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docholligay · 3 years

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Tracer/Emily “on a scar”

Talk about stuff I've meant to write for ages, this moment is finally out in the world. ANYWAY THANK YOU 1600ish words, all of my OW universe is here.

Tracer kissed her shoulder.

It should have felt good. She wanted it to feel good. She was incredibly attracted to Tracer, who had been a perfect lady over the past few weeks. Tracer, who was handsome and charming and gallant, who had treated her to dinner and walks in the park and made her laugh with all her stories, brought her flowers and told her she looked wonderful in purple, who had never invited herself up even though her eyes clearly wanted to be invited up.

But instead, there was a sort of deep grim that lapped at the corner of her mind. Emily was not good with women. She wasn’t good with anyone really, over the age of six, she thought, quiet and shy and awkward, the way she’s been all of her life. She wanted this, and she was afraid of it. She was not a casual person. Sometimes she wished she were.

The hard part, for Emily, was knowing when to tell someone. When she had been younger, it had been easy to blame her being trans for every ounce of hesitation she felt in a public setting, for every stumble through a conversation, and every bad date where her calls were never returned. It some ways, it had made things easier, to know that there was an immutable reason for such things, but life is rarely so kind, and she had met so many other women like her who glittered and had full dance cards, who lived life loudly.

So her own hated timidness had to, at least in some capacity, be an organic consequence of being Emily McNair, rather than anything else. It was disappointing.

But because she was Emily McNair, and because she had no idea of what it meant to be casual, and because she, like the silly fool that she was, was dangerously close to being truly in love with Tracer, she had to tell her. She wanted to tell her. Because if she was going to love Tracer, she had to know that Tracer could love all of her, even her history.

She tried not to expect too much of people in that vein.

“Em?” Tracer pulled away from her, ‘Can’t ‘elp but notice you don’t seem particularly engaged. You,” she seemed disappointed, “you not want to?”

“Oh, Lena, I do, but it’s only..” She tucked her hair behind her ear, “I have to speak to you, first.”

Her eyes darted around the room. “What ‘ave I done? Or not done?”

“No, no, of course no. It’s only me.”

“Alright. All ears.”

Emily was sure there had to be a perfect way of doing this, but over the twenty odd years of her life, she had never quite found it. Words were, most people would agree, not Emily’s strong suit, and generally she was as content to listen to others talk as they were. The handful of times she had gotten far enough to want to tell someone, it had never come out the way she’d imagined, and as Tracer looked at her, she realized that new and better speech she kept planning wasn’t going to reveal itself this time either.

“I’m trans. I just--thought you should know, before.” She swallowed and looked off to the side, waiting.

Tracer rocked back on her heels and looked at Emily.

“Is that all? Doesn’t matter, I don’t care about that,” she stopped for a moment, “Sorry. You know,” she tilted her head quickly and leaned forward, trying to put herself back into Emily’s gaze, “it’s just now occurred to me why me Dad put it that way when I told ‘im I was gay, can’t really think of a better way to say it--suppose it didn’t urt that ‘e wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by the news--but wasn’t helpful to me then either.” She took Emily’s hand. “Thank you for telling me. I feel all the same about you as I did. I think you are absolutely beautiful, and I cannot believe me luck, sitting on the sofa with you. You ‘ave no reason to be shy with me. Still buzzing about being invited up, love.”

Emily let her shoulders relax a little. “I’m shy with everyone.”

“I ‘ope sincerely that it’s not that people ‘ave been cruel to you.”

“Not, I think I’m just a bit awkward, I mean,” Emily shook her head. “Most people haven’t known since I left school. But I don’t much,” she fiddled with the strap of her dress, “you know, see women.”

Tracer smiled. “Right. Let me show you something.”

She slipped her shirt off under her CA with a speed and grace Emily would not have guessed was possible, leaving only her CA and a sports bra. The first thing she noticed were the bright toucans on Tracer’s bra. The second thing she noticed was that Tracer was as spectacularly toned as she might have guessed given her quick strength, and she blushed.

The third thing she noticed were two deep and heavily puckered scars, right at the edge of her rib cage. Her eyes widened and she brought a hand to her mouth, without thinking, and then immediately realized Tracer must be seeing her, after being so kind to Emily, showing shock, and she might think it was disgust--

But Tracer gave that loud peal of a laugh that Emily loved so much. “I know! Terrible, innit? Man shot me.” She scowled a moment. “Thought ‘e was me friend, once upon a time, but ‘e did disabuse me of that notion, as Fareeha put it, you know, love, for all the times she pretends she doesn’t understand a bloody thing I’m saying she manages to put up quite the English vocabulary when it suits her, right? Right, absolute tosh--listen to me waffling on, me Dad always said I could talk for England--what I mean is, love, you ain’t the only one with a thing or two unusual. Say nothing about the machinery. I’m loads of things to get used to, right? So you and I are of a kind. Me more than you, even, ‘ave no doubt you look better with your clothes off than me, if you don’t mind me saying so, right? So you never need be shy with me, for I’ll always do me best. I ‘ave no doubt that I will say or do something unbelievably bloody stupid, and when that happens, I want you to say, ‘Lena, you bloody stupid cunt,” Emily laughed and shook her head, “--No love, I’m being very serious just now--Lena, don’t do that” and then I won’t.”

Emily looked at her. Tracer’s eyes were bright and sparkling, but full of sincerity. Even now, she had that little resting smile on her face that Emily had come to realize just sat there, as unhappiness did on others. There was something about Tracer that drew Emily in, that made her feel safe, and suddenly it felt true, that someone like Tracer could not mind. Suddenly it seemed silly to Emily that anyone had ever minded at all. She had so many explanations planned out, ways to make it okay for Tracer and assure her that there wasn’t much different about Emily, but it all seemed completely unnecessary in the moment.

She had been honest, when she said she didn’t care.

Emily reached her hand out and brushed her fingertips against the deep crater on Tracer’s stomach, and Tracer did not flinch away from her touch, even for a moment.

“It must have hurt terribly.”

Tracer shook her head. “You know, actually, I lost a great deal of blood very quickly, which doesn’t necessarily recommend itself but I will say made the pain a bit of a non-issue.” She laughed again. “Honestly, Winston’s more traumatized by it than I am, I only remember little bits of the thing. Lost some of me liver though, and I am sore about that, as I make quite a bit of use of it,” she looked down, “ as you can see by the fact that I lack a bit in the definition department.”

“You’re very handsome, Lena.” Emily said, still looking at the scar, unable to look Tracer in the eye when she said it.

“Well, you’re kind to say so.” Tracer put her hand on top of Emily’s. “I still am keen to root about the cabbages, so to speak, and I want you to know I won’t be put off so easily in future,” she grinned, “but if you’d rather not tonight, I understand that, as well.”

“Oh, but I don’t want you to go!”

Tracer took Emily by the shoulders. “I can stay then, love. ‘Appy to ‘ear it. Can stay all night, if you like. But we don’t ‘ave to do nothing.”

Emily leaned forward and put her head on Tracer’s shoulder, letting herself fall into her embrace. Tracer kissed her forehead.

“We can stay just like this, love.”

I love you, she wanted to say, I love you, and I feel excited and happy and utterly terrified at the fact. But, she reasoned, she had tripped over her own tongue enough for one evening, and in this moment, she thought she would have plenty of other chances. Tracer would stay. She kissed Tracer’s cheek and settled into her arms as Tracer laid back against the couch.

“You know, the scars aren’t even the worst of it, with me. ‘Ardware neither.”

“Oh?”

“Right, there’s the entirety of me personality to deal with, as well. Messy. Can’t pay attention to save me own life, sometimes quite literally, depending on who you ask. Touch of P--well, honestly, just ask Fareeha, when you meet her, she’s got a list of me negative qualities, I think. Probably alphabetized. Maybe categorical.”

Emily felt herself melt into Tracer and allowed herself the joy of a laugh.

The cool wind of October shook the trees outside, and litter blew along the street next to her shabby little London flat, and Emily had never been happier.

#touch prompts

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cimmunist · 3 years

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I did Cimmerian, now it's time for Clef! Like before, the one on the left is my main interpretation and the one I use in mine and my friend's, @bluethepearldiver, AU Gods and Pawns. The one on the right is the @ask-dr-cimmerian version. I put a more detailed overview under the cut, feel free to skip the blog version if you don't want spoilers.

GaP/Main interpretation of Clef:

Species: Immortal human (in most of the versions of the AU)

Age: Unspecified, really fucking old

Gender/orientation: Doesn't use labels, but if I have to specify he's non-binary, on the acearo spectrum and mostly prefers men

Pronouns: Any, prefers he/they

Ethnicity/nationality: Middle eastern, comes from Eden

Job: Department Head of training and development, an O5 or field agent in some of the versions of the AU

Appearance: 5'7'' plus size man, though weight fluctuates during the story, as he forgets to eat during a lot of stress. Two eyes, right is green, left is blue and hazel. Has sharp teeth, covered in scars, the biggest one being the x shaped scar on his chest, later on, gets a snake-shaped scar carved into his right arm. Naturally black/dark brown hair that's greying, uses his reality-bending to make it blonde because he's too lazy to dye it. Always carries around a star-shaped pin.

Personality & health:

Outgoing, charming loudmouth

Lies quite a lot, likes to tell clearly exacerbated stories (people just got used to it)

Cheerful and easily excitable

A huge bastard, loves to tease his friends and coworkers

Not afraid to speak his mind when needed, can be quite abrasive

Avoids confrontation when it comes to personal matters

Doesn't get angry easily, but when he does he gets quiet and stern

Will never cry in public, usually just in private or in front of people he trusts

Struggles a lot with PTSD (which is a problem when you can literally bend reality around you) and later on depression

Relationships:

Love interests: Bright, Kondraki and Cimmerian

Exes: Lilly (abusive + a God, bad combination), Kushim (friend's oc)

Friends: Aaron/Administrator/O5-1A (work acquaintance), Joseph Tamlin (brief old friend), Etienne Baudelaire (old friend, friend's oc), Lilith (best friend), Sophia Light (close-ish work friend), Maveth (friend, oc), Dory (old friend, oc), Lucy (old friend), Raphael (old friend)

Family: Brother to Eve/O5-1B and Kineret (oc, deceased), brother-in-law to Adam, uncle to a bunch of kids including Abel/076 and Cain/073. Had a daughter, Rut, with Kushim and a daughter, Meri, with Lilly.

Trivia:

Mostly known for two things: his great distaste and disrespect to gods, and his talent to almost dying but somehow getting away still alive (lovingly called a cockroach by the grim reaper for it)

Has literally fought gods 3 different times and survived, this list keeps on growing, somebody stop this man

Favourite hobby is probably annoying the death itself

How his immortality works: after he dies his body heals and he comes back to life

Loosely followed the 4231 canon, with some big changes to fit his backstory

Deathly afraid of deep water and drowning (ironic for an immortal)

Literally considered a Saint in one of the religions? Absolutely despises that fact

Real name is Abishai, but doesn't mind going by Abby or any of his many, many nicknames

Actually physically fought Adam Bright before, wouldn't mind doing it again

Very close with his sister

His other sister, Kineret, died saving him. He has major survivor guilt over it.

Actually helped create the foundation, since his sister is the founder, but dipped almost immediately after and started working for the GOC

Rejoined many years later, in exchange for protecting Meri and letting him see her from time to time

Meri was born around the time ancient rome still existed and he was actually able to raise her, they're very close

Met Jack sometime in the 1920s-30s, he was Clef's first real friend in the Foundation

Actually the reason Kondraki got recruited

Contrary to popular belief, he can play on his ukulele very well and can write songs, he just chooses not to

Knows a lot of languages

Both a reality bender and a reality anchor, unable to be affected by other reality benders

Actually is a lot more powerful reality bender than he lets on

Got his X shaped scar on the chest from Lilly

Used to travel a lot and didn't liked to be tied to one spot

Blog version of Clef:

Species: Nephilim, half-human half-angel

Age: 98, looks ~40

Gender: Non-binary/genderqueer

Orientation: Oriented aroace/ ace demi-homoromantic

Pronouns: Any

Ethnicity/nationality: Mixed middle eastern, raised in Cornwall

Job: Liaison for the Ethics Committee

Appearance: 5'5'' plus-sized man. Has three eyes, one right green one, two left ones, one blue one hazel. Has sharp teeth, is covered in scars, the biggest one being an x shaped scar on his chest. Has burn scars on his feet. Has naturally black/dark brown hair, dyes it a lighter colour. He usually keeps his hair in a braid. Flowers grow out of his hair.

Personality & health:

The loud, annoying yet charming bastard of the ethics committee

Has generally a laid back, jokester personality

Very devoted to his family and friends

Not the type to get mad easily, when he does get angry he just gets quiet and stern

Never cries in public, just in private

Little bastard man, loves teasing his coworkers and husband

Struggles a lot with PTSD and paranoid delusions, but is slowly doing better

Relationships:

Love interests: Cimmerian, later on Bright and Iceberg

Ex: Lilly

Friends: Kondraki (old friend), Bright (old friend), Tiffany Okely (work friend)

Family: Bastard child of an angel, raised as an only child of a single mother. Had Epon with Lilly, later on, had an "accident" named Melody with his husband, adopted a step-parent role to Cimmerian's older daughters May and Eliza

Trivia:

Roughly follows the events of 4231

Raised Epon for the first few months to year's of their life before they were found to be anomalous and forcibly taken from him

Regularly checks up on his kid and leaves her small gifts

Semi-omniscient, ever since he was born he could just see and know things others couldn't. Perfectly aware of the fact Cimmerian is a demigod, even before their husband finds out himself. Uses his omniscience to check up on Epon and make sure they're okay.

Used to be very close with Bright before Cimmeriam swooped in and stole the man, slowly rebuilding that relationship

Cannot play the ukulele for the life of his and has no intentions of ever learning

Had a lot of bucket and cowboy hats but gave them all to Melody

Cimmerian made the mistake of allowing them to pick out Melody's clothes when they were little, now they have Clef's sense of style, oh no

Is afraid of water, shouting and slamming things is a major trigger of theirs, they also dislike deer and antlers for obvious reasons

Suffers from chronic scar pain in her legs

They have exactly 0 respect for any of the o5s

One of their hobbies is gardening

Pretty much majority of their scars were caused by Lilly

Alto Clef is their chosen name and god help you if you deadname them

Loves cats, they're her favourite animal

The platonic marriage with Cinmerian was their idea

Child of 001 /J

#scp #scp foundation #spooky arts #dr alto clef #dr clef

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delicioussshame · 3 years

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Socialite AU, last part! I finished a thing! Also posted on AO3 now that it’s done.

Shen Yuan had expected that the beginning of the school year would have kept Luo Binghe too busy for them to see each other more than, oh, about once a month, but it doesn’t seem to be the case. Luo Binghe is obviously very smart, so maybe that’s why he can keep up so easily. His studies sure don’t seem to stop him from having Shen Yuan over at least once a week.

Luo Binghe says it’s because he cannot trust Shen Yuan to feed himself properly, something Shen Yuan himself has profusely denied. First, he’s a fully grown adult, he can cook! Second, if he doesn’t feel like it, he can order in, or pay someone to cook for him. There are no issues there! He doesn’t need to be minded.

Not that he minds being minded. Shen Yuan has eaten more than his share of delicious food, and Luo Binghe’s stands above the rest. There are worst things than travelling to Luo Binghe’s apartment and eating a freshly cooked meal.

They don’t talk about novels as much though. This is an area where Luo Binghe had to step back in favor of reading assigned manuals. Shen Yuan has spent more than one evening reading trash by himself while Luo Binghe sat nearby, throwing the occasional question his way as he studied. Not that it seemed like he needed the help.

When does he see his college friends, Shen Yuan has no idea. Luo Binghe always waves away any concern of his on this matter. Seriously, Shen Yuan is a bit worried. Does he not fit in? It seems impossible that someone as charming, not to mention as affluent, as him would be ostracised. Even Shen Yuan had managed to gather a small group of friends during his college years. Luo Binghe must have done the same, no?

If he hasn’t, his fellow students are missing out.

In that case, Shen Yuan will take him out it their place. It wouldn’t do for Binghe to be lonely.

Not that that’s likely, considering how popular he is in their circle. As far as his female compatriots are concerned, Luo Binghe is now Beijing’s most eligible bachelor.

It’s a role that suits Luo Binghe’s public persona to a tee. He flutters between ladies as if he were born into in, flirting with one and laughing with another one with an ease Shen Yuan cannot help but envy, considering his own limited contacts with the other sex.

If those interactions often ended with a pretend fight between them, neither of them would complain about it. It was fun. Much better than insulting real people and wondering later if he’d gone too far, if he’d seriously hurt someone whose crime had only been to be born in a shitty family and raised in a similarly shitty fashion. He and Binghe sometimes rehearsed lines late into the night before a party, sentences that were meant to be biting insults turning into uncontrollable laughter.

Everything was going well. Shen Yuan’s reputation was becoming so toxic it had been weeks since the last time one of his fellow socialites had dared to speak to him, which is how Shen Yuan liked it. As for Luo Binghe, he was both admired for standing up to mean Shen Yuan, and pitied for always being the receptor of his ire. Binghe was more than talented enough to use all of it to his advantage.

All in all, everything was going perfectly.

Until now. “Excuse me?” says Shen Yuan with the coldest, most disparaging tone he has managed yet.

Sha Hualing, sadly, doesn’t seem impressed. “You can deny it all you want. It’s obvious. It must drive you crazy, seeing him with us and knowing you’ll never have a chance. He’s so good, too. Made me scream so loud I’m sure the neighbors heard. Not that you’ll ever find out yourself. Keep pulling his pigtails. He knows, he’s just too nice to tell how pathetic you are.”

Shen Yuan cannot convey to Sha Hualing how utterly from left field her theory is, and how completely baffled he is, without breaking his carefully maintained aura of disgusted condescension, but he really wishes he could. “You’re insane. How could I be attracted to… that.” He winces in his head. Too much? There are probably zero people that don’t feel at least a little attracted to Luo Binghe in this room.

But if there was one, it would be him. Luo Binghe is his cute disciple and friend, not his meal ticket. Leave that to Sha Hualing and her posse.

Her answering laugh is haughty. “Not even you believe that. Anyway, I just wanted to rub it in, but now that that’s done, I got better things to do than talking to you, like him. Fuck off.”

He flips her off as she leaves. Not his most elegant moment, but not the most elegant situation.

How the fuck did she get into her sick mind that he was into Luo Binghe. She should have thought they hated each other! That they wanted to tear each other’s throats open, not tear each other’s clothes off!

… Holy fuck their characters have ust, haven’t they? Danmei isn’t his playing field, but some things are universal across gender. There is an undeniable pull to seeing two hot people seeming like they’re two seconds away from punching each other when it also seems like they might be two seconds away from… something else.

It’s the only possible interpretation. They haven’t been careful enough, and now their roles are tainted by bad tropes!

Shen Yuan is going to have to adapt his persona a bit. Let himself run even colder. Less hate, more indifference, maybe? Or maybe he could just leave Luo Binghe alone for a few parties.

It wouldn’t work! It would seem like he chickened out after Sha Hualing confronted him! It would make it appear weak!

Could he make up a girlfriend?

Nah, no one would believe it.

Fuck, he’s going to need Luo Binghe’s help on this one.

_________________

“She what!?”

“Thinks I keep picking fights with you because I’m trying to get your attention and that I’d really like for you to bend me over something, probably.”

Luo Binghe blushes bright red.

Shen Yuan restrains his mirth. Nice to see he’s not the only one terribly embarrassed by the situation!

Yes, pinching those red cheeks would only make things worse, but he’s still very tempted.

Shen Yuan soldiers on. “Binghe shouldn’t worry about things too much. His reputation is safe. Considering how well he gets on with the fairer sex,” and yes, now Shen Yuan knows way more than he ever wanted to know about Sha Hualing’s sex life, but that’s life,” no one will doubt him. If he has no idea, I’ll think of something. It’s not his problem.”

“Shizun’s problems are my problems! He wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me!”

Aww, Binghe, why is your indignation so cute!” Don’t blame yourself. We both agreed to the plan. It’s no one’s fault.”

Luo Binghe looks down, obviously still embarrassed. “I really have no idea where she got that. Shizun never appears to be attracted to me.”

“Who knows how Sha Hualing thinks. She probably watches too much porn.” He wouldn’t be surprised, considering how low-class she acted.

A second later, he catches his mistake. If Luo Binghe is… seeing her, he shouldn’t be that mean to her in his presence. “Sorry for insulting your… friend.” He doesn’t think they’re officially dating? Sha Hualing would never shut up about it, and anyway Luo Binghe wouldn’t have as much time for Shen Yuan if he was serious about someone. It’s probably just hormones raging.

Luo Binghe shakes his head. “Shizun shouldn’t apologise! She’s the one who was this rude! Implying Shizun doesn’t know how to court someone, or that he’d need such a ridiculous approach when a few words would be enough for him to have anyone! What a stupid woman.”

It’s Shen Yuan’s turn to be embarrassed. Luo Binghe is pushing the hero worship a little too far here. He’s got way more experience in that department than Shen Yuan will ever get, probably. “Well, if you don’t like her, maybe choose someone better as a partner? You could have anyone. I know it’s none of my business, and I guess she’s attractive, but really, so are many others who don’t share her… fiery temperament.”

If he were honest, he’d just tell Binghe he deserves better.

Much, much better. Didn’t he see her chatting with Liu Mingyan the other day? Now that’s a woman worthy of his Binghe, almost his equal in all fields.

Not that he needs to find someone just yet. He should take his time, and find someone he likes.

Luo Binghe snorts. “I would never choose her.”

Shen Yuan blinks. “Didn’t you?”

Luo Binghe looks wounded. “Why would you think that? I would never be with someone this cruel to Shizun!”

“But she said… oh.” Shen Yuan is an idiot. Why, why did he, even for a second, believe what that snake said? “Binghe must let me apologise. I’ve been stupid and have believed her when she said you and her were… involved.”

“Shizun mustn’t believe her! She lies!”

Shen Yuan pats Luo Binghe’s back gently. “I don’t! I don’t. She lied. I don’t believe her anymore. Of course Binghe has better tastes than this. I should have known.”

Luo Binghe raises his chin. “I do. I have the best tastes.”

Shen Yuan lets a smile appears on his face. “You do. After all, you have chosen me to guide you.”

Luo Binghe nods with almost comical vigour. “Yes!”

So! Cute! Shen Yuan wants to give him a hug!

He won’t, because he’s the dignified older friend.

Who reads bad online novels, but let’s not linger on that. “So, what do we do about her imagination? Because she cannot keep a secret to save her life, so I expect people will talk about it the next time we attend the same event.”

“…Does Shizun want… a girlfriend?”

What does that have to do with anything. “If I meet the right person, sure. Why?”

“Does it matter what they think? They never cared about Shizun to begin with. Who cares if they think he’s attracted to me. It doesn’t change a thing.”

Well, yes, but. “It makes me look pretty pathetic. It’s not exactly a fun reputation to have.”

“What does?”

“That I want someone and the best thing I can do about it is insulting them? It does make me look like a kindergartener.”

An unholy light appears in Luo Binghe’s eyes. “So what if that wasn’t the best thing you had done?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Shizun feels pathetic because he doesn’t like the idea that people think he wants someone and he doesn’t know how to get them, right? But what if he did?”

Shen Yuan is very confused right now. “Binghe?”

“We knew each other before that first party, right? So I let them know that. We could be bitter exes!”

Shen Yuan looks at him, completely frozen. “Binghe, no.” That is 100% a terrible idea.

“Why not? It would explain everything! Why we’re so mean to each other while I’m nice to everyone else, why you’re worst to me, and why there’s tension between us!”

There is no tension between them! They’re playing characters! “People would think you’re gay!”

“I’ve been flirting with women all the time. People would think I’m bi.”

“You’ve just told me you haven’t been dating! What if they think you’re hung up on me, who, by the way, is a man!”

“Is it that bad? I wouldn’t mind. Shizun is someone I would certainly be hung on if he had left me.”

“So I’m the one who left you now? That makes even less sense! Why would someone like me leave someone like you! Of course Binghe is the one who left!”

“If I were dating Shizun, I would never leave him! He has to be the one who left me!”

Shen Yuan rubs his temples. He knew the conversation wouldn’t be simple, but it has reached unprecedented levels of nonsense. “Let’s forget who left who. We’re not doing that. Binghe would ruin his reputation to only slightly better mine. That makes no sense.”

Luo Binghe pouts. “It would have worked. I would have made a very good ex-boyfriend.”

Shen Yuan pats his back again. “I’m sure you would have. I, on the other hand, would probably have been terrible at it.”

“Why?”

“How could I have pretended to not only have dated Binghe, but to have separated from him? No one would believe it. My talents aren’t up to the task. I can’t make myself look like a plausible boyfriend to Binghe.”

Luo Binghe sighs. “That’s stupid. Shizun might as well have been my boyfriend lately.”

Shen Yuan feels a headache coming. He can barely follow the logic of this conversation. “Binghe, I don’t understand.”

“Shen Yuan spends most of his evenings with me. I cook for him. He takes me out. We’ve been writing to each other for months. He’s been carefully curating my reading lists for most of those months. He has plenty of reasons why I would be dating him.”

Okay, let’s just ignore most of that. “Nothing you listed has anything to do with the character we play for those society functions? High society Shen Yuan probably only reads classic literature, when he’s not working his high-power job and, I don’t know, checking stocks or playing the guqin. Nothing appealing there. How would we have even met?”

“Via work? Maybe you had a meeting with some executive of my father. Considering my reputation, we probably just had sex and ended up dating later on.”

Shen Yuan tries to imagine being the kind of person who would see Luo Binghe and think he could just hit that.

Impossible. Does not compute. “Look, I’m just going to ignore it. It’s always worked before. We probably shouldn’t change it.”

“But things always staying the same is bad! They must evolve!”

Shen Yuan shrugs. “Not necessarily. My life has mostly remained the same since I’ve graduated, and it’s perfectly fine.”

Luo Binghe flinches like a kicked puppy. “Is my arrival so unimportant to Shizun?”

Fuck. “No! That’s not what I meant! I mostly meant my romantic life!” Not really, he meant his life his general, but it is quite insulting to Binghe to imply he had no impact on his life, not to mention just an outright lie.

“That, too, should change.”

“It sure won’t if everyone thinks I’m gay.”

Under Luo Binghe’s breath, barely audible to Shen Yuan, “It’s not exactly an impediment.” Then, louder. “Let’s tell them the truth, then.”

Shen Yuan instantly panics. “Binghe, they can’t know the truth, it’ll fuck everythin-“

And that’s when Luo Binghe’s tongue finds its way into Shen Yuan’s mouth.

Shen Yuan’s mind freezes completely.

Luo Binghe keeps on kissing him.

Shen Yuan’s mind keeps trying to reboot.

Luo Binghe pushes back and sighs. “Does Shizun understand now?”

Nope. “…We can’t be exes if we’re kissing?”

“Forget the exes. Let’s just tell them we’re having sex. That’ll be the true part. We’ll just tell them it’s hate sex. I’ll tell them you’re just that good and I can’t resist you. That way, you won’t be pathetic, right?”

Shen Yuan’s slowly rebooting mind cannot decide if the “reputation for being gay” part would outweigh the “reputation for having seduced Luo Binghe” part.

Wait. “We’re having sex?”

Luo Binghe falters. “If you want to? Because I want to. A lot. But we’re pretty much dating and Shen Yuan didn’t seem to realise, so I thought maybe he’s not attracted to me, but you keep acting like I’m the best thing that ever happened to you when really, the reverse is true, and can we date already? Please?”

Shen Yuan opens his mouth.

Shen Yuan closes his mouth.

Shen Yuan tries to understand that, apparently, Luo Binghe has been trying to date him? Him? Luo Binghe? And him? As a couple? That is a thing that is apparently on the table?

Wait, Shen Yuan actually is a person who could have looked and Luo Binghe and have hit that!?

Woah.

“I…”

Luo Binghe’s eyes grow even wider as he waits for Shen Yuan’s response.

As if Shen Yuan ever had the capacity to tell Binghe no.

As if he ever wanted to. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

A second later, he gets an armful of overenthusiastic Binghe trying to choke him with too much tongue.

“But we’re not playing bitter exes.” Shen Yuan really has no belief in his ability to pretend he left Luo Binghe.

That he had him and is devastated he doesn’t anymore, sure. But that he’d manage to be cruel to Luo Binghe about it? There’s no way.

“That’s fine. I like the one with the hate sex much better anyway.”

To be honest, so does Shen Yuan.

_________________

Shen Yuan positions himself in such a way that he can track Luo Binghe’s movements across the room without looking like he’s doing more than reading on his phone.

He can tell from Sha Hualing’s particularly vicious grin that she’s about to deliver what she considers to be a crippling blow to his reputation.

He thrills when the expression melts, replaced by horror as Luo Binghe’s face turn sheepish. He can almost hear his embarrassed tone as he admits to the moral failing that is sleeping with Shen Yuan, universal pariah.

He can distinctly hear the cries of dismay and what he knows are roars of utter jealousy.

None of it shows on his face, but Shen Yuan grins.

#The Scum Villain Self Serving System #Scum Villain #BingQiu #the AU where SY and LBH are both online friends and fellow socialites

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walpurga-nacht-academy · 3 years

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“Any practitioner of magic that’s received even a modicum of training in the field has, at one point or another, heard of the term ‘grimoire’. Its origins are shrouded in mystery, its purpose unknown and the power that it possesses inestimable. However, their prevalence is also fading.

As magic studies become more and more accessible to mages of all walks of life, it is considered futile for witches and warlocks to keep personal tomes of spells and hexes anymore. The uniformization of magical practice has brought about an age in which collaboration between our kind is considered not only beneficial, but also ideal. The practice of taking apprentices is no longer an individual choice that each magician makes for themselves, and thus the need for secrecy - the fear of others invading our most personal matters and thus robbing us of our knowledge has become quite absurd.

Nowadays, grimoires have started to gain a reputation as old-fashioned magical tools, relics of the past or tools of forbidden lore. Less than 200 remain still, collected by the Ministry of Magic’s illustrious archivists and kept in many museums across Twisted Wonderland for easy access to those that seek to expand their knowledge. Yet despite their heavy efforts many of these crucial tomes fall prey to the passage of them, deteriorating as their magic fades away. Preventing the loss of these books is quintessential, if not for us, then for future generations. Thus, many countries have launched conservation projects in order to salvage what is left of our inheritance.

It is due to these projects that my own efforts have not been in vain. For years I have searched all over the world to recover and preserve the eight grimoires which had once belonged to the eight great witches of the Bald Mountain, figures shrouded in such mystery that these books are considered the only valid proof of their existence. They are thick volumes, averaging about 1,000 pages each, something quite unusual for that period, and written in codes and foreign languages that have long passed into obscurity. Translating them required intensive work and research, and even so I was able to conquer only sixty percent of the original text. The rest will be lost to history, I am afraid to say, for there are few people able to interpret the original dialects and signs of these spellbooks.

I hope that in the future there might be somebody more courageous and ingenious than me, who will decipher these tomes in their entirety. There is precious knowledge to be learned from these pages, power that has been lost over time, and power that might help the future. It is thus my request that for every person who reads this book detailing the journey I have taken since I decided fourteen years ago that I must resolve this mystery and prevent it from slipping through the cracks of progress, that you think to dedicate a little bit of time and money to the eminent researchers that still struggle to maintain their memories alive.

In this regard, I would like to dedicate this book to the many people and organizations that have made possible the publication of this volume. First, there is of course the Magical Research Board, The Ministry of Magic and the Magic University who have kindly and dutifully supported me financially. The research grant that they have awarded me with has helped me carry my investigation through several countries, as well as access resources that would have been otherwise impossible for me to make use of.

I would also like to express my gratitude towards the ruling families of the Afterglow Savannah and the Valley of Thorns, for their generosity in allowing me to study the history of their kingdoms in order to better understand the social and political dimensions to two of the witches’ that are said to hail from these places.

I would also like to thank all the translators and historians that have taken time out of their busy schedules to help with my manuscripts - pointing out translation errors, mistakes regarding historical dates and events, or even my continuous use of the word “mystery” of which I am guilty even in my opening chapter I must sadly admit! Thus, I would like to mention among many Miss Line, and her lovely daughter Safia, whose generosity saved my life when I was to drown at sea;

my Lord Duban of the Land of Hot Sands, who enchanted me with tales of viziers and street rats who court princesses;

Nefu, whose knowledge of the low town in the Savannah rivals none, I am sure of that;

Lord Himalia of the Land of Pyroxene whose heart is as great as the acres of land he owns;

old, wise Louisa who welcomed me in her hut before her beloved Cockatrice managed to tear me to shreds;

my dear friend Daphne, whose courage is greater than even the rage of a Kerberos breed when it sees its owner attacked;

Thursday, who proved to the world that despite their short stature dwarves should not be taken lightly after all;

and General Vanrouge, whose skill with the sword is as unmatched as the knowledge he possesses. To all of them, I would like to express my sincerest, heartfelt gratitude for the help they have given me. It is truly unmistakable that good friends are more valuable than a thousand golden statues!

Though they are departed, I wish to thank my parents as well, for having instilled in me such good morals and values. I am eternally grateful to all your guidance and love, and hope that you rest safely above in the sky.

Last, but not least, I would like to thank my dearest Alkin, who is first among familiars and friends alike. His companionship and experience has proven to be invaluable to me during my travels, and there are no words to express the warmth with which I regard my beloved brother.”

- Introduction to Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic

Grimoire of the Rose

In the sea I used to be a poet.

You do not believe me. That is alright. I understand. My speech is stilted. My pauses are long. My mind, once sharp and swift as the marlin’s gait, now always searches its corners for words that came easily before. I have forgotten them all now. I glance around with wild eyes. The vastness around us scares me.

You think, ‘Ah, this woman is not well.’ And perhaps you are right.

You think, ‘She must have suffered greatly.’ That is not so.

Please do not pity me. I do not deserve it.

As all fools I’ve made peace with myself.

As all wise men I wish to warn others.

Forgive me. Speaking in your tongue is hard for me. But please bear it. I would like to tell you my story. It is not long or sad. Just short and silly. You will surely laugh as you read it. That is alright. I wish you would laugh. It eases my soul when I hear others laugh. It reminds me of the ocean.

But I wish to tell you my story. Please listen.

It starts with a beautiful princess born in a wealthy kingdom.

No, that princess is not me. I was born on the shore, among the sand and shells, under the great night sky. I have never seen a palace, nor worn a gown. I have heard that they are beautiful. Princesses wear them at balls, with golden slippers and dance away the night. This princess must have worn one too. She must have been very beautiful. And loved. All beautiful women are loved.

No, I do not know what made her beautiful. I have never seen her. But I like to imagine it must have been so. It helps me rest.

As I said, my story starts with a princess born in a wealthy kingdom. She was her father’s only child, a sweet, delicate girl with fair hair and golden eyes.

Yes, I am lying now. For I never laid eyes on her. I say these things because it helps me rest.

I am repeating myself? Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult for me. I wish to tell you my story. Will you listen?

My story starts with a beautiful child, born to a widowed king, who paid three gold pieces to the undertaker to build a temple over his wife’s grave, where he went to pray every evening. I do not know why humans built temples. My kind does not.

I have asked him, but he did not know either.

He loved her too. They all did. She was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved. I was loved too. I was beautiful too.

My story starts with the birth of a beautiful child, whose father built a temple ashore the land where my mother had borne me. It was the darkest night she had ever seen, and the stars shone bright. My mother cried as I came out, small and pink and weeping. I was so small I fit in her arms with ease. She was frightened I would die of cold. She bundled me up and ran to the sea.

You think it’s strange. That is alright. Forgive me. I will explain.

My mother ran with me to the sea, for my father was giving chase. She reached the waters before he had a chance to grab her. That is as well. For if he did, he would have pulled my mother’s skin away.

Yes, my father loved my mother. All men love us. They cannot help it. It is their sin.

He found her upon the beach and took her to his hut and made her his wife. She bore him sons, I don’t know how many for I never asked, and then me. My father’s world came crashing down upon him. My mother wept with joy. When I came she knew Mother Sea would welcome her back. She bore me upon the shore so that Mother would bear witness.

When mother’s feet touched the water, she had already been gone. I do not know if my father followed. I think he must have not. Mother Sea does not welcome his kind. You cannot breathe when Mother holds you. That is very pitiful.

Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult.

There are no men among us. It is only us and Mother. She loves us deeply and we love her. And the men that Mother hates also love us. It is a difficult love. No, I do not know if we love the men too. We must love them. We swim every year to the shore to take our skin off and be like them - the human women that they love. And they love us too. Because we are more beautiful than their women.

Forgive me.

They love us, and they desire us. They take our skins and bring us to their sheds and take us in their beds. We bear them sons and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. We cannot help but love them. No, it is not love. It is love. Your tongue is very difficult.

We love them and we love them. We must, for Mother no longer loves us when we love the men. She does not recognize us anymore. She cannot hold us when she doesn’t know who we are. She is frightened of us then. So we love the men because we cannot love Mother anymore. We miss Mother. But she doesn’t miss us.

It is very pitiful.

When we are human we cannot love Mother, so we wait for daughters to be born so she will love us again. No, only daughters. Never sons. Mother does not love our sons. They cannot see or hear Mother. But daughters - us - we can. I heard Mother before I had been born. She sang to me of the sea foam, and the waves and of my mother’s skin and where my father hid it. I told my mother this. She dug the chest buried underneath the juniper tree with her bare hands as I sang to her. She was crying because she heard Mother’s voice in mine.

I do not know what happened to my father. I have never returned to that shore. I have never met my brothers. I do not wish to. Mother does not either. She told me to be careful. She held me to her breast as we watched the angelfish, and told me to never go to the land of men and take off my skin. She told me to keep away.

But it was a waste. She knew this. We must go to the shore every year. We must take off our skin.

My mother did so the next year as well. I never saw her again. She must have been found by another man. That is as well. I would soon follow in her footsteps.

My story starts with the birth of a fair child, beloved by all, and especially by the young poet who wished to marry her. He was a handsome man, but he was poor. This is unfortunate in your land. Forgive me.

Why did he love the princess? Because she was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved.

Yes, all beautiful things must be loved.

Why?

Because they are beautiful. That is all.

The poet loved this princess because she was beautiful, but she did not love him because he was poor. It is a pitiful thing.

Yes, I loved the poet too. Because he was beautiful. No, I did not love him. I loved him. Your tongue is very difficult.

I wish you could understand.

He did not understand either. Though he was a poet. It was odd. He told me he could not hear me sing when I spoke, and did not hear me speak when I sang. But Mother hears us. She hears me and my sisters as we sing-speak and speak-sing to her. Only Mother can hear us.

But still I loved him.

Yes. No, I did not love him. Please understand.

I sang to him under the night sky and he kissed my lips. I spoke to him about love and he kissed my cheeks. He loved me on the shore until dawn. No, it was love, not love. Forgive me.

When Mother released the sun from her hold, he kissed my eyelids. He had beautiful lips. I loved them dearly. He was a beautiful man. All beautiful things must be loved.

He did not take me for his wife. He loved the princess.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said.

I am repeating myself. Please understand.

‘You are taking my skin,’ I told him. ‘You are taking my skin. What will I do without my skin? Mother won’t take me back without my skin.’

‘Forgive me.’

He spoke so sweetly. Do you understand? All beautiful things must be loved.

‘The princess of this land - I love her dearly. I wish to marry her. But I am poor. I am not worthy. I wish to be worthy. The princess - she wishes for a coat more beautiful than the sunrise. I have searched this land - from the mountain to the sea, from the fields to the hills, but I have not found a coat more beautiful than yours.’

‘I cannot give you my skin,’ I told him. ‘You must take me as your wife. I cannot give you my skin for another. I must have my skin to return to Mother.’

‘Forgive me,’ he said. He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids - and then he was gone. He took my skin to the princess. She loved it dearly. She loved him dearly. They were to be married within the year. She wore my skin as her veil. It was a beautiful veil. It was a beautiful wedding.

All beautiful things must be loved.

I gave chase. Yes, I did. I followed after him - my husband.

I called to him. But he did not stop.

I wept for him. But his heart did not yield.

I wept for Mother. But she could not hear me.

I wept for our Master. He said I was a fool to trust the word of man. He thundered. He roared. He drove me away with arrows made of fire and spiteful words. He did not care. He did not listen.

Please listen.

I wish to tell you my story.

There was once a child born upon the land where a temple was built with just three gold coins. This child was so beautiful that when she spoke, the birds would listen to hear her song. When she danced, the ground would soften underneath her feet so no harm would come upon her. When she smiled, the sun bowed so it would not deter from her beauty.

He loved her. She scorned him. He was poor. It is a pitiful thing.

I loved him. He loved her. I loved him and loved him.

Your tongue - forgive me.

She came to me upon the shore.

All beautiful things must be loved.

My husband - he left me upon the shore. He took my skin and left. He loved the princess. I loved him.

I wanted to return to Mother. But Mother did not love me anymore. She did not hold me. She could not hold me. I wept. Mother’s arms - they seemed to wrap around my throat. I could not breathe.

She came to me upon the shore. My Lady.

My sisters - they tore away their skin. A leg, an arm, a breast, an ear - they had sewn it all together. They gave the coat to me. They said Mother would hold me now.

She did not. She could not.

I loved Mother. I loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved Her.

She could not love me. He did not love me. She did not love him.

They were to be married within the year.

It was a beautiful wedding.

It was a beautiful veil.

‘My skin,’ I said. ‘My skin, my skin, my skin - You must take me as your wife.’

‘I do not love you.’

‘You must. Mother does not love me anymore. You must.’

His roots went deep. They touched her mother’s grave. They touched my mother’s grave.

He loved her. She loved him. No, not love. Love.

Please understand.

All men love us. It is their sin. We must love them too, when Mother no longer loves us.

Please understand.

‘My child, my rose,’ she spoke. Her eyes were so sweet. I wept. She kissed my eyelids. She kissed my tears. All beautiful things must be loved.

I loved him. I let him bloom. I gave him light. I gave him water. I fetched it every day from the well and watched him grow. My husband.

It was a beautiful wedding.

‘My child, my rose, my sweetest heart.’

She held me. Mother could not hold me. She held me and kissed me and loved me.

Your tongue is very difficult.

‘I do not love you,’ my husband lied. ‘I cannot love you. I do not want to love you. Please understand.’

All men love us. It is their sin.

It was a beautiful veil.

Forgive me.

I am repeating myself.

Forgive me.

They take us from the shore into their huts and into their beds. We bear them children and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. And wait for daughters to be born.

Every year he gave me blossoms. I crushed them underneath my feet. He fed on my blood.

I loved him. And I loved her. And I loved Mother. And I loved her.

‘My child,’ she kissed me. ‘My rose,’ she kissed me. ‘My sweetest heart,’ she kissed me.

I sheath myself in wicked thorns and sing of my Lady’s love.

Please listen. Please understand.

My mother’s grave. Her mother’s grave.

He took her into his hut and into his bed. He took her into the garden and stripped her of her skin. He hid it underneath the juniper tree where mother heard me sing.

All men must love us. It is their sin.

She was a beautiful child. He was a dutiful king. He paid three gold pieces for the temple. It was made of stone and wood and the bed inside it was warm.

They take us from the shore and into their beds.

I loved him. He died in spring. I burned him. I kissed the ashes.

Mother would not listen.

Mother could not understand.

It was a beautiful veil.

Forgive me.

Your tongue is very difficult.

I wish to tell you my story.

Please listen.

Notes

“Translating this introductory part of the grimoire has proven to be by far the easiest part of my endeavour, as there has not been much to translate at all. It seems that unlike her sisters, the Witch of the Rose wrote in the common tongue of that time, which fortunately for me is not very different from our current one. Line tells me this might be because the language of the selkie has no written form. In fact, its complexity is so great, no written form could properly capture its beauty.

It is an interesting notion to me, a student with meagre interest in languages, at the very least before I become employed in this project. There is no proper way to prove this, however, as according to what Line tells me, she can barely remember even the few things she picked up from her grandmother. It is so with every selkie that lives on land for too long - slowly they forget the tongue of Mother Sea (an ancient pagan deity, I believe) and learn the tongue of their husbands. Line herself seems to remember mostly old songs that she teaches to little Safia too so she can remember her ancestors even a little. She tells me they are the last ones.

Line’s great-great-grandmother was taken from the sea by her husband as well - a practice which was considered normal back in the day - and as she never managed to have any daughters was forced to live the rest of her life on this foreign land. She tells me this story with a sort of melancholic detachment as she brushes her daughter’s long, golden hair. This is standard for their species it seems - all daughters have golden hair and golden eyes which makes them look terrible and inviting to the men that come across them.

Line also tells me that the selkie language has over 34 words to express ‘love’. She says that the witch must have been trying to capture them all as she wrote down her confession, but she can only remember a few of the ones her grandmother taught her. Thus, there is ‘love gleaned from above the sea foam’, ‘love that is realized by the stroke of midnight’, ‘love which blooms only at the wake of dawn’, ‘love which burns one as they feel it’ which is different from ‘love that scorches one as they let go of it’. She does not know the word for the love felt for one’s husband, but she tells me that the love for one’s daughter is translated as ‘love for a budding flower which blooms on the bottom of the ocean’.

She tells me all this with a mournful look - the expression of a woman who knows that when she passes there will be a little less of her legacy left. The grimoire that I show her has a shell accessory on the cover that when opened produces the most beautiful melody in the world. When I showed Line this she started weeping and once she calmed down she explained that it was the same song that her grandmother used to sing when she was little. I believe it must be an old folk song, though she cannot confirm it for me, since she admits that there are barely any words that she recognizes. Though she can tell with some certainty that it is a song of forgiveness - that the witch is begging her mother to welcome her back to the sea. Little Safia listened to the song as well, but I could tell that beyond the soothing melody nothing stuck out to her at all. It broke Line’s heart.

I stayed there for almost two months learning what I could about the selkie. It did Line good too since she felt that even if she were to die, little Safia and her children would not be robbed of her heritage. I was touched by this sentiment - so much that I swore that once I have finished my business collecting and translating the grimoires I would make sure to amass in one volume the entirety of Line’s teachings during the time they graciously let me stay there.”

- Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic

“It has now been more than ten years since I have made that promise, which I have managed to keep after all. If you were to look in any library right now, dear reader, you might spy tucked away in one of the shelves a little book of no more than 100 pages, more than half filled with illustrations and drawings, while the other half is full of songs and poems and little phrases that Line shared with me as we sat huddled around the fire at night. I’ve been told it is a commercial failure - that nobody but the most dedicated anthropologists give it more than a glance. But it does not matter to me. It took four years for the 100 copies to sell. I have recently ordered 100 more.

To others these books might be nothing more than curiosities, oddities, a change of reading material - but it is not so. Not in the slightest. These are the words and experiences of a woman whose ancestry has been erased almost entirely and plunged into obscurity. By no means can I simply let her life or history be disregarded in such a manner. Especially now since I am the only one left fighting.

It was two years after I departed from Line’s house that I received a letter from the young lord who oversaw the village she lived in. I was in the midst of a lesson with Old Woman Louisa when I was informed that due to a tragic accident little Safia lost her life at sea, followed three months later by her mother who died of grief. I was left numb by the news - barely registering it at all and inconsolable for weeks after. I had to leave Louisa’s abode as my mourning made the beasts under her care uneasy, and with no goal in mind simply proceeded forward to the Isle of Lamentation. A fitting spot to vent my grief.

I have had the good mind to send the young lord a letter asking him to keep the hut in which they lived in good condition, and returned there two years after my travels ended. It is now a museum, my dear reader, dedicated to Line, Safia and all the women who suffered at the hands of their destiny by being taken from their home to live on these strange lands. The last that will even suffer this destiny, for Line and Safia’s deaths did not mark merely the loss of two great souls and hearts from the world, but also the loss of an entire species. There are no more selkie that roam the ocean, and if there are any on land they must have long forgotten they even were.

To them I wish to dedicate this small volume that I have compiled, relying on the memory of the most wonderful woman I have ever met in my life, and the innocence of the sweetest little girl that I have had the good fortune of knowing.

May their souls rest among the stars, free of pain and suffering, curled in Mother Sea’s bosom.”

- Songs of Mother Sea: A Short Guide to the History of Selkie Culture Through Poems and Music

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #astra selene #witch of the rose #selkie #twist #twisute #twist oc #twisute oc #fanmade lore #twisted wonderland fanschool #walpurga nacht academy #the little mermaid #postmodern fairytale #fractured fairytale

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imherongraystairstrash · 4 years

Text

Christopher and Cecily

A/N: Yes, I know I overused bach in this story, but I couldn’t help it! That Welsh endearment owns my entire soul. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! Cecily is preggos with Alex in this fic, so she may be acting a bit different from her usual composed self.

-Ana <3

“Cecy, do you know if Wrayburns said they would be voting for the law to be passed? I cannot seem to remember.”

“No,” Cecily said, before adding: “They can rot in hell, for all I care.”

“Cecily,” Gabriel said, surprised by her comment.

“What?” she snapped, facing him. Her face was etched with wariness and exhaustion.

“Cecy, are you alright?” Gabriel reached for her hand, to which Cecily responded by snatching away.

“Of course.” she said briskly.

“Then why did you pull your hand away like that?”

“Sometimes, I don’t like being touched, Gabriel. Why is it so hard to give me some space?”

Gabriel was taken aback.

“I’m sorry. I was just worried about you.”

“Well, stop worrying.” Cecily got up and walked away.

“Why are you angry?” Gabriel asked, getting up as well. The room filled with tension.

“Because I want to. Get off my back.”

“Cecy,” Gabriel said.

“I’m carrying a child! There, are you happy?”

“A what?!”

“A child, Gabriel.” Cecily’s eyes narrowed and her eyebrows furrowed. “Do you not know what a child is? I will give you a hint: you have two of them!”

“Cecily, how can you be pregnant?”

Cecily looked at him. “I hope I don’t have to explain where babies come from, Gabriel.”

“I meant when?”

“I don’t know when! Do I look like I keep track?!”

“I don’t know, Cecy.” Gabriel said, running his hands through his hair.

“Don’t you dare look worried! I’m the one who has to bear this child when I’m practically a grandmother!”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He asked quietly.

“I just found out this morning.” Cecily said, matching his speech.

They stood in silence for a while.

Cecily had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

“Cecy, there is no reason for you to have to deal with this alone.” Gabriel wiped a tear away.

Cecily turned her face away, and wiped her eyelids. “I am a horrible mess of emotions.”

“Ce—”

He was cut off by the telephone ringing.

Cecily held up a hand and picked up the receiver.

“Yes?” she said.

Gabriel’s mind was elsewhere. A child. He didn’t know whether to be horrified or—

Cecily’s hand flew to her heart.

“By the angel,” she said.

“Cecy, what happened?”

“By the angel,” she repeated, tears came back into her eyes. “Is anybody hurt? Is he alright?”

Cecily let out a small breath of relief.

“Yes. Yes, I understand…Yes. I’m terribly sorry…Yes, of course…”

“Cecy,” Gabriel whispered, “what happened.”

Cecily put her hand up and gave him a face he’d seen before. He referred to it as the “stop being a child” face. She brought her hand back to her face and began biting her nail.

Gabriel watched as her face morphed into disdain. She lowered her fingernail. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from speaking to me that way. I am not a child… Yes, I understood the first time you told me…” Her grasp tightened on the receiver. “With all due respect, do not tell me how to raise my children…” Cecily paled. “Yes, good day to you as well.” She put (well, perhaps slammed is a better way of describing it) the receiver back on it’s hook.

She put her back up against the wall and slid down.

“What happened, Cecy?” Gabriel said, kneeling down in front of her.

“Christopher.”

“What?”

“Christopher. He blew up the academy.”

“What?!” He said, more in surprise than in question.

“Our son blew up the South Wing.” She repeated shaking her head, eyes unfocused.

Gabriel sat back on his legs.

You could hear a pin drop.

“And he’s not hurt?”

“They don’t think so.”

“Think?”

Cecily closed her eyes.

“We should get him.”

Gabriel shot up to his feet, grabbing his coat. He offered his hand to her, and pulled her up to her feet when she took it. He leaned down and kissed her with gentle care.

“I would be lying if I said I was disappointed you are pregnant. Every child you bring into the world is a blessing.”

Gabriel walked down the steps to their house as Cecily pulled on her boots.

Cecily allowed herself to smile, just a little bit. At least Kit would be coming home. She’d missed her son so much more than she could have imagined.

She heard a curse coming from outside and rushed out the door.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your dear brother, that’s what’s wrong!”

“Oh no, did he take the carriage again?”

“I do not know why he cannot simply use his own carriage.”

“I think he does it to spite you.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I guess I’ll walk then.”

“The academy is so far, though.”

“Well, we are Nephilim.”

Cecily walked down the steps to meet her husband. Then she stopped mid step.

“Oh,” she thought out loud. “Anna.”

“One of us should stay and tell her, in case she comes back and nobody is here.”

Cecily nodded and put a hand to her stomach, an absentminded gesture.

“I’ll go, Cecy. You are bearing a child.”

Cecily scrunched her nose. “I killed a Shax demon when I was five months pregnant with Anna.”

Gabriel laughed. “I still have no idea how you did that.”

“Yes, me neither. Well, I suppose I might as well stay. I might just punch that dean in the face, for being a horrible person.”

Gabriel blinked at her. “How the tables have turned, Cecy.”

“You know how I am when I’m pregnant!” Cecily pushed him forward, “now go get our son before he blows up the North Wing.”

“If you see your brother, give him a good yell!”

“I will!”

...

Matthew and James’ father instantly got along well. James had to admit that he felt like he was watching someone having a conversation with themselves.

They had stopped by Matthew’s parent’s house before heading towards London. Charlotte met them on her way out and looked concerned and cross, for she had gotten the news about the academy having been blown up just a minute before.

“Mama!” Matthew had said, putting his arms around Charlotte.

Charlotte had given him a weary look and patted his head. “Why, Matthew. Why was that necessary?”

“I did it because I missed you and papa so much!”

Charlotte pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows.

“Not Charles, though.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, I’m off to London.” Matthew turned away from her.

“No you are not.” Charlotte said, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

“Mama, I’m going to be parabatai with James. We cannot be separated.”

Charlotte let out a breath impatiently. “Matthew. What kind of mother would I be if I let you blow up public property—which, being the consul, I have to help sort out, mind you— and then go off to London to be with your friend?”

“A very good and nice one?”

“No. A terrible one.”

“But mama: parabatai.” Matthew said, as though that explained everything.

Charlotte seemed to be weighing her options. “You can stay with James until they depart to London, but then you must come back. If you don’t, I’ll grab you by the ear and drag you back home. You may see him again in two months.”

James knew that was as much as they were going to get out of it. Will said they had to take the carriage back before they went through the portal anyways, so Matthew came along.

“Oh, look, there’s aunt Cecily.” James said as they approached the Lightwood’s home.

“Why is she waving her hands like that?” asked Matthew.

Will squinted. “I have no idea.”

Then it hit James. “Christopher blew up the academy. They probably wanted the carriage, papa.”

“She cannot be that angry.”

…

She was very angry.

“GWILYM OWAIN HERONDALE! DID YOU NOT THINK, EVEN FOR A MOMENT, TO BRING MY SON HOME?!”

For the first time in James’ life, Will was at loss for words.

“You knew he blew up the bloody school! Would it have been so hard to bring him to Gabriel and I?!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Cecy.”

“He just blew up the academy! He could be hurt for all we know!”

“Cecily—”

“Save it for someone who will listen!” she interrupted.

Matthew eyed James with his lips drawn and his eyes wide.

Cecily paced as she cursed in Welsh. It was strange to see Aunt Cecily, who was always so cool and composed, so antsy.

“What is she saying?” Matthew asked.

“You do not want to know.”

All of a sudden, Cecily stopped.

“Oh, by the angel, you’re alive!” she said, rushing over to Christopher, who was covered in grime and explosive powers. Gabriel had his arm around him, and though his uncle was always kind, James would not have wanted to cross him at that moment.

Cecily kissed Kit’s head and cheeks and embraced him so tightly, they could hear some of Christopher’s bones cracking.

She was muttering soothing words while brushing pieces of cement out of his hair. Christopher’s expression gave away that he did expect this reaction from his mother at all.

After a couple of minutes of cooing, she seemed to remember what he had done, and quickly pulled away, holding him at arm's length. It might have been comical, seeing as to the fact that Christopher seemed to go boneless, his head snapping back. However, the tone of voice Cecily used was no laughing matter.

“Christopher. Gabriel. Lightwood. Why, in the name of The Angel, did you think it was a good idea to BLOW UP the academy?!”

His eyes widened, but Cecily didn’t break her gaze for a second. Kit was just a couple of centimeters taller than his mother, and yet, in that moment, she might as well have been two meters taller.

“In what universe, would that have been a good idea?! Enlighten me, please.” Cecily said.

“Mrs. Lightwoo—” Matthew started.

Cecily held up her hand, not even sparing him a look or word. Her eyes were the same shade of blue as the fire in hell. Kit just kept staring at her.

“Well?!”

Kit mumbled something, looking at the ground.

“Loud enough for human ears to detect, Christopher.” She said, harshly.

Kit looked up, perhaps to correct her about the sounds humans could detect.

“Don’t even think about it.” She said through clenched teeth, suspecting what he was going to say.

“Cecy—” Gabriel started.

“No, he has to tell me what was going through his mind when he decided he was going to blow up the South Wing of his school.”

Cecily turned her piercing stare back to Kit, who recoiled. Gabriel stood behind Cecily. His face was sympathetic and kind.

“Kit.” He said softly.

Kit looked up at his father.

“They were making fun of Jamie.” He said finally.

Cecily looked taken aback. “So you thought a valid form of revenge was to blow up the school?” James couldn’t help but notice, however her tone was slightly less imposing.

“Not really. I thought I would rather get expelled than stay there.”

James realized the Kit was trying to take all of the blame, even though Matthew played a part in it. Matthew realized as well because he spoke up.

“Mrs. Lightwood, I asked Christopher to blow up the South Wing, so that I could get expelled. I made sure Thomas got him away from the explosion by the time it could happen. I did not know he would be expelled as well. I apologize.”

Cecily nodded, but she was still looking at Christopher. Her face softened a fraction. James turned his gaze at his own father, who was looking at Christopher with admiration and affection for defending his son.

“They made fun of Kit, too. I wouldn’t say it’s better he was expelled but…”

Cecily’s eyebrows furrowed at that. She looked back at her son and spoke quietly to him in what James recognized as Welsh, by the way she was speaking. Kit nodded along while she spoke, looking down at the ground. Nobody other than she and Kit could hear what they were saying, but Will put his arm around James regardless, as though he knew the words were sweet.

Finally, she put a hand on his face and stroked his cheek with her thumb, softly.

“I’m glad you blew up the academy.” Cecily said finally.

Christopher looked surprised at that. “That does not give you permission to blow up everything in sight. I have enough to worry about as it is.” Cecily put a hand to her stomach, an absentminded gesture James wasn’t quite sure he interpreted correctly. He exchanged a look with Matthew before he felt his father tense. He looked up and saw that Will’s mouth was wide open.

“Cecy, I hope that hand is indicating a stomach ache.”

“What?” She said, looking down.” “Oh. No Will, I’m pregnant.” she said simply, confirming their suspicions.

“Cecily, you’re 37!”

“And you, William, are not my father.”

She was looking at her son, who, much like everybody else, was extremely surprised. Cecily smiled at him and put her other hand on his face. She kissed his forehead and put his head on her shoulder. She swayed a little and her face conveyed the emotion of a mother who was finally reunited with her child.

It made James ache for his mother who, thankfully, was not as frightening as Aunt Cecily when she was angry.

“I forgot how frightening Aunt Cecily was.” Matthew whispered, reflecting James’ thoughts exactly.

“I thought Aunt Charlotte was also quite harsh.”

“Not like Cecily. Besides, mum feels bad because she is never around, so she does not scold me as much. Would I have known Kit would have to go through that, I would have found another way to get expelled. I might be terrified of her, Jamie.”

“Me too. But Uncle Gabriel cancels it out, usually.”

“Are you talking about Cecy?” Will asked.

Both boys nodded.

“If you think she’s frightening, you’re lucky you did not have my mother. Once she broke my arm because I jumped out of my bedroom window and broke my leg.”

“She broke your arm for breaking your leg?”

“She broke my arm for being an idiot.”

“Seems fair.”

Will glared at his son.

…

Cecily sat down beside Christopher on his bed an hour later. He was looking down at the goggles in his hands; the ones they had given him for his birthday.

“So that you don’t ruin those lovely eyes of yours.” Cecily had said. She wished she could have captured the look on his face when he opened the goggles. If only they had known, all those years ago, that scientist goggles were what made Christopher happy.

“Christopher bach, are you alright?” She asked, stroking his soft, brown curls. She always loved the name Christopher. She seldom called him Kit, just because of how much she loved the name. Sometimes, when she was a girl, she would lay in her bed and dream of having a beautiful son that she would name Christopher. The Angel had been kind enough to grant her that wish.

Christopher just nodded.

“I am so very sorry for yelling at you earlier, cariad. You frightened me so much when I got the call. I thought you had gotten hurt or worse. I do not know what I would do if you had gotten…” she trailed off. “The point is, you know how I act when I am afraid and now that I am carrying a child, it becomes a bit harder to keep my emotion in check.”

“I am sorry as well, Mam. For frightening you.”

Cecily’s heart clenched.

“You are such a wonderful boy, Christopher. I could never dream up a better son than you. If the boys at the academy cannot see that, they are blind.”

Christopher looked at her with his violet eyes. He looked so vulnerable with his lean body hunched over and his head down, that she couldn’t help but put her arms around him and hold him close to her. He lifted a hand and held on to one of her forearms. She was furious with the school and how they treated her son, who was so perfect and so kind. She muttered

“Mam?”

“Yes?”

“Did anyone drop me on my head when I was a baby?”

Cecily tensed. She pulled away and looked at his face, which was filled with curiosity.

“Why do you ask that, bach?”

“Someone asked me at the academy, and I didn’t know the answer.”

Cecily was outraged. “Who?!”

“A professor.” Christopher said, idly fiddling with the strap of his goggles.

“A professor?!”

Christopher shied away.

“Oh, I’m so sorry bach. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She kissed the crown of his head. “I am just appalled that a professor would have the indecency to ask such a question.”

“Was it rude?”

“Yes. Very rude. Who was it?”

Christopher shook his head. “I don’t want you to kill them, Mam.”

Cecily laughed. “Yes, you are right. It is probably for the best I do not know, then. And no. Nobody dropped you on your head. When the Angel gives you such a beautiful gift, you never let it fall.”

Christopher put his head on her shoulder. “What was the gift?”

Cecily looked at him, but he was still staring out of the window.

“You,” she said, quietly. “You are the gift. My wonderfully beautiful gift.”

“Oh.” Christopher was quiet for a minute and then looked momentarily confused.

“I thought you and Papa made me. Through intercour—”

“Oh my goodness,” Cecily said, before he could finish that word, covering his ears. “Who taught you that? Was it your Uncle Will? First the carriage and now my son’s innocence. What is he going to take next?”

“No, it wasn’t Uncle Will, please don’t kill him. I learned about it in a book about biology. The demon pox song made a lot more sense.” Christopher put his head back on her shoulder.

Cecily sighed, “I suppose you are old enough to know.”

“I don’t think I am.” Christopher shuttered.

Cecily laughed so hard, her sides hurt. Christopher smiled.

“My sweet boy. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mam.”

“I have no idea how you can even stand the sight of me.”

“Why? You are very pretty, Mam.”

Cecily knew he understood the question wrong but she did not want to correct him. She always held those responses dearly. They made her laugh and, every once and awhile, cry. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed all of those little things that made her son who he was. She felt like she had failed at a mother. How could she have sent her son to that horrible place? She’d hoped he would make more friends; ones who also loved sciences. Cecily had tried so hard, but she never understood what he talked about. Chemical equations might as well have been hieroglyphics.

…

“Mam, mam!”

“What is it, cariad?”

“Madam Curie! She and her husband discovered an element! It’s called Radium.”

Cecily exchanged a look with Anna, who shrugged.

“That’s wonderful, bach. What does it do?”

“They say it might be able to cure cancer!”

“Oh, that’s very wonderful. It will be able to save lives! How fascinating, Christopher.”

Christopher smiled very wide and he went back to reading. Cecily could not help but smile as well.

…

“I suppose you hate us for sending you to that wretched academy.” Cecily said, coming back to the present.

“I could never hate you.” There. When he said those sort of things that just came out so simply, Cecily couldn’t help feeling that urge to cry, because perhaps she was a good mother. Perhaps she was able to accomplish what hers hadn’t.

“Besides,” Christopher continued, “now I have very good friends.”

“Oh, that makes me so happy Christopher, bach.”

“But I am glad to be back here, with you, Papa and Anna. And the new baby.”

He eyed her belly nervously.

Cecily couldn’t help but smile as she put a hand on her belly. “It’s a boy.”

Christopher looked up with fascination. “How do you know?”

“A mother always knows, bach.” Christopher looked at her with wide eyes. “And the Silent Brothers may have told me.” She finished.

Christopher opened his mouth, but was cut short.

“Christopher!”

Anna came from behind and attacked her brother with a hug, which almost sent them sprawling onto the floor.

“My baby brother! I cannot believe you exploded the South Wing! Ha, and with science! You really showed them, Chris.”

Cecily looked at Anna sadly. I cannot wait for you to show them who you truly are, Anna bach. Cecily thought. Gabriel stood by the door, smiling. Cecily looked back at their Anna and Christopher, the former demanding to know who dared insult a Lightwood, for she would march up to that school and make sure they never saw the light of day. Pun intended.

Cecily kissed Anna’s temple and put a hand on Christopher’s knee, standing up. She walked into Gabriel’s arms and they both looked at their children.

Cecily swayed a little bit in his arms.

“I apologize for being so horrible earlier today.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I should have given you space.”

“I did not want it though,” she said. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t.”

Cecily turned around in his arms. “You could have said you have superhuman powers.”

“And lie to my dear wife? I could never.”

Cecily shook her head and looked down at her belly, putting a hand on her unborn baby. Gabriel put his hand over hers.

“I hope he has his father’s beautiful eyes.” Cecily said, smiling up at him.

“And his mother’s lovely raven hair.” He said, lightly tugging a lock of her hair.

Anna laughed in the background, which got both of their attention. Cecily turned around so that she was facing their children.

“They are so precious,” Cecily said.

“Like their mother.”

Cecily snorted and turned around again. “You are such a pest, Gabriel Lightwood. I should do well to divorce you. It’s such a pity I love you too much.”

Gabriel smiled and stroked a stray hair away from her face. “What a shame.”

“At least you are good in the bedr—”

“Your lovely children are present. I urge you not to say something you will regret.” Anna called out.

Cecily laughed and shook her head.

“I told you, Gabriel: ears of a bat and eyes of an eagle,” Cecily said, referring to Anna.

“I heard that, mother.”

“We love you, Anna.” Cecily said.

“And I you, as long as you do not give us insight as to what you do when Kit and I are not there.”

Christopher nodded with vigor.

“We have such pure children.” Cecily said.

“We have such sinful parents.” Anna said.

“I am not sinful! Your mother just brings out the worst in me.” Gabriel said.

“I do, don’t I?”

“Are you referring to the bedroom? Does mam make you scary too, papa?”

Anna burst out laughing while Gabriel choked.

“Christopher!” Gabriel said. “You cannot ask about your parent’s bedroom etiquette.”

“I’m not that frightening.” Cecily said, clearly unbothered by the first portion of that question.

Everybody looked at her.

“Am I?”

They blinked.

“Why won’t anybody answer me?”

“We’re afraid you will get angry.”

Cecily shook her head. “You are all unbelievable!”

“Why is she angry, we didn’t say anything?” said Christopher, clearly confused.

Anna, Gabriel and Cecily all barked out a laugh.

“Christopher, you make it so difficult to stay angry at you.” Cecily said.

“I’m sorry?”

Cecily smiled at him. Christopher smiled back. I love you she mouthed. Christopher pointed to his chest then to her and then held up two fingers. Cecily understood what he meant: I love you, too.

TAGGING: @celias @tsccreatorsnet

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jokertrap-ran · 4 years

Photo

[Stand My Heroes] 挽夏のミステリーブライド (Late summer Mystery Bride) Event Story: Part ④ Translations [FINAL]

*Sutamai Master-list *MC name is retained default Izumi Rei *Scenario Writer: @eno_bara (榎戸乃ばら)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Special Stages

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Corridor ☆⋅⋆

Rei: ――!

Rei: (…I’m in the Corridors. And it’s back to being Afternoon now.)

Breathing, sight, warmth—All of the basic feelings of being acutely alive suddenly rushed back into my body. That was how I felt.

Rei: (The picture I received from him; it’s gone!)

I had my Smartphone in hand. Looking at the time, I saw that it was the exact same as the time I had originally left the Study to pick up the call.

Rei: (Am I back to reality?)

Gripping onto the cool doorknob of the door, I nervously sucked in a deep breath before pushing it open…

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Study ☆⋅⋆

Hinata: …Oh. Are you done with your call?

Rei: Shion-kun…

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Study ☆⋅⋆

Miyase: Is everything okay with work?

Rei: Yes…

I smiled as I replied him, but I couldn’t help keeping my eyes trained on Kujo, Kaname, Kirishima, Shindo and Shion, intently watching their every move.

Kaname: …Big sis?

Shindo: Did you see my other self again?

Rei: No, you never did appear again.

Shindo: Hah…?

Kirishima: …Rei, sit here.

I took a seat beside Kirishima as he prompted me to. Atop the table laid an open Album with a familiar photograph.

Rei: This…

Hinata: Yup. This is the only photo that has her looking directly at the camera.

Kaname: This letter was together with it.

Opening it after Kaname passed it to me, I could see the words “As thanks” written in beautiful font.

Miyase: It seems like the owner of this Castle helped her out back when she lost her footing on the steps.

She had told Ayanokouji Hirokimi, “Please allow me to thank you”. To which he had responded with, “Then, allow me to have a picture of that lovable trickster cat of yours.”.

“If possible, I’d love to snap a picture together with it’s owner. I’m sure it’ll make for a nice happy picture”.

Rei: (So he did have a chance to talk to her properly…)

But even so, he never did convey the feelings he had for her even till the very end. And now, he was chained down within this Castle with only his loneliness as company.

--And if what I witnessed earlier wasn’t just a fleeting mid-summer’s dream…

Shindo: What an opportunity. Wouldn’t someone normally ask for something of a high price in return?

Shindo: So the owner of this Castle was someone cowardly in the face of someone he fancies?

That’s…certainly how it looks like. It was a logical conclusion, coming from someone who has never contacted said person before. However, having been moved by the strange string of incidents, I found myself wanting to ask him more about it…

Rei: …Shindo-san, if someone you fancy had already had a lover,

Rei: Would you still convey your feelings to her and not be a coward?

Shindo: What—

Rei: Oh…Sorry, I was just curious.

Shindo: ……

Shindo: --I actually might.

Rei: !

Shindo: (But, that’s only if there’s even a woman out there who’ll out-win my thirst for money.)

Miyase: You’re a passionate one, aren’t you?

Kujo: ――

Shindo: Kujo, wipe that look off your face right this instant.

Kujo: But this is the face I was born with.

Shindo: You know that’s not what I meant.

Kirishima: WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH HIS ABSOLUTELY COOL AND BEAUTIFUL FACE!?

Kaname: This conversation’s going to moot again.

Hinata: Yaawn…I think I’m starting to get sleepy.

Was it a dream? Or had it been real?

It certainly felt real, but everyone was acting as per normal, as if that strange time I had spent earlier never happened. As such, I returned back to having a peace of mind. --But the information of “Kiyo-san” was ingrained into my memory.

Rei: (I’ll search her up once we get back and find out as much as I can!)

Having put my foot down on that matter, I— Continued staring at the picture that enclosed a sad past for a little while longer.

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

--A few days later.

⋆⋅☆ Investigation Division One ☆⋅⋆

Asagiri: And here you are, right on time.

Rei: I apologize for coming in when you’re so busy.

Asagiri: I’ve gathered the documents here, regarding what you had spoken to me about previously on the phone.

He handed me an A4-sized tea-coloured envelope. Within it, was the information pertaining to “Niikiyo”.

Asagiri: She’s the daughter of one of the Japan’s Four Great Financial Groups, so there was a relative lot of information that’s known to public saved in the database along with some of her private un-disclosed information.

Rei: I’m truly thankful for this.

Asagiri: …So?

Rei: What?

Asagiri: I’m asking about what you said in the phone call. Are you really going back to see the “ghost” you mentioned, to report all of this information to him?

Rei: Well, yes…I did promise him that I would.

Asagiri: …I know someone from the Department of Psychosomatic Medicine who’s pretty good at what he does. I could introduce you.

Rei: Ahaha…I suppose it’s normal for you to think that I’m hallucinating it all.

Asagiri: ……

Rei: But I think I want to try heading back to that Castle once more.

Rei: And put this to an end, once and for all.

Asagiri: ……

I smiled a little comically as I faced Asagiri in all his muteness.

Rei: If I ever end up seeing anything weird after that…Then I’ll take you up for your referral offer.

Asagiri: --I’ll accompany you.

Rei: Eh? To the Hospital?

Asagiri: To the Castle. I want to try meeting this ghost, or whatever it is, too.

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Inside the Car ☆⋅⋆

--Weekend.

I was seated in the Passenger seat of the car that Asagiri was driving.

Rei: Sorry. I made you come with me even though it’s a weekend.

Asagiri: I’m the one who decided to come.

Rei: But…

Asagiri: ……

Rei: (It kind of feels harder to talk to him than usual with the atmosphere in here…)

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Corridor ☆⋅⋆

We headed down to the Corridors outside the Study, having told the Staff that we had “forgotten something”.

Asagiri: …So where’s this ghost you speak of?

Rei: The last time we saw him, the Teacup fell off the table of it’s own accord.

Rei: And the books flew out of its shelves.

Asagiri: …Ghosts don’t exist.

Rei: (Asagiri-san…)

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

⋆⋅☆ Old Castle: Study ☆⋅⋆

Reaching the Study, I slotted the envelope with Kiyo-san’s information into the Album.

Rei: --Alright. Let’s go back, Asagi—

Asagiri: You have my gratitude.

Rei: !?

Asagiri: I never thought that’d you’d actually search into it for me.

Saying as such, Asagiri (?) picked up the Album and touched the envelope.

Asagiri: ……

Rei: You’re Ayanokouji-san, aren’t you?

Asagiri: ――Back when I was alive…

Asagiri: ―I thought that I’d lose everything, once the spark of life snuffed out.

Asagiri: ― Affections. Loneliness. Happiness, sadness…--All of it.

Asagiri: But I was mistaken. Everything still resides within me, as vivid as ever.

Asagiri: Affections, loneliness, happiness, sadness…--Therefore,

Asagiri: I wish to stay by you.

Asagiri: I cannot stand being alone any longer.

Rei: A-Asagiri-san…?

Asagiri: If I’m unable to stay by you, then I’d much rather I--…

Asagiri: That’s what I thought, back when I was alive. That’s why I took my own life.

Asagiri: It seems like she had apparently lived out a happy life, thanks to my death.

Asagiri: I’m glad; I really am.

The second he smiled, however-

Rei: Ngh…

I found myself hit by an intense bout of dizziness and had to hold onto the bookshelf to steady myself.

Asagiri: Izumi-san? Is something the matter>

Rei: Ah…

Asagiri: Are you feeling lightheaded?

Rei: Are you…Are you Asagiri-san?

Asagiri: Huh? I am. Why?

Rei: Of course you are…Of course. You are Asagiri-san.

Asagiri: ……

Rei: Sorry. I think I’m a little sleep-deprived.

Asagiri: Did you see something?

Rei: What?

Asagiri: Was the ghost here? Please do tell me more, in detail, if you’re able to explain it.

Asagiri: How was this ghost able to talk to a living person like you?

Rei: Um…

Asagiri: What’s the difference between people who can become ghosts and people who cannot? Please help me ask that ghost, if he’s still here.

Rei: …Err, I think he’s not here anymore.

Asagiri: ――

Rei: Asagiri-san…?

Asagiri: …Sorry. What foolishness have I spouted— We’re leaving.

Rei: (Ah-)

I couldn’t help but to blurt out the one question that was on the tip of my tongue as I saw his retreating back.

Rei: Asaigiri-san! Why are you so sure that ghosts do not exist?

Rei: And if you believe that they don’t exist, then why did you come along with me today…?

Asagiri slowly turned back around.

No emotions showed on his face. --Or rather, he was intentionally putting on a poker-face, but if I had to describe it, there was a hint of denial to his expressionless-ness.

Asagiri: There is no such thing as ghosts.

Asagiri: …Because I know that there’s no way you can meet someone who has died again.

Rei: ――

Asagiri: Let’s go.

I thought as I followed his retreating back this time.

I’m sure that there’s someone he wants to meet again, even if they were a ghost. But meeting them again is impossible, despite how much he wishes for it. That’s why he’s so determined that ghosts do not exist.

Rei: (…I don’t want to leave him alone like that.)

I know that it was arrogant of me to think so. Perhaps it was even out of my place. --But even so,

─────────────────────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Rei: Um! If it’s not any trouble to you, would you allow me to treat you to something as thanks for accompanying me here today!?

He came to a halt as he voiced a reply without turning back.

Asagiri: …Do I get to choose what we’re going to be eating?

Rei: Of course!

A split second was all it took. I heard shoes clicking against the Corridor’s flooring. Asagiri was coming back.

Asagiri: …Then, can we go to the Italian place nearby where there’s all-you-can-eat pizza?

Rei: Let’s go! There was a place like that nearby?

Asagiri: I looked up the places near this place, since we were headed here anyway.

Asagiri: It’s a place where you won’t be wasting any time, for you’ll be able to eat whatever you like—and loads more of the good things.

Rei: That’s a brilliant mind-set you have there.

Asagiri: Rather than it being a mind-set, I’d say…

Asagiri: --That it’s because we’re alive and kicking today as well.

───⋅𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐸𝒩𝒟⋅☆

#Stand My Heroes #スタンドマイヒーローズ #スタマイ #Sutamai #Translations #Otome #挽夏のミステリーブライド #Late summer Mystery Bride #Asagiri Tsukasa #Shindo Kiyoshi #Kirishima Koya #Kujo Soma #Hinata Shion #Yamazaki Kaname #Miyase Go

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canyouhearthelight · 5 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 54

This chapter is 100% dedicated to my beloved sister, @parisconstantine. While we never really got the chance to actually do this, I always wished we could.

Also, thank @baelpenrose for Arthur Farro and the unceasingly fun to write Alistair Worthington.

Content warnings for basic white girl shenanigans, you have been warned.

“It still tastes like chai,” I groaned as I sipped the drink my sister set in front of me. We were in her office, going over crew files to identify who we had available to start learning the material for the Galactic Core courses. Eino and Grey were solidly behind the initiative, along with Xiomara – purely for political and defensive reasons, but still – so with neither Pranav nor Huyhn having any objections, we had a tentative green light.

This concoction in my cup, however, did not have any such approval.

“It would probably help if we knew exactly what was supposed to be in it,” Tyche before wrinkling her nose at her own beverage. “At least we both like chai?”

I shrugged and nodded. “Maybe it’s the ratios… Hey, this guy looks promising. He’s already assigned to Eino, apparently was a teacher Before. Poor thing, he taught high school…” Tyche erupted in giggles. I scowled at her. “You don’t understand. High school students can be horrible monsters.”

“Agreed,” Alistair added as he breezed into the room. He stopped abruptly, wrinkling his nose. “Why does it smell like a tea shop in here, and why are we discussing the propensity of adolescents to be Eldritch abominations?”

“Latest attempt,” I raised my cup at him. “And we’re going through personnel files for candidates to teach the new curriculum.”

He nodded. “I received the alert that the Council approved. However, one would think Councillor Wiitala would be the one to handle the details.” He gestured at the console. “May I?”

I shrugged and Tyche nodded, so he dialed a cup of my sister’s most recent creation. “Eino will coordinate with the new educators to decide the actual curriculum,” Tyche clarified. “Personnel falls under Soph by way of me, and she’s responsible for logistics.” She made an eloquent gesture at me.

“And Sophia has no other staff to delegate this to?” He arched a brow as he took his first taste of the experiment in his hand. Grimacing, he managed to swallow before putting the rest in a recycling port. “Oh, that’s chai. And not even good chai. How are the two of you drinking that?”

“Grow up drinking coffee that could degrease and engine,” I muttered into my cup. It wasn’t that bad, I decided. My assistant just pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath through his clenched teeth. “As far as delegating, would you be interested in taking it on?”

“Not possible, I’m afraid. Between my day to day responsibilities as your assistant and those horrid swimming lessons, I have very little free time as it is. Madame Reid, you can stop laughing this instant, it is not funny in the least.”

Tyche exploded into laughter rather than complying with his admonishment. Wiping tears from her eyes, she gasped, “I can’t believe you took that bet!” She dropped her head onto her arms and shook, gasping now and then.

I managed to restrain myself to a smile, but it was a close call. “Anyway, if you are too busy, and Tyche is already handling the personnel files, then no, I can’t delegate this.”

“Surely you – “ Alistair broke off as Tyche’s hysterics escalated. At first, he looked confused, but dawning comprehension finally broke across his face. “You cannot be serious.”

“Mmm hmm.” I smiled wider, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“You really have no other staff?”

“Nope,” I popped before leaning back in my seat. “I come up with ideas, I vet ideas, but of the entire Council, I have the smallest staff. Two, to be precise.” I swept my arm, gesturing at him and the shaking lump of my sister, still slumped on the table.

“That is…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “How did I never realize this?”

Tyche’s head popped up. “I wish I knew,” she answered shakily, wiping tears from her face. “You have access to the entire staffing plan for the Council. How did you not see that?” Alistair muttered and turned his face away. “Come again? I didn’t catch that?”

“I thought the information was incorrect, Madame Reid.”

“Mademoiselle,” she corrected. “But Tyche is preferred. Did you really think that a staffing document that I, personally, manage would be incorrect?”

“Tyche,” I chided. “It is very common for those who manage personnel to leave their own updates for last. He’s not being rude.” I turned back to my assistant. “To clarify, that data is completely accurate. The entirety of my staff is sitting in this room. That doesn’t mean I don’t delegate, mind you. I just don’t delegate entire projects, that’s all. Tyche handles anything regarding staffing, whether it’s long term or short term. That is entirely on her, by the way, even though it falls under my department. If I need data, Pranav has given me permanent access to some of his people, and I can also reach out to Grey whenever I need. For something like this, once I figure out the logistics and make sure we have enough educators to do it, I hand it over to Eino, and it’s his problem.”

Alistair looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. “Additionally, I would venture that you have a sort of unofficial staff.”

I shook my head vigorously, immediately understanding what he was getting at. “No, I have a family, Mr. Worthington. Talking about your day, bouncing ideas off each other, that’s what a family should be. They are certainly not my staff.”

“I am,” Tyche offered, smirking.

Brat. “That’s different,” I sighed. “You actually report to me, in a professional capacity.” I picked up my cup to take another sip, frowning to find it empty. “There is a hole in my coffee cup,” I muttered.

Alistair rolled his eyes and snatched the mug from my hands. “Give me that before you make yourself sick,” he demanded waspishly.

I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to bring myself back to the actual task I was in here for. “Okay, no, I don’t have any other staff, so no, I can’t delegate this. And that fine, this was my idea, and I’m actually very excited to have a hand in bringing it to fruition. So, moving on… Arthur Farro goes on the short list. Who’s next?”

“Don’t kill me,” Tyche immediately responded.

“Not what I expected… why would I kill you?”

“We have one person on this ship with pretty much nothing to do, who has a very unique perspective on this and actually has read most of the material…”

“Tyche…��

“…And he’s not my favorite person either, but – “

“Tyche. Spit it out.”

“Simon,” she blurted, leaving me in stunned silence. “I know, he’s got the social skills of an enthusiastic squirrel, but he is the only human on the ship who already knows the majority of the material.”

I sputtered, stopped, and tried again. “But can he teach it?” I asked, incredulous. “Knowing things doesn’t always mean you can pass the information on effectively.”

“That is your objection, Councillor?” Alistair threw over his shoulder as he continued to do whatever he was doing at the food console.

“Well… yeah?” I confirmed, confused why I would have any other objections. “I am absolutely certain he knows most of the material and would probably learn the rest on his own. He didn’t have much else to do for the year he was on the Ark by himself. And he’s been working on his social skills, it’s just…” I sighed and ran a hand down my face. “Look, I’ve had those teachers, you know? The ones who know the material like they breathe air, but can’t teach it to save their lives. It’s an awful experience and always made me hate the subject instead of the teacher. Simon doesn’t need any more hate directed at him, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve already talked to him, and he’s willing,” Tyche offered. “He’s been studying public speaking and body language, and said he would be willing to take some education courses if it would help. He really does want to give back.”

“Wait, body language courses?” A feeling of abject horror buried itself deep in the pit of my stomach. “Tyche… Which courses?”

“About that – “

“I swear on my bones if you sent him – “

“He found it himself!”

Hammering my head on the table suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. “Oh my god. This is not happening.”

Alistair interrupted, sliding two mugs on the table before absconding with the cooling remnants of my sister’s not-chai. “You are doing it again. You are speaking ‘Reid-ish’ and I’m not quite fluent yet, so would the two of you mind speaking in full sentences so the rest of us mere mortals know what you are saying?”

“Oh, you’ll learn,” I threatened drily before sweeping a hand at my sister. “Go ahead. You love telling this story.”

She leveled a glare that would wither lesser people before turning to explain. “Sophia was an interpersonal communications expert in a former life. She wrote a paper, during grad school, on the importance of body language to people in positions of power. Specifically, educators and managers at various levels. It was controversial for a while, mostly because it emphasized the exact opposite of what most studies in that field encouraged. No ‘power poses’, no ‘assertive language’, nada.”

“And this is the paper Mr. Rodriguez found?”

“Oh, not the paper,” I groaned miserably. “Eventually, people started asking me to come give talks, and then seminars to their employees. It was a disaster.”

“It was an insane success,” Tyche argued.

“But I had to give seminars!” I cried. “You know I hate public speaking!”

You could have heard a pin drop. Alistair gaped at me, mouth opening and closing a few times in aborted attempts to say something. Finally, “You wrote an entire paper, and gave actual courses, on how to do something you hate?”

“That’s why I wrote the damned paper,” I admitted. “I hate public speaking because of all the toxic power-posing bullshit attached to it. It’s like you’re intimidating people to believe you. ‘Project confidence, don’t use filler language, use powerful language, executize’.” I mimicked in a squeaky voice. “It was a bunch of baloney, so I wrote the paper to prove that. I never expected people to take it that seriously. Not to mention, I nearly didn’t get my Masters because of that paper.”

“The professor was not impressed,” Tyche stage-whispered.

“The professor was an asshole who entered every room like a bull in a china shop,” I growled. “He blustered and intimidated people, and at least half his students were afraid of him.”

“And you basically wrote an entire paper about why you found him distasteful,” Alistair nodded. “I am genuinely floored that he disagreed with your findings.”

“Fuck him, I was right,” I ground out. “I managed to get nearly every undergrad in the school to participate in the study, which turned out to be the only way I was able to keep from failing the course – the sample set was so large, he couldn’t exactly argue it. But he tried, believe me.” Distracted, I took a sip of the drink he had set in front of me. “Oh my. Oh god. This… Tyche. Drink. Now.”

She took a sip and threw a predatory look at Alistair. “You did not.”

“I did,” Alistair replied smugly.

I was fighting back tears while simultaneously trying to learn how to live in a cup of coffee. Tyche just looked constipated. “I’ve been trying for two months. You just whipped it right up.”

“I will admit, I did not think your… quest… was as serious as it turned out to be, else I would have done it sooner. If for no other reason than to spare myself your various concoctions.”

“This used to be our thing, every fall,” I explained, sniffing my now-mostly-empty cup. “Before she moved to Paris, I mean. We would go out and get these, and hang out for a day.” I blinked furiously, refusing to cry over a cup of coffee.

Alistair chuckled. “Could the two of you possibly have a more stereotypical tradition?”

“No,” Tyche growled stubbornly before tilting her chin up. “Nothing says ‘comfortable with myself’ more than two women this white,” she pointed back and forth furiously between us, “Enjoying pumpkin spice coffee in the fall.”

“Being a walking stereotype is its own kind of confidence,” I admitted. “You know everyone is probably judging you for it, but you really just don’t care.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #autumn #aliens #science fiction #original writing #humans are space orcs #apocalypse

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ohcoolnice · 5 years

Text

Late

It’s a full story, I swear it’s just...I can’t figure out a title so we’re gonna just title each chapter. Also, each chapter’s title may seem like it connects to an insignificant detail, but it has deeper meaning. I’m known for my especially angsty works. MWAHAHAHAHA.

SUMMARY:

Marinette seriously just cannot afford mistakes, so, naturally, there are so, so, so many. First, four of their models call in sick, thanks to the lovely flu going around, meaning they don’t have anyone to model for most of their women’s pieces. Then, Adrien’s bright idea to have Marinette model her own pieces gets approved by Gabriel, and, obviously, it all backfires spectacularly-on him.***This is set in the future, The character’s are 19 and 20-ish. it’s all messed up tho bc i can’t figure out timelines so whatever.

(THIS CHAPTER IS A BIT BAcKSTORY, But also plot yay :)

-----

Marinette could not afford to have anything go wrong today.

The new Gabriel HERO™ Collection was going to launch in two days, and with the delay she’d experienced last week with the fit models, she’d only gotten Gabriel’s approval on the final designs three days ago, stayed up all night to do the flats and came in the next day, sleep deprived and sure she’d have a heart attack with the amount of caffeine she’d consumed.

The department had been a great help. Ellie had agreed to touch up some small errors Marinette had made will working on the flats at four in the morning, enlisting Jonah, who was a wizard with Illustrator, to help her.

Samantha was great with construction, she knew every single stitch, and Marinette was sure she’d invented at least twenty of her own. She could work fast without making any errors, all the while making the rounds and helping anyone and everyone.

Marinette oversaw everything. Technically, on paper, she was an Intern. But she had been working with Gabriel for three years now, and not even out of Fashion School yet. At seventeen she’d begun interning, still surprised she’d got it, though she suspected guiltily that Adrien Agreste may have had some influence over the matter once he’d congratulated her when she’d never told him in the first place. They barely even spoke. Every so often she had nights where she felt so bad, maybe taking some other more talented girl’s spot only because she had gone to school with the designer’s son, that she would cry and sob until she passed out from exhaustion. It didn’t help she heard it often.

She learned to ignore comments and overtime the public perception of her grew more positive as people began to see her designs once Gabriel became her Mentor and put her in charge of design for several collections. She knew people knew her name as she often accompanied Gabriel to shows, taking notes on the pieces but also making notes on every work that came from Gabriel’s mouth, but she didn’t want to be too known. Even in fashion school, most of her classmates, obsessed with knowing everything about the fashion world, didn’t know who she was, just that she interned with Gabriel, perhaps. Marinette liked it that way. She wasn’t a big fan of too much attention. She preferred if she could wait until she graduated to make a name for herself.

Gabriel had admitted, in an awkward moment once two years ago, that he wasn’t overly sure as to why he decided to become a mentor to the baker’s daughter, but he remarked on the similarities he saw in his younger self and her.

She didn’t really believe him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him smile, not once, even when she knew he was kind of proud of the work she was doing. Over the years she’d come to notice it wasn’t hard to read his expressions- okay, it was hard, just not impossible- once you’d spent enough time studying him. And Marinette took note of everything he did. Alya often wondered aloud how the designer wasn’t creeped out by her.

Marinette didn’t know how she could possibly be like Gabriel. He showed no emotion on most occasion, but she was the complete opposite. Another reason why the media often wondered what it was he saw in a seventeen-year-old intern. He knew her designing and construction skills from the competition she’d won three years prior, but that was really all he’d seen up until her portfolio, which she’d snuck onto one night before the leaving on what was supposed to be the last day of her internship. The eight days after that where she’d heard nothing had been the most depressing days of her life. Then she’d gotten a call from Nathalie, Gabriel’s assistant, asking her to come in, and she almost passed out. She’d cried so hard after that Alya had thought Marinette’s parents had died. Sometimes she wondered how Alya came up with the conclusions she did.

Everything afterwards hadn’t been smooth sailing, but it was all incredible. Every stressful task was worth it. She was being paid as an intern, since there weren’t technically any positions available at the time. There since had been some, but she didn’t dare ask for a raise. She liked being able to do everything without being confined to the title of “designer” or “dressmaker” or whatnot. She liked doing all of it. The customer service, the finances in accounting (she was terrible at it, but overly grateful), and obviously out of everything, the hands-on fashion was her favorite, but she was getting to experience working in every single aspect of one of the most successful Fashion Companies in the entire world, under the tutelage of Gabriel Agreste himself. She really didn’t think she deserved to be that lucky.

Of course, there were times where she’d broken down at two in the morning, struggling to finish an assignment while balancing school as well. Gabriel had the sort of connections where she was able to miss classes and take them at home thanks to a recording of the class, and while she utilized it, she didn’t really prefer it. She liked being in the class and learning hands on, in an environment electrified by the excitement of young adults itching to get out there and create art. She also knew she did tend to do the work for Gabriel before her studies, and it often resulted in stress and a rush the complete assignments and projects.

If she’d ever felt stress before, it was nothing in relation to the stress of the last two years. And even that was nothing in comparison to the stress of being late to a photo shoot that needed to be perfect because the entire goddamn collection would be public in two days and if she wasn’t ready, no amount of fondness Gabriel had come to feel for the girl would be able to save her job. This was a HUGE deal.

Her car pulled into her spot and she grabbed her things and breakfast for the crew. Next to her, Alya, who had taken the day off to help her best friend, took the trays and boxes from her hand and pushed her towards the entrance. “You’re already late girl, get out of here!”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She pressed her hands together, blessing her friend for being so helpful, before rushing inside, hands full with the last pieces she’d finished last night before, thankfully, getting a good night’s sleep. She was glad the people from Vogue wouldn’t have to see her when she looked as if she’d been attacked by a bear and hit by a train. She didn’t want to wear makeup and risk the chance of feeling anything uncomfortable enough to distract her from her work.

She struggled with the door, grateful when she saw a glimpse of Adrien walking past inside from behind the garment bags covering her view. She knocked on the glass and the door opened a few seconds later.

“Thank ymph.” Her voice muffled behind the garment bags were met with a chuckle from Adrien as she felt the weight in her arms lessen a bit.

“Let me help you, Marinette, you look like you’ve got your hands full.” She gave him a blank look.

“That wasn’t even good. I don’t even know if that can be counted as a pun.” They were almost at the dressing station now, people rushed about, voices mixing as people rushed to prepare the stations and models. Chloe Bourgeois was the only superhero who had shared her identity, so, unfortunately, she would be modeling for the Queen Bee themed women’s pieces. Thankfully that was not until later.

“It can so be counted as a pun. But I’ll spare you because you’re so busy today. I’ll just have to write down my puns and attack you with them later.” She laughed softly, shaking her head as she gently let the bags rest on a table, hanging them up one by one as she took them out of the bags. Adrien’s eyes widened. “Oh wow. These are incredible Marinette. This is- wow.” He looked at her, his eyes sparking with…admiration? She wasn’t sure, but either way she didn’t understand his reaction. She was proud of her work, yes, but she hadn’t expected Adrien of all people to be so impressed by them.

“Thank you.” She replied, ducking her head to hide her blush. No, she had work to do. Focus, Marinette.

“So y-” She shushed him, placing a finger to his lips as he widened his eyes, face warming as he stared, cross-eyed at the finger on his lips.

“Nope, no talking. Let’s go, Hair and Makeup Chat Noir.” His face paled and he stammered and she raised a brow. “Adrien! Your father wants you as Chat Noir, so please don’t make me tell him you can’t do it and we have to find someone else because we really don’t have the time and I really don’t want to have that conversation with him.” He seemed to relax ever so slightly, the color returning to his face. Odd.

“Yeah, sorry, sure. I’ll go be Pat- I mean Chat!” He huffed in frustration and dragged a hand over his face tiredly, emerging with a weak smile that, despite getting over her crush ages ago, still sent her stomach into a frenzy. She pushed down the feeling and giggled. “Sorry, I’m tired.”

“We all are don’t worry. You’re just lucky it doesn’t show because this only can be done today. Now go before I kill you because I am very busy.” She scolded him and pushed him off as he tried to speak, hitting him with the papers in her hand. He laughed and stumbled out, turning to watch her walk back to her station, lost in her work, with a smile on his face.

As he turned to make his way to Hair and Makeup, he narrowly dogged Alya and she ran her way to Marinette, calling, “Hey, Blondie!” as she ran past.

“Who am I to you, Rapunzel?” He called back, eyes following her and landing back on Marinette, smiling with relief as her best friend arrived with food for the crew and Marinette’s purse.

She’d really seemed to come into her own skin these last few years. For at least three years it was so hard for them to hang out. She was so awkward and stumbled over her words around him. Slowly it began to change and improve, and he found himself spending more time with her and his own mood began to improve as he did. He’d spent lots of time with her before, wearing the mask. He would steal her food and they would talk, laugh, play video games, board games. He loved watching her design and sketch. It was peaceful for him, hanging out with her as Chat Noir. It never was as Adrien. It bore down on him, kept him awake at night, not that he realized that until things changed, and he found himself able to hang out with her both in and out of costume. He realized how awful it was when he wasn’t sure if Marinette hated him or not. She was so different with him in his different personalities that he’d worried about it constantly, without even knowing it. It was all so confusing.

Looking at Marinette now, he felt a smile tug at his lips and a flutter in his heart.

She really was special. He couldn’t ask for a better friend.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #angies writing crap #THE UNTITLED SERIES #i'll call it that sure #Adrinette #marichat #ladrien #ladynoir #love square #this is more of a backstory chapter #sorry #kinda filler i guess

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katybeth23 · 5 years

Text

Part 2

Jack had been out of sorts for as long as they could remember and everyone at Heartland knew why. Even though he never spoke about his private life it was obvious that he missed Lisa, that her leaving was what had caused his constant state of melancholy.

Amy in particular worried about her grandpa.

She knew him better than most, and she knew that his heart was broken.

There wasn’t a single day that went buy that Jack didn’t think of Lisa.

But he was stubborn, and he was set in his ways, but more importantly he was willing to live the rest of his life with a broken heart if it meant Lisa was saved from a life of taking care of him.

The once warm water that ran over Lisa’s face has gone cold, she had been standing in the shower for almost half an hour. She was shell shocked.

Unable to comprehend the news she had just been given.

A routine yearly check up at her doctor had completely turned her life up side down.

Surely her doctor had been mistaken?

How on earth could what the doctor have told her be true?

A lifetime of wanting something, only to learn to live with it being an impossibility. Why now after all these years, after being told it was impossible...How did this happen?!

She had cried all the tears possible for one afternoon as she turned off the taps and stepped out on to the bath mat, not daring to take a glance in the large bathroom mirror.

Flicking back through her diary, tear stained checks, she stopped and took a deep breath. It was true { a smile came across Lisa’s face as she remembered }her doctor had been correct, almost to the exact day ~

As the memories of that mild autumn night came flooding back,Jacks rough hands on her soft skin ~

Lisa knew there was only one thing she needed to do. Only one place she needed to be ; no matter what the outcome. She had to go back to Hudson, back to Heartland and most importantly back to Jack.

The cold night air had set in as Jack rode ‘Paint’ across the field and Heartland came into sight. He had ridden out to check some young heifers earlier in the afternoon and to read and re read the letter that had arrived earlier in the week from Lisa.

The strain of the past months had taken its toll on Jack, he had tried to hide it the best he could, however at Heartland there was little privacy and he knew they all could see through him. He knew Lou had mentioned the letter that had arrived for him from France in the post, he could sense her hesitation when she had handed it over with the pile of other letters.

It was freezing and Jack was numb; had he perhaps made the biggest mistake of his life?

He was overwhelmed with feelings of guilt for not contacting Lisa sooner, he had tried to make himself believe that she would have moved on; so that he could move on ~ be content to live his life out at Heartland surrounded by this family.

Part of him had thought that perhaps Lisa would have found someone else...but deep down Jack knew he was only fooling one person ~Himself.

He loved Lisa ~ more than any other man could and deep down he knew she loved him!

The sadness in her eyes as she said good bye and the many times Lisa had been disappointed or hurt because of his stubbornness were too much for Jack to bare. As the wind howled, Jack grabbed at his chest, a shooting pain taking his breath away; his world going black as the vision of Lisa faded into the dark Alberta sky.

Lisa’s flight was booked, she had two clients to meet with before she flew out and one doctors appointment.

She had gone over the scenario in her mind a hundred times yet still she was apprehensive.

She knew that there was a side to Jack that only she saw; he was gentle, sensitive and kind ~ he had insecurities just as she did but he was old fashioned. He kept his feelings close to his chest and he rarely showed any public display of affection; however Jack Bartlett as old and as stubborn as he was had loved Lisa in a way that she couldn’t explain.

He had worn his heart on his sleeve, had endured more tragedies in his life ,yet in Lisa had found someone who had healed his wounds and had encouraged him to love again.

She sighed ~ so why were they apart? why couldn’t they have worked it out? and why did she always insist on pushing things on him like she had ?!

( 10 days later )

The week that followed Jacks heart attack had been rough.

The thought of the possibility of loosing Jack had been extremely difficult for everyone; Amy and Lou in particular. Tim had been a tower of strength, remaining as positive as he could keeping his own feelings private.

Tim had found Lisas letter tucked away inside Jacks winter coat after he was taken by ambulance.

Tim knew Jack had been suffering,

he himself was sad when they had broken up. Tim adored Lisa, she brought out a side a side of Jack he had never seen before. A side of Jack he had come to love and admire.

Lisa loved Jack in a way that many men only dreamed of.

Initially Tim had thrown Lisa’s letter into the glove box of his truck. It was Private. He had told himself it wouldn’t be right to read it.....

But it had got the better of Tim, he just had to know what was in that letter ; he hoped it could help him understand what Jack wouldn’t openly discuss , however ...

~ what if she had moved on and reading that letter was what broke Jacks heart for good?

‘Excuse me Mrs Stillman’

A bright eyed air hostess quietly woke Lisa upon their arrival into Calgary airport.

‘I’m sorry to wake you, but we have landed safely and it’s time to depart’ she smiled knowingly as her eyes glanced over Lisa’s slightly swollen abdomen.

Lisa knew what the young hostess was thinking but she dare not admit it, for it was still to new and to raw for Lisa.

She had made the decision from the moment she had received the news that she would tell no one, not until she had been able to speak with Jack.

She would go straight to Fairfield, meet briefly with Harry then head directly across to Heartland.

Lisa’s heat was pounding and she was a bundle of nerves. But she needed to do this, Jack had a right to know.

Tim sat quietly in the barn, as he read Lisa’s letter to Jack, he prayed that his ex father in law would see what Lisa was trying to say and would tell her exactly how he felt.

~ ‘I miss you, is there any way we can bridge this gap between us’ ~

As Lisa turned into the gates of Fairfield she saw Harry waiting for her as she pulled up out the front the homestead. Immediately she noticed his facial expression and her initial thought is ‘Cinders’.

What Lisa hears next leaves her speechless.

So many things are running through her mind, she cannot comprehend quite what Harry is telling her ; all she hears is Jack. Heart attack. Alive.

Harry could see how distressed she is, but he knows that he had to tell her, it’s not information he wanted Lisa to hear from anyone else.

‘He is alive Lisa’

Harry leads her across to the courtyard and gets her a glass of water.

‘Tim found him in the field with Paint standing by his side ‘ she smiles to herself at the comradeship Jack shared with his old faithful friend.

‘He is home now, spent 3 weeks in hospital, but he is home’ Harry’s Hand rests gently on Lisa’s shoulder.

A man in his late 60s , Harry O’Connor had worked for Lisa and her family for almost 42 years...and although a man of very few words Harry knew how much Jack meant to Lisa, how much she still loved him.

He was glad she had come home, and he hoped that this would be the way in which Jack Bartlett and Lisa Stillman would find their way back to one another; where they belonged.

Lisa { being Lisa } threw herself into “care mode” thinking of all the things Jack might need for his recovery at home, even going as far as to organise a new bed for him.

Harry informed Lisa that he had taken it upon himself to organise Amy to work with Cinders, this was something Lisa was glad of ; she herself didn’t want to see either of the girls { or anyone for that matter } until she had seen Jack.

She knew Harry had taken notice of her appearance the moment she stepped out her SUV, she hoped he put it down to “jet lag “ and her love of French food;

either way she knew she had to go and see Jack ; and sooner rather than later.

‘ I don’t need you to be my nurse ‘

Jack looked so tired as he glared at her across the room.

{ Lisa knew that instant the bed was a really bad idea }

‘Take it back’

His tone was harsh...

‘ I just want to help you Jack’ it was almost a whisper

Inside Lisa desperately wanted to tell him but she couldn’t possibly do it now, not when he was making it perfectly clear he didn’t want her in his life.

‘ okay, then I’ll just go’ she looked at him with pleading eyes, she knew he was afraid, but why couldn’t he see it was her;

The woman who truely loved him.

~ Lisa had deliberately worn her work coat into Heartland so Jack wouldn’t notice her more fuller figure ~

As the tears began to well in her eyes, she felt their unborn child move. She had felt this many times in the past weeks, but today was different ~ Desperately she wanted to scream ‘ Jack! We’re going to have a baby!!!!’

but the words just wouldn’t come.

Before Lisa could do anything else Jack had turned his back and closed his bedroom door behind him.

As Lisa went to leave she heard something break ; she knew this wasn’t what Jack really wanted. He was angry. But once again he had allowed his pride to break her heart.

( 2 weeks later )

Lisa would not mention anything about her visit to Heartland no matter how much it ate her up inside.

She instructed Harry to take Cinders across to Heartland where he was to remain whilst Amy worked with him, nothing was to be done at Fairfield.

Lisa wanted to see no one whilst she was here.

On three occasions Amy spoke with Lisa via phone , but those conversations were kept short and work related no matter how hard Amy tried otherwise.

Amy knew Lisa had been to Heartland to see Jack, she had seen her drive in and sadly watched her breakdown in tears as she drove out soon after.

Jack had been at times impossible to live with after he and Lisa broke up ~ and now after everything she had come home to see him, to offer help care for him and he...he had obviously been his pig headed stubborn old self.

‘Grandpa’ Amy spoke softly as she found Jack resting on the old leather sofa

‘Mmmm’ was his reply

Amy knew she had to tread carefully, she also knew she couldn’t stand to see him this miserable any longer!

‘Grandpa, You don’t have to say anything, I just ask you to listen’ ~

she came and stood by the fire place, Jack lifting his head, looking up at her with his dark, tired eyes.

‘I know you love Lisa’ his eyes widened at the mention of Lisa’s name

Amy put her hand up

‘Just hear me out’ she continued

‘I know you love Lisa, we all know you do. But I also know why your pushing her away...

She continued before Jack could get a word in

‘It’s ok to be afraid Grandpa : I’ve watched you let one thing concern you, almost since the day you met Lisa and I just don’t know why it worries you so much, especially when it’s never worried her!’

Amy’s tone had changed from soft to slightly more stern

‘We all know how old you are grandpa, we know you have grandkids and great grandkids ; but what we also know is that age is a number and your age is not what defines you, it’s not something that Lisa even cares about....your the only one she loves !!!!

Amy bent down in front of her grandpa and held his big old hardworking hands in her own.

‘Please don’t let her go again grandpa. Lisa loves you. And you love her too ; and that’s all that matters’ ~

and with that Amy kissed Jack gently on the cheek and headed out the door.

As the weeks went by there wasn’t a moment of the day that Jack didn’t think of Lisa.

He had worked hard with his rehabilitation program , impressing Dr Verani with his ongoing recovery.

She herself was suprised at just how quickly Jack had bounced back from such a major episode.

Lou had been to see Dr. Verani, concerned that her grandpa was pushing himself and taking things too fast. She to also knew that there was something a miss with him; the difference was Lou was to caught up in her own life to actually see what it was that was causing Jacks heartache.

Dr Tricia Verani assured Lou and them all that although ‘old in numbers’ Jack Bartlett was very much a fit, virile man.

The words ‘I don’t need you to be my nurse’ kept racing through Lisa’s mind ~

...she didn’t want to be Jacks nurse! She just wanted to be with him!!

Harry had been keeping a close eye on Lisa since she had been to see Jack at Heartland.

She hadn’t mentioned it and he dare not bring it up ~ all the same Harry O’Connor knew that something wasn’t right and he had taken it upon himself to keep close watch on his { as it seemed } rather fragile Boss.

Her obstetrician in Calgary had advised Lisa soon after her visit to Heartland that her blood pressure was elevated and it would be wise not to travel given her condition and her age for the time being.

Lisa was at a loss. Regardless of her relationship with Jack he had the right to know what was going on , she so desperately wanted to tell him, she desperately wanted him to hold her in his arms and tell her that every would be just fine ~ she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

‘Jack!’ Tim popped his head through the front door

‘Jack! Are you in here?! ‘ he bellowed once again

As he took off his boots, hung his jacket on the hook and headed in to pour himself a cup of coffee Tim noticed out of the corner of his eye a notepad and pen at Jacks open desk.

As always curiosity got then better of Tim and just before Jack could catch him he caught a glimpse of what he had so desperately hoped for ~

Dear Lise,

I don’t know what else to say except I’m sorry I was such an old fool. I miss you too....

Tim hid his grin as he took a gulp of coffee. Jack missed Lisa. He knew it!

The old boy could fool no one he thought to himself.

‘I’m off to Calgary this morning’ Tim put his cup into the kitchen sink as he headed out the door.

‘I’m grabbing some supplies for Casey, call if you need anything’ and he was out the door and gone.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief, as much as he was great full to Tim for indeed saving his life, since his heart attack Jack had found Tim to be a little ‘over protective’ ~ often calling him multiple times a day and popping in to just to have a cup of coffee with him at least twice daily.

Jack heaved himself up from the kitchen table, he had important business to attend to as he headed back over to his Open desk.

Lisa had a 9am appointment with her Obstetrician in Calgary. She had left Fairfield early so she missed the morning traffic. As she made her way up to the administration desk she hoped todays results would at least give her the option to travel. She really didn’t particularly want to go back to France but given her circumstances she at least wanted the option.

Dr. Lucy. Hammond had been a wonderful support to Lisa since she had returned to Hudson. She was kind and compassionate and had encouraged Lisa to express how she felt and never judged or offered hasty advice.

Dr. Hammond was young, she was newly married and Lisa was taken a back at the genuine excitement she showed Lisa at this exciting time in her life.

Once Dr. Hammond had thoroughly checked Lisa she came and sat beside her.

‘Well Lisa I’m happy to say that your blood pressure has come back to normal and all of your regular tests are looking great she smiled broadly

‘I will add though that you are getting closer to the time when you need to stay put ~ where travel will be completely out of the question’ she turned to face Lisa front on

‘I know this is really difficult for you Lisa, but the time has come where you need to make your decision...do you stay or do you return to France for delivery’ ~ her voice was gentle and full of concern

‘I cannot tell you what to do Lisa, but I know how you feel about your situation and I know how important speaking to Jack is, so my only advice would be...go and see him, then you can make your final decision’ ~ Lisa was in a day dream as she felt Dr. Hammonds hand leave hers.

As he pulled out from Lammle’s Tim thought he was seeing things.

He slowly pulled up just past Calgary private woman’s hospital and watched in his rear view mirror.

Lisa stepped out on the street and decided to take a walk to the park. She couldn’t face the drive back to Fairfield or Harry’s well meaning ‘fussing’.

Tim had been watching and was lost for words.

Lisa was pregnant!!!

Jack was going to be a father...again ~ tim smiled broadly to himself at the thought.

He jumped out of his truck and followed Lisa to the park.

He found her sitting alone, on a park bench staring up into the trees.

‘Hey Lisa’

Tim sat down next to her before she had time to register or cover her bump.

As they sat together in silence the tears that had been burning at the back of Lisas eyes suddenly broke through.

‘I’m so happy for you’ Tim Hugged Lisa gently as he walked her back to car.

She laughed at him as he opened the door and helped her in.

‘I’m not an invalid tim’ she smiled as she watched him fuss.

‘I know , I know...but Jack would kill me if I let anything happen to you’ he winked as he closed the door gently.

Lisa wound the window down, her brow crinkled with concern.

‘Everything will be ok Lisa’ Tim’s tone was sincere and sure.

‘I’ll follow you back to Heartland okay?

Lisa nodded as she drove away.

It was quite possibly the longest trip back to Hudson Lisa had ever driven.

She was now 32 weeks so there was no hiding her condition.

A part of her was nervous and frightened. What if Jack was angry she hadn’t told him. She had wanted to, desperately she had; but his harsh words had kept her silent.

As Lisa drove into Heartland she felt a sense of relief. She knew Tim wouldn’t be far away, he had been so kind and understanding when she told him her news. The excitement she saw in his eyes when she told him about the baby made her feel calm, he too had also opened up, his concerns for Jack, his health scare & his impossible moods.

Tim explained to Lisa how everyone knew what was the wrong with him, he just wouldn’t admit it.

‘He loves you Lise, more than you’ll ever know’ Tim stated matter afactly.

‘He’s just so damn pig headed and so hell bent on worrying about your age difference it’s marred how he actually feels’ ....

‘But he loves ya, no doubt about it. I don’t think he’s ever really stopped ~

To hear that meant the world to Lisa,

These past months holding onto this precious secret had been the hardest thing she had ever had to do, she hated the thought of keeping something like this from Jack ; but as Tim had stated

‘The timing doesn’t matter Lise, your here now and that’s what matters most’.

Jack came out on to the porch as he heard a vehicle coming.

He had never expected to see Lisa’s car, his heart skipped a beat as he saw her pull up.

But nothing in his life could have filled Jacks heart with more love than what he saw as Lisa closed her car door and came around towards the path.

She was glowing, and it was obvious as to why.

Lisa didn’t have to say a word, Jack knew instantly.

As she met him half way his large calloused hands reached out and held her face gently.

‘I’m so sorry Lise, so so sorry’ his deep voice barely audible

‘It’s okay Jack’ Lisa sobbed

‘I’m sorry too, sorry I kept this from you for so long’ she looked down at her perfectly rounded stomach.

There were no more words spoken in that moment.

Lisa took Jacks hands and placed them over her abdomen. She had never imagined in her life that she would experience such a moment, let alone with the love she had for such a man.

Jacks tear stained face leant down and he kissed Lisa soundly.

Both of them knew they had so much to discuss, so much to catch up on and only weeks before they welcomed a new life to Heartland.

Jack looked across as he saw Tim tip his hat and head down the drive and out of Heartland.

But all of that could wait, tomorrow would be here soon enough.

All Jack wanted right now was to hold Lisa in his arms.

He missed many things in the time he and Lisa were apart, he smile, her laughter and those piercing blue eyes...but most of all, above anything else Jack missed holding Lisa in his arms.

‘Is it ok if I stay with you tonight ?’ Lisa’s voice was nothing more than a whisper

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way’ Jacks words muffled as he kissed Lisa softly.

As Jack padded through the house turning down the lights as he went, he never let go of Lisa’s hand.

They reached the door of Jacks room and Lisa stopped, she turned and smiled softly .

His scent filled her lungs as she walked through the door.

A feeling of euphoria came over Lisa as she glanced around the large room familiarising herself once again .

There was so much each other needed to say; explanations, apologies and talk of their future.

They both knew it was a long road ahead and that their lives would never be the same again, but right at that very moment neither minded.

Jack had never imagined this for his life; that he and Lisa would find a way back together and most importantly that Lisa would give him one of life’s greatest gifts...their child.

Their love that both of them had questioned on so many occasions had bore this child.

Neither had ever stopped loving the other. And it was because of this Love , that no matter what life threw at them they would always be together .

#heartlandfanfiction #jisafanfiction #heartland #jackbartlett #lisastillman

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pamphletstoinspire · 5 years

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SEXAGESIMA SUNDAY

In the Introit of this day's Mass, the Church brings before us one who seeks to be loosed from his sins, and calls on God for help and assistance. Arise, why sleepest thou , O Lord? arise, and cast us not off to the end: why turnest thou thy face away, and forgettest our trouble? Our belly hath cleaved to the earth: arise, O Lord, help us and deliver us. O God, we have heard with our ears; our Fathers have declared to us. (Ps. XLIII. 23. 25.) Glory be to the Father, &c.

COLLECT O God, who seest that we trust not in aught we do; mercifully grant that by the protection of the Doctor of the Gentiles we may be defended against all adversities. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, &c.

EPISTLE (II. Cor. XI. 19-33; to XII. 1-9,) Brethren, you gladly suffer the foolish; whereas yourselves are wise. For you suffer if a man bring you into bondage, if a man devour you, if a man take from you, if a man be lifted up, if a man strike you on the face. I speak according to dishonor, as if we had been weak in this part. Wherein if any man dare (I speak foolishly), I dare also. Are they Hebrews? so am I. Are they Israelites? so am I. Are they the seed of Abraham? so am I. Are they the ministers of Christ (I speak as one less wise,) I am more: in many more labors, in prisons more frequently, in stripes above measure, in deaths often. Of the Jews five times did I receive forty stripes save one. Thrice was I beaten with rods; once was I stoned; thrice I suffered shipwreck; a night and a day I was in the depth of the sea. In journeying often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils from my own nation, in perils from the Gentiles, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils from false brethren. In labor and painfulness, in much watchings, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness; besides those things which are without, my daily instance, the solicitude for all the Churches. Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is scandalized, and I am not on fire? If I must needs glory, I will glory of the things that concern my infirmity. The God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is blessed forever, knoweth that I lie not. At Damascus the governor of the nation under Aretas the king, guarded the city of the Damascenes to apprehend me; and through a window in a basket was I let down by the wall, and so escaped his hands. If I must glory (it is not expedient indeed); but I will come to the visions and revelations of the Lord. I know a man in Christ above fourteen years ago, (whether in, the body I know not, or out of the body, I know not, God knoweth): such an one rapt even to the third heaven. And I know such a man (whether in the body or out of the body, I cannot tell, God knoweth) : that he was caught up into paradise; and heard secret words, which it is not granted to man to utter. For such an one I will glory; but for myself I will glory nothing, but in my infirmities. For though I should have a mind to glory, I shall not be foolish; for I will say the truth. But I forbear, lest any man should think of me above that which he seeth in me, or anything he heareth from me. And lest the greatness of the revelations should exalt me, there was given me a sting of my flesh, an angel of Satan, to buffet me. For, which thing thrice I besought the Lord, that it might depart from me. And he said to me: My grace is sufficient for thee; for power is made perfect in infirmity. Gladly therefore will I glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may dwell in me.

Why is St. Paul mentioned in the Mass of this day, and why is this epistle read?

Because in Rome the Station or Church service is held on this day in the Church of St. Paul and because the Church continues to encourage us to work according to the example given by St. Paul who, with the grace of God, accomplished and suffered so much; also because we should labor for the honor of God and the salvation of our souls and faithfully cooperate with the grace of God.

Why, at the beginning of this epistle, does St. Paul say so much to his own praise?

Not out of ambition for honor and glory, but to honor God, and for the love and advantage of the Corinthians, who allowed themselves to be deceived by mercenary impostors and false prophets; that he might make public the craftiness of those deceivers who assumed the appearance of the true apostles, as Satan took the form of a good angel. To shame these, and to remove the obstacles they had placed in the way of the gospel, St. Paul was obliged to reveal to the Corinthians the things he had performed and endured in propagating the holy gospel. By trials and sufferings is the true apostle known; the false apostles, the hirelings, as Christ calls them, only care for their own bodies, for temporal advantages, not for the salvation of souls. We see this exemplified in our days by the heretical missionaries who, when there is suffering, when there is martyrdom, take to flight, for their eyes are directed only to the present life and a large income, while the Catholic missionaries rejoice if, for Christ's sake, and for the salvation of souls, they are permitted to suffer, and made worthy to endure the cruel death of the martyr.

Of whom does St. Paul relate such marvels?

Of himself, but from humility and modesty he does not say so; fourteen years before, forty-four years after the birth of Christ, St. Paul was rapt to the third heaven, that is, to the abode of happy spirits; but to preserve him in humility God permitted Satan to use the concupiscence of the flesh, which is like a sting in the body of man, as a temptation to the apostle, and by which he was continually tormented.

ASPIRATION Grant me, O God, thy grace that in these evil days of false doctrines I may remain steadfast to Thy holy gospel which in the holy Catholic Church remains pure and unchanged; never let me be deterred from obeying its precepts, neither by the charms of the world nor by the mockery and reproaches of the wicked.

GOSPEL (Luke VIII. 4-15.) At that time, when very great multitude was gathered together and hastened out of the cities unto him, he spoke by a similitude: The sower went out to sow his seed. And as he sowed, some fell by the wayside; and it was trodden down, and the fowls of the air devoured it. And other some fell upon a rock; and as soon as it was sprung up, it withered away, because it had no moisture. And other some fell among thorns; and the thorns growing up with it, choked it. And other some fell upon good ground; and being sprung up, yielded fruit a hundredfold. Saying these things, he cried out: He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. And his disciples asked him what this parable might be. To whom he said: To you it is given to know the mystery of the kingdom of God, but to the rest in parables; that seeing, they may not see, and hearing, they may not understand. Now the parable is this: The seed is the word of God. And they by the way-side are they that hear: then the devil cometh, and taketh the word out of their heart, lest believing they should be saved. Now they upon the rock are they who, when they hear, receive the word with joy; and these have no roots, for they believe for a while, and in time of temptation they fall away. And that which fell among thorns are they who have heard, and going their way, are choked with the cares arid riche, and pleasures of this life, and yield no fruit. But that on the good ground are they who, in a good and perfect heart, hearing the word, keep it, and bring forth fruit in patience.

Why is the Word of God compared to a seed?

Because from the word of God germinates the fruit of good works, as from good seed grows good fruit; as it is impossible, therefore, for an unsowed field to produce good fruit, so is it impossible for man without the seed of God's word to produce good fruits of the spirit.

Why does Christ cry out an the parable: He that hath ears to hear, let him hear?

Because of the importance and necessity of the doctrine which was contained in the parable. For to hear the word of God is absolutely necessary for salvation, as the Apostle indicates: How shall they believe him (Jesus) of whom they have not heard? (Rom. X. 14.) Jesus calls those happy who hear the word of God and keep it. (Luke XI. 28.) And on this subject St. Augustine says: "Be assured, my brethren, that as the body becomes weakened by want and hunger, and wastes to a mere shadow, so the soul that is not nourished by the word of God, becomes shrunken, worthless and unfit for any good work."

Whence comes so much cockle of evil, when the seed of God's word is so abundantly sowed?

Because, as Christ says, the seed falls now by the wayside, now upon a rock, now among thorns, seldom upon good soil, that is to say, those who hear the word of God are as a highway, over which many distracting thoughts are traveling which tread down the scattered seed, or, like fowls of the air devour it; they are like rocks, hardened by their prejudices or repeated crimes, so that the divine word cannot take root; again, they are so overgrown by the thorns of worldly cares, the constant desire for wealth and riches, and sensual delights, that even if they receive the seed, it is unable to grow and bear fruit.

ON THE POWER OF GOD’S WORD The word of God is compared, by the Prophet Jeremias, to a hammer which crushes hearts as hard as rocks, and to a fire that dries up the swamps of vice, and consumes inveterate evil habits. (Jer. XXIII. 29.) The Psalmist compares it to thunder that makes all tremble, a storm-wind that bends and breaks the cedars of Lebanon, that is, proud and obstinate spirits; a light that dispels the darkness of ignorance; and a remedy that cures sin. (Ps. XXVIII. 3. 5., CXVIII. 105.) St. Paul compares it to a sword that divides the body from the soul, that is, the carnal desires from the spirit; (Hebr. IV. 12.) the Apostle James to a mirror in which man sees his stains and his wrongs. (Jam. I, 23.) the Prophet Isaias to a precious rain that moistens the soil of the soul and fertilizes it; (Isai: LV. 10. 11.) and Jesus Himself compares it to a seed that when it falls on good ground, brings forth fruit a hundredfold. (Luke VIII. 8.) One single grain of this divine seed produced the most marvellous fruits of sanctity in St. Augustine, St. Anthony the Great, in St. Nicholas of Tolentino, and others; for St. Augustine was converted by the words: "Let us walk honestly as in the day: not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and impurities, not in contention and envy." (Rom. XIII. 13.) St. Anthony by the words: If thou wilt be perfect, go, sell what thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shaft have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me." (Matt XIX. 21.) Nicholas of Tolentino was brought to Christian perfection by the words: "Love not the world, nor the things which are in the world. (I. John II. 15.)

How should we prepare ourselves to be benefited by the word of God?

We must be good, well-tilled soil, that is, we must have a heart that loves truth, desires to learn, and humbly and sincerely seeks salvation; we must listen to the word of God with due preparation and attention, keep the divine truths we have heard, in our heart, frequently consider and strive to fulfil them.

What should be done before the sermon?

We should endeavor to purify our conscience, for, as St. Chrysostom demands; "Who would pour precious juice into a vessel that is not clean, without first washing it?" We should, therefore, at least cleanse our hearts by an ardent sorrow for our sins, because the spirit of truth enters not into the sinful soul; (Wisd. I. 4.) we should ask the Holy Ghost for the necessary enlightenment, for little or no fruit can be obtained from a sermon if it is not united with prayer; we should listen to the sermon with a good motive; that is, with a view of hearing something edifying and instructive; if we attend only through curiosity, the desire to hear something new, to criticize the preacher, or to see and to be seen, we are like the Pharisees who for such and similar motives went to hear Christ and derived no benefit therefrom. “As a straight sword goes not into a crooked sheath, so the word of God enters not into a heart that is filled with improper motives." We should strive to direct, our minds rightly, that is, to dispel all temporal thoughts, all needless distraction, otherwise the wholesome words would fall but upon the ears, would not penetrate the heart, and the words of Christ be fulfilled: They have ears, and hear not.

How should we comfort ourselves during the sermon?

We should listen to the sermon with earnest, reverent attention, for God speaks to us through His priests, and Christ says to them: Who hears you, hears me. (Luke X. 16.) We must listen to the priests, therefore, not as to men, but as to God's ambassadors, for every priest can say with St. Paul: We are ambassadors for Christ, God, as it were, exhorting by us. (II. Cor. V. 20.) "If," says St. Chrysostom, "when the letter of a king is read, the greatest quiet and attention prevails, that nothing may be lost, how much more should we listen with reverence and perfect silence to the. word of God?" The word of God is, and ever will be, a divine seed, which, when properly received, produces precious fruit, by what priest soever sowed; for in the sowing it matters not what priest sows, but what soil is sowed. Be careful, also, that you do not apply that which is said to others, but take it to yourself, or the sermon will be of no benefit to you. Are you free from those vices which the preacher decries and against which he battles? then, thank God, but do not despise others who are perhaps laboring under them, rather pray that they may be released and you preserved from falling into them. Keep also from sleeping, talking, and other distractions, and remember, that whoever is of God, also willingly hears his word. (John VIII. 47.)

What should be done after the sermon?

We should then strive to put into practice the good we have heard, for God justifies not those who hear the law, but those who keep it, (Rom. II. 13.) and those who hear the word of God and do not conform their lives to it, are like the man who looks into the mirror, and having looked into it goes away, and presently forgets what manner of man he is. (Fam. I. 23. 24.) To practice that which has been heard, it is above all necessary that it should be kept constantly in mind, and thoughtfully considered. St. Bernard says: "Preserve the word of God as you would meat for your body, for it is a life-giving bread, and the food of your soul. Happy those, says Christ, who keep it. Receive it, therefore, into your soul's interior, and let it reach your morals and your actions."

That food which cannot be digested, or is at once thrown out, is useless; the food should be well masticated, retained, and by the digestive powers worked up into good blood. So not only on the day, but often during the week, that which was heard in the sermon should be thought of and put into practice. Speak of it to others, thus will much idle talk be saved, many souls with the grace of God roused to good, and enlightened in regard to the evil they had not before seen in themselves and in future will avoid. Let us listen to others when they repeat what was said in the sermon. Heads of families should require their children and domestics to relate what they have heard preached. Let us also entreat God to give us grace that we may be enabled to practice the precepts given us.

PRAYER How much am I shamed, O my God, that the seed of Thy Divine word, which Thou hast sowed so often and so abundantly in my heart, has brought forth so little fruit! Ah! have mercy on me, and so change my heart, that it may become good soil, in which Thy word may take root, grow without hindrance, and finally bring forth fruits of salvation. Amen.

#sexagesima sunday

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doodlebuggity · 5 years

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Testimony of a surgeon working in Bergamo, in the heart of Italy's coronavirus outbreak.

“There are no more surgeons, urologists, orthopedists, we are only doctors who suddenly become part of a single team to face this tsunami that has overwhelmed us.”

Daniele Macchini works in Humanitas Gavazzeni Hospital, Bergamo in Italy. This is a directly translated account of his experience there. It was written on March 7th, 2020. Italy has since gone into lockdown.

“In one of the non-stop e-mails that I receive from my hospital administration on a more than daily basis, there was a paragraph on "how to be responsible on social media", with some recommendations that we all can agree on. After thinking for a long time if and what to write about what's happening here, I felt that silence was not responsible. I will therefore try to convey to lay-people, those who are more distant from our reality, what we are experiencing in Bergamo during these Covid-19 pandemic days. I understand the need not to panic, but when the message of the danger of what is happening is not out, and I still see people ignoring the recommendations and people who gather together complaining that they cannot go to the gym or play soccer tournaments, I shiver. I also understand the economic damage and I am also worried about that. After this epidemic, it will be hard to start over.

Still, beside the fact that we are also devastating our national health system from an economic point of view, I want to point out that the public health damage that is going to invest the country is more important and I find it nothing short of "chilling" that new quarantine areas requested by the Region has not yet been established for the municipalities of Alzano Lombardo and Nembro (I would like to clarify that this is purely personal opinion). I myself looked with some amazement at the reorganization of the entire hospital in the previous week, when our current enemy was still in the shadows: the wards slowly "emptied", elective activities interrupted, intensive care unit freed to create as many beds as possible. Containers arriving in front of the emergency room to create diversified routes and avoid infections. All this rapid transformation brought in the hallways of the hospital an atmosphere of surreal silence and emptiness that we did not understand, waiting for a war that had yet to begin and that many (including me) were not so sure would never come with such ferocity (I open a parenthesis: all this was done in the shadows, and without publicity, while several newspapers had the courage to say that private health care was not doing anything).

I still remember my night shift a week ago spent without any rest, waiting for a call from the microbiology department. I was waiting for the results of a swab taken from the first suspect case in our hospital, thinking about what consequences it would have for us and the hospital. If I think about it, my agitation for one possible case seems almost ridiculous and unjustified, now that I have seen what is happening. Well, the situation is now nothing short of dramatic. No other words come to mind. The war has literally exploded and battles are uninterrupted day and night. One after the other, these unfortunate people come to the emergency room. They have far from the complications of a flu.

Let's stop saying it's a bad flu. In my two years working in Bergamo, I have learned that the people here do not come to the emergency room for no reason. They did well this time too. They followed all the recommendations given: a week or ten days at home with a fever without going out to prevent contagion, but now they can't take it anymore. They don't breathe enough, they need oxygen. Drug therapies for this virus are few.

The course mainly depends on our organism. We can only support it when it can't take it anymore. It is mainly hoped that our body will eradicate the virus on its own, let's face it. Antiviral therapies are experimental on this virus and we learn its behavior day after day. Staying at home until the symptoms worsen does not change the prognosis of the disease. Now, however, that need for beds in all its drama has arrived. One after another, the departments that had been emptied are filling up at an impressive rate. The display boards with the names of the sicks, of different colors depending on the department they belong to, are now all red and instead of the surgical procedure, there is the diagnosis, which is always the same: bilateral interstitial pneumonia.

Now, tell me which flu virus causes such a rapid tragedy?

Because that's the difference (now I get a little technical): in classical flu, besides that it infects much less population over several months, cases are complicated less frequently: only when the virus has destroyed the protective barriers of our airways and as such it allows bacteria (which normally resident in the upper airways) to invade the bronchi and lungs, causing a more serious disease. Covid 19 causes a banal flu in many young people, but in many elderly people (and not only) a real SARS because it invades the alveoli of the lungs directly, and it infects them making them unable to perform their function. The resulting respiratory failure is often serious and after a few days of hospitalization, the simple oxygen that can be administered in a ward may not be enough. Sorry, but to me, as a doctor, it's not reassuring that the most serious are mainly elderly people with other pathologies. The elderly population is the most represented in our country and it is difficult to find someone who, above 65 years of age, does not take at least a pill for high blood pressure or diabetes.

I can also assure you that when you see young people who end up intubated in the ICU, pronated or worse, in ECMO (a machine for the worst cases, which extracts the blood, re-oxygenates it and returns it to the body, waiting for the lungs to hopefully heal), all this confidence for your young age goes away.

And while there are still people on social media who boast of not being afraid by ignoring the recommendations, protesting that their normal lifestyle habits have "temporarily" halted, an epidemiological disaster is taking place. And there are no more surgeons, urologists, orthopedists, we are only doctors who suddenly become part of a single team to face this tsunami that has overwhelmed us.

The cases multiply, up to a rate of 15-20 hospitalizations a day all for the same reason. The results of the swabs now come one after the other: positive, positive, positive. Suddenly the emergency room is collapsing. Emergency provisions are issued: help is needed in the emergency room. A quick meeting to learn how the to use to emergency room EHR and a few minutes later I'm already downstairs, next to the warriors on the war front. The screen of the PC with the chief complaint is always the same: fever and respiratory difficulty, fever and cough, respiratory insufficiency etc ... Exams, radiology always with the same sentence: bilateral interstitial pneumonia. All need to be hospitalized. Some already need to be intubated, and go to the ICU. For others, however, it is too late. ICU is full.

And when ICUs are full, more are created. Each ventilator is like gold: those in the operating rooms that have now suspended their non-urgent activity are used and the OR become a an ICU that did not exist before. I found it amazing, or at least I can speak for Humanitas Gavazzeni (where I work), how it was possible to put in place in such a short time a deployment and a reorganization of resources so finely designed to prepare for a disaster of this magnitude. And every reorganization of beds, wards, staff, work shifts and tasks is constantly reviewed day after day to try to give everything and even more. Those wards that previously looked like ghosts are now saturated, ready to try to give their best for the sick, but exhausted. The staff is exhausted. I saw fatigue on faces that didn't know what it was despite the already grueling workloads they had. I have seen people still stop beyond the times they used to stop already, for overtime that was now habitual. I saw solidarity from all of us, who never failed to go to our internist colleagues to ask "what can I do for you now?" or "leave that admission to me, i will take care of it." Doctors who move beds and transfer patients, who administer therapies instead of nurses. Nurses with tears in their eyes because we are unable to save everyone and the vital signs of several patients at the same time reveal an already marked destiny.

There are no more shifts, no more schedules.

Social life is suspended for us. I have been separated for a few months, and I assure you that I have always done my best to constantly see my son even on the day after a night shift, without sleeping and postponing sleep until when I am without him, but for almost 2 weeks I have voluntarily not seen neither my son nor my family members for fear of infecting them and in turn infecting an elderly grandmother or relatives with other health problems. I'm happy with some photos of my son that I look at between tears and a few video calls. So you should be patient too, you can't go to the theater, museums or gym. Try to have mercy on that myriad of older people you could exterminate. It is not your fault, I know, but of those who put it in your head that you are exaggerating and even this testimony may seem just an exaggeration for those who are far from the epidemic, but please, listen to us, try to leave the house only to indispensable things. Do not go en masse to make stocks in supermarkets: it is the worst thing because you concentrate and the risk of contacts with infected people who do not know they are infected. You can go there without a rush. Maybe if you have a normal mask (even those that are used to do certain manual work), put it on. Don't look for ffp2 or ffp3. Those should serve us and we are beginning to struggle to find them. By now we have had to optimize their use only in certain circumstances, as the WHO recently recommended in view of their almost ubiquitous running low. Oh yes, thanks to the shortage of certain protection devices, many colleagues and I are certainly exposed despite all the other means of protection we have. Some of us have already become infected despite the protocols. Some infected colleagues also have infected relatives and some of their family members are already struggling between life and death. We are where your fears could make you stay away. Try to make sure you stay away.

Tell your family members who are elderly or with other illnesses to stay indoors. Bring him the groceries please. We have no alternative. It's our job. Indeed what I do these days is not really the job I'm used to, but I do it anyway and I will like it as long as it responds to the same principles: try to make some sick people feel better and heal, or even just alleviate the suffering and the pain to those who unfortunately cannot heal. I don't spend a lot of words about the people who define us heroes these days and who until yesterday were ready to insult and report us. Both will return to insult and report as soon as everything is over. People forget everything quickly. And we're not even heroes these days. It's our job. We risked something bad every day before: when we put our hands in a belly full of someone's blood we don't even know if they have HIV or hepatitis C; when we do it even though we know they have HIV or hepatitis C; when we stick ourselves during an operation on a patient with HIV and take the drugs that make us vomit all day long for a month. When we read with anguish the results of the blood tests after an accidental needlestick, hoping not to be infected. We simply earn our living with something that gives us emotions. It doesn't matter if they are beautiful or ugly, we just take them home. In the end we only try to make ourselves useful for everyone. Now try to do it too, though: with our actions we influence the life and death of a few dozen people. You with yours, many more. Please share and share the message. We need to spread the word to prevent what is happening here from happening all over Italy.”

His original Facebook post.

Italian newspaper (Corriere della Sera, edizione di Bergamo) transcript.

#coronavirus #covid19 #italy #covid-19 #Daniele Macchini #i cried the first time i read through this #same way i cried when i read the account of the chinese girl who lost her mother to covid19 and then her father was put in quarantine and #then her brother #we forget there are real people attached to this

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booksfornamjoon · 6 years

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The literary sources of BTS’ “Singularity” (Part II)

Chapter II: Oedipus Rex, the blind who had eyes

* This is a personal and purely philological analysis, that is, centred on the study of literature and/or the language as used in literature.

* This post was originally written in Spanish and translated into English, sorry if there are any errors.

* You can check part I --Narcissus and the problem of self-identity--, here.

* Also, you can check my in-depth analysis of Singularity lyrics here.

As we established in the first part of the analysis, one of the main literary sources of "Singularity" is the classic myth of Narcissus, established in Western culture through the Metamorphosis by Ovid. Remember that Narcissus, the son of a nymph and a god, ends up so enamoured with his reflection that he ends up falling into the water where his beautiful face appears, dying because of his own vanity. We affirmed that in one of the versions of the myth, the mother of Narcissus, the nymph Liriope, decides to visit Tiresias (in ancient Greek, Τειρεσίας), one of the most famous soothsayers of Greek mythology. This character, present as a prophet in all Greek tragedies related to the founding of the city of Thebes --one of the most important social nuclei of ancient Greece-- is not only considered the mediator between gods and humans but between men and women --by its androgynous nature. and between life and death.

[Tiresias appears in front of Odysseus during the sacrifice, Heinrich Füssli (1780-85)]

One of the main tragedies, and the one that will centre this second part, is Oedipus Rex (Oι̉δίπoυς τύραννoς), a Greek tragedy written by Sophocles in an unknown date (it is believed that it was composed around 430 BC). Broadly speaking, the work begins during the mandate of Oedipus, king of Thebes and husband of Jocasta. His glorious reign is dying by an aggressive epidemic of plague and he orders his brother-in-law Creon to depart for the Oracle of Delphi (a sacred temple dedicated to Apollo, built in the Villa of Delphi, Greece).

The prediction is clear: the plague is a divine punishment because the death of Laius, the previous king, has not been avenged and it will not disappear until the guilty party is killed or sent into exile. After this, Oedipus collaborates arduously to discover the culprit -- to who promises to save his life and only punish him/her with exile--, relying on his citizens and the close members of his family. It is precisely Creon who introduces the character of Tiresias since he advises the monarch to come to him to solve the problem.

OEDIPUS: Teiresias, you who understand all things—what can be taught and what cannot be spoken of, what goes on in heaven and here on the earth—you know, although you cannot see, how sick our state is. And so we find in you alone, great seer, our shield and saviour.

We must bear in mind that Tiresias, who appears in this work as a character already known from other mythological cycles --Greek tragedies were represented in the amphitheatres and used to use dynasties of characters that all the public knew-- is a blind fortune-teller. When he arrives in Thebes, he refuses to declare what he knows, even though he was present at the time of Laius' murder, and he and Oedipus confront each other in a heated conversation. Irritated, Tiresias declares that Oedipus is the murderer that Oedipus himself is searching for and insinuates him that he lives in incest with his mother, with whom he has had children, he is not the Theban as he believes and that, shortly, he will be blind like him. Faced with such accusations, Oedipus does not believe him and thinks that the fortune-teller has conspired with Creon to snatch his throne.

TEIRESIAS: I say that with your dearest family, unknown to you, you are living in disgrace. You have no idea how bad things are.

OEDIPUS: Do you really think you can just speak out, say things like this, and still remain unpunished?

TEIRESIAS: Yes, I can, if the truth has any strength.

OEDIPUS: It does, but not for you. Truth is not in you— for your ears, your mind, your eyes are blind!

TEIRESIAS: You are a wretched fool to use harsh words which all men soon enough will use to curse you.

TEIRESIAS: You may be king, but I have the right to answer you—and I control that right, for I am not your slave. I serve Apollo, and thus will never stand with Creon, signed up as his man. So I say this to you, since you have chosen to insult my blindness— you have your eyesight, and you do not see.

Since the tragedy is extensive, I will try to explain the argument briefly. Finally, Oedipus, who was actually the heir of the kings of Corinth, left his city because of an oracle that proclaimed that he would kill his father and marry his mother. He wanted to avoid the tragedy of his destiny and fled. During the way, he's entangled in a brawl in which he assassinates several people ..., one of them turns out to be Laius. With the intervention of several witnesses, it is known that Oedipus was not the biological son of the kings of Corinth since he had been abandoned on a mountain shortly after being born and saved by a messenger from the kingdom of Corinth. Little by little, Jocasta, his wife, realizes the truth: Oedipus is the son that she and Laius abandoned to their fate so that a fateful oracle would not be fulfilled, unaware that the messenger had managed to save him. Oedipus, oblivious to his true identity, had become a brave citizen of Thebes and, after overcoming the enigma of the Sphinx, took the throne. Married to his mother and having killed his real father, Oedipus stabs his eyes, not wanting to see the tragedy of his existence, and asks for an exile with his two daughters, which marks the end of the story.

OEDIPUS: But the hand which stabbed out my eyes was mine alone. In my wretched life, why should I have eyes when nothing I could see would bring me joy?

[Oedipus Rex, film adaptation by Pier Paolo Passolini (1967)]

In summary, we can see that Tiresias is the only one, by being ironically blind, who can see the truth in a world full of people who have eyes but cannot see. He's the famous prophet whose true revelation is not accepted when he twice proclaims it. The originality of Sophocles lies in this irony (especially taking into account that Tiresias appears at the beginning of the tragedy), in the belief that the knowledge of the human being is not a simple objective fact that is imposed on us, but a subjective possession before the one we can react belligerently, as a possession that partly needs to be possessed by the one who receives it to become effective. That is why Oedipus rebels against the truth, because he believes more in him than in the gods.

A fatal love, the intervention of a vengeful divinity or the problematization of sight are common themes between the myth of Narcissus, Oedipus Rex and Singularity. If we stop a bit in the lyrics, we can extract some examples:

A sound of something breaking I awake from sleep

We have the fracture, the rupture of the individual once he realizes he's wearing a mask, he's blind.

I dumped myself into the lake I buried my voice for you Over the winter lake I was thrown

The lake, an obvious reference to Narcissus and his death. On the other hand, the second verse talks about a certain culprit (that’s why he says 'for you’ or uses passive verbs that exempt him from responsibility: 'I was thrown’), like if he was even talking to a god, maybe to a woman (that's the simplest interpretation). However, he's talking to himself. He's the culprit of his blindness like Oedipus is.

In addition, another interesting aspect is the last speech of the tragedy. This is said by the chorus, a collective character who comments and judges what happens in the tragedy and represents the Theban citizen, the public. I could not help thinking about the dancers of the video.

CHORUS: You residents of Thebes, our native land, look on this man, this Oedipus, the one who understood that celebrated riddle. He was the most powerful of men. All citizens who witnessed this man’s wealth were envious. Now what a surging tide of terrible disaster sweeps around him. So while we wait to see that final day, we cannot call a mortal being happy before he’s passed beyond life free from pain.

Also, BTS tends to distort the figure of the idol, that is, the famous singer who is seen as a deity and not as a human being. Oedipus, like Taehyung, is seen by the public as a king, as a divine emissary, but eventually ends up being as mundane as the spectators. He suffers, he has doubts and, sometimes, he doesn't love himself either.

Lastly (I KNOW THAT I AM WRITING A LOT), among the main themes of this fabulous work of universal literature, we must talk about the problem of the search for truth and the risks and harms involved in achieving knowledge. Nietzsche speaks of this drama in the 9th chapter of the Birth of Tragedy (1871-1872). The main thesis of this book states that art is based on two fundamental notions that the Greeks of the archaic era and the classical era, ie, the Greeks prior to Socrates, knew: the two fundamental impulses of nature that are symbolized by two Greek gods, Dionysus and Apollo.

Apollo and Dionysus symbolize two physiological states of the human being: sleepiness and drunkenness; as well as two vital impulses: the individuation (JUNG'S INDIVIDUATION PROCESS!!!!!) and the overflow. Broadly speaking, Nietzsche makes use of the deities to highlight the human condition in its strictest sense and, in turn, unveil the struggle or opposition of forces that hide in the bosom of nature. Apollo symbolizes the veil (the beautiful forms/artistic creations that adorn life and justify it) and Dionysus symbolizes suffering, death, truth..., the tragic wisdom, that is, the terrible awareness of the finitude of Men and his suffering existence. Nietzsche states that the hypertrophy of some of the elements could be harmful to man, an excess of veil could lead to optimism and rationalism, and an excess of truth could lead to suicide or asceticism. Both elements are necessary so that life can be kept in balance.

To end, Nietzsche presents Oedipus as a transgressor, a hero condemned to fall for having tried to go too far. By transgressing nature and social norms, and wanting to find out what is forbidden, Oedipus discovers a world whose vision is forbidden to the rest of mortals. He commits a masculine, heroic version of original sin by choosing to eat from the tree of knowledge that condemns humanity to abandon innocence. In this case, it is his curiosity and his integrity that encourages him to investigate. That abandonment of innocence, of comfortable ignorance, is the cruel and heroic destiny of Oedipus, and his deed consists in his sacrifice (LIKE IT HAPPENS IN 'DEMIAN'!!!). Searching in ourselves, inquiring into our motives and wounds, has a price, it leads to a rupture of the individual necessary for the rebirth of the being.

Thus the man who is responsive to artistic stimuli reacts to the reality of dreams as does the philosopher to the reality of existence; he observes closely, and he enjoys his observation: for it is out of these images that he interprets life, out of these processes that he trains himself for life. It is not only pleasant and agreeable images that he experiences with such universal understanding: the serious, the gloomy, the sad and the profound, the sudden restraints, the mockeries of chance, fearful expectations, in short the whole 'divine comedy' of life, the Inferno included, passes before him, not only as a shadow-play — for he too lives and suffers through these scenes — and yet also not without that fleeting sense of illusion; and perhaps many, like myself, can remember calling out to themselves in encouragement, amid the perils and terrors of the dream, and with success: 'It is a dream! I want to dream on!' Just as I have often been told of people who have been able to continue one and the same dream over three and more successive nights: facts which clearly show that our innermost being, our common foundation, experiences dreams with profound pleasure and joyful necessity (Nietzsche, The Birth of the Tragedy).

I hope you liked this and found it interesting and easy to read. I’m working in the next chapters, which will talk, among many things, about these works/characters/topics:

Frankenstein (Mary Shelley, 1818): A man can create his own monster

Wuthering Heights (Emily Brönte, 1847): Narcissus and Heathcliff

Jane Eyre (Charlotte Brönte, 1847): Understanding the Double - Jane Eyre and Bertha Mason

Alice Through the Looking-Glass (Lewis Carroll, 1871): The mirror symbolism

Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Robert Louis Stevenson, 1886): Evil in a reflected identity

The Picture of Dorian Gray (Oscar Wilde, 1890): Self-image and ego

Dracula (Bram Stocker, 1897): Innate evil without a reflection

Peter Pan (James Matthew Barrie, 1904): Seeking for a reflection in the absence of shadows

Ophelia (from Hamlet, by William Shakespeare, 1603): Madness, water and suicide

From the myth to contemporaneity: how to codify identity and body in the information age

#365booksfornamjoon #rmbooks #rm books #namjoon reading #namjoon books #namjoon reading list #kim daily #bts theory #bts analysis #bts lyrics #singularity #singularity explained #bts singularity #oedipus rex #sophocles

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minchase-ingclouds · 5 years

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𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦 ｌｅｆｔ, 𝕚 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓎

╰ ♡ ✧ ˖ chae hyungwon. 25 he/him. have you seen charles “chase” min? they used to be so +confident before their heart got broken. now they just seem to be very -timid. i think it had something to do with (tw: abuse) his sugar mama emotionally/physically abusing him, but who knows how accurate that is. i know, we should get them hair dye to help cheer them up! maybe then they’ll start acting like fairy floss and cherry blossoms blooming.

basics

name: charles min

nicknames: chase, whatever nicknames his sister gives him, rosir (his sTriPPEr NamE)

age: 25

pronouns: he/him

sexuality: heterosexual (he thinks) ((but is actually bisexual)) (((he’s confused ok)))

tldr

traumatic childhood backstory etc in the bio below so if ur here from dee’s intro on ciel then jump down there hey

anyway bc of the traumatic childhood backstory, chase and his little sister ciel moved out when he turned 18 and she was 14/15ish

long story short he became a stripper to support them

when he was about 20, he met tiffany, a rich business woman who frequented his strip club because she thought he was stunning and had seen him on a night out with the girls

she wasn’t that old, maybe 7 or 8 years older than him, and approached him one night asking for a private session where she then asked if she could take him out on a proper date

they dated for a while and she became his sugar mama, asking him for sexual favours but paying for pretty much everything, EVERYTHING he wanted and even offering to pay for things for his little sister too (she was stubborn and refused tho)

only a few months ago, tiffany had an STI scare and insisted it must be chase’s fault bc - you’re a stripper, you’re a whore, i bet you cheated on me - and when he told her that no, he’d been loyal, and if she had cheated on him and had this scare then he thought they could work through it and stay together, she continued to grow more agitated and (tw:abuse) started to throw things and hit him

when his little sister found him in their lavish penthouse (courtesy of tiffany, ofc) he was covered in bruises and cuts

together, they decided to move to palm springs to a shitty little apartment since chase was done with tiffany, wasn’t going to use her credit card ever again or even speak to her again and now we’re here, his arm’s just healed after being broken but his heart still hurts and he kinda misses tiffany - after all, they were together for four years

bio

born in new york, new york, chase was a curse to his father from pretty much the moment he was born; with his mother dying in childbirth, his father had a love/hate relationship with him, since he reminded him so much of the wife he so loved but was also the very reason she was gone

when he was 4 his father remarried a woman named stacy who was pregnant with a little girl ( @cielmins )

speaking of ciel! if you are here because you were redirected by dee (thanks for palming this bit off to me btw sweetheart) then buckle up kiddos, cus we’re about to go for a RIDE

stacy was never all that nice to him, mostly put up with him because she loved his father, gerald or some other basic dude name

of course, stacy absolutely ADORED ciel, since she was her actual daughter, but chase never resented ciel - in fact, quite the opposite, since he adored her even more than their parents did

yes, chase is literally the most doting big brother that could ever exist, would move mountains for his baby sister if she asked (she would never ask because she’d figure out how to move the mountain herself), but that doesn’t stop the pair from being literally The Worst™ to each other and general public nuisances of the meme variety

side note - although nobody ever told ciel that she and chase aren’t related and are just step-siblings, she has a big brain and figured it out eventually (chase couldn’t be prouder of his genius little sister, although the difference in their ethnicities was probably the biggest tip off)

home life was not so great - stacy was constantly feeling undermined by gerald’s first wife, knowing he would always love her just that little bit more, and the more insecure she felt, the more she’d take it out on chase, and the meaner she was to chase, the more distant gerald was towards her and to ciel. it was kind of a cycle.

just before chase’s 18th birthday, ciel pointed out that they could run away, just the two of them, and take care of each other like they always do. her big brain pointed out that as an 18 year old, he could be her legal guardian

so, at 14ish (maybe 15? idk how old ciel is tbh) and 18, the pair moved out

when it became apparent that they weren’t coming back, stacy and gerald said fuck it, got a divorce since they were really only together for the kids at that point anyway, and ciel and chase were pretty much independent from then on

he and ciel even adopted a kitty named mayonnaise britney spears min - but you can call her may for short

as two teenagers they uhhh weren’t so great in the funds department and chase took it upon himself to provide for them so that ciel could focus on her studies - sacrificing his own education, he put himself through odd jobs here and there until one day shortly after his 19th he was approached by someone who told him he’d be great at ‘twilight modelling’

turns out by ‘twilight modelling’ they meant hhhh stripping

well, one look at ciel’s immaculate report card and the pleased twinkle in her eyes when she started talking about scholarships and college and stuff, chase was absolutely fuckin gone and knew he’d do anything to keep that look on his baby sister’s face so - hoo boy, here we go, ya boi turned to stripping

it actually took him a while to let ciel know, he told her he was, well, twilight modelling because he didn’t want her to know, but when she did eventually find out about one and a half years later, she help him come up with his rad stripper name - Rosir, because it’s french for ‘pink sky’ which matches ciel’s name, but also ‘the colour you turn when you’re embarrassed’, which suits him

a year into stripping, he meets tiffanny, and yk, all that stuff in the tldr, she pays for all his loans, buys him all his fancy designer brands, gives him plenty of allowance (which ya boi saves cus he’s not an idiot), even buys him a car and opens up her penthouse for the two of them

of course, when shit hits the fan, he has to give up his fancy car and leave the penthouse with ciel, now the two of them live in a shitty little apartment in palm springs because he doesn’t want to blow al their savings and since his arm was kinda uhhhh broken after the ordeal, he’s only just been able to get back into stripping (since he stil isn’t qualified for anything)

(tw:emotional abuse) before he started dating tiffany, he was pretty sure he was bisexual. tiffany had him confused for years because she told him that liking it up the ass didn’t mean he was gay and he could enjoy bottoming for a woman without being bisexual; he was totally straight, she would insist, and he started to believe that and to this day he struggles with whether or not he’s straight or bisexual because he knows he finds men attractive, but he isn’t sure if he would date one --> this was a form of emotional abuse that went on for literal YEARS

(tw:emotional abuse) should i mention that tiffany was kinda lowkey the worst and also tried to convince him to stop being a stripper several times? things like “you don’t have to strip, you’re basically my personal prostitute baby” and “you don’t need an education, i’ll always be here to provide for you, you’re all mine baby boy” and when she’s mad uhhh “you’re my little whore, got it? no one else’s” so............. yh let’s just say ciel wasn’t a fan but chase, well, he was blinded by those hearts in his eyes

but don’t feel too bad for him! chase actually kinda likes stripping now, thinks it’s made him feel much more confident with himself and his body, having always felt maybe he was too gangly and thin and awkward, and he likes the feeling he gets when people can’t take their eyes off of him

despite the fact that he’s a stripper, he’s actually real sweet and innocent. has only had sex with tiffany, has never even kissed a guy and hasn’t even really kissed many other girls except for a few awkward dates he’s had here and there - most he’s done is private dances for paying customers

anddddddddd now that he’s been saving, and is finally free of tiffany and of his shit ass parents, with encouragement from ciel, ya boi has finally, finally started college

it’s a little scary since he’s older than most of the people in his classes, but he’s studying to become a kindegarten teacher and cannot wait for the day that he can hang up his lacy black garters and pick up a whiteboard marker

so, still stripping and working part-time as a waiter to pay the bills, chase is starting a new chapter of his life (signified by his brand new pink hair, courtesy of ciel), and whilst he doesn’t know what the future has in store for him, he’s ready to face it with a big smile and with his baby sister (aka his favourite person in the whole wide world) by his side

wanted connections

well hello beautiful people! if you’re still here, i must say, i’m rather impressed, so without further ado let’s get into this

ride or die best friend - chase only met this binch after moving to palm springs, but they happened to see him entering the strip club and figured out he worked there and, uhh, with persistence and a promise not to tell anyone, they became great friends and probably visit his shitty apartment to play with may and piss off ciel all the time

classmates - everyone needs a study buddy! if u got an ugli in college, throw em his way

gay awakening - now, chase isn’t necessarily going to date this person or even develop feelings, but as a beautiful man he’s going to turn chase’s sexuality upside down and cement his suspicions that yes, he is bisexual no matter what tiffany said (taken: moon jisoo)

honestly open to anything! hmu if you have any plots you’d like to chuck at him or any you’d like to fulfil <3

signing off for now,

yours faithfully

mich

#tsunamintro #bio

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angeltriestoblog · 5 years

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Second sem (and freshman year) recap

It’s pretty hard to believe, but another chapter of my college journey is finally over and done with. Since I had ended the first half of the school year in such high spirits, I didn’t really believe upperclassmen when they warned that things were only going to get harder from there. In fact, I even thought I’d be the one to prove them wrong! I mean, with a class schedule that looked like this, how would I run out of time for all the things I both needed and wanted to do? My Tuesdays and Thursdays were practically free, save for that one Math class I had to attend in the morning that I surprisingly never cut.

For the most part of the semester, I was in a chill state compared to everyone else. I claimed that I had successfully adjusted to the demands of higher education to the point where I found what once was an unreasonable workload to be manageable. I was able to make time for my home org’s activities and devote enough attention to the only project I was deployed to, which I touched on a bit in my first recap blog post (linked here in case you want to jog your memory). As previously mentioned, I was assigned as one of the Documentations Heads under the Information Management department of the Career Building Program, a three-phase event that gives its participants a glimpse into the corporate world. We kicked things off with a resume writing workshop that I was lucky enough to join. The facilitator assigned to me gave useful insights that I was able to apply in the creation of my own curriculum vitae, which I am keen on using when it’s my turn to apply for internships and jobs in the future. I obviously don’t have much on it yet, seeing as I’m just a freshman, but the idea of filling it up with more experiences over the years is exciting me in ways I cannot explain.

Our group was even given the opportunity to explore the studio of the country’s biggest network, where we were briefed by executives in communications and IT and toured around the sets of our favorite shows. We even ran into Luis Manzano while he was filming Minute to Win It! Unfortunately, I wasn’t scouted by any representative from Star Magic and spontaneously put in a love team with Donny Pangilinan, but I guess that’s alright.

I also went to Talent Night with some friends (not in pictures: Gela's boyfriend and ICA barkada), which is shocking since I’m honestly not the type to attend parties like this. I’ve always been the girl who stayed home and binge watched YouTube videos on a Friday night. But, I guess the drunk confidence of those I was with rubbed off on me and I managed to pull through! It was also a plus that Timmy Albert was one of the performers: I do pass him by along the corridors quite frequently, but it’s just different seeing him sing and play an instrument in front of a crowd, especially since I’ve loved Roses and Sunflowers even before I got into Ateneo.

One surprise that I definitely did not see coming was participating in Daloy, our annual program that revolves around corporate social responsibility. This year, we decided to shed a light on how this could be seen in the Philippine clothing industry, so it seemed fitting to hold some talks featuring prominent figures in this field, as well as a fashion show to exhibit the collections of local brands that advocated sustainability. I was really interested in the concept when I first heard of it, and initially wanted to go as a mere audience member - little did I know that I would be tapped by the committee to model! To this day, I don’t know how or why I was chosen: from what I know, there were even screenings held a week prior to the event to determine who would get to walk the runway. But, I was messaged three days before and in that short span of time, I had to fit clothes, find pieces in my closet to match them and perfect my walk (which took several tries on my part, given the fact that when shy, I’m stiff as a board).

Agreeing to join was a huge step out of my comfort zone - the closest I’ve ever come to strutting on a catwalk was back when family members would ask me to “walk like a fashion model” as a kid during reunions. So, the fact that it had all paid off in the end, and that I was even complimented for the way I looked and performed beyond what was probably expected, was definitely a huge confidence boost for me. I couldn’t have done it without Nelly, Daloy’s project head who patiently guided me through the entire process before the show.

Shoutout as well to the other ACTM upperclassmen who were so friendly to me this school year. We may not have any pictures together, but you deserve a spot on this post nevertheless: Gella, my "boss" (hehe) who was always so patient when I asked questions and even went out of her way to say such kind words about my writing; Sam Que who made me feel like we had already known each other for so long even if we had just talked for the first time, and Ysagab who constantly reassured me that I was doing a good job even if I was looking like such a rookie.

My presence in events wasn’t limited to those of ACTM, though. I also went to the Loyola Film Circle’s Under the Stars, where I was able to see the live performances of OPM acts and watch one of my favorite chick flicks beneath the beautiful night sky. Since it took place the day after Valentine’s, I was surrounded by Ateneans and their significant others (who didn’t hold back at all when it came to publicly displaying their affection), but I didn’t even mind since I was content in the company of both my college constants and high school friends.

I dropped by Sulyap as well, which was the culminating activity of the Ateneo Heights Writers Workshop and the launch of the chapbook of their fellows. It was one of the busiest Fridays of the school year, but I still made it a point to go, because I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to be a part of something organized by my dream org, Ateneo’s premier literary publication. As much as I love my course and the people in it, I have to admit that I haven’t been able to exercise much of my creative side. So being in a room full of like-minded individuals and hearing them speak lengthily about their works and the process that brought them to life was a refreshing experience, a much-needed break from the usual routine. My personal favorite was Unica Hijas by Mikaela Regis, which revolved around a lesbian couple trying to make their relationship work despite the fact that they study in a conservative, all-girls high school - a setting which is all too familliar to me.

It’s also worth noting that I was sorta able to tick a particular item off my freshman year bucket list. And I say sorta, because… well, you’ll see. It’s been a dream of mine ever since to watch a UAAP basketball game live, show up to the arena in a bright blue shirt, cheer as loud as I can when a player makes a point and raise my fist in the air while Song for Mary plays in the background. But, even if I’m consistently in school by 6am, I was never able to get tickets - I couldn’t match the efforts of some fans, who would camp overnight just to get their hands on them. But, just when I thought there was no more chance for me to show my school pride at a match, my friend Mika offered me a free ticket to the Ateneo Lady Eagles’ volleyball match against FEU at the Filoil Arena one Wednesday. We weren’t really on speaking terms before because we were from different cliques, but after bonding over K-Pop, I saw how nice and chill of a person she actually is. So, I didn’t want to turn her down even if I was hesitant to go at first. You see, I was never a fan - in fact, I didn’t know how the game went despite the PE lessons I had back in Grade 5. (Ms. Abella, if you see this, I’m sorry.) But, it didn’t take a lot of convincing for me to agree and I ended up enjoying way more than I thought I would. Fortunately, I was able to catch on when it came to the rules of the sport: the energy of the crowd was contagious as well, and the performance of the players was way too good it was impossible not to shout either out of triumph or frustration. Once we made it to the finals against UST, I even found myself waiting for announcements on where to buy tickets. I didn’t get any though, because they were either sold out due to the ever-increasing demand (ALE fans don’t play around) or there was a conflict in schedule (hi, Enlit play).

Despite this, I streamed the last game and screamed like I was actually in the venue myself. Apologies to all our neighbors, who probably thought someone was getting killed in the house beside theirs. I was so proud when they brought home the championship after three years, I even bought a Team Ateneo shirt (it’s not that hard to guess whose name is on the back) and went to the bonfire with my friends Gwen, Julia and Lou. I had hoped to meet and take a picture with the players, but they were already far too wasted when I arrived. Like, seriously. I saw Maddie Madayag chug a whole bottle of Mule right before my eyes.

So, you could say that it was all fun and games (quite literally) for me until hell weeks eventually rolled in. Plural form intended. I found out that all my professors were just holding back every major requirement until the very last stretch of the semester. Suddenly, my schedule was chock full of presentations and final papers, comprehensive exams and extra classes that put my time management and endurance to the test. I spent many days in Matteo Down just like before, but also started going to the floor above it in case I wanted to suffer in the company of more people. The studying would only continue once I got home: I’d pull all-nighters despite my brain’s and skin’s desperate cries for help, as manifested in my worsening acne. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that stressed in my life, and it’s scary to think that that’s only the tip of the iceberg in the Ateneo.

Coping mechanisms I’ve picked up to help me deal with these unavoidable circumstances would be trying every restaurant along the Katipunan area whenever I had free time (which I will elaborate on more extensively in another blog post, so do watch out for that!) and eventually discovering Pancake House’s corned beef hash, which I love so much I once had it thrice in the span of a week. Another one would be the addition of yet another emotional support K-Pop boy to my collection. After watching My ID is Gangnam Beauty over Holy Week break, I fell in love with Cha Eunwoo and his god-tier visuals, mild demeanor, impressive English skills and heartfelt determination. This led me to binge watching reality show episodes and furiously putting the entire discography of Astro on loop. If you look at my Last.fm, you could see how Crazy Sexy Cool easily climbed to the top of my most played songs, sitting prettily at the #1 spot with over 300 plays in just a little over two months.

Although I constantly had to bear the pressure and stress on my shoulders over the past academic year, I am eternally grateful to Ateneo for equipping me with lessons both within and beyond the realm of academics that have helped me grow into someone I never imagined, but am happy to have turned into anyway. When my naive and starry-eyed self first entered college, I had such high hopes for what my experience would be and proceeded to map out the next four years of my life in accordance with the vision I had in my head. Having just broken free from the metaphorical chains of my previous school, I found it to be the perfect time to transform into a student who excelled academically, had a long and winding list of extracurricular activities and easily built a vast network of connections thanks to her pleasing and magnetic personality. If I got lucky, maybe I’d have one of those so-called “college blooms” and even get myself an actual boyfriend!

This isn’t something unique to me, I bet a lot of people entered this new stage of their lives with the same mindset so I wasn’t the only one in shock upon realizing that it doesn’t always play out that way in real life. Because of these ridiculous expectations we have implanted in our heads, that basically state that we have to be successful in everything we do and fast, we subconsciously keep ourselves from enjoying the process. In our desire to aim high and aspire for perfection in all that we do, we could end up failing to acknowledge the small yet equally important wins we gain along the way: the friend we make outside of our block despite the sheer discomfort we experience in meeting new people, or the answer we gave in class that impressed our most intimidating professor could appear minuscule when placed beside our goal of being straight-A student who’s active in seven orgs. In addition, we deprive ourselves of the allowance to make mistakes, stray from taking the detours and breaks we need to remain functional human beings and often drive ourselves to the point of fatigue and burnout. And when we are still not flourishing and thriving as planned, we fall prey to toxic comparison: we pit ourselves against others who don’t have the same background or circumstances as we do and question why our progress doesn’t match with theirs.

This is obviously such a toxic way to go about things. Talk about sucking the fun out of what’s supposed to be the four most enjoyable years of our lives. Thankfully, over time, I did some growing up, if you will, and channeled the power of acceptance - both of what I am and what I am not, and the will of God (or whichever supreme being you've placed your faith in) who meticulously planned out what’s ahead of me before I was even old enough to know what school was. I now work to the best of my ability, confident that all I have to do is put in my share of the hard work and see where it takes me, and am also more gentle with myself when I make mistakes.

On a somewhat lighter note, I’ve also been able to form my own opinions about very controversial issues on campus: an example of which would be what I think is the best CR - the answer is definitely Arete. You can’t go wrong with its triple killer combo of aircon, bidet and strong WiFi connection. The only possible downside could be the fact that there are usually a lot of people, so it’s not the best option if you’re planning on being loud and… um, smelly. The secluded and fragrant Leong Hall and ever-reliable New Lib restrooms come in second and third place respectively, while honorable mentions include the 2F Kostka CR (but only from 6:00-7:00am, when no one else is around) and this one specific stall in the Socsci building that's spacious enough that I can bring all my belongings inside with me.

Another point for discussion would be the superior place to eat on school grounds: this might cause an uproar, I’m aware, but I still believe it’s JSEC, despite the stark price difference compared to other cafeterias on campus. I was set on trying something from every stall before the school year ended, but I was too fixated on my top picks: I don’t have any regrets though. In fact, I wish I had more of the beef salpicao with calamares on the side from Casa Paella, the Superbowl from Blendabowls and The Coop fries with garlic aioli served on the side. Besides the fact that the food served is satisfying beyond measure, I enjoy the chit-chats I have with the ates and kuyas manning the stalls, who never fail to ask me how I am and tell me about the cute chinito boys they see on campus that they think I might like.

Although I can’t completely rule out Gonzaga, because of this particular stall with quality liempo and a kuya who always gives me a five peso discount. (I’ve been told he does this with girls he finds cute, but I have yet to confirm that). Also, it’s the only place on campus that I know of that sells fresh fruits by the kilo - perfect for those days when I try to convince myself to go on a diet before I relapse and binge eat at Pancake House.

A lot of people do say that ISO sisig is worth the cross-campus walk it’ll take to get there (e-jeep rides are more recommended! An experience in itself! Especially if you’re seated in the back, where there’s a constant feeling of being sucked in a vacuum! But, I digress) - it might just be a matter of preference, but I think it’s overrated. A destination that deserves more attention is the Cervini Hall cafeteria just by the university dormitories. I’ve only been there a grand total of two times so I don’t exactly have any specific favorites on the menu that I recommend, but I’d definitely still go for the homey ambience.

As for superior study places, Matteo Down has been tried and tested several times: I do prefer getting a place opposite to the entrance though, because it does get distracting having to see people enter and go out the door so often. What was supposed to be a study session often ends up becoming a game to see how many people are wearing a striped shirt today. I usually spend time on the fourth floor of the Rizal Library, and get the couch as often as I can because of the comfort (and charger) it provides.

Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to power through this year without the help of my closest friends: Sevi, Gwen, Raya and Christine. I always had this nagging fear in the back of my head that I wouldn’t be able to find a tight-knit group once I got to college, but thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for letting me be my true self, for entertaining even my most random thoughts and for accepting all the kalat that comes with being my friend. I sincerely hope that we stay together and have more Gino’s dates in the future along with Chloe!

To Gela, Jill, Shar (and Dom, but we don’t have any pictures together except for the last one HAHAHA) - I didn’t expect at all that I’d be writing about you guys. I was so intimidated by all of you at first, because I felt like we were so different in terms of our upbringing and environment. But after getting to know you, I came to realize that you are seriously some of the most down-to-earth, chill people ever. Thank you for always providing quality chismis, volunteering to find me chinito boys to date and giving me apps to make my IG stories look cuter.

To the rest of X1, we weren’t exactly the most united and we knew that - it’s just that we were probably the most diverse out of all the groups in our batch, and with that comes clashing personalities and differing opinions and interests. But, nevertheless, I am content with the time we managed to spend together, where I was able to get to know all of you!

To the friends that I made outside of my block (and even my course), thank you for laughing at my jokes and telling me that I'm fun to talk to. Hopefully, we get to hang out more and maybe even have common classes in the future hehe

To my Enlit section, we barely spoke to one another during the first semester so I fell under the impression that you were all stoic and no fun to be with. But, I was proven wrong eventually. I wish I was able to talk to more people in LL, but to the classmates I was closest to (Dootie, Cyrah, Czarina, She and Jessa), I will never forget our side comments and mini-rant sessions. I heard we’re having another English subject come sophomore year, and I really hope I end up with you guys again.

All in all, there is no other word that could sum up the experience that was my freshman year in college better than “adventure”. It was every single emotion on the spectrum All At Once, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world - in fact, during the first half of the semester, I admit that I’d entertain thoughts of alternate universes where I’d be an Iska/Lasallista/Tomasino out of sheer curiosity, but now I just can’t imagine myself anywhere else. Anyway, enough with all that drama. I’m going back to school in three weeks to start my summer term, which we fondly (lmao) refer to as intersession. So, there’s technically nothing to miss.

Hope the rest of you enjoy the summer break that I unfortunately will not be able to experience until I graduate from college! Wishing you nothing but love and light, always.

Angel

#life update #angeltriestoblog #life dump #angel crawled her way thru freshman year!!!!#COULD U BELIEVE #angel is now a sophomore #that's disgusting

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