#but we had coffins today and the image formed in my mind and would not let go until i gave it life. so here

[wizardprime]

allow me to hit Tim with the Slavic beam for a second. and torture Jason Todd in the same breath

so in the magical land of Czech Republic we have a dessert. it is a hard slab of egg and vanilla, typically served with whipped cream, sometimes fruit and coco powder. its name? coffins.

so imagine for me Jason pisses Tim off somehow for the twelve hundredth time or whatever and Tim is like Hm. I could be passive aggressive or physically attack him or start a prank war like a normal person bat. But I have been spending unheterosexual amounts of time with my friend Conner "Midwestern farm boy" Kent and it has moved some ancient brick of my DNA into place.

he shows up at Jason's door with a plate of these and then happily skips away.

cue Jason being strangely pleased when the tox screen turns up clean and it actually doesn't taste bad. until he looks up the name

[dreamofjoys]

Image popped into my head of Overblot!Malleus taking the sleeping F!MC, enchanting her into an Aurora-like dress and placing her in his room, him sitting on the bed while caressing her face and filling her dreams with such sweet dreams of them together, so she’ll never leave him and he can keep her happy while asleep. Think we could elaborate on that imagery?

— a/n: i actually had a similar idea like this in my drafts and i wanted to make it 18+ HAHAHA but since someone requested it, i will make it sfw hehe

— cw: female reader, spoilers for chapter 7(this was written before part 3 came out), malleus and reader have a crush on each other but they are not in a relationship, malleus overblots, he's a little yandere but it's only cuz of his overblotting, slight manipulation, a little angst, mentions of starting a family, sleeping in a dream, he makes you sleep everytime

ending was inspired by this tiktok video

an unfamiliar feeling aroused in malleus’s chest when you told him that there might be a way to go back to your own world. “hm, it could be possible that the mirror is connected to the other world.” you cheered in joy upon hearing malleus's words, failing to notice a hint of darkness in his tone.

that night, malleus returns back to his room, a bitter taste was left in his mouth as he recalls bidding you goodnight with a smile on his face despite feeling the opposite.

it's like that time again, it's like the thorns of briar valley are squeezing my heart. i don't want her to leave. i don't want lilia to leave. i don't want to be alone. i don't want to be forgotten-

the rain pours heavily, the cries of thunder and lightning shook diasomnia as the dark fae wallows in his room. a sinister idea appeared in his mind, but he debated using it, thinking that it wouldn't do well.

it wasn't until silver tearfully confessed to him that he did not want lilia to leave. that was the final straw for malleus before he overblots, finally succumbing to the darkness and his desires.

-

you flung open the entrance of ramshackle dorm, not bothering to close it as you rushed to diasomnia to attend lilia's farewell party. you had fell asleep on the couch, totally forgotten that today was lilia's last school of school. you could only hope that the old man wasn't too mad about you being late to his party.

as you stepped into diasomnia's territory, a chill ran down your spine as you noticed that the thorns were spreading, enveloping the sky and everything that it touches. you shrieked, thinking that it was going to attack you. however, the thorns maintained an arm distance from you. somehow, it managed to form a pathway that leads to the entrance of diasomnia.

was this part of the party's decoration? you thought, shrugging off the voice in your head that was telling you to run as you made your way to the entrance.

you stood in front of the double doors, hand pressing down at the door handle as the ominous feeling starts getting stronger and stronger. but that's just diasomnia, right? it has a gloomy and depressing atmosphere. you were so sure that lilia was going to pop out from somewhere and scare the living hell out of you once you open the door. however, the sight that greeted you was far from what you had expected.

the thorns formed a coffin shape, protecting whoever that was inside from harm. was that lilia, silver and sebek sleeping? but why? is this a prank?

you glance nervously around the surroundings, taking a step forward to wake up lilia, the main character of the day. this atmosphere is tensed, you didn't like it. it feels like something is caging you, ready to swallow you all. but most important of all, why does this feels so familiar?

"child of men, you are here." a familiar voice interrupts your train of thoughts as you whipped your body to the source, instantly wishing that you had never done so.

standing in front of you was malleus in his elegant form. elegant would have been the correct word if there wasn't any ink dripping around him. his left eye was engulfed in bright green flames. his horns were glowing with bright green stripes, just like his tail.

"is this your costume for the party?" you joked, trying to convince that this isn't real, trying to pretend that your crush did not just overblot, trying to tell yourself that everything it's okay, even though it's not. because you have 0 chance against malleus.

"oh my dear, i can assure you that it's not." you shivered at the pet name that he gives you. it was suppose to be romantic, but you can't help but feel that he has other intention towards you.

you didn't even notice that he was standing in front of you until his thumb and finger grasp on your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. it was then reality finally came crushing down on you as you realised that he had indeed overblot. you were too familiar with the tension around you, something that you could only feel whenever someone overblots. you had these experienced 6 times, the 7th time would still be the same.

panicking, you reached out to cup both of his cheeks with your hands. "please malleus, stop all of these. we can talk things out- just stop using your magic okay? please come back to me." malleus pays no attention to your words. the hand that was grasping onto your chin slowly travels up, caressing your lips that were wobbling before wiping off the tears that were cascading down your eyes. his free hand rest on your back, pulling you into his embrace as he attempts to calm you down.

even when malleus has lost his sanity, he still puts your happiness and comfort above everything else.

"are you scared? don't worry, i will make things right. you will never have to feel all this emotions again. sadness, anger, loneliness, you will never have to experience them again. all you will feel is happiness." he rest his forehead on yours, bright green eyes staring into yours.

"sweet dreams, my love."

before you could ask him what he mean, a wave of drowsiness hits you, causing you to struggle to stand up. malleus instantly swoops you up in a bridal style, pressing a loving kiss on your forehead as he watches you lose the battle with his magic, drifting into a peaceful slumber.

he carries you into his room, gently placing you on his bed, fingers snapping to change your clothes out to a simple white princess dress before tucking you in with those expensive silky blanket. he opts to sit beside you, caressing your face lovingly as he takes in your sleeping form. even when you are sleeping, you look ethereal to him.

the steady rhythm of your heartbeat sparks joy in malleus. it's a reminder that you are here beside him, forever.

-

you were sitting in front of your lover, back leaning against his chest. his tone arms encases you in his embrace as he holds out a book, reading to you about the story of sleeping beauty.

the idea of being cursed to sleep at the young age of 16 had struck something foreign inside you. what was the word to describe this feeling again? for as long as you know, you have only been able to experience happiness. whatever that was not related to it. it's just not there.

"love, what are you thinking about hm?" malleus rest his chin on top of your head, eyes peering down to stare at your expression.

"home." the answer came out so sudden that it shocked the both of you. what were you saying? isn't your home with malleus? "should we start a family?" you added, thinking that it's time to progress your relationship with malleus.

"anything for you." with a snap of his finger, the book in his hands disappeared. he hugs you tightly, burrowing his nose to etch the smell of you into his brain. you thought that malleus was just being clingy, so you giggled and snuggled further into his embrace, failing to notice the dark gleam in his eyes that was glowing with bright green.

"but first, you should sleep for awhile. you haven't been sleeping well lately yes?" malleus suggested, covering your eyes with his big hand as he started humming out a familiar tune.

"hmmm? i guess so..." just like that, he manage to lull you back into sleep again.

malleus will keep you happy by his side, even if it means pouring more of his magic into you so that you can't forget about everything and everyone, except him.

[thatweirdoleigh]

Socks (but i finish the fic)

Elijah Mikaelson x reader

Warnings; Eli’s a good husband, and the reader cries oh yeah and reader’s pregnant

a/n ; Here is the full thing!! Cause its cute and for once i actually like the thing that i made. 

Imma tag the people i think will enjoy this.

My moms  @elijahs-wife​ @hellotvshowtrash

The Murder aunts; @mikaelson-emma​ @dumble-daddy​

Other Family Members that i don’t really talk to but love and appreciate anyway!;  @xxwritemeastoryxx​  @ronniemikaelson​ @lady-salvatore @thatfanficstuff @zodiyack @auroracalisto​ @dizzydancingdreamer​ @imaginearyparties​ @alwaysfangirlingish​ 

The giggles of his sisters echoed through the halls and into the entry way as Elijah opened the front door and stepped into his family home. Hope’s laughter and the laughter of his brothers and their wives joining shortly after. Rebekah was telling stories again, of all the mishaps, mistakes and schemes from over the centuries. It made him smile. Today was a good day.

After everything that had happened over the centuries, particularly the past several decades, it seemed like a dream come true to finally feel like a family again. To feel the same humble happiness that they felt when they were all still human. Like touching the stars with their bare hands. So he savored the memories and the joy and the rest that it brought to himself and those he cared so dearly for.

Walking into the parlor he was greeted by the warm welcomes of his family.

“Brother!” Klaus, all but beamed, “Welcome home!” A chorus of welcome home and welcome back echoed behind him.

Elijah grinned, wholeheartedly approving of the laid back posture of his younger brother, his arm slung over the back of the couch behind the witch that Klaus had fallen in love with. It was a stark contrast to the rage and paranoia that plagued him for so many years. “Its good to be home!”

“How was your meeting with the contractor brother?” Finn queried, far more subdued than the others. Even though they had all forgiven him, and profusely apologized for 1000 years of pain, Finn still didn’t feel like he quite belonged with the rest of his family. A fact Elijah had been eager to fix once the realization had set in of exactly how shitty their treatment of him was. Courtesy of Camille, of course. However 900 years in a coffin is not forgotten overnight, so it was still a work in progress. So it further proved to warm Elijah’s heart when his eyes laid upon Finn and found him squished between Freya and Kol’s firecracker of a fiancé, instead of locked in his room.

Elijah smiled at Finn and placed his suit jacket over the back of an unoccupied chair, “It was good. We got all of the final details and planning done and now its we are just waiting for the town to give us a building permit”

“that’s good” Finn replied with a nod.

For context, Y/n was pregnant with Elijah’s child, a miracle given in the form of a spell cast as a wedding gift and created by Kol and Klaus’ wife. Y/n had all but declared that she wanted their children to have as normal lives as physically possible and while the Mikaelsons were hesitant to go along with this plan, it was agreed that perhaps living in a mansion with 4 witches, 6 vampires, and 3 hybrids was not a normal childhood. So it was agreed that they would own a separate family home to raise their children in while still visiting as often as physically possible.

As Elijah looked around and took in the the scene around him he noticed that y/n was not among his siblings and so begged the question as to where was his darling wife?

“If I may ask, where is y/n?”

It was Kol’s fiancé that pipped up. “She came rushing in with a bag, declared that she was going to enjoy her new socks and then she was taking a nap, You know how my twin is Elijah, she gets excited over the simplest things, and then she ran upstairs without another word. Imagine she is asleep by now. Probably has been for a while. ”

Elijah smiled and Keelin looked at her curiously, ”Socks?”

Elijah cleared her confusion “Yes Keelin. Socks. Its seems that my darling wife has developed an affinity for collecting and wearing the most colorful knee-high socks she can find”

“It is rather amusing to watch auntie y/ns excitement.” Hope testified from where she had tucked herself under her father’s other arm. “She rambled on about a pair she had found with neon green strips, all while eating a plate of bacon in the kitchen the other day”

Everyone laughed at the image, and Elijah just shook his head with mirth in his eyes, ”yes well, if you don’t mind I am going to join my wife and unborn child in bed. Goodnight to you all” and a chorus of goodnights followed him down the hall.

As Elijah climbed the stairs he couldn’t help but be reminded of how grateful of all of the things that life has granted him over the years. He had a beautiful wife that loved him and siblings that adored him and soon he would have children of his own.

As Elijah approached the door to his bedroom he couldn’t help but notice something was wrong. Stopping to listen he could hear sniffling and shaky breathes just beyond the door way.

“y/n?” he took the handle and pushed the door open.

There sitting in an armchair in the corner of their room was y/n. She was wearing one of Elijah’s Cambridge sweatshirts and a pair of his boxers. The sweatshirt was cream in color and it matched cream colored socks she held in her hand. While Elijah would normally fawn over how adorable she looked round with his child and dressed in his clothes he was more focused on the tears stains that and puffy red eyes that decorated the face of the love of his life.

Elijah was quick to kneel in front of her and cup her face in his hand “Y/n? Baby what’s wrong? Are you alright?” He placed his other hand on her belly and searched for some kind of injury to suggest that she was hurt.  

She looked at him with a watery smile, kissed his hand and said “I found a pair of socks that would match my favorite one of your sweatshirts and I got so excited to wear them.”

She held up the socks and gestured to her feet. “But I cant reach, so I cant put them on. And it made me so sad that I cried.”

Elijah’s face relaxed and he gave a sigh of relief, realizing it was something simple that he could easily fix. So he gently took the socks from her hands and unfolded them so he could put them on her. He rolled them up and then pulled them all the way up her legs to just below her knees and then gave a kiss to her nose. “there “ he whispered. “all better.”

“thank you ‘lijah.” She mumbled and then yawned.

“Oh. I think its bedtime.” He stated playfully.

“Im pregnant not two.” She grumbled with another yawn.

Elijah looked at her with nothing but adoration and said “baby you just cried over a pair of socks.” In response she pouted and Elijah couldn’t help but smile. 

“Alrighty. Bedtime!” He said scooping her up bridal-style. 

“you can’t be serious!” y/n scoffed. 

“Dead serious!” 

“Eli!” she whined, “don’t make puns when im annoyed at you! Then I can’t enjoy them!” 

Elijah only laughed, and then slowly spun her around in a circle. “wheeeeeee!” he said before gently tossing her on the bed. 

y/n looked up at her husband in exasperation as she watched him use vampire speed to strip to his underwear and climb onto the bed like a leopard on the prowl.  

“I love you.” he purred pressing a kiss to her swollen belly, eyes playfully looking up at her. 

She raised an eyebrow, “Me? Or your children?”. 

“Both” he replied, gently coercing her backwards onto the bed as he crawled farther up her body his hands rubbing circles into the sides of her stomach. y/n rolled her eyes and chuckled her amusement as he enveloped her in another kiss. 

Sighing happily y/n ran her hands through Elijah’s hair, as he eagerly deepened the kiss. However Elijah had to stop this blissful moment rather short. 

He furrowed his brow and pulled back slightly so he could see his wife’s eyes, “Children?” he questioned. “plural?” 

Now it was y/n’s turn to grin playfully. 

“I went to the doctors today.” She said eyes twinkling with mischief. “And i learned something rather interesting.”  

Elijah narrowed his eyes, recognizing that she was toying with him. “did you now?” 

“I did” she purred rubbing her hands down his neck and shoulders. “Apparently twins are not always magical miracle coincidences. More often than not they are genetic.” and as her smile grew bigger so did Elijah’s. “And considering that I am half of a set, I’d say the trait has passed on.” 

Elijah’s grinn was getting bigger by the second. “you mean to tell me. That not only am I getting one daughter.” he leaned in closer until their noses were touching. “I’m getting two?” 

“yes” she whispered seductively and elijah expressed his joy by kissing her again. 

“And do you wanna know what else I learned?” y/n said slyly as he trailed his kisses down her throat. He grunted quietly for her to continue and y/n leaned up and murmured in his ear, “Both of your ‘daughters’ are sons” 

Elijah groaned and pulled back up to her face, “damn. I was really hoping was really hoping for a mini you.” he admitted swallowing y/ns laughter in another kiss. 

Y/n pulled him to lay beside her as they both got under the duvet and settled comfortably for bed. y/n lay on her side facing Elijah and he buried his face in her hair his hands finding their way to her rounded abdomen, joyful and excited to meet his children in the nearby future. 

“Eli?” she said softly. “will you sing to me?” she asked looking up at him. 

“Of course, My love” and so Elijah sang the same nordic lullaby his mother taught him all those years ago and they both drifted off to sleep. 

[the-void-i-scream-into]

White Tulips - a JunJin fanfic 1/3

Full Story: Part 2, Part 3

Hello everyone! I hope everyone who is reading this is healthy and safe. This is a fanfic about my favorite characters, Kang Sujin and Han Seojun. I really love these two together so I wrote what I had hoped to see in True Beauty. This is my first time writing fanfiction so its not that good. But I hope you still enjoy it. I didn’t change anything from True Beauty, rather continued the events from the ending with a focus on giving Sujin the redemption arc she so rightly deserved. 

I really have to thank everyone on the shooters gc, especially @prodmina, for being so amazing and awesome. Never before have I come accross such amazing, wonderful, open and friendly group of people. I’m not that active on the chat, but I am so grateful it exists. Thank you to everyone on there. This is dedicated to you all.

Pairing: Kang Sujin x Han Seojun

Romantic Trope: Haters to friends to lovers

Word Count: 5.9k

Rating: T

PART 1

i.

If you asked Han Seojun why he loved Lim Jukyung, he wouldn’t be able to answer. His feelings for her overwhelmed him to the point of inarticulation. His heart still skipped a beat every time he saw her at dinner with their group. He still found himself staring at her from time to time, unable to look away from her beauty. He even wrote songs about her, his only form of expressing his love for her.

He still thought of her in every free minute he had between practice, performance and recording sessions. When he couldn’t see her, he would watch her make-up tutorials online. He was proud of how far she had come with her career as a make-up artist. Her popularity was a source of delight for him. It was only appropriate that everyone see how amazing she was.

The only problem was, Lim Jukyung didn’t belong to him. She belonged to Lee Suho, his best friend.

Seojun was happy for the two of them. They were the best people he knew and even he had to acknowledge that they belonged together. Which was why, having these feelings were burdensome for Seojun.

It was burdensome, seeing them all lovey-dovey with each other and talking about their lives together. Normally Seojun would have faked a smile, but when they were all together in a group he scowled without reserve. He got away with it because right beside Suho and Jukyung, sat Taehoon and Suah who were the kind of cheesy couple that made anyone barf.

In fact, just the thought of Suah and Taehoon fawning over each other made him cringe. Even now as he walked into the special private room they frequented for their gatherings—private due to Seojun’s and Jukyung’s popularity—Seojun was pushing back his gag reflex at the squealing he could hear outside.

He scolded them as he entered the room. “Guys! I can hear you all the way from the front entrance. Why are you always so—” He stopped in his tracks. There, between a giggling Jukyung and beaming Suah sat the worst person Seojun had ever known.

Her.

He had heard peripherally about how she had changed now, having reformed as a charity worker. She had apparently apologized to Jukyung about the shitty things she had done before. As if an apology could change anything.

Han Seojun knew Jukyung had forgiven Kang Sujin. That woman had even attended Heekyung’s wedding. But Seojun didn’t understand why she had to invade their special gatherings.

The room had fallen silent. Everyone awkwardly stared at Seojun, then Sujin.

“It’s been a while, Han Seojun.” She said with a polite smile. Her voice deeper than most girls’. He always hated her voice and its lack of femininity.

Ya Han Seojun, are you a gangster?!

Seojun pushed the memory away.

“Ah-aah! Han Seojun. You must be surprised.” Jukyung said with forced cheerfulness. “I invited Sujin to join us today.

Seojun merely flicked a cynical brow at Jukyung and took his usual seat besides Suho. Suah and Jukyung nervously returned to their conversation.

The uncomfortable air in the room subsided after a while and everyone chatted cheerfully with each other. Everyone except Han Seojun.

“I saw your performance on TV. You looked good.” Suho told Seojun.

“Why the hell have you invited Kang Soojin?” Seojun asked Suho in a hushed tone.

“She’s a friend, of course she’s invited.”

“Why are you friends with her again?”

“Seojun, its fine.”

Seojun opened his mouth to protest but before he could, Sujin interrupted him.

“Ya, Han Seojun. I saw your performance on TV. I didn’t know you could sing so well.” She said, not sounding too impressed. “You were great.”

It was a peace offering. A way to start off on the right foot.

Seojun gave a sarcastic smile and tilted his head. “You should have known I was that good. I performed in school, didn’t I?”

“Oh right. I guess I didn’t really pay attention before.”

“You were too busy giving all of your attention to Lee Suho. I don’t expect you to have noticed anybody else.”

This time, the silence in the room was palpable. Taehoon audibly gulped. The only person unfazed was Sujin.

“Yeah. I was obsessed with Suho.” She said simply. “But now that I look back,” she made a frame with her forefingers and thumbs, “I think what the hell does Jukyung see in you?”

“Ya!” Suho protested so seriously that Jukyung giggled, breaking the tension.

“Honestly Jukyung. You’d be better off with me as your boyfriend.” Suah and Taehoon joined the laughter.

“Ya Kang Sujin, you stay away from my girlfriend.” Suho protested, pouting.

“You’re too serious, Lee Suho. Jukyung needs someone more fun.”

“At least I don’t go around kicking people in the face.”

“You wouldn’t be able to do it, even if you tried.”

“I know jujitsu, you know.”

“Okay, okay!” Jukyung said. And that was it, the friends were back to normal.

Seojun kept out of the conversations, eating and drinking on his own. No one dared to bother him lest he say something else to ruin the mood.

Han Seojun didn’t care to maintain a good mood. He had no tolerance for people like Kang Sujin; people who were bullies. And especially not when said bully had hurt someone he cared about very deeply. He didn’t buy this act that Sujin was pulling. He knew, that people never changed.

The conversation turned to Sujin and her charity work overseas. She talked animatedly about the children she and her non-profit group worked for. It made Seojun’s blood boil, how she was using a noble cause as a front for her true cold-hearted personality. That angel bullshit may work on others, but it would not work on Seojun.

He kept a close eye on her the entire time, almost glaring to the point where Suho had to poke him with his elbow to get him to look away. But Suho was blind, he should have seen how Sujin’s face gave the barest of glances of pain when he and Jukyung kissed each other and pulled each other’s cheeks and talked about living together.

“Oh, you guys share an apartment?” No one else noticed the high-pitchiness of Sujin’s voice when she asked this. No one, expect Seojun.

And then there was the stolen glances at Suho. That was the final nail in the coffin. Seojun was convinced that Sujin was pretending to be over Suho. She was still in love with him. And that was a problem.

“What’s wrong with you?” Suho confronted Seojun outside, when it was just the two of them waiting for the others to leave.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know the kind of person Kang Sujin is? How can you let her in again?”

“Calm down, Seojun-ah. That was all years ago.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that she hurt Jukyung.”

“She’s not a bad person. I know her better than you. She made a mistake.”

“She knew what she was doing.”

“Haven’t you ever made a mistake before? Or are you telling me that blaming me for Seyeon’s death was the right thing to do?”

Seojun was quiet.

“Seojun-ah, don’t take this the wrong way. You have a tendency to judge too quickly, and misunderstand. If you really hate her that much then talk to her and ask her about her reasons. Don’t just go on assuming something is the way it is because you think so.”

Seojun grit his teeth.

“Shall we go?” Jukyung came up from behind, taking Suho’s arm. The rest of the group was behind her.

“Yeah. Bye everyone. See you next time.” The couple waved as others waved back. “Seojun, I hope you’ll think about what I said.”

Seojun just nodded and waved too. He watched Jukyung and Suho disappear into the crowd on the street.

The rest of them said their goodbyes and went their way, Seojun leaving after giving Sujin a distrusting side-eye.

ii.

I don’t want to be a fool like you and be just friends, only to like him one sidedly.

It had been such a long time ago when Kang Sujin had said this to Han Seojun, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. That and a couple of other memories that played in his mind, causing whiplash.

Ya Han Seojun, are you a gangster?!

Those words especially felt like a slap on his face. He could actually feel his cheek burning at the image of Kang Sujin standing there in her uniform, telling off him and his boys about bullying Jukyung.

He had respected her back then, for having the guys to stand up for her friend. Even though she had been all haughty like some arrogant princess and thought him a fool, he had still respected her. He had never expected her to turn out to be such a vile person.

Am I handsome?

Yes.

No, no, no. That was one incident he refused to remember. It meant nothing. Only a source of surprise at her bluntness, nothing more.

“Seojun, we’re going to hit the showers now, are you done?”

Seojun didn’t hear Chorong as he ran on the treadmill. His body was in the gym but his mind as fully occupied by Kang Sujin, as it had been for the past week.

“Han Seojun, are you listening?”

She must have had a reason for suddenly showing up out of the blue. She had disappeared completely when the truth about her had been revealed online. Obviously, she ran away like a coward. If she was back now, it must be because she wanted something. Kang Sujin could be very calculating and manipulative.

Was it because of Lee Suho?

“Han Seojun!”

Chorong’s voice snapped Seojun out of his thoughts and he fell backward from his treadmill.

“OOOH! Are you okay?”

“YA! Why would you do that?!” Seojun snapped at Chorong as he got back up. He checked himself for bruises though his dignity caught the worst of it.

“Ah-nee, I called you so many times. You were totally checked out.” Chorong explained.

“Does that make sense? Why would I be checked out?”

“Well… you have been out of it this past week. Has something been bothering you?”

Something had been bothering him; something with silky, black hair and long legs.

“What? You met Kang Sujin?” His entire posse sounded as he told them about her return. Seojun put a finger in his ears as he was bombarded with questions.

“Did she apologize to Jukyung? Are they friends now?”

“Did she tell where she was all that time?”

“Is she still pretty?”

“Is she single?”

“What is she doing these days?”

Seojun ignored all of these useless inquiries.

“Hey! Did you al forget the kind of person she is? How could you ask if she is still pretty?”

“She must be. I bet she’s still the same.”

“She was never pretty.” Seojun declared. “I can never understand what people see in her.”

“That’s because you only have eyes for one.” One of them teased and the rest of them Ooh-ed like school girls.

“Ah, shikkeureo! Shut up!” Chorong said in defense of Seojun. Out of everyone, Chorong understood best how much Seojun still pined for Jukyung. “So, what exactly is bothering you about Kang Sujin?”

“I don’t trust her. Especially around Jukyung.”

“Wae? Do you think she might still be after Lee Suho.”

“Yes. At least I suspect so. I’m not sure what game she’s playing at but I’m not buying this angel persona she has on.”

“So? You can’t exactly stop Jukyung from choosing to be friends with her.”

“I feel I can convince Jukyung if I talk to her.”

“She might just tell you to try to get along with Sujin.”

This was true. Jukyung was too nice and trusting with people. Seojun thought long and hard.

“I’ll have to protect her. I’ll have to keep Kang Sujin away from Jukyung.”

iii.

He had been on his way to the studio, casually riding by on his bike, when he saw her. She was in some blue vest, clearly a uniform of some sort. She was handing out fliers to people who passed by, smiling widely with that fake innocent look she had perfected. What a crock of shit. Seojun swerved around and parked his bike, then sauntered up to her with an amused expression.

She lit up when she saw him approach, waving animatedly at him. Her happiness upon seeing him surprised him so much that he stumbled and almost fell. He played it off as nothing, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

“Ya Han Seojun, gimme your autograph.” She grinned as she pushed forward a petition to help kids in Africa.

Seojun didn’t take it. “What are you doing?” He asked rhetorically, looking at the pictures of children she had set up for people to see along with information as to how to donate. So she’s using these poor kids for her own selfish reasons?

“Huh?” Sujin hadn’t missed his tone. “Just sign it, its for a good cause. And being charitable will help your image too, no?” She tried appealing to his logic.

“Ooooh,” Seojun mocked, “So you keep up the pretense even when you’re not around Jukyung? Isn’t this a too much, Kang Sujin?”

Sujin’s smile dropped into a snarl, “What?”

“I’m on to you, Kang Sujin.” Seojun got up in her face. “Ah-nee, if you’re going to pretend to be all reformed then you shouldn’t make it too obvious. Charity work is a little too on the nose, don’t you think?”

Sujin stared at him in shock and anger. Seojun suddenly recalled how well Sujin had kicked those thugs who had kidnapped Jukyung back in high school and gulped. He hoped she wouldn’t try to kill him in public but it was too late to take back what he said.

“Han Seojun…” Sujin said through clenched teeth and Seojun prepared for the worst.

Ya Han Seojun! Are you a gangster?!

But she said nothing. Instead she calmed herself, exhaling through her mouth.

“I probably deserve that.” She said, not backing away or cowering from him. She pushed the flier in his chest, “But don’t make these kids suffer because of your anger towards me. They could really use the support.”

Seojun looked down at the flier. He couldn’t sign anything without the consent of his agency. So he folded it up and pocketed it. Along with his pride. He could put his ego aside for a good cause.

“These kids deserve a better person representing them than you.” Seojun said. Sujin pressed her lips tightly.

“Aren’t you being a little too harsh? I’m not the same person anymore. And Jukyung has—”

“You may have everyone else fooled, Kang Sujin. But I will always remember what you are.” With that, Seojun walked away, his hand twitching.

 iv.

The next time they all met up, Seojun made sure to sit between Sujin and Jukyung. He felt uncomfortable because he had to bump shoulders with her, but he would bear it for Jukyung.

Suho gave Seojun a warning look when they all sat down. Don’t do anything excessive, the look said. Seojun ignored it.

He could feel Sujin’s stiffness beside him. This was uncomfortable for her too. Good. If I’m suffering, she should too. But she kept up her polite façade, smiling like nothing bothered her.

Seojun made sure to keep her isolated from Jukyung. He didn’t let her speak to Jukyung, didn’t let her participate in the competitions. He even didn’t let her eat properly.

“Jukyung-ah, did I show you my pictures from—”

“Jukyung-ah, has your sister told you about the tour we’re planning?” Seojun interrupted.

Jukyung would be at a loss as to who to answer and Seojun would move forward, blocking Sujin.

When Suho or Jukyung tried to ask Sujin what she wanted to eat first, he took the first dish he saw and shoved it in front of her.  

“Here, have this Kang Sujin.”

“I don’t want it.” She said with an unamused look.

“Take it.” He ordered in his intimidating baritone.

They glared at each other , Sujin’s face twitching with annoyance. Seojun mentally dared her to snap at him but she swallowed her pride, quite literally, and put on a fake smile.

“Thanks.” She said dryly.

By the end of dinner, Han Seojun had successfully managed to annoy Kang Sujin. Her fake persona was slipping as she clenched her jaw and exhaled excessively to keep her temper in check. Seojun guessed he would have her true personality on display by the end of the night.

“Han Seojun what are you doing?” Suho confronted him outside.

“What did I do?” Seojun feigned ignorance.

“You need to sto—”

“Han Seojun. Let’s talk.” Sujin strode up to them from behind, her face set with determination.

“No.” Seojun said.

“I wasn’t asking. I was telling.” And there she was, the old Sujin. Gone was the politeness and friendly demeanor. She stared boldly at him, almost challenging him to refuse again.

“Seojun-ah, just hear her out.” Jukyung broke through their staring match. Seojun could never say no to her. But he didn’t get a chance to say yes either.

Sujin simply commanded, “Follow me,” and grabbed the collar of his jacket, dragging him away.

“Ya! What are you doing?!” But Kang Sujin was stronger than she looked and Seojun found himself being pulled against his will.

The rest of them could only stare.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” Suah asked, concerned.

“Nope. I’m certain they’ll kill each other.” Suho replied nonchalantly.

“My money’s on Sujin.” Taehoon and Suah said together.

“You’re on.” Suho replied.

iv.

“Are you crazy? How could you grab me like that?” Seojun smoothened the collar of his coat that Sujin had bunched up in her fist. She had let go when he had said that he would follow enough times. They walked together, Sujin going ahead of him. He quickly put on his mask. “How can a girl be so strong?” He said under his breath. Then spoke aloud, “Is this any way to treat an idol?”

Sujin suddenly turned on her heels, stopping Seojun in his tracks. She was a little too close for comfort and looked intimidated with that unfiltered anger on her face. “Just shut up and follow.”

Seojun put his hands on his hips, tilting his head. He was unimpressed by her tough attitude. He gestured forward with his chin, “Then move.”

He followed her, keeping a small distance between them. She marched forward, taking long strides with her long, long legs. She looked like a general going to war.

“She calls me a thug. She should look at herself.” He mumbled.

Sujin led them to a secluded pocha, street food vendor with small plastic seats housed inside a plastic tent. Seojun adjusted his mask.

“Relax, no one here is going to recognize you.” Sujin said, sensing his discomfort. Indeed, when Seojun looked around, all he saw were hold ahjusshis getting drunk and babbling nonsense. None of them seemed like his fans.

Still, Sujin led them in a corner table and sat where he was hidden by her. She ordered two bottles of soju and side dishes for him. He simply watched with his arms crossed.

The silence between them was awkward and heavy. Neither of them said anything. Han Seojun openly stared at Sujin. Kang Sujin looked everywhere but him. The lady brought them their order. Sujin effortlessly opened a bottle and moved to fill his glass. Seojun put his hand on top of his glass to stop her.

With a sigh, he took the bottle from her and poured for himself. She followed suit. They both took a shot.

Sujin sat up straight, shuffling in her seat. She first looked down at her hands in her lap, then looked up, straight in his eyes.

“Mianhae.” It took him by surprise. More than that, the regret on her face moved him. If only by an inch. “I’m sorry, Han Seojun. What I did back then… I was going through some personal issues, and I took it out on Jukyung. But even that is not a good enough excuse. I shouldn’t have done what I did. And even what I said to you… even after you gave me a chance to delete the video… I’m sorry.” She gulped and Seojun mirrored her. “You were right. I was only destroying myself. I should have seen that. But I have changed now. I’m not the same person. I know you’re important to Jukyung. So I hope we can get along from now on.”

Seojun took another shot. He took a minute, considering her words.

“If its forgiveness you want, then Kang Sujin, there is nothing to forgive between us. Your fight was with Jukyung. Not me.” Sujin appeared relieved till Seojun added, “However, my problem with you isn’t because of old grudges. I just can’t trust you, Kang Sujin. I believe you still will hurt Jukyung, even if you don’t mean to. And I can’t let that happen.”

Sujin’s mouth became small. She jutted her jaw, pouring another shot for herself. She downed it aggressively before responding. “I’m not the same girl anymore. I’m not in love with—”

“I keep hearing that you’ve changed. But have you really? Can you honestly tell me that you’re over him?”

“I am over him.”

“Bull shit. I saw the way you were looking Suho. All throughout dinner—”

“Aren’t you just projecting your own feelings onto me?” Sujin interrupted.

Seojun laughed incredulously, “What?”

“The one who’s not over their unrequited love is you. You’re not over Jukyung.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. All these years you’ve been pretending to be her friend. Aren’t you the one being two faced?”

“I’ve already confessed to her. We even went on a date.” Seojun crossed his arms with a smirk.

This was news to Sujin, “Aah. Is that so? Then isn’t that more pathetic? Even though she clearly doesn’t want you—”

“Ya, Kang Sujin.”

“—you’re still not over her. I too saw how you looked at her. With that pathetic puppy dog expression on your face. Don’t you think this is awkward for Jukyung? Sitting there with her boyfriend and—”

“Shut your damn mouth.”

“Wae? Don’t like it when the tables are turned on you?” Sujin and Seojun glared at each other with hatred. Seojun poured and downed a shot. Sujin swallowed and looked away. This was not how she imagined this conversation going.

“I’m not in love with her.” Seojun declared.

Sujin snorted, “Hul. Then why is it you who is giving me this lecture and not Lee Suho? If I’m really such a threat to Lim Jukyung, then shouldn’t her boyfriend be the one to confront me? What gives you the right to treat me this way?”

Seojun paused. “I can give you a million reasons; that I’m her friend, that even though I’m not her boyfriend, she stills relies on me, that I’m doing this out of humanity.”

Sujin scoffed.

“That I don’t want to lose another friend because of bullying.”

Sujin’s face fell. She licked her lips as she considered his point of view. Then, wordlessly, she poured him a drink.

“I’m not a bully. I never was. I did a shitty thing that I’ve apologized for and now I’d like to move on with my life.” She poured herself a shot of soju too. “I care about Jukyung. I will always regret what I did to her. But I still have a chance at friendship and I am going to take it whether you like it or not.”

They both took the shot. Sujin poured them another.

“We both care about Jukyung. And she would want us to get along, or at least pretend to for her sake.” Sujin gave Seojun a pointed look. The ball was in his court now.

Seojun remembered how uncomfortable Jukyung had been because of his hostility towards Sujin. True, Sujin wasn’t the kind to be trusted. Seojun was a man of action, he didn’t believe in hollow words. But it was also true that fighting with Sujin all the time would cause problems in their peaceful little group. And although he was sure that when it came to it, everyone would choose him and not her, he still held up the shot glass and said, “For Jukyung’s sake.”

v.

The two drunken enemies staggered on the sidewalk, each supporting the other while trying not to fall; a drunk trying to steady another drunk.

“Ah-nee-ya, I’m not *hic* not in love with Jukyung. I don… I don…”

“Arassssso. And I’mf the Pwincess of England.” Sujin slurred, pushing Seojun upright as she tried to hail a taxi.

“Na ah-nee-ya. I’m not. Nope.” Seojun hiccuped.

“Ah just sstand still!” Sujin pushed his body away but his arm was still draped over her shoulder.

“Ah sshutup! Shut up you stupid Suijin!” Seojun started snickering at his own statement, “Hehehe. Stupid Suji. Sujinnie phabo.” Seojun pushed his weight onto her, still chortling.

“Ah stand still!!” Sujin wrapped an arm around his waist to hold him up. She was suddenly very aware of just how tall he was. Even with her own impressive height, he seemed too big.

A taxi finally stopped and Sujin struggled with pushing Seojun inside. She pushed him in with her legs when he bent over on the seat but refused to move further to give her room.

“Where to?” The driver asked when they both were seated.

“Han Seojun, tell him your address.”

Seojun fell to the other side, passed out. Sujin, who herself felt like passing out, leaned over to tap his face, “Han Seojun? Ya! Wake uuup.” He did not.

“Are we leaving or not?” The driver asked impatiently.

Sujin shook Seojun again. He stirred, only to mumble Jukyung’s name and pass out on her shoulder again. Sujin looked at the driver helplessly.

 vi.

The first thing Seojun felt was the pounding headache, it brought him out of a very nice dream he’d been having that he promptly forgot. He could feel his legs sticking out from the side of the bed. In turning over, his elbow punched into something.

“Oof! Ow! What the hell!”

Sujin kicked at him as she pressed her ribs in pain. They both were surprised to find themselves tangled in each other. It took them exactly three seconds to start screaming.

They both flew off the bed, Sujin hitting Seojun repeatedly with her pillow.

“Ow! Ow! Ah! OW!”

“Why. Are. You. In. My. Bed?!”

“Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“This is my room asshole!”

Seojun grabbed Sujin’s wrist to keep her from hitting him. He looked around and indeed it was Sujin’s room.

“What the hell happened?” He asked.

She kicked him in the shin, “How the hell would I know? Explain yourself, Han Seojun!”

“You explain! How can I end up here if you didn’t bring me?”

Sujin’s raised foot, about to kick Seojun, slowly lowered. She was suddenly hit with the memory of last night. Drunkenly trying to enter the code to her door as Seojun whined about missing Jukyung, stumbling into her apartment and dragging Seojun by his collar to the couch, falling on top of him as he fell and then immediately picking herself up and going into her room to pass out.

Seojun put his hands on his hips defiantly, “Kang Sujin. We got drunk last night didn’t we? Aish, chincha. I never thought you’d be the kind of girl to take advantage of a guy like that.”

“Ah-ni-godun! That would never happen! I only brought you here because you wouldn’t tell me your address.”

“Ah, what a nice excuse. And whose idea was it to go drinking any way? Was this your plan all along? Of course, its understandable that you’d want a rebound with the most handsome guy around.”

Sujin scoffed in disbelief. “That’s not the case!” She protested. “And what handsome? I find you laughable.”

“And I find you detestable.”

“Then why did you come into my bedroom when I left you out on the couch?”

A flash of memory sparked in Seojun’s mind; of getting up, using Sujin’s bathroom and going into the bedroom thinking he was at Chorong’s place.

The red spreading on his cheeks was a dead giveaway to Sujin that she had him.

Seojun cleared his throat, “No matter what, this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Of course, it doesn’t.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment as they wondered what to do next. They both spoke together.

“You should probably go.”

“I should leave.”

A rare agreement. They both nodded in sync.

“But… is there a back door to your apartment? I can risk having my face seen leaving a girl’s apartment.”

Sujin licked her lips as she considered this. “I think I have an idea.”

From the outside, Kang Sujin’s apartment door cracked open, just enough for two heads to poke out to check if the coast was clear. One of those heads was wearing a beanie, a mask and sunglasses. The other was Sujin. They both sneaked out of her apartment and beelined for the emergency stairs.

“Why is your apartment so up high?”

“We can always go in the elevator where my neighbors can see you.”

“I hate you.”

Finally making it out the back exit, the two relaxed.

“How are you going to get home?” She asked him.

“I’ll take the bus. Nobody will recognize me when I’m like this.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate fangirls.”

Seojun chuckled, “Never do. Bye then.”

Seojun turned, then paused, then turned back. “Kang Sujin.” He called out to her just as she was about to go in. “Thanks… for not just abandoning me last night.” It was the most difficult thank-you he had ever said.

Sujin simply nodded. “Get home safely.”

 vii.

Sujin didn’t remember going back up to her apartment, just the click of the door shutting behind her that pulled her out of her daze.

She had just spent the night with Han Seojun. Admittedly, it meant nothing, but it still felt weird and she didn’t know what to do about it.

Maybe I should have asked him to eat before he went. He must have been hungry. She thought. And then scolded herself, Ah-nee, why would I care about him? He doesn’t matter to me anyway.

Traces of Han Seojun still lingered in her apartment; the bedsheet that had fallen on the floor, along with the pillow she had assaulted him with, his spicy scent on the bed and a metal ring on her bedside table that he must have taken off during the night.

Sujin held up the ring, looking through it. She would give it to him later, if they met again. She hoped they didn’t. She was already dreading the thought of encountering him again.

Kang Sujin didn’t let herself think too much about last night. She changed her sheets, showered and firmly put all thoughts of a certain idol out of her mind. He was just a silly twerp who had been a thug in high school and was now just an idol. He had nothing to do with her, nor she with him.

She had better things to do, like her work.

If you’re going to pretend to be all reformed then you shouldn’t make it too obvious. Charity work is a little too on the nose, don’t you think?

Nope, she wasn’t going to let that idiot get to her. Who was he to treat her like this? Next time she saw him, she would kick him in the face. Yes, that’s what she would do.

I keep hearing that you’ve changed. But have you really? Can you honestly tell me that you’re over him?

All day long Sujin’s hand twitched with the need to be scrubbed clean. They kept getting clammy and sticky. She wanted to scrub, scurb, scurb them of all the dirt and the grime and the filth of her past self. Sujin had believed that she had kicked this bad habit of unnecessarily cleaning her hands, but apparently she hadn’t.

My problem with you isn’t because of old grudges. I just can’t trust you, Kang Sujin. I believe you still will hurt Jukyung, even if you don’t mean to.

“Well who the hell wants your trust?” Sujin argued with the wind.

“Is everything okay?” One of the girls she worked with asked.

“What? Oh-um-yeah. Everything is fine! Just… talking to myself.” She put on a fake cheery attitude and shook her head.

It was only when Sujin’s day was finally over, and she was back in her empty apartment, leaning against her front door, that let herself feel the misery she had been suppressing.

Of course that Han Seojun hates me. What reason does he have not to?

Even the person who had been obligated to love and protect her, had only ever seen her as worthless. If her own father, couldn’t treat her with decency, then why should she expect a stranger to?

Her small apartment suddenly seemed so much bigger now. Big and empty, with shadows extending from the ground to the roof.

Kang Sujin, were you always such a piece of trash?

She hadn’t answered him back then. But in these quiet moments, she allowed herself to admit, “Yes, Han Seojun. I was always such a worthless piece of trash.”

Back when she had been a kid—running away from her problems in school, from what she had done to Jukyung—she would let this darkness take over. It would eat her inside and out till she was just a shell. However, now that he had grown up, she had learned how to deal with this on her own.

Sujin pushed herself off of the door and walked into her room, turning on all of the lights. Rest, she needed rest. And food, before anything else. Most of the time her depression would just be weakness caused by hunger. She was indeed careless with her health.

Her phone buzzed suddenly. It was a message from Jukyung. She would respond later. First she would spend time on herself. But then, almost immediately, there was a message from Suah. Then Suho. Even Taehoon. Then the phone lit up with a call from Jukyung.

“What’s going o—”

“Kang Sujin, have you seen the articles?”

“What?”

“There’s articles about you and Seojun dating.”

“WHAT?” It took Sujin a full minute to process what Jukyung was saying. She was speaking but Sujin didn’t hear the rest. Jukyung’s voice was muted from the speaker as Sujin searched through Naver for her and Seojun’s name.

“It’s all over the internet.” Jukyung was saying. “Someone’s posted pictures of you and Seojun together. Sujin-ah. Is that really you? Are you and Seojun dating?”

The room began to spin and Sujin had the urge to kick someone in the face.

“Jukyung-ah. I’ll call you back.”

What the hell happened?”

The articles Sujin found showed her and Seojun exiting her building. It was from this morning. Seojun’s face was well hidden but she could be clearly seen. From the way the pictures were taken, it looked as if the two were involved in something together.

Sujin’s phone suddenly lit up with an unknown number. She knew it could only be Han Seojun.

She pressed answer.

Some JunJin images I came up with just for fun

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Cruelty of man

The command bunker was a flurry of activity as aides and military personnel shuffled between consoles. At the center of the room was a large tactical display table surrounded by commanders discussing the recent deployments of new troops and enemy positions when the doors to the command center burst open. At the noise the guards to either side quickly drew their weapons and trained it on the door until they saw who had entered and dropped to one knee. 

“YURI!!!!”

Royal prince Marsov stormed into the room and made straight for the tactical display. His stride carried him so quickly that he knocked aside aides who had been kneeling before him out of the way as if a child kicking a can down the road. 

“YURI!” The prince continued shouting, “WHERE ARE YOU!?”

The commanders around the tactical display parted aside and revealed the human who had taken command of the war front from the prince. He stood atop a wooden stack of pallets so he could see the display and under any normal circumstance would be comical any other time were it not for how feared the human was by the rest of the command staff. 

The aliens surrounding him stood nearly twice his height making most interactions with the species initially challenging as everything they had was intended for far larger use. 

Yuri continued observing the tactical map, making a few notes and passing them to nearby aides, completely ignoring Marsov’s outbursts.  Maros slammed his fist into the table  making the holographic image shake violently for a few moments before readjusting.  “What is the meaning of this?!” 

“I am not psychic, prince.” Yuri said as he passed another note to an aide and motioned him away with a flick of his hand. “You must elaborate what exactly is troubling you.” 

Yuri’s calmness only seemed to enrage Marsov even more. 

“When you took control of this war away from me you said you would run it better.”  “Yes, I remember.” 

“That was two months ago! What have you done since then!?” 

Yuri set down his note pad and looked up at the prince. Though humans were far shorter than the prince’s species Yuri’s presence was so intense that it made seem as if he was the one towering over them. 

“I have been continuing the war in a manner that will result in our victory.” 

Marov’s laugh at the answer was as loud as it was fulled with a mocking tone. “You have launched only one offensive a week while ordering our special forces to gather enemy equipment, wasting their potential greatly!” 

“These are parts of a much larger plan.” Yuri said as he crossed his fingers and rested his chin on them. 

“A plan that is failing!” Marsov waived his hand and the tactical display altered itself. The image was an aerial view of the front lines with both sides trenches facing each other. 

“Each attack you launched was preluded to by a massed artillery bombardment of smoke. Smoke that i would point out completely ineffective. 

Waving another hand a smaller visualization of the enemy soldier. “Their helmets allow them to see through the smoke with high density filters built into their helmets. The filters remove the smoke particles so they don’t even hinder the enemy soldiers!”

“Yes, I know this because I ordered our special forces to capture in tact enemy gear from the battlefield.” 

Marsov choked on his next words but quickly recovered. 

“You promised a great victory but since you have taken command we have seen nothing.” Marsov turned the surrounding commanders. “Perhaps my father underestimated your abilities.” 

The commanders looked back to Yuri who still clasped his fingers, his expression uncaring as if the insult just made against him meant nothing. 

“Great victories are not won in a single day, but planned out down to the very second.” Yuri stood and hopped down from the pallets and began walking away. 

“Tomorrow I will show you what a great victory truly means.” 

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

The following day the commanders all gathered in the command bunker for the upcoming battle. 

Yuri stood on the wooden pallets while the prince sat on his command throne overlooking the entire room. 

The entire length of the opposite wall showed live feeds from the battlefront as the team leaders moved through the trenches checking on their soldiers. 

Tapping the tactical display table Yuri drew the attention of the room. 

“Today, we will launch a full scale along the entire front.” Pointing to the display it showed several dozen friendly arrows moving across no-man’s land into the enemy trenches. 

“From there we will continue pressing the advantage until we have overrun their forward command bunkers and captured the supply depots at the far rear of their lines.”

The display showed several fortified locations several dozen miles behind the current enemy lines.

“If you believe we can penetrate so far with this attack why stop there?” Marsov scoffed. Yuri nodded as if he had just been asked a question from his favorite student. “As tempting as it would be to continue the offensive we must be mindful of our manpower and supplies. I have calculated that once we have reached the supply depots we will be at the near limit of a front we can successfully maintain. Any farther and we risk over stretching ourselves and risking counter attacks that could encircle entire army group and wipe them out.” 

“All well and good and all, but this attack depends entirely on if you can break the enemy front line to begin with.” 

“Rest assured, that will be the easiest part of the plan.” 

With that Yuri motioned to an aide and the screen turned to the face of a front line commander. “Are your troops prepared captain?” Yuri asked. 

“They are prepared; though i am not sure why we need this additional equipment.” Marsov’s eyes picked up at this but Yuri continued before he could press his questions. “You’re understanding is not required captain, only your loyalty and promise of victory.” 

The captain banged his fist and nodded his head. “Victory eternal.” he said before the line went dead. 

“Begin the bombardment and start the clock.” 

“Beginning bombardment now.” 

The roar of a thousand heavy artillery pieces could be faintly heard throughout the command bunker despite being so deep underground.   

“What is this clock you mentioned?” 

“It is the amount of time the soldiers must wait after the bombardment before commencing the attack.”

“Did your plan not call for speed to overrun the enemy?”

“It did.”

“Then why wait after the bombardment to attack? Why not launch at once.”

“Patience; you shall see.” 

An hour passed before the counter reached zero and Yuri ordered the attack to commence. 

The camera feeds of the soldiers were all over the screen. Pushing through the black smoke the feeds were blurry.  

Marsov watched intently. If the mission was a failure then Marsov could leverage the other commanders to shun the human and regain control of the army; but if it was successful he would still gain the credit but be stuck with the human even longer. 

Suddenly the camera toppled over and showed only ground. The soldier the feed belonged to scrambled back to their feet and raised their weapon at what they had fallen over as his comrades came by.  

Marsov saw the image and instantly stood up as the rest of the command staff let out gasps, some even vomiting on to the floor. 

Laying on the ground was an enemy soldier in full battle gear. To the casual eye the enemy soldier looked completely normal, as if they were fresh off the parade ground. That was until Marsov saw the face of the enemy. 

Beneath their clear helmet the eyes of his enemy were bleeding purple blood from the corners of their sockets, eyes bulging out as if they had been crammed into a container too small, veins bursting from beneath the skin as if they had been pulled out...

Marsov had commanded many battles and had fought in many wars from the front with those he had commanded, but he had never seen anything like this before. 

“What happened to them?” The question was from a commander present as the camera feed panned over countless bodies of enemy soldiers laying dead across the battlefield all sharing the horrific signs. 

“That,” Yuri spoke breaking the silence, “is chemical HZ-94; also known as the Coffin Maker.” 

“How do you know what it is? Have you seen it before?” 

Yuri shook his head. “I know what it is because I had it loaded into the smoke shells we fired before the attack.” 

The room went silent.

“You what?”

“I had the HZ-94 loaded into the smoke shells. As the smoke shells burst over the enemy covering them with smoke it was also laced with the chemical compound.” 

He motioned and an aide stepped forward carrying the helmet of their enemy and gave it to Yuri. He cradled it in his for a few moments before smirking. 

“You see the smoke attack for the last few weeks was intentional. I knew it would have no effect on the enemy as I had studied their captured war gear. You are correct prince that they are built in with filtration systems and density scanners, but did you know that the smoke clogs up their filtration systems?” 

He hoisted the helmet and pointed to a small oval opening at the base of the helmet. “Sure it can filter out some of the smoke, but consistent smoke eventually will form a barrier and block all inhalation forcing the user to swap filters.”

Yuri pried off the oval cap and showed it to everyone. 

“The previous smoke attacks were meant to make the enemy become accustomed to the tactic and treat the smoke as a non threat. What threat would there be when their density displays could see through the smoke and have visuals on our troops?” 

“While this was going on I had my off world associates manufacture the chemical and send it along with the safety gear for our own soldiers which would take roughly two months to arrive.” 

Marsov was trying to piece together what had happened even as the first ranks of his soldiers made it through the smoke and came upon an entire field of dead enemy soldiers. All sharing the same horrific symptoms as those that had been seen in the smoke. 

“The enemy would therefore not realize that there would be a secondary chemical mixed in with the smoke leaving them care free to remove their filters and swap them out as if it was a similar attack as the weeks before.” 

Yuri’s eyes lit up with a devilish glow as he turned towards Marsov and chucked the helmet at him. “My plan was to make the enemy complacent and predictable and therefore easy to manipulate and predict. The moment they swapped out their filters they were exposed to the Coffin Maker and their fate was sealed.” 

He motioned to the giant screen which had panned out to the entire length of the front. “We waited to press the attack not only for the gas to become effective but to also let the wind currents carry it back into their own lines.

“How could you have known the direction of the wind?” Marsov was horrified and amazed at the same time. In a single stroke the human had broken the entire enemy front line opening a massive gap their forces were now exploiting to their fullest. 

“In the time it took for the requested materials to arrive I studied not just our enemy but the planet itself. I found the patterns of wind currents and established today as the offensive as the wind was going in the opposite direction.” 

Marsov looked at the unease of his soldiers and the feeds as more and more dead bodies were found. Some with their hands clutching their throats or having ripped off their helmets as if desperate for breathable air. 

He turned his gaze to Yuri. “Have you no honor?” 

Yuri chuckled at the remark. 

“Honor is meaningless if it is unaccompanied by a victory.”

[ilikemesometaetaes]

Don’t Hold Your Breath ~ jjk

Chapter Five (M)

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes​

•••> Summary: As the CEO of an international government security company, you have the world at your fingertips. Living life lavishly and extravagantly has become the norm. Behind closed doors, however, you host a past that renders you lonely and, quite frankly, miserable. It’s only a matter of time before your past comes back to bite you right in the ass.

•••> Pairing(s): Jungkook/Reader, Taehyung/Reader (slight)

•••> Inspo: This fic is inspired by the song “SAVAGE ANTHEM” by PARTYNEXTDOOR. Thank you to @dariangarcia​, @btssmutgalore​, and @junghoseokit​ for supporting my work. To my mamas, Kaitlin, Adora, Lauren, Lanie, Lu, and Sher.

•••> Word Count: 6.54k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Tags: angst | smut | ceo!au | rockstar!au | CEO!Reader | Rockstar!Jungkook | AU!BTS | Exes to Lovers

•••> Warnings: angst, infidelity, oral (m receiving), heartbreak, cursing, pining, depression, breakup, mention(s) of therapy/counseling, arguing, drug use, alcohol use | Warnings are written specifically to chapter.

Copyright © 2020 ilikemesometaetaes. All Rights Reserved.

Taglist: @dariangarcia​​ @apurpledheart​​ @itsgottabeyoo-ngs​​ @hytibm​ @namjinsbaby​ @ggukkieland​

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, say so in a comment to this chapter or the DHYB Main Page, or send me an ask!

NAVIGATION: Chapter Four (M) <- | -> Chapter Six (M) -> Mini-Masterlist -> Series Masterlist

•••> Official Playlist

~#~

“Is it something we discussed now? The truth got you in disgust now, ‘cause I’d rather we just fuck now.”

THEN.

Sitting at your desk at work never felt so somber as you remembered how it all changed. The chain of events that led up to your fight with him the previous night were too hard to ignore anymore.

You remember fighting for him- for the both of you.

The tears flooded your eyes and, thankfully, blurred your vision from the scene before you.

Jungkook sat on a couch placed in the corner of the club, completely inebriated and high out of his mind. But that’s not what hurt you.

What completely ripped your heart from your chest was the woman draped across his exposed lap with her hair held in one hand while she used the other to wrap around the part of his dick that she couldn’t reach whilst she closed her lips over it.

Blinking your tears from your eyes on instinct allowed you to see that another set of eyes was looking at you. And they weren’t Jungkook’s.

Taehyung’s scowl, paired with furrowed eyebrows and sad eyes, was another image from that night you couldn’t get out of your head. There was no shock nor surprise on his face- he was expecting you. Taehyung knew that you would see. He didn’t try to deter you from coming to the club and he didn’t send any warning texts. He was the one who invited you in the first place.

The scene was an unforgettable one.

You should have taken Taehyung’s word for it from the start. He had given you hints that you simply couldn’t bother yourself to pay attention to.

While you possessed the knowledge and evidence that Jungkook cheated on you that night, you couldn’t bring yourself to properly address it. Each time you got around to speaking with him about it, you ended up brushing it off for another time.

Finding an excuse for yourself to defend him was easy.

The drugs and alcohol were the problem. You saw it yourself that night. He was in a completely different world when you saw him doing the deed. His eyes were glazed out with beautiful lips agape in complete, drug-induced ecstasy, unknowing of what he was doing. There was no way he was aware of what was actually happening or even what day it was.

But then came the day that it got so bad that you asked him to go get help. You were willing to forgive his negligence if he was willing to get it fixed.

It was the cause of your final fight.

“I’m not going to fucking rehab, Y/N.” He laughed spitefully. “There is nothing wrong with me. I’m a fucking rockstar. This is what rockstars do.”

“They also cheat on their girlfriends?” You sarcastically asked.

Jungkook chuckled darkly while looking at the floor. After a moment, he met your eyes in a cold gaze before he opened his mouth.

“Rockstars don’t have girlfriends.”

The weight of the statement pressured heavily on you in realization of what he was implying, pushing all of the air from your lungs. You were struck silent with an invisible smack offered by his words. No sound could escape your mouth as you stared back at him in a silent question: did it mean what you thought it meant?

“Yeah.” Was all he said in the deafening silence to answer your unspoken query, looking at the ground awkwardly. He was quick to add another few words to finally hit the nail on the coffin. “But if you still want to fuck, I’m down.”

“But- but I…” Your voice trembled weakly, feeling your eyes ache with incoming tears, but you fought them with every ounce of will that you had as your abhorrence was built up by his last words. The ground was swallowing you up and you were trying to claw your way free. “I waited for you to get better. You told me things would get better once you took off.”

“Don’t hold your breath, Y/N.” He laughed heartily.

Your heart was no longer beating. Not in your mind, anyway.

You felt as the life was torn from your lungs with the most simple and practical words; your world taken from you and all air seeming too thick to inhale. 

Awfully, you couldn’t seem to listen to his words this time. You didn’t want to. Breathing seemed much too difficult as you felt him snatch the light from your life with one swipe.

There was no chance that you would let him watch you cry- no way he was going to watch the pain he delivered onto you take physical effect. You were disappointed and neglected- a pawn in the game he played. You were sick of playing now.

Instead, you turned around, grabbed your purse off of the kitchen table-

And left.

Sitting at your desk with all of the sadness that Jeon Jungkook brought into your life, you decided that it was finally time to leave. You needed to leave Korea. You needed to move on to bigger and better things.

Your hand was reaching for your phone before you could stop yourself from doubling back. It’s about time.

Googling for a moving company- any moving company- only took you a few seconds and you pressed the call button with a new sense of conviction.

“Good afternoon! Thank you for calling Team Wang’s Moving Company! What can I assist you with today?”

Making sure your voice was level and controlled, you spoke, “I’d like to schedule a move of items from a storage unit here in Korea to another country. Am I able to do that?”

“Of course, ma’am! We can get started on preparations for that right away! What was the location that you were referencing? We are limited on the countries we can ship to due to certain regulations.”

Without any further hesitation or pondering over the past, you settled on it.

“Italy.”

Jungkook

He sat in his room for a while with an empty lyric journal, letting the high slowly fade from his body as regret began pumping through his veins. Jungkook had put up the act for Taehyung, but after he saw his brother angrily storm out the door and he was left alone to the ever familiar havoc in his mind, the fight to maintain his mask was easily lost.

What the fuck did he do?

Seeing you cry was common for him; Jungkook had made you cry too many times to count, but that didn’t take away from the way it ripped apart the sinew in his chest every time he saw that look in your eyes as tears streamed down your cheeks.

He managed to convince himself of the belief that it was impossible for you to care that much anymore. You just couldn’t. Not when he had fucked up the first time. He had broken your trust and he didn’t trust himself enough to try and earn yours back, fearing that he would just fuck you up past recovery- like himself.

Jungkook was beyond rejuvenation and beyond any form of succor. Nothing could help him silence his demons except the cold and dark embrace of death. Even now, sitting in silence in his bedroom to let the remorse for you distract him from the torment of the empty organ beating in his chest, he felt them begin to criticize him.

Jungkook’s parents and brother died young, victims of a drunken asshole who decided that it was a good idea to get behind the wheel to try and get home to his girlfriend. What a fucking prick.

For some reason, Jungkook decided that it would be a good idea to stay home and worry about the girl that he liked at school, making little sketches to slip into her lunchbox once lunch came around. 

Of all days he could have stayed home, it just had to be that one. He should have gone to the grocery store with them. He should have been in that car with them.

The voices in his head began three weeks after the funeral- when Jungkook reached the ripe age of twelve. Constantly battering him down, twisting his heart, and suffocating his head, he recognized that it was his own voice and his own psyche attacking the sanctity of his soul after he watched the three coffins sink into the cold ground. 

It just had to rain that day, water filling the nice dress shoes his father bought for him a few months prior as mud covered the black leather.

He reached adulthood much too fast. Even under the care of his parents’ friends, he was forced by his own will to become independent. They tried to shower him with the same love and support that his family had, but it was no use- Jungkook was alone. No one could fill that gap in his heart once it was made empty.

He’ll admit, he was a bit more dramatic back then.

He was approaching his seventeenth birthday when he smoked for the first time, turning it into a habit by the time he graduated high school. He had been dragged out to an end-of-the-year school gathering by Taehyung, a senior who was much too silent like himself- who understood that Jungkook preferred the quiet due to the mayhem in his mind. They had formed a tranquil and mostly unspoken bond over the months that they studied together.

“Is it safe?” Jungkook muttered while looking at his older companion of the silence curiously.

“I’ve done it a few times and I was fine. Just take it slow at first. Try two hits and then wait like twenty or thirty minutes.” Taehyung’s contralto voice was somehow comforting to Jungkook, a beacon in the chaos that was the kickback they were currently separating themselves from. “If you don’t want to, that’s cool. You don’t have to.”

“Nah,” Jungkook’s desire to break out of his shell was a little spurred by Taehyung who seemed to aid him in the most odd yet unobtrusive way. “I’ll try it. Might be cool.”

The only two at the campfire while the rest of their year mates drank and danced to music in the house, Jungkook and Taehyung shared their first high together.

Then, the voices stopped.

Jungkook was shaken to his core, gripping the arms of the camping chair he sat in until his fingers ached and his knuckles turned white. For the first time in six years, his head was blanketed in silence.

Slightly panicked at the new sensation, he turned to Taehyung for help, only to find that his friend was sitting back with his head craned up, gazing intently at the stars. Jungkook followed his stare and struggled to see them past the glow of the flames in front of him, only to grow enraptured by the gorgeous twinkling of each small dot in the midnight sky once his eyes adjusted. Strangely, he was hit by a sudden burst of inspiration.

“I could write a song right now.” Jungkook told the sky confidently.

“You write?” He saw Taehyung turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Meeting his friend’s observance, he let a smile lazily grace his face for once as he replied.

“I do occasionally. I always wanted to be a singer when I was younger.”

“Me too.” Taehyung chuckled with a sense of wistfulness, fixing his stare on the small inferno in the fire pit. “Well, I wanted to be a bassist really bad. Maybe sing a little.”

Overcome with the emotions of maybe not being totally alone, Jungkook’s inner sageness spewed from his mouth without falter, wholly due to the graceful and relaxed feeling that he received from the high.

“We’re still young.” He reasoned. “We can still do it.”

“I’ll be studying music in university after my military service is over. My most realistic dream now is to become a studio bassist for some record company.” Taehyung laid his head back again, closing his eyes.

“Hey,” Jungkook called for his friends attention and the older boy looked at him with slightly bloodshot eyes. “We can do something with this if we really want to. I’ll follow you to university. Never really had a solid plan for where I wanted to go to anyway.” Jungkook stuck his hand out in a silent offer, hoping that his proposition wouldn’t be crushed.

Taehyung smiled mellowly, taking his younger friend’s hand with his in a handshake. “Sounds like a plan, my friend.”

After Taehyung graduated and enlisted, Jungkook completed his senior year with a new hobby- well, two new hobbies: writing and smoking.

With the impending date of his enlistment, he knew that he had to give it up as he was going to get drug tested. For two years, he kept up with himself without the help of the self-administered psychoactive drug therapy.

Service was a good distraction from the voices. Having things to do to keep him busy and writing in any free time he had, he was kept delightfully aloof from the dark corners of his mind. It also helped that he enlisted into the same garrison that Taehyung was assigned to.

Taehyung welcomed Jungkook into university with open arms. Now, at the age of twenty, Jungkook was a seasoned and trained man. The voices still loomed over him, but they were pushed to the back of his mind as he learned to deal with the emptiness.

He had highs to suppress his demons, he had his songs to communicate himself to others, and he had Taehyung.

Although it wasn’t nearly enough to fill his empty glass, it was empty no longer.

Jungkook lay in his bed as he watched the violet sky turn midnight blue, the already-set sun pulling the rest of its light away from his side of the earth. 

Naked and vulnerable under the scrutiny of the world, he lay in the sheets with his head turned toward the window, presenting the sorrow brimming in his eyes right back to the invisible gaze of the universe. With no form of judgement in response to him, he was left to ponder over the things he had done.

Because even now, with a slight high from the drugs, he realized that he could still hear them- the whispers, murmurs, and dronings of impugnment continued to poison his mind. He found it funny that he was always pressing the voices away, yet whenever confronted by the menace that was his emotions, they were his safety blanket. 

Pulling the sheets to his body while he curled into himself, Jungkook realized that he felt completely bare and exposed without the voices.

He’d keep them back to the point of a whisper so that he could call on them to protect him with a roaring intensity during bad times. There was never a time that he wasn’t manually suppressing them if he wasn’t high anymore.

With a shaken mind, he realized the only true way they were silent without true effort now. The drugs had stopped suppressing them a long time ago. There was no way he was able to have silence unless he was actually enforcing the lack of sound onto himself.

Not unless he was with you.

You provided light and hope and everything good to him, You gave him the things that were snatched away from him all those years ago- the things that he forced himself to live without. Unlike Taehyung, who gave him the sense of having a brother again, you gave him the love of everyone he lost. You acted like a sibling, gave him the comfort like a mother, and gave him the stern challenge and teachings of a father- if that made any sense.

Without you, he felt like his family; Jungkook felt lost and alone. Even as an up-and-coming rockstar with thousands of fans scrambling to get to know him, he felt like he was the last man on the planet who kept himself back while everyone else moved on to a better world.

The night at the club still haunted him, the truth of what happened chilling him to the bone- even if he didn’t exactly remember any of it.

Shit. Maybe he needed help after all.

NOW.

Sitting with his back to the door, staring at the night of New York City, Jungkook did not hear Namjoon enter the room with both of his bodyguards in tow.

“We’re staying another few days.” His older brother informed him, breaking him from his trance-like gaze.

“Goody.” Jungkook sighed, setting his empty glass down on the table in front of him. With a huff, he stood and stretched. Namjoon uttered a quick ‘give us a second’ to his men before the shuffling of feet and the door closing behind him signaled the beginning of a serious conversation.

“You know she’s still here, right? It’s not too late to go and talk to her.” Jungkook could feel the man’s eyes on his back, pity dousing the information that Jungkook was already aware of.

But Jungkook didn’t need Namjoon’s pity. It was enough that Namjoon saw his feelings on paper. Nothing more needed to be shared.

Still, he respected his brother’s wisdom and he remembered the words of his counselor. ‘Accept the silence. Then, do the talking from the inside. The only one truly speaking, inside and out loud, is you.’

“I know. I already spoke to her. Some things…” Jungkook’s volume died down for a moment, unsure of how to put it, as he turned his head to look at his brother in a silent plea for assistance. “…happened the other night. She came and saw me again today,”

“-I didn’t know what to do and I acted like a dickhead.” He looked back down and chuckled spitefully to himself, wisps of a shadow materializing back into the depths of his mind once he stopped speaking.

Namjoon exhaled after not realizing that he was holding his breath following his own comment. Carefully, he approached Jungkook so as to not trigger him into closing himself off. Despite having received professional assistance and counseling for two years, Jungkook was still as fragile as fine china.

The older man placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder before slightly forcing Jungkook to face him.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” Namjoon looked into his eyes, prying into the windows of his soul, to capture a glimpse of the storm clouds brewing in his brother’s brown orbs. “Do you still love her?”

Jungkook didn’t know how to answer at first.

The voices began permeating Jungkook’s mind ever so slowly as an automatic reaction to being emotionally jabbed. He didn’t like addressing his feelings; the voices were all he could fall back on when he felt threatened, deafening volume drowning out the possibility for anything to reach into him too deep. They gave him the things- the bad things- he needed to say in order to protect himself.

As he sifted through the past two years, however, looking back on the help he had received and the exercises he went through that allowed him to no longer fear the natural silence- to embrace it without the drugs- he knew that no one was threatening him and no one was going to hurt him. Jungkook was asked if he still loved you and he couldn’t have the negativity surrounding him if he was going to answer that question, so he moved his trepidation out of the way to see what was left for you.

Behind it all- the fear, meaningless women, music, loss- lay a withering yet ever-present being, its wings tattered and flayed at the edges. With its first glances of light, with no smog to block it, it beat its tiny appendages with potential and came to life upon Jungkook’s realization of what it was.

His arrant and perennial love for you.

Jungkook briefly remembered the meadow- your meadow- and all of the tiny butterflies that were living out their lives in the beauty of the world that day. A butterfly adorned with blue and black splotches of color on its wings had managed to land on your head for a split second when he adjusted your hair. The particular memory and the events that followed on that day relocated as the tiny butterfly inside his mind fluttered upwards.

Jungkook’s heart soared with newfound beginnings- a second chance.

“I do, hyung. I do.” He whispered, voice wavering under the force of the emotions that came bubbling up from his chest. Tears filled his eyes, prompting his older brother to pull him into an embrace.

Jungkook’s body racked with cries at the feeling of comfort and warmth, unable to stop himself from feeling the raw emotions he had delayed for too long. Instead of needing to push the darkness out of the way, it came pouring out of him in radiating waves much too intense for him to handle alone.

“Hyung! I love her! I love her!” He chanted into his brother’s shoulder. “I hurt her! She was all mine and I tossed her away!”

Namjoon, although shocked by the psychological state and emotional outburst of his usually stoic bandmate, held him with care and waited until his brother’s breathing calmed before suggesting his next move. “Then go and get her, Kook.”

“She’s-” Jungkook had to swallow to wet his dry throat. “She’s with Taehyung right now.”

“Then wait until morning. From what Jin-hyung said, she’ll be here until the end of the week.”

So, wait is what Jungkook did.

He woke up at eight the next morning and called your personal assistant, finding his number easily on your company’s preliminary email to everyone in his organization for the whole UN ordeal. After two rings, the man answered.

“Halo! This is Brian Morena, representative and PA to Ms. Y/N Y/L/N. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Jeon Jungkook.” Jungkook stated his name lowly and unsurely, cautious as to how to approach asking him about your schedule.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon! It is a pleasure to speak with you! I’ll just verify your phone number really quick. It will only take a moment.” The line went silent for a few seconds and Jungkook waited on the edge of his bed with a bouncing knee and a fingernail between his teeth. After a few more seconds, the man was back on the phone. “You’re good! What can I do for you today?”

“I was just wondering if I could possibly get my hands on Ms. Y/N’s schedule for the day.” Jungkook heard how weird the request sounded the moment it flew from his lips. Quickly, he came up with a lie to soothe the request with reasoning. “She left her jacket in the elevator and I wish to return it to her- personally.”

Jungkook added the last part, knowing that the man would just tell him to give it to an employee of your own building, and Jungkook couldn’t have that. He wanted- no, needed- to see you.

“I see.” Brian responded thoughtfully. “Well, in that case, I’m unable to disclose her whereabouts due to security reasons.” Jungkook’s heart dropped a little at the notion of being unable to speak with you while his heart was still flying open. Then, Brian spoke again.

“But if she is in her hotel during her free time, she will be in her penthouse and I will assign you a temporary elevator key so that you can get to her door. It won’t unlock the door, but it will get you in front of it. Does that sound alright, Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook smiled triumphantly. “Yes, that sounds lovely. Thank you, Brian.”

“It’s no problem, sir! Though, I do suggest you move quickly because she only has the next two and a half hours before she has her first scheduled event of the day. Your key will be ready for you in the next ten minutes. Have to wait until your status change goes through properly.” Brian was busy clacking away at his keyboard while he spoke, but Jungkook couldn’t be more overjoyed that he had succeeded in his plan thus far.

Things will work out. I’ll get her back. However much and however long it takes.

He dressed casually and indiscriminately with a mask over his face so as to not draw attention. After searching for it on google and exiting the hotel onto the street, he hailed a cab to take him to the first flower shop he could find to order you a bouquet of white tulips- obviously, he had to google that too. Jungkook had no idea what the best flower for apologies and hopes of new beginnings was. He was no botanical genius and that was a fact.

Once he had the flowers in his hand after a grueling wait, he stopped by the closest coffee shop to buy your favorite coffee- with two creams and three sugars if he remembered correctly. Despite the amount of time the florist had wasted, he made his way back to the hotel on foot so that he could properly practice what he was going to say to you. If he was going to make it right, he needed all the practice he could get.

Take off the mask. Don’t be a dick. Take off the mask. Don’t be a dick.

Jungkook let the incantations fill his head so that the haze of negativity didn’t have a chance to snap back into place over his single, delicate emotion. He was vulnerable and fighting the mental pressure with everything he had so that he could bare himself long enough to at least get back on good terms with you.

By the time he was back in front of your hotel building, it was a quarter to ten and he was left cursing the florist for taking so long. He stood awkwardly on the pavement, allowing himself a few breaths before he decided to enter the glass doors. Jungkook knew that he would be attracting attention by standing in front for so long, yet he couldn’t help but need a moment to send a prayer to whichever god was watching over him.

Closing his eyes, he craned his head up and took one last inhale whilst sending a silent plea for things to work out. To see you smiling and happy again. To hold you in his arms and hear you silence every one of his demons once and for all.

What he didn’t expect was one of his prayers to be promptly answered.

As he opened his eyes to look at the late morning sky, he caught sight of you immediately, sitting on the restaurant balcony- laughing and smiling. But you weren’t laughing and smiling to yourself.

You were giving your joy and happiness to Taehyung whose hand was covering yours above the table, grinning endearingly and adoringly back at you.

Jungkook’s hands grew numb, warranting the flowers and coffee to slip from his grasp onto the sidewalk, as he drowned in smog once again.

NOW.

You

“He never wanted you to leave.”

You sat, dumbfounded for a moment, as Taehyung said the words. You didn’t let the shock last for long, knowing that what he said must have been a lie.

“There’s no way.” You chuckled scornfully. “He told me himself, Taehyung. He didn’t want me anymore.”

“Y/N, take it from me. I loved you. I wanted to see you happy.” He grimaced briefly, most likely from the personal statement, while turning his eyes down to place his gaze on his empty plate in front of him. “But I knew that he made you happy even though he made you sad. He made you happy in a way that I never could. And he wanted to see you that way- happy.”

“I’m sorry, Tae. I- I should’ve-” Your heart ached for a moment as you tried to find the words to say, wishing for the first time that you had been in love with him instead.

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. You can’t force feelings like that and I sure as hell was not going to force you into anything that you didn’t want.”

A question burned behind your eyes, tugging your heart to remember the past.

“Then why did you let me see?” Your eyes turned cold. The drop in your tone nor the change of your mood were directed at him, but they were caused by him nonetheless.

“Because I was young and thought you had a chance to find that happiness elsewhere.” He sighed, taking the opportunity to place his hand over yours on the table while his words distracted you. “And for that, I’m sincerely sorry. I know that friends are supposed to help each other out, but that was a situation that was out of my hands and not mine to handle or get involved in.”

“I’m not blaming you for my relationship issues. I never did and I never will. So don’t apologize.” You looked down at the way his hand covered yours. “I just wanted to know.”

Taehyung pat your hand in an attempt for you to look at him again. When you did, he continued his sentiment.

“Jungkook didn’t want you to leave at all. He has this… thing. It’s not really my place to say anything, but I’ve been friends with him for years and he’s had it a bit rough. I know that he’s a dick- believe me, I know-“ You quirked an eyebrow at his expression. “But he’s got something he keeps hidden behind that thick skull of his that you should probably know about.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” You asked, curious as to what he could be alluding to.

“Because you guys still need to talk. He was never good at talking to you about things.”

“I’m never fucking talking to him ever again.” You deadpanned.

“Please do it for me, Y/N.” His eyes begged with his plea, pulling you in.

“Oh? And why should I do it for you, hm?” You joked with him to steer the conversation away from the heavy subject, a small smile playing upon your lips. “I think you were the one apologizing to me.”

“Well, all I can say is that I’m sorry. I was supposed to be there for you- when you needed a shoulder to cry on and when you needed someone to binge watch TV shows with.” He smiled with his attempted joke that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“You’re the best TV show buddy.” You giggled and looked down at your joined hands again, rotating your own so that you could hold his. To be friends with him after all this time… is it possible?

“Oh, I know I am!” He laughed loudly again, prompting you to quickly look around the restaurant area and the street below you, mild panic setting in once more. You tilted your head in confusion and pity at the sight of a few white flowers lying on the pavement next to a splattered drink.

“Poor flowers.” You muttered to yourself. “They’re so pretty.”

You watched Taehyung turn to look where you were staring from the corner of your eye. “Oh yeah. Would you look at that? Such a waste.”

Instead of taking any more time, you stood and straightened your blazer to remove the wrinkles. “We should probably get out of here. I have a security meeting in a little while.”

“How long is a little while?” Taehyung asked as he stood and pressed his hands to his own coat. You made eye contact with Jay who was already stood and ready to go, nodding to him as you answered Taehyung’s question.

“About an hour and a half. Why?”

“Damn. That’s not enough time. Maybe tonight then?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, lips forming into a thin line.

“Enough time for what? What’s happening?” You grabbed his elbow when he began walking away without answering your question.

“What time are you going to be done for the day?” He asked.

“Taehyung,” You warned lowly. “What’s going on? I won’t tell you unless you give me something to work with here.”

“Oh, nothing.” He smiled and removed your grasp from his arm. “I’ll just ask Brian again. I’m sure he’ll be upset if you dodge your schedule.”

“Brian?” You watched as he walked away through the tables while hooking his mask back onto his ears. You wanted to get to the bottom of the situation fast- so you quickly followed him. “You’ve been speaking with him?”

“Of course I have! Isn’t that right, Jay?” Taehyung turned to the man in question.

“Of course, Mr. Kim. You’ve been very in touch with the staff.” Your bodyguard, once he joined you and Taehyung walking together, let a small, smug grin pull at the corners of his mouth. What a traitor. A slight sense of mock-betrayal filled you.

“What?” You asked. “Why?”

“For research purposes.” Taehyung deadpanned, grabbing your hand in the process. “Now come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“I have to go back to my room and get ready for my meetings.” You said quickly. Taehyung only chuckled lowly.

“Alright. Then let’s go!” He tugged you towards the exit. “I’ll take you to your door.”

You had no option but to stumble behind him while you stressfully surveyed the area, careful of onlookers.

~∞~

“YOU ALMOST LOST IT?” Kate’s voice was shrill and slightly distorted as it burst through the speakers of your phone at an ear-splitting volume.

“I’m sorry!” You briskly apologized. “It wasn’t my fault, I swear!”

“I spent weeks- weeks!- planning and making that jacket for you! I-” She bleated weakly before her tone leveled to nonchalance. “Wow. So this is what being chopped liver feels like.”

“Kate! You are not chopped liver, I swear.” You rushed the statement as you sat back in your office chair, glad to have a conversation that wasn’t work-related after a long and grueling day.

Your friend only grumbled in response. “It sure feels like it.”

“Well, you aren’t. I swear on my job.” You said.

“Oh wow. Holy shit. Okay, yeah that means a lot.” She stuttered playfully. “But something tells me you didn’t call me just to tell me you almost lost one of my most prized works of art- which, by the way, is my best seller. So, what is it?”

“I- uh…” You didn’t know how to word it. You had spent the entire work day using security updates and board meetings as a distraction from the open debate in your head, so now that your day was over and you had nothing left to do, the thoughts came back. It’s why you called Kate; you needed a third opinion.

If what Taehyung said about Jungkook was actually true, then maybe you should talk to him so that you could hear his side of the story. The bad bitch part of you told you to fuck off and forget about him, but you couldn’t help the softer and more curious side of yourself that begged to hear him out.

Realizing you had gone silent for a moment too long, you blurted out something random. “I’d like for you to design a hat for me.” A hat? Really? That was the best you could come up with? At least ask for some pants or something.

“Bullshit,” She chuckled in response. “But I’ll take that until you’re ready to tell me what’s actually going on.”

You heard her rustling some paper in preparation to take down design ideas, triggering panic to rise within you. You didn’t want her to put in work for an imaginary hat that you really had no desire of having.

“Hypothetically!” You shouted before she could get into it.

“Okay…” You heard the hesitation in her voice, clearly weirded out by your outburst. “Hypothetically what?”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that you had an old flame who broke your heart and acted like a dick years ago, but you just recently learned that there were, maybe- I don’t know- some other things going on that made him act that way. Would you want to talk to him about it?”

“Hell no.” Kate laughed. “Just because you’re going through some stuff doesn’t mean you can act like a dick to other people. There’s no excuse for being a shitty person.”

“That’s what I thought.” You replied strongly. In your head, however, the war within you was brewing, weakening your composure.

“You’re not one to usually think about things like this.” Kate added. “What’s going on with you?”

“Just dealing with some stuff from the past. Nothing huge.” You didn’t want to overshare and Kate understood, knowing that she could never ask you to tell her about your past. She would wait until you were the one sharing it with her.

“Just let me know if you want me to come over there. I could definitely use some quality time with a quiet person for once. These idiots are so loud.”

You laughed in response. “I will. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. We can watch movies or something and eat pizza and drink wine.”

“Oh my. That sounds like the perfect date!” She squealed. Her giddiness was infectious, spreading a soft smile across your lips.

“Won’t Brian get jealous?” You jab at her playfully.

“Not at all. He’ll probably end up attached to his video games anyway.” Kate snorted. “Shit! Speaking of! I need to call him! I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course. Talk to you later.” You sat up in your chair.

“Bye!” She chirped.

As you sat alone in your office, building lights dark and the lights from the city the only form of illumination in the room through the window, you let your friends’ words rifle through your head.

On one hand, Kate catered to your stone-cold side, encouraging you to forget all about Jungkook and move on. Despite not knowing the situation and understanding all of its facets, her opinion was unbiased.

Taehyung, on the other hand, encouraged you to speak with Jungkook. He was aware of both sides of the story and understood what you and Jungkook- whatever the hell it was- were going through. He supported the side of you that was eager to understand and desperate to love again.

The decision was, ultimately, yours to make. What were you going to do?

The thoughts in your mind weighed heavy on your heart while you prepared to leave. You stood, packed your brief case, and made your way out of your office and onto the sidewalk to hail your driver so that you could go back to your hotel.

You couldn’t worry about it for long, though, because your phone vibrated three separate times as three notifications lit up your screen on your way back. Taehyung texted you.

Kim Taehyung (BTS)

Wear thick socks.

And a coat.

With gloves.

You stared at your phone in confusion, trying to figure out what he was getting at. Just what in the world was this boy planning?

~#~

Sorry this took so long, everyone! Please remember to like/reblog and comment if you want. I’d like to know what you guys think!

Don’t forget to check out the Series Masterlist if you want to read the oneshots that I have published.

[fishmongeringstudies]

twenty one: i keep waking up in rooms i don't recognize and then realizing that i am still dreaming. my therapist says this is a symptom of a dislocated knee. i have not gone running since march. everyone that i know is lying to me

when i was a kid my parents used to take us to the same restaurant for brunch every sunday. it was on the first floor of a shopping mall which had big panes of glass stitched together for a ceiling and consequently let in far more natural light than your average building, but the restaurant itself was dark. moody. the walls were black and so was all the upholstery. the coffee mugs the waitresses served you coffee in were so dark you couldn't tell how full they were unless you looked extra hard at them, which i rarely did. in most memories of this place i'm seven or eight and i only drink two things: lemon tea and milk. so i'm sitting there with my frosted plastic cup of lemon tea, methodically stirring in my syrup with a skinny metal spoon because they make their lemon tea from scratch here which means no sugar and lots of tea, and my parents are drinking from their big adult mugs, and my sister's picking apart the roasted tomato on my dad's plate, and life, well. life is simple. good.

i can't remember when we stopped going there but i know that by the time i was nine and traipsing around in the hallways of the chinese primary school my parents had transferred me to, it had closed down and been replaced with some other restaurant whose name and shape i can't recall. well before i turned sixteen that entire wing of the first floor was demolished and replaced with the monstrosity that is singapore's flagship muji store. the muji's still there today. it's got a retail area and a few showrooms showcasing lifestyle choices for the upper-middle class citizen and a cafe with a dining area marked out by eclectic hanging decor that looks like a hundred little wastepaper baskets made from twine tied together to form a spotty mural of sorts. i'm fond of the cafe. their desserts are on the expensive side but they're thoughtfully made and look pretty in pictures, prettier in person.

your childhood years are one of those things that gets shinier the further away you stand from it, like how a bad experience becomes bittersweet by necessity if you give it long enough or you'll be stuck carrying that baggage with you forever. looking back, for example, on spring, i am inclined to see the educational takeaways instead of the moments in which my brain shut off and was replaced with a vat of screaming kittens. in this way we propel ourselves forward with the wisdom of the past, scrounged together from moments of pain and deep embarrassment. in this way we find ways to stay alive.

this summer i have wound up in upperclassmen housing by some unfortunate trick of fate. my apartment suite has five bedrooms but only four of them are occupied; i live in the room at the end of the hallway. my flatmates live in the next three. it has been five days since i moved in and i am convinced all of them think that they are living with a cryptid constructed in the scp containment breach format and unsure how to let them know that they are correct without making it personal. last night i woke up after a brief period of dreaming to use the bathroom; while washing my hands in the sink one of my flatmates walked past in the hallway behind me. 'hey, it's you,' she said. 'i feel like i haven't seen you forever. i mean. i've seen you, but i haven't seen seen you, you feel me?' asleep on my feet and ready to crash facefirst into bed, i nodded. 'yes.' she stood there for a few seconds as if expecting me to say more, but i had a vending machine for a brain at the moment and couldn't find it in me to press any more buttons. i certainly could've tried. but i was tired.

when i got on campus in february i resolved to sign up for therapy sessions with the school's mental health services since i was paying an ungodly amount for 'health insurance' (not a thing in singapore, really; not necessary in most places except america, really) anyway and i might as well make use of some small part of the astronomical sum that had been deposited in the pockets of some old white people i would likely never meet in my life. i got as far as filling out the form embedded in the school website and opening the automated email i received a few days later asking me to list my free times each week. i forgot about the rest. we are therefore entering the summer of my twentieth year without a goddamn clue what the inside of my head looks like apart from the fact that it must be pretty cool in there. it has to be cool. if it isn't cool what's the point of holding onto any of it anyway? we live for the spice of life. like garlic powder. cumin. oyster sauce.

this morning i went to target to look for sugar. the dining hall here doesn't do any of its vegetables justice but their desserts are to die for, and i've found myself suffering from a mild withdrawal since i started scrambling eggs and boiling about five hundred grams of cauliflower a day for the sheer therapeutic effect of it and because i don't really know any better. the target near campus is located in a shopping mall and surrounded by miles of parking space on both ends. while walking back across that stretch of empty parking space, i came across a smear of orange on the pavement. it was an orange. or it had been. the rind had been ground into the gravely surface of the road by a repetitive smoothing action so that it looked less like a bit of roadkill and more like it had been there all along. i can't stop thinking about that orange. who the fuck drops an orange in the middle of a road? why didn't they pick it up?

i have been cursed with an idea. it came to me last night before i fell asleep and it has been sitting on my shoulder since then like the devil in the popular angel-and-devil writing device which all nine year olds are taught by their teachers in chinese class, whispering to me about how great things will be if i can teach myself the fundamentals of sound design in three days. unfortunately it is when one decides to start a war that they are forced to confront their contacts list and the vast, untraceable geography of its contents. i cannot tell you if anything will result from this. but i hope that it will.

back when i still talked to her i mentioned the idea of doing puzzles to soothe the mind once and she took to it with so much genuine enthusiasm (she was always enthusiastic. too enthusiastic. enthusiasm was the problem, and the lack of willingness to curtail it the thing that eventually nailed the coffin shut) that i went to target the next weekend and bought a set of four puzzles depicting various scenes from old disney films. over the last two weeks i have done each puzzle three times, save for the last one, in which mickey and minnie mouse waltz down a red carpet and the people on the sidelines cheer for them with champagne moustaches and glittering beads for eyes. i cannot decide if this is meaningful. i cannot see the point of summer. but i am trying.

i don't remember the name of that sunday brunch restaurant. i don't remember the names of a lot of places our parents brought us when we were children, but my sister has been on a nostalgia trip since april and sends me screenshots of old pc games we used to play together from time to time. ernie's adventures in space. timmy's sea adventures. barbie island princess. i open each image and feel something inside of me physically ache in response. it appears that despite my best efforts, i will never be seven years old again.

i'm not a huge fan of lemon tea anymore. i prefer water. how it cleanses the palate like a vacuum cleaner sucking up all the dust and grime in a musty room. it's hard to distinguish between the inside and the outside of a thing when both are the color of a blood-red sunset but we try our best, you know? we draw lines on the sidewalk with chalk and we say 'here is my side of the universe and here is yours'. we act diplomatic when inside we are drunk and slurring our words all over the bartender's white vest. and then, because there is nothing else to do on this planet, we keep on living.

06.10.21

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 17

17/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: Nisei adjacent | T | 5.7k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

Scully meets the Mufon women, who clue her into their shared fate; Mulder accompanies Scully to the OB-GYN after her car breaks down; A mysterious voicemail appears on Scully's machine.

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

The murder of Mulder’s father--and attempted murders of the agents themselves--went the way of many X-Files, becoming another everlasting thorn in their sides. Skinner wasn’t happy with them, but he pitied them, so it was a two-week paper pusher assignment and then they were back at it. Lightning strikes, allusions to immortality from a mortal man, too many prisons and too much death; the calendar advanced, time marched on, and they saw it all but it couldn’t touch them. Wouldn’t, more like. Emotionally stunted, that’s what they are. Holding onto too much pain to process any.

And then comes Mulder’s $29.95 tape and its path to Allentown; a Japanese diplomat, a dead man, and a list of Mufon members wait in its wake. All of which lead Scully to Betsy Hagopian’s doorstep.

These women--whom she has never seen before, nor could not pick from any crowd--know her. They swear. She is one of them, they say, as if that’s supposed to snap everything into perspective. As if the semblance of belonging somewhere will make her spill her guts. But no; she wants to be nothing but herself, and sometimes not even that.

Then there are dozens of cars outside and women surround her, speaking of a place she didn’t know she knew until they said it. A blank slate flashes in her mind; an echo from some past life. She doesn’t believe in reincarnation, so how can that be?

Then the women--these strange women--speak of men & mysterious tests, and a drill sears Scully’s brain, and she’s coming apart, and is this annihilation or healing?

These images--she can hardly call them memories--expand until she’s living inside them. She is doubled, the victim and the spectator. She sees herself on a medical table, a tube spiraling from her belly button. It’s nonsensical, there’s no procedure of the sort. And then, before her unblinking eyes, her stomach grows. Inflated like a balloon. Her warped form...it looks pregnant, and her old fear comes back as a bitter taste in her mouth. Surely this is something seen in a dream, impossible to be reflected in any reality.

The rattle of metal pulls her back to the present. Every woman standing before her holds a capsule containing a microchip, barely perceptible to the eye. Marked...they have been marked. She has too, they say. They have all the scar, and it’s already been established that she is one of them.

Scully’s swept up by the crowd and taken to Betsy Hagopian at Allentown Medical Center. She’s unsure at this point whether she’s investigating the murder case or some vastly larger conspiracy. Or if those are even distinguishable.

She watches as the nurse slides Betsy into the MRI machine, wonders how Betsy feels about them being there as she disappears from view. Scully once thought of making oncology her specialty, back when she was bright-eyed and believed she could save the world. That path would have been paved with pain, sure, but there would be victory, and above all, hope. Her current job fails to put her in such close contact with miracles.

We’re all dying because of what they do to us, Penny Northern says. And how ironic it is, Scully thinks. She and Mulder want the truth--the proof--of some atrocity greater than themselves, and they may have it...once she’s packed into a coffin. How’s that saying go? Be careful what you wish for…

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

The scar at the base of her neck had never stood out to Scully. She can’t see it, and her hair covers it anyway. She had felt it in the shower once, shortly after her return, but she wrote it off as a bug bite. No one had ever commented on it until Penny Northern and the Mufon women; not Missy, not Mulder, not her mother…

Missy had noticed it during one of their face-mask nights in the weeks after the return, but she chose not to say anything, figuring it wasn’t worth adding to her sister’s worry. If she had seen it again recently--known that it hadn’t gone away--she would have said something.

Mulder...well, he never noticed it, and holy shit, he would have given anything for a situation where he could have. Scully never wears her hair up, he’ll blame it on that though it's fruitless. Really, it’s on him. He has a mental map of the places he’s touched her--and the places he won’t. Her neck is on neither one. He hasn’t gotten there yet.

Margaret Scully never saw it, and frankly, she would have thought it was something inappropriate to mention and wished her daughter had worn a turtleneck that day. What else can be said about that?

Thus, as autumn breaks over Washington, the agents crowd into a Bureau lab with Pendrell (or Agent Nerd, as Mulder prefers to call him) to address the intruder put into Scully’s body. Scully’s calm, cool, and collected, but Mulder winces as Pendrell’s tweezers pierce her skin. He’s never had the guts (nor the patience) for the medical profession.

“Yep, I’ve got something,” Pendrell remarks, dropping it into a petri dish. Mulder inches closer to get a good look at the object, and sure enough, it’s a microchip. He’s met with the urge to pocket it and run so that his partner would never have to see it.

Instead, Pendrell presents the dish to Scully. “It looks like a computer chip to me,” he tells her. “Something manufactured.”

Scully squeezes the object between her thumb and forefinger. She looks to Mulder. “This must be what made the metal detector go off in Santa Fe.”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I remember.” The handsy men at airport security still make his blood boil.

As Scully’s eyes meet Pendrell’s, he feels like he’s staring directly into a spotlight. And he’s not used to having the spotlight on him. “So it’s man-made, you believe?” she asks, as in need of an answer from him as she ever will be.

He blushes. “Well, I don’t know of manufacturing plants on any other planet, but it does look pretty technologically advanced.” He takes the dish over to a microscope and peers through. “I can’t say I’ve seen something of this complexity before.”

Pendrell moves aside so Scully can take a look. She’s not accustomed to using this sort of magnification for anything other than microbes, but the intricacy of the wiring speaks for itself. Loops upon loops upon loops of electric current, all contained in a space smaller than a pea.

She looks up. “It’s like it was storing something…” The idea of her thoughts being catalogued by some malevolent stranger is too terrifying to voice. Both men’s mind’s land on it without any prompting.

Mulder lays a hand on the small of her back and steers her away from the microscope. “We’ll get this all taken care of, okay?” he murmurs. “Pendrell will pinpoint the manufacturer, then we can track them down and help Betsy Hagopian and all those women.” He intentionally leaves out mention of Scully herself. She hates being helpless, he won’t frame her as such.

“Okay,” she squeaks out, and Mulder feels her shiver beneath her buttoned blazer.

Having received his command from Agent Mulder, Pendrell watches him usher Agent Scully out of the lab with complete control over the situation. It’s as if Agent Mulder knows what he’s doing, comforting Agent Scully with such composure. And right in front of Pendrell, too! Pendrell kicks himself for...well, being himself.

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

At ten to four, Scully grabs her purse and unclips her key ring as quietly as possible. Mulder’s in the midst of typing up a report about the Japanese diplomat who sold him the $29.95 tape, and she’d hate to ruin his flow. How alarmed Skinner would be if a Fox Mulder field report didn’t read like a Whitman poem! He’d probably assume the bounty hunter got to his agent.

She straightens her blazer and swings the purse over her shoulder. No need for a coat yet, her usual work attire combats the mid-October chill just fine. As she edges toward the door, the guilt of leaving Mulder without a goodbye stops her in her tracks. He knows about her appointment--knows she has to leave early--but still...it feels wrong to walk out without a word.

Hand against the doorframe, Scully tosses her hair over her shoulder. Her partner types at his desk with the ferocity of a teenage boy playing a video game. He even looks like one, with those wiry glasses. She can’t help but smile...these are the ordinary moments she will miss one day.

Setting her lips in a line, she pipes up--”I’ve gotta go, Mulder. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s instantly snapped from his trance. “Whoa whoa whoa.” He lays his glasses beside the computer, rubs the red mark on his nose. “Let me walk you down.”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully assures, one kitten heel out the door. “I can navigate the parking garage on my own.”

Mulder pops up from his chair, rounds his desk. “Well, the parking garage, yeah. But haven’t you heard that the Hoover Building is unaccustomed to beautiful women roaming its halls? Who knows what might happen if I send you up there by yourself.”

Scully gives him the unamused smirk he’s fishing for, tries to ignore the way his sleeves cuff over his elbow. “I only have to go through the lobby. I think I can hold any admirers off for those twenty steps.”

“You’re right, I should have faith in you.” He ruffles a hand through his hair. “At least let me escort you to the elevator.”

“If you must.” Scully turns sideways.

He slides past her, winking as he does. It’s infuriating, really, how smooth he can be when he wants to.

Scully follows him down the hallway, wondering if she’s finally grown into the giddy teenager her mother feared she would be. He hits the up button for her, then clasps his hands together--the only time he’s ever been the epitome of patience.

“I hate to pull you away from your next masterpiece for Skinner,” Scully teases, trying to break his gentlemanly bit.

“Oh, an artist knows no timetable,” he responds, barely taking his eyes off the elevator door. He taps his foot...they always joke that the FBI takes an elevator tax out of their paychecks for making it go all the way to the basement.

Scully looks at the floor. A moment ago, she felt like the object of Mulder’s affections. Now, she’s shut out again.

At the sound of the doors gliding open, she steps in. No need to wait for passengers to disembark; nobody comes down here. She hits the first floor button, offers Mulder a weak smile. “See you--”

He sticks his hand out as the doors begin to close and ducks into the space, taking his place beside her. She should have known...his goofy grin confirms that he’s been planning this all along. They begin their brief ascent to the next floor.

“You know, I’m having deja vu, but I’m gonna say this anyway,” Scully starts. “You’re crazy, Mulder.”

“And I’m sure I’ve said this before Scully, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear it again--thank you,” he replies.

Scully rolls her eyes, but god, this is much more fun than being alone. The elevator banks on the landing, and she looks to her partner as the doors open onto the lobby. “Did you lose your faith in me, or did you never have it in the first place?” she asks, taking extra long strides to keep up with him as they make their way toward the parking garage.

“What, about the whole holding off your admirers thing?”

Scully nods.

“I figured back-up wouldn’t hurt.” He slips his hands in his pockets, giving himself an air of pretension. As Scully watches him, she gets the notion that it’s all carefully calculated. It makes her feel both powerful and annoyed. She is the damsel, and he is framing himself as prince charming, though she is not in distress.

They make it to the parking garage and take another elevator up to Scully’s level. “Skinner’s gonna want that report before you leave tonight, you know,” Scully tells him, surprised that he has followed this far.

“I’ll burn the midnight oil if I have to,” he replies casually. And she can’t argue with that, cause she knows he will.

While he looks for her car, she takes a long glance at his face. He spies her sedan, and they set off in that direction.

“You don’t have to baby me,” she reminds him, almost apologetic. “I made it through med school and Quantico. If anyone is capable of--”

“It’s not about whether you’re capable, Scully. You are. But you should never have had to go through all that in the first place. It’s not fair, what you’ve dealt with.”

“Life’s not--”

“--fair. Yeah, I know, that’s why I don’t believe in God,” Mulder deadpans.

Scully gives him the infamous look. He shrugs. “It’s the truth!”

They make it to her car, and Scully lays a hand on the driver’s door. “Alright, Mulder. It looks like we’ve both learned something about each other. Very productive conversation.”

“Good thing I came all the way down here, huh.” He flashes a smile that would disarm a scorpion. Scully feels it in her core. She tightens her grip on the door, pulling it open.

“Bye, Mulder,” she prods, sliding into the driver’s seat.

He salutes her. “Bye-bye.”

He stays at the front of her parking spot as she cranks--or rather, tries to crank--her car. The engine gurgles at her in protest. One twist, two twists, three twists, nothing. She pulls the key out of the ignition and opens the door.

“It won’t start...battery’s dead, I think.”

Mulder leans against her door. “Let me try.”

Scully shuffles herself into the passenger’s seat and he settles in, finding himself squished against the steering wheel with her seat settings. He laughs and jams the key into place. The engine won’t give under his hand either.

He rests his elbow on the console and stares at his partner. Her eyes darken. “I don’t have jumper cables, do you?”

“I’m not a jumper cable man, no,” he mutters.

Scully knocks her head against the back of her seat, covers her face with her hands. “My appointment’s at 4:30. I got the latest one of the day…”

“Okay, okay, no problem.” Mulder taps her shoulder. “I’ll take you.”

She uncovers her face. “But what about the report…?”

“You really think Skinner’s gonna be surprised by another late report?”

She bites her lip. “Fine, fine. It’s off 6th Street, I’ll tell you how to get there.”

“And we can pick up jumper cables on the way back,” Mulder adds.

“Perfect.”

They hop out of the car and head for Mulder’s. Scully watches him out of the corner of her eye--he’s striding along, completely unbothered by this inconvenience. She is struck with the notion that he is a better person than her in some crucial ways.

“Do you have your keys?” she pipes up, always bringing reality into the picture.

He taps his pocket. “Right here.”

“You’re saving my ass, Mulder--thank you.”

“I was the ass hero of Oxford. I’m glad to be of service.”

Scully shakes her head, her smile eclipsing a laugh.  “Please don’t ever tell me the story behind that, ” she giggles.

“Your loss.”

And as she looks over at him in the dingy parking garage, she knows that this is exactly where she’s meant to be.

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

He wasn’t planning to go in with her--he expected that she’d make a fuss about it if he asked, and it wasn’t his business anyway. He’s surprised, then, when he pulls into a spot at the clinic and she raises an eyebrow when he doesn't turn the engine off.

“Are you coming?” she asks, one leg sticking out of the car.

“Y-you want me to go with you?” he stutters.

Scully shrinks back. “Were you planning on going back to the office? I’m not sure how long the appointment will take, but I hate to make you drive all over the place.”

“No, I was just gonna chill in here. I thought you wouldn’t want me…”

“Oh.” Scully’s out of the car now, her purse swung over her shoulder. “Well, it’s just an ultrasound, so you can come if you want. I bet you’ve never been to an OB-GYN before…”

Mulder shakes his head. “Never had the pleasure. You know I’m all for new experiences, though.”

“Come on, then.” She slams the door closed and starts walking toward the building, playing hard to get in her own little way.

Mulder cuts the engine, locks up the car, and jogs after her. Not a usual occurrence, but he likes the role-reversal.

“So is there anything I should know,” he pants as he catches up with her, “before I walk in? Is there some kind of universal girl code that governs these places?”

“The only naked women you’re about to see are in anatomical diagrams, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Oh, so it’s not a communal kinda thing?”

“Jesus, Mulder. That’s a male fantasy if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Hey, men have urinals and locker rooms, it’s only fair that women have some arena for comparison too,” he attests.

Continuing the role-reversal, Scully holds the door for him. “Clearly, we have different priorities,” she says as he strides through. He chuckles at her as he enters, feeling no insecurity about standing out. He’s not the lone man in the waiting room, but he is the only one without a visibly pregnant wife.

He looks around while Scully checks in. The room, he feels, is misleadingly similar to any other doctor’s office. Daytime housewife fodder on TV, issues of magazines that are barely from this decade, and posters preaching about the flu shot...some unsuspecting man might walk in here because he stubbed his toe and walk out with images in his brain that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life.

He takes a seat at the far edge of the room, Scully joining him a moment later with a clipboard.

He points at the entry to the back--“I feel like they should have a sign on that door that says ‘beware: health class flashbacks ahead. And not the good ones.’”

“If you’re a woman, it’s no flashback,” she tells him, focused on filling out the forms. “It’s just what you deal with everyday.”

“Okay, but imagine men had to go to a place like this, and you had to go back there.”

She looks up. “Mulder, you know I do autopsies on dead bodies, right?” Then, with a smirk--”Besides, I’ve never known you to be squeamish about naked women.”

“Right, but this is like...I’m used to looking at the completed painting, and now I’m seeing the paint-by-number. Not so pretty.”

“Maybe you should go sit in the car…” Scully says with a hint of a tease.  

“I digress.” He glances absentmindedly at what she’s writing, then looks away.

Scully notices and meets his eye. “You know what I’m here for, right?”

Without intending to, he read it off her paper. “Follicle ultrasound?”

“Yes, but do you know why? ”

Mulder holds his mouth open like he’ll catch an answer that way. “Uh…” he starts, classic caught-off guard college student.

Scully jots the last marks on her forms. “To check my egg reserve and see if anything’s changed since the last time. To see if there’s any possibility of me having a biological child, essentially.”

“Huh,” Mulder hums dumbly. Way to make an asshole of himself, cracking jokes at a time like this. He wishes it were socially acceptable to walk around with tape over your mouth.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I didn’t realize the situation was so dire.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

It’s funny she says that, because at that exact moment Mulder is thinking about how it is his fault, and where’s the nearest bridge? He realizes then, too, that maybe she wants him there so she’s not alone for whatever the results say, and boy, this is more than he bargained for when he offered to drive her.

He turns to her, his glance far shyer than usual. “So this is the follow-up to your first ultrasound?”

Scully nods. “It’s been almost a year.”

“But you…” he tries to arrange the words in as courteous a manner as possible. “Are you still premenopausal?”

Scully crosses one leg over the other. She’s pleasantly surprised that he cares about this. “No, I’m on birth control to regulate my cycles. But that doesn’t matter if I don’t have enough eggs left for potential fertilization. Fertility and menstruation are not necessarily linked.”

“But there’s an upside to that, right? Aren’t there health risks with early menopause?”

“Yep.”

Mulder’s not sure whether she’s answering his first question or his second one. He lets it be, and good thing, because a nurse calls Scully’s name moments later. He follows her into the back like an eager to please puppy, playing it cool until the nurse pipes up.

“Mr. & Mrs. Scully, how are you?”

“Not married ,” Scully clarifies, amused.

“Oh,” the nurse takes a stray glance at her clipboard. “I’m sorry.” She gestures toward Mulder. “You are…?”

“Fox Mulder. I’m her partner.”

“Oh, okay. I see. Gender-neutral language, very inclusive.”

“He’s my FBI partner,” Scully grumbles, giving Mulder a punch in the bicep for his purposeful vagueness. “I work at the Bureau.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” The nurse waves them into an exam room then closes the door behind herself. As she reads over Scully’s chart, Mulder’s presence makes less and less sense to her, and she addresses her patient with pitched confusion in her voice.

“So you are here for a follow-up antral follicle count...?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The nurse reads from the chart. “Your first one was roughly eleven months ago and indicated low fertility. Five follicles were counted.”

Scully nods.

“But since then, you’ve started hormonal birth control and now have stable menstrual cycles, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” The nurse makes note of this, then looks to Scully. “If you could come with me for a moment, we’re gonna get your weight, and then Dr. Zapolsky will be right in for the ultrasound.”

Alone in the strange room, Mulder’s met with fascination, not fear. He’s never seen an exam chair with stirrups in real life, and it makes him chuckle, reminiscent of birth scenes in slapstick comedies. On the counter is a 3D model of the uterus, which is pretty cool if he’s being honest. Remove the labels and it’s a modern art piece...and he means that with all due respect. His reproductive system would not make a nice decoration, that’s for sure.

He’s reading a poster about each trimester of pregnancy when Scully and the nurse come back in. Did you know that babies can be frightened by loud noises while they’re still in the womb? he wants to ask, but Scully knows everything, so she probably already knows that.

Scully settles into the exam chair as best she can. She locks eyes with Mulder, and he winks at her--again. It puts a genuine smile on her face, which has never happened in this room. The nurse exits quietly, but they are still there, and so is the smile.

They don’t speak at first. Silence is good when it’s comfortable, they have learned, and it’s always comfortable for them. Until Mulder begins to worry that Scully’s head might be spinning with dark thoughts, and he can’t have that. He thumbs toward the poster. “Did you know that loud noises can frighten babies through the womb?”

Scully’s gaze falls upon him, warm and light. “I’ve always thought that was just an old wife’s tale. I never saw it demonstrated during my obstetrics rotation.”

“Well, it’s on the poster. It’s gotta be true,” he wisecracks.

The door opens, and the majestic Dr. Zapolsky saunters in.

“Let’s ask Dr. Zapolsky,” Scully suggests.

“What’s that?” The doctor rolls the ultrasound machine to the center of the room.

“We were wondering if it’s true that babies in the womb can spook at loud noises,” Scully explains.

“It’s on the poster,” Mulder adds.

“Oh! Yes! But not until around 28 weeks.” Dr. Zapolsky sits down on her stool. “You never saw that during your rotations?”

Scully shakes her head.

“It presents as a kick, and as long as the exposure to the noise is not continuous, it’s harmless.”

“Good to know...I guess,” Scully finishes, wondering why Mulder fixated on that of all things.

Dr. Zapolsky scoots toward her patient. “How are you doing, Dana?”

Scully musters a smile. “I’m okay. Much better than I was last year at this time.”

“And who is your guest…?” she asks, swerving toward Mulder.

“Mulder, my partner at the Bureau. My car went dead, so he had to drive me.”

“Ah! Hello Mulder.”

Mulder nods. “Nice to meet you.”

“I see you’ve gained some weight since your last visit,” Dr. Zapolsky tells Scully. “That’s a good thing--fueling your body allows it to put energy toward ovarian function.”

Scully tries to accept this as a compliment, though she’s been conditioned not to view it as one.

The doctor continues. “And you’re doing well on your birth control? Any problems with it?”

“Nope, everything’s working out.”

“Wonderful.” Zapolsky clasps her hands together. “Looks like we’re all set for the ultrasound. Go ahead and lie back.”

Scully does so.

“I’ll need you to pull your waistband and underwear down. Let me get you a sheet for cover.” She slides over to the cabinets and pulls out a disposable blue blanket, which she drapes over Scully’s bent knees.

Mulder turns his head away as Scully shimmies off her skirt of choice--black, pencil, from the clearance rack at J. Crew, per usual.  Not that he’d be able to see anything since she already has cover, but he’s not risking any disrespect. Scully’s not paying attention to him, and it’s a testament to the trust they have developed.

Dr. Zapolsky grabs the ultrasound wand and takes it under the sheet, using the image on the monitor to guide it into place. “Everything feel alright?” she asks Scully, who nods.

The three occupants focus intently on the screen; two of them have a clear sense of what they’re looking for, and one has no idea. A few circles appear on the monitor, narrowly standing out from the background.

“There they are, right?” Scully inquires with tension in her voice.

Dr. Zapolsky nods. “Those are your follicles. What do you notice?”

Scully’s eyes search the screen. “There’s not many.”

“I’m afraid not. Six. One more than last time, but not the improvement you would need.” Dr. Zapolsky frowns. “Two low antral follicle counts qualifies you for a diagnosis of primary ovarian insufficiency. There’s no clear treatment plan, it simply functions as a label for your condition.”

Scully sits with this numbness as her doctor removes the ultrasound wand and cleans up. She wants to look at Mulder, read his face, but he’s over her shoulder and she can’t bend that way just yet. She takes a breath and pulls her skirt back on.

“So there’s no hope, then?” Her voice shakes. “Of carrying a child with one of my own eggs?”

The doctor finishes washing her hands and turns back toward her patient. “There’s a five to ten percent conception rate for women with POI. If you’re dead-set on it, IVF using an egg donor is your best option. Personally, I don’t recommend it at those odds. It’s very expensive and can take quite a physical toll.” She pats her patient’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Dana.”

With tears threatening to break her composure, Scully cranes her neck toward Mulder. He’s her escape hatch, but he’s not doing much better. His hands are squeezed into fists, his eyes dark. “I’m sorry, Scully,” he murmurs. “You don’t deserve this.”

And even if he’s right it doesn’t make any difference, because this is what she’s gotten, and this is what she must deal with. Gravity’s full brunt bears down on her body and spirit, and she wonders once again if God intends her for heaven or for hell.

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

The sun is sinking below the horizon by the time Scully sets her keys on her front table. If she wasn’t exhausted before, she is after buying jumper cables and using Mulder’s car to start hers. She hears clanging pots and pans and can only hope it’s her sister home from the lunch shift.

Forcing her tired body into the kitchen, Scully finds Melissa at the stove. The smell of marinara sauce wafts through the air.

Missy looks away from the boiling pasta she’s stirring. “Hello jellybean!” Neither one of them knows where the new nickname came from, but neither one is against it either.

“Hey Missy,” Scully says as she plops into a dining chair. She slides off her heels and stretches her toes.

“How was your day?”

“Alright,” Scully sighs. “Paperwork and then my ultrasound appointment, but my battery died so Mulder had to take me.”

“Oh my goodness!” Missy turns the heat down on the stove and strides over to her sister. “I forgot that was today...how was it?”

Scully looks up through her lashes. “Not good, Missy.”

“No?” Missy slides into the adjacent chair. “Were your counts still low?”

Scully nods, picks a piece of lint off her skirt. “Too low. Doc says I have primary ovarian insufficiency. Basically, it’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to have a child with my own egg.”

“God…” Missy sandwiches one of her sister’s hands between both of hers. “I’m so sorry. That’s not what you wanted to hear, I know.”

Across the way, the boiling water sings a siren song, and Missy reluctantly makes her way back toward it. “You’ll have to accept my condolences in the form of food cause I’m too far into this to stop now.”

“Oh, I will.” She’d be having a salad or...well, probably nothing, if Missy wasn’t here. Scully leans back, examines the ceiling, then rubs her eyes. “Did you know that babies can spook at loud noises through the womb? At 28 weeks, at least.”

“No, I didn’t,” Missy answers with gusto, happy to distract her sister.

“Mulder read it on some poster, and I didn’t think it was true, but it turns out it is,” Scully rambles.

“Mulder read it...?” Missy echoes. “He went in with you?”

“Uh-huh.” Scully’s immune to the usual implications of her sister’s curiosity. She’s had too much of a day to argue that Mulder isn’t as integral a part of her life as he is. “It was nice...I was happy not to be alone.”

“I’m sure,” Missy says, pouring the ravioli into a colander. “Mulder’s a good guy.”

“Mm-hm.” Scully chews the inside of her cheek. She can’t discern whether she’s failing to repress a feeling or experiencing one anew, but it’s in that ballpark.

Having put the pasta in a serving bowl, Missy spoons sauce over it like she’s auditioning for a cooking show. “There was an interesting voicemail on the machine when I got in,” she begins.

“Yeah? A telemarketer? Scammer?”

“I don’t think so. It’s odd, but it sounds quite urgent.”

Missy hits a button on the answering machine. A gruff voice fills the room. “Hello, this is Agent Feniston from the California Bureau of Investigation looking for a Ms. Scully. I am contacting you on behalf of the California Department of Social Services foster care system. Please get back to me as soon as possible at 619-555-1334. Thank you.”

It does sound legitimate, Scully can’t argue with that. She raises an eyebrow at her sister. “You were in California for a while, weren’t you?”

Missy pops a ravioli into her mouth, wipes some wandering sauce off her lip. “The Bay area, mostly,” she says between bites. “The 619 area code is--”

“San Diego. I remember, that’s what our number started with when we lived by the shipyard.”

Missy nods. “I know I’m considered the free spirit in this family, but no child of mine is running wild in California. Let’s clear that up right now,” she chuckles.

“I mean, we don’t have any details,” Scully says. “They probably just need you to testify whether some friend of yours is stable enough to resume custody of their child.”

“Does that sound like something that would warrant a call from the Bureau of Investigation? ” Missy challenges, scooping a hefty portion of pasta into a bowl and handing it to her sister.

Scully takes it and grabs a fork. “If they couldn’t find any other way to contact you.”

Missy stops, looks at her sister with a pointed glare.

“What?” Scully shrugs.

“Darling,” Missy continues, “no one I knew in California has this number, nor any way to determine that I’m living with you.”

Scully lifts the fork to her mouth, freezing before it makes it there. “You think the call is for me?”

“I think it’s a possibility,” she says, taking a seat across from her sister.

Scully scoffs. “I haven’t been to California in ages. There was a case in Marin County, but it’s been two years now.”

“That’s funny,” Missy muses. “I was living there then.”

“Can we stay on topic, please?” Scully tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m not fond of having a random call from the California foster system on my answering machine.”

“Then call Agent Feniston back, and it won’t be random anymore.” Missy gets up, glances at the clock, and grabs the phone off its receiver. “It’s only 3:30 in Californiaaaaa,” she sing-songs, dangling it in front of her sister.

Scully pouts, but lets the weight of the phone rest in her hand. “Can you play the voicemail again? I need the number…”

Feniston addresses them for a second time, and Scully taps the keypad in concert with his directions: 619-555-1334.

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“triad”

Chapter 19: the day of judgement

Only warning is MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS hehe but also after this chapter, this is diverging from canon so strap in.

AO3 link

“It’s not very fair, is it?”

“Hmm?”

The waves crashed upon the rocks, breaking into a harsh white mist. The short coastline quickly gave way to a mighty mountain range, shielding them from whatever lay inland. 

“You get to come out here and enjoy the sea, while your family is forced to stay inside. Why don’t you let them come out sometime? As a little ‘vacation’ or something.”

The sea roared. It howled in some strange language, almost like a taunt.

“Ah… I see. Well, they aren’t missing much. This place is cold and wet… the sun never shines. In our old home, there was nothing but blue skies and sparkling sea. This really can’t compare.”

At long last, the man who squatted by the edge rose to his full height. His robe rippled around him in the wind, but in an oddly controlled movement. His hair, pulled back out of his face into a ponytail, let a few stray strands out to dance in the gale, leaving the mark in the middle of his forehead exposed. He was a man in the image of serenity; but Morris had a feeling that he wasn’t really a man at all.

“I feel like I should be a little insulted, Mikal.” Morris shook his head before looking out at the horizon again, a little smile on his face. “This is my home, after all.”

“You don’t love it though, do you?” Mikal finally looked over at the man, his eyes narrowing slightly despite the smile still etched into his youthful features. “You don’t love anything, Morris.”

Mikal was unusual in many ways. Well, this whole situation was unusual. Almost 80 years ago, the Simulcians were driven from their home after a natural disaster. The remaining survivors were just Mikal, his parents, and his four older siblings. They fled to the shores of their only ally: the Diamond Kingdom, where they agreed to lend their power to the military in exchange for a private colony on the coast. This was long before Morris was even born. After making his way into the Royal Science Department, Morris was assigned to the Simulcian outpost, and was surprised to see that their numbers had risen dramatically. The group of seven was now going on 30. Mikal gladly let Morris into their tower to show him his work. New Simulcians were bred artificially from his parents’ cells, and then they were kept in “safety tanks” until they were 18 years old. Then… they were synchronized.

Morris barely understood what it meant to be “synchronized.” The Diamond Kingdom had been familiar with the “Dyad,” a bond between two people which shared/combined their mana, for years. But Mikal somehow managed to create other bonds as well: A tetrad between four people, and a septad between seven people. Morris had no idea what Mikal was trying to do, but something about it was oddly… ominous. 

No… Mikal would never let his family outside. He would never let them out of their tanks, or their links. He trapped them in that prison forever.

Did Mikal truly love them? 

“Maybe you’re right…” Morris finally replied. “Although, not entirely… maybe I don’t love anyone, but there are some things I love. How could I not…” He turned his gaze away from the sea and back towards the mountains. “I was born blind, you know... I had to fight hard to find a way to see. And now…” His glasses glinted in the overcast light. “I have the whole world at my disposal.”

“Hm… I wonder what you’ll do with it.”

Something about Mikal’s words sent a shiver up Morris’s spine. Neither of them could have known it now, but oh… the things Morris would do. The world really would be at his disposal.

But today, they were just two men standing on the rocks. Well… a man and something close to a man, at least.

“Tell me… when you finish whatever it is you’re planning, what’s going to happen?” Mikal raised an eyebrow at Morris’s words, but Morris could see right through his innocence. “I know it’ll be big… whatever it is, you’ve spent nearly a century getting ready.”

“Who says I have anything planned?”

Morris gave Mikal a long look. 

Finally, Mikal let out a long sigh. He stretched an arm over his shoulder leisurely before turning to look back out at sea. “Well… maybe I do. But would you really like to know? I’ll tell you if you promise to stop being so nosy.”

Nosy? That’s ironic, coming from you. Morris nodded his head though, eager to hear Mikal out.

“Well… it’s a little complicated.” Mikal crossed his arms. “You know the Goddess we worship, yea?”

“Oh… yeah.” Morris wracked his brain. “Simon?”

“Simulcia,” Mikal corrected. “Simulcia was a goddess of fate… her magic could pin down destiny as she pleased.”

“Pin down?”

“Fate is like the ocean. It’s like a rippling fabric in the wind. But Simulcia threw pins out over that fabric-” Mikal motioned his hand as an example. “Where each one landed… fate itself was fastened to that spot. Just a few points in time and space… that is the Dyad. My parents, those before them… and maybe those after them. Although, if everything goes according to plan, I doubt there will ever be another Dyad. But that’s not my decision to make. That pin has yet to fall, and I cannot stop it if it's destined to.”

Morris was barely following at this point, but slowly but surely started to understand. The power to manipulate fate itself? How strange. So, because of actions long ago, there are certain aspects of our future that cannot be changed? “What does that have to do with your plan?”

“You see… things have changed. Simulcia is long dead. The only way to access her consciousness is by linking up with other Simulcians. We were never meant to be separated. Our true state is together. Mikal weaved his fingers together. “But like I said, we’ve strayed from that path. We made contact with humans after millenia of isolation, and we changed. We’re becoming more like you… We no longer wish to be together. Maybe there’s some kind of value in our independence, but it is against Simulcia’s will.”

A spark of anger slipped through Mikal’s eyes, barely visible among his pitch black gaze.

“Humans… they want to drive us apart. I didn’t want that to happen. So… I will force Simulcia’s will upon everyone.”

…

…

…

Morris wasn’t sure why he walked away that day. Without asking Mikal more. He never asked again, and for some reason he didn’t try to stop whatever it was Mikal was trying to do. In any case, 20 years later, Mikal and his whole family disappeared without a trace, and a new Dyad was created in the Clover Kingdom.

Simulcia’s will?

Is that… why Simulcians exist? To enact her will?

But, in the end, wasn’t Simuclia’s will already enacted? In the form of fate?

What more is there to do… we are all slaves to fate.

At least, that’s what Morris thought. The years passed, and the shape of his life squirmed and bent until it was unrecognizable. He took sight, he took power, he took knowledge… and he put it into his own hands. And now, the power of three devils dwelled within him as well.

Simulcia is dead… That much I know.

Morris gazed up at the tree as it grew. Its branches cracked and groaned under their own enormous weight. Fueled by the two men trapped within their coffins, it towered up and up, breaking through the ceiling as it reached for the sky.

Fate is dead. The only two people bound to it now are the Dyads. 

The castle rumbled as the fighting intensified. But Morris paid it no mind. He just stood there, his hands in his pockets, and stared up at the spectacle with two stolen eyes.

Now, we create the fate of the world with our own hands. And its fate is the Qliphoth. 

An unearthly sound spread out over the scene, screams and creaks and a shrill, descending howl.

That’s it then… the first gate has opened. The dark triad will be up to 100% soon. The rebels are busy with the demon we released, and soon… the Clover Kingdom will know the wrath of the other.

This time, there will be no one to save the world. 

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

Except, maybe there was. 

This time, my path leads north. Wind and rain and a dull rush of air course around my body as I take flight, my eyes watering slightly from the pressure. But it doesn’t matter; I keep flying.

Despite how overcast the day is, the sun is shining once again within my heart. Hope, love, joy, they all live there, and I can’t help but smile as I zoom towards what I hope will be the final battle of my life. Any wish to become a martyr, any wish to start over, any wish to give up everything, is gone. All that pumps through my veins is the determination to win and to live.

Because, now I know that there is still something to live for.

Adeline, Marx, Joy, all my friends and family, they all deserve to see a brighter future. A future that I will create, not through destruction, but through hope. 

All I have to do is win this fight, save Yami and William, then go home to the family I can still salvage.

My final days, I’ll spend them with Adeline and Joy. That’s the only way it should be. Maybe I’ve committed sins that I will never atone for, but I still deserve to be happy in those final days.

BOOM.

I’m suddenly pulled from my thoughts as a loud sound bellows through the air. Almost like thunder, but deeper, a sound that rattles the very earth. I slow down a little, then look to the side. My breath freezes in my chest for a brief moment as I see what it is: a giant, unearthly creature, higher than the tallest mountain. It has scraggly, thin wings that arch up over its body, and three glowing eyes in its head. 

No… it can’t be…

It is none other than the creature of legend, a giant demon god. It ignores everything as it trudges forward slowly, just passing over the border of the Grand Magic region when I reach it. There are towns and settlements ahead that it will surely trample, but its glowing eyes are fixed on the tiny hill in the distance, the hill that holds the capitol, the castle, and the king.

There’s a couple of reasons that it could be here, but the most likely one is that the Spade Kingdom somehow summoned and released it here to cause as much damage as possible. But in the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s here.

All that matters is that it must be stopped.

The fear, running like ice in my veins, starts to melt as both my hands heat up. Without another thought, I make a sharp turn in the air, and instead head right towards the horrible beast.

There’s not a second to lose… 

I clench my fist, to keep my hand from shaking, but also to concentrate mana there. I release it in waves, traveling out and down my arm and into that fist. With a spark, it bursts into intense blue flame, numerals already spiraling around it. 

All this magic… all this power. Only part of it is mine.

I squint my eyes a little, speeding up. One of the demon’s eyes catches onto my form.

Julius… and Patri. I can feel both of your wills within me.

Julius, who I loved, and Patri, who I thought I hated.

No… not hated.

Despite the memories of those horrible moments flooding back, I smile. Because, in the end, they both give me the strength to fight today. 

But it’s not just them.

A crown glints upon my head, and a robe flares out behind me as I fly. For the first time in my life, they aren’t heavy. For the first time in my life, I feel like I deserve them.

I… I am the Wizard King! 

Light starts to spark around my hand as I draw it back, charging up magic. The light starts to shine brighter and brighter, like the sun inching up and up over the horizon, bathing the world with warmth. With hope.

And for that reason, I have to protect my Kingdom. 

The Demon turns its head toward me, opening its gaping, toothy mouth. An orb of demonic energy crackles within its maw, getting ready to shoot out at me with all its power. The sight of it does nothing to hurt my composure, and I open my own mouth to let out a yell. It spurs me on, and my body rockets towards the beast faster than I’ve ever managed before.

For that reason, I will protect this WORLD!

I swing my fist, and finally release my first triple-attribute spell.

With a flash of light like a supernova, my fist connects. For a moment, there is no sound, but I can feel the entire world vibrate within my chest. 

The demon’s head basically implodes, its three eyes bursting apart as it’s hit. It doesn’t have time to roar or shriek; the ball of energy within it collapses, and it gets blown back across the border into the strong magic region. Its bottom half is still intact, and the trunklike feet BOOM once, then twice, then one last time as it stumbles backwards. Then, it falls, almost in slow motion.

But by this point, I am long gone. The dust from the impact billows up behind me as I just keep flying, making a beeline to the Spade Kingdom. The sound of the fall was enough to confirm my kill, and there isn’t a second more to lose. I don’t look back, just keep my eyes on the next objective ahead.

Yami and William, I’ll save you, no matter what!

The snowy peaks beneath me are a blur, my eyes clouded by both adrenaline and the light that shines from them. My whole body feels like it's on fire, the thrill of that moment still coursing through me. Acceptance and determination cycles around each other, fueling my flight further and further. I’m not sure what I will find across the border, but whatever it is, I am ready to take it on.

My duty is to win, and to survive! 

A few minutes later, something shifts in the atmosphere. Like a magnet, an unseen force tugs at my body, no, at my soul. My eyes widen a little when I realize what it is. 

Something… is pulling my mana in.

Then, I see it: the capital of Spade, almost completely destroyed by a sprawling mess of branches. I can feel the unnerving energy coming off of the wood already; this is no tree that exists in our world. This is the Qliphoth. There’s other presences here too- sending a familiar chill up my spine.

Devils…

But, according to Nacht, the first gate wasn’t supposed to be open yet? Did they have some way to accelerate the growth?

It doesn’t matter.

I clench my fist again, summoning more mana to replace that which was being sucked in by the tree. 

I’ll end it now, today. No more gates will be opened. And even if they do…

The black mark upon my forehead tingles slightly, almost familiarly.

I will beat them.

Right at the moment I summoned more mana, it was felt simultaneously by everyone below.

Nacht’s eyes widened as he stared ahead at the two twin Devils standing before him. No way… you fool! He wanted to look back towards the sky, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his foes, not now that the situation had turned so dire. You’re just going to get yourself killed… there’s no way you’re in any condition to fight!

Maybe that was the case. Maybe even moving was draining away my life faster than I could afford. But nothing will stop me from moving.

Morris’s smile falls for just a moment. He turns slowly to look up through the cracks in the ceiling. The tree… it’s responding to a great source of mana… incoming…

Then, he smiled.

This… this may be exactly what we need. It all depends on you three…

At that exact moment, those “three” sensed me as well. From three different sections of the castle, wings of blood, wings of bone, and wings of flesh unfurled. Three pairs of eyes, crazed and fueled by the new surge of power within them, turned towards the sky.

“Finally…”

“How exciting!”

“I didn’t think we would meet on the battlefield…”

Dante’s sharp, elongated teeth curled into a malicious grin as he retracted his power from Jack, who he had been pummeling a moment ago. Lucifero’s power was up to 100% now, and he was ready to fight anything and everything he could. Morris assured them before this that the Wizard King would be out of commission, but here she was, very much alive, heading right towards him.

Right into the palm of his hand.

With a loud, evil laugh, Dante shot up and away from the battle, towards the source of the presence. A strike from his fist burst right through the ceiling and let him escape into the cold night air. As soon as he was out, Dante looked to his left and right, spotting his siblings, who had the same idea. Vanica’s face was twisted into a sadistic grin, but Zenon remained composed; While Dante and Vanica had fun on their minds, Zenon was evaluating the very serious consequences that might come from their actions.

The tree reacted to her mana, I felt it too. If we can let it suck up more and more from her-

It’s right then that I spot the trio heading towards me, black shadow streaming in their wake. That’s them! That’s the Dark Triad! My heart skips a beat, and I let my Grimoire flip open once again. It starts to glow, and power starts to accumulate in the palm of my hand. 

This is it, at last!

Defeat these three, and we’ll win, I know it already. My mind starts to shut down, zeroing in on the imminent fight. Like a tunnel, all I can see is them.

Fight… fight them… WIN.

I spread the fingers of my hand as I start to raise it. My feet swing down from behind me to slow my body down, bracing it for impact. Light starts to shine from my palm, and all at once it elongates into a broad, bright sword.

This is Patri’s sword… but…

The light intensifies further, concentration. The light starts to thin and elongate further, into one, long blade. Just like an epee, the tip sharpens to a deadly extent, like a needle poised to pierce skin and flesh.

“Light magic: Judgement Day!”

I finally clench my fist, grasping the handle of the sword. I tear my eyes away from its length and back towards the Triad. With a grin, I point my new spell at them. The mana around me solidifies under my foot, and with one mighty push, I lunge.

Moments before collision, Dante’s eyes catch onto the black mark on my head. And for a fraction of a second, something within him hesitates. 

That mark… how does she have that mark-

The thoughts don’t catch up with his body, and he hurls himself at me with the fury of a typhoon.

None of us are prepared for the outcome of the next five minutes.

AAAAAAAA next time: chapter 20. There is a massive fight. Morris gets his way, and something terrible happens... as usual.

[entwinedmoon]

John Torrington: Reflections

(Previous posts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10)

Today, January 1, 2020, is the 174th anniversary of John Torrington’s death. Him dying on New Year’s Day must have dampened whatever celebrations the crew were most likely enjoying, a dark day in a quite literally dark month, as the sun would not return for some time. He would have been buried in that endless night, during a snowstorm (a layer of snow was still preserved on top of his coffin), the first death in what had so far been a successful expedition. A death so soon may have worried the crew, but since it was due to an illness he’d brought with him, it may have just been considered a fluke. They may not have been concerned, still thinking they would make it through and discover the last piece of the Northwest Passage. If they had succeeded, Torrington would have been a minor footnote in the history of a triumphant journey, his grave a small curiosity for anyone who may pass by. But no one made it home from the Franklin Expedition, and Torrington is now seen as an early warning sign of the tragedy awaiting the rest of the men.

Why is it that, after all these years, anyone still talks about Torrington? What is the fascination with him and the other men buried on Beechey? I know what draws me to his story, and while I can’t speak for everyone, I think there are at least some people who share the same reasons.

So what intrigues me about John Torrington? Why did I write this series, spanning eleven blog posts and over 25,000 words (that’s half a book!), about a 174-years-dead Victorian sailor, spending my spare time researching and dedicating long hours to studying his life and death?

In trying to pin down just what fascinates me about Torrington, I went through some of my old writing, and I found this little snippet from an essay I never finished. It was written almost ten years ago, on January 13, 2010:

It was all John Torrington’s fault. I couldn’t sleep because of that frozen grimace, mouth and eyes both slightly open—eyes, intact, seriously, staring back at me. He just stares, cold, frozen, dead. I’m not likely to go on a polar expedition any time soon and possibly die from lead-tainted food or whatever killed him, but it’s not that idea that frightens me. He stares at me in the night, in the corners, in the reflections in the moonlit mirror on my closet door, in the folds of the dirty laundry on the floor, he’s there, staring at me. Going to the bathroom at night is the worst, walking through the dark hallway, knowing he’s following me, just behind me, out of sight, but still manages to jump ahead to stare at me in the split second before the bathroom light comes on, inches from my face in the thick darkness, but then he runs and hides again in the shadows of the hall, lurking, waiting to follow me back to my room.

Sometimes it’s Otzi or Jaunita or Ida Girl or Cherchen Man. Never King Tut or Ramses II for some reason though. But John has always stood above the rest, just the memory of a picture haunting me.

As you can see, I had a slightly different attitude toward Torrington back then. To explain this, let me start from the beginning.

When I was about seven or eight, my older brother brought home a copy of Buried in Ice from school, where he was learning about the Franklin Expedition. He of course shared the pictures in the book with me and my older sister because he thought they were creepy and that’s what you do when you’re a kid, you share creepy stuff to try to scare your siblings. I’m in my early thirties now, so the memory has faded over the years, but there’s still a lot that stands out even now. I remember eating a particular type of corn chip that to this day I associate the flavor of with lead poisoning. My brother told me about how the brains of the three mummies had turned into a yellow liquid—something we thought was gross but also cool for some reason. I remember that there was no way to just flip the book over to cover up the picture of Torrington on the front cover because—oh goodie—there was a picture of him on the back too. My brother and I commented on the golden color of Torrington’s discolored skin (I don’t know why we thought “golden” instead of yellow—it sounds more poetic to call it “golden” but that was certainly not our intention). I also remember that later, after my brother had returned the book to school but we were still haunted by the images, we couldn’t recall the names of Hartnell and Braine, so we called them Big Head and Snarl Face instead. But we remembered the name Torrington, probably because he was featured more prominently in the book. And due to that prominence, Torrington was the one I would think of when lying in bed at night, watching shadows in the closet morph into monsters.

To try to combat my fear, I used a trick I’d learned where I turn the scary thing into something ridiculous (this was before Harry Potter was published, but it’s the same theory as how to fight a Boggart). I put the three mummies into a long-running story that I’d made up in my head—and I made them undead idiots. Like zombie versions of Beavis and Butthead. Yeah, I did that. I made them weird funny sidekicks in my story, but it didn’t really stop me being afraid when I saw pictures of them again.

Remarkably, despite being terrified of Torrington, I became obsessed with mummies as a kid, an obsession that continues to this day. I would marvel over pictures of Tollund Man, Ötzi, and the Qilakitsoq mummies of Greenland.

But not John Torrington.

Whenever I would flip through a book about mummies, if I encountered a picture of Torrington, I would slam my hand over the page to cover it. I would be creeped out by other mummies, but it was never to the same level as it was with Torrington. And yet, I would still be compelled to peek, even after covering the page. I would regret it immediately, but there was something that made me want to look, even though looking at him was the last thing I wanted to do.

Over the years, Torrington would find his way into a few more stories of mine, in some form or another. In college, I wrote a short story for a fiction writing class where the picture of Torrington on the cover of Frozen in Time started talking to a young woman, representing her repressed thoughts and fears (he cracked a lot of jokes in that one). At that point in time, however, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to read Frozen in Time. I had bought a copy a while ago—the 2004 revised edition—and when it arrived from Amazon I flipped through it, telling myself that I was an adult and I loved mummies and I could bravely face the pictures of these boogeymen from my childhood.

That last part turned out to be incorrect. Several weeks of being too afraid to turn off the light at night ensued. I wouldn’t read the book for another eight or nine years.

But eventually I did read it, multiple times in fact, and I’m no longer terrified of pictures of Torrington, or Hartnell and Braine. That all started a little less than two years ago.

It began with another story idea I had that incorporated Torrington, one I have yet to write. I thought I should do some research into him first if I was going to include him. Around the same time, The Terror was airing on AMC. The exact timeline is a little hazy for me, because the story idea actually first came to me at the end of 2017, but The Terror first aired in March 2018. I can’t remember if I had the idea to add Torrington to my story before I started watching The Terror or not, but I think it was before.

Once I started researching Torrington and the Franklin Expedition, I quickly became obsessed. I had poked around Franklin research before, but my fear of Torrington would always hold me back. I would peer through my fingers at pictures and facts, but I could never do more than that. But now I was hooked.

My childhood nightmares were there at first, just out of the corner of my eye, but my research started to shift those in strange ways. I had always seen Torrington as this ancient, towering monster, but then I discovered that he was only twenty when he died and stood at only five-foot-four. I’m older than him. I’m taller than him. His desiccated body weighed less than ninety pounds, which I definitely weigh more than. Basically, if he came charging out of the closet, I could take him.

But what really drew me in was realizing that we knew so little about him. I could look at a picture of his face, frozen in time, but I couldn’t reach back into the past to ask him about himself. I’ve known about him almost my whole life, with him skulking in a corner of my brain, stepping out of the shadows every now and then, but I didn’t really know who he was as a person. The Franklin Expedition can drive people mad with the mystery of what happened to the men after they entered the Arctic, but suddenly I became obsessed with knowing what had happened before the expedition. Who was John Torrington? Who was this guy that has occupied my dreams and nightmares, who has taken up a permanent residence in my mind ever since I first laid eyes on him? Who was this young man who has somehow been a part of my life for so long, but whom I know so little about?

I know I’m not the only one who has been asking these questions, or who has been living with the Franklin ice mummies in their heads. I’ve met some amazing people online who are just as obsessed, if not more so. Thanks to this series, I’ve had people contact me about their own interest in Torrington and the Beechey Boys and how they understand my love for them.

Many times before, I’ve attempted to put in words just what draws me to mummies. In 2011 I even started a long-since-abandoned blog about mummies called Digging the Dead, where I tried to explain my interest. But I’m going to try my best now to pin down what has compelled me to study Torrington, and why he keeps popping up in my life.

I think part of the appeal of Torrington—and Hartnell and Braine—is the shockingly alive appearance of their preserved bodies, with some morbid curiosity over their undead vibe thrown in. The preservation of a body, preventing the natural process of decay, is fascinating. It’s a type of immortality, although one the mummy doesn’t get to enjoy. Torrington looks like he could get up and walk around—possibly in a zombie-like way, but still. He looks more like a real person than some mummies, like bog bodies that became too twisted by the weight of the peat or desert mummies that have a freeze-dried appearance. But a large part of the fascination with Torrington, and mummies in general, is that it’s like touching a piece of the past. When we see their pictures, we’re looking at something that is from a time long gone, but they seem so very present, so tangible in the here and now. They are time travelers, in a way, and this is our way of reaching out to them across the years.

And with the mystery of the Franklin Expedition, Torrington, Hartnell, and Braine add an extra layer of intrigue as well as reminding us that there were more than just officers on board. We have pictures of Franklin, Crozier, Fitzjames, and many of the lieutenants and mates, but the ordinary sailors and marines didn’t have the luxury of having their pictures taken. What they looked like has been lost to time, but the preserved remains of Torrington and the Beechey Boys literally puts a human face on the ordinary men of the expedition, the ones who never wrote memoirs or had journals that were preserved for posterity. Men who have been largely forgotten by history, who don’t get the same reverence we give the captains, who don’t get memorials or landmarks in their names. When thinking of the men of the Franklin Expedition setting sail for their destiny, it’s easy to see Torrington on deck—alive, his striped shirt billowing in the wind as they sail toward Lancaster Sound—and to imagine that these were working ships, fully manned with ordinary people who led regular lives and had dreams of what they would do when they returned home to double pay and the fame of having helped discover the Northwest Passage.

But on January 1, 1846, those dreams winked out for one of those men. On this day, I think not about how well Torrington’s body has defied time and decomposition, but about who sat with him as he passed. Was he alone? Did he have friends on the crew? And what of his family back home? Did they toast him and his journey, not knowing that he was gone?

Who said a prayer for John Torrington 174 years ago?

If it’s not too late, I think I’ll say one for him today.

<<Back

Torrington Series Masterlist

[kimmyiewrites]

Wasted ~ Chpt 6

Catch Up      Masterlist

The next day it was Frank's turn in the witness stand and Evelyn's lawyer did not let up in any sort of way. As he continued to hound Frank, Ryn kept sliding forward in her seat, wanting nothing more than to yell it was my idea before launching into some sort of defense for Frank. Thankfully Roberta was there, holding her hand to keep her grounded, to keep her seated.

As the lawyer kept talking, a pit formed in her stomach. Yesterday seemed so promising but of course she should have known that Evelyn wasn't going to hold back any punches.

"Diane wanted Mary to be a kid." Frank finally got out in the onslaught of words being thrown his way. "She wanted her to have a life. She wanted her to have friends and to play and to be happy."

The lawyer was not letting up. "Do you realize the consequences of boredom for a gifted child, Mr. Adler?"

Ryn rolled her eyes. Did he know the consequences of too much pressure on a gifted child? Clearly neither Evelyn or her lawyer wanted to accept that fact when it came to Diane. Then the mention of Mary breaking a fellow student's nose happened and Ryn turned to look to Bonnie who was on the other side of her for confirmation.

"She was defending a fellow student against a bully just as Frank said." Bonnie whispered.

"On October 16th of last year were you arrested for assault?" The lawyer asked and Ryn mostly likely got whiplash from how quickly she turned her head to face Frank once more. Oh, did they have lots to speak about.

Frank sighed and Ryn could tell that he was getting defeated. Now she wished she could properly throw her hat into the mix because she definitely didn't want Evelyn anywhere near Mary.

And the lawyer would just not stop as if he was hammering in a nail to a coffin. Poor Cullen was doing his best to try to get it to stop and finally he asked if Frank's continual guardianship was in the best interest of Mary.

"Yes." Frank answered, trying his best to still sound so sure of himself after having all of his mistakes and insecurities about raising his niece thrown in his face.

Once the hearing adjourned for the day, Ryn made sure she was at the end of the aisle, fully planning on not letting Frank run away. Instead, the complete opposite happened. As he passed her, Frank took Ryn's hand and tugged her along with him, not saying a word until they reached his truck.

He opened the passenger door for her but before she could climb in, he wrapped her up in his arms and buried his face in her neck. She was shocked by the action. She knew something was on his mind with how tightly he had been holding her hand but she hadn't expected this. She immediately reciprocated the embrace, bringing a hand up to his head so she could run her fingers through his hair.

"I fucked everything up, didn't I?" He whispered.

"I don't know but that last bit didn't sound good even if she was standing up to a bully. She really broke a kid's nose?"

"She hit him in the face with a text book."

Chuckling at the image that new detail conjured up, Ryn gave a small shrug. "Well, we can't exactly be mad about that, can we?"

"I told her it wasn't good to go around hitting people no matter the circumstance." He chuckled.

"Sounds like solid parenting to me. And what's this about you getting arrested?"

Frank groaned. "Can we drop that one?"

"What happened, Frank?" She needed to know something. She wanted to help in some way and if she could figure something out and talk to Cullen about how to potentially spin things, then maybe things would turn out alright.

"I flirted with someone who I didn't know was with someone else and they took a swing at me. I defended myself and wound up having to stay the night in the holding cell because I was too drunk to drive home even if I was only a little over the legal limit."

Ryn let out a small sigh which caused Frank to groan. "I know, Ryn, I know."

"I didn't even say anything. You were defending yourself from a man who didn't know how to use his words. How can I respond any other way than that?"

He pulled away but just enough so he could see her face. "That is not how the judge is going to see that and you know it."

"Then call me back up onto the stand again. Cullen never asked me any questions. I can still help."

Frank shook his head and motioned for Ryn to get into the truck. "Today was the last day to hear the different sides to the case. I just want to get home and spend time with Mary."

Spending time with Mary turned into Frank reading on the couch, Mary playing with Fred, and Ryn outside on a business call. The young girl ran over to where Frank was sitting and jumped up onto his stomach. "Research and Development has come up with a brand new Fred cheer. Fred personally asked me if I would tell you it." She had announced.

Fred let out a small huff as Mary jumped onto him, lowering the book that he was reading. "Let's hear it." He said with a small smile.

"S-O-C-K-I-T, sock it to me Freddy. Sock it! Sock it!" She cheered, dragging out the vowel sound, adding in some vocalizations as she spun her small fists around before opening her arms and hands up on either side of her head, moving from side to side.

"Tell R & D they got a winner." Frank smiled up at her, looking up at her with nothing but love for his niece. He really couldn't believe that he had been so lucky to raise her so far and he hoped that she wouldn't be taken away from him.

"That's exactly what I said." She grinned as she hopped off of him to go back to what she was doing.

Just before Mary settled back into her spot, Ryn came back in. The young girl took her godmother's hand to grab her attention and once again was going through the cheer. Ryn grinned and expressed how much she liked it based solely on how large Mary's smile was. Frank had been too lost in thought about how badly he wanted this. They could have easily already been a true family unit if he hadn't been such a coward. Hell, his mother probably wouldn't be fighting him for custody because if Ryn had come down to Florida with him, she would have surely already thought about adoption and making everything legitimate in the eyes of the law.

"What's that look for?" Ryn's question broke him out of his reverie causing a small blush to cover his cheeks.

"Uh, nothing. I must have gone into my own world. Wanna sit?" He asked, sitting up from where he was laying down.

Ryn sat down in the spot he had just created before her lap was filled with broad shoulders and toned muscles hidden under a button down. She laughed a bit before settling one hand in his hair and the other on his torso as if this was something they had done plenty of times before, and they had.

"Everything okay?" He asked after he smirked up at her. He finally noticed how tense she seemed to be.

She slowly nodded. "Yeah, yeah. My manager's just getting a little antsy is all. It's not like I didn't just open up a new exhibit or anything. I'm still doing plenty of sales of prints and originals. Apparently parents are threatening to take kids out of classes so it's making him worried."

"Do you need to go back?" He didn't want her to go but it sounded like she needed to in order to save her studio.

She shook her head. "I told him not to worry and to look into virtual options. He forgets sometimes that I've gotten quite the decent reputation up there. I'll make a few calls to the crazy moms and everything will be settled."

He let out a small sigh. This was just a reminder as to why he didn't bring her down here in the first place. "Ryn, if you need to..."

"Frank, don't." She cut him off. "Things are fine and I've been meaning to look into online classes anyway. I can only stand Boston's elite for so long. I think it's time to look into expanding my audience. Now what are you reading?" She asked to change the subject.

[aevus-blogging]

animorph lads and controller gents

Oh. Anon no. Anon, you have given me a nugget for angst by god. Okay okay. So. Sorta yes, sorta no. You ready for a rambly oneshot? Be ready for a rambly one shot

According to the yeerks, James Ryan Haywood and Epslin 413 were dead and devoured by the creatures of the cruel and blistering arizona desert. This was only true for one of them though.

Ryan, he had been an involuntary host, picked up from his dreadful foster home by the Sharing with the promise of free food and a safe zone. He had been too trusting of the altruistic organization, up until the point he was being escorted down into the underground bunker area and having his head forced down into that cursed murky water, a slug alien entering his ear and taking control over his actions.

Years he had suffered in silence, fighting tooth and nail when he could. He watched as the Yeerk piloted his body around, forcing him into an arizonan college (closer to the yeerks home base) and into an IT program, minoring in theatre to keep the facade of Ryan’s love of theatre intact, despite the fact the yeerk despised it. Of course he passed with flying colors and soon found himself in an IT job. Still, eight years later Ryan still fought against the yeerk in his head. It was only by luck that Ryan would find his freedom again.

It had been a call, of him having to hop in a car and drive a few hours away to assist a job. It had been utter luck for him that his car broke down mid way through the drive, even more so that he was on the day his yeerk needed to head into the pit to recharge. Ryan could feel himself laughing at the Yeerk’s misfortune. 24 hours and he was a free man once more. While he was excited, the Yeerk was terrified. He had no cell phone, no Yeerk communication device either. He was alone.

Eventually night fell, and so did Ryan’s body in fatigue. As the night drawled on the Fugue started to hit, racking the yeerk and host both in pain. Slowly Epslin 413 died, memories of former hosts invading Ryan’s mind and leaving themselves there. Four other hosts before Ryan. One Gedd, two Hork-Bajir, and one other human, a teen that had been an involuntary host as well, one that managed to free himself the only way he could in the cage, by death. After what felt like an eternity the Yeerk receded out of Ryan’s mind, shriveled up on the cold desert ground. For the first time in forever Ryan laughed, he was free.

It wasn’t until morning that a trucker would pull off and pick Ryan up, that was the true birth of Ryan the free man, and the final nail in James the Controller’s coffin. That was the start of his hitchhiking to Los Santos, ignoring the news of the search for James Ryan Haywood. He stayed low in the city. Always wearing something to obscure his face, no use in someone actually recognizing him, even worse if it would be a controller.

It was no surprise he was mistaken as a hitman, with the whole paranoia and face hiding thing. It was a surprise that Ryan actually went along with it. Maybe it was the fact he had seen too many deaths in his time as a controller that he was numb to it all, maybe a lingering malicious will of the yeerk that controlled him, or, most terrifyingly, maybe he had always had the capability and willingness. But becoming a hitman was a blessing as much as it cursed him. It gave him more freedom, It made it so when he killed a high level controller the Yeerks didn’t think it was a Yeerk thing but a human thing. So he passed the years like that, picking off the controllers he could, making money off his kills.

Then the Fake AH Crew formed. He was sent an invite, a nice little postcard in his mail from one Geoff Ramsey. At first he panicked. Then he decided if this was somehow Yeerk related it would be best to play along right? Thankfully for him it wasn’t yeerk related. It was a bonafide crew, a gang of criminals. Yet as time drawled on in the crew became more and more of a dysfunctional family. Then the day came when they all died, but at the same time they didn’t. They all came back. Some, like Gavin, were up almost instantly, but others, Ryan, took hours to repair the damage. When Ryan did come back it was full of panic and wondering if Hell was home, which of course causes Geoff to laugh. Ryan gets a welcome to Immortality speech (distantly Ryan is glad that he’s yeerk free, the things the yeerks would have done to him if they knew he was immortal). After that the crew gets closer, due to their immortal status and that the more elder ones finally having people who wouldn’t die in fifty years for the first time in centuries, if not millennia.

Ryan went soft, he had relaxed. Most days he only lounged around the penthouse in simple face paint. It had been a mistake. A grave mistake. Geoff started going off on more and more ‘meetings’ spending little to no time in the penthouse for a month. Then one night the lads didn’t come home. There were reports of a meteor hitting Mount Chilliad (Ryan doubted it was a meteor, it was probably a bug ship that malfunctioned). Ryan just hoped the lads hadn’t gone to it, but knowing them and the fact they weren’t home made Ryan anxious. Jack tried to calm Ryan down, telling him that the lads probably were just drunk and that’s why they weren’t answering their phones.

Then they came home, looking ragged as hell, scorch marks on their clothes. They were full of anxious nerves, distrust showing in their eyes as they looked at the gents, like they were expecting them to attack. Then they asked a damning question.

“So, what do you think of the existence of Aliens?” Gavin asked, the calmest of the lads. Then again Gavin was a grifter, more than a century poured into his craft. But the reactions were imminent in the crew. Ryan froze, flashbacks to Epslin 413 and his time as a controller rearing his ugly head. Ryan wasn’t the only one to react though. Geoff had frozen as well, staring the lads down, expression unreadable.

“Why do you ask Gavin?” Jack asked, genuinely confused. Ryan glanced at Jack, of course she doesn’t know. Ryan was willing to bet Jack had never knowingly interacted with a controller before. Ryan went to drop a retort when he saw Geoff reaching for something out of the corner of his eye, his heart turned to ice as he saw what it was. A Dracon Ray. Ryan didn’t think, he just acted. He leapt for Geoff, wrestling the blaster away, dimly he was aware of the Lads yelling, but adrenaline was high in Ryan’s veins. Geoff was a controller. God knows for how long. In the end Ryan won and was holding the alien gun, pointing it at Geoff’s head, snarl on his lips. The room was silent, the lads recognizing the blaster as alien, and immediately were on edge, reaching for their own weapons.

“Yeerk Fucker.” Michael growled, eyes darting from Ryan to Geoff, trying to figure out who the Yeerk was. Ryan could feel himself shake, but stayed focused on Geoff, the one confirmed Yeerk in the room.

“Bet you can’t even work that.” The Yeerk growled out. Ryan barked out a laugh, deftly armed the blaster from years of practice ingrained in his muscle memory.

“Oh don’t I? These haven’t changed since I was a controller.” Ryan said darkly. The Yeerk inhabiting Geoff twisted his friend’s face into a sneer.

“There are no cases of Hosts getting free.”

“My enslaver was Epslin-413. I was used with the intention of working IT and working my way up in a promising company. ‘I’ had to drive through the Arizona desert from one town to the next for a job. The Yeerk was supposed to go to the Yeerk Pool in the small city after the job was done to recharge there. Fortunately for me my car broke down. No one came along that road, not till the fugue set in and Epslin 413 was long dead. I am James Ryan Haywood. I faked my death to escape you parasites, today you will get a small taste of the helplessness you put my friend in.” Ryan growled out, glancing to the Lads.

“Lockdown, three days. No one leaves or enters the penthouse.” Ryan said, voice hard.

“Yes, yeah. Lockdown. Force the Yeerk in Geoff into a fugue. But uh. I have to get one person and we need to explain ourselves.” Gavin said, dashing to the elevator. Ryan bit his lip, wanting to go after him, but the possibility of Geoff Yeerk getting Free was too much to risk. So Ryan tied Geoff down, and Jeremy tied Jack down. Jack was confused, but was willing enough while Geoff thrashed about, causing Michael to have to hold the older gent down.

By the time Geoff was tied down Gavin was back, with someone who looked very very similar to Trevor, if Trevor wasn’t white. The clothes he was wearing were ill fitting, obviously not his own, and he didn’t even have shoes. The new Guy was looking around before zeroing in on the thrashing controller and then looking at Ryan and the Dracon Ray.

“So that’s the former Controller! Hi I’m Alfredo, not my real name but I like that name much better than my birth name. I’m an andalite and I’m here to help!” He said, then to prove his point he started morphing, ripping and shredding the clothes on his body as he went from ethnic Trevor to alien centaur with stalk eyes. Ryan was immediately at attention, memories of Visser Three flooding his mind.

“Andalite.” Ryan said, nodding to the alien.

“Okay. Story Time on what we did last night.” Gavin said, clearing his voice.

“So last night we were fucking around on Mount Chilliad. We met Trevor up there, he was doing some space stuff. We started fucking around, planning shenanigans. Then the ship fell. We of course checked it out, thinking we could snag some cool military grade shit and then gtfo. It was an Andalite ship. Inside was Alfredo and Elfangor. Elfangor was badly wounded, he was dying. Alfredo was in much better shape. Elfangor told us about the Yeerks, gave us some psychic images of them and imprinted some data of the yeerks in our minds. Then he gave us this.” Gavin nodded to Jeremy, who produced a glowing blue box that had Yeerk Geoff’s eyes bugging out.

“The Escafil Device. Or as we’ve been calling it, the Blue Cube. He. He gave us the morphing ability and told us to take Alfredo and run. We did. Visser Three, he was arriving as we were sneaking away. We heard him kill Elfangor. We ran, once we reached our car we realized we were fucked. Couldn’t take them down. And we couldn’t walk about with a blue horse thing. Alfredo, he did some fancy shenanigans and acquired us all and made his own human morph. So began our two hour at a time trek back home after putting Alfredo in a spare set of Michael’s work out clothes. We eventually got home, told Alfredo to wait in the garage, and well you know the rest.” Gavin said.

“Where’s Trevor then?” Jack asked, frown on her face.

<Glad you asked that oh friend of mine.> A voice buzzed in their heads, sounding like Trevor. In a few seconds a fly began enlarging and becoming more and more human like, grotesquely morphing into one Trevor Collins.

“Put your clothes on.” Michael huffed, tossing some clothes to the stark naked man.

“We’ll have to figure out clothes that go with our morphs.” Gavin muttered as Trevor pulled on his clothes.

<Later. Right now is making sure your gent friends are free of any and all Yeerk infestations.> The andalite Thought spoke.

“Are we tying up Ryan too or?” Jeremy trailed off, not looking like he particularly wanted to. Probably didn't help that he was still holding the blaster. Ryan disarmed it and gently set it far away from Geoff.

“If you want, it’s fine. I understand.” Being a previous host he really could understand.

<I think he’ll be fine. Besides what are the odds he overpowers all five of us?> Alfredo responded, causing Jeremy to snort.

“Pretty damn high. Ryan’s our resident murder hobo.” Jeremy said, causing Ryan to huff and mutter am not.

<What’s a Murder Hobo?>

The three days followed a semi strict schedule, Alfredo took the night shift guard with Ryan. Then Michael or Jeremy would relieve them when the sun rose and tell them to sleep. They wouldn't and would linger about till Gavin and Trevor took over at noon as well as feeding. Jack was always cooperative while Yeerk Geoff was as much of a bastard as possible. Then six hours would go by and whichever of Gavin or Jeremy didn’t take morning took night till twelve am in which another feeding would happen with difficulty. Then at Midnight Alfredo and Ryan took over. Over and Over again.

Till the fugue started for Yeerk Geoff. Then it was all hands on deck. While Alfredo hung back, the crew was there to help Geoff through it. Ryan repeatedly apologising to Geoff. He knew what it was like to go through the fugue, the hell of pain that came with it. Not once did Ryan leave Geoff’s side. When Geoff went limp and the Yeerk slug slid out of Geoff’s ear and shrivelled up, only then did Ryan let himself relax.

“You made it Geoff.” He said gently.

“Just barely. God, you went through that too?” Geoff asked, voice hoarse after the Yeerk used it to yell and rage for so long before giving up.

“Yeah. Fun times.” Ryan huffed out, causing Geoff to bark out a laugh as Gavin undid his bindings.

“Super fun.” He drawled out.

“So what next?” He asked

“We wait one more day for Jack, sorry Jack. And as long as she’s clear, we pass off the ability to morph to you three and we start planning a guerilla war?” Jeremy said, the last part coming out more as a question than statement. Ryan nodded at that. Made sense to do it all at once, and to make sure Jack wasn’t harboring a well fed Yeerk.

“Immortality and shapeshifting? We’re going to be set for eternity boys. Good thing Thelon 1111 was a greedy bitch and didn’t want to give up an immortal hist to a sub visser or visser.” Geoff said, causing Trevor to gasp and Alfredo to be taken aback.

<Immortals, that is impossible> “What, y'all are immortal too?” Alfredo’s denial and Trevor’s excitement overlapped as they were both said at the same time.

“Respawn of Six minutes.” Gavin said proudly.

“Damn son. I only have a respawn of two hours.” Trevor huffed out. Ryan stayed back as the others began arguing with Alfredo over this, the andalite refusing to believe such a thing. Until Gavin shrugged and shot Michael in the head. Thankfully Michael was a fast healer and the wound was already stitching itself up, shocking Alfredo to silence as Geoff ranted about killing in the house. This was his home, his family. For the first time since he regained his Freedom Ryan felt strong, felt powerful, like he was more than just a pawn in some galactic game of chess. He would be able to fight these bastards once and for all. The Yeerks thought James Ryan Haywod was dead. They were dead wrong.

[islamic-connection]

Connecting with Salah Part 2: The Blessings of understanding the Salah

                                                  بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

Niyah for salah: “Oh Allah I am making … rakaahs of (fardh/sunnah/nafl/witr/) salaahtul (tahajjud/haajaat/istikhaara etc) for your pleasure, facing qiblah”. It is well known with any religious act, that it is the intention that reaches Allah, and not the act. This is mentioned in the quraan, regarding qurbani: 'Their meat will not reach Allah, nor will their blood, but what reaches Him is piety from you' (Quran 22:37). What you are doing is reading Arabic words from the quraan, on a prayer mat and physically moving up and down. This is the outwardly act. The inward intention is only known to you and Allah. So if Allah is All-Knowing of your intention, why the need to say it out? Because the mere mentioning of the words “for your pleasure Allah” is a strong and solid reminder of what our intention behind all our acts should be. You might say that your intention in performing salah is to enter Jannah. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this, however this intention shifts the focus only on what is in it for you, instead of where the focus should be: seeking the pleasure of Allah, always and in all things. Allah is completely self-sufficient and requires nothing tangible from us. But what little you give through your sincere intentions will earn you manifold rewards on this earth and in the Hereafter. Therefore, start with making your intention for salah that you would like to earn Allah’s favour, but to do it with Ikhlaas (sincerity) you have to mean it. You cannot say it with your tongue, while picturing your palace in Jannah, ignoring the Only One who can grant you Jannah, let alone the palace.

Next, recite Allahu-Akbar. If I asked you what this meant, what would you say?

A)    Allah is Great

B)    Allah is Greater

C)    Allah is the Greatest

If you answered ‘B’, you would be correct. The Arabic word for ‘Great’ is عظيم (‘atheem’), the Arabic word for ‘Greatest’ is أعظم (‘A’tham). The word أكبر means ‘Greater’ or ‘Better’. Google it if you don’t believe me. Yes, الله أعظم (“Allah is the greatest), however in the context of beginning your salah, going into rukooh, going into sujood, getting up from sujood, standing back up and so forth, we say الله أكبر (“Allah is greater…than all your worldly pursuits, your worldly thoughts and concerns or your desire of Jannah.”) When you hear الله أكبر at the start and end of the Athaan, this means “Allah is greater than your business, your employment, your TV show, your cooking, your studying, your travelling.” Because Allah is. Without Allah’s blessings and bounty, you would have none of the things you hold so dear. Allah is greater than any material thing you could imagine. So leave what you are doing and go to salah.

When the Imaam says الله أكبر it is like a general calling his soldiers to attention, for the reason why they have gathered. Servant, you are here because Allah is greater than anything your mind can conceive. The repeated refrain throughout salaah is meant to draw your drifting attention span back to Allah. For although your worries and anxieties are weighing heavily on you, Allah is greater than them. Your sneakers are nicer than any of the other shoes on the rack in the masjid, but Allah is Greater than your ego.

Next, recite the Qiyaam du’aa: سُبْـحانَكَ اللّهُـمَّ وَبِحَمْـدِكَ وَتَبارَكَ اسْمُـكَ وَتَعـالى جَـدُّكَ وَلا إِلهَ غَيْرُك                                                                   Which means: “Glory be to Allah and praise be to Allah, Your name is Exhalted, and there is no God other than You.” As mentioned in a previous post, any supplication must begin with glorifying and praising Allah as He deserves.

Next, after reciting بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم (which many believe is actually part of Surah Fatiha) one has to recite Surah Fatiha, a fardh of salah which, if absent, will nullify your salah.

Let’s look at a short tafseer of Surahtul Fatiha (The Opening of the Quraan). This short surah encapsulates all the guidance and wisdom required to be a Believer, a Submitter.

I seek Allah’s Protection from Shaytaan the accursed, In the name of Allah the Beneficent, The Merciful.

Verse 1: “All praise is due to Allah, Lord of the Worlds.” Ruler, King, Master of the infinite universe whose dimensions are unfathomable. Every star, every planet, every moon, every comet, every meteor, and the vast lightyears between them, and all the living things that dwell on them.

Verse 2: “The Beneficent, The Most Merciful.” Beneficent means Generous, or One who brings about good. Everything you have is a result of Allah’s Generosity to His Creation. There is no other more merciful than Allah, who has more mercy than even your mother does. There is no sin, besides shirk that Allah cannot forgive. It is a sin to assume that Allah cannot forgive you, as this means that you deny one of Allah’s most important attributes.

Verse 3: “Master of the Day of Judgement.” This verse serves to remind us of the Appointed Day that is to come, and the fear that we should have regarding what state we will be in when that day approaches. Additionally, it teaches us that only Allah is Master of the Appointed Day, the arrival of which only Allah is aware of. The Angel Israfeel stands waiting for Allah’s instruction to blow the metaphoric horn to signify that the Appointed Day has arrived. The swelling of the sun, the crumbling of mountains, the resurrection of the dead will all take place at Allah’s will. Judgement of what is right and wrong, good deeds and the bad, is in Allah’s hands. This reminds us that if we wish to reach the Appointed Day in a good state, we should do what pleases the Master, and not mere mortals or our own egos. Surah Ar Rahmaan says that all creation shall perish, and all that will remain is the divine countenance of our Lord.

Verse 4: “You alone do we worship, and You alone do we ask for help.” This verse is a strong reminder to refrain from shirk or anything that comes dangerously close to it. Allah is Omnipotent, Omnipresent and easily accessible (as close to you as your jugular vein). Surah Al Inshirah states: “At the end of the day when your activities are done, stand in prayer and direct your longing to your Lord.” There are no intermediaries between Allah and His creation. Do not pray for any doctor to cure you, but take the medication and ask Allah (Ash Shaafi) to cure you. Do not pray to empty coffins or pictures of saints for their intercession on your behalf. The verse is so simple and easy to understand, with no room for grey areas.

Verse 5: “Show us the straight path.” Do you know what the amazing thing about salah is? Allah had already showed us the straight path some 1400 years ago, when the quraan was revealed and the hadeeth were taught to muslims. After you recite Surahtul Fatiha, the very next surah you read is a direct answer from Allah to this plee for guidance, a lamp in the darkness. Alhamdulillah! It means “Oh Allah, show me the path to your door!” “Oh Allah, my love for You is the bridge, and my good deeds are the bricks on the straight path which my feet can walk on to Your door!” “Oh Allah do not turn me away from Your Door, because You have never and never will give up on us.” “Oh Allah, do not let my fear of You be an obstacle in the straight path to your Door, but rather the ores at my side, the wind in my sails.”

Verse 6: “Not the path of those who earn Your anger, nor of those who go astray.” Again, the quraan is full of surahs that mention which sins earn the wrath of Allah, and so are the volumes of hadeeth on every topic imaginable. The images of Pharoah (the Prophet Moses’s adopted brother), Abu Lahab and his wife come to mind. Those who oppress the ones who are dependent on them in some form out of a sense of power. Those who transgress against those who have a right over them. Those who oppress the Awliyah (beloved of Allah), those who disbelieve in Allah, and those who attribute partners to Allah. Ego is akin to shirk, if one believes that they are self-sufficient in all their needs. We pray that Allah makes clear to us what causes His anger and protects us from being among them.

AAMEEN

Next, you read a 2nd surah. There are a multitude of tafseer available for every surah in the quraan, which explain the circumstances in which the surah was revealed as well as the exact transliteration, however here are some surahs that most of us know and recite in our salah, as well as a brief transliteration. This might help guide you as to which surah to follow Surah Fatiha with based on your particular need.

Surah Ikhlaas – A brief surah which reminds you of Allah’s Oneness and self-sufficiency. This surah is good for quelling one’s ego or any feelings that you are all you need to fulfil your own desires.

Surahtul Falaq – A short surah that which invokes Allah’s protection from black magic and the evil energy cast on you by someone who envies you.

Surahtun Naas – A short surah which invokes Allah’s protection from the unseen evil from that which Allah created. That does not mean that Allah created evil, or evil situations to throw you in, but rather that He created all creatures with the potential for great good, and great evil, and with this surah we ask Him for protection from evil from among men and jin-kind.

Surahtul Kaafiroon – A short surah invoking Allah’s protection from the disbelievers, and the persecution they might inflict on those who believe. Right wing white-supremacy comes to mind. However, this surah also teaches us tolerance. “To them is their religion, and to me is mine”.

Surahtul Kauthar – A surah that reminds you that Allah is the source of all your abundance, and that he deserves a kingly sacrifice for all of the abundance that He provides. Lastly in it, Allah tells our Nabi (PBUH) that his enemies will have no posterity. Their hatred of him ended when they died. A lot of our Nabi (PBUH)’s enemies had children who were devout muslims. Today, 1400 years later, there are over a billion muslims in the world. This shows that your enemies will not have an eternal impact on your life. The good that you leave behind on this earth as muslims will endure. Your enemies will not.

Surah An Nasr (Ithaa jaa…) – This surah talks about the conquest of Makkah, and the multitude of people who became muslims. Over 1 billion muslims in the world, from a handful 1400 years ago. When you read this surah, be thankful that Allah granted the muslims conquest over the Quraish so that it could grow wings and fly, or take root and grow, instead of being cut down in its youth. Remember the struggle that our Nabi (PBUH) and all his companions endured in order for us to reach the straight path. He (PBUH) carried all one billion of us on his back, and will continue to do so till the day of Judgement.

Surah Al Masad – This surah talks about Abu Lahab and his wife, and are a clear example of those who earn Allah’s wrath and who go astray.

Surah Maa’oon – This is the surah of small kindness. It relates the punishment for those who pray, or do good deeds, only to make a spectacle of them in front of others. They are the ones who pray without sincerity, turn away the poor and orphaned and withhold small kindnesses. Another reminder of those who are not on the straight path.

Surah Al ‘Asr – This is such a short but beautiful reminder of mental darkness. ‘Asr means dusk, but not in the literal sense. As mental and emotional dusk settles, we realise that we are at a loss. Yet in this surah Allah shows us how we can climb out of this darkness. Perhaps this surah also means that at the breaking of dusk, when we reflect on how we spent our waking hours, we are at a loss for accounting for the time.

Surah Al Takaathur – There are many authentic hadeeth that report that one must think that death will soon be upon them every time they pray (as it might likely be). This surah talks about how worldly competition diverts us, until we visit graveyards, and only then do we truly understand how much benefit such competition and diversion has accumulated for us.

Surah Ad Duhaa – This surah was revealed to the Nabi (SAW) when he went through a long period of time without any revelation from Allah, which made the Kuffaar doubt the authenticity of his claim to be Prophet. This surah was sent as a comfort to our Nabi (SAW) that he was not forsaken by Allah at any point, and a reminder of how Allah found him (PBUH) lost and guided him, or found him (PBUH) orphaned and provided for him. It was a reminder to do the same for other orphans and lost/misguided. Weren’t we all lost or misguided at some point in our lives? Has Allah not guided us all? Insha Allah, you find these posts to be guiding in some form or the other.

Surah Al Inshirah – This surah goes hand in hand with Ad Duhaa. It is another du’aa for those who feel forsaken. It talks of how Allah cleansed his (PBUH) heart and raised his reputation in this world and the Hereafter for him. This surah is particularly powerful when one feels distanced from Allah, by one’s own doing. Allah reminds you that He has never forsaken you. Turn to him and he will come flooding into your heart and mind. Allah tells us that with every hardship is ease, side by side, hand in hand, and not one after the other. In every difficulty, Allah has sent a means of ease to make the burden easier to bear. He asks that when you have completed all your tasks and chores for the day, that you turn to Baitullah and direct your longing to Him alone.

There is an exhaustive list, but these are just some of the shorter surahs which I like to use, that can relate to a lot of forms of guidance that I tend to need. This is why knowledge of the tafseer is of the utmost importance when it comes to understanding your salah better.

Again, the refrain of “Allah is Greater” than all my problems and needs. We move into rukooh which is a bow and utter the words “Subhaana Rabbiyal Atheem” (Glory be to Allah. My Lord, The Greatest). Then almost as if inspired and emboldened by Allah’s love and mercy, we rise proudly again with the words “Sami’allahu liman hamida” (Allah hears the one who praises Him) and “Rabbanaa walakal hamd” (Oh my Rabb, Praise is Yours.”). There can be no doubt that Allah hears the supplication of the one who appeals to Him, and will grant him or her what He deems is right, when He deems that the time is right.

Allahu Akbar – Allah is greater than you, and does not need your praise, but deserves it for all the blessings He has given you.

Next to bring yourself as low to the ground in prostration to your Rabb as is physically possible. Down on the ground eyes closed, recite “Subhaana rabbiyal a’laa” (Glory be to our Rabb, whose Greatness is incomprehensible). While down on the ground, eyes closed, let your mind get lost trying to comprehend Allah’s greatness. Picture every star, every stunning nebula, the rings of Saturn, the Giant swirling Storm on Jupiter, the vast solar flares as they leave the sun’s surface. Before you know it you realise that you lost yourself in a one or even two minute long sujood. Then we recite rabbighfirlee warhamdi (Oh my Rabb, forgive me and have mercy on me). Then back into sujood. Next contemplate the atom which has infinitesimal electrons circling equally minute protons. Picture the tiniest ant underground to the largest whale in the seas. Picture the serene snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas and the deep trenches of the ocean where the strangest and most mysterious creatures live. Think of the human heart and how it channels oxygen to your entire body, think of the mysterious mind and all of the secrets it holds, think of the kidneys and the tiny mechanisms that filter out impurities from our blood. Think of the tiny white blood cells that protect you from foreign invaders. Allah is the Master of everything on the earth and in the skies, in the heavens and underground. Allah is Master of all that is seen and unseen. Trust me, when you master this, you will never want to get up from sujood.

Tashahud (Compliments/Salutations)

التَّحِيَّاتُ لِلّٰهِ وَالصَّلَوَاتُ وَالطَّيِّبَاتُ، اَلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكَ أَيُّهَا النَّبِيُّ وَرَحْمَةُ اللهِ وَبَرَكَاتُهُ، اَلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْنَا وَ عَلٰى عِبَادِ اللهِ الصَّالِحِيْنَ، أَشْهَدُ أَنْ لَا إِلٰهَ إِلَّا اللهُ، وَأَشْهَدُ أَنَّ مُحَمَّدًا عَبْدُهُ وَ رَسُوْلُهُ

 "Salutations to God and prayers and good deeds. Peace be upon you, O Prophet, and the mercy of God and his blessings. Peace be on us and on the righteous servants of God. I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, and I bear witness that Muhammad is His servant and His messenger." This is the Hanafi and Hanbali Tashahud. The Shaafi version differs slightly in the first line, as follows: لتحيات المباركات الصلوات الطيبات لله ("Blessed salutations, prayers and good deeds to God).

Al Nawawi said that the sunnah was to point your finger in the direction of the qiblah during Shahadahm and intend when pointing to affirm the Oneness of Allaah and exclusive devotion to Him.  

Next we recite a durood of our choice, most preferably Durood-e-Ibraheem which, according to an Al-Bukhaari narration, the Nabi (PBUH) instructed his followers to recite, including the salutations and blessings upon himself (PBUH) and his family. According to a scholar Ibnu al-Mulaqqan, Aa’isha (RA) stated that the Nabi (SAW) would end his witr salaah with prayers upon the Prophet of Allah.

One might send salutations to all the Umbiyaa (AS), but there are so many to recount that it would take a long time. Therefore we send blessings and salutations to Khaleelullah (AS) and Habeebullah (PBUH).

Lastly, the salaah is completed with a duaa for forgiveness. A common one used is outlined in the picture below. It means: “O Allah, I have wronged myself greatly and no one forgives sins but You, so grant me forgiveness from You and have mercy on me, for You are the Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful”. Asking for forgiveness is not a meaningless task that we perform in salah. It is an exercise is humility and self-awareness. The opportunity to ask Allah for forgiveness is greater than any of us can imagine. Therefore, dig deep and be honest with yourself when you say these words to Allah. There is no need to profess your sins to the world. They should remain between you and Allah, but you should confess them to him in these humble moments, with sincerity. The path to forgiveness involves the promise to never do the sin again and to ask Allah to keep you steadfast in this promise. Without owning up to your sins, how can you promise never to do them again, and hence be forgiven?

This concludes the post on connecting with salah. There was no sunnah regarding du’aa after salaah, however this is a personal du’aa between you and Allah. Sufficient durood and praise of Allah is done during salaah, however du’aas such as Aayatul Qursi are good to end off your salaah, as well as the following du’aas:

رَبَّنَا تَقَبَّلْ مِنَّا إِنَّكَ أَنْتَ السَّمِيعُ العَلِيمُ - Oh my Rabb, accept this service from me. For Thou art the All-Hearing, the All-Knowing.

رَبَّنَا آتِنَا فِي الدُّنْيَا حَسَنَةً وَفِي الآخِرَةِ حَسَنَةً وَقِنَا عَذَابَ النَّارِ - Our Lord! Grant us good in this world and good in the hereafter, and save us from the chastisement of the fire.

 رَبَّنَا لاَ تُزِغْ قُلُوبَنَا بَعْدَ إِذْ هَدَيْتَنَا وَهَبْ لَنَا مِن لَّدُنكَ رَحْمَةً إِنَّكَ أَنتَ الْوَهَّابُ - Our Lord! Let not our hearts deviate now after Thou hast guided us, but grant us mercy from Thine own Presence; for Thou art the Grantor of bounties without measure.

 رَبَّنَا ظَلَمْنَا أَنفُسَنَا وَإِن لَّمْ تَغْفِرْ لَنَا وَتَرْحَمْنَا لَنَكُونَنَّ مِنَ الْخَاسِرِينَ - Our Lord! We have wronged our own souls: If thou forgive us not and bestow not upon us Thy Mercy, we shall certainly be lost.

 I hope this was beneficial. In the beginning I printed a lot of these supplications using large font and put them on my musallah as I read salah. Initially you would need to look at them to get the meanings, and your salah will take a bit longer, because you have to ponder over the meaning once you’ve read the Arabic, but eventually the English translation flows through your mind as the Arabic words leave your tongue.

 May this post be beneficial Insha Allah.

[darkzorua100]

Playmaker won, Bohman lost, Bohman used Storm Access in a Master Duel (f*ck off) and the episode ends with Playmaker and Soulburner having to log out (really f*ck off).

*long annoyed sigh* Really I should have known better for who was going to end up winning this duel but seriously Vrains? The amount of bullsh*t you are having these characters do nowadays is really getting ridiculous. Bit and Boot having two Skills I can understand since they are two people (still cheating though), Soulburner beating Go because of a scripting error happens every once in a while in a Yu-Gi-Oh series but it is still cheating, Soulburner pulling freaking Super Poly out of his ass is just bad writing all together but Bohman using a Skill, not just any skill, Playmaker’s skill of all things, in a Master Duel, really takes the cake. I love how they don’t even try and explain how he can even do that. And then there was the ending to this whole mess with the whole place glitching out which forced Playmaker and Soulburner to leave. So like Ghost Girl and Blue Girl’s mission, this whole thing was completely pointless. I knew there was no way in hell they were going to allow them to continue on. If they did, they would meet up with their boss and it is to soon to reveal who that person is. This really is just lazy writing. If they seriously wanted them to be forced out, Playmaker should have just lost with Soulburner rescuing him before he could have been captured or something!

I’m sorry for my rant but the duel and the ending to this episode sucked. I just wanted to get that out of the way before I talked about the things I did like about this episode. If you take out the bad parts, it was actually pretty good plot wise since we got a few things revealed and foreshadowed in this episode.

This is my baby. I claim evil little Yusaku as my own. I really wish I knew how to freaking work Photoshop. I would turn this image of Yusaku into Dark Signer!Yusaku in a matter of seconds.

But no seriously, I loved this scene. Like we all know Bohman is lying, regardless of the fact that he thinks he is telling the truth, but I felt so bad for the “real” Yusaku during this. Just to have your life completely stolen from you by a clone is bad enough but for the clone to turn around and smile like that had to be the final nail in the coffin. 

And the thing about this whole thing is that even after this duel was over and done with, we still don’t have a definitive answer if the Yusaku we have been watching for a year now is a clone of the real one of not. The same can be said with the rest of the children and that’s what I find so interesting. Playmaker also said something that I feel like is foreshadowing something major down the line.

“If someone can imprint fake memories. there’s a chance my memories were replaced too.”

This duel might have been stupid but it really has introduced something amazing. We honestly can’t trust anyone. Anyone in this show could have had their memories altered or replaced at some point or another and they wouldn’t even know it. Add in the cloning subplot to the Hanoi Project and it really brings into question who is telling the truth of not. Ai said it himself. You can’t check to know if someone’s memories are fake or not. Brings a whole new meaning to a “Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing” huh? This really can lead to some amazing plot twists if this is done right.

And then my favorite part of the episode, pretty sure everyone’s favorite part of the episode from what I’ve been seeing, baby Datstormshipping meeting! Holy crap, Kogami you asshole! I knew you were an asshole before but you seriously even used Ryoken as your way to kidnap these kids?! I admit, that is a smart way of doing it but wow. I have to make some major changes to Nemesis now great -_- Also, Yusaku is smart so how the heck did he not put two and two together sooner when it came to who Ryoken actually was because of this? The Stockholm Syndrome was clouding his mind apparently (guess Yusaku and Spectre have more in common then we thought). Anyway, if this is anything to go by, Ryoken has met all of the kids and really is the one responsible for the Hanoi Project beginning in the first place. Wow, Kusanagi is really going to murder Ryoken now. Then there is Takeru and oh boy...okay seriously, Ryoken is back in the picture. Revolver vs Soulburner when?

I also love how I was right on the money when I said that Yusaku was going to use Ryoken as a way to prove that Bohman was full of sh*t. 

Playmaker: Okay, if you are me, who kidnapped us?

Bohman: Dr. Kogami of course!

Playmaker: Yeah, you are a fake. It was my boyfriend.

Bohman: You mean my boyfriend?

Playmaker: ...

Ai: Oh you shouldn’t have said that...

*Playmaker perceives to murder Bohman with Cyberse Clock Dragon*

Tell me this wasn’t what happened XD

Then we have the preview and holy crap, the males in the Knights look like they are apart of a boy band in this shot LMAO That is amazing. Just walking into the prison like they own the place. At least Ryoken is. 

I’m really glad that this actually isn’t in a Link Vrains’ prison. We need more real life action, especially from the Knights. Hopefully we get to learn Spectre and Genome’s real names during this episode as well. Also I find it interesting that Yusaku said in the preview that “Revolver is making his move” so could this be hinting at a Yusaku and Ryoken reunion at the end of this episode or will Yusaku just learn about the breakout? If so, what will he do with this info? His group still needs to rescue Jin but it makes me wonder if Yusaku is going to insist on going after Ryoken first which will also cause some cracks to form between him and Kusanagi if the end of today’s episode hasn’t already. 

Oh I can’t wait for next week. As much as I hope for that Datastormshipping reunion, the thing I really want to see happen is the Knights kicking some ass and especially Ryoken holding someone at gun point. You can’t just name the guy “Revolver” and give him gun dragons and not have him go nuts during a prison break. 

[siverwrites]

Rising

Part 2 of Fallen here. Now departing into its own AU and running out of my control

Part 3 here

It wasn’t a large crowd gathering in the cemetery for Jowd’s funeral, but it felt too large for Alma to want to face now. For the moment they were only blank faces in her mind, in the way of finding the only one she wanted to see right now.

She hadn’t heard from Cabanela in the past several days and he continued to ignore his phone, but today – he had to be here today.

They had keys to each other’s places and as each day passed it became a struggle not to barge in even as she felt her energy for a potential fight dwindling. She told herself that maybe the space was good. She told herself he’d come around. She told herself it wouldn’t last. He would be here today.

He was never easy to miss, yet now was only conspicuous in his absence. Her hands tightened around the handle of Kamila’s carrier. Surely, surely he wouldn’t avoid this. He couldn’t. He said he’d see her. But that didn’t mean here, said a treacherous little thought. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

She stepped back, scanning the crowd and backed into someone who steadied her. She whirled around, clutching Kamila close and met the kindly face of the Justice Minister.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed.

“No, no I should have been paying more attention.”

Another voice rang out, rich and slightly louder than necessary.

“There you are my dear!”

Emma rapidly approached and gently set down a carrier of her own. “Go back to sleep, my sweet Amelie.”

Alma set Kamila down just in time for Emma to catch her in a large embrace. “Oh darling, I’m so sorry!” She pulled back, but held Alma’s shoulders and looked her over. “Oh my poor dear, you look dreadful. If you need anything at all don’t hesitate for a moment to come to us.” She nodded down at Kamila and Amelie. “That includes looking after our little angels anytime.”

“Thank you… thank you,” Alma said but found herself looking past Emma, still searching.

Emma eyed her shrewdly. “You seem distracted.”

“I just… have you seen Cabanela?”

“I’m afraid not. Have you, dear?”

The Justice Minister shook his head. “I’m sorry, no.” He gave Alma a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Those two were inseparable.”

“That’s what worries me,” Alma murmured. She pulled away from Emma and picked up Kamila. “Thank you, I mean it, but if you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course. Go and seek him out!” Emma said with a wave of her hands. “If he doesn’t come you let me know. We’ll sort him out.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Alma said with a frail smile before hurrying away.

She found herself at the outskirts and there was still no sign of him. Kamila woke up with a small yawn, blinked and started to cry. Alma put down the carrier immediately and picked her up, cradling her in her arms. To her relief it was enough and she settled quietly. It was more difficult to fight back the urge to sit down right there on the grass and start crying herself. She hugged Kamila close instead.

The crowd was gathering around the chairs. Alma slowly picked up the carrier one handed still cradling Kamila and headed back. She searched the crowd desperately and felt a surge of anger and despair. He wasn’t here. He didn’t come.

Emma waved her over and she went to the couple in a daze, taking a seat beside her. Emma patted the back of her hand.

He didn’t come.

She tried to listen, but she felt caught in a muffled sort of fog that made everything blur around her. It was unreal, sitting here, cradling Kamila – the only piece of her world that felt real – without Him sitting by her. No sparkling blue eyes over that big beard of his, no strong arm around her. His warm tones, his comforting and calm presence, his booming laugh… No terrible jokes spoken only for her ears; she knew, she knew he would have something to say here and then she found herself smiling despite herself at the thought.

She realized someone was saying her name.

“Alma,” Emma said.

“Wh-what?”

“We’re waiting for you.”

Waiting…? She blinked and pulled herself back together. That’s right; she was going to say a few words. Gods what was she planning? What was she thinking? Kamila wriggled in her arms.

“O-oh I um… I,” she stammered and held Kamila out to Emma. “Can you take her?”

“Of course!”

There was a brief flurry of activity and soothing as Kamila started to get fussy in Emma’s arms then Alma found herself in front. Her gaze passed over the crowd before settling on Kamila. Their daughter. A piece of him was still here.

She’d rehearsed the words she wanted to say so many times over the past few days. It had become an odd sort of distraction – and a comfort in the memories they contained. They spilled out automatically now until she finished with a quiet thank you. She stepped down and only then noticed she was shaking.

She took Kamila back and found herself sinking into the fog again. A dug grave. A coffin. Too many people passing on their condolences. The crowd departing. Another hug from Emma.

And he never came.

“Emma?” Alma asked. “I’m sorry, but can you take Kamila for a little while and drop me off at home? There’s something I have to do. I won’t be long.”

“You don’t even need to ask!” Emma exclaimed. She patted Alma’s shoulder and passed her a knowing look. “I’m quite certain he won’t know what hit him.”

“Thank you,” Alma said tightly.

She nearly threw herself out of the car when they parked in front of her house. She fumbled with the door and rushed in. A rummage through her drawer, not caring about the mess she left behind, and then she was dashing out again, key in hand.

How dare he?

Alma hammered on Cabanela’s door until her fist hurt. With a mixture of fear and anger she pulled out the key and jammed it into the lock, struggling through shaking hands to get the door open.

“Cabanela!” she called as she entered. There was no reply.

She checked his living room first. He wasn’t there, but she froze at the sight she did see. A picture she knew was of the three of them lay face down on his shelf. She cautiously stepped forward to get a better view of the more worrying image: broken glass on the floor in a pool of liquid that smelled of alcohol on approach. Bad enough that he must have dropped it, but to leave it like this?

She moved into the kitchen swallowing her worry at what she might find. He’d been drinking, but how much? His coffee pot was open and the bag of fine coffee he kept was beside it, but looked as though he’d abandoned it part way. A bottle of whiskey stood on the counter. She breathed out. There was enough there that he couldn’t have had too terribly much and some of that was on the floor. If that is the first bottle. She clamped down on the thought.

“Cabanela?” Was he even here?

Alma slipped into the hall and hesitantly peeked into his bedroom. Her heart sunk. He wasn’t there either. Her only uneasy comfort was that he had been, though not at all himself. His wardrobe was open and one of his suits lay in a heap in front.

She hugged herself. Had he intended to come after all? But where was he? Why didn’t he? Everything she saw replayed itself forming into images each growing worse than the last. What if he did drink himself into a stupor? What if he did leave and something happened on the way? What if he left, intending to distance himself entirely? What if he was ill or hurt or worse?

She shook herself and went back out into the hall. It was then she noticed his bathroom light was on and the door was open a crack.

“Cabanela, it’s Alma. Are you there?” Her hand hovered over the door and when no reply came she set her shoulders against the fear of what she might find and slowly pushed it open.

Cabanela was slumped against his tub by the toilet. Alma gasped. He looked terrible – his face was haggard as though he hadn’t eaten or slept properly in days, his hair a mess, clothing disheveled, and his hands lay limp against the tiles. Worst was the look in his eyes – hollow and lost. It was a look Alma had never seen before and desperately never wanted to see again.

She knelt in front of him. His glance flickered to her before returning to focus on nothing. She wondered if it was only reflex until he spoke in a voice that was too flat and far too restrained on him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Today was the day.”

“Yes.”

“I was worried.” Scared, angry, upset… “You never showed up.”

“Just as well,” he replied tonelessly.

She slapped him.

He stiffened and for a brief moment she felt a spark of bitter satisfaction at that small amount of life, but it was only a moment before he averted his eyes and went limp once more.

She gripped his shoulders. “Enough. You should have been there. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep avoiding me. You didn’t pull the trigger.”

“I left it,” he said in the same monotone she so furiously wanted to rip away.

“Jowd wouldn’t want this! And I know he’d,” a hysterical laugh escaped her. “I know he’d say as much, wrapped up in something entirely inappropriate I’m sure.”

Cabanela’s teeth clenched and his eyes squeezed shut.

Alma took a shuddering breath. “We love you. That hasn’t changed.”

His breath hissed out and his chest heaved. He shifted and suddenly pulled her in, arms wrapping tightly around her, desperately, as though suddenly afraid she would disappear.

“I…” he struggled to speak through uncontrolled breaths. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “I’m so… he’s… gone, he’s… Because I… how can you…?” He shuddered and the sob was unmistakeable.

Alma buried her face in his shirt. His arms trembled against her. She could hear his heart pounding a rapid beat in his chest, feel his gasps against her hair.

“I don’t blame you,” she said, trying to pour as much reassurance as she could into her voice even as her eyes welled up. “I’m here,” she added against her tears. “Together, we’ll face this together,” she whispered. “We’re here. We’re here, we’re here, we’re here,” she repeated like a mantra.

They held onto each other until their tears slowed and only then broke apart enough to look at one another. Alma scrubbed at her eyes before holding his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. She wiped away a stray tear with her thumb.

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

He stared at her then gave a jerky nod and covered one of her hands with his own. “I’m here,” he said quietly.

She let her hands drop, but he still held onto hers. “Will you…” she said haltingly. “Neither of us should be… with just Kamila and I, it’s…” she couldn’t finish. Hard felt like an understatement in the face of the constant expectation of seeing Jowd at every turn, of the long lonely nights, waking up or only getting up when she couldn’t sleep to a house that felt far too empty. She dreaded to think what she would do if she didn’t have Kamila.

She took a deep breath willing herself not to start crying all over again. “Will you stay with us for a while? Please…”

Cabanela searched her face as though expecting… what? Sudden accusations?  That she would suddenly change her mind? That there would be some kind of catch? Then his hand tightened around hers.

“I… Yes…” he said. It was only a shadow of his normal self in his tone when he continued, but Alma felt a surge of relief at the small token of familiarity. “I can’t let you have our newest little lady all to yourself.”

She almost laughed despite the tightness still in her chest. A fine thing for him to say as the one who had been the most awkward around the small baby. Jowd had taken to the whole thing like a duck to water and she’d been almost jealous of how easily he could soothe her or make her giggle in his arms. While Cabanela, who would of course never deign to show it, seemed petrified by the mere thought of holding her under any condition.

She felt a mix of warmth and sadness at the thought and sighed. “Thank you,” she said. “I… left her with Emma. I should pick her up soon…”

Cabanela rose and pulled her up with him.

“I’ll just get my things,” he said, “and finish cleanin’ up,” he muttered with an almost rueful glance at the toilet.

So he had been sick, she thought sympathetically. It would explain the mess – something he’d never leave under ordinary circumstances.

“Do what you need to,” she said. “I’ll clean up.” She’d far rather have something to do than wait, something to focus on for however brief a time it would be.

There was a pause as she dared him to argue.

“All yours,” he said instead.

He went to his room and she entered the living room. She focused entirely on picking up the glass and mopping up the whiskey. Her thoughts only returned when she stood, finished and stared at the fallen picture. She wondered whether to turn it upright or not. She finally decided against it; it was his choice to make.

She went into the kitchen next and returned the bottle of whiskey to a cupboard and closed the coffee pot. Cabanela entered just as she finished, looking tidier in a change of clothing and hair combed back into place. While he didn’t look what she’d call healthy – she had a feeling she didn’t have a leg to stand on there – at least it was a start.

They left together and parted at the house, Cabanela entering and Alma hurrying away for Kamila.

When she returned, she spotted Cabanela’s coat hanging from its customary hook with a small smile. The house still felt wrong, but there was one more piece of rightness.

She found him in the living room, sitting on the sofa with two steaming cups of tea on the table. There was a stiffness to his posture, but he smiled when he saw her. She placed Kamila on a blanket on the floor, pecked her on the cheek and took a seat close to Cabanela.

Alma sipped her tea gratefully. She was sure she’d eaten and drunk something today, but realised she couldn’t remember what or when it was. Her gaze wandered across the room not really focusing on any one thing.

“Do you remember teaching Jowd to dance?” she suddenly asked. “Before our wedding?”

There was a pause, he reached for his tea, took a drink then raised his cup to her. “I don’t think my feet could eeever forget.”

“But he did well at the wedding.”

“When you could get him on the floor.”

Alma laughed and Cabanela gestured at their overstuffed armchair.

“You were readin’ in that chair once while he and I were talkin’ over a case,” he said. “While we talked he started sketching you.”

Alma blinked. “He did? He never showed me.”

“Mhmm,” Cabanela nearly purred. “And just like everything else he did of you I couldn’t heeelp but notice how you always seemed more radiant than anyone else he drew or painted.”

“I’m sure you’re making that up,” Alma said.

“I pointed it out to him and you knooow what he said, baby?”

“What?”

“He shrugged and said ‘I only draw what I see.’ I never could figure out if that’s all he meant or if he really did have a romantic bone in that big body of his.”

Alma smiled into her cup. “If he did I’m sure he knew exactly what he was saying and delighted in leaving you uncertain.”

“Maaaybe.  Although, as I recaaall neither of you did anything resembling normal flirting,” Cabanela drawled.

Alma laughed. “I suppose you’re right there.” She sobered and leaned against Cabanela. “Gods, I miss him,” she said quietly.

He wrapped an arm around her. “Me too, baby, me too…”

She sighed and sought out another course of conversation. Too many tears already and for now she only wanted to hold onto those light few minutes of reminiscing.

There were still practical matters to attend to. “When do you return to work…?” she asked.

Cabanela barked out a sharp laugh. “Do you really think they kept me after that?”

She felt foolish. Of course, she should have known. “I’m sorry, I…”

Cabanela waved an airy hand. “Don’t worry about it baby. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“We will,” Alma said. “I’ll help with anything you need.”

An odd expression flashed across his face so quickly she wasn’t sure she didn’t imagine it. Startled? Guilt? Surely he knew her feelings on the matter now. Before she could say or do anything he nodded toward Kamila.

“The little one’s fallin’ asleep.”

“Oh. I’ll take her to her crib.” Alma rose quickly and scooped Kamila up. She brushed a hand over her hair. “Long day, hm, sweetie? Come on.”

Alma rested her hands on the crib rail and looked down at her daughter. “It will be okay,” she murmured not certain whether she spoke to herself, to Kamila or to the world in general. “It will be okay,” she repeated. It had to be. For Kamila, for themselves. For Jowd.

 Cabanela stayed longer than either intended, but Alma was grateful for both his company and help – abundant help. She wondered if he was trying to make up for his avoidance, ease his guilt, or if it was only something to focus his energies on. Whatever his reasons she felt like a whirlwind had moved in with her – cooking, cleaning, going out to pick things up, leaving her to wake up when she dozed off to a blanket over her or a pillow under her head with her book tucked aside out of harm’s way, and sometimes to a plate of food suddenly in front of her, delicately balanced in Cabanela’s hands and how he always managed to time out that particular feat was beyond her.

She knew and accepted that her sleep schedule was non-existent between Kamila’s needs and her own inability to sleep half the time, but she started to wonder if Cabanela ever slept. No matter the hour he always seemed ready to step in to let her sleep if there was anything he could do. She finally reached a point of slamming Kamila’s door in his face with a shouted order to go to bed.

Cabanela theoretically left eventually, however he was over so often Alma thought he may as well have stayed, but she made no comment on it.

It was after one such night that he had stayed that she found him at the kitchen table, running a finger around the rim of his mug appearing thoughtful. She never imagined she would feel as grateful as she did now at the sight of the spark in his eyes even as she wondered what hare-brained scheme was running through his head.

She poured herself some coffee. He took a drink of his as she sat and set it back down theatrically.

"Cabanela," he announced, "Private Investigator. How does that sound?"

"It does have a certain ring to it." She blinked. "Are you seriously considering starting an agency?"

“Why not put these skiiills to use?” He flashed a grin but took on a slightly more serious tone. “There are thooose who, for reasons of their own, prefer not to go to the police.”

“Hmm… there would be a lot to take into consideration. And it will take time and money to get going. You may be a great detective, but this would still be a business with all the needs of one.” She started ticking off her fingers. “An office for starters, though something small would do, but also equipment, the paperwork, getting your name out there, building trust…” she trailed off when she realized he was watching her intently.

“I booow to your expertise baby,” he said and did so with his head.

“I…” She walked right into that one, eyes wide open. “I mean I could help… but I have Kamila to care for and my own work.”

“Of course. But when I get rollin’ I could use a partner.”

And it would be ‘when’, she thought to herself. There was no stopping him when he set his mind to something. “All right,” she said. “I’m willing to talk more about this and help out where I can for now. After that… we’ll see.”

Cabanela raised his mug in a toast. He was smiling, but she noticed a seriousness in his eyes she wasn’t used to seeing.

“To a new future.”

She raised hers in turn. “To our future.”

[akhonography]

The Conceptualisation of Death and the Afterlife in ancient Egypt

Death was very much present in and a part of ancient Egyptian daily life. From an Egyptian religious point of view, ultimate death, or non-existence, was the worst fate imaginable. Avoiding this fate was the common thread in funerary culture throughout the history of ancient Egypt. To a Western mind this may seem an “obsession” with death, while in reality it was rather a preoccupation with life in all its forms. Although the ancient Egyptian concepts of the afterlife were subject to change over the course of its roughly 6 millennia of history, I’ll attempt to give you a “quick and dirty” overview below. (Though to be honest, I doubt I can keep this below 2,000 words.) I’ll tackle Pharaonic history – that is to say, the period roughly between 2700 and 1000 BC, since that is my area of expertise.

The Body as a Vehicle

In order to prevent this non-existence from coming to pass, the first step was to make sure the body of the deceased remained intact. An Egyptian viewed the body after death as a still active vehicle for the part of the person that we would call a soul, but which in ancient Egypt was a set of aspects. Three of the most important of these aspects are the ba, the ka, and the akh. The ba was roughly akin to a person’s “personality”, the ka we usually refer to as a person’s “life force”, which can travel between earth and the afterlife, and the akh is the “justified”, a perfected “spirit” the deceased may transform into if the proper rituals are performed.

One of the keys to eternal afterlife was the ka’s ability to return to the body after death. In order to achieve this, grave or ka statues are a common theme in tombs. This “spare body” bore the likeness and the name of the tomb owner so that his ka wouldn’t lose the way.

The body needed a place to live – the tomb – and sustenance in the form of offerings. Offerings could be through writing (commonly referred to as a voice offering, which by the power of words held would transfigure into metaphysical sustenance), or as actual foodstuffs. The performance of the cult of the tomb owner fell on the shoulders of the next of kin.

The Living and the Dead

The dead were a separate category of people in Egypt - there were the gods, the living, and the dead. A dead person was still a property owner: they owned their tombs and they expected other people to keep their hands off their possessions. They were also able to mix in the affairs of the living, though usually to the detriment of the living. There are so-called Letters to the Dead, which contain messages of still living relatives to the akh of their dead family member to please stop bringing them bad luck. This is why the cults were so important: keep your dead uncle happy, and your crops won't fail.

The Egyptian dead were by and large referred to as “the Osiris [Name]” (to indicate that through the passage from life to death, the deceased became as the god Osiris), or “imakh”, “venerated one”. One could call these euphemisms – while the Egyptians definitely had words for death, they, as far as we know, never referred to the deceased as “the deceased” in funerary culture. Because of this, some Egyptologists also prefer to refer to the dead as “tomb owners”.

Depictions of mummies or dead bodies outside of slain enemies are similarly few and far between. Sometimes you see a relief of sarcophagus being pulled into the tomb, but - as far as I'm aware - there are only two attested depictions of a mummy outside of images of Osiris, who was often shown as mummiform.

Funerary Customs and Tomb Evolution

As stated above, ideas of death and the afterlife were subject to evolution throughout the millennia. This evolution pertains to 1) the royal and non-royal "types" of afterlife, 2) the way the deceased takes to get to the netherworld, and 3) funerary conventions.

In Egypt, ideas of the afterlife have always been reflected by the iconography and architecture of graves and tombs. From earliest Dynastic times elite tombs have been modelled after houses and, in the King's case, the palace. This was done through the use of palace façades, which are a particular type of carvings that resemble the palace walls. Palace façades may appear on stone blocks, entire walls, the sarcophagus itself, or statues of the tomb owner. Poorer folk would have been buried in a simple sand grave. Similarly, the most elaborate types of mummification are almost exclusively seen in elite burials. From the earliest periods nobles, royal artisans and royal servants were buried in the vicinity of the King (no, they weren’t sacrificed and interred at the same time - that only happened once or twice in the First Dynasty until they realised how inefficient that really was). Throughout the millennia, different necropoleis were in use. But because it was paramount the body be protected and pyramids weren’t really inconspicuous, in the New Kingdom it was decided to more carefully hide the tombs of the elite.

The Old Kingdom

Let’s go back for a bit and look at the Old Kingdom, colloquially known as the Pyramid Age. The earliest Old Kingdom burials are mastabas. “Mastaba” is the Arabic word for “bench”, and it refers to the shape of this burial. A mastaba is a rectangular, flat-topped stone structure with inward-sloping sides. The actual tomb is cut out in the rock underneath it. In the Third Dynasty, an architect by name of Imhotep got the luminous idea of making King Djoser’s mastaba bigger and better than any that had preceded it. He did this by stacking six or seven on top of each other and creating the structure we now know as the Step Pyramid. This shape almost instantaneously evolved into the pyramids we think of today when we see the word: the triangular structures with smooth, sloping sides that reach up to the sky.

Our first actual primary evidence of how the Egyptians viewed the Afterlife comes from the Fifth and Sixth Dynasties; in 6 or 7 pyramids from that era we discovered a genre of texts carved into the inner walls of the sarcophagus room and adjoining walls/corridors that we now call the Pyramid Texts. These texts are quite probably older than that, but this is their first attested use. It's a corpus of incantations that functions to promote the resurrection and well-being of the dead King. Even in this relatively short time frame you can see the evolution of thought through the change in the incantations (or "utterances", as the Egyptians called them) between each successive king. Some texts were abandoned, new texts showed up, etc.

In the Old Kingdom, there was a royalty-exclusive afterlife that only the King was able to ascend to. The idea was that the King would board Re's Solar Barque, mingle with the gods and his royal ancestors, and become a god himself. During this period the King was already identified with Osiris (though the Osirian tradition would not become absolutely prevalent until the New Kingdom). We have confirmation of the belief that death was not the end of all things through two utterances in one text. One states that as long as Osiris lives and is not destroyed, so will the King live and not be destroyed; another that the King has not departed dead, but departed alive.

In the case of private tombs, we only find the scenes of daily life and images of the tomb owner sitting in front of an offering table heaped with bread and beer and meat. There is no attested use of the Pyramid Text utterances in the tombs of nobles (though one queen's tomb does have a few). However, private tombs are still all about keeping their memory alive through speaking their name and giving offerings. There is present here already the idea that existence is a matter of life and life, separated by death, and subject to a certain peril (i.e. the ultimate death of non-existence). The ka of the deceased could move between his entombed body and the afterlife, which, for a private person, was simply reminiscent of life as it was before death.

The Middle Kingdom

During the Middle Kingdom private tombs became more elaborate and started mimicking royal burials. Tombs were increasingly equipped with models of boats and scenes from daily life, which served a ritual purpose: these not only made sure that the deceased had in the afterlife sustenance and transport, they also assured he would not have to perform the work they presented himself. Especially during the reigns of the first three kings of the Middle Kingdom provincial elite had a considerable amount of power, which was reflected in the abundance of these grave models. Later, due to royal interference, this practice declined again. During this period the Pyramid Texts evolve into what we refer to as the Coffin Texts. These were inscribed in coffins instead of carved on the walls of the burial chambers. Private tombs started carrying these texts, too, indicating a shift in the paradigm that the "special" afterlife was something for the King only.

These changes all took place in the tombs of the rich – regular/poor people of the Middle Kingdom – and indeed, throughout Pharaonic history – were still buried in the same simple pits or single-room, brick-walled tombs they were in the Old Kingdom.

It seems that what a non-royal needed was enough resources to afford a good tomb, a cult and these texts. Apart from protecting the body and making sure the deceased was resurrected, some of the texts, which is sometimes called "The Book of Two Ways", detail the geography of the Afterlife and give formulas to overcome the dangers on the way to that Afterlife. On a few occasions, coffins would have a map to the Afterlife painted on the interior. In the Middle Kingdom, the next world consisted of a netherworldly journey through Osiris' kingdom, and a voyage in the celestial waters with Re. Also during this period, the deceased starts to be referred to as "Osiris [Name]", indicating that while dead, he is also resurrected. So the idea of immortality began to spread to wider social strata.

The New Kingdom

In the New Kingdom, this change in burial customs continued. During the previous Second Intermediate Period the practice of grave models was supplanted by the use of shabtis: humani- or mummiform grave figurines whose purpose was to take up the work for the deceased. The idea was that when Osiris called people in the afterlife to corvee (a practice that also took place in daily life), the shabti would take the place of the deceased and do this work for him. In the New Kingdom, the use of shabtis became ever more prevalent. Yet the biggest change is that no longer is a pyramid the go-to for a royal tomb, but instead rock-cut tombs become the norm. The reason for this was two-fold: rock-cut tombs can be every bit as elaborate as a pyramid yet not quite as labour intensive; and rock-cut tombs were far easier to hide than pyramids, and so protection against tomb robbery also played its part. This is when the Valleys of Kings, Queens, and Nobles become the most important necropoleis in Egypt.

Osiris and the Netherworld

Osiris starts to play a larger role in the funerary custom in this period. The mythology surrounding Osiris was that he was murdered by his jealous brother, then resurrected by his wife. He did, however, remain dead - that is to say, he could no longer physically be among the living in the lands of Egypt, even though he was alive, because his body was no longer complete (long story short: his penis was eaten by a fish). Instead, he went into the West, which is the Egyptian indication for the netherworld. The deceased was identified with Osiris and became him, and like him, passed into the West after death. This second life after life began with a journey full of trials, and this is the journey that most people think of when they think about the Egyptian afterlife.

The deceased had to pass through Osiris' realm before he arrived at The Field of Reeds, which was the actual Egyptian Afterlife. This journey started with the weighing of the heart. The deceased gave a negative confession, stating all the evil he didn't do ("I have not killed, I have not commanded to kill ... I have not taken the milk from the mouths of children."), and then insisted upon his innocence by addressing Osiris' 42 assistents with more assurances that he didn't do any bad things to his fellow man. Then the heart of the deceased was placed upon a scale and weighed against the feather of Ma'at, the embodiment of order. If the heart was lighter than the feather, the deceased was from that point forward known as Osiris [Name], and allowed passage through the netherworld. If the heart was heavier, it was swallowed by Ammit, and this would condemn him to the Ultimate Death so feared by Egyptians.

After the weighing of the heart, the deceased, after being presented to Osiris, made his way through the netherworld where he had to face genies with knives, hybrid monsters, and pass through several gateways and traps to finally arrive at The Field of Reeds. In order to successfully reach his destination, he needed to know the correct formulas. These formulas were described in what we now call The Book of the Dead, but which the Egyptians referred to as the pr.t m hrw - Book of Going Forth by Day -, the Book of Gates or the Book of Caverns. These texts, which in turn evolved from the Coffin Texts, were written on papyrus sheets instead of inscribed on coffins or carved into chamber walls. 

The king was still the only one to have a celestial destiny among the gods, but every private person, property owner, or noble could by this time, if they had the funds, afford an afterlife of luxury, where shabtis did the hard work and they could kick back and enjoy the good. They believed that the Peret em Heru could in a sense substitute your heart - e.g. if your papyrus stated that you hadn't killed, even if you had, the power of words would make the scales not weigh that particular sin.

Death as a Passage

Despite the evolution of the conceptualisation of the afterlife, throughout the millennia one thing remained constant: the idea that there was an afterlife. An afterlife which, in many ways, mirrored life on earth – from necessary labour to social strata. The Egyptians have sought to uncover and define the rules of that afterlife and so tried to carve their place in the universe. One might say that to the ancient Egyptian death was a passage of one form of existence to the other, but that passage was wrought with difficulties that needed to be overcome in order to be successful. The afterlife imitates the struggles of life, and, like in life, the richer you were, the easier it was to reach your destiny.

Ultimately, it wasn’t death itself that was insurmountable. Hardly any funerary custom has not been meant to combat the one truly terrifying possibility: non-existence after death. The ancestor cult was one of the most important aspects of Egyptian daily life - at least to the dead ancestor himself.