#whose chest developed differently but it led to a different chest shape

[mariacallous]

Over the years, archaeologists have unearthed many offerings at the Templo Mayor, located at the heart of the ancient Aztec, or Mexica, capital of Tenochtitlán and adjacent to contemporary Mexico City’s cathedral. The most recent, the 186th to date, was announced in August: a stone chest filled with objects from the sea and 15 anthropomorphic sculptures in green stone, dating from the reign of Moctezuma Ilhuicamina (1440–69). 

The discovery was made by archaeologists Alejandra Aguirre Molina and Antonio Marín Calvo, working under the direction of Juan Ruiz Hernández of the Proyecto Templo Mayor—an ongoing restoration effort focused on one of the great archaeological landmarks of ancient Mexico. It was founded by Eduardo Matos Moctezuma in 1978 not long after utility workers discovered a statue of the Aztec goddess of the moon, Coyolxauhqui, at the Templo Mayor site. The initiative is currently directed by archaeologist Leonardo López Luján.

The offering was left on a platform on the rear facade of the Huei Teocalli, to use the Nahuatl name for the Templo Mayor, a few centimeters away from an area impacted 123 years ago by the placement of a sewage pipe. The offering box includes 14 anthropomorphic male sculptures and one female figurine. This artifact dates from the time of the first Moctezuma to rule Tenochtitlán, in the middle of the 15th century.

According to the researchers, the sculptures carved from green stone exhibit characteristics of the Mezcala style from the northern highlands of the Mexican state of Guerrero, about 200 miles south of Mexico City. Among these sculptures, one that is 30 centimeters high stands out in contrast to the other figurines that are as small as 3 centimeters tall. All have some unique features, and the style of the figures and their origin in the state of Guerrero has led the archaeologists to speculate that they arrived at the Templo Mayor following the Aztec conquest of the region. Like all Aztec rulers, Moctezuma I Ilhuicamina, whose full name in Nahuatl is Motēuczōmah īlhuihcamīna, was a powerful leader of the civilization which had its capital at Tenochtitlán. He ruled between 1440 and 1469 and was the fifth tlatoani, or ruler of Tenochtitlán. Moctezuma I expanded the territory of his empire through a series of military campaigns and conquests. During his reign, the Triple Alliance (which consisted of Tenochtitlán and the nearby cities of Texcoco and Tlacopan) succeeded in conquering several neighboring peoples and expanding its influence in the Mesoamerican region.

In addition to his military achievements, Moctezuma I is remembered for his focus on the cultural and religious development of Tenochtitlán. He promoted the construction and decoration of many temples and monuments, including the Templo Mayor, the most important ceremonial center of the Mexica civilization. “When the Mexica subdued these peoples, the figurines were already relics, some of them are more than 1,000 years old, and presumably served as cult effigies, which the Mexica appropriated as spoils of war,” explains Luján.

Aguirre and Marín, who also worked with Sofía Benítez Villalobos, a specialist in restoring artifacts, have concluded that, after they were brought to Tenochtitlán, the sculptures underwent a ritual that transformed them and incorporated them into the religious life of Tenochtitlán. They point to traces of facial painting that the Mexica added to the figurines, associated with the god of rain, Tlaloc. In addition to the sculptures, offering 186 included two earrings in the shape of rattlesnakes and a total of 137 beads made of various green stones, accompanied by sand and 1,942 different elements from the ocean including shells, snails, and corals.

Originally from the coasts of the Atlantic Ocean, a region subdued by the Triple Alliance in the time of the first Moctezuma, the seashells have been restored, and the responsibility for their biological identification lies with Belem Zúñiga Arellano, a member of the Proyecto Templo Mayor team.

The discovery of this offering builds on archaeologists’ interest in verifying a pattern observed in earlier offerings, specifically 18, 19, and 97. These consisted of stone chests that were buried as part of dedication offerings under monumental serpent heads located on the platform of the Templo Mayor. All these offerings may provide a better understanding of how the Aztecs viewed the Templo Mayor.

“In the classic Nahuatl language, these chests were known as tepetlacalli, from tetl, or stone, and petlacalli, a box made of mats. In their homes, the Mexica would store their most precious belongings—fine feathers, jewelry, and cotton garments—in chests made from petate (a type of palm). If we look at the Templo Mayor, which represents a sacred mountain full of provisions, we can imagine the priests storing in these ‘stone chests’ the quintessential symbols of water and fertility: sculptures of the rain gods, green stone beads, shells, and snails,” López Luján explains.

By 2024, the Proyecto Templo Mayor plans to ask the Archaeology Council of Mexico’s Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, the government body that administers all of the country’s archaeological sites, for permission to temporarily remove a serpent's head located on the northern side of the Templo Mayor. It is likely that even more treasures will soon see the light of day again.

[bloodanddiscoballs]

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[thepremedthatwrites]

Things Have Changed

request: Can you plsss do a Peter x reader relationship where the reader is a family friend and Peter has always had a crush on her and idk ends up admitting it to her at night or something and things get very heated like smutty or whatever.

Did I decide to edit this a day early because I'm procrastinating my school work? Perhaps. But anyways, I hope you all like this fic!

warning: smut below the cut

I could feel the beginning of sweat start to drip down the side of my face as I squinted my eyes trying to see the others in the water. The sand was at the border of being too hot to stand on in bare feet, causing me to walk closer to the water where the cold ocean had cooled the ground. “C’mon (y/n)!” Lucy shouted over the sound of the waves crashing into the shore. “The water isn’t even that cold!”

This was a lie and we both knew it. The icy water brushed the tip of my toes as I held back a shudder. At least the water would help me cool off from the unforgiving sun. As I stood contemplating what to do, I felt a hand graze my back. I turned to see Peter walking by me, a grin on his face. “Too scared to run in, (y/n)?” he asked. That was enough to kick me into action as I started to follow him into the water.

“Of course not,” I replied, holding back the instinct to let out a gasp as the cold water wrapped itself around my stomach. Both of our parents stayed by the towels and umbrellas, leaving the ocean to their children as they drank and talked about whatever it is that adults talked about. The blue house that our families had rented stood tall and proud behind our parents, overlooking the beach and whatever sat beyond what reaches of the ocean we could see.

Peter and I came to a halt as we reached where Lucy and Edmund were. “Where’s Susan?” Ed asked as Peter dunked his head under the water.

“I believe she said she was taking a nap,” I replied as Peter’s head reappeared from the dark water. His blond hair was now pressed against his forehead and had become a few shades darker from the weight of the water.

“Watch out! Big wave!” Lucy just managed to shout out the words before my vision was painted white as the wave crashed down on us. I lost control of my body as I let the current drag me around like a rag doll until I felt myself crash into something solid. At first, I thought it was a rock before I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my chest.

“Don’t worry, I got you.” I heard Peter say as my head broke the surface. I gulped in a deep breath of air, the oxygen reaching my lungs as I wiped the salt water out of my burning eyes.

“Thanks,” I managed as the taste of salt water danced down my throat.

“I think some of the water went up my nose.” I heard Edmund say while Lucy was pushing her hair that had been plastered in front of her eyes out of her face. I turned my head to look at Peter whose arms were still around me. The sudden realization of the situation finally dawned on me and I felt my face warm at the close proximity. Suddenly his arms felt like iron chains around me and I couldn’t ignore the feeling of their weight on me. Peter seemed to have also become aware of the sensation of our bodies pressed against each other as he slowly removed his arms from me.

“Sorry,” he said softly, his face now also a light shade of pink.

“Yeah, no worries,” I said quickly. I was suddenly thankful for the large wave coming our way as I turned to face it, focusing my thoughts on not being drowned by the rushing water.

“I almost drowned!” Lucy exclaimed as we all sat around the dinner table. It had been my mom’s turn to cook dinner and so she had made us all steak. I started to cut into the meat as Lucy told Susan all about our adventures in the water. Peter and I had become a bit more quiet since the incident in the ocean. I felt myself stealing glances at him every now and then. Sometimes he had already been looking at me too.

“I’m so happy you guys decided to join us here in the states.” I heard my mom say to the Pevensies’ parents. “I feel like we haven’t seen each other since we moved to America.”

“I know, it seems the kids are having a lot of fun hanging out again,” Mrs. Pevensie replied. I turned back to the conversation but could feel the burning glances Peter occasionally threw at me throughout dinner. I was thankful when dinner was over, trying to wash the dishes as quickly as possible and avoiding being near Peter as much as the confines of the kitchen allowed. The parents had disappeared, most likely to the balcony that overlooked the water to drink some more and catch up on what they had missed in the past five years. As soon as the dishes were done, I excused myself blaming my exhaustion on the sun and went to my room.

I was surprised when I woke up to a dark room. I had expected myself to be unable to sleep and instead toss and turn until the rest of the lights went out in the house. I got up from my bed, checking my phone to see it was around three in the morning. My stomach growled as I turned on my lights. It seems that pushing the food around your plate does little to actually satisfy your hunger. I paused at my mirror before leaving. I brushed out my hair and checked to see that the pajamas I wore were acceptable to be seen by the public. I wasn’t sure if I would run into Peter, he was most likely still asleep, but I wanted to play it safe. I wasn’t sure why I was so concerned about my appearance around him. When we were younger, before my family moved to America, I could have cared less about what he thought of my appearance. But then again, we had been younger then. Five years younger to be exact. We had grown since then. His shoulders had broadened and he had become taller. My body had developed curves where it used to be straight and I had finally grown into myself. We weren’t how we were back in the UK. We were older and more mature.

I shook the thoughts from my mind and opened the door to my room. I walked as quietly as I could past my parents’ room and then past all of the Pevensies’ rooms before reaching the stairs that led to the living area that held the kitchen. I opened the fridge as my stomach automatically growled at the sight of all the food. The best part of being on vacation was the fact that the fridge was always filled with leftovers from dinner. I settled on some of the mac and cheese, spooning some into a bowl before putting it into the microwave. I stood patiently as the whir of the microwave filled the silence that had settled into the room.

“What are you doing up?” I jumped at the voice before turning to see Peter standing by the entrance of the kitchen.

“I was hungry,” I said while pointing my head to the microwave. He walked over to me and I was suddenly thankful I had spent the extra time on my appearance before leaving my room. He wore only a pair of grey sweatpants. I couldn’t help myself and let my eyes wander his exposed abs. He definitely did not have those five years ago.

“I missed seeing you,” he said, causing my eyes to jump from his abs to his ocean blue eyes which I could easily drown in if I weren’t careful.

“Me too,” I replied, my voice much softer than I expected it to be. I cleared my throat before speaking again. “I missed having someone I could annoy like an older brother.” Peter’s face scrunched as he shook his head.

“Please don’t call me an older brother. That’s weird.” I raised an eyebrow at this, my heart racing. All this time I had thought he saw me as another little sister. But if that wasn’t the case, what did he see me as?

“And why is that?” I questioned. Peter’s face seemed to have reddened. I wasn’t sure if it had already been red from the sun and I just hadn’t noticed or if he was blushing. Before he could answer the microwave went off causing me to jump. Peter opened the door, taking the bowl out as steam rose from the food.

He set the bowl down on the counter before turning back to me. His eyes seemed to be studying me. I subconsciously bit my bottom lip in anticipation. I watched as his eyes followed the movement. “You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you,” he finally said.

“And so have you.”

“The thoughts I have about you…” Peter started as he walked closer to me, stopping so that we were almost pressed against each other. “They are not thoughts a brother has about his sister.” He leaned down towards my ear, his hot breath brushing the bare skin behind my ear and sending a shiver down my spine. “That is why it’s weird for you to call me an older brother.” My face must have been the color of a lobster at this point, and I was no longer afflicted with hunger. Instead, lust coursed through my veins. He paused for a moment as if in thought before pressing his lips on the same skin his breath had just caressed. I let out a soft sigh allowing my hand to grasp onto his strong bicep. My other hand had crept around to his stomach, tracing the abs I had just moments before been admiring. He moved his lips, kissing down my neck as I moved my head back to give him more access.

His hands wrapped around my waist before he lifted me into the air. I let out a gasp in surprise before my ass met the cool counter. His eyes looked me up and down, filled with lust and desire. “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?” he asked. His hands were by my hips as his thumb traced shapes on my thighs. I found myself blushing at his words. Many people had called me beautiful before but the way he spoke it was the same way people sing praises to the gods they worship. He stepped towards me and I opened my legs for him so that he was as close as physically possible.

He stopped for a moment, his eyes meeting mine. They seemed to be saying all the things that had been left unsaid since we had reunited. You’re different. I’m different. These emotions are different. I love you. I wrapped my legs around him, forcing him closer (something I had not thought possible). His hands moved so that they were on either side of me, resting on the counter. My own hands were on his shoulders. I moved one so that it caressed his face. My mac and cheese sat patiently on the counter next to us, expecting to be eaten soon. I had a feeling the bowl would be staying there until the morning. Peter brought his face closer to mine. He paused for a moment, his eyes moving from my lips to my eyes. I gave a slight nod. Then, he kissed me.

We kissed and suddenly I understood what the authors of the romance books I used to read were writing about. He was like a drug. With each touch I needed more. With each kiss I craved just one more moment of the taste of his lips. My hands traveled to his hair as we continued to kiss. His hands wandered my back, traveling beneath the fabric of my t-shirt. I didn’t want to pull away. I wanted to stay like this for eternity. On the other hand, I wanted more. I wanted to connect us even more. I wanted him to fuck me.

I pulled back just long enough for my shirt to be discarded. Then I immediately reconnected our lips. I kissed him hungrily, as if those few seconds apart had left me famished. His hands slipped between us, holding my breasts. A small shudder went down my spine as his thumbs brushed my nipples. His hands continuously moved, as if they weren’t sure what to do with all the newly exposed skin. He squeezed my breasts before letting his hands travel down my stomach, gripping my waist harshly as we continued to kiss.

I could feel a growing wetness between my legs. The feeling of something hard being pushed against my inner thigh informed me Peter was just as turned on. He disconnected our lips, tasting my chin and then neck and then collar bone until he reached my tits. I attempted to catch my breath as his tongue flicked across my nipple. I let out a soft gasp as my back arched in pleasure. He started to suck on my tits, making sure to show great care and attention to both of them. His grip on my waist tightened and I was sure there would be a slight bruise in the morning. I couldn’t bring myself to care at the moment as that slight pain was the only thing keeping me grounded as pure pleasure pulsed throughout my body as Peter continued to kiss and suck and bite on the sensitive areas.

He stopped abruptly, standing upright and looking me directly in the eye. His erection that had been increasing in size and hardness was now protruding from his pants and pressing into the soft skin of my thigh. “When I was younger, I had always felt an attraction to you, (y/n),” he said. His voice was lower than usual and he seemed to be slightly out of breath as he spoke. “I never knew whether it was a friendly attraction or something stronger than that. But the moment I saw you for the first time in five years, I knew the feelings I felt for you...it wasn’t something most people feel. It was something so strong it took everything in me to not fall to my knees in defeat. In a happy defeat where I surrendered my heart to you.” I felt as if my heart was going to burst from my chest as I listened. “My body burns with desire for you (y/n). Please. Let me show you how you make me feel. Let me love you.”

I licked my lips, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth felt. I took a deep breath, hoping some of the fresh night air would clear my lust-clouded mind for a moment. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes a million times.” I could feel a large grin growing on my face and Peter was wearing a matching one. He grabbed my face in his hands before bringing us together for a kiss. It didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen as his hands left my face and traveled down my bare top before playing with the band of my shorts. I inched towards the edge of the counter before sliding off, our lips parting for a moment as my feet hit the ground before immediately reuniting.

He roughly pulled down my shorts and panties in one motion, letting the clothes hit the ground. I followed suit, pulling down his sweatpants and boxers. We parted for a moment, the moonlight shining through the window that sat over the sink allowing enough light so that I could see the true length of him. I had only a few moments to admire him, the thickness of his cock was sure to stretch me out deliciously, before he turned me around. I bent over the counter, the cool stone pressing against my naked skin. His hands gripped my hips to hold me in place before he pushed into me.

I let out a loud moan, causing him to put a hand over my mouth. He stayed in place, leaning over so that his mouth was next to my ear. “We have to be quiet. Unless you want both our families to see what we’re doing.” I nodded in understandance as he stood up straight again. He started by moving slowly. He pulled out halfway before pushing in all the way to the base. I felt my pussy flutter around him. He continued this slow rhythm for a while, testing out the water while stretching me out to fit him completely.

Once I felt myself start to adjust he started to go faster. I could feel the edge of the counter dig into my stomach each time my body was thrusted forward. My breasts moved in rhythm with Peter, my weight being supported by my forearms which were propped on top of the counter. His fingers dug into my hips as he fucked me. The kitchen was filled with the sound of skin slapping skin and our muffled moans as we did our best to stay quiet. The smell of sweat and sex hovered in the room. The moon acted as a spotlight for our indecent act. My vision was obstructed by my hair which was now a mess, strands of it sitting in front of my face.

“Peter, please,” I moaned quietly. I could feel myself getting closer, my legs now weaker than before as my arms were the only thing holding me up. Peter sensed this, using his hands that were on my hips to lift me up. I felt my mouth open, but no noise came out as my mind became overtaken with pleasure. I could hear Peter let out a groan as I felt myself collapse around him. I let my head fall forward as I attempted to recover from my orgasm. The pleasure started to become more bearable as Peter continued to fuck me. His thrusts were becoming more desperate. Just as I started to think he couldn’t be any rougher, he pulled out.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded. The way he spoke brought butterflies to my stomach. He spoke much more forcefully than before, his voice laced with lust as he was too concerned with his own release to speak gently to me. I obeyed, opening my mouth for him unprompted. I started moving my head for him, wanting to make him feel just as good as he made me feel. His head fell back as his hip thrusted forward. I fought back the reflex to gag as his cock buried itself deep within my throat. His hand pushed on the back of my head, keeping me in place as I felt the beginning spurt of a warm and bitter liquid shooting down my throat. I swallowed all of it greedily, wanting to have as much of Peter as I could.

As the last drop of his cum slid down my throat, he slowly pulled away. I wiped away the small dribble of drool that had fallen down my chin. I looked up at him and he looked down at me, a smile on his face. His hand ran down the side of my head before caressing my face. I slowly got up, my legs still slightly weak. “Wow,” I said, slightly out of breath. Peter let out a soft chuckle before pulling me in for a kiss. We quietly got dressed. Peter grabbed my hand, leading me to his room. Our clothes didn’t stay on for too long as they quickly found their way to his bedroom floor. The night was filled with whispers of confessions of love, hands in hair, and lips pressed on naked skin. The next morning I would wake up, afraid that it had all been a dream before I turned to see Peter’s face on the pillow next to me. Then, a smile matching Peter’s sleepy one would form on my face.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Confrontation.”

You guys have been asking me to writ this one for ages, and I finally got around to it.  hope you all enjoy :)

Sirens blare overhead. Red light pulsed in and out of existence as large white spotlights raked their way over the barren grey/purple ground. In the distance gouts of whie mist squirted up from craters in the moon’s surface filling the dark night sky with a gaseous haze. Off in the distance, chain gangs of aliens and humans alike worked to mine precious metals from the soil using pickaxes and drills under the supervision of strict and brooding alien guards, most of them Drev, some of them human supervised on more than one occasion by a uniformed Tesraki. Overhead, in the distant sky, lights winked on and off from the orbiting Kepler Station, where any visiting ships were docked.

No ships larger than a six person shuttle were allowed onto the surface  of the moon, and none were allowed within a ten mile radius of the A1 Supermax penitentiary fittingly nicknamed New Alcatraz. Where the Turma supermax facility on Noctopolis was known for its brutality, New Alcatraz was known for its security. The moon on which it was set had no other colonies and no other facility. It was an entire moon dedicated to a single prison. All of the employees who worked in the prison lived off-world on the Kepler Station.

No vehicles were housed at the prison itself, and when it was time for the emp;oyees to return to  the station, a vehicle would be dispatched from one of the garages on that ten mile radius to come pick up the employee, but only after the proper biometric readings were taken.

 New Alcatraz had been built after another facility breach that had involved infected starborn, a half mad, Gibb, and a couple of corrupt ex Drev leaders. Most of the prisoners had been moved here after the incident, and great precautions were being taken to see that such an event never happened again.

A single hover car sped over the surface of the moon, and under the darkened sky.

Four individuals sat inside two Drev and two humans, one of them driving.

As they approached the prison grew larger and larger in their vision an intimidating span of concrete, steel, razor wire, and laser webs which rose up into the sky and spread out across the moon like the roots of a great tree. They made it all the way o the docking bay where automated turrets controlled from the Kepler station followed them as they stepped out of the vehicle. The driver stayed where he was, leaving just one human and two Drev to be greeted by uniformed guards dressed in black tactical gear from head to toe.

They nodded to the human, who wore a pristine grey uniform and white belt, captains cap resting atop his head before greeting the drev, one of them inconspicuous despite his nine foot size in comparison to the smaller Drev, whose body seemed to glow with pearlescent light cast off by the beautifully crafted armor which she wore. None of them carried weapons, and so they were ushered over to the side of the docking bay where their biometric readings were taken. Retinal, fingerprint, Dna, weight, and body measurements taken by a massive and expensive machine who could detect the smallest change in a biological signature.

Sunny stepped out onto the cold floor of the prison armor clattering lightly as she did so.

Adam was waiting for her as was Cannon, his massive hulkin shape glowing red like blood in the near darkness.

Adam looked at her with some measure of concern, “Are you sure you want to do this, there is still time to turn back, forget about her.”

Sunny turned to look at him, “Are you implying that I can’t handle her?”

He tilted his head and frowned crossing his arms over his chest, “Sunny I KNOW you can handle her, but I am just letting you know that it is an option. You don’t have to grace her with your presence. By all means she doesn't deserve to see you.” he turned to look at Cannon, “Either of you, after what she did, and now that you are Sainted, she deserves to see you even less. She is not worthy of your presence as a parent or as a proprietor of your religion.’

Sunny tilted her head staring at the man who despite his aggressive posture -- feet spread shoulder width and arms crossed over his chest -- she found mildly adorable, with his lip jutting out definitely. Despite being Admiral of the entire GA and UNSC space fleet, the man didn’t exactly do intimidating well, at least not to her.

Cannon, who had stayed quiet up to this point added quietly, “Adam is right, she doesn't deserve to see us, and she thinks I’m dead after all.”

Sunny lifted her head, “Than you can wait in the lobby, but I am going to finish this, once and for all, closure.”

“If you go I go.” Cannon said stubbornly and Sunny huffed, blowing a large gust of air out from the holes in her neck.

She turned to look at Adam, “I suppose this means you’re coming too.”

“Unless you strictly ask me not to.”

She thought about telling him no, but decided against it. Having him by her side on a day like this was comforting. Despite everything that had happened between them over the last few months, they had recently fallen back into their same rhythm of behavior. Granted it wasn’t far along as it had one been, but the friendship sure hadn’t been lost, and the hope of getting back to where they once were was strong.

“No, you can come.”

He nodded brusquely.

“Then I have your back.”

She glanced over at her brother who nodded tersely in agreement, “Let's get this over with.”

***

General Kazna, or Cosma as she was known by the humans, sat on the floor in the middle of her sell. She did not move, she rarely moved these days. Muscle that had once been hard with battle was not atrophied away leaving her thin and brittle in her age. Even if she had enough room to move it wouldn’t have mattered: her legs: twisted and deformed as they could not bare her weight without great agony.

She was crippled.

In an act of revenge that had cut the tendons of her feet. She was what she had once despised, and here in this prison, they would not let her rest, they would not let her honorably fade into the blackness. They watched her day and night, they had stripped all objects from her rooms in an attempt to keep her from returning to the spirits. She had tried other ways, but her body had proven too strong, or the equipment too weak, so on one or two occasions, they had saved her life just to lock her back in this prison and leave her to rot.

She had tired to forgo water and food wishing to waste away, but te survival instinct of the Drev ran too deep over the long term, and she was unable to finish herself honorably. It was the worst punishment she could have thought of, to be left on the face of the world as a cripple unable to die.

And so she sat there in the darkness of her cell day and night dreaming of great battles she had once fought in, armies she had led, and…. The glory and happiness she had once shared with her dear beloved Lanus, dead more than half a decade now, his body decaying into the moss and stone of a bone riddled battlefield. Oh how she missed him, how she had missed him for two and a half decades as they grew apart, as his demeanor had soured towards her.

She thought it was that, which she regretted most of all.

She rocked back and forth slightly imagining his handsome gold carapace and his strong arms that had held her when they were young, when they were still happy. 

Kazna wished to be with him again, wanted nothing more than to finally give up this body so decrepit and broken.

Despite her misery and self loathing, she was not entirely useless, and with her sharp senses she still detected the soft clattering of four pairs of feet coming up the hallway, two of them drev, one of them human.

She sneered.

She hated humans, even more so than the day she had first met them in battle. It was THEY who had taken her home from her, THEY who had destroyed her life, and THEY who had killed her dear Lanus.

The footsteps walked forward, and she expected them to pass by her sell, but instead, they stopped before her, silent except for the shuffling of metal on metal.

She opened her eyes blinking owlishly in the light.

It was the armor that caught her eye first. She had never seen anything like it over the course of her lifetime, but she would have known it anywhere. Pearlescent, glowing like a fallen star from the heavens, the mark of the saints. For a moment she thought she was witnessing some sort of strange illusion, a spirit taken form from the heavens. The light bent and swirled around the body of the Drev, and it was only as her eyes adjusted and the light faded that she saw the face staring back at her.

A face she knew all too well.

She jolted back away holding herself up by just her hands, “You!” her voice came out as a strangled sort of yelp.

Chalan, Kazna’s daughter, looked back at her from under the helmet of a Saint.

“Kazna.”

Kazna covered her eyes, wiped at her face and looked up again, sure that she was hallucinating, sure it was all a lie, but the armor only seemed to glow all the brighter as she looks.

“I… it can’t be.” She whispered,”You’re not… you.”

“What? Not worthy? The Sentinel of the mountain begs to differ.”

Kazna started 

Chalan stepped forward face just opposite the humming barrier of energy, “I climbed to the top of the mountain and there I met the watcher Naktan, who helped me develop the new doctrine. Even as we speak it is being spread far and wide among the Drev.”

Kazna shook her head, “No.”

“Yes, the old ways are bringing us into the future mother, the true beliefs of our ancestors are being restored…. One of them, I think you might be interested to hear. The doctrine of the spear….which I am told is a doctorne as old as time and perverted by generations past, a doctorinthat says any Drev born with the ability to hold a spear shall be spared the fire.”

Kazna started, “What meaning does this have to me! Why are you here?’

Chalan stared at her impassively, nothing like the stubborn young Drev who had lived her life through impulse. This was the cold stare of a warrior, and Kazna couldn’t deny that.

“As a Saint, i might say that every Drev  deserves to know the truth, to hear about changes in our religion despite their status, but…. Honestly mother, my reasons are a little more pretty than that. You were wrong about me, and your hatred tore our family apart.” There was a shifting behind her and kazna raised her eyes to find…. But n… this couldn’t be right either, it was an apparition! A lie! This couldn't be real.

She struggled to her feet in such horrific pain tat she had to claw her way up the wall to get a better look, “Kanan….m...my son…. You can’t be real.”

The hulking shape stepped out of the shadow to reveal the truth. That iwas, in fact, her son, with his blood red carapace and eyes like his father, “But I am.”

They were both here, both of her children, and one of them sainted. It must have been a delirious dream. None of this could have been real, but deep down she knew it was, she wasn’t that far gone.”

Chalan tilted her head, “You’ve fallen far, mother.”

Kazna hissed, “Leave me to my peace!” She shrieked. She Turned her head in an angry whirlwind and as she did, her eyes fell on the figure standing just behind thm, diminutive in comparison to a Drev, with only two arms,and a very human face. She recognized him instantly, and flew into a violent rage that tossed her pain from her like a cloak. She slammed her hands against the barrier despite the shocks it sent up her arms.

“YOU,YOU MURDERER!”

The human stared at her impulsive but said nothing

She was livid spitting vitriol at the human who had killed her dear Lanus.

“How dare you betray him!” She said whirling on Chalan, “How dare you betray his memory, by befriending this, this THING.”

Chalan sneered at her, “You’re pathetic mother. Father died in fair battle, and I hold no grudge.”

“You disgrace, hiding behind the cowardly worm who killed your father. This maggot riddled spite filled unworthy creature!”

WIth a sudden jolt of movement chalan slammed her hand against the side of the wall causing kazna to stubble back and fall, “You will not speak of him that way!” her eyes glowed gold like fire and she seemed to grow larger with her anger despite her diminutive size. “You pathetic hate filled shadow. This human has showed me nothing but honor and respect, which is far more than you have ever done, and with my blessing he carries the legacy of MY father, who I KNOW would respect him as a warrior should.”

Kazna was so angry she could hardly speak.

“What is he to you.”

Standing across the barrier, both of thm shaking with pent up tension and rage.

With her voice tight like a rubber band, straining as if it were to break, Sunny leaned forward, “You will not speak of MY battle partner in such a manner.”

Kazna froze. The tension between them drew tight until it snapped completely.

She saw red, and white and black all in quick succession. She screamed until her voice broke and slammed her hand against the barrier. Her daughter with her husband’ MURDERER!

Kazna continued to scream until the guards rushed in, and she had to be restrained physically.

As she turned her head, she watched as the group of them were ushered away, but she caught Chalan’s eyes and as she did she watched as her daughter rested an affectionate hand on the man’s shoulder the look on her face one of wicked glee.

And then she screamed some more.

***

“So uh, mind telling me what the hell that was about?”

Adam drew to a halt as Sunny marched down the hallway, forcing them all to a stop Cannon looking almost as confused.

Sunny drew to a stop stiffly, “I’m sorry…. I just, I wanted to watch her hurt.”

“As much as I enjoyed her little tantrum,” Adam began, “I was last under the impression that you and I weren’t a thing anymore, unless there is something I missed and we are again, in which case I’m not complaining but….. It's kind of a hell of a way to find out, and admittedly not one that I particularly appreciate.”

She looked away.

“I’m not a fan of being used like that.”

“I’m sorry.” Shewhispered, “I got carried away…. And I...I guess I wasn’t as ready as I said I was.”

She looked up and with a good natured smile he shrugged, “As an expert in not being as ready as I think I am, I can forgive you.” He rested a hand on his arm, “Maybe you will listen to me next time I suggest it isn’t a good idea. I do have your back after all.”

She lifted her head and nodded, “I know.”

“Besides that…. Did it help Confronting her?”

Sunny paused and stared down at the floor.

“No…. it feels empty.”

Spite had brought her nothing 

And she felt no better.

[itsuki-minamy]

BEFORE ZERO: CHAPTER 3 “PURGATORY HOUSE”

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia 

* Chapter 1 * Chapter 2

The head of "Purgatory" is in prison.

As long as it is isolated from society inside the ship, its existence is allowed.

But perhaps he will escape from prison at will and spread destruction over the world.

If he cannot be chained, he will have to die on the spot.

Before the next leak and destruction.

++++++++++

The "Undertakers" is a sign that refers to the Red Clan "Purgatory". Wearing black suits reminiscent of mourning clothes, the members of "Scepter 4" call them "Undertakers" and "Return from the Funeral" to members of the Red Clan.

In addition, in the same firm, what is called "prison" is the territory of "Purgatory", "Ruins of the Kaume Detention Section in Toyosawa District". Originally, it was a secondary penal institution under the jurisdiction of the Tokyo Detention Center, but lost its function as a public facility due to the attack and occupation of the "Red King" Kagutsu Genji, later it was approved as a territory by "Tokijikuin".

It should be said that the "Red King", who is not connected to any prison, was "imprisoned" by himself. Anyway, the "prison" is now home to "Purgatory".

And the "Red King" and his subordinates are "imprisoned" at will.

If you escape the territory protected by extraterritorial law and show up in the metropolitan area of ​​the city, you will fall in love with the extraordinary ability of fire. In that way, not only does he often kill and injure innocent citizens, but in the latest Beta-Class case, the Hiragi Incident, the escape of the clan's executive, Hiragi Toma, has completely turned a section of downtown the city on charred soil.

"Purgatory" was a spark that hovered across the map, and if left unattended, it would burn forever. The normal police cannot cope with the super physical destructive power they wield, and from the position of the leader of the "Covenant of Seven Kings", the response of "Tokijikuin" led by the "Golden King", usually comes late. In that situation, it was the responsibility of "Blue King" Habari Jin and his subordinate clan "Scepter 4", to quickly arrive on the scene and crush the fire from his black robes.

As an extension of that responsibility, Habari finally decided to invade the territory of "Purgatory" and kill the "Red King".

As long as the existence of the "Seven Kings" is beyond the law of a country, it is not an act that follows legal legitimacy.

So is it some kind of private fight? That is different.

Limited royal power war. The fight, which is fought by the will of the "King", is a "public" act against all people beyond the nation.

The "Blue King" Habari Jin, thinks so.

The "Golden King" Daikaku Kokujoji admits it, and other kings also tolerate and wait.

But what about the "Red King"?

First of all, there is no room or need to ask for his position.

The violent "King" is a fiery beast that burns the city and kills people just by being present. It is a disaster for everyone who has a life. For the sake of humanity, it must be exterminated as quickly as possible.

Habari Jin thinks so.

He doesn't think about it, he doesn't talk about it, he just looks inside the ship.

++++++++++

"Final confirmation."

Shiotsu called the members from the back seat in a personnel transport vehicle heading to the prison.

"The purpose is the boss, the 'Red King', but be sure to neutralize every clan member you come across. Think of unnecessary hoof bets as endangering the entire 'Scepter 4'."

"Don't worry, brother Gen."

Akio screamed.

"You can cut it from the edge you see. It's easy."

There was a low laugh among the members. There cannot be a human in this vehicle who can win in a cutting battle. If there was such a person in the past, they would definitely be dead.

The voice of "Blue King" Habari Jin, from the communication device, inspires the members.

“We, “Scepter 4”, carry out the duties of being an individual swordsman, controlling the sword with a sword. There is no cloudiness in our haste for the cause!"

"Hurry up!"

A transport vehicle went through the main door of the detention branch, overturned the body and opened the rear door. Seven members jump out of the vehicle and run to the prison building at the same time.

First of all, Goki Zenjo and Akio Minato came out first. Zenjo leans over and glides across the ground, and Akio rushes to compete, jumping step by step.

Behind are four men.

One is equipped with two sabers. And the other has a spear. The remaining two have a dagger.

The names are Azuma Sohei, Bado Ryoichiro, Chidjiiwa Gaku, Daiba Sadamitsu. All of them, who carry extraordinary light on their bodies and run at speeds that surpass ordinary people, are first-rate players who go beyond the level of simple extraordinary combat personnel.

Finally, Shiotsu followed them in form to chase the six. Maintaining the position behind so that everyone's behavior is in view.

Hearing the sound of the door smashing, more than a dozen men jumped out of the prison. "Undertakers" in black suits, the lower members of the "Purgatory" clan.

Of the "Undertakers" who still could not understand the situation, Zenjo and Akio cut off the first two heads that flew to the left and right.

"It's the Blues!"

"Kill them!"

It should be said that those in black clothes regained their posture before the two severed bodies fell to the ground. Some are bare-handed and others carry weapons such as knives and tonfas, each with a red flame of genius in their fists and specialties.

Furthermore, when they formed a dense formation to protect their backs, a battle group was formed surrounded by a huge flame. Even if it is Zenjo or Akio, it is difficult to cut this flame.

However, at that moment, a man stood out from the “Scepter 4” racing field. Tall beyond good, broad shoulders, long limbs. It's the spearman, Bado.

"Ha!"

Bado put his feet on the ground and pushed forward as he turned the iron spear. From both arms to the handle of the spear and to the tip of the ear, a radiant blue light of different skill spiraled and emitted in a swirl like a thin twister.

The blue light twister pierced through the defense of the flame, brought out the side of the black clothes in front and broke the formation of them while involving several people around.

Then there was a person who ran down Bado's side and jumped into collapsed space. It's Azuma, two-sword style.

His body is well trained, but the height is average. Swallowed in a flock of black clothes in the blink of an eye.

"Otsu!"

Azuma took a breath with the sabers dangling from his left and right hips, crossing his arms. The extraordinary light condensed on the blade shone in the air, and the left and right black clothes were cut at the same time. Azuma also manipulated the two sabers with sometimes symmetrical and sometimes asymmetrical orbits, rotating his entire body in a complex way. Two lines of blue blade light flashing around Azuma. The black robes that brushed against the trail of death's light are surprised one after another like a puppet whose thread of life is cut.

"This guy…!"

A group of intimidating black robes surround Azuma. From behind, there was a man who jumped with a sign of anger.

"Blue Clothes!"

"Purgatory", Executive, Jingo Iwamon.

A big and thick body that seems to burst the black suit on the inside. The right half of the face is a trace of an old burn and the original face has crumbled to the point of being confused.

He doesn't have a gun. The rock-shaped fist itself is a weapon. When he put the power into his fist, Iwamon's right half immediately burned out. The black jacket burns, revealing the body engulfed in flames. Only the right side of the midline is surrounded by burning flames, as if the face, chest, and arms are separated by a line.

When Iwamon stiffened like a beast, he ran towards Azuma.

A giant body engulfed in flames closes in to cover the view, and a rock-shaped fist turns into a volcanic bullet and fires a shot into Azuma's chest.

Azuma swung his twin blades and slammed them into Iwamon's fist. Two swords and a fist collide violently.

The blade of the blue genie would have easily broken, even if it was a real volcanic bullet.

However, the fist of the different skill received the blade of the different skill and further repelled Azuma's entire body.

Neither his fist nor his sword broke, but the black clothes that surrounded him ate the collision of the two forces, the red and the blue. Several people who were unable to defend the sentry wall collapsed and agonized from the impact of hitting the internal organs.

One of them, with a fiery fist, grabbed the chest of black clothing next to him. When he lifts a man of average physique to the extent that his legs floated with one arm and put more effort into it, the flames on his right arm burned softly. The extraordinary flame swirled throughout the body in the blink of an eye, and the black robes screamed and fluttered violently. The pain from the heat of the flame that burns the whole body, is a reaction due to the physiological contraction of the muscle.

Iwamon threw a burning black body at Azuma, who was getting ready as he leaped back. The man who flies while burning is one size larger than Azuma only in terms of physique. Frantic fire Tatsuma, screaming in pain, a huge reef of fire. He approached with the smell of burning hair and grease and exploded in front of him.

Chidjiiwa pushed the dagger with both hands. It is not meant to attack. With the point down, hold the handle with his right hand, place his left hand on the blade, and show the dagger forward.

The flaming human body that flew there exploded in front of the dagger. However, the bodily fluid that was supposed to fall onto Chidjiiwa's body was scattered in all directions at the site, as if it had been hit by an invisible wall.

Rather than putting the power of a different skill on the sword, it is a fighting technique of a different skill that develops as a "shield", but Chidjiiwa specialized his technique at that point. The dagger held in the opposite hand is nothing more than a means of controlling different abilities. The non-material shield formed by the high-density force field is Chidjiiwa's weapon.

Defense specialization. His qualities, which can be called "shield soldier" of different abilities, are more effective when collaborating with the same person than when fighting alone.

And conversely, there are also owners who specialize in attacks.

"Shu...!"

With a strong exhale, a slender, youthful body leapt from the shadow of the giant Chidjiiwa. It only takes two steps to close the distance of about 1 meter to Iwamon. Stepping on god speed, even if there is no gap between the flying tools. No, he was a flying tool himself. That is why he is called "Daiba, the arrow thrower" with the accumulation of classes.

The specialty is a small dagger of the same type as Chidjiiwa's. He also developed his fighting skills without using a sword. It is a combat technique that specializes in assassination, focuses on the limbs and tip of the dagger, and specializes in approaching and piercing. The technique of betting, "If you get within three steps, I'll win.", but on the other hand, there was a difficulty defending the side, and he was not good at fighting. On the actual battlefield, he compensates for his weaknesses by cooperating with the Chidjiiwa shield.

Daiba has now taken the first and third steps and has taken a leap towards Iwamon. It is a movement that jumps to the head and stabs the dagger that he holds in the opposite hand.

"Uh!"

iwamon struck the front of his face with his burning right hand. Daiba leaned back and avoided his hand, but got caught in midair as he lost his posture with his other hand. On Iwamon's left side, he grabbed him by the ankle.

Iwamon can crush Daiba's ankle as it is. He can also hit him against the ground.

Iwamon grabbed Daiba with his right hand. Inject the power of red abilities and ignite the entire body from within. The most reliable means of execution.

A thick and fiery finger grabbed Daiba's neck, at that moment...

Akio, who jumped from the side, struck his reddened wrist with a saber.

However, the sword was flipped without blowing Iwamon's wrist. Like Azuma's twin swords, Akio's sword was protected by a powerful flame.

But... the next moment, Iwamon's head flew off.

On Akio's other side, Zenjo stepped forward from the left side and brandished his saber. The cut on the left side, which was not covered by the flames, slid into Iwamon's neck surprisingly easily and pierced through.

When Iwamon's neck flew into the air and he hit the ground, Akio began to blame Zenjo for not giving her credit.

Less than a minute has passed since the rush of the transport vehicle.

All six members, including Zenjo, rushed towards the "Purgatory" executives, who would normally cause enormous damage at the end of victory, even if they were surrounded by multiple combat units. It means that he was killed at the best time.

The rest of the black clothes have lost their executives and are upset. It is not a decent battle, but an immediate surrender. Shiotsu thought, instructing the next troops to suppress and stop them.

Is it the same as the last case?

The other day, the outbreak of Hiragi Toma, a "Purgatory" executive, and the suppression of "Scepter 4." At that moment, Zenjo and Akio entered without waiting for instructions, and in the blink of an eye, Hiragi's head fell.

Shiotsu thought that Zenjo was a rebel with a deficiency in operational behavior, but the idea of ​​"Blue King" Habari was different.

First of all, thoughtful combat personnel like Zenjo were, in a sense, a natural enemy of outsiders. Any ability, in principle, is a force that is activated by the consciousness of the person and cannot deal with the attack before the recognition and judgment of the person.

But at the same time, its power is limited.

For example, it is almost impossible to succeed in a surprise attack on a person who has power and destiny beyond the realm of human beings, such as the "Seven Kings".

Habari's idea mocks that law.

That is, the concentrated entry of non-standard combat personnel like Zenjo. Continuous high-speed attack by thoughtful cooperation. By repeatedly hitting the "deadly" target in rapid succession, the target's fate is cut off and the gap in consciousness is opened.

Immediately after the Hiragi incident, Habari told his assistant, Shiotsu.

"Let's call it the beginning of the end, that's my 'main assassin' sword."

And now, the fast-spinning saw blade easily dropped the neck of the "Purgatory" executive.

Now there is no one to guard the prison door, and the entrance to the prison is wide open like when the black clothes came out.

Behind him, there is a hot humming signal.

Countless black robes, a few executives, and a rumbling foundry-like signal from the "Red King" Kagutsu Genji.

Akio looked back, bringing the saber to the body.

"Let's go quickly."

"Oh."

Shiotsu replied.

“The battle continues. Move on."

(To be continue…)

[my-darling-boy]

Why do you think transmed opinions work against trans people? All they think is that you need dysphoria to be trans?

You know? I’m actually glad you asked because this is something I feel VERY strongly about :)

(Self harm/suicide/ed tw)

So: Gender dysphoria. It’s when you feel there is a discrepancy between the gender identity you were assigned with at birth and the gender identity you feel you actually are. And while there is certainly a psychological aspect to dysphoria, a good deal of trans people would say they feel the most dysphoria concerning the way they are aesthetically and audibly perceived by themselves/others, such as feeling dysphoric about their clothing, voice, hair, body, etc. And yes, it’s true, a lot of trans people do end up suffering from dysphoria, which often leads to the pursuit of medically transitioning through the use of surgeries and/or hormone replacement therapy.

And me? I’m not different from that stereotypical case. When I was younger, I had A LOT of dysphoria. I had dysphoria around my body shape. My neck. Voice. Haircut. Clothing. Chest. Height. Face. You name it, and I wanted it changed. I HATED myself. In fact, I concentrated so much on how awful my dysphoria made me feel, I almost committed suicide at 14. I hated myself so much I developed anorexia at 16 which I still struggle with to this day. I hated myself I self harmed until I was 18, and even anorexia is a way for me to self harm today. My self hatred led me to stay closeted for a good portion of my life.

And the culprit behind all this self hatred? Dysphoria. This condition I’m told is what is supposed to validate you as a trans person. Somehow, my level of uncomfortableness is equal to how trans I am. Transmeds teach trans people their level of validity is gauged by how often they look into the mirror and think “I hate myself. And this is what makes me trans.” And when you put that ideology onto an impressionable minor, aka me at 14, you foster an environment for that self hatred to thrive well into adulthood.

When you tell a trans person they MUST have dysphoria to be trans, you are laying the foundation for them to forever associate self hatred as being an intrinsic, founding part to their trans identity. When you tell a trans person they MUST have dysphoria to be trans, you are asking them, “How much do you hate yourself to be considered worthy of being called trans?”

And on TOP OF THAT, a lot of the times dysphoria is being used as this ticket word that grants you access to the Trans Clubᵀᴹ, and that means SOME people think that puts them at a high and mighty position to talk down to other trans men who don’t have that ticket in an effort to make themselves feel more masculine or more deserving of a trans title. It’s just that repackaged toxic cis masculinity of “Ha ha! I’m more manly than you!”

ALSO, when you tell trans people they must have dysphoria, you are REQUIRING them to always be uncomfortable with themselves for as long as they live, that no act to alleviate their dysphoria should ever be 100% effective or else they will no longer be considered trans without dysphoria.

So with that in mind, when I get my top surgery, i.e THE LAST STEP TO ALLEVIATE MY DYSPHORIA WHICH IS MY ULTIMATE GOAL, and my dysphoria is GONE (because I will feel my body matches up with how I feel finally) will transmeds say I’m not trans anymore? Even though I go through the same processes like changing all my legal documents, using male pronouns/name, pursuing surgeries, getting HRT that would stereotypically label me as trans, am I no longer allowed to say I’m trans anymore? Because if transmeds say I’m still allowed to still call myself trans at that point, they’re supporting a double standard.

Trans people are made to feel that shame, discomfort, and hatred are the hallmark traits to being trans. We are made to feel from DAY ONE of our coming out that we are not worthy of our pronouns or name, of being who we are. We shouldn’t have to prove anything to anyone. It’s not a contest to see who can be the most valid, or whose pain is deemed the most worthy to call themselves trans. We are already told we should feel bad about our identity by cis people and transmeds reinforce that narrative, that feeling bad IS what makes you trans, and I won’t stand for that

I get that trans people can have dysphoria, but it should not be an exclusive requirement

[linechinese]

Chinese Clothing

Chinese clothing has a long history, which leaves a precious heritage for the world. With five thousand years of Chinese history and 56 ethnic groups, Chinese textile printing and dyeing technology had led the world for thousands of years. Almost every dynasty has its distinctive characteristics of clothing culture, and every ethnic group dresses differently. China is the most developed country in clothing culture in the world.

History

Chinese traditional clothing strives to be harmonious between heaven and man. Heaven and man are the relations between the universe and man. Due to the admiration of heaven and harmony with nature, traditional clothing was designed to be more relaxed and elegant, with little restriction on the human body, which is the corresponding relationship between heaven and earth.

1.Clothes in Shang and Zhou Dynasties

The clothing material in the Shang dynasty is mainly leather, silk, and linen. The slaveholders and nobles are usually wearing colorful silk garments. Slaves and commoners were generally dressed in natural linen, ko-hemp cloth or cilice cloth. The fabric color of this period is warm for many, especially yellow and red, between light brown and dark brown. The clothes don’t have buttons, usually a belt tied around the waist, and some hung with jade ornaments.

2.Clothes in the Spring and Autumn and Warring States Periods

During the Spring and Autumn period, the Embroidery process made great progress, making the clothing materials more elaborate with more varieties. The clothes of upper societies are decent and the lower classes are narrow. In the style, the most popular ones are Shenyi and Hufu. Shenyi has the meaning of keeping your body inside. It was the casual dress of the scholar-bureaucrat and the formal wear of the common people. In 307 B.C., the King Wuling of Zhao State advocated dressing in Hufu, which was convenient for riding and shooting activity.

3.Clothes in Qin and Han Dynasties

The clothing in the Qin dynasty has no great difference with that in the Warring States period, and the basic style of Shenyi remained. Clothing for men and women both are overlapped and rightward collars with narrow sleeves, whose purfle and waist belt are decorated with a colorful, delicate pattern. The style of men’s clothing in the Han dynasty is roughly divided into two kinds: the curved hem and the straight-front robe. Shenyi is the style of curved hem. The straight-front robe is common in the Eastern Han, but not formal wear. In the Han dynasty, a costume system(Yufu) appeared. There were more than 20 kinds of formal wear, court dress and casual clothing for the emperor and all officials. The class distinctions in clothing were already apparent.

Hanfu is the traditional clothing of Chinese Han nationality. It formed a perfect clothing system in Han Dynasty and popularize to the masses, and also influenced the whole Han cultural circle through Confucianism and Chinese law.

4.Clothes in Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern Dynasties

In the northern and southern dynasties, when the northern minorities invaded the central plains and interplay with locals, the clothing was also changed greatly. Especially a large number of Hu people made Hufu the most fashionable clothes at that time. Close-fitting, round collar, and slit are the main features of Hufu.

5.Sui and Tang Dynasties

During the Sui and Tang dynasties, the development of clothing, whether in material and style, presented an unprecedented splendid scene. Whatever clothes of officials or common people, men or women, all showed their open mind and pioneering spirit, which fully reflected the distinct features of time and nationality.

6.Clothes in the Song, Liao, Jin and Yuan Dynasties

The clothes in the Song dynasty basically kept the style of Han national dress, and that in Liao, Western Xia, Jin and Yuan's dynasties followed the style of Khitan, Tangut, Nvzhen and Mongolian respectively. The costumes of various ethnic groups are exchange and blending once more. Officials usually wore a robe with big sleeves and carried the rules of hanging “fish bags” with fishes in made from gold, silver or copper around the waist to see the difference of official rank.

The women of the Tangut often wore lapel Hufu, with exquisite embroidery on the collar. The Khitan and the Jurchen were generally in overclothes featured with narrow sleeves, round collar and knee-length, as well as long boots on foot, which were suitable for hunting at any time. The women wore a long gown with narrow sleeves, overlapped and leftward collar, which was long enough to the dorsum of the foot. Zhisunfu (Jisum in Mongolian) is the common clothes in the Yuan dynasty, tight and narrow, with many pleats at the waist, which was convenient for mounting and dismounting the horse.

7.Clothes in Ming and Qing

The clothes in Ming and Qing dynasties have great differences. In the Ming dynasty, Han traditional clothing was most common, while Manchu clothing dominated in Qing dynasty. Both had distinct features of the class. At the beginning of the Ming dynasty, the clothes were required to continue the styles of the Tang. The official’s costume also uses Futou and a round collar robe. The clothes of the Qing Dynasty had a substantial influence on modern fashion.

8.Clothes in Modern times

The clothing of the Chinese entered a new era. With more communication with foreign countries, class rules of clothing were break down and traditional clothing was increasingly influenced by western and replaced by many new varieties. Since the 1920s, women love cheongsam, which has gradually become a lasting fashion. From the 1950s to the 1970s, the Zhongshan suit became the common clothes. Women’s wear was influenced by the Soviet Union and the one-piece dress swept the city.

Famous Traditional Chinese Clothes Types

1.Hanfu:

Hanfu, the traditional clothing of the Han nationality,“Began the Yellow Emperor, prepare for Yao and Shun”, came from the Yellow Emperor system Mianfu and was fixed in the Zhou dynasty. In different periods of history, Hanfu has some changes, but overlapped and rightward collars are invariable. A whole set of Hanfu usually consists of three layers: a small coat (underwear), a middle coat(inner garment), and an overcoat. Until the Han Dynasty, the Hanfu was adopted and promoted by the ruling class. The Mianfu of Topcoat-plus-Skirt style(separate tops and lower garment) is the official dress of the emperors and officials. Shenyi (Gown) is the casual clothing of the officials and scholars, and Served Ru skirt is worn by women. The laboring class generally wears short clothing in imperfect conditions.

2.Tang Suit

The name “Tangzhuang” was originally created by overseas Chinese people due to the prosperity of the Tang Dynasty. Chinese people are also called “Tang People” by foreigners. In fact, Tang suit (or Tangzhuang) has two varieties in Chinese culture. One is a kind of Chinese clothing, evolves from the Hanfu, featured with overlapped and rightward collars and tied with a sash. The representatives are Qixiongruqun(waistband above the chest), Tangyuanlingpao(round collar), Jiaolingruqun(collar in the shape of letter Y). The other one is a kind of pseudo-traditional Chinese jacket with a straight collar. This kind of Tang suit has four characteristics: mandarin collar with an asymmetrical front opening; one piece of sleeves and clothes, with buttons down the front and right angle button.

3. Cheongsam

Cheongsam or Qipao in Chinese, the traditional dress of Chinese women in the world, is honored as the quintessence of Chinese national culture and the national dress of Chinese females. After the 1920s, it became the most popular clothing of women, which was determined by the government of the Republic of China as one of the national dresses in 1929. After the 1980s, as the traditional culture being revalued and with the effects of film and TV culture, fashion show and beauty contest, cheongsam was gradually prevalent in the mainland, and all over the world. Cheongsams are close-fitting and draw the outline of the wearer’s body. The classical cheongsams mostly used straight lines, loose body piece and split ends into both sides. The chest circumference and waistline are closer to the size of the dress. Modern cheongsam is designed more close-fitting and accompanied with sleeves in western style. Its length of the body part and sleeves are greatly shortened. The design of Cheongsam got various inventions like a ruffled collar, bell-like sleeves, and black lace frothing.

4. Chinese Tunic Suit

Chinese tunic suit, also called Mao suit or Zhongshan suit, named after the Chinese revolutionary pioneer Dr. Sun Yat-sen, was designed on the basis of Japanese student costumes. It has a turn-down collar and four pockets with flaps. Mao Suit was named because the famous political figure Mao Zedong often worn it. It was once one of the most popular standard clothes for Chinese men. After the 1980s, with the deepening of reform and opening up, western-style suit and other fashions gradually became popular. It is worth mentioning that Chinese leaders are still used to wearing Chinese tunic suit when attending major domestic events.

5. Clothing of the Ethnic Minorities

Ethnic minorities wear their national costume in daily life and the occasion of festival etiquette. China’s 55 ethnic minority clothing, due to the difference in the geographical environment, climate, customs, and habits, economic, cultural, forms different styles, colors, and with distinctive national features. Generally, there are two types: long gown and a short coat. People in gown wear hats and boots, and the people in short coats wear headcloth and shoes. Some techniques of Chinese ethnic minorities such as embroidery and batik are much developed and are widely used in making clothing adornments. This is another feature of their costumes.

[zamancollective]

Fiction, Poetry, and the Shaping of Mizrahi Cultural Consciousness

By Sophie Levy

This article was originally published in the Fall 2019 issue of The Current, a journal of politics, culture, and Jewish affairs at Columbia University.

“So sometimes people think we are Arabs

and they are Jews?

[My nephew’s] words make flocks of birds fly through my body

ripping my blood vessels in the commotion

and I want to tell him about my Grandmother Sham’a

and Uncle Moussa and Uncle Daoud and Uncle Awad

But at the age of six he already has

Grandmother Ziona

Grandmother Yaffa

lots of uncles

and fear and war

he received as a gift

from the state.”

- Adi Keissar, “Clock Square”

I read Adi Keissar’s poetry for the first time at fifteen years old, when my mother forwarded me a link to Haaretz’s Poem of the Week under the headline “Who’s who? Who’s an Arab, who’s a Jew?”

The poem was a vignette of a conversation between Keissar and her young nephew as they walked beside the clock tower in Jaffa, tracing the aftermath of his distant observation of a man speaking Arabic. With each consecutive line, I felt like an anvil had been dropped on my chest (in the best way possible). Why did a Persian girl from Los Angeles who hadn’t really thought about her Judaism in years feel such a punch in the gut from a poem by a Yemeni woman in Israel? It felt incomplete and a little tacky to exclusively attribute my reaction to our shared Judaism. There was another layer to consider— a quiet but strong common denominator between the way I thought of my family and the way Keissar wrote about hers, even though I grew up hearing Farsi spoken more than Arabic, and I am American, not Israeli.

I only heard the word Mizrahi used to describe people from Middle-Eastern and North African Jewish backgrounds a few weeks before I read “Clock Square.” It made sense to me that there was another word for us out there—for Jewish people who called ourselves Sephardi even though our supposedly Spanish lineage seemed less-than-factual. It felt good to become aware of this new, audibly articulated way of making a distinction I wanted made—not because I resented the Sephardi label, but because I noticed something different about the community from which I came, and those differences were bound to Iran, not Spain. I let the word roll around inside my head and off my tongue. Mizrahi. So that’s what I’m called.

Of course, label-picking in the age of identity politics can sometimes take on a flattening or superficial connotation. It’s understandable that pinning any one label onto a multifaceted self can feel stifling, and there's been no shortage of analysis surrounding the derogatory or Orientalist undertones of Mizrahi’s literal translation to eastern. It’s a subject that often comes up in the company of other young Arab and Persian Jews I know, some of whom also feel distanced from the term’s relatively recent or “artificial” origin in Israel’s political lexicon.

Bearing this nuance in mind, I would still argue that identification with and critical thought surrounding the issue of Mizrahiut can open the doors for a new, constructive, collective self-perception— one that’s rooted in a consciousness of culture, heritage, and history. In her essay “The Invention of the Mizrahim,” Ella Shohat acknowledges how the Mizrahi label can be seen as a construct born from societal formation under Zionism, but also sheds light on its strengths. She notes that Mizrahi identity “celebrates a Jewish past” in Southwest Asia and North Africa, and that in turn, it can imply a “future of revived cohabitation” with other peoples of the region. In the meantime, its inclusion of a diverse range of Jewish communities places value on the cultural dialogue that ensued between them once they encountered each other in Israel (or in Western countries, as in my family’s case).

The story of Mizrahi immigration to Israel is not a smooth one. Between 1948 and 1951, roughly 325,000 Southwestern Asian and North African Jews migrated there, following their departure or expulsion from their countries of origin. Upon their arrival, many were placed in transitory refugee camps (ma’abarot) with poor conditions, later being displaced to remote development towns or vacated Palestinian neighborhoods in Jerusalem—situating them in Israel’s geographic and socioeconomic periphery. Their ensuing civil rights struggle would continue for decades.

Mizrahi refugees at a ma’abara in the early 1950s.

Contemporaneously, an underground Arabic literary network began to take shape, connecting Mizrahim in Jerusalem and the ma’abarot with Palestinian writers who remained in Israel proper after 1948. Fiction writers like Sami Michael and Shimon Ballas got their start publishing short stories in al-Jadid, an Arabic-language, left-aligned journal that served as a vital platform for Mizrahim and Palestinians alike in the early decades of Israeli statehood. The novel soon emerged as a favorite medium of Mizrahi writers (many of whom were Iraqi men), their characters’ psycho-emotional turmoil reflecting the tumult of the political changes in which they were caught. Whether set in Baghdad, Jerusalem, or Haifa, these novels lamented the waning reality of integrated Muslim-Jewish life, criticized the treatment of Mizrahim in Israel, and conveyed wistful longing for Iraq— all in Arabic.

However important this underground fiction movement was, its tangible success in spurring Mizrahi cultural consciousness among a wider public was limited. Contributors to al-Jadid were writing almost exclusively in intellectual circles, hiding themselves from wider readership in ma’abarot or other communities of Arabic-speaking immigrants to Israel. Further, the overwhelming cultural dominance of the Labor Zionist Ashkenazi literary canon and the disenfranchisement of Mizrahim on a material level led to practical obstacles to publishing. Thirdly, although the deliberate decision on the part of these authors to write (sometimes exclusively) in Arabic was a commendable act of resistance against the state’s efforts to stifle the language’s use, this reduced their novels’ wider appeal to a Hebrew-speaking public. Amid the political activism of the Mizrahi Black Panthers and the decline of the Labor Party in the 1970s, Mizrahi novelists were able to publish their work more frequently; yet even then, they mostly remained on the margins of literary life in Israel— dear to a burgeoning community of Mizrahi academics, but largely unknown to a wider audience.

Despite these barriers to recognition, Mizrahi fiction was and is of value. The often explicitly-stated goal of these novelists was to encourage a sustained connection to and appreciation of the worlds they were a part of before their displacement to Israel. By writing in Arabic, they demonstrated acute political and historical consciousness, challenging the state’s prevailing narratives about Mizrahi primitiveness, its effective demonization of Arab language and culture, and its dismissal of any positive bond to diasporic life. Most importantly, in the words of the writer Almog Behar, their work “carried a torch” for Mizrahim of future generations — like Adi Keissar, and like me.

After “Clock Square,” I started reading Keissar’s work almost voraciously, scouring Haaretz and the Forward for translated poems when I couldn’t understand enough of her Hebrew. As a flagrantly opinionated teenager, I got a high from her blunt feminism and indulged in the refreshing matter-of-factness with which she expressed the depth of her emotions. After having left my majority-Mizrahi Jewish day school for the odd funhouse mirror of a secular, preppy, majority-white high school, it felt like a comforting exhale to settle in the sweet, relatable sadness of poems like “Black on Black:”

"My grandmother loved me with a thick accent

spoke to me Yemeni words

I never understood,

and as a child

I remember

how scared I was to stay alone with her

out of fear that I wouldn’t understand the tongue in her mouth [...]

the sounds far, far away

even when she spoke closely.”

I didn’t yet know enough about Israeli history to fully grasp the political subversiveness of Keissar’s poetry, but I did know that her work made me feel seen. I felt estranged from the no-questions-asked Zionism of the Reform, Ashkenazi institutions I belonged to as a child, and I felt detached from my high school’s country-clubby, all-American ethos. Sometimes, as much as it embarrassed me to admit it, I felt the same distance from my large and (lovingly) overbearing Persian family, and even from other Mizrahi kids. Yet the more I looked into Adi Keissar’s work, the more I understood I wasn’t alone in those feelings, and the more I understood there were ways to address them constructively.

The fact that my mother came across “Clock Square” on Haaretz in English translation was not only indicative of Keissar’s increasing success as an individual poet, but of the rising recognition of a poetic movement she had ignited a few years prior. Keissar is the founder of Ars Poetica, a collective whose name is a double-entendre between Horace’s The Art of Poetry and the word ars عرص — a slur reserved for Mizrahi men that essentially translates to pimp in Arabic. Bringing together Mizrahi poets of diverse ages and backgrounds under an all-women roster of leaders, the group has put a new spin on the poetry reading by reinventing it as the hafla (Arabic for party).

Adi Keissar at a poetry reading.

Since Keissar organized a night of rousing performances by spoken-word poets, alternative DJs, and belly dancers at her first hafla in 2013, Ars Poetica’s loud, multifaceted reclamation of Mizrahi cultures has sent shockwaves through Israel and beyond. Keissar, Roy Hasan, and Tehila Hakimi— additional members of the group and renegade poets in their own right— all won the Bernstein Literary Prize within two years of Ars Poetica’s launch. Change is also felt elsewhere. Erez Biton, often seen as a father figure of this poetic movement, faced many of the same obstacles to mainstream success as his fiction-writing contemporaries for decades, until he became the first Mizrahi writer to win the Israeli Prize for Literature in 2015. The next year also presented a huge milestone, when Biton was appointed as chairman of a new governmental committee dedicated to promoting the inclusion of Mizrahi history and literature in school curricula. Since Ars Poetica’s founding, the group’s impact has garnered extensive media attention, with Jewish newspapers and poetry magazines in the US and Britain publishing article after article about the “Mizrahi Revival” cropping up in Israel.

Ars Poetica may well have triggered the strongest shake-up of Liberal Zionist, Ashkenazi hegemony in the context of Israeli literature to date. Of course, as we’ve seen, the written fight for Mizrahi recognition didn’t begin with Keissar, but her collective does much more than function as a simple continuation of the efforts of writers who preceded them. The group’s unprecedented headway is the result of taking that history, learning from it, and building on it in a new direction.

One thing this “new direction” has entailed is a deeper, more intersectional, subversive strain of political consciousness. Written attacks on the structural subordination of Mizrahim now often serve double functions; when Adi Keissar writes in embracement of her body and physical features as a Mizrahi woman, she is also writing to undo the internalization of racialized misogyny. When Roy Hasan bristles against the performative liberalism of centrist Ashkenazi elites, he is also tackling Israel’s class divide as it occurs along ethnic lines. Keissar and Hasan’s ability to synthetically address a broader range of societal issues in their work with relative brevity enables it to speak to a readership wider than that of the novelists before them.

Furthermore, Ars Poetica’s rejection of elitism goes beyond the content of their poems and permeates their approach to language itself— their verses often full of curses and reclaimed slurs, their Hebrew colloquial, their tone raw and piercing. Hasan points to Jay-Z and the Wu-Tang Clan as important influences on his writing, and it only takes feeling the rhythm of repetition and line breaks in his poem “In the Land of Ashkenaz” to feel their impact on his work:

“...I am the armed fucking robbery

The crook with the kippah

In the court of law

I am the graves of holy men

And talismans

I am a pimp

I am clapping hands

And cheap music

Low culture

Low grade

A stubborn root

And a pain in the ass…”

Between the subject matter of its members’ poetry, their use of vernacular language, and their formulation of the hafla as a truly grassroots method for communal ingathering and artistic promotion, Ars Poetica has shown itself to be founded on a sense of radical accessibility. These poets are stripping their medium of the sterile, elite connotation it has borne for many working-class Mizrahim and presented it as a reachable, usable medium for readers, thereby breaking down the barriers that kept Keissar herself from writing poems until she was in her thirties. It’s predictable, of course, that this accessibility has garnered some backlash from prominent Ashkenazim in mainstream literary institutions; critics have branded their poems as too angry, unrefined, or unsophisticated— arguably recalling decades-old biases about Mizrahi primitiveness. I think it’s safe to say that Keissar and Hasan would meet their discomfort with a scoff and a smile.

There’s also something to be said about the rise of poetry as the medium of choice for many of today’s Mizrahi writers. Prose still has its merits, of course; fictional narratives are a way of emotively articulating and preserving a fairly developed sense of what life was like for Mizrahim before 1948. It remains relevant, as demonstrated by the writer Ayelet Tsabari, for instance, in her use of short stories to create strikingly beautiful vignettes of modern Mizrahi life. But poetry, by virtue of its performability and new aura of accessibility, has demonstrated a special potential for change— not only in Ars Poetica’s move closer to the spotlight in Israel, but in its ability to effectively reaffirm the value of Mizrahiut in the eyes of an ordinary reading public.

This new wave of Mizrahi writing is turning heads toward old and new writers alike. A sweet consequence of the poets’ success today has been rising recognition of yesterday’s novelists, and that recognition is happening in contexts much more interesting than just Israeli academia. This past October, Mahmoud Abbas requested the printing of Ishaq Bar-Moshe’s novel Departing Iraq for distribution at a “conference for Arab leaders” in the West Bank, echoing the author’s hopes for cooperation and consistent interaction with Palestinian Arabs. Meanwhile, the media buzz around Ars Poetica has exposed young Mizrahim in the diaspora to the concept of cultural revival, creating real potential for us to process what we’ve been through, scrutinize where we are, and connect to where we come from.

That’s certainly what new Mizrahi poetry has done for me. I should clarify that my close family doesn’t have a history of immigration to Israel, and I will not erroneously claim to understand what it’s like to grow up in a majority-working class, Mizrahi development town. Even so, amid the difficulties of toggling between life in a huge, close-knit Persian family and finding myself lost in Ashkenazi-run, ardently Zionist institutions, I’ve noticed links between the kinds of alienation many Mizrahim feel from our cultures, whether we were raised in Israel or in the Western diaspora.

The experience of occupying any larger, Ashkenormative framework presents its commonalities: being discouraged or prohibited from speaking Farsi or Arabic as if it were a vulgarity, receiving minimal formal education in Jewish history aside from shadowy mentions of the Holocaust or sanitized tales of Israel’s establishment. From another angle, the legacy of our parents’ or grandparents’ exile from Muslim countries presents its own unique implications: a precarious relationship to the languages that came before English or Hebrew because of the political stigmas they bear, the angst or detachment that results from not being able to see your family’s country of origin because of blacklisting or hostile diplomatic relations. All of this feels disorienting, to say the least.

Written endeavors to foster Mizrahi cultural consciousness— whether academic or creative, intellectual or grassroots— have not only sought to combat this disorientation, but to engage with it on a deeper level, to wrestle with it and derive something of substance from that struggle. The Mizrahi writing with the strongest impact and the most meaningful legacy does more than shallowly advocate that we “connect to our roots;” rather, it demands that we unravel feelings of disorientation and displacement by facing our histories in full, envisioning what we want for the future, and giving ourselves a voice to communicate that effectively. This means reckoning with our relationships to Ashkenazi institutions and communities, but also to non-Jewish Middle-Eastern ones. Iraqi novelists sought to reach across the latter divide by writing in Arabic, and progressive Mizrahi writers today do the same in their advocacy for increased solidarity with oppressed populations across the region.

Engaging with Mizrahiut in a modern context also prompts us to reevaluate the idea of the “homeland.” There is discomfort in an awareness of our communities’ intense estrangement from places and worlds that were once inextricable from our existence. But out of this awareness, and out of the complex implications of exile, there is room for a new understanding of what constitutes a “homeland” for Mizrahim. Alphabets and accents, stories and poems, flavors and smells, songs and images become objects of longing often as deep as the desire for physical return to an inaccessible place. I think a lot of us quietly yearn for that feeling of home, even if we don’t always know how to articulate that or put a finger on what it is. I find it most often in the celebration of dialogue between Mizrahim, in recognizing the connections we have to the things we’ve been conditioned to forget, and in the words of writers like Roy Hasan:

“From the ruins of the language of my parents

I shall build a house for my children."

[goodnessgatsby]

Erm....Update

Species: Touming Home planet: The Void, located 37 parsecs from earth Information important to her species: Though this species is mostly peaceful clans, they have been through their fair share of wars, some within the three clans that make up their planet. There are three main classes for a Touming society, the first is where most Toumings aim to lead the rest of their lives, and this place is known as the Glair. The people who live here tend to have much wealth and more often than not have met their Amaire (main soul mate) this means their secondary soulmate or Biottaire would be dwelling in the Gallecs. A place where most do not have wealth and those who do have stayed for their Amaire or their frentairs (parents) most are in the medium range on overall contentment when living here. The final place is the home of the planets defense and beings who live here tend to be spiteful and underprivileged. This place is called the Rampaids, its darker and better known for their military. All Ranclings (newborns) are released in the atmosphere, if their emblem turns black, they are shoved into the vacuum of space to find their Amaire on another planet and never return. If they glow green, they are dropped back into the Glair, if it glows blue, they are flung to the Gallecs and if it glows bright red then it is left in the Rampaids. The emblem decides where the Touming goes, what career they will have, what social status they will grow in and whom they are destined to be with, no Touming can change this fate, it is believed those who shine black die in the search for their decided soulmates, but no one really knows.(Mapason is the only race that has to induce ranclings with a serum that helps develop gills and fins). If a Touming’s chest emits a black glow he or she is feeling threatened and preparing to attack, this glow cannot be hidden by make up or clothing. The attack is an illusion, the body never truly takes damage and the process is very trying on the user, the victim is only meant to experience pain or pleasure through nerves (meaning someone with dead nerves would not be affected by this). The bone structure of a Touming female is not much different than that of a female human, starting with the chest. Its rib cage develops in the shape of a heart, being wider and rounder at the top and narrowing in width as it meets a few inches above the hip bones (they also have 2 less ribs than your average human). These differences also include, having thicker legs and feet to balance out this top-heavy structure. This small frame makes most women of this race very agile and flexible.  As for a male Touming, there is not much difference from a human male, other than also like the females their rib cage takes upon another shape, this time a more rectangular shape making the males appear larger and more intimidating, the hips are also narrower in width with much larger legs, hands and feet to help balance this top-heavy structure. All female Toumings are Five feet tall and all male Toumings are six feet tall. All men and women of this species has the ability to turn into a mist form as an evasive maneuver, but this can only be used once a day, or it may cause large ulcers or in more severe cases an aneurism. The goal of a Touming is to find either their Amaire or Biottaire before the end of  their lifespan. These beings can live for centuries if their Tambaire (both Amaire and Biottaire) are kept alive, but when one of your mates perishes , half of your emblem is crushed releasing half of the lethal fluids that color their eyes and emblem causing the bodily functions to deteriorate at a faster rate (the eye will appear hollow on the side that is shattered) This is meant as a warning sign, for when both mates have passed they will expire as well. The Touming’s organs will slowly lose function and liquify, starting with the least vital organs and finishing with the flesh, leaving behind small ash like bone fragments. This process begins when all the lethal fluids inside have been released onto the organs. These beings can live as long as 3 years before passing after exposure to the fluids, these poor souls can be identified by their hollow looking eyes and clear emblems.   A Touming’s primary soulmate may not share the same romantic status, in some cases Toumings will be paired with someone whose soulmates are 2 separate beings. This is a problem because                                           Toumings cannot reproduce with someone who is not their primary or secondary soulmate. The average Touming can live for 9 centuries without proper dieting, exercise and vitamins, they age at a similar rate to that of humans until they reach the age of 21 only changing in age every century rather than annually. Also Ranclings are carried inside their mother until the age of 3 then surgically removed so it’s emblem can decide it’s dwelling (back before medicine the rancling would burst from its mother’s belly like in alien and be sent to their place of dwelling from there leaving their mother’s corpse behind) There are also a number of diseases a Touming can be killed by, such as Noir (this is the term for when a patient is allergic to it’s own blood, this allergy is not developed until later years in life, symptoms include eyes, nose, and throat swelling shut. Ending with the ear drums bursting leaving the patient in complete darkness, no sound, no sight and no mobility due to oxygen deprivation.) Expulsion (this is the term for when a patient’s emblem shatters moments after birth, causing the body to seize and then implode) Convulsion (the term for when a patient’s heart pulses irregularly for a few days, making the body function at the lowest compacity but at just the height it needs to survive before giving out entirely) etc., The 3 clans were led by 12 deities (Regular Toumings can become Deities through great sacrifice and harsh training as two of the Rampaid Deities did, Lucius and Canbell Audauntess) Jude and Amery Asuno, Sasha and William Androgyny, Lily and Rose Waters, Trixie and Katia Sextan, Quinten and Lilith Valerie, Lucius and Canbell Audauntess, finally Gene and Reese Devarus. Each citizen of each clan bearing the names Asuno., Androgyny, Waters, Sextan, Devarus, Valerie and Audauntess during a period known as the crimson stream for each Deity was given a full year to wreak havoc and live the life they please with their new-found powers before being devoured by the planet to help sustain its life. They lie below the surface of their temple’s located in each continent fully awake and aware of the mere mention of their name but are completely paralyzed until the destruction of their planet. The three clans are now led by the royals of each bloodline, although they do not choose who dwells in their territory, they have full authority over every individual family within the clan, each clan has 5 royal/noble families whom meet with other clans to discuss affairs such as war, trade and universal threat. The rest of the population depends on the overall community, stricter communities such as the Glair have little to no criminals, poverty or known corruption whereas more lenient communities such as the Rampaids has an overabundance of crime, poverty, corruption, murder and the selling of their own people.   Each race can be identified by their traits a Tenshi has a long pointed nose resembling beaks and big wings that can cover the entire body the appearance of these wings depend on the area in which it is dropped (Tenshi who are raised in the Gallecs have transparent wings with jelly-fish like textures that help them glide under the water, and a Tenshi who is raised in the Rampaids develop either charred wings or bat like wings), A Mapason has fin like ears, gills that are on either side of the neck, webbed hands and feet with sharp pointed claws/teeth(these are the only beings who look like normal humans when placed anywhere but the Gallecs excluding sharp teeth and pointed nails), Finally an Akuma tends to have horns of some kind, fire that glazes the skin, dark pigmented skin tones, deep set eyes and fangs/claws(The Akuma when raised in the Glair will have a golden glow surrounding their body rather than flames and cloud like horns, when raised under the cruel seas of the Gallecs the Akuma will develop fins, gills, webbed hands and feet due to the serum, transparent horns and bubbles that surround the body due to high body temperatures , this is also the only instance in which the Akuma may develop a tail as a reaction to the serum). Most of the population is Mapason, as more than 1/3 of the planet is water, the rest is molten lava and dirt which is home to the Akuma and finally in the thick clouds live the Bird like Tenshi whom rule over all 3 domains (THESE ARE JUST A BASE FOR EACH RACE AND DOES NOT INCLUDE THE RACES THAT DWELL IN LANDS FOREIGN TO THEIR ANCESTORS) Tenshi: Along with their wealth and angelic like features, the Tenshi are known for their stuck-up attitude and superiority complexes, this makes them the cause of most wars as they truly wish to be treated like gods. Most civilians wear loose white cloaks over off white or tan clothing, it is rare to see a dark color in the Glair where most Tenshi live. The royals are Featheron, Hailen, Graether, Avalon and Asuno. The nobles but not direct royals are Waters and Androgyny. Finally, the less wealthy, more common folk family names are O’Malley, and Dracon. (Second most technologically advanced as rules over other two domains and can gain whatever they’d like from other kingdoms) Mapason: Along with their vast ocean floors (most “land”), territory and advanced technology, the Mapason are known to be very prideful, but peaceful natured. They are more interested in pleasing their gods and advancing as a society than the other two races, so they often find themselves forgetting the other races exist, acting surprised when coming across another living race. Most civilians wear compression suits and tool belts with medical supplies, it is rare to see someone in the Gallecs who is not well equipped for a fight. The royals are Sextan, Devarus and Curren. The Nobles but not direct royals are Mist, Stream and Rain. Finally, the less wealthy/almost poor are Vincent, Quell, and Tremor. (The most advanced technologically and creates all technology) Akuma; Along with lava baths, fresh smoke filled air and an inability to stay wet for too long, the Akuma are known for their anger and cruelty towards all living beings, they are known for criminal activity and genocide (As the 4th race was killed by Lucius and Canbell) They are most interested in profit and chaos, so they often visit both of the races to take advantage of their benevolence.  Most civilians wear light tight fitted clothing, the clothing is often very revealing as it is scorching in the Rampaids. The royals are Hellion, Caseous, Brutus and Valerie. The nobles but not direct royals are Inferno, Callister, Grace and Wrath. Finally, the poor, more common folk family names are Audauntess, Lord, Vante and Tashiro. (not Advanced technologically)   Last Unmentioned Race; Astroligo: Along with dark almost black or entirely white skin and freckles resembling stars the Astroligo were known for their cunning and time manipulation, they were ultimately wiped out for being the capital for Touming trafficking and although many innocence died, a lot of evil was wiped away. They were most interested in profit and power and sought to overthrow the Tenshi. Most civilians wore gold and black metals as armor. This race was endowed with the ability to alter the speed of time, but this ability did nothing to save them (very advanced technologically). How to become a Deity: As said before the Touming can ascend to godhood through a process of great suffering known to the Touming as Denhia (7 sacrifices) this process begins with breaking ties with all but one person within a social circle, then you are to give away all possessions, then deprive yourself of basic needs such as eating, drinking and sleeping, finally in this worsened state you must pass a test (this is done by surviving a fight with the god of your choosing and is very strenuous), and finally you must slice your palm open then drag it across your neck before you die (this is a sign of respect to the god you defeated) once the heart has been dead for 2 days your body will be endowed with enhanced speed, agility, strength, sight, smell and reflexes (also a body that is without an emblem, leaving hollow energy filled eyes that appear either Red, Black Or White depending on the cause this god has taken on) if the Deity was defeated he/she will choose you to be ascended. This is called 7 sacrifices because there are 5 tasks and 2 battles to pass before godhood. Careers: Careers are decided by the shape an emblem is when a rancling is born, there are ten careers that can be given Caregiver (Heart), Doctor (Hand), Teacher(brain), Assassin (skull), Food industry (fruit), Clothing industry(button), Business (Suitcase), Accountant or Banker (dollar sign), Religion (Star) and entertainment (Music note) Caregiver: These are the Touming that are permitted to raise children, everyone is allowed to have children but only heart shaped emblems can raise them as they are trained to do so. The Emblem is located between the breast bones with veins that wrap around every organ to melt the being from the inside out effectively. The fluid inside of the emblem does not touch any organ other than the eyes, as the pigment of the emblem will change the color of a Touming’s eye as well.     Emotion colors: Red: Anger or frustration Yellow: Happy or content Orange: Stressed or embarrassed Green: Sick or Jealous Purple: Dizzy or intoxicated Pink: Heated or in love Gray: Bored or spacing out Black: Threatened Baby Blue: Sad or depressed Fuchsia: Playful or amused White: Scared or anxious or nervous Indigo: Confident Abilities: To elaborate on the Touming ability, this is the ability to detach one’s control over its own nervous system in exchange for control of another’s nervous system giving this person the ability to cause intense pain/pleasure throughout the entire body. Although this seems overpowering there are a lot of restrictions. One of these is the inability to inflict physical harm on the host body without harming their own body in the process. Another obstacle is a Touming cannot inflict foreign pain to the host, for example if someone had never witnessed a shooting or been exposed to what that pain would look like then the Touming would not be able to expose the host to gun related injuries. (This would also mean memories of pain would make that type of energy feel more potent and vivid) Finally, exerting this ability results in paralysis for an hour (the skin turns to porcelain making the Touming remain still and conserve energy) 4 main characters: Zachary Tomson, Anriel Asuno, Canbell Audauntess and Dracon Devarus Zachary Tomson; First human to be exposed to the race, this will also teach the Touming that there are other species among the stars (this will show how the Touming trafficking began as the U.S government was the first to purchase a Touming, An Akuma to be exact for testing in hopes of curing human diseases) Anriel Asuno plot; High society in the purest dwelling is exposed for emblem sell and political corruption by Anriel who single handedly destroys the order of this planet and is executed publicly by the head royals in the Glair ( will need to start this in a calm/peaceful society ending in enraging the God Lucius who murdered an entire species in order to nullify corruption during his reign) • Chapter. 1; We start in Anriel’s condo located in central talking to B.E.A.T. or Bringer of Ease and Tranquility when Anriel’s Biottaire Avalon Hailen named after the General Xavier Avalon, enters the flat just as his wife is about to leave to show her his findings in the labs (located in the gallacs ) we display the hatred for people living in other districts when Anriel does everything possible to discredit the “Guppies” whom live below the sea, this subject is left to lie as she goes over the notes with Avalon, showing great interest in the human they have discovered Zachary a local nerd and space enthusiast. Avalon snatches his notes away tearing them in half in the struggle as Anriel requests he bring this to the attention of the high counsel’s defense leader Aventcello Hellion, he points out that bringing this to the counsel before completing it would result in terminating the program. They each decide to keep the halves received in the fight and do what they want with the information on it, Anriel leaves her husband to rest and heads to the labs in city central, she spends hours on her research for the day fighting the need to examine her half of the paper which is tucked in her lab coat pocket. Finally caving in she examines the page to find a name and the password for the subterranean lab with the words “Remember you’re not alone” scribbled in cute bubble letters above Avalon’s name. She struggles a bit with the thought of ending her relationship because she does not feel she is giving her all, but ultimately decides this is a terrible decision just in time to get back to the flat. This time she goes upstairs as quietly as possible to steal her husband’s wet suit and helmet (the helmet filters the oxygen out of the water and into the suit) before leaving on this mission Anriel has another discussion with B.E.A.T about the importance of going behind Avalon’s back to get this information, B.E.A.T calls her out for making illogical excuses and she puts the bot on stand by. Finally we are in the city of Warrendale just outside labs surrounded by nerds discussing the changes in society, Anriel attempts to walk past them but is dragged into the conversation about the Gemini Twins Katia and Trixie Sextan, the god’s whose cause was equality and acceptance. Anriel expresses her distaste for being so open about relationships or intimate affairs, therefore her distaste for the two. The group boos her off and into the lab she flees, feeling a little unsure of how her opinion came across and talking to herself about it down the 7 flights of stairs towards the lab she swims, giving us more information on the way the character thinks and acts. We end the chapter with her opening the door to find Melody Mist hard at work behind the desk, the two share a very short conversation before Mel offers her a seat at the desk whilst she rests. • Chpter.2. We begin this chapter with Anriel taking notes on waterproof paper with squid ink, commenting on the pungent fish smell before finishing the last page  written on this Audience with an alien so similar to our species when the screen comes to life with a message from Zachary the two have a long conversation that ends flirty, making the young female confused. Unluckily this process takes so long that Avalon is entering the lab with a rental suit at the same time Anriel is leaving, he stops her in the hall and the two argue before parting ways as unlikely friends. Anriel flies to the home of the Hellion clans upon reaching the island just above the Gallecs and dropping the suit. The family exchanges uncomfortable and racist remarks between the young girl before the father agrees to an audience, realizing her hate for them would give her every reason not to speak with him therefore this conversation would be extremely important. Anriel shares all of her notes and concerns with the general before he speaks, immediately bringing a plan of action to her, she praises his ability to adapt so quickly and the General reminds her the god he worships is one whose cause breeds nothing but murder and chaos before dismissing her. Anriel does not know it, but from this moment on she is followed so that her progress can be monitored. It is her trust in the government that leads her to speaking with Zachary again, Meanwhile the General has shared these notes with the counsel which leads to the selling of a touming in exchange for the life of a human this is not discovered until much later. • Chapter. 3 This chapter begins with the first introduction of Zachary and the events leading up to him receiving a message from Avalon, showing that at first the male thought this was some short of prank, upon discovering it isn’t Zachary stops using his computer for a few days these few days are the equivalent of a 12 hours on the Void, this would mean when he finally decides to message the being back through their blank Facebook account, it seems as though there was no break in the conversation. Zachary explains the difference in time and his initial reaction to speaking to an alien, how he debated with himself on whether or not he would be better off handing this information to the government. This word confuses the Alien girl and he is forced to explain how the government is supposed to work and how it actually works. They decide this is the same as the high counsel and begin getting to know eachother. There is a time-jump to 4 months after or 448 days on the void, giving Zachary time to learn the language and about his beautiful new friend. We reenter with another conversation with Zac and Annie, we learn that Anriel has been moved to the labs where the high-counsel conducts important research a few months prior and has already begun modifications on an aircraft to visit her possible Amaire. We also learn that Zac has been spending just as much time educating her on the way of humanoids  as Annie has spent building the program “Unity”. • Chapter. 4 • Chapter. 5 • Chpter.6 • Chapter.7 Dracon Devarus plot; Trying to find a way to delay the decomposition of the planet and discovers the dangers of the planet dying/ releasing the deities on the galaxies (potentially causing the genocide of many planets) (will need to start in a lab of some kind when core samples show proof of the planet dying) • Chapter. 1 • Chapter.2 • Chapter. 3 • Chapter. 4 • Chapter. 5 • Chapter.6 • Chapter.7

Canbell Audauntess plot; The destruction of the planet releases the deities, including Espan who was one of the only 2 to become a deity rather than being born one. (will need to start in past during her reign or transition to godhood) • Chapter. 1 • Chapter.2 • Chapter. 3 • Chapter. 4 • Chapter. 5 • Chapter.6 • Chapter.7

@sweeetwilliams

[doodlelolly0910]

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N:  New chapter! It's pretty much pedal to the metal from here on out, and I really hope you guys all like it! Sorry about the late update, I know the day is almost gone. I've been having internet issues lately and it's also the reason I haven't been able to respond to your lovely comments! I read them all, though, and I appreciate every one of you! Thank you as always to my fabulous beta @kmomof4 who did (and continues to do!) an amazing job with the @cssns and also find the time to beta this little project of mine :D and another HUGE thank you to @courtorderedcake who created the beautiful artwork for this fic. And thank you as well to everyone who reads this. It means so much to me that you guys are liking this so much! On with the show!

Chapter 11

"What's with the stupid warning on the door? Going for the ominous pirate vibe?" Emma said as he led her back into the office area. Milah’s presence had been near constant in the hours since she came face to face with Hook, but she had been mostly quiet, to Emma’s elation. The scent of jasmine had far surpassed bothersome at this point. She was exhausted and she could feel blood matting her hair at the back of her head where Hook had knocked her out. Everything ached. She just wanted a hot shower and to sleep for a year. But she had a job to do. Hook chuckled. "It's actually Dante, love. Divine Comedy?" he told her and Emma colored in embarrassment. Of course he was intelligent, charming, and sex on legs. He swept his hooked arm before him in a bow, beckoning her into the room, his good arm clutching her bag (now refilled with her things) and the binder, clipboard, and weapons he'd laid out on the desk before. "It's what he wrote as inscribed on the gates of hell." "And what are you? The devil?" She snorted as she walked past him into the familiar room. A rueful expression crossed his face for a brief moment as he shut the door behind them with his hip, but he recovered himself quickly. Emma studied him pensively over the brief glimpse of emotion he'd just displayed. Did he really think that lowly of himself? "I prefer dashing rapscallion," he replied with a cheeky grin and a salaciously raised eyebrow. She gave him a withering look and his grin dissolved into a flirty pout."Scoundrel?" he suggested instead. They entered the office, her face painted with a full on scowl now.

“Are you gonna tell me what I'm supposed to do for you or am I supposed to guess? ‘Cause I'm running out of time here.” She leaned up against the wall opposite where the shelves with the pictures were, putting herself as close as possible to the door. He smirked and laid out the objects he'd brought with them from the Fun Room (as Emma had snarkily dubbed it).

“You are the one who changed the subject, darling,” he reminded her before sitting in the chair behind the desk and reclining back in it slightly, a single brow quirked on his forehead. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, that’s not important. What’s important is if you need me to stay on Gold’s good side, I have,” she looked at the clock shaped like a ship’s wheel on the wall, “six hours and forty seven minutes to get whatever that thing is to him.” She pointed to the object that had very quickly become the bane of her existence sitting near his left elbow. He didn’t look at it, only continued to watch her directly. His gaze was unsettling, like he could see her very thoughts. Strange for someone who refused to believe what was actually going on inside her head.

Give him a chance, Milah’s voice murmured suddenly. Emma set her mouth in a line. She was not going to indulge the spirit in Killian’s presence anymore.

“You can have it,” Hook said with a simple shrug. There was a slight shake to Emma’s head as she looked at him in utter disbelief. She wouldn’t have been more confused if he would have said it in Chinese.

“Are you shitting me?” she nearly screeched, pushing off of the wall. “You- you- you knock me out, split my head open, actually, tie me up, threaten my life, all over me coming to get this thing and now you’re just going to hand it over? No questions asked?”

He stroked a thumb over his jawline and rubbed it over the thoughtful pout on his lips. “Sorry?” he offered, not because he actually was, but because he knew it was what Emma wanted to hear. Or maybe because he knew it would further enrage her. “If you'd rather I keep it…” he moved his good hand to the device and began to slide it towards the drawers Emma had initially found it in. Her anger quickly dissolved into panic.

“No, no, no, let's not be so hasty…” she said, taking the bait and reaching out to still his hand without thinking. His blue eyes shot to hers at the contact and she couldn't look away, her breath stilling in her chest.

“Well, if you insist,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand from underneath hers, drawing the knuckle of his forefinger down the middle of her palm and to the tip of her middle finger sending an electric spark up her arm. She pulled away, her muddled mind even more confused. One minute this guy was threatening her very existence, the next he was… well, whatever that just was.

He pulled the binder closer to him and propped it on his prosthetic arm, the hook of the device curving over the top edge of the plastic. He thumbed through a few pages and stopped on what he was looking for and turned it so Emma could see with a hard look on his face once more.

A photograph stared up at her, a smiling Killian Jones and a beautiful brunette, wrapped up in each other's arms, eyes bright, faces carefree. The swell of jasmine scented perfume around her only confirmed it as she studied the picture intently. This was Milah. She had seen this face before, she remembered, and her eyes drifted to the shelves to the side of the desk. The charcoal sketch of the same face was in the exact spot she recalled it to be. She smiled softly and looked back to Hook, his face a mask of calm despite the pain raging in his heartbroken blue eyes.

He tapped the photo with his hook, drawing her attention to the hand that was cupping Killian's jaw in the picture. There was a ring on that hand, nothing fancy, a simple silver band that twisted into a heart made of a Celtic knot.

“Since you know who Milah is, and her connection to me, I shouldn't have to explain much. She was wearing this ring when she-” he cut himself off with a firm set to his jaw before redirecting his words. “She always wore it. The bastard kept it, and I would like it back. He will keep it somewhere he has access to. He likes to use it as a tool of sorts. I tried meself to get it back once. It… did not go well,” he explained with a dark chuckle and his rap sheet immediately flitted through her mind. “You will get me this ring.” His eyes snapped up to hers. Emma studied the picture a moment longer.

She shouldn't do this. She should just take the device when he let her go and give it to Gold and work on taking him down from the inside. She could do it so easily.  If Hook would have turned out to be literally anyone else, she probably would have. But, despite her resistance to it and their less than stellar first meeting, Emma had found herself invested in Killian Jones. What was more, it made her actually contemplate doing this. More than contemplate.

She wished now more than ever that Graham hadn't gotten hurt. Would any of this be happening if he'd been by her side? Would it have gone worse? A chill ran through her as she thought of Graham and herself lying side by side on a concrete floor somewhere, eyes open and unblinking. In a way, she was glad she'd gotten tangled in this by herself.

Moving towards the shelf, Hook's eyes followed her as she studied the portrait of the woman whose presence she had come to accept as part of her every day. It was odd to think that someone she had developed such a strange relationship with was someone she'd never seen until now. Both she and Liam had been so adamant that Killian Jones was a good person, and she could see from her vantage point that all of his actions seemed to be fuelled by grief. Revenge was a powerful motivator, Emma knew. She raged and lashed out against everything and everyone when her parents died, and then again with Neal. If things had gone fractionally different in her life, she could be sitting where Jones was now. That thought alone, that she could bring him just a fragment of peace, made her want to at least try.

“So this ring,” she said, her eyes moving to the wood and glass case containing the flag next to Milah's picture. The dog tags laying over the top faced away from her, but she knew who they belonged to.

His mother's ring, Milah's voice whispered in her head and Emma frowned. She was not going to react. Subconsciously, she touched the line on her neck left behind by Hook's blade from the last time she'd brought it up.

“Let's pretend there's a snowball's chance in hell that I can even get close to it, what next? You just forget about all of this?” she continued, distracting herself from the lingering presence in the room with them.

It must have been the exhaustion setting in, or maybe side effects of the head wound she'd sustained. Because there was no other explanation for why she would do what she'd done next. Emma actively avoided touching anything that belonged to the dead, knowing what kind of trigger it was for her, and yet, inexplicably, she found herself reaching out to turn the dog tags over so she could read the inscription.

The encounter slammed into her like a lightning bolt as soon as her finger grazed the first piece of metal, hurtling her through time and space inside her head. She felt like her ear drums were about to burst with the amount of ringing echoing through her skull until voices and images started filtering through.

“We did everything we could, it was just her time. But she went peacefully,” a doctor told a stoic Liam (who couldn't have been more than 20 here) as he cradled his sobbing preteen brother in his arms. A woman with a bald head lay in what looked like tranquil slumber in a hospital bed nearby, except she was too still.

A flash of light.

“I'm so proud of you, little brother.” Liam was older now, uniform clad and clapping his similarly dressed brother on the shoulder, eyes brimming with affection.

Another flash.

“Liam, I realize that it’s a whole sodding mess, but I'm in love with her! How can I not get her away from that? She's in danger!” The passion in Killian's voice had Liam moving towards him and laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Flash.

“Come on, Killian, she wouldn't have wanted this for you. I don't want this for you, and I'm still breathing. You have to stop this.” Liam hoisted a very drunk Killian up and slung his little brother's arm over his shoulders. Killian nodded on a sob and allowed his brother to lead him away.

Flash.

Red lights flashed all around, a klaxon blaring in the background. Men in uniform were running, shouting amongst the deafening sounds of explosions in the background.

“Somebody get a medic! God, no, Li, you're going to be okay, it's okay,” Killian reassured his brother as he attempted to drag his larger frame somewhere. Killian tripped over something and fell, taking the whole of his brother's weight into his lap. He quickly checked a spot on Liam's stomach that was saturated with blood and blanched, looking back up to Liam's own too pale face. Liam gave a feeble smile and shook his head.

“It's alright, little brother. You're going to be just fine,” Liam said weakly. Killian shook his head roughly, tears beginning to escape his eyes.

“Younger brother,” he joked and Liam laughed, which soon turned into a sputtering cough. He looked up at Killian, his face earnest and serious.

“I'm going, Killian,” he said softly.

“No!” the younger Jones protested on a choked sob. Liam smiled sadly at him.

“I'm so proud of you, brother. I love you very much.” Liam’s breath and words were labored now.

“SOMEBODY HELP US!” Killian screamed one last desperate time, but when he looked back down to his brother, it was too late. Liam's eyes were still open, now unseeing, the spark behind the blue orbs already extinguished. Killian let out a low bellowing moan more anguished than Emma could ever remember hearing from another person.

The scene melted into blackness this time and a familiar voice filled her head.

“It's not too late. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

Emma was wrenched from the encounter by a vice like hand on her wrist. Killian's face swam into focus as the room settled back around her and she let out a shuddering breath. He looked thunderous.

“Do not touch anything in here,” he said, a dangerous undercurrent to his tone.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered and he peeled his hand off of her wrist, his face still clouded with simmering ire.

“If you’re going to be sick, there’s a trash can in the corner over there,” he said gruffly, making his way to a small cabinet behind the desk. It was Emma’s turn to watch him move around the room as he pulled it open and removed a first aid kit. He turned around to find her standing in the same spot he left her in. Without waiting for her to make the move herself, he grasped her wrist again, the kit safely hanging from his hook by the handle, and sat her down in the chair on the other side of the desk from where he sat. He lay the plastic box he’d been carrying on the desk behind them and leaned against the surface.

Emma’s eyes widened as he reached out and skimmed his fingers along her cheek, not knowing what to expect. His fingers were warm, calloused from hard work, but not unpleasant against her skin as they curled around the nape of her neck and pulled her head forward. She held her breath as he moved the hair on the back of her head around, then blew it out sharply when he reached her wound just to the left of the crown of her head.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he reached back, still holding her hair aside with his hook, and rummaged through the kit for something. He didn’t answer, but she got one soon enough when a stream of cold liquid poured onto the wound, burning the site immediately. An expletive burst from her lips at the contact and she tensed, but didn’t pull away. “What is that?” she exclaimed, the pain fading to a dull throb as he dabbed a cloth over it.

“Isopropyl alcohol. Just cleaning the wound. Making sure you don’t need stitches. You don’t, by the way,” he said, running his fingers through her locks one last time before gently pushing her upright on her shoulder. She felt dizzy, and she wasn’t quite sure if it was from the heady perfume still lingering around her, the encounter with Liam, the head wound, or the proximity of the man sitting before her.

“Oh, so now you’re going to be a gentleman?” she scoffed, fighting the urge to touch the wound. She gathered her hair over her shoulder instead, letting her blood streaked curls rest on her chest, liquid soaking into her sweater from where it had run down her neck.

“It would be bad form to leave a lady in such a state, especially if it was my fault. And I’m always a gentleman,” he said with a wink. He put the supplies back where they belonged and came around to sit near her again. Emma fiddled with the chipped nail on her thumb, peeling it away from itself and flicking it mindlessly on the floor. There was a war going on inside her head, wondering whether or not to tell him that his brother made contact. Maybe she could better reach him with Liam than Milah.

Tell him, Milah urged. Emma nodded slightly and cleared her throat, meeting Killian’s eyes. He cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

“There's something I think you should know,” she began slowly, choosing her words carefully. Hook said nothing, only continuing to watch her impassively. She took his silence as permission to continue. “Those tags there, I knew who they belonged to before I touched them.” She saw him stiffen and she took a deep breath, holding his rapidly heating gaze. She was already this far in, so she continued. “I've seen Liam before as well. He and Milah both care about you very much and they've, uh, they kinda asked me to help you. Which is weird, given how we crossed paths, right? Well, I guess no weirder than telling you I talk to your brother and girlfriend, I guess.” She let a nervous huff of a laugh escape her lips, darting her eyes to her lap, and spoke again despite his continued silence. “When I touched the tags, I had sort of an encounter with him. He, uh, Liam, he told me something that I think I'm supposed to tell you. I'm not really sure how this stuff goes so I'm just gonna say it,” she said and straightened her shoulders, bringing her eyes back up to meet his blazing blue. “He said that it's not too late. And that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants-"

“-deserves what he gets,” Hook finished for her, the words a low mutter. Emma’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Did he believe her? His eyes cleared for a moment, grief shining like the blade of a knife within them, yes, but a sliver of hope leaving them slightly wider as well. If he didn't believe her, he certainly wanted to. “Just who the bloody hell are you, Swan?” he murmured in wonderment. Emma didn't quite know how to answer that.

It didn't matter, though, because as quickly as the moment came, it was gone, his eyes lighting back up with pain fueled anger, and he stood abruptly, making Emma press herself back into the chair. She pushed too far; she shouldn't have said anything. He grabbed her bag between the pincers of his prosthetic, flipping it open and rifling through it with his good hand. He gave a sharp nod once he'd confirmed whatever he was looking for. He snatched the infinitely mysterious device from the desktop and shoved it roughly inside the satchel. Turning his fierce gaze back to her, he thrust the bag forward into her chest, her arms coming up to grasp it automatically.

“Get out,” he growled and Emma's mouth dropped open. “Take the tracker to Gold. It's been deactivated. Permanently.”

Emma’s head swam with questions. He was throwing her out, and that was confusing in and of itself, though not really with the exchange they had just had. Violence she had been prepared for. Rejection, she hadn't been.

“You're just going to push me out the front door? And what do you mean ‘deactivated’?” she asked and stood, still trying to process being steamrolled by Killian Jones’ rage as he marched back around the desk.

“I owe you nothing more. You should be grateful for the opportunity to leave intact,” he said with a glower. “It's a shame I won't get to see the look on his face, though, when he realizes his love is gone in an instant,” he mused, nearly reveling in the knowledge that Gold would soon receive this news. Emma felt like she was going to be sick. Again.

“Are you seriously sending me back to Gold with a useless device? He's going to fucking kill me!” Emma said, fear mixing with her own rage now. “Why would you even hang on to this thing? How am I supposed to get your ring back now?” she asked, a last desperate attempt to appeal to what he wanted.

“Forget the ring,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “I should have never asked. The time for making deals is done. Just as I am done… with you.” He brushed past her and opened the door, sweeping his good arm out and gesturing for her to leave. She gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Leave now, while you still can,” he ground out and Emma's mouth snapped shut. She stalked past him, out the door and down the hall she'd first entered, avoiding eye contact with the door to the room she'd been tied up in.

She would figure this out, she had to. She wasn't giving up on Gold, maybe Jefferson could fix this tracker thing or something, but she found a strange resistance building up in the pit of her stomach at the thought of giving up on Killian Jones as well.

“Oh, and Swan?” His voice stopped her in her tracks and she turned. He pushed himself away from the door that he'd been holding open with his body weight, his hooked arm scraping down it to keep it in position.

“When you give that crocodile the device, tell him that Hook sends his regards.”

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Do you have any advice if someone wants to create an entirely new mythology for their story?

Mythology is a human creation which serves as a way to makesense to the world, surroundings and, mostly, natural events. Mythology tellsthe story of origins of the world, of people, of elements, and such. My approach to the creation of new mythology will have thegeography as the foundation for mythology. The reason for this is that we tryto explain, or find a reason, to what we see, hear, or sense. I can notexplain, even with a myth, snow if I have never seen it, or heard about it. Ican not explain the Aurora Borealis if I don’t know it exists. This might bereductionist since mythology relies on more than meets the eye (aka symbolism,rites, traditions, roles, kinship, among others), but it is a starting point.Geography When creating a new mythology you have to know where the story will take placeand the conditions of said place. The weather, the animals, the flora, thenatural events, and so. How do the people of your story understand and perceivethe sunrise, the sunset, the waves, the rivers, the eclipses, the storms. Isthere a story behind the shape of the mountains, are the animals arepresentation of gods and godessess. What about the stars, do they meansomething to them? Compile the geography of your setting, use mythology toexplain what your characters can see, the vital elements to their survival, andnatural events that can happen from time to time. The geography itself can play an important role in thedeveloping of the story, take for example a city surrounded by mountains, thesun rises from the mountains and sets behind them. There are no hurricanes, notornados, no tsunamis, nothing that can harm the population to a big extent.What role do the mountains play here? Are they protectors of the city? How dothe people feel when they travel to a place where there are no mountains? Onits counterpart, what about people living on an island, how do they feel aboutthe ocean? What it means to them?

CreationHow did things begin for the people in your story? What’s the beginning of theirworld. What are the elements arround it? Did a powerful entity created it, wasit because of a natural, yet untraceable event. How did the rivers becomerivers, who or what created the moon, or is i tan entity on its own?

LifeIs life given or is it created? If so, who, or what, gives it; who, or what,creates it? What is the definition of life to the people of your story? Is theocean alive? Do the mountains speak to the people who can understand them? Islife a synonym of movement? Is the wind an influx of life? Are living organismsseparated into body-mind, body-mind-soul, body-soul?

DestructionSome natural events can fall into the destruction category, such as volcanoeruptions, earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, among others. For your people, isthe creator also a destroyer, or are there other entities besides the creator.Is the destruction seen as something bad or as something natural and evennecessary?

DeathIs death the opposite of life? What do the people of your story consider death?Is it given, is it earned? Who can die, who can live forever? Does the sun diesafter it sets? What happens to the body after death? Is there an afterlifepeople can look up to?

TimeIs time linear or circular? How is it measured by the people on your story? Dothe days turn into weeks or do they remain days forever? How do peopledifferentiate one season from another? Is there an entity that controls thetime, or is it time an entity on its own?

SymbolsDo the entities have a correspondece here on earth, are specific symbolsassociated to them? Are certain events a warning for something bigger?  Do the people wear objects that resemble theentities they worship? Is there any iconography for these entities?

PropheciesAre there any prophecies in your mythology? It could be about the end of theworld, about the arrival of a different group of people, about a natural event,among others.

HeroesMythology also relies on heroes who have accomplished great tasks in order toprove themselves worthy of something. They are usually portrayed as role models for the society, as they embody the values of it.

Rites (also involved in religion)Are there any rites involved in your mythology? This could be before eating,before hunting, before a birth, or after those above. A rite is usually asacred act that allows people to go from one state to another within theirsociety.

Traditions (like rites, they respond to a diferent structure)These are a less sacred form of rites. Traditions carry the past on them asthey rememorate an event of importance to society, to a family, ore ven to asingle person. A birthday celebration can be labeled as a tradition.

SuggestionsBelow you’ll find a list of books written by anthropologists and such, aboutmythology. Not all of them are explicit about it. Also this books were written by people outside the societies they wrote about, so read them with a critical eye.

Tim Ingold - The temporality of the landscape (paper)

Pierre Clastres - Chronicle of the Guayaki India

Claude Levi-Strauss - Mythologiques / How myths die / Many of his work

Mircea Eliade - Many of his work

Louis-Vincent Thomas - Anthropologie de la mort

Joseph Campbell - Transformations of Myths through time

Fernando Santos-Granero - Writing history into the landscape: Space, Myth, and Ritual in ContemporaryAmazonia

Advice

Define what is sacred and what is profane for the people in your story.

The same goes for values and moral expectations. Think of archetypes here.

In many cultures, as well as in many mythologies, you can find a universal flood and universal fire myth. This is because both elements have cleansing properties. There can be mythological creatures associated to them or not. As well, these myths can be replicated when someone is born or when someone dies.

Mythology is part of the worldbuilding, and it plays an important role in society since it permeates to daily life.

As time passes, myths change, or are changed, to keep them alive. At the same time, they can be transformed to fit societal changes.

Mythology is not the same as religion. This being said, monoteism is not a higher or more advanced state than animism or polyteism.

I hope this works for you!LiaBelow there’s a not-so-short passage of the book Blindness by José Saramago. It isn’t a major spoiler but it shows how much incidence we, humans, have on the gods we create and re-create. It’s rather long, so if you want to skip it, or read the book (which I advice), feel free to do it. Also, I cut off some parts, but it stills makes sense.

A church, if I could only lie down for a while, I’d feel like new, Let’s go. Six steps led up to the church, six steps, which the doctor’s wife climbed with great difficulty, especially since she also had to guide her husband. The doors were wide open, which was a great help, a revolving door, even of the simplest type, would on this occasion have been a difficult obstacle to overcome… She raised her head to the slender pillars, to the high vaults, to confirm the security and stability of her blood circulation, then she said, I am feeling fine, but at that very moment she thought she had gone mad or that the lifting of the vertigo had given her hallucinations, it could not be true what her eyes revealed, that mannailed to the cross with a white bandage covering his eyes, and next to him a woman, her heart pierced by seven swords and her eyes also covered with a white bandage, and it was not only that man and that woman who were in that condition, all the images in the church had their eyes covered, statues with a white cloth tied around the head, paintings with a thick brushstroke of white paint, and there was a woman teaching her daughter how to read and both had their eyes covered, and a man with an open book on which a little child was sitting, and both had their eyes covered, and another man, his body spiked with arrows, and he had his eyes covered, and a woman with a lit lamp, and shehad her eyes covered, and a man with wounds on his hands and feet and his chest, and he had his eyes covered, and another man with a lion, and both had their eyes covered, and another man with a lamb, and both had their eyes covered, and another man with an eagle, and both had their eyes covered, andanother man with a spear standing over a fallen man with horns and cloven feet, and both had their eyes covered, and another man carrying a set of scales, and he had his eyes covered, and an old bald man holding a white lily, and he had his eyes covered, and another old man leaning on an unsheathedsword, and he had his eyes covered, and a woman with a dove, and both had their eyes covered, and a man with two ravens, and all three had their eyes covered, there was only one woman who did not have her eyes covered, because she carried her gouged-out eyes on a silver tray. The doctor’s wifesaid to her husband, You won’t believe me if I tell you what I have in front of my eyes, all the images in this church have their eyes covered, How strange, I wonder why, How should I know, perhaps it was the work of someone whose faith was badly shaken when he realised that he would be blind like the others, maybe it was even the local priest, perhaps he thought that when the blind people could no longer see the images, the images should not be able to see the blind either, Images don’t see, You’re wrong, images see with the eyes of those who see them, only that now blindness is the lot of everyone, You can still see, I’ll see less and less all the time, even though I may not lose my eyesight I shall become more and more blind because I shall have no one to see me, If the priest covered the eyes of the images, That’s just my idea, It’s the only hypothesis that makes any sense, it’s the only one that can lend some dignity to our suffering, I imagine that man coming in here from the world of the blind, where he would have to return only to go blind himself, I imagine the closed doors, the deserted church, the silence, I imagine the statues, the paintings, I see him going from one to the other, climbing up to the altars and tying the bandages with a double knot so that they do not come undone and slip off, applying two coats of paint to the pictures in order to make the white night into which they are plunged still thicker, that priest must have committed the worst sacrilege of all times and all religions, the fairest and most radically human, coming here to declare that, ultimately, God does not deserve to see… The conversation was overheard by the blind people in their immediate vicinity, and it goes without saying that there was no need to wait for the confirmation by oath before the news started to circulate, to pass from mouth to mouth, in a murmur which shortly changed its tone, first incredulous, then alarmed, again incredulous, it was unfortunate that there were several superstitious andimaginative people in the congregation, the idea that the sacred images were blind, that their compassionate or pitying eyes only stared out at their own blindness, became all of a sudden unbearable, it was tantamount to having told them that they were surrounded by the living dead, one scream was enough, then another and another, then fear made all the people rise up, panic drove them to the doors, here the inevitable repeated itself, since panic is much faster than the legs which carry it, the feet of the fugitive trip up in their flight, even more so when one is blind, and there he lies on the ground, panic tells him,

[dfroza]

what is the Centerpiece of your heart?

(the treasure you hold within according to what you believe)

we see this treasure illuminated in Today’s reading of the Scriptures with chapter 3 of the book of Hebrews along with its paired chapter of the Testaments as Exodus 37

beginning with Hebrews 3:1 in The Message:

So, my dear Christian friends, companions in following this call to the heights, take a good hard look at Jesus. He’s the centerpiece of everything we believe.

and the whole chapter in The Voice:

So all of you who are holy partners in a heavenly calling, let’s turn our attention to Jesus, the Emissary of God and High Priest, who brought us the faith we profess; and compare Him to Moses, who also brought words from God. Both of them were faithful to their missions, to the One who called them. But we value Jesus more than Moses, in the same way that we value a builder more than the house he builds. Every house is built by someone, but the builder of all things is God. Moses brought healing and redemption to his people as a faithful servant in God’s house, and he was a witness to the things that would be spoken later. But Jesus the Anointed was faithful as a Son of that house. (We become that house, if we’re able to hold on to the confident hope we have in God until the end.)

Listen now, to the voice of the Holy Spirit through what the psalmist wrote:

Today, if you listen to His voice,

Don’t harden your hearts the way they did

in the bitter uprising at Meribah

Where your ancestors tested Me

though they had seen My marvelous power.

For the 40 years they traveled on

to the land that I had promised them,

That generation broke My heart.

Grieving and angry, I said, “Their hearts are unfaithful;

they don’t know what I want from them.”

That is why I swore in anger

they would never enter salvation’s rest.

Brothers and sisters, pay close attention so you won’t develop an evil and unbelieving heart that causes you to abandon the living God. Encourage each other every day—for as long as we can still say “today”—so none of you let the deceitfulness of sin harden your hearts. For we have become partners with the Anointed One—if we can just hold on to our confidence until the end.

Look at the lines from the psalm again:

Today, if you listen to His voice,

Don’t harden your hearts the way they did

in the bitter uprising at Meribah.

Now who, exactly, was God talking to then? Who heard and rebelled? Wasn’t it all of those whom Moses led out of Egypt? And who made God angry for an entire generation? Wasn’t it those who sinned against Him, those whose bodies are still buried in the wilderness, the site of that uprising? It was those disobedient ones who God swore would never enter into salvation’s rest. And we can see that they couldn’t enter because they did not believe.

The Book of Hebrews, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

and in the writing of Exodus 37 we see a picture of the Ark of the Covenant that points to the Son, the Word of God, being the treasure of the Temple (simultaneously the pure treasure of the heart)

and grace is the only path of rebirth where we are able to see life through baptism eyes (inside, Anew) as children, as daughters & sons of God.

[Exodus 37]

After this Bezalel built the covenant chest out of acacia wood. It was 45 inches long, 27 inches wide, and 27 inches high. He overlaid the entire thing, inside and out, with pure gold, and decorated it with gold trim all the way around it. He cast four gold rings and attached them to its four corners—two rings on each side of the chest. He made poles out of acacia wood and overlaid them with gold. He slid the poles through the rings on the sides of the chest in order to carry it without touching it. The poles were never to be removed.

He built a cover for the chest out of pure gold. It is known as the seat of mercy—where sins are atoned—and it was 45 inches long and 27 inches wide. He also fashioned two winged guardians out of hammered gold and placed them at both ends of the seat of mercy. He placed one winged creature at each end of the seat of mercy. He had it made so that the winged guardians appeared as one solid piece with the cover. The guardians faced one another with bowed heads, their wings spread so that they were reaching up and covering the seat of mercy.

Bezalel then built the table out of acacia wood—36 inches long, 18 inches wide, and 27 inches high. He overlaid it with pure gold, and decorated it with gold trim around the edge. He put a three-inch-wide rim around it and placed gold trim around the rim. Then he cast four gold rings and attached them to each of the table’s four corners at its four legs. The rings were placed just beneath the rim so they could hold the poles in order to carry the table. He made the poles out of acacia wood and overlaid them with gold. He had his artisans make different kinds of vessels for use at the table—platters, pans, pitchers, and bowls—out of pure gold for use with the offerings of incense and drink.

Then Bezalel fashioned a lampstand out of pure, hammered gold. He made its base, trunk, branches, decorative buds and blossoms, and lamp cups out of one solid piece. Six branches extended from the trunk’s sides—three on one side and three on the other. Each of the six branches had three decorative cups shaped like almond blossoms whose buds have just flowered. On the trunk of the lampstand, there were four cups, shaped like almond blossoms whose buds have just flowered. A single almond bud sat beneath each pair of six branches extending out from the trunk of the lampstand. All the buds and branches were crafted out of pure, hammered gold of one solid piece. Bezalel had his artisans make seven lamps, trays, and tongs out of pure gold. He made the lampstand and all its accessories out of 75 pounds of pure gold.

Bezalel then built the altar of incense out of more acacia wood. He made it in the shape of a square—18 inches long, 18 inches wide, and inches high. He carved the horns and the top of the altar out of one piece of wood. He overlaid the whole thing, the top, the sides, and the horns with pure gold and attached a gold trim around its edges. He fashioned two gold rings and attached them beneath the trim on the two opposite sides to hold the poles used to carry the altar. He made the poles out of acacia wood and overlaid them with gold.

With the skill of a master perfumer, he blended the ingredients to make the sacred anointing oil and fragrant incense.

The Book of Exodus, Chapter 37 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, April 23 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

Feed You the Sky: Chapter 12

In which Ivar presents Kára with her morning gift. Bear with us, I know Ivar is a little different than what we usually see in this fandom. @shesafreesoul and I have decided to take his kinks in a slightly different direction, but I don’t want to give too much away because it’s going to develop over time. We hope you guys enjoy this fic as much as we do!

Min elskede:my beloved

Min kjaerte: my dear (yeah, they finally use terms of endearment!)

AO3:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10584924/chapters/23831667

Kára walked beside Ivar as he dragged himself over the ground, and she found herself admiring the graceful way he moved. She was unsure how a man could look magnificent crawling like a beast, and yet her husband managed. Maybe it was the easy confidence in his movements, like this was nothing to be ashamed of, or maybe it was the rippling strength in his arms and shoulders. Her eyes were drawn to the curve of his backside, and he looked back in time to catch her staring. A wolfish, teasing grin spread over his soft mouth, and she remembered the taste of his kiss. “See something you like, wild woman?”

She could feel the heat of a blush staining her cheeks crimson, but she met his eyes without shame. “Something I like very much.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial stage-whisper. “I found myself thinking of the feel of your skin under my hands, the way you moved against me in our bed last night.” She bit her lower lip before continuing, feeling her blush deepen. “I can still feel the memory of you inside me.”

“Kára,” his voice was half a moan and half a growl. “If you do not stop talking like that, I swear I will pull you to the grass and take you right here.”

“Did I not satisfy you well enough before breakfast?” Her voice was shy, and she refused to meet his eyes for a moment.

He laughed, warm and tender. “I think I could love you all night, and yet still want nothing more than to keep loving you all day. Think of this morning as only a promise of things to come tonight.” A sudden heat jolted through her at those words, and she ached to have him follow through on his earlier threat.

Ivar stopped suddenly, motioning her toward the door of the bladesmith's forge. She shot him a puzzled look, but opened the door and followed him inside. He pulled himself into a chair that had been set out, and she looked at him with open curiosity. He pointed toward the wall, the racks where the newly made weapons hung until their proud new owners came to collect them. “Do you see that battle-ax, with the golden inlays and the runes burned into the handle?” She nodded. “It is yours, part of your morning-gift. I saw that you carry a sword and a small throwing ax that you are very skilled with,” he smiled, remembering with surprising fondness the time she had barely missed his face. “But I noticed you do not have a battle-ax. I do not care if you never carry it into battle, but my Valkyrie deserves a weapon as beautiful and strong as she is.”

The ax was indeed beautiful, and she traced her pointer finger lightly over the glistening of the gold knotwork inlay. The knots depicted the shape of a howling wolf, the single eye a small green stone set into it. She took the weapon, hefting it in both hands, and sighed in delight. It felt good in her hands, heavier than her sword, but light enough for her to swing with a fair amount of ease. She had trained with a large battle-ax, but never carried one into battle. This was certainly a weapon that could split skulls, but speed was her greatest weapon, and this ax would slow her.

“I will use this ax to split the skulls of the men who betrayed me,” she promised, meeting his glinting blue eyes as she kissed the sharp edge of the ax.

Ivar nodded, his voice husky, “come here, my wild woman. Bring your ax. It must be blooded.” Kára was compelled to obey, and she knelt beside him, cradling the ax on her lap like a child. Ivar ran his palm along the edge of the ax, creating a shallow cut. He took Kára's hand and ran her palm along the blade, too; she hissed at the burning sensation the sharp edge cutting her skin. Ivar pressed their palms together, mixing their blood, then kissed her knuckles. “Blood my blood,” he whispered.

“Blood of my blood,” Kára echoed, a chill running up her spine at the hungry look in her husband's eyes. He cupped her cheek, smearing his blood on her pale skin, and guided her lips to his in an eager kiss. After a few moments, Ivar drew back, head tilted to one side, looking at her.

“Now you have a choice, my Valkyrie. Would you prefer to go on our raid first, or hunt down the men who betrayed you?”

The choice was easy. “First we raid. I want to see Northumbria, tales of your great army there reached us even here. I want to see the place of your victory, to spill even more blood on that green land.” She paused, something akin to bloodlust smoldering in her hazel eyes. “And then when we return, we deal with the traitors. By then they will probably be better organized. It will be a much more satisfying fight.”

Ivar laughed. “If it's Saxon blood you wish for first, Saxon blood you will have. I told you already that I will deny you nothing. I have thought ahead already, preparing for both options so there will be no delay. Our forces are gathered, and the ships are in the harbor, ready to sail. We can leave with the tide tomorrow morning. We will be gone for probably two months. It is risky to leave a newly conquered kingdom so soon after establishing control, but our marriage should quell most of the unrest. I will leave Ubbe here in command of a small force of my men. Do you wish to leave some of yours behind, too?”

She snorted, looking at him as if that were the stupidest question she had ever heard. “Of course. Magnhild will command my men, she knows the people here. Shall we grant them joint power to settle any disputes that arise in our absence? They must reach a decision acceptable to both of them in order to pass a judgment. If they cannot, no decisions will be made until our return.”

Pride glistened in Ivar's striking blue eyes, the corners of them crinkling in a smile. “You were shaped by the gods to rule with me, min elskede.” He pressed another kiss to her sweet lips, sighing against them in contentment before he pulled away. Her hazel eyes begged him to kiss her again, and he was only too happy to oblige her. “We should spend the day preparing. I have ordered most of our supplies packed already, but there is always much to do the day before a raid.”

Kára nodded, hazel eyes glinting. “But nothing so important as this.” Her voice was a breathy whisper, and Ivar widened his eyes in a question. She laid back on the floor of the empty bladesmith shop, pulling Ivar forcefully onto her, “You will make love to me. You will spill your seed in me. You will show all men that I am yours, and you will let me conquer you as we will conquer our enemies.”

Her commanding tone had him quickly hardening, and he gasped as her hand plunged into his trousers to stroke him. His hands were already lowering her pants, and his wandering fingers found her already wet and warm and eager, writhing against his hand. She tore his trousers down from his hips, her hands like iron on his backside, pushing him into her core in one smooth stroke. They both moaned at the overwhelming pleasure of their joining, and Ivar bit sucked hard enough on her neck to bruise the tender skin. He then bit it to seal the mark, and she bucked her hips against him, her nails drawing light lines down his lower back and buttocks, even down to the tops of his thighs.

“Yes, Ivar, gods, the feel of your cock within me is the sweetest thing I've ever imagined.”

He pumped harder into her, growling in her ear, “tell me more. Praise me, min elskede. Tell me exactly how good of a lover I am to you.”

“When you move your hips that way,” he repeated his movement, gyrating his hips against her, almost questioningly, and she moaned, “yes, just that way, gods, Ivar, min kjaere.” She could barely continue through her gasping, but the his blue eyes, glinting with need, tore at her heartstrings. “When you move in me, I feel like I must be a goddess. Surely I will burst from the sweetness of your cock stretching me.” Her next words were sharp, almost a keen, “you hit some spot inside me, oh Ivar. Find it again.” Her hands dug into his scalp, gently pulling at his hair, and he sucked on her neck again, just below the junction below her ear.

She threw her head back, screaming, as her hips arched against him, beyond her control. The waves of her pleasure caught him, pulled him into the ocean storm of her orgasm, and all he could do was gasp and cling to her to stay afloat. He lingered inside her after they had both finished, and Kára, feeling strangely vulnerable after feeling so powerful, burrowed her head shyly into the warm, solid strength of his chest.

He kissed her hair, then cupped her chin and raised her face to gaze into her eyes. “Min elskede, you have no idea of the power you have over me.” Now it was Ivar's turn to feel shy, and to distract himself he ran his fingers through the soft red waves of her hair. “Everyone always thinks, because I am a king and have led armies for many years now, that I always like to be in control. But in submitting to your desires, I find no shame.” He struggled to put into words the strange feelings swirling within him, but he had never been gifted at this type of thing. “Having you so confident and bold, Kára,” he paused, again, still trying to find the words, “hearing you tell me how I make you feel, I loved it.” He smiled at the shining in her eyes. “My wild, strong woman. It is your strength that first drew me to you. That is my favorite part of you: you are indomitable.”

This drew a warm giggle from her. “My favorite part of you, I think, is your honesty. I feared you because of your reputation, but you are a man whose actions matches his words.” She paused to kiss him, grinning. “That mouth of yours is my second favorite part of you.” He gently bit her lip before she drew back. The moment of weakness passed, Kára kissed his lips one last time before standing and tugging her clothing back into place. “Now we can go prepare for the raid.”

[miasen]

Sun and Moon

Thanks to @bahare-uzuchiha for hosting SNS week and placing @dez-da-narusasu-addict and me together as writing partners. We had a lot of fun writing this! This is probably late for all the days, but SNS is always relevant. ;)

Summary: When Sasuke finds a mark on his chest, identical to the one Naruto has carried for years, he isn’t overjoyed by the fact that they are soulmates, he is terrified. Terrified that the marks are wrong and Naruto doesn’t want him, not like that.

Rating: T

Sun and Moon

Sasuke had always noticed it. It had been so innocent looking. Naruto’s soul mate mark took the shape of a sun whose rays were similar to flames, but at the center there was a  half-crescent shape, reminding Sasuke of a moon. The mark that was almost unnoticeable on his blond friend’s tan arm stood out starkly against Sasuke’s pale skin. The mark suddenly lost all its innocence in Sasuke’s mind.

Naruto’s mark had always existed, at least for as long as Sasuke had known the boy. Now, at nearly twenty, Sasuke’s own mark had decided to make an appearance on his chest, a little below his collarbone. In his bathroom mirror Sasuke continued to stare at the mark in amazement, reaching his hands up to touch it before quickly retreating as if the flames from the sun had burned him.

The irony was surreal. Sasuke had come to admire his best friend years ago and that had, no matter how reluctantly, slowly but surely developed into romantic feelings for his friend. Sixteen year old Sasuke had longed for something like this to happen. But those were childish fantasies that the years had driven out of his mind. The Sasuke of today was… well it was complicated. While a small amount of happiness had started to bubble at the sight of his mark and what it ultimately meant, it was quickly crushed and replaced with dread.

Naruto had only ever showed interest in women as far as Sasuke knew. And Sasuke wouldn’t be the first person to be paired with someone whose preferences didn’t match up with their own. But even with that, there was also the fact that the two boys were so vastly different. In the past that had led to huge blow ups in their friendship and more than once Sasuke was sure that their friendship was at risk of being over. Most of that had been both of their hardheadedness just making things more difficult, and Sasuke knew some of it stemmed from his own personal problems. Actually a lot of it did…

Even if Naruto didn’t care that he was a guy, why would he want someone as fucked up and broken as Sasuke? They both knew he had issues with his self worth and didn’t get along too well with other people. Most of Sasuke’s friends had only been byproducts of his and Naruto’s friendship. And when he had come out to his parents his father had quickly and mercilessly kicked him out and cut him off, causing further emotional problems for the raven. But no matter what Naruto had been there for him and been a great friend to him, and this jeopardized that. He was lucky they were just about to start college at the time and he was already planning on moving into an apartment with Naruto and--

“Oi duck-butt! Quit messing with your hair and hurry up in there! I gotta pee!”

Sasuke startled out of his musings and quickly finished getting dressed. He had just showered when he had looked at the mirror and noticed the mark that had suddenly showed up on his chest who knows when. He made sure his shirt covered the mark and nearly hit Naruto in his rush out of the bathroom and to his room.

The door slammed shut after him, and he pressed his back up against it, hand clutching at his chest where his new mark rested. He listened, not sure if he wanted Naruto to come after him or not, but soon he heard the faint sound of the shower turning on, and he let out a sharp breath, sagging against the wood, eyes clenching shut.

What was he going to do? He couldn’t let Naruto see the mark, that would just ruin everything. Naruto was his friend, and Sasuke knew they could never be more than that. Had always known that, and that was fine, Sasuke didn’t need more than that. Was glad to have that much.

But now they carried matching marks, and Sasuke wasn’t sure what that meant. But he did know that he wouldn’t do anything that could jeopardize their friendship, because nothing was more precious to him.

He’d have to hide the mark, make sure Naruto didn’t see it. It wouldn’t be too hard would it? Naruto carried his mark on his arm, but he had never worried about people seeing it. Sasuke’s was on his chest, it wouldn’t be too hard to hide. It wasn’t like he tended to parade around shirtless anyways, so he would just have to make sure to lock the bathroom door when he showered, wear a t-shirt to bed, and it would be fine. Naruto would never have to know, and they could keep on being friends, just like today.

Sasuke slid down to the floor, back still pressed up against the door. His head hung down, black hair in front of his eyes, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

He knew getting a soul mate mark was supposed to be a good thing, because soulmates were said to have a bond stronger than any other. But they’d been wrong before, and clearly they were wrong again.

He remembered well how it was back in high school. Naruto spending the majority of his time pining after Sakura, dumb smile on his face as he looked at her from across the classroom, hands folded on his desk and chin perched on top of them, and paying zero attention to their teacher.

Clearly Naruto was as straight as they got, so they’d never be more than friends, and Sasuke had long since settled with that knowledge, but now this mark just came out of nowhere, threatening to ruin everything. Naruto would be so disgusted to know they shared a mark.

Or maybe he wouldn’t be disgusted, that didn’t sound right. He’d pity Sasuke wouldn’t he? And that was almost worse. Naruto would be so nice about it, would pretend that it didn’t matter that it wasn’t Sakura, or some other pretty girl just like her who carried his mark. Pretend that he was happy, and that would be even worse than him being disgusted.

Sasuke huddled in on himself, cursing a world that would make him soulmates with the one person he wanted more than any, and the one person he knew he could never have.

Naruto had been with him through everything. Had never judged him. Had been supportive no matter what happened. Their bond was something both of them cherished but this only threatened to destroy everything they had worked so hard for. Sasuke didn’t want to put his friend through those conflicting feelings. He knew it would just cause the blond distress, and nothing positive would come from it anyways. Naruto cared for him, and Sasuke would always be grateful for that, but it was not the same way Sasuke felt.

And that was ok.

If he could save Naruto from any torment Sasuke would try his hardest to do that, no matter how he felt. Naruto had never seemed too upset over his lack of finding his soulmate anyways. He had never expressed concern over it in the years the two boys had known each other. So if Sasuke just kept his mouth shut, and chest covered, everything would be fine.

Right?

Sasuke sighed and got up off the floor, refusing to overthink the situation. It would only make it worse, and he had already made up his mind. He knew what he had to do, and he would make sure everything stayed the same. His mind was made up and there was no swaying him.

Sasuke went about his room looking for his wallet. They were supposed to go out with Kiba, Shikamaru, and Gaara in just a little while. It was the weekend so they were planning on heading out to eat then go see a movie or something.

As he went about getting ready Sasuke made sure to try and calm down as much as possible. If he acted weird Naruto would know something was up and nag him until he could get whatever it was out of him.

There was a brief knock at the door before Naruto let himself in like he always did, using a towel to dry off his hair from his shower.

“All my jeans are dirty, let me borrow a pair?” he asked.

“Check the closet.”

“Oooo irony, maybe I’ll find someone in there yeah?” Naruto chuckled.

It wasn’t ill intended, Sasuke knew that. And most times Sasuke would probably just knock him over the head and then laugh about it too. But Naruto hadn’t chosen a good time, so Sasuke just grunted and turned away from Naruto before he said something stupid. This was already beginning to be difficult wasn’t it?

“Sasuke? Hey, come on, you know I didn’t mean it in a bad way or anything I’m just play--”

“I know. Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. When are we supposed to meet up with everyone else?”

“Uhm, in like forty-five minutes or something?” Naruto said, diving into Sasuke’s closet, disrupting the neat piles of jeans, pulling out the bottommost one, because of course he would. The stack was left tilting to the side, something Sasuke usually would have nagged at Naruto for, but now he just stared at Naruto as he shook out the jeans, assessing them and apparently deeming them good enough. Yanking them on over his boxers, he shimmied a little to get them up thighs still damp from the shower.

Sasuke tore his gaze away away, looking at Naruto right now was just making this harder.

“Whatcha think?” Naruto said moment later, and Sasuke had to look back. Naruto had turned around, arms thrown to the side as he showed himself off, turning once for him. “My ass looks pretty spectacular yeah?”

Sasuke knew he took a little too long to answer, and the shut up he muttered out had lost all its bite. Naruto just laughed it off, stepped in front of the mirror and checked himself out, apparently pleased with what he saw. But then again, why wouldn’t he, Naruto was absolutely stunning no matter what he wore.

For a moment Sasuke wondered if he should feign some sudden illness to get out of tonight, not sure he was ready to be with Naruto all night  after he’d just found his mark. But chances were that Naruto would cancel along with him, claiming he’d need to make sure Sasuke was fine, and Sasuke figured that being around others was better than just the two of them alone in the apartment.

Where Sasuke wasn’t good around people Naruto thrived in the company of others, outgoing and befriending everyone he met along his path. Naruto would be distracted talking to the others, which meant Sasuke would be left alone to figure out just what he was going to do. He had to make this work somehow, because he wasn’t going to lose Naruto as a friend.

“You ready to leave?” Naruto said, leaning in close to the mirror and tugging on his messy hair, fluffing it up further. Sasuke peered around the room once, spotting his wallet peeking out from the pocket of the hoodie hanging on a hook on the wall. He grabbed it and shrugged to signal that he was as ready as he’d ever get.

Naruto’s face split in a big grin as he threw an arm around Sasuke’s shoulder, steering the two of them out of Sasuke’s room. Sasuke was torn between wanting to throw the arm off or snuggle closer, but they had to stop and put on their shoes by the front door and Naruto’s arm fell off as he stuck his feet in his scuffed sneakers and grabbed a jacket, shrugging it on.

Sasuke put on his own coat, and then they headed outside, walking towards the restaurant they were supposed to meet the others at.

It was just a short distance away so there was no real point in driving there. Then they could all cram into Kiba’s shitty car and drive over to the theatre. Not even ten minutes later they were in the restaurant and Sasuke shot off a text to the group chat and got a table since they were there a bit early. Speaking of which…

“You said we had time, so why did we leave the apartment so early?” Sasuke questioned.

“Ah, well you seemed kinda antsy. Figured the walk would help ya know?” Naruto scratched the back of his head. It was a nervous habit, but Sasuke still felt a content smile form on his face. Trust Naruto to pick up on something no matter how hard he tried to hide it. They just knew each other too well. Their relationship was great the way it was, no point messing with it.

“Hey by the way, about that joke earlier I actually was--”

“Really it’s fine, I’m not mad or anything.”

“Hah, uh I--I know. But what I mean is tha--”

Sasuke was just beginning to raise a brow in question when Naruto was effectively tackled by Kiba, causing all hell to break loose. By the time the two boys had picked each other off the floor Sasuke had started a conversation with Shikamaru about their upcoming exam and forgotten the situation entirely.

Once everyone was seated they ordered their food and had conversation while they were waiting. Most of them had one class or another together so it was mostly swapping stories of what happened in this class and that. Midterms were coming up soon and they were all feeling the stress begin already.

“Gaara and I have aging and society class together for an elective, it’s a demanding class! And I don’t understand a word the professor says, she makes it way too complicated!” Kiba groaned.

“If you read the chapters it wouldn’t be so difficult,” Gaara chimed in.

“Shut up, I get through all my other classes just fine. I don’t read for those either.”

“You make that sound like it’s a good thing,” Shikamaru drawled.

“Shut up I hate all of you. I‘m gonna drop that stupid class.”

The group all either laughed or at least smiled at the brunet’s comment. With Naruto supplying a, “Don’t lie you love us,” before turning to Sasuke. The man had been even more uncharacteristically quiet than usual and it was worrying the blond. But he knew that now wasn’t really the time to be asking either. Instead he let the topic move on until their food was brought to them.

Then once they were all done and had payed, they moved to get seated in Kiba’s car. Gaara had taken the front seat, refusing to be cramped in the back with the other three. This presented yet another problem for Sasuke.

With Shikamaru, Naruto and him they would be sitting almost on top of each other, and Sasuke could feel his heart stuttering at the thought of sitting so close to Naruto. He’d have to make sure Shikamaru took the middle seat, he needed the buffer to be able to breathe and think freely.

He hesitated outside the car, trying to figure out the best way to go about it, when he felt a hand on his arm yanking him towards the passenger side door. Before he knew it Naruto had pulled him into the car, sliding clear across the seats until he was pressed against the door and Sasuke was sitting in the middle. Shikamaru followed moments later, shoving Sasuke closer to Naruto with a huff of air as if it was all a terrible inconvenience.

Sasuke was pressed against Naruto from his calf to his shoulder and could feel how warm Naruto was, always seeming to run a little hotter than anyone else. He tried not to think about how nice it felt being this close to him. Instead he stared stiffly out the windshield, willing Kiba to drive faster so they’d get to the movie theatre and he could get out of the car. He couldn’t think like this, could only focus on Naruto.

He wasn’t even aware of his hand seeking towards the mark on his chest, and he caught himself rubbing softly against it, as if that would do anything. The mark was burned into his skin, it wasn’t going to leave if he tried rubbing it off.

He let his hand drop down to his lap again, fingers curling around the edge of his sweater to stop himself from fidgeting.

Naruto seemed to be totally at ease sitting squashed together in the backseat of the tiny car, chattering away with Kiba, not even noticing how awkward Sasuke was being, and Shikamaru was resting against the window, probably napping.

Naruto shifted in his seat, leaning forward so he could annoy Kiba by whispering something, probably obnoxious, in his ear. Sasuke let out a soft breath when it was only Naruto’s leg pressed against his. He hoped maybe Naruto would stay like this, because it was a little easier to focus now, but it didn’t take long until Kiba shoved his middle finger in Naruto’s face and Naruto fell back against the seat with a laugh. His hand fell on top of Sasuke’s thigh, and if Sasuke had been having a hard time focusing on anything other than Naruto before it became impossible now. Naruto’s hand was so warm against him, even through the heavy denim of his jeans, and Sasuke found himself unable to look away.

Naruto had really nice hands. They looked strong, broader than Sasuke’s own slim hands. His knuckles were sharp edges, and Sasuke knew there was a ragged line of scar tissue down one of them where Naruto had ripped his skin open once, years ago. He could see it just barely, paler than the skin surrounding it, and his own fingers twitched with the sudden need to reach out and trace across it.

A particularly large pothole in the road jolted him out of his thoughts before he made the mistake of actually going through with the idea. But even then Naruto’s hand remained on him. He had noticed Naruto slowly but surely becoming more touchy with him, but he had never really given it  much thought before now. Now that he thought about it what was with the sudden shift anyways? They had known each other for years so maybe Naruto was just getting more comfortable and was lonely or something?

Shikamaru cleared his throat loudly next to him, and he broke his gaze away from Naruto’s hand. How long had he been staring? He looked over at the boy and was confronted with a questioning look, Shikamaru’s gaze flicking from the hand on his thigh and its owner and back to Sasuke’s own. Sasuke merely shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest  in response. He turned forward, hoping his bangs concealed the blush he was sure had tinted his cheeks. Damn his pale skin. Sasuke was determined to stare out the windshield when he nearly jumped out of his skin and hit his head on the roof of the car.

Naruto had started a conversation with Gaara and meanwhile had begun to scare the shit out of Sasuke by brushing his thumb back and forth from where it still occupied his leg. Naruto seemed oblivious to this fact though, and to how Sasuke had reacted. Was he doing it unconsciously? Sasuke’s reaction did earn him a puzzled look from Kiba in the rearview mirror and probably one from Shikamaru as well, but Sasuke refused to even look at the other boy to see if that assumption rang true.

“Sasuke, are you ok there?” Naruto asked, finally picking up on Sasuke’s awkwardness.

No.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Sasuke tried his best to sound normal. But Naruto had picked up on the way he was refusing to look at him. Naruto’s gaze flickered down to his hand, which was still rubbing soothing patterns onto Sasuke’s leg, and his expression turned to one of embarrassment.

Had he not meant to be doing that?

“Ah, sorry…” Naruto said as he removed his hand slowly.

Sasuke admittedly felt a sense of loss, but it was also a relief. One less thing to make him flustered. But Naruto’s dejected reaction didn’t sit well with him either. So he feigned obviousness.

“Huh? Oh, it’s alright.”

Now Naruto’s face morphed to one of confusion. His expression drew blank as he stared at the raven, seemingly looking for something. Eventually he gave Sasuke a blissful smile and returned to his conversation with Gaara.

Sasuke was sure he was staring again. But god why did Naruto have to look at him like that? People always told Sasuke he was attractive, but Naruto was just something else. His hand reached to rub at his mark again. Why did this have to be so damn hard?

He had to get a grip on himself, because Naruto was going to pick up on something being out of the ordinary if Sasuke kept this up. No, he had to make sure to treat Naruto purely as a friend, nothing else. The hand on his thigh hadn’t meant anything, Naruto was just a naturally touchy person, and probably hadn’t even noticed doing it.

Luckily it didn’t take them long to get to the movie theatre, and as soon as Kiba parked and they climbed out of the car and Naruto was no longer pressed up against him Sasuke felt like he could breathe a little freer, think a little clearer.

He followed after the others as they walked towards the front doors, letting Naruto walk ahead with Kiba, the two chattering about which movie they were going to watch. Gaara walked right behind them, and Shikamaru fell into step with Sasuke. It looked like he wanted to say something, but he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and trudged on.

Shikamaru had always been a little too observant, and Sasuke knew that if anyone would catch on to something being up it would be him. Naruto had a tendency to be rather oblivious, so Sasuke would have an easier time faking it around him than he would around Shikamaru. He’d have to be careful to keep up his facade.

The entrance of the movie theatre was teeming with people and they ended up standing at the back, looking up at the screens showing which movies were airing and discussing what to see. Sasuke didn’t really care, so he kept silent. He just shrugged when they asked what he wanted, so when the others decided he just went along, paying for his ticket and following them in the direction of the concession stand. He had never had much of a sweet tooth, but he couldn't say the same of the rest of them. It was obligatory to spend way too much money on overpriced snacks. He ended up buying a bottle of water, mostly so he’d have something to occupy his hands with so he didn’t fidget too much.

Naruto ended up with a massive bucket of popcorn in one arm, an equally enormous cup of soda in the other, and Twizzlers peeking out of the back pocket of his--Sasuke’s--jeans. If Sasuke didn’t live with Naruto and knew how much food he could consume he would think it excessive. Really, it was a miracle Naruto was still fit.

Sasuke glanced away, suddenly remembering just how fit Naruto was. He had the tendency to run around shirtless during the warm summer months, which quite frankly could be considered a health hazard. He was strong and gorgeous with his golden tan, and Sasuke really wished his mind hadn’t gone there, because now it was hard to not think about just how good-looking he was. And it was not helping him trying to act like he saw Naruto as nothing other than a friend. He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to focus on what they were doing, looking over and seeing Shikamaru pay for his mostly normal-sized bucket of popcorn.

When they were all done they headed in the direction of the right theatre, Sasuke still having no idea what they were about to watch. Even though he’d paid for the ticket he hadn’t even bothered to look at it, just swiped his card.

As soon as the trailers started Sasuke knew he was fucked.

All of them were for horror movies, and they pretty much only showed them when you were already going to watch one. Which would usually be fine, Sasuke usually wasn’t one to mind or get scared all too easily. But the problem once again went back to Naruto.

Naruto hated scary movies.

Actually no, that wasn’t quite right. If he hated them they probably wouldn’t be there right now. More like Naruto was terrified of them, especially if they had anything to do with the paranormal. But at the same time the blond went out of his way to watch movies like that more often than not, it was a love-hate relationship.

Had Sasuke mentioned Naruto was touchy? Because this was only going to make that so much worse. And of course they were sitting next to each other, and Naruto’s go to was definitely going to be Sasuke when the idiot got scared and ultimately clinged to someone for comfort. Sasuke was just going to have to push through this. Shikamaru was on his other side, and he knew that was only going to make the situation more difficult.

Speaking of, the other boy suddenly shifted towards him to quietly speak to him. “You alright there?”

“Huh?” Sasuke answered confusedly.

This time Gaara spoke up, he was on the end beside Shikamaru, and Naruto and Kiba were on the other side, too distracted to pay much attention. “You’ve seemed uncomfortable throughout the day. Did something happen?”

“No, I’m fine.” The answer got Sasuke nothing but two unamused glares. Shikamaru looked ready to press more, but thankfully the movie was starting so they all turned their gazes towards the screen instead.

Sasuke also didn’t miss how Naruto had suddenly gone extremely quiet.

The opening scene was dramatic and filled with ominous music as one could suspect, before a loud boom erupted over the speakers. Naruto reacted with a high pitched squeak that everyone completely expected from him.

Sasuke was not a fan of how Naruto had proceeded to shove his face into his shoulder, his ragged breathes sending waves of hot air over his neck. The movie had just started! How was he going to deal with this for the next two hours! Naruto was probably going to wind up in Sasuke’s lap by the end of it.

Sasuke kept watching the screen, but if someone asked what the movie was about he would have no idea what to answer. He would, however, be able to give a very detailed description of how Naruto’s hands curled around his bicep, how Sasuke’s breath caught in his throat when Naruto squeezed around him, not because it was painful, but because Naruto was so close and his hand was so warm against him, and the continuous touch made it impossible for Sasuke to think about anything other than Naruto.

He did his best, focusing on the screen, trying to figure out just what he had missed out on. The monster, some kind of incorporeal demon or something equally cliched, manifested in the air behind the main characters. Long fingers stretched towards the token “Slutty Girl”, and just as tendrils of black wrapped around her throat Naruto burrowed closer to Sasuke, whimpering against his neck, so close Sasuke could feel Naruto’s lips brush against his skin for a moment.

He dug his fingers into his knees, mouth parting slightly as he sucked in a choked breath, and he knew Naruto would have noticed how he tensed up, because there was just no way he couldn’t with the way he was pressed up against him. Sasuke had no idea what to do, so he just sat there, stiff as a board, watching as the demon choked the life out of the girl on the screen, hoping that through some miracle Naruto had been too terrified to even notice Sasuke’s reaction.

Naruto shifted against him, pulling back slightly, and Sasuke kept his face turned forwards, even though he could feel Naruto’s gaze on him.

“Sasuke, are you okay?” Naruto whispered, and Sasuke knew he couldn’t just ignore him. So he looked towards Naruto, meeting Naruto’s gaze much too close for comfort. He tried to come up with an explanation, but the words caught in his throat. He was left just staring into Naruto’s eyes until it got to be too much even in the dim light from the screen, so he looked away, shoulder lurching up in something reminiscent of a shrug.

For a moment Naruto didn’t do or say anything, but when Sasuke glanced towards him out of the side of his eye he saw a grin on Naruto’s face, and he had no idea how to interpret that.

“Hah!” Naruto said in what was probably supposed to be a whisper but was too loud. Luckily one of the characters on the screen chose the same moment to die violently, so no one turned around to tell them off for talking during the movie. “You’re scared aren’t you?”

Naruto seemed very pleased with the conclusion he had drawn, poking Sasuke’s side teasingly.

Normally Sasuke would have huffed at such an accusation, but he saw it for what it was. An explanation he hadn’t been able to come up with on his own, so he just went along with it.

Naruto didn’t have to know that if Sasuke was scared it had nothing to do with the movie, and

everything to do with the fact that Sasuke was absolutely terrified of losing Naruto from his life. Being this close wasn’t helping anything. He should have tried harder to find a seat that wasn’t next to Naruto, but everyone seemed to have ganged up on him, pushing around until there was only one seat left and Sasuke had been forced to take it and pretend like it hadn’t made his heart thrum in his chest.

“Whatever you say, Naruto,” Sasuke drawled as he shifted his focus back to staring at the screen again. Throughout the rest of the movie Naruto continued to cling to him, and Sasuke continued to uncomfortably pretend that it wasn’t driving him insane. At some point he was lucky enough to be so drawn into his thoughts that the movie had ended without him even noticing.

The boys made their way out of the theatre and everyone but Naruto and Kiba headed to the restrooms to relieve their bladders. After washing his hands, Sasuke stared at himself in the mirror and tried to calm himself down. How much longer could he really keep this up?

It wasn’t that Sasuke thought that he couldn’t keep the physical act of hiding the mark up, but emotionally? He was already so drained and it hadn’t even been a full day yet. Would this get better over time or would it always be this hard?

Sasuke was drawn out of his thoughts for the million and oneth time that day by Shikamaru walking up to the sinks to wash his hands as well.

“So, you wanna talk about what’s been eating at you or are we still going to pretend you’re fine?”

Sasuke glared at Shikamaru through the mirror. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Sasuke turned on the sink again and cupped some water to splash on his face. It was when he moved forward towards his hands that his collar slipped down to show just enough skin in the mirror to allow Shikamaru to see the newly formed mark. To be fair Sasuke was lucky that Naruto wasn’t there and that Shikamaru’s reaction wasn’t  immediately yelling. At least not too loudly.

“Ok, I’m not gonna say I’m surprised. But you have got to be kidding me!”

Sasuke looked up, confused by the shift in tone. “What?”

“Saw the mark?” Gaara asked casually as he also stepped up to the sinks.

“If you knew this whole time you could have said something!” Shikamaru argued.

“I thought it was obvious. It peeked over his collar once or twice, and he kept pawing at it.”

“Shut up! Shut up both of you, Naruto might hear you!” Sasuke whispered harshly through clenched teeth.

“Wait, you haven’t told him yet?” Shikamaru asked incredulously.

“No! And I don’t plan to!” Sasuke’s voice came out louder and harsher than he planned for it to.

The drive back home was awkward and silent. At least it was for Sasuke. By the time Sasuke got to his room he was exhausted. Shikamaru had not been happy about his decision and expressed his own opinions about it. Gaara had just asked him if he was sure about his decision and left it at that. It left Sasuke feeling tired and conflicted.

He sat down on his bed, back against the headboard and his knees tucked to his chest with his head bowed forward. Both Shikamaru and Gaara had seen the mark and realised just what it was, even if Sasuke had tried to hide it. Naruto might not be as observant as either of the two, but it was really just a question of time before he did see it and put two and two together. He’d walk in on Sasuke changing, or barge in to use the toilet when Sasuke was in the shower, or a collar would slip just a little too far down again or any of the numerous other things that could happen.

Truth was that Sasuke had to realize that he wouldn't be able to keep this from Naruto forever, so he had to make a plan for what to do when it all went to hell and Naruto did see it. He’d have to find a way to make sure they’d still be friends, even with this thing hanging between them.

Sasuke had never actually met anyone who were soulmates before. They were pretty rare, so all he knew was from what he had watched on TV or read about. The sheer number of tear-jerking romance movies made about soulmates were staggering, but Hollywood had never been known for its accuracy. In the movies they were always so happy when they found their soulmate, but Sasuke wasn’t happy, he was terrified.

The rational part of his mind knew that he couldn’t trust the movies, so he would have to find the true answers himself. Even though soulmates were rare they were still real, which meant that there had to be people out there in the same situation he was in.

He leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed his laptop, booting it up and opening his browser. His fingers rested over the keyboard as he tried to figure out just what to type in, hesitating. In the end he decided to start at the most obvious, typing in soulmates.

Not surprisingly the first article to come up was the Wikipedia article, and figuring it was worth a try he opened it, skimming through it. There was a section regarding the various soulmarks one could have, how common they were in the populace and some medical stuff regarding them that didn’t help Sasuke much. Soulmarks could come in any shape, and it was said that they represented something about the bond between the soulmarks, although experts were still not sure to what extent.

Sasuke peeled away his collar, peering down at his own soulmark. A sun and moon combined. Sasuke immediately thought the sun would represent Naruto, bright and warm and golden. Which meant the moon was for him. Cold, and insignificant. The sun gave life but the moon was little more than a giant rock in the sky. Fitting really, but he wasn’t sure what that would say about their bond.

He let go of his collar, turning back to his computer.

Actually it was kind of fitting he supposed. The sun and moon never met. It was an endless cycle of one chasing after the other, but never catching up. But it wasn’t meant to be. How nice. That was a great way to thin--

Knock Knock.

“Sasuke?”

Ok this was not the distraction he had in mind. “Yeah?”

“Can I talk to you?” Naruto asked hesitantly.

Oh god did he already know? Was he here to let Sasuke down gently or something? Sasuke moved to sit at the edge of the bed, closing the laptop as anxiety began to bubble in his stomach. He took a breath and got up to let the other boy in. Naruto gave him a small nervous smile and walked in, keeping his eyes on the ground as he moved to sit on the bed. He looked at Sasuke expectantly until the other moved to sit beside him as well. Yup, Naruto definitely knew. Damn it Shikamaru!

“I have a soulmate.”

“Uh…?” Ok weird way to start conversation. What was the point in that.

“So um, yeah we both know that. A-And I don’t know how important that is to you, but for me...it’s different I--” Oh, now Sasuke knew what he was getting at.

“Naruto, it’s fine.” Sasuke knew it sounded harsh, but he was hurt. He wasn’t surprised, but he wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.

“What? Sasuke what I’m trying to say is--”

“Stop. Look, it’s fine really. We can just ignore the marks and act like everything is still the same! It doesn’t have to change anything, I know you don’t want to--”

“Marks?... As in plural?” Naruto looked completely surprised. His eyes roamed over Sasuke, searching for the mark. When Sasuke realized what was happening, what he had just done, his hand instinctively went to his chest. He curled in on himself, if he thought he was panicking before, he really was now.

Naruto didn’t miss the action. His hand went to grab at Sasuke’s shirt, but the other practically jumped away from him. “Sasuke...show me.”

Sasuke felt panic bubble inside him. He had no idea what he should do, he had misspoken, and now Naruto knew he had a mark. If there was one thing Naruto was it was stubborn. He wouldn’t back away unless there was a good reason, and there was no way to explain it without telling Naruto just what mark was on his chest.

Sasuke scooted away from Naruto, needing the space to breathe, and Naruto seemed to realise as much. But Sasuke could see how it was a struggle for Naruto to stay still. He looked like he was ready to lunge at Sasuke any moment, leg jumping up and down, fingers curled into Sasuke's comforter as if he needed to physically keep himself in check.

The tension was heavy between them and Sasuke drew in a deep breath, knowing there was really only one thing he could do now. He had to show Naruto the mark, and then he could only hope that it wouldn’t make Naruto resent him.

“Naruto, just… promise you won’t be mad? I don’t expect anything from you, I don’t want things to change.” Sasuke needed Naruto to know this. This wasn’t the romance movies where the marks were revealed and the main characters threw themselves at each other, kissing fiercely and then living happily ever after. This was real life, and real life didn’t work like that. Sometimes the marks were wrong, and Sasuke just hoped Naruto wouldn’t be crushed knowing his soulmark linked to Sasuke and not some pretty girl like he’d probably dreamed about.

“Sasuke,” Naruto started, hesitating as if he didn’t know what to say. “I won’t be mad, just… please show me.”

He was sitting in the same spot, but he was leaning closer now, as if his body just couldn’t quite keep the space he was trying to maintain between them.

Sasuke raised a hand towards the collar of his shirt, hesitating with a finger hooked inside it, searching Naruto’s face for clues as to what he was thinking. Naruto looked tense, his blue eyes firmly locked on Sasuke’s face, only flickering down towards his chest for a split-second before searching out his eyes again.

There was really no reason to hesitate any longer, and Sasuke bit down on his lip as he slowly pulled down the collar past the jut of his collarbone, just beneath the spot where he knew the mark was burned into his skin, clearly visible against his paleness. There would be no mistaking just what it was, identical to Naruto’s own mark. Sasuke looked away, not quite ready to see the look of disappointment he was sure would flash across Naruto’s face before he schooled his features into something else.

He heard a sharp intake of breath as Naruto made out just what he was looking at, and then the mattress shifted as he moved, getting to his knees next to Sasuke, leaning closer. Sasuke was still looking away, but Naruto was so close he could smell him, a fresh earthy scent that made him want to get closer, to burrow his face against soft skin and draw that scent deep into his lungs.

Sasuke turned, still looking down but at least facing Naruto now. He stared at Naruto’s hands, still gripping the sheet of his bed. All Sasuke could think to do was apologize, and he was just about to do that when he saw water begin to fall onto Naruto’s curled fists. Sasuke immediately startled and slowly raised his head, only to see what he had been trying to avoid this whole time. Naruto was upset, he was so upset he had begun to cry and it made an overwhelming guilt tear through Sasuke’s heart. He shifted away, an apology already beginning to fall from his mouth, but it was cut off by Naruto quickly grabbing onto the front of his shirt to keep him in place.

“Is this why?” Naruto’s eyes searched Sasuke’s own, but the only response he got was a look of confusion. Naruto looked...relieved. ”Is this why you’ve been acting so weird with me? I thought,” Naruto hesitated a small laugh escaping quietly through his lips,”I thought you figured it out. All day you had been avoiding me and staring at my mark like you couldn’t stand to even be near me because of it.”

Sasuke tensed. Had he been that obvious? He hadn't even been conscious of looking at Naruto or his mark like that.”Wait, figured what out?”

Naruto laughed and swiped at his face before reaching out a hand and placing it over  Sasuke’s shirt, right where the mark would be. “For being a genius you can be really stupid sometimes you know that?” Naruto’s thumb brushed across his collarbone soothingly as his smile fell. Naruto’s face changed to one Sasuke couldn’t quite place. Sasuke was just getting more confused by the second.

“I’m still happy about it ya know? Even if you don’t want things to change...I’m happy.”

Naruto’s hand fell from Sasuke, and he turned away from the other. Sasuke was barely able to catch the somber look at the other’s face. Sasuke heard him sigh before getting up to leave.

This time a different type of panic erupted inside of him. There’s no way Sasuke was misreading this right? All of this seemed impossible, but he knew that if he let Naruto walk away right now he was only going to regret it. Maybe the only thing standing in his way was himself. And because of what, because he was scared?

“Screw this,” Sasuke grunted before he got up and practically stomped over to the other boy. He grabbed Naruto’s arm and turned the other around abruptly. Naruto gave him a bewildered look before stopping and waiting for Sasuke to say something. That realization made Sasuke stop sort, what should he say? How should he explain? Actually wait no overthinking is what got him into all this mess.

“Oh fuck it.”

“Wha--” Naruto’s sentence was abruptly cut off by the press of the other’s lips on his own. It took a second, a second too long if you asked Sasuke, but Naruto eventually responded just as eagerly as the other. His hands coming up to grab onto the raven’s face and deepen the kiss further.

Naruto’s lips were plush and soft, and he was as eager at kissing as he was at anything in his life, but Sasuke wouldn’t have it any other way. He just fell into the kiss, let Naruto tilt their heads just a little to the side, and when Naruto’s tongue swept across his lips Sasuke didn’t hesitate to part his lips, letting their tongues meet, soft and warm and perfect.

Suddenly it was impossible to remember just why Sasuke had been so scared when he saw the mark, because right now it felt like this was where they had been heading the entire time they’d known each other. That it was completely natural that they’d grow close enough to be soulmates. It felt right, like Sasuke hadn’t been completely whole before.

A pleasant warmth spread across Sasuke’s chest as they kissed, pulsing from the soulmark in soft waves, making his skin tingle, and he knew Naruto had to be feeling the same from his own mark. As if the marks felt the connection locking between them, soulmates that had found each other.

He wound his arms around Naruto’s neck, feeling the soft strands of his hair between his fingers, and when they finally broke the kiss he pressed his face against Naruto’s neck, breathing in his scent. It smelled like home, warm and pleasant.

Naruto kissed the tip of Sasuke’s ear, then the side of his head, and when Sasuke pulled back a little he kissed his temple, and his forehead too. Sasuke laughed softly, in a way he rarely laughed at all, happy in a way he didn’t think he’d ever felt before.

Their foreheads rested together as they just looked at each other, breathing the same air. Naruto was grinning widely, and Sasuke found himself mirroring it.

“Sasuke,” Naruto murmured, his fingers slowly stroking against Sasuke’s hair as if he couldn’t stop touching. “Why didn’t you tell me we had the same mark?”

Sasuke glanced down for a moment, trying to gather his thought. He wasn’t sure he could put it into words, the fear that Naruto wouldn’t want to be his soulmate, that he’d feel forced into something he didn’t want.

“I didn’t think you’d want to be soulmate with me,” he finally said, voice little more than a whisper. Naruto’s fingers stopped for a moment, and when Sasuke looked up at him again Naruto’s blue eyes were brimming with tears.

Sasuke wanted to say something to stop the tears, but Naruto didn’t let him, just leaned forward and kissed him again, and there were no need for words right then.

A while later they were sitting on Sasuke’s bed, resting up against the headboard, their hands linked together. Sasuke’s thumb traced small circles against Naruto’s soft skin, still amazed that he was allowed to do this now.

His lips still tingled from their kissing, and his mark was still warm against his skin. Naruto’s head was resting on Sasuke’s shoulder, his hair tickling his neck, but he didn’t mind.

“Can I see it again?” Naruto asked suddenly, lifting his head and turning towards Sasuke. Sasuke knew exactly what he was talking about, and merely dragged down the collar of his shirt again, exposing the mark. It was darker in colour now, shifting ever so slightly with each beat of Sasuke’s heart, making the flames licking out of the sun and moon seem almost alive.

“It looks good on you,” Naruto said softly, the pad of a finger tracing across it. Then he lifted his own arm, placing it against Sasuke’s chest so their marks were side by side, pulsing simultaneously, their heartbeats in perfect sync.

It was strange how much could change in a day. He had woken up terrified when he saw the mark on his previously unblemished skin, but now the sight of it only brought him joy. It was as if his fear had vanished the moment Naruto had seen it, as if their kiss had finally locked them together, an unbreakable bond he could feel in his very soul. There were no more worry that Naruto wouldn’t want him as a soulmate. He just knew that this was right, this was how it was always intended to be. He’d loved Naruto for years, and as he would later would find out, Naruto had likewise loved him. And now the marks had brought them together, and nothing could ever pull them apart.

Sometimes the sun and moon did meet, and the resulting eclipse was nothing short of magical.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Imagine that after Helwater Jamie comes home and Jenny insists he marry Mary McNab instead of Laoghaire.  Jamie finally relents and they set up a happy home filled with respect that develops into real, deep phileo love.  It may not be the rock your world type of love that Jamie and Claire had/have but it is solid. Then after 20 years, Claire returns… This one could be really, really angst filled. Thanks for your time mods! 

@jerribwarren submitted:  We all know that if Jamie had to remarry,  Laoghaire was probably the best person for him to marry as a marriage to her was never going to work (between her unrealistic expectations, her jealousy of Claire and Jamie’s apathy after his return from Helwater).  My question is:  don’t you think that if he had married someone (like a Mary McNabb but who wouldn’t necessarily have seen him with Claire) other than Laoghaire, someone he might have actually become friends with and grown to have a genuine affection for, it would have been much harder to reconcile the situation after Claire’s return especially if they had actually had a child or children together?  I would think that he wouldn’t have left his second wife in this situation or would have brought her with him to Edinburgh. I’d appreciate a discussion or even an AU on this subject about how this situation could/would have been resolved.  Thanks and I really love all of the writers for imagine.

Love in Other Words  (Part One of Two)

“I know why the Jews and Muslims have nine hundred names for God; one small word is not enough for love.” - Claire in Voyager

The ancient Greeks had at least four words for love: agape (unconditional love); eros (romantic, passionate, sexual love); storge (familial love); and philia (the love of friendship, regard). 

Jamie and Claire together share all four.

– Mod Lenny

It was Claire. She was really here in the shop with him. At least, he was pretty sure she was real. He could feel the warmth of her in his trembling arms, could smell that fresh, clean scent of her, heard her saying more than just his whispered name. But there was only one way to be completely sure…

“Can I kiss ye?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and blinked at the wetness in her eyes before closing them and tilting her face towards his. Swallowing hard, he refused to close his own eyes as his lips met hers, afraid that she would dissolve just as she had so many times before in his dreams.

But her lips were soft and pliant beneath his own and he let his eyes close as he let his lips part and breathed her in, tasting her as her mouth opened too and their kiss became more desperate, deeper, hungrier.

They parted with a shuddering sigh of relief, knowing they had both felt the same need, the same desire, the same flame that had been there all those years ago. It was still there for them to reclaim if they chose to and heaven help him, but he wanted to––wanted her––more than anything.

He was still getting drunk on the whiskey in her eyes when he heard the door at the front of the shop and Mary’s voice calling his name.

“Jamie? Ye’ll never guess who––” Mary cut off abruptly with a surprised gasp.

“Who’s that?” a familiar voice asked with louder surprise.

Claire stiffened in his arms and her gaze broke from his as she looked over he shoulder at the intruders. He froze, unable to find the words he needed to explain, to push the encroaching world back away from them and the moment they had been sharing when hope had reignited in his heart.

“Oh god,” Claire gasped, pulling away.

Jamie remained speechless and numb in the moment, his mind telling his body to act but his limbs not responding.

Soon after he returned from his parole, Jenny had made the off-hand suggestion that he marry again. He thought he had made his position on the matter clear but come Hogmanay it became apparent that Jenny hadn’t abandoned her opinion and had, in fact, started to take actions of her own to ensure it happened.

When he’d seen her talking with Laoghaire and leading the young widow in his direction, he knew it was with one aim in mind. Before they could reach him he had turned to Mary MacNab who was refilling guests’ drinks and he asked her to dance, setting the half-empty bottle she carried aside before she could find her words. Later, Jenny scolded him about the way he’d avoided Laoghaire all evening.

“Ye want me to court the woman tha’ tried to get Claire burnt for a witch?” he had asked Jenny who looked momentarily surprised but then rolled her eyes.

“No Laoghaire then but ye ought to be wed again and to someone who might give ye bairns. Ye deserve to be happy again, brother.”

“What I deserve is for ye to leave me in peace,” he spat back.

But Jenny’s hints and efforts persisted and Jamie’s resistance wore thin. Jenny wouldn’t leave him be and he knew eventually she would have her way. The best he could hope for was to choose for himself. The thought of having someone to take care of wasn’t completely unwelcome but the memory of Claire and the thought of their child made the idea of raising a family with another woman… He had no desire for that.

He’d been contemplating his prospects when Mary had come to fetch him for Ian and that’s when it occurred to him to marry her. It had been several years since her Rabbie had gone south to London seeking a different life for himself while she remained behind; she too was separated from the person she loved most. He thought she might be able to understand him better than most.

“You’re… you’ve…” Claire stammered glancing between him and Mary before shaking her head and darting away from him and out of the shop.

His mind hadn’t quite caught up to everything that had just happened. Maybe it had all been a vision after all…

Mary’s hand was on his shoulder, rubbing him reassuringly and guiding him to a nearby chair. He could tell she was talking and her tone was soothing but all he could think about was that Claire was gone… again. The flame of hope that had been reignited sputtered and shrank leaving him cold.

The fog of confusion began to clear and he sat up straighter in the chair feeling his face flush with guilt and shame. What must Mary think of it all, walking in and seeing him and Claire like that with…

“Where’s Ian?” he asked, glancing frantically around the shop. It wouldn’t be the first time his nephew had appeared on their doorstep without warning and Mary always made sure to bring the lad to the shop since Jamie was one of the few people he would heed.

“I sent him after Claire,” Mary told him, her posture relaxing now that she could be sure he was coming back to himself. “He’ll slow her down at the least till we can find them and ye can talk to her proper like.”

Jamie looked back at the printing press; he hadn’t finished fixing it––couldn’t remember what had been wrong with it, at the moment––and he had orders still to fill, customers who wouldn’t care that a rug had been pulled out from under his feet and he was still sitting on the floor uncertain whether standing again was possible or if the fall had caused something to break.

“I dinna ken that there’s anything I can say to her that’ll make much difference,” he murmured.

“I think there’s a great deal ye can tell her,” Mary disagreed. “And if you dinna want to say it, then I will. Ye can start by askin’ her no to go again.”

At that he looked at Mary whose eyes crinkled with her familiar, quiet amusement.

“Did ye really think I’d ask ye to let her go?” she asked him, reaching up and tucking in the end of his stock.

“I canna do that to ye,” he protested weakly, “set ye aside like that and leave ye alone without someone to provide for ye.”

“Ye wouldna be settin’ me aside,” she argued softly. “I’m perfectly able to step’ aside wi’out yer help. You and I both ken it willna be difficult for either of us to secure an annulment.”

The ceremony had been smaller even than the hastily arranged one he’d had when he married Claire. He wasn’t as nervous during the ceremony as he had expected to be but by the time they arrived at their small renovated cottage after nightfall, nerves had begun to twist his belly.

Neither had said much of anything to the other as they took in the small space that would now be theirs. One large main room with a hearth and small pantry constituted kitchen, parlor, and study; there was a door to the back that led to the small bedroom.

Mary took off her cloak as Jamie set about shutting the cottage up for the night. When he turned, she had disappeared––presumably into the bedroom––and he sighed with relief.

He shouldn’t overthink this; it wasn’t as though he hadn’t bedded a woman before––it wasn’t as though he hadn’t bedded Mary before. But it had all been different then. I know the look of a true love, and it’s not in my mind to make ye feel ye’ve betrayed it… What I want is to give ye something different. Something less, mayhap, but something ye can use; something to keep ye whole. He wondered if she’d known then that he hadn’t been whole to begin with. But she had given him something and it had helped him then as he faced Ardsmuir. But now… I never had that, she’d confessed. He couldn’t give it to her now either but maybe he could give her something like what she’d given to him in that cave some ten years before.

When he worked up his courage and eased open the bedroom door he could just make out the shape of the bed in the light of the candle. He stopped, puzzled. He didn’t think he’d been standing out in the main room for very long but maybe it had been longer than he realized.

Mary was in bed with the blankets pulled up over her chest; she was turned on her side, her back to the middle of the bed and he could see the stark white of her new shift standing out against the darker wool of the blankets. She appeared to already be asleep.

Quietly, so as not to wake her, he slipped inside enough to close the door behind him and began stripping down to his shirt then eased himself beneath the covers next to her. He lay there on his back with his fingers nervously tapping his chest as he listened to her steady breathing. Should he wake her up so they could get it over with? He scolded himself for thinking of it in such terms; she was his wife now and she deserved more thought and care than that. Still, he didn’t think he’d be able to settle to anything until it was over and the nerves in his belly could be calmed.

But Mary wasn’t asleep.

“Ye ken it doesna have to be like that between us,” she said quietly, startling him.

He froze beside her, felt the bedding shift under him as she strained to look at him over her shoulder.

“I ken ye didna wed me because ye wanted to bed me,” she continued, no self-pity in her voice. “And I dinna want ye that way if ye only see it as bein’ yer duty.”

“It’s no as though we havena… before,” he answered.

“And I ken it helped and hurt ye to do it then. Ye feel yerself bound to yer Claire still and I’ll no have ye takin’ me to bed only to feel regretful about it later. I’ve been in marriages where one of us was lyin’ wi’ the other from duty and I’ll no be the one askin’ ye to do the same; it doesna make for the best of marriages in my experience.”

He felt a stab of sorrow both for himself and for her. He would forever feel himself bound to Claire and sorrowed that Mary seemed so resigned she would never know what a love like that felt like. But he couldn’t give that to her, whether she wanted that or not and she had wed him knowing that.

“So why did ye agree to marry me then?” he couldn’t help asking.

“I suppose for the same reason you asked me.”

“Was Jenny tryin’ to make a match wi’ you and another fellow ye didna care for so much?” The joke caught him by surprise but to his relief Mary laughed. It was a quiet laugh, startled by itself.

“No,” she finally said with a sigh. “I’ve been servin’ yer family at Lallybroch for years now––as ye well know––but since my Rabbie left… It’s different, servin’ folk an’ no buildin’ a home for yerself… no havin’ someone to really care for, to build a home with…”

“Aye…” Jamie murmured. “I ken what ye mean.”

“I thought ye would,” Mary said with satisfaction. “Caidil gu math… Jamie,” she added with hesitation.

“Caidil gu math, Mary,” Jamie responded, relaxing into the warmth of a shared bed and the quiet night. It was becoming clear that navigating this new marriage wouldn’t quite be what he had expected earlier but he was also beginning to suspect that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Claire hadn’t looked back as she burst into the street. She was still too disoriented by everything. Seeing Jamie again––touching him, holding him and being held by him––that had all been overwhelming and emotional, more than she could have imagined. And she had known that there was a possibility that he had moved on, that he would have known she believed him dead at Culloden and therefore unlikely to ever return for him. Life was too long to be lived alone; too short to waste it wallowing in grief and sorrow.

“Hey!” she heard a youthful voice calling behind her and made to step out of the way so the lad could get past and reach whomever it was he was trying to catch up with.

But then she felt him reach out and tap her on the arm repeating, “Hey,” breathlessly.

“Me?” she asked in disbelief even as she searched his face for a resemblance to Brianna. The shape of the eyes was right but his coloring was all wrong and while he had the promise of Jamie’s height, he hadn’t endured the growth spurt that would give him the muscles his father possessed.

“Aye,” the boy panted. “Ye’re…”

“I’m leaving,” she interrupted. “You can go home and tell your mother that I won’t be bothering you again.”

The lad’s face twisted with confusion. “My mam? Ye mean Mary? She’s no my mam and Uncle Jamie’s no my da.”

The wave of relief nearly knocked Claire off her feet. The boy wasn’t Jamie’s. And the more she looked at him the more she could see the marks of Jenny and Ian in him––the Fraser slanted eyes if not the color and his gangliness was certainly more in the vein of Ian’s build than Jamie’s. “You’re Jenny and Ian’s boy,” she guessed.

“Aye. Named for my da. Will ye no come back, Auntie Claire? Ye are my Auntie Claire, are ye no? Mary said it’s who ye were. I ken a bit about ye––Mam and Da always said ye were deid but they’d tell tales about ye of a time when Uncle Jamie wasna around. It always makes him sad to talk of ye, even after he wed Mary MacNab,” young Ian Murray rambled. “Mam thinks it’s why they left Lallybroch for Edinburgh; said they’ve too many ghosts roaming there between them. She blames herself for stirrin’ up yer ghost by pushing Uncle Jamie to wed agin though she also says she’d as soon he be content in Edinburgh than miserable at Lallybroch.”

The sheer volume of words and the pace at which he spoke them left Claire blinking and uncertain.

“I… I am Claire,” she said, no longer quite sure of even that simple fact. “But… I’m not interested in disrupting anything. I just thought… I had heard that Jamie… I don’t know what I was thinking,” she confessed turning to continue up the road. She wasn’t even sure if she was headed in the right direction.

“But… ye came back for him… Ye canna just leave,” Ian objected.

“And I can’t just stay, either,” Claire retorted, unsure why she was bothering to argue with the young teenager. “What about his wife?”

Ian shrugged dismissively. “She’s the one sent me to get ye.”

“What? Why would she do that?”

“I dinna ken. Why don’t ye come wi’ me and ask her?”

Claire looked at the eager lad, her heart aching to believe that if she went with him there was a chance it might stop and curious to see what Jamie’s new wife might have to say.

In the early days of their marriage, Jamie was surprised by how little he knew about Mary and how much she knew about him.

“I served at Lallybroch for near twenty years,” Mary pointed out with a laugh when he expressed his surprise aloud. “Ye think I wouldna notice such about everyone that lived there––especially the laird himself?”

Jamie flushed. “I’m no the laird and Lallybroch’s no mine anymore; and how many of those twenty years did I live under the roof, eh? No even five did ye string all the nights together.”

“Yer nephew may be possessed of the land and the house, but ye ken weel enough to all the tenants as are old enough to remember, ye’ll be the true laird till the day ye die. No sense denyin’ it.”

He chose not to argue but rather to change the subject.

“Have ye heard from Rabbie of late? He’s settled in London still?”

“Aye,” she had smiled before giving Jamie a summary of the last letter she’d had from him.

It took time and effort to get her to talk about herself and her past. As she began to trust him with more of the details of herself and her first two marriages, he found himself sharing more than he expected about his past as well, specifically Claire. He had long ago gotten used to the ache and yearning for her; it was simply a part of him at that point. The comfort of being able to talk of her though, that was new. He couldn’t understand why talking of her with Mary was more soothing and less painful than talking of Claire with people who had known her better––Jenny or Ian. Perhaps it was because Mary didn’t seem to pity him for having been broken by the loss; she too was a little broken.

Though they grew to understand and appreciate each other, the match itself was considered an odd one by the families that lived and worked around the estate. Mary had been right about folk still viewing Jamie as the laird and the laird––even one as respected and compassionate as Jamie––was not supposed to marry one of his servants. It was a fact that might have been overlooked were it not for the never-to-be-forgotten fact of Ronald MacNab and his betrayal.

Everyone had pitied Mary at the time and quietly judged Ronald for what he did to his wife and child whenever he’d been drinking. Everyone who heard about the beating Jamie had given the man his mistreatment of those whose care belonged to him had agreed the bullying drunkard deserved it. Everyone had banded together to see justice done for their laird when Ronald betrayed Jamie. Everyone had settled down to their lives after the fire, content that balance had been restored when Mary along with her Rabbie were taken in at Lallybroch and given occupation.

But Jamie marrying Mary––even so many years later––unsettled that balance in ways that couldn’t be explained. It cast events long past in a questionable light; it elicited narrowed eyes; it encouraged tongues to wag.

Neither Jamie nor Mary was oblivious to the change and neither wanted to be at the center of such attentions. After going to Edinburgh to fetch some things that Jenny wanted for up at the main house, Jamie proposed a change and Mary agreed that one fresh start deserved another.

“I want ye to be happy,” Mary insisted quietly to Jamie.

“I wasna unhappy,” he pointed out to her, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Before I was but… no wi’ you.”

“I’m glad of that,” she told him with a smile. “But I ken ye well enough to know that ye will be if ye let her go again. She can give ye more of what ye need than I can. I’m no ashamed to admit it.”

“And have you been happy?” Jamie asked in turn, suddenly afraid.

“Aye,” she assured him with a nod. “It’s been a peace I didna ken was possible in marriage and for that I’ll always be thankful to ye. I dinna want ye thinkin’ ye havena treated me well.”

“What does it matter how I’ve treated ye in our marriage if I leave it to end like this? I’ll no leave ye wi’out someone to provide for ye.”

“I ken well ye’re too honorable a man to do somethin’ like that, James Fraser.”

“Ye canna stay in a city like this on yer own and goin’ back to Lallybroch would be an insult to ye that I couldna countenance. And there’s nothin’ to say that Claire… She may no want me back…”

“Well, ye’ll never ken for certain if ye dinna talk wi’ her. And ye’re right about Lallybroch; we left for a reason. But ye ken Rabbie’s been after me to visit him in London. He’s wed now and I’ve yet to meet the lass,” Mary mused. “First things first, though. Go after Claire.”

Jamie nodded and rose brushing himself off. Mary set about untying his heavy leather apron for him and gave him directions for the way Ian had set off after Claire.

“I’ll speak wi’ Geordie and lock up here,” she told him. “Then I’ll stop at the butcher and start on supper. Ian will be lookin’ for food after runnin’ about. Mhá lorg thu i.”

(To be continued)

[alltimebestbooks]

Best 100 Books

I Suggestion Best 100 Books the Books all Self Development and Motivation and Life Changing and Finance and Investment and Communication and Leadership Biographies and Autobiographies and Fiction and Non Fiction Books

The intelligent investor

It is a widely acclaimed book by Benjamin Graham on value investing. Written by one of the greatest investment advisers of twentieth century, the book aims at preventing potential investors from substantial errors and also teaches them strategies to achieve long-term investment goals.

Over the years, investment market has been following teachings and strategies of Graham for growth and development. In the book, Graham has explained various principles and strategies for investing safely and successfully without taking bigger risks. Modern-day investors still continue to use his proven and well-executed techniques for value investment.

The current edition highlights some of the important concepts that are useful for latest financial orders and plans. Keeping Graham's unique text in original form, the book focuses on major principles that can be applied in day-to-day life. All the concepts and principles are explained with the help of examples for better clarity and understanding of the financial world.

Combination of original plan of Graham and the current financial situations are the reason behind this book’s preference today’s investors. It is a detailed version with several wisdom quotes that are likely to change one’s investing career and lead to the path of financial safety and security.

2. The girl in room no 105

Hi, I’m Keshav, and my life is screwed. I hate my job and my girlfriend left me. Ah, the beautiful Zara. Zara is from Kashmir. She is a Muslim. And did I tell you my family is a bit, well, traditional? Anyway, leave that.

Zara and I broke up four years ago. She moved on in life. I didn’t. I drank every night to forget her. I called, messaged, and stalked her on social media. She just ignored me.

However, that night, on the eve of her birthday, Zara messaged me. She called me over, like old times, to her hostel room 105. I shouldn’t have gone, but I did… and my life changed forever.

This is not a love story. It is an unlove story.

From the author of Five Point Someone and 2 States, comes a fast-paced, funny and unputdownable thriller about obsessive love and finding purpose in life against the backdrop of contemporary India.

3. The Big Leap

With over 100,000 copies sold, New York Times bestselling author Gay Hendricks demonstrates how to go beyond your internal limits, release outdated fears and learn a whole new set of powerful skills and habits to liberate your authentic greatness. Fans of Wayne Dyer, Eckhart Tolle, Marianne Williamson, and Gabrielle Bernstein will discover the way to break down the walls to a better life.

4. Becoming

The intimate, powerful, and beautifully written memoir by the United States' former First Lady that inspired the major Netflix documentary

'I found myself lifting my jaw from my chest at the end of every other chapter . . . this was not the Obama I thought I knew. She was more' Independent In a life filled with meaning and accomplishment, Michelle Obama has emerged as one of the most iconic and compelling women of our era.

As First Lady of the United States of America - the first African-American to serve in that role - she helped create the most welcoming and inclusive White House in history, while also establishing herself as a powerful advocate for women and girls in the U.S. and around the world. She dramatically changed the ways that families pursue healthier and more active lives, and stood with her husband as he led America through some of its most harrowing moments. Along the way, she showed us a few dance moves, crushed Carpool Karaoke, and raised two down-to-earth daughters under an unforgiving media glare.

In her memoir, a work of deep reflection and mesmerizing storytelling, Michelle Obama invites readers into her world, chronicling the experiences that have shaped her - from her childhood on the South Side of Chicago to her years as an executive balancing the demands of motherhood and work, to her time spent at the world's most famous address. With unerring honesty and lively wit, she describes her triumphs and her disappointments, both public and private, telling her full story as she has lived it - in her own words and on her own terms.

Warm, wise, and revelatory, Becoming is the deeply personal reckoning of a woman of soul and substance who has steadily defied expectations - and whose story inspires us to do the same

5. You are a Badass

YOU ARE A BADASS IS THE SELF-HELP BOOK FOR PEOPLE WHO DESPERATELY WANT TO IMPROVE THEIR LIVES BUT DON'T WANT TO GET BUSTED DOING IT.

In this refreshingly entertaining how-to guide, bestselling author and world-traveling success coach, Jen Sincero, serves up 27 bitesized chapters full of hilariously inspiring stories, sage advice, easy exercises, and the occasional swear word, helping you to: Identify and change the self-sabotaging beliefs and behaviors that stop you from getting what you want, Create a life you totally love. And create it NOW, Make some damn money already. The kind you've never made before.

By the end of You Are a Badass, you'll understand why you are how you are, how to love what you can't change, how to change what you don't love, and how to use The Force to kick some serious ass.

6. The power of your subconscious mind

Did you know that your mind has a 'mind' of its own? Yes! Without even realizing, our mind is often governed by another entity which is called the sub-conscious mind.

This book can bring to your notice the innate power that the sub-conscious holds. We have some traits which seem like habits, but in reality these are those traits which are directly controlled by the sub-conscious mind, vis-à-vis your habits or your routine can be changed if you can control and direct your sub-conscious mind positively. To be able to control this 'mind power' and use it to improve the quality of your life is no walk in the park. This is where this book acts as a guide and allows you to decipher the depths of the sub-conscious.

In this book, 'The power of your subconscious mind', the author fuses his spiritual wisdom and scientific research to bring to light how the sub-conscious mind can be a major influence on our daily lives. Once you understand your subconscious mind, you can also control or get rid of the various phobias that you may have in turn opening a brand new world of positive energy.

7. The power of self confidence

Praise for The Power of Self-Confidence "Brian Tracy is the master in understanding and teaching self-enrichment. In this priceless book, he unlocks the key to your door of success and fulfillment belief in your own potential. Internalize his wisdom and you will surely realize your goals." DENIS WAITLEY, author of Psychology of Success "Brian continues to impact the lives of everyone he touches. This book provides a logical road map that everyone can use to maximize their true potential." JOSEPH SHERREN, CSP, HoF, author of iLead: Five Insights for Building Sustainable Organizations "When Brian Tracy writes a new book, I drop everything and start reading. We all need sharp lessons on developing more self-confidence and pursuing challenging goals. This book will make a significant difference in your life." PAT WILLIAMS, Orlando Magic Senior Vice President and author of Leadership Excellence "The one quality that makes all the success principles work is unshakable confidence in yourself. Brian now shows you how to grow your confidence to the point where you become unstoppable." JACK CANFIELD, coauthor of Chicken Soup for the Soul "Lacking confidence erodes your self-worth and paralyzes your productivity. In this book, Brian Tracy shares the secrets to developing and maintaining high levels of self-confidence so that you can live the greatest life!" KRISTIN ARNOLD, author of Boring to Bravo: Proven Presentation Techniques to Engage, Involve, and Inspire Your Audience to Action

8. The art of public speaking

Public speaking is a vital skill which is important in all spheres of life. Generally, people who are good at public speaking go a long way in their professional careers. Hence, acquiring sound public speaking skills at an early age is critical. The book, 'The Art of Public Speaking’ helps the readers in learning the various techniques of 'speaking with confidence'. Written using several examples and powerful narration, this book is a wholesome learning material for public speaking. It is authored by Dale Carnegie and it was published by Prabhat Prakashan in 2013. The book begins with the most essential component of public speaking - confidence. The author explains the various ways in which readers can improve their confidence so that once they go on stage, they have no fear. Then, it deals with important factors of speaking like when to pause and the various pausing techniques. Then, it moves on to the topic of delivering the content. More than what you speak, what is crucial is how you speak and hence delivery is the most important factor in public speaking. It discusses the various techniques of delivery and force. Additionally, there are notes on preparation and body language.

9. How to talk to anyone

Perfect your people skills with his fun, witty and informative guide, containing 92 little tricks to create big success in personal and business relationships. In How to Talk to Anyone, bestselling relationships author and internationally renowned life coach Leil Lowndes reveals the secrets and psychology behind successful communication. These extremely usable and intelligent techniques include how to:

Work a party like a politician works a room

Be an insider in any crowd

Use key words and phrases to guide the conversation

Use body language to connect

This is the key to having successful conversations with anyone, any time.

10. Emotion and relationships

2 Books in 1

Book 1: Emotion: The Juice of Life

“One can make any emotion into a creative force in one’s life.” – Sadhguru

It’s not just poetic license that allows us to refer to emotions as “juicy”. In a literal sense also, emotions are a chemical cocktail that course through our bodies. But while we have no problems with pleasant emotions, unpleasant emotions are the source of much angst in our lives. In Emotion: The Juice of Life, Sadhguru looks at the gamut of human emotions and how to turn them into stepping stones rather than stumbling blocks.

Sadhguru is a yogi and profound mystic of our times. An absolute clarity of perception places him in a unique space in not only matters spiritual but in business, environmental and international affairs and opens a new door on all that he touches.

Book 2: Relationships: Bond or Bondage

“If you enhance yourself into a very beautiful state, everyone will want to hold a relationship with you.” – Sadhguru

Human beings constantly make and break relationships. Unfortunately, relationships can make and break human beings too. Why are relationships such a circus for most of us? What is this primal urge within us that demands a bond – physical, mental, or emotional – with another? And how do we keep this bond from turning into bondage? These are the fundamental questions that Relationships: Bond or Bondage looks at as Sadhguru shares with us the keys to forming lasting and joyful relationships, whether they are with husband or wife, family and friends, at work, or with the very existence itself.

11. dont sweat the small stuff

Braille edition of the popular bestseller. "Let go of the idea that gentle, relaxed people can't be super-achievers," advises Dr. Richard Carlson in his widely popular self-help book, DON'T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF. In 100 chapters--each only a few pages long--Dr. Carlson shares his ideas for living a calmer, richer life. This book has been on the New York Times bestseller list for 38 weeks and is No. 3 on USA TODAY's Best-Selling Books list. Two small volumes in braille.

12. Deep Work

Cal Newport discusses in his new book, Deep Work: Rules For Focused Success In A Distracted World, about how professionals of today have started valuing quantity over quality; and how this has turned young professionals of today into puppets who try to indulge in extensive multitasking, dealing with multiple emails and projects. This prevents them from doing 'deep work'; which is focused work free from all other distractions. This also means that the professionals of today should sort out their priorities.

Newport uses principles of psychology and neuroscience to enhance his points. He elaborates how to improve a person's cognitive abilities and how employers should encourage workers to not take shortcuts for completing projects. He claims that the best way to break away from the corporate race is to take a break from technology and social media and use some alone-time to rewind and introspect. Newport enforces the beliefs of a non-technophile to deliver work that is productive and efficiently delivered.

13. Built to last

Drawing upon a six-year research project at the Stanford University Graduate School of Business, James C. Collins and Jerry I. Porras took eighteen truly exceptional and long-lasting companies and studied each in direct comparison to one of its top competitors. They examined the companies from their very beginnings to the present day -- as start-ups, as midsize companies, and as large corporations. Throughout, the authors asked: "What makes the truly exceptional companies different from the comparison companies and what were the common practices these enduringly great companies followed throughout their history?"

Filled with hundreds of specific examples and organized into a coherent framework of practical concepts that can be applied by managers and entrepreneurs at all levels, Built to Last provides a master blueprint for building organizations that will prosper long into the 21st century and beyond.

14. The millionaire next door

The bestselling The Millionaire Next Door identifies seven common traits that show up again and again among those who have accumulated wealth. Most of the truly wealthy in this country don't live in Beverly Hills or on Park Avenue-they live next door. This new edition, the first since 1998, includes a new foreword for the twenty-first century by Dr. Thomas J. Stanley.

15. Common stocks and uncommon profits

Widely respected and admired, Philip Fisher is among the most influential investors of all time. His investment philosophies, introduced almost forty years ago, are not only studied and applied by today's financiers and investors, but are also regarded by many as gospel. This book is invaluable reading and has been since it was first published in 1958. The updated paperback retains the investment wisdom of the original edition and includes the perspectives of the author's son Ken Fisher, an investment guru in his own right in an expanded preface and introduction "I sought out Phil Fisher after reading his Common Stocks and Uncommon Profits...A thorough understanding of the business, obtained by using Phil's techniques...enables one to make intelligent investment commitments." Warren Buffet

16. You can heal your life

‘You Can Heal Your Life’ is practical and insightful books which help in evaluating the do’s and don’ts of life. Your mind plays an important role in the well-being of the body. The book is appreciated by various people for its content. The writer provides guidance towards the right path to heal your life. The author has been able to explain just how our negative thoughts and beliefs about ourselves are able to lead to various health conditions and emotional issues that can ruin our lives.

The right thought pattern can heal anything, change the way of thinking and your body will be fit and fine. The book is all about the in-depth relationship between the body and mind. You Can Heal Your Life is a gift from the author Louise L. Hay. Let us give this gift to ourselves and our dear ones in order to keep them fin and healthy always. Stay away from the negative thoughts and negative beliefs and see the change into your life. Just by simple healing techniques make your dreams come true and create a truly happily ever after life.

The book has been a New York Times bestseller and has sold more than 39 million copies all over the world. The methods and guidance offered by the author have been able to bring relief to millions of people everywhere.

17. Yoga and stress management

Yoga & stress management is a therapeutic guide for those dealing with mental and physical stress, as well as a reference book for healthy living. Although urban work culture has greatly improved the individual economic status, it has grossly diminished br> Nature’s endowments. While modern psychology effectively helps in creating an awareness of what causes this, the Yoga philosophy is capable of changing one’s overall attitude towards life. This book combines both and provides valuable guidelines, tips, and techniques. Yoga offers the complete toolkit to deal with psychological and psycho-somatic disorders that are globally on the rise. With yogic techniques one can understand the nature of human consciousness and attain its higher stages. Using yogic practices like meditation and Pranayama, one can delve deep within and connect the body and mind to the inner self. By enhancing the latent energy in man, yoga offers a holistic solution to erase conflicts, suppression, and sensitivity.

18. Thinking Fast and Slow

Major New York Times bestseller Over two million copies sold Selected by the New York Times Book Review as one of the ten best books of 2011 Selected by The Wall Street Journal's as one best nonfiction books of 2011 2013 Presidential Medal of Freedom Recipient Daniel Kahneman's work with Amos Tversky is the subject of Michael Lewis's best-selling The Undoing Project: A Friendship That Changed Our Minds

In his mega bestseller, Thinking, Fast and Slow, Daniel Kahneman, world-famous psychologist and winner of the Nobel Prize in Economics, takes us on a groundbreaking tour of the mind and explains the two systems that drive the way we think. System 1 is fast, intuitive, and emotional; System 2 is slower, more deliberative, and more logical. The impact of overconfidence on corporate strategies, the difficulties of predicting what will make us happy in the future, the profound effect of cognitive biases on everything from playing the stock market to planning our next vacation?each of these can be understood only by knowing how the two systems shape our judgments and decisions.

Engaging the reader in a lively conversation about how we think, Kahneman reveals where we can and cannot trust our intuitions and how we can tap into the benefits of slow thinking. He offers practical and enlightening insights into how choices are made in both our business and our personal lives?and how we can use different techniques to guard against the mental glitches that often get us into trouble. Topping bestseller lists for almost ten years, Thinking, Fast and Slow is a contemporary classic, an essential book that has changed the lives of millions of readers.

19. Think and Grow Rich

Think And Grow Rich has earned itself the reputation of being considered a textbook for actionable techniques that can help one get better at doing anything, not just by rich and wealthy, but also by people doing wonderful work in their respective fields. There are hundreds and thousands of successful people in the world who can vouch for the contents of this book. At the time of author’s death, about 20 million copies had already been sold. Numerous revisions have been made in the book, from time to time, to make the book more readable and comprehensible to the readers.

The book details out the most fundamental questions that once bothered the author, Napoleon Hill. The author once set out on a personal quest to find out what really made some people so successful. Why is it that some people manage to remain healthy, happy and financially independent, all at the same time? Why, after all, do some end up being called as lucky? The answers, no wonder, had to be no less than revelations.

For more than a decade, the author interviewed some of the wealthiest and most successful people in the world. It was based on what author learnt in the process from all these people, when asked about how they achieved not just great riches but also personal wellbeing. The author formulated hundreds and thousands of answers, into concise principles which when acted upon, many claim, can help one achieve unprecedented success.

The author has in many places narrated short stories and examples that help explain the concept at hand in an engaging manner. Think and Grow Rich teaches not just concepts but also methods. It is not a book that a reader can use for one time consumption. The book, even author recommends, has to be read one chapter at a time and in sequence. Several readers and even some motivational speakers claim to have been reading this book over and over again, few pages at a time, for a long time now. Till date, it remains the number one self help book in the world, as far as sales are concerned!

20. The Success Principles

Jack Canfield, cocreator of the phenomenal bestselling Chicken Soup for the Soul

series, turns to the principles he's studied, taught, and lived for more than 30 years in this practical and inspiring guide that will help any aspiring person get from where they are to where they want to be.

The Success Principles

will teach you how to increase your confidence, tackle daily challenges, live with passion and purpose, and realize all your ambitions. Not merely a collection of good ideas, this book spells out the 64 timeless principles used by successful men and women throughout history. Taken together and practiced every day, these principles will transform your life beyond your wildest dreams!

Filled with memorable and inspiring stories of CEOs, world-class athletes, celebrities, and everyday people, The Success Principles

will give you the proven blueprint you need to achieve any goal you desire.

21. The Power of Habit

We can always change. In The Power of Habit, award-winning New York Times business reporter Charles Duhigg translates cutting-edge behavioural science into practical self-improvement action, distilling advanced neuroscience into fascinating narratives of transformation.

Why can some people and companies change overnight, and some stay stuck in their old ruts? The answer lies deep in the human brain, and The Power of Habits reveals the secret pressure points that can change a life. From Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps to Martin Luther King Jr., from the CEO of Starbucks to the locker rooms of the NFL, Duhigg explores the incredible results of keystone habits, and how they can make all the difference between billions and millions, failure and success – or even life and death.

The Power of Habit makes an exhilarating case: the key to almost any door in life is instilling the right habit. From exercise to weight loss, childrearing to productivity, market disruption to social revolution, and above all success, the right habits can change everything.

Habits aren't destiny. They’re science, one which can transform our businesses, our communities, and our lives.

'Plenty of business books that try to tap into the scientific world manage to distil complicated research into readable prose. But few take the next step and become essential manuals for business and living. The Power of Habit is an exception.' ANDREW HILL, FINANCIAL TIMES

22. The monk who sold his ferrari

A renowned inspirational fiction, The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari is a revealing story that offers the readers a simple yet profound way to live life. The plot of this story revolves around Julian Mantle, a lawyer who has made his fortune and name in the profession. A sudden heart-attack creates havoc in the successful lawyer’s life. Jolted by the sudden onset of the illness, his practice comes to a standstill. He ponders over material success being worth it all, renounces all of it and leaves for India.

A visit to India about a spiritual awakening that opens up new vistas and Julian begins to view life in a different perspective. He decides to live his life once again but in a way that is much more fulfilling and meaningful than before.

In the book, the reader goes through a spiritual journey and into a very old culture that has gathered much wisdom over the millennia. The book advocates about how to live happily, think deep and rightly, value time and relationships, be more disciplined, follow the heart’s call and live every moment of the life.

Written in simple words, the book has turned out to be a bestseller and is more than just an endearing story. Through storytelling, Robin Sharma showcases the miracles and wonders of living a fulfilling life. In the process, the book introduces readers to enlightening yet simple principles that vouch to make life better, happier and more meaningful.

A bestselling novel, what readers all over the globe appreciate about this book is its deft amalgam of the philosophies from both western and eastern worlds. The book has been followed by important personalities around the world.

23. The Alchemist

Paulo Coelho's enchanting novel has inspired a devoted following around the world. This story, dazzling in its powerful simplicity and inspiring wisdom, is about an Andalusian shepherd boy named Santiago who travels from his homeland in Spain to the Egyptian desert in search of a treasure buried in the Pyramids. Along the way he meets a Gypsy woman, a man who calls himself

24. The 48 Laws of Power

Drawn from 3,000 years of the history of power, this is the definitive guide to help readers achieve for themselves what Queen Elizabeth I, Henry Kissinger, Louis XIV and Machiavelli learnt the hard way. Law 1: Never outshine the master Law 2: Never put too much trust in friends; learn how to use enemies Law 3: Conceal your intentions Law 4: Always say less than necessary. The text is bold and elegant, laid out in black and red throughout and replete with fables and unique word sculptures. The 48 laws are illustrated through the tactics, triumphs and failures of great figures from the past who have wielded - or been victimised by - power.

25. The 4 Hours Work Week

The New York Times bestselling author of The 4-Hour Body shows readers how to live more and work less, now with more than 100 pages of new, cutting-edge content.

Forget the old concept of retirement and the rest of the deferred-life plan–there is no need to wait and every reason not to, especially in unpredictable economic times.Whether your dream is escaping the rat race, experiencing high-end world travel, or earning a monthly five-figure income with zero management, The 4-Hour Workweekis the blueprint.

This step-by-step guide to luxury lifestyle design teaches: • How Tim went from $40,000 per year and 80 hours per week to $40,000 per month and 4 hours per week • How to outsource your life to overseas virtual assistants for $5 per hour and do whatever you want • How blue-chip escape artists travel the world without quitting their jobs • How to eliminate 50% of your work in 48 hours using the principles of a forgotten Italian economist • How to trade a long-haul career for short work bursts and frequent “mini-retirements”

The new expanded edition of Tim Ferriss’ The 4-Hour Workweek includes: • More than 50 practical tips and case studies from readers (including families) who have doubled income, overcome common sticking points, and reinvented themselves using the original book as a starting point • Real-world templates you can copy for eliminating e-mail, negotiating with bosses and clients, or getting a private chef for less than $8 a meal • How Lifestyle Design principles can be suited to unpredictable economic times • The latest tools and tricks, as well as high-tech shortcuts, for living like a diplomat or millionaire without being either

26. Start With Why

The inspiring, life-changing bestseller by the author of LEADERS EAT LAST and TOGETHER IS BETTER. In 2009, Simon Sinek started a movement to help people become more inspired at work, and in turn inspire their colleagues and customers. Since then, millions have been touched by the power of his ideas, including more than 28 million who’ve watched his TED Talk based on START WITH WHY -- the third most popular TED video of all time. Sinek starts with a fundamental question: Why are some people and organizations more innovative, more influential, and more profitable than others? Why do some command greater loyalty from customers and employees alike? Even among the successful, why are so few able to repeat their success over and over? People like Martin Luther King Jr., Steve Jobs, and the Wright Brothers had little in common, but they all started with WHY. They realized that people won't truly buy into a product, service, movement, or idea until they understand the WHY behind it. START WITH WHY shows that the leaders who've had the greatest influence in the world all think, act, and communicate the same way -- and it's the opposite of what everyone else does. Sinek calls this powerful idea The Golden Circle, and it provides a framework upon which organizations can be built, movements can be led, and people can be inspired. And it all starts with WHY.

27. Secrets of the millionaire mind

Secrets of the Millionaire Mind reveals the missing link between wanting success and achieving it!

Have you ever wondered why some people seem to get rich easily, while others are destined for a life of financial struggle? Is the difference found in their education, intelligence, skills, timing, work habits, contacts, luck, or their choice of jobs, businesses, or investments?

The shocking answer is: None of the above!

In his groundbreaking Secrets of the Millionaire Mind, T. Harv Eker states: "Give me five minutes, and I can predict your financial future for the rest of your life!" Eker does this by identifying your "money and success blueprint." We all have a personal money blueprint ingrained in our subconscious minds, and it is this blueprint, more than anything, that will determine our financial lives. You can know everything about marketing, sales, negotiations, stocks, real estate, and the world of finance, but if your money blueprint is not set for a high level of success, you will never have a lot of money—and if somehow you do, you will most likely lose it! The good news is that now you can actually reset your money blueprint to create natural and automatic success.

Secrets of the Millionaire Mind is two books in one. Part I explains how your money blueprint works. Through Eker's rare combination of street smarts, humor, and heart, you will learn how your childhood influences have shaped your financial destiny. You will also learn how to identify your own money blueprint and "revise" it to not only create success but, more important, to keep and continually grow it.

In Part II you will be introduced to seventeen "Wealth Files," which describe exactly how rich people think and act differently than most poor and middle-class people. Each Wealth File includes action steps for you to practice in the real world in order to dramatically increase your income and accumulate wealth.

If you are not doing as well financially as you would like, you will have to change your money blueprint. Unfortunately your current money blueprint will tend to stay with you for the rest of your life, unless you identify and revise it, and that's exactly what you will do with the help of this extraordinary book. According to T. Harv Eker, it's simple. If you think like rich people think and do what rich people do, chances are you'll get rich too!

28. Screw it lets do it

Global entrepreneur Sir Richard Branson has built a business empire and made billions, yet is renowned for his approachability, ability to challenge and succeed against the odds. Screw It, Let’s Do It reveals the lessons from life that have helped him through his business and personal life – such as, believe it can be done and that, if others disagree with you, try and try again until you achieve your goal; or that you must love what you do. These and other lessons, with examples of how he learned them and how he’s used them, are included in this stirring and candid look at his lessons from an exceptional life, which will inspire you to make a difference in your own life.

29. Sapiens

What makes us brilliant? What makes us deadly? What makes us Sapiens? Yuval Noah Harari challenges everything we know about being human in the perfect read for these unprecedented times.

Earth is 4.5 billion years old. In just a fraction of that time, one species among countless others has conquered it: us.

In this bold and provocative book, Yuval Noah Harari explores who we are, how we got here and where we’re going.

‘I would recommend Sapiens to anyone who’s interested in the history and future of our species’ Bill Gates

‘Interesting and provocative… It gives you a sense of how briefly we’ve been on this Earth’ Barack Obama

ONE OF THE GUARDIAN'S 100 BEST BOOKS OF THE 21st CENTURY

30. Psycho cybernetics

A magnificent, deluxe edition of one of the greatest and top-selling self-help books ever written, suited to a lifetime of reading, rereading, notetaking, and display.

Since 1960, Maxwell Maltz's Psycho-Cybernetics has sold millions of copies in dozens of editions and gained the loyalty of generations of artists, athletes, and high achievers who atrribute their success to the book's mind-conditioning program. Maltz's avowed admirers ranged from artist Salvatore Dali to first lady Nancy Reagan to actress Jane Fonda. Now -- in the only edition featuring Maltz's original, unexpuragated text -- Psycho-Cybernetics joins TarcherPerigee's highly successful line of Deluxe Editions in a keepsake volume that can be treasured for a lifetime.

Psycho-Cybernetics Deluxe Edition features: shrink-wrapped, vegan-leather hardbound casing; acid-free paper; o-card with vintage cover art; marbled endpapers; gold-stamped lettering on the casing; a bibliography of Maltz's work; and the original 1960 text, which is available nowhere else.

31. Loosing My Virginity

Richard Branson is a worldwide icon known for his tremendous wealth and industry leading business models. His spectacular journey has remained a topic of discussion and now Branson himself, reveals his story through his biography, 'Losing My Virginity’. This book follows a spectacular narrative style and is written in an engaging tone. This book was published by RHUK in 2009. This is an inspiring as well as an interesting story that takes the readers on a successful journey marked by courage and unparalleled self-belief.

Richard Branson has created unconventional businesses and made them successful for the world to see. He has a unique philosophy to life which separates him from the rest. Branson tells the story of his first 43 years of life sharing all the details of the pangs and toils he faced.

While others choose a life of modesty, Branson has always believed in living life to the fullest. What sets him apart is his legendary vision which enables him to earn success in domains where there not much scope. The book is divided in 28 chapters which showcase how Richard Branson became the successful person he is today. This is an exciting saga of a man who strived hard to create what he believed in, even if conventions were prompting him to act otherwise.

32. The Last Lecturer

A lot of professors give talks titled The Last Lecture. Professors are asked to consider their demise and to ruminate on what matters most to them: What wisdom would we impart to the world if we knew it was our last chance? If we had to vanish tomorrow, what would we want as our legacy?

When Randy Pausch, a computer science professor at Carnegie Mellon, was asked to give such a lecture, he didnt have to imagine it as his last, since he had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. But the lecture he gave, Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams, wasnt about dying. It was about the importance of overcoming obstacles, of enabling the dreams of others, of seizing every moment (because time is all you have and you may find one day that you have less than you think). It was a summation of everything Randy had come to believe. It was about living.

In this book, Randy Pausch has combined the humour, inspiration, and intelligence that made his lecture such a phenomenon and given

33. I Do What i Do

When Raghuram G. Rajan took charge as Governor of the Reserve Bank of India in September 2013, the rupee was in free fall, inflation was high, India had a large current account deficit and India's exchange reserves were falling. As measure after measure failed to stabilize markets, speculators sensed a full-blown crisis and labelled India one of the Fragile Five economies. Rajan's response was to go all out, not just to tackle the crisis of confidence, but also to send a strong message about the strength of India's institutions and the country's ongoing programme of reform. He outlined a vision that went beyond the immediate crisis to focus on long-term growth and stability, thus restoring investor confidence. Boldness and farsightedness would be characteristic of the decisions he took in the ensuing three years. Rajan's commentary and speeches in I Do What I Do convey what it was like to be at the helm of the central bank in those turbulent but exciting times. Whether on dosanomics or on debt relief, Rajan explains economic concepts in a readily accessible way. Equally, he addresses key issues that are not in any banking manual but essential to growth: the need for tolerance and respect to assure India's economic progress, for instance, or the connection between political freedom and prosperity. I Do What I Do offers a front-row view into the thinking of one of the world's most respected economists, one whose commitment to India's progress shines through in the essays and speeches here. It also brings home what every RBI Governor discovers for himself when he sits down at his desk on the 18th floor: the rupee stops here. Right here!

34. How to enjoy your life and your job

UNCOVER YOUR HIDDEN ASSETS -- YOU CAN FILL EACH DAY WITH EXCITEMENT AND A SENSE OF SATISFACTION!

Even if you love your work, you probably have days when almost nothing goes right. Bestselling author Dale Carnegie shows you how to make every day more exciting and rewarding -- how you can get more done, and have more fun doing it. Dale Carnegie's time-tested advice will help you to:

Make other people feel important -- and do it sincerely

Avoid unnecessary tension -- save your energy for important duties

Get people to say yes -- immediately

Turn routine tasks into stimulating opportunities

Spot a sure-fire way of making enemies -- and avoid it

Smile in the face of criticism -- you've done your very best!

How to Enjoy Your Life and Your Job will help you create a new approach to life and people and discover talents you never knew you had. Dale Carnegie can help you get the most out of yourself -- all the time. Start developing your innate strengths and abilities -- start enriching your life TODAY!

35. Habit Stacking

Build Powerful Routines Into Your Day by Buy this book

36. Good to Great

The Challenge Built to Last, the defining management study of the nineties, showed how great companies triumph over time and how long-term sustained performance can be engineered into the DNA of an enterprise from the very beginning.

But what about the company that is not born with great DNA? How can good companies, mediocre companies, even bad companies achieve enduring greatness?

The Study For years, this question preyed on the mind of Jim Collins. Are there companies that defy gravity and convert long-term mediocrity or worse into long-term superiority? And if so, what are the universal distinguishing characteristics that cause a company to go from good to great?

The Standards Using tough benchmarks, Collins and his research team identified a set of elite companies that made the leap to great results and sustained those results for at least fifteen years. How great? After the leap, the good-to-great companies generated cumulative stock returns that beat the general stock market by an average of seven times in fifteen years, better than twice the results delivered by a composite index of the world's greatest companies, including Coca-Cola, Intel, General Electric, and Merck.

The Comparisons The research team contrasted the good-to-great companies with a carefully selected set of comparison companies that failed to make the leap from good to great. What was different? Why did one set of companies become truly great performers while the other set remained only good?

Over five years, the team analyzed the histories of all twenty-eight companies in the study. After sifting through mountains of data and thousands of pages of interviews, Collins and his crew discovered the key determinants of greatness -- why some companies make the leap and others don't.

37. Freedom from the known

Freedom From The Known is a book that provides much needed insight into the monotonous quality our lives have adapted into. The book does an in-depth exploration of the idea that life as we know it is a result of the pressure we are under to maintain and achieve what is expected of us by the society.

In Freedom From The Known, readers are provided with the opportunity to reflect on all of the achievements of their lives and analyze how much of it was what they truly wanted to do as opposed to what was expected of them. The author opines that people disillusion themselves into believing that societal expectations are norms that define the construct of their daily lives will bring them happiness. The book goes on to suggest that people have forgotten the true value and meaning of happiness.

The book talks about the importance of freeing ourselves from societal norms, values and expectations. It is suggested that only by doing so can we focus on the right way to find peace and happiness in our lives. The book was published by RHUK in 2010 and is available in paperback.

38. Autobiography of a yogi

Autobiography of a Yogi is one of the famous Spiritual Book of the Twentieth Century which is written by Paramahansa Yogananda. In this book he explained memorable findings of the world of saints and yogis and also explained science and miracles, death and resurgence. With soul-satisfying consciousness and endearing wit, he lightens the hidden secrets of life and the world opening our hearts and minds to the happiness, splendour and limitless spiritual capacities that last in the lives of every human being. This edition has been offered specially from Yogoda Satsanga Society of India, the association established by the writer. The book containing extensive content about all of his desires. Moreover, the book has several high definition pictures. It is a spiritual treasury that will make you understand the meaning of life. Hence this book is real treasure for people who are on a spiritual quest. You can easily get this book on Amazon India. About the Author Paramahansa Yoganandaborn is not only famous among the Indians but also popular among the westerners as a great Yogi. He teaches millions of people mediation and Kriya Yoga through his master piece Autobiography of a Yogi.

39. Miracle Morning

"Hal Elrod is a genius and his book The Miracle Morning has been magical in my life. What Hal has done is taken the best practices, developed over centuries of human consciousness development, and condensed the 'best of the best' into a daily morning ritual. A ritual that is now part of my day." -Robert Kiyosaki, bestselling author of Rich Dad Poor Dad

What's being widely regarded as "one of the most life changing books ever written" may be the simplest approach to achieving everything you've ever wanted, and faster than you ever thought possible.

What if you could wake up tomorrow and any-or EVERY-area of your life was beginning to transform? What would you change? The Miracle Morning is already transforming the lives of tens of thousands of people around the world by showing them how to wake up each day with more ENERGY, MOTIVATION, and FOCUS to take your life to the next level. It's been right here in front of us all along, but this book has finally brought it to life.

Are you ready? The next chapter of YOUR life-the most extraordinary life you've ever imagined-is about to begin. Buy the book and WAKE UP to your full potential!

40. Mindset

World-renowned Stanford University psychologist Carol Dweck, in decades of research on achievement and success, has discovered a truly groundbreaking idea-the power of our mindset.

Dweck explains why it's not just our abilities and talent that bring us success-but whether we approach them with a fixed or growth mindset. She makes clear why praising intelligence and ability doesn't foster self-esteem and lead to accomplishment, but may actually jeopardize success. With the right mindset, we can motivate our kids and help them to raise their grades, as well as reach our own goals-personal and professional. Dweck reveals what all great parents, teachers, CEOs, and athletes already know: how a simple idea about the brain can create a love of learning and a resilience that is the basis of great accomplishment in every area.

41. Mans Search for Meaning

Man's Search for Meaning was first published in 1946. Victor Frankl was a leading psychologist in Vienna when he was arrested for being a Jew during the Nazi regime. He survived holocaust and used his experiences to write this book. He propounded the theory that it is Man's constant search for meaning that allows him to survive even the most brutal, the most degrading situations in his life.

He said there are only two races in the world, the decent and indecent. They will maintain their innate beliefs, no matter which side they are on. The decent ones will try to help the fellow human beings and the indecent ones will be selfish and serve themselves at the cost to the others.

Frankl's views were different from those of the leading psychologist of his times, Freud and Adler. His research was intensely personal and unique. His findings of human behaviour were based on the most extenuating circumstances that humans face. He suffered holocaust along with several other inmates and he observed their behaviour closely. He found that those with a capability to focus on love were the ones that survived. He based this observation on a long walk he was forced into by his captors. His companion spoke about his wife. This made Frankl think about his wife and the thought of her took his mind away from his current agony of being hit with rifle butts by his captors for dawdling.

The book has been listed as one of the 10 most influential books. It has a message of hope that has continued to inspire readers down the years.

42. The Story Of My Experiments With Truth: An Autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi

This is Gandhi's autobiography covering his life from early childhood to approximately 1921. In Gandhi's own words: "I simply want to tell the story of my numerous experiments with truth, and as my life consists of nothing but those experiments, it is true that the story will take the shape of an autobiography. But I shall not mind, if every page of it speaks only of my experiments . . . I should certainly like to narrate my experiments in the spiritual field which are known only to myself, and from which I have derived such power as I posses for working in the political field . . . If I had only to discuss academic principles. I should clearly not attempt an autobiography. But my purpose being to give an account of various practical applications of these principles, I have given the chapters I propose to write the title of The Story of My Experiments with Truth. These will of course include experiments with non-violence, celibacy and other principles of conduct believed to be distinct from truth."

43. ikaigai

'Ikigai gently unlocks simple secrets we can all use to live long, meaningful, happy lives. Science-based studies weave beautifully into honest, straight-talking conversation you won’t be able to put down. Warm, patient, and kind, this book pulls you gently along your own journey rather than pushing you from behind.' Neil Pasricha, bestselling author of The Happiness Equation

44. How to Stop Worrying and Start Living

Through Dale Carnegie’s six-million-copy bestseller recently revised, millions of people have been helped to overcome the worry habit. Dale Carnegie offers a set of practical formulas you can put to work today. In our fast-paced world—formulas that will last a lifetime!

Discover how to:

Eliminate fifty percent of business worries immediately

Reduce financial worries

Avoid fatigue—and keep looking you

Add one hour a day to your waking life

Find yourself and be yourself—remember there is no one else on earth like you!

How to Stop Worrying and Start Living deals with fundamental emotions and ideas. It is fascinating to read and easy to apply. Let it change and improve you. There’s no need to live with worry and anxiety that keep you from enjoying a full, active and happy life!

45. GRIT

Among Grit’s most valuable insights:

*Why any effort you make ultimately counts twice toward your goal *How grit can be learned, regardless of I.Q. or circumstances *How lifelong interest is triggered *How much of optimal practice is suffering and how much ecstasy *Which is better for your child—a warm embrace or high standards *The magic of the Hard Thing Rule

Winningly personal, insightful, and even life-changing, Grit is a book about what goes through your head when you fall down, and how that—not talent or luck—makes all the difference.

46. Awaken the giants within

Wake up and take control of your life! From the bestselling author of Inner Strength, Unlimited Power, and MONEY Master the Game, Anthony Robbins, the nation's leader in the science of peak performance, shows you his most effective strategies and techniques for mastering your emotions, your body, your relationships, your finances, and your life.

The acknowledged expert in the psychology of change, Anthony Robbins provides a step-by-step program teaching the fundamental lessons of self-mastery that will enable you to discover your true purpose, take control of your life, and harness the forces that shape your destiny.

47. 1984 48. GOALS 49. You Can Win 50. The Secret 51. The Magic 52. The Fault in Our Stars 53. The Confidence Code 54. The Compound Effect 55. Sita 56. Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus 57. The Greatest Sales man in the World 58. Eat that Frog! 59. Chicken soup for the soul 60. Before you Start up 61. 7 habits of highly effective people 62.Who Will Cry When u Die 63. Bhavath Gita 64. The Power of Positive Thinking 65. Body Language 66. Life of Pi 67. The Richest Man in Babylon 68. Atomic Habit 69. Elon Musk 70. Rich Dad Poor Dad 71. The Six Pillars are Self Estrime 72. Tuesday With Morrie 73. Inner Engineer 74. The subtle of not giving a fuck 75. The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying 76. The 5 AM Club 77. Attitude Is Everything 78. Life's Amazing Secrets 79. Slight Edge 80. How to win friends and influence people 81. Think Straight 82. Who Says You Can’t? 83. Everything Is F*cked 84. Black box thinking 85. The leader who had no title 86. Steve Jobs 87. The Snowball 88. Shoe Dog 89. The Girlfriend 90. Harry potter series books 91. The Four Agreements 92. Believe and Achieve 93. The 5 second rule 94. The Tipping Point 95. Zero to One 96. 33 Strategies of War 97. Mastery 98. Beginning of Infinity 99. The Long Walk 100. The Magic of Thinking Big