#my answer is 'a relatively mundane moment of peace in their lives making him see someone he wants to protect even after the world ends. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beneaththetangles · 3 years

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Reader’s Corner: Demon Slayer, Nerdy Nurse, and Play It Cool, Guys

Date A Live, Vol. 1

Having enjoyed the Date A Live anime, I was curious to check out the source material, and the first volume didn’t disappoint. It’s a high school harem romantic comedy…that takes place in a borderline post-apocalyptic setting full of mystery, absurdity, and tragedy. There are plenty of sweet or humorous moments, but the narrative never lets one forget its darker side. Some regard the “Spirits” (mysterious girls whose extradimensional incursions bring cataclysm) as monsters and try to kill them, but protagonist Shido rejects this in favor of a more peaceful approach. Aided by a bizarre paramilitary group commanded by his little sister, Shido seeks dialogue and coexistence with Spirits. In practice, this means Shido must get to know them, ask them on dates, and get them to fall for him. Shido is a deeply compassionate person, and as one reads of his efforts to save a Spirit — choosing love over death, reconciliation over enmity, forgiveness over resentment, other over self — the Christ parallels practically write themselves. I can’t deny Date A Live is weird, but somehow it works, and the positive themes underlying the story are excellent. I certainly plan to continue reading this series. ~ JeskaiAngel

Date A Live (vol. 1) is published by Yen Press.*

The Wavering of Haruhi Suzumiya

Seven words: “The Adventures of Mikuru Asahina Episode 00.” Kyon’s description of the SOS Brigade’s video for the North High cultural festival is the most humorous story in volume six of the Haruhi Suzumiya series, a high point both for this book and the series in general, and by itself makes Wavering a worthy read. The remainder of the volume—if not on the same level as its opening chapter—continues with the unusual brew of school life, romance, comedy, sci-fi, and mystery that makes the franchise special. However, be warned that most of the volume feels mundane, almost like side stories,with nothing much of consequence happening, at least not patently so, until the intriguing final chapter, “The Melancholy of Mikuru Asahina,” which not only functions as a nice bookend to the volume but comes just when it seems that Asahina’s counterpart, Nagato, has received far more attention and character development. It’s fulfilling to read the Asahina-focused material in both stories mentioned—though be warned: You may get knocked flat by an adorable (and possibly dangerous) Mikuru Beam! ~ Twwk

The Wavering of Haruhi Suzumiya is published by Yen Press.*

Play It Cool, Guys: Vol. 1

This was A LOT of fun! It’s been some time since I chuckled/laughed this much when reading a manga. After finishing, I actually went back and reread some of the pages just so I could laugh again, because I was enjoying it so much! However, Play It Cool, Guys is different than I expected; I didn’t realize that each of the guys are a different age. Considering they are different ages, I wouldn’t have expected for all the stories to really flow in transition as well as they did, but the mangaka does a fantastic job of doing just that! Where one story ended, another began, but without a feeling of being jilted due to a shifting too quickly to a different character’s voice. The colored pages were also AMAZING! The way color enhanced the pages was awesome! And the art of course is gorgeous! I’m really interested in reading the next volume, and know that this will probably become a manga I will read again and again if I need a pick me up or a good dose of laughter. These guys are just hilariously cool! ~ Laura A. Grace

Play It Cool, Guys (Vol. 1) is published by Yen Press.* See a video review by Laura here.

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, Vol. 21

Demon Slayer is pain, especially the latter volumes as the series nears its conclusion. Volume 21 opens with the defeat of Upper Rank Kizuki number one but at enormous sacrifice; this immediate rush into highly emotional material indicates how the series, developed for so many chapters, has been and continues to be in its climactic arc, one that’s full of extreme violence, gore, and death. Shades of black cover these pages more than any other previously, indicating how much blood is spilled as the remaining Hashira fight Muzan in what continues to appear to be a losing battle. However, part of the beauty of Demon Slayer is that while it’s full of action and hyper violent, it’s a sensitive story and well-written—these chapters are the very natural output of all that’s occurred before, and as such the chaos is imbued with all that’s come before—a whole lot of heart. Coincidentally, the structure of this volume also feeds into that assessment, starting emotionally, and further, giving readers a chance to mourn for character deaths before progressing to the tenacious action of the middle portion, before closing with a story that functions as important context for the entire manga and presumably for the conclusion, ending this violent volume with a gentle whisper, and reminding us why this series is so very good. ~ Twwk

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba is published by Viz*

Do You Like the Nerdy Nurse?

From a cover like this, I was expecting this to be Nerdy Nurse to be spicy manga that could, potentially, be something I would recommend our readers avoid. I was wrong. Guess judging books by their cover isn’t a great idea. I feel like that should be an expression. Anyway, the titular “nerdy nurse,” Nijiko Momoyama, has all the boys at her school falling head over heels. However, while she loves her students in a maternal sort of way, she has no interest in children romantically. Her primary focus, instead, is on her geeky hobbies. She’s a huge manga, anime, and gatcha gaming otaku. She can’t get enough of it! In fact, one of her students discovers her geeky hobbies and ends up spending a lot of time helping out in the nurses office. It’s obvious he has a crush on her and makes it relatively known from time to time. That said, overall Momoyama is very professional and doesn’t ever give him an indication that she would reciprocate his middle school crush. Overall, she just talks to him as a fellow nerd and, frankly, that’s okay. Volume one was cute and, in answer to the question, yes, I did like the nerdy nurse. ~ MDMRN

Do You Like the Nerdy Nurse? is published by Yen Press.*

The Sorcerer’s Receptionist, Vol. 3

The highlight of The Sorcerer’s Receptionist continues to be its tsundere narrator. Yes, I know tsundere characters are a dime a dozen, and so are light novels with first-person narration, but this is the only light novel I’ve encountered with such a blatantly, amusingly tsundere narrator. It’s entertainingly exasperating hearing protagonist Nanalie’s perspective on the story. The other highlight include how Alois, the guy she deems her archnemesis, continues to practice love toward her. Happily, a big relationship upgrade occurs. My only complaint with this volume is that the obnoxious memory wipe trope rears its ugly head. Thankfully, it does not befall the romantic leads, at least. I usually hate this plot device, have ranted about it before, and hate it here, too. That said, despite my grumbling, I quite enjoyed this volume, and would still recommend this series. ~ JeskaiAngel

The Sorcerer’s Receptionist is published by J-Novel Club.

Neon Genesis Evangelion: Campus Apocalypse, Vol. 4

Two down so far for 2021! I have read two different Alternate Universe (AU) Neon Genesis Evangelion manga—the second of these, Neon Genesis Evangelion: Campus Apocalypse, is by volume four beginning to pain the angels as now, basically, vampires. But as the story progresses, more is also revealed about the world setting. It turns out this AU retains the concept of Rei as a clone from the mainline story, but also embraces the concept of an AU multiverse by this, the last volume of the series. I kind of wish it had another volume or two to really finish up the story because by these chapter, Campus Apocalypse was becoming more immersive. The first two volumes were great setups; however, it’s clear the series’ days were numbered as the second two raced to get across the finish line. I could have used a little more before we got there, but it is what it is. ~ MDMRN

Neon Genesis Evangelion: Campus Apocalypse is out of print, but originally published by Dark Horse Comics.

Your Lie in April, Vol. 1

For the month of April I’ve decided to do a reread of Your Lie in April, and let me tell you, I am already glad I have. The artwork from Naoshi Arakawa is gorgeous and incredibly expressive. The first chapter alone provides better introduction and storytelling than some manga accomplish in an entire series. The introduction of Kosei and his first encounter with Kaori is such an amazingly well crafted moment that it continues to stick with me after three watches of the anime and now a second readthrough of the manga. If you want a teenage love story that also tackles topics like depression and abandonment in a very real way, combined with gorgeous art, check out this series, and feel free to join me in reading it in April. ~ MDMRN

Your Lie in April is published by Kodansha.

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Reader’s Corner is our way of embracing the wonderful world of manga, light novels, and visual novels, creative works intimately related to anime but with a magic all their own. Each week, our writers provide their thoughts on the works their reading—both those recently released as we keep you informed of newly published works and older titles that you might find as magical (or in some cases, reprehensible) as we do.

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cyanidefilledcandy · 3 years

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I’m about to talk about death, so...

So, last night, I had another dream about my little sister. Oddly enough, I don’t dream about her super often and I was and am both...disturbed and grateful for that.

It’s not unusual for me to dream about dead relatives I was close to. My grandmothers (my paternal and maternal and maternal great grandmother), I dream about frequently. (My paternal grandfather not so much, and that makes me sad and makes me feel like I must not have cared about him enough. ...though, the real culprit is likely memory. He died when I was in middle school; my grandmothers all died when I was in adulthood.)

Usually when I dream about them, it’s like business as usual. It’s literally just mundane life things. We’re just going about our regular lives, and they’re just there like they had been when they were here. We talk a lot of the times, but it’s nothing significant; just regular conversation and they’re....just there.

With my sister, it’s been the complete opposite.

In EVERY dream I’ve had about my sister, she’s been dead. Except for one I had recently, and in the end, she just turned into my niece. And if she looks to be alive, then the dream will remind that she’s dead. Like one I had...

It was another of those mundane dreams where she, my mom, and I were in car driving, and she was in the backseat and we were just bantering. The subject of her pregnancy came up, but again, nothing out of the ordinary. We were just talking about how many issues she had. I jabbed at her that next time she would be in Georgia or a better hospital or just somewhere with better doctors. And she just kind of gave me an incredulous look and was like “WHAT next time?” and I just kind of stopped and was like “....oh right...” Cause she’s dead... And I’m honestly surprised that I thought that.

Again, usually in my dreams about my dead relatives, there’s nothing out of the ordinary to even suggest that they’re dead. And my sister and I used to have back and forths like that frequently, especially when her first child was born. I’d say something like, “When are you having the next one?” and she’d be like “Not.” Or “who?!” So for that to happen...

Maybe it’s because I felt....feel her death harder than any other I’ve experienced in my life...but I hate that even in my dreams, I can’t seem to think of her in any other context. As if there’s no reprieve from this most unfair reality. But last night’s dream was especially weird.

I was with someone...maybe it was my mom, and we drove up to the cemetery. I paused for a moment before getting out of the car. The other person turned to ask me, “Uh...do you know whose grave this is?” as if asking if I was SURE I wanted to get out and look. And I answered in a kind of “duh” fashion. We buried my sister next to my paternal grandparents, so I figured I could pay some respects to both of them. So, I got out and turned to their graves and they were covered by a plastic tent to protect them from the elements. I noticed it looked like a heavy storm was brewing like a hurricane or something. I then looked back to the graves and my sister’s coffin was out of the ground, open, and empty. It also looked like it had been ransacked. The lining in the lid was torn almost off and the was hanging out and getting wet in the muddy ground.

Of course, I was outraged and just as I was about to start a fight with someone, out a small building in the distance (the mortuary I somehow knew), out walks the female mortician who handled my sister, along with my maternal grandmother. They were both carrying my sister back to the coffin.

I instantly relaxed, knowing my grandma wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. The mortician explains that they had to do something... I don’t remember what it was, but it was likely something that would only make sense in a dream. I nodded and waited for them to put her back in. This part is a bit fuzzier, but other members of my family were suddenly there and everyone was trying to prepare her coffin....or something. There were these little cloth dolls of I guess family members and people were trying to figure out which ones they wanted to keep and which ones they wanted my sister to be buried with. I remember they kept exchanging them or something, and they were some kind of collectable? Again, that part is really fuzzy.

The mortician finally puts my sister back and kind of haphazardly drop her in the coffin, like she was too heavy and she just couldn’t hold her anymore. Of course, I don’t like this, but figure I’m no one to criticize someone at their profession. My sister ends up not even fully in the coffin and the bottom padding is missing. She’s also wearing the wig I just bought, which looks amazing on her and much better than the one I ended up picking IRL. And then all of a sudden, she starts convulse every few seconds. Like a twitch or jump of her limbs and eventually, her mouth starts to hang open. Almost like she’s having a seizure.

The mortician or my mom or someone tells me that “Don’t worry. Sometimes dead bodies move involuntarily and it means nothing. I’m annoyed because this is something I already know, even if part of me (I guess my waking mind) knew that she was way too animated for this to just be muscle spasms.

The spasming gets worse to the point that she falls completely out of the coffin. This time however, her eyes open and her mouth is shut (because morticians wire them shut). She keeps convulsing and I’m repeating in my head that “this doesn’t mean anything. this doesn’t mean anything.” But suddenly her head goes back and her eyes are staring at me, desperately and I immediately know a horrible mistake was made.

Have you guys ever seen The Haunting of Hill House? That scene where Olivia has a vision of an adult Nell dead before she rises and desperately tries to beg Olivia to save her...this was very similar to that. She was even dressed in red like Nell was in the show (I had her dressed in red because it was her favorite color). Except my sister looked like she wanted to move and couldn’t. Like her body was too stiff and her mouth was wired shut, so she couldn’t speak and looked like she desperately wanted to.

So, I immediately go “Something’s wrong. We were wrong! She’s alive! Someone help her!” And I had a few people trying to calm me down. They weren’t exactly denying the fact just trying to calm me down. I get more and more frantic and weirdly see some kind of countdown...

And 3, 2, 1, I woke up and my sister was still and silent and I realized I had went through that all in my head. They ended up reburying her and my grandmother stood beside me crying. I hugged her and tried to give her words of comfort. I told her not to worry because her other grandmother and grandfather (the grandmother I was talking to’s husband) and Pepper (our childhood pet) were all looking after her. Again...the grandmother I was talking to is also dead and she died before my maternal grandmother did, so....that was weird...

The next part is a bit fuzzy, but I wound up having a conversation with my sister. We just casually talking about her experience of....dying and being buried? It seemed and felt like one of my other mundane dreams about dead relatives, but I knew very well that she was dead. She told me she was tired of the dolls she was buried with (those weird collectable family dolls) and she said a few other things, and mentioned that she just didn’t have an appetite and some other things where she was just sick and uncomfortable (similar to all the stuff she went through while she pregnant). I told her, “I’m sorry, baby.” And she said a couple other things again very casually before I woke up.

Oddly enough...I felt strangely calm and peaceful when I woke up.

I don’t know if this is common or not, but my dreams MAJORLY affect my mood and usually whatever feeling I was feeling when I was dreaming carries on with me when I wake up. And not JUST when I wake up; it stays as if it happened to me IRL. Just like yesterday, where I had another apocalypse dream where me and my mom were at odds, and I was depressed all day yesterday. Or a major dream I had long ago where my sister got shot and was dying right in front of my eyes and I had to try and carry her to the hospital. I’ll never forget how she looked in that dream....literally dying. Usually when I dream of someone dying, it’s like a movie death. This dream was eerily realistic with how she was dying. ....that dream had me depressed and physically sick for days after, and has stuck with me... (I wasn’t kidding when I said my sister dying was my worst nightmare...)

I guess it was because we were just talking like normal. However, once I thought back on the dream and the strangeness of it, Depression set in fast. Though, it wasn’t so much the dream than I just feel that loss all over again.

IDK...I kind of wanted to document this dream because the strangeness of it, I guess. Some things I think I know what they mean or represent and others are just...weird...

Visiting the grave is obvious... I think the changing of her hair and shoddy state of the coffin is my own insecurities and unsatisfaction with how her burial was handled. Everyone tells me I did a good job with picking out everything, but I wasn’t satisfied at all with how she looked and I keep imagining if by some miracle I DO see her after death, that she’d have a few choice words. ...jokingly and good-naturedly, of course, but still...

I didn’t realize it until after I woke, but the convulsions she had I thought looked seizure like...and I wonder if that’s what my mind thinks happened in her last moments... I wasn’t there, but my mom just describes it has blood coming out of her eyes, nose, and mouth. That wasn’t present in the dream, but she also says that when she went, my mom couldn’t get her mouth to close...and the dream, her mouth was open when the convulsions started.

When she falls to the ground and looks at me desperately to help....I think it harkens back to a thought I had when she first died that maybe she wasn’t really dead, but in a deep coma and she would wake up in the coming days. Even after we buried her, part of me still held on to the belief that she wasn’t really dead and had the horrible idea of her waking up in her coffin under a ton of concrete and couldn’t get out (which has always been a deep dark fear of mine for myself). It’s a dumb thought...not only was she autopsied, but embalmed. I know it’s dumb, but when I said I went through every stage of grief at once, I mean it... Part of me is still going through all of those stages at once...Part of me is still searching desperately for a way to go back and save her from this fate...

Denial and bargaining...

The rest I’m not so sure about... I don’t know what the family doll things represent and I don’t know why my dream acknowledged that all my relatives were dead, except my maternal grandmother. I know her being with the mortician was just knowing she was in good hands with my grandmother. Maybe me dreaming of comforting her was just me wishing I had her here to go through this with... But who knows?

I know this was a HELL of a long read. I don’t expect anyone to actually read through this shit. I just wanted to get it out and....analyze it I guess. And also just...DO something with this grief instead of just replaying the dream in my head on repeat all day...

If one of you DID read this, I appreciate that you think so highly of me to read through my long-winded ramblings. ....and I’m also sorry for that because I’m not worthy of that. But, I love you dearly.

#death #a lot of fucking death...#dream journal

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theatresweetheart · 4 years

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Broken Words

Fandom(s): Sanders Sides, G/t

Summary: Rescuing humans has never been too difficult for Roman. However, the little one currently glaring at him from its enclosure has proven to be a very different case.

Warnings: Selective mutism, fear, crying, panic attack, feelings of helplessness, feelings of guilt, character being treated like an animal, swearing, self deprecation, mention of Deceit (Dorian), Remus is mentioned but not present. (If I missed any, please let me know!)

Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety, incredibly brief mentions of Royality/Logicality

Word Count: 5925 words

A/n: I haven’t had a whole lot of time to get any writing done, since it’s nearing the end of the semester but I wanted to get something posted at least! So I found this in my drafts and finally decided to finish it. Enjoy!

Taglist: @isle-of-gold @sandersships @anonymous-bean

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

The feeling of sharp eyes digging into the back of his head was something Roman was becoming unfortunately familiar with.

He could already tell that the gaze was cold and angry.

Even as he was just trying to get some work done, the gaze was unrelenting. Probably unwavering, as it always was even when he was looking at the little creature head on. It—he?—was fearful of him, Roman knew that as he had seen the little one flinch away from him or wince if he moved too fast, but there was also that hateful resilience.

The constant staring with that resolute sneer on his features to match.

To be honest, he didn’t entirely understand why the little one was so frustrated all the time. Roman liked to think he was a good caretaker; making sure the creature was fed, hydrated and cared for. That and its enclosure was comfortable. The cage itself was full of lavish luxury. He wanted it to feel less like a cage and more like a safe space. A place where it could relax from its tense position and really take in the best of its life.

And then there was the fact that he certainly wasn’t cruel.

It was almost upsetting, the lack of trust that was on the human’s features every time Roman’s eyes passed over him. Even if he was distracted with something else.

The little one would end up flinching more often than not, even if it was with a mundane action of Roman’s like turning the light on the desk off, or reaching a bit too close to the enclosure for its comfort apparently. It had boundaries that Roman had no idea about because it wouldn’t communicate them with him.

The human seemed to prefer staying curled into its corner of the cage, knees tucked up into its chest as it eyed Roman’s every move—no matter how harmless or thoughtless—as if it was waiting for him to do something. Something that would give the little creature an actual reason to hate him, instead of just waiting for something that was never going to come.

It was a long process, trying to make any ground with the tiny being. Its dark eyes were constantly alight with worry, anxiety and wariness. It looked as if the human was constantly calculating Roman’s moves, as if it was trying to piece together his ulterior motive.

Which, for the record, he didn’t have one.

Roman was genuine in his care and worry but it obviously wasn’t taken at face value.

To try and alleviate some of its stress, Roman had tried to talking to it. Making light conversation. Telling it about his day, trying to prompt some interesting answers or questions.

Unsurprisingly, those attempts had been met with a stony, grouchy silence.

It had almost led him to believe that the human couldn’t understand him, save that he had been proven wrong by the way it would react to things he said.

They may not have made a lot of conversation, none that actually ended with the human speaking to him, but enough of an understanding that the human had nodded and shaken its head when Roman had asked it things. It had been an accidental discovery in all honesty. He had just been trying to break the awkward silence that accompanied their every interaction and he had asked if the creature actually had a name. (Roman, at the time, had just been using nicknames and such, or trying different names to see if any stuck). After he had asked, the human had nodded sharply.

Of course, he had been startled. The human had finally reacted to him in a way that wasn’t inherently negative. Roman had hoped to try and continue this cooperation by asking if the human would tell him his name, but it had shaken its head and hunkered down into itself. Almost looking more closed off than before even after that silent revelation.

To try and encourage more positive conversation, Roman had tried giving it things. Little toys and gifts that he thought it would have liked—at least to keep it busy or give it something to do when he was away, rather than staring at him all the time.

He had set the toys and such into the cage with the human, only to watch the little creature toss the attempts at peace out through the spaces between the bars.

It was disheartening, Roman would admit. He was trying so hard and the human wanted nothing to do with him.

This specific human had been one Roman had caught himself. Well, perhaps using the term “caught” a bit lighter. It was simply his mission to go through the portal with a troop of others, retrieve the terrified little creatures, rescue them from their hostile land and bring them back into their own world to allow them a second chance at life.

Humans were helpless creatures, barely managing to survive in their own land. Not to mention, they were so incredibly small that it was a wonder they had managed to survive at all.

The human that was currently seated in the corner of the cage had been one of Roman’s more difficult cases when it came to rescuing humans. He had put up quite the fight, managing to duck Roman’s first few attempts to gather him up. The human had even found a way to squeeze himself into an alleyway where Roman’s hands were actually too big to grab him.

It had been a bit startling at first, as he had never had to deal with someone so obstinate. While of a lot of the humans he had helped had originally panicked and tried to escape, none had done so successfully. It was especially stressful because he didn’t want the human to hurt himself in his fear.

Adrenaline was known to wipe out common sense and push the human body into its fight or flight survival instinct.

It didn’t matter what necessarily happened after that, as long as they got out of whatever situation they were in relatively unharmed.

Roman didn’t enjoy terrifying the little creatures but it came with the job; it was just something he would have to live with. While it did make him feel guilty in the moment, he had to remind himself that he was doing it for a good cause. That no matter how terrified the humans were in that instance, they would be far better off in the custody and safety of his own kind. With a race that could actually take care of them properly.

He remembered getting down onto his hands and knees and peering into the little alleyway, noticing that the human had backed itself into the corner; completely rendering itself stuck with no way out.

The wall that had been at the human’s back had been about twice his size with no way to leverage itself and catapult himself over it. The alleyway was too wide for him to balance himself between the walls and climb up. The human really had cornered himself.

They had been at an impasse at that point. For a while Roman had debated whether or not he should try and reach in after it. He ended up not following through, lest he end up hurting the fragile being in the process.

“Life over limb.”‌ He could recall his superior saying. “A‌ human will be far more grateful to be alive and missing a limb, than dead.”

Morbid, but true.

Roman had tried cooing to the little creature, making soft noises in the back of his throat in an attempt to get him to calm down. To come out on his own. Instead, the human had bared its teeth and hissed at him.

Eventually, he had tired of playing this game.

The human had turned around, the tiny hands pressed against the wall trying to feel for a break in the solid stone, to attempt another escape—at least, that’s what Roman assumed it was doing.

(Also, a part of him was mesmerized at seeing such impossibly tiny hands.)

Honing in on that weakness as his chance, as one should never turn their back to their opponent, he had stuck two fingers into the alley and managed to snag the creature by the back of its jacket. He pulled it out kicking and screaming, all while fighting him tooth and nail.

None of the others had ever been so determined, so filled with rage, that they would risk their personal safety. There were a lot of others Roman knew, that wouldn’t have hesitated to the put the human down. It was a common practice, unfortunate as it was, but sometimes it was a necessary course of action. If a human was too dangerous or not behaving safely around itself or others there would be no other choice.

Especially when it came to the fact that this little one had such self-destructive tendencies. Which would then end up hurting himself or the family he went to live with.

The creature had been so desperate to try and escape, he had then attempted to slip out of his jacket altogether.

He was able to slip about half-way out of his jacket before Roman had caught on to exactly what he was doing. At that point, he had brought up his second hand and sealed the human between his two palms to try and minimize the danger it could cause to itself. Self-harm and attempted self-harm seemed to be a reoccurring pattern with this one.

Roman, on the other hand wasn’t too worried about the human trying to get out from there. It was actually physically impossible for the little creature. He had held many humans this way and none of them had been able to budge his fingers, so he really wasn’t too concerned. Even as the creature squirmed, kicked and cussed at its living confinement.

This little one, as hateful and stubborn as it was, seemed to have an incredibly anxious outlook on the world around it. Its body language was often closed off and wary. Its arms wrapped around its knees as it kept to itself. It was like it lived in a constant state of stress—even if it had been expressed to him just how safe he was. Then there was the fact that Roman would often leave in the morning to run some errands or meet with some friends, return home and the human would still be seated in the same position he had left it in.

The dark clothing it wore also made it difficult to get a real read on its body language. The hoodie it wore was a bit over-sized on the tiny frame, but it didn’t seem to be too much of a bother. If anything, he seemed to like having the jacket be a bit too big as it gave him a place to hide.

There had been a couple times where Roman may have, admittedly, come off a bit strong while trying to reach an understanding and the human had hidden away in his jacket. Hood up, hands stuffed into the pockets and knees directly against his chest.

He also seemed to shy away from attention, which was something Roman had picked up on quickly.

The human didn’t like when Roman watched him in silence, even though the creature was a huge (no pun intended) fucking hypocrite. Apparently it was only okay when it was the one doing the staring.

Then there was the fact that he had chosen this.

It had been his own decision and here he was facing the consequences. A part of the reason Roman had picked this specific human was to give him a second chance at life, even if he had been a bit foul-mouthed upon their first meeting. That, and he had a feeling that not many others would give the little one the chance he deserved. The human would have either been put down, or lived his the rest of his life completely alone.

So, he couldn’t blame anyone for forcing this responsibility upon him as it had been entirely up to him to make that choice.

Which had then, in turn, led him right to this moment.

Letting out a sigh, Roman straightened a little and turned his attention from his laptop towards the cage settled on his dresser not a foot away. “Are you just going to keep staring at me, or do you actually want to talk this time?”

Roman wasn’t entirely hopeful with getting conversation from the human, or real words for that matter, but he was tired of the relentless staring. He was also frustrated, but not to the point where he was going to force the human to say anything. That would probably cause more harm than good. Scaring the human was not his intention and it never would be, even if that was an option.

Intimidation was always an option, just not one that would get the desired end result.

It seemed as though Roman’s sudden statement had startled the creature into ducking further into his hoodie, pulling his sweater paws up defensively and watching him carefully from over-top of his knees with those analytical hazel eyes.

He was just…tired. Tired of this charade. Of this game. It was almost getting to the point where he was close to regretting the choice of adoption. Not just yet, but he was slowly getting there.

Some of his other friends had talkative, adorable and affectionate humans. Ones that liked attention and liked being spoiled with gifts and treats and liked conversation and storytelling. A‌ part of him was just so confused by his human’s reluctance to listen or respond or interact. It was something that he wanted to understand, but he couldn’t even begin to understand if the human never spoke to him.

Patton had told him that some humans just needed time to adjust—told him that when he had gotten Logan, the little one had barely paid attention to him, almost constantly trying to find a way out before eventually figuring out he was perfectly safe and beginning to actually enjoy Patton’s presence.

But Roman had already given the human plenty of time and yet it still remained eerily silent. It was easy to say that Roman envied Patton in that regard.

“Well?”‌ Roman prompted after a moment, a brow quirked in question.

Roman knew the little one wasn’t mute. He had used his voice to shout and shriek and swear, making his likes and dislikes very clear, all without the use of proper words.

“…what’s it even matter if I talk or not,”‌ the human said, his voice quiet and muffled by his hoodie sleeves but still as sharp and cold as ice. He was obviously upset. “Not like its gonna change anything.”

As relieved—as well as pleasantly surprised and excited—as Roman wanted to be when it came to actually holding an intelligent conversation, the human’s statement was so…depressing.

“On the contrary. Hearing you talk matters far more than you think it does,”‌ Roman said, folding his laptop down and setting it onto his desk. He then turned completely to face the cage where the human sat. “Actually talking to you makes it a lot easier to communicate instead of just having you glare at me constantly.”

“Yeah,” the human snorted humorlessly, “as if that’s gonna change just because I have a voice and decided to use it.”

Seriously, what was with the negativity?‌ The human had barely said anything and already his words stung.

It was a learned behavior, Roman knew that. Self-deprecation didn’t come naturally. At least, it shouldn’t. He had known plenty of people before now that used that kind of humour to make them feel better or to hide their true feelings, but hearing it from the slumped and dejected shoulders of the human seemed to have a far different effect.

The human turned his gaze away, pulling his knees closer to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “If you can’t tell, my life has gone from kinda decent to the worst few weeks of my entire life all within a couple hours. So, forgive me for not wanting to socialize with the giant that kidnapped me and ruined everything.”

Ruined everything?‌‌ Now that— that had to be a little harsh, right? It wasn’t as if the human had anything left for him back on Earth. Roman was only doing the best thing for him. He was giving him a better life, where he didn’t have to worry about anything anymore. He would be fed, cared for, protected. Safe. What part of this set-up was so bad that the creature was still so incredibly hostile?

Roman kind of got it. Earth was the only home the human had ever known, so it was no wonder he was attached. It just made his job harder, which he now knew meant he had to try and convince the little one that life here with him would be better.

Now that they were actually on talking terms, he had more of a chance to get real and honest responses.

“I don’t think you understand what kind of set-up we have.”‌

Roman had tried to explain it before, but the human had only snorted at him before turning his back. It was clear he didn’t believe him, which was understandable. Trusting a stranger was hard enough, but trying to trust someone that had taken you from the only place you’ve ever known?

Okay, yeah, so Roman did get it. More than he thought he did.

The human sneered, shaking his head. “I‌ know exactly what kind of set-up we have,” he spat, venom injected into his every word once again.

Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, that frustration coming back briefly, making a small appearance in his chest as his emotions flickered. He was just feeling a lot and he wasn’t entirely sure what he should be feeling at this point in the conversation. “I‌ really don’t think you do.”

“Then enlighten me,” the creature snapped, eyes sharp as knives. Clearly he was judging Roman and was already judging the words he hadn’t said yet. “What do we have going on here?”

It was a taunt. That’s exactly what that was. A poisonous threat that could and would crumble everything Roman had worked for when it came to treating the human as well as he deserved. Unspoken but well known, the human had been rather spoiled in an attempt to get it to warm up to him eventually. It was kind of like a thoughtless bribe, really.

The statement was so loaded, that Roman almost didn’t know how to answer him.

Except, when he stayed quiet for a heartbeat too long, the human seemed to take it as his answer.

“That’s what I thought,”‌ he said, his tone almost sounded somewhat defeated. “I’m this helpless little creature you ‘rescued’ from Earth and its terribly deadly landscape and then ‘adopted’ because you knew no one else would want me.” He chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head and resting his cheek on his arms that were folded over the tops of his curled knees. “I don’t want your pity and I‌ sure as hell don’t want your care. If I’m just some pet for your amusement, the least you can do for me is leave me alone.”

To say that he wasn’t surprised, would be entirely wrong. Roman’s brows had raised in slight shock from the miserable statement.

Giving it another second of silence, Roman got up finally and moved over to his dresser before crouching down in front of it. He watched as the human seemed to try and tuck himself further into his corner, looking as if he was trying to hide in plain sight.

“Look,”‌ Roman started off after a moment, watching as the little one kept his gaze locked on the wall to his right, “you’re not happy here, I‌ get that. But you have to understand that Earth really wasn’t exactly inhabitable anymore.” The human snorted but before he could say anything to refute it, Roman continued. “I’m trying to be as accommodating as possible. And if I haven’t been great about it, it’s because you tell me literally nothing; what you want, what you don’t want, what you like, what you don’t like. This is supposed to be a two-way thing and it doesn’t work if you refuse to acknowledge my attempts at trying to better your life.”

“I don’t want you to better my life, don’t you get it?”‌ The human snarled suddenly, brown eyes meeting his own, blazing with intensity. “I was perfectly happy back home, living my life the way I wanted to live it. Not constantly being hovered over by someone that thinks of me as lesser than any other intelligent sentient being.”

“I‌ just want to mention that being here with me, would be far better than being stuck in a shelter,”‌ Roman finally snipped back, letting that irritation rear its head. “At least here I‌ care. You could have been stuck with someone far worse, don’t you think? At least I‌ try and reason with you—which would have been far better if you had been in a more talkative mood.”

The human’s fingers dug into the black fabric of his jacket, the small knuckles going pure white from the intensity of the hold. “I don’t care,”‌ he grit out through clenched teeth, looking increasingly distressed. “I don’t like this situation, I don’t like this place and I‌ sure don’t like you.”

That statement left Roman staggered momentarily. “I get that, truly I‌ do, but why?”

The human’s eyes squeezed shut and Roman belatedly realized he could see tears gathering in the corners of its eyes.

He also belatedly realized he may have pushed a bit too far…

The boy’s jaw shuddered as he took in an unsteady breath, shaking his head. The human’s fingers dug further into the jacket as if it was the only resource he could hold onto. “I want to go home,”‌ he breathed, his voice on the cusp of shattering. “I‌ want to go home. Please.”

Before Roman even had the wits to say anything (even as he felt his heart stammer, his throat tightening with emotion) the human was speaking again…no, he was mumbling to himself, over and over again. As if Roman wasn’t even there anymore. Or perhaps this was an act to gain more pity than he had already received.

However, this seemed far too genuine for him to be faking it.

“Please,” the tiny creature sobbed, his hands moving to push his hair out of his face but keeping his head tucked down to his knees as far as it could go. “Please, please, please.” He choked on a hiccup, the sounds of absolute desperation didn’t go unnoticed when they were the only thing Roman could focus on. The only thing he could hear. “I-I‌ want my brother. I‌ just..I‌ want to go home a-and see him again and be told that everything’s gonna be okay and he’s— he’s…”

Roman wished there was something he could say. Something to make the human feel better, but nothing was coming to mind. He was left watching the little one break down in front of him and there was nothing he could do.

He had never felt so helpless and big in his entire life.

The human’s fingers were digging into its hair, trying to find a way to ground itself as it mumbled through sobs. Speaking indistinctly about wanting to go home, a brother and a few more things that Roman couldn’t make out. So, he just stayed there, knelt in front of the cage looking useless and dumbstruck. He wasn’t even sure what to say at this point, or if he should say anything.

In all honesty, a part of him had forgotten that humans had families too. It was more of a fact that was never touched upon in training courses. A lot of what was talked about was how the trainees should be warned about things like humans fighting back, how to protect themselves, how to properly transport a human, etc, etc.

Talking about a human’s past—family and friends included—seemed to be a topic that was skillfully avoided.

As if it were a tactic…trying not play off the fact that maybe something was wrong with what was going on.

The more he thought about it, the more Roman’s head and heart hurt. He hated seeing the little one so torn up about what was happening, but he also had the urge to try and reassure him again that he was perfectly safe and Roman would make sure nothing happened to him again.

But as he looked at the little creature, rocking himself back and forth, his head buried into his knees, going through what seemed to be a panic attack, he realized there was nothing he could do to help.

However, Roman couldn’t just stay there off to the side not doing anything. It only made him feel worse. He needed to say something, try and help the little one get his thoughts in order, but how?

“What’s his name?” He asked suddenly, surprising himself and causing the human to flinch at the utter suddenness of it. Roman quickly adjusted his tone. “…your brother’s name, that is.”

The human shook his head, turning his face further away from Roman, hiccups filling the silence between choked breaths and gasps.

Roman clenched his hands, his nails biting into his palms but it wasn’t from frustration. It was from nerves. He didn’t know how to help someone through something like this! Patton was better when it came to things like this, but his friend was currently out of reach and Roman had to figure this out himself.

The silence was hard to bear, though. The quivering noises only made his stomach churn with guilt.

Even though Roman’s question had startled the human, it seemed after a couple minutes he was beginning to come down from the initial terror. It was obvious that this breakdown had been a long time coming and Roman had just unfortunately caused it by pressing too hard for answers. It was something he was aware of when it came to his personality, and usually others could handle it. He supposed he should have known better when it came to the human. Especially with how non-verbal he always was and how asking too many questions at once could freak him out.

The human coughed a little bit, a hand pressed to his mouth as he tried to steady his breathing.

It was a tactic Roman had never seen before. He guessed it was kind of like hyperventilating into a paper bag, just using one’s own hand instead. Even in this instance, he was still rather fascinated with the little creature. Just how small it was, was absolutely captivating. The minuscule hands and even smaller fingers.

The human was incredibly delicate to the touch and Roman could remember holding him. He could remember feeling the tiny little chest heaving against his fingertips and a heartbeat thudding behind it, pattering rhythmically to its own beat.

He had never truly realized just how much power he held over the little creatures and how easily it would have been for him to—

No. No. He wasn’t thinking about that.

It didn’t matter how aggravating this human could and would be, Roman wouldn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t intimidate him—purposefully, at least—and he wouldn’t force him to give up any information he wasn’t willing to.

While, yes, it was frustrating, he couldn’t stomach the thought of it. He couldn’t bear the idea of the human staring up at him with terrified, wide, tear-filled eyes forever. No, Roman was well aware that they may never be friends, but that didn’t matter as long as the human at least felt safe in his presence.

Roman just wanted him to feel safe.

He didn’t want the human to feel frightened, fearing every single move Roman made, constantly waiting for something to happen. Something that was never ever going to come.

“…D-Dorian…”

The suddenness of the human’s voice made Roman’s eyes snap back up to him, wide and surprised. He instantly felt worse when the human jerked backward, hands tightening in the black fabric of his jacket. The little one looked as if he regretted saying anything at all.

“What?”

The human tilted his head away, scrubbing at the dampness on his cheeks, even as flushed as his face was. “Y-you asked for his name,” he murmured, swallowing thickly, “it’s— it’s Dorian.”

Getting the name of the human’s brother almost made it worse. Roman knew he had asked, but he almost felt sick by actually being granted the information. He struggled to come up with something to say back to it. What could he say? While he didn’t like thinking about it, Roman probably had ruined everything for the little one. Stealing him away from his brother, bringing him back to a place that was unknown and foreign to him.

He shook the bitter thoughts away, he couldn’t let that get to him right now. He was finally getting more positive communication from the little one and he couldn’t ignore it.

“It’s a lovely name,” Roman said after a moment of deliberation, keeping his voice reserved and gentle. “Would it be possible to get your name as well? If you’re not comfortable with it, you certainly don’t have to!”

The human sat in silence again, his head stayed ducked down as he continued to use his sweater paws to wipe his tears away, soft hiccups escaping him from time to time. Roman knew the little thing had to be absolutely exhausted. Going through a panic attack had to be terribly draining, emotionally and physically.

The human sniffled, blinking the rest of the water from his lashes and finally, finally, turning his eyes up to meet Roman’s. They were unguarded hazel browns with tears lingering in the depths of them, pooling slowly as he seemed to decide if Roman was a safe enough person to give such a personal thing to. Names were incredibly personal and he would understand completely if he was still ignored. Really, he wouldn’t take it to heart now that he knew the true extents that he human felt.

The creature’s eyes flickered over Roman’s own features and he felt oddly vulnerable, even though the subject staring at him had been doing the same thing for ages at this point.

However, this time felt entirely different.

The human looked tired. Like he had almost given up, but still held a resilience that said he’s wasn’t done just yet.

The human took a breath and Roman held his own. Almost waiting in anticipation now. The human scrubbed at his face again with his hoodie sleeve before, blinking and biting his lip. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something before closing it again, as if he had almost thought better of it. “…it’s, um, Virgil.”

Roman blanched.

He had been told such an indescribably important thing. Getting to know the human’s—Virgil’s—name was not something to take lightly. It was knowledge he knew he would have to cherish.

He cleared his throat when he realized he hadn’t said anything and it was probably making Virgil nervous.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure but… I don’t think you’d consider it as such,” Roman said, trying to at least humour him a little bit.

Roman was surprised to hear a quiet, wet half laugh in response. But pleasantly relieved to hear that it hadn’t been taken the wrong way.

“I really wouldn’t call it a pleasure,”‌ Virgil said back, his voice quiet and still on the cusp of shattering.

“How about this.” Roman shifted a little bit on his knees, trying to get more comfortable in his crouched position. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been up until now. “We start over.”

Virgil quirked a brow in response, carefully leaning back at that while also slightly uncurling from his defensive position. The same defensive position that Roman had seen him tucked into day after day. It was almost heart-warming to see him changing a bit. “Start over?”

“Yeah, I‌ mean, you just introduced yourself, so it is only fair I reintroduce myself.” Sure, the idea was rather cheesy and made him feel a little silly, but if it helped Virgil feel more comfortable in his presence, than Roman was more than willing to do it.

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” the human mused, his lips pressed into a thin line as he cleared the rest of the water from his eyes. He then hesitated after a moment. He looked unimpressed, but Roman supposed that was better than a heated, seething glare. “…fine.”

Roman beamed at the conformation and resisted the urge to reach his hand out in a handshake—knowing that it would not be taken well in the slightest. Just because they were on talking terms, didn’t mean that erased all of Virgil’s anxious feelings. “Roman Prince, at your service.”

Virgil snorted, shaking his head. He still looked unaffected, since he already knew Roman’s name.

But the aura didn’t feel as tense anymore, which was a huge weight off of Roman’s shoulders. And perhaps, maybe it was a weight off of Virgil’s as well.

However, even though they had come through to the other side of this whole mess, it didn’t erase the guilt that Roman felt. A part of him almost felt worse now that he knew Virgil’s name. The slumped shoulders and depressed looks were almost heavier now, especially since he wasn’t just referring to him with nicknames anymore.

That and he was almost more curious about what Virgil’s life had been like before all of this. Not wanting to press, but still curious if he was still in the talking mood, Roman’s eyes scanned the human’s form. Before his own browns softened and he tilted his head to the side slightly. “…can you tell me more about your brother?”

The question made Virgil stiffen and his features turned guarded and defensive again. “…why do you care?”

“I‌ have a brother too,” Roman said casually, attempting to ease the conversation. Showing that there truly were no ulterior motives and that he was genuinely curious. “A twin and an absolute mess of a man, but family nonetheless. I’m also just curious to understand what your life was like before.. all of this happened.”

Virgil’s eyes flickered over Roman’s person again, studying him, trying to work out something behind his brown eyes. As if he was trying to find something wrong with Roman’s sentence, to “read between the lines” so to speak.

He then uncurled himself a little more, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning against the back of his enclosure. His head tilted the other way, staring at the wall in the opposite direction of Roman, but looking reminiscent. He kept his arms crossed against his chest and his hands tucked inside his sleeves, but the human nodded his head somberly after a moment.

Roman sat back on his hands, carefully attuned to whatever the human was going to say. He may have made his fair share of mistakes, but it seemed as though Virgil was willing to work past that. At least for now.

And that was all Roman could really ask for.

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corpse--diem · 4 years

Text

History Repeats | Arthur & Erin

With: @arthurjdrake

After being practically stuck inside for nearly a month with her undead father, going anywhere else was like a breath of fresh air. So when the idea struck Erin to get caught up on some work at Coffee Plus struck her, she was out of the door faster than she could put her jacket on. From the second she walked in the door, she was reminded instantly of her previous trip here. Her and Regan had sat right to her left. The woman who’d yelled at them not far from it. A small smile tugged at her lips, before the overwhelming panic that came with the rest of that stroll down memory lane. Confident that there was no hypnotist in the area, her eyes rolling to herself at the thought, she grabbed a coffee and settled in with her tablet. She was getting behind on her obituaries--another fun detail most people weren’t aware she took care of. Knee-deep in some family history and photos, her eyes happened to glance up above her screen, then back down again. Then, instantly, right back up. Was she seeing this right? She sat back, taking a good, hard look at the picture of the man on her screen--a man who had died years ago. Then, back to the man she had just seen step into the cafe. It was completely unintentional, and totally rude, but she couldn’t stop staring at this man.

It had been at least a couple of lifetimes since Arthur had been in White Crest - always ending up wherever Mercy happened to travel that coincided with his rebirth cycle. His death the last time in this town had been unfounded and quite mundane - gunned down after accidentally stumbling in on an altercation between two feuding families. He’d started a life here and made a couple of friends. The ending really was quite unmemorable. A shotgun blast to the abdomen had put an unfortunate end to what had been a relatively mediocre existence. Thankfully, some things about it had changed. Admittedly while getting his afternoon cup of coffee at what was fast becoming a frequent haunt for him, he wasn’t expecting to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the indication that someone was staring at him quite intently. The sensation caused him to bristle a little, before a marginal turn of his head opened his peripheral just enough to spot the responsible party. His brow furrowed for a moment at the look of shock on her features, glancing over his other shoulder to check if it was not him, but someone else she was staring at… But there was only empty space beyond. Glancing back once more to the women he fixed her with an uncertain and slightly questioning look not recognizing her from anywhere in particular. Taking the time to order and collect his drink, he circled back, approaching her table until his six foot three frame loomed beside it. “Apologies ma’am… I couldn’t help but… uh… notice… You were giving me a strange look… If I’ve done… something to offend you” not that he was sure what he could’ve done to a stranger but in a town like this who knew “please know that I’m quite apologetic for... whatever seems to be the issue.”

Erin knew she should have stopped staring at some point--the man clearly noticed. But she couldn’t help herself. Couldn’t help glancing back up and then down at the photo, again and again. The photo that was far older than what this man could have possibly been. Oh shit--she must have been staring too long, and too hard because after a few moments, he was heading her way. And he was apologizing to her? She pulled her tablet closer to her, shaking her head. “No, God, I’m sorry. Please don’t apologize.” She bit her lip, trying to decide if she was going to share or not. Was that weird? Ah, hell. “I just--” she paused again, fighting with herself until she eventually just gave in. “You don’t happen to know the Crane’s in town, do you? Or are you related to them?” She stood from her spot slowly, tablet in hand, as she zoomed in on the somewhat blurry black and white photo. But now that she held the photo up so he could see. “You see why I was staring now though, right?”

Arthur couldn’t help but blink as after his apology for whatever he’d done to give offence to make this woman stare at him as though he’d grown another head, she offered up one of her own. To say he was perplexed was perhaps a bit of an understatement. To steady any growing nerves, Arthur took a slow sip of his coffee, the familiar bitter taste washing away some of his anxiety over this stranger somehow seeming to think him familiar. “Okay… then, forgive me but I’ve got to ask… Why were you staring at me as if I’ve got another head.” But his answer was provided a few moments later. Crane. A name that had served its purpose when he’d been passing through town before an… untimely demise. “Um… Ha, funny question that but… Yes, I think I have some familial connections back to this town… I think my great great grandfather used to live around these parts...” he smiled though it dimmed fractionally as she turned around her tablet revealing a photograph of him… 1800s style portraiture. Black and white. Distinctly recognisable of a slightly younger self if you looked close enough. “Oh… wow, that’s… Damn that’s pretty scary… He looks…” Arthur swallowed but let very real shock simply play into the reaction he gave as he gestured for a moment before taking the tablet and peering at it with interest. “Where’d you find this?”

Erin was relieved at how calm this man was, despite the abrupt prying and staring. A real killer first introduction, she thought as she watched him nervously sip his coffee. But it was too late to go back now, wasn’t it? But the familial link made sense, and she was growing more curious and more excited about the discovery. “Great-great grandfather? No way,” she grinned, unabashedly scanning over his features as he studied the photo himself. “You guys could be straight up dopplegangers,” she said, watching the shock settle over his face. This was as weird as it was cool, but his curiosity ignited further intrigue on her part. “I’m a funeral director and--” Oh. She paused, realizing that she might have actually overstepped this time. Especially if this was his family. She cleared her throat, trying to carry on without skipping too much of a beat. “And I was given a whole digitized album of family pictures to include for the memorial. I was just going through them, writing the obituary, when your face--or, your grandfather’s face--popped up.”

Thankfully several lifetimes could serve when it came to being shocked, though this had certainly not been how he’d seen his day unfolding. His fingers tightened a fraction on the mug, though his smile remained amicable if a little disturbed by this apparent discovery. “I think… Yeah… Well, uh I guess.” Admittedly on the spot he ran through a list of potential explanations in his mind but her clarification as to why she was digging around through old obituaries caused his eyes to widen a little. Some of the tension in his chest unwound fractionally at the revelation and it gave him a bit more time to think. “Aah… That’s… Yeah that’s a bit less weird then, though you’re right the resemblance is… spooky” he laughed. The sound more than a little awkward in its delivery and at the situation he presently found himself feeling quite floundered in. “That’s why I… um, came here - to this town that is” he clarified quickly “not… this coffee shop. That’d really be weird.” He raised a hand to scratch behind his ear, “because research not just… for that” he indicated the photo with an awkward nod “but research… generally. I teach you see - at the university. History. I teach history.... I’m a historian.”

This poor guy, Erin had to laugh to herself. Here he was just trying to get a cup of coffee in peace and he’d barely made it through the door before a small spectacle was made of himself. Still, the curiosity tugged harder than her sense of good manners. Curiosity prevailed. “It is spooky, isn’t it?” She narrowed her eyes gently in his direction, gesturing towards the open seat across from the table the rest of her things occupied. “Do you have a minute to join me?” She asked, starting to shuffle back towards her seat. “Maybe this is kismet, you know? Like, how else would you describe something like this?” She offered a smile at him, hoping to convey her appreciation for him humoring her as much as he already had. But before she sat, she finally remembered her sense of human civility. “Shit, I’m sorry--I’m Erin, by the way. Erin Nichols,” she reached for his hand, smiling a little bigger and softer. “You can’t tell me you’re not a little curious, especially as a historian.”

“Super spooky,” Arthur agreed, wondering what kind of predicament he’d gotten himself into with this conversation. But he’d gone and put his foot in it hadn’t he? So what else could he do but sit and try to figure out how best to resolve this situation. “Well… I was-” he debated on making up some sort of excuse of a thing he’d been intending on doing, but unfortunately this was a touch more pressing. At least he could be present whilst she did her digging, who knew what she might turn up if he wasn’t around to add a little bit of clarification to it. “But… uh sure…” He internally sighed at the turn of events as he moved to take the proffered seat. “Maybe, or just a really weird coincidence.” Who could say for sure but he returned her smile with a faint albeit genuine one of his own. Always amicable even if he did feel like he was struggling to tread water. The sudden remembrance of civility drew forth a soft huff of a laugh, “all good, Arthur Drake… Pleasure to meet you Erin,” he greeted as he took her hand and shook it politely with a warmer look. “Yeah… Okay you’ve got me,” his smile grew into a little bit of a shy grin “still wasn’t how I was expecting this day to turn out… So how’d you find that anyway? An obituary of someone who passed recently or?”

Erin grinned wider when the man finally seemed to be ceding to her request, even if a bit reluctantly. “I won’t keep you long. I pr--” The word almost slipped from her mouth and Erin pretended to cough to cover up the hiccup. No fucking way was she uttering the ‘p-word’ in the very same place her and Regan had been just a month ago. “Excuse me. Scout’s honor. Not trying to deter your day too much.” It took a moment for her it to click, but the name smacked her with familiarity. Arthur Drake. She nodded, though she was half-distracted as she tried to pull a faint memory from the depths of her brain to connect it. “Yeah, like I said--the family decedent recently passed, so the family gave me their files to go through and put something together for the service and the obituary. It’s pretty common--” she halted mid speech, temporarily forgetting the whole reason this man was here. Instead, focusing on who he was. “Arthur Drake! Wait!” She pointed to him, new enthusiasm in her voice. “You’re Mercy’s Arthur. I mean, you know her. Mercy.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she recalled the conversation, though a slight, very knowing smirk sat on the tip of her lips.

The sudden way she cut herself off from saying what Arthur could only assume was promise didn’t escape his attention. She’d gotten his attention and now that she had it little slips were something that would be noted and collected, filed in his mind to formulate a better understanding on this strange mortician that seemed to somehow find him of apparent interest. “Alright… I guess I can spare a little time.” How long would depend. But for now it would suffice to give her a bit of leeway. “I see... Well… from what I know he didn’t have any kids of his own this side of the pond… But it’s possible he might’ve fostered a few people and that’s how the name got connected.“ Arthur knew for a fact that was exactly what had happened, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “I’m English myself… Most of my heritage is as well from what little I know of it…” His fingers lightly rubbed at the angle of his jaw as he tried to run the approximate timelines in his head, gods this was going to get confusing. Thankfully he was spared from those calculations by Erin’s sudden exclamation that initially made him blink and then look a fair bit more sheepish than he already had. There was no helping his mild cringe, “ah--- not her Arthur… Well, yes her Arthur but… Not in that sense… Because I’m not… hers. Uh… shit, yes, Gods… What’s she been saying about me? How do you know her?”

What a strange, nervous, little man, Erin thought quietly to herself. His reaction to her inquiry about Mercy was interesting, though. “Mmhmm…” She nodded thoughtfully, unable to hide the little smirk. “We’re old friends. She’s one of the few people in this town who’d gladly scale a cliff with me instead of listing all the reasons why I shouldn’t.” After the past few weeks she’d had, she’d likely give the woman a call for that. Turned her attention back to the screen in her hand, trying to be nonchalant. “Some good things, don’t worry,” she offered pleasantly, but that was all she would say on the matter, recalling how back-and-forth her friend had been when she recalled their Arthur Drake conversation. She halted mid-scroll, the amusement falling from her features suddenly, features narrowing into pure concentration. An older photograph emerged, one from more than a few decades before the original one she had first shown Arthur. Identical. She held the photo up, eyes wide. “Is--do you see that too?”

“Old friends… Huh, interesting” Arthur clicked his tongue a little as he eyed Erin for a moment not quite sure what to make of that statement. “Yeah that definitely sounds like her…” He couldn’t help the way his gaze intensified however in the interim, trying to decipher the code of what constituted good things. The talk of Mercy in all honesty had distracted him temporarily from what they were even ‘researching’. By ‘researching’, it wasn’t Arthur’s typical proactive contribution to sessions as typically befitted his interest in the topic. It was more Erin looking through certain documentations while Arthur asked the odd question here and there trying to look interested while wondering just what this woman might know. That was until Erin froze, and Arthur’s eyes snapped to the screen trying his best to contain his sudden panic. Oh shit. Thankfully at that point his phone vibrated. He snatched up his phone and quickly thumbed open a note tilting the screen just enough to hide its contents as he rushed to fake texting out a reply “oh gods, I’m sorry… my um, tortoise… is really ill and needs food...“ He shot her an apologetic look quickly getting to his feet “well, this was fascinating… Really, but um, yeah… Gotta go, good luck…” With a minor wave, Arthur shot straight for the door cursing this whole venture in his mind. What had he gotten himself into?

#chatzy #chatzy: arthur #history repeats #wickedswriting

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

from eden | myg + jhs (preview)

you've been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can't have. you've accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison.

pairing | yoongi x reader x hoseok

genre/warnings | greek god au, hades!reader, thanatos!hoseok, persephone!yoongi, fluff, angst, smut, mild depictions of violence, mentions of blood (well, blood equivalent, bc gods), pining, depictions of abusive parenting (seriously, I don’t go into a ton of detail, but it’s enough, pls don’t read this if that triggers you at all), love triangle (kind of), polyamory, v v smutty, mutual masturbation, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, fingering, dick-riding, double penetration, unprotected sex (gods can't get sti's but u can! Wrap it b4 u tap it!), creampie, everyone hates Zeus but what's new, demeter sucks and is the literal worst

word count | 15.6k | will be cross posted to ao3

[ coming saturday june 15, 8pm est ]

It's dark when you open your eyes. You've spent so long down here, you're used to it, but the shadows always seem to make the air colder than it should be. Though you suppose the land of the dead isn't supposed to be warm.

You stretch and wince at the crick in your spine. Another night sitting at your desk, greek fire burning through the hours so that you can scratch away at the papers in front of you. Your siblings always enjoy doing whatever they want, using mortals and throwing them away however they please, cleaning up after each other whenever they can spare the time.

No one ever seems to think about you, nor do they remember the chaos up top only worsens your constant migraines.

No, instead they start their wars and slaughter their enemies and are absolutely oblivious about the fact that the Meadow is at 80% capacity as it is, with more souls arriving each day. Thanatos did well at his job, as did Charon, and you were always sure to be thankful to them, but you wish, not for the first time, that there was someone - anyone - to help with your work.

Your brothers have the naiads, the winds, and the lesser gods to help them with their oceans and skies. Gods of vengeance and retribution help with war, while the fertility goddesses and the muses aid the lovelorn.

And yet here you are, still alone after all these years. Millenia, you've been stuck down here, forced to live out your days in the cold darkness and manage the dead mortals. You've always been introverted, even before you drew lots with your siblings, but never like this. You've tried to leave, of course; at first making short visits to Olympus or the mortal realm, just to speak to another living soul again, someone else who understands what it's like to be trapped in your own life. It seems like every time you came back, though, the underworld had gotten smaller and smaller, nearly suffocating you in an attempt to keep its claws in your skin. And then, of course, came the curse.

You haven't felt the sun on your skin in nearly a thousand years, and while you've always been one for the shade, you miss it. You miss the smell of the flowers in the temples, you miss the sound of the river as it babbles past, you want to feel the warm summer breeze ruffle your hair as you stand in the middle of a marketplace. You're tired of the Fields, you're bored of walking the streets of Elysium with the weight of their stares at your back, sick of standing at the steps to the Isles and wondering if it is, truly, euphoric and if any mortal would ever find out. You don't wear your sandals around the palace anymore; you don't want to hear the footsteps echo. It's just a reminder that you are, truly, alone.

Even the other deities in the Underworld have stopped calling on you. The aura that surrounds you is enough to wilt most any plant, unnerve most every animal, and the gods are no exception. The only exceptions are Hecate, who makes it her personal mission to bribe you into visiting the Meadow if only for a moment, and Thanatos when he can slip away for longer than a moment to distract you from your work. They rarely succeed, but it's the thought that counts, you suppose.

You muse on this as you walk, bare feet skimming lightly over the soil of the Meadow as you make your way to the Gates. You could probably just shadow-walk, if you wanted, you do enjoy giving your Thanatos a fright, but you figure the walk would do you good. There’s no one to bother you as go, thankfully. The dead wander aimlessly around you. There's no acknowledgment as you pass; there's never any recognition of anything in the Meadow, the price mortals pay for being so utterly inconsequential and mundane.

You smile when you see that your friend is busy, and you give a silent command to Cerberus not to alert the man to your presence. The dog whines a little, but sits back on his haunches, shaking the ground as he does so. You're silent as you move up behind the judge.

"You wanted me to tell you my judgment and I have," Hoseok says firmly. "You could have gone straight to the Asphodel Meadow and existed in relative peace for eternity, and instead you request a hearing, and then have the gall to question my decision?" You grimace slightly; perhaps putting Hoseok in charge of judging the souls was not the best idea, but he has yet to be wrong about someone.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

When you emerge from the shadows, you settle at the base of your garden tree. The only living thing that would grow down here, the sole reminder of the world above. Its branches show that it should be close to the harvest soon, maybe a month away at the most. You reach up, weaving through the darkness to pluck a pomegranate from the tree. You don't even like pomegranates anymore, you think as you inspect it. Ripe, juicy, and utterly disgusting; the gods' idea of a joke. The thing that brought about your isolation, your solitude, yet it continues to be the only thing that grows in this wasteland.

You laugh bitterly before tossing the fruit up in the air, letting it fly through the shadows to land beside Hoseok, whatever he's doing. He always appreciates your little gifts, the only real thing you can do to show that you aren't cross with him and are glad for the work he does. He's long been stuck here with you, but the fruit doesn't turn to bile on his tongue the way it does yours. Perhaps the willingness he had that first time made a difference.

Please.

You glance around, looking for the voice that suddenly echoes around you. It's soft, a memory of a whisper. It's not rare for you to hear the voices of the dead in your realm, but this is different. This one strikes you to your core, for this…

This one sounds hopeful.

The prayers that make their way to you are never hopeful. They are sad or angry or scared, always filled with tears and regret and more than a little hesitancy, but never do they have any shred of hope in them.

You stand, eyes narrowed as you look through the darkness for whatever soul may be calling to you.

Please. I don't want to go back. Don't let her take me.

Without thinking, you reach into the shadows. The blackness swirls around your fingers, unsure where you're trying to go. You don't know yourself, and you wish you did. You aren't sure why you're doing this; you rarely answer prayers, least of all the ones that don't mention you specifically, but something in this voice calls to you. It resonates in your chest, shakes your very being because you remember that feeling. You remember the way it felt to be free, standing in the sun and clawing at the earth as Gaia dragged you back down to your post, tears mixing with the dirt as you pleaded, begged her not to take you back down there.

With a jerk, you pull the shadows apart, and the ground quakes above you. You watch, anxiety pooling in your gut, and it's only the intensity of your focus that lets you see it: a figure, falling limply through the earth that you've opened. The string of curses you let out would make even Ares blush, and it's with a rush you haven't felt in millennia that you weave the shadows together into a net and toss it upwards. The figure falls into it with ease, shadows wrapping around the body to glide gently downwards until they can deposit the person with ease at the roots of your tree.

Your breath catches in your throat as the darkness recedes, revealing soft mint hair with flowers woven into it, pale green robes that are sliced nearly in half at the back and caked with mud. The man is beautiful and soft and bright, every inch the antithesis to your own black and grey clothes. You hesitate to even look at him, too afraid of dulling that sun-kissed skin with the death you carry on your fingertips.

His brow furrows and he winces, though his eyes remain closed. You blink owlishly before guiding the shadows around him once more; when you're sure he's secure, you pull him along behind you until you reach the only spare room you have in the palace. You situate him on the bed there, fluffing pillows and smoothing blankets until you can almost pretend he fell asleep there of his own accord. With pursed lips, you assign three of your Bones to watch him; one just inside the door and two outside of it, just in case whatever he was running from attempts to come for him.

You don't want to leave him, but you have work to do, and the land of the dead cannot rule itself.

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samayla · 4 years

Text

An Utterly Impractical Magician

Chapter 9

A Jane Eyre/Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell fusion fic.

Also on AO3

Summary: When John Reed burnt Thomas Godbless’ book of magic to spite his cousin, he had no idea how drastically he would alter both her fate and that of English magic.

@majorxbuddyxboy @shygaladriel @bookhobbit @wolfinthethorns @kaethe-nicole @warsawmouse @cassandravision @mythopoeticreality @jmlascar @seriouslythoughguys @isawatreetoday @rude-are-food @the-stars-above28@the-candor-shadowhunter

Let me know if any of you would like to be added/removed in the tags list.

So... I just quit my second job yesterday.

I have two shifts left, and then I’m down to just my regular day job. The plan is to write part time through the spring, and then find a summer job if I need cash while school is out, but I’m hoping to have a book by then. I have a kids’ story ready to go, aside from the letters and paperwork -- and finding a good-fit publisher for it, but *shrugs*. Anywho... Have a chapter to celebrate my newfound freedom!

The Master’s Moods

Hurtfew Abbey, July 1805

Hurtfew Abbey was a sleepy, solemn sort of house. Never a mote of dust in the air or a single quill out of place, it was the sort of house that smelled chiefly of furniture polish and old paper, and where candles were never, ever left burning unattended. But when John Childermass arrived with his new charge in the wee hours of the morning, he found the place in a state of relative pandemonium. Lights shone in half the windows. Smoke still rose from the library chimney. The front door hung ajar. And as they drove closer, he could see someone pacing in the front parlour.

Clearly, his master was in a Mood.

Though she’d put on a creditable performance of it, Jane had only slept truly peacefully in the final few miles of their journey, and Childermass feared the shock of waking to one of Mr Norrell’s infamous fits. He waited until the last possible moment, lest Mr Norrell catch onto his plan, then leaned out the window and directed their driver to take them round to the servants’ entrance at the back of the house. No doubt Mr Norrell was watching — by means either magical or mundane — and would head for the servants’ hall as soon as he spied the carriage making its turn, but Childermass hoped to have the girl awake and settled with one of the maids by the time his master arrived.

He reached across the carriage to shake Jane gently awake. She was upright and alert at once, as if she’d been struck by lightning, but she apologized only half-coherently for dozing off during the lesson. “Peace, Little Miss,” Childermass soothed, patting her knee beneath his bulky coat. “We’ve arrived is all.”

True to his word, the carriage eased to a stop just then. Jane peeked out the window and cast a skeptical frown at the grim rear face of the house. Childermass helped his charge out of the carriage, relieved her of her lone bag of possessions, and offered his arm with an exaggerated flourish to brighten her up. “This way, Little Miss.” She smiled a little, looking especially small and pale in the dark of the kitchen yard, and accepted his arm gingerly. He patted her hand, mindful of the bandaged stripes on her palms, and offered her an encouraging wink. “It’ll look more promising come morning, I assure you.”

Jane nodded, but she seemed to shrink within his coat, and the smile she offered in return did not reach her mismatched eyes.

Thankfully, it was Hannah down mending shirts in the servants’ hall when they entered. Childermass was in need of an ally, and of all the maids, she had the most level head on her shoulders. Still, the sight of Childermass with a little girl on his arm was a startling one, and Hannah rose with a gasp when she registered what she was seeing. Pretending it was the most natural thing in the world that he should arrive with a child in the deep dark between moonset and sunrise, Childermass performed the introductions.

Hannah took his lead, her quick eyes catching the way the girl clung to his arm like a lifeline. “Lovely to meet you, sweetling,” she said warmly, though she kept as much distance between them as could be reasonably considered natural.

The girl started to answer, but she stopped short at the sound of Mr Norrell’s voice carrying down the corridor. “…what he means by it!” There was a pause as somebody else answered more quietly. “Propriety’s never stopped him using the front door before!” Norrell snarled.

“Hannah, love, we’ve had a very long journey, and I think a soft bed and a bit of proper looking after may be in order.” To Jane, who had gone very still and tense at his side, he said, “Go on with Hannah, Little Miss. I’ll send Dido along with some bandages in a bit.”

“You can meet the master in the morning, sweetling,” Hannah agreed, stepping in and beginning to unravel her from the cocoon of Childermass’ coat. “It’s been far too long a day for good first impressions now, but Lucy suspected you might be joining us when Mr Childermass headed north in such a hurry. She’s done up the Green Room just for you, just in case.”

“Off you go,” Childermass urged, disengaging her grip as Mr Norrell’s ranting grew louder and nearer. “We’ll sort the rest out in the morning.”

“We will do no such thing, sir!”

Jane went white as a sheet and shoved her hands behind her back as Mr Norrell stormed into the hall. She twisted her fists anxiously into the back of her skirt, but otherwise, she did not move. She might as well have been turned to stone standing there in the no man’s land between servants and master.

“I will have an explanation now, Childermass! Gone without a word — not where you were going, nor when we should expect you back! Inexcusable, sir! Utterly inexcusable! How do you account for it?”

Childermass stepped close and squeezed Jane’s shoulder. He was gratified to feel her resume breathing beneath his hand. “Mr Norrell,” he said pleasantly, “this is Miss Jane Eyre, formerly of Gateshead House. Miss Jane, Mr Gilbert Norrell, master of Hurtfew Abbey. Hannah was just about to take her up to bed. We have had a terribly trying day, sir, and it is far too late for little girls to be up.”

“I should say so!” Norrell exclaimed. “It’s already gone one in the morning! Utterly irresponsible, sir! She ought to have been in bed hours ago, I should think!”

Childermass resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You heard Mr Norrell, ladies,” he scolded, pushing Jane into Hannah’s waiting arms. “Off to bed now, and no dawdling.”

“Of course, Mr Childermass.” Thankfully, Mr Norrell was utterly oblivious to the smile in his maid’s voice.

As Hannah departed with Jane, Childermass set off in the opposite direction, in search of Dido and a bite to eat. A single bowl of stew as most decidedly not enough to keep him until morning. Mr Norrell was conflicted for all of half a minute, but then he scurried after him, still irritably demanding explanations. Childermass ignored him for the moment. He chose instead to deliver orders to Dido, who was preparing tea in the kitchen. “Hannah will be needing some bandages up in the Green Room shortly, love. Would you mind?”

Lucy bustled into the kitchen just then, clearly having met Hannah and Jane on the back stair. She commandeered Dido’s tea kettle just as it began to sing on the stove. She discarded Mr Norrell’s Earl Grey and replaced the leaves with soothing chamomile and a sprig of mint from the window box. “Oh, Mr Childermass! You were quite right to be concerned for her! The poor thing is skin and bones! And her hands! Best bring a pot of Mr Laceworthy’s salve when you come, Dido. I know Mrs Porter keeps some in her cupboard for burns. And another kettle of water, if you please.”

“Of course. I won’t be but a minute, Lucy.” She curtsied to Mr Norrell with a perfunctory “Sir,” and disappeared to the cook’s cupboard, while Childermass made for the larder. He returned to the kitchen with a plate of cold ham to see that some of the bluster had gone out of his master. He’d looked fit to burst when Lucy had absconded with the makings of his tea, but now, he looked very nearly concerned. “What’s happened to the child’s hands?” he asked.

“Beaten for doing magic,” Childermass answered shortly. He carved a hunk off the ham.

Norrell’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Beaten for doing magic? What a positively medieval notion! Why on earth would they do that to a child? Who did that?”

“Her headmaster,” he answered around a mouthful of ham.

“But what magic can they think she’s done? She’s odd-looking, to be sure, but a magician?”

“Jane is the supposed book murderer from last fall.”

“The Book of Thomas Godbless! That is the girl you spoke of?”

“Aye.” He swallowed and carved off another slab of meat. “I’ve had half an eye on her since we met, and I believe she’s become somewhat entangled with the magic of the burned book.”

“Highly unlikely, I’m afraid. There are no accounts of such a thing having happened before. But then, I suppose it was extremely rare for a convicted book murderer to live beyond a week. This is entirely unprecedented, Childermass! I suppose nearly anything is possible in a case such as this!”

“It may be prudent, sir, to remember that she is not, in fact, a book murderer, but rather the one who attempted to save the book from the flames,” Childermass said blandly. He raised an eyebrow. “For your sake and hers. She will not take kindly to any careless accusations.” He thought back to the fierce little creature in the library, daring him to show his mettle, and he could not imagine such a showdown going well between the girl and Mr Norrell.

“Of course! Of course we must be entirely accurate in this matter, Childermass! It is good you see it too! I only wonder why you waited until now to say something.”

Childermass had to stifle a smirk at this reversal. Naturally, this was all Norrell’s idea now, and Childermass was the reluctant one.

“Really, Childermass, I recall you saying you felt something amiss that very day when you were at Gateshead. Only think of what we might know by now! Though one must wonder, of course, why the magic — if that is indeed what it is — has taken so many months to manifest…”

“Almost as soon as Jane arrived at her school, strange reports began coming in from that area of the country. The only mystery, is why it took so long for her headmaster to get fed up with her disrupting his flock.”

“Then why have you waited until now?”

“I consulted my cards a fortnight past, and was warned of disaster.”

“Your cards,” Norrell scoffed.

“Aye, my cards. And I arrived at Lowood to find that girl beaten bloody by her headmaster, near-starved, and halfway to disappearing into a moldering mural in the school’s chapel.”

“Truly?” And Norrell was off, scurrying down the passage toward the stairs, grousing to himself all the while about the oppression of magicians, medieval attitudes, and the dangers of mold and damp. Anyone who overheard his muttered tirade might have thought him on his way to single-handedly rescue Jane Eyre from all three. But when he reached the Green Room, however, all the righteous indignation seemed to go right out of him to puddle ineffectually on the floor, like an overfull wine skin that had suddenly sprung a leak. He paused several feet from the open doorway, as if he had only just remembered that the little girl they’d just been discussing was, in fact, a real, living, little girl.

“She won’t bite you,” Childermass teased softly, leaning against the wall beside the door. They could hear Hannah and Dido talking softly, and a faint splashing told them they were still cleaning her hands. Norrell, who in other circumstances might have answered back, instead ignored Childermass entirely and peered around the door frame as though frightened of being caught in the act.

“She’s an odd creature, to be sure,” he hissed, “and she’s been treated abominably, but I don’t understand why she should come here, Childermass. Surely there is somewhere more suitable —”

“The orphanage, sir,” said Childermass bluntly.

“But—”

“Then Bedlam, no doubt.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Brocklehurst says she is unnatural and will lead the other girls to damnation,” Childermass explained, his lip curling in distaste at the memory of the conversation. “He will not have her in his school any longer.”

“But what about the girl’s family at Gateshead?”

“Her parents are dead, sir. Her aunt, a fashionable waste of space, cast her off after the incident in her library. She has no other family to claim her.” He let that sink in a moment. “She has been branded a troublemaker, a liar, and an unnatural creature for the way trouble seems to flare around her. And when the orphanage comes to the same conclusions, she will be committed as a lunatic, beyond hope of redemption.”

“And yet you wish me to take her on!”

Lucy came to the door with a reproachful look at this outburst. She shut the door firmly. Norrell looked indignant, but Childermass chose to ignore it and continue in the most reasonable manner. He had been long enough in Mr Norrell’s service that he recognized the approaching end to the argument. He was like a child determined not to go to sleep: one last little burst of resistance before dozing off quietly. Taking on this little girl was the most reasonable thing in the world, and Norrell was but a hair’s breadth from accepting it as fact. “Aye,” Childermass soothed. “I have asked my cards, and they say she is none of those things.”

“Your picture cards!” Norrell spat. “What is she then, according to your all-knowing picture cards?”

“She is a little girl whose only friend in the world has ever been Thomas Godbless.”

That seemed to quiet Norrell for a few minutes while they listened to the soft murmuring on the other side of the door. The maids came out and bid them a very firm good night, and Lucy shut the door behind herself once more with a stern look at each of them. They watched the maids go, chattering softly amongst themselves about clothes and dolls and hairbrushes and every other thing a little girl might need in a new household.

“But what am I to do with her, Childermass?” Norrell asked at last as the chatter faded down the stairwell. “My work is sensitive — sometimes dangerous! I cannot have a child scampering about, getting underfoot.”

Childermass snorted. “To look at her, sir, I would very seriously doubt Jane Eyre has ever ‘scampered’ in her life.”

“You have not answered my question, Childermass.”

He sighed. “Teach her, sir. She seems a bright little thing, once one gets past her timidity. And she is very fond of reading, which I daresay is a good enough start.”

#eyre/strange fusion #jane eyre #jonathan strange and mr norrell #jsamn #kate writes #mywriting

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aliceslantern · 5 years

Text

Beyond This Existence, Epilogue

Summary: After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

“...That should do it. You’ve got to be more careful. I’ve got other things to do. You know?”

The little kid let go of his friend’s hand and flexed his now-healed knee. “Whatever,” he mumbled, clearly trying to hide the fact that there were still tears in his eyes. Then, a little more shyly, “Thanks.”

“Just don’t become a repeat patient.”

Demyx watched the kid and his friend walk away, to carry on with their lives like they hadn’t just had one of the worst wipeouts he’d ever seen. Skateboards had come to Radiant Garden. They were popular. And they didn’t go particularly well with the rough cobble roads. He and Aerith had their hands full tending to all the different myriad wounds. But better skateboards, he decided, than Heartless. There were still some around, here and there, but they grew less numerous by the day.

He dusted off his hands. It was a lovely spring day, and he hadn’t yet got a chance to actually enjoy it. He took out his gummiphone and texted Ienzo. Just set 3 different kids’ broken bones. I’ll be back in 10 if you want to grab lunch.

I was about to ask you the same, Ienzo wrote back.

Their relationship had deepened over the past year. Changed. Of course, the fact that neither of them were ending up in life-threatening situations did lessen the stakes significantly. The transition from dramatic to mundane had been a learning experience. They’d learned to spend time apart, and to pursue their own projects. Nothing would ever be quite normal, but this was about as close as it would get.

Demyx took his time passing through town. Now that he was getting to know people, it no longer felt so alien. Being seen and being known no longer were so terrifying. He wasn’t an Organization member, or a Dandelion. He was Just Demyx, and that was enough.

He saw another small herd of skateboarders, but noted with relief that these ones had adequate safety gear.

The castle was still a work in progress. They were all busy with their own goings-on, and it was huge; keeping the place clean and habitable would have been a tough job for many more people than just the six of them. Every now and again the committee would lend help and supplies, but it was the sort of place where if one thing was fixed, another broke.

Ienzo was, as always, in the library, though at least he was in front of a window this time, and not holed up in a dark alcove. For a moment, Demyx saw him first, gently shifting blueprints and papers to and fro. Honestly, seeing him working so earnestly on something he cared about was… pretty sexy.

“Baby, are you a library book? Because I’d like to check you out.”

Ienzo’s expression remained completely deadpan, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You’ve used that line before.”

Demyx gave him a kiss. “You been here all morning?”

“More or less.” He started rolling up the delicate print paper. “I wanted to take another look at it before I show it to the committee. Incorporating Dilan’s suggestions was necessary, but now I suspect I’m developing carpal tunnel.” He shook out his hand. “But I suppose you can fix that for me. It is quite convenient to have my own on-call physician.”

“Even would murder you if he heard you call me that.” Demyx took the offending hand and cast a minor anti-inflammatory spell. “I’m not a doctor. I’m a healer. In training.”

“I think he’s a touch jealous.”

“I don’t see why he should be. He doesn’t have to chase kids around just to get them to wear helmets.”

Ienzo put the plans in their cardboard tube and sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be fully happy with it. It’s been an exercise in creativity, if anything.”

“Well. For what it’s worth, I think it’s great.”

He stacked the books neatly. Botany, architecture, spiritualism. Ienzo took off his reading glasses and set them aside. “In a way, this feels as though it’s my firstborn,” he said softly. “It’s a complete end to this part of my life. Now I’m to head into the unknown.”

“Isn’t it exciting?”

Ienzo shrugged. “I’d say nerve-wracking. Shall we get lunch? I could use some fresh air.”

“There’s a new noodle place I wanted to try out. I can’t remember the last time I had some half-decent udon. Think you can spare an hour or two on me?”

“Maybe. If you behave.”

On their way they passed Aeleus, who was diligently painting over the pale green walls in a pale blue that brought more light into the space. Of them all, he was the most diligent in the repairs.

“We’re going out,” Ienzo said. “Would you like anything for lunch?”

He nodded, barely breaking brush stroke.

“I guess we’ll surprise you,” Demyx said.

The spring flowers were just coming into bloom. Seeing all the color after so much gray stillness made the world feel completely new. Ienzo sneezed. “Yes, my favorite time of year,” he said dryly.

“If you took your allergy medicine like I told you, you wouldn’t be such a wreck.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes.

They grabbed their lunch and sat at an outside table. Town was constantly growing. It seemed like every week something new popped up--new shops, new homes. The committee was constantly spread thin, though it seemed like mostly everyone was willing to give a few hours of time here and there. More and more people were returning.

“It probably won’t ever be like it was, but it certainly does give me a kind of hope,” Ienzo said.

“It’s grown on me,” Demyx said. “I like it here.”

“It does feel rather more like home than it used to. Though I suppose it’s more the people than anything.”

Demyx smiled a little.

“If you were able to travel freely again, would you?” he asked.

Demyx considered this. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’ve seen a lot in my time. Kind of enough. But I haven’t seen the worlds when they’re at peace. What about you?”

“Part of me says yes, absolutely. But the other part…” He shrugged. “You’ve got to either hide or assimilate to maintain world order, which does take a certain amount of work.”

“What’s the point of world order? What happens if it isn’t up-kept? All these years, and nobody could give me a good answer.”

Ienzo furrowed his brows. The noodle between his chopsticks broke in half and disappeared into the broth. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “Perhaps it warrants some investigation.”

“Maybe you can work on that next.”

“Maybe,” he said cheerfully. “Though--this world is barely stabilizing.”

“Last time I talked to Cid, he said that they’re going to have to start planning some kind of government,” Demyx said. “Even though there hasn’t been any real crime or anything, someone’s still gotta step up.” He scraped at the bottom of the bowl and found there was nothing left but a few leeks. Healing was hungry work.

“I’d heard. They’d called Ansem down a couple of days ago. They offered him the job. He was once sage king, after all.”

Demyx whistled. “How did that go?”

“He turned them down. Said he didn’t want power, and didn’t deserve it. He did say he would serve as advisor to whoever ends up in the position, should they want his advice. Cid and Leon are going to organize a town hall. And then eventually there will be elections.”

“I wonder who it’ll be.” He grimaced. “Wait. Does that mean they’ll have to live with us?”

Ienzo chuckled. “Wouldn’t that shake things up. For some reason I don’t think that would go over too well. If you haven’t noticed, we’re all just a touch insular.”

“Have I noticed. They’re barely accepting me. ”

“Oh, don’t be too hard on yourself. I think Ansem rather likes having you around. It makes him feel young.”

Demyx hesitated. Ienzo was smiling, but there seemed something polite about it. Not so genuine. “How are things between you two?” he asked cautiously.

“Improving,” he said. “All the while improving. There’s more bitterness in me than I thought. But I assure you I am working through it. We both are, and we’re both willing, which is what matters.”

“You don’t have to forgive him to love him.”

“I know. But I feel as though I need to, to move on.” He set his chopsticks aside. “Are you still hungry?”

Demyx sighed. “Always,” he muttered. “Aerith said eventually my body will adjust to using so much magic so frequently. I beg to differ, though.”

“Are you still enjoying it?”

He considered. Truthfully, all those hours and days and nights of studying, then coupled with the home visits she’d took him on, didn’t always necessarily feel pleasant . He’d seen more gross things than he thought possible for a relatively peaceful town. Been puked on. Bled on. More than once he’d ended up having to stay out all night, finally collapsed into bed, only to get a call that he was needed. And yet. “I feel like I’m doing what I’m meant to. And I don’t have to give up music, either.”

“You can be passionate about more than one thing, you know,” Ienzo said lightly.

He was right. But still, after feeling so much apathy for so long in the Organization, having the motivation and the willingness to heal and create made him a touch anxious.

“Shall we head back?”

“Yeah. Think I need a nap. Fucking skateboarders.”

“In another life you’d be one of them,” Ienzo said.

“I hate that you’re right.”

----

The egg whites Demyx was whisking didn’t want to fluff up right. Despite the tremendous ache in his arm. Sometimes he regretted helping Ienzo cook, because Ienzo always gave him the jobs he himself hated. Like grating cheese. Or, in this case, whipping meringue, even though they had a perfectly good electric mixer that could do it for them.

“How does it look?” Ienzo asked. He peeked into the bowl. “Almost. Not quite.”

Demyx groaned and switched arms.

There was a vaguely pinched look to his face. Demyx knew he’d been waiting a long time for this day, so he really should be acting like less of a pain in the ass. Still. It really was hurting. “...You still anxious?”

Ienzo took the bowl from him and started to put the topping on the lemon pie. “I realize it’s illogical, but that doesn’t make it go away. ”

“They’re going to love it. I know they will.”

“Part of me feels like I’m rubbing salt in just-healed wounds.”

Demyx wrapped his arms around his waist. Every muscle in Ienzo’s body was fraught with tension. “They think about what happened all the time,” he said in a low voice. “This is closure. And you know closure can hurt a little sometimes.”

“I suppose.” He sighed. “Would you mind letting go of me? I’ve got to put the pie back in.”

Dinner now was far different than it used to be. There was no more dumb hierarchy. It was easier than ever before to talk to everyone. He felt more at ease. More at home. Dilan found great amusement when Demyx regaled him with the day’s injuries.

“Kids always have some new way of hurting themselves,” he said. He chuckled. “For your generation it was frisbees. We must have confiscated dozens of the damn things when the castle was open to the public. Still, must be odd being on the other side of such gap for the first time.”

“...I guess so. You know. I still don’t feel grown up.” He’d had a birthday recently, his twenty-third, and yet every day he went out to help people he always felt like he was pretending to be mature.

“Truthfully, one never does,” Even said. “It took me long enough to come to terms with it.”

The food was good, just like it always was, though Demyx noticed Ienzo ate far less than he normally was wont to. He reached beneath the table and squeezed his hand. He cleared the empty plates and was back in time to watch Ienzo explain his plan in full.

“I’m sure you all know by now what I’ve been working on,” he said. “I’d like to present it to you now, before I turn it over to the committee for approval.” He got up and retrieved the roll of plans and his written works. He smoothed out the blueprints in front of them. “It’s a garden. For those who fell.”

Planning the memorial had taken months of meticulous research and engineering. Ienzo was so thorough and thoughtful in the way he’d drafted every last blade of grass. Everything had a history, a symbol, a meaning to it. He’d chosen several sets of blooms, one for each type of loss incurred during Radiant Garden’s struggle with darkness--those killed by the initial fall, those who became Heartless, and lastly, those who had fallen because of their research. He’d chosen the breeds for their symbolism, and for how well they would keep and take root. Each flower would represent one soul lost; at the back of this garden he imagined a wall with all their names, as well as books with more information about each person lost.

Seeing it brought tears to Demyx’s eyes, and he could tell the others were moved too, though more stoically. Ansem reached over the table and took Ienzo’s hand. “That’ll do.”

----

The summer consisted of impossibly long days and longer nights. All of them at the castle did their part, and the committee helped too, when they had the time. Demyx found himself making better friends with them. It made the weeks of soreness and sunburn worth it. Moreso, to see the weight of guilt finally ease from Ienzo’s shoulders. To see him bloom.

Demyx was happy, probably for the first time in his whole life. He had a home now, friends, and a boyfriend he adored. Yet he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something still hurt inside.

It came to him one August night. A crash of thunder woke him up from an aqueous sleep. Ienzo stirred but remained deeply asleep, thoroughly worn out from the long day in the sun (not to mention their erstwhile lovemaking). Demyx couldn’t help but shake the feeling he’d woken up from a nightmare, though what exactly he couldn’t say. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face.

Trauma was a lot like dud firecrackers--they didn’t go off until they wanted to.

He went to crawl back in bed, but the light of his gummiphone caught on a sheaf of papers, neatly laid on top of a couple of volumes of the apprentices’ research. He reached for it. For a second his head swam as the old runes came into better focus.

Demyx hadn’t really looked at this thing in nearly a year, not since he’d regained his memory. He’d been too worried about Ienzo, and then after all that, busy enough that it faded to the background. The paper crinkled faintly. He could just barely feel a cool, rainy breeze against his overheated skin.

“Dem?” Ienzo mumbled sleepily. “You okay?”

He shut the light. “Just too warm. Go back to sleep, babe.”

----

He could not stop thinking about it. Through days planting in the garden. Through tending to more skateboard injuries. Through a small party that the committee had invited him and Ienzo to. Through it all.

On their first day off in weeks, rather than rest as he’d planned, he took the papers and went down to the old study room. Bits of various projects Ienzo was working on sat in neat, organized piles. Demyx took the cushion off the chair and sat on the floor, the score in front of him. The sunlight was so warm it burned.

They stared at each other.

He opened the first page. He remembered when this paper was new and soft still. Struggling to keep a ruler level to draw in all those lines, hundreds and hundreds of them. The slightly bitter smell of the ink. The weight of his first sitar--lighter, smaller, the soft grain of it.

He’d made progress, but he hadn’t fully processed it. He’d seen his past as something foreign and separate from himself.

If the words of it were hard to read, then playing it was next to impossible. He tried to summon Arpeggio. His hand trembled. It came at last, hitting his thigh with something akin to a smack. “I know,” he said to it.

Words were heavy, but Demyx had never been much of a writer. There should have been something interesting in seeing his old compositions. Nostalgia, or even embarrassment at how amateur they were. He felt none of these things.

His younger self’s emotions bled from each movement, each less contained than the last, reflected in the odd meters and rhythms scattered all throughout, the awkward keys. To play it felt like being cornered. Like having his heart ripped in two. He’d felt so much pain and sadness and fear, but above all, stark loneliness. This diary hadn’t been so much of a composition as a cry for help.

He hadn’t thought he’d make it out of the war alive, after all.

But he had.

Demyx had, and so much more besides. That was the important thing.

As he played, he felt the heartbeat of it. The strings of the present and past wove together, and once he was through with the old score, he pushed it aside, and began to work on the future.

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #that's all folks!

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updcbc · 5 years

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January 6, 2019 - “The Path of Godliness” Psalm 1

Click KEEP READING to read the full sermon.

Introduction

Our solitary life is in a balance. Who we are and what we may become is a personal choice. We make desperate measures we think for our good but do much damage to our souls. It is not a dead end when we make a wrong choice. The great lessons in life are painfully discovered in our breaking points. Amidst the maze of life we can be redeemed from our frailties and failures. In the agony of our souls we search our hearts to sort out the noble from the mundane. We come to our own senses and find our home back to God. In solitude we dwell in the presence of the Lord and listen to his still voice. In darkness we nurture our souls in light of the Scriptures. We embrace and cherish the Bible that we have so long taken for granted. In coming back to God and in obedience to his Word, we can learn our lessons well in life and make a fresh start.

I grew up as a religious person. Despite my religiosity, my whole being could be summarized in one word: restless. When I was thirteen years old, my aunt gave me a strange gift. It was a New Testament Bible. I would rather have received any other gift for I wondered what good this book could ever do in my life. Four years in high school, the Bible was a closed book to me. Four years in college, the Bible was a dead book to me. Yet, through all those years I wrestled with the agony of my soul. I knew what was good but was bound with guilt. My motives were defiled expressed in secret misdeeds. In my sinfulness I was restless! In the malady of my soul amidst my utter restlessness I welcomed to end it all by placing my life into my bare hands. In that desperate moment I looked up to heaven and uttered a short prayer, “God if you are real, show yourself to me.” In 1980 during my fourth year in college, I heard of the gospel of Jesus through the ministry of the Campus Crusade for Christ. The core of the gospel truth that spoke to my heart was John 3:16. In response to the great love of God who gave his Son for my behalf, I turned away from my sin and yielded my life to Jesus Christ.

That unexpected crossroad of knowing Jesus Christ defined my life. At last, I found rest for my soul! The first thing I did was to go home to find the book I despised. When I found the Bible, I pressed it hard into my heart with a word of deep gratitude, “This is the best gift I ever received in my life.” Since then I learned and still do to walk with God every day guided by his Word. That was almost forty years ago. To this very day I hold in my hands this Book of Life. And I have no room for regrets.

The Bible is the final authority of the Christian faith and life. Our knowledge of God and how we conduct our lives rest upon our attitude to the Holy Scriptures. Our destiny, here and now and for eternity, is determined on how we handle the living and enduring Word of God. It is for this reason that we remind ourselves of the historic account when Moses gave his final word to his own Hebrew people.

In the renewal of their covenant to the LORD their God prior to entering the Promised Land, Moses gave this solemn charge to his own people. The essence of his parting word applies to every people of the world.

“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” (Deut. 30:19-20a)

The covenant of God for Israel is binding for us. A blessed life is governed by the Word of God. To this noble end we are called to “listen to his voice.” This noble call is echoed by the psalmist for all of us.

There is a clear distinction that sets apart those who treasure the Bible from those who do not. The very first chapter of the Book of Psalms is a song of prayer that defines the great contrast between the righteous and the wicked. The righteous are blessed for they live by the Word of God (1:1-3). And the wicked who despise it are unfortunate (1:4-6).

A. The Righteous (1:1-3)

Who are the righteous in the sight of God? The righteous walk in godliness, delight in the Scriptures and live a fruitful life.

1. The Path of the Righteous

Those who are right with God walk in the path of godliness.

“Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers.” (1:1)

Blessedness dispels the notion of shallow happiness based on favourable circumstances. Rather, the biblical thought of blessedness speaks of the highest good bestowed by God to whom he extends his sufficient grace. To be blessed is to experience the fullness of life being assured that God works all things together for our ultimate good and for his glory. A blessed man can be poor but remains grateful and generous in life. A blessed woman in the bed of sickness despite her pain enjoys the sweet communion in the abiding presence of God. A blessed person under severe persecution finds his solace in the safekeeping of God and learns to repay good for evil. Blessedness is to have inward stability and restful peace in whatever circumstance in life. Anchored upon this biblical perspective, the psalmist declared a defining stand of blessedness.

First of all, a blessed person does not walk in the counsel of the wicked. In the time of the judges in the Old Testament, this was the awful description of the Hebrew people, “In those days Israel had no king; everyone did as he saw fit” (Judg. 21:25). In such condition of lawlessness, every man or woman was right in his or her own perspective. The people disregarded their covenant with God and each one became a law to his or her own self. The same attitude of lawlessness is applied in our own time in the name of human rights. On this premise, each one is entitled to his own opinion and we need to respect our own differences, sad to say, on the ground that everything is relative and there is no such thing as absolute. In a secular world each one is entitled to his own opinion and no one has the right to persuade others of his own convictions. And in a pluralistic society we hear many voices with a common argument, “We can speak about anything under the sun, but leave me alone in my belief about God.” We live in perilous times where we create our own gods and define our own standards on what is true or false and on what is right or wrong. The counsel of the wicked defies and distorts the authority and absoluteness of the Bible as the Word of God. In the New Testament, Apostle Paul gave his final instruction to Pastor Timothy. This prophetic word is true to our day.

“In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I give you this charge: Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction. For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear.” (2 Tim. 4:1-3)

Secondly, a blessed person does not stand in the way of sinners. In the period of the judges, each person was entitled to one’s own opinion and had the freedom to do his or her own thing. What does this mean? Israel broke their covenant with God and disobeyed the Ten Commandments. When we see ourselves in our own generation, we are not better than the Israelites. The way of sinners defies the commandments of God. There is a steady moral breakdown in the land manifested in religious hypocrisy. The solemn warning of Paul to Timothy is staggering.

“But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasures rather than lovers of God—having a form of godliness but denying its power.” (2 Tim. 3:1-5a)

Paul gives us a strong word, “Have nothing to do with them” (v. 5b).

Thirdly, a blessed person does not sit in the seat of mockers. We go back to the days of the judges. There was no law in the land for each one became a law to his or her own self. Their brazen lawlessness was an outright rebellion against God in defiance to his commandments and mockery to his warnings. There was no fear of God in Israel. We, too, need to answer a serious question for ourselves, “Where is the fear of God in our land?” The seat of mockers speaks of those who are in authority who see themselves above the law and untouchables driven in their greed for money and power. Are we not also guilty of making a mockery of God when our conscience becomes dull to entertain the thought that it is alright for us to live in sin as long as we can make it a secret for ourselves? We only wear out ourselves in despair when we wear masks to portray a good image in betrayal of our true selves. No one can play with God without facing its dire consequences. Apostle Paul gives us a stern warning, “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows” (Gal. 6:7).

As in the period of the judges, our present world reflects the spirit of lawlessness where every person is entitled to his own opinion and conviction and not bound to the authoritative and absolute Word of God. In this dark and sinful world, we brace ourselves to be maligned and destroyed in our uncompromising stand for what is true, right and just. Blessed are those who do not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. This is the narrow path and less travelled road of the righteous.

2. The Delight of the Righteous

What sets apart the righteous before God?

“But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night.” (1:2)

To delight literally means to rejoice in one thing with inner contentment. Above all things, the great joy of the righteous is the Holy Scriptures. The righteous anchor their whole being in the Word of God. In intimate communion with God they meditate upon the Law of the LORD day and night. The Bible is the daily bread of the righteous to govern their lives.

Throughout the historical revelation of God, both in the Old Testament and in the New Testament, the LORD upholds the primacy of the Scriptures as the absolute rule of life for his covenant people and the firm foundation of life for all nations. The sovereign LORD, the God of heaven and earth, made this clear to Joshua, the successor of Moses, to lead the Hebrew people. This divine instruction is for all of us.

“Do not let this Book of the Law depart from your mouth; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful.” (Jos. 1:8)

This solemn charge defines our life. It is a command with a promise. We ought to anchor our lives upon the Scriptures and to obey it with all our heart. And we can be assured that God will graciously bless our lives to make a godly difference in this world.

Every Hebrew must treasure the Law of the LORD. Every Christian must live by the Holy Scriptures. And every human being must be governed by the Word of God.

3. The Legacy of the Righteous

Does it really make a difference for us to abide in the Scriptures? Here is a beautiful portrait of a blessed life anchored upon the Word of God.

“He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers.” (1:3)

This is a delightful metaphor. Like a tree planted by streams of water, a righteous person is rooted upon the living Word of God and established upon the inexhaustible sufficiency of God. Like a tree which yields its fruit in season, a righteous person bears the fruit of godly character to be a source of joy and channel of blessing for others. And like a tree whose leaf does not wither, likewise, a righteous person receives the gift of eternal life and enjoys the grace of living in its fullness.

In summary, like a living and a fruitful tree, the psalmist described a righteous person with this statement, “Whatever he does prospers.” What does this mean? Anyone who delights in the Scriptures will grow in spiritual discernment to ascertain and do the will of God under divine blessing. We do understand not all things go well with us. Yet, in all our experiences in life, good or bad, nothing will be laid to waste if we learn our lessons well. At times we can have a firmer grasp of the goodness of God and can better appreciate his blessing for our lives when he disciplines us of our sinfulness and affirms his great love for us. Down the road of life we all go through a humbling process so we can learn the redemptive lessons in life. In this way we learn to swallow our pride and walk in the humility of Christ. And so we yield with a humble heart, “Father, not my will, but Thy will be done.”

A. The Wicked (1:4-6)

The righteous live in godliness and find their delight in the Law of the LORD. The righteous are like a tree which is much alive with bountiful fruitfulness. The works of the righteous are under the blessing of God. On the contrary, the wicked gratify their sinful desires as they defy God and spurn his Word. The psalmist speaks on the irreconcilable contrast of the wicked from the righteous.

1. The Vanity of the Wicked

How did the psalmist portray the wicked? Here is the awful plight of those who turn away from God and disobey his commandments.

“Not so the wicked! They are like chaff that the wind blows away.” (1:4)

The chaff or the husk is the seed coverings and other debris separated from the seed in threshing grain. On the outside, the chaff appears to look like a grain. In the inside, it is empty and without a seed in it. The chaff is comparatively a picture of worthlessness.

What does this disheartening imagery has to do with our lives? Unfortunately, there are those who set their hearts on earthly goods and think they can buy anything in life. There are those who embrace a humanistic view of life and perceive they have the freedom to do what they like. And there are those who desire for authority and use their power to influence others for their selfish ends. What does the Bible say into all these? We always need to remind ourselves of the word of God.

“‘This is what the LORD says: Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom or the strong man boast of his strength or the rich man boast of his riches, but let him who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me, that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,’ declares the LORD.” (Jer. 9:23-24)

The beloved Apostle John wrote a close parallel of this revealing truth.

“Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For everything in the world—the cravings of sinful man, the lust of his eyes and the boasting of what he has and does—comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever.” (1 Jn. 2:15-17)

We, in our fallen nature, are proud. We are inherently and deceitfully proud. We are inclined to take pride of anything under the sun. Sad to say, we even boast of our knowledge about God. This should not be. Our true knowledge of God should teach us to walk in the innocence of a little child. Such lowly attitude is a despised virtue for those who have no heart for God and who disregard his decrees. The wicked declare their freedom outside of God. They are free, indeed, without a moral compass that leads them to nowhere like chaff blown by the wind.

2. The Judgment of the Wicked

If we rebel against God and treat his Word as garbage, we deserve our own disgraceful and dreadful lot.

“Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.” (1:5)

God hates those who are proud in their heart. The wicked may boast in their wisdom, power and riches. They may see themselves invincible and indestructible for they are in control over the affairs of man. Yet a time is coming when their mockery and laughter will turn into weeping and mourning. In the end, the wicked will stand before God in dread and be cast away from the company of the righteous in disgrace.

3. The Destruction of the Wicked

We only make fool of ourselves when we think we can play around God.

“For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.” (1:6)

God holds everyone accountable for he makes a clear distinction between those who fear him and to those who despise him. Here and now, the God of heaven discerns our hearts and watches over the affairs of every human being on earth. The righteous are wise to search their hearts and make things right with God. The wicked are defiant and carefree to go on with their evil ways that lead them to their irreversible destruction. Such was the dreadful path of Cain who murdered his own brother Abel. Cain was restless throughout his life and for all eternity. The path of the wicked is open and wide for men loved darkness instead of light. Indeed, our life is in a balance. We can choose our own eternal destiny with the kind of life we choose. We can delight in the Scriptures and live in godliness. Or we can choose to despise the Bible and live in sin. In this crucial crossroad of life, the final decision is ours.

Conclusion

Where is our life leading to? It is time for us to watch our steps on what kind of road we trod. Few would dare to walk in the path of the righteous for it involves total submission and sacrificial obedience. The road of the wicked is much more appealing and many would follow it for sin is a pleasure. Now what must we choose? Sin is enjoyable but distasteful. Righteousness is painful but delightful. If we truly care for our souls, we would rather stand for what is righteous for our good than wallow in the mud of sin for our disgrace. In the narrow path of blessedness, how then should we nurture our souls?

Define your moral standards. The psalmist says it well. Do not walk in the counsel of the ungodly. Do not stand in the way of sinners. And do not sit in the seat of mockers. Our lives are established upon the seat of authority that defines our moral stand on how we conduct ourselves. In our waywardness it is much easier to conform to the allurements of this world and satisfy our carnal desires. In our pursuit for our ultimate good we hate every form of evil. And the best safeguard is intimacy with God.

Deepen your biblical convictions. The psalmist gives a nonconforming stand. Delight in the Law of the LORD and meditate on it day and night. What we feed our mind nourishes our heart and transforms our being. Never take for granted the Word of God. Godliness and greatness anchor upon the authority and power of the Scriptures. The Bible nourishes our souls and refines our character. A righteous and stable life is seasoned through daily meditation of and grateful obedience to the Scriptures.

Influence with godly impact. The psalmist makes a powerful portrait. The righteous are like a tree planted by streams of water bearing fruits in season and whose leaves do not wither and whatever they do prospers. Apart from God and his Word there is nothing we can do that satisfies and lasts. God can do great wonders in our lives if we cherish the Scriptures in our hearts. To this ultimate end we have no greater joy as fathers and mothers but to see our beloved children walking in the truth.

#updcbc #dcbc #God #Christian #blessed #blessedness #psalm of david #psalm #Bible

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impalafortrenchcoats · 6 years

Text

tomorrow never came

Author: impalafortrenchcoats

AO3: Link

Chapter: 2/?

Summary:

A look at Hogwarts and the battle for it through the eyes of the students who lived and loved there.

A BTS/Harry Potter Fusion no one asked for, nor wanted.

Ships: Namjin, Yoonseok/Sope, Jikook/Kookmin, VMinKook

Category: Harry Potter AU, Young Love, Angst, Some Fluff, Battle of Hogwarts

Chapter Wordcount: 6,284

Other Chapters: Part 1/ Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Excerpt:

“But, you know what? Yoongi thinks you’re worth the hassle, okay?”

Namjoon continued to stare.

“And I think you’re pretty cool, too. You listened to me go on about Mario and still wanted to play. You’re a weirdo. And I’m awkward. But I like you. So I think you’re worth it, too. Okay? Nod if you understand.”

Namjoon nodded, eyes glistening slightly.

“So, I’m saying it again and I really, really mean it now. You are my friend, Namjoon. And that means I'm going to be here, whether you like it or not. And as Yoongi would put it, fuck the houses .”

Namjoon gave a little choked laugh. Seokjin couldn’t help but lean in to hug him.

“You might be stubborn, Namjoon, but I’ll have you know I’m pretty stubborn, too. I already decided. I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

It took a few seconds, but eventually he heard Namjoon whisper, “Okay.”

CHAPTER 2

September 1, 1991: Hogwarts Express

Seokjin Kim knew his life was over.

He huddled on the floor of the empty compartment because crying while seated on the actual seats did not satisfy his current level of woe. He was only eleven, but never had he been more certain of a fact than now. His life was over .

The entire morning was a horrible blur of dramatic screaming, mostly on his part, as he clung to his Nintendo Super Comboy and locked himself in his room, all the while ignoring his parents as they alternated between pleading and demanding his cooperation.

If someone had been passing the Kim residence that morning, many interesting exclamations would have been heard.

Things like: “I don't want to be a wizard, Dad!”

And: “Mario isn't a wizard!”

And: “I want to be plumber!”

He vaguely remembered screaming those along with a litany of other nonsense, he’d admit to that. Okay. It was not one of his finest moments.

However, he felt it was justified considering how his family had literally railroaded him into wizard boarding school with almost no consideration for his social life. Sure, magic was cool. But who was going to play Super Mario World with him? He knew how these things worked, incoming witches and wizards generally fit into two categories: 1. Muggleborns or half-bloods who were raised closer to their muggle roots and were going to be too in-awe of the new environment to appreciate the good old simple fun from their world or 2. Purebloods and those already extensively exposed to magic and would have literally no clue what was happening in the muggle world, particularly in the matter of technology.

Seokjin was both fortunate and unfortunate enough to fall into an odd median between the two. While his father was a pureblood wizard of respectable lineage, he had also inherited the rebellious streak from his own father, who had emigrated from Korea in lieu of continuing the family trade as mediwizards, a respectable career for a Chungin class wizard (Seokjin never understood the class division of the Korean Wizarding World, much like he didn't understand the obsession with blood purity here in the U.K.). In any case, Seokjin’s father had taken rebellion one step further and had not only married a muggle woman but had also chosen a mundane career path as a baker.

That was not to say his upbringing was completely devoid of magic. His father had maintained close ties with their family back in Korea, and Seokjin had spent many a happy summer there.

However, one momentous event last year had taken his life on a whole new path. For his 10th birthday, his uncle, while on business in Korea, had managed to pick up a revolutionary game system, the Nintendo Super Comboy.

And his young life was forever changed.

He swore his allegiance to the magnificence that was Mario and the rest of the adorable pixelated crew in Super Mario World, and that was the end of that.

It may have taken several months of groveling on his uncle’s part, but his mother was now on speaking terms with her brother again, so Seokjin figured no harm no foul.

On one hand, yes he was borderline obsessed with the game system, but on the other, he finally had something that helped him connect with the neighborhood muggles his age. Finally, there was something that overcame even his eternal awkwardness, and over the past year, Seokjin could finally say he had a relatively close group of friends. Heck, he would even call Ken, a boy on his block, his best friend.

But now, all that came crashing down. His adventures in Mario’s world with his real life friends were over. Now, he had to start over from scratch, and with witches and wizards.

There was no hope.

His one consolation was that, as an olive branch (and last resort on his father’s part) for peace and his cooperation, he was able to bring his newly magicked Nintendo Super Comboy with him.

At least he would still have Mario.

Speaking of which, he might as well distract himself from his imminent social ostracization with some artificial friends. There will be plenty of time for intensive boyhood pains and feeling sorry for himself later.

However, just as he reached into his pouch containing the Comboy, which his father had also been kind enough to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on, the door to his compartment slid open with a loud bang to reveal two boys his age.

Seokjin could feel his eyes blinking rapidly, a terrible nervous habit he’d never been able to break. Bloody hell. He wasn't supposed to let anyone know about the pouch, but here he was, shoulders deep in the bag.

His dad was going to kill him.

Both the newcomers silently stared at him. He'd give them a pass. He sure wouldn't know what to do if he were to open a door and come face to face with a sorry looking kid huddling on the floor of a train compartment, half inside a small pouch, face still probably covered in dried tear stains, blinking aggressively.

His whole life was awkward. His father killing him would be merciful.

“Can I help you?” he asked, because his mother raised him better.

The tall, lankier one was the first to answer, although his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, “Do you mind if we sit here? Everyone up front seems to be making a ruckus about some student being here. It was getting too noisy.”

The whole time Lanky was talking, his friend, a pale, waif-like boy, was giving both Seokjin and his companion extremely dubious looks, like he couldn't decide whether or not he should remain in either of their presence any longer.

“No, go right ahead. There's no one else in here. Except me, I mean. I'm here. Just me.”

“Okay… yeah.” Lanky slid into the room after a short pause, cautiously easing into the bench across from Seokjin.

His friend was a little more reluctant to enter. He turned to look down the train, as if deciding between the pros and cons of going to find another compartment, but ultimately seemed to decide against it as he heaved an impressive sigh and stomped in to collapse next to his friend. He was certainly an interesting character, since the second his butt made contact with the seat, all energy seemed to leak out of him, leaving just enough for him to lazily lift a leg and ease the door close with his foot.

There was an awkward silence. Well, correction, Seokjin was awkward, Lanky was clearly uncomfortable, and Lumpy seemed perfectly fine once he’d melted into the seat. In fact, Seokjin wasn't even sure if he was even awake anymore. Wow. That was fast.

Which was why he jumped and almost dropped the Comboy he was finally pulling out when Lumpy broke the silence, apparently not asleep like he’d thought, “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

Well, here was his chance. New place, new people, new Seokjin Kim.

‘Seokjin-ah, you can do it,’ he thought to himself. ‘Don't be weird. Short and sweet is the way to go.’

But instead, he opened his mouth and cemented his lot in life, “Well, you see, I'm going through a bit of a tough spot right now. My life is over, and I just didn't feel that I could really enjoy the seat properly, and the floor felt like a much better place to mope. Just mope. Not cry. I wasn’t crying. I could move to the seat if it bothers you.”

“I really don't give a shit what you do, mate. I was just asking ‘cause this idiot’s dying to know, but won't ask you until it's too late, and I can't sleep while he’s fidgeting.”

Seokjin honestly didn't have a response for that.

The boy didn't bother to open his eyes as he continued, “Now that that’s out of the way, I'm going to take my nap, now. Don't either of you talk to me until we get to the school or food comes. We good? Good.”

He then proceeded to further melt into his seat and slip into oblivion.

Glancing over to Lanky, Seokjin was slightly comforted to see the boy staring in shocked horror at his friend.

“Is he always like that?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” He looked back Seokjin. “I'm Kim - I mean, I'm Namjoon Kim, by the way, and he's Yoongi Min. Sorry about… actually, I have no idea what I'm apologizing for, but I feel like I should…”

“I'm Seokjin Kim. And if anything I should apologize.”

“For?”

“I don't know? Sitting on the floor? Being awkward?”

“Well, if we all go through life trying to live up to the expectations of society, that would be a whole lot of extra work, wouldn't it?”

Seokjin silently stared at the boy, who had just said what he did with a completely straight face.

‘What?’ he thought.

“What?” he said after a moment’s consideration.

The boy — his name was Namjoon, Seokjin tried to remind himself — gave a little uncomfortable wriggle in his seat before answering, “I mean, I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason why you're sitting on the floor. I don't know your situation so who am I to judge what you're doing.”

“Huh.” Seokjin continued to inspect Namjoon. He came to a very solid conclusion. “You're an odd one, aren't you?”

“Yoongi always said that I don't know when to stop and that I should probably learn to shut the fuck up.”

“Your friend sounds like a real charmer.”

“He grows on you.”

“Like fungus, I'm sure.”

The other boy only shrugged nonchalantly in response.

Another silence fell over the compartment, although this time it was slightly less awkward than before. Namjoon was fiddling with the hem of his robes, which were a nice change from the usual attire of British wizards. Seokjin noticed the similarity of the two boys’ clothes and those worn by the boys in his grandparents’ neighborhood, so he assumed the boys weren’t locals. Not to mention he’d noticed Namjoon’s earlier slip in starting the introduction with his surname.

He wondered about how to start up a conversation when it came to him. He immediately perked up and beamed brightly at Namjoon.

“Speaking of mushrooms, you want to see something cool?”

And that was the end of that. At some point over the next few hours, Seokjin finally pulled himself off of the floor and onto a seat, and Namjoon had slowly migrated from the increasingly squashed seat, as the sleeping Yoongi began to ooze over and claim more of the bench, to sit next to Seokjin. Both boys were deeply immersed in the game as Seokjin struggled to advance in the level while simultaneously answering the myriad of questions Namjoon threw his way.

They worked through a rough patch earlier when a still confused Namjoon had scoffed at the game, and the threat of a resurgence of waterworks from Seokjin ended that train of thought rather quickly.

They hit another bump in the road to Mario when Namjoon tried to apply some overly philosophical meaning to the pixelated characters. Seokjin nipped that at the bud with a deadpanned, “Sometimes a goomba is just a goomba, Namjoon.”

Eventually, they settled into a comfortable pattern which alternated between discussing gameplay and story, Seokjin slapping a bruise into Namjoon’s shoulder whenever Namjoon managed to wrangle the controls from him, and talking about themselves whenever activities permitted.

By the time the food cart rolled around, Seokjin knew that Namjoon came from a relatively affluent family, who were pretty active in politics as was expected of those in the Yangban class in Korea. He and Yoongi were both sent to study at Hogwarts rather than somewhere closer to home as a means to increase their families’ relations abroad. However, despite both being from the same class, from what Seokjin could make of what wasn't being said, Yoongi was from either a branch family or something of the sort and was from a completely different economic background than Namjoon.

In spite of this possible point of contention, both boys had grown up together and remained close friends. Based on this, Seokjin decided he was going to give the prickly character a chance, first impression notwithstanding.

As for Yoongi, it was almost magical how the second the creaking of the food cart was barely audible from their compartment, his eyes eased open without necessitating any involvement from the compartment’s other occupants.

However, Seokjin couldn't help but note with some trepidation that the casual malaise that seemed to cling to the boy’s every movement was contrasted by the sharp gleam in his eyes as he took in the sight of Seokjin and Namjoon huddling over the game.

Not that Seokjin was intimidated or anything.

Maybe just a little.

“Oh, good. Yoongi, you're up.” Namjoon noted, still keeping an eye on the characters and waiting for the next chance to grab the controller.

“You made a friend.” Yoongi’s tone could be considered disbelief, if one overlooked the lazy drawl.

Namjoon looked over and glared in response. Seokjin didn't voice it aloud, just to save his new friend some dignity, but the pout he was throwing at the boy across from him was more on the cute end of the spectrum. He hoped he wasn't aiming for stern.

He failed miserably if he was.

“Shut up. I could make friends. Seokjin, tell him you're my friend.”

“Um… I'm his friend,” Seokjin obliged.

Okay, now the look that Yoongi was throwing their way was just plain rude.

Seokjin raised his eyebrows back at the boy and stared, for a lack of a better response. Ha, that should show him. Seokjin totally had a handle on the situation. He’d never lost a staring contest in his life, and Yoongi had another thing coming if he thought he was starting today.

Of course, the traitor, Namjoon, took his momentary distraction as an invitation to reclaim the controller.

No, just no. Not happening.

The following scuffle was not going to win him any cool points with Namjoon’s judgmental shadow, but this was his game, okay?

And since the universe apparently had it out for him, he was in the middle of contemplating biting Namjoon’s hand because the boy was just that persistent, when the compartment door slid open again, this time revealing the round face of a boy their age. Everyone froze — well, Yoongi wasn't really moving to begin with — and stared at the newcomer.

While he was clearly shocked silent by the hectic scene inside the compartment, it was still clear that the boy was also rather distressed by the barely concealed tears in his eyes.

“You need something?” Yoongi’s gruff voice broke the silence.

Seokjin sent him a stink eye, not that he thought Yoongi cared, but would it kill him to have a heart?

The boy at the door seemed to wilt under their collective gazes but still managed to ask, “Have you seen a toad? My toad’s run off, again, and I can't find him anywhere.”

“Sorry,” Seokjin hurriedly answered before Yoongi could open his mouth. Who knows what kind of remarks would come out if he did. “We haven't seen any toads.”

“Oh,” the boy deflated even more, “I'll just keep looking.”

“Actually, you want some help with that,” Yoongi asked.

Seokjin stared at him in surprise.

“Yeah, Namjoon here loses stuff all the time. He's got plenty of experience looking for shit. He wouldn't mind helping you out, right, Namjoon? Oh, and, Namjoon, you mind grabbing me something from the food cart while you're at it? Something sweet. I don't care what.”

Of course.

It didn't surprise Seokjin when Namjoon stood to do just that with only a wary glare thrown Yoongi’s way.

As Namjoon ushered the boy out the doorway and off to who knows where, Seokjin managed to catch part of their conversation. The new boy was obviously still unsure about the turn of events.

“You really don't have to do this! I’ll just keep looking. Trevor usually turns up on his own. Um, I'm Neville Longbottom, by the way,” the boy said, his voice fading as they wandered away from the compartment.

Inside, however, the atmosphere abruptly turned cold. Yoongi didn't move, but the entire weight of his gaze fell on Seokjin. And with no Namjoon as a distraction, Seokjin was left wide eyed and clutching his controller.

“Look. I don't know you, but Namjoon? I think you’ve talked with him enough to realize some things, right?”

“He takes Mario way too seriously?”

Yoongi just raised his eyebrow before continuing, “I don't know how things work for you British wizards, but back home things aren't so straightforward. Did Namjoon mention his family?”

“Not really, but I guess they’re something of a big deal? You guys are Yangban , right?”

“Mm-hm. So, consider this a warning, this whole thing, coming to Hogwarts, studying abroad, was Namjoon’s idea, his father doesn't really approve of this. And he sure as hell isn’t going to approve of you.”

Seokjin began to bristle at this, “So are you telling me I can't be friends with him? Because you can take that and shove it — ”

Yoongi gave a short laugh, “No. I'm giving you a warning. Namjoon’s a lot more sensitive than he looks, and I just don't want to deal with the shitstorm later when things go to shit because some pansy-ass decides that there are easier things to do than be friends with a Yangban politician’s son.”

Seokjin stared for a moment.

He wanted to open his mouth and refute the implied accusation.

But the thing was, Seokjin had been to Korea enough times to get the gist of what Yoongi was saying. He had seen firsthand the unspoken but strictly upheld social expectations. He had heard rumors, more horror stories really, of what happens to those who crossed those of higher power. And ultimately, that was all it was, here it was all about blood purity, but there it was about class power. Both were something completely out of people’s control and Seokjin didn't understand it.

He knew himself. He wasn't complicated, and what he wanted was simply a comfortable existence. Conflict was difficult to avoid, of course, but he always tried his best to avoid situations that increased the likelihood.

Situations like these.

Namjoon apparently was going to throw a wrench in his plans for quietly powering through Hogwarts and bailing the second h e graduated.

But here, Yoongi was giving him an out.

Seokjin studied the boy for a moment. He was speaking from experience, Seokjin was sure. There would be consequences to being of an elite class without the financial backings expected of it. He was sure the other boy didn't have it easy either, but he still managed to maintain a friendship with Namjoon.

Suddenly, a wave of some unnamed emotion shook him as he really took in the situation. He thought of his grandfather and what he must have been thinking when he left his home. He thought of his father and mother for some odd reason.

In the end he thought about Yoongi, and he was grateful. Yeah, he could see why Namjoon liked him, in all his prickly glory.

Instead of answering, Seokjin reached into his pouch and pulled out his lunch boxes — his mom knew he was a bottomless pit.

“You want some ddeokpokki?” he asked.

“What?”

“It's really good. Mom always adds octopus because I said fish cakes alone were boring.”

The confusion on Yoongi’s face was the most expressive he’d been all day.

He took a moment to digest what Seokjin said before opening his mouth and trying again, “What?”

“You told Namjoon to get something sweet. The cart lady only has snacks, I should know, I made dad tell me all about the food here. You shouldn't eat sweets on an empty stomach. So, you want some ddeokpokki? I think I have some sandwiches, too.”

Yoongi blinked at him, “Did you not hear anything I just said? What the fuck, mate?”

“Of course I did. I just assume you and Namjoon are going to be a packaged deal. And you're too skinny anyway. Also, did you know you curse a lot?”

Yoongi stared at him.

He let the Yoongi mull things over and busied himself looking for some utensils. They were going to have to share the chopsticks, he guessed.

“What kind of sandwiches do you have?” Yoongi asked finally.

Seokjin smiled and happily went about describing his lunch.

By the time Namjoon got back, Yoongi was munching away at the ddeokpokki, while Seokjin was sulking with the sandwiches. He only offered someof the rice cakes, not all. Yoongi chose to deliberately ignore his attempts at reclaiming them.

“Did you get my sweets?” Yoongi asked.

“Did you find his toad?” Seokjin followed with what he felt was a much more pertinent question.

Rather than respond, Namjoon chucked two pumpkin pastries and a chocolate frog at Yoongi’s head. Only a pastry made contact but bounced harmless off the side of the boy’s head. Yoongi squinted at Namjoon, eyes promising future retribution.

Namjoon ignored him. Although he did throw a few odd looks between Yoongi, Seokjin, and the extra food.

“We didn't find the toad, but we ran into some girl who insisted on helping out. So I left Neville with her and came back,” he said, finally.

“That's too bad. I hope he finds his toad soon,” Seokjin said. “You want a sandwich? I would offer ddeokpokki but some people don't know the meaning of the word ‘share’.”

Yoongi didn't even bother to acknowledge his statement.

As for Namjoon, he continued to look back and forth between the two boys, “So… that's it?”

“What’s it? I have some gamja-jorim, but mom didn't pack a lot of side dishes.”

“No, I mean…” Namjoon trailed off and glanced over at Yoongi.

Yoongi just shook his head, “You can't have the ddeokpokki.”

“Yes, he can! It’s not yours, anyway.”

With purposefully slow movement, Yoongi picked up a rice cake and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth while holding eye contact with Seokjin.

The asshole.

If anything, Namjoon looked more confused by the interaction, “No, I meant to say, what are — ”

He stopped as abruptly as he started, still giving them odd looks. Then he just shrugged and slumped back in his seat.

“You know what? Never mind. Can I have a sandwich?”

Seokjin handed him one, and that was the end of that.

The rest of the train ride was a relatively quiet one, although much more comfortable than before. Yoongi was even kind enough to share a pumpkin pastry with Seokjin and Namjoon, although that may have had to do more with taking the opportunity to hit the lightly dozing Namjoon in the face with the sweet.

The girl who had helped Neville earlier had stopped by at some point and reminded them to change into their school robes, which they did with little complaint.

By the time they were struggling into the rickety little boats that were supposed to carry them to the school, Seokjin would say that he had a relatively solid understanding of the two other boys and would happily call them both friends.

Their boat ended up being only the three of them, since Seokjin was sitting next to Namjoon, and Yoongi just glared at anyone who dared approach him.

And when their boat rounded the bend in the lake and the entirety of the castle became visible, Seokjin had to grudgingly give it to his dad; Hogwarts was pretty cool.

It also gave him a good chance to study Namjoon’s dimples as he took in the sight.

On the other hand, the castle quickly lost points once they were off the boats and were lined up to enter the castle. Seokjin promised himself he would apologize to Namjoon later for the bruises on his arm and the ringing in his ears, when he screamed and latched onto the boy as the ghosts came through the wall to observe the First Years.

He wouldn't be holding his breath for Yoongi’s apology for the scratches on his and Namjoon’s backs from the same incident, though. He was just grateful the other boy didn't rip their school robes in his fright.

When the bustling of the students died down and they were finally ushered into the Great Hall, Seokjin was only mildly surprised to hear it was going to be a hat that was sorting them into their respective houses. His father did mention that the sorting process wasn't going to be anything taxing or painful, unlike what the rumors implied.

What he was surprised with was the hat’s singing. But before they knew it, names were being called and one by one the students sat down on the stool, and when their houses were announced, went to their respective tables.

It was only when Professor McGonagall called, “Kim, Namjoon,” that Seokjin realized he was still clinging onto the other boy’s arm.

He quickly let go, but automatically straightened Namjoon’s robes before backing off and letting the boy make his way to the center of the hall.

It was a few long minutes before the crease in the hat opened and called, “ Slytherin !”

Seokjin was probably the only unsorted student who was clapping along with the students at the green table. Yoongi rolled his eyes at his antics, but he didn't pay the spoilsport any mind. He wanted to show his support. Namjoon was still his first friend at Hogwarts, after all.

And he knew to appreciate Mario.

He didn't have too much time to cheer, since as soon as Namjoon was seated, a sharp call rang for, “Kim, Seokjin.”

Seokjin quickly made his way over, only pausing to smile shakily at Yoongi.

Once seated, the hat was quickly settled over his head, obscuring his view of the hall.

“Ha! Not too keen on Hogwarts, are you? Well, can't say this is a first, but definitely not something I've seen all too often,” he heard the hat’s voice in his head.

“I’m sorry. If it's any consolation, I wouldn't have been happy with any wizarding school.” He hoped he hadn't hurt the hat’s feelings… did hats have feelings? Surely a singing one would have some level of sentience.

The hat chuckled, “No harm done, child. You didn't want to leave your friends, isn't that right? It's good to see one with a level of conscientiousness. Now where to put you, hm?”

Seokjin didn't know what to say, but he thought of Namjoon and Yoongi. He didn't care where he ended up, but they were his friends and since he’d decided it, he was going to keep them. So it didn't really matter which house he was in, he was going to make it work.

“A tenacious one, aren't you? Keeping friendships between houses won't be an easy task. It will mean a lot of hardships.”

Seokjin shook his head slightly. He didn't care. He knew it was going to be hard work from the beginning. Yoongi even warned him.

“So be it. In that case, better be-”

“ Hufflepuff !” The hat called out.

He quickly took off the hat and gingerly placed it back on the stool. As he was making his way over to the Hufflepuff’s table, he tried catching Namjoon’s eye, but the other boy was staring hard at the plate in front of him.

‘What's wrong with him,’ Seokjin wondered. He kept trying to get Namjoon’s attention until he heard Yoongi’s name being called.

“Min, Yoongi.”

It would be a lie to say he wasn't shocked when the hat barely touched Yoongi’s head before calling out, “ Huffepuff !”

Yoongi frowned the whole way over to Seokjin. It was much less shocking when he all but shoved over a boy already seated next to Seokjin to make room for himself.

Seokjin debated apologizing to the other Hufflepuff, Justin Finch-Fletchley, but gave that idea up when Yoongi crowded his personal space to squint aggressively in his face.

“We have a problem.”

“Yeah. You've killed my personal space bubble. Please back off, Yoongi. I can't take you seriously when you're this close.”

Yoongi did sit back a bit, but his squint was all the more intense, “This is all your fault.”

“Wait, what's the problem exactly?” He thought about what Yoongi said for a moment and added, “And how is it my fault?”

“Why the hell am I in Hufflepuff!”

“How should I know? Wait, was that a rhetorical question?”

“That wasn't a question. This is me explaining the problem to you. I am here. That's not suppose to happen. The only reason I went along with this whole thing was to look out for Namjoon. You don't understand. I don't care how many tests say he's a certified genius, that idiot is a fucking dumbass. I can't watch his sorry ass if I'm stuck over here!”

“You know, it's probably thoughts like that that landed you in Hufflepuff.”

“What?”

“Weren't you listening to the hat?”

“It’s a fucking singing hat!”

“Well, it was singing for a reason! Hardworking and loyal, Yoongi. Those are the traits of Hufflepuff. You were probably all worried about Namjoon. No wonder the hat sorted you so quickly.”

Yoongi stared at him for a minute before uttering a very vehement, “Fuck!”

Seokjin was just about to bring up Yoongi’s unnecessary excess use of expletives again when all around them loud excited whispers broke out. He and Yoongi looked around in confusion before he caught the Macmillan kid saying, “Is that really Harry Potter?”

He turned just in time to see the dark tuft of hair on a small figure disappear under the sorting hat.

“Huh,” he said, mostly to himself, “I forgot he was starting school this year.”

“Who's that? Is he famous or something? They were making a big fuss about him earlier on the train.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you and Namjoon aren't from around here.”

“So, he's famous?”

“That's an understatement. I'll tell you guys later. Now, about Namjoon, I don't think you're giving him enough credit. The hat put him there for a reason. I'm sure he'll do fine.”

“You have no idea. He’s known as the God of Destruction back home for a reason.”

“Okay. You're going to have to tell me the story behind that later, but what are you so worried about. He still has us. We’re just in different houses, not planets.”

Yoongi gave him a blank stare, “You sure he knows that?”

Seokjin eyes widened in surprise, “What? Yes! He should — I mean — we were…”

He looked over at the Slytherin table where Namjoon was clearly ignoring them.

Seokjin felt his whole face pinch into what he could only assume was an expression of complete and utter dismay.

“That fucking dumbass!”

Yoongi reached over and patted him on the back, “Welcome to the club.”

And so it was that while the rest of the student body began to belt out Hoggy Warty Hogwarts , Seokjin occupied himself by glaring holes into the back of Namjoon’s head. Yoongi was seemingly too busy judging the entire British wizarding world to sing along with everyone.

Dinner came and went, and the students were told to follow the prefects to their dormitories. Seokjin couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of emptiness while taking in the sight of Namjoon as he continued to avoid looking at the two of them.

This simply would not do.

As a public service announcement, it should be noted that two very determined Hufflepuffs on a mission were a terrifying sight to behold.

It took one week and several hours of stalking later, but Yoongi and Seokjin were finally able to corner Namjoon. Although, they had a slight hitch in their plans when one of the Slytherins, a Theodore Nott, had taken it as a personal slight that two seemingly inoffensive first-year Hufflepuffs had the gall to attempt to abscond with one of his housemates. The entire thing came to head in an unfortunately public setting.

One thing was made readily clear from the encounter: Pureblood children were not often faced with good-old, physical threats in a schoolyard confrontation.

What Yoongi lacked in physicality, he made up for in pure, rage-fueled ferocity. He fought like a berserker with nothing to lose.

Seokjin, being a loyal and conscientious friend, made sure to hold onto Yoongi’s wand and cloak for safekeeping as Yoongi single-handedly destroyed all preconceptions about House Hufflepuff in one vicious swoop, colorful profanity and all.

Fortunately, the incident was largely swept under the rug by both parties present, mainly due to mutually assured shame.

The Hufflepuffs were simply not ready to have their peaceful reputation so utterly tarnished, while the Slytherins simply couldn't admit defeat to the badgers, and first years no less.

And, yet, despite the embarrassment from the entire fiasco, Namjoon remained mulishly doubtful of the sincerity of their friendship. It took some effort on Seokjin’s part not to allow Yoongi to beat some sense into their idiot friend, but the time of violence was over. Also, Seokjin wasn't really sure how effective the physical persuasion would be with someone who actually grew up with Yoongi.

He mentioned as much to his still fuming housemate, and Yoongi responded with a loud, “Well, you talk to him! I'm out!”

Yoongi emphatically grabbed both his robe and wand back from Seokjin and proceeded to storm away, leaving in his wake a hallway full of petrified Hufflepuffs, not all of whom were first years.

Seokjin took Namjoon’s momentary distraction by Yoongi’s dramatic exit as a good opportunity to take him by the hand and drag him away to a more secluded area. They ended up in an empty classroom, where Seokjin immediately shoved Namjoon into a chair and all but sat on him to get him to stay.

He made a point to look directly into the taller boy’s eyes as he spoke, “Namjoon, listen to me, okay? I'm not smart like you, and I don't have a way with words like you, so don't expect anything fancy, but you are going to listen to what I have to say. Understood?”

Namjoon nodded at him, probably shocked silent by his forward approach.

“You asked me to tell Yoongi that I was your friend when we were on the train, remember?”

Namjoon nodded again, blushing slightly at the reminder.

“I have to admit, I probably didn't really mean it at the time, because you know, that's a weird request and all. But, after you left, you know what Yoongi told me?”

Namjoon shook his head.

“He said that being your friend was a hassle. And he's right. You are a problem and a half, Namjoon. You're stubborn, too smart for your own good, and without enough common sense to figure your way around people. Your family is going to hate my guts, probably more than they do Yoongi’s. And you don’t even have the decency to appreciate this.”

Namjoon only stared at him. Seokjin continued before the other boy could process his words enough to be hurt.

“But, you know what? Yoongi thinks you’re worth the hassle, okay?”

Namjoon continued to stare.

Namjoon nodded, eyes glistening slightly.

Namjoon gave a little choked laugh. Seokjin couldn’t help but lean in to hug him.

“You might be stubborn, Namjoon, but I’ll have you know I’m pretty stubborn, too. I already decided. I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

It took a few seconds, but eventually he heard Namjoon whisper, “Okay.”

Seokjin smiled and released...

… a breath he didn't realized he was holding.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, how long he had been lost in memory.

It was good, he thought to himself.

Not always, of course, but it had been really good. He was lucky to have them, his friends. They were all stupid, idiot goof-balls, but they were his, and he wouldn't change any second of it even knowing the end. It was probably him being naive, but Seokjin couldn’t work up the slightest doubt that it had all been worth it.

He got to say good-bye, even.

Who knew how many were lucky enough to get even that. He wanted more, though. He wished he had said something to Yoongi and Jimin before running off, but at least he was sure Yoongi understood. And the younger boys, Merlin, he hoped they were all okay. But, Taehyung and Hoseok weren’t even in a house with anyone else.

Please, please, please, don’t let them do anything stupid.

At least with Jungkook, Seokjin was certain that Namjoon wouldn’t have run off without making sure the youngest in their group was safe.

And, Namjoon. Seokjin bit his lips as he tried to ignore the pangs of guilt. He never intended to break his promise.

Maybe someday Namjoon will forgive him.

Special thanks to allourheroes for cleaning up my writing mess.

#bts #bangtan #bts fic #namjin #jikook #kookmin #yoonseok #sope #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #my fanfic #myfanfic #fic: tomorrow never came

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takadasaiko · 6 years

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Breathe Again Beneath the Flames: Chapter Five

FFN II AO3

Summary: Compromises are struck across the board.

Chapter Five

Tom had always been one to roll with the punches. It was what had gotten him through some of the darkest days and all of the dangerous ones. He adjusted where he needed to, finding the right place to shift so that things worked out right. He had always been a quick learner in that way.

Now, though, everything was at a standstill. It had been months since he and Liz had been attacked and he was stuck doing nothing about it. Nothing of any consequence, anyway. Howard was convinced that his entire focus needed to be on healing, and he had tried that, leaving him with little to show for it. All of the victories seemed so mundane. He wasn't dozing off quite as much and he had finally gotten to his feet as long as there was something to help support his weight, but all in all it wasn't enough. It was too slow. It didn't get him back to his daughter. He couldn't go to his wife. Hell, he was yet to hold his hands steady long enough to shave - something he had grumbled about all the way when Nez finally cornered him on it - much less hold a gun. There were days that the little progress he had made felt worthless for the time it had taken for him to get there.

But he still had his mind and despite the constantly changing doses of medication that the doctors had him on he was still sharp, and that had to count for something.

Dr Gramble was encouraging him to use the cane when he could, and as exhausted as it left him, Tom was more than willing to take advantage of the limited freedom it provided. He used the short outings disguised as exercise to get a better idea of the layout of his location and to look for any options that would allow him to work around his shadows to find out more about what had happened.

Tom loosed a long breath, feeling the muscles in his side cramp painfully at the strain he was putting on himself and he leaned heavily on the cane he was using. He could feel the way his legs had begun to shake and his knuckles were turning white from his grip. He might be getting a little further each day, but apparently he'd pushed beyond the limit on that one.

Dark blue eyes swept the hall. It was empty, which wasn't abnormal. Howard kept limited staff there and most of those were medical. A few guards moved in and around, but Nez was the only operative Tom recognized. No one seemed to be in this hall, which would either be the best or the worst case if he ended up in a heap on the floor.

"Hey, Tom-Tom. You doing okay, buddy?"

Tom nearly lost his balance at the sudden voice at his back. He tried to turn, left knee folding under him as he did, and he sank back against the wall for additional support. When he finally pried his eyes back open he saw Dumont standing there, laptop in hand, and his expression a little worried. "Yeah, golden," Tom grumbled, trying to straighten himself up.

"Didn't realize you were getting this far down on your own yet." The taller man lifted an eyebrow at that and Dumont chuckled. "C'mon. I just got something in I think you'll be interested in."

The peeked Tom's interest and he carefully pushed himself off the wall again and followed Dumont into the first available room. "Whole place is full of empty rooms and hideaways," the tech expert was saying as he sauntered over to the table in the middle, pausing just long enough to make sure Tom didn't need help. Thankfully, though, he didn't force it, and Tom eased his way over to a chair that was just waiting on him and sank down gratefully.

"I've noticed. Howard's really taking the secret thing to a whole new level."

"The more people that know you're alive, the bigger the chance the information slips out to the wrong people."

Tom's head snapped to look back at the door and Nez shot him a grin and nodded to shorter man behind him. "Thanks for the heads up, Dumont."

"Been looking for me?"

"It doesn't look good on me when you go missing."

Tom shook his head, a small smile creeping into place. "Nothing interesting to see here, is there?" he asked Dumont, and the other man chuckled.

"Depends if you think what we've been looking into on your case is interesting or not."

"Say what?" Tom managed, looking between the two. Nez was smirking and Dumont grinned openly. Well they did know how to get his attention. He'd been harassing both of them for any piece of information he could get about anything. He would have taken the case, or Liz and Agnes, or even just where the hell he was right then. They had shut down tight, the running mantra always that he needed to focus on getting better and let them do their jobs. "You two made it pretty damn clear you were with Howard on me getting involved."

"You're not getting involved," Nez said simply. "You're just getting looped in on what we have. You're not going anywhere, you're not doing anything with it."

He pushed an amused breath out through his nose. "Me skipping out is starting to become a real fear, isn't it?"

Nez quirked an eyebrow at him. "Did Dumont not just find you half collapsed against a wall?" He set his jaw and she flashed a grin.

"We get it, man," Dumont offered. "You're stuck here, your girls are out there, and there's a guy that tried to kill you. We'd be going stir crazy too."

"So we're going to work with you if you're willing to work with us," Nez said, taking a seat on the edge of the table.

They were offering him an olive branch. A compromise to stop him from pushing too hard and to keep him from going stark raving mad while trapped in this prison that his father thought would keep him safe. "Howard know about this?"

Nez's pale gaze caught his. "Howard has his own problems right now. He sent us here to help you and this is the judgement call we're making."

"We're a team… even if you did decide to leave Halcyon," Dumont said with a small smirk of his own.

Tom grinned. "There it is. I knew that was coming up sooner or later."

"Hey, if I had a wife that looked like yours at home, I wouldn'ta lasted as long as you did."

The smile remained, but softened a little at the thought of Liz. He needed to focus, both on getting back into fighting shape and finding out more about the man that had attacked them. When she she woke up - and he knew she would. He had never met someone stronger than Elizabeth Scott Keen - he needed to be ready for her. "Okay," he breathed out after a long moment, "what do you guys have so far?"

It had been a cold homecoming to Halcyon when she'd returned weeks earlier. Some of the staff welcomed her openly, happy to see her back, but she could feel eyes on her at every turn. It wasn't a great deal different than when Howard had first started to spiral and she had had to step up and take on more responsibilities in the management position, though this time he'd painted her out to be a traitor and a villain. He'd certainly done well enough to poison people against her and she wondered just how much of it he actually believed and how much of it was convenient.

There had been a time when they had been close. They respected each other just as much as they loved each other and while she couldn't say that they never kept secrets, they did know that they had each other's backs.

Until the day that they didn't.

Exactly when that was she still had trouble pinpointing. She'd been over it enough times in her mind, combing over the details of their lives. The parties, the board meetings, the dinners. So many couples that went through what they had simply didn't make it, but they had been solid for each other once, and she'd watch that wash away bit by bit over the years until his obsession with Christopher's disappearance tore him apart.

Or maybe that had all been an act. Maybe that's just what he wanted her to believe. There were still so many questions left unanswered, so many that he wouldn't trust her to answer or perhaps she shouldn't trust the words spilling from his clever tongue, but if she had something when it came to Howard, at least she was relatively sure he wasn't selling off Whitehall's experiments to the highest bidder. She knew what he was using the man for, even if it may not have been his original purpose. It was at least a place to start, and Katarina seemed certain that whatever was coming for them required not one, but two Hargraves to fight it. She always had leaned more towards a flare for the dramatic.

Scottie set her mask of calm firmly into place as the elevator doors opened, releasing her into the lobby. She had taken the only other office on the floor when she had been reinstated. It had been the one she had kept before he had disappeared, before he had faked his own death. Howard had offered it up, but she wasn't fool enough to think it was a peace treaty. He wanted to keep an eye on her. It was the same reason he had barely left Halcyon since their forty-eight hour reprieve to make their decision.

He didn't look up when she turned to his office instead of hers. He was bent over his desk, searching over something with all the focus of a man obsessed. She watched him for a long moment, that clever mind of his working faster than most people could process. He was always looking for the angles, calculating every direction that situation my go in. He had proven to be an excellent point man in Halcyon and was a brilliant strategist, but Kat was right. None of that would help her if she didn't have an in with him.

"This is never going to work unless we trust each other."

She heard him snort softly, pen scribbling against paper, but he didn't bother to look up at her. "That would require us to actually trust each other, Scottie." He'd known she was there. Of course he had. "Forgive me if I'm hesitant on that particular fool's errand."

"Says the man that put me in prison for months," she groused, unable to keep it to herself.

"You managed that on your own, Scottie." His gaze finally flickered up. "Kidnapping is a dangerous business. So is attempted murder."

There it was. He was still convinced that she'd been the one to try to kill him. For a long while she had thought that it might have been a power play and that he knew that, no matter how far they might take this spat of theirs, she would never physically hurt him. Well, she'd never kill him. Now, though, she was fairly certain he believed the suspicion. If it had been an easier thing to accept than to consider alternatives, she wasn't sure, but he should have known better. "Have you ever thought for a moment that maybe I didn't sabotage your plane and that there's something bigger at play?"

He snorted. "Misdirect, subterfuge, do you think I won't see through that? You're not an innocent victim that's been caught up in all of this. You forget I know exactly who you are, what you are, and -" he sat back and she knew that studying expression. She'd seen it many years over, but most recently, she'd seen their son wear it while getting a read on someone - "I seem to remember that taking planes out of the sky without leaving any trace evidence was a special skill set of yours once upon a time."

Scottie stared at him, shock working its way into her bones before her expression hardened. It had been more years than they cared to admit since either of them had dared to bring up her past. It wasn't like it had been a surprise when he'd married her. He'd known the day they met who she worked for, had known what kind of woman she was by the time they married. The only reason to bring it up now was to deal a low blow and throw her off.

She stepped fully into the office and closed the door behind her, providing them with privacy. "What would have been the point of me taking down your plane, Howard? Of trying to kill you?"

"Moving everything into place for the Twenty-Five Year Plan?" he drawled, and his eyes remained on her, studying her.

Her thin lips twitched. "I left at the same time you did. You know that, Howard."

"I thought I did." His voice was cutting and he shook his head. "Maybe you are just that good. They always did want Halcyon. "

She could feel her careful mask slipping. Her brows furrowed and the lines around her mouth deepened as she frowned, the audacity of the insinuation hitting deeper than she cared to admit. "They took our son and I didn't give to them, Howard. What the hell could they have offered to pull me back to their side?"

"You tell me, Scottie."

"Nothing is more important to me than our boy." She pulled in a trembling breath and made up her mind. She had a reason she was there. "Believe it or not, I came here with a peace offering. I've had some of my people-"

"Your people?" Howard echoed with a raised eyebrow.

"My people," she stressed, "looking into Tom's murder. I received a tip on the man ultimately responsible and I wanted to verify the information was coming from a reliable source. It took longer than I expected, but I did. It's something that I think you'll want to see."

Howard stood slowly and for a moment she thought he was going to start in again. Finally he reached for the offered envelope and she saw him frown as he did.

Scottie offered a small smirk. "Don't be too hard on your people, Howard. They would have gotten there eventually."

He opened the folder and she saw him scanning through the pages that Katarina had supplied her with. How much of it he already knew, she wasn't certain, but from the minor twitches in his expression she thought there were a few new items that Nez and Dumont - the only two he would trust to look into it, she knew - hadn't uncovered yet. One of the first things she'd checked when she received access to do so was if Howard had people looking into the attack on their son, but she'd found nothing. That meant it was being conducted off-books and from a remote location that a casual sweep and audit wouldn't catch. She knew what sort of roadblocks she ran into just trying to follow the information back, and if she did, she knew they had as well. If they wanted to or not, getting to the bottom of all of this would require them to work together.

She saw him stop and it didn't take much to guess where he was. One quick glance showed a heavy set man that was scowling through his glasses at the camera. "Had you found him yet?"

"No," Howard breathed, likely before he realized what he was saying.

"His name is Ian Garvey. He's the man that led the attack on Tom."

Howard blinked rapidly like he was trying to clear his vision. "Why?"

"My guess is that you are positioned to know that information better than I am."

That pulled his attention back to her. "My people haven't come across that information yet."

"Really? Not even Tom?"

Her husband loosed a frustrated sigh. "Scottie, I know how much you want to believe-"

Her thin lips stretched out into a tight, mirthless smile. "Flip to the last page." He shot her a questioning look and she rolled her eyes. "Just do it."

Howard shook his head but did as he was told. She watched the colour drain from his face at the sight of the fuzzy photo that had rested in Katarina Rostova's second envelope. It was poor quality, taken from a tiny camera barely able to get past security, most likely, but Scottie hadn't had any trouble recognizing the dark haired man in a wheelchair.

"Now that we're being honest with one another," Scottie prompted.

"Where did you get this?"

"A source."

"What source?"

She shook her head, the smile returning. "You know I can't tell you that, Howard. Not yet. I want to get to that place though. I believe that starts with ending the man that tried to kill our son."

His gaze turned back to the open folder and he flipped back. "He's a Marshall. He'll be protected."

"No one's untouchable," Scottie all but growled, her voice dipping down as she glared at the photo.

"No, but it does explain why it's been so difficult to unearth certain information." He heaved a deep breath, his gaze flickering back up to her. "What are you proposing, Scottie?"

"I think I've proven what I can bring to the table, not that you didn't know. I want you to trust me, Howard, but you don't have to. All you have to know is that this man tried to kill our son and I will do whatever it takes to bury him in the ground."

Howard set his jaw, a rough chuckle leaving him. She could see the mischief dancing in his eyes. Good, that meant he was intrigued. "There's the woman I married. This won't be easy. There's no room for error."

"Then it's a good thing we're professionals, isn't it?" Scottie reached across the desk and took the folder from him. "How about we find some time off the clock to discuss our next step?"

She didn't wait for an answer, but turned, leaving him in this office alone. They didn't have to trust each other to protect their son, they just had to be able to work together.

Notes: I had so much fun with this chapter. I like the fact that Scottie often had a trick up her sleeve or a different angle to play in the show, so it was great to be able to go that direction here. As much as I adore Howard, he's going to have to be, uh... convinced to play nice ;)

Anyone have a guess as to Scottie’s previous employers?

Big thank you to everyone who has been reviewing, and I always love to hear your thoughts on the story so far!

Next time: Solomon obtains important information, Tom dives into research, and Scottie pushes to be able to see her son.

#the blacklist #au fanfiction #Breathe Again Beneath the Flames #Tom Keen #Scottie Hargrave #Howard Hargrave #Nez Rowan #Dumont DeSoto

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nealcassatiel · 6 years

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2. Allen Ginsberg, Castiel, and Buddhism: Cas in the bardo - an exploration of the Tibetan Buddhist death bardos and Castiel (I)

“Wanna drift off and become a newspaper headline, / what good favourable publicity in the bardo? Allen Ginsberg says, these words’ll get you nowhere / these jokes won’t be funny when everyone leaves the seven exits.” (Allen Ginsberg, Bowel Song)

Introduction

In my previous meta I discussed Cas in relation to Buddhism. In this post I will continue on this theme, looking specifically at Cas’s death state and the Buddhist concept of the bardo. I will be looking almost solely at Tibetan Buddhism which is in the Mahayana school of Buddhism. I have studied Buddhism for four or five years, however the subject is vast and please forgive me if my knowledge isn’t the best. If you have any questions about Tibetan Buddhism please ask them and if I can’t answer them, I’ll try and find out an answer from a teacher at my next visit to the Tibetan Buddhist Centre.

As a side note and personal note to this meta, I had intended to do more research on this as anything relating to theology, religion, or Buddhism is going to take a lot of research and understanding regardless of how much someone has previously studied the subject. My research was shortened and curtailed by the passing of a good friend. I had planned to write this meta about a month ago however the subject of death has been all too real for me since his passing. I apologize if this meta is too short or doesn’t go deeply enough and I will continue to write on this subject. Returning to the Buddhism and my meditations and readings this past week now that I am dealing with my grief better has been healing, and the insistence in meditating and thinking on death within Tibetan Buddhism has been a good thing to confront once more. I have been researching Tibetan Buddhist ideas on death specifically for the majority of the year for academic research, and I find solace that it has helped me in such trying times. To end this side note I would like to remind you all how loved you are and in the great words of great people; always keep fighting.

To recap on why I believe this is important, Cas is linked with Buddhism a fair bit. In The End his room was surrounded by Buddhist iconography, there were Buddhist decorations in his home when he was Emmanuel, and some of his beliefs and spiritual practices link as much to Buddhism as they do Christianity and Judaism.

The Empty and Death

At the end of 13x03 Cas woke up in what the writers are calling ‘The Empty’. It was mentioned by Billie in season 12. We don’t know much about the empty but Billie says this to Sam;

- ‘There’s one hard and fast rule in this universe: what lives, dies. So the next time you or your brother bite it… well… you’re not going to heaven or hell. One of us and I hope it’s me, we’re gonna make a mistake and toss you out into The Empty. And nothing comes back from that.’

So here we see the Buddhist thoughts on death. In Tibetan Buddhism, a well-known practice is to focus on death and to come to terms that everything which lives must die.

- ‘From the summit of the highest heavens to the very depths of hell, there is not a single being who can escape death. As the Letter of Consolation says: ‘Have you ever, on earth or in the heavens, / Seen a being born who will not die? / Or heard that such a thing had happened? / Or even suspected that it might?’’ (Patrul Rinpoche, Words of my Perfect Teacher: A Complete Translation of a Classic Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism, trans. Padmakara Translation Group, p. 41)

This is a major concept in Tibetan Buddhism which monks spend years focusing on in order to try to combat their death fear and help their passage out of samsara after death.

- ‘Meditate only on death, earnestly and from the core of your heart.’ (Patrul Rinpoche, Words of my Perfect Teacher: A Complete Translation of a Classic Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism, trans. Padmakara Translation Group, p. 55.)

Allen Ginsberg, Buddhism, and Death

Allen Ginsberg also had this death fear and tried to focus and accept his death, in fact his last collection of poetry entitled ‘Death & Fame’ focused a lot on him trying to visualize and accept his own death in multi-religious terms, but mainly in Buddhist terms. On his death bed he tried to focus on Buddhism and mantras and his Buddhist teacher was called to sit with him and recite death rituals before his death and after passing. Ginsberg had a Buddhist ceremony as well as one in a church after he had passed away in 1997. I mention this because Cas can be linked very well to Ginsberg (also because my grad dissertation was about Ginsberg, Buddhism, and death – hashtag spon to that basically unread thesis that I poured so much into).

Death, Rebirth, and SPN

Another thing to note is the concept of death and rebirth in Supernatural. The brothers have died a fair few times and come back, but let’s focus on Cas. In Buddhism, one’s rebirth is dependent upon their past life. One’s karma at the end of one’s life ensures the next life. In Cas’s deaths and rebirths he has changed from each one and his past life has influenced his personality after his next resurrection. An interesting thing to understand about karma is that it doesn’t affect you in your current life. Whilst bad actions may cause bad consequences, that is not karma. Karma only has effect on you once you’re dead, so any time someone ends a story about someone getting their comeuppance and says ‘that’s karma for you’, you can correct them and say that is incorrect if ya want.

The Bardos

So, onto the bardos.

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The Tibetan Book of the Dead, in brief, is a text which contains mantras to read before one’s passing and once one is dead. It contains many chapters detailing practices and meditations and yogas to do before one’s death in order to help prepare the oneself to escape samsara (the wheel of existence where one is caught in a cycle of birth and death and rebirth).

The first bardo is the chi kha and occurs immediately after death when a profound state of consciousness occurs, called the clear light. If one can recognise this light as their reality, they are thrown out of samsara (the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth).

If one does not recognise this light they are thrown into the second bardo, the bardo of reality called chos nyid bar do. In this bardo they are shown reality in a multi-coloured mandala of forty-two peaceful deities and a mandala of fifty-eight wrathful deities. These appear to the consciousness of the recently deceased in the days following death. If reality is not recognised here then they are placed into the third bardo – the bardo of mundane existence (sri pah bar do). In this third bardo they are rebirthed in one of the six realms of gods, demigods, humans, animals, hungry ghosts, or in hell. The karma (the wrongdoings of the deceased) in their past life will gauge which realm they will be rebirthed into.

Death holds up a mirror of our past life actions.

If recognition of death and the new reality does not occur immediately in the first intermediate state after death, then the deceased moves into the second intermediate state. This second intermediate state is called ‘the pure illusory body’, during which the consciousness achieves clarity even if the deceased doesn’t know they are dead. During this stage, if proper teaching is given, the deceased will no longer be controlled by past actions. ‘Just as, for example, darkness is destroyed by the light of the sun, the controlling force of past actions is destroyed by this ‘inner radiance of the path’ and liberation is attained.’ If liberation is not attained in this state, then the deceased moves onto the third intermediate state during which bewildering apparitions (which are the product of past actions) will emerge. ‘At around this time, the bereaved relatives will be crying and expressing their grief. They will no longer be serving the deceased share of food, they will have removed his or her clothes and stripped down the bed, and so forth. Although the deceased can see them, they cannot see the deceased. Although the deceased can hear them calling out, they cannot hear the departed one calling back so the deceased may turn away in a state of despaired. At this time, three phenomena – sounds, lights and rays of light – will arise, and the deceased may faint with fear, terror, or awe. Thus, during this period, the following Great Introduction to the Intermediate State of Reality should be given. Call the deceased by name and say the following words’.

“O, Child of Buddha Nature, that which is called death has now arrived. You are leaving this world. But in this you are not alone. This happens to everyone. Do not be attached to this life. Do not cling to this life. Even if you remain attached and clinging you do not have the power to stay – you will only continue to roam within the cycles of existence. Therefore, do not be attached and do not cling. Think of the Three Prescious Jewels! O, Child of Buddha Nature, however terrifying the appearances of the intermediate state of reality might be, do not forget the following words. Go forward remembering their meaning. The crucial point is that through them recognition may be attained. Alas, now, as the intermediate state of reality arises before me, renouncing the merest thought of awe, terror or fear, I will recognise all that arises to be awareness manifesting naturally of itself. Knowing such sounds, light, and rays, to be visionary phenomena of the intermediate state. At this moment, having reached this critical point, I must not fear the assembly of Peaceful and Wrathful Deities, which manifest naturally…. O, Child of Buddha Nature, if you do not now recognise these phenomena to be natural manifestations, whatever meditative practices you may have undertaken whilst in the human world, if you have not previously encountered this present instruction, you will fear the light, you will be awed by the sound and you will be terrified by the rays. If you do not now understand this essential point of the teaching, you will not recognise the sounds, the lights and the rays, and you will continue to roam within the cycles of existence. O, Child of Buddha Nature, should you have moved on, (without recognition), after having been unconscious for (up to) three and a half days, you will awaken from unconsciousness and wonder ‘what has happened to me?’ So recognise this to be the intermediate state. At this time the aspects of the cycles of existence are reversed (into their own true nature) and all phenomena are arising as lights and Buddha-bodies.’

Then a bright blue light will arise in the space. One should be drawn to it. There will be a dull white light of the god realms. Do not be drawn to that. It will spin you into the god realm and back into the cycles of samsara. Focus on the blue light. Other coloured lights occur and deities help to guide the deceased to the blue light. A dull blue light emerges which tries to call the deceased back to the human realm. Those with training will be more likely to walk towards the right light and take refuge in the Buddha to relieve themselves of being born back into samsara.

Within the bardos the deceased will be frightened and fearful. We see that Cas looks vulnerable and fearful when he wakes up in the empty.

Some Notes on the bardos and Cas in The Empty

- Normally people don’t realise they go into the bardo after death as they are normally flung back into samsara. Those who are spiritual or have undergone training will be aware of the bardo after death. (This is important with Cas because he is a spiritual person, and so if we liken The Empty to the bardo, he will fair better in this space because of his spirituality.

- In some folk, hindu, and folk Buddhist beliefs the last thought of the dying person is important and will help or hinder them in the bardo. (One of Cas’s last thoughts was probably saving Sam, Dean, and Jack, and so in The Empty these thoughts may stick with him all the more clearer (although they are pretty clear already. So his will to get back to Dean et al will be fundamental to his path through this in between place).

- For those who were spiritual in their lives, in the bardo they will be more likely to meet enlightened beings who will appear to them. (This is interesting because from what we know about the spoilers, another person is there with him. This could be another angel and chuck knows I’m praying for the return of Gabriel, or it could be another version of Cas. In the bardo, the beings/gods who appear to the person do not have to be literal. Many people within Tibetan Buddhism see the gods and spiritual apparitions within the bardo as manifestations of one’s inner self, whether that be the greed or the pride or the love or the kindness).

- The individual is also presented with a means of ending these encounters by paying attention to images and lights that feel comforting and familiar, and sometimes represent one of the passions that appeal to the person. This is where people's unconsciousness tendencies take control as they are variously attracted to jealously which can bring future lives of fighting and quarreling, pride which leads to another human rebirth, or aggression and violence which can lead to a rebirth in a hell world. Being attracted to these lights and images will cause the spiritual being to disappear and the opportunity to gain insight and enter their spiritual world will be lost. This is one of the important reasons for learning spiritual travel so that encounters with powerful spiritual states of consciousness become familiar and desirable instead objects of fear to be avoided.

- If the first bardo passes and attempts to access spiritual states were unsuccessful, the next bardo begins. The second bardo or the "bardo of becoming" is a stage in which the desires of the individual are said to carry the largely helpless soul through a great variety of intense emotional states. Good thoughts bring great bliss and pleasure, and hateful or negative thoughts bring great pain and desolation. The soul bounces from thought to thought as a torrent of thoughts and feelings come like a waterfall. Existing thought habits and desires are said to define the experience of the soul during the afterlife in this way. (Again, we see that the bardo is a space for the inner self to manifest around oneself. I think that in SPN, they will use The Empty in a similar way – in that it will be a space where Cas can understand who he is. It will be a mindful, meditative, and self-reflexive space in which he will understand who he is and the life he lead. He will see what is important to him and what he should cling to and what he should leave).

- The greatest problems of the soul in the second bardo are negative emotions like guilt and fear (which results from a lack of familiarity with the inner worlds), and lack of conscious control over its own experience. Fear is particularly harmful because it fragments the self making concentration on one thing difficult or impossible, and this can lead to confusion and loss of conscious control. (I think Cas will certainly explore these things within The Empty. He has been ridden by guilt for many seasons and I believe that he will feel the weight of his past actions even in death. However I think he will get through these and return to earth having done away with the negative emotions and guilt having worked through them all in the empty).

- For those fortunate enough to be more conscious in these bardo states, a petition to a god, guru, guide, saint, or intercessor can be made in hopes that the individual will be lifted or guided out of the bardo worlds by one of those entities. But here again, the call must be concentrated and the ability to ignore the surrounding chaos somewhat developed. When such grace is given, it is a form of salvation where the individual is saved from the discomfort and confusion of the "outer darkness" of the bardo by a powerful entity - usually one that individuals formed a bond with in their former life. (Cas’s devotion to jack comes in here. Jack guides him back. This is an interesting discussion of faith here, because Cas has faith in Jack. And whilst some people may be angry at Cas for following Jack and placing faith in him, many people need figures within their lives in whom they place their faith).

- This ability to choose a good incarnation requires discrimination, and a certain degree of conscious awareness. The new age approach to reincarnation which claims we choose our new incarnation is idealistic and not always true from this vantage point. Many souls whose thoughts in life were tinged with or dominated by negative emotions, or those who have repressed and denied such emotion through lack of awareness or an unwavering commitment to "positive thinking" will likely be desperate to escape the confusion of the second bardo. They are therefore likely to grab on to the first opportunity that presents itself like a swimmer who grasps a log in dangerous rapids in hopes of making it to calmer waters. Choosing the first object (or incarnation) that comes along may not be the wisest choice. (It would be interesting to see a kind of psychedelic/spiritual space in which Cas is drawn towards and away from things which distract him from his internal analysis and reflextion, or that draw him away from a mission to return to earth).

- The average person is said to spend a period of about forty-five days in the second bardo. However, passionate souls with strong desires or those responsible for evil acts in their most recent life are said to reincarnate almost immediately. In exceptional cases, the individual can stay in the bardo state for longer periods, and be drawn into its currents awaiting rebirth.

- One factor that helps the soul achieve the freedom of conscious control and spiritual travel during the afterlife is acceptance of death. Those who have not accepted death will resist the process of dying and introduce conflict into the bardo stages. This is why it is important for people to take care of any unfinished business as they near death so they can let go of life completely. (This will be interesting to see if Cas excepts his death. I’m not sure about this as he was in a depressive slump for a long while. But I hope that his want and love for Dean and the guys will make him not accept his new life in The Empty).

Forgiveness & Salvation

In The Tibetan Book of the Dead there are constant opportunities for enlightenment, both in life and in death. In the bardo one is given the chance over and over again to come to the light of the Buddha and come out of samsara. This is a key point in supernatural, that there are constant chances for good, for salvation, for forgiveness, for moving on a dropping the weights of before. Being in the bardo is a spiritual experience that shows you your inner thoughts, fears, and emotions. It is a liminal space which helps one to move on to the next realm or g to the light of the Buddha. Cas will be flung back into the world of samsara into another rebirth – although as he is being reborn as himself we stray further from Buddhism.

Conclusion

But what will be interesting in this upcoming episode is to see how many similarities there are between The Empty and the bardo – whether Cas will encounter a spiritual being, whether he will see his emotions manifest, whether he will be drawn to certain things, whether he will be drawn to good and bad light, whether he will be drawn back to the boys, whether he will accept his death, whether he will be able to look within himself and deal with the guilt and negative emotions he has been troubled by…. Who knows.

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