#oh also heathen I saw you going through my art after liking that ask I sent to fin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

Note

Yay lasertag!!! Janus you should totally go visit Remus on the weekend and hang out! Also, maybe invite Remy too, if they wanna come. Then (specially if they don't show) you can plan with them both to maybe go on another hangout with Remus but to somewhere you like and let Remy tag along for the ride if they wanna while u're at it.

(Words: 3153 words)

Janus: "Ah yes! I will let you know that after hanging out with Remus I managed to use my incredible totally very good texting skills to ask the Rems if they wanted to go to an art museum and they both for some reaosn, maybe they are being blackmailed, said yes! I hope it will go g-"

He cut himself off as he saw the two Rems come towards him. He had been waiting outside the museum. (Honestly half the reason he had choosen it was because he knew Remus liked art)

Remus waved at him while grinning. He had on sweatpants, a way too large t-shirt and a necklace made out of animal bones. Remy had their arm swung around him. Even though they had sunglasses on their eyebags were still visible.

“Aight gamers! Are we ready to do an epic art heist!! I got my sunglasses ready!” Remus exclaimed. He didn’t, he was planning on stealing Remy’s sunglasses.

“Partner you’re forgetting that we must first observe the security measures of the museum before we can even start to plan the heist” Janus replied.

“Oh!!! That’s what we’re doing today isn’t it??”

“Correct partner!”

“Babes I dunno why you gotta steal art when I’m standing right here” Remy added while posing.

“Good point. Good point”

Janus had on a yellow bowtie he’d gotten from Logan, a loose purple shirt and black dress pants. People had to look fancy when they went to museums right? Remy had a skirt short enough to fool god and their boyfriend’s hoodie on (it looked oversized on them but with how skinny they were Everything looked oversized on them).

As soon as they got in Remus started to bounce up and down as he looked at the posters showing all the different exhibitions. There was a modern art one, classical and one smaller exhibition for specifically mosaic works.

“So whatcha you wanna look at Snakey?” Remus asked.

Janus was caught of guard “Why are you asking me?”

“Well you chose how we would hang out. C’mon you deserve to choose this too”

He looked over to Remy who shrugged “Uhm okay. Well. The classical paintings would proably give us the most money on the black market so lets look at those”

“Yay!”

Remus quickly took on his noise canceling headphones and a chew necklace before doing thumbs up. He firmly took Janus’ hand in his. He sent him a soft smile which made Jan’s heart spin before dashing of with him into the exhibition.

A few big paintings from the renaissance hung on the wall. Remy came a little later since with the cane they walked pretty slow. Remus eyed the paintings from a distance before squinting at them up close. He flapped the hand he was hoding Janus with around.

"Oh!!! This is so cool!!!! This is from the renaissance but it's not using the chiaro oscuro technique like everyone did 'cause Da Vinci would eat their newborn if they didnt!”

"Is that why it's looking flatter than me?" Remy asked.

“YEah!! Augh I love the renaissance!!! Mostly because they were dissecting bodies so much!! sometimes for the sole purpose of drawing anatomy better!! I wanna do that! Or watch someone do that! Getting to see one of those old classrooms where they dissected corpses would be so awesome!”

“Huh good way to get rid of bodies. Great time for serial killers” Janus commented.

He let out a dreamy sigh “It truly was. They’re doing serial killers dirty nowadays”

They went through some more rooms of renaissance paintings. Janus made sure to hold Remus back a bit so Remy could keep up with them. The duke kept rambling about different shading techniques.

They stepped into another room and the style changed. Remus continued to flap his hand nonetheless. Janus was definitely going to have pain in his wrist tomorrow. It was worth it if he could hold his hand though.

Remy leaned their elbow on top of Janus’ head “This is like the baroque time right?”

“YEah!” Remus’ eyes went huge “Bean you didn’t tell me you were into art history??! Do you know about Ruben too?? I like how he paints butts!”

“What? Nah. I just- I can like see it on the clothes in the paintings. Can’t you?”

“Do I look like a time traveling fashiong guru” Janus replied sarcastically “That is honestly impressive”

Remy sunk in on themself and a hint of red appeared on their cheeks “No. Nah. I’m like a total airhead! Completel idiot! hehe I’m like tots sure everyone knows this stuff. Y’all are just bad at fashion. I uh anyway Rem you were gonna rant?”

“I was?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh....Okay!!” He looked around the room before getting caught on a small painting in the corner. He dashed over to it “HANds!”

The painting depicted 2 bloody hands over a table. They were holding onto each other. the red stuck out against the dark background. It was hard to see if they were supposed to belong to two people who were fighting or in love.

Remus looked down at Janus’ hand while playing with his fingers “I think my favorite body part are hands” He mumbled “I mean they’re horseshit to draw but they can do so much”

Janus looked away from the painting as well. He let his crush do whatever he wanted with his hand as long as he kept holding it. the way he held him so lightly but kept rubbing his thumb up and down his skin made him melt.

“Yeah they can do a lot of fucked up shit” Remy butted in. Jan nearly jumped. He’d completely lost himself in adoring his crush.

“Well hands can also be used to give snakes small berries! And to make coffee!”

“Girl I wasn’t starting an argument. But you sure did won it!”

Remus was staring down into the floor as he said “When I become a cannibal I would wanna try eating human fingers first. I’m sure they would be tasty”

“Why was there a when in there?” Jan asked in a small amount of terror.

“Oh yeah babe totally. I will like actually eat a dick” Remy agreed.

“Why is there a will in there? What kind of time tenses are you people on?? Does english grammar mean nothing to you heathens!?”

Remy got a smug look on their face. They poked their finger right into Janus’ chest “C’mon say what you will eat when you become a cannibal”

“Yeah Snakey” Remus squished his cheeks “Say it! Say it! Say it!”

The two of them kept going on while Janus looked like a sour lemon until he finally caved in.

“Fine. I would either eat the stomach or....the buttocks since they would have the most fat and sustain me the longest”

The Rems looked at each other before bursting out into laughter. “He said butT!” Remus cackled out. The other Rem nodded along and pretended to wipe away a tear from laughter.

“Aight babe let’s put the guy out of his misery”

They motioned for Remus to go ahead. He happily skipped into the next room and grabbed Jan’s hand to take him with him. The snake couldn’t help but notice how Remy stayed behind for a monent.

“Oh cool!! We’re onto impressionism! The first real art style!” He sighed “From impressionism to cartoon furries. How magical the journey of art is”

(Jan who had a scaley phase in high school chose to not reply)

“I love the music as well. Crazy lads. My favorite lad?” Remus snickered “De bussy!!”

“That’s my porn name” Remy instantly replied, coming up behind them. “Hey that paint lady kinda like looks like Terra” They pointed at a painting.

“....Hey YEaH! I guess my art is timeless!”

Janus looked between them “who’s Terra?”

“Well girl” Remy playfully ruffled Remus’ hair “She’s just Rem’s tots cool like cartoon character. She’s like all over his sketchbook. Makes it look kinda straight if you ask me but she does have like a very cool design so I get it!”

“Oh......Yes...Sounds very....cool”

The group kept going around looking at art. While it felt like lead was filling Janus’ chest. He’d never heard about Terra. He’d never seen his sketchbook. Meaning they had spent time with each other without him.

He pierced his nails into his palms to stop the thoughts. He refused to be some jealous person who didn’t allow his friends to hang out without him.....Still he wish he could have seen the drawings as well....seen them smile together...heard their shared laughter....

Oh. Oh what if they thought he was annoying. What if they preferred being without him. What if he’d forced them to come here today. What if-

“Hey snakey wanna look at the modern art as well?” Remus interrupted.

“What?”

Without realizing they’d gone through all of the classic art. Now they were in the last room with not much more than a giant painting the size of one of the walls and a bench.

“That sounds horrid!”

“Yay!”

Remus quickly continued of into the next exhibition. Janus still had the taste of lead filling his throat as he went to follow. Until he realized Remy wasn’t there. He turned around and saw them sitting on the bench in front of the painting. They were leaning their arms on their cane.

“It would probably give us a lot on the black market” Jan said while sitting down beside them.

“Mhm. It’s pretty. I just like wanted to look at it some more” They lied.

“Understandable”

The painting was pretty much a big flower field with a summer sky shining down on it. Janus noticed how Remy forced deep breathes through their gritted teeth. Their brows were furrowed and their hands kept shaking.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course!”

“I have some painkillers with me. Would that help agains the pain you’re totally not in?”

They glanced over to him “Girl what you doing walking around with painkillers?”

He looked at them with the most deadpan expression “Remy I’m overweight. You can not phantom how often I get knee pain" He took out a pill and held it out to them "Here"

"There's really like no need! I can like handle it"

Even more deadpan "You shouldn’t have to ‘handle it’. It's 1 painkiller dear. I'm not exactly becoming a saint because of this"

They hesitantly took it "Thanks"

He did fingerguns "No problemo"

They stayed sitting for a bit so the pill could kick in. Jan shuly glanced over to admire them every now and then. Remy kept looking down into the floor while picking at their skin.

“I’m sorry” They said it in a much quieter voice than their usual high pitched one “I tried to do everything right so I wouldn’t ruin everything. I even went to bed early so I wouldn’t get tired....I...I really looked forward to getting to be with you two”

Janus heart beat faster. He pulled himself together to comfort them “You haven’t ruined a thing”

They hid their face in their hands “I’ve been tired and out of it all day. I keep like slowing you down. Don’t think I haven’t like noticed how much you have to hold Rem back from going faster! I’ve just been making this all much worse than it should have been”

“Well you’re here aren’t you? I for one appreciate you simply being here. You don’t have to do anything to make me appreciate you, don’t even have to talk. I hope you know that”

“....really?”

“Oh no darling I totally expect you to win the nobel prize while in a kind of pain I can’t even imagine being in on a daily basis”

Remy chuckled “Thanks”

“There’s really no need for that. I am at any and all times doing the absolute minimum to be counted as a decent human being”

“Sure snakey-babey” They had a soft smile on their face.

They moved to hug him. Their arms wrapped around his back and they muffled their head right between his man titties. Janus sat still for a few seconds, too flustered to think before moving his arms around them as well. A hand on the back of their head, another on their lower back. Their skin felt so cold against his.

Remy closed their eyes and let themself calm down. They could feel Janus’ breathing against their hair.

“I think my fav like human part is the chest” They mumbled out “‘Cause I can hear the heart beat. It reminds me I’m- we’re still like alive”

“Like a bloody biological seashell”

“Exactly” They pressed themself closer. “I like being with you” It was nothing more than a whisper, like it was a secret “When you’re here I feel a bit less like a rotting corpse”

Janus held onto them harder “Well I-I try my best”

“I know babe”

His heart was beating out of his chest. The people around them must think they were a couple. He closed his eyes and focused on Remy’s touch, on Picani’s words from their last session. He managed to push enough of the shame away and focus on the happy butterflies in his stomach instead.

Remy moved away. The moment broke.

“We should probs go find Rem before he starts like eating the art”

“haha yeah” Janus did thumbs up but kept sitting. He’d gone full idiot.

It wasn’t until he saw Remy straining to stand up even with the cane his brain kicked back in.

“Is there some way I could help?”

They didn’t answer. But they did lean their arm around his shoulder to let him carry some of their weight. They slowly but surely made their way to the modern art exhibition.

Remus was sitting crosslegged in front of a weird statue, he was doodling in his sketchbook but shone up into a smile when he saw them.

“There you are! I was starting to think that either the zombie apocalypse had started or you were making out somehwere”

“Oh yeah babe. Full tounge” Remy joked back. Jan let out an inhumane noise.

He closed his sketchbook “I think we’re done here. You’re looking tired beanie. We can come back some other day”

Remy held back the urge to lie that they were fine. Instead they weakly nodded.

The gang left the museum. Right beside it was an ice cream shop. Remus got 3 scoops of a worryingly weird mix of flavors. Janus got 1 scoop of lemon. Remy didn’t feel like eating.

They sat down on a couple of benches right outside. Remy laid down with their head leaned onto Remus’ thigh. He chewed his ice cream while calmly moving his hand up and down their back.

Soon enough they were deep asleep. Janus quickly laid his jacket over their legs. He didn’t want to accidentally see anything under their skirt without their consent.

Remus stared at him like a blood sucking eagle while smiling “Soooo now when beanie is in dream land.......Do” He stopped to giggle “Janny. Janny. Do. Do you like someooooonnneee??”

Janus just blinked at him for half a minute. This was too much. This whole day was too much. He was a wreck. His crush was asking him THis?! While his other crush was laying in his crush’s lap?!?

“Why- Why- What- Who are you working for?! The fucking FBI??? Are they after me?” He desperately tried to joke it away.

“No. No. But seriously JanJan!” He wiggled his shoulders around in a stimmy way “Do you happen to like anyone with a name that starts on R????”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Janus kept glancing between his two crushes while his blushing could be seen out into space. He wanted to lie but his mouth wouldn’t move.

Remus leaned closer and whispered “You’re into Remy right?”

He nodded. A breathe of relief went through him. At least Remus didn’t know he liked him.

“OH I KNEW IT!” Remus yelled out in excitement while flapping his hands.

“Shh! Shh!” Janus scrambled to cover his mouth as Remy stirred for a moment. “Shhhh!” They cuddled closer to their friend and fell back asleep.

“I knew it!” He giggled “Or I mean Remy knew. They told me they thought you were into them”

“WHAT?!”

Now it was Remus that covered his mouth. He was full on cackling “Yeah! They said it was really obvious! But good for you snakey! I’m sure if you murder their boyfriend you can get them in no time! Or you can become a fab homewrecker!! I can help you buy a nice sexy dress and all!!”

Janus paled in terror “How- In- What- In what way did they say it was obvious?”

“Oh y’know-”

The notif on his phone went off. He checked and his eyes went wide. He carefully moved Remy’s head onto the bench before standing up.

“Sorry snakey! Ro needs super duper emergency help! Gotta go!! See you later! Don’t die!”

Remus left him just like that. Right after dropping THAT bomb on him. Janus sat unmoving. His mouth was slightly agape in shock. His thoughts were runnig around screaming nonstop.

He sat like that for over 20 minutes until Remy let out a yawn and slowly woke up. They took off their sunglasses to rub their eyes. Just seeing their vibrantly green eyes made Janus panic even more.

“Did Rem disintegrate?” Their voice was hoarse from sleepyness. Janus pinched himself to hold back the uhm feelings.

“He- he uh he went he went he sure did went yeah”

“....Cool!”

They stretched their joints, they all cracked. They looked to Janus and moved closer. He couldn’t breathe. They knew. They knew. They knew.

“Girl are you feeling okay?” They pressed their palm to his forehead “You’re like super hot. In both ways! Maybe you should like go home and rest. I gotta get home before my boyf gets home anyway”

“Y-yeah” Was all Janus could get out.

“Cool. OH! By the way! Girl!!! We haven’t like hung out just the two of us right?? We should tots do that! Just like tell me whatever you wanna do and we can do it!”

“Yeah”

“Awesome! Well I’ll see you on that hang out then”

They hugged him for just a few seconds but for those seconds Janus felt like he was in heaven.

They got up and left. Janus slumped over on the bench. His heart was going crazy. They knew. They knew and now they wanted to hang out alone with him. He turned to you. His eyes were wide and panicked.

Janus: “W-what am I supposed to do? I don’t know any good hang out plans! Do you know any??? I’m- this is all- how did they even know I like them! Oh I’m sounding like an overdramatic 13 year old.....This totally isn’t really overwhelming. I would hate getting Logan cuddles right now!”

#thanks for the ask!!#im sorry these keep getting longer #i really do try to cut them down #dukeceit #demus #janus sanders #remus sanders #remy sanders #mini fic #sanders sides #desleep #desleepmus #dukeceitsleep

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neotericbitch · 3 years

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something very unpolished but i know i cannot do any more with it, so here

When Valkyrie came down for breakfast, Skulduggery was sitting at the dining table reading the newspaper. He also had his phone out and open, playing a radio broadcast that she didn’t get time to identify before he turned it down and then off to accommodate her morning routine. Xena was already there with him but being an early bird didn’t seem to be catching her many worms, and she sat under the table with her head resting woefully on Skulduggery’s knee.

Things were normal.

He said, “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“How are you?”

“Yeah, alright. Slept through, mostly. I know I was having weird dreams but I don’t remember what about.”

“Nothing to call the doctor over.”

She smiled. “No.”

Minutes passed.

Skulduggery then asked, without looking up from the paper, “And how are the Faceless Ones feeling today?”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “Fine, I imagine.”

He looked up now. “You imagine?”

“What, you think we’re chatting all day every day or something?”

“Oh,” with a jump to his voice. “Forgive my presumption. I just thought, with them being your new best friends and all…” He turned his wrist somewhat dismissively like it ain’t no thang and returned to the newspaper.

In a light tone that indicated she didn’t feel she really needed to say this, she said, “You’re my best friend.”

“Hm.” He turned the page. “That mustn’t net you a lot of points.”

“They don’t mind.” Trying to be jovial, “You’re on the safe list.”

“Ah, so they do talk about me. Do they have anything interesting to say? If it’s anything negative I fully expect you to take my side.”

“All the time.”

“Defend my good name,” he went on.

“Yeah.”

“But don’t fret about my feelings. If they have anything to say, even if it will upset me terribly, you must pass on the message.”

“No prob.”

“And if I–”

She held out her hand. “Let me stop you there.”

“Yes?”

“I just want you to stop.”

“Oh.”

Valkyrie ate her breakfast. Skulduggery sat there looking at her. It was quiet but for Xena repositioning over to Valkyrie’s end of the table, occasionally thumping her tail against the floor in the vain hope for a crumb.

“I don’t think that–”

“I wish you wouldn’t–“

They both stopped. Skulduggery offered his hand.

“Go on.”

Valkyrie considered it but shook her head. “No, you go. Could be an apology.”

He said nothing for a moment. “It’s not.”

“Okay, then I’ll say my thing. I just want to sit here and eat my toast and have a nice quiet morning, and you’re over there being a dick for no reason.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Bloody… Asking about the Faceless Ones for no reason, talking to me like I’m conspiring with them, like they’re here right now. Or like I’m bugged, like I’m different and bad, and I’m just sick of it.” Valkyrie put her hands flat on the table. “It reminds me of Darquesse and...that.”

“Right,” said Skulduggery. “And what was that, would you remind me? You forged ahead thinking you had it under control and then…?”

“Yo.” She scoffed and stood, pointing an accusing finger. “I get that you’re feeling threatened so you’re lashing out, but I don’t appreciate it and I don’t have to put up with it. Not while I’ve got the embrace of the Faceless Ones, turning me evil as you like to think.”

She got up and went out, only stopping before the doorway to turn her head back and announce, “And they don’t have shit to say about you, because you’re irrelevant. Because they’re here already, they won, so who cares about you?”

Very shortly afterwards he found her sitting on the back step. He sat down beside her and she said feebly, “I care. Of course I do. I love you but it hurts that you’re not accepting reality. The Faceless Ones are here and that’s that, there’s nothing wrong. They don’t hurt me and they don’t want to make me do anything. I can just love them.”

“Can they love you back?”

Frustratedly, “Yes.”

“Are there any here now?”

Valkyrie stopped. Checked around. Looked at him. “Nope.” Gave a squint and a faint smile, like issuing a challenge. “Think you can convince me to snap out of it because of that?”

“I was hoping so.”

The smile bloomed into a grin and she wiped the heel of her palm across her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I suppose I am.”

“Look, I’m sorry for yelling and everything. But it just, it hurts when you act like that, you know?”

“I know. And I’m sorry for what I said, it was cruel. You’ve always tried to do what you think is best and that’s something to be admired, not shamed.”

“Thanks. Not such a blasphemous heathen after all.”

Skulduggery took her hands into his and gave them a squeeze. “I don’t follow them, but I’ll always follow you. Even while you’re following them.” After a pause, he set them down on her knees. “Which is still going in their direction, but that’s not important.”

“Well, whatever, directions don’t matter anyway. Cause it’s really just you and me, no one in between,” Valkyrie said. “Not even gods.”

“Until the end.”

“And when I say just, I mean that in a healthy way, like, not as in an abusive ‘no one else would have you’ way.”

“No, of course not.”

“In a way that means like, we’re totally together, through thick and thin, no matter what, including saying mean things and having relationships with third parties.”

“Thank you for clarifying even though I obviously knew that was what you meant.”

She smiled and kissed him. He put his arms around her. They stayed happily like that for a minute, then Valkyrie saw something behind Skulduggery.

“Oh shit.” She ducked her head in embarrassment. “There’s one coming over.”

Skulduggery turned even though he knew he wasn’t going to see anything.

“Christ, it’s coming right this way.”

“Do you think it saw?” He leaned into her ear and murmured conspiratorially, “Do you think it’s heading over to scold you for kissing the irrelevant skeleton?”

“No,” Valkyrie said but clearly doubted it.

“This might be it. The moment where you must make the ultimate decision. You can no longer have both, Valkyrie. It’s going to ask you to choose. Them or me, what’s it going to be?”

She shoved him, giggling and trying to be very serious at the same time. “Shush!”

She looked up into the sky for a time, struggling to keep a straight face as she paid attention to whatever it was being brought to her. Skulduggery poked her in the ribs and pinched her and generally did not offer any acknowledgement or respect to the Faceless One. But he could feel it. It was there. A heavy presence that knew not the fine art of humour, and most certainly didn’t know love either. It put an ache in his bones.

Skuldugggery was down in the basement with Cadaver later.

“Now, if you want my advice–“

“I don’t.”

“When your significant other finds religion��“

“Be quiet.”

“It’s often helpful to do the same. I can give you some recommendations if you like. The Viddu De are growing in popularity, from what I hear. Oh yes, lots to hear about them.”

“I'm also hearing things.”

“Is it me still talking after you told me to stop? Your predictability has grown stale, surprise me for once.”

“Actually I really was going to tell you what I’ve been hearing about them. Maybe even from them. I think I’m beginning down the road you’re on, Cadaver.”

“I’ll give you credit for the effort but I know the ending to this one, too. I’m supposed to gormlessly say really so you can say no and tell me to be quiet again. You may be on the road but you are many steps behind. Now this is the part where you try to outwit me again.”

“Actually this is the part where I take your head off,” said Skulduggery, and did so, and put it in a thick trunk so he didn’t have to listen to Cadaver complain.

#sometimes you just feel out a concept and leave it and that's what this is. i'd like to share it if that's ok #i've got some pages of something else that's similar but not really but also yes that i might work more on or might not

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amillionsmiles · 4 years

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get myself together, spend you all of my money (Ellie/Aster)

Title: get myself together, spend you all of my money Summary: “You’d think going to college out of town would have knocked us both down a peg, but instead we ended up pretty pretentious.” / or: Ellie, Aster, and an apartment full of things. A/N: written while listening to Mitski’s cover of “Let’s Get Married” on loop.

[Read and review here] or continue under the cut.

Ellie finds Aster Flores again on a Sunday.

So far, the NYC Sublets & Apartments Facebook group has yielded more duds than leads, but she scrolls down and suddenly, there: a corner of Squahamish, waving at her from the screen.

LOOKING FOR: Room to rent, ideally available by August. Recently graduated from art school, so that gives you a sense of my budget, but I’m tidy, respectful, and play well with cats. Any PMs with leads appreciated!

The profile picture isn’t anything new; Ellie’s pretty sure she scrolled past it and liked it a few weeks ago during the influx of everyone’s graduation photo updates. Aster’s looking over her shoulder at the camera, the quiet joke that always seemed to hide in her eyes in high school now more pronounced. It’s a good picture, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, and that’s the only reason her heartrate picks up when she hovers over Aster’s name to click Message.

She takes a swig from her iced cappuccino and starts to type.

Hey! Long time, less conversation. Haven’t been to church in a minute, but I remember there being a Bible verse saying something about “two are better than one,” and I’m pretty sure that also applies to apartment-hunting. If that seems like something you’d be interested in, let me know.

Before she can think twice about it, she hits enter.

They move in together in July, when the summer heat turns the air liquid and the acrid smell of molten trash bags wafts from the street. For a second, Ellie misses the Pacific Northwest: the greenish tint of light filtered through leaves, the way she could disappear to a nearby watering hole for respite. Even the mudding that Trig and his friends did now seems appealing—on the stairwell, she fantasizes about the cool shock of it against her skin.

“Hey, Ellie?”

Ellie turns from where she’s been sitting on the top step to see that Aster’s finally gotten the door open. Rocking to her feet, she pushes the cardboard box across the floor, stepping inside to get a look at where they’ll be living for the next year.

The first room is spacious, combining a kitchen area with what can become a living room, once they buy a couch. Trailing her fingers along the wall, Ellie wanders into the other bedroom, then tests the lights in the bathroom. She comes back to find Aster eyeing the ceiling, a hammer pulled from her belongings.

“What are you doing?”

“Here.” Aster beckons her closer. “I’m thinking that this space is big enough that if we hang a curtain, part of it can be my room.”

“Oh.” Ellie hadn’t put much thought into it when they’d signed the lease, assuming they’d share the back room, like a college one-room double situation. It seems naïve, now; they’re adults, of course Aster would want her own space. “It doesn’t have to be yours, though. I mean—we can flip a coin or something, to make it fairer.”

Aster shrugs. “I don’t mind. Besides, the back room is more muffled—I’m less likely to hear you clacking your typewriter this way.” She smiles, the two of them both glancing to where Ellie’s Smith Corona peeks out from its bubble wrap packaging, the pale blue paint gleaming in the sunlight.

“It was my mom’s,” Ellie explains, her own memory fond against her lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I always wanted to hear more about her, after that time at the spring.”

“She was fun.” The words take her back to Ping-Pong, Paul’s paddle thwacking the ball against the wall.

“As fun as you are?”

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Am I fun?”

Aster pushes a sweaty lock of hair behind her ear. Overhead, the air conditioning hums.

“Guess we have plenty of time to find out, heathen.”

“Saw is not the greatest horror movie of our generation.”

“It is!” protests Aster, sitting next to her on the couch. Waxy cartons from the Georgian restaurant Aster waitresses at litter the table, and Ellie licks her fingers clean of the buttery residue from the kubdari—mm, delicious—as she leans back, waiting for Aster to continue.

“Ignore the sequels. But on its own, it’s this brilliant little clockwork machine of the lengths people will go to when they think they’ve got no time left. And the reveal at the end? I heard you gasp.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but a lot of the rest of it feels like torture porn.”

Aster rolls her eyes. “No one watches a horror movie for the butterflies.”

“Except you, apparently,” Ellie points out, because this is a thing they do as roommates, now: watch movies and then discuss them over takeout. So far, they’ve tended toward foreign cinema, art-house, and horror. The last genre is the one Aster engages with most fervently. However, Ellie has started to suspect that Aster can turn nearly anything into a debate, perhaps a side effect of all the time she spent wrestling with God in her head during sermons.

“Whatever. I just don’t think you’re giving it the credit it deserves for how well it feeds on the psyches of all the characters.”

“Cupid and Psyche,” Ellie thinks aloud. “Now there’s a story we could talk about.”

Crinkling her nose, Aster says, “We get it, you read literature.”

“So do you,” says Ellie, nudging her foot. “You’re just as big a nerd as I am.”

At that, Aster laughs, tilting her head back. It makes the column of her throat into the soft marble of a Canova statue.

“You’d think going to college out of town would have knocked us both down a peg, but instead we ended up pretty pretentious.”

Looking around their apartment, Ellie has to agree. There are too many stacks of books lying around, various papers jutting out of them as placeholders so she can flip to the passages she needs when writing essays. Aster keeps bringing back abstract art prints from the showcases she attends. In the corner, there’s a ficus that Ellie took home from work out of guilt (she’d been the only one in the office watering it) which they’ve named Walter Benjamin.

“I kind of like it, though.”

Aster turns to her, cheek pressing against the fabric of the couch. Her gaze is a paperweight: glassy and clear and heavy with something Ellie can’t quite name. “I’m not complaining, either.”

Before college, Ellie had considered herself a morning person, simply because she had no reason to be otherwise. Waking up to signal the trains each morning became part of her biorhythm, as natural and unremarkable as her middle part or her thermal underwear. At Grinnell, though, she’d discovered the guilty joy of sleeping in. The downside has been that her body now relies on coffee to function before 10 AM on the weekends.

“Don’t drink that,” says Aster, whisking the tin away from Ellie’s grasp. “I’ve been using it to wash off my brushes.”

Groggily, Ellie leans against the counter, watching Aster bend over the canvas on the kitchen table. She must have been at it for a while—a good third of it is filled in, streaked with purples and browns. After dabbing at a corner, Aster blows a strand of hair out of her face and straightens, reaching to adjust her messy bun.

Ellie squints. “Have you always had that?”

Pausing, Aster feels along the shaved part of her hair, tracing the chevron indented in it. “The undercut? Yeah. A girlfriend did it for me senior year, before we went our separate ways.”

A spike akin to a dose of caffeine shoots through Ellie. She stands a bit taller. “A girlfriend like a girl…?” she trails off, clearing her throat. “Or. A friend.”

The corner of Aster’s mouth twitches. “The first one.”

“Oh. Um.” Ellie swallows. “That’s nice.”

Aster picks up another paintbrush, twirling it between her fingers before deciding against it and setting it back down. When she meets Ellie’s eyes again, the look behind them is bare, vulnerable.

“I haven’t told my parents, though.”

“Is that why you don’t go back to Squahamish?”

Aster’s lips part slightly. “You noticed?”

“The first summer, yeah,” Ellie admits. “After that, I wasn’t around much either. Internships and stuff, you know.”

“And relationships?”

“Some of those, too.”

“Did you seduce all of them wearing flannel?” Aster asks, nodding to the oversized checkered shirt Ellie favors as pajamas. For a second, Ellie just gapes, taken aback by being so thoroughly called out.

“You’re the one with an undercut. Don’t talk to me about queer signaling.”

Aster laughs. It suddenly becomes very important that Ellie turn around and start the coffee machine, right now.

“I like seeing you with your hair down, though,” comes Aster’s voice, drifting over the sound of water straining into a pot.

“—And then I thought, what if it’s a temperature thing?” finishes Paul, his face ruddy and proud through the screen. Sensing an opening, Ellie stops worrying the inside of her mouth.

“Did you know Aster likes girls? Like, officially?” Almost immediately, she cringes from how juvenile her delivery makes her sound.

Paul doesn’t so much as twitch. “Uh, yeah. It’s come up once or twice.”

“Wait, she’s talked about it with you?” Ellie sits up on her mattress. Since when were Paul and Aster confidantes?

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t say anything, it’s just I read all this stuff about not outing people before they were ready, and I figured if it was important enough to her she’d let you know eventually. Uh, Ellie, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Blinking rapidly, Ellie fights the surge of affection threatening to overtake her. Stupid Paul, making her stupidly proud to have him as a best friend.

“Do you—er. Do you think you might like her?”

“Oh, god, no. And I mean it for real this time,” she says, meeting Paul’s skeptical look. Part of it is pride—it seems like character regression, to return to the source of her teenage fantasies when she’s learned so much about herself since then. “It’s just nice to have a friend who gets both parts of it, you know? The being queer and being from Squahamish.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Hey, do you guys want a batch of these sausages when I finish tinkering with the recipe? It takes two days to ship cross-country, I checked.”

Ellie laughs. “Yeah, Munsky, send them our way.”

Ellie wets the edges of the dough tucked in her palm, working from the outside in as she crimps the dumpling and places it on a plate. Across from her, Aster works with similar dexterity, a pink sliver of tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration.

“You’re good at this.”

Aster sets aside another dumpling, using two fingers to scoop a mound of dough from the bowl between them. “Yeah, I helped my mom a lot with her empanadas, growing up.”

“Say you had kids,” Ellie starts. “What’s one thing you’d teach them, before they turned thirteen?”

Aster considers. “Long division. Except I’d have to get someone else to teach them, because I’m terrible at math.”

“Really?”

“Really. Do you ever think about how smart people have been, to invent the concept of infinity and the concept of zero?”

“Mm. And where would you put the idea of God on that scale?”

“Like, a solid fifty,” says Aster, flicking water at her face.

In November, Ellie publishes a short story in the New Yorker, which Aster crows about for a solid week.

“Aster, oh my god, you’re being embarrassing,” she says upon walking into the kitchen and finding her story printed in full, each sheet pinned to the refrigerator door with a bright red magnet.

“You should be proud,” Aster insists.

Paul calls her to discuss it. “Me and your dad read it. I thought it was really good. Are you working on more stuff?”

“Slow your roll, Munsky.” Ellie laughs. “I’m not as prolific as you are, dreaming up new sausage combinations every day.”

Off-camera, the staticky sound of a TV and a faint Ellie? sounds.

“Here, Mr. Chu.” Paul passes the phone to her dad, who is wrapped in his usual robe. The lines by his eyes relax when he sees her face.

“How are you?” she asks in Mandarin. “Are you keeping warm?”

“You should be worried about yourself—it’s colder where you are,” her dad replies. “Paul’s good about keeping me company. He read your piece to me three times. The scene with the swing set, and the little girl…” He switches to English. “Best part. Your mom would be proud.”

“Thanks, Ba,” says Ellie, voice thick. She goes to bed that night and dreams of being sandwiched between her mom and dad, dancing in the living room.

She and Aster host a small get-together in December. They put a Santa hat on Walter Benjamin and get everyone drunk on mulled wine until the party devolves into a caroling session, Aster’s friend James competing with Ellie’s friend Larissa to see who can belt “O Holy Night” louder. Afterwards, she and Aster sprawl on Aster’s mattress, limbs loosened from a successful night. The string lights Aster wound through the curtains as decoration for the party flicker, casting the room a soft gold.

“Would you ever get a tattoo?” Ellie asks. It’s been on her mind ever since she noticed the olive branch inked above Larissa’s collarbone. She’s wary of the pain, though.

Beside her, Aster shifts, arm pressing against hers. “I have one, actually.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah.” She props herself up on an elbow, pulling her shirt up to reveal a cluster of flowers just below her rib.

Tracing the lines with her eyes, Ellie asks, “What kind of flowers are they?”

“Asters.”

“You’re joking.”

Aster looks straight back at her. “I’m 100% serious.”

“Isn’t that a bit too on the nose?” Ellie studies the tattoo again and then snorts, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it.” The wine must still be in her system, because the fuzziness of a laugh flushes through her body.

“What?” Aster seems miffed. “Ellie, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I’m just— You were so reserved before, and now you’ve got an undercut and a tattoo and. Do you remember— there was that day when Jenny Newman brought in that pink scarf and you all walked down the hallway like something out of a Clique movie, it was ridiculous. I can’t believe I had a crush on you. Oh my god.”

“Stop.” Aster shoves her shoulder, but she’s laughing, too. “Don’t remind me. God. God! What a terrible color, it didn’t match my outfit at all.”

“But it’s okay, because now you’re Aster Flores, hardcore.”

“Well, what about you, Ellie Chu?”

“What what about me?”

Aster sits up. “You’re walking into a tattoo parlor right now. What do you decide to get, and where?”

“Persimmons,” Ellie says, before even fully conceiving the thought. “On my… right shoulder.”

“All right.” Aster gets up and feels around her desk; the next thing Ellie knows, she’s kneeling before her on the mattress, a fine-tipped pen in hand. “I’ll draw it for you.”

“Okay.” Slowly, Ellie sits up, tugging the collar of her shirt down as far as it’ll go to expose the skin needed for Aster’s canvas. The first touch tickles; she tries to hold herself as still as possible while Aster draws, ink flowing in thin lines. She considers watching the process, but it makes her go cross-eyed and dizzy, so she closes her eyes instead and feels: the smoothness of a persimmon skin, the shine of their texture, the sweet crunch of a fruit just barely ripened.

“Done,” Aster whispers, and Ellie leans closer to catch it. It feels like they’re in a confessional booth. Aster caps the pen and bites her lip, but she doesn’t move away.

“Ellie—” Her breath smells of cinnamon and cloves. Like the sharpest part of the forest, like all things good and lovely and too fragile to want.

“I should go to bed,” Ellie says, and it takes every ounce of strength she has to extract herself, to stumble back to her room and sit against the closed door, shaking.

“Ellie? Ellie, pick up the phone. It’s about your dad. It’s not—super critical, or anything, but I still think—uh. Just… call me back as soon as you can.”

Her carry-on is by the door and she’s set to leave for the airport in an hour. When Aster finds her, she’s cutting and skinning apples in the kitchen—not even to eat, just to have something to do with her hands.

Silently, Aster pulls out some bread, cream cheese, and salmon. When she’s done with the sandwich, she slips it into a plastic bag and holds it out to Ellie.

“For the plane ride.”

“Thanks.” Ellie sets down the knife and goes to put the sandwich away in her backpack. She zips it up.

“Would you come with me, if I asked?”

By the sink, Aster is quiet. Ellie thinks of that awful moment in the ping pong room, when she’d thought Paul had caught on to her.

“You know what, never mind.”

“If I go with you, I’m going to want to be with you.” Aster looks down at her hands as she says it; it’s the first time she’s seemed uncertain in a while. Ellie soaks in the confession, turning it over in her head. It’s brave. It’s honest.

It’s not enough.

“I just.” Aster shrugs, helpless. “I’m not ready for that conversation, yet. With them. For the fallout of what the worst could be.”

Pick me, her heart throbs, selfishly. Pick me pick me pickme. She is a train leaving the station, hoping for someone to catch her. But no time to wait; her dad needs her.

“Take care, Aster,” she says, shrugging her backpack over her shoulder. Aster’s face crumples like snow. Ellie tries not to look back.

The hospital discharges her dad after a week. Ellie stays for another two, making sure his cough is gone and all the mucus has loosened from his chest. When he regains enough energy to start fighting back against her fussing, she recruits Paul to make sure he drinks enough fluids every day.

“Pneumonia,” she scolds at the doorway, shaking her head. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

“Ch,” her dad says. “You want to talk about scared? How about that time when you were seven and fell off the monkey bars? Nearly cracked your head open.”

Paul looks between them, bewildered. “Okay, Mr. Chu, I’ve gotta get Ellie to the airport. There’s still ice on the roads so driving will be slower than usual.”

In the car, Ellie holds her hands to the heat, touching the pads of her fingertips to each other.

“Do you like it better out east?”

Ellie tilts her head. “City life is different, that’s for sure. It feels freer and lonelier. Not as many people paying attention to you, so you can be anything you want to be. But also: not as many people paying attention to you.”

“Hm, I get that. Like being at my house versus being at yours.”

“You’re saying that the Munskys are New York City and me and my dad are Squahamish?”

“Never mind. I guess my house has all the people New York has, but they’re all jumping down your throat instead of passing you by.”

Ellie laughs. “You love it, though.”

Across the dash, Paul smiles at her. “Yeah, I do.”

“You wouldn’t consider the Midwest? It’d be a happy medium.”

“I did like Iowa, when I visited you.”

“Chicago, then,” Ellie proposes. “In five years. People there buy lots of hot dogs—it’d be good business.”

“I’ll think about it,” Paul promises, pulling up to the curb. He gets out to help with her suitcase, wrapping her in a warm hug. Ellie buries her nose into the center of his chest and inhales. She wonders if it's possible to absorb his courage through her lungs.

“Paul?” she asks, when he starts to pull away. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyes are bright with concern. “Of course.”

“If you loved someone, and they loved you back in the same way, but they said you couldn’t be together, what would you do?”

“Well, I’d ask myself: when I picture being with that person, what does it really look like? Is it okay if the image doesn’t exactly match up? Because then I’d hold on.”

“Never Let Me Go.”

“What?”

“It’s another Kazuo Ishiguro book,” says Ellie, smiling. “You should read it if you get the time.”

“All right, boss,” says Paul, mock-saluting her. “Now go catch your flight.”

It’s past midnight when she gets back to the apartment, careful not to make too much noise as she slips past Aster’s room and into her bed. Her head is about to hit the pillow when her phone screen lights up, casting her as a glaring shadow against the bedroom wall.

Aster: Hey, heard you come in. Is your dad okay?

Yeah. I sentenced him to house arrest for the month, with Paul as guard dog.

Aster: All right, Foucault. Discipline & Punish. Aster: I’m glad he’s better, though.

Thanks. Did you miss me much?

Aster: Well, I realized that the cookies disappear at a much slower rate when you’re not around. :P

It’s strange to be talking like this when they’re separated by only a hallway, when for the past six months they’ve seen each other face-to-face every day. And yet, in some ways it’s easier: the crackle of electricity, the dots appearing, then fading, then appearing again.

Aster: Can you come into the hall? Aster: There’s something I want to say.

Ellie sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Gently, she cracks open the door to see Aster leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom. Her hair is tangled. She looks beautiful.

“Hey.”

Sliding down to the floor, Aster gestures to the spot opposite her. “Sit.”

Dutifully, Ellie obeys, bringing her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them. The hallway is so narrow that her toes end up tucked under Aster’s legs, crisscrossed in front of her.

“I’ve been thinking about what I said to you right before you left,” says Aster. “And I did some more thinking while I was here alone. And the thing is, I don’t want to be all or nothing with you. I want us to be—something. And I’m wondering if you could be okay with that. If we could take it little by little, and just figure it out as it comes. If you’re willing to wait.”

“Yeah.” Ellie swallows. “We can do that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Nodding, Ellie starts to rise, but Aster gets a determined look in her eyes and suddenly she’s swooping forward, the scent of her hair—vanilla and violets—swinging around them, her hand cupping Ellie’s cheek and her mouth a bright star against Ellie’s, striking deep as a hymn into her bones. Ellie counts to five before opening her eyes, and when she speaks, her voice is hoarse.

“I thought you wanted me to wait.”

“Guess I’m bad at following my own rules,” Aster says, and grins.

#the half of it #ellie chu #aster flores #ellie x aster #my writing #fanfiction #ff: the half of it

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sa-gt-tarrius · 4 years

Text

The Violet Forest [Secret Santa gift]

Warnings: Sympathetic Remus, characters being SO RUDE to each other, lots of arguing

Alchemy can’t solve everything, but maybe friendship can. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Logan certainly thinks so.

@oxylillikay I’m sorry about the wait! I didn’t mean for this to take so long, but I got carried away again SOBBB ;v;

Oh oh and I gotta tag @secret-sanders-sized. Whoopsie doopsie

***

The Kingdom of Sanders Isle was known for a variety of things. It was known for its stunning landscapes, remarkable architecture, and lively culture. But most importantly, the kingdom was known for its kind and wise monarch, Prince Roman. The people of Sanders Isle were prosperous under his rule—no kingdom anywhere in the world could compare.

However, the kingdom was also home to the infamous Violet Forest. It’s been said that the creatures lurking in this forest were harbingers of evil, using dark magic to achieve their wicked ends. People warned their children far and wide not to venture too far into the wood, lest they vanish without a trace.

The kingdom had good reason to be afraid of the Violet Forest, especially after what happened to their prince.

Anyone in the Sanders kingdom could tell you what happened on the fifth of March, one year ago. The prince ventured into the Violet Forest to search for a missing child. But many days passed and the prince never came home. Weeks after his disappearance, everyone was convinced that Roman was gone for good. Some were calling for his brother Remus to take over the throne. Others were ready to move. The whole kingdom was in a state of hysteria.

But then, as quickly as he disappeared, Roman returned. The missing child was at his side, unharmed.

They deemed Roman a hero for braving the magic woods for the sake of a peasant child. But the prince never spoke of his mysterious disappearance. Questions about what awful creatures he encountered and why he was keeping the details a secret plagued every meeting and interview. But no one got any answers out of him. The child insisted that he fought a dragon, but Roman didn’t address the claim at all.

Eventually, the people stopped asking questions. Life resumed, the subjects fell into an eerie state of normalcy, and Prince Roman continued to rule as before. Only now, Roman had become much more withdrawn, never stepping foot outside his castle. He barely spoke or slept, leaving his staff concerned and his eyes droopy.

It was under these circumstances that Logan Cerebrus was summoned to the palace.

Logan was known far and wide as a skilled alchemist of the strangest calibre. Although the ability to perform magic was genetically determined, alchemy in of itself was a skill that anyone could learn. However, without the aid of inborn magic, alchemy is exceedingly difficult to learn, let alone master. Logan was the first (and so far, only) non-magical being to master the art of alchemy. He’d even taught himself to top it all off. Logan was gifted—no one would deny that.

As for why Logan was called to the castle, he had no clue. He’d received a letter in the mail from Prince Remus, Duke of Schwarz, requesting a private meeting in the castle. The guards by the drawbridge were shocked to see such a letter, but there was no mistaking the signature at the bottom of the page. With some hesitance, the guards escorted Logan to the gathering room.

“Ah, here he is!” Remus sang, outstretching his arms as Logan arrived. “Mr. Cerebrus himself!”

“Greetings, Your Grace.” Remembering his manners, Logan lowered himself to his knee and kept his head down. Remus pulled him off the floor roughly, shooting the alchemist a lopsided grin. Logan hesitantly smiled back. “You summoned me?”

“I did, didn’t I?” Remus chuckled, slapping an arm around Logan’s back. Logan didn’t so much as flinch—he was used to Remus by now, having visited the castle so much in the past. “See, I was tempted to summon you just to get you out of that musty lab for a while.” The duke laughed, but his smile fell. “We used to have so much fun together.”

Logan nodded, his expression unchanging. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Oh my god,” Remus spat, hanging limply off Logan’s shoulder while kicking his leg into the air. “Throw me a bone here! Like a femur, or your tibia! Something!”

“I’m… not sure I follow.”

Remus exhaled in exasperation, letting go of Logan to resume a proper stance. “Nevermind,” he muttered. “I need your help, Logan. It’s a matter of utmost importance. And… it has to do with my brother.”

“You mean Roman?” Logan shifted uncomfortably. “Your Grace, I don’t—”

“He’s not doing well,” Remus sighed. “He doesn’t eat or sleep. He never leaves his room anymore. I’ve tried getting him help, but he sends all the doctors away.”

Logan gazed at the ground absently. “What would you have me do?” he asked softly. “I’m no doctor. I’m just an alchemist.”

“But you’re also Roman’s friend, aren't you?”

A humourless chortle escaped Logan’s throat. “Maybe we were. But not anymore.”

It was true. Once upon a time, Logan and Roman had been inseparable. But in recent years, their relationship began to crumble, and the two saw each other less and less. It had been a few years since Logan and Roman had even seen each other, let alone had a friendly conversation. And the last time they met… well, suffice to say, it wasn’t a pleasant interaction.

Logan had been tempted time and time again to reach out and apologize, to rekindle their old friendship, but he always backed out before he could draft a letter. Roman didn’t seem eager to make amends either, so Logan gave up on trying to make things work. He’d focused on his studies instead of pursuing a long-dead companionship. They were better off on their own, anyway.

“I know you two have been on bad terms lately,” Remus said, pulling Logan from his thoughts, “but I have no other options here. I need you, buddy.”

Logan looked away, his heart growing heavy. “I don’t know how I could help… but I’ll do what I can.”

The duke smiled. “Thank you, Logan. Truly.” Remus patted Logan’s shoulder much more gently than usual, shambling towards a side door with a grim disposition. His body was halfway outside when his head swivelled around. “Well… you know where Roman’s room is. Good luck.” With that, the door was closed with a soft click, and he left Logan alone.

Well, better get this over with.

Logan went slowly, making his way up the winding stairs with a scuff in his step. He knew the way to Roman’s quarters by heart, although it had been a long time since he’d ever walked down the long hallways leading there. How would Roman feel about him suddenly showing up at his bedroom door? Especially when his brother sent him? Remus might as well have called more doctors. There was no way Roman would open the door for Logan.

The trek to Roman’s room went by far too quickly. Logan’s hand hesitated at the golden lion-shaped knocker. It was late at night—the prince was probably asleep by now. As if dealing with Roman wasn’t bad enough already. The alchemist exhaled and rapped thrice on the door, praying that no one would answer.

And at first, no one did. Logan stood by the door patiently, but no one came to open it.

But then, just as Logan was prepared to leave, a familiar voice spoke up from behind the gold-crested mahogany. “Remus? Is that you?”

“Ah… No.” Logan coughed awkwardly. “It’s just me.”

“...Oh.”

“...Yup.”

“Let me guess... you’re here because I’ve been acting up.”

“That’s… not entirely incorrect. I’m here because you’re unwell, apparently.”

“Right, got it,” Roman sneered. “Listen, wiz-nerd, I appreciate you coming by or whatever—but I’m a little busy right now. So if you’d just leave me alone, that would be so, so lovely. Thank you, love you lots.”

Logan huffed, unimpressed with the sarcastic tone and the demeaning nickname. “Nice one. And no, I’m not leaving. Remus asked me to help, and I don’t plan on disobeying my prince.”

“Remus sent you?” Roman sounded genuinely surprised. “I didn’t think he…” Groaning, Roman cut himself off. “Whatever! As your crown prince AND as your absolute ruler, I order you to hit the road!”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Logan replied, reaching for the door handle, “just as soon as I’m done here. I don’t plan on making Remus upset with me.”

A startled gasp sounded from within the bedroom. “Wait, no! Don’t—”

The door slid open with an eerie creak. Logan cautiously slipped into the room, the door falling shut behind him. “Roman?” Logan called, annoyed to see the room so dark and unlit. The only source of light was that of the fireplace on the other side of the room. “God, you’re so dramatic,” the alchemist murmured. “Get a lantern on in here.”

As Logan fumbled through his bag for his handheld lantern, he waited for an insult or an offhand comment. But Roman remained silent. In fact, once the light of the lantern illuminated the room more, Logan quickly realized that Roman wasn’t even in the room. Wasn’t he just here, talking to Logan through the closed door? And now the room was empty… how strange.

However, out of the corner of his eye, Logan spotted someone—something—scurrying across the bed.

Logan let out a surprised cry, nearly dropping the lantern in his fright. What WAS that thing? It certainly wasn’t a rat, not with the way it scuttled about on two tiny legs. Thinking quickly, Logan set the lantern down and leapt forward, pinning the thing down with cupped hands. Now Logan was sprawled on the prince’s bed, wrangling a small creature of unknown origin.

And then suddenly, to Logan’s shock, it spoke. “Let me go, you gigantic oaf!”

“Wait, what?” Logan lifted his hands, peering curiously at the tiny figure sprawled out on his palms. It was hard to see its features in the dim light, but there was no mistaking that iconic voice. “Roman? Is that you?”

“Who do you think?!” Roman cried, absolutely exasperated. The prince struggled to sit up straight in Logan’s hands. “What makes you think you can just grab me like a heathen? I am ROYALTY!”

Logan blinked, taken aback. “That’s… not what heathen means.” He meant to ask why Roman was so small, or why he was running away, it why the room was so dark. But all Logan could focus on was Roman’s last comment.

Roman scoffed loudly enough for Logan to flinch. “Ah yes, that’s EXACTLY what we should focus on. Glad to see you have your priorities straight, wiz-turd.”

“You already used that one,” Logan murmured, although he wasn’t paying attention to Roman’s insults anymore. He had become completely captivated by the tiny person in his hands. His finger drifted beneath Roman’s chin, lifting it roughly to examine the miniature face. “What happened to you? You’re so small.”

Roman tried batting the offending finger away but failed miserably. “It’s a long story, and I’d rather not—hey, don’t touch me!” When Logan didn’t retract his finger, Roman resorted to screaming hysterically, writhing around in Logan’s grip. “Guards! Guards, arrest him!”

“Oh, relax,” Logan spat, taking a seat on Roman’s bed. The tiny man was dumped unceremoniously onto the blankets, causing him to stumble and fall flat on his face. “There. Now can you stop screaming like a child? You’re giving me even more of a headache than usual.”

“Oh, that’s rich… coming from the guy who isn’t the size of a MUG! I’d say I’ve been handling this quite well…” Roman crossed his arms, giving the larger man with the world's tiniest glare. “… At least I was until you GRABBED me!”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Logan countered. “You could have had a little more light on in here. Emphasis on little.”

“Little,” Roman repeated incredulously, raising an eyebrow. “...Noooo, you know what? I’m the bigger person here. I’m gonna let that slide.”

“Actually, you’re the smaller—”

“SHUT IT, BEANPOLE!!”

Logan’s hands went up defensively. “Whoa whoa whoa, okay. So sorry, your majesty.”

Roman looked about ready to tear Logan’s ears off. But then, slowly, his shoulders began to sag and his eyes fell to the floor. He looked… upset, and not in the usual seething, raging, Roman kind of way. “I was hoping this wouldn’t happen,” Roman sighed. “Especially not with you.”

Logan put his hands down. “What do you mean?”

“This. Me being this size. You weren’t supposed to see me like this.”

“Wait a minute…” Logan tried to make sense of his words. “Have you been this way for a while?”

“Since I went into that damned forest,” Roman grumbled. “I got into a spat with a dragonwitch. He cursed me for my hue-brit or whatever it’s called.”

“Hubris.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever… So now I’m stuck at this size every night. I don’t change back until the sun rises.” Roman looked defeated at this point. He stared into the fireplace, dangling his legs off the side of the bed. “I don’t want to tell anyone about it… I was supposed to be the hero who slew the dragon, not the loser who got cursed.”

But then, like a spark, his eyes lit up. He jumped to his feet in his excitement, almost falling onto the sheets again. “Wait a tick! You can fix this!”

Logan blinked. “Me? How?”

“You know magic,” Roman explained, growing more and more excited by the minute. “You can change me back! You can break the curse!”

“Uhhh…” Logan hesitated. “I don’t deal with curses, Roman. I’m an alchemist, not a warlock.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I turn metal into gold. I don’t deal in witchcraft.”

“Come now, there has to be SOMETHING you can do,” Roman countered. “Do you have any idea what people will say if they find me like this? Or how I’m supposed to rule a kingdom when I can’t even reach my throne?”

“I see you haven’t changed much,” Logan huffed in reply, taking a seat on the floor to look Roman in the eye. He wasn’t keen on helping at all, but what choice did he have? Even if Roman couldn’t stop him from walking away, Remus certainly would. “I’ll… I’ll do what I can. Come here, I’ll see what I have in my bag.”

Roman squealed in delight, hopping gleefully into Logan’s palm. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he cried, holding onto Logan’s thumb for support as they made their way to Roman’s desk. “Truly… I’m in your debt.”

“Whatever,” Logan muttered. He set Roman on the desk—more carefully this time—and drew out his quill and paper. “So… tell me about this witch you met with.”

“Dragonwitch.”

Logan sighed. “Right. Tell me what he did exactly.”

Roman scratched his chin, recalling the event. “Well, I first found him while I was looking for a missing child,” he began, leaning on a nearby book. “I caught wind that he was holding a poor kid captive in her hut, so I swooped in for the rescue. But turns out the whole thing was a ruse. The kid was bait, and I fell for her trap.”

“So what did she do to you?”

“He cursed me. I told you that already.”

“I know, but could you recount what she said? Perhaps that could help us.”

Roman curled in on himself, darting his gaze away. “I don’t remember,” he grumbled.

“Hmm.” Logan hummed. He had a funny feeling that Roman wasn’t being truthful, but he’d focus on that later. “And then what happened? How did you get out of the forest?”

“The kid took me back to town himself,” Roman grumbled. “I’ve got the bruises to prove it, too.”

Logan winced at the mental image of Roman being manhandled like a doll. “Ouch.”

Roman shook his head, dismissing the remark. “So… can you help me?”

Biting his lip, Logan began fishing through his bag. He dumped various things onto the desk, searching for something of use. Pens, bags of powder, a flask, some books… Roman had retreated to the opposite side of the desk to avoid being pelted by a stray object. “Curses aren’t my department,” Logan commented, still running his hands through the leather sack, “but I should have something to help. No promises, though... Aha!” The alchemist lit up immediately, pulling a small satchel into the open. He set it next to his flask, along with a small burner, matches, a feather, and a leaf of some kind. “This could work.”

Roman peered curiously at the assortment of ingredients. “What is it?”

“It’s a potion for remedying jinxes,” Logan explained. “A curse is different—far more powerful—but maybe this can help anyway. It’s worth a try, at least.” Logan carefully set the flask onto the burner, lighting a flame beneath it. “Give me a little bit. I’ll try to strengthen the formula to adjust for curses.”

“Very well.” Roman flung himself onto the book he was leaning on, opting to lie down on it instead. Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, instead choosing to focus on his work. He began delicately plucking the fibres from the feather, sorting them into neat piles based on colour. But as he worked, Roman’s complaints gradually increased in volume. “I’ve seen snails work faster than you,” he whined. “Just stick the whole feather in!”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Logan snapped, turning away from his feather to glare at Roman. “Be patient. It’s only been five minutes.”

Roman pouted. “Look, you’d be impatient too if you were in my shoes. Just… hurry up! I can’t take this!”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Logan lied with a smirk. “And if you keep complaining, then I’ll…” He trailed off, his eyes landing on the desk drawer near his leg. “...Then I’ll stick you in the drawer.”

“Yeah, right,” Roman scoffed. He almost looked amused at Logan’s threat. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Logan cocked an eyebrow. “Keep it up and we’ll find out.”

At that, Roman seemed to sober up. The prince mumbled something rudely under his breath but didn’t complain any further. Logan sighed in relief, continuing the arduous task of sorting the feather fibres.

But then, mere moments later, Roman spoke again. “You missed a spot.”

“That’s it,” Logan growled, standing up suddenly. His hand bolted forward, squeezing Roman in a fist. Roman cried out—maybe from pain, maybe from surprise—as he was forcefully stuffed into the drawer by Logan’s foot, landing face-first in a stack of papers. “See how you like that, Your Highness!” And with that, the drawer was kicked shut, leaving Roman stunned in the darkness.

“Treason!” a muffled voice screeched. “I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon for this!”

“Good luck with that,” Logan snickered. Despite the stupidity of locking the ruling prince in a drawer, Logan embraced the sick sense of satisfaction washing over him. It felt good to stick it to the snob—he had it coming, anyway.

Once Roman’s incessant babbling was muted by the drawer, Logan was able to continue his brewing in peace. Eventually, the sounds of kicking and swearing died down, and by the time Logan finished pulling apart the feather, Roman had fallen completely silent.

When he finished plucking fibres, Logan snapped the base of the feather in half and dropped it into the flask. He sighed deeply, relieved to finally be finished with the hard part. The satchel was opened, and a fine powder poured into the flask, sparking as it fluttered down. Next, Logan tore the leaf in half and dropped both pieces in among the glitter and the feather base. And finally, Logan grabbed two pinches of the feather hair, one of each colour, and sprinkled it on top of the rest of the ingredients.

The flask lit up as it was set on the burner, and a small puff of smoke flew from the top. Logan smiled, pulling the desk drawer open much more slowly than he closed it. “Okay, Roman. It’s done.” But there was no reply. Logan bent over to peer into the drawer. Roman was huddled in the far corner, facing away from the oncoming light leaking in. “...Roman?”

“What?”

“I’m finished. Come out, we’ll give this a try.”

“You know what? I’m good. I’ll stay here.”

Logan chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the one who was so desperate to get back to normal, correct?”

“I—I mean... yes, but—” The nervous sputtering was cut off as an enormous hand snaked its way into the drawer, zeroing in on Roman. “Hey hey HEY, WATCH IT!” he hollered, scurrying around the hand. “I can get out by myself! Don’t—”

“I doubt it.” The hand snatched Roman with finality, eliciting another cry. Logan raised the tiny man out of the drawer and plopped him back onto the desk. “You couldn’t have climbed out if you tried.”

“If you hadn’t locked me in there, that wouldn’t have been a problem in the first place,” Roman snapped, springing to his feet.

Logan’s face darkened. “Well, if you weren’t such a nuisance, I wouldn’t have done that to you.”

“And maybe if YOU weren’t such an unfeeling, callous—” Roman trailed off, growing uncomfortably quiet. “I mean… if you weren’t a jerk. That’s what I meant.”

“Roman—”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Roman murmured softly, avoiding eye contact. “Just forget it.”

“...Fine.” They had bigger issues to focus on, anyway. But Logan knew that this conversation was far from over. “Come here. We’ll see how this works.”

“Fine by me.” Roman broke out of his stupor and sped over to Logan’s arm, standing patiently by the flask of simmering, sickly yellow liquid. “Let’s get this finished. I want to be normal as soon as possible.

Logan nodded in agreement, plucking the flask up and swirling the liquid around absently. “Indeed.” He paused, glancing between the flask and Roman. “Just remember,” he stated, “that I can’t promise success. There is a chance this will not work at all.”

Roman shrugged. “Just do it.”

“Very well.” With the precision of a seasoned alchemist, Logan tipped a few drops out of the flask and onto Roman’s head. The tiny prince sputtered, put off by the awful stench. “Just rub it diligently. It should start working soon.”

Roman complained under his breath but did as Logan instructed. His hands slid up and down his forearms, soaking the nasty liquid into his skin. Logan stood, gathering his materials and placing them into his bag. The colour of the potion was correct. And given Roman’s crumpled nose, the smell was correct too. With luck, the effects would kick in momentarily.

But by the time Logan had finished gathering his things and Roman was no longer dripping wet, the prince was still only a few inches tall. Roman glanced between himself and Logan in a state of turmoil. “It isn’t working.”

“Give it a minute,” Logan wavered, although they both knew that the potion, for some reason, was ineffective.

Overwhelming grief came over the prince. He fell to his knees, staring into the distance. “That’s it, then,” Roman whispered, burying his face into his hands. “I’m stuck like this. I’m doomed.”

Despite the bubbling of sympathy from within his chest, Logan couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Doomed is a strong word. I’m sure we can find some way to break this curse.”

“You can’t,” Roman snapped. “The curse is unbreakable.”

“Now, that’s ridiculous. Every curse has caveats and fine print. We just need to figure out how to break it.”

Roman stomped his foot angrily. “I already know how to break it!”

At that, Logan did a double-take, trying to process what Roman had just said. “...You know how to break the curse?”

Roman said nothing.

Logan leaned closer, scooping Roman off the desk. He was still sticky from the remnants of the potion. The prince yelped, backing away from Logan’s face, but found himself cornered by the alchemist’s fingers. “Roman,” Logan breathed, “tell me what the dragonwitch said when he cursed you.”

“I…” Roman gulped. “I—I don’t remember.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you lying to me? Don’t you want to get back to normal?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then say it. Now.”

Roman hesitated, choosing to look at Logan’s shirt instead of his eyes. “It was something like… The coward falls to kiss the ground, the king must grow into his crown… Something about roses, I think... For lifelong bonds confession makes, and only then this curse shall break.”

Logan scratched his chin with his free hand. Lifelong bonds? Confession? What kind of curse even was this? Frankly, Logan was baffled.

The lack of dialogue was making Roman visibly uncomfortable, so he spoke up. “I think… to break the curse… I have to admit a secret of mine. But I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to.”

The alchemist was still very confused. “So... you’d rather be stuck at this size every night?”

“Of course not,” Roman scoffed, flinching away from one of Logan’s prodding fingers. “It’s just that… I can’t… I can’t do it!”

“Sure you can. You simply say whatever this secret is and we’re done with it.” Logan was getting frustrated—he’d been here for hours, and now Roman finally admits that he knew how to break the curse the whole time. What a waste of a night. “We could have broken this curse ages ago, and you’re still being stubborn. I’d suggest spilling this stupid secret so we can both go back to hating each other.”

“Look, I just…” Roman trailed off, rubbing at his face in disbelief like he didn’t believe what he just heard. “Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“You want me to say it out loud? We… dislike each other, so to speak, but we’re choosing to be tactful about it. I’d like to return to a distant hatred before we end up fighting like children.”

Roman blinked. “I don’t like you? Since when?”

Logan rolled his eyes. He hated it when Roman played innocent. “Since you started insulting me? Calling me a nerd? Insinuating that I’ve wasted my life on my studies? Surely you remember that argument.”

“What?!” Roman looked downright offended. “I’ve always been in favour of you studying magic! If you’ll recall, I was the one to suggest it in the first place!”

“So why all the demeaning nicknames? Why the insults? Why do you still insist that you don’t hate me?!”

“That’s just how I show my love,” Roman exclaimed in his exasperation, not quite noticing what he had just said. “I thought you knew that I liked y—” As he heard the words coming from his mouth, he quickly clapped his hands over his mouth lest he say something else he regretted. “I—I mean… I…”

“You…” Logan bit his lip, struggling to form a sentence. “You’re… attracted to me?”

Roman whimpered. “N—no.”

“That’s literally what you said.”

“I said nothing!”

“You’re an awful liar,” Logan replied, but his tone wasn’t as harsh as his words would have you believe. He lowered his chin onto the desk, holding the small royal up to his eyes. “Be honest with me. Please.”

Roman flinched away from the piercing gaze. It had shattered his bravado—gone was the stubborn Prince Sanders, and here was the nervous and stuttering Roman, quivering in Logan’s palm. “I… I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

Logan’s gaze softened slightly. “Why didn’t you?”

“Cause you didn’t like me back. You never laughed at any of my jokes, you never wanted to be with me in public, a—and… you were so focused on your studying. I thought you hated me.”

“Far from it.” Logan curled his fingers tighter against Roman, trying to simulate a hug. “I don’t laugh at anyone’s jokes. It was never about you. And I never liked being with you in public because people kept swarming you for autographs.” Logan cringed inwardly at the memories of running from paparazzi. “As for the studying… I really can’t explain that.” Logan clenched his fist in frustration. How did he not realize Roman was feeling this way? “I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted. On the contrary—I rather enjoy your company.”

“You do?” Roman looked genuinely surprised. “Oh. Well… I like your company too, Logan.”

“We’ve established that, yes.”

“R—right.” The prince tentatively scratched his neck. As he did so, Logan blinked. Did Roman just get a little taller? If he looked closely, Logan could almost swear that Roman sprouted an inch or two. “Look, I get it if you don’t like me back. That’s why I never told you. I was fine with just being friends.” Roman huffed indignantly. “I was hoping to tell you on my own terms though, not because of a stupid curse.”

“That’s fair,” Logan said, watching in awe as Roman grew two, three, four more inches taller. Lifelong bonds confessions make. “Well, I rather like you too,” he said with some reluctance. He wasn’t even sure if it would work. “In a romantic sense, I mean.”

“Really?” Roman gasped, suddenly growing taller than Logan’s bag. The growth was much more rapid, and soon, Roman had reached the two-foot mark. “You’re not just saying that?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t lie to make you feel better. I just didn’t want to say anything because of the marrigae laws here. You can only marry royalty, right?”

“I plan on reversing that law soon.” Roman slipped off the desk, leaning on the chair for support. He was almost as tall as the desk now. “Wow, okay then... So, uh, what now? Are we... together?”

Logan grabbed Roman’s arm, sweeping him off the floor and placing him on the bed. He’d have to check for any side effects of the curse or the potion, but so far, Roman seemed just fine. Great, even. “I suppose so. Is that… satisfactory?”

The growing finally came to a halt, leaving Roman at his normal size. He grinned, grasping Logan in a tight hug. “Yes. That’s perfect.”

***

“I guess your potion was useless after all, huh, bore-cerer?”

“Don’t insult me. And regarding my potion, I... Wait. Are you… flirting with me?”

“...Oh, NOW you notice.”

71 notes · View notes

taesthetes · 5 years

Text

the duality of man.

Once again, soft boys with pretty smiles—specifically one named Park Jimin—will surely be the death of you.

pairing: park jimin x reader genre: fluff type: college au word count: 4,632 words warnings: none author’s note: based on a true story — except he was my marketing project partner and not on the dance team but we’re great buds now lmao i’m never gonna let him live this down

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Group projects are the worst. You would rather shove a cactus up your behind or rip out a dry tampon than partake in one of those again. Hell has places designated for professors who assign those grade crushers. However, there is an even more special spot reserved for the heathens who assign random students to a group.

Because here you are, sitting in the library and tapping the end of your pen against your notebook absentmindedly, as you wait for your group members to show up. Your friends all said Basic Drawing was a good, fairly easy class to take to check off your lower division art requirement. What they did not tell you was that there was a group project focusing on frame by frame drawing animation with the minimum of one hundred frames that was worth forty percent of your grade.

You are quite certain Kim Taehyung is not going to show up, purely based on the fact that you saw him do several keg stands last night. Hungover is never a good look on anybody, and everyone on campus knows that Taehyung would not be caught dead looking like a two on a beauty scale of one to ten. As for the freshman in your group—Jeon Jungkook, was it? —you passed by him earlier today, and he gave you his sketchbook, mumbling something about drawing out some of his ideas in there and that he will not be able to make it to the meeting because of an impromptu football practice.

So, that really only leaves you with—

“Hey, ________.”

Park Jimin.

From what you know about him, he is a quiet one and is good friends with Taehyung but more on the wallflower side. Jimin greets you softly, and you give him a small smile in response. He slides into the chair across from you, pulling out his own drawing book and pencil.

“Tae can’t make it unfortunately,” Jimin says, and you nod in acknowledgement before replying, “Yeah, Jungkook gave me his notebook. He has football practice.”

You slide the notebook towards Jimin, who opens it and flips through the various drawings. “These are all really nice. Check out this hummingbird one.”

He flips the book towards you to give you a better look. “Oh, wow. That’s amazing.”

“You think we should do this one for the project?”

You hum quietly, contemplating. “Well, we can’t make Jungkook draw all one hundred frames of it, and it might be hard for the rest of us to replicate the bird. Maybe we can find each do separate animations with a connection?”

Jimin’s eyes light up as he nods enthusiastically. “That’s a good idea! I think Tae likes drawing nature best, so if Jungkook’s bird can fly around until it lands on a tree branch and we can zoom out from there to show a full landscape. Tae would be down for drawing that part.”

“But what about you? What do you want to draw?”

“Oh! Um...” Jimin is quiet, contemplating over his answer before answering quietly, cheeks reddening. “This might be a little weird, but... I like drawing mechanical things? Not just cars, but like old telephones and clocks and devices... and yeah...”

He trails off, and you give him a reassuring smile. “It’s not weird at all! That’s really cool! Those are always so detailed, and there are a lot of reflective surfaces, and those are never easy. You must be really good!”

Jimin brightens up, pulling out his own sketchbook. “Really? You think so? I’ve been drawing this toaster, and I thought it would be cool to do an animation of bread popping out of it, but Jungkook’s bird looks really pretty, and it’ll fit with Tae’s art better, too...”

“We can still include it!” Jimin gives you a curious look, and you quickly explain, “How about if the bread pops out from the toaster, but in a comical sort of way, like how in cartoons, the toaster looks like it’s being squeezed before the toast shoots out, and then a sunny side up egg is placed on the bread, but then we do a sort of rewind on the egg? The egg returns back into the cracked eggshells, which come together back into a solid egg, and then the egg cracks open, but a baby hummingbird pops out of it. I really like drawing food, so I can do the toast and egg part of it.”

Jimin is silent, mouth slightly agape, and you flush a little, rambling on. “I know it’s a little eccentric, but I think our professor will like it, and—”

“You’re a genius.”

Your cheeks warm up even more at his compliment. “I, uh, I—thank you?”

Jimin laughs, eyes turning into moon crescents, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. “You’re welcome, but really, that’s such a creative way to mix everyone’s strengths and just wow. Jungkook and Tae will love this.”

You smile widely. “You really think so?”

“Of course! And, um, since our parts of the animations are connected, do you want to work on them together?” Jimin shyly asks, fiddling with the ends of his scarf.

“Oh! Yes, of course, when are you free?”

“If you don’t have plans after this, we can work on them now?”

“Sounds great! I’m done with classes, so I’m free.”

You give him another smile, and he beams back at you brightly. Your heart skips a beat, and you internally chide yourself. Curse your heart for being so weak against soft boys with pretty smiles.

But you swear, something about this boy in particular makes you think that he will be the death of you.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You and Jimin manage to get through twenty of the frames needed that night and in the week’s class sessions, so he suggests meeting up in his and Taehyung’s shared dorm to work on the remaining ones on Thursday and Sunday evening. Taehyung would be busy with his play rehearsals around that time, so their room would be free. The two of you had already texted the group chat about the animation plans, and the others were quite enthusiastic about the idea. Taehyung had notified you all that he and Jungkook will work on their half of the project on Friday together.

You had finished all your Thursday classes for the day and made a stop at your dorm to collect your art supplies before making your way to Jimin’s dorm building. You are currently standing outside of the complex on the steps, texting Jimin to let you in. The sun was already beginning to set, and you can feel the weather getting chillier. You pull down the long sleeves of your shirt to cover your fingertips. You mentally chide yourself for not putting on an extra layer—Joy had warned you before you left your shared dorm, but you did not think it would be this cold.

“Hey, _______!” Jimin waves at you from the front door. You hurry over to him, the bag filled with art tools hitting against your side noisily, as the eighteen by twenty-four large drawing pad tucked clumsily under your arm nearly falls. Jimin quickly grabs the drawing pad, and you smile gratefully. “Thanks, Jimin.”

“No problem! Maybe next time, we should meet at your dorm—if that’s okay with you, I mean!” Jimin hurriedly adds, and you chuckle quietly. “That’s totally fine. My roommate won’t mind.”

“Great,” Jimin murmurs before stopping in front of an open door. “Well, uh, here’s my dorm. Feel free to sit anywhere! You can use Tae’s desk if you want—or mine! Either one is good!”

“Thanks, Jimin.” You set your items down carefully on the surface of Taehyung’s desk, which is surprisingly clean, compared to his art space you see every class. The two of you fall into a familiar groove as last time, one where Jimin draws his portions while you draw your solo frames of the eggs receding into the egg shells before cracking open once more. It may sound simple, but repeatedly drawing a realistic egg changing its position by a millimeter is tedious and quite frankly, a bit boring.

Last time, you and Jimin engaged in a game of twenty questions, but it ended up with thirty extra questions between the two of you. Amongst other things, you had learned that his favorite color was blue, he loves anything that is chocolate except for ice cream, he is a sucker for those Christmas Hallmark movies, and he still believes Candy Crush is the greatest game to ever exist, no matter what anyone says. He is a nursing major, hoping to become employed in the pediatric ward, and is minoring in studio arts with an emphasis in drawing, much like yourself. He also briefly mentioned being on the school’s dance team. You know your school has several dance teams, and although Jimin never specified, you can easily imagine him in ballet. You are not well versed in the types of dance, but from what you can remember when you saw The Nutcracker and Swan Lake as a child with your parents if that is anything to go by, Jimin would fit in with those elegant and graceful dancers.

“Do you mind if I put on some background music?” Jimin says, and you shake your head. “Go for it.”

The melodic, soothing notes of the piano fill the air before a lilting voice accompanies it. A couple minutes later, a softer voice is heard, and you are startled, peeking over to your project partner. Jimin’s gaze is concentrated on shading the corners of his subject as he quietly sings along. He looks over at you a few seconds later, flushing a pretty shade of pink.

“Sorry, I do that sometimes,” he apologizes, “Tae always complains about it when he’s studying. I’ll stop now.”

“No, it’s totally okay! Your voice is really nice,” you rush to say before wanting to smack yourself on the forehead. Your voice is really nice? That has to be the lamest compliment you can say. His voice is more than nice. It was absolutely wonderful and warm and—

“Really? You think so?” Jimin beams at you, and you lose your train of thought, flustered.

“Yeah, your singing is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he shyly says. His smile becomes even brighter if that is even possible, and you feel that all too familiar rush of adrenaline to your heart as it pumps even faster.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence once more as you work on your drawings. An hour passes by quickly, and soon, the two of you finish your respective parts and start to work on the joint portions: the frames that incorporate the toaster and the bread. You and Jimin manage to complete four frames before you take notice of the time. The bright 9:48 p.m. stares back up at you on your phone when a message from Joy pops up, asking where you are. You quickly type back a response before hitting send.

“Hey, Jimin, it’s getting late. Do you mind if we stop here?”

“No, of course! It’s dark out, let me walk you back,” Jimin offers as he helps you put your art supplies back in your bag.

“Are you sure? It’s a bit far...”

Jimin frowns at you. “All the more reason to walk with you. It’s far, dark, and late. You shouldn’t go out alone like that.”

He slings your bag over his shoulder, shaking his head when you reach for the drawing pad tucked under his arm. “It’s okay, I’ll carry it! Did you bring a sweater? It’s a lot colder at night, too.”

“... No, I didn’t,” you say sheepishly, tugging your sleeves down. “But it’s fine! We’re walking, so the exercise will keep the heat circulating.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly before he goes to one of his drawers, rummaging through it and taking out a hooded sweater. “Here, put this on.”

“No, it’s fine, I—” You start to protest but he interrupts softly, “I don’t want you to get sick. Please put it on.”

Defeated and knowing he is right, you grab the sweater, quietly thanking him as you slip on the warm article. It smells faintly of laundry detergent along with a mix of something woodsy and citrusy. The hem is long, reaching mid-thigh, and the sleeves extend over your fingers, enveloping your hands entirely. Jimin smiles at you shyly, ducking his head, as the two of you begin to walk out of his dorm.

“You look really cute, _______.”

Your heart hammers loudly in your chest as you bring up your hand to cover your face, blood rushing to your cheeks and a silly smile making its way across your face. You murmur a quiet thank you to him, and crimson blooms on the apples of his cheeks.

Once again, soft boys with pretty smiles—specifically one named Park Jimin—will surely be the death of you.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“Our baby is turning into an adult!”

It is Saturday night, and Jisoo is wailing, clutching onto you tightly, as the rest of your friends are scurrying around to hang up streamers and put up balloons around the sorority house. Rosé and Yeri are struggling to tape up the banner, and Eunha walks in with several bottles of sparkling pink lemonade. You had picked up the gorgeous cake decorated with loopy cursive saying “Happy Birthday, Lisa!” from the shop earlier, and it was stored safely in the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, which was also packed with drinks. Sooner or later, Lisa will walk in with Umji, who was trying to keep her preoccupied for the most part.

“She’s coming!” you hear Soyeon yell, and there are a few more screams before everyone finds their places just as the door opens.

“Happy Birthday, Lisa!” A chorus of voices exclaims as the grinning birthday girl walks in. A pink sash and crown is placed on her amid the cheers. Someone pops a bottle of champagne and turns on the music as the multicolor fairy lights blink on and off above your heads. The party has begun, and Yeri starts to hand out the pretty pink Jell-O shots made earlier. The party is in full swing, and Joy pulls you onto the dance floor among the other girls.

Several shots, a game of beer pong, and a slice of red velvet cake later, you may be more than a little bit tipsy, but you are having the time of your life. Jennie pulls you aside and away from the loud music, eyes sparkling with mischief, as she waves her phone in front of your face to show you a text from her boyfriend.

“The surprise is here.”

“What?” Your mind is slightly fuzzy as you try to concentrate and read the message. And as if on cue, when you reach the last word, the front door opens, and a group of boys come in. Your mind finally registers the connection between the text and your university’s hip hop dance team in front of you.

Oh, right. The surprise.

Sowon and Eunbi tugs Lisa forward to sit on a chair that has been placed in the center of the dance floor, and all the girls start to scream, raising their glasses, before quickly fumbling for their phones to videotape as the boys start to dance around the guest of honor. Shirts are thrown off, body rolls are done, and the birthday girl—scratch that, every girl in the room—seems to be highly enjoying it.

Jennie pulls you closer to the front. “C’mon, I need to get a good video of Jongin.”

“Why take a video when he’s going to give you a personal recap later tonight?” You hear yourself saying. Wow, your mind to mouth filter really takes a hit when alcohol comes into play.

She laughs, her cheeks turning a rosy shade, before she yells above the noise, “You’re right, but it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the current show right now.”

Well, you cannot argue with that logic. And you deserve some eye candy after a stressful week filled with pop quizzes and semester paper deadlines. You reach for your phone, opening up the camera function, and start to film, focusing first on Lisa’s reaction. Grinning and cheering along with the rest of the girls, you zoom out to get the whole group dancing before your eye catches on one figure in particular.

Oh my god.

Your eyes widen and your mouth pops open in surprise as you drop your arm, phone loosely grasped in your hand. Your other hand comes up to cover your mouth in shock. You really had too much to drink because that cannot be—

Jimin makes eye contact with you, and he stops mid body roll.

You were right.

Jimin is going to be the death of you.

“I need another drink,” you shout to Jennie, quickly tearing your eyes away from him. She nods in acknowledgement, giving you a thumbs up before continuing to cheer on her boyfriend. You lightly push your way to the kitchen, making a beeline to the fridge. Taking out two bottles, you take two shots first without a chaser, ignoring the slight burn in your throat. You then mix vodka and soda into a red cup for yourself, chugging down half of it immediately afterwards. You really hope the effects of alcohol will come soon.

“Hey, can you pass me the vodka?”

“Yeah, here y—” You pause, turning over to face the familiar voice.

“Hi.” Jimin smiles at you sheepishly. His shirt hangs loose on him, unbuttoned still, with the sleeves rolled up. You try hard to concentrate on his face.

“H-hey, Jimin.” You take a sip of your drink. Maybe another sip, too, for good measure, you think to yourself before downing the rest of it. “So you’re a part of the hip hop dance team...”

“Uh, yeah, Jongin told us his girlfriend wanted us to, um, dance for a party.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Oh! Sorry, I’m probably making you uncomfortable, I should button this up.”

He reaches for the one of the middle buttons of his shirt, fumbling for a bit, and you cannot help but let a laugh bubble up from your throat. He halts, looking up with a questioning gaze.

“It’s just—you were literally out there, stripping and body rolling for everyone to see, and you’re worried about making me uncomfortable now?” You smile, the hazy feeling of alcohol making its way into your mind along with the familiar skipping of your heartbeat all because of this all too endearing boy standing in front of you. “You’re really cute, you know that? Like not cute in the physical sense—I mean, you are, you have a cute face and cute butt but also wow, your body is like sculpted by the gods—but wait, I’m getting sidetracked, what was I saying again?”

Leaning against the counter, Jimin has an amused grin on his face now, and you are flustered, face warm from not just the alcohol. He laughs, reaching forward to tuck a loose strand of hair away behind your ear, and your face feels as if it is on fire. “You were calling me cute. But not in the physical sense, but also yes in the physical sense.”

“Oh! Right.” You find yourself nodding, and Jimin lets out another chuckle, smiling widely at you. “So as I was saying, you’re really cute, like your personality is adorable and soft and I have fun doing the art project with you and you make me hate group projects a lot less and you look really kissable, did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t know that, but thank you for telling me.”

Well, you hear no rejection in that, and the alcohol running through your veins gives you that boost of confidence to finally act on your feelings.

“So can I kiss you?”

Jimin is positively beaming at you, and you think his eyes look more sparkly than ever. He reaches over to softly grasp your hand and intertwine your fingers with his. You admire how soft his hand is, squeezing it lightly, before giggling to yourself when Jimin squeezes your hand back gently.

“How about this? How about you give me a kiss on the cheek now, and tomorrow, when you have had less to drink, if you still want to, you can kiss me?”

“Okay!”

Positively giddy, you lean over and press a kiss against his cheek. Jimin’s eyes crinkle as the corners of his lips upturn into another wide smile. He gazes at you tenderly as you stare at him with all the stars in your eyes.

Maybe, you think blissfully, you already died and went to heaven because you just kissed an angel.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You awake past five p.m. the next day, extremely glad that it was a Sunday. You are beyond grateful that you are experiencing no sort of hangover. You are briefly reminded of Irene telling you all to appreciate your youth because once you are out of university, your body just somehow knows and you will be suffering the worst kinds of morning hangovers after only a couple sake bombs the night before. Reaching for your phone, you flick through the mass of notifications, such as several Instagram ones for photos you were tagged in, no doubt from last night. Joy had texted you, saying she went to Sungjae’s place. You scroll back to the top, eyes widening when you read it.

[ 4:27 p.m. ] Jimin: hey, we’re still meeting up at your dorm to finish the art project? At 6?

Hurriedly, you swipe open his message and type out a response.

[ 5:13 p.m. ] you: yes! I’m so sorry I just saw this

Immediately, the three bubbles pop up, and a new message appears.

[ 5:13 p.m. ] Jimin: it’s cool, no worries!! I hope you’re feeling fine. See you soon!

You send back a quick confirmation text before throwing your phone aside with a groan. A rush of memories from last night hits you from your mortifying confession to Joy dragging you home soon after, and you just want to bury your face into your pillow and go back to sleep. Maybe last night was just a bad dream, and you did not make a complete and utter fool of yourself in front of your project partner.

Unfortunately, you are very much awake, and after laying there for thirty minutes, you pull yourself off your bed with a heavy sigh and start to get ready, brushing your teeth and washing your face. Embarrassed or not, you refuse to throw your grade out the window over a boy. You are going to get through this project no matter how painfully awkward it will be.

You change out of your pajamas and tug on a sweater and a pair of leggings that were thrown haphazardly on your desk chair. You finish just in time as the lighting up of your phone screen indicates another text from Jimin. When you check, it’s a short message saying he is at the front of the building. You respond, telling him you are coming down right away, before grabbing your room key, and going down to meet him. You take a few deep breaths in the elevator, hoping to calm down your racing mind and heart.

You see Jimin standing outside, drawing pad leaning against his leg and bag over his shoulder. Distracted, he taps away at his phone with one hand, while the other clutches onto what looks like a drink from the nearby coffee shop. You push open the door, greeting him nervously.

“Hey.”

He looks up at you, tucking his phone in his pocket, and seems startled for a millisecond before grinning happily. “Hey!”

He extends the drink towards you, and you hesitantly take it. “I figured some hot chocolate might help after all the drinking from last night. I wasn’t sure if you like coffee, but everyone likes hot chocolate, right?”

You smile gratefully at him, hands curling around the warm drink. “Thank you, Jimin. I love hot chocolate.”

“Yeah, of course! My friend works there, so I get a pretty good discount if you ever want to get another one. With me. Only if you want to!” He looks a little flustered as he follows you into the building and onto the elevator.

Your smile only grows wider as you begin to relax, taking a sip of the drink. “I’d love that. And I want to apologize if my drunken self made things super weird last night.”

“O-oh! Actually, I wanted to ask if you remembered what you said last night,” Jimin says and you nearly freeze in your steps as you get off the elevator. You would be lying if you said you had not hoped he would just accept your apology and move on.

“... Yeah, I do remember all the embarrassing things I said,” you mumble, unlocking your door and gesturing for him to come in. He walks in, carefully leaning his drawing pad against your desk and placing his bag alongside it. After closing the door, you carefully place the cup of hot chocolate on your nightstand before turning to face him.

“Were they all true?”

He stares at you, biting his bottom lip nervously, as you anxiously fiddle with the strings of the hooded sweater you pulled on, scared to answer. Taking a deep breath, he continues, “Because I think you’re really cute, you know that? But not just in the physical sense, but also yes in the physical sense. And you look really kissable, especially when you’re wearing my hoodie, did you know that?”

Shocked, you are frozen for a few seconds as your brain finally processes what he said. And then, you look down with a thudding heart and realize you are indeed wearing the sweater he lent you days ago.

“And,” Jimin speaks up, and your eyes meet his. He reaches over and takes your hand, interlocking your fingers once more. “My offer from Saturday still stands.”

His words from last night echo in your mind, and you can recall him gazing at you with the most tender smile. How about this? He says, how about you give me a kiss on the cheek now, and tomorrow, when you have had less to drink, if you still want to, you can kiss me?

And yes, you still very much want to.

So you do.

Jimin’s lips are soft and gentle, pressing against yours delicately, as his hands cup your face and your eyes flutter close. You can feel his heart thudding rapidly inside his chest, and you know yours is as well. Your fingers curl as they tug on the ends of his scarf, bringing him even closer to you.

When you finally pull away, Jimin places a small kiss on the tip of your nose, causing you to adorably scrunch your nose up before burying your face in the crook of his neck. He laughs, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly. You are absolutely too cute and too soft for him.

He swears, you are going to be the death of him someday.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You all receive an A on the completed animation. And you will have to thank Taehyung and Jungkook one day for not coming to the first group meeting. Who knew having group members who don’t show up would pay off for once?

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crossyourheartspreparetodie · 5 years

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Plot twist: it was Twinkie who placed the fart pillow there, Allen only took the blame because he knew Nanodick would punish him severely. The act made Twinkie reconsider if he should always do to what his dad tells him and starts to think on his own. Nanodick assigned Twinkie to influence Allen into being a puppet too, but little does he know Allen pulls harder than he pushes and soon Cross gets a super reliable informant and Link a loving family :)

Actually, when Twinkie got older, he did start to push back,only because he didn’t like Little Dick’s homophobia and treatment towards hissiblings. Why? Because newsflash he’s gay. I fucking knew it the moment I sawhim interact with my brat. The kid is also a part of the school’s dance team,although that could’ve been Little Dick’s doing because ‘football is such aheathen sport and so is hockey meh meh meh meh’. That doesn’t automaticallymean someone is gay, don’t get me wrong, but with everything else he does, heis…well he is definitely something. Anyway, away from Link’s sexuality.

The brat did start to push back against Little Dick as hegot older and god did, I get such a fucking rush from it, let me tell you. Ican remember the very first prank that kid wanted to do. So, apparently LittleDick yelled at his little sister Tewaku wasn’t keeping up with her grades inschool (poor girl was having a stressful year, and everyone knew it.) Twinkieis very protective of his siblings, so he wanted revenge. He didn’t know how togo about it though, so guess who popped up on front of our house looking forthe materials and training to pull off a good prank? I was quite skeptical thatTwinkie could handle it and even the brat told Twinkie that he could do it forhim if he wished. After Twinkie described to me what happened that made himwant to take his revenge on Little Dick the Tormenter it was all “Yes, my son,you are ready. Let us teach you the art of pranking.”

So, what prank did he use? Putting a strong laxative inLittle Dick’s drink/food. He chose a cupcake and his reasoning was “He putTewaku through so much emotional and physical pain to please him, so I willgive him digestive distress to give him a taste of the pain she’s been through.”This kid was not messing around. He wanted pain. I think I almost cried because“Oh my god this brat has come so far!”

Oh, you should’ve seen the poor boy’s reactions when thelaxative cupcake was complete. He was a nervous wreck, but the brat and I wererooting so hard for him. No way in hell we’d let him back down. So, after a lotof training to keep a straight face and reminders that “You can do this.” “Hedeserves it.” “We’ll both take the fall for you dude, just do it.” He did. Itwas glorious and God was Twinkie on Cloud fucking Nine. I had such an amazingrush of pride for the kid, we ate like champions that night and I think thebrat fell further in love with Twinkie as well.

As for the plot twist of the brat taking the fall forTwinkie in the past when it came to pranking…I could see it. I didn’t ask thebrat over who did the pranks, but honestly, I could see the brat doing that forTwinkie. It is also not a surprise at all that Little Dick would try and getTwinkie to make the brat all ‘prim and proper’. The brat is his own person andhe is very strong willed though. I don’t know what he did to remove the stickfrom Twinkie’s ass that was probably put there because of Little Dick, but itdoes a man proud to see someone like Twinkie finally rebel and break out of hischains.

The brat’s friends have become like family and not because I’mgood friends with Tiedoll. Without the brat I mostly stayed on the outside, butwith the brat I have to participate in taking care of his friends (sleepovers)now. So yeah, we’re one big, dysfunctional, happy for the most part family,with a lot of trauma but we’re working through it. It was an automatic responseto take Twinkie under my wing, I wouldn’t call us a ‘loving family’ because webicker a lot, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Sorry for the long ass response onceagain. I thought the long ass story telling was more Tiedoll’s speed, but maybeit goes for everyone with kids. I don’t know. Hope you have a great day kid andfeel free to stop by whenever!

(Mun: I really like the plot twist idea and I so see it happeningXD. So much yes. I crave ‘stand-in dad’ Cross to Link. It’s my jam.)

#dgm #cross marian #link howard #allen walker #candy-crackpot

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lordavanti · 6 years

Text

Ivar The Boneless x Hvitserk Ragnarson x Ubbe Ragnarsson x Sister!reader

Written for: @milbethmorillo Summary: You are the twin sister of Ivar, torn between a struggle of three brothers. And that is not the only thing ... while saving your brothers you come eye in eye with Bishop Headmund and he seem to be fascinate by you. Words: 2940

Taglist: @float-autumn-leave @itharley @dani-si @inthenameofodin @missbrightlyred @burningsunshin3 @zombie-zayde @decaffeinatedeaglefart @nothingbuthappydays @ivarbarnes @supervalcsi @rachiieee @kolvanismirk @sweetvengeancee @mysticsthinking @odins-missing-eye @laketaj24 @tiredofthisgeneration @mcuimxgine @fuckyeahalexhoghandersen @manuugxlvis @happys-crazy-queen22 @akamaiden @sugakookiexx @natmors @dangerousvikings

I wrote this for an amazing artist in this Viking Fandom. @milbethmorillo not only bring Vikings alive in her drawings, she also inspires a lot. So in her requests for me to write this she decided to make a little art around it. And what a masterpiece that turned out to be! Thanks for the trust, the support and everything girl, credit for this art and my writing goes all to you. Go follow her here and on instagram peeps, you not gonna regret it. <3

You leaned against the wall, looking out of the window to how those Saxon idiots climbed there way into York. You should think, after that battle Ivar organized, that they would be more careful in how to approach a Heathen Army, but they didn’t. You heard Ivar chuckle a little and you looked aside you, crossing a look with him as he smiled slowly, looking back to the man climbing the wall. As his twin sister there was no stopping you in following him. You were his only equal in this, not Hvitserk, not Ubbe, it was you, it would be always you. When you looked over your shoulder to Ubbe his face was divided, like it was for days after Sigurd died. You wouldn’t ignore that look, Ivar killed Sigurd and it wasn’t justified. Yes, Sigurd did a lot, but dying for those poisoning words wasn’t the way. ‘That’s him.’ Ivar said and you looked away from Ubbe to look back out of the window. ‘Who?’ Hvitserk asked. ‘Aethelwulf. King Ecbert his son.’ Ivar said. Your eyes scouted the wall until you found the man Ivar was talking about, the man that so kindly drove his sword through your arm. You gritted your teeth, anger flushing your veins as you watched that man support two boys. ‘Oh and he brought his own sons. Like lambs to the slaughter.’ The satisfaction playing around Ivar his lips made you slowly pull out your axe, ready to kill at least one of those sons. ‘Hvitserk let’s go.’ Ubbe said. You looked down to the ground, hearing them leave before slowly looking up, pushing yourself away from the wall, ignoring the sting in your shoulder. ‘Don’t go.’ Ivar said. You turned around to look to your brother, pointing your axe out to him. ‘I have a score to settle.’ You said in protest, not even considering to stay back. ‘And you aren’t recovered yet sister, you can settle scores another time.’ He hissed between his clenched teeth. He was protecting you, like always and you hated it when he did. ‘You can’t stop me.’ You said back, neutral, turning your body to leave again. ‘Are you angry, for what I did to Sigurd?’ He asked, stopping your body right there on the spot. He never talked about it with you, because he knew he had your support. But you were ignoring him more then once and it wasn’t only because of Sigurd, it was because you saw the brothers fall apart, your brothers. You turned around to him, shaking your head, nodding to his helmet. ‘Pick it up and fight.’ You just said, leaving him while walking out, smoothening your hand over your painful shoulder, it was to much of a risk. ‘Ivar!’ You shouted, seeing him get catapulted from his chariot right onto the ground. But given the few Saxon that were around you, you didn’t had the chance to get to him. You fought, ignoring every bit of pain as you killed those Saxons with the grace only a woman had. When they dropped dead you looked for Ivar, seeing how he crawled to his chariot before your eyes traveled up to the Saxons bursting in. Your breath was unsteady, arching your back as they all stopped on the sight of your twin brother covered in blood, laughing like evilness himself. You grabbed an axe from the ground, stiffening your hand around your sword in your left hand before walking to where they were standing. You looked aside you to Ivar, looking into the madness of his eyes. They were all so scared, they were are so fragile and you slowly smiled, knowing there was no stopping your brother. Seeing that fear filled you with power, standing there alongside of him, twins against an army before Ubbe came. You weren’t scared on fighting that alone, it was always your dream to die for your brother, just as he was planning on dying for you.

You hissed, throwing him a dangerous look as he pulled away the clothes from your shoulder, looking to the wound Aethelwulf left weeks ago. ‘Don’t be dramatic sister.’ Ivar mocked, his blue eyes slightly squeezed as he studied the wound on your front. You looked down to the wound, following his movements as he treated you all over again. ‘Ubbe is going to do something stupid.’ You whispered. Ivar shortly looked up, smiling slightly before shrugging and getting back to your wound. ‘Let him.’ ‘Even if it brings him in danger? They are still our brothers Ivar.’ ‘Yes Y/n they are and for as long as they don’t see my value in all this why would I protect them. I warned them,’ he felt silent, his blue eyes looking up to you. ‘Hmm? I did warn them and if they don’t want to listen they have to face the consequences sister.’ He finished. You looked away from him and he slowly breathed out, shaking his head. ‘Y/n, don’t,’ ‘I’m not Ivar.’ You interrupted him. You looked slowly back to him when he touched your face, cupping your cheek. ‘You are not only my sister, you are my second half, you are everything to me. Don’t let me doubt that, I need you sister, more than anything.’ He whispered. You nodded, looking down while leaning in his touch. He knocked his forehead with yours, his blue eyes locking with yours. ‘I have your back brother.’ ‘I have yours, always.’ He smiled insecure and you kicked your forehead against his before pulling back and pulling your shirt back up, looking to the young woman that was watching you. You recognized her, she was the girl that Ivar summoned for a sacrifice. But she walked back out unharmed and you didn’t know what happened between the two of them. ‘You jealous?’ Ivar asked you, taunting. ‘What happened between the two of you?’ You asked, grabbing your sword as you stood up again. Ivar softly chuckled over the way you asked it, all judging and over protecting. ‘I made her a free woman.’ He answered, smiling. You looked at him before looking back to the girl, squeezing your eyes a little together. ‘What did she had to do to get that?’ ‘Nothing, she just spoke some words and,’ Ivar his voice drifted away as he looked to the girl walking around. You followed his eyes, shaking your head while tying your belt back around your waist, walking out of there. ‘Sister.’ Ivar called after you. You signed, turning around to him. He lowered his head a little, looking at you with a look asking for understanding. You just nodded, turning back around to walk out. Hvitserk stood on the wall, gazing over an empty field and you bite your tongue, looking over your shoulder before jumping onto the steps up to the wall. Hvitserk leaned onto it with both his hands and looked aside to you. You slowly sat down on the edge, looking back to him. You both stared at each other for quite some time before he signed. ‘You know what will happen right?’ He asked you. You just nodded, looking down to your hands. ‘I don’t have to ask where your loyalty lies.’ He guessed. ‘With my brothers. But they seem to disagree a lot.’ You stated. Hvitserk shook his head before looking back over the empty field. It was silent again, for a very long time and you just followed his gaze over the empty field. ‘Who am I?’ Hvitserk asked. ‘My brother.’ ‘Really Y/n, Ivar ignores me, Ubbe wants me to follow him everywhere, where do I fit in all of this? I should have go with Björn when I had the chance.’ He reacted, looking aside to you. You shook your head slowly. ‘You think I’m standing here only for Ivar, because he is my twin brother? We stood here to revenge father not to fight among ourselves. You don’t think it hurts me, what Ivar did to Sigurd?’ You asked him angry. Everybody always thought you were like him, ruthless. But you had more feelings than him, you would always have. ‘I need all my brothers.’ You whispered. Hvitserk pushed away from the wall and walked over to you, pulling your head from where you sat against his chest. You closed your eyes for a short moment before he let you go and you looked up to him. ‘You’re my sister, my only sister, don’t go crazy on me to.’ He chuckled softly. ‘Ivar isn’t crazy, you know that.’ You said softly. Hvitserk nodded while he walked over to the steps, giving you another look. ‘No he isn’t.’ He gave in. You smiled before looking back over the field, tapping your fingers on the stone wall while sinking away in your own thoughts. You looked from out of the shadow of a castle wall to Ubbe and Hvitserk walking over to the stables with some men. You tilted your head while they all took a horse and left York. You were right, like usual, he was going to do something stupid. You walked to the stables and grabbed your own horse, pulling yourself in the saddle as you followed them from a distance all the way to the Christian camp. You stayed in the woods, looking how they got escorted by soldiers. What were they doing? You sat there for quite some time in the saddle before you saw that heathen, the great swordsmen, Headmund, walking to a tent. You heard the struggle and you bite you own teeth together, knowing they were in danger but not being able to do something about it. You drew your sword, watching concentrated until you saw them stumble outside. You pushed your legs in the horse and drove him to the entrance of that, camp, turning him as you looked to Ubbe his face. ‘Y/n? Get out of here!’ Ubbe commanded breathless. You felt somebody snatch you from that horse, air leaving your lungs as you smacked on the ground. ‘No!’ Hvitserk yelled as they forced you down on your knees. And there he was, the man you watched fighting like nobody else of those Christians did, Bishop Headmund. He had his arms stretched out before him, hands crossed over each other as he looked at you. ‘If you hurt her, you won’t live through the next day.’ Ubbe warned the Bishop. ‘Shut up Ubbe, you did already enough.’ You snapped, fighting the two who held you down. ‘What is your name?’ The Bishop asked. You looked up to him, slowly breathing as your sky blue eyes melted with his. ‘You know who I am.’ You spoke in his language. Something of a grin came on his lips. ‘You are a heathen.’ He answered. You stopped protesting, chuckling as you sat back. Headmund looked down on you, in a way observing for you were a girl teeth with weapons to fight. So you looked only back, with the same look in which Ivar would look, partly amused, partly deadly calm and confident. ‘Let her go.’ Hvitserk begged. But Headmund didn’t payed attention, he looked at you. ‘She is the twin sister of Ivar the Boneless.’ One of the soldiers said. Headmund nodded, pointing his fingers to the two soldiers holding you down. ‘Let her go.’ Headmund ordered. You pulled your arms loose and stood up. Headmund nodded, with just a that tiny little of fascination in his eyes. ‘Y/n.’ Hvitserk urged. You breathed in, giving that Bishop one last look before turning around and get back on your horse, feeling his eyes all the way until you were out of sight. ‘Look at you Ubbe.’ You stopped him by grabbing his arm and he turned around to you. His face almost sliced apart by that Christian soldier. ‘I was trying,’ ‘What did you thought that would happen? A nice yes please here is your land?’ You interrupted him. ‘You could have been killed, I could have lost another of my brothers.’ You confronted him. Ubbe looked at you with one good eye and that cut open face before he looked down and over to Hvitserk. ‘Your brother isn’t,’ ‘He is your brother to!’ You shouted in rage, lifting your hand to stop him from talking further. ‘I don’t blame you for being angry on Ivar for the dead of Sigurd, but I’m not blaming him for revenging everything that happened here. But this,’ you pointed to the situation. ‘Is tearing us apart.’ You said softer. Ubbe spit on the ground and started walking, ignoring your words what made you even more angry. As the three of you walked into the church Ivar was sitting on the altar, looking at the three of you smiling. ‘Sister?’ He asked with a intense look of his blue eyes. You clench your teeth and walked over to the altar, Ivar gives both his brothers a short look before he follows you until you are standing still aside the altar. He leaned on his elbows over to you and you just didn’t looked back, you looked to Ubbe. Ivar followed your look and chuckled. ‘You two had a fight, hmm?’ He asked the both of you before pushing himself back up. ‘I don’t need I need to guess given,’ his words faded as he pointed his finger to his own face, gesturing to the mark on Ubbe’s one. ‘I was just trying,’ ‘You made a bad call!’ Ivar shouted. And you knew on that exact moment it was over, whatever this was it was over. Ubbe destroyed the last linger of trust and you saw that major gap drifting in between the two of them, forcing you and Hvitserk to choose sides. It hardly needed words before Ubbe said he would sail back to Kattegat and you couldn’t ignore the gaze of your other brother. You looked up to Hvitserk before he stood up after Ubbe and left. You looked how they left the building before looking aside to your brother. ‘Better the sheep run then be slaughtered.’ He chuckled. ‘You are the wolf scaring them away in the first place brother.’ You stated. He clenched his teeth, flattening himself on his elbows over the altar again. ’They did that themselves. You want to go to sister, it seems a lot of you is voting for Ubbe lately.’ He taunted you and you grabbed him at his collar, smacking him down on the altar while you pushed your dagger to his throat. He started laughing, looking up to your threatening eyes. ‘I’m not Ubbe, I’m not Hvitserk, I’m not afraid of crossing you Ivar.’ You hissed slowly. ‘No you are not like them, you are not that weak or afraid.You are like me, christians should fear you as much as they fear me.’ Ivar reacted, still looking upside down up to you with that cocky smile. You pushed his head away and pulled back. He chuckles as you starting walking between his men. ‘I’m not afraid my sister will cross me.’ He called after you. ‘I will give you your vengeance!’ He yelled and his men started balding on the words as you left the church. You walked over the docks to the boat Ubbe and Hvitserk were standing on. Hvitserk jumped off and walked over to you. You looked over your shoulder to Ivar who sat on a rock, hooded and watching the three of you with slightly squeezed eyes. ‘I don’t want to leave you behind with Ivar.’ Hvitserk started. ‘You know I’m safe right, he is my twin brother.’ You shrugged, like you hardly cared that they were leaving. You pushed the emotions a little down, Ivar was right, like he always was. So you tried on not showing your emotions. ‘I don’t want you to be caught up in his anger.’ ‘Then don’t go.’ You proposed. ‘What is here for me,’ ‘then go Hvitserk.’ You pointed to the boat. ‘Remember that we will one day will return to Kattegat and there will be no person or brother standing in our way on getting what we want.’ You warned him, stepping backwards slowly. ‘And you know what we want.’ You followed, bowing a little before looking over to Ubbe. ‘I’m sorry brothers.’ You said to the both of them. ‘You are not.’ Ubbe said and you chuckled in the same dark way Ivar did it. ‘No, I’m not.’ You whispered, giving Hvitserk one last look before turning around and walking back to Ivar. You stood still beside him and looked over to the boat. ‘And?’ He asked. You crossed your arms before your chest, shrugging on which Ivar started talking to his brothers, screaming how they should run away, how everybody choose him. Your eyes rested on Hvitserk, seeing how he went through a struggle you knew all to well. He looked in between Ubbe and Ivar before he looked down and jumped back off that boat before it had the chance to sail away. ‘Hvitserk.’ Ivar smiled in approval. You followed your brother in his way over, crossing a gaze with him as he stood still. ‘I’m not leaving you.’ He said softly. You swallowed, looking down with a sincere thankful smile before looking to your twin brother. ‘What now?’ You asked as Ubbe sailed out of sight. ‘Let’s kill some Christian men.’ Ivar proposed, looking up to both you and Hvitserk. ‘Let’s get us some revenge.’ You whispered in return. Ivar locked his eyes with you, slowly nodding while he had that smirk on his lips, agreeing with your words … yes, revenge would never taste that sweet.

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jobethdalloway · 7 years

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Prompt: we’re both prefects and we broke up a food fight in the great hall, but it got messy and dungbombs were involved, and now we’re both disgusting and in immediate need of a bath, and it’s okay, we can both use the prefects’ bathroom at the same time, i promise i won’t look

(btw, heads-up for a Brooklyn Nine Nine reference!)

"What the hell...?"

"Rizzoli!"

"Isles!"

"Get your house in order!"

"Don't tell me what to do! Get YOUR damn house in order!"

Maura dodged a large spoonful of mashed potatoes from one of the Weasley twins, which wound up smacking Vincent Crabbe square in the face. Jane saw a mischievous glint flash through the anger in Maura's eyes, and Jane flared up.

"You wanna go? Throw something at me, Queen of the Dead, bring it on!" When Maura did nothing but continue to glare, Jane said, "I'll even strike first!" and she grabbed a turkey leg and threw it at Maura.

Maura whipped out her wand and silently halted the turkey leg mid-air before letting it fall to the ground. "You'll have to wake up earlier in the morning than that, Rizzoli, if you want to-"

This time, Jane grabbed a handful of mashed yams, and Maura learned the hard way that a freezing spell was not very effective against less solid food. It splattered not only her face but her pristine clothing, and for several moments she was frozen in shock.

"I think you broke her," Angelina observed. "Well done!"

Jane wanted to laugh, but couldn't tell if Maura was still angry and thus if laughter would be cruel. Her face was covered by too many yams to be able to read her expression. In the blink of an eye, she magicked an enormous bowl of Brussel sprouts at Jane, where they pummeled her as painfully as paintball bullets. While Jane was distracted trying to fend them off, Maura picked up a spinach quiche, walked over, and smashed it in her face.

"How's that?" Maura asked, yelling over the food fight intensifying around them.

Though she was laughing, Jane sputtered, "Well I hate spinach and I don't love quiche, so..." She wiped the gooey green substance out of her eyes and tried to blink.

Maura moved close enough to whisper in her ear: "Oh, that's too bad." She ran her finger down Jane's cheek and sucked the quiche off. "I really love it." She winked before she walked back to her table, leaving Jane rooted to the spot.

The food fight had gotten so loud and out of control, nobody - not even Jane's friends - had noticed one of Slytherin's prefects coming on so strong to one of Gryffindor's.

Maura jumped when something wet was sloshed against her backside; she turned to see Jane holding the now-empty bowl of yams, which she promptly dropped as she walked to the Slytherin table.

"D-do you like yams?" she asked, her hand wavering near Maura's waist. "I could clean that up for you if you want."

Maura pursed her lips, trying to fight off a smile. "Big, bad, brave Gryffindor," she murmured.

They had been dancing around a mutual attraction for weeks, and this was the most direct Maura had ever been with her. Jane was so warm, she felt like she was on fire - which she soon realized she was. She jumped and looked around for something to douse her robes with, and then remembered her wand. She was about to put it out with a charm, but Maura had acted first, dumping a vat of mulled apple juice on her robes.

Jane meant to thank her, but then she saw a chafing dish at the floor near her feet. "Did one of your heathen students throw that at me?"

"Is one of those awful ginger twins about to throw a dungbomb?!"

Most of the teachers had filed out of the Great Hall before this all began. Dumbledore contended that a food fight was a healthy way for the students to exhaust themselves of nervous energy, and he was too absorbed in his magazine to pay much attention to the goings-on. The only remaining faculty were the heads of houses, on hand in case any of their students got dangerously rowdy.

"Oh, I think I've seen quite enough!" snapped McGonagall, leaning over Dumbledore to look at Snape. "Gregory Goyle just threw a chafing dish and the fire under it at Jane Rizzoli!"

"Don't work yourself into a dither, Minerva," he said, not returning her gaze but rather staring out into the melee with boredom. "Rizzoli may be muggle-born, but I believe after more than four years of magical education, she ought to be up to the task of completing a simple dousing charm - or are you worried your prefect isn't capable of such a simple-"

There was a small explosion, and almost the entire student body fled the Great Hall. George's dungbomb had gone off, a new prototype he and Fred had developed over the summer which was more powerful and painful than any other on the market. When the rotten-egg-smelling smoke had cleared, Jane and Maura were revealed to be the only students left in the hall. Both were trying to locate the dungbomb with the intent of vanishing it.

McGonagall and Snape approached, looking none too pleased; both appeared to have conjured a full-body of a Bubblehead charm, which Jane and Maura assumed was intended to keep the dungbomb’s stench from sticking to them.

"I would have hoped for better behavior from prefects!" McGonagall said, eyeing the food splattering both girls' clothes. "Would either of you care to offer an explanation for this disaster?"

Out of devotion to their students and a desire not to be a tattle-tale, neither spoke at first.

"Miss Isles?" Snape prompted her.

"Well, Harry Potter started it by throwing a turnip at Draco Malfoy," she said. "But-"

"Potter, hm?" said Snape, shooting McGonagall an unsurprised look.

"That's only because Malfoy called his friend a mudblood!" Jane protested. Glaring at Snape, she missed the sympathetic expression on Maura's face. "If you ask me, Malfoy's lucky it was a turnip and not a hex!"

"Such tolerance in Gryffindor house," Snape said with a sneer. "If you truly believe hexes are the answer to name-calling, perhaps you would be better-suited for Durmstrang, rather than the office of a Hogwarts prefect."

Jane looked at McGonagall incredulously, and her head of house did not disappoint: "You would do well to ensure your students know the difference between name-calling and blood epithets, Severus," she said. "And that goes for you as well, Miss Isles. It would behoove you and Miss Rizzoli to learn how to better de-escalate inter-house tension."

"Yes ma'am," Maura said, staring resolutely ahead.

"Which class are you off to?"

"Defense against the Dark Arts."

McGonagall's nostrils flared at the thought of her students, especially the beloved Jane Rizzoli, being subjected to the awful woman posing as a professor for that course. "Yes - well, as punishment for failing to meet our expectations as prefects, you will both be one class behind your classmates."

"What's that now?" Jane asked in confusion.

"In case you have failed to realize it, Miss Rizzoli, the pair of you smell worse than a squid ruminating on spoiled beets," McGonagall went on. "Subjecting your classmates to this stench would no doubt be a dark art of its own, and I insist you both take this next period to bathe and cleanse yourselves. I will speak with Professor Umbridge about your absence; rest assured, this is a house matter."

Snape merely nodded his consent, and Jane and Maura turned to leave the Great Hall together.

"I feel like McGonagall kind of gave us a break back there," Jane said once they were far out of earshot.

Maura looked tense. "Normally the thought of skiving off class would give me hives, but I have to admit I doubt we're missing anything by skipping Umbridge. What a joke."

"What a jerk, more like," Jane scoffed. "We're probably on the brink of war any day now, and she doesn't want us getting any practical experience!"

"An utter embarrassment. I've taken to practicing spells myself between classes, since she's so useless. I even give myself homework sometimes," she admitted with a small laugh.

Jane chuckled too. It was easy to picture Maura holed up in a classroom, teaching herself hexes and spells on her own. She seemed like a solitary person, which Jane could only imagine was by design. After all she was a beautiful, intelligent pureblood in Slytherin; Jane was sure there must've been dozens of kids in that house dying to be her friend. Jane was tempted to tell Maura about Dumbledore's Army, because surely defense against the dark arts was best practiced with other people. But she wasn't sure how thrilled the others would be with a Slytherin joining the group.

"How come you're nice to me?" Maura asked out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Most Gryffindors wouldn't buddy up to a Slytherin if their lives depended on it."

"Most Gryffindors are stupid that way. Don't tell them I said that, though." She smiled when that got Maura to chuckle. "What about you, Isles? You're in Slytherin, but you don't seem to be a muggle-hater or otherwise a dick."

Maura laughed again, but this time it was sour. "You know what I am?"

"Hot?"

Maura stopped in her tracks, as did Jane, who looked horrified that the word had slipped out. After a few moments of painful awkward silence, Jane cleared her throat and kept walking.

"Do you think so?" Maura asked, sounding pleased.

"What were you going to say?"

Maura smiled, deciding to leave it for now and show that Slytherins could be nice. "I am ambitious, I’m resourceful, I’m determined, I'm intelligent, I'm loyal but prefer to work alone, I'm very hardworking and I take pride in my accomplishments. I'm also a pureblood," she added as an afterthought.

"So it's kind of like a rectangle-square thing," Jane said.

"A what?"

"It's like Slytherins and bad people. How all rectangles are squares, but not all squares are rectangles." When Maura did nothing but frown, Jane sighed, "this is why wizards need to teach their kids math. It's basic geometry."

"I get your intended point, I just think it's a flawed syllogism," Maura snapped. "You're saying that because you know me, you know not all Slytherins are bad. And believe me, I know, my house has a reputation. But with your analogy, all bad people are Slytherins?"

"Well...that's just a thing people say, isn't it?" Jane asked awkwardly. "There's not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin?"

"What half-baked, prejudiced first year did you overhear saying that?" Maura balked. "You really think that every person who was ever sorted into Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Gryffindor has gone on to be a total angel?"

It was hard to imagine any Hufflepuff going rogue, but Jane had to concede Maura had a point. After all, hadn't Harry Potter himself said in their first DA meeting that the wizard who helped Voldemort come back had been a Gryffindor? She shivered at the thought.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "That was stupid of me, you're right."

Maura was silent for a few moments, then muttered, "You sound just like my parents."

"What?"

"My parents went to school here, but moved to France after they graduated. That’s where I was born and where I grew up - and where I learned geometry, by the way,” she added snidely. “I was invited to attend Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, but my father had just accepted a position at the Ministry, so we moved to England. All of that is to say, I grew up outside of the anti-Slytherin culture produced here, and I think my parents just took it as a given that I would be a Ravenclaw like they were, so they never discussed the houses much with me. I was so excited to be sorted, and wrote them at once to tell them about it."

"What'd they say?"

Maura chuckled mirthlessly. "I can tell you word-for-word, because the reply was so short: 'We are surprised to hear you are in Slytherin. Good luck with classes.'" She sighed and shook her head. "I went home for Christmas and overheard them arguing one night. One of my aunts refused to visit while I was there. She didn't want her young kids consorting with a Slytherin. That's how I found out I was adopted, actually," she added. "It came up in their fight. My dad implied my birth parents might've Slytherins."

Jane was stunned. "Were they?"

"I don't know, I've never tried to find out anything about them. I just heard my mother mention their pureblood status and then I left. I didn't want to hear anymore. Given my dad's comment and his feelings about Slytherins, though, I'm not sure they're people I want to know." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, that was the last time I went home for Christmas. I don't want to cause any unnecessary family drama just by showing up."

Jane followed Maura to the prefects' bathroom as if in a daze. Coming from such a warm family herself, it was mind-numbing to imagine Maura's could be so distant. Her mind was buzzing, trying to come up with something comforting to say as Maura gave the password for the bathroom ("fizzy lifting drinks") and turned on the nearest faucet for the pool-sized tub.

"Do you wish you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw?" Jane blurted out, desperate for the silence to end.

Maura frowned, undoing her robe. "The Sorting Hat considered putting me in there," she said. "And who knows; maybe if I'd been aware of the deep-seeded mistrust of Slytherins in our society, I'd have asked for Ravenclaw. The Hat could tell I was indecisive and said it thought I could..." She blushed, fumbling with her tie, not wanting to sound conceited. "It said I could really distinguish myself in Slytherin, like I could really be someone special and go far." That had been a very attractive promise to a lonely child desperate to make her neglectful parents proud. "Is it weird that I feel bad for letting down a Hat?"

"Are you kidding? You didn't let anyone down! Except maybe your dipshit parents, but they're dipshits," Jane said, getting Maura to laugh a little. "Come on, seriously. I think you ARE distinguishing yourself. In Ravenclaw, you'd just have been another brain. In Slytherin, you get to be this amazing, intelligent, unique prefect who actually cares about helping out. That food fight may not have been a great example, but most of the time I feel like you have my back. I think you change the way a lot of people see Slytherins."

"Aw, Jane."

"Hm?"

"That's really...that's really sweet!"

Jane tried to act nonchalant. "Yeah, well..."

"Take your clothes off."

"What?!"

Jane's eyes widened when Maura calmly unbuttoned her own shirt and took it off. "Get undressed. Did you forget we're here to rid ourselves of the combined stench of rotten doxy eggs and Stinksap?"

In all honesty, Jane had forgotten. She'd been so swept up in Maura's history that she hadn't been paying attention to where they were going or why they were going there. It wasn't like her to get so preoccupied and oh God is she taking off her bra?!

Maura couldn't contain a giggle when Jane twisted away from her. "Are you getting shy on me, Rizzoli?" she asked, letting her bra slide down her arms. "Or is the thought of having to look at me disgusting to you?"

Jane whipped around to confront this notion- "you know that's not true!" - but quickly finished the full 360 because now Maura was topless and taking off her skirt.

"You weren't planning to bathe clothed, were you?" Maura asked. "I mean, you knew we were coming here."

"Yes, I just wasn't ... thinking this far ahead," Jane said, taking off her tie. "Because I’m stupid. Incidentally, the Hat didn't offer to put me in Ravenclaw."

Maura laughed and walked over to the faucets (Jane pivoted as she moved to avoid seeing her), then turned on one that would leave a thick layer of bubbles over the water. "You were raised in America, weren't you?"

"Yes..."

"Hm, that explains your attitude."

"Oh, ha, ha, the American is a Puritan, very funny."

"What's a Puritan?"

"Never mind."

"Well don't worry, I'm not interested in making you uncomfortable," Maura said (though Jane strongly suspected otherwise). "These bubbles are very dense; you can't see through them. I promise not to look when you get undressed."

Jane took the extra precaution of doffing her clothes behind a large sculpture of a merman. Once completely undressed, she peeked around the side of the statue to make sure Maura wasn't looking. Maura's back was to her, and Jane nimbly stepped into the enormous tub. At the sound of the water shifting, Maura turned around at once.

"There, now was that so bad?"

"This just feels weird."

"Why?"

"Because I like you and I haven't even had the chance to ask you out yet and now we're like wet and naked and only eight feet apart. And no, I can't convert that to meters but you get the idea."

Maura was smiling, but didn't say anything for a few long moments. "So you like me."

"I...I wouldn't have said that if I wasn't pretty sure you liked me too," Jane said, already feeling her resolve might crumble. "Please, don't make fun of me, just be honest with me."

Another long pause, this time with a smile that was harder to read. "How well do you think you know me, Rizzoli?"

Was she about to extend a sultry invitation to get to know her even more? Oh God please yes - God please no - this is exhilarating and terrifying and why am I feeling so dehydrated all of a sudden??

When Jane failed to answer (from nerves but also because she thought it was a rhetorical question) Maura went on, "If you knew me well you'd know I would never make fun of anybody. And as far as the question of whether I like you, I'd say it took you damn well long enough to notice. I've been flirting with you for the entire year."

Although it was what she'd been praying for for the last several months, Jane couldn't believe what she was at last hearing. Her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest when Maura swam closer. The water was lukewarm but she was starting to feel red hot - and, unfortunately, it showed.

"You're blushing," Maura observed. "I'm sorry, am I making you nervous?"

"I'm - no, you're not; the situation is," Jane stammered. "I mean, you're really cute and I don't imagine this is embarrassing for you - not that I looked," she added quickly, sure to keep her gaze fixed on Maura's eyes. "But you do look good. I mean, duh. I mean - oh, God..."

"You are so cute," Maura chuckled. “I mean don’t get me wrong; on a physical level, you are sexy as hell.” The fact that she could say this so simply, as if it was an objective certainty instead of a subjective compliment, was a little odd for Jane to process. Maura went on: “But your demeanor, that’s very cute. And I hope that doesn’t sound condescending; I mean I find it... kind of endearing. Given your conduct on the Quidditch pitch and the occasional bravado I’ve seen you put on, I used to assume you’d be cocky. A lot of Gryffindors can be cocky, though, in my defense.”

“Yeah, well. Feeling like you have a moral high ground can do that to a person,” Jane agreed. “So you watch the Quidditch games, huh?”

“I used to prefer taking the time to study, because it basically guaranteed that the common room - or any room - would be empty. But then I learned the Gryffindor team had a very cute Chaser, and I decided I had to check out at least one game.”

“Hm, Johnson? Bell?”

“Are you really going to tease me after I promised not to tease you?”

“I...sorry,” Jane said, averting her gaze. “Humor’s my defense mechanism.”

“What do you need to be defensive about?”

“My own nerves, I guessssshhhhiiit....”

Jane had turned to look at Maura, who was leaning sideways agains the wall of the pool to face her. Maura had innocently let her elbow rest on the edge of the tub, letting her head rest against her fist, and this had resulted in one of her breasts rising above the layer of dense bubbles. After letting herself look a second too long, Jane almost snapped her neck turning it to look away.

“I’m sorry!” Maura squealed, bringing her arm back into the water.

“God, I’m sorry! I feel like a skeeze!”

“You’re not a skeeze, Jane. If I was worried about the possibility of you seeing me, I’d be on the other side of the pool and not letting anything but my head and neck above the bubbles. And you’d be a skeeze if you saw my discomfort and actively tried to make me show myself. Would you be this skittish if you were in here with someone else?”

“Someone I didn’t like, you mean? Probably not.” When Maura started backing away, Jane reached blindly for her hand underwater. She skimmed Maura’s waist before catching her wrist. “Don’t go, though!”

Maura smiled at the gesture. “I was going to distance myself so I don’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No, that’s okay, this is a good kind of uncomfortable.”

“Hm. I didn’t know there was a good kind,” Maura mused. “Discomfort always makes me feel I’ve done something humiliating, or that I ought to hide myself away. What’s the good kind like?”

“Well, it pushes you to do something. Something you’d want to do, but would usually be too shy or too scared to do.”

“And you’re scared to take a bath.”

“Scared to take a bath with you!” Jane said, joining Maura in her laughter. “See, bravery means different things to different people. Sure, for Harry Potter it means fighting off Death Eaters. I’ll get there someday. Right now I’m working on the bravery required to be naked in front of a girl I like before I’ve even asked her out.”

Maura’s immediate response was, “Would you like to go on a date with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not worried about being seen cozying up to a Slytherin?”

Jane paused to make sure she gave an honest answer. “We’ll kind of be like a Hogwarts Romeo & Juliet. Or, hm. I don’t know what the wizarding equivalent of that would be. I mean-”

“I get the reference,” Maura said, not unkindly. “Shakespeare was the focus of our literature unit in Muggle Studies this fall.”

“You take Muggle studies?”

“Yes, I think it’s fascinating. I’m not surprised by your surprise, though; I’m the only Slytherin in the class and Professor Burbage told me she doesn’t generally get a lot of us,” Maura admitted.

“Oh. Huh. I hope we don’t end up like Romeo and Juliet, though.”

“You don’t?”

“Well, no. The play ends with their double suicide.”

“What?! It does?! Why do people like it so much?! Gah...never mind. What I should’ve said was, yeah, I’m sure some people might give me some guff about going out with a Slytherin, but I don’t give a flying bowtruckle fart about that. I’d be proud to be out with you, no matter what house you were in.”

Maura smiled so wide, Jane couldn’t help reflecting it. “Would it be a good or bad uncomfortable if I kissed you?” Maura asked.

“Here? Right now?”

“I can wait.”

“No, no, now’s...that’d be fine. That’d be great. That’d be--”

Jane shut up when Maura took gentle hold of her face. Her gaze dipped from Jane’s eyes to her lips and back again, then she leaned in and kissed her. Jane felt almost suffocated by immediate excitement, overwhelmed by the softness of Maura’s lips and the intensity with which her heart was pounding. The pounding was matched elsewhere when Jane instinctively brought Maura closer, pulling their bodies together. Jane was shot at warp-speed into new realms of pleasure, feeling as dizzy as if transported there by portkey. But within moments, the reality of what she was doing registered with her and she all but vaulted away from Maura, a stream of obscenities tumbling out of her mouth as she turned bright red.

“I concur,” Maura said breathlessly.

Heart still beating rapidly, Jane glanced over at Maura and saw her smiling. “That was... wow. That was wow,” Jane said. “Judging by your expression, I guess I don’t need to apologize. That was just a ... a heck of a lot more than I intended to do.”

“I know,” Maura said, treading a small distance away. “I just can’t wait to come back here with you sometime after you’ve been dating me for a while.” She laughed when something occurred to her. “Maybe I can get some extra credit for my-”

“Don’t say it.”

“-Muggle studies!”

“You dork!” Jane laughed, splashing her.

“Well, as the Bard said: but soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is a dork.”

That one got a genuine laugh out of Jane. She couldn’t wait to see what else Maura had up her sleeves.

#rizzles #jane rizzoli #maura isles #rizzoli and isles #hogwarts #hp au

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andrewdburton · 5 years

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How the toss of a coin determined my fate

Hello! I have returned from my final big trip of the year, and I've resumed working behind the scenes here at Get Rich Slowly. Soon, new articles will begin to appear on this site.

Oh, wait. Here's a new article now!

On my most recent trip, I happened to tell the same story twice to two different groups. In doing so, I realized that it's a story I've never told here. That's unfortunate. It's about an event that had a profound impact on the course of my life — and my finances.

To bide the time while I work on longer articles, today I'd like to share how my fate was decided by the literal toss of a coin.

Going to College

My parents never pushed higher education on my brothers and me. Both my father and mother had attended church schools briefly — Goshen College for him, Brigham Young University for her — but neither one graduated. My uncle got a math degree from a local junior college, and my cousin Duane got a business degree from yet another church school.

Growing up, I can't remember that college was ever discussed in depth. It came up in conversation now and then, but there was never any expectation that my brothers and I would go.

But: I was a nerd. I hung out with other nerds. I read and I wrote. I entered math contests for fun. My favorite movies were about college and about college professors. I romanticized college life (and still do today).

Mitch and J.D., nerds in 1984, nerds in 2019

Because my parents were poor, I knew there was no way they'd be able to pay for my college education. It never entered my mind. If I wanted to attend school, I'd have to do it on my own. As a matter of fact, I thought that was how college worked for everyone.

I had no money saved of my own, so I took the only path available: Scholarships. I didn't get great grades in high school — I had a 3.29 GPA — but I got great grades where it counted. I did well in advanced classes; my low grades came from electives and physical education. (And, ironically, from my personal-finance class, in which I earned a D!)

I was also very active in clubs and activities. I was in choir. I was in drama. I was in the Future Business Leaders of America. I wrote for the newspaper. I edited the school literary journal. I was a leader in my church youth group.

Most importantly, I realized that doing well on the PSAT and the SAT were the key to unlocking high-value scholarships. Since I'd always done well on standardized tests, I prepped hard for these entrance exams. I nailed the PSAT. My SAT scores were good enough to back up the first test, so I got a National Merit Scholarship. Bingo! Plus, I applied for a ton of scholarships and won a few.

In the end, I was able to attend Willamette University in Salem for free. (And that's why I cannot write about student loans. I never had them.)

From Religion to Psychology

When I left for college, I was very religious. In fact, I intended to major in religion. My short-term goal — and I'm not joking — was to become a missionary to South America so that I could convert the “heathens”. My long-term goal was to become a youth pastor…and then a pastor.

I took a couple of religion courses during my freshman year. They made me an agnostic. (Something that would have dismayed my professors, if they'd known.) Comparative religion, especially, led me to question the beliefs I'd been so sure of just a year before.

Because I'd always been interested in psychology — and because psychology is somewhat similar to religion — I decided to study that instead. I found it fascinating.

At first, I wanted to focus on child psychology. Or maybe to teach elementary school. (I spent a semester doing an elementary ed “practicum”, meaning I was a teaching assistant in a first-grade classroom.) During my sophomore and junior years, I focused my attention on psychology and teaching. I decided to become a grade-school teacher.

Kris and I had begun dating by this time. She too decided she wanted to teach — but she wanted to teach high-school chemistry. Early in our senior year, we both took the NTE, the National Teacher Exam. I scored higher than she did, which remains one of my proudest achievements. But she followed through with teaching. I didn't.

The Flip of a Coin

In the final semester of my senior year, I took my final psychology course: “Techniques of Counseling”. This class was taught by an actual clinical therapist with a practice in Salem, Oregon. I loved it. This felt like work that I was meant to do.

I loved it so much, in fact, that I did something very, very stupid. Instead of pursuing education, I put that possible career path on hold. While Kris applied to pursue a Master of Arts in teaching, I went “all in” on psychology and counseling. Except that I went “all in” without any idea what I needed to do to pursue the career. And without a backup plan.

I didn't apply to graduate programs. I didn't look for work in Salem. I didn't do anything. Instead, I trusted to the Fates, as I always had. For once, the Fates were not kind.

Toward the end of my counseling course, the professor pulled two of us students aside. “J.D. and Kari”, he said — Kari was an ex-girlfriend who was also taking the class — “you are my two top students. I'd like to offer one of you an internship, but I can't decide which. You would both make excellent counselors, but I only have room for one of you at my practice. What I'd like to do is flip a coin. The winner will get to work with me. Does that sound fair?”

We both said yes. I lost the coin toss. I didn't go into counseling. I didn't go into teaching. I went to work for my father, selling boxes for our family box business.

Chance or Choice?

My destiny was decided by chance. Only it wasn't. Yes, I lost that coin flip, which meant I didn't get the gig as intern for my counseling professor. But what happened after that is wholly on me. I just didn't realize it then…or for another 25 years.

In retrospect — and this is something I've only come to understand in the past five years — that coin toss decided very little. I was the one who decided my fate based on the result of that toss.

Think about it.

I could have asked my professor if he knew of any other practices in Salem that might be interested in an intern. He'd already told me he thought I did quality work. He would have been willing to help.

I could have asked him to write a personal recommendation, then used that recommendation to pursue graduate studies. Or other opportunities in the field.

I could have followed up to see whether or not Kari actually accepted the internship. From my memory, this was the last time I ever saw her. I've checked Facebook over the years, but haven't been able to track her down. Did she do that internship? Is she a counselor today? I have no idea…and I wonder. But there's a chance she didn't take the opportunity, which means it would have been available to me.

Instead of passively accepting my “fate”, I could have taken action and applied (late, yes) to teaching and/or psychology graduate programs.

In 1991, because of my upbringing, I had an external locus of control.

I believed that outside people and events controlled my future. Today, nearly thirty years later, I have very much the opposite view. I believe that I control my future.

What would my life have been like if I'd taken action when I was 22 instead of remaining passive? I don't know. In some ways, it doesn't matter. I like who I am and what I've become. I wouldn't be the person I am today without losing that coin toss, without selling boxes for seventeen years. I can't regret my decision.

All the same…I wonder.

More to the point, part of my mission in life is to encourage young people to actively determine the course of their lives. Don't be passive. Don't let other people and events determine who you are and who you'll become. To the extent that you are able, be the captain of your destiny.

The post How the toss of a coin determined my fate appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/toss-of-a-coin/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

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ajadelight · 5 years

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Cell Phone Affair - Part Two

Amanda left the bus stop laughing to herself about John’s reaction. She made her way through the park, rounded a corner and saw a line of people waiting for service from a food vendor. Art’s Breakfast Bagels - Your Way, his sign announced. She danced her way along the line until she caught the attention of a fabulous dress woman. She stopped and looked at her with sad eyes. “What’s your problem?” the woman asked. “Hunger for one. It’s been two days since I ate last. Other than that, some jerk stole my cell phone and I need to call my sister to get picked up for a party tomorrow. I always attend family parties, even if they don’t like me. At least they feed me well.” The woman frowned and shook her head. “I swear! Don’t they teach you anything at school? Did you graduate?” “Yes, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. Would you be kind and let me use your cell phone. I promise I won’t run away with it.” “You want a sandwich also?” “That would be nice, but I won’t bother you about that. I’ll find something later or hit the free soup kitchen for lunch.” The woman groaned and got her cell phone from her purse. She handed it to her and then hooked a finger in a belt loop of her jeans. “It might break, but it will slow you down enough for me to grab you and knock a knot on your head.” Amanda gave her a huge smile. “Cool.” She dialed a number and waited. “Hey, Susan. Sorry I had to use someone else’s phone. Mine got stolen. What do I want? I want to see you on Saturday at noon at the water fountain in Walton Park. Why? Because you’re a coward and I’m tired of it all. You’re a great woman to sleep with, but enough is enough. If you don’t show and discuss it with me, I’m going to the Walton Post and come out of the closet and drag you with me. Maybe you’re joking about what you’re doing, but I’m not. I’m serious and you’re hurting me by treating me like a piece of shit. So, be there at noon on Saturday or prepare for exposure in the papers! It’s not right for you to play with my feelings and emotions and think you can walk all over me. You spend 6 months being intimate with me and now you want to be my friend and say it’s all my mistakes for loving you? Yes. I said noon on Saturday at the fountain in Walton Park. You’d better keep that date, woman! I love kissing your ass, but this time I’ll kick it and kick it good! Goodbye.” She disconnected the call and handed the phone back to the woman. “Thanks. That was mighty kind of you. You have a wonderful day now.” “Whoa! Are you okay? What the hell was that? Was that your sister or some other family member?” Amanda frowned. “No. I wouldn’t be doing no lesbian love with a family member. That was Susan. She came on to me and I tried it once and found I like it and I liked her. For 6 sweet months, it was bliss and she kept insinuating and hinting that she wanted a very long-term relationship. I opted to accept because the love and everything with her was so real. Then wham. She’s out of my life and it’s my fault, but she can’t tell me why? All I did was love her. Bitch.” “In that case, I agree with you. But why my cell phone? Oh, I get it. If you used yours, she’d never answer. Bitch. I hope she calls me back. I’ll add my icing for her cake and grind it in her face. You might be down-and-out, but you’re attractive and you’ve got a good heart and personality. You probably deserve better than her, but I’ll let you make up your own mind on that. And you have a good day also.” “I will now. Thanks. Will you come to the park on Saturday at noon to support me?” “I’ll be there. I’ll rearrange everything to get there and help you. She has me riled up now.”

Amanda walked away, nibbling on an Everything Bagel with cream cheese, compliments of Danielle, and feeling good. She came across a taxi stand and people were lined up, getting inside yellow cars like lemmings jumping off cliffs. She walked past them dancing and humming and stopping occasionally to play some guitar and bow for their applause.

She approached the 7th person in line, a man wearing dress pants and a long-sleeved blue striped shirt with no tie. She waited until he finished his call and put on her pitiful, helpless look and waved timidly. “Excuse me, sir. I’m down on my luck now. A wonderful angelic woman back the street bought me a bagel to calm my hungry stomach. Some jerk stole my cell phone and I need to make an important call. I know that look. It’s not important to you, but it is to me. I’m supposed to be in Rantoul in 30 minutes to babysit for a cousin who’s paying cash and I’m not going to make it. Unless you want to give me a ride and detour to Rantoul before you go to where you’re going. Where are you going?” “To work. I work odd hours at the ice factory, like from 10 to 6 4 days a week and 12 hours on Saturday.” “No rest for the weary and overburdened. So, will you give a ride or I could use your cell phone and let my cousin know I’m not going to make it.” He looked her up and down and handed her his cell phone. “You might be down, but you look too good to ride with you in a taxi right now. Help yourself until it’s my turn.” “Thanks, dude.” She pressed the last-call function, highlighted the number and pressed call. “Hey, honey. What’s up with you today? Do you miss me that much?” “Not really. Don’t tell me I got the wrong number again. You don’t sound familiar. Who is this?” “This is Jean and you have the right number. It came up Clyde on the Caller ID. What are you doing with his phone?” “Using it. That should be obvious without asking unless you’re a slow learner. Are you?” “NO! Who are you?” “I’m Amanda Collins. And you?” “I’m Jean! I told you that already! What are you doing with my husband?” “Oh, him. I’m probably doing the same thing that you’re doing, but I’m doing it a little, no, a whole lot better than you.” “What?” “You didn’t know that? Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who take life for granted. You know, like after you say, ‘I do,’ you can slack off and wear granny dresses and curlers to bed and everything is all paradise. I got news for you, honey. That’s not the way it works. You have any kids?” “NO! And when I get my hands on you, you won’t ever have them either! Give him back the phone!” “Not yet. I’m not done and it’s rude to try to end the conversation early.” “You’re pissing me off, woman!” “Oh well. I enjoy golden showers on occasion. Tell you what, meet me at the fountain in Walton Park at noon on Saturday and we’ll take turns pissing on each other while the cameras roll.” “Give him the damned phone, woman! Now!” “Or what? Do you know where I am? Do you know where your husband is? I do.” “Give it to him.” “Here? You want me to give it to him here?” “What are you doing?” asked Clyde, finally stopping his gaze and daydream and paying attention. “I don’t know, but this strange woman wants me to kiss you at a minimum, right here.” She stepped close and kissed him without moving the phone. “Wow! You do kiss very well. That was so good, I’d like a repeat. Come on. We still have time before we reach the taxi platform.” “What are you doing? I’ll kick your ass, bitch!” yelled Jean. “Just got a couple of great kisses from Clyde. Wow! Got a little worked up on them. But thanks. I appreciate that opportunity.” “You’re welcome,” Clyde said. “Who are you talking to?” “I’m talking to some woman named Jean. Do you know her?” “My wife? What are you doing, crazy woman?” “I’m doing what she said to do. Here, ask her if you don’t believe me. “Jean, what the hell are you doing? Did you tell her to kiss me?” “Yes, I think, I said give it to him, or you, but I didn’t know it was really you. She’s confusing. Who the hell is she?” “I don’t know. I’m waiting for a taxi to go to the train station and she just stopped out of nowhere.” “Then put her on the damned phone again!” “Hello? This is Amanda. What can I do for you?” “Besides drop dead, what are you doing?” “Enjoying some great phone sex. I think this is the foreplay part. Kind of kinky, but very exciting. What do I do next?” “Get ready for a fight, bitch! Where do we meet?” “At noon on Saturday by the fountain in Walton Park. Do you know where that is?” “Yes, I know where that is?” “But not where your husband is?” “Stop it!” “Sounds like you did a long time ago. That’s a shame. He has a lot to offer.” “That does it! I’ll be at the park at noon and at 12:05, you will die!” “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, like saying ‘I Do’ in a chapel or elsewhere and not holding yourself to it.” “Tell me that after I hold your head under water for 10 minutes, waterlogged heathen bitch.” “Yada-yada-yada,” said Amanda. She handed Clyde the phone. “She hung up on me. I’ve never been that rude to anyone in my life. And she hung up on me. She lays into me with all those threats and it’s my fault? I don’t think so. Anyway, you’re up next. You have a great day and see if you can get Jean to enroll in Anger Management classes. It might improve your marriage.” He slid the phone back in his coat pocket. “You’re fucking unreal! Do you know that? How can you do that to people? Why hasn’t someone killed you before now?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. It must be my angel-like face and personality. Are you coming to the park with her on Saturday? One of us will be the kicked and one will be the kicker.” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, weird woman.”

#short story

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pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

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The Church's Year - THE FEAST OF OF SS. PETER AND PAUL, APOSTLES. [June 29.]

With Image:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/churchs-year-feast-ss-peter-paul-apostles-june-29-harold-baines/?published=t

PETER, formerly called Simon, from Bethsaida in Galilee, was a son of Jonas and a brother of Andrew, by whom he was brought to Christ. After the great draught of fishes, when our Lord said to him and Andrew: Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men, Peter followed the Saviour constantly, from whom he received the most tender proofs of love. Peter was present when Christ appeared in His glory on Mount Thabor, when He raised the daughter of Jairus to life, and when He sweat blood in the agony on Mount Olivet. Peter was also present at the miraculous draught of fishes, which was a figure of the multitudes which he was to bring, by means of the holy Gospel, to the kingdom of God, for Christ called him a fisher of men, and afterwards, because Peter recognized and professed Him to be the Son of the living God, Christ named him Peter, made him the head of the apostles and of the entire Church, made him His vicar and visible representative upon earth, promising to build His Church upon him as upon a rock, gave him the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and commanded him to feed His lambs and His sheep. Peter loved our Lord above all things; because of his love he wished to remain with Christ upon Mount Thabor to prevent Him from suffering, and in his love desired to die with Christ. He certainly showed the greatest courage when Christ was taken, following Him even into the house of Caiphas. But alas, the instability of man! There Peter three times denied the Lord. But the look of forgiving love which Jesus .east upon him, forced from him tears of the deepest contrition. He atoned for his denial by suffering much for Christ. Under the Emperor Nero he was crucified for his faith at Rome, and by his own request with his head downwards, because he did not consider himself worthy to die like Christ.

Oh! that all sinners would seek by such penance to turn their evil into good!

PRAYER TO ST. PETER. O God, who from a poor fisherman hast made St. Peter prince of the apostles and head of Thy Church, we beseech Thee through his intercession to make us true lambs of Thy flock. Grant, that we may hear his voice, follow his doctrine, and walk in his steps, until we reach that happy pasture where the Good Shepherd, Thine only-begotten Son, Jesus Christ, whom St. Peter represented on earth, reigns with Thee and the Holy Ghost forever. Amen.

SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF ST. PAUL

PAUL, before his conversion called Saul, of the tribe of Benjamin, was born at Tarsus in Cilicia, and was a pupil of Gamaliel. As he had the most zealous attachment for the Jewish law, he was exasperated against the Christians. However, when hastening to Damascus to persecute them, he was converted by the Lord on the way and called to be an apostle. [See the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul.] His unwearied labors in the vineyard of the Lord after his conversion, the sufferings which he endured upon his apostolic journeys, and the dangers and persecutions through which he passed in different countries, cannot be described. The zeal and constancy with which he confessed and preached the faith, though in chains and fetters, though scourged and beaten, in hunger and thirst, and through innumerable dangers, are almost incredible. He was so humble that he regarded himself as the least of the apostles, and thanked God fervently that He considered him worthy to suffer for His sake. After he had fought a good fight and finished his course, having everywhere zealously preached the faith, and still more zealously practiced it, he wpn the crown of justice. On the same day and at the same place in Rome, in which Peter was crucified, he was beheaded, by command of the Emperor Nero. Thus God tries and rewards true virtue. Paul in his life, as after death, worked numberless miracles; even his handkerchief, like St. Peter's shadow, healed sickness and expelled devils. He had so deeply impressed the name of Jesus in his heart, that it was almost continually on his lips, for "out of the fulness of the heart, the mouth speaketh."

Would that we loved Jesus as St. Paul loved Him, then we would, like St. Paul, be ready to do and suffer much for Him.

PRAYER TO ST. PAUL. O St. Paul, chosen vessel of the Lord, who didst carry the name of Jesus to kings and heathens, who didst suffer so much for Christ, and wast never allured from the love of Him: like a brave soldier of Christ, thou hast fought a good battle, a zealous teacher, thou hast preached far and wide the true faith, and the just and merciful God has, therefore, rewarded thee with the crown of justice: pray to God for me, that I who because of my sins am an instrument of wrath, may become an instrument of honor, adorned with the Christian virtues, with which thou art already decorated. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

The Introit of the Mass consists of Peter's words, spoken after his deliverance from the prison at Jerusalem: Now I know in very deed that the Lord hath sent his angel, and hath delivered me out of the hand of Herod, and from all the expectation of the people of the Jews. (Acts xii. 11.) Lord, Thou hast proved me, and known me: Thou hast known my sitting down and my rising up. (Ps. cxxxviii.) Glory be to the Father, &c.

COLLECT O God, who hast sanctified this day by the martyrdom of Thy blessed Apostles Peter and Paul: grant unto Thy Church, that as from them it received the first teachings of religion, so it may in all things follow their holy precepts. Thro'. &c.

EPISTLE (Acts xii. 1 — 11.) in those days, Herod the king stretched forth his hands to afflict some of the Church: and he killed James the brother of John with the sword. And seeing that it pleased the Jews, he proceeded to take up Peter also. Now it was in the days of the azymes. And when he had apprehended him, he cast him into prison, delivering him to four files of soldiers to be kept, intending after the pasch to bring him forth to the people. Peter therefore was kept in prison. But prayer was made without ceasing by the Church unto God for him. And when Herod would have brought him forth, the same night Peter was sleeping between two soldiers, bound with two chains: and the keepers before the door kept the ^prison. And behold, an angel of the Lord stood by him, and a light shined in the room: and he striking Peter on the side, raised him up, saying: Arise quickly. And the chains fell off from his hands. And the angel said to him: Gird thyself, and put on thy sandals. And he did so. And he said to him: Cast thy garment about thee, and follow me. And going out, he followed him, and he knew not that it was true which was done by the angel: but he thought he saw a vision. And passing through the first and the second ward, they came to the iron gate that leadeth to the city: which of itself opened to them. And going out, they passed on through one street, and immediately the angel departed from him. And Peter coming to himself, said: Now I know in very deed that the Lord hath sent his angel, and hath delivered me out of the hand of Herod, and from all the expectation of the people of the Jews.

EXPLANATION I This Herod, a grandson of Herod the Great,, under whom Christ was born, and who murdered the holy Innocents, was a zealous Jew, and to please the Jews persecuted the Christians. He caused Peter to be imprisoned with the intention of having him publicly executed after Easter, for the amusement of the people. — How shameful it is to do wrong, to murder a man in order to amuse others! See how deeply the desire to please can lead into error! Take care to commit no sin for the sake of pleasing others; for he who seeks to please men cannot be a servant of Christ, says the Apostle Paul. II. The Church, that is, the priests and the faithful, prayed to God continually for the liberation of St. Peter, and their prayers were heard. — Let us pray for one another, especially for sinners, that God may free them from the chains of the evil one. III. Peter slept quietly in prison, for his conscience was at peace, and he confided himself to God's protection. — The innocent are calm in every peril and need, the bad alone have no peace. IV. God sent an angel to Peter, who told him to rise quickly, gird himself, put on his sandals, and follow him. — If thy guardian angel warns thee to rise from the sleep of sin, do so at once, return to thyself, like the prodigal son, break the bonds that bind thee to sin, gird thyself with the strong resolution to sin no more, put on thy shoes, that is, make the firm purpose to follow Christ.

(The Gospel as on the Feast of St. Peter's Chair at Rome.)

Gospel MT 16:13-19

When Jesus went into the region of Caesarea Philippi he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” They replied, “Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter said in reply, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Jesus said to him in reply, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah. For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly Father. And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys to the Kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

Reflection 1 – Who do people say?

“When Jesus went into the region of Caesarea Philippi he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is? They replied, “Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter said in reply, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”‘

If we call Jesus just a good man or even a great man, we are not giving what is due Him. We are actually insulting Him as anything less than what acknowledges Him as God the Son denies Him and the Truth that we have in Him. Anything which does not give His true and real Being defames His character as God made man.

Jesus is the embodiment of the Father’s unconditional love for us. He is God’s righteousness and faithfulness as He is the Messiah God promised to send us. He is God’s Infinite Wisdom and Perfect Plan for mankind. He is compassionate, gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in loving kindness and truth. Jesus is the ultimate atoning sacrifice made for all our sins.

And finally, Jesus is the new covenant relationship with God which gives us the opportunity to experience eternity. His blood established a new covenant and a chance for all men to spend eternity in the presence of God. He is God’s perfect will carried out on the Cross. Jesus is the decisive triumph over eternal condemnation. Jesus is the Anointed One, the Messiah!

Yes, Jesus is the greatest blessing poured out to a world thirsty for the saving grace of the one true God. He is Emmanuel, God with us and nobody can take Him away from us. Jesus is God, the One True God.

As I ventured to respond to the question on Who Jesus is I know that I have endeavored to do the impossible for Jesus is beyond description. But in very simple terms, Jesus is my everything, my all in all, my very life and the very essence of my being.

Jesus, I will never be without You for without You I am nothing! To Him be glory forever and ever. Amen. Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam (AMDG)!

Direction: We ought to know Jesus by giving Him a chance in our lives. Let us make space for Him in our hearts.

Prayer: Heavenly Father, reveal yourself to me more and more through your Son Jesus. In Him, I pray. Amen.

Reflection 2 – The keys of the kingdom of heaven

At an opportune time Jesus tests his disciples with a crucial question: Who do men say that I am and who do you say that I am? He was widely recognized in Israel as a mighty man of God, even being compared with the greatest of the prophets, John the Baptist, Elijah, and Jeremiah. Peter, always quick to respond, exclaimed that he was the Christ, the Son of the living God. No mortal being could have revealed this to Peter, but only God.

Cyril of Alexandria (376-444 AD), an early church father comments on Peter’s profession of faith in Jesus:

Peter did not say “you are a Christ” or “a son of God” but “the Christ, the Son of God.” For there are many christs [meaning anointed ones] by grace, who have attained the rank of adoption [as sons], but [there is] only one who is by nature the Son of God. Thus, using the definite article, he said, the Christ, the Son of God. And in calling him Son of the living God, Peter indicates that Christ himself is life and that death has no authority over him. And even if the flesh, for a short while, was weak and died, nevertheless it rose again, since the Word, who indwelled it, could not be held under the bonds of death. (FRAGMENT 190)

Jesus plays on Peter’s name which is the same word for “rock” in both Aramaic and Greek. To call someone a “rock” is one of the greatest of compliments. The ancient rabbis had a saying that when God saw Abraham, he exclaimed: “I have discovered a rock to found the world upon”. Through Abraham God established a nation for himself. Through faith Peter grasped who Jesus truly was. He was the first apostle to recognize Jesus as the Anointed One (Messiah and Christ) and the only begotten Son of God. The New Testament describes the church as a spiritual house or temple with each member joined together as living stones (see 1 Peter 2:5). Faith in Jesus Christ makes us into rocks or spiritual stones.

Jesus then confers on Peter authority to govern the church that Jesus would build, a church that no powers would overcome because it is founded on the rock which is Christ himself. Epiphanius, a 6th century Scripture scholar who also translated many early church commentaries from Greek into Latin, explains the significance of Jesus handing down the “keys of the kingdom”:

For Christ is a rock which is never disturbed or worn away. Therefore Peter gladly received his name from Christ to signify the established and unshaken faith of the church.… The devil is the gateway of death who always hastens to stir up against the holy church calamities and temptations and persecutions. But the faith of the apostle, which was founded upon the rock of Christ, abides always unconquered and unshaken. And the very keys of the kingdom of the heavens have been handed down so that one whom he has bound on earth has been bound in heaven, and one whom he has set free on earth he has also set free in heaven. (INTERPRETATION OF THE GOSPELS 28)

The Lord Jesus offers us the gift of unshakeable faith, enduring hope, and unquenchable love – and the joyful boldness to proclaim him as the one true Savior who brings us the kingdom of God both now and forever. Who do you say he is to yourself and to your neighbor?

“Lord Jesus, I profess and believe that you are the Christ, the Son of the living God. You are my Lord and my Savior. Make my faith strong like Peter’s and give me boldness to speak of you to others that they may come to know you personally as Lord and Savior and grow in the knowledge of your great love.” – Read the source: http://dailyscripture.servantsoftheword.org/readings/2018/feb22a.htm

Reflection 3 – Chair of St. Peter

Today’s feast of the chair of Peter celebrates not only the triumph of Christ’s grace in the heart and soul of Peter, but his status as the primary pastor and teacher of the Church. The chair is the symbol of his teaching authority, as it is of every bishop. Peter (d. ca. 64) was Jesus’ chief apostle whom later Catholic tradition regards as the first pope. Born in the village of Bethsaida on the Sea of Galilee, his original Hebrew name was rendered in Greek as Simon, but Jesus gave him a new name, the Aramaic word for “rock” rendered in Greek as Kephas. The name Peter is a translation of the Aramaic word. Sometimes he is referred to in the New Testament as Simon Peter. Peter was married and remained so even after becoming a disciple (Mk 1:29-31; 1 Cor 9:5).

In the gospel today when Jesus asked a question, it was not because He didn’t know the answer. You can be sure He was making a point. Jesus and His disciples were in Caesarea Philippi, away from their own territory. It was a place of idolatry and oppression – a threatening place both politically and spiritually. In this environment, Jesus posed two important questions about the perception of His identity. He wasn’t interested in His popularity rating. He wanted His followers to be sure about the One they were following.

Today our culture is just as hostile and opposed to Jesus as when He first asked the question” “Who do men say that I, the Son of Man, am?” (Mt 16:13). As in Jesus’ day, people offer a long list of inadequate and incorrect ideas about Jesus, ranging from “just a good teacher” all the way to “divisive” and “intolerant.”

The real question was and continues to be: “Who do you say that I am?” (Mt 16:15). Peter boldly declared, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:16). Jesus said that Peter’s accurate confession was a God-given insight and that he was blessed because of his declaration (Mt 16:17).

Join Peter in confessing that Jesus is your Savior. Your life will be bolstered and blessed. “O receive Him today who so loved you that He died on the cross for your sin; O believe Him and open your heart’s door; Let the Savior who loves you come in.” Whoever believes that Jesus is the Christ is born of God (1 Jn 5:1). This is our faith. Only an authentic faith will give us the strength to live out our Christian commitment. As we celebrate the Eucharist, let us pray that our faith, and that of our whole church, may be strengthened.

“Lord Jesus, I profess and believe that you are the Christ, the Son of the living God. You are my Lord and my Savior. Make my faith strong like Peter and give me boldness to speak of you to others that they may come to know you personally as Lord and Savior and grow in the knowledge of your love.”

Reflection 4 – Whom are you shepherding?

In today’s Gospel passage, we see that Peter had the insight to recognize Jesus as the Messiah, and then the Lord called him and commissioned him to shepherd others into the same realization.

We, too, know that Jesus is our Lord and the Good Shepherd as described in Psalm 23. Therefore we, too, are called and commissioned to shepherd the people whom we encounter. We’re to lead them to Christ the way a shepherd herds his flock.

But what about the people who don’t want to be shepherded?

In today’s first reading, Peter tells us how to do it, even when others don’t recognize that it is good to follow Jesus: Be a good example. Don’t lord it over those whom God has placed in your life, because only Jesus is Lord. When people look at us, they should see Jesus — not bad attitudes, not unlovingness, not apathy, not argumentativeness, not depression or doom and gloom, not despair and hopelessness, not materialism, not selfishness.

In other words, we have to put a lot of effort into overcoming our sinful tendencies, because our lives are the Shepherd’s staff, prodding the people around us. We either prod them toward Jesus and his sheepfold, or we push them away from the life that Jesus wants for them.

Sheep follow their shepherd because that’s how they find greener pastures. What have you learned on your spiritual journey that would benefit others? Any oases that Jesus has led you to become places of your expertise. Now, you can shepherd others to the same places. Whom do you know in need of rest from their hardships and healing from their wounds? Shepherd them with what you have learned.

Being a shepherd means you also know about the wolves. Many sheep are totally oblivious to the dangers that lurk, but you have been given the responsibility of guarding against evil. Because Jesus is with you, the wolves can and will be defeated. However, they will only be conquered when you stay close to Jesus.

We cannot successfully lead others to Christ without a good prayer life, knowledge of the scriptures, and ever-growing holiness. And we cannot be good shepherds if we neglect to overcome our sins, because then we’re playing with wolves. We must cover our vulnerabilities with the armor of God by getting right with him and getting rid of any known areas of disobedience.

Being a shepherd is risky. Wolves attack our vulnerabilities. Some of the sheep behave like wolves. And sometimes we need to repent from acting wolfish ourselves.

At the Church of the Primacy of St. Peter by the Sea of Galilee, where today’s Gospel story took place, there’s a sign that says, “The deeds and miracles of Jesus are not actions of the past. Jesus is waiting for those who are still prepared to take risks at His word because they trust His power utterly.”

Pray with me: “Lord Jesus, I say yes to Your calling, no matter how risky it seems. I choose to trust in Your guidance, Your directions. What do You want me to do?” – Read the source: http://gnm.org/good-news-reflections/?useDrDate=2018-02-22

Reflection 5 – A Fragile Stone

Peter answered and said, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” —Matthew 16:16

When writing on the life of Simon Peter, songwriter and author Michael Card described the apostle as “a fragile stone.” It is a term filled with contrast, yet one that aptly describes Peter.

Throughout Peter’s life, we see this contrast lived out as he displayed moments of courage followed by spiritual failure. After his declaration of Christ as the Son of God, Jesus said to him, “I also say to you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build My church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18). A rock. A stone. Peter, whose name means “a small stone,” proved to be fragile when he tried to dissuade Jesus from going to the cross, and when he denied Him three times after His arrest.

Peter, the “fragile stone,” reminds us that no amount of personal strength or talent can make us adequate for this life and its challenges. Only as we rest in the strength of Christ will we find His provision. When we acknowledge our frailty and dependence on Him, Christ’s strength can empower us for the troubles life throws our way.

Like Peter, we are all “fragile stones.” How grateful we can be for His strength that is made perfect in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9-10). — Bill Crowder

God uses weakness to reveal His great sufficiency;

So if we let Him work through us, His power we will see. —Sper

Only when we acknowledge our weakness can we be strong in the Lord (Source: Our Daily Bread, RBC Ministries).

Reflection 6 – The Center Of History

Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” “Some say John the Baptist,” they answered. Others say Elijah, while others say Jeremiah or some other prophet. What about you? He asked them. Who do you say I am?” (Mt 16:13-15).

Simon Peter answered and said, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” —Matthew 16:16

In its biographical archives, The Washington Post identifies famous people with a single vocational notice, such as “home-run king” or “motion-picture star.” According to a reporter, one of these files is marked, “Jesus Christ (martyr).”

Every individual who considers Jesus Christ makes some judgment about Him. French philosopher and historian Ernest Renan said, “All history is incomprehensible without Christ.” American author Ralph Waldo Emerson concluded, “His name is not so much written but plowed into the history of the world.”

Kenneth Scott Latourette, former chairman of the department of religion at Yale Graduate School, wrote, “That short life of Jesus has been the most influential ever lived. Through Him millions have been transformed and have begun to live the life which He exemplified. Gauged by the consequences which have followed, the birth, life, and death and resurrection of Jesus have been the most important events in the history of man.”

What label do you put on Jesus Christ? If you agree that He is who He claimed to be, then let Him who is the center of history be not only the center of your creed but also the object of your loyalty and love. — Haddon W. Robinson

Christ wants to be the center of your life,

The reason for your being here at all;

He gave Himself a sacrifice for you,

And now He waits for you to hear His call. — Hess

Your decision about Jesus determines your destiny (Source: Our Daily Bread, RBC Ministries).

Reflection 7 – The Real Jesus

You are the Christ, the Son of the living God. —Matthew 16:16

Who is Jesus? Observing the ways He is portrayed these days, it’s almost impossible to recognize Him as the Jesus of the Bible. Some groups add to what the Bible says about Him, while others diminish Him to simple humanity, claiming that He was merely a wise teacher or a master moralist. Some would like to make Him disappear altogether.

But this is nothing new. It’s been happening for nearly 2,000 years. This reminds me of Thomas Jefferson, who wrote the US Declaration of Independence. He went through the New Testament Gospels with scissors and cut out all references to Jesus’ deity and the supernatural. This is known as The Jefferson Bible. Even recently, people have approached the Gospels in similar ways.

When Jesus asked His 12 disciples what people were saying about who He was, some answers were Elijah, Jeremiah, and John the Baptist, but these answers were all inadequate. Peter was correct when he said, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16).

Don’t be deceived by fuzzy, watered down, or false descriptions of Jesus that you read, see, or hear about. Stick to the Bible. When people try to minimize His identity, tell them in no uncertain terms who the real Jesus is! — David C. Egner

All glory to Jesus, begotten of God,

The great I AM is He;

Creator, sustainer—but wonder of all,

The Lamb of Calvary! — Peterson

To know Jesus is to know God (Source: Our Daily Bread, RBC Ministries).

Reflection 8 – The Right Answer

Simon Peter answered and said, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” —Matthew 16:16

When Jesus asked a question, it was not because He didn’t know the answer. You can be sure He was making a point.

Jesus and His disciples were in Caesarea Philippi, away from their own territory. It was a place of idolatry and oppression—a threatening place both politically and spiritually. In this environment, Jesus posed two important questions about the perception of His identity. He wasn’t interested in His popularity rating. He wanted His followers to be sure about the One they were following.

Today our culture is just as hostile and opposed to Jesus as when He first asked the question: “Who do men say that I, the Son of Man, am?” (Matt. 16:13). As in Jesus’ day, people offer a long list of inadequate and incorrect ideas about Jesus, ranging from “just a good teacher” all the way to “divisive” and “intolerant.”

The real question was and continues to be: “Who do you say that I am?” (16:15). Peter boldly declared, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (v.16). Jesus said that Peter’s accurate confession was a God-given insight and that he was blessed because of his declaration (v.17).

Join Peter in confessing that Jesus is your Savior. Your life will be bolstered and blessed. — Joe Stowell

O receive Him today who so loved you

That He died on the cross for your sin;

O believe Him and open your heart’s door,

Let the Savior who loves you come in. — Anon.

Whoever believes that Jesus is the Christ is born of God. —1 John 5:1 (Source: Our Daily Bread, RBC Ministries).

Reflection 9 – Chair of St. Peter

This feast commemorates Christ’s choosing Peter to sit in his place as the servant-authority of the whole Church (see June 29).

After the “lost weekend” of pain, doubt and self-torment, Peter hears the Good News. Angels at the tomb say to Magdalene, “The Lord has risen! Go, tell his disciples and Peter.” John relates that when he and Peter ran to the tomb, the younger outraced the older, then waited for him. Peter entered, saw the wrappings on the ground, the headpiece rolled up in a place by itself. John saw and believed. But he adds a reminder: “…[T]hey did not yet understand the scripture that he had to rise from the dead” (John 20:9). They went home. There the slowly exploding, impossible idea became reality. Jesus appeared to them as they waited fearfully behind locked doors. “Peace be with you,” he said (John 20:21b), and they rejoiced.

The Pentecost event completed Peter’s experience of the risen Christ. “…[T]hey were all filled with the holy Spirit” (Acts 2:4a) and began to express themselves in foreign tongues and make bold proclamation as the Spirit prompted them.

Only then can Peter fulfill the task Jesus had given him: “… [O]nce you have turned back, you must strengthen your brothers” (Luke 22:32). He at once becomes the spokesman for the Twelve about their experience of the Holy Spirit — before the civil authorities who wished to quash their preaching, before the council of Jerusalem, for the community in the problem of Ananias and Sapphira. He is the first to preach the Good News to the Gentiles. The healing power of Jesus in him is well attested: the raising of Tabitha from the dead, the cure of the crippled beggar. People carry the sick into the streets so that when Peter passed his shadow might fall on them.

Even a saint experiences difficulty in Christian living. When Peter stopped eating with Gentile converts because he did not want to wound the sensibilities of Jewish Christians, Paul says, “…I opposed him to his face because he clearly was wrong…. [T]hey were not on the right road in line with the truth of the gospel…” (Galatians 2:11b, 14a).

At the end of John’s Gospel, Jesus says to Peter, “Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go” (John 21:18). What Jesus said indicated the sort of death by which Peter was to glorify God. On Vatican Hill, in Rome, during the reign of Nero, Peter did glorify his Lord with a martyr’s death, probably in the company of many Christians.

Second-century Christians built a small memorial over his burial spot. In the fourth century, the Emperor Constantine built a basilica, which was replaced in the 16th century.

Story:

This saintly man’s life is perhaps best summed up at his meeting with Jesus after the resurrection in the presence of the men Peter was to lead. In imitation of Peter’s triple denial, Jesus asked him three times, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” (John 21:16b). Peter answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you. . . . Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you (John 21:16c, 17b).

Comment:

Like the committee chair, this chair refers to the occupant, not the furniture. Its first occupant stumbled a bit, denying Jesus three times and hesitating to welcome gentiles into the new Church. Some of its later occupants have also stumbled a bit, sometimes even failed scandalously. As individuals, we may sometimes think a particular pope has let us down. Still, the office endures as a sign of the long tradition we cherish and as a focus for the universal Church.

Quote:

Peter described our Christian calling in the opening of his First Letter, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who in his great mercy gave us a new birth to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…” (1 Peter 1:3a).

________

9 things you need to know about the “Chair of St. Peter”

By Jimmy Akin

Yes, there is a physical object known as “the Chair of St. Peter.”

It is housed at the Vatican, at the back of St. Peter’s basilica.

February 22 is the Feast of the Chair of St. Peter.

And there is more to the story.

Here are 9 things you need to know . . .

1. What is the Chair of Peter?

It depends on what you mean.

On the one hand, there is a physical object–an ancient, ornamented chair–located in the apse of St. Peter’s Basilica.

On the other hand, there is the spiritual authority that this chair represents.

Here we will look at both the physical object and the spiritual reality it represents.

2. What is the physical Chair of St. Peter?

This object–known as the Cathedra Petri (Latin, “Chair of Peter”)–is located in the apse of St. Peter’s Basilica. It is in the back of the chamber, behind the famous altar, on the far, back wall, below the the well-known, stained glass image depicting the Holy Spirit as a dove (see above).

This display contains an ancient chair that has been repaired and ornamented over time.

The Catholic Encyclopedia states of the original chair:

The seat is about one foot ten inches above the ground, and two feet eleven and seven-eighths inches wide; the sides are two feet one and one-half inches deep; the height of the back up to the tympanum is three feet five and one-third inches; the entire height of the chair is four feet seven and one-eighth inches.

According to the examination then made by Padre Garucci and Giovanni Battista de Rossi, the oldest portion is a perfectly plain oaken arm-chair with four legs connected by cross-bars.

The wood is much worm-eaten, and pieces have been cut from various spots at different times, evidently for relics.

To the right and left of the seat four strong iron rings, intended for carrying-poles, are set into the legs.

Below is an image of the ancient chair: (Caption for linked image)

3. How has the chair changed over time?

Various modifications have been made to the chair, to repair and ornament it.

Most notably, the famous Italian artist/architect Bernini (1598-1680) created the current display (pictured at the top of this post).

The Catholic Encyclopedia notes:

During the Middle Ages it was customary to exhibit [the chair] yearly to the faithful; the newly-elected pope was also solemnly enthroned on this venerable chair. . . .

In order to preserve for posterity this precious relic, Alexander VII (1655-67) enclosed, after the designs of Bernini, the Cathedra Petri above the apsidal altar of St. Peter’s in a gigantic casing of bronze, supported by four Doctors of the Church (Ambrose, Augustine, Athanasius, Chrysostom).

4. Did St. Peter really sit in this chair?

In the early 20th century, the Catholic Encyclopedia stated:

We conclude, therefore, that there is no reason for doubting the genuineness of the relic preserved at the Vatican, and known as the Cathedra Petri.

However, since that time the fields of history and archaeology have advanced considerably, and, when Pope Benedict addressed the subject in 2006 and 2012, he spoke in a more reserved way, saying:

Dear brothers and sisters, in the apse of St Peter’s Basilica, as you know, is the monument to the Chair of the Apostle, a mature work of Bernini. It is in the form of a great bronze throne supported by the statues of four Doctors of the Church: two from the West, St Augustine and St Ambrose, and two from the East: St John Chrysostom and St Athanasius [General Audience, Feb. 22, 2006].

The Chair of St Peter, represented in the apse of the Vatican Basilica is a monumental sculpture by Bernini. It is a symbol of the special mission of Peter and his Successors to tend Christ’s flock, keeping it united in faith and in charity [Angelus, Feb. 19, 2012].

He thus placed less emphasis on the archaeological authenticity of the chair than on its spiritual significance.

5. What is the spiritual significance of the feast the Church celebrates today?

According to Pope Benedict:

This is a very ancient tradition, proven to have existed in Rome since the fourth century. On it we give thanks to God for the mission he entrusted to the Apostle Peter and his Successors.

“Cathedra” literally means the established seat of the Bishop, placed in the mother church of a diocese which for this reason is known as a “cathedral”; it is the symbol of the Bishop’s authority and in particular, of his “magisterium”, that is, the evangelical teaching which, as a successor of the Apostles, he is called to safeguard and to transmit to the Christian Community. . . .

The See of Rome, after St Peter’s travels, thus came to be recognized as the See of the Successor of Peter, and its Bishop’s “cathedra” represented the mission entrusted to him by Christ to tend his entire flock. . . .

Celebrating the “Chair” of Peter, therefore, as we are doing today, means attributing a strong spiritual significance to it and recognizing it as a privileged sign of the love of God, the eternal Good Shepherd, who wanted to gather his whole Church and lead her on the path of salvation [General Audience, Feb. 22, 2006].

Additional spiritual insights are found in the Scripture readings for the day.

6. What does the first Scripture reading of the day have to teach us?

The first reading for the day is 1 Peter 5:1 - 4, which reads:

So I exhort the elders among you, as a fellow elder and a witness of the sufferings of Christ as well as a partaker in the glory that is to be revealed. Tend the flock of God that is your charge, not by constraint but willingly, not for shameful gain but eagerly, not as domineering over those in your charge but being examples to the flock. And when the chief Shepherd is manifested you will obtain the unfading crown of glory.

This reading introduces the idea of the leaders of God’s people as spiritual shepherds, focusing on Christ as the Chief Shepherd.

Although Peter is below Christ as his under-shepherd (John 21:15-17), he does not direct attention to himself. Instead, he extends the office of shepherd to the leaders in his audience, revealing to them the way that they are to serve the portions of Christ’s flock entrusted to their care–not by lording it over them (“domineering over those in your charge”) but by serving in a truly spiritual manner (“being examples to the flock”).

The first reading thus serves as instruction in the first place for those who are ordained ministers in Christ’s Church but–in an extended way – it serves as instruction for all of us, for we all influence others and should set the same example.

7. What does the responsorial Psalm of the day have to teach us?

The responsorial Psalm is taken from Psalm 23:1 - 6. It also echoes the theme of shepherding.

In this case the Lord is identified for the individual believer as “my shepherd,” with the result that “I shall not want” (that is, I shall not lack anything).

The whole Psalm thus is taken up into the theme of the day, focusing on the relationship between God as the ultimate shepherd of our souls and we as the individual members of his flock.

You can meditate on the complete Psalm below.

Psalm 23 Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (RSVCE)

The Divine Shepherd

A Psalm of David.

23 The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want;

2 he makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters;[a]

3 he restores my soul.[b]

He leads me in paths of righteousness[c]

for his name’s sake.

4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,[d]

I fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies; thou anointest my head with oil, my cup overflows.

6 Surely[e] goodness and mercy[f] shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.[g]

Footnotes:

Psalm 23:2 Heb the waters of rest

Psalm 23:3 Or life

Psalm 23:3 Or right paths

Psalm 23:4 Or the valley of deep darkness

Psalm 23:6 Or Only

Psalm 23:6 Or kindness

Psalm 23:6 Or as long as I live

Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (RSVCE)

The Revised Standard Version of the Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1965, 1966 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

8. What does the gospel reading of the day have to teach us?

The gospel reading for the day is Matthew 16:13-19, in which Jesus declares Peter the rock on which he will build his Church. (See Above)

9. Does the pope have to sit in the physical Chair of Peter be infallible?

No. Although the pope’s infallible pronouncements are called ex cathedra (Latin, “from the chair”) statements, he does not have to be sitting in the physical chair (which is rather high off the ground in any case).

In fact, he doesn’t have to be seated at all.

He simply has to use the fullness of his authority as the successor of Peter to definitively teaching a particular matter pertaining to faith or morals.

This use of the full extent of his teaching authority is referred to figuratively, as him speaking “from the chair” of St. Peter.

It’s a figurative expression, not a reference to the physical object.

#feast of ss. peter and paul

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mermaidinstereo · 7 years

Text

LIST: 10 of My Favorite Movie Songs

I'm an idiot. On Oscar Night, I decided to wrap up a draft I was writing for a list going up soon. The theme was dark videos, again, it will be going up soon. Also, I worked a terrible work day for about 6-8 hours, so that was a huuuuuge damper on my mood that kept me from doing anything until about 4 or 5. So I was too dumb to come up with a list of movie songs on Oscar Night. Yeah. I'm that kind of idiot.

But here I am, doing it. Right now.

For this list, I have a few criteria. These songs were released solely for these films. That means that they were not picked from an artist's pre-existing album, or a cover of another song recorded for a movie, or a musical selection from a Broadway adaptation. These songs may have appeared on an artist's album after release (such as a greatest hits release), but not before. So, sorry to "Lady Marmalade," "Cell Block Tango," and "Hooked on a Feeling." Oh, that goes for you, too, "Elephant Love Medley" from Moulin Rouge. That's a mashup. You're not slick.

10. "Kiss from a Rose" - Seal (Batman Forever, 1994) Call it hokey. Call it what you want. But I better not catch you talking shit about Seal. In what is possibly his signature song, Seal's incomparable voice soars over a haunting melody and epic orchestration. Is it the best song to ever come out of a DC Comics film? Oh, hell yes it is.

9. "The World is Not Enough" - Garbage (The World is Not Enough, 1999) When you ask a group like Garbage to write a Bond theme, you probably don't expect them to deliver Shirley Bassey or Paul McCartney. Spoiler alert: they don't, but damn, do they deliver. Shirley Manson puts on the dangerous seduction worthy of a Bond girl over a smoldering orchestra, arranged by Don Black and David Arnold. It just feels so sexy, and so sinister. So of course I'm into it. The few times I actually play Overwatch with Widowmaker, I like to imagine her slinking around to this song before she snipes Genji in his tracks. Fuck Genji.

8. "Over the Rainbow" - Judy Garland (The Wizard of Oz, 1939) I felt wrong not including this song, partly because when I was a very little girl, my grandmother--a jazz singer back in the day--would sing it to me and my sister. Listening to it now as an adult effortlessly brings a tear to my eye, thanks to Judy Garland's mournful, yet optimistic vocals. That's the kind of thing that makes you want to root for a character like Dorothy. Not just that, but that's the kind of thing that makes characters and movies iconic. Yeah, there's yellow brick roads and little dogs and munchkins, but, in the way "Let It Go" defined Frozen's Queen Elsa, Dorothy Gale is synonymous with "Over the Rainbow." And that's not a bad thing to be associated with.

7. "I Don't Want To Miss a Thing" - Aerosmith (Armageddon, 1998) I was coerced to go on the Rock 'n Roller Coaster at Disney's Hollywood Studios once. I hated it. I hate coasters. It didn't necessarily affect my opinion of Aerosmith, but I don't remember hearing this classic Aerosmith track on the ride. Probably because I was busy screaming to get me off this crazy thing and into the Voyage of the Little Mermaid show. Sounds about right. But in a park that celebrates films--and on a ride themed around Aerosmith--the omission of this song feels wrong. Is Armageddon an iconic film? Nah, not really. Is this song timeless? Yeah. In fact it's one of Aerosmith's most well-known tracks. For good reason--it's Steven Tyler at his vocal best. And who'da thunk that they'd go so well with an orchestra? Tyler's emotion is remarkably raw. Not bad for a song so obviously made to sell a movie. I guess they just did it differently in the 90s.

6. "Young and Beautiful" - Lana Del Rey (The Great Gatsby, 2013) I never saw this movie, because I hated the book. It was one of those books where you were forced to read it in high school English. Hence, I hated it. Lana Del Rey was also an acquired taste for me. However, "Young and Beautiful" is Lana at her finest. Her simmering alto flies above a lush orchestra as she croons, lamenting over a love she's not sure will last. In true Lana Del Rey style, the girl just can't do happiness. But hey, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. She doesn't fix it--she enhances it, to dazzling effect

5. "Audition (The Fools Who Dream)" - Emma Stone (La La Land, 2016) Sometimes things don't work. Dreams fall short. So you have to regroup and figure out a new plan. That's exactly what Emma Stone's aspiring actress Mia did in La La Land, when she becomes discouraged and downtrodden after a series of flops. However, a glimmer of hope arrives in an audition, where, as she recounts the story of her grandmother swimming through the freezing Seine. What results is a truly impassioned, from-the-heart performance from Emma, as she honors "the fools who dream, crazy as they may seem." Where would we be without "the rebels, the ripples from pebbles, the painters, the poets, and plays?" Well, this film wouldn't exist, for one. As a supporter of the arts and a daughter of a music teacher, this lyric speaks to me. In general, I resonated with the character of Mia, often discouraged, waiting on that one person to take a chance on me and let me show what I can do. If La La Land did anything for me, it told me that if you never try, you never know. (Also, "City of Stars" be damned.)

4. "Beauty and the Beast" - Angela Lansbury/Peabo Bryson and Celine Dion (Beauty and the Beast, 1992) You know that song that no matter where or when you hear it, you immediately begin tearing up? This is one of those songs for me. I remember when I saw Moana last year and they showed the trailer for the upcoming (unnecessary) live-action remake of Beauty and the Beast, being unimpressed, until that "tale as old as time..." melody kicked in. Beauty is regarded as one of Disney's greatest animated features, with a timeless soundtrack to show for it. Its title song is appropriately timeless, and is the jewel in the crown of the Disney Renaissance. Suddenly I don't know an Ariana Grande or a John Legend.

3. "There You'll Be" - Faith Hill (Pearl Harbor, 2002) I've always dismissed Faith Hill has being "lifetimecore," that is, music made specifically for suburban white moms who spend their time on Pinterest and at Scentsy parties. Working in retail, especially, has made me resent her, being subject to her music as often as I am. That said, "There You'll Be" is so incredibly poignant and emotional, and her strong voice is perfectly suited for it. This one is another instant tearjerker. You got me this time, Faith. Just once.

2. "If You Want Me" - Marketa Irglova (Once, 2007) While not the most memorable song from this unforgettable indie gem, "If You Want Me" is remarkable in its vulnerability. In the film, Marketa's unnamed character walks down a lonely Irish street, having just bought batteries for her Walkman. She's really just kind of rehearsing the song to herself, but there is this heartbreaking vulnerability in her softspoken delivery. There's something behind that sad, sad voice, and you know it. It should've got an Oscar nod, but you know what, "Falling Slowly" is still pretty damn good.

1. "Part of Your World" - Jodi Benson (The Little Mermaid, 1989) Let's just be honest with ourselves here. My blog title is "Mermaid in Stereo." Perhaps my attraction to mermaids can be attributed to the story of Ariel, a struggle that is told in her signature song, "Part of Your World." It's not necessarily the story of a mermaid wanting to live on the land--okay, it is. But it's more than that. It's the story of someone fed up with being held down in her home life by overbearing parents, with a burning desire to get out of her bubble and see an unfamiliar world. Fun fact: Ariel did not wish to become human for Eric! No, in fact it's this song--which she sings before she ever sees Eric--that proves it. And you have to believe her. It's no wonder only Jodi Benson has voiced the character since her introduction--no one else can do it justice.

And now...my honorable mentions.

"Go the Distance" - Roger Bart (Hercules, 1997)

"You Haven't Seen the Last of Me" - Cher (Burlesque, 2010)

"Her Portrait in Black" - Atreyu (Underworld: Evolution, 2006)

"A View to a Kill" - Duran Duran (A View to a Kill, 1984)

"Chim Chim Cher-ee" - Dick Van Dyke (Mary Poppins, 1964)

"Heathens" - Twenty One Pilots (Suicide Squad, 2016)

#list #batman forever #the world is not enough #la la land #the little mermaid #beauty and the beast #once #pearl harbor #the great gatsby #armageddon #the wizard of oz #oh there is no way i am tagging all those artists #fuck you i liked burlesque

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