#eastern lament

[rapha-reads]

I have got to stop watching cdramas*, they're giving me unrealistic expectations of love.

And as an aromantic already going around constantly feeling aro grief, this isn't helping.

(*can't stop, won't stop)

[thethirdbear]

[tetrameryxx]

Fireflies are the cardinals of insects

[dirt-grub]

In another life I would’ve been happy just being a farm boy with you

[kaszuma]

Aera Perennius | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 7 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: soshiro was never one to raise his voice at anyone. But the one time he did, it was because he almost lost you for good.

warnings: Slight Kn8 Manga Spoilers, Description of Pain / Injuries / Hospitalizations, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Arguments, Cursing, Slight mention of self-harm

wc: 9,793

–

note: I finiahed it earlier than anticipated so here you go-- I had such a difficult time writing this because I've been so busy. There were so many changes and the original draft had been scrapped so many times that it almost made me want to give up and start over. But lucky I didn't or I would've not updated in time. So, yay!

English is hard haha and sometimes it hates me and just doesn't make sense when I read it in my mind versus when I read it outloud. Anyways I will be doing slower updates, so no definitive dates nor titles for the next parts yet. But Part 8 and 9 will be back-to-back spicy NSFW stuff (courtesy of reaching 200 Followers. Thank you lots by the way), So stay tuned!! This is not proofread. So if I missed any warnings feel free to tell me. 🫶

–

Sleep had come naturally to you.

The sound of rapid footsteps and muffled yelling had all but faded into the distance as mere whispers against your ears.

Such rapidness did not seem to fit the silence of what had initially surrounded you. The sudden weight of your own body being dragged left and right until your vision blurs. The stark darkness of city skylines transformed into the unnatural shine of the hospital's fluorescent lights; one that made it hard to pick people's silhouettes apart.

And as such, it reminds you of the distant past.

One that was filled with vast open fields, very unlike the corporate labs you had been accustomed with. A stark contrast to the very corners of Japan, in the countryside where your grandparents had established a simple life for themselves. Filled to the brim with rice crops and summer cicadas.

And it makes you reminisce about the short time you'd spend there. On the cool nights after your summer school days would inevitably end. And you'd be dragged to a summer house where cousins and relatives had doted on you.

Such a homeward bound place was a far cry to the bustling streets of Tokyo's Eastern divisions. Which had often been endowed with the familiar cries of loud music and the steady rumbles of heavy railways underneath you.

One that Kaiju had lamented no peace from.

Even in the midst of high-story buildings where your workplace had boasted the use of sound proof walls. The cityscapes nearest Izumo Tech Corporation could not even be muzzled by its titanium doors, of which Japan's Top Secret Bioweapons had been kept. Schematics and all.

You had grown used to such a taciturn work environment.

Your existence is thrown into the small bubble of your private lab. Segregated from your coworker who valued work over social relations. And you had been much the same.

You and the rest of the technicians were far too focused on your projects. Tinkering away at the prototype suits that the company had sent your way. A partnership between your parent company and Japan’s Defense Force. A task of which you and a few others had been selected to create and maintain.

And how lucky you had been, to land yourself a snug spot in the notoriety of the Third Division's wake. The very same division that had boasted the least amount of casualties in the case of a large-scale Kaiju attack.

The very same division where Mina Ashiro had led and mounted into victory.

And you'd consider yourself lucky to have known such an amazing person in this lifetime.

For fate to have led her to you, you'd assume you've somehow accumulated some sort of good karma in your past life. The reward to you had been fresh in this new one. An action that had garnered some godly being to bestow upon you a chance to meet your soulmate.

You'd be remiss with disappointment if you hadn't met Soshiro Hoshina in this lifetime.

But prior to that. Before Ashiro had recruited you into her division, you had little to no contact with the officers on-field. Delegated to the simple task of sending blueprints in and out of Tachikawa's base should the time arise; begrudgingly in the early mornings of every month too.

Back then, you had befriended a bespectacled girl named Okonogi. Who wore a slightly bigger uniform than the rest of the recruits. A quirk of hers which you found rather amusing. She, who wholeheartedly believed she might still grow into the uniform that was two sizes too bigger than what was recommended of her.

And you had remembered the day you had met her too.

It was another typical day in your routine. Delivering notes to Captain Ashiro in and out of bases. Though this time, you had decided upon taking a detour. Seeing the empty spaces of the mess hall which granted you an opportune moment of grabbing some coffee.

And such a detour had led you upon the bespectacled girl. Your documents slipping from your very fingertips. And your other hand, which held the coffee mind you. Accidentally toppling over. Spilling the liquid against her pristine ivory lab coat. Staining it.

Lucky it had not been hot, or else that could've been an accident in the making.

“I am… so sorry about that.” Your eye catches the glimpse of her nametag, stained with a bit of caffeine. Okonogi was what it read. And you were already pulling out a handkerchief from your pocket. Intent on correcting the mistake you made.

“No, it's okay. Really.”

The sincerity in her voice made you visibly flinch. And you had half a mind to just shove her your wallet, a chance given to compensate her for the coat you ruined. But the look on her eyes was determined. Abrupt in the way she had declined you.

“Are you sure? Money shouldn't be a problem. I can definitely get you a better coat within the day..” You spoke with much guilt. And yet she insisted.

“No need, really! It's just a stain. Nothing a bit of bleach can't handle.” She moves lower with a smile, one hand tucked behind her knees as she tries to pick up the few folders scattered on the ground.

“-Lucky it didn't hit the documents! Or the Director would definitely have our heads for it.” Okonogi had surprisingly jested your way. And a small laugh bubbles between the two of you in turn. As if you had known each other for quite some time now.

“I suppose so.” You had spoken between giggles. The sentiment shared between the two had all but eased the tension of the room.

And the brunette had gingerly handed you the pile of documents that had been untarnished. Though, one in particular catches her trained eye.

It was a simple list of materials used for the next batch of combat suits to-be-made. Or at least, that was the pitch you had planned to present today. In the hopes that Mina Ashiro would give it enough attention and send it to command for a much more direct approval.

And Okonogi, who was a newbie at the time. Had known all too well of the budding genius you had been. A technician far too enraptured in improving Combat Suits and weapons catering for strange combat. One that did not conform to the normalcy of firearms which had modernized the era.

And it seems one of your papers in particular had caught her attention. Like a hammer against glass.

It was a series of notes and drawings involving bronze wires that resembled the muscle groups of a Kaiju's inner workings. All built into the combat suit that had been Izumo Tech's symbolic masterpiece.

And its Kaiju plating was as amazing as it was unconventional. Built to last no doubt in the wake of an ever evolving organization.

Okonogi could not help but stare at it. Admiring the artistry and engineering involved in such a concept.

“An idea of yours?” She asks. And you nod in turn. Surprised by the way she did not immediately question the schematics.

Normally you'd be met with strange looks. One that questioned the very ethics of your research for involving Kaiju parts into the combat suits.

But the Defense Force had long since been converting strong Kaiju into weaponry. And applying the same sentiments to a combat suit, should be no different. “That's right.”

“I was hoping to improve the current designs of the Combat Suits.” You admitted. “If it succeeds, it might help our soldiers a lot more. Survivability wise..I mean.”

And Okonogi smiles at this. A layer of irony mixed in with the few laughs that bubbled within her chest.

She knew how fragile lives can be. Especially in their line of work where they had faced massive enemies almost on a daily basis. And a battle of attrition against such monsters? It was never a pretty picture.

But still, it had been a rare sight to see one so dedicated with quality of life improvements. And it was as if Okonogi knew that she'd be able to trust you with such a task.

“Glad to see you working on it! People have been volunteering less and less these days. But if we had better tech, I'm sure our members would increase by a large margin.”

Her assurance made you nod. Already taking the paper from her hands and delicately sliding it back to the rest of the folders you held. Carefully standing as the both of you had come to smile at each other.

“If there's a chance it can save lives. There's no harm in trying. It's just a part of the job.”

“There's definitely a truth in that.” Okonogi remained positive with a dip to her head. Making her rimmed glasses slide gently from the bridge of her nose. A tilt in her head as she next spoke.

“-But, why use bronze by the way? Wouldn't steel or alloy be a better alternative?”

You had looked over to the notes peeking from your file. And a smile is etched on the very corner of your lips. Complacent in the way you had so easily looked at her, as if you knew something she did not.

“There's a saying you see.”

Okonogi tilts her head upward. Who had finally moved to fixate her gaze to you. Eyes meeting with the absolute tenacity and confidence at your craft. “...a saying?”

You nod. “They say that some people should seek things that are more lasting than bronze.”

“Does bronze not last very long?”

“Oh it does. But even in metals, people try to find something much better right?” Okonogi who had paused to think about your words. Had only nodded in turn. Your sentiment was a much more refreshing and positive take than she had imagined it to be.

“I intend to find that material. One that would make a monument more lasting than the lives we lost.”

And Okonogi’s breath hitches. And you had looked her in the eye, with a determination she was sure would last you a lifetime. “Even if that means I have to dissect a Kaiju and use its very skin as armor.”

A bit morbid for her take. But still, she couldn't help but admire your tenacity. It was the same sentiment she'd see with the soldiers. And somehow, it reminds her of a certain someone who was all smiles despite wielding a blade.

“I suppose most Kaiju do have a layer of tough skin..” She jested. And your shoulders shake with a bubbling smile. The start of a silly friendship perhaps, where Soshiro's eyes would soon flicker your way.

And somehow things just started to click into place.

You didn't know if it was fate. Had it been Okonogi or Mina Ashiro that led you to him. But it wasn't until a few weeks later, you had found yourself responsible for the Third's technical division. Overseeing much of the repairs and weapon upgrades needed for Kaiju slaying. And it was in that very same division where you had grown much closer to him.

A strange recruit, scouted from the Kansai district. Where Captain Ashiro had particularly shown a keen interest in. His skill in the blade had been incomparable to his peers. And although he boasted the highest individual body-count when it came to handling melee pursuits. You had once thought him stupid for sticking to a fighting technique that had long since aged from the existence of firearms.

But how wrong you had been in judging him for that.

Okonogi often reminded you not to be too harsh on him whenever the two of you had just so happened to meet. Jesting that you two would've made a stellar couple, had you both given each other a chance. And although you've denied such things a few times before, Soshiro would always take a glance at you as if reading the expressions on your face. Thoroughly investigating the subtle expressions you wore that would've reached his conclusion.

And each time after that, he too would answer for you. A denial. A white lie.

And Okonogi always saw through it of course. She had been there since the beginning. Serving cupid for the both of you.

And when she can, she had always been peppy in her step. Pushing the both of you in a particular direction. Waiting for one of you to make a move. Calculated like masters playing chess on a board. By far you two had been hopeless. If it wasn’t for Okonogi’s encouragement, Soshiro wouldn’t have thought to visit you between breaks. And how lucky you had been to have the girl pry him out of his skittish shell.

It’s a wonder you two had gotten together like this.

You had rarely seen the girl frown or be frustrated over anything. Let alone your own bite when it comes to Soshiro's mixed signals.

So it had been a sudden whiplash, seeing her so frightened above you. Her voice had been unusually drawled and shaky as she repeated your name. Trying to keep you awake despite the far off look you had in the depths of your irises.

Wait.

Why was it so blurry all of a sudden?

Where were you again?

Right.

You were injured. And from the look on her face, it was probably worse than you had realized. The trickle of an unfamiliar liquid slid down your forehead to the very height of your cheek. Where you could’ve sworn a clawed hand had been there to comfort you.

Larger than your own, and definitely plated with armor. Gently grazing the very skin of your cheek.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

It's starting to hurt. The pain on your lower back had suddenly hit you like a metric ton of weighted bricks. Like something jagged and sharp had punctured through you. A result from a bad fall.

“Sweetheart. Keep yer’ eyes open alright?”

You heard a deep rumble from the side. And your eyes pried away from Okonogi's disturbed features. Suddenly enamored by the wine red irises that looked at you as if you had gone through hell and back.

Had it really been that bad?

Last you checked, you were narrowly able to escape Kaiju's attacks. The flashes of its flaky features had encompassed your mind’s eye. And the ground below you had bellowed like a monster’s mouth. Suddenly ripping open as a shockwave had violently lifted you from your feet.

And like a leaf on a windy day, you were blown to the side. Crashing harshly against the window of a boutique. A stray shard puncturing your lower back to the point of near paralysis. And it leaves you barely conscious to see the not so lucky victims that tried to escape the Kaiju.

One group in particular had been crushed by the rubble of a building. And somehow the scent of blood and bones was enough to knock you out cold. Their downfall would’ve made you vomit, had you not been injured and too dizzy to think about it all.

And as morbid as it sounded, you had been fortunate enough to have only been thrown aside. Sacked into a world of pain which had reminded you that you were very much alive. It had been a miracle that Soshiro found you when he did. Despite the slight sprain on his ankle and the sores he felt in the muscles of his arms. He forced himself to run. Empowered to meet with you, ushered by the help of Number 10’s powers.

And like clockwork he was led straight to you. The fears he had once buried deep in the back of his brain had all came flooding through.

And he didn’t know what to do.

…

You heard a few voices then.

Although it was barely comprehensible, you could make out a few distinct ones from the array of shouts. Your name in particular was whispered in a prayer. Begging you not to fall asleep despite the odd temptation to. And sure enough, the back and forth argument you heard between two figures was enough to keep your mind and heart racing with urgency. The look between Okonogi and Soshiro’s face had all been so different than usual that it frightens you so.

But despite the noise, despite the shouting. You heard him in clear daylight. Like it had been the only voice in the room. Isolated from the rest who had rushed in a frenzy.

“I got ya’ alright? I’m here baby. I’m right here.”

His reassurances had blanked when his voice cracked. Desperate like he had been ready to cry. The way your name had escaped his lips was almost hesitant. As if he didn't deserve to call you out. And you wanted to stop him before his thoughts could drift further. But your voice had failed you when you needed it most. A soft cry escaping your lips instead.

I'm okay.

I'm here.

I'm alive.

All of that died the moment it tried to leave your throat. And without those very words. Soshiro's face was left to contort. As if he were the one in pain instead of you. And how he'd wished that were the case.

“Let me through!”

You heard him scream. And your eyes had focused just enough to see Okonogi and a few nurses blocking his pathway to you. Desperately trying to push past them despite the grievances.

The sight had been a blur.

One second your vision was fine. The next you had felt the telltale signs of drowsiness hit you. And you feel the way the pain medication had started to kick in when your eyes had isolated itself from the world. Your body’s exhaustion hits you squarely on the chest down to your very toes. And when you had been dragged to the next room over. Soshiro had been the last face you had seen before separation. Sleep pulling you over until your breath is taken from you in that instance.

Your name had been the only thing Soshiro could say afterwards.

“I said let me through–That's an order from your Superior Officer, Okonogi.” Soshiro had warned her. Voice uncharacteristically deep when issuing an order. It was normally never used in this way. Such a tone was only ever used to command Number 10 when he had been too stubborn to listen.

But the bespectacled girl knew better than to fan the flame. And in retrospect, she out of anyone would understand his frustrations the most. Yet she stood her ground. Gently shaking her head at her heated friend.

“Vice Captain.” Okonogi started. Hands already raised to try and calm him down. And she could see it in his eyes; the way it subconsciously followed the rolling bed they had put you in.

Dragging your bed into another room where only the best medical practitioners had worked on you. And yet despite that, he couldn't find it in himself to sit still. His gut sinking at the mere thought of you getting worse than when he had already found you in. And he was willing to bet Weapons 10 had all but read the blatant emotions he displayed on his sleeve. With or without having to delve into his mind.

He was in utter ruin just from your condition.

“-Please understand. You cannot, in under any circumstances enter the surgery room, sir.”

“To hell with that!”

The scream had made Okonogi frown. And Soshiro had half a mind to push past the smaller woman. And rush forward with Number 10's help. But he stopped midway. Reminding himself that his suit could go on a rampage at any time. And right now, he did not want to expose Okonogi and a handful of civilians to Number 10's war-ridden desires. His deep baritones had instead vanished for more firm ones. Unlike the resentment from prior. Oddly curt in his delivery.

“Move. Or I’ll do somethin’ drastic.” He steps forward.

A threat is a threat, and he hoped that would at least be enough to convince the bespectacled girl to move. Yet Okonogi had known him for far too long to actually perceive it as one. And she looks unfazed by his words.

“Sir please.” She pleaded. “It'll only worry you more.”

Her voice was gentle. Understanding even. It almost reminded him of the way you speak at times. Stern but with a hint of softness when it came to his stubbornness. And how he wished it was you he was talking to right now.

“Just please try to calm down. We should get your own wounds treated first and then we can-”

“Fuck no. I'm going in there and-”

“Hoshina.” The stern voice of their Captain had made them both flinch. And the heavy cleats of Mina Ashiro'a footsteps had gotten louder as she had made her way closer to the two.

“Captain Ashiro.” Soshiro had spoken with a much more leveled tone than he did earlier. Hand raising into a salute as the rest followed suit. Though even in his greeting, his frustrations had still been made entirely clear. And he was more than willing to face insubordination just to get to you. But Mina was one step ahead of him.

“Hoshina. You’re causing a disturbance and deliberately disrupting the medical wing from doing their job--I'd let you run some laps. But I can see you're injured.”

Soshiro had glanced down at his body, a light scoff emerging from his lips when she had noticed the way he stood, limping.

“Patch your own wounds up and we can discuss it later.”

And Soshiro had frowned at the way she immediately knew. A sixth sense perhaps that he had been getting sloppy. And sometimes he feared Mina Ashiro would kick him out of the Third because of it. But Mina made no such accusation, instead her eyes had been understanding.

Firm as they usually are, she, like Okonogi, was quite aware of your relationship with Soshiro. And by all means, she understood his sentiment.

Today had been a jumbled mess. And Soshiro was practically facing the very brunt of it all.

With you as its victim.

“But-”

“That's an order, Vice Captain. Do not make me repeat myself.” Her stern reply had been met with his half-meant glare. Red irises swirling with thoughts before ultimately concluding that Mina had been right. Okonogi too. He'd just been too stubborn to see it.

And for a good few seconds, he finally drops his own staring.

Reluctant as he had finally turned around. Facing Okonogi with a sort of defeated look in his eyes. Uncharacteristic to her as he'd normally be so cheery, even in the face of impending death.

He'd be thrown into a pit. And as long as he was still kickin’ he'd probably end up smiling and joking about it the next day.

This had definitely been a first for the two to witness.

And although Mina had not usually been the closest to Soshiro. He couldn't help but make an exception this time. She'd waive him of running laps, not as an officer. But as her friend. And a stern hand was placed squarely on his shoulder. Gently giving it a pat of reassurance. One that Okonogi would follow up with her own.

“It'll be okay. Right Captain?” Okonogi glanced between the two.

“That's right. I'll see to it personally that she gets the best care. For now, get yourself patched up–That'll be the punishment you get for speaking to your superior officer.” She awkwardly spoke. Though a small reassuring smile had cracked on the face of her usually hardened expressions.

And such a sentiment from both the girls had silenced him before he could think of another protest to answer with.

“understood.” He begrudgingly spoke. His hand balling into tight fists at the possibility that you'd wake up without him by your side.

Bronze was made to last, yet it wasn't exempt from tarnish after all.

“Good. I'll inform you shortly once her treatment is done–Okonogi.”

“Yes?” Her reply had been immediate.

“Make sure his wounds are treated. And, I expect a detailed report on Number 10's latest excursion later.”

“Roger.” Okonogi had saluted. And Soshiro watched her as she slowly walked past them. Entering the very same room where he had not even had the chance to take a glimpse in.

His arms had gently felt the pull to another direction. Okonogi had done well at Mina's request as he had all but dragged his feet further away from the blaring red lights of the operating room.

And the flicker of your sleeping face was all that’s left before he too was separated somewhere else.

A place where he was left to wonder what will become of you. And for a moment, his distinct thought was a scenario where he hadn't met you.

If only he hadn't asked you out that day..things would've turned differently.

Right?

…

Your eyes blew wide open. The strangled breaths you took were caught on your throat as you could smell the bitter antiseptics nip the back of your nostrils. It reminded you of a hospital. That of which you had the unpleasant experience of having to frequent anytime Soshiro would come back to base injured.

Often you'd be on the other side of his bed. A frown on your face as the condition of his health had been on the top of your mind. And each time with a smile, he'd make a joke to ease the tension in the room. A signal to indicate he had been alright. Despite the lack of words you two would exchange.

Habitually it was you unharmed. You left to worry at his bedside.

So it had been a rare sight indeed, to find yourself on the opposite side of the spectrum.

Laid in thin hospital robes. Connected to a needle of an IV drip. The constant flow of medicine made you drowsy and your thoughts jumbled into a mesa of numbness. And if you had looked at the amount of bandages wrapped around your torso you'd surely start squirming in place.

But just when you were about to scrutinize the heavy onset of your heartrate’s monitor. The blaring sound was all but silenced when you heard the familiar tremors of his voice. Smooth and soft, like you had always heard them as.

“Yer’ finally awake.”

You turned to his direction. Bright eyes had met his own which had been as familiar as it was squinted. His irises were more crystalline and tired than usual. Puffy on the corners, like he hadn't been given a chance to get a good night’s sleep between your hospitalization.

And yet, despite the unfamiliarity of his somber tone; the despondent frowns he'd make.

His voice had been the sound you missed the most.

“Soshiro..” You croak out. Voice dry like someone had stuffed cotton down your throat. And you try your best to scoot closer. To move and stand like you had always done when faced towards him. But this greeting would cut short. Hands restrained by firm bandages and hollow tubes that weighed heavily on your skin. And you hadn't realized the mumble of a barely audible whimper from your mouth. One that Soshiro could not miss even if he tried to.

Soshiro noticed the way you had squirmed. Struggling to sit up. Which made him all the more vigilant. And he ends up closing the small leatherbound book he'd always brought with him. Sinking it back on his pocket where you had been accustomed to seeing it.

Walking much closer to you in an attempt to calm and shush you.

“Where are we?” You asked him. And his fingers hesitantly graze your cheek. The same way when you had blood trickling down it moments prior. “Base. The Medical wing took ya’ in.”

His words were oddly curt in delivery. And although the average person who knew Soshiro on a surface level could probably not tell. You were able to differentiate the distinct way his voice had sounded odd. Such sentiments laid rather clearly for you. And you can see the layer of guilt etched on his stiff face.

“Okonogi?” You inquired. And he gives you a nod.

“Safe. I'll call her for ya’ later so she doesn't worry.” and you let out a breathless sigh. Your head slumping against the cushion of the soft pillow. The lingering feeling of glass and cement on you had all been but a pipe dream now. A memory that you'd soon forget.

And how Soshiro wished it was that easy for him to forget.

“How are you feelin? I can call the nurse for ya if anything hurts.” He moves to turn around.

Eyes already searching for the small caller that was given to him in case of emergencies. Though your hand, as painful as it felt, had pulled him in. Weak fingertips grabbing the sleeves of his jacket to refuse him. Your eyes remained squinted as they were sharp despite the fatigue. And you caught the glimpse of bandages wrapped around his skin. A stark testament to the rest of his unblemished face.

“What happened?” You had immediately tried to get up. Alert in the way you had wanted to reach out and inspect his own injuries. But the fatigue of your body had stopped you. Causing you to slump forward and unto his willing arms who had been cautious in the way he handled you.

“Easy. You're still…not well.” Soshiro gently nudged you back down. Hand placed squarely on your chest to ease you into the pillow. But you stubbornly persisted. Compromising by sitting up against the bed's headboard instead.

“That doesn't matter. What's more important is, what happened to you. Are you alright?”

“That doesn't matter? Are you seriously askin’ me that right now?” For a moment you mistake his scoff for a laugh. His hands which had held you firmly had just as quickly left leaving the spot on your skin cold and yearning for his proximity.

Had you said something wrong? This aggression was unlike him.

Soshiro was rarely this agitated. And your voice couldn't help shrivel in meek irritation. Unsure whether you should respond back with much the same turbulence.

“Should I…not be asking you that?” You spoke unsure. And he shakes his head in turn.

“You were dead-still for five days straight and yer tellin’ me THAT doesn't matter right now?”

You didn't know how else to reply. The way his tone had shifted into a scoff had made you double back to glare at his face. For once since you awoke, you truly saw how tense he had been. Gone was his usual suave smile that made you laugh or cry in between meetings.

He had been too worried to focus on that. But you had been too frustrated at this sudden change. That it made your voice come more forcefully than you anticipated. “Well isn't it obvious? I'm worried about you.”

You replied. Your own expression had squished into rapid vexation. And you see the way he takes a few steps back, too far for your touch to reach. And it pained you that you couldn't just stand up and make him face you like you usually could.

“And you think I don't feel the same!?” He spoke loudly. Causing your shoulders to flinch in turn. One he had regretted as soon as he spoke. And yet, he continued.

“You don't think..that I didn't nearly kill myself when I found you bleeding in the middle of that goddamn street?” He pointed out the window.

And your expression had turned liquid at the images that flash in your mind. Imagining how he had found you. His thoughts, his expressions..you could only imagine the torment he felt the moment he found you. Barely breathing.

His breaths came in gasps. Eyes widened so that you can clearly see the crimson of his eyes peeking through. And suddenly you notice the way Soshiro had oddly been so vulnerable in front of you. The quips on your sore throat began to die down when you saw how frustrated–how fearful he had looked in the moment. And gods did you wish you woke up sooner just to comfort him.

“No–that’s not what I meant. I only wanted to know if you were okay. Is it so wrong to ask?”

“Well maybe ya’ shouldn't have asked at all.” He huffed out. Looking away from you with regret lingering on his features.

It was stupid. He thought To get so frustrated over something so tiny. But as much as Soshiro Hoshina excluded the guise of a proper adult. He had been flawed just like the rest of everyone else. And he'd be lying if he didn't have his moments of doubt. Often scrutinizing in the lonely privacy of his home. Where he knew no one would bother him.

That is of course, before you had entered his life.

But not everything was understood between the two of you. Okonogi was a witness to the piles of misunderstandings you both had caused. And without help you two were likely never to get along, habitually falling for the same skittish routine you had played at.

But a miracle happened. With him belonging to you. And you belonging to him.

So why was it that your heart cramped so much? Surely it was not the pains of a physical injury. Let alone a type of sickness.

Instead it was struck by simple bad habits and insecurities. One of which even you had trouble dealing with. And the loud firmness of his voice had made such an impact on your heart that you began to frown. Unable to hold back your bite.

“What is your problem!?” You started. “Listen, can we just please have this conversation some other time. And then we can-”

“And then we can, what? Do you want me to just sit here and forget that all happened?” He had interjected.

And suddenly you feel your brows knit tightly. Eyes feeling heavy from the burst of a headache you had gotten. Of all the times Soshiro wanted to argue, it's the time you had just woken up.

But he wasn't entirely unjustified.

There have been plenty of moments where you had fanned the flames of a fire that should've ended right then and there. Your word choice is poor and your temperament less than ideal.

For as frustrated as you had been, you understood Soshiro's sentiments. And your hands had raised as a sort of white flag. Not needing this fight to escalate more than it should.

Not when you were both injured and all you wanted to do was crawl into his arms.

“-Listen Soshiro, I didn't mean to upset you. I only wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Does that matter?” He repeats your own words. And you had to hold back another jab of acknowledgement. Smart in the way he played his words. It almost made you want to laugh. But this time, your intent came from sincerity.

And his small play of mockery had been a sight for sore eyes, since you had quickly gotten the gist of what he had been trying to convey. Wrong in your choice of words. This time, you correct your mistake. Sincerity and all.

“Yes it matters. More than anything– of course it matters.” You had told him. And you see the way Soshiro’s mouth quivers into a small tremble. Uncanny when he'd normally be so laid-back and sweet when it came to you.

And how you'd wish he just took a breather and relaxed. Maybe take a break so that they could talk things out. Without yelling preferably. But that had not been possible. At least not just yet from the way he replied.

“Well had I not made it in time, you woulda’ been dead. Do you hear me?”

“And yet, Here. I. Am. A witness to your unwarranted behavior.”

“Behavior that's justified because I shouldn't have let you outta my sight.”

Silence had followed soon after. Your mouth gapes for a moment to think of a reply when the words slip past your lips. And Soshiro would note how uncharacteristic that was, even for you. He, who was always used to your quick replies and clever jabs. But it seems his words had cut too far this time.

And he pried his eyes away from you. Chest heaving as he ran a hand through his face. “I shouldn't have..”

He composed himself. Clearing his throat whilst you looked at him with an etched frown on your face. One that he wished would go away. But he had been the cause of this.

He had been the one to make your smile go away. And it somehow makes him feel even worse.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I just-”

“Soshiro.” Your voice sounded like bells. And when he looked up, relief had immediately sagged his shoulders upon seeing your gaze blown wide open. Not at all restrained by the pain medication and exhaustion you had felt.

And your hand had gently reached up to grab his own. Gentle in the way her thumb caressed his knuckle which had been previously so bruised and bloodied.

And although there was a struggle to reach for his hand. Your touch was met halfway. Gently threading your much softer skin that would've paled in comparison to a blanket had he not taken glances.

“What happened back there wasn't your fault. We couldn't have known that the Kaiju would follow me back to the shelter.” You whisper. And Soshiro's expression had turned serious. Like he held a weight that you couldn't possibly fathom even if you tried.

“And yet I let it slip away.”

“I let it get to you, and now you're in here because of me.” He had wanted to so badly pull away from you. To walk himself out before he could be tempted to lean back into those pretty eyes of yours. But the moment he met your sight.

Those sad eyes of yours had been his journey's end. And he couldn't do that to you. Not when your expression had frustratingly asked him to stay.

“And yet it was also because of you that I'm still alive and breathing, Soshiro.” You reasoned. “You don't give yourself enough credit. If it hadn't been for you I would've been-”

“Dead.” He cut you off. “You would've been dead.”

“No. You wouldn't have allowed that. You're the Vice Captain, remember? If there's anywhere safer for me, it's by your side.” You didn't know whether such assurances had really made him listen. The way he was assured in that answer of his wasn't a mere fortnight conclusion. It was as if he had been thinking of such consequences for a much longer time, and that alone makes your heart sink.

So you scooted closer. Moving in to try and pull him down so that you could wrap your arms around his neck. And just when you were snaking it through his shoulders. His hands had stopped you midway.

His calloused palms holding on to the points of your elbows as he gently pries you off of him.

Normally this would be met with your pout. Maybe another bout of force just let the stubborn man look your way. But you had been too weak, still healing from an injury you had no control over. And his response is far too swift for your liking. Leaving your arms missing the warmth his body could provide you.

“No, no, no, no, no–no. You don't understand. I don't deserve to be anywhere near you right now.” He had managed to convince himself. Looking away as the anxiety within you had spiked upon his words.

“Soshiro. Listen to me we can-”

“What I’m saying is that we're done here.”

You had blinked. Looking up at him who had towered above your bed. A somber look on his expression despite the daunting words he had spoken. He looked passive. Unaffected even. Like he had been ready for this moment which had been planned for a long time coming. And your voice could only muster a feeble whisper.

“What do you mean we're done?”

“It's over.” Soshiro continued. Not once paying your face any heed. Lest he change his mind from doing you a greater good he deemed correct. “I don't want anything to do with ya’ anymore.”

If this had been a dream you would've laughed at the way he delivered such a sentiment.

You'd somehow suppress the inner workings of your shock and you'd wake up to find the morning documents you promised yourself to do; in the desk untouched where it usually had been.

And by the time you left your room, you'd habitually laugh it off and tell Soshiro about it in the afternoon just to get a chuckle and light scolding out of him. The usual banter that admittedly, had always been the highlight of your day.

But this had not been a dream.

And hearing him say that. Had hurt more than you anticipated it seemed. And your voice cracks before you can even register yourself speaking.

"Is this because you think I can't love you?" The sudden appearance of tears had painted your face. And you had tried to sniff away the bigger ones that threatened to spill over. But to no avail.

And Soshiro’s eyes widen at the telltale signs of your crying. An unexpected third party which had not been invited to the list of things he ought to do. And his head reels to face you once more. Seeing your face redden with a shame he'd never thought he'd see.

"Do you really think that I'm incapable of willingly loving you? Even beyond that fucking sword of yours-" And Soshiro had all but shook his head. Remorseful in the way tears had jerked from your eyes.

"That ain't the point!"

"Then what IS the point!?" Your tears had blurred your vision. And your hand had embarrassingly moved up to wipe it. One that Soshiro had wished to do for himself had he not been so stubborn.

“-What is the point if I can't make sense of you trying to leave me?"

The turmoil in your voice had been made present. One so encompassing that Soshiro couldn't ignore. And as much as it hurts you to scream. It hurt him to see you suddenly cry like this. Someone he associated as being so usually strong-willed, crumbling in a few short words from him. And suddenly, it feels as if he wants to swallow back his words. Mouth churned into regret when he had moved to take a step closer to you.

“Sweetheart, please..I-”

He shook his head. Suddenly finding himself kneeling down in front of your bed. And when your eyes had met his, it was as if his heart had stopped momentarily. Too focused on the way you had looked at him in desperation. Mixed with both physical and emotional pain.

And he had been the cause of that. Regrettably he knew he had been the cause of that.

"Is the idea of me loving you THAT terrible of a concept to you?" you spoke flimsily. Words betraying the tone you wanted to convey. And somehow you felt worse than when blood was unnaturally seeping out of your wound.

And his own body. One that betrayed his own commands, had a mind of its own. Strong arms wrapping around your bandaged ones that had still been healing from the minor cuts you had accumulated. And the warm steady beat of his heart had drowned you back into reality. Cheeks pressed against his and regrettably, soiling his jacket.

Not that he minded of course. Far too focused on wiping your tears away. Shushing you when you'd shudder from the breathless sniffles he'd been the cause of.

"Shit- no sweetheart no. I didn't mean it."

“I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” His instant apologies and regrets had echoed for a few moments. The sudden urge to calm you down had him reeling just to caress your shoulders. Weary of the injuries you were faced with as you cried in his arms.

And the struggling shudders you were faced with had all been too painful to see. Comical in the way he had all but worsened your condition when stressing a healing patient had been the last thing people needed to be reminded of.

Yet here you were, struggling to even cry when every breath would agitate any bandaged injuries you'd gotten. And it had been his fault entirely.

“I'm not leaving ya. I'm right here..” He whispered. And you had forcibly glanced up. Seeing the way his distress had wrinkled those usually foxy eyes. Like he had suddenly gained a keen sense of his stupidity and finally realized that his sentiments were not helping you. And upon realization you couldn't help but feel how silly all this had been.

You would've laughed had you not wasted such excess energy into crying your heart out in front of him. Likely an accumulation from the week's worth of not being able to see each other.

That and other things, which were obvious enough.

But you spoke. Wanting to pick his thoughts apart. Reason with him the next time this may happen. And your eyes flutter away the tears as you had finally managed to calm down enough to ask him.

“Then why? Why even suggest that?” Your voice had been soft. His thumbs move to caress the stray tears away from your face. Even moving to casually use his sleeves to gently wipe your cheeks in assurance of his presence. And you close your eyes at the simple gesture. Suddenly feeling much better now that he had been so close to you like this.

Crap, he set himself up didn't he? And just when he had this all planned out too.

In the wake of your hospitalization, he had planned to leave you. Somehow make you change occupations. Maybe work for a tech company where your life wouldn't be on the line. Where you'd be far away from his life and you could live a happy, seperate life from him.

But who was he kidding? Even he thinks it's stupid. The idea of doing you the greater good.

It had sounded conclusive back then.

He'd likely die young, a Kaiju attack that he had lacked defenses in no doubt. And somehow, you'd weasel your way out and live an old happy life.

Like bronze. Tarnished but long lasting.

But you had seen through his intention. And every right to refuse such a concept had knocked him over the head. A simple shed of tears was all it took for such a carefully built wall to crumble. His resolve in shambles at the mere thought of you leaving.

And to take that away from you. To separate the both of you like that? It felt wrong. And somehow his stupidity makes him laugh.

And the next words uttered had been voluntary on his part. Sloppy but it came out from an honest place. That even he doubted its power.

"Because, it scares me how much I need you. Okay?" He leans in. Head against your own so that your noses would touch. And you could see the little cracks on that smile of his. A stark contrast to the facade of laughs he'd usually give off. And it makes your heart flutter upon such fleeting confessions.

"Just hearing that voice of yours is enough to wreck me. And ruin me for anybody else."

"And when I saw you. Layin' there with that faraway look on your eyes. I just couldn't fucking breathe."

The way his eyes had not once left yours had felt like the first time you had met him. In that room with the Captain watching your interactions.

You had been less amicable to each other by then. Always second guessing each other by investigating the little nuances of your expressions. But somehow, the difficulties in reading each other had not been so far fetched. And the longer you two would spend time together. The more you had an inkling of what the other was thinking. And eventually an unspoken understanding had come between the both of you.

One that required no words to speak. Nor assistance from anywhere else. Just you and him. Nothing more.

"What If I lose you? You're all I fucking have.."

"Soshiro.” You whispered. Suddenly feeling the weight of his words drop down on you upon his realization. And you shake your head in turn. Immediately running your hands on the soft tresses of his hair. “You’re not going to lose me.”

“And what if I did?” He was quick to interject. “What if I had been a second too late and you were killed?”

“-And yet I'm still here. See?” You moved his intertwined hands to your chest. Firmly letting him feel the pulse of your heart. A repetition had to be made in order to convince him. And if you had to do such things a million times, there was no doubt you’d do it a thousand more times.

And his hand couldn't help but press firmly. Gingerly looking everywhere to check your wellbeing. Satisfied when he had settled in your slightly puffy eyes that he had been all too remorseful of when he found it too pretty to look away from.

You leaned in. Pressing light kisses against his cheeks to calm his thoughts. The voice in the back of his head all but silenced. When the adrenaline kicked in, because somehow he found himself unfocused when he caught your lips in his.

It was short and sweet.

Far different from the many picturesque and grandiose kisses he'd read about in books. And far too slow amidst the rush hours of your working breaks. Where you'd snag a few touches here and there just to get a rise out of each other. No this had been far too different. Far too gentle than it normally was. But despite the innocence of such a contact. It had made a more lasting impact on him.

The hesitation implied vulnerability, and without it. You'd be remiss to see Soshiro's true feelings underneath it. And it makes you pull away to rub your own hands against his chest. Admiring the way his uniform had engulfed him warmly in the cold air conditioning in the room.

All that matters was that they were okay now.

All that matters is that they are together now. Is that so much to ask?

“I won't die so easily, Soshiro.” Your assurances had made him perk up. Head still leaning against yours where you could see the pretty hallmarks of his tired eyes.

“I may not be able to know..everything in that damn head of yours. But what I do know? Is that I have unwavering trust in you. And that's the only reason I made it out alive today.” Your voice had made him crack a smile. One that makes you raise a brow at him. Suddenly fixated on the way his demeanor had changed so easily when you had spoken your piece.

And Soshiro, ever the enigma that he was. Had stopped his reluctance around you. Finally getting a chance to relax as his hands slotted its way to the bounce of your cheek and jaw, which he had always found so endearing to touch and look at.

He couldn't help but run soothing circles on your flesh. A habit he might've picked up on when reading a few romances here and there.And it makes you wonder if he had always been this sweet. A layer unknown go you that you'd love to rediscover, if only he'd put down that smart mouth of his.

“I think that was ‘bout a week ago.” He corrected you. His face is as snarky as his comment. And that was enough to shake your head.

But of course, that had been too much to ask. Too far and few inbetween. You spoke too soon.

“Fine. A week ago.” You affirmed. Though this time you had rolled your eyes with a laugh of your own.

And the two of you had simply sat there. Soshiro rocking you back and forth as best he could without risking your injuries. Hands against the plush of your waistline, carefully making sure the stitches were still intact. But the warmth had remained.

This time he had been less distant. More calm and understanding like he had usually been. And that was enough for you. For now.

“Do you mean that?”

“Mean what?” You had blinked with a smile on your face. Sweet as it came, you had a viper that you knew how to use. And Soshiro wasn't ever one to stop confronting it. Even if he had to break out of his shell to ask the harder questions between you both.

“When you said you loved me.” He added.

And he wouldn't be able to miss that pretty smile forming on the corners of your lips. Leaning against him until the softness of your lips had grazed his chapped ones. Though you’d note, it was still gentle. Still his. And still yours to capture should you want it.

“Do I have to kiss you again and prove it?” You mutter out.

“Do you not want to right now?”

And without a doubt did you lean in. Capturing his lips with a crooked smile in between. Soft and sensual. And you had missed this. Missed him who had not gotten the chance to set things right by you.

How long had it been since you had taken the time to really kiss him? Without the rush of prying eyes, nor the responsibilities that came with their work. It was just a kiss, yet in this moment it felt like everything.

Slow and reassuring. Without the need of words to complicate things. It had conveyed everything he needed to know. And when you pulled back, Soshiro could see the pretty pearls of your teeth. Admiring the way your lips had bruised red from how eagerly he had captured your mouth. And he wouldn't dream of being anywhere else in the world right now. Not when you had looked so perfect. Hospital gown and all.

“Does that prove my point?”

He laughs. Something you had always thought to be pretty.

“Maybe.” The familiar trace of his hand had brushed past your hair. Straightening out the few loose strands that could obscure him from your face. And his smile, although back to the usual cat-like facade, had now softened up significantly upon your presence. And you had prided the way this man had looked at you like you had offered him the world.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at ya. I just-”

“Shh..I know.” Your hand had touched his lips. Admiring the way it too, had reddened from your previous kisses.

“I'm tougher than bronze, you know? I'm not so simple as to let a few words bend me sideways.”

“Okonogi tells me the same.”

“And right she was. You should learn a thing or two from her.” And a laugh bubbles between the two of you. He had to remind himself to save his apologies later for Okonogi. For despite her absence, even now she was playing cupid for them. The small voice in his head urging him to tell you how he truly felt.

And without warning. He managed to say it outloud.

“I love you.”

Those words had struck a melodic chord in you. Ones that made you look back at him in temporary stupor. Before finally turning giddy at the way he so gently said it. No remorse. No regret. A fact even she couldn't deface as mockery. When there'd normally be a trick of a joke involved.

And in your quiet smiles held a deep admiration for him. Ones that squeezed Soshiro's hand despite the difficulty of your injuries.

But that didn't matter. Injuries heal after all. And right now, you had been far too focused on him to mind the slowly subsiding pain on your body.

“What's this all of a sudden? You're not joking are you?” You ask cautiously. Though a smile still remained on your face. Far too elated at hearing those words. And from the look on his face, you could tell he had been serious in his admission.

“It's not sudden. I just–” Soshiro lets out a small chuckle. Not entirely sure why he feels so nervous in the wake of your question.

“I meant to say it that day. Before the Kaiju attacked. I wanted it to be perfect for ya and..” His voice stops when you lean in. Cuddling him down as best you could in the safety of the hospital's bedsheets. The understanding look in your eyes had all but told him that you knew. And it makes him think twice about having to explain things to you again. Not when you could now read him so well. Especially in the most important aspects of his life.

“I know. You don't need to tell me twice."

He heard you speak. Though the hint of playfulness in your voice hadn't subsided. A reminder that you had been slowly regaining your strength. And pretty soon, you'd be pulling him down by the collar just to kiss him breathless if you wanted to.

But for now, he was gonna have to take care of you. Take the lead and deal with your smart comments. And it makes him smile knowing he'd get to hear such witty banters from you again. More so now that you were awake.

“Really now? And I thought you'd be happy to have me say it outloud for ya.”

His chuckle had made his chest rumble. And you could feel the pleasant vibration as your head fell squarely on his chest. A roll in your eyes as you had hummed in reply.

“Well…I suppose it couldn't hurt for you to say it again.”

And he would. He'd do it as long as you'd allow him that privilege.

And this time, he too had read you like an open book. Somehow fitting perfectly in the way they understand the other without needing to speak. They needed to work on it. They needed each other more than ever before.

So it was lucky their bonds were more lasting than bronze. And fate had brought them together.

[spacelazarwolf]

Qinat Be'eri (A Lamentation for Be'eri) by Yagel Haroush

Yagel Haroush is a singer, a kamancheh and ney player, a poet, a composer of piyutim (traditional religious songs) and a teacher of Middle Eastern music. After completing his studies at the Jerusalem Academy of Music, Yagel earned a master’s degree in philosophy at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, and was awarded the Daoud Al-Kuwaiti Scholarship for musical excellence. Yagel specializes in performing and composing music based on maqam, the Middle Eastern modal system. He studied the Persian form of maqam, known as dastgah, with Prof. Piris Eliyahu and his son Mark Eliyahu, and Arab maqam with Prof. Taiseer Elias. As a child, he absorbed the liturgical poetic tradition of the Moroccan piyut (religious song) at his grandfather’s home in the southern Israeli city of Dimona, where every Shabbat, a group of paytanim (composers and singers of piyutim) would gather. Later, he delved into the secrets of the baqashot (“supplications”), a Sephardic mystical singing tradition practiced by Moroccan Jews. Yagel’s ensemble, Shir Yididot, performs original reinterpretations of this tradition that situate the baqashot within the broader context of Middle Eastern mystical song. The group released its debut album in 2016. Yagel is also the founder of the Study Center for Makam and Piyut, where he teaches composition and performance, as well as theoretical performance studies based on Jewish sources – philosophy, Kabbalah and Midrash. He also founded the School of Oriental Music in the Negev in the town of Yeruham, and Kedem, a school for composition in the spirit of maqam in Jerusalem.

Qinat Be’eri was written by Yagel Haroush in the month of Marḥeshban after the massacres on 7 October and disseminated on social media. (The text of the qinah here is as shared on the website Kipa on 7 January 2024.) The initial English translation and notes was shared by Yosef Goldman and Josh Fleet. (These notes were very lightly edited for clarity.) On Tishah b’Av, a second English translation was offered by Dr. Susan Weingarten. –Aharon Varady

Eikhah [1] – Alas! my well [2] has turned into my grave. And the day of my light [3] has become my darkness And all fruit has been destroyed and my singing overturned. My eyes pour forth water [4] from the depth of my brokenness.

Eikhah — Israel on a day of calling to God. Life was requested but chaos received Elder and infant wallow in blood. [6] His festival desecrated by a merciless enemy. My eyes pour forth water from the depth of my brokenness.

Eikhah — mothers, girls, and young women Taken into captivity as in the days of pogroms And fences were breached righteous sheep And the dancing ceased and the songs of my singers My eyes pour forth water from the depth of my brokenness

And eikhah — I wonder, you who enobled her — How long shall a nation live in upheaval How long shall her stature be brought low to the ground And now, arise to kindle my lamp [7] And from the wellsprings of your mercy heal my brokenness And my eye [8] that pours forth will water Be’eri

The opening word of the Book of Lamentations, “איכה” — translated as “alas!” or “how?!?” — is often used in Jewish poetry of lament — ḳinnot — that memorialize the Jewish people, from the liturgy for mourning the Temple’s destruction to today.

Be’eri means “my well.” [Be’eri here also refers to Kibbutz Be’eri, the site of one of the massacres that took place on 7 October 2023. — ANV]

A reference to the festival of Simḥat Torah on which the massacres took place. In TaNaKh and Rabbinic literature, Torah is compared to both light and water. “For the commandment is a lamp, the teaching of Torah is a light” (Proverbs 6:23) and “A flowing stream, a fountain of wisdom” (Proverbs 18:4). Also find Shir haShirim Rabbah 1:2.

"For these do I weep, my eyes flow with tears; far from me is a comforter who might revive my spirit; my children are forlorn, for the foe has prevailed” (Lamentations 1:16)

i.e. Simḥat Torah.

Find Ezekiel 15:6, “When I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood, I said to you: ‘Live despite your blood’…”

It is you who light my lamp; YHVH my elo’ah lights up my darkness” (Psalms 18:29).

Hebrew, עין (‘ayin), means both “spring” and “eye.”

[zhoudadudugongjin]

What if i learned calligraphy just so i can copy the whole goddamn 出师表 and put it on my wall and then I can read it before bed every night and cry

The ending fucks me up every single time.

出 师 表

Permit me to observe: the late emperor was taken from us before he could finish his life's work, the restoration of the Han.

Today, the empire is still divided in three, and our very survival is threatened. Yet still the officials at court and the soldiers throughout the realm remain loyal to you, your majesty. Because they remember the late emperor, all of them, and they wish to repay his kindness in service to you.

This is the moment to extend your divine influence. to honor the memory of the late Emperor and strengthen the morale of your officers. It is not the time to listen to bad advice, or close your ears to the suggestions of loyal men.

The emperors of the Western Han chose their courtiers wisely, and their dynasty flourished. The emperors of the Eastern Han chose poorly, and they doomed the empire to ruin.

Whenever the late Emperor discussed this problem with me, he lamented the failings of Emperors Huan and Ling.

I began as a common man,farming in my fields in Nanyang, doing what I could to survive in an age of chaos. I never had any interest in making a name for myself as a noble.

The late Emperor was not ashamed to visit my cottage and seek my advice. Grateful for his regard, I responded to his appeal and threw myself into his service.

The late Emperor always appreciated my caution and, in his final days, entrusted me with his cause.

Since that moment, I have been tormented day and night by the fearthat I might let him down. That is why I crossed the Lu river at the height of summer, and entered the wastelands beyond.

Now the south has been subdued, and our forces are fully armed. I should lead our soldiers to conquer the northern heartland and attempt to remove the hateful traitors, restore the house of Han, and return it to the former capital.

This is the way I mean to honor my debt to the late Emperor and fulfill my duty to you.

My only desire is to be permitted to drive out the traitors and restore the Han. If I should let you down, punish my offense and report it to the spirit of the late Emperor.

Your Majesty, consider your course of action carefully. Seek out good advice, and never forget the late words of the late Emperor. I depart now on a long expedition, and I will be forever grateful if you heed my advice.

Blinded by my own tears, I know not what I write.

[mariacallous]

On Oct. 29, 1920, the temperature in Detroit reached a high of 60 degrees, and the Detroit Free Press reported that “Northwestern High’s football eleven” was preparing to face Eastern High School the next day for a much anticipated Saturday matchup at the Joyce athletic field. 

Julia Esaw had not yet arrived in Detroit to enjoy the game and the pleasant weather, but the longtime member of People’s Community Church was born on that day — more than 100 years ago.

And this past Tuesday, on Oct. 29, the same Julia Esaw celebrated her 104th birthday in Detroit.

“If you could see my face now, you would see a great big smile,” Esaw announced by phone at 3:27 p.m. on her birthday, a day that was fittingly even warmer in Detroit than the day she was born.

Asking the exuberant centenarian to take a second call by FaceTime so that her beautiful smile could be seen was not an option. That’s because Esaw was in a rush to quickly take in the sun and 76-degree warmth that radiated at that moment near her Detroit home, not far from her beloved People’s Community Church — 8601 Woodward Ave. — before she was to be whisked away to a secret location for a family birthday celebration.

A 104th birthday is a rare occurrence. But Esaw says that from a very early time in her life she came to expect good experiences in Detroit.

“Detroit has had a lot to offer and I have no complaints,” said the 1939 Cass Tech graduate, who came to Detroit with her family when she was 2 years old from Columbia, Mississippi.

During the afternoon of Monday, Oct. 28, with vivid recollection, Esaw reeled off some of the early Detroit streets she lived on, including High Street, Division, Brewster, Hedge, Trowbridge and Taylor. However, it was a discussion about a destination that Esaw visited recently that brought out an excited tone a little more than eight hours before her birthday. That destination is 2978 West Grand Blvd., home to the Detroit Department of Elections, where Esaw dropped off her absentee ballot with a vote cast in the 2024 presidential election for Democratic Vice President Kamala Harris. And Esaw left no doubt that even with all of the history she has seen during her long lifetime, the opportunity to cast her vote for Harris — the first Black woman to head a major party’s presidential ticket — holds a special place in her heart. 

“I’m happy and it makes me feel great!” declared Esaw, who was born just 72 days after the ratification of the 19th Amendment which legally guaranteed women the right to vote.

Then Esaw went on to explain that her happiness this election season is tied to progress she has witnessed during her lifetime.  

“After high school, I wanted to study to be a dietitian. But as a young Black woman, there was no place here that I could go to get the training and my mother didn’t want me to go away,” lamented Esaw, who says she still owes a huge debt of gratitude to two “tough” teachers in Cass Tech’s home economics curriculum that prepared her well for life. “Blacks didn’t have the same kind of power we have today. But if we all get together now, we can put her (Harris) on the top seat.”

Although Esaw was unable to pursue a career in health care, her journey as a beautician actually began in close physical proximity to a prominent Detroit health institution. 

“I started as a beautician at the Streamline Beauty Shop on Forest and it was right across from Women’s Hospital (now Hutzel Women’s Hospital),” said Esaw, who was married to the late Tuskegee Airman Burkes Esaw Sr. “Because we were so close to the hospital, I had more white trade (clientele) than Black. It was the same thing for many years when I was running my own shop.” 

In the roles Esaw carried out as a beautician, block club president, wife and mother of four children who were taught at home to value education and healthy eating, she says race was not a barrier to success. But Esaw’s recollection of a revered Detroit landmark — the old downtown J. L. Hudson Department Store — may be a bit different from what is recorded in many history books. Esaw explained that there was a time when the shopping experience for Black customers at J.L. Hudson, which grew to be the tallest department store in the world during its heyday, was mostly relegated to the basement level due to a Northern version of Jim Crow.

Esaw’s earliest memories of Hudson’s were shared without a hint of bitterness in her voice and with a tiny chuckle thrown in because, as Esaw went on to explain, she has never accepted a “basement” view of life due to her faith. And because of her faith, Esaw says the fact that a Black woman (Harris also is of Southeast Asian descent on her mother's side) has a very legitimate chance to become the nation’s first woman president is not really a big surprise to her. 

“I was always taught that we (Black people) were God’s children too,” said Esaw, who noted that she starts each morning with a bowl of assorted raw fruit that she prepares for herself. “God made us and we’re somebody, too. And we can do anything that anyone else can, including being president.” 

And in an equally succinct manner, Esaw laid out what she would expect from Harris as president. 

“I want to see her reach out and touch everybody, because we’re all God’s children,” Esaw stated. “And then I would like to see us all work together as a team.” 

Next to Esaw as she spoke from home on consecutive afternoons beginning Oct. 28 was her only daughter and constant companion, 72-year-old Berneta Esaw, a retired Detroit Public Schools math teacher. Berneta Esaw was with her mother when she dropped off her election ballot, and she also was by her mom’s side on Oct. 12 at the Detroit Golf Club when Berneta Esaw’s 1969 Cass Tech graduating class held its 55th reunion, which Julia Esaw used as an opportunity to celebrate the 85th anniversary of her own graduation from Cass.

Berneta Esaw says she is holding out hope that there are other living people that will come forward who graduated from Cass Tech in or around 1939 to allow her mother to enjoy a reunion experience to the fullest. But in the meantime, Berneta Esaw is more than happy to share lessons for living a long, fulfilling life — which she has received with love directly from her mother. 

“Mother doesn’t look anywhere close to 90 — most people start at 70 when she asks them how old they think she is. But she has worked hard to look like that,” said Berneta Esaw, who has grown accustomed and accepting to people that want to hug and touch her mom when they become aware of Julia Esaw’s age. “Living with mother, you knew you were going to get your fruit in the morning, and salad with lunch and dinner, because mother knows that when you eat fresh, raw fruits and vegetables the body works better. 

“Mother is a blessing, and I feel blessed that I was born to two parents who were extremely knowledgeable and intelligent, and they gladly passed down their knowledge to my siblings and me, and others in our community.”  

[grimdarling69]

Spencer Reid is a bat Good Mom!Talia Editon One-shot

Spencer Reid has been an enigma for as long as Derek had known him.

Eidetic memory, never wore matching socks, love for statistics and math, and a special interest in languages, etc. Reid was one of his closest friends in the bau for years now, but he'd never have guessed how hot his mom was.

--------

Spencer was having a terrible day. Firstly, he forgot his lunch, missed his stop, had to wait for the next, and then almost ran to work, and when he finally made it, the coffee machine was broken. The only thing that was going to save it was the fact his mom was coming into town for a mission and wanting to meet up after work.

"You're late, pretty boy!" Morgan laughed at him. He attempted to ruffle his hair, but he dodged it, knocking himself against his desk. That would leave a bruise. At least his family wasn't here, Dami would tell him he was embarrassing the family name despite the fact he didn't even have the family name.

"Fuck..." he grumbled clutching his leg and limped behind his desk to collapse into his chair.

"Definitely not my day." He complained.

"Come on, boy genius! At least we dont have a case!" Penelope exclaimed.

"Pleaee for the love of God dont jinx us." Prentiss begged, lining up her paperwork on her desk.

"Bad day, Spencer?" She queried amused." Don't even get me started." He complained, throwing his arms back.

She snickered at him but returned to her own work. Garcia continued past to her own office after stealing her pen he borrowed yesterday, and Morgan simply smirked and sat back down.

The day continued with occasional questions or jokes. Some of the paperwork had begun to stack, and they were taking the day to complete it, but the rhythm of paperwork was drolling.

--------

Penelope had made a deliciously delightful and creamy pasta dish for dinner last night and taken the leftovers to split with her chocolate thunder. Derek and her were currently on their way to the closest microwave when they saw her.

Her being an incredibly good-looking older woman of possible Middle Eastern descent approached them.

"You two look like you know your way around the building, care to show me the way to the cafeteria?" She spoke with a calm and fluid voice with slight humor in it and an Arabic accent. The kind of voice, the words, that just roll together, and you just know they sing heavenly. Her eyes were sharp and intelligent, and it raised a slightly uneasy feeling in her stomach.

She was dressed simply but richly. The kind of clothes she could only dream to buy and never pull off.

"I don't know who's asking?" Derek attempted to flirt.

"I don't appreciate my time being wasted by shameless dogs like you. I'm already spoken for, and even if i wasn't, i certaintly wouldn't waste my time with you." She spoke harshly, shoving past between them barely avoiding bumping shoulders.

"Good lordy, what her problem?" She attempted to joke, trying to pick up her slack jaw.

"I don't know, but i don't like it." Derek warned in that sexy and mysterious voice of his.

Derek turned around and trailed behind that woman's expensive pencil skirt. She unfortunately realized that she wasn't going to be able to heat up her pasta and would have to eat it cold again. She lamented for a second, then followed him past the few people milling about.

---------

Derek had been in the fbi, police, and marines way too long to not be suspicious of a woman like that. He's seen plenty of men underestimate pretty women and miss the sharp keen eyes and get stabbed by their sharp keen knives, and he wasn't going to let that happen to any of his friends. Mostly Reid and Baby girl, the others don't need his help all that much.

She was walking fast, suddenly with a mission, and Derek somehow lost her in the lunch crowd. Eventually, he realized he couldn't see her and was getting nowhere, so they made the decision to head back to the bullpen she was probably long gone anyway.

By the time they made their way back after they found a microwave , they had all but forgotten about the mysterious woman until they saw her perched on Spencer's desk stealing his food.

Henquicku catologed the others in room watching in the room. Rossi and Emily were shamelessly watching a few desks away while Hotch and JJ were near his office on the railing, both pretending not to notice.

"What's going on?"He whispered to them. "That is apparently a woman close enough with Spencer to go to his apartment while he's gone and notice his lunch is on the counter so she made him homemade to replace it and brought it to his work." Rossi stated without looking away.

The woman was smiling lovingly at Spencer, and sharing a large dish of some Middle Eastern dish, he'd butcher the name of.

They continued shamelessly staring, but the woman would occasionally look st, then from the corner of her eyes. Spencer was laughing with her and smiling wider than he's seen him smile in years.

" I can't do this anymore. I'm asking them." Emily suddenly announced stsndingnuo and taking the room in great strides.

" Wait, Prentiss-" both he and Rossi tried in vain to stop her and were outmatched by Garcia folding shirts after her much slower.

"Hi, SSA of the BAU Emily Prentiss." She introduced herself with a kind smile and an outstretched hand.

"It took you all long enough to end your blatant eavesdropping." She spoke harshly, staring at the hand as if it had personally offended her.

"Talia, please not now." Spencer hissed at her, his voice scandalized.

"But habbibi-," the newly dubbed Talia tried defensively, attempting to explain himself.

Habbibi? Wasn't that some kind of Arabic word for love or something like it. He really wasn't as languidly gifted as the others.

"These are my friends and coworkers. Please play nice for my sake." Spencer pleaded. He could see Hotch and JJ finally making their way to them from the corner of his eye.

He turned to look questionably to look at Rossi but only got a shrug and a grimace all in one.

"Talia, pleased to make your acquaintance." She spoke as if her words poked at her own being.

" I'm-" He attempted.

"I already know who you all are, kalb." She spoke disdaned.

" Mom!" Spencer shouted suddenly incredibly offended.

"Mom...?" He heard Garcia mutter under bresth. You and me both baby girl.

" Reid, who is this?" Hotch questioned.

" Why I'm his mother. Don't you see the resemblance?" She spoke smoothly, her chin coming to rest on her hand. Her crossed legs and one hand on her lap while the other rested on her leg holding her head up directly contrasting Spencer's scandalized face, but the way he was now leaning backward arms crossed staring her down started to seem a little familiar.

While their mannerism were similar, their everything else was different. Spencer face shared no Middle Eastern features, and with light curly brown hair and chocolate eyes, her straight dark brown hair, and almost glowing emerald eyes, they were far from having any family resemblance.

"I thought your mother was Diana Reid?" Garcia asked hesitantly.

"Well, genetically speaking, yes." He answered, cringing st his own words.

"And legally." Hotch spoke deeply.

"Well, my beloved never cared much about laws anyway." She waved it off, disinterested.

"Mom! We are in a federal building!"

" What? You know he kidnapped Jason off the streets. That's far from the worst law he's broken anyway." She continued.

"He was later legally adopted. I never was." He spoke, his voice wavered slightly.

"Oh, habbibi, he would adopt you the second you asked. He keeps all the papers up to date in his office." She comforted.

" I... Um Hotch?-" His eyes were becoming suspiciously damp.

" Take the rest of the day, Reid." Hotch spoke simply before turning bakc to his office talimg Rossi with him. What a softie.

And as he watched Spencer and his mom walk out, he couldn't help but think more on the enigma of Spencer Reid.

A/n I loved writing Penelope and tried to bleed her cooky personality into her pov. The reason why Talia is a little bit more harsh is because she knows they weren't really there for her son when he was struggling with like Hankle and the other stuff so I wanted to make her have a bit of a grudge against them.

[bonaesperanza]

Okay, so you know how Barrayar is full of stories of evil mutants kidnapping innocent Vor maidens, just like we IRL have a bunch of story templates exploiting our societal fears of some exoticized evil Other stealing our women?

And you know how modern romance/erotica takes those stories and turns them into erotic fantasies? Like, women have been going mad over The Phantom of the Opera for centuries, we've had stories about innocent maidens being forced into arranged marriages with big dick sheikhs and Middle Eastern princes for decades, and in the past decade or so both monster romance and villain romance have become completely mainstream staples of the genre?

And you know how Miles allegedly killing Tien so he could court Ekaterin was Vorbarr Sultana's Scandal of the Year for a short while, before the whole affair was capped by Ekaterin's very memorable and very public proposal?

Now, imagine some repressed Vor housewives hearing about it and thinking, in a similar vein to what Mark thought, "NGL, that's kinda hot. I always did have those fantasies where I was ravished by the villain, and I really do sometimes wish my boring sexist husband were dead." Because now that they've caught up on galactic genetics the actual fear of mutant children is kinda low among the bored upper class housewives who can afford gene cleaning, so it's the perfectly zeitgeisty moment to exoticize and objectify the mutants instead.

So one of said bored housewives decides to anonymously write a pulpy gothic-esque dark romance/erotica novel about it. Except obviously the scrawny short guy doesn't make for an appealing romantic hero, so she makes him a Taura-esque tall, massively ripped fellow who growls all his lines a là ACOTAR's Rhysand and conveniently makes all his mutations sexy in the vein of, like, A/B/O novels or Ice Planet Barbarians.

Imagine "Ravished by the Billionaire Secret Agent Mutant Count" slowly becoming popular among the ladies and the main cast learning about it, Miles lamenting about it having come out now when he's happily married and not when he was fifteen and desperate to get laid, Ivan suddenly gaining a lot more traction with the girls because they've caught onto the real life inspiration for the novel and are wondering if the Big Dick Mutation comes from Ivan's side of the family, Cordelia shamelessly reading it at dinner (she's the only person who's read it without wrapping the cover) and annoyedly pointing out the biological inaccuracies as Aral begs her to stop, Mark seeing the opportunity for a cash grab and buying the holodrama rights...

[lesbiansforboromir]

Categorically the most galling part of this universal perception that Boromir is a 'poor out-of-his-depth himbo whose completely ignorant of politics' is how it is blindingly canonically apparent that he put massive effort into being a political entity, to the point that his political opinions follow him even into the Council of Elrond.

Without the Council of Elrond, one could interpret his narrative positioning as a more 'Middle Man' and less 'high' as something forced upon him, a (narratively framed) negative aspect of his character that Faramir is critisising and lamenting as just 'part of his nature'. He is being associated with the Rohirrim and other 'lesser' men because he is also a 'lesser' man inspite of his heritage, due to his 'flawed' and 'weak-willed' personality.

Although that is still a bit of a stilted and awkward interpretation in my opinion, Eomer explicitely differentiates Boromir's treatment and manner around the Rohirrim from other men of Gondor he has known. He is 'less grim' etc etc, Eomer felt more at ease in his company, which implies to me more that Boromir interacted with the Rohirrim as equals, unlike most of this kin. Which seems more likely to be an active effort on his part.

But interpretations based off of that are entirely unnecessary, because the Council of Elrond exists! Where Boromir, when confronted with Aragorn's mistrust of the Rohirrim and Gwaihir's accusation that they pay a tribute of horses to Sauron, immediately and comfortably comes to their staunch defense. 'It is a lie that comes from the Enemy' he declares, literally pointing out propeganda that all these elves and dunadain are primed to believe given their own investment in the racial divide between them and these 'middle men'. A primer that also belongs to Boromir, whose place amongst the 'high men' is a right bestowed on him from birth, yet one he is actively discarding here in favour of defending the Rohir perspective.

And not only that! He even goes so far as to place the rohirrim's ethnic and cultural heritage as a reason for their trustworthiness, inspite of the fact that they cannot claim any relation to any so called 'blessed' lineage. They come from 'the free days of old', a statement that is similar to one of Faramir's but that, tellingly, Faramir uses as a method of infantilising the rohirrim 'they remind us of the youth of Men'.

These are all inherently and radically political statements for the heir of the Stewardship, the man next in line to be chieftain of the southern dunadain, to declare, especially when acting as emissary as he is now.

So now, all those moments when Boromir is linked directly with middle men, when his right to his 'high' heritage is questioned, when he is critisised with the same racially charged language as the rohirrim are (too warlike, "we are become Middle Men, of the Twilight, but with memory of other things" [-] "So even was my brother, Boromir") - all of that is now on purpose, on Boromir's part. He is the one distancing himself from the title of 'high' and questioning it's validity in the process, something Faramir clearly disapproved of and was a part of the breakdown in his respect for him. (Understandable, considering Faramir's equal and opposite effort to reclaim the title of 'high' for himself and his people.) Boromir is, essentially, engaging in some kind of racial-hierarchy criticism/abolishionism and activism.

That is not to say that his political opinions all entirely pass muster, he does still engage in racist rhetoric at least once, calling Gondor's eastern enemies 'the wild folk of the east'. But within the context of his own country and it's ethnic diversity, his position is maverick in comparison to pretty much everyone else.

And before anyone says it, let me head off comments like 'Boromir was just being himself, he didn't even know it was political he was just that stupid but I love him for it' No. Boromir's reputation in Gondor was complex and multifacetted but a great many people loved and supported him, clearly we see that there was a divide in political opinion between the two brother's stances on war and society. What you are essentially saying here is that Faramir is such a dull-witted statesman that he was incapable of swaying opinion his way against someone who didn't even know he was a part of the discussion, who wasnt even involved in the debates, against a high society that based their cultural identity on being descended from racially superior Numenoreans. The historical perspective is heavily weighted in Faramir's favour.

The much more likely state of affairs is that Boromir and Faramir have both been working towards their own social change and against each other, causing an opinion divide within the country. And apparently Boromir has not been losing that fight, even if he hasn't been definitively winning it either. Some people call him reckless where Faramir is measured, others say Faramir is not bold enough, Denethor himself claims Faramir is placing his desire for nobility and 'high-ness' over the safety of himself and his people. Culturally Gondor is going in for more pursuits of war-sports (wrestling perhaps) and the adulation of the soldiers that defend them, above the men of lore if Faramir is to be believed.

Society is changing around this debate and Boromir is actively, purposefully and directly involved in that debate! Hells bells, he even describes a part of how he works in the political sphere to Frodo! 'Where there are so many, all speech becomes a debate without end. But two together may perhaps find wisdom.' Boromir is!!! A politician!! On purpose!!

The neutral political position of 'Heir to the Stewardship' given to him by his birth is so ludicrously weighted towards faithful that the effort it must have taken to push the needle and associate with the middle men as such a divisive yet loved figure is MASSIVE. Boromir believed the Rohirrim and middle men of Gondor were his social equals and counted them amongst his people and that was a stance he upheld in PARLIMENT! Stop!! Acting like he's just a blockheaded soldier who cares about nothing else- he cares!! He cares a lot!! Professionally in fact!!

[dulcidyne]

Tibias and Toe Picks

DA:VG//Emmrich x Rook//SFW//Complete Read on AO3!

It is a cold Wintermarch day and the River Minanter frost fair is in full swing.  Emmrich frets, Rook improvises, and Manfred? Manfred skates, of course.

It was a cold Wintermarch day, and the Minanter was a shimmery silver ribbon unspooling a lopsided bow through the city before trailing off into the frost-flocked eastern foothills. Manfred pointed to the dark specks and rainbow flecks dotting busily over distant the frozen river with his most excited hiss.

“Skate!”

Rook, leaning into Emmrich for warmth, her arm wrapped round his, looked up with cold-flushed cheeks and incredulity. “Manfred can ice skate?”

Emmrich winced, folding his palm over the mittened fingertips curling against his forearm. “He...has been making some progress over the years. Last winter, he only fractured the one patella, which was a remarkable improvement.”

“Ahhh,” she said knowingly, then smiled, her eyes dancing as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Couldn’t stop him, could you?” she guessed as she drew back. Her breath was a faint, warm puff against his skin.

“I try every year,” Emmrich lamented. “To no avail. He simply will not be dissuaded. It’s all I can do to minimize the damage.”

“Well, don’t worry,” she said, unlooping her arm from his to clasp his hands in her wool-knit fingers and level him her most confident smile. “This year you have me. I can help.”

A ‘don’t worry’ from anyone who wasn’t Rook would’ve only earned them a displeased frown. On principle, Emmrich took exception to such advice from colleagues and friends. ‘Don’t worry so much’—the careless and willful ignorance of the perpetually blasé. The aggravating simplicity of rephrasing the impossible into the prosaic. Oh, just like that? Don’t worry? Why, what a fool he’d been all this time. Why hadn’t that occurred to him?! 

But Rook’s ‘don’t worry’s were never advice or condescensions—they were promises. And a promise from Rook was not a thing to take lightly. She had a knack for achieving the impossible. If anyone could keep Manfred’s patellae intact, it was her.

Comforted, Emmrich smiled down at her upturned face before loosening his hand from her grip to trace his thumb over the high curve of one cold-pinked cheek. He could still scarcely believe all this was real, that she was really there with him, after everything that had happened. Even after so many months, half of him expected to wake up any moment and find himself back at his desk in the Lighthouse, surrounded by scattered papers and thrown-open texts, the lyrium knife a gleaming taunt as their last words to each other resurfaced over and over in his mind. 

But she’d made him a promise, and she was not a woman to be gainsaid. Fade prisons and gods be damned. And so, here she was, whole and perfect, her face a striking geometry of cheekbone, brow, jaw, and chin softened by her smile and the blush of cold. Pale constellations of snowflakes freckled over the wind-tangled wisps slipping free from the midnight blue of her cloak’s hood. He watched, utterly entranced, as a few lacy flecks dusted over the ruddy tip of her nose like confectioner’s sugar. Unable to resist the temptation, he kissed it, half expecting her to taste as sweet as she looked. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, she only tasted of cold water. Until she canted her chin back and wound her fingers around the nape of his neck to reclaim the melted snow still on his lips. Emmrich sighed against the bold brush of her tongue, the warm, luxuriant glide faintly spiced with cinnamon and clove from the tea she’d downed like a shot right before they’d set out. 

The world unraveled around them, dissolving like the sugar cubes in her tea. There was only the press of her mouth against his, a slow, languid pull drawing him deeper into the soft, Rook-hazed eddies of spices and mingling sighs. It felt like stepping into a dream, the husky note curling at the base of her throat re-weaving reality with borrowed threads of the Fade. Everything was brighter. More beautiful. Colors coruscating in the dusk of his lidded eyes.

“Skate!” Manfred cried out again, befuddled and aggravated by their delay. “Not kiss.” 

Rook broke away with a stifled giggle. As yet, none of their explanations had managed to provide his erstwhile assistant with any real understanding of the concept of a ‘kiss’ or why  Rook and he had been…ah…rather preoccupied with the practice over the past several months.

“Sorry, Manfred,” she said, her smile crooking at a chiding angle as she leaned back against Emmrich’s hands fitted round her waist. “But this time, it wasn’t my fault.”

“I’m afraid it was, darling,” Emmrich argued, stealing one last kiss from her lips before drawing back and folding her arm around his in a single, smooth gesture. “It invariably is. Even when it isn’t.”

She settled against his side, fitting as snugly as if she were made for it. Or maybe the other way around—as if it had been made for her. Blasphemous as it was, he didn’t believe in the Maker’s will. Andrastrianism had abandoned him the moment he’d plucked his mother’s teacup from the rubble of their home. But in moments like these, he wondered if he should believe in something. In the divinity that existed between her shoulder and his side, a perfection of hollows and contours finding their respective matches. It was so small, but…he was more in awe of it than he’d ever been of any golden Chantry statue.

“Hardly seems fair,” she said with a playful sigh gusting up through a snowflake-studded curl.

“Dearest, imagine how I feel,” he replied, pulling her closer to his side as the snow crunched beneath their boots and Manfred ambled ahead.

As they drew closer to the riverbank, the smells of the frost fair food stalls curled beckoning fingers on every chill gust. Caramelized sugar and fried dough sprinkled with Rivaini cinnamon and nutmeg, roasted chestnuts and savory potato cakes laden with sage and rosemary. Beneath—the sharp, herbaceous whiff of balsam resin and juniper berries, clove-studded wheels of dried citron rinds fastened to garlands looped with diaphanous black crêpe to honor the ancestral dead as Nevarrans did in all celebrations.

Rook tipped her head to the side to nuzzle against his shoulder as she inhaled deeply. “When I was a child, I told myself one day I’d buy something from every single food stall at the frost fair.”

Emmrich chuckled, scanning the multicolored banners of the stall awnings garlanding the frozen riverbank in two opposing rainbows of oversized fabric pennants. He couldn’t even begin to count them all. As a child, his hopes had always been confined to a single pastry or a hot paper cone of chestnuts shared with his parents.

“You were always ambitious, then?”

“I don’t believe in doing things by halves,” she joked, cutting him a wry, sideways glance before her voice dropped into something softer. “It wasn’t so much about wanting the food as it was about wanting what the people with the food had. Seeing the parents and children and lovers and families huddling around the stalls, sharing and passing it around. To my mind, having neither, the food was the essential bit, so of course my dream was to get as much of that as possible.”

“Darling,” he uttered, pausing as they passed beneath one of the towering Van Markham statues lining the end of the boulevard.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, playfully misinterpreting his dismay. “With you and Manfred with me, I’m sure I’ll be just as happy only buying food from half the stalls.”

Once again, it was entirely her fault when he kissed her. And this time, she was the one sighing against his lips, her generous mouth parting, pliant. It only made him restless and greedy. His arms found their way around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest as he drew back into the shadow of the statue, away from any prying glances from the boulevard’s passers by. 

“Highly…improper,” she teased, words catching between kisses, her mittened fingertips knitting round his neck. 

“Your influence,” Emmrich whispered breathlessly. The full jut of her bottom lip was endlessly fascinating. Petulant and petal soft. He could devote himself to the study of it and nothing else for years. Write an entire thesis on it. With footnotes, he thought headily, arms full of her, his teeth grazing needy indents into her lip as he hauled her against him. The dip of her hip against his thigh—half divine, half dream.

“Skaaate!” Manfred cried out, dragging the word out as if he’d been mortally wounded and this was his dying moan. And then again and again. Until he was repeating one unending litany of, “Skateskateskateskate.”

“Manfred’s right,” Rook sighed, drawing her fallen hood back over her hair after they extricated themselves from the impassioned embrace with clumsy, wobbling limbs. “We’ll never make it to the fair before dusk at this rate.”

Emmrich cleared his throat and straightened his tie pin—her roaming hands always left it a little crooked. “Yes, but, nevertheless. Patience and discipline are qualities we must strive to embody, no matter the circumstance.”

Manfred did an impressive job of looking utterly betrayed, his emeralds glinting with an aggrieved sheen as he stared up at Emmrich with a slackened mandible.

Rook cocked her head and laughed. “Is this lecture for us or for Manfred?”

Well… that was fair. He was painting a very fine picture of a hypocrite at the moment. Emmrich’s already warm neck warmed hotter, and he coughed delicately. After all his lectures and lessons—to be so easily overcome by his own desires and feelings. Besotted, he’d ruefully called it once. But he no longer felt any regret over losing his head around her. Rook was a veritable bundle of impulses and improvisation wrapped up in a lovely bow. She kissed him in public, on the street, without a thought or a care who might be watching. Pulled him back into bed when he rose at dawn, distracted him from his books and research, waylaid his lectures and lessons. And he loved every minute of it. There was a charm to a life with a little less regimentation.  

Or maybe there was just charm to a life with Rook in it.

Either way, he’d come to realize since their relationship began that his much lauded virtue of ‘patience’ was highly contingent on the strength of his desires. He was not, as it turned out, actually all too patient a man where Rook was concerned.

“A fine point,” he conceded. “My apologies for all the delays, Manfred.”

With a hiss of forgiveness, Manfred accepted the apology, and they made their way down to the river without (much) incident, arriving well before dusk just as the band began to play. The atmosphere on the ice was as jubilant as the rich smells from the stalls, laughter and voices rising into the air with the cheery carnival sounds of strings and brass, a trilling piccolo cutting through the happy shrieks of a gaggle of children racing past on sleds. Manfred goggled at the sight, nearly taking off after them before Rook and Emmrich wrangled him over towards the quieter side of the river, away from the tents and stalls offering ale, mulled wine, and coffee and over towards one of the puppet plays re-enacting a famous Pentaghast dragon hunt for a group of younger children.

With Manfred momentarily distracted by puppets, Emmrich rifled through his pack and produced stacks of handsewn leather pads. 

“These go on the joints,” he told Rook. “And these on the long bones. Do try to tie them as tight as possible or they will slip off.”

He showed her how best to fasten the knots and left her to it, before returning to the pack for the quilted gambeson and chausses. Rook’s glance flicked up to the gambeson, and she blinked.

“Emmrich, that’s—” “Too thin, do you think?” he asked, holding it out for inspection. He’d had Manfred sew in an additional layer of padding after last year’s patella incident, and the garment was now about the thickness of Emmrich’s pinkie. 

“Thin is not the word I’d use,” Rook said, smiling as she tugged the last of the fastenings tight around an ulna. 

Together, they managed to stuff Manfred, who was now giddy and fidgeting with excitement, into the unwieldy gambeson. The chausses after. At last, Emmrich produced a pair of modified bone skates and skating poles.

“He does much better with the older skates and poles,” he informed Rook, fitting the first shearling-soled skate to Manfred’s nubbly calcaneus. “I shudder to think how much harm he’d come to with the metal blade alternative.”

Rook smiled indulgently, helping him fasten on the second skate to his other foot. 

And with that, at last, Manfred was ready. Rook stepped back and took one sweeping look from cranium to talus, before dissolving into fits of laughter so hard, she doubled over and clutched her midsection.

With the additional padding, the gambeson now had a rather…rotund appearance. Not so much as an inch of pale bone was visible beneath the swaddling quilt, knit, and shearling—just Manfred’s pair of glowing faceted emeralds. At a glance and from far away, instead of a skeleton, one might see a strangely proportioned but portly living man.

“Skate!” Manfred cackled in glee from beneath the padded skullcap and wool knit scarf wrapped thrice round his cervical vertebrae. 

Emmrich smiled as Rook wiped away her tears of mirth onto her mittens.

“You look very handsome, Manfred,” she said at last. “And most importantly, very safe,”

“Yes, well,” Emmrich said, retrieving the two pairs of iron and wood skating blades from the bottom of the mostly empty pack. “After you, my dear.”

Dropping to a crouch, he held his hands out for her boot so that he could assist her in fastening them on—a rather complicated process. She’d worn her oldest pair for some reason; the outsoles worn so smooth,  it was a miracle she hadn’t slipped on the icy cobbles on their way there.

Rook blinked down at him, confused for a moment before comprehension banished the tiny furrow between her brows. “Emmrich, I can’t skate with those,” she said. “I’ll sprain both ankles in the minute!”

Ah. It hadn’t occurred to him, but of course it should have—while there were a good number with metal skates like the ones he had in his hands, most of Nevarra City’s poor made do without, simply sliding across the ice in their own shoes. Iron was an expensive commodity, an exorbitant purchase for the handful of weeks in the year when the river froze solid enough for skating. Hadn’t he learned with just his own boots, all those years ago?

He also realized belatedly why she’d worn those particular boots. 

“It’s not very different, you see,” he explained, standing to fasten the blade contraption over his own boot. “The blades lie nearly flat on the outsole; the advantage is that the metal produces less friction.” Lacing it tight, he tested his weight to ensure the bindings were holding appropriately, then skimmed his heel against the ice in one short glide to show her.

Rook only looked skeptical. “Let’s deal with one novice at a time, shall we?” she suggested. “Or we’ll have four broken patellae on our hands.” There was certainly wisdom in that, so Emmrich finished fitting the second blade on his boot before returning her pair to Manfred’s pack. Standing, he took Manfred’s left side and Rook took his right. Manfred pushed off with the sticks in one faltering glide before immediately veering, then tipping over onto Rook. 

She might’ve withstood the sudden onslaught of skeletal limbs…if it weren’t for that gambeson. With the increased bulk came increased weight, and the pair of them collapsed onto the ice with a co-mingled shriek and hiss. 

Emmrich cried out their names in succession, leaning over them to grasp one of the flailing limbs. As Manfred struggled like an upturned turtle, Rook rolled onto her back, still half-pinned by him, and directed her peels of laughter up towards the sky. 

“He’s so heavy with this thing on Emmrich, I can barely breathe!” she gasped. “Gravity,” Manfred informed them cheerfully as Emmrich pulled him off her. He seemed no worse for wear, Rook having broken his fall.

“Yes, and remember, it can be very dangerous, Manfred” Emmrich warned, reaching next for the laughing puddle of splaying midnight wool and woman. “Are you injured?” 

“A little flatter maybe, but otherwise fine,” she said, letting him draw her up and pat her down for a more thorough inspection. He didn’t entirely trust Rook’s definition of fine. She applied it rather loosely.

“I wasn’t prepared,” she added, as he skimmed his palms over her forearms, gently manipulating her wrists and elbows for sprains or breaks. She let him, without complaint, indulging his concern with a fond glance. “I don’t actually know if he can move in that thing, Emmrich. Perhaps we should–”

“We can’t remove it,” Emmrich protested, bending her wrist one last time just to be sure, his thumbs rubbing circles into her skin beneath the cuff of wool. “It’s the only thing keeping him safe.”

The corners of her smile tucked in as if she were biting it back and her eyes danced with obvious affection before she gripped his hand in hers and squeezed.

“Alright, then…perhaps one of us could pull him?” She scanned the crowds before her eyes settled on a woman with her child, skating backwards in short, faltering glides as she bent over and held the girl’s hands as she followed. “Like that.”

She shifted back, letting her worn boots glide back over the ice, tugging him with her to demonstrate further. “And the other can follow behind, just in case.”

Emmrich blinked. Then laughed. All these years, he’d been instructing Manfred in proper technique and form and adding more and more padding when it failed to take as well as he’d hoped. But it’d somehow never occurred to him to teach him the way he’d learned with his mother and father.

“What an excellent idea, my love!” he declared, beaming at her and wanting very badly to kiss her again. He might have if Manfred wasn’t eying the both of them with a beseeching emerald glint.

“Skate?” he rasped.

And so that’s what they did. With the sheer weight of the bundled up Manfred, Emmrich was the only one who could pull him without immediately stopping again in short order. Rook did a fair job of keeping up in just her boots, stringing together staccato glides with the practiced grace of someone who’d spent many winters on the frozen Minanter. She helped push Manfred along, falling behind, then catching up just in time to give him another gentle nudge. Not needing the skate poles or to watch where he was going, Manfred was free to throw his head back in glee, his crackling hisses joining Rook’s breathless laughs and Emmrich’s encouragement. With this promising progress, Emmrich finally conceded to removing the bulky gambeson, much to Manfred and Rook’s delight. Without the weight of the padding, they were able to pick up more speed, tracing zig-zags over the ice in their trio processional, Manfred’s cheery red scarf flapping behind him like a colorful woolen tail as he chortled his delight.

And what a difference that made! Not a solitary wobble or stumble, Emmrich was beside himself with pride.

As the beginnings of sunset bloomed over the skyline, deepening it into a spill of pinks and golds the color of the wheels of fried dough slathered in apricot jam sold at his favorite stall, Manfred’s attention fixed on the group of screeching and scampering merchant children sledding gleefully down the gentle slope of the riverbank, popping up at the bottom and racing to the top to do it all over again. With their vivid red, blue, and yellow cloaks, they looked like oversized out of season songbirds fluttering up and down the riverbank in raucous trills and chirps.

“Gravity!” he said.“Sled.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Rook puffed as she caught up, her rapid breaths wisping white clouds into the cold. “I’m about to drop.” They skated over towards the shallow riverbank and Emmrich removed Manfred’s skates while Rook went over to a nearby merchant’s stall to haggle over the rental price of one of the simple wooden sledges.

By the time she returned, Manfred was skateless but once again clad in the gambeson. 

“There may still be hidden rocks,” Emmrich preempted, even though he needn’t defend himself. There’d been no critique in her smile, only fond exasperation.

“I know I worry–” he began.

“You care,” she corrected, handing over the sledge to Manfred’s outstretched mittens before wrapping her arm back round Emmrich’s so she could nudge his side with her elbow.

“Besides,” she added, as Manfred scampered up the modest incline, hurled the sled into the snow at the top only for it to descend immediately without him, resulting in his outraged cry and subsequent chase.

“I think it’s normal to worry after everything that’s happened. It still doesn’t feel real sometimes. Like this is all a just dream and I’m—” She trailed off, clutching Emmrich’s arm tighter and flashing up a tremulous smile. “But then I take a look at that ridiculous gambeson and I realize there’s no way I could think up something like that on my own.”

Retrieving the sledge, Manfred trecked back up the hill, waddling back and forth to manage the weight of all the padding. They watched him ascend again, this time setting the sledge down carefully, and Emmrich sighed through the tightness in his chest. He’d already lost them once; he couldn’t bear experiencing such a thing again. It would destroy him.

“Sometimes I wish I could put you both in a box where no harm could ever come to you,” he admitted. “It’s…”

Overbearing. Neurotic. Highly impractical.

“A bit much, I know.” He winced down at the top of her head. Her hood had fallen back a bit again, exposing the part of her hair. Such a small thing, that neat little valley, and seeing it, he felt strangely bereft, as if he could still glimpse a world without it out of the corner of his eye.

“Gravity!” Manfred cackled as he cut a path down the slope.

“Don’t worry,” she said, resting her temple against his shoulder the way she always liked to do. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither is Manfred.”

Another promise. Weighter than before. Rook was impulsive in most things and speech was no exception; always starting sentences without knowing how she wanted to finish them. Always in a rush. Always in the moment. A woman in perpetual present tense. But this promise had all the gleam of the future, bright as gold, and it banished those shadows from the edges of his sight.

“Skate with me, darling,” he said, waving Manfred down before he could ascend the slope again and reaching into the pack for her skate blades.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her as he knelt down to lace them over her boots. He meant it the way she meant it: a promise he intended to keep. For as long as he was able. “I’ll be right beside you.”

“Manfred, stay in sight,” Emmrich instructed as he led Rook away from the bank towards the center of the ice, skating backwards and holding her hand so that he could brace her weight as she took her first hesitant steps.

Which shifted into hesitant strides once she found her balance again. Finally, she looked up from her scuffed-up boots to meet his gaze.

“It’s not so different at all,” she said, her grin radiant, eyes luminous with excitement and discovery.

More confident, her strides lengthened and the metal blades whispered against the surface, etching longer and longer criss-crosses of silver over the ice. With increased confidence, all her former grace returned, her hand lightening in his grip as her balance became effortless. She laughed, full and vibrant, and it joined the sound of bells and piccolo on the breeze flitting over the ice.

Emmrich shifted his weight, pulling her closer as their path shifted into a curve—an impossibility on anything but the metal skates.

“There are some differences,” he said, his grin matching hers.

Rook lit up, eyes gleaming with all the possibilities unfolding before her. The nippy Wintermarch air whipped around them as they picked up speed, etching out arcs and looping whorls. He loosened their clasp, a silent invitation, gliding to her side to guide her into a tighter turn. His hand slipped beneath her fluttering cloak, fitting against her waist to steady her as they spirographed across the ice, movements so fluid, they were almost instinctual.

Together, they spun a dizzying gavotte of intricate patterns, threading through a series of fleeting touches. His fingers brushing her waist, her arm, her back, and the playful whisper of her fingertips responded in kind as she spun away, only to return. The world became the rush of air, the crisp bite of frost, and the electric tingle of her ambient magic circling closer.

Distantly, he noticed they’d drifted too close to the bank. But before he could retreat to the safety of the river, as quick as a blink, a red woolen scarf and bundle of knit and shearling cleaved through the gap between them, Manfred chortling with joy and alarm.

Rook cut an impressive turn, neat as a pin, that sent her careening towards the near bank. In a flash of alarm, Emmrich realized he’d yet to show her how to stop on metal skates—something no one had to worry about skating on boot heels alone. He raced for her, grabbing her cloak and yanking her into his arms just as his skate caught on a rough patch of snowy ground and sent them both hurtling into the bank.

The crust of snow crunched beneath them, pillowing their fall and soft as a sigh. No hidden rocks or secret treacheries. Just snow. Still in his arms, Rook twisted to look at him, her hood thrown back askew and her tousled hair frosted all over in white.

“Emmrich—” she said, leaning over him to see if he was unharmed. But he was laughing breathlessly.

And then he was pulling her down into the snow and kissing her.

[sane-human]

Just some doodles, struggled with beards-

The lamassu and shedu were household protective spirits of the common Assyrian people, becoming associated later as royal protectors, and were placed as sentinels at entrances.

Decided to give Lion traits to Babylonia as "The Lion of Babylon symbolically represented the King of Babylon."

(Also basing them on Ištar since she's rappresented as a lion!)

Also decided to make Babyolonia the baby version of the Achaemenid Empire, (since Babylon was also used as a regional capital by that empire and the city of Baylon was a very important city), that joined in with the Persis! (this is my own interpretation of events through art, like a dragon ball fusion!)

"The ancient Persians were present in the region of Persis from about the 10th century BC. They became the rulers of the largest empire the world had yet seen under the Achaemenid dynasty which was established in the late 6th century BC, at its peak stretching from Thrace-Macedonia, Bulgaria-Paeonia and Eastern Europe proper in the west, to the Indus Valley in its far east."

Elam lived a lot, and also the following civilization shows the Achaemenid Empire, for those 11 years I like to imagine them hanging out togheter :D

.

.

.

Elam lived more than Sumer so...

Song: GILGAMESH LAMENT FOR ENKIDU

text: The Death of Enkidu:

"What is this sleep which holds you now?

You are lost in the dark and cannot hear me.'"

He touched his heart but it did not beat, nor did he lift his eyes again. When Gilgamesh touched his heart it did not beat. So Gilgamesh laid a veil, as one veils the bride, over his friend. He began to rage like a lion, like a lioness robbed of her whelps.

[doomedlemur]

Crowley does not have memory loss.

I very disagree with the Crowley has memory loss from the Fall theory, and I want to enumerate my points.

"He doesn't remember Furfur or Saraqael!" you say. Do you remember everyone you went to high school* with, everyone you ever did group projects with? *or elementary school if you're under 20 He probably worked with a lot of different angels on nebulae, and fought alongside a lot of different demons-to-be in the war. Look at the scene we saw with Aziraphale. You just know she wasn't paying attention to what Aziraphale said his name was and was going to have to ask when they met again. Angel!Crowley has got ADHD hyperfixations and the people around him aren't as interesting. Barely worth acknowledging. Meanwhile, he himself is quite memorable to others. (Not to mention highly-ranked in heaven's hierarchy.) What did Furfur say? "You used to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat." Who's the more memorable being in that encounter? The (literal?) monkey hopping around jumping on people or whatever poor sod he's hopping on? As someone who stood out in school as a weirdo, I myself have more than once had someone hit me up on Facebook years later acting like we'd been friendly in school, and experienced that exact "??? Who are you?"

He remembers creating gravity. Vaguely, you say? Sure, but it was a long time ago. While all told Crowley and Aziraphale have excellent memories, they are not perfect. See them not able to recall who was responsible for the Reign of Terror only ~200 years ago.

"I helped make that nebula" he also recalls.

Crowley easily recognized the Metatron saying he'd last seen him as a floating head. As an angel with a lot of questions for God, he would have talked to the Metatron all the time before the Fall.

Reiterating above point, in Uz, they remember trying to get through to God to ask their questions.

He knows how to sneak into heaven and remembers his passwords.

He remembers going into battle.

He remembers frightening the cherubs with the threat of Extreme Sanctions.

In Eden, Aziraphale didn't know what name they were going by, so had to ask, but note that Crowley neither asked Aziraphale's name nor did Aziraphale introduce himself. "We've been talking for millions of years," he told Maggie and Nina. Perhaps he was being hyperbolic, but perhaps not. Before "the Beginning" when the Earth itself was created there was an untold amount of time where the angels were all getting things ready and then warring amongst themselves. I think it's clear that one scene we saw was not their only encounter before the Fall, and Crowley remembers his prior acquaintance with Aziraphale. Mightn't he have had some hesitation in approaching the Guardian of the Eastern Gate if he didn't already know him? But no, he slithers right up that wall and starts a conversation with a tone of familiarity.

Again, in Uz, they both acknowledge how they knew each other in heaven.

And finally, if you're thinking of Neil Gaiman saying how Crowley is an unreliable narrator regarding the circumstances of his Fall, everything he says that seems contradictory can be just as easily explained by lies, denial, rationalizations, equivocations, half-truths, etc. At no point does he say he doesn't remember falling or even why it happened. He just laments the injustice of it.

[bloodsworn-marshal]

Writing Prompt: Duel Word Count: 483 ---> masterlist

During Ala Mhigo’s liberation campaign…

There the contingent waited with bated breath for the Warrior of Light’s return at Castrum Oriens. Their one and only holding between there and Rhalgr’s Reach, which currently belonged to the local Ala Mhigan Resistance.

A place, they so painfully learned, that proved unsafe despite their presence and alliance. A holding that would have ended their campaign then and there had they not defended it so vehemently against the Viceroy… who decidedly walked away once they had their fill of bloodbath.

Were it not for the imperial whims, they’d be right back where they started. Worse off even.

“Confound it all. The Viceroy was right godsdamned in front of me and it was all I could do to remain conscious!”

Pipin had been wallowing pitifully for the past few days since the attack. It had been his plan that night to coordinate an attack on the imperial’s enemy based—how ironic they had planned the very same on the Rhalgr’s Reach on the very same night?

They did not lose the Reach. But they did sorely lose their pride. So many wounded. So many fallen. And now Lyse and her entourage made for the East to garner the assistance of others to join them in their fight for liberation. While he and the companies could do naught but wait and hold out for their return.

Pipin recalled the night where he stood face to face with Zenos. Fighting alongside the Warrior of Light and one of their other companions. How hopeful they were that they might end Garlean occupation should they slay their heir right then and there! That he might have had a helping hand in achieving his Father’s dream at long last!

But Zenos… seven hells… he’d blasted their lot back in one fell swoop. In a single blink of an eye, Pipin found himself knocked breathless and barely able to hold himself up on one knee. That was no duel. There were no equal grounds. It was an outright massacre.

And Pipin lamented his weakness for it.

“Arenvald.” He at some point approached the remaining Scion who decided to stay behind and assist with the liberation efforts. The man also of Ala Mhigan blood and just as hurting for their loss. “While we wait on word from those on the Eastern Front, I have the mind to keep my blade busy.”

He wouldn’t go down so easily on the next meeting with Zenos. This he swore to himself. In the coming days he would train from dawn to dusk. And he had the mind that Arenvald felt the same after what they had just witnessed.

“Why not?” Arenvald simply rolled their shoulders as if readying for a proper spar. A duel that would take place every other day to test their wits and prowess against one another. “We’ll surprise our friends yet upon their return.”

[krsnaradhika]

In which I narrate the story of the Syamantaka jewel rather quickly.

Roughly five thousand years ago, in the auspicious land of Aryavarta, when the pseudo emperor wrecked havoc upon the Yadava tribes— there came a savior who uplifted their melancholic spirits. Fighting off Jarasandha seventeen times, during the eighteenth ambush, Krishna: the sole surviving son of Devaki and Vasudeva, took his kinsmen to the safety of the sea.

The thalassic city of Dwarka as it was named, the one with numerous gates was the capital of the Yadavas. There lived a prosperous merchant named Satrajita. He had the gem Syamantaka, and a gem among women for his daughter— Satyabhama. Several springs back, while offering his dawn worship to the solar god, he had found her in a gigantic lotus bloom floating on a pond.

Now, it was when the Syamantaka jewel went missing that the merchant lost his senses, clouded by roaring vexation.

“This! This Vrishni prince, this Krishna of notorious mien has stolen my property which was a blessing from Suryadeva!” Satrajita shrieked, fixing a furious gaze at the dark-complexioned lord who had arrived at once when he heard of the unfortunate incident. Krishna gaped at him incredulously, wordless at the pang of emotions that hit him like the celestial Vajra. With his signature grin robbed away, he shook his head ever so slightly, war-like shoulders sagged in sadness.

The father of Satyabhama continued his lament, “He had come wishing for the Syamantaka to be submitted in the treasury. Surely I turned him down, for it belongs to me. Now he took it away by force when his vanity was injured!”

Behind the slightly parted gates of her residence stood Satyabhama, aghast and devastation written on her golden visage, oddly mirroring the turmoil of the accused. An emptiness swirled in her chest and she staggered a step, never knowing when her knees would give in.

The lotus born was not a stranger to the kingmaker. She knew him like the back of her palm— like the rains know petrichor, like the constellations know the moon and how the sun is wont to the seamless ether. She’d admire him from a distance, barely in touch but so much in his mind, Krishna could never truly shake off her orphic presence.

All her dreams and all his exuberance shattered at the wrath of Satrajita.

“Father, you sent Uncle Prasena to the eastern forests with the gem, didn’t you?” Satyabhama strode into the privacy of her house, turning the heads of her extended family along with the beautiful dusky prince. Her eyes pooled with fury driven tears and she turned her head down, ashamed by the shock in her father’s eyes and found him let down by her gall. But how could she let go of her strong sense of justice?

Prasenajita, the brother of Satrajita and Satyabhama’s uncle was known to be fond of hunting. Since not many days, neither him nor the gem were heard of.

“The jungle is guarded by the king of the bears, the immortal Jambavan. I apologize for the humiliation, Your Highness. I’m terribly sorry for my transgressions against you too, father.” She hastily brushed away her tears and swallowed the guilt gnawing at her throat. Her parents were rendered mum by her demeanor, known to maintain dignified silence unless not spoken to. She was immensely self respecting and knew her strengths— but this was something not envisaged.

“Be victorious in your pursuits. I must take my leave.” And she marched into her chambers and shut the doors in a frenzy, cursing at her stars.

Taking his cue, Krishna set off to find the jewel and clear his reputation. Even the common folks were influenced by the senseless words of Satrajita and eyed him with suspicion, him who had earned a venerable position for his clan in the political dynamics of the subcontinent. But he was known to steal butter back in his boyhood days, and old habits die hard.

Krishna’s ilks who had accompanied him in his quest, returned from the frightening jungle. However, without him by their side.

For twenty-nine days and twenty-nine nights, Satyabhama neither knew rest nor sleep. Her thoughts would often drift to the ignominy of the man she had come to love and the dejection in her father’s eyes. She tossed and turned on her bed all night, haunted by all sorts of morbid possibilities. “Why did you pit me against my own father, Gauri Maa? Will you not protect the marital serendipity of Princess Rukmini who has left everything and all for him?” She wept afore the mother-goddess presiding over the local temple, never knowing how to face the first wife of her beloved. Am I the root of her sorrow? I shouldn't have led him to his doom. The wretched thing isn’t worth the dust of his feet.

On day thirty, His Highness made a grandiose reappearance. Darker and gleaming like winter eventides, brawn and glorious in the same vein as that of rain clouds— Krishna came, like an elixir upon barren earth, with the Syamantaka tied around his nape in a flower festoon and a new wife in his arms. The woman was about as tall as him, if not more, which was surely a lot. She had the complexion of blue water lilies and embodied the goddess of the forests, Aranyani. Like Seeta would follow Rama and like how Rama would be fond of his bride, Krishna and the woman casted coy glances at each other. Satyabhama added two and two to find she was Jambavati, the daughter of Jambavan.

Prasenajita had been mauled to death by a lion and the beast was vanquished by Jambavan, who had then acquired the jewel. Nearly two moons of a brawl later, Krishna had defeated the bear king and revealed to him that he was the Raghava Jambavan had aided in the previous era.

Satyabhama knew neither envy nor dismay. All that mattered was Krishna being safe and sound, and happy.

Dwarka clamored in bliss once again, echoing the chants of the god incarnate’s name. People fell at his feet and he patiently made his way through them, making them rise again and beaming their way. Eventually, he reached the palatial foyer and formally greeted his family and friends.

Satrajita mumbled endless apologies, bowing to the usually gregarious youth who was going beet red in shame at the wallowing of the merchant. Elders weren't supposed to be belittled so, Krishna believed.

“Please- this is the least I can do, son. I have falsely tarnished your image when—”

Krishna shook his head, the opal diadem with a fluttering iridescent feather the only thing adorning him. He was ethereal through and through, the ocean of compassion. “I cannot have your gem, Arya. It should be under your protection. I have never desired it for myself. Besides, this is not the best jewel that you have.” He turned to glimpse at Satyabhama who gaped blankly at the trio— Satrajita, Krishna and Jambavati.

The bear princess winked at her. I know your secret, her mischief seemed to articulate.

“In that case.” Satrajita took his daughter’s crimson painted palm in his own and led her entranced self to the kingmaker with a flute. “You may have the best one, Vaasudeva. You are the only one I deem competent to have my true fortune. She has guided my maligned mind away from the dark and brought me undying glee. My sweet child Satyabhame, do you consent to this marriage?”

Flustered, she nodded in affirmation and her bridegroom gladly looped an arm around her. Rukmini circled the veneration platter around the three of them, a broad grin splitting her gentle face.

Reverence softened his lotus eyes and he whispered to her, slightly leaning to her side, as if praying for Devi Lakshmi to grace him, “Welcome home, Bhame. I could never not have wished for your hand in mine.”