#their interwoven lives will be fulfilling you could tell they both really needed each other. ♡

[magmaprincess]

And his true strength appeared before her: the will of life, of love, of the joy that came from others. There was nothing more powerful than the marking of a hero who would stop at nothing to ensure all those around him were safe. Putting his life at odds before the rest. A selfless hero. Her own emeralds sparkled with an admiration words could not truly explain. Her own face recognizing a purpose she was once robbed in, and life has brought back the boy she was meant to have in the form of Naruto. Her eyes glimmer, dewdrops not of regret but of her own second chance of being the mother she had meant to be.

A son’s will comes fiercest from protecting his mother as she once had done to him, and to return the favor is but a life’s bliss.

Naruto would reach that day when he’d protect the Mizukage as she would in his youth. She would know she had done her motherly duty well to nurture his heart if that were still the case in his aging years. Her heart swells with no doubt here: Naruto intends to gain strength through her nurture. His voice calls her anew. Who was she to stop the will of her precious boy’s wishes?

Her dainty fingers press on her own lips, nodding at his assurance that came from each word, spilling more emotion from her eyes. “Oh!” An exasperated gasp, the Mizukage had the world on her shoulders to carry, but in Naruto, she finally had someone carry her as their world. She melts at his smile. “I believe....I believe it Naruto...!”

They say the sun is the best healing anyone could get; the Mizukage was going to get the sun tenfold in its walking form—beautiful, loving, her son.

“I am all the luckier to have been brought you, darling. Akawarai and I will make sure you see your dreams come to life. You best believe that too!” A dainty finger magically taps at his nose, before she can’t restrain the strong hold, she’s allowed himself to watch him, glow brighter than any star.

And in her next seize, she’s all the warmer, bundling her precious boy even closer to her heart. ♡

"It's not...like I had any real control or knowledge." He states. "The power. It just came to me in moments of emotional turmoil or need." He wasn't really in control, but he's tapped into it a few times. The Valley of the End was where he went the furthest and it seemed to have its effect on him now. His senses felt stronger, his nails were akin to claws, and more was yet to come. He seems to enjoy her touch more than he'd ever admit right now, but then she speaks of protecting him. She touches her forehead to his and his brows furrow. He might consider this heaven if he didn't feel his own heart beat faster with her being this close. The joys of a boy's crush. "That's not going to stop me. You should know that I...am very very strong in what I say. My word is my ninja way. I never go back on it." A smile finally crept onto his face. A face now weathered by battle more than any thirteen year old should ever be. "So you best believe I'm going to get strong enough to protect you. There's nothing that'll change my mind on that." His blue eyes sparkled with a growing new life and determination. She could try her best to tell him he need not try, but anyone with half a brain could tell this young soul was as hard headed as they came - hard headed and unbreakable like steel. She had given him purpose, home, and perhaps even saved him from himself. Those things now put Naruto into positions to become a rising star among Kirigakure. All that had to be done was to be there for him at his most crucial moments going forward. Naruto did eventually free himself from Mei's hands and her forehead touch. It was only so he could look at her properly. "I won't let you and whoever rescued me down either. I'll master the Kyuubi's power, grow strong, and put my all into becoming the strongest shinobi Kirigakure has ever seen! Believe it!" He smiled wider now. His smile was like the sun - radiant, warm, and restorative.

[redrobin-detective]

Starlit Vigil

Dannymay Day 4: Stars _____________________________

Everything has a story to it, a tale interwoven into it’s very being from it’s birth to it’s death. Sometimes the mystery of the story is as much a story in and of itself. 

Scientists and researchers can’t say when the constellation first appeared in the night sky. It could be seen above Antarctica, near where the edge of the continent meets the Indian Ocean. It confounded a great many people as stars simply didn’t appear out of nowhere. But these did, slowly over the course of several decades sometimes years apart but two appeared within hours of each other. Each new star, eight in total, had a glistening, almost unnatural twinkle to them. The constellation was named Mnemosyne after the Grecian goddess of memory and the stars eight of her nine daughters, better known as the Muses. 

You’ve always had your eyes turned towards the stars and Mnemosyne in particular had always captured your attention. You can’t really explain what it is about those stars that speak to you. Maybe it’s sheer impossibility of their existence. Perhaps it’s the particular beauty of these stars, sometimes appearing to shift in shape and change colors. Or it could be the story behind the stars, the mystery that couldn’t be solved and so imagination filled in the holes left behind.

They say there was a great king, hundreds of years ago. A king who was powerful and kind and helped create the world as we know it. The land of the dead exists and certain people can interact with those beyond it. Technology and understanding have advanced dramatically and, while no life would ever be perfect, there was a general sense of peace that could felt in this world and the next. This king loved our world so much it’s said he plucked the greatest jewels he could find and placed them in the stars where he could watch over and cherish them forever. It’s a sentiment you can understand. 

You study astronomy in school and when you’re given a chance to travel to the Antarctic Circle to study Mnemosyne, you can’t say yes fast enough. The bitter cold and isolation is a small price to pay to see your favorite constellation up close. Maybe when you see it with your own eyes, you can unravel some of the questions people have been asking over the years. Why the goddess of Memory? Why are the stars named after the Muses but missing the muse of astronomy, Urania? What is the true story behind the supernaturally bright stars that appeared out of nowhere?

It’s hard to sleep during the day, partially because it goes against your normal circadian rhythm but you’re also too excited for night to come. For the stars to come out. You bundle up in the warmest clothes, pack your cameras and notebooks and throw the highest quality telescope you can carry over your shoulder. Arriving at the best site for star gazing, you are so delighted by the clear skies and sparkling stars that it takes you an extra moment to realize that you’re not alone.

At first, you think it’s one of the many researchers conducting studies at the pole but it’s soon apparent that this is someone new. Their hair is stark white, almost appearing one with the blustering wind as it’s blown around. You can’t see what they’re wearing because a thick white cape covers them entirely; it has the consistency of freshly fallen snow. Atop their head floats a crown made of pure, crystalline ice. Your eyes widen behind your protective goggles. The existence of ghosts was common knowledge by now but it’s another thing to see one up close. You turn to leave, before the spirit notices you.

“Don’t leave,” he says quietly but despite the roaring of the wind, you can hear him perfectly clear. “You came to watch the stars too, I don’t mind. Mnemosyne is my favorite.”

“Mine too,” you say back without even thinking. “I would love to know their stories.” The ghost turns to smile at you and his eyes are a bright, glowing green without any pupils or sclera. 

“Come, I’ll tell you about them.” You know you shouldn’t. While most spirits aren’t malicious, this one exudes a power you can’t even imagine. But you find yourself stepping closer anyway. You want to hear the stories of the stars and his smile is the warmest thing you’ll find for miles. Somehow you know this ghost won’t harm you. He points up at Mnemosyne and your twin gazes stare up in wonder. 

“They say souls and stars are made of the same ingredients. When I was a boy, I loved this thought. There was something comforting in knowing that, no matter where I went, that I could carry the stars within me,” the ghost explains, looking at you joyfully. 

“But unlike stars, souls are mortal, impermanent,” he says, his smile turning sad. “So I thought, why not put a soul into a star? Then it could last for eons.” He turns back to the stars with a melancholic expression. “Danielle was the first, my little sister. She was always fragile and after only a decade of life, one day she just broke. Her core was too damaged to become a full ghost so I offered her another way to live on. I took the brightness of her smile and made it into a star, into Euterpe. She was the muse of lyrics and poetry, they say she was the ‘bringer of delight’. It suited Danielle.”

“My enemy died next,” the ghost continues. “He hurt me and, moreover, hurt the ones I loved. But he was the only one who truly understood me. His existence comforted me no matter how much bad blood existed between us. His life was full of misfortune, most of it self-inflicted but his fear of death pulled on my heart. My last move in our battle was to make him a star as well, Melpomene, the muse of tragedy. I put him far away from Danielle, I think he’d hurt her.”

“My parents passed a few decades later,” the ghost whispers. “Mom went first, in her sleep. Dad always followed her example so it wasn’t a surprise when Dad followed her in death before the day was done. They were scientists, I think but they loved me very much. Things were tense, I remember being afraid for some reason but their deaths pained me. They were too fulfilled to become ghosts. I grabbed bits of their essence before it dissipated and made the stars Polyhymnia and Terpsichore, the muses of hymns and dance respectively. They were a perfect couple, partners in everything. A song and a dance, always in time with each other.”

The wind rustles the ghost’s cape, he clutches it as if he is cold. You cannot tear your eyes from the the soft grief on his face. 

“Valerie went next, some sort of illness; I can’t remember the details,” the ghost frowned. “She had no desire to become a ghost, no matter how much I asked her to stay. I am King of All Ghosts and yet I got on my knees and begged for some part of her to keep with me. In the end, I stole a bit of her fading spirit and crafted Calliope, the assertive muse, the author of epic poetry. She shines so brightly up there like she had in life.”

“Jasmine died peacefully in her sleep like our mother. She was always protecting me, even in death. Her devotion to knowledge and my wellbeing kept her by my side for many years but it wasn’t enough to last forever. When her spirit was nothing more than wisps, I took her core and placed Clio with the rest of our family. The muse of history, the proclaimer of great deeds fit my older sister well.”

“Tucker and Sam stayed with me the longest. Tucker went first, a quick death from an aged body followed by years as the playful spirit I always knew him as. Sam, my life and my love, passed the same and was my queen in death as she’d been in life. But love can delay death but not deny it and their spirits needed to move on. I kissed them both, my soulmates and made them into stars. Thalia, the muse of comedy and idyllic poems for the light Tucker brought to me. Erato for Sam, muse of love and its poetry for all that she inspired and gave me.”

You see glowing tears running down his face, he holds his hands out to the night sky. His fingers are curved as if wanting to reach and tenderly brush the faces of people long gone. Only they’re not gone completely. You look at the stars with a newfound appreciation. They are no longer pinpricks of long dead light but people who lived and died and yet still lived on in such beauty. If you look closely, you can almost see them. Brushes of red hair, dark rugged skin, the glint of glasses, a flash of amethyst eyes. 

“There’s no Urania,” you say quietly, the wind tossing them. 

“Not yet,” he says longingly, “but soon. The Zone and the Earth are at peace, they won’t need my protection for much longer. When that happens, my spirit will leave this world and join my loved ones in the stars as Urania.” This ghost has been dead for longer than you’ve been alive, longer than many of your most recent ancestors. But his love can still be felt, still burns high above in the sky for everyone to see. What better eternity is there?

“May I tell their story?” You ask and he only nods in response, not taking his eyes off Mnemosyne. You get the feeling he has forgotten about you, caught up in the light of his loved ones shining down on him, waiting. All at once, you realize how late it is, how cold. You leave to return to the research shelter, to write the history of the miracle constellation. 

The stars made out of souls, crafted by love.

Twelve years later, you are not surprised when you look up and see a ninth star in the constellation of Mnemosyne. It glows brightly, twinkling with the other muses as if in conversation. You can only smile through your tears, so profoundly happy that Urania’s lonely vigil is finally over and they have assumed their rightful place among the stars. 

[berena-cpr]

Unfinished Masterpieces - Fic Rec List

Remember the WIP on ao3 you can’t let go? The one that resonated with you? The one that you’d give anything to know how it ends?

While the Berena Creative Project Resuscitation event is all about starting to work again on projects sitting in our draft folders, life can get in the way of finishing a project for a hundred reasons.

These works, posted, but still a few chapters short of ending, are loved though and with this list we’d like to share the love for the unfinished masterpieces one can find in the Berena tag on ao3.

Given the high response we had when we asked to tell us about your favourite WIPs, you’ll find the list under the cut:

Anything Else to Declare? - LittleMissO

“I've personally had sleeping issues since I read LittleMissO's Anything Else to Declare because yeah, I'm still there, breath held and heart pounding like crazy after the most delicious slow burn, and pining, and that outrageously flirtatious conversation over a whiskey.”

that line between your heart and mine - ktlsyrtis

“it is just plain hot but also I love the idea of them writing letters to each other and I also love the exploration of what their relationship might be like with Bernie still being in the RAMC.”

you disappear like your cigarette smoke (now the taste of your kiss is all that remains) - bonnissance

“A wonderful, emotional angst filled fic, looking at how Bernie’s life might still have progressed after Serena left. I loved how it showed her testing her own boundaries to see if it was possible to find another relationship with someone else and when she found that wasn’t something she could do, she accepted it and found other ways to be happy without Serena. I reread it fairly often because although unfinished it doesn’t ever seem incomplete. But the last word “Serena” always leaves me full of a hope that I would dearly love to have fulfilled.”

Secrets in the Dark - Wonko

“I’d love to see this continued!”

For a Good Time Call - Regency

“Young Serena using that pure sex voice of hers to make a little extra as a phone sex operative, and young nervous Bernie taking the first tentative steps in exploring her sexuality. Who better than Serena to help her figure things out? The premise of the fic is ingenious, the writing amazing, the dialogue just outstanding. Hot, sexy, soft and full of compassion and feels. I would sell a kidney to read the next chapter to this – Bernie and Serena meeting years later and recognising each other’s voices.”

you're the only one I never looked for - gutsandglitter

“Never expected I'd enjoy a Baby Boom AU, but I love this fic. Serena hanging out in the country feeling extremely overwhelmed and constantly running into this weird tall, awkward woman named Bernie is a mood. I will forever hold out hope for an update so that I can someday read about them having lots of sex (after an appropriate amount of angst, miscommunication, and unexpected grocery store encounters, of course).”

Things Kayryn doesn't write - Kayryn

“So they’re not exactly unfinished, because they are complete, beautifully crafted, amazingly inventive, head canons, but they’re not completed fic’s so I’m counting them. I actually think that’s one of the lovely things about them, there’s a full story in there but enough space in them to bring your own imagination to the details. The fact that every head canon is spot on and you can completely image it happening is the icing on the cake, and the perfect characterisation is the cherry on top. Canon could have taken lessons from from Kayryn”

I Want to be Your Fantasy (Maybe You Could Be Mine) - Regency

“I just love the concept and the first chapter just pulled me in and I so very much want to know what happens next.”

Notting Hill - Bat_and_Breakfast

“All the “Rom Com idiots in love but they don’t know it miscommunication capers” re-envisaged for Berena you say? Sign me up! I love the way the plot of Notting Hill is absolutely recognisable, but never at the expense of Bernie and Serena’s characters. Everything they do, their responses, the dialogue, is so them. And the cleverly cast Holby regulars as supporting stars - genius. It’s an absolute triumph of transformative work. It’s wonderfully and engagingly written. If you’ve ever got sucked into watching “just a bit” of rom com and found you’ve just lost a couple of hours of your life - this fic does the same thing.”

Follow Me There - troiing

“Full disclosure: I’ve never watched Sanctuary and I know nothing about the characters. But this crossover fic is so good, that it doesn’t even matter.”

hold me closer (tiny dancer) - serenacampbell

“I don’t know why I’m so attached to that fic, but I am. I love the premise of a slow burn fic where the characters still get to do sexy things during the awkward slow burn oblivious period. It’s like the best of both worlds.”

Machu Pechinku - Jrnsaxa

“Forget France and Nepal, what if Serena spent her sabbatical in Peru? The setting in this is beautifully vivid, as is the the delicate ways in which Serena and Bernie start to reconnect after Elinor.”

Hello, Major - lesbianquill

“This is a near perfect Serena being fixated on Bernie in fatigues fic. The first chapter is very insightful, helping us to understand why Bernie might not be happy to accede to Serena’s small kink/obsession. That of course doesn’t last for too long because Bernie loves Serena and she loves having sex with Serena. It was offered as a smutty one shot, but then they rewarded us with an even smuttier second chapter and teased us with the news that a third chapter would be forthcoming. It never happened. Main reason for wishing it could be continued? I enjoy well-written smut.”

In the Spirit of Three Stars - alwayssomethingelse

“Bernie and Serena as Federation officers on Deep Space Nine. Oh, the potential!”

Anatomically Correct - phantomunmasked

“Bernie severely overcompensating for any possible awkwardness in their first time by ordering a mountain of sex toys is a premise that will always delight me. Every time I go back to this one, I ponder what their weekend away would bring with a big grin.”

The Clinic - RexWolfe

“Maybe it’s all the Bramwell we’ve been watching, but this one’s been on my mind lately. Can’t go wrong with a Victorian AU.”

a life in pictures - Regency

"I soooo want to see Serena maybe modelling for Bernie (or at least just how the date goes)”

working up a storm inside my head - sevtacular

“While this isn’t actually an unfinished fic in the sense of chapters missing, the prompt fic collection of Sev can always be added to as far as I’m concerned. Love what has been written so far, hope there will be new chapters with time.”

Body and Soul - ChalkHillBlue

“Possibly the weirdest AU idea ever, this body swap AU makes my brain go crazy with the possibilities every time I read it.”

When We Need One Another The Most - Whispersmummy

“I know this isn’t strictly Berena but it wouldn’t have been written if not for the Berena fandom who love most every conceivable way these two dorks might get together. Very well written (imo) and cleverly constructed fic. Lots and lots of angst and who doesn’t love angst? Only thing missing is a small amount of smut. (Yes I’m back there).”

Ring In The New - fiveroundsrapid

“Fics where Bernie comes to Holby before/during Adrienne’s illness are my kryptonite, and this one is so good!”

Holby One: A Star Wars AAU Story - elitryalittle

“Holby One is my favorite unfinished fic. It’s not just because I came to Berena via Star Wars (a bit of an unusual way, but here I am), but also because I can totally see Serena as a healer and Bernie as a Jedi knight. Kudos for their excellent knowledge of the SWU and this great idea of a crossover fic. I’d give them a limited edition “Looking for Leia” patch and a sticker if they’d finish it.”

to gaze at you, from afar (I sigh, I sigh, I sigh) - bonnissance

“The photographer/model AU you never knew you needed in your life, but you really, really do.”

Heroic Endeavor - Nicolaruth27

“I never would’ve thought I’d be down for a Greek god AU, but this fic has permanent residence in a corner of my brain. Bernie as Athena in mortal form is inspired, and the way the fic is interwoven with canon is a delight.”

what a lovely way to burn - ktlsyrtis

“I just love anything that's weaved into canon but with them being happy and dating and communicating."

Love, Unexpected - Igerna

“Bernie is still married to Marcus when she meets Serena during a conference. They immediately bond and keep in contact, sharing both professional advice and thoughts on their private lives. Love, for them, happens rather unexpectedly. I do love conference fics and slow burns - and this is a good one.”

a little less war torn - kitnkabootle

“The setup for this - in which Serena is the one who goes to help when Bernie is brought to Holby, instead of Raf - is one of my favorite ‘what ifs’ to ponder, and the writing is outstanding.”

[essays-for-breakfast]

One Look Forward

Melizabethweek Day 1: Flight/Freedom

“For someone who only found out they could fly three days ago, you’re a natural.”

Elizabeth pivoted higher, and the warm Goddess magic trickled through her nervous system, a power that turned the endless sky into her dominion. Her white-feathered wings beat against the force of gravity with ease. She was one with the light and the breeze. When she reached Meliodas’ side, who had been drifting a few dozen yards overhead, she beamed at him.

“In my defense, I do have memories of my first life,” she said. “So it wouldn’t be fair to say that I have no experience.”

Meliodas grinned. “I know. You used to beat me in a race more times than I can remember. But in my defense, I only have two wings instead of four.”

“And still, this never stopped you from inviting me to another challenge.”

“You know me, I’ll never get tired of chasing after you.”

They both laughed. A midair twirl and a somersault later, they interlaced their fingers, and Elizabeth’s heart raced with unparalleled joy, as though it wanted to outrun the winds themselves. Just as she and Meliodas had cast off the shackles of gravity, so too had she left her worries behind. Here, above the clouds, at an altitude where not even the flocks of barnacle geese or the daring goshawk dared to venture, the New Holy War had shrunken to a small scar on the world below them.

Unless she dared a glimpse at the ground. Several miles below, the hills of northern Britannia tasted their first afternoon of freedom.

The battles with the Demon King and Cath Palug had taken place only a day ago. For some people of Britannia, the wounds the forces of darkness and chaos had inflicted would never heal. Grey Demons had consumed hundreds of souls, each one a victim of a war they didn’t understand, and their red brethren had burnt uncounted villages down to the foundation stones. From the terracotta roofs of Sistana to the once lush lilac gardens of Belforet, everywhere across Britannia the New Holy War had claimed its toll.

Little more than a crater remained of Camelot. Thanks in no small part to the attack force of the Seven Deadly Sins.

“What’s with that gloomy face, Elizabeth?” Meliodas asked.

Elizabeth tore herself out of the cluster of her worries. “Don’t worry about me. I was just lost in thought, that’s all.”

“I know you better than that. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Elizabeth took time to answer. Her eyes darted across the landscape below them. Between the patches of differing greens and the sparkling rivers woven through the hills nestled Liones capital. Her home.

Their home.

The tall fortifications and the bravery of the kingdom’s Holy Knights hadn’t sufficed in protecting the city. The Demon King’s subjects had broken through the human defenses, and with terrifying ease. Construction sites would disfigure the market alley and the northern quarters for many months to come. The graveyard would see countless more tombstones. Escanor was only one of them.

“It’s just that…” Elizabeth began, struggling to find the right words. “A lot as changed during the New Holy War. And I don’t know if everything changed for the better.”

Meliodas tensed, and the purple Demon magic pulsated across his obsidian wings. “Yeah. It’s a lot to take in.” He placed a hand on her cheek; this touch she cherished more than anything else in this world. “But you know I wouldn’t change one thing. Thanks to this mess of a war, I can be with the woman I love. And I finally fulfilled my promise to you and got rid of your curse. Is it selfish of me if I wanna celebrate that?”

“Not at all! I feel the same. Nevertheless, I can’t help feeling responsible for all the people who are less fortunate.”

Meliodas’ smile showered Elizabeth with so much affection that she almost forgot to keep herself suspended midair with a flap of her wings.

“You’ll never change,” he said. “Always putting others before yourself. Always the hero others can only wish to be. You really are amazing.”

Heat rushed to Elizabeth’s cheeks. “You’re making fun of me…”

“Never. Don’t you know I only escaped Purgatory and drove out my father because of you? Without your kindness and your encouragement, the Demon King would have razed Britannia by now. Guess I need to step up my game to keep up with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I gave old Bartra’s offer some thought. And I think I wanna accept.”

Elizabeth blinked, and for a moment she thought the squalls might have messed with her ears. “But you said you never wanted a crown! Even three thousand years ago, on the steps of the Heaven’s Theater, you swore that nothing could convince you otherwise.”

Meliodas gave her a half smile. “You remember that?”

“I will never forget! The time we spent there is among the most treasured hours of all my 107 lives.”

Elizabeth averted her eyes. It wasn’t like her to talk with such harsh fervor. Or at least, as the third princess of Liones, she would have never dared to say these things. Her past lives lent her a strength she had been missing before she had embarked on her journey to find the Seven Deadly Sins. How long ago the day seemed since she had stumbled into Meliodas’ tavern. And yet, the past year only amounted to the blink of an eye in the three thousand years they had lost and searched and found one another.

“So why,” Elizabeth continued more quietly, “why have you changed your mind all of a sudden? I wouldn’t want you to abandon your own plans for the future… just for me.”

Meliodas snickered. “You’re too worked up about this. It’s simple: I wanna spent the rest of our days with you, and since you’d never abandon those people down there, I’m not gonna do either. Besides, if anyone can mold me into a good king, it’ll be you, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth looked at Meliodas, the face of the man she had loved in life and death, through heaven and hell, in times of peace and war. And what she found in his emerald eyes was genuine; a genuine belief in her.

She reciprocated his smile, and without minding the tears veiling her eyes, she threw her arms around his neck. He stroked her hair. They bathed in the familiar warmth of the other, a feeling of security and belonging that only needed one word to describe: home.

Locked in a tight embrace, they pirouetted downward, interwoven like two parts of a porcelain music box who had finally found each other.

“We’re gonna rebuild Liones,” Meliodas whispered into Elizabeth’s hair. “And when we’re done, the kingdom will be in such amazing shape that King and Arthur and all the other uptight royals will pale with jealousy. Can’t wait to see their faces.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Then it’s a promise?”

“It’s a promise.” Meliodas pulled back a little and grinned. “I sure love picking the hardest challenges to turn into a vow, huh?”

“As long as we are together, I believe there is no obstacle we couldn’t overcome. After such long a time, Britannia is free of the fires of war. We have to make sure this freedom lasts. And nothing would make me happier than to stand beside you and protect this peace. On one condition.”

“That being?”

Elizabeth tightened her grip around his shoulders. She felt the Demon magic course through the veins in his back, a power equal parts deadly and comforting.

Familiar. Like home.

“Let’s travel across Britannia before you accept the duty as king of Liones,” Elizabeth said. “It’s been so long since we could fly together like this. I want to maintain this feeling for a little while longer.”

Meliodas grinned. “I don’t think we’re gonna do much flying. You’re just going to stop and offer a helping hand to every poor soul we come across, aren’t you? Kay, then I’m in. In fact, I can’t imagine anything I’d rather do, Elizabeth.”

The tears welled up again. “I’m so glad to be with you.”

“Me too. Although Bartra probably won’t be too thrilled with the plan. I better write my testament before admitting to him that I plan to take his daughter and drag her all across Britannia for the next couple months.”

Elizabeth chuckled and swiped an escaped tear from her cheek. “After all the battles we fought, I believe we can even take on the wrath of my father.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Hand in hand, Meliodas and Elizabeth drifted across the sky above Liones. They would return to the ground and face responsibility soon enough. But this first afternoon of freedom deserved to be savored for a little while longer.

A small, selfish while amidst the clouds.

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Telling Stories in the Dark

This is a guest post from Elizabeth Brooks. Elizabeth grew up in Chester, England, studied Classics at Cambridge, and now lives on the Isle of Man with her husband and two children. Her debut novel, The Orphan of Salt Winds, was described by BuzzFeed as “evocative, gothic and utterly transportive.” Her second novel, The Whispering House will be published in the U.S. by Tin House on March 16th, 2021. You can find her on Twitter @ManxWriter. Content Warning: Mental illness and suicide My sister knew how to tell a story, and she had an appreciative audience in me. I can picture us now: my 7-year-old self, sitting up in bed, hugging my knees, while 10-year-old Rachel delivered her latest installment in a loud whisper from the adjacent attic bedroom. Sometimes excitement got the better of her, the whisper rose to a babble, and Mum or Dad called up the stairs, “You two! Go to sleep! Now!” For a few wriggly, resentful minutes we were silent, but when the coast seemed clear Rachel would resume, with caution. When I think about those storytelling sessions now, the happiness and humour are still there, but they are complicated by the fact that Rachel died by suicide at the age of 28, having suffered years of mental illness. I wish I could remember one of Rachel’s stories from beginning to end, but I’m left with a muddle of impressions, scraps of detail. I know she relished telling stories about spoiled, bullying girls, of a similar age to us, whose crimes escalated until they got their comeuppance, and that she liked to end each episode on a cliff-hanger, leaving me begging for more. Rachel didn’t just make stories up, she also wrote them down. There were stacks of notebooks in her bedroom, crammed with novels at various stages of completion— children’s stories, family sagas, romances, diaries and poems. I was two and a half years younger than Rachel, and I began writing out of a desire — half deferential, half competitive — to emulate her. It was a struggle to keep up. I rarely seemed able to complete a chapter, let alone a book. I kept waiting for a tidal wave of words and images to sweep me away, but it never did. Whilst I was fussing about how to detach page one without ruining the aesthetics of my new notebook, Rachel’s pen would be flying. She would be biting down on the tip of her tongue, her shoulders rigid with concentration, a cup of tea cooling at her side. One day she’d be a published author; I was sure of that. In as far as we were Little Women, she was Jo. I wish there was a name for the condition that destroyed my sister, so that I could describe it in a single word and expect you to understand. It began in childhood and worsened through adolescence and adulthood. Depression was a part of it, but by no means the whole. Schizophrenia comes close, but isn’t quite right. Whatever it was, it made her hate and harm herself. It drove her to run away from home, cut her arms with razor blades and starve herself of food. Sometimes it had her in floods of tears, sometimes she could hardly move for the sheer, dragging weight of it. Medication was a matter of trial and error, and although there were pills that helped a little, others did more harm than good. Counselling was useful, but didn’t get to the heart of the problem. Nothing ever did. As far as writing was concerned, as far as anything was concerned, Rachel was at the mercy of her illness. One day she might be manically, exhaustingly creative; another day she might be too numbed to lift a pen. There were also times — and it’s important I don’t forget this — when the clouds lifted and she was allowed to be herself, for a while. One of Rachel’s less successful night-time stories strikes me as darkly comic, in retrospect. If that sounds heartless, it’s not meant to: mental illness has its absurdities, interwoven with its cruelties, and it would be dishonest to pretend otherwise. I forget how old she was at the time, perhaps 11 or 12? Rachel began with her main character waking up one morning, but rather than launch him headfirst into his story, she proceeded to describe everything — everything — he did, from the moment he swung his legs out of bed. “He found his slippers under the chair, and he put his left foot in the left slipper, and his right foot in the right slipper, and then he went over to the door and took his dressing-gown off the hook and put his left arm in the left sleeve…” I managed to bite my tongue until our man finally made it downstairs, only to discover that his dishwasher needed emptying. “So he opened the dishwasher and took a mug out and put it away in the cupboard, and then he went back to the dishwasher and took another mug out and took it to the cupboard…” At this point I snapped, and Rachel got upset, which made me even angrier. I told her she was being weird, and that her story was boring. In my defense, I was little, and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder was not part of my vocabulary. We grew up together, but as my life unfurled, Rachel’s contracted. The stages I passed through — school, university, marriage, children — were typical enough, but set alongside what she was going through they seemed extraordinary, to the point of unfair. She ought to have been doing these things too, or something equally good, not wasting away in psychiatric wards, or overdosing on anti-depressants, or running away from home in a futile effort to escape herself. We both continued to write, but the further we got from childhood, the more difficult it became to show one another our work. I was too embarrassed to share my navel-gazing attempts at poetry, or bits and bobs of prose, and Rachel’s writings, too, grew ever more private. Whenever she was well enough to put pen to paper, she tended to write diaries rather than fiction, seeking relief from her distress by pouring everything onto the page. I believe that’s what she was doing, anyway: I didn’t read her notebooks then and I couldn’t bear to read them now. Rachel died of an overdose in 2005. It was around the same time, when my children were tiny, that I began to write more seriously. It took me a long time to work out what I wanted to write about, and longer still to find an agent and publisher, but I did in the end. The sense of achievement was real, yet it was tinged, as all those other “ordinary” life events had been tinged, with guilt. The logical part of my brain knew I’d done nothing wrong, but there was a sub-logical part, which wasn’t — still isn’t — so sure. How come I’d fulfilled the dream that was Rachel’s, long before it was mine? Had there only been room for one Jo March in the family? Could I, with my greater resilience, be said to have ‘won’ over my more fragile and sensitive sister? There’s no point getting hung up on such questions — and I don’t — but I’m conscious of them simmering away, out of sight. It’s because of Rachel that I became a writer in the first place, and it’s partly because of her that I settle on the subjects I do. All my novels concern the ways in which people, including ‘normal’ people, are essentially mysterious. I seem drawn to create characters whose vivid internal lives drive them to commit strange, often extreme, acts. Storytelling is, in part, an attempt to shed light on darkness. When something seems impossible to understand, it is instinctive to stare hard into the chaos and search for patterns and structures there. A narrative framework may do nothing to alter life’s harsh realities, but it’s comforting to have one, all the same. When Rachel died, I felt numb. I could come up with no adequate response in the immediate aftermath; what had happened seemed so pointless and cruel. Fifteen years on, it still seems pointless and cruel, but writing has helped me to face it. I have never fictionalised my sister’s story, as such, but I have explored mental illness, the impact of suicide, and the complexities of sibling relationships. Putting these things into words, and shaping the words into stories, is healing. Maybe Rachel’s stories — maybe mine, maybe everyone’s — are flashlights sweeping the darkness, making sense of a frightening world, albeit in brief, fragmentary glimpses. This makes me hope that my residual guilt really is misplaced. Perhaps becoming a writer was not, after all, a private ambition that divided us, but a joint quest that unites us still. !doctype> #OurReadingLives #GuestPost #Writing

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/telling-stories-in-the-dark

[interfaithconnect]

A question for our Christian and Muslim mods; what do you honestly believe will happen to non-believers of your faith after death?

Mod Lydia:

Truth be told, it would be presumptuous of me to assume anything about life after death. I do not know what happens after death, for “believers” or “non-believers” alike. I don’t think it makes much a difference, to be honest.

“All share a common destiny—the righteous and the wicked, the good and the bad, the clean and the unclean, those who offer sacrifices and those who do not. As it is with the good, so with the sinful; as it is with those who take oaths, so with those who are afraid to take them.” Ecclesiastes 9:2-3

I like the idea of Universal Reconciliation, which is the assumption that all shall ultimately return to God, in one form or another. My particular denomination (UCC) tends to take this stance. I know this is often labeled as the “hippie” belief, but I find it a relevant theory.

“That is why we labor and strive because we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Savior of all people, and especially of those who believe.”   1 Timothy 4:10

“All of nature with its forms and creatures exist together and are interwoven with each other. They will be resolved back, however, to their own proper origin, for the compositions of matter return the original roots of their nature.” The Savior, Gospel of Mary.

A lot of people ask if I believe in Hell, and I do, but not in the literal doom and fire sense that the western world loves to embrace. I believe Hell is when reality is not aligned with God. It is manifested by us and it is both societal and personal. I certainly do not believe it is a place were solely “non-believers” go to.

Mod Kira:

I believe that all people, regardless of colour, faith or creed, are children of our Heavenly Father. That’s why Mormons often refer to each other as ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister’. We believe that before coming to this earth, everyone had a pre-earth life as a spirit. It was a place to be with God, but because we didn’t have bodies, we could never progress, learn or change. After coming to earth, our mortal bodies eventually die. But our spirit lives on.

We believe that at death, everyone’s spirit goes to the Spirit World. We have memories of what our life on earth was like, we still have the same personality traits and desires. It is a restful place where we can learn and prepare. People who did not have the opportunity to hear the gospel on the earth have a chance in the Spirit World.

After this, the body and spirit are united once again in resurrection. After you are resurrected, you are brought before God, who will judge you according to your acts, and the desires of your heart. After this judgment, everyone lives in a state of glory:

The Celestial Kingdom

Where God and Jesus Christ live. People who follow the commandments and repent are brought to the Celestial Kingdom. You get to live with God, learn and progress.

Terrestrial KingdomPeople who lived honourable lives but refused to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ live here.

Telestial KingdomThose who continue to sin and do not repent will live here.

We believe that everyone obtains a degree of glory when they die, and it fits perfectly with what I know of God’s love.

Mod Neha:

I have to agree with Lydia in that it would be presumptuous of me to say I know the answer to that. It is for God swt to decide what goodness a person needs to have in order to achieve Heaven - in one hadith, a man gives a stray dog dying of thirst some water. This is enough to give him a place in Heaven (x)(x). In another hadith, a man kills 99 people but then sincerely grieves for his wrongdoing, and goes to repent but dies along his journey, yet is still welcomed to Heaven. In yet another hadith, a pious and devout man goes to Heaven, and God tells him that he may enter by His Grace, the man asks, “not for my piety, but Your Grace?” and is answered in affirmation. So, whatever happens, happens by the will of Allah swt, nothing more and nothing less. Allahu aleem.

In the Quran, God also says, “Had Allah willed, He would have made you one nation [united in religion], but [He intended] to test you in what He has given you; so race to [all that is] good” (x). For me, this means that there are many different types of people (including those of other faiths, and those questioning, and those firmly atheistic) and that I have something to learn from all of them, good or bad, and by own choice pick what is good for me. I stand firmly in line with religious pluralism, because I feel like it is not for me to decide what fulfills a person’s spiritual needs.

Mod Sarah:

I’m agreement with the general sentiment of not being in a position to make a statement about what the afterlife looks like or who “gets in”. That would be elevating myself to a status equal to God and probably invite an entitled or denigrating perspective towards others. I also don’t have a very strong evangelical impulse, if the word in this sense means actively trying to convert others. I love sharing my experiences of God and asking hard questions about faith in with others, and I’m in training to help people find language and practices to deepen their personal connection to the divine, but conversion doesn’t really flag on my radar. In short, I don’t like playing the “who’s saved” game, I don’t agree with it morally, and it doesn’t overly inform the way I speak of God.

That said, I do hold a handful of beliefs about the person of God that inform how I think the afterlife works to some nebulous degree. I think the soul carries on after death, that all energy is connected and that there are different planes of consciousness or being that we can’t quite perceive from our current position. I know my environment and the people around me are infused with God, who I see as an all-creating entity who is rapturously in love with humans and constantly pushing us towards connection to the divine. The Jesus story is proof to me that God is lavishly creative in the way God reveals Themself to us, and that I am caught up in the overarching story that will outlive me, one about God working to heal a broken creation.

I also believe God is as just as God is merciful, and that They ultimately hold the scales on which the deeds of humans are weighed. There are repercussions for any action, in the spiritual realm as well as in the earthly one, because God’s heart is ever attuned to the peace among, rehabilitation of, and the safety of humans. How this historically attested refusal to give up on anyone under any circumstance interacts with the equally desire for righteous conduct among human beings is a tension that’s not easy to riddle out, but it’s one I’m willing to live into.

As far as non-believers, I tend to think that God respects the choices of those who don’t want to have anything to do with God, any my conception of “hell” is roughly the eternal absence of God. C.S. Lewis has an amazing book called the Great Divorce in which he muses the “doors of Hell are locked from the inside”, and that we continue to make choices even after death that prevent us from accepting the invitation of heaven. I’m open to the concept of Hell in similar auspices, but again, God never gives up on anyone and I don’t think I’m in a position to claim that there aren’t further chapters of the story of God’s restoration of humanity after death that we haven’t lived in yet. Fallenness is never the final word, not in this life, and I don’t think, in the next.

Mind you this is a mismash of theologies that I’m expanding on during my time at seminary, but thusfar they hold with my own experiences of God, the character of God presented in the Bible, and simple reason, so I’m going to keep working with them.