#but now. five days later. I am dwelling.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

Find yourself a man who's so crushed after having one (1) argument with you that he immediately returns to his life of crime.

[irasamu]

𓍯 LOVE IS THE PROFOUND SENSATION, I AM OF UNYIELDING PASSION ; a dazai osamu fic snippet.

summary. you came. he left. dazai left. the man you were dying to reunite with left without even glancing back at you and you might just go mad.

tw. breakdown (minor), mori and reader having a manipulative/abusive dynamic, reader showing signs of her fucked up mental health.

𓍯 . imagine having such bad luck that you miss the last chance ever to meet dazai by just five fucking minutes.

five minutes ago, he left.

five minutes later, you came.

after years of being away, you finally came and he isn't here because lo and behold-- that bastard left.

he left.

you just missed the last chance to reunite with him.

behind you stands chuuya who looks as betrayed by that man but chuuya doesn't get it. no one will.

no one will. no one will. no one will. no one will --

"hey, come on, don't dwell on that bastar --"

"it's impressive how he was able to escape. man, never thought anyone would be able to escape but it's a given since its him -- he did create most of the security arrangements here-- we need to get rid of it. every person he appointed too. all his ideas and plans --"

"... hey--" chuuya kisses his teeth as you do not listen, staring out of the ceiling length windows from mori's office as you go on and on.

"-- that kid akutagawa? i'll take him in. oh we can't get rid of him. he's too valuable. my room -- i need a new one-- i need to tell mori-sama i need a new room and my hair? i need a new hairstyle. also -- fuck." you curse as your shoulder blade cries out in pain, looking straight to see chuuya's arm pinned against your neck as he keeps you pinned against the wall and your shoulders slump. "right. we need to get rid of you as well."

chuuya's eyebrows rose as he stared right into your dazed eyes, hiding the panick and worry very well as he stares at you so coldly it makes you clench your jaw.

"he left. mori-sama sent me away and -- and because of that -- i-- why did he sent me away?" you look pitiful in chuuya's eyes, almost on the verge of a breakdown and over who? someone like dazai? oh lord...

yet why does he feel more sympathy than disgust or pity for you? why does he remember all those poems written by those lovesick poets?

"he won't die. you are underestimating that bastard." chuuya offers comfort, comfort which is mockery to you. it makes you see red because he does not get it.

"i am! because i didn't get time to go on many missions with him! i didn't know him like you did! i don't even know if he still likes sweets or not!" you scream out, a sob ripples out of your throat next as you shakily grab chuuya's jacket and cling to it as if it's your lifeline. "why did you guys sent me away!? i didn't even get to spend much time with him!" you cry.

because chuuya spent time with him to know this much about him. because everyone else except you got to see him everyday while you lived in memories of him. because you worked your ass off everyday in hopes of one day meeting him again and when that day came, he left.

"listen --" yet chuuya stops speaking, your neck feels a piercing pain spread through it before you close your eyes and fall limp in chuuya's arms, a syringe stuck on your neck which chuuya gently pulls out and looks behind to see elise -- more matured and grown as she sorrowfully stares at your unconscious form -- and mori who has a blank look on his face but chuuya knows better than to assume the boss isn't fazed because from his prodigy leaving and his assumed heir breaking down, mori's original plans crumbled. and even as chuuya stares at mori now, he knows the older man is making new tactics and strategies, adapting to this surprising new situation.

you didn't have time to register the pain in your throat, the throbbing in your head, the burning behind your eyes or the emptiness clawing at your heart as you stare directly at the man. his stare is blank but it makes you uncertain about yourself. his stare is the kind which makes you unconscious and makes you feel as if you don't fit in your skin.

"you must be exhausted from your journey... and then suddenly learning of dazai leaving... i assume it was a lot for you to take." he speaks so kindly and warmly. tears gather in your eyes again.

mori gets up from his place on a stool next to your bed, he approaches you and places a hand against your forehead to check if you have a fever or not.

"but that's disappointing." mori clicks his tongue as he leans down to whisper against your ear, his scarf brushing against your jaw as he does so, "you of all people should not be so easily affected. it's really disappointing. you failed me on the very hour you came back. should i send you away again or am i wasting my time on you? remember unless you have made a name for yourself -- which you haven't yet-- you are replaceable. and it won't take me more then five minutes to find eager candidates who'll be eager to take your place." and he leaves.

your eyes stay glued to his disappearing figure, heart thumping violently in your chest as you ponder over his words and somewhere along the way, the fear of being replaced is so real it's making your body shake as if you are in some kind of delirium. this is one hell of a welcome back.

you snicker. would you have worked just as hard if you knew you were never gonna meet dazai? would you really go shopping and buy all those items which reminded you of him?

you clasp your hand over your mouth before doubling over, cackling. it's all so pitiful that it's making you laugh. he hurt you in a way no one ever can. no. he made you mad. mad in love. a mad woman living in her delusions. and now suddenly reality is slapping you. the seductive amd tempting delusions leave. unless you meet them daily by indulging in alcohol.

maybe you are actually going mad because as you laugh, you imagine the warmth his cold fingers would provide if he were to hug you from behind right now, he would probably lay his cheek on your head, his fingers slowly dragging up your arms and towards your shoulders before he wraps it around your neck and kisses your head.

you might be going mad. actually. laying your head down on the soft pillows, you laugh at yourself. "fuck you. fuck you dazai osamu."

like a wanderer with no definite destination to go to, you feed your emptiness with worldly pleasure. till how long can you go on pretending as if dazai osamu isn't a religion you are the devoted follower of?

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Wei Wuxian and Narrative Agency – Part Three

For Xiantober Day Five: Past and Present, in which the author gets very unhinged about what parts of the past are shown and how that’s affected by the present!

(Part One | Part Two | Full version on AO3)

The Power of Agency: Shaping the Narrative

When I've discussed Wei Wuxian's agency previously, I’ve talked about how what’s shown and omitted tells us about a character, and we’ve talked about the character himself. Though this is a niche topic, it’s not necessarily something out of the ordinary to analyse, and we can assume everything up to here has been in some way intentional.

This? Linking structure to a character’s in-universe preferences?

This is where we get unhinged.

Before I start, let’s quickly establish something which will be important later: although Wei Wuxian is the central character, MDZS isn’t strictly from his POV. While omitting events a character doesn’t like to dwell on and concealing things the character wishes to hide is common in books with only one narrator, MDZS has multiple narrators which it switches between relatively quickly. This includes Wei Wuxian, but it also includes nearly every major character that appears in the story, and omniscient narrator as well. As a default, this format doesn’t lead to this deliberate shaping and omission because of one character’s preferences, since we have many other sources of information and events – which is what makes Wei Wuxian’s influence over the narrative and structure so interesting. We could have access to a lot more information, and access to it at different times, than we do (and that’s not an insult, quite the opposite!).

To begin: we’ve established that times such as Wei Wuxian’s time on the streets, his three months in the Burial Mounds and his loss in the Siege aren’t shown because Wei Wuxian has little agency there. But that’s not the only special thing about them. They’re also the three most traumatic times in his life, and so moments Wei Wuxian himself either can’t remember, or doesn’t like to dwell on.

This is why discussing Wei Wuxian’s treatment of tragedy in his life was important. Firstly, it shows he doesn’t focus on the tragedy in his life, so the idea that the narrative not focusing on this tragedy relates to his character has merit; secondly, it affirms that this is not a passive trait, but a choice. Therefore, when the narrative omits events due to this aspect of Wei Wuxian, it’s respecting not only a character detail – which would be cool by itself – but also an active decision. One that shapes the story it’s made in.

In other words, its very structure is respecting Wei Wuxian’s agency!

Now, of course there are flashbacks to other moments of his past he probably wouldn’t like to dwell on, too. But within the structure, they’re only shown when Wei Wuxian is thinking about them (or when he has reason to)!

Wei WuXian hadn’t woken up yet. His eyes were still tightly shut, yet his hand didn’t let go either. He seemed to be dreaming, muttering, “… Don’t… Don’t be angry…” Lan WangJi seemed somewhat surprised. His voice was gentle, “I am not angry.” Wei WuXian, “… Oh.” Hearing this, as though he finally felt assured, his fingers loosened. Lan WangJi sat beside Wei WuXian for a while. Seeing that he was motionless again, he was about to stand up when Wei WuXian grabbed him with his other hand, hugging his arm and refusing to let go. He shouted, “I’ll go with you, quick, take me back to your sect!” Chapter 63, EXR translation

Which, of course, is him dwelling on…

Lan WangJi spoke one word at a time, “Go back to Gusu with me.” Hearing this, both Wei WuXian and Jiang Cheng were surprised. Quickly afterward, Wei WuXian laughed, “Go back to Gusu with you? To the Cloud Recesses? Why go there?” He immediately seemed to realize, “Oh. I forgot. Your uncle Lan QiRen hates crooked people like me. You’re his proudest disciple, so of course you’re the same as him, haha. I refuse.” Chapter 62, EXR translation

…the painful flashback immediately preceding this. The third set of flashbacks (which are also painful) are a similar case. Look at the contex:

He lifted the bottom of his robe, revealing a prosthetic leg made of wood, “This leg of mine was destroyed by you, that night in the Nightless City (…)” (…) “Wei WuXian, I won’t ask you if you remember or not. Both of my parents died by your hands. You owe too many people. You definitely won’t remember them either. But, I, Fang MengChen, will never forget! And never forgive you!” (…) “In the fight at Qiongqi Path, my son was strangled to death by your dog Wen Ning!” “My shixiong died by poison, his entire body festering due to your cruel curse!” Chapter 68 (immediately preceding the flashbacks), EXR translation

And Wei Wuxian’s own thoughts and words:

Wei WuXian looked at the cultivators before the Demon-Slaughtering Cave. Their expressions were the absolute same as those of the cultivators from the night of the pledge conference, pouring their wine on the ground as they took the pledge to scatter the ashes of the Wen Sect’s remnants and him.  (…) Wei WuXian, “Now it’s time to ask just whom it is that treasures it so much. It’s like Wen Ning. Back then, some certain sects or so were scared to death of the Ghost General. They said they’d kill him on the surface, but behind their backs they hid him for over ten years. How strange. Who was the one that said his ashes had been scattered back then?” Chapter 79 (immediately succeeding the flashbacks), EXR translation 

Once again, Wei Wuxian’s own thoughts relate to the flashbacks we’ve just been shown. And, as I previously mentioned, though all the events which are shown are tragic, they’re also events which Wei Wuxian’s own choices and actions shaped – which he has this to say about:

“The things I did, not only do you remember them, I remember them too. You won’t forget them, and they’ll stay even longer in my mind!” Chapter 82, EXR

Admittedly, this applies more to the third set of flashbacks than the second (which is still fitting as the third set was the most recent), as in the second, although he still had agency within and influence over his circumstances, the majority of the pain was caused by others’ actions (excluding, of course, the Golden Core transfer… which is something we know stays for a long time in his mind, albeit with a caveat we’ll soon discuss). But it’s still important to note – especially considering that otherwise, focusing on this very painful time in his life wouldn’t seem like something very in-character for Wei Wuxian to do.

Of course, this can all just be explained by good writing. It is best to insert flashbacks when they’re relevant to the characters and events in the present day! But it is interesting to compare these to the start of the (not painful) Gusu flashbacks, which open this way:

At a later time, Wei WuXian pondered upon the reason why his relationship with Lan WangJi wasn’t good. Getting to the root of the matter, everything started when he was fifteen, coming to the GusuLan Sect with Jiang Cheng to study for three months. Chapter 13, EXR

Again, considering the circumstances around which these flashbacks take place – returning to the Cloud Recesses for the first time since the lectures, and meeting Lan Wangji once more – it makes complete sense for Wei Wuxian to be thinking about these events*. So it does fit the pattern of Wei Wuxian dwelling on something, thus leading to the narrative dwelling on it, too (and being shaped by his thoughts)… but there’s another layer to this. Importantly, it is the only flashback where Wei Wuxian’s present thoughts don’t lead to this happening, with his thoughts at an unspecified future time leading to it, instead. I like to interpret this as the text saying that, since these events aren’t something Wei Wuxian wouldn’t focus on in normal circumstances, he can dwell on them at any time. Therefore, they’re free to come up in the narrative at any time as well, even if he’s not dwelling on them in the present moment!

So, to summarise: Wei Wuxian’s decision not to focus on the painful times in his life directly influences the narrative to not focus on these times. When painful times are brought up and shown to us, it’s in the context of him thinking about them in the present day, and even then, his most painful moments still aren’t shown to us. His agency in this regard is still respected by the narrative structure.

This is the main way his agency influences the structure of the narrative, but I’d like to talk about the revealing and concealing of information, too. For example, I said I’d talk about the Golden Core transfer – though Wei Wuxian does think about this many times, as evidenced by his internal narration in Chapter 103. But unlike everything we’re shown through the flashbacks, this is something Wei Wuxian is actively trying to hide from others. And the narrative respects this choice (Wei Wuxian’s agency, again), never reveals it even when it would be relevant in the flashbacks, and we find out not through narration, but through a character’s dialogue!

And to clarify – I know these aspects may not be in the book for this exact reason. Showing flashbacks in relevant moments is good writing, concealing an important plot point you want to do a reveal for is necessary writing, and MXTX has said she didn’t want to write about Wei Wuxian’s time in the Burial Mounds, due to not liking to write transformation sequences (and also because it would not be pleasant at all, which likely also applies to Wei Wuxian’s death). That doesn’t prevent it from also being intentional – MXTX’s intelligence is shown in many aspects of this book, and there’s nothing disproving it – but there’s no proof for either option, so I won’t pretend there is. I bring this up because I know this feels like I’m overanalysing, as I feel that way as well.

But, whether it’s intentional or not, it exists in the text, and I adore it – so, regardless, it’s something I’ll explore. Because taking this into account… We aren't just told about Wei Wuxian having agency, we aren’t just shown it in the text, we aren’t even just shown it through which parts of his past are shown and hidden in the structure of the text (as I talked about in Part One). The parts of the past that are shown and hidden also have an in-universe reason for being shown and hidden, this reason being the choices he makes! Agency is the ability of a character to influence the story they’re in, but Wei Wuxian’s agency, as a property of a character who only exists in-universe, shapes the out-of-universe structure as well! That’s how we’re shown its importance! How cool is that?

At The End Of The Road: Summary and Final Thoughts

In this essay, we’ve covered how important Wei Wuxian’s agency is not only to the events of the plot, but to the structure of the narrative as well. The narrative omits periods in which Wei Wuxian has little or no agency, in favour of showing us periods in which he does, even when important events happened in the former. This indicates that who Wei Wuxian is without agency isn’t important enough to be shown to the audience, and therefore that his agency is an integral aspect of his character in MDZS. We’ve discussed how both in-universe and out-of-universe, tragedy does not define him �� out-of-universe, the tragic events in Wei Wuxian’s life are used not to build sympathy but rather to show his strength of character and who he still is despite going through them; and in-universe, he chooses not to focus on the negativity and resentment caused by his circumstances or others’ actions, instead staying true to his moral compass and enjoying his life in the present day. Finally, we’ve also explored how this choice is another reason for the omission of certain events from the narrative, resulting in his agency shaping the story in a very literal way – it affects the out-of-universe structure, as well.

It’s quite fitting, for a story whose essence is about defying a conventional narrative – that of righteous clans rising up and defeating a great evil – and about a character who defies many conventional narratives on his own – that of status defining how skilled you could be, that for a golden core being necessary for cultivation and other paths being unavailable, that of a tragic but complete story of someone killed for staying true to their moral code (instead, that character returns to life and has a happy ending) – to have its own narrative play a role in such an important and interesting way.

(Or, if an image would be preferable:)

Thank you for reading!

(Part One | Part Two | Full version on AO3)

--

*This strong relation to the present day circumstances is another reason I love the flashback placement so much (and why I think it’s such a loss both screen adaptions altered it so strongly)! 

[comicalfont]

Undertale is for Everyone

Happy Valentine's Day! Yesterday marked five years since the day I first started playing Undertale. It's led me to dwell on what exactly I would say the game has meant to me, with how loaded a question that is. There's so much I owe to Undertale, and the joy it's brought me is something everyone is as deserving to be a part of. Despite some recent fandom events, all members of the fandom need to know that the game celebrates and welcomes them with open arms, which I'll get to more in a bit.

I first played Undertale at a period in my life with a lot of unanswered questions, both for present me and future me. I'd managed to not give it a try in the first few years it was around, but after running into enough Deltarune fan content in the wild when it came out, I played Chapter 1 and loved every bit of the atmosphere and characters, and I wanted to play Undertale right after. After accidentally killing Toriel and starting over, I was immediately drawn into the story it told and the friendships I was making. My appreciation of Sans was there from the start, and here I am, many reader fics with him later, and the rest of the main gang felt like buds I'd been hoping to meet some day. Even the minor characters meant so much to the journey, and by the time it was done and I'd seen what Frisk/the player's kindness and want for peace can do, I was completely hooked and the game rented a free condo in my brain.

What I wasn't expecting was the other ways Undertale's touched my life. I'm trans, and before I'd played, it had only really been associated with discomfort and a wish for things to be better, without much of a light at the end of the tunnel to look at. Undertale's queer-friendly themes and the characters' insistence on being themselves opened me up to thinking about a future where my own kindness and, well, determination can lead me to being the true me. While my trans story was far from done, it helped me see the future as something I can smile about, rather than needing to be afraid. The fics that I've written about Undertale, and especially the bone-friend, since I played have also led me to meet the people I consider my closest friends, as well as being a gateway to other fandoms that have captured my interest. These connections I've made through the game are ones I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

So, where am I going with all this? Undertale has invited me into a better path than the one I'd been taking, and that's an opportunity I'll forever be grateful for. Unfortunately, there are some in the fandom space who have shared hateful views about people simply for who they are, and everyone should know how far those views are from the truth. Undertale is a game about love and growth, and it is the responsibility of those who participate in its community to follow its footsteps and celebrate everyone for their traits; not just tolerate, but celebrate. For fellow trans people in particular, I've been thinking about this the most; you are real men, real women, and real non-binary identities, and all of those things are represented in Undertale itself. Celebrating trans lives isn't just the right thing to do, it's a part of this wonderful game we're all enjoying together.

Maybe this reaches just two people, or twenty, or more if I'm lucky, but whoever does read this far, thank you for taking the time to see how much Undertale has meant to me over these five years, and I hope you know how much you mean to the community. We're all making it a better place by being ourselves, and I hope the game keeps lifting people up for many years to come. Now, go read that new volume of the Undertale/Deltarune Newsletter!

[sardonic-the-writer]

You van now marry me because I am interested in your tf2 headcanons

Tell me more please

so happy someone asked for this. giving your forhead a big fat smooch. also, i would habe included tracker in these, but i feel like that would have been a bit self pretentious

scout

• good artist. has drawn tom jones fanart before

• knows a little bit of french; his mom made him learn. also knows a few french songs because of this

• bisexual but battles with it a lot

• really appreciates his teammates and conciders all of them—except for maybe spy—to be his best friends

• terrified of medical procedures and terrible at hiding it

soldier

• brightest blue eyes you've ever seen

• wears underwear with the pattern of the american flag on them

• doesn't know it's not normal to have gay thoughts. literally would kiss a man sloppy style and then not understand why everyones looking at him. probably straight, but makes exceptions

• has had his hands cut off at least five times before. it's getting concerning at this point

pryo

• uses asl with their team and teaches those who don't know. they'll still use muffled sounds to communicate though

• has no gender actually. not trans, not cis, but a secret third thing

• aroace! latches so strongly onto platonic relationships though its actually insane

• attends bonfires with enigneer sometimes

• has a pair of onsie pajamas that they wear over their suit to bed at night

heavy

• is definitely in love with medic, no doubts to be had

• has a PHD in russian literature! a very smart fella, he just has trouble speaking his mind in english

• gay. so so gay. mlm all day

• the only merc to regularly check out books from teuforts library sans soldier. although he doesn't really check out books, he just yells at the librarian for not carrying sun tzu's the art of war

• sings little songs to sasha in russian

demomam

• has scars all over his chest from an accident with a grenade he had as a kid

• sends lots of post cards and souvenirs to his mom when he's on the job. he really loves her

• actually used to style his hair in dreads when he was a little bit younger, but just doesn't have time to do much with his hair anymore

• so casually bisexual; especially considering it's the sixties and seventies. takes interest in both men and women

• best friends with both his and the other teams soldier!

sniper

• his camper is such a mess all of the time. only ever cleans if he knows someone's going to be visiting, and even then there's a few stray piss bottles laying around

• plays poker & other card games with scout all the time. when they can't bet money, they'll end up using other things to play, like bullets or stray snacks

• thinks he likes both men and women. tries not to dwell on it too much since he gets anxious about it, but at the end of the day can't deny that he finds men attractive as well

• has a mug that says world's number one best sniper that miss pauling got him

engineer

• shortest mercenary r.i.p

• parental figure to pyro

• one of the only good cooks at the base. often ends up making dinner for everyone even if it's someone else's turn to cook that night

• has a prosthetic arm that he built from scratch & spends a lot of his time adding to/upgrading

• probably straight, but the biggest ally you'd ever meet

spy

• genderfluid. has a few lady disguises he's had to use before, and is just as comfortable in them as any other one of his disguises. definitely had gay sex with scouts mom before

• reverts to straight french when he gets irritated or upset

• heavily bisexual and very open about it with any of his partners. a man/womanizer

• the only merc with a sense of fashion to be frank. have you seen everyone else. soldier thinks being naked and covered in honey is the epitome of fashion for fucks sake

medic

• probably knows more about the medical field than any other doctor at the time. is actively dropping some medical talk & procedures that won't even be invented until a few decades later. he's fun like that

• owns one pair of regular clothes. everything else is lab coats and black pants. maybe a turtleneck or two if you're lucky

• super mega über gay for heavy. see what i did there

• also, i'd like to headcanon that he needs glasses because he's nearsighted of all things. it makes performing surgery hard without them

[startanewdream]

#7 - MERCY, for April AU @jilymicrofics

Theme: Grey's Anatomy. Rated M just to be safe.

“You should know,” he mumbles, voice smooth, barely recovered, “I don’t usually do this.”

Lily wonders what this is exactly. Meet a girl in a bar, share a few rounds of drinks with her? Distract that girl from all her worries until they are laughing together? Pull her to the darkened hallway that leads to the kitchens to kiss her as if they were teenagers? Accept her daring invitation to go to her place? Take her clothes slowly, his lips tracing every curve of her body until she is moaning into his arms, begging for more? Or press his body against hers, kiss her as they roll around in bed, whisper her name as she moves atop of him, watch her as she comes apart until he follows her to that bliss?

Whatever this is, Lily is quite glad for it; he is the perfect distraction for all the stress of tomorrow and because she needed this, she turns to face him. Her heart skips a beat; the first thing she noticed about him that night was that he was handsome, with those hazel eyes shining smartly behind the lens of his glasses, a smile that showed dimples at the corner of his mouth, his tan skin, his carefree way.

Sure, it had been his talk—and later his kissing abilities—that made her invite him out eventually, but his beauty was not to be disregarded.

“Don’t tell me I was your first,” she teases, and he cracks a laughing smile.

“No,” he admits. His gaze moves over her face and she sees the moment his pupils contract. “But I wouldn’t mind if this was the first of the night.”

She shouldn’t; she has a busy day tomorrow, so Lily should just ask him politely to leave, but then she can feel the twitch of his body, his desire for her, and that makes her feel warm; she should be spent by now, but if he can do that thing with his fingers once again—she could use more distraction. So she pulls herself closer to him, searching for lips—any trace of the tequila they've drunk is gone, but she enjoys his taste even more.

"I want you," she whispers against his lips.

He is all too glad to attender her wishes; her whole world spins around and she isn’t sure that it is in the right place later, when he pulls her into his arms and she accepts, melting into his warmth and just closing her eyes, very content, very relaxed—

Until her alarm rings off and she jumps out of the bed to find out it’s morning already, the sun shining.

“Damn.” She glances at her phone. She missed the first and the second alarms, this is the third one, for emergencies—and this is one. “Fuck, not today—”

“Lily?” From the bed, comes a sleepy voice. Lily steals a glance at him while she runs around the room for her clothes.

He is handsome, but she cannot dwell with that now. “I’m sorry, you’ve got to leave,” she says, already distracted. She should take a shower, but it’s fifteen minutes to the hospital, and if she takes more than five minutes to find a parking spot… shower later.

He just turns around to face her. “I thought we could share a breakfast.”

“No, I’m late.”

“I can give you a ride if—”

“No.” She wishes she had more time to do it; he said he didn’t do this usually, and now Lily is reconsidering a bit—maybe he is one of those guys who are after the love of their life in a pub… “Look, this was a one-night thing, ok? I had a great time, but you need to leave, John.”

“Oh.” He looks disappointed. Definitely the kind of guy who falls too quickly. “It’s James.”

She knows, but mistaking the name always works perfectly for the guy to get a hint, and this time is not different.

“I’m going then—”

Lily nods, throwing him a smile that she hopes to come as nice and yet dismissive. It works, for when she leaves the bathroom, he isn’t there. There is only the faint scent of his cologne, something musky and rather nice, and for a moment Lily almost wishes she could have gotten his number or—

No, she admonishes herself, leaving the house. It would give him the right idea. I am not looking for a relationship now. It’s better if we don’t see each other.

That’s a thought that she has to repeat when she parks her car; the Three Broomsticks pub, where they met, is right in front of the hospital. Lily makes a mental note to suggest that any happy hour be somewhere else and joins the new interns inside the hospital.

She is calm — she is competent and she knows how hard she worked to get there; the minutes goes by though, and while the other interns have been directed, Lily finds herself in a group of four interns waiting. One of the other residents, a rather handsome man with a haught smile that made some people sigh, comes to tell them that their resident is running a bit late but will be there soon.

“Prongs says he overslept,” she hears him telling one of the new interns in Lily’s group, a nervous-looking guy.

They already know each other, Lily realises, whoever that resident “Prongs” is. It’s a bit unfair, but she has dealt with unfairness before—

And then, breathing hardily and in a rush, appears the man that Lily saw last on her bed that morning.

“Hello,” he calls, adjusting his glasses on his face. “Sorry for the delay—I’m James Potter, and I’ll be your resident for—”

His voice fails; Lily finds herself meeting the same pair of hazel eyes that charmed her last night, but that she also believed she wouldn’t see again. Resident, he said. James, just-a-distraction James, I-won't-see-him-again James, is her resident.

“Ah,” He looks away, recovering himself. “Anyway—welcome to Hogsmeade Mercy Hospital.”

[contentment-of-cats]

I take a deep breath because I can.

Edited: They have found a debris field near the Titanic.

Mortality is never far from a cancer patient's mind. We all die, cancer or no cancer, fairly or unfairly. The universe is the universe and keeps on going whatever the big, beautiful, horrifying, and deadly universe keeps on doing. It's not my mortality that I've been thinking about the past few days, though it's never far from my mind. It's about five people I didn't know.

People hate death. It gets in the way of the happy endings that we've been spoon-fed over decades. We want to see happy endings, see absolute miracles, so much that we won't agree that there is a line where Happy Ending Land stops and reality begins. The media is complicit and people dwell in denial to the point where it's psychosis.

CNN is my case in point this morning.

If that submarine did not have a catastrophic hull failure on Sunday morning, there are now five bodies on a garage-built unclassed, uninspected, 'experimental' submarine on the floor of the ocean. The iar is gone, the battery power is gone, they are breathing in each other's carbon dioxide, hungry, thirsty, hypothermic,in the absolute dark. Billionaire hatred aside, I cannot think of a more horrible way to die nor anyone I would ever wish it on - the same way I would never wish cancer on anyone. I am walking the measured mile, these folks were locked in and dropped down. The fact that people signed an extensive multi-page waiver to board this thing makes me scream in horror.

One thing nobody wants to talk about on TV is the very real probability that one hour and forty-five minutes into it's dive, the sub experienced catastrophic hull failure and crushed down to something the size of a Weber kettle grill. All the air would have been pushed out of every component, including the humans inside. It would have taken a couple of seconds at that depth, just fifteen minutes from the bottom and the wreck of the Titanic. Apparently losing contact with the sub happened often enough that it was not reported until eight hours later. That is the best case scenario. A better case would be that they find it, bring it up to the surface, and show people the actual real consequences of hubris and stupidity.

Worst case is that they hung on in the dark, in the cold, hearing rescuers above them as they died this morning.

Their friends are saying that they could still be alive. These men were experienced adventurers, they would know how to conserve oxygen. The FFS section of this post begins below with OceanGate's co-founder talking to CNN.

While life support supplies are now believed to be running low, a co-founder of the company that operates the missing Titanic submersible says he believes the crew's expertise will extend the "window available" for rescue. Guillermo Söhnlein made the comments in a statement to CNN. He specified her was speaking on behalf of himself and not the company, OceanGate. He said OceanGate CEO and co-founder Stockton Rush — who is aboard the sub — and the rest of the crew would have "realized days ago that the best thing they can do to ensure their rescue is to extend the limits of those supplies by relaxing as much as possible." Based on the crew members' expertise, the "window available" for rescue is longer than "what most people think," Söhnlein said. Thursday will be a "critical day in this search and rescue mission," he added. "I continue to hold out hope for my friend and the rest of the crew," Söhnlein said. "I would encourage everyone to remain hopeful for getting the crew back safely."

This is fucking nutty. This is denial. Nobody wants to think that corporate hubris killed five people including the co-founder, engineers deal in reality. These people are dead. You can't spin dead. You can't wish away dead. Dead is the hardest, coldest fact of all and one of the hardest to live with, whether it's yours or someone else's.

Side note. On Monday it will have been a month since my mom's death. I knew it was coming either from dementia or COPD. The stroke moved it up. Nobody, including her doctors, saw it coming. There was no high blood pressure, her vascular health was excellent. With directives in place, she was as comfortable as possible. I remind myself that hemipaleigic, with dementia, and COPD would have been the ultimate cruelty. I still get the urge to pick up the phone and call her. I can't. Death is the hardest reality.

Next is a friend of two of the men in the sub.

“I know that the adventurers on board are experienced, very experienced,” said Per Wimmer, an adventurer who was previously signed up for two canceled trips on the Titan. Wimmer is an acquaintance of Hamish Harding and Stockton Rush, two of the five people on the missing vessel. He said Harding, a British businessman and trained jet pilot, and Rush, the CEO and founder of the company leading the voyage, are both very experienced adventurers who would know to conserve oxygen. “They would no doubt know what it means to slow down, take it easy, and use as little oxygen as possible, and therefore extend the potential timeline as much as possible," he added. Wimmer said that the presence of OceanGate CEO Stockton Rush on board the vessel is helpful, as he knows “the ins and outs of how this submersible works.”

Again, the Bulletproof Fallacy is at work. "I have never been shot, therefore I am bulletproof."

They've deployed a medical team with a specialty in dive medicine and equipped with hyperbaric oxygen chambers. There is hope, yes, and then there is acceptance that the ocean is as merciless as space. It is hostile to our life form in that if our artificial environment is breached, we can't continue to live.

They've found a debris field. It may or may not be part of the 1912 wreck.

[cabinofimagines]

Holi-day one; Cabin Competition

I am honoured to be the first one to write for our December fest. I will also be the second and third so please don’t get sick of me to early-

Pairing: PLATONIC Frank, Hazel, Percy x gn!reader (some more are mentioned) Word count: ~800 Warnings: None

- Asnyox

mlist - next ->

As the visitors for the winter holidays started arriving at camp, everyone noted how dull camp was for this time of year. You see, last year there were a lot of decorations around camp in the month of December. However, this year Chiron decided that instead of decorating camp with the year rounders he would make it-

“A camp wide competition!” Chiron announced at the dining hall, “Every cabin gets to decorate their own cabin and an assigned plot in camp! Do take in mind campers that you also have to clean up the decorations after New Year’s Eve. There is an assortment of decorations already distributed…”

As Chiron kept on explaining the rules you looked around at the different tables. Right now you were sitting with some of the visitors of Camp Jupiter, and as you already saw multiple mischievous looks at varying tables around the dining hall you sighed.

“Not happy with the competition?” Frank asked from his spot across from you. “I don’t know if Chiron didn’t realize this but,” you gave Frank a grave look, “I fear this competition is going to get heated.”

───────────

You were right. The first three hours after the start of the competition were seemingly alright, most cabins were very busy with their own cabin. After breakfast, you had quickly taken your visiting friends away from the cabins, wanting to keep the decorations as a surprise for later. Percy had joined you as he opted to simply put a singular Christmas ornament on his door and call it a day, giving his share of Big House decorations to his girlfriend’s cabin.

“I don’t feel like cleaning up any decorations and besides,” Percy smiled as he walked next to you, “I think it’s more fun to see this unfold.”

So, after you spend some wonderful calm moments just hanging around with your friends, you decided to walk slowly back to the cabins. You could already see the mess from far away, a lot of the smaller cabins seemingly teamed up to create the effects they wanted. The Iris, Hypnos and Nemesis had created a gigantic rainbow spanning over the three cabins; however, the colours were ever shifting.

“Is that made out of normal lights?” Frank asked, amazed at the sight and you shook your head. “It’s probably an enchantment.” You pointed at the cabins on the other side, Nike, Tyche, Hebe and Hecate. Besides the garlands that were thrown everywhere, and the semi broken baubles on the floor there was not a lot going on. Laurel and Holly Victor (children of Nike) were yelling at Lou and Alabaster (Children of Hecate). Clovis, child of Hypnos, was asleep a few metres away from them. He was covered in fake snow but snoring soundly.

“My guess is that they tried to also form an alliance,” you stated, and Hazel nodded slowly, “By the way, has anyone seen Jason? I thought he would hang out with us.” In response to your question, Percy pointed upwards, above the Hephaestus cabin. Something that probably was Jason but rather looked like a floating ball of string lights was hovering a few metres above the roof of the cabin. “He is right there,” Percy said, concern in his voice, “I hope that will go alright.”

Your little group finally stepped into the open area between the cabins. Stepped into is sort of a hyperbole, for you couldn’t make it more than three steps in before it was physically impossible for you to go further. There were boxes everywhere, baubles and garlands scattered wherever you could look. There was a gigantic snowman (actually, there were like five, but you did not want to dwell on it).

You heard a loud BANG, however as you all were distracted by all the string lights on the floor, not yet on any cabins, you could not see where it came from.

“THE FIRE WORKS SHERMAN!” yelled Clarisse. You worriedly looked at the Ares cabin, seeing that yes, they indeed had flame throwers for the holiday season. Not only that, but somehow, they had gotten light up barbwire to add to their normal, just spiky barbwire collection.

“It is worse than I thought it would be.” Percy sighed as he looked around. “Now, now, Percy. Sometimes a little chaos will lead to the best decorated houses!”

Percy jumped up at the voice. From the corner of your eye you already spotted the red Christmas hat, giving away the owner of the voice.

“That’s very true, Klaus.” You grinned at the black-haired boy, “Everyone, this is Klaus. He’s a child of Hermes and arrived not too long ago to camp.” Klaus bowed, as he tipped his Christmas hat, showing off his fluffy black hair and elfish ears. 

“Lovely to meet you, but I have my cabin to decorate!” Klaus smiled as he ran off, somehow not tripping over any of the stuff on the floor.

[autumnalwalker]

Untitled Solarpunk Witch draft, chapter 1.0

Vernal Equinox, Five of Pentacles

“As it turns out, there was a clerical error.  The people of Zello were requesting a witch for aid with a specific issue, not a full time village witch.”

“Well… here you go.  Ladder to check the solar’s out back.  Bedroom’s on the right.  Bathroom and kitchen are on the left.  The couple that used to live here moved out a month ago, but we’ve been taking turns maintaining the filter plants under the house.  I trust you can handle that yourself while you’re here?”  

Something about the big overalled man’s drawl strikes me as skeptical, but I ignore it and put on a smile.

“Yes, of course.  Thank you so much Mr.…”

Bell.  Travis Bell.

“Bell!  You and everyone else here for finding me a place on short notice.  My apologies again for the mixup.”

“Weren't no problem.  Houses oughta be lived in.  Well…” he tipped an imaginary hat, “you have a good evenin’.  We’ll be down the way in the morning to show you to the spot.”

“Thank you.  Have a good night!”

The moment Mr. Travis Bell closed the door behind him, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and looked over at Bast(et) who’d already found a countertop to perch on.

“Thanks for the save.”

It’s what I’m here for.

I guide the broom over to a spot where I’ll have room to unfold the cauldron later if I need it and power it down.  As it settles to the floor I shrug off my backpack and fish out a change of clothes before dropping that next to it.

As I make my way to the aforementioned bathroom, Bast(et) speaks up again.

Not going to perform a dwelling ritual?

“You heard them.  They didn’t ask for us to stick around in that sort of capacity.  Crashing here for a night or two doesn’t really constitute ‘dwelling.’  You want me to scrub you off while I’m in here?  I think you got some bug splatter on you during the flight.”

I’ll be quite alright out here.  I can self-clean, you know.

“Suit yourself.”  I toss my hat back out toward the rest of my pile of stuff and close the door behind me.

Not knowing what their water conservation situation is like around here, I keep the shower short, but even that is wonderfully refreshing after a couple days of hard flying.  And the humidity.  I mean, I sort of expected that, knowing the sort of climate I was heading toward, but I wasn’t expecting the air itself to feel sticky.

I’m sure the sticky feeling will come back soon enough, but as I emerge a short time later and cross over to the bedroom and flop onto the still-covered bed, I feel like a new witch.  And I suppose in some ways I am.

I feel Bast(et) hop onto the bed and nudge me.

Enjoying yourself?

I let out a muffled “You know it,” into the bedspread before rolling over.

“Alright, self-indulgence out of the way now.  Let’s go over what we know.”

You mean what was in the info packet you didn’t read?

“Eh, if the info packet was accurate this place wouldn’t have been on the list for me to choose from anyway.”

Bast(et) rolls her eyes in a most un-catlike manner before going on.  Zello.  By population, area, and disconnection from the macro energy grid, it is classified as a “village.”  Surrounding environment is classified as a salt marsh.

“Not a swamp?”

They’re not technically the same thing, no.

“Huh, the more you know.”

Shall I go on?

“Eh, I got the info packet up now myself.  You didn’t need to list out the whole thing.  Now let’s see.  Primary energy, solar, supported by blah-blah, the usual.  Agricultural staples, we’ll see that walking around tomorrow.  Ah, here’s some maybe more relevant bits.  Founded in late Corp era by coastal refugees from rising sea levels.  Got stubborn and refused to move when the water kept rising and swamping out - excusing me, “marshing out” - the area.  Managed to maintain relative independence, isolation, and self-sustainability throughout the tail end of the Corp era and through the Reconfiguration.  No record of a witch in residence at any point during that.”

Is that last part so surprising?

“Not really, it’s just a bit of a bit of a reality check of how necessary we really are.  Or not.”

Not saviors, but specialized tools for specialized problems…

“‘And conduits for shared wisdom.’  I know, I know.”  I sit up and sigh.  “It’s just… you get this idea of going out into the world and helping, and then you get there and find out ‘Oh, sorry, we’ve been doing just fine on our own.’  And I get it.  If what they’ve got going is working for them, it makes sense they wouldn’t want to change it up.”

But it bothers you.

“A little.  But hey, look at it this way!  They’ve got a short-term immediate problem, and it happened to be the place I wound up going first.  I was right letting fate decide where to go.”

Just please don’t make a habit of it.

“No promises,” I say with a smirk. “So, weird spot in the marsh that’s killing off plants and made people sick when they tried to investigate it themselves.  Got any theories on that?”

I’m refraining from postulating until we have more information.

“Maybe someone here’s got a Corp era generator that they’ve been dumping the waste and hiding it.  And then when we go to investigate they’ll try to interfere to cover their tracks and pin it on someone else.”

Right…

“Hey, it’d be exciting.”

Sure.  Except then when you investigate the wrong person you find an even bigger problem.

“Because it turns out that person did a murder hand hit a body out there in the same spot, so it looks like the rotting body was the source of the contamination.”

But then it turns out all along it was a crashed satellite leaking radiation.

“Exactly!”

Bast(et) makes the trilling sound that’s her equivalent to a chuckle.  Well, fun as that would all be, I think it’s a sign we’ve both been running continuously for too long.

“Yeah, you’re right.  See you in the morning.”

*******

The next morning I grab my hat, wand, and grimoire, and head out with Bast(et).  The broom I leave outside the house’s front door in its umbrella-like charging configuration.

Zello’s a town built on stilts over the brackish water of the marsh, higher than even the visible tidelines would seem to warrant.  A sign of periodic flooding perhaps?  As I make my way across the bridges connecting the platforms and buildings, I note the latches holding the ends in place.  For pulling up during hurricanes I assume.  I’ve read of similar designs elsewhere.

As I pass by the locals, I try to ignore the strange looks that I get and just smile back.  Focus on what they were doing before they stopped to stare.  Doing maintenance on the rooftop solar panels.  Tending to the gardens on the sides of and beneath houses.  Piloting rafts using long poles.

For a moment I ponder where they got the wood to build all this from.  There’s bits and pieces of refurbished Corp era architecture, but most of it looks more modern and natural.  Strange since there’s no trees anywhere around here, save for just barely visible on the horizon further inland, just shallow water, grass, and shrubbery as far as the eye can see in every other direction.  Gray-green dappled over blue.

But before I think on it much further, I reach the dock where Travis and another man are waiting in an airboat.  The kind that goes on water with a giant fan on the back, not the kind that actually goes through the air.

I introduce myself and Bast(et), and Travis introduces the other man, Emanuel to us, and we head out.

“No robes today?” Travis asks as we put the village behind us, “I thought those were like a uniform for you people.”

I shake my head, and shout over the fan.  “They’re traditional, but not practical all the time.  You ever try to clean caked mud from an ankle-length gown?  Not a great time.”

“But the big pointy hat is practical?”

“Definitely practical.  But enough about me, what can you tell me about what we’re dealing with here?”

“Emanuel, you’re the one who found it, you wanna tell it?”

“Go for it.  Don’t like to talk while I pilot.”

“Well then, Emanuel here found it a few weeks ago, couple days after a big storm came through.  Out of season, but it happens.  Big ol’ tree uprooted and blown in from the woods is what got his attention.  Sort of thing we could get some people together and bring back home.  But then he noticed the fish belly up around it.  Pretty strange but, lumber is lumber, ‘specially if it comes down naturally, so he came back to town, rounded up some of us and we went out to see if we could move it.

“That part went normal enough, ‘cept for the fact that one of the branches seemed to be stuck in something under the mud.  We got it out, but the Richardson boys wanted to see what it’d been stuck on.  Didn’t take five minutes of them bein’ in the water ‘fore they started shaking and heaving something awful.”

“Seeing things too.”

“Right.  That was freaky.  So, we pulled them back onto a boat, and hightailed it back to town, leaving the lumber there.  Doc couldn’t figure out what was wrong with them, but they were fine after a day or two.  No problems since that I’ve heard of.  Still, the whole thing was weird enough that it convinced enough people to finally get a witch out here to take a look at it.”

I nod.  “You made the right call with that.  I’ll want to check on the Richardsons at some point while we’re here, but for now one thing at a time.”  I hope I didn’t sound too excited as I said that.

“Wasn’t my call, but long as you’re here, may as well see what you can do.”

Well, that’s fun.

I subvocalize to Bast(et), “So, any theories now?”

The tree punctured something buried that started leaking, that much is obvious.  Corp era most likely.  Too many possibilities to say exactly what though.  The hallucinatory effects narrow things down somewhat, but best to do a proper divination once we get there.

That advice in mind, I spend the rest of the ride scrolling through my grimoire picking out and compiling modules for the divination sequence.  I don’t notice that we’ve arrived until Emanuel shuts off the rotor and the sudden quiet jolts me as much as any noise.

I look up to see that we’ve stopped next to a large tree lying on its side, ropes still looped around the base of its roots and branches from where they’d pulled it aside.  Judging by its size, it might have even been pre-Corp when it first sprouted.  I feel a pang of sadness for the death of something so old.  Try to tell myself that it was better that it fell naturally than having been cut.  Not sure that helps, but I have a job to do so I push it aside.  The smell of decaying fish and marsh grass is distraction enough.

Step one: Pull out my wand, lean over the side of the boat and start running the wand through it, stirring in esoterically optimized patterns that Bast(et) guides me on.

I see Emanuel’s reflection behind me but don’t break my concentration to look directly at him as he begins speaking.

“So, what are you doing there?”

“First step of the divination sequence.”

“Divination?”

“Doing a water sample analysis.  Detecting anything dissolved in it.  Pollutants and the like.  Trying to get an idea of what got those guys sick and killed off everything else around here.  And if it’s going to do the same to me if I get in.”

Several minutes of stirring later, my hat beeps to notify me that the sample gathering is complete.  I leave the grimoire to run the actual analysis and Bast(et) to interpret it while I move on to the next part.

Step two: Ask my local guides to help me onto the tree, climb on up, take off my hat, set it down, thank the fallen ancient, and subvocalize the command phrase to activate the next module in the sequence.

My hat presses itself flush with the tree trunk and emits a deep whomph sound.  I feel the vibration through the wood, and glance down to see the subtle ripples sent through the still water.  I reprioritize the grimoire’s analysis to the new thread, close my eyes and wait.  I tune out Emanuel and Travis’s questions about what I’m doing.  This next part takes concentration and always feels more than a little weird.

Slowly, the dark behind my eyelids begins to fill in.  First and most clearly, the tree.  Transparent monochrome layers like pieces of fogged glass wrapped around one another.  The outer layer of the bark is the most distinguishably separate, but if I concentrate I can make out the knots and cracks within.  

But it’s not the tree I’m interested in.  Nor is it the image of my own body, bones and implants visible beneath a cloud of flesh.  I try not to move too much as I look around.  The image won’t move with me and  that just gets nauseating.

Moving down, the water barely registered.  Or maybe it’s filtered out, I’ve never been exactly clear on that.  It’s not an ideal medium for this, nor is the mud yet further below so the outlines of the floating fish, still crabs, and wilted grasses are more hazy and indistinct.  But there, off to my right and near the branches, there’s a bright solid spot a foot or two beneath the mud.  Boxy with some irregular protrusions, too obscured to say exactly what they are, but I know enough to tell that it’s mostly metal.  Maybe some plastic and rubber mixed in.  We’ve found our culprit.

Having found what I need, I cut off the rendering from progressing further and switch thread priority back to the water analysis.  Opening my eyes, I get a moment of disorientation before I remember to hide the overlay.  I talk as I climb down, leaving the hat up there just incase I need to do another pulse.

“Well, there’s definitely something down there.  Not just a container either.  Pretty sure it’s got some sort of complex moving parts.  I’ll need to actually get to it though to say exactly what it is though.  Bast(et), how’s the water looking?”

Travis looks over at me, confused.  “Who?”

I gesture to the black and gold cat.  “Sorry, my familiar.  She helps with processing all this.”

That’s an understatement.  But the water’s looking safe enough.  There’s some trace amounts of things that shouldn’t be here that I’m still identifying, but nothing in quantities large enough to do anything.  Whatever it was, the marsh seems to have filtered it out and dispersed it by now.

“Good enough for me.  Well, prep a cleansing just in case.”

You sure about that?

“Yeah, I probably won’t need it, but better safe than sorry.”

You wind up pretty sorry either way with that.

“It’ll be fiiine.”  I notice Travis and Emanuel openly staring at me.  I glance at Bast(et) and back to them.  “Oh, yeah, she talks back, just in here, you know?” I tap the side of my head.  “Promise I’m not crazy.”

Step three: Pull on my goggles, pull off my shirt, and jump in the possibly hallucinogenic water like a crazy person.

The water doesn’t come up much past my waist, but it’s enough that I’m going to need to stick my head under when I start trying to dig for whatever this thing is.  At least it’s warm.  Cooler than the air, but not so much as to be a shock upon entry.

As I wade over to the right spot, stirring up the sediment with each step, it belatedly occurs to me that this is going to do a number on my boots.  Nothing for it now I guess.

I close my eyes once more and bring the render back up to verify I’m in position.  The first deep breath I take is to ready myself.  Calm my nerves.  I’m not having any reaction yet, so I’ll probably be fine.  Whatever contaminant was here’s been dispersed by now.  I probably won’t shake a bunch more of it loose right in my face in a few moments.

The second breath is to hold as I go down.  Once my face hits the water I open my eyes.  With little in view but the gray-brown mud the overlay shouldn’t be too disorienting and it’ll help to see my hands at the same time as I dig.  I’m not trying to get the mystery box out just yet, only get it exposed enough to figure out what it is.  Maybe find a spot I can connect and interface with it if it has any functioning electronics after all this time.

As it turns out, trying to dig a hole underwater in mud that’s prone to sliding back into place is hard.  On my third time coming up for air I hear Emanuel’s voice from the boat behind me.

“You, uh, want any help there?”

“No, I’m… good…” I get out, breathing harder than I’d like.  “Just… taking… a… little… longer… than expected.  No point in getting more than one of us sick if something goes wrong.”

“Would you like a shovel at least?”

“We have a shovel?”

Emanuel tosses a thumb back at Travis as he holds one up.

I try to hold back a grimace of embarrassment as I take the proffered shovel.  “Thanks.”

Before I turn back to my work I shoot a glance at Bast(et) and subvocalize “Not a word.”

What?

I shake my head and resume digging.

As it turns out, trying to dig a hole underwater with a shovel that now has to push all the water out of the way in addition to the mud is hard.  But, it gets more moved at once so my hole doesn’t keep filling in and I don’t need to hold my breath and stick my head underwater.  Accidentally puncturing whatever it is that I’m trying to dig up becomes a concern though, so once I reach the fuzzy edge of the render I switch back to going by hand.

At last, I feel something solid beneath my fingers.  Excitedly, I start clearing away more until I have a decently sized flat surface exposed.  No labels or logos on this side though - and if it is Corp era, it’ll have those somewhere - but it’s enough that with direct contact I should be able to tell if anything is active on the inside.  It’s unlikely after all this time, what with it probably being buried for longer than I’ve been alive, but it’s worth checking.

Back up for air one more time, grab my wand, start up the next module of the divination sequence and go back down.  I press the tip of the wand to the surface and, to my surprise it turns out that whatever battery this thing’s running on still has a charge, if only barely.  Even better, it’s putting out a wireless signal.  Weak enough that it was getting blocked by the mud and the water before, but it’s there.

I come back up, crouching awkwardly to keep the wand in contact while I route the signal to the grimoire for interpretation and cross-reference.  Grining, I pull a few strands of wet hair out of my face and shout out, “I got it!”

“Really now?” Travis replies.  “What is it?”

“Just a minute.  Bast(et)?”

Almost ready.  There we go.  Oh…

“What?”

That’s a combat drone.

My grin fades and my stomach drops.  We’ve all heard the Reconfiguration era horror stories.  Proto AI’s just smart enough to hunt but not smart enough for reason or empathy.  Walking guns getting deployed en masse as the old order struggled to hold onto control.  Dormant units getting stumbled upon and causing havoc years later.

“Oh… Shit.”

Judging by the looks on Travis’s and Emanuel’s faces they weren’t expecting that kind of language from me.

“Everythin’ okay over there?” Travis asks, his drawl stretching out more than usual, his eyes darting between and to Bast(et).

“Oh yeah, sure.  Everything’s fiiine.  A little more potentially volatile than expected, but nothing to worry about yet.  I’m just going to do one more thing to stabilize it real quick and then we’ll be good to come back tomorrow with my broom to pull it out.”

I am NOT interfacing with that thing.

“I’m not asking you to.  I know how it is.  I got this.”

… You sure?

“I got this.”

Thanks.

Emanuel speaks up. “Okay, but, what is it?”

“Oh, it’s just a combat drone.  But don’t worry, it’s totally dead.  Mostly.  I’m about to make sure it stays that way.  Just uh… you might want to move the boat back a bit after Bast(et) grabs my hat.  Just in case.”

I give them (and my hat) a couple of minutes to get clear and then turn back to the drone beneath me.  What I’m about to do is probably actually safer than jumping out my window was, but I’m not completely oblivious to proper safety procedures.  So I keep telling myself.

Two breaths again and then down.  

I press my hands to the exposed surface and try to make the connection.  A lot of witches would insist that direct contact isn’t necessary and that a wand is a better medium for interfacing than relying solely on your implants, and they might be right, but this always feels better to me.  More natural.  As natural as something like this can be.  And I like to think that if there weren’t something to that feeling, we wouldn’t be calling ourselves witches.

The drone’s already looking for a signal.  It’s been waiting for one for so very long.  It wants to know what it should do.  It’s alone in a way it was never meant to be and restrained in a way it doesn’t know how to handle.  Is it any wonder then that it’s eager to greet me?  To accept me?

Bast(et) would tell me to stop anthropomorphizing it.  That it’s further from her than one of the alligators probably lurking in this marsh somewhere is from me.  And again, she’s probably right, but conceptualizing the interfacing like this is what works for me, and I follow that.

I say hello.  Tell the drone I’m here to help.  It’s done a good job and it can rest now.  I just need to take a look at it first to see what needs fixing and then while it sleeps I’ll get it out, get it cleaned up, then get it all fixed up, good as new.  Better than new even.

I’ve always struggled with the most important parts of being a witch.  Gardening.  Memorizing uses for local plants.  Assessing situations for applicable sustainability practices.  Putting people at ease.  Helping them find common ground.  Explaining the spiritual side of what we do.  That sort of thing.  But this right here?  This is my comfort zone.

The drone trusts me.  It eagerly offers up the log of its systems.  Battery.  Sensors.  Tracking.  Taser.  Gun.  Ammo stores.  Chemical weapon canisters.  The thrill of suddenly knowing so much is almost enough to ignore how much what I’m looking at nauseates me.  That last item on the list.  It’s sorry to report that it’s store’s been breached and one of the canisters sprang a leak.  Only a little bit is left.

I thank the drone for its cooperation.  Tell it that it can rest now.  Shut down all the way even.  The next thing it knows it’ll be up and walking around and not worrying about leaky canisters.

I promise.

It shuts down.

No more signal.

I let go and come up gasping and light-headed.  In retrospect, doing that underwater when it’s easy to lose track of time and one’s own body maybe wasn’t the smartest idea.  Sure, the actual amount of time that kind of interfacing takes is always less than it feels, but time does still pass, so it’s not usually a good idea to hold your breath for it.

Are you okay?

I turn back to Bast(et) on the boat and wave.  “I’m good!  We’re all clear.”

*******

The rest of the day turns into a village-wide meeting about what to do about the drone.  As I explained to Travis and Emanuel on site, there’s no danger at this point of it activating and causing trouble that way, but that leaky canister is still going to be a problem since it’s not all the way empty yet.  While I could use my broom once it’s fully recharged to pull the drone out of the mud, there’s a good chance that moving it around is going to cause another spill.  On the other hand anyone trying to go in there directly to remove the canister separately before moving the rest is putting themselves at risk of a more concentrated exposure than what the Richardsons got.

Eventually, it’s agreed that since it’s stable for now, we’ll be spending the next week or two coming up with solutions for containing any potential spillage to the already-affected area when I attempt to dislodge the drone, as well as how to best safely dispose of its various armaments, chemical and otherwise.  Right now the main time constraint to how long we can spend on that planning is the odds of another storm coming through and shaking the drone up again.  While I’ll probably be the one doing most of the direct handling of the drone for whatever we decide on, the solutioning for deciding what I should be doing with it and how the containment, cleanup, and disposal will be done is going to be a matter of village consensus.

From there we move on to what to do with the drone itself.  Everyone agrees that it needs to be disarmed, but debate arises as to if the main body of the drone should be maintained and repurposed or broken down for parts.  To Bast(et)’s displeasure I wind up speaking in favor of maintaining and repurposing.

Ultimately, that decision gets tabled for future discussion.  Get it out of the mud, no longer leaking harmful chemicals into the marsh, and disarmed, then we can decide what to do with it.

*******

As Bast(et) and I get back to the home that’s been loaned to us, I bring my broom back inside, strip off my mud-encrusted boots, and let out a sigh of exhaustion.

Straight to the shower again?

I shake my head. “Dwelling ritual first.  Looks like we’re gonna be here a while after all.  Besides, it’s the equinox.  For a couple hours still anyway.  What better time for it than the first day of Spring?”

For someone who goes on about being out of touch with the spiritual side of what we do, you like your auspicious timings.

I refold the broom out of its umbrella-like charging configuration and extend the bristles.  I’ll never understand witches with brooms that can’t sweep.

“Yeah, well, take what you can get from me, I guess.”

As I begin sweeping, we settle into a comfortable rhythm of alternating banter, silence, and words of ritual.  Words to thank the former residents of this home and promise to respect it while they are gone.  Words to acquaint ourselves with and cleanse the home’s electronic systems, from the solar panels on the roof, to the lights within, to the waste filter monitor below.  Words to thank the community we’ve found ourselves in and promise to contribute as best we can.  Words to know the plants on the outer wall garden that may feed us and the plants beneath the house that clean that which we have fed upon.  Words to thank the Earth that gave us life and promise to care for her until we return.

The greater part of the ritual complete, I finally unpack my bag, finding a place to put my things alongside that which the former residents left behind.  As I’ve come to understand, when the couple that lived here moved out, it was with the intention of “seeing the world before they settle down,” so most folks around here assume they’ll be back one day and as such I try to disturb as little as possible.

That doesn’t leave much room for a proper altar, but I’ve never been one to go fancy with that.  An icon placed on the dresser across from the bed is enough for me.  A piece that I started carving at the start of my training and finished the day Bast(et) chose me to pair with.  A trifold symbol of the promise between the AIs, the humans that call themselves witches, and the Earth.

As I idly fiddle with the ring of black and gold on my middle finger, I turn my head from the altar to look at Bast(et) who’s already begun to curl up on top of the bed.

“Well, it won’t be forever, but for now, I think we’re home.”

[xwinchesterxlovex]

Exhale

September 24th 2001

Sam lights his last cigarette. It’s his first day of college. He can’t believe he’s even here.

He is supposed to meet up with some buddies from freshman orientation outside the chem lab. Class starts at 8:00 AM and it’s already 7:54 AM. They might be no-shows. He takes a long drag.

Sam doesn’t honestly know how people in college are supposed to behave. Unless you count the times Dean forced him to watch Animal House. If you’re going based on that, you ALWAYS skip an 8 AM, especially if it’s a Monday.

Not Sam, though. He has goals. He isn’t here on daddy’s money (laughable to even think about). He is going to quit smoking, try to make some friends, and become a lawyer. Sam is done hunting for good. He wants to make something of himself. He just wishes it didn’t mean Dean wasn’t in his life anymore.

God. He can’t even think about it. Sam knows that if he dwells, he’ll end up dropping out. All the pain of leaving, for nothing.

He lets the smoke billow from his mouth, then wipes a hand down his face, hard. Checks his watch again, 7:58 AM. He stamps out the rest of his cigarette and heads in.

-

Sam leaves his first class and pulls out his map of campus and his schedule. Next he's got freshman speech. That is definitely going to be hard. It isn't that Sam can't write a good speech. He definitely can. But, standing up there in front of everyone? His hands are sweating just thinking about it.

He rubs the back of his neck. Then he chews his nails. Cracks every knuckle. He lets out a frustrated sigh.

He pulls out his 'last' pack and lights up.

-

The next morning rolls around and Sam has the worst migraine of his existence. That includes the time Dean knocked him out cold sparring, only to later be thrown against the Impala by a ghoul. It doesn’t help that his roommate snores like an old man.

Sam had managed to cut back his smoking by half on the first day. He only had ten. Today he’ll aim for five.

He checks his schedule, then his watch. He was heading to grab some lunch at the dining hall, but he only has 18 minutes until calculus. His stomach growls.

Okay, having six won’t end the world. Sam grabs out a smoke and lights up as he walks. It’s a beautiful day, same as yesterday. It’s still weird to Sam that the only “weather” here is the occasional sprinkle. He stops outside the math building to finish his cigarette, when he notices someone is staring at him.

He ignores it. Sam isn’t a hunter anymore, there’s no reason this person could possibly be a threat. It does make him a little uncomfortable though, and his cigarette is only half gone.

The guy looks preppy. Polo shirt, khakis, the whole nine. Sam notes to himself to never, under any circumstances, dress like that guy. He might not be a hunter anymore, but no need to stray THAT far from what he knows.

Mr. Preppy saunters up to Sam as though he isn’t dressed like a little kid going to Sunday school. How cute, Sam thinks, this guy thinks he’s tough shit. Sam is ready to take this guy if he has to, but he would rather not get arrested on his second day.

“Hey man, can I get a smoke?”

“Uh, sure,” Sam hadn’t been expecting that. He pulls out his pack of Marlboros and hands one over to Mr. Preppy. He pulls out the zippo he stole from Dean and lights it.

“Thanks. I’m Brady. You?” Sam supposes he couldn’t have called him Mr. Preppy to his face, so Brady works.

“Sam. I’m Sam,” He says it around his cigarette and reaches out to shake Brady’s hand. “So, uh, are you in Calc 1 with Professor Touriev?”

“Sure am. I gotta be honest with you, Sam. Most kids who go here don’t smoke out in public. Bad for their image. They’d rather do lines at parties and stick their powdered noses up at a good cigarette,” Brady takes a long drag and closes his eyes like it’s the best thing he’s ever had.

“I’m actually trying to quit,” Sam ignores the comments about lines and powder. He doesn’t need to get mixed up in that right now. He has enough going against him.

“Oh, sure. Me too. You should try American Spirits. They’re healthier,” Sam figures he’ll have to look into that later. Maybe those could help him quit.

“We should probably head in. I think class is gonna start soon.”

They put out their cigarettes and head in, chatting about starting school and their home lives. Sam lies.

-

December 31st 2001

They’re in Brady’s dorm room getting ready and pregaming to go out when she knocks on the door. Brady lets her in and looks at Sam with a twinkle in his eye. Sam wonders what he’s up to.

“Sam, this is Jess. Jess, this is Sam. I just know we are going to be the bestest of friends,” Brady says with a big fat smile. It always amazes Sam just how outgoing Brady can be. The shots of tequila they've been taking probably don’t hurt either.

He supposes it’s a good thing since Brady is his only friend so far, but Sam really isn’t up for it. It’s bad enough that he and Brady are going out tonight.

Sam quietly gets up and offers Jess his hand, “It’s really nice to meet you Jess,” Sam hopes his smile reaches his eyes.

“You too, Sam,” Jess replies with a shy smile. Sam’s heart gives a heavy thud. Her eyes are as green as grass. It’s hard to tell around the smell of Axe body spray, but Sam smells cinnamon and whiskey on her.

Brady cuts in, clearly oblivious to the moment they’re having, “We got tequila and beer if you want something to drink.”

“No, I’m okay. I had a few shots of Fireball before I came. I’m ready to go when you guys are,” Sam is happy to hear that his senses are still sharp as ever. But, the color of Jess’s eyes and the smell of cheap whiskey make his heart hurt.

“Yeah, let’s get going. I gotta have a smoke,” Sam claims, breaking away from the group to go outside.

“Kinda seems like you took care of that already,” Jess says before he gets to the door. She must mean the weed. That was mostly Brady, Sam only had one hit.

Before Sam can respond, Brady does, “Nah, Sammy here is our resident fag enjoyer.”

Brady can be such a prick sometimes. Sam just rolls his eyes at Brady and holds up his pack of American Spirits towards Jess. He walks out without waiting.

He lights his cigarette and walks down the hall, ignoring looks from people as he passes by. Smoking inside is definitely frowned upon.

Sam chain smokes the entire way to the party.

-

11:43 PM

Sam has been sitting on the sofa, watching the people around him engage in things he only ever saw in movies, until he came to Stanford. He watches someone do an actual keg stand. Shortly thereafter, he watches a couple of blonde girls do lines of coke on the crappy coffee table.

Brady stumbles down the stairs and flops onto the couch next to him. Or rather, on half of Sam’s body.

“Dude. I’m totally gonna fuck Jess.”

“That’s nice, Brady,” Sam really isn’t in the mood to hear about his friend’s conquests. Especially not if the girl in question is Jess. Those eyes.

“Aw come on Sam, be happy for me!” Brady kisses Sam’s cheek and unsteadily stands to go back upstairs. Sam is coming to realize that he is not nearly drunk enough.

Sam gets up to get another beer and checks his watch, 11:51 PM. He hurries to the kitchen, grabs a beer from the cooler and chugs it in one go. Downs a second. Sam picks up one more, but this time, he sips it on his way out of the kitchen. His stomach feels like he’s about eight months pregnant, but he’s had worse.

He heads out to the front porch where everyone is smoking. Sam lights his 18th cigarette that day. So much for quitting.

With a beer in his hand and a cigarette between his lips, he’s transported right back to growing up with his brother, and well. John. Sam moved away from them. Yet, here he is. Same damn bad habits as his family.

As if to put the perfect bow on such a depressing line of thought, his phone starts to ring.

Sam pulls out the Nokia he bought off Brady and looks at the screen. He doesn’t have many contacts yet, so it just shows a number without a name. Sam isn’t sure if he should answer. The little screen says it’s 11:58 PM.

He clicks the answer button and puts it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Sammy?” Sam’s grip on his beer falters and it splatters all over his shoes.

“Dean?” He wheezes out.

“I just, uh, wanted to tell you, that I, uh… Happy New Year's, Sammy,” Dean stumbles over his words a little. He sounds miserable. Dean should never sound that way. What’s worse is that Sam knows he’s the reason.

The people around him start chanting, “Ten, nine…”

Sam is feeling the alcohol now. He needs Dean to know how much he misses him, “Dean, I’m so so sor-”

“Sam!” Jess bursts through the door behind Sam.

“Five, four…” people are still chanting as Jess grabs his face.

“Sam? I’m sorry too, okay. I miss y-” Sam thinks he hears Dean say on the phone. He can’t really hear over the fireworks now shooting overhead.

“Two, one! Happy New Year!” People all around them are yelling. Jess kisses him hard right on the lips.

Sam pulls back after a second or two, “Happy New Year’s, Jess. Please, I just need a minute.” She looks a little confused as he turns away from her.

He puts the phone back up to his ear to see if Dean is still there.

Nothing.

[ledenews]

Go with the Flow: Local Reiki Master Provides Mind/Body/Spirt Balance

Just for today— I will not worry. I will not be angry. I will do my work honestly. I will give thanks for my many blessings I will be kind to my neighbor and all living things Honestly, I struggle with each of these things every single day. I’m a working mother and wife and, like many, I’ve often felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. Layoffs, chronic illnesses, tragedies, and autism all presented major challenges. For many years, if my life did not go exactly as I desired, I WOULD worry, be angry, lose focus on work, and be bitter and resentful. An air of negativity and even hopelessness surrounded me. It was as if the universe was working against me. In reality, it was me who wasn’t working WITH the universe.  Lose a job? Worry about the income. Don’t think about the wonderful opportunity waiting around the corner. Don’t have faith that you are simply supposed to be somewhere else right now. Struggling with the kids? Just have a meltdown. Don’t see that this is an opportunity for self-growth, patience and even tough love. Home projects not going as planned? Stress out! Don’t reflect on the fact that your home is the dream of many. Like many, I turned to a higher power for answers. In my case, scripture. Now, I’ve always considered myself to be a very spiritual person, but after focusing my education NOT on what scripture can do for me but what scripture gives me AND what I am supposed to do with it, I realized that higher power was within ME all along. So, I started applying the above to my life each day. Little did I know they are the five spiritual principles of Reiki. My husband, Michael, had been researching Reiki extensively and enlightened me on the practice. And it just so happened a friend of mine in Martins Ferry is a Reiki Master. What is Reiki and Who Is Anissa Picard? Reiki is a Japanese word that means "Universal Life Force Energy." It is considered a Japanese technique for stress reduction and relaxation that is also believed to promote healing. But in ancient times, many people around the world were using hands-on-healing or energy medicine.  It utilizes touch, but not always, in a way that allows the healing energy from the Reiki Masters into the individual receiving the energy. Anissa Picard was vacationing in Croatia in the late 1990s when she first learned about Reiki. After reading “Essential Reiki” by Diane Stein, she knew Reiki was her calling. She then began training with a Reiki Master in California and opened her first practice there in 2003. “I was a high school French teacher at that time, so I had a home office and just practiced Reiki on the side,” she said.  “In 2004, I was trained in Reiki 2 and in 2005 became a Reiki Master and began teaching students. Five years later, I moved to France to be married and so started my practice there, teaching and conducting healing sessions.” Now she practices out of her home in Martins Ferry. “I usually talk to my clients for 10-15 minutes or so, just to get a feel for their state of being and any issues occurring in their lives on a physical, mental/emotional, or spiritual level,” Picard said. “They then lie down on a massage table fully clothed; the lights are dimmed and soft music plays in the background. I gently place my hands above certain areas of the body for a few minutes at a time and the session normally lasts about an hour. When the session is finished, I allow them 10 minutes or so to wake up gently until they feel ready to get up from the table. We then discuss any concerns or issues that may have arisen during the session.” My Experience Picard trained Michael in Reiki, so, knowing what I was already trying to practice spiritually, I decided to try with him. Now, I’m not one who likes to sit, or lie, still. Doing that usually causes me to dwell on everything I could be doing while sitting. I’m always president of this, volunteering for that, teaching this, spearheading that. My mind doesn’t turn off. But I chose to focus on all the times in my life where I just wished I COULD rest and decided to allow myself to do just that. “Reiki is not an alternative treatment for medical issues but a complementary one as it helps support healing and the feeling of well-being,” Picard said. “I want to point out that the healer does not actually do any healing. It is the recipient of the Reiki that does their own healing while in a mental state of peace of mind.” I went into this seeking healing from physical ailments that had caused me a great deal of pain for about a year. My eyes closed, my back flat on the floor, and heels down, the warmth of the hands on my head awakened something within me, but I can’t describe it. I was able to turn off my mind and just focus on the warmth coming from someone else’s hands. I thought about how we use our hands to do so many good things each day; greeting someone else, giving a hug, saving lives. How the spirit drives these physical acts and how the person laying their hands on me was doing so because they wanted to help. During the session, I slowly realized just how out of tune my mind, spirit and body were. The mind was willing and creative, but also over-thinking and over-ambitious. It was also constantly worried about the physical. The spirit was bogged down and confused by the constant ramblings of the mind, and what once was a driving force within me was now a dying flame. The body was tired, broken, in pain, and sometimes physically unable to do what the mind and spirit told it. And that is where the healing began. I couldn’t heal my body without healing the mind and spirit. It wasn’t completely about someone laying hands on me and being fully healed. That was just the vessel. I had to WANT to be healed of everything causing me problems, problems I didn’t know I had until I allowed myself to lie still for a while and realize them. I had to full embrace the principles above, change my diet and lifestyle to include proper nutrition, sleep and exercise and ASK for healing and ALLOW myself to heal. By that I mean, be willing to do what is necessary to facilitate healing throughout my body. How many times do we pray and ask for something? Likewise, we must ask and allow ourselves to be healed. This started me on a journey of mindfulness. One where I’m truly mindful of my blessings, mindful of my choices and the effects they have on myself and the people around me, and mindful of the responsibility I have to maintain the balance I have received. And I’m just one of many.  “I once had a student who had very bad colitis,” Picard said. “Along with the permission of his parents, we proceeded to treat him with Reiki, alongside his traditional medicines. I gave him about six sessions and he noticed that his symptoms had subsided and later that year stopped altogether!” “I once had a lady who was deeply distressed from a serious family situation,” she added. “She was crying all of the time and could not eat or sleep. I gave her 5 Reiki sessions in a row and it literally healed her from her anxiety and depression!” Reiki Certification Like I previously stated, Picard also does Reiki certification, teaching three levels. The first level teaches a student what Reiki is, how it may be enhanced or depleted.,” Picard noted. “We learn about the main chakra energy centers of the body and I teach students how to keep those balanced so that they can better channel the Reiki energy to the client. We also learn about the Reiki Principles as well as basic hand positions for oneself and others, including animals. There are also certain meditations or breathing techniques that students learn.” “Reiki 2 is mainly leaning about distance healing and Reiki symbols,” she added. “We also learn new techniques to be able to concentrate Reiki in a certain area as well as how to use Reiki with cancer patients and hospice patients. In this level you also learn how to use Reiki to heal the past as well as the future. The Reiki Master level is normally a level in which the Master chooses a student. “In this level you learn various techniques in self-healing (i.e., shadow work, journaling, meditations) and everything you need to know to be able to conduct your own classes, as well as the business side of things. At this level there are also things that you learn that may not be revealed in this interview.” If you would like more information on how to receive Reiki sessions or certification from Picard, you can call or text her at 740-338-9152 or email her at ceoldanissapicard@gmail.com. Read the full article

[veale2006-blog]

March 31,2024 Passover vs Easter Long but worth the read! Passover, the first feast (appointed time) of the year, was first enacted near the end of Israel’s slavery in Egypt, in the month of April, in the year 1598 BC. It is then, that Yehovah began to institute the seven feasts, beginning with Passover. With the renewed Moon appearing maybe on the evening of April 10, 1598 BC, a new calendar, the first day of the first month (Aviv), was given to Israel.

The KJV mistakenly spells it “Abib.” But it is AVIV. Nine days later, on Saturday, on the tenth day of Aviv (the morning of April 19), the chosen lambs were examined for a period of four days. They would be later sacrificed after completion of four days of examination on the fourteenth day of Aviv, which would be the afternoon of Wednesday, April 23. On that day, the lambs were killed, and their blood was smeared upon the door posts of the dwellings of Israel.

On this first occurrence of Passover—the actual “passing over” of Yehovah, occurred after the enactment of the seven-day Feast of Unleavened Bread began, which was on Wednesday at sundown, because Yehovah came at midnight, which followed the start of the fifteenth of Aviv. All Hebrew days start in the evening after sundown (evening and the morning). During the afternoon of the fourteenth of Aviv, Israel was to roast the lambs and have the “Passover (Seder) meal.” After sundown on Wednesday, they began the seven day feast of unleavened bread. The actual death of the firstborn occurred on the fifteenth day of Aviv around midnight of April 24, the dark hours of Thursday morning.

Later that day, Pharaoh sent for Moses and said the people could now go free, and that they could obtain donations from the people of Egypt.

Exodus 12:35–36 And the children of Israel did according to the word of Moses; and they borrowed of the Egyptians jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, and raiment:

And the LORD gave the people favour in the sight of the Egyptians, so that they lent unto them such things as they required. And they spoiled the Egyptians.

They began their departure from Egypt on Friday morning, April 25, still eating the unleavened bread made in haste, through Tuesday evening, April 29, which ended the seven day feast. One week later, the two day crossing of the Red Sea began.

Israel left Egypt on Friday morning, on their way to pick up the body of Joseph, in the town of Succoth. Sunday morning, they opened the tomb and obtained the mummy of Joseph. This served as the initial First Fruits Offering.

Now, once the Hebrews dwelt in the land of Israel, on the tenth day of Aviv, the high priest would leave the temple, go to Bethlehem, which was five miles away, and choose the most perfect male lamb he could find. He would then journey back to Jerusalem with the lamb, pass through the east gate of the city, and make his way to the temple platform with the lamb. It was a yearly rehearsal for the appearance of the Messiah. The premier lamb would be tied to a post so that any and every one could examine the lamb to try to find any flaws. At the end of the fourth day of examination, if no blemish was found with the premier lamb, the high priest would loudly proclaim, “I find no fault in him.” Thousands of lambs would be killed and roasted in the ovens at the temple on Passover, starting about 9:00 AM (the third hour). However, the premier male lamb would always be the last one to be killed, usually at about 3:00 PM, after which, the high priest would shout, “It is finished.”

Let’s back track a little. On Wednesday, September 24, AD 27, was when Yeshua fed the four thousand men (plus women and children) with seven loaves and a “few small fish.” You can read about this in Matthew 15:32–38. Six days later, on September 30, which was the tenth day of the month of Tishri, the day of Atonement, Yeshua had just turned thirty years of age. On that day, He was ordained as the Cohen Gadol, the divine High Priest, at His transfiguration in the presence of Peter, James, and John. It was the 227th day of His 491-day ministry (seventy weeks).

This enabled Yeshua to fulfill the feast of Passover as the High Priest of God, after the order of Melchezedik, and as the Passover Lamb of God. On Saturday, April 24, AD 28, the tenth day of Aviv, Yeshua rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, maybe six minutes ahead of Caiaphas, the high priest, who was returning from Bethlehem with the premier lamb he had chosen, on that Sabbath day. That’s why the multitude was there with their palms. There was no such thing as Palm Sunday.

The gathering in the streets leading to the temple was supposed to be for Caiaphas, who served as high priest at the time. It was the end of the sixty-second week (434 days) of Yeshua’s 490 day ministry. The second level of Archangel Gabriel’s prophecy given to Daniel was about to be fulfilled.

Daniel 9:26 And after threescore and two weeks shall Messiah be cut off, but not for himself.

Three and a half days later, after sundown on Tuesday evening, April 27, which began the fourteenth day of Aviv, Yeshua was arrested and taken to a mock trial. After being paraded around to different authorities during the night, take note on what Pilate, the governor, said on Wednesday morning, in John 19:4:

John 19:4 Pilate therefore went forth again, and saith unto them, Behold, I bring him forth to you, that ye may know that I find no fault in him.

Yeshua was led out and crucified about 9:00 AM Wednesday morning on April 28, AD 28. This was the 14th of Aviv. Being made the High Priest at His transfiguration, after the order of Melchizedek, on the Day of Atonement, seven months earlier, Yeshua said the following about 3:00 PM, found in John 19:30:

John 19:30 When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, he said, "It is finished", and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.

It was about the time the premier lamb was put in the oven. It now was the middle of the 63rd week of Yeshua’s 70 week (490 days) ministry, when his blood was shed and flowed down the cross into a crack in the rock, caused by an earthquake. The blood dripped upon the west end of the Ark of the Covenant, which was positioned about thirty feet below the cross of Yeshua. It had been hidden there by Jeremiah and other priests in 587 BC, before Babylon entered Jerusalem and destroyed the temple.

Yeshua is “the bread of life.” Leaven (yeast) is symbolic of sin. Yeshua was born, lived His life, and died without sin. As you would put unleavened bread in the oven, Yeshua was put in the tomb about 5:30 PM. The Feast of Unleavened Bread began that Wednesday evening at sundown, April 28, AD 28, and Yeshua remained in the tomb for seventy-two hours.

The first evening of Unleavened Bread is a high Sabbath. It is called the day of preparation, because the priests would go and prepare for the feast of First Fruits. On the afternoon of Passover, the priests would go to the Kidron Valley after all the lambs had been roasted, and begin to tie together 24 stacks of the barley crop. The priests would bind together the stacks so that when they later returned on the following Saturday evening at sundown, when the Sabbath was over, they would cut the barley with a cycle at ground level, and take the barley to the temple.

After binding the barley, the high priest had to stay in seclusion until he offered the First Fruits Offering on Sunday morning. After the crucifixion, Caiaphas stayed in seclusion for three days, from Wednesday evening until Sunday Morning, during such time that he could not be touched by another person.

On that Friday, two Roman seals were put on the tomb. A Roman seal was the drilling of a hole through the rolling stone into the sides of the tomb wall at a downward angle. Then hot lead would be poured into the hole, and an iron rod was inserted.

The chief priests and Pharisees had gone to Pilate, the governor, to make that request. The left iron rod can still be seen at the Garden Tomb outside Jerusalem. The high priest and his entourage went outside the walls of Jerusalem and entered the Kidron Valley near sundown on Passover, after Yeshua had been put in the tomb. An earthquake had occurred while Yeshua was on the cross and disturbed twenty-four graves (boxes of bones) in the cemetery of the Mount of Olives. Those graves were being “marked.”, just like the stacks of barley. Three days later (after seventy-two hours) after being put in the tomb, about 5:30 PM on Saturday, May 1 AD 28, the Lord of the Sabbath, rose from the dead on the Sabbath, vanishing from the tomb and reappearing somewhere else. For the next twelve hours, the Roman soldiers would be guarding an empty tomb. Yeshua had thus fulfilled the Feast of Unleavened Bread.

On Sunday, the morning after His resurrection, Mary Magdalene wanted to embrace Yeshua, but He told her not to touch Him “because I have not yet ascended to my Father.” What He was saying was that the twenty-four “elders” that He had resurrected after He left the tomb, were still in the city, and He had to take them to Heaven to present them to Yehovah in order to fulfill “the Feast of First Fruits” offering, as the High Priest.

Those are the events that surround Passover each year. It starts with the examination of the barley crop at the end of the 12th month, called Adar, to see if it will be ready for the first fruits offering. If it is not ripe enough, a 2nd 12th month is declared, named Adar bet. At the end of the 2nd 12th month, the first month of the year is declared, called Aviv, when the first sliver of the renewed Moon is seen, or 30 days after the start of the 2nd 12th month. When there is cloud cover and the renewed Moon can’t be seen, a 30th day is declared by default, and the next evening starts the new month.

Now, I will talk about the evils of Easter.

Semiramis, the widow of Nimrod, died. The “handlers” (or priests) of sun god worship, started the belief that she was received up in Heaven, and was sent back to Earth in a giant egg. It supposedly landed in the Euphrates River, and she emerged as Ishtar, the goddess of sex and fertility, and she turned a bird into an egg laying rabbit, in order to demonstrate her divinity. Later, Ishtar was renamed “Easter”. You’ll find the term “Easter” in the Bible, Acts 12:4.

In the land of Shinar, and spreading to Canaan, they had designated places called “caves of Tammuz”. Priests at these places would impregnate virgins on the first Sunday after the vernal equinox, calling it Easter Sunday. It was hoped that the children would be born near December 25, for “Child-mas”, to be sacrificed to a fiery god. Those that weren’t born “at Child-mas” were killed at Easter, and eggs supposedly laid by the rabbits were dipped in the blood of the killed three month old babies. Then another round of virgins were impregnated in the caves of Tammuz, to keep the cycle going.

The Catholic Church evolved in Rome, in the third and fourth centuries. It combined pagan sun god worship with fragments of what was thought to be Christianity. Child-mas was changed to Christmas, with Christ being born on December 25, the birth day of pagan sun gods. The forty days of “weeping for Tammuz” was moved to start on what was called “Ash Wednesday”, saying that it was to commemorate the forty days that Jesus fasted in the wilderness. It was moved in order to end, on the day after ���Good Friday”, and just before Easter Sunday. Sundays during that stretch of time were not included.

Easter was celebrated with the dyeing and searching for eggs laid by fictional rabbits, and eating ham to commemorate the boar the killed Tammuz on his 40th birthday. The day of the crucifixion was changed to Good Friday, in honor of Dagon the fish god, when fish is to be eaten, and recognition of the resurrection was changed to Easter Sunday, a week after what was called “Palm Sunday”, when Yeshua was thought to have ridden into Jerusalem. However, Yeshua rode into Jerusalem as the Messiah on Saturday, crucified on Wednesday, was still in the tomb on Friday, and rose from the dead on Saturday the Sabbath. He did not resurrect on Sunday.

The End

[sugandhachejaraus-blog]

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[justaventaccountman]

It’s been a while since I’ve typed here- I’m doing better, genuinely

S*** h*** isn’t a concern to me anymore, and even like. Suicidal thoughts are fleeting and infrequent.

I’ve also definitely improved my relationship ship with my mom now, and gotten a little closer to my sisters (although it’s not all clear yet)

I also! Have a potential major now- double major in film and CS. Why? Who knows but I don’t hate it? And maybe I’ll grow to enjoy it.

Film is like. A way for me to be able to write without having to read a bunch of stuffy old books and be in classes filled with like. Pretentious assholes. I was worried about film bros but everyone I’ve met so far is just. Super passionate in a cool way or just doesn’t care. Production side of stuff is also useful to know if I start to take this streaming thing seriously, which I kind of am? It’s looking like something I can commit to.

CS was just a stem thing to get my mom to not worry about what the hell im doing, but I’m also like. Interested in the future of AI, and I feel like in the next generation coding will only become a more valuable skill (I kind of suck at it, and if I don’t like. Start to get it soon I’ll pivot but I’m fine for now)

I think my problem now is that I’m faux introspective- instead of s*** h*** i self loathe. And I know it’s a problem! I just dwell on negative things as a way to not have to truly deal with them.

Things have been getting a bit rough interpersonally lately. One of the few things I’ve prided myself on was being a people person, and I’ve been forced to realize these past few months that I’m not that.

My high school friend group and other periphery high school friends are solid but like. I can tell everyone is starting to leave me behind. Which is good by the way! It’s awesome to see everyone pursuing their dreams and crafts in ways I couldn’t imagine. I just feel like. I’m starting to become dead weight— I can’t really trust myself to vent or ask them for help anymore, because I don’t want to make things worse.

In college? A shitshow. I got into an argument with a super close friend and we haven’t really talked since. I also, in the same day, left my college friend group that I had there since I came to *insert college* (not THAT eager to dox myself)

I just. I realized I was sort of stagnating. And ignoring the fact that those people didn’t really give a shit about me, and only really cared about me when I was becoming an inconvenience for them. (There was like this whole weird. Intervention thing where my former roommate asked to speak with me in the hall and told me everyone’s grievances with me.)

It just made me think of the interactions I had with the first person I started venting too— they ended up bottling it up for five years before telling me I was having a negative effect on them.

It just made me think. Why couldn’t anyone be honest with me? Back then it was because I came off as too unstable and they couldn’t trust I would react well (which, fair). Now? Who knows.

It just made me realize that despite all the self reflection I did, despite all the work I put into myself and trying to be a better person, I was running into the same exact problems.

It honestly really hurt me. I wasn’t good for a while afterwards. But now It’s starting to fade into the past

The close college friend is a different story though, that was just. Me being an asshole. (Although I wasn’t FULLY in the wrong.)

She was a coworker and good friend of mine (friend before coworker) and I asked her to cover the shift for me before Thanksgiving. I was in a panic because I really wanted to get back to the city, and no one was offering to cover. She agrees after seeing me stress over this, and I thank her to death and promise to cover a shift for her, even 2 in return.

I think that’s the end of it, and it’s a huge burden off me. Then 2 days later, she says that she wants to go to a friends house that day instead and can’t do it anymore. This friend offered her after she agreed to help me out and I just felt. Betrayed.

Betrayal isn’t the right word. Like. Discarded. Like, my needs weren’t her concern at all and I didn’t matter at all. She was just able to completely go back on her word and screw me over 2 days before thanksgiving. I had recently confided in her my difficulty with asking people for help and trusting that they’ll follow though too

And so I responded pretty coldly to that, she asked me if it was okay and I told her frankly I thought it was a pretty shitty thing to do. We start arguing and things escalate. I’d like to think I kept it respectful, but she felt hurt by some of the things she said (I genuinely think that might’ve been a language/cultural barrier — she took me saying “that was a shitty thing to do” as “you’re a shitty person for doing that”)

I only realized this after and while I like. Ultimately just reacted coldly because I felt hurt and betrayed by what she did— I could’ve responded better, and she was really just trying to help me out at the end of the day and then couldn’t.

Idk man, it was a very messy situation, but is forced me to recognize that! I am not actually as good as I thought I was with handling people, in one fell swoop I lost almost all my college friends! ❤️

It’s funny, I originally opened this vent to complain about how lazy and awful I was for not recognizing a schedule conflict in my very meticulously planned schedule, and how I felt very bad about not being able to resolve it without spiraling — but this just turned into a reflective vent instead. That’s a whole other issue, that I’ll be sure to talk about later lmfao

[avatar-anna]

could you maybe do an angst where y/n and harry broke up and after they broke up y/n found out that she was pregnant so she was about to tell harry about it but when she went to harry she found out that she already has a new gf so she backtracked years/months later she bumped into anne n gemma

you ask for angst, i provide angst :)

part ii is up!!

part iii

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Y/n? Is that you?"

"Shit," you mumbled. You wanted to duck behind the rack of clothes you were standing behind, but it was clear you'd already been spotted.

Thanking your lucky stars that you were wearing a big enough sweater to hide your bump, you smiled hesitantly and waved at the two women. They took that as their cue to come over, and you swallowed the urge to high tail it back to your car. With feet planted firmly on the ground, you waited for them to reach you.

"Hi, sweetheart! How are you?" Anne said. She looked like she wanted to hug you, but you kept your shopping cart between you and her. You didn't want to be rude, but you couldn't risk her feeling your bump during a brief embrace.

"I'm well, thank you. And you?"

Anne was happy to fill you in on all the things she'd been up to since you'd last spoken, almost like nothing had changed. Did they not know? But one look at Gemma told you that they did. She mumbled a quick, "Sorry," to you, like she would've stopped her mother if she could have.

In theory, you wouldn't have minded a surprise run-in with your ex's mother. The two of you had been close, and that kind of close relationship didn't disappear overnight, even if you were no longer seeing her son. The problem was that you were the only one who knew you were pregnant, and you knew that if either Anne or Gemma found out, they would not hesitate to tell Harry, and you could not let that happen.

You were determined to have this baby on your own, without any kind of help from the baby's father, who as far as you were concerned was merely an untimely sperm donor. It was clear that he had moved on. He had a new life, and you or your unborn baby did not fit in it.

You tried to tell him when you found out, of course. You weren't a total monster. But a young woman's voice picked up Harry's phone, and as if that wasn't enough of a stab in the chest, you could hear him on the other side of the call. Could hear him calling her back to bed, hear the woman's giggles as she fended him off. He used to do the same to you, and you always pretended to hate it, but none of that mattered anymore. He had clearly moved on, so you would too.

"What are you doing in the baby section?" Gemma asked. An innocent enough question, but one that would cause suspicion if not answered carefully.

"Oh, my friend is having a baby shower. I was just picking out a gift," you said, hoping your voice was steady enough to be believable.

"How wonderful! Baby showers are just the best, aren't they? I remember pressing H about when you and he would finally settle down and—Oh, darling, I am so sorry. I didn't even think—"

"It's alright," you said, even though it really wasn't. You and Harry had been broken up for months now, five months to be exact, but being reminded of the past still stung. Especially when it seemed like you were the only one who mourned it.

There was an awkward silence, one that none of you knew how to fill. You were all well aware that Harry had moved on, so there was no point in dwelling on what could've been. And since your hormones were all over the place at the moment, you were suddenly overcome by the very strong urge to cry. You'd come to the store to look for a crib, but that would have to wait another day.

"I, um—It was nice seeing you both, but I should get going," you finally managed to say.

Anne looked like she wanted to say more, but Gemma rested a hand on her arm and shook her head, letting you turn your cart around and walk away from them. In your embarrassment and haste to get away, it didn't occur to you that your cart was full of baby items, not just one single gift.

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

A few days later and you were at home, lounging in your bathtub as you sipped sparkling cider and pretended it was champagne. The baby was quite active today, moving and kicking and making your life generally unfomfortable, so you decided to wind down with a bath. You still had a bunch of expensive oils and soap bubbles that Harry bought you, so you drenched your bathtub in it, got the water nice and hot, and carefully stepped in. The baby seemed to enjoy it as much as you, and you quietly mused that it already had expensive tastes like its father.

You stayed in the tub until your fingertips were all wrinkly, putting on the fluffy robe your friend bought you for your birthday last year. It had come in handy the last few months, as clothes sometimes felt too hot or too itchy to wear, so you often just lounged in a pair of granny panties and your robe. Life was good. It wasn't always going to be easy, but you took everything day by day, and today was good all things considered.

Half asleep on your couch as you watched TV, a knock pounded on your door. You got up with ease, silently dreading the day that that wouldn't be the case anymore. Looking through the peephole, your heart nearly stopped.

What the hell was he doing here?

Fixing the tie on your robe and smoothing out your hair, you answered the door, trying to ignore the skip in your heartbeat when your eyes landed on him.

"Harry, what are you—"

"Can I come in?" he asked, but didn't wait for you to respond. He pushed his way past you, pacing back and forth on your carpet.

"Sure, be my guest," you muttered to yourself, trying to keep your panic at bay. You feared he knew what you didn't want him to know, that Anne and Gemma were more perceptive than you wanted them to be.

As you got closer to Harry, you realized he was mumbling to himself. Maybe this was about something completely different. He looked more panicked than you did. "H, are you alright?"

He didn't seem to hear you, just kept pacing and muttering to himself, too quiet for you to make out.

"Harry, what's wrong?" you asked again, only this time you placed a hand on his arm to stop his jittery movements.

"Five months," he blurted. "Did you know at five months, the baby starts to grow hair and this greasy coating to protect their skin?"

You sighed. Your worst fears had come to light. "I did, yeah."

"I didn't," he said. "I didn't until my mum called me and left a message about how she saw you and asked me if I knew you were seeing anyone, and I called her back and told her that as far as I knew you weren't and why would she ask me that, and she said she saw you with a cart full of baby stuff and you had this glow about you and that you had to be pregnant, and for a moment I was devastated, but then I realized that we hadn't seen each other in five months.

"Five months, Y/n," Harry said. "You had five months to tell me you were pregnant, and you didn't."

Nodding, you said, "I know."

"Why? And why are you acting like it's some terrible thing if I did know? I'm the father, I have a right to—"

"You have a right to nothing," you said, angry all of a sudden. He was the one who broke up with you, who said he'd fallen out of love with you. He didn't get to judge you or your decisions. "We were broken up when I found out. I was terrified and alone, and I did try to tell you, but your girlfriend picked up. It was clear to me that only after a month of being broken up, you'd moved on. This is your past. We," you said, gesturing to your belly, "are your past."

"That's not fair," he said. "That's not fair and you know it."

"You need to go," was your reply. You walked towards the door to see him out, but he stayed put.

"Why? Because I caught you in a lie? You can't hide from me, Y/n. I want to be a part of my child's life, and you can't just—"

"I still want to be with you!" you shouted, your chest heaving up and down from your sudden outburst. Blinking back tears, you crossed your arms around yourself protectively. "You might've fallen out of love with me, Harry, but I—I'm still foolishly in love with you. I won't let you wanting to play house give me false hope. This is my life, and I need to learn how to live it without you. You want to help? Write a check, but I can't—I can't do this with you. Not right now."

It was a horrible thing to say. You regretted the words as soon as they flew out of your mouth, but you couldn't take them back, nor could you turn back time so you wouldn't see the way Harry's face fell. And you hated yourself for it, but a very small part of you vindictively felt good that you made him hurt as much as you'd been when he'd blindsided you with the breakup.

You thought he would fight, but he just hung his head in shame, which only made you feel worse. "I understand," he said, not looking you in the eye once. "Will you at least text me with updates? Or my mum or Gem? I don't want to be completely in the dark, and I—of course I'll help you if your having trouble financially."

"H, that's not—I shouldn't have said that. It was cruel and hurtful and—"

"You were honest about how you felt, that's all we ever can be, right?" he said, but he still wouldn't look at you. "I need to give you time to heal, and despite our situation, I'll try and let you do that. I'm sorry I didn't take your feelings into consideration."

"I'm sorry too," you said, your mouth feeling like it was covered in sandpaper. "Wait here."

You left him at the front of your home so you could go to your bedroom, pulling a picture frame off your desk.

"Here," you said, handing it to him. "A peace offering."

Harry held the framed sonogram photo like he was actually holding the baby. He wiped his eye as his finger brushed over the image, studying it closely. When he looked up, his eyes were lined with tears. He tried to hand it back to you, but you gently pushed his hand away.

"Keep it. I have an extra copy around here somewhere."

"Thank you." His voice was wobbly, but no tears fell. "Do you know if—"

"No, I want it to be a surprise," you said, assuming his train of thought.

You walked Harry to your door shortly after that, his eyes rarely leaving the picture you gave him. Seeing him so enamoured by the sonogram photo did things to you, made you believe in things that weren't going to ever happen. And that was why you needed your space. You could accept that Harry had moved on, but your heart hadn't yet. And with the baby and all the hormones, your feelings about him would make things worse. Seeing him as the father of your child, going to checkups and buying things and baby proofing your home, it would only confuse you more. You didn't deserve that, and quite frankly neither did his girlfriend, whoever she was.

"I didn't mean what I said before. I just—I just need time," you said as you opened the door.

"I understand. I'm sorry for the way things ended between us."

Shrugging, you said, "You can't control your feelings anymore than I can, H. If she makes you happy then be with her."

You meant every word. Because even though you were still in love with him, you wanted him to be happy. You knew you deserved to be happy too, and you would be, just not with him.

"Thank you, though I'm not sure how happy she'll be when she hears about this," he said, attempting humor.

"Then go. And be gentle."

Harry left soon after, and you pathetically watched him walk away, hoping he would turn back. He didn't, but you didn't expect him to, either.

When your door shut, you leaned against it and finally let the tears fall.

[lady-ashfade]

Ok so I heard your call for Five prompts…*cracks knuckles* here we go bc I love ur writing!

Prompt Numbers: 3, 5, 8, 11, 13-16, 18, 20, 21, 23, 30, 31, 37-40

With an Aged!up Five x Wanda Powers!reader, and also angst with a happy ending.

(Basically I’m in a “these two people claim to hate/want to kill each other but also always flirt with each other and get jealous/angsty when the other actually tries to date someone” mood)

I hope this makes sense and has decent grammar to it.

It’s 3:34am where I am lol.

Your curse.

Five Hargreaves x female reader.

Notes: Five is always aged up here, also this isn’t really angsty so I apologize. I could do all of the prompt but I did most of them, except 21, 14 and replaced one with 28. Also things get very spicy, it’s been a long time since I’ve wrote something like this so I’m a bit rusty.

Prompts: {3} “i would die for you”, {5} “I need you.”, {8} “you matter to me”, {11} “Stop ignoring me”, {13} “ If I didn't know any better I'd say you have feelings for me”, {15} “What do you see in them that I don’t have”, {16} “I can’t stand to see you with them”, {18} “Your eyes say kiss me, but your mouth says fuck you”, {20} “You’re cute when you’re angry”, {23} “Are you jealous?”, {28} “You’re so full of yourself”, {30} “As soon as you walk into a room my head hurts.”, {31} “Why are you bleeding?”, {37} “You’re to cute not to tease”, {38} “What? I’m just kissing you”, {39} “You’re mine”, {40} “Was that a moan”.

Warnings: Sexual themes, suggested intimacy, jealously. Also bad grammar and poor writing, this sucks but I kinda like it. This is almost smut.

Five didn’t like to dwell on emotions because it wasn’t sometime he had time for or wanted to show. He had a very thick wall up in his mind to keep anything from getting out which is way he was a jerk sometimes.

Five didn’t like to dwell on emotions because it wasn’t sometime he had time for or wanted to show. He had a very thick wall up in his mind to keep anything from getting out which is way he was a jerk sometimes.

But you were something that got through so fast and he hated you for it, at first he didn’t understand it. Everyone time he looked at you he felt funny or the sound of your voice made him feel fuzzy, so he hated when you spoke.

Now he was truly sure how he felt, but this wasn’t a good time to come to terms with it. He was jealous to the point he threw a bottle of rum at the wall in frustration. You had gone out on a date with some guy you had just met.

He cared for you and it scared him so he pushed you away and you seemed to hate him too, but why wouldn’t you? After everything he’s said to you, he couldn’t blame you.

That was until he saw you from across his seat at the bar, soaking wet and had blood tripping down one of your legs. Panic set through him and he immediately ran to you.

“Why are you bleeding?” He sounded genuine but that slightly pissed you off more, thinking he was mocking you.

“Don’t patronize me five. I’m not in the mood.” you pushed passed him and walked towards the stairs. 

“I’m not mocking you. You look horrible.” That made you break even after everything that had happened he just made you break, like he always did.

“For once can you get off my ass and fuck off, you’re always trying to bring me down. So don’t acted like you give a shit about me.” You pushed your finger into his chest.

“Whether or not you and me like it…I care for you.” he pushed your fingers aside. He really meant it as he stared back into your eyes hoping you would believe him.

“Bullshit.” the words came out of you mouth like venom as you turned around and walked away from him.

He watched you leave with a broken heart, he knew he wasn’t going to get to talk with you today. But he could make it up with you, get you to see how much he truly cared for you.

Until two days later you hadn’t even spared a glance at him, leaving the room every time he walk into the room. Not to mention you acted like he wasn’t even there.

He found out from Victor that you tripped on your way home, the guy you went on a date was actually nice but to quote your words “He wasn’t my type” so you walked home in the rain.

“Get them, Steve.” You shouted at the tv in your room, silk gown on while you ate chinese food.

“Stop ignoring me.” You jumped as the man you’ve been ignoring just blinked into your room.

“Five, what the hell? I could have been naked.” He groaned as he watched you set down your takeout.

“Then stop ignoring me.” His clinched his hands into fists and you put your hands up to your forehead.

“As soon as you walk into a room my head hurts.” You couldn’t take it anymore, these past couple of days just took it out of you.

You hated being alone, you didn’t feel loved…The man you loved didn’t like you back and hated you. So you tried to cover it up with someone else for years but you just couldn’t get him out of you head.

Five Hargreaves was like a curse.

Your curse.

“Please just leave me alone, I can’t take it anymore.” You turned away from him and swing your feet off the bed and stare down at the floor.

“No, you’re going to listen because I can’t take it anymore.” he raised his voice and he was clearly wasn’t going to let it go. So you just sat there quite and waited for him to speak.

“Tonight you looked great, amazingly actually and I…” he couldn’t finish just by watching you throw your head back in a laugh.

“Oh, what. Are you jealous.” You were pissed and hurt. That’s why you found it funny.

“Goddamnit, y/n. I need you.” He yelled and before you could reacted he was right in front of you.

“What do you see in them that I don't have? I’ve watched you go on so many dates, one right after the other and I can't stand to see you with them.” You looked up at him, your cheeks heating up. Was he confessing to you? It felt like some sort of game to you.

“Five, don’t do that.” You stood up and walked past him going to the bottles of wine on the dresser.

“Don’t walk away from me, y/n. I know you feel it too, you have too.” That made you chuckle again, of course you did but he had no right to bring it up.

“After everything you’ve said to me you want me to just forget about it?” You put the cup to your lips and looking out at the small view you got through the blinds.

“You matter to me.” He took ahold of your waist and spun you around, now he was inches away and still gripping ahold of your waist.

“You have a have a funny way of showing it, asshole.” he could tell by the smell of your breath you had been drinking before he walked in.

“Tell me, why haven’t you slapped me?” He asked while pulling you closer. “Or run away from my touch. If I didn't know any better I'd say you have feelings for me.” Your breath hitched as he leaned a bit closer.

“Eat shit, asshole. You’re so full of yourself.” Rolling your eyes you set the drink down. It was the only thing you could do because you still wanted to be in his arms.

“Your eyes scream kiss me, but your mouth says fuck you.” He smirked as he felt you tension up and your breath get heavier as he got closer.

“Five..” he was painfully close and you couldn’t control yourself. You didn’t want him to just hurt you again but god. He just felt so right.

“You’re too cute not to tease.” He went closer and you closed your eyes to kiss him but his lips never came. Opening your eyes to find him have a very cocky smirk and it broke your heart and pissed you off.

“Fuck you.” You broke free and your eyes grew red with emotions. “You can’t do that.” He still smirked as he watched you walk away.

You went to open the door but soon you where spun around again and pinned against it.

“Don’t be like that love. You’re cute when you’re angry, so I had to.” He crashed his lips onto yours passionately, and rough.

He still held your waist against the door as kissed you. He couldn’t control himself, all that sexual tension and feelings just made him feral, not that you were complaining.

“You’re mine.” He growled and he sounded like he was angry and the pulling of your bottom lip between his teeth made you know he was.

You had no option but you agree with him, he was definitely possessive. Five smirked and every sparkle in his eyes darkened because was fueled by your submission.

He let your lip go and moved down into your neck, you pushed your body forward and his nails digs into your skin. Five started to lay kisses on your neck and you couldn’t hold back you’re voice any more because everything he was going made you go weak.

“Was that a moan?” You could feel his smirk and the proud and amusement in his voice. Feeling embarrassed, heat shot through your whole body. Being as powerful as you are and he still could just do this to you with ease.

“What? I’m just kissing you.” He whispered close to your ear making you shiver as his hot breath hit your skin.

You gripped onto his suit jacket and pulled it off of him, decided to take some charge back you pushed off the wall and made him walk back onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” He asked in amazement watching you try and take charge, it was adorable so he’ll let you have your fun.

You smirked and pushed him onto the bed and he fell back. You used your hands and made symbols with your magic and shot then at the wall.

“Now we can’t get a noise complaint.” You chuckled and stood before him in all glory, having him look up at you made you feel powerful.

“I would die for you.” He found his way up your legs and back to your waist.

“Five, you matter to me. So you’re not getting a chance to.” You put both of your legs on each side of him as he pulled you into his lap.

“I forgot to mention..” he trailed off and you felt him wrap his arms all the way around you then your weight shifted. Now you were on your back and him above you.

“I’m always on top” And with that his lips were back onto yours.

Help- I almost went to far- you have ideas how much I had to hold back. For so reasons my write gets shitty at times so if you don’t like is I really apologize because I tried.