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straightlikewetspaghetti · 4 years ago

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Detective, Stripper and Executioner

Pairings:

Main: Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)

Secondary: Veronica x Zoey, Ina x MC (mentioned)

Warnings: Mature themes, mention of death

A/N: I wrote this after I hit my head, so don't mind me 🙈

The sun was already going down to let the moon shine in the sky, when Bea Hughes threw out a still smoldering cigarette on one of the city streets.

"I thought you quit."

The brunette turned at the sound of a familiar voice and saw her best friend and partner she could only dream of, smiling in her direction. She and Zoey were practically an inseparable duo after they graduated and lived together for a short time.

At the police station, they were second to none.

Zoey, was the best at talking and getting information, even the toughest guys are no match for her charm and cunning. Bea, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of her partner: cool and composed, with a hint of madness that was her ace up her sleeve.

Everything changed after a certain event that shook Bea's world and made her resign from the service for some time and completely cutting herself off from public life. The situation was so dramatic that the woman even pushed away her best friend, whom she damn well needed at the time.

But Zoey understood.

She always knew that what brought the two of them together was stronger than titanium and that they would always find a way to get back together. She loved her like sister and couldn't imagine life without Bea's sarcastic and cold comments.

"Because I dropped it." the brunette shrugged her shoulders, a smile visibly pulling at the corners of her mouth, just as a pleasant feeling grated on her heart. "On the ground, didn't you see?"

Zoey couldn't hold it in and laughed ruefully. Bea wasn't entirely sure if it was from her idiotic joke or just the fact that they were finally seeing each other. It had been a long time since she had felt such inner peace and happiness as she did now, listening to the black-haired girl laugh.

"Zoey, it's really good to see you." she walked up to the woman and gave her a friendly hug, letting the contact last minimally longer than usual.

"I wish the situation was different." the black-haired woman sighed deeply and her cheerful expression changed to one of clearly painted fatigue, which didn't escape Bea's attention as she nodded thoughtfully.

It wasn't until she got closer that she could see how big the bags under her eyes were and how much her eyes had lost their natural youthful glow. Bea felt guilty that because of her, Zoey was sure to have a lot more work to do, which even aged her mildly in appearance.

Bea is not the emotional type, but she was really worried about her friend.

"Detective Hughes, Wade." a feminine authoritarian voice interrupted their conversation and both women visibly tensed. Zoey straightened immediately as Bea slid her hands into the pockets of her coat. This is going to be good.

A woman with light brown hair and skin as white as milk, whose beauty rivaled that of many goddesses, walked toward them. The way she walked exuded power and dominance, making the heads of onlookers automatically turns in her direction. Everything from her feet to the top of her head had to be perfect.

“Chief Kingsley! How nice to see you." despite the cheerful tone with which Zoey spoke those words, the note of sarcasm was impossible to miss. The black-haired woman shifted from foot to foot, visibly troubled by the presence of the third woman.

Bea only watched Ina with cool, calculating eyes, who did not even take her eyes off her from the beginning. The woman hadn't changed since the last time they'd seen each other, and that was when the brunette had the opportunity to get to know her up close. Very close.

To this day, the scent of Ina's perfume could be smelled on her bed sheets.

She cringed as inappropriate memories began to flood her consciousness, stimulating something in her that she didn't want. There was no time for weakness in the workplace and women and romance were the worst of them.

"Who's the victim?" she asked once she was sure her voice wouldn't break under the strain of the very upsetting emotion that like a virus, had seeped into her system and was slowly wearing it out.

"Ford Tuantie, 28, single with a definite overactive sex life. He was strangled."

Another female voice interjected before Ina had time to say anything and the startled women flinched at the sound of it.

"Jesus!" Zoey was horrified, jumping away from the woman kneeling on the ground. "You should walk with a bell around your neck!" How long have you been here?" she asked surprised to see Veronica carefully scanning every last detail of the victim's body, furrowing her brows every now and then in wonder.

Veronica Lombardi was one of the best pathologists in the entire country. Her work ethic was as impeccable as the room she worked in. Her only flaw was her sharp temper, which she considered her greatest asset and source of pride.

The only person who was able to bend her was Bea. Though lately, Zoey's been doing it. On many levels.

"All the time, that's the job." she shrugged her shoulders without taking her eyes off the victim. "You'd know if you were doing yours properly." She added teasingly, winking at the woman. A red blush of embarrassment spread across Zoey's face.

Ina grunted loudly, visibly annoyed by the spectacle.

She stepped between the two women and focused her attention on Veronica, who made no secret of the fact, that she would be most happy to ignore her. "You mentioned about a sex life?"

Bea moved away a piece further, dragging an even redder Zoey with her to question potential witnesses to the incident, leaving the two women alone with each other. The tension between them was highly visible. Anyone who worked with them knew, that Ina and Veronica together, were only good at jumping down each other's throats.

"The man lying here is a perfect example of why I prefer women." she said proudly, tilting her head slightly to the side and tucking the genetic sample into a container.

"To the point, Lombardi." Ina snorted visibly disturbed by her subordinate's unnecessary comments.

"Of course." Veronica rolled her eyes discreetly. "I found several sachets of condoms in his pockets. In addition to the strangulation marks on his neck, there are visible scars on his body from fingernails, rather feminine if I may add." seeing the chastising gaze of her superior again, Veronica only sighed.

Ina nodded and walked around the man's body looking for any particular clues, but was unable to see anything special.

"He still had this in his pocket." Veronica carefully handed the woman a crumpled paper, which when unfolded turned out to be a flyer for an exclusive adult club in a nearby area.

After a brief examination, Ina nodded in acknowledgement and approached Zoey, who was talking animatedly with the witness, almost giving the impression that she was flirting with him.

"Wade, you and Hughes go to the strip club where our victim was last seen alive." just as Veronica had earlier, the woman held out her hand with the flyer and showed it to the black-haired woman, who scanned it with a sharp eye in a flash.

Zoey's eyes lit up and she had to concentrate hard not to show her superior how happy she was to be going to such a club. There's rarely time to relax in a job like this, so every opportunity like this is worth its weight in gold.

Plus, sexy women.

"Oh god, stop drooling already Wade." Ina crossed her arms over her chest, chastisingly looking at the woman standing in front of her. She never would have expected to be assigned a bunch of kids like that. "Pathetic." she chuckled as she walked away, leaving Zoey alone with herself.

***

"You'll like this." Zoey said excitedly, parking the work car in front of the large building from which the hushed rumble of music could be heard.

"A strip..." Bea said grimly as she turned her attention to the large led sign with the outlines of a cocktail and a naked woman. "Club." she finished looking towards her partner, who was looking impatiently at the large door leading to the supposed paradise.

"Well don't tell me it won't be interesting!" Zoey darted out leaving the dazed brunette behind and without looking back, disappeared into the fog and the glow of dim red lights.

Bea didn't like places like this; loud, overcrowded and dripping with visible sexual tension. The music rumbling in the distance made her slightly dizzy, and the thick fake fog floating around, limited her vision.

It was distracting, and the last thing she needed was trouble focusing on her work.

Having trouble finding her partner, Bea leaned against the nearest pillar and scanned her, surroundings once more, this time more calmly. Her gaze stopped on a single dancer who, for some reason, particularly caught her attention.

The woman's cascade of blonde hair glinted in the muted red light, imitating as if sparks were dancing between the strands. She wore a carnival mask over her face, but Bea was sure she was the most recognizable figure here. Her shapely body bent to the rhythm of the music, intimidating everyone who looked at her with its divinity.

In front of the stage was quite a large crowd of fans, who surprisingly were able to stand on their own feet.

As if sensing the brunette's gaze on her, the woman raised her head, crossing their gazes: hers mysterious and inviting, Bea's cool but excited.

The blonde winked flirtatiously, definitely sensing how Bea was responding to her hypnotic hip movements, which, accompanied by slow, sexual music, were impossible to look away from.

A slightly out of breath Zoey interrupted their moment, as she shielded her view of the stage and made Bea snap out of her strange trance.

"We're looking for a dancer nicknamed Queen B. Blonde hair, mostly performs in pink lingerie and a tiara on her head. She's supposedly very popular here, so I think we'll have no problem finding her."

"Not even a little bit." whispered Bea, who, without saying anything else, began to head towards the stage where the woman they were looking for had just danced. A strange feeling of indefinable excitement grew in Bea with every step, that brought her closer to meeting this mysterious Queen B.

As she walked backstage, a sweet rose scent hit her nostrils, enveloping her senses and making her slightly dull. How long had it been since she had smelled such a sexy feminine perfume? And how long had it been since the last time anyone had affected her in any way other than repulsive?

"I knew you'd come here." an especially lowered female voice echoed through the room, causing the women's heads to immediately turn in its direction.

From a distance Queen B was phenomenal, but up close she was arousing feelings of such intense lust in Bea, that she had not yet felt with any other woman. She almost felt guilty. Almost.

Zoey looked questioningly at her partner, but when she looked away, she smiled in understanding. This would be fun to watch.

"I'm detective Hughes, and this is detective Wade." she nodded in Zoey's direction, trying to ignore with how much curiosity the blonde's eyes were skimming over her body. "We're here to ask about your yesterday's client, a certain Ford Tuantie."

The blonde mused for a moment tilting her head to the side and revealing a piece of her slender neck. If Bea could read women's language, she would have thought she was doing it on purpose to distract her.

"Ah yes, Ford." she began, completely changing her tone of voice to a more formal one.

She stretched out in one of the comfortable looking pink couches and indicated to the others to sit too. Without a word of objection Zoey and Bea complied with the woman's silent request and followed suit, occupying the sofa next to her. The blonde seemed very pleased with herself for some reason, but her face became formal again.

This woman's ability to change her emotions was remarkable.

"Ford and a couple of his colleagues were popular VIPs here. From what I recall, they even formed a club for themselves." the woman shifted her leg over and clenched her thighs together, absolutely certain that Bea would take notice.

She wasn't wrong.

"When was the last time you saw him?" asked Zoey, noticing how Bea was focused on everything else but the blonde's words, which was totally unlike her.

But that was the truth. Bea watched diligently as the woman's full and seductive lips spoke words, whose meaning didn't even reach her in the slightest. It was like a charm had taken hold of her, and she didn't want to look for an anti-spell.

How many lonely nights had it been?

"Today he was here for a while. As I think about it now, he was clearly arguing with one of the members of this club of theirs. It almost would have come to hand-to-hand, but the security here is very good. Nothing goes unnoticed here." again that cursed wink, as if the last part of her statement, was specifically directed at Bea.

"The bartender can tell you more, he heard the whole incident and I don't like to gossip. I'm a fan of discretion." a flirtatious smile, flutter of eyelashes. Women who know how their charm works on others, are damn dangerous.

Zoey nodded and rose first from the couch. "We'll contact you if we have any other questions, thank you." without looking back the woman left the room. Her behavior worried Bea, who saw the strange look Zoey gave the two of them, before she disappeared back into the depths of the club.

Bea moved to follow her, but something stopped her. Obviously.

"Detective?"

She closed her eyes taking a deep breath. How could one stupid word she said, have more of an impact on her, than her entire previous relationship? She clenched her hands into fists feeling the blonde's gaze burn a hole in her back, but said nothing, waiting for the other to continue.

A strange silence descended on the room, not even drowned out by the rumbling music from the main room and the whistling of the men. At this point, the two of them were in a completely different reality, which was even more dangerous than coming face to face with a murderer. Or rather, that's how Bea felt when she began to hear the clatter of heels heading her way.

She turned on her heel and immediately her neck was encircled by the blonde's arms, which clung to the brunette's stiff body. Fortunately, Bea had her poker face trained, so when she looked down at the satisfied blonde, her expression betrayed no emotion, not even the slightest.

"I'm here almost every day." she muttered and her hot breath brushed against the brunette's neck, a pleasant lightning bolt coursing through her body.

Bea had to use all her rationality to disentangle herself from her embrace and move away, instead of pressing into her inviting lips. She momentarily felt the absence of this woman at her side. She cursed in her mind at her weakness. She was acting like a horny teenager.

Queen B rolled her eyes playfully and bit her lower lip. Now she looked like a child, who was trying with all its might to solve a mathematical equation on its own, but no matter how much it wanted to, it couldn't. After a few moments, her face clouded over, which completely knocked her out of her character.

"Be careful, Detective Hughes. There's more going on here, than you think." was it possible that worry was painted on her face?

"What do you mean?" she asked, but the woman's face returned to its previous flirty expression and Bea knew she wouldn't get her answer, and she didn't have time to force it.

Turning around, she walked out of the room this time, squinting to find Zoey. She didn't spot her anywhere so she figured the black-haired girl would be waiting for her outside.

When she emerged from the club the moon was already towering in the sky and the air was cool and refreshing.

Zoey leaned against the hood of the car, moving her leg every now and then as if in nerves. She looked mightily pissed off and Bea was sure it was her behavior, that had caused the black-haired girl to be in this state now. If she had heart, it would have broken in half at the thought of the conversation, that was probably about to take place.

"Damn it Bea!" irritation in her voice was definitely noticeable. "Get a grip on yourself, you're a detective, not a frisky teenager! People's safety is in our hands!"

Jealousy?

"I know I acted unreasonably, which could have affected our investigation, I really do." Bea said cautiously, but the trigger had already set off much earlier and steam was almost coming out of Zoey's nostrils. There were moments when the black-haired woman scared her to the core and right now, the brunette would most like to hide inside her four walls.

"You don't know shit Bea..." in the blink of an eye her voice went to the verge of crying, as if all the negative emotions that had been accumulating during their separation had just exploded and pierced the fake facade of her composure. "That day, you weren't the only one who lost someone. I lost someone too." tears began to drip from Zoey's eyes, which Bea felt like wiping away, but she didn't move. "My best friend."

Those words hit her right in the feels.

"Zoey..." Bea said her name in a pleading tone, which worked the other way and upset the black-haired woman again.

"I don't feel like talking to you anymore tonight." those were the last words Bea expected to hear. She had an incredible urge to run up to her, hug her and apologize for all those moments of separation, but she respected her too much to invade her space

As the black-haired woman approached the car the deafening silence was pierced by a terrible bang, followed by Zoey's body falling to the ground, motionless, with a loud thud.

"Zoey!"

#playchoices #choices #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #veronica lombardi #ina kingsley #zoey wade #queen b

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etlunainmorte · 5 years ago

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🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

XXXI

***

Держи меня близко, крепко

Заклятие явилось твое

Это и есть la vie en rose.

Когда Ты целуешь меня

Полные вздоха небеса

Сквозь веки я вижу la vie en rose.

Если крепко прижмешь меня

К сердцу, явлюсь я вне мира

Там, где розы разцветают,

Где ангелы с тобой поют,

Где каждый день слова полны любви

Я жду сердца твоего и души

Сделай это и жизнь всегда будет

La vie en rose.

Где каждый день слова полны любви

Я жду сердца твоего и души

Сделай это и жизнь всегда будет

La vie en rose.

V woke up to the sound of Natasha's voice singing the Russian version of La Vie En Rose, and realized she was nowhere near him. He closed his eyes, rubbing them and trying to rid the sleep off them, and opened them once more, seeing the same unit he was staying at for almost two weeks.

Of course, (Y/N) hasn't been found yet, and they have, in fact, searched through all the places they could think of where she might be. They contacted Morrison, Trish, Lady, and Dante to join the search but, to no avail. He even worked both Cassandra and Andromeda to their bone to produce a vision, any kind at all, that could tell them where she went. But, they just couldn't trace her despite the fact that she was their former master. Even Griffon, who she was contracted with, announced one day that the markings on his skin that connected him to her vanished. He saw this, therefore proving that the familiar was not telling a lie.

It was like she disappeared off the face of the earth with no traces left, whatsoever.

He did have a vision, of an unknown person visiting her and taking her away.

But, who was this person? He has never seen them before.

Scratching the back of his head, he sat up from the sofa he was sleeping at, stood, and decided to go to the bathroom to wash his face. But, he was not even two steps in when his feet collided against something solid on the ground. He looked down at it and noticed the Yamato on the floor next to his feet.

Finally remembering that he used the weapon to go to different places in search of her, he picked it up and placed it on the table next to his metal cane.

Will he search for her today? Definitely.

But, where? He has searched practically everywhere.

With a deep sigh, V turned and finally decided to go to the -

He slowly looked back and took a good long look at the Yamato on the table. He strode towards it and effortlessly grabbed it. He unsheathed it and sheathed it once more.

Maybe. Just, maybe,...

V walked towards an empty space, unsheathed the Yamato, and effortlessly ripped a portal in mid air. He sheathed the weapon and walked towards the portal, hoping the vision he saw earlier would help him with his search,...

As she was hopelessly browsing through a language manual she just bought, she almost bumped into a person rushing towards the plaza.

"I'm sorry!" She apologized but, she was ignored, most probably because the person didn't understand her.

Which led her to think that she was, yet again, in another non - English speaking country.

She buried her nose on the pages of the manual with a map in it, wondering where Andromeda brought her this time,...

... then, she felt it. A pair of sharp eyes looking at her from a distance. She looked up from her manual and turned, noticing a lone painter on the pavement busily brushing away on his large canvas. She curiously looked at him, and a few moments later, he looked up at her.

Noticing that he was finally seen, he shyly looked down on his work and continued working like nothing happened.

She shook her head and smirked as she put a hand on her hip. Then, she simply walked towards him and saw, in utter surprise, what he was working on. It was a painting of her. Well, it was a work in progress but, it was definitely good!

"That looks awesome." And she was saying the truth.

"Ti ringrazio, ma ho ancora molto da imparare." The painter replied.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she browsed through her manual once more, trying her very best to know what language he just spoke. The painter noticed this and laughed, his beautiful voice ringing all over her head.

"I only know a bit of English, so I hope you could understand me." The painter told her.

(Y/N) breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing English on his lips and introduced herself. "Am I glad to hear that. My name is (Y/N). And you are?"

The painter smiled once more, the dimple on his cheek showing. "Molto piacere di conoscerti (Y/N), il mio nome e Cagliostro e sono un artista. As you can see."

"Oh, ah," she mumbled, scratching the back of her head in confusion. "Nice to meet you, ah,..."

"Cagliostro."

"Cagliostro! Yes,..."

"Hey, stop right there!"

V heard that familiar voice as he arrived at the place. Then, all of a sudden, a little boy, about seven, ran towards him and hid behind him.

"I said,... FUCKING STOP RIGHT THERE!"

The poet looked up and saw Nero, wearing what looked like a white, frilly apron over his red shirt and ripped jeans, running towards him with all four of his arms ( both flesh and translucent wings ) raised above his head in anger. The little boy behind him clutched at his pants, clearly frightened of Nero.

"I think you're scaring the boy too much." V uttered as Nero's eyes widened upon seeing him.

The young Devil Hunter lowered his arms, a smile slowly creeping up his lips. "Ha! You have no idea how naughty that boy gets!"

"And how so?"

"Like that."

V turned just in time to see the little boy putting a caterpillar on the pocket of his pants, and when he noticed that he was finally seen, he gave him a wide, toothy smile. Then, he ran back to the little house where Nero just came from, the caterpillar still on his hands.

"See?" Nero told him.

"I could see that. Yes." The poet answered.

An awkward silence filled the air around them, and when Nero spoke once more, V felt his nerves tense.

It was actually the first time he properly spoke with Nero knowing that he's his son. And he, the long lost father.

"Would you like to come into the house?" Nero offered.

V cleared his throat and answered, "Gladly."

The awkward poet found himself sitting in one of the wooden chairs in the simple kitchen a few moments later surrounded by three little children who were very curious as to his sudden presence in the house.

"Why are your eyes green?" A little girl asked him as she stood on her little toes to take a closer look at V's eyes.

"Are you old?" The boy with the caterpillar questioned. "Because you have white hair!"

"Is your mother not feeding you well? You look so skinny!" The third child questioned as she poked V's arms.

"Alright, kids! Try not to terrorize that man and play somewhere else." Nero boomed as he entered the room.

"But, Nero!"

"You heard me! Now, go!"

The three children whined as they left V alone and went outside to play, finally giving him some privacy with Nero.

The young Devil Hunter sat down across V and noticed the wilting camellias in the lone flower vase in the middle of the table. "Whoa, that needs to be changed." He grimaced, then turned to V. "So, how's it going? Hope Nico's not annoying you."

"No, she's not." V answered.

"Oh."

There was that awkward silence once more. God, how could he explain everything that happened since the last fifteenth of May?!

"Nero, I - " V stuttered until Nero held up his hands to stop him from talking.

"I know. You don't need to explain. Dante told me everything."

Of course, Dante did. "I see."

The son hummed as he leaned an elbow against the wooden table. "So, have you seen her? (Y/N)?"

And that too? "No. Not yet."

"Oh, that's too bad. You know, Kyrie really wants to meet her personally. To have some girl talk, you know what I'm saying."

"Indeed."

"Hmm."

As Nero noticed the ever growing bags under V's eyes, he mustered all his courage to finally confront him regarding that one thing that occurred in Red Grave when they were still working together to bring down the Dreadnought.

And so, with difficulty in breathing, Nero cleared his throat and went on. "About what happened two weeks ago. In Red Grave, during the Dreadnought operation,..."

V noticed the change in Nero's tone and caught on with what's probably going to happen next. "Yes,... ?"

Nero's eyebrows furrowed as his lips clearly formed a thin line. He didn't know how to start the conversation, and now, he was actually trembling from his knee down to his feet. "Did you,... umm,... how do I say this?"

V watched his son as he grabbed fistfuls of his hair and started pulling on them like he really was having difficulty opening up to him. He took pity upon the youth and smirked at him. "Go on." He urged.

"Okay." Nero breathed as he tried to calm down. "Do you,... umm,... did you,... ah,... ? Shit! Did you really love (Y/N)? Hey, I know the question is weird but, I - "

"I love her. And I still do." V answered truthfully.

"Okay. Forgive me for being an asshole for asking this but, why did you make things so fucking complicated? I mean, I know you're being manipulated and all but, you should have, at least, reciprocated when you still had the chance. Come on, man! You were so obvious as daylight back then! And I could still remember Nico and I have told you to confess but, you didn't. Well, she did but, look what happened to her."

"Forgive me." That's all I could say. "I do not have the right to say anything else other than forgive me."

"Well," Nero answered as he scratched the back of his head. "... there's no point in that now, is there?"

"... there isn't."

Nero sighed as he leaned an elbow against the table once more. "I asked her this the last time we met. I said, so, you still love him? V? And do you know what she said? She told me, after all this time,..."

"Yes."

Both father and son turned as they saw Kyrie enter the room. She was holding some fresh pink camellia flowers that she, then, put in the flower vase in exchange for the old, wilted ones.

"Nero has told that story to me many times already." Kyrie told V as she arranged the fragile flowers. "It's too bad that I didn't get to meet her."

"Kyrie, you're making the man feel even more guilty." Nero told her as he lovingly watched her take away the wilted flowers.

"And you did so first." The lovely woman candidly answered.

"Yeah. Right. Oh, umm, Kyrie, I'd like you to meet, umm,..."

"You can just call me V." The poet introduced himself as he held out a hand in front of her. "Nero's father."

Nero's little gesture of scratching his temple while shyly hiding his flustered face didn't go unnoticed by both the poet and the woman. Kyrie smiled as she took V's on her own. "My name is Kyrie. It's so nice to finally meet you. Oh and, the children gave me this. They told me it's for you because you looked sad." Kyrie said as she took out a single piece of paper from her pocket.

"Thank you." V unfolded the paper and saw a charming illustration of a family in it. Of a father, a mother, and their two children. All four of them were standing right next to a house, the huge, yellow sun smiling down at them.

Then, V was plunged into that vision once more,...

"Cagliostro?" (Y/N) called as she saw the multiple paintings of her in the wall of the painter's house.

Over the years, the man never stopped capturing her image on his own canvas, and over those ten years she has known him, his paintings of her gradually became more and more accurate as he improved with the craft he's passionate with.

But, now, she must say goodbye to Cagliostro. For as of late, some people were beginning to notice the lack of changes within her physical form.

Like Alicia, who mysteriously pushed her away from her life, they were now suspecting something about her. And they should, for she was not entirely herself for the last ten years.

In fact, she was no longer herself the moment she let those entities possess her body for this mission she's trying to fulfill over those said years since escaping the Pale Ones.

"Cagliostro?!" She called once more and was utterly surprised to see him emerging from his room bearing a bouquet of pink camellias.

She felt her stomach drop on the floor and her heart twist in pain as she saw him walk towards her with that look on his face.

"Cagliostro, I - "

"(Y/N)," the painter began. "... durante tutto questo tempo il mio cuore era votato all'arte e alla pittura, e i miei esercizi e miglioramenti erano i miei baci e carezze per lei, pensavo che sarebbe stata l'unica cosa che avrei amato per tutta la mia vita ma ora ho realizzato che ho qualcun'altro da amare, qualcuno a cui voglio dare tutto il mio amore così come quello che ho verso l'arte, se non di più,... quella persona se tu (Y/N)."

She felt her eyes sting the moment Cagliostro knelt down before her, offering her the lovely bouquet. "No, please. Don't do this,..."

"(Y/N), I want to be with you for the rest of my life. My heart is yours. Please, say you'll be mine."

She gulped and nervously pushed the bouquet away. "S - sei licenziat - to."

Cagliostro looked at her in confusion upon hearing the broken Italian she just uttered. "I'm fired?"

(Y/N)'s eyebrows shot up her hairline at what he told her. She quickly took the Italian language manual from her pocket, browsed through it in panic, and confirmed that Sei Licenziato does, indeed, mean You're Fired in English."

She winced in total embarrassment, and as she took hold of the painter's calloused hands, looking at him straight in the eye, she spoke, "Umm, listen. The reason I'm travelling a lot is because I've been searching for someone. A man."

"Do you,... love him?" It took her a moment before she could answer, and when she finally did, she could not bear to see the look of disappointment in the painter's eyes. "I do. Yes."

Cagliostro smiled, his expression giving her an unexplainable kind of ache on the chest, then stood.

"Then, I hope you would be happy with the man you truly love. He doesn't know how fortunate he is to have you."

And with those final words, the painter sadly walked away from her life,...

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

"Yes!"

"Oh, my God! I'm gonna be a father!" Nero proclaimed. He went towards V and shook him on the shoulders, finally snapping him off his reverie. "You hear that, V? Kyrie is pregnant! I'm gonna be a father!"

"... what?" The poet mumbled, not quite catching yet on which parts of their conversation he missed due to the sudden visions of (Y/N)'s past that flashed through his mind without a warning.

"Come on, man! You know what this means! You're gonna be a grandfather!"

Me? A grandfather? "Well, I,..."

The happy couple eagerly looked at him, waiting for his answer. He smiled at the two of them and held out a hand, but not to shake theirs. A blinding kind of light flashed from his open palm, and seconds later, the Yamato materialized right on his hand.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Nero spoke as he shielded Kyrie. He was alarmed of V's sudden movement and it was perfectly understandable. Who could really blame him?

"Then, it's time I return this to you." V declared as he handed the weapon to Nero.

"Wait, are you sure about that? The Yamato belongs to you!"

"It did. And now, I'm passing it onto you. Protect your family at all cost using this. Believe me, I insist." And V was being truthful. It was the vision he saw earlier, after all.

Now, whether this could really help him with his search for (Y/N) still remained a mystery. He just saw himself giving the Yamato back to Nero, and nothing else.

But, somehow, him giving his most prized possession to his son felt good to him. It felt like a huge thorn was suddenly pulled out from his chest and allowed him to breath more freely. It helped his body feel lighter, like a huge burden was finally removed from his shoulders.

So, yes. Vision or no, V decided it was the right thing to do.

And Nero? He cautiously took the Yamato from V's hand as he looked suspiciously at him. V smirked as he practically shoved the weapon to his son's hand. He, then, took his metal cane, which was leaning against one of the chairs, and was about to leave when Nero called his attention.

"Hey!"

V turned just in time to see Nero giving him the middle finger. Kyrie saw this and practically whacked him on the back of his head.

"Ouch! Why did you do that for?!"

"Because you're being rude to your father!"

"That was for those times he abandoned me as a kid! And this," Nero uttered as he went closer to V and embraced him tightly, his action surprising the poor poet. "... this is for acknowledging me as your son. Thank you for everything, father."

As much as V hated to admit it, he felt a lump suddenly growing in his throat. And as V felt his eyes sting, his arms automatically went around his son, wrapping him in an embrace that finally let his, and Nero's, tears fall down.

And as Kyrie watched the tender scene between father and son, her eyes widened all of a sudden as she remembered something. She ran towards her and Nero's shared bedroom, took something from a drawer, and went back to the kitchen. And as she put the thing on V's hand, the poet gave her a confused look.

"It's a plane ticket. To Corsica Island." Kyrie said. "We could never use it because we can't just leave the children here. So, you can have it."

"Thank you." V uttered, his voice raw and hoarse with emotion.

"No. Thank you." Kyrie told him as she embraced V. "You're gonna find her soon. Believe me."

V was still looking at Kyrie's simple gift with pride when he arrived back at the apartment later that evening.

"Ya look like ye're in a good mood." Nico told him as she placed her backpack on the table near (Y/N)'s stuff.

"I' am. Yes."

"Good for ya, then." Nico reached for something in her bag and produced a strange looking thing from it. "Here, I'll give this to ya. (Y/N) and I filmed this during the Dreadnought operation."

A,.. movie? Like what (Y/N) loves? "What kind of movie is this?" V inquired as he looked at the dvd suspiciously.

The freckled woman suddenly became nervous as she started sweating on the forehead. "Ah, ah, ah,... you just have to watch it, ya know?! See for yourself!"

"Let's have a movie marathon, V!" Griffon suggested as he pointed at (Y/N)'s mountain of movie collections near the television. Even Shadow was already eagerly waiting for it as she sat on the floor, clutching the Elmo plushie that Nico gave her to stop her from crying.

You're gonna find her soon. Believe me.

"What's the harm in doing it?" V answered in agreement to Griffon's suggestion.

"Alright! Gonna leave ya three now. Don't leave the television open." Nico said as she grabbed her bag and left the apartment.

***

🖤 Special thanks again to @vergils-daughter for the Russian translation of La Vie En Rose. 🖤

🖤 And to my lovely Italian friend Daarxen for providing Cagliostro and his Italian dialogue. 🖤

🖤 And, of course, to @harlot-of-oblivion for helping me get some secret messages across using the beautiful Language of The Flowers. 🖤

🖤 @la-vita , @beyond-the-mirror , @brattyvitale , @capsule-cosplay , @yepps , @gothghoulfiend , @lessy86 , @ceruleanworld , @micaelagua , @ehrzeth , @diabeticsugarush , @boundbysoul , @simmy-ships , @heaven-on-a-landslide , and @krazy06 . 🖤

***

Later during the early hours of dawn, Griffon was already bawling his eyes out from the last movie they watched. Shadow was already asleep on the sofa, and V? Let's just say that he got emotional all over again.

Titanic? Moulin Rouge? The Fault In Our Stars? The Time Traveler's Wife?

Heck! All of those movies depicted a lover dying from different sorts of causes!

"Can we watch somethin' else, V?" The demonic familiar asked as he wiped his own tears and blew his nose for the ndth time on a tissue. "Mah eyes are swollen here! Doesn't she own a comedy?!"

V searched through piles of dvd until he remembered about the mystery dvd that Nico gave him. Said she and (Y/N) filmed this, themselves.

"How about this?" He said as he fed it to the player.

A few moments later, (Y/N) came into view on the television wearing what looked like an unflattering pair of overalls that were several sizes too big for her.

“Is this it?” (Y/N) asked as she distastefully looked down at her outfit.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Nico answered in the background. "Hey, uh, I need you to move farther away.”

“Like this?”

“Honey, I mean, further, further away. I don’t want to get disintegrated!”

“Fine,…”

"Wait a second here, I remember that day!" Griffon erupted as he pointed at the screen. "Hey, V?"

“Okay! I need you to transform on the count of three!”

“Alright!”

“Whenever you’re ready!”

"Hey, uhh, V,...?"

“I’ am!”

“Alright, then! ONE, TWO, THREE!”

After watching that certain video, V's eyes remained wide open until the next morning, his over - active imagination getting the better of him,...

... and of his carefully restrained desires,...

He who desires but act not breeds pestilence, indeed.

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #i see my future before me #v x reader #v x you #chapter 31 #father and son

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krreader · 7 years ago

Text

BTS reacting to doing something embarrassing/clumsy/adorable when meeting you for the first time.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts warnings: language genre: fluff ; crack

a/n: your english is fine bb, don’t worry :) hope you like this ♥ (longer ones again, bc of backstory!)

ask box | masterlist | fandoms | faq | multifandom reader blog

kim seokjin

Jin let out a long sigh, having been standing in front of this one particular shelf in the supermarket for at least 10 minutes now, not being able to decide what to pick.

That's the problem when being 'the mother of the dorm'. You had to feed the kids. And when the 'kids' were six boys in their twenties, that could often be problematic, since they all had their own preferences to food.

Just when he was about to give up on this shelf and see if they had anything else that would give him inspiration, he saw someone enter the aisle that he was in.

And not just a someone, but a very pretty someone.

Jin's mouth was slightly agape, staring at you like he had never seen a pretty girl before. He didn't know what it was about you, maybe it were those cute wrinkles of concentration on your forehead, when you were trying to figure out what to buy. Maybe it was that small smile that spread on your lips when you had found what you were looking for..

..or maybe it was the way you were looking at him with your beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes..

..wait.

Hold on, what?!

Jin's own eyes immediately widened when he realized he had been caught staring and as if the universe hated him today, he accidentally let go of the basket he was holding and all of the food that he had found so far was now scattered on the floor. Thankfully, nothing broke. That would have been ten times worse. His groceries were everywhere and he quickly knelt down to pick everything up, embarrassed to no end.

It was only when he wanted to pick up a box of crackers that he had wanted to buy for one of the boys, that he realized you were helping him. Your hand accidentally (seriously, TOTAL accident) brushed over his and he raised his head to look at you. Your hair was hanging in your face, but you quickly brushed it behind your ear with one hand.

“Sorry,” you smiled shyly and handed him the crackers, “Here.”

“Oh, thank you,” he bowed slightly and laughed nervously, “Sorry, I didn't mean to stare.”

“Well, I thought you were staring at these gorgeous potatoes, so,” you didn't want him to be uncomfortable about this. You were flattered that a handsome man like him would even look at you for longer than a second, so he really had no reason to be embarrassed.

Jin grinned from ear to ear and put everything back in the basket. Only when he and you were both standing again did he extend his hand.

“I'm Jin, by the way.”

“(Y/N),” you accepted his hand with a smile.

min yoongi

Min Yoongi wasn't someone that got flustered easily. He tried to start every day with the 'no fuck's given' attitude and he was fine that way. Made life a bit easier.

But that night, he was a furiously blushing mess, because how the fuck did he manage to fall asleep in a coffee shop, only to get woken up by the cute girl that worked in here.

“Excuse me? Sir?” you gently tried shaking him awake, “I.. uh.. I'd like to close the shop, if you don't mind?”

Yoongi quickly sat up straight, turning his head to the right, to see that he was not only the last customer, but the last person in general. There was only you left.

A quick glance to his watch and he realized that it was already an hour past closing time.

“Did you wait on closing the shop because of me?”

“You seemed like you needed the sleep,” you explained, “But I need to pick up a friend, so I had to wake you.. I'm sorry..”

This was so embarrassing. Gone was the 'no fuck's given' attitude and replaced by a blushing Yoongi, that quickly collected everything he had brought here, meaning writing utensils and his notebook, and put them in his bag, before getting up and running straight into you.

Because this night could only get more and more awkward right?

You chuckled and gently grabbed his upper arms, turning in a half circle, so that he was standing next to the door.

“There you go,” your smile was so kind. You didn't look like you were judging him. You actually looked a little sorry to have woken him like that.

And he should have thanked you or should have said that he was sorry. But in that moment, he was just so embarrassed, that he just left the store without another word. Later that night, he realized how rude he had been and regretted not doing any of the things above.

So exactly one week later, he was in the coffee shop again, but this time he was there to ask you if you wanted to have dinner with him.

To make it up to you, and all that.

jung hoseok

Being the main dancer meant having to have more stamina than others. And even though performing over and over again built it up, he needed another way to boost it.

Which is why Hoseok began going for a jog every other morning. He didn’t exactly have a goal in mind, he just ran for as long as he wanted to.

Not only did it build up his stamina, but it also relaxed him. There weren't many people in the park that he ran in at the time he jogged and he could fully focus on himself and his body.

And, you know, his phone, apparently.

Because he had just gotten a message from Namjoon and was reading through it, not stopping his running, however.

Maybe he should have.

Or maybe you should have, when you had decided to do the exact same thing at the exact same time, both of you crashing into each other.

Hoseok's reflexes were fantastic, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you with him, so that you would fall on top of him and you wouldn't get hurt. He managed to turn to the side in the fall, so that both of you landed on the soft grass and it wasn't as painful.

He still groaned though. Whether that was because of the impact, or the way you were straddling him, who knows.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't..-”

“I'm sorry! I should have..-”

You both began and stopped immediately, laughing after a couple of seconds, when you realized you had both been at fault.

“My mother always told me to keep my eyes up ahead and not on my phone,” Hoseok laughed.

“Easier said then done, I suppose,” your hands were flat on his chest and you smiled down at him.

One question.

Why were you still straddling him? And why did he end up placing his hands on your thighs and not shoving you off?

It was only when an elderly couple passed by and hissed: “Aish. The youth of today, not having any decency,” that you two got up and brushed over your clothes, both of you now blushing furiously.

“Do you.. uh.. want to grab some coffee, maybe?”

You grinned from ear to ear and nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I need that right now.”

kim namjoon

Namjoon had been staring at you for at least five minutes now, standing in the Egyptian section of this museum, walking from one exhibit to the next.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't a big deal. That he was in a foreign country and that you were most likely a tourist as well. That he could walk over there and pay you a compliment and then leave again. That would be nice, right? He was sure that you would appreciate it, if he wasn't too intrusive.

So he waited another minute until most of the others were outside the room, before he approached you and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me?”

You turned your head and looked at him with a kind smile, “Yes?”

He wanted to be cool. Or at least he wanted you to think that he was cool and that this wasn’t a big deal for him.

But Namjoon was a very clumsy person and he knew that he was.

Hence, he should have known that 'being cool', while trying really hard to be cool, would only end in a disaster.

He wanted to casually lean against the wall, but it turned out not to be a wall, but a glass casket that held one of the artifacts. Thankfully, it was secured to a wall, so at least he didn't break it, but the alarm went off anyways and both of you jerked back immediately.

Namjoon began to panic, thinking about what he was supposed to do and how he could fuck up so royally, when all he wanted to do was talk to a pretty girl.

He went completely blank.

But he mentally thanked your quick wit, for grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room, mingling in the crowd of other tourists that were asked to leave the museum for 'security reasons'.

“Just act natural,” you said through gritted teeth, your hand still interlinked with his.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I only wanted to tell you you're pretty,” he was so distraught, you almost pitied him. You needed a way to cheer him up again.

And if he thought you were pretty, then maybe..-

“Now that the museum is closing.. do you want to grab lunch with me? To calm down?”

He let out a heavy sigh and grinned, “Yeah. Yeah, that would be great.”

park jimin

Jimin didn't know why he was so fascinated by you.

You were pretty, extremely pretty, actually, but it was also the way you laughed that had him want to laugh too. Maybe it was the way you were handling the child that was with you, even though he had no idea in what relation it was to you. A cousin? Sibling? Maybe just the kid you babysat? Or maybe even your own kid? He had no idea, but he loved how you acted around it.

So when you and the kid entered a toy store, he couldn't help but follow and overhear the conversation between you two.

“Pleeeease (Y/N)! I'll do anything!”

“I'm sorry, love, it's too expensive. I can't afford it.”

“I'll pay you back when I have the money, I proooomise.”

You knelt down in front of the kid and let out a long sigh, “I'm really sorry. Maybe some other time, okay?”

The kid didn't throw a fit. No, the kid was incredibly well behaved and just nodded, even though the pout was clearly visible.

Jimin bit his lower lip. Was it you? Or maybe the kid? Whatever it was, he found himself walking towards you without really thinking twice about it, asking, “How about I'll buy it for you?”

“What?” you got up and looked at him in confusion and maybe even a bit alarmed, even though he didn’t look like a pervert or something.

“Really?” the kid, on the other hand, already jumped up and down, “I'll pay you back, I promise!”

“You don't have to pay me back,” Jimin laughed and turned his head to look at you, “But.. maybe I could take out your.. I don't know how you two are related or if you are but.. would you go out with me?”

If he were anyone else, you would have been suspicious and blown him off already. But there was this sincerity in his eyes that made you believe he really did want to take you out on a date and not drag you into an alley or whatever. This sincerity that he wanted to make the kid happy and you know, get a date with the cute girl that was with the kid?

Well.. why not, right?

“This is all very spontaneous but.. okay.”

kim taehyung

Taehyung is a fanboy. We all know that. If he admires someone, he'll do anything to get in touch with them, whether it's via Instagram or at award shows. He always somehow managed to meet HIS idols.

But you were more than that to him. You were the woman he has had a crush on ever since your first role in that TV series about two years ago. He kept having dreams about you, was imagining meeting you someday, but had no way to get in touch with you, since you didn't have social media.

So when you were starring in a film with various other big names and your movie had a premiere in Seoul, he didn't decline the invitation to see the screening (something that he usually did), but he ended up forcing the rest of Bangtan to go with him as well.

Paparazzi were all over them on the red carpet. He could hear ARMY's screams in the background, all of them having gathered here once they found out that BTS would make an appearance. In interviews, when they were being asked why exactly they were here, Namjoon would tell them that they had just really wanted to see the movie as one of the first, since they were so excited about it. All of them had a hard time containing their chuckle, because they all knew that the real reason was Taehyung's obvious crush on you.

And then, when they were finally inside, he saw you.

The one he had been having dreams about for two years. And suddenly, the usually so confident Taehyung turned into a mess, especially when Namjoon pretty much shoved him towards you and your co-stars, who were greeting everyone that came.

“Oh, I didn't expect BTS to make an appearance,” you laughed happily, your eyes shining, almost. Taehyung stared at you with an open mouth, not understanding how he was even still breathing when being this close to you.

Your co-stars, especially the women, giggled at the boy’s behavior and decided to greet the other ones, while Taehyung kept staring at you.

“I'm very sorry, he's usually not like this at all. He's a very big fan of you, you know?” Namjoon said, his hand on Taehyung's shoulder.

“Oh really?” you smiled at Namjoon, then at Taehyung, “I'm a big fan of you, too! I really loved your solo song!”

“Did..- Did you?” he stammered.

“Sure! I had it on repeat for like a month. You're incredibly talented.”

“Thank you,” he said in a low voice, blushing furiously.

This was so unusual for him. He normally didn't have that many problems talking to a pretty girl. But you weren't just a pretty girl, right? You were so much more to him than that.

"Maybe you and I could talk more at the after-party?”

“Yeah.. I’d like that,” maybe he’d manage to have calmed down a bit by then.

jeon jeongguk

They were filming close to Andong Dam today, but setting everything up took a little longer than anticipated.

Some members took that chance to try and get some more sleep, others were watching videos on there phones, while Jeongguk decided that he wanted to go down to the water and just enjoy nature and the peace and quiet of it.

But as soon as he was close to the water, he found someone skipping stones.

As far as he could tell, you were alone.

He just watched you for a couple of minutes, picking up one rock after the other and doing your thing over and over again.

Wouldn't it become boring, eventually?

He had never actually tried doing this..

..and he didn't know why, but he decided to join you, a bit further away from you and watch you attentively. He was bored and he needed something to do. Might as well try something new today, right?

He was confident that he could do it, I mean, how hard could it be?

Yeah, it wasn't as easy as it looked. That's what Jeongguk got as well as soon as the first rock sunk with a loud plop. His shoulders did the same, furrowing his eyebrows at why it didn't work. But he quickly turned his head to look at you, when he heard you giggle.

“You need some help with that?”

“I..uh..”

“Don't worry. It takes a bit of practice,” you shrugged.

He didn't know if he was even allowed to talk to you, but you were kind enough to keep your distance and just show you how to do it from afar. But even then, he didn't manage it. What was up with him today? Wasn't he the golden maknae? He should be able to do something as simple as skipping rocks, right? And the more he failed, the more embarrassed he got, because not only did this completely ruin his reputation, but he was also making a fool out of himself in front of a pretty girl.

Eventually he was the one that approached you, not the other way around. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore if he didn’t get the hang of this. He was the golden-fucking-maknae. He needed to be good at this.

And so you ended up spending almost two hours together, just happily skipping rocks, until his crew called him back.

Oh, one more thing.

He couldn’t exactly leave without giving you his number, right? Not when he had found someone more talented than him.

#bts imagine #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts #bangtan #bangtan reaction #bangtan boys #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop reactions #bangtan sonyeondan #reader #mine #bangtan x reader #bangtan boys x reader

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kamino-ink · 6 years ago

Text

Bubbles | Han Jisung

✧ Genre: Inspired by Fire Emblem: Awakening [gaius x fe!my unit], fantasy!au, comedy sorta, hella fluff, major angst my dudes, death//violence

✧ Summary: You were one of the many children sent back in time to help change the future - your reality. Along the way, you reminisce on old memories with a childhood friend that calls you quite the endearing name; bubbles.

✧ Word Count: 4.7k

✧ Check out my masterlist!

✧ Warning: graphic violence,, like I didn’t hold back kids - also spoilers for FE: Awakening sooo

✧

You fucking told Minho that there was absolutely no way he could suddenly go back in time to try and save the life of his aunt, who had been a peaceful sort of woman from the stories you had heard growing up. She had been a beam of hopefulness to your people and their country, especially after the past exalt had only brought destruction and misery to another foreign land who’s citizens rightfully came to despise those of your motherland. After her untimely demise during an assassination plot, it was as if everything had gone tumbling downwards - the reality in which you had been raised in had come crashing down in a wake of burning buildings and slain lives of innocent people.

But you had been approached by the very son of the past exalt - Lee Minho. Neither of you knew each other all too well, though he had heard of your strength and strategy on the battlefield during passing conversations. He had requested an audience with you, to which you hesitantly obliged, and then proceeded to tell you his masterplan; he would open a portal back into the past and save his aunt’s life, therefor saving your reality - their future. You, of course, had your doubts and expressed them urgently - if he was accidently killed during his mission, then there would be no telling of what might happen to him in the future. It was a risk you weren’t willing to take.

So, naturally, you tagged along with the prince up until the very day he opened the portal, only to be separated when the ugly creatures in your world called Risen fell through into the past as well. The hideous, violent creatures chased you until you stumbled upon a little village, where a sly girl with a strong sword arm and red hair helped you kill the bastards so that they wouldn’t bring harm to the village. She didn’t ask too many questions, thankfully, and simply gave you some basic supplies for your journey to the palace - she didn’t ask about that, either.

When you did finally reach the palace, you were surprised to notice that Minho hadn’t arrived before you had - you prayed that he perhaps took a detour to avoid the Risen, or something of that manner. One of the guards on duty, a pegasus knight with short, baby blue hair, bought your pathetic story of wishing to be a Shephard; Minho had told you that it was a band of righteous warriors his own father had led in his youth, so you could only assume that they were around still. When she led you into a shabby sort of barracks, however, your jaw had gaped so wide that the woman wondered if you had seen a frightening ghost.

Your own father, whom you hadn’t seen in years since his death, was sat only a few feet away from you, stuffing his mouth with pastries and jerky like a madman. He was donned in heavy green and silver armor, and his trusty sword was resting in its holster - he seemed more happy, more... youthful, for obvious reasons. The last time you had seen him, he had started to grow tiny gray hairs from stress and worry, and his lips were always curled into a fake smile for your own sake, as if you didn’t know any better back then.

“These are just a few of the Shepherds under Chrom’s command: the one with the iron axe is Vaike, the one struggling to carry the boxes without falling is Sumia, and the one currently eating like it’s his last damn meal is Stahl.”

“Hmpf-! I - I am not eating that much, I swear!” The man in green defended himself, wiping his lips from any crumbs as he stood tall to meet your gaze with a warm, friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, mam! Seem a bit young to be with us, but we’ll take what we can get!”

You laughed quietly, chewing on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling so hard it would hurt. “My father was an excellent rider and swordsman, and he taught me everything he knew. I won’t become a burden, I swear it, sir.”

“Oh really? What’s his name, is he a famous rider?”

“Ah, you wouldn’t know him. But... he was the bravest man I ever knew.”

I found you, father.

The next couple of weeks were like a blur to you - while you helped the Shepherds defend their land and slaughter Risen left and right, you were left to wonder if another other visitors from your reality had fallen through the portal. If that was the case, you needed to find them, and fast. Luckily the gods had been smiling down on you, as only a short while later Minho had reappeared, though he was wearing a mask to hide his appearance and called himself Marth, likely using it as a ruse to hide his identity.

The first time you had found the prince again, was during a tournament where Chrom had to challenge the West khan - it was a bit complicated, honestly; to win the support of the East khan, you all had to make sure you were her champions and beat the other khan, since their people believed far more in power than regular diplomacy. Whoever's champions won meant that the specific khan with their support would be the sole ruler of their country until the next tournament.

You’d been hopping onto the saddle of your horse when you heard Chrom hiss under his breath as if he was shocked. Naturally your gaze trailed over to where he had been looking, and within seconds you recognized the warrior across the battlefield; it was Minho, but he was wearing a mask and new clothes. While to anyone else it seemed a bit strange, you knew he was only being cautious. Still, you were expected to fight him and the other warriors on the side of the West khan, whether you liked it or not.

You got out of the fight with just a scratch, unlike the warriors representing the West khan. The entire fight you made sure to stay as far away from the hidden prince as much as physically possible, since you figured he would rather get the chance to fight his own father for the first time in ages. What amused you, though, was the fact that you knew damn well Minho had purposefully lost the battle - he had been trained by Chrom for crying out loud, he was by far the best fighter in your time; he only let himself be defeated so the events leading up to the big night of his aunt’s assassination could play out normally. Couldn’t risk too much change, after all.

Like normal, the East khan offered the support of the Ferox soldiers to Chrom and his sister, and soon you were waiting for everything to unravel itself. In the meantime, you caught up with your father and your mother - both of them were still blissfully unaware of who you were to them, which only made battling alongside them harder than you could have ever imagined. You wanted to ride alongside the Bull and the Panther once more, where they knew you were their sole daughter, and that they had taught you everything you knew up until now. Yet the good thing to come out of it all was being able to see your own parents fall in love all over again, for you, at least.

“You’re damn strong, Stahl, but your movements are so timid they wouldn’t even scare a mouse!” Your mother chastised the young man, stabbing the tip of her lance into the soil beneath their feet.

“Ah, I may be strong, but I don’t think I’ll ever be as strong as you are, Sully. Actually, you’re probably the strongest of all the Shepherds.” The brunette laughed softly, making your lips twitch into an endearing smile from behind the piles of hay you were sat behind, listening to your parents talk to each other like old times.

“Pah! How can you call yourself a knight if you crap out so soon? The legendary knights who served Marth would never give up so easily.”

“You mean Cain and Abel? The Bull and Panther from the old stories?”

You hold back a giggle as you listen to them, bickering like a married couple. The back of your head hits the yellow hay when you relax into it, your eyelids fluttering shut in peace at the reminiscent sound of your parents arguing over the simplest of things. Maybe Minho would truly be able to fix everything after all, and you would be able to be with your family again, like normal.

That same night, Minho had appeared from the shadows again, just in the nick of time to stop the assassination of the exalt - and convince Chrom that he was indeed someone from the future. You had gotten to fight side by side with the man that night as well, to help him defend the door separating the coming onslaught of Plegians from the woman he had just saved. Still, as quick as he had come, he was gone right after the battle had ended, leaving you worried and alone. You weren’t sure what to do, since she had been saved and Minho had disappeared yet again - so you just kept traveling with the Shepherds.

And then It was all for nothing - later, Emmeryn had been captured by the Plegians, and was meant to be executed. When the exalt heard the enemy leader offering Chrom the chance to save her by giving him the Fire Emblem, she sacrificed herself. You remembered clearly, watching the kind leader falling through the air until her body hit the ground beneath her with a sickening thud, her brother still racing to try and reach her in time - but he hadn’t.

The exalt had died, even after you and Minho had travelled through time itself to try and save her.

And again Minho reappeared sometime later, revealing himself to be Chrom’s son - he had shown the doubtful prince the brand in his eye, marking him as the same bloodline of Chrom himself. Then, Minho had explained who you were, and why you came with him - only to be separated when you both arrived to the past. Together, the both of them encouraged you to tell your parents who you were, and where you came from.

Stahl had immediately started crying and ran over to your smaller body, tackling you into a warm bear hug. And even though she tried to hide them, you vividly remembered seeing the scarlet haired woman’s eyes glisten with unspoken emotions when she joined in on the hug, albeit briefly before going to think things over in her quarters - not that you exactly blamed her, either.

Then it was like the other children from the future had started appearing out of nowhere, with your band of Shepherds coming across them so often you easily lost count of who had and had not been recruited into the army. While you now were somewhat alliances with the Plegians, the kingdom of Valm had started to wage war against your homeland in return, for no real reason other than the desire to conquer. With so many new experienced recruits, though, you were sure that your army stood a chance against the ferocious conquerors of the west.

Even now, the army had taken a quick break from training and set up camp near a port where it was rumored that some of Valm’s soldiers would set foot on in a few days time, just to try and provoke the exalt, Chrom.

Your muscles were practically screaming at you to take a rest, so you obliged and slumped down against a stray crate likely filled with rations or weapons, not that you cared which was which. A soft, airy breath escaped your lips as you took a minute to recuperate, watching as your parents set off to tie their horses to a post.

“My fair maiden, if I were to theoretically take a couple of apples from the rations, would you rat me out to Chrom or Minho?” A whimsical voice purred next to your ear, but before you could reply honestly, the person speaking had already opened the crate you’d been leaning against and grabbed the fruit, plopping down beside you on the grass. “Here, you need to eat. You’ve been training for hours, Y/N.” Jisung murmured, forcing one of the two red apples into your hands while he took a hearty bite of his own.

Feeling a bit too tired to argue with the persistent boy, you go ahead and take a bite of the delicious fruit, a moan of thankfulness seeping through your lips while you chewed. The blonde boy snickered in amusement and watched as you scarfed down the snack, making sure all the while that no one who passed by you two saw that you were taking a bit of the rations.

“Thank you, Jisung-”

“Han, bubbles! My name is Han.” He hissed sourly.

“That’s your stupid codename you used when we were kids, genius. It isn’t your real name.” You retorted, flicking the sour boy’s forehead. “Besides, I know why you insist on going by Han for now - you still haven’t told Gaius that you're his kid-”

“Shhh, bubbles! He could be around any corner.” He hushed you quickly, smashing one of his palms over your lips. You rolled your eyes, licking his hand to get him to swing it away from your mouth in mild disgust.

“I just don’t understand why you haven’t told him or the tactician yet. They deserve to know, Jisung.” You tell him softly, placing your hand over the one you had licked comfortingly, rubbing the pad of your thumb over the top of his hand. The boy sighed almost inaudibly and glanced across the camp, your gaze following his.

The legendary tactician that served Chrom herself, and his father, Gaius, were squabbling over something. Everyone from the future knew too well that those two were Jisung’s parents, as he had always bragged about them in your time period, in the future - even after their deaths.

“I just -” he paused, his fingertips digging into the grass, “I’m so scared that they won’t approve of me. After everything my father did to become a good man for my mother, I ended up being just like he is now, erm… was.”

Your heart ached for the timid boy and how fearful he was to possibly be disapproved of by the people his parents were now. He had followed in his father’s footsteps, to an extent - Jisung was a seasoned thief and assassin, and he was feared in your time for being so stealthy and of course, deadly. But his father had grown out of that phase long before he was born, and you understood why the blonde was troubled about revealing the truth to two of the most respected people in the country.

Still, you flipped his hand over so you could gently intertwine your fingers with his own, squeezing them reassuringly as he glanced over at you. “Jisung, they would be so proud to be your parents. You were their pride and joy, don’t you remember?” You reminded him, your lips twitching into a warm smile as he nods at your words.

And you were right, of course; the mother and father of the blonde assassin never failed to boast about their son. It was a known fact that even during strategy meetings his mother would somehow find a way to mention him, though most of the time he had nothing to do with any of it. The way Jisung’s parents died was... horrific, to say the least, and it left a scar on him to this very day.

“Y/N, watch your flank!” Jisung hissed at you, his back pressed against yours while his sword clashed with a Risen’s, glancing back to you whenever he could.

With a quick swing you were able to pierce the heart of another foul beast that had tried to catch you off guard, it’s heavy body falling against the wet ground with a sickly thud. “Thanks, Jisung!” You called back to the concerned boy, wiping your soaked hair out of your eyes before another beast could try and surprise you. “I think - I think that’s all of those bastards down here. Hyunjin and Seungmin can handle the one’s by the hilltops-”

“Mother? F-father?”

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why your partner was calling out to his parents when they were on a different part of the battlefield, you turned to face him, only to see his eyes widened in horror. You followed his gaze, only to feel your stomach start to churn in fear.

The battle force his parents had been leading against the oncoming horde of Risen had been totally wiped out and pushed back much farther than anyone could have expected; and his mother and father were completely surrounded on the top of a tiny slope by the ugly purple monsters. The storm was only getting worse with each passing second, strikes of bright yellow lightning cracking in the dark sky while the rain continued to pelt down onto the battlefield.

Gaius’s signature headband had been torn to shreds, and in its place were long claw marks slashed across the pale man’s face and part of his head, part of his ear missing along with his orange hair being matted to the top of his head. The master tactician was faring no better, her robes nearly shredded to pieces while the arm that clung to her thunder tome bled from various bite and scratch marks. You could only watch in growing horror as a Risen general drove his spear into the woman’s stomach, the tip of the steel weapon poking through her back and sticking itself into the muddy ground. Her husband screamed at the sight of his wife - the love of his life being murdered in cold blood right in front of him.

The ex-thief rushed forward, defending his wife’s limp, bleeding body until the stronger monsters overpowered him and brought him to the ground, pummeling his smaller body like a twig.

Then the horde of Risen began to charge at the remnants of your army, brandishing their bloodied weapons with sickening pride. You grab hold of Jisung’s arm, trying to drag him away before the enemies reached your positions. “W-we need to go Ji-”

“No!” His heartbroken scream tore through the gloomy atmosphere, his body thrashing hopelessly against yours in an attempt to escape. “I can’t leave them here, please - please!” You could tell by his whimpers and pleading that he too knew it would be impossible to retrieve their bodies, but his heart wanted him to fight until he couldn't anymore. Without another word he stopped resisting, instead grabbing hold of your hand so he could lead you away from the carnage safely and reunite with the other survivors.

“Of course I remember, bubbles.” Jisung let out a warm chuckle, leaning back against the wooden panels of the rations crate. “I’ll tell them soon, I promise. But... how did you tell Stahl and Sully that they - you know... died?”

You don’t flinch at the question like Jisung clearly expected you to, instead scooching closer to the taller boy so you could rest your head on his shoulder. When you told your own mother and father of their untimely demise, they only got the basic recounting, as you didn't think you would’ve been able to stomach remembering everything that happened.

Ever since Chrom and his wife had been killed in the fight for survival against the Risen army, as well as many of the other original Shepherds, your mother and father were tasked with leading the army as best as they could in their places. It tore the two apart each day, and you saw the grief swimming in their eyes whenever the deaths of their beloved comrades were brought up. Still, they had to lead now - they couldn't dwell on the past.

If they had wanted to anyway, they wouldn't have been able to for much longer.

You had been strolling around camp, too anxious to get any sleep in your tent that you shared with the other younger soldiers. So you went out for a midnight stroll to try and clear your mind, though you made sure not to stroll too far from camp.

At some point you had come across a beautiful blue lake. There were two familiar bodies standing by the water’s edge; your parents. With a fond smile you decided to hide behind a tree and listen to them talk - perhaps they would be reminiscing on the old times, and you could involuntarily learn more of their past without prying about it so much in person.

While you were honed in on eavesdropping, you hadn't noticed a shadowy presence being to make its way towards the unsuspecting couple, a scroll tight in the stranger’s fingers. The figure silently cast out an equally as dark, mysterious energy out onto your mother before they vanished as quickly as they had came.

“- honey, what’s wrong? Sully - what are you doing-!” You heard your father’s voice become riddled with fear in a matter of seconds, so you peeked out from behind the oak tree, only to witness your mother driving her lance into her husband’s chest with no remorse. When she pulled her prized weapon out of her husband’s guts, she turned it onto herself and mimicked what she had done to him, driving it through her chest.

You let out a scream, knowing it would likely alert those in the camp not too far away from where you were, and stumbled over to the two bodies sprawled out on the green grass, pools of crimson red blood growing under their bodies. First you check your mother’s pulse, only to feel nothing. A tear runs down your cheek as you quickly go to see if maybe your father is still somehow alive - and he is.

Still the great knight is just barely holding onto his life, spurts of blood seeping over his chapped lips while his oddly calm gaze searches for your frantic eyes.

“S-Sully did n-not do this, my child.” Had been his final words.

At the brink of death, your selfless father had chosen to defend his wife’s honor and integrity until the very end. It was something that would haunt you until the day you too died.

“Honestly? I told them that they had died together by a lake, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell them the truth of it all - I’m a coward, aren’t I?” You breathed out shakily, your eyes beginning to water as you reminisced on their final days in the future.

The assassin next to you shook his head vehemently before he carefully turned so that he was sat in front of you, pressing your knees together while his warm hands found your shoulders, squeezing them to reassure and to calm your nerves. “Bubbles, you are not a coward, nor will you ever be. You’re the bravest person I know next to our parents, I swear it.” He whispered to you, pulling you into a tight embrace while you sniffed into his chest, a few stray tears making their way down your damp cheeks.

Little did either of you know that four familiar faces had been watching the whole thing.

A short while later, you found out that Jisung had come clean to his parents about his origin, and how he was their son from the future - he, like you, had apparently chosen not to give them the full story of their demise, which did reassure you in a sense. Although, one thing that confused you was the fact that he refused to introduce you to his parents - now, that is, since you sort of knew them in the original timeline.

“But Jisung, I want to talk to them!” You whined to the blonde boy for the fifth time in a row, tightening your hold around his neck since you had your arms slung around his top half while he supported your legs that were wrapped around his waist.

He rolled his eyes, knowing you couldn’t see them, and pinched the underside of your calves. “Maybe later, alright bubbles? They're very busy right now, especially my mother.” Jisung huffed.

Of course you knew this was true, since the older Shepherds were starting to finalize a plan to get rid of the commander of the troops from Valm, so that the war could be ended before it became all the more destructive. You and the other kids from the future occasionally gave them some advice, but other than that a majority of you were left to your own devices; not including Minho, though. The prince was doubling down on making sure everything went according to plan, especially since none of you were sure what your futures looked like now after everything that had occurred since you all went back in time.

“I know, I know... hey, isn't that them right over there?” You hummed in curiosity, peeking out from beside the boy’s head to see the man and woman in question walking in your direction. “Gaius, -” Your words are cut off abruptly by Jisung planting his palm over your lips quickly, the boy rushing to hide behind one of the tents before his parents could spot the two of you.

“Did you hear someone calling for me, bubbles?” Gaius asks the tactician, and unknowing to them you can feel your eyes widen in shock - you could have sworn bubbles was your nickname given to you by Jisung; did his father overhear it and decide to use it for himself?

“Probably just the wind, Gaius.” The woman snorts teasingly, the pair stopping just a few feet away from where you and their own son are hiding. “Speaking of... I was thinking earlier,”

“That’s a miracle, dear!”

“Shut it before I shock you with my magic, you dirty thief!” She snapped, whacking the orange haired man with her tome. “I was thinking about how Jisung calls his friend, Y/N, bubbles too. I thought it was my nickname.”

You can feel the boy holding you up take a sharp intake of air, and if you dared to look at his plush, chubby cheeks, you would’ve been able to see how they flushed a deep red.

“He takes after his father, I suppose. It is pretty obvious how he’s basically in love with her, after all.” Gaius snickers. “I mean, I don’t ever see myself not calling you bubbles now, so my guess is that the boy calls her the same thing since it clearly worked on you.”

“Worked on me? What is that supposed to mean you little-”

Their voices start to fade away as they begin to walk again, leaving you with a very stunned and silent Jisung still holding you up on his back. You slowly slipped down off of his back, going to step in front of him with pink cheeks. His eyes start to look anywhere but you, at least, until you smoosh his cute red cheeks together and (gently) force him to look you in the eyes.

“Jisung? Do you - um...” You trail off, becoming flustered with how fast your poor little heart is beating in your chest.

“Y-yeah, I do, bubbles.” He murmurs between his squished cheeks and lips, his shaking hands coming to rest over the top of yours that are still making him keep steady eye contact with you. “If - if you don’t feel the same way, I understand-”

“I love you too, Jisung!” You say without thinking, not wanting him to even think for a second that you didn't feel the same way. His lips curl into a nervous but bright smile, and before you know it he’s gone to press them against your own into a shaky, innocent kiss.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.

“So... I can still call you bubbles, right?”

“Only if I can start calling you squirrel.”

“Deal!”

✧

#skzwriters #stray kids au #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #stray kids scenarios #stray kids #han jisung #jisung scenario #jisung imagine #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #soft hours

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francesderwent · 6 years ago

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I feel like you've probably answered this somewhere or, alternatively, are tired of the question but: how did you decide to study theology? I'm so glad you did and are because it feels like you were made to but how does one decide that? What's your phd in theology backstory?

I don’t think I’ve ever actually talked about it here! And I’m happy to!

Short answer? It wasnever something I planned, it was something that came at the end of a long seriesof “let’s just take one step forward and see what happens” kind of choices.

Long answer?

When I started applying for colleges at sixteen, I hadnever, in my life, had a single reasonable goal of what I wanted to be when Igrew up – the working plans went from princess to singer to actress, alwayswith the tacit understanding in the background that these were things that werenever going to actually happen, because princes were scarce, and I wasn’tcommitted enough to either of the other ideas to do the suffering-artist thingand chase them down. And so, I appliedto college as a theology major, because I figured religion was the one thing Iwas good at. I knew Church teaching backwardsand forwards, I’d read the whole Bible for school that one time, and when itcame to writing retreat talks or speaking the controversial truth in discussion,I could run circles around all thekids in the parish youth group. Ifigured I was going to be some kind of prodigy; I could accurately distinguishbetween the Immaculate Conception and the Virgin Birth, after all.

Needless to say, I was an unbearable person with very fewfriends.

My college applications came back, and the financial aid wasbest at the school I least wanted to attend. Feeling like a martyr, I decided to attend there. My first semester I was required to take anintro to philosophy class before I could start taking theology. I felt this was probably a waste of my time;I was ready to get my lower level theologies out of the way so I could go on tothe advanced stuff. But I signed up forthe philosophy which best fit my schedule and prepared to blow everyone away. (Did I mention I was unbearable?) That semester, the newbie philosophyprofessor whose class I’d signed up for was having all his freshmen readPlato’s Republic, cover to cover. And just like that, my life waschanged. For the first time I wasn’tmemorizing factoids about the truth, straight off the page of the Catechism orthe Summa. I found myself in the placewhere Truth opens up before you and you realize it’s always going to be biggerthan you, you’re always going to be inside of it, there’s always going to bedeeper to go. I read all my homework twoor three times. I spent ages on all mywriting assignments, fine-tuning my arguments, trying to find new angles. I raised my hand enough in class thatoccasionally the professor would have to say “Somebody other than Cate.” And,miracle of miracles, I was good at philosophy– not because I’d read more or because I had more orthodox parents than anyoneelse, but just immediately, mysteriously, like all of a sudden I’d discoveredwhat my mind was made for. I added asecond major within five months of being at school, and then was delighted todiscover that the theology department was alsofull of people who were thinking deeply about things. I loved all my classes, but I still likedphilosophy best.

When I was approaching graduation, I sat down with one of theprofessors and asked what he thought I should do next. I knew I didn’t want to work in a parishoffice, and I I didn’t feel ready to teach high schoolers; I thought I mightwant to go to grad school, but I didn’t even know where to begin. And he explained to me that most of thephilosophy programs in the country were focused on analytic philosophy orlogic, and very different from the philosophy I’d done at school. And the type of theology I’d been doing forthe last four years was apparently a veryniche school of theology – there was one grad program that had continuity withwhat I’d learned, but only one. “It’s avery metaphysics-heavy program,” he told me, placidly, as if he hadn’t justpulled off a really impressive con, “the best philosophical thinker alive is teachingthere. It’s the only place where youwouldn’t really have to choose.” And soI applied to grad schools: some theology, some philosophy, with the theologywith-a-metaphysical-focus that my professor had suggested as my first choice. Offers and rejections trickled back. I got a really generous offer from a safetyschool far down on my list, and I began to wonder if I was going to end up withmy last choice again. I needn’t haveworried; if I hadn’t been at my last choice for undergrad, I might never havefound out about my top choice for grad school. God had put me exactly where I needed to be four years earlier, and everythingfell into place for the next step. Imoved, I took out loans so I could pay rent, but it all worked out. I wasn’t even alone – two of my classmatesfrom the theology program were starting the Masters with me.

Looking back on it, I kind of squandered those twoyears. I had a lot, a lot of personal drama in that time, andI was in a long-distance relationship, newly rekindled with an old boyfriend(bad idea), and so I was back and forth between different states every otherweekend. And there was so much continuity with my prioreducation that I could kind of get away with it. Don’t get me wrong, I learned a lot – Ilearned to love Scripture and Christology, and moved away from my flatter, Inow realized, Kantian ethics to something more genuinely Christian. But I was leading a very compartmentalizedexistence; I kept theology and philosophy in one box, and then in every otherbox lived my life however I wanted. Ireceived the sacraments at almost the bare minimum. I was learning, but I wasn’t letting anythingI learned penetrate my heart for fear of what it would require of me.

But compartmentalizing is hard and unnatural, and eventuallyI had to face up to some things. Myboyfriend had just returned from a month-long musical tour of Ireland, and heand his fiddle player wanted to go back for three-to-six months of the nextyear, and he wanted me to come with them. This proposal was not accompanied by a corresponding proposal for thecommitment level of our relationship. When I brought this up, there was a big fight, and I finally realizedafter a year and a half of studying theology with a focus in marriage andfamily that he didn’t really believe in marriage. He would probably have married me eventually,in ten years or so, but it wouldn’t have meant anything to him, and thevalidity would have been questionable at best. I broke up with him a week after Thanksgiving.

I found myself facing a blank future – I’d spent the lasttwo years becoming very entrenched in my boyfriend’s world, assuming that I wasabout to become a permanent fixture there. And in the process I’d put strain on a lot of my college friendships, Iwas more distant from my family than I’d ever been, and I hadn’t made any friends in grad school. I barely even spoke to my roommates – theydidn’t find out about the breakup for weeks. I was isolated and lonely, with no goals and nothing to look forward to. And then, all the theology that I’d beenholding at arm’s length suddenly became intensely personal to me; I saw clearlyall that I’d been running from and all that I’d messed up. I cried a lot during class that semester.

Applications for the PhD program at my school were due thesecond week of January, or thereabouts. And with nothing else on my radar, I decided I would apply. The interview process was infamously intensive,and I figured if I made it through that then I could weigh my options from theother side. I begged for letters ofrecommendation, scrounged together a CV, and wrote my essays. About a month later, I had two straight daysof interviews, with everyone from the admissions director up through the DeanEmeritus. The program adviser for theMasters asked me why I wanted a PhD; I told him it would make it easier to gettenure track positions. “We’re allreally used to responding to interview questions in a utilitarian way,” he toldme, “how one thing will get us to somewhere else. But why do you want that thing?” I thought aboutit. “It’s important to me to be able tocontinue engaging with the truth on this level,” I said. “I want to end up in aplace where my peers care about these questions and can dialogue with me.” As soon as I said it out loud, I started toreally want it for the first time. That professor sent me on my way to the DeanEmeritus. We had a charming conversationabout homeschooling, and then he got down to business, told me I’d doneexcellent work there already, and asked me why I wanted a PhD. “I know I’m going to be thinking about thesequestions for the rest of my life,” I said. “And I want to do that in acommunity.” He nodded, and said, “That’swhat my reason was when I started a PhD, too.” Now more than a bit dazed, I headed over to my last interview with theprogram adviser for the PhD. He lookedover my application, told me, “There’s no possible reason you couldn’t dothis,” and then gave me twenty-five minutes of advice on how to go aboutit. My friends who’d applied with me haddescribed getting grilled – but I only felt encouraged. These people had confidence in me. I cried on the metro platform going homebecause I was so overwhelmed. I’dknocked, and the door had been opened wide. In a way, the PhD program was given to me, as a surprise, and then Ilearned to want it. By the time I got myofficial acceptance

So, for me the reasons for doing the PhD have always beencomplicated – it’s something I want for its own sake, just because I care aboutthe truth and am lucky enough to get to spend time with it, and also somethingI want for extrinsic reasons. Those havechanged over the years, somewhat – I would still like to be a professor, but Ialso wouldn’t mind going home to work for my bishop, and if I get married andhave kids that would be more than enough for me: I’ll write the occasional articleand maybe finish a book or two, and teach religion at the homeschool co-op, butmost importantly I’ll live the truth that I’ve received. That’s the beautiful thing about theology(and philosophy) – you can’t help butuse your degree. And behind and aroundboth of those reasons is the only real one: this is where I was led. There was never another choice that wouldn’thave felt like Jonah fleeing Ninevah. I’mstruggling, all the time, but I get indications every now and then that this isstill where I’m meant to be. I have noidea where the path I’m on is going to take me, but I can see how it got mehere, and I trust that God will continue to lead me.

#asks #me? including too much personal information in a tumblr post?#it's more likely than you think

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ukthxbye · 6 years ago

Text

Fur babies

(on ao3)

Molly Hooper found this particular cloudy afternoon oddly quiet and peaceful. Tea, her favorite biscuits and the latest medical journal on the return of old diseases all part of the perfect plan. Since marrying Sherlock Holmes, these days were much rarer than they used to be and she relished them. Settled into her favorite spot on the sofa, she got one sip of her tea before the key in the door broke the silence.

Hmm, Sherlock said he would be gone all day on a case, might not even be here tonight, she thought. But she wasn’t afraid, it's for sure him, is he struggling with the lock? And is that whimpering?

Whatever her thoughts leapt to were nowhere near the reality before her. Yes, her husband indeed came through the door. With both arms loaded with puppies and his face beaming with a massive grin.

Molly could not find words and her jaw threatened to unhinge.

Sherlock’s grin diminished slowly and he swallowed hard.

“Yes, well I realize now that this decision was one of those we make together, am I right? Yes, I think I got that mixed up on this one,” he stammered out quickly.

Molly clamped her jaw shut but then squealed a little when one of the pups started squirming out of his arms.

“For God’s sake-” She whispered.

“I know, I am sorry,” Sherlock apologized.

“For God’s sake put those pups down so I can love on every one of them!” she squeaked out.

Sherlock’s falling face quickly lifted and he bent down, letting all the puppies loose to greet her.

There were six in total and clearly all from the same litter, though their markings were different. They all were black and brown with bits of white.

Molly got down on the floor and four of them rushed to her, climbing and licking at her.

She giggled as they all attacked her face with puppy kisses.

“So...we can keep them?” he asked with hesitation.

“Yes, for now. We’ll have to see once they are adults, but yes. Oh, Sherlock, they are wonderful,” she cooed.

The breed was uncertain, though likely retriever and perhaps a kind of bulldog best Sherlock could surmise. Sherlock found them huddled together in an abandoned building. A man part of his homeless network said the mother had left them once they weaned but they all continued to stay with each other. He told this to Molly as she snuggled the smallest female to her chest.

“Well, they need baths. And a doctor's visit,” Molly sighed.

Sherlock smiled as he picked up two of the pups in his lap while he sat on the floor.

“They got the doctor's visit, that was first. All healthy and with shots now. But yes, I think baths are in order,” Sherlock said wrinkling his nose as he lifted one of the pups up. They smelled like London to him, both in its best and worst.

“Maybe we can us human body wash until we get-” Molly started to say.

With that, there was a knock at the door, and Sherlock stood and answered it without a word. Molly frowned, holding all the puppies back she could from following him. He closed the door with an armful of dog food and another large bag of supplies.

“Delivery service at its best,” He smirked. “Now you lot…”

All the puppies turned their heads and looked up at Sherlock and Molly let out an “awww”

“It's bath time!” and he headed down the hall to start the water, a trail of pups behind him.

After baths, they played with all the new toys, ropes and balls and stuffed squeaky things that were delivered. Between the big laughter and tiny barks, she is sure the neighbors hated them. Being puppies though, the energy was short lived as they began to yawn and soon two of them fell asleep on a blanket on the floor, one in Molly’s lap and two laid on Sherlock who sat on the sofa. The one still awake was the largest boy; he quietly chewed on a toy before he drifted off to sleep with it still in his mouth.

“Oh Sherlock, I have to take photos this is too adorable for words,” She grinned.

“Shh you are going to wake the children,” He smirked as she started snapping photos on her phone.

Molly felt something stir in her at those words, but she swallowed the thought away, ignoring his eyes which told her he had a similar stirring.

“What is going to name them? I get to name at least half of them,” she stated with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “Ok, you can name the three I am not set on the names I thought of.”

“Really you are too much my love,” she shook her head and laughed lightly. “Curious, which ones have you named already?”

“These two on my chest and the one that fell asleep with the toy over there,” He said, nodding in the direction of the distant pup.

Molly smiled softly, “Well then I get the two girls then and the other boy.”

Molly knows she wants to name one Toby, but she wanted to know what Sherlock named his pups first.

“Bruno for this one on my arm, for his work with the art of memory. He reminds me of the dogs of my youth,” Sherlock smiled. “The one here on my lap, Hobbes. For he seems the most diplomatic of the litter.”

Molly frowned and laughed “Such high brow names for street pups. But I think that works.”

Sherlock swallowed obviously, “The one with the toy I named Toby,” he said softly.

It had been six months since Toby passed from fairly natural causes for an older cat. The wound of his loss felt fresh still and hearing his name out loud brought tears to her eyes immediately.

“If that is ok of course, I unders- “ Sherlock began with concern in his voice.

She stopped him, holding back tears, “Oh Sherlock. It’s fine, and its perfect. I was going to name one that myself if given the chance.”

She placed her hands on his knees and leaned in, giving him a soft and warm kiss of gratitude which he received gladly.

One of the pups woke up at that moment and proceeded to go right in the corner and wee, hardly reacting to the great and sudden protesting by Molly and Sherlock.

He sighed, “That one’s yours to name.”

-:-

The two girls were named Sarah and Marie and the other boy Jonas, after Jonas Salk. Sherlock walked the pups but in general was very neglectful of their house training due to the use of puppy training pads. After a few fights with Molly, and multiple walks a day, he broke down and installed a doggie door for them all to use with the bit of garden in the back of their flat.

Even then, the pups quickly grew larger than he expected. When they were all so small, they would whimper and whine and Sherlock would relent, letting them sleep in the bed.

“You are going to regret that Sherlock,” Molly reminded him sleepily at night.

“So would you turn away our child if they had a bad dream,” he wearily said picking up the crying pups.

Molly, half asleep, answered, “That is our kid; that is different.

These discussions happened more readily and easily now, as they naturally make the connections and comparisons. But they don’t go any deeper than this yet.

Soon the puppies grew to about 22 to 27 kg each and that was too much even for their king size bed. Sherlock had to admit defeat when he was shoved out of bed by Toby one night.

“OFF!” he yelled as he leaped up from the floor, scattering dogs off the bed and floor and waking Molly to a jolt.

“Oh God! Sherlock, why are you yelling?” She asked with bleary eyes but he already stormed off into the kitchen and started the kettle with some of the dogs following him.

He rubbed his eyes, and looked down at his pack, Hobbes, Marie and Toby sat expectantly waiting.

And his heart melted again. He sat down, leaning his back against the counter as the pups come up and licked him.

“Ok apology accepted,” he sighed. “But no more dogs on the bed. I’m sorry, new rules and all.”

Toby sneezed in something like disapproval and Sherlock shook his head at him.

“I told you so,” Molly yawned as she shuffled into the kitchen, pulling two mugs down, threw tea bags in and poured the water.

Sherlock frowned at her but did not argue. He scrambled up and finished their tea with lemon and carried his and Molly’s to the coffee table so they could talk. The other three dogs had wandered sleepily into the living room and found spots to curl up on the rug.

Sherlock and Molly slumped wearily onto the sofa and Sherlock pulled Molly to his side.

“Either we buy a country estate to live at or some of these dogs need a new home,” she quietly said, risking an argument.

To her surprise, he nodded. “I am not sure I am ready for a country estate yet. Yes, it would be best for us and them to find new homes.”

They smiled softly at each other and back to the pups, all back asleep.

“Rosie needs a dog perhaps?” Molly yawned out quietly. “Marie is smallest and the most gentle and she loves Rosie.”

Sherlock agreed. “ And Sarah should go to Mrs. Hudson.”

Molly furrowed her brow a bit and grinned “ Yes. She is the most protective of the group and is easily trained. Mrs. Hudson will love the company I am sure. We’ll ask her.”

“You think Greg might want one?” Molly asked. “He certainly loves playing with them when he comes by.”

Hobbes turned over from his sleep position and began to snore loudly. He was the most bulldog like of the litter and snored louder than any of the others.

Sherlock chuckled quietly, “He can have Hobbes. We’ll not mention the snoring”

Molly poked his side playfully.

“Well that leaves Jonas, Bruno, and Toby,” he said looking at her.

“Toby stays; I think we can agree on that,” She said in a determined voice.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sherlock said kissing her forehead suddenly. “But he is close to Bruno as well. Can we keep them both?”

Molly nodded, happy to keep the brothers, who both resembled each other the closest.

Sherlock furrowed his brow in thought. “Jonas, who needs you, boy?”

Molly smiled slowly, “Perhaps someone in your homeless network could use a dog to help protect them? He is worst about staying out in the weather and never wanting to come in. maybe a more outdoor life would appeal to him?

Sherlock curled the side of his lips up in thought, “Yes I think I know just who could use him. I’ll get him to him tomorrow.”

With that settled and the dogs all asleep in the sitting room, Molly and Sherlock sneak back to their bed to get some rest before saying goodbye to the pups the next day.

-:-

Sherlock woke to a cold nose in his face. Hobbes is always the hungriest, insisting on his breakfast. Even though he knew it was for the best, his heart felt heavy at the task ahead of them today. They had built a little family of madness with the six dogs, allowing brothers and sisters to remain together. But logic prevailed with both him and Molly. After a quiet breakfast and tea, he took the first pup out of the flat to his new home.

After a brief exchange of fascinating news on the street, Sherlock offered Jonas as a thank you. His contact, usually all business suddenly kneeled and kissed the dog on its head lovingly

“You mean it? Really? I ain't had a pup in years” he said in near tears.

“Take good care of him and he will take care of you. I’ll check on him. Here are some supplies and I’ll make sure he goes to a veterinarian annually at my cost” Sherlock promised.

With that, he left with a gentle scruff of the dog's ears and walked away not looking back. He ignored the twinge as he took each step away.

Back home, Molly had called John and Rosie over.

As predicted Rosie played with Marie the most, and Molly swallowed before asking John.

“We can’t keep all these dogs you know” she whispered

“Yes God it’s whole damn pack, isn’t it? Surprised he has done so well for a year,” John quietly chuckled.

“Yes. And we want good homes for them,” she looked at him with eyes that pleaded he would get her train of thought.

“You want me to take one, don’t you?” John sighed.

“We want to keep them in the family if we can. And certainly, if we ever need to dog sit we will do it,” she reassured.

“We’ll take Marie I like he. She’ s sweet and disciplined,” John said quietly, watching Rosie and the dogs with a far off look. “Maybe that is what we need anyway. “

He stood up, getting Rosie’s attention. “Hey baby girl, how would you like to take Marie home with us?”

Rosie squealed when her dad told her the news, “I get doggy!” and she started jumping up and down.

And when they left Molly kissed the pup’s head and sent her happily following behind Rosie.

Sherlock returned shortly, kissed Molly hello and goodbye at once and picked up Hobbes messaging Greg saying he would meet him with a gift.

Greg grinned, pleasantly surprised to see one of the dogs and not a murder suspect or the like which was more par for the course with Sherlock’s “gifts.”

“You sure, mate?” Greg asked hesitantly.

“Look I need to get rid of some dogs and I want them to go to friends, ok?” Sherlock said with irritation in his voice.

Greg kneeled and rubbed Hobbes behind the ears, “Hobbes, you ready to go, boy?” With that, he got a large tongue nearly in his mouth and Sherlock couldn't hide his snickering. Greg closed his eyes and mouth just in time for Hobbes continued licking. “ok ok OK” Greg said while standing up. He wiped his face with his hand, grabbed the lead and waved to Sherlock as they left the corner.

Sherlock returned once again to their flat with a heavy and emptier heart.

“Time to see Mrs. Hudson now, “ Molly smiled, placing her hand in his and lacing their fingers tightly. Sherlock grabbed the lead for Sarah who followed gently and quietly behind them.

Mrs. Hudson was unsure at first. But Sarah laid her head in her lap and gave the best puppy dog eyes up at her potential new master.

“Oh. Ok, dear, I guess I cannot say no to those eyes. Never can from your now former master, you learned well from him,” she smirked and laughed.

Molly added, “With Sherlock not living here, only here for work, we thought you might like the company.”

“I am sure we’ll get along swimmingly. She is a sweet thing isn’t she?” Mrs. Hudson sighed as she pets her softly on her head.

“Yes but don’t let it fool you. She’s very protective as well.” Sherlock added.

After some tea, they left the last of the litter to leave with her new master, curled up at her feet. Sarah did not give a second look at them when they walked out of the flat.

With all the dogs passed around and only Bruno and Toby left at home, Molly and Sherlock returned to sit and reflect on their new smaller pack.

Sherlock tossed a ball absently for Bruno, feeling the weight of the day sinking in.

“I know you’ll miss them...but it’s for the best,” Molly tried, working to appeal to both their logical minds.

He shrugged, pouting a bit.

She sighed watching his face fall as he went further into his emotions.

“Let's go to the dog park, that will be good for them both,” she said cheerily, rising and getting their leads.

Sherlock reluctantly stood and grabbed Bruno’s lead from her as they left the flat.

Once at the park, they let the boys off their leads to run and play. They both quickly found another pack of dogs to run and play with. Molly patted the bench she sat at for him to join her.

The cold wind swept across the trees and she leaned into his side, head against his shoulder.

“You are thinking loudly, Molly,” Sherlock said plainly.

She smirked, “ As are you, Sherlock.”

“Imsorry. I realize this might all be a bit, I don’t know, triggering,” She frowned. “ I realize how hard this has been.”

He ignored the tear that threatened and swallowed the lump that suddenly crawled up his throat.

“Thank you for helping me through it,” Sherlock quietly breathed out.

Molly scrunched her face up, “ Not sure how I helped. I almost begged you to stop the whole plan a couple times.”

Sherlock laughed, feeling the weight lift, “Well I think perhaps I knew that and I wasn’t alone in my wishes.”

Molly felt an unsaid wish in her heart. She was unsure if this was the place for it, but it had threatened to spill forth many times before.

“Something feels empty still in our home and life, “ She started, slipping her hand in his.

Sherlock looked down at their hands together, “ I think perhaps it’s time for that conversation, isn’t?”

Molly looked up at his face expectantly.

“Children are so much more than dogs,” he said in a low voice.

She nodded, “ That’s the best part really, I think...I don’t know, it's a new feeling these thoughts.”

Sherlock smiled warmly, placing a hand on her cheek and she leaned into his hand. “I am thankful for new feelings.”

With that said he closed the gap and kissed her, answering with it approval and reassurance. Details will come later, but like everything else, it will be reached together.

#sherlolly #molly hooper #Sherlock Holmes #fluff #puppies #ukthxbye is ficcing #domestic af

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whiteterrorists · 6 years ago

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Students in 'MAGA' hats mock Native American after rally

Adam Beam and Brian Melley, Associated Press,Associated Press•January 19, 2019

A diocese in Kentucky apologized Saturday after videos emerged showing students from a Catholic boys' high school mocking Native Americans outside the Lincoln Memorial after a rally in Washington.

The Indigenous Peoples March in Washington on Friday coincided with the March for Life, which drew thousands of anti-abortion protesters, including a group from Covington Catholic High School in Park Hills.

Videos circulating online show a youth staring at and standing extremely close to Nathan Phillips, a 64-year-old Native American man singing and playing a drum.

Other students, some wearing Covington clothing and many wearing "Make America Great Again" hats and sweatshirts, surrounded them, chanting, laughing and jeering.

In a joint statement , the Roman Catholic Diocese of Covington and Covington Catholic High School apologized to Phillips. Officials said they are investigating and will take "appropriate action, up to and including expulsion."

"We extend our deepest apologies to Mr. Phillips," the statement read. "This behavior is opposed to the Church's teachings on the dignity and respect of the human person."

According to the "Indian Country Today" website, Phillips is an Omaha elder and Vietnam veteran who holds an annual ceremony honoring Native American veterans at Arlington National Cemetery.

"When I was there singing, I heard them saying 'Build that wall, build that wall,'" Phillips said, as he wiped away tears in a video posted on Instagram. "This is indigenous lands. We're not supposed to have walls here. We never did."

He told The Washington Post that while he was drumming, he thought about his wife, Shoshana, who died of bone marrow cancer nearly four years ago, and the threats that indigenous communities around the world are facing.

"I felt like the spirit was talking through me," Phillips told the newspaper.

State Rep. Ruth Buffalo, a North Dakota state lawmaker and member of the Mandan, Hidatsa and Arikara Nation, said she was saddened to see students showing disrespect to an elder who is also a U.S. military veteran at what was supposed to be a celebration of all cultures.

"The behavior shown in that video is just a snapshot of what indigenous people have faced and are continuing to face," Buffalo said.

She said she hoped it would lead to some kind of meeting with the students to provide education on issues facing Native Americans.

The videos prompted a torrent of outrage online. Actress and activist Alyssa Milano tweeted that the footage "brought me to tears," while actor Chris Evans tweeted that the students' actions were "appalling" and "shameful."

U.S. Rep. Deb Haaland, D-New Mexico, who is a member of the Pueblo of Laguna and had been at the rally earlier in the day, used Twitter to sharply criticize what she called a "heartbreaking" display of "blatant hate, disrespect, and intolerance."

Haaland, who is also Catholic, told The Associated Press she was particularly saddened to see the boys mocking an elder, who is revered in Native American culture. She placed some of the blame on President Donald Trump, who has used Indian names like Pocahontas as an insult.

"It is sad that we have a president who uses Native American women's names as racial slurs and that's an example that these kids are clearly following considering the fact that they had their 'Make America Great Again' hats on," Haaland said. "He's really brought out the worst in people."

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

Lemme tell ya. This is in my area. I mean I worked with boys from CovCath when I worked at Subway because it was just down the road. Like I can pee on the school from where I live. And these boys, not just the ones in the video/incident but in the school period, are the most entitled assholes who’ve ever existed. Very few of them are decent at all and NONE of them I’ve ever met (and I’ve met a lot) can imagine what it might be like to be someone else. Except one. His name was Robbie and he’s literally the ONLY boy I’ve ever met from this school who EVER seemed to think of other people. This school raises and specializes in entitled privileged white males. Period.

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sadhikamalladi-blog · 6 years ago

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Adjustment Day by Chuck Palahniuk

Introduction

As a kid, I would devour books. I used to read a book every few days, and I spent so long refreshing the NYT Bestsellers List that I decided to just set it as my home page. This habit continued through high school. Any genre, any length, I wanted to read and learn everything there was to know. I loved how books moved at a pace that the author and I negotiated, instead of the wholly intractable speed of film. Sometimes, I'd spend hours rereading a line, relishing the image and rhythm the words and their pronunciations formed in my head. I wondered if the author intended for me to come back to that line, or if they simply wrote it while reaching blindly for a cup of coffee.

One of the first authors to pull me into their world, depraved and demented as it was, was Chuck Palahniuk. I read Fight Club, and I walked through life for months wondering if there was a fight club out there, literally or metaphorically, and if I would glean joy from joining. Through Palahniuk, I learned how to take an objective lens to everything, instead of arbitrarily assigning value and designating things or people as "good" and "bad." I read and reread all of Palahniuk's books, shaken as Seth turned into Manus and Tyler morphed into the narrator I had come to rely on and maybe even respect. Palahniuk let me be self-righteous only so he could dismantle me.

The truth is, Palahniuk's game has always been the same. He throws uneasy situations at you and lets them blossom into colossal shitstorms that you somehow find yourself at the eye of. His work is known for the employment of an unreliable narrator, one who's often equal parts bored and boring for the majority of the novel. So, I was especially surprised to find out his latest work, Adjustment Day, was a decentralized narrative.

Why I Hate Decentralized Narratives

Another book I read this summer was Into the Water by Paula Hawkins. Much like Palahniuk, Hawkins is known for unreliable narrators. Her previous book, Girl on the Train, captured my attention and twisted my judgments against me in the most Palahniuk-esque way I could've imagined. And she did it all without the gore and sheer shock value that accompanies Palahniuk's language. I had high hopes for Hawkins' novel, which ultimately left me unsatisfied because of its decentralized narrative.

Decentralized narratives are ones in which there are many narrators (at least 11, in Hawkins' case) of varying credibility. It's meant to provide us with the immersive experience of investigating the mystery as though we were living it -- through a series of short vignettes that inevitably reference context we don't have access to. And as readers, we're meant to wade through this mess and attempt to form loyalties and suspicions that are inevitably incorrect.

All of this is fine with me in theory. I love a good puzzle, and putting together conflicting narratives from ulteriorly motivated characters is an exciting prospect. Unfortunately, it's very hard to deliver this kind of novel.

The excitement of the style is also its downfall. The author has to maintain a careful balance across characters, placing red herrings and minor storylines with as much importance as the main plot. We're meant to have no indication from the writing alone who did what. And if we judge a character based on their past, we're bound to be wrong. However, the sad truth is that if we don't judge characters then we have very little incentive to remember who's who in the story. We also require some sense of coherence in order to follow a character's story.

About fifteen pages into Hawkins' Into the Water, I found myself pulling out a piece of paper and a pen, jotting names and bullet points down. Several hundreds of pages later, I was extremely displeased. Sure, there was a cohesive network of small tidbits that added up to a bigger story. But there were also loose ends galore -- to the extend that I found myself wondering if The Room was easier to follow (it wasn't).

I haven't seen a decentralized narrative executed properly. It does feel like the next natural step in literary evolution, from a single unreliable narrator to many.

Novel Overview

So, Palahniuk's Adjustment Day. I have to say, the novel brought up some exciting themes but ultimately fell a little flat for me, mostly due to issues with relating to characters. The ending left me especially dissatisfied, wondering why Palahniuk teed up situations primed for sharp and incisive social commentary and then didn't follow through. It really isn't his style to back off.

Parts of the novel felt clichéd, but I guess that's to be expected. We are consuming such a massive amount of criticism of different social phenomena that nothing really strikes me as surprising anymore. I've read stories about how Trump has planned his coup for decades and stories about how if only a few tiny things were different we would be in a vastly different social climate right now. Regardless, Palahniuk does his usual work of harnessing fiction to raise deeper questions about what's happening around us.

Youth Bulge

Every Palahniuk story is anchored by a simple social circumstance. Women feeling self-conscious about their appearances, men feeling inferior in comparison to their evolutionary ancestors' raw athleticism, etc. In Adjustment Day, it's all about the youth bulge, a phenomenon in developing countries where infant mortality rates plummet but fertility rates continue to skyrocket, resulting in a large number of youth.

Palahniuk focuses on male youth. He paints them with broad strokes, characterizing them as an aggressive, war-mongering group. He describes world governments in collusion with one another to construct aimless wars simply to expend these youth and occupy them. If they're not occupied, Palahniuk seems to claim, they'll run rampant and seek increasingly self-destructive ways to express masculinity.

The messiah-like Talbott character recognizes this trend and decides to harness the power of these young men. He spouts off various platitudes throughout the novel, many of which carry the ring of deep wisdom but lack nuance. The young men, proud to be part of some kind of covert movement, hang on his every word and seek to bring about Adjustment Day.

Adjustment Day

Adjustment Day is a largely circular idea. Basically, the idea is to divide the nation into three subnations: Blacktopia, Caucasia, and Gaysia. Through some increasingly contrived set of requirements, people are delegated mercilessly through these nations. As Talbott puts it, minorities only rebel when there's a majority to subvert. By placing the gays in one nation, the blacks in another, and the whites in a third, the new order will ensure that everyone exists solely in homogeneous communities and thus in eternal harmony.

But the first problem is that people are not willingly going to go into these subnations. What about interracial couples? What about young gay children being separated from their heterosexual parents? Talbott sees these as collateral damage.

To set the gears in motion, he establishes a new currency by which people can wield power in the new order. A humble list starts on the internet -- "America's Least Wanted." People nominate anonymously, and others can up- or down-vote names. As a name gained traction, the bounty on their head increased. Well, it's not literally their head -- the job is actually to slice off the person's left ear.

Preparation and Execution

The first half of the novel focuses on the preparation for this fateful day. Talbott recruits people who seek redemption -- addicts, disgruntled veterans, etc. -- and lets them start a lineage. They can recruit another man who can recruit another one and so on. The pride of the youth bulge ensures that no one recruits someone who will spill the beans too early.

Police officers and politicians are brought in on the deal, effectively making it hard to organize the state in response. The day of, the bloodbath occurs surprisingly quickly. People are slaughtered en masse, their ears sliced off and taken as tokens to establish influence in the new world order.

The Aftermath

We follow a few characters throughout the novel, seeing how they act before, during, and after Adjustment Day. In the aftermath, Palahniuk describes people forcing themselves to fit in just to maintain a semblance of their old life. An interracial couple pretends to be gay so they won't get separated into Blacktopia and Caucasia. A gay teenager enrolls himself in a glorified internment camp as he waits transfer to Gaysia.

Misfits scattered across the nations eventually stumble onto each other in some unspecified location and start anew.

What Worked

Palahniuk's language was as sharp as ever. He describes the justification for a temporary type of cash (the paper loses value in a few weeks).

Hoard food and it rots. Hoard money and you rot. Hoard power and the nation rots.

He so clearly cuts down to the core of our greatest fears about society -- that the effort we put toward a communal welfare may not ever benefit someone we care about.

Imagine there is no God. There is no Heaven or Hell. There is only your son and his son and his son, and the world you leave for them.

Palahniuk wrote about the desires of the youth bulge with passion that felt extremely familiar:

He was tired of learning history. He wanted to be it. Charlie wanted the history of the future to be him.

What Didn't Work

The decentralized narrative again made it hard to care about any of the individual characters. And although I felt some concern for the overall fate of the new order, I never really cared much about its ramifications on particular individuals. Arguably, that was where the punch of this entire story was hidden. If I could see the goodness of the overall arch but the badness on an individual level, we'd have another Fight Club situation. But I couldn't.

The horrifying descent into chaos was unsalvageable. If Palahniuk had just ended the book with Adjustment Day, I might have had a different perspective. But he continues on with this murky Reconstruction-esque tale that is neither interesting nor easy to follow. As NPR describes, Palahniuk tried to build the appeal of Fight Club into a bigger, more global movement but ultimately failed [1].

Conclusion

I still love Palahniuk. And I still let phrases from Adjustment Day roll around in my head. They don't have as much power to me though, because I can't contextualize them in any wonderfully meaningful way.

[1]: NPR article

#chuck palahniuk #adjustment day

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notesfromthefielddesk · 4 years ago

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Episode 2 - E.E. Evans Pritchard

Episode link - https://open.spotify.com/episode/0LqJQ1q2kv5utkoct7V8Cg?si=485ef5c24837440e

John

I’m looking out over the plains of what was once Nuerland. The heavy clay earth is broken apart by the relentless sun. Deep cracks and the threaded depressions of rivers which rarely fill, even in the rainy season, are the only features on the dead flat, almost alien landscape. Around me cattle rest on the slightly (We hear gentle mooing) elevated sandy spot I found for my desk. From here I can see clear to the horizon where I spot sporadic patches of trees but all other greenery has browned and died back months ago. What these cows are living off is beyond me.

In years past the sodden clay retained water allowing certain plants to survive through the dry months. When the rain came this whole plain would be covered in grass reaching over my head as I sit behind my desk. Near the rivers edge they’d reach up to my shoulders even when standing. The rivers would fill then overflow making the whole plain a marshy swamp. At times like those this sandy mound would be prime real-estate and i’d be sharing space with far more cows.

Nowadays, this is South Sudan. The rainy season has become more sporadic and unpredictable. Often the relief of rains arrival is followed - shortly - by overwhelming flooding. Right now people are still waiting on that rain.

(we hear the wind starting to pick up)

The wind is picking up. A cloud of dust is rising on the plain. The horizon, with it’s sporadic trees and the cracked earth disappear from view behind a wall of air thick with clay. I can see about two cows away. Out of the dust emerges a figure. They’re walking towards me.

This is notes from the field desk.

Theme

oh! you. Look after what you told me in Papua new guinea I don’t think we should be talking. What are you doing here anyway? -

what do you mean am I following you? I am here by chance. My flight back to London from Brisbane got diverted because of technical fault with the plane and we landed in Juba. So there is no way I could have followed you here. If anything you’re probably followed me!

(sigh) Fine, I suppose there is no harm in you sitting here. There’s a tree stump just there you can listen to me record if you want. That is if you’re not busy organising a coup or whatever.

Anyway, when we got grounded in Juba I had a look through my collection. Oh, I should explain, I travel with a trunk of the one hundred most influential ethnographies, that’s what we call the books anthropologists write.

Side note, I never thought the trunk would be a problem, in all these Ethnographies they talk about getting porters to carry all their stuff, but when I asked at the airport for a porter, they just laughed at me?

Anyway, we were grounded a while before they cancelled the flight. So I had a look and it turns out another anthropological founding father did research in South Sudan. E.E.Evans-Pritchard. Or as I call him EEEE Pritchard. Okay well look, I don’t even want you to find my jokes funny so you just sit there rolling your eyes all you want.

Evans-Pritchard was a student of Malinowski at LSE and in the late 1920’s he set out for what was then Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. He wrote a couple of Ethnographies about the Azande which mostly focused on magic, kind of an obsession with early anthropologists. Then he headed south in 1930 to do research on the Nuer, which focused mostly on politics. A good hard subject we can get our teeth into! Anglo-Egyptian Sudan came Sudan in 1956, then split into the mostly Muslim North and mostly Christian South in 2011. Then in 2021 I arrived to do some peer-reviewing. I’m hoping Evan’s Pritchard is a bit less of a controversial figure so my students will get off my back.

(phone rings) ignore that, i’m ignoring, that’s nothing.

(Clearly still flustered) Okay, last time, we talked about the two sides of anthropology, the field and the desk. If Malinowski represents the innovation of field, you know participating in society, going native, spending years in the field. Then Evans-Pritchard is the OG anthropologist who developed the desk. Anthropology trades on being able to create a sense of being there through vivd description, where Malinowski could be a bit stiff and scientific Evans-Pritchard had a bit of flare with his flowing prose.

Is that cow looking at me? That one there with huge horns. I swear to god it’s looking at me.

Anyway, EP, I like calling him EP when I do he feels like a friend. (clear throat) He made drawings, he took tonnes of pictures, he described the plains, some of his diary crept into the ethnography. No racism as far as I could tell but He talks about being frustrated, he shows his work. A move towards modern anthropology. So reading his The Nuer, which is the ethnography he wrote about this region, is really like the experience of being here. Way less of a slog than boring old Malinowski.

(Email Chime)

Ohh an email, do you mind if I just check this? I just got assigned a student whose thesis i’m supervising. Very exciting. Shaping the next generation of anthropologists and all that.

okay, here we go.

“Dear Professor Johnson”

Not a professor but i’m quite pleased with that.

“I discussed briefly with Susan, uh-huh, during the introduction lecture that I’d be interested in researching the club scene, queer identity and youth in London. I’ve been reading tony Adams and Stacy Holman Jones on Auto-ethnography and that’s inspired me to try it myself. If you could point me in the direction of some readings to get myself started with.

All the best,”

I’ll leave their name out of it, bit of privacy. Hmm well i’m not sure about that. I mean really ethnography should be done in a rural place, not the city, should they even be doing research in the UK? This is anthropology not sociology. Plus auto-ethnography? I’ve never heard of it but we’re supposed to be studying the other not ourselves, this isn’t psychology. Hmm well I need to think about a reply, don’t want to stamp on the young fellows aspirations but he needs setting straight.

What is that cow doing. Is it - it’s coming over here isn’t it. Shoo, shoo! it’s licking me. Do something don’t just laugh. No do not nibble my suit! Argh. This suit cost a lot of money cow! Get off me. Shoo. Fine, i’m getting up. it’s your desk now!

Go on get out of here!

You know what happens now because you wouldn’t help me? We’re going to talk about theory. Yes groan away, there isn’t even a sea for you to paddle in this time so I guess you’ll just have to sit down there with the cows and listen.

This book actually is mostly about cows. All three hundred pages of it, I don’t think there is a single sentence that doesn’t mention cows or cattle or I don’t know bovine. I mean I like cows as much as the next englishman but it’s not exactly thrilling. But in fairness to Evans-Pritchard the Nuer didn’t exactly give him a choice. He said that

“whatever subject I would start on, and approaching it from whatever angle, we would soon be speaking of cows and oxen, heifers and steers, rams and sheep, hegoats and she-goats, calves and lambs and kids.”

Basically the Nuer loved cows. He said this fact was the underlying structure of Nuer society. So everything in Nuer society comes back to cows. Love, war, religion, politics, it was all about cows.

Our boy EP is a structural functionalist, - look the terms are important so just get used to it - meaning he thought there are underlying structures to all societies, that cause us to behave in a certain ways. Where Malinowski and functionalism thought post hoc ergo propter hoc - I can see you rolling your eyes, sometimes latin is useful! (deep sigh) Fine, i’ll explain it another way.

Malinowski would say the Nuer like cows because they give them milk - our boy EP would say okay but why love cows instead of say… soy beans which can also give you milk. It’s because the conditions the land in which the Nuer live aren’t good for growing soy beans, but they are good for raising cattle.

What would be a good comparison. Okay, Malinowski would say you like your iPhone because it gives you messages from friends. Those messages make you feel nice, so it fills a need. And EP might say, yes that’s true but it’s also possible that you like the phone because the underlying structure of Western society values objects especially expensive ones. Or else you’d have a nokia 3310. It still fills the same function but EP aims to explain why people choose one thing over another. If you’re a quote fan here is how Evans-Pritchard put it.

“Although the Nuer have a mixed pastoral-horticultural economy their country is more suitable for cattle husbandry than for horticulture, so that the environmental bias coincides with the bias of their interest and does not encourage a change in the balance in favour of horticulture.”

Oh there is a guy over there! (Shouting) Hey! Hey sir! Sir! Who do these cows belong to? Sir? (Biggish pause) (Snort in distance) He’s gone. Well I didn’t have time to chat anyway, i’ve got a tutorial. Just keep that cow away from me while I’m teaching. I doubt you care but here’s a Nuer song that Evans Pritchard translated.

Extract

The wind blows wira wira;

Where does it blow to?

It blows to the river. The shorthorn carries its full udder to the pastures;'

Let her be milked by Nyagaak;

My belly will be filled with milk. Thou pride of Nyawal,

Ever-quarrelling Rolnyang.

This country is overrun by strangers;

They throw our ornaments into the river;

They draw their water from the bank.

Blackhair my sister,

I am bewildered.

Blackhair my sister,

I am bewildered.

We are perplexed;

We gaze at the stars of God.

White ox good is my mother

And we the people of my sister. The people of Nyariau Bui.

As my black-rumped white ox. When I went to court the winsome lassie,

I am not a man whom girls refuse. We court girls by stealth in the night,

I and Kwejok Nyadeang.

We brought the ox across the river,

I and Kirj oak

And the son of my mother's sister Buth Gutjaak.

Friend, great ox of the spreading horns,

Which ever bellows amid the herd. Ox of the son.

Return from tutorial

You let the cows eat my notes!? I thought I said watch the cows! What happened? Was it that same cow again? What do you mean they all look the same, the one with the evil eyes!

Okay, so it seems like I missed some things again. The students pointed out that on page one of the preface, I might have skipped the preface, says “My study of the Nuer was undertaken at the request of, and was mainly financed by, the Government of the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan.” Which means the colonial government most likely paid for him to do the research because they wanted to control the Nuer. He describes them as violent willing to go to war over cattle at the drop of a hat. In text he says;

“At the present time cattle are the main cause of hostility

towards, and suspicion of, the Government, not so much on

account of present taxation as of earlier tax-gathering patrols

which were little more than cattle raids and of the avowedly

plundering expeditions of the Egyptian Government era that

preceded them.”

The students pointed out that given theat the government violently took their property, it was kind of understandable that the Nuer were angry. Again, if he was there trying to collect information so the colonial officers could control them, can we trust his findings?

During the second world war he used his ethnographic relationships to recruit Sudanese troops who he then led in Guerrilla warfare against the Italians. I said that sounds pretty cool right? Which made them angry, academic knowledge shouldn’t be used as a weapon to manipulate people into fighting in a war, which, regardless of the outcome would leave them colonised. They asked why we were spending so much time focussing on old men.

(Phone rings) Ignore that!

Pause takes a breath

I said fine, but we have to cover foundational figures who would they rather cover? What about Boas? He thought races were biological different and with some inferior to others. Ruth Benedict? They say she wrote a book for the US army in the Second World War about how to defeat the Japanese based on their culture without ever setting foot in Japan. Fine, Margret Mead? Exoticised the sex lives of Samoans and thought they were primitive.

I’m taking off this jacket it’s so hot and it’s got cow slobber all over the shoulder.

Well if all of them were racist then let’s just pack the whole thing in! They said I wasn’t understanding. I was thinking about racism as an individual failing caused by ignorance. But they weren’t ignorant, their racism was a product of society. In that way Evans-Pritchard was right. They lived during colonialism and the rise of the nation state. Which meant Nations had to justify their difference from others and their superiority over others.

People had to have a reason to believe in “Being British” rather than French or Sudanese. Or why would you think it was okay to rule them? Or to enforce boarders? These ideas of superiority and difference permeated the early anthropologists the same way the utility of cow herding led to the Nuer loving cattle. So everyone from that era was bound to be Colonialist.

They also said It doesn’t help that doing fieldwork confirms the differences between people. My head felt like it was going to explode. Still trying to figure it all out and it doesn’t help that that cow is still looking at me. I asked where they were getting all this from? Lentin and Visweswaren they said, apparently it’s on the reading list… I haven’t read the reading list.

(Phone rings once but he immediately hangs it up)

So, they said maybe next we could talk about Talal Asad. Apparently he is an anti-colonial ethnographer or something. I said fine whatever. They seem to know more than me anyway. Maybe we shouldn’t do fieldwork, maybe we should all do auto-ethnography. My students said maybe, but we still need to pay attention because racism hasn’t gone away, it’s still in our society. Which means we still might make arguments for it in our work unless we’re careful.

I guess before I do field work I should look at what the underlying structures of Britain are effecting my thinking. Not just my assumptions like I thought with Malinowski but what it means for a British person to turn up at a former colony. What does that act mean even before I start interacting with people.

I know that sounds like the same conclusion as episode one but my students assure me it’s subtly different. My head hurts, let’s go.

Nah leave the desk I’ll just get another.

Theme

This was notes from the field desk written by me James McGrail.

This episode references

Evans-Pritchard, E.E., The Nuer, 1940, Clarendon Press, Oxford.

Lentin, A. (2004). Racial states, anti-racist responses. Picking holes in 'Culture' and 'Human Rights'. European Journal of Social Theory 7(4): 427-443.

Pocock, D. (1975). Sir Edward Evans-Pritchard 1902–1973: An appreciation. Africa, 45(3)

Visweswaran, Kamala (1998) Race and the Culture of Anthropology, American Anthropologist 100/1: 70-83.

Theme ends

Susan

Do you think I’m stupid? You think I believe your flight got diverted to South Sudan? South Sudan? Oh and it just so happens that it’s thematically appropriate for your little podcast? Get back to London. Now. We need to have a serious conversation.

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#podcast #transcript #cows #anthropology #arts and entertainment #culture #society

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riverdamien · 4 years ago

Text

Radical Grace

Justice for the Poor and Marginalized-

Charles Wesley's View for the Twenty-First Century

The theology of John and Charles Wesely has shaped my life from my early childhood. My ministry is centered in this theology, I am who I am because of being raised and trained in this theology.

Kimbrough, Jr.'s book is a refreshing read, bringing the theology of Charles Wesly to life in the twenty-first century.

Radical grace is expressed through Christ's followers seeking justice for the poor.

Wesley grew up in a world of an emerging industrial revolution with rampant unemployment, economic displacement, widespread illnesses and poor medical care, the Poor Tax, and workhouses. The sin of greed or self-accumulated wealth at the expense of others, often a cause of poverty, was readily evident in eighteenth-century English society. He opposed poverty, hunger, and slavery.

We cannot equate the "new poor" of the twentieth-first century with those of the eighteenth, as Jose Miguez Bonino observes, "The contemporary poor clearly represent a different poverty in a different world from Wesley'. While our poor suffer just as those of eighteenth-century Britain, ours are in a qualitatively different condition in their social prospects, expectations, and attitudes." The dissimilarities between the twenty-first and the eighteenth centuries are very great. Not only has economic globalization caused by the displacement of peoples and recession among nations, but there are vast regions of the world today where seemingly endless wars have ravaged the land and the people, resulting in hunger, displaced populations, rampant disease and sickness, and especially the abuse of women and children. Natural disasters--earthquakes, droughts, hurricanes, typhoons, and tsunamis-have devastate and sometimes completely wiped out cities and populations, leaving only death, hunger, sickness, and poverty in their wake. Many of the populations affected are much larger than anything the Wesley's confronted in their day. Displaced people rose to 82.4 million in the past year, 1 percent of humanity is displaced.

So how can Wesley's approach be relevant for today? Its relevance is that as Jesus said, "the poor are with us always," and Wesley reminds us that the poor are with us because we fail to live out the Gospel message.

Wesley's message rings out loud and clear to our age, and to our failure as the Church:

1. Charles lived by the reality that there was no privileged class in God's realm, and he challenges the church to be courageous and step beyond the boundaries of its walls and hierarchies in order to actualize acts of compassion and justice. Fr. Henri Nouwen says: "To die to our neighbors means to stop judging them, to stop evaluating them, and thus to become free to be compassionate. Compassion can never coexist with judgment because judgment creates the distance, the distinction, that prevents us from really being with the other."

2. Charles calls Christians to develop a lifestyle of commitment to the poor. In everything we do, in the way we live, the welfare of the poor should be at the heart of our concern and activities.

3. Wesley summons us to be friends with the poor. We meet people where they are. One of the biggest criticisms I have received through the years is I am friends with the "poor", with the youth on the street. I hang out with them, and I treat them as equals. We must be friends, we must not talk down or tell others how to live.

How do we implement a theology of radical grace that seeks justice for the poor and marginalized? Charles Wesley offers a practical approach motivated by divine love:

`1. Labor for the Poor: Around our neighborhood, the doors of churches are locked, and have security systems; and across our country that is the way it is. We should labor for the poor, we should feed the poor, we should work for justice for the poor, and we should work with them on their level, and befriend the poor.

2. Be a Just Steward: Give priority to the poor in budgetary planning as individuals and as a church.

3. Feel the Care of Others: Charles Wesley speaks of feeling the care of others. This is different from merely caring for others. It means establishing a relationship with the poor, which is impossible without personal contact. We will not feel the care of others if we do not visit them and befriend them.

4. Make Friends With the Poor: It is not easy when one has housing, food, the ability to travel, etc., but one can simply come to understand our own poverty, and the reality the time will come when we will die the same way--without nothing. We can move into friendship in sharing with what we have, and in the moment. It is difficult for me every day to come home to a warm room, food, and the ability to do pretty much whatever I choose. I live simply, but materially have everything I desire. And yet I am the poorest of the poor. And I always put these kids first. We are not as different as we think we are.

5. Preach the Gospel to the Poor: St. Francis once said: "Preach the Gospel. .using as few as words as possible." While actions speak louder than words, Charles took every opportunity to preach the Good News of Jesus Christ.

Charles believed in universal salvation, but also that knowing Christ brought fulfillment to one's life.

6. Welcome Everyone to the Lord's Table:

The Wesley's taught everyone should be welcome at the Lord's Table.

Holy Communion is the sacrament of love, the communion, and fellowship of the body of Christ, and involves participation in the sacrifice of Christ and sharing the resurrected life. As Petros Vassiliadis says: "It is only through the eucharist that the church becomes the church in its fullest sense." It is the determinant of the churches and the Christian's identity. Thus Holy Communion is an eschatological meal. It always involves a becoming. And it should not be denied to anyone for any reason.

7. Pursue "Gospel-Poverty":

This idea is found in only one of Charles Wesley's texts; it is a response to Acts 4:36-37: "Thus Joseph, who was also called by the apostles Barnabus (which means son of encouragement), a Levite, a native of Cyprus, sold a field that belonged to him and brought the money and laid it at the apostle's feet."

"See here an apostolic priest,

Commissioned from the sky,

Who dares of all vain self divest,

The needy to supply!

A primitive example rare

Of gospel poverty,

To feed the flock one's only care,

And like the Lord be" (C. Wesley).

Wesley calls this "A primitive example of rare of gospel poverty."

Gospel poverty refers to complete self-divestment. Gospel poverty is daring to give up all in order to supply the needs of others. He relates Gospel poverty to the pursuit of perfection:

"Wouldst thou require what cannot be?

the thing impossible to me

Is possible with God:

I trust thy truth to make me just,

Th' omnipotence of love I trust,

The virtue of thy blood.

"Ye shall be perfect" here below

He spoke it, and it must be so;

But first, he said, "Be poor;

Hunger, and thirst, repent and grieve,

In humble, meek obedience live,

And labour, and endure.

Thus, thus may I the prize pursue,

And thu' appointed paths pass thro'

To perfect poverty:

Thus, let me, Lord, thyself attain,

And give thee up thine own again,

Forever lost in thee."

Where do Christians and the church begin with these radical ideas of Charles Wesley? We begin by examining how attached we are to worldly things and by considering of what we may divest ourselves for the sake of serving the poor and the marginalized. This can only be done only if we remember our need for gospel poverty and pray faithfully Wesley's words:

O may I ever be?

The least in my own eyes,

Retain my poverty,

And labour for the prize!

We are confronted with the words of Thomas a Kempis on our journey, and where we are we in following Jesus and radical grace:

"Jesus has many lovers of His heavenly kingdom, but few bearers of His cross. He has many seekers of consolation, but few of tribulation. He finds many companions at His feasting, but few at his fasting. All desire to rejoice in Him; Few are willing to endure everything for him. Many follow Jesus as far as the breaking of bread, but few to the drinking the cup of his passion. Many reverence his miracles, but few will follow the shame of His cross. Many love Jesus as long as no adversaries befall them. Many praise and bless him so long as they receive some consolation from Him. But if Jesus hides and leaves them but for a brief time, they begin to complain or become overly despondent in mind."

Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

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

Fr. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

415-305-2124

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treehugginglibrarian · 5 years ago

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“I love you, honey”

“You don’t have to worry about the house, grandma. It’ll be taken care of.”

“I mean, I’m sure it will. The next owners will do what they have to do.”

“No grandma, it won’t have ‘next owners.’ Its next owner is going to be me. And Lesia. It’s all been decided already. Eric and Rana are both completely okay with it. And obviously my dad is okay with it.”

“You want the house? But… but why do you want the house?”

“Because it’s the only serious constant I’ve ever known. Throughout every part of my life I have visited my grandparents in that house. It’s in a beautiful part of the country where Lesia and I can live happily and still have space. And it’s big enough that the whole family can congregate there if they want. And they will. It’s the homestead. I want it.”

My grandmother tried not to make it obvious she was nearly crying. But sitting in a Friendly’s, barely eating her food as her appetite had long since disappeared, she was quite clearly touched by my desire to inherit the house my father had done most of his growing up in.

When I told my dad I wanted the house, he was just relieved because it meant him and my Uncle Eric wouldn’t have to scramble to get it sell-worthy. We can take our time emptying it. Figuring out what needs to be kept, either in the house or with other people. We can take our time completely remaking it into a home befitting a couple with no children, too many animals, and a fondness for guest rooms.

My father wouldn’t have to say goodbye to his childhood home even as he said goodbye to his parents, because his own child was going to take it.

To my grandmother, my desire for her house was a sign that she had successfully made it a home not just for her own children, but for generations to come. My keeping it would ensure that all of us will congregate in it long after she is no longer watching tv in the basement, petting a cat, and diligently working on her cross-stitch.

This wasn’t the last time I saw my grandmother, but it was the last time I had a truly meaningful conversation with her. By the next time I saw her, a time that would be the last, she had suffered a stroke that left her extremely tired and often uninterested or unable to carry on conversations of any real length. At that point, my grandfather had gotten so mean and nasty that my father had basically told the “kids” to say their goodbyes, because he wanted to spare us any further contact with his dad. Such is the curse of old age, I suppose.

This last conversation with my grandmother followed the last time she ever set foot in one of her favorite spaces, Pleasant Valley Wildlife Sanctuary. My grandmother was obsessed with nature for basically her entire life. In an alternate universe where women her age were encouraged to do things other than teach and raise children, she was an environmental scientist who would have made quite a stink about the state of the planet. That’s not to say that the path that she took was any less impressive.

She married young. At 18. To a man she had been dating for four years already. My grandfather joined the military pretty quickly, working with computers at a time when “computer” was a terrifying and hushed word that most people didn’t understand. They traveled a lot in those first years, and while my grandmother finished a degree in history and attempted teaching, in the end she found the profession rather loathsome for many of the same reasons today’s teachers often find it loathsome.

She worked for intelligence agencies and was a member of the Women’s Army Corps, never giving much consideration to the fact that women weren’t supposed to work for intelligence agencies at that time. She raised three children, watched the family go through times of crisis and calm, and all the while she volunteered to help take care of the nature parks in her area. The woods were her refuge. To me, she always seemed happiest when she was watching birds and she was, for reasons that will always confound me, the type of lunatic who would wander onto her back porch to take photos of the black bear in the backyard. I’m still baffled that she never got eaten!

So it was that, on every occasion possible, I would kidnap her and take her back to a place she had made my own stomping grounds when I was a child. Pleasant Valley.

We walked that day. A lot. Particularly for someone who was in her 80s and had not-great knees. We talked about life. About my dad. About my grandfather’s forgetfulness. About my job. We talked about the bullfrogs we heard and she laughed at me for continuing my never-ending tree hugging spree. I think a part of me suspected it would be one of the last good days I would get with her, but the stroke that she had a few months later made me that much happier that I had that last day.

I love my grandmother immensely. I will miss her with every fiber of my being. Her exasperated “LYNDSEY” when I’ve said something foolish, her frustrated “Well, what do you want?” when I’ve refused to tell her what we should have for dinner, and her quiet but firm “I love you, honey” said into the nape of my neck each time she hugged me goodbye. Her small but legible handwriting that is, to me, just a neater version of my father’s own messy scribbles.

My relationship with my grandmother was fraught, though, and to pretend otherwise would be to lie. She was a complex woman and her relationships with most of us were, at times, complex. When I was around 16 years old, she looked at me wistfully and told me how lucky I was to be as pretty as I was. “Everything is so much easier for pretty people.” My grandmother was no slouch in her youth, sporting a trim figure, a curly bob, and a cupid’s bow that she continued to decorate with electric pink lipstick up until she stopped doing her make-up.

Despite this fact, I took the comment to heart. It took YEARS for me to accept that I had, in fact, made it through anything successfully on my own merits. Even in my early relationships, I often found myself questioning what the interest or the intent was. Did they like me because they liked me, or because getting a partner was simply easier when you were pretty? What my grandmother likely meant as a one-off, half-assed, compliment, turned out to be an emotional scar that took a literal decade to shake.

She was also the only member of my immediate family to ever put pressure on me to have children and, for some time, I resented visits with her because of this. My grandfather was indifferent, but my grandmother was quite insistent that the genetic line needed to continue. Apparently, I was the mandatory continuer of that line. Her nagging never brought this to fruition and I know, as she told my mother as much, that she died at least a little bitter about this fact.

Yet, despite an inability to accept the modern notion of a child-free woman, she had no trouble accepting the idea that I was marrying a woman. My grandparents both met my spouse rather early on in our relationship, with my grandmother concluding quite rightly, “Wait? You can’t be gay. You would never waste your time on men just to please society. That’s not you. Do you like both? You must like both. Oh. To have such options!” My grandmother, jealous of bisexuals, even if she did think we all needed to have children!

Intensely well traveled, it’s safe to say my grandparents are probably where I got my fondness for world exploration, even if the traveling I did with them was limited to the general regions our family lived in at various points in time. She died having never made it to Australia, something she regretted up until she lost interest in regretting such things. Perhaps this is one of the reasons my father had such an intense interest in the nation that, ten years ago, I dragged him there with me. I will forever remain grateful that she made it to the Galapagos, and I can only hope my own dreams of Antarctica can be as well fulfilled.

My grandmother was someone with whom I had everything and nothing in common. I am very similar in personality to my father, her oldest son, a fact that has become ever more apparent as I have gotten older. She loved my dad a nearly irrational amount, which in many ways likely drove her love for me, and her tolerance of my eternal shenanigans. She was always intrigued by whatever new ink or piercings I had acquired since our last visit, and sincerely wished that it was “acceptable” for “old people” to get tattoos. I’ve no idea what she would have gotten, but I tried to talk her into it at least a dozen times!

During my time in the military, my grandparents were my rocks in every single way. They constantly mailed me care packages in which tootsie rolls were used as packing peanuts (remarkably effective) and I have quite a collection of cards and letters from both my grandmother and their friends. It is quite possible their never ending supply of Ding Dongs and Yankee Doodles single-handedly added inches to some of my troops’ waistlines!

They lived only three hours from Fort Drum, so whether I needed to escape an unsavory personal situation or just wanted to get away from work for a long weekend, I had a built in bed-and-breakfast complete with a side of grandmother-that-spoils-me-rotten a short jaunt from my home. My boss while I was at Brigade was so amused by my visits to their house that she would often kick me out of work early on those evenings, saying “you only have your grandparents for so long. Go enjoy them while they’re here, dammit.”

One particularly memorable trip saw my drive there interrupted by a call to my grandmother, with me in hysterics. I had passed a veal farm on the drive and the little bitty cow shelters were significantly more than I could handle. I completely broke down and called their house both so they would know I was running late and so my grandmother could calm me down. When I arrived, she told me she’d called Hancock Shaker Village and arranged for me to go pet the baby cows there the next day. That was the type of grandmother she was- you were never too old to be scooped up and treated like you were still her baby.

One of my last trips down there while I was living Upstate, it was my grandmother who made me see the light regarding an emotionally abusive boyfriend. “Honey, you don’t have to be with someone just to be with someone. I know I tell you I want you to find someone because I think it will make you happy. And that’s true. But someone who makes you unhappy is a significantly worse idea than happiness by yourself.” Less than a month later I dumped him and never looked back.

My wardrobe is populated by vintage items I have inherited from her, my jewelry is speckled with the sparkles she has given me over the years, and my kitchen is eternally rainbow colored because she and my grandfather are who ensured I eventually received the Fiesta Ware I had wanted since I was a child. I routinely eat off actual silverware that I liberated from their kitchen during one visit and polished to a proper shine. I know, I’m a terrible Millennial.

My grandmother died on February 6 and a little bit of light left the world with her. I know, though, that she got the ending she wanted. She wasn’t in a nursing home. She hadn’t spent the last year of her life, following a stroke at the end of 2018, cooped up and surrounded by doctors and nurses. She had lived the remainder of her months on her terms, or as close to it as she could. By the time she left us, she was tired. She was routinely in pain. She was having trouble staying awake for any length of time or eating any real amount of food. It was time for her to go.

I’m glad she’s at peace, and intensely happy that I was given the opportunity to make as many memories with her as I was, well into my adulthood. I haven’t the foggiest what happens to people after they leave us, and won’t pretend that I really think it’s all that much. My grandmother, though, will live for me forever. Larger than life, loudly screaming at my grandfather “PERC! Will you turn that down!” and eternally telling me, “I love you, honey.”

Dawn Marie Williams, somewhere in Minnesota, circa 1991. Fiercely loved by her granddaughter then, now, and always. Rest easy, grandma. You taught us well.

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estelliathealchemist-blog · 7 years ago

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(OOC. Though, RP related.)

(So recently, my friends and I found a mod of D&D. It’s pretty much D&D but Naruto. All of us being life long Naruto fans, we felt obligated to give it a shot. It was easily the best decision we have made all summer. I can safely say that this is the best irl roll20 experience I’ve ever had. And I’ve been doing table top rpgs for five years now. I’ll begin to start writing our journey from the beginning of our chunin exam until the very end of this campaign. It was just simple kids learning how to use Jutsu before chunin, so readers won’t be missing much. I hope everyone who reads enjoys! :D NOTE: All attacks and overwhelming majority of actions against players are all based on rolls. All dialogue between characters was actually role played. Story is being written/told by my friend who is DMing. I’m simply here to share the tales. This is an alternate universe of Naruto. Everything we can do is actually done in the manga/show and we shall not be bending the laws of the Naruto universe. All characters portrayed are original characters created by our DM. Though, some are direct references to heroes and villains seen through the series. Akahoshi is played by me, Kaima is played by my friend Alex, and Riyoto is played by my friend Brian.)

As the sun came to rise, the children of Team 7 would be waiting at the usual meeting spot towards the gates for Obara Sensei. “You ready for the Chunin, guys?” Was heard from Riyoto as he spotted the first patch of aspiring Chunin down the road from the gates of the village. Kaima shot a cocky snicker to Riyoto as he scanned the shinobi from afar. “I’ve been ready, bud.” A shit-eating grin began to grow across his face as he would repeatedly flip a single rio around his fingers. Akahoshi’s head raised from sharpening his kunai and looked towards the incoming shinobi. “We’ll win. We easily surpass our classmates back at the academy.” He added. Before there could be any other talk, they heard an all too familiar voice right behind them, “Anxiety, cockiness, and arrogance. Ahh, the youth. This is what will get you killed in the Forest of Death!” A hand would go across all their heads swiftly. Giving them not time to react. They’d all turn around and look to Obara. Akahoshi and Kaima having a face filled with fury. While Riyoto simply shot him the ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ stare.

“Oh... Good morning!” Obara sensei said cheerfully. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR!?” Akahoshi and Kaima had said nearly in sync. “It’s to snap some sense in you too! The Forest of Death is no man’s land. There are quite a few casualties per-year. You are my first batch of students and I will do anything in my power to make sure you all make it out of there alive.” His tone was very calm as his students looked to him in anger. His right pointer finger shot up and pointed right in the direction of the shinobi making their way to the village gate. “You have shinobi traveling from the Sound Village, Rain Village, Rock Village, and many more. Some of which will be knowledgeable of many more jutsu than you. Some will be forgiving and allow you to walk free if you give up a scroll. Others will kill you for it, even if you surrender.” The three stayed silent. They all realized what he said was very true. Obara cleared his throat before speaking once again, “Now... Don’t train, you need to save your energy. Spend the rio you earned on your previous mission on some supplies, grab some good food, and then head to the exam registry.” He’d drop them a small pouch of rio so they’d be able to purchase a quality meal. As the small baggy hit the dirt ground, he’d begin to walk off. Kaima picked it up and signaled the two to follow. “Common’, let’s make the most of this before registry.”

A few hours have passed since Team 7 walked off. They had each gotten three delicious bowls of ramen, kunai, and some shuriken. They had arrived to the exam and registered. The first part of the exam was smooth sailing, each of them passing the written portion of it pretty fairly well. With the bullshit over, the reckless or stupid aspiring shinobi disqualified, they had all been brought before The Forest of Death. They were given 30 minutes to formulate a strategy and be debriefed by their sensei. “Alright, Team 7! Listen carefully cause this part can cost you your lives. You will be starting here for the exam. The scroll you will be given is the Earth Scroll. In order to pass section two of the exam, you will have to get an opposing team’s heaven scroll. Once you obtain it, you must locate The Tower and put the two together. The tower is located at the center of the forest. Once together at the tower, preform the hand signs that were taught to you just a few minutes ago, and it will summon me. Once I am summoned, you have officially passed the second part of the Chunin exam.” There was a pause. He’d carefully look to his students. Being sure they clearly understand the gravity of the situation. Obara Sensei would begin to speak once more. This time, his tone much more serious. “Remember, people will be aiming to get your scrolls no matter the cost. This isn’t the village. This is bandit country, kids. You must be on your guard no matter what.” There was a pause. The young shinobi hadn’t given off the slightest bit of anxiety. But it was sure built up inside. “Any other questions?” He asked one more time. Without hesitation, Akahoshi spoke. “Sensei, is there any possibility that you can tell us where we are starting?” Obara looked to Akahoshi. Temptation was visibly in his eyes. Though, he refrained from giving the info out. “I’m sorry, kids. But I’m forbidden to give you that information. A good shinobi must be able to find out where he is in any situation. Any other questions?” The three stayed silent. Unable to think of anything else. Obara had clapped his hands together. “Well, with that said. Here are your supplies.” He’d open the crate before them. “Each of you will receive three food rations and four food pills.” The team grabbed their items quick. What was actually minutes felt like hours for the shout to go. “Shinobi! Stand ready!” An official judge of the exam had said behind them. Team 7 could barely see the other teams to their left and right. They sure spread out the teams. This gave them a good idea of how big the Forest of Death truly is. “BEGIN!” Team 7 quickly ran. Then jumping over the large fence and into The Forest of Death.

Team seven has traversed through the forest for some time now. Unsure of where they are, or who they may encounter.... Or what they may encounter. Kaima having his byakugan active, he had looked carefully for any close signs of chakra from shinobi or scrolls. “Guys, we’re getting close to multiple chakra sources!” He told the group. Akahoshi nodded to him. “Understood. Bring us to the source, Kaima!” As they swiftly jumped through the trees, they’d allow Kaima to take the lead. Hopefully leading them to what will be fairly easy opponents.

They had gotten to the source silently. They had stayed hidden in the branches and cloaked by the leaves. At that moment, Kaima’s face had grown weary. Akahoshi would be staring down the group as well, trying to identify them to the best of his ability. However, Riyoto had been scanning the surrounding branches. Soon spotting the uneasy look on Kaima’s face. “What’s wrong, Kaima?” He asked in a very quite tone. Kaima had taken a very deep breath before breaking the bad news to him. “Those aren’t just random shinobi, Riyoto. Those are our friends, team two.” He said somewhat painfully. Riyoto had slowly nodded, “What do we do, then?” There was silence as they all continued to look them down. Do they ambush their friends? Or do they leave them be? What if there is no other heaven scroll for a very long time, they all asked themselves. As the moments went by, they’d finally hear team two speak. “We know you’re there, opposing shinobi. Show your faces or we will force you to.” Team Seven froze up. Unable to think what may happen. They all dropped from the trees right before Team Two. It was a grim stare down for quite a few seconds. Finally, Akahoshi had say something. “We will go our way, Doumatsu. We were unaware that it was you who we found.” Doumatsu’s eyes turned to Akahoshi. “Hm? Is that so? Well, we are in need of our second scroll. Hand yours over, and this will go easy.” Akahoshi’s friendly expression went to angry in less than a second. “I’ll say it again, Doumatsu.. We will be leaving now.” Doumatsu simply laughed at them, “Guys, we are friends, yes. But this is the Chunin exam... And it would seem that we are much more eager to win than you guys.” The tension was up to eleven. If fast enough, they could have disengaged. However, Akahoshi’s Uchiha arrogance had got the best of him. “You will not put me down to the level of a coward.” He exclaimed to Doumatsu. His eyes closed, and his tone cocky. However, the moment he opened his eyes, it would no longer be the calm hazel eyes that Akahoshi bared. It was his Sharingan with two tomi and each eye. And so, the battle began between the two friend groups.

With his handsigns nearly unreadable due to his speed, Doumatsu took the first step. “Sand Tomb Jutsu!” He shouted in the direction of the group. Without having anytime to react, Kaima had been trapped in his sand tomb! They had to work fast to get him out of there or else he’d be as good as dead. “Alright, Kage! Time to kick some ass!” Riyoto said to his cat on his shoulder. A howling meow was heard from the cat as he charged forward. Riyoto passed right through Doumatsu and was heading straight for his weapon specialist teammate, Nagahama. “ Man-Beast Taijutsu: Fang Over Fang Justu!” Riyoto screamed ferociously. Nagahama’s parrying capabilities were no match for this nasty jutsu. She’d have gotten sliced in all directions. Then sent flying and smashing her back into a tree. Falling unconscious on impact. Akahoshi darted right for Doumatsu. Not holding back what-so-ever. “Water Style: Demon Appetite Jutsu!” He said as he charged towards Doumatsu. A puddle had appeared right under the enemy shinobi. Quickly turning into the mouth of a sea monster with dagger-sharp teeth biting down on his lower body at once. Doumatsu had screamed in agonizing pain as the monster-head turned back into mere water right below him. The once clean water now having a heavy mix of his blood. It was enough for the Jutsu to be broken. Kaima would have broken free, gasping for air and yelling in pain. “You motherfucker!” He said to him furiously. But Kaima was not getting a break quite yet. There last team member, Haru, would be blind-siding Kaima. “Poison needle shot!” Haru threw his puppet forward, having it precisely hit Kaima in vital points. He’d drop to his knees with a grunt. This kid sure wasn’t getting a break. Doumatsu and Haru began to approach Kaima, preparing to finish him off. “Don’t think I’d go down that easily...” He said to them. They’d both raise a brow to him, wondering what he could possibly do. In a few seconds, he’d launch himself high in the air. Looking directly below him. “Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu!” He said mid-air as he preformed the handsigns with fast movement. Pulling 20 kunai from his pouch, he threw them both directly at the two. Following by a nasty blast of fire to send the flaming kunai at a frightening velocity. Doumatsu was fast enough to sub it. Haru however, was not. To protect himself from certain death, he threw his puppet before him. Allowing it to take the brunt of most of the kunai. Fortunately for him, he had survived such a nasty jutsu with no sever injuries. The however part of it was, his puppet was unrecognizable. Rendering the shinobi almost useless from here on out.

As Kaima fell to the soil all he could wonder was where the hell Doumatsu had gone off to. He began to heard something heavy fly behind. As he turned around to see what it was, it was Doumatsu’s Sandstone Fist jutsu. Smashing Kaima directly in the gut and sending him flying. Kaima hit the ground still alive, but in critical condition. Riyoto would leave Nagahama be as she was passed out. He ran back to take on Haru or Doumatsu. As he stood a decent distance from Doumatsu, the cocky shinobi looked to him. “Hm? What will you and that cat do, Riyoto? My sand armor can stop most nasty attacks!” Riyoto stood strong, ignoring the attempted intimidation with a cocky smirk. “Lightning Strike Jutsu!” He yelled as he preformed the hand signs. A deadly bolt of lightning had shot from his pointer and middle finger. What usually would have shocked a normal shinobi their level onto their feet, simply left a chip into the strong sand armor. Doumatsu laughed to Riyoto as his eyes widened in surprise to the fortification of Doumatsu’s armor. As Haru began to run up to Doumatsu in attempts to aid him, Akahoshi had appeared before him. “Not so fast, Haru.” Akahoshi said in an arrogant tone to him as he landed on the ground. “You’ll be taking on me.” He raised both fists to his face. One of his hands holding a kunai. “So be it, Akahoshi!” Haru replied to him. Standing ready for what is to come. After several hand signs, Akahoshi spawned two water clones, both heading right for Haru. As they charged him, he’d follow up with another jutsu. “Water Blade Jutsu!” Haru heard as the moisture in the air formed into a blade in Akahoshi’s hand. He had not forgotten about the clone’s, though. Simultaneously, they attempted to strike him. But failed horribly, each clone being counter attacked and turning back into water. The distraction worked, though. The water-made katana made a clean cut down Haru’s chest. He’d disengage with a back-flip and pull two Wakizashi from his side. “Two can play at that game!” He said as he charged back to Akahoshi. The two would be would have constantly been blocking and parrying each other for this phase of the battle.

Back to Riyoto and Doumatsu about thirty meters away, Riyoto tries his best to block his vulnerable comrade from Doumatsu. The sounds traversed the skin of his body as his stare of death pierced Riyoto and aimed straight for Kaima. Riyoto so caught up in guarding Kaima’s life, completely neglected the fact that Nagahama was still alive. “Is that how you treat all woman!?” Echoed through the perimeter of battle as she went to strike Riyoto with multiple clones. Two would kick him right in the face right before Nagaham had actually appeared right before him. “Secret Weapon Technique: Rolling Star!” As she was mid-air before Riyoto, she’d take her nodachi with both hands and do flurry of forward flips. Consistently striking his chest and abdomen. He’d stumble back, blood spurting from his mouth. His cat screaming as he tried to stay atop Riyoto. As she looked back to Kaima, she’d pull a kunai from her side. “Hold it, Kaima. We’ll let you off right now if you hand us that scroll.” He then looked to her. His pale Hyuuga eyes weak from his injuries. He’d make an attempt to get up. As he did, she’d throw the kunai directly at him. He’d poof and the kunai hit a block of wood! “That fucker substituted it!” Doumatsu yelled in an annoyed tone. They began to peer around, searching for him. His substitution was just about perfect. He’d manage to get high up in the branches, giving him some time to swallow three of his food pills. He quickly regenerated energy, and his sever wounds mended. “Time to show them what I’m about..” He whispered to himself. He launched himself from the branches and right in front of her. Standing before her with open palms and a smile of vengeance. “Gentle Fist Art: Eight Trigrams Thirty-Two Palms!” Within the blink of an eye, he’d dash close to her. His fists striking all her chakra points with speed of the wind. On the thirty second punch right into her abdomen, there would be an audible crack heard. She’d be launched into the air as blood gushed from her mouth. She had landed right on her back in critical condition. Doumatsu had not taken the attack lightly, reading for him to be next.

Akahoshi was still fending off Haru, each of them getting cut up by their attacks. As well as many blade collisions. As Akahoshi heard Kaima use his gentle fist art, he knew now was the time to strike. With all the sturdy sand armor Doumatsu had on him, there was no way they were going to be able to take all three on at once. He took this to his advantage and would try to play a mental game from here. Both blades had collided once more. Both being held right in front of their faces. He took this advantage to use his right tomo. “Look into my eyes, puppet master..” He said in a clam tone. Haru could not avoid the genjutsu on it’s way. He had stared Akahoshi right in the eyes. In Haru’s mind, he was back in his home town. The streets were barren as he looked around, trying to figure out what had happened. And there he was. Haru’s little brother, standing right before him. Being mangled and mauled by six different puppets. “Your art, Haru... It’s killed me!!!” He screamed to his older brother as he saw all his spare puppets begin to slowly mutilate his four year old brother. Haru fell to his knees in tears. He was re living the past all over again. That faithful day where he tested his puppet on his brother in a fit of rage. The day that will haunt him forever. In Akahoshi’s eyes, he was just on his knees screaming at nothing. He jumped to the trees, readying what was possibly their only option of a casualty-free victory. It all came down to this! Nagahama getting back up in attempts to aid Haru, Doumatsu readying to take Riyoto head-on, Akahoshi hidden in the branches, and Haru stuck in a genjutsu. Akahoshi came down from the trees, right behind Nagahama. He’d quickly grab a kunai and hold it to her throat. Kaima would do the same, except with Haru. Riyoto sat down, injured. Watching what was hopefully the finale unfold. Akahoshi stared down Haru with a vindictive look, “Surrender the Heaven Scroll now and we will spare your allies. If not, we’ll slit their throats faster than you can use any jutsu.” His tone was serious. His look guaranteed that they were no longer fucking around. Doumatsu began to sweat in anxiety. His heart racing in the situation. It truly came down to them having to surrender. There was no way he’d just let his allies die. “Fine! You guys win this one... The heaven scroll is in Haru’s back pouch. Just take it and go.” Kaima nodded. He’d reach down into the back pouch of Haru and pull a scroll. However, it seems Doumatsu forgot that Kaima’s byakugan was active. He saw no chakra in the scroll. He shot Doumatsu a furious look, “It was a bluff! It’s in Nagahama’s back pouch!” Doumatsu panicked; his back was truly against the wall at this point. So flustered that he let his guard down. One of Kaima’s cinder clones had sneaked behind Doumatsu and grabbed him by the neck, holding a kunai to it. “Give us a reason not to kill you, Doumatsu!” Kaima insisted. Doumatsu was in complete panic, unable how to handle the situation. Every word he tried to spit out he simply choked on. “Knock them all unconscious.”

Akahoshi ordered. In sync, they took the back of their kunai and bashed it into the back of each of their heads. Akahoshi dropped Nagahama and Kaima dropped Haru. The cinder clone would blow away with the wind and Doumatsu would fall to the ground face-first. “They tried to decieve us. We don’t just take the scroll, we take their supplies.” Kaima told the team as he dug through Haru’s gear. Riyoto had taken food pills as the tension was at it’s peak, giving him some time for his wounds to mend. He got up and brushed the dirt off him. “Kaima, I don’t believe this is right. Take the scroll and leave them be. We are practically leaving them for dead if we take their supplies.” Akahoshi said nothing, but dug through the pockets of Nagahama and grabbed the scroll but nothing else. As he stood back up, he’d look to Riyoto. “I will not object to Kaima. Though, I won’t act on it. They insulted us as a team and proceeded to deceive us. He’s free to do what he pleases as long as he doesn’t kill them.” Riyoto had sighed, “Obara would be disappointedin you two.” Is all he said as he began to stretch. Kaima and Akahoshi had nothing to say to the comment. Once they were all ready, they had moved out. They’d travel about another mile until they found a safe area. They’d set up a cozy camp and get some rest for the night. This was only day one. They had four left and they must be ready for more urgent encounters than their one with team two. (Thank you so much for reading if you actually made it this far! It means the world considering how long it took to wrote this lol. I’ll be making part two in a day or two. Don’t wanna have too much in one post cause it can be a turn away :) Hope you stop by for next post!)

#RP #roll20 #naruto

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moricatlibrary · 8 years ago

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The Right Choice

A tragic modern AU wherein Eren never came out or came to terms with his feelings for Armin and married Mikasa on the grounds that “that’s what you’re supposed to do”.

Short romantic drabble (with a happy ending ;3). Enjoy if you can^^

Eren slipped away from the party and slunk down the hall for a chance to be alone for a moment. His stomach was still nauseated from his wife, Mikasa, whispering in his reluctant ear to drink as much as possible while here. Eren definitely wasn’t a drinker but when it’s the only way you can manage to have sex with your thirsty wife, you do what you must. His childhood friend, Armin, had invited his closest friends over for a little dinner party that night and the air was otherwise filled with warmth and cheer amongst the guests, and Eren in particular felt that same special feeling in his heart that he always felt when he looked at Armin. A feeling he’d felt from the day they met all the way until now. A feeling he only felt with Armin. But he’d never admit to himself just how good it felt to be around him, no matter how close they were.

Indeed there were a lot of things he wouldn’t admit to himself, leaving him with an overstuffed closet of secrets in his mind as he indifferently chose to do the “proper” thing instead… He quietly turned into the doorway that lead to the cozy master bedroom and glanced all around. Ah, Armin’s room… It was every bit as colorful as he’d imagined. Filled with geeky toys and posters and collectibles from his favorite anime and manga, as well as photos and trinkets and souvenirs from his travels around the world. Everything Armin dreamed of as a child, he made a reality as an adult, never straying from those things he loved that put the stars in his eyes, and the joy in his life. Eren envied it so much… It was everything his bedroom wasn’t. His bedroom was empty, grey, big, cold, and so lonely… even with Mikasa sleeping right beside him, which if he could be honest, only made him feel even more alone. Armin had posters of the sea and his favorite action heroes on the walls, sea shells and geodes on every shelf, and incredibly valuable looking action figures on the bookcase in front of Eren. It was enough to bring him to tears, choking up from the nostalgia as he admired it all… everything he missed dreaming about and everything he craved in his boring empty life. Everything Armin was.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve before poking around at a very pristine figurine of Kick-Ass, the hero he and Armin were obsessed with in their youth. It was beautiful, clearly a treasure.

“That was an exclusive figure from a manga convention in Japan. I’m very proud to have it.” spoke the golden voice of Armin, whom had quietly appeared in the doorway a few seconds ago.

Eren smiled upon seeing the face of the man who so often occupied his mind. And smiled also for the image of Armin in Japan, having a good time, and indulging in its wonders, just like he’d always dreamed… and he wished he were a part of that so badly… “It looks great. Bet it was a fun trip.”

Armin happily walked over to join Eren’s company and brushed the dust off of the figurine’s head. “It was… Pretty lonely though.”

Eren was a bit confused. “Didn’t Marco go with you?” he asked, surprised that the laughing freckled otaku in the kitchen with the others wasn’t Armin’s default travel buddy for at least a convention.

But Armin nodded no. “Traveling is pretty personal to me. And Marco’s only interested in manga. He’s not the kind of person I’d want to take there with me.”

“Oh.”

After adjusting his figurine to face them at the best angle, Armin accidentally leaned into Eren’s body and to his surprise, Eren simply let him. Not a second later, Eren caved into the nostalgia and brought up old memories of their nerdy childhood playtime, excitedly revisiting the world of “Kick Ass” that they loved so much as kids. He brought up a faulty reference to an old issue of the manga, something Marco would’ve cringed over, and asked the enthusiastic Armin to remind him of how it really went, which Armin excitedly narrated from accurate memory. Laughter started to fill the room, pure and happy, filling Eren’s empty body with spirit and life again for a moment, especially for remembering how they used to act out various scenes from the story together. And before they knew it, they’d begun acting one out right there. Armin began blushing and smiling in a way he hadn’t done in so so long, and naturally enough, so was Eren. In the midst of the action followed by Kick Ass’ final blow, the pair had found themselves fallen on Armin’s bed, which bounced them to the rhythm of their heartbeats. Eren smiled up at Armin from underneath his warm body and the pair sighed and relax for a moment, with Armin crashing gently into Eren’s chest, comfortably at ease in his arms. And dammit if it just- didn’t feel SO right. So comfortable, so warm, so safe… Armin beamed at the feeling of Eren’s warm… friendship hug… a sensation that just couldn’t be matched. He raised his head up, letting his blond hair curtain around his happy red cheeks, and their gazes met… Feelings welled up inside them, warm and special feelings that gushed throughout them, flowing through their bodies and pulsing in their chests as their beautiful smiles reflected one another’s mirth. They remained like that for only a couple of seconds, which feel like ages, and something in Eren’s eyes glimmered…

But at last, Armin broke the silence. “Come on, Eren. Let’s get back to the party. Your- wife must be wondering where you went.”

Ah, right. Eren was married… and he hadn’t been drinking like she wanted either. Armin used to swear he’d never lie to Eren, valuing their bond and trust above all else. But the truth was, he really just sent him back to the party so he could cry alone in his room for a minute… It hurt so much. It never hurt any less. Eren was his dream, and yet that dream amounted to nothing. He never dated anyone, choosing to remain alone rather than burden someone with the feeling of “second choice” knowing his heart would always belong to Eren. A stubborn and probably stupid choice to endure and yet Armin was certain dishonestly settling for another forever would’ve been worse for him than the pain of just living alone. Damn that smile of Eren’s, and that flutter in Armin’s thudding heart whenever Eren was close to him. Damn the curse of being in love with your married, straight best friend. Damn it all…

Eren finally joined up with the rest of the party in the warmth of Armin’s kitchen, where Mikasa pulled at his ear like a mother would for scampering off. She then handed him a glass of sparkling champagne before returning to her stuffy conversation with Jean about their work. Eren lifelessly stood there, frowning at his reflection in the glass of Armin’s golden champagne, feeling like a mere shell of himself. Empty, cold, lonely, and mourning where his life had landed him…

Later that evening, the dinner party concluded and everyone went home, smiling at one another and looking forward to seeing each other again. Armin barely looked at Eren again for the rest of the party, and that was the end of it.

Two weeks later, rumor had it that Eren filed for divorce. Meanwhile, Armin was actually heading to China for part 1 of his summer vacation touring his favorite places in Asia. He arrived at the airport and went through customs and everything else with the same empty, lonely feeling he always had when he did it… He stood in the gate, ready to board and just waiting for the go ahead from the flight attendant, only to hear some voice calling his name from behind. He turned around and there was a rough looking Eren, disheveled looking like he’d either just gotten out of bed or slept on a couch, running towards him, as fast as he could, desperately trying to get to him before he boarded that plane. Armin couldn’t really believe what he was seeing. Eren running faster than he’d ever seen him run, trying to reach him? He simply stood there waiting to see where this would go, and suddenly Eren’s arms were around him, hugging him tighter than he’d ever been hugged in his life… The gust of wind from Eren’s sprint then brushed over his face and through his hair like a force of magic, and the next moment Eren took Armin’s face in his hands to speak to him through the big ugly tears in his eyes.

“I love you… I always have. I’m so sorry I never came forward about it. I want to see the world with you. I want you to fill me with thoughts of magic and-and fun from those mangas and animes you always talk about, I want you to hold me close and whisper your thoughts in my ear and tell me about the world, and– maybe if you feel it in your heart, tell me that- you love me too… Your voice is the only one I ever want to hear it in. And I wanna kiss you under the sac- sacka- uhh…”

“Sakura?” Armin said sheepishly.

“YEAH! Yeah, you always know what I’m–” Eren sniffled, so overwhelmed with emotion. “Under the sakura trees and tell you "I love you” in every language… I– didn’t think this through… Sorry, this isn’t exactly the ideal confession, you being in the middle of leaving the country and me in the middle of a divorce but… What do… Do you… Mmm..“

Armin was moved to tears too, and was utterly speechless. He caressed Eren’s face just to feel if this was actually real, drying his tears and rushing at the feeling of Eren’s warm wet cheeks genuinely under his hand indeed. Instinctively, he leaned in slowly and Eren did too, as naturally as breathing. And finally, they kissed. Like they’d always wanted to do in their hearts for as long as they’d known each other. And it was every bit as electrifying as described in those cliché romance stories Armin loved which Eren finally brushed off as myths when he started dating Mikasa. Their lips remained meshed for a long minute or so before Armin finally brought himself to pull away and ask, "Eren… Will you go on this trip with me?”

Eren’s eyes glimmered with life, an image Armin hadn’t seen since their childhood and never with this intensity. He couldn’t say yes fast enough, and raised Armin up in his arms to swing him around and hug him tight.

When Armin’s feet landed on the ground again, he began rambling his logic about the reality they were in, just as he habitually did. “Well, I mean, this trip will have to be cut short since you’re in the middle of a divorce, we’ll probably only get 2 weeks or so before we’ll have to come back and settle some things, which I don’t mind one bit since I get to be with you-” but while the glowing Armin rambled away, Eren simply took his hand and walked with him to the counter to buy a last minute ticket to China, with a grand sparkling grin on his face… This was the first time he’d ever felt truly happy in his life.

They spent a wonderful two weeks alone in China, never minding a thing in the world but each other. Holding each other tight, drunk on sweet kisses and tight cuddles, they swore to never let go of each other’s hands for as long as they’d walk this earth together. And with the beauty of the world Eren at last got to see below their hotel balcony underscoring Armin’s beautiful bright eyes in the light of the sunset, Eren didn’t have a single regret about choosing him.

And they lived happily ever after.

#eremin #erearu #eren jaeger #armin arlert #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk

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