#now this being said i very much perceive myself as being on the outskirts of the drama so theres that as well

[dullahandyke]

(@ anon not publishing that last ask since its a bit more detailed) wowwwww insane ... honestly something something hope they have a nice life with no internet presence except for that spotify i think they will greatly benefit from logging off.

[inquisimer]

Happy Friday lovely!!

A prompt for you: 'i don't want to understand, I want you to stay' for Hawke x Anders 😁

Happy Friday!! Here's some Inquisition-era Hawke x Anders for you💖

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

The morning sun hadn’t yet risen, but both Anders and Léan had. He was sitting at the kitchen table, drumming his fingers against the wood, eyes tracing her movements as she filled her knapsack with traveling provisions.

This tiny cabin on the outskirts of some remote town had been their refuge for some time now. It was a relief, after wandering for so long, to have a place to settle down. Of course, he had no one to blame but himself for the nomadic lifestyle they’d been forced into, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t nice to have something like a home.

Except it wouldn’t feel like home for much longer.

“It’s no use glaring at me like that.” Léan cocked an eyebrow at him as she cinched her knapsack shut. “I have to go.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“That hasn’t been true for a long time now,” she muttered darkly. A cabinet door creaked as she retrieved two mugs and the press pot. She scooped some coffee grounds into the pitcher and, with a flick of her fingers, filled it with hot water. The rich aroma filled the space as she filled both of their mugs and joined him at the table, passing one to him.

“Varric asked,” she said, wrapping her fingers around her own mug without taking a drink. “You know he wouldn’t, unless it was dire. And Corypheus is my fuck up—you were there, you know that.”

They’d had this conversation a dozen times, read Varric’s letter so many times that the folds had complete smoothed out. It was laying off to the side of the table, an innocent looking thing, filled with the words that were taking Léan away from him.

The worst part was that she was right, at least partially. No matter how many times Hawke reassured him, the dwarf blamed a lot of their more recent problems on his book, felt intense guilt for what he perceived as taking advantage of his best friend’s suffering. No doubt if they could go back, he’d think twice about publishing it.

But they couldn’t go back. None of them.

So he agreed that Varric wouldn’t have asked unless it was really necessary, probably wouldn’t have even written at all. Whether or not Corypheus was Hawke’s responsibility—well, that was another argument they’d had more than a dozen times and not one he was looking to resuscitate right now.

He lifted the coffee to his lips and swirled the hot, bitter liquid through his teeth. He could feel her eyes on him, but he kept his own deliberately downcast; she felt bad enough about doing the right thing and he didn’t want to make her feel worse—but he also couldn’t temper the despair he felt at being left alone.

“Let me come with you,” he beseeched her, because it was the next step in this dance, even if he knew she would only refuse.

She shook her head, of course. “You can’t. Even if you weren’t you, would you really want to march into the stronghold of a Chantry organization? There’s at least three people I can think of off the top of my head who’d be liable to murder you on sight.”

“I can protect myself,” he argued. “And it can’t be worse than Kirkwall and we got through that mostly fine.”

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘mostly fine’.” Léan glowered at him over the rim of her mug. He could practically see the anger flare behind her eyes, her nostrils flare out, her fingers flexing against the porcelain as she reigned it in. “And I don’t know what I’m walking into—Varric gave me the basics, but you can’t read a room through a letter. I knew the rules in Kirkwall and I knew how to bend them. I can’t be sure I can keep both of us safe with this Inquisition. Not until I can scope it out myself.”

“So let me come with you part way, I’ll take up a room or hide out in a cave or something—we’ve done worse,” he added, seeing her disbelieving scowl. “Then come get me when you’ve ‘scoped it out’ to your satisfaction.”

“And what if it’s not safe?”

“Love, I haven’t been safe since I was seven years old.” His voice came out weary and cynical and full of the depression he normally beat back with a stick. But in the face of this, in the face of her leaving, throwing herself into danger without him there, in the face of her possibly not coming back—he didn’t have the energy to keep it down. He stared into the diminishing depths of his coffee and wished desperately that the world would leave them alone.

There was a soft clunk as she set her mug down, then the scrape of her chair against the floor and the [sound] of her boots as she came to stand in front of him. She cupped her hands lightly around his jaw and tilted his head back so he was forced to look at her.

In her eyes he saw the same reluctance and anguish coursing through his own heart. She didn’t want to leave, of course. He knew that. But she was going to anyway, because her friends always came first and her own guilt and duty weighed on her like a ball and chain.

She pressed her forehead against his, closing the space between them so that his entire field of vision was filled with her blue-gray kaleidoscope eyes. An amusing metaphor, he thought idly in the back of his mind, for the way she’d filled his life since the first day in Darktown.

“Please, Anders,” she begged, just barely louder than a whisper and featuring a note of desperation he didn’t often hear these days. “I need you to understand—“

“I don’t want to understand,” he interrupted flatly. “I want you to stay.”

“I can’t. I don’t have a choice.”

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? There was never a choice. Or the choice was a bad one, at best.

Anders looped his arms around her and tugged her down into his lap. He buried his face in her shoulder and inhaling deeply, fixing the smell and feel of her in his mind as if it wasn’t indelibly seared on his heart.

“Just” —his voice broke, even muffled as it was against her cloak— “just come back to me. Please.”

It was unfair of him to ask, he knew. But he couldn’t bear to let her walk out without some sort of false hope to cling to in her absence.

She stroked her fingers through his hair and pressed her lips against the top of his head.

“I always do.”

[serenadeonacanoe]

Honestly, I'd piss him off on purpose. (Namjoon x OFC)

Pairing: Namjoon x Original Female Character

Genre/Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, too tired to beta

Tags: Artist!Namjoon, Yoongi and Tae are the best flatmates, Enemies to Lovers I guess... more like brats to making out in the storage unit, OFC is an idiot.

Summary:

"Wow. Is that that grumpy artist behind you? Jesus. He really looks like a bit of a dick. And you are right. He really is hot..." Oh no. Speakerphone. Namjoon was standing behind me and was staring at me. Then at my phone. He let out a little laugh, then raised his hand to wave at Tae and Yoongi outside who were now also staring at him as if frozen, before turning around in unison. As if that would help. As if he couldn't see them. Or better even... couldn't hear them.

[...]

Mister Darcy has nothing on Kim Namjoon - that new and upcoming artist you probably already heard of (You haven't? How dare you? At least have the decency to pretend you have!). He is cold, serious, and rather good at making other people believe he is a prick. Especially Elizabeth Bennet - uh... Charlotte - is about to lose it because of him. Maybe in a good way. Man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

CHAPTER 1

Even the sound of my own nails rhythmically tapping on the top of the counter was annoying me. To be fair, it didn't need much today to blow my fuze that had never been particularly long in the first place. But after a week consisting of being belittled by old white men and endless hours of unpaid overtime I about had it. Welcome to the art world. You know well before you enter that the hours are horrible and the job market is more than frustrating, but you love art and you have good organisational skills, you are resilient, charming when it counts and tend to romanticize things even when you know you shouldn't. It's too late to turn around now.

"That is why I don't use an agenda or notebook. If something is important enough for me to attend I simply won't forget. I know you youngsters are all about the bullet journaling and expressing yourself by mapping out your life but it really is just another way to procrastinate instead of getting to actual work." For a second I considered throwing my damn notebook in the buyer's face, but that probably wouldn't have helped my CV and the new job I would have to look for starting tomorrow. At least I should have screamed at him a little. Mainly, that I didn't care, that I was on my period and my shitty shower in the shitty flat i shared had broken and no dry shampoo in the world had fixed my hair this morning and that god damn it, how the hell was I supposed to remember every phone number, every call my boss had to take, every art handling transport I had organized if I couldn't write it down somewhere. Instead, I smiled. Died a little on the inside and complimented him on the gift of his exceptional memory and asked whether he would like another cup of coffee.

"What a dick." Samantha murmured, more to herself than me, after the guy had finally left, which made me snort under my breath. She usually didn't say much but when she did it was usually pure gold. In the end, it didn't matter that he was. Didn't matter that everyone at the gallery thought the art he had bought from us over the last couple of months had neither been smart nor impressive purchases. Mainly expensive. And flashy.

"Doesn't matter now." I said in a sigh after a quick glance at the clock. It was Friday night and we were about to close. Since it was my birthday on Monday I had taken two days off, about the longest break I had had this year and I was looking forward to being the lazy slob for a few days I was maybe always meant to be. In silence we answered a few last emails, tidied up the desks and counters so that potential buyers that would come in over the weekend wouldn't have to suspect anyone was actually working here. - A white desk. A huge Imac on it. That was all they needed to see, folders and pens and apparently especially agendas to be hidden away in drawers.

At five to eight I threw on my coat and Samantha just gave me a tired smile. Probably happy for me, just exhausted. "Have fun then? Don't get too wasted?" "Oh..." I said with a huge smug grin on my lips. "You have no idea... gonna take a bottle of Moët with me from the bar and drink it in my bathtub after eating a huge pepperoni pizza by myself and dancing to only the finest of 90s Euro Trash." I couldn't help it, apparently, I felt it necessary to give Sam a little demonstration, waving my arms up and down while swaying my hips in a way that I'd probably would not have if it hadn't been for a bit with an audience of a single person. Or maybe two?

A quiet scoff behind me and I quickly turned around, slowly lowering my arms, Sam biting her lower lip at the sight of me standing there like an idiot in front of HIM of all people.

Men didn't have to be old to annoy me. Or white. Yes, those were the ones that pissed me off most usually, but no one had managed to do so as much as Kim Namjoon recently. And now he was standing there, looking me up and down and stopping at my hair. The crazy too-much-dry-shampoo-because-the-shower-broke-hair. "Nice." He just commented and then looked over at Sam. "I'd like to take a last look before Sunday's opening if that is okay?" I stood there, my shoulders dropping, completely ignored.

"Uhm, actually, my babysitter has to leave in about an hour and I will have to be home before that." Samantha replied and I was impressed by how calm she stayed. "Of course." Namjoon said and gave her a slight smile. "Anyone else still around? Chris maybe?" Of course Chris hadn't been in today. It was Friday and unless important guests had announced themselves the owner of the gallery wasn't around on Fridays... "I am afraid not. But maybe Charlotte has a few minutes?" Well. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I felt a little betrayed. "Wouldn't want to keep anyone from their important Moët-Pizza-Dance Party plans." Namjoon replied before I could say a word. His voice once more dropping to a hushed, deep disapproval and his hands buried in the pockets of his rather expensive looking coat. Silence for a few moments and then he just walked off towards the room his exhibition had been set up all week. Showing without a further word that I would have to stay anyways if he wanted it that way.

"Well thank you for pushing me under the bus like that. Really appreciate it." "I am so sorry. But I was serious, I can't lose this babysitter. She got Jamie to eat vegetables. VEGETABLES!" Samantha suddenly seemed in a rush, grabbing her jacket and purse and showering me in promises she would make it up to me. Even though we both knew that wouldn't happen and wasn't necessary. Suddenly having to stay longer was normal. I just hated that it had to be today. And because of him.

I heard the door close behind Sam and I stood there for a second before putting my bag down again. Usually, I would have followed the artist, asking if I could somehow help, but nahhh... my ego was bruised up enough now, especially remembering the little dance. I closed my eyes. Fucking hated the guy. Always had. Well, not quite. I had thought he was cool for about five minutes when he had come in the first time. We had heard about him for quite a few months before, I think I had even seen pictures of him at some point, but those were nothing compared to him in real life. He came in all cheekbones and sharp chin and an all grey outfit, quick pace, observant gaze. Incredibly hot. He had also completely ignored me.

That's how it had started - a bruised ego. He couldn't know that it was my weak spot. Having studied art and its management and now feeling like a better secretary at times, when my colleagues and I were doing all the behind the scenes work while Chris worked very little hours and ended up with all the money and recognition. I was aware this wasn't the only field of work where this was the case, but it still frustrated me... I had imagined my life in the last years of my 20s to be a bit more glamorous than living in a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city... spending my Friday night waiting for some rude artist dude to leave so I could lock up.

But what I perhaps hated most about him... was that I admired him. - Purely for his art. Really. Even the fact that he kept acting as if I wasn't around every time he came in didn't mean I couldn't admit that. At least to myself. The stories behind his huge colleagues were clever and thought through, but even without context, the pure aesthetics were mesmerizing. It was the kind of art that touched something deep inside of you and standing in front of it I always had a hundred questions. Whenever he brought in a new piece I was the first one to sneak a peek in the back rooms before it was hung.

"I don't get why you have such a problem with him. He is just... quiet. I think he might even be shy... stop being so sensitive and just ask him out already." I had almost strangled Sam for that comment a couple of weeks back. Stop being so sensitive. What did that even mean? Comments like that made me want to cry and scream at the same time, which probably would have been perceived as even more sensitive, but when had insensitivity become something to strive for? I had only kept quiet because I liked Sam and I knew what she had tried to say. At least I thought so. That I might have given less of a shit if I hadn't been rather attracted to Namjoon. Even though I had never mentioned it, she just knew. She knew if I didn't care about something I didn't waste my time on it. But if something made me angry or upset there was usually more to it. I hated that she could read me that easily. But he was still a dick and I still wanted to go home.

He took his sweet time. After an hour I walked up to him, a little speech prepared in my head about how he could come back first thing tomorrow. But when he turned around he just raised a hand between us to keep me from interrupting and turned away again. I hadn't seen that he was on the phone. "No, it's nothing, just one of the gallery employees." I heard him say and okay... if I wasn't about to explode before I was now. I stood there for a minute, fuming, and then simply walked back to the office area, my hand shaking when I started turning off the gallery lights one by one. It wasn't as satisfying as I had hoped but still felt good. Two minutes later the only lights still on were the one above my head and the one in front of the door. I would at least give him a clear direction where to head, he seemed to need it.

When Namjoon appeared out of one of the dark corners he looked even more annoyed than usual. Looking my direction through squinting eyes and his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. "Seriously?" he yelled my way and almost walked into one of the little flyer shelves. Wasn't the first time I had seen that happen to him though so maybe that had nothing to do with the light.

I felt oddly triumphant. By the time I had put on my coat and turned off the remaining lights, ready to finally lock up, Namjoon had almost found his way, standing in the open door, still on his phone. A little groan from my side when he didn't even notice that I was standing behind me went by unnoticed. Or simply ignored. But instead of the appropriate clearing of the throat or the maybe less polite squeezing past him, I just put my hands on his back and gently pushed him forward a bit, until his feet hit the pavement and he turned around. Dropping his hand with the phone in it, for a second he looked like he wanted to push back. Or trample me.

"Okay, what the hell is your problem, Charlotte?" His voice was hoarse. His eyes dark. God, he was hot. I hated him so much. "You." I simply replied and stared at him for a second, then turned around and locked the two locks on the door before stepping over to the alarm system. I couldn't help feeling smug because apparently, he knew my name. I imagined him staring at the back of my head because he was flustered, but couldn't be sure. All I knew was that when I turned around again a minute later he was still standing there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips pressed together forming a straight line and watching me.

"Do you always act like that at work around people who could get you into trouble?" He was right, he could get me into trouble. But I was too fired up now, my heart racing. "Is that a threat?" "An observation." "Only around the ones I don't like." "Cool." "Great." "Enjoy the dance party. Sounds shit."

And with those words he had turned around, coat flying open in the wind, unfortunately making him look really cool as he walked away and I ABSOLUTELY HATED HIM. I kept my mouth shut and just walked off in the other direction, realizing minutes later that my car was parked the other way, but I kept walking for a while before I finally turned around. It took a while to calm down and only cuddling up to my cat on the couch to trash tv finally did the job. But by then I had realized something I wasn't sure I liked too much. Yeah, I thought he was a prick. And yeah I should have just played it cool. Would have been much smarted in many regards. But I also had somewhat enjoyed myself in the most fucked up way.

Seeing that stern look, that intense posture as he was towering over me... man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

[iovnyu]

not prepared. 

SUMMARY. you heard stories of past queens who had to deal with the suffering and pain through trials. now, you are doubting your skills and strengths after being put under tests to determine who can be queen. these trials do not guarantee that you will come out alive, but with the help of kings from other kingdoms – you might have a chance.

genre. prince! au, strangers to friends to lovers! au, angst, maybe fluff

pairing. [??] x female reader

word count. 1.7k

warnings. aggressive language? others tba

disclaimer. please know that the way the story perceives the members does not mean it is how they act like in real life. if you find any mistakes or points in the story that is not clear, please let me know and i will fix it right away. 

Royals don’t have it easy, Y/N learned that the hard way growing up. It took her awhile for her to fully grasp the situation that was being handed to her. She didn’t get why she had to compete with other girls for the crown. Granted, her father is a king of one of the biggest kingdoms but Y/N would rather worry about what she was going to eat tomorrow than fight more capable girls her age for some title. 

Her father, on the other hand, thought differently. This whole competition for the crown was the sole reason he wanted his wife to have a girl. Having a son would be great but if he had a daughter, it would fall in his favor. He wanted his daughter to become the next queen so he can have a bigger advantage over the other kingdoms. When he heard that his wife gave birth to a girl, he had never thought of anything else. To Y/N, he only cared about the title and the worth of others. Their personality? Completely useless to him, it was at the bottom of the list. 

It shocked Y/N at how calm he was when her mother died. To be fair, he did cry for a day and then shook it off the next day -- immediately arranging plans to get Y/N ready to become queen. It’s been two years since she has left and as every day passes, Y/N feels as though her father never really loved her mother. It was something she didn’t question about -- love isn’t real, simple as that. 

Although, she did fantasize about her future with a dashing prince. They would get a nice castle somewhere on the outskirts of the kingdom, have a lovely British Shorthair cat, and live happily ever after with him. This was quite impossible as her dad banned her from meeting other people outside of the castle. She is strictly ordered to do tasks around the palace and to never talk to anyone that she doesn’t know. 

Y/N only talked to the maids and chefs that she occasionally saw walking the halls though, she never had a proper conversation with them since they had more important things to do. The one time she did hold a conversation was with one of the guards that stood outside guarding the castle. You can even say Y/N’s life is miserable and she would agree.

If you are wondering how Y/N was schooled if she has never talked to anyone else, she was homeschooled. Her mother had taught her everything she needs to know. After she had died, Y/N had to ask the maids behind her father’s back to get ahold of school books. She quickly found out that her mother had taught her different lessons compared to those in books. Her mother taught more useful and reasonable things in life and the books were little to no purpose for daily life. 

“Princess Y/N, do you happen to be awake?” A deep voice said from outside of Y/N’s door. Whirling around in her undergarments, she walked to her dull-looking door. Opening a tiny crack, she peaked her head out, looking at who this voice belonged to as she knew it wasn’t her father. She was met with a young-looking face who showed no expression. “Who are you?” She asked, closing the door a little more in case she was revealing herself too much for this stranger.

“Lee Heeseung. Prince Heeseung, miss.” He said with a shy but firm voice. His voice sounded like how he looked -- attractive. Y/N didn’t notice how long she was staring at him in silence until he cleared his throat waiting for a response. “Oh, I am almost ready. Please wait in the dining area, I will meet you there when I am done, Prince.” She responded, gesturing over to where the hallway leads into the dining room. 

Prince Heeseung bowed to her and made his way down the hallway. It was already confusing trying to find Princess Y/N’s room as the castle had many corridors, some of them even being dead ends. He admired the designs that were painted on the wall, it had looked like the castle never had a speck of dirt on them. 

He had to pass by many rooms to get to the dining room -- or one that looked like a place where people eat. This room though, had looked dull, like no one bothered to repaint the chipping walls or refurbish the worn-out table that had tiny drawings on them. Heeseung tried his best not to let his curiosity get to him and sat down on a chair that was placed at one of the ends of the table. 

Y/N on the other hand was embarrassed as to why she thought it was a good idea to open her door in no clothes. She has never done that before so why, out of all days, it had to be today that she opened her door with her undergarments? 

She tried her best not to think about it as she got dressed in the lovely dress that was ready for her on her dresser. It wasn’t one of her long dresses but rather more of a short and comfortable one that she can breathe in. She lightly patted her hair down and walked out of her room and into the hallway where the guards stood, waiting for her. Y/N smiled at them, she suspected that her dad wanted them to watch over what she and Heeseung will talk about and to make sure Heeseung doesn’t try anything. 

“Good Morning, Princess Y/N. How did you sleep?” One of the guards asked her. It was a shame Y/N wasn’t allowed to know the guards’ names at all so, she assigned them random names. The guards that were walking with her are Guard Eagle and Guard Carrot -- Eagle was because he always watched Y/N’s moves everywhere she went and Carrot is because he would always eat her vegetables when she was little. It was really bad names, but they have grown accustomed to Y/N calling them random things. 

“I slept well, I could have slept better though,” Y/N said, looking at Guard Eagle. “How was your sleep?” She asked both guards who shrugged and continued to navigate their way through the hallways behind Y/N. They made it to the dining area where Heeseung sat awkwardly in one of the chairs, waiting for Y/N. 

“Sorry, I was not able to introduce myself properly,” Y/N said, smiling softly at the Prince in front of her. “Princess Y/N, as you already know.” She bowed.

Heeseung was in awe with her beauty, her smile was one of the most angelic thing he has ever seen. He didn’t notice how long he was staring until one of the guards that stood behind Y/N coughed. “Oh! Right, Uhm.” He got up from the chair and walked to Y/N. “Prince Heeseung of Minbury Kingdom -- it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Heeseung grabbed her hand and gently laid a kiss on the back of her hand. He turned to the guards and bowed to them too, in return they gave him a smug look.

“My father had told me you are just meeting me today, is that correct?” Y/N asked, examining him. Now that he was standing in front of her,  she was able to see him more clearly -- noting that he was an attractive gentleman and had a very fancy attire considering that he was just here to meet you.  Heeseung nodded, “Yes. I am just here to say a brief hello and I will be on my way.” 

Y/N nodded back, giving him a small smile and pointing to one of the chairs.  “Please, sit.” She pulled a chair back, waiting for him to take a seat. “Did you need any water? Or some food?” She asked, looking for the maids that were usually somewhere in the room -- in which they were nowhere to be found. 

“Oh, no thank yo-,” Before Heeseung could answer, Y/N made her way to the kitchen, still no sign of the maids. She frowned and started looking around. She had found soup in a pot that had looked like it was just freshly made and some bread that was laying out next to the pot. Y/N prepared two bowls of soup and a plate of bread loaves along with two glasses of water. Juggling the tray that held the food and drinks, she wondered how the maids would always do this for every meal.

“Sorry, it looks unprepared. I couldn’t find any maids to help me.” Y/N frowned, setting the table with the utensils before placing a bowl in front of Heeseung -- who gladly accepted. “It is okay. It is the thought that counts.” He said, smiling at her. If Y/N had a counter to record how many times her heart has fluttered, it would have been in the twenties right now. 

She placed a bowl in her usual seat and sat down, handing Heeseung a piece of bread. “That is a unique saying, I have never heard of that before,” Y/N said as she ripped off the end of the bread and eating the soft parts of it. It was a habit she has always done since she was little, no matter how many times her father has scolded her for doing so, she did it all the time. Her father would tell her it wasn’t lady-like to pick at her food and that no prince would want a princess who eats like an ogre. 

"My mother says that every time I would draw on the walls.” Heeseung laughed, recalling how his mother would try her best not to scream at him because he was just a young child who just wanted to have a bigger canvas to draw on.

The whole encounter with Heeseung felt like a blur to Y/N as they made conversation over random things, forgetting that they were just supposed to meet. Although it was only her first time meeting him, Y/N felt happy to have Heeseung’s company. She got to finally talk to someone else that wasn’t the maids or the guards, and she liked that. All she can do now is to hope her other trainers are the same. 

next -> coming soon.

previous -> the prologue. 

[kojinnie]

tis is ranon! i wanna try the twisted match-up eventho it'll probably hurts. my worst traits would be

1. Not knowing myself well enough, having to ask others how i actually am from their eyes instead of looking through my own lense because I care of other's judgement better than mine.

2. I suck at handling compliment. Everytime anybody says anything good about me, I always get defensive by saying no, change the topic of the conversation, or saying "thank you, but [insert why i don't deserve compliment]"

3. Similar to the 2nd one, I have horrible horrible self esteem. I never really look at myself in a good light, I think I am horrible. Sometimes I feel like "im the worst" yet some of the times I feel like "woah I'm a queen". Even worse, sometimes I don't have the motivation to better myself in order to raise my self esteem.

My favourite(s) would be reiner and jean, you can choose the one with the worst(or whoever you prefer) compatibility with my traits. tears up already as I slip 1 dollar to your hand, whispering happy ending please..

Pairing: Jean x Reader

Summary: You accidentally meet Jean, your high school sweetheart, thirteen years later. While he has turned into a successful man whose face you'd see on TV a lot, you think of your life and what could have been with him, if only...

Tags: Angst/Fluff, coming of age, slice of life

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: Oh Ranon my sweet child, hereby I present to thee... hopefully an antidote to the despair Yams had given us with 138. Hope you like it love!

Song mentioned: Linger by The Cranberries

"It's nice to see a familiar face 'round here."

There was no word that could describe the feelings you had upon hearing that voice. A voice that was once the first sound you hear in the morning and the one you say goodbye to before falling asleep. A voice that you had not heard for what felt like forever.

You didn't have to turn around to tell who it was, "Jean?"

The two of you erupted in laughter, both surprised by the mere coincidence of meeting each other at this old and ran-down department store, on the outskirt of the town you both grew up in.

Jean was quick to pull you into a big embrace that you gladly came into. A familiar piece of warmth was his hug, and yet it had struck you as odd that it did not feel foreign at the closest, although it had been years since the last time you met him.

Jean had grown very tall. There was no longer his signature undercut as he had let his hairs to grow past his ear. His chiseled jaw hid beneath dark brown beard he now had. You pretended to check him out and be shocked with the view, "You really grew! Like grew, GREW!" as if you hadn't seen him on the news station or the daily mail. As if you didn't follow his Instagram with your second account. As if you never thought of him at all.

He held your shoulder and pulled away to look at you, "Thirteen years and you don't look any different."

Your face grew hot and the compliment sent an uncanny discomfort to your guts, "Ah the lighting sucks here - to my advantage, fortunately."

There was a disapproving look in Jean's eyes for a passing moment before he carried on with the conversation. He didn't expect to see you at the old department store the two of you used to roam in after school, he said. Neither did you to ever meet him again, especially here. A place so awfully ordinary for someone who had grown to be the best version of himself. Jean had finally achieved his dream to be a household name in the country as one of the rising young attorneys.

The celebrity status he had achieved, all the actresses and models he had dated - it all inflicted you with some kind of inexplicable pain. One that made you feel worthless, to say the least. Someone who used to be so close to your heart, had grown so magnificently, leaving you with the painful fate of being ordinary. Yet, still your face lit up in distant pride each time a mention of Jean’s name surfaced, be it from the passing conversation your friend had, or to see it announced by the news anchor for some big public case he was working on.

Jean said that he returned home for a funeral. His uncle died, and he needed a spare sandal. He didn't know any other store, as the area both of you grew up in had changed a lot. Leaving this old department store the only place he could remember.

You passed your condolence but he was more curious with what you were up to. You chuckled because he seemed so serious when he asked, "Didn't you move out to the city? Why the hell are you coming back?" as if the misplacement of seeing someone so glitzy in this boring, dilapidated town didn't apply to him.

So you answered, and Jean turned silent for a moment. He tilted his head downward, and you noticed that he was the same person with the same mannerism. Although he was no longer the 17-year-old boy who used to get all ruffed up in school fight, trying to defend you from some stupid jocks; nor was he still the tall, lanky kid from your Home Economics class that you gave your first kiss to.

Your mind couldn’t help but to race to all the what-ifs, and the presence of Jean before your eyes right now only made the wonderings more palpable.

Jean smiled faintly to your answer, “Congratulations,” he still made his way to pat the side of your head, something he used to do every time, “big step, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s scary.”

“So, who’s the lucky guy? Anyone I know from school?” Jean said, faking the enthusiasm in his tone, but you didn’t notice. Because in your mind, it would be an absurd idea to think that you would still have the tiniest bit of effect on Jean, for he had outgrown all the memories he ever had with you.

“No, no,” you tried to mask the bitterness that suddenly emerged on the back of your tongue, “we met at work. He’s a great guy.”

Indeed, he was. The reason why you returned home was because you were getting married, and your fiancée wanted to be close with your family, for he didn’t have one growing up. He was an exceptional man, he had this magnetism in him, with the way he perceived things, to the abiding tenacity he had in him.

Your fiancée was a man you knew you could lean on in the eye of adversity. That’s why you agreed to marry him. But then again, there was always a void inside your heart that had no resolve to it for so many years. Your fiancée was your foundation, and yet, perhaps selfishly, you still yearned for the childish laughter and the irreplaceable feeling of freedom you once had with the man standing tall before you. Whose glance never failed to make you feel the most at ease with.

“He must be a pretty great guy to get you,” Jean’s faint smile grew into a grin, he was trying to down play the commotion he started to feel within his chest, “what’s his name? So, I can picture him.”

You laughed, because it was only natural for you to do so in the presence of the first guy you had fallen for, the first guy to ever told you how pretty you were and how all your imperfections never mattered to him, the first one to bring your teary face into his embrace after a gruesome day, before saying, ‘I never thought it’s possible. But, crazy, seeing you cry hurts me too.’

However, you knew, that all those memories had passed by and you were happy with where you were now. “Reiner,” you smiled at the mention of his name, “my fiancée’s name is Reiner Braun. He’s… amazing.”

“Wow. Tough name. Probably someone I’d stay clear from in high school.”

Both of you laughed, and the two of you continued to talk, as you walked him through the desolated alleys to find the sandal that he wanted to buy, and Jean walking you to the towel aisle that you had meant to buy one for Reiner, only to find out that they had stopped selling towels since long time ago. The laughter and reminiscing persisted until the cashier row when Jean heard your stomach grumble. Both of you exchanged glances and broke into yet another laughter.

“Salerno’s?” Jean said, suggesting the pizza place off the highway, where you had spent so many dates with him back then.

“How could I ever say no to that?”

“Settled, then. Did you drive here?” Jean’s eyes gazed afar to the parking lot, strangely looking for the old car you used to drive back in school, before realizing that thirteen years had passed and there was no chance that sickly car could ever survive the time.

“No, actually Reiner dropped me and—” As if staged by the universe, your phone rung and Reiner was calling, “—right in time, it’s him!”

You walked away from Jean for a moment as he looked for his car key inside jacket. Across the line, Reiner was gruntling, his voice was hazy, “Babe—”

“Reiner, I bumped into an old friend!” there was a sing-songy tone in your words. Through the phone, Reiner chuckled, picking up the excitement in your voice, even though it was getting more apparent that Reiner was drowsy, “Anyway babe, can you get an Uber? I took the cough syrup your mum gave me, and now I’m sleepy as fuck. ‘Fraid I won’t be able to drive.”

You turned to Jean and saw him jingling his car key at you, before returning back to Reiner on the phone, “Rei, I think my friend can drive me home. I’ll be stopping at Salerno’s, do you want anything? The calzone maybe?”

Reiner yawned, “That sounds nice but—” yet another yawn, “I’m gonna pass out. Come home soon, okay? Tuck me in.”

You cackled at the buff man whining before you said goodbye and followed Jean into his car.

The trip to Salerno’s was nourishing with memories. The poplar trees along the avenue had been replaced by lines of billboards – from advertisement of real estate agent to divorce attorney, they all reminded you of how much the town had changed. Yet the sense of comfort you shared with Jean as you joked about all of the absurd things you saw along the way, had not changed at all.

If for one second you forgot that you were driving in Jean’s expensive car, and that you imagined he was wearing a shabby soccer jersey instead of a tailored-fit shirt – if you closed your eyes and thought that thirteen years hadn’t gone by between the two of you, it almost felt like you rode a time machine to a time when Jean was yours and you were his. And something about the thought of it just broke your heart.

When Jean pulled over at Salerno’s and found out that it’s past the time for dine-in, the two of you decided to eat at his car instead. Jean didn’t even ask what you want and he returned with exactly what you had in mind, the classic calzone, something you always used to have. He remembered.

The two of you laughed, bantered and joked at each other. It felt almost as if no distance had ever been laid out between the two of you, like you hadn’t lived an entirely different life, like he was the same person after all. He hadn’t once made you self-conscious like you thought you would, considering the amount of success he had attained for himself. You felt bad for accusing Jean of the worst, when all it was just a projection of your own insecurity.

“So, you’re getting married on the 15th, and your annoying aunt is not invited?”

“Yeah, thank God for the pandemic somehow. Legit excuse, when all I wanted was not to have her talk shit about Reiner on my wedding day,” you munched through your calzone, talking mindlessly, “as for you, sir, you’re invited. That’s a no-brainer. Hereby I invite thee to my humble dwelling. Bring your model girlfriend, please, so I can brag to my cousins.”

His grin subsided into a weak smile and then into nothing at all, as he sipped on his coke. Suddenly awkward silence loomed within the small space of his car.

“Jean,” you shifted in your seat as the guilt grew on you, realizing the error in your judgment, “sorry I was being presumptuous.”

“No worries, it wasn’t serious. None of it ever was.”

You nodded, engulfed in your own guilt for bringing a bad topic up. The silence let the radio’s murmur to become noticeable, and an old song had just been played through the local radio, a tune that you used to listen with him on the back of your old creaking car after a make-out session filled with enraging teenage hormones.

And I’m in so deep~

You know I’m such a fool for you~

You got me wrapped around your finger I—

Do you have to let it linger?

You sighed and finally looked at Jean with his head hanging low, “Do you want to settle down someday?”

“Eventually.” Jean answered nonchalantly, “Not even sure about the whole relationship thingy.”

“Oh.” An acknowledgment you voiced, before succumbing to yet another silence.

Jean called your name softly and when you turned to face him, he was looking at you. Even in the darkness of the parking lot, you could see his honey eyes gleamed in a look that was so familiar to you—a look of disappointment, “Tell me, how could you never end up working where you’ve always wanted to be?”

You were pulled even deeper into your silence as you looked away. Suddenly a hot rash of sadness started to swallow you whole, “I—”

You tried to voice out a tangible reason, but you had realized that all of it was your own doing. Your insecurity, your self-consciousness, the thought that you were never good enough for the thing you once wanted so bad; all of it led to a life unlived, and to have someone finally putting you in your place was embarrassing, if not painful, “—wasn’t sure if I really wanted it and—”

“—wasn’t sure if I was good enough to pass the test.”

“So, after college, you never ended up applying there? Not even a try?”

You shook your head embarrassed, looking down at your shoes.

Jean sighed and laid his food on the dashboard, before reaching for your right hand and held it warmly into his grasp. He called your name which propelled you to look back at him, “Weren’t you the one who talked me into getting into law school? Even when I thought it was impossible? Weren’t you the one who wrote on my yearbook to-my-future-attorney when everyone was convinced that I’d end up working a mediocre office job? Or a mechanic in my Dad’s shop?”

Jean carried on, “I just… I just don’t understand. How could you have so much conviction for other people but—but yourself?”

You passed a grim smile, as vulnerability started to catch up with you, “Nevermind Jean, it’s passed. I am where I am now.”

“But, wasn’t it your dream?” Jean grew antsy on his seat, it was obvious that he truly didn’t understand, “The pages and pages and pages of diary you wrote about wanting to work there? What happened?”

You sighed, running out of words to say, until you caved in, “Maybe I never knew what I truly wanted.”

“Is that why?” Jean shot another look at you, there was an intensity in his eyes that you had never seen before. There you wondered what had happened to Jean’s life in all those years passed at your absence, had he led a difficult life before getting the success he was enjoying now? “Is that why you left me—because you didn’t know what you truly want?”

Jean understood the consequence of his action, he was a well-accomplished attorney after all. He also understood the vivid pain painted all over your face, but he was taking his shot. Years of wondering where had you gone, what kind of live had you lived – you never ceased to haunt him, all the what-ifs with you he always thought about whenever he broke off yet another meaningless relationship with yet another woman he’d never cared for in his life. Over the years, he’d taken a close look at you. He’d find you on the internet, he’d asked about you to friends of a friend that was still in touch with you, he’d ‘accidentally’ found your legal documents just to see that you had gotten your college degree one year earlier than him. He didn’t know why the thought of you lingered, you just did. Arriving into his dreams where he was seventeen again and unassuming, only for him to wake up disappointed at seeing a woman that wasn’t you in his bed.

For the longest time, Jean had fended for himself to be where he’s now. When survival had finally bore fruits, what else could there be for him? Still, he felt lonely in the embrace of another woman, still he felt the void persisted even if he spent his money on things he didn’t need. Jean never thought, that after years of dreaming to be the person he’s now, all he yearned for was to have a piece of simple, ordinary and innocent happiness he once had with you.

You were, after all, the only thing that could remind him of the innocence Jean had lost after years of grueling work as an attorney—seeing how corrupt and insidious men can be. So, when his wearied eyes landed on the sight of you this evening, in the alley of that long-forgotten Department Store, Jean had no choice but to finally face his haunting.

“Jean, it’s a long time ago,” you smile, cupping his hand with your free hand, “besides, I’m no longer your type, right?” A grin, a playful grin, painfully fabricated and Jean saw right through it.

You could feel the air had gotten thick in his car, and you shifted closer to the door. Jean let go of your hand as he moved closer to you, running his long fingers through your hair. His voice had gotten deep and you could sense a hint of pain in his words, “Maybe I never had a type.”

He dragged his gaze all over your face; your eyes, your nose, your lips – the way he used to reassure that you were so beautiful in his eyes despite the self-hate you inflicted upon yourself, “Maybe all I ever wanted was you and all I ever did with those girls was to try finding you in them,” he forced a smile, so stale, so painful, “to no avail.”

You could feel the air into your lung was compromised as you battled the tears, “Jean…”

“Out of so many things that I have been brave for, I was never brave enough for one thing that I needed the most: to tell you that it’s always been you,” Jean slithered his hands through your waist and pulled you into his embrace. He laid his head, heavy with loneliness and exhaustion on to the nook of your shoulder. For lack of better term, Jean was finally back home, as he muttered, letting go of all his inhibitions, “Baby, it’s always been you. It’s always been you.”

Your whole body was weak with emotions. The thoughts, the persistent ones – the what-ifs you could have had with Jean, the life you could have lived and the dream that could have been fulfilled. Without your permission, the tears fell to your dismay as you thought of one last thing remaining in your heart: Reiner. The way he smiled and listened all through your nightly despairs, caressing you close until you fell asleep, exhausted with tears dried up all over your face. The way Reiner whispered on to your ear, amidst your drowsiness, that he loved you and that he promised to make you whole, to fill the void you had always feared for. All the little things he had done without you asking, or the way he loved your family as if they were his own.

You cursed yourself for being surprised at how much you realized that you truly loved Reiner, even when you were in the embrace of someone you wondered about often. You realized, the best way to prove to someone that you love them was to stick around. And Reiner had stuck around, as much as you stuck around for him.

You left Jean long time ago for reasons you only vaguely remembered now, but life went on and sooner or later you should make it in your heart to accept it. You smiled and thought of your life. Sure, there was a lot of thing you need to patch up, but what is life if not persevering?

You pulled away from Jean, surprised to see a beaten look on his face. Far away from the dandy and sharp young attorney you would see on the news. Once, you loved this man, but years had passed and the one he wanted was no longer there. You were no longer the person you were thirteen years ago. You were no longer the girl Jean longed for, all he wished for was a passing ghost that you have left behind in your adolescence.

You caressed his cheek for the last time and landed a kiss to his forehead, “Jean, I’m so proud of you. How far you have gone. I’m sorry I wouldn’t be the one you’d share your future achievement with, but for all the things you have done to me, for seeing the good in me when I could hardly see it… I want to say thank you,” you smiled although pain was searing within your chest, “there’s a world out there where this would work out. But not this world.”

The unexpected rendezvous you had with the man whom you had given your first love to ended with both of you crying at each other’s embrace, until Salerno’s closed and turned off their lights.

When Jean finally dropped you at your childhood home, the place he used to spend all the times in, Jean smiled and pointed at your room with the lights still lit, “He’s waiting?”

“I think he’s asleep. He’s a deep sleeper, he forgets to turn off the lights every time.”

“Does he even fit in your tiny bed?”

“Well, you did fit.”

“For a time.”

“Yeah, for a time.”

“So, you’ll be Mrs. Braun?”

“Yep, Mrs. Braun I will be.”

Jean scoffed, pretending to be annoyed, but smiling nonetheless, “Lucky bastard, that Mr. Braun.”

[donttouchmeimwriting]

Argo ch. 2

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2084 words, 3rd person POV

I love to hear feedback on my fics so please don't be shy! You can also tell me your thoughts on anon if you don't want your name on your comments!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

...

Meeting Lijah face to face threw off Jason's rhythm for the rest of the day, and for the entire day after. He had no idea what to do with himself. He could go home, but his mother would want progress by now and he did not want to try to explain how he let Lijah go when even he didn't know exactly why he did it. He could start planning the killings of the other counselors, but he couldn't focus long enough to think about that. His mind was stuck on Lijah, and he determined the only way to get unstuck was to see him again. He had to know why he wasn't afraid and treated him so kindly. There had to be some sort of motive.

Darkness fell over the camp that Friday night, and Jason patrolled the outskirts until every last fire went out and all noise had subsided. His blood was on fire, and he could not rest until his curiosity was sated. He quietly crept to the counselor cabins, searching for number five. Would Lijah be alone? Was this a good idea to come here at all? Jason berated himself internally for his interest in this person. This was stupid. Why was he here? He could easily just kill them all and return to his mother as usual. What was different this time?

There, a little distance from the other cabins, Jason saw a large number 5 painted on the side of the building. The lights were off, save for one room where the soft yellow glow spilled out into the woods where Jason stood. He steeled himself, prepared to fight if an ambush awaited him. Not quite ready, but ready enough, he approached the window and peered inside.

Lijah's bedroom was relatively tidy, minus the small heap of dirty clothes in one corner, and some posters with ragged edges and some tears that were taped to the walls. A dresser stood on the right side of the room next to the door, a small radio and some books resting atop it. Above the dresser hung a simple mirror, and it reflected Lijah's slim legs as he lay on the bed on the opposite end of the room. Jason turned his gaze to the left, seeing Lijah in a thin t-shirt and boxer briefs, reading a book on his bed. Was there ever a time he did not look so at peace?

Jason contemplated simply letting himself in, but he felt compelled to avoid scaring Lijah as long as he could. He sighed heavily and knocked on the window, hoping this wasn't the worst decision he could possibly make. Lijah gave a small start at the sound and turned to see who had made it. To Jason's surprise, Lijah's eyes lit up and he smiled as he set the book down and hopped off of the mattress. He lifted the window open and stepped aside for Jason to climb through.

"Hey!" Lijah greeted cheerfully, "I was hoping I'd get to see you again!"

Jason awkwardly clambered into the room, his size proving troublesome for the space provided by the window. He grunted as he heaved himself through, but he managed without Lijah's offered assistance. He closed the window behind him and turned back to Lijah, the closeness of the walls and ceiling emphasizing just how much of a height and width difference there was between them.

"Have a seat!" Lijah insisted, patting the bed, "Make yourself at home. I was just reading a few chapters to make myself tired enough to sleep, but I can stay up to hang out with you."

Jason sank into the mattress, watching Lijah the entire time. Was something wrong with him that he didn't perceive a threat from Jason? Or maybe he was just leading him on and tricking him into trusting him, and then he would turn against him later. Lijah stepped over to his dresser to retrieve one of the books. Jason saw that it was a spiral bound notebook with a pencil jammed in the binding. Lijah brought the notebook to the bed and climbed up to sit next to him, folding his legs underneath himself.

"I figured since you don't talk, this might help if you want to tell me something about yourself or ask me questions," Lijah explained, "Are you comfortable with writing?"

Jason shrugged. It had been a long time since he had written anything, not counting his own name in the dirt yesterday. He was able to read, but he wasn't confident in his spelling or handwriting. He accepted the notebook anyway, having some questions for Lijah that he could not express through body language.

"cant rite good. ELijah college?" he wrote, needing to spell the full name and crossing out the 'E' to get it right.

"Do I go to college?" Lijah checked, and upon Jason's nod, he elaborated, "Yup, I'm on break right now, but I'm going back in the fall for my senior year. I'm studying psychology and sociology. I'm hoping I can get into social work or therapy or something and help a lot of people."

Jason's frustration increased at this declaration. There was no way he was this good. There had to be some dark side to him somewhere.

"What about you?" Lijah asked, "Do you live around here? And, I don't mean to be rude, but how old are you?"

Jason nodded and returned to the notebook.

"live with Mother by camp. im 23."

"Oh, nice, you're only two years older than me!" Lijah commented, "Do you get along well with your mom?"

Jason nodded and pointed to Lijah as a means to ask him the same question.

"I don't live with my parents anymore," Lijah answered, his tone changing very slightly to hint at some discomfort, "They're good people, but I couldn't live in that environment anymore once I started college. I've pretty much been living either at school or at summer camps for the past few years, but I'm looking into apartments for myself so I can have a place to live after I graduate."

There was the lead. Something must have been wrong with Lijah's family life to force him out on his own, and the implication that he didn't have friends to stay with made the mystery all the more enticing. He remembered the female counselor from the day before who had asked to go with Lijah before he and Jason had met.

"frends?" Jason wrote, "girl frend?"

Lijah laughed, and Jason felt a shiver at the sound for some reason.

"I get along with everybody, but I don't really have any close friends," he said, "I haven't dated anyone for a while now either. I've been focusing on myself and getting through school, though also the people I tend to date are...not the best for me."

From what Jason had seen of Lijah from afar, he seemed like he had lots of friends and was close with many people, but now it seemed he was just as alone as Jason himself. He stared at Lijah for a moment, trying to figure him out. It was then that he noticed some tiny details about Lijah's face that he hadn't seen in the woods yesterday.

Lijah had freckles on his nose, and his eyelashes were long. His eyes were a greenish hazel, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His usually fluffy brown hair was somewhat damp looking, possibly from a recent shower. Jason couldn't explain it, but Lijah was rather pleasant to look at.

"So you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I'm a little curious," Lijah prompted, snapping Jason back to reality, "Why do you wear a hockey mask? Is it good for keeping bugs out of your face?"

Jason tensed. He didn't want Lijah to see his face under the mask. That would surely scare him and make him hate him like everyone else. Jason shook his head and tried to think of an excuse to write down, but all he could think of was,

"i like it."

Lijah nodded upon reading this.

"That's a good, solid reason for anything," he agreed, "I should start living by that a little more, honestly."

Jason relaxed at this, relieved that Lijah accepted that answer. He wasn't sure why, but he was beginning to want Lijah to like him. It was almost like when he was a child and wanted to be friends with the other kids at camp, but this felt different somehow. Lijah didn't have friends of his own either, so they would only have each other if this worked.

Jason did not even think about possibly killing Lijah at this point. He was far too invested in who he was as a person, as well as excited at the possibility of having a real friend, to remember what his mission was. Mother wasn't expecting him back until August. It should be fine.

"Alright, Jason, I'm gonna tell you something and I don't want you to get upset," Lijah began, scratching the back of his head, "But I figure if you wanted to, you could have easily killed me a few times by now, so I think I'm safe. I honestly thought you were gonna kill me yesterday in the woods - we've all heard the stories of the Killer of Crystal Lake or whatever; they warned me of the history of this place when I was hired - but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and treat everyone the way I'd want to be treated. I figured if I died, I would die putting my best foot forward, and, wouldn't you know it, I did that literally."

Jason blinked. Was that really all he'd needed to not kill people? Someone being nice to him?

"For the record, and I'm sure you know this already, but I'm not scared of you now. People don't have to look a certain way to be good or bad. And, hey, if you helped me out and came to visit me like this, you can't be all bad, can you?"

Either Lijah was too naive for his own good or he was very good in the field he was studying. Perhaps both? Jason wasn't sure. He picked up the pencil again to write,

"can i see u more?"

Lijah read this and nodded.

"I'd love that!" he enthused, "Please, come see me this time of night any night you want. I've got lots of books to read, I've got food in the fridge, you can shower here if you want to...I'm the only one who uses this cabin, so really, I don't mind you being here and making yourself comfortable."

Jason wasn't an expert at body language or understanding people in general, but it was clear to him that Lijah desperately wanted a friend. He felt a twitch at the corners of his mouth, a small smile breaking through. Whatever this was between them, they both wanted it, needed it, and Jason looked forward to exploring an actual friendship with someone his own age. Maybe he could bring Lijah back to Mother and show her that there was someone special in the outside world, someone who cared about everyone.

It was a nice thought, but nice thoughts never lasted long.

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

Jason and Lijah spent several hours that night getting to know each other. Jason could not believe how easy it was to communicate with him and even more so how easy it was to let his guard down. He found himself having fun, something he couldn't remember the last time it happened. Lijah did grow quite tired after midnight, however, so Jason excused himself through the window to allow Lijah to sleep.

He returned to his temporary campsite in the woods to get some rest as well, wanting to have plenty of energy tomorrow to spend more time with Lijah. He wondered if he had tried to approach the counselors he'd killed differently, if he had a more approachable mask and cleaned up the rest of his appearance, would he have been able to befriend them too? He doubted that notion the instant it materialized in his mind; those counselors weren't like Lijah and would have been afraid of him either way. Lijah was special...Jason could feel it deep within him. Just a few hours with him made Jason reconsider killing anyone this summer.

He hoped Mother would approve.

[intelligentdumbass]

My Sweet Prince (2.0)

“What do you do when you’ve done all that there is to do? When you’re too bored to do nothing and yet too tired to do something? When you want to talk but at the same time not?

Well, everyone knows I love to sing and, in times like those just described, I prefer to only sing to myself; to sit in the forest and play my cithara for no one in particular but the random fauna that decide to stay and watch.

…

It was a morning like any other, or at least it was supposed to be.

There was a prince, Hyacinthus, who had set off with his dogs to go hunt in the wooded outskirts of his kingdom. I imagined him to be confused, for it must’ve been quite the strange sight to behold; the trees nothing but silence for hours and hours on end. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, when he and his hounds managed to catch a scent, it was accompanied by a song, and the voice was not of a bird’s. It led them into a small clearing and instead of drawing his bow, the hunter froze.

There was, in the middle, what he perceived to be a fair maiden strumming on their lyre; golden hair shimmering under the sunlight as a wide range of animals sat around them. The young man was entranced, and so were his dogs, so for a while he just stared until the musician finally decided to acknowledge the new addition to their audience.

The notes slowly faded but, before the singer could say a word, Hyacinthus snapped out of it and spoke first.

“I’m sorry miss but… Who the hell are you?” He slowly approached, cautious of all the critters. “What in Zeus’ name is a lass like you doing out here of all places?”

I raised an eyebrow, but I decided to play along. “Oh you know… boredom.”

“I assume your father’s somewhere close by, then.” He glanced around, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh no, I came here to have some me time with myself.”

Hyacinthus looked dismayed. “Not even a brother, cousin, or a friend?”

I shook my head; he frowned.

“It’s not safe to be all alone out here.” He insisted. “As a prince, it is my duty to protect-”

And alas, it was in that moment that he had accidentally stepped on the tail of a lion. Fortunately, a second later, a silver arrow rushed by; barely missing the young man and piercing the cat’s heart. The rest of the animals took this as a sign to scram.

Hyacinthus blinked, and muttered a silent prayer to the god of archery. Ironically, this is what he said immediately after:

“See my point? Come on, I’ll escort you back.”

He reached his hand out to assist me, but only got a punch to the face in response. As he staggered back I took the opportunity to speak in my normal, deeper voice.

“Really??”

Needless to say, the mortal was mortified. Gazing into my sapphire eyes, he suddenly understood. He hastily tried to get his shit together, smiling in embarrassment.

“A-” “Apologies my lord. I suppose you’re just… that enchanting.”

I scanned him from head to toe. My instincts told me he wasn’t lying; it wasn’t merely empty flattery. “Hm… I suppose you’re not that bad yourself.”

“Ah well, of course! I’m Sparta’s heir after all.” He proudly exclaimed. “Still though, I am, uh terribly sorry for interrupting your song-”

“Save your apologies; it’s fine. I’m not going to smite you for that.” I sat down and placed the cithara back on my lap. “In fact, you’re welcome to stay if you so desire. I won’t mind.”

“But you said you wanted some time alone?”

“Away from the other gods, I mean.”

Hyacinthus was reluctant, but his puppers seemed eager to hear me continue my song.

“…alright. Only for a bit, if that’s okay with you, Lord Phoebus.” He said, sitting next to me; the dogs following suit. I suppose he had nothing better to do. Then again, how could he?

I smiled. “Please, just call me Apollo.”

Unbeknownst to Hyacinthus a ‘bit’ was quite the understatement. It was like time itself ceased to exist, and for once that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Soon the sun was setting and the prince was leading his pack back to the palace. I chose to stay. It was then that the west wind materialized before me.

“I was just passing by, so here’s a quick tip.” Zephyr murmured. “If I were you, I’d restrain myself. He’s already caught the eyes of two other gods and one mortal.”

“And you’re telling me this because?” A smile crept its way onto my lips.

“…what’s with that look?” He frowned; I said nothing as the god slowly fizzled out into thin air.

Hyacinthus had invited me to go out and hunt with him!

As expected of two skilled hunters, the trip went exceptionally well. Still, as we sprinted through the trees, I couldn’t help but sense the eyes of someone else; immediately knowing who it was. If Hyacinthus knew too, then he merely chose to ignore that suspiciously strong scent of spring. Still, I had a little sympathy for the intruder. The prince was easy to like, and I’m sure many have fallen for his bodily charms alone.

When we paused for a break, I said:

“Has anyone ever made a move on you before?”

Hyacinthus froze; I held in a chuckle. It was easy to see his attempt at holding my hand just as the question was asked.

“At least three other men have, but I’ve rejected them all.” He then quickly added, “That isn’t to say I’m only into woman though!”

I laughed. “Having trouble finding the right one?”

He stared a bit before suddenly grinning. “…Who knows, for all I know, I already have.”

My answer was a line I’ve paraphrased a hundred times. “Because I’m smart, talented, and very hot?”

“Maybe.” He inched closer. “But it’s also because of, or rather, how you smile.”

That response was a little… refreshing. A faint flush of red spread around my cheeks as I flashed a smirk, probably further proving his point. Then in the blink of an eye he leaned in; a hand holding my chin and his murmurs softer than any other breeze against my ear.

“May I?”

He only got a kiss in response.

However, even when the hunt was over and he was already making his way back home, I couldn’t help but… follow him back to Sparta, if only for a bit.

Turns out, Hyacinthus had showed up to his training with hundreds of flowers still intricately woven into his hair. It was hilarious how everyone else looked too scared to comment; well, except for Thamyris.

“What in the actual fuck?” He exclaimed.

“Okay, short version is: I fell asleep during the break after the hunting trip, so now there are a bunch of flowers in my hair.”

“Out of all of your suitors, you chose a god; hell, not just that, one of the fucking Olympians.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

I grinned, but then the other said: “Marpessa wouldn’t.”

…

Hyacinthus sighed. “Look, we all have our own preferences. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

“As if.” He turned around, about to leave. “Just don’t come back crying to me when shit goes downhill.”

I… suppose you could say that Thamyris had the kind of arrogance that reminded me of Marsyas. They both dabbled in music too. Hopefully he doesn’t end up making the same mistake that the satyr did. Thankfully, the prince seemed to be trying to ignore him.”

  “…You know you could’ve just said “Sorry I’m late, I stalked my date.”” Athena raised an eyebrow; yet her voice carried not a single trace of annoyance. Doing their father’s paperwork was a task she was well accustomed too, and a very boring one at that.

“Hey! For the record I didn’t stay any longer after that conversation he had with Thamyris. Plus, it’s not every day that I almost forget about my duties. I figured you’d want a thorough explanation.”

“Well, as long as it isn’t too thorough.”

The god laughed. “Oh wait, shit-” “What was I doing again?” His eyes scanned the documents he forgot he was holding.

The goddess sighed. There was but one thought in her mind.

‘This is going to start happening much more often now, isn’t it?’

And she was right.

A few days later, Hermes was swiftly flying through the halls until he stopped in front of the studio’s door. He carefully pushed it open, but despite being the lord of communication, he couldn’t utter a single word.  

It was late in the evening, and his brother wasn’t alone.

Apollo was sitting down, writing on a scroll, and behind him was a mortal curiously peering over his shoulder. Then the boy moved closer, and wrapped his arms around the blonde’s waist; tenderly whispering sweet nothings into his ear. To Hermes’ surprise, Apollo allowed himself to be pried away from his research.

The younger god decided to just slowly close the door.

Athena was right and apparently she didn’t seem to mind.

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

Thamyris wasn’t the only one with a complaint.

Hyacinthus was sitting under a cypress tree; trying to practice playing the lyre his lover had gifted him, when the breeze whispered into his ear.

“Look at it.” He said. “Your reflection in the water.”

The prince raised an eyebrow, but he glanced into the stream in front of him anyway. The top of his head was adorned with all sorts of flowers, no doubt due to the breath of the west wind.

“Hm… I think I liked it better when Apollo did it.”

Zephyr frowned; materializing seated down on his left.

“You’re not giving me a chance-”

“Except he already did.” Apollo sighed, suddenly appearing on Hyacinthus’ right. “For fates’ sake, take a hint and go blow someone else.”

The other god glared, but gave in, yet not before yelling something on a whim.

“So in one of the few times a mortal catches my fancy, you, who have already had many, get to have him instead?” He suddenly stood up. “You’re as greedy and insatiable with your lovers as you are with your domains.”

Apollo said nothing as the god disappeared into the wind.

Hyacinthus surprised him with a hug from behind.

“His argument is invalid. This isn’t just your choice, but mine as well.”

Still, after months and months of general bliss, the prince couldn’t help but ask:

“Those laurel wreaths you wear; they mean a lot to you, don’t they?”

The god felt his chest hurt. “Well, of course; there are many reasons as to why I care about them, one of them being that they remind me of something I shouldn’t ever forget because I don’t want to make a mistake like that ever again.”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before he continued.

“Hyacinthus?”

“Yeah?”

“Never doubt my feelings for you, okay?”

“I never did.”

“…even so, you really must know that, because of you, right now is the best I’ve ever felt in literal decades.”

“Oh don’t flatter me, sunshine.”

“You know I can’t lie. So really, trust me when I say that I’m here to stay.”

Hyacinthus’ eyes darted around the room as the musician’s head rested on his lap; the prince’s fingers twirling around in his golden locks. The floor was littered with paintings and marble statues of varying shapes and sizes scattered all over.

“Something caught your eye?” Apollo said as he saw his lover look at a painting of Crete. “You can take one of them home if you’d like.”

“Oh-” “Oh no it’s fine, really! I was just… enjoying the scenery.”

“Hm, you know I can take you there myself, right? Oooooh, imagine! A tour around Greece with yours truly.”

The boy smiled. His gaze shifted from a painting of Delphi to some art work of Leto, then Artemis, then Zeus, Athena and the rest of the other heavenly gods.

What he stared at the most were the ones next to those works about the Muses and the Thriae.

The names were many, Admetus, Cyrene, Branchus, Hecuba, Helenus… then there was Cassandra, Daphne, and an unfinished Coronis, and as he continued to look, the prince could’ve sworn he felt the god gently squeeze his hand.

“Everything alright, my Phoebus?”

The god smiled. “I’m just… tired.”

The prince leaned to give him a reassuring kiss.

Two years, or at least, about two years, their laughter almost lasted for about two years.

Alas, what’s two years in the life of an immortal that can never die?

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

Olympus’ garden was huge; its depths filled with paths most don’t even know of. It was here the two gods sat down on top of a small hill, right in front of a giant crevice that overlooked all of their creations.

“I hate how I can still feel a-” “and remember every single…”

Hermes was never good at these kinds of talks. “You wanna let it all out?”

Apollo sighed, carefully breathing in and then breathing out; repeating that process for a good minute.

Ai, ai, ai-

...

 “It was a morning like any other, or at least, it was supposed to be.

The prince was an athletic young man, much like us, and there were many things that were done on the field. One of them involved the discus. He’d always try to run and catch the disc once I had sent it hurling into the air.

…

The crack echoed- no, roared, and my body screamed like every bone in my system had snapped a hundred times over.

I was by his side in an instant, cradling him in my arms until he was nothing more than a poor flower that had broke its stem; all due to the breath of the west wind.

It was so… quiet and I was so close; close enough that I could feel him go, like I could reach out and grasp his hand to prevent his soul from drifting away. I felt it all: the desperate breaths, the steady weakening of his heart and that last flutter of his eyelids as he looked at me, as scared and overwhelmed as I was with all that was happening and yet I-

I still failed. I’m the god of healing and medicine and I was right there, I was so close and he still managed to slip away!

If only he could take me with him too.

It was like time itself ceased to exist, the exact second that last spark of life faded into the depths of Hades repeating on and on and on, again and again and again-

…

My arms were hugging a lump of ice by the time Artemis found me.”

 “…I heard you tried to murder Zephyrus?”

 “W-” “Well... I think I recall hearing father’s voice when I had rushed into the halls.

“Athena, Apollo’s neglecting his duties.” He said. “When was the last time you saw him walk into Olympus?”

“Give him some more time and I’m sure he’ll-”

It was then that someone, the bastard himself, had noticed me.

“Fear not my lord.” Zeus’ old messenger, the west shit, proudly exclaimed. “He’s already here!”

And indeed I was, fingers stained with crimson red; purple petals falling out of my hair.

A smile crept its way onto Zephyr’s lips. “You’re welcome.”

Needless to say, I immediately started chasing him with my bow.”

 “And then Athena stopped you, right?”

 --------------

It must’ve been quite the strange sight to behold for our winged eavesdropper. Apollo had a blank look in his eyes and Athena was standing in his way; Zephyr a little further down the hall behind her, curiously peaking over the corner.

Unbeknownst to any of them, Hermes was a lizard hiding inside of a jar.

“Athena, move.”

“Apollo,” Surprisingly, the goddess was perfectly calm. “Father has already retired him as his personal messenger, and he is now going to serve under Eros to repent for the very stupid thing he did in ‘the name of love’.”

“It’s not enough-”

“I know, and it’s never going to be enough.” Then she muttered. “Look, what happened with Pallas was much more justifiable than what this idiot wind bag did and even then, even if it was our father, to this day a tiny part of me is still pissed even if I knew he did it because he was worried about me.”

For a moment, the god was quiet. “Zephyr isn’t nearly as important.”

“But still crucial enough; I think it’d be best if we didn’t lose the west wind. Listen to your head, you know this isn’t worth it; it’s never going to be worth it.”

After a few seconds of silence, in the blink of an eye, Apollo was gone.

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

 “I really am unreasonable, aren’t I, Hermes? Crying over beings much lesser than myself…”

“You knew you had your heart set upon a mortal, so I guess it does sound foolish to grieve over their mortality but… I think we’re all a little unreasonable sometimes. On the brightside, I’m sure you’ll meet someone new eventually. You are Apollo after all.” He offers his friend a reassuring smile.

The blonde smiled back, yet his eyes were impossible to read. “I suppose…”

“Is there anything you want to say? To Hyacinthus, I mean, if I encounter him down in Hades.”

…

..

.

“If we should ever meet again

No matter how long the wait

No matter how many lifetimes it takes

My arms will be glad to welcome you in an embrace

Until then, just know

That even when man has forgotten my face

And I roam the world as nothing but a shade

Your memory will continue, forever living on

In all the flowers that the earth will cover itself, bearing your name

Goodnight, my sweet prince”

 And as Zeus’ newly appointed messenger left, Apollo decided to merely sing to himself; to sit on the hill and play his cithara for no one in particular but the random fauna that decide to stay and watch.

Athena was surprised to see him enter Olympus only a week after, even though she should’ve seen it coming. He is Apollo after all.

There were duties to fulfill.

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

(The original one I made)

[staggeringsmite]

ooh, top 5 moments you've had/witnessed as a DM? (please use this an excuse to hype yourself up if you want!!)

my players make dm’ing beyond worth it, so i really have to give credit to them for the joy of what they bring to a lot of these scenes <3 (also this is all wandering isles bc it’s been my most narratively satisfying and invested dm experience) Buckle Up it’s a long one!!!

bonus: i’m very proud of my individual character moments! throughout the campaign we’ve had about four of these (the intro session scenes, two dream sequences for every pc, and a set of individual trial scenes). we’re a pretty big party so it’s hard to narrow it down, but i just love writing and running those longer narrative moments bc i think it’s a v interesting insight into each character and gives them each a separate moment to shine <3

5. “promise you’ll come back to her” / burning of contingency letters

i put these moments together perhaps to cheat a little bit, but also because they deserve it. xarus, the party’s barbarian whose family was abandoned by his mother at a young age pulls theresa, a forge knitting cleric about to board the airship he is a quartermaster of in order to find a cure for her sick wife. he asks theresa to promise him one thing, that no matter what she will come back to her wife. along the way they write contingency letters to their loved ones in and outside of the party as their adventures grow more and more dangerous, and eventually, exhausted and worn, theresa and xarus find each other in the den of a safehouse to talk. recognizing each other’s willingness to self-sacrifice, their conversation ends with them burning the contingency letters they’ve written, committing to life. these scenes come together because it shows how far they have come together, and the theresa and xarus relationship will always be a highlight of the wandering isles to witness. sometimes the players do all the best work for you, and it’s so wonderful to sit back and watch <3

4. miles is missing

damien returns to the university he works at after an unprecedented amount time away to check on his office before he heads back out on another adventure with the party. while there he moves to put a sticky note (canonically a magical item in the wandering isles universe) on his rival colleague’s (and gay lover/roommate of 20 years) door only to find it entirely emptied without a trace. despite their bickering, miles and damien are very close, and miles would never pack up his things and go without telling damien.

this was a more subtle cliff-hanger for the session, but it was made so much fun as a dm because the players were excited and joking the whole session about miles’ second appearance (and only since the very first session) so his sudden disappearance was made much more severe based on everyone’s anticipation of meeting and having a light-hearted interaction with him.

3. the infamous sex rave

sometimes things go very right as a dm and sometimes things spiral out of control when a pc mislabels a situation which becomes a running joke of the campaign. either way i love being stubborn in my defense of “it isn’t a sex rave!!” whenever they bring it up (and immediately playing an npc who also calls it a sex rave). basically the players had a heist encounter in which they were hired to break a group of pirate prisoner’s out of a secret underground information center (where magical artifacts were also being held and studied, and there was pertinent information stored for the party to take a swipe at). the group split and one subset of party members were forced to hide from guards on the outskirts of a large, gladiatorial style ring within the compound, in which prisoners were competitively battling in order to test the abilities of certain unknown artifacts for the entertainment of anonymous nobles in masquerade getup. based on the magical lighting effects, the strangely dressed noble onlookers, and the,,,, Fighting Noises being some of the only things the pc’s perceived from the level of the auditorium they hid at, it was unfortunately misnomer’ed the “weird sex rave” and has only been referred to it as that ever since.

2. mother abel’s goodbye

hmmm am i making players cry again? yeah maybe. mother abel was an elder cleric of nosa crossing, the starting city of the campaign. she’d lived through its settlement, destruction, rebuilding, and given her all not only to the city but also to the jilted creed (a secret society dedicated to disrupting geline, a large and dangerously powerful island-state which is one of the campaign’s greatest evils). in the last use of her strength she took on a role as a conduit for a powerful plane shift ritual to transport the residents of the city to safety in the feywild as nosa crossing began to be overrun by potent wild magics in the prime material plane. as a low-level cleric, the spell took its toll on her, and as the party arrived in the feywild via a similar ritual to find the inhabitants, they were led to her side. theresa, a native of nosa crossing now reunited with her wife yodean, went to abel’s side with yodean. as yodean sat on the foot of the bed, theresa kneeled as though praying to hold abel’s hand cleric to cleric, confessing her gratitude but admitting that she cannot give as freely as mother abel did, that she and yodean deserve to live for themselves as much as they choose everyday to live for other people. with her final words in a soft, weak message, mother abel comforted theresa in her decision. the scene as a whole was so wonderfully sad, and the best dm moment of something so raw as telling aj, theresa’s player, that while there was no way to confirm it in any real capacity, something in theresa felt that perhaps mother abel held out a little while longer to make sure she was safe one last time and make sure she’d truly gotten everyone home.

1. rosa’s betrayal / lian’s resurrection

enough of that sad shit let’s get mean babey!! aslkjglfk i will be riding the high of this session for an eternity, but it’s quite a lot to break down. rosa rucksaw is the captain of the crew the party rescues in the heist sequence, who eventually reveals herself to in fact be xarus’ mom who fully left to assume a new identity and is Pretty Horrible as a person. at the safehouse, the party is asked by the people they were hired if they would be willing to take the crew to a longer term safehouse island, and the decision is left to xarus. not wanting to be like his mom, xarus agrees to endure a little more time with them in order to them this service out of convenience and kindness. a few hours from their destination, rosa finds xarus on the deck and honestly? kinda begins to admit some amount of guilt for all the shit she did,,,, literally seconds before she reveals that when her and her crew were caught by geline, she struck a deal in order to keep them alive, saying to her biological son “out on the cloudsea your crew is your family, and son, believe me, i’d do anything for my family” before her crew on the deck anchored the ship to an invisible gelinish war vessel and we snapped to roll20 for combat. the look of horror and betrayal on everyone’s face as her monologue hit those final lines, ugh and the fact that no one was super suspicious made it even better!! sometimes it Really Works, and this was one of those times!

flash forward in the battle, and an npc (it’s miles, the gay lover from a few numbers ago) being held hostage by the gelinish vessel is killed, as he is resurrected by two party members (damien and theresa) damien reaches for his soul, as theresa, who multi-classed into divination wizard after a pc named lian died (with failed attempts from theresa and xarus to hold her back) feels another presence in the grey, misty beyond. lian died in session four, and when i said her name to reference jack’s character everyone lost it mostly out of confusion before i began to narrate lian feeling restless in the afterlife, eventually reaching out and forming a celestial warlock pact with miles through his connection to damien and being called upon by her goddess sune as theresa reached out, offering lian the chance to go back. theresa returning to that moment with both her clerical and divinatory abilities, with the blessing of sune, lian emerging on the battlefield, now a vengeance paladin instead of life cleric, with a flaming sword and celestial wings at her back was such an incredible highlight to set up and run,, i just, <333 very proud of myself (and very thankful jack was on board for her coming back) for this moment

thank you so so much!! this was a long ramble, but i hope it was somewhat interesting to people not in the wandering isles <33

send a top 5 or 10?

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Wed., Apr., 14, 2021

5th week of great Lent

The Life of the Monastic Mary of Egypt (552)

 April 1/april14 and on the 5th Sunday of the Great Lent

     The Life of the Monastic Mary of Egypt: At a certain Palestinian monastery on the outskirts of Caesarea there lived a saintly monk, Zosima. Having dwelt at the monastery since his childhood, he asceticised at it until he reached age 53, when he was disturbed by the thought: "Is there to be found in all the furthermost wilderness – some holy person surpassing me in spiritual sobriety and deeds?"      Just hardly had he thought this, when an Angel of the Lord appeared to him and said: "Thou, Zosima, by human standards hath asceticised not badly, but of mankind there is no one righteous (Rom. 3: 10). So that thou canst realise, how many there are of others and of higher forms of salvation, come out from this monastery, like Abraham from the house of his father (Gen. 12: 1), and go to the monastery situated by the Jordan".      Abba Zosima immediately left the monastery and following behind the Angel he went to the Jordan monastery and settled in it.      Here he beheld elders, truly radiant in their efforts. And Abba Zosima began to imitate the holy monks in spiritual activity.

     Thus passed much time, and the holy Forty-Day Lent approached. At the monastery there existed a custom, on account of which also God had led the Monk Zosima thither. On the First Sunday (i.e. Forgiveness Sunday) starting the Great Lent the hegumen served the Divine-liturgy, all communed the All-Pure Body and Blood of Christ, and they partook afterwards of a small repast and then gathered again in church.      Having made prayer and a due number of poklon-prostrations, the elders, having asked forgiveness one of another, took blessing from the hegumen and during the common singing of the Psalm "The Lord is my Light and my Saviour: whom shalt I fear? The Lord is Defender of my life: from what shalt I be afraid?" (Ps. 26 [27]: 1), they opened the monastery gate and went off into the wilderness.      Each of them took with him a modest amount of food, such as needed it, while some however took nothing into the wilderness and fed on roots. The monks went about beyond the Jordan and spread out as far as possible, so that no one might see, how anyone fasted or asceticised.      When Great Lent drew to a close, the monks returned to the monastery on Palm Sunday with the fruit of their labour (Rom. 6: 21-22), having tested out their own conscience (1 Pet. 3: 16). And as regards this, no one asked anything, how anyone had toiled or made their effort.      And this year Abba Zosima also, in the monastery custom, went about beyond Jordan. He wanted to go deep into the wilderness, so as to find there any saints and great elders, both saving themselves there and praying for the world.      He went on into the wilderness for 20 days and then, when he sang the Psalms of the 6th Hour and made the usual prayers, suddenly on the right side from him there appeared as it were the shadow of an human form. He took fright, thinking that it might be a demonic apparition, but then having made over himself the Sign of the Cross, he put aside the fear and finishing his prayer, he turned towards the side of the shadow and saw going through the wilderness a bare human form, the body of which was black from the blazing sunlight, and the faded short hair was whitened, like a sheep's fleece. Abba Zosima rejoiced, since for all these days he had not seen any living thing, and immediately he turned towards his right side.      But just only as the naked wilderness-dweller perceived Zosima approaching, it immediately attempted to flee from him. Abba Zosima, forgetting his aches of age and fatigue, quickened his pace. But soon seeing the impossibility of gaining the upper hand he halted and began tearfully to implore the departing ascetic: "Why dost thou, saving thyself in this wilderness, flee from me, a sinful elder? Approach me, though I be incapable and unworthy, and grant me thine holy prayer and blessing, for the sake of the Lord, Who disdained no one ever".      The stranger, without turning, cried out to him: "Excuse me, Abba Zosima, but I cannot turn about and show my face to thee: for I am a woman, and as thou wouldst see, there is upon me  no sort of garb for the covering of bodily bareness. But if thou wouldst to pray for me, a great and woesome sinner, throw thine own cloak to cover me, and then I can approach thee for blessing".      "She would not know me by name, save that through holiness and unknown deeds she hath acquired the gift of perspicacity from the Lord", – perceived Abba Zosima, and he proceeded to fulfill that asked of him.      Covered by the cloak, the ascetic turned to Zosima: "Why thinkest thou, Abba Zosima, to speak with me, a woman sinful and unwise? What is it that thou dost wish to learn from me, and in sparing no strength thou didst exert such efforts?"      He however, having bent down upon his knees, asked blessing of her. At this point she likewise bent down before him, and for a long time they both each implored the other: "Bless". Finally the woman ascetic said: "Abba Zosima, it becometh thee to bless and to make the prayer, since thou art honoured with the dignity of presbyter and for many years, standing before the altar of Christ, thou hast offered up to the Lord the Holy Gifts".      These words frightened the Monk Zosima all the more. With a deep gasp he answered her: "O spiritual mother! Clearly of us two thou art the far closer to God and mortified for this world. Thou hast known me by name and called me priest, never before having seen me. It becometh thee therefore to bless me, for the sake of the Lord".      Yielding finally to the obstinance of Zosima, the Nun said: "Blessed is God, Who willeth the salvation of all mankind". Abba Zosima answered: "Amen", and they rose up from the ground. The woman ascetic again said to the elder: "Why hast thou come, father, to me a sinner, bereft of every virtue? Apparently, moreover, the grace of the Holy Spirit hath guided thee to do me one service, needful for my soul. But tell me first, Abba, how now live the Christians, how now thrive and prosper the Saints of God's Church?"      Abba Zosima answered her: "By your holy prayers God hath granted the Church and us all an effective peace. But thou who hast hearkened to the entreaty of an unworthy elder, my mother, to have prayed on account of God for all the world and for me a sinner, – let not this wilderness meeting be for me to no avail".      The holy ascetic answered: "It more becometh thee, Abba Zosima, having priestly rank, to pray for me and for all. For this also was the dignity bestown thee. Moreover, all thine request bid of me gladly wilt be fulfilled on account of obedience to Truth and from purity of heart".      Having spoken thus, the saint turned herself towards the East, and having lifted up her eyes and raising up her hands to Heaven, she began to prayer in a whisper. The elder beheld, how she stood in the air a cubit off the ground. Seeing this wondrous vision, Zosima threw himself down prostrate, praying fervently and not daring to say anything except "Lord, have mercy!"      The thought entered his soul – a premonition whether this might lead him into temptation? The woman ascetic, having turned round, lifted him from the ground and said: "Why do ponderings so trouble thee, Abba Zosima? I am no apparition. I – am a woman sinful and unworthy, though also guarded by holy Baptism".      Having said this, she signed herself with the Sign of the Cross. Seeing and hearing this, the elder fell with tears at the feet of the woman ascetic: "I beseech thee by Christ our God, conceal not from me thine ascetic life, but bespeak it all, so that it be made clear for God's majesty. Wherefore I do believe by the Lord my God, by Whom thou also dost live, that for this I was sent into the wilderness, so that all thine ascetic deeds be made manifest for the world".      And the holy ascetic answered: "It distresses me, father, to relate to thee the shamelessness of my deeds. Whereof thou mightest then flee from me, averting the eyes and ears, as do they that flee the poisonous viper. But I shall tell thee everything, father, being silent about nothing of my sins, thou however I exhort thee, cease not to pray for me a sinner, that I be vested in boldness for the Day of Judgement.      I was born in Egypt and my parents being yet alive, and I being a twelve year old girl, I left them and went to Alexandria. There I lost my chastity and gave myself over to unrestrained and insatiable fornication. For more than seventeen years I indulged licentiously and I did it all gratis. That I did not take money was not because I was rich. I lived in poverty and worked at a spinning-wheel. I thought, that all the meaning of life consisted in satisfying fleshly lust.      Living such a life, I one time saw a crowd of people, from Libya and Egypt heading towards the sea, so as to sail to Jerusalem for the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. I too wanted to sail with them. But not because of Jerusalem and not because of the feast, but – simply, father, – because there would be more people with whom to indulge in depravity. And so I embarked on the ship.      Now, father, believe me, I am very amazed, that the sea tolerated my wantonness and fornication, that the earth did not open up its mouth and take me down alive into hell, so enticed and lost a soul... But evidently, God desired my repentance, not the death of the sinner, with long-suffering patience awaiting my conversion.      Thus I arrived in Jerusalem and all the days prior to the feast were just like on the ship, spent in obscene matters.      When the holy feast of the Exaltation of the Venerable Cross of the Lord arrived, I went about as before, for tempting the souls of youths to sin. Having seen, that everyone very early was heading to the church, in which was situated the Life-Creating Wood, I went along with everyone and went into the church portico area. When the hour of the Holy Elevation drew nigh, I wanted to enter into the church with all the people. With great effort shoving myself towards the doors, I the wretch that I was, attempted to squeeze inside. But although I stepped up to the threshold, it was as though some force of God held me back, not allowing me to enter, and it threw me far off from the doors, whilst amidst this all the people went in without hindrance. I thought that, perhaps, it was through womanly weakness that I was not able to work my way into the crowd, and again I attempted to elbow aside people and shove myself to the doors. However hard I tried – I could not enter in. Just only as my feet but touched the church threshold, I was stopped. The church admitted everyone else, no one else was prevented entering, while only I the wretch was not allowed in. Thus it went for three or four times. My strength was exhausted. I went off and stood in a corner of the church portico.      Here I came to sense, that it was my sins that prevented me to see the Life-Creating Wood, the grace of the Lord then touched my heart, I wept bitterly and in repentance I began to beat at myself upon the bosom. Lifting up to the Lord groans from the depths of my heart, I caught sight before me of an icon of the MostHoly Mother of God and I turned to it with the prayer: "O Lady Virgin, having given birth in the flesh to God the Word! I know, that I am unworthy to look upon Thine icon. It would be mete for me, an hateful prodigal, to be cast off from Thine purity and be for Thee an abomination, but I know also this, it was for this also that God became Man, in order to call sinners to repentance. Help me, O All-Pure One, that it be permitted me to enter into the church. Forbid me not to behold the Wood, upon which in the flesh the Lord wast crucified, shedding His innocent Blood also for me a sinner, to deliver me from sin. Do Thou command, O Lady, that the doors of the Holy Veneration of the Cross be opened to me. Be Thou for me the ardent Guide to He born of Thee. I promise Thee from this moment no more yet to defile myself with any sort of fleshly defilement, but just as soon as I but see the Wood of the Cross of Thy Son, I shalt immediately cut myself off from the world, and go whither Thou as Guide shalt guide me".      And when I had prayed thus, I sensed suddenly, that my prayer had been heard. In humbleness of faith, trusting upon the Compassionate Mother of God, I again joined in with those entering into the church, and no one thrust me back or prevented me from entering. I went on in fear and trembling, lest I not reach it to the doors nor be vouchsafed to behold the Life-Creating Cross of the Lord.      Thus I too perceived the mysteries of God, that God is prepared to accept the repentant. I feel to the earth, I prayed, I kissed the holy-things and emerged from the church, and I hastened again to stand before my Guide, where I had given my vow. Bending on my knees before the icon, I prayed thus before it:      "O our Beloved Lady Mother of God! Thou hast not rejected my prayer as unworthy. Glory be to God, accepting through Thee the repentance of sinners. It has become time for me to fulfill the promise, in which Thou wert the Guide. Wherefore now, O Lady, guide me on the pathway of repentance".      And herewith, not even having ended my prayer, I heard a voice, as though speaking from afar: "If thou pass over beyond Jordan, there wilt thou find the blessed respite".      I immediately believed, that this voice was on my account, and with weeping I cried out to the Mother of God: "Mistress Lady, forsake me not, defiled sinner that I be, but help me", – and immediately I went from the church portico and proceeded along. A certain man gave me three coins of money. With them I bought myself three loaves of bread and from the merchant I learned the way to the Jordan.      In setting off I went into the church of Saint John the Baptist near the Jordan. Having made poklon-prostration before everything in the church, I immediately went down to the Jordan and washed my face and hands with its water. Then in this same temple of Saint John the Forerunner I communed the Life-Creating Mysteries of Christ, I ate half of one of my loaves of bread, drank from the holy Jordan its water and slept there the night on the ground at the church. In the morning I found not far off a small craft, and I journeyed on it across the river to the opposite shore, and again I prayed my Guide, that She would guide me as it might please Her. And forthwith I came into this wilderness".      Abba Zosima asked the Nun: "How many years is it, my mother, since he time when thou settled into this wilderness?" – "I think, – answered she, – 47 years have elapsed, since I came from the Holy City".      Abba Zosima again asked: "What hast thou or what is it thou findest here as food, my mother?" And she answered: "I had with me two and an half loaves of bread when I traversed the Jordan, gradually they dried out and hardened, and eating little by little, for many years I ate from them".      Again Abba Zosima asked: "Is it possible thou hast survived for so many years without sickness? And received thou no sort of temptations from unexpected suggestions and enticements?" – "Believe me, Abba Zosima, – answered the Nun, – I spent 17 years in this wilderness, literally like with wild beasts I struggled with my thoughts... When I began to eat bread, immediately the thought occurred about the meat and fish, towards which I was so attracted to in Egypt. I desired also the wine, since I drank much of it when I was in the world. Here indeed, not having often plain water and food, I fiercely suffered from thirst and hunger. I endured even more powerful woes: the desire seized upon me for lewd songs, I seemed to hear them, disturbing my heart and my hearing. Weeping and striking myself on the breast, I remembered then the promises I had given, going into the wilderness, given in front of the icon of the MostHoly Mother of God, my Guide, and I cried, imploring that the thoughts tearing at my soul be driven away. When repentance was perfected in the measure of prayer and weeping, I beheld from me a radiant Light, and then in place of my tempest a great quiet ensued.      The prodigal thoughts, pardon, Abba, how shall I confess to thee? The fire of passion burned within my heart and burned all over me, exciting lust. At the appearance of the accursed thoughts I threw myself down on the ground and literally I saw, that before me would stand the MostHoly Guide Herself and She would judge me, for transgressing my given vows. Thus I did not get up, laying face downwards day and night upon the ground, until repentance was made and that blessed Light encircled me, dispelling the evil disturbances and thoughts.      Thus I lived in this wilderness for the first seventeen years. Darkness after darkness, misery after misery stood about me, a sinner. But from that time until now the Mother of God, my Helper, guides me in everything".      Abba Zosima again inquired: "How is it for thee that there is needed neither food, nor apparel?"      She answered: "My bread ended, as I said, in those seventeen years. After that I began to eat roots and that which one is able to find in the wilderness. The clothing, which was upon me when I crossed over the Jordan, long ago shredded and fell apart, and I had then much to endure and to suffer both from the Summer heat, when the blazing heat fell upon me, and from the Winter, when I shivered from the cold. How many a time I fell down upon the earth, as though dead. How many a time in immeasurable struggle I dwelt with various misfortunes, woes and temptations. But from that time until the present day the power of God in unknown and manifold ways has watched over my sinful soul and humble body. I was fed and covered by the utterance of God, comprising all (Deut. 8: 3), since it is not by bread alone that man doth live, but by every utterance of God (Mt. 4: 4, Lk. 4: 4), and not having the protection of rocks to clothe themself in (Job 24: 8), if they do put off from themselves the garb of sin (Col. 3: 9). When I remembered, from what evil and from what sins the Lord delivered me, I found within this to be food inexhaustible".      When Abba Zosima heard, that the holy ascetic spoke from memory from the Holy Scripture – from the Books of Moses and Job and from the Psalms of David, – he then asked the Nun: "Where, my mother, hast thou learned the Psalms and other Books?"      She smiled at hearing this question, and answered thusly: "Believe me, O man of God, I have seen no one human, besides thee, from the time when I crossed over the Jordan. I was never earlier schooled in books, nor hearkened to church singing, nor Divine studies. Perhaps it is that the Word of God Himself, the Living and All-Creating, doth teach man everything intelligible (Col. 3: 16; 2 Pet. 1: 21; 1 Thes. 2: 13). However, enough still, I have confessed to thee all my life, but the point with which I began I also end on: I charge thee  by the Incarnation of God the Word – holy Abba, pray for me, a great sinner.      And I charge thee furthermore by the Saviour, our Lord Jesus Christ – that everything, which thou hast heard from me, be not told to anyone until such time, when God shalt take me from the earth. And do thou fulfill this also, which I herewith tell thee. A year's time in future, during the Great Lent, come not across the Jordan, as bids your monastery's custom".      Again Abba Zosima was amazed, that the practice of his monastery was known to the holy woman ascetic, although in front of her he had not mentioned nor said anything about this.      "Remain, Abba, – continued the Nun, – at the monastery. Moreover, if thou intendest to exit the monastery, thou wilt not be able to... And when there ensues holy Great Thursday with the Sacramental-mystery of the Last Supper of the Lord, place in an holy vessel the Life-Creating Body and Blood of Christ our God, and bring it to me. Await me on this side of the Jordan, at the edge of the wilderness, so that I in coming may commune the Holy Mysteries. And to Abba John, the hegumen of your monastery community, say thus: attend to thyself and thine flock (Acts 20: 23; 1 Tim. 4: 16). I desire, however, that thou not say this to him now, but when the Lord shalt indicate".      Having spoken thus and having asked once more his prayer, the Nun turned and departed into the depths of the wilderness.      A whole year the elder Zosima dwelt in silence, not daring by the Lord to reveal about the appearance to him, and he prayed diligently, that the Lord would grant him once more to see the holy ascetic.      When again there ensued the first week of holy Great Lent, the Monk Zosima because of sickness was obliged to remain at the monastery. Then he remembered the prophetic words of the Nun, that he would not be able to exit the monastery. After the passing of several days the Monk Zosima was healed from his infirmity, but he remained the whole time until Passion Week at the monastery.      The day of the remembrance of the Last Supper came nigh. And then Abba Zosima fulfilled what was commanded of him – in late evening he emerged from the monastery towards the Jordan and sat at the riverbank in expectation. The saint seemed tardy, and Abba Zosima prayed God, that He would not deprive him of the meeting with the woman ascetic.      Finally the Nun came and stood at the far side of the river. Rejoicing, the Monk Zosima got up and glorified God. But the thought then came to him: how could she get across the Jordan without a boat? But the Nun, with the Sign of the Cross crossing over the Jordan, quickly made her way over the water. When the elder wanted to make prostration before her, she forbade him, crying out from amidst the river: "What art thou doing, Abba? Thou art a priest – bearing the great Mysteries of God".      Having traversed the river, the Nun said to Abba Zosima: "Bless me, father". He however answered her with trembling, astonished at the wondrous vision: "Truly God is not false, in promising to liken unto Him all that are cleansed, howsoever this be possible with the dead. Glory to Thee, O Christ our God, having shown me through Thine holy servant, how far I stand from the measure of perfection".      After this the Nun asked him to recite both the "I believe" of the Creed and the "Our Father". At the finish of the prayers, and having communed the Awesome Sacred Mysteries of Christ, she raised her hands towards the heavens and she pronounced the prayer of Saint Simeon the God-Receiver: "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes hath seen Thy salvation".      Then again the Nun turned towards the elder and said: "Please, Abba, do thou fulfill for me yet another request. Go now to thy monastery, and in another year's time come to that dried-out streambed where we the first time spoke". "If only it were possible for me, – answered Abba Zosima, – to follow after thee constantly, so as to see thine holiness!" The Nun again besought the elder: "Pray, for the Lord's sake, pray for me and remember my woe". And having signed the Jordan with the Sign of the Cross, she as before went over the water and disappeared into the dark of the wilderness. The elder Zosima returned to the monastery in spiritual rejoicing and trembling, but in one thing he reproached himself, that he had not asked the name of the Nun. But he hoped the following year finally to learn also her name.      A year passed, and Abba Zosima again set out into the wilderness. Praying, he reached the dried-out stream, on the Eastern side of which he saw the holy woman ascetic. She lay dead, with arms folded on her bosom, as is proper, and her face was facing the East. Abba Zosima washed with his tears her feet, not daring to touch the body, for a long while he wept over the deceased ascetic and began to sing the Psalms as are proper to grief over the death of the righteous, and reciting the funeral prayers. But he had misgivings, whether it should please the Nun, that he should bury her. Hardly had he but thought this, when he saw, that which was traced out near her head: "Abba Zosima, bury on this spot the body of humble Mary. Restore dust unto the dust. Pray the Lord for me, having reposed the month of April the first day, on the very night of the salvific sufferings of Christ, after the communing of the Divine Last Supper".      Having read this inscription, Abba Zosima was astonished at first, who might have done this, since the ascetic herself was unlettered. But he was glad finally to learn her name. Abba Zosima realised, that the Nun Mary, having communed the Holy Mysteries at Jordan from his hand, instantaneously had made her distant wilderness journey, which he, Zosima, had taken twenty days to traverse, and immediately she had expired to the Lord.      Glorifying God and having washed with his tears the earth and the body of the Nun Mary, Abba Zosima said to himself: "It is time already, Elder Zosima, to fulfill that commanded of thee. But how wilt thou be able, thou wretch, to dig out the grave, having nothing in thine hands?" Having said this, he saw not far off in the wilderness a cast-aside piece of wood, and he took it and began to dig. But the ground was very dry, and he could not much dig it, and drenched with sweat he could do no more. Having straightened up, Abba Zosima saw at the body of the Nun Mary an enormous lion, which licked at her feet. Terror seized the elder, but he signed himself with the Sign of the Cross, believing that he would remain unharmed through the prayers of the holy woman ascetic. Then the lion began to fondle up to the elder, and Abba Zosima, emboldened in spirit, commanded the lion to dig out the grave, so as to commit to earth the body of Saint Mary. At his words the lion with its paws dug out a pit, in which the body of the Nun was buried. Having fulfilled their bidding, each went their own way: the lion – into the wilderness, and Abba Zosima – to the monastery, blessing and praising Christ our God.      Having arrived at the monastery, Abba Zosima related to the monks and the hegumen, what he had seen and heard from the Nun Mary. All were astonished, hearing about the grandeur of God, and with fear, faith and love they established it to make  memory of the Nun Mary and to honour the day of her repose. Abba John, the hegumen of the monastery, at the words of the Nun Mary, and with the help of God corrected at the monastery the things that were needed. Abba Zosima, living all the yet more God-pleasing a life at the monastery and reaching nearly an hundred years of age, finished there his temporal life, and crossed over into life eternal.      And thus there has come down to us this wondrous account about the life of the Nun Mary of Egypt, passed down through the ancient ascetics of the famed monastery of the holy All-Praiseworthy Forerunner and Baptist of the Lord John, situated at the Jordan. The account at first was not written down by them, but was reverently passed on by the holy elders from teachers to their students.      "I however, – says Sainted Sophronios, Archbishop of Jerusalem (Comm. 11 March), the first transcriber of the Vita (Life), – that which I in turn received from the holy fathers, I have committed everything of it into the written account".      "May God, working great miracles and bestowing great gifts on all, that turn themselves to Him in faith, may He reward also those honouring, and hearing, and transmitting to us this account and vouchsafe us a blessed portion together with Blessed Mary of Egypt and with all the Saints, pleasing unto God by their thought and works throughout all the ages. Let us give glory to God the King Eternal, that we be vouchsafed to find mercy on the Day of Judgement through Christ Jesus Our Lord, to Whom becometh all glory, honour, majesty and worship together with the Father, and the MostHoly and Life-Creating Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages, Amen".

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

SAINT MARY OF EGYPT

Homily by Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh

Source: mitras.ru

We keep today the memory of Saint Mary of Egypt in the gradual progression from glory to glory which Lent is, and which must lead us step by step to facing the supreme glory of the Divine Love crucified, the sacrificial love of the Holy Trinity.

Saint Mary of Egypt was a sinner, someone whose sin was known to everyone and not to God alone; perhaps she was the only one who was least of all aware of it because sin was her life. And yet, one day, she wanted to go and venerate an icon of the Mother of God in a church. The supreme beauty of womanhood in the Mother of God reached her heart, touched it. But when she came to the gate of this church, a power prevented her from crossing the threshold. The Publican had been able to stand there because his heart was broken; Mary of Egypt had no broken heart, and the entrance of the church was forbidden to her. And she stood there, aware that what she was, was incompatible with the holiness of the Presence, the presence of God, the presence of the Mother of God, the presence of all that is holy on earth and in heaven.

And she was so profoundly shaken by this experience that she left all that had been her life, retired into the desert, and with a life which the service books define as ‘extreme’, fought to conquer her flesh, her soul, her memories - everything that was sin, but also everything that could lead her away from God. And we know how glorious her life was, the kind of person she became.

What lesson can we receive from her life? How often is it that we have knocked at the door of God in the way in which Mary tried to come into His presence? How often have we tried to pray, to be in His presence in silence? How often has our longing been to God, and how often have we felt that between our prayer and Him, between our silence and Him, between our longing and Him there was a barrier which we could not pass. We were crying, praying into an empty sky, we were turning towards icons that were silent; all we could perceive was the Divine absence, and an absence so frightening, because not only could we not reach Him, but we perceived that unless we reached Him, our soul was laid waste, there was within us nothing but emptiness, an emptiness that if it continued, if it became our definitive condition would mean more than death - ultimate separation.

But how often also has God knocked at the door of our heart. You remember the word of the Book of Revelation: I stand at Thy door and I knock... How often has God, in the words of the Gospel, in the events of our life, in the weak promptings of our soul, in a whispering of the Holy Spirit, in all the ways in which God tries to reach us - how often has He knocked at this door, and how often have we made sure that this door does not open. Either didn't we simply care to open it because we were busy with things that mattered to us at that moment more than His interrupting, disturbing presence; and how often did we refuse to open the door because the coming of the Lord to us would have meant the end of things which were precious to us, which mattered to us... And the Lord stood knocking, and the door was shut in His face: exactly in the same way in which every door was shut in the face of the Mother of God and Joseph on the night of the Nativity.

We may not be aware of it with the intensity which should be ours; and yet for each of us, simply, the proof of it is that we are here, and millions of other people at some moment have suddenly perceived the presence of God, have heard His knocking, have let perhaps the door ajar, have listened to what He was saying, had a moment of elation, a moment when suddenly we came to life, and then we shut the door again. We chose our aloneness, we chose to be without Him, and what we imagined to be ‘free’ from Him: we are never free; we are never free not because He enslaves us, not because He hunts us down. We are never free because He is ultimately in the end the only supreme longing of our whole being, because He is the fullness of life, the glory of life, the exultation of life for which we long and which we try to glean right, and left in vain.

Mary of Egypt confronted with the Divine absence, with God’s refusal to allow her into His presence, confronted with a shut door within herself felt that unless the door opened, everything was vain. And she turned away from everything that stood between her and God, and life, and fullness, and exultation.

Isn't she for us an example, a call, an image of what could be the life of each of us? But we may say, Yes, this applied to her, she was a prospective saint… Each of us is called to commune with God in such a way, that God and each of us should become one, that each of us should become partaker of the Divine nature, a living member, a brother, a sister, a limb of Christ, a temple of the Holy Spirit, a son and a daughter of the Living God! This is our vocation; but can that be achieved by our own strength? No, it cannot! But it can be achieved by God in us if we only turn to Him with all our mind, all our heart, all our longing, determinably, yes: it is determination, and it is longing, a passionate, desperate longing... And then - and then all things become possible. I have said so often that when Saint Paul asked God for strength to fulfil his mission, the Lord said to him, My grace suffitheth unto thee, My power deploys itself in weakness... And at the end of his life, having fulfilled his vocation, Paul, who knew what he was saying, said, all things are possible unto me in the power of Christ Who sustains me... All things are possible, because God does not call us to more than can be achieved by Him with us and in us.

How much hope, how much inspiration can we find in each of the Saints of God, as frail as we are, and in whom the power, the glory, the victory, the life unfolded itself, deployed itself gloriously.

Let us once more receive inspiration from what we hear, receive inspiration from what we meet face to face in the Gospel, in Holy Communion, in prayer, in the silence in the presence of God. And let us move one step more forward towards the vision of the love of God made manifest in Holy Week, in the last steps of the way of the Cross, in the final victory of crucified Love, and in the victory of the Resurrection of God. Amen.

Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh 4/21/2013

Isaiah 41:4-14 

4 Who has performed and done it, Calling the generations from the beginning? ‘I, the Lord, am the first; And with the last I am He.’ ”

5 The coastlands saw it and feared, The ends of the earth were afraid; They drew near and came.

6 Everyone helped his neighbor, And said to his brother, “Be of good courage!”

7 So the craftsman encouraged the goldsmith; He who smooths with the hammer inspired him who strikes the anvil, Saying, “It is ready for the soldering”; Then he fastened it with pegs, That it might not totter.

8 “But you, Israel, are My servant, Jacob whom I have chosen, The descendants of Abraham My friend.

9 You whom I have taken from the ends of the earth, And called from its farthest regions, And said to you, ‘You are My servant, I have chosen you and have not cast you away:

10 Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.’

11 “Behold, all those who were incensed against you Shall be ashamed and disgraced; They shall be as nothing, And those who strive with you shall perish.

12 You shall seek them and not find them— Those who contended with you. Those who war against you Shall be as nothing, As a nonexistent thing.

13 For I, the Lord your God, will hold your right hand, Saying to you, ‘Fear not, I will help you.’

14 “Fear not, you worm Jacob, You men of Israel! I will help you,” says the Lord And your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.

Proverbs 15:20-16:9 

20A wise son makes a father glad, But a foolish man despises his mother.

21 Folly is joy to him who is destitute of discernment, But a man of understanding walks uprightly.

22 Without counsel, plans go awry, But in the multitude of counselors they are established.

23 A man has joy by the answer of his mouth, And a word spoken in due season, how good it is!

24 The way of life winds upward for the wise, That he may turn away from hell below.

25 The Lord will destroy the house of the proud, But He will establish the boundary of the widow.

26 The thoughts of the wicked are an abomination to the Lord, But the words of the pure are pleasant.

27 He who is greedy for gain troubles his own house, But he who hates bribes will live.

28 The heart of the righteous studies how to answer, But the mouth of the wicked pours forth evil.

29 The Lord is far from the wicked, But He hears the prayer of the righteous.

30 The light of the eyes rejoices the heart, And a good report makes the bones healthy.

31 The ear that hears the rebukes of life Will abide among the wise.

32 He who disdains instruction despises his own soul, But he who heeds rebuke gets understanding.

33 The fear of the Lord is the instruction of wisdom, And before honor is humility.

1 The preparations of the heart belong to man, But the answer of the tongue is from the Lord.

2 All the ways of a man are pure in his own eyes, But the Lord weighs the spirits.

3 Commit your works to the Lord, And your thoughts will be established.

4 The Lord has made all for Himself,

5 Everyone proud in heart is an abomination to the Lord; Though they join forces, none will go unpunished.

6 In mercy and truth Atonement is provided for iniquity; And by the fear of the Lord one departs from evil.

7 When a man’s ways please the Lord, He makes even his enemies to be at peace with him.

8 Better is a little with righteousness, Than vast revenues without justice.

9 A man’s heart plans his way, But the Lord directs his steps.

[anotherazerothianaskblog]

Shadowlands - Closure

(( Long post incoming, but my man Osric deserves it. And so does Tariel Sunglow, the lady on the right. ))

     The sky was rent apart. Osric stood once more alongside the Knights of the Ebon Blade, staring up into the rift. Duty calls. The next moment are spent alongside knights, fighting the forces of this being known at the Jailer. It’s all a blur, another battle among the countless that Osric has flung himself into over the years in the name of duty...

     In a flash, the paladin found himself on the outskirts of an otherworldly city which appeared to be floating in a vast glittering... expanse. There was scarcely any other way to describe what he was seeing. Floating, robed figures guided the man into the structure, to meet with another floating, robed figure. The voice coming from this one was airy and echoing.

     “Welcome... to Oribos, mortal.” The being makes a sweeping motion with one robed... arm? Yes. “Your kind is still an oddity here, but we find the realms of the Shadowlands in need of skills such as yours.”

     Osric has had no time to process what has happened in the last... he doesn’t know how long. “You do? I had... gathered as much. Which realm is in need of my sort of aid...?”

     A searching gaze studies the elf as he stands there, giving a thoughtful, melodic hum. “I believe you would be a good fit for Bastion’s problems... the wyrm master on the upper level can secure you transport. Report to Kalisthene once you arrive. I am certain there is no shortage of tasks they will need completed to bolster their realm.”

     Osric gives a nod and a cordial bow, making his way into the central chamber of Oribos and marveling for a moment at the city’s center, awed. It takes him a minute, but he figures out how to ascend to the second tier of the city and makes his way to the... wyrm master? Yes. This large, robed figure sets him upon a golden saddle that fills out with a bright light, into a worm-like shape, before carrying Osric through a nearby gate and along an energy stream of some sort.

     The trip through the space between Oribos and Bastion fills the paladin with a sense of dread. Something lurked out beyond the bounds of these realms, watching. Hungering. And he could sense it. Ugh! As he passed through the barrier into Bastion proper, however, a wholly different feeling began to consume him.

     Awe.

     The beauty of this place stunned him, reminded him in some small ways of the forests of Eversong when he was young, except ethereal. How strange. Soon enough, the wyrm-thing lands him in some floating ... cathedral? He’s not sure how to describe the place otherwise. But as he begins to wander, a squat owl-person approaches him.

     “Yoo-hoo! You must be new! Kalisthene said expect new friend soon!” The creature chirps, waving a wing-arm quickly and guiding Osric elsewhere within the structure, shortly finding himself being brought before a blue-skinned, winged humanoid, floating gracefully before them. The owl-person excuses itself, leaving the elf to take care of introductions on his own.

     “Ah... I am Osric Whitetower, you must be Kalisthene.” Osric says, polite and offering a bow. “I was sent to offer my service to your realm.”

     “So generous...” The Kyrian says. “Welcome to Bastion, Osric. Here, souls train to rid themselves of burdening memories so that they can be the ferries for souls from the mortal realm to the after life without passing judgment of their own. The Arbiter knows best, after all.”

     Osric nods along as the Shadowlands are explained to him by the Kyrian, as Kalisthene explains that is what she is. Then he notices Kalisthene is giving him a... strange look. “Is... something the matter...?”

     “Whitetower... your name is familiar.” The Kyrian begins. “Some of your kin have passed through our temples in their training, some time ago... but there was one other... I sense great burden upon your soul, Osric. Before you can help us, I think you should take some time to help yourself. Go to the Temple of Courage. Someone is waiting for you.”

     The paladin can feel his heart stop at how easily he’s read by Kalisthene. The words don’t come, and instead he just shakily nods, returning to the flight master with the help of another of those owls... called Stewards, he was told. He secures a ride on the back of a flying lion to the Temple of Courage. The creature lets him off and sits in the... grass? Yes. He enters the Temple, looking about expectantly. Who was he looking for? Why was someone in the afterlife waiting for him?

     And then he hears her voice.

     “OSRIC!” Comes the call, and he turns just barely in time to see his fiancee rushing forwards from elsewhere to give him a hug, the force of which causes the paladin to stagger. Well, that and seeing her again. He’s stunned. “I heard someone was coming to the Temple and had to meet them, but I can’t believe it’s really you! Oh, Light... did you...?”

     He flounders somewhat, not done processing everything else, and being suddenly hit with seeing the old love of his life again is doing a number on him as old metaphorical wounds reopen. “I’m... not dead yet...” He manages to squeak.

     “Oh, good! You know... I... hold on, let’s get you sat down, okay?” She guides him to a nearby bench, sitting him down, and sitting beside him, wearing a small, worried smile. She places a hand on his own, as they sit resting on his lap. “You weren’t expecting to see me, were you?”

     Osric shakes his head, regaining a measure of his composure as he replies. “No, I wasn’t. To say this comes as a surprise is an understatement, but I’m glad to know your soul is well, Tariel... It’s comforting.”

     Tariel bites her lip a little, watching Osric closely. “It wasn’t your fault, you know. There was nothing anyone could have done for me.”

     The paladin stares at her, wide-eyed. He looses a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, casting his eyes to the pastel skies of Bastion. She’s right. “I... I know that, sunshine. I hadn’t quite realized how heavily it was still weighing me down.”

     “I’ve been learning from the Kyrian on how to let go, but I couldn’t let go of my memories of you, not yet.” She says, sighing. “My love. I’ve often watched over you from here, when time would allow it, and I found myself saddened at how you’ve been treating yourself. You don’t allow yourself rest, or friendship, or anything, and all you do is work, and serve others.”

     Osric looks back to Tariel now, taking a deep breath, tears starting to well up a bit in his eyes as he allows himself to confront these feelings and realizations. He finds himself drawn into a hug as he replies. “I... suppose I held a hope that the service I gave would make up for failing to protect you, even though I know we could not have possibly done any better in our flight from Tranquilien.”

     “Oh, dear heart...” Tariel sighs. “You need to take care of yourself. You need to move on, forgive yourself for your perceived failings, and live. I couldn’t possibly ascend knowing you were overworking yourself like this. You deserve to be happy, Osric.“

     For a long while, the paladin says nothing, instead content to hold his fiancee and sob silently as the emotions wash over him. Tariel comforts him, glad that at least he’s facing his feelings and not hiding away.

     “Sunshine...” He says finally, softly, wearing a small smile despite it all. The paladin rests his forehead against Tariel’s, closing his eyes briefly. “I’d like to enjoy this moment while we have it. We both have obligations to fulfill, but you are right, and something that would make me happy right now is if we took a walk together, like we used to do in Eversong. We don’t have to talk about anything specific... I just would very much like to share your presence for a while once more, in this place.”

     Tariel smiles, standing from the bench and offering her hand to Osric and wordlessly inviting him to walk with her. His smile gains in strength as he accepts her invitation, and they walk together throughout the temple, talking. Catching up, laughing, and enjoying this familiar-feeling time together after so long apart. Osric knows what Kalisthene meant now by helping himself before he could help Bastion; he needed to do his own bit of letting go. But for no-one except himself.

     “Tariel... sunshine.” Osric says as they return to where they started from on their walk, taking her hands in his own. He gives a great sigh, as if a burden’s lifting away from him. “I promise. I’ll take good care of myself, and give you no more cause to worry for me. Our paths have separated, and I’ve accepted that truth, saddening as it is. I will move on, for that reason, but more-so because I do... owe it to myself to take a break. From working, from grieving, everything. And I’ll see to it that I take those breaks.”

     Grinning, Tariel gives him a bit of a rough pat on the back and chuckles. “Good! You had better keep such a lofty promise to yourself most of all, dear heart. I’m going to be paying attention to make sure that you do!”

     This causes the paladin to chuckle and shake his head. “I’ve got no choice now! Okay, okay... thank you for the walk, sunshine. I’ll treasure this moment.”

     “Treasure it for the both of us, and live your life.” Tariel says, tone slightly stern before she smiles. “Why don’t you head back to Kalisthene and see where she needs you?”

     Osric gives a great sigh, for once feeling quite light-hearted. “I’ll do that. Farewell, my love.”

     “Sun shine warmly upon you, dear heart.” Tariel calls to him as he mounts the flying lion thing again and takes off, waving him good-bye.

     Two hearts were made a bit lighter this day.

[elcorhamletlive]

fandom: MCU (Alternate Universe - Medieval) ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Outsider POV,  Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Howard Stark POV summary: “What I’m about to ask you has no relation to our alliance,” Rogers continues, his voice a lot steadier now. “I come here only in behalf of myself, and what I’m about to ask, I ask as a man, not as a soldier.”

Howard feels as if he can see the anticipation growing in the room, almost as a cloud forming over them. The guards don’t bother hiding the shock in their expressions, and even Jarvis can’t fully disguise the curiosity, his eyebrows quirked.

Rogers takes one short breath before locking his eyes with Howard’s. His blue gaze is almost peaceful in its resoluteness, as if there’s an element of inevitability in what he’s about to say.

“I’m here to ask for your son’s hand.”

“…with profuse thanks for the accommodations,” Obie’s voice echoes on the room, his low, monotone reading turned into a more solemn sound that it has any right to be, considering the dullness of the subject. “Lady Maryam hopes you’ll join her for dinner tonight.”

“And she will remain hoping.” Howard’s throat scratches as he speaks. He eyes the wine next to the throne, his mouth feeling dry as he sees the little drops of water dripping from the bottle. He can’t drink yet, though – there have been whispers, of course there have been, and he will not feed them so easily. He motions for Obadiah to go on, forcing himself to look away from the bottle.

His eyes dart around the large room. There’s a scribe boy next to Obadiah, taking note of his every word with unfailing precision. Jarvis is next to him, his posture very still and eyes focused, expressionless, exerting his wonderful ability of hiding in plain sight.

As Obadiah starts listing the latest shipments coming from the port, Howard feels the beginning of a headache prickling up his neck. It’s an unbearably hot evening, and even the servant girl fanning him does little to combat the heat. The velvet cushion of the throne sticks to his skin uncomfortably.

“Is that all, then?” He asks, barely bothering to hide his eagerness, as soon as Obadiah pauses to breathe.

There’s hears a noise on his side, something akin to a cough or laughter. Howard’s neck snaps as he turns.

Truth be told, he had forgotten Tony was there. One could hardly fault him for that – Tony was never present in meetings about their economic affairs, even though, according to his duty as the lord’s son, he should be.

Then again, Tony wouldn’t recognize his duty if it slapped him in the face with a horse’s carcass.

“Apologies,” Howard says, his voice cutting as his eyes land on the chair to his right. To his frank surprise, Tony is dressed properly, in a blue waistcoat with golden embroidery and blue breeches. His posture is slightly slouched, but, as he schools his features in a serious expression and looks back at Howard with curiosity, he almost looks just as a young man on his position should. Almost. “Should I put on a jester’s hat for my next joke? Would that make it more amusing to you?”

Tony’s mouth quirks as if it had a life of its own - a notion Howard certainly wouldn’t dispute - but he ducks his head, eyes staring down at his lap.

“Forgive me,” he says, voice meek. “My… my immaturity gets the best of me at times, father.”

“Indeed it does,” Howard agrees. He’s astonished by the lack of an irreverent reply; Tony has never lost one opportunity to be snippy with him.

Perhaps he’s feeling ill, Howard thinks. The thought is not strong enough to be a concern, but it still makes him strangely uncomfortable. He grasps the goblet’s stem before raising it to his lips for another sip.

To hell with the whispers, he thinks. He can do as he wants.

When he lowers his glass, he realizes all the eyes are on him, waiting for permission to continue the conversation. He barely fights back the urge to sigh.

���Are we done?” He directs the question to Obadiah, turning away from Tony entirely.

“I’m afraid not yet, my lord,” Obadiah’s voice sounds compassionate, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes that leave no doubt this is the moment he’s been waiting for all night. “The rebels sent a raven to the city walls last night. Captain Rogers has requested an audience with you.”

The last words seem to suck all air out of the room. Howard straightens his posture, forgetting for a moment his discomfort with the throne’s cushion. “They have gotten all the weapons we sent them, have they not?”

“Yes, my Lord. The Captain said it was… a different matter.”

“And he specifically asked to speak to me,” Howard says, not a question.

Obadiah nods.

Howard clenches his jaw. “We cannot afford to spare any more soldiers.”

This isn’t entirely true – Howard could, he imagines, send a few more man to meet the Captain’s forces. But that would weaken their own defenses more than he’s comfortable with. He’s already playing a large risk, allying himself to the Captain’s cause.

Some would say it was a safe bet. Through the entire kingdom, there are villagers convinced of a certain victory, already singing songs of the one who came to free them from Zola’s tyranny. But for the longest time, Howard had dismissed this possibility: rebellions come and go, and it’s foolish for a nobleman to be concerned with the legends of the common folk. Even as tales of the Captain’s prowess in battle started reaching royal feasts, for the longest time the rebels were still perceived as a momentary threat; a thorn on the king’s side and nothing more. When word got around that the king had sent Pierce’s command to handle them, most of the lords - Howard included - had assumed that would be the end of the rebellion.

Everything changed when Pierce’s men were defeated. Suddenly, the tables had turned, and any lord worth his land was scraping for leverage to negotiate with the rebels.

Of course, the Starks were a crucial piece of support for the Captain to get, if he intended to govern the North. The whole continent knew of the quality of Stark iron and the weapons they could craft. It was, then, only a matter of time until they received a messenger to negotiate an alliance. The Captain had not been present, yet according to the messenger - a stunning and terrifying red-haired woman - he had wanted to be there, except it wasn’t safe for him to veer inside the city to reach the palace.

The negotiations went smoothly, and in no time, the Starks were officially allied with the rebels, just – as the rumors said - in time for the Captain to start planning his final assault against the king’s castle.

Howard didn’t mind being late to the party. He’d leave the alliance for after the king was overthrown if he could, but Gods know that would lower his negotiation power considerably. He was left with no choice.

He is not very happy about that. Mind you, he has no love for the king – the crazy, old bastard could jump off a cliff for all Howard cares – but Zola ruled the lands for decades. With him, it was easy to know where you stood. With the Captain…

Well. That remains to be seen.

“Did he, uh,” a voice cuts through the silence, and it sounds so hesitant that it’s with quite a shock Howard realizes it’s Tony’s. “Did he say when?”

“No, my lord,” Obadiah says. Howard barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. He spoils Tony too much, not nearly as much as Maria had, true, but... “Though I assume he must be waiting for a swift reply. We don’t know how long he can stay in the outskirts—"

“I will see him tomorrow,” Howard declares, half-distracted by the wine goblet and the way its gold reflects the lights of the chandelier. “Send word for him to meet me after dinner.”

“Of course,” Obadiah replies, with a slight bow. Tony, sitting on his chair, shifts a little.

“This should be interesting,” Howard states. The wine is a bit on the sweet side for him, he decides. His eyes dart to the door, already wondering—the last bottle the Romanoffs sent, had he finished it? And if not, where had it gone? Perhaps on the last cabinet of the kitchen, the one Happy kept locked at his request…

“Meeting the Captain can’t hurt,” Obadiah agrees, running his hand over his beard. “Perhaps we can gather information on his next assault.”

“He won’t say anything,” Tony counters. “Besides, it’s not as if you will be meeting for the first time.”

Howard frowns at that, though his eyes remain at the door.

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Obadiah says, as if he’s talking to a child. “It’s dangerous for the Captain to veer into the city. We have negotiated through a messenger. He has never been here before.”

Howard glances at Tony’s reaction. Part of him feels curious, the other part is already at the kitchen, thinking about the Romanoff’s bottle.

“I know this,” Tony says, huffing a breath. “I’m talking about…” He trails off when he catches sight of Howard looking at him. “You know what I’m talking about. You know him.”

Howard raises an eyebrow in response.

“Do I?”

“Yes,” Tony replies, and Howard feels a tinge of annoyance at the indignation that fills his expression, as if Howard has insulted him deeply. “He used to live here, years ago, as a child. Don’t you remember?” He frowns as if the possibility honestly confuses him. “He tended the stables. How could you not remember?”

A moment of stunned silence follows his question.

“Oh, yes.” Howard grins and snaps his fingers. “Of course. How could I not remember a kid who once worked on the stables ages ago? I obviously have nothing better to think about.”

The scribe lets out a muffled laugh. Howard, with a rush of self-satisfaction, waits to see Tony’s cheeks flush with shame, but instead he only seems more indignant, hands closing into fists on his lap.

“Are you jesting?” He snaps. His eyes are wide, seeming bigger than ever. He got that from Maria – big, unbearably inquiring eyes. “He set your horse for you every morning for years. And you’re saying you couldn’t even be bothered to learn his name?”

Hot anger boils in Howard’s stomach. “You might enjoy mixing up with all sorts of people, Tony,” he spits, his voice dripping with disdain, leaving no doubt as to what class of mixing he’s referring to. “But I’m a busy man, and I can’t bring myself to learn the names of every poor bastard who makes sure the horses don’t eat themselves to death.”

The flush finally appears in Tony’s cheeks, but it’s not of shame, but anger.“He’s not—” His mouth shuts with an audible click and he stands abruptly. “I should go.” He turns on his heels as quickly as possible, walking in large strides towards the door.

read the rest on ao3!

[wackpainterkid]

things change (1/1)

A/N: So I did it, I finished my first Liv x Noah fic! I based this one of my favorite OG Skam scenes (aka Noora’s article breakdown) and changed it to fit Noah and Liv’s relationship. It’s a lil bit sad and a lil bit happy because that’s how I roll. It’s kinda long too because that’s also how I roll. I hope you enjoy it because I really enjoyed writing it!

Rating: T (no mention of that other cause of the breakdown in here)

5200 words

also on ao3

Noah hadn’t heard from Liv in a couple of hours.

That wasn’t unusual really. She loved to keep him on read and only answer a few hours later, it was her way of telling him that he wasn’t the center of her life and she had other important things to do. It was the last of her defiance towards him remaining, specifically crafted to test his own patience, to keep him on his toes. Who was he kidding, though, this girl was driving him mad in the best way. And he couldn’t get enough of her.

So no, not hearing anything from her for a couple of hours didn’t set off any alarms. He had sent her multiple texts though, starting with a question of how she’d slept and ending with a link to some indie concert happening tonight with the message that it made him think of her and whether she’d would want to go. He didn’t really need an answer to his first text but to receive a response to the latter would be nice.

-/-

Noah hadn’t heard from Liv in a day.

The concert had come and gone and neither he or Liv had been there; he had stayed home alternating between painting and staring at his phone awaiting a last minute call where she’d apologize and tell him her phone had died or that she’d had so much fun with her friends or maybe with Ralph and Esra that she completely forgot to check it. But his bedroom remained absolutely void of duck sounds—maybe it was time to consider another ringtone—and the worry, in turn, was prevalent.

Noah: Liv, is everything okay?

All he needed was a simple yes, a thumbs up even. Anything to negate that little voice inside his head whispering that something was wrong, the feeling that sat uneasy in his gut that that she wasn’t okay.

God, he shouldn’t be freaking out like this because his girlfriend hadn’t been on her phone for twenty-three hours.

The checks remained grey.

Maybe he should simply go and see her. He was allowed to go her apartment, He’d even gone there when she still hated him and he was trying to get in her good graces, though admittedly that wasn’t his best move. Things had changed now, however, it was almost his second home by now, most of their time together was spent either in her room if they wanted privacy, or in the living room if they felt like being entertained by Liv’s roommates and their antics. Hotel Overvecht had quickly become one of his favorite places filled with his favorite people. And his favorite person wasn’t answering her phone so going there was the only option.

Noah grabbed his coat, his keys, his bus card and hastened to the stop nearest to his house. Her apartment was on the outskirts of the city and that meant that it was quite the commute from his house in the city center. He didn’t mind though; it wasn’t all that bad. The anticipation of seeing her again normally occupied his thoughts and made the trip accelerate. Usually. Not today. Today, the concern made the trip drag, made it slow, made every extra minute too much.

There wasn’t much of his cool demeanor left as he rushed along the hallway to the elevator– going up six flights of stairs would do him no good. He checked his phone one last time as the elevator was on its way to him, but his inbox remained painfully empty. The device disappeared back into the pocket of his terracotta colored coat. He bit the nail of his thumb, still a hint of black—or was it blue—remaining from his nail polish, as he stood in the elevator that brought him closer to her.

It took him nineteen steps starting from the elevator before he was standing in front of her door. The doorbell rang and he nervously fiddled with the rings on his finger as he waited for some sign of life. What would he even do if she wasn’t home? Maybe call her friends to ask if they knew where she was?

The door swung open in the middle of Noah’s pondering and his eyes shot up from the floor to the entrance now revealing Ralph. Liv’s roommate placed his hand along his chest before speaking: “Noah, oh thank god you’re here. I was close to calling you myself.”

That definitely didn’t help to assuage his worry. Ralph let him inside—rather forcefully pulled him in—the apartment and quickly closed the door. Noah’s eyes scanned the living room in search of that set of curls he was so fond of, but the search came up empty. He looked back at Ralph, who seemed to understand the question in his gaze. “She hasn’t been out of her room for almost two days,” Ralph told him with a low voice, his eyes moving to the closed bedroom door. “I’ve knocked and knocked but it either remains dead silent or she tells me to leave her alone.”

Noah frowned as he processed the information. So, it wasn’t just him that she was giving the silent treatment. What on earth could cause Liv to act this way? “Do you know what’s wrong?”

Ralph shook his platinum blonde hair. “I have no idea. She’s been acting a little bit distant—no, not distant. Distant is too negative,” he corrected himself, “She’s been distracted all week. I thought it might’ve been a school thing, but it only got worse on Friday. She snapped and yelled at me and I haven’t seen her ever since.”

Ralph’s face distorted with hurt and Noah felt sorry for him. He could sense the anguish radiating off of him, something he had never seen happen before. His bubbly personality was always the dominating one. And although Liv often took on the role of the grown up in here—cooking and cleaning and making sure the bills got paid—Ralph was Liv’s big brother for all intents and purposes. He could manage to make Liv lighten up and show her there was nothing wrong with goofiness instead of being serious all the time. But apparently it hadn’t worked this time.

“I’ll try and go talk to her,” Noah said, both disclosing his approach and making an unspoken promise to Ralph to try and get to bottom of the situation and maybe see if he could help solve it. To be honest, he’d already be happy if Liv would just show her face.

He moved towards her door and went to gently knock. The knock, however, was louder than he intended, his ring got in the way, and Noah grimaced. Not a very gentle approach .

“Ralph, go away!” Liv yelled.

Breathing went slightly easier now that he at last had some sign she was indeed still alive, even if it wasn’t the reception he was hoping to get.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s not Ralph, it’s me.” He paused and then continued. “Noah,” he clarified.

He pricked up his ears to discern any reply coming from her room but was only met by silence.

Hesitantly, he spoke again. “Liv?”

It didn’t take as long for her to answer this time.

“Why are you here?” Her voice sounded way smaller from when she ordered Ralph to leave, but closer too, as if she stood opposite of him with only the door as a barrier between them. Noah placed his hand on the door as if that would allow him to get closer to her and make her perceive that he was there for her.

“Because you’re not answering your phone and I got worried. It seems I had reason to be,” he later added in a tone only meant for himself.

“I’m fine.” But her words couldn’t convince him, they were unsure, tremorous, like she knew herself she wouldn’t be able to convince him of their authenticity.

God, he needed to see her, look into her eyes and see what troubles lay behind them, whether the skin under her eyes was ever so slightly discolored, whether the creases between her eyebrows seemed deeper than before.

“Can you open the door?”

“Noah, I’m fine, just go home.”

Ralph and he shared a look of disappointment and of despair. Noah raked his hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

He wouldn’t give up this quickly.

“Liv, let me in. Please,” he whispered against the wood of her door, wishing, hoping she had caught the emphasis of his words, what lay beneath them, what he was truly asking her.

She had.

The sound of deliverance reached him as there was first a click and then a creak, before the door opened just the tiniest bit. A wave of relief engulfed his being as he slipped inside her room.

Instead of her normal clean and tidy room, it seemed like a whirlwind had travelled through her bedroom; there was paper scattered everywhere—the floor, her desk, even some on her bed. Her small piano was set on the floor, a couple of her albums carelessly thrown around it. Noah was the messy one in their relationship and even he saw no logic in the chaos.

But he wasn’t here to analyze the contents of her room, he was here for her.

Liv stood quite far from him, fidgeting as she looked at him. She was wearing a white shirt and a pair of sweats; her hair was pulled into a loose bun.

She looked exactly like the time they went on their date. Noah wanted to smile at the realization and felt both happy and content. Sad because of what circumstances it had ended and content because look at how far they had gotten since then. Since she was so closed off and angry with him. Now she liked—dare he say loved—him. Now she had let him in.

Some things hadn’t changed, though. She still called him a weirdo on a daily basis, she still rolled her eyes at him but now she couldn’t pretend it truly annoyed her because he could see the spark in her eyes. The way it always got accompanied by a smile.

But there was no subtle smile to be found right now, nothing that made him optimistic about how she was doing. Because quite frankly, he could see that she was doing terribly.

“Hi,” he said.

He didn’t go over to her to kiss her like he usually did as he was very aware of the situation they found themselves in. She didn’t have to let him in, could’ve left him standing outside begging but she didn’t. She had genuinely debated it, though, so pushing her boundaries was not something he wanted to do, not now.

She didn’t reply.

As Noah took her in, all of his mental boxes got checked. Troubled, check. Tired, check. Sorrowful, check. He was right to worry about her.

“What’s going on?”

Liv’s brown eyes looked at him before moving to the corner of her room. Her body slumped in a profound sigh and she rubbed her forehead.

He was expecting even more silence, even more deflecting, even more pretending that nothing was wrong while they both knew differently but she surprised him by answering truthfully.

“I’m supposed to be on my way to Amsterdam in less than two hours with two brand new songs to go sing live at some label. But I’ve got nothing. I’ve tried and tried but everything that comes out is absolute shit and I can’t even think anymore because all I can hear is my dad saying that maybe we should try again and again and again.”

“Liv–” he carefully tried to intervene as he carefully stepped closer to her.

She didn’t pay attention to him.

“People are just demanding that I sing here and sing there because who cares about what I want, whether I want to sing?”

“Liv–”

He continued to come closer, step by step for it not to feel like an invasion of her personal space. The last thing he wanted was for her to shut him out again.

“Who cares that I can’t hear anymore that I’m too young and too inexperienced, who cares that I cannot find a moment of peace, that being rejected over and over has made me so exhausted but that I still can’t sleep at night?”

He cared but he hadn’t known. How didn’t he know about all of this? They were together and he didn’t realize things weren’t okay with her? She’d managed to guess what he needed when his mom had died, why hadn’t he been able to do the same? Noah stopped himself from going down that slippery slope; it wasn’t about him, right now. It was about her being okay, about her calming down.

“Liv, it’s okay,” he attempted to reassure her. He gently took ahold of her hand to give her a lifeline, something tangible to hold on to. It seemed to help for a couple of heartbeats but then she abruptly yanked her hand out of his grip and distanced herself from him again.

“No,” she refuted. “No, it’s not okay.  I have nothing… Oh god my dad is going to be so angry. My career is done before it has even started. I have to–” She never finished her sentence. Instead, she shook her head and was in search of something in the chaos of her room.

Noah could see her going frantic, more and more distraught with every second that passed. His hesitant approach wasn’t working, so it was time for determination.

He grabbed her face between his two hands forcing her to stand still and look at him, his thumbs traced circles on her skin in an attempt to soothe her, to calm her down, to give her something to focus on her spiraling thoughts. He brushed over her eyebrows, followed the curve of her nose, circled her lips.

“Liv, you don’t have to do anything,” he told her. She only stared back at him. “Except for breathing, I do need you to breathe,” he quickly added when she was standing slightly too still.

In response, she took a deep and slightly shaky breath after which her eyes fell shut. As she opened them again, tears sprung in her eyes. She looked away as the presence of tears became more and more persistent and overwhelming right up until a tear broke loose and ran down her cheek. Noah’s thumb was quick to catch it and wipe it away from existence.

To no avail because two more followed suit.

“It’ll be okay.”

He let go of her face and enveloped her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Her tears continued for a while, gathering in a wet patch on his T-shirt. He kept on placing kisses on the top of her head, and he could feel her slowly relax and melt into his body. Her arms copied his.

The room stayed quiet for a while with their breaths as the only sound. Noah was going to let her be the one to break the silence if she felt like it or keep it if she preferred it. She eventually picked the former.

“He only cares about me becoming famous.” True exhaustion colored her words. “He doesn’t call or text except for when it’s to discuss music. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to do this, if I wanted to go to Amsterdam. The stupid label meeting is his dream, not mine. I don’t even like making music anymore.”

“Do you want to go to Amsterdam?”

He felt her shaking her head against his chest. “Not like this, not this… forced. I’m seventeen, I shouldn’t be worrying about all of this. I should be worrying about school and stupid stuff. This is not what I want.”

“What do you want, Liv?” He had an inkling of what that might be, but he needed to hear it from her lips. He couldn’t make assumptions and decisions for her, not when it was exactly that that had caused the situation they were now in.

“Honestly?”

A corner of Noah’s lips lightly went up. “When haven’t you been honest with me? Brutally so even,” he said in an attempt to make her think back to the moment that was currently replaying in his mind and perhaps make her smile.

It didn’t work.

“I just want to sleep and not think about songs or lyrics or labels or my dad.”

“Then we’ll do exactly that.” She looked up at him with disbelief in her eyes. “Noah, I can’t sleep right now, it’s the middle of the day.”

“Sure you can.” He nodded. “I’m doing it too.”

Noah let her go and quickly toed off his shoes. He watched her and silently asked her if she would join him to which Liv simply nodded in the end.

They each claimed a pillow and faced each other in bed. They only looked at each other for the first few minutes or so, cataloguing every detail of each other’s faces as if they didn’t already know the placement of every freckle and of every eyelash. Noah tucked a stray curl behind her ear and Liv adjusted his chain a little bit.

“I don’t think my dad even loves me,” she suddenly whispered so quietly Noah wasn’t completely sure he was supposed to hear it or even respond to it. But he had to, because he loved her too much to let her think something like that.

“Liv.” He looked her in the eyes. “It’s impossible for someone not to love you.”

Tears flooded her eyes again and she sniffed. Liv crawled closer, wrapping her arm around his waist and when he went to lay on his back, she placed her head on his chest.

“Thank you,” she mumbled against his shirt.

“Try sleeping now, okay?” Noah said as he smoothed her hair and occasionally placed a kiss against her soft skin.

He wasn’t truly planning on sleeping; it was more a harmless lie to get her to agree to rest but the anxiety had taken a toll on him too and perhaps his own sleep hadn’t been so great either last night. Right now, he felt completely at peace, at home even so close to her, with the smell of her coconut shampoo lingering in her curls and so he dozed off for a bit too with his head buried in her hair.

His sleep didn’t last long, though, it wasn’t more than an hour or so before he woke up again, but it had been enough to make him feel rejuvenated.

Her phone vibrated on her nightstand, but he ignored it.

Noah spent some time laying there just watching her, taking note of the composition she was lying in: her pillows spread around her, some stray pieces of paper still in the bed, her brown skin in contrast to the white sheets. His sketchbook was already filled to the brim with sketches of her and still he wanted to draw her, capture her essence and beauty on paper.

He kissed her forehead one last time before getting out of her bed, he straightened his shirt and ran his hand through his hair to model it again.

Again, her phone buzzed.

Her room was still a mess and if he were to wake up to it, it definitely wouldn’t help with the anxiety, so Noah began to tidy a bit. He threw all of the crushed pieces of paper in the paper basket, he picked up all of her albums and ranged them back into their alphabetical order, her piano got put back on her desk. He saw a little book lying open that he recognized as her journal and went to grab it. Liv wouldn’t want all of her private thoughts in the open like that, so he closed it and neatly placed it on the edge of her desk.

He smiled in contentment with the tidied room and sat down in one of her chairs. He always carried a book with him so he removed it from his tote bag and opened it on the page he last read. He’d read until she woke up and then let her decide what they’d do next.

Her phone kept on getting notifications, echoing the persistence of their sender, first only a simple buzz but then growing into sounds of a minute total, it went from texts to calling. It was distracting to say the least. He glanced over to Liv, but she was still sleeping soundly. Noah sighed and laid down his book. He got out of the chair and grabbed her phone, going through the notifications on her lock screen.

Dad: Have you arrived in A’dam yet? We should just meet at the label, will be more convenient.

Dad: Don’t forget we’re supposed to be at the label in half an hour!

Dad: Missed call

Dad: Honey, where are you? I’m waiting outside.

Dad: Missed call (2)

Dad: Liv, I’m looking like a fool right now, I hope you have a good excuse.

Dad: Missed call (3)

Noah wanted to tell him to fuck off, to leave Liv alone, inform him of how his daughter suffered under his pressure, of everything she had told him earlier with tears in her eyes. He didn’t. He just swiped one of the notifications to the left, pressed reply and quickly composed a text.

Liv will not be coming today, thank you for understanding

Noah muted her phone, turned it around and returned to his book.

He was able to read an additional chapter before a soft knock on the door interrupted his reading again. He stood up and opened the door.

“Hey,” Ralph said softly. “How is she?” His dark eyebrows were stuck in a frown.

Noah decided to simply show him instead of telling him and widened the door opening to allow Ralph to take peek at the room and Liv sleeping.

“Oh good,” Ralph replied, some of the tension leaving his body, “I’m sure she needed that.” His eyes left Liv and focused back on Noah. “Have you eaten yet?”

Noah shook his head.

“Do you want something? Esra made me some soup and it’s really good.”

He was getting quite hungry, the three bites of apple he took this morning definitely hadn’t been enough to satisfy his stomach for breakfast and it was well past lunch time right now. Looking over his shoulder, Noah cast a look at Liv but she seemed like she had entered a deep sleep and like she wouldn’t wake up very soon.

“Sure.”

After quietly shutting the door behind him, Noah followed Ralph into the kitchen and went to sit at the kitchen table.

Ralph stirred in a big pot and grabbed a ladle to transfer the green soup into two smaller bowls.

“It’s still a little hot,” he said as he set one of the bowls in front of Noah, who shot him a grateful smile as he carefully pulled the soup closer.

Ralph went to sit down but immediately jumped back up causing some amusement with Noah.

“Oh! Spoons!” The drawer shot open, a rattling of cutlery following, and he removed two spoons, handing one to Noah.

“Thanks.”

With care, he tried a spoonful of the soup. It was quite hot but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. “Can you tell Esra that her soup is delicious?”

“I sure can.” Ralph beamed with the compliment, even if it wasn’t even meant for him but

They ate in silence for quite some time, both simply savoring the rich flavor of the soup with each spoonful.

Ralph placed his head on his palm and watched Noah as he took a sip of his water. “Have I told you how happy I am she has you?”

Noah looked up but stayed quiet.

“She doesn’t trust easily and I know she keeps things from me, not like major secrets or anything but how she really feels. She puts up a front.”

He felt like interfering and reassuring Ralph that that wasn’t the case but then he’d be lying. That was how Liv was, he’d noticed that pretty early one and he—they— had worked on getting down those walls ever since. They were still there, today was a testimony of that, but they had lowered at least, they didn’t entrap her anymore.

“I’m just glad she doesn’t do that with you, that she trusts you,” he continued. “I’m not saying she isn’t sincere with me; Liv has always been wonderful and I love her to bits but she’s always so focused on making others happy that she tends to forget about herself. But you remind her she needs to think about herself too. So, thank you.”

“No thanks needed. It’s completely my pleasure.” His lips curved slightly. “I’d do anything for her.”

“That makes two of us.” Ralph squeezed Noah’s arm. “Though she did ask me to stop taking so many selfies of myself and I don’t know if I’m truly ready for that.”

Noah chuckled, a deep and genuine laughter coming from him. “One step at a time, I would say to that.”

The rest of the conversation was lighter, more trivial about their favorite nail polish brands and Ralph asking whether he couldn’t paint a life-size portrait of him, which Noah politely declined, at least for now.

The bowl was completely empty, and his stomach was sated again. Noah decided to return to Liv’s room. He was quite certain Liv would continue to sleep for a while longer, but he still wanted to go back; in the unlikely case that she did wake up early, he didn’t want it to be to an empty room.

In the end, she slept for almost another two hours and Noah was close to finishing his book when Liv took a deep breath and stirred. Noah’s eyes left his page and shifted to her, checking if everything was okay. She moved even more, and he saw a brown eye appear and then another one signaling that Liv had woken up.

“What time is it?” she croaked as her eyes were slits as they grew used to the sunlight flooding her room. Her hand went to rub her face.

He closed his book, placed it on her desk behind him and went to fish his phone out of his pocket before clicking it to life.

He walked towards the bed and crouched next to it. “It’s 4:30 p.m. You slept for almost five hours,” he said, a hint of pride and delight in his voice.

Still not a proper amount of sleep but it was a good start.

“Five hours?!” She shot up, removing her blanket and jumping out of bed. “The meeting was three hours ago! Noah! Why didn’t you wake me?”

Noah rose again and walked to her.

“Because you said you didn’t want to go. So, I didn’t think it was worth it to interrupt the only sleep you’ve gotten in a long time,” he explained.

Her face softened in understanding and a sigh escaped her lips. “Still, my dad must be so worried.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I sent him a text so he wouldn’t worry.”

She looked a bit lost, the stress and expectations had been the only thing that had kept her running and now that they was no longer needed, now that they had partly disappeared, it seemed like Liv didn’t know what to do anymore, it seemed like she was now aimless. She cleared her throat.

“You want some tea?” He motioned to the teapot that was standing on the desk, an empty cup and an almost empty one next to it. “Ralph made us tea.”

She nodded. He walked over to the table and filled her cup after which he added some more to his. With a cup in each hand he approached her again and handed her one.

“Let’s sit,” he proposed and gestured towards her bed again. She seemingly didn’t have anything against it and followed him, the both of them slightly sinking into the mattress as they sat.

Liv cradled the tea between her hands, absorbing the heat that was emitted through the ceramic while she stared into the distance.

“Sorry,” she said, eyes still focused on nothing in particular.

“For what?”

“Making you worry.” She took a sip from the warm drink.

Noah shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s not like I haven’t done it to you before.”

He had done it when his mom had died, had maybe even given Liv more reason to worry than she had given him today.

“Not the same.” Her head shook softly. “I’ll try to be better and to not shut anyone out. Especially you.”

“Liv, all I’d like is that you don’t lock yourself in anymore, both figuratively and literally, so that we can at least help. It doesn’t even have to be me: Isa, Ralph; they’re all options, you just have to let someone in. I don’t want you to drown in those thoughts of yours.”

She bit her lip as she considered what he said to her and her eyes suddenly traveled to her bedroom door. “I should probably go apologize to Ralph,” she said as she drank absentmindedly.

“Perhaps, though I’m sure all he truly needs is to just see that you’re okay.”

She hummed.

Noah took her in again. She looked less troubled, less tired. Her hair was slightly messier, she was still wearing the white T-shirt and grey pair of sweatpants.

“Maybe I should clean up a bit, I look like a mess,” she said, suddenly aware of how she looked as well.

“Seeing that this is actually exactly what you wore to our date, I think you’re fine.”

She stared daggers at him. “Fuck you.”

He smirked in response and it elicited a hint of a smile on her face. And while the sadness had not yet completely gone, it had begun to recede, slowly but surely, leaving room for the light to return.

Her cup got placed on the ground and she turned towards him, leaving Noah curious as to what she was planning to do. She placed both of her palms on his cheeks, apparently it was now her turn to cradle his face. The act of affection caused him to smile and her thumbs immediately went to trace the dimples that appeared.

“I love you, Noah Boom.”

And while he had suspected it for a while now, he had not been prepared to hear the actual words coming out of her mouth. He was quite sure he looked ridiculous as he was trying to contain his shock because a quiet giggle emerged from the person who had caused this reaction.

She kissed him before he could truly get a grip on himself and respond.

“But you’re still a weirdo,” she said, once they broke apart again, with her own smirk on her lips.

Like he said, some things hadn’t changed.

But others had.

[korkrunchcereal]

The Red Dahlia

(Find the previous part here) 

It took the better part of that afternoon to find even a scrap of information on the Red Dahlia. Valkorius’ recommended inns and brothels from ten thousand years ago had proved to be almost entirely dated. Very few still remained, far less than either Valkorius or Aurelian had hoped for. It was nearly a dozen such establishments until a clue was finally given from one particularly garrulous innkeeper who had insisted Aurelian and Valkorius stay for the house wine. It nearly made Aurelian gag, though he stomached it well enough to satisfy the innkeeper.

The information on the Red Dahlia had cost the two the wine’s price, which was undoubtedly overpriced and was something Aurelian begrudgingly paid for using the few gold coins he had on his clothing. He was near penniless here in Suramar save for three gold coins, but he had a lead. The Red Dahlia used to frequent a brothel known as the Bountiful Boudoir which was according to the innkeeper nearby. Indeed, several frequent stayers of the inn often visited the brothel to partake in its ‘selections’. With mutters of overpriced swill Aurelian left with Valkorius in tow, stepping out into a chill wind. Aurelian shuddered, stifling a yawn as he realized it was nearing dusk.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Aurelian said aloud as his yawn ended, looking to Valkorius as he exited the dimly lit inn. So far the Indaris progenitor had been mostly silent, his silver eyes narrowed in thought. The man nodded, waving a hand down the street from where they had originally come from.

“It is a short walk from here, though we must be wary.”

“Wary? What for? The street is deserted.”

“Precisely. We saw quite a large number of guards and demons nearer to the palace, but here on the outskirt? Deserted of guard forces save a few scattered patrols here or there. They’ve abandoned it to the rebel forces, which means more dangerous elements may be prowling.”

“Well I don’t have a weapon, so it doesn’t matter if we’re attacked or not anyways. Plus, my shoulder still aches from the damn bolt. There’s not much I am able to do apart from some quick spells.” Valkorius simply stared at Aurelian before moving rapidly, forcing Aurelian to jog briefly to catch up.

“Has my lineage really weaned out the magical prowess of our people to such a degree that it cannot defend itself unarmed?” Aurelian curled his lip in annoyance at the perceived insult.

“Seven thousand years can do that. Unfortunately, my father was not so magically inclined, nor his father before him. It grew weaker in our blood shortly after the Troll Wars; marriages with lesser nobles amongst some of my ancestors will do that.”

“The Troll Wars…was that not a few thousand years ago?” Aurelian gave him an incredulous look, until he remembered Valkorius had not actually lived in Quel’thalas in seven millennia. He was more surprised Valkorius had heard of the event, though surmised it was due to either supposed rebel contacts or his rescuers on the Isle.

“Yes, but our family began marrying light practitioners over those of the arcane. The former was reportedly of ‘lesser men’, but that may be simply altered history. Either way, it was eventually bred out with knowledge of the light replacing it. We still hold our inherent gift with the arcane, but-“

“But my family is no longer masters of it.” Aurelian went silent for a moment, before nodding.

“Correct. It is an unfortunate imperfection on our house. Now, as for being unable to defend myself I will be perfectly fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been unarmed.”

“I suppose we shall see. Look, there.” Valkorius pointed ahead to a rather plain building. “Our brothel, if the innkeeper’s words are to be believed.”

“For the price I paid, they better be believed. “ The two walked ahead, Aurelian looking u pat the sign hanging from the door. Sure enough in faded gold letters it said The Bountiful Boudoir, with the image of a winking Nightborne woman’s face right below.  Already Aurelian could hear raised voices inside, and as Valkorius opened the door which creaked in the motion, he saw why it was so loud. Aurelian gave Valkorius a hard look, whispering to him. “Abandoned hmm?”

The brothel was full of Nightborne, at least ten in total. Among them were both beautiful women and men offering their ‘unique’ services, a rather dour looking bouncer who eyed the two as they entered with a wary look, and what looked to be four guards chatting with themselves as they drank, or trying to buy the services of the brothel’s workers. Strangely there was a tension in the air, as if the brothel occupants feared every guards movements. Judging from the glances they gave to the guards, that was certainly the case.

“Aurelian,” Valkorius muttered as they made their way in, ignoring the looks the guards gave, “We have to play this carefully. These guards complicate matters…if they overhear us looking for the Red Dahlia they may interfere.”

“They’re here to escape conflict and the horrors of life, or in this case perhaps escaping duty. If we don’t interrupt their pleasure, we should be fine. Let’s just make our way to the desk and ask a few questions.” Valkorius did not respond, simply sliding his way past a woman dressed in little more than a string of silk around her ‘assets’. The woman mumbled something to Valkorius but he ignored it as he approached the desk.

“Can I help you gentlemen.” A rather dry, feminine voice called from a door behind the desk. An eldery woman stepped out from the doorframe, sauntering slowly. Aurelian looked down at the desk, noticing a leather book. “Please, feel free to browse. If you wish the services of one of our courtesans tonight, do let me know.”

Aurelian flipped open the book casually, feigning interest. There was artistic renditions of the courtesans, undoubtedly accentuating certain attributes. All of the individuals were of course beautiful, their names labelled beneath.  He paused over one woman’s image, tilting his head. He turned around, looking at the courtesans present. This one wasn’t there.

“Ah yes, miss Cyrenia is currently…unavailable.” There was a slight pause that both Aurelian and Valkorius caught, though they did not press the issue.

“Actually, I have a question concerning someone that’s not a courtesan.” Valkorius stated. Aurelian closed the book then softly, tilting his head back to see if the guards were paying attention. They weren’t, instead now being led up a flight of stairs by the hand by both male and female courtesans. The woman that had tried to get Valkorius attention was the only one remaining, who now eyed Aurelian with a hungry look.

“Oh? What can Madam Elanor help you with, my lord?” The elderly woman placed both hands on the desk, tapping long, fake fingernails against the wood.

“I am looking for a woman; a friend if you will. She has gone missing and I’ve started to grow worried.” Madam Elanor had a strange look for a moment, her tapping stopping. “I was told by another innkeeper she used to frequent here. Aldronya, if you’ve heard the name.”

“Lots of men and women frequent this establishment, my lord. To remember the name would be somewhat impossible.” Aurelian noticed one of her hands was moving behind the desk now, ears perking as he heard the sounds of the guards ‘rigorous’ activities occurring above. Valkorius also noticed it, though did not react.

“Perhaps a physical description is in order. My friend here can describe her much better than I can. Lord Woodborne?” Aurelian blinked in surprise, though quickly collected himself.

“Yes, she has dark brunette hair, a scar across her nose; quite tall of course, and rather gifted in…certain regards.” Aurelian spotted the flat look Valkorius gave from the corner of his eyes. “And has a tattoo around her wrist. Red lines, leading to a flower.” He had guessed that last bit; he never saw the tattoo, though assumed with a name like the Red Dahlia it was the flower of her namesake. It seemed the description brought some form of recognition, for the madam narrowed her eyes.

“I am afraid I must ask you both to leave my establishment.” She looked behind Valkorius, giving a nod towards someone. Aurelian turned, sighing as the bouncer pushed himself off the wall he was leaning, drawing forward with fists clenched. Valkorius did not turn however, instead leaning against the desk.

“Madam, I can make it worth the information for our friend.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself sir. If you do not leave willingly, Erasmus will make you leave by force.” Aurelian heard the bouncer crack his knuckles, turning his body fully to face him. The courtesan that had remained behind had vanished undoubtedly to some side room to avoid any potential violence about to break out.

“Since you do know something, I suppose it’ll be force. Woodborne, take care of Erasmus please.” Aurelian whipped his head to Valkorius, giving him a blank look.

“Are you serious.” Aurelian turned, eyes widening as he ducked under Erasmus’ meaty fist that sailed through the air. Another wild punch was thrown as Aurelian weaved around it. He didn’t hear whatever Valkorius was saying to the madam now as he pushed himself off the desk right into the bouncer, shoving him back several steps. Annoyed now, Erasmus grabbed Aurelian and tossed him to one of the walls, the elf hitting the wall with a loud crash.

“Leave now.” The bouncer uttered, voice deep and booming. “Or the next toss is out the door on your ass.” Aurelian groaned as he got up, winding his right arm and wincing from the bolt wound still there.

“Try me, brute.” The bouncer sighed, moving forward to grab Aurelian. Aurelian pushed himself off the wall into the bouncer, sending a right hook that smashed against his cheek. The bouncer stumbled back, having no time to recover as Aurelian sent another punch against his chin. Two blows were all it took for the man to fall back slowly, slamming onto the ground with a resounding thud.

Aurelian winced as he pulled back his arm, looking at his hand to see if it was scratched in any way. He briefly glanced up at Valkorius and the madam with an annoyed look. The madam by that point had drawn a knife, pointing it at Valkorius with bristling anger. She looked over at the commotion of her bouncer falling, rolling her eyes in disappointment. That brief distraction was all it took however as Valkorius brought up his hand, waving it. The dagger’s tip began to glow with a sickly green hue, before the metal of the blade began to melt. The madam hissed as she dropped the dagger’s hilt, stepping back.

“Fel magic.”

“Yes, and do you know what fel magic does.” Valkorius asked. When she did not answer, he continued. “Just as it can corrode metal it can dissolve skin, muscle and bone in mere moments. You can watch every agonizing second of your body turn to a sizzling puddle. That is just one of the many fun things I can do with fel magic.”

“What do you want.” The madam finally muttered, composing herself as she realized Valkorius was not about to attack.

“Information on the Red Dahlia. I want to know why she’s working against the rebels.”

“If you were her friend you’d know she has no love for the demons or loyalist forces, stranger.”

“Then why did she kill four nobles, including a rebel sympathizer.” At that the madam paused, tilting her head in confusion.

“What?” When Valkorius nodded the woman sighed, leaning against the desk with her hands. Aurelian noticed the previous courtesan enter the room from one of the side doors, cautiously eyeing the fallen bouncer then Aurelian.

“Lady Stargrove was aiding the rebels by providing information on patrols, as well as aiding their escape from the city. She was murdered by the Red Dahlia.”

“Damn; I was hoping that wasn’t her.” She paused for a moment , as if contemplating whether she should talk. “I suppose then you’re rebel supporters.” Valkorius nodded, motioning for the madam to continue. “Aldronya used to be a frequent customer here, fancied one of our courtesans. They became lovers, I believe. About three fortnights ago, some huffed up man and his men came in asking about Aldronya’s lover, wondering if they could buy her for the evening. All three were cloaked. I had an uneasy feeling about them, and told them she was unavailable.”

“Did you get their names?” Valkorius asked, waving a hand for Aurelian to join him. Aurelian’s brow narrowed at the mention of a lover, eyes falling on the leather book still resting on the desk.

“Cyrenia was her lover I’m presuming?” Aurelian questioned, folding his hands together as he leaned on the desk.

“Yes, she was. As for their names, I did not catch them. They simply left without further word. The next night though…more came back. There were seven of them, all guards of course, as well as one of their demonic enforcers. They demanded I hand over Cyrenia on suspicion of rebel activity, and if I did not comply they would arrest everyone who worked in The Bountiful Boudoir or give them to the demon. Cyrenia gave herself over to them. Since then, I haven’t seen Cyrenia or Aldronya, though I’ve seen enough of the damn guards for a lifetime here.”

“So they took Cyrenia as leverage against Aldronya.” Aurelian muttered over to Valkorius, who nodded in response. “They wouldn’t have killed her or Aldronya wouldn’t be a puppet on their string.” He turned his attention back to the madam, eyes narrowing. “And you have no idea who took her?”

“None. I didn’t get a good look at them, and the guards who took her were normal guards like the idiots upstairs.”

“Damn. Thank you for the information, madam.” Valkorius turned to leave, pausing mid-step. “And if you could not let the guards know anything about us, I’d be most appreciative.”

“Not a word will leave my lips. Gentlemen, a good evening.” Both Valkorius and Aurelian left as the bouncer was just waking up, groaning. As they exited the brothel, night had already fallen on the city. The streets remained abandoned, leaving the two alone to contemplate.

“What’s our next step?” Aurelian asked, turning to Valkorius. “I can only assume the lord was Corvayon, but we have no idea where he may have taken Cyrenia.”

“I’m not sure,” Valkorius confessed. “Our options are limited. We ca-“ he paused, ears perking as he turned around back towards the brothel. Aurelian raised a brow, following where he was looking. The brothel door swung open, the barely dressed courtesan all but leaping out.

“Wait!” She shouted, blinking as she realized they were still right outside. “Oh, I thought you had wandered off already.”

“No. Can we help you miss…?”

“Saris, my lords. You said you were lookin’ for Aldronya?” Both Aurelian and Valkorius shared a look before nodding. “I don’t know where her or Cyrenia are, but I can tell you about the man that questioned for Cyren.”

“Oh? What can you tell us.” Valkorius placed his hands together, eyes focused on the woman. She seemed to shrink under his gaze but continued.

“He was a rather important sounding man, rolled his r’s all dramatically. When him and his men passed by I smelled juniper and ginger, neither of which is cheap here. They wore red cloaks with a golden dragon on them and-“

“A golden dragon?” Valkorius interrupted. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, on a red background. I tried to offer the man a good time when the madam told him Cyrenia was unavailable, but he called me a whore and left. Bastard.” Valkorius looked at Aurelian, giving a nod before turning his attention back to the girl.

“You’ve been most helpful miss Saris. I appreciate the information.” The woman gave a curtsey in response.

“Of course, my lords. Cyrenia was a friend, and all the girls liked Aldronya. If you can help them, id be thankful.” She turned to leave as Aurelian was reaching into one of his pockets.

“Wait.” He called out. The girl paused, eyeing Aurelian. Her eyes widened as he withdrew two gold coins, gratefully taking the money that Aurelian offered out. “For the information.”

“T-thank you, my lord! If you ever find yourself in the area again, I can show you the most wonderful evening you’ll ever have.” She gave a wink, before leaving the two alone.

“That was awfully kind of you.” Valkorius stated as he watched the woman return to the brothel.          

“That had nothing to do with kindness. She offered a service, albeit one she probably wasn’t used to. Plus, if the guards or anyone question her about us, she hopefully won’t rat us out. Now, a gold dragon? Is that not the sigil of Erimonte?”

“As is the crimson clothing. Looks like it wasn’t my son that took the girl. It would seem Erimonte is indeed in league with Illuria. I knew he had been supporting the Legion, but I had figured his political goals clashed with Illuria. I say it’s time we pay Erimonte a visit and find out where he imprisoned Cyrenia.”

“Isn’t Erimonte’s estate on the opposite side of the city?” Valkorius didn’t answer, instead breaking into a run towards a side alley. Aurelian rolled his eyes, muttering a curse as he took off after him.

[hihowareyawrites]

Swiss System

Cross Posted from my AO3

(no pairing), FMAB

Summary: Swiss System: A system of pairing tournaments whereby players are paired against opponents who are doing about as well as they are. Wherever possible, players get about an equal number of games with Black and White, and will not play the same opponent twice; Roy and Solf are assigned guard duty the evening following their dispute.

Pulling his rifle from it's rack in his tent, Roy Mustang sighed heavily in contempt for the night to come. He should have known better. Kimblee was only goading him, right? He shouldn't have lunged for him, no matter what he said. But Hawkeye looked so frightened at his words alone, he couldn't just sit there and let him prattle on. Still, Kimblee hadn't seemed at all bothered by Roy's grip on his collar, or how close to getting punched in the face he was. The same couldn't be said of the patrolling general, who punished them both by assigning them to overnight guard duty, together.

In Roy's opinion, the guard duty wasn't the punishment- spending time with Kimblee was.

The sun hung low in the sky over Ishval and the orange glow cast along the rubble around them made the hair on the major's neck stand; why had they been tasked with causing so much destruction? The question was rhetorical, and Kimblee's response to him earlier echoed in his mind: “because that's the job we were given to do, that's what we signed up for.”

Logically, he was right. Roy couldn't argue with anything he said, and that angered him even more. The fact that Solf J. Kimblee was correct, and he truly was naive not to see it.

As he approached the outskirts of their camp to stand guard, he noticed his guard partner was already there. Ever the punctual one, Kimblee stood with his rifle over his shoulder, idly observing the destroyed town beneath the cliff fall their post overlooked. At Roy's approach, he turned to acknowledge him, giving one of his friendly smiles. “Good evening, Major Mustang. Glad to be working with you tonight.” He'd extended a tattooed palm to Roy, who knew the destruction it could cause and shook it anyway, almost wishing the Crimson Lotus would blow his hand off and send him home.

“Yeah.” Was all he could offer in response, he couldn't lie and say he was glad to be working with Kimblee. He let go of the fellow alchemist's hand (how was it so cold in this temperature?) and walked over to the small bit of rubble piled up for them to sit on. With the amount of lives Kimblee took only just today, it was sure to be an uneventful evening, but long nonetheless. He figured he'd better set some ground rules, while he could. “Let's get one thing straight, neither of us want to be here. We're both more than capable enough to do more serious work. This is a punishment, not time to hang out. I have no intention of acquainting myself further with you, Kimblee.” Roy's lack of title when speaking to his equally ranked officer struck the other as impolite, but he would disregard it for now.

“Why, Major Mustang, surely I can't be that terrible of company.” Kimblee stalked over to him and sat beside him. He pulled one knee up to his chest, laced his hands over top, and rest his chin on them. “I apologize to have so deeply offended you earlier.” His words were earnest but his tone was nonchalant, and Roy could tell this would be a very long night.

“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to.” Truly Roy didn't fight for himself, but for Hawkeye's sake. She was the most upset by it, she was the most disturbed by Kimblee's words. And yet, Roy also found himself a bit... jealous? Not long after that argument, the sniper did approach him and say she couldn't deny what Kimblee said, and she felt so upset with herself that he was right. The fact that this man had made her acknowledge something and feel that guilt, was not something that sat well with the Flame alchemist.

Kimblee seemed aware who Roy was referring to, and looked away wistfully. “The woman, then.” He thought aloud.

“That's right. Whether or not what you said is true, this isn't the time to say it. Just because you're cold hearted enough to take lives so easily... doesn't mean it comes as naturally to the rest of us.”

“Cold hearted, eh...” Kimblee echoed Roy's words thoughtfully. For once Roy thought perhaps he offended him, and against his better judgment considered taking his words back, but he would be lying if he said he didn't feel Kimblee was every bit as cold hearted as he was perceived “Perhaps you're right, maybe I am cold hearted. But, it does make me a rather efficient weapon in our situation. It seems being cold hearted is exactly the trait our military finds valuable.”

God, he really did like to hear himself talk. The sun was beyond the horizon now and dusk had settled in. There was silence for a while, and Roy was thankful, until Kimblee spoke again. “Dusk is my favorite time of day. What's yours?” How arbitrary. He was just making polite conversation, and yet it made Roy angry. Everything he did made him mad.

But that sounded more like a personal problem, the more he rolled the idea over in his head. For just this evening, he would humor this man, and see if perhaps they had some common ground.

“Late afternoon. I like the sun to be high. There's something optimistic about it.”

“Hm, how interesting. What's your opinion on astrology?” That sure came out of nowhere. Kimblee was an alchemist as well, so he should be just as critical of made up sciences as any alchemist, but Roy would be lying if he said he didn't check his sign in the paper every day. Just out of curiosity of course.

“It's foolish, and favored by young girls. But I do know my sign, if that's what you're going to ask next. I'm a Leo.”

“I see! How thoughtful of you. I don't particularly subscribe to it, but it is interesting. August, I presume?”

“That's right.”

There was a long silence before Roy realized that he had given Kimblee information about himself without asking for anything in return. Equivalent exchange and all, he would learn this man's star sign.

“And yours?”

Kimblee laughed lowly at this, though it sounded somewhat genuine.

“I'd like to know what you think, how you perceive me.” It was painfully like him to do this. It was so very Kimblee to request information and give nothing in return. Roy unfortunately knew very little about astrology other than some basics so his guess was as good as anyone elses. He pondered a moment and gave a sidewards glance to Kimblee's hands still rested on his knee. Two arrays, huh...

“Gemini...” Roy guessed idly.

“Hm, that's wrong, but nice try. You're in the correct range. For your efforts I'll reward you and let you know that I'm a Cancer.” Roy had to stop himself from making a bad joke and accusing him of actually being cancerous, and finally settled on a simple 'I see'. “You know in Xing, they have their own zodiac, but it's based on the year rather than the month.” Was Roy really going to come out of this experience with only updated knowledge on global astrology? He guessed there were worse outcomes.

“No, I didn't know that... do you know them?” He was a bit curious. He'd heard women liked astrology, and if it was something he could potentially use on his plentiful dates, he wouldn't turn that down.

“I do, but I'll need to know the year you were born.” So there was the monkey's paw, Kimblee was going to know more about Roy than he really needed to, and Roy cursed himself for being so curious. A birth date though shouldn't be too incriminating.

“1885. August 16th. Do you need my blood type and shoe size too, or of have you gotten what you needed?” Kimblee turned to look at him and feigned surprise, then smiled.

“No, that should suffice. 1885 is the year of the rooster. How appropriate, in some ways they're likened to phoenix... bird of flames and all that. Coincidentally, you're one year older than myself.” Roy hadn't realized they were so close in age and almost felt happy to be the older, if only by a year. That's at least one year of superiority he had over this snarky man.

“What about you, are you going to make me guess again? Because I don't know any of them enough to-”

“Dog. My year is the dog.” Roy was taken back a bit that he was interrupted and upon recovering thought is words over.

“I see.” There was another long silence. The sun had completed disappeared and the sky was dark. Roy stood up and walked around to Kimblee's opposite and sat back down. This seat was small enough that their backs touched and it made Roy's skin crawl; as if he could catch whatever it was that made Kimblee so uncanny simply by resting against him this way. Again he felt a small pang of guilt. Kimblee was perfectly docile here, not going out of his way to harm anyone or anything, perhaps Roy misjudged him? Maybe he wasn't the man Roy thought he was? He contemplated for a while and investigated further. “So... do you like dogs?”

“I'm actually more of a cat person myself... I appreciate how self sustainable they are. They are independent, and intelligent.” Roy was almost personally offended but unsurprised by Kimblee's answer. If Roy looked hard enough, the Crimson Alchemist reminded him of a cat. Always perched somewhere staring harmlessly, seemingly docile and inattentive, maybe even affectionate occasionally. But seemingly without warning, the likelihood of getting scratched seemed fairly high. The idea of Kimblee as a small, harmless cat eased him. “I don't mind dogs however.” The addendum to his statement pulled Roy from his imagination. No, he was not a domestic cat. He was much more akin to a panther. The way he would skulk around, his sharp movements and reflexes, and his utter brutality.

“I could have predicted that.” Roy expected a snarky retort, but got none.

An hour or so passed and it was the dead of night, and Roy forgot how cold it was outside their tents in the desert evening. He considered making a small fire, but that would really make their position as guards rather compromised. Not that he needed it, he was rather accustomed to the cold and didn't mind it. The same couldn't be said of his companion however. A chill ran up the Crimson Lotus' spine and Roy felt it in his.

“I take it you're cold then.” He stated matter of factly.

“Ah, you could tell then? I'm not exactly accustomed to this weather... I must not eat enough iron.” Roy could hear the thrum of his fingers on the rock they sat atop. “When I'd heard we would be stationed in the desert, I was a bit happy about that. At least during the daytime, it's rather nice. My worst fear was being stationed in Briggs.” Roy smirked at the mental image of Kimblee in Briggs, far too cold for his liking, under the harsh command of their respective Iron Wall.

“Yeah... I don't think I could handle that either. Not just the weather, but the officials...”

“Yes, I've heard she's rather something to behold.” Kimblee considered for a moment before asking Roy, “What is your opinion of Major Armstrong?” Roy perked up at this.

“Olivier's brother?”

“Yes, our Strong Arm alchemist.”

“My opinion of him... he's quite powerful, if a bit eccentric. He has a lot of political pull given his family, so a good ally to have. Someone I would very much like to work beside.”

“But here?”

“I don't understand your meaning...” Kimblee shifted slightly and Roy felt him move and was thankful when he didn't turn to face him.

“It's true, he may be a powerful alchemist, and he may have political pull, and he may be the most reliable ally there is... but on this battlefield, perhaps none of that matters.” Roy's heart sank as their conversation drifted back to the war. And just when he thought they were acclimating to one another. “Remember how earlier, you had said I was “cold hearted”?”

“...yes, I do remember.”

“As I said, whether or not that's true...” It is. “... that just means that I'm more suited to this kind of work. If I'm cold hearted,” you are “then the reverse would be true of Armstrong. Despite his strength, his values, everything that makes him a great man... it does make him rather ineffective here, wouldn't you say?”

Roy considered his words for a moment. Logically, yes he was right. But did he want to give Kimblee the satisfaction of knowing that? Not really. Still he didn't want another night of this so he bit his tongue as best he could and said only “I suppose.”

“Objectively speaking though... I don't believe he is weak.” At that Roy's attention returned to Kimblee.

“Go on.”

“Personally, I don't believe being warm hearted or cold hearted is necessarily the determinant of one's strength. Rather, the conviction yielded by that heart. Whether or not you are kind or cruel, your dedication to your disposition is truly what grants a person strength.” If Roy didn't know better, he would think Kimblee was complimenting Armstrong. He couldn't find fault in what he was saying either. “For what its worth,” He began “my words to you earlier weren't meant to incite you. I simply believed if you could see things from my perspective, this work might not be so hard on you...”

Roy sighed. It's true he didn't feel a necessarily malicious intent from Kimblee earlier, and there was no secret his views and feelings were just a different standard than others, but was Roy really ready to allow himself to accept him? To accept this man who delighted in the destruction of others' lives to be his ally? His mind turned these ideas over and over for what felt like forever. “I see.” Was all he could offer Kimblee in response for now.

The night seemed to move at a decent pace after that. Neither of them said much, the occasional comment about current events back home. Little by little, they learned a bit about one another. Roy told Kimblee small details of his life only, and thus that is all he learned in return. He learned that the Crimson Lotus alchemist wasn't a fan of citrus, that his family worked in textiles, that before being sent to the war, he split up with a girlfriend and wasn't terribly broken up about it; he had no expectation for her or anyone else to build their life around him. Roy learned that Solf J. Kimblee was indeed human, like him and everyone else here. And that fact made him comforted and scared. If he truly was a human, just a normal human, how could he possibly feel so little for killing others? Could Roy become that way too? Would Roy become that way too? He just didn't know.

By the time morning came, both of them were a little worse for ware, and reluctant to go about the rest of the day without sleep. As they prepared to part ways, Kimblee was approached by a lower rank officer requesting his presence with General Gran, saying they had something for him to help aid them in their mission and get everyone home quicker. As he turned to leave Roy stopped him. “Wait-” Kimblee turned to Roy, his tired eyes asking what the Flame needed with him. “What is it that you tell yourself... to make being here easier every day?” To that Kimblee had no hesitation, a chesire-esque smile spreading across his face.

“It's just a job.” He said, and turned and left towards his request, leaving Roy standing there to ponder that sentence.

[violetsystems]

#personal

The weather is back to being amazing again.  This is the horrible curse about Chicago.  For maybe five or six months out of the year, the temperature is gorgeous if not sometimes extreme.  Now that the AC is on, my cat sleeps like a human in bed often.  A little human.  I wake up a few times a night to find her in different spots.  Mostly just waiting for me to feed her wet food in the morning.  I still feed the cat outside my door.  My immediate neighbors do as well.  I think when you think about common ground between people in society you have a good starting point there.  They share the porch here.  Sometimes it’s a little claustrophobic.  But it is never trans or homophobic.  I think people like myself who openly identify as straight and cis could do a better job at empathizing.  But people are already bothered enough by society to where I try to tread lightly as to how I do this.  Nobody wants to be patronized.  It’s tacky.  So it’s always the little things in this neighborhood that communicate the most.  Hanging a plant for your elderly neighbor.  Shoveling the snow early in the morning in the dead of winter.  In the summer, it’s a little easier to be patient with the ways people try to communicate.  And then there’s the glaringly obvious clues that people don’t really give a shit.  I went to do the laundry yesterday.  It’s a small building so not a lot of traffic down there.  The trash is usually filled with laundry supplies.  I went down there and somebody had deposited a U Kotex tampon box in the trash.  This act alone baffles me but it’s such a familiar thing.  I would call it a microaggression.  And here’s how I would explain it.  Back when I was shoveling the snow, somebody had scrawled a message in my immediate neighbor’s doorstep.  Part of it had been snowed over but the message I could read simply said “Gay people live here.”  I couldn’t tell who wrote it.  I worried that my neighbors didn’t.  In short, I cared silently about how this would be perceived.  So I erred on the side of being inclusive and shoveled it last.  Either way, it was information I could choose to respect or neglect.  Months later, finding a tampon box in the shared laundry room when you know some of your neighbor’s identify as nonbinary at the least is sus.  I did the same as I did back in winter.  I disposed of it before anyone got the wrong idea.  Again I’m no detective.  But it’s obvious to me people don’t care about how that might make somebody feel.  I do.  I don’t go knocking on somebody’s door and loudly exclaim “why are you throwing your tampon box in the trash?”  It could have been them for all I know.  So like I do often, I fix the situation before an incident arises.  And nobody knows it was me.  I know for a fact certain neighbors of mine are completely passive aggressive.  The couple behind me definitely gets off on not locking the gate behind them.  It just so happens my immediate neighbors and I are the ones who seem to get targeted for package theft.  I’m used to being targeted and smeared.  When I see other people getting fucked with it largely concerns me.  I can’t always erase the fact that people often play elaborate pranks on me in public.  Where I live and sleep is a different matter.  The problem with microaggressions in society is pretty simple.  Bullying never went away.  It’s normalized as a badge of courage.  A rite of passing in society.  A hazing and a reprogramming of sorts.  Some of us feel pressured by society to fight back.  To act up.  To tear down.  And then some of us have fought that battle alone for years only to be ostracized and explained away.  I spoke with a friend recently about being bored with Chicago and alienated.  They replied flippantly “Well everybody knows you aren’t really a big fan of being social.”  Everybody also knows I flew to Asia fourteen times by myself over a five year period.  The attention to detail only goes so far before it has jumped the shark.

Any sort of a sacred communication, writing or otherwise will eventually degrade into noise.  People in Chicago definitely don’t like you being you outside of a clearly, organized group.  I was reading something about Pride recently how the organizers did not want police involved at all.  It sounds like a no brainer to me.  Pride started as a riot.  A necessary response to oppression and repression.  As an aging straight white man I don’t really see myself at pride.  Neither do I see police belonging there as well.  And yet.  The police feel left out or something?  When Black Lives Matter makes a valid point about police being the number one threat to the very definition of the movement this is a threat how?  When you’ve had your civil rights shredded daily in broad daylight just being a regular person and I mouth the words ACAB all of the sudden I’m a threat to society?  Somehow me opening my mouth and speaking up for other people makes me a target.  And yet I do it pretty clearly and succinctly under my rights of freedom of speech.  It gets abused.  Toyed with.  Tampered with.  Just like any basic infiltration of any cool thing or movement here in America.  No matter how many years I see these people try to throw a wrench in independent movements thinking for themselves, I’m struck at how amateur they become.  America can’t have you thinking for yourself without supervision.  It bullies people into being afraid.  It infiltrates with a smile and a well meaning look only to poison the well and look back accusingly.  “Why aren’t you thirsty?”  It sticks it’s fucking nose into everything and acts like its the champion or savior when it has done nothing except play the villain.  Good cop.  Bad Cop.  Still a fucking cop.  And it doesn’t actually have a leg to stand on.  It uses other people to do it’s dirty work.  Pits movements against each other to neutralize dissent.  It takes over the core history and rewrites itself into the story as the main character.  It buried people’s authentic narratives in favor of lumping them into a moderated congregation.  It talks but never lets you speak.  When it does, it talks over you and mansplains everything you’ve been saying all along wrong.  It’s baked into the culture.  Traditional American doublespeak is an advancement of Orwellian lying.  People think they can smile so sweetly and say absolutely nothing of substance.  That these little pockets of resistance need to be ironed out and managed.  That autonomy isn’t an actual survival reflex.  Of all the people you know who have been fucked with and survived.  It’s me.  And I am just some normal dude on the internet.  And yet I can’t speak loud enough in mainstream society to get people to understand I have a point.  That people gaslight, gatekeep, and gestapo their way into putting you in your place.  The shit I’ve seen here in America let alone Chicago would have Germany in 1940 blushing.  And yet, I don’t really put up with any of it.  It’s fucking clown show level cosplay.  Rich people who think they can walk through walls of ethics, privacy and culture to throw around their weight.  People don’t like me these days because I interfere with them directly making a profit.  Imagine that.  I’ve been targeted for everything.  Made to look like I’m crazy, old and alone.  And now I have to deal with billionaires afraid of where I’ve invested my meager retirement funds.  And I deal with it everyday.  Sharks swimming around me in Teslas and T-Shirts trying to intimidate me into throwing in the towel.  After the towel was thrown at me repeatedly.  I can’t explain how ridiculous this is.  I can explain how insensitive it is to throw a fucking tampon in the laundry room when your neighbors are gender queer.  And then as an ally, people think it’s my job to confront this.  I do.  I put all in the trash where it belongs.  Where the racoons and my civil rights still dwell.  You don’t need these people in your business.  You don’t need to feel guilted by the oppressor into thinking there is something wrong with you not trusting authority.  They openly lie, plot and spread deceit.  So don’t let them into your scenes, movements or personal lives and move on.

This is easy to say when you live outside the blast radius of culture war.  I happen to enjoy the freedom of living in a city just as much as everybody.  It is something else to manage the personal and organizational politics therein.  New York to me is a little less pretentious and stuck up about the status quo than the midwest.  The midwest is clingy and clumsy about how it asserts it’s power in a vacuum.  And Chicago right now is just one huge lawless fucking vacuum.  I would love to write about it.  Maybe even sit down for a chat with the Mayor about how she plans to fuck up the next two years of being half in control.  But we all know I’ll never make it as a journalist.  I’ll never have the opportunity here to be acknowledged as a writer.  I’ll never be recognized for anything I’ve ever done because it would require an inconvenient truth to be brought out into the open.  You only make it in this town if you are connected.  You only get to be free if you let the powers that be have their say.  It’s only ok to survive if you are transparent in everything you do.  And when you are, your information is spread out to the point it’s a liability at best.  People already know everything about you including where you fit in the hierarchy of capitalism.  I belong on the outskirts with all the “freaks.”  Being bullied like it’s 1990 all over again.  These people never learned to be better.  So they simply get off on judging everybody else by their lackluster fucking standards.  You can stand up to them.  You can learn how to tell if someone is being genuine or trying to subvert your power.  You can say no.  You can not let these fuckers into your most trusted places and spaces.  And you can fuck with them back if they do.  For me, it’s not a good look for me to take the bait.  This entire process has been hopeless to me.  I have learned nothing good about how real society operates at its bitter core.  What I can tell you is this.  People tell you whatever they think will make you feel good.  And if you question their motives, they will make you feel guilty first before getting caught in a lie.  If you catch them in a lie, they act like you are crazy.  And this is the rhythm of how protest, resistance, and freedom is squelched in America.  Nobody is fighting back.  I would know.  Because I am literally exhausted making this point as an ally for years on the internet.  We need to organize and yet we’re too busy ripping each other apart.  We know we have common ground.  We know we connect in genuine ways still.  And people are scared to.  They’re just coming out of their shells.  I think the whole point of things like Pride were to create autonomous zones where people could feel free.  To feel like they weren’t judged or watched.  I know what it is like to be surveilled on levels I’m embarrassed to share.  I live that hell every day of my life for reasons unknown.  I don’t know how it was brought on me.  It hurts.  Every fucking day of my life to be watched and misunderstood.  I created a sacred space for myself to communicate this.  A place where I can be proud of who I was and talk about it.  A place where I could catch my breath and continue to resist and to think.  And there’s no shortage of right wing nuts who argue their stupid clubhouses need to be protected by a flag most people wipe their ass with.  Respect is a two way street.  I’m just directing traffic.  And I’m warning people around my neighborhood specifically.  I’ve seen the passive aggressive judgmental bullshit go too far and I’m not going to let it go by unnoticed.  I know just who is completely full of shit out here and why.  And people trust that I know because it’s my job to pay attention to detail.  I don’t get paid shit to be a good person.  But you don’t get away with being racist, homophobic, transphobic or any other shit like that on my watch.  I will let you know on site.  One tampon at a time.  <3 Tim

[pranavthepp]

Poles Apart

It is not quite often that we come across people who are so alike yet poles apart. Initial impressions made me wonder, can two people be so alike ? It was too good to be true situation. With a skeptic eye I decided to just know more about it.

Meet Mili , the super woman. I came across Mili in the most traditional way possible, via matrimony. Yes these things still very much exist. Never knew I'd be seeing myself on any of those ever. Because lets face it , the way society perceives it is rather different, only the ones who couldn't find love in their life end up there. So Mili was just another profile my mum happen to come across . I never entertained anyone approaching from matrimony much simply for the fact that I was looking out for love in a true sense . And to my shallow view, by definition I believed one cannot find love through arranged way.

Phase-1

After much of insistence from Mum , I decided to talk to her for formality just to put her in reject list later. "Hi...." she said, that hi went for half hour, hyperbole not literally. Now let me tell you, never in my life I've come across person who likes to talk so much because I don't talk much. And to my surprise, after hearing her I found listening to her oddly satisfying. Not that she had lot of interesting things to talk about but the way she talked about them. She spoke things with so much exuberance that it carried a kind of beautiful innocence and honesty with it. Let me tell you , I am not much of a talker but this woman made me captive to her aura and made me bell the cat. There was something about her that I found very attractive .

For the first time in many years I felt different. Chats converted to calls . And calls stretched to hours . We talked on any random topic for hours, it was like meeting a long lost friend every time . I thought it was about time and this would stop with time or once we start meeting. We were to meet in March but then Corona happened and whole country went into shutdown, I had to cancel my flights (She stays in Jaipur) and the long wait was flushed.

Retrospectively , best thing ever happened . Because this was the time we started to connect on a more deeper level. Surprisingly, calls were increasing and so were the hours , incessantly. Initially I was ignoring this thinking that this is the most common phase of any relationship , and the need to talk just reduces with time . But the case here was very different, Mili has so many faucets to her that every time I talk to her I learn something new. She is a very fascinating human being . I may come across as a mad scientist, but I have never come across any human being in my life who has so many different dimensions . By now I had learned all her buas' name, her first dog Audi and his notorious stories, her nemesis, the fact that she prefers lip balm over lipstick, she hates to talk about politics and much to her reluctance she couldn't begin her day without talking to me.

But let me tell you , those things were still like scratching the surface. When I say deeper level I meant exploring her characteristics . Mili has this amazing ability to tell stories effortlessly. Her ability to keep my attention is amusing  to even me. At times she has to ask whether I am listening to her or not thinking I am bored. Quite a skill I must say , apt for a creative job if she ever wants to pursue one. Hey , it doesn't stop there. She has an innate nature to not keep things cliff hanging, often when we have disagreements and fight at times , she has to resolve it on the day itself and start the next day fresh.The quality I am most attracted to , may be because I belong to same school of thought. As they say , true testament of any relationship is seen during crises . It was 5 months so far and I had become talkative by now , I knew I am a bad singer ( She purposely likes to make me sing because she is blessed with a good voice) , I am too bad at remembering lyrics, and women go frenzy over chocolates and gifts, and foremost I'd become an addict.

Phase-2

6 months in to this and by now we had become very familiar to each other's breaths, pauses and full stops . It was just about time that we'd to meet because the wait was killing us and corona was no far to be gone. We decided to meet midway which would be equi distant for both. A resort in outskirts of Indore was decided , but now we were accompanied by Parents. Never met this girl before , hardly did video calls yet parents were accompanying us. Strategically speaking, it was a very risky call but something within us felt right. Because strategy doesn't apply in the businesses of hearts. The day we met was one of the best day of my life not for the fact that there was any excitement or so to meet, but for the fact that I felt as comfortable around her as I did while talking on phone.

It has been a month now since we're engaged. There have been some amazing moments and then not so amazing moments . Mili still doesn't stop to amaze me. Still I try to sing in my amazing voice upon her insistence , and have started to even like it because it makes her happy. Phone calls still last long, phone buzzes with Good morning and Good night texts. Now I have 2 mummys and papas and also a new brother . Excitement to hear her voice has just increased. Mili has also now developed a knack to learn , she surprisingly likes to talk about politics, so much so that she even has opinions to give. She has become very kind and patient to listen to my talks about work. And with great humility I must say that I've learned Mili is far mature than me. A gem who you wouldn't want to lose.

It didn't really cross my thought until I proof read this piece that this comes across as written by someone who is Love. Totally. Past few months have really taught me lot of things about things, about people, about myself and about love .I believe till love and respect remains as a foundation of any relationship, things can always be build and rebuild around it . So doesn't matter how much poles apart you are , when people commit to the idea of commitment, it nurtures the best of the relationship.

© 2020 pranavthepp