#BESIDES a light of truth and the embodiment of Here's What Happened Whether You Like It Or Not is certainly not a TERRIBLE fit for mel

[blujaydoodles]

It was a strange figure—like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child’s proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.

“Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Scrooge.

“I am!”

[snowdrop-ivy]

Favor. | Part 7 - Finale

Summary: Ari Levinson was an ego embodied in a man. Yep, he's an asshole. Y/N knows it yet she still married him. How? She doesn't know. And now, she doesn't know how to get him to sign the divorce papers.

A/N: Hey! This is the final chapter! Yay! Took me long enough but, I hope you like it <3 Thanks for the support!

Meanwhile, as she, Max, and Jake approached the reception area, the sight of Ethan standing casually in the middle of the lobby froze them in place. The tension of the past hours lingered in the air, making his unexpected appearance all the more jarring.

Ethan glanced around the dimly lit space, surveying the remnants of chaos they had just escaped. With a slight smirk, he raised an eyebrow and, with his usual dry humor, remarked, “Nice hotel.”

Max exchanged a look with Jake, both clearly taken aback. She couldn’t help but feel a surge of irritation and relief mix together, wondering what Ethan’s presence would mean now. The calmness in his voice felt almost mocking compared to the whirlwind they had just been through.

She took a breath, stepping forward. “Ethan,” she greeted him, unsure whether to feel annoyed or grateful at his impeccable timing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see the hotel,” Ethan replied with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, right,” Y/N rolled her eyes, irritation flaring. “After that, all you care about is the hotel? Don’t start shit.”

“Language, young lady,” Ethan retorted, his tone sharp. “Why don’t we wait for your husband outside?”

As they moved outside, Y/N sank onto a bench, lighting a cigarette. Max snatched it from her hands. “Hey!”

“You don’t smoke.”

“You don’t know that,” she shot back, reclaiming the cigarette. “Just one!”

Jake quickly extinguished it, sending her a stern look as they waited for the car. Y/N crossed her arms in frustration, unable to shake the tension in her chest.

When the truck finally appeared, her heart raced at the sight of Ari behind the wheel, a bittersweet relief washing over her. She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to lash out at him and Sammy. Ari parked the truck and stepped out, his gaze immediately drawn to Y/N, who was checking on Sammy. She offered him a slight smile, one that felt like a balm to Ari's frayed nerves.

“Ethan?” Sammy called out, breaking the moment.

Ethan turned, a weight in his expression. “The soldier who was shot?” He sighed heavily. 

“He lost too much blood.”

Ari's heart sank as he searched Y/N’s face. She avoided his gaze, focusing on the ground beside Rachel. Rachel shot him a look that conveyed reassurance, and Ari nodded in response as they made their way to his room.

He burst through the door, the weight of the world pressing down on him as he stripped off his polo, throwing it onto the floor in frustration. “How did this happen?”

“They mistook us for smugglers,” Ari spat, pacing the room, his back to Ethan.

“This whole thing’s a mistake,” Ethan replied, his voice steady.

Ari spun around, his anger simmering just below the surface. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Ethan said, waiting for Ari to respond.

“You shutting us down?” Hurt laced Ari’s voice.

Ethan nodded solemnly, and Ari’s heart sank. He sat heavily on the bed, the reality crashing down on him. “You can’t, Ethan. This mission’s a success. We’ve got thousands of people out. We have thousands more lives coming this way.”

“What about your life?” Ethan shot back. “Or your wife’s? Jake’s? Rachel’s? Max’s? Jesus! What about Sam? What about that, huh?”

Ari fell silent, the truth stinging. They had all agreed to this life, to risk everything for a greater purpose.

“That’s why we have to stop now while it’s still a success,” Ethan pressed, his expression earnest. “I want you chaps home, safe and alive. Think about your life. Live that.”

With a heavy sigh, Ari hung his head, resting it on his hands as Ethan left the room. He found himself trapped between the lives they had built and the lives they had saved. He couldn’t let them down. Not Y/N. Not anymore. Taking a deep breath, he began to clean himself up, the turmoil within him simmering as he searched for his wife.

He found her in the foyer, tending to Sammy’s bruises. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither knew how to bridge the gap created by their recent turmoil. She cleared her throat, gently holding his injured knuckles in her hands as she began to clean the wound. “What happened here?”

Her voice was gentle, soothing like the tide. Ari watched her, captivated by her soft touches, the way she tucked her hair behind his ear. He felt a surge of warmth as she looked up at him, her eyes meeting his.

“Should we go home?” he asked, his heart racing.

Her eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of hope and fear flitting across her features. “What about them?”

He traced circles on her cheeks while she bandaged his hand, feeling the weight of their choices. “You wanna know why every hero in the movie dies sometimes?”

“Why’s that?” She asked, a tender peck on his hand punctuating her curiosity.

“Because they don’t know where to draw the line.”

“We’re not the heroes here,” She reminded him, determination shining in her eyes. “But you get to decide. Should we go home?”

Ari locked his gaze onto her, the intensity of his feelings unspoken but palpable. In that moment, everything shifted; he could feel her love weaving around them, a fragile thread tethering them together amid the chaos.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his heart swelling with hope. “Let’s go home.”

She smiled and nodded. “Where’s home?”

Ari shrugged, the memory of their house lingering in his mind. “Wherever you are, that’s my home,” he softly said, cupping her face in his hands. With slowness and gentleness, he leaned in, pressing his lips against her. The kiss was tender and cautious, as if he feared she would break if he were too rough. They pulled away breathless, foreheads touching as he drew circles on her thumb. “I wanna go home, honey.”

Ari took Sam and Max to Kabede, who was hiding. When they found him, he was shot and bleeding profusely. They informed him that the refugees were waiting by the river, and Ari's heart broke at the thought. Once they were done, they devised a plan for their last rescue and returned to the resort. Excitement and fear coursed through him as he opened the door, greeted by Abdel and her.

“Colonel,” he said, brushing his hair back nervously. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I was just treating my men to some of Abu Aziz’s famous cooking,” Abdel replied, glaring at him.

“Great, let’s not keep him waiting,” Ari said, brushing past Abdel to take her hand. He halted abruptly when Abdel stopped them, ordering something to his men in Arabic.

“What was that?” She asked, concern creeping into her voice.

“I told them to check the back of your trucks,” Abdel replied coolly.

She and Ari exchanged a wary glance, feeling a chill run through the air. “What for?” Ari asked, anxiety tightening his chest.

“It will please me,” Abdel replied, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

Jake and Rachel gathered behind them, watching as Abdel’s men searched the truck where Max and Sammy were hiding. She tried to mask her relief when they reported back, having found nothing.

“So,” Abdel began, after his men confirmed they couldn’t find anything, “dinner.”

Ari’s jaw clenched. “Great,” he muttered, turning back to her.

He sat down while she took a seat beside Abdel as the food was served. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and her heart raced as she glanced around, spotting soldiers patrolling the area. She exchanged a knowing look with Rachel and signaled her to take down the other guard while she handled the one by the door. They both excused themselves.

Cautiously, she crept toward the soldier, her pulse pounding in her ears. As he opened the door, she acted swiftly, kicking the back of his knee and forcing him down. Her hands wrapped around his throat, muffling any cries for help that might escape his lips. She felt the resistance fade from his body as he struggled to breathe, and just as Kabede stood up, panic flashing in his eyes, he pleaded, “He’s done. Please, stop.”

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what needed to be done. With a swift motion, she positioned the soldier behind the door, tying his hands and feet tightly, covering his face to silence him completely. Her breathing came in shaky bursts, the adrenaline surging through her veins, heightening her senses.

Once she left the room, her eyes met Rachel's. In that fleeting moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of what they had just done. Her expression mirrored hers—intense, yet filled with a spark of exhilaration mixed with fear.

When they returned to the table, she could feel Ari’s grip on her hand tighten, his anxiety palpable. She squeezed it gently, offering silent reassurance, trying to calm both him and herself. The room hummed with an unsettling energy as the reality of their situation pressed down upon her, and her could sense that every moment counted.

“Is there a difference between Handawa women and American women?” Abdel asked, glancing between her and Natfhia. “Mr. Guy?”

Ari's grip on her hand intensified, his teeth clenching. “I don’t know, I guess.”

“I bet there is,” Abdel shot back, his hand possessively resting on Natfhia’s thigh. “Handawa women say yes to everything. Their parts were stitched to keep them tight. I bet you’ll prefer Handawa over American women.”

“I’m content with my wife,” Ari replied, the veins in his temples popping with anger.

“No,” Abdel shook his head, his grip tightening around her hand at the table. She instinctively tried to pull it back, but he held it firmly. “I bet your wife is not as tight as her.”

Anger coursed through Ari’s body. “Don’t,” he mumbled, his gaze locked onto Abdel. She looked at him, trying to catch his attention, but he was lost in a storm of rage.

She felt a flicker of relief when Abdel finally released her hand. But his fingers quickly found their way to her thigh. “This is not tight anymore,” he said, teasing Ari.

That was the final straw. Ari exploded, grabbing a table knife and pressing it against Abdel’s throat. “I said don’t!”

Abdel was quicker, choking her from behind. Panic flashed in her eyes as she pleaded silently with Ari, but he was consumed by anger. She felt her breath quicken, fear clawing at her chest as the cold muzzle of a gun pressed against her temple.

“Or what?” Abdel laughed maniacally, pressing the gun deeper. “Or I blow your wife’s brains out?”

“What were you planning to do with that knife, Mr. Thomas?” Abdel taunted.

This time, he looked at her. She gently shook her head, her heart racing. Ari took a deep breath before putting the knife down, the tension in the room hanging like a thick fog. But as soon as the blade clattered to the ground, a soldier behind him jabbed a gun into the back of his neck, forcing him to kneel on the floor.

Her mind raced, torn between the urge to strike back at Abdel and the instinct to calm the situation. Tears streamed down her face, fueled by anger and helplessness. Ari knelt there, his expression a mix of defiance and vulnerability. Abdel laughed again, a cruel sound that echoed in the air as he shoved her aside, rallying his men to leave.

As they departed, she rushed to Ari, kneeling in front of him. “What were you thinking?” she asked, her voice trembling with a blend of anger and concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he replied, meeting her gaze briefly before inspecting her body, his worry palpable. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head multiple times, a desperate attempt to reassure him. But in a moment of frustration, she smacked him across the face. “That was really stupid!”

Ari didn’t register her anger; all he could do was look at her , his eyes scanning for any sign of injury. The resort lights flickered off, plunging the area into darkness as they began clearing everyone out. Ari’s gaze turned intently to the road, waiting for the sound of approaching trucks, his mind racing with thoughts of how to keep her safe.

In that moment, the gravity of their situation pressed down on them, the weight of uncertainty heavy in the air. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, mixing with a deep-seated fear for what was yet to come.

“They’ll be back,” Ari stated, his voice low, the weight of the moment heavy in his tone. He glanced around at the group, eyes lingering on her. “With numbers.”

“Yeah,” Max agreed, nodding grimly. “Especially when they find out they’re two guys down.” His gaze shifted to her and Rachel, a hint of disbelief mixing with the tension.

She took a deep breath, feeling the room’s attention on her. Crossing her arms and legs, she hung her head down, not having the heart to meet Ari’s gaze. But she could feel it—burning into her, waiting for an explanation she wasn't ready to give. When she finally lifted her eyes, confusion flickered across his face, but there was something else—a hint of amusement, or perhaps, reluctant admiration.

All of them circled around the two fallen soldiers. The weight of what she had done settled in the silence that followed. Shame gnawed at her insides as they looked at her and Rachel, silently acknowledging the magnitude of what had just happened.

Ari inhaled sharply, breaking the stillness. “Buy me a day,” he ordered, his voice steady and commanding. “Make sure they’re taken care of... but completely invisible.”

She and the others raised their heads as Ari began to dish out instructions with precision. His gaze landed on Rachel and Jake. “Don’t let the staff in here,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for discussion.

Then, his attention shifted to Max and Sammy. “Take the truck. Get the rest of the group.”

Finally, his eyes locked on her, and the tension in the air thickened. “You and I,” he said, voice softer but firm, “will call Ethan.”

The ride to Ethan was suffocating in its silence. She stared out of the window, the city blurring past as she tried to think of the right words, the ones that would break the wall of tension between her and Ari. The guilt of what she had done weighed heavy on her chest. she bit her lip, struggling to form the words.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. she really didn’t—but she had no choice. The air in the car felt heavy with her confession.

“I know,” Ari said, his tone controlled but distant. His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

she shifted in her seat, desperately needing him to hear her , to understand. “Look at me,” she pleaded softly, her voice almost breaking.

For a moment, Ari couldn’t. He was trying so hard not to let the anger consume him. He inhaled deeply, keeping his gaze forward, but the tension was palpable. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his eyes to meet hers. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but there was something else—something softer, something that still tethered him to her .

She reached for his hand, gently squeezing it, her fingers trembling slightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the sincerity in her voice breaking through the weight of the moment.

Ari took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly, the tension loosening just enough for him to speak. “Let’s just go home,” he said, the words filled with exhaustion, but also, a fragile hope.

she bit her lip and nodded, feeling the weight of the situation. she meant to pull her hand back, but Ari was quicker, intertwining his fingers with hers and placing their joined hands on her lap. His face remained stoic, his gaze returning to the road as the silence stretched between them.

It wasn’t long before they reached Walton’s office. Once inside, Ari took the lead, doing all the talking. She watched as he pleaded with Ethan over the phone, his voice steady but urgent. Walton soon took the phone, speaking directly with Ethan. The conversation was tense, but by the end of it, there was a plan in place.

They both made their way back to the resort, where Max greeted her with a new problem.

“There’s no way we can fit all of them in two trucks,” Max said, eyes scanning the crowd of refugees. His voice carried the frustration of the moment.

“Shit,” she exhaled, looking around for any possible solution. her mind raced until she found one. Max and Ari both turned to see what she was eyeing.

“Are you serious?” Jake said, disbelief clear in his tone. “A Sudanese tour bus?”

Max let out an anxious laugh, shaking his head at the idea.

She was about to defend her choice, but Ari cut in before she could. “Start loading them up. I gotta grab something. I’ll be right back,” he said, running back toward the hotel without waiting for a response.

With little time to argue, she helped Jake and Max start loading the refugees onto the bus. It was a scramble to get everyone aboard, but eventually, they were all seated. Jake took a spot at the end, Max settled on the other side, while Rachel sat in the driver’s seat. She chose the front, Sammy sitting across from her .

Ari was the last one to board, sliding into the seat in front of her as Rachel started the engine and the bus lurched forward, heading for the airfield.

The drive was tense, the sound of the engine almost drowning out the anxious whispers among the refugees. But Rachel kept the bus moving, and soon, the airfield came into view. Max and Jake quickly hopped off and made their way to the control room, working to open the lights and keep an eye out for any approaching trucks.

She and Rachel began helping the refugees off the bus, guiding them carefully to the edge of the airstrip. Meanwhile, Ari and Sammy moved swiftly, laying out glow sticks on the tarmac to guide the incoming plane.

The scene was one of organized chaos, but there was an unspoken urgency that kept everyone moving. The air was thick with tension, but also with the fragile hope that this plan might just work. 

The air was thick with tension, and the weight of every second pressed down on the team as they waited. Max’s eyes darted between the empty road and the airfield, his hand clenched around the comms. The silence felt unbearable. He swallowed hard, finally breaking the stillness.

“When are they supposed to be here?” Max’s voice cracked slightly, anxiety evident. He barely glanced at Ari, who stood nearby, cracking another glowstick with a sharp snap.

Ari took a slow, measured breath, eyes scanning the horizon. “I don’t know, why?” The calm in his voice was forced, a paper-thin cover over the growing dread inside him.

Max hung his head in defeat. “We have company.” His voice barely above a whisper, “Nine kilometers away.”

The news hit them like a wave. A collective exhale left the team, the kind that comes when the fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, but there’s no clear answer for which is the right choice. Rachel’s hand trembled as she took the comms, exchanging a look with Ari.

“Shall we get them back to the trucks?” she asked, her voice steady, but her eyes betrayed her fear.

She knelt nearby, tending to a small boy, her hands gentle as she cleaned the bruise on his knee. Her head snapped up, determination flashing in her eyes. “No, there’s still time.”

Ari, his movements more frantic now, cracked the last of the glowsticks, the harsh light illuminating the airfield like fragile beacons. He moved quickly, almost desperately, sprinting back to the crew with Sammy on his heels.

Rachel was the first to speak, her voice laced with urgency. “We should go back to the bus and get the fuck out of here.”

Her frustration flared as she stood, eyes blazing. “Where the fuck will we go then? Back to that shitty hotel? They’ll kill us there!”

Before Sammy could respond, Kabede raised his hand, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Wait. Listen.”

Everyone froze. The air around them seemed to still, and in that moment, all eyes turned skyward. The distant rumble, faint at first, grew louder, the unmistakable sound of salvation approaching. The plane. The sight of it descending onto the tarmac sent a rush of adrenaline through her.

Without hesitation, she took charge, leading the refugees toward the plane as the cargo hold opened. Walton stepped out, his hand extended toward her, a mix of relief and exhaustion on his face.

“About fucking time, don’t you think?” She muttered, shaking his hand briskly before shouting back to the others, “Come on, people, let’s go!”

It was chaos. She moved as fast as she could, ushering passengers inside, her mind racing. But then, the second pilot’s voice rang out, stopping her in her tracks.

“Wait! This plane only holds 228 passengers. How many do you have?”

Her blood boiled at the absurdity of the question. “You think I counted them?” she snapped, continuing to push refugees toward the plane.

The pilot’s voice, louder now, more panicked, cut through again. “We’re not gonna fit.”

“What?” Her eyes darkened as the weight of his words settled in. He repeated himself, and something inside her snapped. She grabbed him by the collar, her voice low and dangerous. “Then you choose who fucking lives or dies, because I won’t fucking choose.”

Ari’s hands were on her, pulling her back, his touch gentle but firm, trying to steady her. The second pilot, pale and shaken, hesitated, but there was no time. Max’s frantic voice called from the cargo. “Three kilometers!”

“Better choose fast,” Ari said, his back to the pilot, his hands resting on her shoulders. She could feel his tension, the thin thread of control he held over his emotions.

The pilot looked at the crowd, helpless. She wasn't waiting for him to decide. Her eyes scanned the plane, the cargo hold, and suddenly, an idea sparked. “Then make some fucking room,” she growled, pushing past Ari. Without a second thought, she began tearing seats out of the plane, tossing them to the ground. The team followed her lead, hands working fast until everyone was inside, sitting on the floor, cramped but alive.

As the plane lifted off, she heard the crack of gunfire in the distance. The plane lurched, clipping a tree. She ducked, heart pounding, but the shots faded, and the plane soared higher. Safe. Finally, safe.

She glanced around, catching Rachel’s eye as she smiled, her gaze dropping to the little boy—Amari—sleeping peacefully in her lap. “It suits you,” she whispered softly.

She smiled back, exhaustion and relief washing over her . “I know,” she replied quietly, brushing Amari’s hair back gently.

Max was nearby, making the children around him laugh, a small moment of lightness amidst the chaos. He caught her eye, nodding in acknowledgment. She returned the gesture, the silent camaraderie between them unspoken but understood.

Jake’s voice was soft as he whispered goodnight, two kids nestled under his arms. She watched him for a moment before her gaze shifted to Kabede, his face peaceful as he slept, the tension of the night finally fading.

In the cockpit, Ari and Sammy shared a quiet moment of triumph, exchanging a glance that said more than words could. Ari turned to Walton, shaking his hand with sincere gratitude. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his face.

Walton chuckled. “Feisty wife, huh?”

Ari laughed, nodding. “Tell me about it.”

Back in the cargo, Ari sat beside her, his eyes soft as he gazed down at Amari. She felt his presence beside her , warm and steady. She leaned her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his.

“It suits you,” Ari murmured, his voice quiet, almost shy. “Being a mom.”

“I know.” She smiled, the softness of the moment sinking in. “We can still try.”

Ari’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his voice catching. “Really? Are you sure you’re ready?”

She nodded, the weight of the past days lifting slightly. “About damn time.”

Ari reached into his pocket, pulling out an envelope. He showed it to her, a question in his eyes. “What should I do with this?”

She barely glanced at the divorce papers. “Burn it.”

Ari laughed, a sound full of relief and love. He cupped her face in his hands, pressing his forehead to her , his voice a low whisper. “Have I ever told you how badass you are?”

“Yes.”

“And how I love you for it?”

“Yes,” she smiled, leaning into him.

“Good,” he whispered, pulling her close. “I want to make sure you know that every day.”

“That I’m a badass?” She chuckled.

“No,” he answered. “That I love you everyday.”

She gazed into Ari's eyes, and the sincerity there held her captive. Without hesitation, she pressed her lips to his, this time deeper, lingering longer, letting the emotion between them speak louder than words. Ari responded with a soft smile, a quiet defiance in his heart—determined to keep her , his love, at the top of everything, no matter what came next.

As he pulled away, his eyes wandered around the plane, taking in the scene—the refugees safe, the team settled, the quiet after the storm. A sense of pride welled up in him. This was what they had accomplished together, and it hit him all at once: the magnitude of the risks they took, the lives they saved, and the bond they’d strengthened.

God, how did I get this lucky? he wondered, his heart swelling. He didn't know how, but one thing was certain now—he wasn’t going to lose this. Not again. Not ever. And as she smiled, both of them knew—this was more than just surviving. This was love, resilience, and the promise of a future they’d fight for. Together.

>> Part 6<<

~~End~~

[project-ohagi]

Keigo Takami ღ Hawks {Folklore AU/Tanabata}

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Tanabata - Star Festival  [In the original, Hikoboshi was a cow-herder, but here, Keigo is a falconer! Also, I used hawks instead of magpies]!

Vega/Orihime: (Y/n)

Altair/Hikoboshi: Keigo

----

The stars danced overhead, flickering in and out like a near-extinguished candle, painting the sky with shimmers of silver.

What could it have been, if not a testament to an incandescent romance? With the moon as their witness, the lovers embraced, spilling sweet, heartfelt nothings to atone for their months of separation - in which they awaited, perpetually, the very next July. The anguish and longing faded for merely a day.

The children, with robes tightly wound, turned their attention heavenward. Expressions of joy overtook them, for although the lovers were woefully star-crossed, their love transcended every boundary, no matter human or divine. It was because they loved in earnest, that they would survive, bear children, and thrive among the stars. A weaver and a falconer - a tale of instant love, of sorrowful beginnings and bittersweet endings. For the lovers, 'goodbye' held no great meaning past 'I shall cross this bridge again, my dearest'. There happened a throbbing pain, which waxed and waned throughout the year, but tore neither of them apart completely. Their story of love and loss was a cycle, destined to repeat until the universe ceased to exist.

For this one night, peace and serenity would come upon all the creatures, and all the gods. But the herald of morn was approaching with haste, and time was of the essence.

"Is there something on your mind, dove?"

Oftentimes, your reveries consisted of scenarios you couldn't bear to imagine, or the many years (when consecutively, your heart slipped into a deep mourning) in which the rainfall had seemed to forbid your meeting. You were trapped on opposing sides of the galaxy. It was your punishment, for once, love clouded your vision such that you had neglected everything, except one another. It was a powerful fire, that yielded to nothing. It could never be reduced to embers, nor quenched. You and he together embodied home, warmth, security. There were never doubts, nor arguments. You had not been endowed with the luxury of time.

"Do you remember when my father first brought us together?" You asked, fingers gliding delicately across his skin.

He chuckled. "How could I not? I fell in love with a single glance."

"As did I." His aura soothed your very soul. "Then, how about our first meeting, after the exile?"

"I remember it vividly, angel. I was in awe - you looked as beautiful as ever, and you felt as soft...like feathers." His blonde locks tickled your nape.

You giggled. "I remember my sorrow, and how I cried."

"Because there was no bridge, and the hawks, who heard your cries, came to assist?" He guessed, peppering your neck with kisses.

This subject carried a heavy emotional burden, and yet...addressing it seemed almost imperative.

"Indeed, my love. I was despaired of ever marrying, finding someone to treasure...so when father threatened to part us forever, I pleaded with him so desperately. I would never allow you to be taken, and I in turn, would never stray from your love. And if you were to pass, my heart would leap from my chest, to join you."

"I wish to echo your sentiments. You have long been my everything, and my heart, my lips, my soul...each part of me belongs to you. I vow to always hold your hand, even in death. My loyalties will never waver."

For this one night, embosomed by the arms of your prince, your saviour and your hero...you could break from all obligations, melt into him, feel his cold breath upon your skin. "I hope the rain is staved off again, come next year. I am lonely in your absence, my darling."

"Not too lonely, I hope? I miss you terribly each year, but when Summer dawns, the prospect of meeting you warms my heart. I long for this day. It is my favourite, above all others." He nuzzled you, relishing in the small, contented sighs escaping your lips.

Those gorgeous, plump lips.

You gazed at him, affection twinkling in your eyes. "Lonely beyond compare. I yearn to hold you close, to ask you questions - oh, I have so many, but...time is not something we have an excess of."

"If it were, I would still spend every second with you. You could ask your questions, I could ask mine...I would hold you closer, I would kiss you more." There existed a mischief in his voice, but you wouldn't ever trade it - strip away that roguish spark and replace it with innocence.

There would be no fun, no thrill.

Perfection was impossible to improve upon, regardless. "If that is your wish, then perhaps we do not need infinity?"

"Perhaps not, but I would still pray for it. It pains me that I cannot sleep beside you - my destiny. That, come the morning, I will be without you, once more..."

"Oh, Keigo...I will find my way back into your embrace. Always." Your devotion was genuine, unbridled - a thousand eternities could pass you by, and you might never notice.

His strong arms were no prison, no gilded cage; you felt the freedom coursing through your veins. It was freedom of choice, of love...but you would always return to him. The perennial years caused no disillusion, like perhaps your father had hoped. And your wistful words only strengthened the bond, as you recalled every fleeting moment together, whilst mapping out your future - the future that you would decide upon, as husband and wife.

Vega and Altair, (Y/n) and Keigo, lovers quick to matrimony, adored by the stars. "You will be welcome. Always."

This state of bliss was something you had only dreamed of, all those moons ago. "Keigo...I was losing myself, until you found me. Our hearts share a rhythm."

"(Y/n)...my life was void of colour, and happiness, until we met. Without you, I would succumb to that dark, sorrowful abyss of my past." The truth in his words was almost tangible.

You giggled, disturbing the motion of his hand on your stomach. "Why do you suppose they are hawks? I had envisioned a bridge of magpies - would they not better suit my character?"

"A hawk is a good omen, to see your dreams and goals through to completion. Perhaps they sensed your desperation...your lament? Ah, they are also messengers of the Spirit World."

"The Spirit World...? Then...were we perhaps mentioned? By the spirits of the flowers and the trees?" There was beauty in such starry-eyed curiosity.

A wave of grief crashed down, as he considered yet another year bereft of your seraphic voice, and feather-light touches. "It could be."

"Maybe they are watching over us. Oh, does that not sound divine?"

"Your voice sounds divine. I could listen for aeons, and never tire. I find myself longing to hear it, all too often." He confessed, with a sigh.

Such a doleful response should have been stifled - your conversation was never supposed to sour so. "Can you hear them? The children? They are hanging more tanzaku, by the shrine."

"Do you wish for children? Is it possible for us?"

"Nothing is impossible, my love. But I fear that time is not on our side, this year. So...perhaps the next?" Intimacy, in all its forms, was glorious.

Faint heartbeats and breaths amplified in this closeness. "Hmm...dove, if I could grant a single wish, for what would you ask?"

"I would ask for you." There was a pause - it was typical of him to be so sentimental, but this question carried a melancholic undertone. "To be yours, even as everything fades."

His stubble scratched against your skin. "In the reversed roles, I would ask the same."

You knew this, and you loved it. "I often wonder whether Okuninushi proposed our match."

"Haha, I wonder that as well." His laugh was spellbinding. "Had you rejected my courtship, I might have relinquished life to heartbreak, before your eyes."

"I would sooner perish myself, than cause you such misery."

"I would never allow that. I have an obligation to love, and to protect - as both husband and soulmate. My happiness is trivial, in comparison to yours." He swept aside your hair, cold fingers sending waves of pleasant feeling straight to your heart.

He tilted your head, as the weight of your eyelids became too great.

"You are my happiness, my home. If there was no spark of joy in your life, how could there be one in mine?"

The illumination below, from lanterns and torches that clung to trees and children's hands, was beautiful but brief. Some tanzaku glided with the wind, while the others were determined to remain on their branches. You sensed each and every wish, as if they were whispered into your ears. And perhaps this was true. Your faces were reflected in all the lovers, from young to old. Gratitude and hope, you directed toward them. Gratitude, for their wishes of well. Hope, for the flourishing of their love. Romantic love, self-love, and anything in-between. You hoped for them to find it, to show it in a fashion both pure and prudent.

For this one night, peace and serenity would come upon all the creatures, and all the gods.

Keigo and (Y/n) were finally reunited.

[Word Count: 1535]

[otonymous]

Your first time headcanons for Ikesen Masamune and Yukimura are amazing!!! I really love reading them! Not because I’m a horny mf (okay maybe) but they’re really well written and really embody the characters. Would you do one for Kenshin to please?

Hi dear Anon and @dani677​!  Thank you both so much for your comments and asks! 💕 I’ve combined the answers since your questions are so similar, so get ready for A LOT of reading!  

And don’t worry dear Anon, when it comes to Kenshin, I am also a horny MF 😂 Hope you both enjoy these HCs!

Warnings:  NSFW/18+: explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Slight spoilers for Kenshin’s MS.  Potential trigger warning: bondage.

Even Gods Fall in Love: Intimacy, First Times & Erotic Triggers for Uesugi Kenshin (Ikesen HC)

Make love, not war: How does it feel to lie with the God of War?

Sex with Kenshin is INTENSE like the man himself

Light-hearted is not in his vocabulary, and love making is no exception

It is a serious, passionate affair, practically a spiritual experience — two separate entities coming together physically and spiritually to become one — think Tantric sex

Hence, quickies are really not his style, but all the same, he will never pass up the opportunity to have sex with you

In fact, Kenshin doesn’t do casual sex.  He doesn’t have a particularly high sex drive (unless he’s in a committed relationship), and would rather go without than sleep with someone he had no feelings for

Once he’s found that special someone however, watch out because he’ll be down to dip his wick 24/7 (why do you think rabbits are so inexplicably drawn to him?!)

He can and will go wherever, whenever — it doesn’t matter as long as no one else can see your naked perfection (or else they can kiss their eyes goodbye)

Once Kenshin has decided you’re the one, he will love you forever and a day.  Even something as trivial as death could never alter his love for you  10000% would watch over you as a ghost if he passes first

It’s no secret that the man’s thoughts can border on obsession, especially when it comes to you.  And although he is trying to overcome it, his past has left him irrevocably scarred.  He still struggles with an intense fear of losing you and it leaves him feeling lost and helpless, something he finds difficult to accept — it is at times like these that love making will be crucial in helping him get a grip

So while he has moved beyond keeping you safe by locking you up in a cell or his castle (thank god), the act of physical intimacy is the one area where he can feel as deeply connected to you, physically and spiritually, as possible

It is as if the man wants to become one with you in the truest sense of the word, his alone to love and protect forever

Therefore, sex with Kenshin would both reflect and encourage this sense of bonding

His favourite positions will be ones where he can hold you as close to him as possible while he’s buried deeply in you: Missionary, Side-By-Side, Lotus, Spooning (basically any position where he can fuck you with as much skin-to-skin and eye contact as possible)

There’s a real need for Kenshin to feel every single twitch of pleasure in your body, sense the heat emanating from your skin every time your precious heart beats to send the blood rushing through your veins

Look into his eyes, for he will always be seeking yours.  And try not to gasp when you see the vulnerability in those tender pools of blue and green.  Kenshin will bare his soul to you and only you.  And nowhere do his walls crumble faster than when you’re making love

A single session can cycle from love making that’s tender, gentle and sweet to something that’s absolutely primal and unbridled, and then back again.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

Kenshin’s love embodied in a song: “Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden

First Kiss:

Kenshin will have his eyes open for most of it, if not all

The man doesn’t want to miss a thing.  He wants to see every reaction: the pink that suffuses your cheeks, the barely perceptible flutter of your eyelashes, the slight lift of your brows in euphoria

He is trying to sear the moment into his mind — life is so ephemeral, he often feels like memories are all he has; that try as he might, they’re the only things he can hold onto

Hence, Kenshin engages all of his senses when he kisses you (or is intimate with you in general) to commit as much colour and detail to memory as possible

He is drunk on the smell of your skin, the warm silkiness of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the blooms of crimson on your cheeks, the breathless whimpers that reach his ears — all that you are is this man’s greatest aphrodisiac

The kiss starts off delicately slow: gentle presses, the soft brushing of lips against each other, mouths tentatively opening to accept hesitant licks from shy tongues

Kenshin will drop tiny kisses at the corners of your lips, and you will never have felt so cherished before in your life

He needs to touch you, feel you under his skin: his long, elegant fingers — which never shook when wielding the weight of his blade — will tremble as they move to frame your face, weave through your hair, circle the shell of your ears.  Kiss his hands as they’re tracing the line of your jaw and you’ll have him in the palm of your hand (as if you didn’t already)

Then, the kiss grows in intensity as Kenshin suddenly becomes ravenous: his tongue is pushing further into your mouth, greedily exploring and tasting every inch, testing your limits until you need to gently push him away so you can breathe again

Seeing him in this moment, it strikes you once again just how ethereally beautiful the man is: fair hair falling over delicate features, eyes so dark with desire they almost mask his heterochromia, flushed cheeks that naturally draw the eyes to the masculine lines of his sharp jaw

Perhaps he really is a god amongst men

You barely have a chance to inhale before his lips are on yours again, passionately insistent as his tongue pushes at the seam of your mouth, begging for re-entry

Pack your Sengoku era equivalent of chapstick and be prepared for swollen lips: Kenshin will be kissing you for a very, very long time

Declaration of Love:

Kenshin will be the first to say “I love you,” and he will tell you early on in your relationship

It is rare for Kenshin to find someone he deems worthy of his time and attention, and even rarer for him to fall in love

Once he does though, he falls hard and will not hesitate to try and get what he wants — the man is incredibly straight-forward and doesn’t play games

If he loves you, you will know it, by way of both action and words

You are initially taken aback when the Lord of Echigo tells you he loves you within the first week of your relationship

This is no dramatic declaration and there is no prior planning.  Kenshin simply says what he feels as he wanders the streets of Kasugayama’s castle town with you

“I love you.”

Surprised, you turn to him, thinking it impossible for Kenshin to be serious when you’ve barely spent enough time together to be able to judge whether or not you truly love a person.  Surely, he must be mistaking infatuation or the excitement of a new relationship with love…

But then you see the look in his eyes and are struck dumb

The light in his soft gaze is wise beyond his years, reasoned and measured, tempered by some mysterious intelligence that speaks to the truth of his words: the God of War loves you — you are the first and will be the last person to ever make him feel this way.  The strength of his conviction shakes you to your core, and you know that you cannot, will not, ever doubt him again

Kenshin wasn’t expecting an answer from you, he just wanted you to know the extent of his feelings and the sincerity of his intentions

So he is absolutely beside himself with happiness when you respond in kind — it is more than he could ever wish for

The First Night:

Although Kenshin was quick to tell you he loved you, he will be excruciatingly slow to take you to bed

You will partake in hot and heavy make-out sessions: tons of kissing, lots of heavy petting and grinding up against each other for hours on end but still NO SEX

You’re so pent up you accidentally snapped at Shingen (and then apologized profusely when you saw the crestfallen look on his face)

At first, you’ll wonder if it’s something you said or did.  Even worse, you’ll start to wonder whether Kenshin has fallen out of love with you.

But when you finally gather up your courage to broach the subject with him, you’ll discover that he was holding back out of fear of breaking you with the intensity of his love and feelings

Cradle his face between your hands as you solemnly whisper that you need him to fuck you immediately or else you will expire on the spot

Invite him to assess the sturdiness of your body for himself by running his hands up and down your body.  Tell him to seek proof that you’re stronger than you appear, and that the only thing that would break is your will to hold back any longer should nothing continue to happen

The God of War goes slack-jawed when you suddenly undress before him, but the shock only lasts for a second before the fire ignites in his eyes.  Your breath hitches at the sight, for it reminds you of the way Kenshin looks on the battlefield in the middle of a particularly good fight: he is a man possessed, so singularly focused on his goal the rest of the world could crumble around him and it would be nothing more than a mere annoyance.  During times of war, he’s acting on an instinct to kill.  But here, the vision of you bared before him stirs some other primal desire that incites him to claim you, ravish you…ruin you for anyone else by making you irrevocably his

And when you finally see him fully naked for the first time, it is your turn to be speechless: you’ve always figured Kenshin would be fit beneath his clothes, but the man looks like Michelangelo’s David come to life, and despite the odd battle scar here and there, his skin is incredibly fair (yes, we are jealous, and stop staring, the man is staring to blush)

Kenshin’s hands are cool on your skin, as they’ve always been.  But this is offset by the blazing heat of his mouth and tongue roaming across the surfaces of your body

Kenshin really wants to know everything about you and will take his time finding out.  Just lay back, relax and enjoy watching and feeling Kenshin explore every part of your body with his mouth, tongue and fingers

You find proof of the God of War’s divinity when he goes down on you: Kenshin’s oral skills are so damn good, they transport you straight to heaven.  You almost black out when he adds his long, deft fingers into the mix

By the time Kenshin is finally ready to penetrate you, you are so impatient with desire that you’ve wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and are rubbing up on him like it’s nobody’s business

The man must know a thing or two about the wonders of delayed gratification because when he finally enters you, the anticipation has got you so aroused and swollen with desire that every move he makes within you has got you screaming into the bedclothes like a madwoman.  But don’t worry, Kenshin looooves it when you get loud for him 😏

If you thought the intercourse itself would be anything like Kenshin’s foreplay — soft, slow and sweet — you are in for a surprise

Sure, it starts off that way.  Kenshin does want you to be able to handle his above-average length after all, so he will give you the opportunity to acclimatize to the sensation of feeling full to bursting with him inside you

But once you do, the God of War will be holding you close, looking deeply into your eyes and dropping tender kisses on your face and neck as he jackhammers into you (is it even humanly possible for hips to move that fast?  You have half a mind to ask Sasuke in the most discreet way possible afterwards)

Dimensions: Kenshin’s cock is as beautiful as he is.  Above-average length and average girth.  But the way he uses it is anything but average

Just when you think he is on the verge of cumming, Kenshin will pull back into gentle, unhurried love making — the man is the undisputed KING of prolonged orgasms (a single session can last for hours)

Things will get messy — yes, you will have to change the bedclothes before finally retiring for the night (when you actually get a chance to sleep — see above)

If you allowed it, the man would definitely prefer to cum in you, as he views the act as the pinnacle of intimacy and bonding.  What better way to become one than by actually leaving a part of himself deep within you?

Aftercare: stay where you are and don’t move a muscle.  Taking care of you after you’ve been intimate is a point of pride for Kenshin.  Not like you’d be able to move anyways after that pounding.  You know what, take the next morning off too.

Erotic Triggers/Kinks:

Body worship: Kenshin especially loves the areas which are particularly delicate and vulnerable, like the nape of your neck, your hands and fingers, your ankles

Absolutely lives for you to sit on his face — the man can go for hours

Loves, loves, loves your lips.  Loves to stare at them while you speak and is entranced by how nimbly expressive they are, changing from smiles and smirks to frowns and pouts with ease.  He loves their smoothness, their warmth, their taste, their colour.  Just another reason why this man adores kissing you

Has a love/hate relationship with bondage: Kenshin knows he cannot and should not keep you under lock and key like he initially tried to, but he also cannot help but feel incredibly aroused at the sight of you so beautifully tied up and entirely at his mercy.  You’ll have to convince him that this is something you enjoy doing as well, explain to him that the existence of mutual consent and understanding makes this a completely different situation from being involuntarily imprisoned, and introduce him to the concept of boundaries and “safewords”

Good conversation is actually Kenshin’s biggest trigger.  The man could spend hours on end just talking with you, learning to see the world in an entirely new way through your eyes.  

Your take on the meaning of life, happiness and sorrow is so foreign to Kenshin that he is absolutely fascinated by you

Because of this, the sound of your voice has turned into an erotic trigger for him 

Talk dirty to him.  Nothing gets the God of War off faster than your voice gasping into his ear that you belong to him now and forever as he’s pounding you to within an inch of your life

You made it to the end!  Thanks for reading and check out more of my work here! 📚

[hibibun]

Connections

Series: The Magnus Archives Pairing: Gertrude Robinson/Agnes Montague Summary: If Agnes had already had her destiny taken from her, it only made sense she decide for herself what she wanted out of life. And that started with at least meeting the woman who took it from her. Notes/Warnings: Metaphysical bonding, reluctant relationship, unhealthy relationship, mild suicide ideation AO3

Gertrude did not really know anything about Agnes Montague other than she was born for a purpose that had to be stopped, and that she had long auburn hair. Or at one point in time, it had been long.

It wouldn’t be hard to find out if that still remained true. While she was still getting used to sometimes knowing things that she perhaps couldn’t have known, this was much different. Irrevocably, she had bound herself to that embodiment of living flame and whether that was necessarily a good idea or not at the time—it served its purpose.

As such, there was a woman now out there who she could feel and could feel her back. Never more than a gentle tug, the simplest of threads that in Agnes’s case wasn’t quiet roped into a noose, but might as well have been. Gertrude feels it, her agonizing misery and loss of self, but in the end cannot sympathize. It has never been in her nature really.

For her, The Desolation holds a special candle of disdain. Even if it is not because of Agnes Montague, destroying her purpose in life was merely a payback she unfortunately found herself in the middle of.

So it is unexpected, when she finds a woman she does not know, yet knows to be Agnes Montague waiting for her outside the Magnus Institute one afternoon. She had been just meaning to step out for lunch, the day uniquely sunny for London, albeit humid. That sickly heat only feels like it increases tenfold as she levels her gaze properly, noting faintly that Agnes did still have pretty, long, auburn hair.

“Miss Agnes Montague, is there something you need at the Institute?” Gertrude asks, unfazed by her appearance and only calculating how next to proceed.

It takes a beat for Agnes to turn away from the large building behind Gertrude and properly look at her. That thread that holds them now feels tight and pinched. She says nothing, but her eyes are burning coals, which have Gertrude on edge.

“No, I was merely wondering what it would look like if I set it ablaze.” She speaks evenly, even as that anger previously evident simmered down. Distantly, she continues on and her thoughts come across disconnected.

“What would happen to you? And what would happen to me?”

“I can assure you, I don’t plan on dying quite yet. And burning down the Institute well… I don’t think it’d kill me, unless you were planning to do so with me still inside. Frankly, you’d have better luck trying right here and now. That is if you believe you’ll come out unscathed,” Gertrude observes, mildly amused at the idea and assurance that it won’t happen. For as angry and lost as Agnes feels, she doesn’t actually want to die—at least she can’t die like this.

A smile slowly widens on Agnes’s face towards her remarks, but she never offers any insight to what she actually thinks about Gertrude’s assertions.

“Perhaps we can find out another time. For now, would you like to have lunch with me?”

Gertrude accepts. There is a little café around the corner and down the street from the Institute and they walk side by side, their steps steadily synchronizing even though they are virtually strangers. For several years, they have only been vaguely aware of one another, unable to truly push the other way. It is a burden, unpleasant and sticky like the sweat beginning to stick to the back of Gertrude’s shirt.

When they enter the café, it takes a moment for the server to even realize they are together. It isn’t until they are left alone do the words tumble out.

“I think it would have been easier had you just killed me, but instead you had to trust a spider.” Agnes starts, the beginning of a statement she had no realization she was giving.

“I never asked to be born. No one ever really does, but my destiny, my upbringing, all of it so heavily regulated and curated was something I never wanted. They say it was that endless flame in me that made me angry, but y’know, I think I just couldn’t stand how much of it all I never really had a say in. I accepted it at some point, of course. What else could I say or do? Part of me maybe for a little while, had even come to want it, but now?” She pauses, utter hatred flickering across her face. For them, for herself, for the future ripped from her fingertips, Gertrude couldn’t tell, but she listened nonetheless.

“They didn’t even want me meeting you, but just once, I wanted to see what kind of person you really are. I wanted to see for myself.”

“You aren’t the woman I thought you’d be, though. With a plan that desperate and reckless, I had expected… someone more afraid maybe, but you don’t even seem to care that I’m here. You didn’t bat an eye even when I threatened you.”

“Because I know you aren’t going to act on it. And yes, maybe my plan could have been better, but well. What’s done is done.” Gertrude interrupts and feels oddly like she’s talking to an unruly child compared to someone almost the same age as her, even if she doesn’t look it.

That irritation yearning to burst out is drenched as their orders arrive. Gertrude giving a polite thanks, while Agnes quietly stares her down.

“I don’t have to kill you to hurt you. You should be at least a little afraid of me. Why aren’t you?”

Gertrude doesn’t answer her right away, busy with cutting into her food. She doesn’t know how to explain to Agnes that while she isn’t incapable of feeling fear, it isn’t practical to do so. For the things she has to take care of, it was simply something that would have hindered her and so she tossed it to the side. Right now, while she doesn’t exactly like the prospect of being hurt, it doesn’t scare her in this line of work anymore. In fact, there is even an aspect that has her a little curious.

A hypothesis stirring in the back of her mind ignored once it became pointless, now back because of the opportunity in front of her.

“Is the thread stitching your clothes together afraid of the needle that strung it there? Is it afraid of the thing it is now stuck to? It’s merely a truth of the situation, a fact I cannot deny because I am the one who did it. If you were to try to harm me, I must admit I think I am only curious insofar as to how it would affect you as well.”

Faster than she’d anticipate, and much too quick for her to wretch her hand back, Agnes’s fingers are latched to her wrist. She isn’t exerting any actual power—Gertrude would feel that if she were—instead simply holding it. Her fingers are long and wrap around her wrist in a way that she would sooner attribute to the hellish descriptions given to variations of the Spiral she’s found. Still, that heat starts to overwhelm, not melting her flesh, but similar to the way a faucet will sometimes heat too long when washing dishes. However, it is the accompanying feelings pouring in that get to her. Deeper than any sort of accidental things that find her, suddenly all that is Agnes Montague is laid before her eyes and the pain and the misery and the endless, beautiful engulfing heat surrounds her.

“How does it feel?” Gertrude calmly asks, assessing the situation, but not at all realizing until the sharp glare Agnes directs up at her that her question was too pointed. Too interested.

She shivers and takes her hand back as quick as she’d placed it.

“You know. You felt it too. I met the man who did that to your cat. He’s already dead.”

Gertrude breaks their staring and takes another bite of her lunch. She doesn’t know how to feel about that. Pleased and uncomfortable. In equal parts, she was a private person because she preferred it, and with the list of enemies she was building, it was easier.

Having this twinge of understanding though, a tiny and unfathomable connection was something Gertrude didn’t quite want, but was stuck with. Gertrude couldn’t recall another moment in her life, since maybe childhood, where she desired the presence or touch of another person, but now she can’t help feeling disconnected from something bigger than herself.

Whatever feeling their connection gave before paled in comparison to that exchange.

Abruptly, Agnes stands and fishes out money for her drink, despite not taking a single sip. She hovers for just a moment beside Gertrude, and she disguises the flinch as those long fingers reach out once again. Agnes simply touches the side of her tea cup and within moments, plumes of steam rising again from the cold tea.

“So you can feel fear.” She quietly comments. An emptiness to the observation that she doesn’t clarify on before taking her leave.

Gertrude continues on with her day, as if the event never happened. Distantly, she wonders if this is what they meant when Agnes said they hadn’t wanted them meeting each other. It isn’t until she is locking up the archives, saying a curt goodnight to James Wright who happens to be leaving the same time as her, where she gives the event any proper thought. There’s something notably suspicious in the way he suggests she take care getting home that has an edge of paranoia creep back in, but like with most of the man’s actions, she can never attribute them to anything specific enough. Still, if it feels more so like there is someone watching her as she makes it back to her flat, it is something she has simply gotten used to.

What is far more worrying is the light, which shouldn’t be on, coming from her window. Carefully, she unlocks the door, hand at the ready for the small knife she’s taken to caring on her person. However, when she peeks in, there is only a woman sitting at her kitchen table, her back to the door and presenting familiar long, red hair.

“Miss Montague, I wasn’t expecting another visit so soon.” Gertrude greets her as she removes her bag and hat, hanging it on a rack, holding a jacket she doesn’t expect to be needing any time soon.

She twists around and if she is irritated at the blasé way the archivist reacts to her presence, she doesn’t show it. Gertrude merely walks by her, setting the kettle on the stove. It’s late, but with an unexpected guest, instinct applies. It is the only indication that she has even acknowledged Agnes’s presence beyond addressing her as she leaves the room to get changed while it boils.

The fact she’s followed is interesting, but as she’s already stated—there isn’t fear here. Whatever happened earlier was jarring enough for Agnes that she doesn’t think she’ll do it again. Even though both of them felt something else when they touched, it was something that burned just as painfully as it was pleasant.

Agnes doesn’t actually enter her bedroom, and only stares from the threshold. Gertrude dresses with her back to her, slipping on a long nightgown. There’s an uncomfortable intimacy to it, but one that feels right. If anyone were to be this close to her, it would be the person who saw and felt it all, however unwilling that connection may be.  

The floor creaks, but the steps are slow, uncertain. A jerky thing that is moving not quite because it wants to, or knows why, but simply because it is compelled to move. Ever so gently, Agnes touches her bare shoulder, tracing down to a scar she knows is exposed on her upper back. Unintentionally, Gertrude shivers. The touch was unexpected, though much easier to anticipate than the one in the café.

It makes her feel raw and exposed. Burned physically from the touch, and mentally from the exchange. A meeting of Eye and Flame, twined together by Web. She doesn’t want to burn her eyes out from looking, and neither does Agnes, but neither can look or pull away.

The shrill of the kettle eventually breaks the spell, and this time it is Gertrude who has pulled away. Neither of them speak as Gertrude goes about the methodical process of flicking the flame off, getting cups and preparing the tea.

Predictably, Agnes doesn’t actually drink hers. There are hundreds of days sitting now in Gertrude’s mind of cups of tea left untouched.

“I know you didn’t come here for tea.” Gertrude broaches the subject, still unsettled from earlier. Mostly, because she wishes it hadn’t stopped, and that is cause for worry.

Agnes runs her finger along the rim of the cup, and eventually settles for looking out the window.

“Jude almost didn’t let me out. She said I seemed different.” Agnes’s finger stills. “Do I seem different?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Gertrude muses, but they both know it’s a lie. They both know what is different and smoldering the small carpet she keeps underneath the kitchen table.

It’s the first time Gertrude hears her laugh, and it’s a hollow and hoarse.

“This is the second time I’ve met you, and yet you know me better than anyone else. Likely better than anyone I will ever meet. Isn’t that funny?” Agnes explains with a twinge of bitterness and resentment in her tone.

“You couldn’t even leave me a choice in that.”

Gertrude offers her a rare pitying smile, because while she may have placed them in this situation, it isn’t like she is not a part of it. Always in that thread connecting them was a pulling tug, desperate for some kind of understanding. And now they’re here and it feels like the thread is going to burn them alive. Perhaps, that was what the spider was hoping for all along. Or maybe it is simply the nature of fire in of itself.

“I’ll ask you one more time, what is it that you came here for?” Gertrude repeats with no genuine threat in her voice. It’s late and she doesn’t have any happy answers for Agnes.

She hears the chair scrape across the wood, as Agnes stands and takes three graceful steps to where Gertrude is seated. Her hands brace the back of the chair, as she leans in, but Gertrude does not flinch. Instead, she has to force herself from being drawn closer in.

“Kiss me. I can tell you want to, and it’s fine.”

“What happens if you burn me alive?”

“I’ll just burn with you.” Agnes answers her in a hushed voice, before joining their lips.

[beelas-bees]

AU TIME

I had an idea for an AU since the newest episode!

So I’ve always thought Patton was being very unfair recently and he really needs to be stopped plus I’ve also heard of a “twisted sense of morality” and couldn’t help but get an idea once I pieced the two together. 

Plus everyone knows I love my snakey boi! So of course he’s the protag here! I don’t hate Patton (Although I do make him the villain in my head alot) I just think it fits him as a bad character!

So I tinkered with the idea of Patton being kinda evil but not realizing the consequences of his actions, causing Thomas to spiral down a path of self-destruction and the other light sides fiercely defending Patton at every turn (Much to Deceit’s despair).

So I practiced writing a little prologue for the AU. It takes place a bit before Accepting Anxiety where Anxiety is slowly leaving the dark sides to the light. Deceit is noticing more and more that Morality isn’t seeming like he should and goes to confront him.

Spoilers for the new episode! Some blood and violence and just angst. Lemme know if I need to add any other warnings!! <3

Twisted Morality AU: Prologue///

Thomas was being swayed more and more towards Morality's agenda. And that was bad. Morality might believe he is righteous but if anyone would listen to me, they would understand that his judgement is corrupt. Anyone's sense of morality can be twisted but Thomas' was corrupted and no one even knows. Except for me, Deceit. Of course, no one will trust the actual concept of dishonesty, but I have to try to save Thomas. He's my host too, and I will stop at nothing to make Thomas a stable person again. Morality has his grasp around Creativity and Logic tight and now 'Anxiety' is being tricked too. I need to speak to Morality, before he convinces them to shut me out for good. I stepped into the 'light' realm but I didn't get far down the hallway before I encountered the all powerful side. I don't know how he knew I was here so fast as the others couldn't detect me until the kitchen, maybe he was getting stronger... "Morality!" I spoke to the man, standing tall and still in front of me "I wasn't looking for you at all!" I tried to sound strong but the truth was shining through. I'm absolutely terrified of Morality. Morality stared at me, gaze ice cold "Deceit, you know you're not allowed here." he started walking towards me. I backed up "Whaaat!?~ I didn't hear of that rule." I cleared my throat and continued to back out as Morality showed no signs of stopping. "Do you want to speak in the Void?" Morality smiled, but the warmth was absent from his expression "Yes, that'd be great!" he said in his usual tone but knowing the context made it scary. Morality led us to the door I had just walked through and into the Void where the others and I lived. He cracked the door behind him and stood guard in front of it. "So Deceit, what do you need to speak about so badly as you would have to tread on our territory?" I blinked, only a little confused but I wouldn't show that to him "Your territory?" I laughed, unease creeping up on me as Morality dangerously narrowed his eyes at me "I-i thought the mind was free reign to us all?-" "No." Morality shut me down immediately, knocking the breath out of me. "O-oh! I- uh-" I stuttered but Morality cut me off once more. "That's enough, Deceit. I'm sure you're intelligent enough to tell what's going on here." Morality said in a stone cold voice, one that sometimes reminded me of myself. "So, you need to stay out here." Morality started to turn away, holding his right hand purposefully away from me, I grabbed him by his shoulder "Morality! We still need to talk!" I felt Morality stiffen under my grasp and turned quickly to face me again, I stepped back as fear took hold of me. Morality didn't say anything at first, but he didn't need to as his actions spoke a thousand words, words of demise. "Deceit." he spoke, finally, turning to face me fully and taking his hand from behind his back. A barely visible glint of silver metal was my only warning before Morality lunged at me. While I was frozen solid, Morality grabbed me by my shoulder and roughly cut my scales with the kitchen knife he held, as if he knew I was coming all along. I hissed at the sudden pain in my face, I was pushed to the ground as I tried to check the condition of my face. Morality knew he couldn't kill me, of course, but he could still cause me a great deal of agony. "Deceit." Morality breathed heavily "NEVER! Touch me again!" he screamed, as no one but me would hear him. I blinked away the tears before they could even form, I stood up, shaking. "Morality, you listen hard and you listen good, because these words will be the truest I've ever spoken." Despite the pain and the blood on my hands, I stared at Morality ready for anything. "You are unjust and you are leading Thomas down a path of self-destruction and you are not letting me tell you how to fix your way of thinking! I just want to help and you are preventing me!" I was letting out everything, desperate for Morality to understand and change his ways. "You have to understand..." Morality's gaze didn't soften "Heh, no, I don't. You are Deceit, the literal embodiment of lies. I am Morality! I know that you are bad and that's that." I blinked, thoughts becoming gritty "Morality, huh?" I seethed and laughed as the blood continued to trickle down my face "I don't think I can even call you Morality anymore. You've fallen so far from your path, you are... so, twisted now. Your reign of terror will be stopped, Patton, and I will be the one to stop you." I used his real name, to appeal to his sense of humanity but to no luck.

Morality laughed crazed, his face speckled with my own blood and he held up the knife threateningly "Try your best, Deceit. But I'm a light side, you're not. They'll always believe me before you." Referring to Logic, Creativity, Anxiety and Thomas hurt my heart, he chuckled before continuing "Besides, I'm Morality. I decide what's good and bad." He smiled an unfamiliar evil smirk.

I stared, fearful of Morality once more as he laughed. He took a sharp step towards me, making me fall back. "Know your place Deceit, and stay out of the light." he stepped through the door and shut it behind him. I scrambled to get up and tried the door knob but to no avail, Morality had locked me out of the light. Away from Logic, Creativity, Anxiety. Away from Thomas. I screamed and scratched at the door until my claws broke, tears streamed down my face as I finally gave up. I sat for awhile, trying to recover, once my breaths were back to normal, I checked my face. running my now broken claws along the cut line from my ear to my mouth. Angry, I stood up and headed towards the others. Walking in the Void alone gave me plenty of time to think about how to act next. I rushed in to see the Duke still in the kitchen "What are you doing in here?" I hissed at him, it was late and he needed sleep, plus I didn't want anyone to see me hurt. The Duke turned, alarmed, but settled once he saw it was me "Oh! Snakey! It's you. I was just, uh, getting some nice juicy eyeballs to eat." he winked. Without thinking, I used my hand that was covering my face to slap the 'eyeballs', which was actually cold pizza, out of his hands. "You shouldn't eat before sleeping!" a gasp sounded from the Duke, but not because of the pizza. "Deicy! What happened to your face!?" The Duke was panicked, rushing to sit me down and conjure up something to help me. "Gotta take care of mom when she can't care for her kids!" I laughed nervously "I wasn't just scratching at my scales again and scratched too hard!" The Duke looked back at me "I thought you didn't scratch your face? Just your arm- OHMYGOSH!" he grabbed my hands, covered in blood and my nails split horridly. "Your claws! Were you scratching that hard!?" "Uh. Yeah..." I felt too sick to continue, gulping down any bile that dared to rise up. The Duke continued to work in silence until my face and hands were patched up and I began to get drowsy. "Are you sure you're okay, Dee?" The Duke looked at me, sincere. I shook my head "I'm fine. Really! I'm just kinda tired now." The Duke nodded "Oh, okay. Get some rest, please." I stood and stretched, taking off my cloak and hat. "Okay, but don't let me catch you up this late again!" I gave him a toothy grin "Or I won't have to do something about it!" The Duke laughed "Alright! Alright! Let the bed bugs suck the blood out, Deicy!" I smiled "Terrible night, Remus." I headed to my room, setting down my cloak and hat and undressed until I was comfortable. I laid down and let the weight of what just happened slap me in the face. I was barred from the light realm for good. Maybe I could get Remus or someone to go over there and get the door open. But until then, I should work on a plan to stop Morality. He was doing too much and whether he knew it or not, he was destroying the others and Thomas, and I refuse to just stand by any longer. I touched my new scar with my bandaged claws and thought again before drifting off to sleep. I will take down Thomas' twisted sense of Morality!

///

Sooo! That was it! I hope you enjoyed as I’m not good at writing (As my writing sometimes has to be read a certain way ahah) or concepts pfft but I was glad to create the art in between it!

Also! Here’s a concept drawing for the AU I did!

I hope to add more soon! Bye bye!

[theficpusher]

give me things to stay awake by embodied | E | 10261 It’s shitty and it’s counterproductive and it’s self-indulgent, but he lets it become a thing. On Saturday nights Harry goes out and gets so pissed he can’t stand, and when the bartender cuts him off he rings Louis and is in his car within an hour. It’s not a cycle he’s proud of, but it’s also something he can’t resist, and he keeps doing it as long as Louis keeps showing up. AU. It's been a year since Louis broke up with Harry.

How Could I Ever Forget by allwaswell16 | E | 14637 After his boyfriend leaves him for a job in New York, Harry vows to move on with his life. A year later when their best friends announce their engagement, Harry knows he'll be forced to see Louis again and face the truth he's been trying his best to hide--even from himself. Or a Vegas AU where Ziam's bachelor party turns into drunken karaoke, winning thousands at slots, washing your clothes at the laundromat in your underwear, and making life altering decisions that you can't remember in the morning.

We'll Never Fall Apart by GMTYUniverse | M | 20698 Harry’s hand seems to tremble a bit as he takes the pen from Louis. Louis pretends he doesn’t notice. It’s not his right anymore to notice, he thinks to himself. Or maybe it is – as friends. He’s not sure what being just friends entails, if he’s being entirely honest. He’s a bit confused where they’ve drawn the line, or will be drawing the line. It's just - it’s not really clear where they stand at the moment. Despite all the paperwork surrounding Oliver, there's so much left unsaid. Then again, maybe everything already has been said and Louis is just scrambling for reasons to keep holding on. or the one where Louis and Harry's relationship falls apart after 7 years, but the rescue dog they raised together doesn’t understand the joint-custody agreement they’ve hashed out.

some velvet morning, years too late by tintedglasses | T | 35484 A better adult probably would have changed their emergency contact information once they had convinced said contact that they wanted nothing to do with them, but Louis had never been very good at proper adult things. Besides, it’s not like he thought he’d ever need it. Or: Louis wakes up in the hospital with unfinished business at his bedside. Turns out Nick has some unfinished business, too.

If I Was Stronger by haloeverlasting | E | 50830 Harry’s fingers find her lips, in a silent moment of wonder and reverie, and her knees wobble as she’s assaulted with the image of Louis, right here in her bedroom, with her light blue eyes, and her gentle hands, and Harry feels an overwhelming rush and longing to reach out and touch. She imagines Louis stepping towards her slowly, treading lightly with her fingers on her cheek, where Harry’s dimple may appear, and whether Harry would like it if Louis’ thin lips found hers. With her eyes closed, she imagines Louis standing very close, and she finds the wait to be agonizing, but when she goes to close the distance, there’s no one besides herself in her bedroom. Harry lets out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She feels tingly, and hot, and absolutely terrified, but the next time she looks in the mirror, she sees someone she knows intimately. She sees that girl with bright green eyes, and unruly hair, and parted lips, and she loses her breath a moment, because while she knows that girl inside and out, she hasn’t been honest with herself until… well, now. “I might be gay.” A Girl Direction AU where Louis holds universes inside her, and Harry just wants to hold her.

The Second Hand Unwinds by FullOnLarrie | E | 51571 Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

Feels Like Coming Home by phdmama | E | 60379 The last thing Harry Styles expects when he's hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that's exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn't heard one word from Louis, and he's moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he's a chef, isn't easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he'd left turn out to be not so easily forgotten. This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives.

The Lonely Planet Guide to Second Chances by 1Diamondinthesun | E | 102976 When Harry and Louis broke up, the last thing on Harry's mind was the non-refundable surprise trip he had booked for them across Europe. Harry was supposed to be moving on, not sightseeing with his ex. In hindsight, touring the continent with Louis was probably a bad idea. So naturally, that's exactly what Harry did. Or, the breakup travel fic featuring romantic sunsets, awkward bed sharing, and second chances against a backdrop of some of Europe's most iconic cities.

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove | E | 124165 five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone. now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him. (or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

[knightsdeath]

he has never touched it , the scar marring felix's shoulder ; he's never been permitted to , something known without even having needed to ask. but tonight ... it seems to call to him more so than usual , coaxing his curiosity from him and he does not touch it , but rather hovers his fingers over it / asking permission , respecting the unknown answer . ❛ felix , ❜ a gentle murmur , ❛ would you tell me how you came to have such a scar ? ❜

they’re in flux, constantly ———— the ever changing form of them, frenetic and unwilling to settle for even a moment / turbulent. muted. what better shape for them to take, to so thoroughly differentiate them from the boys that they once were? that people swear they had once embodied? when they had been steady and level and sure to the last moments of their lives and to the ends of the earth dedicated, wholly and utterly, to each other and few others.

this is not the natural resolution of them. lying on this bed beneath these sheets alongside each other with his skin humming from remembrance of where they had touched not so long ago, intertwined from their ankles to the very fall of their hair ( the sharp delineation between inky darkness and the coming of light ) meandering and very nearly calm in the face of each other and the proximity of them. the fire on the other side of the room whispers still and baron is asleep in the vestibule beside the other fire / how ridiculous it is to have two fires to warm a room / how ridiculous it is : this play at peace and serenity and love, how devotedly they forge it together.

this is not the natural resolution of them ———— or perhaps it is and the cynicism with which he sees everything and anything demands otherwise. demands that the nightmares he has ( that they both have, in truth, and he knows that somewhat and knows that vaguely and knows that well ) tell of what they could have been. what they should have been. death reigning and blood splattering and the taste of despair on his tongue and the weight of a body long dead in his arms / dead by another’s hand / dead by his hand ———— or himself dead, killed by the monster who is the man who is the monster who is. who is. who is.

what’s the truth? well : it hardly matters, does it? when this is the tenuous resolution that they’ve chosen for now and they’ve chosen for this moment. this intimacy and this closeness and this attempt at LOVE. a love that is true. a love that is genuine. a love that is theirs and stained in blood and strife and years long gone by and steeped in grief and torment and reeks of fear that has passed but remains : an unwitting and unrelenting third party to their ( … ) whatever it is. relationship, he supposes.

not that there’s anything else to call it.

dimitri’s touch is gentle / it always is, when they’re like this, unless he’s goading and goading and goading ———— always so damnably gentle, as if in frank opposition to the strength that lays coiled beneath his skin. dimitri’s touch is gentle / trailing along his hip and the tip of his waist and his arm, the whole left side of him, the left because lying on his left side is far too painful, sometimes. tonight. tonight, with a storm brewing not so far away and his shoulder aching and aching and aching / memory clinging to the joint / teeth digging in and refusing to unhand him.

he watches the fall of dimitri’s hair over the pillow and the curve of his hand beside his head as that touch lifts. and hovers. felix’s nerve endings are alight as they so frequently are and it aches and he aches and watches his mouth form that question and for a moment it seems SO VERY ODD. so very misplaced. like a blade that doesn’t belong in a set. like a shrub just barely misshapen. the question? the spoken / unspoken question? or that he doesn’t know?

how could he know? how could he have found out? how could he have learned, lest he asked sylvain or ingrid, what had befallen him in those five years where he had been gone, four of which he had been presumed dead? oh, he could have asked, certainly. at any time. at any pause. any of them could have told him ( though felix certainly wouldn’t have relished in the chance years ago ) what had happened. but dimitri, respectful and courteous and gentle dimitri, wouldn’t have demanded such a thing from him in light of his unwillingness to allow ANYONE AND EVERYONE to touch his shoulder ———— save sylvain and ingrid, of course. the only ones. the only ones who have been permitted the full horror of that experience and the terror of it and the torturous aftermath.

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE, some claim. there is little use for patience when there are things to be done and things that can be done, in his opinion, but dimitri’s care with handling him and skirting around his shoulder hasn’t gone wholly unnoticed. he had known. of course he had. of course he had, from the very start the extensive care that dimitri had taken with him. every step. every last infuriating step : from the way that he spoke to him to the way that he touched him to the way that HE HID FROM HIM, EVEN NOW. as if there is any part of him that felix hasn’t seen. as if there is any part of him that felix doesn’t know.

his kindness and his love and his hopes and his determination and his rage. whether felix knows him best is questionable, now, but it hadn’t been once upon a time. so very long ago.

they’re in flux, constantly. learning and re—learning and discovering each other anew. this isn’t seamless and is hardly anything that can be called SIMPLE what with the tangled nature of their histories, but it’s ———— them. is that enough? it must be. it must be. dimitri treats him with aggravating care and felix treats him with bold bluntness and they / fit? strangely. not quite perfectly. but there’s no such thing as PERFECT, after all. there is simply the choice to be made.

and there’s this choice : the shift of his body as he half turns his face into the pillow and dimitri’s fingers brush along his shoulder. a ghost of a touch. something so light that it may as well not have been there at all / but for that his skin threatens to tremble beneath it / but for that it could very well being a blade stabbing through his shoulder, instead of the reality of it all. it’s at once too much and not nearly enough and he meets dimitri’s eyes as he settles / and his hand settles / still not fully touching / but present. there’s a wideness to dimitri’s eyes. something that feels like shock. something that feels like tenderness.

their knees bump and / his shoulder aches.

nothing new, really.

❝ i was protecting a village against the witch’s forces, ❞ he could very well leave it there, couldn’t he? that alone told more than enough of a story. more than enough of the tale. the details are hardly quite so important ———— dimitri’s thumb slips along the mass of scar tissue. the knotted gnarled terribly smooth texture of it. a reminder of his mortality. ❝ a year into the war, ❞ a pause and he wonders if he’s said too much / but what’s too much gazing into these eyes that he knows so well who knows him so well and, ah.

perhaps he, too, has been hiding from him. all along. bits and pieces and shreds of the whole / well buried inside of him / out of sight and out of reach. what a pair they make. what a love they create. what choices they make.

❝ i became reckless and threw myself in front of someone who had been caught in the crossfire, ❞ his shoulder is alight beneath dimitri’s touch ———— or perhaps that is merely the restless energy that reverberates just beneath his skin / or perhaps it’s both, body tense and muscles screaming beneath his hand and is it cruel, that this is a test of TRUST? it is and it isn’t and they both know well the paranoia with which felix treats the masses and what it means. what this means. what it means as he breathes and breathes and breathes and fear eases itself from him / and dimitri’s hand drifts back down to his bicep / to the end of the scar tissue and the beginning of another longer, thinner scar / his expression solemn and the set of his mouth gentle. ❝ it was foolish of me. ❞

❝ it wasn’t foolish, ❞ dimitri’s voice is feather—light / and drifting / and steeped in something that lingers far too close to love. ❝ you saved someone’s life. that’s never foolish. ❞

❝ i almost died, ❞ he had come perilously close, in fact. had drawn so near that sylvain and ingrid had genuinely feared that he would leave this world permanently. it had been miraculous that he had survived at all / an artery severed and a great deal of other injuries to contend with. ❝ i almost lost my arm,” the most terrifying part of it all, truly. if anything had been A MIRACLE it’s that he kept it with a great deal of healing and a heavy amount of magic. ❝ but i survived. ❞

❝ you did, ❞ a kiss, fleeting and brief and so very light, ❝ and i am grateful for that. ❞ he shifts, his elbow digging into the bed beneath as his upper body raises and felix knows ———— it occurs to him to stop him / except that he doesn’t want to / except that he doesn’t wish to / and so he watches as his head bows and dimitri’s mouth is pressed against that macabre proof that he lives, if you’re of a mind to think of it in such a way. he isn’t, particularly, but his chest constricts and he wonders over the emotion that wells up inside of him so very suddenly.

❝ ———— dimitri, ❞ his name !! his name !! THE FUCKING SAVIOR KING looks at him, exhausted and worn and breathing, still. a masterwork of survival. they both are, in the end. and how many times has this been said without being said and how many permutations these words can place themselves through and how mangled they can become and how they burn, laying on his tongue, and what a weapon they are, truly. ❝ i love you. ❞

@hlycrwn // don’t ask me to say it again , it’s taken a part of me , you’ve taken a part of me. or is that a part you’ve always had? no , shut up. here’s a promise : i’ll say it again. i will. i will.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

FTWD 5x12: Ner Tamid - Analysis

Wow! This episode had so much in it! You know how sometimes I don't go over the minute details in the background because I feel like you guys already know them and they only serve to illustrate parallel? This was kind of the opposite. I will talk about the major parallels I saw, but the amount of small details was mind blowing and I think they're important.

***As always, spoilers abound for episode 5x12 below. Don't read until you’ve watched.***

We start with the image of the fire burning. It's a rope that's being lit by a match. We also see a chalice that has a Star of David on it. This is a rabbi in a mosque who is observing some Jewish worship. The first thing this reminded me of is the altar that Morgan built in Coda.

Of course, the rabbi’s sermon gets interrupted by walkers. I thought it was interesting that he put on a jacket. After all, it didn't look particularly cold outside.

They had him stop and put on a black jacket for no apparent reason. He was wearing a black jacket over a white shirt, so suddenly he was wearing black and white.

While outside, he sees a car with three walkers trying to get into it. My first thought was that there must be someone in it, and there was. He took down the first two walkers without too much trouble, but the third one ended up on top of him. Then the car door opens and Charlie steps out.

Okay, so many interesting clues in this sequence. We have the altar from Coda, the Star of David, the black and white colors, and the fact that there's a girl alive in the back of the car with walkers surrounding her.

Naturally, my first thought was that maybe Charlie is meant to be a proxy for Beth here. I think she is, and I've wondered before if maybe she's meant to be. There hasn't been anything super huge pointing to her being a Beth proxy thus far, but remember that she shot Nick. And it's not like Beth shot any main characters before she disappeared or anything, but even so, I thought there might be something to that. Ever since Charlie appeared, she's been sort of a background character. She's always around but they haven't spent a lot of time on her characterization. I thought maybe they were holding her in reserve for something. Given her role in this episode, she's definitely starting to look like a proxy.

The rabbi introduces himself Rabbi Jacob Kessner and says the mosque is called Temple B’nai Israel. Charlie says she saw the light in his church, and that's what drew her toward him. He tells her it's not a light. It's Ner Tamid (title of episode). It's the flame of truth or of God and God lead her to him. Then, it looks like the light is flickering and about to go out and he says that flame of truth needs new batteries.

Holy TD symbolism, Batman! First of all, Battery Theory. And there's a big emphasis on batteries throughout this episode. Of course, all that started at Grady because we saw so many batteries that were dying. Also remember that Norman said that Beth was Daryl's light in the darkness and to see that light go out was very sad. Now, in this episode, we have an emphasis on a perpetually burning light that's never supposed to go out. Sounds like a Beth parallel to me.

Another interesting detail: the rabbi keeps referring to God as a “she.” At first, I thought maybe he was referring to the flame as a “she.” And maybe he was. But he did it more than once. I can tell you that’s a little weird. A very traditional Jewish rabbi, as this guy seems to have been, would not think of God as a woman. The god of the Old Testament, whom they worship, is and was always male. So why would he do this? Whether he’s meant to be referring to God or the flame, it feels like a hint from the writers about who the flame or Christ figure in the show is, you know?

Back with Sarah, Dwight, and the rest of the group, we see the armored truck roll over a walker’s head. 

After that, the rest of the cars in the convoy also went over the walker and smash it to bits. It just reminded me of Consumed. When Daryl and Carol were following the cop car into Atlanta to look for Beth, we very obviously saw them smash a walker head in the same way.

When the convoy stops to set up camp, they use rolls of chain-link to guard against walkers. It just reminded me of the prison. We also saw Charlie and the rabbi killing walkers on the fence around his synagogue. So lots of callbacks to the prison.

When the caravan stops to rest, they us a circular setup for their camp with the tanker in the center. It's a smart way to set up camp against walkers and other enemies, but the circle is also interesting. A couple of things I think this could be.

We’ve talked before about how Morgan’s symbol of the X inside the circle, which we saw in Coda, could possibly be a lamp sign or the symbol for the positive charge of the battery, which is also often symbolized by an X or cross inside a circle. This looks at the negative charge the battery. The minus sign inside a circle. And given that there's a big emphasis on batteries here, I think that's interesting. I may be developing more of a theory about this, but I'll leave it for another time.

Charlie refers to the Light of Truth a lamp once or twice. Which, to be fair, it is. It’s not an actual flame, but rather a light, which can be plugged into a batter, in the shape of a flame. So it works in a literal sense. But also, Lamp Theory.

The other thing I couldn't help but think of is that when we first met the hipsters (Jadis’s people), they encircled Rick's group and we got a bird’s eye shot of them in a circle. I think this is probably part of that same symbolism.

We heard a few 8s in this episode. When talking about going to get gas, Sarah said it would be “tank town at 0800,” which was her way of saying they were going to get gas at eight. Of course they didn't, because they realized Charlie was missing.

Then the rabbi said it took him eight years at Yeshiva to understand what Charlie had already figured out. I looked it up and Yeshiva is a Jewish university. I’m really side-eyeing that. He’s referencing 8 years of education. Remember that there was an 8 beside Beth in Tyreese’s death hallucination and now we’re 8 years post-Coda.

The Rabbi was talking about how God had led her to him and he said, "maybe there's something you need here." So, more of the “something you need” theme.

It occurred to me that the inside of the synagogue looked a little bit like Ezekiel's theater in the kingdom. Because it’s q synagogue with pews, it also naturally looks a little bit like Father Gabriel's church. And of course there’s the church Glenn and Enid went into in 6a.

The rabbi also explained the resurrection in a way that had a very strong parallel to what Herschel told Rick in S2. While on the highway in the finale, waiting for the others to find them, Herschel said he'd always believed in the resurrection of the dead, but what was going on with the walkers wasn't exactly what he had in mind. The rabbi said something very similar. That he used to tell his congregation that eventually the dead would reunite with their bodies and be resurrected, but he thought he only got it halfway right. So, a major call back to Herschel and S2.

He also said tradition was very important. This is definitely true from what I understand of Jewish culture. They're very ardent about their traditions. I also took it to perhaps be a line the writers might be aiming toward us and the symbolism in general. As if to say that precedent in the show is very important.

We had more emphasis on the battery because he was on his last battery and it started to go out. In order to keep the lights going, he needed to find new batteries. Definitely feels like a theme to me. Obviously, the light equals hope and you need batteries, apparently, to keep that hope burning. These are all things we saw heavily around Beth and Grady.

The rabbi goes to another building and finds that it's full of walkers, who are escaping. My first thought upon seeing building is that it looked like a lot like the school from S5. The same school the Termites camped out in front of. Many of Father Gabriel's congregation (as walkers) were in it, which is why he broke out of his church in Coda and went there. It was in that scene that we saw him look at a bible and one of the pages said Bethel on it.  

So this rabbi definitely has heavy parallels to Father Gabriel in S5. He is alone in his synagogue and his congregation is dead. They been imprisoned in a building some distance away from his church. 

When he goes looking for them, there's a circular driveway in front of the building. So that circle theme appears again. We also see red flowers. I'm thinking the red flowers, just like the color red, equals death. I was reminded of the poem, In Flanders Fields, which is a famous poem about red poppies growing where men in war died. Just goes to show that his congregation was dead, even though they hadn't revealed that to us yet in the show.

Upon seeing this, my first question was whether the rabbi locked his congregation in there, just as Gabriel locked his congregation out. We don’t find out what happened until about three quarters of the way through the episode. This rabbi didn't have as much culpability as FG did. He didn't actively sentence his congregation to death. We do find out that he was having a crisis of faith — much like FG in S5 — and that he abandoned his flock to go try and figure out his own psychological crisis.

When he returned, they’d been locked in that building already. So, he abandoned them and then they died. But he did not orchestrate their deaths in quite the same way FG did with his flock. Still, the parallels are there.

I think this is important is because 1) We saw this around FG in S5 while Grady was happening. So even though Beth never met FG, it was definitely happening around her storyline. And 2) FG is now a walking embodiment of Sirius symbolism.

John and June come to pick up Charlie and the bring a battery for the rabbi. They emphasized the number 36 by having June say there were 36 people in the convoy. The rabbi then said that some people believe there were 36 righteous people in the world at any given time. There are a few ways you could read this. 6x03 is Glenn’s death fake out episode. 3x06 doesn’t especially stand out to me. Series number 36 was 4x01. You know, where Beth came front and center?

Meanwhile, back at camp, Sarah and Dwight sit atop a trailer, keeping watch together and drinking beer. Dwight says the beer is pretty good, and Sarah says, "Seriously?" There’s the Sirius reference for this episode. Pretty much every episode of this season has had one.

The two of them have a casual conversation, but I found it kind of interesting. Sarah asked Dwight how long he'd been on his own, and he didn’t know. He said he lost track of time. So, he doesn't even know how long he's been gone from DC. Interesting, as they’re kind of playing with time again. Then Sarah says, "but your gal kept going, the idea of her?" Definitely something that could be applied to Daryl. Dwight answered that the walkers kept him going too. He said he used to watch them, wandering who knows how far, not knowing where they'd come from and where they were going. Just a lot of things about traveling long distances and being on journeys that I feel it could apply to Beth.

Meanwhile, Dwight keeps looking through blue binoculars. So there's that pesky blue color again and the binoculars theme. He’s also sitting on a blue cooler (@frangipanilove’s blue coolers theories) and there is a red/green diamond pattern on his shirt (Beth = Queen of Diamonds).

Back in the synagogue, we also find out the rabbi makes his own wine. He says he has a “green thumb.” Of course, the wine he makes is probably much different than moonshine, but the concept is the same. He's making his own booze.

While John and June are there, the rest of the rabbi’s congregation break out of the building through the glass (Breaking Glass Theory) and the synagogue is suddenly surrounded by walkers.

Then we have some ladders! After posting my ladder theory this last week, I was excited to see this. They were trying to find a way down to go help the convoy because Logan's people had found them and they were on the run. John uses a ladder and slams it into a car windshield, breaking it. He and June descend and use the ladder as a bridge between cars to try to get across the lot without actually having to walk among the walkers or kill them. Think about that. They’re using LADDERS as BRIDGES across CARS to get through a WALKER HORDE.

They nearly make it, but in the final leg of their journey, one of the fences falls — not unlike the church falling in 6x07 and letting walkers into Alexandria, and they know they can’t make it out.

Charlie had one of Beth's lines here. Yet another way to show that she's a Beth proxy. When the rabbi tells her that it's okay, she says, "It's not okay, it's not okay." Beth said that twice a Grady as well. In fact, it was one of the last things she said before being shot, in reference to Noah staying behind.

John also used the phrase “exhibit A." He’s talking about how she wasn’t necessarily wrong to do what she did. She kept them all moving to avoid exactly the situation they were in: surrounded by walkers and trapped on top of a car. He says their “current circumstances are exhibit A.” So this is the A theory. I have more to say about this, but just keep it in mind for today.

In order to save John and June, who were then trapped into the car, and get all them out of there, the rabbi blew a horn—a Jewish horn called a shofar—to lure the walkers into the church. 

A couple of things about this. 1) The home is not unlike the wolf horn blown in 6x02, which also led the walker horde toward it, and led to Glenn’s death fake out sequence. 2) What follows in this episode is exactly what happened with Father Gabriel’s church in Coda. They lure the walkers into the synagogue and then trap them inside by barring the front doors.

It works, but the church/synagogue are lost. And once again, the last time we saw this was in CODA.

By the way, a shofar is made from the horn of a ram. We saw a ram one very prominent time before: in 5b when Aaron and Daryl were trying to capture buttons, Aaron tripped over one and nearly got bitten by a walker. So it’s a symbol they’ve used before. 

In the end, the battery dies, the light goes out, and the Rabbi goes with them.

Meanwhile, Logan’s men chase Sarah and Dwight and the convoy for quite a while. Once they have them cornered (Sarah’s truck runs out of gas) they just drive away. It seems, at first, because Logan’s guys saw John and June in Al’s SWAT truck coming to the rescue, but Dwight still thinks it’s weird. He says these guys don’t do anything unless it’s on purpose. (Clue about the symbols in the show perhaps?)

Turns out, Dwight’s a smart dude when he wants to be. Somehow, probably from watching the Al’s tapes that he took from the vault last episode, he’s figured out where the oil fields are. He purposely had his guys chase Dwight’s group away so he could go steal the oil without them trying to stop him. The episode ends with him arriving at a place called Lonesome Quarry, where apparently the oil is.

That’s super interesting to me. I need to think on this some more and maybe I’ll address it again later on, but it’s interesting that it’s a quarry. That actually gave me a bit of a lightbulb moment. I started thinking about the quart from 6a. The group started Operation Lead the Walkers Away from there in 6x01 and it led to Glenn’s death fake out in 6x03. If you recall, there were even semis and tanker trucks in that quarry. The operation started a day early because on of them fell off a ledge, which allowed the walkers a way out of the quarry, so they had to start the operation earlier than expected.

So I’m wondering if that was a foreshadow to this, or if they’re at least purposely paralleling the two. Remember there was a death fake out involved in that. Both the beginning of a death fake out, and the end where Glenn was revealed to be alive. So I’m very curious to see where this will go.

Looking at the trailer for next week’s episode, where Logan will obviously make a play for the oil, there are things that look a LOT like 6a. Like this. 

It’s Logan, probably running from Sarah in her truck. But it just LOOKS a lot like Rich running during 6a. 

And then we see people approaching on horseback. 

No idea who they are as the picture is intentionally blurry in the trailer, but probably new characters. Helicopter people? Highwaymen? Also reminds me of the horse from the TWD S10 trailer.

So again, no idea who it is, but I’m excited to find out.

So what are my major takeaways from this episode? We saw a lot of callbacks to the prison and to Father Gabriel’s story line in particular. Those are things that were happening in S4/S5 around Beth. Another religious dude with a crisis of faith. Losing his synagogue, like losing FG’s church, along with the alter, were both specifically seen in Coda.

Then there’s the eternal light and it’s ties to Beth, and the fact that the rabbi keeps referring to it and/or God as “she.” And finally, something big will probably go down over this fight for the oil. So a good episode. Leaves us with lots of questions, but I enjoyed it.

I’ll stop there for today. I have a lot more to say. Not about the episode specifically (a few things about it, though) but a lot of what I saw here symbolically made me start thinking or rethinking some of our theories. I suppose I just have some musings about where this may be going and how things might connect. So, pretty much predictions post. I’ll post more thoughts throughout the coming week. How did everyone else like this episode?

[mzhong2014]

Weekly reading digest (7/28-8/3)

A break to remember: Stanford faculty reminisce about their college summers:

Reading about the faculty members whom I admire so much, this was a humanizing post that reminded me that everyone has struggled through the routine and impossible just like you have. My favorite quote from Ambassador Eikenberry about his summer learning how to jump out of an aircraft while at the US Army Airborne School. Ambassador Eikenberry is the embodiment of poise, humbleness, and courage, so I particularly enjoyed reading his blurb:

“As the aircraft rumbled toward the drop zone, one of the cadre, a very seasoned sergeant, gets in front of me, grabs my two shoulder straps, looks me in the face and because of the deafening engine noise, shouted at me: ‘Airborne,’– which is how all students are addressed – ‘are you nervous?’

And although I was nervous, I gave the answer I thought he wanted to hear.

‘No, Sergeant,’ I said. ‘I’m not nervous.’

The sergeant looked at me and very calmly said: ‘Airborne, I want you to be nervous. This is your first jump.’

I’ll never forget that expression on his face and his sincerity.

‘Every time you jump out of an airplane in the future, I want you to be nervous,’ the sergeant said to me. ‘Because when you are nervous, you are thinking hard about the challenge you are facing. In your mind, you are going through all the training you had – what is the next thing to do and what to do should something go wrong.’

And then he said: ‘What I don’t want you to do is be afraid. Be nervous, but don’t be afraid. If you let your fears control you, then you are going to make a mistake.’”

To be great, you must first be vulnerable. 

The Brethren: Inside the Supreme Court

I started listening to this on audiobook when I spontaneously decided to drive to San Diego at 10;30 pm on a Saturday night and back Sunday afternoon (totaling 5 hours of driving).

The Brethren is written by Bob Woodward, yes, one of the reporters of the Wategate Scandal. Earlier this year, I grabbed coffee with a litigator in an effort to shed light on the mysterious question of what does it mean to be a lawyer. He recommended this book to help elucidate this question, and only 30 minutes into the audiobook, I understood why. It is perhaps the most intimate account of the prestigious Supreme Court, uncovering the day-to-day scenes hidden behind the white marble columns and impressive wooden bench. In contrast to my other readings that cover the intellectual origins of the judiciary branch, The Brethren shows how the justice system works in a very raw and real-life manner. Spanning 1969-1975 during Burger’s early years as Chief Justice, it shows exactly how politics mixes with the supposedly nonpartisan judiciary system, the nitty-gritty of how varying legal philosophies translate to vastly diverse approaches towards handling legal issues (especially during a very contentious period with the civil rights movement), as well as how the different personalities impacted the very tactical routines of the Supreme Court.

No specific quotes because, unfortunately, I do not have the auditory version of photographic memory, but initial reactions:  

I was surprised by how the Justice’s different opinions extended beyond the question of whether something was constitutional, but also the question of how do policymakers tactically carry out a Supreme Court decision. For example, the first few chapters focused on the decision around how to issue a court order regarding Brown v Board of Education as Southern states dug their heels in to prolong the delay of integration of schools. Because of the vague phrasing used in the ruling opinion, “with all deliberate speed,” lawyers were using this language to justify these 15-year delays. The court order had to achieve and balance a number of objectives: avoid appearing submissive to the delay and admonish any attempts to prevent integration while balancing the practical concerns for allowing time to let schools create and implement a sound plan for integration to minimize the chaos / violence during this time. But should these practical considerations be up to the judiciary branch to decide? 

As a junior consultant, it was interesting to see how exactly the Justices manage their clerks and how each Justice’s personality dictated their working norms -- shows how collegial the Court is but also how political it can be 

It was also interesting to see the different philosophies that the Justices had towards being a judge. To grossly generalize, the Justices had very different opinions on the degree to which they cared about being legally rigorous in their opinions versus arriving at some legal conclusion with considerable political and social implications

The Brothers Karamazov: Ivan’s Rebellion

One of the most famous passages in The Brother’s Karamazov is Ivan’s rebellion, where he rejects God of his justice system. The dialogue occurs between Ivan, the intellectual of his three brothers, and Alyosha, the most spiritually pure of the three. Ivan focuses his argument on the suffering of children to illustrate the injustice of God. 

“I won't speak of grown-up people is that, besides being disgusting and unworthy of love, they have a compensation—they've eaten the apple and know good and evil, and they have become 'like gods.' They go on eating it still. But the children haven't eaten anything, and are so far innocent.”

Ivan proceeds to provide anecdotes that he has collected of children suffering – which are based on true stories that Dostoevsky collected from the newspaper. Ivan recounts tales of how the Turks cut open “the unborn child from the mother’s womb,” skewering babies with their bayonets in glee. He tells another story of a five-year old girl beaten to pulp by her parents, her mouth smeared with excrement, left to sleep in the cold frost of an outhouse. With relentless momentum, Ivan recounts his last story about a serf-boy who throws a stone at a kennel of hounds, and hurts the paw of a general’s dog. The child is summoned to the general and stripped naked.

“He shivers, numb with terror, not daring to cry… 'Make him run,' commands the general. 'Run! run!' shout the dog-boys. The boy runs…'At him!' yells the general, and he sets the whole pack of hounds on the child. The hounds catch him, and tear him to pieces before his mother's eyes!”

The Bible reasons that all, including children, must suffer for man’s sin. Even the most innocent, children, “must suffer for their fathers' sins, they must be punished for their fathers, who have eaten the apple.” These damned children, Ivan continues, some may twistedly suggest that “the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old.”  

Ivan concludes that he cannot accept God if his justice requires children to suffer for an “eternal harmony.”

“I must have justice, or I will destroy myself. And not justice in some remote infinite time and space, but here on earth, and that I could see myself. I have believed in it. I want to see it, and if I am dead by then, let me rise again, for if it all happens without me, it will be too unfair. Surely I haven't suffered simply that I, my crimes and my sufferings, may manure the soil of the future harmony for somebody else. I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when everyone suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That's a question I can't answer.

[…]

While there is still time, I hasten to protect myself, and so I renounce the higher harmony altogether. It's not worth the tears of that one tortured child who beat itself on the breast with its little fist and prayed in its stinking outhouse, with its unexpiated tears to 'dear, kind God'! It's not worth it, because those tears are unatoned for. They must be atoned for, or there can be no harmony. But how? How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? By their being avenged? But what do I care for avenging them? What do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since those children have already been tortured? And what becomes of harmony, if there is hell? I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don't want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price.”

And that is the crux of the passage – the prospect of an eternal harmony is not worth the suffering of the innocent to repent for the Sin of Man.

In face of our inability to find the meaning of seemingly meaningless suffering in the empirical and physical world, we are faced with two options: 1) consult the transcendental for truths that lie outside of our physical world or 2) turn inwards to provide meaning ourselves. Both are fairly unsatisfactory frameworks, in my opinion. An argument against the first is well illustrated above, and there is little that I can add of intellectual value to Dostoevsky’s work. 

As for the second point, everyone tells you during intense moments of suffering that you will always learn something in hindsight -- in an attempt to imbue seemingly meaningless suffering with meaning. After all, the human mind cannot fathom the possibility of meaningless suffering -- that all of this pain is for nothing; that there is no such thing as karma or justness in the world. This seems equally absurd because why does learning have to require so much suffering? Are humans just too dumb to learn from happy experiences? 

For the meantime, I’m not sure what exactly sure why there is so much suffering in life and whether it is justified by some external or internal truths. For now, all that I know is that a lot of terrible things in life happen, and all that humans can do is simply react to them. 

[mrdantastic808]

Disneyland Report 2018: Together Forever

It’s hard to believe it’s already been a week since standing on Main Street, waiting for the upcoming firework show.  It really feels like it was just yesterday.  

Pixarfest is in full gear in Disneyland.  Even though Pixar Pier isn’t open yet, there’s still a lot of Pixar to experience in both parks, whether it’s new foods or merchandise or parades or banners. Even the music at the ticket booths are renditions of Pixar movie theme songs.

The main event, of course, is the firework show: Together Forever.

Spoilers ahead:

 Time for a confession: I had watched a video of the show on its opening night.  I told myself the reason is because I wanted to research the best spot to position ourselves when we do go on our trip.  The truth, though, is that it was an impulsive choice on my end. When I watched the show online, I remembered thinking it was a very good show…but was it a good firework show? Like the “Disneyland Forever” firework show, projections are back on Main Street as the characters come alive on the buildings and the castle.  It tells the story of friendship using the various Pixar movies, from the introduction of characters to the development of friendship to overcoming challenges together. All the animations are great, but do they overshadow the actual fireworks?  In “Disneyland Forever,” the animation immerses you fully into the experience, but they complemented the fireworks in the sky.  In “Together Forever,” so much was happening on Main Street. It seemed like the animation competed with the fireworks for attention.  It felt off balance.  I also felt like the show was stifled by being limited to Pixar movies. “Disneyland Forever” had a wider diversity of songs and films to draw from, so it felt like a richer experience. The song for the “Together Forever” finale seemed like it was there because there wasn’t much else to draw from and because it was the theme of the show.

A week ago, I stood on Main Street with my crew.  We’ve become more than just friends.  We are a family.  Through thick and thin, we’ve looked after each other.  We supported and encouraged each other.  We took that family value deeper over the course of the trip.  We shared food with each other.  We took more time to slow things down and bond with each other.  As obstacles came up, we overcame them together.  Looking back, those moments are my favorite memories of the trip.

Here we were on Main Street. We had already experienced some of the foods and merchandise of Pixarfest.  We had enjoyed the return of Paint the Night Parade.  Now came the main event.

The natural tendency is to film the show and/or post it live.  I encouraged my family to put away those phones.  When we watch through the lens of a camera, we are only half present, half focusing on capturing everything, and we only see what the lens sees. There’s so much detail in this show that can easily be missed.  Besides, this show is a celebration of friendship.  This was a family event, and I wanted all of us to be fully present.  

The show certainly didn’t disappoint.  Even though I had seen it earlier online, it’s very different experiencing it live. More importantly, I was experiencing it with my friends as the show intended.  Together, we went on an emotional ride.  Instead of Tinkerbell, we saw Buzz Lightyear fly across the castle. When Dory introduces herself, a Dory-shaped firework lights the sky.  Wall-e and Eve fly across one side of the Main Street buildings, swinging around through the other side, while Saturn-shaped fireworks grab the sky.  My favorite turned out to be the segment from Coco.  The initial guitar strum times perfectly with a burst of fireworks.  As Miguel sings “The World Es Mi Familia,” giant versions of the characters pop up on top of the Main Street buildings to join in the celebration.  The song is full of energy and makes you want to dance along and get un poco loco.  

My close second favorite is the Incredibles segment.  An omnidroid attacks from the castle, and its arms wrap around the buildings of Main Street, wrecking them as it tries to fight the Incredibles.  The music and the fireworks add to the intensity, making it so much fun to experience.

Of course, one of Pixar’s signatures is its ability to make the audience cry.  This firework show is no exception.  While I won’t spoil how they do this, I can say that it will bring you to tears in the best way possible.

After the show, my family looked at each other, trying to process what we had just experienced.  We stood in the middle of Main Street and gave a group hug, embodying everything that Pixarfest stands for.  If this show is meant to be a celebration of friendship, it certainly did its job.  

In terms of Disney firework shows, I would rank this #2 behind “Disneyland Forever.”  Considering the variety of firework shows we’ve gotten over the years (and fireworks being one of Disney’s signature shows), this is indeed high praise.  The quality of “Together Forever” is consistent with the quality of Pixar’s films.

If you’re looking for the best viewing area, I would recommend standing on Main Street near the Penny Arcade.  You can see what’s happening at the castle while still being surrounded by the buildings on Main Street.

If you’re planning to go to Disneyland between now and September 3, I would highly recommend making this show a priority.  

[shawnjacksonsbs]

Romanticize this!

or

Is youth really wasted on the young?      11-29-20

"Being deeply loved gives you strength, but loving deeply gives you courage." - Lao Tzu

As is normal for me sometimes, I couldn't decide between the 2 titles. Cool thing about writing my way. . . I don't have to decide. I don't write for grades or pay raises, so . . .

You read, you pick the better fit, or let the piece hold a dual-title. Dual title. I like that.

Anyway,

The day we grow up for real is the day we realize surrendering selfishness is in our best interest, as well as in the best interest of some of our loved ones.

Ro·man·ti·cize; a verb, to deal with or describe in an idealized or unrealistic fashion; make (something) seem better or more appealing than it really is.

Lots of words describe the unhealthy, negative behaviors of someone caught up in different types of addiction. It generally depends on the addiction, whether it be drugs, alcohol, codependency, or maybe-usually a combination of several, and the behavior that accompanies it.

Words like rationalize, glamorize, even justify, fit but none embodies the collective whole of all of them like romanticize. I'm pretty sure that best describes why I got into the life all those years ago, and absolutely why I stayed in as long as I did, even after it started to become painful.

It is that unrealistic view of the life and its relationships, that causes the aches and longing to throb in the emotional place of the mind like a migraine until we just can't take it anymore. The only way to stay out is to accept that it isn't the best course for our mental and emotional health. That takes a type of selfish, yet selfless surrender that not everyone gets until they get it.

Seeing someone's mind light up in the back of their eyes, because they're about to go back out, and no amount of talking will pull them back is due to their mind playing those romanticized scenes over and over. Watching it is like getting a whiff of someone else's emotional stimulation. It happens all too quickly sometimes, too.

And although it sometimes feels like it came out of nowhere, it didn't. It's generally been there the whole fucking time, albeit sometimes it was a fight against it.  I've learned this first hand as I've watched loved ones crawl back into bed with the darkness multiple times since I've moved back here.

I remember all those years ago, thinking that to win I had to achieve a status everyone else saw for me, but I had to do it my way. The always high on dope, couldn't cope with pain like an adult, irresponsible, joke of a father, husband, son, scared, abandoned childlike version of me, sometimes makes me wanna scream, cry, and punch myself in the mouth. I look in the mirror, and think "limiting deathbed regrets huh?". I've come so far, and overcome so much more, and the gratitude I carry with me today includes what I've been through, and as fucked up as it sounds I carry some gratefulness in my heart for the hurt felt for hurting those closest to my heart.

I'm not saying that I'm glad I hurt people. Far from it actually, but because I did I know the opposite end now, and the love I give now is beyond measure. All because I've been on both sides of that toxic life-damaging behavior. I love with my whole heart, because I remember loving with pieces of it, if at all, and how painful and confusing it was for my family, especially my children.

Wanting better for a loved one than they, obviously, want for themselves is very difficult a thing to hold fast to. And it sometimes means doing something necessary, even though it doesn't feel right or like love. It is, in fact, love though, if its intent is to better them later regardless of how they feel now or how you "feel" about it in the moment.

Just different life choices. No one is free from the consequences of those choices either, especially not emotionally. I mean drugs can cover up small amounts sometimes but never entirely.

And don't even get me started on codependency, abusive, toxic relationships. Those are definitely a thing, and the real struggle with not understanding just how far from love those really are takes some serious self-examination.

Real love heals. It doesn't prevent growth, I promise. And if real love heals, then real grace holds the power to resolve, but in the way of light or truth. You know when you know. That's all I can say about that part.

I lay my head down at night, counting all the ways, his way might go right, which of course feels limited. Instead of losing sleep thinking about all the ways, it feels it might go wrong.

What if it's not about right or wrong. Everyone makes different life choices, some just feel more wrong than right when actually it's just making it harder on the decider I suppose.

And, and, . . . If I got hung up on every negative, what-if scenario that someone close to my heart could have, well I wouldn't get to sleep for days at a time. That would not be good. At least in the old days, the high covered it all up. Lol no lol

Not everyone can keep up, but when I say 143.2, just know it's a thing. The day the universe said, to me, "I love you too", was a pretty cool synchronicity. I'm catching on a little more, and then a little more with each passing day.

My life, my journey. Accepting mine should inherently mean accepting theirs, no matter what.

The culture, society, even the generation we live in makes just as many collective decisions about our individual futures as we, the individuals, do for ourselves. We accept and maintain happiness and contentment or we don't accept it and we stay sad and miserable, or better yet we fight it, and stay fucked off and angry. The choice is literally in our hands.

Besides this point is another, and another, and another and it doesn't matter to who, your lover, your mother, father, daughter, . . . son, but that "part of me that's you will never die" that too is a thing. A very powerful seed planting tool.

So those of us who have, or those of us who are currently lost in a clouded mindset, cant stay like that forever. One of several styles of stopping will eventually hit. If the sting of hearing love comes across as anger as you step out of the light yet again, I hope it hurts the heart to the point you get out with the same hope and maintain with the same gratitude I was allowed.

May you find that grace and the peace that comes along with it, until then good luck. You'll need it. It only feels good briefly and in little doses. Just like it always does. The worth never balances out, promise you that. It just stays harder than is necessary.

With every exchange;

When I get the reaction from someone I thought I would, it was more meant for them. When I don't get the reaction I thought I would, it was probably more meant for me.

On a side note, the whole gracefully receiving thing, which I call my current work in progress, has several sides to it, as I learn, I learn. lol

Criticism holds the highest place on this list for most people I imagine, but it's in an especially high position for me.

It's not how I generally think of graceful receiving, but it's definitely a thing I'm working on, these days. It might be one of those ones I continue to learn for the rest of my time here on Earth.

If you have loved ones who have stepped back out of the darkness, and away from those harder than necessary life choices, just remind them that you love them and that they're worth more now than the negative consequences will cost them later.

Also, if you have loved ones who have not yet stepped back out of the darkness, and away from those harder than necessary life choices, just remind them that you love them and that they're worth more now than the negative consequences of continued actions will cost them later.

If you didn't catch it, I had a loved one decide, yet again, to go back out into their struggle and attempting their way through it. So we'll see.

Keep sharing your love and laughter with the world around you always. And, please, please stay kind. It could change someone's life and you not even know it. It's important, and always worth it.

Oh yeah, do you have your gratitude list?? Maybe writing them down daily will help you more than you think it will.

Until next time;

"I don't do drugs, I'm addicted to the pain though

Yeah, I been on it for a while, dunno how to put it down

Gotta have it, it's a habit I'ma break though

I just wanna take a hit, keep sayin' I'ma quit

Keep sayin' I'ma leave, but I stay though

I just want a little fix, I don't wanna take a risk

I don't like it when I drift from the safe zone

But lately, I been thinkin' I'ma have to

Lettin' go of things that I'm attached to

World don't stop just because I'm in a bad mood

You don't know what love is 'til you holdin' onto

somethin' that you can't lose

I swear I'm tryna get it together

Sleeves up, puttin' work in, tryna be better" - Change by NF

[angeltriestoblog]

I watched a couple of movies! (Part 1)

Back when I regularly had the luxury of long breaks, I spent my days binge-watching films, as you can see from my extensive knowledge of 80s chick flicks and all the cheesy tropes and disgustingly adorable, predominantly white leading men that come with them. Sadly, a side effect of growing older in the digital age seemed to be the diminishment of my attention span: the only things I could focus on were academic requirements, simply because I had to. But, thanks to several factors—the suspension of online classes, the sudden annoyance I developed towards Barney Stinson that prompted me to discontinue How I Met Your Mother, etc.—I decided it was high time to rekindle this lost love. So, here is an unsolicited review of the 17 films I managed to finish in a little over a week! Rest assured, I tried my best to venture out of familiar territory and brush up on some of the more cultured picks, according to Letterboxd, at least.

Bar Boys (2017, dir. Kip Oebanda) ★★★

The film that kickstarted everything, which I never would have seen if the director had not uploaded the full version on YouTube. This well-meaning tale of four best friends (Carlo Aquino, Rocco Nacino, Enzo Pineda, and Kean Cipriano) and the challenges they face in law school—terror professors, fraternities, and financial difficulties included—does have a lot of heart, and is sensitive enough to show how the effect of this experience differs depending on a student's background. But, what it lacked for me was a certain degree of specificity: I think the same premise would have been applicable in med school, or any other post-graduate degree for that matter. So, why did the characters choose law? I also would have appreciated some commentary on the shortcomings of the country’s justice system, and further fleshing out of the characters so the audience could have seen why we could count on them to fill in the gaps.

Legally Blonde (2001, dir. Robert Luketic) ★★★½

The rating might be surprising, considering that the courtroom scene was responsible for the short law school phase I had in Grade 5. As if I could ever make use of the rules of haircare in an actual cross-examination. Of course, I am compelled to admire Elle (Reese Witherspoon) and how her motivations for going to Harvard shift from winning back a boy to discovering what she never knew she had and using these gifts to help those around her (especially the manicurist, who I feel was given way more exposure than what was due to her). Ultimately, though it was inspirational at some points, it felt too good to be true and impossible to relate to. (But then again, shouldn’t there be a willing suspension of disbelief when consuming forms of media such as this?)

Lady Bird (2017, dir. Greta Gerwig) ★★★★★

I’ll probably end up making a separate post dedicated to this movie and how it singlehandedly called me out, as a sensitive, occasionally self-important product of an all-girls Catholic high school. For now, I am forced to condense my overflowing feelings into a couple of sentences. Lady Bird takes place over the course of the titular character's senior year, a pivotal moment in the lives of all teenagers. But, instead of focusing solely on the formulaic firsts like the normal coming-of-age film would, it shines a light on her dwindling relationship with her equally strong-willed mother. Saoirse Ronan’s colorful performance as the human embodiment of my pre-teen self's conscience, and Greta Gerwig’s tremendous ability to make even oddly specific scenes speak to any viewer shine through and speak to me the most, and easily make this gem something I will be recommending this to anyone who bothers to ask for as long as I live.

Bohemian Rhapsody (2018, dir. Bryan Singer) ★★★

There’s a lot of controversy surrounding Bo Rhap, particularly its failure to portray Freddie Mercury in a manner that does him justice. While I understand that it is a valid concern for fans of the band, I admit I don’t know enough about who he was as a person to criticize the film in this aspect. Regardless of its factuality, this still was just average for me, the typical rise-and-fall type of biopic that is indicative of a rockstar’s legacy, but with laughably faulty editing. The redeeming factors were Rami Malek’s brilliant portrayal of the legend himself—his Live Aid performance gave me chills that lasted the entire 20 minutes, how alarming—and, obviously, the soundtrack that I kept on loop for several days.

About Time (2013, dir. Richard Curtis) ★

Apparently, this movie focuses on Tim (Domhnall Gleeson), who discovers at age 21 that the men in his family have the power to time-travel and thus revise and repair certain parts of their lives. He uses this to address the fact that he’s never had a girlfriend, and effectively so as he ends up bagging Mary (Rachel McAdams), a charming American who is the settler in this relationship by default. But, of course, this gift is not without its dire consequences—or at least, that’s what it says on Wikipedia. It’s hard to trash on this and admit that I bailed halfway because so many of my friends swear by this. But, I just couldn’t stomach the lack of chemistry between the two leads; the surprisingly boring dialogue for a screenplay crafted by Richard Curtis of Notting Hill fame; and the story that, although bore enough of a resemblance to “The Time Traveler’s Wife” to be interesting, was still not powerful enough to sustain my attention.

Your Name (2016, dir. Makoto Shinkai) ★★★★★

I’m a huge fan of plots that are sure to make my eyes swell and heart hurt—I can’t explain the psychology behind this either. So when this was recommended to me and I had made it through an hour without shedding a single tear, I was prepared to be disappointed. But, the events leading up to the conclusion proceeded to rip me into shreds, as if to taunt me and say, “You asked for it.” Mitsuha (Mone Kamishiraishi) and Taki (Ryunosuke Kamiki), teenagers living on opposite sides of the country, suddenly start switching bodies following the appearance of a comet. This unexplainable phenomenon causes them to forge an unbreakable bond that transcends the very limits of time and space. I know the description is not much, but it’s best to experience this unique plot for yourself. Besides its storyline, its charm lies in its excruciating attention to detail in depicting life in urban and rural Japan, both in the realistic animation of one picturesque scene after another, and the use of cultural elements to arrive at a twist viewers will not see coming.

Booksmart (2019, dir. Olivia Wilde) ★★★★½

I can't summarize what I imagine Booksmart to be for teenagers in the future, so here's an entire scenario: It's the year 2070. Two young girls of around 16 are sprawled on their bedroom floor, watching this on whatever device they use for streaming. (Maybe it's from an LCD projector embedded in their foreheads, who knows.) The credits roll, and they instantly think to themselves, "Man, we were born in the wrong generation!" (They simultaneously think of doing a high-five, and without raising their hands themselves, it happens because that's technology.) Anyway, Amy (Kaitlyn Dever) and Molly (Beanie Feldstein) are best friends who played by the rules all throughout high school and realized too late that they could’ve afforded to have a little more fun. On the eve of their graduation, they decide to cram four years’ worth of adventure in a single unpredictable and outrageous night, getting to grips with everything that comes their way in an exceedingly comedic yet refreshing fashion. Also, the protagonists have such a genuine and wholesome relationship: the way they hyped up their most ridiculous looking outfits, or overshared borderline uncomfortable stories is honestly my personal definition of an ideal friendship.

When Harry Met Sally (1989, dir. Rob Reiner) ★★★★½

Despite this film’s constant presence in every “chick flicks you must watch” list I’ve bothered searching up, I spent a huge chunk of my teen years in constant protest against the decision to cast Billy Crystal as the male lead instead of, I don’t know, literally any other actor on the planet. But, once I finished it, I realized that he’s a much better fit than I thought. The laidback Harry to Meg Ryan’s finicky Sally, both of them spare no effort exploring and debunking truths and misconceptions about modern relationships: examples of which are the idea of being high maintenance, and the quintessential question of whether a guy and girl can ever be just friends. Although their dynamic is the definition of slow burn, audiences can’t help but earnestly root for the pair—the frustration brought by the several almosts pay off in the end, as they lead to one of, if not, the most romantic love confession scene.

Hintayan ng Langit (2018, dir. Dan Villegas) ★★★★½

This tale adapted from a play by no less than Juan Miguel Severo is set in purgatory—a grandiose art museum-four star hotel hybrid of sorts—where souls can stop and rest while their papers for entry to heaven are being processed. It is here we meet Manolo (Eddie Garcia) and Lisang (Gina Pareno), ex-lovers with unfinished business. Things admittedly start off a bit slow, but it's understandable since there needs to be ample provision of context regarding the standard operating procedures of this unique waiting area. Once that’s done, the focus stays on the main actors, who drive audiences to tears with their powerful performances, and thought-provoking questions on matters of betrayal, forgiveness, and the afterlife. The ending had me rocking back and forth like a baby, my shirt soaked with tears, so do take heed and stock up on tissues!

The Social Network (2010, dir. David Fincher) ★★★★★

Within its packed first 15 minutes alone, you can easily see what makes The Social Network an example of cinema at its finest: an intoxicated Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) hacks into the websites of all Harvard dorms to create Facebook’s oldest ancestor from scratch, in an attempt to get back at his ex-girlfriend. The atmosphere is tense, the dialogue is loaded with witty one-liners and powerful insight, and the actors are so in touch with their characters they practically fuse into a single person. This remains consistent for the next two hours or so, making for an enjoyable and fast-paced, yet still informative glimpse into the human side of what is arguable the most powerful company of this era. I also heard that it’s much more fun if seen with the cast commentary on, so I’m gonna have to find a copy of that for myself!

Pretty in Pink (1986, dir. Howard Deutch) ★★★★★

I’m cheating here, I know: this has been a long-time favorite, but I guess I can still give a review if I was still 15 when I last saw this. Andie (Molly Ringwald) and Blane (Andrew McCarthy)’s classic “poor girl + rich boy = happily ever after” story is masterfully tackled by John Hughes, who manages to inject equal amounts of swoon-worthy romance and biting criticism of the inherent class divide in society. Others would argue that Duckie (Jon Cryer), Andie’s devoted best friend, is the true star of the show, and while I do agree that he has his shining moments (if you listen closely, you can hear Try A Little Tenderness playing softly in the background), I sadly inherited my mother’s adoration for Andrew, which I will pass on to my child and so on—truly the defining characteristic of our lineage.

St. Elmo’s Fire (1985, dir. Joel Schumacher) ½

I understand that being an adult in the Real World is bound to come with some grave mistakes and lapses in judgment. But, not a single character in this friend group redeems themselves by the end. While Ally Sheedy’s Leslie and Mare Winningham’s Wendy were just borderline forgettable (why did the latter even end up here with the Brat Pack?), Judd Nelson’s Alec cheats on his girlfriend and believes that marriage is what will make him change his ways; Rob Lowe’s Billy neglects the family he didn’t plan on having by fooling around with other women and making a home out of his favorite bar; Demi Moore’s Jules relies on cocaine and extramarital affairs to hide trauma she refuses to process, and Andrew McCarthy’s pretentiously cynical Kevin suddenly claims he knows what love is when Leslie pays attention to him for 10 minutes. But, none of them compare to Emilio Estevez’ Kirby, the sociopath obsessed with a girl he barely knows. It honestly resembles some sick contest of how many problems this gang can cause before they end up behind bars, with the last scene being a lazy and rushed attempt to wrap everything up, in the name of this surface-level “friendship”.

Before Sunrise, Sunset, and Midnight (1995, 2004, 2013; dir. Richard Linklater) ★★★★★

Guess it’s better to admit it now, but I made this post as an excuse to rave about how beautiful this trilogy is, the most authentic depiction of love in its purest form. Sunrise has been recommended to me by both friends and the Netflix algorithm, but I put off watching it again and again and again. I mean, what could I possibly get out of looking at two strangers roam around Vienna? Well, to answer that question: quite a lot. Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy)’s relationship spans an entire trilogy, and throughout that period, they manage to define then destroy the idea of having a soulmate to call your own in approximately six hours. But certain constancies are present in each movie: the emotion intense even in the smallest of gestures (you don't understand the anguish I feel when the scene at the listening booth randomly pops in my head), the dialogue truly thought-provoking and natural, the settings so picturesque, and the chemistry of the actors so electric I have trouble believing that the director didn’t actually invade the personal space of a real couple and eventually get issued a restraining order.

High Fidelity (2000, dir. Stephen Frears) ★★

I’d like to think of this as an essay: I'm confident that the introduction is the protagonist Rob's soliloquy on his five biggest breakups to understand why he’s so flawed that everyone always leaves him, and the conclusion his attempt to win his ex Laura (Iben Hjejle) back. But as for the body, I’m not entirely sure. Interspersed between these moments are thoughtful top five lists of anything that can be enumerated, and occasional banter with the employees at his record store that may be charming, but do not enhance the film in any way, shape, or form for me. Also, I normally enjoy seeing John Cusack onscreen, but more often than not, he was nagging in front of the camera instead of talking to the people around him; no wonder his relationships failed!

Scott Pilgrim vs the World (2010, dir. Edgar Wright) ★★★

I wanted to enjoy this so bad, I swear! Sadly, the one thing I gained after seeing this is knowledge of where the “I’m So Sad, So Very Very Sad” meme came from. I get that it’s supposed to resemble a comic book or video game, and maybe the reason why I failed to appreciate this as much is because I was never a fan of either. I found the prolonged action scenes surprisingly boring, the storyline too fantastic, and the whole quest of having to defeat seven monstrous exes for the hand of a manic pixie dream girl not worth it in the end. Although I can’t give it less than three stars given its impressive visual effects, and appeal to the entire Tumblr community (gamers on one end, millennial film connoisseurs on the other), it’s definitely not something I would watch a second time.

There will surely be more where that came from! (I mean it. Since completing this post, I’ve finished another five films.) If you wanna keep tabs on what I’m watching without having to wait on another post, you can give my Letterboxd a follow. Wishing you love and light always, and don’t forget to wash your hands and pray for our frontliners!

[fireofmyloins19]

Happier

-16 and 28 with john shelby and reader 

Was unsure what to write for this request for ages but this came to me after listening to this song,  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8TpcBDJZsJA

enjoy!x

Prompts: “I never meant to hurt you” and “I thought we were family!”

“Here she is!”

Arthur cried when you walked into the Garrison, throwing his hands to the air in delight as he stood behind the bar of the pub that was now his. You let out a small giggle, shaking your head at his enthusiasm before leaning across the bar to give him a warm hug.

“On the snow by any chance” You questioned when you got close to his ear, a smug smile on your face.

“Oh you know, just a little now and again” he stood up straight, fidgeting with his shirt as though embarrassed you had caught him out instantly, “it’s a big night”

“It certainly is” you gave him a proud smile as he handed you a whisky, taking it off his hands happily and wrapping your other hand in James’s who stood beside you.

“Ah, so this would be your new man”

“New? There was no old one Arthur” you scoffed, rolling your eyes which only caused him to fall into laughter. You suddenly felt a small tug on your dress and looked down to see one of John’s boys at your feet. A pain ached in your chest when you first laid eyes on him but you ignored it, hastily crouching to pick him up.

“What’s wrong with you ey?” you spoke in a soothing voice, trailing your finger under his eye to wipe away a few tears that were beginning to escape down his cheek.

“He won’t let me play with him” he pointed over to his brother who attempted to hide between a near chair. He scurried out when your eyes landed on him, strolling towards you with his head hung knowing he was in the wrong.

“Look that’s not very nice is it? You’re brothers, you’re meant to play together, look how nicely your uncles play together ey” you looked up towards Arthur who furrowed his brow as you mocked them, trying to hold in your laughter when you turned back to the boys. “Go on, play nicely.”

They quickly ran off together and you stood beaming proudly at your work.

“Ah I remember when you were that small” It was your turn to furrow your brow now, uneasy about the next words that were to leave Arthur’s  mouth, “you use to chase us all trying to kiss us and if you got too angry when we ran away you’d pull a revolver from nowhere.”

You lunged across the table to smack him on the arm and turned to James to see the worry in his eyes and a crooked smile forcing its way onto his face. You sighed, desperate to get yourself out of this situation and get another drink, you made an excuse to leave.

“I’m going to go and mingle, yous two get to know each other”

You hurriedly walked away towards the other end of the bar, no intention to mingle with anyone but determined to get yourself a whisky. Once you did you hopped onto the nearest bar stool and took a sip, the feeling of it burning down your throat comforting you as you stared blankly ahead, quickly forging a smile on your lips once again when you heard footsteps coming up beside you. You turned to greet them, presuming it would be James, or maybe even Tommy or Ada but you were surprised and angered to see Polly stood there. Her smile causing you to furrow your brow and turn away from her, raging that she could have the cheek to stand there and smile at you.

“What?”

“You know what” you spat back, barely giving her chance to finish her words.

“I’m pretty sure damn well don’t.  I don’t have a bloody clue what you’re talking about so you best enlighten me” she spoke sternly now, stepping closer to the bar to ensure you had no choice but to look towards her face.

“You were the only person that knew about me and John. The only one. And you did nothing, absolutely nothing when he ignored me for months on end and left me wondering what the fuck I had done wrong, when actually I had done fuck all wrong. He was the one in the wrong” You took a big swig of your drink and dropped it back onto the bar a little too hard, causing it to make a loud thud that you hoped hadn’t drawn attention to the two of you. “Yet I was the one you ignored”

Her lack of words after your revelation only changed your anger to upset as you felt the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach that you had been trying to avoid for months, the alcohol usually preventing it from happening. You turned to face her stony expression, the few stray tears stinging your eyes until you hurriedly wiped them away having told yourself this wasn’t to happen again.

“I thought we were family!”

“We are”

“Well, family don’t do that to one another.”

The tone in your voice let your disappointment known as you slipped off your stool and brushed past her, unwilling to continue the conversation for you wanted to enjoy the night. You stalked towards the door, ready to have a cigarette or two when you were swiftly pulled backwards making you stumble slightly. You looked up to see James, still holding onto one of your arms whilst the other was held out as an invitation to dance. You nodded lightly with a sweet smile on your face, sliding your hand into his to take up his offer and soon finding yourself swaying about within the crowd of rowdy peaky boys, who were having a night off and a few too many drinks in celebration.

Unbeknown to you his eyes were fixated on your movements whilst he stood by the bar, watching you intently as the happiness radiated from your laugh that filled the room. The smile that graced your lips almost made a smile appear on his, it certainly would have done if you weren’t in his arms. His grip tightened on the glass he held whilst he watched him spin you around and plant kisses on your bare skin, unsure how he had managed to let himself watch you for so long. Usually the mere mention of your name crushed him. Your name, the embodiment of a sharp knife embedded in his heart. Unable to ever drink his whisky without thinking about how your lips tainted that very same glass once before. He dragged his eyes away once the song came to an end, the momentary silence bringing his mind back into the room. He dug into his pocket for his cigarettes as he stormed towards the door for a much needed release. You followed unknowingly, craving the same.

The bleak wind hit your exposed skin with a sharp blow when you stepped outside, causing you to throw one arm around yourself in defence whilst the other searched for your cigarettes, having taken no notice of whom stood beside you.

“Here”

You recognised his voice instantly, your mouth turning dry as you felt the lump rise in your throat. You reluctantly turned to face him, eyes slightly wide but your mouth made no movement whilst you gritted your teeth. You reached out and took the cigarette from him, needing it to much to refuse.

“You look well”

“Thanks”

“Happy”

You were sure the pain flickered across your face for a moment, but you instantly fought against it, returning to your calm expression. You bit the side of your lip as the roar of emotions that soared through your body were overwhelming but you were determined to not let it show.

“Yeah” you nodded, looking towards him for a moment and attempting to give him a smile but you knew it looked half hearted.

There was a drawn out silence while you both smoked, racing your cigarettes with corrupted lungs and drowning your troubled minds with the whisky in hand. He hesitantly turned to you, causing your heart to drop and your body tense in anticipation of his words. You heard him begin to speak but you quickly cut him off, wanting to let him know how you felt first. Your feelings that had been trapped inside you since the last time you spoke.

“That night we shared was the best night of my life.” you paused, trying to gauge how he had taken your words without looking at him. Hoping they would hurt him to hear as much as they hurt you to say, “But then you managed to make it the worst”

“I never meant to hurt you”

You let out a sigh, the smoke from your previous drag came tumbling from your lips accompanied by the raspy sound that was your uneven breaths as you composed yourself. You pursed your lips, his words rang through your ears and repeated over and over in your mind. You took another quick drag before turning to him, locking with his eyes, determined to come across as strong and unphased by his words, not wanting to let him see you break like you had many times before.

“But you did, you hurt me more than you will ever be able to understand.” you spoke honestly, holding back the urge to let the tears fall from your eyes while you looked to him. You had spoke these words to yourself over and over in your mind but when you said them out loud it was different. It took you back to that night and then all the nights after when he left you regretful and alone. But this was also the first time you had met his eyes properly since, been this close to his face and vulnerable to his touch. And that scared you, as you felt your heart melting as it always did when he was around. And in that moment little did you know his heart was melting too while the desperation consumed him, so many unspoken words on the tip of his tongue that he never had the courage to say.

“I needed you, like you need your cigars and I need my coffee” you laughed now, wanting to make light of the situation in the hope it would stop the tears from ever showing, you heard a slight chuckle leave his lips while he blew out smoke, “but you didn’t need me.”

Your words were harsh and truthful but you spoke softly, a small knowing smile on your face as though to let him know you had accepted what he did. His eyes darted to your face, an anger that he knew he didn’t deserve to feel towards you flooded his mind at your words, knowing himself there was nothing truthful about them.

“I forgive you.”

Your words caught him off guard, you yourself unsure whether they were true but they felt right in that moment. John opened his mouth, ready to protest to your previous words, ready to tell you he needed you more than you understood, that the kids needed you. Ready to tell you all the childhood memories you shared had been what kept him going through the war, ready to tell you that the night you shared was the best night of his life and everything he had been longing for coming true had scared him. It wasn’t the war that had scared him, but the love of a girl. And that’s when you spoke.

“We were always friends first, right?” you breathed slowly, a genuine smile now spreading across your lips leaving you some what hurt when his was delayed. He stood stiffly by the side of you, his eyes roaming across your joyful face, taking in your smile. Remembering the smile he had seen on your face earlier when you were with him and deciding that was the smile you deserve.

“Yeah. Friends first” the smile you had been waiting for now spreading across his face, although it pained him to do so.

Just then the doors flew open and shut just as fast, John’s little Katie slipping through the gap and now standing outside with you. She sang your name as you crouched down with open arms to embrace her, a loving smile spreading across your face when her little arms wrapped around your neck. You swiftly picked her up and sat her on your hip while your arms cradled her, bobbing up and down which made her let out a chorus of giggles. You planted a kiss on her forehead and brushed a small curl from her face, momentarily forgetting John was still there until Katie reached her arms towards him for a hug. You turned to him while he watched you in awe, handing him Katie and reaching over to tickle her side once she was rested in his arms. When the silence came your smile faded slowly, remembering the situation while Katie grinned at the two of you, oblivious.

“I better get back, James is going to be wondering where I am”

The joy in John’s eyes faded but the smile was still fixated on his face, looking out of place now while he nodded to you, acknowledging your words.

“Just remember, if he breaks your heart I’ll be waiting here for you”

You head shot up in a panic until you saw the cheesy smile on his face making you relax for the first time since stepping outside and you couldn’t help but laugh as you shook your head at his words, having no idea he meant them. You held out a hand to Katie who placed her little one in yours and you gave it a tight squeeze, saying nothing more before returning inside the bustling pub.

John’s eyes bore into the door even after your had disappeared through it, Katie’s gentle touch against his cheek managing to drag his eyes away when she tried to get his attention. John gave her a small smile, copying her action but giving her cheek a little squeeze causing her to giggle again.

“Katie” he began, placing her gently to the floor and crouching in front of her so her eyes were level with his, “when you get older, like me and Y/N and you find someone who makes you the happiest person in the world” he glanced around to make sure no one was listening, the words sounding ridiculous coming from his usually profanity ridden mouth, “you make sure you never let them go, okay?”

“Why would I do that dad?” Katie giggled, innocence flowing from her sweet and pure eyes.

“You’re right Katie, why would you do that.”

 She turned and skipped back towards the door playfully, running back into the Garrison waiting for her dad to follow her inside

“Why the fuck would anyone do that.”

[kurainohikaru]

@parrot-with-a-mohawk I definitely think this has some merit if Ozpin doesn’t end up being the big bad like I’m more aligned to right now with how shady he is.

I’m not sure about Salem being a maiden or not just because we don’t know WHAT she is. If she’s a bridge to humanity and Grimm like you’re thinking it would technically work since she would have aura unlike pure Grimm (ala cinders arm) perhaps she’s the merging of a soul with aura and Grimm that wasn’t immediately a harmful combination? It would certainly be interesting if there was a group of people like Salem and then humanity (I’m going With Ozpin most likely leading the charge) wiped them out in a genocide and now she only has the Grimm left and none like her.

However the main reason I think she can’t be a maiden is simply because Ozpin, through Oscar, specifically says (not exact quote I can’t open the episode atm) “some time ago I bestowed a great deal of my power upon four women, these were the first maidens” Again I suspect everything he says, but this implies he is the wizard and I highly doubt he would have given them to Salem. Moreover, everyone is obsessed with finding the spring maiden, but no mentions of summer or winter. I don’t know if that’s because everyone knows who they are and they are protected, or if it’s because they have nothing to go on. I suppose it’s plausible that Salem could have stolen the powers, since she clearly was the provider for the scarab beetle Grimm Cinder used on Amber. However, it doesn’t seem like she has any of the relics at all and is scrambling for the Beacon one to even the playing field, but that’s all speculation. This raises a few other interesting points of contention though.

For one we have no idea what the timeline is for this back and forth eternal war between Ozpin and Salem is. We only have the unreliable narration of Ozpin, who is prone to bending the truth and lying, and Qrow who mostly gets information from Ozpin besides what he surveils. There could have been a period of cooperation if Salem was the bridge between humans Faunus and Grimm for a while and things soured. The only exact timeframe we have is that the schools were built by the King of Vale 80 years ago after the war. I don’t know if it’s been clarified whether the vaults were there to protect the relics of creation, knowledge, destruction, and choice before the schools and they were built around them, or if they were made with the schools. The King of Vale (who lets be honest is also probably Ozpin) clearly had the sword embodying the relic of destruction since he’s portrayed as such in the monocolor palettes, so I’m inclined to believe it’s the latter. Upon rewatching the much needed talk episode, Qrow says the schools were built around the relics but again that’s only ozpins version, who I think is as trustworthy as Cinder or Salem so yknow, take that for what you will.

I’m still more inclined to believe Ozpin is trying to turn humanity into autonomous puppets he can control since we just happened to get Knolwddge and are on our way to choice, the light relics, and that he’s hidden choice and destruction hasn’t been mentioned at all, even though it was wielded by the King of Vale (most probably).

You did point something out here very important I overlooked though. Ozpin was cursed by the “gods” by his own statement, as in plural. Now why would the god of light curse him? It would make sense for Darkness to, especially if he killed Many Grimm or people like Salem if we go with that, but if we’re to believe he is the envoy of light, that doesn’t make much sense for him to be cursed by light... unless we use chessboard logic. What if the reason he was cursed was entirely different from what he told the others?

What if he’s not cursed for failing to kill Salem but is instead cursed for fighting her?

I was always under the impression Ozpin was fiercely aligned with the Light brother’s ideals and by association the gifts he gave humanity, choice and knowledge. What if he made a choice he regrets? A choice that wrought destruction? Based on the end of the story Qrow gives us, the gods chose Deism after creating the relics. Deistic thought is that there is a supernatural being or god that creates the world, but upon its creation does not interfere with its inhabitants or beings after the fact. Now granted this only applies after they “abandon Remnant” after the creation of the relics but it applies nonetheless. Obviously these were created long before the schools since it’s the origins for the planet itself. What we don’t know is how long since then that the war between Salem and Ozpin began. Was there a period of cooperation and peace? Was it instant? Has someone gotten the relics before? Who and how were the vaults created? That’s what we can’t answer at the current juncture. But it’s interesting food for thought.

Sorry I have a habit of starting these and then my brain goes on stupidly long theory tangents. I look forward to anyone who has any other ideas! or thoughts based on @parrot-with-a-mohawk ‘s post or if theory master @littlemisssquiggles has any cool things to add or whatever else! Thanks for reading my long ass post lol

Theory on Salem’s origin and goals

So, what if the Wizard was some sort of envoy of the God of Light, while Salem was the envoy of the God of Dark(I’m going to call them GoL and GoD, for leverage). I’m calling them envoys because I’m thinking that their jobs would have also been to teach people about the gods and stuff, probably.

Basically, GoL created the Wizard to watch over his creations and the Wizard created the Maidens. GoD was envious, because his Grimm couldn’t do any of that, so he created his own envoy.

First origin theory is that Salem is the Winter Maiden, since they look very similar, though the chaces for that are slim. But, if we go with this, then, I imagine that GoD convinced her to join his side, probably by appealing to her somehow. Probably with even more power than she already had. And this is how Salem was born. GoD gave her the power to control humanity’s greatest threat: the Grimm. But the power went straight to her head and she betrayed GoD. Either that, or her new power wasn’t seen that well in the eyes of the people and maybe even the Wizard.

I think that this is something that would work even if she wasn’t actually the Winter Maiden and just somebody else, but not just anybody. I have no idea who it could be, but it definitely should have been somebody who would have to stand out to GoD. Maybe someone who had a special semblace. One that would help her understand the Grimm and communicate with them. Maybe, because of that, she was already hated by people, so GoD decided to give her consolation (and possibly use her for his own purposes), by essentially turning her into the queen of the creatures of Grimm.

Another origin theory that I have about Salem is that she was created by GoD from the ground up. But how, you say? GoD can’t create. He’s destruction. He’s the end of things as we know them. And this is why he convinced GoL to help him. Told him that humans (and probably faunus too; I don’t know it they were already around or not) are too much like him(GoL) and not enough like him(GoD). That he felt that he had no contribution to the world except for destruction. And also, that humans needed a bridge between themselves and the creatures of Grimm because there was too much conflict between the two parties. So GoD, with help from GoL, created Salem. She had the characteristics of Grimm and could rule them, while also having free will and ability to communicate just like a human. Little did the two of them know that she would be so hated because of her likeness to Grimm. Or that her hate towards Remnant and the gods who cursed her to this fate would develop and grow because of that.

I’m saying this because when Ozpin said why he has to be inside Oscar’s body(I have no way to make this sound good), he told them that the “gods” cursed him for failing his duty to defeat Salem. That would mean only that GoD wants her dead too.

This is what leads me to part two of my theory: Salem’s goal. I think that it’s the classic “destroy the world”. But, this would be just part one. Her true goal is to destroy both this world AND the gods and create a world of her own, in whatever image she wants. And she’ll do this with the help of the Relics, the Maidens and probably Ruby too, because of her Silver Eyes powers.

I think that she’s doing this because she feels that the gods betrayed her. The Wizard gave her Maiden powers and GoD gave her control over Grimm. Unfotunately, the latter came with the same weaknesses that the Grimm have, including hatred from everyone. And what did the gods do about it? They sent the Wizard to kill her. Probably because some people went to hunt her down and she killed them for that, by summoning Grimm to her aid.

Because of her experiences and how they made her feel, she wants to get her revenge on the gods. It won’t matter who or what she’ll have to sacrifice or use. She will annihilate the gods and this world together with them and she’ll make a new one, where nobody will have to suffer the way she did.

If any of these origin stories prove true, then I think that Salem is somebody who was hopeless from the start, and that’s because of a series of deeds done by the gods and the Wizard, which ended up having unforseen consequences.

By no means am I trying to defend Salem’s actions, since she has done more harm that anyone could imagine and she is actively trying to destroy the world. I’m just posting a theory on possible chains of events that led to the present.

I originaly meant to send this as an ask to @littlemisssquiggles , because I’m a big fan of her musings and I wanted to hear her opinion on this one of mine, but it got too long, so instead, I posted it here, on my blog.

[letmewritemylife]

Wizards Don’t Exist

I found myself through the dark…                                                                                       - Citizen Soldier

A/N Yes the title has nothing to do with the fic, but it was cute

TRIGGER WARNINGS Very brief reference to bullet wounds

Lara’s eyes open slowly, her vision adjusting to the dim light, and she struggles to inspect the room. The dark wooden walls around her are much higher than any other she’s ever seen, decorated with colourful masks and climbing plants. Heavy blue curtains cover the big window on the opposite side of the room and the only light is a candle on the bedside table to her left, which spreads an intense scent of moss and lichens. Lara outstretches her arm to touch the bed frame, made of a wood that seems burnt to the touch, almost black and somehow just as warm as the covers on the bed. But again, Lara isn’t sure what they are made of, their material is too soft to even be very expensive wool.

“Now where the hell am I?” she murmurs, her voice still deep and sleepy.

If not for the painful wounds in her chest, she would jump on the spot when she hears a loud voice coming from a corner of the room. A woman dressed in a long indigo dress smiles at her, saying something in a language that Lara can’t even recognize. Noticing her confused face, the woman presses a finger to her own throat, a purple light travelling around her neck. “Sorry, I forgot you didn’t speak Duirlian.”

Lara is about to sit up, gripping the edge of the bedside table for balance, but the other woman screams at her, her green eyes wide open. “Don’t you move. Urill spent an hour stitching you up, if you ruin her work we’re never gonna hear the end of it.” 

Lara narrows her brows, falling back on the soft mattress. “Who? No, wait. Who are you, who is your friend, where am I and why am I here in the first place?”

The woman smiles, trotting closer to the bed like an excited child. “I’m Yngun,” she says, offering her hand for Lara to shake. “my friend Urill and I are Enchantresses and… well, technically so are you-”

“I am what?”

“Hey, slow down with the questions, they’re already piling up,” Yngun silences her, plopping on the bed. “You’re on Duirl, sixty-four galaxies north of your galaxy. Or south, I can never remember how these interstellar coordinates work…” 

“Doesn’t matter, go on,” Lara says, pinching the bridge of her nose as her head starts to hurt.

“Oh yeah, and the Creator brought you here to, well, not to bleed out on a sidewalk.” 

Yngun’s careless tone makes it seem like a normal thing, but Lara’s eyes widen and she has to fight her urge to jump back up. “God brought me here?”

The other woman laughs like she hasn’t done in decades. “Oh no, not God. Just the embodiment of the creating principle in your blood, aka the thing that gave you your powers.” 

Again, the ease with which she says it sends Lara crazy. “Please tell me I’m drunk,” she comments, covering her face with her hands. Gosh, how she misses the times when the strangest thing she had ever heard was that her father’s real name wasn’t “Dad.”

Yngun pouts. “You may be, I’m not sure whether they put alcohol in your anesthesia.” 

“In my what?” Great, human-like aliens know what anesthesia is. What’s next? Aliens reading Marlowe?

“Sweetheart, Urill had to take out three bullets out of your chest, she had to give you something.” 

“AND WHO IS THIS URILL??” 

As if Lara had magically summoned her, a woman walks in the room, dressed in a long, orange dress. Finely embroidered golden flowers embellish her corset, contrasting with her dark skin. She moves a mass of curly, black hair behind her shoulder and throws a confused look at both Lara and Yngun, but she doesn’t have the time to say anything before her friend can talk for her.

“She’s Urill,” Yngun says, pointing at the woman with a wide grin.

“Why is she already awake?” Urill asks, her deadpan voice melting away Yngun’s smile.

She groans loudly, throwing her hands up in the air. “What’s this, an interrogation?”

Lara arches a brow, struggling to hide the pain coming from her chest as she adjusts her position in the bed. “Sorry for waking up in another galaxy and trying to figure out what the f*ck was going on,” she comments sarcastically.

Yngun looks at her offended. “Hey, watch your language, you’re basically underage.”

“What? I’m like… thirty-six.”

“And I’m five hundred and sixty-two, so you’re underage compared to me.”

Lara cocks a brow. “That’s not how age works.”

Urill rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, you get used to it after a while.”

“Yeah, about that...” Lara says, attempting to sit up before being pushed back on the bed by Yngun. “Do I have to? I mean, can’t I just go back to Earth and go to jail like normal people?”

Yngun tucks her in. “Sweetheart, they’re not gonna bring you to jail, they’re gonna burn you at the stake.”

“Metaphorically,” Urill corrects.

“Would not be the first time,” Lara replies.

“Not happening,” Yngun insists, digging her nails in her fawn skin. “We won’t let them vent their repressed anger on you, right?” she affirms, turning to Urill for a sign of assens.

The other woman nods. “Plus, I’m sure you’d appreciate some more information about this whole situation.”

“That would be very kind of yours,” Lara replies with a smirk.

Urill crosses her arms on her chest, tilting her head slightly to the side as her dark eyes scan Lara for any sign of pain caused by her wounds. “I’ll try to make it as short as I can,” she promises, but despite this her explanation seems infinite, covering even the smallest details of Project 58, Lara’s birth and adoption, her biological family.

As the witch talks, Lara’s head is spinning. The truth about her washes over her like waves, dragging her under an ocean of unsolved questions and doubts. It was all fake. Her parents weren’t her parents, or at least not her biological ones. Lara hates admitting it, but a feeling of rage towards them rises inside her, making her want to scream and break everything. Instead, she takes a deep breath and buries her face in her hands, letting Urill’s words sink in.

At some point, the woman falls silent, a look of pity on her face. Yngun reaches for Lara’s hand, her lips slightly curved downwards as she strains her voice to be soft. “Are you okay?”

Lara laughs bitterly, uncovering her face and her tear-stained cheeks. “Of course I am, it’s not like I’ve just found out my whole life was a lie,” she replies sarcastically. However she lets Yngun hold her hand, finding the tiniest bit of comfort in those warm fingers wrapped around her cold ones.

“I’m sorry,” Urill’s previously detached voice seems now much gentler.

Lara sniffs, holding more tightly onto Yngun’s hand. “Why didn’t they tell me?” she asks, her voice lower than before. “I- I would’ve loved them all the same…”

Yngun shares a look with her friend, before she sets her green eyes back on Lara. “Maybe to them it didn’t matter whether you were adopted or not,” she attempts.

“But it does to me,” Lara argues, a hint of resentment that she’s sure she will regret in the future. “I had the right to know.”

Yngun can do nothing but look away, her eyes slipping on the parquet as her thumb caresses the back of Lara’s hand. Seconds pass, filled only with the unnatural silence that has fallen on the room. After an indefinite amount of time, Lara swallows heavily, fighting the lump in her throat to talk. “What did you say I am?”

Urill takes a tentative step forward, eyes glued to the blue blankets. “An Enchantress.”

She nods. “An Enchantress,” she replies to herself, tasting that new word on her tongue. “Sounds good,” she comments, moving her gaze to the witch standing beside her.

Urill attempts a smirk. “Great fun, you don’t really get bored easily.”

Lara smirks back. An Enchantress. She has no idea what that means but the name is pretty cool. The place seems okay too. For a moment she wonders what someone she knows would think of that new title, but she soon casts that thought away, still too painful for her.

Instead she turns to her two new colleagues. “And what does an Enchantress do?”

Yngun smiles excitedly, clearly happy to talk about her job, if one could call it that way. “Oh lots of things: fighting demons, protecting planets, travelling across the multiverse, just looking cool-”

“There isn’t a limit,” Urill interrupts her. “As some of the most powerful magic users in the multiverse and the closest living beings to the original principle that created the universe, our powers are immense.”

“The only downside is that mister ‘I’m God but not really’ often asks us to do stuff,” Yngun adds with a smirk.

Lara laughs. “Yeah about that, you haven’t told me yet who this guy is.”

“The embodiment of Substance Y.” Urill’s answer is short and direct. Lara already loves her. “However I think it’s time we leave now,” she adds, turning to Yngun. “You are still injured and need rest.”

Lara has to force herself not to laugh at Yngun’s poorly concealed pout, but right before the two witches have left the room a question comes to her mind. “Sorry?” The two women turn back to her, questioning looks on their faces. “Do you have any book about Enchantresses or stuff like that?” Urill smirks, already thinking of the shelves of volumes that she will drop by her bed in the following days.

It’s been not even three days since Lara’s sudden arrival on Duirl, yet she seems to have already accustomed to Yngun’s spicy food. Munching on a blue fruit that she doesn’t know the name of but tastes strangely like apples and that her new friend has covered in some unknown spice, Lara abandons another heavy volume at the foot of her bed, piled on top of the dozen others.

She groans when, upon opening the next one, she finds only those unknown characters that make up Urill’s language. After leaving the book on another pile, that of volumes to translate with magic, she reaches for another one. She’s quite glad to notice how the pain in her chest is dying out more quickly than she expected it too. According to Yngun, it’s because of her healing powers, mixed with Urill’s spells. 

For a moment, she wonders whether she’ll ever be able to heal people too. Urill’s magic is extremely appreciated on nearby planets and everyday desperate people walk into their house - honestly she’s not sure whether it has a name - asking to be healed. Not everyone is helped though. Yngun has to read the future first and decide whether the poor suppliant deserves to be healed by an Enchantress’ magic. 

Lara isn’t sure what are the criteria of her decision, maybe something depending on one’s potential for good or similar. It’s still a mystery to her whether Yngun had to take a decision in her case too.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” she says, expecting to see either one of her new colleagues.

Instead, a man walks in, smiling softly at her, a hand hidden behind his back. “I’m glad to finally meet you properly, Doctor Johnson,” the man greets her, slowly walking up to her bed.

She blinks slowly, trying ever so hard not to focus creepily on his eyes - why the heck are they purple? “Do I know you?” she asks, scanning her memory for any middle aged man who looks like one of those single dads from cheap sitcoms, but seems crazy enough to join a cult. It takes her a moment to put together all the pieces. “No wait, are you the Jesus guy who brought me here?”

“I could say yes,” he replies with an amused smile, sitting at the foot of the bed. “But most people prefer calling me ‘the Creator.’”

His presence is confusing for Lara. Despite his abnormal height and his consequent weight, the bed doesn’t dip in the slightest, staying as if no one had joined Lara on the mattress. Furthermore, his body radiates some sort of warm energy, almost as strong as fire. She tells him that and he smiles softly again, as if he were talking with a child.

“What are you doing here?” she asks after a moment, her fingers lingering on the pile of books to her side as her eyes scan the so-called Creator.

“I figured that you might use some explanations about your powers,” he says, leaning slightly forward. “I doubt the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj spent too much time studying your magic.”

She nods and he begins talking. “Billions and billions of years ago, our universe was born with the intervention of a creating principle that some human scientist would later call ‘Substance Y.’ As the newborn cosmos expanded, Substance Y assumed a form to better keep an eye on its infinite creation.”

“And you’re that form?”

“Precisely. But my role is simply that of a watcher, of a guardian, if you will. Substance Y therefore chose a small number of sorceresses to guard the universe and protect it with their powers. Of course, this was an important responsibility that was rewarded with immense powers capable of completing the wide variety of tasks that these people could come across.”

Lara shakes her head, furrowing her brows. “This doesn’t make any sense, Urill told me about experiments and-”

“Useless, all useless,” he interrupts her. “You already had magic inside you, as well as Substance Y. The diluted mixture they put inside your veins did nothing but temporarily pause your true powers.” The Creator’s tone seems almost angry and Lara wonders if he feels offended because of what Agency X did to her. 

“And how does this whole thing work? I mean… Why am I here? Shouldn’t there be another woman already doing this?”

“The previous Enchantress was killed by a human witch who stole part of her powers just a few years before you were born. Not to scare you, but this kind of event is rather common. The last human Enchantress was also killed, burnt at the stake if I remember correctly.”

Lara nods, suddenly not so happy to have been chosen for such a task. “Well, sorry to tell you, but hiring someone who will likely be dead in forty years at best seems stupid.”

The Creator laughs, forcing himself up from her bed by gripping the footboard. “Did no one tell you? Enchantresses can live for millennia.”

“What?!”

“Dark magic permitting, of course. But I suggest you take a look inside Urill’s library, she will be more than happy to help you.” With that said, he walks up to the door.

“Wait!” she stops him. Once he’s turned, his purple eyes back on her face, she swallows heavily. “What about my biological family?”

The corners of his lips turn slightly upwards, a sad smile forming on his face. “Your parents, Abraham and Sandra should be their names, were snapped away. But your brother, Jonathan Houghton, is safe and sound in Boston. Yngun will help you contact him.” These are his last words before he disappears, going back into whatever dimension he came out of.