#he was against it because it ate up resources for HIS personal project

[short-wooloo]

Even if we take thrawn's claim that he's trying to protect his people at face value (personally I don't buy it, the so called "threat" of the grysk seems really exaggerated, I'll bet that thrawn's either playing up how dangerous they are and/or they're simply a local threat, dangerous to a regional power like the chiss sure, but to the whole galaxy? No), that does not make him a good person doing bad things for a good reason, morally grey, etc etc whatever

Because it doesn't matter

His alleged care (which never pops up in real canon) has lead him to support the empire, to keep it alive, to make it work

One way or another, thrawn is responsible (he's a grand admiral for crying out loud, he's pretty high up) for the atrocities the empire committed

How many billions were oppressed, suffered, and died under the empire because thrawn helped it?

I'll bet it's many more people than there are chiss

And that's a thing SW has always been clear about, sacrificing many to save a few is wrong, its bad, it's selfish, it is the dark side

Maybe thrawn had good intentions ("had" being the operative word there), but we know what road is paved with those

[violetsandandfog]

Sara would have felt guilty, but that well had long run dry. Its resources were dedicated to flooding the back of her memories and stagnating there. Memories that everyone tried so hard to make her repress – evidenced by the subtle rattle in her bag as she walked towards her locker. The rattle of medication that she only really took when Nao made her.

He had asked her if it was because she missed him, if she wanted to keep seeing him like this, and she didn’t answer out loud because talking to them was a death sentence for her sanity, but she knew he knew the answer.

Besides, she knew what Nao’s voicemail said already. There was no logical reason to listen to it.

Come home.

It’s late.

Can’t you just get it tomorrow?

Dinner’s ready, so…

I’m sorry…

Something like that. It was almost like she’d heard it before, over and over again. Like she’d lived tonight as many times as those simulations had been run of that night. Is that why she felt possessed in that final game? Like she was on a track that had been carved out for her, time and time before.

No, it wasn’t anything like that. It had just been…the logical thing to do. She was going to survive anyway. This way, someone would at least survive alongside her. Everyone else’s suffering would be cut short as would the sick enjoyment of their enemy. Kai...had said that himself; that they were doomed to be toyed with. Unable to save a single person. He’d chosen his resistance, and she’d chosen hers. She’d go on and do her best to make something of herself that would justify the fact that she’d doomed so many people. People she’d just met. It was…rational. Wasn’t it?

There was a sudden impact that she hadn’t been expecting when her legs gave out on her, but it didn’t faze her much. Sara pulled herself up into a sitting position. The contents of her bag were already spilled across the tiled floor; her medication rolling across the flat surface and into the shadows of the hallway. Papers fanned across the black and white checkered pattern of the flooring and she distantly realized that the very assignments she’d come to collect from her locker weren’t forgotten in the first place. She might have laughed at herself, Joe would have laughed at her. If she didn’t have so much blood on her hands.

It was literal; Sara looked down to see that her palm was scraped and cut; shaking. Her skin looked ghostly in what little light the school’s hallway windows had to offer. When was the last time she ate? It would have been whenever Nao made her, but she had been avoiding her for…was it days now? Had she slept? No, she wanted to sleep, would only sleep, leaned against—

Splinters of memories flashed through her mind. …Not only was it night time, it was Sunday. She hadn’t gone home at all, had she? Vaguely, she remembered taking a shower here, sitting at her desk in a darkened class room, walking through the hallways like a ghost over and over, thinking about going home but too afraid to see the faces of the dead projected onto her parents (and could she trust them anyway??), and too resentful to see Nao even if she’d made this choice along with her. And before that; that number, she’d seen it somewhere. Was it a grade? God, she hoped not…but her academic performance was the last thing on her mind right now, anyway.

Shakily, with her less injured hand against the wall for support, she stood up. No, she wasn’t just here because she’d lost her mind. Because she thought she’d forgotten her homework. There was a reason. A logical reason to be here. Limping, she walked forward, one hand still along the wall as if she was afraid to be trapped here forever if she got lost. There was something in her locker. That’s where she’d seen that number; those papers. Someone had put them there. Someone was alive, and as much as she tried to will everyone’s faces into her mind there was really only one. He never could have been the logical choice, even if she wanted it to be him. Wanted him. He was as broken as she had been left when Joe died; violent and traumatized and criminal. Even if the opportunity presented itself, escaping with only Keiji would have been a selfish, immoral decision. One that even he probably wouldn’t condone, but she hoped he wanted it too – even if that was a purely emotional—

She only realized that she was running when she became aware of the sound of her footsteps tapping lightly but quickly against the tile. Sara was only running off of memory, off what her body remembered wandering around so uselessly. Right now, she couldn’t even see for all the darkness and the way red and blue auras of every silhouette in the school seemed to stretch and flicker well past the boundaries of whatever objects they were meant to represent. Her whole body ached, hurt, but she didn’t hold the wall for support anymore. Those four papers had been in her locker, she was sure of it – even if they appeared dipped in blood. The tell-tale mark of her hallucinations, but she had to believe that just this once…

Her locker flung open with a metallic clang; already unlocked. Mostly open. Sara didn’t stop to wonder if she’d done this already. No…what made her freeze was the black space occupying the locker. There was nothing there – no papers, no flash of red, no clue, nothing except the muffled echo of her sob as she hit the locker next to it, bruising her previously unmarred hand as she started to sink towards the ground.

His hands felt heavy on her shoulders. She knew without looking. Sometimes she saw or felt the others, but only he touched her so directly. He muttered something, probably something the real Keiji had never said to her before, but she couldn’t hear him. That was a first: his words existed only in her brain, didn’t they? But there was already a cacophony of sound there – a choir of instincts begging her to run away.

”Don’t leave.”

She’d never said anything out loud to him before; knew better than to talk to the hallucinations. But now she couldn’t stop herself; couldn’t help but answer everything he’d ever taunted her with.

”I love you.” That surprised even her. She’d have never said it to the real Keiji; it couldn’t have been true, could it? They’d just met, even if she thought of him in ways she hadn’t ever thought of anyone before. Even if he teased her, she was sure he never would have entertained that and she knew it was a bad, irrational decision anyway but—

His fingers dug into her shoulders and she tried to wipe the tears from her face, even if she was still facing away from him. It hurt a little. It was surprising, but not enough to get a rise out of her. Normally, his spectral hands felt cold. Not today, though – but maybe that was just because she felt frozen to her core. Alarm bells rang in her mind, blurring out things he said to her that she just couldn’t comprehend. It broke her heart not to hear him. He was threatening her, she knew it, but she still wanted to hear his voice. Hear his response. Adrenaline was rising from her limbs and into her brain, stirring up the stagnant guilt with something else; something she’d only felt when she was in the crosshairs of the sacrifice card or when someone was dying before her eyes. Maybe the rumors of a monster that lurked these halls were true. Maybe that was fine. She’d die here with this hallucination and maybe that was fine.

”Please don’t disappear—“ She gasped out, and she’d have turned to look at him, but she was held in place. A realization that made her heart all but jump out of her chest as her locker slammed shut and she was forced against it by the back of her neck.

“No—!”

Who was she talking to?? Who had seized her this way? It felt just like his hands, but now the tips of his fingers were digging into her neck and her head was swimming with the lack of oxygen and blood supply. Her fingertips scraped across the metal of the lockers meekly before her bruised hand grasped at the shackle that was his own. Muted bangs tried to reach her eardrums as she tried to thrash, but all of it was to no avail. Sara had never been choked before; her imagination had still fueled a hallucination of just that once but this was different. It hurt, it made her head spin and pressure build in her throat and she felt flesh bruising as his fingertips migrated across her fragile neck to envelope it. Her cries and questions became gasps, coughs, and then nothing as the auras and colors gave way to pinpricks of light and static that faded over her vision and her hearing became nothing more than a high, alarmed buzzing tone.

The scene spun slightly and for a split second she was granted clarity of vision when her face was wrenched upwards by a rough yank against her ponytail. She really was hallucinating Keiji; she mouthed his name in recognition…but he wasn’t soaked in the red tone that helped her differentiate reality from illusion. At least before it all clouded over again. Her body felt numb; only her neck was in pain. Everything else tingled with dying sensation, the sort of base sensation of existing and being alive that she was only aware of because it was leaving her. Still, Sara swore she felt something brush across her tingling lips.

[shimizysam]

Miki's fanfic is completed!

I wrote a fanfic of Miki in Kyuushi.

If you’re interested, I hope you can read this!

This note contains afterward of my fic. That means you should read my fic before you proceed below the description, right?

Afterward

I wanted Miki to be spoiled by Yoshida and Bob.

Here is Miki’s backstory by Bon (even though that’s kinda au)

I read it and knew that Miki had a lot of hard experiences. I’ll say that’s an au again, however, it contains what original Miki actually experienced, like:

—He was grown up in poor conditions.

—He had only his gramma and his younger brother Nozomi, not having any parents, in his childhood.

—He became a workaholic after his bro got sick in his youth.

—He became a friend of Shinji when he was in high school.

—He was desperate when he realized that he was no longer needed by his bro and Shinji.

—He nearly died when he saw a hallucination of his father.

…that's why I can’t quit being one of Miki's fans, dude!!

Well then, after a several branches, he made himself as right now, like:

—He got a serious injury on his neck when he just started working as a vampire hunter.

—He read Shinji's manga, which encouraged him to create Mutsu in Aijyameshi (Shinji's famous manga in Shin-Yokohama).

—He was at home when his grandma collapsed.

—He was punched by Nozomi, who said, "Thanks for ever, but I'm an adult and I'm saying you don't give me money now. Rather, TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, YOU IDIOT!!!!!!"

—He began living in a useful mobs' apartment with financial assistance.

—There was a person who could assist him when he chased a truck.

That's why I can’t quit being one of Miki's fans, dude!!!! (again)

These were said by Bon:

In my fic, I planned to write after Bob came to Yoshida's room, but the flow of the story didn't go so well and I didn't have motivation to write, I canceled the after story. Still, I guess they played video games, ate tasty dishes, and talked about trivial topics.

I forcefully solved any problems to say, "He was really tired." lmao

but I suppose his N-value is very low even now. In my headcanon, his N-value will be incredibly declining when he gets exhausted.

In my opinion, he felt severe guilt when he found he hurt his friend because caring for other people is his life. Thus, what he did to Yoshida was like a body blow or fatal scars to Miki's mind.

I didn't ever expect him to sob, that's the same as Miki himself and Bob thought. I didn't mean to make him cry since he is a 35-year-aged man, but I never regret it!!

He wouldn't be the way all the same if he was against other people or if he wasn't so shattered.

Yes, next: Yoshida.

He exists for real, but in Kyuushi, he is one of the mobs.

In real life, he allows himself to be a half-free resource. Thereby, Bon could get him to appear in his manga.

In Kyuushi, he is the boss of Vampire Passionate Kiss. His hobby is playing games and making giant dishes. He has three cats, maybe he is 40s.

In my fic, after he argued with Miki, he went home and fretted. He tried to distract himself from his concerns, taking care of his cats and making too many dishes. But he couldn't, so he left a kit.

I hope he has a habit of drinking in order to flee from his bad memories, but the fluency of the story was jammed, so I didn't write it.

Finally; Clergy.

He acted kind of the adviser of my fic since he is usually taught by Miki and Yoshida. He is somehow one of the old vampires, I guess he could deal with many problems he confronted in human age.

I haven't made a complete interpretation of his character yet, so if I can, I'd make a fic of him.

Anyways, thank you for reading it or my fic!

[xiaomoxu]

MLQC CN Victor - Chapter 37

SPOILER ALERT!!

A main story from CN server which hasn’t been released in EN server. REALLY contains detailed spoilers. A mixed feelings such angst, sweet and love-his-dummy by CEO Victor!

PART 1

Downstairs LFG, the film crew is still busy in an orderly manner.

A month ago, LFG launched an unprecedented charity project, mobilizing all the resources of the group, and watching the last moment before the arrival of the comet group with all mankind.

In addition to regular material donations, psychological counseling, and medical assistance, there is also a special item one wish list.

In the last issue of "Miracle Finders", we selected this subject for reporting.

Photographer: Everyone pay attention, go one first, and prepare the light for one-

Teenager: Ok, can I just say the words directly?

Willow: To put it straight, there is nothing to worry about, we can do it again, let's do it again!

The teenager was encouraged, and smiled and showed two small teeth.

Teenager: I am seventeen years old. I am an ordinary high school student. Although you can't see it now, I have lived in darkness for these seventeen years.

Teenager: Due to chromosomal abnormalities, I have suffered from congenital blindness since birth...

Teenager: The doctors all said that despite the advanced level of medical technology, they are still helpless against such diseases and hope that I will accept the reality.

Teenager: But I still don't give up. I don't want to usher in death without actually seeing the world, so I contacted LFG Group with the last hope!

Just as the teenager expected, LFG quickly found a Healer Evolver on the Island, and treated him so that he finally saw the light.

Teenager: Although I can only look at the world for a short time, how many times in a person's life can I witness miracles happen? I am very satisfied!

After he finished speaking, he gave everyone a young and a little embarrassed smile. The beautiful dark eyes are full of light, especially bright in the night.

MC: ... That's nice.

Until the last moment, miracles continued to happen.

I raised my head and looked at the towering LFG Building in front of me, thinking back to Victor when he started the project and jokingly said-

"I hope everyone can be like an idiot, as long as they fulfill their wishes, they will be happy." The tone couldn't help but felt a moment of surprise.

I hope that the last issue of "Miracle Finders" will produce satisfactory answers to him.

With emotion, I strode into the LFG Building.

--

At this time, most of LFG's staff has left, and most of the work spaces in the building have been vacated.

Even if some are still willing to suspend their posts and help Victor handle some charity projects, they are no longer sitting here and only exchange information via phone and email.

Goldman: I have been waiting for you for a long time!

I was still in a daze, and Goldman came over with aggrieved expression. Probably because I told him that I was almost there an hour ago, but I didn’t come up because shooting for most of the day in the downstairs town.

As soon as he saw me appear, he cast a "God finally" look.

Goldman: The CEO handed it to you, I'm going to prepare for the next meeting.

He hurriedly put the previously prepared contract into my hand, lightly approached the door of the CEO's office, and knocked the door.

Victor: Come in.

Hearing Victor's voice coming from behind the door, I quickly hid the hand holding the contract behind my back.

Goldman opened the door halfway and walked in.

Goldman: CEO, can we conduct an induction interview now?

Victor: Interview? When is it scheduled?

Goldman: Yesterday, I remember it was in your schedule.

After a short silence, Victor gave instructions indifferently.

Victor: Bring it in.

I strode forward, held back a sneer, and stood still in front of Victor. Before speaking, Goldman hurriedly took the door out, leaving a room of silence.

MC: Hello, CEO! I am the candidate for interview today!

I said hello to Victor very politely, and even bowed symbolically, with a sincere expression when I raised my head.

Victor: ....

Victor let out a sigh of relief, as if he had lifted his spirits from a long and exhausting work, and couldn't help but laugh when he met my sincere gaze.

MC: Reporting to the CEO, although I have limited work experience, I am active in doing things.

MC: The CEO of the most ruthless venture capital company in the industry has won a 500 million investment!

MC: Moreover, the level of stress resistance is first-rate, no matter how big the challenge is, how many plans are rejected, you can face the difficulties!

MC: In addition, I am quite familiar with LFG's business and can start working in a short time.

Victor sighed lightly, probably because I was too noisy.

Victor: Only you can make such boastful remarks without blushing at all. You come to LFG, don't care about your company?

MC: The final issue of "Discovering the Miracle" will soon be filmed, and sister Anna will be responsible for the remaining post-production work. I don't need to worry about it anymore.

MC: I always find a place to shine and heat, right?

MC: Or I have to be a rice bug for a month...

MC: In short, I am especially willing to share the worries and problems for the CEO

Victor touched his lips slightly, revealing a smile.

Victor: Didn't you often say that being a rice bug is your ultimate dream? Now that you have a chance to realize your dream, but you are not willing?

He was so eloquent, so that scenes of past scenes of bluffing and saying that I didn't want to go to work really appeared before me.

MC: But I have already changed my dreams.

I stepped forward two more steps, narrowed the distance with Victor, and stared quietly into his eyes

MC: My dream now is to be with you.

The outline of Victor's smile on the corners of his lips curled up, and his expression sank duplicity, and put out the CEO's frame in a serious manner.

Victor: LFG’s attendance system is strict, and the consequences of absence are serious. Be mentally prepared.

I walked up to him, took out the contract that had been hidden behind my back, and unfolded it on the table.

MC: I won't be absent, I will do what you say.

Speaking softly, pressing his usual fountain pen directly on the contract, it seemed to be "forcing the signing".

MC: If I can't do it... I will be punished.

Victor hastily flipped through the contract, which was only a few pages long, and paused as his gaze passed by the post.

Victor: Confirmed?

MC: Yes!

I deserved to be confident and without any explanation. Victor raised his head and looked at me with a clear smile in his eyes. He turned the contract another page.

Victor: The contract is valid for three years.

MC: Huh? It should be the contract template copied by Goldman, right? Renew after the three-year period expires!

Victor neatly signed his name on the last page, stood up and took my hand.

Victor: Let's go, the meeting is about to begin.

MC: What meeting? Wait, am I going to work as soon as I start?

Victor: According to the contract, every minute of yours belongs to me, and it takes effect immediately.

Is there such an unequal clause? Goldman's drafting of a contract is quite tricky

MC: You capitalists are squeezing employees too much!

Victor was slightly late to me, with a smile on his lips.

Victor: Well, capitalists are like this.

The conference room was already full of people, only the first two seats were still empty.

One of them is where Victor often sits.

I remember when I came to LFG for a meeting for the first time, I could only sit on the small bench in the corner and couldn't see his face even when I stretched out my head.

 Victor: let's start.

I sat down next to Victor, glanced across the crowd, and leaned silently on the back of the chair.

Goldman opened the prepared PPT and stood in front of us.

Goldman: Now carry out the relevant reports on the work of last week,

PART 2

A sign hung at the door of Souvenir, which said that today is the last day of the restaurant’s business.

MC: Thank you for your preference for this restaurant, Souvenir will permanently close the store

LFG provoked too heavy responsibility, and Victor had no time to take care of Souvenir. I raised my head and looked at the blue light on the TV tower.

During the eternal night, the TV tower is bright yellow during the day and blue at night, marking the day and night. These days, people have been accustomed to measuring time in this way.

It seems that no matter what kind of predicament they are in, as long as there is a moment of peace, people are willing to steal a moment of peace and delay satisfaction.

I am no exception.

With Victor in front of the wind and rain, I even occasionally forget the reality that I am about to face, can let go of all my worries, and be silly in front of him carefree.

If time can be reversed, I can go back to the first time I stood in front of Souvenir...

I lowered my gaze and pushed the door into the restaurant.

MC: Mr. Mills, I

Before I could say hello, I was stunned by the scene before me.

Souvenir, who had always been cold and cold, is now full of voices, all seats are full of seats, even those who have never been before, and he has added new chairs.

Mr. Mills was busy between the tables with a smile on his face.

I hurried over to ask if I need help.

MC: Mr. Mills, shall I do this?

I was about to take the tray from Mr. Mills, but he shook his head hurriedly.

Mr. Mills: No, no, it's going to close in a while, the manager is waiting for you inside.

MC: Alright!

I walked towards the kitchen, and along the way, I was surprised by the food on the guests' table.

Like what the customer wanted to eat, Victor made something for them.

At the last moment, Souvenir's rules are no longer important.

Girl: Mom, this one is delicious, so delicious!

Six or seven-year-old children ate the little cakes with all their faces, holding their little hands and sending the spoons to their mothers, wanting their mothers to taste them too.

The young mother cooperatively ate the cream in the sentence and smiled hesitantly. She gently touched her daughter's head, but her eyes were full of sighs.

The family at the table next door talked about the topic of the younger son's college entrance examination this year, and they were rushing to plan for his future. They seemed to believe that someone would come out to save the world.

I stepped into the restaurant and walked into the back kitchen.

MC: Victor....

He stood at the window with his back straight. There was a deep night outside. I dazzled my eyes to see his black suit melt into the darkness, lonely and silent.

I walked over and pulled his sleeve slightly.

MC: Have you been busy all night?

MC: You can call me over in advance, and I can give you a hand.

Victor: With your culinary skills, you can't match up with Souvenir's back kitchen.

Victor glanced at me from the corner of the light, smiled faintly, and closed the slightly open window.

The moment he raised his hand, I saw that the pointer on his wrist watch was already three o'clock in the morning, but everyone didn't realize that the night was deep.

The world freezes in the dark, making time lose all meaning.

MC: The guests outside all had a good time.

MC: By the way, there was a little cake that a kid ate, with a few blueberries on top, and a layer of soft stuff inside. I don't know if it's ice cream... it looks super delicious!

Faced with my vivid expressions, Victor looked helpless as expected.

Victor: Three year old are not as good as you in eat. A pair of eyes fixed on the food all day long.

MC: Isn't it great? I will eat everything you make clean and happy, and I will change my way to praise your superb cooking skills!

I used an exaggerated tone to learn the child's way of speaking, trying to make Victor smile, but he still looked calm.

Victor: Ah, very good.

Those eyes that met me were as light as water, and they saw an unspeakable feeling in my heart. After he came back, something changed in his eyes.

I can't be sure, but I just faintly feel that the person standing in front of me at this moment is stronger than before but also lonelier than before.

In the past, silence was due to work habits and character.

The silence now means that no matter what you face, you can be calm and calm. The calm is strange.

MC: Victor, seven of the travel coins you gave me have not been exchanged. You said before that you would do everything you promised me.

I changed the subject suddenly, and Victor was still indifferent.

Victor: Seven? Didn't you secretly put a lot in the box again?

MC: … you’re not paying attention.

Victor: Really, when I don't pay attention?

The silence of the night was always reflected in his eyes, brewing the silence deeper.

MC: So you won't break your promise, will you?

MC: Everything you promised me will be honored in the future, right?

Perhaps it was because my words were too impatient to be too direct, Victor finally touched my hair as if calming down, and stepped forward to get closer to me.

The familiar temperature fell on the front of my forehead, which made my panic feelings find support.

Victor: Don't worry, I won't break my promise. Not now, and not in the future.

At this moment, I saw a slight surge of joy in his eyes.

Mr. Mills: Mr. Victor.

Mr. Mills walked in slowly, smiling.

Mr. Mills: Mr. Victor, after proofing today, I would like to continue to look after the restaurant. Please allow me.

Victor: Mr. Mills

Victor took two steps forward and solemnly nodded to Mr. Mills.

Victor : Of course. Over the years, thank you very much for taking care of Souvenir.

Mr. Mills turned to look outside the kitchen.

Mr. Mills: The guests all had a nice evening, and they hoped that I would convey my thanks to the chef.

Victor: It is..

Victor paused slightly and thought of something.

Victor: Excuse me, please take out all the wine in the cellar and give it to the guests tonight.

Mr. Mills: .... I understand. Do you need any congratulations?

Victor turned his head and looked at me, raising the corners of his lips indifferently

Victor: Just thank time for giving us abundant food and accumulated wine... With the feelings that have passed through the years.

Outside the window, the silent snow fell slowly in the dark night. In the cool night breeze in midsummer, a layer of untimely coolness blows off.

PART 3

Victor: Is this your specialty?

MC: Do you look down on tomato scrambled eggs?

Victor did not speak, but frowned slightly to express affirmation.

MC: The scrambled eggs with tomatoes are delicious. You can't judge the taste of a dish by its difficulty. I feel wronged for him.

When the Haikou that I once boasted was fulfilled, I vowed to make a rich meal for Victor.

Victor probably feels a headache for me to prepare a home-cooked meal and have to put out ten kinds of kitchen utensils...

He has been standing in the kitchen supervising the work since the beginning, and I don't know if he's afraid of what would happen to the kitchen or what'd happen to me .

MC: Can you stop staring at me like this, I'm nervous.

Victor: What is the guilty conscience?

MC: It feels like waiting for you to approve the plan.

MC: I dropped the eggshells into the bowl when I was beating the eggs just now, I was thinking that you must spit me out.

Victor took out a bottle of red wine from the wine cabinet and unsealed it skillfully.

Victor: I'm used to it as you are.

I dealt with the ingredients in my hand and smiled without saying a word.

In the fireplace in the living room, the wood made a snapping sound under the lick of the tongue of fire, and it sang softly to the piano music from the record.

The fine snow outside the window disappeared into the night as soon as it fell to the ground, and time seemed extremely long at this moment.

I carefully handled the ingredients in my hand, and did not notice Victor's gaze.

He put down the wine glass, the glass collided with the marble countertop, and there was a pleasant sound.

At this moment, the night snow stopped in the air, and the fire and the record were speechless. The whole world stopped, and everything was quiet.

Victor: If I let time eternally stop at this moment, would you think I am selfish?

He murmured, as if asking himself or answering himself.

Staring silently at her profile for a while, he stretched out his hand and silently hugged her in his arms.

This is an overly tender hug, without a trace of strong attitude, even the palms that are close to the back appear cautious

MC: Victor...

I stretched out my hand and hugged him tightly without leaving any gap.

Victor took a breath, as if he didn't expect that I would break away from his Evol, but didn't say anything.

MC: If I were not the dignified Queen, I would be completely controlled by you. Your Evol is stronger than I imagined.

He laughed and teased me helplessly.

Victor: It's amazing.

Although he was smiling, I heard a dumb sigh in his voice, so I opened my arms as much as possible to hold him tighter.

MC: Not even...

I stayed securely in his arms, with no intention of leaving this embrace.

MC: It’s just that I always remember the reason why I want to fully awaken, because I don’t want to let you bear everything. Always remember.

This dinner took longer than expected. When we sat down on the sofa in front of the fireplace with red wine, the night was already almost reaching the sky.

For all this time, I have a lot to say to him.

Whether it is the heated discussions in the recent issues of "Discover Myself" or the process of LFG helping people realize their wishes one after another, I am deeply moved.

A couple wanted to go to a very famous sea island to watch the sunset before the end. Unexpectedly, before the trip, the island disappeared overnight.

MC: In fact, I also feel that it was a pity that I couldn't help them realize their wishes. I had seen that island before on the Internet.

MC: At that time, it was also selected as one of the "Top Ten Scenic Spots to Go to Before the End", I did not expect to be submerged by the sea so soon...

Victor: This is what you often say, do what you think of, and don't leave any regrets for yourself. Sometimes impatient fools can do things that many people can't.

I listened to every detail and smile in his voice, and my fingertips drew across the texture of the leather on the sofa.

The more I get to this kind of time, the more I feel that even his laughter seems precious.

MC: But I was a little surprised. The wishes that everyone wants to achieve before the end are so simple.

MC: Look at the light, look at the world, eat a delicious meal with the most important person.

Victor: What people really want has always been very simple. Before that, it was only controlled by desire.

Victor: No matter how long this moment of tranquility can last, for many people, it is enough to enjoy the life they still have.

MC: It is not easy to find the true desire in the heart.

Victor put the empty glass on the coffee table.

Victor: What about you? What is your wish?

After drinking a few glasses of wine, my thoughts were empty. I only heard his low and hoarse voice falling in my ears, and many pictures flashed before my eyes.

MC: I want to see your heart.

I turned to Victor and wanted to find the answer to this question very seriously.

MC: I want to see the real Victor. Without the burden of the CEO, there is no need to worry about the world...

MC: I can put down all the responsibilities on my shoulders, just be yourself... In this way Victor, What will it be like?

He paused for a few seconds, but quickly laughed faintly.

Victor: People cannot put aside all the past and responsibilities independently. In front of you, Victor will always be the most true.

I turned to him, stared at his deep eyes carefully, then stretched out my hand and slowly touched the position of his heart.

When the five fingers fell slowly, I already felt the warmth under his shirt.

A little closer, and the fingertips rubbed the texture of the shirt, and soon, my palm felt the rhythm of his heartbeat warm and powerful.

Victor: ...

With a sigh, Victor reached out and held my fingertips lightly.

Suddenly, the scene before me changed.

PART 4

This is a space I have never seen before.

The solitary galaxy and the dazzling sunlight are constantly flashing in front of my eyes, just like every ray of time that has been inscribed in memory, the brilliance of the moment only flashes, making it impossible to capture.

MC: Victor

He was sitting in the seat directly in front of me, proud and lonely.

All the changes in the stars passed through his silent and deep eyes, and he just stared lightly.

Time passed, he had been sitting like this, his back was straight, his eyes were firm, and he was silent without a word, yet he caught every light and shadow in his eyes.

He seemed to had been sitting here for thousands of years.

For a while, my heart felt like being held down by a deep sea-like loneliness, which made me breathless. After a slight pause, I walked along the long carpet to him.

I squatted down in front of him and looked up at him.

He lowered his head and met my gaze, as if waking up from a long wait, with loose eyebrows at the corners of his eyes.

I stretched out my hand, my fingertips slowly climbed over the edge of his slender finger, and squeezed him from the gap between the slightly bent fingers.

At this moment, I recovered, seeing Victor's eyes reflected in the fire of the fireplace.

We don't know since when we clasp our fingers together and hold our hands together.

In a silent night, only the firewood was still snapping.

MC: Victor, are you tired?

Victor: What do you mean?

MC: Everything.

*All the fatigue of endlessly walking through the timeline, all the tragedy you had to witness, all the pain that you had to bear, all the hopes that you've repeatedly dashed countless times .

MC: You said that it is enough to enjoy your current life before the end. You already know the ending, understand the truth, or do you want to move on?

Victor: Not enough.

Victor spoke softly, but every word made a sound.

Victor: I am not someone who can transcend desires, I also have my own desires.

He doesn't need to say anything, I already know everything.

I curled up on the sofa, silently nestled in his arms, clasped his waist tightly with my hands, and fell on his sturdy chest.

Victor pulled the blanket and put a light hand on my shoulder.

With fire light and falling snow, the sound of two hearts beating is clear.

I know that I am embracing the most real Victor, the extremely real Victor.

PART 5

Time passed quietly, and it came to the last moment.

The whole city is shining bright neon under our feet. Busy and calm-as usual, as if we can wait for every night in the morning light.

MC: Victor, when you brought me here for the first time, did you expect the world to become like this?

Victor shook his head.

MC: So what was the anxiety in your heart when you stood here?

Victor turned his head and looked at me, then smiled.

Victor: It is impossible to completely hold a fool in his hand, hold it tightly, and keep her from leaving.

MC: Did I make you worry a lot? I know you have been looking for me for a long time.

Victor: Not long.

Victor: After experiencing real time, I only feel that the years when I found you were as short as you went to buy me a cup of coffee

Heard what he said, I couldn't help being reminded of memories long ago.

MC: I just thought you were really harsh and annoying. There were so many conditions for asking me to buy a coffee.

MC: .. Now, I really want to buy it for you again

MC: No matter how many weird conditions you have, I will never get it wrong again.

Victor looked towards the boundless sky with emotion. In the night, countless meteors slowly fell, dazzling light across the blue to dark night sky.

It's not long since 19:17.

MC: Victor, I want to do something very important.

Victor: I know.

MC: But I just want to be your dummy and live the most ordinary and ordinary life.

MC: Let you have endless heart and endless planning plans every day, and bring you all kinds of trivial troubles.

MC: Then in the blink of an eye, you can...

With tears in my eyes, crying was already entrained in my voice, so I refused to continue.

Victor: She also said that she didn't like crying anymore.

I took a few breaths and stubbornly held my voice.

MC: I didn't cry!

Victor stepped forward and held me tightly in his arms. Surrounded by the familiar smell, I closed my eyes and gripped the corner of his suit with my hands.

My only wish is to be with him.

It’s okay to laugh and being embraced in his arms like this, I don’t want others.

But more important than this wish...

It's him. He can't just usher in the ending like this.

MC: When I come back, I will bring you a cup of coffee.

I grab his arms and made a promise, and he softly responded by caressing my hair.

Victor: Alright.

MC: That’s all? Don’t you have anything else to say?

MC: In the past, you always remind me about the deadline of my proposal, you would remind me not to oversleep like an elementary school kids for the meeting the next day.

MC: At this important moment, don’t you have something else to say?

MC: I’m going to do something big this time.

Victor loosened his arms around me slightly and looked at me.

Victor: I know.

Victor: But you’re no longer a dummy you used to be, there’s nothing you can’t do.

I have already understood his calmness from his eyes. As expected, I can’t still beat him. 

I want to say something, but I felt something. There were snow-white feathers on my fingertips.

There is no time.

I subconsciously grabbed Victor’s hand--  

MC: Victor..

My heart was overwhelmed by the huge perseverance, I almost called his name from the deepest part of my throat.

As he was holding me, there’s deep complex look between his brows.

Victor: Are you afraid?

I kept shaking my head, shaking my head anxiously!

It is not fear, nor regret, no matter what is waiting for me in front of me, at this moment I will walk firmly.

But even so, I still want to stop for another moment, a moment is enough for me to call his name again, to look at him again. .

Even... hoping that time can stop at this time.

I don't want to let go of his hand.

Victor hugged me with one hand, lifted my chin, and dropped a deep lingering kiss. 

During the exchange of our breathing, I looked into his squinted eyes & saw a love that I had never seen before.

The tears that kept spinning in my eyelids were still drawn from the corners of my eyes when I was on my post. I gripped his shirt tightly, very tightly.

Aware of my silent choking, Victor clapped his hands and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes with his index fingers.

Victor: Don't be afraid. No matter how difficult things are in front of you in the past, can't you always do well?

Victor: This time, there will be no exception.

The scene in front of me and his voice were slowly dissipating, and I looked at him deeply, unable to say a word.

I clearly felt that Victor held my hand tighter, tighter than ever, as if he wanted to keep me too.

Like he didn't want to leave me alone.

He opened his mouth, what he was saying, but I couldn't hear anything and my senses were blurred.

Victor: ...Remember, to get me back.

MC: What?

I vaguely heard something, but couldn't be sure.

The white wings spread out in the dark night, and the sky is connected one after another, and the scattered white wings sit on the tall buildings together with the meteor, and fall into the street...

Victor let go of my hand and stepped back half a step, his eyes showed unprecedented joy.

MC: Victor!

Victor: I....

He was telling me something. His deep voice was mixed with a firmness that I've never heard before, but I could only vaguely recognize the words that I wanted to hear the most from his mouth. After that she calls his name

MC: Victor...

The sight was finally dark, and Victor's deep gaze disappeared in front of me.

The city fell into the night amidst the noisy shouts-

Victor slowly opened his hand and caught a piece of pure white feather in the air. The corners of his lips were gentle, his eyes drooping slightly.

That feather just lay quietly on his palm, soaked in moonlight, as slender as she looked at him at the last moment.

---- END ----

I’m sorry if there’s some mistranslation. Kindly tell me if you found some :) thank you for read it~ ^^

[sockablock]

in light of the truly heartwarming response I got to part one of this story, please enjoy: How To Build a Magic School, Chapter 2

—

It took a special kind of mind to follow the Mighty Nein’s conversations once they really got heated. It helped, at least, that they were seated in close proximity, sprawled across a ring of crates in the main tent, but the fact of the matter was that trying to pay attention to seven people all chiming in at once was already giving Essek a mild headache. And minor neck pain.

“—kind of disguise,” Veth was saying. “I know it’s been a couple years, but folks here…they might not be happy to see a…a...”

“A foreigner,” Fjord said, diplomatically.

“A Xhorhastian,” Yasha tried.

“A drow,” Essek came to their rescue. “No, she is right.”

There was a sharp and semi-affronted exhale from Jester. “Did you get any funny looks when you arrived? Did anyone say anything to you?”

“And do you remember which ones they were?” Caleb added quietly.

Essek hesitated, trying to remember, but through the bright haze of sunlight and hot summer, the furious clamor of construction outside—

“I…do not think anyone saw my arrival.”

“You’re wearing full black and carrying a pink umbrella,” Beau grunted. “Are you sure?”

He hesitated again. “Ah…no.”

“All sorts of interesting people have visited us since the school project started,” Caduceus said. In line with the conventions of his personal narrative, he was attempting to make tea over a tiny, portable burner. “You probably won’t be the strangest thing they’ve seen or will see, working here.”

“They’ve already seen Fjord—”

“Hey! That—why—”

“The people of Felderwin can be touchy though,” Veth continued, smugly ignoring Fjord. “I don’t really think you can blame them, either. If it wasn’t the goblin attacks for years before that, it was the, well, the huge invasion where a purple worm ate the ground and half the town caught on fire.”

She maintained eye contact with Essek as she said this. Her gaze intensified when he shrugged. 

“That is…fair enough,” Caleb cut in. “But I would feel…ill at ease to force you, Essek, to hide if you did, ah, did not wish to…”

Essek gestured vaguely at his appearance. “Actually, I had assumed I would be needing to disguise myself. I have masqueraded as a high elf before, and it would not be difficult to do so again.”

“Isn’t that a lot of spells wasted?” Fjord asked. “Won’t it be annoying to have to keep that up?”

“It’s not that hard,” said Veth, under her breath.

“Oh, oh, I could Polymorph you!” Jester clapped her hands together, enthused. “I can make you anything! You could be an elf, or a tiefling, or a firbolg or a—”

“I appreciate the offer,” Essek said smoothly, “but I do have a few resources at hand. A simple ring of illusion would do the trick.”

“What are we gonna say about you, though?” Beauregard asked. All heads turned toward her. “If the court wants to know about you, a random mage and one of the first hires of the magic school, what are we supposed to tell them?”

They considered this.

“He’s a…family friend?”

“Whose family?”

“Well, I’d like to think of us as a family—”

“Why don’t we say he’s from Nicodranas?” Jester suggested. “We could say he’s, um…oh! That he was recommended by Yussa!”

“Yussa?” Essek echoed.

“Actually…that doesn’t sound half-bad,” Fjord mused. “Master Yussa is a mage that the king recognizes, yes?”

“Ah, he is a mage?”

“He’s a friend of ours!” Jester beamed. “A super powerful wizard that lives in the Open Quay. He’s pretty powerful, Essek. Maybe even more powerful than you!”

This was delivered with a winning smile. Caleb sighed. “From what I gather, Master Yussa is much older, and has had quite a few lifetimes’ worth of practice. He is also…quite reclusive, and therefore not exactly what we had in mind for this school.

“And he said no,” Beauregard muttered.

“Yes, danke, and he also turned us down. The point is, we can pretend you are acquainted with him. That should be enough to assuage the court.”

“Will this…Master Yussa agree to such a thing?” Essek asked.

Caleb answer with a faint grin. “He is a wizard who feels he is…not so beholden to court pressures. Also, he owes us a favor, as is.”

Essek couldn’t help but match Caleb’s expression. “Is that so? Then I find I quite admire this man.”

“We saved him from the Happy Fun Ball,” Yasha supplied, a collection of syllables that no betting man would have ever predicted to come from her. “He likes us.”

“He loves us,” Jester corrected. “He has our Little Willi and his assistant Wensforth practically worships us and everything!”

After the pertinent information had been properly located, Essek nodded. “That is, er, lovely. I owe him my thanks.”

“Now we just gave to give you a new name,” said Veth. “I don’t think we can keep calling you ‘Thelyss,’ unless we want the idiots on the Committee getting suspicious.”

“The…excuse me?”

“The Arcane Restoration Supervisory Committee,” Caleb sighed, “is a group of concerned officials—”

“—nosy dillweeds—"

“—that was formed to manage—”

“—micromanage—”

“—to oversee our current rebuilding efforts. It is very likely,” he continued, giving Beau a look, “that this is the court’s way of reconciling with the fact that an unknown quantity has been handed the reigns of the Dwendalian Empire’s arcane future.”

“I know that,” Beau countered, “I just don’t like them.”

“Caleb is the unknown quantity,” Caduceus added.

“…I see,” said Essek, eventually. “Should I, ah, be concerned about them?”

“Probably not,” Beau said. “They’re just a bunch of nobles who think they understand the first thing about magic.”

“You being an expert on the subject, of course,” was what Essek did not say, because self-preservation interrupted just in time. Instead, what left his mouth was:

“I had also anticipated concern about my involvement—that is, Shadowhand Essek Thelyss’s involvement—in this matter. If necessary, I can masquerade as someone else. I, ah, will still need an umbrella during the daylight hours, though. Or perhaps a large hat?”

The elongated squeal from Jester atop the milk crate filled him with regret.

“What was the name you used last time?” Fjord asked. “Desden…Desbin…”

“‘Dezran Thain,’” Essek supplied. “Actually, I could employ that title again.”

“Uh…is that a good idea?” Veth asked. “Wasn’t Dezran a friend of the Assembly’s?”

Essek shook his head. “Strictly speaking, Thain was just a very minor lord that lived in Nicodranas. When the peace talks began, he was called upon by Da’leth to play tour guide and host due to his interest in magic and local familiarity. Only he, de Rogna, and Tversky knew who I really was.”

“It is…not bad, as far as our plans go,” Caleb said after a while. “It aligns with the story that you are Nicodranian, and it might actually sit well with the court members that had favored the Assembly. As for those who supported us against them…”

Beau rolled her eyes when Caleb’s gaze fell on her. “Yeah, yeah, an Expositor will vouch for him.”

“An Expositor?”

“Gods, fine, this Expositor.”

“Thank you.” Then he gave Essek a nod. “That about covers it then, ja? This story, we can tell the court, and then—"

“Wait, hang on—” And this was Beauregard again, leaning forward, staring directly at Essek.

“Yes?” he said.

“What did you tell your court?” she asked.

—

Mother had spoken to the Bright Queen alone. This was not technically out of the ordinary, as the Umavis of Rosohna frequently met to discuss state matters too selective for anyone else. But Essek was unused to being considered “anyone else,” which was why the situation still rankled, in his mind.

“Tell me again,” he turned to face his mother, floating clothes and books drifting past his head. “Is that all you said?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

At his still-annoyed expression, his mother sighed. “Yes, dear. I just told Leylas that this was a unique opportunity for you to integrate yourself within the Empire and gain ample information that would otherwise be inaccessible. We all saw how abruptly the war ended, and how quickly the Assembly seemed to fall afterwards. No one can blame her for being curious.”

A small inkwell drifted across the room as Essek resumed packing. “And then?” he prompted.

His mother sighed again.

“And then I reassured her Majesty that there were plenty of souls that could temporarily come together to fill the void you would leave behind—”

No doubt all from Den Thelyss, Essek thought.

“—and that even in absentia, you would still be serving as a valuable font of information for the Dynasty. Which, after all, is what the Shadowhand is meant to do. And of course, should it ever be required, you could always be called home.”

“…indeed.”

“Indeed,” his mother smiled. “Though, of course, this is all under the assumption that aside from your prospective employer, nobody else will know who you truly are.”

Essek gave this due consideration.

“I have a feeling that the rest of the Mighty Nein will be told, Mother.”

The Umavi of Den Thelyss was not an easy woman to read. Her expression gave nothing away as she said, “I see.”

“But,” Essek added, because he felt he needed to, “I don’t think anyone else has to know.”

She reached out slowly and plucked a mirror from the air.

“I have more faith in you than that, my dear. I am confident you will ensure it is so.”

—

“—temporary leave of absence,” said Essek, now, to the Mighty Nein. “I have been the Shadowhand for most of my life, and a diligent scholar of the nation before that. I was owed some vacation days.”

“Vacation days—” began Fjord.

“But how temporary?” asked Beau, cutting him off. “I thought it’d be hard for you—you know, as you said, the Shadowhand—to just up and leave, after all. How long can you stay here?”

Essek gave her a wry smile. “Fortunately, I expect my definition of ‘temporary’ is somewhat different than yours.”

“Longer,” said Caduceus.

“Longer,” he agreed. “It is very safe to assume that I can stay for at least a decade, if I wish.”

“And I certainly hope you do wish,” said Caleb quickly. “There are many things we will need to accomplish, after all, not just today during construction, but in the future. And, ah,” he added, a little more pointedly, “I do feel as if I should thank you again. For everything you have done for us, and now today in volunteering your expertise.”

“Man, we’re really going to need it,” Jester groaned, throwing herself back across the milk crate. “The Committee keeps telling us to go faster, hire this person, that person, build the school different—everything.”

“Really?”

Caleb chuckled. “Yes, but that all can be explained tomorrow,” he said. “For now, though,” and he stood, crouching to avoid the ceiling of the tent, “let me show you to where we are staying. I expect you must be tired, ja? If not by the travel, then at least the time difference.”

For just a moment, Essek thought about saying otherwise. But there was something in Caleb’s hopeful expression that made him pause.

He yawned very minutely, and smiled. “It would be nice to put my things away,” he admitted. “And, ah, perhaps have a short rest.”

“Of course, of course,” Caleb gestured to the door, but did stop to address the group at large. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon,” he added, “but if anyone needs me…Jester?”

She saluted cheerfully, for the spirit of it. “Got it!”

“And of course, Veth, you are the Professor in charge.”

This was answered with an expansive wave, and a grin.

“Of course, Headmaster! Leave everything to us!”

—

“So…Headmaster, eh?” One pair of footsteps—and then sheepishly, another—began to crunch through the freshly-dewed grass. All around them, spanning the entirety of the field, a legion of masons and stonecutters and workmen cut, sawed, hammered, and hefted the thick wooden frame of an enormous building in its first stages. A group of surveyors stood at the center, arguing as more lumber was lugged into view, directing the flow of Construction and Progress.

“Apparently so,” Caleb said, “though I have to admit, I am not quite used to that title yet.”

Something enormous soared overhead, momentarily blotting out the sun.

“Would you prefer Professor Widogast?”

Caleb sighed as the shadow vanished.

“I prefer ‘Caleb,’ to be truly honest.”

Essek chuckled. “Then for now at least, I will oblige.”

He glanced up as the next shadow approached, squinting to see in the bright morning light. After rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times, he could make out the shape of a massive carpet, carrying sacks of sand and brick.

“Spoils from the remnants of Soltryce,” Caleb explained, before Essek could ask. “We found quite a number of things in the basement of that school, some…well.” His expression went dark, and not just because of the shadow overhead. “Many of those things we managed to release. Some, ultimately, had to be destroyed.” But then he gestured to the enormous architectural undertaking around them and added in a lighter tone, “Some things, though, ended up being rather useful. Like the, ah, look, over there—”

Essek blinked again, and this time spotted what appeared to be twelve hulking stone statues, moving slowly between a line of workers. Each had gait like rock grinding on steel, and were lifting whole logs like they weighed nothing.

“Guardian constructs,” Caleb said. “They were a nuisance to battle, but once de Rogna was gone, they went dormant and stopped fighting. We figured out how to pilot them later.”

Essek looked suitably impressed by this. He shifted his umbrella into his other hand.

“Really?” he said. “And are you now their master?”

“Oh no, nein,” Caleb quickly shook his head. “Honestly, it was suggested, but I…there was something that bothered me about the idea of having control of them. And not just I, but…it felt wrong to let any single person control a fleet of sleepless warriors. So Beauregard got creative.”

“Indeed?”

Caleb pointed to a wooden sign that was nailed into the ground a few feet from their path. A handful of workers was crouching next to it, carefully reciting what was scrawled across its surface. After a moment, to Essek’s genuine surprise, he realized they were practicing an arcane incantation.

“How do—”

“A pronunciation guide,” Caleb said. He was—yes, he was smiling about this. “We managed to translate enough verbal commands to make them usable for anyone who can read Common.”

“But…but…that’s everyone,” Essek said, hurrying a bit to catch back up. It took him some effort to tear his gaze from the sign. “Are you not…are you not concerned about this information falling into the wrong hands?”

“Ah, but if anyone can use them, then there is no problem. The playing field, as they say, has evened out. That was Beauregard’s idea, anyhow.” At the silence that followed, Caleb tilted his head and said, “Think of it this way, ja? A magic sword controlled by an evil person is not so dangerous if even a peasant can tell it to stop. What is the use of a weapon of war that listens to everyone’s commands?”

“Yes, but…” Essek struggled to find the right words. “Now…now…right, but now the sword is a, a, a butter knife! What would be the point of that?”

Caleb was quiet for a moment. Then he managed a trying smile. “That…depends on what you need though, no? Right now, what we are looking for is not war. It is toast. Er…that is, a metaphorical toast.”

“But…still, if that is the case, anyone could steal your constructs,” Essek said, somewhat subdued. “Should they not be guarded? As you would protect a prized tool?”

Caleb actually snorted at this. “If anybody attempted to do so,” he said, “they would receive quite an earful from the Chief Surveyor. They would not dare.”

And then Caleb turned, met Essek’s gaze, and it looked like he was waiting for cheerful agreement.

Neither response felt appropriate. Something about this still bothered Essek, almost like trying an ill-fitting sock.

“I think, ah, that I prefer jam,” he managed eventually. “On my toast, that is. And perhaps, a cup of tea?”

Blessedly, this elicited a chuckle from Caleb. “Of course, of course. That I can provide. We are quite close to the tavern, as is.”

And indeed, after only a few more minutes, they passed through a thin line of trees and arrived at the edge of a small, but bustling town.

“Welcome—well, welcome back to Feldwerin,” Caleb corrected. “Though this time, I expect, you will be staying longer.”

—

When the war ended, Felderwin Tillage had been left in a state of utter chaos. Purple worms had torn apart acres of land, fields had been razed by advancing soldiers, and scores of houses, stables, and shops had been burned to the ground when the invasion began.

And then, the Cerberus Assembly had fallen, and more information flooded the populous. They’d been told, virtually overnight, that the Archmages had been secretly using this town as a testing ground. They’d unleashed uncontrolled magic here for generations, tricking and abusing the townsfolk for their experiments, forcing a local lad—the widower—to work for them, and when people fell ill, they’d blamed it all on molded fruit.

Suddenly, the villagers felt quite foolish. And then, they’d started to get angry.

So it came as a genuine shock to Caleb that when the time came to build their campus, Veth had stepped forward and said it should be in Felderwin.

“But…they’d never agree,” he’d said. “Why should they?”

But she’d shaken her head. “They will.”

And so, the next morning, Veth marched through the village center with Luc and Yeza following behind, the Mighty Nein scrambling to keep up. She’d stormed up the stairs of the Town Hall, looked the Starosta dead in his eye, and informed him that everything was about to change.

All they’d need, she said, was a swath of land outside town, far enough away that it wouldn’t interfere with the calm that this village had been so denied, but close enough that it was still in the tillage. She’d told him, when he’d protested, that yes, there would be mages, but there would also be student mages, young, burgeoning minds that would spend quite a long time at the school. They’d be trained there, fed and housed and cared for, and eventually, once they grew up and graduated, when they looked back fondly on their younger years, it’d be in Felderwin.

Besides, she’d added, tapping the side of her nose, now the King would have to protect this place. After all, it’d be right next to the Empire’s arcane center, and wouldn’t it be nice to finally have some proper defenses? Not to mention, if you needed to borrow any of the bright young masons and stonecutters we’d hired, well. That could be arranged, easy.    

Sometimes, she’d said, it doesn’t hurt to be on the map. Because then the world pays attention to what happens to you.

And then the mayor had said, Aren’t you dead?

And then Veth had informed him, I got better.

And so it was now, a few months later, that Caleb led Essek past the newly-rebuilt Brenatto Apothecary, toward the Glassy Grass Inn. It had become the go-to tavern for the Mighty Nein, not because they were unwelcome in Veth’s house, per say, but more due to a gentle conversation that Yeza had had with his wife about work-life balance after Caduceus had walked into the center of the shop during its busiest hours in nothing but a towel and a toothbrush.

After that, they agreed to at least sleep next door.

The bell overhead rang as they entered, though the sound was lost in the din of voices. Essek had barely shut his parasol before a burly man in an apron rushed past, carrying tray upon tray of drink and food.

“It’s gotten rather busy since we moved in,” Caleb explained. “Word got around, and apparently people quite like staying in the same pub as us. That, and old Littlebottle agreed to let our workers take meals and rooms at a discount. The barkeep.”

“Really?” Essek raised an eyebrow. “How generous of him.”

“Well, apparently he is grateful for the business. And, I expect, grateful that our project has kept his neighbor preoccupied. Apparently Veth and Yeza were responsible for quite a number of the scorch marks at the edge of his lawn.”

“Is that so?” Essek chuckled. “I find it easy to believe.” Then he added, as he watched Caleb wave to a face in the crowd, “It seems you have taken well to your new assignment. And life in this town.”

He was caught off-guard when he noticed the faintest coloring of Caleb’s ear.

“Oh, er…is that so? Have I?”

“Well, I…just meant it seems you have made friends with the locals. And you, ah, move through the village with purpose, and had quite a lot to say about your endeavor.”

“Is that—scheisse, was I annoy—”

“Oh! No, no, not at all. I just, er…”

They stopped in the doorway leading up to the second floor, laughter and conversation winding slowly all around them.

“I just meant, ah…it is nice to see you so relaxed,” Essek finished lamely. “Retirement from adventuring seems to suit you.”

Caleb seemed to relax. “Well,” he murmured, “I am glad you think so. Though I must say, my retirement has certainly been eventful.”

“Better still than the typical hero’s retirement, no?”

“Ha! Lucky for me, eh?”

They stood there for a moment longer, as if neither were sure who should go first. But after a short pause, Caleb stepped back and began rummaging through his pockets. “Here, ah, here, take this,” he said, and pressed a small silver key into Essek’s hand. “It leads to my bedroom, but you can rest there while I see about getting you a room. And some tea.”

Eseek turned it over, looped a finger through the cord. “Oh, but I can’t just leave you to—”

“No, nein, I insist,” said Caleb. “I do not mind—”

“Are you sure—”

“Of course.” And with the air of someone playing a trump card in a social encounter, he added, “After all, you have travelled quite a distance, my friend. Please. I will join you in a moment.”

—

The Mighty Nein ate their sandwiches peacefully in the meadow outside their tent.

Then:

“I thought he’d be wearing different clothes.”

“What?”

“I dunno. I just thought he’d look…less shadowy.”

“Like he wouldn’t be wearing that creepy mantle, or something?”

“Yeah! Like I thought he’d be in, like, summery clothes! Like a flowy shirt and regular pants and short sleeves and straw sandals. He is taking a break from being a spymaster, after all.”

There a pause as they pondered the likelihood of this.

“He…could be wearing that under the mantle,” Caduceus said.

“Sandals? Really?” said Fjord.

“But his skin, he probably could not wear those if he wanted to,” Yasha said.

“Hmm…that is a good point,” Jester conceded. “But still, all black? In the summer? That’s

“Not if he’s got, I dunno, ice under there,” said Veth. “What if he has a bunch of ice strapped to his chest?”

“Ice? Now, really…” said Fjord, but everyone else had started to ruminate on this.

“No stains,” said Beau eventually.

“What?”

“No stains,” she repeated “If there was ice, there’d be stains. From it melting, right?”

“Or he’d be—ugh, gross—he’d be leaking,” said Veth. “Like there’d be puddles underneath him and stuff.”

Three of them snickered delightedly at this. Then Caduceus passed around more juice, and more sandwiches.

—

There was a cat on the bed when Essek walked in, sprawled out as if it owned the place.

Disguised drow and disguised fey regarded each other for a moment. Then Frumpkin stretched lazily, and yawned.

It occurred to Essek, as he continued to stand in the doorway, that this might be some kind of test. Minutes passed as he struggled to find the right thing to say—this was a familiar, was it not? And then he realized that anything he did end up saying would probably come across as rather silly. He decided to err on caution and simply nodded to the cat before sitting down on a worn wooden chair.

It ignored him completely. Essek twisted at his sleeve.

And finally, by the Grace of the Luxon, there was a polite knock at the door.

“Come in, come i—Caleb, that is much too much food.”

“Nonsense,” said Caleb, who had closed the door behind him rather inelegantly with a foot. Carefully balanced across his arms were two wooden trays absolutely laden with breads, cheeses, sliced meats and fruits that Essek at a first glance couldn’t name. A third tray floated behind Caleb, supported by a faintly-shimmering Unseen Servant, carrying drinks and utensils.

Not to be outdone, Essek gave a faint smile and flicked his wrist with a flourish. The trays rose out of Caleb’s grasp and drifted toward the table.

“I had it,” but his former student was now smiling as well. “Though I have missed seeing an esteemed Gravaturgist at work.”

The food came to a gentle rest between them. “I have also missed showing off,” Essek said wryly. “It is hard to find someone in the Dynasty unfamiliar enough with Dunamancy to appreciate my skills quite as much as you d—you alldid.”

“We did make you teleport us around quite a bit,” Caleb chuckled. He picked up a small piece of bread and split it in two, offering half to Essek. “I do not think we ever repaid you properly, either.”

Essek examined the bread in his hands. “Well, if I remember the contents of your letter correctly, it is the world that should be trying to repay you. The Chained Oblivion? Really, Caleb?”

“Oh, ah…” The man actually had the nerve to sound bashful. “That was mostly an accident, as it were.”

“You…sorry, you accidentally defeated the Chained God? Is that what you are telling me?”

“Well, er, no, not exactly.” He picked up one of the small round fruits and held it between his fingers. “It was sort of an accident that we found it…or rather, we did not know what we were looking for.”

This sounded like the Mighty Nein that Essek knew. He motioned for Caleb to go on.

“We had been…following a dream of Yasha’s,” Caleb said. “She had received it from the Storm Lord ages ago, but with one thing and another, we had never had time to pursue this. There was…a place, an island in the sea, she had felt it was a place of great importance. We weren’t sure why, until we arrived and found…”

A place of starlight and iron chains, buried in the heart of a dead volcano. A chamber, a ritual-site, fading incense and chalk, ensnaring an obelisk and a shattered crystal and at its center, a pulsating, churning darkness—

A hole in reality, Essek would remember, lying awake that night. The bastards had found a hole in reality and then they’d jumped in—

And found themselves standing in a pocket dimension…or at least, that’s what they’d thought. The air swirled with dark mist, the sky alive and churning. The walls of the world seemed to lurch and expand and it was Caduceus who realized that the whole plane was breathing. Jester shifted them out, returning them to the chamber, and they began to pour through the notes left behind. They realized that someone had found a Divine Shackle, then turned it in on itself, re-directed the ritual, created a bridge that would grant them access to the very being of Tharizdun, the most ancient and chaotic of forces—

“But who?” Essek breathed. He held a gooseberry, though he didn’t know it yet. “Who was responsible?”

Caleb scowled. “They left their notes behind. Who else would it be?”

As far as the Cobalt Soul could tell, the archmages themselves had not originally been involved in any actual cult. But after Vence’s capture, and Tasithar’s transfer, a spark of interest had been ignited in the minds of some of the nation’s brightest.

“It is like your metaphor,” Caleb said. “Before, they were simply sailing on a boat—"

Essek hesitated. The horrible sourness of the fruit might’ve been muddying his concentration. “It is what?”

“Like they were sailing,” Caleb repeated. “And every so often, they could lean over the edge and skim the sea for knowledge from relative safety. But capturing the cultists had…inspired the Academy to instead, go for a dive. And so they dove, down into the deeps, plumbing the darkest tides for secrets. And of course, they ultimately encountered the monster of all monsters…”

From there, it had been a matter of getting the proof—about this, about everything else they’d done—into the hands of Cobalt Soul. But word got out, and whispers travelled, and more people than the Nein could ever have imagined rose up, demanded justice and retribution—

Essek remembered the reports he’d received on the morning of the fall of the Cerberus Assembly. The casualties had been extreme, but what happened afterwards, even more so.  

“You arrested them,” he murmured. “The ones that survived, anyway.”

“And still, quite a few of them escaped,” Caleb sighed. “That is of course not even including the fact that not all of them were guilty enough to fully imprison to start with. As I understand, Hass has left to see the world, and Lord Uludan is still a diplomat for the king.”

Essek glanced at a slice of cured ham. He wondered if it would be enough to counter the taste in his mouth.

“With the…Assembly gone,” he said carefully, “there will not be a council of mages to balance the rule of the king, anymore. The nation has lost a powerful governing body and a source of great strength. What do you suppose this means for Dwendal?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at Essek. “I certainly do not think the Assembly was doing much balancing to begin with,” he said, almost as slowly. “As for the King, well…the man is quite old, and very paranoid. He will be tricky to manage, and yet there are a number of good people surrounding him. In fact, the elimination of the Assembly could allow them to finally step up. That, and this nation has now witnessed a historic uprising of the people. For the first time in a long time, citizens are trying to make their voices heard. And unless the royal court wants more chaos, or to fall in the way that the Assembly did, for once, I think they will have to listen.”

Essek lowered his hand. He stared at Caleb. “But…they are just people,” he said, astonished. “How could they know what is best for the nation?”

Caleb’s expression changed, slightly. He was silent for quite a long stretch of time.

“My dear friend…they are the nation.”

—

“No,” said Fjord.

“But—”

“No, Jester. I will not let you tape ice cubes to my armpit.”

There was a pause. Then a huff.

“Fine, I’ll ask Beau.”

—

After lunch, Essek was shown to a room slightly farther down the hall.

“It will likely be some time before we will be able to move into the school grounds,” Caleb said, “so I recommend you make yourself comfortable here.”

Essek was given another small key, tied to a leather cord.

He felt like something needed to be said. Gods, if he could just figure out what.

“I, ah…thank you,” he tried. “For…lunch, for everything, the room, and, ah, if you need gold—"

Caleb shook his hand. “Nein, please, no. It is, as they say, on the house. More accurately, on the dime of the royal treasury.”

There was another hesitation. Essek sought desperately for a solution, but when nothing came, he sighed. And gave up.

“I, um…am sorry,” he said. “If I…made a statement that was…incorrect.”

Caleb studied his expression. Then, he seemed to sigh as well.

“A school is for learning, is it not? Maybe we will be surprised by who teaches.”

“Er…”

“I just mean,” Caleb murmured, “that we do truly come from different worlds. That are, in many odd ways, rather the same. I just hope it will not be too much.”

Essek was not a stupid man. He opened his mouth again, to protest, but stopped when a hand brushed against his arm.

“You should get some rest,” Caleb said. “Unpack, adjust to our time zone, relax. Then tomorrow,” and here there was the faintest hint of smile, “I will give you a real tour of the school. You should have a voice in some of our plans, too, for the curriculum and into the future. And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “it will be better to have everyone around when we finish the story. Yasha does very good sound effects for the Chained Oblivion.”

There was another pause. Not nearly as tense, but still quite bewildered.

“She does…what?”

“You did not think that was the end of the story, did you?” Caleb grinned. “That we toppled the Assembly and the Maw that Devours just vanished?”

Essek recalled the other reports.

“Ah,” he said. “More the fool I.”

Caleb gave him a friendly pat. “Once a bridge is built, it goes both ways,” he said. “It is funny how often we wizards forget that.”

Then, in the warmth of the hallway, he nodded.

“Have a rest, Essek Thelyss. I will be down the hall. Let me know if you need anything.”

Then he nodded, and turned around, and left.

—

“Jester, I—oh gods, that’s cold.”

“Hold still, silly! You have to hold still.”

“But I—ah—oh, oh gods.”

—

And later that evening, alone in his room, Essek summoned an exquisite onyx chest. He popped it open, and slowly all his worldly possessions began to drift out. Clothes, papers, books and components slowly floated across the room, settling into the proper drawers or hanging themselves in the closet.

And then, Essek collapsed into bed. With a wave of his hand, a small mirror appeared.

It was black, made from polished volcanic glass and set into a twisted metal frame. It had been a gift, and as far as mirrors went, it was rather lacking, but—

He sighed.

It would get the job done.

—

[Part 1] - [Writing Tag] - [The Bail Project] - [National Bail Fund Network]

[everybodyscupoftea]

sober up

jj maybank x reader

word count: 2151

warnings: mentions of substance use (vyvanse, alcohol, weed); mention of anxiety; nothing too angsty though i promise

synopsis: based on the song sober up by ajr

When Sarah and John B. disappeared, it rocked the Outer Banks, and no one could think or talk about anything else. Reporters from the mainland flooded both the Cut and Figure Eight looking to talk to the people closest to the ‘Missing Star-Crossed Lovers’ as they’d been dubbed. Neither the Pogues nor the Kooks were safe.

Everyone coped as best they could. You couldn’t speak for the Pogues, you hadn’t run with them for years, but the coping could best be described as destructive spiraling. Rafe, who was arguably off the rails already, went further; Topper retreated into a shell you weren’t sure if he could ever leave; Wheezie, once outgoing and loud, became the quietest person in every room; and you, you just had to watch, stuck in a rut of your own.

Basically, the disappearance stopped the world as everyone knew it, and you weren’t sure it could ever right itself.

Hello hello; I’m not where I’m supposed to be; I hope that you’re missing me; ‘cause it makes me feel young

Sometimes it got too much. Being on Figure Eight, at school, where memories of your friendship with Sarah were especially strong. You usually liked the feeling Vyvanse gave you. The intense focus you could pour into other things to forget about The Disappearance, at least for a few hours. But sometimes, it backfired, and you were hyper focused on it.

In those moments you found yourself wandering back to the Cut, back to your elementary school, to sit on the swings. You liked the back and forth feeling and staring up at the sky. It made you dizzy, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Usually you were alone there. Not this time. This time JJ Maybank beat you there.

“Long time no see,” he said to you, the smile he gave not anywhere close to real.

You didn’t really know what to say. The friendship ended years ago when your mom married up and you both moved off the Cut. It wasn’t explosive, it wasn’t a brawl, it just fizzled. JJ Maybank, your childhood crush, and John B, your biggest defender. You looked for them sometimes, but they were never looking back.

“I like to think out here.”

JJ laughed, “That makes two of us.”

You wanted to ask how he was, but you knew. It really wasn’t worth asking. No need to cheaply fill the silence. Normally you were filled with crushing sadness on the swings. Mourning relationships lost and waiting for the drugs to finally wear off. This time you felt refreshed. Sitting in silence with this now stranger, you felt young again. You forgot how JJ made you feel.

Hello hello; last time that I saw your face, was recess in second grade; and it made me feel young

To your surprise, JJ broke the silence first.

“How’s your mom?”

They had always been close, a surrogate mother to him when his Dad threw him out.

“She’s good.”

“Still up to all that hippie shit?” he asked with a quiet laugh.

“Of course, the day my mother stops harping on the environment is the day we bury her.”

You fell into silence again, unsure if you should ask about his dad. It was nice to be here with him, and you didn’t want to push him away.

Before you could make a decision on asking, JJ pushed off with his feet and started swinging higher, effectively ending the conversation. For lack of anything better to do, you followed suit.

It was bittersweet, one of the last things you did with him before moving was swing at recess. You knew about the engagement and what it meant, but your friends didn’t, and you didn’t know how to tell them.

You remember JJ was always braver than you, swinging higher, jumping from the swing more recklessly, and telling the truth as soon as he found it out. You were always more scared.

Maybe this was the chance to finally be brave.

“JJ, about second grade and the engagement- “ but he cut you off before you could finish.

“It’s in the past. I was mad, but I understand now.”

“Right.”

Goodbye, goodbye; I said to my bestest buds; we said that we’d keep in touch; and we did our best

You had every intention of staying friends with the boys when you transferred schools, but your new dad had other ideas. He never had kids of his own, you were his new project. Your free time became his time where he taught you the ins and outs of the upper class.

He had plenty of connections, plenty of new friends for you to play with. Your mom felt bad, she didn’t realize moving you would also separate you from your closest friends the way it did. She hated seeing you sad, but what could she do?

JJ and John B visited you a lot in the early days. Then, one day, your new dad started answering the door instead of you, and he always said no. They finally caught you one afternoon, but you already had plans with the Cameron’s, and you couldn’t play with the boys. That was the final straw.

There was no fight, just a general, melancholy consensus that this would be the new normal. Rafe and Sarah instead of JJ and John B.

All my new friends, we smile at party time; but soon we forget to smile at anything else

Growing up with the Kooks was hard. Sure, you didn’t want for much, money wasn’t an issue and you had all the educational resources you could possibly need, but the pressure to even keep up, not even to stand out, was immense.

Your stepdad had high hopes, your mom wanted you to fit in and be happy. There was no best of both worlds unfortunately. No one quite understood like the Cameron siblings, your closest friends. Rafe understood the pressure to succeed from your dad, and Sarah understood the pressure to fit in from your mom.

The hangouts you used to have were fun. Full of laughter and actual joy during childhood. Games and picnics, afternoons at the country club pool and tea parties. Finally, you’d found your people after a lonely few years without JJ and John B. You depended on each other as you grew up and moved into high school.

Sarah kept you sane, she invited you to parties, hung out when you were especially struggling, and kept your mom out of your personal life. You owed a lot to her. Rafe kept you medicated. He sold you cheap Vyvanse to help you focus on schoolwork to appease your dad.

It was a delicate balance, the medication and the partying, but you made it work. The Vyvanse made you anxious but the alcohol helped you relax. Soon enough, you were more anxious than relaxed, and you could feel the smiles coming fewer and far between. Childhood was over.

And then Sarah disappeared, taking with her the last of your smiles.

Won’t you help me sober up; growing up, it made me numb; and I want to feel something again

You couldn’t stop it, sitting on the swings with JJ, the sob that broke out of your chest. It was like poking a hole in a balloon. From nothing to everything leaving at once.

“Fuck,” JJ muttered, using his feet to stop his swing as you sobbed, still gently rocking.

“I don’t want to live like this anymore,” you told the ground, refusing to look at him, even as he squatted in front of you.

“Like what?” he asked gently, hand tracing slow circles on your knee.

You shuddered a few times, fighting the anxious wave in your chest fueled by the medicine, “Numb,” you finally responded.

The pitying look on his face broke the numbness. You felt bitter, you didn’t need his pity. It was as if he could sense a wave of anger rising in you, and he backed up. JJ said with a small sigh, “I sure as hell don’t know what you’ve been through, but I have an idea of what you’re going through, so maybe, we can get through this together.”

His words put out the flames and you slouched forward, biting your lip, “You think?”

JJ didn’t answer for a few minutes, and when he did, it wasn’t to your question, “I’m hungry, want to grab some dinner at The Wreck?”

And suddenly, food sounded like the best idea in the world. You stood up and held your hand out for him to take, “My treat.”

Won’t you help me sober up; all the big kids, they got drunk; and I want to feel something again; won’t you help me feel something again

Kiara wasn’t at The Wreck when you and JJ ate. He said there was a party at the Boneyard, she and Pope were there, and invited you. While you weren’t particularly in a partying mood, you didn’t really want to be alone, so you went. It was…weird.

Sarah was your party crutch, the someone around who would always talk to you. The idea of going out and not having that made you feel a little alienated and wary. To your surprise, JJ stayed with you.

Neither of you made any moves to drink. JJ had his dab pen, and you had your juul, but otherwise you sat on a log together in silence. It wasn’t awkward, but it was a little heavy. You watched people dance around the bonfire, totally wasted and carefree, while taking occasional hits from your juul. It didn’t draw you in the same way it used to.

You couldn’t speak for JJ, he may have been itching to join the party, but he didn’t. Together you sat as the sun set and the wind picked up. He eventually handed over his sweatshirt when you started shivering and scooted closer for body heat.

The two of you sat and watched for at least three hours, not really moving or talking. You felt hyper aware of how close his thigh was to pressing against yours and how close your pinkies were from linking. It was something new to focus on. Something that broke through the water you felt had been clogging your brain for the past month.

You and JJ spent weeks together, slowly healing. There would always be a scar, empty air after quoting the first half of an inside joke or a missing t-shirt you’ll never find because you’d lent it out, but you were getting better. Part of that process was finding something new to hyper focus on. One night, both high, JJ revealed that he liked to think in color, and why not try.

My favorite color is you; you’re vibrating out my frequency

JJ was blue, his eyes, the waves he loved to surf, and all of the pens he used were blue ink. He remembered you loved to surf together as kids, so he brought you out there one afternoon. It felt good to have common interests with someone again, constructive rather than destructive common interests at least. You’d been trying to replace ‘numb’ with ‘good’ and it was hard, but it was working

My favorite color is you; you keep me young and that’s how I wanna be

JJ was also red. The same hat he’d kept his entire life, all through childhood and into his teenage years. His dad gave it to him before the abuse started. JJ clutched onto it in his darkest moments. It reminded you of your childhood, he always wore the same damn hat. You liked being able to be there for him when he held the hat instead of wearing it.

My favorite color is you; you’re vibrating out my frequency

For JJ, you were green. Your school sweatshirt that you wore so much and your favorite headband. He liked the steadiness of knowing that you’d come back to him every day, pretty much unchanged. With the violent upheaval of their lives after the disappearance, the steadiness of green was good. Green wasn’t his favorite color, but it was growing on him.

My favorite color is you; you keep me young and that’s how I wanna be

You were also yellow, your smile like sunshine. He felt like he hadn’t seen it in so long. It’d been years since he’d really looked. He’d seen you around, of course, but he hadn’t taken notice. He hadn’t seen you shrink into yourself with hollowed out eyes. JJ cursed himself for missing it. But the smiles, they were coming back, back like they used to be when you were kids.

And I want to feel something again, I just want to feel something again.

Nothing beat the feeling of JJ kissing you. Maybe, despite the circumstances, despite the path it took you to get here. You could finally sober up.

[96thdayofrage]

Clyde Kerr was a good cop and, unfortunately, this system is set up in a way that it drives good cops from its ranks. Before going to work yesterday, Kerr recorded a video “suicide note” to let the world know why he did what he did.

“I can no longer serve a system that doesn’t give a damn about me or people like me.”

With a calm yet deliberate tone, Clyde described the broken system he has been a part of for nearly two decades. He left nothing off the table. Mentioning Botham Jean, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Trayford Pellerin (who was killed in Lafayette), Clyde described how cops can kill and face very little consequences.

He then went on to call for an end to the drug war, lambasting the fact that police will kidnap, cage, and kill people “for a plant.”

“The countless people who are doing time for [the war on drugs]… how do you make amends for that?” Clyde said rhetorically. “You can’t. You can’t.”

“If this feels right to you as a person, then something is wrong with you,” he said. “Y’all are radicalizing people and then when they get upset and end up going against the system, you come down on them with a hammer.”

Clyde then goes on to describe how the job of policing needs to change — specifically in regards to mental health. His death is a chilling reminder of this dire need.

“You have one psychological eval as a cop, and that is when they hire you. That is not enough,” he said. “We need at least an annual, every six months, or maybe even quarterly. The stigma on this needs to stop.”

For the second half of the video, just hours before he would end his own life, Clyde lists a number of solutions that he says could fix so many of the problems. He started out by saying police need better training in regards to dealing with the public. Just because this job is difficult, he says, doesn’t mean you get to be a monster.

He then calls for society to come together and put aside their political differences.

“So many people in this country are so caught up in whether they are a Republican or a Democrat that they forgot how to be a decent human being.”

In a follow up video, Clyde assured people that he is not “crazy” or “on drugs” and that he feels like this act of self-immolation is necessary to change the paradigm within the system. He took his own life to attempt to change the system which drove him to this point.

“I know what people will say but I am in my right state of mind. I need to do this to protest this broken system. If I don’t do this, who will?” he said.

Hopefully, we make sure Clyde’s death is not in vain and people heed his advice. While we certainly do not advocate for self harm, Clyde clearly felt like this was the only way he could force change. If people really care about cops, then it’s incumbent upon them to focus on the words Clyde says below.

The public must realize the dire situation, and extreme scope of the mental health epidemic currently facing law enforcement. There’s an extremely high rate of suicide, a domestic violence crisis and much higher rates of addiction in policing than the general public. It’s clear that the mental health issues affecting law enforcement should be a top priority if we hope to stem the number of citizens and cops being killed by police in America.

In an interview with The Free Thought Project, former LAPD officer Alex Salazar pointed out why many of his friends ended their own lives:

People are tired of being killed by these cops. They operate with a gang-like mentality similar to the military, in that they are pawns in a larger game, but perceive themselves as warriors for a righteous cause. Cops often turn to suicide after they lose control of their personal lives. They are taught to be control freaks and to be always be in control and it often ends in tragedy.

When I was a LAPD officer I had at least 6 partners and supervisors included who “ate” their guns. 

Salazar says that suicides are not the only problem caused by this mentality. On the TFTP podcast, Salazar pointed out that many cops have PTSD and symptoms from the stress causes them to act out violently against the citizens they are tasked with policing. This is exactly what Clyde was talking about.

Like Clyde, we want to purge this critical sickness from U.S. policing in an effort make the streets a safer place for citizens and police alike.

We need to start looking at this increasing rate of officer suicides and realize the underlying problems attributing to them. If we can begin to correct those problems, the cops shooting citizens rate may start to fall too.

According to other experts in the field, cumulative exposure to trauma, horrific accidents and shootings can lead to mental health struggles that too often go untreated. A report by Blue H.E.L.P. reveals the rate of PTSD and depression for police and firefighters is five times higher than the civilian population. Clyde wants this to change by getting mental health help to be a part of the police department.

Critics believe the lack of resources for mental health also adds to lives being lost. Clyde is a perfect example. Mental health experts have echoed the sentiment of Clyde in the videos below, saying the barrier that keeps officers from seeking help are shame, fear of being off the job and the stigma behind it. Perhaps if cops were better trained at dealing with their own mental health issues, they’d be less likely to kill those with similar problems and this pillar of the community would still be alive today — pushing for change with his life, rather than his death.

If you know a police officer who is experiencing this, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline can be reached at 1-800-273-8255. Police officers can also text the word “blue” to 741741 or simply text “talk” to 741741.

[all-the-words-i-dare-to-say]

Christian Justice and the White Church in the Age of Black Lives Matter

Jesus didn’t come to this earth so that when our Black neighbors are murdered in racist attacks by their own police departments, we can go on living our privileged White Christian lives and pretend like nothing is happening. Jesus didn’t come to maintain the status quo; he didn’t come so that things could continue as they’ve always been. Jesus changed the world forever, radically, unapologetically. He spoke to the Samaritan woman, healed the lepers, and ate with tax collectors. He stood specifically and intentionally with those whose lives had been overlooked and devalued. You should, too--and I must say, your silence, White Church, is deafening. I ask you to use your voice. Affirm to your relatives and your friends, Black and White, that Black lives matter, unequivocally and without hesitation. I can assure you that your Black friends are definitely watching you. I know I am. 

I know some of you will say “Jesus wasn’t political” or “politics and religion don’t mix.” The fallacy here is that human rights are not about politics; they are fundamentally about morals and human dignity. If we must talk about politics, though, it’s worth noting that Jesus also automatically politicized himself when he spoke and acted in opposition to those in power in his day. The Sadducees, those presiding over the Temple and the Sanhedrin (the Jewish legal/political system), had the backing of the Roman government, and he spoke out against them multiple times. The Sadducees and Pharisees usually didn’t get along, but Jesus threatened their order enough that they cooperated to get rid of Jesus. They both hated him for what he did. What was he thinking, healing people on the Sabbath? What was he thinking, preaching that he was the Son of God? Who was he to publicly turn the tables in the Temple and disrupt the status quo? The Sadducees and Pharisees plotted to have him killed, and he died on the cross because he challenged the political establishment of that time. Please don’t tell me that Jesus wasn’t political. The established political system made him so. 

Along that same vein, I’ve heard some of you say, “Well...we don’t want to alienate anyone.” I would submit to you that though Jesus loved everyone and was willing to forgive, he also wasn’t afraid to make people uncomfortable in speaking out for what was right--and when he did, the Jewish leaders alienated him in the most brutal way imaginable. The net effect of this was that his actions distanced him from those comfortably siloed in their power and privilege and drew him toward those crying out to him from the margins. It was for Christian justice that Jesus died at the hands of the powerful Jewish aristocrats. As followers of Jesus, we are called to draw near our marginalized neighbors in the same way that he did. We are called to do the uncomfortable work of challenging racist systems. We are called to educate ourselves, speak up, and act for justice. If we lose friends, so be it. So did Jesus. Christianity isn’t always comfortable. Jesus certainly wasn’t comfortable on the cross.

If we have not moved toward justice yet, know that there is hope for us. In Luke 19, Jesus visits the home of Zaccheus, a tax collector. Zaccheus had been comfortable in his position of power and privilege; as a tax collector, he worked the system in his favor by charging citizens much more than they owed the government. But when Jesus came to his house, Zaccheus repented of his sin, saying “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” When Jesus saw that Zaccheus was willing to make an uncomfortable sacrifice for his faith (as Abraham had in offering up his son Isaac as sacrifice) he rejoiced and forgave Zaccheus’ sin: “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.” 

The racist oppression perpetuated by the White Church, particularly in the form of silence and non-action, may not always have been intentional and calculated as in the case of Zaccheus' unjust tax-collecting, but there has been an injustice committed, all the same, for which we as the White Church must repent and make sacrifices. The White Church needn’t feel guilty. It need only speak up, repent, and move forward, embracing this new discomfort in the name of the sacrificial Christian justice begun by the Son Himself, who died for the lost on the cross. Jesus will forgive us, but we must act. Faith without works is dead: 

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.

But someone will say, ‘You have faith and I have works.’ Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith. You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder. Do you want to be shown, you senseless person, that faith apart from works is barren? Was not our ancestor Abraham justified by works when he offered his son Isaac on the altar? You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was brought to completion by the works. Thus the scripture was fulfilled that says, ‘Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness,’ and he was called the friend of God. You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. Likewise, was not Rahab the prostitute also justified by works when she welcomed the messengers and sent them out by another road? For just as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is also dead (James 2:14-26, NRSV).

This passage is a powerful exhortation for our time. Faith is made complete with works toward justice. So what are we to do, as White Christians, in this age of widespread affirmation that Black lives matter? We can start by educating ourselves. I recommend the following resources, both Christian and secular: 

The 1619 Project, an interactive website with resources and an excellent podcast from the New York Times put together by Nikole Hannah-Jones on the legacy of slavery and Black history in this country

13th, a Netflix documentary about the 13th amendment and the racist problem of mass incarceration in the United States

This list of scaffolded anti-racist educational resources put together by some divinity students

Sojourners, a Christian social justice magazine and website

We can continue by not only educating ourselves, but also taking action. Here are some starting resources I recommend towards that end:

This list of anti-racist educational and social action resources for White people

This list of 75 anti-racist things White people can do to further their anti-racist work

A list of bail funds across the country. Read about bail funds

This is our time, White Church, to learn and do better. Act, in the name of Jesus. 

[sandersidess]

Two of Us

Ship: Romantic Prinxiety

tw: death, funeral, vehicular manslaughter, ask to tag

a/n: I hope you enjoy and sorry if it seems rushed. I would love feedback, so enjoy!

-

“Come on!”

“I’m going!”

“It’s about to happen! Hurry up slowpoke!”

“You’re too fast for me!”

“It’s happening!”

-

Virgil wipes his tears as he stood alone, holding onto his flowers. Red and yellow roses. He places a hand on the wood, stroking it slowly, more tears streaming down. He looks at the picture, eliciting a sob out of him and he covers his mouth. That smile. It was the last time he saw it in person, the last smile he got out of him that horrible day.

“Please come back,” Virgil whimpers out and cries, falling down to his knees, a hand still on the coffin.

-

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It sure is. Wow.”

“They sure are beautiful creatures, and they do so much to help us.”

“You’re a nerd like Logan.”

“But I’m better looking, duh.”

-

Virgil keeps a hand over his mouth, not even listening to the words said by the pastor. He didn’t want to accept what was happening. He couldn’t accept it. That was his husband. His husband that they were...that they were burying underground.

-

“My name is Roman, nice to meet you.”

“Virgil. You come here a lot, don’t you?”

“What can I say, you make me the best lattes ever.”

“Flattering, But I have a long line.”

“I came to ask you out.”

“I’ll think about it, now move please.”

-

Virgil sat at home, their home, on their couch. He stared ahead, tears spilling out as he stayed silent, a tissue in hand. People were in their house to remember Roman, to talk about when he was alive. Their mutual friends look at Virgil worryingly, only one of them going to sit next to him, and stayed with him until it was time to sleep.

“Get some rest, Virge. God knows you need it.”

Virgil nods numbly, laying down on his side of the bed and placed a hand on Roman’s pillow.

-

“This is your idea of a date? A field?”

“It’s called a picnic, and it’s not just any field.”

“Why is it so special?”

“Just watch.”

“Woah! Butterflies are everywhere! Roman!”

“Beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

-

The days passed, and the numbness was still there. The weeks passed, and he went to court to see what was happening with the case of the driver. The months passed, and he clears his throat as he gave his victim impact statement.

“My husband,” Virgil clears his throat as he felt a knot, “my husband did not deserve to leave this pitiful world so early. We had plans, from buying a house across the seas, to adopting our first child and settling into retirement while surrounded by many grandchildren. You...you took away those plans with your foolish mistake that night. That night was our fifth anniversary of being married and our eighth anniversary of being together as a couple,” Virgil whimpers and tears welled up, Patton placing a hand on his back,

“You took away my husband. You took away my rock, my reason to live. He was a loving husband, friend, volunteer, teacher and person. He deserved a long life and to die of old age. He deserved nothing but the best. I am not a forgiving person when it comes to the ones who harm my people, but my husband is. I forgive you in his part, because he would want me to forgive you. He would want me to forgive you for killing him because you decided to drive while intoxicated,” Virgil says disgusted, not caring for the tears of the felon, “He wouldn’t want me to live with hate. So I forgive you because of him. But to be honest, I hope you rot in prison and that you get nothing but malice in there. I hate you, I hate you so much that it makes me want to throw up. Also, in response to your apology, you can shove it.”

Virgil was crying and shaking by the end, gripping his paper and was led away by Patton. He sat down and cried in his hands, letting Logan hug him and Patton rubbing his back.

“You killed four innocent people that night of your intoxication...despicable...with intent...forty years...”

-

“You’re too kind, Roman!”

“I was taught that I should respect, and to smile because they hate seeing the person they despise smile.”

“You are not implementing that on our future children. They need to fight back! But, that is also one thing they can do. I’ll think about it.”

“...”

“What?”

“You want kids?”

“With you.”

“My whole dream is coming together.”

-

After the trial, Virgil felt empty. He felt like had no purpose in the world, he felt alone. Roman was gone. He couldn’t bring him back. So he slept, worked, ate, and slept again. He would cry himself to sleep, screaming into his pillow as the pain in his heart would grow. One night he fell asleep after crying, gripping onto Roman’s pillow.

“Virgil? Dark prince?”

Virgil opened his eyes and he let out a strangled gasp, seeing Roman standing there in front of him. He was now frozen, telling himself this was a dream, nothing but a dream.

“My Virgil,” Roman whispers and caresses Virgil’s cheek.

“Roman,” Virgil chokes out and leans into his hand, feeling fresh tears well up.

“Oh Virgil, my lovely dark prince,” Roman whispers and kisses his head, making Virgil cry.

“Oh my, Roman please don’t leave me,” Virgil begs and places a hand over Roman’s, being able to feel his warmth.

“I’m right here, corazón,” Roman says hushed, wiping Virgil’s tears, “Now now, don’t cry. I miss your smile.”

Virgil looks up at him, seeing that dopey smile Roman would have when he said that. Virgil gave a shaky smile in response, which Roman chuckles at.

“I miss you,” Virgil whispers, not letting go of Roman.

“I miss you too,” Roman sighs and leans his forehead against Virgil’s, “But it is not your time yet. You have many more years to live. Many more things to do.”

“How can I do it without you at my side?” Virgil asks, his voice broken and it made Roman’s heart ache.

“I’ll always be at your side, even when you don’t see me. I’m always there for you, mi amor,” Roman kisses his hand and strokes back his hair.

Virgil nods slowly, not believing it, but he was too happy of having Roman at his side.

“I love you.”

“And I love you too. Always and forever.”

When Virgil woke up, he was disappointed it was a dream, but he felt able to do more that day. He felt like he could do something in Roman’s memory.

So he did.

-

“Will you marry me?”

“Roman! Of course I will!”

“You make me the happiest man in the world.”

“And so do you. No regrets here?”

“None at all, amor.”

-

After a long day of work, he called up Patton and Logan, saying he had an idea. Even if they were both concerned this was just sudden, they agreed and supported Virgil. It was a lot of work, but had Logan and Patton. They started brainstorming, they started planning. The process was long, it was tiring and draining for all three parties, but with the money Virgil got in compensation and that he had saved up, they did it.

The Roman Prince Arts Foundation.

A foundation and resource for kids wanting to enter theater arts, also scholarships for those deciding to major in theater arts. Roman was invested in theater arts, mostly acting, and this was a way to keep his memory alive. A legacy.

Not many took it seriously, but Virgil didn’t let that keep him down. He’s been down for months, almost a year, but not anymore. He had to live on for Roman, to keep moving on. Though he struggled everyday to even get up, he could remember Roman’s words.

“You have many years to live. Many more things to do...I’ll always be at your side, even when you don’t see me.”

Not only did Virgil invest his time at the foundation, he also worked with the Trevor Project, where Roman always volunteered and helped out. Roman was a known volunteer in their community, and they held a memorial in his honor. Virgil spoke, talking about not only his struggles but Roman’s too. He felt at peace after the talk, closing his eyes and just knew Roman was always at his side.

Virgil smiles proudly at the first annual celebration of the foundation, which helped bring back programs and also handed out their first twenty scholarships (Logan suggested starting off small and slowly grow if all went well). People came to thank Virgil for bringing back their programs, many children from varying ages also thanked Virgil for giving them an opportunity to express themselves. Virgil felt his heart soar, and he stared at the picture he had of Roman above his fire place. He excused himself and went over, setting down his cup and picked up the picture.

“We did it, prince,” Virgil chuckles and wipes away his tears, “I love you, Roman. I’ll see you one day.”

-

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you!”

“It’s too early!”

“But I do! I have since our first date.”

“...”

“Virgil?”

“I love you too, you idiot.”

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chp. 9

Summary:   

Erik wants to learn all he can about the vibranium he found...

"Children of nature from another culture

Had to survive living in the light

Stolen from the center of the world

Untimely departure

Somehow survived living in the light…"

Caron Wheeler—"Livin' In The Light"

Erik held the flame from his lighter up to the smooth cool blue metal in his palm.

"You made it back!" Maria said.

Maria stood outside of his closed bedroom door.

"Yeah."

"Are you hungry, I'm going to head over to the spot for a chicken bowl."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Want me to bring you something back for later?"

"I'm good Maria."

He heard her milling around outside his door a little longer and then she left. He focused on the metal.

Vibranium.

The notes from his father's old journals could only convey the slightest bit of wonderment he imagined when he was younger. Vague memories of toying with his father's kimoyo beads and opening up a world of wonder when he activated it on his own. Slivers of images came back, images that revealed the use of vibranium in that futuristic world that his father came from. The world he was trying to get to himself.

In his hand, he held a component to deliver him justice.

The flame from the lighter didn't melt or activate anything from the metal. He could still feel the tickling irritation on his tattooed gums. The itchiness he could live with easily. Turning it over in his fingers Erik tried to figure out a way to get the vibranium into the Stark labs secretly so he could test its properties. His father's notes gave no clues as to what it could do. From what Erik could gather, it was a powerful energy source that had to be hidden. It was also an energy source that his Baba was going to use to help the diaspora and his mother.

Erik closed his eyes.

A man named Klaue betrayed his father for this metal. Ulysses Klaue.

Some of his father's notes were cryptic and also written in his own language. But there was one part of the three journals his father kept that his Uncle Bakari and grandfather had saved for him that Erik memorized by heart. Direct coordinates into Wakanda. Erik just had to find out how to use this metal to his advantage. It was the cause of his father's murder. But it would soon become the cause of Erik's rightful revenge. Against Wakanda. And Klaue.

He pocketed the metal in his pants and walked out of his room. Maria was gone and he had the apartment to himself. Making himself a pot of ramen in the kitchen, Erik thought about Stark. Was that man aware of vibranium? Tony went everywhere in the world, had access to arms dealers both legit, and Erik was pretty sure, illegitimate too. A man and his family didn't become billionaires without doing some dirt in the world. Billionaires were hoarders and they would know all the outlets to increase their selfish intake of resources. Most of their outlets were dirty. In Erik's eyes, Tony was a dirty mofo. No doubt about it. It wasn't a huge leap for Erik to assume that Tony knew who Klaue was. One thing Erik knew for sure, Klaue remained off the grid. Scant evidence existed that the man was still alive. Erik only knew that South Africa was that man's home base.

Erik went to get his laptop and sat in the living room slurping up noodles and looking up anything new he could find on vibranium. All he found were vague references to it being a rare if not fictional metal, probably a metal alloy mixture rumored to have mystical properties as a joke because of its natural glowing blue color. Small amounts were found in the arctic before World War 1 and its value was estimated to be astronomical if found in large amounts.

That explained a lot about why Wakanda looked the way it did from the glimpse he had as a child.

The fire alarm set off in the kitchen and Erik felt a strong hot vibratory shock inside of his pants pocket when he leaped up to turn off the pot of ramen he left on the stove that was now burning. He forgot to turn it off all the way. Erik shut down the alarm above the kitchen sink and when he reached inside of his pocket and pulled out the vibranium, it glowed brighter and he could feel the metal pulsing in his hand. Like a heartbeat.

Sound.

Erik turned the pot back on and let the rest of the ramen broth burn once more. The alarm gave another piercing shriek and Erik dropped the vibranium this time when the vibratory shock was too much for his fingers to handle.

He quickly moved the pot off the stove and shut down the alarm once more.

With great caution, he handled the metal again and could still feel the surge of power within it, along with the heat emanating from its brighter hue.

He smiled.

Who would've thought a burning pot of cheap noodles would help him learn an observational scientific fact?

Vibranium. The light of his father's world.

Now it was his light. And he would bring it to the Lost Tribe.

His tribe.

###

Erik worked diligently at the Stark computer lab.

He completed assigned tasks on time and kept to himself mostly. Tony had been traveling for a couple of weeks and there was a noticeable difference in how the office energy changed when he was gone. It was dull. Not quite listless, but when the head man was away, the mice didn't play, they just became…boring.

Standing at his comp screen, Erik strung lines of code together to input and received a vid screen message from Devika.

"Please come to Mr. Stark's office."

No reason was given. Erik knew he hadn't fucked up anything because Janine hadn't said anything to him directly. Shutting down his work station, Erik left the lab and headed to the bank of elevators whisking other employees around.

He saw Giselle inside the elevator he picked to take him up top. She held a fresh salad encased in a plastic container.

"Hey stranger," she said making room for him along with four other people.

"W'sup?"

"Where you headed?"

"Up top."

Erik could feel ears straining to eavesdrop as always whenever he was around.

"You have lunch yet?" Giselle asked.

He glanced at his watch. It was past one. He hadn't even thought of lunch. He'd been so busy coding and trying to get access to another lab that would permit him to test the vibranium in private. That wasn't working out too well.

"I'll eat later. Gotta see what they want first."

The elevator doors swished open and Giselle stepped out.

"See ya later!" she said.

Cheery. The day must've been going well for her.

Eventually, Erik was the only person on the elevator as he made the lone journey to the executive suites.

Devika handed him a donut the moment she saw him.

"I know you skipped lunch again," she said.

Erik ate the chocolate glazed treat to be polite. He used the hand sanitizer on her desk to clean his fingers.

"What's poppin'?" he said.

"Stark wants you to ride in the service car to pick him up."

"He's back?"

"Flight arrives in ninety minutes. You need to leave now. The car is out front waiting for you."

"Why does he want me to come there?"

Devika stared at him.

"He didn't mention any reason?" Erik asked.

Devika handed him another donut. A regular glazed one this time.

"Get going," she said gently pushing him toward the exit.

"You could've just told me on the phone or in a vid chat."

"But how would you get the donuts?" she said.

He grinned and left the office.

A sleek black S.U.V. awaited Erik in front of the office and he watched the crowded L.A. traffic as the car took him to L.A.X.

Tony Stark stood at the curb looking fashionable with his roller bag. Next to him was a statuesque Black woman with short curls and abundant curves filling out a white dress that made Erik's mouth get tight for a moment.

Erik hopped out of the front passenger seat and opened up the back passenger door for Tony and the woman as the driver grabbed their bags and placed them in the trunk.

"Stevens! Meet Athena Robinson. New addition. She'll be working in your department."

"Hi," Erik said and his voice came out with such a flat affect that Tony stared at him.

"What's wrong with your voice?" Tony asked.

"Nothing," Erik said, his voice still coming out strange.

Athena blessed him with a smile and held out her hand. Erik took it and the soft warmth made him feel giddy.

"Hi, Erik. Great to meet you," Athena said.

Erik stayed in the front as Athena and Tony sat in the back.

"Stevens, I want you to show Athena around, get her up to speed in your department. I also need you to prep for New York this weekend—" "Prep?"

"Yeah, you're coming with me to the Expo. Athena is too—"

"Janine wants me to finish—"

"Valentina will take over that project for you. Be packed and ready. Get a new suit too. We'll be meeting some new investors for the European offices and if all goes well, we'll be flying to Monaco in a few weeks."

Erik tried to process everything quickly.

He didn't want to leave the vibranium unattended in L.A., but he didn't want to take it with him to New York because metal detectors would give him away.

"Stevens?"

"Yeah?"

"Athena was asking you a question," Tony said.

Erik turned his head to look at her in the back.

"I just wondered where the best places were to eat. Mr. Stark said you were a foodie and would know," she said.

"I can hook you up. What do you like?"

"Everything," she said. Athena's eyes looked game for anything and Erik turned away quickly. She was as fine as frog hairs as his grandpop would say. He'd seen fine women all over L.A., but this one was a little different. He was digging the vibe she exuded.

"Hey this is the cut!" she exclaimed.

Erik realized he still had the radio on to the local R & B station. Return of the Mack blared from the speakers up front. Erik found his head bobbing along to it too, and when he glanced back to look at Athena, she was popping her fingers, not even caring that Tony was watching them both with amusement.

"Get into it Mr. Stark!" she said, nudging his arm.

"I'm not familiar with this song," he said.

"Old classic British soul," she said, "turn it up, Erik."

Erik did what she told him and the S.U.V. was rocking. He was really liking this woman already. She wasn't beholden with Tony at all. He was also really liking the idea that they would be in New York together.

Shit New York.

He might be able to see his Uncle and Aunt and a few homies from the DMV since he was so close.

The song ended and Erik turned off the R&B and switched to a classic rock station that he knew Tony loved. Steely Dan's "Peg" came on. Tony started rocking his shoulders.

"Wait. You two can't get into this?" Tony asked.

"It's hittin'," Erik said.

"Turn that up," Tony said.

Athena laughed at Tony as he made his hands wave in time to the beat.

"Haters," Tony said.

Erik laughed.

They arrived back at the Stark offices in good spirits.

"Show Athena around and then meet me in my suite around five?"

Erik nodded.

Stark had Athena's bags taken to the apartment she would stay in at Oakwood.

Athena followed Erik as he did the essential tour of the premises. She was impressed and asked plenty of questions. Especially about how being an intern there was fairing with him.

"Stark is an interesting dude. He can be a little out there, but you seem to have him figured out."

"That's only because he knows my father."

"Word?"

Athena's eyes lit up at his voice.

"My Dad works in the State Department. We've known Tony for a long time."

Erik kept that little tidbit in the back of his mind as he watched Athena take in the world of Stark Industries HQ.

"So, where do we work?" she asked.

Erik led her to another bank of elevators. When an express one opened, Erik rushed over to take it. Athena was on his heels. They stepped into the space and Giselle was there again. She smiled when she saw Erik again.

"Did you hear that we're going to New York?" Giselle said almost breathless.

Giselle's excited energy faded the moment she saw Athena.

"Athena," Giselle said.

"Giselle," Athena said.

No claws came out, but Erik could swear there were deep scratches somewhere from the sour tone that came from both of them.

"Athena is a new intern," Erik said.

The elevator doors closed and Erik stood between them both.

It was a good thing he did.

He knew for sure that if he weren't there, these two would probably be duking it out.

What the hell?

The tension was so thick on the ride up. He wasn't in the mood to make small talk to help ease the situation.

The doors opened and Erik was grateful to see Tony once more.

"Hey! How'd the tour go?"

Tony stepped onto the elevator and stood in front of Athena. Within seconds, Tony also caught the brittle vibe.

Erik gave Tony a look that was equal parts "Help" and "Wtf?"

"I have an idea, why don't we all go to dinner and talk about New York?" Tony said.

This was surely going to be the meal from hell.

Erik hung his head. Going to New York with two women that caught his eye along with his boss?

Trouble.

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling

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@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees @eye-raq

[misternygmasir]

Glitch

“It was broken, and he had no want or need for broken things. “

A little drabble about the Riddler’s greatest failure.

It took him longer than he would have liked to admit to compile the code, if truth be told.  He had thought it would be a relatively simple task for a mind as brilliant as his, but as things turn out, teaching something how to think was a bit more difficult than he had anticipated.  Only a bit. Nothing was ever, ever too challenging for him.

This was to be his first foray into artificial intelligence, the precursor to something far greater.  As soon as he knew that this worked, that he had ironed out all the bugs, he could move on to the project he really wanted to tackle.  He glanced at the lines upon lines of code, compiled over countless hours, glanced once more at the robotic figure on the ground next to him, and began the upload.

The process was slow going.  He expected it to be.  The massive amount of data being transferred from one processor to another took time, and while he didn't have a ton of that, he certainly had enough for this.  He let the upload run its course, and he went about the rest of his day, working on deathtraps, adjusting blueprints, the usual odd jobs.  He even found time to dust off his chess board and play a game of chess against himself-- he won, of course.

By the time the transfer was complete, the initial excitement had waned somewhat.  He no longer had to be worried about his computer or the processor in the new machine overheating or catching fire, so all that was left was to boot the thing up...  And he knew that would work.  He wasn't a moron, after all.

It took almost a minute for the robot to flare to life, he noted with some annoyance-- perhaps he should have installed another processor after all...  Would it be able to keep up with organic impulses with the processing power it had now?  But then the machine began moving, righting itself from where it lay on its side on the floor, eyes searching the area, standing on all four legs...  It took a few steps, then turned to face him and--

SCREECH.

Well. That was unexpected.  He sighed, one hand coming up so fingers could pinch the bridge of his nose.  He should have used a better audio card.  He hadn't expected the thing to actually try to meow of its own accord, he had thought it would only do it when commanded.  Then again...  It was a cat.  Well, a robotic cat.  And since he had programmed it to be as close to an organic feline as possible, he supposed it should act with a certain...  Disregard.

He sat and watched it explore while he ate dinner, watched as it found the the “food” dish he had left out for it in a moment of whimsy, filled with spare nuts and bolts he couldn't foresee using anytime soon.  From there, it wandered over to the cat bed he had built as a wireless charging dock for it, then turned and pounced on one of the toys he had fashioned for it to play with.  It seemed he had succeeded in doing exactly what he set out to do-- creating an artificially intelligent cat.  Minus the small error with the voice, of course, but he could fix that just as soon as he ordered new parts.

It wasn't until later that night that things soured.  The cat-- he hadn't bothered to name it, because why should he-- was sitting in his lap, purring quietly, then it looked up at him, still purring, and...

SCREECH.

But it didn't just make that horrific excuse for a meow.  It was still purring-- or trying to, and he could literally see the green lights that served as its eyes flicker as its whole body stiffened and extended, and it literally toppled off his lap.

Oh.

That was a problem.

He let out a defeated sigh and turned back to his laptop, opening up the code to peer at it again.  He was tempted to kick the machine, send it flying across the room, but he didn't want to scuff his shoes.  He couldn't have made a mistake, there was simply no plausible way, and he knew cats didn't naturally purr and meow at the same time, so maybe it was a virus?

But how could it have gotten a virus?  It wasn't even Wi-Fi enabled, and there definitely wasn't a virus on his laptop-- he had specifically designed it and built it to make that nigh-impossible.  The only person who could possibly dream of getting past his firewall was, well, him. He couldn't have made a mistake.  He had spent hours, no, days working on this programming.  He had checked it and re-checked it, there was absolutely no possible way there was an error that caused that to happen....

The robotic feline as back on it's feet, purring and rubbing against his legs, but he ignored it.  He had to figure this out.  He had to know what he'd done.  Or hadn't done.  He had to fix this, and fix it now.

He thought he found the error at one point, about an hour later.  He made an adjustment, plugged the cat back into his computer, re-uploaded everything...  And now the damned thing couldn't even walk.  It moved one leg, then another, then another, then the last, giving it some sort of strange, stunted hobble...  He reverted to the previous programming and went back to work.

It wasn't until he woke up with his cheek pressed into the keys of his laptop that he decided to give up.  He had been at it for...  Oh, hell.  If the clock on his computer was right (and he knew for a fact that it was), and judging by the way his body felt, he had slept for maybe four hours, which left thirty-six hours of unaccounted-for time in which he must have been frantically trying to fix this stupid cat.  Thirty-six hours, and not a single thing had helped.  Quite the contrary, everything he had thought may be a fix served only to cause another problem, or make the thing shut down completely...  All that work, wasted, all those materials, wasted....

Purr.

And there was the damned thing again, up on his desk, nuzzling his face and purring, pawing at his hand.  He reached out automatically and rubbed its head, which only made the purring intensify.  Maybe this stupid glitch was a problem for another day.  After all, it seemed as though the feline did function as intended, apart from this strange glitch and the horrific shriek that resulted from him not bothering to program in a proper meow...Maybe some decent sleep would help the solution appear more readily.

He spent the better part of a week working off-and-on on attempting to find a solution for this stupid glitch.  The cat, however, seemed unbothered, and spent the time prowling his safe house, doing what he could only assume were cat things, interrupted only by the need to charge its battery and that damned glitch, which he quickly noted seemed to happen more often when the battery was running low.  In fact, it happened so often in the hour immediately preceding it retreating to its charging dock that he began referring to it as a glitch instead of a cat-- and it was at that point that the robot, however unintentionally, gained a name. And yes, Glitch was a stupid name, but this was a stupid cat.  He would fix the problem and get rid of it, and if he couldn't fix it, he would just deactivate it and move on.

He made it as far as deactivating it one day, a few weeks later. Believing himself to be at his limit, all his resources exhausted, he turned the thing off and gathered up its supplies, leaving it in a corner to be forgotten.  He had failed.  He had failed, and no one could know about it.  He would destroy it, get rid of it before anyone ever even knew it existed, and try again with something different, something less stupid, something that wouldn't bother him at inopportune moments, looking for attention, something that wouldn't insist on curling up at the foot of his bed every night, or deliberately worm its way into his lap while he was trying to work...

The house seemed quiet.  Had he actually gotten attached to the stupid thing?  No, he couldn't have.  It was broken, and he had no want or need for broken things.  There was absolutely no reason he was staring at it now, no reason he was walking over to the corner where it lay discarded, definitely no reason he was gently scratching the deactivated machine's chin...

Damn it.

He sighed.  “This changes nothing, Glitch.  I still don't like you.”

But even as he hooked the machine to his laptop once more to reinstall the programming he had wiped from it, he knew that the statement was a lie.

[northofsomewhererp]

Your Name, Age (17+), & Timezone: Meg, too old, EDT

Zephyrine Oriana Bowie turned 17 years old on March 14th. She’s a junior at Greensville High School. Her faceclaim is Billie Eilish.

Bio:

As a lover of all things strange, you could guess that Zephyrine Bowie tends to stand out in a crowd. From her peculiar fashion sense down to her creepy obsession with the dead, she was never one to fit in.

When Mélissandre Thibert, her biological mother, passed away due to some post-birth complications, no one really knew what to do with the little girl. Her father was a one night stand: he’d never even pretended that he’d be a part of that child’s life, and Mélissandre didn’t expect him to be, either. Her life had been on a steady decline: she lost her job, was battling addiction and had just gotten dumped by whom she thought to be the love of her life. In some ways, Zephyrine was her saving grace, her one reason to try and get better. And for a while, it worked. But ultimately, she was in too poor a condition previously to be salvaged by 9 months of self-care.

When it all came down to it, the only person who stepped up to the task and wanted that child was Makani Bowie. He’d been a pen-pal of Mélissandre’s for nearly 10 years now, and although they hadn’t met more than 5 times, they made sure to talk every day and video chat weekly. It was nothing if not platonic, but nonetheless he was all she had left. With him residing in America and little Zephyrine being in France, it wasn’t an easy task. But after a long, strenuous process, he was finally able to adopt the little girl and bring her back to his home, in Greensville. Makani’s mother often referred to her as a demon, recalled seeing something ‘wicked’ in the little girl’s eyes the moment she was first brought into the family. Eff grew up alone with Makani and his son, Lazarus. Even without a mother, she never lacked anything: she’s forever grateful for that.

In elementary school, Bowie started to display an explosive character. She didn’t have a good relationship with her classmates. From the get-go, she was an easy target for kids to pick on. It didn’t help that at any given chances, Zephyrine would go on about how she believed in fairies, mystical creatures and witchcraft. But in all honesty, she couldn’t give a flying fuck about what others thought of her, she liked to embrace who she was and her beliefs. What were these kids to her anyway but mere classmates? When they started to spread vile rumors about her and her family, she started to lash out at them. Especially at girls. She’d decapitate their dolls and pick up fights. Pull, scratch and bite. During this time, she often found herself in the principal’s or the counselor’s office, and this carried on into her high school career. Needless to say she didn’t have many friends, still doesn’t. But she likes it that way. Now a junior in high school, it seems as if most of the kids she went to elementary with forgot about her. In fact, it was during the summer before her freshman year that her appearance took a drastic turn and she’s basically unrecognizable anymore. Zephyrine started getting inked and dyed her hair all sorts of fantasy colors. Her peculiar sense of fashion draws attention, but the good one this time. Eff is usually quiet, for the simple reason that she prefers discussing with the dead rather than the living. Yet she’s not afraid to speak her mind. It comes pouring out of her without any effort. In that sense, she’s incredibly blunt and lacks a filter. Some have called her rude, but she doesn’t care. Regardless, Bowie is a very smart and articulate young lady. What most people admire about her is obviously her open-mindedness. She’s also a big fan of DIY projects and any sort of crafts, which makes her somewhat resourceful. She’s someone that although you may need some time getting in their good books, once you’re in her circle you can always count on her.

Activity (1-10): 5

Have you read the rules?: removed

In the event that you leave, can we keep your biography for future use? *grabs zephyrine* no she my baby

Any comments/questions?: no thank u ♥

Sample( 2+ paragraphs):

Night had always been Zephyrine’s favorite time of day for as long as she could remember. The starry sky, chilly breeze and complete silence were only a few things she enjoyed. But tonight, she found herself in a totally opposite setting.

When her brother, Lazarus, asked her to tag along to a gathering on the beach, Zephyrine didn’t think twice about it. Their Meemaw was coming over, and no opportunity to be as far away from the woman as possible were taken for granted. What she hadn’t taken into consideration when blindly accepting was the amount of people that would actually attend, or how Laz was bound to dump her to go french some random person at some point in the night.

Zephyrine’s currently sitting in front of the bonfire, throwing anything she can find into the flame and watching it burn. She hasn’t spoken to a single soul, and Lazarus, of course, is nowhere in sight. It wouldn’t be as bad if the bonfire wasn’t surrounded by couples practically fucking right then and there. She hadn’t expected this big a turnout, and the crowd was starting to make her feel antsy. Throwing one last empty can of beer into the fire, Bowie decides to get up and head towards the shore.

The further away she gets from the crowd, the lighter her steps feel. It’s not that she was afraid of people, not at all. She was just very picky with people she allowed close to her. Eff held everyone to a higher standard due to past hurt, which made getting close to her very difficult. And Lazarus’ friends? They definitely weren’t her type. Funny how her brother was the person she got along with best, but his choice in friends was so poor. When she reaches the shoreline, Zephyrine crouches down and drags her finger against the damp sand. She isn’t drawing anything in particular, just letting her hands wander around and she finds herself way more entertained than she’d been the entire night. That is, before someone pulls her out from her bubble.

“Boo!” Lazarus startles his sister, bursting into laughs when she topples over face first into an incoming wave. Now drenched in ice cold water, Eff wipes a hand down her face.

“You motherfucker!” she exclaims, springing up into action and staring at him with wide eyes. She tries so hard to keep her angry act, but a smile can’t help to pull at the corner of her lips. This just amuses Laz further.

“I didn’t think you were so fucking clumsy, chill out Eff”, he rolls his eyes, and that earns him a hard shove from his sister. He stumbles but his feet remain planted into the ground. “Nice try, sissy.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m gonna catch a cold because of your dumb ass”, Bowie sighs. She grabs a handful of her hair and twists it so drain the water out. A slight rustling sound catches her attention and when she looks up, Lazarus is draping his jacket over her shoulders.

“Here. Are you having fun? Except the possible hypothermia, I mean”, he asks with a sheepish smile. He picks up a beer bottle, presumably his, and takes a long swig as he awaits her answer.

“Are you seriously asking me this, Laz?” Zephyrine retorts. “I thought you knew me better than that, wow”, she puts a hand over her heart, dramatizing the situation and that manages to make her brother chuckle.

“I know you’re dying on the inside, sue me for being hopeful. Y’wanna go home, then?”

“Your unbuttoned shirt and raw lips tell me you don’t”, she crosses her arms over her chest, an eyebrow quirking up as she eyes him from head to toe.

“Ah, shut the fuck up. It’s a party, what did you expect?” Lazarus counterattacks, visibly taken aback by the comment, flustered even.

“For you not to dip your dick in the first chick you see, maybe?”

“To be fair, I dipped it.. but in her mou-”

“Ah ah! Stop talking, TMI, Laz… TMI!” the girl interrupts him, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Fine, okay. Still doesn’t answer my question. You wanna go?” Zephyrine bites her lip, avoiding his gaze as she shrugs. “Zephyrine…” he warns, and that makes her snap her head up to finally look at him.

“…yeah, this sucks. And I’m cold. I just know you’re having fun and I don’t wanna force you to leave. But if Dad picks me up, then Meemaw’s gonna-”

“Zephyrine, calm down, it’s okay. This is getting boring, anyway. We ran out of beer, I’m good with leaving”, he reassures her, stepping closer and pulling her into a hug. He sways them from side to side, purposefully making them tip over as if to almost fall, but he catches them back every single time. They both laugh in unison, and that’s the first real laugh Effy let out tonight. Lazarus moves back only enough to look at her. “Even if I didn’t wanna leave, I’d leave for you”, he presses a soft kiss to her forehead, but she pushes him away.

“Gross, you’re drunk”, she states as she wipes away the spot on her forehead he’d kissed.

“Maybe I am, so what?”

“Don’t kiss me, period. Especially not when you ate pussy, you reek of it!” That comment makes Lazarus burst into giggles, almost falling over his sister. “God, you’re done, let’s go”, she wraps an arm around his waist and starts walking away.

A comfortable silence settles between them, and that’s something she always appreciated from her brother. There wasn’t a need for small talk, they could just revel in each other’s presence without a word spoken. And so, the entire walk home was spent without a word being exchanged. Zephyrine was cold, slightly buzzed and tired, but as they strolled through Greensville together, she couldn’t help but think maybe this night wasn’t so bad after all.

[bldgrelationshipwgod]

Narrow Is the Gate: What Did Jesus Mean?

Several times Christ gave advice that seemingly discourages rather than encourages people to become Christians. Why did He do this?

Surprisingly, all but a relatively small number of disciples turned away from Jesus by the end of His ministry!

The thousands that once chased our Savior like a celebrity apparently dwindled away to a few hundred after His death [Acts 1:15; 1 Corinthians 15:6].

How strikingly different the true picture is from the supposedly easy path to becoming a Christian by just giving your heart to the Lord.

Acts 1:15 | In those days Peter stood up among the fellow believers (a gathering of about a hundred & twenty) & said,

1 Corinthians 15:6 | After that, He appeared to more than five hundred fellow believers at once, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep.

In Matthew 7:13-14 we read of Jesus saying, “Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate & broad is the way that leads to destruction, & there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate & difficult is the way which leads to life, & there are few who find it” [emphasis added throughout].

Matthew 7:13-14 | Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate & broad is the way that leads to destruction, & many enter through it. But small is the gate & narrow the way that leads to life, & only a few find it.** [**omits “difficult” in following versions: Berean, NIV, NASB, KJV, ERV]

1.] Narrow gate, difficult path

The phrase “narrow is the gate” is fairly easy to understand.

A narrow gate is harder to pass through than one that is wide, & only a few people can go through a narrow gate at once.

In saying “difficult is the way which leads to life,” Jesus was explaining how hard being a Christian really is.

“Difficult” is from the Greek word thlibo, which means: “To press [as grapes], press hard upon; a compressed way; narrow straitened, contracted” [New Testament Greek Lexicon].

The lexicon adds that the word can be used metaphorically to mean “trouble, afflict, distress.” If Jesus wanted to draw people to follow Him, why did He tell prospective disciples that doing so would bring them grief?

To understand what He meant, let’s examine a few of the passages where He seemingly discouraged people from following Him.

2.] Advice to would-be followers

Luke writes of three encounters Jesus had with would-be Christians as He & His disciples were traveling.

One of them made a dramatic statement of commitment, saying to Christ: “Lord, I will follow You wherever You go” [Luke 9:57].

Luke 9:57 | As they were walking along the road, someone said to Jesus, “I will follow You wherever You go.”

Jesus didn’t reply, “Wonderful! Please join us!”

Instead, He said something that, at the least, would have caused a person to have second thoughts.

At the most, would have turned them away completely: “Foxes have holes & birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head” [v.58].

Jesus was conveying the uncertainty that could accompany the life of a true Christian.

Luke’s narrative continues with Jesus turning to another person & telling Him, “Follow Me” [v.59].

Luke 9:58 | Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens & birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay His head.”

Luke 9:59 | Then He said to another man, “Follow Me.” The man replied, “Lord, first let me go & bury my father.”

The person begged off, asking to be allowed to first bury His father. Since Jewish custom was to bury the dead ASAP, it is unlikely the person was out with the crowd around Christ with a dead father at home.

More likely, the person was asking to spend whatever remaining time he might have with an aging or perhaps ill father—an open-ended request actually.

The blunt record of Luke has Jesus responding to this man’s excuse, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go & preach the kingdom of God” [v.60].

Obviously, dead people do not bury anyone.

Here, Jesus was referring to those who were spiritually dead—people who had not responded to His teaching.

Jesus was telling the potential Christian that His calling was infinitely more important.

Then a third person, who was committed to becoming a disciple, made a seemingly reasonable request to first return home to say goodbye to whoever was at his house, whether family or guests we do not know [v.61].

To this person, Jesus responded: “No one, having put His hand to the plow, & looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God” [v.62].

We cannot know with certainty, but this person may not have been as committed as his Words make it sound. The Bible records only the essence of the exchange—what we need to know to understand the main point.

All 3 of these responses add clarity to Christ’s teaching that “narrow is the gate.”

In this third example, the added lesson was that Christians must continue to keep their eyes on the goal—God’s Kingdom.

An experienced plowman immediately recognizes the point of this analogy. When plowing, the farmer fixes his eyes on a rock, a hill or some other marker, so that he will plow straight furrows.

Although modern farmers with vast fields often use GPS equipment to accomplish this, the principle remains the same!

                    _____________________________________________________

3.] More little-known advice

A few CHs later, we find another insightful account about what we must do to become followers of Jesus Christ.

With a huge number of people crowding around to hear Jesus’ every word, He gave more examples not of how easy it is to give your heart to the Lord, but how heavy the obligation of becoming a Christian is.

     3a.] “Hate” those closest to you?

In Luke 14:26 Jesus said, “If anyone comes to Me & does not hate their father & mother, wife & children, brothers & sisters, yes, & their own life also, s/he cannot be My disciple.”

      This instruction seems strange until we understand the meaning of the        original language.

      The NKJV Study Bible explains: “To ‘hate’ one’s family & even one’s life is       rhetorical. It refers to desiring something less than something else”       [2007, notes on Luke 14:26].

      In other words, a Christian’s love for living God’s way of life has to be       greater than the love s/he has for any human relationship, as well as for self.

      Even clarified, the statement is rather unexpected.

3b.] Endure trials

      The next example was extremely graphic.

Jesus said, “And whoever does not bear their cross & come after Me cannot be My disciple” [v.27].

      Just as condemned criminals were made to carry the crosses upon which       they would be executed..

we must be willing to endure whatever trials we may face for being Christians.

3c.] “Count the cost”

      Next, Jesus spoke of a construction project.

      He pointed out that any responsible builder would consider the cost of the       entire project from start to finish & then make sure s/he had the       necessary funding to complete the project before s/he would even start.

      Beginning a construction project without considering funding could result in       an abandoned, partially complete building—a visual symbol of the builder’s       lack of judgment [v. 28-30].

This principle can also be applied to becoming a Christian.

We need to understand the challenges & hardships—that are sure to come when we begin living God’s way of life.

3d.] Consider your resources

      Jesus then gave an illustration about going to war.

      Quite simply, Jesus said that a king or general counts His troops before       engaging an enemy. Know in advance that victory is possible.

      Insufficient resources to win, makes peace instead of going to war       [v. 31-32].

      >> As for Christians, our battles are spiritual in nature.

      In reality, it is impossible for us to win this war by ourselves.

      Upon becoming a Christian, we need help of God’s great power—His       Holy Spirit—to achieve victory against overwhelming odds.

3e.] “Forsake all”

      Concluding His teaching on this occasion, Jesus said,       “So likewise, whoever of you does not forsake all that s/he has       cannot be My disciple” [v.33].

      The lesson here is that in order to truly follow Christ,          >> this must become the most important thing in our lives.

      Why would Jesus tell people that unless they met these undeniably       stringent standards, they could not become His disciples, Christians?

He was simply further expounding upon the principle that “narrow is the gate.”

                    _____________________________________________________

4.] John’s account

Another insightful passage of Jesus’ teaching on becoming a Christian is found in John 6:25-66. This section of Scripture is a composite of interactions with a variety of people.

Some wanted Jesus to repeat the miracle of producing food.

Some were in audiences of synagogues at which Christ spoke.

And some were Jewish leaders critical of Jesus.

John 6:25-66 | When they found Him on the other side of the sea, they asked Him, “Rabbi, when did You get here?”

Jesus replied, “Truly, truly, I tell you, it is not because you saw these signs that you are looking for Me, but because you ate the loaves & had your fill. Do not work for food that perishes, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.

For on Him God the Father has placed His seal of approval.”

Then they inquired, “What must we do to perform the works of God?” Jesus replied, “The work of God is this: to believe in the One He has sent.”

So they asked Him, “What sign then will You perform, so that we may see it & believe You? What will You do? Our fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’”

Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is My Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is He who comes down from heaven & gives life to the world.”

“Sir,” they said, “give us this bread at all times.”

Jesus answered, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to Me will never hunger, & whoever believes in Me will never thirst. But as I told you, you have seen Me & still you do not believe.

Everyone the Father gives Me will come to Me, & the one who comes to Me I will never drive away.

For I have come down from heaven, not to do My own will, but to do the will of Him who sent Me.

And this is the will of Him who sent Me, that I shall lose none of those He has given Me, but raise them up at the last day.

For it is My Father’s will that everyone who looks to the Son & believes in Him shall have eternal life, & I will raise them up at the last day.”

Christ began talking about physical manna & then explained that He was the true manna & that the way to salvation was by “eat[ing] My flesh & drink[ing] My blood” [v. 53-56].

Not understanding that He was talking about the Passover symbols of bread & wine, which represented His flesh & blood, many people abruptly stopped following Him [v.66].

On the surface, it again appears that Christ’s approach seemed illogical, because His words did not entice people to join Him.

Clearly, Christ did not want just numbers.

He wanted all who became His disciples—students or learners & members of the spiritual body called in Scripture “the Church of God” [Acts 20:28]—to make it through to the end.

They needed to know they would encounter the most difficult challenges of their lives. He would have been irresponsible had He failed to prepare the disciples.

Acts 20:28 | Keep watch over yourselves & the entire flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which He purchased with His own blood.

By analogy, failing to counsel them on the challenges they would face if they became Christians would be like taking a group of average citizens & sending them on a military mission meant for an expert team such as the U.S. Navy SEALS or the British SAS.

Without proper training, the people would not likely survive such a mission. And it would be disastrous for the mission itself.

God wants all to achieve their potential, & He wants Christians to understand the serious nature of their commitment to follow Him.

                    _____________________________________________________

5.] Christ never leaves those who commit

Of course, warnings about the challenge of becoming a Christian is not the only counsel Christ gave.

He also promised those who did commit to this way of life, “I will never leave you nor forsake you” [Hebrews 13:5].

The NKJV Study Bible comments, “This quotation is one of the most emphatic statements in the NT. In Greek it contains two double negatives, similar to saying in English, ‘I will never, ever, ever forsake you.’ Jesus uses the same technique to express the certainty of eternal life for believers [John 10:28].”

Hebrews 13:5 | Keep your lives free from the love of money & be content with what you have, for God has said: “Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.”

John 10:28 | I give them eternal life, & they will never perish. No one can snatch them out of My hand.

You may have heard the military saying “Never leave a person behind!” Similarly, the Father & the Son are fully committed to those who respond to God’s calling.

Jesus made a similar promise at the end of Matthew 28:18-20 saying He would never stop being with Church members at any time throughout the ages.

Matthew 28:18-20 | Then Jesus came to them & said, “All authority in heaven & on earth has been given to Me.

Therefore go & make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, & of the Son, & of the Holy Spirit, & teaching them to obey all that I have commanded you.

And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

                    _____________________________________________________

6.] What path are you choosing?

So why would anyone choose the narrow gate, symbolizing the way Christians must live, when it is such a difficult path compared to the smooth, easy way of the world?

Because there are often adventures, thrills & vistas available only to those who take the difficult path.

The difficult way brings rewards that those who remain on the smooth & easy way will never know!

Similarly, the experience of being in the Church is incomparably rewarding to those who are called of God.

They become part of the family of God now.

They serve in His work.

They are energized by interacting with people of like mind.

They anticipate reigning with Christ in the coming Kingdom of God.

They deeply appreciate being led by the Holy Spirit & understand that godliness has benefits for “the life that now is” & “that which is to come” [1 Timothy 4:8].

                   _____________________________________________________

Conclusion

Look at your level of commitment, which you can judge by:

>> how much you put into practice what you know God would have you do.

Would “narrow is the gate” describe the way you are choosing to live? Or, Are you choosing the smooth way, the way that meets the least resistance?

To learn more about becoming a Christian, be sure to read the articles in the “Change” section of this website.

Source: lifehopeandtruth via wisdomfish

[lisacongo2-blog]

Dear Restaurants, Your Inaccessibility Is the Opposite of Hospitality

This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to voices@eater.com.

Before I started using a wheelchair, the only time I ever had to call ahead at a restaurant was to confirm a reservation. It’s an easy call, and then you show up, enjoy your meal, and move on with your life.

When I first started using a wheelchair, I started calling ahead to restaurants every time I wanted to go out. Calling a restaurant to figure out whether they’re actually wheelchair accessible is far more complicated than confirming a reservation. Sometimes the employee on the phone mumbles vaguely, so I decide to try my luck without pressing the issue. Sometimes they answer unequivocally, but view the restaurant through the lens of not being disabled themselves, not realizing both the obvious and subtle challenges created by inaccessibility. Sometimes they answer unequivocally with an addendum. “Yes, we’re wheelchair accessible but.” But there’s a small step at the entrance. But you’ll have to come in the back door. But we can’t seat you near everyone else, there’s not enough room.

But.

This year, I stopped calling ahead and started simply showing up to restaurants, the way I did before I used wheels to get around. Because of a degenerative disease called hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, my joints dislocate extremely easily. Sometimes picking up a heavy fork is enough to dislocate my fingers. That’s a bummer, but the truly unfortunate part is trying to enjoy damn good food as a wheelchair user, because restaurants and eateries are notoriously inaccessible.

The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), a civil rights law, turned 28 this year. It aims to protect disabled people’s rights by prohibiting discrimination and ensuring equal opportunity in all areas of public life, including jobs, schools, transportation, and access to both public and private places open to the general public. Title III of the ADA prohibits private places of public accommodation from discriminating against disabled people — examples include hotels, restaurants, private schools, movie theaters, and so on, and requires businesses to comply to certain requirements regarding accessibility. Per the ADA, restaurants need to have entrances that are 36 inches across to accommodate a wheelchair; check-out counters must have one section no higher than 36 inches for the same reason. When seating is provided, like in restaurants, at least five percent of those tables must be accessible, “if doing so is readily achievable.”

Despite the law, I expect not to be accommodated — an expectation that usually becomes reality. Often, the restaurant’s front door is the first source of frustration: steps, even small ones, serve as major deterrents for wheelchair users. If I manage to get around those, I then have to grapple with physically opening the door, especially if there is no automatic door-opener button (or if the automatic button exists but is broken). Sometimes ramps have been constructed specifically for ease of access, but I have to wheel around the building or through a completely separate door in order to use it.

Once I finally make it inside the restaurant, I have to worry about finding a table. Typically, the hostess stand has been designed specifically for non-wheelchair users, which means I’m way too short to speak comfortably with the host or hostess. Waiting areas — usually populated by bulky benches — are designed specifically with non-disabled people in mind. Without a specifically designed nook to wheel into, I’m inevitably in the way. People bodily trip over me, and more than one person has tried to grab my chair by the handles in order to move me without my permission: Tantamount to grabbing me by the shoulders and shoving me elsewhere without my permission, far too many people assume incorrectly that my disability erases my autonomy.

It’s not unusual for the staff to have zero training in how to handle serving disabled customers. Sometimes they just stand there uncomfortably while my fiance moves a chair or other obstacles so I can have actual space to wheel in and sit. Non-disabled people all too frequently view accessibility as a frustrating waste of time, or as disabled people asking for undeserved extras. Restaurants are supposedly places dedicated to hospitality, but the clear reality when encountering ableism and inaccessibility is that my wheelchair functions to make me undeserving of quality service. Encountering this kind of discriminatory mindset never stops being hurtful and exhausting, no matter how many times I deal with it. Sometimes I encounter crude remarks from staff; in Chicago, a doorman who was checking IDs quipped, “You’re the first wheelchair person I’ve seen tonight. I mean, person in a wheelchair. That’s, um, different.” He paused briefly before continuing. “You nervous?” No, I’m not nervous: I’m infuriated by mediocre hospitality and being belittled, but none of these are new feelings.

Once the table is ready, I have to maneuver to my seat. Most f restaurants pack tables and chairs tightly together, leaving minimal clearance for me to pass through comfortably. I’m often left to weave through the crowds of diners alone, because the host or hostess has nimbly dashed off and abandoned me. Sometimes there are lifts created specifically for wheelchair users to move from one area of the restaurant to another, but restaurants that appear accessible on paper (or Google search) are not so much in practice. I’ve encountered too many places that provide a lift for wheelchair users to reach the upper levels of seats, but relegate that lift to use as a coat rack, or block its entrance entirely. This leads to an awkward scramble to clear coats or move chairs so the lift can actually function as designed — and the inevitable air of resentment that I’ve asked for access to begin with. Some restaurants have lifts that are only accessible in one direction; I can use them to get to outdoor seating, for example, but not to the main floor. Advertising accessibility that isn’t functional is useless; ultimately, accessibility is only worthwhile if it can actually be accessed by those of us who actually need to use it.

Getting to the table is obviously an effort, but sitting down is, too — especially if the restaurant has settled on hi-tops as a specific point of design. In the Bay Area, I’ve shared more than one beer with friends while staring at the side of the bar as everyone else towers several feet above me. One restaurant in downtown Oakland had no low-tops whatsoever; they seated me at the pass of the bar, which was still stacked with sundry supplies and garbage.

If I’m lucky, I manage to make it through the restaurant and to a spot at a table with minimal table jostling and minor (or no) injury to myself. Having to visit the restroom is where inaccessibility rears its ugly head once more. At one San Francisco restaurant, the bathrooms are all marked as accessible, but wheeling inside one stall made me realize it was impossible to close the door behind me.

Unfortunately — and fairly obviously — there’s no independent government agency actively doing regular inspections and handing out fines for ADA violations; infractions of the law are typically handled by complaints made by disabled humans like myself. The Disability Rights Section of the U.S. Department of Justice’s Civil Rights Division will investigate the complaint, but “will not necessarily make a determination on each complaints about whether or not there is an ADA violation.” Disabled humans can file their own cases in court, but that requires time, effort, and money to cover the cost of the lawyer — federal law allows a court to award reasonable attorney’s fees if the disabled claimant wins the lawsuit, but forbids the award of financial damages. Anything built after the passage of the law in 1990 has to be accessible, but businesses housed in older buildings get to fall back on easy outs, like their financial resources compared to the total cost of making accessibility adjustments.

Even today, most businesses don’t seem to take accessibility into account from the start, despite the fact that disabled people make up about one billion people worldwide, or 15 percent of the entire population. Here in the U.S., that equates to 56.7 million people, or 19 percent of the population, and that’s without acknowledging the reality of agingEventually, on a long enough timeline, everyone becomes disabled. Almost 42 percent of adults aged 65 or older have one or more disabilities and that number is only projected to increase, especially as baby boomers age.

That huge group of people is a hidden market of discretionary spending. According to a 2018 study by the American Institutes for Research, disabled people have disposable income totaling upwards of $490 billion — almost half a trillion dollars in market value. A 2003 study by the Open Doors Organization found that disabled diners spent $35 billion in restaurants that year; that same study found that more than 75 percent of disabled people ate out at restaurants at least once weekly. In 2012, the U.S. Office of Disability Employment Policy noted that people with disabilities are “the third largest market segment in the United States.” That market potential is even larger when considering friends, family, caregivers, colleagues, and others connected to disabled consumers.

Clearly, the idea of building inclusive, accessible design into restaurants is not just a charitable concept used to increase general goodwill. Disabled people have the money to eat out, and we want to spend our money in places that are willing to make the dining experience less stressful and more accessible from start to finish. Interestingly, on top of major spending power, a 2016 Nielsen study indicated that disabled people tend towards more brand loyalty than non-disabled people, which means we stick with someone once they’ve proved worthy.

Restaurants and bars that focus on accessibility do exist: Mozzeria, a pizzeria in San Francisco that’s fully deaf-owned and operated, was able to announce plans to expand nationwide after a major investment in late 2017. (The restaurant is also fully accessible.) Calavera Oakland, a Mexican Kitchen and Bar, has a fully accessible restaurant and a specifically designed lowered bar area that fits a wheelchair perfectly.

Tried, true, full accessibility always gets my vote when deciding where to eat out for an evening. The restaurant industry as a whole would benefit greatly from viewing accessibility as a major draw for a large chunk of the population with huge spending power. I like to imagine the day when I’ll be able to roll up to any restaurant without calling beforehand and experience a smooth, stress-free dining experience from start to finish.

Ace Tilton Ratcliff lives and works in Oakland, California with her fiancé, Derek, and their pack of wild beasts. Vance Lump is an illustrator in the Pacific Northwest. Editor: Erin DeJesus

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Source: https://www.eater.com/2019/1/16/18184376/restaurants-disabled-accessibility-americans-with-disabilities-act

[leftpress]

Jim Maloney: “I was the product of environmental racism”

Rana Encol | Featured Posts | March 17th 2017

Panel examines neglect of Aboriginal, African Nova Scotian and poor white communities

Jim Maloney is the District War Chief for the Shubenacadie District and a leader of the Sipekne’katik First Nation-led movement in opposition to the Alton Gas caverns project. Traditionally, Mi'kmaq territory was and is split into districts which run as far west as the Gaspé peninsula and south into Maine.

“The whole idea of giving and sharing and gifting has been practised by my people for generations and generations,” he said. “We've been here for 12,000 years” -- and suffering from environmental racism for at least four hundred years of colonial history.

Environmental racism refers to socially marginalized minority communities which are subjected to dispr...

oportionate exposure of environmental hazards, the denial of access to sources of ecological sustenance (such as clean air, water, and natural resources), or both.

Maloney apologized for having no handouts for those who gathered in the Weldon Law building to hear the panel on March 7: “But if you could see inside my brain, you'd see I was the product of environmental racism (for 71 years),” he says. “I have a reputation for being a professional pallbearer.”

Twenty-six of the 28 kids he went to school with are now dead, he explained. Based on the disparity between the life expectancy of an indigenous person compared with a settler, “we're being cheated out of 25 years,” he says.

Maloney has worked in 235 First Nations communities in Canada and the US and has served as police chief for five. He was appointed the chief investigator on the Donald Marshall inquiry into the wrongful conviction of a Mi'kmaq man in the case of the murder of a black teenager.

“Federal and Nova Scotia courts use our resource money to fight us in court, then tell us it is illegal for us to have legal representation,” he adds. From 1927 to 1985 it was “open season on our people” -- they couldn't log, fish, or otherwise use their own land. In a similar stride, the government spent $400,000 per day on RCMP support for Irving Oil during the 2013 protests against fracking in New Brunswick but Maloney stresses that the people won in the end.

Maloney grew up with his father in a tar paper shack with a dirt floor. There was no dentist: “a doctor would put me in a headlock and rip my tooth out,” he recalls. He ate salt pork, molasses and grease and went to bed hungry at night, and went to school month after month in this fashion.

“I know how racism feels, how it smells and tastes,” he says in reference to the poverty of his youth.

But his people are victorious: “We've won over 98 per cent of Superior Court cases.” But things are getting worse in some respects: there are now more indigenous people in jails and more RCMP on reserves, with the added insult of “our own people arresting our own people,” he says.

Maloney maps out the inequality as follows: indigenous people have 28,000 square kilometers of reserve land in Canada; farmers have twice the amount – and companies like Irving own hundreds of thousands of acres.

What with Trump-era talk of walls and the expansion of oil power like Exxon Mobil in the U.S., Maloney urgently asked those gathered: “I want you to take down that wall.” In other words, his struggle is synonymous with First people's and poor people's struggles around the world.

Stuart Gilby is a lawyer who has worked exclusively on indigenous rights cases in Canada since he attended law school at the age of 42. He has written the literal book on environmental racism, and gave some examples during the panel: There is a high rate of cancer at Eel Ground First Nation, where not only old people but young people are dying. Water looks like gasoline at one point in the Miramichi River where the community is located, though it's healing itself now and there are more fish.

Acadie First Nation in Yarmouth has had a junkyard serving as a dumping ground for abandoned car parts in their community since the 1960s.

Forestry is destroying indigenous culture and land.

“The department of the Environment is generally a joke!” he quips. “Lawyers have enabled this to happen for decades: lawyers who work for the government and industry.”

“Sometimes I feel ashamed to be a Canadian,” he finished. “Sooner or later, even Donald Trump is gonna have to realize climate change is not a myth.”

(Stuart Gilby is also the legal representative for the AFNCNB, the Indian Act chiefs in New Brunswick who have presided over and signed off on many environmentally destructive projects, including fracking and Energy East –editor's note.)

Associate Professor of Nursing and panel organizer Ingrid Waldon referred to a Lincolnville resident to pinpoint environmental racism in Nova Scotia as the practise of locating “industrial waste sites next to African Nova Scotian, Native and poor, white communities.”

She added that Robert D. Ballard, so-called father of environmentalism, says the discrimination is deeply rooted in the history of excluding African American and indigenous people from jobs, particularly in the green sector, or in decision-making processes.

She said there was a strategic aversion when it came to speaking candidly about race, when compared to other factors such as class and income.

Most people know about the sad history of Africville, where African Nova Scotians were literally pushed to the margins and denied basic city services in the 1960s. Lincolnville first put up with one, then another landfill. North Preston and East Preston share a waste dump one kilometre away from both. Shelburne is known as the “Community of Widows” because of the anecdotal evidence of cancer – so much so that there are disproportionately fewer men in the area.

People believe their are links between illness and proximity to the polluting industries. Some say they cause learning disabilities and conditions such as autism. People in Lincolnville are afraid of drinking the water and this causes psychological stress.

Environmental racism is quite gendered: exposure to toxic chemicals during pregnancy pose risks postnatally. One such example is “Cancer Alley” in Sarnia where there has been a noted disparity between male and female births. In the 1980s, indigenous women were leaders in the reproductive justice rights movement to recognize such dangers to their health and children.

Other solutions include the campaign for legislation such as Bill 111 (An Act to Address Environmental Racism), youth-driven art projects, and government and student involvement.

Most of all, it takes people speaking up and sharing their own experiences, and their hopes for a brighter future. 

After the presentation, Sa'n Herney, gleefully quipped: “What is a treaty? I never signed a treaty, I didn't have my tree-dee glasses on...” He did, however, have his metaphorical water goggles because he wanted to be able “to see a fish come right up to me and kiss me on the lips.”

Learn more about environmental racism through the ENRICH project: http://www.enrichproject.org/

[thecoliverlibrary]

Whatever Happened To Fay Wray?

Gift Type: Fan Fiction Title: Whatever Happened To Fay Wray? Author: @martianspyder Recipient: @awkwardbabyseal​ Rating: Mature Warnings: implied underage drinking, allusion to underage sex Word Count: 1376 Summary: Combining the prompts - Connor finds a pics of Oliver’s twink years and a sexy costume from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Author’s Note: Unbeta’d and rewritten on the fly after Open Office ate the original.

Of course it all started with Connor’s laptop dying.

It was during the full on madness of midterms and Connor had been overworking his already severely under maintained laptop well beyond its limits. So Oliver had done what any responsible boyfriend would do in that situation – he loaned him his laptop.

Not the one he kept for work with his collection of essential applications, hacking shortcuts and Minecraft mods. Nope. He was a good boyfriend but not a saint. Plus he’d witnessed Connor torturing one computer to death already. When all attempts at resuscitation had failed and Oliver had declared Connor’s laptop to be deceased, an ex-laptop if you will; the law student had turned frantic, pleading eyes in his direction.

Oliver had sighed, reached into the hall closet and brought out his second laptop. It was an older model that he only kept around in case his main one failed. It was really more of a glorified storage drive but it would give Connor access to his email and a search engine and Middleton’s online resources. Connor had been exuberantly, athletically grateful. When Oliver limped off to work the next morning, the love of his life was already ensconced on the couch amid various notes, textbooks and his old laptop.

Of course Oliver had severely underestimated his bright, inquisitive, nosy, boyfriend’s innate curiosity about all things Oliver-related.

Connor had come up for air at some point and had taken the opportunity to dig through some of the pictures of Oliver Hampton: The Awkward College Years that were backed up to this computer.

I’m a good person, I don’t deserve this, Oliver thought.

“Ollie!” Connor turned the full force of his smile on him. Oliver didn’t trust that smile at all. That was the smile that promised trouble and crumbled defenses. That was the smile that convinced him to skinny dip in his apartment building’s heated pool at three in the morning.

Helen of Troy had nothing on Connor Walsh.

Connor turned the laptop around so he could see the screen and look, there was twenty year old Oliver dressed in a hot pink mesh shirt and black leather pants ready for his first disastrous foray into the Philly club scene.

“I found all these pictures of this hot, nerdy twink.” Connor grinned playfully and flipped through more pics. There were pictures Oliver wearing his old glasses and a Yoda t-shirt at the PhilaU library, Oliver wearing safety goggles and a lab coat as he worked on a class project, Oliver with his old LARP buddies in homemade chainmail.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Oliver tried to deflect.

Oliver sat on the couch and pulled the laptop closer. Connor settled against him and hooked his sharp chin over Oliver’s shoulder.

“I mean, you’ve only gotten hotter,” Connor kissed his ear, “But can you imagine if we’d met back then?”

Oliver scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You would have been underage and I wouldn’t have touched you.”

Connor gave him a strangely somber look. “No, you wouldn’t have.” 

Oliver could almost see the moment that Connor shut down that train of thought, like a vault door slamming shut. It made Oliver’s fingers itch to track down all of Connor’s old boarding school hookups. It would be so easy.

Connor turned a flirty, seductive smile to Oliver and it was like the sun shining through a storm cloud. Oliver was so distracted by that smile, he failed to notice that Connor was clicking open the folder marked Dragon Con 2004 until it was too late. 

“I was wondering about this.” Connor started a video. A video of a 20 year old Oliver in full costume drunkenly performing the finale from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Accompanied by his equally drunk and costumed college friends. 

“Come on, “Nomi had said, “you’ll make a perfect Brad! You have a great singing voice and you already have the glasses.”

Oliver had though at first that opting to play Brad would get him out of having to wear some of the more revealing RHPS costumes.  

Then they had decided to do the song and dance routine from the finale. The one where all the characters, including Brad, were wearing matching corsets, stockings and feather boas. 

“Don’t worry dude,” Charlie had reassured him, “what happens at Dragon Con stays at Dragon Con.”

Then she had made sure to get the whole thing on video. Jesus, he needed new friends.

Connor had gone oddly quiet and was entranced by the video playing out on the laptop screen. 

“Do you think you still have that outfit stashed away somewhere?” He asked without tearing his gaze away from the screen. 

Oliver instinctively braced himself for mockery before he really looked at Connor. His eyes were wide and his skin slightly flushed. Not the demeanor of someone who was gearing up to mock his boyfriend’s odder sartorial choices. 

“Do you think you still have that outfit stashed somewhere?” Huh. “I didn’t realize that this was something you were into,” Oliver said with a smile. 

“I’m into you.”  

Connor batted his eyes in that way that showed that he already knew that he was going to get his way. Oliver couldn’t even find it in himself to be upset, because it was true. 

“Nope.” He kissed him before Connor could plead his case. “You know that was ten years ago, right? It wouldn’t fit me, even if I still had it.”

He was no Nate Lahey but Oliver had worked very hard and was no longer the skinny geek he’d been in college. Unable to stand the disappointment in Connor’s expression, he added. “ Why don’t you concentrate on making it through the week without collapsing and I’ll see what I can put together.”

“Now - since you’re obviously taking a break from studying, maybe I can interest you in dinner and some company?” He leaned forward and sniffed in a deliberately obnoxious way. “But first, you should shower. Have you even moved from this couch all day?”

Connor moved to comply with a gratifying quickness, while casually throwing out an invitation to join him. 

“I’ll be right there.” Oliver chuckled as he took a quick look at the video paused on his laptop. He had a look to recreate.

Two weeks later.

“Honey I’m home!” Connor called out as he tossed his keys onto the counter. 

“Are you alone?” a familiar voice called out. 

“That sounds ominous” 

Connor stopped short of the entrance way to their bedroom and just stared. “You remembered.”

There - lounging on their bed was his amazing, gorgeous boyfriend. He was dressed in a close approximation of the promised Rocky Horror outfit. The corset top - lacy instead of sequins - accentuating a smoothly muscled torso, fishnet stockings and spiked heels making his legs look even longer. Oliver stood up and stalked toward Connor, more graceful than anyone should be on balanced on stiletto heels. 

Connor was still standing quietly with a somewhat pole-axed expression. Oliver put a hand up to touch his face, concerned that he somehow managed to break his boyfriend. He leaned forward and kissed him softly, the heels giving him a pleasant height advantage. “Everything okay?”

Connor stretched up and deepened the kiss before pulling back and throwing him a heated look. 

“I really need to you to fuck me now.”

Connor found himself pressed back against the wall, Oliver’s palm coming up to cradle the back of his head before it bumped into the wall. From there it was a haphazard journey across the room to the bed, slamming into the dresser, nearly knocking over the mirror. Connor shedding clothing like a snake shedding its skin with every step. 

Somehow Connor ended up pressed face down on their bed, the stiff lace of the corset scratching against his back and fishnets rubbing the inside of his thighs with every thrust of Oliver’s hips. He had been moaning almost continuously since they’d started against the wall and now he let out a hoarse scream as he felt Oliver sink teeth into his shoulder to stifle his own cries as he filled him up.

Later on they curled together, grinning at each other like idiots before falling asleep wrapped up in each other.