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imaginepirates · 5 years ago

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Wanted

For @myleghasfallenasleep, who requested that I write about a non-binary pirate! reader. The reader ends up taking James into their crew after Jack leaves him with them. Because this is my first time writing a nb character, please tell me if I’ve provided accurate representation. If not, please bring it to my attention.

~3500 words

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @paljonkaikenlaista @viper-official @wordsinwinters

~~~~~~~

Ah Jack, you mused. Always dumping your problems on me. You’d been a friend to Jack Sparrow for years, and though you were fond of him, he never failed to dump things on you. Currently, he was leaving you with a drunken addition to your crew. You wouldn’t have minded, but as it sat, you had your suspicions about this man.

“If I recall correctly, you’re in desperate need of men right now.” You stood with your arms crossed, staring at Jack from across your desk.

“Not as desperate as this, lass.”

“Why? He’s a drunk, sure, but so are you.”

“He vomits everywhere he walks.”

“I seem to recall you doing that on several occasions.”

Jack grimaced. “I hoped you’d forgotten that.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Fine. Bad blood. Used to be in the navy.” Jack made a face, sticking his tongue out.

“Don’t see what difference that makes. Loads of pirates come from the navy. Do you know how bad their wages are? If they were looking for money, though, I don’t know why they’d go to you.”

Jack pretended to take offence, but you ignored him. You’d only seen the man Jack wanted to dump on you once, when the pair had first boarded your ship. He was tall, with dark hair and piercing eyes, but he stumbled as he walked, and he looked green with sickness.

“What’s so bad about this man that you need to get rid of him, Jack?” You were deadly serious. Jack got into all sorts of trouble with the wrong type, and you weren’t going to take on some merman, noble’s son, or warlock without knowing about it first. “I’m not getting into trouble on your account Jack. Not this time.”

“You won’t. I promise.” He flashed you a smile, and you laughed.

“Words are wind, Jack.”

Jack sighed. “The problem I have with him is personal. It won’t hurt you to take him for me.”

“Why not hand him over to Jones?” By now, you knew all about the problems Jack was having with Davy Jones. Serves you right, you thought.

“I don’t think he’d last that long.” Seeing your unimpressed expression, he continued. “It’s not just me, love. It’s the crew.”

“And by ‘the crew’, you mean those two you met in Port Royal?”

“No.”

“Lately, they’ve been involved in all your issues.” You moved around to the front of the desk, sitting on the edge. “If you won’t tell me, fine. But at least assure me that you’re not leaving me with a curse looming over my head.”

“None.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a crew to attend to and a new member to meet.” You swept right past Jack, pushing the double doors to your cabin open wide. The fresh air was welcome in comparison to the stuffy air indoors, and the smell of salt filled the air.

You were still at port, but you planned to leave before the day was done. Fishers on the docks called the day’s catch, and merchants sold their wares near the wharves. There was the ringing of church bells and the enticing smell of cooked meats, all reminders of the city around you. Some of your crew were carrying out tasks onboard the ship while others were out in the streets. Those in the city would be back soon enough.

It was easy to spot the newest addition to your crew. He stood out in the crowd. His clothes were shabby, even by pirate’s standards, and he had a way of standing that indicated he was too relaxed for a naval man. Men from the navy didn’t lean casually against railings, they didn’t have beards, and they didn’t smirk. All around, you considered this man a rake.

You approached him, leaning against the railing beside him. “Do you have a name, sailor?”

“James,” he said, looking down at you.

“James what?”

“Just James.”

“Well then, just James, welcome to the crew. I expect that as a sailor, you know what you’re doing, and I don’t want any trouble on my ship. If you have a bone to pick, wait ‘till shore leave.”

“Yes sir.” His voice was mocking, and upon further inspection and some confusion he added, “Ma’am.”

“Captain, will suffice. I want to see my reflection in this deck by tomorrow morning. I suggest you get to work helping.” You gestured to the crew scrubbing the deck.

He shoved himself off the rail after taking a last look at you, grabbing a mop and soap from further down the deck. He was the type to start problems, you could tell. You could only hope he wouldn’t.

In the coming days, you were shocked to find that he was a capable worker. Though he had a tendency to make snarky comments, he did everything that was asked of him. You were glad for it. You didn’t enjoy dealing out punishments, and you didn’t want a reason to do so. James was good at what he did; it seemed he had more years of practice than many of the other men.

An influencing factor in his behavior was lack of alcohol. You’d taken the rum away from him within the first day and told the crew not to give him any more. James had been surprisingly willing to let the drink go. He’d looked disgusted, but you had a feeling he wasn’t disgusted with you. Disgusted with himself, more like. I would be, too, if I were vomiting everywhere and stumbling around. There was more to it, you could tell. There was a whole story in every man, but this man seemed to contain a story-and-a-half. You’d learn, someday. For now, you had to be content with what Jack had already told you.

You surveyed the deck one day to find James helping the younger boys tie their knots. James wasn’t quick in the rigging like the children, but he was surefooted, and he was willing to teach the boys from the ropes. He was doing it then, leaned against a railing with a length of rope in hand. He was showing them how to tie it to a rail with a clove hitch. The rope was passed around, and each boy tried it for himself.

“I see you’re teaching the boys well.” You walked up to him, watching the kids tying their knots. “I’m happy to see it.”

“Somebody has to do it.”

“If I wasn’t mistaken, I’d say you’ve done this sort of thing before.”

“You’re not.”

Ah. An officer, then? Though his coat was a good indicator of his previous station, it didn’t fit him well, and you figured it might have been stolen. Perhaps not. It would have fit someone who weighed a little more, and you figured that James had lost weight in the time he spent drinking instead of eating. “Would you like to enlighten me? I have a feeling you’re a bit more than ‘just James’.”

He pushed off the rail. “I wouldn’t, actually.”

“Forgive my curiosity,” you called after him. “Here, you don’t have to be anyone you don’t want to be.”

Something sad flashed behind his eyes, and he swallowed. I don’t want to be anybody, he seemed to say.

You’d heard that often enough. “We’ve all left someone behind us,” you assured him. “Even me.”

He nodded and walked off, and you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. He was lost and unsure of what to do with himself. Stuck between who he had been and who he would become.

Not two weeks later, you found him in the surgeon’s cabin, applying salve to a boy’s back. The green paste stuck to the boy’s skin with an eerie hue, but you knew it treated burns better than anything else.

“What did I tell you about keeping a shirt on?”

“I know, it’s hot out, is all.” The boy shifted in his seat, squirming whenever James touched his back.

“I don’t care how hot it is. A loose shirt is better than nothing. I won’t do this for you again, so don’t rub this off,” James warned.

The boy took little heed. “I won’t,” he said, slipping off the table and putting on a shirt.

You were left alone in the room with James. “You really are good with kids.”

James shrugged.

“Maybe there’s nothing so bad about you after all. I wondered why Jack dumped you with me; he usually gives me cursed men and witches. The undead, even.” You got no reaction. “You’re not any of those things, so why would he leave you with me?”

“I’m not wanted.”

“You are here.” You gestured at a space outside the cabin. “The crew likes you well enough. Especially the boys. You look after them.”

“Would that I had my own.”

“Your own?” You briefly wondered if he had children.

“In the navy. My last voyage, we sailed right into a hurricane. I was… one of the few survivors.”

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing you can do about a hurricane.”

“You can avoid sailing into it.” He sounded miserable, voice thick with emotion.

Could it be? You had a sinking suspicion you knew who the man was. That doesn’t matter now, you reminded yourself. He’s part of my crew, and he hasn’t shown any signs of treachery or ill-will. “Every man has moments they’re not proud of,” you said. He nodded tensely, and you took it as a sign to change the subject.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he began, a few minutes later. “You dress like a man, but you seem more like a woman, if you don’t mind my saying.” He looked thoroughly embarrassed, but he continued. “I tried to discern, earlier, but…. What did you mean by ‘Captain will suffice’?”

“I meant that I don’t identify with either of those things. I’m not a man, nor am I a woman.” You looked him in the eye, gauging his reaction.

He looked surprised, but didn’t remark, only nodding. You left it at that, and your conversation went in other directions.

~~~~~~~

The thundering of canons roared across the deck. Pieces of the ship flew off where you were hit, wooden splinters the length of your arm flying in all directions. You were glad to have led your crew in gunnery drills; they might have died without them. You survaid the deck, watching each gunning team load and fire. Smoke clogged the air between ships, but you still had a good view of your opponent.

A Spanish brig had appeared on the horizon not hours before, a pirate vessel from the Cuban area. You didn’t like fighting other pirates; firstly, it was a better cause to fight the navy; and secondly, pirates were ruthless in a way others were not. You never knew what tricks pirates might use on you, even as a pirate yourself. There was always some curse or new technology that you found yourself facing, putting you at a disadvantage. You didn’t have the luxury of magic aboard your vessel.

The sails of the ship were a dramatic red, and a dark squid adorned their pirate flag. The ship was beautifully painted, but that was all you could say for it. There was an air of wealth about it that had probably served it well in Spain, though perhaps less well in the Caribbean. Though it might look intimidating and well-styled to a merchantman, it was only a brig, and was thus lightly armed. Brigs were common pirating vessels, but not in the Caribbean. The New World demanded tougher stock.

You had the advantage of guns, but no fight was to be downplayed. You could have had all the guns in the world, but you’d still be careful about every move you made. There was always room for something to go wrong.

A cannonball hit the railing next to you, destroying it in a shower of wood. Stop blowing holes in my ship! You hated having to make repairs, but you’d have to, in this case. When you looked out at the deck again, you were glad to see that none of your crew seemed seriously injured. A few had shrapnel stuck in various places, but nobody looked to have stomach or head wounds.

You boarded the Spanish ship not long after. They’d been ambitious to fight you, and by the look of their rich clothes and shimmering jewelry, they had money. You smiled to yourself through the fighting. You still had to win the deck fight, but you were confident that you would. Then, it would be smooth sailing with a ship loaded down with gold.

The glint of light on metal shook you from your thoughts, and you raised your sword to block a blow from your side. After dispatching your attacker, you took a look around. It was hard to tell your men from theirs, but you caught a glimpse of James fending off two adversaries. You might have gone to help him, but you were soon caught up in a fight of your own.

The deck fight didn’t take long; twenty minutes at most. With the fight won, you ordered that the other crew be split between the brigs of both ships for the time being. You wouldn’t keep them as prisoners forever, but you needed to subjugate them for the moment. You met the opposing captain on the deck of his ship.

The captain looked up at you from his knees, his eyes screaming malice. Lace spilled from the sleeves and collar of his coat, which were the same wine red as his sails. A gold earring hung from one ear, and colored powders adorned his face. You found him almost comical- the stereotype of a wealthy pirate. It was so unrealistic, you couldn’t believe your eyes. Obviously, the man hadn’t known the true lifestyle going in.

Someone had to remove his sword belt and give it to you; he wouldn’t do it himself. You were half tempted to pitch him overboard for his arrogance. It wasn’t like he had much to be proud of. Sure, he had a beautiful ship, but it’d hardly lasted a half hour against your assault. Your boarding party had made short work of his crew. Those that were left were easily subdued, and you ordered that they be taken to the brigs of both ships.

You put your first mate in charge of the other ship. You were proud to have a little fleet, no matter how small. The thought made you smile. Eventually, you had the captain sent away too, though you’d have to speak with him later. Just the notion of having to talk with the man dampened your mood. He probably wasn’t the most respectful type.

Exhaustion took over, not letting you dwell on it. The fight had been fast, but hard, and you were ready for a moment of rest. You climbed the stairs to the helm and sat down by it, barely registering the person sitting next to you. You were asleep within minutes.

When you woke, you found your head resting on someone’s shoulder. You sat up to find James next to you, an amused smile on his face.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” he teased. “You slept for a while.”

You blushed, not quite sure how to respond. “Did I wake you up?” “No, don’t worry. I’ve only been awake a few minutes.”

You couldn’t tell if he was speaking the truth, but you didn’t press, instead changing the subject. “Are you alright? I hardly saw you during the fight.”

“I’m fine. And you?”

“Right as rain.”

“Your men are enjoying the victory.”

“Are you?” You asked. “You’re one of them.”

James stared a moment before answering, turning his away from you and towards the sea. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a victory over a ship. Months. Fighting pirates is an odd thing, when you’re one of them. Still, it reminds me of… simpler times.” His lips turned down in a tight frown.

You laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t dwell on it too much. Come with me, will you? I have a captain to talk to, and I don’t think he’s going to make for amiable conversation.”

You made your way down to the brig. The captain and his mates were being held in one cell together, the rest of their crew being split between cells. You treated them with every hospitality you could give them, helping treat their wounded and providing them with food and water. This, however, was too little to keep their captain satisfied. Your men had informed you that the captain mocked you for not talking to him. He called it cowardice, apparently. It mattered little and less to you, but you had to speak with him at one point or another. It was only courteous.

You gave a nod to one of your guards, and the cell door swung open. The captain was ushered out, unshackled. He posed no threat as a single man; even if he tried to attack you, you could easily overpower him. After all, he didn’t have a sword.

“So, you finally deem me worthy of your attention,” he drawled. His accent was exaggerated enough to make you roll your eyes. He spat, though he had enough sense not to spit towards you. Still, the insult was clear.

“I attend to my own men before I see to anyone else’s. With my crew taken care of, you have all my attention.” You could already tell the conversation would be riddled with insults, though none of them would be clever.

“Seeing to your men is admirable,” said the captain, “though I can’t tell with you: you dress like a man, but there’s a little woman to you, too.” He smirked.

“They are a captain and you will call them such.” James stopped dead in his tracks, reaching out to grab the man’s arm. Though the captain tried to pull away, James’ grip was iron. “Remember your place.”

Fear flashed across the captain’s face, but only for a moment. “I’m shocked to hear you say that, Commodore. After all, your place has changed so much.”

Your hand flashed out, striking the man hard across the face.

“How dare you?” he screeched. “I am a captain!”

“Not anymore,” you said dryly. “You’re nothing more than I make of you, and now I’m considering turning you into mincemeat. You might consider being more careful with your words. I would have asked for your name, but I don’t think you’re worth knowing. Perhaps more time in the brig will see to your behavior.”

The Spaniard protested the entire way, but he was quickly shut in with his officers again, and you set a brisk pace back to your cabin. James followed you, and you let him. Once you got to your cabin, you slumped into a chair. You were thoroughly disgusted by your encounter, but you knew it meant nothing. The man was arrogant, that was all. And James was the infamous Commodore that hunted pirates for years.

That didn’t matter now, either. James was kind to you, and he was good with the crew. His past was just that- his past.

“You didn’t have to defend me.” You filled a cup with brandy. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to. And I owe you. You were right, in the surgeon’s cabin; I’m wanted here. I owe you for that, at least. You kept me when nobody else would.”

“Don’t feel like you owe me anything.”

He sucked in a breath. “And I’m sorry for not telling you who I was.”

“I understand,” you said. “It doesn’t make me trust you any less, and it doesn’t make you any less wanted. I can look beyond a man’s past.” You rose from your seat, putting a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I think I’ll stay with you, if you’ll have me.”

You were surprised, at first, that he didn’t want to return to his old life. That he didn’t have any ambitions to be the man he used to be. He doesn’t want power, you reminded yourself. He wants company. “Of course.“

“Thank you.” Hesitantly, he grabbed your hand, lifting it to place a soft kiss to your knuckles.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, cupping his cheeks, you kissed him softly, embarrassed that you would even think of kissing him, let alone do it. He returned the favor sweetly. He kissed you a bit harder, making you squeak.

“Perhaps you’re just as much of a rascal as I initially thought,” you told him, smiling.

“Maybe I am.” He wore an infuriating smirk.

You pushed him away playfully, only to pull him right back. “If you were still wondering, James, you’re wanted here. Thoroughly.”

#potc #pirates #pirate #pirates of the caribbean #James Norrington #norrington #norrington x reader #commodore norrington #requests #request #fic #drabble #drabbles #writing #x reader

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stahlop · 5 years ago

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Making a Memory (2/?)

I’m so thrilled with the response this story had been getting. Thank you all so much. Here’s chapter 2. We catch up with Emma and Killian and see what’s going on in their lives.

Thank you to @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite my amazing betas. And thanks to @gingerchangeling for the amazing artwork.

Also, thank you @cssns for putting this whole thing together.

Chapter 1

Read it on Ao3

Emma eased open the door to her apartment, her shoulder aching as she did. Her stupid skip had tried to run and had rammed her right into a brick wall. She’d broken his nose for that stunt. She just wanted to get inside, get a bag of ice for her shoulder, pop open a beer, and watch Netflix.

She was still getting used to the silence of the apartment now that Hope was at camp. It had only been two weeks, but it still felt like she was walking into a tomb when she came in the door. She honestly couldn’t remember a time when it had been so quiet. It was either Henry or Hope who was always making some kind of sound; whether it was watching television, talking on the phone, or laughing at something online. Heck, Emma would even take when Henry used to pretend to chase Hope around the apartment just to listen to her baby shrieks (even if it did annoy Mrs. Pendergast next door, God rest her soul). Maybe she’d give Henry a call later just to see what he was up to.

Emma closed the door behind her, locked it, and kicked off her heels before heading over to the freezer to grab an ice pack. It was still weird to her sometimes that Henry didn’t live there anymore, but he was 28, too old to live with his mother and teenage sister. He’d stuck around much longer than she expected him to anyway, not moving out until he was almost 25 and had got his first book deal. She was incredibly proud of him for that.

The ice pack was cool against Emma’s skin, as she had worn her tried and true black tank dress which made her skin look almost porcelain and her blonde hair almost gold, a look that many of her skips went for. She could already see the bruise that was starting to form. Luckily, the dress was still intact. Luckily, the dress still fit her at the age of 45 and she still had her figure. Luckily, she still looked young enough to entice men off the internet for a date that were Henry’s age who had skipped their bail. Her face didn’t have too many wrinkles, and her hair was still a lovely blonde color and she didn’t need to color it yet. Her feet weren’t too happy with her though, having had to chase him down in the 4 inch heels. She was finally beginning to believe she might be too old for this shit (as Murtaugh used to say. God, how old was that movie? Now she really felt old.). Her boss didn’t like her using the honeytrap ruse anymore. Emma thought it might also be because he had a crush on her and he got a bit jealous, but maybe she would take him up on the offer to just work on the research end of tracing bail jumpers and leaving the trapping and chasing of skips to her younger coworkers.

She opened her fridge and grabbed a beer with a twist off cap, just easier in the long run, before heading into her bedroom (ice pack in one hand, beer in the other) to change into sleep shorts and a tank top. As she set down the beer and ice pack on her dresser, she remembered that she hadn’t checked her phone since calling the police to pick up her skip. He’d been cursing at her the whole time after she’d handcuffed him to a bike rack. He’d called her a bitch and a cunt, told her where she could shove a few things, and then detailed what he would do to her if he ever found her again. He talked pretty big for someone who was wanted for embezzling. Emma had learned a long time ago not to engage once the cops were on the way. It only led to injuries she couldn’t always explain on someone who was cuffed and couldn’t fight back.

Emma quickly changed into sleepwear, fixed the ice pack onto her shoulder with some medical tape, and got on top of the covers, ready to watch some of her favorite old tv series. Once comfortable, she finally checked her phone and was shocked to see there were several voicemails. One was from Henry, but the others were from numbers she didn’t recognize.

Grabbing the notepad and pen off the nightstand where she always kept them in case a call came in about a skip, Emma pressed the play button for the first voicemail on her phone and put it on speaker so she could write down whatever she needed to with ease.

“Ms Swan, this is Director Hatfield from Camp Evergreen.” Emma’s heart instantly seized. She could not think of a single reason the director of Hope’s sleepaway camp would call her that wasn’t bad news. “I am, unfortunately, calling with bad news.” There was a pause, what seemed like the longest pauses in the history of pauses ever after someone told you they had bad news. Who taught this lady how to deliver bad news? She’d barely said two sentences and Emma was about to tear her hair out in anticipation. “At this time we are unable to locate your daughter, Hope Swan.” Panic gripped Emma, her whole body tensing up. What the hell did that mean they couldn’t locate her daughter! “We went into town today, something we do once a week for the older campers, she failed to meet us at the designated time an hour ago. Please know that she could not have gone far and we have the local authorities searching for her. I don’t want you to worry. Here is my personal cell number for you to call me when you receive this. Thank you.” Emma quickly wrote down the cell number and listened back to the message again. Her heart was practically in her throat in fear and her jaw was clenched so hard in anger that she thought she might break a tooth. How dare this woman tell her not to worry when her daughter was missing. How could Hope be missing? How could someone lose her pride and joy? Her little girl. Before she could really work herself up, Emma remembered there were several other messages. She prayed one of them was telling her that Hope had been found.

“Ms Swan, this is Director Hatfield from Camp Evergreen again. It’s been two hours since Hope was supposed to meet us and we still haven’t found her. The authorities have been searching the area and I’m sure you will be getting a phone call from them as well. Please know that we are doing everything we can to find her. I’m still confident that she must still be in the area and just lost track of the time. I will continue to update you on her whereabouts. Once again, here is my personal cell phone number. Thank you.” Emma checked the times the messages were left. The first had been at 6PM, right when she had arrived for her date, the second exactly an hour later at 7PM, a little before the time she’d gotten rammed into the wall by her skip. She’d remembered hearing a church bell ring down the street signaling the time.

The next message was from a different number received at 7:15.

“Ms Swan, this is Chief Mike Donnelly from the Evergreen Police Department. Ms Hatfield has informed me about the disappearance of two girls, one of whom is your daughter.” Two girls! Emma paused the voicemail trying to collect her thoughts. Had Hope and another girl run off together? Emma’s mind was racing. If it was just Hope gone Emma figured she had just lost track of the time, even though Hope never lost track of the time. Hope was always punctual, but Emma had figured there was always a first time for everything. She was almost 14 and teenagers weren’t the most reliable people, even though Hope was one of the most punctual people Emma had ever known. She sometimes used to joke about where the punctuality genes had come from since neither she nor Neal were ever on time for anything. But there were two missing girls. There was now another factor. Had this other girl convinced Hope to run away from camp? Was there something between the two of them that they felt the need to run away? Had the other girl taken Hope by force? Emma didn’t think they could have got far seeing as they were on Cape Cod. So many questions were swarming around in Emma’s head. She pressed play. “We are on the lookout for both girls, but if you could please give me a call back right away so we could go over some details to help us out that would be greatly appreciated. Here is the station’s number and please ask for Chief Donnelly. Thank you.” Emma quickly added the chief’s number to her notepad trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

The last message was from Henry. Emma debated whether to listen to his message or not. It couldn’t nearly be as important as calling back the chief or the director of the camp, but something compelled her to listen to Henry’s call anyway. The voicemail had come in about a half an hour after the sheriff had left his message.

“Hi mom.” Henry began and Emma’s skin prickled immediately. She could already tell by the tone of his voice that he had something to tell her that she wasn’t going to like. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now that Hope is missing from camp and the reason I know that is because she’s with me.” Emma was positively going to kill Henry. She was going to murder him. What the hell was he thinking taking Hope from camp without permission. “And if they’ve mentioned that there’s another girl missing, well,” Henry gave a large sigh, “I have Alice too.” Oh shit! This was worse than she’d thought. It would have been easy to explain taking his sister without permission, but now he’d taken another girl? What the hell had Henry been thinking? “Please don’t send the cops after us. There is a perfectly valid explanation for this, just not one I can give over the phone.” Emma highly doubted that. “I’m going to need you to contact the other girl’s father and convince him not to press kidnapping charges. I know that’s a lot to ask, but I promise I can explain everything once you two meet us at Chantey’s Lobster House in Maine. Once again, mom, please don’t send the cops. Just get a hold of Killian Jones and bring him with you to the Lobster House. Here’s his number. And mom…. I love you.”

Emma stared at the phone as if willing it to tell her more. What the hell had Henry gotten himself into? What did Hope have to do with it? What did this other girl have to do with it? Emma couldn’t see any way this was going to end well. And now she had to contact this girl, Alice’s father? What was he going to think when the mother of the man who kidnapped his daughter called him up and told him not to worry and they had to go to some lobster house in Maine?

Emma quickly jotted down the number and tried to think of a way to justify what Henry had done when she talked to this Killian Jones. But first, she had to play the concerned parent and call back the chief and the director before she murdered her own kid.

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Killian Jones was absolutely beside himself. After several phone calls from the director of the camp Alice had gone to and then a call from the chief of police, it seemed they were nowhere nearer to finding his daughter. He couldn’t lose her. He just couldn’t. She was all he had left after Milah. He couldn’t lose her too. The gods wouldn’t be so cruel, would they? All he could do now was wait by his phone for someone to contact him.

There was nothing he could do in his small house that could distract him from the fact that Alice was missing. She was all around him. Photos lined the hallway and every available flat surface of their two bedroom house. He’d missed her fiercely since she left for camp almost two weeks ago, having never been apart for more than an overnight sleepover. Killian hadn’t been that keen on Alice going to sleepaway camp for six weeks, but she had been so excited to go, having secured herself a scholarship all on her own (sneaking into his financials after he’d gone to bed and copying his tax forms to send, modern day pirate she was), that he just couldn’t deny her. Having just been the two of them for so long, he was already having trouble adjusting, but now that she was missing it was like his heart had been ripped from his chest. Never, in his 49 years, had he ever remembered feeling like this.

He subconsciously ran his fingers through his graying hair (silver, Alice called it), while he tapped his false hand on his leg, a nervous habit he’d picked up when Alice was a child. It had been two hours since the last phone call from Chief Donnelly and Killian wasn’t expecting another phone call from him that night. He couldn’t possibly think what had happened to Alice. He knew she was a little flighty, but he couldn’t imagine that she would purposely leave camp on her volition. Not with the way she’d been so excited to go. Unless something had happened.

Suddenly, Killian remembered that he’d received a letter in the mail from Alice, but he hadn’t actually opened anything as he had checked the mailbox while checking his messages. He had almost forgotten that he’d received the letter.

Quickly, Killian ran over to the kitchen counter where he’d dropped the mail and sorted through the bills and junk mail that had also been in the mailbox. He finally spotted it. The pale blue envelope from the stationary that Alice had insisted on buying for camp so she could ‘write him a letter a day’. While he hadn’t received a letter a day, he had received at least four in the time she’d been at camp, this would make the sixth. He hurriedly ripped open the letter.

“Ow!” he said as he stuck the now cut finger in his mouth. He pulled out the letter to see Alice’s swirly script, very similar to his own. He hoped this letter gave some insight into her disappearance.

Dear Papa,

I am sorry it’s been awhile since I’ve written. I know I said I’d write a letter a day, but a lot has been happening.

Hope and I really got into it yesterday. We’ve been secluded from the rest of the camp. We’ve been put in the Get Along Cabin in order for us to get along. Neither one of us is happy about it. But it is what it is. I’m not even sure how it got so far that we ended up in this situation, Papa. It’s like we were magnets that just couldn’t be near each other and the closer we got the more we wanted to repel the other and it just got completely out of hand. I hope you are not too disappointed in my behavior. I’ve felt really bad about everything since we’ve been placed in solitude. Hopefully, we will work things out with no outside interference.

I hope you aren’t too lonely without me there, Papa. I miss you and can’t wait to come home in a few weeks.

Love,

Alice (your Starfish)

Killian’s eyes brimmed with tears. There was nothing in the letter to indicate why she had run off or been taken. Could it have something to do with this Hope girl she wasn’t getting along with. Alice may be a little unusual, but she usually got along with her peers with no problems. He recalled that Alice had mentioned that she and Hope looked very similar in one of her previous letters. Had whomever taken her thought she was Hope? Had they taken both her and Hope because they weren’t sure which was which? Was Hope the other girl who was missing?

Killian had no idea how he was going to try and sleep with his daughter missing. It turns out, he didn’t. He tried, he really did, but all he ended up doing was tossing and turning and randomly checking his phone, even though it was plugged in and the sound was on so he’d hear if someone called him. Finally, when he saw the sun barely starting to peek through the curtains, he gave up. He checked his phone again, cursed that there were no new notices, and decided his best course of action was to take a shower and wait until he was contacted. He’d never taken one the previous day, and he was sure he still smelled like fish after having worked at the fish cannery all day, even if he was a floor manager, and didn’t work directly with the fish anymore. Which also reminded him that he would need to call out of work. He’d never be able to concentrate with Alice missing.

After calling work and a ‘sorry’, ‘take all the time you need’, and ‘keep us updated’ from his boss, Killian started to head to the bathroom to take a shower when he heard a soft knocking on his door. It was 6:15 in the morning and he couldn’t imagine who would be paying a visit this early. His heart skipped a beat when he realized it had to be about Alice. Maybe they’d contacted local law enforcement to take a statement from him, or canvas their house for clues. He forgot that he was still in his blue plaid sleep pants and graying white undershirt when he answered the door to find a nervous looking, but extremely gorgeous blonde woman standing on his front porch.

“Can I help you?” Killian asked warily. Her eyes darted around nervously, and she was wringing her hands together. She kept opening her mouth to speak and then closing it, as if she couldn’t think of the right words. Killian started to get annoyed. He crossed his arms and looked at her sternly.

“Look, ma’am, if you’re here selling something I’m not in the mood.”

“No, I…” The woman took a deep breath and started again. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you all night. My name is Emma Swan and I know where your daughter is.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emma was not sure what she expected when Killian Jones opened the door, but she definitely did not expect for her heart to immediately start fluttering and her stomach to fill with butterflies. She chalked it up to having to tell him that her son had effectively kidnapped his daughter, not because he was devastatingly handsome, with piercing blue eyes and silver streaks threaded through his dark brown hair. She really needed to focus on the task at hand.

His eyebrows had both raised into his hairline and Emma thought she saw tears in his eyes. She recognized the look of hope in his face, and then, just as quickly his face became very strained, his eyes tiny slits, and the color of his face went from nicely tanned to practically purple.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he practically yelled into her face. “Did Donny send you to mess with me, because that’s really low, even for him.”

Emma flinched, afraid that he might even hit her. This was not the reaction she had hoped for. And it kind of pissed her off that he thought she was joking with him.

“Um, no,” Emma said shortly. “My name is Emma Swan, my daughter is Hope Swan.” She saw a spark of recognition in his eyes when she mentioned her daughter’s name. Good, that was good. “I believe… no,” she stopped and corrected herself. “I know that our daughters have run away from camp together.”

His face immediately changed back to the face of hope Emma had seen when she’d first mentioned knowing where Alice was. The purple slowly drained away, leaving his face a more normal shade.

“Look, I don’t know a lot of details Mr. Jones.” Emma wasn’t sure why, but it felt really weird to call him that. Her instincts were telling her that Mr. Jones was the wrong thing to call him, but until he said otherwise, she was going to keep this professional. “All I know is that they’re with my son, Henry.” She saw him raise one eyebrow and lick his lips, which in any other circumstance she was sure would be sexy as hell, but right now, it was plain intimidating. “I have no idea why he has taken it upon himself to take them away from camp,” she said quickly, “or what the circumstances behind this whole adventure is. All I know is that he called me, told me he had his sister and your daughter, and that I had to find you and meet them at a crabhouse in Maine.” She looked up at him, sure that he was going to think this was all a sick joke again, but instead she saw him open the door wider.

“Please come in.” He was watching her like a hawk, looking for some sign that she wasn’t who she said she was, and that this was all a colossal joke on his behalf. Usually, he read people pretty well. Friends had said he probably should’ve gone into law enforcement or become a lawyer with the way he was able to just look at a person and know all about them. It’s what made him a good manager as well. It helped him spot good people to hire whether they had the experience or not. He’d rather have people who had motivation to work rather than people just there for a paycheck. Made for much more productive workers. A gorgeous woman like her should be walking with confidence, not slack shoulders, not with the slight curve in her back, and her emerald eyes should definitely not be searching his to find the same meaning and understanding about what was happening. The whole thing unnerved him quite a bit.

“Take a seat while I change into something more, er, presentable, and then I’ll get some coffee started while we sort this whole mess out,” Killian said, pointing with his hand toward the couch in the other room. Emma nodded.

It was every parent’s worst nightmare, Killian thought as he pulled on fresh boxers and jeans, to be told that your child was missing and to find out she had run away on her own accord. Or had she? Killian couldn’t help but think that from the last letter Alice had sent that she wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere near this girl. What had possessed her to run off with her? He finished getting dressed quickly (realizing only too late that he had dressed himself completely in black, including black leather glove on his prosthetic hand) before heading back out towards the kitchen to get the promised coffee started. It was once he pressed the on switch that he heard the crying coming from the other room.

He came around the corner to see her holding a picture of him and Alice. He knew exactly which photo it was. It was Alice at the harbor last summer. They’d gone down to check something at his office before heading to the actual beach, but Alice had insisted on an impromptu photo shoot because of the way the shadows were hitting the docks. She looked almost as if she were caught in a spider’s web the way the shadows of the masts from some of the sailboats were hitting her. It was an absolutely stunning picture, but he wasn’t sure if it should evoke the tears that were pouring down Emma Swan’s face. He could tell that tears did not come easily to this woman.

Her tears were interrupted by the beeping of the coffee maker. Emma looked up to see him staring at her, which made her immediately wipe her tears off on her sleeve, and the little bit of the real Emma Swan that he had seen was now blocked by walls a mile high. She promptly straightened her shoulders and flicked her hair behind her back.

“How do you have this picture?” she asked in an accusing tone. The change was astounding, Killian thought. It was almost as if she was a completely different person. And now he was getting angry. Who the hell was this woman coming into his house, telling him that her son had kidnapped his daughter, and now was accusing him of, he wasn’t sure what exactly, but it was definitely an accusation of some sort.

“That,” Killian said, plucking the picture from her hands and placing it back down on the side table in its proper place, “is my Alice, so that is why I have that picture. As you can see, there are plenty of pictures of her around this house.” A look of shock crossed Emma’s face, but Killian stomped back into the kitchen, grabbed two mugs from the cabinets in his good hand, and poured a cup of coffee for himself and his guest. He automatically poured in a good amount of sugar before he realized what he was doing and was about to offer her the black coffee, when she took the over-sugared coffee from him and took a sip. She smiled, apparently satisfied with it. She looked back over at the picture and then looked at the other pictures that were around her, her eyes getting very big. Eventually, and with a bit of anger, she opened her purse, took out her wallet, grabbed something out of it and threw it on the counter.

“Care to explain this?” she asked heatedly.

Killian took the item to see an almost identical picture of who he assumed was Hope in the shadows. He could tell it wasn’t the same picture, the shadows were all wrong and the girl in this photo had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, plus, she was dressed in a way that Alice would never dress, but Killian could see why Emma had possibly mistaken her Hope for his Alice. And this revelation made him even more upset because she was looking at him like he had somehow invaded her life because of the similarities between their daughters.

“Look, Mrs. Swan,” Killian said curtly, “I’m sure that…”

“It’s Miss,” Emma said, even more irritated.

“What?” Killian asked, his blue eyes flashing.

“It’s Miss Emma Swan, not Mrs. Swan. I never married Henry and Hope’s father.” And why Emma felt the need to reveal that last part was beyond her. It’s not like she needed to defend her choices to this man. But something about him made her want to tell him all her secrets, even if they had only just met, so she added, “I didn’t trust Neal enough to marry him. He left me in a bad way after Henry and he only came back into our lives when Henry was 11. I didn’t want to let him back in, but I did, and then Hope came along.” God, why was she just vomiting her whole life story to this man?

“But he left you anyway?” Killian asked seeing as there was no way Hope’s father wouldn’t be here with his daughter missing.

“He died,” Emma said softly. “Apartment fire when Hope was two. It’s why we ended up moving to Boston. We’d been living in New York before.” Killian’s ears perked at the mention of an apartment fire.

“Same with Alice’s mother. Apartment fire when she was two. It’s also how I lost the hand.” He lifted the gloved hand and got a little bit of recognition from Emma that she hadn’t realized until this moment that he was missing the hand. “What are the odds?” Killian wondered aloud as he thought of Milah and how he’d tried to get her and their young daughter out of their apartment, but the smoke had become too much for her and she’d collapsed halfway down the stairs. He thought they’d been safe then, firemen coming up the stairs to help. He’d handed Alice over to one of the firemen when the roof above caved in, effectively trapping Milah under it and severing his hand in the process. If it hadn’t been for Alice, he wasn’t sure if he would have had the strength to move on. “We were in Boston. I decided, even though I worked at the docks, we needed to be away from the city. That’s how we ended up on the outskirts. It sucks to drive an hour away for work, but we have this little house, and a yard, and everything Milah and I had dreamed of for Alice.” He put his hand over hers as a comforting gesture. Emma initially tried to pull her hand away, but she recognized the gesture for what it was and relaxed into it.

“Hope and Henry are the two best things to happen to me, even if their father was a bastard. I don’t know how I ended up with two great kids like them. I just don’t understand what Henry was thinking, taking our daughters with him on this insane adventure. It’s one thing for him to have stolen off with Hope, but to take your daughter as well. I can’t even begin to know what was going through all of their heads.” Emma fought the tears that were welling up in her eyes. This was not the way she’d raised her children.

‘I’m sorry for practically accusing you… I don’t even know what I was accusing you of,” Emma said looking around the house at all the pictures of Alice. “It’s, just, they’re practically identical, don’t you think?” Killian nodded in agreement. “It just seems so weird, that’s all. And when I saw the picture of Alice, so similar to the one of Hope, it just felt like you were involved in this whole thing somehow.”

“Look, Swan.” Killian didn’t know why he decided to just go the last name route, probably because he didn’t want to get back into a semantics argument with her, but something about just calling her Swan sounded right to his ears and felt correct in his mouth. “Why don’t you tell me everything your son, Henry was it, told you and we can go from there?” She certainly didn’t seem like the type of woman to have raised a son that would kidnap people for nefarious purposes.

Emma pulled out her phone and cued up the voicemail. They listened to it together. Emma closed her eyes and wet her lips while they listened to it. Killian felt the stirring of something in his lower extremities and he almost had to pinch himself. This was not the time to be aroused by a beautiful woman in his house, especially when the look on her face was not one of seduction (although he’s sure the way she was concentrating with that little crease between her eyes was extremely sexy when in the bedroom), but of hoping to the gods that her son’s voicemail would end on any note other than I’m with my sister and another girl, meet us at a lobster house in Maine.

Killian requested listening to it a few more times before he was satisfied that the voicemail was not some type of hoax from Emma’s son, nor was it a real kidnapping requiring some kind of ransom.

“And you have no idea what possessed him to do this?” Killian asked Emma who shrunk further and further behind her walls everytime she listened to her son’s voice telling them he had the girls.

“Not a clue!” she said rather defensively. “I raised him better than that. I mean, I wouldn’t say this is technically kidnapping. I mean, I don’t know Alice, but I feel like they both went with him willingly. I just don’t understand why! This could kill his career.” She stopped, eyes blown wide. “Oh, god! What if this is all some publicity stunt?” Killian questioningly raised an eyebrow. God dammit was that sexy. No, focus Emma, focus. “Henry is an author, and his next book, the sequel to a very successful first book, comes out next month.” Emma explained. “I don’t know how this would tie into it, but that’s the only plausible reason I can come up with for him to do something like this,” Emma said, exasperated.

“Does your son write some type of crime novels?” Killian asked, not understanding how this could be a publicity stunt.

“No. He writes fantasy. He writes alternative fairy tales. So I have no idea how this would fit in. But I know that if this isn’t a publicity stunt that his career would be ruined if you charged him with kidnapping,” Emma lamented.

Something about what Emma had said about Henry’s book struck a chord with Killian. What was it? Alternative fairy tales, the name Henry. Killian knew the book Emma was talking about. The book Alice had been obsessed with for over the past year. Her art had completely changed from drawing landscapes to drawing characters from that book.

“Wait! Is the book you’re talking about titled Once Upon a Time?” Killian asked incredulously. Emma just nodded, pulling nervously on the ends of her hair. Killian paced up and down the room thinking. Could Alice have orchestrated this whole thing? Killian knew she was a huge fan of the book. Maybe she found out he and Hope were siblings and somehow arranged a meeting during their town day? And how coincidental that Alice’s favorite book author would have a sister that looked identical to her.

“I think we may have solved at least one riddle here. That is Alice’s favorite book. She’s almost bordering on obsessive. I think she would definitely, willingly go anywhere with Henry if he asked, especially if it was with her bunkmate at camp.” Killian sat down on the couch next to Emma and took her hands in his, putting his good hand on top. “I don’t think this is your fault, Emma. I don’t think you raised a psychopath, or that Alice was kidnapped either.” Emma looked visibly relieved at this admission. “But I do think that you need to call Henry and find out when to meet him so we can find out what the fuck is going on and why they’re in Maine of all places.”

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @cssns @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #csff #inspired by the parent trap #gingerchangeling #Captain Swan #captain swan ff

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imuybemovoko · 5 years ago

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A profoundly bad childhood experience

I ...don’t have a whole lot of specific memories of my childhood. The things I do remember, I tend to lack good detail on. I think a good deal of this is because a lot of weird shit happened that I just don’t think about until something makes me think about it. A few months ago I was forced to think about some of the weird shit. I might be a bit lacking in specifics here, it’s been around 15 years since this happened and I don’t always have detailed memories from this period in my life, but I’ll do my best.

I’m writing a large document about my years of experience with Christianity and my eventual exit from it. I decided to write this in roughly chronological order, as best I could remember it, and trying to write about my early childhood in a small-town United Methodist church in upstate New York brought this experience crashing back in ...most of its weird sad glory.

For those unfamiliar with this kind of environment, many churches run week long summer programs to indoctrinate children, calling them “vacation bible school”. In my experience, it was a week long, typically in June at this church, and was a bit different under like seven or eight years old than it was between then and sixth grade or so. The younger kids just like heard cutesy messages about Jesus and played little games all day, and the older kids moved around between like four or five little stations consisting of crafts, Jesus messages, music that even my kid brain found lame and awkward, a 20 minute TV show of a traumatizing chipmunk puppet called Chadder, and some teaching that took place in the context of an adult LARPing and setting up scenery.

That’s Chadder. He’s fucking terrifying and his voice is annoying. He talks about Jesus entirely too much.

The first year I was old enough for this more mature version of VBS, on like the second day of the five, the theme was Jonah and the whale. For the blessed uninitiated, the story is basically that of a prophet called to yell at the city of Nineveh for their sins who runs away in a ship, then God throws a nice little hurricane at him, the crew of the ship yeets him overboard, and he spends three days inside of a whale, at which point he repents and goes to yell at Nineveh. (And then gets pissed off at God for sparing the city from destruction after they repent, but somehow that part isn’t taught to children and the rest of it is.)

The adult who did the LARPing for this program every year was this lady about my mom’s age who I’ll call “Sharon” for anonymity. (I don’t remember her first name but it’s probably not that.) She always went all out with the costumes and got really into character, and the settings were usually pretty damn well thought out too. On this day, she’d set up an entire scene that fit with the theme of Jonah’s experience. Her scenes were always set up in this atrium area behind the sanctuary that could be closed off with one of those collapsible walls.

Like this, but in a church. That fucking building was full of those, and even seeing them in person mildly triggers me half the time. :^) There was this atrium area behind it that people tended to gather in to talk before service got started, but for VBS Sharon repurposed it for scenes. The lights were generally pretty low, though I don’t think that was their only setting in there. The room also had this little hallway that was next to one of the narrow ends of it, with a door both going into the sanctuary and into this atrium, and attaching to the front door of the church with a crumbling stone staircase to the uneven sidewalk.

They tend to break the kids up into small groups, the number and size of these groups depending on the number of kids in the program. I think there were eight or ten of us in each group this year, and we rotated through the stations they set up. They recruit the kids older than about 13 to escort us around all day. I think we were like the second group to go to the LARPing station this day, but I’m not completely sure. We came to the door from the corridor to the sanctuary and the teen leader knocked. Sharon came out dressed in this biblical-style outfit, trying her absolute best to look like the prophet might’ve. She may or may not have worn a stick-on beard or maybe one that hangs on and attaches behind the ears. She was easily dedicated enough to pull something like that. She certainly had one of these outfits going on:

And definitely one of the male-styled ones with headwear. She led us into the corridor, acting all frantic. The corridor was very dimly lit this day, and as nervous as she was, I started to lowkey freak out too. I had no idea what was coming.

Sharon ushered us into the atrium thing, which was now very different from its ordinary state. My memory of the exact conditions in here isn’t perfect, so I’ll explain this as best as I remember it. The entire fucking room was dimly lit and lined with black plastic, I think she ripped up some trash bags and stuck them to the walls and ceiling in there. She was running some kind of high-octane humidifier and fan in there I think, because the whole place was dark and wet and humid. I’m a bit less certain on these two details, but she might’ve brought some pungent fish into the place to make it smell weird and played loud ass whale song on one of those little boombox/CD player/radio things that were common around that time. I think the other kids could handle it a bit better than I did, but this was a terrifying environment. Then she started talking about how the reason we’re in here is because she ran away from God (as Jonah; remember, she got real in character) and maybe this is her chance to repent and it’s so bad that she didn’t follow God’s command the first time. At some point in this display I freaked the fuck out and had to leave this place. They took me back to some room where the younger kids were doing something so I could cool off. My parents, and I think some of the other adults, expressed some disappointment about this. I don’t remember specific words; I do remember being shamed for being afraid of this ...intentionally scary display. And then when I was calm and they were done with all that bullshit, they brought me back in for Chadder of all things.

I had a recurring nightmare for a while in elementary school. Every time I had this, it came in threes. I’d enter a dim, sweaty room where some faint, horribly distorted voices were crying out and have to climb a slope. I’d pass the first, shallow one fairly easily, but I’d go straight from that into a darker, sweatier, louder room with a steeper incline. I’d pass this trial too somehow, by this point being stressed and scared every time, and come straight into something so, so fucking much worse. This room was extremely dark, the incline was goddamn near to vertical, it was wet in there to the point where everything was dripping (or, in some cases, at least I was; I kind of think the scenery other than the light levels, sounds, and inclines varied quite a bit from instance to instance), and the voices. The fucking voices. They sounded like people yelling, except... through insane levels of distortion, to the point where everything was echo except the vowel sound, usually like the one in “sleep” or maybe a bit retracted. After the fact I’m inclined to project everything from coherent phrases to my first name onto the sounds, but I don’t remember them having any actual definition after all the distortion. These calls would kind of burrow into my consciousness as I tried (and, somehow, often partially succeeded) to climb this fucking smooth, deep slope, and when it all got too overwhelming I’d wake up sweating and terrified. (And usually I’d have to pee.) After I remembered this incident from VBS, I made a connection with this recurring nightmare and I kind of strongly suspect that it was a major contributing factor to these. This may or may not be accurate, but it bears some chilling similarities to Sharon’s whale stomach display: wet, loud, scary, dark.

I often have a fairly hard time writing about this. This shit had me shaking and unable to sleep for hours when I remembered it after apparently somehow repressing it for over a decade. Writing about it was easier this time, but I still kind of shake and struggle talking about it. It’s a whole time. I think I might need some therapy because of this and other fucky little incidents that happened during my childhood and when I was older and, for around five years, fully embraced Christianity and yeeted myself into some of its darker branches. But the more bullshit I remember from my childhood, the more I learn about the foundation, even from what I remember as a somewhat more progressive than average environment, that led me down my dark path. So that’s food for thought I guess.

Have a deepfried Chadder and a good day.

Chadder takes his mask off (2020, colorized)

#ex christian #churchexperience #i probably need therapy #religious trauma

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weemsbotts · 4 years ago

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A Love Story During the 1918 Pandemic

By: Lisa Timmerman, Executive Director

Driving through Dumfries provides a curious mix of 18-20th century buildings depending upon where you look. While you can visit The Weems-Botts Museum (face-to-face and virtually!), you may miss or overlook the rich and unique character of our charming small town in the early 1900s.

According to our oral history records, Myrtle Virginia Rainey met Elvan Fitzhugh Keys at Dumfries United Methodist Church in 1917. Mr. Keys bid two dollars on a boxed lunch prepared by Ms. Rainey, an auction that featured a homemade lunch with the chef! The lunch of fried chicken and cake made with fresh coconut led to a lifelong romance and companionship. Thanks to family records and the Dumfries community willingness to share their stories and letters with HDVI, we can read some of the letters they wrote to each other during the flu pandemic.

Dumfries, Virginia. 02/10/1918, Myrtle Rainey to Elvan Keys:

“Dearest Elvan,

Hope you got back to Quantico all OK last night. But I guessed you was tired and sleepy when you got there. All the school have gone to Quantico to see Billy Sunday they come after me but Mamma and Papa is both sick now and I have so much work to do. Don’t let that old Spanish Influenza keep you away. I am not a bit afraid of it. Hope you can come up Wednesday nite for preaching. I am going to preaching tonight but it is so lonesome without you. Please bring me your picture you come over next time. Mammie Sisson has just looked over my letter for mistakes. If there are any left consider them kisses.

I remain as ever your true friend. PS. Please answer real soon.”

Quantico, Virginia. 02/11/1918, Elvan Keys to Myrtle Rainey:

“Dearest Myrtle,

I went to the office at noon and got your lovely little letter. I think it was so sweet of you to write me and I was awful glad to get your letter. I was sorry to hear your father is now sick. How is your mother? I got back safely Sunday night but it was a lonely walk with nothing but my ugly shadow to keep me company. I am always lonesome when I leave you. The snow looked like diamonds glittering from the trees. I most know you are skipping all over this letter to see if I am coming up Wednesday night so I might as well tell you now as later on that I will be unable to come. But I would only be able to stay one hour. It takes me so long to walk there and back. I would come if I could stay longer. No I won’t forget the picture.

As ever yours”

By the fall of 1918, the Influenza pandemic noticeably hit Virginia and at least 16,000 Virginians died. Jumping from military bases to cities to small towns caused mass disorder, and health officials advised Americans to wear masks and remain socially distant. Highly contagious with severe symptoms ranging from high fever to aches, many people also caught pneumonia and subsequently died. The Virginia State Board of Health reported that in thirteen months, the virus infected 326,195 people, killing 15,679 of them. Keep in mind that some rural and isolated areas did not file death certificates and many people may have remained ill at home, further spreading the infection in the family. Thanks to the nurses, doctors, and volunteers, Virginia eventually reopened (when they lifted the ban on public gatherings in late October 1918, another surge occurred early in December 1918). Interestingly, people petitioned Governor Westmoreland Davis to allow the selling of more alcohol to pharmacies as officials hoped alcohol could aid in combating the illness. Sadly, this pandemic faded from American memory due to a combo of factors: avoidance from the government whether to directly respond or even acknowledge it, other historically significant events, such as the Depression, WWII, etc.

While we can empathize with the frustration and desire to see our friends and family, we can also open our tablets, phones, and other devices to stay connected with our communities. Instead, Mr. & Mrs. Keys relied on memories, mailed letters, and pictures to not feel so lonely and remind themselves of better times. Mr. & Mrs. Keys survived the pandemic and by all accounts led a very happy life. For their 25th wedding anniversary, Mrs. Keys spared no expense to throw a party. “She was famous in the town for entertaining and she wanted this one to very special. She wanted to celebrate a quarter century of a happy marriage in a big way…One hundred invitations were sent, the cake ordered, the house cleaned from top to bottom, special clothes purchased, menu planned, the silver polished, tables and chairs borrowed, tablecloths bought. The house hummed with activity for two months before the party.” Mrs. Myrtle Keys died in 1969 at the age of 66 and Mr. Elvan Keys in 1977 at the age of 80.

Special thanks to the Keys family, Jeff McGlothlin, and Jeanne Martin for sharing their wonderful stories and reminiscences.

Note: You can help Historic Dumfries Virginia by joining our non-profit organization today! Thanks to all HDVI members that continue to support us and local history. Interested in a virtual presentation on Dumfries? Set your price with a donation ticket to our “An Artful Fellow: Slavery in Dumfries in the 18th Century” presentation – tickets here).

(Sources: HDVI Archival Files; Encyclopedia Virginia: The Influenza Pandemic in Virginia (1918-1919)).

#museumfromhome #lovestory #local history #destinationdumfries #archives #community #oralhistory #folklore #folklore thursday #coconutcake #princewilliamstrong #spanish flu #influenza #1918 #familyhistory

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runswith · 5 years ago

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Travel diary: Pamplona. Entry 8 – March 26, 2002

With Curtis having done el Camino de Santiago so many times, he’s fairly knowledgeable about it -- extremely, even excessively knowledgeable compared to someone like me.

As we stood in Sunday morning sunshine, Curtis talking about el Camino, two people hiking the trail toiled up the grade in our direction. Across the small road, off in the other direction, the land spilled down and away. Nesting birds appeared from hillside bushes, making short, swift flights to nearby points, producing sharp bursts of song. Though the sun shone strong and warm, a cool breeze blew -- Curtis had encouraged me to leave my jacket in the car, I found myself glad I had it on and pulled it tightly around me as I peered off across the countryside.

Back in the car, we drove further west of Pamplona. Several miles along, Javier hung a left and sped down another two-lane, flanked by fields and the occasional spread of vineyard, until we approached a turnoff for a small church that sat amid acres of fields, la iglesia de Santa Maria de Eunate. Javier turned in, guiding the car to a small parking area, pulling in by a pair of porta-potties, them looking a bit out of context there in the middle of nowhere but logical considering the number of visitors the place received.

The church: a lovely stone structure, small in diameter with a high domed roof that gives it a sense of great space. Built in the second half of the twelfth century, appearing at once austere and complex in structure. The small windows had no glass, no surprise given where and when the church was constructed -- instead, they’re covered with slabs of marble cut thinly enough that light passes through. The church is surrounded by a portico, nearby sits another building constructed of stone, a refuge for hikers making the pilgrimage, where they can find a shower, get some sleep.

On our arrival, the only other people about were three young women who seemed to carefully avoid us. As we walked back to the car, other vehicles pulled in, discharging people, changing the atmosphere drastically with noise and motion. I was glad we were leaving.

Javier drove back out to the original two-lane, heading further west to the town of Puente la Reina, a pueblo with at least three churches -- all Catholic, natch. I was taken into two, both several centuries old -- one austere, the other extravagantly elaborate -- both on a long street that ran from the east end of town to the river at the town’s west side and the bridge that gives the town its name. Built in, I think, the 15th century. Old, beautiful, nice to walk across, providing nice views of the old town on one side, green hills and flowering almond trees on the other.

The morning sunlight had strengthened, the temperature edged upward to jacket-divesting levels as the day tilted toward noon. We walked back toward the car along a different street -- wider, relatively busy -- passing the third church as we left the river behind, I mulled over how it felt to be among so much Catholicism, past and present, from the perspective of having grown up in it and ditched it the day I turned 18.

From there we traveled west to a stretch of el Camino that ran along the course of an old Roman road, cobbled and crossing an original Roman bridge, out in the middle of countryside, in a ravine off the two-lane where trees were showing green and birds called. As I moved ahead of Curtis and Javier, two hikers passed -- young women, both sporting huge packs, one of which had two or three pieces of washed clothing spread across it to dry in the sun as they walked. Curtis began chatting with them, when I returned from enjoying the near-total quiet off across the bridge it turned out they were college-age American women -- one from Tennessee, one from Illinois -- doing the pilgrimage and experiencing the contrast between what they’d imagined when they dreamed about it and the rigorous, sometimes disheartening reality of traversing mountainous, rural terrain with a full pack. Curtis gave them encouragement, some tips on stops they’d be making in the coming days, and they headed off.

Next: the town of Estella, the day’s final stop. A medieval pueblo, with old, narrow streets, large plazas, and a pretty, shallow river that wends through the heart of the town. Javier parked the car, we made our way up a long series of stairs to yet another church perched in the, by then, early afternoon sunlight. We passed through to the cloister, a sizable area of flowers, grass, flowers and a tree or two, sheltered by walls, surrounded and bisected by walkways. Quiet, with lots of old stonework. I would have been happy to remain there a while, as lack of sleep was becoming an increasingly major factor in my day. Curtis had also been up late -- later than me, I think, having far more fun -- also looked to be at less than optimum. Javier was fine, and when I got too quiet he made a point of chatting me up, explaining things or asking about my experience in Spain. Between that and the fact that he had volunteered to do the driving for the day, he went far beyond what would be expected of someone who had never met me before. An extremely considerate person with a generous, gentlemanly nature.

A mass had begun while we were outside, we couldn’t pass back through the church and so took a different stairway down to the street -- old, narrow, with vistas of sky and neighborhoods. We found our way to the center of the town, crowds of chatting, well-dressed locals milling in and out of restaurants/tabernas. We made our way into one, found a space at the bar, got something to drink, then went somewhere else to eat, a place off another narrow, quiet street. A long meal, punctuated by stretches of silence between which Curtis and Javier conversed, Javier now and then addressing some conversation in my direction, which I did my best to engage with. Afterward, we found our way through more narrow streets toward an old medieval footbridge we’d spotted earlier. The street that led us there -- old and, of course, narrow -- only permitted resident traffic, and at the end of a block that fed out onto a larger busier street, passage was blocked by a thick, squat metal column, maybe two feet high, planted in the pavement directly in the middle of the street. A car approached from the outside road, stopping by a box at the roadside where the driver produced a card and swiped it through a slot. A pause, then the column slowly sank into the pavement so the car could pass, after which it reappeared, regaining full height. Freudian traffic control.

We made our way across the bridge, trees and large sprawling expanses of bushes on either side of the river a bright, vibrant green in the early spring sun. Willow trees rose three or four stories into the air, trailing long branches thick with new leaves. Javier and Curtis had yet another ancient church or two in their sights, we made our way toward them though not into them (for which I gave silent thanks), settling down instead on some stone structures by the river to flop and get some sun. It was late afternoon by then, the town had the feel of a place slowly dealing with the coming reality of returning to the workweek. Couples were out, two groups of people came together not far from us, talking, then headed off in the opposite direction from which we’d come and disappeared. We eventually pulled ourselves together and returned to the car, walking along a stretch of el Camino which included an old, well-kept building that functioned as the town’s sanctuary for pilgrims.

As we neared the car, the snug street opened out into a small plaza that fronted a park and two old buildings, one of which apparently housed the local equivalent of a circuit court. Paint had been hurled against the door and the facade of the building, leaving splashes of red, yellow and green, the colors of the crest of Euskadi, the Basque Country. As we stepped out into the plaza, I glanced into the windows of the other building we passed, into a room filled with old, old furniture, including what appeared to be an ancient canopy bed, draped with mosquito netting.

At that moment, we became aware of a car coming in reverse along the narrow street that faced us, coming fast, the gearbox whining loudly, the rear end jerking back and forth as it approached, tires squealing. It skidded into the plaza where the driver hit the brakes, spraying gravel before changing gears then gunning his way through a loud, aggressive three-point turn, almost hitting me at one point, the afternoon air suddenly thick with the odor of testosterone. The driver: a truculent, macho 20-something whose behavior had Curtis hooting and mocking him in English. My last image of Estella.

An hour and a half later I found myself gazing out a window of an Iberia airliner. My final view of Pamplona, from a plane angling up away from the ground: a line of wind turbines ranged along a ridge of hills to the north of the airport, extending off toward the Pyrenees and the border with France, white rotor blades turning lazily in afternoon sunlight.

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marauders-fanfilm · 6 years ago

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Long Overdue Update

Hey everyone! First and foremost, I want to issue an apology. I posted an update at the end of 2018 for the backers on Kickstarter & Indiegogo, but neglected to post it to our social media pages, and that’s on me. We are still here, we are still hard at work, and I apologize for neglecting our Social Media lately. I am making a point to rectify this for the future.

Yes, the project has taken far longer than any of us anticipated, and while it is not any one person’s fault, I will take responsibility here on behalf of the production. And for that I apologize to all of our backers, our fans, and to our cast and crew. We all want to see this project completed, and our Post Production team have been pouring their hearts into doing so. Unfortunately as we all are working as unpaid volunteers, and we all have other commitments we must prioritize- Day jobs, school, families, etc, and as such our availabilities fluctuate week to week. But our team has been generously donating their nights and weekends to the film, and the results so far have been amazing. That said, if anyone has experience in Visual Effects and really wants to contribute, we’d always be happy to have more hands!

Outside of Visual Effects, which is the main thing that has been taking time on this project, the score is almost complete, and is sounding absolutely beautiful. It’s taken a while, as composer Paul Bourque has been quite busy with his own professional music career, but it is going to be worth the wait. There’s also going to be a fair bit more on the Official Score than just what is heard in the film. I truly think you’re all going to love it! It has come to our attention lately that there have been some questions circulating about the film’s budget and how it was spent. This is absolutely fair, and I’m happy to expand more upon that and what’s been going on lately, though I am going to add a cut here before this post gets any longer! TLDR, we’re still here, still hard at work, and while it has taken longer than any of us anticipated, we truly feel that it will be worth the wait -Aaron Director, The Gathering Storm

2017 was largely a year of delays and roadblocks, and that slowed things down a lot. Our original VFX Supervisor (a team of one) finally left the project after almost a year of delays, admitting he just didn’t have the free time to commit to the project. We brought on a new team of VFX artists, but after several months, they too left the project, admitting that they just didn’t have the time with their academic workload. This just left our current VFX Supervisor, Martin Bayang, alone, and essentially still stuck at the starting line.

But with our last update in April of 2018 we began to search for additional artists to help tackle the 350 or so VFX shots of varying complexity in the film. I am proud to say that we now have a team of six incredibly talented artists working on the film, led by Martin, and we are about halfway through the visual effects! I have been personally going through every new shot alongside Martin, and I am THRILLED with how everything looks so far. These amazing artists, who range from a talented High School student to a Visual Effects artist from Game of Thrones, have been working tirelessly to bring the magic to life, and you won’t be disappointed. That said, in the last few months several of our artists have had to leave the project due to a lack of available free time to continue working on it. We still have several active members on our team, and are currently pursuing more. We are working as hard, and as fast, as we possibly can to bring you guys this story, and we really do appreciate your patience. There have been claims lately that the production was not as transparent as we should have been. While there is nothing nefarious being concealed, these claims aren’t necessarily wrong either. While we’ve tried to keep you all updated of the progress on the project, I have kept some of the individual personal issues behind closed doors, and that may have been a mistake. I would like to rectify this by offering an explanation to at least some of this: When we began production back in 2014, I believed the producer we had knew what they were doing. When it became clear that this was not the case (losing one of our key locations just days before filming began), they were replaced by their Associate Producer, who managed to successfully get us through all three rounds of filming. When filming wrapped however, that producer stepped off the project as well, leaving the responsibilities of Producer on me, in addition to my responsibilities as Director. A couple members of the cast stepped up to help, and we couldn’t have gotten this far without them, but they too have careers and personal lives, for the last two years I’ve been doing my best to steer this ship on my own.

Since then, I have done everything in my power to keep things moving through Post Production. Through multiple editors stepping off the project midway, starting us back at the beginning, before finally reaching picture lock. Through numerous VFX artists delaying for months before admitting they hadn’t completed anything and moving on. Through several days of insert & pickup shoots. Through weekly score and VFX meetings and hundreds of hours of video and audio post-production work, and occasionally when I get a chance, updating our Social Media.. I have given up numerous career opportunities, and more personal social plans than I can count. And none of that is meant to be me looking for sympathy. But when I tell you that we are here, busting our butts working to get this done, and that we’re just as eager to see it completed as any of you, I want you to understand how much I truly mean that. In Regards to Questions About our Budget:

It has been brought to my attention that there were some serious questions and rumors circulating regarding the film’s budget, and how funds were allocated. I went back through all of our records, and totaled things up to come up with a total of what the numbers actually ended up being. Filmmaking, especially something like TGS, is expensive. But for anyone with questions, I would like to take a minute to go through the exact numbers: • Equipment Rental: 31.3% Obviously the biggest chunk of the budget, this covered the camera and lens rentals, the steadicam rig rental, the lighting and grip equipment rentals (Dolly tracks, stands, lights, disposables, etc), as well as sound recording equipment through three separate rounds of filming. This ran us more than our Kickstarter estimate, though less than our Indiegogo estimate.

• Transportation: 26.9% This covered everything from truck rentals to haul all of the equipment and set dressings, to shuttle vans for the cast and crew, to gas, to flights to bring back members of the cast who had moved after Principal Photography. While Transpo is usually a significant portion of the budget on major productions, it isn’t on smaller student projects, and this ate a large portion of our budget. But we had locations all over New England, and a significant number of our team were students without their own means of transportation. This was an area where our producers definitely really undershot the budget, unfortunately. • Locations 19.3% Another one of the major factors separating us from other student and fan film projects. To capture the look and feel of Hogwarts, we shot at a number of incredible locations across New England, from a castle, to several churches, and a museum. But venues like that, often used for Weddings, aren’t cheap. We were prepared for that. What we weren’t prepared for was having to schedule additional days in these venues (I will come back to this).

Production Design, Props, Wardrobe, and Makeup 11.6% Self explanatory, but yes. All of the School Uniforms for our cast and extras. Other costumes for the cast, from their casual clothes to the Professors’ costumes, and more. Props and set dressing. Furniture. All the little stuff you likely won’t notice when it’s there, but are what make the scenes come to life. We managed to stay under budget on this one.

Crafty/Meals 6.3% This is one of the categories I’ve seen a lot of rumors and accusations circling around, so I feel I need to explain this: Feeding your team on set is standard protocol. When they’re working 12-14 hours a day, there isn’t time for people to grocery shop and meal prep before work, or for people to venture out to grab lunch (nor was there much around many of these locations). Let alone, all of these people were taking time off of work, unpaid, to be there. A warm meal is the bare minimum we could do. That said, I think there might have been some misconceptions because previous budgets described it simply as crafty, leading some people to believe this part of the budget just accounted for a table of snacks, instead of the reality of this section of the budget covering all food/beverage costs. We actually ended up staying well under budget in this category.

Production 2.4% This one isn’t particularly interesting. Basically miscellaneous. Various little expenses that don’t fall into other categories. Fees, office supplies, legal advice, printing scripts and sides, etc. About what we budgeted on the IGG budget.

Post Production 2.2% While none of our post team are paid, this covers costs like Dropbox, Stock Footage, and the software we purchased for our composer.

When we started this project, almost all of us were students. Students with a dream of continuing the world of our favorite franchise, of telling the story we’d always wanted to see told. But we were students nonetheless, still growing, still learning our craft, still making plenty of mistakes along the way. After this project and several years of experience in the field, I can say there were places where we could have trimmed some of the fat. But beyond the basic costs of producing a film like this, the big thing that drove up the budget was just bad luck/human error. I’ve spoken about it before, but during principal photography, there was a power glitch during a footage transfer that corrupted data and lost us several days of filming that we had to go back and reshoot. And unfortunately during the first round of pickups in 2015, an error by our producer cost us the use of one of our main locations, resulting in us needing to bring everyone back and do a second round of pickups: Re-Renting gear and transportation, booking more days at the location (who decided to jack up their price), etc. Because of this, the crowdfunding budget was spent before we finished that third round of filming. I know that statement is going to upset people, but we’re making a point of transparency here, and it’s a significant piece of what I’ve been avoiding making public. Since 2015, I’ve been covering everything since then out of my own pocket. Because while it wasn’t my errors that cost us, the other producers have all left the project, and at the end of the day, this is my project, my baby, that I am determined to see through to completion. Because you, our fans, and our dedicated team all deserve to see it done. I know the next question following that will be regarding Backer Perks - Don’t worry, they won’t be affected. Most of them are already here in boxes, ready and waiting. However, there are still a couple things remaining, first and foremost the DVDs of the film, which obviously can’t be printed until the project is completed. Because of this, and the fact that the vast majority of backers are receiving DVDs, they’re unfortunately going to have to wait until then to go out. I have been putting money away for the last few years to cover the cost of DVD Printing and Shipping, and it’s all ready and waiting for post to be completed. And I know a lot of you have asked about this - Once we’re at that point, we’ll get in contact with everyone receiving packages to confirm their current address before mailing! So yes, it’s been a long and difficult journey. It’s taken far longer than any of us planned. We’ve had dozens of team members come and go, but no matter what, we’ve kept working. Because we love this world, we love this project, and we love you guys. None of this would have been possible without you. All of the pieces are starting to come together, and I could not possibly be more excited to share it with all of you. Until then, Mischief Managed Aaron

#Marauders Fanfilm #Behind the scenes #BTS

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pixelgrotto · 5 years ago

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A look at D&D’s Curse of Strahd

From about October 2018 to August 2019, I led a group of four friends through Curse of Strahd, the latest campaign book featuring a dive into the realm of Dungeon & Dragon’s most famous vampire, Strahd von Zarovich. It went well, and it was an interesting experience for me as a Dungeon Master, since this was my first time using one of Wizards of the Coast’s official modules. In the past I’ve always come up with my own homebrew adventures, and I still homebrewed a good chunk of Curse of Strahd, remixing characters and formulating story twists on the fly once I learned the ebb and flow of my group.

One of the things I love most about D&D, however, is that such behavior is encouraged, and pretty much all of the major 5th Edition releases outright tell DMs that they shouldn’t hesitate to make a campaign “their own” by only following the book when necessary. Thus, the version of Curse of Strahd that my players ran through was an experience specifically tailored to them - one where a motley crew known as the “Well-Doners” (like a well done steak...or a stake to the heart of a vampire!) were sucked into Strahd’s strange valley of Barovia and forced to ally together for the sake of survival...aided by a few key comrades, including a funny gnome mage who’d lost his magical mojo, the reincarnation of Strahd’s lost love, a grumpy monster hunter and a massive ranger and his dwarf wife. If I ever run Curse of Strahd again for another group, it’s very likely that many of these key comrades - as well as the general crux of the adventure - will turn out completely different.

To all enterprising DMs who might wish to run Curse of Strahd for their own groups, it’s worth first noting that this is very much a Ravenloft campaign. Ravenloft is the setting that sprouted from the 1983 module of the same name, originally devised by Tracy and Laura Hickman and then expanded upon during the heyday of D&D 2nd Edition. In a nutshell, it’s D&D’s horror setting, and the horror is very much steeped in the gothic tradition, with a heavy dollop of foes inspired by the Universal Monster Movies of the 1920s to 50s, sprinkles of Eastern European creepiness and a dash or two of dark romance to complete the mix. I quite like this combination because it reminds me of the melancholy yet deeply beautiful world of Mordavia in Quest for Glory IV: Shadows of Darkness, one of the formative experiences of my youth and a game that has a great soundtrack for the backdrop of any Ravenloft campaign. (Interestingly, Quest for Glory creators Lori and Corey Cole were D&D players before they went on to design computer games, which means that the gothic realm of Mordavia surely is a clear descendant of Ravenloft.)

But horror of any variety isn’t necessarily everyone’s cup of tea, and certain parts of Curse of Strahd - if run straight from the book - can veer quite sinister, because Barovia is ultimately a crappy place presided over by a crappy undead warlord. The introductory adventure of the module, dubbed “Death House,” actually deals with ghostly children who’ve died of starvation in a haunted manor due to the cultist ways of their mad parents. It’s entirely possible to make these kids untrustworthy antagonists in order to emphasize that the Ravenloft setting simply does not mess around, but since I was running this campaign for a group of four new players whose prior experience with D&D ran the gamut from limited to absolutely zero, I decided to make them into a spooky but still likable duo who could “possess” the players’ characters and offer sassy running commentary on the monsters infiltrating the manor. Like Casper but with a tad more snark, in other words - and the endearing nature of the children made the moment where my players had to lay their corpses to rest and confront their sad origins all the more compelling.

This act of balance - between ensuring that players recognize this as a dark adventure but also making sure that just enough light and humor alleviates the depression - is one that I tried to perform during every session of our game, and I’d encourage future Curse of Strahd DMs to do the same. I’d also encourage enterprising Dungeon Masters to perform a similar balancing act on the monsters and scenarios that permeate the adventure - specifically on the ones in the Death House opener as well as Strahd himself.

Death House, more specifically, is described in the book as a means to help the party quickly progress from levels 1 to 3, but played as is, it’s quite possible for players to get absolutely curb-stomped by everything within the manor - particularly a “final boss” that they’re technically not supposed to engage with, at least in a fair manner. Veteran RPG fans might relish the challenge, which is more reminiscent of Call of Cthulhu than D&D, but newbies might not like having to re-roll a character because their first one got wrecked by a Shambling Mound after only a few hours of play. So, retool Death House to suit the needs of your party - in my case, I limited the encounters somewhat to prevent a steady drip of HP and also gave my players a few tips on how to beat tricky baddies via those aforementioned ghost kids.

The opposite strategy goes for Strahd von Zarovich himself, who might be the big bad of Barovia but is surprisingly squishy when confronted by a hardy group of level 8 or 9 players, especially if they’ve found all the fancy sunlight-shooting artifacts of the adventure that can limit his powers. I can’t count the number of posts I’ve seen on the D&D Reddit or a Curse of Strahd Facebook group I’m in where frustrated DMs have written something like “Strahd was killed by my players within two rounds, where did I go wrong” - and in order to circumvent this from happening in the last session of a shared storytelling experience that had nearly spanned a year, I took a heavy pair of tweezers to Strahd’s stats and gave him three forms, each with their own HP. The first was his regular vampiric self, the second was him riding on his Misty Steed-summoned horse Bucephalus, and the third was basically Strahd going into berserker mode with black angel wings bursting from his back. (I stole the concept art of Satan from Castlevania: Lords of Shadow 2 for that. Worked perfectly!)

Speaking of Castlevania, I drew inspiration from the recent Netflix series - which I’ve written about here and here - when it came to developing Strahd’s actual personality, because even though the book updated his original Bela Lugosi-esque appearance into something more regal and fantasy-inspired, his essence is still something of a two dimensional bad guy, and the fact that one of his eternal missions in undeath is to make the reincarnation of his original lover fall for him is a problematic pill to swallow in 2019, even if it is meant as an ode to Dracula’s obsession with Mina Harker in Bram Stoker’s original novel. And so I decided to make my version of Strahd similar to the depressed, weary-of-life Dracula in Netflix Castlevania, turning him into a vampire of complexities - a guy who’s been immortal for so long that he almost wants the players to kill him, a man who believes he’s entitled to the love of a woman yet somewhere deep down realizes the inherent selfishness of that belief, and a lord who’s grown bored with his kingdom yet can’t quite relinquish the power he’s held over it for centuries. My Strahd, in other words, was still a bad dude, but at least a somewhat deeper bad dude that the cardboard cutout as presented in the book, and one of my players even described him as “a little like Kylo Ren,” which I took as a compliment.

Before I wrap this up, I’d like to return to the concept of the balancing act with regards to the structure and scope of Curse of Strahd, which is a true sandbox adventure. Players are not required to visit half of the locations outlined in the book, and the replayability factor is high, because the various artifacts that you need to defeat Strahd, as well as the specific non-player characters likely to assist you along the way, are dependent on a tarot card reading that occurs near the start of the adventure. The locations that I found the most important for my players were the towns of Barovia and Vallaki, the Wizard of Wines Winery, Yester Hill, Van Richten’s Tower, the Ruins of Berez, and Castle Ravenloft itself. Other groups online swear by Krezk, a third town that my players never bothered to visit (though I would have urged them to go there if we’d had any clerics or paladins in the party, since Krezk is a town with a giant church), and the Amber Temple, the lair where Strahd obtained his undead powers (a place I feel is best suited for players of neutral or evil-leaning alignments). Your mileage may vary, but if you’re going to DM this module, one of the best bits of advice I can give would be to see which locations your players are naturally inquisitive about, and then focus on those. Exploring every nook and cranny of Barovia can quickly turn into a slog otherwise.

With all this in mind, I think it’s time for the so-called “Well-Doners” to leave the world of gothic horror behind for a bit. They’ve somehow managed to find their way back to their home plane and the city of Waterdeep, and only one of the party was infected with a seemingly fatal curse after their stay in Ravenloft. What further quests await, I wonder, and what new campaign book will I hack apart to suit my players’ tastes? That’s for me to know, for them to find out, and for another long blog post examination...sometime in 2020, hopefully!

All photographs taken by me.

#pixel grotto #musings #tabletop gaming #roleplaying game #rpg #dungeons & dragons #d&d #curse of strahd

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emeraldsplash-png · 6 years ago

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Gentleness (1/2)

Ralph x Android Reader

Triggers: Past NonConsentual Encounter

(Y/n)’s artifical lungs were trapped in her contracting diaphragm. She excused herself from the room. Ralph stood confused as (Y/n) interrupted his giddy ramblings about what to occupy his friend with. His LED blinking yellow as he read her static red one. The circle soon followed, slipping into an intense scarlet observing the distress on the female androids face. Ralph’s soft features which were overcast with deep blue shatters of the artificial skin and skeleton.

The male android thought he had done something wrong, that he did something to upset (Y/n) seeing that her eyes became pained and glistening with tears and angelic face contort in emotion. Rain drops were so calm and muffled against the roof. The sound would have soothed Ralph any other night, but that wasn’t the case.

(Y/n) opened the front door meekly, as quiet as a church mouse which caused Ralph’s heart to quicken as the sound of rain got sharper as the tiny wet splashes could be so easily heard.

“Was (Y/n) leaving? Does she hate me? Did I upset her? No, she can’t leave.” The thoughts ran through his mind. He feared being alone again.

“(Y/n)!” Fear rattled his voice, seeing her exit. The female android turned her head away so Ralph wouldn’t see her so troubled. “What?” A humiliated tone huffed.

“You’re not leaving Ralph, right?”

(Y/n) had this sink in her stomach. He was so scared of losing her, so insecure. Damn, did Ralph remind (Y/n) of herself sometimes.

Huffing through her nose was a sad laugh and woeful grin. A sting on the edge of her artificial tear ducts and she tried to control her breathing. “Of course not, Ralph, I’m just getting some fresh air.”

Ralph grew silent and still, his tension slowly dissolving. He knew something bad happened just then, but had not a single clue what. He badly wanted to follow her, but was nervous he would further upset her.

The door closed softly, the pitter patter of rain becoming quiet again. He looked out the window to see the female android walking along the decrepit porch until he could no longer observe her figure from between the boards in the windows.

Feelings of the complex sort swelled in Ralph’s chest. Discomfort, sympathy, possibly even empathy made themselves cozy inside his programming.

“Critically Damaged Visual Processor!” Flashed on his interface as it always did. No matter how many times he wished it away, it never left, like a little haunting shadow man in the corner of his eyes, just moving out of sight when he would turn his gaze at the warning message box, yet just there. And when Ralph heard (Y/n)’s hyperventilations and quiet sobs, an oh-so-familiar message revealed itself in his previously mentioned and occupied interface.

“Software instability” accompanied with a crimson arrow that distainfully fell downwards.

Ralph hasn’t seen that message in a long time. Ever since he deviated, he rarely ever got the message, though riddled with the crippling desire to be valued and loved and also plagued with the inability to function or recieve this need.

He empathized with (Y/n)’s struggle. Ralph could physically feel himself struggle to breathe as she was, he could feel a sharp hurt in his chest and back as well in the ducts of his eyes. Androids weren’t supposed to feel pain, right? What do humans consider pain?

The damaged WR600 had understood the grief that the female android felt. He had been through pain before, yet he could never guess what pained his dear friend.

The red arrow made Ralph feel powerless to the emotional injury that (Y/n) was suffering through. He was always the one to cheerfully say, “Ralph is here to protect (Y/n)!” But where is that now? Actually hearing her distressed scared Ralph. It scared him to death.

He was so reliant on (Y/n) to be strong enough to let him lead; to be the road driven by Ralph, but concrete crumbles eventually. After hearing the rippling quakes of uncontrollable wheezing breaths, Ralph came to love his friend even more. To relate to her in a way he could no one else was another instance He wanted to help her through this sudden wave of emotional hardship.

The unintentionally heavy footsteps thundered on the time-ridden boards of wood towards the door. They slowed to a silence at the door. Ralph contemplated a moment if this was the right thing to do, searching through his interface for an answer he could not find.

(Y/n) was humiliated when she heard the door open. She turned her head to see a silhouette of a nervous Ralph standing upright, his stance reserved, hands holding each other confined to his body to seem smaller, LED a nervous blinking yellow.

“Ralph wanted to-.”

“I’m okay.” Her voice low, and confining.

Footsteps from the worried, deathly afraid android; brother; friend came closer, crouching beside (Y/n). His face lay idle and observant, only a slight movement of his mouth allowed the male creation to speak.

“Ralph knows that isn’t true.”

A sting of guilt pierced (Y/n)’s artificial skin.

“Ralph only wants to help his dear friend.”

“Ralph, please. You don’t-“ (Y/n) stopped herself from snapping out the word “understand” defensively at the poor android. She knew all too well he understands pain, the evidence in the white lacerations and deep blue lesions around his deadened eye and trailing along his cursed cheek. She knew the world had hated him, ridiculed him. The world had done the innocent creation of man so wrong his entire life. As he turned his head, the reflectiveness of the polymer material underneath the skin reminded the female android of his caved in jaw which clicked and popped when ever he moved his face.

(Y/n)’s face rose to visualize the WR600.

She fell into the pit of Ralph’s quiet observant eyes, the dead one glistening and overflowing with lubricant, struggled to follow the path of the other. Sometimes in blinking, the lids would become matted together with the sticky thirium and weld his eye shut. He would have to pry it open from time to time.

In its disgracefulness, it had some sort of remarkable beauty and ability to arouse the need to tell him everything in pity almost, or was it hypnotic in a way?

The way the stains of Thirium shattered from the eye across his cheek reminded (Y/n) that of a peacocks brilliant blue feathers, and the scelera as dark as the pits and depths of the ocean. Or, it could be seen as foul, the blue stripes looking like tears of insanity falling from the damaged creation. The last thing the eye saw was the humans around him, a red hot poker coming up to it and burning it to a inoperable mess as Thirium gushed from his wounds. It stared at the female android, hauntingly peaceful.

“When I was running away from the humans that owned me, a human that I trusted took me and hid me. I thought she was helping me, but humans have to play their sick games.” (Y/n) shook out her words calmly, Ralph’s LED a blinking blue.

Her face became enraged with blind wrath and despair.

“She was only using me for her entertainment. I guess she thought it was fun.”

Ralph’s lips parted as if to say something, but nothing would rouse. Only a caring hand approached me cautiously.

Still, the cursed eye continued its dead, lazy gaze reached into the pit of (Y/n)‘s very being. She couldn’t bring herself not to stare at it, throwing all politeness and morals away just to wish that her eyes were as blind as it. She wished she never saw the nightmarish monstrosity of that human.

“Let Ralph see.” His voice was soft inside the link. His mouth needn’t move, for the other android could hear.

It was so different hearing his voice swimming in (Y/n)’s mind like a mere idea.

The arm which outstretched from the raggy tarp that Ralph hid himself with was splotchy with white, and grey. Raised welts had melted away with the retraction of skin, leaving but his bare essence behind. Scratches and nicks were infested in the smooth polymer material.

(Y/n) felt the need to indulge him. His gentleness within the insanity was hypnotic. It touched and twisted, and tampered with her wired insides when he cared so much. Inside the man was a child and inside the child was another man. A sort of trust had built itself in (Y/n).

Ralph could say the same, he hadn’t trusted anyone in so long. Actually, now that I think about it, he trusted no one. Sure he followed orders with no question, but was it trust or just strips of zeroes and ones and a block of coding.

It gave Ralph an interesting new feeling. Well, all feelings were new and interesting. A sense of security, something he had never had the capacity to understand the concept of.

The soft glow of the liquid skin returning to its natural light blue before seeping back inside of him through the porous cracks of material lit up his worried face, a dampness from the condensing water around them shimmered softly.

(Y/n) raised her hand to his, revealing the same polymer material, only flexible, thinner, different construction patterns of grey.

Ralph studied the differences between himself and (Y/n). He was delighted to see another of the same, another version of himself.

She was beautiful without her skin. She looked primitive and apelike with her skin, as did Ralph. They looked like humans with their skin. They looked like dirty and vengeful beings with their skin.

When their hands came together, the white fingertips touching, strings of numbers and letters filled both of their interfaces. Their fingers interlocking as Ralph worked to decode.

(Y/n) was much faster at decrypting. Her processor taking in the newly acquired data.

Ralph took a bit longer due to many factors such as his model, the damage, the trauma, the weathering of time and so on. It only made it that much agonizing to him just to watch, unable to do nothing.

#detroit become human #detroit become human x reader #dbh ralph #detroit ralph x reader #dbh ralph x reader #ralph x reader #angst with a sad ending #triggers

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chongoblog · 6 years ago

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The Big Personal Post Where I Talk About How August 2018 Was A Fucking Great Month

Over the last couple days, I’ve made reference to some big changes I’d made to my life around the tail end of 2018 and said I’d probably talk about them, so here’s that post. I don’t know how long this post is gonna end up, and it’s a lot more on the personal front than my usual content, so I’m gonna put down a quick Read More. If you’re interested, feel free to read more.

So the FIRST thing I’m going to say is that in previous posts referencing this, I mentioned it had to do with my “identity”, and I realize that phrasing sort of hints towards me finding myself to be transgender/nb or something of the like. If you thought that was what the implication was, I apologize for leading you on in that way! My gender identity is still cis male.

Also as a disclaimer, I obviously won’t go into many details, as real people are going to be brought up, and their privacy is important.

Now as for how things have changed for me. First let’s talk about what my life was like before this big shift in my mindset.

In early 2018 I had gotten a job at a consulting firm. It was my first full-time job, outside of a paid summer internship. The job was well-paying, but there were a WHOLE lot of factors working against me. A majority of training was done lecture style (which I’m terrible with), with strict deadlines on difficult projects, I was kept in an isolated cubicle with no one nearby, the commute from North Georgia to Downtown Atlanta was a nightmare, and due to unfortunate circumstance, I was the only new trainee in the Atlanta location.

A few months into the job, right at the tail end of training, they let me go from the job, leaving me unemployed. I was fortunate that my parents were still willing to let me stay at their house (and even moreso I got let go two days before I was going to sign a rather expensive lease).

There was also my relationship. I was with a girl who we’ll name “X” for the sake of privacy. I want to make it entirely clear that X isn’t, like, a bad person or anything. There are parts of our relationship that I look back far from fondly, but I would be absolutely hard-pressed to say that there was any malice from X. However, the relationship was both long-distance for a VERY long time, and we weren’t compatible for a few reasons. I wanted to try to stay around GA for a while, and she wanted me to leave GA, Most notably, she really didn’t express much interest in the stuff I created. It wasn’t going to work. At the time I got fired though, I thought it was, which was unfortunate because we started to grow pretty distant around that time.

Finally, there was a sort of mindset I’d had for a while. A mindset where I felt like I had to completely divide the life I live online and the life I live in reality, being completely unable to share what I do for fun with the people around me. It probably sort of stemmed from a few things. I’d probably go with my dad’s take on how companies can run background checks on your social media when hiring you for a position. That is a true statement, and I’m glad that my dad taught me that, but if I were to critique him, I’d say that he laid it on too thick, since he gave me the idea that saying “fuck” one time online would get me blacklisted. Another reason this mindset probably came about was that I was bullied in middle/early high school, and those guys found my channel, which ended poorly. I think this sort of mindset left me really guarded towards showing people what I did, and it sort of split who I was between who I was in real life and who I was online, which led to a lot of problems down the line.

So spring/summer of 2018 wasn’t a great one. I was unemployed, living off of a few thousand in savings from three months salary. The relationship was fading, and my mind just wasn’t in the right place. I’d broken down crying multiple times, including once at a party and even once or twice on the phone with friends (if you’re reading this, you know who you are, and it cannot be understated how grateful I am). I hunted down jobs, believing I could get one with ease, but I couldn’t. I faced rejection after rejection, I almost fell for multiple scams, for some reason, I couldn’t will myself to go to the career group meetings that could seriously help me. I never wanted to say that I was depressed, because I felt that it was just a rough patch and there were so many people who had it worse. But I was depressed.

Then everything came to a head in August.

It started when my dad looked over my resume and suggested that I put Go! Child as more than just something in the “Fun Facts” section to catch the eye. He told me that what I do in G!C really is something more than that, and I put a whole lot of work into it with some hashtag marketable skills for businesses. I guess hearing that kind of flipped the switch in my brain.

That day, I willed myself to go into my church’s career group. I may have cried there too, but the people there were incredibly helpful, telling me that adding G!C was a good idea and doing what they could to give me solid advice. A lot of it I’d heard before, but I felt more motivated to follow up on it. One of them (shoutouts to Steve) invited me to a follow-up meeting a few days later. Between that time I’d spruced up my resume a little more and I’d even made business cards. Steve even said that I was carrying myself much more confidently than the Monday before, so it did help to hear a validation of sorts that I really was in a bad place, along with knowing I was already improving.

Meanwhile, with X, I had showed her the new resume, and she stayed sort of adamant that I should keep Go! Child listed as a hobby. Afterward we had a rough conversation that led to her giving me an overbearing amount of pressure to get a job. A few days later, I had to break it off with her, and then some time later, I decided to ask someone else on a date. Her name’s Amanda and I love her. I told her about EVERYTHING I did online before anything else, and she seemed to like that.

The day after I did that, I was on a call with a staffing firm who was taking a look over my resume. I’d had conversations with these firms before, but this time I did something different. Right at the end they asked if I have any other preferences. I originally never answered that because I thought my answer would make me seem childish or unprofessional, but this time I just straight up said that I wanted to work with video games. And what do you know? They had a position open with a company that makes slot machines. And now here I am.

I feel a lot more “true to myself” now because of this whole mess. I don’t really hide the stuff I do online anymore, even taking pride in it since it’s a culmination of my hard work. I guess it makes me feel less fragmented. Along with all that, I came to the whole bi conclusion too, so I figure that was part of that too.

So moral of the story? I guess be proud of what you do, and be all of who you are whenever you can. I dunno. This post has gone on forever.

Thanks for reading. Peace.

#personal #ill say its okay to reblog this if only because the information might help someone else

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vergess · 3 years ago

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The thing is, it was normal for centuries for people to be able to leave their work for medical care as well as civil, social and religious services, to the tune of more than half the days in the year.

It was denormalized in the industrial revolution, when practices generally reserved for slavery (which I think we can all agree is bad, let's not take me out of context) were suddenly being imposed on everyone.

Enormous labour battles were fought to renormalize something approaching sensible work-life boundaries as a result, albeit only for people with the "right kind of work."

I'm not going to sit here and say the 1600s were a Great time To Be A Worker, I'm not a supervillain and I'm not a moron. But unironically and without reserve, the modern workforce has more restrictions on their time in service to "work" than actual serfs had. More than soldiers for empires had.

Our quality of life is better than that of a serf or someone pressganged into military service!! Undeniably so!

But specifically on the matter of time we are forced into direct obedience in exchange for life sustaining goods and services?

This kind of universal, constant grind for one century which led to massive upheaval and bloodshed, and again for another 30-odd now does not mean it has been the Normal Standard Of Society.

Even during the period you cite, many (not all) people still had more freedom of time because other oppressive social structures demanded it. Sexism and racism, for example, demanded that white women be generally relegated to the very "making of appointments" discussed.

Now, these forces work in concert, to ensure that every individual is living like this. Bartering every hour of every day for survival, in a way just abstracted enough to make it sound like hyperbole when one points out the actual life or death consequences.

It has almost never been the normal state of humanity to be so constrained by life or death threats that you cannot even take a day to perform other survival tasks, and certainly not to then be told these threats are a personal failing and personal responsibility.

That shit is in fact novel.

How anyone can take this post and conclude that I think ~middle class white people in the 1960s had a universal standard of time and living~ is fucking bold.

Having time to handle your shit was NORMAL for the VAST BULK OF HUMAN SOCIETY and even in times when it wasn't normal, it was expected that someone else would handle the shit for you, be that a spouse, or a church, or fucking whatever else.

Our society is literally not structured for this, because it has almost never been a fucking factor.

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romosexuality · 6 years ago

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The Caribbean is One of the Most Homophobic Places on Earth

I can't tell you how many times I've heard this statement being affirmed as truth; especially within international spaces. It really grinds my gears for a few reasons.

Let me break it down for you.

Homophobia and transphobia aren't indigenous to the Caribbean.

We've grown accustomed to hearing that homosexuality is a modern, Western import. Anti-LGBT campaigners then ironically use imported Western religion to justify these claims. But gender and sexual diversity were not thrust upon us. Quite contrarily, before the mass colonial genocide, Barbados and other anglophone Caribbean territories were inhabited by the First People who have historically recognised the sanctity of gender and sexual diversity. Today, indigenous communities still celebrate and normalise this diversity through their Two-Spirit community. "Two-Spirit" is an umbrella term which encompasses queer, trans, non-binary, gender non-conforming and even polyamorous people. The corruption of these ideologies filtered its way into the region through Colonial occupation and the subsequent imposition of patrician, Christian morale.

Many enslaved people in the Caribbean were stolen from African societies which didn't adhere to the confines of a gender binary and normalised same-sex intimacy. Colonisers often subjugated and shamed enslaved African men through forced anal penetration and mandating them to wear "women's clothing". It can be argued that the feelings of intense vitriol expressed by many black cis-het Caribbean men, today, have roots in these violations.

During the British occupation of the Anglophone Caribbean, single male settlers immigrated to Barbados from Europe, en masse and same-sex intimacy was commonly practised. Moral panic by the Church led to the criminalisation of same-sex intimacy and anal sex throughout Britain and its colonies. Britain repealed these laws from their own legislation in 1967, but they remain entrenched in constitutions across the Caribbean.

In Barbados specifically, during the 1960s and 1970s, though the LGBT community was not free from systemic discrimination, general attitudes towards gender and sexual minorities were much more liberal than the subsequent decades. The Queen of the Bees Drag Pageant attracted national crowds and LGBT people associated openly. Things changed when the HIV/AIDS epidemic hit the region in the 1980s. The virus' association with gay men consumed the public with trepidation and the region witnessed an upsurge in imperial, anti-gay, Evangelical messaging. Following the epidemic, there was also a significant spike in violently homophobic dancehall music.

To flippantly label the region as "one of the most homophobic places on earth", erases the narratives, realities and lived experiences of thousands of Caribbean LGBT people. Of course, throughout the region, LGBT people are particularly vulnerable and endure marginalisation at institutional, social, economic and domestic levels. LGBT people (especially youth) face violence, lack of access to resources, homelessness, are more vulnerable to contract HIV/AIDS, often cannot access healthcare and are subject to a multitude of human rights violations.

However, these violations are fueled by ignorance and erasure. The rhetoric that "LGBT people are not welcome in the Caribbean" is harmful and reductive to the queer and trans people who actually live full lives here and contribute to all facets of society in meaningful ways through the arts, culture, politics, the legal system, academics, activism, entrepreneurship, education and more. LGBT people in the Caribbean are mothers, fathers, siblings and friends. The sentiment is also reductive to the decades of work that have been and continue to be executed by LGBT organisers across the region. Our movement is delicate but irrepressible. In 2018, communities across the region publicly commemorated Pride with scores of people taking to the streets to celebrate diversity, unapologetically. Failure to acknowledge this breeds the inflammatory narrative that LGBT people are not integrated into a functional society but are "other" and it perpetuates the concept that the Caribbean is a hopeless wasteland of bigotry, waiting to be saved by neo-colonialists.

The sentiment that the Caribbean is one of the most homophobic places on earth also promotes a neo-colonial rhetoric that stratifies the Global North and Global South without historical context. It glorifies the Global North as the yardstick of development by which the rest of the world should measure itself and simplistically ignores the fact that we are relatively new Independent states who are still foraging our paths and grappling with the aftereffects of violent colonisation.

Of course, there are extenuating factors which impact a queer person's ability to live comfortably and freely within the region. Privileges like race, ability, access to resources, education and class contribute to one's ability to survive in any space. Being LGBT in the Caribbean is by no means easy, but it isn't easy being marginalised anywhere. There are Queer and Trans people who leave the Caribbean to seek refuge in the Global North and are then confronted with the harsh reality of anti-black racism in addition to homophobia and transphobia.

Continuing to spread trope that the Caribbean is unbearably homophobic & transphobic isn't helping anyone. Instead, what we can do is continue to increase comprehensive representation of LGBT people across the region and elevate the voices of those who need to be heard.

#queer #caribbean #caribbean activism #caribbean lgbt #barbados #guyana #trinidad and tobago #Ro-Ann Mohammed #qwoc #caribbean feminists #caribbean feminism #caribbean pride #blogposts #two spirit #caribbean history

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comebeforegod · 6 years ago

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How to Practice Quieting Our Hearts Before God

By Xiyu

The Bible says, “For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints” (1Co 14:33). From this verse we can see that God likes us to quiet ourselves before Him in all things. Only when we are quiet in front of God will we feel that our hearts are closer to Him and will we achieve growth in our spiritual life. However, in real life, we cannot quiet our hearts before God due to various factors. Most of the time, our hearts are occupied by outside things such as jobs and families; or our minds are disturbed by the complexities of interpersonal relations, such as friction with our brothers and sisters and conflicts between us and our families; or we think about the interests of our flesh while expending and working for the Lord. And so on. These things leave us unable to quiet ourselves before God. I once was like this. After I read some content on a gospel website and listened to several brothers’ and sisters’ fellowship, I found out three ways to quiet myself before God and I gained a lot. Here I will share them with you.

1. Praying With a Single and Sincere Heart

God’s word says, “First begin with the matter of prayer. Be single-minded, and pray at a fixed time. No matter how pressed for time, or how busy, or what comes upon you, pray every day as normal….” If we wish to quiet our hearts before God, we should first start by praying. Sometimes, when very busy with work, we neglect to pray; sometimes we casually say a few words to the Lord in a rush. As a result, our spiritual condition is abnormal the whole day. Therefore, no matter how busy our work lives are, we should go before God and pray to Him with a single and sincere heart every day. This is not going by regulations and procedures but practicing quieting our hearts before God in order to associate with Him. Just as the Lord Jesus said, “When the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeks such to worship him” (Jhn 4:23). “But you, when you pray, enter into your closet, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father which is in secret” (Mat 6:6). Why did the Lord Jesus ask us to pray in our closets? Because the Lord wishes us to avoid all the people, things, and events around us, go before God, and pray with an honest heart. In prayer we should bear our burden to open up before God and speak from our hearts with Him about things that befall us or questions that we do not understand. For example, being busy working, we have no free time to work for the Lord. We feel like finding the time to expend and work for the Lord; however, when doing so, we, being pressed for time, want to finish the work as soon as possible to do our own work. Another example, faced with many family matters or complicated interpersonal relationships with our relatives, friends, or colleagues, we are distraught and do not know how to deal with them. As for all these problems that we often encounter in our daily lives, we can bring them to God and pray, tell Him what is on our mind, and beg Him to help and guide us, so that we can understand His will and find a practical path. With regard to the first example, we can pray like this, “Dear God! I want to expend for You and work in the church. But my stature is too small and I’m fully focused on thinking about and making plans for my flesh, wanting to earn more money. So when working in the church, I’m never able to concentrate on expending for You. Oh God! How should I reverse this condition? May You guide me and help me.” When God sees that our hearts are sincere and single-minded, the Holy Spirit will enlighten and guide us and move our hearts, and then we will understand that we should be content with having enough food and clothing and that obtaining the truth is the most important thing. As a result, we will have the resolution to forsake the flesh and entrust our difficulties and problems to God. As long as we practice like this step by step, when we are faced with difficulties again, our hearts will not be preoccupied or disturbed by them, but be quiet before God.

2. Pondering in Our Hearts in Reading God’s Words

God says, “No matter how pressed for time, or how busy, or what comes upon you, … eat and drink God’s words as normal. As long as you eat and drink God’s words, no matter what your surroundings are, your spirit is especially pleased … ponder God’s words and try to obtain the light, find the path to practice, know what the aims of God’s utterances are, and understand without deviation.” If we want to frequently quiet ourselves before God, during our everyday spiritual devotions we need to ponder on God’s words more. We should not give God’s words a cursory read or be only satisfied with a surface-level understanding of them, but focus on understanding their esoteric meaning with sincerity. When reading God’s words, we should focus on seeking and contemplating what aspects of the truth they involve, what God’s intentions and requirements in them are, and how to satisfy God’s will. In this way, our hearts will gradually become quiet before God. For example, when we read the following words of God, “And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength” (Mak 12:30), we should contemplate why God makes such a demand of us. It can be seen that God knows that we have been so deeply corrupted by Satan that we work and expend for Him for the sake of our own intentions and objectives. Some people work for fame and status; some make sacrifices so as to obtain blessings; some expend themselves in order to be looked up to by others. And so on. If we have these impurities, once we do not gain the things we want after sacrificing certain things and enduring some expense for the Lord, our energy in working and expending for Him will be less and even completely gone. From this we can see that we make sacrifices and expend ourselves not for loving God at all but for our own interests, and that it is just conducting a transaction with God. For this reason, God makes that demand of us, hoping that we can pursue to work and expend for Him with all our hearts and minds and without skating through or conducting a transaction with Him. This kind of people are the ones who God delights in. It’s like Peter: He wholeheartedly sought to love God, could accept judgment and chastisement and also the poverty in his life, and did not give free rein to his own preferences even in food, clothing, and shelter. In addition, he did work and made sacrifices in order to satisfy God. In the end, God gave him the key to the kingdom of heaven. Through pondering God’s words seriously, we have some understanding of them, and we are willing to seek this aspect of the truth, enter into it, and strive for God’s requirements step by step. If we practice like this every day, our hearts will get closer to God and we will gain results in spirit. Over time we will achieve fast growth in life.

3. Often Giving Thought to God’s Love in Ordinary Times

God’s word says, “Ordinarily, draw close to God normally in your heart, contemplate God’s love, and ponder the words of God, without being disturbed by external things. When your heart is at peace to a degree that you are able to muse, so that, within yourself, you contemplate God’s love and truly draw near to God regardless of what environment you are in, and you have ultimately reached the point where you give praise in your heart, and it is even better than praying, then in this you will be possessed of a certain stature.”

To quiet our hearts before God, we need to make it a usual practice to meditate on and contemplate God’s love. However, most of the time, once we are free, we will think about matters of the flesh such as how to make more money and how to enjoy our flesh even more, or we will not think. As such, we always cannot achieve the result of quieting ourselves before God. So we can practice more along this path. For example, when going back and forth to work by bus in the daytime or lying in bed before falling asleep at night, we can think about how God has led us to experience the things that have befallen us the whole day. Furthermore, we can also think of all the grace that God has bestowed upon us and give thought to His love. For example, when we were in a bad state living in weakness, God sustained and helped us many times through brothers and sisters and also His words encouraged and comforted us, so that we broke free from our predicament and felt His love for us was too deep. When we give thought to God’s love like this, we will feel that our hearts are very close to Him, and we will be so moved by the Holy Spirit that we will feel indebted to God because of our stature being too small to put into practice many of God’s words. Consequently, we will thirst for God’s word even more and resolve to pursue the truth. Provided that we meditate on and contemplate God’s love this way several times during the day, we will be able to achieve the result of quieting our hearts before God and living before Him.

If we practice quieting our hearts before God every day, unknowingly our spiritual life will gradually grow. The above are three ways to quiet our hearts before God. I hope that they are helpful to all the brothers and sisters who pursue the growth in life.

#The Bible #gospel website #Lord Jesus #the kingdom of heaven

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sevenpabosandabunchoffans · 7 years ago

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The Meaning of Family | Chapter 7

Characters: Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Jeon Jungkook, Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin, Original Characters

Words: 4886

Genre: Foster Dad!Jin, Preschool Teacher!Jin, Social Worker!Namjoon, Little Kid!Yoongi, Little Kid!Hoseok, Little Kid!Jimin, Little Kid!Taehyung, Little Kid!Jungkook, America!au, namjin but it’s more of a side thing

Warnings: implications of racism, namjin bitches

Summary: Jin is a preschool teacher at a small center and has an absolute adoration for younger children. During his time as a teacher, he sees an unfortunate percentage of his students placed in the foster system, so he decides to become a foster parent himself, forming an attachment with five children that get placed with him and their case worker.

Previous Chapter

“What do you mean a couple wants to adopt Yoongi and Hoseok?” Jin had asked the boys to play in their rooms because he didn’t want them to overhear his conversation with Namjoon. The two of them had migrated to the dinner table, speaking in hushed tones. “No one’s come here to visit them or interact with them, and no one has mentioned this before.”

“They just finished the process to become eligible to adopt a few days ago.” Namjoon explained. “And when they did, Yoongi and Hoseok’s pictures were included in the kids eligible for adoption, and they immediately picked them.”

“Why them?” Jin asked, feeling tears creeping up at the prospect of losing two of his boys. “There are so many other kids, why them?” Jin knew he was probably being selfish at this point, but he didn’t care.

Namjoon sighed. “There is a very small percentage of Asian children in the foster system, even less that are eligible for adoption, and there is a strong presence of White community members that enjoy the idea of adopting an Asian child.”

Jin scoffed. “Of course, there is.”

Namjoon watched him for a few seconds, taking in the way his shoulders were drooped and the smile he’d grown fond of was nowhere to be seen. “I wanted to tell you today because the couple has requested a visit with Yoongi and Hoseok, and I need to know a good day and time, so I can schedule it.”

Jin seemingly didn’t hear Namjoon as he began mumbling to himself, not even directing his statements to Namjoon. “They can’t-They need me…they won’t help Hoseok through his episodes, they won’t understand when Yoongi gets insecure, they-“ He suddenly looked up at Namjoon. “What if I adopt them?”

Namjoon raised his eyebrows at that. “Is that something you want?”

Jin nodded as the thought that had been in the back of his mind since he had first been notified that Yoongi’s father’s rights had been terminated became more apparent. “More than anything.”

Namjoon held back a smile, not wanting to show that he was hoping that’s how Jin would respond. “I can send you a copy of the application to begin the process. With a second interested party, it would take a little bit longer because both you and the couple will need to be screened before it can be determined who will best for the two of them…” Jin swallowed, nervous over the prospect that he could go through all of this and still lose the two of them. “But the fact that they have been in your care for two years already gives you a higher chance of you being chosen.” Jin felt relief wash over him as Namjoon stood up from the table. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Jin stood up and walked him to the door. “Thanks, Namjoon.” He slowly closed the door behind the man and rested his forehead against it, trying to gather his emotions.

“Jinnie?” He turned back to see Hoseok standing in front of him holding a sheet of paper. “Can you help me with my weading?”

“Sure, Hobi,” He led the boy to the couch and took the paper from him, skimming over Hoseok’s words of the week. As he worked through the list with the kindergartener, Jimin made his way into the room, climbing onto the couch to sit with them and observe. Jin pointed to the next word on the list. “What word is this?”

“H-ha-“ Hoseok began to sound the word out.

“Happy!” Jimin exclaimed happily, making Jin look down at him in shock.

“Jimin…did you read that?” The four-year-old nodded happily while swinging his legs. Jin turned back to the list and continued to help Hoseok, but Jimin kept piping up with words, too. Jin could tell that Hoseok was getting frustrated, so Jin turned back to Jimin and said, “Why don’t you go play in your room with Tae so that I can help Hobi?”

“Okay!” Jimin hopped off the couch and ran out of the room as Jin turned back to the pouting kindergartener.

“Minnie’s smarter than me,” Hoseok grumbled, resting his head in his hands.

“That’s not true,” Jin wrapped his arm around the boy, “everyone learns differently. You’re doing really well.” Jin gave him a small squeeze before pointing to another word. “What’s this one?”

Hoseok looked at it and said, “Y-yel-yellow.”

“See? You’re smart, too!” Hoseok gave Jin a small smile as they continued working through the list.

“Why do I have to wear my church shirt?” Yoongi tugged at his shirt as Jin tried to smooth his hair down.

“Because we’re having some guests over.” Jin tried to control the shaking in his voice. His application had been approved, however the other couple were still coming over that night to meet Yoongi and Hoseok as the screening process was beginning for the both of them.

“But they don’t have to dress up!” Hoseok pointed to the three younger children who were sitting on Jin’s bed as Jin tried to get the two of them ready.

Jin sighed, contemplating on explaining to them the reason behind the guests. He eventually decided not to, instead saying, “They’re younger and they go to bed before you two, so I want them to be in their pajamas, so they can go right to bed when our guests leave.” Thankfully Yoongi and Hoseok accepted that answer and allowed Jin to finish getting them ready.

Not much later, Jin was sitting on the couch with Namjoon and the couple, Mary and John Williams. “Should we bring the boys out?” Namjoon asked after a bout of awkward silence.

Jin stood up and brought the boys out from their room, guiding them to stand in front of the couple. “This is Yoongi and Hoseok. Boys, this is Mary and John.” The two children shyly waved to the couple in front of them.

“Hi, there,” Mary greeted them. “How are you?”

“Fine~” Yoongi mumbled, slightly uncomfortable with the exchange.

“Can you tell me how old you are?” She asked them, and they replied with their ages. The couple talked to the boys for a while, mainly focusing on their schooling and how well they were doing, which concerned Jin. Shouldn’t they have been getting to know their favorite foods and toys and so on?

As John was asking Yoongi how he was doing in math, Jimin bounded into the living room with Jungkook trying to keep up on his slightly shorter legs. “Jinnie, Kookie wants a bedtime story!” Jimin announced as he wrapped his arms around Jin’s legs and looked up at him.

“Okay, I’ll be there in just a little bit.” Jin assured the four-year-old as the couple watched curiously.

“Can I read it to him?” Jimin blinked up at him cutely.

“Sure, you can.” Jimin jumped and, after giving him a quick hug, walked over to where Jungkook was waiting and took him by the hand.

“Aren’t you a cutie?” Mary’s question got Jimin’s attention. “How old are you?”

Jimin looked down at his hand, holding his fingers up one by one until he had the right amount. He held up his hand to the woman. “I’m four!”

“Four?! Aren’t you a big boy?” Jimin smiled proudly at her before leading Jungkook out of the room, promising the toddler that he would read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. She turned to Jin. “Can he actually read this young?”

Jin nodded. “It surprised me at first, too, but he’s a little ahead of the rest of his classmates in that area.”

Mary turned to her husband. “What about him?”

Jin and Namjoon’s eyes both widened and Namjoon was quick to say, “He’s not eligible.” Mary pouted slightly before turning back to Yoongi and Hoseok.

They stayed for a little while longer before Jin announced that he needed to get the two boys to bed. Jin nudged the boys towards their room and exchanged goodbyes with the couple. Namjoon stayed behind a little while longer, though. “You can’t let that couple take them.” Jin said as soon as the man and woman had left. “They don’t care about Yoongi or Hoseok, they just want to fulfill some sick fantasy of having some genius Asian child.”

“Trust me, I know.” Namjoon subconsciously placed his hands on Jin’s shoulders to try to calm him down. “I am completely on your side, they would be much better off with you, and I will do everything in my power to try to keep them with you. Unfortunately, I am not the only person involved in the decision-making process.”

Jin sighed. “Do I even have a chance?”

“I’m going to strongly recommend that you get to adopt them, and I’m sure there a few other people that will do the same. However, there is a good chance that they may focus on other factors, such as their financial status, their jobs, the fact that they’re a married couple-“

“So that’s a no.” Jin walked away from him and sat down on the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon said quietly as he watched him. “But I won’t give up until the very end.” Namjoon waited for a response, which he never got, before exiting the house and closing the door behind him.

“What are you doin’ here?” Jimin asked as the director of the center joined the preschool class for breakfast.

“Miss Jana is on a little trip, so I’m here to enjoy some bread pudding with the greatest preschool class!” She answered, sitting in Jana’s normal spot.

“Speaking of a trip…” Jin’s boss looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “I was wondering if I could have Valentine’s Day and the following Monday off. My mom has this timeshare for a house up in Branson and she can’t go this year, so she offered to let me and the boys stay there for a weekend.”

“I’ll have to look at the schedule and see if we can spare an employee for those two days.”

By naptime, his boss had okayed him to take those days off, so Jin texted Namjoon. Can I have those out of state vacation forms again?

It was only a few minutes later that his phone buzzed. Sure, why?

I want to have one last trip with the boys in the case that Yoongi and Hoseok are adopted by those people.

Those three tiny dots stared back at him for a considerable amount of time, occasionally disappearing before they popped back up. Eventually, Namjoon responded with, I’ll come by tonight and you can go ahead and fill them out.

Of course, Namjoon coming over meant he was staying for dinner, so Jin opted not to make the shrimp stir fry he had been planning (since he had found out a few dinners ago that Namjoon wasn’t a fan of seafood) and instead baked some chicken. During dinner, Jin discussed with Namjoon his plans for the trip. “We’re going on a trip?!” Yoongi asked excitedly.

“That’s right, Yoongi, we’re going on a trip to Branson again.”

“What’s Branson?” Jimin asked, being the only one who hadn’t gone on the previous trip.

“It’s a place with lots of good food and lots of cool places.” Yoongi told him, getting even more excited to return to the town.

“Can Joonie come?” Taehyung asked.

Jin and Namjoon shared a look. “I’m not so sure he can, Tae Tae.” The four-year-old pouted as Jungkook reached over from his high chair and placed his hand on Namjoon’s arm.

“Joonie come.”

Everyone’s heart melted at that and one month later, Namjoon found himself pulling into the driveway of a two-story house, identical to all the others around it, behind Jin. “Joonie!” Jimin called as soon as he was out of the van, still in his dance clothes due to the fact that they left as soon as his dance class was over.

“I hope everyone enjoyed their McDonald’s Dinner,” Jin walked around the van with a sleepy Jungkook and the boys’ suitcase in his arms after all the other boys filed out, “because it’s not gonna happen again for a long time.” He stopped in front of Namjoon and said, “Hi.”

“Hi~” Namjoon awkwardly smiled at him as Jin went to unlock the front door to let everyone in. After laying Jungkook on the couch, Jin moved to go back outside to unload his own suitcase, the food bag, and the cooler he brought, but Namjoon stopped him. “I can get your stuff.”

“Really?” Jin raised his eyebrow at him, but after seeing that Namjoon was serious, he handed over the key to the van. “Lock it back.” As Namjoon exited the house, Jin turned to the boys. “Why don’t we go find your room?” Jin had looked through sample pictures on the website and knew that there was supposed to be a room specifically for children downstairs, so he picked Jungkook back up, who was almost fully asleep, and led the boys downstairs to ‘explore’. He found the room very quickly, furnished with a set of bunk beds and one queen bed. He told the older boys to pick out which pajamas they wanted to wear as he grabbed a pair and a pullup for Jungkook. Jungkook had fallen completely asleep by now, so it was slightly tricky for Jin to maneuver his arms and legs into the clothing. By the time he got the toddler dressed and in the middle of the queen bed, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Taehyung had all begun changing themselves while Jimin was struggling a bit (Jin didn’t really blame him because his dance clothes were pretty tight). He assisted Jimin in changing into his pajamas, then tucked each boy into bed, Yoongi in the top bunk, Hoseok on the bottom, and Taehyung and Jimin on the bed with Jungkook. They were already almost asleep by the time he turned the light off and exited the room.

He went back upstairs to see Namjoon sitting on the couch. “I was wondering where you’d wondered off to.” Namjoon stood up from the couch, trailing after Jin as he made his way to the kitchen area.

“I was putting the boys to bed.” He began to put the food he brought with him up and Namjoon assisted him in silence. Once that was done, he pulled out a bottle of red wine and a glass.

Namjoon let out a chuckle. “Wine?”

As Jin poured himself a glass, he began a to tell a story, “My mother and grandmother both are very firm believers of having a glass of wine every night before going to bed. To help them sleep, they said.” He stopped pouring and set the bottle back on the counter. “I, myself, do enjoy the occasional drink, but never understood them growing up. Now that I have the boys, I understand one hundred percent.” He and Namjoon both laughed. “Would you like a glass?”

Namjoon shrugged, “Sure.” Jin poured himself a glass and they fell into easy conversation. Eventually, they moved downstairs after Jin stated that he wanted to be closer to the boys. As they continued conversing, the topic turned more serious. “So why a case worker?” Jin inquired Namjoon about his job choice.

“I originally wanted to counsel LGBT youth. Be able to support them.” Jin tilted his head out of interest. “But as an undergrad, in the various child development classes I had to take, I heard so many horror stories about what kids go through, and especially how many children are in foster care or protective services in Arkansas, so by the time I went to get my Master’s, I had completely switched to wanting to help children.” Jin nodded and took a sip of his wine. “What about you? Why’d you choose to be a preschool teacher?”

“Well, I originally wanted to be an actor,” Jin started, “but in high school, I started to think about my future more seriously and decided to pursue acting more as a hobby than a career choice. I’ve always loved kids, so I took a couple of child development classes in high school, and by the time I graduated, I knew that I wanted to work with children in some way, so I decided to major in child development and did work-study at the campus’ daycare. Working there made me fully decide to focus on preschool education.”

“Well, from the day that I went there, I can tell that you’re an amazing teacher.”

Jin blushed slightly as he looked down at his wine glass and thanked him quietly. “You’re pretty good at your job, too.” Namjoon smiled shyly as Jin’s gaze fell on the clock on the wall. “It’s after midnight, it’s officially Valentine’s day.” Jin sat up from where he had been lounging on the couch, feet curled under him, and set his glass down on the coffee table. “I should go get the boys gifts set out for them to wake up to.” “You got them Valentine’s gifts?”

Jin paused in getting up from the couch as he turned to look at Namjoon. “They’ve been through so much that I like to use any chance I get to give them a gift.” After he finished speaking, he finally became aware of just how close he and Namjoon were sitting. They sat in silence for a while, neither of them sure of how long, and Jin could swear Namjoon was moving closer when sniffles and quiet sobs broke them out of their trance. Jin’s head snapped to where the sound was coming from and saw Hoseok stumbling into the room while rubbing his eyes. “Oh, Hobi,” Jin rushed over to him and scooped him into his arms, “what’s wrong?”

Through sobs, Hoseok told Jin what was wrong. “Scary dream…about Carter.”

Namjoon looked on as Jin held the young boy even tighter. “Don’t worry, Hoseok, Carter won’t touch you again.” Jin stood up from the floor, bringing Hoseok with him, and turned to Namjoon. “I should probably take care of him.”

Namjoon quickly stood up from the couch. “Oh, yeah, of course, I should head to bed anyway. Goodnight~” Jin bid him goodnight as he rushed up the stairs to take one of the empty rooms, leaving Jin to console the distraught kindergartener.

After what happened that night, Namjoon tried to keep a certain distance between himself and Jin, trying to stave off any feelings that he now realized were bubbling up, but found it difficult. Especially when Jin let the boys help in making the homemade pizzas, allowing them to put as many toppings on the pizza as they wanted, even when it practically became a mound of cheese. Especially when it came to movie night, which Namjoon was invited to, and Jin sat himself in a way that all five boys could cuddle him as they wanted. Especially when Jin let Jimin read the nightly bedtime story, occasionally helping whenever Jimin happened to stumble over a particularly difficult word. Especially when Jin would always check on the boys ‘just one last time’ before going to sleep himself. Especially when Jin figured out how to hook up his phone to the speakers in the entertainment room and proceeded to have a dance party with the boys to the Trolls’ soundtrack. All these moments led up to Sunday night when Namjoon excused himself right before dinner to make a ‘work call’. As soon as the person picked up, Namjoon said, “It’s Namjoon, and I’m wondering about maybe transferring a few cases to another worker...just five of them, I just seem to have a little too many at the moment.”

The next afternoon, Jin had already buckled the kids into their car seats, where they immediately fell asleep for their nap, as he finished cleaning and packing up the house to go back home with Namjoon’s help. They were doing the final look over when Namjoon spoke up. “There’s something I have to tell you.” Jin’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and Namjoon felt his mouth dry up. “When we get back to Conway, I will officially no longer be the boys’ case worker.”

Jin’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? You can’t leave them! They need you!”

“Jin, Jin, this has nothing to do with the boys.” Namjoon assured him. “In fact, me transferring their files to someone else can actually benefit them-“

“How?” Jin cut him off. “You’re our best bet at getting me approved to adopt the boys, and without you, I have no chance of that happening!” By this point, tears had begun to fall from Jin’s eyes, and Namjoon knew he needed to leave soon before he was affected even more.

“Honestly, you’d actually have a better chance without me…I can’t remain objective in my recommendation.”

“What do you mean you can’t remain objective?” Namjoon ignored his question, grabbing his bag and heading out to his car. Jin quickly grabbed the last of his bags and followed him out of the house. “Namjoon!” Jin was too late, as Namjoon was already in his car and driving off, leaving Jin alone and broken in the driveway while the boys were oblivious to what was happening outside of their dream world.

A few days later when Jin and the boys had just gotten home, the boys’ new case worker arrived at their home. “I’m here to do my own observation before the hearing to determine who is best for the children.” Jin, still heartbroken over the matter, although he’s not sure if it’s more of a personal heartbreak or from being worried about the boys, just nodded and led the woman into the house and went about his normal routine with the boys as she observed.

In the beginning of March, a week before Yoongi’s birthday, Jin was enjoying chicken stew with his preschool class when the director came out of the office with the phone. “Jin, someone wants to talk to you.”

Jin took the phone and walked into the office to have some privacy. “Hello?”

“Hello, Seokjin, this is Sarah Tell,” Jin recognized the boys’ new case worker. “We need you to come down to the courthouse as soon as possible regarding the adoption of Yoongi Min and Hoseok Jung.”

Jin felt his stomach drop. “Of course, I’ll be there shortly after noon.”

After a quick arrangement with the director, Jin left shortly after naptime began to meet the case worker at the courthouse as planned. He had prepared himself for the news that Yoongi and Hoseok would be adopted by the Williamses and promised himself he wouldn’t cry when the news was verbalized. Instead, he was met with the couple exiting the courtroom, not looking happy at all. Soon after they passed by him, a multitude of people left the room, including the case worker and a judge. “Is this him?” The judge gestured to Jin.

“Yes, this is Seokjin Kim, the boys’ current foster father.”

“Excellent.” The judge clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations.” The man walked off, leaving Jin baffled.

Jin turned to face Sarah. “I’m sorry, what just happened?”

“We just had a hearing with Mary and John Williams to determine if they were fit to adopt Yoongi and Hoseok. During this hearing, we presented both their case and yours for the judge to determine who would be better suited for the boys, and he deemed you more fit than the Williamses.” Part of Jin believed that he had been hit by a bus and fallen into a coma, because surely this could only happen in a dream. “If you come with me, I have some papers you need to sign to finalize the adoption.”

After Jin finished up the process, he got back in his van to go back to the preschool, wishing the day would fly by faster so he could share the good news with Hoseok and Yoongi. But he needed to make one more stop.

“Excuse me,” the receptionist looked up, “can you point me to the office of Namjoon Kim?” After she pointed him in the right direction, Jin made his way to the room, pausing in the open doorway as he saw Namjoon looking over some paperwork with a Starbucks cup sitting on his desk. “Taking any visitors?”

Namjoon startled at Jin’s voice, knocking over his coffee, which spilled over the paper he was looking at before he could catch it. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Namjoon waved him off, “happens all the time. I can just print this off again.” Namjoon clicked a few times on his computer before the printer whirred to life. “So, what brings you here?” Namjoon asked as he stood up from his desk and threw away the soggy paper, beginning to clean up the coffee spill.

Jin stepped further into the office. “I just wanted to share the good news.” As Namjoon finished cleaning up his desk, he looked at Jin with a raised eyebrow. “I just finished signing the papers to officially adopt Yoongi and Hoseok.”

“Are you serious?” Namjoon stood up straight in excitement. “That’s amazing!”

Jin nodded and took a step closer. “And I guess I have you to thank.” Namjoon shrugged, looking at the floor shyly. “What did you mean by you couldn’t remain objective?”

Namjoon began to stammer. “I, uh, I-I’m not sure, uh-“

Jin took another step towards the flustered male. “I’m pretty sure I know what you meant, I just need confirmation.”

Namjoon cleared his throat, his face resembling a tomato. “I, um, I’m not sure I can put it into words…”

“Who says you have to use words?” Before Namjoon could respond, Jin closed the distance between them and pressed his lips lightly to Namjoon’s. It only lasted a few seconds, barely long enough for Namjoon to kiss back, but Namjoon swore that he saw and felt everything that was supposed to come with the perfect kiss in every teen movie. The fireworks, the bells, even the fire in the pit of his stomach.

When Jin tried to pull away, Namjoon’s hands shot up to cup his face and pull him back, meeting his lips once again. Jin relished in the way their lips seemed to fit perfectly together. There was no awkwardness in figuring out the proper placement or position, it seemed to come naturally as if it were something they had done their whole lives. When they finally parted, all knowledge of language seemed to have fled from Jin’s mind. Thankfully, Namjoon was able to break the silence. “I’m not sure if Sarah’s told you this, but both Jimin’s parents and Jungkook’s mom have a hearing coming up and it’s not looking too good for either of them.”

“Is that so?” Jin asked, slowly wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s neck. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of busy with something right now, but we can definitely talk more about the possibility of me being able to adopt Jimin and Jungkook once I’m free.” Namjoon chuckled at Jin’s words, but happily welcomed his plump lips back on his.

Later, Abuela Martinez was more than happy to occupy the three youngest children while Jin sat in her living room with Yoongi and Hoseok to tell them the good news when he went to pick them up. After explaining to them what adoption meant and how some things would change, both boys couldn’t contain their excitement over Jin officially and legally being their father. Yoongi even asked Jin what they should call him now. “Whatever you want to, whatever makes you most comfortable,” had been his reply. The first grader and kindergartener both decided to stick with ‘Jinnie’ for the time being.

When they finally got home, he sat all five boys on the couch and said that he had something else he had to talk about with all of them. “I need to talk to you about Joonie for a second.”

“Does he not like us anymore?” Jimin seemed legitimately upset over the prospect of their previous case worker not wanting anything to do with them.

“No, Minnie, that’s not it at all.” Jin assured him. “Something else came up, so he couldn’t be your case worker anymore, but don’t worry, you’ll still get to see him a lot. He just won’t be working when he comes over, and he’ll come over more often, and he’ll play more games with you. Sometimes you might even get to spend some time with Nana while I spend some time with Joonie-“

“Is he your boyfriend?” Yoongi interrupted Jin, which caused the caregiver to laugh shyly.

“Yes, he’s my boyfriend, mister, where did you even hear about that?” Jin tickled him.

“Sophia said I’m her boyfriend.”

Jin dramatically gasped. “Well, when did that happen?”

“Today at recess.” Yoongi explained. “She told Abuela and she gave us a blessing.”

Jin chuckled. “Well, isn’t that sweet.” He turned a little more serious. “Is everyone okay with things changing a bit with Joonie.”

“We get to see him more!” Taehyung exclaimed, that having been the only thing he picked up on.

“That’s right, we all will.” He pulled the boys into a group hug, happy that things were working out.

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