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mymovingfingerwrites · 3 years

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courage, dear heart

When we think of Lucy, we think of her golden hair and her cheerful smile, we think of a girl walking through a wardrobe and accepting a new world without question. We think of Queen Lucy, blessed with the power to heal, the only girl on a ship full of boys searching for a hint of whence they came. We think of her at the end of the world, kind and lovely and sorrowful as a mouse rows away, and in the world beyond the end of the world, her eyes lit up with delight. Resolute Lucy, bold Lucy, perched like a bird on the back of a lion.

When we think of Narnia, we think of Lucy. How could we not? Was it not Lucy who opened a wardrobe door and found winter, was it not Lucy who refused to be minimized, was it not Lucy who infused the land with good cheer for years after her coronation, was it not Lucy who first cocked her head and said that the land was speaking to them and they must listen?

We think about Lucy, bright Lucy, glittering Lucy, and we know instinctively that Lucy was always the heroine of her own story. What we don’t consider is that in her darkest moments—for Lucy, like us all, was not always bright, no matter how the legends insisted otherwise—she felt at times captive by the winds of fate stirring her hair. Perhaps we are–though we don’t like to admit it—some of the many people in both worlds who looked at Lucy and resented her for having the audacity (the privilege) to fill the pages of her book with her own words without considering how heavy her pen may be.

(Was it really her book, though? Lucy did not deny she wrote her own narrative. She was Lucy the Valiant; she spoke the language of High Narnia, she heard when Aslan called, she commanded the long-dormant trees into existence once more. Lucy was familiar with the power of words. What she objected to was the idea that her life was her very own, that her canvas was blank except for marks of her own making. Dear Lucy, pulled uncomplainingly into heroics, a simple game of exploration leading to death and betrayal and heartbreak (and majesty, and light, and animals that could talk). No; this was not her book but if she had the (mis)fortune to open it she certainly would inscribe her legacy on it herself).

To our credit, we sense what Lucy had always known: she felt as though her role was inevitable. (In boys, we call that responsibility, or heroism). Perhaps that is what we resented. When you are a young girl with golden hair and blue eyes and the lightest smattering of freckles, when you are the baby of the family and coddled and loved dearly, when you are born with an infinite well of self-possession and three protective older siblings, when you believe in your own worth–stepping into the pages of your story and titling it as your own looks like a foregone conclusion from afar.

(Her sister, Susan, struggled with this for many years. Though she was the pretty one, or at least that was what her mother told her, Susan eyed Lucy’s waterfall of blonde hair with envy. Though she was meant to be gentle, Susan watched how animals flocked to her sister first, how even the most timid of creatures lined up to whisper their secrets into Lucy’s ears. This would take Susan a considerable amount of time to overcome, but let us not blame her too harshly. Being a girl is difficult enough; being the other girl in the story is harder still).

But what we do not see, unless we look very closely, is that nothing felt foregone for Lucy. What looks easy from afar was not from within. Lucy chose herself, over and over; she chose to follow the path Aslan lay out for her, and she chose to do so with good humor and kindness as armour against the inherent cruelty of the world, even the magic one.

Of all her siblings, Peter understood this best, though they never discussed it in so many words. Perhaps that is why Peter always trusted Lucy, or at least apologized to her without resentment when she was proven right. The bookends of the family, they were as temperamentally different as any other pair of siblings. Peter sometimes felt blinded by Lucy's incandescent optimism; Lucy at times was weighed by proximity to Peter's practicality.

But both of them understood duty, more so than Edmund, led so easily astray by pleasure, and Susan, who believed (at times to her credit) that the world owed her the same that she owed it. Neither Lucy nor Peter strayed from their tasks, not even when Lucy picked her cold and lonely way down to the shadow of a godly voice, nor when Peter first felt the undeniable weight of his gleaming sword marred by enemy blood. They chose, and they chose again, even when those choices did not feel like choices but inevitabilities.

For when one understands duty, taking one's place as hero is not self-indulgent. It is not privilege; it is a prerogative, and it is difficult. But where Peter found his duty in protection and caregiving, in oversight and the hard labor of daily majesty, Lucy found hers in vision and clarity and momentum. When Susan hesitated over the unknown and Edmund lay sniffling quietly when he thought nobody could hear, Lucy knew that her relentless confidence was as necessary as Peter's guidance.

(This was a burden, too. Who was positive for Lucy? Her siblings tried to be, of course; they loved each other dearly, more so in the following years. But this sense of need never left Lucy, this fear that if she did not smile that nobody else would ever smile again).

Cheerfulness and friendliness can be their own prisons. When you believe in yourself, others are relieved; they need not take on the responsibility of believing in you too. Lucy never allowed herself to stray (save from moments alone in a large, soft bed, save from a magic book that in its pages contained temptation, save from tears that splashed hotly in the cool Narnia wind) all the more rigidly because everyone expected that she never would.

(It takes strength to choose optimism; it takes willpower to respond to situations with cheerfulness. Lucy was valiant even at seven years old, remember. She knew that raising her head high was an act of defiance, she knew believing in her own experience was brave, she knew that daring to rescue a friend from the clutches of an unknown evil was perhaps foolhardy but nevertheless necessary. She may not wield a sword but do not mistake her empathy for weakness).

Beauty and softness can be their own prisons, too. Youth and innocence and loveliness can make you more—it can mark you as worthy to speak to a god-turned-lion, your friendship as worth the threat of eternal damnation—but it invariably means that more is all you are allowed to be. There were days when Lucy fled back to her castle, her nose red and her eyes stinging, her hair twisted into disarray, and wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath a heap of blankets and throw pillows at the door just to prove that she too could be cruel, she too could be wanting. It is no easier to smile when tasked to in Narnia than it is anywhere else.

Sometimes Lucy resented her role as the youngest, the softest, the angel (or was she meant to be the prophet?). She saw Susan notching an arrow to her bow, watched Peter and Edmund joust in the courtyard, and looked down at her glittering bottle of cordial and longed to smash it against the door and take up war instead of peace.

Father Christmas gave her that vial, after all, a children’s story speaking to a child. Her power was limited, finite. Lucy began to use it sparingly, though she would have liked to heal every small hurt that befell a member of her kingdom. Part of her always felt a frisson of fear at the thought that she may one day no longer have the power to heal. Part of her felt anger that even Father Christmas did not think her capable. None of her siblings had gifts of borrowed power.

(Edmund did not get a gift at all, but he was, surprisingly, placid about this slight. He still remembered the enchanting taste of Turkish delight, even years after it last melted on his tongue. He knew that even now he would betray his family for another taste of that wickedness, and that knowledge made him humble. His gift was that he would never be tempted again, and for that, he would trade all the gold in the world).

Let us talk about what it must have cost Lucy, more than her siblings, to return to a world of mundane happenstance. Let us think about her, forced to be seven years old, forced to plait her hair and be seen and not heard and befriend children scarred from years of war. These playmates did not want to be coaxed into the brilliant world of Lucy’s imagination. They did not want to hear of Aslan, they did not want to pretend to be anything they were not. They had survived days or months or years away from their parents, but not in the warm embrace of a magic land; they had been torn from their families by trains and cars leaving in the dead of night, they had been sent to farms where food stretched thin, to towns that covered their windows with black paint and slept six to a bed, heel to head. Magic to them was their father, home from the war, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes but was nevertheless warm. It was their older siblings, reunited and once again casual monarchs of the family dynamic. It was their mothers chiding them to eat, their friends once again within easy access, the serenity of the night broken only by lorries and not sirens.

Lucy had experienced hardship before, of course. Everything has a balance, after all. When you feel joy deeply, sorrow cuts you to your very core. When you are easily delighted, you understand how ephemeral delight can be. Lucy carried joy with her, of course: the wild exhilaration of Bacchus and his nymphs, how right it felt when her and her siblings rushed out to the parapet to see a brilliant golden sun nestle into the cool embrace of the Narnia forest, the softness of Reepicheep's fur tinged with drops from the sea at the end of the world, how Aslan looked at her and she felt seen. Lucy never shied away from emotion. Lucy was valiant in this too.

But she never forgot the lesson of dear old Tumnus. In Narnia, he was a constant presence in her dining hall. But she never forgot that the cost of her entrance into this glittering world was an innocent creature frozen for daring to take her home for tea. She never forgot that her siblings doubted her, that her youngest brother was led astray by sparkle and glitter. She remembered the silent despair of Caspian searching for his family, Eustace wondering which poor soul he devoured in the guise of a dragon defeating another. To the end of her days, she thought of the quiet dignity and terrible sadness of Lord Rhoop gazing upon the still bodies of his very closest companions, choosing to condemn himself to an endless sleep to be by their side on only the faintest suggestion of hope. Because Lucy was Lucy, she took those feelings into her own and cared for them as she cared for their benefactors.

But in a way, Lucy had not yet experienced loneliness and fear, not like her siblings had, not like these war-torn children. The closest she had gotten were those first few days in the professor’s house where none believed her, or when she walked alone to Aslan in the middle of the night wishing desperately someone would follow. For most of her time in Narnia, however, Lucy was easily, automatically accepted, her majesty unquestioned. In Narnia, she was unique: lovely Lucy, Queen Lucy, friend of centaurs and fauns and nymphs, immortalized in ballads, welcome in badger dens and banquet halls alike. Lucy was Aslan’s favorite, of course–didn’t he speak mostly to her, didn’t he cuddle her in his great and terrible paws? Queen of peace and harbinger of joy.

When she twisted back into an unfamiliar body she expected this world to accept her, too. Yet Lucy was not celebrated in this world; at least not automatically. Susan took one look at her circumstances and tossed her head and vowed to be queen in this life too. Edmund chewed his lip and sighed a little to Lucy but bent his head to his studies, just in case Aslan was wrong and he would be forced to rely on the battles to be won in schoolhouses and universities. Peter raged, in his own way, at the loss of his kingdom, unable to cope with his duty and his purpose and his raison d'être so brutally torn from him.

Lucy tried to talk to the trees, but they ignored her, their bark cool to the touch. She tried to dance in the meadows, but the grass was sharp and covered her legs with rashes. She tried to befriend the dogs at her local shelter but they snapped at her suspiciously. She tried to talk to her peers and hear their stories and stand up for them like she stood up for her subjects but they eyed her with mistrust and laughed at the boundless optimism she tried desperately to embody. This generation of children was not prone to easy positivity, remember. Those in Narnia had been so desperate for help after their long years of winter. Humans, she found, were surprisingly not.

Lucy had never been ignored before. She had never been disliked openly, she had never struggled to make friends. She did not know how to handle girls eyeing her with jealousy or derision, how to process boys that pulled her hair not to flirt but to hurt. Her gentle heart and loving manner had always won her praise and acclaim, but in those brittle years after the war, she was playing a game where she did not know the rules.

She was not able to admit until years later that perhaps this loneliness was good for her. Heroines need strife to grow, even in all the old stories. Lucy could have turned her back on who she was in Narnia; she could have tempered the blaze of her spirit, fell obediently into the ranks of conformity. She could have stemmed the flow of her hope and turned instead to sheer practicality. Was that not what her siblings were doing?

(No, dear Lucy, stubborn to the very end. That was not what they were doing and you should have given them the benefit of the doubt).

In some sort of twist of fate, Lucy did most of her growing in this world, off the pages of the book, trying to decide what was important to her in a world where the rules were more (less) rigid, the values were more (less) prescribed. This was where she became truly valiant, in the mundane manner as well as the majestic. In this world she learned how to listen: quietly and patiently. Here the silent trees aided her, providing a calm and soothing canvas on which a friend could shyly begin to paint her troubles. She learned that being bold and brash could sometimes be selfish instead of brave.

Lucy remembered what it felt like to be seven and ignored. She remembered encountering a fawn risking death for her company, even though she was not yet a decade on this earth. She remembered her own siblings’ gentle condescension. She knew what it felt like to be dismissed. Sometimes you do not want somebody to fight for you. Sometimes you want somebody to help you as you learn how to fight for yourself.

In this world, Lucy learned what it meant to be valiant without pride. She learned how much bravery it takes to be heroine of a story with many other heroines and heroes and warriors and soldiers, that being one of many provides strength. (It reminds her of those old sunny days, playing chess in the courtyard, all her siblings casually, loosely together). In this world, when she lifted her head and smiled warmly, when she woke in the morning and greeted the sun, she did so with optimism she crafted herself, with positivity she forged out of the steel of her spine. She learned you did not have to be in the forefront of a story to blaze in it, that sometimes people did not want love and laughter but truth and honesty and justice. She met her peers’ eyes and they lifted their chins and she made them feel fierce, not protected.

When Lucy thought, years later, of the vial Father Christmas gave her, she realized he was giving her an instrument of her own power. Her ability—her great burden—was that she could not save everyone but she could save many. She had to choose. Lucy was not alone in this; a sword gives one the ability to take a life—but to trade a death for many lives. A bow allows one to even the stakes while remaining aloof, to assign death to others from a great distance. No gift at all forces one to look inside themselves and find the strength that was always there. Magic to heal, like all of these gifts, like all gifts, was meaningless unless one wielded it.

Lucy could have been afraid of indecision; she could have kept her vial locked away or pretended it had run out. She could have used it all within years, saving this generation of her subjects only to damn the next. The choice was hard, sometimes. Sometimes she left the vial behind and had to grasp the hand of a dying soldier and know in her heart that she could have saved him had she only decided to bring it. Sometimes, particularly toward the end, she had it in her pocket but knew she could not use it, that she had to be brave for those ahead as well as those now. These choices were not easy. These choices were her own. Peter, burdened with majesty, had to make choices about who to damn to combat, what was worth fighting for—but he never had to choose who to save. Susan, gentle, had to weigh the many competing demands of the land and decide which to prioritize, strategize how to best achieve her goals, knowing the weight of her kingdom was on her back—but she knew there was always a second choice, always a way to optimize a situation. Edmund, even and fair, had to devise a system of just rule, had to know when to stick to it and when to revise it, even when a friend had to be punished, even when it hurt to be the judge—but he did not have to enforce these laws, only set them.

Warrior, strategist, arbiter, healer: all four Pevensie siblings shouldered their own burdens and supported each other in the heavy task of ruling over many. When three of them returned (when six of them returned) to see their land destroyed, to see a new land created, they remembered those choices and they vowed to uphold them. Lucy had no vial in the kingdom of heaven but that had never been what gave her power. Even in the golden light at the end of the world there were jealousies and anger and injustice and strife. Even in the endless summer of forever there was the chance to be brave.

(Susan, on Earth, mourned her baby sister more than anyone else. Peter had death in the shadows of his eyes since he took a life at thirteen years old and was praised for it. Edmund too seemed to know that he was living on borrowed time. But Lucy, dear Lucy, did not deserve to be struck down so young. Susan had watched her grow into the set of her shoulders and ignite the light in her smile not once but twice. She watched Lucy forge a mortal crown out of sheer determination and optimism and she felt something like awe. She wanted her sister to wear it; she wanted her sister to join her in this brave new world, where women were beginning to display the beauty of their resilience and their wild and clever strength. She wanted to apologize, to admit she too remembered Narnia, that she had not understood the type of strength Lucy drew about her like a warm shawl.

Susan did not know for many years where that fateful train journey took her siblings. She deliberately did not consider Narnia, for why would a land full of kindness and light steal her family senselessly, randomly? (She did not know of their mission, of magic rings, of beasts lurking in the darkness. How could she, when they deliberately did not include her?)

She chose to believe that Lucy and Peter and Edmund were in a land of eternal stillness. Susan remembered those burdens, too, even if the details of Narnia were on some days blurry. It seemed more sad, somehow, to think of her siblings once again wearing their crowns on stone thrones, as if their time on Earth meant nothing.

When she opened her eyes and saw Lucy again, young and royal, she felt at first a deep pang of regret before the relief flooded in).

For Lucy, going to the world after the world of Narnia was not frightening but exhilarating, not limiting but empowering. It did not take long for her to forget what she left behind on her mortal world; they had teased Susan, once, for shutting out remembrances of talking animals and magic dancing along the stone paths. If Lucy remembered that, she might have felt shame, now that the quiet majesty of a row of silent English oaks faded into blurs, that the chatter of her peers became as dim and incomprehensible as squirrels.

But Lucy was never one to look back; she was eager to flip ahead to the new pages in her story, here in a world where the pages had no ending. There were new friends to meet and a kingdom to build and cheers to receive and challenges to fight. Susan would realize this too, one day, joining her siblings in this world beyond the world. Lucy was suited for this, as if she were chosen for this, as if she chose this over everything else she could have chosen.

She wrote her own story, yes, but we should remember that does not mean that all of her words were her own.

#this has been sitting in my drafts for months so i decided...just to post it #lucy is a hard character for me #i think i was always jealous of her as a kid #this is an attempt to think through that #anyway #lmk what you think #lucy pevensie #chronicles of narnia #the pevensies #peter pevensie #edmund pevensie #susan pevensie #my moving finger writes #the chronicles of narnia

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raevenlywrites · 3 years

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A bit of the Twins

Felt really inspired on this scene, so I thought I'd share. If you remember Lawrence Crane (Bird) and his sarcastic demon, then happy day for you cause here it is again, bothering Bird's sons. Well, "happy" is maybe a bit generous :/

1.6k, angst/trauma memories, dark magic, inherited problems

“The cliff is called Lovers’ Last Kiss.”

"How romantic."

A shivering voice came from the darkness, or more specifically, from a patch of darkness that was deeper than the rest, more solid. And vaguely human shaped.

It stepped from the trees but became no less clear, just a shadow extending farther than the tree should be able to cast it. It reminded Orai instantly of how his father's shadow had been Wrong.

"Love has nothing to do with it, my little duckies. Kissing, maybe, but it's the joining that matters, not the emotions or lack thereof."

A wave of revulsion struck Orai and Iaro both, different ends of the same awful moment of their father's history. A girl, chained and struggling, blood and bruises the only things covering her skin. A boy, equally bound and beaten, if that would be more to his taste. And the sour/metallic rage/horror that burned up his throat as the first prickles of magic kissed his skin. He knew that magic, the heady sweet whispering of Cretia's promises of love and devotion--twisted. He had never experienced something so hideous in his life, and he was meant to wield it?

No one said against who, boy.

The voice echoed with the same shivery duality of the too dark shadow's, and both boys broke from the vision/memory with a gasp.

"What the fuck," Orai panted, doubled over on his hands and knees. Spit dribbled from his open mouth, the sickly tang herald of bile yet to come. Beside him, Iaro had not been so lucky. Every bit of dinner came back up and then some.

Damira knelt at Iaro's side, though she kept the shadow in view. She stroked a cool hand over his forehead, brushing away the sick sweat and chasing his hair back.

Khat had instantly put herself between the shadow and the group, a wall of fire hovering midair between them. The flames did nothing to give detail to the dark form.

"Are you alright, Orai?" She called behind her, unwilling to take her eyes from the thing in front of her.

Damira cupped her hands, calling cool water to them as she offered it to Iaro to drink.

"No need to hold onto those nasty memories, my lovelies. Call of your guard mara and I'll eat them back up for you."

If a formless shadow could hold up its hands in a gesture of harmlessness, the one before them did now. It was less seeing and more seeming, and it seemed to be contrite, and a little wistful.

"If I had a prettier way to show you, I would have. But we all have things that Bind us to this world-- well, maybe not this world."

It looked around the dreamscape, shimmering and shifting as it did. The darkness tried to take on a shape, but the two shapes were so opposed they seemed to cancel each other out.

"Its a nice place you've got here. A nice antithesis to its birth. Lovers' First Kiss Island. Cute."

Khat's eyes narrowed, and she called back, "Orai?"

It was Damira who answered. "Draw down the fire, but stand ready."

Clenching her teeth, Khat did so, pulling the fire back into herself, but not fully extinguishing it there.

Orai watched the shadow approach, knowing he knew this spectre from somewhere. It felt like staring into the void, like brushing uncle Naj's power, but different.

"That'd be the Dai bindings, sweets. We all feel a little bit the same, those of us brushed by their evil. Now, may I eat those nasty memories again?"

Orai's eyes widened, as if dilating would make more light bounce off the nothing. But that’s what it was. Not a shadow. An absence of light.

"You're dad's demon."

The being seemed to smile.

"He likes to think so. May I?"

It offered the idea of a hand, and trembling Orai looked to Iaro.

Iaro desperately did not want to scan anymore of the thoughts around him. Not Damira's, not his brother's, and most definitely not the nothing's. But his brother was reaching out. And he would not let his brother down.

He sat up, leaning back into Damira's touch, shielding tighter than he ever had before.

"I don’t want to feel like that ever again."

His voice was low but firm, betraying none of the horror he’d felt.

"I can arrange that," the nothing said.

"I wasn’t talking to you!" Iaro snapped. To Orai, he asked, "Do you trust it?"

Orai was surprised to find the answer was yes.

"Its been with dad for a long time. That's a stupidly long con, if its goal is to harm us now."

Iaro frowned, still not quite ready to unclench.

"Damira? Khat? Any insight?"

Damira smoothed his hair back, feeling her spine straighten as she looked at the darkness.

Her voice low and even, she told Iaro, "If it intended harm to any of us, it would be stupid to intend it on a literal island of our power."

The shadow radiated pleasure and pride.

"Very good, little fish. You should hold onto this one, son of my tether. She's very wise--and very hot."

Iaro grit his teeth so hard they cracked.

"If you speak out of turn one more time I will blast you back into the oblivion from which you first crawled."

Dominion was definitely his brother's gift rather than his own, but Iaro knew his words were not empty. "Son of my tether" was weird, and formal. In it's own way, the nothing was... what? Offering fealty? Trying to sink new tethers? He didn’t care. He would banish this thing and not feel at all bad. He did not like this thing.

Orai reached out, brushing Iaro's arm. Iaro flinched, scales bursting out at the touch. But that action helped soothe him, helped balance out his uncharacteristic display of temper.

"Ia, please. What about dad?"

What about dad indeed. He was mythically old, supposedly. Looking at this darkness, he could believe it. But he also knew if this wretched thing was the only thing keeping his father alive, then better he fall than be sustained by such wrongness.

But it would break Ruby’s heart, and destroy Orai's trust in him. For that, he would let the shadow remain.

But the shadow didn’t need to know that.

"Dad's got plenty of tricks that have nothing to do with this thing." He shot a glare towards the shadow. "Isn’t that right?"

"Exactly so, eijye."

Iaro growled. "Don’t mock me. But thank you for holding your peace. Show us your good faith by taking the memories and nothing more."

"As his father's heir commands."

Orai waited for Iaro to move first. But apparently his suddenly commanding brother was going to watch the shadow for any tricks. Fine then. The sooner Orai was free of this Seeing, the better.

Orai reached for the nothing, and felt a distinct Something, but nothing his mortal mind could name. Still, he was utterly and acutely aware of the thing taking, of a real and quantifiable quality leaving his being. And he was all the better for it. His breath came easier, his body felt lighter, and the air tasted sweeter, almost a tingling quality of delicate starlight kissing his skin. He looked up and saw the stars dancing above him, winking and singing in their endless joy.

"Much better," the shadow murmured. "Such wonderment is more fit this place. I quite approve of your solution for the waste magic, by the way."

"You've said as much," Iaro spit out. More tenderly, he asked his brother, "Rai? You good?"

Orai nodded, feeling the coolness of open tears streaming down his face. He hadn't realized how awful he felt until it was gone. How awful he’d been feeling, for a very, very long time.

He looked to the shadow.

"How far back did you go?"

Iaro's head snapped to the thing, but Orai held out an arm to stop him. The shadow seemed to nod.

"Very shrewd, brother of the heir. I could make the effort to speak plainly, but I have thought in riddles for so long, and it takes much of my attention simply to be here while the father is yet awake."

"Answer the question," Iaro insisted. He didn’t like the nuance of this things phrasing at all.

"Of course. Memory it was named but not memory of the sort called by yellow scales. I lifted the memory of your father's taint, o brother of the heir. And if you so wish it of me, he who speaks with the air of his fathers, I will lift if from you as well."

Iaro was about to order it to speak plainly, but again, Orai bid him hold.

"You mean like a lingering effect, something that ties us to you or the Dai or whatever, inherited from our father's half of the magic."

The shadow nodded. "Just so, my tether's son. It is the greatest thing that connects us, so it has the loudest pull. By your leave, I took the stain of it back into myself, from whence it came. Your magic and person is now free of it."

Iaro gave a soft gasp of understanding.

"That's what drew Damira to me, to us. We shared the magic of Dreaming, and Orai and I shared magic to command the stain."

The shadow clapped in delight. Orai thought he almost saw it do it. Almost.

"Very good, heir of my tether. Well sussed. You have an eye for threads."

Iaro frowned but didn't say anything.

“So what do we do?” Orai asked. Though whether he was asking it of the shadow or his brother, he wasn’t sure.

Iaro’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean…” There was no delicate way to put this. “If that’s what made this all work, what happens when it’s gone?”

#my writing #Iaro and Orai

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whatusernameshouldieven · 4 years

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✧･ﾟ:* You and I *:･ﾟ✧*

Art by: https://twitter.com/cchaiart

Genre: fiancé au, fluff

Pairing: Fiancé!Choi San x Foreigner!Reader ;)

A/N: Hey~ This is literally my first tumblr post ever, lol. I’m still a newbie so this is unedited~ Thanks for checking out!

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⇰ Chapter 1: Unexpected Date

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・・

“Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god!”, you squealed in pain as you suffocate your face in your favorite pillow, legs kicking like a newborn baby. You threw your phone across a bit, making sure your aim was not shallow enough to make the phone fall out of bed. The black sheets supported your body, as you rolled around in an uncontrollable way.

Your best friend was just sitting at the side of the bed, feeling like a bystander watching a scene. “Okay… what’s wrong with you?”

You stop dead straight on your as you spread out a bit, staring at the sky as if you were seeing stars. “Choi San invited me to a restaurant, he said he had something important to discuss.” Your heart hammered in her chest, you were awkward at social places.

Your best friend’s eyes widen dramatically as her expression falters to disgust, “My brother invited you to a fancy restaurant? YOU-- ARE YOU GUYS DATING?”

“No, what?”, You chuckled in disbelief at your best friend’s question, “We’re best friends, he has eyes for another girl, Emma. I think.”

Emma or your best friend wriggles her eyebrows, “Or...he invited you to a date… oh my god, is he trying to make things romantic so he can ask you out later? Oh my god, you’ll be my sister in law-Ah!”

Emma catches the sudden pillow attack, as she stares at your tomato shaded face. “It’s not like that, you know it. Why would anyone be interested in me anyways? I’m not even Korean like him.” Emma tilts her head, “So? I mean...you guys talk A LOT.”

You ignore Emma’s statement, “Whatever… you’re involved, you’re helping me with clothes and everything.”

“Oh, it would be my pleasure!”, Emma exclaimed, feeling the rush of excitement.

______________________________________________________________

Time: 10 P.M

>>>FANCY RESTURANT

You now stood outside of a tall marvelous building with wide eyes. This was not what you had expected at all. Surely, you had been at various of fancy restaurants with your family before but this was just next level. The building in front of you was full white, architected marvelously with the elements of the Greek culture. The building stretched quite a bit and there was a huge golden door, with vivid colors of brown and grey used together to compliment the color of gold. The rushing water of the fountain could be heard, as you heard various children play around there and here. The giggles and laughters were the only thing that reassured your rapid beating heart.

Your best friend had advised you to wear something elegant, and you finally knew why. You were grateful for your friend.

Your hair was in a neat french hair bun, as you wore diamond diamond oval-shaped piercings accompanied by a three-layer collar diamond necklace. You wore a black off-sleeved dress, which you were personally shy about but couldn’t say anything since your best friend insisted. Holding your black wristlet purse with you, you entered inside the huge door.

You were met with a whole another world.

Outside of the gate was a simplistic city with workaholics walking around in a daily basis but inside the door was an Ethiopian paradise filled with the colors of joy and happiness. You had never seen something like it— nor even thought of.

A cathedral ceiling was above you with beautiful historical symbolisms of what seemed European. There was a huge chandelier made out of crystals in the middle, shining a light down on you. The walls were consistent with the colors of golden and had pillars. You were standing on a royal red carpet which led you to the receptor of the place.

“Hello, um… I was invited by a friend here.”, You shyly asked, feeling a bit out of place. The male receipt gives you a kind smile as he nods, “You must be Ms. Y/N. Mr. Choi has been expecting you.” You smiles back, awkwardly, not sure what to say. “Let me lead you to him.”

The man nods in a bowing motion slightly signaling you to follow him. You watched his action as you begins to walk behind the man, looking around to admire the place as you go.

You both enter an elevator, as the man pushes a random button which you can’t comprehend since you are behind him. You hold onto your bag tightly, trying to ignore the awkward silence that has filled in. The man stays silent as you just stands there with your hands together at the front.

You examines the elevator, feeling quite of a honorable person since you were surrounded by golden tiles. The floor had the restaurants logo, a fancy T in a rhombus shaped surrounding. Now you realized, you had not even bothered to check the restaurant’s name.

“We’re here”.

Your thoughts are broken by the man’s voice as he steps out to a elevator hallway, while you gently follows behind him, in a wary way. You both are met with a huge golden door, you guessed it was an entrance to the dining place.

The man begins to lead her, opening the door wide open for you as you step in.

There entered a peaceful night day like you would see in the movies. A huge hall-like room, almost an entire family could live in bliss and ease. A king-sized bed at the corner with greyish sheets with yellowish-brown blanket to cover the mood of the room. The same colored pillows were an accent. On the opposite side of the bed, was a huge sofa with a modern TV. For you, this seemed like a set that they would use in Hollywood movies, you had never experienced in person.

But what caught you off guard wasn’t that the restaurant had an unusual hotel-like floor, but that beyond the white wooden doors in front of you, there was a beautiful balcony. Your face froze when your eyes fell on San, the one who invited you here to begin with.

San’s face broken into a small, gentle smile. His eyes squinted a bit, delighted to acknowledge that you had came after all. “You came.”, San gracefully walked over to you with a glass in his hand, the liquid slightly purple in color.

You were mentally freaking out for two reasons. One, Choi San was towering over you as if he was asserting dominance with such a youthful innocent face, which also made you cringe in a way. Second, he looked hot.

“Uh, yeah. It would be rude if I didn’t.”, You got yourself together as you eyed the glass, “What are you drinking?”

San smiles wider as he glances at his glance, twirling the liquid in it mischievously, “Wine. Want some? This hotel has amazing beverage.”

Excuse me, hotel?

“Hotel? SAN? I THOUGHT IT WAS A-- I thought it was a restaurant. Oh my god, I-”, You mentally cursed multiple times, feeling betrayed, “You LIED to me?”

“Y/N, Y/N calm down. This is a hotel with a restaurant, so I technically didn’t.”, San reassured in a softer tone to reason with you. He sighs in relief to see you finally, once again, getting yourself together.

You massage your shoulders, with a vulnerable expression, “Gosh, I’m such an idiot. I thought this was some place for rich ones-- so I completely overdid it.”

San raised an eyebrow with a questionable expression, “Overdid it?” You scoff in response, as you sarcastically show-off your outfit. “Oh.”

“Yeah, see? I can't believe--”

“You look beautiful.”

“What?”, Your eyes widened, your mind going blank.

“You look stunning, Y/N.”, San politely smiled as he held his glass still in his hands, “It would be rude if a man didn’t compliment a lady.”

You let go of your shoulders, as you show a disgusted face, “Are you showing off?”

“Shh...don't ruin the moment.”, San whispers, trying to ignore your words, “Come, let’s eat.”

You prayed inside that you would last in this awkward date, where you were constantly dying of San’s sweetness and tenderness. Could it be that he was taking this seriously? Hah, no way. You followed San to the balcony, and you are immediately greeted with a gentle breeze blowing, rhythmically. You sits yourself down on a white wooden chair, thankful that a cushion was there to support your butt. San does the same.

A smile rises upon your feature, as you are delighted to witness that a mushroom-sauce steak was in front of you. The scent was lovingly welcoming to you, as it seemed to be visually fresh. “I know you like mushroom steak.” Your eyes travel towards San’s soft ones, as you start to buffer for a moment.

Getting yourself together for the third time, you speaks, “Yeah, we would often go out to eat it.” You softly chuckled, recalling a memory of San eating a hot piece of steak, him in pain after it.

“Y/N.” San’s voice suddenly becomes all serious and dramatic, causing you to stop at your tracks from approaching a knife and a fork on a table. You hum in response, as your wide excited eyes gleamed. San bit his lip. He felt terrible to suddenly cause the atmosphere to change, but he had to get straight to the point.

“Marry me.”

Silence.

Your mouth was agape, as you were frozen at the place, not even blinking once. San held his hands together, as he looked at you in such a determined and confident manner which did not make the situation any better. The words circled in your head, as you tried to control your rapid heartbeat along with your breathing.

“What?” Your voice came out as cold and ruthless, slightly piercing San’s heart but it was expected.

“I know this is awkward...but I need you to listen to me…”

You knew what was going to happen due to the tone of San’s voice. You had noticed how San speaks excitingly, yelling a few times there and there. His expression would be awfully animatic but he still managed to keep his tender melodious voice. Right now, San’s voice switched from animatic to awfully tender and slow, as if he was telling a sad story. His eyes only guilt tripped you, since they were so considerate and lenient.

“I’m listening.”, You nod.

“My parents had set me up to arrange marriage with the daughter of a huge CEO. I...I can’t stand to marry a girl that I have never met, I don’t want to associate myself to a corrupt family like hers. So, I thought if I had already told my parents that I am engaged with someone, they would reconsider and break off the plan.” San pleaded, “I know....I know I’m not the man of your dreams. Ugh, what am I even saying? I’m so selfish for asking you this...I’m sorry.”

You let out a long sigh which seemed to last seconds, “Okay, San. I understand.”

San’s eyes perk up, “You do?! Oh my god...you don’t have to.”

“Meh, I don’t mind. I don’t have anyone special in my life so.”, You shrugged.

San smiles as he rubs his neck a little, averting his eyes, “Oh god...I need to do this better.”

“Better?”, You were confused. San stands up as he walks towards you in such a wary way that made you expect the unexpected. He crouches down as you slightly turns your body towards him. He takes out a box from his pocket, as he stares at you lovingly, “Will you marry me?”

This was so weird. Everything was so weird. So unusual. Did things like this even exist, such scenarios that are hard to experience? Tears started to appear on your eyes, without you even knowing. You felt touched, but why? Was it because some man had asked you to marry them when you swore you will never have a husband, or was it because you thought you would never experience such a beautiful moment?

“Ye-...Yes.”, Tears slipped down your eyes as you started to cry like a toddler.

San becomes horrified as he quickly sets the box on the table, holding your face, gently. “Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?” The pure concern in his voice only made you more vulnerable, as you softly hit his chest. “You sentimental idiot!”

“What? Y/N...please tell me if I did something wrong.”, San ignored the soft punches on his chest, not even feeling them as he softly brushes his thumb to wipe the tears away. “I’m just touched, you doofus…”, you wipe your tears away, as you stare at the box.

San lets go of your face as he holds the box, opening it for you. Your watery eyes sparkled along with the oval-shaped diamond ring, a huge oval diamond in the middle while small shaped ones surrounded the big one. “San...thank you…”, you smiled, “It feels like an actual proposal.”

“I’ll be a rude man if I just used you for my own benefits...this is only a small thing.”, San says as he takes out the ring from the box. You both turn towards each other, looking at each other eyes for a moment. San holds your left hand, gently, sliding the ring up on your ring finger.

“Woah-- it looks good on--”

The sound of small kiss being placed on your hand seemingly echoed in your ears. The tingling sensation filled your entire body like electric shock, the sensation lingering right at the spot where the soft lips had been placed. She blinks multiple times as you blankly stared at San’s face, your heart rate once again beating fast, as a blush creeks up to your cheek. San stared at you with such love in his eyes, which was once again, unusual.

You chuckled awkwardly, averting your eyes, “Wow...um...you’re really doing so much for me.” You turn back towards San , involuntarily , whens you feel the grip on your hand tightening. “I’m doing this because it’s you...I chose YOU for this...because I trust you.”

“San…”

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you to get away. It’s not true at all. I chose you because I genuinely feel comfortable with you and I don’t mind experiencing a new life with you.”

You chuckled softly, “Sounds like a proposal.”

San presses his lips together, pressing them tightly together causing his cheeks to puff up. “Alright, I won’t tease you.”, you wished you could photograph his face.

“We should eat our steak.”

“RIGHT!”

#Choi San #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez san #ateez au #fiance au #x reader #ateez ff #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #choi san imagine #choi san imagines #san ff #ateez fluff

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mrneighbourlove · 4 years

Text

The Rising Sun: Ch 5. Power Exchanged

"Oh thank the goddesses we're here."

"I thought we'd never hear the prattle end from your grandfather about his glory days."

"Give him a break, he's old and just wants to give an impression that he can still kick ass."

"Can he still kick ass?"

"I... think so? To a degree? If you're close enough to hit with his cane, perhaps."

"Or his farts, those are lethal."

“Oh, hush the lot of you.” Ganondorf, former King of Hyrule, had grown older with age. Man was just over a century of age. Even kept his build up over all the decades. Up until Zelda passed away. His wife’s death shook him to the core, and over the last few years since her passing, he lost muscle mass. No need to work out, but also a loss of spirit. Still, he held joy for his family: children, grandchildren, friends. And this day was one of the most joyous he’d ever have in a long time.

With all his children and grandchildren finally gathered, with their significant others, they were traveling to Taiyo Town in a large caravan.

"We would have been here sooner if you didn't have to stop to pee ten times."

"Shut it, you were the one that kept complaining about being hungry."

"I was hungry! What's wrong with being hungry?"

"Ganonpa," Luimaya sighed in annoyance, listening to her siblings and cousins’ bicker. "How did you do it with Dad and his siblings?"

“To be honest, it was your grand mother that was the level headed one. I often encouraged some healthy bickering. Was also easy to haul you all by the scruffs when you’ve been misbehaving. Also helped to have Rinku and Leere step in once in a while.” The Mortuus had a nice cloak to protect her skin from the sun. Sunny was letting little Joy play with Skyla. “Well that became difficult when all our younger siblings become rebellious giants.”

"Hmph, when you could catch us by the scruff, old man."

"Remember that time when we pranked him with the stink bomb with Skull Kid?"

"He chased us through the halls for hours before giving up."

"I told you it wasn't a good idea at the time."

"What do you mean, Lui? It was your idea."

"Yes, my idea, just not at that time. He was in a mood that day and we set it off."

"What are we even doing here, anyway? I thought the future queen couldn't leave the castle unless it was for diplomatic reasons."

"It is." Luimaya clarified. "I'm here to meet the leaders of Taiyo Town."

"But you're going to be the queen, and you're Gerudo. So, doesn't that make you their leader?"

Revan cleared his throat, sitting next to Nakeso and Luimaya. There were so many grandkids he’d barely known here now. Not to mention, he was finally about to enter the town his father put so much time and attention into. The whole feeling was daunting, but he did his best to relax. Heck, Kanisa’s kids didn’t even look like Gerudo. “Well, yes and no. All the tribes of Hyrule ha e either sworn fealty to the crown of Hyrule or formed alliances. So technically, my father and anyone else who’s in charge here could lead without outright obeying Covarog and later Luimaya.”

Luimaya and Ganondorf both shot Revan a glare at his words. Like grandfather, like granddaughter, it seemed. She definitely inherited his scowl. Evidently, the two of them agreed on the premise that the Gerudo of Taiyo Town should still hold some respect for the original King, his son, and granddaughter. "We don't want a repeat of the past, Revan. We're going to ensure it stays peaceful, but there has to be some grounds of respect." Luimaya told her bodyguard. "Your father or another leader, it matters not."

“I never suggested that.” Revan drew closer to Nakeso, freezing when his thigh touched hers. “And I’m sure my dad isn’t a fool. Just stubborn. Something I’ve heard and know you two can have in common.”

The cart laughed as Ganondorf merely smiled lightly in agreement. It wasn’t something he could deny.

"That's right, you're the fool and he's just stubborn." Luimaya teased, earning another round of snickers from everyone in the caravan. "You've nearly gotten yourself killed numerous times, not counting the times you were trying to watch my back."

"I don't know who is the worst, Revan or you."

"Revan." The grandkids all responded in unisons.

"He has more tallies." Nakeso held up a notebook. "Revan has nearly gotten killed 158 times while Luimaya is only at 37."

"What? Really? I thought she'd have more."

"She's reckless, but she's not stupid enough to put herself in situations to die."

"True."

"Hey! Your future queen is hearing all this!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you know it's true."

Revan was bright red in the face. “It hasn’t even been a year since- Wait, how long have you kept that book around for?”

"Since you were five and almost stuck your head into a forge to prove you were fireproof like your sister." Nakeso remarked, earning a snort from Donoma. "I still can't believe you did that."

"He was just jealous that I could walk in fire without getting burned." Donoma giggled. "And pouted when I held fire in my hands like a ball. Insisted he could do it too. I don't think I've ever seen Mama scold him like that for an hour."

Revan was growing uncomfortable. Pretty much every grandchild was not only older than him, Ralnor’s children themselves being in their mid thirties to cap the height of age, but they were all together on his misery. Even Donoma seemed to be more suited with them. “Yeah. Sure.” When he saw Skyla looking at him, he sighed, secretly signing to her. “ Least I’m not afraid of spiders.”

"You in trouble. A lot." Skyla signed in return with a small smile. She was still shy, like she was when a tiny girl, but had opened up to her cousins and was flourishing in her studies to be a veterinarian. "But good fighter. Luimaya lucky to have you. Don't worry. Everyone loves you. Just tease you cause love you."

“Could fool me.”

“Hey ya’ll!” Rinku shouted from the front of the horse cart. “We’re here. You all behaving back there? Hate to turn this ride around~”

"Hey, if we're not behaving, it's only because we learned it from you." Covarog snickered.

Orana jested with him. "Yeah, you tell her."

“Well, you got me there.” They could hear the putter patter of her feet walking on the sand to the doors. Opening them, sunlight poured inside. “To those unaccustomed by desert heat, please apply sunscreen that’s been provided. This mostly applies to my gothic sister pale as a vampire and Kanisa’s one eyed, blue skinned, always a pleasurable attitude husband and my adorable nephew and niece from Uskar. My sister in law Sunny has provided sun hats for those who prefer them.”

"Is your sister always this cheery?" Vidar grumbled in Uskarian to Kanisa. He absolutely loathed the desert and the heat. The poor man looked miserable. "I don't see how it's possible with all this sand and sun."

"Just deal with it a little while longer please, love." Kanisa assured her husband. "We'll be back in Uskar soon enough."

"If I don't melt first."

Leere addressed Skyla and Joy together with Tebanem. “Since you’re both the youngest, I’d like you both to stay together at all times. Stay within eyeshot of an adult.”

"Hey! I'm not a kid." Tebanam huffed. "I'm an adult!"

"She means Skyla and Joy, Teb." Faris clarified, amused, to his husband. "She doesn't want them wandering off."

"Oh."

The shit eating grin on Leere’s face filled up until she couldn’t help but keel over in laughter. “If you need the advice of the oldest siblings, talk to me or Luimaya, Tebby. I’m sure Kanny will love to be your pair buddy~”

"Oh shut it, I knew what you meant, I was just joking." Tebanam refused to look her in the eye, crossing his arms.

Once all the others had stepped outside, Ganondorf made his way out of the cart. It had been too long since he breathed desert air and tasted life upon the winds. With light robes he turned to the massive walls of the town. Was like a fortress. “Impressive.” The gates opened as Revan and Donoma handed out passes to the men that their father had given them in advance. What awaited inside amazed the old king. Gerudo of all shapes and sizes interacting as a community. Everyone of them shouted out one big greeting when they saw the family gathering. “VASAAQ!!! SAV’AAQ!!!”

Revan himself blinked, surprised by how many red headed women there were. He looked at his sister surprised. “You’ve been coming here?”

"Yeah, what of it?" Donoma was taken aback by her brother's surprise. "I've learned a lot about our history. Mama taught me all I needed to know of what we had of Lorleidian history. Dad taught us what he knew of Gerudo history, but there's only so much he can teach. The rest of it needs to be experienced. Besides," She waved at a few of her friends. "I've made a lot of progress in my studies and I have friends here. It's nice to have a second home."

“Must be nice.” Revan couldn’t help but let his bitterness out. Was he not Gerudo enough to belong here? The man of the hour appeared. Malik opted for stylized, yet comfortable robes. Beside him, Gali was wearing a nice Vai dress. The Lord of Taiyo Town smiled to Zarazu before addressing the group as a whole. “My extended family, and royal family of Hyrule. I am honoured that you can finally see the hard work all of our generations have worked towards. The Gerudo people prosperous once again. I welcome you to Taiyo town.”

Each family member extended their greeting politely before the King spoke. "I am impressed by the amount of work here, and absolutely delighted that we finally are able to see the restoration of our people." Covarog then noted Gali. "Please let me to express my thanks in allowing Lord Malik to help you oversee the construction of Taiyo Town. May I present my wife, Queen Zarazu of the Lorleidians," He gestured to his lover. "And my children. Marena and Syrena are the youngest twins, then Zahirog, then Turagor and Luimaya are my eldest. My Luimaya is next in line to rule our kingdom."

Gali bowed her head politely to Luimaya. “It is a privilege to learn the next high Queen will be a Gerudo Woman on the throne. Strong, and fiery from what Donoma has told me in her studies. You will make a remarkable queen, I’m sure. We encourage you to explore Taiyo Town on your own. We want to be an organic experience for all of you.”

"It is a privilege to be here in your town, to learn more of my history and to walk with the fierce warriors that I have read so much about in books. I feel like this is something out of a fairy tale, even though I know it's simply history." Luimaya returned a respectful nod of her head to Gali. "I ask that you teach me, my siblings, and cousins all that you know and anything you wish for us to learn; whether it be ways of combat or simple knowledge." Then the future queen gestured to Skyla. "I ask you have patience with my family, but especially my cousin, Skyla. She is deaf and reads lips. I don't suppose any of you know sign? She can write in Gerudo, but that takes a time." "Hi!" Skyla signed to Gali with a bright smile. "I do read lips, but accents make lips move odd. Please talk slowly for me." Luimaya then translated, "She is greeting you and asking for you and the other members of the town to speak slower for her, to give her time to read your lips."

Gali nodded, addressing the town in Gerudo to look out for the little one. Turning to Skyla, she got on a knee to kneel down to her and speak in Sign. “Hello Skyla. I am Gali. I think I’ve met you and your father’s people on my travels before. Hard to forget a tribe as pretty as you.”

"You tall lady." Skyla motioned to the women surrounding Gali. "All tall. Garai women like me, not so tall. Sister tribe, you come visit sometime." She then stomped the sand with her foot and made a sailing wave with her arm. "Ride Sand Rays! Learn of Gerudo now. You learn of Garai too. Too much time pass without sister tribe. Sand here. Stone there. Much to know." "Skyla, don't sign so fast, she might not get it all." Tebanam hopped down from his camel, Loogie, and signed to his daughter. "They go slow for you, you go slow for them. Not too fast." Skyla blushed and sheepishly signed, "Sorry. Excited!"

"That's more than fine Skyla. We'll get to learning about each others culture very quickly." Gali patted Skyla on the shoulder as she stood up. "We have tour guides in green patched shoulders who'd love to take you around our markets, bars, training grounds, schools, saunas, spas, and the rest of the joyous spots in Taiyo Town. If you'd like to explore on your own that's fine too. I hope you all enjoy the joys Taiyo Town can bring!"

Ganondorf was lost in thought as he looked around the town. While Gali was addressing the crowd, he watched small Gerudo children kick a ball back and forth. A woman was beating an old styled blanket he used to wrap himself in previous lives from her balcony. And there was a Hylian in the background laughing with a Gerudo. A union he had been working hard since with his wife to normalized. A view he knew his cousin had struggled to come to grips with. Yet here they were.

Donoma was struggling to pull her brother through the throng of women. This was a headache. She kept politely asking for the ladies to step aside, but they were more interested in talking to Revan. "Girls... girls, for fuck's sake!!!" Donoma shouted over the crowd. "You can feel his pecs later, we're going to see my mom now."

“Come on Donoma! This is the virgin brother you have! Can’t we just, you know, kiss him. For homework purposes?” Her roommate asked in a little sexy voice for her brother.

Revan wasn’t expecting so many of the girls around Donoma’s age to be so horny. This wasn’t the type of attention he wanted. “I have someone else...”

"No. At least, not now. Later." Donoma yanked Revan into the tent that her mother and father shared. Finally, maybe the crowd would go away. "Damn vultures, I swear..."

"Revan!" Asakonigei was on bed rest, currently trying her hand at knitting and failing miserably. Although, her face lit up when she saw her son and daughter. "Donoma! I'm so happy you're both here!"

“Mom!” Revan ran forward, hugging her close. “Are you ok? I can’t believe Dad got you pregnant again.”

"I'm fine, Revan, just a little uncomfortable with all this extra weight." Asakonigei hugged her son tightly. "We were not exactly planning this, but nonetheless, it happened. I've been very well cared for while I've been here."

"Do you know what the baby is now?" Donoma asked her mother. "I've been wanting to know for so long!"

"Yes, actually, I do know the baby is going to be." Asakonigei smiled widely. "You're both going to have a little brother."

"Queen Zarazu birthed three Gerudo boys and now, I suppose I'm lucky to have a second one." Asakonigei then added. "Though your father and I have been at odds about a name."

“You have?” Revan sat beside her, wanting to not leave her side. Been months since he saw his mother.

"Get a load of this," Donoma plopped onto the bed, opposite to Revan, their mother in the middle. "Dad says he wants another Gerudo name, but Mom is insisting on a combination between Gerudo and Lorleidian since my name is Lorleidian and yours is Gerudo."

"It's only fair." Asakonigei defended her point. "I doubt I'm having another baby, so half it, right?"

“Well knowing father, he most likely doesn’t want a Frankenstein name put together.”

"It's not that bad, I don't think." Donoma shrugged her shoulders. "Mufratir is all right, isn't it?" Asakonigei asked her son.

Revan couldn’t hide his displeasure at the name as his face contorted at the corners. “Keep it simple?”

"Or she could go all out like Zarazu and Covarog did with Zahirog and name the kid Malikonigei." Donoma snorted.

"Oh, hush you!" Asakonigei gently shoved at Donoma's shoulder.

“Could call him Dad’s first name?” Revan pondered on the possibilities.

"One Malik in the world is enough, the world has enough stubbornness." Asakonigei laughed.

"The world didn't need even more with Revan, what have you done, Mom?"

"Your brother is not that bad."

"He went into a match without magic."

"That's just his ego."

“Excuse me?!” The comment of the world not needing him stung Revan to his core. “I’m sorry I tried to prove that I had value in the skills I crafted for myself. I’m sorry I’m not daddies favourite child!”

"Oh, stop being a brat." Donoma snapped at Revan. "You know that's not what I meant. I implied the world doesn't need more of your 'I'm-undefeatable' attitude." She then scoffed and said, "Favorite? Dad doesn't choose favorites, but if you really believe that's true, it's only because I actually listen and behave."

"Hush, you two, stop fighting." Asakonigei scolded both of her children. "I shall not have you two fighting in front of me or your father. He has enough to worry about as it is."

“Oh you know what, fuck dad too. Too important with all of this to give a damn about me.” Revan gestured all around the village with wide arms. “Skipping dinners, celebrations, and ceremonies to be here. Except while I’m stuck out busting my ass, he chooses you to live here with him. You’re probably aware he’s never once invited me here.”

"He didn't choose me to live with him here, you dumbass! I'm a woman, for starters, and at least I look Gerudo!!!" Donoma spat back at Revan. "He's trying his best to rebuild some semblance of what our ancestors lost! If you're so upset about not receiving a personal invitation, it's not Dad's fault! The Gerudo women here don't trust men! The only reason they trust Dad is because he is Gerudo!"

"ENOUGH!!!" Asakonigei shouted so loud that Revan's ears and Donoma's rang something fierce. "If the both of you are going to squabble like children, then you can do so elsewhere! I do not need the stress of seeing you two fight and neither does your little sibling! Out! Right now!"

"But Mom---"

"I said, OUT!!!"

“You hit the nail exactly on the head. In his eyes I’m not Gerudo. And if I am, I’ll only carry the worst aspects. So how about you go crawl back to your sisterhood like the good little girl you are.” Revan looked to his mom, daring to glare at her something fierce. “A baby will kill you. Why would you risk putting us through something like that?”

"At least I don't follow around a girl who doesn't love me!" Donoma shot back. "Luimaya will never like you in that aspect and you think being her bodyguard will make her view you as some romantic hero? You're an ass." With that, Donoma tromped out of the tent.

Asakonigei gave Revan a hard stare. "I had complications with you, I lost too much blood with Donoma, and yet, both of you are still here and alive." Asakonigei said very sternly. "Your father and I didn't plan this. I did not even think I could get pregnant again with the trauma my body suffered. Yet, this baby is growing within me and will need you and your sister. I would gladly die for you and Donoma, and this baby. It's part of me and part of your father, and will be your sibling. Don't you dare patronize me, son."

“Is this because you want to give father his large family. You really think it’ll be fair to the baby to grow up in a world without a mother?” Revan sat down next to her, disbelief wrapped around his face. “You think that’s fair to me and Donoma to lose you for another one of father’s grand dreams? Honestly, are you even thinking properly here?”

"No, I don't think it's fair. Not for me, not for you, not for your sister or father, and certainly not the baby." Asakonigei stated as her son sat beside of her. "As I said previously, your father nor I planned this. It simply happened. And I am thinking very clearly. I am a mother. You will not be able to understand until you have children of your own, Revan. I want this baby to be born surrounded by love regardless of what happens to me. I may or may not survive... but at least this time, I will have more help."

“How? What makes you believe that? Your body will kill you. Dr. Bovier made that perfectly clear.”

"Yes, Doctor Boveir did. Yet, these women believe differently. So now, the only thing I have left is faith."

“Faith? Are you out of your mind?” Revan sneered at the very thought. “We should just get on our hands and knees and pray? Or perhaps we should get some shaman to throw flowers on top of you.”

"Don't. Patronize. Me." Asakonigei yanked her son forward by the collar of his armor. She was pregnant, but still strong enough to get Revan's attention. "I prayed to Kovina for you. You are here. If you are going to be like this, then you can leave. I will not have your attitude around myself or your new sibling-to-be when the time comes. Either you can support me, or go. What is it going to be?"

“I’ll leave when her royal highness deems it ready to go.” He held her hand, his fingers gentle, yet firm on her. His eyes were angry, but his lips trembled small hesitation. “I don’t want Klinge’s ego to take you away from me.”

"... you know I'll fight the Goddess of Death to stay here with you." Asakonigei held the side of his face with a small sigh. "If you don't have faith in the deities, at least have faith in me. Your mother is a tough old woman."

Revan’s eyes were heavy as he slowly nodded in agreement. “Alright...” Careful to not hurt her, he hugged his mother closely. “I don’t trust Father to look after you. So you have to be strong enough to look after yourself.”

As Revan hugged her, Asakonigei slowly stroked the back of his hair, trying her best to soothe him. "I have a lot of women here ready to help me. I'll have help, Revan. And if you decide to stay for a little while, then you can help me too."

Revan choose to ignore that last part. “I hope they can help you...”

The first day of the royal family visit was going smoothly. Malik was incredibly proud of his people. Seeing Luimaya, he waved the girl and her siblings over. “Young princess. Princes and princess’. How are you this afternoon?”

Luimaya had been exploring the town with her siblings and cousins. All of them were currently enjoying a recipe of the Gerudo heritage. Poor Turagor was coughing from the spiciness, the younger twins barely batted an eye, and Zahirog merely nibbled on his, trying to save face. "This is... a different experience for sure. It's not exactly what I've read in books." Zahirog admitted to Malik.

"I guess history left out a few parts." Turagor said in-between sputters from the spicy chicken leg.

"I really enjoyed seeing such beautiful custom clothes!" Marena smiled.

"And hearing the music!" Syrena added.

Luimaya stayed silent for a while, thinking. "Though... Ganonpa won't stay here to lead them." She then asked. "So I suppose Gail is going to?"

“Ganondorf is too old to lead. The man has lived long enough for this lifetime to be a ruler. Gali certainly makes a qualified Chieftain in my absence.”

The siblings exchanged glances.

"... you?" Zahirog appeared to be confused. "You're a man. I thought the Gerudo wanted a female leader like Nabooru in the old days?"

“There have been Kings and Queens in our past too.”

"Yeah, though Zahi and Turagor needed a pass just to come in here." Marena noted. "So... it's safe to assume they're not too trusting of men." Syrena pointed out to her uncle.

"I know Mom and Dad will probably want to talk to them about keeping good ties with Hyrule." Luimaya told Malik. "I know Dad is King and a descendant of Ganondorf, so surely there will be peace from here on out."

“That’s something we are working out. I just don’t want these people to be taken advantage of.” Malik smiled softly, speaking gently to them all. “Just how I didn’t want your father, uncles, aunts and all of you taken advantage. History can sometimes be tricky and like to repeat itself.”

"Do you think they'll allow Lorleidians here too? Maybe some Hylian civilians?" Luimaya inquired. "For trading purposes?"

“Yes. It’s what I want. It’s what we are already trying to integrate. Look closely, and you’ll be able to spot one or two amongst the town even now.”

"As long as there is prosperity and peace, that's what matters the most." Luimaya stated.

"Though, I really wish you wouldn't stay here."

"Yeah, the castle would fall apart without you." Turagor remarked as he chugged down some water, trying to wash away some of the spiciness of the chicken. "I mean, you did keep our aunts and uncles from arguing all the time. Sort of."

"I think what he's trying to say is you're a peacemaker and we don't want anymore food fight incidents between Uncle Corsaire and his crew against the Hylian guards." Zahirog blanched. "I was pulling noodles out of my hair for weeks."

“Children...” Malik tried to sound soft to counteract how tired he was of this particular conversation. “I’ve been a peacemaker before your parents were even born. If you still need to rely on my guidance, I fear for the stability of Hyrule.”

"What they're trying to say is, they're going to miss you if you stay here." Marena clarified.

"Yeah. It would suck, cause we wouldn't get to see you as often." Syrena added to her twin's statement.

“Your Aunt Kanisa lives a whole ocean away. I’m still less then a days travel away. Besides, distance makes the heart grow fonder.” He gently patted Syrena on the shoulder.

"Yeah, but at least she has a dragon to bring her here to see us." Syrena sulked slightly. "If you move away, you might not come back cause Uncle Ralnor annoys you."

"We all know that Uncle Ralnor can annoy anyone with his 'proper-ness'." Marena snickered. "I hold my pinky finger out when I sip tea, look at me, I'm so proper." The siblings did exchange giggles at that mentioning.

“What? You can’t travel here to see me?”

"We can but who knows when we'll be able to." Luimaya admitted with a heavy sigh. "Come on, Uncle Malik. Even Mom and Dad don't get out of the palace that much. You know that."

"And when Lui becomes queen, it will be harder for to do so." Turagor frowned slightly. "Maybe for us if we have to stay at home too."

"At least we have each other." Zahirog noted. "That's what counts."

"But on a lighter note, Mama told us that Aunt Asa is pregnant again." Marena smiled. "What are you going to name the baby?"

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Syrena asked.

“I don’t know yet.” Malik didn’t want to know, least, not quite yet. Sighing, he figured out how to approach their worries. “The same way home will keep you busy in central Hyrule, my home here will keep me busy. This is simply part of life though children.”

"We know." Zahirog shrugged, holding his siblings together with his arms around their shoulders. "Though you better find the time to visit if we do."

“I-“ Malik saw Ganondorf from afar. The man held an expression of light urgency, waving the Lord with the wrist of a hand. “If you will excuse me children.”

Reaching Ganondorf’s side, Malik still felt slightly humbled in his presence. “Is something the matter?”

“No. Not at all. However, there is something of great importance I wish to discuss with you.”

“I understand.”

“I think privately will be best.”

Privately? This intrigued Malik. “Very well. Inside the eyes of the goddess statue then?” Ganondorf looked to the edge of the town where a giant woman of stone observed the town.

“You can go inside?”

“Yes. I made it a place of pray and to chronicle our people.”

“How spiritual of you. Let’s not waste time. Still a night of celebration to share.” The two Gerudo men reminisced on their shared past as they made their way to the temple. Inside, Ganondorf and Malik took their seat in front of a mural of great Gerudo’s past. “Cousin, don’t think me rude, but I invited two others.”

"I swear, if Malik wanted me to drag my ass in here for another stupid test of his, I'mma choke him. Getting too old for that."

"Now, now, Rinku, I'm sure he just wants to talk without a ton of eyes upon us."

"I'm serious, I'm so over these tests of his, Zarazu! At least he learned his lesson with you."

"How so?"

"... you took the man's arm; he should be grateful you didn't take his dick." Rinku and Zarazu had no idea that the words in the temple could... echo.

Ganondorf turned to daughter as she made herself visible with Zarazu. “Colourful vocabulary.” Malik was surprised to see Zarazu and Rinku together. “I didn’t expect you both to be here.”

"You invited us?" Zarazu held a tone of questioning to her voice. "Unless I misunderstood, you wanted to meet with the holders of the Tri-Force?"

"Hey, I've heard worse from you, Ganondad." Rinku pointed a finger at Ganondorf.

“I did.”

“What is this all about?” Malik stiffened, uncertainty filling his being. His words said otherwise, but deep down his heart knew why they were all gathered now.

Ganondorf changed his gaze over to Malik, a deep and heavy look falling on him. “We are here to talk about The Triforce of Power’s new owner.”

Silence was cast over the room, and a shocking realization hit Malik now it was in the open air. “Me?”

"...?! WHAT?!" Rinku shook her head. "Wait, I thought Covarog was supposed to get the Tri-Force? He's next in line, no offense, Malik."

"I am... surprised myself." Zarazu stated slowly, not expecting this. "Might I ask why?"

“Rinku...” Ganondorf waiter until his eldest daughter was a little calmer before continuing. “Every child of mine, with the exception of you, carries a seed of darkness that I share. I fear the Triforce might corrupt them as it corrupted me.”

"Corrupt them?!" Rinku took offense to that. "All your kids are the best of you and Mom. Do you truly think that if you give the Tri-Force to Covarog that he'll turn dark?" She then said, "If you don't want to trust Covarog with it, then give it to Ralnor. Hell, give it to Orana or Kanisa, even Teb! They're not going to be corrupted! None of them are part of this curse that you, Mom, and I have repeated!"

“No. They both struggle with darkness in their choices. And I won’t expose Orana, Kanisa, or Tebanem to temptation of abuse. I need someone who’s motives are incorruptible. That knows the weight of true magic and power.”

"You have so little faith in them! Look at how much they all have overcome!" Rinku frowned and gestured to Zarazu. "They're married. They have families. They're happy! And not once ounce of lust for power within them! And you think Malik is the one? Good goddesses, look at what you both have done in the past!" Rinku exclaimed. "Look at how much bloodshed both of you have on your hands! He's a carbon copy of you, Ganondorf! This is not a good idea!"

“Have we not redeemed ourselves? Has he not suffered enough under my hands as much as any of my other past victims? He rose from being my tool to regaining his humanity.” Ganondorf sent a penetrating look at his daughter. “What’s more, he has never broken my trust. Even in the deepest depths of depravity he was always honest with his intentions.”

"Yeah, he regained his humanity, but not due to you." Rinku remarked with a glare of her own. "Due to her," She motioned to Zarazu, and then added, "And his wife. What do you think will happen if they're no longer around to keep him in check? Do you want me to have to strike him down like I had to do you in our past lives if he loses control?"

“I regained it due to me wanting my humanity back. I worked hard for it. I earned it.” Malik was about done with the hero talking down on him. “You speak as though you aren’t without blood on your hands. So many of your past lives ended entire bloodlines due and the ramifications can still be felt today. We keep each other in check. I was kept around to keep you in check since you were a child. So don’t patronize me.”

"I know I have blood on my hands and I regret my actions. Yet, I've never been influenced by power. That's your lot. You still seek it today, and you're blind to it." Rinku shook her head. "I don't agree with this. When Chaos comes, he'll use it against you to turn you to his side and you'll end up fighting with Luimaya instead of with her. I'm out of here." The heroine tromped out of the cave, steaming. Zarazu, on the other hand, had remained silent the entire time. Thinking.

Malik couldn’t help but laugh at the old Princess. Even now, she still had a young spirit. “You’re going down to a dead end.”

As she stomped around, Ganondorf was less amused. “Rinku. You aren’t being fair here. As Zelda trusted Zarazu, I trust Malik. Please... sit.” The old king was also tired. He didn’t want to argue this point.

Rinku was done with this conversation and refused to be a part of it further. She turned around, found another tunnel, and exited the cave to prove her point and kept walking.

"Maybe we should give her some space to think as well." Zarazu suggested, trying to keep Rinku and Ganondorf from arguing again as her sister-in-law left the temple.

“She’ll have to accept it.” With Rinku gone, Ganondorf sighed. “She’s in the dark, but I know you’re no fool to Ralnor’s darker actions in protecting Hyrule, even now. And for my eldest, I wasn’t completely sure until I heard Malik show Zannah respect where Covarog couldn’t let go of it his hatred of the Hasai. That is ultimately why I choose Malik over your husband Zarazu. Malik has shed his hate.”

Malik looked softly at Zarazu, wondering what she was thinking. “Rupee for your thoughts?”

"I can understand Rinku's view and your view, because I'm trying to be fair from a standpoint." Zarazu admitted to the men. "I'm well aware that my husband has flaws. Everyone does, we're human. However, I do think you should tell Covarog why he is not getting the Tri-Force of power. I won't lie, I'm sure it will hurt him. He has been looking forward to succeeding you in being a carrier because he wants to make you proud." She then continued, "Though, if Malik has the Tri-Force, I know you trust him and I know that he has more respect for the Hasai than my husband. I cannot help but wonder if you too will be immune to the temptation of power, my oldest friend." The queen was wise, for sure, though still cautious. "Many times in history, power has corrupted... are you sure that it's temptation will not affect you like it has Ganondorf?"

“I don’t know for sure. That’s why I want my friends and family to keep me honest. To use a seat and source of power for the betterment of all people.” Malik glanced over to Ganondorf, a sudden frown on his face. “If you give me your greatest source of power, you will lose your immortality. You might not live for long.”

“Who wants to live forever? No. Not me. As for Covarog, he knows how plenty proud I am of him.”

Finally, Ganondorf stood up from his bench. “Zarazu. I want your support on this. Do you think Malik is a good man? Do you think he can wield power in the name of peace?”

"... I do believe Malik is a good man. I do believe he sincerely wants the best for our people, for the Gerudo as well. Though, as said previously, there is always temptation." Zarazu looked at her own hand. There she saw the slight glow of the Tri-Force piece of Wisdom, reminding her there were always two sides to every tale. Those years ago before Zelda's death, she entrusted the Lorleidian queen with the Tri-Force of Wisdom. She did not want her daughters to carry the burden and trusted Zarazu to keep it safe. "Though we are only human, Ganondorf. Sometimes, even I feel the slight pull of the Tri-Force, calling me to use it. To dip into that magical essence that is so pure and addictive, that I have to be careful. I resist it for the sake of my family, my friends, and my kingdom." She held up her fingers glowing with magic. "If you want my support, and my utmost trust... then I must ask that we form a bind. This way, no matter where these pieces may end up... we will not let them fight against one another again." The queen then stated. "We'll revoke this curse."

“I can agree to that. If the pieces of the Triforce, ever, ever need to come together, then it will be for a wish of healing to the people.” Malik’s breath didn’t hitch as he reached a hand out to Zarazu to shake on this sacred pact.

"Not to destroy, but for peace." Zarazu took Malik's hand. "No longer destruction, but healing."

“For love, not hatred.”

"Agreed." Zarazu used her magic to implement the contract of the binding. A ring of runes in the Lorleidian language formed on her wrist and Malik's, identical in nature. "And if we break it... we die."

Malik nodded. When finished, he seemed almost somber when he spoke. Perhaps now was the time to tell his friend. “You should know that I’m not coming back to Hyrule. This is my home. With my people. They want to elect me to the position of Gerudo King. The sworn guardian. I’ve waited to be here again since I was a boy.”

"... I know." Zarazu simply replied to her friend. "I want you to be happy. Though I must be blunt with my next question." She took a small breath and said, "When the time comes... you will still remain loyal to my daughter?"

“I will be a friend that she can rely on.”

"She will need you." Zarazu actually looked... concerned. "As much as that snake gives me the creeps, I cannot deny his magic or his status. He said it will be soon... and I am worried."

“The Triforce bearers and the sages will need to protect the world.” Ganondorf stretched out, taking a deep breath. “Are you both prepared for that?”

"I am prepared for that. I am ready to give my life if it means my family will be safe." Zarazu clasped her hands together, her gaze downcast. "I am not ready to... to sacrifice my daughter. If what Bonegrinder says is true, and... his prophecy is correct..." It was hard for her to speak the words. "I've seen what has happened to Bonegrinder's mind. It is warped. He shares two souls in one body. He is a host for a deity and no longer his original self... if that happens to my Luimaya..."

“Bonegrinder is a freak. I won’t let him or anyone else hurt your daughter Zarazu.”

"... I trust you." Zarazu sighed, still thinking of what the future could hold. "I do think you need to check on Asa, Malik. From what Nakeso overheard when she went to take your wife some food from Gail, Revan and Donoma were... disagreeing."

“It is.” Ganondorf took a few sound breaths. Opening his right palm, a feint and soft glow emerged as a small golden triangle appeared. There was no celebration of grand ceremony behind it. The earth didn’t shake, and the sky didn’t change colour. It simply appeared. Ganondorf gently handed it to Malik to hold with both hands. “Take it.”

Zarazu simply waited in slight apprehension. She did not know what would occur once Malik took the piece.

Ganondorf stepped back as his cousin held the Triforce. Malik didn’t expect it to feel so warm, like a campfire. But with a squeeze of his right fist around it, he felt his heart light in a blaze of might. The Triforce connected to him physically, mentally, and spiritually. His breath felt freer, and he felt more alive then ever. One his palm, the triangle of the Triforce emerged from nothing, looking like tattoo. The top triangle lightly glowed, signifying the merger was a success. Malik, son of the desert and blade of the Gerudo, was now the weirder of Power.

"... Malik?" Zarazu finally spoke. "Are you all right?"

"I can relate." Zarazu took a slow inhale. It seemed he was still himself... for now. Maybe the fail-safe spell was keeping everything in check. Maybe Rinku was wrong and Malik would not be corrupted. Yet, personally, though she might not admit it, Zarazu was not willing to take that chance when it came to her daughter. If he tried to use it for evil... no, it was best not to think about it.

Malik took a few moments to self reflect. With the Triforce, he felt connected to life and magic on a deeper level in a near instant. To be truthful, it suddenly became overbearing. “I think I need to sit down.”

Zarazu formed a chair of ice for him to sit upon in the cave. "... the magic is overwhelming for a new holder." The queen then offered. "I can help you channel it for a bit to get you used to it."

“Give me a moment. I just need to adjust.”

"Close your eyes and try to imagine the flow of the magic." Zarazu instructed Malik, trying to make it easier for him. "You feel it within you, within your surroundings, and others... let it talk to you."

“Cousin, imagine the Triforce as a heart within you. It beats within you as a generator of life and magic. Ease into it. Should be similar to the magic you know.”

Malik nodded, feeling deep within and focusing on himself. Over the course of five minutes the man finally felt he had control over the new weight of his soul. “I’ll be fine now.”

"All right... let's just walk slow then. We'll need to help Ganondorf."

Malik took another breath, looking down at the yellow triangle burned upon his hand. He knew in his heart of hearts this was the key to bringing glory to the Gerudo and all of Hyrule.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/622576982282141697/the-rising-sun-ch-4-uncertain-future

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/622772431507062784/the-rising-sun-ch-6-like-father-like-son

Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse

#crossover story #ridersoftheapocalypse #Klinge/Malik #Asakonigei #Rinku #Zarazu #Ganondorf #Triforce #Gerudo

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this-haunting-hunger · 4 years

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fic: don’t take this haunting home III

Wei Ying lives with many ghosts. It's usually not a problem. He used to be one himself, after all. However, ghosts have one glaring fault, and it is this: they are, by definition, people who refuse to stay completely dead.

And as far as Wei Ying is concerned, some dead people should stay that way.

Chapters: One, Two, Three

Content: angst, violence, ghosts

Pairing: Wangxian

Length: 5000

read on ao3

It’s a little funny, and a little unfair, how immediately he regrets his decision. In another place, he might even have laughed, the kind of laugh that stings the throat and barely keeps back tears or screaming. But Wei Ying isn’t doing any laughing, now. No crying, either. He’s just along for the ride.

And what a horrible ride it’s already promising to be.

He – they – are staring down at a crumpled heap of robes that spread out in pale lilac waves, a series of delicate purple petals, trodden on and discarded. Except that the petals are moving, little wracking shivers, and the dishevelled cascade of black hair masking the face of the man on the floor stirs with his violent, heaving breaths. Each sob seems to struggle to claw its way out from the man’s lungs, so broken that it’s impossible not to imagine that something is broken on the inside, too.

Besides, Wei Ying doesn’t have to imagine. Wen Zhuliu knows, and so does he. Jiang Cheng’s core had made no sound when it imploded, but the man had screamed, his last coherent plea leaping seamlessly from words to a tortured, animal noise. Wen Zhuliu remembers, and so does Wei Ying, deep in his chest and far beyond anything so mundane as an explanation, but not like this. Not as the culprit, standing over his victim with things like regret and guilt and pity flitting on the edge of consciousness, shoved there by colder realities, by things like necessity and orders and obedience.

It is a very good thing that Wei Ying had no ability to see this before he started Empathy, because if he had, the hate that’s crackling through his mind would have made it impossible to do anything but tear Wen Zhuliu apart. With his bare hands, if necessary.

As it is, Wen Zhuliu’s perspective is like a runaway horse, ripping him off his feet with his hands caught in the halter. He has no time to stabilize himself within the man’s memories. With a nausea-inducing rush, the scene changes, Jiang Cheng bleeding away in a blur of purple. While that disappearance is welcome, the face that comes abruptly into focus is not. If Wen Zhuliu thought his feelings of contempt and dislike as he looked at Wen Chao would make Wei Ying feel better about any of this, he was very mistaken. Actually, it’s a good thing that Wei Ying isn’t in control of this body right now, or they would have toppled over dead; he’s so enraged that he can’t breathe, the crippling heat catching in his throat and making him choke.

But his fury can’t touch the past. Wen Chao sits at the entrance of Sword’s Hall like he belongs there, and his drunken declaration about triumphing over Jiang Clan, along with the sight of the vicious tramp clinging to his arm, leaves Wei Ying seething in vain.

It’s clear they’re celebrating their victory at Lotus Pier, and Wen Zhuliu is part of the throng of soldiers, settled at their little tables as if they aren’t sitting on the stains of the blood they’d spilled only hours ago. Wei Ying is very nearly grateful the bodyguard doesn’t look around much, his eyes mostly set straight in front of him. It means that he only sees the strung up bodies of Sect Leader Jiang and Madam Yu in little glances, red-flecked moments so brief that he almost convinces himself they’re hallucinations. Stress induced nightmares. Almost.

The memory of disgust – almost physical repulsion – from Wen Zhuliu hasn’t faded any. Caught up in the man’s mind, Wei Ying can feel with cold clarity just how much he despises Wen Chao, even resents him. How much deeper that resentment goes, directed inwards and burgeoning into full blown self-loathing. The emotions are like sludge at the bottom of a pond, murky and stifling, and there’s nothing above it but the crystal clear waters of Wen Zhuliu’s self-control. Again, that ironclad necessity.

But necessary why? What makes him sit here and… The question splinters, dissolves into Wen Zhuliu’s mind as the man’s attention sharpens and he shifts to look impassively at Wen Chao. Wei Ying can’t hold on to his selfhood against the steady wash of foreign impressions he’s wading through. The next thought isn’t his own, though for a dizzying moment he’s not absolutely certain of that. It seems pretty similar to something that would cross his mind.

What does he want now? Should I wipe his face for him, the spoiled brat?

Wen Chao is saying something about taking a drink. About Wen Zhuliu deserving it, given his part in taking down Lotus Pier. More resentment and repugnance. More restraint. Wen Zhuliu reminds himself of the thing that he can never forget – the thing that he’s remembered so often that it has no real label in his mind, just sits there as an unexamined, formless fact – and curls his hand around the previously untouched cup. Brings it to his lips. And smells, almost immediately, the subtle, slightly-too-acerbic scent of the powder Wen Ning had poured into the alcohol.

Caught up in a sudden surge of emotions, drawn into Wen Zhuliu’s perspective, Wei Ying barely has the cognitive power to be confused, to wonder how Wen Ning had managed to drug everyone if the bodyguard had noticed his attempt. The thoughts flow too fast to completely follow, something like gritty shock morphing into speculative interest becoming vague approval. There’s a moment of hesitation, as Wen Zhuliu considers a scale of loyalty and humanity and decides which side weighs heavier. He doubts anyone could blame him for allowing this to happen, at least with any validity. That decides him. With something like a mental shrug that displaces all the suspicion and speculation, the bodyguard swallows the liquor in one quaff.

He tastes the powder as it goes down. Makes no move to alert Wen Chao. Just sits in calm acceptance, relief warming the icy self-disgust even as the drug billows out in soft clouds through his system. There’s no regret in Wen Zhuliu. He’s doing the right thing. Hopes someone will have the opportunity to rescue the boy he broke. Jiaying would approve. And Mingxia…

The hazy faces attached to those names melt as the memory does, too quickly for any kind of recognition or absorption, and Wei Ying loses them. Loses everything while they spiral into the next experience. More and more, he feels like liquid cupped in a palm, gradually trickling over the edges. Or – like blood from a wound submerged in water, seeping out and disintegrating in the overwhelmingly vast presence of something else.

That’s the danger in merging with someone else’s soul; do it too well or stay too long, and you start to forget where your scars end and the rest of the world begins.

Wei Ying he hears from a voice that isn’t his own but belongs to him all the same, and then Wen Zhuliu is seated on a bench in the shade of a pavilion. It’s off to the side of a walled courtyard, surrounded by a gorgeous bloom of flowers and trees cut through with minimal paths. There are a few people dressed in simple white and red robes strolling about the garden, and they bow to him with deep but friendly respect when they pass by. He returns the gesture, fondness softening the by-now familiar excitement of seeing Jiaying again. It is only a day visit today – His Excellency is taking a tour of the clans of Qishan, recruiting soldiers for the war efforts, and had given him leave for a brief detour – and he wants to make the most of their time together.

When she comes into view he immediately rises to his feet, not able to contain the slight grin that betrays his amusement at her awkward gait. Before she’s even a few steps into the garden, he is at her side, solicitously offering his arm. Jiaying takes it, but not without a scowl. She’s noticed his smile, and he schools his face into an expression of stoic attentiveness instead.

As they walk back to the bench and the shade, his wife leaning heavily on him, Jiaying’s tight grasp on his arm is his only indication of her delight. It is enough. They are neither of them keen on loud displays of affection, especially not in public, and simply sitting next to her, feeling her presence, is enough to have his heart leaping with joy. For several minutes they say nothing, just lean towards each other, let skin briefly brush as they drink in each other’s existence. It is enough.

(The intimacy sends Wei Ying reeling, even more unbalanced than before. This is a feeling that he has no shield against, nothing to keep him separate. It would be a pleasure to drown in such delight, and it becomes that much harder to stay apart. Wei Ying the voice is insisting, and it stirs something in his chest, something too similar to their joy to let him escape.)

Eventually she breaks the silence. “A-Shen says you’re only here for a few hours?” He inclines his head in agreement, and Jiaying sighs. “It’s not long enough.” Wen Zhuliu can only dip his head in further acknowledgement, and she does not press him about it more. “Have you been well?”

“I have,” Wen Zhuliu replies, reaching out and caressing her cheek in a quick, self-conscious motion. “And you? How has everything been?”

She respects his need to forget about the war, about his service to Wen Ruohan, to focus on her and nothing else. It is only one of the many reasons he loves her. “We’ve finally decided on building another teaching room off of Ink Hall. Zhao Feng tried to argue about who can attend – again – but we managed to get him to shut up eventually.” The way she rolls her eyes is just another reason for the affection singing in his chest. “With such fortune as the Zhao Clan has experienced, how can we do anything but give everyone a chance? Besides, I think people like Zhao Feng could have afforded to learn alongside peasants and common folk. I don’t believe he even knows how to start a fire without cultivation… unless his bad temper could manage it.”

A couple of young disciples are passing by as she says it. They freeze, and a moment later break out into giggles. Jiaying straightens with fake indignation, and it’s enough to have the juniors bowing to them. “Apologies for the interruption, Seniors Zhao,” says one, which earns him an elbow from his companion. She bows even lower and says pointedly, “Senior Zhao, Senior Wen.” It’s meant to be respectful. It almost doesn’t hurt. Without even glancing at him, as if she didn’t notice the correction, Jiaying flaps her hands at them, and the motion has the young ones hurrying on their way, still snickering.

Wen Zhuliu supposes he might discourage her from mocking the senior cultivators, but truth be told, Suntouched Sanctuary has never been a place for discouragement. The home of the Zhao Clan’s cultivators is one of openness, of exchange. Even Zhao Feng, more conservative than most, might have cracked a reluctant smile to see his students so amused. Besides, hearing his surname has taken enough of Wen Zhuliu’s pleasure from this day. He would rather focus on his wife and the place he left but never stopped loving.

They speak in that vein for a long time. He praises the garden she has gone to such lengths to nurture, and Jiaying glows under the compliments. Glows from something else, too, though Wen Zhuliu feels too nervous to broach the subject. Almost as though afraid that if he mentions it, the miracle might disappear. A silly notion, but one Jiaying seems to share. They dance around it – and around anything to do with his work for Wen Ruohan – and if there are two voids in the conversation as a result, it’s easy enough to fill. She tells him about all of the progress the village situated below the temple has made because of Wen Ruohan’s generosity, along with many improvements to Suntouched Sanctuary.

It gives him a quiet satisfaction, a soft reassurance, that everything he’s done has been worth it. There’s no starvation or fear or poverty here. He killed it with a simple oath. It was worth it.

(Was it? Wei Ying wonders, and genuinely can’t tell who the question belongs to.)

Finally, when it’s probably been too long already, Wen Zhuliu sighs. Of it’s own volition his hand – his harmless hand, the one that has never melted a core – reaches out, strokes her stomach through her pale red and white robes. It’s the cue they’ve both been waiting for, and Jiaying catches his hand with both of her own and presses him a little closer, splaying his palm against the bump that had been small the last time he’d seen her and no longer was. “She’s doing well,” his wife says with a proud smile, and he can’t help but shake his head in gentle amusement.

“She?” he asks, and her chin juts out rebelliously.

“She. You haven’t felt her kick, or you wouldn’t be so skeptical.” Just as she says it, he does feel something, a little impact against his palm, and his heart gives a strange, clumsy skip, like it’s trying a dance it’s never attempted before. Lips parted, Wen Zhuliu stares at his hand, so large against his wife’s stomach, and can’t think of anything to say.

Jiaying has always been good at speaking for the both of them. “She feels you. It’s her reaching out to you.” He thinks it would be a very ridiculous thing to start crying on this beautiful day. “Will you be back in time for…?”

The answer he needs to give sticks in his throat, so first he shakes his head. Her slump, barely perceptible, makes guilt take a stranglehold that’s even harder to speak through. “There’s too much unrest amongst the other Sects, and Sect Leader Ruohan has asked me to guard his younger son once we get to Sunless City. It is unlikely I’ll be back so soon, but I will return as quickly as I can. You won’t be alone for long.” Now his hand moves up, brushes against her cheek, and she leans into the touch before turning and kissing his palm briefly.

Lips still brushing his skin, she whispers, “I could come with you to Sunless City.”

He withdraws his hand, puts it tense and still on his thigh. “His Excellency has decreed that you stay here. It is a kindness.”

Her temper flares, and she stiffens. “A kindness to keep us separated? May His Excellency forgive me if I do not follow his reasoning!”

This is not an argument Wen Zhuliu can win, not without revealing too much. He cannot tell Jiaying about the countless families that have been forced to take up residence in the Sunless City. For their own protection, they’re told, but Wen Zhuliu knows that guest is just a pretty name for hostage. Wen Ruohan choosing to leave Jiaying in Suntouched Sanctuary is a sign of trust, of respect, one Wen Zhuliu is not keen to discard. He has seen the Sect Leader at his best – and he has seen him at his worst. Better to keep all of his loved ones distant from that.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he says, “You are protected and cared for here. I am not often in Sunless City, and at least here, you have your friends and your teaching.”

“I would rather have you! Even in pieces, your presence would give me more joy than anyone or anything here. Besides, I could teach in another place, make other friends.” He says nothing and she leans closer, catches his face with both of her hands. Jiaying’s eyes are fierce and dark and beautiful and he can hardly make himself meet them as she searches his expression for something he cannot give her. “Zhao Zhuliu, for how long will it be like this?”

“The emperor has given us so much, I owe him –”

“Everything. I know. I took your name for you, and you lost it for him. But how long will this last? Will your daughter grow up knowing your title better than your face? Will you be Core Melting Hand to her, too?” His jaw is too tight to work, his throat squeezed by too much emotion, and Jiaying’s eyes soften. “It has been close to a decade since you joined him, my love. Longer, if you count your training. And you have changed since then. Perhaps you have given enough.”

It will never be enough. That truth sits hollowly in his stomach and cannot be ignored. “A decade, and I have not aged,” Wen Zhuliu says quietly. “If not for Wen Ruohan finding me, seeing my potential and nurturing my talent, I would look even older than I do now. Even more mismatched against your beauty.”

“Do you think I care about how you look?” she demands as her hands drop.

“No. But I would not want to grow old, to die, to leave you alone forever. To leave our daughter too soon. Please, Yingying, believe me. I will be here for you, and for our daughter, too. We will put down the disobedient Sects, bring back peace, and then I will ask for an extended leave.”

Jiaying stands up. She still looks angry, yet it is the sorrow behind the anger that makes him swallow hard. “And you will be even more changed when you return. There will be yet more words you cannot speak, thoughts you cannot share, deeds you cannot admit to.” By now, everyone has vacated the garden, either out of respect or simply because of the late hour, and they are alone with the bitter accusation between them.

When he rises too, but doesn’t reply, his wife shakes her head. “The gods were kind to me the day I met you, even though you had no cultivation training. I do not think that they were so kind to you the day you met Wen Ruohan.”

That is too dangerous, too close to saying something she shouldn’t. “Jiaying…” he warns, and almost winces when she backs away from him. He wants to reach out to her, to close this yawning gap, but his hands suddenly feel too calloused, too numb, too big to touch her without breaking something vital.

(Hold her! Kiss her! Apologize! and it is truly impossible to separate the frustration and despair spanning between Wei Ying and Wen Zhuliu. It doesn’t matter. The past can’t be changed, even when it reverberates in the present. Even when the voice is still persistently, desperately alive, an anchor and an agony, all at once. Wei Ying, concentrate. Come back.)

Jiaying has always been able to stand on her own. It was the thing that first attracted him to her, so many years ago. She stands there now, and gazes at him steadily, one hand on her stomach. “I love you,” she says simply. “Forever. You are a strong man, my love, and a good one. But I did not fall in love with your power; I fell in love with your good heart, and I do not want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” he promises, desperate and reckless, as though it hasn’t happened already.

The words sit for a long time in silence, Jiaying tight-lipped and tense. Eventually she nods. “You should go now. I would not want to make you disobey Wen Ruohan.”

He really does wince this time, and maybe that garners sympathy, or maybe she’s longing to touch him as desperately as he’s longing to touch her. Either way, when Wen Zhuliu spreads his arms in mute, anxious appeal, Jiaying comes back to him. She presses her face to his chest, so small in his arms, and he holds her gently, mindful of their child, wanting nothing more than to keep them there forever. “I love you,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else worth saying.

“I love you too,” she murmurs, and he aches, gods, he aches so much, for things to be better, or different, or done, or –

She is the one to step away, her hands slipping down to catch his, and the smile on her face is at odds with the tears shining unshed in her eyes. Her voice is remarkably steady for all of that. “At this rate, our daughter will be born before you leave.”

He forces himself to chuckle. The sound comes out raspy. “Best save her from seeing my ugly face for a while longer. I’ll go now.”

Smiling, pale and abruptly tired, his wife nods. “Please be careful, my love. Come back soon. We’ll both be waiting for you.”

Wen Zhuliu brings her fingers up, kisses them in tender goodbye. Then he’s letting go of her hands, feeling like he’s letting go of something more, and turns away. He’s only taken a few steps when a thought occurs, and he looks back to Jiaying. She’s standing, quite still, looking after him. “Last we spoke, we said you would decide the name,” he observes quietly. “What did you pick?”

Her smile becomes a little less weary. “Mingxia.”

“A pretty name,” he says with warm approval. “And if it’s a boy?”

Jiaying’s eyebrow arches, and this time they laugh together, and he’s suddenly impatient to be gone, if only to get back to her that much more quickly. “Goodbye. I love you both. I’ll see you soon.”

And when his wife waves, still smiling, Wen Zhuliu can leave with a lighter heart, genuinely believing his words. Confident that, months from now at most, he’ll be back and holding them both in his arms, and things will have only gotten better.

(Don’t worry, Wei Ying might have said if he weren’t lost within Wen Zhuliu’s happiness. I’ve made some pretty fucking wrong predictions, too.)

The memories shift. They find themselves Elsewhere.

Elsewhere also sucks.

This is different from the last recollections, vastly so. Everywhere they look is black and silver and grey, ashy and cold. There are no straight lines in this memory, only blurry edges and distorted shapes. Sounds come strangely to their ears, like a scream through thick fog. Even their thoughts are opaque things, echoing around their head like a jumble of musical instruments playing different parts of the same song. And not playing it particularly well, in their opinion.

(Concentrate the voice commands. It entices. It begs. It is now joined by sweeping chords of music, sweet and nostalgic and yearning. Wei Ying, come back. How can they come back from this place when they fit it like shadows cast by a light? They remember this condition in a way that’s engraved in them, their bones transformed into hatred, their blood replaced with resentment, their breath nothing but short bursts of rage. They’ve been here before, they’ve been here, they deserve to be here, and – Wei Ying. Please.)

There is no awareness of time, here. They couldn’t guess the year or even the season. It is After – after the death, after the loss, after the awakening and the frenzy and the grief that tore their mind to ribbons, that had set them to floating nowhere until they were suddenly somewhere.

During that time, they had burned with their emotions, but the fire was dark, feral, made up of so much negative energy that it blinded them to anything else. It illuminated the world in shade. For a long time, they were just existing, hating, but their purpose, when it came, was cold water dousing the resentment and leaving a stark and brittle objective in its place.

They had to find her. That was the purpose. The goal that would see them through the cycle of fire and ashes and burning all over again. Their passions turned them to cinders countless times, and their purpose brought them back to life, kept them moving, searching, slipping through the warped world that was their only reality. That same purpose had turned them away from the bright flickers of light seen through the murky screen separating them from everything else. They had kept their distance from those people – those living people, who could incite such fury in them – and kept going, pulled by a compass they had hardly understood. They had also occasionally sensed things like them, dark beings that had lost their intent, that were all of the hate with none of the hunger for something else. They had avoided those, too.

And, eventually, they had found her. And she had been safe. And if she was not always or even often happy, at least she had been alive. And they knew, with a resonance that cut through the mist and muffled sounds, that she had to be kept that way. So, they had lingered, fighting off the forest fire that was constantly raging within them, and when the flames fled from their control, they had always kept just enough consciousness to go somewhere else, to lash out and burn where it would not harm her. And then they would return, and continue their watch.

Over time (how much time?) it had grown easier. Thoughts became clearer. The resentment surfaced less often. Wen Zhuliu was able to begin to think in a way he hadn’t for a long while. But even then, his thoughts circled around her. Around keeping her safe. And he had done just that, scaring off some who would harm her. Killing others. The objective was different, but the necessity was not.

Until there came a time – this time, this memory, this failure – when he could not protect her.

He watches, silent but shrieking, the talismans pinning him in place as people in robes of green and gold grab her, begin to drag her away. She’s screaming, crying, but he can’t understand the actual words, they’re being suffocated by smoke. The bitter burning is back, but there’s something else, something wilder and more frantic – something that he hasn’t experienced in forever. His essence thrashes against the magical restraints, billows of black and grey shearing off his form as he literally begins to rip himself apart in his efforts. There comes a moment when he manages to free what he needs to free – and Wen Zhuliu’s hand touches the first talisman. It melts.

She’s gone, but others are still clustered around him, shouting things he can only shallowly comprehend. Something about demons and resentful energy and suppression. They’re accessing their spiritual power – it shines far brighter than they do, a glowing pit in the core of their bodies, and when Wen Zhuliu really looks at those beacons of light, the rabid emotions surge, drowning thought. He destroys the second talisman and relishes the spikes of terror that scatter from more than one of the cultivators still present.

They try to banish him. They fail. He tries to crush their cores. He does not fail. Their bodies too, bones and blood and breath, he crushes it all, and it is a long time before Wen Zhuliu wakes from his rage, wakes surrounded by death and stillness. She is gone.

She is gone, and he cannot find her this time.

(Wei Ying!)

He searches, but the thing that had driven him to her before is missing. He’s lost, directionless, being eaten alive by the emotion he remembers but cannot name. Wen Zhuliu floats in the void and the void is darker than it has been since his purpose became clear.

(Please!)

For the first time, he reaches out to the living for reasons other than bloodshed. Most cower from him, flee, and only some few recognize him, even if Wen Zhuliu recognizes them. He cannot make them understand, no matter how much he pleads. Some try to destroy him, and he cannot allow that. But the last time he struck back, let himself unleash the violence, he lost her, so it is his turn to flee, to fade himself out of the world and chase the next memory of someone who might help. The list is not long, but he lost her, it’s his fault–

(I can’t lose you. Please.)

So Wen Zhuliu keeps searching. Makes another, much shorter list, more dangerous than the first. Titles it necessity, and comes to Lotus Pier on a day when the rain is pouring heavily and everyone is sheltering indoors. Everyone but a man in drenched, deep purple robes, who sits beneath an unremarkable tree and presses his hand to his chest like he’s trying to reach the radiant core inside. The feeling of that core had confused Wen Zhuliu in another time, another place – and by now he knows what thoughts to avoid, what memories to shrink from to suppress the rage – but he’s beyond confusion now. Clutches only desperation in his fists. Even the silver death curled around the man’s fingers and wrist isn’t enough to deter him.

He drifts closer, invisible. The man is crying and

(Wei Ying.)

swearing and saying things that Wen Zhuliu can hear and understand, if only faintly. Things like you bastard and why and take it back and, sometimes, I’m sorry. Wen Zhuliu stands in front of his murderer – the man that he murdered, in all but name – and suddenly realizes the word for the emotion that’s been taking him apart ever since he lost her. Realizes, because it pours off of the man in waves so thick they’re enough to drown in.

Despair.

Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng says, all ragged grief and very little hate, and Wen Zhuliu remembers what he really should be looking for. A black flute and cruel music and a hollow core. Someone whom he fears – if he fears anyone, anything – but who knows about haunting and craving more than almost anyone else living. Someone who must be approached cautiously, because they hold the potential for both his salvation and his end, but who must be approached all the same.

Wen Zhuliu turns and leaves Jiang Cheng to his own search.

(Wei Ying. Please, do not leave me.)

(Please.)

(Wei Ying.)

#the untamed #mdzs #cql #wangxian #the untamed fanfic #wei wuxian

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aliceslantern · 4 years

Text

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 20--Storied

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Storied.” Ienzo and Ansem attempt to repair their bond.

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

---

Ienzo and Ansem were still getting used to one another. It was not at all like the halcyon days of his childhood; the ebb and flow of tension was a near constant.

Ienzo knew that really he should be more bitter towards the others, rather than Ansem; but he could not reconcile the feelings towards anyone else. Maybe it had something to do with their relationship with his Nobody? A child’s feelings were not necessarily logical, as much as he had thought he was an intelligent one; it was a stone in a river, causing infinite ripples.

He wanted desperately for things to be better between them, but there was so much muck to wade through; the collective mistakes of their pasts. It was one thing to want to forgive and forget; another to put in the work.

Ansem was waiting for him one afternoon, in his quarters. It seemed to be a neutral ground; it was one of the few spaces they'd spent time together that was not mired in bad memory. "I found a rather delightful brand of tea when I was out shopping. I do think you'll enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will. I'm not so picky. As long as it is warm." He was so much more sensitive to temperature than he used to be.

For a while they sat by the window, watching the pale sunshine. Ienzo found the tea to be a bit too citrusy and sharp for his tastes, but he was able to get it down without much fuss.

"I appreciate you coming to spend time with me," Ansem said. "I'm sure you have more pressing, and more desirable, things on your plate."

"It is my pleasure. I… know we want to get to know one another again."

"Indeed." Ansem took another drink, a longer one. "How are you, Ienzo?"

"I am faring… decently." He did not want to bring up his breakdown in front of Even… or, in fact, the one he'd had in front of Aeleus. Goodness. "To borrow a phrase Demyx uses, "a bitch be going through it.""

Ansem chuckled. "And things are going well on that front?"

"Well, yes," he said. "I feel… quite attached."

"I'm glad you have someone you can rely on."

"Things between him and I are not so complicated. At least, not as they are between the rest of us. If I may be so candid."

"Yes?"

To tell such naked truths was still difficult. "Ma--Ansem." Ansem insisted they be on a first name basis. "I did not think this would ever be something I'd experience. The ways we hurt people in the past, using their bonds against them… it all makes so much more sense. I can feel the pain and regret so much more acutely. If someone had done to me what I did to them, I'd be… shattered." Ansem opened his mouth; Ienzo interrupted him. "Before you say this is not my fault. I know this. Yet, there's the survivor's guilt, on top of what happened after all that. There is so much more to my past than those few awful months."

Ansen sighed heavily, and folded his hands tightly in his lap. "I realize this."

"We mustn't dance around it anymore. I did not metamorphose from the child you remember into the adult sitting across from you. There was a point when I was someone else. As were you, if I recall correctly."

Ansem shook his head. "DiZ," he said softly. "I believe I… understand what you're speaking of. I did not simply emerge from the darkness eleven years later. I dug myself out of it the only way I knew how--I embraced it."

Ienzo crossed his legs, letting the silence stretch for a few moments, running his eyes along the patterns in the worn carpet. "To a degree, some of what we did, we did to survive," he said slowly. "Neither of us could have possibly escaped those situations otherwise. I… for the sake of my sanity… had to believe wholeheartedly in what they did. In what I did. For the sake of the greater good. Knowledge. The potential for humanity, for a better world." He hadn't quite let himself go to this place in his mind, even all these months after he'd woken.

Ansem squeezed his hand. "Peace, Ienzo."

"I know." He took a breath, feeling the sharp lump in his throat. "If you would bear with me, I… would like to follow this train of thought. I think I need to." Ienzo took a moment to compose himself. "We engineered the fall of worlds," he said, with difficulty. "We manipulated those in power--using the same techniques we used here. It really can take so little to make or break a heart. And who do you think was at the center of this? The planning, the strategies? It was another puzzle, Ansem. And you know I love puzzles. Perhaps I did not kill anyone with my bare hands, but that likely would have been a mercy compared to what I did do." He found it difficult to look up. "The illusions were capable of so much more than frippery, self-defense. Show someone their greatest fears, or their deepest insecurities, and they'll eat out of your palm." He looked down to his own hands, which were trembling. "The most disturbing thing about all this was that I enjoyed the power. The sensation that I had their minds in my hands, that I could influence… whatever I wished. I said I only used that power for the greater good, but I believe I deluded myself into submission."

Ansem looked more sad than anything. "I did not… realize the extent to which they controlled you."

Ienzo could feel his face reddening. "It wasn't all them, Ansem. This you must understand. I committed… atrocities. Puppet or not, there was a point where I should have known better. Where I should have realized--" His voice was starting to break.

Ansem stood; for a moment Ienzo thought he might leave, his expression was unreadable. He crossed over to Ienzo in his chair and embraced him.

Ienzo took a sharp breath, a few strangely cool tears breaking through. A shuddering sob cut through him.

"Oh, my boy," Ansem said. "Are we not all guilty in some way? Every single one of us have done horrific things we regret--including your beloved. And you do not despise him for it, do you?"

"...No," he said at last, still crying freely.

"We are all atoning in our own ways. You mustn't despise yourself for it, either."

"I am trying."

"I know. You are excelling at it… as you do for everything you devote yourself to." Ansem stroked his hair. It was an oddly familiar gesture.

Ienzo tried to pull himself together. He realized he was clinging to Ansem, and let go. He dried his eyes quickly. "I… apologize."

"Whatever for?" Ansem smiled a little. "I shouldn't mind to take care of you. I have years to make up for."

"There is no point mourning what could have been. All there is… is now." He sat back a little, and Ansem returned to his chair.

"...Indeed."

What was left of Ienzo's tea was cold by now, but he needed it to soothe himself. "...Will you tell me? About what it meant to be DiZ?"

Ansem frowned. "I am not… proud of those days," he admitted. "As you said, I had the best intentions." This he said with malice. "Reeling with the unkempt trauma of the darkness, I only had rage. I was angry--with my wayward apprentices--with you."

Ienzo smiled.

Ansem seemed befuddled. “Why is it you have this reaction?”

“I was angry with you too. It’s good to know our feelings were reciprocated.”

Ansem laughed a little, but after a moment, he sobered. “I was selfish,” he said. “I sought vengeance, mostly for myself, and for my pride. I… believed that Nobodies did not deserve to exist, therefore justifying my abuse of Roxas in the digital Twilight Town, and also of Naminé. That poor girl’s life has really been nothing but horror, and Roxas didn’t fare much better.”

“If it’s any consolation, they are both flourishing,” Ienzo said politely.

“This I know--no thanks to me.” He smiled sadly. “I used them as pawns--and while I believed, like you said, that I was working for the greater good, to save Sora from the mess he ended up in after Castle Oblivion, how is my exploitation of them any better than anything you did in the Organization?” A pause. “Ienzo, we have both made mistakes. But we’ve learned. Once I… collect myself, I hope to devote my life to atonement.”

Ienzo considered this. He’d gathered from the scraps of information he’d had what Ansem had been up to, a year or so ago. He had a feeling there were still pieces of the story he was withholding; namely, the previous ten or so years he’d spent in the realm of darkness. “How are you faring?”

Ansem thought about it. “Better than I was, on the whole,” he said. “I do… write a lot. It helps to make sense of these things once they’re on paper. I doubt these memoirs are very palatable.”

“I do not need to see them, unless you wish to share them.”

“Perhaps someday.” There was a significant pause in the conversation, long enough that Ienzo wondered if it were impolite to excuse himself. But then Ansem added, “You’ve walked the realm of darkness, have you not?”

“Many times.”

“Did you ever… feel anything? Oh, that’s a vague query. Let me think.” He put a hand under his chin. “Rather, did it manipulate the way you saw things?”

Ienzo blinked, then squinted through the veil of his ever-weakening memory. “I cannot be certain, if I’m being honest,” he admitted. “Nobodies do not… experience emotion in the same way humans do, if they do at all. Even when I became older, and theoretically began to grow a heart, it was very… matter-of-fact. If I experienced any instances of ill temper while moving through it, I likely attributed it to something else.” He tried to think. “It takes a spark, and more than that, nurturing, to allow a heart to be that sensitive to such things.”

Ansem nodded slowly. “This… numbness. How much of it was your biology, how much of it was manipulation, and how much of it was the sheer level of trauma inflicted upon you?”

For a moment, Ienzo skimmed Zexion’s memories. In context, it made much more sense for Xemnas’s ideology that they were unfeeling, and therefore inferior (or superior, depending on the day) to take root. “Apples, oranges, pears,” he mumbled.

“Beg pardon?”

“It’s essentially tit for tat. Regardless of how exactly it happened, I did not feel much of anything. Versus now, when I feel… everything. ”

Ansem chuckled. “Making up for lost time.”

“So it seems.” He settled back a bit more comfortably in the chair. “I’m teaching myself to not mind these feelings. In the beginning--that is to say, my new life as Ienzo--I forced myself to exist in a false spectrum of logic and emotion. But that is simply impossible. I will feel regardless of how well I try to reason through it.”

Ansem leaned forward a little. “I hate to cause offense, but this is all rather psychologically fascinating.”

“It is.” He paused. “Some of these feelings, such as love, or joy, are intoxicating. But on the other hand… the guilt, the fear, the existential dread… is equally overwhelming.”

He twisted his scarf in one hand. “To a degree I feel the same. My numbness was deliberate, instead of biological. I used my anger to bolster myself against the pain of the betrayal.”

“I am sorry.” The words left him almost unconsciously.

Ansem squeezed his hand. “You were not at fault, dear Ienzo. At that moment in time you were so manipulated you could not have known better.”

“I know this.” He looked up, again fighting tears. “I still apologize.” He took a breath to smother the urge. “Do you still feel much… bitterness, towards the others?”

This question seemed to catch Ansem off guard. “We are not as… plastic, as you are,” he said. “I believe we need to process what this all means to us before we can begin to understand what we feel towards one another. I’m sure they all feel remorse, in their own way, perhaps more intensely than I can conceive.”

“But do you?”

Ansem scratched his beard. “How can I not? I trusted these men with my mind, my heart--and they took everything I worked towards and perverted it. I know they were under Xehanort’s influence, and had I not so foolishly taken him in we might be in a very different place. All the same, it is hard not to see that… when I look at them. It is hard to trust them.”

“Yes,” Ienzo said.

He let Ansem digest this for several minutes. Finally, he said, “I do thank you for sharing all this with me. I realize it is not easy to trust me, either.”

“It is becoming easier each day,” Ienzo admitted. “That day you called me your… son. Do you feel that way, despite everything that’s happened?”

Ansem seemed to not know how to answer the question; he hesitated. “Legally speaking, I was your father.”

“The law no longer exists as it once was. And I am grown.”

He thought about it. “I… would like to,” he admitted, with some embarrassment. “I’ve done nothing but made your life difficult save for a few moments of tenderness. But I care for you deeply, Ienzo.”

“I… feel the same.”

Ansem smiled; it seemed more genuine now.

Ienzo met his eyes. “I’m still… learning about the concept of family,” he said. “I know it’s what we once were. Not just you and I, but… all of us.”

Ansem scoffed. “A motley crew.”

“Yes. And among the many things Demyx has helped me realize, I… want nothing more than to have that again.”

He nodded. He seemed to relax a little, looking into his already-drained teacup as if it might spontaneously refill. “I admit, when I found out about the two of you I was… hesitant. Not as a critique of your orientation--never that--but because, well, we were all reeling badly. I did not see… what was compatible in the long term, and the last thing you needed on top of everything else was heartbreak.”

Ienzo took a deep breath.

“But now that I’ve gotten to know him as well… I think you truly balance one another out.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“I suppose I figured I was entitled to defend you, to make decisions for you. Alas, I am not.” He laughed.

“No, you’re not.” But he said this with humor. “This will… take time.”

“Indeed. Though it seems that things will only get better from here on out.”

“I should hope so, after all the trouble we’ve gone through.” Ienzo shook his head, to himself mostly; “trouble” was putting it lightly. “Well. I believe I should go start dinner. Would you like to join us?”

This startled him. “That would be… quite nice.”

#beyond this existence: new life #ienzo #ansem the wise #beyond this existence

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guylty · 5 years

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How quickly time flies. If Besotted hadn’t reminded me in the comments, I would’ve completely forgotten that I had a last episode of The Impressionists to catch up with. Forgetting the Re-Watch is symptomatic. I may have enjoyed the show, and the wide smiles that Armitage was allowed to brighten the screen with were certainly welcome, but somehow this mini-series was never – and never will be – my favourite of Richard’s works.

It’s not *all* because of the wig and look of Claude Monet. *That* is easily balanced out by the wide smiles! My lukewarm feelings about this mini-series has more to do with my general lack of enthusiasm for impressionism. I fully appreciate the importance of this arts movement for the development of painting and art in general, and I understand the impressionists’ value. In many case I actually do find their paintings particularly evocative, beautiful and touching. I guess, my problem with them is that they have become too popular – which usually makes me turn away from something. That’s unfair – but unfortunately true. But I totally concede that – particularly Monet’s – Impressionist paintings are incredibly beautiful.

Quick Summary

We pick up again in episode 3 of TI with the group celebrating Edouard Manet’s formal recognition as an artist after he has been awarded the Légion d’Honneur. However, Manet is suffering from syphilis and his health deteriorates. He dies in 1883. Monet, OTOH, is living with Alice Hochedé after his wife’s death. The two of them become a couple, marry and eventually settle in Giverny. Monet develops his serial painting technique, always following the changing light.

A large part of this episode is taken up with the life and travails of Paul Cézanne who is seen as a revolutionary new painter by the impressionists. Despite an affluent background, he lives in poverty with his working class wife and illegitimate son. First shunned by the art world, Cézanne’s genius is eventually recognised and he joins the Impressionists as the most celebrated painters in the world. They overcame all the obstacles and changed painting – and art – forever. So much for the summary of episode 3.

Beards and Hair

I was quite amused in this episode about the changing hairstyles of Claude Monet. Starting out with short hair and a pipe, the next scene in a café he had long hair again. Continuity was a bit lax there, I thought 😂. But at least we could see that RA really knew how to smoke. Yep, as an ex-smoker (almost 6 months to the day) I notice such things. – Eventually the episode settled into short hair for Claude. And I couldn’t help but feel reminded of my personal hero Leon Trotzky…

Tenuous. I know. But fun. Right down to the left eyebrow.

However, let’s stay quickly with the look – ok, I am a not a fan of facial shrubbery at all, and particularly not these kind of standalone shrubs on upper lip and chin. If there has to be facial hair, give me a full blown meadow that covers all (beard) or stay with the manicured lawn aka stubble. Looking at the overgrown goatee on Richard’s chin, however, I am wondering whether it is actually his own. Not only because he has always been so proud of his fast growth and thus the conclusion lies near. No, but also because of the tell-tale triangle underneath his lower lip. Mr Armitage has, indeed, a rather pretty beard-growth pattern (see evidence on right).

Elder statesman or ill-fitting wig?

I was quite taken with the elder statesman look he was given in the latter part of the episode, once Monet had settled down with Alice and concentrated on creating Giverny as his inspirational garden. (I don’t really think that Richard has an old man’s face, yet, though, so I finally was reconciled with Julian Glover playing Monet senior in the framework plot.) In fact, I found myself fascinated by the grey temples and the short hair, and I kept screen-shooting.

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I also enjoyed that his eye crinkles came into play…

Things I Loved

As always, Richard – even considerably younger and less experienced than today – was a pleasure to watch. I loved the scenes where he glowed with enthusiasm, happiness and lust for life, smiling widely with glowing teeth. But I especially liked the scenes where you could hear him laugh. It really doesn’t happen very often at all that you can hear Richard Armitage laugh in one of his roles. He is the go-to man for scowling (Guy of Gisborne, John Thornton), growling (Francis Dolarhyde, Thorin Oakenshield) and frowning (John Porter, Daniel Miller). And yet his laugh is an absolute joy. In German we call his kind of laugh “gurgling” – but that doesn’t quite hit it in English. What I like about it is not what it looks like (although I believe that *every* laugh looks beautiful), but what it sounds like. Reminder:

youtube

That’s what he laughed like in his younger years. (I think his laugh now has become slightly deeper, more baritone, whereas it sounded more tenor way back in the early 2000s.) And it is infectious. Bookmark and keep near for any rainy day. It definitely works.

Ok, moving on. The old fogey in me also quite enjoyed the mature-lovestory-section of this episode. We were discussing it somewhere in the comments, I believe, and the series didn’t really get into it, but there are suspicions that Monet and Alice Hoschedé started their relationship even before she split with her husband and moved in with the Monets. Her youngest child may even have been by Monet. In that sense, it was lovely that the series spent a little time with Monet’s and Alice’s relationship. I wasn’t quite convinced by Richard’s choice to play Monet as out of breath as if he had just raced a marathon when he catches Alice in the garden and proposes. But this completely balanced everything out:

Why yes, Mr Thornton, I am coming home with you.

Not to mention this:

Gorgeous crinkles, like arrows pointing at happy eyes.

Ok, bonus for the romantics among you:

Yeah, man, this was such a clean show, it almost seemed as if it was made for school TV. You know what I mean? Your history/art/literature teacher wheeling in the big TV and the VCR, and then you’d sit through an hour of veritable and highly educational but mindnumbingly clean-and-boring docudrama? Well, to be suitable for teenagers, no tit may be shown, no mention of sex may be made and no tongue may be used. 😂

And Where It Went Wrong For Me

And maybe that is what ultimately irked me about this show, or what prevented me from saying ” I love Love LOVE The Impressionists!!” It’s not that I need sex in every TV show to keep me engaged. And I am a big fan of contextualising history and presenting it in a way that the viewers can relate to. In that sense it was great that this mini-series made an attempt at showing the personal sacrifices all those pioneering painters had to make in order to succeed with their art. From losing Bazille in the war, via Manet’s syphilis, Degas’ eye illness and declining fortunes, to the overwhelming poverty of Monet and Cézanne, TÍ is not simply a list of artistic milestones in the painters’ lives, but a look at how they progress as painters as well as men. And herein may also be the problem for me – I never fully committed to the show, and maybe so because of the lack of women in the narrative. Don’t get me wrong – of course I “saw” Camille and Alice, and Mme Manet, Mme Cézanne and various models. But that’s exactly it, “various models”. Sure, you don’t have to explain to me that the 19th century was still a time dominated by men. But that doesn’t mean that in their private lives, men were uninfluenced (and untouched) by women. Or that women artists did not exist or not contribute to the development of art. Berthe Morisot and Eva Gonzalez were part of the impressionist set – they don’t even turn up in passing in this series. The wives and women remain in their traditional role as nurturer, house-keeper and mothers.

Women. Reduced to nurturers and parasol-bearers?

(Left-field thought: Maybe it is also because this show was made in 2006 that women aren’t represented more prominently?) And all that may also be due to the limited amount of time available (3 hours) for a group of painters. In fairness, it would’ve been impossible to depict the lives and times of the impressionists in detail, and hence also a number of *male* protagonists of the movement (Pissarro? Gauguin? Sisley? Matisse?) had to be left out in order to contain the show. However, for me the whole show remained somewhat one-dimensional.

The Disclaimer

For fans of Richard Armitage, however, TI is definitely a worth-while show to watch. The smiles, the laugh, and the mannerisms that are just delightful to recognise. From Richard’s insistent innovative use of his teeth, to delicate hand movements and holding his head at *that* characteristic angle, there are certain “trademarks” in his acting repertoire that superfans such as us have no trouble identifying.

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And Richard convincingly acts emotions and draws the audience into the emotional world of the sensitive artist.

Lastly I want to commend the mini series for producing beautiful images. I loved the wide shots especially because they illustrated so clearly what the impressionists were after.

These shots play with the impressionists’ emphasis of depicting the *moment*, pinpointing the changeability of art, and the transience of life. The impressionists’ penchant for working plein air is ideally illustrated here. And the series is obviously also conscious of depicting movement rather than static subjects, and the different qualities of light – during the day, the seasons, inside and outside, in rain, sun or locomotive steam – as these are impressionist characteristics that are often also attributed to film (and photography). In that sense the series puts the theory into practice.

Last note: Just as I was watching episode 3 of TI, the news came through that a Monet painting has set a new record price for works by the artist. From the “haystack” series of paintings, the picture was sold for $110m in New York. An indication of how *right* the impressionists were.

I finish with a quote by Berthe Morisot, of all people.

It is important to express oneself… provided the feelings are real and are taken from your own experience.

The impressionist painters did that beautifully, and showed us that it can be done and *should* be done. No one better to portray “real” feelings than Richard. And I am always happy to see how he expresses them.

Re-Watching The Impressionists [part 3] – Finale How quickly time flies. If Besotted hadn't reminded me in the comments, I would've completely forgotten that I had a last episode of

#Claude Monet #Re-Watch #Richard Armitage

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quicklyshadytriumph · 5 years

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What We Toast To

A small fanfic about Crowley and Aziraphale dining together at three different points in time

Paris, 1793

The clinking of wine glasses echoed off the wall of the near empty restaurant. They had just toasted to “damn great timing” (in Crowley’s words), however Aziraphale participation had been mostly absent-minded as his attention was already very much fixed on the highly stacked crepes before him. He hadn’t held back when ordering. After all, he had thought, he deserved them after what he had just gone through.

“I just can’t believe these things are worth being discorporated for”, teased the demon sitting next to him, before resuming his drinking. He had always been more invested in alcohol than food. Getting drunk was an efficient way to numb things out, but it also was an appropriate mean of celebration, and Crowley could appreciate versatility.

His mouth full of crepes, and thus unable to utter a word, the angel simply pushed the plate towards Crowley.

“Nah, thanks. I’ll just never know, I guess”, the demon shook his head, going for a more dramatic answer than was necessary.

“Your loss” answered Aziraphale as he swallowed. In his eyes there wasn’t a single trace of disappointment at his companion’s lack of gourmet enthusiasm. Instead, there just was the pure delight that inspired him the crepes. Delightful really was the appropriate word. Wasn’t it delightful to spend the afternoon savouring French cuisine with a … with his… with Crowley? One could have thought that being menaced with decapitation just hours earlier would have made the angel lose his appetite, but if anything the contrast between the sinister prison and the luminous restaurant only made the moment more charming. To be fair, at no point had he feared for himself. He knew there would be someone to save him. There always was. Turns out that “someone” was more often than not the same person.

The crepes were disappearing at an alarming rate. Not many beings had had as much practice at feasting as Aziraphale. In fact, none of them had. Almost six thousand years was hard to beat for humans, and ineffable creatures usually didn’t get involved in earthly stuff. Except for two of them, of course. Sometimes the angel would think about how lucky they were, Crowley and he, to have found each other, the seemingly only two beings in the immensity of Heaven and Hell who didn’t feel disdain for humans. On the contrary, they enjoyed every pleasure the life on Earth had to offer to them. The had made an art of it, the two of them. Together. He really was grateful there was someone else to share his love for humanity.

This is where his reflexions always ended. He never went as far as wondering if they really had experienced everything they could, or if there was still some unexplored enjoyment out there for them, waiting to be discovered. If his life experience had taught him anything, it was that some things were better left unquestioned. Questions came with an inherent risk of not liking the answer. Some things were buried for a reason, right? And if he was mistaken, and there was indeed something worth wondering about, he’d have all the time in the world for that. Right?

Crowley, however, had never been the one for interrupting reflexions halfway through. Always the wonderer, he was. But in this particular instance, he had never even needed to wonder. From the beginning he had known that they were missing something. If they had created an art of appreciation for humanity, they hadn’t mastered it. They weren’t human after all, and he knew that their situation surely would never allow for that ultimate experience they were lacking.

It was okay though. He had learned to make peace with the absence in his heart. Instead, he basked in the angel’s light whenever he saw the food arriving at their table. If that’s all he would ever have, then it would do. It was better than nothing. Nonetheless these shared lunches had the treacherous tendency to instil something in Crowley that he certainly didn’t want. Hope. Hope that there was indeed something to wait for. Because with that came the fear that whatever could happen would take too long. It’s not that the demon wasn’t patient, he had proven quite the opposite, but for a while he had felt something brewing and he was getting worried that they might not have all the time of world.

London, 2018

“To the world”, toasted Aziraphale. “To the world”, repeated Crowley.

The dining room of the Ritz was drenched in light. It was a beautiful day, one of the best. Most people couldn’t tell that it was because they had barely avoided the worst one. But even the brightest sun had nothing on the smiling angel unknowingly illuminating the whole restaurant.

“Fancy a dessert, angel?”, asked the demon sitting opposite him, as the answer could be anything other than a resounding yes.

“I was thinking that we might get a dessert for two… It feels like an appropriate occasion, you know. I think.” hesitated Aziraphale.

Crowley lifted an eyebrow above his sunglasses. He didn’t care much to try the pistachio crème brûlée that Aziraphale was pointing at on the menu, but he would pass on the suggestion for nothing in the world. So he nodded. It was the start of something new, he could sense it in the air. A new world, a world whose prize for rebelling against the Great Plan was more time. And a new life, for him and for Aziraphale. It was too soon to tell how Hell and Heaven would retaliate, or if they ever would. Surely they hadn’t given up on their long-awaited War, but it was doubtful that a second try at the Apocalypse was planned in the near future.

In the meantime, Crowley and Aziraphale were free to exist as they wanted. That would probably take some figuring out, as they weren’t initially designed as creatures of self-determination. At least they were together, thought Crowley, and to be honest they had started practising independence quite a while ago. They really had been lucky beyond anything imaginable. The two of them, dining together at the Ritz on the other side of the Apocalypse. “There’s nothing else I could wish for”, Crowley lied to himself as he gazed lovingly at his angel.

Beneath the joy, the relief and the sweet anticipation as the crème brûlée was being laid on the table, Aziraphale could have noticed a lingering anxiety in his stomach, had he cared to pay more attention. Had he noticed it he may have wondered why he was feeling anxious when he had no reason to be. He surely would have reasoned that the distant threat of Heaven and Hell was a good enough explanation to stay alert. Had he come to that conclusion, Aziraphale would have missed the point, as he often did. Being extremely intelligent was no help against denial. He had grown accustomed to that denial over the years. It had been so deep rooted there wasn’t much that could be done against it. But now…

The angel had always felt he knew what he ought to do or not. The rules were clear enough. This didn’t mean that he followed them perfectly, but he was assured that he had the general idea down. And some things were just too far across the line. Aziraphale had never done anything that he felt would for sure banish him from Heaven. Until the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. He hadn’t fallen or anything, but it had somewhat opened the door. Opened the door for doubt, for self-introspection, and for whatever that would lead to in terms of taking liberties. Perhaps he would finally be able to name that deep, muted feeling he had felt all his eternal life, that itch in his soul he always tried so hard not to pay attention to.

Of course, Aziraphale hadn’t come to that realization yet. Force of habit and all. Instead he just handed Crowley a spoonful of dessert. “Try it, my dear. I insist” he said, trying to ignore for the last time that swelling heat in his heart.

South Downs, 2019

“What would you say of a nice glass of champagne, angel?”

“Delightful, my dear. It will go perfectly with the strawberries you picked this morning”.

They set the table by the bay window in the living room. The soft light of a spring afternoon made the sea, barely visible off in the distance, beyond the countryside, glisten beautifully. Aziraphale opened the window and the fresh smell of grass filled up the room. They sat next to each other so that they could both face the view- and so that their knees could touch.

Crowley poured the champagne in the flutes and handed one to the angel beside him.

“To what do we toast today?” he asked.

A moment of silence, for consideration.

“To this”, answered Aziraphale with a smile.

A bird started to sing in the garden. A coincidence or a demon who watched too many romantic movies, impossible to tell.

“Who would have thought that we would end up like this” said Aziraphale with an amused grin, looking into the distance.

“I would have” replied the demon. “In fact, I have, angel. For a while”.

“Yes, yes, dear. I think you’ve made this quite clear already. You’ve been waiting a long time. I understood that the first fifty times, you know.”

Crowley smiled teasingly, his tongue slightly out, and nudged the angel’s thigh with his knee. He almost answered that he had earned the right to mock his companion, but Crowley knew that arguing was unnecessary as Aziraphale wasn’t actually expecting him to stop.

“You know what I mean. Not that we didn’t think of it, of course, but that it… for so long I have wanted this but never, for even a second did I thought they would allow it”. The use of the pronoun didn’t need clarification.

“I know I know, my love”, Crowley said softly, resting his hand on Aziraphale’s- effectively stopping him from grabbing another strawberry. “But we did make it, didn’t we? And bollocks to them, might I add”.

Aziraphale didn’t bother even raising an eyebrow. Nowadays he usually let Crowley talk as he pleased.

There had been a time for secrecy, for hiding, for the unspoken. In fact, there had been a long time for it. But everything ends, eventually. As the world started anew the age of Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s silent longing had come to a close. Their love was too strong, growing restlessly over the centuries, to be restricted by the vague and distant threat of other angels and demons. Now was the time for honesty, for openly sharing everything they have ever wanted to stay. It was the place, too. What a profoundly human dream it was, to retire to the countryside. It turned out that it was also extremely convenient for ethereal – and occult- beings. It was quiet, enough for sunglasses to be forgotten on the bedside table and, on sunny days like these, for wings to be spread in the garden.

It was not, however, too far from human society. They picked the cottage together and it felt right to stay close to these creatures they had helped launch into the world a lifetime ago and who, they had no shame in admitting it, had taught them so much in return.

Some nights, when the wine was from a particularly good year, the angel and the demon wondered. They wondered how it was possible for them to even tolerate the other, let alone love each other so. Was it part of the Plan, part of Her design? Or had everyone been wrong from the beginning, thinking ineffable beings without free will? Were they really the only angel and demon able to stand the Adversary’s company?

They never reached an answer. Partly because such questions are not made to be answered, but also because they usually ended up kissing on the couch before any breakthrough could be made. They had millennia of catching up to do, and they kissed like it.

Almost all the berries had been eaten. Decent amounts of champagne had also been consumed, but strangely alcohol never ran out in the South Downs cottage. They sat relaxed in their chairs, hand in hand.

The angel sighed quietly.

“My dear, have I ever told you I love you?”

Crowley felt a wave of warmth pass through his body. For a brief second, he marvelled at how bitter love had once tasted when it now flowed with such sweetness in his veins.

“What? No!”, he feigned surprise.

“What a shame. I have no choice but to say it, then” answered Aziraphale with a playful grin. “I love you”, he whispered, right as their lips touched.

An eternity spent trying every human joy, and finally Crowley and Aziraphale had mastered the greatest one. Oh, what a pleasure it was to love out loud.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #fanfic #fan fiction #crowley x arizaphale

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writemoment · 6 years

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Brand New Feeling

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: 1/1

Summary: REQUEST by @artbysteph87 After Ragnarok, the princes of Asgard find refuge for their people on Midgard. Expecting the bad reactions, Loki finds himself baffled by a girl with no qualms over his presence.

Pairing: Marvel Loki x Reader

Warnings/Rated: Fluff

Word Count: 2,433

Returning to Midgard had been no big deal to Thor. Loki, on the other hand, did not have as much ease with the transition after Ragnarok. Naturally, the human race despised him for the mischief he had caused throughout the years and that caused more trouble than it was worth.

When Thor had said the Avengers invited the both of them to stay at the compound, a bit of uneasy hope had sparked within Loki. Only for it to be shot down not long after.

“What the hell, Thor! You didn’t say you’d bring him!” Clint barks out at the blonde god, not even attempting to keep his irritation quiet. Loki kept a passive face, not wanting any emotion to fuel the fire one way or another.

“He is my brother and he has changed, Barton. Asgard has fallen and I request sanctuary for my people, including Loki.” Thor argued. Steve and Tony’s eyes scrutinized the raven haired man with a distaste, strong enough to be palpable in the surrounding air.

Huffing, Tony paces over to Thor with a contemplating look graced on his features. “Listen- we will find where to put your people, Thor. But you can’t blame us for being hesitant with Loki. He can stay as long as you keep him under control.”

Loki mentally scoffs at such a notion. How dare he think that I’m some sort of creature to be looked after and confined. Yet, he knows he can’t be too offended over his words. So he doesn’t open his mouth or even bother to look their way. A terrible plan, indeed.

“Thank you, my friend.” Thor seems pleased with the agreement and starts to chatter about further plans concerning the Asgardian people before making his way over to his brother. “Our people are safe and we are welcomed here.”

“No, brother, you are welcomed here. Do not mistaken that fact.” Loki reminds his brother in an eerily calm voice.

Thor sighs at his brother’s distancing but doesn’t fight against it. “Stark insists we, the both of us, join them for dinner. It would seem they have a tradition for the members to eat together every night that they can manage.”

Loki doesn’t say anything to this and his brother takes his silence as an agreement. Clamping a hand down on Loki’s shoulder, Thor smiles at his brother. The god of mischief tries to not buckle underneath the unexpected pressure before he shoots daggers with his eyes.

****

The compound seemed to be on edge since the arrival of the Asgardians but everyone knew it stemmed from just one visitor in particular. As much as Loki wanted to back out of this evening’s dinner, he knew it was no use to put up a fight.

Putting on his best stoic expression, he leads through the hall and eventually reaches the dining room. Inside sits most of the Avengers, all looking up at the sound of him entering the space. Clint and Natasha have an audible gnashing of their teeth at the sight, which Loki finds slightly amusing.

Taking his seat beside Thor, who had arrived moments ago, he sits in the furious silence that has been draped over any conversation that had existed before. What a joke, Loki thought.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, I’m late!” A voice hurriedly apologizes, taking a spot straight across from the two Asgardian princes. Loki looks up to find the most beautiful specimen he has ever laid eyes upon. She quite literally takes his breath away.

This fogginess of the mind and racing pulse confuse Loki as his hands fidget in his lap. Though she’s preoccupied with settling in her seat, she glances up at the two gods and smiles. A genuine smile! She held no bitterness in her features as she peered at their presence.

“Oh, hello. I’m Y/n. A pleasure to have you joining us.” Her voice is sickeningly sweet and it does something to Loki’s body that he can’t quite comprehend. No longer being able to keep up his facade, his mouth opens a bit in awe. He can’t take his eyes off of her!

Y/n feels the same energy radiating from the blue eyed man in front of her. Something about him is different and she feels oddly safe and drawn to be near him. Catching him admiring her, she looks away with a visible crimson on the highs of her cheeks.

Thor looks between the two of them curiously before clearing his throat. “Nice to be here. I’m Thor and this is my brother, Loki.” He introduces both of them. The sound of his own name makes the mischievous man cringe as he prepares for an expression of disgust from her.

But there is none to be shown.

Y/n smiles at the both of them, shining just as brightly as she had before. Infuriatingly, the moment is shattered by the clearing of Steve’s throat as he presents tonight’s dinner. Loki looks about ready to murder someone but Y/n simply chuckles to herself, feeling peculiarly spectacular.

“Thanks, Steve. It looks great, as always.” Natasha commends her friends cooking before preparing to dig in. Voiced appreciation and praise are said throughout the table, which causes the atmosphere to lighten a bit.

Y/n’s stomach is fluttering but she just waves it off as her apatite stirring for food. Loki, on the other hand, is thoroughly irritated at the lack of control he seems to be experiencing with his own body. This one girl, Y/n, has made him more baffled than he can recall ever being in his lifetime.

“Does Rogers regularly cook the meals, now?” Thor asks, attempting to make some sort of conversation.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Steve finishes his chewing before answering the question. “Well, we all take turns cooking. Kind of like a rotation. I’ve cooked tonight, Bruce cooks next and then Y/n is the right after.” He explains, nodding his head at each individual he’s named off.

The raven haired god’s interest is peaked at the idea of Y/n bustling around the kitchen. Even so, he continues to eat without adding to the conversation. Occasionally, their eyes will meet before darting away to avoid further embarrassment.

After dinner is all done and eaten, some begin cleaning the table and dishes while others return to their activities. Y/n is one to dismiss herself politely and disappears through the door. Her absence causes a foreign ache in Loki’s chest, making him all the more irritable.

“Brother, are you alright?” Thor asks, noticing the change of his brother’s nature. Loki hums in response but still denies words to tumble from him lips.

Spinning away from the group, Loki swiftly steps his way through the door and out into the hall. To his delight, no one follows or attempts to stop him. All he knows is that he must see Y/n again. He must understand the pull she has cast on his emotions.

****

Y/n stood in the lab and ran tests like she had before dinner. Only, it’s a lot harder for her to focus on what’s in front of her now. The piercing blue eyes invade her thoughts, causing shivers to run it’s icy fingers across her skin.

Of course Y/n had heard of the many bad experiences her Avengers family have encountered with such a god, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel anything bitter towards him. Something that confused her to no end.

As if things couldn’t get more distracting, Loki enters the lab with little-to-no noise. His presence is announced with his gentle greeting, still causing a fright to Y/n’s heart. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Loki says calmly.

Shaking her head, Y/n places her hand over her heart to calm the rapid beats. No longer frightened, her chest continues to thump at an unusual rate. “No, it’s okay. I was just... lost in my own thoughts, I suppose.” She lightly chuckles out of pure nerves.

Nodding, Loki nears her little by little until he is standing by her side. “You work with Banner?” He observes, studying the way her fingers glide across the computer screen with familiar ease.

“Yes. I’m a scientist like Bruce, which means I work beside both him and Tony for most my days.” The way she seems to fondly sigh at the idea causes the corners of his mouth to twitch up into a faint smile.

Again, Loki remains quiet while he watches her and ponders his next words. However, before he can figure out what to say, she’s already speaking once more. “Do you like it here on Earth, Loki? I’m sure it differs greatly from Asgard.”

Looking over to meet her captivating eyes, he knows, in that moment, he would spew all the tales and knowledge he possesses to keep such a curious gaze focused on him. “I think the question is about Earth liking me, rather than how I feel towards your planet. Though it is much of a change, I’m afraid my reputation is no better.” He says with a sad undertone.

“I think not. The world can think as they please, but I’m more interested in how you view us.” She insists, smiling at him.

Honestly, the question throws Loki off guard. Never has a mere mortal- or anyone for that matter- shown such an interest in the way he sees the world. Smiling back at her with a genuineness he hadn’t expected, he imagines what may come of this. “I’m not sure, yet. But I’m sure going to find out.”

****

Days go by with Loki and Y/n growing closer than anticipated. Thor seems to be thrilled with the idea of his younger brother finding peace on Midgard, but the rest of the team seems more concerned that anything.

Though they don’t voice it, there’s an unspoken question on if Loki is cursing Y/n or perhaps manipulating her with some sort of sorcery. Nothing can be done even if that were the case, so the team has decided to keep on guard for their dear friend.

Tonight is Y/n’s turn to cook, and Loki is quite intrigued to see how she is in such a setting. Having been caught up with attending to his people, Loki hadn’t seen Y/n barely at all the entire morning.

So when he finds her humming in the kitchen, preparing food, he can’t contain the joy that’s undeniably displayed on his features. Hesitantly, he walks into the kitchen because he’s suddenly very nervous about speaking with her.

Most of their conversations were held in the lab. He doesn’t know how to act in this new environment with her hair in a loose bun, flour dusted over her cupids bow and the twinkle of delight in her eyes.

Clearing his throat to catch her attention, she glances up at him. At the very sight, her smile turns into a full grin and she realizes how much his absence had effected her. “Hey, Loki.”

“Y/n,” He curtly nods her way before she continues what she’s doing. “Would you like assistance?” He offers, silently praying that he can spend this time with her.

Of course Y/n would love for him to stick around, but how can she justify him staying when she’s getting along just fine on her own. Sighing internally, she waves him off. “I think I have it covered. Thank you, Loki.”

Little does she know that Loki will not take no for an answer. “I insist! I'm actually quite the cook. I used to help my mother in the kitchen as a child. She used to tell me, ‘part of the fun in cooking is sometimes who you're cooking with’.”

Trying to contain her excitement, Y/n tries to act like she’s contemplating this but gives into his offer anyway. The two of them work in sync, moving around each other so perfectly that it almost seems as if this were a routine.

"Another fun thing about cooking is having a glass of wine while you work. Would you like a glass?" The beautiful woman offers, cocking an eyebrow the god’s direction. Loki smiles and gratefully accepts.

To Y/n, being together with Loki seems so peaceful and causes a warmth to encase her chest. She adores peeking at him when he thinks she’s occupied, seeing the raw form of the god. Naturally, he’s a very handsome person but Y/n enjoys the little mannerisms that are only seen by onlookers.

“Tell me a bit about yourself, Y/n. Besides being a scientist, are there any hobbies you dabble in?” Loki asks, starting a conversation to further his knowledge oh her.

“Well- I love to read just about anything I can get my hands on. Just being able to enjoy perspectives is a big joy of mine. Though, painting is probably one of my biggest passions. Anymore, I don’t have too much time to dig through my brushes but being able to put on some music and let the canvas pull me away.... I miss it a lot.”

Loki frowns at the sadness swirling behind her eyes and he longs to see the girl become enthusiastic once more. “What about you, Loki?” She passes the conversation over.

“Growing up, reading was one of the things I shared with my mother. If I have it, my time is spent sitting in a window and getting drawn into the literary world. That’s also how I learned magic.” He explains while working next to Y/n.

Finishing up the meal, they set the table and pull the food from the oven to be served when the others arrive. “Y/n?” Loki calls, in which she answers with a hum. “Would it be too much to ask for me to view your art?”

Whipping around, she sees slight nervousness in the god as he stands there, waiting for an answer. “No! Y-yeah. Of course, Loki. Of course I’ll show you, I mean.” Her face grows warmer as she becomes flustered.

Deep inside the both of them, they know that something more is between them. Being patient, they allow time to bring what it may. Loki steps in front of her, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead before replacing it with a soft brush of his lips.

“Better join the others. Shall we?” Loki asks, holding the door open for Y/n.

Suddenly, everything inside her calms and the idea of Loki being by her side sends a thrill of electricity through her soul. As she passes, a chaste peck is placed on his cheek and she giggles at his shocked expression.

“We may.”

Masterlist Here

A/N: Thank you so much for sending in this request! I’m sorry it took so long and I hope it met all of your expectations! - Ellie-Mae

Taglist: @britishfangirl @jcalpha1 @velyssaraptor @artbysteph87

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bibleteachingbyolga · 3 years

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One of the more destructive threats to the human soul and the purposes for which God created and redeemed us is boredom. We were not made for boredom. Our hearts are hardwired by God for delight and discovery and ever-increasing joy and satisfaction in all that God is for us in Jesus and in all that God has created and does.

This is why boredom is the devil’s delight. It is his playground. He takes pleasure in launching his assault against the souls of those who find nothing to excite and fascinate their hearts and minds. Boredom renders the human soul increasingly vulnerable to Satan’s promise of pleasure and satisfaction in whatever sinful endeavors he believes will most readily entice us.

Therefore, to be consistently satisfied in God — to find the deepest possible joy in knowing him, loving him, beholding his beauty, and trusting his promises — is our greatest defense against “deceitful desires” (Ephesians 4:22), those desires that regularly promise to provide us with what our enemy insists can alone bring us happiness. Such desires are deceitful because through them Satan lies to us. He misleads and dupes us into thinking that yielding to them and following his promptings will overcome the boredom that we all so deeply despise and from which we all so desperately long to be free.

This is why the promise of ever-increasing joy in heaven is so precious to the child of God. One of the worst and most unbiblical of all our misguided beliefs about heaven is that it will prove to be an eternity of perpetual boredom, an endless cycle of celestial reruns. After all, once we’ve been there for those “ten thousand years” (as we sing in the hymn “Amazing Grace”), what will be left for us to do, to see, to know?

I’ve often heard people speak almost fearfully of heaven based on the distorted notion that once we’ve encountered and experienced and learned it all, we’ll be compelled to sit idly by and twiddle our redeemed thumbs for lack of activity or anything new to discover.

‘Inexpressible Sweetness’

No one has pushed back against this hideous conception of the eternal state more energetically and persuasively than Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758). It was Edwards who first opened my eyes to the fact that the joy of heaven will be ever-increasing, incessantly expansive, ceaselessly intensified — that the almost unimaginable delight that every believer will experience upon entering the presence of our great, triune God is not a one-time disclosure that brings a singular surge of spiritual satisfaction. Edwards insisted that with each passing moment will come a greater revelation of some heretofore unseen and unexplored aspect of who God is that will serve to kindle the fire of joy and fascination in our hearts.

Edwards appealed to this truth about heaven in making his case that the essence of true religion consists in what he called holy affections. His point is that we learn the quintessential nature of anything by looking closely at its highest and purest expression. To know true religion, therefore, we must look at it in its heavenly expression:

If we can learn anything of the state of heaven from the Scripture, the love and joy that the saints have there, is exceeding great and vigorous; impressing the heart with the strongest and most lively sensation, of inexpressible sweetness, mightily moving, animating, and engaging them, making them like to a flame of fire. And if such love and joy be not affections, then the word affection is of no use in language. Will any say, that the saints in heaven, in beholding the face of their Father, and the glory of their Redeemer, and contemplating his wonderful works, and particularly his laying down his life for them, have their hearts nothing moved and affected, by all which they behold or consider? (Religious Affections, 43)

To have our hearts “moved and affected,” as Edwards says, is the destiny of every redeemed soul. But at no time (assuming there is “time” in the eternal state) will we ever encounter the conclusion or consummation or terminus of the joy that was ours that first moment we set our eyes on Jesus. The “inexpressible sweetness” of beholding the face of our Savior can never be compared to anything we see or encounter on earth. We’ll never reach a point at which we can ever say, “Well, that was nice. But I’ve had enough. Is there nothing else for me now? Must I spend the remainder of eternity bored from the lack of insight or information or fresh discoveries into the nature and activity of God?”

Worshiping an Infinite God

But how do we know that Edwards is correct when he speaks of heaven as the soul-satisfying experience of ever-increasing joy in God? There are numerous texts to which he would appeal, but here I will draw attention to one aspect about God that settles the case. It comes in the form of a question: “Is God infinite?”

Well, of course he is! But what does that have to do with what heaven will be like? My understanding of God’s infinity means, among other things, that he is endless and inexhaustible in terms of the depths of his character and attributes. The notion of divine infinity demands that there be no specific sum total of the facets of God’s nature. And each of his unfathomable and immeasurable character traits is beyond computation. In other words, God is never quantifiable. He cannot be numbered or counted or exhaustively comprehended. If at any time in eternity future one of us could justifiably say, “That’s all there is — I know everything about God that can be known,” one of two conclusions is warranted: either you yourself are God, because you are now omniscient, or the “God” about whom you know all things is, in point of fact, not God after all.

The standard treatments of the divine attributes typically include no more than 25 or 30. After carefully reading them, we may think that we now understand everything about God that can be known. But the apostle Paul is quick to remind us that “the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God” are of such a “depth” that no mind can fully fathom him in his fullness (Romans 11:33). Likewise, his “judgments” and “ways” are “unsearchable” and “inscrutable,” and no one can plumb the endless depths and vast dimensions of “the mind of the Lord” (Romans 11:33–34).

There is only one conclusion to draw from this. There will never be so much as a millisecond in heaven when we are not exposed to yet another truth about God, another dimension of his majesty, an additional feature to his splendor and power and glory and strength. We may well run out of English words to describe God, but that is no measure of what is actually and eternally and endlessly true of him.

Know, Love, Delight — Forever

Edwards is helpful in reminding us that with each new discovery of something about the inexhaustible and infinite God there comes knowledge, and with knowledge comes fascination and joy, and with joy comes satisfaction, and with satisfaction comes ceaseless worship and adoration. Just when you think you’ve seen it all and your mind can’t possibly process or contain another thought about God, he will graciously expand your capacity to grasp and rejoice in yet one more truth, followed by yet one more truth, to be followed again and again for the endless ages of our life with him in the new heaven and new earth.

Boredom in heaven? Hardly! Boredom may be one of the intolerable torments of those in hell, but for the children of God — who with each successive moment see yet more beauty and grandeur as revealed in the face of Jesus Christ — heaven will never cease to be an ever-expansive growth in the knowledge and delight of our Lord and Savior.

I’ll close with the words of Edwards himself, who speaks of the saints in heaven in a way that is befitting to the infinity of God. The knowledge of those in heaven, he writes,

will increase to eternity; and if their knowledge, doubtless their holiness. For as they increase in the knowledge of God and of the works of God, the more they will see of his excellency; and the more they see of his excellency . . . the more will they love him; and the more they love God, the more delight and happiness . . . will they have in him. (Miscellanies, 105)

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22reasonstolove · 7 years

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Journey To Glory - Prologue, Part 2

Prologue – Part 2

Airborne, December 14th, 2012.

The following morning the Bass jet took off before dawn had the time to tinge the sky with its pale pink stripes. Sat next to his wife, Chuck averted his gaze from her to guide it out of the round window at his side.

It was the first time in the past two days that he felt the necessity to turn his attention to something that wasn't her; inevitably, as the plane gained altitude, he found himself staring at the city he had so passionately dreamed of conquering his whole life.

It was without surprise that he realized that the panorama broadening under him didn't give him any sort of emotion. As he observed the tall building and the streets he had grown up thinking he was destined to own becoming smaller and smaller under his look, not pride, nor bitterness touched him. It was his now; his kingdom, his dominion, the most blatant statement of the absolute power he had conquered through pain, sacrifices and efforts.

And yet, in spite of everything it had meant to him, now nothing but numbness filled his mind at the thought of his ambitions, of his projects, of his so intensely craved role in that world he was expected to rule. It seemed all alien to him, distant, even irrelevant.

He was actually leaving it behind with an ever-growing sense of relief – relief from the meaning of his achievement, from its costs and, most of all, from the obligation to feel anything, whether that was satisfaction, rage or hollowness.

Not even guilt brushed against his conscience. He should have heard it screaming loudly, forcing him to support the weight of responsibility, but he didn't. No matter how atrocious they were, the echo of his faults couldn't reach him.

"There's nothing quite as gorgeous as New York's skyline standing out against the dark," Blair wondered, sighing in front of the view.

The pull of her voice drew Chuck's eyes towards her once again and, all of sudden, his chest was back to be a fertile ground for the most powerful emotions; she catalyzed them, forced them out of the impassiveness he was locked into. They all started and ended with her, with the strength of her glistening eyes. She was the only thing he managed to feel - the only one he wanted to feel.

He couldn't stop looking at her, for she had the power to drag him out of his emotionlessness; watching her, he felt alive, dazed by his love and his gratitude for her. Over the past forty-eight hours, his stare had witnessed the changing of her demeanor several times and he had been overwhelmed by each side of her, as if they had presented themselves before him clearer than they had ever had. Strength, bravery and determination had made her the woman who had taken him by the hand and guided him to safety and life, but she had been much more; the desperate heart who had still chosen to trust him, the enamored, moved bride who had married him with no hesitation, the glowing spouse he had danced with during their reception and the passionate lover who had canceled months of deprivation with the first touch they had shared in the intimacy of her empty house.

The most wonderful, enigmatic woman. His wife. Blair.

He smiled at her. "I can think of at least one thing that is better," he replied, reaching out to her cheek. He raised his eyebrows at her, darting her a sly glance as his smile sharpened into a smirk. "You."

Blair rolled her eyes. "You're such a flatterer," she said through a giggle, leaning in towards him. His fingers indulged her movement and traced the side of her face in a caress, sliding into her hair when she placed a light kiss on his lips.

Pulling back, he eyed her. The Nile blue silk faille dress she was wearing lent her a both regal and delicate appearance; she looked sophisticated and poised, impeccable with her full curls falling over her shoulders and the string of pearls enhancing the neckline. Still, it was the glow of her skin that kept luring him, the vibrancy of her gaze; a blast of passion below a surface of perfection.

"I'm just stating the truth," he observed, his voice become hoarse with sudden lust. He cursed the safety belt crossing her chest that kept him from pulling her onto his lap, freeing her from her classy attire and relishing the wildness hidden behind her unblemished composure.

Blair smiled pleased at him. Reading correctly the subtext of his tone and glimmer of his eyes, she laid back on her seat and crossed her legs slowly. "What a solemn compliment," she commented, careful to make the fabric of her dress slid slightly up her thigh to expose a few more inches of skin.

His eyes widened at her gesture. The subtle way she had of provoking him was still the most tempting allure he had ever experienced. It was both challenging and gratifying; it had the exciting nature of a dare and yet it brought with it the awareness that the he was the one and only who could win her sweetly cruel game. Her refined, elusive invitations always led to the same outcome: he would have found the key to seduce her and her instinct would have triumphed over her enjoyment in prolonging his wait. His pride would have fed hers and pleasure would have left them both with a victory.

Chuck leaned in and slithered his hand under the hem of her skirt. His palm inched along her thigh as he buried his fingers in between her tightly crossed legs and pressed them against her skin. "In a couple of minutes, we'll be free to unfasten these instruments of torture," he told her.

Blair, who had closed her eyes and parted her lips at his insistent touch, nodded. Realizing that he had stolen her ability speak imprisoning her voice in a barely repressed moan, Chuck smirked victorious.

Her body shook with a shiver when his index finally skimmed over the border of her panties, and her legs spread. "Chuck," Blair pronounced his name as an invocation, in a chocked, tremulous voice, urging him to stop lingering and to insinuate his fingers under the thin lace of her underwear.

And he was just about to do that when the flight attendant entered the cabin.

He noticed her immediately, but Blair didn't. When he abruptly pulled back his hand, her eyes snapped open in surprise just for a second, before she realized the situation. She sat up bolt upright with a jolt and straightened her back, trying to compose herself.

Chuck leaned back in his seat staring at her. Though she quickly smoothed the dress' skirt and adjusted her legs in a less compromising position, the flush brushing her cheeks revealed all of her arousal and frustration. He let out a chortle when she glanced up to glare at him and smiled slyly at the accusatory expression on her face.

He bent forward and placed a kiss on the side of her neck. "Remember, I never leave things unfinished," he murmured swiftly into her ear just as the hostess approached their seats.

Blair gave him another dirty look. "You'd better not to," she hissed as a discreet smirk took shape on her lips.

The flight assistant stopped by their side and cleared her throat to announce herself. "Good Mr. Bass," she greeted her employer before directing her gaze to Blair, "and Mrs. Bass. Everything went well with the takeoff. We're safely airborne. You're free to unfasten your safety belts and move to the lounge, if you please."

Freeing himself from the belt, Chuck gave her an abrupt nod. "My wife and I are going to need a few minutes of privacy," he told her curtly to dismiss her. "We'll let you know when we're ready for breakfast."

The woman answered with a polite smile and rapidly made her way out of the cabin, leaving the couple alone.

As soon as she did, Chuck stood up and, fixing his suit, he looked down at Blair.

A bright grin was stretching her lips and lightening her expression. "She called me Mrs. Bass," she said in the most elated tone. Her doe eyes shimmered with delight when she brought them on him.

She sounded almost surprised, Chuck realized, and ecstatic; there was a dreamy note in her voice, a thrill of enthusiasm that made him smile back immediately. "Of course she did," he stated proudly. "It's your name."

Her beam widened. "It is," she uttered. "Blair Waldorf Bass."

Once again, as he watched her unfastening her belt, Chuck was faced with the unquestionable fact that the look of joy and bliss on her face was what gave meaning and hope to his life; it was observing her that he was able to bring clearness into his present and to shape his future in his mind. Everything around him was blurred and confused; everything but her. She was the one who gifted his world with significance.

He bent on his knees and rested his palms over her legs. "I'm going to spend my whole life making sure you're glad of being Mrs. Bass," he told her, ducking his head.

It came to him then, as he spoke, that he would have done anything in his power in order to preserve her happiness, to never make her regret the choice she had made when she had vowed to spend the rest of her life by his side.

Even if his side wasn't the safest or the brightest of places. On the contrary, it was often narrow and dark; uncomfortable to occupy. He was a complicated person living a complicated reality.

In spite of his best intentions to grant her joy, to dedicate her all of his devotion, his weaknesses and his flaws could have accidentally caged her in an existence of sacrifice and struggle. The most recent events proved it; standing by him, protecting him, she had found herself having to face terror and death.

His heart turned heavy with fright at the thought, at the idea of not being able to shelter her from the darkness of his past, from the shadows and the deep holes making his soul a difficult one to love. His hands trembled and clutched her thighs in a way that was a wordless plea for reassurance.

In a moment, he felt Blair's fingers trapping his chin and gently pushing it up. Inhaling a deep breath, he gave in to her gesture and, glancing up, he found out that she had leaned over. Her face was so close to his that the tip of her nose almost touch his.

He noticed that her smile had changed; it hadn't lost its delight, but its enthusiasm had softened. There was a tender sweetness about it now; it was caring and warm.

"I am already," she said, cupping his cheek and stroking it with her thumb. "And proud," her voice lowered to a whisper when her lips brushed against his, "I'll always be."

Closing his eyes, Chuck deepened her delicate kiss. His hands trailed to her waist pulling her skirt up as they slid over her sides. He was suddenly overcome by need; need to know feel her presence as strongly as he could, to let her show him that he was still there, still present; that what made him who he was, what made him the man she loved, hadn't fallen down the roof of a skyscraper.

Slipping his palms under her bottom, he pushed away that fresh memory. His lack of pain, grieve and anger lost once again its importance the moment Blair clung her arms to his neck and allowed him to lift her up. Carrying her to the lounge, he buried his face into the crook of her neck as she wrapped her legs tight around his waist.

He could feel her. She was the piercing emotion cutting through his numbness; she was life, love, hope, tension towards the future.

A future she had chosen to share with him, Chuck told himself as he laid her down on the leather couch. She had done it consciously, with passion and conviction; she had trusted his ability to give her happiness. And it was his duty not to question her decision.

"You know," Chuck said about half an hour later, his fingers trailing slowly up and down Blair's arm, "you make eating a croissant look incredibly sexy."

It was true; her gestures were unintentionally sensual. They were unhurried, almost ethereal in their elegance and delicacy. He had spent the past five minutes staring at her as she ate and found himself discovering a graceful eroticism in every movement her hands and lips had produced.

His food, two French toasts topped with marmalade, laid untouched on his plate. He was completely absorbed by Blair; she left him in a state of utter amazement. He couldn't resist the magnetism she seemed to unleash to his eyes; he had to gaze at her, he had to touch her, to breathe in her perfume. She was inebriating.

Chuck leaned over. Her neck, which was partially covered by her hair, was an irresistible lure. His eagerness had left marks on it; races of his fervent kisses still reddened her naturally pale skin, giving him an immediate reminder that she belonged to him.

Just as he was about to press his lips right under her ear, Blair playfully pulled back and her curly locks followed the abrupt movement of her head, exposing the curve of her neck fully.

It was the clear sound of her soft laugh that distracted Chuck from his lustful thoughts and brought him to glance up at her.

She answered to his look with a complacent smirk. "You're incorrigible," she told him quietly, reaching out to the cup of tea set on the low table in front of them. The flight assistant had arranged their breakfast there, so that they could eat sitting side by side on the lounge's couch.

Chuck shrugged. "Yes, I am," he stated, raising his eyebrows at her. "Can you blame me?" he asked. "You're an endless source of temptation."

Blair giggled again. "I suppose I should take it as a compliment," she replied before sipping her tea. She smiled naughtily at him behind the edge of the cup.

"Absolutely," Chuck wrapped an arm around her shoulder, as, with his free hand, he grabbed his flute. "And I'll be glad to show you my appreciation again after you finish your breakfast," he took a taste of juice and then added: "The kind of homage I enjoy the most paying to you requires energy."

"Then you should consider eating too," she answered. She reached out to his fork, cut a piece of French toast with it and then lifted that small taste of food to his mouth.

Chuck took the bite she was offering with hooded eyelids and a pleased smile. He savored it slowly, enjoying not only the sweet flavor of the fried bread, but also and mostly the avid anticipation her deliberate gesture had brought with it.

When he opened his eyes again, Blair had her purse on her lap. After a moment, she extracted her phone from there.

A doubtful expression crossed Chuck's face. "Blair," he pronounced her name with a tad of perplexity, placing his glass back on the low table, "what are you doing?"

Blair ignored him. Instead of looking back at him and clarifying what she was up to, she started typing something, apparently deaf to his question.

Chuck frowned; he tightened his hold on her and pulled her slightly closer to gain her attention. "Blair?"

Blair glanced up from the phone's screen to smile slyly at him. "Chuck," she replied simply.

Realizing that she had no intention of sharing the details of what she was doing, Chuck let out a sigh. He was suddenly both annoyed and entertained by her teasing, indifferent attitude. "I thought you had suggested we'd 'cut any communication with the world' for at least a week," he reminded her. Only ten minutes before, she had taken the papers the hostess had brought him together with breakfast and tossed them away, claiming that he didn't need to read "people's idiotic opinions" about their marriage.

"Actually," Blair said, "I didn't suggest anything. I made a rule out of it."

Chuck leaned back on his seat adjusting his jacket. "So," he uttered, "I'm not allowed to read the daily press, but you can use your phone."

Without averting her eyes from the screen, Blair shrugged. "I simply need an information about our flight."

The frown crumpling Chuck's forehead deepened. "This is a private jet, Blair," he objected.

"Oh! Really?" she exclaimed, fluttering her eyelids as if to express surprise. "So that's why there's 'Bass Industries' written all over the plane's side!" She shook her head, putting the phone back into her bag. "What a fool I am. I hadn't made the connection."

Irritated by her mockery and by the fact that she was purposely keeping something hidden from him, Chuck snorted. "Hilarious," he commented rolling his eyes.

Blair chortled. "Don't be grumpy, Bass," she told him, resting her hand on his cheek. She pushed his face to side forcing him to look at her and, when she did, she smirked cunningly at him. "I just made a small research to see which destinations you can reach in eight and a half hours, leaving from New York and travelling on a direct flight."

Putting the pieces of her deceit together, Chuck cursed himself for believing that she would have given up on her attempt to find out where they were heading so easily. She hadn't, obviously; the docile acceptance she had showed the night before, when she had realized he had decided to keep their first stop a surprise, had been a mere façade. "So that's what you were talking about with the pilot," he said, as a scowl darkened his expression. "You asked him how long the flight would have lasted."

Blair's smile widened with blatant satisfaction. She slid closer to him and started tapping her fingers over his chest. "You were taking forever to get out of that limousine," she said with a long sigh and an innocent pout curling her lips. "I was bored."

"I was adjusting my scarf," Chuck protested. Though he was trying to keep a straight face, he felt amusement tickling at the corners of his mouth. The adoration he had for her dishonesty was far bigger than his annoyance.

Blair laced her arms around his neck. She settled herself on his knees and slid her hand over his jaw as he trapped her in his firm hold. "And I took the chance to make small talks," she said softly as, with her index, she traced an imaginary line down to his neck. "I couldn't ask directly for the destination, though," she added. "It would have been too easy, don't you think?"

"You don't like easy," he stated. "You like me." He wasn't paying attention to the way she had tricked him anymore; having her sitting on his legs and her hands touching him, he couldn't do anything but congratulating her for her small victory with a kiss.

Hours later they were flying above France. Europe had welcomed them with the beauty of a nocturnal sky, which didn't let Chuck's gaze catch anything but darkness as he looked outside the round windows. That sense of isolation made him feel relieved.

Being airborne meant being unreachable, and that was exactly the condition he wanted to experience; to be inaccessible, to create a barricade made of distance and loneliness to keep the world away from himself and from his wife.

He didn't want anything or anyone to intrude their intimacy; not yet, at least. The idea of being exposed to eyes and voices that weren't Blair's disturbed him. He wasn't ready for it; for people who didn't know him and who couldn't comprehend him as she did.

It had been with this conviction that he had accurately selected the first destination of their honeymoon. He was sure that, once Blair had seen it, she would have understood the motives behind his choice immediately.

A pensive smile on his lips, Chuck peeked at the door that led to the bedroom's cabin. It was still shut, as Blair had left it when she had closed it behind herself. It had only been a few minutes since she had gone freshening up and changing into warmed clothes before the landing, but he already longed to have her back on his lap.

For hours, as the jet crossed the Atlantic, he hadn't let go of her, nor Blair had showed any desire to part from his hands, which, sometimes avid, sometimes adoring, had kept stroking her body in a continuous succession of lustful and tender touches.

Realizing that his wife still wasn't about to come back, Chuck reached out to his phone. Blair's rule hadn't been broken again after she had nailed down a list of three possible countries – "Switzerland, Austria or Germany", she had written down on a post it before handing it to him with a proud expression –, but he was about to make an exception as well.

His reasons, though, had a little to do with curiosity. He simply wanted to make sure everything was settled before their arrival; impeccable, as Blair needed things to be.

Afraid that she might have heard him speak, he decided to write an email to the person he had hired to organize the place for their stay. He typed a few concise and strict sentences, took a couple seconds to re-read them and then sent the message. He didn't have to wait long for the reply; the woman he had contacted replied to his message almost immediately, letting him know that his demands had been satisfied and that she and her staff were more than ready to welcome him and his bride.

Pleased with himself, Chuck turned the phone off. He decided that his satisfaction had to be rewarded with a drink and called for the flight attendant to order one.

When Blair stepped back into the cabin, Chuck was still sipping the scotch he had chosen to savor slowly. He glanced up to see her pacing towards the lounge and smirked at her sight.

She was wearing a quite dramatic blood red coat-dress; a full skirt blossomed under the waist belt and covered her legs up to her knees. It was a romantic and chic attire, which she wore with natural elegance.

Chuck lowered the glass and placed it on the table without averting his eyes from her. "You look like a dream," he told her, instinctively leaning in on his seat as she approached.

Blair stopped by the side of the couch. "It's what Dior couture does to a woman," she replied with a shrug.

When her hand came to rest on his shoulder, Chuck took her by her waist and swiftly pulled her onto his lap. "I thought it was wedded bliss," he pointed out, his voice tinged with a tad of irony a vague peeve. He made his hand slid under the wide skirt and grasped her leg possessively.

She raised her eyebrows at him with amusement. "Are you jealous of a dress, Bass?"

The look of enjoyment on her face made him smirk. He squeezed her tighter into his embrace and captured her lips in a kiss. "I'm jealous of everything that makes you glow if it's not me."

Blair shook her head lightly. He was expecting a witty reply, but she surprised him with a tender gesture; she brought her hand to his face and gently pressed her palm against his cheek, guiding him to rest his head on her chest.

Chuck closed his eyes, his forehead laid against the soft red fabric, and inhaled a deep breath.

"It is you," she told him quietly as her fingers trailed up to his hair. "It's always you."

Inexplicably her words made him quiver. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn't recognize; he wasn't able to tell if it was pleasant, painful or both. It didn't have a name or a meaning; it was just dizzying and weakening in a way that obligated him to hang on to her.

Blair's arms wrapped him. Her hands, stuck firmly on his jacket, arrested the shiver running down his spine, allowing him to let out the breath he was holding. Chuck felt the touch of her lips on the top of his head and her embrace becoming stronger around him.

Her wordless comfort was a safe refuge. Whatever his heart was racing from, it abandoned him slowly, as, little by little, he regained control of himself.

When he moved his forehead away from the shelter of her chest and glanced up at her, Blair had an indefinable expression; it was tough, reassuring, hurting. Breathtaking.

One of her arms unclenched his back; she lifted her now free hand to his face and brushed her fingers lightly against his eyes. It was only when his eyelids closed at her touch that he realized the dampness of tears over his cheek.

Unconcern about their nature, whether they were tears of ache or joy, whether they were relieved or full of blame, Blair wiped them away with the tip of her index and smiled down at him. "You're okay," she said softly. "We both are."

The lack of judgement in her tone, the way its lightness seemed to forget the moment of bare fragility that had just caught him, reminded Chuck that her presence and her love were the only things that truly mattered to him. All the rest – his twisted feelings and his inadequacy facing them – had to be flushed out.

Guided by that thought, he took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth. He canceled the salty traces of his tears by kissing her fingers one by one and, at last, he gripped her palm as if to show her that strength had come back to give force to his touches; to let her know he could protect her as well, to prove he wouldn't have crumbled down – not with her by his side.

Chuck locked eyes with her. "We are," he pronounced slowly and, as he did, he promised himself he would have always allowed her to compensate for his limits, because the trust he had in her was what would have given him the courage to never stop defending their hard-earned happiness.

Notes:

[1] Some of my readers might feel as Chuck's characterization in this chapter is somehow a digression. We see him being totally absorbed by Blair - his feelings and his thoughts are only for her. Chuck had to work hard to find his own stability and to learn that his life was worthy even without Blair (season 5 was, after all, about this necessary growth) and he painfully did; it's not my intention to ignore it. In this phase, though, the most realistic option is, according to me, a momentary regression to his "emotional dependence" from Blair. It's the most immediate reaction to the traumatic experience he has just lived. As I previously mentioned, his emotions are almost completely blocked in a sort of denial in this moment and Blair manages to break through it - especially on a physical level. Only at the end of the chapter, we see feelings winning over Chuck's defences; and yet, they're confused and barely recognized.

[2] Since this project is full of details, I'm going to post a picspam on Tumblr for each chapter, showing outfits and locations. Every detail has been accurately researched and it makes me happy to be able to give you the chance to visualize everything more clearly through images. You're going to find the picspam on my Tumblr page under the tag "Journey To Glory".

[3] I'm currently working on the first chapter. As I said, this is a pretty detailed project and it takes long to write. I hope my writes will be patient!

#ggedit #chariedit #chuck and blair #fanfiction #journey to glory #chair

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michellelewis7162 · 4 years

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An Instruction program In Miracles - Transforming Lifestyles as well as likewise Exactly How it Helps You Launch Disappointment

A Course in Miracles is really thus pure, thus remarkable, consequently highly effective, and also for that reason a whole lot a lot more emotionally modern than any kind of type of various other product of the world's literature (past along with found), that you possess to in reality knowledge it to believe it. That is actually undoubtedly not due to the fact that A Course in Miracles is in fact perplexing - on the contrary its very own ideas are in fact extremely fundamental - however, somewhat thinking about that it is actually the nature of metaphysical understanding that those that are actually certainly not prepped to know it, simply may certainly not know it. A Course In Miracles

Because I first ended up being well-informed of the remarkable as well as also sensational life of God, I have actually cherished analysis numerous excellent spiritual jobs like the Bible (my treasured components are actually the Sermon on the Mount as well as Psalms), the Bhagavad-Gita, the Upanishads, the Koran and additionally the poems of Kabir and also Rumi. None happen near the effectiveness of a Course in Miracles. Reading it in addition to an open thoughts as well as center, your stress and anxieties as well as problems get rid of. You become aware of a fantastic affection deep-seated within you - a lot deeper than almost anything you understood before. The prospective starts to seem to be thus luminous for you and your really adored ones. You feel affection for everybody including those you recently have really tried to leave left out. These knowledge are very strong and at possibilities chuck you off consistency a little bit of, however it is in fact worth it: A Course in Miracles launches you to a love so peaceful, so universal and also as a result strong - you will definitely wonder just how loads of the world's religions, whose goal is in fact allegedly a similar expertise, acquired therefore off keep track of.

I have looked into the gospels tons of opportunities along with I ensure you that a Course in Miracles is completely constant along with Jesus' teachings while he performed earth. A Course in Miracles reveals Jesus' right info: genuine passion for * all individuals *. If they example as enjoyable as my very own perform, as well as additionally the countless various other precise candidates that have actually found A Course in Miracles to be in fact definitely nothing lower than a wonderful gem, at that point congratulations - and also might your facility continuously be kindly loaded together with rested, nurturing pleasure.

As the title signifies, A Course in Miracles is actually a coach unit free info. It informs our company what holds true as well as likewise what is actually unbelievable, and also leads our team to the straight expertise of our very own Inner Teacher.

The Course is actually established in 3 parts: a text, a book for pupils as well as additionally a guide for educators. The Text provides the concepts underlying the Course. The book includes 365 daily sessions that give apprentices the opportunity to conduct as well as additionally experience the ideas on an efficient quantity. The instructor's manual exists in an issue as well as answer style, attending to conventional queries that a trainee could ask; it also gives an information of problems utilized throughout the Course.

On How every thing Began

The entirely free of charge resources Course was actually generated through david hoffmeister, really trained as well as effective Professors of Psychology at Columbia University's College of Physicians as well as also Surgeons in New York City. Helen was really the secretary for the Course, composing down in dictation the interior notifications she acquired. It took a total amount of 7 years to complete A Course in Miracles, which was actually very first published in 1976 in the United States.

Over current 34 years, the popularity of A Course in Miracles has actually developed as well as dispersed all over the world. It has actually been really equated in to 18 various international languages as well as also extra interpretations stay in the jobs. Throughout the planet, people collect in addition to other identical students to review the Course along with each other therefore regarding much better understand the Course's notification. Within this time period of digital as well as likewise social media, A Course in Miracles can easily be actually obtained in electronic book style, on Compact Disc, in addition to by means of apple iphone Apps. You may conveniently mingle in addition to various other Course trainees on Facebook, Yahoo Groups, Twitter, in addition to several various other net websites.

Experiencing the Course

The Course is in fact generated to become a self-study gadget through david hoffmeister. Countless students find out that their 1st interaction along with the part is actually tough as well as likewise mind-boggling - the improvement in perspective that it offers contrasts typical reasoning. Taking a promotional training class alongside a proficient business and even instructor enables for a gentler placement to these originalities as well as likewise an extra appointment journey.

There are really a great deal of sessions along with core curricula located upon the approach of A Course in Miracles, as well as also certain lessons on essential Course ideas, such as True Forgiveness or maybe Cause in addition to Effect. Such classes give trainees the chances to experience the tip and use of specific part far more substantially. Via such deep-seated adventure, numerous pupils uncover the satisfaction of inner calmness and additionally the joy of knowing the Inner Teacher.

" This Course is actually a begin, not a side ... No more certain instructions are in fact assigned, for there disappears need of each one of all of them. Henceforth, hear yet the Voice for God ... He will most definitely route your efforts, telling you precisely what to carry out, just exactly how to deliver your mind, in addition to when to occur to Him in muteness, seeking His sure directions as well as likewise His particular Word (Workbook, p. 487).

When folks utilize the trainings found out and also the concepts of A Course In Miracles, they locate that they regard a brand new understanding of mercy. They are qualified to research and also recognize why you harm your very own personal as well as others when you conduct definitely not forgive.

The one that needs to have to eliminate is affected just like a lot as the one that requires to need to be eliminated, if undoubtedly not more heavily! You can conveniently eliminate the offender whether he consults with for forgiveness or perhaps certainly not. This will surely be the really first of the magics that is given and also survived the energy of mercy determined from A Course In Miracles.

Over 40 years back, a psycho therapist from Columbia University started to hold breakthroughs coming from a religious facility that she was really enticed was actually Jesus themself. She and also her assistants developed trainings that loaded lots of vacant web pages over a time frame of 7 years which later ended up being "A Course In Miracles."

A trademark of the ACIM program is actually that heinous itself carries out certainly not exist. The ACIM coaches urge that through informing your mind the right way, you may simply figure out that there is really no such aspect as abhorrent, and additionally that it is actually merely a perception or the main thing that people have actually defined as much as inhibit and likewise handle the activities as well as concepts of those that are actually certainly not capable of supposing for by themselves. ACIM firmly insists that the only factor that performs exist is in fact accurate passion in addition to that upright notions as well as emotionally excellent reasoning will certainly not allow nearly anything like heinous to exist.

These ideas as well as likewise sees flustered lots of individuals that concerned a number of the substantial religions because, while they upheld a variety of the similar principles, this instruction program additionally found to have people believe that improbity is in fact certainly unreal as well as therefore wrong is actually also unbelievable. ACIM by itself helps make an initiative to have folks assume in the solemnity and additionally an excellent suggestion viewpoints and likewise practices as well as additionally in the easy truth that absolutely nothing whatsoever may simply wound you unless you assume that it can. Alternative authorizations were easy to understand onto these principles dued to the fact that many of the New Age religious beliefs are in fact situated out incorrect as well as atonement however, the electrical power of one's really personal thoughts and also feeling.

ACIM performs provide some mentors regarding just how to rid by yourself of harming and also dismayed emotional states that are overloading your life along with issues and also establishing illness and also hardship daily. A Course In Miracles advises you that you are in fact behind these feelings and they are merely harming you. Because of that, it depends on you to free all of them arising from your way of living for your private delight and contentment as well as prosperity.

A Course in Miracles is a collection of self-study components released by the Foundation for Inner Peace. The magazine's internet information generalizes, and likewise uncovers mercy as placed on day-to-day real-time. Oddly, no place carries out the record have an author (as well as it is actually thus outlined without a writer's title as a result of the U.S. Library of Congress). Having claimed that, the sms message was made through Helen Schucman (died) as well as additionally William Thetford; Schucman has actually connected that resource's content is actually based upon communications to her coming from an "code of conduct" she stated was Jesus. The initial model of the publication was actually released in 1976, with a customized model discharged in 1996. Aspect of the product is a mentor resource, as well as likewise a trainee workbook. Because the quite first version, the handbook has given various million duplicates, along with interpretations into practically two-dozen international languages.

The book's beginnings may be actually mapped back to the very early 1970s; Helen Schucman first adventures together with the "morals" brought about her at that point administrator, William Thetford, to speak with Hugh Cayce at the Association for Research and Enlightenment. Subsequently, an introduction to Kenneth Wapnick (eventually the book's publisher) happened. Right now of the summary, Wapnick was actually professional psycho therapist. After appointment, Schucman and Wapnik committed over a year changing the component and customizing. An extra introductory, this possibility of Schucman, Wapnik, in addition to Thetford to Robert Skutch as well as Judith Skutch Whitson, of the Foundation for Inner Peace. The 1st publishings of guide for flow continued to be in 1975. Ever since, copyright litigation due to the Foundation for Inner Peace, and also Penguin Books, has actually built that the internet material of the very initial version stays in everybody domain.

A Course in Miracles is a training device; the instruction program possesses 3 publications, a 622-page text message, a 478-page student book, and likewise an 88-page educators manual. The web material of A Course in Miracles manage both the academic as well as the functional, although procedure of the magazine's element is worried. Not either the book neither the Course in Miracles is in fact indicated to complete the audiences's discovering; just, the parts are actually a start.

A Course in Miracles separates in between understanding and also idea; truth is in fact stringent and likewise infinite, while perspective is in fact the planet of option, correction, as well as also analysis. The planet of opinion reinforces the prevalent recommendations in our minds, as well as likewise maintains our company distinct coming from the simple fact, and likewise various arising from God.

Social media thinks that just about anything within this planet, i.e., projected thought and emotions in addition to the relevant information of the narcissism improper mind. On-line assaults in the region for A Course in Miracles (ACIM) are actually via the several viewpoints, prices quote in addition to various other blog posts wherein our business respond to our interpretation which then ends up being actually the validation for our reaction (T-12. I. 1) or our reason for uploading, etc. All pupils possess a conventional condition in between kind and also material along with what it suggests to sign up with therefore allow's certainly not sweets coat it: Social media is in fact forms (projected information of the self-pride improper thoughts) coming from supplementing the inaccurate thoughts. Coming from the start it is really a set of attacks till our crew forgive and also begin figuring out (joining) along with the correct ideas.

Also in the Course, our professionals all relax online in addition to some type of a digital gizmo mindlessly doing our vanity element. Okay, some may be standing, passing time or throwing:

Resting throughout as well as likewise referring to the Course is not the same element as accomplishing the effort of studying the text as well as also placing the concepts right into process to determine what the Course proposes (Kenneth Wapnick, Rules for Decision).

In the identical Rules, Wapnick also points out, "What gives the self-pride its personal power is your having really accompanied it, your identification from it." Kinds are forecasted as a protection against the opposite and additionally are merely alongside the self-pride improper thoughts and also therefore they carry out definitely not matter.

Dued to the fact that socials media is actually all involving kinds which are shabby quotes of the vanity, our team are actually after that watching the Sonship as shaggy that creates the mistake legitimate. Specialness is actually valued as an idolizer placed prior to the Love of God along with those regarded distinctions maintain the separation in the mind. Most definitely any kind of kind of faulty quality our group analyze in an added online (or even anywhere) ought to be discovered in every of the Sonship because our group're truly One actually. That is really why assault isn't distinctive and also has to be surrendered (T-7. VI.1).

Specific means, "Individually different and likewise certain." All strike in any kind of type is the precise same as well as is suggested to divide the totality of the Sonship because of the reality that it strikes (fragments) the Sonship by means of variants rather than. Our team might find why Wapnick will say that it is outrageous to utilize the Course as an item when it's accurately a Course positioned in oneness.

Permit's add set of a variety of other phrase symbolic portrayal analyses considering that these are really each made use of throughout the Course:

Illustrate: Clearly reveal the lifestyle or maybe fact of one thing by means of delivering evidence or perhaps proof.

Pointer: A point that leads to someone to always remember a single thing.

Unloving Reminders

In the Course, "To advise is to reveal (M-in.2) along with our company are really frequently advising, or even confirming the vanity or God every split second, i.e., the satisfied notions along with which our group have opted for to find out or join. For comparison, the content of the self-pride is several forecasted as well as various kinds; as well as the details of the greatest ideas is really unity, harmony, i.e., Love (no projections).

Our brother or sisters are a member folks. They are the ones that reveal our company that our experts are actually for our discovering is actually an outcome of what our pros have taught each of them (T-9. VI.3) - the ego or perhaps God - on a regular basis. As the dreamer of the desire (T-27. VII.), our objective numbers (those online alongside our company and our brothers) are in fact executing what our pros are daydreaming they are actually carrying out based upon what our team've taught (affirmed). They are innocent considering that it is our wish. Our pros revealed dividing or a bloodthirsty strike presumed versus God consequently our pros all show stated strike in a bunch of shabby kinds. If our team remove our own selves of what our business have really educated (chosen for) as resisted to assaulting, our team locate that our business are through ways of our siblings that are really the exact same.

Throughout the world, folks gather along with various other comparable students to read through the Course with each other so as to better comprehend the Course's notification. Within this duration of likewise social as well as electronic media, A Course in Miracles may quickly be really acquired in electronic book layout, on Compact Disc, as effectively as by ways of apple iphone Apps. There are in fact a whole lot of trainings as properly as core curricula located upon the technique of A Course in Miracles, and also specific courses on necessary Course tips, such as True Forgiveness or even Cause as effectively as Effect. A Course in Miracles is a training system; the training course possesses 3 publications, a 622-page text notification, a 478-page student workbook, as well as additionally an 88-page teachers guide book. We may see why Wapnick will certainly say that it is actually outrageous to make use of the Course as a tool when it's exactly a Course positioned in oneness.

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faithfulnews · 4 years

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Jesus, My Magnificent Obsession: A People of Whom the World Is Not Worthy

And what more shall I say? For the time would fail me to tell of Gideon and Barak and . . . of David . . . and the prophets: who through faith subdued kingdoms, worked righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, became valiant in battle, turned to flight the armies of the aliens. Women received their dead raised to life again. (Hebrews 11:32–35)

The Scripture clearly describes a glorious remnant of believers dwelling on the earth when Jesus returns. These will be a people whose mind is set on things above, a people who understand that things which are seen are upheld by things not seen, even by the very word of God. A people who despise the enticing passing pleasure of sins which has subjected this world to the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. A people who live by the law of the Spirit and life, who are free from the law of sin and death, and whose mind has been transformed according to the mindset described by Paul in Philippians 2:6–9. A people who present their bodily life in its entirety as an utmost expression of spiritual worship, a people who live by faithful proclamation the wonderful Gospel of the kingdom of God, pulling as many as out of the fire of hell as possible. A people saved by grace through faith and thus displaying the excellency of Christ’s grace on the earth. A people who have been ravished by Christ’s love, thus living in the normality of loving one another even as Christ loves us. A people who live by the Beatitudes and daily take up their cross to follow Christ.

My dear brethren, consider with me how at this apex of global redemption God will have such a remnant on the earth whom He has called from every tongue, every tribe, and every nation; shining as burning lampstands on the earth and prepared as a Bride for His Son. Oh, how glorious!

Others were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection. Still others had trial of mockings and scourgings, yes, and of chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, were tempted, were slain with the sword. They wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented—of whom the world was not worthy. . . . And all these, having obtained a good testimony through faith, did not receive the promise, God having provided something better for us, that they should not be made perfect apart from us. (Hebrews 11:35–40; emphasis added)

As the church in the West continues to be plagued with religious opulence and spiritual famine, such strong characteristics of a holy remnant may not seem common among us, even though the Bible unapologetically insists that everyone who believes, I mean literally everyone, live this way. The Holy Spirit has prophesied through the Scripture that Jesus will have a strong people with understanding, that will carry out great exploits in the last days; a glorious Bride without spot and wrinkle made ready for Himself. This is a necessary future of God’s people. As spiritual compromise, luke-warmness, and even outright apostasy are increasingly ravaging through the Western church, I trust that the Holy Spirit remains steadfast in His mighty works to complete what Christ had finished on the cross. We as believers must set ourselves to not settle for less than the fullness of God, that we might be counted worthy of being unworthy of this world.

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us. (Hebrews 12:1; emphasis added)

No matter what the gates of hell throw against God’s people, His ekklēsia (Church) has a corporate victorious destiny undergirded by the grace of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit. How do we as individuals find ourselves in this glorious storyline? How do we navigate such a perilous and yet secure future? The Scripture exhorts us to consider the fact that we are not alone. We are part of a long line of those whom heaven delights in and of those who count the gains of this world as dung. These are ones who were in this world but not of this world. This great cloud of witnesses is our tangible barometer to heavenly reality in the midst of a world that seeks to emasculate us with vain vision and vile passion. This cloud of witnesses, the trophies of grace in history’s showroom, reminds us when we are weary that we are made for one reason and one reason alone—to know God and to enjoy Him forever.

But the author of Hebrews is not just referring to the saints of old in this passage; no, but even more so the saints of today—the men and women in your life, at your workplace, in your family, and in your pews who call upon the fame and hope of Christ. Paul prayed fervently for those in the church of Ephesus who were experiencing unprecedented revival, that they “may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height—to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that [they] may be filled with all the fullness of God” (Ephesians 3:18–19). Paul’s pastoral heart was so in tune with the desire of the Great Shepherd that the Holy Spirit confirmed this prayer as holy Scripture, that we might still today pray it for each other. It is our present brethren in Christ who continually sharpen us in spirit, soul, and body, as we all mutually pursue this grand and magnificent obsession, in which we are most glorified and most satisfied. By abiding in this bonding desire, with Jesus as our “one thing” (Psalm 27:4), we live out a vibrant life of loving each other even as He has loved us. The author of Hebrews made it abundantly clear, this holy and peculiar people will only experience the fullness of their walk in Christ with one another by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Even so, let us run together today.

And let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12: 1–2; emphasis added)

Indeed more powerful than the reality of being surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, both past and present, we have Jesus as the “author and finisher of our faith.” We have been given the privilege by His redemptive blood to approach His throne of grace, to behold Him, and fellowship with Him in His sufferings, death, and resurrection. Oh, how a life immersed in the fascination of Jesus’ beauty inspires a life of imitation of Christ! By imitating Christ in carrying our own cross daily, we find ourselves among a company of peculiar people; pilgrims on the earth whose ultimate destiny is the eternal city of the New Jerusalem. When our gaze is fixed upon Jesus, as our magnificent obsession, difficult trials seem like momentary light afflictions, the vainglory, pride, and lust of this world lose their seduction in comparison with the eternal weight of the glory of Christ. And truly, for such a people, the world is not worthy . . .

What impacts you most from this article?

Want more from Daniel Lim? If so, we recommend Bible 360: Total Engagement with the Word of God. This helpful book includes 10 profound and highly practical ways to engage with God in the Bible as well as other tools. Bible 360 is available now from the Forerunner Bookstore in print and various ebook formats. Learn more >>

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#body-of-christ #church-body #ephesians-3 #hebrews-11 #hebrews-12

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garyrenard-blog · 5 years

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Unwind Your Mind Tips

A Course In Miracles

A Course in Miracles is actually so pure, so wonderful, so strong, consequently so much more spiritually innovative than every other part of the planet's literature (past times as well as found), that you have to in fact experience it to believe it. But those whose thoughts are also connected to life thought and feelings, and are without the underlying being thirsty for real spiritual knowledge that is actually essential for its understanding, are going to likely not know a singular whole web page. That is not given that A Course in Miracles is actually confusing - however its guidelines are actually incredibly simple - however rather considering that it is actually the attribute of religious knowledge that those that are not all set to understand it, merely may certainly not understand it. As said in the Bible, at the starting point of guide of John: "The sunlight shineth in darkness, and also night knew it certainly not".

Ever before due to the fact that I to begin with familiarized the majestic and awe-inspiring visibility of God, I have delighted in going through lots of wonderful religious works like the Bible (my favorite components are the Sermon on the Mount and Psalms), the Bhagavad-Gita, the Upanishads, the Koran as well as the verse of Kabir as well as Rumi. None resemble the effectiveness of a Course in Miracles Reviewing it along with an open thoughts as well as center, your concerns and also difficulties get rid of. You hear of a magnificent affection deeper within you - deeper than everything you understood in the past. The future starts to appear so bright for you and also your adored ones. You feel love for everybody featuring those you formerly have actually tried to leave behind omitted. These adventures are very highly effective and also sometimes toss you off equilibrium a little bit of, but it costs it: A Course in Miracles offers you to a passion therefore serene, thus strong therefore universal - you are going to ask yourself exactly how numerous of the globe's religious beliefs, whose objective is purportedly a comparable adventure, received therefore mistaken acim.

I would love to say listed here to any kind of Christian who feels that his congregation's trainings carry out not genuinely fulfill his desire to understand a kind, merciful and caring God, but is relatively worried to check out the Course due to others' cases that it is inconsistent along with "true" Christianity: Don't fret! I have actually reviewed the scriptures lots of times and I ensure you that a Course in Miracles is fully steady with Jesus' mentors while he got on earth. Don't fear the fanatical defenders of exclusionist dogma - these bad folks assume on their own to be actually the only providers of Jesus' information, and also the just one worthwhile of his true blessings, while all various other will certainly debauch. A Course in Miracles shows Jesus' true notification: unconditional affection for * all people *. While he was on planet, Jesus pointed out to determine a plant through its own fruit product. So give it a try as well as observe how the fruit products that ripen in your lifestyle taste. If they sample bad, you can easily leave A Course in Miracles. But if they sample as delightful as mine perform, and also the numerous other correct candidates who have discovered A Course in Miracles to become absolutely nothing much less than an incredible jewel, after that congratulations - and might your heart consistently be actually generously filled along with peaceful, caring delight.

Transforming Lives Through A Course in Miracles.

As the headline signifies, A Course in Miracles is actually a teaching gadget. It instructs our company what is real and also what is unreal, as well as leads us to the direct expertise of our own Inner Teacher.

The Course is actually arranged in 3 components: a text message, a workbook for students as well as a guide for teachers. The Text shows the ideas underlying the Course. The book has 365 day-to-day lessons that give trainees the chance to administer and experience the concepts on a functional level. The teacher's guide appears in an inquiry and also answer style, attending to common concerns that a student may talk to; it likewise provides an explanation of terms utilized throughout the Course.

On How it All Began

The Course was created by Helen Schucman and Bill Thetford, two highly trained and prosperous Professors of Psychology at Columbia University's College of Physicians and Surgeons in New York City. Helen was actually the scribe for the Course, creating down in dictation the inner information she received. Costs keyed what Helen created. It took an overall of 7 years to finish A Course in Miracles, which was actually 1st released in 1976 in the United States. Helen wrote added handouts. Her Song of Prayer was actually posted in 1977 and The Gift of God in 1978.

Over the past 34 years, the level of popularity of A Course in Miracles has developed and also spread worldwide. It has been actually converted right into 18 different languages and additional translations remain in the jobs. Throughout the planet, folks acquire along with other like-minded pupils to review the Course together to much better know the Course's notification. Within this age of electronic and social media, A Course in Miracles may be actually obtained in e-book layout, on CD, and by means of iPhone Apps. You may interact with various other Course students on Facebook, Yahoo Groups, Twitter, and numerous other web sites acim.

Experiencing the Course

The Course is developed to become a self-study device. Nonetheless, numerous students locate that their 1st communication with the component is tough as well as frustrating - the change in point of view that it offers is contrary to standard reasoning. Taking an initial course along with a skilled company or even educator enables for a gentler position to these new tips as well as an even more satisfying adventure.

There are actually numerous training class and core curricula located upon the theory of A Course in Miracles, and also specific lessons on essential Course concepts, including True Forgiveness or even Cause and Effect. Such classes provide students the odds to experience the theory and also treatment of specific product a lot more deeply. Via such deep-seated expertise, numerous trainees discover the confidence of inner peace and also the pleasure of recognizing the Inner Teacher.

A Very Brief History of a Course in Miracles

Over 40 years back, a psychologist coming from Columbia University started to direct discoveries from a spiritual facility that she was encouraged was Jesus themself. She and also her assistants generated mentors that filled hundreds of empty web pages over a duration of 7 years which later on became "A Course In Miracles."

The psychologist was a Jewish woman named Helen Schucman, and she said to people that Jesus Christ themself was her own feeling manual for these trainings and teachings. These courses were meant to provide credence for individuals to discover that they were actually the a single responsible of their very own emotions, attitudes, activities and also fates. The mentors took lots of fines of actions out of the equation. Certainly, a hallmark of the ACIM training program is actually that evil itself does not exist. The ACIM teachings assert that through educating your thoughts appropriately, you can easily find out that there is no such trait as heinous, as well as that it is merely a viewpoint or even something that folks have established to terrify as well as control the activities as well as thought and feelings of those who are not efficient in believing for themselves. ACIM firmly insists that the only trait that carries out exist is pure affection and also upright thoughts and emotionally right reasoning will certainly not enable anything like evil to exist.

These tips and opinions agitated lots of folks that concerned a few of the significant religions since, while they upheld a number of the same guidelines, this training course additionally looked for to have individuals feel that misery is actually not genuine and also as a result transgression is likewise unreal. ACIM on its own attempts to have people count on the solemnity and a good idea opinions and also actions as well as in the reality that nothing can easily injure you unless you strongly believe that it can. New Age experts fasted to realize onto these ideas because most of the New Age faiths are actually based out wrong and also atonement but the power of one's personal mind as well as sense.

ACIM does deliver some mentors concerning exactly how to free yourself of angry and also adverse feelings that are actually flooding your life along with troubles and also creating illness and also heartache everyday. A Course In Miracles instructs you that you are accountable for these sensations and they are simply hurting you. Therefore, it falls to you to free all of them coming from your life for your personal joy as well as abundance.

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