#she's like the most difficult creature he's ever had the misfortune of developing feelings for

[mintseesaw]

northeast monsoon

pairing: god!jungkook x goddess!reader genre: fantasy, smut, slight angst, soulmate!au word count: 3.7k warnings: mature content, unprotected sex, brief mentions of the character’s health conditions, cursed!reader, son of the deity jungkook // 18+ summary: Jungkook, not out of ordinary, decided to celebrate his 24th birthday in his favorite place on earth, the closest place to heaven—on a mountain summit. However, even before he reaches the highest peak of the mountain range, he was trapped, enthralled, and coincidentally found his true nature.

note: the idea occurred to me earlier while i was at work yesterday used jk’s birthday as an excuse to pursue it and ignore my 36433 wips and drabble requests; short, steamy and a literal filth bc it’s unedited

Jungkook was lost.

His birthday seems to carry the bad luck today. His very first misfortune in his two year experience of mountain hiking. The moment he stepped foot on the soil of mountain range marks the start of a weird feeling sitting at the pit of his something. That he refused to acknowledge  because nothing bad happened to him before.

When they visited the homes of the natives on the foothill of the mountain to pay respect as inhabitants of the ancestral domain, the chieftain’s storytelling of the mountain’s cursed guardian sounded incredulous. He didn’t take it seriously nor think of it as a warning. He didn’t understand why the indigenous leader felt the need to tell them a folklore causing a delay on their activity.

Amongst the group of civilian trekkers, he was the only one who skipped the supposed ritual of spitting to the soiled ground and drawing a cross on foot on the same spot before entering the premises passed the small village. It was said to reverse the effect of any potential supernatural force against them.

Approximately 45 minutes after they started their trail onto the summit, he caught a swarm of fireflies flocking on a trunk of a humongous tree, seemingly in its hundred years of existence or more. But it wasn’t the insects that prompted him to stop and admire the view. It was the rare glow surrounding the tree that did. In his great fascination, he even loudly shared his discovery to the group. Their disinterest to the majestic tree dismayed him. Are they blind or something? It’s not everyday that they get to admire such beauty. For a solid few minutes, he was left dazed, stunned to see a tree before his eyes just like the one he had seen recently in a fantasy drama where there existed witchcraft and wizardry.

He’s not dreaming, is he?

When he finally snapped out of his reverie, the group was no longer in sight, leaving him there standing alone. At least, there’s a trace of footprints he could use to follow their tracks.

In silence, Jungkook couldn’t help but think back of the past, and the last bit memory he remembers when he woke up in a hospital bed with no recollection of his identity.

Four years ago, he was met with a major car accident with its impact resulting to hundreds of stitches in his chest, the only hideous scar he obtained after he was said to be hospitalized for a month. He not only developed a heart condition but was also diagnosed with a retrograde amnesia. He believes that his inability to recall his past memory marked the start of his vivid dreams occurring every night. Still, he was lucky enough to have his body remain in the best condition despite the lasting emotional and physiological damages it left him.

The endless dreams of mountains and forests led him to discover his fondness in scenery and the constant sense of emptiness becoming difficult to ignore. His newly found obsession with nature was enough to convince himself to start trekking, particularly mountains. Strange enough, he found the solitary in mountain peaks, of the scenery, and the cold climate in summits.  He found a temporary peace in the closest place to heaven from the constant ache that each of his bizarre dreams left his heart bruising.

It was not only his dreams that he finds peculiar. Although his mother had reminded him numerous times that it was his adolescent self who developed a liking to tattoos, he didn’t know what occurred to him in his teens to consider inking his body with unrecognizable symbols that even with a brief searching in google couldn't provide him what the underlying significance each mark carries.

Few minutes later, he found himself stopping at the same spot where he had taken his time admiring the tree. He didn’t know how it happened when he was only following the remnants of the collective footpath on the ground. If he perceived the situation odd, he didn’t acknowledge it until the third time he came back on the same spot, same view.

The fact that he’s always has this great sense of remembering directions whether it be in the road or in mountains, makes the situation even weirder. For the nth time, he took a glance at his wristwatch. A groan resonated through the eerie silence in the midst of the forest. He’s been walking in circles for almost two hours now.

The group might have been halfway through the summit at this point. The trail takes about 4-5 hours and he’s far behind them now. With a heavy heart, he decided to return back to the foothill.

The sun is at its highest peak above the sky, amplifying the dryness of his mouth from the heat of noon. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to drink the remaining content in his flask.

The gust of wind brought by the monsoon is somehow mixing up his sense of direction. Some may find it strange, but he could feel the presence of wind oddly stronger than other human beings. Out of the ordinary, he could sense where the wind came from just by the mere blow of breeze passed his skin. Right now, he couldn’t put his extraordinary ability into good use because even with his attempt to go back down, he keeps returning to the same location.

Jungkook is lost. Somewhat, he’s trapped.

Now more than ever, he’s almost convinced some being invisible to the naked eye is playing him around. Jungkook lowered his rucksack on the ground, and started pacing back and forth as he tried to figure out how he’ll reverse the imaginary spell.

Even with the time passing by, the fireflies remained there, swimming around the trunk like they own it. If he’s trapped, someone or something might be responsible for this. Whether or not these stupid supernatural creatures are true, he needs to get out of here.

His foot stopped mid-step and fixated his glare at the old tree. What else would prove the peculiarity of the situation other than the mythical personified before his eyes.

“Come on, take back whatever spell you’ve casted on me. I’m not gonna destroy your home. This is an order, you devious creature.” Jungkook reprimands sarcastically as if the poor, ginormous tree can understand him in the human language.

There was nothing significantly remarkable about it if not only for the fairy dust-like glimmers surrounding it.

However, to his surprise, he suddenly hears the rustles of the leaves and cracks of branches echo through the stillness in the air as they pliantly bend over. He could feel the shiver run through his spine as he gathered what was happening to the tree. It is bending, its crown slightly crouched in front of him as if it was bowing down.

Jungkook staggers back in utter astonishment.

What the fuck is this sorcery? Is he dreaming?

He blinks furiously, trying to deduce the realness of the scene in front of him.

Soon after, he felt another surge of force-like brush of the wind against his skin, kindling tingles and goosebumps to appear on his skin. Dust swirls like a whirlpool in the air as weightless dead leaves harshly dance above the ground before they fall back down. To make things more incredulously mad, out of nowhere, a blinding form comes into sight near the trunk.

As its gleam dies down, the next thing his eyes have captured is the most enchanting being he has ever seen in his life.

A goddess.

She leans forward, her shimmering palm rubbing up and down on the rough texture of the trunk, as if the bewitching creature is consoling the seemingly submissive native species. Whether or not the goddess is upraising its spirit, he couldn’t be sure.

In quiet amazement, he watches the beauty just a few meters away from him while his presence remains hidden. Long silky hair in beautiful waves flowing with its end touching her lower back. It’s shade resembles that of the dead leaves with seemingly fresh petals and leaves decorated as accessories on her hair. Almost brandishing her as a forest goddess. With her side facing his front, Jungkook could clearly see the swell of her breasts with her thick locks keeping her peaks hidden like an enthusing mystery.

As if abiding by whatever the goddess had said, the crouched tree slowly returns back to its natural form. And just as the goddess turns her back at him, ready to vanish into the thin air, he scurried forward.

“Wait!” Jungkook shouts, hurriedly calling their attention despite hardly recovering from the peculiarity of the scene in front of him.

You only responded with a side glance, just enough to see him in your peripheral vision.

Jungkook took it as his cue to garner more of your attention, “You’re a goddess?” He says with his tone clearly filled in awe.

As if his naive question took you by surprise, you whirled around. When you did, it was like there was an invisible electrifying sensation that struck him the moment your eyes landed on him. The tremor of sparks immediately radiating in his body.

She’s such an exquisite sight, Jungkook gawked. Cting you as his example, none of the illustrations he’d seen on the internet had given justice just how beautiful goddesses are in real life. In real life! 

When you spoke for the first time since you appeared in his vision, he was quickly snapped out of daze.

“You can see me? How… you mortals do not have the ability to see us.” You say breathlessly, bewildered to have met the eyes of a mortal for the first time since time immemorial. No living mortal can and will see you, unless you have opted to be seen.

Jungkook’s mouth parted. You said no affirmation. Yet, the way you addressed him as a mortal only meant one thing.

“You’re really a goddess!” He exclaims, still stunned.

“Go back to the land. The fairies will guide you the way.” You said with a simple directness, having no intention to unravel the mystery of his identity and why he seemed to carry power in him. Just as you uttered those words, the fairies appeared from the crown of the tree.

“No, wait! I’m not gonna leave until you answer my questions.”

Your head shook and with firm persistence, you say, “I am no guardian of a mortal like you. Leave the mountain before another fairy casts a spell on you. If that happens, you will never return to your home.”

Jungkook held his arms out. “I’m not here to harm anyone or anything.”

As the wind continues to swirl around the two of you, the long locks of your hair resting over your chest continue to sway pliantly in the wind’s direction.

At some point, Jungkook caught a vaguely familiar mark decorated on your skin just below your shoulder blade. On the same spot of one of his marks which mirrors yours.

“I am the guardian of this shelter and supernatural beings that live here. I cannot fill your curiosity nor have the power to keep you safe against them.”

Jungkook could perfectly hear you, but his focus had zeroed in to your shoulder. To see the exact resemblance of his mark on yours is a different story. You’re wrong, definitely wrong because you are the answer to his dreams.

Jungkook suddenly peels off his waterproof jacket while dragging his feet toward your direction.

The swell of your breasts entice him almost too painfully that his cock twitches from the mere sight of your glowing skin in complete nudity. As if they were inviting his palms to touch them. And even with your orbs glinting with subtle surprise, your face remained expressionless.

Why, he finds it fascinating. You have bewitched him!

Your confusion only lasted for a couple seconds until the last layer of fabric was taken off of his upper body. But it was replaced by a thunder striking discovery, gasping as your eyes landed on the flesh-colored, slit-like scar on his chest similar to that of the Deity’s symbol. Lightning bolt.

Jungkook met your eyes, thinking you’ve already recognized the identical marking on his skin.

When he parts his mouth to speak, you beat him to it.

“You’re not a mortal.” You revealed, still astounded.

“W-What?” Jungkook stopped in his tracks.

It couldn’t possibly be. The children of the Supreme Deity are no mortals. The God of the sea, the Ruler of the stars and moon, the Owner of the soon, the twin Gods of love and beauty, the Prince of the earth and the deity’s successor, and the missing guardian of the wind have no mortal blood. That you’re certain of. But the missing god... does it mean he’s the missing guardian of the wind?

Your gaze sifts through the generous amount of inks on his arms where the secrets of his power lie beneath the layer of the markings. The God of love have revealed this to you once several years when you dared question the reason why his body is decorated of inks, unlike other gods you have seen.

When your eyes shifted upward to his shoulder blade, you felt your heart tightens in an almost unbearable grip for the first time since the Deity has cursed you.

“Soulmate,” you reveal for the second time.

Jungkook’s eyes went round. “S-Soulmate?” He stutters.

You reach out and touch the ink of your bond on his skin. And just like that, Jungkook visibly shudders at the minimal contact.

Your eyes glossy from moisture. “I’ve been waiting for you.” You confessed.

He took one bold step forward, cupping your elegant face in his palms.

“Heavens, you’re so beautiful. How could I possibly believe that I’m rewarded with a soulmate like you? Tell me, I’m not dreaming.” He says with wonder glinting in his eyes.

He inches his face closer until your noses are touching. “If I only knew you’re waiting for me, I should’ve come here sooner when I began having those weird dreams. Fuck, let me kiss you, princess.” He groans, unable to wrap his head around with the revelation. He still has yet to ask what you meant when you said he’s not a mortal, but right now, he doesn’t care what his true identity is.

He needs to taste you.

And so he did, capturing your mouth in a flash, and taking your breath away as he pushes his tongue into the caverns of your mouth.

“So sweet,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You taste so sweet, princess.”

But the moment was cut short as he felt a searing pain in his chest. He jerks back as his body contorts in agony.

Jungkook hisses as the pain all too quickly rushes in his blood, the sensation numbing his entire body. With his eyes clenched tightly shut, he failed to witness the glow beginning to exude from each ink on his arms, the most vibrant glimmer coming from the mark on his chest that symbolizes his birthright.

His power is trying to rouse back through his mortal senses. Your glimmering fingers cautiously graze the bond on his skin, exploring the effect of your touch to him. 

The tingles that radiate through his veins left him whimpering and wanting more, more of it to distract him from the unbearable ache.

“Please touch me…” He writhes, sharply drawing a breath in and out.

You lower your head and let your mouth touch the bond. A ripple of tingles slither through him almost instantly, involuntarily making him shiver from the newfound sensation. He could feel the rush of blood going straight to his cock inside his pants. He needs more.

As if you heard his silent pleas, your tongue darts out of your mouth, swirling around the spot to soothe his aches. Jungkook’s hands curl over your back, closing the distance between your bodies, leaving no way for him to not feel your breasts on his chest. In daze, he looked heavenward, mouth parted back as gasps proceeded to stumble out of his mouth deliriously. With the pain drowned by the pleasure that your sensual licks carry, he tears your mouth off of his skin just to crash his mouth to yours in a searing kiss.

He lets his instincts rule him out, and there’s one thing he wants more than anything else than to permanently mark your body his, to seal the bond that will eternally link your souls together.

“I need you so much, Princess. Tell me you want this, too. Otherwise I’ll leave and will never bother you, again.” He says in a whisper against the corner of your mouth.

The harmless threat of his words stirs alarm in you, giving him the answer he wants to hear almost instantaneously. “I’m yours, please have me. Do as you wish to my body.”

He groans, loving the way you call him yours. “Jungkook,” he whispers against the plump skin of your glowing cheek, “Say it. Say my name, Princess.” He demands softly.

“Jungkook,” you utter breathlessly.

His chest vibrated as the growl rang through the emptiness of the forest. “Fuck, you’re so perfect, my goddess.”

Jungkook sweeps you off in his arms, and with a few, calculated steps, he laid you over his thrown jacket on the ground. Another groan tears out of him just as he parted your legs, with your bare, leaking center exposed right before his hooded eyes.

Unceremoniously, he braced himself on top of you, sucking the raven mark on your skin. His fully aroused member is freed with a pop of his button and a one forceful pull of the waistband of his trousers.

He wasted no more passing second and impulsively align the red tip of his mad cock on your entrance. With a calculated thrust of his hips, he sinks his member to your warm tightness, releasing a heavy sigh in relief as the heat of your hole equally envelops all throughout his body despite the chills brought by the gust of the wind.

Jungkook catches one of your peaks with his mouth as you get lost to the heat of the intimacy. He didn’t know if goddesses such as his enchanting soulmate can conceive like mortals do or if there are other methods to reproduce but it’s never a waste of his fluid to try and test the theory. After all, if your words bear truth, he may not be a human like what he actually thought he was.

Your heavenly mewls coax him to penetrate in you deeper, until your cries have intensified and your body writhes helplessly beneath him.

With each roll of his hips colliding against your pelvis, your delightful cries have become more profound, unrestrained, enough to flare warmth right straight to his abdomen. Jungkook rests his forehead just below your temple, murmuring sweet confessions to you, the owner of his soul and inevitably soon, his heart.

He guided your legs around his waist, giving him the access to ruthlessly pound into you deeper. And then something snaps out from him.

All the gentleness of his movements have evolved into something more carnal—feral, manifesting the strength of his true nature.

God of the wind, son of the Supreme Deity. The longer his body connects with your immortal form, the luminescence emitting on his skin becoming more vivid.

“Jungkook!” Another scream tears out of you. Tears cascading from your eyes from both pain and pleasure.

With his godly powers spurring during the intimate joining of your bodies, his strength turns more powerful that no human would possibly ever survive from. You could never match the godliness of a deity’s son, but your supernatural strength was able to neutralize the surge of his energy and entwines the intensity with yours.

The God of the wind continues to rock you closer and closer to the end, with the thought of his future with you, you carrying his children, you and no one else.

He senses the buildup tension in your stomach with your head tossing restlessly from side to side.

And in a suck of your bond with his mouth and a flick of your bud in your center, you exploded so powerfully around his cock. Jungkook chases his end while the rush of your euphoria continues to spark in your veins, giving your body an exceptional glow.

He reaches the peak of pleasure with an animalistic growl reverberating on his chest, locking your hips immobile to make sure your walls greedily take in every drop of his cum. He’d want to breed you with his children.

“My sweet goddess, you’re amazing.” He praises, nuzzling on the thick, wavy locks of your hair.

Jungkook didn’t miss the squeeze of your palm on his waist. He let your wandering hands trace the length of his body. But he pulls away when you spoke.

“Will you leave me after this?” There is sadness hinted at the tone of your voice.

He tilted your chin up with his fingers, studying your features. “Of course not, how can you say that?”

You smile weakly, the grief dancing in your eyes making his chest tightens. “I’m not as powerful as you are. You are the son of the deity, you can… reject our bond and choose any goddess as you wish. Whereas, I only have one eternal soulmate and that’s you. But…”

Even with the truth unraveling right before him, he could only focus on your grief. Why is someone as perfect as you hold so much moroseness in your heart?

“But?”

“This mountain is my world. I’m eternally cursed to guard this shelter.” Your lips quiver in fear. His thumb grazes your lower lip as his arm tightens over your back. The tale told by the chieftain crosses his mind. The cursed guardian is you.

“Oh princess, do you think anything else will convince me to live without you in my life? I’ll be wherever you need me to be. Goddess or not, I will never let you out of my sight forever.” He vows, sealing the promise of eternity with a power-clashing kiss.

mintseesaw © 2020

[faegrifted]

@therisingtempest

[funkymbtifiction]

Jane Eyre: Edward Rochester [ENTJ]

OFFICIAL TYPING by Charity / The Mod

Functional Order: Te-Ni-Se-Fi

Judging Functional Axis:

Extroverted Thinking (Te) / Introverted Feeling (Fi)

Edward is highly detached and rational, always choosing immediate solutions to his problems – when he discovers his wife has gone crazy, he brings her back to Thornfield and hires a  private nurse to provide well for her, in a safe environment (rather than dumping her in an asylum, something his low Fi is principled enough to find reprehensible). He has developed a rather cynical view of life, through his own experiences and is extremely blunt, gruff, even insulting. He has little appreciation for kind words and can be “brutish” in his demands. He states the facts about Adelle in front of her (calling her a spoiled, wretched child, asserting the truth that he is not her father, just the first fool her mother found who would take an abandoned, unwanted waif). Edward comes up with a plan to provoke Jane’s jealousy and force her into feeling passion for the first time. He also admittedly has selfish inferior Fi – he tries to convince Jane to abandon her principles and live with him outside of wedlock; he says he will “have her” and damns anyone who tries to stand in his way. Later on, he grows into a more mature philosophy in realizing if he had taken Jane and stripped away her innocence, he would not have loved her truly.

Perceiving Functional Axis:

Introverted Intuition (Ni) / Extroverted Sensing (Se)

He needs very little time to “figure out” Jane, asking her a few pertinent questions and piecing together the truth about her in only a short time – knowing she has never felt love or jealousy, and how he can manipulate her into revealing her feelings. He appears, early on, to visualize what he wants (her) and follows a deliberate set of events to make it happen – it only fails because his brother-in-law shows up to stop it. He also spends a lot of time in a Se loop. Edward lives very much for the moment. In his youth, Richard Mason and his father “tricked” Edward into falling in love with a beautiful woman for her wealth – trapping him in a life of enslavement to a crazy woman (“insanity ran like a river through her family”). Edward abandoned her at Thornfield (to a good caretaker) and has traveled the world sense, in search of common pleasures. He has often reacted instantly, such as when he learned Adelle’s mother was cheating on him and he “put a bullet” in her lover. Edward is quite drawn to extravagance – he wants to lavish Jane with presents once she agrees to marry him, and decides to marry her, though it may cause serious later consequences (if she ever found out, she would hate him; and he could go to prison for bigamy). Edward can also be naïve about the dangers involved in his actions. Bertha slips out of her room on two or three separate occasions –rattling Jane’s doorknob, attacking her brother, and once, setting fire to his room) and still he does not perceive her as an actual threat.

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

House Traits: daring, nerve, and chivalry.

Hedonistic. Present-minded. Opportunistic. Edward lives a life of excess and abandon of his responsibilities before he meets Jane. Once he sees and feels a connection to her, he wastes no time in pursuing her – even though he fears God may “damn” him for it. Live life high, or not at all, right, Edward? He does show some heroism, though – he treats his crazy wife well, and is hurt badly trying to save her from a burning building.

Enneagram: 8w7 sx/so

Tritype: 847 The Messenger [8w7 4w3 7w8]

Edward can be a bully. He pushes people – hard. He’s also hedonistic and wants the most out of life. He chases pleasure and wants instant gratification. He has little tolerance for weakness, and likes Jane because she refuses to let him cow her. She stands up to him. She tells him the truth to his face. Edward has a brutal assessment of people, often talking down to Adelle and/or likening her to a “worthless creature.” He finds it difficult to be vulnerable, and must dominate Jane and force her to admit to her soft feelings first. Once she threatens to leave him, he begs her to stay with him, to go away with him, to live in sin with him… or to just stay friends. He can be quite physical with her. His 7 wing and fix pulls him away from his sorrows into indulgences – he roams the world, staying rarely at home (where the source of his pain resides) until he finds comfort in Jane. His 4 can be melodramatic, moody, and emotional – self-tortured and cynical about his misfortunes.

[serpentsalazar-blog]

Would You Be-leaf it? || Eleonora and Salazar (flashback)

Eleonora and Salazar independently take trips into the Forbidden forest and have surprising re-introduction.

Perhaps...venturing into the Forbidden Forest the night after being Sorted wasn’t the first thing Eleonora should have done when it came to settling into the castle and her new surroundings. But it seemed like a wonderful place to discover potion ingredients, and her hunch had been correct. However...as the night darker and darker it also seemed like a wonderful place for less than friendly creatures to be lurking, but she hadn’t stumbled upon anything of that sort yet. Or at least— it hadn’t seemed that she had until the woman heard an ominous crack behind her, the unmistakable sound of a twing breaking underfoot or perhaps something even more worrying. Wordlessly she drew her wand and peered into the night, not foolish enough to call out into the night and invite danger in with her voice.

Salazar had missed the latest sorting. Regularly he’d have made an effort to welcome his prospective house members, however there had been a matter that needed attending to in the forest. Rumours of giant spiders amassing within the forest was something that he took seriously. There’d been far too many deaths that he’d been unable to do anything about in the last ten years and now that he was faced with a danger that he could make a difference with, he didn’t intend to leave any issues unchecked. Stepping into the forest, Salazar had travelled and communed with the spiders. The rumours had been unwarranted and as he was making his way back through the forest he’d had the misfortune of stepping on a twig which caused him to step back into a large muddy puddle. Muttering a curse underneath his breath he pulled his wand from the inside of his long duster and muttered a spell. “Lumos.” He raised his wand high, looking around himself and scrubbing the mud from the left leg of his trousers.

When Eleonora had heard the name Slytherin drifting around the school and during her Sorting, she hadn’t dared get her hopes up at first. It seemed far too funny of a trick that fate might play, but sooner rather than later the name Salazar was being paired along with it, and a tumult of emotions had burst forth. She’d gone looking for him. Of course she had. Eleonora would rather the two of them meet on her own terms rather than be caught by surprise. But it seemed that fate wasn’t done playing tricks. Instinctively, she blinked against the bright light of the wand, her eyes not yet used to the brightness of it as spots danced over her vision. Though at least she knew she had indeed met a wizard by the quiet voice and magic. “Hello?” she called out a little blindly, though she made sure her voice was firm as her eyes tried to adjust.

The voice that rang out through the night seemed familiar to say the very least, Salazar quite frankly had not been expecting any company and the noise alone was enough to make him gently flinch. Only for a moment and then he was whirling around, his coat fluttering with his movement, as he turned to face the sound of the noise he was struck by an oddly familiar face, one that he couldn’t quite place straight away. Lowering his wand in an attempt to not blind the newcomer, he examined her curiously. “Hello,” he replied simply, his words quiet in the silence of the Forbidden forest. Which was strange, considering it was a forest. You’d have at least expected leaves rustling in the wind. “What are you doing in the Forbidden forest in the middle of the night?” he asked concerned for what he assumed was a pupil. “It is known as the Forbidden Forest for a reason after all, it isn’t a great idea to wander through unaccompanied.” The irony of his own actions were obviously missed by himself.

The wand lowered, but Eleonora was still left with a little look of confusion on her features. His face...there was something in it that called her back to her childhood in Rome. It was a nostalgia that gripped her rather instantly and was impossible to ignore. Hope blossomed in her chest, though she tried to tamp it down a moment later. But it wasn’t entirely implausible. After all, she’d been told Salazar was here. Anticipation pooled in her stomach, along with nerves and excitement as she breathed out a questioning and not entirely certain, “Salazar?” It was as if...someone had taken the features of her childhood best friend and placed them over a man in his prime. “Is that you?” She forgot to wait for his answer, years of waiting and wondering what had happened to him getting the best of her as she launched herself towards him for a hug. Eleonora had always been impulsive and impatient in their youth, and though time had taught her more of their counterparts, now was not the moment to remember them.

Honestly, in the twenty or so years since he had lost his mother to the pyres of Rome, Salazar hadn’t gone a single day without thinking longingly about his once wife to be. “Ellie?” he asked as the realisation of who this was gripped him with a vice grip. Elation filled him and a broad grin crossed his lips. “Ellie is that really you?” he was assaulted by her hug and reciprocated her affection vigorously. Clinging to her for a moment, he held her in the air as all of the memories flooded back to him. The smell of her hair, the feeling of her slim frame in his arms, the memories of them exploring Rome together and getting into trouble for stealing sweet rolls from a bakery. It took him a moment before he could pull away from her and actually look at her. “What on Earth are you doing here?” he asked, trying not to laugh with joy before the seriousness of their surroundings really hit him and he asked the question again, with a sterner tone. “Seriously though, why the forbidden forest? Should you be out here in your condition? If something were to happen when you’re out here on your own then it could be very dangerous, this forest is filled with all manner of dark creature.”

For a moment, Eleonora remembered to be worried that he might not ever recognize her. After all, it’d been nearly twenty years for them, though she still remembered their golden childhood as if it were yesterday. Or at least...it had been golden until the end. The day Salazar left had been the day she’d decided to grow up, or rather the day she’d been made to. Her smile was wide and shining as he put her down...and down…and down. God, he’d gotten tall, hadn’t he? The realization immediately drew the question from her lips. “Who said you could get taller than me?” she immediately accused. Of course, being taller than her wasn’t particularly hard for anyone anymore. “Are you trying to blend in with the trees or something?” She didn’t bother to bite back her joyous laugh of excitement before saying, “I was invited. Apparently not by you,” she teased. It would have been impossible, any way. They’d lost touch ages ago. Another little smile returned to her lips as she rolled her eyes lightly, amused that so much had changed and yet...it seemed that not everything had. If anyone else had dared mention her ‘condition’, defensiveness would have been her first response, and in truth she kept the knowledge rather close to the chest these days. “We’ve only just reunited, and you’ve decided to lecture me already?” But her voice was tinged with fondness and amusement. “I was gathering potion ingredients. There’s some quite nice ones out here. As for my condition...well—” She’d only started getting stronger a month or two after Salazar had left. Though her self-invented potions were what really helped to make sure she didn’t run around having constant asthma attacks or bouts of passing out. “I’m not quite as fragile as I once was.”

As Salazar towered over her, he couldn’t help but smile gently at the distance that had apparently grown between them. He hoped that he’d be able to shorten it somehow, he wanted to get closer to her again. After all he’d never thought that he’d see his childhood companion ever again. “Well you weren’t there to stop me from getting bigger than you, otherwise I’m sure I’d still be a few inches shorter…” his smile remained fixed on his face despite his concern for her, he had never meant to lecture but it was difficult not to when he knew that she had gotten herself into sticky situations before, “Green was always my colour and these noble trees are a fine companion.” He was joking of course. His height hadn’t really developed until he’d turned fourteen, and then he’d woken up with most of his ankles sticking out of his trousers. “Had I been in contact with you then you’d have of course been invited,” he smiled and shrugged, “however I am glad to see that one of my fellow founders picked up a stray along the way. Who invited you?” he asked curiously. “Helga? Or was it Rowena?” Pausing for a second longer he sighed. “I’m not lecturing you, I’m just instructing you on how to remain safe, but my apologies, I teach so many youngsters nowadays that it is hard for me not to get into Professor Slytherin…” he paused, somehow shocked by what he’d just said. It had never been a sentence he’d seen himself speaking. “Not quite as fragile?” he asked with a beaming smile, “that is fantastic! We’ve got so much to speak about, its been too long since we were united and I want to know everything. How is the family? And Mateo?” he asked with a beaming smile, “What about your mother and father? I hope they’re well too. When did you arrive? I can’t believe I missed your sorting…” then it dawned upon him, “Which house were you placed in, if I may ask?”

Eleonora couldn’t stop watching him as he spoke, the surrealism built within the concept of their meeting hitting her once more. The Salazar of her memory being so vastly different, at least appearance wise, had her trying to relearn him already. “Oh, definitely. I would have made sure to sit on your head or something. Maybe leave in you in hot water for too long or something of that like. I’m not promising that I might not still try,” she said with some mischief crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Well you’ve basically turned into a tree,” she said with another look up and down him. The mention of not being in contact had a flicker of sadness passing through her, still remembering what it had been like on the day the owl had returned with her letter undelivered, how the last connection to her best friend had shattered so soundly. “Actually, it was Godric.” They hadn’t met under the happiest of circumstances though. Not in the least. “How did you come to know Godric, then? And Professor Salazar,” she said with a little snicker, finding the title rather amusing for her childhood friend. “Of course you’d grow up to be so respectable.” She rolled her eyes a little once more, finding his apology amusing as well. “I see you’re also still just as good at apologizing. It always did work nicely for getting us out of sticky situations.” The buns had been worth it, though. Eleonora’s sweet tooth was notorious. Once again she laughed in sheer happiness, joining her’s with his. “Mateo’s all grown up now. I think the last time you saw him he was still toddling around. He’s made quite a name for himself as an artist as well,” she finished with a prideful beam. Her little brother was an absolute apple of Eleonora’s eye. Mother and father are fine. Though they’re more than their fair share of bitter at times,” she said with a little laugh. They’d never been entirely happy with the path she’d chosen, nor how she’d never managed to marry after her and Salazar’s betrothal had fallen through. The rest of her family...Her grandmother and Eleonora had been close, but when it came their time to flee Rome, the old woman had demanded to stay behind much to Eleonora’s gross despair. The old woman had been born there, and she would die there before any witch burners smoked her out. And after Eleonora’s accident...her parents hadn’t been all that willing to argue extensively. The beginnings of a smirk came over her lips though before she answered, “What House do you think I’m in?” It’d taken the hat quite a while to decide between Salazar’s and Godric’s houses.

“It is not too late for you to sit on my face if that’s what you want,” Salazar replied with a loud chuckle before reaching back and brushing a stray hair out of his eyes, “but I don’t think it will do anything about my height, unfortunately I think that ship has well and truly sailed.” He raised an eyebrow and shrugged, “I’ll do my best to grow some leaves and bark for you.”  The revelation that it was Godric who had invited her caused him to pause, Godric and Eleonora were one of the few people he’d ever really got close to, and the fact that Godric and Eleonora knew one another was shocking. It really was a small world. Perhaps magic made it even smaller. “Well Godric always did have good taste …” he laughed and shrugged, “when I left Italy and returned to England, my father’s family estate was on the outskirts of a small village in West of the country. They hold grounds in the fens of Lincolnshire too, but I met Godric shortly after moving to the village and we became fast friends not long afterwards.” He paused, remembering the days spent with Clara and Godric with fondness. The day she had died, well it was comparable to his mother’s death. The only difference is that he only felt more helpless, somehow. “Someone had to clean up the messes that you made, I’d have liked if it weren’t me, but apparently there was no helping that.” The idea of Mateo as anything other than a toddler was surreal, he wasn’t sure that he knew how to truly cope with it. “An artist?” he asked interested, “has he joined you in my fine castle.” He paused for a moment and shrugged, “I’m pleased to know that everyone is well enough, after fleeing Rome … after what happened, I was convinced that something would happen to you or your family, something I couldn’t help with. Something outside of my control.”  He took a moment to look her up and down, trying to determine whether she had the ambition and resourcefulness to earn a place in his house. “I hope that you maybe were selected for Slytherin house, we would of course serve you the best.”

“I just might,” Eleonora retorted quickly without thinking. But once she’d actually processed his words, the faintest of blushes spread over her cheeks, realizing she’d heard a similar phrase and sentiment...elsewhere. Had he realized what he’d said? “I think you already have,” she said with a chuckle before plucking a stray and fallen leaf from his shoulder. But instead of discarding it, she stood on absolute tiptoe in an attempt to place it in his hair. It was strange to think that all this time...her and Salazar had only been a single connection away. And though she hadn’t kept up regular contact with Godric, it was jarring to think that one accidental mention of Salazar could have reunited the two of them years ago. “Apparently so, if he picked up both of us along the way.” Though...she supposed she had more picked up Godric. “And how was your time in England, then?” she asked in a softer voice, hoping that he’d gone on to live a happy and peaceful life. “Messes?” she repeated in joking indignation. “I think you mean fun that made you stop being such a stick in the mud every once in a while,” she teased. “Yes! An artist.” Once again her voice was proud, though it dropped into a little disappointment with her next words. “No— he’s actually in an artist’s commune right now. But I’m hoping I can convince him to join us here.” Eleonora bit down on her lip lightly as he mentioned being worried. His concern certainly hadn’t been...misplaced. “Ah- well-” she began a little uncertainty, not wanting to tarnish their reunion with sadness. “We did leave around a year after your own family did. The family fled to Spain.” A rather nasty run in with Muggles on Eleonora’s end had spurred the family into action, as nearly losing their daughter and one of their two prized children had opened their eyes to the true danger. But on to some much more amusing conversation, as some mischief entered her eyes once more. “I don’t know. Perhaps your family thought I was well enough to be a Slytherin, but your charming little hat thought otherwise.” Might as well broach the elephant of a subject of their past betrothal now, right? Would making a joke out of it smooth over any awkwardness? “And if I wasn’t in your House? What then?” Part of her wanted to torture him by withholding the knowledge for a moment.

Raising an eyebrow, a faint smirk darted across Salazar’s face and he chuckled. “I should be so lucky,” he replied quietly, taking a moment to appreciate the woman that she’d grown into. Dipping his head gently to allow her to place it atop him, he straightened up, feeling the leaf flutter in his hair before tumbling down to the forest floor in front of him. “I like to think that I acquired Godric, rather than the other way around.” He laughed gently and shrugged. “Although I am sure he’d say the exact opposite.” He paused for a moment, remembering Rome and the days that they’d spent together as friends and companions. “Lonely when I wasn’t with Godric, there weren’t many people who were bold enough to befriend a Slytherin, especially considering my uncles reputation in the village. However it was well enough. Different from Rome, I missed the fountains and cobblestones desperately.” He smirked gently, the smile darting across his face for the second time in seconds. “I’m pleased that he was able to find a calling that really mattered to him. Without something to motivate you, then I find it is difficult for anyone to truly expand upon their potential without a driving force behind.” Raising an eyebrow gently, he nodded in appreciation. “I’m sorry that you too were forced from Rome, the things that happened in that time were unspeakable and one of the reasons why this school is so important. We’ve got to educate the wizards, witches and wixes of this world to the dangers that exist in the muggle world. They have to know how to handle themselves.” He paused for a second and shrugged gently and smiled. “Perhaps the hat knew better than my parents, but that doesn’t mean that you wouldn’t have fit into the family just as well. I know that my mother was very fond of you before she passed. As for my father, he certainly believed you to be a suitable match and from him that is really saying something.” He paused and looked at her interestedly. “I don’t know Ellie, if it wasn’t me then perhaps you decided on Godric instead.”

Eleonora’s eyes widened a little in surprise, the redness of her cheeks only growing more pronounced at his words. For a girl that was shamelessly confident in most things, flirtation had never been her strong suit, though it was mostly blamed on lack of practice. After all— being elbow deep in someone’s chest cavity was hardly the time for such things. And she was more often healing and travelling than not. But this was...an entirely new side of Salazar. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” she managed to get out, feeling warm under his gaze. Then she grinned in achievement as he allowed the leaf to be placed into his hair. Eleonora was also glad to hear that he’d had a good friend along the way of his journey in Godric. “You do tend to attract the bold type.” An amused little joke about both her and the lion of a man. “And I’m sure the food was something to be missed as well,” she said before eyeing him with scrutiny. “Honestly, so tall, but where’s the rest of you?” Her hands patted his sides playfully. Of course, her words were biased, having adopted the trait her grandmother had always had of feeding those that were close to her heart to death. Once again she was grinning a little at his polished words. “You really haven’t lost your silver tongue, have you? Every word you say sounds like you planned it for some grand speech ages ago. Though of course you’re right about finding a calling,” she teased. Eleonora didn’t particularly want to linger on the subject of leaving Rome, though she was thankful for Salazar’s sympathy. “You’ve really done an amazing job with it, Sally. To build an entire school for those like us? It’s beautiful, really.” In an age old habit, she reached out to give his hand a light squeeze as he spoke of his family, though his hand was much bigger in her’s than it used to be. The last Salazar she had known, the one before he’d fled Rome had been stricken with grief for the loss of his mother. “And I was very fond of her,” she said softly before chuckling a little at the words of his father. “I wonder if he would have been so approving if he’d known how I’d grow to be. For the hat— I didn’t decide on anything.” Of course, she’d been partial to the two Houses who’s founders she knew, but ultimately it had been the hat’s decision. “But apparently it did see fit to place me in Godric’s house,” she finished with a revealing grin.

It felt strange for Salazar to see Eleonora like this. But despite all of the time that had separated them, he couldn’t help but feel comfortable in her presence. She had a certain edge to her that he missed in others. “Of course,” Salazar replied with the same smirk glittering across his jaw. He couldn’t help but smile. This was a good day, despite anything else that may happen he had been reunited with someone very important to her. “After my time in Rome with you, well let us just say that I had a need for excitement that few of my age were capable of filling. They had no ambition. No desire for life. But Godric, he’s different. An idealist and often a fool, but in the best possible way.” He smiled as he remembered the childhood that they had all shared. “My family had a fine chef,” Salazar replied with a shrug, “and Helga is a truly excellent cook, one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten she cooked.” He shrugged. The truth was that he occasionally skipped a meal or two, never deliberately of course. “I don’t know what you mean … unlike you I actually spent time with my studies, reading books and such. It’s given me such a sophisticated vocabulary I can’t help but speak like this. I’m sure you wouldn’t understand, if I remember correctly you never enjoyed reading.” He was of course teasing. He had no doubt that if she’d received an invitation from Godric there was either potential or existing talent. As a child she’d had no shortage of both, he could only imagine that it had increased over the years. “But when it comes to educating the next generation, I have no greater passion. Our youth -- which sadly isn’t you or I anymore -- they need to be prepared for the inevitable conflicts with the muggles.” He was far from convinced that peaceful co-existence was possible. There was so much brutality to what the muggles did not understand, so much pain and violence delivered to wizards, witches and wixes around Europe and even Asia. “When I came to that conclusion I realised that not educating those who had the ability to change the world was a responsibility that I could not shoulder. Those who have talent and the ambition to cause change should be equipped to do so.” He had to admit that he was somewhat surprised that she reached out and touched his hand, but it had such a reassuring nostalgia that he made no comment. Not wanting the brief contact to end. “We were all fond of her,” Salazar agreed, not one to dwell on the pain of the past. Raising an eyebrow gently, he smirked. “Good. You’ll fit right in with his lot.”

Eleonora held his gaze for a fraction of a second too long before getting a little flustered, something that she was not known to do. But she tried to brush past her silliness a moment later. It was simply strange, being reunited with her childhood best friend that had somehow turned into a man. She laughed at his description of Godric. At first, the only man she’d known when it came to him had been the broken one, the barely functioning one of having just lost the love of his life. She’d barely recognized the loud and jovial man that had greeted her at the castle, though she was far too happy to see that he’d gotten back to the man it seemed he’d always been. “I shudder to think how you might describe me when I’m not around,” she said with playfully narrowed eyes. “Of both your chef’s and Helga’s skills I have no doubt, it’s you that I question the ability of. When’s the last time you ate?” she prodded. Her head shook at his words, and she promptly raised a finger to poke him in the chest while she smiled and said, “Well excuse me for having a sense of adventure. I didn’t have an aversion to reading, it was simply that there were so many other things to be explored.” Said sense of adventure had usually landed them both in trouble when they’d been younger, and with Eleonora unable to rise from bed for a couple days after exerting herself too much. “My vocabulary is impeccable, thank you very much.” Of course, she was simply joking in return. “You are rather an old man now, aren’t you?” she teased, before squinting up at his head. “I think I even spot a few gray hairs. Though, of course, you’re right about prevention. The thought of children out there that are untrained and at people’s mercy is...disheartening.” Her smile dropped a few degrees, but returned in the form of a kinder one as he spoke of his mother once more. Giving his hand one more little squeeze, she remembered a moment later that perhaps she was stepping over some lines. Habit had returned all too readily, but she shouldn’t assume that Salazar was still in favor of such habits. So she loosened her grip on him before laughing once more. “Fit right in with his lot? And what exactly does that mean? After you’ve described him fondly as foolish?”

“And whom would I be describing you to?” Salazar asked curiously. “After all, until today I hadn’t any inkling that you had ever left Rome, let alone that you would be attending my school.” He shrugged her prodding finger away and laughed. “I am a big boy Ellie, don’t you worry, I can look after myself and that includes making my own dinner,” he replied with a shake of his head. He hadn’t missed someone checking up on him like Eleonora was apparently wont to do. Yet despite that, he couldn’t help smile at it. “It’s obviously matured with time.” He looked up into his eyebrows for a second before shrugging, he gingerly reached up and pat his hair reassuringly to make sure that it hadn’t disappeared in the moments since she had spoken. “I’m not going grey just yet. I’d be much more concerned if I was going bald. Either way, I have a full head of hair and plan to for a while longer, despite the incredible burden you all place on me.” He joked of course, there were few that he would act this way with. Eleonora and Godric being amongst them. To those who didn’t know him very well, he insisted on portraying himself with a certain air. His role within the castle required that he have dignity and respect. After all, if his students didn’t respect and trust him to do everything that he could in their interest, then how could they ever truly learn from him? The thought was banished from his mind as the conversation flowed ever onwards. “However, it is a necessary evil, and I would sacrifice all of my hair for this castle. Though let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”  He smiled a devious grin at her shocked reply and shrugged gently. “I don’t want to ruin the experience, so I won’t spoil anything. But I believe they will take good care of you. You’ll be in good stead. After all, it’s easy to make fools amongst friends.”

Eleonora shrugged, not particularly having gotten that far. “I don’t know. It was a tease, Salazar. Have you forgotten how to recognize them?” she joked once more, her tone light and easy. She pursed her lips a little, trying to decide if she was satisfied with his answer, but let it go for the moment. They had more important things to catch on up than her making sure he was feeding himself. A little amused laugh came from her as he put a hand to his head, as if he were truly concerned. But then she was once again giving mock offense at his words, as if mildly scandalized by them. “Burden? I don’t have any idea what you’re referring to. I’m a very calming presence. It’s part of my wonderful bedside manner.” Then she remembered he wouldn’t entirely understand that joke. “I continued down the path of Healing, by the way. So that’s why that is funny.” She grinned up at him, touching her own hair absentmindedly. “How noble of you. To sacrifice your greatest treasure for the good of the school. What a saint you’ve become.” His explanation of her new House was entirely unhelpful, though. “Why was I not surprised to hear that you’ve made your common room somewhere in the dungeons, though?”

“I recognised you didn’t I?” Salazar replies curiously, “And if I remember correctly you’re the queen of teases…” he smirked to himself as he remembered more adventures that they’d shared together in Rome. Eleonora had always found time to worry more about him than herself. A fact that amused him if he was perfectly honest. He’d once taken her on a tour of the city’s aqueducts, they had managed to last an hour before both falling in and escaping from the torrents of water that supplied the city with running and clean water. They’d eventually fished themselves out and made it home still damp from their brief swim. But Eleonora has been bedridden for days after her exertions and he had felt exceptionally guilty. Raising an eyebrow gently, Salazar smiled. “Why would you assume I was addressing you?” he asked with a laugh, “I am responsible for plenty of children and immature juveniles who require shepherding into reaching their true potential, however if you’re so concerned that I am talking about you then perhaps you should consider whether or not your protests are truly justified.” He smirked gently and laughed. “I’m pleased to learn you discovered a vocation to commit yourself to.” Laughing he tucked a stray hair behind his ear and shrugged thoughtfully. “My students wouldn’t agree with you that I’m saintlike.” He smiled at her question and shrugged. “I installed a large window in my dungeon, looks directly into the lake, on a fine summer's day the rays of light from the sun filter through the lake and cast a wonderful emerald shine against the world, but the dungeons are the safest part of the castle and they are hardly an uncomfortable setting. Not all of us can live in the highest heights of the heavens.”

Eleonora rolled her eyes at him, but it was accented with an amused grin. “Well as long as I’m the queen,” she said in amusement before adjusting one of the herbs in her potion ingredients basket, noticing it had been hanging rather precariously on the edge. “Hmm,” she hummed, as if she were truly looking for an answer to his question. “Perhaps— it was when you said ‘you all place on me’ when referring to the burdens on your shoulders,” she replied with her own little smirk. “So I’m perfectly happy with how justified my protests are, thank you very much.” It was nice, how easily they’d fallen back into the pattern of their friendship and the back and forth they’d always had. But she added on, “Thank you,” in a more sincere smile. “I’m glad as well. As glad as I am that you’ve found your own calling here.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners before she asked, “And what oppositions to they have to you sainthood? Is it the fact that you have nothing better to do than tease your old childhood friend mercilessly?” Eleonora’s lips quirked up into a smile as he mentioned a window, though. “A window in the dungeons,” she echoed, finding some hilarity in the concept, though she was certain the end product was lovely if Salazar had been behind it. She looked up into the moonlight bathing them for a moment before looking back over her shoulder to the castle, and then to Salazar once more. “So what else have I missed since we...last saw each other.” Eleonora didn’t particularly like highlighting the circumstances of their parting.

“Have your aspirations grown that much since we last held each other’s company?” Salazar asked amused, “No longer content to be a healer you now set your sights on establishing a monarchy with your name at the head?” Laughing a bright chuckle, Salazar teased the hairs at the end of his chin thoughtfully before shrugging. “The semantics or the matter are of little importance to me, I couldn’t tell any of my other students this out of concern for accusations of favouritism but I’ve never been more overjoyed to accept a student into my school. I’m sure Godric and the others are looking forward to seeing what you bring to the proverbial table. The suspense is palpable.” He paused and considered the notion of religion carefully. “I can make no promises as to the existence of a god, therefore to declare myself a saint and therefore vessel of a god that’s existence is contingent on belief would be foolish.” Not to mention that he didn’t come close to meeting the criteria that the Catholic Church held for cannonisation into sainthood. “However teasing you is a motive I could never deny.” He smiled gently at their reunion, refusing to allow it to be bitter sweet, despite the circumstances of their parting. “I travelled extensively, visiting three continents including Europe and experiencing some truly exhilarating people and events… such a gap in time spent together couldn’t possibly be succinctly summarised. What would you like to hear about?”

“Apparently not enough, or I would have been put into your House,” Eleonora said with a little chuckle. A part of her actually was disappointed that she wasn’t placed in Slytherin. It would have been nice to be close to her childhood friend. At the same time...it might have been strange to have him as a Head of House. Either way, she was simply ecstatic to be reunited. “But I wouldn’t mind a country to myself. Queen Eleonora has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Her grin was wide though as he spoke of what was to come with the school, as she was rather eager to see what the school also had to offer. Then a moment later she was having another second of surrealism, barely believing that she was actually here with Salazar and speaking with him as old friends. This time, she went in for a gentler hug than the one she’d attacked him with earlier, before saying with a bit of shyness. “I missed you.” Eleonora wasn’t used to admitting such things, but Salazar had always been much of an exception. She grinned a little at his rather serious answer concerning sainthood, shaking her head at his silliness for being so matter-of-fact. “I want to hear about everything,” she said without hesitation, and a wide grin on her lips. “You can tell me on the way back to the castle.”

[slugmanslime]

Coming Undone (Ch. 2)

As previously mentioned, this is a re-write of Cant Get Enough, all leading up to the final chapter, soon to be posted! I was re-reading the previous chapters to get worked into the last one, and it didn’t jive with me at all; the story is now new and improved lol

You can also find all the chapters of this story and more on my AO3 and FF.net accounts ^~^

Chapter Two: Fight Back

Pairings: past!Son Goku/ChiChi, Piccolo/ChiChi Warnings: Mentions of MC Death, Male/Female Violence, Blood Mention Fic Type: Multi-Chapter 2/4 Word Count: 2,981

“Open the door, ChiChi. We aren’t done here.”

While the living room hadn’t been initially cold, thanks to the mild summer weather that had been blessing the valley the last week, it suddenly became much warmer, almost too warm. ChiChi became aware of crickets chirping in the grass, bats fluttering among the tree branches, the rushing of the river at the bottom of the knoll where their house rested. Her palm left the door knob slick with sweat when she pulled away, allowing Piccolo to swing the door open with an elderly creak, dirty frying pan clutched in one hand.

Dark smears of blood were already drying to his right cheek, his right ear swollen and the tip torn and still dripping. Warm yellow light cascaded from the center of the room, casting ChiChi’s shadow against the wall. The Namek seemed almost serene, obsidian eyes slitted with a fierceness she had only seen him possess in battle. Their poses mirrored each other, arms slack at their sides, mute and cautious. Piccolo was the first to break the silence as he shoved the pan into her chest, gentle enough not to bruise her, ultimately forcing her to catch it before it clattered to the ground once again.

“If you want to take whatever this is out on me, then fine. Your kids don’t need to know, nobody does. But if we’re going to fight, at least use your fists.” The way he spoke was heated and rough, as if he couldn’t quite contain the anger and shock bubbling inside him. That wasn’t to say she didn’t blame him; in fact, the prospect of a fight excited her for the first time since… well, before Gohan was born. But with Piccolo? He had every right to demand this of her now, given her lapse in self-control, and she was surprised he hadn’t already initiated one. Then again, she wasn’t; Piccolo had found balance after merging with Kami, more than he had ever had by himself.

Instead of answering him, ChiChi managed to tear her eyes away from his imposing figure, turning her back to him as she shuffled into the kitchen. The frying pan, one edge caked in moist dirt and pieces of grass, was placed inside the sink delicately, and she turned on the faucet, allowing hot water to fill it. Calloused fingers gripped the edge of the porcelain, squeezing until her knuckles turned white. Gohan was home less and less, either away studying at the library, or training with the very man she had struck. Even Goten wanted to spend more time following the duo around or playing Robot Pirate Brigade with Trunks than at home with her; every day after his lessons, he was out the door like a little rocket. She grew more listless with every passing day, week, month, watching them grow up. They were all that ChiChi had left of the Saiyan she had loved. Poor Goten hadn’t even met his father, which made the fact that he was Goku’s spitting image even more difficult for her; she saw Goku as he was that day by the river all those years ago, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, every time she gazed down at her youngest son.

A squeak in the floorboards as Piccolo shifted his weight broke her train of thoughts, and she blinked, eyes focusing on the overflowing pan before her. Shutting off the faucet, ChiChi turned to face her unwanted house guest, who was looking more and more unsure of his offer. Piccolo’s eyes never seemed to leave her, his brooding expression dredging up feelings that she just wanted to get rid of. So what if he’d tried to support them since Goku had been gone? It’s not like she ever asked him too—in fact, Piccolo was well aware of her desire to be an independent mother to her boys. She had been doing just that for the better part of she and Goku’s marriage, so why did his… death, have to change anything? It was exactly why she became irate every time Piccolo thought to mention it. Maybe now was her chance to prove herself, that she didn’t need him, she didn’t… want him.

“You have yerself a deal.” The worn yellow apron she always donned for housework found its way onto the kitchen table in a wad. There was a fierce determination in her step as she marched past Piccolo, mouth set in a grim line as she shoved her sleeves to her elbow, crumpling the fabric carelessly. ChiChi had a feeling that things were going to get messy; absently, she was glad that she hadn’t finished the laundry today.

While Piccolo allowed her to pass, her shoulder brushing his side, he hadn’t followed her. He was always one for taking his time, observing a situation to calculate the next best move. His patience and his battle prowess proved to be a deadly combination, not only in physical fights but verbal ones as well. And yet, here he was, running his mouth to the hot-headed mother of Saiyan hybrids like he had a bluff that needed calling. He had known ChiChi for years now; they exchanged barbs in nearly every conversation, mostly because they were some of the most bullheaded people you could ever have the misfortune of meeting. Couple this with the love they shared for Gohan and Goten, and the fights only got worse.

The fact that ChiChi had gotten violent could only be bad news; the ChiChi that Piccolo knew could use only the verbal threat of violence to sway people’s decisions, hardly ever resorting to using her trusty pan. Perhaps it was her emotional instability that worried him the most; it was palpable in her ki aura, emitting little sparks and ripples in her glow. It had bothered him for weeks now, always pricking the back of his mind when he tried to meditate. He had thought, ‘What’s the harm in confrontation? She’s never hidden things from me before?’

This. This is the harm in confrontation.

The Namekian took a deep breath, the air tinged with the scent of garden herbs, and sighed. Heavy feet guided him to stand before ChiChi, who had grown impatient in his musings; a hungry glint shined in her eyes, or maybe that was just a trick of the moon, he wasn’t sure. What Piccolo was sure of, however, is how excited ChiChi was. The muscles in her arms rippled as she stretched, and for a moment he saw her in her prime: body covered in lithe muscles, a humble smile paired with ferocious eyes flashing with coy fortitude. Piccolo was young then, as she was, but he remembered something squirming in his gut as he watched her fight, and for once he had momentarily lapsed in his desire for Goku’s absolute destruction.

The memory blurred, shifted, and Piccolo was back in the present as ChiChi was the first to strike, darting forwards on tiger’s feet with a feral smile to match. The blows she struck to Piccolo’s chest were forceful, the resounding thuds echoing in the clearing followed by his soft pants. His thick, corded arms stayed firmly at his side however, his posture shifting only to keep him upright, his right foot shifting backwards for balance; she showed no mercy, regardless. A few more blows to his abdomin and chest left her with aching knuckles and a sense of dissatisfaction at how little he reacted, forcing her to change her angle. Toned calves from hours of standing to cook and clean left the Namek close to reeling as they slammed into his face. The way ChiChi landed on the ground after her kick brought back that familiar squirming feeling, swirling inside him like the spots clouding his vision; perspiration beaded on her furrowed brow, and he blinked, panting, staring down at her.

“I’m getting’ real sick o’ this! You told me to fight with my fists, but this ain’t a fight if you aren’t defendin’ yerself!” Frustration seeped through her words, teeth grit against any desperation that tried to escape with it. Reluctantly, Piccolo’s stature shifted into a more defensive one, rather than that of a punching bag.

This development was enough to please ChiChi it appeared, if the way she leapt at him with renewed fervor was anything to judge by. Blocking her advances was his way of testing the waters, his forearms bludgeoned by her tiny, powerful fists and feet. That squishiness… The more time he spent around the Sons, the more he became of his distinct dislike of this feeling. At first, Piccolo had chalked it up to his respect for her fighting experience, since he had been a witness to her abilities the day that she and Goku became engaged. Maybe it had never gone away because the opportunity to test his skill against her own never presented itself!

But why then, did it strike him whenever she thanked him (albeit begrudgingly) for his help around the property? Why did it assail him when he caught sight of her smiling when her boys came running through the door for dinner after their training sessions? Damnit, why did Piccolo have to wrestle with it even now when ChiChi was obviously trying to knock his block off?!

The chorus of rushing river water and nighttime creatures combined provided the background for their intimate spar, transforming into a backdrop to their cacophony of grunts, gasps, and growls. As time marched on into the cool dead of night, the cicadas came out to sing, drowning out the previous harmony of the forest. The sharp trill of their screaming ignited the tempo of the fight, giving the more experienced fighter, Piccolo, the upper hand. Not that he abused it of course; ChiChi slipped up once or twice, leaving her coughing and retching from a particularly brutal blow to her gut. Perhaps it was too nice of Piccolo to pause and allow her time to recover, but he was nothing now but the champion of a fair fight; a far cry from the demon he had spawned from all those years ago. ChiChi on the other hand, simmering with pent-up anguish and the nearly overwhelming desire to come out on top for once with the hand that life had dealt, refused to be the one left on the ground this time.

Her late husband was not the only one with a thick skull, and the unsuspecting Namekian was forced to learn this the hard way. One moment, he was debating whether to help her up from the dirt or not, and the next, a jet-black missile launched itself halfway through his stomach, effectively expelling all the air from his lungs. Just to add insult to injury, once she managed to rise to her feet, ChiChi clasped her fists together and summarily brought them down right between his antennae with a shout. He could have sworn Nail and Kami felt it as well, considering how tender the spot was (good riddance, serves them right for always bugging him during a spar).

As if their fighting had been synchronized to the forest, while the duo panted and attempted to catch their breath, the shrieking of the cicadas faded, replaced by the mellow concerto of the night. ChiChi hadn’t felt this aware of herself in ages, it dawned on her then; every blooming bruise, every nick in her skin, every drop of blood oozing from the cuts—her body was thrumming with energy and exhausted all at once. And here she was, swaying if not standing above the tallest man she knew, who was groaning ever so softly as he knelt in the grass at her feet. But warm pleasure in the pit of her stomach was ignited when the Namek finally gazed up at her. His lip was split, and his ear even more swollen than before, but his usual gruffness was replaced by a fond smile, his eyes shimmering with something that sent ChiChi’s heart into her throat.

“I think I understand now why Goku loved you… ChiChi.”

ChiChi felt the pain, confusion, and isolation she had harbored for the whole planet start to boil over. The faint handprint on his cheek didn’t register to her until the stinging in her palm brought her back to reality, crouched before him with tear-blurred vision. Of course, he didn’t seem to mind, barring the slight bewildered expression that replaced the warm, rarely open one he had worn. Choking back a tired, worn sob, ChiChi sank to her knees, fists curled into her chest.

“Stop talkin’ about him! If he really ever loved me at all, that was a long time ago, and he’s gone now, anyways. If he- if he really loved me, or the boys, or his friends- he woulda come back! Doesn’t he know I need him? Doesn’t he get how hard this is sometimes? Doesn’t he know what- what it’s like tah be… alone?” Afraid. That’s what she was, at the root of it all. She suffocated Gohan and Goten, struggling to keep them close to her while her anger at the world, at Goku, spilled over into her relationship with them. And here she was, pouring her heart out to the most emotionally inexperienced person quite possibly on the planet.

‘No shit, you giant green lump. Are you just going to stare at her?’ Nail grumbled subconsciously.

‘I’m working on it, pipe down!’ Piccolo growled internally, panic creeping in. Why did everything that came out of his mouth make her cry all of a sudden?

Shifting his body, Piccolo put himself eye-level with her warily, as if ChiChi was some wild beast that would attack at the slightest provocation. That gross, squirming feeling wrenched wildly at the sight of her bloodshot, watery brown eyes; her soft huffing and the crinkling of her nose made it apparent how hard she was trying to not let the tears escape.

“I have to be honest with you… I don’t think he ever did. People always flocked to him, searching for help or wanting some of his time. Goku never really wanted that but, he took it in stride. Staying dead was the most selfless thing he’d ever done, in his eyes. He loved you, ChiChi, he wanted to protect you. To protect all of us.” As he spoke, her entire expression softened, the fight slowly draining out of her to leave a vulnerable shell… something Piccolo had never witnessed before; their faces were inches apart, their breath mingling.

“Would it make me a bad wife if I wanted him all to myself? No… would it make me a bad friend?” It was a relief for him when she averted her eyes, bringing a hand up to cup her own cheek in thoughtful distress. Piccolo felt like he could breathe again, his heart relaxing now that he wasn’t caught in her stare. She looked rough, honestly; her hair was tangled, hanging limp down her back, and her face was red and blotchy from her onslaught of tears.

The Namek had developed a soft spot for small, defenseless things since he’d kidnapped Gohan as a child, against his will of course. But… here he was, timidly reaching out to place his own clawed hand over the small, muddy one she had pressed against her face; his fingers were so much longer than hers that his claws slid into her hair, coarse and soft at the same time.

The path of the moon seemed to pause, cricket song and the sound of flowing water disappearing behind the blood rushing in his ears. ChiChi stiffened under his touch, not in fear, rather, in surprise; he was aware of her fingers wriggling under his hand, as if to determine that he was really touching her.

“You’re not a bad wife. Or a bad mother. Your kids love you more than anything, ChiChi. I just wish you knew that you aren’t actually alone.” That sounded suspiciously friendly and there wasn’t anything Piccolo could do to keep Nail from snickering at him distantly. Not that he cared; no, the only thing he was focused on was the way that ChiChi looked at him.

Like he was the only thing she could see. Like he had shown her an oasis in the middle of the desert. Like he was… not Goku, but something damn close.

The night had become cooler, but Piccolo’s face was warm, blush spreading from the tip of his ears to the hollow of his throat. He couldn’t help but notice how thick her hair was, encasing his fingers as he pushed his hand forwards into her inky locks. Oddly enough, the sniffling woman seemed appreciative of the motion, her own hand abandoning her cheek as her head reluctantly leaned into his hand.

It wasn’t on purpose, he would try to convince himself later. The moon had shone down on her skin just right, making ChiChi glow like a warrior queen and making his heart sputter indignantly. Just like that, his lips pressed against her forehead and left a purple smear of blood, marring the porcelain shade—but it was more of the way that she gaped up at him in surprise that had him kicking himself. A reflex that he had picked up from this very woman—when someone you love is hurting, kisses make them feel better right?

Even though Piccolo had tensed for another slap, or perhaps a punch this time, he was met with nothing but ChiChi’s laughter. It started off as a few stunned, hesitant giggles, but quickly morphed into squeaky belly laughs. Her eyes were dry now, the grin on her face making them squint, and she wrapped her grubby fingers around his wrist, holding his hand in place as if she didn’t want her episode to drive him away.

Great, she finally snapped. Now what?

[pamphletstoinspire]

Part 6 On Catholic Social Teaching: Solidarity, Part 1

The great Roman playwright Terence said, “I am a man. Nothing human is alien to me.” It’s significant Terence was known for his comedies, since comedy is the art form that focuses most strongly on our weaknesses and our need for help from both divine and human grace and mercy.

In tragedies, the protagonists die isolated in their grandeur: great men and women left in splendid ruins, while lesser beings look on in awe and say, “Now cracks a noble heart!” But in comedies, the quintessential ending is when everybody comes together at a great wedding banquet, and all’s well that ends well. It’s rather like the heaven Jesus constantly compares to a wedding banquet: the marriage supper of the Lamb in which the poor, deaf, blind and lame have the seats of honor. In comedy, we’re all in this together and — being recipients of the Playwright’s grace — we all get our richly undeserved rewards from the Founder of the Feast.

This idea that we’re all in this together — that nothing human is alien to us, and we’re all debtors to gifts and gift-givers, both divine and human, whom we can only repay by similar acts of generosity to one another — is what undergirds the last pillar of Catholic social teaching known as solidarity.

The Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church tells us that solidarity: “is not a feeling of vague compassion or shallow distress at the misfortunes of so many people, both near and far. On the contrary, it is a firm and persevering determination to commit oneself to the common good; that is to say, to the good of all and of each individual, because we are all really responsible for all.”

As with all Catholic social teaching, solidarity has roots in Scripture — as when Paul tells the pagan Athenians, God “made from one every nation of men to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their habitation, that they should seek God, in the hope that they might feel after him and find him” (Acts 17:26-27). Solidarity emphasizes the universality of God’s provision for the human race, as well as his call to us to play an active role in that provision.

Christian faith begins, therefore, with a communal and familial understanding of the human race; because the human race springs from “one” — both the one God in whose image we are made, as well as the “one flesh” union of Adam and Eve, from whom the human race inherits its image both glorious and fallen.

The faith insists God begins with his natural creation, and his grace builds on this nature. Therefore, the Church’s social teaching applies naturally to the whole human race, not merely to Christians — since the whole human race participates in the natural law. That is why the pagan Terence knew, like the authors of Scripture, the goods of human love, family and a meal with friends — as well as the evils of murder, or a broken family, or theft.

The Fourth through the Eighth Commandments don’t tell Israel (or anybody else) something they don’t already know through the proper use of reason, but ground these universally known moral facts in God. Contempt for parents, murder, adultery and theft are bad because they harm the creatures made in God’s image. And since we are those creatures, we sooner or later have to acknowledge we must do unto others as we would have them do unto us; we must forgive as we have been forgiven; and we must be good to the alien, the orphan and the widow since we too can easily be strangers in the land of Egypt.

The Church notes that we live in a period in history when the evidence of the constitutive interconnectivity of the human race is more apparent than ever. The Compendium teaches:

“Never before has there been such a widespread awareness of the bond of interdependence between individuals and peoples, which is found at every level. The very rapid expansion in ways and means of communication ‘in real time,’ such as those offered by information technology, the extraordinary advances in computer technology, the increased volume of commerce and information exchange all bear witness to the fact that, for the first time since the beginning of human history, it is now possible — at least technically — to establish relationships between people who are separated by great distances and are unknown to each other.”

The Church hails our increasing interconnectedness as a good thing. In our intensifying global culture, it’s pretty nifty I can and do have friends not only in the U.S., but in the U.K., Australia and Nigeria. Technology has shrunk the world and brought us close to people who were in unthinkably faraway places with strange-sounding names only 20 years ago. We’re much more consciously aware than ever before of the lives, needs and hearts of people all over the globe in ever-expanding circles of friends and family. I can receive a prayer request from my Nigerian friend, post it on Facebook, and within seconds, people from Wichita to Glasgow to Sydney are part of the network of prayer that sustains his life.

But, of course, original sin extends to our global culture as well. So the Compendium continues:

“In the presence of the phenomenon of interdependence and its constant expansion, however, there persist in every part of the world stark inequalities between developed and developing countries, inequalities stoked also by various forms of exploitation, oppression and corruption that have a negative influence on the internal and international life of many states. The acceleration of interdependence between persons and peoples needs to be accompanied by equally intense efforts on the ethical-social plane, in order to avoid the dangerous consequences of perpetrating injustice on a global scale. This would have very negative repercussions even in the very countries that are presently more advantaged.”

In short, our global culture doesn’t just make it easy for me to pray for my Nigerian friend. Because of original sin, it also makes it easy for me to exploit his child and even enslave him for my morning cup of cocoa. Our God-given interdependence and our fallen and increasingly radical inequalities are in a horse race to see which rules us, and the Church calls us to work so everybody in the human family has a just share in the goods of the earth God has given us.

The way to start doing this is to start seeing the relationship between rich and poor as the Gospel does. St. John Chrysostom summarizes that relationship beautifully when he says, “The rich exist for the sake of the poor. The poor exist for the salvation of the rich.” We are emphatically all in this together, insists the Gospel. And the Christian Tradition warns it is the rich, not the poor, who are in far greater danger and in far greater need.

The Gospel repeatedly warns the rich that it is they who are in desperate need of the ministrations of the poor. This is the warning at the heart of the Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man, or in the (to our ears) strange counsel to “make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous mammon, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal habitations” (Luke 16:9). The idea is precisely to turn on its head our traditional notions of patronage — wherein the poor must go hat in hand to the rich for protection, employment and sustenance — by reminding the rich that it is the prayers (or anguished cries and curses) of the poor that will spell the difference between heaven and hell for the rich. For inasmuch as we do for the least of these, we do unto Jesus himself.

The Church tells us that solidarity is both “a social principle and that of a moral virtue.” In other words, it is part of the nature of how humans are supposed to live; but — since we are fallen and often behave at odds with our own best interests — it is also a virtue we have to intentionally cultivate by denying ourselves, taking up our crosses and following Jesus.

Obvious case in point: the duty of generosity. Generosity sounds good on paper. All of us together are stronger, happier and healthier than each of us alone and relying only on our meager resources to get by in life. But, in practice, generosity means refusing my natural inclination to clutch my stuff and making the choice to risk sharing it with somebody who might cheat me or do something I disagree with or not share with me when I am in need. The biblical tradition says to this instinct, “Yes, it’s scary. Be generous anyway” — and commends, again and again, the righteous man in these terms: “One man gives freely, yet grows all the richer; another withholds what he should give, and only suffers want. A liberal man will be enriched, and one who waters will himself be watered” (Proverbs 11:24-25).

And, as the story of the Widow’s Mite (Mark 12:41-44) makes clear, the point, really, is generosity according to one’s means, not according to a dollar amount. The Widow had a couple of measly pennies to offer, but she gave generously nonetheless — as is often the case with the poor. Similarly, the question, “And who is the poor person we should care for?” is much the question, “And who is my neighbor?”: the one who has a need you can fill in the way most appropriate to his or her dignity.

Because solidarity is a social principle, the Church warns there are such things as “structures of sin.” The Compendium describes them this way:

These are rooted in personal sin and, therefore, are always connected to concrete acts of the individuals who commit them, consolidate them and make it difficult to remove them. It is thus that they grow stronger, spread and become sources of other sins, conditioning human conduct. These are obstacles and conditioning that go well beyond the actions and brief life span of the individual and interfere also in the process of the development of peoples, the delay and slow pace of which must be judged in this light. The actions and attitudes opposed to the will of God and the good of neighbor, as well as the structures arising from such behavior, appear to fall into two categories today: “on the one hand, the all-consuming desire for profit, and on the other, the thirst for power, with the intention of imposing one’s will upon others. In order to characterize better each of these attitudes, one can add the expression: ‘at any price.’”

In short, sin begins in the heart, but it does not stay there. It gets expressed in everything we do. So the things we make reflect, among other things, the sins that live in our hearts. This isn’t true merely of artists who make pornography or manufacturers who make shoddy products. It’s true of everything we make, including most especially the gigantic and globe-spanning political, social and economic systems we create to dominate the world.

A little sample of how a structure of sin works can be seen in the story found in Acts 19, when Paul went to Ephesus and challenged the cult of Artemis and the rest of pagan idolatry. Paul didn’t merely attract the hostility of her worshippers. He also garnered the wrath of the silversmiths there who manufactured shrines for her worshippers to buy. He threatened, in short, the entire economic “structure of sin” that stood behind the idol and made the Temple of Artemis (one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World) a thriving commercial as well as religious center. Result: a riot that got within an inch of killing Paul.

Now we are all at one time or another — to the degree we all sin — idolaters just like the Ephesians, since sin is the disordered attempt to get our deepest happiness from something other than God. The “Big Four” in the pantheon of idols are (and always have been): money, pleasure, power and honor. And, just as the Ephesian silversmiths did, we often create political and economic systems to support our idols.

This results in the creation of idolatrous political and economic systems that fight against those trapped within them, even those who are genuinely trying to do the right thing — just as the political and economic structures in Ephesus fought against Paul. So, for instance, we see just such a conflict in the early United States, when the Founding Fathers who fought (sincerely enough) for the proposition “all men are created equal” nonetheless were trapped in the structure of sin known as a “slave economy” and couldn’t find a way to get rid of it. Result: Thomas Jefferson — the man who wrote the Declaration of Independence and said of slavery, “Indeed, I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just: that his justice cannot sleep forever” — never freed his own slaves. The system of slavery enslaved Jefferson to the sin of keeping slaves.

This is why the Church insists that, in addition to confronting our personal sins, these structures of sin must be battled as well, precisely because they exert pressure on us to not repent from our personal sins. And this means, as it did with ending slavery, the involvement of the state.

This is where the Church bumps up against the libertarian and individualist piety of many Americans, who reject the idea that the state has any role to play in establishing the common good. (Indeed, for some virulent strains of libertarianism, there is a denial there’s even such a thing as the common good.)

To be sure, states have themselves often embodied precisely those structures of sin that must be reformed. But the Church has never thrown the baby out with the bathwater by arguing for the abolition of the state. Rather (and more on this next time), the Church has always affirmed the state is a good given to us by God, and, even in its corrupt form, it exists for our good (see Romans 13, written when Caesar was Nero, who would eventually kill the author of Romans 13). And this is, in no small part, because the notion that structures of sin can be confronted without any involvement of the state whatsoever is like saying a battalion of tanks can be confronted by a determined individual with a BB gun.

The words of the Compendium are clear about what is required to change structures of sin: “They must be purified and transformed into structures of solidarity through the creation or appropriate modification of laws, market regulations and juridical systems [emphasis mine].” In short, individual efforts to effect change (e.g., boycotts of corporations that support abortion or use child slaves) are wonderful, but, very often, it’s necessary to change legal, political, social and economic structures by the force of law as well. Not just the citizen, but the state, has a responsibility here.

Not that this relieves the individual of any responsibility for solidarity or the common good. On the contrary, the bulk of the responsibility falls squarely on our shoulders as disciples of Jesus Christ. Of which, more next time.

BY: MARK SHEA

From: https://www.pamphletstoinspire.com/