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unluckyadept · 4 years

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Flare of the Morning Star

||—Origin——————Flare of the Morning Star——————Next—>>

PART I: THE SHADOWS LENGTHEN

Looking back, it was easy to see…

All the little warnings, scattered over the years, pointing to the inevitable, and the years without a sunrise.

{Early 2016…}

Felix: I’m wanted on the entire continent I hail from, and especially wanted in her home village. Which, I might add, has been harassed by the Tolbi empire, who are all too eager to enforce the “dead” part of “dead or alive”.

{December 22nd, 2016T…}

Felix: I’ve mentioned once before that I do not get along with Tolbi soldiers. That I live in hiding from them.

Felix: There’s a good reason for that.

Felix: If I were ever found, they have authority to -try- and kill me on sight. If they ever managed to overpower me, I would be publicly executed.

Felix: They control much of the continent where I was born and spent about half of my life… including Sheba’s home town.

They built on sacred ground, there, held her hostage to make it happen…

Felix: My face will not be so easily forgotten.

{May 31st, 2017T}

Felix: As we continued our journey southeastward, we heard more and more about the Tolbi Empire… specifically, their soldiers.

Felix: They had placed tariffs and taxes to restrict and control trade… they were hinted to keep political prisoners… they maintained watchposts and waypoints—gates along the roads, and everything required official papers, if not a seal of approval.

[He looked up again, and his brown eyes seemed… dark.]

Felix: Babi was a man who stole, lied, kidnapped, and extorted. He sought eternal life and the power of conquest—exactly the sort of man that the people of Vale were sworn to give their lives to protect the world against. And exactly the sort of man who was our enemy.

Felix: I do not like Tolbi soldiers.

Felix: And that is, yes, one reason why it is necessary to avoid them. …But there’s more to it than that.

[He looks down at his hand again, silent. Eventually, he opens it, looking at the Douse Drop distantly.]

Felix: Isaac sealed my fate in the wake of Saturos and Menardi…. There is a bounty on my head.

Felix: When we traveled to the Lighthouse…

[He clasped his hand again, and held his fist against his lips, a troubled look on his face, with his eyes closed. He is silent for a while.]

Felix: …We came across Tolbi soldiers in the desert. I managed to save a few, but we had to take Sheba with us. There were soldiers in the way…

[He looks up, looking off into the sky.]

Felix: Isaac had tracked us all the way there. When word came of our location and the Proxans’ deeds, he named me to blame, instead.

Felix: Thus, it was my name and description that ultimately has been circulated among the Empire, all across my home continent.

Felix: Babi is dead. But the Tolbi Empire is not.

Felix: Should I ever be discovered, all the forces they can muster would be brought down against me.

Felix: They’ve fought an Adept directly once—Alex easily dispatched at least a dozen soldiers, and Saturos and Mendari killed just as many, if not more.

Ray: -...raises an eyebrow-

Felix: So they know that even a hundred would not be enough.

Ray: (Well, they're a little stupid if they just--I mean, I've seen him fight Countershade, I can guess just how strong he is. They're a little stupid for thinking they can actually kill him.)

Narrator: ((Ah, but you’re assuming the lives of the soldiers are valued over there))

Narrator: ((most likely not))

Felix: -Shakes his head- I cannot single-handedly defeat the army of an entire empire.

Ray: (...No, but I bet you could wipe out a good portion of it.)

{June 19th, 2017T…}

Puelle: {What news do you bring, from the south?}

[Felix is quiet. Eventually…]

Felix: {I have taken to the wilds, and heard little of the world. But I know in heart and mind that the Tolbi Empire has been driven back beyond the Suhalla Desert. They are no longer a threat to Venus Lighthouse.}

Ray: .....

[Everyone seems a disgusted kind of “good, they didn’t belong there” kind of satisfied at this.]

Ray: -Snorts, heh-

Felix: -Absentmindedly causing nasty thorns to grow on the vines- {They shall regret it if they dare to go there again. Iodem seems more reasonable than Babi ever did, and is honorable compared to the others… though I do not know if coming into power would greatly change him.}

Felix: {The earth is changing, though… Prox must maintain vigilance against the return of Machines.}

[A lot of murmurs at this.]

Felix: {The ancient world was more than just the Lighthouses. I do not know how much of it has truly survived… but ruins may be unearthed as the years go by. Prox should prepare delegations with scholars to travel south and study the places where the ancient cities once were bold. But I’m warning you—attempt conquest, and I’ll put a stop to that myself.}

Ray: .......

Felix: -Flatly- {Even with the damage to the native inhabitants aside… the wrong sort of display of might could draw Tolbi’s attention into conflict. You cannot afford to wage a far-off war with the Tolbi Empire. I would not have any here taken because of their own antagonistic ways.}

{October 30th, 2018T…}

Felix: The people I will choose as Warriors will need to be strong of will and sharp of mind—and above all else, patient and... observant.

Felix: I do not wish to empower those who would inflame a mindset of conquest. The last thing Weyard needs is a return of the Psynergy Wars... and Tolbi is still a threat.

{October 18th, 2019T…}

[Ø] //: It's your decision on where you want to live. The hell does anyone else have to say about that?

[Ø] //: I mean...besides Tolbi, but to hell with them--

Felix: -Curls his right hand into a fist, placing his hand against his mouth—-

[He frowns at the reminder, his mood turning more grim.]

Felix: I’m hoping Tolbi won’t be too much of a problem. Their forces were driven back beyond the desert, and they will be hard pressed to bring large forces over land. I expect Briggs will prevent them from making too much use of sea transport to that degree, either.

Felix: I have not discounted the possibility that something could go wrong, though.

Felix: It can always get worse.

Felix: -Closes his eyes and shakes his head- I may have full say where I live, but there are other factors that determine such matters. Duties in Prox to be attended to do mean that I need to maintain my property there, to give me somewhere to stay while I’m there for long periods of time. It’ll be something similar with Gondowan.

Felix: If my responsibilities to others mean that it is more conducive to stay in Gondowan, then that is input I won’t ignore.

[Ø] //: Ugh, just thinking about the risks is enough to give me a headache.

Felix: One of the reasons why it would be Gondowan despite that is because…

Felix: -Exasperated sigh- Regardless or not of whether we are there, they’d still have their eyes on Venus Lighthouse.

Felix: Being in the area would at least make it easier to fight them.

{May 29th, 2020T…}

Sheba: So what are your thoughts, given the meaning? You would need a stable to keep the horses somewhere, and once they are here… what is it you plan to do…?

Felix: Well, breeding the horses to give a good stock of {[war/battle] horses} to provide for the resources to Lalivero as a community…

Sheba: You’re planning to train Lalivero soldiers?

Felix: I’d much rather the defense consist of more than two people.

[His look was quite serious.]

Felix: Prophecies or no, being so close to the Tolbi Empire is going to spell trouble. As people come realize that this place exists, eventually it will become more of interest. Population will increase. Better guards will be needed. Maintaining the defenses would be faster on horseback, if there were ever need to mobilize. The desert won’t shield you for much longer; the power of Venus will make this land green again.

Sheba: The Laliverans are a peaceful and timid people. The very idea is outright foreign to most of us. The customs, you realize—they’re also much like the Tolbi.

Felix: There is a reason for that, and it’s because those things work. How else do you think he managed to build and maintain a massive empire with nothing but Fori to staff his elite? Horses will give better options, and I feel they will readily accept them.

Sheba: What makes you so certain? Are you going to lead them?

Felix: It will be necessary for me to instruct the defense, that is for certain. I have come to accept that.

{June 12th, 2020T…}

[But that was not the only thing that was going on. There were other things at play, which stood in stark contrast and, in the worst of cases… direct conflict.

The Colosso was underway, and the widespread effect that had made it difficult to ignore the aggression and disgust and resentment that the oppressive and tyrannical people in Tolbi had for anyone who wasn’t like them and didn’t submit to them. That was the main thing—and while it was always something that was in the background… during the Colosso, it was so much worse.

He had been tense; this year had been plagued by unrest in the north, and particularly in the Tolbi Empire. He had been reluctant to leave for central Angara out of worry that Lalivero would be attacked while they were gone, but he had accepted the risk for the sake of the greatest need he had ever known. It had been too dangerous to travel south after he had finally made his peace, and they had been stranded for months before they could make their way back; he hadn’t been well enough of mind to use Teleport, and the Wilderness would not bring them back to Lalivero, because he—whose influence on the nothingness was the strongest—just couldn’t focus on the distant town.]

{June 13th, 2020T…}

Darzul: {The lands below the Northern Reaches have changed, but we have not yet had the capacity to send out Scholars beyond our borders. Even if you had recognized candidates into Warriors the moment the alchemical mayhem dawned… it’s only recently that we have the population to support such lengthy trips.}

[The look in his eyes became harsher, his voice growing sharp.]

Darzul: {And that’s JUST the trip. You might not remember, since you were forced to travel without proper aid… but it takes dozens of people just as SUPPORT to a main party, to travel to waypoints in preparation of the main group, that they may have fresh supplies. That takes months, and quite a lot of resources… but these days? There is something going wrong, alright, and Loho is being picked at by buzzards now that the dwarves have finished excavating.}

Felix: {You mean they LEFT?}

Darzul: {We were unable to convince them to stay. They had finished what they set out to do and garnered as much as they cared to bother out of it; as best I understand based on the records submitted to the council, the EVENTUAL general consensus was that it was not worth the cost and not worth the RISK to stay so close to Tolbi in the context of being a buffer. Not that once can blame them…}

[Felix growled in frustration and sat up in full, looking alert.]

Felix: {Is there NO ONE guarding the place—?}

Darzul: {Not full-time, no. Again with the resources thing.}

[Felix put a hand to his face, growing stern in thought as he continued listening.]

Darzul: {With them gone, trade there has dwindled. There are not enough yet who see Loho as being of interest enough to travel there out of appreciation… and Tolbi has not yet bothered to expend the resources to turn it into a bastion.}

[Felix spoke in a cold, flat tone.]

Felix: {We cannot afford to have the Tolbi Empire on our doorstep. Least of all in a bastion that controls the best landing point in the Western Sea.}

-=-=-

Darzul: {If it weren’t for the problems that they probably have with us, I would suggest that you seal Venus Lighthouse off and move the people of Lalivero here. Even diaspora is better than what would happen if they were overrun by the Tolbi Empire. The Tolbi could not enter the Lighthouse if YOU sealed it, no matter what they may try—and I doubt that even the traitor would work with them to do so. Because your sister certainly wouldn’t allow it.}

Felix: Mmmng.

Darzul: {I have several guesses as to what paths of brooding thought you are sifting through before picking one of your choosing, but allow me to say this: if the people of Lalivero were willing to do such a thing, even if only temporarily? They would be given land under your authority, though you would become responsible for maintaining it.}

Felix: {What exactly gives you the impression in the first place that such drastic measures would be necessary?}

[The Proxan frowned.]

Darzul: {We do not have enough evidence to suggest it would NOT be necessary, that’s what.}

Felix: Gah…

Darzul: {It is not beyond the realms of possibility, Felix. They have already expended a great deal of power in the past to overtake the people who lived there, and it is likely that they will try and use it as a port to guide ships deep into the heart of the Eastern Sea.}

-=-=-

Felix: If the Tolbi make a move on Lemuria, I am absolutely positive that the Lemurian fleet would not be enough to stop them. The Lemurians don’t understand the danger, and Piers was exiled! Even if he found it in his fibre—out of utter desperation—to break obedience and violate the banishment… they’d never listen to them in time! Curse the oppressive voices that have taken over their council!

[The other man frowned deeply at this, but couldn’t process quickly enough for an immediate response before the Venus Adept continued.]

Felix: Piers is a valiant man, and a Warrior in his own right—but he doesn’t burn with the… mmmn…

[He slipped back into Proxan, unable to express it without the proper precise terms in the other language.]

Felix: {He doesn’t have the [dragon’s/Hunter’s/vicious mother’s] instinct. The people of Lemuria are pacified, and haven’t even ventured outside of the Sea of Time en masse for any reason for centuries! Not even the wrath of the sea has brought out the combat instinct! He fought well beside me, but he could not—gah, you don’t understand… he’s very powerful, and astonishingly intelligent, but his heart and mind are anchored in order, which is very different than the burning drive to defend the peace.}

Darzul: {Are you saying you don’t think he could handle the situation if the Tolbi Empire decided to set out for Lemuria?}

Felix: YES! {Even the likes of us can be overpowered, eventually! He cannot take on an entire fleet of ships alone, not if they had enough numbers.}

Darzul: {To confront a WATER-son in the OCEAN? Oh, get REAL, Felix—}

Felix: {I’m serious, Darzul! You don’t understand the COMPLETE disregard for Life from the oppressive forces that dominate Tolbi; you may think you do, but you don’t—not the way I do.}

{Later that same day…}

Brand: {...you mentioned something about the threat of Tolbi, though...}

Brand: -Concern ping-

[The other two look more serious at this, and Felix frowns somewhat.]

Felix: {They're dangerous and the forces in power can be ruthless.}

Felix: {I don't know what happened to the one Isaac insisted was reasonable… but I fear he may have been… deposed.}

Felix: {Permanently.}

Darzul: {They sought to use Alchemy to their own ends. That never died off, even if their tyrant did.}

Felix: {With Venus Lighthouse lit, they could navigate the Sea of Time, in theory…}

Felix: {They've always been a threat to Lalivero.}

{Thursday, June 18th, 2020T…}

Felix: -Looks over to Puelle- {The chaos of the south is a threat to Venus Lighthouse. And that in turn is a threat to the Eastern Sea, Lemuria in particular.}

Felix: {Venus Lighthouse must not be compromised. The malevolence behind the violence would not have any mercy, nor any qualms about doing anything to drink from the mythical fountains.}

Felix: {Which, I go on record to point out, do not cure all ills and do not grant immortality, but having tyrants around as long as Babi was is bad enough as it is.}

Felix: -Turns to address the crowd- {It is for this reason that I find it of the most urgency to also make sure Prox is fully prepared as well.}

Felix: {It has been high time for Prox to have Mars Clan Warriors again for years, but now IS the time, it is the hour that is right!}

Felix: {I cannot be in two places at once, and the people of Lalivero do not have the Warrior [spirit/mentality/culture/training] as we of Prox do; they need me more.}

Felix: {For that reason, I choose to work in the south now, so that I will not have to be there in the future.}

Puelle: {Your choice is a noble one, and well-Seen. But it must be noted, Felix…}

Puelle: {That is where the threat to you is the greatest.}

Felix: {I acknowledge the truth that given the chance, my lack of surrender would have the teeth of Tolbi rend me on sight.}

Felix: {That is a price to which I am forced to submit and accept the doom sealed within my fate.}

Felix: {It is true that it puts me close to the source of the peril, and the seat of malice…}

Felix: {…But I shall not abandon the task set before me for want of my own life.}

Felix: {I lived too long in that kind of wretched misery! I will not now actively CHOOSE cowardice, even when that is choosing a secondary nobility instead.}

Felix: {I shall have both, or neither!}

{SATURDAY, June 20th, 2020T...}

Felix: ({Last night was the night for choosing a successor; it’s too late now to do so the normal way…})

Felix: ({On the other hand…})

Felix: ({I do think he has promise, and this is going to be VERY dangerous…})

[He was filled with a distinct feeling of steep dread. A sickening, smothering feeling that left one drowning in sudden submission in the face of death.]

Felix: -Somewhat ominously, darker in aura and tone and certainly a bit louder than he intends- There is Death on the horizon.

[Silence. An uncomfortable and almost full-stop horrid silence from all of the guests.]

Felix: -Coldly, with an oppressive aura fitting for a son of Death- Standing up to tyrants comes at a price.

{Later That Same Day…}

Brand: {I must thank you in particular, once again, for the gifts that you've bestowed on us.}

Brand: {They truly did make a great difference.}

Brand: -Bows-

Felix: -Returns the gesture- {They are for you to use in your time of need and many of them in your own personal pursuits, my friend. I am glad you find them well…}

Sheba: {…and have the chance to practice with them in a time of smaller need, in light of the Sun, before greater need comes in darker times.}

Kalora: {You speak with great Insight, Lady d'Lalivero. Do you see shadows in the days ahead?}

Sheba: -You know Felix and you're asking this question?-

Kalora: -Ah, right, point taken-

Felix: -Shrug pose-

Felix: {I have no intention of landing in a disaster so soon after such excitement, I assure you—}

Felix: {It'd take a tyrannical invasion the likes of Tolbi to cause me to rush out headlong into trouble!}

{July 18th, 2020T…}

Darzul: {Don’t dismiss your own suffering so easily. You do that far too much, and it’s part of why you’re afflicted with this undying torture to the [soul/mind/being].}

[He stood, jabbing a finger somewhat accusatorially in Felix’s direction, a clear gesture of challenge.]

Darzul: {You’re like this because you FEEL like you have no one else to stand up for you, and that you’re the only man out there willing to stand up for others—because they won’t even stand up for themselves, and you’d rather die than see them conquered by tyranny. That’s a hopeless cause, and you KNOW it, Felix!}

[Felix gritted his teeth and put his hands near his head, rather mentally muted by the sheer truth in that statement.]

Darzul: {You don’t see anyone else out there who has the fire you do, and it’s killing you from the inside to see everything and everyone you care about just massacred mercilessly by selfish, cowardly hatred and Pride!}

[Loud. Too loud now, but it wasn’t stopping.]

Darzul: {You know full well that you can’t do this alone, and that one voice against hundreds, thousands—it will only end with you dying a brutal and painful death, made an example to others, with your body and your remains violated in the process! Because you know what happens when no one stands up to such evil—it murders out of hatred alone.}

[Felix’s energy traced words in the air, as he was FAR too stressed to vocalize.]

Felix: 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼, 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼—

[His eyes snapped open, and he glared back in a slight challenge of his own, clearly keeping his ground.]

Felix: 𝓦𝓱𝔂 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓘 𝓪𝓵𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝔂 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀?!

Darzul: {Because you refuse to ACKNOWLEDGE what you’re up against, Felix! You might to others, but not to YOURSELF, and that’s where it matters!}

[He drew closer, flickering with Mars energy that was cautious but undaunted.]

Darzul: {You’ve spent so long out in the harpies’ fields that you’ve come to realize the horrific depths of depravity that such hatred is not merely capable of, but aspires to and ADVOCATES for. You’ve spent FAR too long doing so in silence, out of the pain that they inflicted upon you!}

[He bought up a fist out in front of him sharply, holding his stance.]

Darzul: {And I see how being hewn at the roots has inflicted immense damage to the rest of your being. You devote yourself freely and entirely; having that devotion gutted without remorse has caused you such intense agony that you feel damned to an inevitable martyr’s end. For there can be no other closure, in your mind, to your infamously ‘terrible fate’ than for evil to continue to grow, and grow, and grow, with you left alone, abandoned to a miserable demise because no one else would stand up to it, and you cannot and will not change who you are—Lord Felix of Prox, Warrior, Hero, and Dragon Slayer!}

[Felix closed his eyes at this, his tension dropping somewhat in some form of resignation.

It was true, it was all true.

These were the nightmares that plagued him, again and again.

And not just metaphorically, either; literal ones, too.

He could find no comfort even in the folds of sleep—for he could feel pain even in his dreams, and he suffered the torture, even the death that would be inflicted upon him as such heartless forces closed in.]

Darzul: {Speak it to me now, Felix! Tell me the truth!}

[Felix—who still had his eyes closed—responded in turn.]

Felix: {People just stand by and watch, if they aren’t joining in. I have heard the threats against me, and seen them carried out on others who weren’t even being assertive. I’ve heard of those who do stand up for themselves then being treated as traitors.}

[He clenched a hand into a fist.]

Felix: I know, I know from experience, that there EXISTS such cowardice in this world—and such malice that has been allowed by those who came before me to grow out of control. Such brutality does not stop at symbols. It carries a twisted bloodlust.}

[He gritted his teeth, and opened his eyes to a glare.]

Felix: {And I know that if they come any closer to me and those I care about…}

[He suddenly blasted the night with an INFERNO of an aura, Venus and Mars—]

Felix: {I WON’T STEP ASIDE AND SURRENDER WITHOUT A FIGHT! EVEN OVERPOWERED, I WILL NEVER, EVER BE COERCED INTO VIOLATING WHAT IS RIGHT, EVEN IF IT COSTS ME EVERYTHING!}

[His friend grinned at this, but Felix wasn’t done yet.]

{Because in the end—even if I must stand alone—I will NOT abandon the people who need me, AND I WILL DEFEND THEM AGAINST MALICE AND GREED!}

[The fire of an enriched Venus spirit infused with the passion of Mars radiated from him in his fierce determination.]

Felix: {They mean more to me than anything. Whether the price be my injury, captivity, torture, or death—I am in no way deterred.}

[He narrowed his eyes.]

Felix: {Quite frankly…} Virtutes potius obsequia.

[This earned a pleased look of strong satisfaction.]

Darzul: {That’s right, Felix. Because that’s the real you.}

[He came closer and placed a hand firmly on Felix’s right shoulder.]

Darzul: {You don’t surrender to injustice. In fact, the only reason you haven’t gone out to challenge it on the offensive is because there ARE people who need you, so you keep silent for their sake since, given you know you can’t fight it alone.}

[But Darzul gave a bold grin, his Mars energy burning with loyal fondness.]

Darzul: {But you don’t give yourself enough credit, Felix. And you’ve spent FAR too long alone. So long, in fact, that you’ve forgotten just how much you INSPIRE others, granting them courage and determination to face the darkness.}

[He brought up his free hand in a fist yet again, shaking it slightly as if firmly grasping onto victory.]

Darzul: {You inspire others in their darkest moments, in times of peril, in times of fear. The fire in your [spirit/heart/soul] NEVER dies—just that you all too often don’t give it enough to eat, making it so troubled that you can no longer see it.}

[He placed both hands on Felix’s shoulders, now—he looked the Venus Adept right in the eyes, and Felix merely crossed his arms as he continued to listen.]

Darzul: {But I see it. I’ve seen it ever since you showed up here as a scrawny, still half-drowned twig all those years ago, and I see it now.}

[Darzul grinned brightly.]

Darzul: {And I can think of a lot of people who would stand by your side in such a moment of need.}

[The Proxan let go and took a step back, bringing up both fists wreathed in flame with an undaunted grin of fierce loyalty.]

Darzul: {Like it or not, you are a LEADER, Felix! Sometimes, all it takes for people to stand up for what matters is to KNOW that they are NOT ALONE! Sometimes, all they need is to see just one, just one take a stand, to defy such brutality with nerves wrought of the heart of Sol itself! To see just one, just one who will reawaken the FIRE in their own hearts, AND BRING THEM THE LIGHT OF HOPE! There are a lot of good people out there, Felix… people who have been convinced they have no hope, that there is no one to be their champion and no way they could make a difference, that their oppression is inevitable, because there is no one they see they can turn to, that they can trust to never let them down and NEVER give in…}

[He sweeps his arms apart, sending off flares of energy that trail like dragon wings.]

Darzul: {Felix… all that they need is to know there is someone like you. People need a champion, especially in their darkest hours!}

{September 11th, 2020T…}

Felix: It doesn’t have to be this way, and just resenting others and not even trying doesn’t get ANYONE anywhere at all! Tyranny can’t just be wished out of existence, {and you can’t access the river if you don’t even break a hole in the ice!}

[Mikhail could only raise an eyebrow at this. Obviously, it was some variation of “you miss 100% of the shots you never take” and other similar adages.]

Mikhail: You say that as if I don’t know that. But intellectually knowing—even understanding it to be true—and actually believing it are two very, very different things.

[That did help deflect the sense of frustration, but it didn’t really help much beyond that. Felix held his hands in such a way that showed a clear sense of forlorn mental despair.]

Felix: How can I help people who hold such a degree of hopelessness that they can’t even see that we can work together to improve their lives?! What am I supposed to do?!?

[Mikhail crossed his arms, speaking in a quiet tone that had a sense of sternness to it, as if issuing a sense of warning, challenge, or rejection to the attitude.]

Mikhail: Well, Felix, you have two choices, just like any other man. Either you discern and decide that you are needed to function in the role you have, with the influence at hand, and commit to the role even though you have to keep your head down, or. You decide that enough is enough, and you will put yourself out there—doing so ready to take on the consequences, which involve, among other things… endangering those near to you, and marking yourself as an enemy to those who will make your life a living Hell, possibly in a way that leaves you with nothing.

[He could tell Felix wasn’t quite expecting such a response, and he chose to take a step forward, increasing the sharp edge in his tone to something quite fierce.

It was the context and behavior that truly spoke to his mindset and would actually get fully through to him, after all.]

Mikhail: Are you willing to sacrifice your personal comfort for ‘the cause’, or not? You don’t make change for others by keeping to yourself. That level of sacrifice means giving up your time and putting yourself in danger of being ridiculed, mocked, mistreated, verbally abused, possibly even physically assaulted. It means being willing to be laughed at, slandered, disrespected for YEARS out to the line. It means NEVER being safe from having records of the scandal being thrown in your face after it’s all over, disrupting whatever peace you had chosen. On such a scale, that, and NOTHING less, is what it takes to make a difference.

[He took another step forward.

He didn’t particularly enjoy the tone he was taking, but unfortunately the Adept really needed it.

And if that meant being the aggressor, then so be it.]

Mikhail: Well? Are you willing to do that, or not? If you’re so determined, if you really believe that your cause is just and worth sacrifice—if you really believe that people do or will see it your way, given the chance—then what’s stopping you?

[…Admittedly, he didn’t quite expect the response that he got.

He had expected Felix to get defensive, and possibly aggressive, or at least sullen or humiliated, but…

After a brief wince, Felix just looked down with a worried look on his face, holding his hands near his chest and looking down not out of a proper sense of being admonished, but out of dismayed confusion.

His voice was a bit strained too, and he sounded very resentful of his own perceived shortcomings.]

Felix: …I have absolutely no idea where I would even start.

[A pause.]

Felix: There are… there are good ways and stupid ways to go about doing these things, Doctor—and acting out of pure need with no thought is not a responsible way to deal with it.

[Mikhail loosened his own tension and ran a hand over his beard, frowning at this.]

Felix: If… if I had some idea of how to do so responsibly…

[He looked up, a clear sense of pain in his eyes.]

Felix: Wouldn’t that be worth it? I think it’d be worth it. How can I stand by when people are suffering? There’s got to be something I can do, and… even…

[He looks away, his voice reflecting he was reaching his stress limits where he was still able to physically verbalize.]

Felix: …even if I lost everything, there are… there are people I trust, who… I feel…

[He was clearly forcing words now.]

Felix: …they’d… as long as I could… could get there, then at least I wouldn’t be alone.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Have to believe

ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖

Real this time

𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 not

𝕟𝕠𝕥

not again not again not again

𝕹𝖔𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊

hurts

𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕤

🄷🅄🅁🅃🅂

��𝖔𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊

𝕹𝖔𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊

𝕹 𝕺 𝕿 𝕷 𝕴 𝕶 𝕰 𝕭 𝕰 𝕱 𝕺 𝕽 𝕰

𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠

𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓

𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮

𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮 believe 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕳𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖆𝖙 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝖒𝖊

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Felix: …believe, have—have to believe, they… would not. Not abandon. Real. Real this time. Not. Not again. Like before. Have. Have to believe that. They. At least would want to.

Mikhail: …

[All aggression was gone from the Doctor’s eyes now. He almost felt a bit guilty, having forced this battle between hope and insecurity to come right to the surface.

And he was rather worried.

The people Felix was up against were certainly cultured, but hardly what modern society would call “civil”. While there wasn’t a whole lot of difference in terms of motivation, technique, outlook, and methods between the modern tyrants and the ancient ones, it was enough to truly, truly, LEGITIMATELY fear what could happen to the young Adept if they managed to get their hands on him—

With the average nobody, “mere” assault, even to the point of violation and murder, was “enough” for the totalitarian cowards.

But with a leader? An inspiring, charismatic, powerful leader?

Oh, they’d make an example out of him. And he really, REALLY felt cold with the unwelcome visual of what a Romanesque vindictive force would put him through.]

Felix: Why? Why does it have to be like this? Can’t it be enough to worry about love and loss without TYRANTS AND MURDER?!

[He had suddenly started shouting at that last bit, and Mikhail had to wince ever so slightly and discretely take a step back. Felix was in a downright stormy mood, and this one was something he had more or less invoked.]

Felix: Sol’s scales, I’ve just had ENOUGH of this! We’re ALL absolutely FED UP with feeling fenced in, and I am NOT happy with being goaded into second-guessing anyone who’s different! I DON’T BUY IT!

[He whirled around, glaring in aggravated disdain and defiance.]

Felix: I’ve traveled all over the world, lived in vastly different places, and when not being provoked, no one ever even thinks TWICE about it once the novelty wears off! I know for a FACT that there are good people everywhere, and even if they would prefer to be left alone, they don’t deserve to be treated as aggressive threats!

[He advanced in a somewhat dominant way, giving a gesture of focus, accusation, and warning.]

Felix: And I will not be talked by my friends into believing otherwise! We all deserve better than this. I HAVE to do SOMETHING!

[Mikhail winced again, but grabbed Felix by the shoulders.]

Mikhail: Felix, please—! These people make a HABIT of invading their surrounding neighbors to BURN their cities to the ground! If you aggravate them, they WILL kill you!

[Felix knocked one of his hands away, speaking with a highly offended tone of disappointment.]

Felix: You think I don’t know that?! That’s all I can think about most times, day after day, picturing that INEVITABLE end! I can’t stand for this. I shouldn’t have to!

Mikhail: ({Dear God, this wasn’t at ALL what I was going for, DEEPLY regret it—}) You said it yourself, so please don’t do anything rash!

[Felix turned sharply so that his back was facing the Doctor. He seemed moody, and gave off a string of sentences in a language that the older man had never heard before. He couldn’t even guess what an equivalent might be, which made him wonder where in Weyard it originated. Given Felix’s stressed state, it might even be his native language.

After a moment, Felix gave a frustrated sigh and put his hands in his hair.]

Felix: …I hate what this has been doing to me. I absolutely loathe being FORCED into focusing on combat, when all I want is to focus on a family life working as a blacksmith!

[He crossed his arms and glanced over at the Russian scientist, clearly unmoved and rather insulted by the latter’s attempt to admonish him into humble shame by calling out his (nonexistent) hypocrisy.

In retrospect, Mikhail thought to himself, he really should have known better than to guess—let alone ACT so openly, even just to provoke honest scrutiny—the erroneous idea that Felix wasn’t willing to risk his comfort and his life for the sake of regaining a true sense of peace.

And in hindsight, hadn’t he once felt the same? Hadn’t he felt it worth crossing LightLabs, of all people, and all its industrial and academic power, just to defy the callous treatment of AI&As and secure a good life for his family, giving the world an alternative to the heartless and irresponsible regime?

Good Lord, had he really spoken thoughtlessly; that was a TERRIBLE mistake.]

Felix: I can see by your expression and your aura that you know exactly what I mean, and know you’ve made a mistake.

[Mikhail put a hand to his face. Great, now he was being called out on it.]

Mikhail: I’ll admit, I was rather hoping that you were just voicing frustration and would ‘come to your senses’ by realizing you didn’t want to risk the violence to yourself and others.

[Felix held his hands apart, speaking with an edge of irritation.]

Felix: Well, that’s backfired, so I’ll have to speak with others to get an idea for an outreach project.

Mikhail: Felix, please be careful; our feelings aside, there are a LOT of people who are relying on you and would be in rather dire straits if you were abruptly eliminated. You truly underestimate the degree to which you are absolutely vital in your position. Don’t do anything dangerous.

[Felix gave a strained snort, and then spoke with a heavily incredulous, almost amused tone.]

Felix: You say that like I ever have any choice in the matter. Let’s be a bit more realistic, mmmhh?

[Mikhail had to mirror the sentiment. It was rather ridiculous, given who he was talking to.

It seemed to have helped Felix calm down, though, and he placed a hand to Mikhail’s shoulder and spoke calmly, with a sense of gentleness.]

Felix: I’m not out to cause trouble, and I can appreciate the art of subtlety. Maybe nothing will come of it except a long conversation that is thought provoking; I don’t know. Not yet. But I will try. I will find a way to force myself not to be complacent. Standing by will only make the cost even higher, and in the end… with only one life to give, and knowing that I am doomed to suffering, is it not worthwhile—when forced to take a stand—to do what is right so that others might live? It’s not enough that they survive; they must truly, truly be able to live.

Mikhail: …You’re a brave man, Felix. The world needs more like you.

{October 8th, 2020T…}

Felix: I wish I could bring just six Proxans with me to be in Lalivero. I anticipate that the Tolbi will start advancing. Within weeks.

[Mikhail blinked at this, not having expected that. Felix sighed inwardly and stood, walking over to finish preparing tea.]

Felix: They’ve burned much of the buffer in Northern Gondowan, and disbanded all native defenses. There really isn’t anything left that stands between us at this point.

Mikhail: I thought—wasn’t there one large city?

Felix: Suhalla? It’s been utterly sacked. Razed to the ground. The city’s been abandoned; it’s in shambles.

Mikhail: You’re sure of this?

Felix: I haven’t been there myself, but yes, I’m sure. Only the desert stands between us now, and with enough supplies and ingenuity… they would be able to make it through.

Mikhail: But why now?

[Felix looked up.]

Felix: Haven’t I told you? Autumn is the season of Venus. The power of Venus is at its strongest; if you wanted to harness its potential, this is the time to do it.

[He added some tea leaves a metal device, resting them over the cups.]

Felix: They’re out for plunder. The power of Venus is connected to the harvest, and it takes a great deal of food to supply an army of that size. Having burned so much of the surrounding land, they’re looking for something that hasn’t been razed yet. Any survivors are liable to end up forced into labor… to produce resources for their army.

[He looked up again.]

Felix: I’m going to have to travel south to Venus Lighthouse, with a garrison that lacks fighting spirit. They will rely entirely on me—

Mikhail: What about Sheba?

Felix: She has a more important job than I do. She’ll have to stay in Lalivero to defend the actual entrance, should we fail at holding them back. She’s strong enough to raise violent storms to deter them, and they’ll listen to her as a voice of leadership. We can’t leave Venus Lighthouse unprotected, but the entrance and the exit are in two different places. BOTH of them have to be handled simultaneously.

Mikhail: …

[Felix’s eyes betrayed some mental exhaustion as he sat down again.]

Felix: I had hoped it would never come even this far. But it will take a true miracle now to avoid conflict altogether.

[He bowed his head, as if dragged down by the weight of responsibility, and rested his elbows on the table as he held his head in his hands.]

Felix: These people don’t have the fighting spirit. They’re timid, and reliant on saviors. People like Sheba—and me. They don’t…don’t have that inner fire to stand up for themselves against tyrants, if their shepherds are struck down.

[He looked up, a flat expression peeking through his bangs.]

Felix: The garrison stationed at the Lighthouse is going to depend on my leadership. They’ll look to me for the confidence to be courageous, and the strength to take a stand against brutal oppression.

[He lowered his hands.]

Felix: The people of Tolbi have made their way to Lalivero in force before. They are better equipped now to do so, and have experience. This is not something they are going to leave alone; it’s been their goal for a very, very long time. We… probably will not end up facing the entire army; I anticipate them sending a scouting force out instead. And I don’t… I don’t think that they will be willing to peaceful negotiation. Not after what they’ve done in the region, and how they look down on other people as sub-human.

[His hands curled into fists.]

Felix: I can’t ask for help from Prox because Lady McCoy’s forces are a very dangerous threat to the region. She has her own army and is actively expanding her territory. Not only is Mars Lighthouse in need of defense… but Kalt Island has requested that Proxan forces join with them to station in Loho to preserve the key beaches that grant easy access to the Western Sea. Our forces in the Northern Reaches will be stretched rather thin. Can’t afford to weaken the lines of defense that protect Prox and Contigo.

[He looked up again.]

Felix: And before you ask… no, Piers can’t help, either. He’s bound to patrol the Sea of Time, to protect Lemuria itself. Briggs is doing likewise in Champa waters with his son, who’s more or less captain of one of the other vessels in their fleet. No… we’re on our own, with this one.

[He shook his head.]

Felix: I can’t place any of you in the path of war. It’s not your place, and I would not subject you to such peril. I cannot ask them to risk their lives, let alone in the context that could demand the death of the aggressors as the only means of stopping their invasion.

[He laid his hands flat again, running them across the table somewhat.

There was one person, of course. One person who had the spirit of Mars and the willingness to take lives. Even to the point of striking terror into the hearts of the enemy.

But Ray’s greatest strength lay in tandem with a healer, and the strain of Time put her well-being far too much at risk for front-lines combat in a group setting, even if he could handle it. And he anticipated that his supernatural strength would be stretched rather thin, if he committed to using restraint and fighting defensively.

If he were being proactive, then it would—in some ways—make it so much easier. Much simpler, that was for certain.

But he felt so uneasy. It’d been years since he’d taken a life, and that wasn’t willingly. He’d held funerals for Tolbi soldiers before, out there in the desert; he could still smell the sickening smell of the pyre turning the corpses into ashes.

The prospect of doing so a second time was not pleasing in the slightest.

He swallowed.]

Felix: There is Death on the horizon.

[Mikhail felt his blood run cold. All around them, the temperature in the room took an abrupt nosedive.

Felix had said such things before. And each time, without fail, it had come to pass… with multiple casualties each time, so far.]

Felix: This will not end without great sacrifice and suffering.

[Felix closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath before looking up again.]

Felix: People will be looking to me for confidence.

[He interlaced his fingers, not breaking eye contact.]

Felix: If they see me afraid and conflicted, or certain of defeat, then they will internalize a sense of despair. I have to be entirely undaunted and confident, and… I’m filled with absolute dread at what could happen if we lose. What will become of our people, our land. The thought of the torment in retribution, let alone the life of captivity…! How do I maintain unshaken confidence when that is what I am up against, when ill-equipped to do so? Until now, it was easily dismissed as a distant paranoia, but now we’re living it as a grim reality!

[Mikhail felt a pang of sympathetic worry. It was certainly his urge to stay and fight, and to rain down the fury of General Winter on all threats of such caliber. But he, too, was subject to fear, and forced—for the sake of not drawing attention to himself and his family, for the sake of his daughter—to cower against it.

To see Felix now trapped, boxed in into a role he never wanted, forced to take up arms to defend his people (and indeed, most of Weyard), cornered by his enemies in a way he could not escape…

…and especially knowing Felix may not survive it, if the worst came to pass…

…Mikhail had a hard time feeling altogether unshaken, himself.]

Mikhail: Felix…

[He had to put in incredible effort to avoid getting lost in memories, and tried his best to force himself to talk through it.]

Mikhail: If there’s one thing I know about your leadership capabilities, it’s that you ARE capable—far more than you realize—when you are properly focused. It’s when you are overly indecisive that you become distracted and start to doubt yourself.

[He sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face a bit.]

Mikhail: I recommend not doubting yourself. This is not a time for self doubt and ‘what-if’ demons. Do what you can with what you have, and deal with reality as it chooses what challenge shall be testing your limits. You have thoroughly planned things out at this point; now you just have to wait.

[There was a pause.]

Felix: Doctor…

Mikhail: Yes?

Felix: There could… be a way for me to…

[Mikhail shook his head, holding up a hand to cut him off.]

Mikhail: Felix, I’ve heard about what happened the last time you tried to singlehandedly stave off disaster by using your considerable inner strength. That nearly killed you, and whatever it is you have in mind, I do not recommend it.

{October 13th, 2020T…}

Felix: {The lands around the Karagol Sea have utterly destabilized.}

Felix: {There has been no word and no trade from Kalay in over a month. I can only pray that this is because most people have fled… though that would mean that other forces have taken over the city. Prior experience traveling those lands tells me that Xian would have closed the Silk Road entirely if Kalay fell and/or trade was no longer safe.}

Felix: {But I am not here for guesses, nor speculation. No… I am here to make an announcement.}

Felix: {Word has reached us from the north that Suhalla was razed to the ground. They no longer serve as a buffer between Tolbi and Lalivero.}

Felix: {I believe that the Tolbi Empire has already gathered the resources to march south, and I imagine they have already set out for the invasion. As such, I anticipate the soldiers will reach the garrison guarding Venus Lighthouse… within a few weeks.}

Elder: {So it truly begins.}

Puelle: {We have received word from Kalt Island that they were posing a threat to the West via Loho; are you certain you have accurate information on their movements?}

Felix: {I think you underestimate the sheer size of their military, Puelle. There are possibly somewhere between 84,000 and 125,000 people in their army—}

G.M. Blacksmith: {125,000!?}

Felix: {—and that’s not really counting the non-combatants in a supporting role. They could send a legion to BOTH locations and still not make a dent in their overall forces.}

G. M. Blacksmith: {That has to be a lie. An exaggeration, at the very least.}

G. M. Dancer: {I rather doubt that. Remember just how much land they have under their power.}

G. M. Tailor: {How would they have the resources to spare in a time of such unrest? I should think they would be busy not falling apart at the seams.}

Felix: {I’m sure they ARE busy, and I imagine that the torment of their victims serves as distraction enough to stabilize their own city just long enough to spare the forces to mobilize on their next targets.}

Felix: {They would not anticipate much resistance in Loho. If they do mobilize to the northwest, then you might see a few cohorts… but I doubt much more than that. Personally, I doubt they would set out for Loho at this time of year at all; spring is much more likely.}

Felix: -Shakes his head a bit- {I will review the matter of Proxan defense, but that is not the main reason I am here. The ice will prevent them from sailing before too long, so I am not as worried about Prox’s defense; nature will see to most of that. Few in the south can withstand the wrath of the winter in the Northern Reaches.}

G.M. Scribe: {You managed.}

G.M. Tailor: {He’s equipped to deal with our winters. They would not be.}

Kalora: {Why did you call the council together if you’re not here primarily to discuss our defenses?}

Felix: …

[He closes his eyes for a moment.]

Felix: …

[He sighs and rests his hands on the table, his head bowed.]

Felix: …

Felix: {I need to discuss… legal complications, particularly regarding the role of succession.}

Felix: {The greatest Seer of the modern age made a prediction years ago.}

Felix: “Felix bears a terrible fate, a burden I would not wish on any man.”

[He looks up, his eyelids lowered halfway.]

Felix: -Calmly- {I’m not invincible, Kalora. If Tolbi does in fact send several thousand PROFESSIONALLY trained soldiers our way…}

Felix: {…Win or lose, there’s a good chance that I won’t survive.}

{October 30th, 2020T…}

Felix: Any advice?

[Darzul didn’t look up from his journal, where he was recording some notes about the local wildlife.]

Darzul: Advice? No. Insight, maybe. What about?

Felix: …How confident should I be about this?

[Darzul looked up, raising an eyebrow slightly.]

Darzul: That’s an odd question.

[Felix moved his pace a bit.]

Darzul: Why do you ask me? YOU’RE the leader.

Felix: I know that.

Darzul: It matters more what you think. And don’t second-guess yourself. Base your thoughts on what you can observe, on reality.

Felix: …I don’t think that the Tolbi will be able to overtake us, given how difficult we’ve made it for large armies to pass through the forest barricade. They’d have to break formation, and they’d be dealing with more monsters. It’s easier to get lost, because the canopy is too thick to see much of the sun, and none of the stars. They could clear a path through the forest through brute force, but that would take a ridiculous amount of time. Food would be a big issue, as would water—having just passed through a harsh desert, both will be in short supply. As long as we stand our ground should they manage to break through, we should be able to hold them back using the fortifications that are in place.

Felix: They are bent on destroying us, but they do still have an empire to run—and that requires a lot of resources and a lot of manpower. They don’t have much of their force to spare to begin with. I know that I feel strong. The power of the season is amplifying the power from the Lighthouse, and I… I did hold the Star in my hands, resting with it above my heart for several days. I feel… feel a burning sense of need to hold them back, and… I don’t think the people of Lalivero are as afraid, being able to look to a leader.

Darzul: Then base your confidence on that, on that knowledge that it IS possible and you are determined to make it happen.

Felix: What if I’m wrong?

Darzul: You can’t afford to think like that right now.

Felix: I can’t just ignore—

Darzul: Felix. You won’t be able to rally to hope if you are focused on despair. Accepting defeat outright is setting yourself up for it.

Darzul: There’s nothing worse than a confidence that’s been shattered by cruelty. To be left in despair, to see your only hope gone. And right now, Felix, you ARE that hope. So you need to be it for them.

[He stood up and walked over, placing a hand on Felix’s shoulder and looking him in the eye.]

Darzul: They need to know that you will never surrender, will never abandon them. That they can trust you, trust you to protect them and everything they care about, and be glad to do as you say to keep it a reality. You need to have real confidence in yourself. Remember, Felix; you’re the strongest Warrior alive. You are a dragon slayer! Champions of lands—and of entire worlds!—are forced to kneel in acknowledgement of your superior might!

[He could feel his spirit lifting as Darzul continued.]

Darzul: They need to see that you are confident, that you are strong enough to protect them! Put your trust in them as they have in you. If you will not abandon them—you, their chosen leader, the defender of their hopes and dreams—then they will not abandon you, not even in the face of grave danger. For they know that they must hold their ground if they are to survive—and there is nothing quite like the burning zeal of passion for one’s homeland to bring fire to a man’s resolve to give in sacrifice.

[He placed his other hand (still partially holding his notebook) onto Felix’s other shoulder.]

Darzul: Now close your eyes.

Felix: …

Darzul: Just do it.

Felix: …

[He did so, and Darzul spoke a little more gently.]

Darzul: Venus… you see yourselves as the Tree, but Mars sees you as the Man. For the connection Venus has to {[humanity]} is beyond what words can say. You can feel them, can’t you? All the others.

Felix: …

Darzul: Well, focus. Focus on them. Focus on the thousands that gather to heed your words, to rally in force in support of your cause. Open your mind to how real they are, how staunch they are in defending what matters.

Felix: …

[He opened his eyes, but they were distant in thought.]

Darzul: Trust. Trust in them as well as yourself. You are not alone. These are people who, by their own choice, would follow you into battle—to face Death with courage, because it matters more to defend their people, their home. Trust, Felix. Trust that that means something. And more than that? Trust your own resolve. Not your ability, but your resolve. For resolve and dedication matter a great deal more than ability in times of trouble—those with great strength but no result will cave, but the weaker with dragons' spirit will burn with unyielding fire, unmoved and unbroken. Set your resolve, and do not let it go. Not even in the face of great fear… and I know that when it calls for it, you can do what you must. And that's all you need see.

{November 1st, 2020T}

[Felix used the brooch that Ky and Ray had made for him to contact all the others.]

<FLX to ALL >: > -Ping!-

<FLX to ALL >: > -Victory-

<FLX to ALL >: > I don't think this is over, but it is over for now…

[MN-ALL] //: -Rush of relief/victory/joyous data!!-

[...on top of what was PROBABLY going on at Halloween night, it was more like another wave rather than just a burst.]

[Ø to FLX] //: -Huge sigh in relief data, safe....-

<DLN-000 to FLX>: > You know this isn't over.

<FLX to DLN-000 >: > Not nearly enough of a force… and quite a lot of scholars, actually…

<DLN-000 to FLX>: > Scholars??

<FLX to DLN-000 >: > Cardinal, I'm tired, and very distracted thinking about how grateful I am that… mmmn… I'll explain later.

-=-=-=-

<FLX to Ø>: > Returning to Lalivero for now. So… so eager to this to be over, to… make my request, my celebration…

[Ø to FLX] //: ...

[Ø to FLX] //: Soon. -Almost there-

[Ø to FLX] //: -And we will help you get there-

[Ø to FLX] //: -Soon- -Soon you'll have your day in sunlight- -You deserve that much-

But they all ought to have known better.

For Felix bears a terrible fate, a burden one would not wish on any man.

||—Origin——————Flare of the Morning Star——————Next—>>

#cje #unluckyadept #mowseries #codedhopes #Paradox posting

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enamouredfae · 3 years

Text

My placements through the La Volasfera Degrees, translated by Sepharial.

Please note that this is not my writing, and I do not claim it as my original work. This is but a way for me to find this information all in one place.

29° Scorpio Ascendant | Leo Degree

A woman in trailing robes waving a wand around which is coiled a serpent.

It is the index of a nature that is both clever and cunning; capable of asserting its power over others by persuasion or fascination. To such will be given some lofty command or position of trust, and success will be achieved by personal charm and magnetic power. It is a degree of ATTRACTION.

17° Virgo Midheaven | Leo Degree

An old white-headed man surrounded by happy children.

It denotes to the native a long and happy life; an old age invested with the comforts of homely affection. It endows the native with a kind, benevolent and fatherly interest in his fellows, especially those of tender years. He will be much beloved and will end his days in prosperity and peace. It is a degree of GUARDIANSHIP.

12° Leo Sun | 10th House | Pisces Degree

A jutting rock, upon which some tufts of grass hold a thin, but certain existence.

It indicates a person of firm and steadfast character; one who will resolutely hold to his own beliefs and principles, though it is to his disadvantage. In some ways, the mind will be precocious and there will be some degree of self-assertion shown; but, whatever the native may determine upon as the right thing to do will assuredly be done if within the compass of resolute striving. It is a degree of CONSTANCY.

12° Libra Moon | 12th House | Pisces Degree

A pillar of black marble standing upon a rock, roughly hewn.

It denotes a person of peculiar and sometimes melancholy and misanthropic nature: apt to contract false or unprofitable relations with his fellows and with the opposite sex. The native will make a bad match and will be unfortunate in wedlock, with probable separation. The native, in centering his affections upon one object, will be liable to disappointment in life. It is a degree of SOLITARINESS.

25° Cancer Mercury | 9th House | Aries Degree

A meteor, or falling star.

It denotes a person of somewhat poetical or aesthetic nature, but wholly unsuited to the routine of daily life in its sterner and more prosaic aspects. Like the meteor, he has an eccentric path, and his appearances are spasmodic and evanescent, although bright. His position in life will be always subject to reversals and changes and his success will not be lasting. If he should attain to eminence he will be in danger of a fall. It is a degree of UNCERTAINTY.

27° Leo Venus | 10th House | Gemini Degree

Two hands linked in a close grip of friendship.

It denotes a person of a very amiable and sociable nature, filled with concord and goodwill towards his fellows. A rich, unselfish nature, care of those little greatnesses in daily life which make a man beloved, if not remarkable. It is probable that the native will be instrumental in forming some large associations for social cooperation, or intellectual improvement. The native is essentially constructive, harmonizing, and humane. It is a degree of SUSTAINING.

2° Leo Mars | 10th House | Taurus Degree

A wave-Line of nebulous light, obscured by a cloud in the midst.

It denotes a person of elastic and undeveloped mind, uncertain principles, liable to lead to license and moral turpitude. The native will lead a somewhat irregular life and will be generally inconsequent and unreliable in his actions. Much of the obscurity into which this person will be at from time to time will be due to the unfledged condition of the mind, and the misdirection, through ignorance, of the moral faculty. It is a degree of WANDERING.

6° Gemini Jupiter | 8th House | Virgo Degree

A peaceful valley; a lake on which a swan is floating. At the back rises a high mountain.

This indicates one of a generous, kind nature, full of contentment and quiet happiness. One who will suffer but few sorrows, and will ‘have peace in all his relations'. The mind will be passive, calm, and thoughtful; the manners courteous and graceful, and the body elegant. The native will have a strong memory and small imaginative power. This is a degree of PEACE.

29° Taurus Saturn | 7th House | Leo Degree

A dark man, richly appareled, and surrounded by servants and courtiers, reclines on a couch.

It indicates one whose tastes are luxurious but artistic, one who will have much wealth and influence, but whose love of ease will be his great fault and the cause of his worst misfortunes. He who would provide for a long journey must not carry water in his hands. It is a degree of LUXURY.

19° Aquarius Uranus R | 4th House | Libra Degree

A great tortoise.

This denotes one of patient and plodding disposition, disposed to rusticity of habit, endowed with great powers of endurance, an even disposition and contented mind. His position in life will always be secure, owing to his great prescience and providence, and he will create about him by slow and patient toil the means of his own security and well-being. His life is likely to extend to phenomenal years and his position in old age will be one of independence and security from all harm. Of rather solitary and retired nature, deeply philosophical, patient, and contented with simple ways of living, he will yet evince a kindly disposition and will live long to enjoy the fruits of his labors and the esteem of his fellows. It is a degree of PROVIDENCE.

4° Aquarius Neptune R | 4th House | Cancer Degree

A woman nude, looking at her reflection in a pool of water.

It is not necessary to say, perhaps, that this is a symbol indicative of extreme danger to the moral nature of the person born under this degree. There is an element of dalliance and self-love in the nature which will be liable to lead to serious complications and entanglements. It may be that this egotism will only veil a weakness which cannot withstand the temptations of the carnal nature. The nature will be sympathetic and to a large degree reflective of the immediate environment, in which, however, there will be too strong an accent of self. It is probable that the native may show artistic tastes and a marked ability for portrait painting or sculpture. It is a degree of EGOTISM.

10° Sagittarius Pluto R | 2nd House | Capricorn Degree

A tiger crouching as in the act of assault.

It denotes a character that is treacherous and aggressive, disposed to seek his ends with subtlety and to secure them by force. There is here a combination that is both diplomatic and assertive, and therefore to be treated with reserve and firmness. The native will attain many of his ambitions and will make many enemies in the course of his career. His projects will lead him into many dangers and may even bring about his premature end. It is a degree of STRATEGY.

23° Cancer North Node | 9th House | Aquarius Degree

A strong castle on a high rock, and upon the battlements of the castle of flag with a crown upon it is seen extended in the wind.

It denotes a strong, masterly character of great endurance, stability and daring; ambitious of honor and capable of withstanding his enemies while achieving greatness and fame for himself. It is a degree of MASTERY.

23° Capricorn South Node | 3rd House | Aquarius Degree

A tankard set upon a table.

This denotes a steadfast and capable person, whose life will be orderly and useful, whose mind will be open to the reception of truth and knowledge and whose passions will be well regulated. He will display a frank and even blunt nature, being free from all craftiness and subtlety; and his mind will have a sincere regard for all that is simple and natural in human nature, and a rooted distrust of the non-transparent. It is likely that he will be disposed to seek his livelihood in the vineyard or hostel, but in the highest capacity he can be, will aspire to become a teacher and purveyor of spiritual truths. In any case he is a man of the common walk and his sympathies are with the people. It Is a degree of SINCERITY.

29° Capricorn Part of Fortune | 3rd House | Leo Degree

An arrow in flight.

This symbol denotes an aspiring and ambitious nature, impelled by the strength of a force behind him to the attainment of a certain high or distant project. Gifted with extreme directness and celerity of action and endowed with remarkable powers of concentration, he will be in a fair way to attain his intentions and accomplish his ambitions. But everything will depend upon his start in life as to whether he will reach his goal. Heredity and training will count for more than usual in his case, for he is one of those who will follow his inherent impulses and has little or no individual power of direction and scarcely any adaptation. The breath of public opinion may carry him wide of his mark, and with the decline of his natural forces there will be a falling off of ambition and purpose. It is a degree of DECLINE.

11° Sagittarius Chiron R | 2nd House | Taurus Degree

A fair woman sporting herself on a couch.

It is the index of a mind that is give to the delights of the senses, voluptuous and sybaritic, selfindulgent and indolent, yet ambitious of the honors and wealth. The pleasures of the senses will prove to the native a delusion and a snare, leading him on from one indulgence to other until at length he will fall into a premature senility and ineptitude which he will not have strength enough to rouse himself from. Women under this degree should be carefully cherished and fore fended. It is a degree of SENSUSOUSNESS.

17° Capricorn Lilith | 3rd House | Leo Degree

Two men in fierce strife.

This symbol denotes one whose aggressive and quarrelsome nature will lead him into all sorts of difficulties and dangers, from which it is to be feared he will not escape unhurt. Contentious, reviling and unorthodox, his mind will be at war with prevailing opinions and popular beliefs. He will create discord wherever he goes, and be a sorry test to men of humane and benevolent dispositions. His nature is devoid of frankness and he does not admit the truth even to himself, but opposes all and evety one on whatever ground is open to debate. In a word, he is an Ishmaelite, and will finally be deserted and abandoned to the mercies of his mother Nature. It is a degree of STRIFE.

#enamouredfae

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whiskeyworen · 4 years

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Thoughts on Kralkatorrik

Fair warning. Gonna be dealing with lots of spoilers from Season 4. These are just my musings and thoughts, so feel free to reject them. Most of this is coming from mulling a lot of stuff over and over in my head to make sense.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Kralkatorrik lately, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s possibly one of the most utterly tragic entities we’ve ever encountered in Guild Wars 2. The Elder Dragon of Rage and Crystal...being the most tragic, pitiable, and sad beings I’ve ever seen. I was thinking about how Glint mentioned that at some point in the past, Kralkatorrik had approached her, driven by a vision he wanted her to confirm or deny. It was the vision of a world without Elder Dragons, without him. She claimed that the concept terrified him and drove him into a rage, and whatnot. But I’m wondering about that, simply because of what we know from War Eternal, from his final confessions to the Commander and Aurene. About not fearing death, not fearing anything. So why did Glint say that he WAS afraid? It made me wonder.... when did he have that vision? Was it shortly before he spoke to Glint about it? Or was it further back in history, in the forgotten, unwritten ages? Which made me think further; Glint had the gift of prophecy. To look through the skeins of fate and see particular outcomes and work towards them. But she couldn’t see past a certain point, because that point did not include her in it. In fact, from the memory crystals we find in Path of Fire... when she met Destiny’s Edge, she was surprised: “These heroes are...not what I expected. Do they have the courage to endure what's coming? The will to drive it back? “ I think that’s because the group she DID expect was Dragon Watch...from further down the timestream. She knew it was a group of mortals coming, with a sylvari, a charr, a human, and an asura...among others perhaps...but the group before her didn’t look quite right. She misinterpreted her own vision, and as a result, Destiny’s Edge tried to fight Kralkatorrik too early. Glint and Snaff died as a result. But... Kralkatorrik, for all his size and power, could have easily smeared or branded Destiny’s Edge. He didn’t though. Rytlock talks about having been close enough to ‘blow kisses’ to Kralk, but Kralk didn’t end up killing them in the end. Because that wasn’t part of the grander Vision. Back to the point, we know Aurene has prophetic visions, and looked through multiple outcomes to try to find one where she and her allies didn’t die against Kralk. And failed. Because that was a historical point that HAD to be met and bypassed by something not shown. Which made me wonder... if Aurene is prophetic to a degree, and Glint moreso, to the point of seeing decades, centuries down the road with some degree of accuracy (not perfect but pretty good)... did that mean Kralkatorrik could as well? Could he, by extension, see extremely FAR down the road, but perhaps not have the refinement to see any other paths? I suddenly had this idea that Kralkatorrik, in the far ancient past before he became the Moving Mountain Range of a Dragon, possibly when he first evolved up to a more powerful state, had had the greatest, deepest, and longest Vision. One that he saw all the way to the end of his own life, so many millennia down the road. And that it didn’t terrify him. It didn’t anger him. It just was. It was unavoidable (because he didn’t know HOW to avoid it, without wrecking the balance of the world himself, which he would have been very aware of), but it was tremendously far off. He could do almost anything and easily avoid it... but yet he didn’t. He took on the role that had been set for him. Perhaps he’d been granted a vision of where someone referred to him as the Elder Dragon of Rage and Crystal. Seen his own, enraged actions in later millennia. So he put that on as his image, projecting a false rage, but one honest enough to convince generations of mortals. Maybe even mixed in a bit of actual rage, because who likes being shackled to a fate they can’t alter? To be denied choice? With his Brand, over the passing of years, he could have easily reworked all of Tyria every time he awoke. But we see little if any of his influence other than in the Brand itself. And the Brand is a pretty permanent mark on the landscape. Pretty sure something like that doesn’t fade in a century or two. There should be entire swathes of landscape still bearing Brandmarks from the previous Risings, but there doesn’t seem to be. What if, just maybe... he was following a long list of events he had to make sure happened, to ensure that particular future came to pass. The one with Aurene, the Commander, the Pact, and Dragonfall itself? Every other Elder Dragon (barring Jormag, who claims to want only to be left alone, just ignore the ice minions) when they awoke tried to expand their territory as far as possible, and conquer and devour all in their path. But when Kralkatorrik awoke, he only burned a path straight south, and parked himself near the Tomb of the Primeval Kings. For YEARS. He drove south, and then sat somewhere. The only time he left that spot was to ‘confront’ Destiny’s Edge. As the Long Vision said he must, because he HAD to. He had to let Glint be un-linked to him for years, only to be forced to re-take her and her ending up dead because of it and the resulting battle. He had to watch as essentially his daughter died, knowing he could have left her alone and alive. But having to do it because if she lived, the Vision would go off-path, and the end result would be less-than-acceptable. So Glint dies, Snaff dies, and Kralkatorrik nurses a long, painful hurt that he knew was coming for ages. Imagine knowing that someone you cared about would turn on you, and you had to kill them. Imagine knowing, even worse, that that was the GOOD outcome. The one that HAD to happen. Mortals knew of him as the Crystal and Rage Dragon, because that was the image he had to plant in their minds. They HAD to hate him. They HAD to fear him. Fate needed them all bound together in a force strong enough to take him down, and he was the needle that sewed it all together through dozens of smaller, unseen movements over the years. Towards the end, after he’d absorbed all those toxic magics that he had no hope of containing, no hope of filtering and releasing in the ways that Aurene had been taught, because no one had ever taught HIM how to do it in ages past... He’d been almost insane with pain. But even then, he was still trying to follow the script. He knew he had to do...things... even if he wasn’t truly sure what they were. After such a long life, there must have been moments of ‘is this the part where I....’ by the dozens, but he probably knew his time was up, and knew he HAD to resist hard enough for everyone to be fully convinced of it. He had to fight back against us, because the script demanded he do it. So that there would be enough anger that we (the Commander, Aurene, the Pact) would not hesitate, not pull any punches, show no mercy.... Because it was the right thing to do. Kralkatorrik knew ages before that he was going to die, where, and how. Maybe not When, but one only needed to look to the events that would unfold to pick the proper time. He knew he would be hurt every stage of the path. From the loss of Glint, and possibly Vlast (the grandson he’d never properly met), to having to Brand Aurene to set her on her proper path. From Branding Ascalon and countless living beings to make the Charr, and by proxy Tyria hate him enough to fight him hard enough to make the Future possible. To facing down Balthazar when he frankly didn’t need to, even knowing Aurene was in that Warbeast, and being injured by it. Even chasing Aurene through the Mists, and into Thunderhead Keep, and then retreating back into the Mists to recupe some strength...that was only so there’d be time for Aurene to recover and gain her true abilities. He could have easily levelled the mountain, and instead he left...because Fate demanded he do so. There was no anger in him at the end. Only love for Aurene, regret for Glint, and possibly even those he’d Branded (I’m interpretting it that way because it’s very possible he did like Mortals, but because of his role in Fate, he HAD to kill and Brand them, and that hurt.), relieved resignation that he was at the end, and gratitude. In a way, all the horror, all the pain he caused... all the destruction, as oddly limited as it was compared to other Elder Dragons... was all FOR Tyria and the world. He played the role of mindless villain, because it was his destiny, and he could not shirk it. Could not see another way out that was beneficial to the world. So he took up that dark mantle, and wore it, and never let anyone else know, not even his own kin. Right till the end. Even Jormag never caught on. That’s how well he played the role. It’s impressive...and haunting. To knowingly do horrible things even though you don’t want to, but because it’s absolutely, 100% necessary. And to know it’s going to cost you Everything, right down to your own life... but everything will come out better for it afterward. I’m not even sure I’ve explained the scope of this thought properly. But it digs at the back of my mind now when I play through PoF, and Season 4. I can’t un-think these thoughts, not after hearing him at the end of Dragonfall. Hearing that he KNEW, and had always known, and was unafraid of it.

#gw2 #gw2 Season 4 #gw2 season 4 spoilers #War Eternal #Kralkatorrik #Fate #Personal thoughts #musings #LONG POST WARNING

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leviathangourmet · 3 years

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Even though I’m a conservative, to be honest, I tend to ignore a lot of big government spending articles because the numbers are usually just too big to digest. Then I saw how some of those monstrous numbers broke down locally.

I live in South Bend, Ind., best known as home to the University of Notre Dame. The morning after President Biden signed his new COVID-19 “relief” bill into law, news in my local paper broke that our county was about to be granted an obscene amount of money. The sum? $52.7 million — or, about one-third of our entire county budget, all provided courtesy of federal taxpayers.

Now, to put that in perspective, under the CARES Act COVID-19 relief bill signed last year by President Trump, my county got $8.7 million. Frankly, even that amount was a lot for the county to figure out how to spend. Reports the South Bend Tribune:

When county officials found they would be unable to spend all the CARES Act money before the Dec. 31 deadline, the federal government allowed them to use much of that money to pay employee salaries that would have come from the county’s normal budget.

When it was all said and done, that money “allowed the county to end 2020 with more cash on hand than the year before.”

Now imagine how much richer my county will be with a federal boost six times as much as the previous amount. As the county auditor reports, he expects us to be in a “very strong position financially” and that the federal money will be “seriously transformative in terms of county revenues.” No kidding.

It could also be seriously transformative in how much it grows the size and influence of our local government. It’s a tale as old as time: Give the government more money; grow their power; create a bunch more programs; hire more workers; and then, when the money runs out, tell taxpayers higher taxes must follow.

These huge sums of money are not simply federal freebies — they have strings attached. This time, it’s with the Biden administration and its lists of eligible uses, which will be used to shape how we use our taxpayer dollars locally, both redistributing and depriving money to benefit some areas to the detriment of others.

Sure, this money is supposed to get us out of some of the economic problems caused by COVID-19, but who caused these problems in the first place? Politicians and experts mandating lockdowns and killing businesses.

Now they’re spending all our taxpayer dollars and directing the money through a government-run process redirecting money to their favorite causes. Rather than throw buckets of the people’s money right back at them, the proper solution is to open up the economy completely and let people get back to work.

As my congressional representative, Jackie Walorski, wrote in a South Bend Tribune editorial, “This legislation isn’t about Covid, with less than 9 percent going to public health measures, like vaccine distribution. It’s not necessary, either, given that $1 trillion in existing relief funds haven’t been spent.”

These funds are going to be used for the redistribution of wealth and the financial equaling of states, which will especially reward states that have managed money badly and punish states like my own. Walorski points out:

This legislation will bail out fiscally irresponsible state and local governments, forcing Hoosiers to send their tax dollars to states like California. Even worse, Indiana will be penalized for our strong economy, because direct funding to states is based on unemployment, not population as in past relief bills.

Now, consider the stimulus checks. We as a society are getting very used to them. I’ve already received almost $10,000 this year for my family, and if we’re eligible for the latest round, that will be about $13,000 from Uncle Joe.

All in all, it’s starting to feel like I’m receiving a universal basic income, and, with it, a dangerous new cycle of dependence and expectation. Who are you going to vote for — the guy who says it’s time for the stimulus payments to end, or the one who promises you another check?

The reward of federal money could also be why we are still burdened with masks and virus restrictions in Indiana. Despite about a third of states dropping or never having implemented mask mandates, our Republican Gov. Eric Holcomb still hasn’t budged. The way state legislators can force Holcomb to drop COVID-19 rules is by terminating his state of emergency, which has been renewed 12 times and is now going into its second year.

Now more than one-fourth of our state’s House of Representatives are behind the bill, but it doesn’t appear to be going anywhere — even though the author of the bill says he believes he has the votes to pass it. Maddeningly, despite the support to do so, the Republican chairman of the committee, Dan Leonard, won’t move it forward and put an end to the madness.

Why? Federal funding, of course, according to Leah Wilson, a health advocate familiar with the matter and fellow supporter of this bill. Leonard claims if we drop the emergency, we lose a heck of a lot of money. He’s clearly not considering that the state and counties are already sitting on excess piles of money, as noted above. Moreover, Leonard and others don’t seem to realize that there’s also another greater cost: our freedoms.

Money has a way of making us lose focus. It’s great at first, but then you realize what you’ve lost by taking it. As Gerald Ford once put it, “If your government is big enough to give you everything you want, it is big enough to take away from you everything you have.” As we eagerly await the next COVID-19 relief check in our bank accounts, we’d do well to remember those words, and recall that everything, everything, ultimately carries a price.

#indiana #covid-19 #covid bailouts #socialism #politics #article #economics

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tsunflowers · 5 years

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anime featuring adult women

there are a lot of great female characters in anime, but sometimes it feels like they’re all supporting characters in shows about men or they haven’t graduated high school yet. I wanted to compile a list of some anime with adult women front and center

kidou keisatsu patlabor on tv:

in the sci-fi future as imagined in 1988, human-piloted robots called labors are used regularly by all kinds of people, including criminals. to combat labor crime, the police develop a special unit of patrol labors—patlabor. instead of following the prestigious division one, we follow a cast of quirky characters in second-string division two, as they solve cases ranging from mundane to dangerous to paranormal

izumi noa, and why I love her:

she’s incredibly strong-willed and stubborn. she’ll stand up to anyone. she’s obsessed with labors, not just piloting them herself but repairing them and learning about new developments in the field. even though division two is primarily men and there is the “men at work” vibe of so much military and police fiction, noa fits in easily with the guys and no one excludes her. the few times people do question her skills bc of her gender, they’re immediately shut down

other women in the cast:

nagumo shinobu, the captain of division one. we never actually see her or her unit at work, but they have a great reputation. I just love her bc she’s very funny always shutting down the captain of division two and I like that in-universe there are women in leadership roles like this

kanuka clancy, a visiting cop from new york. her relationship with noa is very strong, definitely shippable. she’s adept with a gun, a sword, and a giant robot. she’s the serious member of the team who yells at the others for being dumb but there are still times where she goes completely off the rails and ignores the law to do what she knows is right

wotakoi: love is hard for otaku:

momose narumi is an office worker and a fujoshi. she wants to keep the fujoshi part a secret this time around because things went south for her at her last job once people found out she was an otaku, but it turns out several of her new coworkers are fellow nerds. most importantly, her game-loving childhood friend hirotaka works at the same company, and the two of them reconnect as friends… and soon more than friends. it’s a romance drama involving only nerds

momose narumi, and why I love her:

she’s a lot like your standard high school girl protagonist who runs out of the house because she’s late for school, but this time she’s late for work. she’s really funny and straightforward, except she thinks she has to hide that side of her at her job. she and hirotaka have a great childhood friends to lovers relationship. she’s kind of rude to him but he adores her (though he’s kind of bad at showing it). I love a cheerful girl/serious guy romance that’s done well and I think this one really is

other women in the cast:

koyanagi hanako, narumi’s new coworker who’s a fellow fujoshi. she’s also a cosplayer, specifically a crossplayer who specializes in cosplaying as handsome guys. she and narumi only met each other under their fandom nicknames before, but they were big fans of each other and hit it off instantly when they meet at work. they’re cute friends even if they always argue about who tops in their ships

psycho-pass:

in a futuristic society, people’s mental health is constantly measured by “psycho-pass” readings which track their emotional state and judge the likelihood that they will commit a crime. naive rookie cop tsunemori akane leads a team of enforcers, people who are considered “latent criminals” too dangerous to live in normal society but who are still useful to the police. akane develops a close relationship with enforcer kougami shinya in particular, but kougami has his own intense relationship with the elusive criminal makishima shogo. as the team of detectives investigate him, they uncover secrets about the system they never wanted to learn and their fates become entwined with makishima’s

psycho-pass is written by urobuchi gen (madoka magica, fate/zero) and if you’re familiar with him you know what to expect. the show is pretty grim and gory. content warnings for rape, violence, gore, body horror, police violence, the predatory lesbian trope, forced institutionalization, and probably a lot of other things I can’t remember. not a light watch, is what I’m saying

tsunemori akane, and why I love her:

she’s incredibly principled. she sticks to what she believes is right despite immense pressure. it’s precisely because she’s naive and doesn’t understand the system that she is able to fight against it. she grows a huge amount over the course of the series but she never loses her compassion or her sense of right and wrong. she’s pretty badass too

other women in the cast:

karanomori shion, a lab analyst at the public safety bureau. she’s your typical sexy and flirtatious anime character but I think her position within the setting is interesting. although she’s categorized as a “latent criminal” unfit for society, she seems to be valued more than the enforcers. she’s also bisexual and dating a woman, though she plays into the “bisexuals can’t settle down” trope a little. she is not actually the best character or peak representation but I’m pretty attached to her and a certain type of woman will be too

kunizuka yayoi, a lesbian former musician and the only female enforcer. she’s shion’s girlfriend. there is a predatory lesbian character in this series, but it’s not kunizuka. I think her being a lesbian is handled pretty well. she has romantic and sexual relationships with women that are important to her, but she doesn’t hate men or flirt with every woman she meets (traits I hate to see in lesbian characters written by men). she’s really serious and calm but still cute and I love to see her growing respect for akane over the course of the show

death parade:

two people wake up in a strange bar with no memory of how they got there. a mysterious man with white hair named decim and his assistant, a woman known only as “the black haired woman,” ask them to play a game. the games are both absurd and dangerous, and as the contestants play them dark sides of themselves are revealed. decim’s job is to judge them based on their behavior while playing the games, but the black haired woman’s influence causes him to wonder if he’s doing the right thing

like it says in the title, the anime deals with the topic of death, and death by suicide comes up as well. I don’t remember everyone’s backstories but I think violence and abuse come up several times. there are also mannequins that move around on marionette strings which is kind of freaky

the black haired woman, and why I love her:

it might be wrong to say that she’s the main character when she isn’t introduced until the end of the first episode and her name isn’t revealed for half the show but listen. she’s the emotional core of the show and the person who sets the events in motion. she’s a very emotional person and that’s her strength. her relationship with decim is the classic “woman teaches cold-hearted man to feel” trope but I think it’s an outstanding example bc it centers her emotional experience and the two of them are not explicitly in a romantic relationship. I’ve been trying to avoid spoilers but for her it’s almost unavoidable. I love the way that her story is slowly revealed over the course of the show culminating in an incredible sequence in episode 11. I think her depression is handled so well too. it’s heartbreaking

other women in the cast:

nona, the boss of the arbiters. she’s a schemer who knows a whole lot of things she’s keeping from everyone else. I really like her outfit above all else. baggy pants with suspenders… a great look

mayu, a high school girl who is a contestant in one of the games. she tries to be cutesy but is prone to anger and makes incredible faces. I like that she’s an obsessive fangirl character who’s played for humor but is also shown as being noble and sympathetic

sakura quest:

koharu yoshino is a woman who moved to tokyo to find a job but has no luck. when she finally gets a job offer, it’s to become “queen for a day” of rural manoyama village. upon arriving in manoyama, she learns that she was only hired because they thought she was someone else but they still want her to work there for an entire year. now she lives in a small town and is tasked with both revitalizing the citizens and drawing tourists in, along with the help of four friends. it may not sound funny and heartwarming but it really is. it’s a good story about connecting and reconnecting and also the head of the tourism board wears a chupacabra mask sometimes

the main characters, and why I love them:

koharu yoshino, queen of manoyama. her struggle in the job market is unfortunately relatable to many people today and I love that she wishes she could have a job as a queen. she’s great and she really comes to love the town despite everything

shiori shinomiya, a very sweet manoyama native. she’s almost too nice but it makes it all the funnier when she gets intense

maki midorikawa, an aspiring actor who is famous among manoyama citizens for a small role she played in the past. she’s serious about acting but her family wishes she would get a more stable job. she can be kind of rude but she does love her friends and her town

sanae kouzuki, a web developer who moved to manoyama to escape the intensity of city life and the negative effects it had on her mental health. the problem is she hates rural life and is afraid of bugs but is too proud to admit it on her blog. the only true city girl among the five

ririko oribe, my favorite of the five. she’s shy but loves cryptids and the occult. it’s very easy to read her as autistic and the other characters affirm her interests and behavior. her love of cryptids even helps the town out when Spanish tourists come in search of a local legend. her relationship with her grandma is really good as well, with the two coming to understand and love each other over the course of the show

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antoine-roquentin · 5 years

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i’ve noticed that my shorthand critique of the “south park caused anti-semitism” theory of media has been getting some attention, and it’s funny cause it dovetails with another round of “the youtube algorithm is responsible for turning everybody into nazis” rhetoric as well, sparked by a recent new york times article. this sort of navelgazing is pretty popular because it works nicely with beliefs that both elites and liberals in general have, namely, that public opinion needs to be managed by an enlightened few, that some people are too stupid to participate in civic life and that’s why right wing populists get elected, and that if people are educated correctly, they will simply accept that liberalism is the best model for society. in short, it’s behaviorism, namely, the hypodermic needle model of media.

the liberal elite in interwar america believed themselves to be creating a better society through management of public opinion. figures like walter lippman were committed to benevolent elite rule through the manipulation of opinion, the “manufacturing of consent”. many of them came out of the milieu of manipulating popular opinion through propaganda work in the first world war, successfully convincing americans to join and support the british side in that war. edward bernays, for instance, worked for the committee on public information, the “largest propaganda machine the world had ever seen“, before becoming the intellectual forebear of the public relations industry in america. he and other similar figures, like lippman, carl byoir, and charles merriam (who combined behaviouralism with political science), were the leading lights of the “Progressive” movement of the time. they relied on the notion that media was passively consumed by people, who simply accepted the claims made without hesitation and then acted accordingly. the psychological theories behind this found form as a body of work known as behavioralism. human beings had a set of limited or “latent” responses to stimuli. by providing the correct stimuli, human beings could be made to behave accordingly. one day, society would be governed by the truly intelligent who would suss out the correct stimuli through trial and error and then apply them to the masses, a society of pavlov’s dogs. this top-down model not coincidentally empowered liberal elites to do what they will without any input from the masses.

this was termed the “hypodermic needle” or “magic bullet” model of media. both of these are medical terms, the latter referring to a drug that treats only the disease without any side effects, and that’s quite telling. american progressives have traditionally exalted medicine as a neutral, rational way to develop a better society. many were advocates of eugenics as a form of medicine, “cleaning” the human race of its “unfit” members. recently, there’s been a strong resurgence of interest in eugenics, behavioralism, and the use of medical terminology to describe media (viral video, using the metaphor of contagion).

proponents of the model in the 1930s referred to the success of the nazis in their use of mass media (ironically, using the same propaganda techniques they’d developed. joseph goebbels was known to be a reader of bernays’ books) as well as the payne fund studies, a series of works done on the responses of children to movies with poor methodology and funded by oil magnates hoping to drive moral panics (the hays code was strongly influenced by them), and the panicked reaction to the 1938 orson welles radio production of war of the worlds in support. of course, all three of these shared very specific material conditions of the people involved that drove them to react in the manner they did apart from the media involved in persuasion. for the decade after the first world war, while germany muddled along without growth but also without significant collapse, the nazis failed to attract more than a few percentage points of electoral support, despite consistently using similar tactics. it was only after the economic collapse of germany, when the economy had shrunk by about a quarter, that the nazis gained traction. even then, this was by using the failures of a liberal constitution to turn their electoral base, only one third of voters who were largely based in rural areas and included almost nobody in the major cities, into a workable governing coalition, particularly by playing on the fact that german liberals feared communism much more than nazism. likewise, the panic over war of the worlds was largely a myth created by newspapers which feared they were losing their audience to a new, more dynamic form of media and wanted to stoke a moral panic (see a parallel with the nyt story?). those who were convinced that an invasion was occurring, according to a study done afterwards (in part by theodor adorno), for the most part had only heard a bit and were concerned about a german invasion, given the heightened geopolitical tensions at the time, or were from the town of concrete, washington, which suffered a blackout midway through the performance.

you can see the same sort of threads in the nyt story, while the important parts go ignored by twitterati eager to engage on the most superficial level. “young men discover far-right videos by accident“ thanks to “YouTube and its recommendation algorithm“, “the most frequent cause of members’ “red-pilling”“ according to a study done by the NED(ie western intelligence)-funded bellingcat, after which they fall “ down the alt-right rabbit hole” as passive subjects reacting to stimuli. clearly, these videos spread like a contagion, and it’s our job to ban them in favour of much more legitimate content that supports major western foreign policy objectives. oh wait, hold up, mr cain was a “college dropout struggling to find his place in the world“, at a time of wage stagnation and a tough job market for newer entries that’s especially pronounced as you go further down the education ladder? he “grew up in postindustrial Appalachia”, an area destroyed by rapacious neoliberalism that has increasingly seen its industries move offshore in search of lower wages, its most dynamic members leave for major cities due to a lack of jobs, and those that remain become increasingly socially isolated, prompting them to either resort to social media or kill themselves through drugs and guns in what famed economist angus deaton calls “deaths of despair” (not to mention the limiting of public spaces to those who can pay, another aspect of neoliberalism, which particularly drives teens like mr cain into "online games with his friends”)? in a world where capitalism justifies itself by telling those it fails over and over that it’s their own fault, that they need to improve themselves and that there is no such thing as structural problems because, in the words of margaret thatcher, “there is no such thing [as society]! only individual men and women”, mr cain was drawn to propaganda masquerading as a self-help grift with an emphasis on supposedly knowing more than the brainwashed masses (”To Mr. Cain, all of this felt like forbidden knowledge“)?

most of all though is the fact that most of the people cain watched are either funded directly or take most of their talking points from a network of right wing intellectuals cultivated by major dark money backers for decades. david rubin takes money from dennis prager, who in turn is funded by fracking billionaires and evangelical christians the wilks brothers, and the bradley foundation, who have funded literally every major right wing cause of note. lauren southern is only famous because she worked for rebel media, funded by much of the oil industry including the kochs as well as the bradley foundation. paul joseph watson is associated with ukip and its funder arron banks. gad saad is funded by molson coors, whose corporate heads not only once praised hitler but founded the most famous republican think tank in the country, the heritage foundation. two of the major members of the “intellectual dark web”, charles murray and christina hoff sommers, work directly for the heritage foundation. and other youtube luminaries of note, like alex jones, thunderf00t, and stefan molyneux, make their money solely by doing interviews with these people and by citing material produced from these think tanks. in a world where inequality is increasingly dividing the rich and the working class, the former spend more and more on maintaining the division, while the latter are driven into a state of fear in which absurd theories about the collapse of western civilization and their replacement with latin american and muslim people seems much more reasonable. There’s also the social isolation that makes youtube celebs and discord chat buddies seem less like distant weirdos and more like the only friends one has.

the solution, of course, is to modify youtube’s algorithm. just a bit of top-down tweaking to educate the masses on their correct course. surely, nobody would be stupid enough to think that the material conditions created by the neoliberal elite in the past few decades has driven a complete collapse in trust in american society, to the point where only a third of americans "trust their government “to do what is right”“, compared to over 80% of chinese people. surely this breakdown in trust is due to youtube and not the complete economic decimation of the country by its elites, to the point where many rural counties have not even recovered the jobs they lost a decade ago. a redistribution of wealth should not even be on the table, because material conditions play no part in how people react to media. just accept your daily helping of bullshit from the bourgeoisie and never question them when they say certain people need to be censored, because the powers you let them have will never be abused or turned against you in any way. and hey, don’t listen to any critiques of behaviorism, because it’s not like anarchists blew that shit out of the water in the 1950s.

#this is like the fifth time i've seen a mass media article about an alt-right converso who cites contrapoints as key to his damascus moment #i think the only time i saw one of her videos i was annoyed with how she failed to critique some of the deeper issues with what she discusse #something about that golden boy swedish guy i think #other than that all i know about her is the heavy critiques that a lot of trans people have levelled against her #it feels like she's being promoted by the media as an acceptable left winger in the gatekeeper model #but i really don't know enough about her to say whether that's true or not #if anybody's got any thoughts or whatever #cause there's no way i'm sitting through a bunch of fucking youtube video essays #i should stop writing these while drunk in the middle of the night over the course of 2 hours #i can't even tell whether i brought all the themes together in the ending paragraph because i don't remember what i was thinking in the intr

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Shameless Season 11 Episode 11 Review: The Fickle Lady Is Calling It Quits

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This Shameless episode contains spoilers.

Shameless Season 11 Episode 11

“We’re adults now. This is what adults do. They move on.”

Shameless tows the line over whether Frank Gallagher is actually wise or just so high on his own supply that he’s convinced himself that he’s a street smart genius. The truth of the matter is irrelevant because either way Frank still makes bold declarations as if they were the word of God. He’s a non-stop repository for nonsensical advice and Frank’s teachings have been present through every season, even if they’re lessons that the Gallaghers actively ignore.

“The Fickle Lady Is Calling It Quits” pushes a narrative where characters need to either move forward or slow down, but a greater source of wisdom that influences the episode’s structure is the laundry list of life lessons that Frank has spewed out for eleven seasons. This direction turns Shameless’ penultimate episode into one of the most emotional and impressive entries of the season and provides the right direction for next week’s big finale.

Previous seasons of Shameless frequently treat Frank like an unrepentant derelict and there are times where he even operates as an outright villain. This final season has worked hard to humanize Frank as he transitions into this feeble stage of his life and it’s been a very powerful experience. Now, an episode away from the very end of Shameless, Frank is at his absolute worst and at this point there’s no hatred towards this passive father figure, only pity. William H. Macy looks utterly lost in these scenes and he’s really put everything into this final season. Macy actually deserves some award consideration when the time comes and this is the episode that he should submit.

Frank is usually the one that drives the chaos forward in Shameless, right down to the previous episode, but “The Fickle Lady Is Calling It Quits” turns into a somber celebration of all things Frank Gallagher as Liam graciously tries to remind Frank of the indomitable fighting spirit that’s defined him for his entire life. Liam throws Frank’s own advice back at him when he tells him, “Either you run the day, or the day runs you.”

This episode feeds off of the energy between Liam and Frank from the previous installment and it’s appropriate that Liam is the one that’s with Frank during his weakest moments. Frank can rest easy knowing that Liam is living proof that goodness has come out of all of his selfish behavior over the years and somehow this child has been able to synthesize his ramblings into practical advice.

It’s a lot of fun to return to this farcical side of Frank’s character, but the comedic sensibilities of Shameless continue to be all over the place this season. There are some legitimately funny and subtle jokes throughout this episode, but there are also ridiculous setpieces where good samaritans get steamrolled by a truck. Shameless has always had a dark sense of humor, but it needs to have a little more confidence in itself and not resort to such broad gags that come close to breaking the reality of the show’s universe. Mickey’s consternation over housing complex guidelines feels more natural, and is funnier, than fatality punchlines or extended TikTok dance routines.

Mickey and Ian’s time in Chicago’s West Side becomes surprisingly fulfilling and it achieves the right balance between comedy and drama. This new lifestyle puts Mickey and Ian at odds with each other and it becomes a strong dissection of their characters as well as how far their relationship has come. Their material is full of great character moments, like how Mickey needs to listen to car crashes and general destruction as a white noise machine to help him peacefully fall asleep. Mickey’s discomfort over his new life becomes so severe that he has to sneak back into the Gallagher house and get up close and personal with the crime and chaos that echoes through the South Side.

I don’t expect Mickey to completely regress and be unable to forge ahead with Ian in this marginally swankier life, but this feels like a reasonable temporary hurdle for him to clear before the series concludes. Despite how this West Side lifestyle is a productive change for Ian and Mickey, it’s still something that Ian made official while Mickey wasn’t completely on board. It’s an understandable schism between them and the episode is smart to tease them falling back onto old habits, only to do the opposite.

“The Fickle Lady Is Calling It Quits” teases infidelity and disappointing decisions, but their selfless resolution to the problem is one of the sweetest moments from the entire season and basically what I’ve wanted from these two all season. Every character in Shameless has been through a tremendous amount this season and it’s impressive how Mickey and Ian’s conflict resolution methods have evolved from the volatile place that they were at when the season began.

Mickey and Ian display genuine maturity with their relationship issues and it’s a level of synergy and consistency that Debbie craves. Everyone is considerably worn down from the events of the season and is close to their breaking points, which in Debbie’s case finally causes her to take a long look at why her romantic endeavors have all been so toxic. This introspective attitude is good for Debbie, yet the victim mentality that she adopts and her anger that Frank has “ruined love for her” is a little too simplistic. Debbie has been in healthy relationships that failed because of preventable problems that she instigated.

Debbie polls the people in her life on how to build connections and stay together when her family is on the cusp of separation, which does carry a level of poignancy, even if not all of the insight that she acquires from the experience is healthy. It’s a storyline that works as well as it does here specifically because it’s juxtaposed around so many changes and goodbyes. Debbie does productive work to better herself, but the direction of her endgame is more than a little confusing.

“The Fickle Lady Is Calling It Quits” parses out several scenes where an aggressive woman named Heidi causes a wave of mayhem promptly after she’s released from prison. Initially it looks like Heidi’s roaring rampage will intersect with Carl’s new police gig and provide him an opportunity to take down this menace and become a hero again on the force. That’s not at all what happens and it’s madness that Heidi is meant to instead provide closure for Debbie!

Heidi literally threatens to shoot Franny with a revolver and minutes later Debbie is ready to spend the rest of her life with this loose cannon. The most frustrating thing is that next week’s series finale will likely hint at a happy future for this fresh couple, but based on everything that’s known about both of these characters it seems like it’s destined to go up in flames, perhaps even more quickly than previous relationships.

Carl doesn’t get to take out an angst-ridden recidivist, but he does still find some peace and gain a better understanding of his calling after a season of being frustrated. Carl’s impassioned speech is long overdue, eloquent as hell, and completely right. It also would have been justified several episodes back, but at this point Carl’s pent up frustration over what he’s witnessed at the police department makes sense.

It’s encouraging that Carl embraces his demotion and uses it to find clarity. It’s still hard to say if this police direction for Carl’s character was worth it in the end, but thankfully it doesn’t suck out his soul or leave him bitter at the world. Joshua Malina is such a hyperbolized schlub through all of this, which is entertaining and also reflects the greater level of incompetence that surrounds Carl while he attempts to do honest police work.

Carl and many of the Gallaghers are caught in flux when it comes to their new lives, but Kevin and Vee already have Chicago in their rearview mirrors. Vee and Kevin represent a force of confidence and their resolve towards Louisville inadvertently helps many of the Gallaghers work through their own sources of stress. It even feels natural that the person that Kevin and Vee sell their house off to turns into a break for Lip to diminish the colony of ulcers that have been brewing in him all season. This blessed development also doesn’t feel contrived because it’s an opportunity that Lip ultimately botches.

Liam reminds Frank that he’ll have both good and bad days, but this cautionary advice becomes even more applicable to Lip’s story. It’s heartbreaking how everything sours for Lip and there’s such palpable tension through it all. This is supposed to be Lip’s easy way out to a happy ending and it instead quickly becomes a nightmare. It’s very clear that something is about to go wrong and just how poorly Lip has handled this situation. It’s a slow motion car crash of drama to the worst degree.

This sword is left to hang over Lip as the episode concludes and he almost seems to accept the cloud of hopelessness that’s formed over him. It’s a sad, hollow version of Lip that doesn’t feel dissimilar to Frank Gallagher and his decision to go out on his own terms. Frank’s concluding moments are devastating, but they’re also the only time in the episode where he feels empowered. It’s a turn that fundamentally changes the tone for Shameless’ series finale and has the potential to bring out the best in each character. There’s now a small sliver of hope that Fiona might show up, whereas I was previously convinced that this was impossible.

“The Fickle Lady Is Calling It Quits” is the strongest episode of Shameless’ final season, it contains some of William H. Macy’s absolute best work from the show, and it instills some optimistic confidence for what the series has planned for its final installment. The Gallaghers’ lives are far from over and there’s still a lot that these characters need to figure out before the series’ conclusion. The tragedy that strikes in the episodes’s final moments is a strong catalyst that should bring everyone together and deliver a series finale that’s just as much about togetherness and supporting each other as it is about new beginnings and closing the door on the past.

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It will also absolutely end on its own terms, just like Francis Gallagher.

The post Shameless Season 11 Episode 11 Review: The Fickle Lady Is Calling It Quits appeared first on Den of Geek.

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sorenfm · 5 years

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choi san . cis male . he / him or they / them . / soren shin just pulled up blasting late night by goldlink ft. masego . -- that song is so them ! you know , for a twenty four year old socialite and illustrator , i’ve heard they’re really -vexatious , but that they make up for it by being so + alluring . if i had to choose three things to describe them , i’d probably say graphite stained hands gripping the neck of a bottle of remy martin louis xiii , gucci sneakers tapping rhythmically on museum floors , and unread texts and unanswered phone calls clogging his lockscreen . here’s to hopping they don’t cause too much trouble !

hmm , yes . this two gif thing with block quotes is just as extra as i was hoping it would be 🥰 . that being said , hi babies ! my name’s koa ( pronounced like co - uh ) , and i’m really excited to be here ! my pronouns are preferably non - binary , but please feel free to use she / her as well . i’m not going to get upset if you do , promise 🥺 . i’ve been dying to play san for quite some time , so with that comes the birth of my absolutely vile son known as soren ! he’s like ... fresh from the box brand new so i’m working out kinks and stuff , but everything mentioned in this intro is pretty much set in stone ! i won’t ramble on for too long , but i can share my discord if that’s the easiest or most convenient for you , but i’m also down to plot in the im’s !

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 .

BIRTH NAME : shin jin - hyeok .

PREFERRED NAME : soren shin .

NICKNAME(S) : jinnie ( by his mom , only ) .

BIRTHDATE / AGE : december 25th , 1996 / 23 .

ZODIAC : capricorn .

HOMETOWN : atlanta , georgia .

GENDER : cis male .

NATIONALITY : korean american .

ETHNICITY : korean .

HEIGHT : 5′10″ .

LABEL(S) : the artisan , the bellwether , the gregarious , the icarian , and the thespian .

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : biromantic .

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual .

OCCUPATION : socialite and freelance illustrator .

LANGUAGES SPOKEN : korean , english , and conversational spanish .

POSITIVES : alluring , veritable , altruistic , unconstrained , and urbane .

NEGATIVES : domineering , sardonic , quick - tempered , shallow and vexatious .

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 .

it’s nearly impossible to think about the atlanta social scene without the shin family coming to mind . both of jin - hyeok’s parents did not come from money , but they both lived comfortably . both were children of immigrants from south korea , and that is what caused them to work as hard as they did . woo - yong and eun - mi met one another when they were both accepted into the same culinary school , but eun - mi originally had no interest in woo - yong . he was known around their school as something of a player , and for the longest , she always shot down his advances .

eventually , eun - mi decided to go on one date with him , and it was history from there . they were married within two years , and they eloped at the city of atlanta courthouse and their honeymoon consisted of getting matching tattoos on their ring fingers because they couldn’t afford rings at that time . the couple worked hard through the years , and they eventually opened the first location of their korean - american fusion brunch restaurant . the restaurant opened to strong success , and they brought in over a million in profits in their first year , which turned their lives for the better .

the day they went to finally purchase their wedding rings was the day eun - mi told woo - yong that they were having a lil squish . said lil squish came seven months and two weeks later in their master bathroom tub ( because jin - hyeok refused to be in there to full term ) and it was the happiest day of their lives . throughout jin - hyeok’s childhood , the couple continued to pursue their restaurant dreams , and opened four more locations in buckhead , sandy springs , morningside , and brookhaven by the time he was ten .

while growing up , jin - hyeok always took a liking to his creative side , and it was mostly due to his parents being creatives themselves . when he wasn’t in the kitchen with them , he was reading webtoons and mangas , which sparked his own interest in drawing . he was 100% self taught , and used to spend hours watching videos on how to do do certain things . by the time he started posting his art on the new platform that was instagram , jin - hyeok had begun going by the name of soren shin since he kept his art mostly to himself at the time . to get an idea of what his art looks like , check out my favorite artist laia lopez on instagram !

he went to the coveted scad ( savannah college of art and design ) where he studied fine arts . he graduated in the spring of 2018 , and he continued posting his art on instagram before he was approached by a publishing company to create a book of his own art ! he’s released a few of them leading into this year , and has drawn the illustrations for a few graphic novels throughout the years . moved to los angeles for the big dreamz but in reality he doesn’t do a damn thing but post on his personal account and go to fashion shows . he still does art and everything , but his life as a socialite is more prominent for him at the time .

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

baby is an artist ! despite him having no interest to hold down a day job , he mainly focuses on his art throughout the day . he definitely doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s drawing so if he answers the door with an attitude , then you know why .

he does not answer the phone and don’t expect him to ! he will intentionally leave you on read and watch his phone ring until it stops . really , he doesn’t know why he needs a phone outside of social media , but if you want to get in touch ... dm him . he might answer .

his favorite food is sushi so for the love of everything that is holy don’t let him pick where to eat because he’ll say sugarfish or nobu every single time .

he wears all black , but like .... expensive all black . he will wear his berets and his garrett leight glasses and his cartier bracelets and his fancy clothes literally every day . don’t ask him about casual clothes . they don’t exist . his casual is a silk pajama set .

drives a white audi q7 and lives in the hollywood hills .

don’t ask him to go on a date because he’ll just wanna go to art exhibits , art festivals , and museums . ya’ll will go to dinner and he’ll talk your ear off about it , but he’ll get all shy and rosy cheeked when someone asks about his own art since he doesn’t really share it that often .

owns every piece and collection of the fenty beauty line . curly bangs in his eyes 25 / 8 .

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 .

i’ve pretty much said everything in the headcanons , but he’s really a charmer at heart but he’ll also make you panic . since he doesn’t answer the phone people tend to think that he’s fallen of the face of the earth or god forbid he’s gone missing , but chances are he’s in his house ... ignoring you lol . he’s really about his looks and won’t leave the house without making sure that he looks impeccable , and he will go home if he feels ugly . he can be really sarcastic and it doesn’t take much but a couple of words to put him into a sour mood , so he’s a real testy one . above all else , though , he really likes to have fun and he’s really social so please come join him at his house for some reality show viewing with wine and junk food .

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 .

idk why i’m envisioning this , but someone he drew inspo from for the manga he’s working on . they could either m , nb , or female of course and it’s more so based on their looks than anything else , but he’s always going to them and wanting to show the progress he’s making !

i’d die if he had an angsty ex boyfriend kinda thing because honestly 👀 i wanna have my wig snatched thank u .

a best friend !

someone that tries to make him workout but in reality he’s sitting and eating a bagel on the weight bench .

some generic tingz like neighbors , friends with benefits , confidant(s) , good or bad influence , one night stand(s) , a current fling , enemies with benefits , and frenemies !!!

honestly i’m a sl*t for angst and everything that comes with it so please hand it over or i’ll start crying .

#excess:intro #WHEW i lied again when i said this was gonna be short !!

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bdub86 · 5 years

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AFRICAN STUDIES CENTER - UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA

"Letter from a Birmingham Jail [King, Jr.]"

16 April 1963

My Dear Fellow Clergymen:

While confined here in the Birmingham city jail, I came across your recent statement calling my present activities "unwise and untimely." Seldom do I pause to answer criticism of my work and ideas. If I sought to answer all the criticisms that cross my desk, my secretaries would have little time for anything other than such correspondence in the course of the day, and I would have no time for constructive work. But since I feel that you are men of genuine good will and that your criticisms are sincerely set forth, I want to try to answer your statement in what I hope will be patient and reasonable terms.

I think I should indicate why I am here in Birmingham, since you have been influenced by the view which argues against "outsiders coming in." I have the honor of serving as president of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, an organization operating in every southern state, with headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. We have some eighty five affiliated organizations across the South, and one of them is the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights. Frequently we share staff, educational and financial resources with our affiliates. Several months ago the affiliate here in Birmingham asked us to be on call to engage in a nonviolent direct action program if such were deemed necessary. We readily consented, and when the hour came we lived up to our promise. So I, along with several members of my staff, am here because I was invited here. I am here because I have organizational ties here.

But more basically, I am in Birmingham because injustice is here. Just as the prophets of the eighth century B.C. left their villages and carried their "thus saith the Lord" far beyond the boundaries of their home towns, and just as the Apostle Paul left his village of Tarsus and carried the gospel of Jesus Christ to the far corners of the Greco Roman world, so am I compelled to carry the gospel of freedom beyond my own home town. Like Paul, I must constantly respond to the Macedonian call for aid.

Moreover, I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds.

You deplore the demonstrations taking place in Birmingham. But your statement, I am sorry to say, fails to express a similar concern for the conditions that brought about the demonstrations. I am sure that none of you would want to rest content with the superficial kind of social analysis that deals merely with effects and does not grapple with underlying causes. It is unfortunate that demonstrations are taking place in Birmingham, but it is even more unfortunate that the city's white power structure left the Negro community with no alternative.

In any nonviolent campaign there are four basic steps: collection of the facts to determine whether injustices exist; negotiation; self purification; and direct action. We have gone through all these steps in Birmingham. There can be no gainsaying the fact that racial injustice engulfs this community. Birmingham is probably the most thoroughly segregated city in the United States. Its ugly record of brutality is widely known. Negroes have experienced grossly unjust treatment in the courts. There have been more unsolved bombings of Negro homes and churches in Birmingham than in any other city in the nation. These are the hard, brutal facts of the case. On the basis of these conditions, Negro leaders sought to negotiate with the city fathers. But the latter consistently refused to engage in good faith negotiation.

Then, last September, came the opportunity to talk with leaders of Birmingham's economic community. In the course of the negotiations, certain promises were made by the merchants--for example, to remove the stores' humiliating racial signs. On the basis of these promises, the Reverend Fred Shuttlesworth and the leaders of the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights agreed to a moratorium on all demonstrations. As the weeks and months went by, we realized that we were the victims of a broken promise. A few signs, briefly removed, returned; the others remained. As in so many past experiences, our hopes had been blasted, and the shadow of deep disappointment settled upon us. We had no alternative except to prepare for direct action, whereby we would present our very bodies as a means of laying our case before the conscience of the local and the national community. Mindful of the difficulties involved, we decided to undertake a process of self purification. We began a series of workshops on nonviolence, and we repeatedly asked ourselves: "Are you able to accept blows without retaliating?" "Are you able to endure the ordeal of jail?" We decided to schedule our direct action program for the Easter season, realizing that except for Christmas, this is the main shopping period of the year. Knowing that a strong economic-withdrawal program would be the by product of direct action, we felt that this would be the best time to bring pressure to bear on the merchants for the needed change.

Then it occurred to us that Birmingham's mayoral election was coming up in March, and we speedily decided to postpone action until after election day. When we discovered that the Commissioner of Public Safety, Eugene "Bull" Connor, had piled up enough votes to be in the run off, we decided again to postpone action until the day after the run off so that the demonstrations could not be used to cloud the issues. Like many others, we waited to see Mr. Connor defeated, and to this end we endured postponement after postponement. Having aided in this community need, we felt that our direct action program could be delayed no longer.

You may well ask: "Why direct action? Why sit ins, marches and so forth? Isn't negotiation a better path?" You are quite right in calling for negotiation. Indeed, this is the very purpose of direct action. Nonviolent direct action seeks to create such a crisis and foster such a tension that a community which has constantly refused to negotiate is forced to confront the issue. It seeks so to dramatize the issue that it can no longer be ignored. My citing the creation of tension as part of the work of the nonviolent resister may sound rather shocking. But I must confess that I am not afraid of the word "tension." I have earnestly opposed violent tension, but there is a type of constructive, nonviolent tension which is necessary for growth. Just as Socrates felt that it was necessary to create a tension in the mind so that individuals could rise from the bondage of myths and half truths to the unfettered realm of creative analysis and objective appraisal, so must we see the need for nonviolent gadflies to create the kind of tension in society that will help men rise from the dark depths of prejudice and racism to the majestic heights of understanding and brotherhood. The purpose of our direct action program is to create a situation so crisis packed that it will inevitably open the door to negotiation. I therefore concur with you in your call for negotiation. Too long has our beloved Southland been bogged down in a tragic effort to live in monologue rather than dialogue.

One of the basic points in your statement is that the action that I and my associates have taken in Birmingham is untimely. Some have asked: "Why didn't you give the new city administration time to act?" The only answer that I can give to this query is that the new Birmingham administration must be prodded about as much as the outgoing one, before it will act. We are sadly mistaken if we feel that the election of Albert Boutwell as mayor will bring the millennium to Birmingham. While Mr. Boutwell is a much more gentle person than Mr. Connor, they are both segregationists, dedicated to maintenance of the status quo. I have hope that Mr. Boutwell will be reasonable enough to see the futility of massive resistance to desegregation. But he will not see this without pressure from devotees of civil rights. My friends, I must say to you that we have not made a single gain in civil rights without determined legal and nonviolent pressure. Lamentably, it is an historical fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture; but, as Reinhold Niebuhr has reminded us, groups tend to be more immoral than individuals.

We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was "well timed" in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word "Wait!" It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This "Wait" has almost always meant "Never." We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that "justice too long delayed is justice denied."

We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we still creep at horse and buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five year old son who is asking: "Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first name becomes "nigger," your middle name becomes "boy" (however old you are) and your last name becomes "John," and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "Mrs."; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness"--then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience. You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to break laws. This is certainly a legitimate concern. Since we so diligently urge people to obey the Supreme Court's decision of 1954 outlawing segregation in the public schools, at first glance it may seem rather paradoxical for us consciously to break laws. One may well ask: "How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?" The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that "an unjust law is no law at all."

Now, what is the difference between the two? How does one determine whether a law is just or unjust? A just law is a man made code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law. To put it in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas: An unjust law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal law and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust. All segregation statutes are unjust because segregation distorts the soul and damages the personality. It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority and the segregated a false sense of inferiority. Segregation, to use the terminology of the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber, substitutes an "I it" relationship for an "I thou" relationship and ends up relegating persons to the status of things. Hence segregation is not only politically, economically and sociologically unsound, it is morally wrong and sinful. Paul Tillich has said that sin is separation. Is not segregation an existential expression of man's tragic separation, his awful estrangement, his terrible sinfulness? Thus it is that I can urge men to obey the 1954 decision of the Supreme Court, for it is morally right; and I can urge them to disobey segregation ordinances, for they are morally wrong.

Let us consider a more concrete example of just and unjust laws. An unjust law is a code that a numerical or power majority group compels a minority group to obey but does not make binding on itself. This is difference made legal. By the same token, a just law is a code that a majority compels a minority to follow and that it is willing to follow itself. This is sameness made legal. Let me give another explanation. A law is unjust if it is inflicted on a minority that, as a result of being denied the right to vote, had no part in enacting or devising the law. Who can say that the legislature of Alabama which set up that state's segregation laws was democratically elected? Throughout Alabama all sorts of devious methods are used to prevent Negroes from becoming registered voters, and there are some counties in which, even though Negroes constitute a majority of the population, not a single Negro is registered. Can any law enacted under such circumstances be considered democratically structured?

Sometimes a law is just on its face and unjust in its application. For instance, I have been arrested on a charge of parading without a permit. Now, there is nothing wrong in having an ordinance which requires a permit for a parade. But such an ordinance becomes unjust when it is used to maintain segregation and to deny citizens the First-Amendment privilege of peaceful assembly and protest.

I hope you are able to see the distinction I am trying to point out. In no sense do I advocate evading or defying the law, as would the rabid segregationist. That would lead to anarchy. One who breaks an unjust law must do so openly, lovingly, and with a willingness to accept the penalty. I submit that an individual who breaks a law that conscience tells him is unjust, and who willingly accepts the penalty of imprisonment in order to arouse the conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the highest respect for law.

Of course, there is nothing new about this kind of civil disobedience. It was evidenced sublimely in the refusal of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego to obey the laws of Nebuchadnezzar, on the ground that a higher moral law was at stake. It was practiced superbly by the early Christians, who were willing to face hungry lions and the excruciating pain of chopping blocks rather than submit to certain unjust laws of the Roman Empire. To a degree, academic freedom is a reality today because Socrates practiced civil disobedience. In our own nation, the Boston Tea Party represented a massive act of civil disobedience.

We should never forget that everything Adolf Hitler did in Germany was "legal" and everything the Hungarian freedom fighters did in Hungary was "illegal." It was "illegal" to aid and comfort a Jew in Hitler's Germany. Even so, I am sure that, had I lived in Germany at the time, I would have aided and comforted my Jewish brothers. If today I lived in a Communist country where certain principles dear to the Christian faith are suppressed, I would openly advocate disobeying that country's antireligious laws.

I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.

In your statement you assert that our actions, even though peaceful, must be condemned because they precipitate violence. But is this a logical assertion? Isn't this like condemning a robbed man because his possession of money precipitated the evil act of robbery? Isn't this like condemning Socrates because his unswerving commitment to truth and his philosophical inquiries precipitated the act by the misguided populace in which they made him drink hemlock? Isn't this like condemning Jesus because his unique God consciousness and never ceasing devotion to God's will precipitated the evil act of crucifixion? We must come to see that, as the federal courts have consistently affirmed, it is wrong to urge an individual to cease his efforts to gain his basic constitutional rights because the quest may precipitate violence. Society must protect the robbed and punish the robber. I had also hoped that the white moderate would reject the myth concerning time in relation to the struggle for freedom. I have just received a letter from a white brother in Texas. He writes: "All Christians know that the colored people will receive equal rights eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great a religious hurry. It has taken Christianity almost two thousand years to accomplish what it has. The teachings of Christ take time to come to earth." Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity.

You speak of our activity in Birmingham as extreme. At first I was rather disappointed that fellow clergymen would see my nonviolent efforts as those of an extremist. I began thinking about the fact that I stand in the middle of two opposing forces in the Negro community. One is a force of complacency, made up in part of Negroes who, as a result of long years of oppression, are so drained of self respect and a sense of "somebodiness" that they have adjusted to segregation; and in part of a few middle-class Negroes who, because of a degree of academic and economic security and because in some ways they profit by segregation, have become insensitive to the problems of the masses. The other force is one of bitterness and hatred, and it comes perilously close to advocating violence. It is expressed in the various black nationalist groups that are springing up across the nation, the largest and best known being Elijah Muhammad's Muslim movement. Nourished by the Negro's frustration over the continued existence of racial discrimination, this movement is made up of people who have lost faith in America, who have absolutely repudiated Christianity, and who have concluded that the white man is an incorrigible "devil."

I have tried to stand between these two forces, saying that we need emulate neither the "do nothingism" of the complacent nor the hatred and despair of the black nationalist. For there is the more excellent way of love and nonviolent protest. I am grateful to God that, through the influence of the Negro church, the way of nonviolence became an integral part of our struggle. If this philosophy had not emerged, by now many streets of the South would, I am convinced, be flowing with blood. And I am further convinced that if our white brothers dismiss as "rabble rousers" and "outside agitators" those of us who employ nonviolent direct action, and if they refuse to support our nonviolent efforts, millions of Negroes will, out of frustration and despair, seek solace and security in black nationalist ideologies--a development that would inevitably lead to a frightening racial nightmare.

Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself, and that is what has happened to the American Negro. Something within has reminded him of his birthright of freedom, and something without has reminded him that it can be gained. Consciously or unconsciously, he has been caught up by the Zeitgeist, and with his black brothers of Africa and his brown and yellow brothers of Asia, South America and the Caribbean, the United States Negro is moving with a sense of great urgency toward the promised land of racial justice. If one recognizes this vital urge that has engulfed the Negro community, one should readily understand why public demonstrations are taking place. The Negro has many pent up resentments and latent frustrations, and he must release them. So let him march; let him make prayer pilgrimages to the city hall; let him go on freedom rides -and try to understand why he must do so. If his repressed emotions are not released in nonviolent ways, they will seek expression through violence; this is not a threat but a fact of history. So I have not said to my people: "Get rid of your discontent." Rather, I have tried to say that this normal and healthy discontent can be channeled into the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action. And now this approach is being termed extremist. But though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label. Was not Jesus an extremist for love: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you." Was not Amos an extremist for justice: "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever flowing stream." Was not Paul an extremist for the Christian gospel: "I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." Was not Martin Luther an extremist: "Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise, so help me God." And John Bunyan: "I will stay in jail to the end of my days before I make a butchery of my conscience." And Abraham Lincoln: "This nation cannot survive half slave and half free." And Thomas Jefferson: "We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal . . ." So the question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice? In that dramatic scene on Calvary's hill three men were crucified. We must never forget that all three were crucified for the same crime--the crime of extremism. Two were extremists for immorality, and thus fell below their environment. The other, Jesus Christ, was an extremist for love, truth and goodness, and thereby rose above his environment. Perhaps the South, the nation and the world are in dire need of creative extremists.

I had hoped that the white moderate would see this need. Perhaps I was too optimistic; perhaps I expected too much. I suppose I should have realized that few members of the oppressor race can understand the deep groans and passionate yearnings of the oppressed race, and still fewer have the vision to see that injustice must be rooted out by strong, persistent and determined action. I am thankful, however, that some of our white brothers in the South have grasped the meaning of this social revolution and committed themselves to it. They are still all too few in quantity, but they are big in quality. Some -such as Ralph McGill, Lillian Smith, Harry Golden, James McBride Dabbs, Ann Braden and Sarah Patton Boyle--have written about our struggle in eloquent and prophetic terms. Others have marched with us down nameless streets of the South. They have languished in filthy, roach infested jails, suffering the abuse and brutality of policemen who view them as "dirty nigger-lovers." Unlike so many of their moderate brothers and sisters, they have recognized the urgency of the moment and sensed the need for powerful "action" antidotes to combat the disease of segregation. Let me take note of my other major disappointment. I have been so greatly disappointed with the white church and its leadership. Of course, there are some notable exceptions. I am not unmindful of the fact that each of you has taken some significant stands on this issue. I commend you, Reverend Stallings, for your Christian stand on this past Sunday, in welcoming Negroes to your worship service on a nonsegregated basis. I commend the Catholic leaders of this state for integrating Spring Hill College several years ago.

But despite these notable exceptions, I must honestly reiterate that I have been disappointed with the church. I do not say this as one of those negative critics who can always find something wrong with the church. I say this as a minister of the gospel, who loves the church; who was nurtured in its bosom; who has been sustained by its spiritual blessings and who will remain true to it as long as the cord of life shall lengthen.

When I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of the bus protest in Montgomery, Alabama, a few years ago, I felt we would be supported by the white church. I felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be among our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents, refusing to understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.

In spite of my shattered dreams, I came to Birmingham with the hope that the white religious leadership of this community would see the justice of our cause and, with deep moral concern, would serve as the channel through which our just grievances could reach the power structure. I had hoped that each of you would understand. But again I have been disappointed.

I have heard numerous southern religious leaders admonish their worshipers to comply with a desegregation decision because it is the law, but I have longed to hear white ministers declare: "Follow this decree because integration is morally right and because the Negro is your brother." In the midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I have watched white churchmen stand on the sideline and mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities. In the midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice, I have heard many ministers say: "Those are social issues, with which the gospel has no real concern." And I have watched many churches commit themselves to a completely other worldly religion which makes a strange, un-Biblical distinction between body and soul, between the sacred and the secular.

I have traveled the length and breadth of Alabama, Mississippi and all the other southern states. On sweltering summer days and crisp autumn mornings I have looked at the South's beautiful churches with their lofty spires pointing heavenward. I have beheld the impressive outlines of her massive religious education buildings. Over and over I have found myself asking: "What kind of people worship here? Who is their God? Where were their voices when the lips of Governor Barnett dripped with words of interposition and nullification? Where were they when Governor Wallace gave a clarion call for defiance and hatred? Where were their voices of support when bruised and weary Negro men and women decided to rise from the dark dungeons of complacency to the bright hills of creative protest?"

Yes, these questions are still in my mind. In deep disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church. But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the church. How could I do otherwise? I am in the rather unique position of being the son, the grandson and the great grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the church as the body of Christ. But, oh! How we have blemished and scarred that body through social neglect and through fear of being nonconformists.

There was a time when the church was very powerful--in the time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being "disturbers of the peace" and "outside agitators."' But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they were "a colony of heaven," called to obey God rather than man. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be "astronomically intimidated." By their effort and example they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contests. Things are different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an archdefender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent--and often even vocal--sanction of things as they are.

But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If today's church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outright disgust.

Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the true ekklesia and the hope of the world. But again I am thankful to God that some noble souls from the ranks of organized religion have broken loose from the paralyzing chains of conformity and joined us as active partners in the struggle for freedom. They have left their secure congregations and walked the streets of Albany, Georgia, with us. They have gone down the highways of the South on tortuous rides for freedom. Yes, they have gone to jail with us. Some have been dismissed from their churches, have lost the support of their bishops and fellow ministers. But they have acted in the faith that right defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. Their witness has been the spiritual salt that has preserved the true meaning of the gospel in these troubled times. They have carved a tunnel of hope through the dark mountain of disappointment. I hope the church as a whole will meet the challenge of this decisive hour. But even if the church does not come to the aid of justice, I have no despair about the future. I have no fear about the outcome of our struggle in Birmingham, even if our motives are at present misunderstood. We will reach the goal of freedom in Birmingham and all over the nation, because the goal of America is freedom. Abused and scorned though we may be, our destiny is tied up with America's destiny. Before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth, we were here. Before the pen of Jefferson etched the majestic words of the Declaration of Independence across the pages of history, we were here. For more than two centuries our forebears labored in this country without wages; they made cotton king; they built the homes of their masters while suffering gross injustice and shameful humiliation -and yet out of a bottomless vitality they continued to thrive and develop. If the inexpressible cruelties of slavery could not stop us, the opposition we now face will surely fail. We will win our freedom because the sacred heritage of our nation and the eternal will of God are embodied in our echoing demands. Before closing I feel impelled to mention one other point in your statement that has troubled me profoundly. You warmly commended the Birmingham police force for keeping "order" and "preventing violence." I doubt that you would have so warmly commended the police force if you had seen its dogs sinking their teeth into unarmed, nonviolent Negroes. I doubt that you would so quickly commend the policemen if you were to observe their ugly and inhumane treatment of Negroes here in the city jail; if you were to watch them push and curse old Negro women and young Negro girls; if you were to see them slap and kick old Negro men and young boys; if you were to observe them, as they did on two occasions, refuse to give us food because we wanted to sing our grace together. I cannot join you in your praise of the Birmingham police department.

It is true that the police have exercised a degree of discipline in handling the demonstrators. In this sense they have conducted themselves rather "nonviolently" in public. But for what purpose? To preserve the evil system of segregation. Over the past few years I have consistently preached that nonviolence demands that the means we use must be as pure as the ends we seek. I have tried to make clear that it is wrong to use immoral means to attain moral ends. But now I must affirm that it is just as wrong, or perhaps even more so, to use moral means to preserve immoral ends. Perhaps Mr. Connor and his policemen have been rather nonviolent in public, as was Chief Pritchett in Albany, Georgia, but they have used the moral means of nonviolence to maintain the immoral end of racial injustice. As T. S. Eliot has said: "The last temptation is the greatest treason: To do the right deed for the wrong reason."

I wish you had commended the Negro sit inners and demonstrators of Birmingham for their sublime courage, their willingness to suffer and their amazing discipline in the midst of great provocation. One day the South will recognize its real heroes. They will be the James Merediths, with the noble sense of purpose that enables them to face jeering and hostile mobs, and with the agonizing loneliness that characterizes the life of the pioneer. They will be old, oppressed, battered Negro women, symbolized in a seventy two year old woman in Montgomery, Alabama, who rose up with a sense of dignity and with her people decided not to ride segregated buses, and who responded with ungrammatical profundity to one who inquired about her weariness: "My feets is tired, but my soul is at rest." They will be the young high school and college students, the young ministers of the gospel and a host of their elders, courageously and nonviolently sitting in at lunch counters and willingly going to jail for conscience' sake. One day the South will know that when these disinherited children of God sat down at lunch counters, they were in reality standing up for what is best in the American dream and for the most sacred values in our Judaeo Christian heritage, thereby bringing our nation back to those great wells of democracy which were dug deep by the founding fathers in their formulation of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence.

Never before have I written so long a letter. I'm afraid it is much too long to take your precious time. I can assure you that it would have been much shorter if I had been writing from a comfortable desk, but what else can one do when he is alone in a narrow jail cell, other than write long letters, think long thoughts and pray long prayers?

If I have said anything in this letter that overstates the truth and indicates an unreasonable impatience, I beg you to forgive me. If I have said anything that understates the truth and indicates my having a patience that allows me to settle for anything less than brotherhood, I beg God to forgive me.

I hope this letter finds you strong in the faith. I also hope that circumstances will soon make it possible for me to meet each of you, not as an integrationist or a civil-rights leader but as a fellow clergyman and a Christian brother. Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty.

Yours for the cause of Peace and Brotherhood, Martin Luther King, Jr.

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King, Martin Luther Jr.

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age-gap-universe · 5 years

Text

This Friday, October 11, is National Coming Out Day, founded in 1988 as a form of pre-political activism among one's family, friends, and colleagues.

This is my story.

Living Out, chapter 1

___________

The woman's words caused me to stall. “Please share your story. I believe it will help not only me, but other people.” I didn't think I had a story. In fact, what happened to me didn't only happen to me. And I'd intended to keep this personal in order to keep safe the others involved.

If there's anything I've learned from growing up in the environment I had, I know that talking less about certain topics is best for everyone. But then - I encourage people to talk more about their personal topics for a living. It only seems right that I do that, too. And do it now.

South Arkansas.

Small town.

Conservative.

Pentecostal Christian.

These adjectives are useful to quickly describe the atmosphere in which I was raised. And, truth be told, there's nothing wrong with any one of them, singularly or collectively. In fact, my own children have experienced these at times; the youngest are still raised in a small, conservative school district with a strong, Christian influence. On purpose. So while I enjoyed growing up "where" I did, the "when" made it difficult to explore the other journalistic questions in my life.

Thus, I ignored the symptoms of what I was experiencing, until I recognized the signs in other guys in my "small, southern, conservative Christian" school. My classmates would think they know who I might refer to, but they'd be wrong. Unfortunately, the only message our parents' generation knew was the one they taught; and the one we believed.

Having an attraction to someone of the same sex was wrong. It was immoral. It was unnatural. It was shameful. It was sinful.

So that was me.

I prayed in my childhood church youth group for these thoughts to be stopped. I prayed at summer camps for the desire to be removed. I prayed in college for the attractions to change. I prayed as a licensed minister for strength to endure the thorn in my flesh. I prayed as a husband that the counseling sessions would change my thoughts and behaviors. I prayed as a licensed psychotherapist that the medicine would relieve the depression which I assumed would then relieve the core issue.

I am gay.

I was also married. With children. And a strong professional career. A conservative Christian family. Conservative Christian in-laws, many of them ministers no doubt. Lots of friends, many who were also - you guessed it - conservative and Christian.

There was no way around this. It was no one's fault. It was simply a product and consequence of Life that I would continue to endure. Except that the distractions I was using to keep myself occupied were causing more depression, which in turn caused more depressing conflict in my family and personal life. They were starting to show in my private practice. And they would soon begin to interfere with my faith; that conservative, Christian faith.

But first, there was the most difficult "coming out" conversation to come. And it was not planned.

#national coming out day #coming out #living out #living out loud #pride #gay pride #pride 2019 #my coming out story #gay #being gay #gay story #coming out story

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sydneysageivashkov · 5 years

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Everything We’ve Done (Is There On Our Faces) 4/?

It started, once upon a time, with Ned Stark finding a litter of orphaned dire wolf cubs, with Robert Baratheon riding for Winterfell, with Ned becoming Hand of the King in the viper’s pit that was King’s Landing.

It restarts like this:

Arya and Sansa wake up as children again, a message ringing in their ears. The Old Gods need Westeros to be strong and united to defend the Wall, and the Old Gods don’t forget oaths easily.

(Time travel AU. Eventual Sansa/Theon, Arya/Gendry, Jaime/Brienne.)

AO3 | FF.net

“Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?” asked Arya.

Sansa suppressed a smile and turned to face her sister. They were in the grass gardens, and Arya was gloomily sniffing at a blue winter rose.

“We only heard about Jon Arryn after we got the dire wolves,” she pointed out. “There’s still time.”

“It’ll be soon, though, won’t it?” asked Arya. “I feel like I’m going mad. We’ve come back and we’ve spent all these months doing nothing.”

“It hasn’t been nothing,” said Sansa. They had organised for increased shipments of wheat to come in from all of the keeps across the North. Already, Sansa knew that they would have far more food come winter than they had had last time, even everything else stayed the same. Arya and Robb had taken to organising the rebuilding of the Broken Tower. When the day came, it would be able to house more refugees from throughout the North when they took shelter in Winterfell – and it would be too busy when – if, she supposed – the King came for Bran to stumble on Cersei and Jaime Lannister risking a tryst there. Letters had gone to Lord Commander Mormont, asking if he had any odd reports. Sansa and Arya had sent an anonymous letter to Jon Arryn, warning him to always test his food. There wasn’t much that they could do to influence southron politics from Winterfell.

Arya huffed. “I know, I know. But Gods, I feel like there’s so much more we could be doing. I could have killed Ramsay Snow by now, or ridden south and slit the throats of some Freys and Lannisters.”

They had already had this conversation a hundred times over. Sansa knew that Arya didn’t truly desire to ride out and assassinate anyone who might be a problem for them, only that the inactivity and lack of news was driving her mad. It didn’t stop Sansa’s anxiety from racketing up every time Arya mentioned riding to the Dreadfort and taking Ramsay Snow out herself.

“Soon,” soothed Sansa. “It can’t be long now.” The moon had waxed and waned twice since Sansa and Arya had woken up, children again. They had passed into the next year. The Ranger from the Night’s Watch had to be riding south from the Wall any day now.

“Sansa! Arya!” Sansa looked over at the sound of Bran calling their names. He was waving them over urgently. “Mother said that I needed to get you both,” said Bran. Sansa exchanged a look with Arya. They had finished with the Septa for the morning, and weren’t expected anywhere until the afternoon.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sansa, hurrying over to Bran with Arya on her heels.

Bran shrugged. “There was a lady at the gates who wanted to see you.”

“A lady?” repeated Sansa.

“A lady all in armour!” exclaimed Bran.

“Brienne,” realised Arya, and took off running.

“Are they in the Great Hall?” Sansa checked, and when Bran nodded, she picked up her skirts and ran after Arya. Bran kept pace with her as they ran – he might have been shorter, but he didn’t have any skirts to get in his way. Arya, who after several weeks of stubborn refusal to wear anything else had won the right to wear leggings for day-to-day tasks, streaked ahead of both of them. As they ran into the courtyard, Sansa saw Theon, polishing a sword for Ser Rodrik. He looked up, startled, as Sansa sprinted past.

“Theon, come on!” she shouted. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the sword in his hands, before putting it aside and running after her.

“What’s going on?” he asked, as he drew level with her.

“Brienne is here,” she panted out. “It isn’t just us, Theon!”

Arya was holding the door for them when they arrived. She pointedly ignored Theon, but when Sansa stepped through the doorway, Arya went with her. Their parents were seated at the High Table. Brienne was standing in the centre of the room, and at the sound of them entering, she turned to look.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Arya,” she said. “I know that this will seem strange to you -”

Sansa burst into a beaming smile, running the last few steps and throwing her arms around Brienne. Brienne caught her, tentatively accepting her hug.

“I should have known,” said Sansa. “I should have known there was no where we’d go where you wouldn’t follow.”

“My lady?” said Brienne.

“We came back, too, Brienne,” said Arya, coming to stand next to Sansa when Sansa let Brienne go.

“Theon, too,” added Sansa, because she knew Arya wouldn’t.

“Lady Brienne,” said Ned, standing, “with my daughters’ decidedly warm reaction to you, I will be honoured to accept you into my household as my daughter’s sword shields. I hope that you will be able to protect them as well as you did in their last lives.”

Arya let out a delighted whoop, and Sansa knew that she couldn’t suppress her smile if she tried.

“They know everything,” said Sansa. Almost everything, anyway, she thought to herself, but didn’t say – she still didn’t know how to tell their mother about Littlefinger.

“Then – if you don’t mind, my lord – it should be Ser Brienne,” said Brienne. Her voice started out quiet, but it grew in strength as she spoke.

“You were knighted!” gasped Sansa.

“Just before the battle, my lady,” confirmed Brienne. “Any knight of the Seven Kingdoms may anoint another, so Ser Jaime knighted me.”

There were a thousand things that Sansa could hold against the Kingslayer, starting with Bran being thrown from the Broken Tower and ending with him serving as the Lord Commander of Cersei’s Queen’s Guard, but knighting Brienne was not something she could fault him for. If there was anyone in Westeros who lived up to the ideals of a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, it was Brienne of Tarth.

“He may have been an Oathbreaker, but it was the right and honourable thing to do,” said Sansa. “If anyone is a true knight, it is you, Ser Brienne.” A slow, shy smile spread across Brienne’s face at Sansa’s words.

At the High Table, Ned nodded slowly. “Aye, Ser Brienne it is,” he said.

Beside him, Catelyn stood. “Although I am grateful for all that you have done for my daughters, Ser Brienne,” she started. Brienne ducked her head at Catelyn’s words, and Sansa could see her smile widen. “… All knights have been dubbed by another Knight, and I doubt that the Jaime Lannister of this time will back your knighthood.” Brienne’s smile dropped off her face, and Sansa shot a glare at her mother. “You are a Knight, Ser Brienne,” added Catelyn, her voice more gentle. “No one can take that from you. But here in Winterfell, we have agreed to keep the girls’ situation – quiet, as it were, so that Lord Varys and the Lannisters cannot use it unscrupulously. The decision is yours, Ser, but it will look unusual.”

“That isn’t fair,” protested Arya. “Brienne’s a knight. She’s more than earned it.”

Sansa grimaced and stepped backwards, away from Brienne. “But Mother’s right,” said Sansa. “At best, people will think you a liar or mad. At worst, it will bring attention to us that we don’t need, Arya. Even as it is, if Varys finds reason to look into the North, he’ll be able to tell we’re preparing for war. We need to prevent any attention.”

“The Wildlings are gathering to march on the Wall,” countered Arya. “Robert loves Father; if we tell him that we’re preparing for the Wildlings, he’ll believe us.”

“Lady Sansa and Lady Catelyn are right,” said Brienne, her voice flat. “It is my duty to protect you both. If not acknowledging my knighthood publicly is needed to keep you both safe, then that is what I will do.”

“I’m sorry, Brienne,” said Sansa. “I wish…”

“People might not have believed me even if we had lived past the battle, and Ser Jaime and the others were there to say that it happened,” said Brienne, dully.

“Brienne,” whispered Sansa, stricken. She shouldn’t have said anything. People would have thought Brienne a bit mad or presumptuous, but what did that matter?

No. They needed to remain inconspicuous where possible. That would be difficult enough as it was, as daughters of Ned and Catelyn Stark, fourth and fifth in line for Winterfell, and having Brienne in their household would cause a stir even without her going by Ser.

Catelyn left the High Table, approaching Brienne in the centre in the room. “I am told that it was because of an oath you made to me that you protected my daughters.”

Brienne nodded. “I was your sworn shield first, my lady. You sent me to retrieve your daughters with Jaime Lannister, in exchange for his release.”

Sansa exchanged a quick glance with Arya. They hadn’t mentioned that part of Brienne’s story before. Beyond blinking, though, Catelyn didn’t falter. She reached out and took Brienne’s hand in hers. “Thank you,” said Catelyn, gratitude flowing through her voice. “I don’t know exactly what it would have been to be the Catelyn of your time, separated from all but one of my children, but I can imagine. You searched for them when all else had given them up, and you rescued Sansa from a monster. Although most people, today, would not believe it, you have proven yourself a true knight.”

Brienne’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked them back. “Lady Catelyn, it was my honour to serve you and your daughters. I only wish I could have done more to protect you.”

Catelyn’s jaw tightened slightly at the reminder of her brother’s wedding, but she said, “From what I’ve been told, there was not much you could have done. Better that you survived to serve and protect Sansa and Arya.” She patted Brienne’s hand gently before releasing it and stepping back.

“That isn’t all,” said Ned, drawing Sansa’s attention back to the High Table. “I received a raven from Jeor Mormont. One of his rangers seems to have deserted immediately after arriving back from a long ranging. I have sent word out to keep an eye out for him.”

Sansa turned to look at Arya and Theon. “It’s beginning.”

Arya stood on the battlements of Winterfell, the breeze rushing through her hair. It was a little chilly, standing in the breeze, but Arya barely registered it.

Sansa was still inside the castle. She had whipped herself into a frenzy over the past two weeks, writing down every piece of information that she could think of and making sure that their parents, Robb and Jon memorised them. Arya knew why she was so anxious – if Jon Arryn hadn’t heeded their warning, the letter about his death would arrive in a matter of days, at most. Sansa wasn’t just preparing for the future; she was preparing for Joffrey, trying to build up every defence she could against him.

Well, all except one. Sansa still hadn’t told anyone the truth about her treatment in King’s Landing. Arya hadn’t told anyone the entirety of what had happened to her, either, so she couldn’t really argue with Sansa on that front.

Still, Arya had no doubt Sansa would be out soon. Ned and their brothers had ridden out to collect the Night’s Watch deserter, and that meant one thing: the dire wolves. Nymeria was so, so close.

A horn sounded in the distance and Arya looked up. She could see them, riding back towards Winterfell, one member all in black and the others carrying something they hadn’t set out with. Arya grinned and ran for the stairs.

The gates were opening and the party clattered through. Arya darted from her spot as they dismounted. “Nymeria!” she called. In Jon’s arms, the grey direwolf cub started to wriggle. With a yelp, Jon dropped her, shaking his hand. Nymeria charged across the courtyard and Arya scooped her up into her arms.

“Oh, girl, I’ve missed you,” she whispered into Nymeria’s fur. Nymeria burrowed further into Arya’s arms. “You know your name, don’t you? You came back with me. Of course you did.” As soon as she realised, it felt obvious. Of course Lady and Nymeria had come back with Sansa and Arya – anything else would have been wrong.

Sansa appeared at the door of the Library Tower. She darted over to Robb and very gently took the small, grey cub from his arms and cuddled the pup close to her chest. As Arya watched, Lady stretched up to lick Sansa’s chin repeatedly. Sansa giggled, clutching Lady closer.

“So those two are yours, then,” said Jon. He had Ghost still in his arms, while Bran and Robb had Summer and Grey Wind, respectively. Theon held Shaggydog in his arms. Arya couldn’t help a moment of spiteful glee at the sight; Shaggydog was as wild now as he had ever been, and Theon was struggling to keep him contained.

“This is Lady,” said Sansa, her voice quavering. Lady rested her head on Sansa’s shoulder, and Sansa brushed her cheek against her. Tears were leaking down her cheeks, but Sansa was smiling so wide that Arya almost worried her face was going to split in two.

“And that little monster?” asked Jon, humour in his voice.

“This little monster is Nymeria,” said Arya proudly. “Once, last time round, she bit Joffrey and made him bleed.” Sansa tried to shush Arya, but it was lost amongst the loud, boisterous laughter of Robb and Jon. “You were such a good girl,” crooned Arya, shifting Nymeria so that she could look the direwolf in the eyes.

“Any word from the Red Keep?” asked Ned, more seriously.

Sansa shook her head. “It’ll be any day now, Father.”

“If it comes at all,” said Arya, cuddling Nymeria back to her chest. “He might have listened to us, you know.”

Sansa bit her lip. “We need to consider what we’ll do if Robert never comes North. The Lannisters, Stannis and Renly will go to war, no matter what Jon Arryn does.”

“Inside,” said Ned, gesturing towards the Great Keep. Arya couldn’t help but clutch Nymeria a little closer, unwilling to put her down so soon. Sansa did the same with Lady. Ned half-rolled his eyes and added, “You can bring the direwolves.”

“Excuse me, Lord Stark,” said Theon. “I should take this direwolf to Lord Rickon.” Theon had taken to being exceedingly polite to all of the Starks, aside from Sansa, who had rolled her eyes at him the first time he tried to call her ‘Lady Sansa’, and Arya, who had told him not to talk to her at all.

“I’ll go with him,” said Jon, immediately, with an edge to his voice.

Sansa stepped closer to Arya and murmured, “Maybe we should ask Brienne to stay with Bran and Rickon for now. At least then Jon and Robb won’t spend every other second hovering over Theon’s shoulder.”

“But then they won’t talk to him at all,” said Arya, with exaggerated disappointment. Sansa shot her a look, and Arya dropped the act. “Honestly, Sansa. I don’t know what you expect.”

Sansa sighed. “I expect nothing, but he’s not that man anymore, Arya. You’d all see that if you gave him space to be anything.”

Arya shrugged. “I’m not best known for my forgiveness,” she said. “If you want Robb and Jon to treat him differently, you’ll have to take it up with them.”

Sansa pursed her lips and turned to Ned. He was finishing giving instructions to Ser Rodrik as they turned to look. Ser Rodrik took the Night’s Watch deserter by the arm and led him towards the Guard’s Hall. “Come on,” she said, leading Arya into the Great Keep.

Catelyn was waiting for them at the entrance to Ned’s solar. She eyed the direwolves in their arms nervously. “I thought your lord father was retrieving the deserter,” she said.

“He did,” said Arya glibly. “He also found our direwolves. This is Nymeria, and that’s Lady.” Nymeria shifted slightly in Arya’s arms at the sound of her name, and lifted her head to butt against Arya’s jaw. “Nymeria!” exclaimed Arya, although the scolding was made immediately ineffectual by Arya’s giggling.

“We had them last time,” said Sansa. “Grey Wind used to ride into battle beside Robb, you know, and Summer sacrificed himself for Bran.” She heaved Lady up higher and brushed the top of Lady’s head against her chin. Lady leaned into the touch, her tail wagging. “You couldn’t ask for better protectors for us, except for maybe Brienne.”

Robb came up behind them, Grey Wind trotting at his heels. Ned walked beside him. “I’ve told Ser Rodrik to place Gared into the holding cells,” said Ned. “We will question him tomorrow. Hopefully, a night in a safe place and a good meal will return some of his wits to him and we’ll get more information on the Others soon enough.”

Arya nodded, her heart beating fast. It hadn’t been long ago that she had been complaining to Sansa that things were moving too slowly, but now the deserter had arrived and Nymeria was in her arms, she could see the future before her again, each date between now and the Long Night standing clear in her memories. It wasn’t far away, now. It had never been far away, but she had let herself get carried away in the blissful dream that was the Winterfell of her youth.

At least we’ll know, she thought to herself. We’ll know how far south the White Walkers are by now.

“Did he not say anything?” asked Catelyn.

“He said that he knew he should have warned the Night’s Watch, but that he had to warn his family,” said Ned, grimly, as he let them into his solar.

“Write to Jeor Mormont,” said Sansa. “Perhaps if you are taking this seriously, he will, too.”

“If we can convince the Night’s Watch – or at least Lord Commander Mormont – it’ll be easier to start treating with the Wildlings, too,” said Robb.

“Send Jon,” said Sansa. “When the time comes to treat with the Wildlings, send Jon. They respected him, last time. They knelt to him. If anyone can help to treat with the Free Folk, it will be Jon.”

Catelyn pursed her lips, but did not say anything.

“When I get something out of the deserter, I will summon Mormont to Winterfell,” said Ned. “We will discuss the matter when he arrives.”

“Why not go to the Wall to discuss it?” asked Robb. “We may be able to treat with the Wildlings while we’re there.”

“We may yet have the King riding for Winterfell soon,” said Ned, his eyes shifting to Arya and Sansa. “He will be more likely to believe me than you, Robb, or your mother. When Mormont returns the Wall, I will send representatives with him to treat with Mance Rayder on my behalf. Jon will be one of them, though perhaps there will be more.”

Catelyn cleared her throat. “We need to discuss what we’ll do if Robert doesn’t come North.”

“We need to expose Joffrey as a bastard,” said Arya. “Stannis will go to war if Joffrey is crowned king. He thinks that he is the rightful king.”

“He will be the rightful king,” corrected Ned. “You are right, although I would prefer to find some way to keep the children safe when the truth comes out.”

“Cersei will murder you if you give them any warning,” said Arya.

Sansa held Lady tightly and said, “You need to send me south.”

“What?” demanded Arya, rounding on her sister. “You’re not going south alone!”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Brienne,” replied Sansa. She turned back to Ned and Catelyn. “I am not a tactician or a warrior or a general. I can do little about the Others that you cannot. I am a lady, though, and I know how to play the game of thrones. I can climb the ladder – and not a single person in the Red Keep knows that. Send me south.”

“We can’t send you into danger,” said Catelyn, her voice tight. “This isn’t a discussion.”

“If you go south, I’m going with you,” said Arya.

“Absolutely not,” hissed Catelyn.

“You might be the politician, but I’m Arya Underfoot,” continued Arya, as if Catelyn hadn’t interrupted. “You’ll work the lords and ladies, while I’ll spy and keep you safe. You’re not going south alone.”

“Can you do it?” asked Sansa. “Can you stand beside Cersei and Joffrey and not do anything?”

“Can you?” asked Arya. “Robert will want you betrothed to Joffrey. Are you sure you can endure being betrothed to him?”

“We’ll out him as a bastard soon enough,” said Sansa, but there was a hint of nerves in her voice. She joined her hands together. Arya watched them closely, noticing the almost-controlled shivers racing through them.

“You’ll still be betrothed to him for a time,” persisted Arya. “And once Robert knows what Cersei has been up to, he’ll need a new queen. Who’s to say he won’t be looking for a second Lyanna?”

“Arya!” exclaimed Ned, horrified.

Sansa stared at her, her breathing heavy. She opened her mouth then closed it again. After another moment, a slow smile stole across her face. Arya tilted her head in confusion at the sight as Sansa said, “I might be able to do something about that.”

Sansa found Theon in the armoury, like she usually did, these days. He was cleaning the swords, running the polish along the blade in slow, careful movements. She leant against the doorframe, watching him, watching his hands and the fingers he hadn’t had only months ago. She needed time to find the right words.

“I need your help,” she said at last.

Theon looked up. He hadn’t realised she was there until she spoke, but he hadn’t startled at the sound of her voice. It was progress.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She entered the room and pulled up a stool across from him, perching on the edge of it. “I can’t be available for marriage when Robert Baratheon comes North,” she said. She hesitated, then said the true reason – “When Joffrey comes North.”

“Jon Arryn’s dead?” he said. “Your warning didn’t work?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, there’s been no word from King’s Landing – but Littlefinger wants a war between the Starks and Lannisters. He’ll find a way, and pinning the death of Jon Arryn on the Lannisters is the easiest way to cause tension.”

“So you think it’s still coming,” said Theon.

“It’s just a question of when,” said Sansa, “and whether it comes before the Night King.”

“You don’t need to marry me, then,” said Theon, beginning to polish the sword again.

Sansa reached out and grabbed his hand, the polish staining her fingers. “If Jon Arryn lives, I still need to go to south if I have any hope of preventing war, and soon,” she said. “Before Cersei can have Robert killed. I need to get Cersei exposed, and Littlefinger, too, if I can. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen will be disinherited and Stannis made heir to the Iron Throne. The Seven Kingdoms will remain stable – well, at least until Daenerys Stormborn crosses the Narrow Sea.”

“And why do you need to be betrothed for all of that?” asked Theon.

“So Robert doesn’t try to marry me off to Joffrey,” said Sansa. “I will not be party to his fantasies of Robert and Lyanna come again. If I am betrothed to you, then the deed is already done.”

Theon dropped his gaze, freeing his hands from hers. “You don’t need me for that.”

“Of course I need you,” said Sansa, her voice forceful enough that Theon peeked back up at her. “Who else can I trust, outside my family? You won’t hurt me, Theon. You’re the only man outside my family I can say that about with absolute certainty. And…” She bit her lip, then said all in a rush, “You’re the only one who understands. You’re the only one who ever will.”

Theon licked his lip before he stood up, placing the sword back into its place and picking up another one. “You always dreamt of marrying a prince,” he said. “I’m just a squire, Sansa. For a time, I was barely better than a dog.”

Sansa surged to her feet and grabbed his wrist. “You were always better than a dog,” she said. “Don’t ever say that again, Theon. You were always better than what Ramsay tried to make you. If all you were was Reek, you would never have saved me.”

“I’m still not the prince you dreamed of, Sansa,” he said, looking down.

“And what prince should I marry?” she asked. “Joffrey? Renly? Or should I cast my net further and marry Viserys Targaryen? No, Theon. The songs are just that: songs. I was a child then. Now I know better. No one will ever marry me for love. All I can hope for is to marry a man who is better than Joffrey or Ramsay, and you can be that man. You will be that man.”

Theon closed his eyes and leant closer, so that his forehead rested against hers. “Gods, Sansa. You deserve better than just a husband who’s better than Ramsay Bolton.”

“I deserved better than being beaten by the King’s Guard for my brother’s victories, or being sold to the family who murdered my mother and brother,” said Sansa. “But that still happened. Nothing will change that. Maybe I deserve to marry for love, but it will never happen, Theon. What can happen is for me to marry someone I trust; for me to marry you.”

“I’m not a good man,” said Theon. “You deserve that, at least.”

Sansa slid her hand down his wrist to wrap around his hand. “You aren’t a good man,” she agreed. “You have done terrible things, Theon. But you also saved my life and helped me escape Ramsay. You supported your sister in the Kingsmoot and rescued her from Euron. You came back to me and swore to fight for Winterfell. You sacrificed yourself to give Bran a little more time. You may not be a good man, Theon, but you are capable of doing good things. Do this one more good thing for me. Help to protect me from Joffrey.”

Theon groaned, letting her lace her fingers through his. “Your brothers are going to murder me for this. You know that, right?”

Sansa couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “I can handle Robb and Jon.”

Gared was ushered into the Great Hall by Ser Rodrick and Jory and seated across from Ned. Robb and Jon sat on either side of Ned, while Rodrik and Jory turned to take up positions by the wall.

“Gared, you are aware of the consequences of deserting the Night’s Watch, do you not?” began Ned. Across the table, Gared nodded jerkily. “You will not be pardoned for desertion; you have committed a crime and you will be punished accordingly for it.”

Gared swallowed hard and looked down at his feet. “I knew what I was doing, my lord.”

“You claimed yesterday that you wished to warn your family,” stated Ned. “While you won’t be warning them personally, by answering our questions honestly, you will be helping them by helping us to properly prepare the North for the coming winter. Do you understand?”

Gared’s lips parted and he nodded hurriedly.

“Good,” said Ned. “You claim to have encountered the Others. Where and when did this occur?”

“I was -” Gared’s voice stumbled. He cleared his throat and started again. “I was on a ranging with Will and Ser Waymar Royce. We were meant to be pursuing Wildling raiders. We came across a village. I knew there was something wrong, but we went in anyway… There was no one there, but no bodies, either. Then the Others came. They killed Royce, and then raised him again as a wight to kill Will. I escaped. Gods, I escaped, but for how long?”

“Where did this happen?” prompted Robb, although his voice was gentle.

“We were nine days north of the Wall,” said Gared. “In the haunted forest.”

Nine days, thought Ned, leaning back in his chair. The White Walkers were only nine days from the Wall, but it had taken them another seven years to breach it. What were they waiting for?

“Can you describe the Others?” asked Jon.

“They were…” Gared trailed off, his eyes glazing over for a moment. He started and came back to himself. “They were cold. I barely know what else to tell you. Their skin was white as ice, their eyes like the coldest stars overhead. They had swords made out of ice that shattered Royce’s sword as soon as they touched. They even sounded like cracking ice when they spoke.”

“They spoke?” repeated Ned. Sansa and Arya hadn’t mentioned anything about communication. In hindsight, though, it felt obvious; how else would the Others be capable of organising an army? They likely didn’t have to issue commands to the wights, but surely they would have to organise with each other on how to continue their campaign.

But how far did their communication go? Sansa and Arya had called their leader the Night King. Did they have noble houses and laws like the Seven Kingdoms? Did they marry and have children? Ned couldn’t help but remember Old Nan’s story of the Night’s King’s bride, with skin like ice and eyes like blue stars.

Does it even matter? he wondered. It didn’t change the fact that the White Walkers were coming for them all, and that in Sansa and Arya’s future, they had laid waste to the North.

“I don’t know what they said,” said Gared. “It sounded… mocking, though.”

Mocking. Ned supposed it made sense. A race coming to wipe out all of humanity was hardly going to be empathetic towards the humans tasked with protecting the realms of men. Still, something about the revelation stung, made Ned feel somehow more powerless than ever in the face of the oncoming apocalypse.

“Did you inform anyone in the Night’s Watch before you deserted?” asked Ned.

Gared shook his head. “I couldn’t stay. I had to warn my family. I had to.”

“I will send for Lord Commander Mormont,” said Ned. “Your execution is stayed until you can make a full report to him of what you have seen.”

Gared slumped in his chair before peeking back up at Ned nervously. “My family, though -”

“If your information is found to be valid, the whole realm will know of it well before the Others reach the Wall,” said Ned. He nodded to Ser Rodrik, who took Gared by the arm and escorted him out of the hall. Jory lingered.

“Do you truly believe this, my lord?” asked Jory.

“Jory, you must not speak of what I am about to tell you to anyone,” commanded Ned.

“I swear it by the Old Gods and the New,” said Jory, immediately.

“This isn’t the only information we have about the Others coming south,” said Ned. “I cannot explain to you or to anyone the source, but it is trustworthy. The White Walkers live, and they are marching for the Wall.”

Jory mouthed the last few words to himself then asked, “If you cannot tell anyone else of the source, is that why you are questioning the deserter? To convince others?”

“Exactly,” said Ned. “I cannot stress enough how sensitive this source is. You must never speak of it again, on pain of death.”

Jory’s eyebrows rose and his mouth opened slightly. He knew that Ned would not make such a threat lightly. “I won’t, my lord. Not ever.”

“Summon Maester Luwin for me,” said Ned. “I need to send a raven to the Wall.”

It took another three weeks for the letter to arrive, but it came, as Sansa always knew it would.

Jon Arryn, once Hand of the King, has been found guilty of high treason. He has been stripped of all titles and has been sent to serve on the Wall for the remainder of his days.

#sansa stark #arya stark #theon greyjoy #theonsa #got #fic

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troybeecham · 5 years

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Today, the Church remembers Saint Margaret of Scotland (Scots: Saunt Magret, c. 1045 – 16 November 1093 AD), also known as Margaret of Wessex, English princess and a Scottish queen.

Ora pro nobis.

Margaret was born in exile in the Kingdom of Hungary She was the sister of Edgar Ætheling, the shortly reigned and uncrowned Anglo-Saxon King of England. Margaret and her family returned to the Kingdom of England in 1057 AD, but fled to the Kingdom of Scotland following the Norman conquest of England in 1066 AD. By the end of 1070 AD, Margaret had married King Malcolm III of Scotland, becoming Queen of Scots.

Margaret was the daughter of the English prince Edward the Exile, and granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, King of England. After the Danish conquest of England in 1016 AD, King Canute the Great had the infant Edward exiled to the continent. He was taken first to the court of the Swedish king, Olof Skötkonung, and then to Kiev. As an adult, he travelled to Hungary, where in 1046 AD he supported the successful bid of King Andrew I for the Hungarian crown. King Andrew I was then also known as "Andrew the Catholic" for his extreme aversion to pagans and great loyalty to the Roman Catholic Church.

Still a child, she came to England with the rest of her family when her father, Edward the Exile, was recalled in 1057 as a possible successor to her great-uncle, the childless King Edward the Confessor. Whether from natural or sinister causes, her father died immediately after landing, and Margaret continued to reside at the English court where her brother, Edgar Ætheling, was considered a possible successor to the English throne. When Edward the Confessor died in January 1066, Harold Godwinson was selected as king, possibly because Edgar was considered too young. After Harold's defeat at the Battle of Hastings later that year, Edgar was proclaimed King of England, but when the Normans advanced on London, the Witenagemot presented Edgar to William the Conqueror, who took him to Normandy before returning him to England in 1068 AD, when Edgar, Margaret, Cristina, and their mother Agatha fled north to Northumbria, England.

According to tradition, the widowed Agatha decided to leave Northumbria, England with her children and return to the continent. However, a storm drove their ship north to the Kingdom of Scotland in 1068, where they sought the protection of King Malcolm III. The locus where it is believed that they landed is known today as St Margaret's Hope, near the village of North Queensferry, Fife, Scotland. Margaret's arrival in Scotland, after the failed revolt of the Northumbrian earls, has been heavily romanticized, though Symeon of Durham implied that her first meeting of Malcolm III may not have been until 1070, after William the Conqueror's Harrying of the North.

King Malcolm III was a widower with two sons, Donald and Duncan. He would have been attracted to marrying one of the few remaining members of the Anglo-Saxon royal family. The marriage of Malcolm and Margaret occurred in 1070 AD. Subsequently, Malcolm executed several invasions of Northumberland to support the claim of his new brother-in-law Edgar and to increase his own power. These, however, had little effect save the devastation of the County.

Margaret's biographer Turgot of Durham, Bishop of St. Andrew's, credits her with having a civilizing influence on her husband Malcolm by reading him narratives from the Bible. She instigated religious reform, striving to conform the worship and practices of the Church in Scotland to those of Rome. This she did on the inspiration and with the guidance of Lanfranc, a future Archbishop of Canterbury. She also worked to conform the practices of the Scottish Church to those of the continental Church, which she experienced in her childhood. Due to these achievements, she was considered an exemplar of the "just ruler", and moreover influenced her husband and children, especially her youngest son, the future King David I of Scotland, to be just and holy rulers.

"The chroniclers all agree in depicting Queen Margaret as a strong, pure, noble character, who had very great influence over her husband, and through him over Scottish history, especially in its ecclesiastical aspects. Her religion, which was genuine and intense, was of the newest Roman style; and to her are attributed a number of reforms by which the Church [in] Scotland was considerably modified from the insular and primitive type which down to her time it had exhibited. Among those expressly mentioned are a change in the manner of observing Lent, which thenceforward began as elsewhere on Ash Wednesday and not as previously on the following Monday, and the abolition of the old practice of observing Saturday (Sabbath), not Sunday, as the day of rest from labour. "The later editions of the Encyclopædia Britannica, however, as an example, the Eleventh Edition, remove Skene's opinion that Scottish Catholics formerly rested from work on Saturday, something for which there is no historical evidence. Skene's Celtic Scotland, vol. ii, chap. 8, pp. 348–350, quotes from a contemporary document regarding Margaret's life, but his source says nothing at all of Saturday Sabbath observance, but rather says St. Margaret exhorted the Scots to cease their tendency "to neglect the due observance of the Lord's day."

She attended to charitable works, serving orphans and the poor every day before she ate and washing the feet of the poor in imitation of Christ. She rose at midnight every night to attend the liturgy. She successfully invited the Benedictine Order to establish a monastery in Dunfermline, Fife in 1072 AD, and established ferries at Queensferry and North Berwick to assist pilgrims journeying from south of the Firth of Forth to St. Andrew's in Fife. She used a cave on the banks of the Tower Burn in Dunfermline as a place of devotion and prayer. St. Margaret's Cave, now covered beneath a municipal car park, is open to the public. Among other deeds, Margaret also instigated the restoration of Iona Abbey in Scotland. She is also known to have interceded for the release of fellow English exiles who had been forced into serfdom by the Norman conquest of England.

Margaret was as pious privately as she was publicly. She spent much of her time in prayer, devotional reading, and ecclesiastical embroidery. This apparently had considerable effect on the more uncouth Malcolm, who was illiterate: he so admired her piety that he had her books decorated in gold and silver. One of these, a pocket gospel book with portraits of the Evangelists, is in the Bodleian Library in Oxford, England.

Malcolm was apparently largely ignorant of the long-term effects of Margaret's endeavours, not being especially religious himself. He was content for her to pursue her reforms as she desired, which was a testament to the strength of and affection in their marriage.

Her husband Malcolm III, and their eldest son Edward, were killed in the Battle of Alnwick against the English on 13 November 1093 AD. Her son Edgar was left with the task of informing his mother of their deaths. Not yet 50 years old, Margaret died on 16 November 1093 AD, three days after the deaths of her husband and eldest son. The cause of death was reportedly grief. She was buried before the high altar in Dunfermline Abbey in Fife, Scotland.

O God, you called your servant Margaret to an earthly throne that she might advance your heavenly kingdom, and gave her zeal for your Church and love for-your people: Mercifully grant that we who commemorate her this day may be fruitful in good works, and attain to the glorious crown of your saints; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.

#father troy beecham #christianity #troy beecham episcopal #father troy beecham episcopal #saints #jesus #god #salvation #peace

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tarithenurse · 6 years

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All is fair in Love & War - 17

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: So…here’s the thing…I’m going to list the stuff that’s NOT in the chapter: Tap-dancing, sunshine, fluff, kisses, smut/lemon of any kind, puppies (sorry), happy ending, or hope (actually, there might be a few glimmers of that). Don’t hate me, alright? I promise it’ll all work out absolutely fine! Eventually…probably… A/N: Extra hugs to those lovely souls who comment and/or reblog. Thank you!

17. Passing on

The fire has been reduced to embers, pulsating in a rhythm hinting at the ever-present force slumbering below the silken ashes. For once, Loki feels a semblance between that constant destruction waiting to lash out and himself. Pacing with long strides, he is aware of a foreign heat in the depth of his spirit. It could be uncontrollable. Devastating. It is a far cry from the cold, distanced loathing that has fueled any vengeful action in the past. The freezing anger that has provided clarity because it is an element he is, so to say, familiar with unlike the burning that now reigns.

It frightens him.

Loki once promised himself never to be controlled or influenced by anyone else. Being the master of his own life had become the primary necessity in his existence…and yet this woman has taken over his thoughts and dreams little by little until the influence she has over him is complete. Does she even realize? [Y/N] has proclaimed her love for the one that has held her captive. Yes. But does she know the extent of her power? Without her…

Stopping to glare at the fire, Loki tries once more to escape the spiraling free-fall of his mind only to fail. Misery, fear, loneliness, anger…all of it is drowning him despite the one constant consolation: her love. Turning on his heel, he stalks from the throne room into the courtyard that is obscured by the blizzard, trusting his limbs to carry him to the destination.

Moments later, the Jotun stands in Magni’s box with his face pressed against the horse’s strong neck like he has seen [Y/N] do so often.

… READER’s PoV …

A colourful string of curses in several languages (thanks to the Jötun and Röskva) presses against your lips as you consider the conundrum, eyes fixed on the tri-hook. Of course, no one in their right mind will believe that the king has died of natural causes anymore (there is not much natural about a stab wound to the chest), but somehow it had eluded you to even worry about obscuring your route in and out of the chambers…until now. The gloves are shrivelling in the gilded metal fireplace. The dagger is wiped clean. The balcony door has been carefully locked once more. But a rope leading to a window in a passage system used by the servants is bound to bring the suspicion upon them. That might happen anyways judging by the court’s standards. That is a thought you actively have avoided addressing because there will be only one option then.

A creaking nearly stops your heart. The king!! There is no doubt that he is dead and never will return to hurt anyone, so you manage to reject the first instinct as you swivel around to watch for movement within the chambers. Has someone found him already? The sound repeats, drawing your attention to a part of the railing covered in shadows from the gargoyles above. You watch intently until the darkness there moves revealing a large raven.

“Hi,” you whisper, “don’t let them know I’m here.” Why am I talking to a bird? Why’s it even around at this time?

Naturally, the creature does not answer but merely cocks its head to watch with intelligent eyes. Hoping the bird will remain quiet, you return to the problem at hand. The walls are too slippery to climb down without the rope to help (that is why you had gotten it in the first place). To your knowledge and as far as you can see in the dark when leaning over the railing, there is no place to attach the hook further below while still hoping it would hold a free swing – a swing that would grant you a very intense encounter with the stone surface or a too rapid descend into the moat below. How deep is the moat? Not deep enough when taken the distance into account.

“Crrrrrrrraawwwk?” The large bird bounces closer to you along the railing, seemingly interested in the gleaming metal of the hook.

“Pretty, huh?” It bobs either in response or in contemplation. “You can have it when I’m done with it. Not yet.”

Beady eyes focus on you. Actually…that might work. With any luck, then the raven is curious and as fascinated by shiny objects as its smaller cousin, the crow, and either way there is nothing you can do now to change the situation and you join the bird on the railing, feet dangling above the dark precipice. Here goes nothing.

…

Perching on the windowsill, you feel the ache in the fingers as they claw onto any edges capable of supporting your balance. The rope is still attached above and so you have managed to loop it around a wrist as a sort of safety precaution which is needed because short of being discovered, the problem you are facing now is about the worst one imaginable and it brings you to the verge of teary-eyed frustration as you rest your sweat-sticky forehead against the cool glass.

Here is the problem: upon leaving the secret passage and swinging out into the free, you had left the window open, hoping no one would walk by (although you did pull the rope up after you onto the balcony) which apparently is a wish that has not been granted because not only is the window pulled tightly shut, oh no, you can see the latch securely fastened in the dim star light seeping though the thick glass.

“Crrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaawwwwrrr?”

The raven has eagerly been following you on the way down, fluttering around you or perching either on the windowsill (until you arrived and chased it off) or, as now, on a nearby protrusion which could have housed a gargoyle in the past.

“What?” You freeze in fear upon hearing your clear voice in the darkness, but minutes pass by and only your stalker seems to have heard. “Yeah…well…” hissing, you glare into the darkness where you know it is, “caw all you want. I’m not dead yet, so you gotta wait.”

Yet. Unless you manage to open the window then that is just a matter of time. Every limb is shaking at the exertion from climbing that damned rope and now pretending to be a spider and stick to anything vertical…it is not exactly comforting. You need to get in. Fast.

It requires a bit of repositioning before you can free the rope-less hand to pull the dagger out and insert it in the crack between window and frame. Insert it might be too grand a term to use as only the very tip can be squeezed in.

It would have been more satisfactory to scream from the top of you lungs, but you can only get away with an inhaled curse. “Donkey’s balls!”

“Awrrrrrk.”

“Watch it or I’ll use you to break the window.” With an indignant flutter the bird takes up a new place back on the balcony railing but keeps watching you with interest. “Yeah…” you mutter annoyed, “you know I don’t mean that.”

Flipping the knife and bracing yourself, it will take all the gods’ good graces to break through the thick glass and not be heard. Here goes nothing.

You feel it happening before the knife is even brought in position to attempt smashing the glass. Sweaty fingers begin to slip on the cold, wet stone above your head and you jerk your body in the hopes that you can regain leverage, but it only makes matters worse. Oh. The foothold crumbles beneath your toes, dragging your weight into the darkness below together with the flakes of stone that have decided to break free and you fall.

Twwwwnnng!

A fine mist lands on your head and arms as the rope is stretched in an instant, stopping the descend abruptly. Sharp pain lashes through your shoulder. Later. Each movement is agony as you try to get a grip on the rope coiled around your wrist and you know that you have a dislocation to worry about as soon as you get your feet back on solid ground. Rough fibers scrape against your thumb, then the palm and the fingers close around the rope as if on their own, allowing a wave of gratitude or victoriousness surges through you, lasting all of a second before you feel the vibration traveling along the rope accompanied by the cold scrape of metal upon stone.

No. Cold wind rushes past you, tearing at your shirt and hair. It is as if every organ has been plucked from your body and are still suspended in the air by the closed window while you can only see the few markers in the dark grow smaller above you. Further above you. Then all is darkness.

… LOKI’s PoV …

Perhaps the Midgardian has a point after all when she claims being around simpler creatures brings a calmness to a turbulent soul. Loki finds it hard to imagine peace of mind emanating from sheep or poultry (unless lack of intelligence is the only requirement), but as he sits in the hay with his back against Magni’s warm flank, listening to the heavy rhythm of the heart, that same slow pace echoes within himself. The god still worries. His soul cries in agony at the fears of what might go wrong. But somehow it has become distant, muted to a point where he can ignore it almost in the same way as the howling from the snowstorm.

What can I do? Calmly working through the options, Loki eventually pieces together a semblance of a plan. As soon as the storm allows, he will return to Valhalla with Thor to speak with both their mother as well as Heimdall, the Keeper of Bifrost, to hear of any developments because the Jotun finds that he needs to know how his mortal fares. Then he will begin preparations to travel to Midgard: someone to care for the Jötun realm in his absence, a disguise (which is easily sorted) and excuse to travel south as a stranger in a foreign land.

Much of the work for the journey can be initiated now, thankfully, while other elements require careful thought. Leaving the warm comfort of the stables behind, Loki heads back to the keep proper. The wind tugs at his black hair. Who would be a fitting vice-ruler? An almost humanoid scream created by the storm is suddenly the only thing he can hear before his heart and lungs are ripped from his body, plunging him into darkness.

...

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readyplayerhobi · 6 years

Text

A Constellation of Fires | 02

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, fluff, smut

; Word Count: 29.2k

; Warnings: Talk of scarring, oral sex (giving), severe self-doubting, panic attack, traumatic events

; Synopsis: Vulcan Industries, a titan in the world of technological inventions that have helped humanity progress. Despite its influence though, their CEO remains a mystery to the world, content to simply invent in the shadows. That is, until a journalist uncovers the mystery that connects a simple car mechanic to the technology giant.

; A/N: I’m sorry it took so long to come out...I’m sorry it’s so long (RIP your apps)...I hope people enjoy :3 PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU DID BECAUSE THIS IS RIDE.

; Greek Gods Series

Hades; Poseidon; Zeus; Hephaestus; Artemis; Athena; Ares;

01 | 02

It takes more than a few days for you to get used to the tiny town you now inhabit. You’re used to towering buildings, air pollution, fast food chains on every other block and traffic that barely seems to move yet screams at you when you somehow interrupt them.

But here, it’s like time moves at a snail’s pace. In fact, you’d witnessed your very first traffic jam only the other morning. It was kind of adorable, given that there were only two main roads in this entire town but someone had been rear-ended at the one set of the traffic lights.

Even that had been an introduction into small town life as you’d watched in fascination as they’d amiably greeted each other with a back slapping hug before they began to talk. You’d wondered why they weren’t screaming at each other for the damage or exchanging insurance until you saw Hoseok pull up alongside them in a tow truck you hadn’t even noticed at the garage.

He’d greeted both men with his brilliant smile, so bright and wide that you’d seen it even from your apartment window, before checking over the damage. The town’s sheriff had taken it upon himself to wander over to the accident, chatting with everyone while Hoseok assessed everything.

You presumed that it was just a mere accident as no one seemed to get arrested or even written up, and Hoseok had directed the first car to drive back to his garage. He’d hooked up the second car, obviously deeming it to be undriveable, or at least not safe, before driving off.

And that had been it.

You’d been so fascinated by the whole process that you’d almost written a whole article on the eccentricities of small town life. It had only been when you’d realised how dumb it would sound that you’d meekly deleted the Word document, scolding yourself as you tried to remember that you were trying to uncover information about Vulcan.

It was nice overall though, and you quite enjoyed your little walks in the fresh air. You hadn’t quite realised what you’d been missing out on, living in the concrete jungle that is the city.

Although it’s not all roses. You’d kill for a Starbucks or something, and the lack of your favourite take out meant you were craving sushi so bad. It made you feel a little stuck up when you realised what you were doing, but you figured that you could cope with it for a while longer.

Because the positives really did outweigh the negatives, and if you ignored the assignment you had then it was easy to just pretend that you were on a long vacation somewhere. The mountain air was truly refreshing and you had an oddest urge to hike.

Though that may have possibly been because of one Jung Hoseok. The mysterious mechanic was still sending your journalist spidey-senses tingling, but you would be a straight up Pinocchio if you said that he wasn’t possibly the sweetest guy ever.

You hadn’t actually seen him in person in three weeks now, the accident not included, due to him being overwhelmed with work for the first two and then being away for work for the last. That on its own had sent your investigative feelings haywire, wondering how on earth a tiny mechanic’s garage in a teensy town in the middle of the nowhere could possibly be busy enough to warrant not seeing someone for two weeks.

And then going away? Where did he have to go? His workplace was literally only like...a hundred feet away from his home. He was a delightful mystery that you were positively itching to unwrap, even if you felt a strong sense of unease at potentially hurting such a sweet and compassionate soul.

Because he was. He really, truly, was quite possibly the kindest person you’d met.

Even though he’d been busy with his work, he’d made sure to message you once he finished to check that you were okay and query what you’d been up to. Multiple apologies had been sent for him being too busy, but he’d also sent you many suggestions about things to do both in the town and the surrounding areas.

It was because of him that you’d discovered the next town over, a whole twenty minutes away, had a movie theatre and a bowling alley. You’d also discovered that there were multiple hiking and walking trails around the mountains and forests that surrounded this tiny town when he’d casually mentioned it one day.

A further query had resulted in him telling you that he’d grown up around mountains and felt at peace on their tall slopes, reminding him of the peaceful times in his life. It had almost made you want to go on a hike yourself, before you remembered that this was the first time you’d ever even seen a mountain and you’d probably die from some stupid reason.

Hoseok had also been exceptionally patient with you and your incessant questions about the area, querying the history of certain places or even buildings. He seemed to have a surprising amount of knowledge for someone who was a self-proclaimed introvert, but was happy to let you be privy to his veritable wealth of information.

It was remarkable how comfortable he was talking with you for long periods of time through text as well, given how open he had been about not understanding how to communicate with people properly. He would often start texting at around 8 or 9pm and continue until he went to bed at 11pm.

You’d queried why he didn’t want to call once, and he’d taken a while to respond. Though not because he was avoiding the question, but more like he didn’t seem to know what to say given the three dots that kept appearing and disappearing constantly.

He’d finally simply responded by saying that he didn’t feel comfortable on the phone with people who weren’t customers, and so preferred text as there was no expectations on his responses. Which seemed reasonable enough to you, and you didn’t want to push him any further than he was willing to go.

His texts had become even less frequent since he’d gone away, so you’d settled for exploring more and trying to make at least a single friend in this forgotten town. June was happy to talk to you, but you didn’t really feel like you both had things in common enough to make proper conversations with her.

And everyone your age seemed to be working, leaving you to often simply sitting in your apartment and researching Vulcan. It had been through searching the forums that dedicated themselves to Vulcan Industries that you’d discovered a new pseudonym for the CEO had been found today, signed onto a document from five years ago.

Hannah Jameson, which had proven to be false almost immediately. The signature was appalling and you’d wondered how on earth the company got away with filing documents with such fake signatures and names. Though you presumed that they probably filed legitimate documents with the real CEO’s name and signature on it, but that they were never revealed to the public.

The government seemed to be very content to acquiesce to Vulcan, eager to keep the industrial giant inside its borders and ensure that American engineering remained at the forefront of the world. Not that Vulcan had ever given any intention that they wanted to move elsewhere.

Though Vulcan was a strange company anyway, choosing international headquarters in locations that perhap wouldn’t be someone’s first choice. Their Asian offices were based in Seoul, South Korea, and their European offices had raised more than a few brows when it had been announced they would be choosing Athens, Greece, instead of where the other international corporations often chose, such as Amsterdam, Dublin, London or Berlin.

So who knew what they would do if given the chance?

Three sharp knocks on your door though has you squealing in fright, hands quickly grabbing the laptop that’s about to slip off your knees before you’re glancing wide eyed to the dull brown door. Brows creasing in confusion as to who could be visiting you, you carefully close the lid on your MacBook before placing it onto the coffee table and heading over.

A peek through the peephole that’s installed in the door lets you see a sight you weren’t expecting, causing you to jerk back with a hand pressed to your throat. Glancing around at the untidy apartment, you curse quietly before looking down at your own outfit.

The cupcake shorts and baggy white shirt with a unicorn on it were what you’d gone to sleep in and with a day of nothing ahead, you’d simply not bothered to change.

Which was just fantastic when quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in real life is currently standing outside your door.

Glancing to your bedroom door, you let out a soft whine as he knocks again before stamping your feet on the ground in a tiny tantrum. Dammit Hoseok! Why hadn’t he texted to let you know he was swinging by?

You’d have at least dressed in normal clothes instead of your damn sleepwear!

But it’s too late now, and it would be rude to make him wait when you’re quite evidently inside. Pressing your forehead to the wooden door, you take in a deep breath and square your shoulders before letting it out in a long, slow exhale.

Unlocking the door, you open it slowly with a bright smile that you hope will distract him from your clothes. He looks magnificent, and your smile wobbles slightly as you swallow thickly at the sight of him.

Dark jeans with rips in them cling to his legs, ending in tough looking boots that are scuffed to high hell. A plain white shirt drapes over his torso loosely, the front tucked into his jeans and letting his belt buckle take the glory while a black leather jacket rests over the top of this.

A dazzling smile practically blinds you as he takes you in, his teeth perfectly straight and white while his dimples burst into view and his eyes crease from the strength of his expression. His dark hair gives no glimpse of the red that shines when he’s in the sun, but looks suitably messy enough to let you know that he’s been running his hands through it.

“Hoseok! What are you...I didn’t know you were coming here? Or even that you were back.” You stutter out, gripping the door tightly as your smile turns a little bit brittle as you realise he looks like a five course meal and you look like a squashed McDonald’s.

He lets out an awkward chuckle, bringing up one hand to rub the back of his neck slowly before he shrugs with a lopsided smile. “Surprise? I got finished earlier than expected and made good time back.”

You’re about to say something more when he makes a sudden noise, mouth forming an ‘o’ while he holds a finger out to you before producing his other arm from behind his back with a sweet smile. “Surprise! Turns out there’s a drive-thru now in the next town over. I saw it and thought you might like it. Sorry if it’s not very warm.” He says apologetically, but you pay no attention to him anymore.

Instead, your eyes are focused on the tall, white cup that’s held in one hand, the world famous green logo on the side letting you know he’d brought Starbucks. Squealing in excitement, you let the door swing open without a care in the world as you grip the cup, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip before letting out a sigh of happiness.

It’s not boiling hot, but is still more than warm enough to make your insides quiver at the delicious taste of the white chocolate mocha. You wish that you could say you’re surprised he remembered your casual mention of your favourite drink, but honestly you’re not.

On the list of surprising things about Jung Hoseok, that’s probably pretty low.

It’s only then that you remember to thank the man for bringing you this small moment of bliss, opening your eyes to thank him before noticing him admiring your clothes with a quirked brow. Glancing down, you feel your heats cheek with embarrassment before curling an arm around your waist.

“Thanks for the drink. And err...sorry about the outfit. I wasn’t expecting company. Obviously.” You mumble, shuffling to the side before gesturing for him to come in if he’d like. He does so with a gracious smile, toeing off his boots at the entrance before following you inside to your small living room.

He looks around with interested eyes before smiling at the sight of a random YouTube video that’s playing through the television. It’s one of those stupid list videos that you seem to have an undying love for.

They can take away your documentaries, but they can never take away your list videos!

“I’m sorry for just...turning up like this. I didn’t think properly.” He apologises once more, sitting on the edge of the couch carefully and looking down at his hands in contrition. You get the strongest urge to just run your hands through his hair and telling him everything’s fine, but you recognise that he probably wouldn’t like that.

Instead, you just smile and self-consciously clean up some of the crap that’s been thrown around the place since you’d started to live here. “It’s okay. I’m sorry it looks like a gremlin’s been at it in here.”

He snorts with that and you glance over to see him biting at his lip to try and stop his smile, your insides warming at the sight of his amusement. “Anyway, was there a particular reason for your visit or are you wanting to hang or something?”

Hoseok stays silent for a moment, leaning forward and taking an empty Coca-Cola bottle from where it lies on its side and picking away at the label. “Well...I mean I got home earlier than I expected like I said. And...well...I mean I do have jobs I could be doing, but I figured I’d ask if maybe you want to...you know...hang? Somewhere? I don’t know, it was just a thought that went through when I was driving back.”

He’s muttering by the end and you have to stifle a chuckle behind your hand as you grab the bottle from his hand and throw it into the recycling bin. “Sure. That’d be fun. I haven’t actually done a lot lately as, well there’s not many social activities to do in this place.” You ponder for a moment what the two of you could actually do before you suddenly remember his mention of metal working.

“Oh! Could you...I mean...do you think you’d be willing to show me your metal working stuff? I know you said you really like doing it and I’m kind of interested.” You ask chirpily, smiling at him as you rearrange the cushions on the couch around him.

Hoseok watches with amusement as you flutter around the place before nodding slowly. “Yeah okay. I mean, if you want. It sounds pretty boring but I can show you them. If you’d like, we can maybe go to the movie theatre in the next town later and watch something? I’ve not been to see a film in so long, and you can get another Starbucks.” He suggests, shrugging nonchalantly but his twisting fingers give away his nerves.

You pause and smile at the sight of him, trying to be bold even though he’s obviously cringing internally. “I’d like that. I’ve not seen that town either, despite you constantly going on about it. So it’ll be nice to see what’s nearby. Just give me half an hour to actually make myself look presentable or something okay?”

“Why? I think you look charming as you are. Unicorns are very in now I hear, or at least that’s what I’m assuming given it looks like a rainbow and a horse had sex all the time in the stores.”

A clean shirt thrown at his head is the only response he gets, causing him to laugh out loud as the door closes behind you.

Any worries that you’d had that the atmosphere would be awkward or tense between the two of you dissipates once you both get into his car. The radio is blasting out cheesy 90s music and you can’t help but giggle at the flush on his cheeks as he practically slams the radio in an attempt to change the station.

Pushing his hand away, you look at the fancy radio with a raised brow. “This is...very advanced looking. Did you install this recently?” You ask, finding a station that’s playing some 80s rock before pressing some buttons that appear on the screen.

A soft gasp leaves you as it suddenly projects a hologram above the dashboard, the station name listed along the top along the song currently playing. In the right hand corner is the temperature and weather status while a highly realistic looking 3D map takes up most of the space, the cars position perfectly visible as Hoseok drives along the street.

“What is this?!” Reaching out, you gently push at the air where the ‘Media’ button hovers and grin as a menu screen appears. You can’t even begin to understand the technology that makes this work, nor have you even heard anything about it.

Hoseok lets out an uncomfortable cough before he waves his hand through the holographic simulation, eyes remaining firmly on the road while it disappears into thin air. “It’s a...err...prototype. Yeah. Vulcan asked me to...test it, you know? I mean...it’s good but it’s not very road safe. As you just saw. We’re...I mean they’re working on it.”

You watch him quietly for a moment, eyes narrowing at the slip of his tongue. We? You’d question more before you rationalise it to yourself, figuring that he’s obviously their head mechanic and the best placed person to decide whether vehicle related tech is good or not.

But still it’s shocking to see something like this being used so openly. Your finger traces along the edge of the fancy radio before you place your hands back in your lap, lip quirking slightly. You could certainly make some money reporting on this prototype, but it’s with a content heart that you decide to pretend you never even saw it.

Instead, you refocus back onto the road and smile when you see Vesuvius Mechanics reappear along the side of the road. There’s a few cars parked outside but the main shutter is down and the lights are dark inside. You’d found out that he had two assistants, but they only worked for a few hours every other day.

The bulk was entirely done by Hoseok, which fascinated you.

But he doesn’t pull into the garage, and instead drives on a road you’d never noticed that runs alongside it. It continues on, simply a gravel road inbetween the trees and you watch with fascination as his house appears.

You wouldn’t be able to see it properly from the road, but it’s a pretty, two-story house that looks big enough to host a whole family inside. The walls are painted white while terracotta tiles line the roof in true Californian fashion, but it also kind of reminds you a little of the Mediterranean.

A porch wraps around the entire house and you note the swinging chair positioned out front along with a variety of colourful flowers, all in white pots that are decorated in subtle oranges and browns. Along the ground of the porch, a flowerbed is overflowing with bushes and plants that all clamour for attention while his lawn is neatly mown.

There’s a large building built separately from the house with a garage style door that opens slowly, allowing Hoseok to pull his car inside to protect it from any weather. The space inside seems a lot smaller, surrounded with tools and gardening pieces while a metal door is closed to the remainder of the space.

You note with interest momentarily the electronic keypad that keeps the door locked but look away quickly. Given the ridiculous technology installed in his car, you couldn’t even imagine what Hoseok had in that room from Vulcan.

Following Hoseok to the main house, you can’t help the noise of awe that leaves your mouth as you look over the entire area he lives in. It’s secluded from everything else, and you feel like Hoseok has turned what would be something unassuming into his own personal heaven. Quiet and peaceful, with only the sounds of the birds chirping in the trees.

“Hoseok...this is beautiful!” You coo softly, running your fingertips along the white wooden post that frames the archway leading up to his porch with reverance. He lets out an anxious chuckle as he stands in front of his door, watching your face closely.

“Yeah? It’s taken a while to get it to this point but...I think I’m okay with it for now. Give me three months and my opinion might change.” He teases, teeth peeking through his small grin as he inputs some numbers into yet another keypad. A loud beep is heard before the door unlocks, leading to him welcoming you inside.

For someone who lives on his own, you expected Hoseok’s house to look a little more bachelor. And for someone who works as a mechanic and is constantly covered in grease and oil, even today he’s still got some dark grime in his fingernails, you thought his home might like his garage part two.

But instead, it’s oddly beautiful inside. Everything is perfectly clean and looks to be in its place, and if it weren’t for the fact he’d been open about constantly redecorating his house, you’d suspect he had brought in an interior designer.

“Damn, if you did all this,” You spin in a circle as you enter the living room and eye everything with an intrigued gaze. “You’re missing out on a career as an interior designer. This is California, there’s always some soccer mom who wants their house to look like an IKEA catalogue.”

He leans against the door frame and watches you with an amused face, lifting one brow as he looks around the space with a slightly more critical eye. “You think? I appreciate your thoughts but there’s a reason I work with cars and not soccer moms. When a car whines at me, there’s actually something wrong.”

His tone is sarcastic and for a moment you’re left speechless, shocked at how your normally shy and socially awkward mechanic could have come up with that blistering rebuke to soccer mom’s across the United States. Snorting out a laugh, you cover your mouth as you follow him into the large, open kitchen and rest your elbows against the marble counter.

Watching as he pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge, you giggle as you wiggle your eyebrows at him. “Had experience in soccer moms huh?”

He tags a deep swig of the ice cold water and you have to look away to avoid the tantalising sight of the muscles of his throat working, the golden skin looking biteable under the natural lighting. It’s only when the plastic bottle hits the counter that you realise he’s finished and you look up with an expectant gaze.

Hoseok is smiling as he shrugs, his expression a sweet mix of shyness and amusement. “I’m a, not totally, unattractive, single guy with my own business in a small town. I think some people harbour Desperate Housewives motivations or something.”

You gawp at him for the pop culture reference before laughing out loud, letting your head fall forward as you do so. “Oh my god! So you do watch television occasionally? But Desperate Housewives? Seriously?”

He’s biting his lip at your teasing before sighing, coming around the island and gesturing for you to follow him. “I’m not up to date on all that stuff. I only just found out Game of Thrones exists. Give me a break.”

You snigger at that and poke at his back lightly, pleased at the way he jerks ever so slightly but doesn’t pull away from the touch. “That’s a good show, I think you’d like it.”

He reaches a closed door and opens it up grandly, making a sweeping gesture for you to follow with a sardonic brow raise. “After you my lady. And it is, I’m only on like episode 6 of season 1 so...don’t spoil it.”

Anything you’d say is gone though as you walk into the room and freeze in place, looking around the place with wide eyes. His living room connects directly to his kitchen, with no walls blocking the space between and the island counter obviously serving as his dining room table.

This room must take up the rest of the space on the lower floor, as it’s huge. And filled with some of the most exquisite looking metal sculptures you’ve ever seen. Some are finished works, with their gleaming bodies just waiting to be housed somewhere else and they range from taller than you to tiny pieces that could be displayed on a fireplace.

Others look to be half completed, resting on tables that are in complete disarray compared to the rest of his house. A whole range of intriguing looking tools litters almost every surface, and you note that his back wall is pretty much balcony doors that leads out to his backyard.

Walking carefully through the room, you head towards those doors and open one up when he gives the nod to do so. Outside is an extended porch, and you note with interest that he has what looks like a bunch of forge things set up out here. Despite the chaos of everything around you, it’s still peaceful and the backyard extends out until it hits the forest line.

“Wow...this is...I’m not even sure.” You state quietly, turning back and heading over to a metal horse. It’s comes up to about halfway up your thigh and is prancing beautifully, the bronze colouring gleaming in the light that shines through the doors. Running a finger along the smooth edges, you smile at the surprising amount of detail on it.

A tiny metal cat is perched on the table next to the horse, while a Spartan style helmet rests next to it like a war prize. Across the room are some more abstract pieces of art, shapes that make no sense to you yet are pleasing to the eye.

“Hoseok...these are incredible.” The words whisper from you as you eagerly move from one piece to the next, taking in the smooth curves of musical note that stands on a stone base to the rough, unfinished edges of a sword in the making.

It was suddenly clear why Hoseok had never even been aware that Game of Thrones existed, as he quite obviously spent most of his time in here creating works of art that would last for lifetimes. The amount of skill he must have to create the items on his own was mind boggling, particularly as you couldn’t even draw a stick person without it going lopsided.

“It’s nothing. I mean...they’re just little projects I work on.” He mumbles, gaze down as he lets his fingers dance along the back of a leaping tiger. Moving over to him, you crouch down to get a closer look at the big cat, admiring the orange sheen to the metal while the black stripes appear to be engraved into its sides.

“Are you serious? These little projects are better than some of the stuff I’ve seen proper artists doing! I mean...god you’ve got a full time job out there in your garage and then you come home and do...this!” You say, amazement filling your voice as you gently press a finger on a curved fang.

Standing, you look around at the room once more before turning back to him with a grin. “Is there a chance you can show me how you do this stuff?” The question is innocent enough, but he stiffens slightly and swallows, eyes flickering everyone but yourself.

“Maybe. I mean...not now. It takes time to set everything up. But...I can show you in the future if you want? It’s not very interesting to watch.” He practically mumbles out and you lean into his space slowly, giving him plenty of time to back out if he felt uncomfortable.

He doesn’t though, instead standing squarely while you move closer to him with a pretty smile painted onto your face. “I think you and I have different ideas of interesting Mr Jung. Maybe not today then, but I’d love to watch you create something beautiful in here. Because you appear to have quite the creative imagination.”

Hoseok goes a deep red at that, spluttering slightly as he steps away and moves over to the door with a shaking breath. “Well...I do like to dabble in inventing every now and again but...this is just an outlet.” He pauses and looks back into the room, running his eyes over you as you turn your attention back to the metal work and his lips curve up gently.

“I don’t think I could ever create anything as beautiful as you.” He murmurs to himself quietly, rubbing his lips before freezing when you turn and look at him inquisitively, making a questioning noise.

“Nothing! Just...thinking out loud. Anyway, do you want to set off now? We can take a look at the film times and decide if we want to eat first or after?” You follow him out of the room and making thoughtful noises, completely unaware of the racing heart that moves in front of you as you decide.

The film and dinner went by surprisingly easy, with the conversation flowing between the two of you throughout the whole night without feeling cumbersome at any point. As had multiple other dinners since, along with many impromptu hang outs over the months.

You’d find it strange that he was surprisingly social despite his protestations, yet you’d quickly discovered that Hoseok was a puzzle wrapped in an enigma and decorated with a conundrum. He defied your descriptions and even when trying to describe him to your mom or the few friends you had back home, you’d found yourself floundering.

And yet, you found yourself wanting to be closer to him. He gave off an aura that you simply enjoyed; warmth and kindness mixed together with genuine caring. Everytime he went out of town, he made it a mission to bring you a Starbucks back or something else you were craving.

Not to mention the movie nights he’d designated Friday to, whereupon you would go to his and watch a range of movies streamed from Netflix onto his ridiculously big and fancy television screen. Even if he did made strange comments whenever you watched historical films. Watching Clash of the Titans with him had certainly been an experience as he’d spent the whole time whining about how it wasn’t historically accurate.

Despite his odd behaviour when watching things, you found that spending time at his house was both wonderful and strangely relaxing. Whether it was because you were increasing his knowledge of pop culture or simply watching him work on some hobby.

Hoseok had shyly called you a few days after he’d shown you his metal working room, asking if you wanted to come and watch him work as he was feeling inspired. By the time you’d got there after enjoying a walk over in the autumn evening, he’d had everything up and running and you’d been convinced that you’d died and gone to heaven when you saw him in a white vest, his arms on display.

A swipe of your lips had determined that you were not, in fact, drooling at the exceptionally defined biceps, nor at the toned shoulders that moved underneath the shirt with each of his movements. And you had definitely not let out a tiny whimper at the sight of him sweating once he’d been at it for a while, his skin practically glowing in the evening light.

It was quite possibly every straight or bisexual woman’s dream, seeing an incredibly handsome man sweating away over physical labour as he’d slammed down a hammer on the pieces of boiling hot metal. You’d thanked him for the seat, but internally screamed out your gratitude as your knees had felt weak at the sight of him.

There was something primal about watching him work, which was at odds with the soft way he spoke to you as he explained everything he was doing. It had taken two sessions of watching him to finally begin to understand some of the process, but you’d shied away from actually having a go yourself.

You’d no doubt burn yourself or something ridiculous.

But Hoseok, as per usual, was a sweetheart about it and simply accepted your request. Instead, he just let you watch as he created something wonderful out of a lump of metal. The man had the hands of a god, truly, and an unbelievable talent. It was almost like the metal just listened to him and formed the shapes he desired.

You’d even suggested to him that maybe he could create a YouTube channel so that people could watch him as he created things, to which he’d laughed sardonically.

“I don’t think people would be interested in that.” Hoseok said, brows raised as he looked up at you. A droplet of sweat was slowly trickling past his temple, slowly sliding along that luscious skin before reaching his jaw.

It disappears when he lifts an arm to wipe at it and you chew your lip thoughtfully as you watch him. You don’t want to tell him that there would likely be thousands of women who would watch his videos solely for him, but you certainly wouldn’t be wrong.

You’d watch them for him.

“I bet they would. You’d be surprised how many people watch stuff like that on YouTube. There’s a whole series on a channel dedicated to creating weapons from pop culture. It’s really successful, so I think you could probably make something of it.” You muse, running a finger along your lip as you watch him bring a hammer down on the metal sheet he’s levelling out.

“Well...if there’s already someone doing it, then why do I need to do it?” He asks, wet tongue licking his dry lips. He moves the metal over to the forge, heating it once more before moving it over to a what looks like a metal press.

“Well...Mr ‘I-Like-To-Create-Prototypes-In-My-Free-Time-In-The-Hopes-Vulcan-Will-Make-It’, why does Vulcan ever make anything then? We’ve already got televisions, why do we need them in bigger sizes or in different styles? The cars been invented for a long time, why do we need new cars? Va-ri-ety.” You sing out to him, smirking at his narrowed gaze.

You’d found a hand drawn blueprint for a prototype the other day on his countertop in here, the lines sketched to produce something that you didn’t understand. Honestly, you understood nothing about it as none of the words made sense to you, but you had understood the ‘Property of Vulcan Industries’ along the top.

Hoseok had flushed red when you’d teased him about it, saying that he occasionally liked to dabble in the idea of creating things but that Vulcan usually turned him down and it was an old idea. It was kind of sweet honestly, and you’d thought it impressive of him to put himself out there like that given his introverted nature.

“I guess. Maybe in the future or something. You could be my videographer.” The last statement was almost muffled, but you heard it all the same. You don’t comment on it though, simply letting it drift gently into the comfortableness between the two of you with a warm heart at the thought of him thinking about you being in his future.

Nothing further had been mentioned on the idea of a channel, but you noted that he seemed to be a little bit more receptive to ideas than you’d originally anticipated. And he certainly seemed to be loosening his grip on his work life by being more open to spontaneous activities with you.

In fact, it was only a few weeks ago that he had asked if you wanted to go on a hike, finally fulfilling your secret dream. It had taken all day, but you’d discovered that you enjoyed it and more importantly, you enjoyed his company.

And as much time as you spent at his, he spent almost as much time at yours. You’d be a little frightened by just how easy it was to let him worm his way into your life until the first person you thought of when something new happened was to let him know.

The only downside was that he still remained an intensely private person, with entire areas of his house still unseen and hidden behind keypads. And his history was basically non-existent as far as you knew. He’d never mentioned his parents or family, nor even where he was from.

It was only through a random meeting with June that you’d found out he’d done something big when he was around 15 that had resulted in him becoming well off. What that was though, you had no idea as he seemed to live a pretty quiet life with no real showings of wealth.

You didn’t even know what had caused his scars, which he had become more comfortable around you with. Though it had only been in the last week that you’d finally plucked up the courage to ask, frightened that he’d be offended by it.

Hoseok’s chest is warm and surprisingly comfortable, leading to you blinking at the screen with sleepy eyes. Game of Thrones plays on, the man you’re leaning against silent as he watches with interest while a hand almost lazily runs through your hair.

It’s...domestic. In a way you never expected nor demanded, and your stomach fuzzes slightly at how much you enjoy it. At how much you want to do this for a long time, and you wonder for a moment what it is about this sweet, kind-hearted man that has you so thoroughly wrapped around his finger.

His heart beats solidly under your ear, the sound reassuring and calming. Glancing down, you note the scars on his left arm with an idle eye. You were so used to seeing them, along with the rough tissue on his left cheek and throat, that it was almost like they weren’t there.

Almost.

But while you could never forget them, you never looked at him with disgust. He was far too good a person to ever think that.

Your mushy thoughts about him accidentally turn verbal, as the words tumble out of you without meaning to. “How did you get these scars?” It’s only once they’re out that your eyes widen, realising what you’d said to him and your body stiffens.

He stills as well and you wince, mouth opening to take them back and tell him it’s fine. Only he surprises you.

“Fires. When I was younger. I don’t...I can’t talk about them.” He murmurs out and your cheeks heat, mouthing out a curse to yourself before pressing against his thighs to push yourself up.

“I’m sorry Hoseok, I didn’t mean to-” Hoseok cuts you off, shaking his head with a smile that’s gracious despite the uncomfortable look on his face.

“No, it’s fine. You’ve been surprisingly good about it actually. I just...can’t talk about how I got them yet. I’m not ashamed of them. It’s just...if they’re on show then people stare. And I can’t handle people staring because then they’re looking at me and...I panic. I can’t cope with attention.” He runs his hand along the scarred skin of his wrist slowly.

“I just...can’t. The stares I used to get when I was younger...they hurt. And the things people said. They were cruel in way you can’t imagine. It made me never want to go out. It affects you. I moved out here as soon as I could to just...get away from people. I used to get anxiety attacks about going out or seeing people. I’m better now, not 100% as you can tell but...better.” He looks at you then, his almost supernatural eyes with their mahogany rims and hazel inners looking hopeful suddenly.

“I’m trying. I think I’ve spent long enough hiding in the shadows and licking my wounds.”

He’d been rather abrupt when discussing them, but you’d understood that despite his words it was still a touchy subject for him. But you’d felt happy that he’d at least talked about them with you, let you into his high walls even if it was only a glimpse.

You hadn’t queried him any further, respecting what he’d been willing to tell you but it had almost shifted your relationship with him slightly. The comfortable closeness you had both engaged in for the last few weeks had clicked softly into a mutual trust, full of warm smiles and gentle touches.

And sexual tension that you were positive could be cut with one of his exquisite swords.

Your own attraction to him had been evident the whole time, so bizarrely strong that you were positive it was written on your face whenever you looked at him. But the indifference he’d given you at first had ever so slowly changed the more you hung out.

His gentle gazes often turned molten when he didn’t think you were looking, and exposed skin garnered more than a second glance. Affectionate touches evolved into sensual strokes without meaning to, and you were beyond positive that you were both on the knife’s edge of desire.

One way or another, you were positive that it would all come to ahead pretty soon.

But for tonight, you were on your own. Hoseok was out of town again for a week with yet more work and you were left to browse the usual conspiracy forums to find out some more information about your Vulcan CEO.

Lazing on the couch with your laptop on your belly and a documentary about Pompeii on the television, you read the comments with a sigh. You’d become a bit more lax lately with your research, leading to you feeling guilty when you responded to any of Donghae’s correspondence.

You’d assured him that you’d found something, when in reality you hadn’t. If anything, there was something that almost seemed to be stopping you from looking into it, a sense of unease that you couldn’t figure out.

Someone had managed to find a project that had been scrapped by Vulcan, hidden deep in their servers that had been hacked the other week. Nothing of interest had been found apparently, except for the outlines of a prototype that had never happened.

The only reason it was even on these forums is because apparently it had been developed by the CEO, so of course the gold diggers were out in force. Clicking on the link, you look at the drawing with a frown, wondering what the hell you were looking at.

No one else had figured it out either as there was no explanation that made sense, the language used apparently a form of shorthand that the CEO had developed. Squinting at it, you tilted your head to the side and frowned.

It looked oddly familiar, and the words written around it looked equally as familiar. Which was bizarre, as you’re the least technologically minded person you know. Perhaps you’ve just seen it in some science fiction show or movie somewhere - you’d discovered that Hoseok really enjoyed that genre.

Closing the screen again, you scroll through the forum before you find yourself tuning back into the documentary. It had been talking about Pompeii today and the history of the archaeology that had led to it being discovered.

You watched with idle interest as it began to talk about the fateful day in 79 AD, describing how the Roman inhabitants had ironically been celebrating the festival of Vulcanalia the day before Vesuvius erupted.

This was ironic, as apparently Vulcanalia was the festival of Vulcan, the Roman god of fire and volcanoes. Raising a brow, your lip quirked at the strange turn of events before you suddenly frowned, head tilting as your mind worked a hundred miles a minute.

“Vulcanalia...weird how my life seems to be revolving around you, Vulcan.” You mutter, looking at images of the ancient god when you type him into Google. Clicking on his wikipedia page, you read with interest before pausing once more.

Maybe Vulcan Industries had something to do with why Hoseok’s garage was called Vesuvius Mechanics? The two were closely linked after all, so it made sense to name things that were kind of similar.

The Wikipedia page is full of information that would not be accepted as a reference in university, but you pause when you read that he was also the god of metalworking. Flashes of Hoseok’s metal creations appear in your mind and you look to the side as you recall the blueprint in his room suddenly.

Gasping out loud, your eyes widen while you frantically try to get back to the forum that showed the link to the prototype that had been scrapped by Vulcan. Clicking on it frantically, you take it in with new eyes as you recall the hand drawn version you’d seen in Hoseok’s house.

“No way...I mean...no. He did say they rejected it.” You murmur before you read the comments about the weird language, stomach going cold. Looking to the side, you let out a deep exhale slowly before grabbing your notebook off the table and a pen.

Writing everything you’ve just realised out, you note the similarities and scowl. How would Hoseok know the weird language that the CEO invented when he’s just a damn mechanic? He lives in a town with two set of traffic lights for crying out loud!

Hannah Jameson.

Floats through your head and you stare at your computer screen for a few seconds before typing in the forum search bar. The theorists keep a running list of the pseudonyms that have been used and you read through them all.

Hannah Jameson

Hope Justice

Heff Jackson

Jeon Hyuna

Harold Jackson

Helena Jupp

The list goes on and on, almost comical. It’s only when you scan the comments that you note the amusement of that fact that every name starts with H and the last name with J.

Jung Hoseok.

“No. No way. It’s just...a really weird coincidence.” You mutter, rubbing at your forehead furiously. It’s just a fluke that his name follows the same naming conventions of all the pseudonyms given. And that his prototype was somehow in Vulcan’s servers with the CEO’s language scribbled all over it.

“It’s not even logical. He’s not even old enough…” Your words trail off when you search for Vulcan, discovering that it was founded 21 years ago.

When Hoseok was 15. June had said he’d done something big when he was 15 that made him independently wealthy. Founding a multi-billion dollar company is certainly something big.

“No…” He wouldn’t hide this...would he?

I can’t handle people staring because then they’re looking at me and...I panic. I can’t cope with attention.

His words slowly filter through your head and you nod to yourself. Yes. Yes he would hide this. But Hoseok isn’t good at hiding things, which means that this is almost laughable how easy you’ve figured it out, despite everyone else failing.

You’ve only figured it out because he’s let you in slowly, letting you see clues that on their own are meaningless but together form the hastily constructed walls around the most elusive CEO in the world.

Picking up your phone, you find the post that lists the name and number of the assistant to the Vulcan Industries CEO. She was notorious for being the ultimate gatekeeper, refusing to allow anyone access who wasn’t supposed to and keeping the CEO’s identity on lockdown.

People try all the time to guess who it is by calling her, and the bubble of panic inside is consoled slightly by the knowledge that she’ll shut you down quick. There’s no way it would be this easy.

Dialing the number, you hold it to your ear with a shaking hand and take a deep breath as you hear the dial tone. It rings three times before it’s picked up.

“Hello, Annabelle King speaking.” Her voice is brusque and you can almost hear the irritance in her voice, probably ready to put the phone down as soon as it becomes apparent that it’s yet another prank call.

Clearing your throat, you begin to speak with a voice that’s far more stable than you feel. “Hello, I’m wondering if I can schedule an appointment with Mr Jung please? I know he’s in town for the week and would love the opportunity to speak with him about a possible investment opportunity in a charity?”

The lie falls from your lips like honey and you feel sick at it, wanting to put the phone down. You’re wrong, you’re definitely wrong and this is just the thoughts of a deluded woman coming through. But Annabelle hasn’t said no, in fact she’s hesitating.

“I’m sorry, Mr Jung?” Is all she asks, tone inquisitive and you swallow thickly. Maybe she has no idea who that is and it’s just another way of catching people out.

“Yes. Jung Hoseok? I was told he would be in the area from Monday until Friday.” There’s silence and you begin to breathe easy again, content with the knowledge that your mechanic really is just that. A brilliant and inventive mechanic.

“Mr Jung is in town this week, however please accept my apologies as he is unable to accept appointments at the moment. If you would like, you can leave your number with me and I can schedule an appointment when he is next here Miss…?” Her voice trails off but you’re hitting the end call button anyway as you sit there in silence.

Holy shit.

Holy shit. No fucking way. You did it.

You found out who Vulcan Industries CEO was. The mystery of the century.

It’s Jung Hoseok.

You ruminate over the knowledge you have for the next few days, agonising over whether or not you should write that article. The little you’d managed to gain about him in physical form was sitting in a file on your laptop, but you felt no inspiration to write anything.

It felt like betraying someone, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to do that.

Staring at the screen on your laptop, you sigh heavily and run your hands over your face before the buzzing of your phone catches your attention. A quick glance reveals the very person you’ve been thinking about, and your stomach twists into a knot at the sight of his name, normally from excitement but currently from guilt.

Watching it for a moment, your eyes flicker between your laptop and the phone. If ever the universe was asking you to make a decision, it was now. You almost appreciated the irony of it all before you reached out and took the phone.

“Hi Hoseok.” You whisper, slumping back into the couch. He pauses for a moment and you can practically feel his surprise and concern.

“Hey. Are you okay? You sound sad? I’m almost back in town and wondered if you want to go watch a movie or something? I bet you’ve not even left your place.” He teases, his voice sing song like and you can practically hear the happiness in him.

Smiling without meaning to, you flop onto your side and sigh heavily. “You don’t need to rub it in, my social butterfly. But...yeah. A movie sounds good.” It really does, because it’s Hoseok.

And as you listen to him chatter away, you feel a sense of warmth take over your body as you make a decision. Looking at the laptop screen, you get up and head into your room to change for him.

You found the elusive Vulcan Industries CEO, which was the paycheck of a lifetime. But it would involve destroying his happiness for material gain.

Shaking your head, you smile softly as you make a decision that will have ramifications for your future. There is no way you could destroy Hoseok’s confidence and trust just to further yourself. Not only is that not how a friend would act, but it’s certainly not how a potential love interest would act.

And you were just a little desperate to be seen as the latter to him. Because you loved him. You’d suspected for a while, feeling silly and childish, but you did.

His smile made your stomach flutter and his touch made your heart race. The very thought of him brought a smile to your face and you went warm at the thought of spending time with him. The tiny smile he got on his face when he danced self-consciously to a song when he was in the garage or the way his eyes lit up when he saw something he liked.

He was everything you ever wanted in a man, and so much more than you could have ever dreamed of. Jung Hoseok was so easy to fall in love with, but he was even easier to damage and you found that you could never do that.

The knock at the door brings you out of yours thoughts and you head out, slipping on your shoes and grinning at Hoseok as you close the door behind you. He looks beautiful, with his black hair swept off his forehead carelessly, the subtle red highlights shimmering slightly in the natural light that seeps through the hallway window while a responding smile of his own illuminates his face.

Your heart kicks slightly at the sight of him and you suddenly reach out for his hand, taking his work roughened fingers between your own and carefully lacing them together. Hoseok stalls, his face creasing in confusion as he looks down at the sudden, and obvious, intimacy you’ve initiated but he doesn’t say anything.

All he’s wearing are simple jeans and a black hoodie, and yet he looks like the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. “Shall we go?” You ask lightly, cheerful as you feel a weight lift off your shoulders.

He watches with bemusement before shrugging and following, obviously concerned about your sudden change in behaviour.

But you don’t care. Because you’ve figured out your mystery and decided it’s not worth it. It’s not worth losing this beautiful, handsome man and his kindness and love. So instead, you’re going to enjoy this for what it is.

“Is this a date?” You ask suddenly as you reach his car, watching as he goes bright red and splutters in surprise with shocked eyes. He’s so astonished by your sudden question that he even drops his keys, crouching down to pick them up.

Hoseok doesn’t rise though, and instead lets the keys dangle from his finger as he gazes down at the concrete below his feet. You hear him take a deep breath before letting it out slowly, the technique almost meditative before he speaks.

“Do you want it to be?” His voice is quiet, and you want to wrap your arms around his neck so badly. But you shove your hands into the pockets of your own hoodie firmly, determined to not push him past his boundaries. You’ve already violated one part of him so horribly, you would never do so again.

“I’d like that.” Is all you say and he stands slowly, keeping his gaze averted before nodding his head, tongue licking his lips slowly.

“Okay. Okay...a-a date. We’ll g-go on a d-date.” He’s blushing and you want to aww so badly at him, but instead you simply give him the brightest smile you can to try and make him feel at ease.

“I can’t wait.”

The mood is tense on the way to the next town, Hoseok’s fingers opening and closing on the steering wheel while he chew on his lip. Your own stomach fizzes with excitement and you wonder if he’s as excited as you are.

Turning your gaze from the passenger window you’d been staring out of, you watch Hoseok for a moment quietly. From this side, the exquisite profile of his face is made even more obvious by the low light. His elegant, sloping nose ends in a perfect point while his lips are just pouty enough to give them dimension, before his jawline takes over from everything else.

You’ve always thought he was stunningly attractive, from the very first moment you ever saw him, but seeing him in the fuzzy light of your new feelings makes him look like the highest form of perfection a human being can ascertain.

Reaching out, you take his hand without realising and watch as his eyes glance over to you, wide with concern that there was something wrong. Your lips kick up ever so slightly before you tug his hand into your lap, turning it over and slipping your fingers between his.

He’s a little slow to react, and from the nervous twitching of the muscles in his hand you suspect it’s because he’s not entirely sure what to do, but he finally closes his own fingers around yours. Smiling, you let your fingerpads run over the rough, scarred skin on his hand and take careful note of every point of interest on his arm.

You’d never thought you’d see the day when you thought an arm was beautiful, but here you were. “Are you okay with this being a date?” The words are soft, barely heard over the radio but you want to make sure that he’s okay.

The guilt over your discovery and original mission make you feel a little sick if you think about it too hard, but you were a little desperate to make sure that he wanted this too and you weren’t simply projecting onto him.

He’s quiet for a few seconds before he squeezes your hand, nodding his head a tiny bit as he lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I think...I think I am. No, I am. I’m just...I mean the people.” He mutters, eyes flickering down to your joined hands.

You sigh quietly, bringing his hand up to your lips and pressing a featherlight kiss to the scarring there. The poor guy is worried about how people will react to the both of you and it turns your stomach at how people must treat him. He’s always a little self-conscious whenever you go out, and he usually prefers to do things that are solitary.

“We don’t have to go out, I’m fine with just hanging out in the back of your truck or something.” You gesture to the open bed in the back, causing him to laugh and shake his head.

“Really? So we can grab McDonald’s and you’re fine just sitting there?” He asks almost sarcastically, brow raised while his amusement shows clearly. Along with more than a little relief that you understood without him having to explain.

“With you? That sounds perfect.” Your words have his cheeks turning crimson in the soft light and you want to run your fingers along them so badly. He’s so unbelievably charming and kind, how could anyone hate or be mean to this ball of sweetness?

“Okay.” Is all he says, turning and heading towards the closest McDonald’s. A trip through the drive-thru leaves you with two Big Macs and a Coke for Hoseok and a quarter pounder and strawberry milkshake for you.

A meandering route through some of the forested roads leads you to what you presume counts as a lookout spot here in the countryside. But instead of a city view, you’re treated to some of the best nature can offer in these areas, with the mountains reaching into the sky in the distance while the sun slowly falls into their welcome embrace.

Hoseok turns the car around before getting out and pulling the back down, leaving you with a way to get into the bed and you watch as he pulls some blankets out from a toolbox that’s tied down. Once down, he gestures to the makeshift sitting spot with a shy smile, helping you up.

Sitting cross legged next to him, you look out at the view in front of you and sigh softly as you chew a bite of your burger. He’s watching it as well and you turn to watch him quietly for a moment, admiring not only his beauty but the strong personality that has let him build a multi-billion dollar company, all while keeping himself grounded.

Now that you know, it’s almost kind of obvious.

“It reminds me of home a little, you know.” He suddenly speaks and your eyebrows rise in confusion, wondering what he was talking about while simultaneously being excited that he’s willingly talking about himself.

As if sensing your confusion at his words, his lips tip into a fond smirk before he gestures with a fry to the landscape in front of him. “This. The mountains, the sun, the sky. There’s more forest here and no sea but it’s still beautiful.” His words sound almost longing as he speaks, eyes squinting in the setting sun.

“You sound like you miss it. Would you go back?” Even if you have no idea where he grew up, you can hear the homesickness in his voice suddenly. He stays quiet for a moment before smiling and shaking his head.

“I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to. It’s not the same anymore.” You reach forward and grip his hand comfortingly, simply letting him know that you were there in case it brought bad memories for him.

“You never talk about your family.” He stays quiet, chewing on his burger slowly before letting it drop into his wrapper. The only sounds that can be heard are the soft calls of birds and the wind rustling through the trees gently, blowing his crimson highlighted black hair.

“My family...is not a nice family. They are...egotistical, selfish, cruel and they like to play games. Both physical and mental. They’re vain, their reputation means everything to them and they think they’re owed everything by everyone.” You’re not sure if he’s aware of it, but he’s pulling apart the remainder of his burger bun as he stares at it unseeingly.

“I got these scars because of them, for them. But they...shunned me for it afterwards. I didn’t fit their idea of beautiful, so they isolated me. I was good enough to make their stuff for them, but not to be with them.” Dropping your gaze to the scars that scatter both hands and up his arm, you scowl at the thought of his family being so cruel.

“They don’t deserve you. You’re one of the nicest, kindest and sweetest men I’ve ever met, and if it helps you’re quite possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. They don’t know what a great man they’re missing out on.” His head is bowed and you shuffle forwards, reaching out to touch him but hesitating.

Looking back up, you make a soft noise of unhappiness at the watery gaze he gives you before he shakes his head, laughing weakly. “I know this isn’t really first date conversation, but...you mean a lot to me. More than you realise. More than you can ever realise actually.”

Shaking your head, you move even closer to him, smiling at this compassionate man that stole your heart. His eyes flicker to your lips and you have to physically control yourself to stop from vibrating with excitement and squealing as he watches you lick them slowly.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, the words so soft that they’re barely audible and yet he’s nodding slowly with blown out eyes that focus on you. It’s the only permission you need as you close the gap between you, your lips finally pressing to his in a sweet, chaste kiss.

It’s short, and you pull away after a few seconds to gauge his reaction. His eyes are closed and he has an exceptionally adorable dopey look on his face before he focuses on you, cheeks tinging pink in the golden light of the sun.

Grinning, you gently run your fingertips over his cheek as you cup his face, watching as he flinches slightly as they run over the roughened skin of his scars. Leaning in, you capture his lips once more, enjoying the velvety feel of his lips beneath yours as you both kiss almost innocently.

Tilting your head, you want to smile as his nose bumps against your cheek before your tongue slowly tracks along the seam of his lips. There’s a moment of nothing before his mouth is opening, allowing you entrance as you deepen the kiss with him.

Without even realising it, you’re practically pressing yourself to his front as your tongues dance in a rhythm that is centuries old. His hands rest on your waist before tracking along your body to your hips in long, slow movements that raise shivers in you.

Hoseok is rather submissive in his approach to this, letting you take the lead and content to simply follow where you go. Pulling back slightly, you tug his lower lip into your mouth and release it ever so slowly, eyes focused firmly on his as you do so until he lets out the softest groan.

“Can we go back to mine?” You ask, uncaring if you’ve barely spent any time on this date but you want him. God you want him so badly, show him that he’s more than worthy of your attentions and love.

He’s quiet for a moment, breathing heavily with lips that are wet and puffy from the intense kiss you’d shared. It’s almost eerie how his hazel eyes always seem to glow like fires in the dying sunlight, but you’re distracted away from it by his slow nod.

“Yeah, yeah we can do that.” Hoseok whispers raggedly, his throat sounding gruff while his breath comes in short pants. Neither of you move for a moment before he’s suddenly bounding off the bed of the truck, gesturing for you to follow him as he latches it back together and then you’re both inside, Hoseok taking the handbrake off as he begins to drive.

The drive back to yours is filled with a sexual tension that has you feeling hot and bothered, but it’s with an impatience for him to drive faster. You’re almost on the verge of telling him to just floor it; given how much the sheriff likes him he probably wouldn’t even get stopped.

But you don’t, as you kind of enjoy the sizzling atmosphere that’s slowly building between you both. Hoseok is gripping the wheel even tighter than on the drive there and he seems to be focusing on breathing slowly. It’s almost cute how intently he’s staring at the road, but you don’t say anything that could potentially embarrass him.

You were aware that he wasn’t inexperienced in this area, but his shyness still made you want to take it slower than you normally would.

It’s still hard not to ravage him when he pulls the car to a stop outside your apartment, both of you staring at the brick and stone building for a moment before getting out slowly. Hoseok comes around the front and takes your hand in his, leading you to the door and you shudder with anticipation, your thighs squeezing together with a need you hadn’t even thought about in a long while.

Your hands shake as you unlock your door, the keys jangling in the quietness of the hallway and it takes everything you have to not curse at the physical manifestation of your need for him. But any prospective embarrassment is gone when you turn round to look at him and see Hoseok’s eyes.

The unusual colour almost looks to be glowing in the dim light of your apartment and you shudder slightly, watching as he carefully tugs off his hoodie and hangs it up. It’s almost hilarious, how polite he’s being when all you want is for him to ravage you.

But you know Hoseok, and you know that he’ll only do whatever you feel comfortable with.

Stepping up in front of him, your hand rests on the solid chest beneath his shirt and you reach up onto your tiptoes to press your lips to his once more. The kiss is slow and languid, his tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring at a leisurely pace.

You let out the softest moan at the touch, which seems to trigger Hoseok’s desire as suddenly he’s bending ever so slightly and then you’re in the air, pressed to him as your thighs wrap around his waist tightly. Even underneath the stiff fabric of his denim jeans, you can feel his hard length pressing against your core and a whimper leaves you, causing him to growl ever so slightly.

So consumed by your want for him, you don’t notice when he manages to manoeuvre you into the bedroom until you’re toppling backwards, back meeting the soft covers that lay on your bed. He follows quickly, knee pressing into the mattress as his mouth pursues your own almost desperately.

Sinking your fingers into his luscious hair, you keep his face firmly against yours as you kiss him deeply, enjoying how reciprocal he’s being before his hands graze the soft skin of your stomach underneath your shirt. Pulling away, you look up at him with sheer lust, pushing yourself up just enough to remove your shirt.

Without a word, your bra follows and you watch as he pushes himself up, kneeling between your legs and simply admiring the curves and lines of your body with the practiced eye of an artist. His tongue licks along his lower lip slowly as his eyes track you before his hands run along your skin almost reverently.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, his tone awed and you smile at him, the love you hadn’t spoken aloud practically emanating from your expression. At it, he hesitates slightly and turns his head to the left, hiding his face and you frown immediately, sitting up to cup his cheek.

“Don’t. Please. Don’t do that. Hide yourself from others if you really want, but please don’t hide from me.” His mouth opens before closing, jaw quivering before he nods quickly. Hoseok leans in to kiss you again but you dance away from him with a smile, reaching for his own shirt and playfully tugging it upwards.

There’s a pause from him as he resists for a moment before his arms lift, letting you take his shirt off to finally witness the incredibly toned torso you’d been craving to see for so long. And he’s glorious, everything you had imagined and so much more.

The soft pads of your fingers trace over the defined muscles of his abdomen, teeth biting at your lower lip in excitement at the smooth expanse of golden skin. Tracking upwards, you note that his chest is just as defined and it makes your mouth water.

You make no mention of the scarring that tracks down his left side, instead leaning forward to press featherlight kisses to his skin before evolving into hot, open mouthed kisses that leave wet patches that signal where you’ve loved him.

Each touch of your mouth causes him to jerk slightly and you feel him quivering as his breath exhales from him shakily. You’d like to say it’s because of how turned on he is, but the way he flinches when your lips press to his roughened skin tells you otherwise.

You don’t want him to feel like this when you’re together so intimately. In fact, you want him to forget about anything as he enjoys you, but you know it probably doesn’t work like that. So instead, you simply continue to tease him and touch at him, your fingers dipping into the waistband of his jeans and snapping them against his waist.

He moves away abruptly, standing at the side of the bed and you sit there for a moment in concern, wondering if you’ve pushed too hard. Instead though, he stares directly into your eyes before unbuttoning his jeans and pushing both them and his underwear down his legs.

Any thoughts you may have had vanish instantly as you stare at him, sheer lust and excitement bubbling through your veins at the sight of him fully naked. He’s quite possibly the most exquisite person you’ve ever seen, and he’s here for you.

Shuffling forward until you’re sitting at the end of the bed, you reach forward and grasp his hips firmly. He goes to say something but you simply shake your head and pull him closer with encouraging tugs until he’s standing close to you.

Reaching out, you take his hard length into your hand and give him one, long stroke that has him gasping out as his head rocks back. It’s almost bizarre how beautiful he is, even his penis is so perfect that it belongs in an x-rated movie or something.

Tugging at the silky smooth skin over his cock, you take note of the copious amounts of precum he’s leaking and feel a shard of pride take over at how much he’s obviously desiring you. Leaning forward, you kitten lick at the engorged tip of his head and internally grin at the almost pained whimper he lets out.

“You are beautiful.” You say to him, giving him another stroke before enveloping him in your warm mouth. Hoseok is almost the perfect mix of length and girth and he whines as you move down him as far as you can go before hollowing your cheeks out on the journey back up.

You continue on for a few minutes, simultaneously jerking him off while alternating between sucking on him and licking along his length, teasing all the spots that make him gasp out with need.

It’s only when his hips start to rock even harder that you pull away, eyes flickering up to meet his desire filled gaze as his chest heaves with gasps. Keeping your eyes locked to his, you carefully unbutton and tug off your own jeans and underwear before crawling back up the bed slowly and spreading your legs for him.

Immediately, his eyes focus on the glistening wetness that shines in the final strands of daylight that stream in through your window, an audible groan leaving him at the sight. Smirking at his want, you reach out for him before grinning as he practically falls over himself to put on a condom before he pounces onto the bed and inbetween your legs.

“Do you want me to…” He breaks off before glancing down between your legs but you’re already shaking your head, reaching down to grasp his dick and caress it languidly, enjoying the way his eyelids flutter shut while his jaw drops open.

“No, I want you. Now. Believe me, I’m wet enough.” You murmur, letting go of him to push yourself up and meet his lips. He responds immediately, his kiss almost aggressive but still allowing you the control that you’ve taken the entire way through.

He doesn’t do anything for a few moments however and you almost whine at him until he grinds his hips against yours. The movement has his hard shaft sliding against your engorged clit and you immediately let out a high pitched pant at the sensation, shifting your own hips to encourage him to find a perfect rhythm.

Each slow slide has his cock becoming coated in the clear slickness of your arousal while it sends lightning spears of pleasure through your own body. Moaning into his mouth, you grip his hair tightly to keep him close.

The slightest shift of his body suddenly has him penetrating you in one slow, long slide. Immediately your head slams back into the pillows at the intrusion that stretches your walls in the most delicious way while he in turn lets out a breathy grunt at the tight sensation as you grip him.

A stream of words you don’t recognise in a musical language escape his lips while his brow creases in concentration as he remains seated in you firmly. Recognising that he’s probably a little overwhelmed, you stroke along his back in long and soothing movement while you suck deep kisses into his neck and whatever other skin you can reach.

Finally, he begins to move in slow rocks that gradually increase in speed and depth until he’s moving at a good pace, the two of you moaning out your pleasure into the quiet room. “Oh god Hoseok, please.”

He’s not hugely vocal in bed you discover, but he doesn’t need to be when his body does all the speaking for him. Each snap of his hips has you jerking up the bed and your eyelids flutter shut of their own accord as bliss crackles through your veins.

“Is it good?” He finally speaks, and when you open your eyes you see the concern painted deeply in them. Hoseok wants to make this good for you, and your heart swells to see his concern for you.

Nodding at him, you let out a choked gasp as he hits a particular spot inside you that sends your body convulsing under him. “Fuck Hoseok, fuck I’m close.” You whine and your hand moves of its own accord down your body, reaching between your legs before you begin to play with your clit.

The engorged bud has been severely forgotten about, but as you begin to circle it with the right amount of pressure it intensifies the pleasure that Hoseok’s cock is providing you. Your other hand grasps at the bed covers desperately as you continuously clench around him in pursuit of your orgasm, causing him to moan out in turn as he maintains a good pace.

“Come for me.” He whispers into your ear, the words rough and gravelly from his exertion and the air tickling at your sensitive skin. The pounding of his hips into yours combines with the furious movement of your hand and then you’re exploding around him, mind blanking out for a few moment as long, animalistic groans leave you.

They quickly become the high pitched whines of over-stimulation as you pull your hand away as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, hips moving at a startling pace. The gratification of his dick inside you continues though and you can’t stop the breathy moans that seem to leave you with each thrust, but you look up at him lazily as your hands stroke along his body encouragingly.

“Your turn Hoseok, are you close?” You whisper, voice raspy from your vocal exertions and you bite your lip firmly as he nods with closed eyes. His face is a picture of pleasure and effort and you push up to bite at his defined jawline gently, squeezing your inner muscles around him encouragingly until he’s almost sobbing with his need.

A sudden jerk of his hips is the only inclination about his impending orgasm until suddenly his head is dropping into your neck as he grunts, his hips jerking forward in tiny movements as his length twitches inside you. Head dropped to the pillow, you watch with fascination as he orgasms, brow quirking as his skin almost seems to be illuminated but you dismiss it as the lighting outside.

He’s quiet for a moment and the room feels hot and stifling, a layer of sweat coating both your skin and his own. But it’s comfortable and you feel a swelling of emotion in your stomach as he lays there, your arms gently wrapping around his shoulders as best you can.

Hoseok pulls out and flops onto the side, letting out a heaving breath as he tries to catch his breath before looking to the side at you. Swallowing, he licks his lips before giving you a tentative smile.

“Was it good?” It’s almost adorable that he asks and you find yourself grinning as you lean forward to press a kiss to his abused lips, remaining close enough to him that your noses brush with each breath.

“It was amazing.”

The air is still when you finally gain consciousness the next morning, eyes bleary and crusted from the most restful sleep you’ve had in a while. While the sex had been phenomenal, truly amazing, it had been the intimate and quiet minutes afterwards that you’d enjoyed the most.

As you rolled over under the sheets, inhaling his scent that lingered deeply, you let a meek smile loose as flashbacks of the night before race through your mind. He had been so caring and attentive, with far more experience than his shy and awkward nature let on.

It had been all the better with the knowledge that you’d fallen in love with this compassionate man who had a smile that would put the sun to shame. Staring up at the white ceiling and listening to the soft chirping of birds outside your window, you couldn’t stop your lips from spreading into a grin as excitement fluttered in your stomach.

You loved him, and there was no way on Earth you were giving him up to the vultures of the media or your harpy of a boss, Donghae. They’d rip this affectionate and introverted man apart and the very idea of it made your breath hitch.

He froze up with tension and fear in a crowded place and in the months you’d spent with him, he’d only acquiesced to one photograph with you. A photograph you treasured beyond belief. No, Jung Hoseok did not have a personality that would survive the assault on his character and live.

Finally registering the fact that the apartment was quiet, you sit up with a frown as you look around your bedroom for the man in question. His dark ripped jeans are gone but the shirt he’d been wearing yesterday was still carelessly thrown onto the floor.

Climbing out of the bed, you smile to yourself at the gentle ache between your legs before bending to pick up his shirt. Pulling it on, you take a moment to bring the collar to your nose and inhale deeply, eyelids fluttering at the scent of cologne, oil, metal and the very essence of Hoseok.

You marvel for a moment at how it falls down to your just above mid thigh before remembering how you always have to look up at him all the time. Running a hand down the soft material, you grin with pleasure. You’ve never worn the clothes of your partners before and you kind of like it.

Before leaving your bedroom, you make sure to at least pull on underwear so that you didn’t appear to be too desperate for a round two. Though you certainly wouldn’t say no if he proposed it.

Heading outside, the constant silence is confusing to you. Given he wasn’t in bed when you’d woken up, it would only make sense that he was either in the bathroom or the kitchen. But there was no noise coming from either and you half entertain the thought that perhaps he really had just left and not bothered to put on his shirt or shoes.

You find him, however, in the living area of your apartment where he sits on the grey couch in silence. Walking over, you add what you hope is a seductive tilt to your walk only to see it goes completely unnoticed. Instead, Hoseok is focused on your open laptop in front of him.

It’s the deep frown lines that paint a map of unhappiness on his forehead that let you know that something is wrong. As you step towards him, he suddenly looks up with distress written all over. Immediately you want to wrap him in your arms and protect him from whatever has upset him.

“What is it? Hoseok what’s wrong?” You ask, coming forwards with arms open to embrace him. Only you freeze when he flinches away from you, his eyes that had been so vibrant with happiness yesterday rapidly cooling. Pressing his lips together, he swallows thickly before licking them and pointing to your laptop screen.

“Is it true?” His voice is hoarse, the tone husky and rasping enough to cause goosebumps to rise along your skin. Only it’s not from pleasure or anticipation, but fear. Edging your way around the coffee table, you look down at the bright screen of your laptop and focus on what he can see.

The sight causes you to freeze, your heart dropping into your stomach as you read the email that had been sent this morning. Coldness envelops your body as blood rushes from your face and you can’t think properly, mind going fuzzy with panic.

“Hoseok...it’s not what it looks like. I swear.” You begin, voice pleading immediately and your hands are moving of their own accord towards him. He stands up though, muscular thighs flexing as he darts away from you and you watch with despair as his shoulders close in, back hunching slightly like an animal that’s been cornered.

Hoseok lets out a frantic laugh, each sound tinged with a despairing note that makes your heart clench with trepidation. “So...you’re not a reporter then? And you haven’t been given the job of finding out who the CEO of Vulcan is? I know you’ve figured it out as you left your notes open on here. I just sat down to drink some coffee when I must have nudged your laptop into life and there it was...a full report on me and how you’d figured it out.”

Staring at him in distress, you find that the only thing you’re capable of doing is opening and closing your mouth. Any attempts to formulate a response, despite the fact your mind is screaming denials, simply comes out as an oddly soft, croaking and gurgling sound.

When he catches your eyes flicker to the screen, cursing the fact you’d left your Outlook open and that your boss has evidently finally gotten annoyed, his face crumples. Those cheeks that harboured dimples you were desperate to learn with your touch fell, mouth disappearing behind his shaking hand.

Stepping further back, his uncovered back hitting the wall with a soft thud and you feel like someone has reached into your chest and cruelly ripped your heart out. The soft ticking of the clock on the wall sounds like your happiness slowly dripping out of the hole that’s been left, but it’s the film of tears that shines over his eyes that sends your body cold.

Those beautiful eyes, so unusual and vibrant are dull and you don’t even need to see the rest of his face to understand the betrayal he must be feeling. His other arm presses to his stomach in the classic protective position of people across the world and it’s with growing consternation that you realise he’s afraid of you.

Afraid of the power you wield because of your job.

Gasping out, you bend over slightly at the metaphorical gut punch at that knowledge as you watch the man you have come to love recoil away. Slowly lifting your hand to him, your head begins to shake as tears slowly fall, internally willing yourself to stop being so selfish and focus on him.

“It’s not...Hoseok I swear. I swear I wasn’t going to. I...I’ve known for a few days who you are and it didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! Please don’t, I’m not going to. I swear to you.” You plead, your throat quivering slightly as tears thicken it.

He watches you for a moment before slowly gesturing to the room. “Was this...all part of it? Moving into the town? Getting to know the people who know me best? Was it just...a way to get close to me?” At that, he suddenly frowns deeply and your heart breaks to see an innocent, confused look take over.

He points to himself slowly, almost as if he doesn’t want to ask. “Did you get close to me...just for that? Was last night just…” Hoseok can’t finish his words and immediately you’re denying it, moving closer and wanting to cry as he slips out of your grasp, dancing around your hand and to the door.

“No! It wasn’t, I swear Hoseok it wasn’t. Yes, yes it started out as an assignment but...you’re my friend and well...you’re my closest friend. And last night was...amazing and great and everything my past relationships have never been. I’m so sorry Hobi, please believe me. I didn’t use you, I’m not using you, I lo-” Immediately he’s shaking his head violently, messy black hair flying.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare say that! You can’t, you can’t...not when. No, you can’t. I can’t...I need to...no!” Hoseok cries out, the tears finally breaking the dam and slowly trickling down his face in a trail of pain at your deception.

Staring at you for a few moments more, you choke on a sob as you watch his chest heave with the emotions he tries to keep locked down. “I trusted you.” He whispers low, wiping at his face furiously before he’s turning round. You’re not sure what to make of his actions till you realise he’s yanking on the black hoodie he’d hung on the coat rack.

It’s only when he’s grabbing his keys and shoving his shoes onto his feet that you suddenly come to your senses, mind screaming at his actions. “Wait, Hoseok just wait!” You call out but he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Staring at the door, you watch for a few seconds in shock before you’re grabbing your keys and running after him. He’s not in the hallway and it’s only while your feet are slamming against the stairs that you register you hadn’t even put on shoes.

Skidding to a stop just outside the entrance to the building, you let out a broken whimper as you watch the back end of his black pickup peel out onto the street. Hand pressing to your stomach, you try hard to ignore the nausea you feel along with the numbing fear. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do now and it’s only when you look around with wide eyes that you see a few people staring at you with judgement in their eyes.

Looking down, you note your bare feet and legs before realising you’re stood out in public in just Hoseok’s shirt and some underwear. Flushing bright red, you run back inside to your apartment before standing in the entrance, hands fisting at your hair in anguish.

Swiping at your nose, you gasp on a choked breath before rushing into the bedroom. Standing still for a minute, you grip the roots of your hair tightly as you try hard to ignore the dark thoughts running through your head. You’ll pack your stuff, get your car and then leave. Simple, you’ll go back and tell Donghae you’d failed.

As you began to throw clothes into your suitcase, half of your mind was screaming to go after Hoseok and explain properly but the other half was too ashamed and upset. His reaction had been everything you’d been afraid of and you were far too cowardly to go after him.

Besides, for someone as skittish as Hoseok you had no doubt that he didn’t want to see you and was likely hiding somewhere till you left. The best thing you could do for him would be to vanish and never publish the information you’d found out. Even if it felt like your heart was shrivelling and dying.

You’d chosen to be selfish that day in the meeting with your boss, deeming your career more important over someone else’s privacy. But after getting to know Hoseok, you knew that while your life would improve exponentially upon revealing the information you’d found, his would crash and burn around him.

Dragging your suitcase out to the hallway, you abandon it for a moment while you focus on cleaning the apartment as best you can and throwing out the food. It wouldn’t be fair to June for you leave the place untidy; you may be running from your problems but you won’t be that rude.

It’s only when you sit on the sofa to turn your laptop off that you finally pause, rational thought finally making its way through your mind. Staring down at the dark screen, a press on the touchpad wakes up the screen to reveal the documents detailing all you’d found about Jung Hoseok and what explicitly linked him to Vulcan Industries.

Reading over your notes again, your palm runs down your face tiredly while another rubs the back of your neck. Why did you care so much? Why did anyone care so much? Hoseok had done so much good for the world, made so many inventions that had brought relief and happiness and he’d demanded nothing in return.

Nothing except for the ability to live peacefully and privately in his own private version of heaven; a small town where no one cared about big corporations, a home he’d made his own and a garage that allowed him to help in small ways along with the big.

Swallowing thickly, you open up the email that had led to him figuring everything out. Donghae is curt, demanding an article as soon as possible on whatever you’d found. It’s when you read the words that you’d sent to him weeks ago that you feel the hot tears prickle your eyes, filling to the point that they slowly trickle down your face.

From: Y/N

To: Lee Donghae

Subject: Project Vesuvius

Hi Donghae,

Please accept my apologies that I’ve been radio silent for a while. I’ve been doing research into the CEO and I think I’ve finally found something.

I will respond to you with an article once I’ve confirmed my suspicions and done extensive research. It should be within the next few weeks I believe, please wait for further correspondence.

Kind Regards,

Y/N

Unsurprisingly, Donghae had got annoyed at waiting for you to respond to him and taken it into his own hands. The resulting email had all the hallmarks of Donghae’s infamous lack of patience and it made your stomach shrivel to know that not only were you going back with nothing, but Hoseok had seen it.

From: Lee Donghae

To: Y/N

Subject: RE: Project Vesuvius

Y/N,

Where the hell is this article?! You’ve been gone for four months now, I’d expect to at least see something after this.

What am I doing? Paying you for a vacation? Send me what research you have now or I’ll be docking your pay for this waste of time.

Donghae

Deleting the email with a gulp, you instead open up the pictures folder. There were so many images in there of Hoseok’s metal work, each piece a small work of art that he had put his heart and soul into.

But that isn’t the one that makes you stifle a sob, instead it’s the one solitary picture you have of the man you’d fallen hopelessly in love with. It was from when he’d taken you hiking up one of the mountain trails that were dotted around the landscape here.

Wearing dark jeans, a pair of sturdy and well used walking boots along with a plain grey shirt and white hoodie, he’d looked an absolute picture of beauty. You’d felt more than a little ridiculous when he’d raised his eyebrow at your white linen shorts, pale yellow t-shirt and white Adidas trainers.

The reason for his dubious look had appeared only an hour into the hike, when you’d fallen over twice from the uneven ground and now had shorts that had turned a lovely shade of dusty brown along with scuffed shoes.

Still, the view had been worth it when you’d reached your destination. Hoseok had packed a lunch for the two of you and it had been perfection. At your shy request for a photo together, he’d acquiesced and there it was.

He was smiling so prettily, his face slightly turned to the side to try and hide his scarring while the red highlights in his hair had gleamed in the bright sunshine. His eyes were reduced to almost squinting from the bright light yet you still admired the pretty shape of them, the way the apples of his cheeks were so rounded and the dimples that always appeared so easily.

The tiny mole on his lips could be seen even while his smile was so big and you bit down on your lip hard as you realised he looked happy and relaxed. Because he had been happy and relaxed.

Changing screens back to your notes, you stared at the countless words and html links with a blank look for a moment. The letters blurred slightly from your tears and you shook your head, closing down the document.

Going into your documents, you found the file that contained all the information you’d found out about Vulcan and Hoseok and dragged it over to the recycling bin. Watching it disappear with a soft ‘woosh’ from your laptop, it only took a moment to right click and empty.

Shutting it down, you placed it inside your messenger back and sniffled pathetically. Wiping your nose with the back of your hand, you looked down at the black shirt that still smelled of him and willed your lips not to tremble.

It took no time at all to leave June a voicemail apologising for your sudden absence and informing her of where you’d left the key before you were walking towards Hoseok’s garage, a lump in your stomach as fear filled your limbs.

You didn’t want to face him. Not because you were afraid of him, but because you simply didn’t want to hurt him anymore and you certainly didn’t want to see that look of betrayal in his eyes again.

The suitcase trundling behind you was so loud and you wince as you reach the garage, noting with a sad relief that the main doors were closed and his car was nowhere to be seen. Shuffling quickly to the customer entrance door, you enter the six digit code that Hoseok had told you only two weeks ago, 790824.

He’d invited you over to his place for the evening and warned you that he’d be in the garage working on some repairs. As such, he’d simply informed you of the code to enter so that he wouldn’t need to leave. The reasoning behind his choice of numbers had only been made clear to you the other day, making you wonder for a moment if he’d wanted to be found.

Entering the clean waiting room, you look around and inhale the oh so familiar scent of oil and metal that had always been Jung Hoseok. Swallowing, you let your fingers trail slowly along the counter top as you move around it, spying the tray of keys to all the cars he has.

Picking out yours, you clutch onto them tightly before turning and practically running out of the building. It’s only once you’ve stuffed your suitcase into the back of your car and sat in the drivers seat that you finally pause to crane your head, trying to take a peek up the isolated drive that leads to his house.

From here, you can barely see the building you’d become so acquainted with over these last few weeks, but you can clearly see the black car parked haphazardly in front of it. Turning back, you rest your head on the wheel for a moment and fight the desperate need to go to him and apologise, beg on your knees and anything else you can think of to make him forgive you.

It’s only a deep, fortifying breath that shudders dangerously that gives you the strength to insert the key and turn the ignition. Your car starts immediately, the deep and almost choking rumble that you were used to filling the silence and you move away with a heavy heart.

A glance into the mirror lets you watch his garage disappear as you drive down the road, heading down the long and lonely roads that make up this part of the world as you drive back home. You’ll probably get fired from your job for wasting their time but it’ll be worth it.

It has to be worth it, because it will mean that his secret is safe.

Hoseok sat the floor of his bedroom, back resting against the bed as a bottle of half empty whiskey dangled from his fingers. Staring at nothing, he sighed heavily before running a hand through his hair and letting his head fall back against the mattress.

He desperately wished that he could get drunk, that when he drank this whole bottle of whiskey he’d be half comatose with inebriation. Instead, all he got was a burning sensation when he drank the foul liquid.

Damn his godliness that meant only alcohol made by the gods would work. He hadn’t had a good drink like that in centuries and he wasn’t particularly in the mood to go find some. Maybe Hermes had invented some online store for Olympus made products already? Musing on that, he tipped the bottle back and swallowed some more lazily.

It was over. It was all over.

He’d had a good run at anonymity, he thought to himself before a shard of pain lanced through his chest. Holding his right arm out, he looks over the scarring that always caught the human’s attention and let out a shaky breath.

It didn’t bother him that he had them anymore, he’d gotten over them a long time ago, but it was the staring he could never get over. The way people would turn slightly when they saw it, their eyes tracking over each point like a dot to dot puzzle and he could see the questions forming in their head immediately.

He’d experienced it for millennia, and no matter what mortal body he chose he knew that the scarring would appear in the exact same places every time. For these were wounds that had been caused by the fires of Mount Olympus and even his godly skin would not heal them.

Hoseok could only imagine what the humans would say to find out he was the genius behind Vulcan. It would be nice to think that they would be understanding and kind, focusing on the technological achievements that he had made throughout the years.

Perhaps note how he was a small town guy who had shunned the spotlight, instead letting his works take all the fame. Maybe even his philanthropy and how he tried to help improve not only human society but the environment as well. That he was an example for children across the world to aspire to.

But he knew what they would focus on. His scars, his anxiety, his pathological need to be away from crowds, his panic attacks. He had no doubt that there would be people in town who would happily take money to spill all his secrets, to gleefully tattle about the one or two times he’d lost his temper or been rude.

As he watched, his hand began to shake from the stress as his mind went into overdrive. Despite the terror that threatened to swallow him whole at the thought of his face being plastered across the media, his mind kept latching onto you. To the look of shock on your face when you realised that he knew.

Staring at his hand, he gritted his teeth as the tears began to fall once again and with effort he clenched his fingers into a fist. Hoseok had spent centuries on his own, millennia even. The gods, his own parents, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts and cousins, had rejected him long before any human language was first inscribed on stone.

To be a god was to be the perfection that humans looked up to. As such, it was only right that they were the pinnacles of humanity. They had to be the strongest, the fastest, the smartest, the wittiest and above all else, they had to be the most beautiful.

It mattered not that Hoseok was one of the smartest gods in the Pantheon, creating machines that humans still couldn’t comprehend even today. It did not matter that his strength was just as strong as any gods or that he could hold his own in a battle of wits with even Hermes, the flighty god who was a trickster personified.

No. They had taken one look at the scarring on him, the scarring that he had gained while building and creating the weapons and machines they had asked for, and deemed him unfit, ugly and not welcome amongst their ethereal beauty. And so he had been relegated to the harshest area of Olympus, surrounded by lava and searing temperatures. It was a place no gods visited.

None except the one who had become his best friend, the equally lonely and rejected Hades. The isolation he had experienced had continued for millennia, which had resulted in what the humans called social anxiety today. As he had told you previously, he had sexual experience but he was basically a virgin in terms of relationships. He didn’t understand how to navigate the complexities of society, and as society had become even more complex he had decided he didn’t want to.

Until you. Until you had come into his garage, with your sweet and innocent smile and the laugh that made his heart flutter. You had spent weeks with him, slowly chipping at the casing around his heart until you’d finally found her way inside, curling up within him and slowly spreading until all he could feel was you.

He had spent a large portion of the time ignoring his feelings, believing them to not be true and just a figment of his imagination. It had taken him a while to convince himself that you were being honest as well, that you truly wanted him for himself. That when you laughed, it was with him and not at him.

He had finally learnt how to love another, had been willing to ask you if you would be willing to try a relationship. Hoseok had no idea how to be a boyfriend - he had had many names over the millennia but that had never been one. But he had been willing to try for you, to look into how to be the perfect human boyfriend and simply love you as you deserved.

And then he’d found out it had all been a sham. That he had been wrong now and right long ago. He had written off humans as individuals millennia ago, deeming them to be selfish and stubborn creatures who would sell their own mother if it meant it would advance their own agenda. As a society on the whole, they had positives that he could see, but individually they were a menace.

It was simply his need to create and his wish to improve the lives of innocents who suffered and to try and stave off some of the illness that humanity had cursed the planet with that had spurred on his creation of Vulcan Industries. But humans themselves? He had no care for them, as they had regularly rejected him in turn.

It had always been a point of contention between himself and Hades, which had continually baffled him. His best friend, and uncle to get technical, who ruled over the Underworld and regularly saw the very worst that humanity had to offer get thrown into the eternal pits of Tartarus, believed in humans so strongly.

Whenever he’d pointed out the dichotomy, Hades had always shrugged. “For every one human that has done atrocious things that is sent to Tartarus, I watch two innocent humans enter the Fields of Elysium. I see children who do not belong in death and I see elderly who should have never reached the age they did. If I had the time, I would take every bad human and thrown them into the Styx before dumping them into the Acheron for extra measure and then let them make their own way to Tartarus in the Phlegethon. But the vast majority of humanity is not evil, just misguided.”

You had made him think that maybe Hades had been right. Maybe he had been wrong all these years and that there was much to celebrate and rejoice about humanity. And then you had proven him right, in the most painful way possible.

He rubbed his chest slowly, fingers pressing against the soft material of the hoodie before he clawed at it slightly. It felt like he had a gaping hole in his chest, exactly where his heart had once been placed. Lowering his head, he let the now empty bottle of whiskey fall to the floor as he let out a shaky sigh.

Hoseok had carefully, and with much trepidation, given you his heart. It was a big thing, for it was the heart of a god and carried with it much power and blessings. He wished he could say that it was easy for him to snatch it back, but that would be a lie. You still had it, and he wasn’t sure how long you would continue to do so.

Looking around his room with a depressed eye, he felt the inescapable need to just flee. Go somewhere and pretend that this life had never existed. Hoseok needed to go and recoup, come back to himself and try to forget you. He couldn’t do that here, not now.

The house was filled with your memories, from the sound of your laughter in the kitchen as you baked with him to your awe filled gasps in his workshop. Your very presence had seeped into the walls without his permission and it sounded like betrayal.

Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he stared at the dark screen for a moment before pressing it to his forehead firmly. Closing his eyes tightly, he swallowed before finally speaking. “Vulcan, call Hades on speaker.”

Immediately his phone acknowledged his request and soon a dial tone began to call out. He waited with a patience that he was surprised he had, though in reality he was simply beginning to wallow in the despair of his misguided faith and love.

“Holy shit, Heph! Is the world ending or something? I think you’ve still got a way to go before you own it all you know. On that note, dude! What the fuck? Where’s my funky hologram phone. Some best friend you are. Millennia together and you can’t even be fucked to-” The familiar ranting of Hades begins and Hoseok simply listens for a moment, eyes closed before his lips tip up of their own accord. Yes, maybe this was the right choice.

“Hades...I’m sorry, Jimin. I keep forgetting that’s your name now,” He mumbles, rubbing at his eyes tiredly as he sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ll send you one. Or bring you one, if that’s okay?” The words are quiet, much more softer and shyer than he’d intended.

There’s silence on the other end before Jimin is speaking again. “What’s wrong? You don’t sound okay.” At his words, quiet and completely void of any joking or teasing, Hoseok’s eyes fill immediately and he bites his lip to try and stop any noise.

It doesn’t work though, and his voice cracks before a heart wrenching sob leaves his whiskey burned throat. “I did it Jimin. I did what you always said I should.” Blinking rapidly, he tries in vain to stop the gentle trickle of tears down his cheeks.

“...you finally had a six-some with the sea nymphs?” The confused tone to Jimin’s voice makes him laugh, the sound thick with pain. He wasn’t offended, the God of Death had never handled emotions well.

“No, I let a human in. I finally...I mean I...she made me think that maybe you were right. That humans aren’t all terrible and that maybe I was worthy of some happiness finally. But you were wrong. They are, and it turns out I’m not.” Hoseok’s hand wraps around his mouth at that, trying hard to keep his crying silent.

Jimin is quiet before he speaks again, his voice soothing and calming. “I’m sorry Hoseok. Are you okay?” Hoseok lets those words sink into his skin slowly, contemplating what his answer would be as he takes a shaking breath.

“No.” Is all he can manage to gasp out, the word so meek and quiet but he knows that if he tried to be louder then his voice would crack. There’s a couple of seconds of silence, the speaker barely even letting Jimin’s breathing be heard before he finally hears a long, deep sigh.

“You can come here for a while if you want? We bought a new place a few years ago, it’s gated and no one can get in. It’ll give you the privacy and solitude you need right now?” Immediately Hoseok felt a wave of relief wash over him, numbing his frayed nerves in a way that the whiskey never could. “Oh, you can meet my wife too! Finally. I know you’re a bit annoyed at humans but...she’s a good one. I swear. And she knows about us.”

Sighing softly, Hoseok let his phone dangle from his fingertips as he let his head tip forward to rest on his knees. Of course, he remembered that Jimin had gotten married a few years ago. Hades, of all the gods, had finally let himself fall in love. Hoseok remembered sending them some Vulcan stuff and one of his own metalworks to congratulate them.

“That’s okay. As long as she doesn’t, you know. Actually what does it matter. Whatever. I just need to...be away from here.” He whispered, just wanting to leave this damn house and forget the memories before his life imploded on itself.

The remainder of the phone call was simply Jimin agreeing and telling him that he would be expected. Once the call ended, his phone chimed once to let him know that the god had texted him his new home address.

It took Hoseok half an hour to finally convince himself to stand up and get moving, half-heartedly throwing a few clothes into a duffel bag. The garage would be fine for however long was necessary as he had no outside clients currently, only the Vulcan cars. Walking down to the door, he stopped into his workshop for a moment to grab the metal sculpture he’d created a few months ago and thought Jimin might like.

But he freezes in place when he sees the sculpture he’d been working on for a while now, taking the utmost care to make sure every inch of it is perfect and beautiful. A metal rose, so delicate that it looks like it would shatter if it was dropped. He hadn’t finished it yet, the edges of the leaves still sharp where he had yet to smooth them out.

Rage erupts from inside him, the emotion thick and molten like lava and without even thinking he’s gripping the rose head tightly. Muscles strain as he distorts it crumpling it in his heated hands until when he moves away, all that remains is a lump of deformed metal.

Sharp pains radiate from his palm and he looks down, staring at the deep cuts that bleed freely from where the petals had embedded themselves. As he watches, he feels the anger bleed from him with each drop until all he is filled with is despair and hurt, tears of sympathy falling from his eyes.

Turning quickly, he flees the room without even taking the item he’d originally intended, the sheer need to vanish overwhelming him. He threw his duffel bag into the footwell of the passenger seat and turned the ignition, listening to the satisfying rumble of his car. Stretching his fingers over the wheel, he took a deep sigh and willed himself to calm down.

He would be okay, he had to be okay. It had to be okay. Clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut, he focused on breathing slowly. In and out, in and out, just like how you’d shown him how to cope with a panic attack. The thought of you had his eyes filling up again and his next exhale trembled viciously, almost interrupting his calming process.

By the time he was finally feeling stable, fifteen minutes had passed and he let out a sorry sigh. According to the sat nav in his car, it would take 4 hours to drive to Jimin’s place. But maybe that was good, he thought to himself, as it would give him 4 hours to come to terms with everything that had happened to him.

And everything that would happen to him. Was he ready to be outed to the world? No. But he didn’t have a choice now. As he drove along in silence, his mind ran at a million miles a minute. He was terrified of being revealed to the world, yes. Yet he’d come to realise what hurt the most was simply your betrayal, the fact that you’d used him so easily.

Hoseok came to realise, as he drove along the long, isolated road through the vast forest that linked his town to the next, that he was ashamed of how easily he’d let you in. The memories of you made his heart clench in happiness before he felt the sharp pains of hurt dagger their way through. Each memory became tainted suddenly and he found himself viewing every interaction with suspicion.

As he drove, he suddenly had a moment of panic about whether or not you’d filmed last night. Immediately he felt sick and he had to pull over to the side of the road, jumping out and heaving for breaths as he bent over. Even as he struggled to breathe, his mind scolded him for his thoughts.

You were cruel, but he doubted you were that cruel.

Straightening up finally, he took a few fortifying breaths with his eyes closed as he tipped his head back. The forest was quiet and it took him a few moments to realise that it was unusually quiet, the sound of birds were absent and he opened his eyes to look around in confusion.

It was then that he noticed the underbrush was disturbed up ahead, the grass flattened and the clear sign of tyres being the cause. He stared at it, eyes squinting slightly before he began to walk forwards.

There was no reason for a car to come off the road here, the trees of the forest were too thick and frequent to fit a car inside. Not to mentioned the slight dip in land that meant the car probably wouldn’t be able to get back up.

Walking over, he listened to the sound of his boots crunching in the dirt before he finally caught sight of why there were signs of a car. Because there was, and it was currently upside down and smashed forcefully into a tree around 30 feet off the road.

Eyes widening, he started to slide down the slight embankment as he made his way over. There had been no brake marks on the road to indicate that the driver had tried to stop, so there was no surprise that the car had tried to wrap itself around the tree.

“Hello?! Is anyone in there? Are you okay?” He called out, voice loud against the stark quietness of the forest. There was no response from the car and he felt an odd sense of trepidation.

Dried branches cracked underneath his boots as he walked forward, suddenly wishing he’d put on a shirt underneath the damn hoodie when he’d been home. As he got closer to the car, he winced as he saw how completely destroyed the car was. It’s front end was practically non-existent and he wondered how fast they’d been going to cause this much damage.

He glanced at the number plate for a brief second and it was only seconds later that his mind finally translated the upside down plate. Immediately he froze, looking over the car with new eyes as shock numbed his system.

“No, her car is still at the garage. I never fixed the bra..” His voice trails off as horror takes over the numbness, gasping as he rocks back. “I never fixed the brakes.” He breathes out, frowning instantly before he’s sprinting forwards.

Skidding to a halt next to the wreckage, he looks it over desperately while his hand gestures uselessly. Dropping into a squat, he prays to Olympus that some joy rider had just stolen your car. Please, please let it be some idiot, he chants internally.

But his prayers aren’t answered when he ducks down, looking through the shattered drivers window. “Oh god no. No, no, no. Please no.” He whispers desperately, falling forward to his knees and ignoring the glass that pricks at them.

“Hey, Y/N? Hey come on, wake up. Please wake up. Come on sweetheart, wake up for me please.” He calls out, encouraging as his fingers gingerly reach for your throat. There’s blood dripping from your head to the ceiling, which is now the floor, and he notes with a sickening feeling that there’s a good sized pool there already.

He feels a heart beat, slow and sluggish, but a gasp of relief runs through him. “Okay agapi mou, it’ll be okay. I’ll get you out. Stay with me okay?” He speaks, his voice oddly soothing despite the panic running through him.

Looking over the car, he winces when he realises that the engine had been practically destroyed, but the sheer force of hitting the trunk has wedged the dashboard onto your legs. The steering wheel is pressed against your stomach and he hopes that you’re not injured too badly internally.

“Okay, okay Hephaestus. You can do this. It’s fine, you just need to get her out without hurting her.” He has no idea where to start. He can take a car apart if necessary but that’s usually under controlled circumstances; it only takes one look at the door to know that’s not going to open.

Swallowing, he sits confused for a few seconds as his mind frantically works. He’d need an industrial saw to cut through the door and he needs to basically straighten the dashboard out enough so that he can pull you out.

But he doesn’t have that, and he knows that the closest fire station will take half an hour to get here. Taking a quick look at you again, he winces when he sees the constant stream of blood and knows you probably doesn’t have the time it would take to wait. Stripping his hoodie off, he tries to wrap it in a way to stem the blood flow.

Staring at the dented door frame, he takes a deep breath before muttering encouragements to himself. “It’s okay, you’re a god. You can do this, it’s fine. She’s not awake, she won’t know. You can do this. You have to do this,” Swallowing he places a hand on the door frame. “You have to do this or she’ll die.”

He’d been hurt by your actions and you were likely going to ruin his life, but he couldn’t escape the fact that he was in love with you. And the thought of you being gone forever made his chest constrict tightly.

Nodding, he placed his hands on the door frame, fingers squeezing against broken glass and he begins to pull. Groaning out loud, he strains hard as the car begins to creak and complain. An unholy loud sound screams around the silent forest as the metal begins to rip and he curses the fact that you’d chosen an old car instead of a newer one.

Yanking up, he shouts out as he strains desperately against the resisting door. Come on, he thinks internally, grunting at the pressure on his hands. Pausing, he presses his head against the cool metal and takes deep breaths, regulating himself before he’s pulling again.

The door finally gives way, causing him to almost fall backwards from the force but instead he’s simply throwing it to the side. Scanning over the dashboard, he groans softly as he wonders how the hell he’s going to sort this.

Looking back at you, his eyes trace over your delicate features quickly and his stomach twists. You’re paling rapidly and it frightens him, bruises already beginning to blossom on your face while all he can hear is the constant dripping from your head.

“I’ll get you out, I swear.” He whispers before looking at the front again. It’s going to require care, to pull the dashboard off you without causing any further damage. Looking everything over, his eyes flicker to you again before he makes his decision. There’s no other way.

Holding up his hands, he watches as the cuts slowly heal before his golden skin begins to shimmer slightly. As he concentrates, the shimmer turns into a soft glow that gets brighter and brighter until it looks like he’s been lit from within, arms burning a red glow. He desperately hopes you won’t wake up and see this, but it’s more important to simply get you out.

Take hold of the steering wheel, he presses a hand against where it connects to the dash before closing his eyes and hissing out. As he does so, the place he touches begins to bubble and burn until his hand is through the plastic and pressing against the metal connecting the wheel. He grabs hold of it and grinds his teeth together, concentrating to do something that he hasn’t done in millennia.

The dim interior of the broken car lights up as he channels through the power of Olympus, the direct contact he has with the seat of the gods activating and he begs for the power of the mighty volcano hidden inside.

Searing pain races through his arm as the mountain answers, his veins becoming molten lava and his hand heating a temperature that no human could withstand. He would pay for this, with new scars that the volcano would demand from him.

The metal began to heat, turning white hot under his hand and within seconds it was malleable enough for him to pull. Carefully, he removed the steering wheel and placed it outside, making sure that the heated end would not touch the ground and accidentally start a wildfire.

He burned his way through the car, the heated metal peeling apart with ease until finally he could free you without causing further harm. Waiting a few seconds till his arms return to their normal colour, Hoseok gently pulls you out until you are laid on the cool forest ground.

“Agapi mou? Please, please wake up. Please?” His voice cracks as confused emotion runs through him, the hurt and despair from earlier warring with his worry and love for you now. Shaking fingers trace down the side of your face and he notes the new scars on his hands with jaded interest.

There’s nothing from you until he suddenly hears the softest murmur. The reassuring sound has him lowering his head before he’s lifting you up, fully aware that he’s probably doing everything wrong but he’s a mechanic, not a doctor. But you make no noise and he’s moving back to his car, placing you into the bed of his pickup as gently as possible.

“It’ll be okay, I swear.” He whispers, brushing the hair out of your face before he’s darting back into the driver’s seat. The closest hospital is half an hour away and he drives as fast as he possibly can without attracting any attention to himself.

Screeching into the emergency bay, Hoseok is jumping out of the car as quickly as he can before running inside and calling for help. Internally, he praises humanity’s need to heal as immediately nurses and doctors are rushing to his car. As he explains to the nurse at his side what had happened along with the few details he knows about you, he watches intently as they place you onto a stretcher and you’re being whisked off.

Following until they disappear behind some sliding doors, he places a hand on the nurses arm hesitantly. She stops and turns to look at him, concern on her face. “Will she be okay?” He asks softly, voice filled with concern for you.

At his words she gives him a reassuring smile, her own hand coming to rest against his own and patting gently. “Your girlfriend should be fine, the doctors are very good at their job here.”

As his mouth opened to refute the title she’d given you, she quickly runs behind the doors and he’s left to stand on his own. It’s only when he looks down at his hands that he realises he’s shaking violently and everything catches up to him in a rush.

Pressing a palm to the wall, he gasps loudly and bends over as nausea takes over. His mind acknowledges that he’s in shock, even if another part of him is confused as to why he’s experiencing such strong human emotions. Clenching his eyes closed, he takes slow and deep breaths to try and calm himself down while he slowly slides down the wall.

Hoseok has no idea how long he sits there, with a hand pressed to his forehead and his eyes closed. The fire of Olympus is still raging in his veins, hot and demanding that he create but he can’t. For the first time in his long life, he has nothing that he wishes to create. Instead, he lets that fire slowly burn away, ebbing until all that remains when he turns his hand over is a soft glow from his veins.

Watching the slowly dimming light, he sighs heavily and lets his head fall back against the white wall with a thud. He can hear the busy sounds of the hospital all around him; nurses doing their rounds and patients complaining. Part of him wants to leave, to simply get up and walk out of the hospital and never look back. But a meek voice inside his head, so new and fragile yet hiding away from hurt, asked him to stay.

It was this voice that he listened to, hoping desperately that he wasn’t making a terrible mistake and potentially destroying that tiny, delicate hope. Pulling out his phone, he sends a quick text to Jimin to let him know before shifting over to one of the waiting room chairs and settles for what he believes will be a long wait.

“Sir? Sir?” Hoseok wakes with a startle, eyes wide and panicked as he looks around the unfamiliar place and anxiety grips his throat tightly. His mind soon recognises the hospital waiting room and he blinks rapidly, focusing on the blue uniformed nurse in front of him. Her blonde hair is tied back tightly and pink lips turn up into a gentle smile.

“You’re the man who brought Miss Y/L/N in correct?” She asks, noting the name on the clipboard she has in her hand. He nods slowly, sitting straighter at her words and looking around.

“Yes, yes I did. Is she out of surgery? Is she okay?” He peppers her with words, not even caring that he’s not being polite. An urgent need to know how you are is overwhelming him. The nurse gives another smile before nodding, a hand squeezing his shoulder lightly.

“She’s out of surgery now, we’ve placed her into room 201 and are just waiting for her to wake up. You may visit if you’d like?” She gestures down the corridor and he follows her movement, swallowing thickly before nodding and standing.

“The police are likely to want to talk to you later once she’s awake, if that’s okay?” She asks and he simply nods his acknowledgement, giving a tense smile before striding in the direction of your room. Reaching the door, he stands outside and lets out a shaky breath while looking at his feet.

Is he really ready to confront you so soon after what he had discovered? Rubbing his chest slightly, he knew that the wounds you’d caused were still so raw that they were bleeding and he figured that he wasn’t. But he also knew that he couldn’t leave you alone here, not when you had almost died alone.

Pushing open the door, he steps into the room with more than a little reluctance. The soft beeping of a heart monitor is the only noise that can be heard, while you lie on the bed in silence. A thick bandage is wrapped around your head and he notes the casts you wear. One over your left wrist and a second around your left leg up to the knee.

Bandages wrap tightly around your torso underneath the hospital gown, peeking out from underneath. That’s just what he can see too. Tears prick his eyes at the sight of you so broken and he moves the chair to sit next to you, gently taking your free hand in his own.

“I told you that you’d be okay agapi mou, and a god always keeps his word. Or at least I do.” Hoseok whispered, lowering his head to rest against your hand. Underneath the antiseptic and other medicinal smells, he inhales the scent that he’s become so familiar with.

It’s a smell that calms him when he feels his heart race and his breathing quicken, a smell that makes him smile without even realising. It’s a smell that he fell so in love with, and it’s with a trembling breath that he exhales it out.

Tears fall onto the white bedspread, the wet stains the only witness to his emotional breakdown. He’d thought he’d had enough earlier in the day, but it turns out that he was wrong. When it comes to you, he’s not sure he’ll ever get over it.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered brokenly, gripping your hand so tightly the skin ashen with blood loss. “I’m so sorry, I swear I forgot. I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to.” He cries, guilt over the brakes he forgot to fix warring furiously with the heartache he’d suffered before. Hoseok had spent the morning crying over your betrayal and fearing the attention he would soon be given.

But now he cried over the guilt of almost killing you, of how his carelessness and procrastination had almost led to you dying alone in a forest. He’d put off fixing the brakes for so long, hoping that the longer they remained unfixed, the longer you would stay.

Of course, he knows now that it would have had no impact on your decision, but he’d let himself believe. Instead, he’d almost destroyed the thing he loved most in the world, even if that thing had crushed his heart into tiny pieces.

Finally, his tears dry and he simply sits in silence as he performs a quiet watch over you. He answers the questions the police officers ask, carefully dancing around their confusion over the ripped car and simply waits for you to wake.

Hoseok doesn’t know if he’ll forgive you, but he knows that he can’t leave you yet. Maybe he can get some closure from you, maybe his love will sour rapidly into hate. The gods are infamous for their fickle emotions after all.

It’s only because he’s staring intently at your hand, thought rushing through his head, that he notices the slight twitch of your finger. Glancing up to what little of your bruised face he can see, he watches quietly until your eyelids begin to flutter open.

“Y/N, hey agapi mou. Hey it’s okay, you’re okay.” He soothes, running his fingers over your hand as you look around in a panic. “You’re in the hospital. I don’t know if you remember but you were in an accident - your brakes went. I’m so sorry, I really am. The-” He gets cut off by your frown, the tips of your eyebrows just visible under the white bandage.

“Are you a doctor?” Your voice is raspy and his first instinct is to grab the cup of water and straw that had been left on the table next to the bed. It’s only when the plastic cup is in his hand that the words register and he falters, water sloshing over the sides.

“Am I a...doctor?” His own brow creases in a frown as he looks down at you. Automatically, he helps you to drink while his mind tries to compute this information. He may be one of the smartest gods in the pantheon, but right now he can’t quite understand. “No, I’m...I’m not a doctor.” He stutters out.

Coughing delicately, you wince in pain and your free hand rests on your ribs lightly. “Who are you then?” The question is innocent, the look in your eyes wary and he suddenly feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Any air he has is gone, leaving him gasping slightly as ice runs through his veins.

“I’m...I’m...I-” He can’t finish the sentence however, standing up and backing away slowly. Shaking his head, he moves over to the door quickly and tries to breathe as steadily as he can. “I’ll go get...the doctor.” He wheezes out, slipping through the door and closing it quickly. For a few seconds he simply rests against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as he pants for a breath his lungs simply won’t give him.

You don’t remember him. You don’t remember him. Months in the company of one another, playing the slow dance of flirtation around each other and you can’t remember who he is. Flashes of your laptop screen detailing his information appear in his mind and he lets out a laugh that sounds just this side of sane.

He’d spent hours panicking over his identity being revealed and now this had happened. Looking up at the ceiling, he lets out a strained chuckle. “After millennia of ignoring me, are you finally trying to help Moirai? ‘Let’s finally let Hephaestus have a break?’. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.” He finishes, cursing the fates.

A passing nurse gives him a strange look and it’s only then that he realises he’d spoken in Ancient Greek, a language that had died long ago. Giving a tense smile, he informs her that you’d woken before slumping onto one of the uncomfortable chairs lining the hallway.

Sinking his hands into his hair, he tugs lightly while letting out a strained giggle. Even a god has their limits, and right now his mind feels fried from the tennis match of emotions he’d been under. Rubbing his palms over his face, Hoseok vaguely realises that his leg won’t stop shaking and it’s only then that he acknowledges the overwhelming feelings.

Standing, he makes his way to the exit and stands outside, bending over against the wall and engaging some of the breathing exercises you’d taught him. Surely this was a good thing? He could walk away and you’d never be any the wiser. Your laptop had been broken in the car accident, he remembered seeing it smashed on the ceiling.

Hoseok could go back to his quiet and peaceful life without the worry of being unmasked to the world. This could be his escape, the way to calm his panicking mind and soothe his anxious soul. But it came at the cost of truly losing any chance with you.

“Hoseok?” The light voice comes from his side and he looks up in confusion, brow creasing before realising he’s seeing Jimin in front of him. He takes a moment to look over his old friend, noting the blue hair that he’s paired with skin tight black jeans, a black shirt and silver outlined black jacket. Stylish sunglasses hide eyes that glow an ethereal blue, the effect of two gods near each other, and he notes the slight smile on the man’s face.

“Jimin? What are you...how did you?” Hoseok asks, bewilderment running over his face. Jimin’s thick pink lips spread into a sweet smile, spreading over half his face and causing his eyes to crease into tiny half moons.

“You told me you were at the hospital, this is the closest to where you live. I just drove here as quickly as I could. Something’s obviously wrong.” The God of Death states simply, closing his eyes and letting out a long exhale. At his words, Hoseok’s eyes fill once more and he wonders idly if a god could have his dry his eyes out.

Reaching out, he places a firm hand onto the smaller god’s slim shoulder, squeezing tightly as he lets out a trembling breath. He knows how hard this must be for Jimin to be here, one of his passive abilities is to attract those who are about to die without them knowing. A hospital is likely to be one of his least favourite places to visit.

Without a word, Jimin leads him over to one of the benches and Hoseok sits down heavily, head lowering as he lets his arms rest on his thighs. “So...what has got you looking sadder than that time I accidentally took your favourite sculpture.”

At that, Hoseok gives him a slight glare as he remembers that incident thousands of years ago. Immediately, Jimin’s hands are rising as he makes a placating movement with wide eyes. “Hey! Don’t get upset again. It’s not my fault you made it so phallic shaped,” He mumbles, glancing down. “You should consider a Vulcan line for that by the way, I know it wasn’t intended for that but it felt-” Hoseok raises his hand and cuts off the words.

“Please Had-Jimin. Not now. I don’t...I can’t right now.” He deeply, rubbing at his temples with a low groan. Jimin quietens down and turns serious, letting Hoseok have his time to himself for a few minutes. It’s only after a comfortable silence settles that he finally leans forward, trailing his fingers over the new scarring on Hoseok’s hands.

“This is new. I thought you swore that you’d never call on Olympus again?” Jimin’s voice is muted, his emotions carefully caged until Hoseok can’t tell what the god is feeling. Looking down at the new scars that have spread across his hands and wrists, he flexes them before sighing through his nose.

“I also said I’d never fall in love with a human but...here we are.” His voice is so quiet that he’s not even sure Jimin heard him until he notes the older gods clenched fists. “I had to. It was the only way to save her, otherwise you’d be very much aware of who she is right now as she’d be residing in the Underworld.”

“She must be very special to you then. Not only for you to fall for her but to willingly call that.” He gestures to the scarring and Hoseok swallows, thick tears slowly beginning to fall past his lashes as he nods.

“She was. Is. I don’t know,” Looking up, he sniffles and wipes his eyes on his wrists, only just realising that he’s still shirtless and no one even bothered to tell him. As if able to tell, Jimin gently drapes his own jacket over Hoseok’s bare shoulders and patiently waits for the story.

“She was perfect you know? Funny, sweet, kind and so curious. She was interested in my hobbies and smiled at me even when I made an idiot of myself. She taught me how to control my panic attacks and encouraged me to go out more, talk to people more. I was changing, and not just for me but because of her. She made me smile. She made me feel the same happiness I feel when I’m creating and when we’d curl up on the couch watching a movie, I’d feel content for the first time ever.” His voice breaks suddenly, emotion rising up his throat and thickening his words.

“She didn’t stare at me like there was something wrong with me, nor did she ask me to give her things or do things for free. I fell for her. I started to imagine a possible future. She never set off any alarm bells in my head.” Jimin watches him in silence, his expression open and icy eyes locked onto him.

“I was an idiot. No one has ever gotten close to me without wanting something except you, so I should have known. Thousands of years and what possessed me to think this human woman would be any different?” His fists clench tightly as the memory of finding out slashes across his soul.

“What did she do?” Jimin asks, fully aware that you must have done something tragic to hurt his closed-hearted friend so much. Playing with his fingers, Hoseok stalls for time as he mulls over how to explain this.

“She...my identity is worth a lot, right? And humans can never just...keep to themselves. I thought she felt the same way about me and we...you know. It was great, I’ve never felt that kind of emotional connection before. And then I woke up the next morning and accidently hit her coffee table. She had her laptop out and it came to life. I saw her notes.” Licking his lips, he grits his teeth to try and stop the overwhelming emotions from spilling.

“She’d told me she was a writer, that she needed inspiration. Well, I guess she was kind of right. She is a writer...only she’s a journalist and her job was to uncover my identity. She figured it out and she was going to write that article.” Pressing his lips together, he shrugs in a way that doesn’t give away the sadness he feels. “It would have made her career and it would have destroyed everything I’ve worked so hard towards in this persona.”

Jimin heaves a sigh as he slumps back on the bench, toned body relaxing as he runs his fingers through his soft blue strands. “Damn. And in today’s world, you’d have to ‘kill’ yourself and come back in another body huh? And with none of the money that Vulcan gives you.”

Hoseok scoffs at that, rolling his eyes. “As if I care about money. I like this life. It’s quiet and I get to indulge in my inventing and create things that change the world. I like the anonymity while being able to see my work doing good. I like knowing I’m changing lives and the world, why do people need to know who I am? I don’t want to give this up and I don’t want to start a new life.”

Neither of them speak for minutes, letting the idle sounds of cars and ambulances fill up the silence between them and watching as humanity continues on. Every single one of these humans will die one day, and even if Hoseok and Jimin never moved from this spot, they would live on long after the great grandchildren of these people died.

“I understand, but you keep talking about her in past tense.” Jimin finally notes, shifting his body so that one ankle rest against his knee and an arm stretches across the back of the wooden bench. Nodding slowly, Hoseok lets out a long sigh that tells Jimin a lot.

“I got hurt, and angry. And I left. Tried the human thing of trying to get drunk, failed, panicked a bit more and then called you. I was driving to you when I had another panic attack and that was when I noticed…” His voice breaks, the sound loud and suddenly Hoseok is stuffing his fist into his mouth as feelings overwhelm him once more.

Jimin immediately begins to rub his back in slow circles, his touch soothing and comforting until finally Hoseok can breath properly. “Her car. I think she made up an excuse for it, but the brake pads. I never fixed them and she never questioned and then she...she took it and they failed and I found her.” He looks away from Jimin’s concerned gaze.

“She almost died. She would have died alone, bleeding to death in that forest if I hadn’t stopped. But she wouldn’t have crashed if I’d just fixed the brakes. I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do. On the one hand I’m so angry at her and hurt but on the other I’m terrified after watching her bleeding out because of something I did.”

Chewing on his lip, Jimin sits forward again as if he can’t find a comfortable position and nods as Hoseok talks. Once he pauses, he looks towards the blue haired god and waits to see if he has anything to say. Unsurprisingly, the god who has always been more at home with dead souls than with emotions sits in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m angry at her, and I feel deceived and I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. But...I still love her. I love her enough to call on Olympus. I was so prepared to go in there, maybe even talk to her and listen and then the Moirai decided for once in my miserable life to try and help. She doesn’t remember me.” He mumbles, heart clenching painfully as he remembers the blank look in your eyes at the sight of him. Even though he’d wanted nothing more than to never see you again only hours ago, the thought of you not remembering your time together hurt him more than anything you’d done.

“She doesn’t remember who I am, which means she doesn’t remember who I am. Her laptop was destroyed, so everything I was terrified about is gone. I can just leave and she’ll never remember me. I can stay anonymous and no one will ever know why Jung Hoseok is important to the world.” Scowling at his hands, he stands suddenly and begins to pace.

Jimin shifts and when Hoseok looks over, he notes the scowl on the god’s face. Immediately he’s confused, wondering why on earth Jimin is annoyed when it’s him who should be irritated. After querying, he watches as the god removes his sunglasses, running a hand through his hair and letting out the longest exhale.

“Let me get this straight. She’s a journalist working to find out who you are?” Hoseok nods in affirmation. “Did she mention it? Did she send it off? Has the article been written?” Frowning, he thinks back and shakes his head.

“No, her boss had sent her an email this morning demanding that she send an article in about it.” Jimin lets out the loudest groan at shakes his head. Taking a step back, Hoseok’s shoulders hunch slightly as he tries to protect himself subconsciously from Jimin’s annoyance.

“So she hadn’t sent anything. And I’m going to presume she’s probably known for a little while, figuring everything out. So who’s to say she was going to send it in? The way you talk about her, I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like that. And you keep yourself so closed off to the world, I can’t see how she truly means you harm. Did she ever do anything suspicious? Did you find her anywhere?

Hoseok shakes his head slowly. “Did she ever ask weird questions about you or Vulcan?” Another shake. “I know it might be hard for you to consider, and believe me I’m not trying to undermine your hurt or anger here, but maybe she loves you just as much as you love her. Journalists have some integrity, and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t sleep with you if she planned to expose you. There’s no reason for her to do that, unless she’s the world’s worst person and what you’ve told me doesn’t match that.”

Looking away from his old friend, Hoseok focuses his gaze on an ambulance that speeds into the emergency bay. As he watches, the back doors slam open and the paramedics begin to push out the stricken human on a stretcher, nurses and doctors surrounding as medical talk begins to be fired between them all.

“I know, I know that it’s hard for you to think this. I know you’ve always given to the humans and only received mistrust and hate back, but just this once, do you think you could look past that and maybe give her the benefit of the doubt?” There’s something in Jimin’s voice that makes Hoseok frown, turning back and letting his eyes trace over his figure.

Normally so boisterous and outgoing, the god is tense and unhappiness radiates from him as he twitches his foot. “What’s wrong with you? Why is this bothering you so much? Shouldn’t you be more upset for me that she lied?” Hoseok asks, tone curious and tentative as he begins to navigate the treacherous waters of Jimin’s infamous temper.

Perfectly white teeth chew his pink lips before he’s blowing out a sigh, cheeks swelling and making him look far more adorable than the God of the Underworld should. “I should be, and i am upset for you. I really am. But I’m angry with you too.”

At that, Hoseok steps back in shock and his hand immediately raises to his chest in a protective move. Blinking in surprise, he lets that statement settle between them until all that can be heard is the general lifeblood of a hospital.

“Why?”

“Because...because you finally opened up to someone and found her worth loving. And now you’re just going to throw her away because of a stupid mistake?” The words have a hissing tone to them and Jimin’s fists clench slightly.

“A mistake? She was going to expose me to the world! I’d have lost everything, you know I can’t cope with that attention!” He exclaims loudly, arms gesturing wildly as disbelief rolls through his body.

“Who. Cares?! You’re a fucking god Hephaestus! You’ve lived hundreds of human lives and you’ll live hundreds more. So she almost exposed you as a freaking CEO, who cares? You could have just asked her not to, or seen what she was going to do with it. And if she did it anyway, then you’d know that it wasn’t worth it. But even if she did, you can more than rebuild your life. You always do, that’s what you do. You build things.” The slighter god stands suddenly, arms flexing underneath his t-shirt as he points to the hospital.

“You have the chance for real happiness in there Heph, real fucking love and happiness. Olympus, the way you talked about her and the smile you got. I’ve never seen that on you. She’s a risk, I get that, but I’ve discovered over the past ten years that sometimes the best things are the riskiest.” Jimin clenches his teeth suddenly, looking firmly at the ground.

“I will never forgive our family for what they’ve done to us. They convinced both of us that we were unworthy of love. That love wasn’t for the God of Death or a scarred god, that we should just spend our lives alone, hidden away from sight. I hate that they got into our heads so much, and made us think we are so unworthy of being loved. But we are.” His hands come to rest on Hoseok’s shoulders, squeezing tightly while his eyes shine with sincere emotion.

“You are worthy of being loved Hephaestus.” Hoseok had been prepared to be angry with Jimin once he’d started his tirade, confused as to why he didn’t seem to be bothered by the prospect of you revealing who he was. But the final words have his throat closing up as his eyes swell with tears, an emotional punch that cracks through thousands of years worth of hidden hurt.

“But...the article.” He mumbles, trying really hard not to cry for what feels like the thousandth time today. Jimin lets out a tired laugh and simply places his hands on either side of Hoseok’s jaw, lifting up gently and giving a twisted smile.

“We’ve all made mistakes in our lives, and as gods we’ve made more than a few. Ones which were definitely worse than this. Think deeply, is the prospect of her potentially revealing your identity enough to stop you from loving her?” He’s quiet for a moment before his head is shaking, black hair falling into his eyes as he answers honestly.

“I love her so much. I didn’t even know it was possible, which is why it hurts so much.” Hoseok whispers, voice barely heard above the blare of a siren in the distance. At that, he’s tugged into a hug and the two just stand in silence for a few minutes.

“If there’s one thing I’ve discovered in ten years, it’s that love is possibly the scariest thing you’ll ever do, even as a god. And it also hurts in ways you didn’t even realise were possible, but it’s so rewarding. I swear. If it goes well, then you’ll never be happier than you are when she’s with you.” Moving away and sitting back on the bench, Hoseok chuffs out a laugh at Jimin’s tangent.

“You sound very much in love Hades. Careful, or I’ll start teasing.” The death god just smiles brightly, his eyes closing as he obviously thinks of his wife given the wedding ring he keeps twisting around his finger.

“I am. And if it turns out she isn’t going to do anything, then I will never forgive you if you don’t hold her tight and love her as much as you can.” His eyes open and Hoseok shivers slightly, the fires of the Underworld glowing fiercely in Jimin’s glacial gaze. “You have no idea what a gift you have, the opportunity the Moirai have blessed you with.”

And now it’s Jimin’s turn to sound choked, his cold eyes filling with unshed tears as he looks down at the ring he plays with. Hoseok hesitates at the sudden emotion before softly querying what Jimin means.

He takes his time to answer, throat working as he swallows thickly before giving a sad smile. “You’re one of the few gods who can give a human immortality. If everything works out well for you, then you can keep her young and love her forever.” A tear escapes its dam and slowly trickles down Jimin’s face.

“I love my wife, I love her so much it terrifies me. And it terrifies me because each day I wake up and each day I see time on her face. Each line and each grey hair is a visual reminder that she’s going to die one day and I’m not. I’d give anything to be in your position, anything.” A sad silence takes over while Hoseok rubs Jimin’s back comfortingly, unsure what to say that could possibly soothe the hurt.

“So if you decide to forgive her and go for it, then I want you to love her so much. I want you to hold onto her tightly and tell her that you love her, and if you turn her immortal then I want you to appreciate the gift you have forever. If you don’t, I’ll never forgive you.” He gives a tremulous smile and Hoseok’s heart clenches, wishing desperately that he could help his best friend.

Squeezing his shoulder tightly, Hoseok stays quiet in understanding for a few moments as they both sit amidst the frantic nature of humanity. “I’m sorry Hades. Really. I am. But I hope you enjoy every moment with her.”

Jimin sighs at that and stands, ruffling Hoseok’s hair with a tired smile. “It’s Jimin now, remember? And I do. Just like I hope you’ll choose right.” At that, he says his goodbyes and lets Hoseok know that his door is always open before leaving.

Hoseok heads back inside and stands outside your door for a few minutes, simply staring at the white paint as he inhales deeply before letting it out slowly. He has a choice he can make here. A choice that could change everything.

He could run away and pretend this never happened. Or he could love you, despite what might come.

Opening the door, he heads inside and sits down at the empty chair next to your bed. You’re awake, and watching him with curious eyes that are tired and doped up on just a little pain medication.

“You’re back.” You mumble, jaw barely moving as the words practically slur out of you. He watches for a moment, eyes tracking over your face that is still so heart wrenchingly beautiful even when bruised before smiling.

“Yeah. I am.”

“The doctors said you brought me in. That we know each other?” Your voice is inquisitive, with threads of frustration interwoven that you can’t remember him. His lips quirk up slightly as he nods, tentatively reaching for your hand and running his fingers along the smooth skin.

“Yeah, I did. And we do. My name is Jung Hoseok,” He pauses for a moment, wondering whether he should go all in before squaring his shoulders. “And I’m in love with you.”

The doctors and nurses work out a plan with Hoseok when he informs them of his relationship with you, and he takes on the role of almost caretaker. Your memory loss is deemed to likely be temporary amnesia from hitting your head so hard, and they suggest that your memories are likely to come back on their own slowly.

It makes Hoseok’s stomach churn to think about you remembering who he is properly, but he makes no mention of it. Jimin’s words filter through his mind constantly, and he eventually comes to terms with the fact that he had been just as bad as you.

If anything, he was even worse as he was hiding two entire personalities from you.

One thing he does discover while you remain in the hospital is aspects of your personality that he’d never seen before that come to the forefront, including the shy and cute personas that appear along stubborn exasperation. You’ve always remained mature and almost professional with him, but vulnerable as you are, an almost childlike petulance emerges.

Refusing to eat certain foods and whining for other things, he should find it annoying but instead he finds it cute. It’s understandable though, given your frustration at being stuck inside the hospital. But what he enjoys most are the moments when you begin to remember who he is.

He has nothing to really show you to try and trigger your memories as there are no pictures of you both, so instead he brings in some of the smaller metal sculptures he’d made that you’d admired. Every time, you’d stared at them so intently before giving him a simple smile.

“Pretty.” You would murmur, tracing your fingers along the edges. But then you began to mention things that one of you had said during your many times together, whether it was a funny comment Hoseok had made or a casual observation that only the two of you would know.

And each time, his heart would clench before soaring, happy that you remembered some part of him. Because he had slowly worked through his pain and hurt until he realised that he didn’t want to be forgotten by you.

You’re finally allowed to go home two weeks after you entered the hospital, and he has to bring you back to his house as your apartment as already been rented out again. Due to the cast on your leg, he has to work quickly to turn the living room into a makeshift bedroom to which you thank him profusely and with much embarrassment.

He doesn’t care though, and enjoys his time caring for you more than he thought he would realise. And even if you can’t remember why he sometimes looked at you with pain filled eyes, he finds it cathartic to work through his hurt and anger until all that’s left are smouldering ashes.

As the weeks continuously pass though, you remember more and more and he begins to feel happier and more comfortable around you. Until one night though, when you’re both laid on the bed watching the large television screen as Breaking Bad plays. His hand is slowly drawing patterns on your uninjured arm, but he stops immediately when you suddenly speak.

“I deleted the files.” For a moment, he doesn’t understand until the memory comes back and he looks at you in a combination of fear and shock. Your gaze is somber on his, face carefully blank before you try to give him a trembling smile.

“I didn’t send anything. As soon as you’d gone, I deleted everything. I swear. No one will find out.” He stays quiet for a moment as the pain of your betrayal hits him once more, but its softer this time and a little muted. “I remembered it a few days ago, but I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Rubbing at his chest, he frowns slightly at the ghost of the pain he’d felt at that time before glancing back to you. “Why? You could have made your career with that.” It’s stupid of him to ask, but the knowledge that you won’t reveal him has his heart singing, even if his stomach sinks at the thought of what is likely your impending job loss.

A soft laugh leaves you, wincing slightly as your still sore ribs complain before shifting so that you face him better. “And I would have hurt you beyond belief. I couldn’t do that. I’d decided as soon as I found out that I would never reveal it. What kind of person willingly destroys the person they love?”

Your words make him freeze before he’s carefully looking up at you. “Love?”

Smiling, you bring up your hand to cup his cheek and stroke at the scar tissue fondly. “How could I not love you Jung Hoseok? You’re perfect, and I could never make you unhappy. I mean, you’re so...kind,” Your voice cracks as tears form. “I mean look at you, you’ve spent weeks caring for me, even knowing that I could possibly ruin everything.”

He shakes his head at that, grabbing your wrist while he shifts his head to press a kiss to your soft palm. “I stayed and cared, because what kind of person willingly lets the person they love suffer on their own?”

The words are careful and slow, his tone barely heard but you hear them all the same. Heart stopping, you look at him with wide eyes as he stares back with such fondness in them. “I love you enough, to stay even though you could hurt me. Because you’re something so special, that I’ve never experienced it in my long life and for once, I want to.”

His unusual words should have you frowning, confused about the phrasing but slowly your lips simply quirk upwards as you remember something else. Looking down at his arms, you slowly trace over the new scars that have appeared before giving him a quirked brow.

“Do those strange words have anything to do with these scars magically appearing?” Hoseok freezes at that, as he’d come to terms with you knowing who he was in terms of Vulcan but this is something else entirely. How can he explain this without sounding crazy?

“Err….well.” He starts but you interrupt him, flicking your eyes back to his unusual ones with curiosity deep set.

“I don’t remember much about the accident. I don’t remember coming off the road, or hitting the tree. I don’t remember you arriving. But...I do remember a few things that I thought were just weird, dream hallucinations.” He stays quiet, tongue nervously licking at his lips as he simply waits for you to continue.

“You called yourself Hephaestus. Which was odd. But then you...ripped the door off? And then...you were glowing? Like...so bright, it was like looking at molten metal. And it got so hot, and you...practically peeled the car apart? And when you stopped...you stopped shining and these scars were burning bright. What was that?” Your face is an expression of befuddlement, with your brows practically meeting in the middle.

Hoseok’s mind works frantically, wondering how he can explain this before his shoulders slump. Jimin’s wife knew, maybe you’d react well to his frankly, ridiculous statement?

“Remember when I said I grew up with mountains? Well they were the mountains of Greece. And...I’m not 36. I don’t actually know old I am, just that it’s a good few thousand years. You’ve probably heard of my family, they’re pretty infamous worldwide though they’re nothing like that Disney Hercules film.” Your eyes widen at his words as he doesn’t dissuade your ridiculous comments and you stare at him.

“Seriously?”

He laughs slightly, the sound a little manic as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve had many names throughout history. You might recognise some of them, but the two people know the most are Vulcan and Hephaestus. It might make some things make sense to you now.”

It feels almost good, to reveal himself so freely, knowing that there will truly be no secrets left between the two of you.

You gawp at him for a few moments before twisting into a position to stare at him, grimacing at the slight sensation of pain. “No fucking way. You’re saying you’re a Greek god?”

Immediately, flashes of the strange things about him run through your mind. His unusual eyes that often seemed to glow, the strange way he seemed to be lit from within when he orgasmed, the way metal worked so easily under his hands, the strange language he swore in and the fact he was so otherwordly beautiful.

“Yeah, I am. I wasn’t 15 when I made Vulcan, I just wanted to help. But I didn’t want the spotlight, I never have. I’ve always been hidden in the shadows, and that’s where I wanted to stay. These scars, come from when I called on the fires of Mount Olympus to create things for the gods. They’ll never heal.” You look down at his scars with your new knowledge.

“Wait...you did this...for me?” Reaching forward, your grasp his wrist gently to get a closer look. He sighs deeply before nodding. “Why?”

Smiling sweetly at you, you realise that you believe him. Hoseok has never outright lied to you, he just subtly shifted things around and hid them because they were too hard or unbelievable to explain. But he’d never lied properly. So why would he lie now?

“Because I love you. And I had the power to save you. It hurt, but the thought of you being gone forever hurt more,” He leans forward to press his forehead against yours, lips quirking slightly. “I forgive you for lying. Because I lied far worse, and it was a form of lying even if it would have been outrageous to explain. But just know, you have the heart of a god in your hands. Be gentle please, no one has ever had it before.”

Bringing your fingertips up to his cheeks, you grin brightly as tears slowly fall. You haven’t yet come to terms with everything that’s happened, and there’s no doubt going to be growing pains in your relationship with how fast everything has moved now, but for now you simply marvel at him.

“I’ll be gentle and loving. I swear. I don’t know how to love a god, but I’ll try for you. It doesn’t excuse you from leaving the toilet seat up though.” He grins so bright at that, his happiness overwhelming his senses and you watch with awe as his skin begins to brighten, glowing a soft gold from his emotions and it’s awe-inspiring to realise he really is a god.

“Sounds fair.” He doesn’t bother saying anything else though as he captures your lips with his own, hand cupping the back of your head as he feels a sense of contentment and bliss that he’s never felt before. But one he hopes to spend the rest of his long life feeling.

Epilogue

“Parcel for you Jimin.” His manager dumps a mailbox on the table in front of him, distracting his attention away from his phone as he reads the text from Hoseok telling him that everything is going to be fine in his friend’s relationships.

Smiling brightly, he exhales slowly as happiness bubbles for the fact that Hoseok was pushing past his comfort zone before bitterness slithers through his veins at the knowledge he’ll get forever with his love. Shaking his head, Jimin tries to ignore the feeling and instead focuses on the box in front of him.

There’s no return address on it, and he notes with confusion that there’s no delivery address either, just his name. It’s not until he sees the winged helmet stamp in the corner that he realises and he snorts, wondering how much pride Hoseok had to swallow to find Hermes.

The only reason he knows it’s from Hoseok is because of the anvil stamp in the corner, the symbol of the metalworking god. Tugging open the box, he looks inside and pushes away the packing chips until he finds an elegant, mahogany box.

Placing it onto his lap, he takes the accompanying letter and unfolds it with interest, noting the elegant handwriting that’s written in the god form of Ancient Greek. Unreadable to humans.

Hades,

Thank you. I can’t ever express my appreciation to you but I hope this will suffice.

Have her take one every month on the first. There is one for each month of the year.

I wish you both a long, and happy life.

Your friend,

Hephaestus

Jimin’s hands are shaking by the time he finishes reading and he lets the letter drop slowly as he stares at the box in awe. Opening the lid slowly, he bites his lip to try and stop the tears from falling as he sees the twelve pomegranate seeds carefully placed inside.

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