#I am continually astonished by the passage of time

[urlovebrini]

take me where i belong (part 2)

⋆❀ — includes: ayato, alhaitham x gn! reader

⋆❀ — sypnosis: you have a fight with them, so you escape but now you only want to be with them where you belong

⋆❀ — content: gn! reader, fluff, comfort, hurt/comfort, more comfort than nothing, damsel in distress, yes you are a damsel and are in distress, thay are protective and mean well, i love them and you too, use of darling, fears of being lost, fears of being alone.

⋆❀ — a/n: hello second part up!!! i am a sucker for white knights so here it is for everyone that wants a hugh and doesnt feel strong.

⋆❀ — part 1 || part 2 || m.list

⋆❀˖°🫐·࿐ ࿔˚ ayato

strolling through the dimly lit streets of Inazuma served as your method to clear your mind following the heated exchange with ayato. emotions churned within you as you distanced yourself from the kamisato residence, each step seemingly without direction. the shopping bags in your hands seemed to not work in the job of easing your mind.

as you traversed the tranquil city streets, the faint jingle of bells on shop doors and the warm glow of lanterns illuminated your path. lost in thought, you scarcely registered the passage of time.

a sudden chill raced down your spine, causing you to come to an abrupt stop. scanning your surroundings, a feeling of unease settled in. the darkness made it difficult to discern details, but an unsettling sensation of being watched washed over you.

a faint whisper caught your attention, prompting you to tighten your grip on the bags in your hands and whirl around. In the darkness, a group of men approached with an air of stealth. one of them stepped forward, his gaze assessing you curiously. "well, well, what do we have here?" he uttered, a smile playing on his lips, though his eyes remained unaffected. "looks like we've stumbled upon an unexpected presence tonight."

your fingers clenched around the bags, anxiety building as you desperately sought an escape route. physically confronting them was out of the question. "It's them!" one exclaimed, astonishment lacing his voice. "the spouse of chief kamisato!"

they drew closer, a glint of intrigue in their eyes. "don't worry, we have no intentions of causing you harm," he assured with a smile that attempted reassurance. "but having the spouse of chief kamisato on our side would certainly be... intriguing, wouldn't you agree?"

your heart raced as their words hung in the air. with your mind racing, you hurled one of the bags directly at the leader's face. his surprise was evident as he stumbled back, temporarily disoriented by the unexpected assault.

seizing the moment, you dropped the other bags and sprinted forward with every ounce of your energy. your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins, pushing you to move faster.

the sound of pursuit echoed behind you as the men closed in, their footsteps growing louder. your heartbeats sounding loud in your ears, when you hear to the first clash of steel with steel. looking behind you found yourself surrounded by the shuumatsubas, who served your husband's family. one of them approached you, and took you to the kamisato residence, to your home.

approaching the entrance of the house, a familiar figure hurried towards you, the conrcen in his eyes transforming to one of relief. he closed the distance between you in quick strides, enfolding you in a protective embrace. his hands ran soothingly through your hair as he held you close, as you started crying in his arms. whispered reassuring words to you as he held you, assuring you once again that you were safe and that he would be there to protect you.

after a while, ayato's usual playful smile returned, breaking through the gravity of the situation. he handed you a handkerchief and made sure you were composed before speaking "always making me worry my darling," as you wiped away your tears, ayato continued, "but i suppose i should be used to it by now. you have a knack for getting into unexpected situations."

you hugged him more tightly dont wanting to be appart of him "i can't help it if trouble seems to find me," ayato put you up in his arms "or perhaps you have a talent for finding trouble?" he replied as he walked to your house

"come on," ayato said with a mischievous grin. "Let's go back inside the house, where you belong, and put an end to these escapades for the night."

⋆❀˖°🫐·࿐ ࿔˚ alhaitham

the sea breeze of swept over you, the sound of the waves played in the background of your mind, as you wandered the hallways. your life with alhaitham held its simplicity and beauty, a truth that defied the assumptions of others. yet, there were moments when all their words, assumptions, and worries seem to come to life. in those instances, alhaitham's demeanor could be so exesperating and maddening. despite the overall ease and happiness, those instances served as reminders of the man that all the world saw.

your gaze fixates upon the distant horizon, the tranquil expanse of the sea formed a stark contrast to the swirling tempest of your emotions. you couldn't even recall what the argument had been about. the memory of the argument has become a hazy blur, its details fading like distant echoes carried away by the wind. what remains is the lingering aftertaste of tension and unease, a feeling that has yet to fully dissipate.

in those moments when disagreements arise, alhaitham's exasperating tendencies come into sharper focus. his stubbornness can be unyielding, his passion sometimes overwhelming. yet, despite the frustration these moments bring, there's an undeniable truth that lies beneath it all: you love him deeply, even when that love is tinged with the ache of understanding.

you stand by the shoreline in Port Ormos, the salty breeze tousling your hair, you let the gentle caress of the wind sweep away the clutter of thoughts that had occupied your mind. unbeknownst to you, the afternoon light slowly begins to wane, welcoming the moon and the night.

as the night decends, the awareness of the distance that separates you from sumeru settles in and concern begins to take root. you had only wanted to escape for a moment. you hadn't prepared with a substantial amount of cash, leaving you feeling vulnerable in this unfamiliar environment. amidst the serenity of the night, you find yourself grappling with the consequences of your choice.

feeling defeated, you walked, the night descending around you while you navigated the uncertainty of the situation. toughts of home, that place you had once longed to escape from earlier in the day, now filled your thoughts.

you find yourself yearning for him. you wish for his presence, his guidance, and the comfort that only he can provide. for a way to alleviate the growing worry that threatens to engulf you. and when tears welled up in your eyes, alhaitham was there, looking at you.

as you encountered alhaitham, his initial gaze was serious, almost angry, but you didn't mind, "he is here", was all you tought. but looking at him, as he looked at you fine, his tense shoulders would relax, feeling like a weight had been lifted. and a overwhelming desire to be in his embrace took over you.

without hesitation, you rushed towards him, seeking the comfort of his arms. the surprise in his expression would change to a protective hug. even when he wasn't one for public displays, in that moment, his need to hold you and feel you close would surpass his reservations.

he offered his shoulder for you to lean on, his arms still wrapped around you, washing the turbulence of your emotions. amidst the uncertainty of the night, you only wanted one thing.

you murmured three simple words, "take me home." his response was just as simple. "i will take you home, where you belong."

⋆❀ — a/n: hello second sooo i keep doing this, when i should be working on that damn thesis, i can't help myself, but okey, if you have a character in mind or a idea, asks are open, hope you enjoy, and well coment or tell me your opinion, byby lots of love.

[writeforfandoms]

Shatter Me 11

Find the series masterlist 

We finish up on one planet and head on to the next section of the journey. Emotions are felt. Ahsoka remains fabulous. This one is short.

Warnings: Grogu being cute, low-level anxiety, swearing. 

Word count: 1.1k

Mando and Ahsoka got ahead of you and Grogu again, planning out their attack. You were more than happy to be left out of it. You'd be useless in there and you knew it. So you just walked after them, holding the kid. 

Finally, they separated, and Mando stopped to let you catch up to him. 

"I'm gonna leave you two on the ship," he said, turning slightly and motioning for you to walk with him. "You'll be safe there." 

"Okay," you agreed easily. 

He tipped the helmet at you, and you chuckled. 

"You guys are gonna have to fight them," you reasoned. "I am less than useless in a fight. It's okay. I'll keep an eye on Grogu, make sure he's safe." 

Mando nodded after a moment, and the two of you continued in silence. Mando pressed a button on his vambrance, lowering the rear ramp. 

"Stay here," he reiterated. "I'll tell you when it's safe." 

"Okay," you agreed. 

Mando hesitated and then looked at the kid, reaching one hand out. Slowly. Carefully. "Be good, kid." 

Grogu whined, just a little, and grabbed Mando's fingers. 

Then Mando turned and walked away again. You walked up into the ship, raising the ramp again. 

It was quiet in the ship, and you took a deep breath. 

"Okay, Grogu. Looks like we've got some time before we need to do anything else." You smiled and set him on a crate. "Do you want the clapping song or the tools game?" 

Fortunately, Grogu could be very cooperative when he chose to be. Much like most kids. He fell into the songs and games quickly. It was actually a lot of fun, playing with him. 

Even if he did start using his powers to cheat. You just caught him focusing on a spanner and trying to float it away from the line of tools. You were too astonished to stop him, impressed at the display. The spanner was bigger than his little metallic ball that he'd taken from Mando that morning. 

So you played with him until he was yawning and fighting to keep his eyes open. Then you set him in his little hammock, letting him sleep while you cleaned up. 

The ramp lowering was your first sign that Mando was back. He walked up the ramp slowly, like something was weighing him down. He had the spear the Magistrate had been holding. 

You didn't ask. He didn't offer. 

He set the spear aside and removed his jetpack before starting towards the cubby. And the child. 

"Wake up, buddy. It's… time to say good-bye." 

You slipped out of the ship and down the ramp. Those two needed the time. And privacy. 

So you checked the landing gear. And the hull. And then simply sat outside the ship. 

How would things change, once Grogu was gone? How would Mando change? Would you have to find your own passage off this world, or would he at least take you back somewhere with a port? 

So many variables. So many uncertainties. And you had answers for none of them. 

"You're like a father to him."

Ahsoka's voice pulled you from your musings, and you jerked, just a little. She stood past the end of the ramp, serene as ever. But resolute, too. 

"I cannot train him."

Mando stopped at those words, at the end of the ramp, Grogu cradled in one arm. "You made me a promise, and I held up my end." 

Ahsoka sighed slowly and walked over to them, holding out her hand to let Grogu wrap his fingers around one of hers. "There is one possibility. Go to the planet Tython. There, you will find the ruins of an ancient temple that has a strong connection to the Force. Place Grogu on the seeing stone at the top of the mountain."

"Then what?" Mando asked, quieter now. 

"Then Grogu may choose his path." She rubbed her thumb over the top of his hand, watching him. "If he reaches out through the Force, there's a chance a Jedi may sense his presence and come searching for him." She looked briefly sad, gaze flickering once to you. "Then again, there aren't many Jedi left." 

"Thank you." Mando held the kid a little tighter. 

"May the Force be with you." Ahsoka nodded once to the two of them. 

Mando turned and started back up the ramp. Time to go, apparently. You got to your feet and walked over, hesitating for a moment. 

"Thank you, Ahsoka," you whispered, holding her gaze for a moment. "For everything." 

She inclined her head with a smile, and you turned and jogged up the ramp just before it started to close. Moving fast, you got up into the cockpit and strapped in. The ship lifted off, the planet slowly shrinking beneath your gaze, becoming just an ashy skyline and dead trees. 

You took a deep breath and looked to the stars again. The child was burbling and humming from Mando's lap, and you smiled, though you didn't look. 

For today, at least, things had ended well. And you couldn't help but be grateful for that. 

“It’s a long haul to Tython,” Mando said, bent forward just a little to examine the star charts in front of him. “We’ll have to make at least one stop on the way, I don’t have the fuel to get us all the way there.”

“Okay,” you agreed easily, leaning back in your chair. You glanced at the flashing red button on the control panel. Comms. He had a message. “Mando? Did you hear back? From Karga?” 

He grunted and shook his head. “Not yet,” he muttered, sounding faintly annoyed. “Said he’d look into it.” 

You swallowed hard, gripping the bottom edge of your shirt tightly between your fingers. “What can he do? If there is a… a bounty on me?” 

At that, Mando did turn to face you. “There are rules about what bounties the Guild will accept,” he told you, quiet and calm. “Whoever put the bounty on you must have lied about one of the requirements. Karga can get the bounty removed for that.” He shrugged. “Won’t stop this person from going private, but private bounties have a much higher price tag.” He paused there, surveying you. “Nothing will happen while you’re with me.” 

The offer warmed you, and you smiled a little and nodded. “Okay,” you agreed quietly. “Thank you, Mando.” 

He nodded once and turned to face forward again, inputting his chosen route. You tipped your head back, looking up and out at the stars before they all blurred into hyperspace.

[300yearschallenge]

Dear Charles Elias,

I prayed for your safe passage through this bitter winter every day, and it warms my heart that my prayers were answered.

I am so relieved to hear you found Theodore alive and well, and that you are settling in well to your new life!

I hope you manage to continue settling in well and that you may be able to make some friends in your new home.

You asked how we all have been here.

After the initial shock of your departure settled life has continued mostly unchanged.

Your siblings miss you dearly, and Joseph is as he always has been.

We celebrated Eugene Anifas' birthday recently.

To think he is now no longer a boy, but a young man!

As is tradition we held a large celebration with the entire family invited.

The party was attended by several relatives. My uncles Joseph and Vilhelm attended, as did several of your cousins.

Constantine was, of course, there. And even Rosalie managed to travel over with her two daughters for the occassion. It continues to astonish me the rate at which your many cousins grow. Beau is already a young man himself, and Rosalie's youngest - Greta - is now walking around all on her own!

Although, I will say that your absence from the celebrations was sorely felt by me and your siblings.

As for the man of the hour - Eugene Anifas looks more mature and respectable than ever.

He is as kind and gentle as he has always been, and his foray into adulthood has done little to lessen this. I do so desperately wish we could have seen his twin grow up with him, to know what he may have been, but I must not dwell on such matters.

As the party came to an end a young sheperdess stopped by to give Eugene Anifas a gift in person.

I am, of course, not a gossip, but I do believe I saw the faint stirrings of romance between the two.

Lord knows it is about time at least one of you find someone you fancy! Iliana Dorothea seems to have already dismissed half the village, and every letter Émile Gustaf sends revolves around his work and his studies.

Hopefully you may meet someone who catches your eye soon, so that I may feel some hope that I see one of you marry before I am old and grey.

Do keep writing to your dear old mother so that I may know you are well, and give my regards to Theodore.

With love,

Théodora Park 1783

P.S. I have included your new address in my latest letter to Émile Gustaf in the hopes that he may write to you soon.

[zeratul491-blog]

Had ChatGPT make a story and I’m pretty happy with it. Decided to post it here.

Rapunzel stood before the ominous doors of the Dark Kingdom, her heart heavy with a mixture of determination and fear. Beside her, Cassandra and Lance exchanged worried glances. The tension in the air was palpable, a dark energy swirling around the entrance as if the kingdom itself were alive, sensing their presence.

"There's no time to lose," Rapunzel urged, her voice trembling slightly. "We have to find the Moonstone."

As if in response to her words, a strange magic began to weave itself across the surface of the doors. Faint, shimmering images started to take shape, growing clearer with each passing moment. To their astonishment, the trio saw Eugene, captured within the magical vision. His usually confident demeanor was replaced by one of despair, and he seemed utterly unaware of their presence.

Rapunzel gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, Eugene."

Through the magical haze, Eugene's voice reached them, heavy with self-reproach. "I should have been hanged."

Rapunzel's eyes widened in shock, a second gasp escaping her lips. "Eugene, no. That's— that's not true. Eugene!"

But Eugene could neither see nor hear her. He began to sing, his voice filled with a haunting sadness that cut through the silence like a knife.

"I thought I was an outcast I thought I stood alone A rogue, a thief, a joker No place to call my own"

Rapunzel's heart broke at the raw emotion in his voice. She felt the tears welling up, unable to stop them as he continued.

"I thought no one could love me And how could I have known? I was wrong, oh so wrong

Then I thought I'd found it A dream that I could share I thought I was so lucky It almost wasn't fair"

Eugene's voice quivered, and his hands clenched into fists as he sang.

"I thought I knew my purpose I thought that I knew where I belonged But I was wrong

Everything I ever thought I knew Where I've been, where I'm going Everything I counted on turned out to be untrue Could've guessed, should've known, now I do"

Rapunzel's tears flowed freely now, each note of Eugene's song piercing her heart.

"Everything I've yearned for, everything I planned All my sweetest memories were castles made of sand Now that it's all crumbling, help me understand If none of it was really me, then who am I supposed to be?

And everything I ever thought I knew Every hope, every feeling Love and trust and happiness They're done, they're gone, they're through And what's left, me alone, once again Should've known, now I do"

The final verses left Rapunzel sobbing, her cries mingling with Eugene's voice.

"I guess my life meant nothing I guess it was a sham I guess I'm someone else now I wonder who I am"

As the song ended, Eugene fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Rapunzel reached out a trembling hand towards the vision, as if she could somehow bridge the magical divide between them.

"Oh, Eugene," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry. I love you, so very much. I'm going to get in there and find you."

Cassandra placed a reassuring hand on Rapunzel's shoulder, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We will get him back, Rapunzel. I promise."

Lance nodded, his usually jovial expression replaced with one of grim determination. "We'll do whatever it takes."

Rapunzel drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. She wiped away her tears, her resolve hardening. "Let's go. We can't let him suffer any longer."

The doors to the Dark Kingdom loomed before them, but with renewed determination, Rapunzel, Cassandra, and Lance pushed forward. The magic that had shown them Eugene's plight now seemed to guide them, the dark energy parting slightly to allow them passage.

As they ventured deeper into the heart of the kingdom, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to grow heavier. Shadows twisted and danced along the walls, whispering secrets that sent chills down their spines. Yet, Rapunzel's thoughts remained focused on Eugene, her love for him driving her forward.

They navigated through winding corridors and vast, empty halls, each step taking them closer to their goal. The Moonstone's power could be felt, a pulsing presence that beckoned them deeper into the darkness.

Finally, they reached a chamber bathed in an eerie blue light. At its center stood the Moonstone, its luminescence casting long, haunting shadows across the room. But it was not unguarded. A figure cloaked in darkness stepped forward, blocking their path.

"You've come far," the figure said, its voice echoing with an unnatural resonance. "But the Moonstone is not yours to take."

Rapunzel stepped forward, her voice firm. "We don't want to take it. We need it to save Eugene."

The figure tilted its head, considering her words. "The Moonstone's power is not easily controlled. To wield it requires great sacrifice."

"We're willing to do whatever it takes," Cassandra said, her sword drawn and ready.

Lance nodded in agreement. "Whatever it takes."

The figure seemed to contemplate this, then slowly stepped aside. "Very well. But know this: the Moonstone's power will test you. It will show you your darkest fears and force you to confront your deepest regrets."

Rapunzel swallowed hard but nodded. "We understand."

As they approached the Moonstone, its light intensified, surrounding them in a blinding radiance. Rapunzel reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of the stone. Immediately, a surge of energy coursed through her, filling her with both strength and an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

Visions flashed before her eyes—moments of joy and pain, love and loss. She saw Eugene, his face twisted in anguish, and felt his despair as if it were her own. But she also saw the love they shared, the bond that had brought them together and made them stronger.

The Moonstone's power enveloped her, and she understood what she had to do. She had to harness its energy, to channel it towards freeing Eugene from his torment.

With a cry of determination, Rapunzel focused all her will on the Moonstone, drawing its power into herself. The chamber shook with the force of the magic, and a brilliant light exploded outward, banishing the shadows and filling the room with warmth and hope.

When the light faded, Rapunzel found herself standing in front of Eugene. He was no longer a vision, but real, and very much alive. He looked up at her, his eyes wide with astonishment.

"Rapunzel?" he whispered, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly. "Eugene! Oh, thank goodness. You're safe."

Eugene clung to her, his body shaking with sobs. "I thought I was lost. I thought I'd never see you again."

"You're not lost," she whispered, her voice full of love. "You're here, with me. And I will never let you go."

Cassandra and Lance joined them, relief evident on their faces. The darkness of the kingdom seemed to recede, driven back by the light of their reunion.

As they made their way out of the Dark Kingdom, Rapunzel felt a renewed sense of hope. The journey had tested them all, but they had emerged stronger, their bonds unbroken. And with Eugene by her side, she knew they could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Together, they stepped into the light, ready to face a new adventure, knowing that as long as they had each other, they could overcome anything.

[lkknotes]

The World of Yesterday, Sefan Zweig (1942) A friend introduced this to me as his favorite book. I didn't know Zweig before but now I'm excited to read his stuff. (Especially learning about the Grand Budapest Hotel connection!) Europe seems like an amazing place to grow up, having so many different cultures nearby. It makes you think how different the world would be if we were all exposed to more. The strict Gymnasium versus his own ventures into Vienna literature and cultural circles were lovely. I loved how he questioned authorities and norms and status quo, especially the parts about how women were treated in society.

There was a part in Universitas Vitae where he talks about Palestine. He met a man called Theodor Herzl proposing "The Jewish State”, Herzl “proclaimed that all attempts at assimilation and all hope for total tolerance were impossible for the Jewish people. They had to create a new homeland for their own in their old home, Palestine.” Vienna’s bourgeois Jewish circles did not buy into this idea but it got very popular in other parts of Europe. It's crazy how Zweig was there at the beginning of something that continues to trouble our world so much today.

The chapter on Paris was magical. "In Paris, who cared about the bogies that were to be made much of later on, race, class and birth. One walked, one talked, one slept with whoever one pleased, and cared not a hoot about others." And this was entertaining: "Oh, one needed to know Berlin first in order to love Paris properly, and to experience the innate servility of Germany with its angular and painfully sharp-edged class consciousness." And this I loved: "But in Paris the inheritance of the Revolution was still in the blood. The proletarian worker felt himself as free and important a citizen as his employer. In the cafe the waiter cordially shook the hand of the gold-braided general, the small solid sober bourgeoise did not stick up her nose at the prostitute who lives on the same floor, but chatted with her daily on the staircase."

On WWI: I’ve always thought of Switzerland as a rich and unhelpful country to the world. (Doesn’t stop me from loving the Swiss Alps.) But reading Zweig's travel there during the war, I saw the value of having such a country as a haven during the chaos of a world war. The part where he traveled back to the mess that is Austria was quite memorable. There was a bit about a beer war between Bulgaria and Austria, where each would go to the other's country to drink their weight in beer when currencies were in the favor. All the weird things that war brings.

What a full circle the book comes to when Zweig runs away to England and lives in a tiny apartment, saying that it feels like his old place in Vienna thirty years ago. He later embarks on a lecture tour in the United States, and his boat makes a stop in Spain where the Spanish Civil War had begun in 1936, which reminded me of Homage to Catalonia. He makes a few visits to Austria during the war, but each time he thinks it might be his last visit. This reminded of my feelings about Hong Kong. “Every time, therefore, I went to Austria for a hasty visit and then recrossed the border, I sighed with relief, ‘Not yet, this time’ and looked back as if for the last time.” Who knows what will happen to Hong Kong in the coming years. But I’m glad I have all the memories I have of the city.

I also noted this one passage, truly something about the world of yesterday that I am jealous of. “There were no permits, no visas, and it always gives me pleasure to astonish the young by telling them that before 1914 I traveled from Europe to India and to America without passport and without ever having seen one.” I love how mad he was about how much time we waste on paperwork. It truly is so infuriating!!!! “The loss on creative work, in thought, as a result of those sprit-crushing procedures is incalculable. Have not many of us spent more time studying official rules and regulations than works of the intellect!” All the paperwork I’ve done during my years as an immigrant! And this: “On alien soil one’s self-respect tends to diminish, likewise self-assurance and self-confidence; but this cannot be understood until it has been experienced… On the day I lost my passport I discovered… that losing one’s native land implies more than parting with a circumscribed area of soil.” This speaks so strongly to me about all my Hong Kong friends who have immigrated since 2019.

Good book.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Wednesday, March 3, 2024

march _march 3

VENERABLE JAMES THE CONFESSOR BISHOP OF CATANIA (8th c.)

Saint James, Bishop and Confessor, was inclined toward the ascetic life from his early years. He left the world and entered the Studite monastery, where he was tonsured. He led a strict life full of work, fasting, and prayer. Pious and well-versed in Holy Scripture, Saint James was elevated to the bishop’s throne of Catania (Sicily).

During the reign of the iconoclast emperor Constantine V Copronymos (741-775), Saint James was repeatedly urged not to venerate the holy icons. They exhausted him in prison, starved him, and beat him, but he bravely endured all these torments. Saint James died in exile.

SAINT. SERAPION, BISHOP OF THMUIS IN LOWER EGYPT, FRIEND OF ST. ANTHONY THE GREAT (358)

Saint Serapion lived in Egypt during the fourth century. He is known as “the Sindonite” because he wore only rough linen clothing (sindona). From the time of his youth, he lived like the birds of the air (Matthew 6:26). He had no shelter, and for several days at a time, he would eat no food because he did not have money to buy bread. When he saw a beggar shivering from the cold, he gave him his sindon, and was left half-naked. He proved to be a prime example of philanthropy and mercy, distributing his own wealth and whatever his faithful visitors gave him for himself to the poor. Then, he became a monk and lived in the desert of Sketis. He was dedicated to spreading the Word of God in many different ways.

Once he fell into the hands of a bandit, and by his powers of persuasion he managed to turn the tables on him, and made this robber a servant of God. He also managed to convert the Manichean heretic Lakedaimon to Orthodoxy.

A certain Greek philosopher, who wanted to test the monk’s honesty, gave him a gold coin and began to watch him. The Saint went to a bread merchant, took one loaf and gave the gold coin to the merchant, walking away with no idea of the coin’s value.

Saint Serapion led many people to the path of salvation in special ways. Once he sold himself into slavery to a Greek actor who wanted to convert to Christ. The actor was astonished by the righteous one’s holy life, and so he believed and was baptized with his family. He implored Saint Serapion to remain with him, not as a slave, but as a mentor and friend. The monk left, however, without taking the money that was offered to him.

Departing for Rome, Saint Serapion boarded a ship, but did not pay the sailors anything for his passage. At first, they began to reproach him for this, but when they saw that the Elder did not eat anything for five days, they began to feed him for the sake of God, and thereby fulfilled the commandment of the Lord. In Rome, the monk continued to travel, going from house to house, having nothing, gathering only spiritual riches for himself and for his neighbor.

Later he was made Bishop of Thmuis in Lower Egypt. He had been a disciple of Saint Anthony the Great (January 17), and later he wrote A Letter on the Death of Saint Anthony. He was also a friend and supporter of Saint Athanasios of Alexandria (January 18 & May 2). At the end of the nineteenth century a collection of liturgical texts, ascribed to Saint Serapion, was discovered.

In the end he returned to his beloved desert, where he reposed peacefully in deep old age in the year 370, an example for all the monks

ISAIAH 10:12-20

12 Therefore it shall come to pass, when the Lord has performed all His work on Mount Zion and on Jerusalem, that He will say, “I will punish the fruit of the arrogant heart of the king of Assyria, and the glory of his haughty looks.” 13 For he says: “By the strength of my hand I have done it, And by my wisdom, for I am prudent; Also I have removed the boundaries of the people, And have robbed their treasuries; So I have put down the inhabitants like a valiant man. 14 My hand has found like a nest the riches of the people, And as one gathers eggs that are left, I have gathered all the earth; And there was no one who moved his wing, Nor opened his mouth with even a peep.” 15 Shall the ax boast itself against him who chops with it? Or shall the saw exalt itself against him who saws with it? As if a rod could wield itself against those who lift it up, Or as if a staff could lift up, as if it were not wood! 16 Therefore the Lord, the Lord of hosts, Will send leanness among his fat ones; And under his glory He will kindle a burning Like the burning of a fire. 17 So the Light of Israel will be for a fire, And his Holy One for a flame; It will burn and devour His thorns and his briers in one day. 18 And it will consume the glory of his forest and of his fruitful field, Both soul and body; And they will be as when a sick man wastes away. 19 Then the rest of the trees of his forest Will be so few in number That a child may write them. 20 And it shall come to pass in that day That the remnant of Israel, And such as have escaped of the house of Jacob, Will never again depend on him who defeated them, But will depend on the Lord, the Holy One of Israel, in truth.

PROVERBS 9:12-18

12 If you are wise, you are wise for yourself, And if you scoff, you will bear it alone.” 13 A foolish woman is clamorous; She is simple, and knows nothing. 14 For she sits at the door of her house, On a seat by the highest places of the city, 15 To call to those who pass by, Who go straight on their way: 16 “Whoever is simple, let him turn in here”; And as for him who lacks understanding, she says to him, 17 “Stolen water is sweet, And bread eaten in secret is pleasant.” 18 But he does not know that the dead are there, That her guests are in the depths of hell.

[homenecromancer]

[image transcript: Somehow, her features — the red eyes and colourless skin, the black freckles, the bright red mouth — combined in my faulty image-processing neuron circuits into a recognisable face, one that I could see. This very simple act of seeing frankly astonished me, for I was used to people’s faces being perfect blanks.]

am I gonna continue reading this book? yeah. but also this is an unintentionally revealing paragraph that made me laugh, because it may as well come with a footnote saying “the author is not, himself, face-blind, but he thinks it’s a cool idea and that his interpretation of it will blow your mind”

everybody is different, but I’ll speak for myself here: I can see faces, the same way that I can see cars, trees, and houses. what I struggle to do is to remember faces, and match them to people I know. I can’t recognize my coworkers unless we’re at work together and therefore in a familiar context (and we’re all wearing nametags).

(it’s not like every time I look at someone, their face is a pixelated blur. it’s more like… I dunno, imagine someone puts you in a room with a large group of basically-identical goats you’ve never seen before. later you’re taken to a different room, presented with a picture of one goat, and asked to recall its name. you don’t see goats a lot in your everyday life, you just met this one today, how would you recall its name? if you met someone who could do this task, you’d think, like, oh they must work on a farm or something. maybe if you spent more time around goats, you would get better at identifying them. but after a lifetime among other humans, I still primarily recognize them by context)

basically this passage is close to getting it, but ultimately misses the mark. yeah! it does help me remember someone if they have brightly-colored hair, or always wear a certain jacket. human faces are unique to me — people do not all look the same — they just refuse to stick in my memory. seeing is not the same as remembering

and so I will press on into this book, ready to be disappointed by something else lmao

(this book is The Circumference of the World by Lavie Tidhar)

[firebirdsdaughter]

WHEN DID HEURE TURN TWENTY???

[bethanydelleman]

Don’t Make Mary’s Moment all about a Man

It really bothers me when people try to diminish Mary’s MOST SHINING MOMENT by implying she only did it to attract Edmund. That is, when she defends Fanny from Mrs. Norris during the preparations for the play. Here is the passage:

Edmund was too angry to speak; but Miss Crawford, looking for a moment with astonished eyes at Mrs. Norris, and then at Fanny, whose tears were beginning to shew themselves, immediately said, with some keenness, “I do not like my situation: this place is too hot for me,” and moved away her chair to the opposite side of the table, close to Fanny, saying to her, in a kind, low whisper, as she placed herself, “Never mind, my dear Miss Price, this is a cross evening: everybody is cross and teasing, but do not let us mind them”; and with pointed attention continued to talk to her and endeavour to raise her spirits, in spite of being out of spirits herself. By a look at her brother she prevented any farther entreaty from the theatrical board, and the really good feelings by which she was almost purely governed were rapidly restoring her to all the little she had lost in Edmund’s favour.

Most people seem to focus on the “almost purely governed” part, and the fact that Edmund admires her actions, to argue that she only did this for Edmund’s approbation. But if we look at the beginning of the paragraph, it becomes clear that Mary didn’t have time to think about that.

Mary is astonished. She looks at Mrs. Norris and then to Fanny, sees that Fanny is about to cry, and immediately takes action. Even intelligent people need a moment to think if they are scheming. Mary’s natural inclination is to defend someone who is being hurt.

Compare this to everyone else in the room. Edmund has been defending Fanny, though he was shocked and angered into silence. And Henry, while he does not move to help Miss Price, looks at his sister and then stops the rest of the table from attacking her. They are the only three who take positive action. Lady Bertram, Maria, Julia, Tom, and Yates all allow the insult to pass.

Mary also goes further, she defends Fanny permanently (or at least she hopes to), by securing the part to Mrs. Grant. Like Edmund with the horse, she finds a a way to help Fanny that goes around Mrs. Norris.

I think people want to diminish this action on Mary’s part because they want the Crawfords to be either good or evil, not nuanced and complex. Mary’s flaw is greed, which is why she jokingly wishes for Tom’s death in a letter to Fanny, but she also has good qualities and treats Fanny far better than her family does. Greed is also why she isn’t even sure she wants to like Edmund, because he is not as rich as she would like. (another reason that she probably didn’t do this to attract him since she’s not entirely sure she wants to attract him...)

The reason it bothers me so much is that I don’t think we are supposed to see the Crawfords as evil, but as mislead and poorly brought up. It also it makes Mary’s actions entirely motivated by a man and that is a severe reduction of her autonomy and personhood. Women can do things that have nothing to do with attracting men! I am fairly confident that Mary would have done the exact same thing if Edmund hadn’t been in the room!

So let Mary have her moment and then hate her later for being shallow about money. Jane Austen doesn’t write paragons and she doesn’t write cartoon villains, she writes flawed people who are trying to find their way (for the most part, I have a hard time seeing any good in Mrs. Norris...)

[imtryingmybeskar]

Chapter Seven of In Time. 8.5k words. 18+ only. There is a blink and you'll miss it moment of meta in this chapter, since I'm a whore for such things.

Also I am away for the next two weeks so this will be the last update for a little while.

Tagging: @mishasminion360

Below is a picture of the place in Warwick that I had in mind. It's called the Lord Leycester Hospital and it's oldest parts date from 1126.

The days that followed began to settle into a happy routine - mainly of you trying to get on with your work at your dining room table, and inevitably being pleasantly distracted by whatever questions Pero had for you that day. You were still trying to introduce him to the world in such a way that he wouldn't be overwhelmed or frightened, but he continued to surprise you with his seemingly never ending capacity for adaptation to new circumstances. You supposed it came from his years of soldiering and travelling, but whatever the reason you were grateful to have such an adept and willing student.

On the second night, Pero had started to organise his own bedding on the sofa, and the wine you had consumed during the evening made you bold enough to offer him space in your bed again. "If it helps you to be near someone, its okay," you told him. "I know there must be some noises that you're not used to out there." He had initially refused your offer, but with minimal gentle persuasion had taken you up on it, and had never returned to his abandoned sleeping place. He usually awoke and rose before you, but was always very careful not to wake you when he got up. Usually he would start breakfast for you, though it took him a few days to work out how to manipulate the toaster successfully.

On the third day, his clothes arrived and he scowled and sighed his way through your insistences that he try everything on and tell you how it felt.

"It feels like coverings, what else am I to say?" he demanded.

"Are you comfortable? The trainers for example, are not what you're used to. And...well not to get personal, but your boxers? The um...the under clothes?"

He grimaced and moved to adjust himself, something you had caught him doing a few times as you were unpacking his other clothes, before he realised you were still looking at him and snatched his hand away again. "They are fine. I must get used to them, as you say. These, now-" he grabbed at the jeans he was wearing "-very strange. I mislike this material. It is rough on my legs."

You nodded. "They will soften after a while when you've moved around in them a bit. What about the shirt?" Apart from the t shirts and jumper you had bought him, you had also purchased a more formal button down shirt in maroon - a colour which suited him immensely - as well as a couple of less formal soft plaid shirts in various colours.

"These...buttons? They are strange too. But useful. I like this colour also. I have never owned anything in this colour before. Or really any of these colours." He gestured at the small pile of clothes that were now his. He turned back to you, but his eyes didn't meet your face. "I have nothing to give you in return," he said gruffly. "I do not wish to be a burden on your money-"

"Pero, you are not a burden. I like having you here. And if we are going to go and explore this world together, then you need to look like you were born in this time. It is a present from me to you. A gift between friends. You don't owe me anything for it." When his eyes finally raised to yours, the gratitude and warmth in their dark depths astonished you.

"Thank you, coneja," he said, sincerely. "But I must do something for you. It is not right. I will think upon this." And he wouldn't hear another word about it, despite your protestations.

The trip to the pub finally materialised on day six, at your insistence.

"Its Friday, Pero. You have go to the pub Friday night. Its like...a rite of passage." He had looked at you dubiously, one eyebrow raised. "If you really don't want to go, of course we don't have to," you smiled. "But it is something a lot of people do."

"For the start of their...week...end?" he confirmed. He had been initially bemused by the concept of routinely working for five days and then resting for two, but had come around to the idea once you had pointed out that without crops or animals to tend to daily and with the burden of domestic chores lightened with machines, it made sense to have frequent days to yourself to rest.

It was the first time he was going further than the park beyond your house, or the end of your road. He chose to wear his jeans, trainers and one of his t shirts under his new jumper. Nervously, he asked you if he looked okay, his hand smoothing his hair and moustache in a reflexive worried gesture as he did. He looked gorgeous, but you kept the praise to an acceptable level and merely told him that he looked good. He relaxed, reassured and relieved by your words. "You too look good, coneja," he remarked, a little shyly and you smiled at his praise. "I like your colours." His hand vaguely traced the space in front of your lips and eyes where you had put on some make up.

"Thank you. Well, if we both look good, we should take a picture. Like the ones I have on the wall over there. The little box can take them too, see?" You showed him the camera on your phone and took a test photo of him. There was a little intake of breath from him when he saw it and you rushed to reassure him. "Apparently people used to believe that cameras stole a part of your soul. I can guarantee you that is not true!" Still he was silent, looking at his image on the screen. "Pero, what's wrong?"

"It is nothing. A stupid vanity."

"Tell me. Please."

He sighed. "My scar, coneja," he said quietly. "It is different when I see myself in a reflection. To see a portrait of myself and one so true...I am not sure how I should feel about it."

"If you want to, I can show you how to cover your scar up with a cream on your skin. It is your choice. But you know, some people like men with scars."

He frowned at you. "In truth? They find them pleasing?"

You nodded. "Whatever the thing, someone somewhere always finds it pleasing. Rule 34." At his questioning look, you realised what you had said. "Oh God. We're going to need more alcohol than none to discuss Rule 34, Pero. Trust me on that. For now...are you okay with another picture with both of us? Or no?" He nodded and you stood next to him. "Smile!" you instructed. He did, though it looked a little more like a pained grimace, and when you showed him the result he muttered something about the black box liking you more than it did him.

The Crown wasn't the closest pub to you, but it was the nicest in the area. Previously a Victorian coaching inn, it had been renovated very recently and now looked as smooth and sleek and soulless as all the others. Still, the choice of beer and wine was good, and the beer garden was beautifully decorated with lattices of fairy lights hung on the walls and from above, and large exotic plants that you felt Pero would enjoy seeing. You walked the fifteen minutes it took to get there, and Pero was a little more relaxed about the noises and smells around him as you progressed down the street, though you could feel a thrumming tension from him the closer you came to the actual building.

"We don't have to go in if you don't want to. You've already progressed loads this week. If you want to go home and watch a film we can."

He shook his head. "I wish to go inside. How am I to explore London in these times if I cannot even walk around here? No, we shall go and sit and drink and talk." As you reached the door, you held out your hand to him. He looked at it for a few moments before he nodded and took it. "Thank you, coneja," he murmured. You led him into the pub and wound your way through the tables until you reached the bar.

"Beer? Wine? Something new?"

"Perhaps a beer to start."

You bought the drinks and led him outside to sit. The chill of autumn was definitely more pronounced than even the previous week, and no one else had braved the beer garden as of yet. Pero sat opposite you on a wooden backed bench lined with colourful cushions, and looked all around him.

"I much like these lights," he murmured at the strings of lights making a sheet of twinkles above his head. "They are like stars for the ones you are missing."

You held out your glass to his. "Cheers, Pero. Here is to the end of your first week in the twenty first century. I am proud of you for surviving it!"

He snorted. "I would be dead in front of one of those cars if you had not stopped me running on that first day. But I thank you. Your time is most interesting and full of wonders." He clinked his glass gently against yours and took a sip of his beer. His eyes grew wide. "This beer, it is strong," he commented approvingly before taking a proper mouthful and smacking his lips. "What are the new drinks you mentioned?"

You took him through the menu, and while he chose to have another beer for his second drink, the pina colada that you had chosen took his attention immediately and he hummed in appreciation when you let him taste it. "It is sweet like the ice cream, but in a drink!" he exclaimed. "Perhaps I should try one."

"You can try whatever you want, Pero. A word of warning though, these drinks - cocktails - they don't taste like they have a lot of alcohol but they do. Be careful how many you have!"

The hours passed in a giggly haze. Pero didn't have too many cocktails, but he still was clearly not used to this much alcohol and his cheeks grew flushed and rosy. He laughed and smiled a lot more, and the second set of photos you took of you both were far more pleasing to him. Upon your return from your second bathroom trip, you stopped short at the doorway out to the garden. A woman was sitting next to Pero, her fingers twirling through her hair and her legs crossed in front of him and nudging up against his every so often. His back was to you, and as you got closer you overheard some of their conversation.

"So what's your name?" the woman giggled at him.

"Pero," he replied.

"Pedro?" she asked, her tongue coming out briefly to wet her lips.

"No Pedro. Pero."

"Oh," she said in a breathy tone. "That's so weird, because you kind of look like..."

You interrupted their back and forth by sitting down opposite Pero once again, who immediately picked up his glass to clink against yours as you returned.

"Coneja," he slurred lightly, "this my new friend. She...wait, what is your name?"

"Urgh, never mind," the woman muttered, and she gave you an unpleasant glance as she stalked away. Pero looked so bemused and crestfallen that you wanted to hug him.

"What did I say wrong?" he asked.

"No, Pero. It wasn't you. It was me. She was flirting with you."

"Fl-flirt?"

"Yes. She wanted you."

"Wanted me? For what purpose?"

You smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. He still looked confused until you said softly, "She left because she thought we were together. That I was your girlfriend. She wanted you in that way." Pero's eyebrows raised high and his eyes followed the path of the woman's departure even though she was long gone.

"She wanted...for...for that?" You nodded and Pero blushed deeply, trying to hide it behind lifting his drink to his lips. You had rarely seen anything quite so adorable as this hardened warrior becoming flustered over the concept that women found him attractive.

"You can go after her if you want," you said, though it was an effort to get the words past your lips. "Explain that you and I are friends and-"

Pero was shaking his head before you had got halfway through the sentence. "No. No, coneja. That is...it is too much for me. That a woman should be so wanton."

"She's not wanton, Pero. She found someone attractive and she went to speak to them to make her intentions known. I guess...I guess that's part of courtship these days. Women have every right and ability to make the first moves if they want. And they do."

"Do you?" he demanded, suddenly.

"I have in the past, yes. It's just the modern way of doing things. Something else to get used to. Besides, with my ex girlfriend, if neither one of us had made a move because we were women we would never have got together!" He nodded and looked at you thoughtfully. "Do you...do you think less of me because I have flirted? Been wanton?"

He pondered for a moment and then shook his head. "No. You are good and kind and my friend. As you say, this is another thing I must get used to here."

He slid his hand across the table to you and you took it and squeezed it, smiling at him warmly. "You're my good and kind friend too, Pero," you replied. "And I had another idea of what I can introduce you to next. Give me two minutes!"

The jukebox was hidden away and almost forgotten about in the corner of the pub, but you knew it still worked and after you had made your selection, you hurried back to Pero for the start of the song. "Pero, this is one of the most important pieces of music in modern times. I cannot stress enough how popular this song is. I hope you enjoy it!" As it began to play, Pero looked all around for the source of the voices until you grasped his hand again to reassure him that all was as it should be.

Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

By the time the piano kicked in, Pero's eyes were wide and a little glassy. By the time the guitars kicked in, his mouth was open and he seemed unable to take his eyes from the fairy lights above his head as the music washed over him. By the time they were name dropping Galileo he was sat bolt upright again, and you began to wonder if you should have perhaps started with something a little less epic for his first foray into modern music. As the music swelled and rose and crested into the final two minutes of the song, he laughed aloud with sheer joy before downing the rest of his drink in its entirety. And at the final cymbal crash he began to applaud loudly, his eyes bright and wild and eager and his breathing deep and uneven.

"That was..." he struggled to find words. "That was...Can you make it happen again?"

"I can do one better," you said, fishing your headphones out of your pocket and attaching them to your phone. "Here."

While Pero was enjoying Bohemian Rhapsody for a second time, you went to get more drinks along with water that you insisted he take. He thanked you far too loudly as you settled back opposite him, and when the song was over he sighed deeply in appreciation. "It sounds even better within my head," he remarked and you giggled at his description of listening to music with headphones.

"The name of the band is Queen, Pero. And the man who sings? He liked both men and women too." Pero looked slightly taken aback.

"He has the voice of an angel. And he lay with men?"

"What does one have to do with the other?" you asked gently, and Pero looked pensive for a few moments before you moved to sit next to him. "If we are quiet, we can play some more songs here," you offered. "And when we get home too if you want."

"Home..." Pero echoed, mournfully. "Somehow, the music. The end. It reminded me of my home. I know not why, it is all other to me. But it did."

"Do you miss your home?"

He paused and considered before answering slowly. "Some things. Yet others not. I...had my life. And it had walls around it for so many years. So many. I do not have those walls here. And I do not know how I shall return to them there." He looked at you sharply, and a little accusatorily. "How can I go back to that place where all hate me and I hide myself away? When here there is warmth and laughter and...and understanding. There...there I am a shell of a man. I wake, I work, I eat, I sleep. Every single day without end!" He leapt to his feet, his gaze even more condemnatory and you shrank back from it and from his sudden change of mood. "I do not deserve all of this." He gestured at the lights above his head, the drink in front of him and he plucked at his clothes. "No, I am a bad man who has done terrible things and I do-do not..." He sank back down to the bench and to your utter horror you saw the shine of tears in his eyes.

"No, Pero," you said soothingly. "I told you, you are my good friend. You are kind and funny and-" As you went to touch his arm he jerked backward out of your reach.

"You would not say so if you knew what I had done, what monster am I."

"You were a soldier. You killed people. I understand that-"

He scoffed. "You understand nothing. Nothing."

You exhaled through your nose. "Maybe you've had a little too much to drink. I think we should go home and get some rest. Things will be better when we are sober." He scoffed again and muttered something in Spanish that you couldn't understand, but he stood when you did and moved off with you. Not that he had much choice in the matter, you thought.

The walk back to your house was silent and awkward and you were biting your tongue trying not to say anything that you might regret to Pero. He was abrasive sometimes, and occasionally had been downright rude to you. But it had always been tempered with an edge of humour, or an apology. This was different. You felt as if he had truly opened up to you for the first time (even though you hadn't asked him to) and had immediately retreated even further into his shell afterward. The alcohol hadn't helped at all, and you were currently trying to keep your own simmering temper at bay.

"Stop," you commanded, and he did so, turning to look at you with sadness and anger still written all over his face. "I have something that might help." Pero scoffed yet again and opened his mouth to make a no doubt cutting remark, but you held up your hand to quell his words. "It will help," you reiterated firmly.

Fifteen minutes later you and Pero were cradling hot Styrofoam boxes to your chests and hurrying a little more quickly through the streets back to your house. "Food?" he sneered. "Food will help this?"

"Yes," you said calmly. "At the very least it will help us sober up a little. And people are always less angry when they're less hungry." Pero opened his mouth to speak, but you talked even more loudly. "So stop being a dick and eat instead of being condescending." He made a noise of derision but opened the box nonetheless. The mouthwatering scent of freshly cooked meat hit you as he did.

"I recognise such a meal," he said quietly.

"Kebab," you said shortly. "I imagine its a pretty ancient meal. Meat, bread, various vegetables. Also its traditional after the pub." Finally, you had reached the front door and you opened it and flounced in, leaving him to shut it behind him. You sat cross legged at one end of your sofa, deliberately intensely focused on your food so you wouldn't have to pay attention to whatever Pero was doing, but you could still hear him busying himself with something in the kitchen. He placed a pint of water in front of you, and one in front of himself and sat at the other end of the sofa. For a while, the only sounds were of rustling containers, eating and drinking. Finally, he spoke.

"I am sorry if I upset you."

You shrugged. "It was just a really nice evening before that. And I don't understand where it all went wrong."

"The drink has not helped. You are right that tomorrow will be better."

Finally, you looked up at him. "I don't expect you to tell me all of your secrets, Pero. But I can't read your mind. If you want to tell me something, you can. If you don't, then don't. But don't have a go at me because I don't understand something that you haven't told me. It isn't fair."

"I know, coneja. I know. Sometimes I am not a fair man. My temper is black and I say and do things that make trouble." He sighed and put the remnants of his food on the table before he turned back to you. "If you do not wish me to share your sleep any longer, I understand," he said quietly.

"No, I just..." You stopped to collect your thoughts, trying not to allow your traitorous drunken tongue to be too loose. "I want you to be happy, Pero," you finally said. "I feel responsible for you here. To make sure that you don't feel uncomfortable or too freaked out in the modern world, to try and introduce you to some of the good things we have to offer. I know this isn't your home. And I honestly thought that you would rather be back there. For you to say that you don't want to go back to your old life, but also that you don't feel you deserve the comforts of this one - its not nice to hear. I care about you." You stopped short before you could say too much. You were still unsure as to how you did feel about him beyond being physically attracted to him. But you knew he deserved more than a couple of weeks of sex and then to be dropped back into his old life. And he had as good as told you how he felt about casual sex anyway. Some attitudes might be too ingrained to get rid of, you mused. And you certainly weren't going to marry him just to get him into bed. "Let's get some sleep," you suggested quickly before he could respond to you. "Things will look different tomorrow."

Once you had gotten into bed and turned off the light you lay there for a while, staring up at your ceiling as you had for so many nights in this house when you were getting over Amy. That part of your life felt almost like someone else's now. Even though you had only known him a matter of months and actually been around him for far less time than that, you couldn't imagine the house without Pero anymore. His observations on modern life were often insightful, thought-provoking and occasionally hilarious, and you loved showing him the nicer aspects of modernity. The thought of him returning to his own time was a sad one, and even worse was the thought of the future. To see him only for three days a month, should he wish to see you at all. To witness him grow older as the times between your worlds drifted and twisted around each other. Or even worse, to find him gone altogether one day...

Your thoughts were interrupted by Pero shifting his weight in the bed, turning on his side toward you. "Are you awake?" he asked. In reply you turned over yourself to face him. Through the dim light you could barely see his face, only the darkness of his eyes and moustache. "I wished to thank you again," he said softly. "You are one of the kindest people I have ever met. And...I wanted to try to explain my words this night-"

"You don't have to," you interjected. "And maybe its better to wait till the morning anyway?"

"No. I must tell you. My time...it is so real. So hard. I did not realise how hard until I came here. I lie here in this luxury after eating well and making merry all day. My back does not hurt. My head is full of thoughts of the exciting things we may do tomorrow, instead of what I must do to keep from being hungry and cold. My heart is full of joys when for so many years it has been full of sorrows. Here...it feels like a dream, coneja. A beautiful dream, and I give thanks that the Lord has led me here to you and this place. But always my other life, my real life, it lurks. It waits for me still."

You nodded. "Its like a holiday and then you have to come back to reality."

"Holiday? Oh! A holy day?"

You smiled. "No. Well yes. I guess the word comes from that. But its like a break away from your time at home. You go travelling and stay somewhere else and relax and kind of forget your real life for a while. I have days to take away from work and they've been granted so...you and I can go on a holiday if you like. Probably not too far. Not on a plane. But maybe on a train. Maybe to the sea?"

Pero reached out his hand and rested it lightly on your forearm. "I know not what is a train. But I trust you, coneja. And it has been many a year since I have seen the sea. I think I should like to."

You put your hand on top of his. "Then we will go. And once you leave you can always come back here again. If you want to. I can come through to see you and you can follow me back? Or, could...could you not just...stay?"

The word hung between you, shining and fat with promise and potential. The ringing silence was broken by Pero giving what sounded like a mix between laughing and scoffing.

"I cannot. I have responsibilities. I had begun to sell my chickens and slaughter the ones that would no longer lay in preparation for the winter ahead, but the ones remaining have no doubt been taken by wolves or foxes. I shall need to buy new ones when I get back. I am hopeful that some of my garden survives, but perhaps the deer have dug up and eaten all. I am lucky that my fire was in its embers when I came through here, else my house may have burned and set the forest ablaze. It is a worry in my head still, though. The Holy Land is still in turmoil, everywhere there are wars to fight and if I am called upon I must go, no matter if I thought to settle in my little house. And besides, coneja-" his voice grew lower and more uncertain "-what life can I have here? To live in your house and eat your food and do nothing of my own? An idle, fat lord of a manor that is not mine and that I give nothing to uphold."

"You could always be a house husband," you smiled. Pero carefully withdrew his hand from your arm, as if he were suddenly afraid to touch you. "Oh! God. That wasn't a proposal or anything, Pero!" you hastened to clarify. "Its kind of just a term for when a man takes on the traditional woman's work around the home. We aren't that far forward from when women were expected to do everything domestic. Most women still do most of it...sorry, I'm babbling. The point is that we could make it work. If you want it to. I have another bedroom. Its used for storage right now, but we could get you a bed of your own. Set you up in there. I could help you get a job doing...something or other."

"You are kind," he said again, but this time his voice was more rigid and awkward. "But I think not. I must return when I can. My...holiday must come to an end." Before you could engage him further, he bid you goodnight and turned over so that his back was to you and you wrestled with your own desires and the alcohol still in your system so that you would not drape your arm around him and hold him to you. You won out. Just.

Pero's hangover the next day made him grouchier than ever, and it was only when you presented him with a fried egg and bacon sandwich and a cup of tea that you had (eventually) decided to put one sugar in that you saw a small smile on his face. The day was miserable and grey with rain that lashed against your windows. You and Pero spent it curled up on the sofa, exploring more music, books and films together, both studiously ignoring the previous night's cross words and subsequent discussion. Evening saw you take a chance on further arguments by digging out some old board games. He took well to Scrabble, once you had agreed to let him spell some of the words the way he knew best. Afterward he shyly asked if you would help him with writing in a more modern way, which you readily agreed to and he took great delight in showing you the fancy way he signed his name.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I wasn't sure you were able to write," you confessed to him as he carefully examined the biro in his hand. "I thought Scrabble would be the last game you would want to try!"

"I was good at my job," he shrugged. "There can be many opportunities for a soldier who is willing to learn. I am of common birth, but my time in the army gave me schooling and money."

"I like that about you," you remarked. "You always fight for more. You don't settle for less. Its admirable."

He snorted. "I think maybe I just have...how did you say it before? Insects in my trousers?"

"Ants in your pants," you chuckled at him.

"Yes, those. I like to rest, but not too much. There is always something new to do and see.

"That's true. And speaking of which, do you want to start planning our time away? I think I should show you some videos of London, just so its not too overwhelming for you when you get there!"

The week that followed saw you attempting to lay the groundwork as much as you could for life beyond your suburb, so much so that Pero began to gripe jokingly at you that you were too much like a mother hen, jibes which you thoroughly ignored. "It's better to be overprepared," you told him. "I'm sure you know that being a soldier!" You started slow - making a point of going out shopping a few times in the week, instead of having a week's worth of groceries delivered, and he accompanied you to get food and pick out his own toiletries. He learned about modern money (and questioned why bits of plastic paper now stood in for actual gold and silver), how debit cards worked (a development even more baffling than folding money) and how to properly interact with the myriad of different people around him. His speech and the words he chose to use were becoming more modern and familiar to your ears by the day. A second pub trip was successfully braved, and Pero went to the bar to buy the drinks all night. He even successfully identified someone else who was trying to flirt with him, but decided to extricate himself from the situation rather than engage her in conversation.

He took his first bus ride, and while you could tell he was initially frightened of the noise and the unfamiliar movements and vibrations, fascination with the speed at which he was moving and the new things he was seeing soon overrode everything else. The bus brought you to modern Warwick and Pero marvelled at the change in the town, and at the majesty of the stone castle that had supplanted the motte-and-bailey one that had been there before. When he came to the few remnants of the buildings that had stood in his time he paused, his eyes wide and roving all over, hardly believing that places he had seen new a fortnight ago were now considered ancient.

"I see why you wished to visit the town in my time, coneja," he murmured. "This feeling...it is most strange." You slipped your arm through his and squeezed it softly.

"It is. Do you feel okay about it?"

"Yes. It is only...it brings to mind that the people who once traversed here are long gone. Even their bones by now. There is naught left but what they built." He turned and scanned the street behind him. "Yet people still scurry about as they always did, only in different clothes and with different matters to attend. It makes me wonder if there is a mark of mine left in the world."

"We can look. Some records survive from those times. And what records there are tend to be documented on the internet. But it is unlikely, Pero. Unless you did something very dramatic or noteworthy. Or unless the records of your army days survive."

He shook his head. "I think there is nothing. But I am here. And that is very dramatic. Very noteworthy." You smiled at him and he returned a shining grin of his own, and as you walked toward the river he placed his hand over yours on his arm and held it there.

As you had anticipated, London was something of an event for him. Having already been introduced to the bus, the train wasn't too much of a leap. Although it was clear by his face when the speed of it picked up that there was a huge distinction to him between travelling at thirty miles an hour and travelling at ninety miles an hour. It took him a lot longer to feel safe in his seat, and he point blank refused to read or watch something with you as you progressed.

"How can you not wish to see the countryside? It goes by so fast. This...this is more of this country than I have ever seen before. It is a wonder. And I feel I must see it all while I can." So you bought him a ridiculously overpriced tea from the on-board shop and sat with him in companionable silence, occasionally broken only by him pointing out the various things he found interesting.

As you stepped from the train into the swirling hubbub of the platforms at Euston station, you saw a flicker of trepidation pass over Pero's face before he steeled himself, smiled at you and held out his hand. "Let us go and make merry, little rabbit," he said softly.

And you did.

As promised, you took him to the Science Museum, where he was fascinated not only with the parts about space exploration, but about medical advances, the history of flight, and mathematics. Next was the Natural History Museum, where he insisted that some of the larger dinosaur bones on display were in fact those of monsters called taotie that he himself had fought and defeated during his travels. No amount of explanation of carbon dating or archeology would persuade him that this was not the case, and eventually you gave it up and brought him up to the earthquake simulator instead, though he was far more enamoured with the escalator that led to it than the experience itself. You strolled from the museums up through the majesty of the autumnal colours at Kensington Gardens where Pero took great joy in the antics of the green parakeets that screeched from every tree. He tried ramen for the first time at lunch and took to it well, greedily slurping down the broth, vegetables and noodles with relish. You explored the streets of Mayfair, Soho, Westminster, and he insisted on going up on the wheel of the London Eye, the better to see over the expanse of the city. "So grey," he muttered to himself, pressed as closely as he could be to the rounded glass of the pod. "So much!" He caught sight of the Tower of London from his lofty perch and excitedly pointed it out to you as a thing he recognised. He wanted to walk alongside the river, and exclaimed over the multitude of bridges that now spanned it. When you reached the Tower he said he would like to see it up close again. He pointed out the bits of the keep that had changed since he had last seen it and was astounded at how big it now was compared to how it had been. Dinner was street food - pad thai bought from a vendor near the river and consumed on a bench overlooking the same, as the light from the setting sun and the streetlamps competed for dominance on its murky surface. Pero chose to take the Tube rather than the bus back to Euston, saying again that he wished to experience everything the modern city could offer. He took visible delight in the smaller underground trains, though less so in the noise they made as they whizzed through the tunnels.

About twenty minutes into the train journey home, he settled back in his seat, closed his eyes and was fast asleep within moments. He looked so peaceful, so handsome, that you found it hard to take your eyes from him. His hair brushed the lines of his forehead and curled around his ears and the nape of his neck. His nose, strong and prominent above the thickness of his moustache, and the blushed swell of his beautiful lips below all begged to be kissed, and you indulged yourself in your fantasy for a time, knowing that it could never truly be. The movement of the train made his head slide further and further toward you until he was resting on your shoulder, and you caught the smell of the apple scented shampoo he had chosen for himself. He didn't wake until you gently shook his arm, five minutes before you were due to get off the train. When he realised he was lying against you he sat up suddenly, sleepy apologies on his lips. "Its okay," you reassured him. "You've had quite a day. What do you say to some tea and then bed?" He nodded his assent, rubbing his eyes as he did.

When you awoke in the night, it was to discover you had flung your arm around Pero's middle and moulded the front of your body to the back of his. It was how you had always slept with Amy alongside you, and you attempted to carefully extract yourself without waking him. He had other ideas and moved his arm to cover yours and trap you as he groaned sleepily, and then resumed his light snoring. Happily resigned to cuddling him, you too fell back to sleep. The next morning you were turned away from where he slept, and he was up before you again. If he had noticed you holding him in the night, nothing was said about it.

Monday saw the start of your holiday proper. Pero packed a small bag and made you both a small picnic lunch for the train too, chiefly consisting of more of the frittata-type meal that he was so good at and that you had specially requested. It took longer to get to the coast than it had to London, but Pero was just as eager and excited about this journey as he had been the last. When he caught sight of the sea he practically bounced in his seat.

"The last time I saw the water like this, I was returning from war. I was grateful to see it, for it meant I should be away from the battles. But now...this...I can truly enjoy it now."

You had rented an apartment for the week, reasoning that Pero could choose to continue your sleeping arrangements, or have his own room if he wanted. His idiosyncrasies meant that you hadn't wanted to risk staying in a hotel where people might mark his occasional odd behaviours and make him feel bad for them. The apartment was on the top floor of the building and had a small balcony that overlooked the beach, which was only a few hundred metres away. As soon as you entered the house Pero immediately opened the balcony door and stepped on to it, taking in the expanse of blue in front of him. He observed the view and you observed him, glad that he seemed to be taking such joy in the place already.

After you had settled in to the apartment and unpacked the few bits you had brought, you went for a walk on the beach. Each of the dogs that played there bestowed their unconditional friendship upon Pero, and you by extension. There was a small funfair that you could see a mile or so in the distance and you explained the concept of it to him as you meandered.

"They should just get on a train, should they not?" he asked seriously. "It goes so fast!" He smiled in response to the chuckle that elicited from you. "You are enjoying your holiday, coneja? Even though you must mind me and what I do?"

"I am enjoying my holiday with you, Pero," you corrected. "Its good to do these things with someone you like. And you have done so well at being here and fitting in to this world. I don't think I could do half as well if I were stuck in your time!"

"You did well with your clothes," he replied. "When first I saw you, I saw nothing amiss. It was only when I looked properly that I saw true."

"Well, I'm glad I had you as my guide. I would not have seen what I did and my visits would not have been quite so pleasant without you. Ooooh look. There's an arcade. I wonder if they have air hockey..."

They did, and after he got the hang of it Pero roundly beat you each and every time. "You leave your goal too often undefended, coneja," he scolded gently.

"I just think your sword arm is stronger than my...non...sword...arm. Or whatever you call it," you grumbled. "Come on, I'll buy you some ice cream. They have more flavours here!"

He chose a mix of rocky road and salted caramel and you sat eating together on a bench overlooking the sea, his attention switching between the water and the lights of the fair and the arcade around. The reflections of them were beautiful in the dark depths of his eyes and you had to force yourself to focus on the view in front of you, instead of the one beside. He sighed happily as he finished his cone, and you handed him a wipe for the mess of his sticky fingers and lips.

As you walked back toward the apartment, you did so on the beach again, the layers of stones and shingle giving way to damp sand that was much easier to walk on. The hissing white noise of the sea was soothing to your ears, and its salty breeze caught on Pero's curls and made them dance around his head. In this milky autumn coastal twilight, he somehow looked even more beautiful, an added glowing ethereality to his skin now, as if he were a celestial being come to visit. His dark eyes caught on to yours and his moustache twitched in a smile as he regarded you.

"Tonight, coneja. Can we perhaps have some wine on that balcony? And listen more to the sea for a time?"

You felt your eyes grow softer the longer you looked at him, and a smile touched your own lips. "That sounds perfect, Pero."

On the way back to your temporary home you shopped at the local store, picking up a couple of good red wines, breakfast items and other basics for the cupboard, as well as some treats that Pero asked for and you didn't have the heart to deny him. Blueberries, chocolate, and a trifle, which he had never had before but at the sight of which his eyes lit up greedily. At the apartment he insisted on making dinner while you relaxed, and presented you with a hearty pisto accompanied by herbed chicken, a dish that you had never had before but that was delicious in its simplicity and intensity. You sat together on the balcony, full and warm and sated and watched the stars come out above you as the sea retreated into blackness. As the wine flowed so did the conversation and laughter, and you found it difficult to remember the last time you had felt this good, this joyful, this right.

As you clinked your glasses together in a toast to welcome the second bottle of wine, Pero paused and looked seriously at you. "I want to say that I too am glad that I have you as my guide in this world, as I was your guide in mine. I could not have coped with all of these new things without you being alongside me, coneja. And I enjoy myself a lot in your time. And in your company. I shall miss being here."

"I told you Pero, you don't have to leave. You could stay. With me. I'm not saying we would go on holiday every week, but I think you could have a good life-"

"No." The word was short, brutal, final.

"But-"

"No! I tell you, I cannot!" He had not raised his voice, but he was clearly agitated as he put his glass down, stood, and then proceeded to walk up and down the small living room of the apartment. "You. You are so good to me. You ask for nothing in return. I have said it is wrong. That I will find some way to repay you. Yet how can I? I have no money to offer. No skill that is worth anything in this time! I cannot ever repay the goodness you have shown me, and yet you say I should stay and take more?! I cannot. I will not."

Without really thinking about what you were doing, you also put your glass down and stood, abruptly arresting Pero's pacing. "And I've told you, I don't expect anything. I enjoy your company, Pero. And what you said before is right. My house, it is too big for one alone. You don't seem to truly want to go back and I...I don't want you to leave." You suddenly realised just how close you were to him. If you took half a step forward, your bodies would be touching. Your eyes searched his for affirmation of what you yourself were feeling and trying to dance around saying, and you thought you saw it - a warmth and desire within their dark depths. You took that half step and reached up to his cheek with a trembling hand. His eyes closed and he held your hand to his face with his own.

"Little rabbit," he whispered softly. "Little-"

You halted his words with a soft brush of your lips on his. Just enough to make them tingle and throb with the want of more of him. His eyes flicked open and he looked down, his breath coming haltingly as he regarded you. You moved forward to kiss him again and he let go of your hand and stepped away, turning his back to you.

"I cannot do this either," he said in a pained voice. "Please. I cannot."

"I'm not going to do anything you don't want to," you replied, trying to keep your voice level and not reveal the hurt within. "And I'm also not saying that I want that in exchange for letting you stay, if that's what you're afraid of."

"Afraid?" Pero rumbled. Then again, louder and more forcefully. "Afraid?! No, little coneja it is you who should be afraid of me. You had it aright when first we met and I should never have let myself get so close to you. I will go. As soon as the door in your garden is open, I shall go. And I do not think you should come through any more. And until I do go back, I do not think we fall asleep together any more." He moved to the doorway, towards the bedrooms and you caught his arm.

"Wait, Pero. What has changed? Please, I don't understand-"

"I told you many a time, I am a bad man. I deserve none of this. Nothing gentle or kind. I tell you and tell you and you do not heed me. So I must take myself away before I hurt you."

"Hurt me?! Pero, you have never laid a finger on me in anything other than gentleness. Why would you say-"

"Because I killed my wife!"

The ringing silence that fell seemed to suck the very breath from your lungs. You felt as if you might never breathe again. Pero regarded you, his eyes black and glittering, his jaw set forward in anger. He stepped forward and you took a step back from him. He smiled nastily, the expression never reaching his eyes and his voice was soft and dangerous when he spoke.

"That's right, little rabbit. You should keep away from me. I am a wicked, terrible man. Didn't I always tell you so?"

And with that he picked up his jumper from where it lay on the sofa, grabbed the mostly full bottle of wine from the table and departed, closing the door softly behind him.

Next Chapter

[lilithdusk]

Marinette finally tells Adrien she loves him - Mlb Season 4 Final Ep

aka Risk just came out and i don’t know what to do with my life until the next episode

                                                            ***

Running down the streets, Marinette didn’t care about anything else but Adrien. She slalomed between the passersby, her heart throbbing at the thought of not getting at the train station in time.

The fight has been rough, especially when Paris’ heroes finally found Shadow Moth’s identity. The team of super-heroes stopped breathing, slowly realizing how this discovery would impact the life of their dear friend. Ladybug had gotten back their miraculous when she found her partner, motionless, before the very same place where the police took away their enemy. When Chat Noir had turned his head towards her, she had felt the despair building up in his eyes. She could only offer a sorrowful smile, thinking that the whole situation made him emotional. Yet, her brave and strong teammate finally broke down and fell on his knees, sobbing. Ladybug froze and remained silent, running to him. Her arms naturally embraced his shoulders as he continued to cry in her neck, hugging her waist tightly.

The day after, she learnt that Adrien was still going away for a few months to “represent the brand in the whole world as its effigy”, that is what Nathalie had told the press. Only a close cercle really knew what happened, meaning Ladybug, the Ladyblog and the closest family and friends. Wishing to protect Adrien from the drama his father caused, his identity fortunately remained secret for now. It was a matter of weeks, even days until the information would leaked out. And if that meant Adrien being separated from his friends when he needed them the most and ending Paris’s favorite duo, so it will be. Marinette didn’t even take one second to think, she needed to go after him. She would never give up on her friend, especially with the current situation.

When she arrived at the train station, she was breathless and realized she actually had no idea what train he was going to take. Desperate, Marinette chose to run to the railway platform where the closest train would arrive in a matter of minutes. Passagers were waiting with their subcases, forming a crowd and Marinette could already see the train enter the station. Panicked, she almost fell down the stairs and hit a countless number of people as she made her way to the first class rail fare. She checked every passagers until she noticed a boy with blond hair coming out of a black sweatshirt, hood hiding his face. It took her less than one second to recognized Adrien’s and her partner’s silhouette.

“Adrien !”

The guy turned his head towards her and Marinette could have cry from relief. Adrien was still in Paris, she didn’t miss him. And most importantly, she didn’t need an Akuma to take the risk of telling him what she really felt for him. That was her last chance to speak the truth and to support his choice, whenever it was. She won’t make the same mistake twice.

“Marinette ?” He asked, genuinely surprised.

For the first time, Marinette realized how exhausted her partner was, how being Adrien Agreste could be tiring for a young boy like him. Eyes still red from crying and unbrushed hair, she could see how much he suffered.

Embarrassed by her silent, Adrien chuckled, his hand brushing his hair and looked away. Marinette realized the impression she gave him and quickly bounced back despite her thoughts mixing up in her head.

“You’re leaving ?” She whispered, not trusting her own voice.

Without saying a word, Adrien nodded. He didn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you want to ?”

Adrien’s head snapped, astonished. He opened his mouth to answer when the train station announcement resonated, all while Marinette never broke his gaze. 

“I cannot... I have to go.  That’s the best for everyone.”

Marinette stepped closer.

“I cannot imagine how shocking and hurt you must feel right now, but you don’t have to leave.”

“I am the son of-” His voice broke. “Everyone hates me Marinette. I’d rather be lonely somewhere else than to be reminded how much I troubled the life here.”

“You are not responsible for your father’s doing ! People will make the difference between you and him !”

“His closest employee worked with him and I lived in the same house as them, they won’t even considerate the possibility of being innocent.”

Adrien gave her a painful smile.

“Marinette, you are the most-”

“You have friends who will believe you ! If we have to manifest and prove your innocence until people accept it, we will do it !”

His eyes softened.

“I hate that it has to be you suffering the most. And I hate even more that you’re still kind enough to considerate people’s feelings !” She cried out.

Before him, Marinette took his hands in hers, tears falling down her cheeks. She was still going to lose him nevertheless because he didn’t realize how much people genuinely loved him. Speechless, Adrien glanced at their intertwined hands before giving her his full attention.

“Your friends care about you. I care about you so freaking much. This whole situation could never stain my feelings for you. You need support and help Adrien, and we are willing to be there for you. I want to be there for you.”

An unfamiliar warmth spread in his chest and his whole body, forming a sightly blush on his cheeks and making his hands trembling. As much as he could remember, he never had someone declared so purely and with so much honestly their feelings for him. Surely, he knew his mother loved him but she was one of those who showed their love by their actions and quiet look. His father, on the other hand, was part of those who chose to act; that is why he fought this year to give Adrien his mother back... Right ?

But being the center of attention when someone deeply cared about you and your feelings was very much different. Adrien was as embarrassed as touched. He wanted to hide himself as much as he wanted to hug her. It was like running to the edge of a cliff and falling down as much as flying off from it.

“You are my friend. I love you, Adrien.”

If he ever doubted about the way Marinette felt around him despite them being friends for almost a year now, Adrien would never dare to hesitate again when he thought about their relationship. Tenderness. Affection. Fondness. Devotion. Love. This word truly embodied the feelings he had for her, he loved her. It never felt so simple and easy to use a word because it was so natural.

He pressed her hands and broke into an ecstatic smile, a chuckle leaving his mouth. Marinette silently questioned him until he embraced her, shyly melting under her touch. Marinette sighed, happily receiving the hug. His head laying on her shoulder, Adrien closed his eyes and let himself peacefully appreciate the closeness of a beloved friend. For the first time since he had lost his mother, Adrien felt relief.

“I love you too Marinette.” He whispered.

                                                              ***

Absolutely in love with the fact that they could be so devoted to each other, romantically and especially platonically

Masterlist

[nordleuchten]

do we have any records on how lafayette reacted to the treason of benedic arnold?? I've read a while ago saying that he and bemedict arnold did not like each other very much while he was on the american army but i couldn't find anything else.

and also, how much acurate are those scenes of laf conforting georfe washington after he learns of the treason??

I know is a long ask, srry, but thank you so much <3

Hello Anon,

thank you for your question and don’t you worry about the length.

Yes, we have plenty of record about La Fayette’s reaction to Arnold’s treason … and the best thing is, La Fayette’s reaction alone even brought Arnold in a pretty awkward and embarrassing situation at one point in time.

From the get-go La Fayette was very involved in the whole Arnold-affair. He was with Washington and a group of other officers in West Point when Arnold’s treason was discovered on September 25, 1780 and he also sat on the court-martial for Major John André on September 29 and September 30, 1780. He later went on to say that he pitied André.

On September 26 (a day after Arnold’s betrayal and flight) La Fayette wrote the first lengthy account of the events from his point of view. He wrote the Chevalier de La Luzerne:

Robinson's house, across from West Point

September 26, 1780

When I left you yesterday morning, Monsieur le Chevalier, to come here to breakfast with General Arnold, we were far from imagining the event that I am going to relate to you. You will shudder at the danger we have run. You will wonder at the miraculous chain of accidents and unforeseen events that has saved us; but you will be even more astonished to know the instruments through which this conspiracy has been carried out.

West Point has been betrayed, and by Arnold. The same man who had covered himself with glory in rendering conspicuous service to his country had lately formed an appalling pact with the enemy. Were it not for the chance that brought us here at a certain hour and the chance that, through a combination of mishaps, caused the adjutant general [Major André] of the British army to fall into the hands of a few pejlsants outside all our posts, West Point and the North River would now perhaps be in the possession of the enemy. When we left Fishkill yesterday we were preceded by one of my aides-de-camp and the aide of General Knox, who found General and Mrs. Arnold at table and joined them for breakfast. While they were there, two letters were brought to General Arnold informing him of the capture of a spy. He ordered a horse to be saddled, then went upstairs to his wife to tell her he was ruined, and commanded his aide-de-camp to tell General Washington that he was going to West Point and would return within an hour. On our arrival here we crossed the river and went to inspect the defenses. You can imagine our astonishment when upon our return we learned that the arrested spy was Major Andre, adjutant general of the British army, and when, among documents found on him, we recognized a transcript of a very important council of war, a description of the garrison and fortifications, and remarks about methods of attack and defense, all of which were written in General Arnold's hand. The British adjutant general also wrote to the general disclosing his name and situation. We sent a person in pursuit of Arnold; but he had escaped by boat to board the English frigate Vulture, and since no one suspected his flight, no one from the posts could have thought to arrest him. Colonel Hamilton, who had pursued him, shortly thereafter received a flag of truce with a letter from Arnold for the general, in 180 Light Camp Commander which he gives no details to justify his treason, and a letter from the British commander Robinson, who, in an extremely insolent manner, demanded the release of the adjutant general, on the grounds that he had acted entirely under General Arnold's permission. The general's first concern has been to reassemble at West Point the troops Arnold had dispersed under various pretexts. We have remained here to look after the security of a post that the British will fear the less for being more familiar with it. We are bringing in Continental troops, and since Arnold's advice may determine Clinton to move suddenly, the army has orders to be ready to march at any moment.

He wrote several of these letters where he described what had happened. I am not going to quote any more letters because they are quite repetitive. There is however one passage in a letter to the Vicomte de Noailles that stands out. La Fayette wrote on October 3, 1780:

Arnold's baseness and villainy surpass in their details all that I have ever read about that sort of thing. The anger I felt over it did not extend to his wife, with whom formerly I had been somewhat taken. But what has truly afflicted me is the necessity of hanging the adjutant general of the British army, a charming man who conducted himself throughout, and died, like a hero. This severity was necessary; the enemy acted very stupidly on this occasion, and since they lost that unfortunate man, the soul of their army, they have not written one letter that had common sense. Andre was executed yesterday. General Clinton's anger does not frighten us, but this man's death, although inevitable in my opinion, left me with a feeling of sadness and respect for his character. I truly suffered in condemning him; but he was an officer under disguised clothing and name, passing within our posts with papers full of intelligence for the enemy, and he himself did not hesitate to recognize himself as a spy. The knave who hid him is, I hope, going to be hanged too.

We see in this excerpt very clearly what he fought about Arnold, but also what his thoughts were concerning Mrs Arnold (better known perhaps as Peggy Shippen) and Major André. The mentioned “knave” was a certain Joshua H. Smith who assisted Arnold and André in their affairs but who was ultimately acquitted and fled the country.

La Fayette furthermore wrote to the Comte de Vergennes (probably in an attempt to play the whole business down for the French court) on October 4, 1780:

This whole affair proves only the greed of Arnold and has no other consequences than the abhorrence inspired by his sordid conduct.

The tone is the same in all of La Fayette’s letters, whether they were written directly after everything went down or many months, years or even decades later. At first though, there was not much that La Fayette could do, because the army went into the winter encampment. On February 20, 1781 however, La Fayette was named commander of an expedition against Arnold in Virginia (where the latter had just received a command of his own) and left the next day for Maryland. La Fayette was hell bend on capturing Arnold and even received pretty clear instructions from Washington on what to do with Arnold. Washington wrote in his instructions for the Marquis on February 20, 1780:

You are to do no act whatever with Arnold that directly or by implication may skreen him from the punishment due to his treason and desertion, which if he should fall into your hands, you will execute in the most summary way.

Despite all of his efforts, La Fayette could not apprehend Arnold. There was a new development with the British ranks though, that afforded La Fayette a little bit of pay back. The British send reinforcement down to Virginia to aide Arnold. A Major-General William Phillips commanded these troops. I have written about Phillips before, he was the man who commanded the artillery battery that fired the shot that killed La Fayette’s father in the battle of Minden in the Seven Years’ War - and La Fayette was very well aware of the fact. Phillips was now in command and Arnold second in command. So far, so good. The war and the campaign in Virginia continued like before. It was commonplace for two opposing Generals to have rather extensive correspondence. They spoke about war crimes committed by one of the two sides, about a potential exchange of prisoner of war, about a temporary truce, surrender - all the military and civil matters that needed to be discussed. These correspondences were most of the time rather civil. The two Generals understood each other as “Officers and Gentleman” and were fully aware that each man had their orders to follow. Phillips and La Fayette started a correspondence as well. La Fayette complained about the tone in Phillips letters and the demands he made (I have read Phillips letters; they are indeed a bit odd) but their correspondece was soon cut short when Phillips contracted a fever and died within a few days. Now Arnold was again first in command and it would have been his place to pick up Phillips correspondece with La Fayette. La Fayette wrote to Washington on May 17, 1781:

Genl. Phillips being dead of a fever, an Officer was sent with a passport & letters from Genl. Arnold. I requested the Gentleman to come to my Qrs. and having asked if Genl. Phillips was dead to which He answered in the negative, I made it a pretence not to receive a letter from Gl. Arnold, which being dated Head Quarters, and directed to the Commanding Officer of the American troops, ought to come from the British General Chief in Command. I did however observe that shou'd any other officer have written to me I wou'd have been happy to receive their Letters.

La Fayette made it clear to the British flag officer that he had no problem with corresponding with the British army in general, but that he would not cooperate with Arnold, a man that he did not perceive to be a gentleman and man of honour. La Fayette later wrote in his memoirs:

After the death of General Phillips, who died that same day, Arnold wrote, by a flag of truce, to Lafayette, who refused to receive his letter. He sent for the English officer, and, with many expressions of respect for the British army, told him that he could not consent to hold any correspondence with its present general. This refusal gave great pleasure to General Washington and the public, and placed Arnold in an awkward situation with his own army.

It may not sound like much for us today, but La Fayette reaction was a massive slap for Arnold. He was now in a position where he either had to correspond with an American officer that was junior in rank or he had to order a British officer who was junior in rank to himself to continue the correspondence with La Fayette. Arnold was so angry indeed that he wanted to retaliate by sending the American prisoner of war to prisoner colonies in the West Indies if La Fayette would not correspond with him.

As to the second question - I think you are playing at this lovely (and deleted, if I am not mistaken) scene from the TV series TURN: Washington’s Spies were La Fayette comforts Washington after Arnolds betrayal. There is no direct evidence that such a scene took place. We have now written account à la “today I comforted Washington because Arnold betrayed us.” Several sources however state, that Washington indeed uttered “Whom can we trust now?”, just like in the scene and just as I stated earlier, La Fayette was with Washington when all of this took place. I think it is therefore very likely that something similar as depicted in TURN may have taken place. Washington and La Fayette were incredibly close and they trusted each other. Washington could open up toward La Fayette because La Fayette was person who, unlike some other officers and generals at the time, had no ambition to usurp his position as Commander in Chief. La Fayette, due to his French background, would not be able to do so anyway, even if he would had such ambition. This was one of the many reasons why Washington could let his guard down in front of La Fayette without having to fear that he would be seen as weak.

I hope you have/had a fantastic day!

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Charlie’s 5✩ Inspiration: Daytime Spiritualities [昼日疑魂] Date Translation (END 5: Heart-throb)

“Entrust me all your fears and astonishment alike; there’s no need to hold back.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Charlie’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *5✩ Inspirations have 5 Endings!! *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Charlie’s tag will be #For Night, For Paradox

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

How should I reply to him…?

★ E5 NIGHT: Nope★

As an adult well-versed in the horror genre, I was immune to horror movies for the most part.

MC: Of course not. We can bet on it if you don’t believe me.

Charlie: Stakes?

It appears that I had aroused his competitive spirit, for he smiled at me with interest.

MC: How about we bet on… who gets scared out of their wits first?

Charlie: Are you certain? I’ve never once lost a bet.

It was a gamble where the outcome was uncertain. The loser would be the first to lose their composure from fear.

There’s no way I’d admit defeat all so easily in the face of a show-off like Charlie!

MC: Absolutely!

Charlie: Interesting. I accept your challenge.

Charlie: You’re going to be the one losing your pride if you get so terrified afterwards that you can’t move.

Charlie: But, before we commence this bet… Aren’t you forgetting a little something?

MC: What do you mean?

Charlie: Where did you go this morning?

MC: The hospital.

Charlie: Think again. Before the hospital?

MC: Before…? Oh, right! I went out to buy snacks.

I jumped up, running to the door and rummaging through the bag of groceries I’d left there.

MC: What do you want to drink?

Charlie: Beer, like you.

I secured two cans of beer from the contents of the bag… Wait, no! What did he just say? He wants to drink BEER!?

I thought he didn’t drink? I mean, last time…

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During my last day off, Charlie had called me in the middle of one of my drinking moods.

Charlie: You’re drinking your sorrows away at home?

MC: I’m not drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I just felt like I was in the mood to drink; there’s an emotional appeal to it.

MC: Don’t you do the same when you go to bars?

Charlie: ...I do go to the bar, but I don't drink.

MC: ...Oh?

The rumoured star of the night who bombed a ton of money in private clubs is actually a “good boy”?

MC: How's that possible? You're lying, aren't you?

Charlie: Is it that odd to not drink?

MC: ...Not really.

Charlie: It's even odder to think that going to a bar equals drinking.

Charlie: Let’s just put it this way. The only reason why I go to bars is to play.

Charlie: And administering alcohol to the body is the greatest thing one can do to sully the living and perfect human brain.

Charlie: Especially this sort of low-quality alcohol made with fermented malt. 100g of the sweetened water called beer and its low molecular weight generates 180 joules of heat with your body.

Charlie: Drinking beer? Might as well swallow active bombs instead. At least, it’ll be much faster that way.

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So… Just what was going on here? It was one of the principles he lived by. Yet, he was doing a whole 180?

MC: Aren’t you afraid that ingesting alcohol will be an insult to that sober brain of yours?

Charlie: Didn’t someone say that drinking appeals to the mood?

Charlie: I'm with my Fiancée right now. Do you think I should retain a high level of reason, or show a rare moment of dullness?

MC: Do I have a choice?

Charlie: Of course not.

Charlie: Don’t worry. I won’t use the excuse of being inebriated to pull anything funny.

MC: ...Look who’s talking here?

Charlie: I can’t stand those sort of people.

Charlie took the can of beer from me before sitting back down.

Never mind; I'll gladly drop the topic. How can an adult not drink at all? Although, I bet his abstinence is probably so that it doesn't affect his job.

Click! Click!

The crisp sound of cans being opened sounded.

Never thought that he'd open it for me.

MC: Thank you, Dr. Zha!

I naturally held an outstretched hand out, waiting for him to pass me the open can of beer.

However, Charlie didn't react.

Click, click, clack…

The continuous sounds of cans clacking came from him.

I curiously peered over, only to find Charlie staring awkwardly at the cans with his brows furrowed. They were still as intact as they came.

MC: Charlie, don't tell me that not only have you never drunk alcohol, but you also don't know how to open cans…?

Charlie: You're questioning a doctor's practical ability?

MC: Then, you...

Pop!

Charlie had cracked the can open.

He freezes, frantically shoving the beer into my open hand. Then, he shoved his hands into his pockets, putting up a professional act.

Charlie: I have the habit of trimming my nails for surgeries, so it's not convenient for me to be opening cans.

For a moment, I didn't quite know what to say as I looked at our nails. They were nearly equally long.

He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t even know how to open a can. So why does he suddenly feel whimsical enough to start drinking today?

I cracked open his can of beer for him. He carefully wiped the foam that bubbled forth the mouth of the can with a tissue.

Charlie: Just now...

He took a sip of beer and slightly furrowed his brow.

Charlie: It was a mere mistake of a perfect person.

Charlie: It will not happen again.

Saying so, the glint of pride returned to his eyes once more. And the can of beer was quietly pushed far, far away.

MC: Okay, let's get back to watching the movie.

The paused screen lit back into action, encasing the room in a chilling and terrifying atmosphere once more.

The plot gradually thickened and I got increasingly absorbed with the movie.

Everything around me started to fade as I zoned into the movie, Charlie included.

Charlie: *Coughs*

MC: ……

Charlie: (Y/n).

MC: ……

Charlie: Are you really not scared?

MC: Stop moving.

All I could do was to use a free hand to keep Charlie in place as he fidgeted in his seat.

Charlie: ……

In the movie, the prisoner that was on death row managed to successfully escape into a cramped and narrow underground passageway. As muddy water splashed everywhere, the horrible cries of the jailer sounded from the other end of the door to the secret passage.

I'd given my entire self over to the movie at this point, watching the prisoner's every step with peeled eyes. I'd totally missed the faintest of all finger snaps in the world that'd sounded by the sofa.

Squeak…

The door to the entrance opened.

MC: Is the prisoner about to get caught?

However, the movie never cut scenes to show the jailer coming through the door. Still, I was fairly certain that I'd heard the sound of the door opening. And if had also been very clear.

Just as I was about to turn around to ask Charlie about it, I witnessed a bone-chillingly horrible scene…

The door the prisoner had closed suddenly opens. Sinister winds were brewing outside.

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MC: ……

MC: It should be a sealed-off corridor outside. There shouldn’t be any wind…

The more I thought about it, the more terrified I got. All I could see was the epitome of horror in this movie unfolding before my very eyes!

I felt a chill run down my spine; one different from anything I'd ever felt before, its icy tendrils spreading across my body. An alarm sounds in my heart. I was hyper-aware, with all my nerves strung tautly. It was as if any minuscule change in the surroundings would be able to set my senses off.

BANG!

A loud sound rang out in the air as the secret passageway’s metal door was knocked down. The jailer’s savage smile was reflected upside down in the pool of water by the prisoner’s feet.

MC: AH!

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I frantically covered my eyes, subconsciously backing away into the thing I was leaning against.

Crap! I had such a big reaction! He definitely noticed...

Alas, his low voice entered my ears.

Charlie: Scared now?

His warm and powerful arm snaked around me from behind, wrapping itself around me above the blanket.

My searching back hit his chest; and the moment it did, a small yearning for comfort started making itself known within my heart, growing ever more so… Just like a lost traveller who'd finally found the lone source of light deep inside the forest.

Charlie: Admitting defeat this quickly?

Charlie's warm breath brushes against the top of my head, making the shell of my ear burn. Just a little closer and my face would be able to access the crook of his neck.

MC: Am not.

I stubbornly refused to admit defeat, but my feeble voice, muffled by my hand, proved otherwise.

Charlie: If so, then why are you covering your eyes?

Charlie: You're the one who said we're going to be watching this together? Can't live up to your words now?

His chest rumbled slightly. There was undeniable mischievousness in his voice.

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Charlie: Last chance. I’ll count to three. Put your hand down, hm?

Charlie: Three.

MC: I’m not even closing my eyes! See!?

I vehemently glared at Charlie through the gaps of my fingers.

Charlie: Not counted. I don’t advocate such viewing methods.

Charlie: Two.

MC: ...What can you even do to me?

Charlie: You don’t want to admit defeat, but neither do you want to put your hand down. Is there ever a bet so kind in this world?

His bony left hand reached up to cover the back of my hand as he attempted to push my hand back down.

I struggled against him with all my might, but he was way too strong. Hence, I had no choice but to admit defeat in this losing battle.

MC: One. I lose!

Charlie lets up, dropping the strength he’d been putting behind his fingers and ruffling my hair.

Charlie: Why are your lips poised so high up? Mad?

Charlie: Losing to me is nothing to be ashamed about.

Charlie gathered up the blanket that pooled around my waist, inadvertently pulling me closer to him as he did.

I sulked and refused to reply to him. I can’t believe I still managed to get scared by a horror movie when I’m already a full-grown adult! Not only did I lose, but I also feel ridiculed by this!

Still, I didn't want to admit that Charlie's embrace certainly did provide me with a sense of comfort.

Charlie: There, there. Don't be scared. I'm here.

He gently pats the back of my hand, speaking softly in a manner one would comfort a child.

His warm chest pressed against my back as his steady heartbeat resonated alongside mine, beating in tandem.

MC: ……

In hindsight, I realized that I’d always felt at ease and that I could forget about all my troubles whenever I was with Charlie. Even though he never fails to render me speechless and makes me want to roll my eyes at him for the most part.

Maybe it’s because he’s always so frank about things with absolutely no intent to hide anything? I don’t know...

Leaning into Charlie’s embrace, my fear and panic slowly ebbed away.

However, the door still made me feel a little uneasy, and I often found myself looking at it with frazzled nerves.

Suddenly, I noticed something strange about the little tailor alarm clock by the door.

Its hour hand was pointed at 12. The small mechanical tailor that told the time had jumped out of the clock, bobbing as it frantically rolled its measuring tape back up. Yet… I did not hear any chimes from the clock itself.

MC: What's up with today?

MC: Please tell me it’s not an actual supernatural occurrence…

I was just about to ask Charlie about it when a far-fetched reasoning for this suddenly flashed through my mind.

And it ingrained itself in my brain upon appearance, growing ever stronger…

No sound, with only the motions… Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

MC: Charlie?

Charlie: Hm?

MC: Is there anything that can cancel out sound?

Charlie: Why do you ask?

He withdrew his hand and stuffed it back into his pocket. There was a sliver of wariness in his eyes.

MC: It just came to mind. Just answer me.

Charlie: Vacuum. Sound cannot travel without mediums, and there are no atoms or molecules in a vacuum.

MC: And isn’t that your talent?

Charlie: Y-Yes?

I was getting closer and closer to confirming my suspicions.

The door that had suddenly opened without a sound, and the soundless alarm clock. If there was a scientific reason to explain all of those, then it’d be…

Charlie had just created a vacuum inside the door. That way, the air difference in air pressure on the inside and the outside would be able to push the door open.

Pity; but the soundless alarm clock had given me enough hints to piece everything together.

MC: You purposely scared me so I'd admit defeat myself? Well done, Charlie.

The movie was currently showing the part where the jailer collided with the metal door.

Thud, thud, thud…

This sound was vaguely familiar. A sudden idea hits me.

I tugged on the corner of his clothes, purposely lowering my voice.

MC: Charlie, do you hear something?

MC: Thud, thud, thud. Like someone knocking on the door.

Charlie: Are you having auditory hallucinations now? That's coming from the movie.

He held my head with both hands, turning it left and right.

Charlie: You haven't gotten any water stuck in your ears either.

I directly put my finger to his lips and looked around warily.

MC: Not that. Listen carefully.

A distant but very real thud sounded above us.

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Charlie was so terrified that he'd started shaking as he looked up at the ceiling incredulously.

I took the chance to grab onto his arm, leaning sideways to get closer to him and whispered into his ear.

MC: Believe me now?

MC: Actually, I saw something by the door just now and…

Charlie: What! What’s by the door!?

He quickly shot up from the sofa, encasing me in the shadow cast by his tall and wide back.

The movie had been paused, stopping on the dark scene of the secret passageway. The door of my entryway was partially shrouded by the eerie lighting coming from the projector. The creepy atmosphere intensified.

Charlie silently stared into the darkness for a good ten seconds before letting out the breath he’d been holding.

Charlie: What can there be?

Charlie: If ghosts truly do exist in this world, then why would the world ever allow someone as perfect as me, someone, who goes against even the laws of nature, to exist?

The corners of his mouth were raised in their usual arc. Looks like he has already regained his spirits.

The only thing that betrayed the nervousness he felt deep down were his hands that had yet to crease trembling.

He placed both his hands into his pockets, putting on a calm facade as he surveyed the room…

He’s putting his hands into his pockets again? Does he like to do that whenever he feels nervous?

Charlie: Perhaps something fell upstairs. It’s just a coincidence…

He'd only just finished speaking when another thud sounded. This time, it was much more solid, the sound seemingly reverberating through the very air of my apartment.

All colour drained from Charlie's face. I hurriedly stood up.

MC: Do you hear that!?

Charlie: Yeah.

I hid behind Charlie, slowly putting my hand into his shirt pocket. I could feel the slight tremor of his shoulders through the thin fabric of his dress shirt.

Charlie: ...I certainly do hear something.

His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down more of his fear. He unwittingly attempted to put his hand back into his pocket… only for it to brush against my hand that had touched the cold beer earlier.

Charlie: AHHH! HELP ME!!

Charlie: SOMETHING’S HERE!

Charlie could no longer maintain his noble attitude. He jolted, frantically throwing his composed facade out of the window as he flung my hand away.

MC: It's me!

Charlie: You…

Charlie gripped onto my shoulder with one hand while the other went to his chest. His frantic breathing slowly eased back to a normal rhythm.

Maybe it’s about time I tell him about “that”?

MC: Actually…

MC: There was once a girl who'd been imprisoned here in this room. She died from starvation here. That's why you'll often hear the sound of the door being knocked in the middle of the night.

MC: I never thought that she'd make an appearance in the morning this time…

Charlie: You're joking, right!?

I shook my head with a pained smile.

I placed both hands on his shoulders as I reached higher. I cupped my hand and got close to his ear and purposefully lowered my voice.

MC: If everything was fine and well at my place, then why would I have to call you here to watch a movie with me?

MC: Don't tell me you're thinking of running…?

Thud!

A resounding thud suddenly rang out, shaking even the walls as it reverberated.

Charlie: AHHHH!!

Charlie lost all his composure, screaming shrilly as he dove for the loveseat. I lost my balance as my knees hit the loveseat.

Amidst the chaos, Charlie had wrapped his arms around my shoulders as we both tumbled into one of the corners of the loveseat.

Charlie's skin was flushed from all the adrenaline, his breaths coming out in short and ragged pants. He was akin to a laboratory mouse who had its amygdala stimulated, lying against my shoulder paralyzed in fright.

His shrill scream earlier still faintly resonated in the air, making my eardrums ring in protest. I could help but recall how confident of himself he looked back when he made the bet...

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Charlie: You’re going to be the one losing your pride if you get so terrified afterwards that you can’t move.

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MC: Pft- Hahaha! This is way too good!

I couldn't keep up the act anymore. I leaned my forehead against his as I snickered like mad.

MC: Okay, okay. I'm just pulling your leg!

Charlie: ...What?

Charlie: You're joking? But, you— I— Just now…?

Charlie raised his head, looking absolutely appalled. Having just had a tumble, a tuft of hair stuck out from the top of his head.

I grabbed the tuft of hair that stood arrogantly upwards and pushed it back down with a vengeance, smoothing it out in my revenge.

MC: Yeah! Who told you to scare me with your vacuum earlier!

I could acutely feel how his face immediately heated up against my shoulder. Is it because he just found out that I was tricking him? Or is it because of something else?

MC: So, can you get off me now?

Charlie: I refuse.

He simply buried his head into the crook of my neck shamelessly, avoiding my gaze.

Charlie: You'll have to first explain to me just what is going on here.

Charlie’s arms were snugly wound around my body, seemingly threatening not to let go until he’d attained what he wanted.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Is this man truly the same Dr. Zha that was listed on the leaflet detailing the famed doctors of the Hospital...?

MC: The hungry ghost was just a story I made up to scare you

Charlie: Uh-huh.

Charlie: But, just now…

MC: That was just the heating pipes.

MC: The grandpa upstairs turns the heating on at noon every day.

MC: It's going to be summer soon, yet he still keeps it up. Always at 12 sharp. The man's way more on point than the afternoon news broadcast.

Charlie raised his head, his sweat-soaked hair brushing across my cheek. It was a little ticklish.

Charlie: That's it?

MC: Yup!

Charlie: Ahem.

He sat back up, lightly clearing his throat before composing himself. Gone was the embarrassment from having lost his composure.

MC: Phew… You finally let up, huh.

He reflexively smooths out his collar. Soon, he returned to his usual self that you were all so familiar with.

Charlie snaps to attention with his hands behind his back, purposely looking around the room in an off-handed manner.

Charlie: Actually, I could already tell that something was wrong with the structure of this housing apartment the moment I stepped into it.

Charlie: Alas, it was just as I expected. The pipings are so terribly loud.

Charlie turned to look at me, slightly lowering his head and peering down at me in approval.

Charlie: Also, your acting is really good.

MC: ?

Charlie: Actually… I wasn't scared at all.

MC: ??

MC: If so, then may I ask what’s the whole purpose behind the fear that you so kindly expressed earlier?

Charlie: I was merely playing along with you. It’s the greatest form of acknowledgement towards your acting skills.

Just who is playing along with whom, in this case? Is this even up for discussion?

Still, I think his red ears speak louder than words.

Charlie returns to his seat on the loveseat. His familiar warmth envelops me once more.

Charlie: You still lost today.

MC: How did this come back to that?

Charlie: You're the one who got scared out of your wits first. You still have a penalty to serve, so...

Charlie: Comfort me.

He turned his head to the side as he hugged me. His cheeks were a rarely seen shade of red. He was flushed from the neck to the tip of his ears.

Looking at how embarrassed he was, I couldn’t help but find it a little adorable.

The heat in his embrace didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. In fact, it made a reassuring sense of familiarity slowly spread through my heart, like a warm summertime breeze blowing from the side.

I boldly nestled deeper into his arms, basking in the soft dream-like moment.

MC: How rare for you to be so quiet.

MC: Man, if only your first instinct wasn't to pick fights...

Charlie: Please, Miss. It's not like you don't enjoy it either. It'll be over soon enough.

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The movie ends before we know it after the dazed silence that lapsed.

The projector stopped screening once the movie came to a close. The screen blanked out along with my guilt, panic, and fear.

And I’d completely missed the ending of the movie.

MC: Charlie? Do you remember how the prisoner who was sentenced to death got away?

I thought that Charlie would respond immediately in that prideful tone of his, giving me a clear and concise answer. Hell, I was even prepared to withstand another round of his narcissism if that ever came to pass.

Yet, he sounded a little unsteady and unsure, almost as if he too, was thinking of an appropriate answer.

Charlie: ...How did the prisoner getaway? Simple. He defeated the jailer who imprisoned him. All horror movies end the same way.

MC: He defeated… the jailer?

MC: The jailer here is a figment of his imagination; it doesn’t exist.

MC: The prisoner’s trapped in his own dream.

To prove what I’d said, I quickly pulled up the homepage of the movie where the summary and all the reviews were written. I pointed it out to him.

MC: Look, it’s even written in the movie’s summary…

I raised my head to clarify with him, but Charlie chose to completely ignore me, turning his attention to the plush pillow on the sofa. His eyes were very shifty.

Suspicious. VERY suspicious…

MC: Charlie, you… you didn’t take this movie seriously at all, did you?

Charlie closed his eyes in a slight grimace, his eyebrows knitting…

That reaction…. I KNEW IT.

However, he quickly bounces back from that moment of frustration. His expression suddenly turned serious and exaggeratedly grim.

Charlie: (Y/n), life is but a fleeting one.

The hell is this man talking about!?

I didn’t quite know why, but the serious tone he was taking with me sounded vaguely threatening. I could only nod in accordance.

Charlie: I see that you agree as well.

Charlie: If one wishes to have a glorious life as glamorous as the sun in this fleeting period, then some trivialities will have to be forgone.

Charlie: Alas, that movie earlier was an unfortunate one to have been forgone by this perfect life of mine.

MC: ……

MC: I see. I never knew that there was such a poetic way of saying “I don’t remember”.

Charlie: Who says I don't remember?

Charlie: I remember as clear as the day how my Fiancée got so terrified that she burrowed right into my arms.

I helplessly sighed. Looks like it'll be a long time and a good long way before I'll ever manage to understand how that brain of his works.

MC: Then, does the matter of rating and evaluating this projector still exist in your precious time of existence, Dr. Zha?

Charlie: The projector? Average.

Charlie: It's hard for me to be evaluating a projector below $200,000.

Charlie: But, I can consider using it as a console for couples.

He raised an eyebrow, smiling.

MC: And just where are your thoughts running off to?

Charlie: I'm just giving my honest, unbiased opinion.

Charlie: I hope you can convey this precious review of mine to the brand makers. Consider it my good deed for the day.

MC: Alright, Mr. Charitable.

MC: Now, are you quite done with your charitable acts? I'm going to pack the projector up and send it back.

Charlie: Why?

MC: Because… I feel like I don't really need a home theatre.

Charlie stilled my hand with his own, moving to block the projector off from me.

Charlie: Wait. I’ll take it if you can’t find a use for it.

Charlie: Send it to my house next weekend.

MC: You sure about that?

Charlie: Of course, I naturally have the right to accept any common personal property that my Fiancée chooses to give up.

Charlie: Come to my house next week, and don't stand me up.

With that being said, he confidently walked out of the apartment.

The golden sports car parked by the road gave a tremendous roar as it sped up. It soon faded away, replaced by the ever-present bustle of the people on the streets  

Watching the silhouette of the car gradually disappear, the events of what had gone on within my apartment resurfaced to the forefront of my mind… Charlie was far more bizarre than any horror film I'd ever watched.

However, it’s as if his appearance was slowly lowering my impenetrable guard over my small piece of land.

Now, as for what will appear in the future… Will it be volcanos? Or channels? Who knows; we’ll just have to wait and see.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 + 3 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 4 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 5 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Paradox⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: Prologue

[publicdomainbooks]

CHAPTER 37

THE MYSTERIOUS DAGGER

During this time, we had left the bright and transparent forest far behind us. We were mute with astonishment, overcome by a kind of feeling which was next door to apathy. We kept running in spite of ourselves. It was a perfect Right, which resembled one of those horrible sensations we sometimes meet with in our dreams.

Instinctively we made our way towards the Central Sea, and I cannot now tell what wild thoughts passed through my mind, nor of what follies I might have been guilty, but for a very serious preoccupation which brought me back to practical life.

Though I was aware that we were treading on a soil quite new to us, I, however, every now and then noticed certain aggregations of rock, the shape of which forcibly reminded me of those near Port Gretchen.

This confirmed, moreover, the indications of the compass and our extraordinary and unlooked-for, as well as involuntary, return to the north of this great Central Sea. It was so like our starting point, that I could scarcely doubt the reality of our position. Streams and cascades fell in hundreds over the numerous projections of the rocks.

I actually thought I could see our faithful and monotonous Hans and the wonderful grotto in which I had come back to life after my tremendous fall.

Then, as we advanced still farther, the position of the cliffs, the appearance of a stream, the unexpected profile of a rock, threw me again into a state of bewildering doubt.

After some time, I explained my state of mental indecision to my uncle. He confessed to a similar feeling of hesitation. He was totally unable to make up his mind in the midst of this extraordinary but uniform panorama.

"There can be no doubt," I insisted, "that we have not landed exactly at the place whence we first took our departure; but the tempest has brought us above our starting point. I think, therefore, that if we follow the coast we shall once more find Port Gretchen."

"In that case," cried my uncle, "it is useless to continue our exploration. The very best thing we can do is to make our way back to the raft. Are you quite sure, Harry, that you are not mistaken?"

"It is difficult," was my reply, "to come to any decision, for all these rocks are exactly alike. There is no marked difference between them. At the same time, the impression on my mind is that I recognize the promontory at the foot of which our worthy Hans constructed the raft. We are, I am nearly convinced, near the little port: if this be not it," I added, carefully examining a creek which appeared singularly familiar to my mind.

"My dear Harry—if this were the case, we should find traces of our own footsteps, some signs of our passage; and I can really see nothing to indicate our having passed this way."

"But I see something," I cried, in an impetuous tone of voice, as I rushed forward and eagerly picked up something which shone in the sand under my feet.

"What is it?" cried the astonished and bewildered Professor.

"This," was my reply.

And I handed to my startled relative a rusty dagger, of singular shape.

"What made you bring with you so useless a weapon?" he exclaimed. "It was needlessly hampering yourself."

"I bring it? It is quite new to me. I never saw it before—are you sure it is not out of your collection?"

"Not that I know of," said the Professor, puzzled. "I have no recollection of the circumstance. It was never my property."

"This is very extraordinary," I said, musing over the novel and singular incident.

"Not at all. There is a very simple explanation, Harry. The Icelanders are known to keep up the use of these antiquated weapons, and this must have belonged to Hans, who has let it fall without knowing it."

I shook my head. That dagger had never been in the possession of the pacific and taciturn Hans. I knew him and his habits too well.

"Then what can it be—unless it be the weapon of some antediluvian warrior," I continued, "of some living man, a contemporary of that mighty shepherd from whom we have just escaped? But no—mystery upon mystery—this is no weapon of the stony epoch, nor even of the bronze period. It is made of excellent steel—"

Ere I could finish my sentence, my uncle stopped me short from entering upon a whole train of theories, and spoke in his most cold and decided tone of voice.

"Calm yourself, my dear boy, and endeavor to use your reason. This weapon, upon which we have fallen so unexpectedly, is a true dague, one of those worn by gentlemen in their belts during the sixteenth century. Its use was to give the coup de grace, the final blow, to the foe who would not surrender. It is clearly of Spanish workmanship. It belongs neither to you, nor to me, nor the eider-down hunter, nor to any of the living beings who may still exist so marvelously in the interior of the earth."

"What can you mean, Uncle?" I said, now lost in a host of surmises.

"Look closely at it," he continued; "these jagged edges were never made by the resistance of human blood and bone. The blade is covered with a regular coating of iron mold and rust, which is not a day old, not a year old, not a century old, but much more—"

The Professor began to get quite excited, according to custom, and was allowing himself to be carried away by his fertile imagination. I could have said something. He stopped me.

"Harry," he cried, "we are now on the verge of a great discovery. This blade of a dagger you have so marvelously discovered, after being abandoned upon the sand for more than a hundred, two hundred, even three hundred years, has been indented by someone endeavoring to carve an inscription on these rocks."

"But this poniard never got here of itself," I exclaimed, "it could not have twisted itself. Someone, therefore, must have preceded us upon the shores of this extraordinary sea."

"Yes, a man."

"But what man has been sufficiently desperate to do such a thing?"

"A man who has somewhere written his name with this very dagger—a man who has endeavored once more to indicate the right road to the interior of the earth. Let us look around, my boy. You know not the importance of your singular and happy discovery."

Prodigiously interested, we walked along the wall of rock, examining the smallest fissures, which might finally expand into the much wished—for gully or shaft.

We at last reached a spot where the shore became extremely narrow. The sea almost bathed the foot of the rocks, which were here very lofty and steep. There was scarcely a path wider than two yards at any point. At last, under a huge over-hanging rock, we discovered the entrance of a dark and gloomy tunnel.

There, on a square tablet of granite, which had been smoothed by rubbing it with another stone, we could see two mysterious, and much worn letters, the two initials of the bold and extraordinary traveler who had preceded us on our adventurous journey.

"A. S.!" cried my uncle. "You see, I was right. Arne Saknussemm, always Arne Saknussemm!"

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 29, Post #2 by @maggotsstuff

Title: The Masterstroke

Author: maggotsstuff

Pairing: Ron-Hermione

Theme: A Friendship like no other/Bravery 

Beta Credits: Two amazing person – Adenei and Folk-melody.

The sleepy stone corridors of the Castle of Durmstrang reverberated with the sound of heavy footsteps. The echo of the rhythmic pace pierced through the silence of several corners and passages until it came to a halt before an old wooden door. There was a gentle knock on the wooden surface, which was soon followed by a series of raps. 

The din was answered by a slow and lazy creak of the hinges, followed by the dim light of a candle that floated in the air. The silhouette of a woman dressed in black robes and a black hood appeared at the door.

“Prince Draco! What business brings you here to my chamber at this hour? Could this not have waited until the daylight had shone?” she asked haughtily.

“Huh? Is this the way to speak to the future King of Slytherin, Ravenclaw?” 

“My fault, Prince Draco. But your aunt, Queen Bellatrix is still the Queen of Slytherin.”   

Draco became so pale that his face was almost the same colour as his silver blonde hair. The sentries escorting the Prince, who stood a few steps behind him, lowered their heads.

Draco’s face contorted with a scowl, which was smothered by the smirk playing across his thin lips. 

“You are too smart for your own good,” Draco replied darkly. He didn’t wait for her reply as he paced back through the corridors. 

Ravenclaw heard warning bells chiming inside of her. Draco certainly had not come to invite her for any midnight tryst. She hurried after him. The floating candle moved ahead of all.

The quartet marched through the long corridors and then through a small passage, which opened in a big hall that was decorated with a throne with a serpent headed backrest. Ivory chairs were arranged in rows at a distance from the throne on both of its sides. The tall walls of the hall had human heads affixed to them. It seemed that each head had a story of an atrocious death to tell.  

At the far end of the hall, a flight of spiral steps was erected. The small procession halted there. Draco turned back and feigned surprise.

“Ah, Ravenclaw! Did you follow us until here? Am I so lucky that the mighty witch of my land has finally discovered the truth in my words?” he jeered, raising a silver blonde eyebrow of his at her. 

“I cannot ignore the nephew of my Queen. If he cares to visit me at this hour he would certainly have urgent orders for this servant. I am waiting for your commands, Prince.”

“I am humbled that the mighty witch has expressed her desire to fulfil my wish,” Draco stroked her cheek over her black hood. She clenched her fist to resist herself from cursing him back.

“But tonight, your service is reserved for my aunt. You will regret wasting more of her valuable time. The fulfillment of my wish can wait until then,” Draco brushed his hand against hers.

Without another word or a second look, Ravenclaw glided over the staircase. 

***

Queen Bellatrix lived in the innermost quarters of Durmstrang. Her chamber was decorated with exotic furniture and guarded by the Naginis. They were serpents with human heads and were her pets. The Naginis spiralled themselves on the way to her bedroom. They hissed at Ravenclaw. Their hisses were silenced as a tall woman with dark hair and heavy eyelids strode forward from behind a tapestry. Ravenclaw bowed to her.

"Welcome to my palace! Was my nephew good to you?" Bellatrix winked.

Ravenclaw did not want to bite her bait.

"At his best, my Queen." She tried hard to maintain a neutral expression.

Bellatrix snorted.

"I know you have much disdain for me and my actions. Yet you never fail me, Ravenclaw. Isn't it difficult for you to serve the same woman who wiped out your entire village, maybe even your family?"

"If you hadn't raided my village and stolen me from my family that day, the villagers would have killed me because they thought I was a curse to the village." 

The Queen acknowledged with a nod. 

Since the Queen was silent, Ravenclaw continued, "May I ask the Queen why she summoned her servant at this hour?"

"This is what I like in you. You're always in to business," Bellatrix laughed.

Ravenclaw stood silently. There was stony silence, which was soon broken by the Naginis' hisses.

"Alright, I take it that you don't want to have a friendly chat with me. Ravenclaw, tonight I dreamt of a knight." 

Ravenclaw's eyes blinked in astonishment. She was not at all prepared to listen to the Queen's rendezvous with a knight in her dreams. 

"The Vision," Bellatrix gestured towards a glistening mirror, "told me that he can give me the child who will help me conquer the world." 

Bellatrix, who was pacing around Ravenclaw, stopped on her tracks and gauged her reaction. The witch kept on staring straight. Bellatrix handed over a scroll of parchment, several quills and an assortment of ink pots to Ravenclaw.

"I want you to paint me a picture of this knight. With your mystique powers you will tell me who he is."

***

Ravenclaw sat deeply immersed in her thoughts in the confines of her dingy room. Her companion of recluse, the black robes and the hood laid discarded in a corner. Eyes shut, she let her mind run free.

While she was at Bellatrix's palace, she had decided to safeguard the man from the evil designs of Bellatrix whose sketch she had unintentionally made. Soon after, her mind worked at the speed of light.

Bellatrix wanted to have him captured by her Dementors. She convinced Bellatrix that if the Dementors captured Ronald, Gryffindor would definitely know that Bellatrix had him kidnapped. 

King James of Gryffindor was not on good terms with Bellatrix. (The relationship between the two monarchs had soured after she had executed Sirius, her brother and James’ friend, on charges of treason.) The king would encash the opportunity for a war because of this; Slytherin's army would not be able to sustain Gryffindor's warfare, she reasoned. 

Instead of creating unwanted repercussions, Bellatrix could allow her to steal him away from Godric's Castle.  No one would know as she would kidnap him through her magic.

Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with evil delight. The echo of her savage laughter still rang in the precincts of her mind.

Ronald — the valiant warrior of the kingdom of Gryffindor — the knight appearing in Bellatrix's dreams — the man with fiery red hair grown up to his shoulders, long nose and strong jaw, with arrogance in blue eyes — his eyes stirred the memory of someone far, yet so near, that someone who was always so kind to her, that someone whom she loved, whom she might still love. But Ronald was not him. Still….

"RONALD! We shall meet soon!" Ravenclaw thought aloud.

At Godric's Castle, which was miles away from Durmstrang, Ronald heard his flute piping out a syllable which strangely felt like his name. He hurried to the object which was staked in his old leather bag. 

He shook his head in disbelief and unwittingly blurted out, "It's not possible!"

But a part of him still hoped.

***

Draco kept lurking around and pestered her for information about her meeting with the Queen. But as days elapsed, he gradually lost interest in the matter. Ravenclaw regarded that the time had finally arrived as Draco’s prying eyes were off her. 

One moonless night she flew off to Gryffindor in quest of Ronald, the man with blue eyes. She flew hundreds of miles across rivers, forests and oceans, until finally she noticed Gryffindor's red and golden flag fluttering with the wind. Her tired body immediately recovered with a fresh surge of energy. 

Ravenclaw hovered over Godric's Castle for a few seconds. To her relief there were no protective enchantments over the Castle. But the Castle was much bigger than Durmstrang. She decided to perch on top of a low tower until it was dark.

Ravenclaw chose a window as her hiding place which was hidden from direct view.  When she crawled onto the panel, she was alarmed by the sound of a low cough. She crawled through the panel into the tower and found herself standing in a small bedroom and staring at an old dog.

"Fang!" she exclaimed. The dog ran towards her, barking with delight.

But, there was a rush outside and she hid herself under the simple four poster bed. 

"Fangiekins! What's up," the entrant hollered. Fang pulled him to where Hermione was. 

Down under the bed, Ravenclaw tried to control her breath. She knew it was him.

Ronald — Ron! What would she do now?

Before it was too late and Ravenclaw changed her mind, she exhaled through her mouth, emptying her two lungs. Right after her action, she saw Ronald's legs lose balance and before he tumbled onto the floor she withdrew herself from her position and helped him fall asleep on the bed. Fang fell asleep too. All she needed was to wait until dark to steal him away. She hid herself again under Ronald's bed, her mind wandering back to the alleys of Hogsmeade where she met Ronald for the first time.

***

Before darkness crept in, Ravenclaw came outside. She paused to stare for a moment at the tall man sleeping soundly in his bed and then set to work as fast as she could. She gathered ropes, leather straps, even iron chains that she found in the tiny room and strapped Ronald securely to his bed. When the Castle went silent, she levitated Ronald's narrow bed and with a little shove pushed it outside of the window. She fastened her robes to one of the four posters and flew away towards the land of Slytherin where Bellatrix was waiting for her prey.

***

Ravenclaw zoomed into her chamber with a sleeping Ronald on his four poster bed, through the open window of her chamber. The morning rays of sun followed her soon after.

No one noticed except a man with silver blonde hair who had patiently waited for Ravenclaw's arrival since her departure. He hurried towards the Queen.

Ravenclaw headed straight for her bathroom. She needed a bath and food for further functioning. But when she finished her bath and entered her room a hard punch on her head welcomed her, knocking her straight to the floor.  

She laid on the floor trying to gather her wit when she saw Ronald's familiar pair of boots running past her. There was a thud and the door to her chamber swung open. She tried to crawl towards the door, but she felt too weak.

She heard Ronald. He kept on swearing. There was the sound of hitting, punching, kicking and cries of pain. Ronald roared. 

Ravenclaw somehow managed to stand on her feet. She snatched a scarf, covered her face and hurried out of her chamber. Injured bodies of sentries laid scattered on the stone floor. She saw Ronald clutching Draco’s neck and suffocating him with his bare arm.

"Ronald! No! Please don't kill him!" Ravenclaw screamed. Ronald continued holding Draco’s neck but it seemed to her that he had relaxed his muscles. 

"Bring him to my palace." Everyone who was not gravely injured turned  with surprise to the spot from where Bellatrix's voice came.

"Well done, Ravenclaw. But your service is not over yet. Follow us to my palace," Bellatrix commanded. Ravenclaw obliged, forgetting that she was awfully hungry.

On their way to the hall, Draco sidled her.

"Why did you bother to save me from that beast?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe because I hoped that you can do better than what you are," she whispered back. Draco became sober.

***

Bellatrix ordered all but Ravenclaw and Ronald to leave the hall. Ravenclaw furtively glanced at Ronald. He was still fuming. 

"Follow me," she commanded while climbing up the stairs. Ravenclaw followed. But Ronald could not break the magical barrier and climb the staircase.

"My Queen, this is the magic of your ancestors. No man can ever cross this barrier and reach your chamber," Ravenclaw said concernedly.

"But you're a witch. Break the barrier so that Ronald can follow his destiny," Bellatrix demanded. Ronald frowned.

"Your ancestors' magic is far more superior than the feeble witchcraft I practice." 

"In that case, I beseech the responsibility of his well-being upon you. My nephew Draco shall be commissioned for your assistance."

Ravenclaw understood the subtle warning. Yet, she felt relieved. 

"Unlock any room nearby to your chamber and arrange for his stay. You can take him away now." With an air of finality, Bellatrix flounced away.

***

"Why am I here?" Ronald growled as he followed Ravenclaw through the corridors and passages.

"I am not supposed to tell you. Ask the Queen," Ravenclaw kept on marching forward without looking back at him.

Ronald let out an exasperated breath.

"You are the one who kidnapped me, aren't you? Not her. So you will tell me."

"I didn’t know you could be so naive, Ronald. If you haven’t noticed, I am a plain servant here and I work on orders. It's the Queen who decides," Ravenclaw's voice vibrated out shrilly. 

Ronald was taken aback. They walked in silence for some time and then Ronald said grumpily, "I am hungry."

"So am I. I haven't eaten for more than twenty four hours. Besides, there was nothing to eat in your room at Godric's Castle and the stench in it was horrible," Ravenclaw barked. 

She was listless. That was the first time after so long; she had a banter with someone and was thrilled about it.

"Now it is my fault that I don't keep food to feed my kidnappers!" Ronald retorted back. 

Ravenclaw smirked. They kept on walking and reached the same point where Ronald had caused quite a stir some time back.

"This is where you will stay. I will send for some food if you are hungry. And behave yourself. Don't try to run away again. We have had enough of your nuisance," she said sternly.

"This is mental." 

Ravenclaw heard him say before she left, and she felt butterflies fluttering inside her belly. 

***

Almost a month had passed since Ronald's kidnapping. To Ravenclaw's relief, Bellatrix was yet to figure out how to let Ronald into her palace. The wizards she had summoned to break the jinx failed miserably in their mission. Bellatrix ensured that those wizards were punished adequately.

When Ravenclaw entered Ronald's room, he was lying on his small bed, blankly staring at the ceiling. He didn’t even stir when he heard the door to his room open and close. 

"I just came to check on you," Ravenclaw tried to be as comforting as she could. He said nothing.

Over the past one month Ravenclaw had shared many details of her dark life and Ronald shared his experiences.  They became much more civil to each other, if not friendlier. 

"Look I never wanted to put you through this—" 

"Bellatrix came here yesterday," Ronald blurted out. 

Ravenclaw's palm automatically covered her mouth over her hood; her eyes popped so wide that it could have bounced out of its socket.

Ronald stared at her for a moment and then said, "You knew about her intentions, didn't you?"

Ravenclaw slowly nodded her head. She knew that he would now hate her forever.

"Then why did you bloody kidnap me?" he yelled.

"Or else she would have sent the Dementors after you. They are the worst kind of species. They would have plundered everything you had in Gryffindor and scarred your people for life," she screamed back.

"Huh, Dementors! As much as Bellatrix called you a brilliant witch who traced me out of her dreams, you failed to understand that I am not afraid of any mortals or demons. But since you wanted to become this angel," Ronald marked quotes in the air, "you could have spared me too. Why did you bring me here?" Ronald asked sarcastically. 

"Because I was stupid and thought that I could protect you. Besides, I knew that Bellatrix's palace was forbidden for man. Her father, King Salazar, was a wizard and a blood purist. He cast those unbreakable spells so that no man of lesser blood ventures near her. And I knew you didn't have royal blood running in your veins. But I must admit that I didn't know Bellatrix well. I didn't think that she would keep you a hostage and…," Ravenclaw's eyes were downcast with guilt and she faltered.

"What if I refuse to oblige. Would my head be displayed on the wall of that scary hall?" Ronald asked, frowning.

"No. I will never let that happen. Tonight you will escape from Durmstrang. And you needn't escape through that tunnel underneath your bed." Ronald stood up in attention.

"You think I didn't notice," Ravenclaw said with a chuckle. Ronald deliberately bumped his head against one of the posters on his bed. 

"Don't do this," Ronald snarled. "I don't want you to risk your life for me."

"You needn't bother about me. I'm tired of my life, anyways. People like Bellatrix keep me safe, but scar my soul. Your world will not take me back because of who I am," Ravenclaw turned away to hide the tears glistening in her eyes.

Ronald tentatively placed his hand over her shoulder. This was the first time he touched her in the past month of their acquaintance.

"You never asked me why I didn't kill your friend Draco when you asked me not to kill him," Ronald said gently. Ravenclaw turned around in surprise.

"The day you kidnapped me, I heard your voice coming out from the flute an amazing girl once gave me. She was a witch, but she didn't know that I knew. We seldom met. But I remember all the moments we shared together in the village of Hogsmeade," Ronald paused. Ravenclaw's eyes began to shed those unshed tears of years.

"One day she told me that she cannot be friends with me anymore. Rumors of her being a witch had already rippled through our village. I told her that I wanted to be friends with her no matter what. I would stand by her even if the gods were against her. She cried. Just like you're crying now." 

He brushed his fingers against her tears. Ravenclaw closed her eyes.

"She gave me a magical flute and said that if she ever needed me she would call out for me through that. She had indeed called out for me on the day she vanished from her village. I went in search of her, but the entire village was in shambles," he hesitated and then added, "her family was murdered too."

"OH, RON!" Ravenclaw wrapped her arms around Ron's torso and buried her head into his chest and cried. He embraced her with equal passion. 

They sat down together on Ron's bed. She craved more of Ron's warmth and comfort, which he was more than willing to give.

"What gave me away?" she asked softly.

"Your voice, Hermione!" Her body tensed at the mention of her name which she thought had died a thousand deaths already. 

"You could have found me using your magic. Why didn't you do so?" Hermione could sense hurt in Ron's voice.

"I was in captivity, mind you. But after that I thought that you would never want to be my friend after knowing my truth," she said with a shaky whisper.

"From the day we met here, I wanted to say something to you, but couldn't sum up my courage—," Hermione covered his mouth with her palm before he could complete his sentence and said, "Say it Ron."

"That Ravenclaw is a stupid name and your costume is ridiculous," he chuckled.

Hermione punched his gut. 

"Ouch! Hermione it hurts!" He gasped in pain.

"I can curse you and make you speechless," she threatened him with mock anger.

"I know you won't because, I — I wanted to say that I was and will always be yours," Ron whispered.

Words didn't seem enough to express what Hermione felt at that moment. She lifted her hood in one swift motion and kissed Ron's mouth. She was finally back with the one she belonged to.

***

Hermione braced herself to execute the plan of their escape that she and Ron had hatched. If caught, she knew both of them would face a gory end. Ron was, however, amused to find her so worried. 

"Come on, love," he said, "I am the best commander of Gryffindor. I know the rules of the games. From what I could make out of the excellent details you have provided, we are on the right track." 

We are on the right track—We are on the right track— She kept on repeating. 

And then she found the person she was searching for — Draco. He was standing on the edge of an open terrace.

"Good Evening, Prince! Have you gotten tired of spying on me so soon?" Hermione cooed. Draco was startled. "And oh! Please don't let yourself stand on these edges. A sweet little shove could be fatal," Hermione murmured into his ears and smirked mischievously. 

For a moment Draco was shocked at her audacity, but thereafter he composed himself. 

"Why did you come here?" he grunted. "Are you not supposed to be guarding your captive?"

"Umm… the Queen herself guards him now." 

Draco glanced at her sharply. 

"Didn't you know why she made me kidnap him? She wanted to have an heir to her throne. The Vision told her that Ronald is the man who should father her child if she wanted him to be invincible."  

Draco was gobsmacked. "And did she tell you all this when she summoned you?" 

"10 points to you. At least you figured this out. Yes, indeed she told me. You should have known that he meant more to her than other men when she refrained from killing him after he created all that nuisance on his first day here."

Draco was staring at her in silence.

"But I pity you, Prince. After how she murdered your grandfather and your parents, you still believe that she will let you be the king of Slytherin."

"You are lying. My parents murdered my grandfather and she punished my parents for spilling the blood of their father. She brought me up like I was her own progeny," Draco countered.

"For a Prince, you have an intellectual range of a teaspoonful," Hermione snorted.

"What do you mean by that?" he growled.

"Your aunt staged everything. She didn't kill you because you're not capable of harming her while you're a kid. But times have changed."

Draco contemplated for a moment.

"But why are you telling me all these things? I have never been really good to you. In fact, my words only confirmed my not so good intentions for you," Draco said plainly.

"Like I said before, I believed you could be better. I always considered your behavior towards me as an act of spite. You said those things because you were jealous of me and wanted to rile me up. If I am not wrong you would have considered it to be a personal insult in laying your hands on the dirty knickers of a witch," Hermione said in a breath.

"What now?" Draco asked intrigued. He had dropped all his pretense and listened to Hermione with rapt attention.

"News is that Ronald is going to escape tonight. If I were you I would have never stopped him," Hermione finally made her move.

"I will not stop him. But who's going to stop Bellatrix? Her Dementors will find him from any corner of the earth," he stated matter of factly.

"Did you know how your grandfather was murdered?" Hermione asked.

Draco scowled and shook his head affirming his lack of knowledge.

"Bellatrix turned the Dementors against him. And from what I know, you have access to her palace being of royal blood. Bonus — the Naginis would not be very happy with her if they knew that Ronald does not have royal blood running in his veins, yet she had been pursuing after him."

"Ravenclaw, you are simply a genius. I would have actually married you if you were not a witch. What do you want in return? I will give you anything," Draco blurted out. His eyes were gleaming with pleasure.

"I want to leave Slytherin. No one should come hunting for me," she said boldly.

"Granted. Tonight you and Ronald can leave Slytherin, and no one from Slytherin will come after you. I will handle the rest," Draco announced.

"Fine. I take your word. Goodbye," she said.

"Ravenclaw, one final word. If Ronald does not accept you, you can still be the old witch of Slytherin," Draco sniggered.

Hermione left him without another word. 

***

The death hour had arrived. Ron didn't agree to be flown away by Hermione. He wanted some action during his escape so that no one became suspicious of Hermione helping him. In case Draco ditched them and Ron was captured, he didn't want her to be tortured.

When it was dark, Hermione reluctantly let him crawl out of the tunnel he had dug out on the wall. She supplied him with all the ammunition he wanted. They kissed each other before he left promising to meet soon. 

Hermione watched through her window as Ron dropped himself on the ground with the help of ropes suspended from the tunnel. He was dressed in the robes of sentries of Slytherin. After some time, she saw his silhouette riding a horse towards the entry gate. And then she saw the big gates ajar. Draco had ultimately kept his word. She heaved a sigh of relief. She watched until she could see his silhouette fading away in darkness. 

Hermione swept her glance one last time all over her little room and then with a smile on her face leapt out from her window to fly away. She deserved to share her home with Ron. They had always belonged with each other.

***

The news of murder of Queen Bellatrix by her own pet Naginis spreaded like wildfire through Gryffindor. The king of Gryffindor, James, announced a feast for all his countrymen in honor of his dead friend Sirius, who was framed and killed by Bellatrix. 

Hermione watched everyone making merry from the small quarters where both Ron and Hermione now lived together along with Fang. 

Ron watched her golden wedding ring glisten under the sun. He tried to steal a glance of her content face as she examined her ring. As much as he tried to watch her smile, the cascade of her brown untamed hair teased him by causing hindrance. 

In a way, her wild hair was like dark clouds in the sky, hiding away the brightness of the sun beneath them, he thought. In his case, it was the pleasure of experiencing the sweetness of her smile that her hair was robbing him off. Ron smiled. He was a goner.

Ron trudged towards the window beside which his wife was standing. He lightly grasped a fistful of her hair and kissed her neck. Hermione sighed. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling.

"Ermynee! You're so intoxicating. What have you done to me?" Ron breathed into her ears.

Hermione turned to face him. They kept on staring into each other's eyes.

"What did I do?" Hermione asked, raising her brows. 

"I was a savage warrior. And now I am a moonstruck lover."

He pressed his hand against his heart and staggered backwards.

"But how could I help in this situation?" Hermione asked with mock dismay. 

She flung her arms around his neck. He embraced her with fervor and crushed her chest against his.

"As much as I like your clothes, your skin suits you best," he hummed breathlessly, lacing his fingers in her hair. And then they kissed. 

"I love you so much, Ron," Hermione murmured in between kisses.

"I love you more," Ron panted and smiled. 

They kissed deeper and became hungrier. The anticipation of intimate touches became too much for both of them to bear. Ron pulled Hermione to their bed and worshipped every inch of her body with every inch of his until both of them surrendered to spasms of ecstasy.

Hermione smiled. She would never need those black robes and the stupid name with Ron around her. His love was enough to keep her safe.

[fairfieldthinkspace]

Why choose a career as a midwife?

In celebration of International Day of the Midwife (May 5) and International Nurses’ Day (May 12), the Fairfield Egan School of Nursing & Health Studies DNP Midwifery faculty shared their “why” for choosing careers as midwives.

Stephanie Welsh, CNM, DNP

Fairfield Egan School of Nursing & Health Studies

Clinical Faculty Specialist in Midwifery

I am often asked how I went from being a photojournalist to being a midwife. The answer is simple and obvious to me: I do the same thing. The transition started for me at the age of 21, when I left the US bound for Kenya on a one-year internship, with an idealistic notion that a photojournalism student should learn about the roots of journalism. While covering mainly politics, I frequently encountered the issue of female genital cutting, one of the most disturbing acts of violence against women and girls. More than 100 million women around the world are living with the consequences of the practice. I spent the year in Kenya researching and photographing this issue. My hope as a photojournalist was to help people understand how powerful the forces are that allow it to continue.

During my reporting, I wanted to witness childbirth, where the most severe consequences of the practice are encountered, including infection, bleeding, obstetric fistula, and death. I photographed women giving birth at a small hospital, where many walked to after hours or days of obstructed labor. When I saw a birth for the first time, it was just a footnote in the research for my story, but what I witnessed astonished me. In that room, there were few of us – a doctor, a nurse, the mother – you could count them on your hand. Suddenly, without a door opening, there was another person in the room. To see the extent of what the female body can endure, and still survive and thrive, was profoundly life-changing for me.

I returned to the US, and began a job as a newspaper photographer, gravitating toward stories of women’s health and bodily integrity. But that small footnote that I filed away continued to draw my attention. I wondered if I should become a physician, giving up advocating for women’s health on a large scale to affect individual lives more personally.

To answer this question, I shadowed a community obstetrician for a day on a birthing unit. He and I rushed from room to room as he solved problems. He was full of passion for his work, but I never saw him pause or sit down with a mother. That day I met a certified nurse-midwife in the break room. She was calm and relaxed. She talked to me about her role in caring for women. and about the advocacy roots of midwifery in the United States. I knew immediately that this was my career path. During the 18 years since becoming a midwife, I have been fortunate enough to assist 1000 babies into the world, always a rapt observer of this extraordinary moment.

Taking pictures for me was always about connecting with someone and telling their story, and hopefully inspiring people to make positive change in the world. I had the privilege of witnessing the most important, terrifying, beautiful moments in someone’s life. In my current work, on any given day, I see the parallel in delivering a baby, or delivering the news of a loss of a baby, or a diagnosis of cancer. At the center of most of these events is ritual, and for me the ultimate rite of passage in Kenya—that cut at the heart of womanhood—proved to be transforming. I am grateful to those who let me tell their stories and taught me about resilience. Because of them, my life’s work is devoted to caring for women.

Christa Esposito, CNM, MS

Fairfield Egan School of Nursing & Health Studies

Midwifery DNP​​ Assistant Professor

As a young person, I was fascinated by the science, mind-body-spirit connection of the human body. I thought that I wanted to become a physician, an OB/GYN. I majored in nursing and pre-medicine knowing that I wanted to care for women and the family system.  As advanced practice nursing was emerging at that time, I was introduced to nurse midwifery in my final year of undergraduate study. I learned that nurse midwives serve the family by holistically caring for biological women throughout their lifespan. I was called to the midwifery profession. The unique care that midwives provide requires crafting relationships with the people we serve.

I also wanted to autonomously provide gynecological, obstetrical, and primary care through a midwifery lens, empowering women to make informed decisions about their health and that of their families. As a midwife, I am passionate about supporting a young teen with an alteration in her menstrual cycle, optimizing maternal-newborn outcomes by thoughtful, intentional family planning, and guiding my patients in postmenopausal care.

Having practiced midwifery, in diverse settings and roles for the past 25 years, I am blessed to live my passion. Presently, in addition to my full-time faculty appointment, I maintain my clinical midwifery practice in an outpatient setting. Now, I am caring for the ‘babies’ on whose heads I laid my hands as they entered the world years ago. This continuity of care, walking with families through life, is why I chose midwifery. I am fortunate to be their midwife, an independent provider caring for the cura personalis.

Are you inspired and ready to share your “why”?  Why not apply to the Egan Nurse Midwifery DNP program? For more information about the program or to speak with a faculty member, please email Jenna LoGiudice at jlogiudice@fairfield.edu