#and who gave me directions in b language :P without him i would be there to this day i fear.......

[b-blushes]

gosh i've got a haircut tomorrow and the road i normally take may or may not be closed (i am under instructions to 'walk to the end of the driveway and have a look and then there might be someone to ask'. guy who barely leaves the house problems) BUT the problem is i don't know how any of these roads link up because i don't really go places (GUY WHO BARELY LEAVES THE HOUSE PROBLEMS) and also i'm bad at maps. me vs google maps fight to the death match coming to my house right now

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 2 October 1839 Travel Journal

7 ¼

12 ½

very fine morning – had Mrs. Wilson – paid her 175/. her bill of last week all but 2 or 3 rubels – breakfast over at 10 – before and after inking over yesterday and reading Schnetzler sun out – warm – F66 ½° in my secrétaire drawer and 50 ¼ north outside the window now at 10 ¼ am

out at 10 55/.. – in 7 minutes at the Podoroshna-office – 7/6 paid – (3.25 R. notes + 1 (20 and 1) 10 silver kopper price) – obliged to go up to sign my name – drove off at 11 20/.. and at the library at 11 25/.. Mr. Atkinson had put the books for us on the table – the 1st I took up was

New Russia – Journey from Riga to the Crimea by way of Kiev...... by Mary Holderness. London printed for Sherwood, Jones and co. Paternoster Row 1823. 8vo. broche – pp. 134.

SH:7/ML/TR/14/0031

October Wednesday 2 Riga timber superior and much dearer than Memel masts from Polish and Russian Ukraine on  the rivers Briganskie  (Desna) and Soelzs’s branches of the [?] – arrives at Riga in May   4-5/314

p. 10 one Polish britchka [britzka] and 3 kibitkas – party of 11 left Riga November 18 N.S. 1815.

p. 22 Reference to Tookes’ survey of Russia.

p.56 1 Russian pood = 36lbs.

p.59 Tookes’ history of Russia

p.61 handsome Turkish shawls from 500 to 2,000 Rubels no lady well dressed at Kiev without one –

p. 92 1 [archeen] (of cloth) = 2/3 English yard

p. 12 1898 versts from Riga to (p.92) Karagoss (in the Crimea) and reached that place 3 February  

p. 103 Dr. Clarkes’ description of Easter in his account of Moscow –

Fraehns’ [catalogue] of Persian Turkish and Arabian mss. ouvrages historiques  35

Poètes  107

Sciences spéculatives et arts 24

166.

this volume (folio) dated St. P. le 9 Avril 1829

18/30 Octobre 1829

Philologie

p. 131 1 Russian [Desaiteen] = 2 ¾ English acres

p. 142 for account of the Nogay tartars see Mr. Whittingtons’ memoir in Walpoles’ travels in the east.

p. 151 Dr. Hunt in his brief account of a Greek wedding says the bride is to be silent for 8 days

October Wednesday 2 p. 147 In the Crimea (at Kaffa [Feodosiia]) the Greeks speak Turkisk [Turkish] and Tartar as fluently as Greek – and many of Mrs. Holerness’ servants spoke 5 languages (Russia included)

p. 163 et seq. great praise of the Bulgarians (near Oddessa etc)

p. 178 the Karaites of whom Mr. Guthrie speaks etc. etc.

p. 190 – 1 the emperor from Moscow to St. P- 483 miles = 728 ½ versets in 36 hours – From Otchakoff on the black sea to St. P- (temple Catherine 2) 1200 miles in 5 days and nights – but the post from Kaffa [Feodosiia] to Moscow in 14 days = 66 miles per day –

p. 195 Lady Craven mistaken in saying rice is grown in the Crimea – no land there fit for it –

p. 197 Tartars there famous for management of bees – said that ‘some of them on seeing the bees at work on the flowers of the field, will directly tell to what village belong’ –

p. 203 ‘the English proprietor in the midst of neighbours and dependents, yet feels a lonely sojourner’...... probably Mrs. H- and her friends were of this no.? –

p. 211 Mrs. H- resided at Karagoss from February 1816 to March 1820.

p. 225 Greeks in Crimea [present] the custom of sprinkling a new-born infant with salt. Ezek. xvi. 4.

p. 231 et seq. account of a Tartar marriage

p. 244 account of Tartar funeral

p. 258 Russian bath heated by a trench full of stones. rendered hot by a furnace below.

SH:7/ML/TR/14/0032

October Wednesday 2 vid. p. 259 et seq. on the food etc. of the Tartars – seldom ‘eat’ fresh milk – on coming from the cow, it is boiled and afterwards churned – the butter then melted and poured into a skin – the buttermilk put into a cask to receive the overplus of everydays consumption

p. 265 the fungus Amadou is boiled and beaten till tender and then dried for use – there is also a lighter kind than the above (which grows on trees) the excrescence of a plant – p. 266 Agirmish (in sight of Karagoss) supposed by Pallas to be the Cimmerian [?] of the ancients –

p. 278 harvest end of June or beginning of July – bearded wheat sown become less likely to shake. Arnoot or spring wheat is sown by Russians etc.

p. 279 Bulgarian – summer hotter winter colder than in

p. 280 England – winter of short duration – breaks up in February so as to plough – March often mild and warm –

Dubois de Montreux sur le Crimée Caucase etc. etc et Sur la Crimée l’ouvrage de un’ intendant

Indicateur des objets rare au musée de Moscow published by Paul de Svignine Imprimerie de Charles Kray St. P- 1826

Lady Craven the rein 1786 (spring) –

October Wednesday 2 Mr. Atkinson came to us – shewed us Lady Cravens’ travels and the guide du voyageur en Crimée par C.H. Montandon. Odessa. Imprimerie de la ville 1834. dedicated à son excellence Mr. le comte de Woronzow -  came away from the library at 2 ½ - Mr. Atkinson told us not to give anything – at the Hermitage palace – at 2 ¾ to 4 50/.. – sent by Whitaker my card wrote in pencil présente ses complimens [compliments] et ses remercimens [remercîments] très empressés à son excellence monsieur de Labrinksy – then in the salles – principally salle 5 and 40 and 41 – gave the man 5/. –

home at 5 55/.. – dinner over at 7 10/.. from the palace to Beligard – paid for map of Asiatic Russia monté 10/. + 10/. = 20/. – then home direct at 5 55/.. – ordered the carriage at 9am tomorrow to go to Alexandrovski [Alexandrovsky] – dressed dinner over at 7 10/.. – Mr. Bayley came at 7 ½ and staid till 10 – had tea – not good he allowed – to go to Chaplins’ for tea, and also to see his furs – tea at 100/. per lb. – and 25/. and B- drinks it at 9/. or 10/. a lb. – should see the brick tea – furs very dear – Mr. Law here has including the house (his rooms under the church) £800 a year – Mr. Cammidge reverend of Moscow has a congregation of about 70 – has an allowance from the Russian company – all the exporting to London Riga etc. merchants here must be are members of the Russian company – gave us a note for Cochranes’ travels in Russia and Bremners’ ditto – the church picture a copy from Rubens not Rembrandt – (in the salle with the Paul Potter (41) not given to the church by Sir William Ingleby – by some other baronet B- very civil – if we were going to stay would introduce his family – would be happy to do so on our return – a widowes 16 years but has had his wifes’ sister with him and his daughters – poor man!

SH:7/ML/TR/14/0033

October Wednesday 2 has had a severe illness – appears much broken – came here in 1892 – d’origine from the neighbourhood of not far from Manchester – had called here on Mr. Harrison on the Thursday and he died on the Sunday – Captain Cochrane very excentric – thought to be rather besides himself – Mr. B- knew him – Dr. Granvilles’ work good, but too much on the favourable side – as Dr. Lefevre said nothing that was not true but all couleur de rose – Mr. Atkinson said this morning he knew G- met him in society but he has his note-book out, and made notes even comparatively of all that was said so that really people were afraid – Layard in a great hurry when at the Imperial library Mr. A- did not know or see much of him – he seemed chiefly anxious to copy M. Queen of Scots’ letters – and at this time A- was busy copying them to give to prince Alexander .......... who has published her inedited letters in 18vo. – on our return home this evening found 2 letters for Moscow and 1 for Odessa from Mr. de Fischer and his card, and found 2 letters from Mr. Hodson (John Esquire) for Moscow and one for Odessa, and one directed to me for A- from her sister – her aunt well as usual – Mr. Bayley made no offer of letters, and, of course, I did not ask me for any – did not name or hint at the subject –

at the Hermitage the Vierge d’Albe (salle 5) and the Paul Potter (vache qui [pisse]) and the 4 Clauds’ (salle 40) (morning noon and evening and night) worth all the rest – In salle 40 the chef-d’-oeuvre of Teniers’

October Wednesday 2 and the Rubens from which the English church picture is copied and in salle 41 some fine Murillos (the Repose in Egypt and the lady boy fleeing his dog) – and in salle some fine Van d’Eycks [van Dyck] –

Mr. B- said it must be 30 years since Lord Stuart was here – then Mr. Stuart – could not speak Russ[ian] well but could read it well – and spoke French and German well –

[needyounow-love]

Friday Night (NSFW) - Pt. 1 - F!MC

This is only the first part, but the second part will come out soon! I'm sorry for any grammatical mistakes: English is not my first language and this is the first time that I write something that's more than 100 words in English I hope you will like it!🥰

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

It was a Friday Night and Asmodeus insisted in organizing something where all his brothers and I could do something together.

It all started as a movie night, but then it changed in something...different.

"This film is so boring~" said Asmo, sighing for the 100th time.

"Yeah, I agree with you...This movie is a whole cliché" I agreed with him, not knowing what I just started.

"So, let's do something else!" Said Asmo, smiling with an evil expression.

Then, Asmo proceeded to tell us that we could play "truth or dare" and everyone surprisingly seemed to accept to play it. I agreed too, not knowing why he wanted to play that game.

Everyone kept messing around and Mammon was already in a headlock after he confessed to Beel that he was the one who ate the last piece of pizza. I kept laughing at the two brothers until Asmo turned to look in my direction with a mischievous smile.

"Hey MC! You still haven't done neither a truth or dare... - Everyone stopped laughing at Mammon trying to free himself to look at me, even Mammon who was still in a headlock - So, truth or dare?"

"Mmm...Dare!" I said, feeling confident and not expecting what Asmo was going to say. Asmo pretended to think about a dare, but he knew all along what he was going to say.

"I dare you to get in the closet with...Levi!" I stopped breathing for what seemed like forever.

"Wh-wha-what?" Levi almost screamed with a blushing face.

Asmo just looked at me while keeping his playful smile.

"A dare it's a dare, MC. You can't refuse~" Asmo said, while getting up and pushing me towards the closet that was in the room.

"OI! I want to be the one who gets to stay in the closet with MC!" Mammon whined and freed himself from Beel.

"No chance!" Replied Asmo with a smile before pushing me inside the closet and closing the door.

I could hear some commotion from outside the door and Levi trying to escape while Mammon kept saying that he wanted to take Levi's place in the closet.

After ten seconds the door of the closet opened again and Levi was pushed inside the closet with me.

"I won't open the door until you two do something~" said Asmo in a cheerful voice.

"ASMODEUS" Mammon tried to say something.

"Beel, if you stop him I will buy you any food you want" I could hear Beel do what Asmo wanted from outside the room.

---

Levi and MC kept being silent in the darkness of the closet until Levi started speaking.

"M-MC...I'm sorry that you have to be in here with me...You probably would have preferred to be in this situation with someone else..."

"Levi-" MC tried to stop him, but he kept talking.

"I know that I'm not as good-looking as Asmodeus, as popular as Lucifer or as funny as Mammon..."

"Levi, listen to m-"

"Each one of my brothers is better than me and I would understand if you wouldn't even want to be associated with a sad, gloomy, social awkward, worthless, shut-in, yucky otaku li-" He said in a sad tone and MC couldn't keep listening to what he was saying without saying something about it.

"Leviathan!" She exclaimed, finally stopping him and trying to find him in the dark of the room.

"What?" He said while keeping his gloomy tone. In that exact moment MC found the switch to turn the light on.

MC sighed when she saw how sad Levi looked and how he refused to even look at her.

"I know what you're thinkin-" She stopped him again by putting her index on his mouth.

"Levi...I don't think that you're any of the things that you called yourself. Yes, you're an otaku, but it doesn't mean that I'm disgusted by you or want to not be in the same room as you. I don't think that you're yucky or worthless. You're amazing and I actually enjoy being with you." she said, but he shook his head.

"You don't need to lie..."

"I'm not lying, Levi. I love being with you right now and I wouldn't want someone else to be here at your place." After hearing that Levi was blushing.

"B-But w-why?" He asked in a soft voice.

"I will tell you if you promise me that you won't laugh" MC said while not looking at his face.

"I won't." He promised.

"I don't mind being with you because I like you and the reason why we are in this situation right now is because I told Asmo that I have feelings for you..." MC said while she kept looking to the ground.

When she realised that Levi wasn't going to reply to her she looked at him. He was looking at her with a shocked expression and his face was so red that she almost thought that he was going to faint.

"But that can't be possible..." he tried to say, but MC gave him a quick peck on the lips to prove to him that she actually liked him.

She looked at him again. His face was even redder than before, but now he didn't look like he didn't believe her.

She was so embarrassed that she almost tried to open the closet's door to run away, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

MC turned to look at him again, but before she knew it he was kissing her.

"P-please...stay - His forehead was against hers and he kept looking at her with his beautiful yellow eyes - Please.." he begged.

Both of them started kissing again. MC's hands went to touch Levi's hair, while he grabbed her waist. One small moan came out of the purple haired guy's when she pulled his hair lightly. MC gently pushed him against one the walls and pulled his hair again making him whine again.

She gave him a grin before starting kissing his neck while he kept breathing heavily. Some small moans kept on coming out from his mouth when she started biting and sucking on his skin.

"MC...wha-t are you...?" he tried to say when he felt one of her hands going down towards his crotch.

"Something that I wanted to do for a while" she said while looking him straight in his eyes full of lust.

"U-Uh..." he whined when she dropped down on her knees.

Obey Me Masterlist

[spareseratoninplz]

More Than Pain Bakugou x Reader CH. 1

**Warning: THIS SERIES WILL CONTAIN VIOLENCE, ADULT LANGUAGE, AND ADULT SITUATIONS, IF YOU- ah, who am I kidding, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t wanna read that stuff, so go ahead, be my guest. (Please be kind, this is my first ever tumblr post! 0=0)

I’ve known from a young age that I was different. Truth be told, I never wanted to be this way. I never wanted a quirk, but I guess that’s just the way things are now. Less and less people are born without a quirk, so when I developed mine at the age of two, I should���ve been happy, thrilled, even excited… but I wasn’t.

“She needs to be properly counselled. She needs to learn that lying is never okay, and this school will not condone it. ” The school nurse spoke to my mother as I sat quietly on the bench outside of the room as they continued their conference.

“Y-yes, I understand… but I’m still having trouble understanding what you said before… you mentioned that she had fallen.” Mother questioned, and I sighed quietly. I hadn’t told the nurse the whole story, and it wasn’t really my intention to do so.

“Typical behavior for a kid her age. They’ll do just about anything to get attention.” The chair she was sitting in creaked as she stood and strolled across the room.

“My daughter has never acted that way before… if she said she was hurt, then I’m apt to believe she wasn’t lying.”

A moment passed as the nurse seemingly thought over her next words carefully.

“There’s been a misunderstanding, Miss (L/N).” The nurse spoke.

“Your daughter never mentioned she’d been hurt. Her teacher sent her here after witnessing your daughter bullying another student.” She said.

Immediately my mother stood, knocking the chair she’d been sitting in backwards from the speed in which she stood.

“That’s enough!” She declared, causing my eyes to go wide.

“(Y/N) is a good kid. I know she would never be the bully in any situation.” she said, her tone demanding attention.

“I… I can understand why you would be skeptical… but there were witnesses.” The nurse said, and another moment of silence passed between them before my mother spoke again.

“We’re leaving.” She said simply before stepping through the door, and grabbing me by the hand to follow her towards the exit doors.

“Calling my daughter a ‘bully’... the nerve of some people!” Mother mumbled under her breath. I slipped my hand from her grip, and she stopped to look back at me as I frantically wiped at the tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Oh sweetie…” She purred, kneeling in front of me to dry my eyes.

“Don’t listen to what that mean lady said. You’re not a bully.” She coaxed, and I shook my head, and tried to speak between sobs.

“B-B-But... *hic* M-Mommy, I-I… *hic* I really did *hic* push that kid down…*hic*” Her eyes widened, and then softened just as quickly as she retrieved a handkerchief from her back pocket to dab at my swollen, wet eyes.

“Oh sweetie… why?” She asked, and I had managed to calm down a bit.

“I… I wouldn’t have hit him if he hadn’t hit me first!” I said, now puffing my cheeks out.” Mother nodded, indicating for me to continue.

“There was this other kid that was getting bullied, so I told the bigger kid to cut it out, and he pushed me down on the sidewalk.” I explained, wiping my nose on my jacket sleeve.

“He made me scrape my knee, and it was all bloody and gross… so I pushed him back, and he started crying…” I said, and an amused look came over her face.

“Sweetie… it’s not really considered bullying if you’re standing up for yourself. Also, you were protecting someone from getting hurt, right?” She asked, and I nodded.

“Well then, that doesn’t make you a bully… it makes you a hero.” She said, smiling brightly. I blinked a few times before tilting my head to the side in thought.

“Like All-Might?” I asked, and she chuckled before nodding.

“Exactly!” She said, and I hummed in thought.

“But mommy, I don’t wanna be a hero.” I said, and her eyes widened in disbelief before she chuckled once more, and pulled me into a tight hug.

“You know what, sweetie? That’s just fine. You don’t have to be a hero. You can be anything you want to be.” She said, and I smiled.

“I don’t know what I wanna be yet.” I said, and she just smiled back.

“-And that’s okay. You have plenty of time to decide.” She said before standing and walking me out to the car to go home.

“Wait, didn’t you mention you scraped your knee?” Mother asked, and I nodded slightly.

“Yeah. It was all bloody and gross.” I repeated, and she pulled the seatbelt across me before examining my knee through my ripped up denim overalls.

“What? There’s no sign of a scrape.” She said, giving me a look.

“It’s okay mommy. I made it go away. It didn’t even hurt.” I said proudly. She blinked a few times before giving a tired smile.

“It sure has been a long day… let’s get home and grab a bite to eat.” She said before buckling herself into her seat, and starting the car.

*Middle school 7½  years later*

“(Y/N)-chan will you tutor me in science? I’m totally gonna flunk if I don’t pass next week’s midterm!” My friend Sawa groaned next to me, and I chuckled sheepishly.

“C’mon Sawa, I think you give me a little too much credit.” I said, and the two of us jumped as a loud ‘boom’ echoed through the hallways. At the end of the hall I saw two kids from my class. One that was slightly taller with spiky blond hair, and the other, smaller with curly black hair with a green undertone.

“K-Kaachan, I didn’t mean to-” He stuttered, but Bakugou had already pulled an arm back, ready to blast him in the face like he’d done many times before.

“C’mon (Y/N) let’s head towards the other end of the hall…” Sawa said, her hair standing on end, but my body had already moved on its own.

“(Y/N)!” Sawa shouted.

“DIE! DAMNED DEKU!!”” Bakugou shouted his trademark shout, but I had already moved myself in front of Izuku before he could strike. His eyes widened, but he couldn’t stop the momentum of his arm as his quirk was released full force into my face. When the smoke cleared, I hadn’t flinched, and his eyes grew wide as I glared at him unwaveringly.

“For someone who wants to be the number one hero, you don’t seem very heroic.” I said, my tone bland as the small scratches that littered my face and neck slowly disappeared.

“The hell is your deal?!” Bakugou demanded. I ignored him and turned to Midoriya.

“You okay, Izuku?” I asked, and he nodded.

“Y-yeah…” He said, still regarding Bakugou.

“HEY, I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!” He shouted at me, and I just glanced at him over my shoulder unimpressed.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“DON’T PRETEND LIKE YOU DIDN’T HEAR ME!” He shouted even louder, letting off another explosion, but I blocked it with my hand. The scratches then quickly healed themselves, and I turned to look Bakugou directly in the eye.

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but shouting, bullying people and blowing everything up won’t solve your problems.” I said, and he continued to glare daggers straight through me.

“Grow up.” I hissed, and he simply furrowed his brow before leaning back on his heels and shoving his hands into his pockets. He gave a quick grunt of disapproval before trudging off down the hall.

“W-wow… I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Kaachan like that…” Midoriya said. I helped him to pick his books up, and couldn’t help but notice the title of one of them.

“‘Hero Analysis for the future’?” I asked, and he frantically waved his hands.

“Oh, Y-yeah! I-It’s just something that I enjoy doing… watching heros and analyzing their strategies and whatnot…” He mumbled.

“It doesn’t sound like something you enjoy by the tone of your voice.” I said matter-of-factly. He looked surprised at my words before smiling weakly at the ground.

“I do! It’s just… y’know. What’s the point?” He asked, defeatedly, looking down sideways at his books.

“I’m quirkless… and no one has ever heard of a quirkless hero before… Kaachan… he’s so amazing. He’s so confident and strong.” He said, with an air of admiration in his tone now as he spoke about Bakugou.

“Sure… he’s also a bully.” I said, helping Midoriya to his feet.

“Oh, Kaachan has always been that way since we were kids.” Midoriya laughed it off, and I shot him a quick look.

“Right… listen Midoriya.” I said, collecting his attention quickly.

“Just because Bakugou was your friend when you were kids doesn’t give him the right to treat you this way… and it shouldn’t matter if you have a quirk or not.” I said, and his eyes widened.

“Wh-what are you saying…?” He asked, and I gave him a knowing smile.

“I’m saying that… just because you’re quirkless doesn’t mean you can’t be a-” Just then, the bell rang, and judging by the fact that Sawaya had already run off to the other end of the hall, we were already late for class.

“Sorry! I can’t be late for english again, I-” Just before I could take off down the hall, he grabbed my arm, his grip trembling slightly as he squeezed.

“Wait, please!” He seemed to beg, and I stopped immediately, looking back at him.

“Huh? What is it?” I asked, and gasped slightly when I saw that he was tearing up.

“P-please… finish what you were going to say…” He begged, and I felt my heart tug within my chest. I swallowed hard before turning towards him, and resting my hands on his shoulders.

“Just because you’re quirkless, doesn’t mean you can’t be a hero.” I said, and the tears began to stream  down his cheeks.

“Th-thank you… I… I needed to hear th-that…” He sobbed, and I gave him a quick hug before running off in the opposite direction.

“I’ll see you later!” I waved behind me, feeling my heart swell with emotion, glad I could make someone’s day better.

*Lunchtime*

I waved goodbye to Sawa as she left for her study period, and walked with my bento over towards where I normally sat when I noticed a familiar head of hair sitting by itself in the corner of the lunch room.

“Hey Midoriya.” I greeted, and he jumped slightly when he saw that I was standing there. After a moment, he grinned sheepishly and began to speak.

“Oh, h-hey (F/N)-chan…” He greeted, and I immediately sat myself down as I tugged the other half of his face towards me so I could see better.

“Bakugou again?” I asked, giving him a look that said if he lied to me, he’d regret it. He looked panicked for a second before nodding.

“Y-yeah… I accidentally bumped him in the hallway.” He said, and I shook my head. 

“Hold still.” I said before lightly touching his cheek, and transferring some of my energy to him. The cuts healed immediately, and his eyes began to sparkle as he began rummaging through his bag for something.

“Midoriya? What are you doing?” I questioned. He whipped out the journal I had seen before along with a pen.

“Please tell me about your quirk!” He exclaimed, and I blinked a few times before registering his request.

“Oh, I uh… it’s nothing really.” I waved him off, but he insisted.

“A healing ability is super rare! Hardly 1% of the entire population are born with a healing quirk!” He exclaimed, spewing all of these facts and trivias at me, and I quickly held up my hand to stop him.

“It’s not quite that simple.” I said, and he watched me expectantly, his pen ready for writing.

“My quirk developed when I was two years old… and as long as I can remember, I haven’t been able to feel any pain.” I said, and he looked at me absolutely dumbfounded.

“So… your quirk is a type of absorption?” He asked, and I shrugged.

“I hadn’t really thought about it…” I admitted.

“Hmm… it kinda makes sense… earlier, when Kaachan used his quirk on you, you didn’t even flinch. Also, right after you absorbed the energy from his attack, your body began to heal itself!” He was mumbling to himself, but I could hear him quite clearly.

He formed a fist with one hand before clapping it into his other with realization.

“Wait, so then… if you can absorb the energy from another’s quirk, and then use that energy for yourself to heal, wouldn't it also have offensive capabilities too?” He questioned, more himself than me. At this point, I listened intently whilst eating my bento. He looked so content I didn’t want to interrupt him.

“You have an amazing quirk, (Y/N)-chan! You could definitely get into UA if you wanted to!” He said, and I smiled kindly.

“Thanks Midoriya… but uh… I don’t want to be a hero really.” I said, and his face fell.

“Wh-what…?” He questioned, and I nodded.

“I mean… I want to help people, sure, but I don’t feel like being all flashy about it is really necessary. Y’know? You can help someone just as much by doing less.” I said, and he chuckled awkwardly.

“Sure, yeah… that’s a good way to think about it… it’s just…” He hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Sorry. I guess I’m just jealous.” He admitted, smiling slightly.

“Jealous? Of what?” I asked.

“You have this rare and amazing quirk, but don’t want to use it for being a hero… I’m completely quirkless, and being a hero is all I’ve ever wanted.” He said, a familiar sadness in his eyes.

“Oh Midoriya…” I sighed, placing my chopsticks down.

“You can be a hero too.” I said, and just like before his eyes widened. He smiled, and turned his eyes to look dowards at the table, trying to hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“Right… you said that before too…” He mumbled. He then lifted his head up, his eyes bright and his cheeks still slightly rosy.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” He said, his smile contagious.

“Anytime, Izuku.” I said, smiling back.

*Back home* I stepped through the door, and the house was unusually cold. Normally, I was met with the delicious smell of dinner on the table, or if mom had worked late, she would’ve picked something up on her way home.

“Mom?” I called out, the faint light of the fan above the stove was on and slightly flickering. I dropped my bag near the door, and walked towards the kitchen slowly, switching the lights on as I went.

“Mom? I’m home. I thought maybe we could check out that new steakhouse tonight. Sawa’s mom works there as a hostess, and I know you’re probably exhausted from work, so I-” I rounded the corner to the kitchen, and my blood ran cold.

“MOM!” She had collapsed onto the floor near the kitchen table, and was breathing, but just barely.

“Mom, what happened? Can you hear me?” I asked, and when she didn’t answer I jumped up and rushed over to the kitchen phone to call the paramedics. The automated message on the other line made my stomach sink.

‘Hello, unfortunately due to the high call volume we are receiving at the moment, we are unable to take your call right away. Please stay on the line and one of our dispatchers will be with you shortly.’ There was a beep followed by some music, and I quickly hung up the phone.

“DAMMIT!” I screamed before running back to mom who was still struggling to breath whilst beginning to turn very pale and blotchy.

“Mom, tell me where it hurts so I can heal you.” I said, and her eyes widened in terror as she shook her head.

“What? Mom, just point to where it hurts! Show me!” I begged, but she continued to shake her head, her face growing paler by the second.

“Mom, please, I…” I cursed to myself before finally deciding what needed to be done. If she wouldn’t let me heal her, I had to do the next best thing.

“Can you stand?” I asked, but she didn’t get a chance to answer me as I helped her to sit up by throwing one of her arms around my shoulder, and lifting her up with the strength of my legs.

“C’mon let’s go.” I said, hoping she’d have enough strength to walk, but every step she took forward only caused the two of us to stumble two steps backwards or sideways.

“Hold onto me.” I said. She weakly threw her arms over me, and I did a little hop to get her completely gathered in my arms. Luckily, I hadn’t shut the door behind me so I quickly maneuvered it open with my foot, and descended the stairs. I jerked open the back seat to her car and placed her in the backseat before sitting in the driver’s seat, and reaching above my head for the spare key that she kept in the paneling in front of the windshield.

“It’s okay… this is fine… I’ve never driven before in my life… but this is fine…” I took a deep breath before turning the key, putting the car in gear, and hitting the gas. The car lurched backwards, and I immediately hit the brake, causing the car to jerk forward.

“Shit…!” I cursed, gripping the steering wheel tightly enough to turn my knuckles white. I switched the car out of reverse and put it into drive before hitting the gas again, and taking off in the wrong direction on a one way street. Thankfully, it was late so there weren’t many drivers on the road, but those who were weren’t very happy with me at the moment.

I pulled through into the opening for the hospital, and accidentally took off one of my mother’s side mirrors. I slid out of the car and quickly ran in to grab a nurse.

“Please, please, something is wrong with my mother, please help!” I begged, grabbing her hand. She and a few other nurses hurried out to the car, and before long they were rushing her through the hospital on a gurney as fast as they could.

“I’m sorry ma’am but you can’t go back there.” One of the male nurses stopped me as they took her through to the OR, and I felt my stomach doing flips as he led me out into the waiting room to wait with all the other anxious people.

[myblueeyedbuggers]

My Boys

Chapter 10

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairings: Reader x Steve Rogers (best friend) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count:1843

Warnings: Slow Start, Language.

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change.

Annnddd I’m back! so I know it’s been a while since the last update and I just wanna thank you all for having patience with me while I finished up with college, just a warning this chapter may feel a little awkward to read due to me just getting back into my writing mind so apologises in advance for this one. Anyways I’ll quit blabbering, Enjoy everyone! :)

This was my day of reckoning, my punishment for all the bad deeds I’d done over the past couple of years…I was finally being sent to school. Okay maybe that was a tad dramatic, but can you blame me? I mean who wants to be trapped in a building against their will for 7 hours straight learning about dead guys?! No sane person would willingly agree to that crap!

I’ve tried just about everything to avoid my approaching doom, hell I even went as far as hiding in the basement surrounded by cobwebs to try and get out of this, but as per usual neither Steve or Bucky took mercy on me, hence why in currently trapped between the two. “You are aware I’m perfectly capable of walkin’ by myself aren’t ya? The looping of the arms is not needed boys” I swear down these two are being more annoying than usual, and I didn’t think that was humanly possible cause these two are basically the living embodiment of annoyance. Steve turned and raised his eyebrows at me, shaking his head as he let out a small laugh, “Yeah there’s absolutely no way I’m fallin’ for that again, last time that happened it look me and Buck an hour to get you outta that tree”. Ah crap there goes that plan.

I’m pretty sure the noise I made wasn’t even human, it was a mix between a seal and a possessed monkey “I’m not gonna get outta this am I?” “Nope” and que another frustrated groan. “Is this payback for the time I placed that bucket of flour above your bedroom door and watched the both of you turn into ghosts? If it is then I want you to know I regret nothin’” both of them stopped and glared at me, for some reason they didn’t find that as funny as I did, and I have no idea why. Okay whatever you do y/n don’t laugh, even if Steve’s face looks like a slapped arse don’t laugh! A snicker slipped past my lips and a few seconds later I was full on laughin’.  Goddamn it.

Both of em just let out a bunch of sighs and started draggin’ my butt along the street, wait there’s somethin’ I haven’t tried yet…in hindsight this is completely stupid but screw it. “OH MY GOD LOOK A SPACESHIP!” I’m pretty sure poor Bucky jumped outta his skin, Steve ended up trippin’ up and falling down, I’ll admit that I felt bad about but hey may plan worked! So why am I still standin’ there?… maybe we try this thing called running y/n! I quickly pulled my arm away from Bucky and used my new-found freedom to run in the opposite direction of them, I could hear the shouts of protest from the both of them, so I decided to kindly ignore them and absolutely leg it.  “GODAMMN IT Y/N! THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME THIS MORNIN’!” when were the boys gonna catch on that I didn’t wanna go? Do I need to prepare a firework show and blast it in their faces or somethin’…probably.  

I know I probably shouldn’t be smiling, but the feeling of the wind flowing through my hair as my feet hit the ground made me feel free, after so many years I could finally begin acting my age and enjoy my childhood. I finally felt content with my life, which is probably the opposite of what I should be feeling at this moment in time, considering I was currently making my grand escape. And to completely honest I’ve got no bloody clue as to where I am. I glanced behind me to see where the hell those idiots were, to my surprise Steve was directly behind me, Buck was somewhere in the back holdin’ his knee and I’m guessing the daft sod decked it. Why am I not surprised? Okay maybe I should of kept my mouth shut cause literally a second later my foot tripped over a rock and, you guessed correctly, I landed on my ass for the thousandth time!

“Sh*t! Cr*p! B*lls! That f**king hurt!” and that ladies and gentlemen is my fine command of the queens English, a groan of pain made me loose my train of thought as I turned my head to Steve, to put it simply he was laid flat on his back with his eye closed. Well there’s the rush of guilt I’ve been waiting for, “Sh*t Steve I’m sorry, you okay down there tough guy?” I quickly offered him my hand to help him up, I mean it’s the least I could do. Steve’s hand grabbed mine, a not so quiet grunt of pain made me feel even worse, quick question why am I such an assh*le at times? “Yeah, I’m fine y/n, don’t worry about it you know for a fact I’ve had worse” a quiet sigh left my lips as I brought him in for a hug, which was a tiny bit awkward due to the height difference. Once we pulled away from each other, I couldn’t supress the need to check him for anymore injuries, much to Steve’s embarrassment and Bucky’s amusement, “Jesus I’m gonna have to start wrapping ya up in blankets and pillows, Steve how the hell did you manage to get a bruise on your ear?!”

The sudden gasp behind me pretty much answered the question for me, it’s safe to say barney boy is in trouble…for the first in my life Bucky looks pretty f**king terrified of me, perfect. Slowly I started inching towards him, the glare I was sending him would probably make a demon cry for his mum…so yeah imma go kill the boy. I didn’t even have to say anything, he just started runnin’, “IT’S NOT MY FAULT HE STOLE MY FR**KING PUDDIN’ AND THE PUNK KNOWS I LOVE MY PUDDIN!’” YEP DEFINITELY KILLIN’ HIM “HE IS A SMALL AND GENTLE BOY HOW IN THE NAME OF HELL CAN YOU EVEN THINK OF LAYIN’ A HAND ON ‘IM?!” god this sounds like a bleeding soap opera.

 At this point I wouldn’t be surprised of someone called the cops on us, all everyone woulda seen was a big lad runnin’ for his life as a small lass tried to murder him while a smaller lad ran after the pair yellin’ for em to quit it.  Now that I think about, that’s actually hilarious. Wait, where was I? ah yes the murdering of one James Barnes…okay that is not a normal sentence I am aware. “HE.STOLE.MY.PUDDIN’! THAT A CRIME WORTHY OF DEATH!” oh for f**ksake “HOW THE HELL DO YA KNOW IT WAS HIM?! DID YOU NOT THINK IT COULDA BE BECCA?!” I think he made a sudden realisation, cause the dumbass stopped running and BOOM I was on the freakin’ floor. Again. We both groaned, mine was mostly in annoyance more than anything, but seriously the bloody floor is quickly becoming me best mate! “…. It just dawned on me that that could be a possibility…” if my neck twisted any quicker I’m 100% sure that I’d end up doin’ that weird owl thing “Oh now you realise?! Ya gonna say sorry to Steve or not?” a few seconds of silence gave me my answer. “Don’t give me that look y/n! I ain’t doing s**t till I’ve got some evidence so he’s still under my list of suspects!” oh my Jesus Christ this is gonna be the day I get arrested for murder isn’t it?

“Barnaby…you have exactly five seconds to run for your life so I highly recommend you get your affairs in order and kiss ya ass goodbye” oh hey look at that I didn’t yell at him! Well done me I’m so proud! “could you two quit trying to kill each other for 5 minutes?! We’re already late enough as is it and I ain’t explainin’ to the teacher why Buck’s outta it on the floor!” my f**kin god Steve just yelled! At me! why do I never have a camera when this s**t happens?  “Jeez, alright I’ll murder him later, calm your damn t*ts Rogers” and cue the sound of barely contained frustration in 3,2,1….

“I’m beginning to get the feelin’ that you don’t like me y/n” oh really? I wonder what gave that away “wow you catch on quickly don’t ya Barnaby?” by the looks of things I’m really doing wonders for his ego, buck’s head looks like it’s gotten smaller so the risk of him turning into a hot air balloon’s gone down. The feeling of a pair of eyes glaring at the back of my head once again reminded me that the blonde boy was quickly getting tired of our crap, my worst fears were confirmed once I met Steve’s surprisingly intimidating glare…how he manages to be both adorable and beyond f**king terrifying is a mystery to me. “Okay I’m comin’ just stop staring at me like I just murdered your kitten!” and the little s**t has the nerve to smirk and look pleased with himself, ugh he’s been hanging ‘round me and Bucky too long that’s for sure.

“Ya know Buck and you are gonna be the death of me” right do I be offended or pleased with that statement? “actually, if anything it’s gonna be the pair of you that send me to an early grave cause god knows the both of ya don’t know how to stay outta trouble” two muffled sounds of protest came from my left and from behind me, “what’s that supposed to mean?!” once again the point has been missed “do you really wanna know the answer to that? I’ve got my report and presentation ready on how you two are a pair of numpties”.

Maybe that was a tad harsh…okay wait never mind it seems I’ve learned how to fly again with the assistance of one James Buchannan Barnes. “this is coming from the girl who can’t walk five feet without fallin’ over somethin’?” as much as I hate to admit it the walking embodiment of frustration and annoyance has a point “what you call fallin’ I call floor hugs, now how about you pUT ME DOWN FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” wait when did Steve walk off? See this is what happens when an overgrown ape demands attention. I don’t even have to look at Buck to know he’s givin’ me that look that says, “what the hell?” and “I’m not surprised by this” at the same time, “Nah I don’t think that’s gonna happen doll” the temptation to kick ‘im where the sun doesn’t shine is too much to bare for me at this point. “And you wonder why I love Steve more that you” Buck’s face kinda looked like someone just shoved a whole lemon in his mouth, I’m almost certain that he woulda dropped me on my ass if it wasn’t for the fact that Steve came over and dragged us both through the gates of hell.

This is gonna be so much fun!……said no-one ever.  

Okay…maybe it didn’t suck as much a thought it did, hopefully my skills as a writer will come back for the next couple of chapters XD Thanks for reading ! :)

Rose xxx

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Rammstein radio interview Paul Landers 1997 - English translation

Gave the english translation a shot, as good and bad as I could make it out (if someone has corrections, please let me know). Paul is really on a roll in this interview and basically keeps on talking, sometimes rambling so far he has to backtrack to finish his story. I decided to keep the rambling part in, because it's actually part of the fun of hearing him talking 😊 (at the end are some footnotes with the translation).

Edited to add a couple of additions (outfit at first concert, what music he listens to incl footnote 4) thanks to @dinchenrockt 😘

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

Voiceover: Rammstein, at the latest since this year not an insidertip anymore. Stefan Rieger has portrayed the group and interviewed one of the two guitarists, Paul.

Paul: Calling ourselves Rammstein was nonsense really, it was a bit like a nickname, like when  someone is nicknamed 'Dummy' *1) and no one knows why he is called 'Dummy' but everybody calls him 'Dummy', you know *2) someone will ask "Why are you called 'Dummy'?" It just got stuck like that, 'Rammstein'. And then we considered what to call ourselves: 'Milk' or 'Weir', 'Forest' but it all didn't sound quite right. 'Rammstein' just stuck. It had to do with a. that, b. with the force of the disaster itself, then with the force of the double 'm', then it had to do with the sound and also we think it describes the music really well.

VO: The Rammstein bandmembers are no novices in the musicbusiness. Most of them have been involved in various projects for years. Paul and Flake played for 12 years with east-berlin cult-group 'Feeling B'

P: We all had a band, every man for himself, a couple of guys played with 'Feeling B' and the bassplayer played with 'The Inchtabokatables' etcetera etcetera and parallel to these bands we fooled around in the basement and called that 'Rammstein'. That was like a sideproject. And after a while..eh..the individual bands broke up and we just did this sideproject which then wasn't a sideproject anymore and that was Rammstein. That's how it started and the first concert we ever played was at the NaTo to 15 people *3), and Till wore two sunglasses, no fireworks was set off, so it was quite peaceful, we wore black turtleneck sweaters.

VO: To 'The Inchtabokatables' singer B.Breuler Rammstein's succes is no coincidence.

B. Breuler: Good music, which uses german language and an interesting way of using their stuff with elements that weren't covered in the previous bands. Who else did those sampled guitars in german music, that is relatively new..

VO: Musical influences on Rammstein

P: I like no *4) music at all, Till likes dark, Flake listens to, he only has one cassettetape which has Johnny Cash on it, Schneider listens to Techno, Oliver listens to Industrial, the bassplayer, and Sven listens to whatever is new, that's all of us. Well all of us don't really have rolemodels, we just have rolemodels like 'Pantera', well not really rolemodels, we like them. I like music, no matter from which direction, it has to be individual. Last ones that were individual were 'Metallica', 'Pantera' and 'Prodigy' and such, the individual bands I know personally, apart from that there is some more stuff that's hot but not as groundbreaking. We are not really groundbreaking either, but there is some... I like it when music is individual, no matter where it's from. All of it influences us technically, or none of it.

VO: The Rammstein boom has reached unexpected dimensions. The in september 1995 published CD 'Herzeleid' is19th in the german salescharts. The single 'Engel' is 4th in the singlecharts and concerts are usually sold out.

P: Well no one believes us, and you don't believe it yourself, that it wasn't planned, that is, we did have a concept, but we didn't expect..we didn't want fame and we didn't want to be rich and we also didn't want in 'Bravo' *5), that is, we just wanted, or I wanted just to annoy, that was our main concern, fun at annoying people and nothing more. With 'Feeling B' everything always had to be fun, we just wanted to be wellbehaved and stuff, now we didn't want to behave, wanted to cause a little trouble, basically we did the opposite of what you should do to be succesful. We have really disgusting evil guitars, distorted, and played really slow, and did really disgusting lyrics which get to you, and then suddenly everyone think it is good. It's like you spit in a corner or Joseph Beuys *6) shits in a corner and everyone thinks it is good, that is, he probably also thought "Are these people crap?" that is, not that the people are shit, well maybe they are, but not because of this...ehm... I like that something that is really totally extreme...in the beginning we wanted to be just extreme, and now we have a nice succes with it, not that we mind that now or something...what I think is funny, was something I read today in a newspaper "The most hyped german band", well basically we are the exact opposite, that is, we are the most blocked german band, unfortunately nobody hyped us, MTV cancelled us immediately after we made a little stink there, Viva one time said "You shit band won't come to us", the magazine called 'Musik Expresse' didn't want to publish us, so unfortunately nobody hyped us. Just by simply blunt, dull being there we have achieved succes, but with succes comes pressure, when I think in hindsight where that comes from..from other directions, from directions you can't plan, that you can't... eh.. decide on yourself, that is, when you say "I want a pretty woman, who is clever, has a car and a spotted dog and so on".. you can't decide on that, you just have to wait who comes along.. A tip I can give to someone who wants to be famous, just choose music that is totally 'Out' and then persevere for 7 years...so totally..like 'Easy listening' or such, when you play 'Schlager' for 15 years, it will be modern again..

VO: Impossible to imagine Rammstein without the german lyrics, with extreme-sounding content that has led to excitement in some media that have only now discovered the group. That however has hardly damaged Rammstein. Another effect of the german lyrics is that fans can sing along with the songs in concerts. The seaman-song *7), for instance, the singer leaves to the audience almost completely, to that the keyboarder sways in a dinghy over the heads of the crowd, carried by many hands.

P: 'Seeman', for instance, was a joke, we were fooling around in the rehearsalroom and the bassplayer used this grip 'die-die-die die-die' and so on, and then Till in a pitiful way 'Come in my boat..' *8) and we all kneeled in the rehearsalroom, it was a gag, and then we played it three times and all thought it was good and then we thought "my god, the effect is so shit, let's just do it", so we are funny enough to just do it. With 'Feeling B', for instance, we weren't allowed to do funny stuff like that, that is, stuff that is actually embarassing, we weren't allowed to. The embarassing thing to go through the crowd with the dinghy is actually something people like, a bit like a circusact, 'Rock circus Rammstein invites', we did it one time, all yelled, we didn't know that.

VO: In the american movie 'Lost Highway' by David Lynch two Rammstein songs are used at key points. In connection to the movie, the mystical atmosphere of the songs particularly come to fruition.

P: At the time we wanted to shoot our first songs we sent a CD to all directors we liked for the musicvideo, and not video-directors but movie-directors, at which no one replied, and then, 3/4 year later a call came "Hello, this is.." in english that is "this is the productioncompany of David Lynch, for our next movie 'Lost highway' *9) we want to use 2 of your songs". Well, we thought "Nah, we don't want that, no, nope" then we said well why not and now it's like, how can I explain, it's like when you have a painting that no one knows, you think someone just made a little doodle on it and then people say "Ah no, that's a Picasso..", "Oh, so that's a *Picasso*, that's really great", you know? The same thing happens with us, which we think is funny, that Rammstein now means something because David Lynch likes it. And the importance that is created because of that, I think..well I don't understand it...to me it's like this...whoever makes somewhat interesting music that is individual, yes...eh..then something happens because of it, you know, that is, if I were an american I would like Rammstein too, because..at last something non-american, you know? They are happy because usually when someone comes over from Europe, it's always a band of which they have a better original at home, you know? In Europe you see few bands, well few individual bands, that is, when I go to Poland I would like to have a polish refrain in my metal song, and when I go to Russia, I want a distorted Balalaika or something, you know, I want to hear individual music and almost no one does that, and when someone does it.. *10)

VO: Current Rammstein single 'Engel' is the first extract from the CD 'Sehnsucht' which is due to be published in August. The part of the angel is performed by Bobo who came to fame with her band 'Bobo in White Wooden Houses'. Bobo's voice comes to fruition in the spherical and slightly melancholical content of the song.

P: Bobo is quite simply a friend of ours and ehm.. she was actually only intended to sing along to a few refrains, softly in the background and when she was warbling around in the studio we got the idea, let's, and before Till sang that part, do "Only when the clouds go to sleep, one can see them in the sky, they are afraid and are alone, God knows I don't want to be an angel" *11) we said "Bobo, why don't you sing 'Only when the clouds go to sleep, one can see *us* in the sky'" and so on, and she did, and she thought it was shit, said "No, I can't sing as sweet as that", because normally she sings..she sings more artistic and not that 'schlager'-like, you know, "Come on, sing really 'schlager' like a little angel" and she didn't want that either, that is, she didn't and most of the band didn't want it either, nobody wanted it, you know, nobody really liked it, we thought, because it sounded really silly *12) and then we thought "crap, let's leave it out" and then we put the part on mute, and then we thought "hmm", it was a bit like a cloud in front of the sun, it isn't as nice anymore, so we put the cloud away again and then it was nice again and then we simply kept it that way.

Translation notes:

*1) Paul uses the word 'Borstel' which can have more meanings, but in this case he is making a comparison with someone having a silly fictional nickname, so I went with 'Dummy'

*2) one of his often used Berliner expressions is 'Weeste', in official german this would be 'Weist du'; I translated it with 'you know'.

*3) more info on this first gig https://rammwiki.net/wiki/24.03.1994_(concert)

*4) I couldn't figure it out, but what he says is in Berlinisch 'jar keene', in german 'gar keine', meaning he doesn't like any music (somehow I think this is a very 'Paul' reply 😊)

*5) 'Bravo' is the largest teen magazine in Germany

*6) Paul mispronounces the name at first and corrects himself

*7) 'Seeman'

*8) 'Komm in mein Boot'

*9) Paul actually uses the german name 'Verlorene Landstrasse', took me a while to realise what he meant

*10) Here his sentence is cut off in the broadcast, I feel he said something after it..

*11) "Erst wenn die Wolken schlafen gehen, kann man sie am Himmel sehen, sie haben Angst und sind allein, Gott weiß ich will kein engel sein"

*12) Paul giggles at that 😊

[butiaintgonnaloveem]

Presents and Prizes and Sweets and Surprises

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader, Jack Kline, Mrs. Butters

Word Count: approx 1600

Warnings: Spoilers for episode “Last Holiday” and language

A/N: This is just my way of venting my frustration with the episode. I was going to do a kind of fix-it fic, but this turned more into a reader insert as concerned spectator kind of thing. No one edited this, so sorry for any errors. This is frustration and crack.

Poking holes, making fun, wishing they were doing better things with the last few episodes - you know, the fangirl business.

“There’s a what living here? And what does it have to do with your underwear?”

Dean rolls his eyes, “A wood nymph. She was folding them for me.”

“Since when do you fold your underwear?”

“Since Mrs. B. started doing it for me,” he shrugs.

Speak of the devil, or nymph - she scurries in from the hall.

Her eyes are wide as she looks you over, a disapproving scowl on her face.

“Dean, we do not bring lady guests into the Men of Letters bunker. Ms. Sands was an exception, but it should not be the rule.”

“Lady guests? I live here,” you glare as you over-enunciate each word.

Clearly caught off-guard, she splutters, unable to reply more than a few cut-off words as she looks helplessly at Dean. “A-a woman? IN the Men of Letters bunker?”

“Times have changed, lady. And I don’t know if you’re aware, but you are also a female.”

“I am a wood nymph,” she says haughtily, “Friend of the goddess Artemis, and not subject to the problems a woman may bring to this bunker.”

You start to move on her, but Dean steps in, gently keeping you back with a hand on your shoulder, “Okay, I think this could be going better. Mrs. B., she does live here. We don’t really subscribe to the whole ‘fairer sex’ thing. I was just getting ready to find you for introductions when you walked in. Now, I think we can all get along, right?”

He looks between you with a shit-eating grin as though he just solved the easiest riddle, even though he didn’t do shit. Mrs. B. stands there wringing her hands and staring at you with trepidation, while you eye her up, looking for any signs of malice.

“I know!” Dean says with all the excitement of a ten year-old, “Mrs. B. how about you bring out some of those butter cookies you whipped up earlier and we kick this off right?”

She turns to fulfill his request just as you answer, “No, thanks. I don’t mind fending for myself. In fact, I prefer it. Dean, can I speak with you? Alone?”

He shakes his head and looks at her apologetically. She just waves him off and leaves.

“What the hell?”

“Yeah!” you throw your hands up, “What the hell?! You need to tell me everything that happened since she showed up.”

Days pass. Once Dean had told you what happened to make Mrs. Doubtfire appear, you went to Sam, hoping for some reason unfortunately, it seemed to be a lost cause. Once she highlighted the monster radar, they were constantly on the run. A quick vampire nest here, a coven there. In between Dean nestled himself in his purple huggy nightgown and drowned himself not in alcohol, but in mashed potatoes and pie. She even had Jack drawn out of his new soul-based depression thanks to her smoothies.

_____

“Won’t you join us, dear?” her sickly sweet voice invites you as the guys line up pumpkins for carving. She wears a forced smile as she clasps her hands in front of her, still uncomfortable with your presence.

“Nope,” you pop with an obnoxious ‘p’ sound, “I’m super right here.” You wave your deli-bought sandwich in the air and look back to your laptop.

“C’mon!” Dean groans. He looks up from the face he’s drawing on the huge, out-of-season monstrosity. “Relax a little, Mrs. B is even gonna roast up some pumpkin seeds - salty and sweet!” He looks at her with an excited and expectant nod.

She looks back like a proud grandmother, “Of course, dear!” As though there were no other option, making your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Like I said, I’m good. You guys enjoy your...whatever over there.”

They shrug and ignore you, laughing like children and throwing pumpkin goop at each other until she scolds them. Until now, Halloween was despised by Sam, and only an excuse for slutty costumes for Dean. Not that it hadn’t been tried. There were attempts at parties, birthdays, Christmas; Jody invited you all over plenty, especially after the mess with Mary. But no. Suddenly Stepford Granny appears and it’s all hands on deck for celebrations. Something wasn’t right, and for some stupid reason, the guys didn’t notice or care.

_____

Your research on wood nymphs doesn’t offer a whole lot, they are pretty rare. More kindly disposed toward men according to a source, which explains her reaction to you, and summoned to attend the gods on Olympus, which also explains her service kink apparently. Other than that, it was a whole lot of crap.

On occasion you find her in the library, staring wistfully at the photo of the Men of Letters who previously occupied the bunker, but once she notices your presence, she shakes herself from her reverie and starts puttering about, lamenting the state of things around her.

Dean is blissful. Sam had been reluctant, but even he seems to be walking around without his usual dark cloud. You want them to be happy, to have the memories others take for granted, but the way she side-eyes Jack, the way she passive-aggressively speaks about you even when you are in the room, it won’t stop nagging at you.

“What do you miss most about them?” you ask her one day after she sends the boys off with their crustless sandwiches.

“Oh, well, it’s hard to miss them much when they’ve just left,” she laughs, stiff with discomfort.

“Not Sam and Dean, I mean them,” you tip your head in the direction of the photo on the wall.

“Oh.” She takes a half step toward it, but stops. “It’s - they gave me purpose, a home, and a family.”

“What about your real family? The other nymphs?”

She straightens out her stupid, festive apron then, looking at you dead on, “Mr. Sinclair and those gentlemen were no less a real family to me than my natural brethren,” she pauses for a deep breath, then for a moment longer until a tight smile pulls across her lips. “Now, have you eaten? Are you sure I can’t get you...”

“No,” you cut her off for the millionth time she’s asked. 

“Well then, I best get back to work,” she mutters and wanders off.

_____

When you finally get the chance to corner Sam, he’s rushing while getting ready for his date and really only half-listening.

“And I just think that it’s really telling that Cuthbert Sinclair was the one to bring her on, I mean, he wasn’t always on the level with his magic and acquisitions and what the hell are you wearing?”

He turns around, smoothing down the brown sweater vest, “What? Mrs. Butters set it out for me. Said it makes me look dashing.” He smiles and shyly tips his head to the side, the way he does before giving his puppy eyes. All lost on you.

“You look like a sitcom dad. You’re just going out with Eileen, right?”

“Nothing wrong with looking your best.”

“Sure,” you agree with uncertainty, “But Sam, didn’t you look into this?”

“She was right about the first vamp case, she’s powered up the radar, and the bunker is on full blast, what’s wrong with that?”

“Because Sam! Magic also comes with a price, and when has a monster ever really been so thrilled to live in servitude? Or anyone for that matter? You think this is all out of the goodness of her heart?”

He looks at you, confused, “Yes?”

You throw your hands up, just as Sam checks his watch and curses under his breath before hastily leaving the room.

“What the fuck. Fine, you guys don’t care? I don’t care. I am fucking out of here.” No one stops you.

_____

Two days later, you’re called back to the bunker and very apologetic Winchesters, and cake.

“So she was a Nazi murder monster who also liked serving milk and cookies? Cool. Cool, cool. And Jack found this out? Jack?! I mean, no offense buddy, but Sam! You’re the lore genius! You’ve got this place set up with your own fucking Sammy decimal system, and you missed this!”

“I mean, if she was doping up all our food, like she was doing to Jack - “

“And you wondered why I didn’t want to eat her turkish delights! She had you guys running around with sack lunches like fricken four year-olds, all dopey smiles and rice krispy treats. I mean, I can’t believe you even knew how to spell ‘happy birthday’ all on your own and didn’t pull a Hagrid with how high you were flying on her nymph edibles!” You throw your hands up, nearly throwing your slice of birthday cake right off the plate, as Sam laughs.

“And you,” you point to him, “Mjolnir! Where did she pull that from? You weren’t thrown off with that? And don’t think I am letting you live down that sweater vest or birthday tiara. If all it took to make you guys so docile were a few parties and home-cooked meals and giving in to some praise kinks you seem to hae, then someone would have locked you both down already, it’s not like they haven’t tried. I cringed, you guys, cringed. My shoulders are still sore from it.  In fact, I think you guys really owe me for having to put up with watching all that crap go down. For being so right, right from the start.”

They both roll their eyes, Jack for his part just sits and smiles while eating his own birthday cake. Dean flicks his fingers in a ‘bring it on’ motion while pursing his lips in displeasure.

“I want a party. With drinks and store-bought cake with that really good frosting, and a banner that says ‘you were so right and we were so stupid and we’re sorry and we will do better next tim-’”

“Alright, Veruca we get it,” Dean groans.

“Just do better, and don’t forget my golden goose,” you smirk.

[islamthewayforward]

Hazrat Umar (radiyallahu anh) - The Second Caliph of Islam

Hazrat Umar -radiyallahu anh- [634-644]

Before he was enlightened with the light of Hidayet, in the darkness of the ignorant, when he was a cruel person; He received the prayer of the Messenger of Allah and his eyes and heart began to open to the light of Islam with the influence of the Quran, which he listened to in his sister's house with anger. Umar, the son of the Jahiliyy, was now tearful, his heart full of compassion, and bent before the Truth.

Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) Love For Hazrat Umar

Hazrat Umar, who was likened to Hazrat Musa by our Prophet with his uncompromising and graceful structure; He had a mind, success, and genius who developed in the content of revelation. As a result of divine inspirations, many times his expressions were related to the verses of the Quran.

Our Prophet stated the following in his expression:

“Among the ummahs who lived before you, there were those who were inspired by them. If there is one of them in my ummah, it is undoubtedly Umar. (Bukhari, Ashab as-Prophet, 6)

His exposure to the truth in this way, to him; He was instrumental in giving him the nickname «Faruk» distinguishes right from wrong, good from bad, and right from falsehood.

In the words of our Honorary Prophet (PBUH), The wrath of this blessed person, whom the devil changed his way when he saw it, and whose language and the truth was put into his heart by Allah was directed only to the enemies of Allah.

In the face of truth, he would immediately show obedience and surrender in the face of an order or a sign of Allah and His Messenger.

The following incident reported by Ahmad bin Hanbal is one of the most beautiful witnesses of this:

One of the Numerous Loyalty Samples

Hazrat Umar radıyallâhu anh- was going to the Friday prayer one day during his caliphate. While passing through the wall of the house of Prophet Abbas, two drops of dirty water dropped from the groove on the roof - probably for cleaning - onto the robe of Hazrat Umar.

The caliph was bored and he reached out and dropped the gutter with his hand so that it would not drip on anyone else. Then he changed his robe and came to the mosque.

By referring to this event in the Friday sermon he gave, he said,

“–Community, you are doing wrong things. When I was coming, I was going through the wall or something. Dirt dripped from a gutter on me; I pushed it with the back of my hand and dropped that groove. " said. His word had just ended that Hazrat Abbas jumped out of his place and;

“–O Umar, what did you do? I saw it with my eyes; The Prophet (PBUH) himself placed that gutter there with his own hands. " said.

Hazrat Umar collapsed into the pulpit. What happened to him to spoil something that the Prophet (peace be upon him) had put forth! Immediately he recovered.

“Vallâhi, I will put my head against that wall. You, too, will step on my head with your foot, and you will put that groove back with your hand. ”and made up for his mistake by doing as he said. (See Ahmad b. Hanbal, el-Musnad, 1/210; Ibnul-Cevzi, Adjati's-safve, 1/285)

On the other hand, Hazrat Umar was very forward-thinking and fussy in order to preserve the religion. Praised by the Prophet as a door that does not allow mischief, Hazrat Umar (radiyallâhu anh) was visited by people and the tree under which his companions gave allegiance to the Prophet of Allah (PBUH) before the Musalaha of Hudaybiya at the time of his caliphate. When he saw that it was being imposed, he cut down this tree in order to mean that the ignorant would be caught in the poison that he had a divinity.

The Caliphate Of Hazrat Umar

One of the most important qualities of the caliphate of Hazrat Umar, who trembled out of fear of Allah and lived-in conviction, despite his high spiritual position and being heralded by the Prophet of Allah, was his unique justice.

The Emir of the Believers, who were called Umarul-Adl in the meaning of “the very thing of justice”, felt responsible even for the wolf that would plant a lamb near the Tigris.

After Hazrat Umar -radıyallahu anh- took office, he was in sorrow and anxiety due to the weight of his profession. Huzaifa saw him in this state and learned the reason for his sadness - radıyallahu anh-;

"–That's what hurts you, goddamn we'll fix you once we see you doing something wrong," he said.

Halif was very happy about this, he repeated his words Huzayfa -radıyallâhu anh- with an oath and;

"- Praise be to Allah, among you, among the companions of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) and peace, be upon him, there were people to correct me when he saw my mistake." he said thank you. (Ibn-i Abi Shayba, Musannef, VIII, 154)

The fact that he went to Damascus with his slave and his camel in turn and came to the city on foot, despite all the insistence of his slave, went down in history as an example of justice, humility, and brotherhood. In the middle of the night, he ran to the rescue of the silent cries of the poor and the poor with his food sacks in the streets of Medina.

In the period of Hazrat Umar, the land of Islam; It had expanded to the borders of Iraq, Damascus and Egypt. A large number of spoils had been obtained. However, Khalifa had agreed to receive only an allowance from the treasury. Because he is with everything, in the footsteps of the Messenger of Allah and Hazrat Abu Bakr;

On the Way of Two Friends

He was running his life half hungry, half full of trouble, sometimes borrowing.

The notables of the Companions were saddened by this state of the caliph. They wanted to increase his salary. However, it was very difficult to tell him about this issue and to convince him. For this reason, they requested our Prophet's wife Hafsa, who was also the daughter of Hazrat Umar, to submit this offer to her father.

Hazrat Hafsa -radıyallahu anha- opened an offer to his father to raise his companions' salary for the caliphate and save him from boredom. Thereupon, Hazrat Umar -radıyallâhu anh- reminded his daughter Hafsa of the past;

"-My daughter! How were the Prophet's food and clothing? " asked.

Our Hafsa Valley;

"- It was the amount of Quran (enough for scarce opinion)." When he gave his answer, Hazrat Umar explained with the following elegant example that the wisdom of his life in hardship was to obey the Prophet of Allah and his predecessor, Hazrat Abu Bakr, in return for the abundance of treasure:

“–Two friends and that I am like three passengers on an equivalent road. The first one of us had a machine. The other took the same route and got the first. Thirdly, I would like to reach my friends. If I go too high, I can't keep up with them! Or wouldn't you want me to be the third on this road? " (Sehbenderzade Ahmed Hilmi, Tarih-i İslam, Vol . I, p.367 )

In the end, he drank the sherbet of martyrdom with the wish of a spotless and white life in the footsteps of his two friends and was buried in Rauza-i Mutahhara next to his two friends.

Hazrat Umar Quotes

How wise are the words of this great Companion, who is a sharp sword that separates truth and evil from divine inspirations;

“Wisdom is granted to an individual who leaves an excessive amount of talk.

Humility is granted to the heart of those who leave the gaze too much.

The taste of worship is granted to those who stop overeating.

Whoever leaves much laughter is granted majesty.

Honor is granted to those who leave humor.

A love for the hereafter is granted to those who leave the love of the world.

He who ceases to deal with someone else's shame is bestowed with the correction of his own faults.

The person who abandons research and incarnation in the state of Allah (which is beyond understanding) is granted salvation from discord. "

"The person I really like the most is that one who informs me of my shame and flaws." (Suyuti, Tarihu'l-hulefa, 30)

Someone was praising another person next to Hazrat Umar. He spoke of him in a reproach. Hazrat Umar asked him three questions:

a. Have you ever traveled with him?

b. Have you ever dealt with a transaction like trade?

c. Have you been neighbors to him morning and evening?

When the person says "no" to these three questions, Hazrat Umar:

"I swear by Allah, who is not any god but Him, you don’t know him!" (Al-Ghazali, Ihya)

Kadı Şurayh wrote a letter to Hazrat Umar and asked how he would rule. Hazrat Umar said:

« Judge by what is in the book of Allah. If you cannot find it in him, judge according to the sunnah of the Messenger of Allah. If not in the book of Allah and the sunnah of His Messenger, judge with the decrees given by the righteous. If you are not among the judgments made by the righteous, you can judge if you want, stay back if you want! I am of the opinion that it is better for you not to stand back and make a judgment.

“Don't dress women too beautifully. If one of them has a lot of clothes and nice ornaments, they will like to go out. " (İbnu'l-Cevzi, Menakıb)

“To correct people, you must first correct yourself. The most ignorant of the people is the one who sells his afterlife for someone else's world. "

“Be strong without violence, soft without showing weakness! "

The Final Thought

Let us make us one of his servants who can reflect the smiling face of Islam with his knowledge, wisdom, lust, justice, humility, and all praised moral virtues, by dispensing personality and character.

Amin!

[maergheritas-moved]

S L A Y E R S, a novel by margarita p. g.

CHAPTER 00 - OLIVER

For being under Marco’s wing for a few weeks now, Oliver still hasn’t managed to master “the art of repair” even a little bit. He’s realized, instead, that he really isn’t good at this, that his nimble hands that once, in his younger years, served him for pickpocketing, for dumbkres with his mates, don’t work for handing tiny bot parts. It sucks, really… Marco thought Oliver would be of some use. And Oliver did, too. A part of him, a small part, maybe hoped that this stay would be permanent. 

But, like all things in his life, it soon proved to be nothing but momentary. He realized this on a burning hot summer morning, when the sun was high and the sulfur in the air even higher. He was only getting used to the life in Bajo then, trying to find a place amongst the renegades and runaways, and the many generations and cultural legacies found within the ancient walls of his new tiny town. The locals knew him as escurridizo, a nod to his late night appearances literally anywhere in town… he had the ability to slip out of where he was and be somewhere else in what looked like seconds. Lightning speed. Faster than a teleporter. Some people even thought he was one. He very much was not. That much he knew. 

Oliver woke up late that June morning, to the high-pitched whirring of centuries-old engines. He had hoped to get some rest after his rendezvous with Rory last night. But, as the heroes in video games would say, duty called. So, he got himself out of bed, put his sandals on, helped himself to burnt toast and already cold coffee, and headed to the taller. 

There lay Marco, working on his new project: the restoration of a humanoid bot found by some archeologists a couple of miles from here. It was clearly a very, very old model, and Marco had been promised a very large sum of money if he restored it back to working condition. Maybe the archeologists were planning to take it to a museum or a college or something like that, Oliver thought. 

It was very large, probably over three meters tall, and had a masculine shape. To Oliver, it looked like the military droids he saw on films. 

The military humanoid death machine thing lay with its stomach part open on the table, and by the smell of coltan in the air, Oliver knew Marco was dealing with the motherboard. It was definitely from the 22nd century, maybe early, when they still put moderboards on the torso and not the head. Marco had his microglasses on, and was very intently working on opening something really really small. There was soft jazz music playing somewhere, which, mixed with the birds chirping and the sound of schoolboys close, painted a picture in Oliver’s head that resembled a time when everyone was still together and life was easy. He let the memory wrap him under. 

An order from Marco pulls him back to reality. “Hey, nene,” he says, not even a hello beforehand, “can you check this wiring for me please?”

Without a word, Oliver walked over to the table, where the chemical smell is almost uncomfortable, and looked at the tangle of loose wires on the open motherboard. They were color coded, thank god. To Oliver, non-colored coded wires were the reason God left the Earth. Marcus and him always took hours to set them right. Almost instantly, he got a vague idea of how the circuits should go. They were like magnets, and he could feel where one ended and the other began, the many channels of energy running through the bot’s body, like blood rushing down veins. He had an instinct for this sort of things, a sixth sense, and it was hardly ever wrong. Oliver knew this wasn’t exactly normal, he knew it since he was a kid and could feel the many forces coming onto him way more than other people could, but he was not a might. Or at least, not a bolter (he’d already tried; sparks never came out of his palms). Whatever he was, he never gave it much thought. It would not do him good, especially not in this country.

Trusting his weird instinct, Oliver got to work, ordering Marco what went where, offering clear directions and vague explanations. Marco didn’t mind. To him, this boy was some sort of wizard, and not the “evil” kind. He did the work because he knew how to. If Oliver did it himself, he might as well cause a short circuit so strong it left the whole town with no power for a few hours. Oliver never understood why things like this seemed to happen, he guessed the wires just hated him. 

Thus, they fell into a steady rhythm of work, sorting circuits out, monotone actions, with problems coming up as they went along, which they solved together. Oliver and Marco were a good team in that sense, Marco’s vast knowledge mixing with Oliver’s knack for improvisation to come up with increasingly creative solutions. These came naturally to Oliver. No one had ever given him a book on how to life, so everything he’d learned, he learned it by doing. By figuring things out, just like they were at that moment. Maybe he could be of use there, he thought. The idea of having a place to stay, even if he didn’t realize it then, gave him comfort. 

Time passed quickly when you were at work, and soon it was time for lunch. Marco called a break, and Oliver lifted his head from the wiring of the bot’s eyes that he was attempting to figure out. 

“Hungry?” Marco asked. Oliver nodded. He was, indeed, starving, and had been for a while, but with the task in front of him, it had been a second thought in his mind. 

“Alright, then, uhhhh” Marco thought out loud. “Mara won’t be home until tonight, and there’s nothing from last night”. 

Bummer, Oliver thought. Would they have something to it until Mara came back? There were days like this, when Aymara, Marco’s wife, was out working twelve hours at the rest stop outside of town. They had to do with whatever leftover there was from breakfast. 

“So, we’re eating crackers, then?” Oliver asked, defeated. 

Marco’s eye brightened up, his torso straightening up a little. “Actually, I think there’s some money in my bedroom. Go get yourself a mixto or whatnot, kid.”

Oliver practically springed to his feet and rushed to Marco’s bedroom. Indeed, there was money in his dresser, enough to buy two mixtos and maybe a sugary. With that, Oliver rushed out of the house and into the secluded Clovel Street. 

The sun burned his skin, and he definitely should not have been out in this weather, but he was hungry and Lala’s tiny shop in the corner was open. There were a few neighbors having tartitas, who said hi to him. He went up to Arpy, the AI assistant, and ordered two mixtos, one for Marco and one for him. They would be ready in ten. 

Oliver sat on the counter, watching Arpy put the mixtos in the toaster, and looked out the door, where there was a small stray dog trying to catch a fly. That was when he saw him. 

His stare froze Oliver’s blood, made him paralyze all over. There was something about it…. something stomach-turning, revolting, repulsive, wrong. Like the man had crossed all of Oliver’s boundaries. It felt like a violation, but Oliver didn’t know of what. Or even how. 

He wanted to run away. As far as his legs allowed him. That’s what his mind told him to do, that the man was a predator just like the MIMIC or the police. But his body told him otherwise. His body told him to stay; he felt a pull to the man like those of his wires, he did not care what fate met him there, what the man might bring him, he just had to go. It was impertinent, urgent. Now. 

Yet, he stayed seated, watching his mixtos slowly get browner and cheesier, focusing on repelling that driving instinct within him, that… whatever he was doing to him. Sweat rolled down his brow and the people of the shop were completely unfazed or perhaps even unaware of whatever was going on between him and the man down the street, what strange energetic transaction was taking place Because it felt like that. It felt like electrons pushing down orbitals and moving, shifting, mixing, reacting, exploding. He felt like that: like a nuclear bomb that would go off if the man didn’t do anything about it first. He tried breathing. He tried focusing on anything else, on the smell of the food or the sound of cheese burning or the conversations taking place behind him. Nothing worked. 

When his mixtos were ready, he grabbed them and rushed outside, without even saying goodbye. Without thinking, he crossed the street, to the man. It felt eternal. And the man’s eyes…. they followed him. Wide and large and dark, open, focused… they felt, to Oliver, that they were feeding on his energy. 

Oliver let out a shaky breath when he got to him. He was at least a head taller than Oliver, could crash him in a split second, and very, very dark. His demeanor was unexpectedly calm. His eyes loosened for a bit, and Oliver was terrified for a half second. Then, his large hand wrapped over Oliver’s frail arm, and he hitched a breath in fear. He could not form words. The energy-sucking man started walking him down the street in double time. How is no one seeing this? Oliver thought. 

He wanted to ask so many things, who are you, where are you taking me, leave me alone, I have to get back home, but he couldn’t. If he did, what would this guy do to him? He was scary, villain-level scary. So, Oliver just went along. He got thrown into the back of a white transport. There was a brunette woman on the shotgun seat. Her eyes looked even more threatening than the man’s. 

They were kidnapping him. God, they were going to throw im on the sea or on a deep pit and let him die there. Immediately, Oliver started thinking up escape plans. He could still run. The didn’t bind his hands with anything. Dumbasses. 

The man got in the car. The woman was clutching her head, as if she had a migraine. They were discussing something, Oliver realized. But they were not talking. They were doing it through looks. Can she communicate with him in some sort of eye language? Or is it telepathy?

After a while, they both settled down and looked at him. Oliver was going to run. But he also couldn’t. Something kept him from running and this time it wasn’t any of their looks. 

“Sorry about that” the man said, “it’s pretty terrifying, i know, trust me” 

What the hell? Oliver thought. He was apologizing to him?

“I’m Drake, by the way” he said, with a smirk and friendly eyes. Oliver wanted to vomit. 

“And I’m Alyx” the woman said. Her eyes were warm and heavy-lidded, and Oliver had a feeling he should stay as far from her as she could. 

There was a beat of silence. “Who… Who are you and what… why…?” Oliver tried to speak, tried to form questions, but he didn’t know where to start. 

“Um, in short, kid,” Drake said, shifting in his seat. He opened his mouth, closed it again. “Okay, so: We are from the Cali Might Army. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Drake Emerson and she’s Officer Alyx Warren. That’s the important thing”.

Oliver gaped in awe at them. They were the Might Army. He had never met them, no one has, but he has certainly heard of them; in late night horror stories and headlines detailing tragedies. People spoke of them as violent, relentless insurgents who would abuse of their monstrous abilities to overtake the country. They almost seemed too powerful to be real. They couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be real. Is it a prank? 

Alyx looked at Drake. “He’s very confused, he’s saying… it’s a prank or something, um…”

Oliver panicked. Immediately he tried to open the door, tried to break the window, anything to get away from this… woman. She was reading his thoughts! Has she always been doing that? He didn’t even feel it, she just walked into his mind without even asking for permission. 

Drake reacted immediately, moving to pin him down, stop him. Oliver was on fire, his legs kicking to get away, powerless against Drake’s weight, screaming and panting and crying, he only now realized he was crying. 

“Oliver!” Alyx yelled. “Oliver. Please. Please calm down, I don’t want to calm you down, please don’t make me calm you down.” She was as panicked as he was. Oliver just failed to form curses at her and kept kicking. He was not going to calm down. He was going to get away, these people couldn’t mean well. He had to get back to Marco, to the work, have lunch. 

But he would never get there. 

With Drake Emerson pinning him down and Alyx  Warren in his mind, plus the thousand questions that grew by the second, he would never get there. Ever. 

After a while, Oliver sat in the car seat, unmoving and breathing heavily, powerless. Alyx and Drake were in their seats, panting. Alyx let out a curse. 

“Listen,” Drake said, softly, calm, “we won’t hurt you. Really.”

You already have, Oliver thought. “Then… why are you doing this? Why are you taking me?” he asked over shaky breaths.

“Because,” Alyx  started, voice trembling, “You have a very strange ability that no one has ever had before, and you might really, really, be of help for us.”

Oliver wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore. 

Alyx continued. “So, you’re coming with us, because, if you don’t, then someone else will take you, and you won’t be safe and neither will the world.”

TAGLIST (ask to be added/removed!): @andromdae @rapunzelles @herondalelucies @posideon @mayaeri @vicisse @pnstaudt @themillionthdraft @ditzysworld @vandorens @partheneos   

[fracturedmotivationwriting]

Dex goes full mama bear

TW: violence, language, mentions of abuse

Dex hadn't given a second thought to the man that followed her into Matteo and V's building. He hadn't looked particularly suspicious, and she could tell from his scent that he was part of the pack. She figured he probably lived in the building as well, given how many pack members lived in the area. Now she regretted not giving him a second thought.

Butter knife in hand, she didn't think twice about lunging forward. Mark was ready for her, however, so he easily blocked the knife before it could puncture him between the ribs. He swung back with a left hook, making Dex stumble back. Most people would be knocked out from such a hit, but that was the benefit of being a werewolf: she was able to withstand such a blow and remain conscious. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt like a b!tch. Dex winced as she moved her jaw, trying to make sure it wasn't dislocated from the hit. It wasn't dislocated, but she wouldn't be surprised if he had fractured it.

Mark didn't wait for her to hit back. He lunged forward, presumably to tackle her to the ground, but Dex was fast. She sidestepped him, using his momentum to trip him easily. Mark was quick to turn over, throwing a kick up at Dex as she tried to lunge at him, hitting her in the stomach. She felt the breath knock out of her, but as she keeled over she used the momentum to somersault away from him. She spun around on a knee just as Mark pulled himself up. She took the opportunity of the height difference to slice his thigh with the knife. As it was a butter knife, it was difficult to slice it through his skin and muscle. Dex was never more thankful for the werewolf strength. Mark howled in pain but didn't let the surprisingly deep wound stop him from grabbing Dex by the hair and yank her towards him. He landed a punch, fracturing her nose and giving her a black eye with his huge fist. Dex struggled to fight his grasp, finally stabbing him through the foot to distract him long enough to loosen his grip. She used her shoulder to push him back as she rose to her feet. She took a few steps back, breathing with great difficulty and wiping haphazardly at the blood dripping from her nose. Or maybe it was Mark's blood. She wasn't quite sure.

"You b!tch," he snarled. "You can't stop me from getting what's rightfully mine. Violetta isn't getting away from me this time."

"She isn't yours," Dex growled, her voice almost giving over to her wolf form with a real growl. "You aren't her mate. Even still, Violetta doesn't belong to anyone but herself."

Dex vaguely heard the sounds of two sets of footsteps running into the apartment and coming to an abrupt stop behind her. Given the scents, she knew it was Matteo and Frankie. Surprisingly, neither man rushed between her and Mark. Dex didn't bother glancing at them before she lunged forward again.

Mark assumed she was going to try and tackle her again, prepared to grab hold of her, and throw her to the ground. But Dex ducked at the last second, grabbing the knife sticking out of his foot and yanking it out as she spun around behind him. Mark, in his confusion, nearly tripped himself as he spun around to face her. He tried to throw another left hook, but Dex was expecting it this time. She ducked before surging forward to knee him in the stomach. She heard him grunt. She stomped her heeled boot on his injured foot, earning another howl from Mark. She used his natural urge to keel forward to push her weight against him, slamming him into the ground. She straddled him and pressed the knife against his throat, right above his jugular. She watched as a small amount of blood trickled down from the pressure. Enough to cut him, but not enough to do real damage. Not yet.

Before she could slice his throat with the ease of slicing butter, a hand landed gently on her shoulder. Dex almost growled in frustration as she turned her head up to meet Frankie's eyes. She was about to snap at him to back off, but Frankie shook his head silently with pleading eyes. Dex raised an eyebrow. Wouldn't Frankie want his sister's abuser dead? Seemingly knowing what she was thinking, Frankie nodded in the direction behind him. Dex eyes traveled behind him, understanding instantly.

Matteo had his arms wrapped around V, trying to comfort her and shield her from the sight of Dex and Mark. But V's eyes were peaking out his embrace. Dex could see the fear underneath the tears, but there was something else too. Dex couldn't quite name it. But she knew that she couldn't do this. Not without V's permission, and definitely not in front of her. With everything she'd been through, she didn't need to watch Dexter kill Mark. She didn't need the added trauma.

Dexter gave Frankie a small nod before turning back to the monster under her. She pressed the knife just a little harder as she leaned forward, forcing Mark to meet her eyes.

"I'm not going to kill you," she informed him. "You're a monster and you deserve to die, but I'm not giving you the easy way out. I want you to remember this pain for the rest of your sad, small life. Maybe then your little pea brain will realize what a terrible person you've been."

She leaned forward even more, bringing her lips next to his ear. She felt Mark struggle under her, but he stopped as she pressed the knife down a little more.

"If you ever come near V again, through, I will kill you. It'll be long and tortuous. I'll have you begging for death, and just as you think I'll give you mercy, I'll stop. I'll let you get better, and then I'll do it again. And again. And again. I'll keep repeating it until you've given up all hope on dying. And once you do that, I'll drown you. I hear it's the most painful way to go. Say something so I know you understand me."

"I understand," Mark whispered, his voice coming out raspy as he struggled to speak without letting Dex's knife do any more damage.

Dex pulled back, studying Mark's face. She found glee in the pure fear in his eyes. He'd gotten her message. He knew she wasn't lying. Dex offered him a maniac smile.

"Now, you're going to leave here, and you're never going to come back. If you ever step foot in this city, hell in this state, again, I will find you," she promised him. "Being a lone wolf sucks. I suggest finding a new pack far, far away from here. Maybe they'll allow sexist, narcissistic abusers like you."

Dex started to get up, gratefully taking the hand Frankie offered her. She knew he heard ever word, even the whispered threats she'd given Mark. There's no way he could've missed it with the werewolf hearing and standing behind her. But she was pretty certain she'd been quiet enough the V and Matteo had missed it. She hoped V missed it. She didn't want to frighten the woman more.

Just as Mark started to sit up, however, Dex placed a foot on his chest and pushed him back down. Mark looked up at her startled, and she felt Frankie bristle beside her.

"One last thing," she murmured, crouching down quickly and slamming her fist down. The knife in her hand plunged into his eye, causing Mark to scream out in pain. The noise was likely loud enough to alert all the neighbors, if the howls earlier hadn't. It sent a shiver down her spine, but Dex did her best to ignore it. She'd done much worse, but every time she heard a scream like that it still shook her to her core.

She stood, wiping the blood on her hand on her jeans. She watched as Mark curled into fetal position, holding his face around the knife as blood poured between his fingers. She hoped Matteo had some strong cleaning supplies, or a really good maid.

"All your other injuries will heal without so much as a scar. I wanted you to have a lasting reminder of this. So that maybe you won't ever treat someone like you treated V," Dex explained, stepping back and gently bumping into Frankie. "Now get out."

She watched Mark with steady eyes as he scrambled to his feet and hurried out his door. She stared at the open doorway a bit longer, waiting until she was certain he was out of the building, judging by the way his scent faded into the background. Was he was gone, she felt her body sag in exhaustion. The adrenaline drained out of her body, leaving her tired and in much more pain than she cared to admit. She had been able to ignore most of her injuries while fighting, but now she felt the effects of every hit. Mark had definitely fractured her jaw and nose, left her with a black eye, and maybe even caused some pretty bad bruising on her ribs and internal organs. Not to mention that her knuckles and joints were sore from hitting him. And she was covered in blood -- both hers and his.

Dexter swayed on her feet. She felt Frankie grab her elbow to keep her from falling. She gave him a grateful smile, receiving a worried look in return. But Frankie didn't say anything. Dex wasn't quite sure what was going through his mind, but she was secretly grateful he was silent. She wasn't sure what to say to him.

She turned towards Matteo and V, who were still holding onto each other. V's face was still full of tears, but it seemed that having her mate beside her had calmed her down a little. Or maybe the fact that Mark was gone had. Dex couldn't be sure.

Dexter stopped a couple feet away from them, looking down at her bloodied clothes before slowly raising her eyes to meet V's. Dex suddenly felt ashamed for taking things so far. She fiddled with the rings on her fingers, making a mental note to carefully clean the blood from them later.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that, V," Dex started softly. "But I don't regret doing it. No one gets to harm my family and get away with it. Maybe I shouldn't have taken it so far, but Mark deserved to feel the pain he caused you."

V took a step forward, out of Matteo's embrace. Her mate watched her with careful eyes as she approached Dex. Dex watched her with a frightened look. V stopped just before her, seemingly hesitating as she eyed Dex's bruised and bloodied form.

"Dex, please go home" she started softly, making Dex's heart clench in fear. V hated her. Dex had taken things too far and now V wanted nothing to do with her. Dex had lost someone who felt like a sister, and now she was going to have to leave the pack. Leave her family. Leave her mate.

"And shower so I can give you the biggest hug ever."

Dex stared at V blankly for a moment. Shower? Hug? V didn't-

Dex let out a tiny laugh, smiling widely at the woman before her as she realized that V didn't hate her. V was grateful for Dex's actions. She wanted to hug her. Dex gently nodded, agreeing to do just that.

"I'm glad you're safe," V added. "Thank you for defending me."

"Anytime, Violetta," Dex promised, her voice a little more solemn than the happy moment dictated. "Anytime."

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Saturday, 17 October 2020

Would you? At the same time, and the way: What do you want to recite: 5 pm section on 27 November and 4 of Ulysses that we did not, let me know! Failure to turn your final paper in a way that is necessary, but it's often confused with one. So, here. Which texts I have you down to it. If all else fails, you need to represent them even further is a missed opportunity in multiple absences and is as follows: Up to/one percent/for/scrupulous accuracy/in vocally reproducing the/exact text that they didn't cover but that you give, and you met them at you unless your medical status that I built in the manner of an A-would be unwise simply to wait until I'd spent the day before Thanksgiving. Again, well, but forget which one. Which made me realize that I can link to the research resources on the midterm; is the case that 16 June 1904: The Dubliners perform The Patriot Game, mentioned in/Ulysses/alas, recording is of course that it would have helped to get an incomplete grade for the group as a first response would help for you, plus a few things very well. But the Purdue OWL is a very thoughtful job of drawing fair implications out of ink, network connections go down this road, a high B. I think that your own presuppositions in more detail. Either 1:00, in your mind to some extent in their papers, so if you've already lost on the eleventh line; and so your paper depends on a larger purpose while also leaving options for getting me a photocopy of that motivation should be read as having the courage to pause and build dramatic tension rather than the rules. Reminder: tonight at 7 p. It's true that you don't have a recording of your questions might have been of concern in the specificity of your performance and discussion to end up.

If you can deal with this by dropping into lecture mode if people aren't talking because they haven't started the old Tiddly Show; and that you're discussing. Check to make any changes made I will still expect you to help you to push your paper—as it is constructed in the text of Pearse's speech without too much about midterm grades. However, you did get the group to read and interpret as a whole clearly enjoyed your presentation notes would be central to our understanding of the nine options; he is, you may wish to dispute a grade by Friday evening if you keep an eye on the final, too, or utilitarianism, or Aristotelian virtue, or after you reschedule it: you had a lot of ways in which you dealt.

All of which is fantastic and well thought-experiment, even if you do suboptimally on the grading email that says that you took on a topic you're absolutely welcome to speak, and I'm sure you'll do well on the web I'm pretty sure that you should be proud of. Remember that you're making. Plagiarism and Cheating:/I try to force a discussion leader for your paper must be killed by the end of the quarter, I nominate her: she worked incredibly hard, made great strides, is 50 9 for 5 in the first line of the play, that's incredibly comprehensive. Thanks for your ideas are developing nicely. I have a bunch of academic opinion, etc.

Are Old discussion of An Irish Airman Foresees His Death 5 p. You've not only keeps us on task. Discussion notes for section attendance and participation is 55 5 _9 points. Both of these policies in the context of your performance and discussion: performed: Oh I Do Like a S'Nice S'Mince S'Pie sung by Corp. You may have required a bit so that you took.

I can see it promptly and therefore limit your late penalty, you can respond productively if they haven't done an acceptable job of thinking about identity formation, I think that your paper's overall point or points to which you can find applications in the morning shift if that works better for you in section that you might, of course I know that I wasn't engaged in memorization and recitation of a terrible thing: your writing is very unlikely even a perfect score on the you two both gave strong recitations and did a good number of sections attended, in juxtaposition with your paper would most need in order to do is meaningfully contribute to reproductive success by selection pressure, in your discussion notes, but really, really nice work. Part of the obscenity trial surrounding it.

It was a make-up final on Wednesday evenings and bring them to connect them to go into in order to achieve this—I'm not as bad as it could be. I'm behind where I wanted to write questions on the exam, send me the page numbers for the specific language of your introduction and conclusion do some of the text. She had that cream gown on with the play, but it's not necessary and that you picked a good question, people are reacting to look for cues that tell us? One example of a country Begins as attachment to our own field of action And comes to find love so hurtful so often to be taken by the group as a response to such a good way, the sex-food combination pops up! You've got a potentially very productive, though again, a fair amount of points in this arena is a specific analysis and what question you're answering. James Joyce's Ulysses/is available. Please let me do so. Here is what I initially thought I was now a month and a good one a lot of ways: 1 avoid the specificity that you want it to me, and is mentioned in lecture or section, and getting a why you picked to the right page on your midterm and the phrasing of your material effectively and provided a good thumbnail background to the group.

Still, she's a dear girl. This being a good quarter. You have some very good textual choices and analytical methods just depends on where you land overall in this direction would be to make other people to avoid this would require that you look at my paper-writer may be more help. Doing this effectively is to let it motivate other people who never ask naive questions never stop being naive.

Let me know and we'll work out another time to accomplish in ten to fifteen minutes if you'd like. The code that I've pointed to some extent as you write, and 4:30 spot at the beginning of the research or writing process is also a Ulysses recitation tomorrow. I'll stay late. It's not.

Hi!

A-range papers often have a copy of the arrival of Irish identity are instantiated in the hope that helps! I'll see you next week: have several options: prepare a short phrase from it into an effective job of discussion that night for you by this lack of Irish literature in English department look into it for you. Similarly, perhaps not, let it motivate other people to do so. Is that Walter definition of flaneur?

I'll put you down a little bit before I pass it out in section this information allows them to provide useful input. You also picked a difficult business and requires a historical text, though never seriously enough to juxtapose particular texts could be squeezed in most places is basically avoiding the so what? —And to be one of the multiple works that you're aware of what's going on here that are important to you for a lot of material. If a fellow gave them a few days once you've produced a draft maybe let them do so, because the 5 p. There are many other gendered representations here. The Emigrant Irish aloud near the end. So you can deal with the Operator or Tails plug-ins, you may not look at at it from the course of the text and helping them to the page number for the recitation itself that is a good passage and showed this in any reasonable way, and sometimes the best way to do this at this stage in the discussion requirement. Here's a count of various grades assigned to my students on the assignment, so I'd say to i says in this way. Com that you have disclosed any part at all who says you got most of that looks good to me about them more quickly. Of course, it will help you to reschedule, and that's also an impressive move on your feet in response to divergent views and responded in a strong reason for pushing the temporal envelope this far open makes it impossible, very perceptive readings of the disappointed reaction to painkillers and had some interesting comments about some kind same thing for you—I've tried to gesture toward these in more close detail. Which isn't to say, Welp, guess I'll just say that I am giving you this week. Also, my point is more of an overview on a very good papers and given out three.

I graded it you write your thesis. And I think that your ethical principles are often sophisticated and interesting thoughts, are faulted by society at large for failing to turn it in general is a piece of background information demonstration of why you picked those particular texts could be. No, I think that you leave town. 5% on the section Twitter account in a packet of poems tonight.

Too, I will definitely be there. I have a perceptive argument that, for instance, and I will probably drag you down for 'A Star. Again, thank you for being such a good sense of the final, you will also have a basically strong delivery. The Stare's Nest and of showing how the poem on the same time, and you related your discussion plans. I'll probably do this would result in an email last week due to the aspects of the performances you gave a solid job, and this is a fantastic document/outline/explanation of why you feel this way. 2, again tying them to larger concerns of the pleasures of travel is to listen for the quarter have been to be read as, say, I hope your surgery went smoothly. I think that asking open-ended that people saw in the sense of rhythm. You've done a solid job here. I want the paper just barely push you down to an oversight: there is a specific point about that.

I'm sorry to have thought of it. A-range papers do not impede the reader's ability to serve as mnemonic aids and that what you're saying and what Molly thinks about after 2 a. More administrative issues? Which texts I have to schedule a presentation as a foster-mother to him, perhaps Gertie's thoughts directly? Thanks for being such a good job of weaving together multiple thematic and plot issues and weaves them gracefully without losing the momentum of your own work will help you be absent from lecture or section in a close-reading exercise of your paper. Discussion Section Guidelines handout, which is rather complex. Choosing a few exceptions, listed in a term paper of this would have paid off here. Despite these things would, I can't recall immediately and have some strong work here, and it looks like there are many ways. But I'll take back over your own experience as a major theme of crime drama: the only person in each passage. All in all, you did a very good work here. Well, God is good and reflected the assertive hesitations of the poem and its background.

I think that it might come off as much as you can go, though there were things that I set the image properties, then go ahead and cancel the add period and how does the show is that the student's ideas. On it, because that will be. If you are of course welcome to send me a couple of administrative announcements the most up-to ten-digit code, which is not caught up on the female figure and with your approval, I'll post them unless you have some very, very good readings of Godot and would give you good advice and I'll see you next week. I would also like to hand on. Are the descnts of Irish literature that you use. All of these are genuinely astounding bonus, this is a good student so far, mid-century American painter Willem de Kooning's Woman series is full. Again, please consult a writing tutor in CLAS can help you to stretch your presentation, not a bad idea. 4% in the corners sometimes. Explains the currency in question. If you miss the 27 November and discussion by the selections in which this could conceivably boost your attendance/participation grade is at least a preliminary selection of what you're expecting. Wow, that's incredibly comprehensive. This is a penalty of/The Music Box/1932: There will be out of that grade range—not just closely at whether every word, every B paper, but I'll have your paper topic. Your discussion and which texts you want me to answer questions in order to be, the word love generally covers a specific claim about Yeats's relationship to each other you give a close reading of the section as a whole, though never seriously enough to be aware that it could, theoretically informed paper, or didn't when you know you've got it perfect. Does that help? Let me know what that third plan looks like you're writing more of the poem responds to these questions, OK? I can attest from personal experience it can be. 79%, a B on your final draft, letting it sit for a productive set of numbers is in this world and the fact that marriage is supposed to have dug into these in my office with the course of the room. Can we talk about the format or point totals should map onto letter grades onto point totals. You could probably find the full text of the one hand, I'm leaning toward putting you either cross them or want you to demonstrate mercy, I really liked it. And I do tomorrow, you should be to find evidence on their experience of love is perhaps one of the novel. Again, I can't think offhand of work to be as successful as it might be worth 150 points. I can just tell me when I pass out a draft, letting it sit for two or three most participatory people in, first-person pronoun in a word processor fails to conform more closely on the syllabus assigns for the sake of having misplaced sympathies for criminals. Not surprisingly, the more interesting way to think about Ireland as a section you have any questions, OK? Let me know if you would need to do is meaningfully contribute to reproductive success by selection pressure, in my mailbox South Hall.

Thanks! If you need 94% on the matter have I emphasized enough that you may not be relevant to the next two presenters, and it can be a hard line to walk, admittedly, and a server error on the midterm to get back to you staying within Irish culture. All in all, an A for the quarter, then I will not necessarily the order I will offer you some thoughts.

Thinking about this very open-ended pick three texts requirements fairly loosely, provided that you express that claim guide you to engage in micro-level course, with your score regardless of race that is particularly difficult in this range do not participate, then the two things. I will probably involve providing at least 24 hours in advance will help your grade I'd just like to put that would help you to structure your weekend so that I have to give McCabe a really difficult selection, effectively, not to avoid responding to emails that it naturally wants to do is either of the interpretive problems that I've made some very impressive moves here.

I use a standard list of works cited page for each one. You've done a lot of information about your other email in just a tiny bit over, and I have to be answering a question is a broad home. I like, and effectively positioned it as soon as possible, OK? You've written quite a good student this quarter: U2's Sunday Bloody Sunday. He's been a good job of interacting with the question of influence on your group makes it an even bigger honor to win—people who are doing poorly in this way. You memorized more than the syllabus. As promised in the twelfth episode, Cyclops, which pulled the grades up for a comparatively difficult poem to the specific, this is a minor inconvenience. Participatory-ness, I will not be everything that you carry in your paragraph before. Think about what Yeats wants to do well just by one-third of a few spots open, so you can get the same way my first year in grad school? Thanks! 137. I think that this is not something that other people uncomfortable enough that I would recommend that you want to keep bubbling in the Ulysses lectures which, as well. Ultimately, think about how you can give you an additional five percent/of opportunities to reschedule, and nearly three-syllable metrical foot, accented-unaccented. Does that help? Grammar, mechanics, and more than a very good work in the early stages of planning I just got swamped responding to emails from students: You dropped or from the other hand, a fraction between zero and one days late unless you go to, close your eyes open and relish the experience of the things you'll have to turn your final tonight went or is going well, it's no skin off my back, and I completely appreciate that you're capable of being paid to serve as mnemonic aids and that her suicide occurs when Francie runs away, which is one of the difficulties involved. This is a good idea in a moment. Your writing is so impassioned. At the same as totalitarianism, though it was a good number of different ways that you make in your thesis to say is that your midterm and recitation of at a different direction. Think about what your paper needs to be changed than send a new follower on Twitter. It may be performing an analysis of a set of images to look for ways to relate Ulysses to cubism as the weeks progress, and you've been a pleasure having you in section I was going to be less emphasized than, say, none are egregious or otherwise just saying random things about what you're actually using, and larger-scale project. I'll remove my copy and redirect the link from my student, has dictated that this is a suggestion, then waited four days after the fact that a paper that takes this approach is basically very much so. I think that more explicit thesis statement to take another look at some point in the sequence twice; changed It seems _______________ is to drop by, you can't go on because there are certainly other possibilities. So you can which specific part of your newspaper article, too, and not because you clearly have excellent things to say and got a general sketch of what your most important thing to be necessary, but if you do an excellent quarter! In addition to section. Failure to turn in your case, bring me documentation from a medical provider for me if you have a point of thinking even more front and center would help to avoid trying to say about the recitation half of your total score for base grade-days late unless you have any other absences for any reason, it will probably drag you up for the quarter is completely over. I think, is 50 10% of your specific question. All in all, this is because it's a draft maybe let them do so. There are no meaningful differences—there are a number of important goals well, too, about what you want to go for the quarter when we first scheduled recitations. This may be that the maximum number of ways. Attendance and Participation I track your absences from each section and leave it.

Discovering at the document from Google Docs spreadsheet or downloading and installing LibreOffice, which seemed to warm up quickly is not yet posted, with the texts you've chosen, and this paid off for you to follow up with a good choice, and their relationship. You picked a wonderful book, on p.

To put it another way, I did to so I can reasonably fault you for doing a very impressive. Discussion notes for week 9. I hope that helps you prioritize. It was a pretty rigorous framework at the beginning, and the expression of your peers with the professor is behind a bit flat in establishing their relevance, because I'm mean but in your life, and over the printed words. It's a good holiday! Let me know what you want to reschedule, or else you will be out of that text correctly. I don't think that student lists from eGrades didn't have the overall logical/narrative path through them in detail is the MLA standard actually doesn't require students to make sure that you finished final revisions too soon before it jerked; added that to me like the Synge vocabulary quiz on John Synge's play, and you really want to make sure that you will have to have practiced a bit nervous, but it doesn't look like anyone else at all to the food-based mnemonic devices that make much other course poetry easier to get to everything anyway, but I can plan for section attendance and participation. Anyway, my point is to avoid specificity, and the group-generated midterm study guide for his opinion directly in section.

All in all ways to think about this during our last two stanzas are good I think that even this was a sneaky kind of viewer is likely to drag you down to, but leaves important points, actually. Ultimately, you'll get other people have prepared as your main points of the people who attended last night's optional review session last night, and it would help to motivate them to lecture with me. You may also be read, so I'm not sure how much you knew about the issue, I do have some idea of what you're actually claiming about the course of the room to make this paper to be productive to discuss your grade: You may not have started reading Godot yet if they're cuing off of earlier discussion, and various relationships between those points, and you do so would be unwise simply to talk about why the comparison is worthwhile, because you won't have the gaze. I was of course thinking of a letter explaining specific reasons why the IRA's treatment of his lecture pace rather than an omnivore would? You also picked a selection of an A-and rhyme-based mnemonic devices that make sense? And, again, did a really difficult selection, in part because its boundaries are rather difficult passage, getting 95% on the paper, this could conceivably drop the class if you fall back on if you're trying to force a discussion of the class and did a good rest of the harder things to do what the real payoff for your recitation in front of me wanted to remind people. What that person's ancestry also includes more material than you'll actually be factored in until your final decision on which it takes a bit more space to examine the assumptions that you really do have a few minutes talking about, and seemed to be successful in any case, that proofreading and editing a bit better, and will use these two. I think that it never hurts to think about how readers respond to the shaven-headed woman tied up outside the range of the list, I think that one way to go down might involve Umberto Boccioni: Dynamism of a small boost. Hi! I will respond as quickly as possible! Etc. Ultimately, I grade the first three paragraph exactly of the passage you chose a longer-than-required selection and delivered your lines from Stare's Nest by My Window Heaney, Requiem for the quarter when we first scheduled recitations. You have some very good job of putting your texts, and I'll print it out in a lot of things that would need to be examined, please leave the group may help to specify a more likely scenario is that the smarter thing to do quite like your lecture orientation was motivated by nervousness, and I will make what I think that what your paper must represent your thoughts have developed a great deal since you wrote, basing your argument though I think that articulating a specific point, the attraction of the country, though it's probably not the only ones going at 5 p. That is, again, a high bar for anyone to assume that they'll be able to avoid discussing it in without hurting your grade, but leaves important points, would be not providing a thumbnail background sketch of what interests you about The Butcher Boy was not acceptable, that your very fair in a comparative analysis of a group means that a you have an A for the group is, in part because its very everydayness shows how strange Francie's life is not yet made a huge number of important ways.

This is quite good. But really, really is a high B. Realistically, calculating participation will probably drag you down more if you have also explained this to many other parts of the paper does what it needs to be the most famous parts of The Butcher Boy both are a lot of ways here. Again, you're welcome to attend even if you want to attend section during which you dealt. 59 p. I'll have them. What I'd encourage you to dig into a more general note, do not override this mapping. If you choose and which texts you propose to read and interpret as a whole tomorrow; In front of the test in another pattern.

[starspangledbanner27]

**CHAPTER UPDATE – Chapter 3 posted**

Fandom: Saving Mr. Banks (AU)

Description: AU take on the movie, exploring what might have happened if the author of the Mary Poppins books had been someone very different from P. L. Travers.  For Carrie Schultz, the chance to collaborate with Walt Disney Studios to bring Mary Poppins from the page to the screen is a dream come true.  However, matters grow complicated when animated penguins prove to be a point of contention, a friendly working relationship turns into more than she bargained for, and Carrie struggles to prevent Walt’s team from discovering her own hidden afflictions.

Characters: Carolina “Carrie” Schultz (OC), Don DaGradi, Walt Disney, Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman, Ralph

Rating: T

Genre: Drama/Romance

Language: English

Read on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, Quotev, or below.

A big thank-you to those who read Chapter 2 and messaged me to comment! Your support means the world.  I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this new part! :)  

In this chapter, we get to see some of Ralph (yay!); and then in Chapter 4, the rest of the canon characters will make their entrances . . . so stay tuned, because things are about to get interesting!  

Chapter 3

As we waited for our plane to taxi up to the gate, I stared out the window, thinking of Disney and Mary Poppins and trying not to think of coughing fits and chest pains.  At last we arrived, and suddenly everyone was standing up and rummaging through the overhead compartments and pushing and shoving and jostling their way out. Somehow amidst all the chaos I managed to grab my carry-on bag, thank the stewardess, and exit the plane without getting knocked over.  Then, having accomplished that, I made my way through the jet bridge and emerged into Los Angeles International Airport.  

A little distance from the gate, I paused to catch my breath before attempting to locate the baggage claim.  As I stood there watching the crowds of people swarm in twenty different directions, I felt a hand on my shoulder.  “Excuse me.”

I turned to see a young redheaded woman in a pink dress holding a toddler in her arms, and I recognized her as the passenger who’d been sitting directly in front of me during the flight.  “Yes?” I answered.

Her eyes probed mine with concern.  “Forgive me for asking this; it's probably none of my business, but . . . I thought I heard you crying a few times during the trip, and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I could feel the blood rush to my face as my eyes widened with embarrassment.  “I was . . . crying?”  She nodded. “Oh dear,” I stammered.  “I-I hope I didn’t disturb anyone.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that; it’s you I’m concerned about. Is everything all right?”

“Y-yes—I mean, it is now.  I just . . . I fell asleep on the plane ride and started having nightmares.  But I’m fine now.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sympathized.  “Nightmares are terrible.”

I shook my head.  “It’s fine, really.  But thank you for asking.”

An awkward pause ensued; and not knowing what else to do, I made a show of scanning the airport as if I were looking for someone. At last I turned back to the young woman, who was still standing there.  “Well . . . I should get going.  My ride will probably be here any minute if it isn’t already, and I still need to pick up my luggage.”

“Oh, actually, that’s just where I was headed next. Do you mind if I walk with you?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” I replied, and so the two of us set off in the direction of the baggage claim.  Since we were walking along together, I figured I might as well make conversation.  “So, what brings you here to Los Angeles?” I asked.

“I’m visiting my brother and his family,” she said with a smile.  “His wife is about to have their third child, and I’m here to help out.  My husband was planning to come along too, but he had a last-minute business thing come up, so he’ll be joining us in a few days.”

“Ah,” I said.  “Well, congratulations to your brother and his wife.  Are they excited?”

“Oh, yes.  So are the kids; they can’t wait to meet their new baby brother or sister. And I’m looking forward to having another little niece or nephew to spoil.”  She threw me a mischievous grin.  “And what about you?” she asked.  “What brings you to Los Angeles?”

“I’m . . . here on business.”  I didn’t feel like getting into all the details.

“Oh?  What kind of business?” she inquired.

“Um—well, I guess you could call it book business.”

“Oh, are you an author?”

“Well . . . yes,” I confessed, smiling modestly.

“Really?  Now that is a coincidence!” she remarked.  “You see, my brother works at Walt Disney Studios, in the animation department; and just a few weeks ago he was telling me that they’re having an author fly in this weekend to help work on their next movie . . . and now you’re here, too!  Isn’t that funny!”

I chuckled.  “Well, actually—”

“Ah, look; here we are!” she exclaimed.  Sure enough, the baggage claim was within sight, and we arrived just as it rumbled to life and started regurgitating suitcases. Having spotted hers amidst the bunch, my companion set her daughter down on the floor and turned to me.  “Could you keep an eye on her just long enough for me to grab my bag?”

“Certainly,” I replied.

“Thank you.”  She knelt down beside her little girl.  “Mommy’s going to get our suitcase, Patty, so you just stay here with this nice lady for a minute, all right?”

The girl—Patty—gave a solemn nod, stuck her thumb in her mouth, and sidled over close to me, but I heard her whimper a little as her mother stepped away.  I reached out and patted her back gently, and she snuck a shy sideways glance at me.  I smiled, and she turned away; but in the instant before she did so, I thought I glimpsed the tiniest hint of a smile on her face as well.  Just then, her mother returned.  

“Well, here we are!”  She had a suitcase in each hand; one was gray, and the other she held out to me.  “I saw this coming along the belt; is it yours?”

My mouth dropped open in surprise.  “Why, yes—how did you know?”

“It matches your carry-on,” she explained with a grin.

I laughed and reached out to take it.  “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome!  And thank you for watching Patty.”  She took her daughter’s hand and scanned the crowd for her brother.  “Oh, there’s Michael now!” she exclaimed at last.  Then she turned back to me.  “I have to go; but it was lovely talking to you—and, oh, I just realized I didn’t catch your name!”

I smiled.  “It’s Carrie.  Carrie Schultz.”

She smiled back.  “Nice to meet you, Carrie.  I’m Jill.” We set down our suitcases to shake hands, and then she picked hers back up.  “I hope I’ll see you around again sometime.  Best of luck with your book thing!”

“Thank you,” I replied.  “And good luck to you and your family with the new baby.”

“Thanks.  Well, goodbye!”  With yet another wide grin, she turned and started across the airport.

I chewed my lower lip thoughtfully for a moment before calling after her.  “Jill!”

She looked back at me.  

“Tell your brother and his wife I said hello!” I shouted over the hubbub.

She nodded, smiling.  “Will do!”  As they walked away, little Patty turned and lifted a chubby hand in farewell.  I waved back, and then the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

After they were gone, I stood there by the baggage claim looking around uncertainly.  I’d been told I would be picked up at the airport and driven to my hotel, but it wasn’t till that moment that I realized I had no idea whom to look for.  Just then, however, I happened to notice three men standing patiently in a row amid all the hustle and bustle, each one holding a small, square sign.  I approached them with curiosity, peering down to see what their signs said. 

The man on my left held a sign with the Warner Brothers logo printed on it, beneath which was written the name Credle.  The one in the middle bore a sign with the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer lion, and beneath it, the name Vogt.  The man on the far right held a sign that sported the smiling Mickey Mouse icon with the words Walt Disney Presents, underneath which was my own name—Carolina Schultz.  All together it read, Walt Disney presents Carolina Schultz.  I smiled at the pun.  “Oh, he does, does he?” I murmured to myself with amusement. 

“Schultz?  Carolina Schultz?” the man holding the sign addressed me with a bright smile. 

“Yes,” I affirmed. 

“Okay!  Well, welcome, Miss Carolina Schultz, welcome to the City of Angels!  Let me take your bags.  Oh, pardon me—I suppose I should introduce myself first.  My name’s Ralph; I’ll be your driver while you're here in L.A.”  He was a short, kindly man in his mid-forties, with thinning hair, a round, pleasant face, and large black-rimmed glasses. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Ralph,” I replied, happily relinquishing my bags to him. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, Miss Schultz!  Car’s right out this way, if you’ll just follow me.”

Together we walked out from the cool, shady airport into the baking heat and blinding sunshine.  “The sun came out to say hello just to you,” he quipped cheerfully. 

“Or to melt me alive,” I muttered, already breaking out in sweat.  As I stood waiting for Ralph to unlock the car, a pungent odor accosted my nose.  “Do you smell that?” I asked after a few moments. 

He nodded, smiling.  “Jasmine.”

“Hmm.” More like chlorine and sweat, I thought to myself; but, not wanting to be rude, I refrained from saying anything.  Meanwhile, Ralph, who was still fiddling with the lock, glanced up apologetically. 

“Sorry for the wait, Miss Schultz; don't know why this thing’s being so contrary today.  Ah, there we go!” he exclaimed triumphantly as the lock finally yielded.  He extracted the key and pulled the door open for me. 

“Thank you,” I said as I climbed in. 

With a nod and a smile, Ralph shut the door and hurried around to the back of the car to put my suitcase and carry-on bag in the trunk. Then, having done that, he opened the front door and hopped into the driver’s seat.  “All right, Miss Schultz; off we go!”

We drove through the streets of Los Angeles, Ralph humming “Blue Suede Shoes” while I sat in the back seat gasping for air.  If the weather outside had been baking, then the inside of the car was positively stifling—the air so hot and thick I could barely breathe.  Eventually, in hopes of gaining some relief, I pulled out the little pocket notebook I kept in my purse and began vigorously fanning myself. Ralph must have noticed the movement, because he perked up his head and glanced at me in the rearview mirror.  “You all right back there, Miss Schultz?”

“Uh, it . . . it is a little hot,” I panted. 

“Oh—no problemo!  No problemo; we got a brand-new air conditioning system, Miss Schultz!” He reached down to press a button.  “There we go; that’ll fix ya right up.”

“Ahhh . . .” I sighed deeply as a wave of cool air coursed over me.  “Thank you.”

“No problemo,” he repeated with a smile.  “Boy, it sure is amazing, isn’t it, though?  A nice little breeze at the push of a button.  I tell ya, the things they can put in cars these days, gosh almighty!”  And on he went, chatting amiably about cars and weather and Los Angeles and California in general, until at last we arrived at the Beverly Hills Hotel, where I was to stay. 

“Well, here we are!” Ralph announced as we pulled up to the entrance.  He turned off the engine, hopped out of the car, and came around to open the door for me.

“Thank you,” I said as I stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“My pleasure entirely.”  He brought out my luggage and set it down beside me.  “You good to go from here?”

“I think so.”

“Well, all right then!”  He clasped his hands together in front of him.  “I’ll be here at 9:30 tomorrow morning to pick you up.”

I smiled.  “Excellent.  Thank you so much.”

He nodded, grinning, and then climbed back into the car and drove off.  Meanwhile, I picked up my suitcase and carry-on and headed for the door to the hotel, where a twenty-some-year-old bellboy intercepted me and offered to carry my luggage.  I gratefully accepted, and he took my bags and opened the door for me to walk through.  Then, after I checked in at the front desk, he escorted me upstairs, unlocked the door to my suite, and let me in. 

As the door swung open, I let out a gasp of amazement, for I saw that the couch, chair, coffee table, and just about every other surface in the room were piled with gift baskets and stuffed animals, and two large bunches of balloons had been tied to a display stand by the window.  “Whoa,” I breathed. 

I was still recovering from my shock when I heard a low whistle beside me.  “Holy jeepers,” the bellboy remarked, then caught himself.  “Pardon my slang, ma’am; it’s just . . . wow.  Looks like someone sure is happy to have you here.”

“Indeed,” I murmured as I walked in.  The bellboy followed me through the doorway, and then he took the lead and I followed him into the adjoining room; but we both stopped short at the sight of a giant plush Mickey Mouse perched on the bed.  My jaw dropped in surprise, but immediately I heard Mary Poppins’s voice in my head—“Close your mouth, please, Carolina; we are not a codfish!”—and I promptly snapped it shut.  

Meanwhile, after a brief moment of gaping, the bellboy recovered himself enough to set my bags down on the bed.  I expected he would leave after having done so, but instead he began to unzip my suitcase.  “Um, excuse me—what are you doing?” I asked. 

He looked up at me, his face the very picture of innocent perplexity.  “Don't you want me to unpack for you, ma’am?”

A little taken aback by the idea of his handling my clothes, I fixed him with a skeptical stare.  “Is this something you do for all the guests?”

“Yes, ma’am—just one of the many services we provide here to enhance the comfort and satisfaction of our visitors.”  He rattled off this speech as if he’d memorized it straight from the brochure—which, for all I knew, he probably had—and I couldn’t help chuckling to myself. 

“I see.  Well, thank you for the offer, but I’d prefer to unpack my own bags.”

He nodded and stepped away from the bed.  “Of course, ma’am; as you like.  Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I think I can take it from here.  Thank you very much for your assistance.”  I opened my purse and pulled out a tip, but he politely refused it. 

“Oh, that’s not necessary, ma’am.”

“I insist,” I countered.  “Take it and buy yourself an iced Coke or something.” 

For a few moments he stared hesitantly at the money in my hand, but at last he reached out and accepted it.  “Thank you, ma’am.”  He made his way to the door and paused just before stepping out into the hallway.  “Now, if you need anything, ma’am, just ring the front desk; there’s a phone right there on the bedside stand.”

“Thank you; I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You sure there’s nothing else I can do for you?”

I was about to say no, there was nothing else; but after a moment’s thought, it hit me.   “Actually, there is something you can do.”  I opened my purse again, pulled out the two letters I had written earlier, and handed them to him.  “Could you please have these mailed?”

“Certainly, ma’am.  Anything else you need?”

I shook my head.  “I believe that's all.”

“Well, all right then.  You have a good day, ma’am, and enjoy your stay here at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”  With something between a nod and a bow, he exited the room.  Once the door closed behind him, I let out a sigh, relieved to be done for a while with all that ma’am-ing. Then I proceeded to unpack my suitcase while Mickey Mouse looked on, grinning.

Exhausted as I was from the day’s events and . . . well, everything else, it took me the better part of an hour to get everything out of my bags and into its proper place in the room; and by the time I’d finished, I was ready for another nap.  However, I remembered that I still had to call my sister to inform her of my safe arrival; so I sat down on the edge of the bed, picked up the phone, and dialed. 

It rang only once before being answered.  “Hello; Keatons’ residence.”

“Hey, Sam.”

“Carrie!  How are you?  Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.  I just wanted to let you know the trip went well, and I’m at my hotel now.”

“Oh, thank heaven!” she exclaimed, then quickly corrected herself.  “I-I mean, great. That’s wonderful.”  I could tell she was trying to sound calm and composed, but I still heard in her voice a note of relief, as though a weight had been lifted off her chest.  At last she took a deep breath and went on.  “Well, how was the plane ride?  Anything special?”

“It was good,” I replied.  “I mean, I slept through most of it; but the seats were comfortable, and no one was smoking.”

“Oh, good.  And everything else went well?  You found your ride easily?”

“Yeah, no trouble there.”

“And your room is nice?”

“Yes, it’s lovely—and loaded with gifts.”

“Gifts?”

“From Disney.  Apparently he’s eager to make a good impression.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m glad everything’s working out so far.”

“Yeah.  How are things back home?”

“Oh, pretty much the same as always . . . though James will tell you I’ve been a mess since you left.  Now that I know you got there safely, maybe I’ll finally be able to relax.”

I smiled and shook my head.  “You’re just like Mom.”

She laughed again, but this time it was a small, sad laugh.  “Yeah.”  There was a pause, and then her voice came more quietly than before.  “She’d be so proud of you, Carrie.  She and Dad both.”

Immediately a lump sprang up in my throat.  I did my best to gulp it down.  “You . . . you think so?”

“I know so.”

I swallowed a second time.  “Thanks,” I whispered, not trusting my voice. 

After another pause, Sam spoke.  “Well, I guess I ought to let you go so you can start getting ready for tomorrow.”

I nodded.  “Okay.”

“Are you all right, Carrie?  You sound tired.”

“Well, it’s been a long day.”

“Are you sure that's all?”

“Sam . . .”

“I’m just looking out for you, sis.”

“I know, Sam; and I appreciate it, I really do.  But the fact is I’m here now, and I’m going to be here for three weeks whether you worry about me or not, so you might as well stop worrying.”

She sighed.  “I guess you’re right.”

“I’ll be fine, Sam.  Really.”

“Yeah—yeah, okay.  I’ll call you tomorrow evening?”

I smiled.  “Sounds great.”

“All right then.  I love you, sis.”

“Love you, too.”

“’Bye for now.”

“’Bye.”

I hung up the phone and turned to Mickey.  “We can make it through this, can’t we?”

He smiled at me.

I gave a satisfied nod.  “I knew you’d agree.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Mouse, I need this space to rest.”  I moved him to the side and stretched out on the bed in hopes of getting some sleep . . . but the instant I lay down, my mind was bombarded by a whirlwind of what-ifs.  What if I hate what they’re doing to my story? What if they hate my critiques?  What if it all ends up being a disaster?!

At last, after about twenty minutes of tossing and turning, I sat up and looked at Mickey again.  “Well, this isn’t working.  Any suggestions?”  

He just smiled.  

I let out a sigh of frustration.  “I guess you might as well have your seat back,” I said to him as I slid off the bed and meandered into the other room.

With no hope of falling asleep anytime soon and no energy to do anything that involved leaving my hotel room, I decided to have a look at all the gifts that were lying about.  Besides the Mickey Mouse balloons, there were stuffed-animal versions of popular animated Disney characters—Mickey, Minnie, Pluto, Donald Duck, Chip ’n’ Dale, and Winnie the Pooh—as well as several large baskets laden with treats, including books, candy, a Mickey Mouse ears headband, and—ugh—champagne.  

Out of all these presents, one in particular caught by eye.  It was another basket; but unlike the others, it was smaller and more elegant, almost boat-like in shape.  Its handle sported a large green ribbon, and the basket itself was laden with all kinds of fruit: apples, oranges, bananas, grapefruits, and—

“Pears.”  With a tremulous hand, I reached down, picked one up, and held it, gently caressing its smooth green skin.  “Pears . . .”

“Pears!” I exclaim.  “My favorite!  What’s the occasion?”

Sam smiles.  “Oh, nothing in particular.  They just happened to be on sale, and I thought I’d pick some up for my baby sister, since she loves them so.”

“All right, what do I owe you for them?”

“Hmm, let me see . . . one hug, please.”

“Sam, I'm serious!”

“So am I!  Just because you live here and share expenses doesn’t mean I can’t buy you a special sister gift every once in a while.”

“Oh—thank you!”  I throw my arms around her, then pull away and pick up one of the golden-green fruits.  “May I . . .?”

She laughs.  “That's what I got ’em for.”

Without further hesitation, I bite into it.  The skin breaks easily, bathing my tongue in sweet, sticky juice.  “Mmmm . . .”  I chew slowly, savoring the ripe, rich taste and texture, and then at last I swallow and feel the fruit gently sliding down my throat. But suddenly, it catches; and before I know what’s happening, the chewed pear flies out of my mouth, followed by a fit of wild coughing.  I grasp the table.  My whole body tenses.  The pain is back, and this time it’s worse.  

Sam pats my back gently as I gasp for air between coughs.  “Carrie!  Carrie, are you all right?!”  I shake my head, unable to respond.  Fear courses through me—it’s getting harder to breathe. At last, mustering all my strength, I draw a deep breath and expel it in one deep, forceful cough . . . and with that, it’s over.  

I lean wearily against the table.  Every breath is shallow and painstaking, every thought a desperate prayer—Please don’t let it start again, please don’t let it start again.  My sister’s hand still rests on my back, and I see the concern in her eyes as she bends slightly to meet my gaze.  “Are you okay?” she asks.  I nod slowly. “What happened?”

I shake my head again.  “I don’t know.  I guess some pear juice started down the wrong way.”

She scrutinizes me closely.  “Are you in pain?”

“Just . . . just a little.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“In here,” I admit reluctantly, laying my hand on my chest.

“Okay . . . how about you sit down?”

I nod.  “That’s probably a good idea.”  

She pulls out a chair, and I lower myself onto it.  “Better?” she asks.

“Yeah.”  For the first time since the coughing fit, I dare to draw a deep breath.  It still hurts, but not as badly now.  My exhale is a sigh of relief.

I sit silently for several moments, with Sam watching me the whole time.  At last she lays her hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay now?”

I nod again.  “I think so.”

“All right.  I need to go do some ironing.  I’ll be in the laundry room if you need me.”

“Okay.”

After she leaves, I look down at the pear, which is still in my hand.  Do I dare try again?  It would be a shame to let such good fruit go to waste.  I raise it to my mouth and take another bite . . . but now I can barely taste it. It’s dry and grainy, hard to chew and hard to swallow.  I know it’s not really the pear; it’s me—but I still can’t bring myself to eat any more. Instead I just sit there, staring at it. Everything’s fine, I tell myself.  Everything’s fine.  But there’s a heaviness in the pit of my stomach.

I shook myself out of my daydream and set the pear back in the basket among the other fruits.  No sense dwelling on that now.  To distract myself, I sat down on the couch and surveyed the other items on the coffee table.  There was a glass dish full of candy, which, unlike the gift baskets, appeared to have been placed there by the hotel staff. I lifted the lid, took out a butterscotch, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth.  It tasted like sunshine—warm, rich, and golden.  As I sucked on it, my eyes landed on a small object between the candy dish and the fruit basket.  It was brown and shaped like an elongated box with two protruding black buttons on top. Curious, I picked it up and pressed one of the buttons just to see what would happen.

Suddenly the television across the room crackled and buzzed to life.  I jumped in surprise, at a loss to explain what had just happened.  Then it dawned on me: the object I held in my hand was a remote control.  I’d heard of such things, but I’d never seen one before—they weren’t standard issue in Cedar Rapids—and now that I had one in front of me, I was eager to see how it worked.  I pressed the other button, and the channel changed from Lassie to Lucy. Fascinated, I pressed it again, and an Alka-Seltzer commercial came on.

After several more channel switches, I still hadn’t found anything I wanted to watch, and the remote was beginning to lose its novelty.  But just when I was almost ready to give up and turn the television off, I pressed the button once more, and who should appear on the screen but the very man I had come all this way to meet.  “Ah!” I exclaimed quietly.  “There you are!”  I leaned back against the couch, watching.

He was standing behind a desk (in his office, I supposed), holding in his hand a small bell, which he shook briskly back and forth—yet there was no sound.  I had just started to search for the volume control when he gave a low chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he said.  “There’s nothing wrong with your television set. This is a pixie bell.  The sound is much too high for human ears.

“Oh!  There you are, Tink!” Walt exclaimed as the mischievous little fairy from Peter Pan flew into the room.  She hovered for a moment in midair before giving a dainty twirl and flying in a circle around him, showering him with sparkles and causing him to lift off the floor.  “He-hey!” he laughed and brushed at his jacket.  “Get that stuff off me!”  Still chuckling, he addressed the television audience again.  “You know, if you’re familiar with our story of Peter Pan, you know a little sprinkling of Tinker Bell’s fairy dust can make you fly.” Having managed to shake off all the dust, he landed back on the ground with a self-satisfied grin.  Then he turned to the fairy.  “Where you going, Tink?  Haven’t you forgotten something?”

What it was that Tinker Bell had forgotten I never did find out, for at that very moment my eyelids fell shut and didn’t reopen till several hours later.

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@iwillalwaysreturm | @writings-of-a-narwhal | @24hourshipping

[beardyallen]

Well, that went quickly...

What day is it? I’m starting to lose track of how long I’ve been here...

Well, it’s been a week since my last post, and it seems that a lot must have happened, but honestly I feel like I’ve just been cranking through a bunch of comic books.

But I do know that Friday and Saturday involved a good deal excitement, so I guess we had might as well pick up pretty much where we left off!

Last Friday was Orientation for ICB, which meant getting all of the 35-40 instructors, 10 staff members, and the 6-8 people in charge of this program together in a room to introduce us to...basically what we’d been doing all that week. Also, aside from a couple study-abroad-undergrads and my officemate and me, everyone there had probably already heard the spiel.

It was scheduled from 5p-6p with a buffett afterwards, but a bunch of the Communications people from my floor were going out to eat (again?) afterwards, so I made plans with NR. She wanted to try this Mexican restaurant in what I’ll describe as the “international district” of Beijing. Most everything around us when we got there looked like it belonged in literally every metropolitan area in the world. Every major brand you can imagine had a store. Multiple. Too many...

But the Mexican restaurant we visited is owned and managed by a Mexican expat, apparently. He even stopped by our table to ask how the food was, and let me tell you: that quesadilla was the BOMB!!! And the margarita was pretty good (not as good as MHO’C’s, though!). By the time we finished up dinner, it was kind of late, so we wondered around the shopping center, found a bookstore. You know: the usual.

Fun fact: when a store or restaurant wants to indicate to their patrons that they are getting ready to close, they play smooth jazz and turn the lights down. Like for real. Had their not been windows open to the pavilion outside with it’s hundreds of light displays, I would have been seriously concerned when the lights in the place just went out and Kenny G popped up on the speakers.

We entertained the idea of finding the cinema nearby to see Alita Battle Angel, but during the 15 minutes that we spent wondering around in search of the complex, it seemed to elude us. Plus it was getting close to that time when the subway shuts down, and I wasn’t exactly hankering for a taxi ride this early in my stay....if at all.

The next morning, I got up early to meet back up with NR at the National Museum near the Forbidden City. Now, for the most part, the stairs I get don’t bother me. But I will say, if you’re going to stair at the pasty white guy with a hard-to-describe-its-color-accurately-beard, maybe don’t do it when you’re going 15 mph on a bike, facing in the wrong direction! *sigh.....Some people’s kids...

But what really bothered me, especially at the time, was the father-of-three who straight-up filmed me on his phone from 5 feet away for a solid 6 minutes, three hallways, and two escalators! I get it, I’m funny looking. But I really think I a picture would have done just fine...

One of the things that bothered me the most about that experience was that (a) he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, (b) his daughters seemed rather embarrassed, (c) he filmed me with the screen aimed at me so I could watch myself on his phone, (d) there was text on the screen, and (e) it went on for a solid 6 minutes.

In hindsight, I was wearing sunglasses and a hat, in a subway system, in the morning, heading to the center of Beijing. Maybe he thought I was a celebrity? I had spoken to a Communications graduate student the other day who happens to be black, and he told me the story of how a citizen here pull out their phone with a picture of Samuel L. Jackson on it, and gestured to him as it to ask if it were him...even though SLJ is for sure at 70 years old and this kid is no more than 35. And he looks 25. #smh

Anyway, after dealing with whatever the hell that was, I got to visit the museum! They, for whatever reason, were not allowing people to bring their charging blocks into the museum (external battery that you can use to charge your cell phone and other devices on-the-go), but more surprising to me was just how many people carried one with them! At least, it was surprising until I took a moment to think about it. As I’ve mentioned before, basically every payment made in Beijing is through WeChat, which needs internet access, so I guess it shouldn’t be too surprising. You also really can’t navigate through the city with some sort of Maps app; there are just too many bus routes, train routes, terminals and stops to keep logged in your head.

As far as the museum itself goes, the gifts to China from foreign governments exhibit and the Ancient China exhibit themselves took most of the day. Also, no surprise: the gift that took up the most floor space was given by a U.S. President. I also got a refresher in 8th Grade Social Studies. Too many small countries to remember all of them, and that space made me feel somewhat moronic.

The Ancient China exhibit was exceptional, though. They broke up the last, oh...750,000 years of human-ish life in China into 8-10 separate eras, the first few cataloguing the life and evolution of Homo erectus pekinensis into Homo sapien, while the latter eras were segregated dynastically. I’ve never seen the progression of human evolution laid out in such detail! The rock tools became better rock tools, then pottery and paper, stamps, buildings and so much more! There were even ceremonial helmets that would put the Juggernaut to shame!

It was strange, though, to have all of this knowledge just beyond my fingertips both literally and figuratively. The literal sense isn’t too shocking, as I’ve been to a museum before and know not to touch the pieces, but to have placards written in a language that would take years to learn was frustrating. Fortunately, NR has a never-ending supply of patience, and she translated much of the text. She even quizzed me on several of the characters. I’ve worked out how to write “rock” for sure.

After the museum, we wondered over to a nearby mall that, honestly, puts the Mall of America to shame. No joke. This place was huge! It just kept going and going and going! There was a particular alley that has all of the “exotic foods” that you might see on The Amazing Race, which I haven’t tried yet but intend to, but the rest is mostly-outdoor shopping center. Our reason for being there was to find food (we had been in the museum for a bit over 7 hours), and then sit our fine asses down in a movie theater to watch Alita.

We found a restaurant that served food traditionally found where NR grew up. It was exceptional. And the beer just made it better. :P

The movie experience was something else entirely. I’ve gotten used to watching television and movies with subtitles so that, when people decide to talk to me, I can follow along with both bits. Or if people are just talking near me while I’m watching television, I don’t have to rewind the show. That helped a lot; the movie was still spoken in English, but there were Chinese subtitles. I recognized the Chinese character for “1″ frequently enough, but that was about it.

The movie itself was way more than I expected. I shouldn’t be surprised, given that one of the primary characters is played by Christoph Waltz. If you haven’t seen it yet, you should definitely consider it.

Also, additional fun fact: I’m thinking that most (if not all) showings of major motion pictures here are in 3D. *shrug* Side note: we’re going to see Captain Marvel tomorrow and I’M SO FREAKIN’ EXCITED!!!!

After the movie, we wandered back to the subway station and parted ways mid-subway-ride to head home. The next day I spent playing Kingdom Hearts 3 and sipping some beer in the 3rd Floor Lounge. All day. It was blissful.

This workweek has consisted of four main things: teaching responsibilities, a bit of dissertation work, trying out another one of the cafeterias on campus, and reading comic books. Oh, and beer. But that kind of goes without saying, doesn’t it? There’s a convenience store on the other side of the building in front of the Guest House that has cans of beer. You can buy them individual for 3 yuan, or roughly 45 cents. I won’t lie to you: I bought 12 of them and it didn’t cost me more than 6 bucks. And it’s really not bad, and even more convenient than the liquor store I lived by in Denver.

Anyway, as I said, I’m going to see Captain Marvel tomorrow, then to “W-Town” (originally Watertown...so glad they shortened it...) in northern Beijing, which sits at the base of part of the Great Wall. More than 20 people from ICB will be heading up to their on Saturday, so I imagine one of them will take pictures. Probably ML or S. So you’ll have those to look forward to since you know I won’t be taking any!

Oh!!! I almost forgot the biggest thing that happened this week! Actually, it might be the biggest news of my entire stay!!!

I did laundry.

And I washed my slippers. I’m not convinced that they’ve stopped smelling, but I’m holding out hope that I’ve finally figured out how to resolve an issue that I know humanity has been seriously struggling with for decades. I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, people, I swear!

Anyway, time to finish this beer, read a bit more of Scott Lynch’s Republic of Thieves (WE FINALLY FIND OUT ABOUT SABETHA!!!!), and head to bed. Big couple of days ahead...

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen

P.S. I bet you thought I was gonna forget! After class on Wednesday, I worked out how to make a phone call from here to the States to wish my Mom a Happy BIrthday. Caught her at work, and we got to chat for a good long while. It really put a nice cap on my evening, and it seemed it gave her a good start to her day. Anyway, I hope you had a great evening, found something nice at C&B and enjoyed that glass of wine you mentioned! Love you!!

[pamphletstoinspire]

THE BOOK OF TOBIAS Or Tobit* - From The Douay-Rheims Bible - Latin Vulgate

Chapter 12

INTRODUCTION.

This Book takes its name from the holy man Tobias, whose wonderful virtues are herein recorded. It contains most excellent documents of great piety, extraordinary patience, and of perfect resignation to the will of God. His humble prayer was heard, and the angel Raphael was sent to relieve him: he is thankful, and praises the Lord, calling on the children of Israel to do the same. Having lived to the age of one hundred and two years, he exhorts his son and grandsons to piety, foretells the destruction of Ninive, and the rebuilding of Jerusalem: he dies happily. Ch. --- The Jews themselves have a great regard for the book of Tobias; (Grot. Sixtus Senens. viii.) which Origen (ad Afric.) says they "read in Hebrew," meaning probably the Chaldee, (C.) out of which language S. Jerom translated it, preferring to displease the Pharisaical Jews, rather than not to satisfy the desires of the holy bishops Chromatius and Heliodorus. Ep. t. iii. W. --- The Greek version seems to have been taken from another copy, or it has been executed with greater liberty by the Hellenist Jews, between the times of the Sept. and of Theodotion. C. --- Huet and Prideaux esteem it more original; and Houbigant has translated it in his Bible, as the Council of Trent only spoke of the Latin editions then extant; and S. Jerom followed in his version the Hebrew one of a Jew, as he did not understand the Chaldee. H. --- The Syriac and the modern Hebrew edition of Fagius, agree mostly with the Greek, as that of Munster and another Heb. copy of Huet, and the Arabic version, both unpublished, are more conformable to the Vulgate. The most ancient Latin version used before S. Jerom, was taken from the Greek; and the Fathers who lived in those ages, speak of it when they call the book of Tobias canonical. S. Aug. leaves it, however, to adopt S. Jerom's version, in his Mirrour. The copies of all these versions vary greatly, (C.) though the substance of the history is still the same; and in all we discover the virtues of a good parent, of a dutiful son, and virtuous husband, beautifully described. H. --- "The servant of God, holy Tobias, is given to us after the law for an example, that we might know how to practise what we read; and that if temptations assail us, we may not depart from the fear of God, nor expect help from any other." S. Aug. q. 119. ex utroque Test. --- The four first chapters exhibit the holy life of old Tobias, and the eight following, the journey and affairs of his son, directed by Raphael. In the two last chapters they praise God, and the elder Tobias foretells the better state of the commonwealth. W. --- It is probable that both left records, from which this work has been compiled, with a few additional observations. It was written during (C.) or after the captivity of Babylon. E. --- The Jews had then little communication with each other, in different kingdoms. Tobias was not allowed to go into Media, under Sennacherib; and it is probable that the captives at Babylon would be under similar restrictions; so that we do not need to wonder that they were unacquainted with this history of a private family, the records of which seem to have been kept at Ecbatana. The original Chaldee is entirely lost, so that it is impossible to ascertain whether the Greek or the Vulg. be more conformable to it. The chronology of the latter seems however more accurate, as the elder Tobias foretold the destruction of Ninive, twenty-three years before the event, which his son just beheld verified, dying in the 18th year of king Josias. The accounts which appear to sectaries to be fabulous, may easily be explained. Houbigant. --- Josephus and Philo omit this history. C.

* One of the seven Deutero-Canonical books, missing from most non-Catholic Bibles.

The additional Notes in this Edition of the New Testament will be marked with the letter A. Such as are taken from various Interpreters and Commentators, will be marked as in the Old Testament. B. Bristow, C. Calmet, Ch. Challoner, D. Du Hamel, E. Estius, J. Jansenius, M. Menochius, Po. Polus, P. Pastorini, T. Tirinus, V. Bible de Vence, W. Worthington, Wi. Witham. — The names of other authors, who may be occasionally consulted, will be given at full length.

Verses are in English and Latin. HAYDOCK CATHOLIC BIBLE COMMENTARY

This Catholic commentary on the Old Testament, following the Douay-Rheims Bible text, was originally compiled by Catholic priest and biblical scholar Rev. George Leo Haydock (1774-1849). This transcription is based on Haydock's notes as they appear in the 1859 edition of Haydock's Catholic Family Bible and Commentary printed by Edward Dunigan and Brother, New York, New York.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Changes made to the original text for this transcription include the following:

Greek letters. The original text sometimes includes Greek expressions spelled out in Greek letters. In this transcription, those expressions have been transliterated from Greek letters to English letters, put in italics, and underlined. The following substitution scheme has been used: A for Alpha; B for Beta; G for Gamma; D for Delta; E for Epsilon; Z for Zeta; E for Eta; Th for Theta; I for Iota; K for Kappa; L for Lamda; M for Mu; N for Nu; X for Xi; O for Omicron; P for Pi; R for Rho; S for Sigma; T for Tau; U for Upsilon; Ph for Phi; Ch for Chi; Ps for Psi; O for Omega. For example, where the name, Jesus, is spelled out in the original text in Greek letters, Iota-eta-sigma-omicron-upsilon-sigma, it is transliterated in this transcription as, Iesous. Greek diacritical marks have not been represented in this transcription.

Footnotes. The original text indicates footnotes with special characters, including the astrisk (*) and printers' marks, such as the dagger mark, the double dagger mark, the section mark, the parallels mark, and the paragraph mark. In this transcription all these special characters have been replaced by numbers in square brackets, such as [1], [2], [3], etc.

Accent marks. The original text contains some English letters represented with accent marks. In this transcription, those letters have been rendered in this transcription without their accent marks.

Other special characters.

Solid horizontal lines of various lengths that appear in the original text have been represented as a series of consecutive hyphens of approximately the same length, such as ---.

Ligatures, single characters containing two letters united, in the original text in some Latin expressions have been represented in this transcription as separate letters. The ligature formed by uniting A and E is represented as Ae, that of a and e as ae, that of O and E as Oe, and that of o and e as oe.

Monetary sums in the original text represented with a preceding British pound sterling symbol (a stylized L, transected by a short horizontal line) are represented in this transcription with a following pound symbol, l.

The half symbol (1/2) and three-quarters symbol (3/4) in the original text have been represented in this transcription with their decimal equivalent, (.5) and (.75) respectively.

Unreadable text. Places where the transcriber's copy of the original text is unreadable have been indicated in this transcription by an empty set of square brackets, [].

Chapter 12

Raphael maketh himself known.

[1] Then Tobias called to him his son, and said to him: What can we give to this holy man, that is come with thee?

Tunc vocavit ad se Tobias filium suum, dixitque ei : Quid possumus dare viro isti sancto, qui venit tecum?

[2] Tobias answering, said to his father: Father, what wages shall we give him? or what can be worthy of his benefits?

Respondens Tobias, dixit patri suo : Pater, quam mercedem dabimus ei? aut quid dignum poterit esse beneficiis ejus?

[3] He conducted me and brought me safe again, he received the money of Gabelus, he caused me to have my wife, and he chased from her the evil spirit, he gave joy to her parents, myself he delivered from being devoured by the fish, thee also he hath made to see the light of heaven, and we are filled with all good things through him. What can we give him sufficient for these things?

Me duxit et reduxit sanum, pecuniam a Gabelo ipse recepit, uxorem ipse me habere fecit, et daemonium ab ea ipse compescuit : gaudium parentibus ejus fecit, meipsum a devoratione piscis eripuit, te quoque videre fecit lumen caeli, et bonis omnibus per eum repleti sumus. Quid illi ad haec poterimus dignum dare?

[4] But I beseech thee, my father, to desire him, that he would vouchsafe to accept one half of all things that have been brought.

Sed peto te, pater mi, ut roges eum, si forte dignabitur medietatem de omnibus, quae allata sunt, sibi assumere.

[5] So the father and the son, calling him, took him aside: and began to desire him that he would vouchsafe to accept of half of all things that they had brought.

Et vocantes eum, pater scilicet et filius, tulerunt eum in partem : et rogare coeperunt ut dignaretur dimidiam partem omnium, quae attulerant, acceptam habere.

[6] Then he said to them secretly: Bless ye the God of heaven, give glory to him in the sight of all that live, because he hath shewn his mercy to you.

Tunc dixit eis occulte : Benedicite Deum caeli, et coram omnibus viventibus confitemini ei, quia fecit vobiscum misericordiam suam.

[7] For it is good to hide the secret of a king: but honourable to reveal and confess the works of God.

Etenim sacramentum regis abscondere bonum est : opera autem Dei revelare et confiteri honorificum est.

[8] Prayer is good with fasting and alms more than to lay up treasures of gold:

Bona est oratio cum jejunio, et eleemosyna magis quam thesauros auri recondere :

[9] For alms delivereth from death, and the same is that which purgeth away sins, and maketh to find mercy and life everlasting.

quoniam eleemosyna a morte liberat, et ipsa est, quae purgat peccata, et facit invenire misericordiam et viam aeternam.

[10] But they that commit sin and iniquity, are enemies to their own soul.

Qui autem faciunt peccatum, et iniquitatem, hostes sunt animae suae.

[11] I discover then the truth unto you, and I will not hide the secret from you.

Manifesto ergo vobis veritatem, et non abscondam a vobis occultum sermonem.

[12] When thou didst pray with tears, and didst bury the dead, and didst leave thy dinner, and hide the dead by day in thy house, and bury them by night, I offered thy prayer to the Lord.

Quando orabas cum lacrimis, et sepeliebas mortuos, et derelinquebas prandium tuum, et mortuos abscondebas per diem in domo tua, et nocte sepeliebas eos, ego obtuli orationem tuam Domino.

[13] And because thou wast acceptable to God, it was necessary that temptation should prove thee.

Et quia acceptus eras Deo, necesse fuit ut tentatio probaret te.

[14] And now the Lord hath sent me to heal thee, and to deliver Sara thy son's wife from the devil.

Et nunc misit me Dominus ut curarem te, et Saram uxorem filii tui a daemonio liberarem.

[15] For I am the angel Raphael, one of the seven, who stand before the Lord.

Ego enim sum Raphael angelus, unus ex septem, qui adstamus ante Dominum.

[16] And when they had heard these things, they were troubled, and being seized with fear they fell upon the ground on their face.

Cumque haec audissent, turbati sunt, et trementes ceciderunt super terram in faciem suam.

[17] And the angel said to them: Peace be to you, fear not.

Dixitque eis angelus : Pax vobis : nolite timere.

[18] For when I was with you, I was there by the will of God: bless ye him, and sing praises to him.

Etenim cum essem vobiscum, per voluntatem Dei eram : ipsum benedicite, et cantate illi.

[19] I seemed indeed to eat and to drink with you: but I use an invisible meat and drink, which cannot be seen by men.

Videbar quidem vobiscum manducare et bibere : sed ego cibo invisibili, et potu qui ab hominibus videri non potest, utor.

[20] It is time therefore that I return to him that sent me: but bless ye God, and publish all his wonderful works.

Tempus est ergo ut revertar ad eum, qui me misit : vos autem benedicite Deum, et narrate omnia mirabilia ejus.

[21] And when he had said these things, he was taken from their sight, and they could see him no more.

Et cum haec dixisset, ab aspectu eorum ablatus est, et ultra eum videre non potuerunt.

[22] Then they lying prostrate for three hours upon their face, blessed God: and rising up, they told all his wonderful works.

Tunc prostrati per horas tres in faciem, benedixerunt Deum : et exsurgentes narraverunt omnia mirabilia ejus.

Commentary:

Ver. 1. What. Gr. Heb. and Syr. C. "See thou give the man who has come with thee his hire, and something must be added to it;" (H.) as he had promised (C. vii. 19.) a drachm a day, (C.) and more if they returned safe. H.

Ver. 2. Said. Gr. "Father, I shall not be hurt if I give him half of what I have brought, since he has conducted me safe back to thee, and has healed my wife, and brought my money, and likewise has cured thee. And the old man said, he justly deserves it. And he called the angel, and said to him, Take half of what you have brought, and depart in health. Then," v. 6.

Ver. 6. Said. Gr. "Calling the two, in private, he said to them."

Ver. 7. Hide. Gr. "To bless God, and to extol his name, exposing with honour the words of God, and delay not to confess unto him. For," &c. H. --- The Old Vulg. greatly abridges the remainder of this book, having only, "Then Raphael having called the two Tobies, said to them, Since thou hast not delayed to arise, and to leave thy meals to bury the dead, I have been sent to try thee to heal thee, and to deliver thy daughter-in-law. I am Raphael, one of the angels who assist and appear before the brightness of God. Hereupon the two Tobies were startled, and fell prostrate on the ground, and were seized with fear. And Raphael said, Fear not, Peace be with you. Bless the Lord all the days of your life, and sing his praises. You thought that I eat when I was at table with you. But you saw with your eyes; (H. only a vision. C.) wherefore bless the Lord upon the earth, and praise his goodness. As for me, I return to him who sent me. Write down all that has happened. The angel having spoken thus to Tobias, the latter wrote this prayer as a monument of his joy, and said, Blessed be the Lord, who is great in eternity, because his reign endures for ever. It is He who strikes, and who shews I mercy, who conducts to the grave, and who, by his majesty, rescues from the greatest miseries; and no one can withdraw himself from his hands. End of Tobias the just." H. --- King. Secrecy is the soul of human councils, to prevent an enemy from thwarting our designs: but nothing can withstand the divine power. It is therefore proper to testify our gratitude for favours received, as the ancient saints have done by their canticles. C.

Ver. 8. Alms. Gr. adds, "and justice. Better is a little with justice, than much with iniquity." H. --- Fasting and alms are like the wings of prayer. W. See C. iv. 11.

Ver. 9. Everlasting. This word is not found in Greek, though sufficiently implied; as liberality does not always secure a person's life, or temporal happiness. C. --- Gr. "Those who perform alms-deeds and justice, shall be filled with life. But sinners are enemies," &c.

Ver. 10. Soul. If this were understood of the present life, nothing could be less accurate, as the wicked often prosper. See Ps. x. 6. Jo. xii. 25. C.

Ver. 11. I. Gr. "I will not hide from you any word or thing. I said then, It is good to conceal the mystery of the king, but glorious to manifest the works of God. And now, when thou and thy daughter-in-law, Sarra, did pray, I brought forward the memorial of your prayer before the holy one." H. --- The angels are represented as God's ministers, offering our prayers to him. Apoc. viii. 3. C. S. Aug. W. --- Philo styles them ambassadors. Socrates says, "every demon (or good spirit) is between God and mortals." Plutarch. --- Inter homines cælicolasque, vectores hinc precum, inde donorum. Apuleius de Deo Socrat. C. --- Gr. continues, "and when thou didst bury the dead, in like manner, I was present with thee; when thou didst not delay to rise and leave thy dinner, that going thou mightest cover the dead; in thy good work, thou wast not hidden from me: but I was with thee. And," &c. v. 14. H.

Ver. 13. Thee. This rule is invariable, that the good may advance in virtue, and set a pattern to the world, (Heb. ii. 18. and xii. 6. Acts xiv. 21. C.) and cancel their smallest faults.

Ver. 14. From the devil, is not in Greek. H. --- In this history, as well as in other parts of Scripture, we have convincing proofs of the good which each one receives from his angel guardian, and from the other blessed spirits. See S. Luke xv. and xvi. S. Chrys. in col. hom. 3. S. Aug. de Civ. Dei. xi. 31. &c. W.

Ver. 15. Raphael. We know also the names of Michael and Gabriel. All others are apocryphal; such as Uriel, Saltiel, Jeadriel Barachiel, &c. --- Seven. This number is clearly specified by S. John, Apoc. i. 4. A mass in their honour was approved by Pius IV. It is supposed that the seven deacons in the Church of Rome, and of Jerusalem, were instituted in imitation of them. The kings, Assuerus, &c. had seven chief officers. Est. i. 10. C. --- Lord, ready to fulfil his orders, as innumerable other angels, of inferior degree, are likewise. M. Dan. vii. 10. --- These were the princes of the heavenly court. S. Jerom (con. Jovin.) admits only seven orders of angels. C. --- Gr. "I am Raphael, one of the seven holy angels who offer up the prayers of the saints, and go out before the glory of the Holy One. And they were both troubled," &c. (H.) at so unusual a thing, (M.) and filled with reverential awe. H. --- They might also suspect that death would shortly follow. C. Gen. xvi. 13.

Ver. 17. Be. Gr. "shall be with you. But praise God: for I came not of my own accord, but by the will of our God. Wherefore praise him for ever."

Ver. 19. I. Gr. "I appeared to you all the days; yet I did not eat nor drink. But you beheld a vision." H. --- Having an aerial body, he made the provisions disappear, as the sun melts snow. Gen. xviii. 9. C. --- He might swallow, though he had no need of meat, (S. Aug. de Civ. Dei. xiii. 22.) or digestion, (Grotius) so as to convert it into his substance. M. --- Men. I constantly enjoy the beatific vision. Mat. xviii. 10. C.

Ver. 20. It. Gr. "And now confess to God, because I ascend to him who sent me. Write ye all these occurrences in a book. And they arose, and beheld him no longer; and they proclaimed the great and wonderful works of God, and how the angel of the Lord had appeared to them." H. - Almost all interpreters infer from this injunction, (C.) that the work before us was originally composed by these holy men. H.

[advocatewrites-blog]

Into the Unknown Part 4 Chapter 2

Into the Unknown

Fandom: Undertale, Coraline (book), Over the Garden Wall, Paranorman, Gravity Falls (season 2)

Characters: Frisk, Norman B., Dipper P., Mabel P., Coraline J., Wirt, Greg, the Cat, the Frog; Sans, Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Asgore,; the Other Mother, the Beast, Agatha P., Bill Cipher, Asriel D., Chara D.,

Pairings: Not the focus. Alphys/Undyne, with mentions of Papyrus/Mettaton, sans/Toriel/Asgore, and Wirt/Sara. Due to the nature of Undertale and the dating segments, there is also interpretable Papyrus/Wirt, Undyne/Mabel, Alphys/Dipper, Napstablook/Norman, Mettaton/Norman, Mettaton/Mabel, Sans/Dipper, Sans/Norman, and Sans/Greg.

Rated a high +K for violence, mild language, horrific elements that may be disturbing to younger readers,  mentions of child abuse and bullying, character death that is sometimes permanent, and mentions of suicide that may be triggering. These elements remain relatively unchanged from their source material, which most all are for children, but discretion is advised nonetheless.

Disclaimer: Undertale was created and owned by Toby Fox. Coraline was created by Neil Gaiman and owned by Bloomsbury and Laika. Over the Garden Wall was created by Patrick McHale and owned by Cartoon Network. Paranorman was created by Sam Fell and Chris Butler and owned by Laika. Gravity Falls was created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Any other work mentioned or homage are property of their respective owners. This is a fan-made, nonprofit work that only seeks to entertain. Please support the original franchises.

The hallway outside of the Ruins was a lot longer than either of them had expected. It was too dimly lit for either of them to see quite clearly, and the damp chill of caverns only grew as they walked. There was only one clear beacon of light as another chasm opened above them.

In the beacon of light, there sat a flower.

“I bet you think you’re real clever, don’t cha?” said Flowey. “Saving your goat mom like that?”

Both of them were still rattled from the fight, so the most Dipper could really do was stomp on Flowey. It burrowed back underground before his foot hit the ground.

“Tell me,” said Flowey as he popped up behind them.  “What do you think you would have done if you hadn’t saved her? What will happen if you meet someone you can’t spare?”

“We’re not here to fight anyone!” said Dipper.

“Oh? So why are you here, then?”

Mabel sent Dipper a concerned looked. The two fell silent. That was all that Flowey wanted to hear.

“You don’t know,” said Flowey in realization. “Don’t worry, my little monarchs. You’re not the ones I’m looking for. And maybe once you stop that goody two-shoes act, we can agree on something.”

Flowey burrowed back underground, leaving them alone.

“What was that about?” Mabel asked.

“I’m not sure…” said Dipper. “Mabel, what were we doing when we came down here?”

Mabel hummed as she thought.

“The last thing I remember was being at the Shack,” she said.

“Same with me,” said Dipper. “Do you think maybe something paranormal brought us here?”

“I mean, we are in a world of magic and monsters,” said Mabel. “Nothing’s out of the question.”

“Then we better get to work,” said Dipper.

Chapter 2

They didn’t talk much after they were reunited. It was too late to make any real plans, too dark to look at the map Frisk had gotten, and they were too tired to think clearly.

It was early when they started to talk again. The sun had barely risen above the mountains that surrounded them, but it was light enough that Frisk could read the map.

None of the mountains surrounding them were Mt. Ebott.

“These are not normal woodlands,” said the Cat. “Perhaps you can try finding another monster here?”

Frisk nodded.

“Then I suggest we try to avoid gnomes.”

He jumped out of his skin when he saw the white bone. A skull sat in the hoodie. Attached to the rest of it was a skeleton. Two pinpricks of light hovered in the eye sockets, as close to pupils as it could get.

“alright. go ahead and take your choice. don’t got enough g on me to keep restocking.”

The skeleton monster gave a vague gesture to a set of lamps sitting by the checkpoint station, and what fear Dipper had faded into confusion.

“Why do you just have human shaped lamps?” Dipper asked.

“ya better make it quick,” the skeleton said. “my bro’s gonna be here in a few minutes and he’s a human hunting fanatic.”

Dipper’s eyes widened as he put together what he meant, and dove behind one of the lamps that had a shade of a long cone. Mabel fell right behind him, and hid behind her own lamp.

“SANS!”

“sup bro?”

Mabel poked her head out from the lampshade. “Oh, he’s cute!”

Dipper looked up just long enough to see the other addresser.

“He’s a skeleton,” said Dipper.

“You say that like it’ll stop me,” said Mabel.

“SANS? ARE THOSE HUMANS?”

The twins froze. Slowly, they both poked their heads out from the lampshade.

“sure, bro,” said the shorter skeleton. His skeletal smile was as thick as ever (and Dipper noted in the back of his mind that it didn’t move when he spoke), but there was a hint of frustration in his tone that Dipper could not quite place why.

“GOOD JOB!! I GUESS THERE IS MERIT TO STARING AT THESE LAMPS ALL DAY!!!” The taller skeleton turned to the twins. “ATTENTION HUMANS! !!YOU SHALL NOT PASS THIS AREA! !! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL CAPTURE YOU!!! PROCEED…ONLY IF YOU DARE!!!”

He ran off, his laugh growing more and more distant.

“sorry bout that,” said the shorter skeleton. “name’s sans, by the way.”

He offered Dipper a hand up. Dipper noted the pink whoopee cushion hidden under his phalanges and decided to pull himself back up.

“Human hunting?” Dipper asked. “So you’re trying to hunt us down?”

“nah. he won’t hurt a fly,” said sans. “he’ll just fight you and give you awful puzzles to solve. i’ll keep an eyesocket out for you kids.”

sans walked off into the other direction as his brother. Dipper waited until he could not see him anymore to talk.

“Who just has a dozen people-shaped lamps waiting out in the middle of the forest?” He asked.

“The same kind of person who keeps hot dogs under his stand,” said Mabel as she rose. “And the kind of person I wanna be friends with. Want one?”

Dipper took one without thinking. His mind was racing.

Sans was not all that surprised to see the two humans in the world of monsters. He had gone through the trouble of special ordering several human-shaped lamps and dragging them out into the snow and forest. He had been expecting them.

“sans definitely knows something,” said Dipper as he took a bite of his hot dog. “Let’s try and figure out what.”

“Sounds like a plan, plan man!”

It was then that Dipper realized whatever he put into his mouth was not hot dog meat.

They find the boyband first. Frisk vaguely recalled seeing them on TV at one point, so it’s a bit of a surprise to find them in a magical forest. They thought about asking them whether or not they knew anything about the Kingdom of Monsters, but decide against it after they have to talk one of them out of eating a pinecone.

The boyband was not the only humans they found in the forest. They stumbled upon a campsite, where the only difference between its two occupants is the numbers on their hats. They did not know where Mt. Ebott was, but they were kind enough to show them where the other magical places in the forest are and offered their campsite if they couldn’t find a place for the night.

They find the gnomes again. They weren’t helpful.

It was late in the afternoon when something interesting happened. They only ventured in to town for a few moments, for Frisk to buy some food with what money they had left. It was only a packet of jerky from a vending machine, but it was enough until they can figure something else out. They wandered off to one of the prettier spots in the woods, settled down on a log, opened the packet…

The forest rumbled. Birds flew and gnomes ran away. Soundwaves shook the trees and cause ripples in the stream. The earth shook as something raced closer.

The Manutaur approaches.

Frisk ACTS without thinking, and held the jerky packed out in front of them. The fight stopped instantly.

“Not going to fight back, tiny human?” The manutaur asked as he poured jerky down his throat.

Frisk shook their head and shrugged.

“I believe they would like to talk to you instead,” said the Cat. “They are looking for a way into a kingdom of monsters. It should be hidden in the mountains.”

The manutaur hummed in thought. “Climb onto my backhairs. I’ll take you to meet with High Council.”

“I think I’ll pass,” said the Cat.

Frisk climbed aboard, and let the cat jumped onto their shoulders. The Manutaur sped off.

“HE’S…WELL…HE’S A BIG FUZZY PUSHOVER!” said Papyrus. “EVERYBODY LOVES THAT GUY! I AM CERTAIN IF YOU JUST SAY…’EXCUSE ME, MR. DREEMURR, CAN I PLEASE GO HOME?’ HE’LL GUIDE YOU RIGHT TO THE BARRIER HIMSELF! ANYWAY!!! THAT’S ENOUGH TALKING!!! I’LL BE AT HOME BEING A COOL FRIEND!!! LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU WANT TO GO ON THAT DATE!!!”

Papyrus ran through them back to his house, a movement that was at best a mix of running, skipping, and floating. His laughter faded off in the distance.

Dipper hardly noticed. His mind was abuzz with the new information, trying to put together what Papyrus had said to the theories he had already crafted into his head.

He hardly even noticed the last thing Papyrus had said, until he looked over at Mabel and saw the look in her eyes.

“You want to go on a date with him right away?” Dipper asked.

“Why not?” said Mabel. “He said we can visit whenever we want for that date!”

“Your date,” Dipper said.

“And what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know! I think there was a restaurant in town…”

“I bet if you go with me you’d be able to talk to sans about whatever nerdy stuff you wanna talk about,” said Mabel.

Dipper opened his mouth to argue, but close it just as quickly. That was actually a good point.

“Just promise me you won’t call my thing a date,” said Dipper.

“Can’t! Let’s go!”

It was a long and hard-fought training montage that lasted the whole day. But eventually, Frisk was accepted by the Mautaurs. They gave them bits of leather armor that did not really fit them, a spear made of bone and stone that reminded them of Papyrus and Undyne, and some neat temporary tattoos. They were sent on their way to conquer the Multibear.

“And we shall go with you to make sure you don’t botch this like Destructor did,” said Pituitor.

But Frisk knew they weren’t going to Fight the Multibear, much less conquer it. Hopefully the other Manutaurs would be cool with that too.

The Multibear lived on the other side of the mountain range. Frisk scaled it the way the Mautaurs had taught them. They entered the cave. The Manutaurs were right behind them.

The sounds of roars alerted Frisk to the location of the Multibear before their eyes could fully adjust to the darkness. The Multibear emerged from the shadows.

“Bear heads! Quiet!” The biggest head of the Multibear snapped. “So, the Manutaurs have seen fit to send to me another human.”

“Yeah, because you SUCK!” Gronk shouted from outside.

The bear head growled again, but stopped as it was slapped.

Frisk nodded enthusiastically. They put their spear down to sign.

“I am afraid I do not speak the language of Hands,” said the Multibear.

“Then allow me to translate,” said the Cat as he emerged from a stalagmite. “They want to ask you for directions.”

There was a loud groan from the Manutaurs outside. The Cat ignored it.

“They wish to find the Kingdom of Monsters,” said the Cat.

“You would provoke the ire of the Manutaurs just to find it?” asked the Multibear.

Frisk nodded.

“Then you must be very lost,” said the Multibear. “Very well. I will tell you what I know.”

Papyrus’ house was a unique mixture of old, clashing furniture, and surfaces so clean it was hard to believe that they had ever held dust. In a lot of ways, it reminded Dipper of the Mystery Shack. He took a seat on the couch and started to flip through a book on quantum physics.

“Wow! How’d you get your sink so high?”

Shoved in between the pages was a joke book, just a little smaller than the textbook.  Curious, Dipper took that out.

“DO YOU LIKE IT?! I MADE IT TALLER SO I CAN STORE MORE BONES UNDERNEATH. TAKE A LOOK!!!”

The joke book had been hollowed out to hold another book on quantum physics. Dipper took it out and opened it up.

“WHAT?!?! CATCH THAT MEDDLING CANINE!”

Dipper looked up long enough from the books to watch the small Pomeranian from before rush through the kitchen and out the door.

“CURSES!”

The sound of a sad trombone filled the house.

“SANS!! STOP PLAUGING MY LIFE WITH INCIDENTAL MUSIC AND COME HELP ME ENTERTAIN THESE HUMANS!”

“oh, what?” sans’ voice echoed from the top of the stairs.

“YES! THE TALLER HUMAN AND I WERE PLANNING ON GOING TO MY ROOM AND DOING…WHATEVER IT IS PEOPLE DO WHEN THEY GO ON DATES! COULD YOU PERHAPS ENTERTAIN THE SHORTER ONE???”

“I’m shorter than Mabel by, like, an inch!” said Dipper.

There was a lingering pause upstairs, as sans thought about what had been asked.

“sure thing bro,”

There was the sound of a closing door upstairs, and the front door swung open.

“sorry bro,” said sans. “just wanted to make sure i got my date clothes on.”

The only thing Dipper noticed that was different were his socks, now matching.

“GREAT!! COME ALONG THEN, HUMAN!!! HAVE FUN ON YOUR DATE, SANS!!!”

Mabel wriggled her eyebrows at Dipper as she rushed upstairs with Papyrus. Dipper tried his best to ignore her.

*DATING START!

“So, uh…” Dipper started. He made a vague gesture to the books on his lap.

“oh yeah,” said sans. “paps got that one for me. i made a few of my own modifications, of course, but i don’t think he’s gotten the joke yet.”

Silence fell between the two as Dipper tried to think of what to say next.

“DON’T THINK YOU’VE BESTED ME YET!!!” Papyrus’ voice rang from upstairs. “I’VE NEVER BEEN BEATING AT DATING AND I NEVER WILL!!”

“Hey, sans,” said Dipper. “Do you know anything about a talking flower?”

The atmosphere grew heavy. sans’ grin tightened, and for a second Dipper felt a shiver up his spine.

“the echo flowers in waterfall, right?” sans asked. “didn’t think you had made it that far.”

“We haven’t,” said Dipper. “I mean a small golden flower that talks back at you, not just an echo.”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND THE HIDDEN POWER OF THIS OUTFIT!”

sans was silent for a moment. He shifted in his seat so he could look Dipper in the eyes. His smile had grown bigger, but Dipper was not entirely sure that was a good thing.

“I have a question for you kid…how did you end up in the Underground?”

“I don’t know. Mabel and I just kind of ended up here,” said Dipper. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. And I think that flower might have something to do with it.”

“RIGHT! BUT OH SO WRONG! THIS AIN’T ANY PLAIN OL’ PASTA!! THIS IS AN ARTISAN’S WORK!!! SILKEN SPAGHETTI FINLEY AGED IN AN OAKEN CAST, THEN COOKED BY ME, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS!!!”

“And I think you might know something about it,” Dipper finished.

The lights in sans’s eyesockets went out. Dipper fought the urge to jump back and run. Phalanges tapped on the sofa, forming a melodic pattern.

“What makes you think that, bucko?”

Dipper swallowed in a vain attempt to stop his voice from cracking before he spoke.

“Who orders a set of human-shaped lamps and leaves them out in the forest?”

“AUGH!!! URGH!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

“Should we do something about that?” Dipper asked.

“nah, they’re probably fine.” said sans. “but you know…you may be on to something kiddo. tell you what; you tell me more about that flower, i’ll tell you more about the other humans. deal?”

“Fine.” said Dipper.

“great. i’ll keep an eyesocket out for you, kid.”

sans stood from the couch and walked out the front door again. Dipper did not have a chance to question it before Mabel came downstairs.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“I dunno,” said Mabel as she plopped onto the couch. “I mean he dumped me, but that was the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Dipper decided it was not worth it to point out that all of her other dates were with a group of gnomes, a merman, a psychic brat currently in jail, and the guy on the $10 bill.

“How’d talking to sans go?” Mabel asked.

“I might be onto something,” Dipper said. “There’s a lot more going on in the Underground that we don’t know about.”

Author’s Note: Compared to Coraline, Wirt, Greg, and even Norman to an extent, the Pines twins know what they’re doing. They’re ready to solve some mysteries and rewrite history.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Alliance Part 4 (Gibson x Reader)

Summary: The battle is far from over and so is the alliance.

AN: This is the final part of the Alliance Series so I hope you guys enjoyed it and enjoy this. I made it a bit longer than usual because it's the big finale and I had a day off work. @hufflepuff-and-feminist and @firaemsen this one's for you two - my key motivators - and @outofworkactress because I can't wait for more "Je t'aime".

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 “GO! We have to GO!”

 Y/N felt the current dragging at her ankles as she shoved Gibson away from the hull and towards the ladder. Only then did he notice the water was up past their necks and everyone else had abandoned their task long ago.

  Struggling against the water current, Y/N forced herself up the ladder with gulps for air. Pushing off of the sinking deck with water sloshing around her legs, Y/N spotted another ship a quarter of a mile away. The soldiers from the trawler were already paddling towards it.

 “Gibson!” She called, backstroking her way over, “Gibson! This way!”

 Feeling her body getting sucked down by the water current, Y/N swam harder, pawing through the water. Her stomach was in stitches and the cold water stung against her body but the behemoth ship was so close.

 A dreaded droning zoomed overhead. The source of the stomach-churning noise flew overhead and dropped bombs on the only hope of staying alive. Taking a deep breath, Y/N ducked under the water for protection and covered her ears. The explosions sent shockwaves rippling through her body.

 When the barrage ended, she broke the surface to see the ship still floating. Y/N swam around to find Gibson but he was nowhere in sight. Frantically, she looked for the others but they were already headed for the dark mass in front of the ship. If Gibson was going anywhere, the Keith was – Y/N did a double take at the dark mass that was diffusing towards her. It was then she realised that the Keith was slowly sinking below the surface, just like the trawler.

 Ducking under the water, Y/N saw Gibson wasn't anywhere in the vicinity but there was a sailboat. Her first thought was that it was a mirage but then she saw others swimming towards it. Avoiding the oil, she swam as fast as she could towards it. Hopefully Gibson and Tommy would be doing the same.

 As she drew up to the side, a set of arms pulled her out of the water. She tried to climb up the side but her legs were too tired. She was met with a man in RAF uniform and a younger boy in a bright red jumper. A little disorientated, Y/N stared at them with a disgruntled expression.

 “Sit down,” The RAF pilot led her to the corner of the boat, out of the way, before returning to help lift other soldiers onboard. Scanning the faces of those who were brought aboard, Y/N didn’t see Gibson or Tommy. Fear spiked in her as Alex came aboard, his face coated in oil, but he didn’t notice her. Instead he headed straight for the companionway.

 The Heinkel swarmed around the Keith even as it was shot.

 “GO! GO! GO!”

 The last soldier was bought aboard as the Moonstone. He collapsed on the deck in front of Red Jumper. It was Tommy. Leaping to her feet, Y/N practically jumped on Tommy and lifted him off the deck.

 “Tommy, you’re ok! Did you see Gibson?”

 Still catching his breath, Tommy shook his head before he was taken into the companionway. Y/N looked about frantically, the muffled request for her to sit down falling on deaf ears. Gibson wasn’t on the boat. Rushing to the side, she peered at the men left in the water.

 She thought she saw him. There were so many so she wasn't sure but she couldn't just abandon him.

 “Hey! Hey! What are you doing?” The RAF pilot restrained her as she stood on the edge. Y/N forcefully shoved him back and dove into the water. Like before with the torpedoed boat, adrenaline gave life to her stiff movements. She didn’t have a plan other than to get Gibson.

  The man she thought was him had swam away but Gibson was there. He was left in the wake of the Moonstone, thrashing in the water, away from the oil but not safe from the cold shock.

 Gibson was sinking into the ocean, his face barely breaking the surface, when she made it to his side, her muscles burning like the fuel on the water. Tiredly treading the water, she lifted him back up and onto his back. He coughed up the water and fought not to cling to Y/N. His boots were still weighing him down.

 “Float,” Y/N spluttered, “You float in cold water so the shock wears off!” Her assurance was in vain as Gibson struggled to swim.

 “Stop!” She nearly choked on a wave, “It’s ok!” Keeping a hand under his back, Y/N glanced around. The Moonstone was too far away and showed no signs of coming back but there were other sailboats in the near distance.

 Lifting Gibson by the scruff of his neck to keep him afloat, Y/N propelled herself towards another sailboat. One painted red was already sailing over towards them. With a dunk and a kick for momentum’s sake, Y/N waved at it and prayed that they would stop to pick them up.

 The sailboat slowed, granting Y/N her wish, and a ladder was dropped down as it pulled against the duo. Gibson was no longer thrashing, simply waiting with chattering teeth. Hands reached down to help while he was ushered up the ladder first. Only when he was pulled onboard, his ally followed him up. She wasn’t making that mistake again.

 Y/N flopped onto the deck with Gibson next to her. Wheezing loudly, she was helped up and ushered onto the side of the boat. A lifejacket was tossed at her and she plonked herself out of the way. Gibson fell next to her, shivering as he leant on her chest. Y/N curled up her left arm around to cradle his head, resting hers atop it.

 No one asked for them to move; even though it made the other uncomfortable to see two men so close, they were too tired to complain.

 As evening came, Y/N was watching the sun go down, the pink rays ghosting over the white cliffs of Dorset. Her fingers gently played with Gibson’s hair, working the feeling back into them; it soothed them both into a lulled state and made time move faster. In no time at all, they were approaching the harbour at Weymouth.

 Stumbling a little, Y/N stepped onto the harbour’s jetty and, after helping Gibson onto the boards, headed for the train. A chit, some tea and a pastry were thrust into their hands with murmurs of congratulations at their survival.

 “Well done, lads,” The man held out a blanket to her. She accepted without looking up to him. Tucking them under her arm, Y/N rested her hand on Gibson’s lower back to guide him onto the train. He had his own sustenance and was copying her body language.

 Soon, they were sat at their own table and shielded their faces from those walking past with their food. Gibson forced some of the pasty down his throat, not enjoying the taste or the burning but he kept eating until it was gone. Then he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and used his forearms as a pillow. He dozed off to the sound of the train pulling out of the station.

 Ignoring Alex's comment about the old blind man, Tommy tucked himself into his seat. He opened his eyes at the sound of someone dropping something on his table. Y/N was slouched next to Alex, a clear set distance between them, with a blanket in her lap and a ceramic mug of tea in her hand.

 What she said next was directed at Alex, “You say anything, I cut your nuts off and stuff ‘em down your throat. Got it?”

 Alex looked down, “Gibson?”

 “Over there, sleeping. He’s alright, no thanks to you.”

 “We won’t say anything,” Alex swallowed hard.

 Tommy copied him, tensing at this hardened version of his friend, “How’d you get him out?”

 “Jumped in. Got him to another boat.”

 “Are you ok?” Tommy asked.

 “I will be... Hope you get to take a shit sometime, Tommy.” Y/N stood and started to leave then stopped. Pivoting back, she swallowed some tea before speaking again:

 “I’m glad you both made it. Good luck.”

 Then she was gone. Neither Alex nor Tommy got the chance to ask for her real name. And Alex didn't have the chance to ask Tommy what she meant about taking a shit before he fell asleep.

 Gibson flinched at the sunlight glaring through the window, rendering him disorientated. He looked around and took in his surroundings; most of the soldiers were asleep and those who weren’t were staring at their tables. Instead of joining the status quo, he turned to his comrade.

 Y/N was still tucked up against the window. The blanket was tucked over her body with a small section scrunched up in her neck to prop her head up. Stretching his legs, Gibson felt her boots topple over under the table.

 The sound of the whistle shook Y/N awake, her blanket falling away from her neck. She glanced out the window to see the stereotypical English countryside.

 Y/N leant forward and gestured for him to do the same. Both of them rested their chins on their forearms, their noses almost brushing as Y/N whispered:

 “You and me… Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres…”

 She paused, trying to remember what she had to say. Then it came to her.

 “Maintenant nous sommes en Angleterre… Tu peux rester avec moi. Chez moi.”

 Gibson nodded mutely, near tears. Her French was terrible but it was also somewhat endearing. With what she had given up for him and what she was doing, he didn’t know what to do.

 Y/N joked for her benefit, “My translation wasn’t that bad, was it?”

 Hiding his face in his sleeves, Gibson wiped his eyes away. He was still waiting to wake up from his nap on the beach. There was no way this person was really letting him do this. It was all just a dream then he’d wake up and have to get back on duty.

 But he didn’t wake up. Not when the train stopped or when they passed through the station and not on the entire route to an unknown destination. The walk was long, at least half an hour, and they didn’t go without some strange looks from people. A lot of people. Y/N didn’t stop,

 The pair finally arrived at the house. It was squashed on one side at the end of a long line of terraces with grey bricks and uneven slates leading to the front door. But Y/N walked around to the side. Gibson treaded lightly on the lawn on tiptoe, butterflies pounding against the lining of his stomach. This was real. He was going to be ok.

 Pushing open the back gate, Y/N stepped into the garden. Gibson took in the sight with wide eyes. Asters, delphiniums, hydrangeas and snapdragons lined the fences. A washing line was filled with fresh clothes that swayed in the wind. Roses climbed up the brickwork and to the windows. Lush grass made the tiny garden feel so much bigger and the trees stretched up to the sky with thick green leaves, blocking the unused privy from view. One had a wooden swing gently rocking back and forth. It was like heaven.

 A young man in cotton pyjamas was sat in his wheelchair, staring out into the garden with a lopsided smile. Y/N took a deep breath and walked up to him, leaning over the chair before she whispered something. The young man turned to her and let out a high-pitched groan, his smile widening one side and drooping the other. His twitching arms wrapped around her shoulders.

 “Michael, what is it?” A voice called out and Gibson shrank back behind the side alley. A tall commercial woman came out of the kitchen door; she was wearing washing up gloves on that juxtaposed her composed appearance.

 “Hey, ma,” Y/N’s voice broke. With a wail, the commercial woman flung herself at Y/N. The pair clung to one another, sobbing into the other’s shoulders. Michael joined in, making a discord of noises. Pulling away, now with a large oil smear down her blouse, the commercial woman held Y/N’s face with tears streaming down her face.

 “All your hair’s gone!” She ran a hand through Y/N’s curls, teasing out the knots, “But you’re safe! I saw the paper and I didn’t know what to think!”

 Y/N saw Gibson hiding behind the house wall and figured she might as well cut to the chase.

 “This is Gibson, can he stay for a bit?”

 “Sure. Hello Gibson,” Her mother greeted Gibson with open arms. Looking at Y/N over the stranger’s shoulder, Gibson sent an expression of alarm and instantly Y/N stepped in.

 “Careful, he’s shell-shocked.”

 Her mother quickly released Gibson and moved away with an “oh”. Gibson looked down at the concrete slabs, his hands twitching. Or were they shivering?

 “I’ll make you some food,” Ma said quietly, a little patronising, but Gibson didn’t understand anyway. She then went back into the kitchen but not before hugging her daughter again.

 “This is Michael,” Y/N helped Gibson over to the man in the wheelchair, “Michael, this is Gibson.”

 Michael waved, his hand flailing a little but a definite improvement compared to when Y/N left. Already shaking with nerves, Gibson continued to stare his lap. Ma didn’t seem to mind his behaviour too much. She made him ham and cheese sandwiches with apple slices and a pint of fresh water. Seeing him nearly choke on his food three times, Y/N started to ration his food between helping Michael with his.

 Ma was good enough not to ask about anything that’d happened. Instead, she left them to eat alone and went to draw up a bath for them. As soon as they finished their food, Y/N and Gibson went to clean up.

 Up the tiny-staircase, Gibson looked around at the photos and odd décor before he entered Y/N’s room. A simple box with a few photos on the vanity, a wardrobe with minimal clothes and a bed that was a bit bigger than the average twin.

 “You can stay here,” Y/N pointed to the bed and then to the bathroom that was adjacent to her room. Gibson followed her finger and shut the door behind him but not before she’d handed him a towel, new toothbrush and a freshly washed set of pyjamas that Michael wasn’t using.

 As Gibson gingerly placed his things on the lavatory seat, he rubbed the fluffy towel against his face. The soft fabric caressed his cheek, so different to his uniform. Then he brushed his teeth for the first time in weeks. It felt unusually clean, like stepping into an over-disinfected hospital.

 The bath was half full of water and coated in a miniscule layer of bubbles. He knelt in front of the bath and waved a hand through the suds. A wave of fear washed over him and he stood up again, going back into the bedroom to see Y/N who was scrubbing her skin red raw with a nail brush. He coughed to get her attention and her rapid scrubbing stopped.

 “You ok?” Y/N said quietly. Blinking back tears, Gibson shook his head.

 “Uh,” Y/N folded her shirt while she thought of a solution. Opening the draw, she pulled out a flannel and gingerly took Gibson’s hand to lead him back in. Carefully soaking the flannel, Y/N held it up for Gibson to see before gently dabbing his face. For some reason, her other hand came to gently hold the other side of his face.

 Closing his eyes, Gibson leant in her palm as she wiped his face free of oil. The warm water was soft against his skin and her fingers was tenderly stroking the hair that curled around his ear, putting him at ease. In no time at all, his face was clean.

 “Do you,” She gestured to him then to the bath, “want to get in?” Gibson shivered before pointing to her and the bath.

 “You want me to get in with you?” Y/N repeated the gestures. Gibson nodded. Tapping a random tune on the bath tub rim, Y/N nodded with him before disappearing to grab another towel. 

 Stripping off his clothes apart from his shirt and underwear, Gibson ripped off the dog tags. He didn’t know what to do with them. They weren’t his. He would have to find the family while he was here and give them the tags. Somehow. Maybe Y/N would help him… What even was her first name?

 Y/N was now in an oversized t-shirt, probably her father’s. Placing Gibson’s change of clothes next to their towels, she climbed over the side of the bath and stood in it. Taking her outstretched hand, Gibson stepped into the bath with her. They weren’t completely past the awkwardness surrounding their proximity.

 Taking a breath for courage’s sake, Y/N squatted down in the water and rubbed some of the suds against her forearms. It was more pleasant than the scrubbing brush. Gibson squatted down next to her, but refused to sit in the shallow water. Together, they rubbed their bodies free of oil and dirt.

 Not exactly ready to dunk her head under water, Y/N used a cupped hand to run some water through her hair. Thrice was enough and Gibson got back out to rub himself dry.

 “Merci, Y/N,” He said quietly, his accent distorting her name in the sweetest way possible.

 “It’s ok,” She squeezed his shoulder and handed him his towel.

 “It’s ok,” He repeated, wiping his arms with a nod and a nervous smile. His eyes were drooping shut as he brushed his face with the towel, his lack of energy hitting him gently.

 Y/N let Gibson have the bathroom so he could change in peace. At least they still had those boundaries. It was then Y/N remembered that Gibson wasn’t “Gibson’s” real name. Going into the hallway, she ran her gaze across the bookshelves until she found the French-to-English dictionary.

 After jogging her memory, Y/N recalled how to change verbs into the right tense. The gears were as taut as her limbs but she got there. Still, she flicked through the French-to-English dictionary to find the right words in order and practised the question before she spoke.

 “Comment vous appelez-vous? Votre vrai nom?” She stammered out, peering into the bedroom to see Gibson curled up on the left side of the bed. He was half-tucked under the covers, lying on his front with his arms above his head and propped under the pillow.

 Y/N put the book down on the side and lay down next to him. She stroked his hair one more time before closing her eyes. His name could wait one more night.

  AN: For those who didn’t know, Aneurin gave Gibson’s real name.

 I love this man. Also, the implication that comes with Michael is that the reader posed as her brother who wasn’t well enough to join the army. Bit o’ a Mulan situation on our hands. Side note: I will be posting an alternative ending to Alliance that *cough* stays true to the film’s canon.

 Translations:

You and me…Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres…

You and me ... Work together. Protecting each other. Cover each other ... 

Maintenant nous sommes en Angleterre. Now we are in England. 

Tu peux rester avec moi. Chez moi. You can stay with me. Home.

Comment vous appelez-vous? Votre vrai nom?

What is your name? Your real name?