a frown on her face.

"I think you wrote the message with the wrong time then. Mor called me and they are all there already. They buzzed a couple of times, you must not have heard them because of the music."

Silence.

"Nesta?"

"Fuck, no." she breathed through the microphone. "I can't let them up, tell them I'm not at home." she said in a hurry, "I can't be alone with them. I need you here while I do it. I need you here while I'm doing it."

"Calm down Nes, I already asked them to go for a ride. I'm in the car and I'm on my way."

"Are you driving?" she asked in the tone of one who seemed to have forgotten everything that had just happened. He didn't answer, knowing full well that he was going to kick his ass. "God, how many times have I told you not to talk on the phone while driving?"

"We're not having this conversation again." he snorted, turning right to take the highway, "Would you send a message to Feyre saying you made a mistake and the appointment was supposed to be in an hour?"

Nesta hesitated and then asked quietly, "Can't you do it?"

"You just yelled at me because I'm on the phone with you while behind the wheel and you want me to write a message?"

"You could pull over," she asked.

Cassian knew where all that anxiety was coming from and asking her to do something that would stress her even more on a day like this would be bad. He swelled her cheeks and released all the air and then nodded, "Alright, see you in ten."

"Pull over, though, don't text while you're driving."

"Yeah yeah, don't worry."

"I swear Cassian that if they call me from the hospital-"

"They won't," he reassured her, chuckling, "See you in a bit."

He put down the call with Nesta and called Feyre back, warning her that there had been a misunderstanding and that they would not be ready for at least another hour. The girl had reassured him that there were no problems, but despite Feyre's various attempts to mask Mor's offenses, Cassian had heard them anyway.

He arrived at Nesta's apartment in a very short time and as soon as he entered the house, she was all over him. The bags full of food fell from his hands when he had to hold Nesta to his chest to avoid falling backwards.

He breathed in her hair, rubbing his hands on her back in relaxing circles, "Hello beautiful".

"You haven't even looked me in the face yet," she murmured against his chest in a muffled voice. He snickered, "I don't need to see you to know that you are beautiful."

When they broke off to kiss Cassian felt that she was hesitant.

He put his hand on her cheek, "Are you sure you want to do this tonight?"

She closed her eyes, relishing in the moment, "Cassian, as much as I love you, tonight I need you to tell me that I'm ready and not give me a way out every time we talk."

He nodded, frowned and put on a fake tough-guy-expression, imitating the voice of his high school coach, "What are you hugging me for, woman? Tonight you have to be strong and stop feeling sorry for yourself. I should have let your sisters in and let the wolves eat you alive."

Nesta pushed him slightly, with a grimace on her face, "Stupid." she whispered.

He gave her a sincere smile, moving a lock of hair from her face, "What do you say you start cooking something so I can take a shower without the terror of you running away and as soon as I get out of here I help you finish?" he suggested, taking off his jacket and taking the groceries to the kitchen, Nesta just tailed him. She answered affirmatively and after leaving a kiss on her lips, he ran to the bathroom.

When he came out, washed and combed, it was quarter past seven and Nesta had set the table in the small living room. The Greek salad without olives was in the center, next to the keftedes she had prepared during the day. Cassian really did not know with what desire and spirit she had cooked all that good food for people who had always hated her.

He entered the kitchen when Nesta took the moussaka out of the oven, also result of her afternoon spent cooking and Cassian started to cut the bread and put it together with the various cheeses and cold cuts he had bought.

Nesta wasn't talking, but he saw it in the way she was jerking and looking around frantically that her nerves were about to explode. When the oven timer rang, Nesta almost screamed and Cassian had to stop what he was doing and went towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders, "Look at me."

Nesta looked at him immediately.

"Talk to me." he whispered to her.

She remained silent, so he gave her a hand in starting the conversation, "When are you going to tell them?"

"Tonight."

Cassian chuckled, "Obviously," she sighed, "I meant at what point. Before dinner, during, after?" he asked confidently so as to pass on some of that comfort. He also knew that, for her, having a plan of action, whether it was for dinner or a vacation, was very important and took away a lot of the anxiety that these things brought on her.

She straightened her shoulders, "I don't have the slightest idea, I thought doing it before, maybe with a glass of wine, would be better, but then I thought that if it goes wrong they will leave before we can eat and then we would have to eat Greek for days and not that I mind, but I don't think it's the best for our diet, you know. " she looked him dead in the eye while she was blathering on, clasping her hands around his forearms, "Then I thought about doing it during dinner, but if we start yelling at each other-" "They won't go that far, I promise you." "You don't know that. If we start yelling at each other and then someone chokes on the food, we risk one of us suffocating and dying. And I would like to avoid that." Cassian laughed at that point. Nesta looked at him very badly, "And afterwards, we might as well do it, but afterwards they are more likely to leave earlier, because maybe they think they'd done their part and had dinner with me, they apologize, I apologize and then they leave and I don't have time to explain myself."

Cassian raised an eyebrow, "So you want to do it first?"

"I don't want to eat Greek for a week, I've made so much that we could feed an army."

"During dinner seems the best moment honestly." he confessed to her, tearing her hands from his arms, taking the souvlaki and putting them in the oven. Nesta thanked him quietly. "I mean, we could approach the topic at any time, doing it between one piece of spanakotiropita and the other shouldn't be too complicated."

Nesta was about to answer when the doorbell rang and she froze on the spot.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit."

Cassian wanted to open the door and send everyone away, because Nesta had started moving in circles and was waving her hands mid-air. He had seen her anxious about a lot of things, but he knew that this would be a decisive point in her life and the idea of the change it would bring - whether positive or negative it would be - was overwhelming.

"Remember sweetheart, the second you want them to leave, you look at me, you wink at me and I'll let you escape." he reminded her, approaching the front door and pushing a button to open the gate of the building. They would be in the house in less than a minute.

Nesta was torturing her hands, but now she had a hard look on her face, "I'm scared shitless of Morrigan," she whispered. Cassian didn't have time to answer because someone knocked and he was forced to open the door.

Feyre gave him a wide smile that didn't reach her eyes and his gaze went from the two Archeron sisters to Rhysand.

He hadn't heard from him that day and hadn't seen him since the night before, when he had screamed at him.

He smiled at him in a strange way, but the younger one seemed to appreciate the gesture anyway because he gave him a lopsided smile in return.

"Hey Cass." Mor said in a tone that promised trouble, "Are you going to let us in, or are you having serious issues with welcoming people into your house too?"

His jaw hardened and Nesta appeared at his side, placing a hand on his arm. The blonde's eyes snapped to the spot where her hand was clutching the fabric of his shirt, "Sorry Morrigan, I didn't hear the doorbell before and I made a typo, I didn't think your life depended on the hour I made you lose. And I didn't think you'd be interested in coming here and watching me cook, I'll take that into account next time."

Mor nodded once, clutching her hands on the bag. The two women stared into each other's eyes for eternal moments, until Elain cleared her voice, "Hello Nes."

Things seemed to lighten up and when Cassian stepped aside, letting Rhysand and Mor in as the three sisters hugged, the group split up and the tension in the air seemed to get heavier.

Cassian had no idea how he should behave.

"This way." he pointed in the direction of the living room and when he turned to see if they were following him, Rhys handed him a bottle of wine, his lips reduced to a thin line and his shoulders tense.

"Here," he muttered, and Cassian was pleasantly surprised that he wasn't the only one struggling, "Nesta told us not to bring anything, but it looked bad."

"Oh, yes please, open it," said Mor on the other side of the living room, while analyzing the photos on the shelves. Photos of him and Nesta. Photos that his girlfriend had moved every time her sisters had visited in the last few months.

Cassian looked towards the entrance and saw that Nesta and the others were no longer there, they must have gone to the kitchen. He turned to his friend and she was looking over her shoulder at him, "We're going to need it so badly if she's going to keep that attitude all night long".

Rhys sighed, carrying a hand over his face, "Mor, drop it…"

Cassian raised his hand to stop him, without moving his eyes from the blonde, "No, please continue, that's why we are here."

Mor turned completely towards him, grinding her teeth, "I really don't understand how you can be in a relationship with her." Rhysand stiffened beside him, "Did you see how she replied to me before?" she asked, waving one hand towards the door.

"Oh for fuck's sake," whispered Cassian angrily, "you hadn't even entered the house and had already insulted both me and her. You are not the victim here so stop acting like a child and try to understand where all the resentment comes from."

Mor was about to answer, but Elain had just entered the living room and Rhysand had cleared his throat before he took his seat. Mor did the same thing, followed by Elain and Feyre. Cassian shook his head and headed into the kitchen.

Nesta was looking at the pans with the various foods inside, clenching and opening her fists, which made Cassian's chest tighten. He had gone into the room with the intention of telling her that he would not be able to hold back if Mor continued like that, to warn her that if he exploded, it would not be her fault, but now that he saw her so agitated all his attention had turned to her.

"How are you?" he asked her, putting his hand on the small of her back. He kissed her temple.

Nesta turned towards him, taking a deep breath and releasing all the air. She did it one more time. The third time, Cassian breathed with her.

She nodded and took one of the pans, he opened the bottle of wine, took a second pan and returned to the living room.

Elain and Mor sat at the head of the table and Rhysand and Feyre on one of the sides, leaving the seats in front of them free for Cassian and Nesta.

The woman of the house laid the food on the table, asking those present to pass her the plates and what and how much food they wanted. Cassian sat down and poured the wine to Mor, who sat next to him. She gave him a hard smile and thanked him. Then he turned to Feyre and she shook her head, "No, thank you, I would rather not drink tonight."

Elain chuckled, "Wise choice, you were a little out of it this morning."

Rhysand gave her a big smile, "One of the worst hangovers ever, actually."

Nesta stiffened to those words, looking at her younger sister, "Sorry, if I'd known you were sick, I'd have arranged for another night."

Feyre seemed appalled for a moment, but she blinked briefly and was quick to reassure her, "Oh no, don't worry. I've taken something for my headache, and I feel better."

They began to eat in silence and Cassian was too tense and worried not to glance at Mor to really taste the food or start a conversation, but Rhysand seemed to be particularly appreciative, because he was making satisfied noises, "Nesta, this is so good. What is it?" he looked at her face for a moment and Cassian was sure that he was blushing because he bent his head down and kept eating.

"It's moussaka." answered Elain, smiling.

Nesta seemed surprised, "It's a Greek dish, our father loved Greek cuisine and this is one of the recipes he did most often."

"Well, kudos." Rhysand told her, then he turned his glaring gaze to Feyre, "I'm pretty sure you could never cook something like that."

Feyre seemed more uncomfortable than the others, not because of what her boyfriend had said, more because of the situation in general, but she didn't miss an opportunity to brazenly reply, "As if you can do better than me. We both suck and without Elain or Azriel we would have been dead long ago. Probably both buried under boxes and boxes of take-away food."

Elain laughed and Nesta dared what seemed to be a smile.

They joked for a few more minutes and at one point Cassian had relaxed so much that he even managed to laugh at one of Rhysand's jokes. Morrigan seemed to be dead next to him, but he couldn't even look at her and felt her look burn on the skin of his neck.

When the appetizers were finished and the firsts were brushed off the table, the silence spread between the chairs and the tension in the air came back, without announcing its arrival, heavier than before.

"Excuse me," said Mor suddenly, when the silence became too much, she looked at Nesta, "The bathroom?"

Nesta looked at her in turn and Cassian really thought she would not answer her, but then she murmured, "Second door on the right." pointing to the corridor and he relaxed. Mor thanked her, nothing grateful in that tone.

Cassian shifted his gaze to his brother, but Rhysand had his eyes on Nesta. The man cleared his voice, drawing everyone's attention to himself, and narrowed his eyes, "I wanted to apologize, Nesta."

She stopped, placing the fork on the napkin and nodding once.

"I'm..." he coughed, embarrassed, shifting his gaze to Feyre and bringing it back to her immediately afterwards, "I'm sure Cassian told you what happened last night."

Nesta put her hands on her legs and Cassian took the opportunity to hold her hand. The movement did not go unnoticed by the two sisters, who exchanged a glance. "Yes, he told me what happened. Not in detail though."

Rhysand swallowed noisily, "I had no idea you were sick."

So he would have gone straight to the point.

Cassian settled down in the chair, squeezing his fingers around Nesta's.

"You never cared enough about me to ask, it's understandable that you didn't know," she replied, "You never really tried to get to know me."

His tone became harsher, "Considering how you behaved the first times we all went out together and how you always treated everyone in our group, you should not be surprised."

"Rhys." Feyre warned him. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"It's true," he said, turning to Nesta, "You've never given me a chance to really get to know you over the years."

Cassian could see how Nesta's walls were coming up faster than ever. The threat now so concrete that even a gust of wind could have knocked them down and made them weak.

"That's because you never tried to understand my motives, but you stopped at the description that my sister probably gave you." Nesta replied, in an equally harsh tone.

Elain seemed to whimper at the head of the table and cast a worried look at Cassian. He told her silently without speaking that they would not intervene.

Feyre leaned forward, her hands intertwined in front of her on the table, "But Nesta, you must understand that you have never really behaved well with me. You've always treated me as if I were worth nothing."

"I never thought that, and I certainly never said that. I think you are one of the most wonderful people in the world and an equally good artist." then she turned to Elain, "The same goes for you."

"And why did you treat me like that all those years after dad died?" insisted Feyre.

A door at the end of the corridor closed, and a few seconds later Mor appeared, sitting with her back upright, sensing the air.

"Because you weren't the only one to lose your parents, Feyre," said Nesta. By now her eyes had become ice. Elain gasped at those words and reached out to her older sister, but she remained hanging mid-air. "You may not remember our mother, but I do. I lost her and I lost dad on the same day," she said, gritting her teeth. "Just because we reacted differently to the mourning doesn't mean I was okay and capable of taking care of you."

Feyre caught her breath and Nesta resumed, "When dad died, there was nothing of the man I had known for half my life, but the loss was double."

"I never knew..." whispered Elain.

Nesta turned to her, "I never wanted to put this burden on you. I could have handled it on my own. Just as I was sure that you too could have done just fine without me," she whispered, "And so it turned out."

Cassian stroked the palm of her hand.

"I'm sorry for giving you the impression that I didn't care about you, for making you believe that you are not a vital part of my life, but I was young and full of anger and rather than dump everything on you I preferred to keep it all inside and maybe I did more damage than good, but my intention was never to hurt you, Feyre, or Elain," said Nesta, with gleaming eyes.

Mor snorted, "You know, people normally go to therapy for these things."

Cassian took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Nesta tilted her head to the side, looking at the blonde, "I've been in therapy for months now."

Elain brought a hand to her mouth, looking at Cassian, "You didn't tell us."

He had to clear his voice before he spoke, "It wasn't my place."

Feyre looked at him with her mouth slightly wide open. Rhysand had a thoughtful expression, but he too was staring at his brother.

"And I'd really like to know what your real problem is with me. Because I really can't understand what I've done to you," Nesta asked, looking sincerely confused.

Mor looked at Cassian, looked at his plate, "I don't think you are enough for him."

Cassian couldn't stand it any longer and pulling his hand away from Nesta's grip he turned his whole body to the blonde, "And why should that be any of your business?

Mor gave him a fiery look, "Because I'm your friend and I want what's best for you," she clarified, pointing to Rhysand and Feyre with a painted finger, "When the two of them got together, Feyre was friendly, sociable and never offended anyone in the group-"

"When has Nesta ever directly offended one of you?" Cassian asked exasperatedly, raising his arms to the sky. The girl remained silent, shifting her gaze between the two lovers. Cassian scoffed, "You can't even find an example. God, you're ridiculous." he ran a hand through his hair.

"Ridiculous?" cried Mor, "I'm not the one who has been hiding her relationship for months from her whole family out of fear."

Cassian stood up, raising his voice, "And don't you think that fear is because of the way you are reacting now that I would have preferred to keep it hidden for a longer period of time?!"

Mor was also standing now, "If you had told me before-"

"No!" he shouted, "No! Nothing would have changed. And it's not because you believe that Nesta is a bitch, no! It's because you're always so busy involving everyone in your going-outs and your parties and your bullshit that you don't realize that some people don't like these kinds of pastimes!" he was talking so loud that a vein popped in his neck, "Sometimes I just want to stay home and sleep, but with you it's impossible! Because you always have to force everyone. And now you've finally found someone to stand up to you and say no and you can't stand it."

Mor seemed to be shaking with anger, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't?" Cassian asked laughing, no trace of amusement in the sound, "Have you ever let Azriel decide whether to stay home or not? Have any of us ever said no to you?"

Mor shook her head, not to answer, but shocked by the turn the conversation had taken, "And why do you think so?"

"Cassian, maybe you should sit and drink some water and calm down," Rhysand suggested, looking him in the eye. He didn't even bother to let him know that he had heard it.

"Nesta doesn't bitch to you and avoid you because she's a bad person, but because talking to you means accepting that you have a busy schedule that you don't want to have for the next two months and instead of saying no every time she prefers not to have connections at all" he concluded sighing and throwing himself in the chair.

Nesta rubbed a hand on his back and he closed his eyes.

Fuck.

He had spoken for her.

He shouldn't have.

They remained silent for a few seconds.

"Mor, I," Cassian resumed, in a much calmer and lower tone than before, "I didn't mean all those things, I'm just angry right now and I exaggerated."

"No, don't worry, I understand what you mean." whispered Mor, passing one hand over her shiny eyes, "I'll try not to invite you anymore when I want to cheer someone up."

Fuck.

Cassian knew very well that Morrigan's festive and witty attitude was the reason why they were all so close. All the adventures, all the laughter and the memories... they owed it to her.

"That's not-" he cursed, looking into her eyes, "I'm just trying to say that you don't have compatible personalities, but just because you like to have fun in a different way doesn't mean that Nesta isn't worthy of me or that she's a bad person just because she never went dancing with you."

Morrigan didn't answer, he stood in front of everyone and, surprising everyone, it was Nesta who resumed the conversation, "I've been really bad in the last few months, Mor."

The blonde sat back down, hands in her lap.

"I've been sick and the only person I had next to me was Cassian. I got to know him in these months, I found out what a great person he is and how much he is willing to give for those he loves," she looked at her sisters and Rhysand, back to Mor, "So I understand you perfectly right now. I understand that you're scared and you think that sooner or later I'm going to do something wrong and hurt him, but even if I do, I can assure you that the person I'm going to hurt the most is going to be me."

Cassian looked at her and the tip of his nose started to pinch. He bit his lip. He would not cry.

"I'm working hard to be a version of myself that doesn't scare me and that my sisters can recognize and I can't blame you if you don't know me, because I don't know myself either." she also turned to Rhysand, to whom she had just told practically the opposite.

"Cassian is my lifeline right now and I am willing to let my guard down for you if you are willing to respect my boundaries." she murmured, "I know this doesn't fix things and that your idea of me is still very confused, but I am really willing to give you some of my time to patch things up."

Feyre sniffed, reaching over the table towards Nesta, "Please forgive me."

Nesta smiled genuinely, "I'm sorry too, Feyre."

The younger sister got up from her chair and went around the table, surprising Cassian when she bent over Nesta to hug her. Elain smiled at her from where she sat and stood up a moment later, joining in the embrace.

"To-" Nesta resumed when Feyre and Elain broke away, "To explain a little bit why I act the way I do. I have problems, serious problems interacting with people," she murmured, picking at her nails, "Sometimes I do things I don't want to do just to regret it right away and I know it's no excuse for all the times I've been grumpy, but that's why it happens."

Rhysand cleared his throat for the ninth time, "I've been in therapy too. For several years," he confessed.

Cassian gave him a grateful smile.

"So, I know you have Cassian, and I'm sure your therapist is more than qualified for this kind of thing, but if you ever need another set of ears, you could..." he backed off, thinking maybe he was crossing one of those boundaries Nesta had just talked about, "I mean, if you need something, you can always ask."

"Same thing." Elain added, approaching her, "I may not understand half of it, but I want to be there if you let me."

Nesta nodded, more serious than ever. "Thank you."

Cassian came forward, "Thank you for talking to us sweetheart."

Mor got up in a flash, "Thank you Nesta. Cassian." she turned to the others. The look lost in the air as she gathered her things, "It was a pleasure, and the food was great."

"Mor..." Cassian stood up, "Wait."

His friend turned to him, clenching her fists, "I think I need some time. These are not things that are quickly assimilated," she told him with all the sincerity of the world.

"I understand that and I don't take it personally Morrigan. I can't assure you I'll be pleasant, but if you have any questions I'll try to answer them." Nesta intercepted, before Cassian could make the situation he had already created with the blonde worse.

Rhysand had got up and stood next to his cousin, "Do you want me to drive you home?"

She shook her head and her eyes became shiny. For Cassian it was like receiving a punch in the chest.

Feyre took a deep breath, "Actually I think we should all go." she murmured, "It's been a heavy conversation and I've learned a lot tonight and I think I need a seven-day nap before I can even have a conversation about art again."

That joke got a light laugh out of the whole group.

"You don't need to come with me, I can go by myself." worried Mor, shaking her head when Elain got up and started to get dressed.

Feyre shook her head in turn, "I repeat, I think I'm going to faint and I really need a few moments alone to think about everything too."

Rhysand put his arm around her waist and squeezed her.

Cassian bid his brother goodnight, hugging him and thanking him from the bottom of his heart for coming and listening without creating too many problems.

As soon as everyone was out of the apartment, Nesta burst into tears and Cassian said nothing as he held her to his chest, stroking her hair.

They hadn't gone into details and maybe they weren't on the same page yet, but they would have worked to get there.

It was a start.

acotar tag list (if you want to be removed/added just send an ask or dm me)

@tottenhamboys20 @sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien29 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @messyhairday-me @ncssian @observationanxioustheorist @my-fan-side @booksstorm @maastrash @sayosdreams @thedarkdemigod @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @ladywitchling @nahthanks @archeron-queen @sleeping-and-books

136 notes · View notes

markynaz · 3 years

Text

7/26

Belief / Dragons Written for @tes-summer-fest 2021 Wordcount: 3146 Content Warning: slight emotional abuse mentions, as appropriate when discussing Bastian Hallix's upbringing AO3 Mirror: here

“And who’s your favorite Divine?”

It was a common question for children in Daggerfall, usually asked in lieu of the small talk one would make with adults. It wasn't exactly proper to ask a child - no matter how well bred - about court gossip, or the price of bolts of Redguard cloth, or the war news that was on everyone else's lips. And it was unspeakably gauche to ask a child about their parents or family. A society as full of intrigue and gossip as the Bretons cultivated couldn’t stand for a child’s truth in any answer. No well-bred Breton of any variety would even think to put a child in the place of guarding family secrets.

So, inoffensive questions it was, and Bastian Hallix, ward of the influential Silvelles, had grown quite sick of them all by the time he was old enough to hide his annoyance.

The one about the Eight Divines was perhaps his least favorite. The easy answer was Julianos, protector of mages, but admitting it would mean admitting his magical aptitude - something the Silvelles were loathe to have Bastian say in company for reasons of their own. Barring that, it would have been easiest to make up a stock answer and stick with it, but lying never sat right with Bastian.

He was thinking about this instead of listening to the priest one Sundas afternoon. They sat - him, Quistley, and the Lord and Lady Silvelle - on the cushioned pews in King Emeric’s chapel, the sun glittering in through the stained glass windows and setting every piece of pristine silver or gold in the place glittering. Large statement jewelry was in fashion that summer. It was a fad from Cyrodil, according to Bastian’s tutors, and the concave silver brooch on Lady Silvelle’s breast was reflecting sunlight right into Bastian’s eye. He looked up to avoid the glare and examined the artful stained glass windows of the Divines while the priest started another prayer for the war effort.

Mara, goddess of love, was the first his eye fell on. Bastian stopped himself from making a face. He remembered, very faintly, thinking she was pretty at one time - remembered her being his favorite Divine when he was very, very young. Every artist put such an expression of goodness in her countenance that her face was always the first Bastian looked for. But… it was hard to believe in Mara, knowing what he knew of marriage from Lord and Lady Silvelle. Knowing what he knew of love from them, and from his brother, Quistley.

A priest had once told Bastian that Mara’s love was unconditional. Bastian didn’t think there was such a thing, but he supposed if there wasn't, Mara wouldn't still be watching over the world.

Her gentle face made him sad. He shifted his gaze.

Arkay, god of death and cycles. His sphere sounded more serious than the stained glass looked. He had one hand raised, and a kindly expression, so much that Bastian could almost forget or ignore the dead wolf at his feet and the graves filling the background of the picture.

When he'd been particularly angry with Quistley once - actually lost his temper on his foster brother, an incident that made his ears burn with shame to recall - he'd been quietly pulled aside, still fuming, by a priestess of Arkay who’d seen the whole of the confrontation. Quistley had run off to his parents, Bastian assumed to tell them how he'd behaved, and he was in no hurry to follow. Going with the priestess to calm down was by far the most agreeable option.

She'd had him hold the holy oil she was using to bless unmarked graves of paupers and disgraced women and men in the back alleys of Wayrest, talking softly to him in between murmuring prayers to her Divine. Cycles showed in life as well as death, she'd said. Bastian might have been angry with Quistley then, but one day Quistley would be angry with him, and he should always try to model the behavior he'd like shown to him in the next cycle. And - because she was a priestess of Arkay - she had added, one of them would very likely outlive the other. A life spent in cycles of rage was one the survivor was very likely to regret.

It had made sense to Bastian once he'd calmed enough to hear words. He'd returned to Lord and Lady Silvelle resigned to whatever punishment they'd assign him, and hoping to be a better brother and foster son going forward.

And then he'd found out, upon returning, that Quistley hadn't said a word to his parents, and was going to use Bastian’s fit of temper to blackmail him into doing favors for the next half year.

Bastian was fairly sure Arkay would never be his favorite Divine. Quistley shifted in his seat next to him, and in a burst of irritation, Bastian realized he was blatantly asleep in chapel.

He set his jaw and cast his gaze to the other row of stained glass.

Dibella, goddess of beauty. Her form was pleasing enough, but it held nothing for Bastian’s eyes. He could do little more than admire the artwork - for artists tended to be closer devoted to Dibella than any other Divine, and most would jump at the chance to depict her in their ideal of beauty.

Last year, Bastian had seen an artist depict Dibella in a male form for the first time in his recollection. He finally understood what had Quistley and his friends so enamored with the sculptures, stained glasses, and art pieces. He hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from the perfect musculature- the long hair flowing over defined back muscles - the chiseled features with just a hint of facial hair - the eyes, glimmering with intent behind his courtly Breton facade-

His ears were burning for a different reason, thinking about it.

The Silvelles hadn't cared one way or the other when his preferences were revealed. Bastian thought he even detected a hint of relief in Lady Silvelle’s voice, and thought - though it shamed him to think so meanly - it might be from the lowered likelihood of Bastian fathering children someday. It would mean fewer Hallixes for them to connect themselves with.

Not that he would force them to, if that ever came to pass. He knew his place.

Stendarr, god of justice and mercy. Bastian hadn't connected the cup on his altar to the object held in his hand for an embarrassing number of years. In his defense, the artist who’d rendered it in the Silvelles’ home chapel had either painted it very ill indeed, or it had been later ruined by some splash of ink.

The Redguard training master who’d been brought in to tutor Bastian and Quistley on the art of conflict swore to Stendarr sometimes, when he was mildly displeased. When he was really angry, he would revert to the Redguard pantheon. Bastian rarely heard that directed at him. More often, if he wasn't performing to standards, the wiry old man would heave a great sigh and say, “Young Bastian. One day, you'll either be delivering Stendarr’s justice, or begging his mercy at the other end of the sword. Which will it be today?”

He could almost hear it in the training master’s voice, really. Once Tutor Thierren told him about about Bastian’s aptitude for magic, he'd set to training him with a staff as well as a blade - setting up obstacle courses to get through with a weighted stave in hand, sessions where he'd give Bastian a staff with an iron core and come at him with a sword. It was always better to be on the correct side of Stendarr’s hand, and if his magicka was depleted, he needed to be able to survive and get away.

Bastian flattered himself that Thierren saw more in his future than court etiquette and uncomfortable questions answered by half-truths that made him burn inside. He was nearly seventeen now, almost a man grown. Lord Silvelle had been hinting recently that it might be time for Bastian to look after the family's interests without such a stern hand guiding him, and Bastian relished the thought.

Kynareth, goddess of the wilds and the winds. Bastian had named her as his favorite several times in response to the condescension of noble adults. Lord Silvelle’s comments that Bastian might start beginning to pay the Silvelles back for his excellent education and shelter by looking after their interests in other parts of High Rock were starting to seem more appealing the longer Bastian thought about it. Being blown about by Kynareth’s winds, seeing more of both civilization and the wilds…. It sent a little thrill through him. Being out from under the Silvelle’s roof was scarcely less exciting.

But if he kept daydreaming in that line, he knew he’d grow quite insensible to the speeches of the priest. That wouldn’t do if anyone asked him about it later. Reluctantly, he shifted his gaze.

The stained glass at the front of the chapel was the grandest of all. Akatosh, the One, head of the pantheon. Bastian could appreciate the artistry in the massive stained glass, tracing with his eye how every sliver fit so perfectly into the illusion of glittering dragon scales. Most recently he'd been reading about how Akatosh,, in some manner or another, appeared in almost every pantheon across Tamriel. He'd had an animated discussion with Quistley’s tutor about it, which saved him from the more awkward conversation on why he had been caught doing Quistley’s assignments.

But unlike some of the other stained glasses, Bastian felt nothing in his heart when he looked at the image of Akatosh. After a moment of consideration, the only thing coming up seemed to be a slick, greasy guilt at not feeling anything greater.

The other Divines had expressive human faces to feel things about, he tried to rationalize to himself. And usually, it was older Bretons who took amulets of Akatosh as their personal guide, kept close to the heart. Perhaps one day he'd feel what he ought to for such an important figure. For now, he averted his eyes almost as quickly as he had looked away from Mara.

Next to him, Quistley half-snored. Bastian quickly jabbed an elbow into his ribs to keep him quiet. Quistley shifted and jabbed him back, catching Bastian in the side with not just his elbow, but the sharp, hard bit of statement jewelry on his wrist down and catching Bastian’s hip.

Bastian bit his lip to stop any sound of pain.

The bubble of resentment that burst in his throat was startling in his vehemence. This wasn't fair. If Quistley was caught sleeping in chapel, Bastian would be scolded along with him - chastised for not keeping his foster brother attentive and polite. Even when Quistley got himself into deserved trouble, he always seemed to drag Bastian down with him until they were both flailing, covered in shame, neither looking good.

No. No. He was getting angry. He couldn't. Bastian took a deep breath, exhaled as quietly as he could through parted lips, and then, catching Lord Silvelle’s head begin to turn toward him, tucked his chin and closed his eyes as if in prayer. He stayed that way until he felt his face was under control.

When he lifted his gaze again, it fell on Zenithar. Bastian examined his wizened face, how the artist had used space between the glass pieces to give the impression of lines.

Zenithar, god of fair work and commerce. Maybe one day Quistley would get his just desserts, Bastian thought with sudden savageness, and just as quickly reeled in and tempered those thoughts. No. No, Quistley didn't deserve any such thing, and in any case, he would never be allowed to fail. Anyone with the Silvelle name couldn't be allowed to show proof of family weakness.

So, perhaps, one day he would step up and be the son his parents so wished him to be. That was a much more charitable thought fo fix on, and Bastian set himself on it with the same ferocity which a deer rubbing the velvet off his antlers might set himself on a tree.

Yes. It would be so much better if Quistley would stop grieving his parents. If he would pull his weight, step up to the responsibility of being the Silvelles’ heir. Divines knew there was enough to manage and look after, from what Bastian had been able to find out. There was certainly enough of an opportunity for Quistley to earn the life he seemed to want to live.

He didn't realize until several minutes had passed in this fashion that his hand had slipped into his pocket, seeking and finding the small medallion of Julianos that he wore on a chain connected to his belt whenever he could. His fingers had fallen into the familiar habit of tracing the sharp edges of the triangle, one, two, three, four, and then twice more in that fashion before the count matched up again with the point where he'd started. The counting, the rhythm, soothed him, even enough to ignore that Quistley had slipped back into even breathing and slumber in the pew beside him.

Still tracing the edges of his amulet, his eyes lifted to the stained glass of his own protector, Julianos.

~~|\|~~

Ten years later, in the same chapel, Bastian traced the now-worn edges of the medallion as he glanced over the stained glass windows.

This time, he wasn't in King Emeric’s chapel on the good will of the Silvelles. No; those days were long past, and Bastian was learning to look on their passing with more and more relief.

The windows weren't as grand as he'd remembered them in his childhood memory. He supposed after the better part of a decade spent traveling Tamriel, seeing the wonders of the continent, it was no surprise that fading pieces of art in a Breton king's chapel would carry less mysticism. Still, something in his heart throbbed at the loss. There was just a little less beauty in the world now that he saw the images for just images, and not stand-ins for his belief in the Divines.

And yet….

Still tracing the edges of Julianos’ symbol with the pad of his thumb, Bastian looked to his companion.

Arcturus Crane. Adopted son of noble merchant lord Earl Crane, and adopted in a sense of the word that had made Bastian nearly gasp with alarm the first time he'd heard them talk to each other with frankness bordering on insouciance. Arcturus Crane, who had helped him drag Quistley out of trouble twice without complaint, who was now speaking so casually with the priest of High King Emeric’s chapel in an effort to find out the date and particulars of a certain Clairene Auzin’s marriage.

Bastian kept his focus on Arcturus’ animated hands - he always gestured so much when he talked, a habit stopped only when one hand was curled around the heavy haft of a stave - and tried to keep his breathing steady. His pulse didn't sound steady in his ears. He pressed the tip of his index finger into a worn point of the triangle on his medallion with quickly increasing pressure until he could almost feel an edge.

It might be most natural for his eye to fall on Julianos, abusing the Divine’s symbol in nervousness as he was, but instead he found his gaze on Mara instead. Mara, who had never been a Divine he understood, flowing hair and expression of kindness and warmth.

Unconditional love.

In untangling what, exactly, he felt about things the Silvelles had told him to feel a certain way about - not least of all their own actions - Bastian was starting to think he might have misjudged Mara’s sphere. Unconditional love.

The Silvelles loved Quistley unconditionally, not that he could justify that. He'd spent decades trying. Lord Crane, in contrast, didn’t treat Arcturus like the Silvelles coddled Quistley. He seemed to hold something a great deal like respect for his adopted son. Perhaps not love - he didn't act like there was any sort of paternal feeling there, and Arcturus didn't bother to affect a child's adoration - but there was still…. Something. Something Bastian couldn’t quite put a name to.

And in Arcturus’ own behavior to him. The way he grinned when Bastian got excited over a scrying eye or a new bit of magic, his instant expression of chagrin when his twisting path of shadows caught an innocent mouse and Bastian couldn't bite back his disappointment in time. Bastian had lain awake several nights chastising himself over the outburst, but… now, thinking about it, Arcturus had been rather more careful about how he placed his traps and barriers and magical effects.

Unconditional love was Mara’s sphere. He’d never understood.

Perhaps, Bastian thought, it was less of love, and more of…. trust. A trust baseless enough to be belief, that the other person would do as you expected. And a fondness strong enough to stay steady even if that belief was proved wrong.

His sister. Bastian had no expectations of her, but in the few short weeks he'd known her to be alive… he’d begun to hope. Could she harbor the same feelings for him?

Could she believe in him like he wanted to believe in her?

Bastian released his medallion of Julianos, letting it drop at the end of its short chain back into his pocket as he stood straight. There was no way to find out except by finding out. Arcturus was turning from the priest, and from the look in his bright blue eyes, he didn't come away empty-handed.

The shock of fear that struck Bastian at the thought wasn't a surprise. Rather, he was surprised at how quickly it passed.

Why should I be scared? I won't be alone for this, he told himself, and the thought was quickly chased by, I trust him to stand by me through whatever happens.

Belief. Trust. He still shied away from the word ‘love,’ but….

Perhaps. Perhaps, in time. For now, as Arcturus strolled back to him and flashed a crooked smile (intended to put him at ease, he realized, when normally it was him scrambling to make others easy) and offered a sardonic comment in the way of letting Bastian know they had a lead, the belief in his good will was quite enough to stop the fear from freezing Bastian dead.

He walked out of High King Emeric’s chapel. He held the door for Arcturus, stepped into the bright midday sun, the sounds of Wayrest muted beyond the mage-protected castle wall. He stood there and waited for his eyes to adjust, and hoped - wished - believed, that the end of this road might finally be in sight.

#bastian hallix #tesfest21 #warlock arcturus crane #(mentioned as bastian's companion at the end)#longform #i'm not like 100% happy with it tbh but like. i gotta do a study abroad application and finish up an assignment so it's gonna have to stand #and I've been having feelings about Bastian lately anyway so lmao

14 notes · View notes

jin-c-stories · 3 years

Text

Mori White

For as long as she could remember, Mori could see spirits. As a child, she would wander around their old Victorian home in Oregon speaking with the spirits that had once lived there. Her favorite was the older woman who would host tea parties for Mori and the other spirits in the house.

At first, her parents smiled while she was playing with her imaginary friends. She grinned as she showed a picture of one of these friends to her mother. The child stared in confusion, her mother’s face turned into deep concerning frown. “Where did you see this, sweetie?”

Mori mirrored the frowned as she hid the other pictures behind her back. “That’s my friend Norma. She hosts a weekly tea party in the attic and invites all of our friends to play-” Mori stopped seeing her mother’s face. The frown she had before had reached her concerned eyes. Her mother kneeled down in front of her, Mori felt like she was in trouble.

“Honey, how would you like to play with the other children?” The next day Mori had her first ‘playdate,’ with a neighbor’s child.

After that Mori stopped talking about her friends even though she still played with them every day. They would go explore the house and the yard, she would attend tea parties and sit reading out loud to the woman who smiled and listened.

At five, her parents grew more worried about her imaginary friends. They were reading books and considered taking her to a therapist, that was when a young boy in her class passed away. Her parents dressed her up in a nice black dress and took her to the sad party held in a gigantic building that gave Mori a sense of ease.

She saw the boy, now dead, dressed in a pair of dinosaur pajamas as he glared at his mother. Even though her makeup was excellent, Mori could tell she had been crying. The boy that was standing behind her and the radiating anger made Mori hesitate before stepping up to him, “What’s wrong?” Mori asked him.

The woman turned and brightened when she saw Mori and her perfect ringlet curls that her mother had spent an hour curling. She bent down to give the child a hug. “What a blessing it must be to not understand the surrounding sadness.” The mother said into Mori’s hair while the boy who stood behind her gave Mori a puzzled look. He realized Mori could see and speak with him.

“They let me die!” He shouted, expelling more of his energy into the room. The sensation caused Mori to panic. She looked around for her own parents.

His mother pulled away, giving Mori a better look. She looked defeated, didn’t the boy notice that? She was about to tell him when Mori jumped, feeling someone’s hand on her head. It was her father who gave the woman a fake smile. They began speaking in their adult language that Mori wasn’t listening to.

The boy pointed to a box that was open on the table. The Funeral home had lined the lid with a soft-looking white fabric. “They are happy that I am gone. My parents are going to get rid of me as if I never existed!”

Her father removed his hand to give the woman a pat on the arm. Seizing the opportunity, Mori walked over to the box. She had to stand on her tiptoes to see inside, but when she did, it was the boy. He looked like he was sleeping, even though Mori already knew he wasn’t. They dressed him in a nice suit, wearing one of his hats. The boy came up and stood next to her, looking into the box. Mori saw flashes of his life, doctors, the pain, his mother crying at night when she thought no one was listening. He was always listening, wondering why God made him sick, why he couldn’t just be healed.

“It’s not their fault. It wasn’t yours either. They loved you, but now you are not in there.” Mori said to him, giving him a small smile. The woman turned, having heard Mori, the child’s words troubled her. Her father looked embarrassed, and he came over, seizing her.

“Kids say the weirdest things, don’t they?” He laughed, downplaying her words.

The older woman that Mori played with had told her about death, but now seeing it up close she felt cold. Her father held onto her as they left the child’s funeral and went home. The experience made Mori see the spirits in their home with a new appreciation.

Over the next few days, things went back to normal. Mori stopped, glaring at all the spirits with worry and distrust. Soon they were back to host tea parties in the attic and exploring the woods. In fact, she had almost forgotten the incident when the woman from the funeral was waiting for her when she got out of school.

She smiled at Mori as the child was walking towards her and the bus. The woman then waved at Mori and said with great excitement. “Hi Mori, do you remember me?” Behind her, the boy glared at her and Mori nodded. “Good, I was wondering if I could give you a ride home. Your mother has been so kind to me since the funeral. I just wanted to thank her and since your school is along the way, I was wondering if you would mind riding with me.” It sounded more like she was telling her rather than asking her, so the child nodded.

Something about her attitude seemed happier than a normal woman who had just lost her child and was now standing on a playground where he used to play. She snatched Mori’s hand and led her to her car. She got in the front seat. Behind them, the boy glared.

“Did you know my sweet Timothy well?” She asked Mori, who took her eyes off the dead child to shrug at the woman. The woman laughed. “Children are always so honest. I loved that about Timmy, he was so honest with us about everything. Even when we ignored him.” She was silent for a moment. “Well, that is all in the past now I have learned my lesson. You know Mori when I was a child, my grandparents would tell me about these people who could see and speak with spirits. I always just shrugged them off as myths or tall tales to scare us. But at the funeral, you were speaking to my son, weren’t you? Can you describe him to me?”

Mori had a bad feeling in her stomach about this. She glanced back at the boy, causing the woman to look into the back seat. “He is very pale and wearing a pair of dino PJs. They were his favorite. Did he love dinosaurs? I see a lot of toy dinos when he is around.”

The woman beamed at Mori as tears streamed down her face. “Yes, Timmy loved dinosaurs. He wanted to be an archaeologist when he grew up. Is he really here with us now, back there?” She pointed randomly into the back seat. Mori adjusted her hand towards him and nodded. “Now Honey, I have a very important question to ask you. Can you bring him back to me?”

The child flinched away from the question as if it were a physical object being thrown at her. She could see dead people, but she had never tried to bring any of them back. The boy slithered from his place in the back seat and sat on the center console between them. “Yesss” He answered for Mori.

With a smile and aura beaming with joy, the woman patted Mori on the shoulder. “Perfect. You are such a sweet child.” Mori touched her own face, unaware that she had said anything. The boy made his way back to his seat with a satisfied smile at Mori, which made her blood turn cold.

When the car pulled into a driveway with slightly longer grass and a few more weeds than their neighbors, the woman quickly got up and began helping Mori out of the car. She held the child with a grip of steel, as if she knew Mori was going to run away. Practically dragging her up the stairs into the suburban home. Mori was trembling in fear. An icy breeze hit Mori from the house but didn’t affect the woman or Mori’s clothes.

The inside was clean. Far too clean for a home that recently had a child living there. Little glass decorations from the last holiday were hanging around the place. Mori shivered, the temperature in the house was freezing but the woman didn’t seem to notice as she continued to drag the child up the stairs to a child’s bedroom that was untouched for what looked like months. “This was his room.” She said finally releasing Mori. Everything looked like a normal kids’ room. There were plastic dinosaurs near a box of toys, a rug with a jungle layout was rolled up next to the bed with a green dino quilt. But on the floor drawn with precision in white chalk was a pentagram.

Mori hated it. The black candles around it were lit and flickered in her presence. She stepped away from the scene, but behind her, the boy pushed her forward. She stumbled into the room, but the boy jumped into her. “This is wrong.” Began chanting her in mind like an ancient prayer. But the boy was in control now and made her take a deliberate step to the edge of the circle.

He stepped out of her but held control over her body as he began shouting. It wasn’t English, but Mori understood every word. Her throat became sore from shouting after him. Her body was not her own. A gust of wind blew out the candles and the light above them shattered. The woman gasped with wide eyes, but Mori barely heard her over the boy. “That’s it, Mori, bring my baby back to me.” She encouraged.

Then suddenly it stopped. Mori fell to her knees, exhausted. The boy stood above her from the center of the circle, smiling. With a cry the mother leaped at the child that was no longer her son, wrapping him up in her arms sobbing. As soon as the mother broke the circle, a dark presence filled the room, relighting the candles. Mori’s stomach began doing cartwheels. She held herself to keep her lunch down. She slowly backed away from the circle.

Mori thought she was going to pass out as she reached the door. Her mind was swimming through the evil energy that now filled the home. The sound of soft flute music cut through the thick fog and filled Mori with a sense of calming peace. She smiled and had the longing to dance to the music. In the doorway was a large floating creature that reminded her of a dumpling. In its small hands, it played the most calming flute music, around it other ghost children were dancing. Mori danced past it into the hallway, about to dance around it again into the room when a hand aggressively pulled her away.

She turned away from the creature as a set of claws released her shoulder. Taking a moment to look around the exhaustion and dread flooded back. The creature was covered in paint and flags, and Mori knew it was there for the boy with its squinting eyes.

Trembling she ran out of the home stumbling down the stairs and not bothering to close the door. That boy was evil, that creature was there to take the boy with it. She ran out into the street, nearly getting hit by a car.

A man dressed in work clothes leaned out the window and shouted. “Oi Nina watch where you are going!” Mori nodded and got out of the street, trying frantically to find out where she was. Seeing her distress, the man sighed and parked his car. “Dios Mio, hey kid, are you alright?” He got out of the car and kneeled next to Mori. “What’s wrong?”

On her face, her tears burned as she sobbed and pointed at the house. Behind him, an elderly dead woman supplied her with the words. “El Diablo es aquí. The devil lives in that house, please mister, get away from here.”

Shocked, the man nodded. “Okay.” He helped her into his car next to his own children, who tried to smile kindly at the traumatized Mori White. With a couple of miles between her and the boy along with some ice cream, Mori finally told the man her mother’s phone number along with what had happened. The man said a quick prayer and quietly crossed himself, as did the dead woman guarding him. Then she crossed Mori for good measure. Mori giggled at the woman she was wearing a bright and colorful dress, her face looked like a skull with flowers, her long black hair was back in a series of braids twisted with some flowers.

“Your grandmother is beautiful. I love her flowers.” Mori said, twirling with the woman. The man confused quickly took the lost child back to her own parents.

Her mother signed in relief when she saw Mori. When she had not returned home from school, she had grown worried and was about to call the police when the man called. The man told her where he found her, but left out the part about the dead boy. Mori agreed with him and decided not to tell her mother about what happened.

For weeks Mori was really sick. Her parents worried over her, but soon it faded. Her mother tried to keep in contact with the boy’s mother as a rumor had gone around that she had gone crazy after her messy divorce. From time to time people would see her on the streets or at the store. Her skin was ghastly pale and her frame had grown smaller. She whispered to herself about her beautiful baby boy, miraculously returned to her. But no one paid it any attention saying things like, “She has been through a lot.” or “Give her some space.”

Years went by, Mori grew older and taller. The surrounding ghosts taught her about literature and would occasionally supply something useful about her gifts, like how to protect herself from other evil spirits. One thing she learned was how to put them to rest. She would sit up at night and whisper softly to them, comforting them in their pain. Then she took their hand and guided them to the light, where they were at peace.

Her living friends were few. At school, most of the kids stayed away from her, though they didn’t know why. Mori could see it in their eyes and hear it from their spirit guides, they thought she was weird. She could dress like them and learn to talk like them, but she would always be different. She celebrated her 8th birthday with a few of the children who had parents that forced them to go. Her parents frowned with worry as none of them approached her unless prompted. But Mori didn’t mind. Once all the guests had left, she practically ran to the attic where the ghosts had set up a small celebration to congratulate her on her birthday.

It was a snowy January day. Her parents had spent more time with her, believing her imaginary friends to be a cry for attention. A thick coat of snow had covered the Oregon roads and though the plows and already driven by a thin sheet of ice made the blacktop glisten. In the back seat, Mori was nodding off to sleep after a movie. In the front, her parents listened to music as they talked.

Something nudged Mori awake. Her eyes gently opened as she looked around for a ghost or toy, but saw none. The night was creeping in around the car. The soft shadows seemed to dance around her. Mori looked up out the front window and screamed. A dead man stood in the center of the road, bloody and in pieces. With a mangled hand, he reached out. Her father jerked at the wheel, swerving the car to avoid the dead stranger. The car ran off the road and everything went black.

A pounding in the back of her skull thumped Mori out of unconsciousness. A tree stood like a stone trying to tear the car in half. Looking to her right, Mori noticed that her mother was gone, replaced by a hole in the windshield and a bloody strip of snow illuminated by the car’s headlights. To her left, Mori’s father sat motionless. His mouth hung open as his eyes were wide open. Blood trickled down his forehead onto the bloody seat below him. Tears and blood streamed down Mori’s face as she cried out to him. “Daddy, please wake up. WAKE UP!” The last words were not in English but in a language Mori related with the dead.

Only a couple miles away Officer Williams was just about to head home when he heard a little girl’s voice through the radio shout “WAKE UP! Please, I need help.” With a street name, then static. Confused, he messed around with the radio, but the voice was gone. He shrugged it off as probably nothing. A small feeling gnawed on his insides, turning his car in the street's direction, the voice had said. It couldn’t hurt just to check, he told himself.

His head twitched. Mori stopped screaming for a second, unsure if her father was really dead, or barely alive. His neck snapped back into the place as he turned to look at Mori. The car was freezing as the snow drifted in from the broken windows. Her father climbed out of the car, rushing to Mori’s side. He ripped the door off the car but gently picked her up. He limped but never struggled to carry her up to the road. Mori snuggled against his chest as if she was four again and needed to be comforted by her dad.

Headlights passed, then flashed into police lights, quickly flipping around. Carefully her father set Mori on the ground, kissing her forehead before tumbling back down the hill, dead.

Officer Williams called the accident in as soon as he saw the bloody man setting the little girl down on the road. He carefully approached the child, unsure of what to expect. The kind eyes of the child that looked up at him warmed his heart a little. He handed her his coat and began checking to make sure she was alright.

The police station was cold, as Mori sat on a lonely bench. Both of her parents died on impact, though Mori could have told the officers that. The paramedics had looked her over and placed a bandage on her head where she received a cut, otherwise she was fine. Her feet swung absently. She could feel that her parents were at rest. They went without a fight.

A shadow moved in an empty room near to where Mori sat. She looked up looking around for the owner of the shadow but saw none. Shrugging, Mori was about to look back down at the floor when she saw it again. This time the door opened on its own. Her legs shook as she stood up and crept to the door. Once she was inside, the door softly clicked shut.

Mori tried the door only to find it locked. Bewildered, Mori turned, scratching on the hardwood gave away the entity’s location as it moved from behind a large empty desk into the light from a half-closed window on the door. “It is nice to finally meet you, young necromancer.”

“Hello.” Mori greeted it with respect. A part of her knew it should terrify her, but something about its energy seemed familiar and calming.

Its head did a 180 as if it was getting a good look at her. It crawled closer, its claws dragging against the floor, leaving an imprint on the floor that would be heard until the floor was thoroughly cleaned both physically and spiritually. When it spoke its voice changed tones, as if it couldn’t decide which voice to use, each had an undertone of nails on a chalkboard, but the child did not flinch when it spoke again. “I know your abilities make getting close to people difficult, but know that your parents are at peace.”

Mori nodded, agreeing with the creature. It took this as a sign to continue.

“Even though that is important, it is not the reason I came to you today. I am here to guide you, and to offer my advice. The officer you met earlier is a good man, say yes to his question, and be kind to the boy you will meet.” Mori’s face scrunched up in confusion. “One last thing, accept Death’s second gift.”

“What do you mean?” Mori asked, but the creature had disappeared, leaving the door open. She sighed and left the room as she heard footsteps coming towards her. Officer Williams entered the room and smiled kindly at Mori. “Hello Officer.” she greeted.

“Mori, how did you get in there?” Mori was just closing the door. He tried it, but it was locked again. Shaking it off, they sat together on the cold bench. “Mori dear, I have permission to take you home with me. If you want to, you are more than welcome to stay with us until the court finds your nearest relative is that okay?” With a smile, Mori nodded and left with him.

The next morning she woke with a crashing noise from downstairs, followed by shouting. For a moment her panic in the unfamiliar surroundings. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in Officer Williams’ car. Now she was in a room with sparse decor. The shouting from downstairs grew. Carefully she got out of bed to find some clothes laid out for her on the dresser. They were a little big and Mori frowned and the big sweater that was slowly drowning her, but someone had been kind enough to think of her and set these out.

Her socked feet moved silently across the wooden floors as she slipped down the stairs. Something smelled fantastic and her stomach growled. The officer was leaning over the stove cooking, while a confident woman was shouting at a boy who was only half dressed and shouting back. “I ain’t gonna listen to no pig and his wife! What ya gonna do, arrest me, beat me up? Y’all don’t know the meaning of a beatin’”

Mori watched in silence as the woman signed. She looked tired, as if she had been fighting the same fight for years. “Isaac, I will not beat you up. In fact, if you are not hungry that is fine, but I don’t want to hear you complaining that you are hungry.” He glared at her and said something unintelligible. His defiant stance matched the woman’s hard look.

He turned on his heel and quickly made his way to the stairs running into Mori, who had been quietly standing there. “Hey watch it!” He shouted before getting a good look at her. “Who the Hell are you?” his face soured at her.

“I am Mori.” She said, taking a step back. His energy was large and loud, not overwhelmingly so, but it drew her focus in on it, while repelling the other ghosts in the room.

Behind him, the woman smiled at her. “Mori, honey, you’re up. You must be starving, unlike someone.” She took a moment to glare at the boy. “There are some pancakes down here with plenty of syrup. If ya want some.”

She nodded and smiled back, then she smiled at the boy. “Sorry for running into you, you don’t have to leave because of me.” She stepped aside enough for him to storm past, but he blinked at her with distrust.

“I am not hungry.” He announced to the whole room before leaving up the stairs.

The woman sighed and fell into her chair. Her hair was back in a bunch of small braids that fascinated Mori. The child came down the stairs and sat next to her. “Your hair is really pretty.” Mori said while Officer Williams placed a plate of pancakes in front of her.

She almost laughed at the difference between the two children in her home. “Why thank you sweetie” Upstairs something was being thrown around while Isaac was throwing a tantrum. The woman sighed, turning back to Mori. “I am so sorry to hear about your parents. I know things can be difficult here, but if you ever want to talk about it, we are always here.”

Mori nodded. “Thank you.” she said politely, smiling at the woman, then the pancakes.

In time Mori learned Isaac was there because his mother was on drugs, and his father had abandoned them. His energy was large despite all the challenges he had faced. Looking at it was like looking into a kaleidoscope while listening to loud calming music. Whenever he was around, Mori could focus on him to distract herself from some spirits, which became more important as she got older.

Portland, Oregon, was a historic city with a long and complicated past. Walking down the street, Mori could see all the spirits of the past screaming and demanding that she help them. Killers would come up and try to possess her. Alone she could not block them all out, but whenever Isaac was with her, she could focus on him and they could get by. He, like most humans, didn’t even react to the surrounding ghost. In fact, they tried to stay away from his lively energy. Mori came to rely on him being there to help her get by.

When they were twelve years old, the Williams family finally officially adopted them, Isaac proudly changed his name and didn’t judge Mori for keeping her own last name. Things for the family became normal. The woman of the house taught Mori how to braid her hair, while Isaac began his karate lessons. Mori hoped things would never change, but as life goes, things changed.

Isaac had just turned 15 and was being very proud of that fact. They were eating outside a burger place at the mall, their mother was inside paying for the food. The heat was almost unbearable, Isaac’s colorful button up was drenched in sweat while Mori’s black laced top remained dry.

“Your poem is missing that emotional connection to the reader.” Mori commented after reading Isaac’s newest song.

His eyes went wide with shock and his brows knitted in confusion.. Based on the color of his energy, Mori could tell she had offended him. “First off,” He squealed not as calmly as he was aiming for, “It is a rap, not a poem. Poems are for dead people and sissies.” Mori rolled her eyes at him. “Second, my rap is awesome. People love raps about everyday things.”

Mori shook her head, “You have written a poem, rap sorry, about a sandwich. I am not sure that’s Top Charts material.”

He laughed at her sarcastically when a man approached them from the parking lot. “Isaac?” He asked almost shyly. The two teens stopped to face him curiously. Mori thought he looked a lot like Isaac, with similar facial features and the same dark skin and defiant brown eyes, though she kept quiet.

“Yeah, who are you?” Isaac got still and defensive as he asked.

The man gave him a relieved smile. “It’s me, don’t you remember me?” The confusion on Isaac’s face said more than the words he didn’t say. “I’m your dad.” He said with a sense of pride.

Isaac shuddered next to Mori as if someone had stabbed him. Shaking his head, he regained his glare towards the man. “Sorry mister, but my dad is at work right now, so you are mistaken.”

Behind the man, Mori spotted at least half a dozen ghosts that flared, feeding off of the man’s anger. They were all bloody and shot, drenched in sea water. She got flash images of the man standing before them shooting each of these figures, before dumping their body in the ocean. “No Isaac,” He growled through gritted teeth, “I am your father. Sorry I wasn’t around, but I had to make a name for myself. I had to become the man you could look up to, I wanted to come get you as soon as I heard about your mom, but I wouldn’t have been able to support us. But it’s okay because I can now, and I have come to take you home.” His eyes held a false hope that hid some deeper meaning.

Mori turned towards the ghosts for further explanation, only to get one sentence that they repeated while showing her what they meant. “HE OWES A DEBT THAT CAN ONLY BE PAID WITH BLOOD.”

She shuttered reaching out to Isaac unaware that she had said anything. He grabbed her elbow, and the man glared at her for interrupting them. “Mori, what’s wrong?” Isaac asked, not noticing the man behind him looking annoyed by her presence.

“Blood for blood, he owes a debt that can only be paid in blood.” Mori whispered more to herself than anyone else, but Isaac looked at her, concerned. She looked up at him, her gray eyes wide and frightened as it all washed over her. One man he killed, his family wants revenge, an eye for an eye. “Isaac, I know you won’t believe me, but you have to trust me. He is not here to make amends.”

Isaac nodded, something in her eyes made him believe her without question. He turned back to his father. “Sorry man, but I don’t know you, or that woman who used to be my mother. I have a better family now.”

Their mother stepped out onto the patio and froze, looking between her children and the man who was fuming. She rested a hand on Isaac’s shoulder before looking at the man confused. “I am sorry, but can I help you?” She asked him with a raised eyebrow, though Mori could tell she knew more about what was going on than she was letting on.

He glared at them, and from his belt pulled out a gun. “Listen, I didn’t want to do it like this, but Isaac is coming with me.”

The ghosts behind the man began feeding off of Mori’s fear and the man’s pent up rage. She closed her eyes to focus those emotions on her energy and stopping the man. The oldest of them leaped forward, grabbing the gun. Their long seated need for revenge took over as they all began stepping forward, holding the man back, beating him. Mori took a deep breath, remaining in control of her energy as she reeled it back in, releasing the man.

Instantly he jumped to his feet, a black eye taking shape. He frantically looked around for his attacker but saw none. Behind the teens, their mother had called the police. Glaring at Isaac, then Mori, the man ran off.

The older teen looked at Mori with an unspoken question that she wasn’t about to answer. Luckily for her, their mother patted their shoulders, “Are you two okay?” They nodded, and she sighed in relief, seeing that they were fine. “Oh my Lord, Isaac honey, I am so sorry you had to experience that.”

She must have been terrified because she continued like that for the rest of the day, only letting the two out of her sight at bedtime when her husband reassured her they would be fine. Two days later the man was found dead in a dumpster and the ghosts came back to Mori with questions. He was dead, so why hadn’t they moved on? She smiled and patiently answered their questions.

Despite his father’s death, Isaac was far more interested in Mori’s abilities. She had been dodging him and the questions he had for nearly a week when a soft knock stole her attention away from her book late one night. One ghost that was sitting in the corner looked up and told her it was Isaac. Carefully she got up and answered it, letting him in. He looked at her as if she was the suspect of some crime that she didn’t realize she had committed. “How did you know my father was there to hurt me?”

Mori sighed, he glared at her as he sat on her floor and she sat across from him. “Hello Isaac, it is good to see you as well.” She tried to take control of the conversion by changing subjects. His glare deepened. She sheepishly looked down and pulled her long black hair back into a braid. “Alright, I will tell you, but you have to promise me you will not think that I am crazy.”

He looked at her confused for a second, but nodded. “Okay.” He said looking serious for once.

Taking a deep breath, Mori continued. “I see and speak with dead people, spirits if you will.” Mori told him about the ghosts in their home as she was growing up. Then about the dead boy and energy. She told him about his energy and how it affected the surrounding ones. He laughed and made a joke, causing her to loosen up and smile.

When she had finished with her story, he sat silent for a moment with a strange smile. A part of her wished she could take it all back while the other part of her was relieved to have a living person know her story. When he spoke, he was still smiling. “I knew it. You were always just alone at school, or attached to me, I knew something was up.” Mori smiled and was about to respond when he continued. “Do you know what this means?”

She blinked, confused. “That I am weird?”

“No, it means you can be a superhero! People could call you Madam Death or Madam Deathtify since you defy death. No, I got it, Friday! Yeah, your slogan could be…” He made the vampire with a cape pose using her blanket. “You can call me Freaky Friday, but the dead call me Everyday.”

Mori giggled despite herself. “It doesn’t work like that.”

He set the blanket down, giving her an oh really look. “Of course it does. Look at how you saved mom and I from that man, and I could help. I could be your partner, IceMan!” He waved his hands in the air as if they were hanging above him.

Thinking about it for a second, Mori weighed the pros and cons of the proposal. When she spoke, she had an air of finality to her. “Alright IceMan, under two conditions. One; I am not using that slogan, and two; promise me you will be careful.”

Smiling with a giddy look in his eyes Isaac responded. “I promise!” He stuck out his pinky for her. She intertwined it with her own, sealing the promise.

He started taking his self-defense classes more seriously after that, knowing that he had to be the best to be a superhero. Mori began speaking with more spirits. She passed the ones she could over and began learning how to deal with overly aggressive spirits. She mostly used her abilities to find their cases and stop serial killers along with other criminals.

During the next year of their lives, their adopted mother grew ill. They sat by her bedside trying to find some way to help, but eventually she passed on. The event destroyed their father, he still worked but attempted to spend the most of his time with his children. This disrupted the teens’ nightly patrols and crime fighting activities, but to Mori it was a worthy trade. During one of their family outings, they were getting ice cream when Mori saw something that chilled her.

Walking down the street across from them was a thin pale woman followed by a dead boy. She already looked dead herself while the boy looked almost alive. Around her, no one else seemed to notice her as she passed. The boy glared over at Mori with red eyes and smiled with razor-sharp teeth. Though she recognized the boy, it was the floating dumpling like monster following him that concerned her more. Its eyes were half open as it watched the boy. Noticing her reaction, Isaac dabbed her arm, asking her what was wrong.

Mori forced herself to look away and smile at him. “Nothing, I just thought I recognized her.”

It wasn’t nothing, and in the cover of darkness Mori walked up the steps to the woman’s home wearing her Friday cloak. She lightly rapped at the door, smiling as the woman answered. Mori knew what she had to do. The woman answered with a fake smile. She looked so thin and sick, behind her the boy glared, he had been stealing her energy. “Hi, I am not sure if you remember me. My name is Mori White, I was friends with your son.”

Her smile became genuine, and the door opened for her to enter. “Oh yes, my sweet Tim, you knew him?” Mori just nodded, entering the cold, dusty house. “Please, won’t you come sit down, I can make us some tea while we discuss my lovely little boy?”

She led Mori to a living area with a dusty table and a couple couches. The boy hissed at her as she sat down on one couch. Mori just smiled at the woman, pretending like she could no longer see or hear the boy. The woman shot Mori one last smile before she stepped into the kitchen, leaving Mori alone.

Finally, being alone, Mori got up and began her plan by drawing a circle around the couches with salt. Putting her hand in the center, she used her own willpower to reinforce the circle.

Faint flute music drifted in from the kitchen, and Mori quickly sat back down as the lady came back with a tray of expired cookies. She sat down across from Mori, and the teen could feel her grief. The boy has been attempting to possess her, replace her consciousness with his own. But he was already dead. Her lips were a soft shade of blue, poorly hidden with pale pink lip gloss, her eyes looked dark and sunken into her face. The boy, Tim, sat outside the circle trembling with rage. Mori had to pull them apart. The creature was going to move the boy on, no matter his state and if he was still possessing the mother it would kill her.

Mori smiled kindly at the woman and accepted the cup of terrible tea. “So how did you know my little boy?” She asked Mori while sitting down across from her.

Not breaking eye contact, Mori answered, “I went to school with him. When he died, you kidnapped me to bring him back. He remembers me, even if you don’t.” Mori turned to the boy who was pressed against the salt. The woman’s eyes filled with shame and her smile faded on her thin face.

With a grace and elegance she has never had before, Mori stood and pulled out a vile of holy water. Tim screamed while Mori sprinkled it on his mother. She withered and screamed on the couch, unable to fight back. The necromancer began speaking in another language while the boy threw himself at the invisible wall, trying to fight Mori. The woman fell to the ground crying out in pain.

Mori was the least of the boy’s problems. His red eyes glowed as he used most of his strength trying to keep his hold on his mother. He snarled and screeched, more like an animal than a human. Behind him, the flute music had stopped while the monster stared at him with its eyes wide open. The woman quieted to a faint whimper. Mori turned to find the monster with a firm grip on the boy’s ankle. He screamed with tears streaming down his face, begging Mori to make it stop. She stopped at the edge of the circle, “Wait! Give me a chance to pass the boy over peacefully.”

The monster stopped facing Mori. When it spoke, its voice was like a gentle breeze. “No, young necromancer. You have much more to learn before you are ready to move a child demon on. But your day will come.” Before she could argue back, it disappeared, leaving behind the smell of grassy meadows.

She turned her attention to the weeping woman who was cold to the touch. With a gentle grace, Mori got her standing. The woman was too drained to stand or walk properly. Before Mori could call an ambience, a figure in the door smiled. “Need a lift?”

Isaac had followed her and waited until they were leaving to say anything, since he knew this must have meant a lot to her. On their way home from the hospital, Mori explained what had happened to the boy, starting with the reaper.

A week before her 17th birthday, Mori saw something strange. It was almost Halloween, a time of year when Mori sees many unusual things and is bombarded by more ghosts than usual. The creature she saw was tall, thin and a ghastly white-gray color with a few strands of thin black hair.

Their father had just come home from work when the creature stood on their lawn with his wide white eyes and screeched. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard. Every hair on Mori’s body stood on end while she desperately tried to cover her ears. The wail stopped, and all was quiet. It stared through their dining-room window at their father. Whatever it was, Mori didn’t like it.

The thing followed their father for two days, screeching loud enough that Isaac heard it once. Mori didn’t know what it was, or how to get rid of it. Looking it over, it didn’t seem attached to their father, just following him, like it was waiting for something to happen. She searched through different bestiaries but could not find the creature in any of them.

A few days after it arrived, she learned what it was. During a routine traffic stop, a nameless suspect had shot their father, killing him. The creature had been their warning, a banshee.

Alone, the two teenagers couldn’t stay in that house and didn’t want to go back into the foster system. They stuck together and found a cheap one-bedroom apartment. Isaac struggled to keep up with school and a full-time job, and on top of everything he still wanted to be a hero. While Mori wanted to help, the ghosts in the city were overwhelming, giving her crippling anxiety. Their apartment became her sanctuary with wards that kept the spirits out.

But she was not just willing to sit there and do nothing. She learned how to make potions that could solve all kinds of ailments. She would make large batches of potions and sell them to local Witch stores or gift shops. Isaac would often act as her delivery guy and take the potions to the different stores, occasionally finding Mori a little magically trinket that she could use. That is how next year went. At night they would go out as Friday and IceMan, while by day they were just a pair of teens alone against the world.

Dawn was Mori’s favorite part of Saturdays. She and Isaac had come home around 1am the night before, and he was currently sleeping. Sleep was much harder for Mori than it was for Isaac. She would sleep for a few hours than a ghost would come and wake her up. Today it was the elderly gentleman who had lived in the apartment before they moved in.

“It surprises me that a beautiful young lady like you is still single.” He grumbled as Mori packed the last of the sleeping potions she had made into a small box. She wrapped it up and tied a small black bow on the top.

She smiled, picking up the box and turning towards him, “Not many boys are interested in a girl who can speak to their dead grandparents.” She said as set the box down where Isaac would remember to take it with him.

The old man huffed at her, “Well, when I was your age, I would thank God for any woman who gave me a moment of her time. It didn’t matter if she was ugly, pretty, or could see spirits. In fact my dear Lorane, God rest her soul, snored, and I never complained.”

Mori giggled as she put the teakettle on the stove. Isaac would be up soon, sore and reaching for a cup of coffee. The night had been tough; a dead woman had led them to a prostitution ring. With some help from the other side, and the Portland police, all the suspects were in custody and a bunch of young women from all over the United States got to go home. Isaac had taken a few blows, as usual, while Mori had been a little overwhelmed by a strong negative spirit. A glass jar sat in the bathroom cabinet that held a salve that Mori had made for Isaac’s bruising and sore muscles.

Sure enough, a few moments after the teakettle whistled she heard someone fumbling around in the bathroom, “Speaking of another sadly single fellow. When is that brother of yours going to ask a girl out? I mean he’s a little dark but surely he could find some pretty thing to ask out.”

The scent of coffee filled the room, pleasantly mingling with the earthy scents of Mori’s craft. She rolled her eyes and snorted at the old man’s outdated statement. Soon Isaac came in, rubbing the medicine she had made on his sore shoulders. He took the offered coffee mug with a smile. “Did you get any sleep?” He asked, noticing that she was still dressed as Friday with the long black cloak.

“I got a couple of hours, but it gave me enough time to make some more potions. That magic shop on 25th wanted some extra bottles of the sleeping potions. I also finished your history paper with Gregory’s help, and my math homework.”

Isaac nodded with a smile, then glancing around for the invisible Greg he said, “Thanks Greg.”

As he took a sip of his coffee, Mori continued. “Would you mind stopping by there today on your way home from work, to drop them off? Also let them know I added a cough potion as well for the girl who runs the counter. Her baby has been sick with a cough, a finger of the potion once a day should clear that up.”

With a laugh, Isaac nodded. “I love how much you pay attention to what she says, or did one of her ghosts complain?”

Mori smiled, sipping her own darker coffee. “Both.” A strange and terrifying half human, half bird screeching echoed through the apartment from Mori’s plant area. “Look who else is up.” Mori sighed as she elegantly set the mug down and stood up, walking towards the strange plant.

The plant was tall with round green leaves. Hanging off a couple of the limbs were bundles of branches and roots that looked like little people with their eyes closed. Their mouths were open as they screeched. “Dear God, those things are hungry.” Isaac watched Mori pull a container from the fridge that was filled with long, wrinkly orange fruit.

“Here you go, little guys.” Mori cooed as she fed the people like bundles. As she fed them, the screeching quieted down until the apartment was quiet again. The big one that was halfway buried in the pot was the last one to be fed.

Isaac had to admit since their father died and Mori had got more into her craft, things had gotten a lot weirder. He watched the plant silently sleep again while mentally counting all the other strange things that had happened. “I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t complained about the Mandrakes yet.” He said, giving them a curious look.

Mori gave the plant a devious smile. “They have. So I introduced them to my little baby Mandrakes.” She gently began petting one of the little bundles.

Rolling his eyes, Isaac checked the time and sighed. “Alright, I’ve got to go.” He grabbed the neatly wrapped potions off the counter. “Try not to scare the neighbors too much while I am gone.” Isaac asked while pulling on his work shirt.

“No promises.” She watched him take his bag, then stick his tongue out at her. She mimicked the gesture as he left.

The apartment became quiet and oddly empty when Isaac left. That’s how it always was. His energy is so loud and vibrant that when he leaves a space everything seems suddenly mute and dull. Mori’s energy was more like that of a ghost than an actual person which is what made her space so still, like a graveyard.

Letting the stillness wash over her, Mori went back to making a couple batches of different potions. A woman down the street had asked her for a nausea remedy, while a single mother next door asked Mori for something to prevent migraines.

When those were finished Mori sighed and turned to Greg who was watching her. From underneath the couch, she pulled out a hula hoop filled with salt that she had sewn onto a hoop skirt. Tossing her Friday cloak onto the couch, she pulled the skirt over her black leggings and dug around for a matching top. She stood in the center of the living room facing Greg. “Try to break my circle.” She challenged him.

He got up and stood right outside of her circle. “You realize sweet cheeks that there are going to be more than one old ghost out there, right?”

“Yes, but if I can keep you out, then I can keep the others out as well.”

With a nod, he tried but could not enter her circle. Mori smiled in an early victory, but then he moved. She lost him for a second as he came up behind her and shouted an inhuman scream that knocked Mori off her feet. All the salt went to the other side of her circle, giving Greg the win.

She sighed as he stepped into her circle. “Sorry to scare you sweet cheeks. But the other ghosts might not be as kind as I am.”

Mori got up, smoothing out the skirt. “I know. I didn’t think about all the salt falling onto one end.” Thinking about the problem, Mori took off the skirt and began digging around her desk with an idea.

“What are you looking for?” Greg asked as he watched her.

Smiling, Mori pulled out a hot glue gun and a dagger that she occasionally used to carve the baby Mandrakes. She sat on the floor and began cutting open the hula hoop.

Stepping out of her wards without Isaac was enough to light up her nerves with the beginnings of a panic attack. She jumped in place, attempting to dispel the energy.

She stepped out wearing the hoop skirt in a very Victorian gothic fashion, only to find the streets empty. Alone she went about making the deliveries receiving payment and thanks for each potion she dropped off. Her stomach dropped as she passed the cemetery, but nothing happened. Usually spirits were everywhere ready to jump out and overwhelm her.

Slowly, courage found its way into her stride as she made her way back home. When she opened the door to their apartment, a gust of icy wind blew out, nipping at Mori’s energy. Confused, Mori walked in, searching for Greg when she heard the scratching of a creature moving from the hallway to where she stood.

The creature was the same one she had met the night her parents died. It crawled to her with an almost sad look. “Hello again, young necromancer, I am sorry for your most recent loss. I know it was hard on you.” It said in that grading voice that would have driven most people mad.

She nodded, remembering how angry she was at herself for not realizing what the Banshee was until it was too late.

It scooted closer to her with something like sympathy in its eyes. “Memento mori, a concept hard for most mortals to understand. Though I am sure you and the boy will understand it better than anyone.”

Mori smiled. “I am not sure Isaac will ever understand the concept of death.”

“He will make an excellent spirit guide for you Everyday.” The creature said with a chilling smile that turned into a frown when it saw Mori’s expression.

The room was spinning; it had to be. “Isaac isn’t dead. He’s at work and will be back in a couple of hours.” Breathing suddenly became difficult.

Her panic filled the room with a tense energy. The creature having realized their mistake disappeared into the shadows.

Something must have really freaked Mori out. She had been texting Isaac nonstop for over an hour. It was almost cute how his little baby sister worried about him so much. She has been like that since their father died. He knew that in a way she blamed herself, since she could see and hear the ghost warning her of his death. But growing up with her, she had always been kind to him, even when everyone else struggled to show him kindness. Mori cried when someone else got hurt, she even cried with the ghosts that she spoke with as she passed them over. It was what inspired Isaac to fight crime with her.

The magic shop on 25th street was a little out of the way, but Isaac didn’t mind the trip. It was a rare clear night and the cool air felt good on his skin, refreshing his lungs. He stopped at what looked like a normal antique shop. Stepping into the crowded store, Isaac could barely squeeze through all the tables and knickknacks that littered the place.

Most of the items were just junk, but all the trinkets with a purple sticker held some kind of magical properties. He made his way to the back where a large glass counter sat filled with jewelry and small gifts. There beside the register was a small display of Mori’s potions, they were completely out of the sleeping potion.

Isaac set the box down on the counter and smiled at the young woman who always sat there. “Special delivery!” Isaac announced in his best pizza delivery voice. He then opened the box and continued. “We have more than enough of the sleep potion to knock out an army, and one vial of cough potion. Mori said to give a finger of the potion to your sick baby once a day.”

“Aw, she is so sweet!” The girl smiled, picking up the cough potion. “Just give me a second to get your payment.”

She turned her back to him, going through a red curtain to a back room. Isaac glanced down at a couple of the necklaces in the cabinet, most of which were just costume jewelry, but one necklace with a red crystal on a silver chain caught his attention.

It was beautiful. Shadows seemed to reflect and move from within the gem. “Isn’t that creepy?” The girl started coming back with an envelope with his and Mori’s names on it. “A scary looking gentleman brought that in last week. It has some kind of protection seal on it.” Seeing Isaac’s confusion, she explained. “Usually a protective seal protects the wearer from something within the object. It is rare to find an object with one.”

“Oh.” He looked back at it. “It looks stunning.”

The girl raised an eyebrow at him. “If you want it, you can have it. The damn thing creeps me out.”

His eyes grew wide as he was like a little boy on Christmas filled with excitement. “Really, are you sure?”

She laughed while putting on a pair of gloves. “Yes, Isaac really. Now, because of the magic on it, don’t touch it with your bare hands.” She pulled it out, placing it in a velvet pouch. “And if Mori hates it, don’t bring it back here.” She handed it to him with the envelope.

“Thank you.” He said, leaving with a smile.

It had been four hours since Isaac got off work and panic was setting back in. It never took him this long to come back, even if he had to stop by one of the magic shops. What the strange creature had said earlier was echoing in Mori’s mind.

Her head poked up when she heard the familiar footsteps in the hall approaching their apartment. The key jingled in the lock. Relief flooded Mori as she stood up. His face was serious, but it was him. He walked towards her, giving Mori a wicked grin. His aura seemed dim, so much so that Mori could barely sense him in the dark room. He stood right in front of her and she couldn’t see his energy. “Isaac?”

A doppelganger? No, this was physical. The surrounding aura was a deep red color that radiated malevolence, “So you’re what he was trying to hide from me.” He took another step towards her, she instinctively took a step back.

“What are you?” Mori demanded in her commanding guide of the dead voice. The red gem around his neck caught her attention. There was something odd about it.

He laughed with a voice that wasn’t his. “What do you think I am dear?”

It was mocking her. Mori flushed, realizing how powerful the creature was to blatantly ignore her demand. A demon; realization filled Mori with a deep-seated sense of dread. She had heard of the creatures of darkness that only harbored malevolent thoughts. Seeing one in person now possessing her brother brought a panic attack to the surface of Mori’s skin.

“What’s wrong petty spell caster, are you scared?” He stepped towards her again, looking less and less like her brother.

Her back was against her desk, her silver enchanted dagger was right behind her where she had placed it. She glared at it, trying to focus her energy. “Get out of him! That body is not yours, I will not let you take it.” Her energy pushed against it trying to pull it out, it only laughed at her.

Tears ran warm down her cheeks as it grabbed her throat. She met its eyes with her own and saw Isaac’s chocolate eyes pleading. His voice was soft in her mind, “I will be okay, Mori, but you have to stop it.”

Behind her, she grabbed the dagger, its silver handle familiar in her hand. She brought it up and stabbed Isaac in the neck. The monster let go of her falling back gurgling on blood. With air returned to her lungs, Mori screamed. The necklace seemed to wink at her from the pool of blood. With shaky hands, she found the velvet pouch in his pocket and pulled the stained piece of jewelry off his neck.

Everything had fallen apart for the young necromancer as she sat in the police station with Isaac’s ghost leaning against her, trying to comfort her. The officers that had shown up said that it looked like self-defense, but Mori couldn’t help but feeling defeated.

Their apartment felt empty, and even though Isaac was still there, it wasn’t the same. She couldn’t get the blood out of the floorboards or her clothes. The rain soon turned into snow, the world felt colder. Oregon felt different somehow, and Mori didn’t like it. Packing a couple items and carrying her mandrake, Mori walked down to the nearest bus station and bought a random ticket.

#Supershorts #superhero #orginial character #necromancer #goth character #character backstory #short story #writing

4 notes · View notes

fieldfullofbangtan · 5 years

Text

INTRO - mafia series

↳ Summary: A group of newbie gang members try to take over your home of 3 years. Little do they know you’re a veteran compared to them and not easy to mess with.

🔪 Word Count: 1.5k

🔪 AU: Mafia!au

🔪 Content Warning: A little violence, adult language, shitty writing, sue me.

↳ A/N: Nobody asked for this but it has been sitting in my drafts for a while now. I’ve rewritten it like a million times and honestly I just want to know if this is something people would like a continuation of. Also if you have any plot suggestions please let me know!

✎ masterlist

»»————----------------------------------　♔　——--------------------------------——-««

You walked into the container you called home, opened the backpack and mentally high-fived yourself. Snickers. AND BEER. AND COMIC BOOKS!?

- Suckers.

You snickered and stretched your arms, kicking your feet up on the metal barrel in front of you. Stealing from little tweens might seem unfair but hey they were in your territory, plus you only do it if they seem to be carrying a lot, in this case a well packed backpack. While living on the streets, even simple things like beer can make a day better. Sure it was more exciting when you were underage, now at 19 it feels a little sad being excited about beer...

You’ve spent almost three years in this abandoned container yard, and more than 5 total years on the street after running from foster care. You know the ins and outs of surviving out here and thankfully the yard is pretty unknown, so when people do come, its usually druggies or teens trying to find a place to drink unseen.

Banging the bottle cap against the top edge of the barrel it flew off and the sweet smell of Heineken filled your nose. It’s been almost 4 months since you last had beer with the lack of people coming around. You were just about to take the first sip when suddenly you heard footsteps.

You sighed, saddened that somebody had to disturb you during such a calm and happy moment. Its probably some addict who’s looking for a good place to get high or sleep through the night. Slowly you got off your chair and hid behind the barrel, after a few seconds you could hear the person turn the corner and into the container. You quickly stood up and threw the bottle in their direction.

- FUCK.

You saw a tall slim man with weird turquoise hair duck down. Not really the opponent you were expecting, but he doesn’t seem too dangerous. Half his face was covered by a skull bandana.... real original. You bent down and quickly reached for your emergency paint-ball gun. You didn’t get far before a deep husky voice stopped you.

- Don’t move!

As you looked at him you noticed a gun, a real gun, pointing right at your face. You silently damned yourself for going the semi non-violent way with a fucking paint-ball gun. You stopped and lifted your arms up but kept your foot steady right beside it.

He seemed unsure of himself, hands shaking, eyebrow twitching. By the way his eyes were darting back and forth from your exposed midriff to your face you realized he was distracted. Maybe distracted enough to get overthrown. You weren’t the strongest girl but you were fast. Over the years you’d learnt that most of the time precision and speed were a lot more useful than brute force.

You lifted your arms higher to expose a little more skin, on queue his expression turned puppy-like, gazing at your skin like he was hungry. Dumbass. Praying a quick prayer you bent down as fast as your body allowed, grabbed the paint-ball gun and shot. Within half a second the man folded and grabbed his junk, while doing this his gun went off, thankfully not hitting you but unluckily enough shattering your remaining 5 beers... He was left on the ground groaning and cursing that he’d kill you when he got the chance. You couldn’t help pitying him as his strong words were accompanied with the tears in his eyes.

- Right back at you smurfie.

You swapped your gun for his and without thinking twice stepped out of the container. The pride you’d felt for defeating the blue haired man went away as quickly as it appeared because you were met with six more people, all pointing their guns at you.

- Well fuck.

You put your hands up and dropped the gun. While two men tied your hands behind your back and forced you onto your knees another one wearing a gray hoodie went to check on the smurf. You suddenly heard loud laughter coming from the container.

- Oh my god you got shot in the dick!

- Shut up and help me up you little shit.

- Quit being a baby it was just a paintball gun.

You heard the paintball gun go off again followed by a high pitch squeal.

- “qUiT bEiNg a bAbY”!!

Smurf walked out and threw the paintball gun aside, you couldn’t help laughing at the large pink stain on his pants, indicating the pretty perfect shot you made.

- What the fuck are you laughing at?!

He was furious but clearly also very embarrassed since he immediately covered his crotch with his hands.

You tried to hold it in but it wasn't easy, you weren’t scared of these men whatsoever, you weren’t sure why but they didn’t seem like bad people. As soon as the boy in the gray hoodie walked back out now sporting a stain much like smurfie , they started acting like a dysfunctional family. Hoodie, Smurfie and and pink haired boy who you guessed were the youngest ran around punching each other and yelling empty threats. Two others stood near you, rubbing their temples and groaning, sick and tired of the younger’s shit. A tall man ran around trying to calm the situation down but it only seemed to make the three rowdier.

When your knees started to hurt you shifted onto your butt and stretched your legs out in front. By doing so you accidentally leaned on someones legs. Looking back a guy you’d yet noticed smiled down at you.

- Umm... sorry.

- It’s ok.

He answered kindly. What’s with him...?

- CAN WE PLEASE BE PROFESSIONAL FOR ONCE?!

The man to your right yelled. No response.

- PLEASE?

He pleaded but the boys didn’t listen.

The one on your left sighed and pinched his nose bridge.

- If you peasants don’t pipe the fuck down and mosey your asses over here bones will be broken.

He spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear but as soon as the first word left his mouth the others stopped in their tracks and went silent. They quickly hurried over with heads held low like children who’d just been scolded.

- Thanks Yoongi.

The one on your right said defeated. He crouched in front of you and tilted his head a little.

- We don’t feel like getting our hands dirty tonight so we are going to let you leave.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

- Come again?

- We’ve been wanting this container yard for weeks now. Sooo we are taking it.

You knew it wasn’t the smartest move but you couldn’t hold it in, you burst out laughing.

- What’s so funny?

- It’s- It’s just that I can’t picture you guys being threatening.

You couldn’t stop laughing. His ego was instantly hurt and he stared wide-eyed at you as you tried to catch your breath. You couldn’t imagine these boys doing anything bad especially with the cute dumb looks on their faces at that moment.

- Why is she laughing?

A man you’ve recently learned is named Yoongi is staring at you like you’ve completely lost it. Suddenly before anyone can say anything else the lights in the entire yard goes out. The boys look around terrified in the darkness and you just keep on laughing your ass off, now because 5 of them are grabbing onto each other for dear life.

- WHAT’S GOING ON? IS THIS PART OF SOME SICK PLAN YOU HAVE?!

The blue haired boy yelled hysterically and you couldn’t help but tease him a little.

- I haven’t done anything. Every night a woman in a white dress haunts these grounds. It has been said that she was murdered by her husband and now she comes back to find him every night. She especially likes young guys... much like you smurfie.

- Shut up!

He yelled but by the way his voice shook you knew he was about to pee himself. You chuckled but explained at last.

- It’s a blown fuse. Calm down.

They all visibly relaxed but it didn’t take long until a new problem arised, who’s gonna fix it.

- You guys want to “take over” this place but none of you know how to fix a blown fuse?

They shared a few embarrassed glances before mumbling something inaudible.

- Look this is a big place, I wouldn’t mind some people having my back and helping me out. You won’t survive here without me, so you choose, I let you stay here with me, or you get the fuck out.

The last bit was a hail mary, you knew that they probably were people who got it their way or no way. They all huddled around and after a few minutes they reached a verdict. Namjoon took a few steps toward you and you did the same. He reached his hand out to you stone-faced and you shook it a little hesitantly, worried that this was just some trick.

But it wasn’t. After you shook his hand he finally showed a little smile.

- Welcome to BTS.

48 notes · View notes

dailyaudiobible · 4 years

Text

11/23/2019 DAB Transcript

Ezekiel 45:13-46:24, 1 Peter 1:13-2:10, Psalms 119:33-48, Proverbs 28:11

Today is the 23rd day of November. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It's great to be here with you as we as…well…as we end another week and continue taking steps forward. So, we’ll go back into the book of Ezekiel. We’ve been reading from the New Living translation this week, which is what we'll do today. And then will move into the letter of Peter, first Peter, that we just started yesterday when we get to the New Testament. But first, Ezekiel chapter 45 verse 13 through 46 verse 24.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for another week in Your word. And as the…the number of weeks…well it's been decreasing since we started this journey…but now we can count them pretty easily on our hands. And, so, we thank You for Your faithfulness to us and for the transformation that has been taking place since we set sail on January 1st. And as we say here on this week before things start to really really get busy for the rest of the year, we spend a moment of gratefulness. We are so thankful for Your faithfulYou’re Your faithfulness to us. So, we commit to being faithful to this journey until the end and to find out the things that You yet have to do inside of us before this revolution around the sun is complete. So, we thank You for another week in Your word and we look with anticipation, great anticipation for all that You have yet to do. We love You Father. We worship You and we pray these things in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website and that is home base and where you find what's going on around here. So, stay tuned and stay connected. Of course, if you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, most of these things can be accessed from within the app as well by pushing the drawer icon in the upper left-hand corner. But yeah, stay connected and stay tuned to what is going on around here as we move into this next season of the year, kinda like the final season where everything gets really really busy. So, let's…let's stay connected in any way that we can and in any way that that that we will.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, cannot possibly thank you enough, humble gratitude is the proper posture. We wouldn't be here at all if we were not in this together, if we weren't throwing logs on from time to time on the Global Campfire. So, thank you for your partnership. There’s a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if you prefer, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And as always if you have a prayer request or comment there are a number of ways to reach out. One of them would be to just press the Hotline button at the top of the app, the little red button at the top or there are number of numbers you can use. If you are in the Americas 877-942-4253. If you are in the UK or Europe 44-20-3608-8078 and if you are in Australia or that part of the world 61-3-8820-5459 is the number to call.

And that is it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here next week, which is tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Good morning everyone this is JoAnn Marie from Southern California this is specifically for Karla. Today is November 19th and I just heard your prayer and request for prayer. Heavenly father I lift up Karla. Father, from personal experience I know that you are with her though she may not feel it. Father God I know that you love her and cherish her. Lord, I pray that your Holy Spirit will wash over this young woman. She’s right at the perfect place to receive your blessings. Karla don’t worry. Karla keep your eyes on Jesus. My friend used to say the saying, “fake it ‘til you make it.” So, grab your Bible, go through the Psalms and read them out loud. No matter if you believe it or not just do it. Heavenly father again I continue praying for Karla. Holy Spirit wash over her, hold onto her be with her. Father hear our prayers and comfort our sister in Christ who is crying out to you. Thank you that we can give you our burdens. Thank you that you’re hear every single prayer, that you catch every single tear and that we are not alone no matter how we feel. Your word tells us that you are with us. Your word is holy. Your word is true. You are not a God of confusion. You are a God of peace and calm. Father, we pray again in Jesus name. And Lord, we thank you for how you rescue us each day every day all day. Lord we love you and thank you for another…

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family I want to pray for the woman who called in today November 19th that at her wits and that feels like she can’t do it anymore, she can’t pray to God anymore, she’s lost faith in her relationship with the Lord. Her marriage, everything is crumbling. Mam, I prayed for you this morning. when I heard your prayer I got right on my knees to think of you because God was reaching to my heart for you. He showed me a vision of you being like spiritual gas tank pulling up to His heavenly station and your tank was on fumes and it was almost to the point where people had to push you into the gas station just to get to the tank. But I’m gonna tell you right now ma’am that God is coming for you in a mighty way. Ephesians 3:20, He’s going to do exceedingly great expect in things beyond anything you can hope, ask or expect. Jeremiah 29:11. You know that one well. He has great plans. So, I’ve been…I’ve been many times where you are before, feeling unloved, unworthy, unnoticed, invisible. God is coming through in this season to bring out his people who have been in the dark to bring them to the light. He is going to fill up your gas tank overflowingly full to the point where you can’t hold it anymore. So, don’t you dare give up because we’re praying for you, I’m praying for you, Jesus is interceding on your behalf. And He’s gonna come through right now at a time when you least expect it. Amen.

Desperately wanting to Jesus this is PG from NC. I’m calling to answer your question from Sunday, November 17. I’ll speak quickly. Yes, it’s normal to feel like you want justice, that you want all wrongs to be righted. It is. But it’s not the default for believers. We leave that to Christ. Now, you’re trying to control your words, your attitudes and your actions and that’s not really possible. James will teach us that though tongue is a wild thing that can’t be controlled, and we know that our facial expressions will follow words. But how do we do it? Well the good thing is that the word also says that out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. And the good news is that you and I can build up our hearts and minds and train our Spirits. So how do we do that. DAB every day. Don’t just listen, read along, participate. The other thing is we build our Spirits, we train our Spirits by worship out loud. Don’t just hum, don’t just listen, do it out loud. The other thing is by thankfulness. Gratitude is an attitude, but thankfulness is an expression. Express thankfulness to the Lord every day when you get up and then when you lay back down. And call or text two people every day and thank them for something. The other thing is prayer. Now let’s be honest. God doesn’t need to hear a lot of what we have to say but we need to hear what he has to say. So, it’s a lot more listening than talking. But one of the things you can do is you can pray for those who despitefully used you but not conviction, condemnation all those kind of things. Pray blessings, pray repentance, pray mercy. Pray for their families. Bless them in every way. And in doing that you will build yourself up, train your spirit. Out of that abundance your mouth will speak, and your face will match it. Hey, this is PG from NC and just like Brian I love you and I’ll be here tomorrow.

Hey everyone, is Karen in St. Louis. I am asking you guys to please pray. My last besty passed away on Sunday, which was my birthday, but she is in glory with the Lord, no more pain, no more suffering. We had been friends for almost 40 years. And, so, if you would please pray. A couple of things. Her family are not believers and so she was actually responsible in kind of a weird way back when we had gotten out of the record business and then she was working part-time at a record store where she invited me to go to a church where this guy who was in the worship team that worked at the record store was bugging her to go. And I was ready to go because at that time I was in adult children of alcoholics and the Lord was really drawing me to Him. In any event, just pray that I would be a light in the darkness. I pray that the gospel would be given at her funeral. And then we also have a couple of friends that were in the record business with us. We’ve gotten reconnected with them through Facebook years ago. They are both very of evout…devout and radical atheists and in the course of the years they too both have cancer. So, if you would pray that I would be able to continue that relationship with them, that the Lord would be drawing them to him, and I just thank you so much for all of your prayers. And I want to pray for all of those that are dealing with extreme brokenness. It is so hard to see, and it can rock our faith, but God is faithful no matter what. Thank you, Brian. Thank you, Jill. God bless you all. Bye-bye.

Hey Daily Audio Bible, this is Micah in Awe. Today I heard Karla call in struggling with depression. You said you were heartbroken. The Scripture talking about the oil of joy came into mind. So, I looked up the Scripture. It’s Isaiah 61. I’m just gonna read it now. The spirit of the Lord God is upon me because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted to proclaim liberty to the captives and the opening of the prison to those who are bound, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor in the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, to grant to those who mourn in Zion, to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit, that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord that He may be glorified. So, yesterday I was studying hard words of Missouri. I’m a woodworker and I read that oaks are one of the hardest woods in Missouri because the way that they age. So, this is God telling Isaiah to tell us that we will be called oaks of righteousness. That means that we will stand firm. Just like to encourage you. Stay firm. Stay believing in the Lord. Stay reading the Scripture. God’s gonna deliver you from this and am asking him right after this. I’m praying for you that he pours out the oil of joy over your life. I’ll talk to you later.

Hello dear Hanging On this is Jeanette. I heard your prayer and I want to extend a hand…a hug from a fellow believer in Jesus. There’s been a lot of things that I’ve done that haven’t been in anybody’s interest in the past, but Jesus hasn’t left us even when we can’t feel his presence. He gives us the times to regret what we have done but he doesn’t leave our side. And, so, I want to step forward. My own mother has suffered this sort of loss, her first child. And I’ve been praying for her very much recently. And what the father showed me was Jesus being with her in that room where the abortion happened but the whole room was surrounded with Holy Spirit fire and Jesus accepted the spirit of that young child into his arms to be carried up to heaven. And He laid His hands on my mother’s womb and He said, “I forgive you, I love you, you are my child.” He was very angry at all the circumstances that had driven her to that sacrifice of the child to that situation that put her in such terror, and He covered her with His grace. And it doesn’t matter where you’re standing right now but I know that His grace is poured out for you in the very depths of His heart and the very depths of heaven call out that He loves you because He gave himself on the cross for you. And no matter where you go, no matter what you do there’s a child waiting for you up in heaven who will be in your arms. If you are in tears than just…

2 notes · View notes

spn-rewrites · 5 years

Text

01x07 (part 1)

Season One Episode Seven: Hook Man

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: after searching for days for John Winchester, the group has no luck. upon stumbling across an article about a mysterious, death they go check it out. luckily for Dean, they’re surrounded by hot sorority girls.

part 2 part 3

A/N: hey guys! i’m trying out a new format of breaking the episodes into parts because they’re so long so hope you like it! my main blog is still cracked-kingshawn but i made a side blog specifically for my SPN rewrites so that you guys can follow this and my shawn stuff isn’t clogging your dash! i tagged everyone that’s been being tagged in the previous parts, so if you’re confused that could be why!! haha feel free to message me if you have any questions or want to be tagged in future part

“Your half-calf vanilla latte is getting cold over here, Francis,” Dean said as Sam headed back to the cafe table that the three of you were sat at. Dean was hunched over the laptop while you were tapping your nails against the plastic table impatiently. There has yet to be a case pop up, so in the meantime, it’s been quiet conversations and fast food diners across the country. There has yet to be a conversation about anything the shapeshifter had said.

“Shut up,” Sam mumbled as he sat down on the chair.

“So, anything?” Dean asked, his eyes still not moving from the laptop screen in front of him.

“I had them check the FBI missing person database and no “John Does” fitting that description,” Sam groaned. He sounded frustrated and he had every right to be. The three of you had been searching for John for months now and there hasn’t been a single clue to where he could be. “I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t think dad wants to be found,” Dean said the last thing Sam wanted to hear. “Check this out,” he said, shoving he computer over to Sam to show him an article that you barely caught a glance at before the screen turned away from you. Dean motioned his head for you to sit closer to Sam. You hesitated, but did anyway to read the article. “News item out of Plains Courier, Ankeny, Iowa. Only about 100 miles from here,” Dean said.

“Mutilated body was found near the victim’s car parked on 9-mile road.” Sam stopped reading but Dean egged him to keep going. “Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted saying the attacker was invisible.” Sam stopped now, looking up at Dean. Your eyes kept scanning the article but there was nothing else of value.

“It could be interesting,” Dean suggested. Since it was so close, it would make sense to just pop in and see what was going on. It wasn’t like you had anything better going on, anyway.

“It could be nothing,” Sam pushed back. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything. Doesn’t mean it’s the invisible man,” Sam shook his head and pushed the laptop back in front of Dean. You sat back in your chair and listened as the two went back and forth about it.

“What if it is? Dad would check it out,” Dean replied. The only answer that would make Sam do almost anything as if it meant finding John Winchester. Dean paid the bill for the two coffees that were ordered and one water before packing up all of your belongings and getting back into the Impala for the next 100 miles.

Ankeny, Iowa was a small town with seemingly nothing going on besides this invisible murder. Dean didn’t give any clues as to where you three were headed in this town but the smoke would have been coming out of Sam’s ears if this were a cartoon when he saw the frat house that you pulled up to. “Oh my god, why are we here?” Sam whispered to Dean as you stepped around garbage littered in the street.

There were a few boys working on a beaten up car and dirty furniture in the grass. “The victim lived here,” Dean explained. “Nice wheels,” Dean complimented as a boy rolled out from under the car. None of the boys answered him, so Dean continued on. “We’re your fraternity brothers from Ohio,” he said and glanced back at you. “And this is my girlfriend, Y/N.” The frat boys looked Sam and Dean up and down, trying to determine if they were telling the truth or not before looking at you. Their eyes lingered a little longer on your chest than you were comfortable with.

“We’re new in town, transfers. We’re looking for a place to stay,” Sam continued after the boys still remained silent. After a beat, they were more than welcoming and invited you three into the frat house. You always wondered what it looked like inside one of these. If it was as messy as some of the movies show or as preppy and stuck up like the others. This one was right in the middle.

Dean knocked on one of the doors labeled Purple Man and a man, who was painting himself purple, turned around and looked at the three of you. “Who are you?” He asked, stopping midpoint.

“We’re your new roommates,” Dean announced, throwing his hands up. The Purple Man seemed to be fairly accepting of this and shrugged his shoulders as he handed Dean the paint brush.

“Do me a favor? Get my back?” He asked as he turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. “Big game today,” he explained. You pursed out your lips as you looked around the room. It wasn’t clean but it also wasn’t horribly dirty. It was definitely not a place you wanted to sleep, though. At least motel rooms get cleaned.

“He’s the artist,” Dean pointed to Sam, handing him the paintbrush. “The things he can do with a brush,” he said. The Purple Man seemed content and was waiting for Sam to paint. Sam took a deep breath, sending his brother a glare and began to paint.

“So, who’s the girl?” The Purple Man asked, eyeing you up in the mirror. Sam cleared his throat and stepped in front of you, blocking his view from you in the reflection.

“Y/N, my girl,” Dean replied quickly, keeping the story consistent. The Purple Man held up his hands in defense. Like an apology for eyeing up his ‘girl’. Dean sat down on the chair in front of the window and keeping consistent, you sat down next to him. He picked up a magazine that had the guy’s name written on the top. Murphey. “So, Murph, is it true?” Dean asked.

“Is what true?” Murphey asked, glancing at Dean but his main focus was making sure that Sam wasn’t messing up his important game day body paint.

“We heard one of the guys here got killed last week,” he said nonchalantly. Almost as if it were no big deal that a young adult boy got murdered.

Murphey’s face fell and his expression made it clear that it was, in fact, a big deal. “Yeah.”

“What happened?” Sam asked, looking at Murphey in the mirror as he painted.

“They’re saying some psycho with a knife, maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy,” Murphey said, his pain evident in his voice.

“Rich was with somebody?” Sam asked, digging for more details.

“Not just somebody - Lori Sorenson,” Murphey said it and looked at Sam as if we were supposed to automatically know who Lori Sorenson was. Sam shook his head as Dean flipped through the magazine he was holding.

“Who’s Lori Sorenson?” Dean asked as he looked up from his reading. “Oh, you missed a spot. On his back,” he said as he pointed to a bare spot on Murphey’s back. Sam sent Dean another glare and you smacked his bicep gently.

“Lori’s a freshman. She’s a local and super hot. Get this - she’s a reverend’s daughter,” Murphey explained like he was in awe of this girl. Dean nodded and closed the magazine, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“You wouldn’t happen to know which church, would you?” Dean asked, hopeful to find this girl and ask her exactly what she saw and why she thinks he was invisible.

Murphey thankfully pointed you in the right direction and upon entering the church, there was a sermon going on. The pews were filled and you entered as quietly as possible, Dean following you. “Our hearts go out to the family of the young man who perished, and my personal prayers and thanks go out, as well, because I believe he died trying to protect my daughter. And now as time heals all our wounds, we should reflect on what this tragedy means to us as a church….” The reverend stopped as Sam slammed the door shut behind him. You sent him daggers and he shrugged his shoulders as if it were an accident. “As a community, and as a family. The loss of a young person is particularly tragic,” the reverend went on as the three of you sat down. A young woman in green, her hair tied up, had her head cranked to watch you the entire time. “A life unlived in the saddest of passings. So please, let us pray for peace, for guidance and for the power to protect our children.”

You and Sam both tilted your head down in prayer, to respect the church you were being welcomed into. You noticed Dean wasn’t praying so you elbowed him in the side. He nodded and tilted his head down as the reference read aloud a prayer.

When the sermon got released, the three of you lost the girl in green in the crowd. You decided to just wander around until you found her and when you spotted her, Sam took the opportunity to talk to her. “Are you Lori?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she said as she turned around to face the three of you.

“My name is Sam, this is my brother Dean and this is our friend, Y/N. We just transferred to the university,” Sam explained. Lori smiled at him and nodded.

“I saw you inside,” she said, keeping polite conversation although you were sure that you three looked very weird.

“We don’t want to bother you but we heard about what happened,” Sam said, a small smile played on his lap. The charming card, once again.

“We just wanted to say how sorry we were,” you added. She looked at you and then back at Sam and nodded as if she couldn’t find the words, or didn’t want to.

“I kind of know what you’re going through,” Sam admitted. “I-I saw someone…..get hurt once. Its something you don’t forget,” he stuttered on his words, choosing them carefully. Dean looked up at his younger brother but you avoided eye contact, once again the mention of Jess making your skin crawl. Before she could respond, the Reverend himself came up.

“Dad, this is Sam, Dean and Y/N.” Lori put her hand out to grab her father’s arm as she introduced us. “They’re new students,” she explained.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Dean said as he stuck his hand out to shake the Reverends. “I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much, it’s very nice to meet young people who are open to the Lord’s message,” the Reverend said.

“Listen, we’re new in town, actually,” Dean started as he put his hand on the Reverend’s back and walked him away from the situation so you and Sam could dig deeper into Lori’s side of the story. As soon as Dean left, you felt oddly uncomfortable. Ever since the shapeshifter, and lack of discussing what was said, you’ve felt weird around Sam. Like he knows you have feelings but they’re not reciprocated so he’s just ignoring them.

“Tell me, Lori, what are the police saying?” Sam asked, jumping right into the heart of it.

“Well, they don’t have a lot to go on. I think they blame me for that,” she said as the three of you began to walk around.

“What do you mean?” You asked, inserting yourself into the conversation. Lori glanced over at you.

“My story, I guess I was so scared I guess I was seeing things,” she said and stopped walking. She looked up at Sam, worry in her eyes. It looked like she was reliving the moment over and over as she talked.

“The doesn’t mean it wasn’t real,” Sam whispered, shaking his head. After all these years of hunting things, that was the one thing you knew for certain. Lori hesitated for a moment and then smiled at him. You watched as Sam smiled back at her and it felt almost like you were invisible.

“So you believe her?” Dean asked as you walked down the aisle of the library hoping to find any books or records to help you out with this case. You excused yourself from Sam and Lori’s conversation without saying a word to go find Dean, who was now sitting alone by the Impala. It was only a few short moments before Sam joined you and you were off.

“I do,” Sam said.

“I think she’s hot, too,” Dean joked, raising his eyebrows and smirking at his brother. You hit Dean’s arm from next to him and he coughed, clearing his throat from the comment.

“No, man. There’s something in her eyes,” Sam explained, ignoring his brother’s comments. “And, listen to this. She heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car,” Sam told you the details of the night that you were too uncomfortable to stick around and hear for yourself. Dean stopped and held his hand out to stop Sam, too.

“Bloody body suspended? That sounds like -”

“Yeah, I know. The Hookman legend,” Sam cut Dean off and nodded his head as

if this was obvious.

“What’s the Hookman legend?” You asked, once again feeling left out but Dean looked over to you and smiled.

“It’s one of the most famous urban legends, you’ve never heard of it?” He asked and you shook your head in response. “You don’t think we’re dealing with the Hookman?” He directed his question towards Sam and he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Every urban legend has a source, a place where it all began,” Sam said, seemingly confident in his early diagnosis of the case.

“What about the scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?” Dean asked, listing off things that you were assuming were inconsistent with the legend of the Hookman.

“Well, maybe the Hookman isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?” Sam asked, making Dean furrow his eyebrows and scrunch up his face in thought. He tilted his head and that’s when you knew he had an idea.

What you didn’t know, however, was that this idea was going to cost you the next few hours of your life. The librarian slammed down two cardboard boxes covered in ancient dust. She groaned as she lifted them onto the table and wiped off her skirt. “Here you go, arrest records going back to 1851,” she said.

The boys nodded and thanked her for your help and you wiped off the dust that was caked on the lids of the boxes. As she walked away, you noticed Dean staring at her butt. You coughed, gaining his attention back and he cleared his throat, opening one of the boxes. “This is how you spend four good years of your life, huh?” Dean asked, referring to Sam’s college life.

“Welcome to higher education,” Sam joked as he tackled into his own box of records. After hours of digging and finding nothing, you had nearly fallen asleep in the chair next to Dean while Sam paced around the library and trying out every single reading position there was to stay awake. “Hey, check this out,” he said, getting your attention. “1862. A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. He was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes.” You got up out of your chair and walked around the shelf that Sam was standing over. “Some of the deceased were found in their beds, sheets soaked with blood. Another suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.”

Dean picked up a piece of paper from the record that Sam was looking at. “Get this - the murder weapon? Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident, had it replaced with a silver hook.” You were reading over Sam’s shoulder at the rest of the report and spotted the location of the murders.

“Look where all of this happened,” you said, pointing to the words printed on paper.

“9-mile road,” Dean read. You nodded and Sam scoffed, shaking his head as if this was all just a wild coincidence.

“Same place where the frat boy was killed.” Dean smiled and nodded, content with the information and most likely relieved that the search for information was finally over.

“Nice job, Dr. Venkman,” Dean said, smirking at his brother. “Let’s check it out.” Sam smiled and closed up the files as you began to clean up the ones you and Dean had sprawled across the table. You had to remind both the boys multiple times to make sure they were going in order for any future users, but they swatted you away and threw them in a mess anyway.

Tagged: @matchamendes @stuckupstucky @sillydecoy @jessewa26 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @liztorr1212 @icanreadbookstoo

#spn #spn rewrite #supernatural #supernatural rewrite #supernatural imagine #supernatural blurb #supernatural one shot #supernatural au #spn imagine #spn blurb #spn one shot #spn au #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #01x07

61 notes · View notes

xlittlelionhamiltonx · 5 years

Text

To Me Belongeth Vengeance

{{happy belated bday, @prodigyofprincetoncollegex !! I love you dearly!}}

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

Humbly. Is man ever humble? Does man ever trust in God and His divine plan?

No. No... humankind was yet a child, stumbling with every step and crying loudly when it fell and scraped its knee. Humankind was a mess, unsure and afraid, and continually disappointing its Father... not that He would ever admit to that...

Sacrilege, Alexander. Your Father is purity and honesty incarnate.

And still... people kill. They hurt and they maim and they torture... they do all that they are instructed not to do, and still, they thrive.

Why do you not strike them down, Father? Why do you let them go on?

“Ah!” Alexander curls in on himself, one hand pressed against the wound drawn so haphazardly upon his abdomen, the knife in his free hand shaking violently. He has overstepped. He has sinned, if in thought, alone, and he has beckoned this punishment.

“God does not ask for perfection. He does not abandon His children for their doubts... for their questions...”

Alex perks up a little, blinking his eyes open and focusing on the peaked wooden ceiling above the empty choir loft. Father Burr seems to have foregone the Old Testament. He chooses not to preach fire and brimstone, though Alex knows that is what he lives and breathes.

“No father could condemn his own child’s curiosity. Our Father is a good Father, brothers and sisters; he would not discourage the wandering thoughts that He, Himself, has made our minds capable of producing.”

Does He not, then, Father Burr, condemn His children for taking advantage of the capability he has put in our hands to kill?

Alex is panting, labored breaths, chest rising and falling like the ocean’s wicked tide. He drops his head over to the side, sweat dripping across his features in tiny, salty rivulets. He blinks his dark eyes a few times, clearing his vision as he attempts to focus on the pale, unseeing eyes that greet him.

“He loves you for being all that you were created to be. He loves your bravery and ambition, your intelligence and your hope. Unconditionally. As only a Father can.”

“He sounds quite convincing for not believing a word of it, hm?” Alex’s hushed question is met with the cold silence of the dead. He regrets that he had to take action here, knowing Aaron abhors such graphic fits of violence. But it is a weeknight mass, quiet and held in absence of the choir, the pianist seated just near the altar so she might double as a reader for tonight’s scripture.

The man had offered him no choice. Alexander had often seen him sitting upon a bench near the playground adjacent the church, watching the children play until the last had gone home. Alex had noticed, he had felt that familiar dread that raised the fine hairs upon his nape, and he knew that the matter needed his attention.

His perch upon the roof of the chapel was typically overlooked by all but the priest whom called the sanctuary his home, and even he was keen to leave Alexander to his own devices.

God’s will. He trusts in God’s will, not in you.

It is a warm summer evening, but he still wears long pants and sleeves, covering every twisted scar and elegant scrawl painted upon his brown flesh. He is accustomed to the heat, considering where he grew up, and he pulls his sleeves down a little more, hood up as he studies the scene before him.

It was only his second day minding this odd man, and already his is given justification for his suspicion. But he is not satisfied. He is not pleased with himself for having faith in God’s word. No... when he sees the man approach a young boy, handing him what appears to be a chocolate bar from his pocket before beckoning him away from the other kids, Alexander is angry. He is disappointed and disenchanted and so goddamn sad, so goddamn heartbroken... and he speaks to his Father... his Lord... the one for whom he protects these broken, ugly creatures...

“I cannot fix them, Father. I cannot vanquish all these wayward lambs. My God, you would have no flock left to watch.” He feels the heat behind his eyes and he fights it angrily, clenching his teeth and rising up from his perch.

“But let thy will be done.” He drops from the rooftop with unnatural ease, crouching only a handful of seconds before he rises and makes his way toward the nefarious acts being committed.

It takes him only a moment to reach the pair. He ignores the indignant look on the man’s face as he pulls the boy aside and tells him to return to his friends. The child is already retreating when Alex finds himself in pursuit of the adult, the man having taken the opportunity to run, as men do when faced with the truth.

It could not even be labeled a fight, so short was the struggle. And Alex, left with a limp body and adrenaline pumping, had no choice but to lug the man up to the choir loft. Mass would begin any moment, after all, and he could hardly burden Aaron with a murder committed upon the estate.

He murmered to the unconscious form as he moved, more than accustomed to this art of deception.

“I got you buddy, just a little further and you can sleep off that Irish dinner of yours...”

He is grateful that almost no one crosses their path, and that even fewer take much interest in them. They manage to make it in through the back entrance and a quarter of the way up the stairs without incident. But God does work in mysterious ways, does he not?

It is then, surrounded by naught more than the distant sound of lambs eager to atone, shifting in their pews, and that old, musky smell that somehow settles as a permanent guest in well-loved temples, that Alexander’s plans are upset by the sharp, biting tip of a blade.

He cries out only briefly, clamping a hand over his mouth as he throws the man off of him, a pale fist clenching weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

“Fucking die, you piece of shi-”

The pervert is making his attempt at another meek thrust toward Alex’s neck, and the raven-haired man supresses the urge to pull back, instead pushing forward, forcing the attacker to stumble back, foot slipping off of the step and throwing him off balance long enough for Alex to land both palms solidly against his chest, sending him toppling down the stairs.

His body hits the door that closes off the stairway from the foyer, and Alexander hopes that the noise is being drowned out by the chiming of the church bells. He wastes no time catching his breath, rushing down the steps and reaching forward to lock the door as he had neglected to before. A few, deep breaths, he gives the wound gifted him a quick assessment before leaning down and checking the man for signs of life.

But his eyes are open and lacking the soul’s spark, his chest is still and his neck is bent at a notably unnatural angle.

“No last rites for you, I’m afraid.” He exhales softly, picking up the fallen blade and tucking it away before gritting his teeth and hoisting the man up and over his shoulder, pushing down the pain of exertion and moving slowly up the stairwell.

And that was how he ended up here, as he is, flat on his back, gasping for air and contemplating his next move. He had no worries about being rid of the corpse... once he had managed to remove it from this holy institute, at any rate. Which could prove to be a slightly tricky task if he hoped to avoid being discovered.

“When we bow our heads in prayer and contemplation, I encourage you all to reflect upon the questions you have. What in the scripture gives you pause? Is there a question that you have told yourself one mustn’t dare ask? If so, now is the time.”

“I have a question.” There is a new voice, deep and gruff and noticeably agitated. The creaking of wood indicates that the congregation is shifting in their pews, turning to identify the owner of this voice.

“And I am here to help you find the answer, my son.”

“I sure hope you can, Padre.” The voice is moving, the pews groaning as their occupants continue to follow the man’s path toward the altar.

“See, I saw someone draggin’ my brother into this church just a few minutes ago, and I took a gander about the place while you was preachin’, but I didn’t see ‘im anywhere. You wouldn’t happen to know how to answer that mystery, would ya?” There are a few seconds of heavy silence, and it seems even the congregation is holding its breath, listening, waiting, right along with Alex. And when the man does speak again, the voice is quieter, more menacing, and the words make Alexander’s heart skip and his blood boil.

“I hope you do, because I’d really, really hate to have to kill a man of God.”

Alexander is up in a heartbeat, peering over the rail, doing what he can to stay cloaked by the shadow of the dim loft. What he sees only aggravates him further. The man is huge and looks as rough as he sounds, and he is towering over Aaron, standing mere inches before him. There is a spark of pride in Alex’s chest when he notes how steady Aaron appears, unwavering and unafraid.

“I am afraid that I have seen nothing out of the ordinary this evening. But, if we were all to assist you, I am certain we could find your brother. Was he ill? Is there a chance this person was attempting to help him?”

As he speaks, Alex wracks his brain for a solution to this little problem, a way to remain unseen and unheard and still put a stop to this man before he can do anything regrettable.

“Not a good time to play dumb, priesty.” He moves forward, reaching out and clasping Aaron’s shoulder, stoking the fire burning in Alexander’s belly.

And he knows what needs to be done. He knows how to save the priest and punish the sinner. And who better to do it than a ghost? What has he to fear?

He crouches down, crawling to the lifeless body and ripping open the man’s shirt. He retrieves the dagger from his waistband, using it to carve into the man’s chest, no less certain in his action than he would be if it were pen to paper. When he is finished, he tucks the blade away, quickly pulling one shoe from the man’s foot, ignoring the pain and the sweat that is dripping down his face as he drags the lifeless pedophile back toward the railing.

Once finished, he stands and takes in the scene unfolding on the altar below. It is not favorable, to say the least. The man is still near Aaron, still close enough to be touching him, but now he is staring out at the frightened church-goers, a twisted smile on his lips and a mania in his eyes. Aaron, despite how terrified he must be, somehow manages to look entirely at peace and in control of the situation.

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

He needs to act now. He is the power upon which Aaron relies. He is the deliverance the man has preached. He mustn’t leave room for doubt.

“I will ask you one more time, and only one more, where -”

The words are interrupted by the thud of a shoe hitting the floor, the man’s focus quickly shifting toward the object in question. After a moment of confusion, recognition settles over his features, and he releases Aaron with little thought, moving forward and crouching down to retrieve the footwear. He turns it in his hand, looking around and then, finally, up.

He hardly has the time to draw in a breath before the heavy body of his dead brother is crashing down upon him, pinning him down and drawing out a pained grunt. Alexander follows closely behind, landing with practiced ease, his hood pulled down over his eyes, head bowed and body crouched low as he speaks.

“Go. All of you.” He rises slowly, aggravated by the stunned silence surrounding him as he moves toward the struggling terrorist.

“Go now!” A few gasps are followed by the sound of the creaking pews and rustling fabric and hurried footsteps, the people rushing to heed his command. He is upon the violent man just as he manages to push his brother’s body off of himself, his eyes barely able to lock onto Alex’s face before the blade has opened his throat, the blood flowing freely while the man chokes on it.

Even as the man struggles to hold onto his meager life, Alex has ripped open his shirt and set metal to flesh, sketching out the scripture in violent crimson.

Ne prohibueritis eos!

He steps away from the quickly dying heretic, setting forth in readjusting the cooling corpse of his equally evil brother, making certain that the first responders to the scene will not overlook His message.

Mea est ultio.

“Forgive them, Father; they know not what they do.” Alexander turns to meet Aaron’s eyes, the air leaving his lungs when he sees the look on the young priest’s face.

He had been wrong to do this. He had thought Aaron ready to bear witness to the wrath of the Almighty, but now...

Aaron looked lost. Confused. Terrified. It wasn’t what Alex had wanted for him. Why did he not feel elated? Why was he not in awe of this divine intervention to which he’d borne witness?

“Be not afraid, Aaron.” Alex rises. He approaches the stunned man carefully, his own dark eyes made darker by the adrenaline, his heart pounding in his chest and his pain all but forgotten.

“These animals at your feet... they hunted the purest of God’s flock. They stole innocence and planted seeds of hatred.”

He can hear the sirens approaching, and he knows he has little time.

“Aaron.” No more than a whisper. He reaches out and trails his fingertips over the priest’s cheekbone, finally gaining the attention he’s been seeking. Aaron looks at him as though he is only just becoming aware of his presence, reaching up to grip his hand as he shakes his head, eyes quicly assessing the taller man’s body.

“Alexander - you’re injured.”

“And time will heal me, as it does all wounds.” He squeezes Aaron’s hand, chuckling quietly when the man seems to remember himself, pulling carefully away and taking a small step back.

“You need a hospital.”

“And you need to have faith.” Alex doesn’t regret the bite behind his words, even when Aaron flinches and looks away.

The sirens are much too close now, and Alexander has wasted too much time tending to the priest’s shaken nerves.

“Pray tonight, Aaron. When dawn arrives, so, too, shall your answer.”

He heads toward the priest’s quarters, knowing he can escape from there unseen. He doesn’t look back as he retreats, but he sends up a quick prayer of his own.

“Let him be loyal. Let him be of good faith. Stay his tongue, and stay my blade. Or, come tomorrow, I shall be anointed in blood once more.”

#prodigyofprincetoncollegex #v;; priest verse

1 note · View note

sea-and-storm · 6 years

Note

Crimson - Have you ever been in war? If so, describe how it impacted you

OOC: Decided to answer this as a drabble that I was planning on writing sometime anyway, so maybe the writing isn’t 100% spot on with what specifically the question asked. So to actually answer the question: not directly, and very very badly.

It was the morning after the annual battle over the coastlands and at the their clan's camp, the Kharlu that had not marched off to battle eagerly awaited the return of the warband.

Among those waiting were the seven wives of Batukhan Kharlu and the youngest of his progeny. Babes still at the breast slept soundly curled in their mother's arms while toddlers pulled impatiently at their skirts. Those older still watched the horizon with the adults, some with wide eyed excitement and others with the solemn understanding that the day would come when they too would leave the safety of camp to join the other warriors on the field.

At the end of the line was the newest of the khan's wives. Only around half as old as the first, Samga of Kharlu, the former Mankhadi looked closer to a daughter than the seventh wife. She was the only one among their number without a child hanging onto her, nor with swollen belly, which only served to make her seem that much more sorely out of place.

Had the circumstances been any less solemn, there would have been whispers. There was any other time Ghoa was out among the rest of the tribe for any reason. The women snickered and sneered as they whispered behind their hands. The men didn't even bother to lower their voices to make their crass comments as they cornered her alone, just so long as they were sure their khan wasn't closeby to overhear. No few of their number had spat at her feet and made clear their disdain after it had become widely known across the camp how increasingly vexed their beloved leader had become with his newest, barren, defiant bride.

While this cycle’s battle for control over the eastern coastlands had quickly come and gone, Ghoa's own war had been raging on for almost a year now, from the moment she had been taken from her people to become the property of Batukhan Kharlu.

Ghoa's silver eyes would not leave the horizon, and scarcely would she even allow herself to blink. In the distance, she could hear the low rumbling of hooves on the packed earth. It hadn't been nearly so loud as it was when they had left. Were they still far out, or had they lost many? She didn't know. This was her first experience with the grand annual battle, and her own people had never been the warring sort besides. All of it was uncharted territory to her.

"You're worried."

Her attention was finally pulled away by the voice of the woman to her right, her expression alone enough to confirm the other’s observation. Her eyebrows were knitted together, jaw tense, and lips set into a hard line. Yet the face Ghoa found staring back at her, while certainly not casual, was far less tightly wound. Togene was the fourth wife, and perhaps the only one among the Kharlu that truly seemed to hold any shred of sympathy for her situation. She had tried to be Ghoa's guide in the difficult transition, to teach her the ways of her new people and to pick her back up when she faltered. Out of the entire tribe, Togene was the only one that the former Mankhadi would truly call a friend.

"I am," Ghoa admitted in a quiet whisper, giving a meek nod.

Togene's lips pulled into their usual soft, understanding smile. Careful not to wake the young boy she held, she shifted him off to one hip and reached out with her newly freed hand to caress her cheek. Her fingers gently brushed the strands of Ghoa’s long, inky blue hair from her face then fell to find her own, wrapping around it and giving it a firm, reassurance squeeze.

"I know it is new to you, Ghoa, but there's nothing for you to fear," she cooed. "Successful or not, Batukhan always returns home to us."

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the words, and for a moment she had to drop her eyes away to keep her feelings from becoming obvious upon her face. As she had told her, Togene had eventually learned to love their husband, to find joy in the children that he had given her and in serving him and the Kharlu. From the very beginning, Togene had insisted that in time, she too would come to feel the same way if only she tried.

So how could she tell her only friend that she was not worried that he would not return, but rather that neither Nhaama nor Azim nor any other god who would listen had heard her impassioned prayers to let him fall upon the battlefield? How could she admit that what she wanted more than anything in that moment was for Batukhan, the man Togene loved and the father of her children, to have fought his last battle?

She couldn't, and so instead she only gave the woman a weak and shaky smile and squeezed her hand in turn before returning her eyes to the horizon in silence.

The hoofbeats were growing louder now and finally she could begin to make out the shapes of riders in the distance. As they drew closer, she could tell that there were indeed far, far fewer returning than those that had left. So many casualties of war.. But still her eyes desperately sought out only one man in particular while desperately hoping that she would not find him.

Ghoa had almost allowed herself to feel a flicker of hope when her eyes had finally landed on him. His armor was dented and scraped. His brown hair was matted with sweat and blood, and his face covered in dirt and grime. The lance he had taken with him to the battle was gone completely, likely lost somewhere in the fighting.

But there he was, hale and whole and seemingly little worse for wear, save for the umbral anger that so evidently simmered under the surface of his severe expression. A look that Ghoa had become all too intimately familiar with, and one she had quickly learned to fear.

The gods hadn't heard her prayers; if they had, they had chosen not to answer them. Batukhan had returned and the war she herself fought would continue on, unending. Silently, the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"See?" Togene whispered when she noticed Ghoa’s crying, clearly mistaking them for relief and joy as she reached up to wipe them away. "Our husband always comes home to us."

#Restless Seas #Ghoa Mankhad #drabble #mythrilreflections

9 notes · View notes

powerscolleen · 4 years

Text

Day Eighteen April 19th Goodness

[First time? Feel free to jump right in. Click and read "INTRO TO THE WHAT'S IN YOUR BASKET CHALLENGE" to see how it works.]

DAY EIGHTEEN April 19th: GOODNESS

OUR GOOD GOD WORKS ALL THINGS FOR OUR GOOD

You are good, and do good. Psalm 119:68a

As followers of the Lord, we say we believe that God is good. We may even have prayed, “God is great and God is good” as children. But there are periods in our lives when our words and our actions betray our unbelief in this truth. It is amazing how quickly we can forget that our good God “works all things for our good,” when circumstances unfold in ways that are hard and painful. We can begin to treat God’s goodness as merely ethereal, not something tangible and knowable. And what kind of example is that to the world around us? A world that often begins their challenge of God’s existence with, “If there is a good God, how could He let such and such happen?”

That is why I love Psalm 119:68. It is simple and straightforward. God IS good and God DOES good. Because in Him resides goodness itself, He can only do good. Because He is good, He can be trusted to keep His promises. And He promises to do good things for those who ask.

In Matthew 7:11 Jesus Himself tells us, If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him! But are we asking for His good things? Or are we not asking, because we want to define good things for ourselves? Do we trust the One Who is the essence of goodness to give us what He deems good?

If we desire to see God’s goodness, then we must ask for the things we need. And when we ask we must trust that He knows far better than we do what is for our good. How can we answer the world’s continuous objection to the existence of a good God, if we do not truly believe it ourselves? Let’s ask the Lord to open our eyes to see His goodness in dark and unlikely situations. Let’s allow the Holy Spirit to help us see the good He is doing in things we may not see as good.

PLEASE LISTEN TO THIS TO SONG: Click A Day Will Come

GOODNESS CHALLENGE:

Adults: Ask the Lord to show you areas where you may doubt His goodness. Take some time to ask Christ to reveal His goodness in unlikely things or places. Perhaps looking back on your life to trace God’s goodness that has come out of what the world would see as tragedy.

(Parents be ready for a discussion with your children about why bad things happen if God is good. You’ll be surprised how being ready to answer their questions will answer some of your own.)

Children: Do you have a hard time believing God is good because so many bad things happen in the world? Ask your parents to tell you the story of Joseph in the Bible so it will you to help you understand how God can take bad things and use them to make good things happen. Now think about how God has made something good come out of something that seemed bad in your life. Share it with your parents. Write down. Tell a friend about.

ACTIVITIES

Kids: Once you’ve completed your challenge, you can add a piece of fruit to your basket. (Parents: if you’ve chosen to have them give their fruit away then they should already have given their fruit to some one)

Adults: Do your journal entry. Write down the fruit, the verse, and the challenge. Write out your prayers to the Lord. Has God shown you good in the midst of bad that you didn’t see before? Write about it and share it with someone.

Just a little reminder that God is Good. Click God is Good

Optional Planter Box: Water your “goodness” seed. How many sprouts do you have now?

Feel free to post any comments, pictures or suggestions on my blog fan page

https://www.facebook.com/OurEyesAreOnYoublog/

0 notes

naturalhealthgodsway · 4 years

Text

What Does Good Friday Have to Do With De-Cluttering?!

#GoodFriday everyone! Yesterday for #Thrive Thursday, I shared some behaviours and thought patterns that have led many to experience clutter around their homes. Everything begins with the mind. From "keeping up with the Jones's" to "shopping therapy" to materialistic teachings in the Prosperity Gospel in various churches, consumerist culture is promoted as something 1st world citizens both need and deserve. Advertising has built an entitlement culture that even extends to how we provide for our children. Television ads, radio ads, Internet ads, video ads, newspaper ads, magazine ads, signs in stores and flyers in the mailbox all want us to believe that our kids will grow up missing out if they don't get this or that, wear this or that, eat this or that, wash with this or that, and play with this or that. The pressure this puts on a single mother is incredible! How do we shut out these money-grabbing voices and dim their impact on our God-given ability to provide for our families?

We start where they start, the mind and heart. For #Focus Friday, I want us to take a moment to consider what Christ's death on the Cross did 2000 years ago. If you've been in the Christian faith for more than a year, you'll know that Christ died for your sins. That He took your sins and mine on Himself this day 2000 years ago, and that we can be forgiven those sins if we accept His gift of salvation. But what happens when we accept that gift? What happens when we truly, deeply, with heart soul mind and body, accept Christ's gift of Salvation? Scripture says we become new creatures. God gives us a new heart. He washes away our sin and gives us a heart that seeks after the ways of God. He sends The Holy Spirit into our hearts to guide us in this new path of righteousness. Sinful ways become distasteful to us. . . or they should. . .

You see, the middle letter in the word sin is spoken of time and time again in the Scriptures as something we need to repeatedly put to death. It is that pronoun identifier, "I, me, myself". Scripture tells us that the sin of pride led Lucipher to fall from heaven, taking a third of the angels with him. He lifted up himself against God and this caused war in the heavens. Nothing and no one can be lifted up against God, but when Eve fell for satan's deception, sin entered the human race and we are born being selfish and demanding. Some of us begin this behaviour in the womb as your unborn child demands you eat this or that and don't eat this or that, choosing to play when you are trying to sleep, insisting on kicking a kidney when you would rather they didn't. When baby is born, they learn very quickly that when they cry, Mommy comes running. Mommy is trying to learn what various cries mean from hunger to diaper soiling to over-tired to lonely, etc. If Mommy can't handle crying, baby learns all they have to do to get attention is cry and Mommy will be wrapped around their tiny baby finger. I remember these lessons from my own two babies years ago. I had to teach them that Mommy wasn't always going to come running when they called if they were fed, changed, had a good nap, were otherwise comfortable, etc. As babies, we need to learn that having time to play alone is necessary for our growth. This grows with us into toddlerhood and on into our school years. Look around you at the Mothers who were taught by the media that if they didn't provide every stimulous in the book, their kid would somehow be stunted in their growth. They are run off their feet! They are exhausted! Their kids grow into tweenagers and get demanding, now paying attention to all the media I mentioned early on, and expecting money to go buy what they too are being told they will be shunned without. The media engine has produced several generations of entitlement now, and it all points back to "me, myself and I". So step one in dealing with this problem is accepting Christ's gift of salvation and realizing the new man has no need of selfish junk. Not the kind of junk all over the lunch counter, nor the kind of junk that pours into the mind and heart from media intake.

Step two in dealing with this problem is realizing that now through the Holy Spirit, you have the means to proactively turn off the voices teaching you selfish ways to live and spend your money. We're getting personal now, but this is your home and family we're talking about here. Eternal decisions are made in temporal time. The saying is true that you can sell your soul to the devil, in so many different ways. Becoming enslaved to consumerist culture is one of the biggest ways the enemy traps 1st world Christians. What we need, versus what media claims we need are so widely spread apart as to be the distance from New York to Jerusalem. It can be quite a shock to discover what is absolutely necessary for you and your household and what can fit into the wants and nice-to-have list. Your wants and nice-to-have lists are precisely where the enemy wants to trip you up and get you thinking God has not provided for you. God has told us in His Word that He will meet our every need if we put Him first. God does not say He will give us our every want. Click To TweetInstead, He says He will give good things to those who ask Him. However, He is not a genie in the sky. Just as your child can ask you for things that you won't give him because it is not healthy for him or perhaps not safe, so God too will say no when what we ask for will not be to our benefit. Your own child will think you are being mean sometimes when you say no. As adults, many authors and speakers have written books, held workshops and spoken at conferences on how to make God say "Yes!" to your prayers! We can't handle God saying no and most of us don't believe that "no" is for our benefit at all. We may pass around memes that remind each other that God has three answers, "yes, no and wait", but in reality, many of us are reading these how-to books trying to get the right set of steps in order to make God say "yes". Rather than trying to force God to say "yes" to our demands that we've disguised as requests, we need to learn to accept His answers for what they are and trust that He truly does know what's best for us. To help us discern God's voice from the enemy's, we need to turn off the avenues the enemy can speak through and turn up the avenues God uses to speak to us. This means turning off or in my case, getting rid of the TV. Cancel the magazine subscription orders. Put an ad blocker on the browser, change to a Christian radio station, and ignore advertising when out and about. In exchange, we need to allow God time to become an active member of our home. Show God the grocery list. Show God the needs list, and together with our kids, ask God for the means to get what we need. Step three is obeying how God answers us. When He provides funds for our needs, we need to school ourselves to only spend those funds on our needs and nothing else. God doesn't mind splurges on occasion. You will begin to notice that He splurges on His children every so often Himself. The problem arises when you asked for a need, He granted the means to meet that need, and you spent it on something you or the kids wanted instead. As Christians, we need to be crucifying the flesh on a regular basis. Sinful flesh rears its head very easily and doesn't need all those other inputs to get you to sin in granting it pleasure. All you have to do is listen to the flesh more than to God and the deed is done. God says we show Him we love Him when we obey His commands. This can be a tricky thing when we realize one of those commands is to love one another. This too has been warped by the enemy in modern culture. Those whose love language is gift giving will find this a particularly sinister stumbling block. Is it wrong to buy nice things for those you love? On the surface of it, no. But if those nice things are just adding to the junk that person has to haul around, you're doing them more harm than good. Click To Tweet Christ's death on the Cross put to death the sin nature that drives us to placate our selfish longings and desires. But we must walk out our salvation in everyday life according to how God asks His children to live now that they are called His Children. For those who got saved later in life, this is more of a challenge than for those who got saved early in life. But no matter who we are, we will ALL be faced with this challenge at some point and not just once. But understanding that the accumulation of clutter stems many times from placating the sinful nature rather than attending to needs and saving up for emergencies (even understanding what true emergencies really are), is necessary to not merely cleaning up the clutter, but preventing it in the future. Read the full article

#accumulationofclutter #de-clutter #goodfriday #goodgifts #needsvswants #obedience #salvation #sinfulnature

0 notes

dfroza · 4 years

Text

the treasure of the heart is the Spirit

who does enable to speak in “mysteries” through prayer, in an unknown language. it is a gift, and it simply requires faith to trust in its significance. the faith of a child, in innocence.

A point seen in Today’s reading of the Letter of First Corinthians from chapter 14 in The Message:

It’s all right to have a childlike unfamiliarity with evil; a simple no is all that’s needed there. But there’s far more to saying yes to something. Only mature and well-exercised intelligence can save you from falling into gullibility.

(verse 20)

and with Today being Sunday the 23rd of the month it reminds me of Sunday the 23rd of August back in ‘92 (now 27 years and 6 months ago) when i made the decision to be baptized in water according to what my heart believes, as well as welcoming the entrance of the Spirit by inviting Him in.

to be made (inside, Anew)

the complete chapter in The Passion Translation about the nature of the Spirit’s prayer language:

It is good that you are enthusiastic and passionate about spiritual gifts, especially prophecy. When someone speaks in tongues, no one understands a word he says, because he’s not speaking to people, but to God—he is speaking intimate mysteries in the Spirit. But when someone prophesies, he speaks to encourage people, to build them up, and to bring them comfort. The one who speaks in tongues advances his own spiritual progress, while the one who prophesies builds up the church. I would be delighted if you all spoke in tongues, but I desire even more that you impart prophetic revelation to others. Greater gain comes through the one who prophesies than the one who speaks in tongues, unless there is interpretation so that it builds up the entire church.

My dear friends, what good is it if I come to you always speaking in tongues? But if I come with a clear revelation from God, or with insight, or with a prophecy, or with a clear teaching, I can enrich you. Similarly, if musical instruments, such as flutes or stringed instruments, are out of tune and don’t play the arrangement clearly, how will anyone recognize the melody? If the bugle makes a garbled sound, who will recognize the signal to show up for the battle? So it is with you. Unless you speak in a language that’s easily understood, how will anyone know what you’re talking about? You might as well save your breath!

I suppose that the world has all sorts of languages, and each conveys meaning to the ones who speak it. But I am like a foreigner if I don’t understand the language, and the speaker will be like a foreigner to me. And that’s what’s happening among you. You are so passionate about embracing the manifestations of the Holy Spirit! Now become even more passionate about the things that strengthen the entire church.

So then, if you speak in a tongue, pray for the interpretation to be able to unfold the meaning of what you are saying. For if I am praying in a tongue, my spirit is engaged in prayer but I have no clear understanding of what is being said.

So here’s what I’ve concluded. I will pray in the Spirit, but I will also pray with my mind engaged. I will sing rapturous praises in the Spirit, but I will also sing with my mind engaged. Otherwise, if you are praising God in your spirit, how could someone without the gift participate by adding his “amen” to your giving of thanks, since he doesn’t have a clue of what you’re saying? Your praise to God is admirable, but it does nothing to strengthen and build up others.

I give thanks to God that I speak in tongues more than all of you, but in the church setting I would rather speak five words that can be understood than ten thousand exotic words in a tongue. That way I could have a role in teaching others.

[The Function of the Gifts]

Beloved ones, don’t remain as immature children in your reasoning. As it relates to evil, be like newborns, but in your thinking be mature adults.

For it stands written in the law:

I will bring my message to this people with strange tongues and foreign lips, yet even then they still will not listen to me, says the Lord.

So then, tongues are not a sign for believers, but a miracle for unbelievers. Prophecy, on the other hand, is not for unbelievers, but a miracle sign for believers.

If the entire church comes together and everyone is speaking in tongues, won’t the visitors say that you have lost your minds? But if everyone is prophesying, and an unbeliever or one without the gift enters your meeting, he will be convicted by all that he hears and will be called to account, for the intimate secrets of his heart will be brought to light. He will be mystified and fall facedown in worship and say, “God is truly among you!”

[Guidelines for Use of the Gifts]

Beloved friends, what does all this imply? When you conduct your meetings, you should always let everything be done to build up the church family. Whether you share a song of praise, a teaching, a divine revelation, or a tongue and interpretation, let each one contribute what strengthens others.

If someone speaks in a tongue, it should be two or three, one after another, with someone interpreting. If there’s no one with the interpretation, then he should remain silent in the meeting, content to speak to himself and to God.

And the same with prophecy. Let two or three prophets prophesy and let the other prophets carefully evaluate and discern what is being said. But if someone receives a revelation while someone else is still speaking, the one speaking should conclude and allow the one with fresh revelation the opportunity to share it. For you can all prophesy in turn and in an environment where all present can be instructed, encouraged, and strengthened. Keep in mind that the anointing to prophesy doesn’t mean that the speaker is out of control—he can wait his turn. For God is the God of harmony, not confusion, as is the pattern in all the churches of God’s holy believers.

The women should be respectfully silent during the evaluation of prophecy in the meetings. They are not allowed to interrupt, but are to be in a support role, as in fact the law teaches. If they want to inquire about something, let them ask their husbands when they get home, for a woman embarrasses herself when she constantly interrupts the church meeting.

Do you actually think that you were the starting point for the Word of God going forth? Were you the only ones it was sent to? I don’t think so! If anyone considers himself to be a prophet or a spiritual person, let him discern that what I’m writing to you carries the Lord’s authority. And if anyone continues not to recognize this, he should not be recognized!

So, beloved friends, with all this in mind, be passionate to prophesy and don’t forbid anyone from speaking in tongues, doing all things in a beautiful and orderly way.

The Letter of First Corinthians, Chapter 14 (The Passion Translation)

and in the paired chapter of Genesis 27 we read of the contentious History of twin brothers Jacob and Esau:

When Isaac had become an old man and was nearly blind, he called his eldest son, Esau, and said, “My son.”

“Yes, Father?”

“I’m an old man,” he said; “I might die any day now. Do me a favor: Get your quiver of arrows and your bow and go out in the country and hunt me some game. Then fix me a hearty meal, the kind that you know I like, and bring it to me to eat so that I can give you my personal blessing before I die.”

Rebekah was eavesdropping as Isaac spoke to his son Esau. As soon as Esau had gone off to the country to hunt game for his father, Rebekah spoke to her son Jacob. “I just overheard your father talking with your brother, Esau. He said, ‘Bring me some game and fix me a hearty meal so that I can eat and bless you with God’s blessing before I die.’

“Now, my son, listen to me. Do what I tell you. Go to the flock and get me two young goats. Pick the best; I’ll prepare them into a hearty meal, the kind that your father loves. Then you’ll take it to your father, he’ll eat and bless you before he dies.”

“But Mother,” Jacob said, “my brother Esau is a hairy man and I have smooth skin. What happens if my father touches me? He’ll think I’m playing games with him. I’ll bring down a curse on myself instead of a blessing.”

“If it comes to that,” said his mother, “I’ll take the curse on myself. Now, just do what I say. Go and get the goats.”

So he went and got them and brought them to his mother and she cooked a hearty meal, the kind his father loved so much.

Rebekah took the dress-up clothes of her older son Esau and put them on her younger son Jacob. She took the goatskins and covered his hands and the smooth nape of his neck. Then she placed the hearty meal she had fixed and fresh bread she’d baked into the hands of her son Jacob.

He went to his father and said, “My father!”

“Yes?” he said. “Which son are you?”

Jacob answered his father, “I’m your firstborn son Esau. I did what you told me. Come now; sit up and eat of my game so you can give me your personal blessing.”

Isaac said, “So soon? How did you get it so quickly?”

“Because your God cleared the way for me.”

Isaac said, “Come close, son; let me touch you—are you really my son Esau?”

So Jacob moved close to his father Isaac. Isaac felt him and said, “The voice is Jacob’s voice but the hands are the hands of Esau.” He didn’t recognize him because his hands were hairy, like his brother Esau’s.

But as he was about to bless him he pressed him, “You’re sure? You are my son Esau?”

“Yes. I am.”

Isaac said, “Bring the food so I can eat of my son’s game and give you my personal blessing.” Jacob brought it to him and he ate. He also brought him wine and he drank.

Then Isaac said, “Come close, son, and kiss me.”

He came close and kissed him and Isaac smelled the smell of his clothes. Finally, he blessed him,

Ahhh. The smell of my son

is like the smell of the open country

blessed by God.

May God give you

of Heaven’s dew

and Earth’s bounty of grain and wine.

May peoples serve you

and nations honor you.

You will master your brothers,

and your mother’s sons will honor you.

Those who curse you will be cursed,

those who bless you will be blessed.

And then right after Isaac had blessed Jacob and Jacob had left, Esau showed up from the hunt. He also had prepared a hearty meal. He came to his father and said, “Let my father get up and eat of his son’s game, that he may give me his personal blessing.”

His father Isaac said, “And who are you?”

“I am your son, your firstborn, Esau.”

Isaac started to tremble, shaking violently. He said, “Then who hunted game and brought it to me? I finished the meal just now, before you walked in. And I blessed him—he’s blessed for good!”

Esau, hearing his father’s words, sobbed violently and most bitterly, and cried to his father, “My father! Can’t you also bless me?”

“Your brother,” he said, “came here falsely and took your blessing.”

Esau said, “Not for nothing was he named Jacob, the Heel. Twice now he’s tricked me: first he took my birthright and now he’s taken my blessing.”

He begged, “Haven’t you kept back any blessing for me?”

Isaac answered Esau, “I’ve made him your master, and all his brothers his servants, and lavished grain and wine on him. I’ve given it all away. What’s left for you, my son?”

“But don’t you have just one blessing for me, Father? Oh, bless me my father! Bless me!” Esau sobbed inconsolably.

Isaac said to him,

You’ll live far from Earth’s bounty,

remote from Heaven’s dew.

You’ll live by your sword, hand-to-mouth,

and you’ll serve your brother.

But when you can’t take it any more

you’ll break loose and run free.

Esau seethed in anger against Jacob because of the blessing his father had given him; he brooded, “The time for mourning my father’s death is close. And then I’ll kill my brother Jacob.”

When these words of her older son Esau were reported to Rebekah, she called her younger son Jacob and said, “Your brother Esau is plotting vengeance against you. He’s going to kill you. Son, listen to me. Get out of here. Run for your life to Haran, to my brother Laban. Live with him for a while until your brother cools down, until his anger subsides and he forgets what you did to him. I’ll then send for you and bring you back. Why should I lose both of you the same day?”

Rebekah spoke to Isaac, “I’m sick to death of these Hittite women. If Jacob also marries a native Hittite woman, why live?”

The Book of Genesis, Chapter 27 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, february 23 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

0 notes

pengychan · 7 years

Text

Te Rerenga Wairua - Ch. 18

Title: Te Rerenga Wairua Summary: Found by the gods drifting at sea, Maui always assumed he had been thrown in it to drown. When that assumption is challenged, there is only one way to find closure: speaking to his long-departed family. But it’s never a smooth sail to the Underworld, and he’ll need help from a friend - plus a token that fell in the claws of an old enemy long ago. Characters: Maui, Moana, Tamatoa Rating: K Prologue and links to all chapters up so far here.

A/N: Well, this chapter got long. But I couldn’t find a good place to split it, so here’s the whole thing - I guess it makes up for the epilogue, since it will be rather short!

***

Taranga had known something was wrong from the very start, when the pain had struck - sudden, agonizing, and all too soon.

She’d brought five children into the world already, four sons and a daughter, and she had come to known the pain of the delivery all too well. But her children had been healthy, all of them born at the ninth month. This time, the pain had come at the beginning of the seventh. It was far too early; from the instant the midwife had come into her home, after her children were ushered outside to play before they could realize anything was wrong, her grim expression had told her as much.

“My baby,” she’d managed to plead, but the woman had shaken her head.

“You have five little ones already, and you can have others. It is you I need to save,” she had said, and save her she did. The pain had ended, but she’d hardly taken notice. All she could do was staring a at the unmoving child, listen to the deafening silence that was never broken by a single wail. The midwife had tried to revive him, but of course it had been for naught. You cannot revive a stillborn. Only the gods can, and the gods were not answering to her prayers.

“Don’t take him away,” was all Taranga said after a long time, causing the woman to pause.

“He should be buried, dear.”

“I’ll do it by my own hand. I need some time with him. Please.”

She nodded, and placed down the child. She’d cleaned him, wrapped in a blanket. It had been the baby blanket of all of Taranga’s children, from Mua down to Roto, and now it was a shroud. The thought should have pained her, but instead it left her cold, as though she was someplace beyond pain. Even physically, she hardly felt any; nothing compared to previous childbirths, because the baby she’d delivered was so much tinier.

“I’ll have someone look after your children for a while longer. Do you wish us to tell them…?”

“Please,” Taranga said, closing her eyes. She didn’t think she would be able to hold it together if she had to tell the children that the baby brother - or sister, Hina always said pointedly to her brothers’ amusement - they’d all be waiting for had arrived too early, and was now gone before his time even started. Taha would probably try to keep a stiff upper lip, the little warrior, but Pae would certainly burst crying, and before long they all would be sobbing. She couldn’t bear to listen to their crying now: it would only remind her of the wails she should have heard that day, and never would.

I’ll have to tell Ira-Whaki, when he returns.

Thinking of her husband was even worse. Big, strong and a boy at heart, he’d been even more delighted than any of his children to know he was to be a father again. He’d laughed, gifted her a golden hairpin he’d fashioned with his own hands, and left for a voyage with a smile as wide as the horizon, promising he would be back on time to welcome his newest child into the world.

But that child had arrived too early, and his father would return too late.

We didn’t even get to give him a name.

Somehow, it was that thought that got her to finally sit up, and take the still body of her child in her arms. For a moment she stared down at him, hoping against hope to see him moving, to hear him sucking in a breath and wail, but of course none of it happened. Her youngest son never breathed, and he would never have a name. There would be no point to it now; what good is a name if no one ever calls you by it?

Voices outside her home snapped her from her thoughts, causing her to look up. She could hear the voices of children and, higher than them all, Hina’s protests that she hadn’t lost her bracelet of glass beads at the beach, that someone must have stolen it. She was still unaware that she had lost more than a bracelet that day, but soon she and her brothers would be told, and Taranga didn’t want to be there when it happened: she wouldn’t be able to give them any comfort. Not before she got a chance to mourn, not before her child was buried at sea as it was custom, so that his soul could find its way to the Underworld. Then, perhaps, she could be there for her living children without shattering.

So Taranga stood, kissed her stillborn son once, and went alone to do what had to be done. It would be only much later, while running a hand through what remained of her hair, that she’d realize she had forgotten the golden hairpin her husband had gifted her in the sand. She found she couldn’t bring herself to care; it was but a reminder of the child she had lost, and she had no use for it.

For the rest of her life - which would be long and overall happy, with five children to watch grow into adulthood and more grandchildren than she could look after on her own - she’d keep her hair shorn. And, for much of her existence after death, she would look for her lost boy across the Underworld.

She never found him, but never truly stopped trying.

***

“Look at the claws! Hey, can you uproot trees with these?”

“What kind of question is that? Sure I can. Several at once.”

“This is sooo cool!”

“Of course it is. Everything about me is– hey! Keep your hands out of my eye, will you? And quit yanking my antennae! Have human kids always been this nosy?”

“Is this real gold?”

“When did you climb– well, of course it is! No cheap knockoffs on my shell. Wait, are you trying to bite it? What’s wrong with you, kid?”

“Just checking it’s real gold!”

“I told you it is. Keep your teeth off my stuff!”

“Oh! Oh! I have a question! Why are you so big?”

“I eat a lot.”

“A lot of what?”

“Curious human kids with curly hair and a missing front tooth.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Me neither!”

“You’re totally bluffing!”

“Moana said you wouldn’t raise a pincer on us!”

“Oh, did she? Great. There goes my reputation.”

“What reputation? I never heard of you before. Only of Maui.”

“… Don’t push your luck, kid. There’s a lot of stuff you never heard– what have you got there?”

“A pearl! I found it this morning! Do you want it?”

“What?”

“Moana said you like these things.”

“… What’s the catch?”

“Huh?”

“What, you’re just giving it out for free like– oh! Oh. That’s a present, right? Of course it is. Who wouldn’t want to give me presents?”

“Do you like it?”

“Well, it’s not a bad find for a beginner. Give it here.”

“Can put it up on your shell?”

“If you insist–”

“Hey! You’re missing a leg! Why are you missing a leg?”

“A megalodon ate it.”

“Cool!”

“I didn’t think it was cool at a–”

“How did that go?”

“How big is a megalodon?”

“Is it bigger than a wale?”

“Is it bigger than you?”

“Is it bigger or smaller than–”

The rest of the sentence was covered by Maui’s chuckle. “Well, who’d have guessed? They hit it off right away,” he muttered before taking another bite out of the coconut. He seemed to have absolutely no trouble chewing the entire thing, shell and all, which had fascinated all the children in the village the first time they’d met - but now their attention was entirely taken by the talking, giant crab monster currently sprawled on the sand. Maui didn’t seem to mind at all, and was observing the scene from some distance away. “Then again, he’s got their undivided attention. Of course he loves that.”

Moana supposed that the introduction had gone as well as they could have possibly hoped. A couple of people had dropped unconscious when he’d first come out of the water, but that had been about it. Her people had trusted her word enough not to panic and Tamatoa, to be fair, had done his best to look as nonthreatening as possible by immediately resting down on the sand. He still towered over everyone, obviously enough, but she supposed it was the thought that counted.

The kids were not supposed to be part of the picture at all, and their parents had all told them to stay behind in the village, but of course that had stopped precisely none of them. That had caused some concern from the adults when they’d suddenly appeared to check out the novelty - more than a few were still eyeing Tamatoa’s claws worriedly - but, overall, they seemed to be coming to terms with his presence quickly enough. Not quite as quickly as their children, but still pretty fast all things considered.

“It went pretty well,” Moana conceded, with no small amount of relief.

Beside her, her mother frowned slightly. “What does he eat?” she asked, causing Maui to shrug.

“Fish, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Oh, and a bit of this and a bit of that. He’s kind of a scavenger, not really picky. No need to worry about that - he’s pretty good at catching his own food.”

Tui gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. We usually offer food to any guests, but… well,” he said, gesturing towards Tamatoa. “He probably eats more than all of us.”

Moana shrugged. “Don’t worry about that. If you want to get him anything, just pick something shiny. You can’t go wrong with–”

“All right, all right, just be quiet a moment!” Tamatoa’s voice cut her off. “If you shut up I’ll tell you just what happened - in song form!”

Oh. Oh no.

“Nope. I’m not listening to this one,” Maui declared, and stood, reaching for his hook. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been great to see you all again, but Moana and I have some sudden, urgent business on the other side of the island. Be back later. Enjoy the show for us, okay? And even if you don’t, for Tagaloa’s sake, tell him you loved it.”

“Wha–” Moana’s father began, but he had no time to say anything more before Maui shifted into his hawk form, grabbed Moana, and flew off quick as lighting.

As much as she disliked flying, Moana had absolutely no complaints this time.

***

“Do you think it’s safe to go back? He can’t be still singing, can he?”

“He could very well be, and you know it. By the way, are you ever gonna stop following us?”

Stretched out in the low waters, the setting sun making his scales look an even deeper red than usual, Pilifeai shrugged. “Well, I don’t have much else to do. Lalotai gets rather dull after a thousand years or two.”

“So what, you just decided you’re going to hang around? Last time you decided to bother humans–”

With a sigh, the giant lizard rolled on his back. He seemed to be enjoying the last rays of sun immensely. “Yes, yes. They had their ancestors chase me all the way back to Lalotai because I apparently wasn’t such a great neighbour.”

Maui raised an eyebrow. “Apparently?” he repeated. “You ate all of the fish and refused to scram when asked to.”

“Oh, was I asked to leave now? And here I thought they tried to skewer me with pathetic little spears. And it’s not like the fish in the sea belonged to them,” Pilifeai pointed out, but sighed at Maui’s glare. “I know, I know. I won’t cause problems this time around. I’m not looking forward to get my tail kicked by the dead again. Or a demigod with a horrible temper, or a human who happens to be able to shrink me at will, or a giant idiot crab who apparently decided the tiny humans are his pets from now on.”

Moana let out a small laugh, finally sitting up on the sand. “It looks more like they decided he’s their giant pet from now on.”

“To anybody but the idiot crab, yes. Let him keep the delusion.”

“Fair enough,” Maui said, only to frown when a cloud suddenly passed in front of the setting sun. It was beautiful to see - the cloud itself looked like it was aflame, the shades of orange starting to give in to the growing darkness of the evening - but it was a reminder than they’d been there for several hours. He sighed, and stood. “Well, maybe it’s time to get back. He’ll have probably stopped singing by now. Should we take the risk?”

Moana nodded and opened her mouth to agree, but words died in her throat the moment the her gaze fell on the sea. Without the rays of the sun making its surface shimmer, the ocean looked darker - and thus it was easy to spot something moving towards the shore, something that shone of an otherworldly light, leaving a trail in its wake. Moana knew what it was, because she’d seen it before, and she knew why it was there.

“Moana? Hello? I said, should we take the ri–” Maui began, only to trail off with a yelp when Moana wordlessly grabbed him by the ear and made him turn towards the ocean. “Ow! What was that abo–” he began, but then he turned his gaze to the sea, and his voice faded into silence. “Ah,” he finally said, and Moana let go of him. He stood straight, rubbing his ear and saying nothing more: he just watched along with her as the shimmering form reached the shore, until something that looked like fine mist rose from the waves and then took on a different shape - until a woman stood on the sand some distance away, like Gramma Tala had once stood on Moana’s boat. She turned to look at them, her expression impossible to see from that far away, and Maui’s fishhook fell from his slackened grip.

“Well,” Moana said, her voice very quiet, “I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

Maui didn’t reply, but she hadn’t really expected him to. She just watched him begin to walk up to the woman - very slowly, so much unlike his usual strides - and then turned to Pilifeai, who was squinting at the woman as though trying his best to see her face.

“I hope you’re not even thinking of eavesdropping this one.”

“Well, after coming this far–”

“Iti haere.”

“Wha– Oh, you are a pain, you know?” Pilifeai grumbled. Moana shrugged, picking him up and settling him down on her shoulder.

“You’re staying like this tonight,” she informed, turning away and starting what was going to be a fairly long walk back to the fledgling village. If Maui’s mother had come now it was likely Tamatoa’s would as well soon, and she wasn’t going to let Pilifeai intrude into that one, either. “Behave and I might turn you back your full size in the morning.”

“You know I can swim like this too, right? What keeps me from going the moment you turn–”

“And risk becoming some big fish’s dinner? Or a bird’s? I am pretty sure I have seen hawks around here,” Moana pointed out, causing Pilifeai to fall silent for a few moments as he tried to think of a retort. He clearly couldn’t think of anything, and he finally sighed.

“I loathe you.”

“No, you don’t. Just stick with me tonight, and you’ll be safe.”

“How about I bite off one of your ears?”

“Go ahead. I heard that roasted lizard is delicious.”

Pilifeai sighed, and settled down across her shoulders. “Ah well. It was worth a try,” he muttered. Moana chuckled and, before going around a bend, she turned to give just one glance back.

“Aww, look at that. They’re hugging,” Pilifeai said, and Moana smiled. There was lump in her throat and her vision was getting a bit blurry, but it didn’t feel bad at all.

“Well. That started out pretty well,” she said, and had to reach out to wipe her eyes before she turned back and resumed walking. “That hug was a long time coming.”

Pilifeai sniffled.

“… Sand in your eyes?” Moana guessed, but she had to wipe her own eyes again even as she grinned, causing the lizard to snort out a laugh.

“And in yours as well. I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

***

Maui had prepared a short speech for that moment.

Well, maybe not quite a speech, but he’d definitely been thinking up scenarios, and had had a few words in mind to tell his mother, when they were finally face to face. He had rehearsed them in his mind, over and over.

Except that now he didn’t remember a single word. It was hard to remember much of anything with his brain seemingly frozen, unable to process anything but the woman only a few steps from him. To be completely fair, he wasn’t the only one: she was doing exactly the same, just staring at him with wide eyes and not saying a single word. There was a light breeze, but it didn’t seem to touch her, her translucent clothes not moving with it. Somewhere by them the ocean waves still rolled, but they sounded so far away.

Without thinking, Maui brought a hand up to his hair and took the hairpin. He held it out on his palm, so that she could see it - it is me, you see, it’s really me - and her gaze paused on it for a few moments before looking back up at his face. Her eyes moved across his features, as though she was trying to find anything she’d recognize, but how could she? Last time she’d seen him, he’d been a baby… and not entirely formed to boot.

I don’t look like her.

The thought stung, just a little. There really was no resemblance he could see, aside from maybe something about the eye shape. She was taller than most women he’d met, but her frame was so slim it was hard to believe she’d carried him at any point in life, baby or not, and her features were a lot less marked than his own. Maui’s eyes moved from her face to her hair, which was short, uncannily so. Had they never grown back after she cut it to mourn him? No, that was ridiculous, growing was what hair did. Had she kept it short by choice? Had it been because of him, for him? Had she–

“This is where I came to lay you to rest.”

Her voice was quiet, as though coming from a mile away. Maui recoiled, and realized only then that she had turned her gaze to the rolling waves. She stared at them for a few more moments, as though seeing something he could not, and Maui finally found his voice.

“… It is?” he asked, looking around as though hoping to see a village that must have stood near that spot, a long time ago. It was odd to think that, some five thousand years earlier, his motionless body had been brought on those shores to be left to the sea, with Tamatoa watching on, still small enough to go unnoticed. Had he not stolen the hairpin that day, had Maui never met him, he would have never known the truth… and neither would his mother.

“Yes. Or at least, I thought I was laying you to rest. I thought I would never see you again. And then, when the end of my life neared, I thought I finally would. But you weren’t there,” she spoke again, a shaky quality to her voice that made Maui turn back to her. There were tears in her eyes, translucent as the rest of her was, but she was beginning to smile. “But here you are again. Here of all places. All grown up, a demigod, and… oh gods, you look so much like your father!”

Looking back, the statement shouldn’t have surprised him that much; most kids resemble at least one of their parents. But it was unexpected enough for Maui to be taken aback, and so was what she did next - she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck.

“I looked for you for so long,” she choked out, and Maui held her back without thinking. It didn’t feel like holding onto someone of flesh and blood, but she wasn’t incorporeal either, and it was a lot more than what he’d thought he could have. For most of his life, he’d tried his best to keep himself from even wondering what a mother’s embrace would feel like.

“I’m sorry,” Maui heard himself saying. His own voice sounded alien to him, hoarse, and there was no blaming sand in his eyes for that. “I didn’t know– I just assumed you had… since I was left at sea…”

Taranga’s arms tightened their grip, her face resting against his shoulder. “Never, I could have never. We were so eager to welcome you. You were so wanted.”

Something in Maui’s chest, a weight that had always been there - no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, no matter the lessons learned and the knowledge that he was worthy, whether or not those who had brought him into the world could see it - melted away, the familiar ache turning into something else he couldn’t quite define. How do you even begin to call the absence of an ache that used to be such a fundamental part of you, the very core of everything he’d ever tried to be? Maui didn’t know. And at the moment, he found that he really didn’t care.

You were so wanted.

“I know it now,” he found himself saying. “A crab told me. The one who stole your hairpin.”

The sound that left her could have been a sob, or a laugh, or both. She finally pulled back - it took Maui some effort to force himself to let go - and reached to take his face in her hands. “You’ll have to tell me all that happened, because the Manaia’s explanation was quite confusing,” she said, and smiled again, thumbs brushing over Maui’s cheeks. He leaned into the touch without thinking. “Along with everything else you’ve been up to. I’d heard of you, can you believed it?” she added, and laughed. It sounded much deeper than he’d have expected from someone so slim. “So many people coming to the Underworld talking about this great hero, this Maui, and it was you. My little littlest boy, not so little anymore.”

Maui gave a somewhat sheepish grin. “Well, hope you have some spare time, because there is a lot to tell. Some of the stuff I did wasn’t… well, I didn’t really think it all the way through. But overall– wait,” he cut himself off, blinking down at her, the moment what he’d just heard sank in. “Your littlest boy? Do I have siblings?”

Taranga smiled up at him again. No, wait, that wasn’t a smile at all - that was a grin. Suddenly, Maui could see some resemblance all right. “You have five.”

“Five?”

The grin became somewhat sheepish. “Mua, Taha, Pae, Roto and Hina. I asked them to stay behind, because I figured that… well, seeing us all at once might be overwhelming.”

Maui, who’d already started to grin himself, felt a pang of disappointment at the words. “Ah,” said. “I… would like to meet them too, sometime. Maybe next time–”

“Well, that’s good to know,” his mother cut him off, turning to glance at the sea with a raised eyebrow. “Because as usual, they didn’t listen to me at all.”

“… Huh?”

Maui followed her gaze. The sun was almost entirely gone now, the sky beginning to darken, and he could see something approaching fast - five of them, really. They could have passed off as normal sharks, if not for the otherworldly glow around each of them and the translucent trails they left behind. They were coming straight at them - it seemed to Maui that a couple of them were making a point of cutting in in front of the others - and it only took moments before one of them reached land, its form shifting and a man’s voice shouting in victory.

“First! As usual. Is it me or you guys are getting slower with each passing century? It felt like racing with old ladies.”

“You cheated, you lump of stupid!”

“Ho-oh, the old lady is a sore loser!”

“You kept cutting us off!”

“Like you didn’t, Pae. And you still came, what, fourth? Ah well. At least you weren’t dead last. Hey, Roto. Took you a while. Did you get lost on the way?”

“Taha, are we really going to start this aga–”

“All right, get out of the way, all of you. I’ve had to look at your mugs for thousands of years. I’ve got a new brother to get sick and tired of, if you don’t min–”

“I was under the impression I’d asked the lot of you not to come,” Tarange spoke out, and there was an edge to her voice that very nearly caused Maui to cringe. There was something downright scary there, and he found himself thinking he wasn’t really looking forward to ever being on the receiving end of it.

Those who were on the receiving end - four men, all of them almost as broad as himself, and a woman who was taller than at least two of them - immediately fell silent and turned to them, moving as one like trained dolphins.

“Well–”

“We were about to stay behind, but then Mua said–”

“Hey! Don’t go blaming me! We were all in this!”

There was a groan, and the woman - Hina, was that how his sister was called? - rolled her eyes. “Really?” she muttered, and took a step forward. “You can’t have expected us to really stay behind, Ma. Not for one moment. We’ve sort of been waiting to meet this baby brother for some five thousand of years,” she pointed out, and looked straight at Maui for the first time. The others were staring at him too, now, and while Maui was used to undivided attention, it was enough to make him uncomfortable now. So he reacted to it in the only way he knew: with cockyness.

“Well, was I worth the wait?” he asked, spreading his arms with a grin - never mind how much of him sort of dreaded a negative answer. He inwardly hoped that they wouldn’t notice Mini Maui sobbing away on his chest, with Mini Moana patting his back, and that they’d rather focus on the epic feats depicted on his skin. However, Hina seemed to notice none of it. She stared at him in the eye and raised an eyebrow, but a smile was already tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I’d been hoping for a baby sister, really. But a shape shifter, demigod of wind and the sea, hero of Men and whatnot?” Her face split in a grin. “I’d say that’s the next best thing.”

Later, Maui wouldn’t be sure which one of them had reached for him first; there was a blur of motion and a moment later he’d found himself on the sand, all breath knocked out of him, tackled by what felt like five dozen people instead of just five amongst gales of laughter.

“Oof!”

“Look at this! We looked for you across the Underworld, and you were up here all along!”

“Pulling off the stuff of legends!”

“And getting all the girls, I bet!”

“You left me behind as the youngest brother! The butt of all jokes! That should have been you, you know!”

“Haha! Good look making him the butt of all jokes now! Tagaloa, look at you!”

“Hey, what was that about you lifting the sky?”

“And slowing down the sun?”

“You’re gonna have to tell us everything!”

“And Taha thought he was so great because he got a whale once!”

“Well, it was a big whale!”

“Wait until we tell everybody about this!”

“If you think there’s a lot of us now, wait until you meet everyone else!”

“Yeah, there’s our grandmother wanting to meet you, and then our kids, and their kids, and their kids–”

“There was also a guy called Vailele and his wife, I think she’s my great grandkid or something, and they told us to tell you they said hi…”

“Like, half the Underworld wanted to come see you!”

The tackle had long since turned into a messy group hug, and by the time Maui let go of them they were all covered in sand, half-laughing and half-crying while pretending the latter was only caused by the sand. Standing a few feet away, Taranga shook her head - not without reaching to wipe her eyes as well first. “Kids,” she muttered, and then frowned. “… By the way, where’s your father?” she asked, only to get a few confused look.

“Wait, wasn’t dad with you?”

“We assumed he was with you.”

“No, I assumed he was with you.”

“See, so you were expecting us to turn up!”

“All right, but where’s dad?”

“… Huh, do you think that may be him?”

Pae’s question caused all of them to glance out and sea, which was now almost completely dark. And, in that darkness, Maui could just see something translucent moving in circles, then turning north, then going back and lingering for a few moments before turning west and start swimming again… towards another island.

Behind Maui, there was a collective groan.

“Yep,” Hina muttered. “His sense of direction still sucks.”

Taranga sighed. “Roto, be a dear and go fetch your father before he becomes lost.”

“Uugh, why does it always have to be me? Can’t someone else–” he began, but Hina smacked him in the chest suddenly, and with enough strength to throw him back into the sea with a yelp. His form returned to the likeness of a shark the moment he touched water.

“You heard the boss. Go get dad.”

The shark went without further arguments - though he did raise more splashes than necessary with his tail in their general direction - and Mua looked at Maui with a grin. “The old man’s gonna have a heart attack when he sees you,” he said. Maui raised and eyebrow.

“Can that actually happen after you’re dead?” he asked, doing his best to ignore how his heart was beating somewhere in his throat at the thought of seeing his father as well - someone who looked so much like him, if what his mother had said was true.

Unaware of his thoughts, his siblings shrugged. “We can find out,” Taha muttered, glaring himself a glare from their mother.

“I’d rather you don’t,” she muttered, but her voice was drowned out by Pae’s.

“Hey, shouldn’t there be a magical fishhook? Everyone always mentioned you had one.”

“Right! Is it true that you can shapeshift with it?”

Maui laughed. “Oh, you bet it is!” he exclaimed, turning back the way he’d come. The hook was exactly where he’d dropped it. “Give me a second to pick it up, and I’ll show you!”

Over the centuries and millennia, Maui had impressed thousands of humans with his feats; but he had been aware, deep down, that the ones he had truly wanted to impress were far beyond his reach. Now they were there, at the end of a long road that had led him right back where his life had begun, and he knew that he didn’t need to impress any of them. They had come so far to meet him again, and they would have done so even if he were not, well. Maui.

Still, he was Maui… and he may as well treat his family to a little show, after going almost literally through hell and back in order to find them.

So he went to pick up his hook and turned back to them, and to the two silvery beings that were heading back towards the beach. When he lifted it above his head, he could feel himself thrumming with energy in a way he never had, a weightlessness in his chest he’d never felt. He held onto his hook - still an extension of himself, no longer his crutch - more tightly, and smirked.

It’s Maui time.

***

“All right, all right, here’s the deal: I do it one more time, and then that’s it. Then lot of you goes to bed before your parents here have an aneurysm, because I’m not gonna be held responsible for that. Deal?”

“Deal!”

“Hey, you in the back! I saw you crossing your fingers! No crossing!”

“C’mon!”

“Look! No crossing!”

“Just do the thing! Pretty please?”

Ah well, Tamatoa supposed that he should relent, since his adoring public was asking so nicely. He grinned, and turned on his bioluminescence. It was a moonless night, and it easily outshone the few fires on the shore, getting some pretty loud cheering out of the kids. Humans sure were easy to impress - no wonder Maui got their adoration in no time at all. Had he known how that would turn out, he’d have followed his example way earlier.

“All right, that was it. Enough for the day,” Tamatoa said, and turned off his bioluminescence, causing a disappointed groan and a few protests before they gave in began following the adults back to the village. Truth be told he could have kept that up all night, except that he hadn’t seen Maui and Moana anywhere for a while and was wondering where they had gone. They hadn’t even heard his song, and that was a shame because it was great, if he said so himself. Humans had loved it, nodding so fast when he’d asked that for a moment he’d wondered if it would be possible for their heads to fall off their necks.

The adults hadn’t asked for him to sing again, but the kids had wanted to hear it two more times and even tried to sing along with questionable results, so he supposed humans got shy as they aged. It was the only explanation he could think of. Moana was probably an exception. But really, where had she disappeared to? Maybe he should go looking for–

“Hey,” Moana’s voice rang out suddenly, causing him to recoil. He hadn’t heard her coming at all, and he had to squint a bit to see her in the faint light of the fires on the shore.

“Human! Here you are! I was wondering where you went. You missed– wait, is that Pilifeai on your shoulder? And where’s Maui? Has he gone off again without even saying goodbye? Because that would be really rude and–”

“He hasn’t gone anywhere. At least I don’t think so,” Moana cut him off. “It’s just… his mother came to find him. I figured I should give them some time alone.”

“Oh,” Tamatoa muttered. Taken as he’d been with the tiny humans - he couldn’t remember ever having that much company in his life, really - he’d completely forgotten what both he and Maui had been waiting for. He instinctively turned back, were the profile of a cliff was barely visible in the dark. Long ago, it had been much higher than that… until a good chunk of it had collapsed on his mother, of course.

Once again, Moana seemed to guess exactly what was going through his mind. “That’s where she died, isn’t it?”

“… Yeah. Right by the cave we lived in.”

“What are you doing still here, then? She could show up any moment, and it’s a long way from the Underworld. It would be rather rude of you to make her wait,” Pilifeai muttered, and Tamatoa had to admit he kind of had a point.

“Right,” he said, but he didn’t move. He turned back to the human, trying to ignore the stab of nervousness. “What if she’s not coming?”

She tilted her head on one side, clearly taken aback. “What? Why wouldn’t she?”

“Because… because… I don’t know. What if she doesn’t show up?”

“Then she misses out. But I’m sure she’ll know better. If she came here all the way from Lalotai when she was alive for your sake, then–”

“But she could have come earlier, right? And Gran, too. Your grandmother came back for you. Why didn’t they? They knew where I was. I stayed here for a long time,” Tamatoa asked, but of course he knew that the human couldn’t possibly have an answer to that. He would have to ask his mother when she showed up. If she showed up. How long should he wait before he decided she just was not going to–

“Tamatoa! Look!”

He turned just in time to see exactly what she was pointing at: there was something out at sea, something translucent moving beneath the surface and heading straight where the entrance to the cave was. It disappeared from sight only moments later, hidden by one of the sides of the cliff, but it was enough for him to guess exactly what was it he’d just seen.

“Well,” Pilifeai spoke up the next moment, still sprawled across Moana’s shoulders. “Looks like you’ve got a visitor after all, you dense crustacean. Go and ask her. And possibly let me know what she said, because I’m dying to know more and the human here is a complete spoilsport.”

“Oh, am I?”

“I stand by what they said.”

“Looks like someone is going to stay this size for a while longer.”

“Uuugh. I hate you. And what are you staring at, crab? Are you going or not? Because–”

“Moana? Are you there?”

A man’s voice rang out, causing Moana to turn and Pilifeai to immediately hide under her hair. If he squinted, Tamatoa could see the shadow of someone standing not too far away from one of the fires.

“Coming, dad,” she called back, and reached to give Tamatoa’s pincer a pat. “Come on, just go. Don’t make her wait.”

“But…” Tamatoa paused, unable to voice the thought that had crossed his mind - what if she doesn’t like what she sees? - but of course Moana guessed exactly what he was thinking. She always did. He was starting to wonder if it was magic, or if he was just that predictable.

“No buts. I’m sure she’ll be so happy to see you.”

“I… well, of course she’ll be happy to see me! Who wouldn’t right?” Tamatoa muttered, huffing. “I was just… nevermind. I’m going. I’ll uh… see you in the morning,” he added quickly, and turned back to walk into the ocean before he lost his nerve.

He still remembered the way to his old cave very well, so much so that he needed no light to guide him as he walked across the ocean floor towards it. And it wasn’t a very long walk either but, for some reason, it seemed to stretch on for a long time.

***

“He just kept singing! We thought it would never end! Please, tell me this is not something he does all the time!”

Moana tried to ignore the way Pilifeai was snickering while hidden beneath her hair - she would need to have a very convincing talk with him later, to make sure he wouldn’t report that conversation to Tamatoa - and smiled a little sheepishly.

“Well, no all the time,” she said a bit tentatively. “Just… often, if given the chance. But if it helps, it’s easy to distract him. If he’s about to sing, diverting his attention on something else usually works. Show him something shiny, talk to him about something else entirely. He’d probably like that. He hasn’t had much company until now.”

Her father gave a long sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the gods,” he muttered. Beside him, her mother looked equally relieved. “I’ll let the others know. I don’t think we can withstand another day like this.”

“Oh, come on! I can’t have been that bad!” Moana said, getting a deadpan look from her mother.

“The children kept going on singing for hours after he stopped. Hours.”

“… Ah. Well, they’re kids. You know,” she said, inwardly thankful Maui had taken her to the other side of the island the moment Tamatoa had announced he’d start singing. Speaking of Maui, Moana though, he still wasn’t back. Was he still with his mother, or had she left? Maybe he needed some time on his own. And maybe so would Tamatoa, after it was all said and do–

“Well. I suppose the fact he saved your life is a good reason to be patient… if that is indeed what happened,” her father’s voice rang out, causing Moana to cringe. She’d almost forgotten how she hadn’t told them all the details of the journey to her people, and now she got a distinct feeling Tamatoa had done just that. In song form.

“Right. About that, there were… a couple of close calls,” she admitted, fervently hoping Tamatoa hadn’t gone into too much detail.

Fat chance.

“You actually went and threw a rock at the goddess of Death?”

Among other things, Moana thought, but she knew better than saying as much aloud. “I had sort of ran out of options to catch her attention. But all went well,” she added quickly, causing her father to groan and her mother to sigh before she reached to take her hand.

“Moana. Do you think you can just… stay with us on the island for a time? Maybe a few turns of the moon without getting involved with deranged deities?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice. In the flickering light of the fire they were sitting around, Moana really noticed for the first time how tired she looked, like she hadn’t gotten a full night of sleep in a while.

But of course she hadn’t: despite Moana’s efforts to sugarcoat it, it had been clear that the journey she was getting into could be very dangerous, because at sea any shift of the weather can become deadly. Of course they had worried for her: that was what parents do. How many times had they looked out at sea, hoping to see her boat at the horizon?

Trying to ignore a slight pang of guilt, Moana smiled and held back her hand. “Of course. I love being here with all of you. I’m sorry I ran off again so quickly. I missed you a lot.”

“Oh, dear. We missed you too, so much.”

“Awww!”

“… What was that?”

“What was what?” Moana asked innocently, casually reaching back to give Pilifeai a sharp poke through her hair. The lizard was smart enough to mute the resulting yelp.

“I thought I heard–”

“I didn’t hear a thing. Dad, tell me how things have been going! I have yet to see so much of this new island. How are you getting on with the harvest?”

“Rather well, actually! We found this spot just east from here that was perfect. I’ll show you first thing in the morning. Actually, I’d like to hear your opinion on this…”

***

“If you want my opinion–”

“But I don’t want your opinion! I have never in my life or death asked for your opinion! Why are you so obsessed with giving it anyway?”

“There’s no need to be rude. I’m sure he’ll be here, sooner or later. Unless he forgot where the Manaia told him to wait, or forgot where this island even is, or is stuck somewhere because he saw something shiny and his attention span is what it is. I would put none of it past him.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of my son holding off Hine-Nui-Te-Po. And remind me again which one of you went to have a stroll on an undersea volcano.”

“Hmph. Now that was uncalled for - that volcano had been inactive for so long I had no idea it was even one. And before you get too smug, may I remind you…“

Whatever his grandmother said next was lost to Tamatoa, because he was not listening, not really. Standing in shallow water, shrouded in darkness, he could only stare at the departed spirits of his mother and grandmother, bickering only steps away from the entrance of the cave he’d been brought up in.

Otherworldly spirit glow thing aside, his grandmother - had she just invited herself over? But of course she had, it was the sort of thing she’d do - was everything like he remembered her: even more massive than himself, her shell darker than his own and mottled with black, looking all the world like she’d been cut out of stone. What he couldn’t tear his eyes from, however, was his mother.

He had very vague memories of her; it had been so long. If he focused, he remembered vaguely her bioluminescence in the dark, the occasional nudge from her antennae, and little else. Now he could tell that yes, she was smaller than he was now, her skin and shell several shades lighter. Her pincers were entirely missing, the skin heavily scarred where her arms should have been - if that could be called skin, really, because he wasn’t really sure what spirits were made of. They made ripples in the water as they moved, though, so he supposed they had to be sort of corporeal. Maybe he should ask.

He would have, if only he could make himself speak. Instead, he took a hesitant step forward - and one of his legs slipped on an unstable boulder beneath the water, causing him to stagger for a moment and raise splashes of water.

“… And besides I didn’t see you making it to my ag– huh? Who’s there?”

His grandmother suddenly turned in his direction, eyes narrowing to see through the dark, causing Tamatoa to inwardly cringe. For one absurd moment, it felt like he’d been caught with his pincers in the clam jar all over again.

“I know someone is there!” she spoke up again, and took a couple of steps forward. “Tamatoa? Is that you?”

Tamatoa opened his mouth to croak a ‘yes’, but he stopped himself just on time, frowning. Wait a moment, he thought, that wasn’t right. He was supposed to make a cool entry, wasn’t he? Something impressive. Why had he just rushed to the meeting point without thinking? He could at least have come up with something to say, or maybe even a musical number. Really, just showing up like that would make a really bad first impression. He had to think of something impressive to say or do, and he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he did the only thing he could think of on the spot: he turned on his bioluminescence.

In the moonless night it seemed even brighter than usual; it was enough to make them pause and stare, which made him feel just a touch smug. Alright, maybe a bit more than a touch. Except that his mother spoke after a moment, and the smugness disappeared because yes, the light show was great and all, but he still had no idea what to say.

“… Tamatoa?” she called out, taking a few steps towards him.

All right, all right. Don’t panic. Play it cool.

“Yeah. I mean, of course! Who else could it be? I am… the only one left, right? Unless some other dead crab is out and about, I guess, but I never saw any around, so while it’s not technically impossible… huh. I mean. Yeah. That’d be me,” he babbled, mentally kicking himself for sounding like a complete idiot. Then his mother stopped in front of him, and it took him a conscious effort not to step back.

What if she doesn’t like what she sees?

I’m sure she’ll be so happy to see you.

For a few, unnerving moments, she just stared; she had to look up to him, but somehow Tamatoa still felt really, really small. Then her antennae were touching his face - the touch was really odd, sort of corporeal and sort of not, but definitely there - and the wide-eyed look faded into a grin that looked oddly familiar.

“Oh, look at you!” she exclaimed, sounding absolutely delighted, and took a few steps back. “You’re a lot bigger than your father ever was!”

“That might be because you ate that idiot when he was half his age. Like most most males who actually mated,” Tupuna’s voice rang out somewhere behind her, but she seemed to take absolutely no notice: she was already circling Tamatoa, as though to properly size him up. She paused for a moment, and frowned.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Ah. That, er… that was lost in battle. But I won in the end! Absolutely!” he added quickly, and the grin was back on his mother’s face like it had never faded. She turned to look at his grandmother, her face the very picture of smugness. That, too, looked eerily familiar.

“Hah! So much for being a runt, huh, mother?”

There was a sigh, and Tamatoa turned to see Tupuna approaching. Her glow turned the water around her to molten silver. “Fine, fine. I get it. I was wrong,” she conceded, and turned to look at him before uttering the closest thing to a compliment she was capable to think up. “I have to admit, you did get quite a bit bigger than I thought you ever would.”

“And look at the pincers - he could grind every single crab I’ve met to dust!”

“I, er… thanks? I mean - of course I could!” Tamatoa immediately corrected himself, and grinned. With the sense of wonder fading, he found he really liked how that meeting was going. “Shame there aren’t any around for me to show it, but I’ve been keeping myself busy. You know, slowing down the sun, beating up the occasional monster, the occasional demon, a goddess, things like that. I usually do that on Tuesdays, but–”

“All right, enough. Don’t go too far, Tinytoa,” his grandmother cut him off, and sneered at his offended look. “Oooh, look at that. You still pout like you used to.”

“I’m not pouting! And… and I’m not tiny! Come on!”

“Hah! And you still say the same thing, too. But this old lady is still bigger than you are, you know,” she pointed out, flicking her antennae at him like she used to in life. “Plus, I am your grandmother. I get to call you whatever I want.”

“But–”

“No buts. Don’t talk back to your grandmother, kid.”

“I am five thousand years old!”

“Cute. We’ll talk about this again when you’re past fifteen-thousand.”

“Mom!”

“Oh, stop teasing him,” his mother muttered, rolling her eyes. “Keep that for Ngaire, Ngaio and just about everyone else.”

“Hmm. Fair enough. Shame we didn’t bump into them on our way out, because I’d have loved to have a few words with them before leaving.”

… Wait. Tamatoa had heard those names before. “What, you mean those two old hags I met at Manawa-Tane?” he asked, causing Tīaka to snort.

“Yes, them. They sauntered down in the Underworld, pleasant as eels stuck between one’s teeth, talking complete nonsense about how I should have tried for another clutch. I can’t wait to mention to them what you’ve–”

“So it was nonsense, right?”

Tamatoa had blurted out the question without thinking, and found himself trying to shrink a little when both of them paused and turned to look at him, blinking as though they had just heard him speaking in a foreign language. “I-I mean… what they said about, you know…” Tamatoa paused, making a vague gesture with his claw. “How you should have, uh, discarded me and… that I was kind of a waste? I mean, of course I know they were absolutely wrong, you know, never doubted it for a moment! But I was wondering, if you agree… well. You agree, right? That it wasn’t true at all?”

For a moment, Tīaka just stared at him in silence. Finally, her eyes narrowed. “Is that precisely what they said?”

“Uh… yes. They also called you an idiot.”

“… They’re dead.”

Tupuna snorted. “Of course they’re dead. We all are.”

“You know what I mean,” her daughter said drily, and looked back at Tamatoa. “Wait. You didn’t believe that, did you?”

“Wha– nooo, absolutely not!” Tamatoa immediately protested, trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling that she could read the truth on his face, clear as day. “I know I’m absolutely amazing, so why should I believe them?” he added, and grinned, pointing at himself with a bioluminescent claw. “They were probably just jealous of all this magnificence.”

His grandmother sighed. “Oh gods, he does take after his father. Your looks and his brains,” she muttered, earning himself an unimpressed look from her daughter. Still, it was on Tamatoa that Tīaka turned her attention to, taking a few steps closer.

“All right. I want you to listen now and listen well, because I’m only going to say this once,” she said, and something about her stare seemed to glue Tamatoa on the spot. For the second time in minutes he felt very, very small. “I am dead, our entire species is gone - but you are here and I’m not even remotely sorry. My only regret is that I was unable to save your siblings as well. That is all. If I could go back to having no claws and just one hatched egg, I’d do everything I have done all over aga– no, scratch that. I probably wouldn’t have gone out on a stroll that day if I’d known a cliff would crash down on me. But as far as you’re concerned, there is nothing I would change. Is that clear?”

Tamatoa opened his mouth, but for a moment he was unable to speak. His eyes turned towards his grandmother, who shrugged. “What she said,” she muttered curtly. That was probably as far as she’d go with reassurances, but it was already a lot more than Tamatoa would have expected from the old battle axe, and he supposed it would do. He looked back at his mother and swallowed a couple of times before he could croak an answer.

“Crystal,” he replied, and his mother’s expression melted in a grin.

“Great,” she said, one antenna ficking at his own. “With that out of the way, we have a lot to catch up with. What have you been up to?”

Well, now that was going to take a while to get through. Good thing, Tamatoa thought, that he was really good at talking about himself for hours on end.

And he did talk for hours, through the entire night right until dawn, trying his best to recall all of his coolest moments and maybe exaggerate a detail or two. His grandmother hardly interrupted him - nothing short of a miracle, really - while his mother listened to each word with rapt attention, just the kind of attention he liked.

It would be only later, when both of them had left to return to the Underworld with the promise to visit again, that Tamatoa realized something: taken as they were by him, neither of them seemed to have even noticed the gold embedded in his shell.

***

[Back to Chapter 17]

[On to Epilogue]

#moana waialiki #maui #tamatoa #moana #oceania

11 notes · View notes

glitteringconstellations · 7 years

Text

Beacon (1/?)

words: 2137 Chapter 1: they say the world will end in fire

The earth was a sea of white-hot flames and acrid smoke.

The sky lit up with blinking star-like flashes Maria knew now to be hostile enemy fire upon her home. It made the already fiery evening sky feel even more ominous. The panicked screams of people around her rung in her ears, and she held her youngest daughter closer to her chest, gripping ever tighter to her son’s hand in hers as they pushed through the throngs.

There were only twelve shuttles evacuating people to the Lunar Space Stations—she sent a prayer of thanks up to the heavens that one was in Havana—and she was going to make damn sure her children were on it.

“Mamá, what about Papá?” the daughter who clung to the back of her shirt cried over the din. On her older daughter’s left, Maria’s fourth-born son pushed and shoved when people crowded too close.

“Your father will be right behind us,” Maria consoled, though the lump in her throat belied the terror she, too, felt. Her husband had left in search of their two adult children and was supposed to meet up with them. How they’d ever find each other, she didn’t know. But her focus now was the four children she had with her.

Her heart throbbed in agony. No, she would not lose another child this day.

Read on AO3

There was no stopping a mother still grieving, and she pushed her way to the front of the throng, taking elbows in the ribs and suffering through strangers yanking at her hair, pulling her back. The fences blocking off the military base were heavily armed. On a normal day, the soldiers could be intimidating; today, they were outright frightening.

“Only approved persons are permitted past this point!” one of the soldiers bellowed. “Have your documents ready and we will get you on the shuttle as quickly as we can!”

“Get us out of here!”

“Come on, man, there are kids here!”

“Don’t let us die!”

It was utter madness. Maria shielded her baby’s eyes when a man trying to climb the fence was shot. The screams and the shoving intensified, but Maria had a mission. An explosion rocked the ground beneath them—time was running short.

Her son pushed a path clear and finally—finally—stood before the gates onto the base. The solider before them held his rifle out to block them. “Stand back.”

“Please,” Maria gasped, “you must put my children on that shuttle.”

“We already have a list of approved citizens to board the shuttle first. State your name, present your papers, and we will have you through shortly.”

Maria didn’t have any papers, but that wasn’t going to stop her. “Sir, I beg of you, these children—”

“State your name, and present your papers,” the soldier interrupted, sternly.

“Maria McClain,” Maria snapped, desperation tingeing her voice. “Mother of Lance McClain, cadet of the Galaxy Garrison Defense Force, and if you have any respect for the memory of my boy, you will put my children on that shuttle.”

The solider gaped. The whole island had heard of Lance’s loss, of course; the whole world had. The international incident had brought down the heads of people around the globe in mourning for the three cadets lost. No one had had any idea that it would have been the catalyst for intergalactic war.

“Ma’am,” the soldier said after a long moment, his tone softening just a bit. To his credit, he did look rather distressed. “You have to understand that there is protocol that must be followed. I’m truly sorry for your loss, but—”

“Let them through,” a gruff voice said behind them. All six heads snapped up to the large soldier who’d stepped up behind the soldier, a bearded man of impressive height and wielded an even more impressive gun. He must have been an officer, judging by the varied medals fastened to his lapel.

“Sir,” the soldier saluted, but his face read confusion.

“Didn’t you get the memo, boy? They’re letting all the children on board regardless of papers.” He stared hard at the soldier, his tone brooking no argument. Maria couldn’t tell if he was lying or not, but she was grateful, and there was no time to waste. Ominous purple ships stood out against vibrant orange and deep indigo of the evening sky, the sky still alit with the firefight.

“Seleste, take your sister,” Maria said, holding the girl in her arms out for her teenaged daughter to take. Seleste obliged, but her face lit up in alarm.

“No, Mamá, we’re not leaving you—”

“You must follow this man and do as he says, mija,” Maria interrupted, turning to address all four of her children. She felt breathless that God was on her side in this most difficult time of need. “Gabriel, Clara, listen to your brother and sister. Seleste, Alvaro, take care of them. They will need someone to watch out for them while I’m not there.”

“Mamá, please,” Alvaro begged, tears stinging his eyes as his mother handed off Gabriel’s trembling hand to him. She shook her head. “Lance would never forgive us if we left you!”

“I’ll be on the next shuttle with Papá, Julio, and Isabel, okay? It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.” She pulled all of them in for a hug, pressing an urgent kiss to each forehead. “Now, go, mijos.” She looked to the senior officer, who nodded and waved her four children through.

“Mamí! Clara wailed, reaching out over Seleste’s shoulder. “Mamí, come with us!” Gabriel struggled against his brother’s hold, trying to reach their mother.

Maria watched with a breaking heart as the four of them were ushered through by the junior soldier into the line of people boarding the shuttles with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. She turned to the senior officer, who stood there, watching her.

“Thank you, sir, thank you,” she gasped on a shuddering sob. He only shook his head.

“I just want you to know, there’s no guarantee they’ll be any safer up there,” he said, slowly. And Maria knew that, she did. But this was their best option. She nodded anyway. The officer cleared his throat.

“I never met the boy, but I have a feel McClain would have made an excellent pilot.” He clapped a hand on her shoulder, and she bowed her head. “The young ones will be well looked after, madam, and we’ll do everything in our power to get everyone out of here to safety.”

Maria could only nod, tears streaming down her face. She thought of her husband, and her two remaining children, and her sister, and her parents, and prayed to God they were safe. But she had done it. Her babies would make it.

She gazed up to the terrifying, darkening sky, and prayed.

They had to make it.

---

Earth fell to its knees and bowed before Zarkon before the week was through.

---

“Paladins,” Allura called, “please meet Coran and I on the bridge for debriefing immediately. We have another distress signal we must pursue.”

An emergency mission to answer distress calls wasn’t unusual, Lance thought to himself. The urgency in Allura’s voice wasn’t necessarily unusual, either—she was very much of the mind that Voltron was obligated to answer every single distress call brought to their attention. Being the defender of the known universe came with a certain number of responsibilities, after all.

But seeing the pinched, pale look on both Allura and Coran’s faces when they converged on the bridge was unusual, and Lance felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly. Allura especially was as white as a sheet.

“What’s up, Allura?” Pidge said, adjusting her armor as she came into the room. She hadn’t picked up on the atmosphere yet. Smart as Pidge was, she was still the youngest of them all, and sometimes Lance envied the naivety that came with her age.

Shiro held no such luck. “You said there was a distress call,” he urged, frowning. Whatever it was they had to tell them, it wasn’t good. And if Shiro was worried—and he was, Lance could tell—then Lance was extra worried.

“Yes, yes,” Coran said, gesturing to the control panel he stood before. “The Galra have invaded yet another planet, I’m afraid.”

“Another?” Keith questioned, arching an eyebrow. “You mean there are planets out there other than Earth that they haven’t conquered yet?” Allura flinched, and no one missed that. Keith stiffened, going ramrod straight. “Allura.”

She wouldn’t meet their eyes. “I’m certain there are, the universe is vast even in terms of those planets beyond the still yet grips of the Galra. But…. Yes, the distress call came from the Terra Firma Quadrant.”

Cold fear settled in the pit of Lance’s stomach. Earth.

Hunk nearly swayed. “You mean, Earth? Our Earth? The ones where our families still are?” He looked very green. Lance didn’t blame him—his thoughts immediately flashed to his parents, his siblings. The ones who must have thought him dead, after all these months.

Coran nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so, my boy. We received a transmission from an Earth vessel hailing itself the Orion not even half a varga ago. It was a broadcast to all emergency channels, unfortunately, so we couldn’t respond.”

“That’s one of the Lunar Stations,” Pidge breathed. “People live in those, Allura. Civilians.”

“Yes, well, it seems we do have one small advantage,” Allura amended quietly. “The Galra haven’t seemed to have noticed the inhabitation of Earth’s moon. Granted, after that broadcast, it is very possible that the Galra know, now,” she added, her face still pinched as though the words themselves hurt her tongue.

Shiro took a deep, shaking breath, one that didn’t instill Lance with the usual confidence that oozed from their leader. “Can you show us the broadcast? We might be able to get more information out of it than you two could. No offense,” he added hastily.

Coran waved his hands. “None taken, Number One.” He turned to the control panel and tapped a few keys, before the transmission appeared on the hologram screen. A man Lance didn’t recognize in Garrison uniform appeared on the screen, looking harried. Behind him, about fifty personnel scrambled to maintain the controls of the bridge.

::This is the ILS Orion, broadcasting to all friendly parties. If there are any out there.:: The man cleared his throat. He had never done this before, Lance thought bitterly. Had never had to. ::I am Commander Henry Kravitz, of the United States of America—er, of Earth. I am the commanding officer of this Lunar Station, and we are in need of immediate assistance.::

::Approximately a year and a half ago, one of our exploration teams went missing from one of the moons of Pluto. Half a year ago, one crewmember from that team returned in a crash landing aboard an alien vessel, and promptly went missing from Garrison Custody.:: Lance cast a sideways glance over to Shiro, who gripped the back of his chair so tightly the metal of it crumpled slightly under his Galra prosthetic.

::Three Garrison cadets went missing from the academy the same night of the crash,:: the Commander continued. ::We attempted to make contact by means of the wrecked vessel. It took months of recovery and salvage, but we finally managed to get the ship’s communication functioning. We had hoped that we would find answers to our missing crew and cadets… but what we found was beyond our worst nightmares.::

“They’re talking about us,” Hunk murmured, wide-eyed and horrorstruck. Honestly, Lance could relate. That cold dread had settled deep in his bones, and he found, for once, he was completely speechless.

Pidge shushed him, eyes glued to the hologram.

::…the ships arrived scarcely a fortnight ago, opening fire without discrimination. We managed to evacuate approximately five hundred thousand people, worldwide, to the Lunar Stations before our bases were overrun. We have no communication with Earth any longer. We have no idea how many survivors there are, if any. We don’t know what the hostiles want. We have little in the way of defense, besides a paltry few turret guns. Our stations are hiding in the Moon’s shadow, at present, and this message is encrypted to only the emergency channels, but there’s no telling how long it is before we are discovered.::

::It’s a shot in the dark, but we’re hoping that if there are hostile aliens out there, there might be some friendlies, too. So please…:: Commander Kravitz took off his hat, fury and fear clear upon his face. ::If you see this transmission, if you understand it, please send us your aid. The future of humankind depends on it.::

The transmission cut out, leaving only a terrible silence on the bridge of the Castle of Lions.

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #fic: beacon #chapter 1 #reunion fic #angst with a happy ending #lance #pidge #hunk #shiro #keith #allura #coran

1 note · View note