#God could have perfectly chosen to create a world where murder is always a good and heroic action

[thatscarletflycatcher]

"Everything went wrong after David Bowie died" "everything went wrong after the Reformation"

Me, whose Metaphysics studies and medievalist interests have been heavily shaped by Dominicans: everything went wrong after Ockham et al. sustained the primacy of Will before Good in the nature of God.

[kuronekonerochan]

The laziest compilation of thoughts about the mess that was Alice (spoilers)

I finish a lot of shitty dramas. Like a lot. I could review them, but I won’t bc there’s too many and I’m too lazy (when you ff some dramas from 45min to 5 per episode it doesn’t really count as watching too many dramas bc it’s really a commercial break, lol). Some I watch for the so bad it’s good content, or love hate watching or just to have something to watch while I eat, even if they’re boring af. It’s also a tiny bit of ocd bc I need to see how they end (even the ones I drop I check out the finale). I only drop the ones that as Marie Kondo says *Do Not Spark Joy, more specifically...annoy me and make me cranky.

I sometimes bitch about it on DMs with ranty spoilers without structure and that reference other unrelated dramas or shows, because ADHD and my mind refuses to stay on topic, which would make it probably unintelligible except if you are in the niche who happens to have watched the other unrelated dramas, so it’s probably useless as a review.

That said, here are some random disconnected thoughts about Alice.

MAJOR SPOILER ALERTS BEWARE

(this is like partly copypaste of DM rants bc I am that lazy biatch. Also, fair warning I will seem super harsh or this drama because that’s the thing about a bitching dm versus a proper review... I am not bringing up all the points and talking about the good and what I liked as well as the bad, it’s just the bad...and although the drama is imo a mess, it does have some good in it. So if it were a review I’d always argue pros and cons...ranty thoughs who cares about pros? boring..I will not be bothered with devil’s advocate).

This was fascinating to watch, interesting but not good... but like a trainwreck.

I continued watching this mess despite the headache inducing convoluted plot (I watched a lot of timetravel stuff and I love it...encompassing all the theories about it, from butterfly effect, to effectively changing the future (with characters forgetting it or keeping it in memory because “eye of the storm” theory, the “efforts are futile and you can try to change it but the future is set in stone”, to “small changes can be made but big events are fixed points in time”, to “every change creates a new time line” and multiverse, etc... and trust me, all of them can be done well when well written or turn out a confusing illogical mess and that has nothing to do with the theory chosen, but with presenting how time travel works for that story and what the basic rules are and sticking to them...or when something happens that contradicts them, come up with an explanation as to why that happens.

 I don’t mean the drama should be an exposition borefest with too much pseudosciency jargon...but this drama gives you too little in the way of rules and the viewers sort of figure out how timetravel works (which is not bad per se, huge fan of show don’t tell...but there’s a limit to how much they cannot tell or the characters chose not to ask just for the sake of plot and not without any logic to it). Anyways, the little “rules” that we gather along the way...the writing doesn’t stick to them and keeps contradicting itself without addressing or explaining it and hoping we’re so confused we don’t notice. Some dramas you just say “eh, forget it, it doesn’t make sense, let’s turn off our brains and enjoy it”, but here if I wanted to try and follow what was going on at all it required “brain on” mode for their convoluted plot twists...which also made me aware of so may plotholes the time road should have looked like Swiss Cheese. I could go into them...but I cannot be bothered and the list would be extensive and still incomplete, so I will just put 3 here bc I can’t help it:

 1) Hot Daddy with emotional turmoil the entire drama of “Oh no, I abandoned her in 92 and regretted it, it happened 1 year ago for me, and now I find out she died in 2010. How was she, did she suffer? What did she know? Oh god, if only I were a time traveler eventually going rogue who could show up and talk to her any time in the timeline between 92 and 2010...Alas, I have to live in misery with the consequences of my actions...there is just ABSOLUTELY no way of solving this. I guess I’ll just keep making unauthorized time travel journeys from 2050′s time agency back to the year of 2020 and only 2020 to constantly be blindsided by murder attempts on everyone everywhere without having a clue to what’s going on when I could simply go back to before 2010 and talk to the one person who is proven to know what is going on.” Here is where there could be a bullshit reason as to why he could go only go to 2020 and not before, but the drama didn’t even bother.

 2) They say Tae Yi’s mom was originally a time traveler who settled with her physicist dad in the past, eventually making way for her to discover time travel herself. The mom is missing and this is never addressed again. 

3) The book...who wrote it? Because I have guesses but they never outright answer it... and if the biatch author knew that stuff why the alice in wonderland stupid analogies?

 Coward, or petty, or both.... or maybe just a chaos gremlin godlike entity who wanted to watch them all squirm, like the author from Extraordinary You...and that I could get behind, but sadly they don’t go that metaphysical/theological with the plot...which is honestly the main problem with this drama. It seems ambitious in concept but it’s never explored decently in any way, not in the pseudoscience, not in the philosophical sense of the meaning of time/space/existence, not even in its relationships, with the constant back and forth and weirdness of it.

Besides the timetravel migraine, we had the weirdest directing, that made the relationship between the leads feel a bit too incesty...which was the main reason I kept watching this drama...morbid curiosity of how they wrapped up this mess of a plot AND especially the relationship payoff...would it keep being weird with trope romance drama scenes like the female lead and second female lead facing off and being jealous, or that weird hair washing that felt more sensual than maternal? I knew it wouldn’t happen but my inner chaos gremlin wanted kdramaland to grow some balls and go full “predestination: oedipus edition” with this mess. Alas they sort of did, mostly didn’t. Even that angle was a whole inconsistent mess: there were times where it felt too romantic, then for a short minute I misguidedly shipped the journalist friend, then it seemed the dude was ace, then they calmed their tits with the whole weird romantic vibes and it got platonic cute, then with the memory merge thing finally motherly vibes, then I shipped the journalist again for 1 sec only...and then the ending:

Alice ended with the lead solving every problem by shooting himself (technically) in the head...and that's the second meta perfectly fitting ending for a drama with a good cast and terrible writing that drove itself into a corner this year, after the sleepless princess ended with the leads jumping off a cliff. I don't think it's a self aware choice of the writers, or an admission that they themselves know it was bad, but the irony is delicious.

Spoiler for the ending: he undoes timey wimey stuff from when his mom first got killed in high school and closed the time travel door. So he became an architect and new Tae Yi just woke up in her bed remembering everything, but in reality she had just come back from a conference abroad and had never met him. So mom TaeYi didn't die then, but never got back on screen after the time undo so who the f knows what happened to her. 

Also, if new Tae Yi remembers, does that mean hot daddy from the future does as well, but he is just stuck in the future without a time door to ever see them again? The drama doesn’t care answering that and forgets his character is even a thing...I will miss you, my fave who looked emotionally and literally constipated 24/7 (it doesn’t care answering much at all tbf... a little known fact about the time travel paradoxes according to the physics of this world is that besides doppelganger chickenpox it induces severe lazy writing).

Anyways new Tae Yi went looking for architect (? okay...I guess) ML after she woke up, at first he didn't remember her, but it ends with him meeting her, apparently remembering her and they stare at each other... you know, like any bad traditional romantic kdrama finale....so there is still THAT vibe. 

Honestly, the usual romantic ballad score for scenes between the leads WAS NOT the most intelligent choice for this drama in specific but boy did they stick with it (not to mention the ending song... that goes, in english “we be like Bonnie and Clyde we ride or die...which...k, sure)...so technically the ending was exactly the cliche post amnesia running back to each other and staring for the final scene while romantic music blasts trope. Take it as you will.

[dishearteningmediocrity]

I haven't seen anyone post this interview with Colin Clive before, and it's quite a good one. So anyway, here's an article from the Birmingham News-Age-Herald on March 4, 1934, written by Gladys Baker. The text might be kind of hard to read, so here's a transcript. (I didn't transcribe the other article about May Robson, so apologies to all you May Robson fanatics out there; let me know and I will do it):

“Gotham’s Matinee Idol: Colin Clive” By Gladys Baker, Special Correspondent to The Birmingham News-Age-Herald

New York--Today when no man is a hero either in fiction or the theater unless he has robbed a bank or murdered his grandmother it is a welcome relief to find a man who is a “gentleman” in all that the word implies.

I am speaking of Colin Clive. His personality and very fine work as the leading man in “The Lake,” the Katharine Hepburn play, made me insinuate my way back stage to his dressing room to find out if he (like the very careful Camille) were two different persons “off stage and on.”

I found a charming, ingenuous young man who looks as if there were so much more he could say--if he would.

My job was to make him say it!

Clive is tall. His eyes are very deep blue and very alive. Hard eyes to fathom. His manner rather shy, but delightful. After offering cigarets and a highball (Englishmen I’ve noticed have a sense of Southern hospitality!) we started talking about the theater.

The inevitable question: “Why did you go on the stage?”

“Why does anybody do anything? My family were all army people--members of the Bengal Lancers--and I was in the army until a smashed knee wrote finis to that.” (and now I knew the reason of that limp which has been described by some as a romantic pose).

“Then I landed in London job hunting. That is the obvious reason, but of course, knee or no knee, I would eventually have come to it. That inner urge that makes a man paint, write, or go in for sculpturing, was unconsciously driving me in that direction.”

He smiled--no, laughed. “Lord, but I was pretty awful in the beginning. Only, 10 years of repertory cured me of that--I mean my worse faults.”

“You believe in repertory, then?”

“It is the only thing. It is necessary, it is absolutely essential if a person wants to become a first-rate actor. Without repertory background I would never have dared attempt ‘Journey’s End’!”

It was Mr. Clive’s interpretation of the leading character in “Journey’s End” which established him in London’s inner circle known as “Artists of the Theater.”

He belongs to the thinkers of the stage. He can stay perfectly quiet during a scene and makes his audience think with him. He plays always with a fine restraint and a sympathy which communicates itself definitely. He is one of those rare persons who can play an entire scene with his back to the footlights and still dominate the stage.

Actresses have told me of his great generosity--speaking in the vernacular of stage folks--he does not try to steal the show.

*****

He is modest, almost to a fault, and is embarrassed at praise. I spoke of his excellent work in the movies. He said: “Sheer luck. I really don’t know anything about movie technique--the theater, perhaps--but I’ve been doing that for 16 years.”

Nevertheless he has made such a name for himself in the cinema that in the last six weeks three of the major companies have been bidding for his services. Warner Brothers won. He leaves Sunday morning for Hollywood and the Warner lot.

“Monday, I start the ‘Key,’ with Edna Best and beyond the first scene I’m entirely ignorant of the play. What a marvelous country you are!” He laughed and then grew serious again. “That is all right for me, for I’m a hardened sinner, but for beginners who suddenly find themselves facing big parts with no experience to help them, it is not an easy task. Those who have the real stuff win but they are the exception. The screen like the stage is beginning to demand experience from its actors.”

“Acting is a whole time job. There is more to it than the casual observer would think. The layman doesn’t realize for instance that the well modulated voice that he hears from the stage or the screen is the result of many tedious hours spent in coaching under voice culturists. The rhythm, grace of movement is not just a gift from the gods but is gained from well trained muscles--the outcome of daily sports or calisthenics.”

“Don’t you ever feel the need of relaxation?” I asked.

“Yes,” he smiled, “actors are only human after all. I find mine mostly in reading.”

This hobby was not surprising for I had been told that whenever a friend of his becomes ill that instead of the usual boxes from confectioners and florists he sends books by his favorite authors: Victor Hugo, Anatole France and Voltaire.

Noting a bottle of brandy on his dressing table, I asked him if he found liquor necessary as a stimulant for his work.

“No, the actor who must get his inspiration from a bottle of liquor finds himself in the same place that a business man of the same habits would find himself in. For acting is a business and dependability one of the chief assets. However, that doesn’ t mean that I’m a teetotler--drink has a good place in life.”

***

Among his best friends are Edna Best, Herbert Marshall, and Noel Coward--all of whom are his near neighbors in Kent, where he has a country place. He’s really a gregarious person. He refuses even to have breakfast alone. Found in that position he postpones the breaking of his fast until a congenial companion is annexed.

Another sport he enjoys is prizefighting. In fact, his first choice for the film-of-the-year would be “The Prizefighter and the Lady” (which showed in Birmingham as “The Conquering Sex”). It is testimony to his acting adaptability that he came straight from parts in musical comedy (“Rose Marie” and “Show Boat”) and created the dramatic role of Capt. Stanhope in “Journey’s End.” After which he played in “Overture,” a play written by one of his closest friends--the late William Bolitho.

This adaptability extends likewise to his geographical adjustment. “For the last six years I’ve practically commuted between London, New York and Hollywood. If it’s possible, I always go by plane.” He is one of the few movie celebrities on the coast who refuses to sign a long-term contract. One picture is all any company can be sure of his services. Tactfully he admitted that he disliked playing in the cinema. “One never gets the same reaction from the screen as you do from having an audience right close up.”

I ventured to ask about the “leading lady”--not of the stage or cinema--but of his own life.

“She’s not easy to describe,” he said earnestly. “I suppose you would call her a brunette, for her hair is dark, very dark and slightly bobbed except about the ears; she has deep, understanding eyes…”

“Oh” excitedly, “an Italian beauty?”

He threw back his head and laughed, really in a most un-British gesture. “No, to tell the truth this lady who rules my life is from Scotland--”

“Oh!”

Another merry laugh: “You see I’m speaking of my little Scotch terrier, ‘Brenda,’ who really makes a slave of me.”

Having had his joke he told me about his wife. She is a charming French woman who prefers life in Europe to “commuting” about the world with her celebrated husband. It is not as unusual as it sounds that Clive should have chosen a wife with Gallic ancestry since his own early life was passed entirely among French people. In fact, until he was 6 years old his vocabulary included not a single word of English.

[flowitch]

supernatural and lgbtqia+ characters

DISCLAIMER: i love these characters, which is why i watch the show. i do also have many issues with the show and the writers. this isn’t a hate post for the story or the characters, just the way the characters have been treated. do not read this if you are not caught up and do not want spoilers. this is also kinda a mess but i got very passionate about this and wrote it during classes

Dean Winchester

i’m gonna start with my boy dean!! dean is mine along with many other people’s favorite characters because of how complex he is. and one of the things that adds depth to his character is his “journey” with his sexuality.

there are many examples of dean very clearly not being straight, and he is officially headcanoned (and i guess canon now) as bisexual. you don’t even need to include dean and cas scenes for examples of his bisexuality. here is a video showing examples without any cas scenes:

https://youtu.be/rQSPmmuLJB0

now that we’ve established he is bisexual, let’s talk about the contradiction between the writing of his sexuality and character. the one i’m itching to talk about first is the confession scene in 10x16.

https://youtu.be/IqBHkwi13ic

in this scene, dean says, and i quote, if you don’t want to watch the video and don’t remember, “There's things, there's...people...feelings that I- I want to experience differently. Maybe even for the first time.” there honestly is no other way to interpret this. i’ve tried to put myself in the mind of the writers and the homophobes but i genuinely cannot interpret this another way. this is very clearly about his sexuality, being that there were no love interests at the time that this would apply to (not that this would even apply to a straight couple anyway). and not only does this confession scene occur, but sam even comments on how he was in there for a long time and he could always talk to him if he needs to!!!! they could have easily not had sam say anything about how long he spent in there, being that we as the viewers have no clue as to how long he was in there. they wrote that specifically to show that what he said in there had meaning and importance.

the writers and the crew of the show play into dean’s sexuality consistently with scenes, song of the days from the crew, etc., but then deny that destiel or dean’s bisexuality is real. i think a lot of this has to do with the fact that dean has always been considered as a “macho man” who shows very little emotion and has trouble with vulnerability. and that’s true! he absolutely is. but this show had 15 years to allow him to slowly work through his feelings and his issues with his own sexuality and self. the confession is a great example of the writers being almost there and then never speaking about it again.

even if you aren’t bisexual, you can see how much biphobia there is in the world. and as a bisexual woman i can say that bisexuality in men is so looked down upon it’s disturbing. men coming to terms with their bisexuality, especially if they are considered straight and “manly”, always makes me so happy since it’s not as accepted as female bisexuality. and this is another reason why supernatural exploring dean’s bisexuality would have been so incredible. seeing a man on television who has a lot of internal issues come to terms with something so complex and life changing would have been monumental to so many people. the writers had an infinite amount of ways to go about this because of things that THEY wrote, and instead chose to ignore his sexuality and have him not respond to castiel’s confession in 15x18. it’s very clear he was in shock in that episode so i’m not mad, but it is also clear that they wrote it that way to not fully make deancas canon.

dean winchester is bisexual, and the writers wrote him that way. nobody pulled this out of their ass, destiel didn’t become popular randomly and for no reason, they wrote him this way. this is their own writing that they have chosen to ignore and contradict for 15 seasons and it’s disappointing.

Castiel

this entire post is being written on november 6, 2020. one day after 15x18 aired. castiel is now canonically queer, and was already sent to someplace worse than hell. because he was happy. which directly connected to his love for dean. i honestly don’t even have to write cas’ section because that is enough, but i’ll write about his mistreatment anyway.

we knew the only thing that would make cas truly happy would be something with dean. well we assumed the writers would make up some other bullshit, but we hoped that it had something to do with dean. and sure enough, it was his love confession. and what i loved about this was cas starts it off by saying two beautiful things. one, that he knows he can never have what he really wants (dean), but he’s just as happy telling dean he loves him. he doesn’t need to have him to be happy with where they end their story, as long as dean knows. and the other thing he starts off by saying is that he knows how dean sees himself. he lists off all of these extremely kind things about dean and how dean is what made cas care about the world. he is the reason castiel went from an emotionless soldier to a fallen angel that feels deep love for people.

this confession scene although tainted by the fact that he died right after, which we’ll talk about, and the fact that it took this damn long, really means a lot to me. it was so incredible seeing cas be unapologetically open, honest, in love, and himself. he was for the first time since we’ve known him, completely and totally content. he told the man he loves how incredible he thinks he is and how he loves him, and knew he was saving him from billie by doing it. we’ve never seen him that happy. and it’s heartbreaking. 

misha summed it up perfectly i think: “Tonight, watching Cas talk to Dean, I got lost in the story and forgot for a moment that I’m the one who plays that angel and I thought, “He’s how I want to be. He’s openhearted and he’s selfless and he’s true.”

this was the first time we saw cas living his whole truth, and he immediately died. in terms of just bad taste, sending someone who just came out to angel hell is very disturbing, but it’s just further proof of the writers not caring about their lgbtqia+ characters. it’s like they gave us what we wanted, but there just had to be a catch, right? these writers very clearly do not care about their queer characters or fans, and what they did to cas here shows that plain as day.

obviously i really do want dean to save cas from the empty to parallel cas saving him from hell, but do i think it’ll happen in these last two episodes? no. first off i just don’t think misha filmed for the last two episodes, but also, the writers have made it clear that they do not care about cas in general, nevermind their now love story. it just does not sit right with me that he got sent to the empty for eternity because he was finally his whole self and happy.

Charlie Bradbury (our world + au)

we have seen charlie bradbury die twice, both times for no reason at all. the first time we saw her die, it was by the hands of a NAZI, and her body was THROWN INTO A BATHTUB. like i said before with cas, that was explanation enough i mean come ON. the second time we witnessed charlie die was in 15x18, (along with the whole world i know bare with me), which we did NOT need to see. 

let’s start with the fact that for all of these characters, supernatural creates and writes them wonderfully for the most part. we fall in love with these characters because of the way they were written, acted, and the dynamic with other characters. unfortunately in supernatural, if you are queer or a woman or god forbid both, that dynamic with other characters will be the death of you. 

i’m gonna talk about each other her deaths individually. so her first death. the only reason for her death was to further sam and dean’s (mostly dean’s) man pain. although i eat up the reactions of other characters when another dies, this just felt completely unnecessary to me. the writers wrote a fan-favorite character, and decided that the best course of action was to brutally murder her to further dean’s mark of cain storyline. and i loved that storyline! i loved the scene of dean getting revenge for charlie! but it did not need to happen. the only thing the fans wanted was for her to be alive and well, get more screentime and possibly have a girlfriend. 

when directly asked why they thought killing charlie was a good idea, jeremy carver said: 

“That’s an excellent question, and it, it’s tough just because...any time you have a favorite character on a show...People die on the show. And, and, and...and, unfortunately...So...there’s so many ways to answer that. And I feel, I, I...it’s tough for me to answer. She’s an absolutely beloved character, beloved on the show...And when we’re in the writer’s room...we have to go where the story takes us. And we try and do it without, um...(insert fans booing and the cast laughing at him)...this is the world day of my life. And I’d like to thank everyone up here for the support.” (they were not helping).

not only did he not have a clue on how to answer a question that should have an understandable answer, but then the best thing that he could come up with is “we have to go where the story takes us.” but why would that possibly be where the story takes you? if supernatural had more diversity than straight white males and possibly one woman that dies or is evil, then fine kill off whoever you want even if i don’t like it. but it becomes a gender and sexuality issue when she is not only the only recurring female character at the time, but also the only recurring lgbtqia+ character at the time (minus cas). 

now the second time she’s died. mind you this isn’t our world’s charlie. they brought her back for the fans and for the cast/crew that love her and felicia. we’ve established that she’s here living her life someplace. we haven’t heard anything about her for a hot minute, and then they decide to bring her back for 15x18. i was thrilled! i could not wait to see her, and was even more excited when she showed up on my television. and then, even better, we found out she has a girlfriend who she lives with and is clearly happy/comfortable with. and then what happens, may you ask? her girlfriend, stevie, a queer woman of color, vanishes. boom another unnecessary lgbtqia+ and woman death that could have been avoided if they just wrote in sam and dean calling her for help. 

later on in the episode, everyone on earth excluding dean, sam, and jack are gone- completely vanished where they stood. charlie of course is among those people. bare with me here, i know everyone vanished and it’s not the same as the first one. but here’s my issue with it: she did not have to come back. i would have rather had donna say “jodie, the girls, charlie, they’re ready to go when you need them”, and then they all vanish off screen. but instead they went through the trouble of bringing her back, showing her happy, having her experience a painful loss, and then disappear anyway. what was the point in having her in the episode?

like i mentioned earlier with dean being representation for bisexual men, charlie was just that for lesbians!! the amount of posts i’ve seen on multiple platforms talking about how much they resonated with charlie or how heartbroken they were no longer having representation on their favorite show is awful. there was a kickass nerdy, kind, strong, loving lesbian on your show not once but twice (au charlie), and you blew it. 

Claire + Kaia (Dreamhunter)

this part isn’t going to be long because there are some exceptions: wayward sisters failed spinoff (i’m still heartbroken i want it so bad), kathryn newton’s new status and inability to be in the show, etc.. so i guess this will just be a short thing about wayward sisters and what that could mean for claire and kaia. 

they had already established in supernatural that kaia was claire’s first love. we had gotten some really cute scenes with them, and then wayward sisters was finally a possibility. if the show had gone through, which i’m not sure why it didn’t, claire and kaia’s relationship could have been a goldmine. young girls could see themselves represented by characters already adored by supernatural fans. it would’ve shown a beautiful wlw relationship between two young girls who are also kickass and can keep up with their elders/male counterparts. 

i can’t pin this on the writers sadly (lmao), but i am still upset that we didn’t get wayward sisters. it would’ve meant a lot to women and to the lgbtqia+ community. 

My thoughts

like i said in the disclaimer, i love these characters and the story of supernatural. i always will. but i can’t lie about how frustrating it is seeing women, lgbts and people of color get constantly disregarded and mistreated. the writers had 15 years to get with the times, and the growth of society. stuff that i saw in season one and wasn’t surprised by should not still be happening in season 15. having writers that are all straight white males/women is not enough anymore. it never was. there has to be something for everyone in a show as big as this. it’s not about meeting diversity requirements, it’s about actually having diversity because it’s real. there are no diversity requirements for people in society. these are just people of different races, ethnicities, sexualities, genders, etc. who want to see someone like them represented on the things that they watch. it’s a lonely feeling not being validated by a show that you love.  

i might make another post specifically for the women mistreatment and queerbaiting on this show but that’s all for my essay on why supernatural sucks at not mistreating their queer characters :)

[jar-of-joy]

God and the Problem of Suffering

Let’s talk about this.

I’ve seen this subject come up with increasing frequency lately, and I’m sure there’s a reason for that. It’s a tough subject to grapple with, but if you’re serious about finding a real answer, I can only encourage you to keep reading. I sincerely hope this helps. I know I’m not the first person to attack this subject and I promise I won’t be the last, but this is my way of explaining the truth of the matter.

Non-Christians often ask Christians to reconcile the existence of suffering and unjustness with the existence of a good and loving God. From a human perspective, their question is valid. Why would an all-knowing, all-loving, all-powerful God stand back and allow so much hurt to occur in His creation? If He loves us, why would He let this happen? The main thing that we need to understand is this: God is good, people are not.

Allow me to expound.

God is not responsible for the condition of the world at this moment. We are. We are. All of us. You. Me. Christians. Atheists. Pantheists. Your next-door neighbor. Your fifth grade teacher. Your parents. Your children. Your friends, your enemies, your mechanic, your bank teller, your favorite celebrity, and your pastor. Everyone you’ve ever known, everyone who has ever lived, is responsible. Why? Because we have all practiced evil in some form.

In order to understand this, we have to define “evil”. If I were to ask you to define evil, what would you say? Would you say that it’s murder? Would you say that it’s rape? Would you say that it’s bigotry or inequality or greed or selfishness or pride? If so, you’re on the right track. The thing is, though, that none of these things are evil in its actual definition. These are examples of evil. You can’t define evil by its practice because people don’t always agree on what practices should be considered evil. More on that later.

So then, what is evil? Simple: evil is the absence of good. Think of it in terms of light and darkness (a classic comparison, with good reason). Darkness is the absence of light. Darkness is not actually a thing in and of itself—it’s just the lack of something else. There are no particles or waves of darkness. You don’t turn off the dark when you need to see. If it’s too bright when you’re driving, you don’t turn on your headdarks. There’s no such thing as a flashdark. It’s simply what you’re left with when all the lights go out. It’s the same with evil. Evil is what’s left over when goodness is absent. It cannot exist except in the exclusion of what is good. And we see examples of this all the time, so I don’t need to tell you about it.

Now that we know what evil is, the next question should be, “What is ‘good’?” Ask anyone this question, and you’ll get as many different answers as there are people. So let me save you some time. Remember what I said above?

GOD IS GOOD.

God is the creator and source of all that is good. He and He alone sets the standard for holiness, for love, for truth, for integrity, for justice, and for perfection. Goodness is God’s nature, and good things are things that align with that nature. Every action, emotion, and word should be compared to Him, and if it doesn’t meet His standard, then it’s not good. It’s evil. We humans have this bad habit of comparing our imperfect selves to other imperfect people when we really need to be comparing ourselves to a perfect God. And you know what? It’s impossible to meet that standard. We’re human. We’re not perfect.

But that is exactly the problem that got us into a position to ask this question in the first place. We are not good. We hurt each other. We offend God. We destroy His creation. We destroy ourselves. None of this is what God intended when He created us, and it hurts Him just as much as it hurts us when we do evil. God has another word for evil: sin.

So, someone may ask, why does God allow sin and evil in the first place? Why is there genocide and disease and racism and war and famine? Why doesn’t He just put a stop to it all? There are at least three reasons for this.

One: God gave us free will. I know there’s a lot of debate about this even among Christian denominations, but the people who deny this fact are just plain wrong. People have free will. I can choose whether or not I go to work in the morning. I can choose what I eat for lunch. I can choose whether or not to break into my neighbor’s house and murder him. I know what my neighbor would prefer, and I know what God would prefer, but if I made the decision to do this horrible thing, God wouldn’t stop me even though He could. Why? Because He gave me the liberty to make my own decisions, which means I’m free to disappoint and disobey Him if I should choose. Which is exactly what the first humans did so very long ago, and in that moment, death in all its forms entered the world. God cursed the earth and everything in it as a result of sin, and that curse has followed us to this very day.

Part of free will is choosing what you believe. Opinions on the morality or immorality of certain philosophies diverge wildly, and you need go no further than your Facebook News Feed to see that this is true. Some people think capitalism is evil. Some think the same of abortion. Some believe that a person has the right to own slaves, and some believe that all slavery should be abolished. Maybe you think marriage should only be between one man and one woman or maybe you think gay marriage is okay. Maybe you think all drugs should be legal, maybe you think divorce is wrong, and maybe you think it’s okay to fly an airplane into a building. I personally know a man who was recently convicted of a violent crime because he didn’t see anything wrong with throwing a little girl against the asphalt of a casino parking lot.

Do you see where I’m going with this? The problem doesn’t lie with God. The problem lies with us. Corruption and cheating and abuse and theft and chemical warfare exist because there are people in this world who have chosen to believe that these things aren’t wrong. And even if they think they are, they continue to participate in them anyway. God is perfectly, physically capable of stopping evil, but He won’t do it because that would infringe upon the free will that His generosity and justness have granted us. And I firmly believe that one of the reasons God gave us free will was so that no one can accuse Him of being unfair. People do what they do because they want to, not because God makes them.

Two: No one really wants God to get rid of evil. They’ll say they do, but they really don’t. Because people like having free will and they want to be able to do what they want to do without interference. Imagine you’re talking to God, and you say, “God, I want you to eliminate all of the evil in the world.” So God replies, “Okay, sure thing. Which of your sins would you like me to deal with first?”

Now, there may be some indignation right about now about how unfair of a question that is, because aren’t pedophiles and rapists and child abusers worse sinners than others? Shouldn’t God take out the big sins first before worrying about my petty infractions? What’s a little white lie compared to a murder? This is a non-argument because we don’t get to decide the severity of our sins. God does. That’s His prerogative as God. All evil is sin, and all sin is bad. Some may have more severe and obvious consequences, but every single sin is a failure in God’s eyes, and every one of them nailed Jesus to the cross. We would just rather God deal with other people first and leave us alone.

Three: This world will never be what we want it to be. It will always, always be broken, dark, and full of pain. As long as sin is allowed to run free there will be suffering, and if we keep expecting differently than we’ll have to pile chronic disappointment on top of all the other problems we already have. It will always be like this. This isn’t heaven. Neither is it hell. For some, that’s a comfort. For others, it’s a warning. But this world is temporary! God is going to wipe it out and make it again, and next time there will be no evil or sin. Praise God.

No one is immune to suffering and unfairness. Not even Jesus. He suffered unspeakable pain, physically and spiritually, so that He might save us from the ultimate suffering in hell. That’s an all-loving God.

Ultimately, God will deal with evil once and for all. He will do it by isolating it in hell, appropriately called the “outer darkness”, and by gathering all of His people into one place where sin and evil cannot enter. But it will happen in His time, on His terms. Until then, we must try to mitigate the suffering of others as much as we can and, as Christians, lead them to the Light of the world.

John 16:33

“These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer. I have overcome the world.” (New King James Version)

Romans 10:9

“…if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.” (New King James Version)

[fidelisfatum]

Why fidelisfatum?

fidelis 

Etymology

From fidēs (“faith, trust”) 

Adjective fidēlis (neuter fidēle); third declension 

faithful, loyal

true, trustworthy, dependable

earnestly, faithfully/constantly/loyally, reliably/accurately, securely/firmly

with reliance on God

fatum

Etymology

From fātus, perfect active participle of for (“speak”). 

Noun fātum n (genitive fātī); second declension

destiny, fate

( in the plural ) death

( of a god ) speech

utterance, declaration, proclamation, prediction

doom, death, calamity, fate, destiny, natural term of life, utterance, oracle

Types: 

karma ( Hinduism and Buddhism )

kismet ( islam ) the will of Allah

     Rosalina is the depiction of faith and fate, for the two of them are intertwined securely by her character and faith being the main reason she continues to go on living despite not seeing much point to existence due to her upbringing. It’s always hoping that eventually she will find that glowing star that will spark her dull life, that something beyond herself will give her purpose besides her giving herself one, even though she would argue that she has indeed chosen her own path despite that path being dependent on outside forces. Rosa is the very example of two sides of the same coin: being faithful and dishonest, eager to backstab and yet just as eager to obey, she’s a complete contradiction and yet fits. A mark of a rising sun being overshadowed by the moon, a solar eclipse, perfectly describes as a sort of allegory between Vergil and herself: with herself depicting her husband as a sort of God-like figure that gives her purpose, and her shielding him or eclipsing his rays and greatness with herself: as if to protect and to hoard him away. He is merely a symbol of her love and her faith, how she views him almost godlike in instances or others thinks he is deserving of those roles because the current god fails everyone -- including herself. Putting all her purpose and reason to live into one thing and turning into blind faith: no questions, no reasons, no evidence -- he just will save everyone. This could be said of anything else she puts her faith into, having a penchant for getting obsessive -- even dangerously so -- towards individuals or objects she has dubbed worthy of her, that she feels are important to her existence. 

     When it comes to the fate part of the discussion, an omen or oracle, she is both due to the curse placed upon her by the heavenly lily. Not only was it so attracted to her drive for virtue ( faith ) despite her sinful upbringing, it feeds on her strong will and able body, the magical energy that is naturally within the Nephilim and moreso with the females of their race. She is a sort of endless vast space of nothing for the lily to implant in, to create everything anew, to bring forth the wrath of those too heavenly for the mortal coil and attempt again. Her destiny is almost tied to death and suffering, for she is the muck and stain that will push the lily from her empty depths, shrouded in darkness, into a beautiful golden flower -- a symbol of rebirth and ascension. To the curse she will die and again be born anew and pure, as something else: a soldier of faith for God to wield as a weapon on those deemed unworthy of his cause. Like those before her she is a promise of a greater calamity slowly approaching the horizon, almost like that of a lunar eclipse drenched in blood: a sign of great change, shedding the past, an ending to an era. The lily uses Rosalina as symbol to the end of the three races: demons, nephilim and the angels, an end to a war where things will be brought back to one, with humanity being collateral damage. 

     Plants and flowers are very much a theme for Rosa, a majority of it revolves around flowers like roses and lily’s, and with roses symbolizing romance, love and passion and lily’s with humility, devotion, motherhood and rebirth, with the flower also being used in funerals and symbolizing the departed has received their innocence again after death. The rose and lily have some common themes between them:

Rose

love

honor

faith

beauty

balance

passion

wisdom

intrigue

devotion

sensuality

timelessness

     It’s also the carrier of secrets and a symbol of balance coupled with undying and immortal love that goes even far beyond death, it’s beauty shows promise, new beginnings and hope while its thorns contrast this with defense, physicality, loss and thoughtlessness. In the major arcane it’s: Magician, Strength, Death and Fool. 

Lily

hope

faith

birth

purity

renewal

promise

passion

becoming

chastity

innocence

fertility

cleansing

motherhood

remembrance

transitioning

     The lily also holds symbol as high eroticism, sexuality and fertility due to the pistils that protrude from its center, giving it both feminine and masculine symbolism. It also holds meaning for Christians as a symbol of chastity, innocence, purity and piety, along with being associated as the virgin Mary’s flower and her devotion. It has meaning with the trinity symbol with three petals associated with the lunar and solar eclipse cycles, while dreaming of a lily can be a sign of something needing to be done or a plan needing to be executed, hoping to seek rest, peace and tranquility. Lilies also appear in tarot cards, specifically: the Magician, Temperance and Ace of Pentacles. 

     There’s a lot of symbolism with new beginnings, hope, suffering, etc that really express the turmoil and fate of Rosalina and her place within the world she lives and in the story: especially in regards to motherhood and a new life with new responsibilities; casting aside thoughtless murder and sinful glee’s to instead fight for a more noble cause under a being she finds illuminating to her dark existence, helping to mold her beyond the simple facade of a beautiful monster, but a woman trying to obtain innocence she can only acquire by dying and coming back anew -- as something totally different -- hoping to reshape the world. However, one should not assume that her drive to fight for a better future means that it will be a good or just future, for her bias’ color her decisions and her beliefs run closely with: the ends justify the means. 

[sinningwithoppa]

Retrograde - Chapter 01

Description: Famously titled ‘The Grim Reaper’, you were one of Seoul’s ruthless assassins capable of entirely wiping a person’s existence without a single trace, since to the outside it seemed like you didn’t have an identity, to begin with. But just as you’d finally found your place in this world, it wasn’t long before you realised you had a target on your own back.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Violence, Mentions of Death, Swearing, Scars, Suicidal thoughts, Blood, Mentions of Abuse, Light Smut kinda???sorta???maybe??? Filthy Descriptions

A/N: Here it is! Our very first fic! I’m so so happy with the direction this fic is going to go in, so I hope you will enjoy it too~

Masterlist || Playlist || Aesthetics || Ch 01

In an otherwise peaceful and ghost-quiet night only you heard the deafening thuds of your heart nearly beating out of your chest with excitement, having pinned one of your more unruly client’s henchmen against a wall in the shadows beneath a bridge on the outskirts of Seoul, not a soul in sight. You’d caught the bastard while he was heading back to their HQ, you assumed, not far away from where you’d intercepted him.

“You’re going to be a good boy for me and you’re going to tell me where your scumbag of a boss is hiding his sad ass, yeah?” you purred with a pleased smirk and hooded eyes as you hiked your knife up the man’s throat, pressing the blade a bit harder into his flesh. If it wasn’t your weapon or reputation that intimidated him, it was your eyes darkening with a practiced murderous glint. You knew he’d be capable of taking you out in the blink of an eye if you let down your guard and fear bubbled angrily in the pit of your stomach but for now, you had to keep up your fearless facade.

“H-He’s handling a deal at The Vibe,” he managed to choke out from his unfortunate position, glaring daggers down at you.

“Atta boy,” you relented and released the pitiful goon, returning his glare as you hid away your knife. His hand shot up to his neck, tracing the irritated skin with a grimace while stepping away from you, eventually turning away and muttering what you suspected to be some variation of the degrading terms you’d heard during the course of your career, before vanishing into the night. You kept your hand poised on the gun hidden on your person until you’d made sure he wasn’t following you. Now to collect what’s mine. You thought determinedly while making your way to one of the many nightclubs the infamous ganglord owned. God knows what less than legal and horrid things happened within their walls but it didn’t phase you.

At least you liked to think that none of it did anymore.

Out of the many millions of people that roamed Seoul, it had to be you, whose life revolved around gripping the cold steel of guns, relentless in taking care of your marks. You were unpredictable, merciless and possessed great prowess wielding a weapon, earning you the title ‘The Grim Reaper’ along with the pleasure of serving those willing to splash tens of thousands on eliminating rivals, occasionally even millions just to watch their backs.

It was just the way it was.

Society ran its cycle, the city bustling with people as they went about their daily lives earning a living and living on what they earned. It was normal, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unexpected. And then there was you, slamming people’s heads into walls hard enough that tiles cracked on impact, wielding deadly weapons, knuckles dried with blood and fighting to live another day; the underworld hidden in plain sight. There were organizations after the exact same things, and with competition came rivalry, and with rivalry came your purpose; evening out the playing field for those affluent enough to afford it. Of course, you had your own personal share of enemies but they hadn’t proven to be anything more but bumps along the road.

What a shame for them that you worked with the best.

Ironically, you hadn’t chosen this life yourself, but you were forced into it, just like so many others. You’d lost your parents to crime and your new home had found you wandering the streets. A gang had taken you in as one of their own but definitely not from the goodness of their hearts. It had been more of an investment than anything. They trained you in combat to later use you to deal with rival gangs and send you on missions they didn’t dare to send more valuable members on, which you, unfortunately, excelled at. You needed to shine in order to live another day.

How disgustingly ironic.

The only benefit you reaped from it all was finding a purpose for your once meaningless life along with your first love, Jimin. He’d given you the affection you’d craved all your life and a reason to live. You’d piqued the ganglord’s interest and soon a passionate romance had blossomed between the two of you, lasting until that one fateful night. Now he was dead and your home had been destroyed. They’d all been killed. Living out in the open forced you to put your skills to use to survive but it lead to you creating your current reputation as one of the best assassins out there.

You grimaced at the suppressed memories of your early years. You didn’t have to scrape by anymore and you didn’t have to deal with people using you against your will. Not anymore.

Soon you’d arrived in the center of Seoul; all you had to do now was find The Vibe in the vibrant clubbing district. The distinct scent of alcohol and pheromones drifted through the air as you maneuvered your way around the drunk, lustful people outside either smoking, switching clubs or heading to their apartments with their one night stands. Something about the way human nature was lured out on nights and in places like these had always drawn you in. The best thrills of your life had taken place in these settings. Your sour memories were wiped away by a particularly bright one that had marked the beginning of a better tomorrow. Years ago you’d met the man that had revived your purpose in a milieu very similar to the one tonight.

With your spirits lifted and your mind refreshed, your eyes landed on your destination. The club looked as packed as ever with people waiting outside to get in, along with the scrutinizing bouncer, whom you specifically remembered despising, doing his job of checking IDs and turning absolutely wasted people away. Why is it never the nice one?

You completely ignored the now irritated clubgoers you’d cut in front of, tilting your head up as a silent greeting to the familiar figure. “I’m here to see Jay,” you muttered to which he responded with a curt nod. “In the back,” he let you in and you immediately started narrowing in on your target.

“Hey, Hoseok,” you smirked as you found him standing in the ambiently lit area outside the room where he liked to conduct business, looking as handsome as ever dressed in his usual tailored suit with perfectly shined boots. His bright orange hair stood out in contrast to his mostly black and white ensemble but not as much as his blaringly luminous smile.

“My my ___ I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” he glanced at you grinning his cheshire smile and drinking up your appearance before returning his gaze to his bloodstained fingers which he was in the process of wiping clean. Looks like I’m not the only one collecting debt. “How can I help you, my darling assassin?” he smiled almost innocently before soiling such an image by bringing your attention back to the bloodied handkerchief being slipped unphased into his suit pocket.

“We might be friends but I still expect to be paid on time,” you pressed, approaching his figure. His hands immediately found purchase on your waist, sinfully kneading the flesh beneath your dark shirt. You both savored the intoxicating sensation of being pressed so close together as the bass thumped in the background, distracting you two from your own pounding hearts. Fuck, he smells like sin incarnate. Even with the distinct odor of death wafting through the air, his signature aroma ravished you.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, his words almost lost in the music blaring outside the secret room, “Ever considered the thought that I missed you and wanted to see your beautiful face more often?” he purred, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, drawing a pleased groan out of you. You hummed with satisfaction as you felt one of his hands lift from your waist and slip into one of his pockets.

“You could just ask, you know,” you sighed with a smug smirk as you felt his nose dragging along your neck, his stifled breaths making the hair stand up on your neck.

“Fair enough,” he murmured, bringing his lips back to your ear before placing a feather-light kiss onto your lobe. “I slipped in some extra to make up for my tardiness. Buy yourself something nice for our next job,” he cooed, breathing in your scent, which he found absolutely irresistible, and you could’ve sworn you heard him groan in the back of his throat as he slipped the wad of cash into the back pocket of your jeans, letting his hand linger a bit too long for your taste.

“I’m still not one of your whores, Hoseok,” you asserted with a breathy chuckle, pushing him off of you, cutting your shared moment of indulgence short. You were convinced that your relationship with him was controlled by baser desires more than anything. Over the years you’d grown to like his company in a strange way. He offered you the thrill that you used to numb the fear and let yourself go. Of course, it could prove fatal one day.

“Mm maybe… But it doesn’t stop me from wanting you,” he grinned at the double meaning, eyeing you with a suggestive glint in his eyes. “Such a shame that you’re so damn stubborn about joining Bangtan. We’d take really good care of you, princess,” he purred, cocking his head to the side.

Not much stood in the way of bending to his desires; you were close with a couple of the members, he offered you gratifying missions along with the undeniably intoxicating cocktail of chemicals released by having his tempting lips caressing your skin or his salacious tongue imparting a silent promise of bliss but truthfully speaking, the only way he could get you to join, was to hire you as a bodyguard or earn your loyalty. Problem was you’d most likely decline since you didn’t like to associate with specific gangs. Too risky. As for your loyalty; you found it difficult to give, especially to ganglords. The fewer ties you had, the safer you were. Everything could be ruined again by trusting the wrong people. The last time you’d given your trust blindly was when you had absolutely nothing to lose.

“You’ll take me up on the next hit I texted you about, won’t you?” he pouted, deciding to test the waters a bit by stepping in closer, biting his lip and looking into your eyes, knowing full well how he could play with your heart but you held the key to his. You couldn’t blame him for being so fond of you. You’d never let him down, so you became his favorite assassin. His wish was your command with the right price tag.

“If you keep paying me as generously, as usual, consider me at your disposal,” you smirked and nodded.

“Aahhh, that’s my girl. I’ll need you tomorrow,” he winked and licked his lips, “then on Friday for the job. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my guest. See you, sweetheart,” you barely managed to scoff at his racy advances before he had vanished into the room he’d presumably stepped out of for a moment, blood pooling beneath the door as he closed it.

You breathed in the fresh air as you relished in the tranquility of nighttime. You were in your element and you savored peaceful moments like these when you didn’t have to worry about work. Of course, anyone could attack you and many had reasons to do so, but the handgun hidden beneath your black bomber jacket brought you an extra sense of security. In your position close to the top of the food chain though, many didn’t dare touch you, in fear of you living up to your title. In addition, your services were sought after and crossing you usually ended in deals going bad and blood being spilled. You’d worked hard on creating your guise of a fearless killer along with building yourself from the ground up after losing what you’d called home. You had absolutely nothing. And now you were willing to fight tooth and nail to maintain the web of ties to various gangs employing your services and paying handsomely. As ‘The Grim Reaper’ you felt invincible.

[23:49] You:  I’m on my way home

You smiled down at your phone, thinking back to a night similar to this one. Little did you know at the time, that your life would be changed forever by a boy initially sent out to kill you.

You’d left Busan, the memories of abuse and violence haunting you every step of the way. You decided to flee to Seoul, knowing you’d find opportunities to use your unfortunate ‘talents’. In the outskirts of the city, even the most dull-witted of people wouldn’t dare to put their lives on the line by going through an arms deal with a completely unfamiliar ganglord to whom you had absolutely no ties. You weren’t stupid, of course, but considering you had nothing lose at this point, there you were, pulling the hood to your jacket over your head and fixing your face mask to further conceal your identity as you silently left the gritty apartment complex with nothing but disappointment weighing down your shoulders. You’d been to the same guy countless times, and the countless times you’d been there’d fortunately never been a problem except him voicing his unneeded opinion about you being a young girl. The moment you realised he wasn’t there your instincts moved you out the door, your mind creating likely scenarios of his disappearance. You ended up at dead but didn’t bother to wonder how.

You didn’t mind the cold, no matter how much it threatened your muscles to stiffen because all you were thinking about was where you were going to spend your next night, just as you had so many nights before. You managed to convince yourself that the clothes on your back kept you warm enough and that you weren’t weak enough to submit to climate. The only thing you had to do was to find somewhere even remotely comfortable to sleep in, or on, and without the imminence of being forcefully dragged out of your slumber, and your eventful day would end.

It was a quiet evening as you walked aimlessly, mentally marking different places as you passed, and it wasn’t until the sudden rush of footsteps behind you that your mind suddenly went into overdrive. In normal circumstances, it could have been a normal citizen strolling behind you, but you were in a gang-infested area and a citizen strolling through here would be far from normal. Part of you told yourself to ignore them, but the realist in you told you to put your guard up while not drawing any unnecessary attention. You almost let out a sigh of relief when you saw a shop window coming up because it meant that you could see who was supposedly stalking you, how big they were if you could possibly take care of them or just accept your inevitable demise. Just as the window came up you discreetly tilted your head up.

Your eyes widened as you made eye contact with your now apparent stalker. Shit. Gotta find a way to lose—

Before you could finish your thought, he had lunged at you, covering your mouth with his palm to trap any sounds you might’ve dared to make. “Shhh…” he soothed mockingly as your hands flew up to grab onto the assaulting arm just as he wrapped his other arm around your waist before nearly effortlessly carrying you off into a nearby alley veiled by darkness to cover up whatever atrocities he was about to commit.

He twisted around and slammed your body against the wall, forcing your arms behind your back and holding them still with one hand, his fingers painfully digging into your wrists as he tore off your hood and gripped your hair with his other hand unrelentingly. You felt his body pressing against your own as he leaned in and whispered, “Awfully late for a girl to be out, isn’t it? You don’t seem to be going clubbing, babe.” He tightened his grip as a silent threat to keep you quiet. “Something tells me you’re who I’ve been looking for,” he hummed into your ear. To his unfortunate surprise, you weren’t going to give up so easily. With your head and arms immobilized, you had one weapon left; your feet, so before he realised it you’d rapidly brought your foot down onto his with all your might. He grunted in pain as his grip loosened enough for you to whip around and send your elbow straight to his nose, the space between the two of you opening up as he stumbled back. To your surprise, he just chuckled breathily while bringing a hand up to wipe away a bit of the blood that had started to trickle out of his nose. “Looks like you’ve got some fight in you. Too bad I need to take you out,” he cooed huskily while looking you in the eyes with a mischievous glint in his.

“Fuck you,” you spat with a smirk. Might as well put up a fight before biting the dust.

You’d always had no choice but to rely on taking down your opponents not with brute strength, but by using their weak points against them, so you lunged forward and aimed for his nose again, but he managed to block your attack and used the small window of time and his advantageous position to knee you in the stomach, causing you to wince in pain. Of course, his next aim was to smash your face into his knee but you anticipated it and it was your turn to block his attack, grab his leg and shove him off his unstable stance.

Both of you met the concrete but it was you who was on top and nothing but anger fuelled your punches as they rained down upon his face. You were breathing heavier, moving faster, and your face mask had become a hindrance at that point, so you elected to rip it off while elbowing him in the jaw. In the process of removing your mask, however, you’d slowed enough to give him an opportunity to catch your next blow and land his own on your cheek.

Pain spread throughout your entire face in waves of excruciating fire. It clouded your mind enough that it left you vulnerable to his hand curling around your throat. You’d been left in such a daze that you hadn’t realised that he’d managed to flip you over until you’d registered the concrete chilling your skin. Your hands flew up to his, trying to pry it off desperately as precious oxygen failed to reach your burning lungs but his grip was so incredibly tight that your eyes began to sting, and you barred your teeth to fight back your tears.

Something in his eyes softened though. Whatever it was, you felt his hold slacken a bit but not enough to let you breathe. Having you on your back with more light shining on your face revealed your features to him and something in him clicked. He suddenly collected your wrists and pinned them above your head, gazing into your eyes intensely, clearly fighting an internal battle while you heaved, trying to regain your breath and refusing to look away from his puzzled features. You were painfully aware of the extensive bruising forming on your face and neck, hell you didn’t even want to think about what you might’ve looked like at that point, but your pride nearly had you smiling. You marked him alright, his right eye swelling, nose possibly broken and still dripping blood and bottom lip split just as bad. Is that a light sheen that’s glossing his forehead? You, a walking shadow to most, were such a challenge that your attacker was sweating?

“Just kill me! End me!” you started laughing at the ridiculousness of your situation, your body practically trembling beneath him from the rush of endorphins engulfing you, “What’s stopping you?”

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, “What if I told you I could give you a place to stay.”

“And why the fuck should I trust you? You’ve been trying to kill me this whole damn time!”

He leaned in and whispered, “I’ve been tracking you for a while now. I know you don’t have anywhere else to go and nothing to lose. I’ll train you too just to sweeten the deal, babe,” before leaning back out, having the audacity to smile down at you almost admiringly. Unbeknownst to you, your face had revealed your secretive past to him and he couldn’t be more delighted. Given what you’d had to go through by trusting all the wrong people, you were still skeptical of his proposition but he was right. You had absolutely nothing to lose but your life at this point. You’d lost a lover, a home and at this rate, you’d eventually die in the streets.

“And where will you take me, hm?”

“With me,” he smiled sincerely, “to my apartment.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but strangely, you wanted to trust him. You desperately wanted something or someone to save you from this hell you’d ended up in. At this point, you’d had enough of life. With a gun on you that you hadn’t been mindful enough to use, though you knew that he likely possessed one as well and if you couldn’t take him out, at least you could end your own miserable, meaningless life. You worried your lip between your teeth for a moment before replying.

“Fine.”

He slowly released your wrists and to his and your surprise, you didn’t try to fight or escape. He carefully got off you and held out his hand for you to take, to which you obliged and he helped you up. Out of habit, you repositioned the facemask you’d left hanging by your ear. The fear of being recognized after leaving Busan ate away at you each and every day.

“I have a ride,” he spoke softly, almost as if to lull you into a sense of safety. “You don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us,” he assured you as he looked over to you lifting your hood back over your head to which you just nodded curtly, relieved that you’d be able to give your aching legs a rest. The effects of adrenaline were wearing off and your body burned dully from exhaustion. You noticed him limping slightly as you walked in silence for a moment before reaching a sleek black car parked in a secluded area. Damn bastard was probably gonna drag my body here. You snorted to yourself but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Ladies first,” he chuckled, opening the car door for you. You hesitated for a moment. If I’m going to escape now’s my last cha— “I promise I’ll take care of you,” you looked at him startled. “It’d be a crime to waste your talent,” he elaborated, smiling sincerely at you.

“Hand me your weapons,” you demanded, “then I’ll trust you.”

“If it’s that simple then here,” he took the handgun from within his jacket without hesitation and placed it in your now bruising hands. “You can pat me down too if I haven’t convinced you enough,” he winked and laughed when you scoffed and got in the car, shutting the door yourself stubbornly. You took off your mask and managed to catch a glimpse of the damage he had dealt you in the rearview mirror as he circled around the car. Not the worst I’ve seen. You noted as he got in the driver’s seat and started up the car.

“Here’s my proposition,” he said calmly as he pulled out of the alley, unphased by you taking the safety off of his gun. “I’m going to train you to be a proper assassin,” he took a turn and paused to think for a moment, “And you won’t ask questions,” he gave you a small but dazzling smile. Yet something inside you wanted to rebel against your suave abductor if only to test your luck. You were the one with the loaded gun after all.

“When do we start?” you smirked and a matching one spread onto his lips.

“Feisty, huh? I like it,” he cooed and stepped onto the gas, speeding up the car and laughing as you yelped in surprise.

Soon you’d arrived at his apartment close to the center and he’d given you a brief tour. It became evident that your exhaustion was catching up to you since he was yawning after every couple of sentences and your thoughts were slowing down. The open space which contained the kitchen and living room was the first thing you saw in the humble accommodation. There was a hallway which lead to what you presumed were the bathroom and his bedroom.

“I’ll go get you something to sleep in,” he murmured and headed to his room. He looked absolutely wretched with that black eye. Soon he came back with a stack of neatly folded clothes.

“Here,” he spoke softly as he handed you what you presumed to be one of his shirts and sweatpants. “Bathroom’s the door at the end of the hall. Take a bath if you feel like it and use whatever you want in there,” he looked into your eyes with more care than he’d care to admit and something inside you stirred at his genuine concern for you. Maybe it was your shared exhaustion but he was gradually chipping out a cozy little nook in your heart to settle in. Instinct kicked in and you couldn’t help but hug him. He smelled almost like lavender; a comforting and relaxing fragrance.

“Thank you,” you murmured before vanishing to the bathroom, leaving him stunned.

You’d drawn your first bath in weeks. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but study your worn body. Scars, and now bruises, littered your once smooth skin. What did it even look like back then? Some were from fights, some from the people you thought you could trust. But it didn’t matter now, you were safe from them.

You slowly dipped into the water and were enveloped by a comforting warmth you hadn’t felt in ages. You took your time bathing, savoring the warmth your body had craved yet your mind was riddled with questions. What will happen to me after this? Will I stay here forever? Will my heart still be beating…? Will he keep his promise? You tilted your head to the door, staring at it blankly, knowing that he was somewhere on the other side. Waiting. With either malicious intent or tender compassion. It could all be a facade he had set up.

You sank down in the tub, letting the surface of water reach your cupid’s bow, and exhaled through your nose, the surface rippling as you closed your eyes and shoved aside your fears. What do I have to lose? Absolutely nothing. It’s all gone now. You pulled the plug and watched the water drain with dull, glossy eyes. The air felt cool against your heated skin. You reluctantly braced your hands on the edges of the tub, wincing from the sharp throbbing in your knuckles and shakily stood up, stepping out of the tub carefully. If you were going to die now at least you’d had one pleasant experience before it and the two guns you’d taken with you. You dried your hair slowly, fixating on your refreshed features in the mirror. His clothes felt like a protective embrace wrapping you in his now strangely comforting scent. You silently opened the door and padded your way down the hall. He wasn’t in his bedroom.

“In here.”

Ah. You padded your way to the living room, finding him making a makeshift bed out of his couch. He had changed into a large cotton shirt and sweats, looking almost identical to you and admittedly more adorable and innocent than before, though the dried blood on his bottom lip and ice pack he was holding to his eye clashed with his appearance. “You’re sleeping in the bedroom,” he chuckled as he noticed your dazed state and offered you his hand which you took with less hesitation than before.

He quietly led you to the bedroom you’d passed on the way to the living room, never easing his gentle hold on your hand. They still ached.

“Get some sleep will you?” he whispered as he pulled you into the dimly lit room, tossing the ice pack onto the bed and he turned around to face you. A small lamp enveloped the room in a warm and soothing glow. You averted his gaze and nodded faintly. “You have nothing to be afraid of, okay?” he spoke as he gingerly brought his hand to your chin, avoiding the bruising, and tilted it up so he could see you, the corners of his lips lifting up slightly. He looked like an absolute mess yet he was still smiling.

“Use the ice pack to ease the swelling. Good night,” and with that, he was gone.

You’d slipped into the most peaceful slumber you’d had in a while when he’d silently slipped back into the room, unable to sleep as thoughts raced through his mind.

[00:37] You:  Thought this one would be more useful alive rather than dead

[00:38] You:  (JPG.1)

[00:38] You:  Put up a strong fight too

[00:38] You:  Beat my damn ass up pretty badly

Looking over at your sleeping figure, he smirked softly as he touched his split lip. “You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered with a smirk and shook his head, his phone eventually vibrating with a notification from his boss.

[00:51] ₩bag:  Definitely.

He’d hired the assassin to deal away with you since you’d been disrupting business in his territory by roughing up some of his members, yet something inside the ganglord stirred as he struggled to believe his eyes. You’d been very advantageous to him after all.

[01:04] ₩bag:  Oh and Jeon

[01:04] ₩bag: Take good care of her.

You finally arrived at the condo in the center of Seoul you and Jungkook had managed to purchase with the income from the empire you two had built together. He had kept his promise and let you live — no, thrive. You pulled out your phone and unlocked the smartlock with it and soon the gate clicked, letting you step onto the grounds. Following the small paved path, you reached the entrance to your extravagant home. You paused for a moment before unlocking the door; you still didn’t know exactly what prompted him to take you under his wing that fateful night and he refused to tell, but frankly, you didn’t mind; you kept your own secrets from him. You had found salvation in Jeon Jungkook and that fateful night had been the first since leaving Busan that you hadn’t had a single nightmare and a proper night’s rest. Your ‘apprenticeship’ quickly grew into something much more valuable to both you and him.

Unlocking the door, you were greeted with the smell of takeout and Jungkook’s head turning your way, a toothy smile stretching onto his lips at the sight of you. “About time, ___. I was getting worried, you know,” he chuckled, tilting his head to the side with his grin stretching even further.

“Geez, don’t get your panties in a twist,” to which he snorted. “I was dealing with Hoseok’s habit of paying me late,” you smirked as you shrugged off your jacket and made your way to the living room, where he had sprawled out boxes upon boxes of takeout on the small coffee table, presumably waiting for your arrival. In many ways, Jungkook had become almost like a brother to you. He always had your back and he’d helped you put yourself back together from the tattered state you’d met him in. You’d speculated his generosity to stem from both curiosity and reverence. You’d managed to deal your fair share of damage to him that night after all.

“Still doesn’t mean you can run around the city at this hour without telling me where you’d gone,” he pouted playfully and tilted his head to the side, earning a chortle from you.

“Gah, you’re so needy, I hope you know that,” you grinned as you sat down on the floor with him. He scoffed and looked at you with his hand on his chest, pretending to be offended.

“You’d treat me this way after all these years?” he pretended to wipe away a tear and you snorted, leaning over and grabbing a lamb skewer from the container in front of him.

“Sorry, babe. Should’ve gotten used to my candidness a long time ago,” you laughed and gave him a smug look as you took a bite, causing him to drop his facade and snicker.

“You win this time,” he narrowed his eyes at you as he picked up a skewer of his own, “but mark my words, I will have my revenge, babe,” he quipped while motioning at you with the skewer.

You scoffed and it was your turn to express your faux distaste yet you couldn’t help but mirror the grin spreading on his lips and with that, you two began eating dinner and summarizing of the day’s events to each other. You discovered he’d carried out the mission posed by a longtime client; a millionaire who got tired of one of his mistresses. Clean shot too apparently. You yourself had discussed the logistics of your next operation with Kim. He said he’d hand over the prospective weapon for it tomorrow after your workout with Jungkook. Ah, shit, I should get the outfit— After the meeting…. You couldn’t help the yawn that slipped past your lips and had you stretching your now stiffened body while you brought a hand up to stifle the involuntary action.

“Bedtime?”

“Bedtime.”

[c-is-for-circinate]

Some thoughts on the very final boss battle of Persona 5

It’s in those very last moments--that final instant, that flash that is as still and infinite as eternity, when all the voices of every soul below reach up to them and their final battle against the God--that Akira knows himself to be a slave.

He’s a rebel.  He’s fighting god himself, has struggled his way through hell and up to heaven for it.  He is here to champion the cause of free will for every single soul on Earth, and he has no choice in the matter.  He never did.

This is what he’s good at, where he excels: fitting perfectly into whatever situation comes upon him.  He’s the Trickster, the man of a thousand masks.  He can wear any face he likes, and in return, he always wears the face he needs.  It’s a bargain of sorts.  Akira knows a lot about bargains by now.  He has known a lot about rules for his entire life.

Once upon a time, that was a quiet life in a small town where he kept to the middle of his class and hid his face behind glasses and obeyed every rule.  Nobody up here with him would believe it, but he was just like everybody else.  He would have willingly given over rule of his life to somebody else.  He did, every single day--his parents, his teachers, the will of society as a whole.  He would have let Yaldabaoth rule over him without hesitation.

He did.  That’s the secret that isn’t a secret at all, only he doesn’t think any one of his friends have realized it.  They all stepped into the life of a Phantom Thief, one by one, to rebel against whatever force was holding them back.  Akira stepped into it because that was the door open in front of him.  Because he was chosen.  Because it was fate.

He spent a long time in that cell in Yaldabaoth’s Velvet Room.  He’s been playing his role for a very long time.

It was a rigged game, Lavenza said.  So why play a game at all?

There are rules.  Yaldabaoth always meant to take the world, but he’s bound by rules.  He’s created by the collective will of the entire world, to be the incarnation of rules, and that means he has to follow them, too.  That’s how the story goes: two opposing sides.  Order and chaos.  Bless and Curse.  The God, and the Trickster.

That’s what it means, to be the Trickster.  It’s a role.  The story requires it.  Every story needs an antagonist.  Every fate demands an opponent.

It’s been a long, slow, arduous path up to the top of this summit right now, but there is no other path he could have walked.  None.  He chose the ‘how’, sometimes--picked their days to storm into palaces, certainly, but whether or not they stormed in at all?  No.  It was never a choice.  The door was open in front of him, and he walked through.  From the very first moment--he could have stumbled along the way, but there was never any other place he could have ended up besides right here.

He could have turned right instead of left and fallen off a cliff at Akechi’s hands.  He could have taken the false Igor’s deal, maybe, and left the world enslaved.  Supposedly.  He could have left the woman to Shido’s attentions and turned the other way all the way back at the beginning, a year ago almost to the day.  That might have been the only real choice in all of this, the step that started him down this path, except there was no choice at all.  It was a foregone conclusion as soon as he set foot on the street that night.

He knows about bonds, now.  He can feel every single unbreakable chain that he’s forged this year, tying him to his fate.  He’d never understood, back at the beginning, the chains tying Arsene’s arms to his--which of them was the puppet, the prisoner, and which of them was supposed to be the will?  Even back then, all the way back at the beginning, he was bound--to himself, if nothing else.  To his own code.  To his own justice.  He could not have turned the other way on that first night any more than he can turn around and leave the battle in front of him right now.

He’s the Trickster, after all.  Yaldabaoth created him as such, and gave him to the world, because the collective will of humanity demanded a rebel.  The collective will of humanity demands freedom and hope and revolution every bit as much as it demands order.  He can feel it this very instant.  He can feel it right now, the light and the power from every person in Tokyo, in Japan, on Earth who believes in this moment in the Phantom Thieves.  

The Trickster is every bit as much a creation and a slave to the will and desires of humankind as Yaldabaoth is himself.  He thinks, fleetingly, of online polls and Kunikazu Okumura.  He thinks about choices.

He could surrender right now and let Yaldabaoth kill him, destroy his friends, enslave the world.  Akira Kurusu is a human being with a human’s free will.  He can choose.  He can give in--

He told me to go to his place.  You know what that means.

Whenever I acted out of line, I was made to sit calmly in that corner.

I’m just a burden to her.

This place is my tomb.

I think it’d be useless.

He can give in to Yaldabaoth.  Or he can give in to the rising, rushing tide of hope and determination that demands he win here.  Surrender or surrender.  Submit to a god, or submit himself to the rules of becoming one.

Shall we make a deal?  The ring of his own thoughts echo in his own head, through all the bits of him that Yaldabaoth never quite managed to execute.  He’s been killing bits of himself since the very first week he stepped into the Velvet Room, murdering himself by inches in exchange for power, a few more steps down this path that chose him.  But some bonds can’t be broken.  Arsene hasn’t quite left him yet.

A deal.  One last deal, with his own self.  One more vow.

Maybe it’s possible for humans to go through life unbound by rules and bonds and the will of society.  He’s here to defend that possibility.  It doesn’t exist for him, but.

He can choose which bonds to forge into unbreakable steel.  He can pick which side he surrenders to.

It’s not in him to break a promise.  One last promise, then.  Arsene flares up inside him for the first time in almost a year, behind his mask.

He’ll take the power.  He’ll be the Trickster, the Joker.  He will be Satanael, the Rebel, the Devil Himself.  He won’t falter.  He won’t fall.

And when this is all done, he’ll just be human, that’s all.  This will be done.  No path, no story, no more fate, just the wide World spread out full in front of him.  He’ll have his own freedom, then.

He raises his gun and gives in to fate just one more time.

[swanderful1]

A Cold Awakening: Chapter 4/?

Modern crime AU. Twenty years have gone by since Storybrooke was shaken to the core by a gruesome crime that went unsolved. Sheriff David Nolan and his partner, daughter Emma are forced to revisit the crime. At the same time, Killian Jones and his older brother Liam have been drawn back to the town they had longed to never see again, struggling to find their own answers. As taunting notes and clues show up they are taken on a journey to finally bring justice for the Jones family. And Emma Nolan finds herself caught in a situation more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Note: Anotha one. The rest of the story can be read on AO3

After what had turned out to be an overwhelming two days, Emma found herself sitting alone at the bar. The Rabbit Hole was one of the few places in town that was dark enough you could barely recognize the person sitting next to you. It was part of the reason why when Ruby had asked her to go for a drink later she had chosen the place.

Henry was with his father and she figured she was well overdue for a drink. Or several.

It was just after eight that night when Emma felt someone pull out the bar stool next to her and sit down. She swiveled in her chair starting to make some shady comment to Ruby about how she was the one late this time when she realized it wasn’t.

 “Is this seat taken?” a silky, smooth voice came out of the man next to her with a slight English hilt. She could literally feel her stomach drop.

 “Killian Jones.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. She knew exactly who he was. She would know him anywhere. Even in a dingy, dimly lit bar twenty years older than she had been the last time they spoke.  

 “Ah so you’ve heard of me.” Another statement, this time from him. There was a hint of something (sadness?) in his eyes as he said it though he tried to mask it with his confident demeanor. Clearly he had not seen her at the station that afternoon before storming off. But now here he was, right next to her and smelling strongly of rum. He was drunk.

 She snuck a glance at him, evaluating him up and down. He had changed since earlier. No longer was he wearing that perfectly tailored blue suit but had instead switched it in for a pair of dark jeans that fit him just right and a button up shirt (once again exposing a dash of chest hair).

He looked her up and down as well. But unlike Emma his inhibitions were much lower and he made no attempt to hide it at all, his clear blue eyes taking on a much darker hue as he drank her in. What in the world was behind those eyes?

 “You look awfully familiar, darling. We’ve met before?” His English accent was not helping the situation. He had always had one growing up. Both of his parents were from London, but seeing as how he spent the last twenty years overseas, his accent was thicker than she remembered. A fluttering feeling appeared deep within her, one she had not felt in a long time and was doing everything in her power to suppress. She could feel him beginning to recognize her and immediately wanted to avoid any further conversation.  

 “I’m meeting someone. She’ll be here any minute.” Emma sipped her beer in hopes that Ruby would burst through the doors at any second to save her before she did something stupid.

 “Alright then, love. My apologies for bothering you.” He wasn’t mocking her, instead he collected the glass of rum he had ordered and stood up from his seat to leave her alone like a perfect gentleman. A part of Emma wanted to grab his arm, tell him her name, hope he remembered her even in his intoxicated state, and stare into his gorgeous eyes. However she knew better. He was playing with fire. He was dangerous, as he was the last time she had seen him. Dark. Brooding. Complicated.

She watched him saunter away to another part of the bar and could see his brother, Liam, waiting to continue a game of pool. It bothered her a little too much that he didn’t remember her right away. They most certainly weren’t friends before he left. But isn’t it always a bit off-putting when someone you remember doesn’t know who you are? And then drunkenly begins to hit on you in a bar?

 “Hey have you been here long?” this time it actually was Ruby who took the seat next to Emma. The brunette was dressed in a short skirt and leather jacket, lips painted a bright red. Emma couldn’t help but laugh a little to herself. The two could not have been more opposite. However, their friendship was strong despite their differences and Emma was always grateful.

 “I see Mr. Jawline is here tonight.” She caught her best friend steal a glance toward where Killian walked off to. A wolfish grin crossed the brunette’s face when she turned back around. Almost as if the younger Jones had been fair prey.

 “Who?” Emma played dumb. As opposed to actually acknowledging out loud that he was an attractive man. God forbid.

 “Oh come on, Em. I know you don’t talk about men, like ever. But you do have eyes.” Ruby nudged her playfully. “It doesn’t hurt to look.”

Emma sipped her beer again, hoping the topic would change. Little did her friend know, Emma had done quite a bit of looking a few minutes ago.

  The next morning Emma made sure to arrive at the station bright and early. The rest of the team not there yet she took advantage of the quiet moment she had to herself to prepare for her turn at questioning.

 Reading through some up to date information on Killian and Liam she found out that shortly after their parents’ death, and no conclusive solution had been found, they both left Storybrooke. Liam moved to California and went to work immediately, not bothering to enter college. He married a girl named Laura several years later and together they had one child. A daughter named Harper. He had seemed to have found peace after his parent’s death and created a comfortable life for himself on the west coast. Killian had been brought to London by his aunt and uncle to live. He finished school there, graduated and went on to Oxford University where he studied Business. He now worked for a giant multinational corporation based in London. From what she gathered he was a workaholic. He was 36 years old. Never married. No children. One serious partner, a woman named Grace, for a few years back in 2008. How has a man that attractive only ever had one serious girlfriend? Emma shook her head immediately after the thought. He wasn’t that good looking (okay maybe he was). The brothers maintained a friendly relationship, in fact Liam seemed to be the only long term relationship Killian cared to keep up with.

 “Morning, Em.” David came into the office with two fresh coffees, one for her and him. She smiled and took the warm cup before returning to reading through the massive amounts of paperwork associated with the case.

The files were thorough. The police force at the time of the murder was not run by David, he was deputy sheriff. His father, Philip Nolan, had been the sheriff at the time, a harsh man with an unforgiving demeanor. The Jones murder had been his life’s work. It sent him into madness when he was not able to come to any sort of conclusion.

 She noticed very distinctly underneath the print out of the family tree Philip Nolan kept in his journal that there were little notes about each person. Moira and Brennan both had large red X’s over their names. Both of their siblings were accounted for overseas, it could not have possibly been them. From what Emma could tell, her grandfather had thought one or both of the Jones brothers did it. The focus had been heavily placed on Killian and Liam, far more than anyone else in his notes. At least in the beginning.

 “So your dad thought it was either one of these two?” Emma asked her father. It had been a long time since some of these files has been cracked and she wiped a bit of dust off the journal pages to show David, who was about Emma’s age when the murder had happened.

 “I don’t think my father ever had any true clue to who had done it. It was easy to look at the immediate family though, it always is in a murder investigation.” David’s eyes never met hers, something rare for their dynamic. However, her grandfather had not been a warm and loving paternal figure. Emma barely ever remembered hearing David speak of his dad. “I will not make the same mistakes he did, Em. He focused too hard on only one option.”

 “So we are to rule out no one?”

 “Correct. When you put up blinders to other theories that’s when people get away with things. And from the looks of it someone has.” David’s face was morose. Assuming they did solve the Jones murder, David’s father would never get to see it. He would never get to know.

“Looks like he’s here.” Emma looked out the window by her desk to see a tall figure emerging in the rain from an expensive looking black car. He was masked by the shadow of an umbrella but Emma had about one guess as to who hid behind.

 Quickly she stacked the folders and put them in a drawer to look at later. She had seen him at the bar the night before but judging from his approach to her, he had little memory of who she was. Despite his effect on her before, under dim lighting and lowered inhibitions, she still understood this was a devastating position for him to be in. And while the rest of the town may have been convinced he was untrustworthy, Emma was not (and neither was her father). Being appropriate was a top priority.

 “Mr. Jones, good morning,” David greeted first, shaking his hand firmly.

 “Sheriff Nolan.” Killian nodded collapsing his umbrella and sticking it on a coat hook to dry.  

 “I don’t believe you were introduced yesterday but this is my deputy sheriff, you remember my daughter, Emma?” her father gestured toward her with nonchalance and she watched realization washed over Killian’s face.

“Miss Nolan.” His blue eyes drank her in, the woman he had seen at The Rabbit Hole who had turned dismissed him, the sheriff’s daughter.

 “Mr. Jones, it's been a while,” she smiled, keeping her composure. He looked a little worse for wear, evidence of last night but still he returned her smile (however forced it was).

 “Pleasure.” His grip on her hand was terse at best but there was period of lingering before they were no longer touching. It did not go unnoticed by her and neither did the look he continued to give her. His blue eyes were searching, she did her best not to turn red. For a brief moment it felt like they were the only two in the room.

 The other members of the office shuffling in as they did daily broke her out of her hypnosis. No. She and Killian Jones were not the only two in the room, far from it. Neil caught her eye as he breezed in tossing her a friendly smile she accepted.

 “Mr. Jones if you’ll follow Emma, she’s going to ask you a few questions before your brother arrives.” David said reminding Emma of why Killian was there in the first place. Because it sure as hell wasn’t to make eyes at her in the middle of the office.

 Sitting down in the conference room made this seem more like a business meeting than an investigation. However, Emma was a shark in this environment. She was good at reading people and she knew it. This was why David had been so surprised at her absence yesterday. Questioning people was her specialty.

 However today her client was far different than anyone she had ever been around. He was not some small town person who had never seen the outskirts of Storybrooke. He was not someone who had skipped out on parking tickets or was caught speeding through main street or didn’t pay their rent. And she was now very aware that they truly were the only two in the room.

 “No lawyer today?” she teased.

 “She’ll be here in a bit when my brother arrives.” He was colder with her now, that much was immediately clear to Emma. She could read his face taunting her, like he could handle her until his lawyer arrived. It threw her off a bit. Her limited time with him thus far had been… confusing.

 “I would like to start with your personal recap of the event that transpired on the night of September 16, 1997?” she started, regaining some of the confidence you could usually find in her voice.

 “As it has been so long my memory is a bit foggy, you can imagine, Miss Nolan.” His blue eyes bore into her again. “But from what I can recall I was 17 years old, I had been gone for most of the night. When I arrived at home nothing looked amiss from the outside.” Emma took brief notes in a yellow notebook as he spoke. “The house lights were on so I assumed my parents were home. I walked upstairs to go to my bedroom and that was when I saw them.” Killian shifted in his seat, a clear sign of his discomfort with the topic. “I saw my mother first. And then my father.”

 Emma felt a slight pang of sadness when he referenced being the first one to find them. She couldn’t even imagine coming home to her parents dead. “And where exactly had you been all night during the time they were presumably stabbed?”

 “My parents were having another one of their rows. I could barely take it at that point so I left and drove around for a few hours.”

 “And there was no one who could have accounted for this?” Emma pressed. “No one you were with at the time?”

 “No.” He knew what it sounded like. He knew it was a bull shit alibi if you could even call it that. But at the same time Emma did not entirely dismiss his claims as false. “Isn’t this all already on record? Why bother with the formality?”

 “I tend to like finding my own answers, Mr. Jones.” She held his gaze confidently as if to convey she wasn’t someone he could dismiss. She had dated enough assholes to know the mentality of a powerful man, the impression that they were above things they’d rather not deal with. He was someone used to getting his way “May I continue? Or did you want to ask your own questions?”

 He had met his match. And seemingly retreated, waving his hand toward her urging her to continue.

 “Was there anyone who would have wanted to send this letter? Anyone who harbored resentment for your family?” Emma held up the letter. David had told Killian and Liam about it the day before.

 “With all due respect Miss Nolan, I have spent the past twenty years trying to forget this town and the people in it. No. There is no one that comes to mind when I think of who would drag my family through the mud again.” His tone was not friendly. She had struck a nerve. Again. The tension between them was building until the conference room door opened and in walked Detective Humbert, Liam Jones, and their lawyer Regina. Emma did not realize she had been holding her breath but she felt a sigh escape as the other three joined them.

 “Everything all right in here, Em?” Graham asked taking the seat beside her. His face was friendly. She smiled and nodded at him, relieved to have someone else in the room.

 “Okay, let’s go over a few things,” Regina started bringing them all to attention. The woman gave off a cold demeanor not unlike her client. She did know how to command a room, Emma would give her that.

 She turned back to face the people on the other side of the table. Her gaze went directly to Killian and caught him quickly look down before her eyes completely met his.

  A week and a half went by with little progress. Friday morning Emma arrived at the station earlier than everyone else. She had agreed to come in early to prepare for the brief meeting the team would be having to provide updates on developments in the ten days since things had resumed. She was frustrated and had little to report other than a second, albeit very frustrating, one on one sit down with Killian Jones Thursday morning.

 He was not cooperating with her. After having to be far from his home in London, walking around this town of people who suspected the worst of him he was tense and frustrated. He was taunting her. The initial lure towards him when he had arrived a week and a half ago had deteriorated quickly and her patience was wearing thin.

 “Answer the question.” Emma pulled all her strength to keep from shouting at him from across the table, throwing her pen down onto her tablet.

 “I don’t have an answer for you, love.” The smug look on his face sent Emma over the edge, she didn’t miss the incorporation of the word ‘love’. However she did not take it as an endearment in the slightest. Emma stood up from her seat and walked toward the door, pacing.

 “I need cooperation or I can’t do my job.” She could feel the eyes of her coworkers through the glass paned walls of the room they were in.

 “And what about what I need?” now it was his turn to stand from the table, frustrated.

 “What do you need, Mr. Jones, please, enlighten me?” the inflection in her voice only antagonized him. Her blood was boiling underneath her skin. Was that entirely his fault? Probably not, but he was using her as the point of all his frustrations too. His eyes dug into her. They held their blue tone but had darkened in a way she could not ignore. He was fuming.

 “What I need is to return to my life.” There was a hint of defeat in his otherwise confident voice as he brushed past her only to leave out the door without another word.

 Everyone in the office was staring at her. It was highly likely they had heard and seen all of it. Emma put her face in her hands and leaned against the glass door. She needed a few moments before she could return to her desk.

 When she did her father was right by her side in seconds.

 “I know he isn’t the most accommodating man but you have to level with him.” He kneeled down to meet her eyes. She was angry, teeming with frustration, and why? Because she was doing her job the best way she knew how and it was not enough. “He needs to trust you, Em. You of all people should know that trust doesn’t come easily. You can’t demand it.”

 He was right. Of course he was right, he always was. If the situation were reversed she wouldn’t give anything away either. She rarely trusted anyone, it seemed he was just as closed off as she was. For this to work, not only did he have to trust her, but Emma also had to feel the same respect toward Killian.

 Emma stopped dead in her tracks when noticed a white envelope tucked in the door hinges. She looked around to see if there was a sign of who had left it, but knew she would see nothing. This person did not want to be caught. She snagged the envelope with the sleeve of her shirt to not leave or impact any prints before opening the door. Inside she waited for her father and Detective Graham to arrive before she opened the letter. She sealed it in an air tight bag and brought it to a windowless cinder block room in the back of the building where evidence went before being further investigated.

When David and Graham arrived they gathered to open the letter. Similar to the last time it was entirely typed save for a signature at the bottom that was in no way legible. This note was far less explicit than its predecessor. It simply read:

 What is found within had never come to light

Trapped inside a hidden space

It awaits out of sight.

 The key to solving the mysteries of the departed,

Lies in the place this very mess started.

[hekate1308]

Preparation

The call comes.

It is time.

Time to once and for all stand behind their protectors, time to fight against those who would eradicate them, time to pay them back for the work they have done.

They remember a time when things were different. When anyone going against the Winchester would have been hailed as a hero. When the sole mention of the name was enough to strike their hearts with terror.

Even though it has only been two years, it feels so long ago now. So very long ago.

There is a chance for a new life, a better life.

Their children, their children’s children could live in a world where they don’t have to hide and lie and cheat just to survive.

They hear the call.

And they rise.

The Winchesters need help.

For some, it seems they have been waiting to hear these words for years. The Winchesters are legends, heroes. They’ve saved the world more often than the hunters can count.

It’s time to save them.

Dean looks into the mirror and swallows.

He’s wearing his usual get up, jeans and t-shirt – and a new leather jacket Cas bought him a few days ago.

Just wear something you’ll be comfortable in, he said.

He looks comfortable enough in his own skin.

And, then, suddenly, he realizes that he feels it, too.

He’s about to address a room full of monsters and hunters, and –

It’s fine. He can do this.

He has taken on the role. He has chosen his path.

Cas steps up to him.

“Dean?”

He turns around, smiling.

“I’m ready. I’m actually ready”.

“I know you are.”

He kisses him, a bit more passionately than they have time for.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

The meeting room their enchanted mansion has created is quite frankly too huge to even fit in there.

Thank God for Crowley’s demon magic.

“I’ll go in first” Cas tells him.

“You should step in there alone.”

“If you think...”

“I know”. He gently touches his cheek and enters the room.

Where everyone is waiting for Dean.

He takes another deep breath. He’s ready for this, but that doesn’t mean he’s not nervous.

Crowley has set the stage perfectly. Of course. The door that led everyone else, except his family, into auditorium brings him on the stage.

Even knowing who they called for help, he’s still taken aback by the sheer number of people.

Eighty? One hundred? More? He can’t say.

He sees Mel in her bathtub, Al next to her, grinning; Jesse and Cesare, apparently not so retired after all; Jody, Claire, Donna and Alex, all of them looking ready to kill anything that dare come near them; Garth and his family; Lizzie Hexam, George and their baby boy giggling happily at the antics of a family of phoenixes they met in Arizona a while ago; Alicia and Max plus their mother the witch; ghouls, vampires, hunters, all working together, all here for them.

He comes to stand between Sam and Cas, Crowley shooting him a smirk.

“Thank you all for coming.”

Shouts of “Of course!” start ringing out, Mel enthusiastically splashing around.

Dean turns his head to see Mick mouthing “There’s a Cherufe” behind you. She promptly stops moving – good, considering the creature’s part magma and already starting to get nervous.

He winks at Mick, who blushes and clears his throat.

“Anyway. You know why we are here”.

“To get rid of the Men of Letters!” Al enthusiastically shouts.

“Yes. Correct. As you know, they have been...”

“Murderous bastards” Crowley supplies.

“Exactly.”

“I have a question” Eileen, having flown over from Ireland, raises her hand.

He appreciates the gesture.

“Yes?”

“Not that I don’t trust you” she addresses Crowley, “But I thought you were the King of Hell?”

“I abdicated” Crowley replies.

And apparently he knows sign language. Awesome.

She nods.

“Yes, I was about to mention that. Just for the record: Crowley is a demon, but not the King anymore, and he’s on our side. Mick here left the douche bags quite some time ago. And Matan only looks big and scary, but he’s really a nice golem. You can trust everyone on this stage.”

He waits, but not a single dissenting voice is to be heard.

It’s nice not to be contradicted.

“As you know, the Men of Letters have been bringing reinforcements into the country. Mick has been doing a great job at figuring out where they might park. They’ve got at least one reinforcement on each coast.”

“Which have been shielded very carefully against supernatural interference” Crowley adds. “I can’t find them.”

“So what we need is to know where exactly they are planted so we can attack them all at the same time. No exceptions.”

“Do you want us to kill them?” Claire asks. Jody grumbles something under her breath but is trying to hide a smile.

“First of all, no fighting if you’re still under age”. Claire sinks into her chair, pouting. “Second of all, no. We want them captured. Kill only if it cannot be avoided. We want to teach them a lesson they won’t forget soon. This is our country, our rules, we do things differently.”

“They are dangerous. They know their lore” Sam chimes in. “They’ve got a lot of practice when it comes to eliminating...” he stops.

“You can say monsters, it’s okay” a ghoul assures him. He smiles weakly and continues, “Monsters. The point is, we need everyone to be careful.”

“As soon as we have everything under control, we will bring them to a secure location and try to reason with them” Cas adds.

“Courtesy of yours truly” Crowley says.

“And what if” Mel asks “they don’t agree with you?”

The room grows silent.

“Then” Dean announces. “We do what we have to.”

“That went well” Dean decides that evening in the kitchen. Hell, they even applauded him when he ended the meeting.

He and Cas are alone – or at least as alone as they can be these days. Sam is in the library with Mick, Aaron is teaching Matan how to play pool, Crowley is doing – whatever he likes to now he doesn’t have to keep demons in check anymore and the girls have chosen rooms for themselves and are making themselves comfortable.

“I knew it would.”

Dean smiles.

“Just because you think I am irresistible, doesn’t mean everyone does.”

“Everyone seems to” Cas grumbles. As always when he shows signs of jealousy, Dean can only laugh.  

“Even so” he draws him close. “No one has lived through what we have. Together.”

“I am certain – seriously? In the kitchen? That’s just unsanitary.”

Dean pulls back from their (admittedly) inappropriate kiss and looks at Crowley.

“You’re a demon, what do you care about that?”

“I will let you know that I like the kitchen I built with my bare hands to be clean and orderly.”

“So what did you find out?” Cas asks, still holding Dean close.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

“Now, now, feathers, why don’t you start more nicely, perhaps with an offer to join...”

Their relaxed silence puts him off guard. Frankly, they’re too used to Crowley’s quips by now.

“Yes, I – I mean – one does feel so left out. Especially since our British friend has left Sam and joined a certain someone for a midnight swim.”

Good for Mick, but it still doesn’t tell them what Crowley wants to tell them.

Then he comes to the point.

“I think I found their centre in California”.

“Perfect”.

Dean grins.

“So I was thinking of attacking in a week...”

All these weapons, and so little that can truly once and for all kill a demon.

The angel will be no problem. He fell. He can be dealt with.

But the demon...

Mary has been working tirelessly on the Colt. Her father was always stretching how important it is she know her weapons. She never thought she’d be glad for it one day.

What they need are bullets. Once they have that...

She just knows everything will be different once these two no longer poison her sons’ minds.

She still boils with rage just imagining what they must have done to Dean to make him treat her so. Looking at her as if they’re not related, calling her Mary, thinking it’s her fault...

She’ll fix this. She’ll fix them.

She just needs the right formula. She just needs the bullets.

Mary is going to put one right between the demon’s eyes.

They are getting ready.

Their protectors called, and they are answering.

Their networks are spreading, looking, searching. They can’t hide from something they don’t know exists.

The Men of letters will be conquered. The will create a new way of life, hunters and monsters alike.

But first they will save the Winchesters.

[fireandgloryrpg]

Congratulations PAUL and welcome! We’re so happy to accept your application to play NICO DI ANGELO with the faceclaim of LUKE PASQUALINO in Fire & Glory RPG! We can’t wait to begin roleplaying with you so please remember to look over our checklist!

Skeleton Character Application:

Desired Character: Nico Di Angelo

CHARACTER BIRTHDAY: January 28th, 1924

Reason you want to play this character: When I first read the Percy Jackson series - back when The Last Olympian was the last book, I was instantly taken with the story of Nico - the young man out of time, so utterly lost in the world, and trying so hard to be himself. As the series continued, my adoration for Nico only grew as I read more about his struggles and his triumphs and tragedies. He remains one of my favorite literary characters of the modern era, and I’ll hurt anyone who dares hurt him.

Are there any changes you wish to make (faceclaim, age, affiliation etc)? Please explain and provide alternatives: If it’s all the same to the staff, I’d like to request that Nico’s face claim be changed from Ezra Miller to Luke Pasqualino. I am aware he’s described as having paled after his extended sojourn in Tartarus, but I had always interpreted that as a temporary thing rather than a permanent change.

ABILITIES:Nico is an extraordinarily powerful Demigod - perhaps the most powerful one currently living - due to his having lived in the Underworld and trained his abilities at the knee of his father. These abilities are:

Geokinesis: Possessing a powerful ability to control the Earth, Nico can wield rocks as weapons - even manipulating their shape to turn ordinary pebbles and boulders into sharp projectiles. He can crack open the surface of the Earth to send enemies speeding directly to the Underworld, and can cause Earthquakes.

Necromancy: An immensely powerful sorcerer in the realm of the dead, Nico possesses the ability to reanimate corpses - allowing him to create an army of undead soldiers wholly loyal to him at a moments’ notice. He also possesses the ability to summon deceased souls, to communicate with the dead, to sense death when it occurs around him, to free trapped souls, to see the life aura of those around him, to physically manipulate and control ghosts, and to forcibly destroy someone’s physical form and instantly turn them into a ghost banished to his father’s realm.

Osteokinesis: In league with his ability to summon an undead army of skeletons, Nico can control bones on their own without reanimating them - notably using them as weapons and shields in particularly intense combats.

Umbrakinesis: The shadows are always the friend of a child of Hades. Whether as a means of travel (Nico prefers Shadow Travel over any modern automobile or airplane) or to temporarily render himself invisible, Nico possesses a mastery of Umbrakinesis - the manipulation of shadows - to the point where he can even use the darkness as a weapon, throwing bolts of pure darkness to daze and confuse enemies before attacking them, and can use it to heal himself and others of minor injuries.

Thermokinesis (Unconscious) : In moments of intense rage or power, Nico’s powers can manifest in the forms of two of the most common killers in history - fire and ice. The fissures he opens to the Underworld are often filled with furious flames, and in his moments of fury and rage, the temperature around Nico will drop to below freezing, with frost coating the ground around him. Even when perfectly calm, however, Nico is as cold to the touch as a corpse.

Hypnokinesis: While it is uncertain how Nico came to possess a mastery of sleep and dreams, he has been shown on several occasions to be able to find and enter the dreams of his fellow demigods, and to force them into deep sleeps through the use of his powers. He himself is an absurdly heavy sleeper, capable of sleeping through almost everything.

Phobkinesis: Nico radiates an aura of fear and death that can be quite disconcerting to those who haven’t known him long enough to tune it out. He can control and manipulate the fear of those around him - to the point where if he is fueling the ability consciously, vegetation around him will begin to die. This is a powerful enough ability that the monsters of Kronos drew back in fear of him while still a preteen.

Biography:

Trigger Warnings: Death, Death Mention, Depression

Born in the 1920’s, Nico Di Angelo remembers very, very little of his early life due to having been dipped in the River Lethe after the murder of his mother by Zeus (in an effort to kill Nico and his sister, Bianca, though they were saved by their father) to allow them to forget the tragedy of Maria Di Angelo’s death. Enrolled in a boarding school by Hades to keep them educated, the siblings were - less than a year later - placed into the Lotus Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, where time never seems to pass, for their protection.

It was seventy years later when the siblings were retrieved by Alecto, one of the most loyal servants of their father, and enrolled in the Westover Hall Military School when Hades believed that his children had the chance to become the “child of the eldest Gods” referred to in The Great Prophecy. Obsessed with pirates and the trading card game ‘Mythomagic,’ he was like numerous other preteen boys until the day a Manticore came charging into his and Bianca’s lives - followed closely both by Percy Jackson and his band of well-intentioned idiots, and the Hunters of Artemis. When Bianca chose the Hunters over accompanying Nico to Camp Half-Blood, he became furious with her - viewing her decision to join the Hunters as a decision to abandon him. When she died during her quest with the Hunters, Nico entered an intense period of grief that saw him irrationally furious at Percy Jackson - both out of misplaced anger at Bianca for leaving him; and over a burgeoning crush on the Son of Poseidon.

Wandering Daedalus’ Labyrinth was quite the educational experience for Nico - not in the least because the Ghost of King Minos sought to manipulate the young, seemingly impressionable Son of Hades in order to secure his own release from the Labyrinth. Rather than be manipulated, Nico managed to manipulate the spirit into teaching him control of some of his powers, and to guide him through the Labyrinth. He eventually encounters Percy and Annabeth, who warn him of Minos’ treachery - and in the endgame Battle of the Labyrinth, Nico asserts his power - and his position as Prince of Hades - to banish Minos’ ghost, claiming the title of 'Ghost King’ for himself. When Kronos attacked Camp Half-Blood through the Labyrinth, Nico raised an undead army to defend the camp at the cost of severely exhausting himself - requiring nectar to avoid long-term damage. Having summoned the Spirit of Bianca twice during this misadventure, he tells her good-bye for the last time before leaving camp once more - reappearing months later with a plan to defeat Kronos, which leads to a group adventure into the Underworld so Percy could bathe in the River Styx.

In all honesty, Nico also hoped it would make Percy fall in love with him, as it had made Achilles love Patroclus. In even further honesty, Nico brought his friend to the Underworld in an effort to earn the favor of his father, who had long been making comments about how Bianca had been his only competent child, and to gain information about his past prior to living at the Lotus Hotel. When Hades violates his oath to Nico and has Percy thrown into the dungeons of his palace, Nico helps him escape - and then they follow through on the initial plan of bathing Percy in the River Styx.

Finally convincing Hades to join the other Gods of Olympus and the Demigods of Camp Half-Blood in fighting Kronos and his army, Nico fights side-by-side with his father during the Battle of Manhattan - earning his respect and his adoration. Following the death of Luke Castellan and the banishment of Kronos, Nico spends more and more time in the Underworld - believing himself to still be mistrusted and unpopular at Camp Half-Blood - learning how to control his powers from his father (and occasionally being turned into plants by Persephone when she grew jealous).

Still attempting to rescue Bianca, it was with no small amount of dismay that he learned his sister had chosen to be reborn, and that he would never see her again. While scouring the Fields of Asphodel, he did - however - meet a young woman named Hazel, his half-sister: a daughter of Pluto, the Roman name for Hades. Rescuing her from the Underworld - with instructions from his father to make acquaintances with the Roman demigods - Nico became the first Greek Demigod to learn of their Roman Half-Siblings, and the first to gain access to Camp Jupiter and New Rome - where he was proclaimed the Ambassador of Pluto, and made a Senator of New Rome.

The New Romans viewed Nico as mostly harmless: a quiet teenager with an anxious smile and a quiet manner. Only Hazel, his half-sister, realized the power Nico wields - the fiery, all-consuming powers of Hades (or Pluto) that he could unleash. It was in his role as Ambassador and Senator that Nico suddenly found himself meeting Percy Jackson again - the hero having lost all of his memories due to Hera’s convoluted idea of an 'exchange program.’ Saying nothing - as it was not his job to help Percy regain his memories - Nico kept a close watch on his friend as he went through the initiatory process of Camp Jupiter.

After losing a debate over his friend with Octavian in the Senate, Nico went in search of the Doors of Death through the Underworld in order to determine where their Earthly exit was held so that they could combat Gaea. Hubristically thinking himself able to travel anywhere in the Underworld as a Son of Hades, he drew too close to Tartarus - and was hauled into the pit by the powerful dark energy it contained.

He does not like to think of Tartarus. The horrors he experienced in that realm, tormented and tortured by Gaea’s army, still scar him. His rescue by Percy, Jason, and Piper still ranks as one of the happiest moments of his life. Incredibly weak after his recovery, he still tells them everything he learned - telling them that he doubts there is a way to seal the Doors of Death, given how deep in Tartarus the door is. When Percy and Annabeth were pulled into Tartarus, Nico fully expected them to die a horrible, agonizing death. But he never sensed their death - and was thus able to truthfully assure the other Demigods of the Argo II of their continuing survival.

Honoring his promise to Percy, Nico leads the crew of the Argo II to the Doors of Death in the House of Hades. Along the way, he is forced to out himself in the presence of Jason Grace by Cupid in order to gain the Scepter of Diocletian. Mortified and terrified that his long-held fear of being ostracized even further due to his homosexuality is at hand, he closes himself off even more - outright resorting to using his powers as a Son of Hades to deliberately scare Jason to ensure his silence for the time being when the Son of Jupiter attempts to tell Nico that no one would think his sexual orientation that important.

Leading his Dead Legion, Nico helped to seal the Doors of Death before beginning the incredibly arduous task of Shadow Traveling the massive Athena Parthenos back to Camp Half-Blood - which was besieged by a Roman Demigod Army, because of course it was. And then the Monsters of Gaea’s army had to arrive while Nico was virtually half-dead himself from Shadow Travelling a forty-foot statue halfway across the globe in bits and spurts. The ensuing Battle of Half-Blood Hill sees the deaths of many - but the successful defeat of Gaea. At the end of the battle, Nico comes clean with Percy about his attraction to him - firmly telling Percy he was over his crush before returning to Will Solace as they watched.

A few months later - having tired of serving as a Cabin Counselor for a cabin with no other Demigods - Nico left Camp Half-Blood to return to New Rome, where, at least, he could entertain himself with the life of a Senator and an Ambassador. Still not liking to be touched - unless he knows the other person particularly well - and still fiercely protective of Hazel, he settled in to enjoy his new life in New Rome - keeping up his relationship with Will via weekly dates where one of them would travel to the other for dinner or a movie or something. In spite of feeling incredibly out of sorts in the Twenty-First Century still, Nico texts (awkwardly) on the outdated Cell Phone he refuses to trade in (“they’re all too shiny!”) simply because it’s a matte finish.

For the past several months, Nico has been relatively indisposed - with all anyone knowing was that he was engaged in what he termed “family business.” He reappeared, having left New Rome at peace, to find the city plunged into a bloody Civil War between Greek and Roman.

Somehow, he just knows this is Percy’s fault. Or Jason’s. Or possibly both.