#felt so dispirited it took me ages to get this thing going again

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

Grand Titans Rewatch: 1.02

Grand Titans Rewatch: 1.02

it’s been literal months since i started this project and neither this nor the fic series that’s supposed to go alongside it has garnered much attention, if any, but damn it, i made a commitment and this time, i’m going to follow through.

for reference, episode 1’s recap here, and its corresponding fic tag is here.

SPOILERS ahead for pretty much the entire series.

1. the recap portion of the episode leans very heavily on the type of horror genre that rachel’s character brings to the show, and honestly, i love it. the superhero genre can feel very… sterile at times, with bright, clean colours and costumes and standard team-ups ending in a climactic punch-fest. the insidious horror of rachel discovering something huge and dangerous inside of her and trying—and largely failing—to control it bleeds into the rest of the show; each of the team has an inner demon to battle, but the lesson isn’t triumph over the beast as much as it is acceptance. it’s unfortunate that the dc live action universe in general has developed a reputation for being gratuitously grimdark; i love the thematic consistency that the tone brings to the show, and it is honestly the freshest take on these characters that i’ve seen so far.

1.5. there’s something to be said, too, about this muddy-window perspective we get into these established superheroes’ lives—the intriguing, sometimes downright opaque scenes of them trying to re-build from wreckage. i love that this is how they choose to distinguish themselves in a very, very crowded arena: the origin story here is not for the superheroes or even the team themselves, but the bonds they form and the family that they become.

2. i kinda love the clash between the goofy costume and the grimdark torture scene. it’s never immediately obvious, but this show is remarkably committed to its comic book roots—so much so that it’s kind of jarring. usually in the journey from the comic to the screen there is an ironing-out of genre and tone, but this show will show you its spandex clad hero with the plastic-feather cape being threatened with torture and castration because that’s how it goes in the comics, goddammit!

2.25. it’s pretty impressive that they’re able to afford such a big place in washington dc

2.5. hank and dawn’s easy intimacy is lovely to watch. i remember not being fond of this long detour to introduce these two relatively obscure characters right after all that juicy set-up in the first episode the first time i watched this, but now i can enjoy the languid way their story unravels, the little glimpses we get into the life they’ve led and the marks that it has left behind.

2.8. a delightfully cheesy moment with the giant bird cage immediately followed by a quietly devastating depiction of sexual impotence and a possible addiction to multiple painkillers! see what i mean?

oh! and before i forget:

MIRRORS, MIRRORS, EVERYWHERE: 9

3. flashback time! can’t say that i’m terribly impressed with the fight choreography; there appears to be hardly any contact between the heroes’ kicks and lunges and the thugs they’re supposed to be fighting, and a lot of slow-motion and editing trickery needs to be employed to make this look kinetic. i don’t really blame them much, though—those capes look awfully cumbersome to be just walking around in, leave alone fight. and i’m glad that the show is making a point of showing that robin’s style of fighting in flippier and more acrobatic than the others’.

3.65. aaaand we get our first hint of History between dick and dawn. to be honest, given what i remember of the rest of s1 and what we know of s2, it does seem like they’re making it so that the original titans did exist, swapping out roy and wally for hank and dawn. i’m not super-enthusiastic about this decision, but we’ll see how it plays out.

4. dick and rachel!

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS INTERACTION:

a) rachel desperately trying to hide how scared and vulnerable she feels behind brittle defiance

b) dick bemused and concerned and casting around for ways to connect with her but giving up too easily

c) “for the lady” – oh, dick. i love you.

d) rachel warily checking her reflection

e) dick making false promises of safety to rachel in order to get her to come with him to washington—a manipulative little ploy that i’m sure was par-for-the-course during his time with batman

f) “but sometimes there’s no time to be scared” is that what kid!dick told himself when he was starting out as robin oh my heart hurts

g) dick just dropping out of his job for an indefinite time without notice because why in the world would bruce wayne’s ward ever have to worry about keeping down a steady job? he’s utterly unconscious of this, which makes it hilarious

MIRRORS, MIRRORS EVERYWHERE: 10

5. i’m already really fond of rohrbach and charlie the m.e. i know s2’s slate is already really crowded, but i wouldn’t mind seeing a resurrected rohrbach make an appearance, and for bit more of a spotlight on dick’s day job.

6. OH MAN i honestly didn’t remember that dick phoned alfred this episode! and that he considered—for a second—calling bruce! poor guy’s genuinely scared. for all his ‘fuck batman’s, dick’s anger and fear is more internally directed than he realises. this boy needs therapy.

6.5. dick going “… obviously” at rachel telling him not to get pineapple on their pizza makes me think he was definitely setting out to get pineapple on their pizza at that moment.

6.75. oh fuck. i knew it was coming, but that dead guy screaming at rachel through the photo was still terrifying. man i wish they’d stuck a little longer with the horror/mystery vibe they’ve got going here.

MIRRORS, MIRRORS EVERYWHERE: 11

6.8. dick immediately reaching out to hold rachel and comfort her as she sobs, terrified, in the bathtub shouldn’t feel particularly special or heartwarming—it’s a very natural, human instinct, after all—but for this particular version of dick grayson to automatically show this compassion when he’s half convinced himself that his lifetime as a vigilante has left him an amoral husk of his previous self… is significant.

7. it’s an interesting choice to go with the nuclear family as the first major villains featured on this show, but fits totally with the tone so far—the dark, despairing and dank things that hide underneath a cracking veneer of cheery suburban normality. pretty standard horror genre stuff—with an added twist that these people aren’t actually androids, but regular people horrifically tortured and brainwashed to act as murder machines.

7.5. aside from that, it’s a neat contrast to the found family that’s actually starting to evolve, with all of its rough edges and imperfect but raw displays of love.

8. i really like that, for all that rachel and dick have in common, their interaction is weird, start-stop in nature, each dancing around answering the others’ questions with any kind of honesty. rachel has clearly picked up on dick’s caginess around her and dick, for all that he’s been trained in subterfuge and basically been living a lie to most of his friends and co-workers, is unable to keep acting like he knows what he’s doing. he hasn’t had to really live a double life in a while—and he’s rusty when it comes to doing anything that’s not detective or vigilante work.

8.5. dick’s interactions in general through the series contrast with the easy and intimate ways the others talk with each other; he’s just so isolated and so friggin rusty at this.

9. you’d think rachel would’ve figured out by now not to shake random people’s hands.

9.25. i’m so happy about this show’s commitment to showing just how much of a hot mess dick is.

9.35. i’ve certainly warmed up to the icy, washed-out way this show looks, and the general sense of… space, both in terms of physical space as well as the way each scene is allowed to unfold and just breathe. you don’t get that a lot in superhero media these days.

9.45. an update to the dick grayson timeline! dawn says she hasn’t seen dick in four years and seems genuinely surprised to learn that he’s working with the police now. so how do you go from zero to detective in just four years? is that even possible? the timeframe becomes even shorter if you assume that he only decided to join law enforcement after leaving batman. maybe that’s just another thing that dick kept hidden from his friends, even when they were, you know, friends.

anyway, dick continues to be a hot mess, and i am glad that is consistent over every on-screen iteration.

9.5. i am genuinely unsure why this dick/dawn history exists other than to create some weird conflict between hank and dick. i’d much rather that conflict come from dick being an asshole generally and dropping all contact with his friends when it all became just Too Much To Deal With.

10. OH MAN so him contacting alfred was to arrange a big sum of money to pay off hank and dawn?? yep, dick is 100 percent bruce wayne’s protégé. i’m sure he also thinks of this as a way to help hank recover and for hank and dawn to rebuild their post-vigilantism life. this is a terrible way to deal with your guilt, my friend.

and i love that all of this—the mistakes he’s making with rachel despite his genuine concern for and desire to help her, the way he’s unable to really talk to her instead of at her, his false platitudes when he thinks he has nothing to say—is a plausible reflection of the ways bruce floundered with him when he first took dick in. dick has spent so, so long as bruce’s sole heir; though i’m sure they learned to communicate better, the core dysfunction of his relationship with bruce is embedded in his bones.

but the show is clearly setting up the dick-rachel relationship to evolve—and in doing so, have dick come to terms with his own relationship with bruce, instead of spinning increasingly bitter and dark memories of it in his head.

all said, tho: what a dick move. in every sense of the word.

11. aaand here’s why i never understand criticism of this show that says dick is too dark: it’s just so typical of him to hold himself to insane standards and just cut loose and run whenever he feels he’s failed those standards. it’s why he’s always among the first choices to lead a team but his leadership almost never sustains very long. it’s why he’s everybody’s friend but so desperately, desperately alone, especially when it’s his turn to spiral and need help. it’s why when he is spiralling, he adopts spectacularly self-destructive methods to do so. standing aside while zucco died is essentially his (infamous) blockbuster moment, when he so egregiously compromised his moral code that he was forced to re-evaluate the very core of what he’d identified as for decades. he hates himself, but he splits the blame, recognising the very real damage being robin did to him but pinning everything that’s wrong with him on it.

this tracks with every version of dick grayson that i can think of, bar the golden age/silver age comics, more contemporary nightwing runs—especially after his stint as batman with damian as robin—where he’s matured a bit and more level-headed, and, of course, fanon.

11.5. but while dick is wrestling with himself, actual people do get hurt and lost on the wayside. i’m glad that this show is not shying away from showing that.

12. maaan you really, really didn’t have to do this to anyone, leave alone someone as prominent in nightwing’s history as amy rohrbach. still holding out hope that she’ll return somehow next season.

13. rachel using dick’s own words to get him to help hank and dawn… oh fuck yes.

13.5. to be perfectly honest, i quite enjoyed robin as this menace in the shadows, taking thugs down brutally when they can’t even see him. you never see hyper-competent robin on-screen anymore.

13.75. also? hank and dawn’s genuine horror at his brutality is another giant indicator that this is not a dick grayson who’s functioning optimally, by any standard. he needs a place to start growing from, and this is it.

14. dick getting called out on his bullshit is pretty satisfying to watch, no lie.

14.5. i’d forgotten just how brutally the nuclear family defeat hank, dawn, and dick. yikes.

14.8. that last shot of dick desperately trying to save dawn’s life while having flashbacks to his own parents falling to their deaths is so fucking haunting, holy shit.

15. that was… honestly so good, you guys! i remember seeing this episode for the first time and feeling a little irritated with the languid pacing and the way it seemed sort of like filler. but there’s so much great stuff that stands out to me on re-watch—this show genuinely rewards multiple viewings, even when you know what’s coming next.

[twosidesofthesameidiot]

Through a Solid Wall

Characters: Lancelot, Merlin, Gaius, uther Word Count: 1315 Warnings: none Summary: Lancelot tries to find Platform 9 and 3/4's. He ends up with more than he bargained for, which doesn't seem all that bad, actually. A/N: I'm not dead lmao, anyway this is a fill for @merlinbingo (M4 - Hogwarts AU) and lucky me, just in time to claim the AUgust bonus badge. I need validation to live, so please lemme know what you think, here or on my AO3

The station was busy, much busier than Lancelot had expected for eight in the morning. People were boarding and disembarking, running alongside the tracks as far as the platform would allow as they waved goodbye, finding their luggage and giving the poor porters hell if they could not. No one spared him a second glance if they had even graced him with a first.

Lancelot was beginning to feel tired and rather dispirited. He had arrived promptly at seven, his social worker having dropped him off on her way to the office. She had not been able to stay and sent him on his way with the wise words of ‘ask a porter to help you find your platform’.

He had asked a porter and received an irritated ‘where are your parents, kid?’ in response. After the second and third porters had similarly sent him off having expressed similar sentiments Lancelot resigned himself to sitting on a bench and observing the people coming and going. If he was lucky maybe he would find someone who would be able to tell him where Platform Nine and Three Quarters was.

The minutes dragged on and soon Lancelot began to feel hungry. He was wondering if he had enough money to buy something to eat when a boy, who looked about his age, darted through the crowd heading straight for a very solid wall.

Lancelot reflexively winced as the boy made contact with the wall, then almost fell off the bench in surprise as the boy passed right through the wall. Confused, he looked around and found that nobody else seemed to have noticed anything. Curiosity flooded his system and he got off the bench, making sure to grab his backpack and suitcase.

Standing in front of the wall Lancelot looked it up and down frowning slightly. It seemed to be as solid as any other wall he had encountered. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand to place against the wall and started when instead of meeting rough brick his hand moved through the wall.

“Move, boy!” A gruff voice came from behind him, “Some of us don’t have all day.”

Startled, Lancelot yanked his hand back and turned around. There was a man looking at him with a mildly irritated expression.

“Now, Uther, no need to be so brash, it’s his first time here.”

The man’s - Uther’s- expression grew darker upon hearing the new voice.

“Gaius, how nice to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Uther. I know you’d love to stop and catch up, but you’re a busy man, so you’d best be on your way.”

Uther grimaced and Lancelot could have sworn he heard the man’s teeth grinding against each other. Then, without another word the man turned and strode through the wall.

“Go on, boy,” the old man - Gaius - smiled at him, “It’s perfectly safe, done it more times than I can remember.”

Lancelot swallowed nervously and turned to face the wall once again.

As if sensing his apprehension, Gaius spoke again, “Just close your eyes, take a deep breath and step through.”

Screwing his eyes shut, Lancelot stepped into the wall and only opened them again when someone tugged sharply on his arm.

“It’s you!”

The boy laughed, “Well, I don’t know who else I would be.”

“You ran through the wall.”

Having successfully maneuvered him away from the wall the boy let go of his arm, “You saw that? You’re observant .. most people don’t realise what’s going on right in front of them. Just, uh, don’t let my Uncle know you saw that. I’m Merlin, by the way, what’s your name?”

“Uh, Lancelot,” he held out his hand, “nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet ya!” Merlin took and very enthusiastically shook his hand. “Come on, we should be boarding soon and I wanna get a window seat and somewhere without people already there.”

“Merlin!” The sound of his name stopped the boy dead in his tracks, “What have I told you about running on the platform?”

“Sorry,” Merlin did not sound sorry, “I made a friend! Lance, come say hi to my uncle!”

Lance walked over at a more moderate pace.

“Good to see you again young Lance.” The man who had helped him was Merlin’s uncle.

“Good to see you again too, sir. And, uh, it’s Lancelot, oh and thank you for helping me before.”

“You can call me Gauis,” the man smiled, “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing a lot more of you in future. Merlin, I’m going now, do at least try to stay out of trouble and do not antagonise the Pendragon boy.”

“Me, get into trouble? I would never!”

“Merlin, I mean it.”

“Fiiinneee,” Merlin placed his hand over his heart, “I solemnly swear that I won’t be up to no good.”

Gaius sighed and ruffled the boy’s hair before turning to Lancelot, “I do hope my nephew does not cause too much trouble for you, Lancelot.”

With that the man leisurely walked into the crowd milling about the platform, pulling a trolley with several boxes stacked on it behind him.

Before Lancelot had time to process this latest interaction, Merlin was talking again, “Let’s get on the train now. That way we can find a good compartment. The porters here know me, so they’ll let us on without any trouble.”

Once again Lancelot felt himself being tugged along by the ebony haired boy who had apparently adopted him as a friend. Merlin looked completely at ease, weaving between the rushing bodies and occasionally waving to someone in the crowd.

True to his word, the porter let Merlin and Lancelot board the train without so much as batting an eye. Inside the train seemed bigger than it had from the outside, the wide walkway in-between the compartments stretching out for what felt like an unusually long distance.

Naturally, this did not phase Merlin in the slightest as he bounced down the carriage inspecting each compartment.

“Lance! I found the perfect one, come on!” Merlin poked his head out of a compartment, grinning.

Eyes wide, Lancelot stepped into the compartment and looked around. It was not the biggest one he had seen in the carriage, but the window was big and it was slightly hidden from the rest of the compartments. He imagined it would be quieter in here than in the other compartments, which he was glad of.

“So, what do ya think, Lance?”

“It’s, it’s nice. I think it’ll be quiet too,” Lancelot gave a small smile, “I like it.”

“Great!” Merlin dropped himself onto a seat and sprawled out as Lancelot tucked his suitcase under the opposite seat. “So what do you wanna do now, Lance?”

“I dunno...what is there to do here?”

“Nothing at the moment. We still got a while to wait and I don’t have my stuff with me now.”

Lancelot slowly slid down the seat until he was lying on it.

“You know any good stories?”

“I know some, dunno ‘f they’re any good though.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Adventure ones, mostly, like Robinson Crusoe.”

“What’s that?”

Lancelot lifted his head to look more directly at Merlin who was now sitting cross legged in the middle of the seat and staring at him curiously. “You don’t know Robinson Crusoe?”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’, “What did he do?”

“Ah, okay, okay so he gets washed up on this island and has to survive..wait lemme tell you how he gets there.”

As he recounts the tale of Robinson Crusoe, Lancelot feels his apprehension fade away until its barely a whisper in the back of his mind. Merlin is the perfect audience. He loves the story and repays Lancelot with one about someone called Beedle the Bard and Lancelot feels that maybe, just maybe, this whole being a wizard thing won’t be so bad.

[charlottemadison42]

Timepiece

A new short story on AO3, 2.3k words, rated G, dedicated to the very dear @musegnome!

----

Crowley got a new watch at least once a year.

He liked them sharp and cutting-edge, bespoke and exclusive and expensive. By the time anyone else heard of the craftsman or the brand, he was ready to cast it off and find something better. From the first decorative clunkers of the early 1500's to the quartz revolution, he was always up to speed on the best of the best. Connoisseurs in Geneva and Tokyo and Dubai kept a lookout on his behalf these days. When they called, doubtless raving about a new mechanism or a new maker, he always picked up.

He didn't think about why he liked watches. If anyone had ever asked Crowley (nobody did) he'd have shrugged. His corvid instinct to collect shiny status markers was reason enough.

(And if every skip of the second hand offered proof of his progress away from the fourteenth century -- one step farther from Golgotha, farther from the flood, farther from the Fall -- that thought was seldom admitted entry to the fortress of his mind. Crowley looked forward, not back.)

Aziraphale had owned a total of four watches in his life thus far.

He liked the kind of timepiece that required winding by hand, with a little key, although he often forgot to. Luckily when he needed to know the exact time, his watch obliged him anyway.

It was conceivable that Aziraphale enjoyed the sensation of suddenly remembering, "Oh! I forgot to wind my pocketwatch!" because he delighted in having some small duty to do, a simple task at which he could not fail, a way he could help the world tick along.

For -- what was a mechanical pocketwatch, if not an elegant dynamic sculpture of the universe as humans experienced it? Aziraphale waxed philosophical about such things in the comfort of his favorite reading chair, while he smoothed the shiny etched surface with his thumb til he knew every groove. He meditated often and fondly about his watch as a Metaphor for Things.

(But the angel never asked where it might be leading him. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at history with a loving melancholy sigh, watchfully guarding over the sum of human experience. But he did not look ahead. He hated endings.)

+++

Warlock Dowling went through an especially rambunctious phase at age six. He was old enough that his parents' neglect was starting to emerge from the background of his young reality into a Phenomenon that he Noticed. And the more Warlock Noticed it, the more he Did Not Like it, and he took it out on everyone within reach.

Nanny Ashtoreth's attempts to dress him resulted in arching and kicking and flailing fists. Brother Francis's nature walks ended with tantrums in the dirt. Warlock began to enjoy ruining things when he learned that he could: tearing up his own drawings, ripping leaves off the tulips and ferns, pouring grape juice on white linens, breaking toys. It made him feel powerful.

"Hell could learn a thing or two from this one," Crowley muttered.

"I expect they're going to, since he'll be running the show if we fail to do something about this," Aziraphale snapped in reply.

Neither angel nor demon had been prepared for the inexhaustible physical frenzy of an outraged six-year-old Antichrist.

But when Warlock finally smashed Aziraphale's pocketwatch on a paving stone in a fit of rage, the poor child broke through something else, too.

Warlock stared at the pieces of glass and the crushed face on the ground, at the minute hand all bent out of shape. He looked up at Brother Francis. He looked at Nanny, running across the lawn toward them.

And he started bawling. ...

[Click through to read more or finish on AO3]

Warlock knew that watch was special. He knew it was very old and delicate. In fact, the watch was the reason he'd learned the definitions of "fragile" and "breakable" and "irreplaceable." Once he had command of those words, he'd been allowed to hold it while seated on Brother Francis's lap. He'd even learned how to wind it, awestruck by the action and the shine. He always included the watch when he drew pictures of Brother Francis, attached by a chain of lumpy circles to the pocket of his baggy trousers.

Now the fragile breakable irreplaceable thing lay in pieces on the garden path.

Aziraphale was terrible at hiding his feelings. He was shocked and saddened, and it showed all over his face, though he did his best to suppress it. Every time Warlock looked up at him, the child cried harder.

Aziraphale was rapidly realizing that if he miracled his watch back together, even discreetly, Warlock was old enough that he would notice its reappearance. Warlock noticed everything. So the watch would have to stay at home, unworn, for several years at least -- perhaps until the end of the world. It had survived the Blitz, the trenches, the Seven Years' War, the Crimean War, and a number of unfortunate dining mishaps (though it was perhaps helped along by a few frivolous miracles). Aziraphale had not gone without it since he purchased it from the watchmaker himself back in 1689, in a dim workshop on the outskirts of Zürich. The angel felt some epoch ending. Endings made him sad. Especially these days, when they reminded him of The End.

But Crowley was there; of course Crowley was there. She scooped Warlock up in her arms even though he was getting big for that. She held him tight as he sobbed.

"Here's a how-de-do," she groaned, assessing the situation.

Aziraphale had been crouched over the ruined watch for so long now that his knees were stiff. He stood up and sighed heavily. "I suppose it's...it's only a watch," he said, dispirited. "I shouldn't grow so attached to worldly goods. ...And it's an opportunity to teach compassion, model forgiveness, and discuss respect for others' things, as well." He was letting the accent slip in his sadness, but Warlock was as far from paying attention as he could be.

"He's six! He can't track all that!" huffed Crowley.

"Well he's certainly tracking the bit about crushing the world under his heel!"

"Nnnnnrrrrrrgh," Crowley snarled in frustration. She was caught between her mandate to teach Warlock to be fantastically evil and her fear that succeeding would bring about the end of the world.

In the end, though, Warlock surprised them both by doing something entirely human, entirely his own. He cried himself out for several minutes on the lawn, and once he could speak again, he asked Aziraphale:

"Brother Francis, why did I do that?"

Then he looked to his Nanny, silently repeating the question to her with his bleary eyes.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at one another, blinking.

"Um," said Crowley.

"...Why d'you think ye did, me lad?" asked Aziraphale, retreating from his hurt feelings into his ridiculous bucktoothed persona.

Warlock sniffed. "I don't know. I din't think it would feel like that." He squatted and poked the exposed paper of the clock face.

Crowley knelt down next to him. "Can you put it back together?" she asked.

"No."

"So what do you think you should do now?"

"Nnnno!"

"That's not even...nngh." Crowley looked helplessly to the angel. But they were both at a loss.

"Can we go inside?" Warlock finally pleaded.

And so they did. As Nanny and Warlock walked away, Crowley restored the pocketwatch with a snap of her fingers without even looking back. It was good as new once again.

But Aziraphale knew that its time had come. He picked it up, enjoying the way it fit just so in his palm -- the comfort of a handful of crystallized time -- and then he clicked it shut and sent it back home to the bookshop, where it would have to stay for now.

That evening, just before supper, Warlock showed up on the porch of the greenhouse with Nanny in tow. His little face was wrinkled up in concern and contrition and other Very Grown-Up Feelings as he presented Brother Francis with a card. It featured a colored pencil drawing of all three of them holding hands, and yellow triangles on the ground to represent the afternoon's event. The unsteady lettering inside read "soRRY for yuor wAtch From wARLock."

"I made you this," said Warlock, and he handed over the most awkward little handcrafted project. It was roughly disc-shaped, and it featured play-doh, pipe cleaners, and glitter glue. The face was sharpied directly onto the half-dried crumbling clay, and the chain was made of taped rings of construction paper.

It plucked every heartstring the angel had. He melted on the spot.

Crowley rolled her eyes as Aziraphale poured out fond words of thanks for his new watch and forgiveness for the old one, embracing Warlock between tearful phrases. But Crowley also had her least cruel smirk on, the one that was very nearly affectionate.

Before they left, Crowley also noted in a low voice that there had been no more trouble with kicking and screaming and tearing up houseplants today. Warlock had been upset twice, but had managed to calm himself down without help both times.

After she took Warlock away, Aziraphale tried to miracle protection over his new handmade treasure so that the play-doh wouldn't crumble and the paper wouldn't crush -- only to find that Crowley had already done so.

+++

Two nights later, on a crosstown bus bound for Soho, Aziraphale noticed that the lanky redheaded passenger in front of him happened to leave behind a small shopping bag when he disembarked. Aziraphale folded up his newspaper and slipped into the empty seat to take a closer look. Inside was a wooden box wrapped in plain black paper. It was marked "AZ" in black ink that was only detectable by its slightly more reflective shine.

Aziraphale opened it right there, and of course, of course it was a new pocketwatch. From Crowley. Crowley knew watches. And Crowley knew Aziraphale.

It was hard to date this one exactly, but he estimated the 1820's, and English-made; it was thin and modern and elegant, much lighter than the other. It was in excellent condition, although pleasantly worn with time. He spent the rest of the bus ride home admiring it, listening to it, growing familiar with the new face, wondering who it might have belonged to before. When he reached his stop, he slipped it into the waistcoat pocket meant for the purpose, and he felt like a new angel.

Gifts. How strange. A gift from Warlock, and a gift from Crowley. Gifts of time, restored.

Perhaps there was still time enough before the end of the world. Perhaps there might be time, after.

Aziraphale set the new pocketwatch down on his desk back at the bookshop, right next to his old favorite of several hundred years and his handcrafted masterpiece from Warlock. He had never thought to own more than one pocketwatch at a time. Now he had three.

He picked up the telephone to call the responsible party and offer sincerest thanks, but after some dithering, he decided not to. Crowley hated thanks. Crowley could even be endangered by thanks, if the two of them weren't careful.

Perhaps, instead, Brother Francis could show the new timepiece to Warlock and Nanny in the morning. He could explain how precious this watch was, since it was a gift from a friend. He could say that breaking something irreplaceable was sad, but it was not the end, not as long as the world spun on. He could talk about the way new things follow old ones -- and though the new things might be different, they could be lovely too. New things were worth holding out hope for, and worth learning to treasure, given time.

And after explaining all of that to Warlock, he could give Crowley a wink.

Which would communicate his thanks for the gift far better than any phone call.

+++

Over the next few years, Crowley found himself browsing for new wristwatches more and more often in his spare time. He bought them at a faster clip, too -- three in the year Warlock turned seven, six the year after that. Each was sturdier than the last, made to withstand impacts and temperatures and pressure that no watch was likely to encounter in the wild. But Crowley could feel the world running down, he could see the future he looked forward to contracting into nothing, and he burned with protective instincts as everything in him rebelled.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale spent more and more time with his books, especially history and memoirs. As he looked back over the story of humanity that he loved, the story he'd spent so much time recording and remembering, he felt it all spinning up to something awful indeed: The End. When Warlock turned nine, Aziraphale turned to his books of prophecy, feeling no small amount of distress. Looking ahead was painful for him, especially now. The future was unsafe, it was wild, it was ineffable, and unfortunately it looked to be very very short. Aziraphale did not forget to wind his pocketwatch anymore. It was a tool now more than a treasure, as The End drew near. It seemed important to remember what time it was, these days.

+++

As it happened, Aziraphale almost didn't notice when his fourth watch joined the collection.

In his defense, it was rather a busy day.

And since the new pocketwatch was identical to the one that Crowley had given him, down to the last molecule, it was unsurprising that making the connection took the angel a little time.

But some weeks after the End of All Things didn’t quite, Aziraphale realized that the watch in his waistcoat pocket was a gift as well. And this time it wasn't from Crowley.

When the thought occurred to him, sitting in his favorite chair in his restored bookshop, Aziraphale gasped faintly and set aside his well-worn copy of Now We Are Six. He had been revisiting children's literature lately for some reason. The Just William books had set him on a roll.

"Crowley, dear," he said.

"Nnnnghm?" Crowley hummed from the couch, where he sprawled limbless and relaxed as a squashed spider might if it were sort of into being squashed.

"We really ought to go and visit Tadfield sometime soon, don't you think?"

"Ngk."

"I have a great deal to thank Adam for, after all. And we should check in on everyone."

"Mmf."

Aziraphale palmed the fourth watch he had ever owned and ran his thumb over the back. "Do you think a wristwatch would be an appropriate belated birthday gift for someone Adam's age?" he asked absently.

Crowley windmilled himself up off the couch and sauntered over to give Aziraphale a peck on the cheek. "Hell if I know. Prob'ly. Maybe. More tea?"

"Yes, it's about that time, isn't it? Thank you, darling. Ever so."

[slippinmickeys]

An Evening at the Petit Trois

This is something I wrote for my first Fic Exchange. The prompt I got was “Mulder and Scully's ex-lovers are jealous of the loving relationship they have now.”

She turned her head away from the door quickly, hoping her movement was inconspicuous.

It wouldn’t do to let the two of them see her. As it was, she didn’t have much to worry about – they only had eyes for each other. She’d been sitting at the bar of one of the newer, more upscale establishments on the outskirts of Georgetown. It was trying a little too hard to be French –  black and white tiled floors, zinc bartop, dim lights, mirrors everywhere. It was full tonight – the bar was packed, and the tables were hard to get. They were led to a table in the corner where they’d both have a view of the entrance – as a former agent herself, she knew cops hated having their back to the door.  They must have had a reservation. He was dressed like he’d just come from the office – well cut charcoal suit, cornflower blue dress shirt --but he’d taken off his tie and looked casual, relaxed. Like there was nowhere he’d rather be. The woman had obviously gone home before their date – had taken the time to put her hair up, freshen her makeup. She was wearing a low-cut grey cardigan that showed off her décolletage and high-waisted black pants that hugged her waist but loosened as they went down, turning flowy and skirt-like. Her trim ankles sunk into simple, but expensive-looking black pumps. Fuck-me shoes. “Fuck me,” she said to herself, watching the two of them in the mirror above the bar. The man reached out and grabbed the woman’s right hand, his thumb playing with hers. They hadn’t even glanced at their menus. She couldn’t help but emit a soft, weary groan aloud.

XxXxXxXxXxX The man sitting next to her at the bar turned his head towards her upon the sound. He’d sat down 30 minutes after she had and had kept to himself. She liked him already for that – she came here to drink, not make small talk or get hit on. He caught her eyes in the mirror behind the bar and then followed where her gaze had been directed. He cut his eyes quickly back to her. “New love, huh?” He said, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Disgusting,” he added, with a small but charming smile. “I don’t think it’s that new,” she said dejectedly, which caused him to cut his gaze back towards the couple and she saw his eyes round, as he sat up straight. She was suddenly interested. “You know them?” She asked. He nodded his head toward their reflection. “My ex,” he said, still looking a bit stunned. She breathed out a loaded sigh. “Mine too,” she said, eventually. “No shit?” He asked, eyebrows reaching for the ceiling. “No shit.” He held out a hand then, introducing himself. “Ethan Minette.” She gave his proffered hand a firm shake. “Diana.” “Can I buy you a commiserative drink, Diana?” Diana looked at the dead soldier in front of her and thought of the several others that had come before it. What was one more straw on the camel? “Why the hell not.” Ethan motioned the bartender over and before she knew it, two new drinks had appeared in front of them. She felt raw seeing Mulder; scraped and exposed. When the Smoking Man had helped her fake her own death, she’d felt clear and unfettered, free to go off and live life with a clean slate – at least emotionally. Working for the Syndicate wasn’t exactly the recipe for clean living. She stole one more glance at them, sitting at the table moony-eyed and resplendent. Leaning in toward each other, small smiles on their faces. He didn’t even take his eyes off of her when the waiter came by to take their drink order. Mulder had never been like that with her. The way Mulder and Scully were around each other, it was so… intimate. They were like twin binary stars in their own unique orbit. Nobody else was getting in.   “He thinks I’m dead,” she said on depressive sigh. Ethan gave her an odd look, then blew out a loose raspberry, leaning back in the tall barstool. “I know what you mean,” he said, “she acts like I never even existed.” XxXxXxXxXxX

“God,” Ethan said, “she looks… luminous.”

They were at least two more drinks in—Diana had stopped counting—and had eased into the comfortable barstool familiarity of shared loss and excessive drink.

Diana looked at her own reflection, the laugh lines coming in around her eyes, her graying hair. Her eyes were drifting down to her sagging bosom when Ethan made a move to turn towards them.

“Maybe I should go say hi,” he said, swaying a bit on his stool.

Diana reached a hand out to steady him.

“NO!” She said, a little too forcefully. Ethan threw her a look. “No,” she said again, a little more measured, “let’s not… interrupt… that.”

He turned back to the bar and gave his drink a long look.

“She’s so pretty,” he said quietly.

She was pretty, Diana ruminated. Luminous, like Ethan said. She hadn’t changed since she was in the academy (Diana had kept tabs). If anything she just got more beautiful as she aged. Right now she was positively glowing. She wondered vaguely if Scully kept a portrait of Dorian Grey in her fucking attic.

“What’s he got that I haven’t?”

Diana opened her mouth just before he said—

“Don’t answer that.”

Mulder and Scully’s food arrived at their table and they dug in. Mulder made an ecstatic face over his first bite and extended a forkful to Scully, who took a mouthful slowly, her eyes never leaving his. It was tender, sensual—Diana could sense the shift in tension from all the way over at the bar. She had to turn away.

“What happened with the two of you?” Diana asked Ethan.

“She got a new assignment at work. Some weird detail – I don’t know specifics. She stopped having time for me. For us. It’s almost like I faded away.”

Some weird detail was right – she’d give him that. Diana’s own time on the X-Files had shown her the depth of the stranger things of the world.

“How about you guys?” Ethan nodded to Mulder’s reflection.

“You could call it a divorce,” she said, but didn’t elaborate. Ethan glanced at her and she lifted a shoulder. “Of sorts,” she finished lamely.

“Where’d you guys meet?” Ethan asked her.

“At the FBI,” she said.

“You mean he’s an agent, too?” Ethan asked, his dander up once again. “I knew I should have talked her out of joining. I thought it’d be good for her, different.”

He had no idea. Diana thought of Scully’s file. Of everything she’d been through since joining the X-Files, and felt a pang of something like sympathy, like regret. She watched Mulder reach across the table and tuck a lock of Scully’s hair that had come loose from her chignon behind her ear. The sympathy faded away, but the regret held on.

“You didn’t move on?” Diana asked him.

“Did you?” He countered.

She’d tried. She had.

“Not exactly a person you can move on from…” Ethan said then, indicating Scully, but she only saw Fox.

She gave Ethan a sympathetic, melancholy smile.

The bartender stopped by again, and they looked at each other and nodded. When life gives you lemons, add vodka.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Diana had to pee, but she didn’t want to run the risk of running into Scully in the bathroom.

“Is he allergic to anything?” Ethan then asked her, his words getting a little slurry. “We could send it to their table.”

Diana snorted. She was feeling a little slurry, too.

“Rational thought,” Diana answered, and Ethan gave a high pitch giggle.

“They make a good couple, then,” he said on a burp, “because that’s all she’s got.”

Mulder stood then and made his way to the restroom and Diana fought off vague pangs of jealousy in more ways than one.

She watched Scully in the mirror, as she tucked her chin toward her chest, a secret smile on her face. Scully sat up then, seeming to feel Diana’s eyes on her and she turned toward her.

Instead of looking at Diana, however, her eyes found Ethan’s profile and she narrowed her eyes in almost-recognition.

Mulder chose that moment to come back from the bathroom and instead of retaking his seat, he slid into the booth next to Scully and she paid no further attention to the two dispirited souls at the bar.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder signaled for the check and Diana closed out with the bartender, paying for Ethan’s drinks as well.

“Thank you,” he said to her, squinting a bit, though full of sincerity.

Mulder and Scully stood from the booth and Mulder took her coat from the waiter and helped her into it, all manners. Once she was buttoned up, he took her by the lapels and tucked them tenderly up under her chin. She canted her head back and gave him a dreamy smile.

Diana grabbed Ethan by the shoulder and leaned her head into him as Mulder and Scully passed behind them, shielding their faces from view.

“It’s been nice meeting you, Ethan,” she said softly into his ear, realizing that it had been. She felt like herself for once, if not herself with a headbuzz.

“You too, Diana.”

Once Mulder and Scully had left the restaurant, Diana made a beeline for the restroom.

Washing her hands after using the facilities, she took a good look at herself in the antique mirror, the dull patina lending a yellowish pallor to her skin.

Had it all been worth it? The choices she’d made? The acts she’d committed?

She realized that they had been, just not for herself.

As she made her way from the restroom to leave, she saw Ethan, still sitting in his barstool dejectedly. She caught eyes with the bartender, who inclined his head at the man.

She sighed.

“Come on,” she said to him as she approached, “let me help get you home.”

Ethan nodded and slowly stood without a word.

They made their way outside and she turned to him.

“Can I call you a cab?” She asked him.

He shook his head.

“I can walk,” he said and took a slow 360 degree turn before heading down the sidewalk to the north.

Diana caught up with him after a few steps and grabbed his elbow.

“You’re sure this is the right way?”

“85 percent,” he said and plowed ahead.

“I’ll walk with you,” she said, not wanting to be responsible if something happened to the guy. The police would check receipts from the restaurant and security tapes and she wanted no part of that.

The restaurant had a currently empty outdoor patio adjacent to their parking lot, the tinny sound of Edith Piaf wafted over them from some hidden speaker as they passed by. Ethan paused by a small copse of trees, just past the lot.

“Hold on,” he said, “I need a minute. I think I’m going to be sick.”

He stumbled into the shadows of the trees and sat down heavily, holding his head in his hands. Diana stepped in beside him, careful not to get too close, lest he get sick on her shoes.

Ethan began taking deep breaths, probably trying to stop the world from spinning and she looked around, movement catching her attention by a car not far away.

There was a couple huddled close to each other in between cars in the lot, and after a second she realized that they were swaying, the woman’s hand in the man’s, dancing to Edith Piaf in the dusky, buzzing light of a parking lot lamppost.

It was Mulder and Scully. Of course it was.

She felt the clasping grab of jealousy, squeezing her so tight that tears formed in her eyes, threatening to fall, to let loose the torrent inside her of humility and regret. She clenched a fist and refused them.

The song ended then, blessedly, and Mulder brought Scully’s hand to his lips. She leaned back against the car door though they were still huddled close, saying their goodbyes.

Diana could hear them and knew that she was unseen and she willed Ethan to not get sick and call attention to their whole tableau.

“Thanks for taking me out tonight,” Scully said, her voice low. “I know it’s not our usual.”

Mulder moved in even closer, nudging her.

“You deserve it,” he said, his voice like gravel.

Diana knew that voice. Remembered it and felt a pang of something, sad and desiderate.

“We’re getting audited tomorrow, Mulder,” she said, “anybody about to go through that deserves it.”

“Speaking of, I’m expensing the whole dinner,” Mulder said, taking another step towards her, backing her into the car.

She smiled up at him.

Ethan gave a small groan at her feet, and she looked down. He seemed to recover himself.

When she glanced back at the agents, Mulder was just dipping his head down, and he started taking small, sipping kisses at Scully’s lips. She reached up and ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, pulling him down even lower.

Mulder took the edges of his long trench coat and wrapped them around Scully’s shoulders as he kissed her, cocooning her in his embrace. His kisses were tender, reverential, and Diana knew then what she’d always suspected: any chance of ever getting him back was gone. Lost to the ether where love resided – something she never had with him – never would.

Their kisses grew more passionate and Diana knew that she should look away, but couldn’t.

Scully leaned back, their lips parting on a smack.

“Come home with me, Mulder,” she said in a husky voice.

Mulder simply nodded at her and smiled, leaned down again to resume their kiss, reaching around her to pull open the car door.

“If we’re going,” he said, nuzzling his face into her neck, “we need to go now, or I’m going take you right here against this car.”

Scully whipped the keys out of her pocket, even while her head was thrown back and pressed them into Mulder’s hands.

They spoke no more and tumbled into the car, practically peeling out of the parking lot and on into the night.

Ethan groaned and rose to his feet.

“I think I’m okay,” he said, finally. “I think it’s time to move on.”

It was.

[jackbabewang]

Chapter 1 — Intro: All about him

Word count ‧ 7,194

Chapter summary ‧ Just how did you got yourself into this with Jung Yoonoh?

Masterlist

At the age of twenty-four years, already a married woman, while your husband, who was your bitterest enemy since young—Jung Yoonoh. 

“Weren’t you two had always been going at each other like cats and dogs? Why are you married to him?”

Regarding this query, whoever knew you, or him, the question had been asked numerous times and for which your answer was always the same: “Harsh words or deeds can demonstrate one’s love. Couples who fight the most, love each other most. What you saw was our distinctive way of bonding.” 

However, coming face to face with your confidante and most intimate friend, Jennie, you could not help but burst open and spewed up all the pent-up misery you had kept inside. She was in a state of shock still with the news of your marriage, especially with the man, that she was yet to have a proper rest after being newly returned from New Zealand. 

“It’s a long story.” 

“Keep it short then.”

“It was a dark and dismal night, a whip of lightning streaked across the sky and then came the rain…”

Jennie’s face numb and all, “Forget about the scene and cut straight to the point!”

“Here’s where the point begins, be patient, you…”

“Stop. My bad. Keep going!”

That night, your parents had not returned home. Because you were starving so you simply cooked yourself a bowl of ramen. Right when you were about to dig in, the front door was suddenly flung open. It was unlocked. And quickly afterward, witnessed a completely drenched figure barged into your house uninvited. Dripping water on the living room floor and dirty footprints as he stalked towards you with his face darkened similar to that of the Grim Reaper. 

You stared at him, stunned and had not realized that the noodles slipped from your chopsticks and created a messy pile on the table. 

“____, let’s get married.” Yoonoh uttered no unnecessary words and directly confronted you on the subject of marriage. 

You staggered for a moment or two before going to the bathroom and fetched a large soft white bath towel and tossed it over his head. 

“The rain must have seeped into your brain. Talk to me again after you regain your consciousness.”

He did not reach for it, nor ward it off, letting the towel collided with his face and fell to the floor after. “My mom had a sudden heart attack, the doctor said she couldn’t sustain any longer.”

Although speaking of a matter so horrifying and yet no matter how terrifying, there was no expression or emotion on his face at all. But you could see the underlying dejection and fear in his eyes. 

People always say, those who understand you the most, in fact is not your loved ones but your enemy. You and Yoonoh were indeed destined to be natural enemies, therefore you could pronounce that you grasped him mentally. 

So…

You agreed to him, because you knew, the last thing his mother wished for was to see him getting married, and hoping for her only son to be blessed with consummate happiness.

On the day of your wedding, his mother was seated in a wheelchair. She was both pale and thin, but on her white sick face there was no pain or torment instead of a blissful smile. 

The next morning, his mother was then left the earth. Unlike a newly wedded couple, your first night was not spent in the bridal chamber. Rather guarded through the night by her sick-bed, yet still unable to reclaim her lost life. 

Upon the day of his mother’s burial, relatives and friends had long dissipated though Yoonoh stood before her tomb, unmoving for a long time. In the faint drizzle, his lone figure appeared intensely glum and dispirited. 

As you moved to hold the umbrella above him, astoundingly, stream on stream of tears rolled down his face. It was ever since you were little to witness the cold, arrogant and wicked man crumbling in distress for the first time. In this lifetime, perhaps even only once, you did not have the courage to look, not wanting to look, nor bear to see. 

From now on, he no longer had a family in this world. What kind of sorrow could it be?

Albeit unintentionally, the reminiscences had been going on for an indefinitely long period of time. If it was not for Jennie who snapped you out of your trance, you were afraid that the events for the past three months would be recalled vividly to your recollection.

Jennie’s return from New Zealand was unbeknownst to her parents, in case they would show up early in the morning at the airport waiting for her. By the time she gone back home, the Kim’s were genuinely surprised, overly excited, and ended up preparing a feast. You were, undoubtedly, coaxed to stay over and had a sumptuous dinner with them.

With your belly filled, you left the Kim’s and returned home as well. Inside this large house spread over two levels, it was quiet as always and almost deserted. Besides you, there was no other. 

Yoonoh was always busy with work that it was close to inhumane, he returned home late at night when you were asleep, and when you woke up in the morning, he was ready to leave for work. You could only catch a glimpse of him and neither of you exchanged a word. 

After taking a warm bath and tossing and turning restlessly in your bed, you went down to the kitchen and made yourself some supper, deciding to treat Yoonoh as well. 

When you finished eating, you retired to the living room and sat back to watch TV while resignedly cushioning your small body into the soft pillows of the couch. Not realizing the time, you fell asleep just like that. 

Awakened the next morning however, every joint in your body hurt and your nape felt stiff as if bruised or sprained, your legs were numb and you did not dare to move a muscle. Your body felt as though it was not yours anymore.

*Click* 

It was at that very moment, there was the sound of the door being unlocked and opened. You bore the ache and twisted your neck to the direction of the entrance. Yoonoh was finally back.

Seeing as he approached, you immediately looked up at him through tear-filled eyes and sent out SOS. He did not spare you a glance instead his eyes swept over the table of a plateful and an empty dishes, coldy he said, “Why didn’t you clean it up?”

“……” Whatever.

“My legs are numb, lend me a hand and carry me to my bed.”

Hazel eyes slanted ever so slightly beneath ebony dark brows, narrowed and judging. “Can you be more decent? Do you not have a bed to sleep?”

Last of all, he was not willing to provide help anyway. He went to get a document in the study and headed out once again. 

You had to endure the discomfort and led yourself hobbling back to your room. Then you felt your head spinning and began sweating profusely although the weather gave you no reason to. 

The next thing you knew was you woke up in a hospital bed, sitting beside you was Yoonoh flipping through document or magazine of some sort. 

You pushed yourself up into a sitting position and immediately felt the trickle of something wet from your nose. You jolted, thinking that it was blood and when you tilted your head down to expect redness on the white sheets, it only left a damp spot. You felt the dripping once more so you lifted your head in panic. A hand that was not yours, happened to be one step ahead and tossed a box of tissues to your side.

Pulling out sheets of them you wiped off the snot and then turning to him pitifully, pitiably. “How did I even catch a cold?”

His brows scrunched together and warned, “If you ever sleep on the couch again then don’t sleep on the bed anymore. I’ll move the couch into your room.”

“……”

The dramas, the novels; when a woman made supper for her man and fell asleep on the couch while waiting, even catching a cold because of it, in that case would not the man feel touched and guilty, and even showed pity and care for her?

But why was it when it came to you and Yoonoh, resulted in a plot twist? Sigh. It was the reality after all.

“I’m hungry.” You gave up any attempt to explain further and changed the topic instead.

He tossed his phone over, “Order it yourself.”

Then, utterly indifferent, you took his phone, brushing off any fat hopes you had for him. At least you were kind enough to order his portion as well.

Of course, he paid for the food. 

Catching of common cold was not such a big deal other than infusing drips of IV into your vein, but it did consume quite some time therefore when you were discharged from the hospital and returned home with Yoonoh, it was about 10pm at night.

Two plates that was once left on the table were already gone. Yoonoh chucked the package of prescription cold medicine over the couch and went upstairs to run a bath, while you were sitting on the couch watching TV. You were kicked back to your room the moment he came out after he had had a shower. 

Yes, you and him slept in separate rooms. The two of you had never been under the same blanket ever since your wedding day because your marriage meant nothing more than a show. 

You both had clearly understood that this marriage existed in name only. Even though his mother had passed away, you still had to keep up the pretense before others and could not get a divorce just yet. 

That was because your family and relatives did not know about the truth. When Yoonoh said he wanted to marry you, your parents agreed unhesitantly. 

As for the reason that you readily accepted him, besides being voluntary, it was also for the reason that…

Yoonoh had always been the pride of the neighbourhood, came through with flying colours in his studies and had received numerous awards. Looking all handsome and picturesque, he was an exceptionally well-behaved child in every way.

After graduating from university, he started a business and became the CEO of his own company. Whoever’s parents from a decent family background would not want to marry off their daughter to an outstanding son-in-law as him?

After taking two tablets of your medication and putting away your mug in the kitchen, it started raining heavily outside. Immediately you made your way upstairs to shut the windows. But, as you walked down the stairs, you remembered that Yoonoh had no umbrella when he left in the morning so you ran upstairs again, changed your clothes and picked up an umbrella as you headed out.

Once you reached his building, you called but he had not picked up so you waited outside instead. As autumn weather set in it commenced the approach of cool weather, even though it was just drizzle, it was cold. That was probably because you had not fully recovered, you sneezed only at the touch of a little breeze.

At a few minutes past five o’clock, most of the employees had left for the day however there was yet a sign of him.

You called his cell phone. Again, nothing.

Around five-thirty, you were contemplating whether or not you should go inside when he finally showed up. However tagged along next to him was a woman dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her. 

Certainly you knew the woman, and needless to say, she was Yoonoh’s sweetheart—Park Sooyoung.

When did she come back from overseas? Judging her stance, she must have darted to his company as soon as she got off the plane. 

No, perchance, Yoonoh could have picked her up from the airport and brought her to his company straightaway. 

He saw you, and his brows scrunched slightly in what you could not comprehend the perplexed expression in his eyes. You considered for a moment the gaze that would give you an inkling. 

You walked towards him, arm outstretched, “Mr. Jung, here’s the umbrella you’ve ordered, thank you for supporting Gmarket. It’s our pleasure serving you and we certainly look forward to doing that in the future.”

The furrow cleaving his brows deepen, the gloominess in his eyes suggested the forecast of his outburst. 

You kept the customary smile fixed on your face, indisputably shoving the umbrella into his hand. “Please give us a five stars rating if you’re satisfied with our service. Your support is our motivation. I’ve orders to be delivered so I’ll leave you two alone then.”

With that being said, you scampered off. Yet merely a few steps away, your nose tickled and worked up a loud sneeze. 

You were of a weak physique which had to do with your menstrual periods. It was winter when you first had it. You did not know any better and forewent appropriate preventive and protective measures which resulted in having a cold womb, consequently a poor body condition. You were more tended to commitment than anyone else in the aspect of taking medicines or injections. 

You changed your clothes on the return and laid in bed for a few minutes then, Yoonoh was back as well.

You listened for any stray noises downstairs and wondered why did he even come home so early? Shouldn’t he be catching up with his old flame? Suddenly the door pushed open and Yoonoh stepped inside with a glass of water which he sat on the nightstand next to your bed. 

“Take your medicine,” he said in a commanding tone. 

“I did.”

“Really?”

You fumbled with the aluminium strip and explained as you pointed the hollows, “It’s taken three times a day, two pills at the same time. I took once last night before I went to bed, once this morning, and once this afternoon. It’s evening now so I took another. Look, there are eight little holes, just about the four times I took them.” 

He went silent for some time, “Drink the water then.” 

“I’m not taking any pills, why should I?”

His face went a shade darker than it already was, registering annoyance and impatience, “Drink more warm water to recover quickly.”

He couldn’t possibly cared about me, could he? But his face said otherwise. 

You lifted the glass and blew across it before taking a sip. As a token of appreciation.

For a few minutes, there was silence. No one spoke a word. 

The warmth of the glass radiated through your hands as you clutched it. You hesitated to say anything. But then, you asked a question that you should not have asked. “She probably didn’t know about our marriage, did she?”

Whether he may be feigning ignorance or not, he questioned back, “Who?”

“Sooyoung!” As soon as it left your mouth you regretted them. 

Beyond doubt, his facial expression changed to that you could not tell if he was shocked or grew alarmed. 

“You know her?”

You mentally rolled your eyes, how could you not? You and him were both from the same high school and it was not all that rare you saw him sending her back home, ate together in the canteen and also tutored her in the library.

“Oh, she was our high school’s beauty queen, how could I not know her?” You were faking it.

It was as if he had a flash of remembrance of the fact that you were, indeed, from the same high school as him. He nodded and hummed. 

Tch, tch! Sooyoung was not even our high school’s beauty queen, it was Jieun!

It had been a year since Jennie left Korea, afterall she was born and raised as a legit Korean, eventually her lifestyle still bore traces of her origin. At those times she was in New Zealand, she was skinnier than she once was and spent less money on clothes than she once did. Which pretty much gave her the reason to go all crazy shopping and challenging the possibilities in an unlimited credit card. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Just take it as a wedding gift.” And she did not miss the chance to pamper you as well. It was not like you could object her intention anyway, but it would be better if she stuffed your pockets with cash than buying you that overpriced piece of denim skirt. Just saying.

At some point in time, you underestimated her energy after all the walking and shopping, she was livelier than you were, who was already flopping on her king-sized bed like a dead fish. She pulled at your arm, practically dragging you up to a standing position and forced you into slipping on the newly bought skirt. Then she began dolling yourselves up for her #mirrorselfie and uploading it to KakaoStory with the caption: Couple look with Wifey! It’s been awhile! ♡

You could not help but giggled lightly. It was like you were back to college years once again, where in the dormitory reenacting roles in historical dramas and addressing each other by Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness and My Lady. So you left a comment: Thanks Hubby for the gift!

No longer after the post was reacted by your old classmates and friends. You scrolled through the chains of comments until you reached the bottom, where you surprisingly saw a comment from the one and only Jung Yoonoh. 

What? That lad even comments on social media now? Is he out of his mind?

That replied though, he was definitely out of his mind. It was only a single word, and the word that women hated the most: Ugly.

You contemplated for a moment, had you wanted to fire back at him. However just when it was about to send through, a surge of brilliance stopped you and reminded that all your basic needs were benefited from the saint, you had to mind your words and not to offend the lad. 

Another day of scrounging dinner at the Kim’s, it was only eight when you returned home. The first thing that greeted you was the sight of Jung Yoonoh sitting on the couch with a towel wrapped around his waist and a laptop perched on his lap. 

“Oh? You’re early today!” You said to him while switching into your pair of fluffy room shoes.

His long, lean fingers walked and leaped across the keyboard and he did not lift his head to look at you. “This is my house, do I have to report it to you when I come back anytime?”

You rolled your eyes but wisely held your tongue. You were about to make your way upstairs to freshen up when he called after you, in which you turn to him as you tried to keep the annoyance off your face, “What?”

“Make dinner.”

“No, I already ate.”

“I haven’t.”

“Go make it yourself then!”

Finally, he lifted his head and the look of impatience painted over his face. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“What does that have to do with me?”

He barked, “That’s what women supposed to do!”

You roared back, “Ask Sooyoung to make it for you then!”

After you spoke the hasty words, you regretted them. 

You both instantly went silent. A fraction of a minute later, Yoonoh closed his laptop with a loud *smack* and turned to go upstairs. 

You stayed rooted to the spot, feeling a strange, distressing internal conflict. In saying so, didn’t you just indirectly tell him that you knew there was something going on between him and Sooyoung?

You took a shower and sat in your room, towel drying your hair while listening for any sound of movement from downstairs. Assumably he would make dinner for himself since you refused to, however, there was no sound at all.

Your hair was half-dried, and in the end you were not able to continue being hard-hearted so you pretended to go downstairs to fetch a glass of water and, in coincidence, walked past the kitchen. But there was no silhouette of Yoonoh.

Your mind immediately relived the time where his mother held onto your hands so dearly and exhorted you to take good care of Yoonoh, words about handing over her only son to you and some sort as he could not take care of himself well. For the sake of his mother, you made him a hearty meal. 

It was nothing fancy, just basic home cooking of the most you could do. Then you went upstairs and knocked on his door. There was no answer. You knocked again. No answer. With your patience wearing thin, you scolded behind wooden door, but even so there was no response. 

Is he seriously being ridiculous right now? How old is he? Five?

You took the spare key to his room, opened the door and switched on the lights, but there was no one inside. So you went to his bathroom. Saw none. Rounded his study, still nobody in sight. 

This jerk, he couldn’t possibly went out when I was in the shower?

A sudden unanticipated disappointment filled you, then it slowly grew into grievance. Without a second thought you dashed downstairs and dumped platefuls of hot food into the bin. 

While washing the dishes, a slippery plate slid from your hands from harsh scrubbing and dropped to the floor where it shattered into pieces. 

You felt worse than before and your intelligence plummeted as your mood did that you picked up the wreckage of the plate with your bare hands and in the process you accidentally cut yourself.

You had no idea if it was because of the excruciating pain or the oppression you had gone through, tears streamed down your face at such an intensity that you thought you were walking in the storm. 

Next day when you woke up, inside the kitchen sink there still remained unwashed dishes, glass shards still littered the floor, there were still blood stains, and Yoonoh still had not come home. 

He probably had a feast last night, right? A man like him that wouldn’t have to trouble himself, how would he be left to starve, right? Moreover, he would’ve spent on Sooyoung as well, a fancy candlelight dinner even! Pft. 

Whether Yoonoh was throwing a tantrum, or had he already became fed up with wherever you were, ever since that night of bickering, he had not been back for three days. And there was not even a call from him. Though he got on your nerves all the time and you disliked every bit of him, you worried about him. It was inevitable.

In the end, you could not hide your concern and went to his company in search of him. Found out that he had went on a business trip and would be back by a week. 

Right when you reached home, you were informed that your parents flew over from Ulsan. When you went to pick them up at the airport, the two oldies kept glancing over behind your back, you knew what they were up to but much to their regret you had to tell them, “Stop looking. Your dearest son-in-law went on a business trip. He couldn’t make it.”

It was only then they held back their bulging eyes which almost popped out of their sockets. 

Wheeling their suitcases and walking a few steps behind your parents, you breathed a silent sigh…

You and Yoonoh had grown up in the same neighbourhood where your doors faced each other, and eventually developed a strong bond between both households. You were always at each other’s houses when little, Yoonoh was an only child and his mother had always wanted a daughter, but his father had passed on at an early age and his mother refused to remarry as well. And because you had always scrounge for free meals at the Jung’s, his mother then claimed you as her own child. 

Even if Yoonoh was discontented with your regular visits, he could not utter a single word of complaint before his mother. However behind that, he called you shameless for doing so. 

But you, avoided all costs of verbal dispute and resumed chomping down the cookie that his mother gave you where he had none, was enough to drown him in suffocating anger. 

It was as if he was putting on a revenge on you that he showed up at your house as well for good food. Though he had a better understanding than you in pleasing the adults. He would wash his dishes and put it back in the cabinet, while the kids in your family would just throw everything aside and skipped away for cartoons. Which explained why your mother adored him more than her own seedlings. 

He needed not to munch on cookies, merely the way your mother compared you all to him was enough to trigger your bunch of siblings. 

Yoonoh had already been a bad-tempered boy when he was born. Besides his mother, practically no one was in his line of sight. He frequently bruised the kids in your neighbourhood and even though those adults told their children to stay away from him yet you were not afraid of him at all. 

Though he did not like you any better, he would never hit you. Because you were not dumb like others to always get to his bottom line. Contrastingly, in a corner, you would throw pebbles to whoever he was fighting with. However every single time those wicked losers would come over his house with their parents seeking for justice, and it was unavoidable for Yoonoh to be punished by his mother. It be kneeling in repent and some spankings.

You had always wanted to tell his mother that it was never his fault, instead it was the others who had thrown awful insults at him. But often when you were about to speak up, his death glare immediately shut you up, as if he would pounce on you once a word left your mouth. 

Over time when one another grown a little, the kids in your regional neighbourhood were humorously defeated not only in terms of stature, but his personality, modesty, gentility, excellence in education, as well as his outstanding looks. Whereby the kids no longer had the guts to provoke him to anger, and would not want to pick a fight on him. He did not bother about those disgustingly dirty kids who played marbles on the ground either way. 

It was truly despondent that you were still unpleasant in his eyes. No matter what, as long as you were involved in even the tiny littlest thing that, unfortunately, he caught on to, he would mock and ridicule you about it. 

And of course, unlike the others in your neighbourhood, you would not change your perception towards him just because of his transformation, regardless his exceptional qualities, he was still the Jung Yoonoh who seeks revenge for the smallest grievance, the Jung Yoonoh who was short-tempered. 

The past was of such flash-like episodes, yet in your childhood was all about Yoonoh’s, his forbearance, his incisive wit, his irreconciliation, his courageousness, his senselessness, and many many more, even of the simplest recollection of the past, it was limitless. 

Apparently your parents were not here with the prime intent to see you, it was your nephew who recently got admitted to the hospital so they were here to pay a visit. And it was only then they remembered that you and Yoonoh were in Seoul as well so they decided to drop by along the way.

Even if they dropped round your house for awhile, it made you wary of the current situation where you and Yoonoh were seemingly in a cold war. Yet your parents chose the wrong timing. 

You tiptoed into the bathroom and made a call to Yoonoh while your parents were not looking, but you were left wondering what was the point of him getting a phone if he never answered. 

Just in case, you sent him a text, and to be honest you had no expectation of a reply. But as soon as it was transmitted, the lad called you back. The tone of his voice did not sound so good as he began. 

“What do you mean pretend?”

“Well… I…”

“I was on a business trip in the first place, don’t make it sound like I’m you.” He was making an oblique reference to your parasitic lifestyle. 

The contents of your message were:

So here, the current situation was that you had a request to make to him, so you passively accepted his humiliation and refrained from biting back. While he was still on the line, hurriedly you stepped out into the living room. 

“Hello? Jung… Yoonoh, you must be tired, aren’t you? Did you eat well and get enough sleep?” In order to have your parents believed that you both were truly and madly in love, you spoke in a voice so soft, so gentle. 

However the jerk he was saw it as a chance to poke fun of you, “You think that I’ll have the appetite with your voice sounding like that?” 

You had really wanted to scold him for it but your mother came to you and reached for the phone. As you handed it over, you did not miss the chance and indicatively cleared your throat and said, “Mom wants to talk to you.”

Then, you heard your mother murmured abstractly. Unsure of what Yoonoh said to her, just that she was glowing brighter than a rainbow trout if you had not noticed.

You dug in the refrigerator and pulled out ingredients for dinner when your mother barged in and snatched away the kitchen knife and shoved the phone back into your hands. “There’s nothing for you to do in here. Get out and have a nice talk with your husband.”

With the phone clutched in your hand as you stomped into the living room, your father was seated comfortably on the couch reading newspaper, while for that someone over the line, you were lost for words. 

To be frank, there was nothing you could talk about with him!

You did not say a word, he did not sound like he was going to, you both were quiet for a little more and lastly you were the one to break the silence. 

“Oh? You’re having a meeting? Alright, I’ll hang up now. Yes, yes. I’ll take care of mom and dad, don’t worry.” Without hesitation you ended the call. 

Ever since you got married to Yoonoh, it had been awhile since you had eaten your mother’s cooking, it was what you missed the most. As soon as you hung up the phone, you skipped into the kitchen to snatch a mouthful or two but once again your mother kicked you out.

There was some time before dinner was ready so you went upstairs to take a shower. However it was never to your expectation that, during the interval of having a complete shower, another being showed up downstairs in the living room. 

With surprise at what you saw, you stood atop the steps for a moment. Rubbing your eyes as to confirm the reality of his presence, you stumbled over and questioned him in disbelief, “How did— back— here?”

In normal times he would definitely be lifting his chin in an arrogant sneer, “This is my house, why do you even care?”

But thankfully he was humane as he spoke before your parents, “Mom and dad came to visit us once in a while, how could I not be back?”

Your father was undeniably moved and said, “Work is important, we’re here for a short while only. Don’t let it interfere with your job.”

A gentle, harmless smile was still on his face as he spoke, that for a second you almost forgotten his true nature. “Don’t worry, dad. I’ve arranged everything before I came back.” 

“That’s good.”

He sure was a great actor. 

Your mother used to be the head chef of a restaurant and therefore it had become a practice to prepare a table of food of a vast variety. 

Yoonoh courteously pulled out a chair for your mother and seated her at the table, then it was as if he was out of his mind, he went round to pull out a chair for you as well, acting like a complete gentleman. 

During dinner, your mother occasionally picked up a morsel of food and filled his bowl but never once for you. Right when you were stuffing rice in your mouth in nothing but insane jealousy and doubting if Yoonoh was her biological son instead, the man with the surname Jung picked up a piece of meat and put it in your bowl, then added, 

“Honey, eat a lot. You’re getting thinner!”

*Intense choking*

You were not expecting that and surely were taken aback by the intimate form of address. The grains were on their way down your throat as you started choking and coughing and sputtered on like a useless engine. With your tear-filled eyes, you went to fetch a glass of water. After a few sips and a bit more coughing you calmed down again. 

All the while you glared at him but he pretended as if nothing ever happened and continued his ministrations of apple-polishing your mother. 

It was kind of late when dinner was over. Your parents had been visiting at your aunt’s for the day before hopping to another stop at your house. You understood that it was beyond tiring for the elders of nearing fifty years of age so you made them stay for the night. 

You did not forget to evaluate any changes of expression on Yoonoh’s face, after all he was the homeowner. It was to your consideration that if he did show a slither of unwillingness, you would take it as an excuse that the guest room was yet to be organized and cleaned up and tagged along your parents to stay at the hotel. 

Though you never thought that he was sensible, there was no sign of disapproval, yet with greater fervour than you when he insisted your parents to stay for the night. Which he even said how the house was desolate and quiet with just the two of you and it was then finally the household was liven up. 

Your parents were easily persuaded in that case, there was a moment’s hesitation before agreeing. However you suddenly regret with the idea of their stay, because your mother broke into a wide grin as she eyed your belly, “You two should work hard while you’re still young. Very soon you’ll have a jolly time.”

Simultaneously you and Yoonoh were drowned into awkwardness and your eyes drifted towards one another for a second. 

That night, it was like your parents were truly heading for the goal of giving life to this dullsville, they strongly disagreed to your ‘aabb’ rooming system and insisted upon ‘abab’. There was no room for discussion even though they were supposedly the guests and then you and Yoonoh were forced into the same room. 

You looked back to the door that was slammed shut behind you in total despair, something within you was stirring. The heck, why does this feel so awkward?

To conceal your agitation, you ignored his presence and glanced around his room, scanning everywhere. Honestly, though you were three months married, on the fingers of one hand you could count the number of times you had entered his room. And those times were no longer than a minute. 

You did not expect his room to be this simple and… bare. Not in a way that the finishings were improperly done, his room was basically decoration-free. 

A desk was set directly before a large floor-to-ceiling windows, a nightstand by the bed, a book sitting on top of it, two wardrobes occupied the other end of the room. Other than that, there was not even a small-sized pot of air purification plant. 

It was monochromatic and painfully neat like a hotel suite. Was it to him that just a place to sleep?

On the east was the ensuite bathroom. Yoonoh was already disrobing himself as soon as he got in. You knew that he wanted to take a shower, which he clearly was not implying anything else, however…

“Can you— Can you go inside to change…” You could feel your face burning crimson. Even though you were cool with anything and brazen all along, it did not mean that you would not be shaken up when a man openly put up a strip show before your very eyes. 

Yoonoh cast a careless glance in your direction, his hands that were unbuttoning his dress shirt paused with the job half done, his face demonstrating the slightest bit of hesitation as if he too, realized that it was inappropriate to take off his clothes in front of a woman. 

Nonetheless, Jung Yoonoh who was haughty and high-minded in the extreme as ever would never yield to you either way. His moving hands that stopped for no more than ten seconds began undoing the buttons once again. 

“This is my room. I can take off my shirt wherever I want.” As soon as he finished pronouncing the last word, the garment slid off completely and showcased his milky skin, physical strength evident in the muscles of his forearms, lines that ran in to his waist and then down over the cut of his hips, thick ridges sculpted his abdomen. 

It was unbelievable he had such great physique. He must have gone to the gym often. 

Your body, your face burned still more when you heard the unmistakable metallic clinking of a belt being unbuckled. Immediately you whipped your head away from him. 

After all the scuffling of Yoonoh removing every article of clothing in existence, he stepped into the bathroom. Only when the door swung shut with a loud swoosh and clicked closed you dared to turn around. Subconsciously taking a peek over the pile of clothes on the floor, it was purely accidental you saw a pair of navy Calvins.

This pervert, how dare he stripped naked and not even be cautious that you might turn around without warning?

When Yoonoh was finished he emerged with a towel wrapped around his hips. Not even once he spared a glance in your direction as he headed to the nightstand while drying his hair with a smaller towel. He picked up the only book and took a seat on the chair by the large windows and began reading in leisure. 

You were still stood in the same spot, still contemplating whereto your feet should set upon. Truthfully you were already feeling drowsy. Yet, in spite of that, you had not had the nerve to climb onto his bed. There was only one bed in his room, other than that you could sleep on, you had no choice in the matter. 

He kept no extra blankets in his room and could not even make up a bed on the floor. You felt unsettled and perturbed inside, you riddled with anxiety over him fixing you up for the night. Well, you were definitely overthinking it. Thought the kind of person Yoonoh was would be aware of your existence? Dream on. Until his hair was dried, he climbed into the bed, giving absolutely no thought at all to where you were going to sleep. 

The weather had been very cold for several days, had on your thin clothes, your skin broke out in goosebumps for being exposed to the chill air. There was no way you were going to stand there forever waiting for a miracle. On what basis you were to bear the freeze while he was sleeping so comfortably on the warm bed? Being therefore thick-skinned from the thought of injustice, you proceeded to climb into the other side of the bed, pulling the blanket over your shoulders until you were cocooned in its warmth. 

You were pretty sure that Yoonoh would pick on you and you had a ready comeback for that. With every second that passed, however, his eyes were fixed on the book as he flipped through the pages before he switched off the bedside lamp, slid under the covers and went to sleep with his back turned to you. 

You were faced with the floor-to-ceiling windows, the curtains were opened and the bright city lights of Seoul looked like fairy lights in a distance. You attempted to distract yourself with the view and trying to actively suppress the feelings of nervousness. The more you suppress, the more they erupted with volcanic force and your heartbeat increased threefold. 

For it was the first time in your entire life, to share a bed with a man. The man was Jung Yoonoh and most importantly… he was completely naked. 

Your face flared for the umpteenth time that night. You squeezed your eyes shut with all effort to keep your mind from wandering far and wide, across topics best ignored. The world fell to a blank, dead silence but it was strange, unusual. As if there was a significant heat radiating from his body had seeped through that you felt yourself heating up even more in response. You wiggled your way upward, getting ready to lift the thick covers—

“Move again, you’re getting off.” Yoonoh growled suddenly and you were too scared to stir around by then.

After a brief internal struggle, sleep finally claimed you without knowing yourself when or how, but it was not the peaceful sleep. You began tossing, turning and shuffling the covers trying to get in a comfortable position. Abruptly, you felt something warm and soft which gave you an illusion of your fluffy white throw pillow. You reached over and hugged it tight, nuzzling into the puff of cloud and blissful contentment permeated every cell of your body. 

However, it seemed like it was getting warmer and warmer, like an electric blanket on a cold December night. Your skin burned and stung. You wanted to lift off the covers, but strangely, you found yourself unable to move. 

At that moment, you were sure you were sleep paralyzed, which you had experienced a couple of times during your life so it was not new, but even so it felt unusual. You had only felt numbness throughout your entire body, you could not open your eyes. Or speak. The weight crushed on you this time radiated the heat of boiling mercury, and there was something unknown that tunneled beneath your shirt. 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Come Hell or Helwater - Part Ten

Claire comes back to the past with Brianna and arrives at Helwater looking for Jamie—but must confront the Dunsanys first.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine

The heavy rain had returned while Claire was indoors attending to Geneva. There could be no waiting. The household staff would rise before whatever dawn there might be to begin the day’s chores and Claire needed to be back at the cottage by then.

She slipped and nearly fell several times as she hurried through the dark, slick yard, unable to avoid puddles she couldn’t see. Her teeth were chattering, her skirt was filthy and soaked, she could feel the mud sliding down her legs and pooling in her shoes.

Free of the house and of the young woman’s desperation and fear, Claire was able to let her forced calm dissolve and wash away with the rain. She was furious with Lord and Lady Dunsany for what they were putting their poor child through. The girl was still a teenager and they had essentially sold her to a man more than three times her age—older than Dunsany himself!

But it was the girl’s regrets that countered that hot anger and sent a chill through her bones (deeper than the cold of the rain could penetrate). Her own situation hadn’t been so very different when she returned through the stones to Frank. He wasn’t a complete stranger, of course, and she’d still felt a great deal of affection for him, even after Jamie… but everything she did with him felt like a betrayal—not even of Jamie so much as of herself. She had done so much to push him away, on some level it had been a relief when she learned of his affair. She’d said and done nothing in its early days, silently encouraging it and letting it grow where there had almost certainly been a window where she might have nipped it in the bud.

She shivered and tried to force her legs to go faster but her feet were growing numb with the cold.

Jamie had left the cottage door unlocked so she wasn’t left standing on the step with the water pouring off the roof and down the back of her neck waiting to be let in.

Brianna was asleep on her cot with Jamie seated on the floor beside her, his knees drawn up and a book resting against his thighs. One of his fingers marked the page while his head had lolled back to rest against the wall. He jolted when Claire closed the door behind her and rested against it, water dripping from every article of clothing she wore as well as her hair. It took him a moment to register her condition and then he was reaching for the edge of the bed to leverage himself to his feet.

Brianna whimpered and rolled over but remained asleep. Jamie gently pulled the blanket up to her chin and leaned across her to blow out the candle resting on the small table at the other side of the bed. He placed the book beside it and crossed quickly to Claire.

“Ye’re soaked to the bone, Sassenach,” he whispered rubbing his hands up and down her arms beneath the folds of her cloak before cursing under his breath and whisking the uselessly soaked cloak off her shoulders. He brought it to the fireside and spread it over a chair to dry as best it might then he was back at Claire’s side standing close enough for her to feel the heat of his body as he slowly walked her to their bedroom.

“Is the lass alright?” he asked as he left her side briefly to stoke the fire in the hearth. Shadows leapt and danced as the fresh fuel caught.

“I can’t talk about it,” Claire said, shaking her head. “Physician patient confidentiality.”

Jamie snorted and she could hear him rolling his eyes as he bent to help her off with her mud-crusted shoes and stockings. “I didna ask what wrong wi’ her and I’ve no objection to ye keepin’ it quiet if ye feel ye must. But will she be alright? Her sister seemed beside herself.”

“I don’t know,” Claire admitted. “Physically she’ll be fine but… I can’t talk about it. Those… throw them in the corner. I’ll see if they can be salvaged in the morning,” she nodded to the stockings.

“I cannae believe ye went out wearin’ so little wi’ the rain,” Jamie muttered as he helped her out of her bodice and laid the sodden article on the floor near enough the hearth for the heat to aid in drying it but not so close it was in danger of catching falling sparks (not that any would succeed in igniting the fabric in its current state).

“It wasn’t raining when I left,” she reminded him without much weight behind the words. She stared at the bodice and was glad she hadn’t bothered with her stays. She only had the one set and those wouldn’t possibly have had time to dry before morning.

Her numb fingers stumbled on the ties for her skirt, then Jamie’s were there resting against them until she relented and let him take care of it for her.

“No petticoats either,” he muttered under his breath, holding her steady while she stepped free of the skirt.

There was a prickling of sensation and warmth returning to her body as she watched Jamie fuss over her and her wet things. Frank had rarely done such things for her. Perhaps because she’d never let him. There had been plenty of evenings and mornings when she’d returned from a shift, exhausted and dispirited over something that had happened with a patient. And she’d shut him down, blown him off, ignored his offerings and insisted she was fine. She’d desperately needed someone to lean on, but she had wanted that someone to be Jamie. By the time her resilience had broken down and she would have accepted his comfort, he’d stopped offering it.

She still wasn’t used to having it again.

“Jamie…” she murmured as he helped peel her out of her damp and clinging shift. “Make love to me.”

He glanced her over as she stood there naked and shivering, an uncertain look in his eye but there was a pleading in her expression that kept him from scolding or laughing. He took a blanket folded at the foot of the bed behind her and shook it out, wrapping it around her and kissing her forehead.

“Must get ye warm first,” he said quietly, rubbing his hands over the blanked along her arms.

She didn’t beg or tease. She just watched him, barely blinking. The shivering slowed and eventually his hands did too. Then he bent his head and kissed her again, this time lightly on the lips, his hands and the blanket still pinning hers to her sides. She sighed, leaning into him. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

The solemnity of the moment before was broken by the awkwardness of his laying her down, still rolled up tightly in the blanket with her feet hanging over the edge. Leaning next to her and kissing behind her ear, along her jaw, and down her throat, his hand successfully rucked the blanket up and found its way between her thighs.

“Only proper way to be sure ye’ve warmed enough,” he breathed against her neck, the delicate curls stirring and tickling. “Mmm… ye’re certainly no cold…”

She gasped and arched her back, her legs spreading against the taut fabric of the blanket.

“But ye are a bit wet, aye?” he chuckled and kissed her, swallowing her laugh as it carried on and became a moan of pleasure.

Each stroke from his fingers had her writhing against the constriction imposed by the blanket. She gripped it tightly, grounding herself as Jamie pulled her closer and closer to dissolution.

“I want to watch ye,” he teased, the fingers of his free hand tracing her cheek and lips, gently covering her mouth to muffle the sounds of her mounting ecstasy so they wouldn’t wake Brianna.

There was a sly satisfaction in his grin when she yielded that last bit of control and pleasure tore through her. She gradually became aware of the sound of him chuckling against her cheek and the fact that the blanket around her had loosened. She turned to look at him and felt his hand sliding down the inside of her thigh again. He brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked on her flushed face as he tasted her satisfaction.

It was only when she managed to free herself from the blanket that she realized how thoroughly the chill had been banished. Gooseflesh erupted across her arms and breasts, but she turned her attention to Jamie where he had sprawled beside her. He sat up to help her relieve him of his shirt and then leaned back on his elbows as she pressed her lips first to his throat before beginning a slow progress down his chest and across his stomach. The muscles tensed beneath the light pressure of her mouth until she was at the buttons of his breeks. He’d tasted her. Now it was her turn to taste him.

But she’d barely gotten him free of his breeks when she felt his hand in her hair, not urging her on but guiding her back up toward his mouth. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and let his other hand trail down her back and over her buttocks, giving them a playful squeeze.

“Mmmm, I ken what ye were thinkin’ and I dinna have it in me to hold on if ye do that,” he murmured in her ear. He was twisting and running his hand along her thigh, pulling her into a position straddling him. “I still want to watch ye.” His hand slipped between them to help him find his way into her. She bit her lip as she sank onto him, leaning her forehead against his and draping her arms around her neck. His arms slipped around her waist, holding her firmly to him as their bodies sighed into one another with recognition, longing, and relief. “And I want you to watch what you do to me,” he purred.

She silenced his teasing with a slow rocking of her hips. His eyes locked on her face, his hands on her hips guiding, he responded in kind.

It was gentle and fluid as a dance, the balance and shifting of weight, the sliding of hands across flesh as they pushed and pulled, caressed and teased. There was no room for thought, and no need for words. Their bodies spoke a language of their own, asking and answering, offering and accepting, journeying together.

[almightygodismydependence-blog]

In Your Experience, How Much Practical Understanding Do You Have of God’s Salvation?

aNannan

Since I was small, I had always had a strong desire to be better than others. No matter what group of people I was in, I always sought to be the best. While I was still at school, though I had an average mind and my grades weren’t outstanding, I studied very hard so that I wouldn’t fall behind the other students. Teachers praised me for my desire to make progress, and relatives also praised me for being such a diligent student and taking my studies so seriously. I would often feel proud of myself for receiving their praise and getting favorable comments from them, and I considered myself top of my age group. After I’d accepted God’s work in the last days, I came to understand some truths by reading God’s words and living the church life, and I saw that, no matter what disposition God expresses, whether it be mercy, lovingkindness or righteous judgment and chastisement, they are all God’s true love for man. My heart was moved and inspired by God’s love, and I felt that the only right path in life was to believe in God and seek to be perfected by God. I therefore made a resolution to pursue the truth in earnest, to give up everything and expend myself for God to repay His love. But because my deeply-rooted corrupt disposition and satanic nature had not yet been resolved, I still sought to distinguish myself and to make others look highly upon me when performing my duties. I remember one time when I was given the choice of two duties, and without any hesitation whatsoever I chose the duty that I thought would cause others to look highly upon me. Once I’d started this duty, a sense of superiority arose in my heart, so much so that I looked down on other brothers and sisters, thinking that they were only doing common duties, whereas I was performing an important duty, and that I was a person of talent in God’s family.

In June 2016, I started performing a duty that required me to use English. This was something I’d never dared to even dream of, and my heart was totally elated. I hadn’t expected to see a day when I could distinguish myself, and I had always used to feel distressed about not being smart enough, thinking that I’d be like this the rest of my life and that I had no great future prospects. Little did I realize that even lilies of the field have a spring too, and my spring had come at last. This was a turning point in my life and it was the beginning of the realization of my dreams—I would show my skills to the best of my ability. Thinking this, I felt so elated. How I wished I could immediately tell this news to my brothers and sisters in the church at home, letting them know what duty I was doing. I was even beginning to imagine how envious my brothers and sisters would feel once they came to know that I was doing this duty…. While I was so immersed in happiness and joy that I had forgotten myself completely, God’s judgment and chastisement came upon me again and again …

Though the brothers and sisters around me were young, they could read English very fluently and their pronunciation was very clear. In their everyday lives, they often used English to converse with each other, and they even used English to communicate and exchange ideas during meetings and when performing their duties. Compared with them, my English was so much poorer, and I felt both admiration and anxiety. At the same time, I quietly gave myself encouragement: “It doesn’t matter. As long as I study hard, I’ll catch up with you one day, and even surpass you.” In the days that followed, I rose up early and went to bed late so that I would have time to memorize vocabulary and read English. In my free time, I would always wonder how I could be more efficient at my duty, and whenever someone said about some experience they’d had in their professional work, I would note it down straight away. Every time I listened to an audio file while I did my duty, I recorded the time it took to finish it, in order to see whether or not I’d made any progress…. In the blink of an eye, several months had passed and, although I’d studied hard and made some progress, the results I obtained in my duties were still so much poorer than those obtained by my brothers and sisters. When I used English to exchange ideas with others, I would often express myself inaccurately, so afterward my brothers and sisters would always help me to correct my mistakes. When discussing work, the views and suggestions I offered were mostly useless. Thinking of how I wasn’t performing well at my duty and that I still needed my brothers and sisters to help me and set me right, I really felt like I was losing face, and in my heart there was a feeling of dejection and pain that I couldn’t give words to. But the more things went on like this, the stronger my desire to be better than others became and the more I didn’t want to give up, thinking that one day in the future I would surely stand out conspicuously and receive others’ approval.

Not long after, the person in charge arranged for me to perform duty together with another sister. Seeing that the sister was unfamiliar with the duty and that her level of English was not as good as mine, I secretly rejoiced: I could finally be rid of the dunce hat. The sister later encountered difficulties in her duty and, when she came to me seeking answers, I kept some information to myself. I didn’t want to fellowship too much with her for fear of her progressing too quickly and surpassing me. Sometimes I saw this sister obtaining no results in her duty and living in a state of negativity. I knew I should help her with a loving heart but I was afraid that, if her state became better and she obtained good results in her duty, then I wouldn’t outshine her anymore, so I behaved indifferently toward her. Little did I realize that when the sister encountered difficulties she would seek the truth, and when she lacked some professional knowledge she would often learn from other brothers and sisters. After two or three months she gradually managed to grasp the principles of doing her duty, her English quickly improved and she obtained good results in her duty. This made me panic, and I thought: “If things carried on this way, I was afraid that I’d once again be the least able member of the group. Oh, compared with the brothers and sisters who’d been doing this duty for a long time, it was OK for me not to be as good as them. But this sister had joined the group after me. If she was better than me too, where would I be able to hide my face for shame? What would my brothers and sisters think of me?” So, in this way, I lived all day in a state of vying for fame and gain from which I couldn’t escape, my mind entertained all sorts of ideas, my spirit was in darkness and in pain, and I lived in torment every day. At that time, I couldn’t help but recall with nostalgia the great time I’d had before, doing my duty back at home. When we’d discussed work back then, my sisters all approved of my views. Besides, the church leader held me in high esteem. How wonderful those days were, and yet now I had sunk to such a low…. The more I thought about it, the more painful it was, and the more disconsolate and wronged I felt, and I couldn’t help but hide away in the bathroom, crying my eyes out. In my pain, I prayed to God: “Oh, God! I don’t know what lessons I should be learning in this situation, and I don’t know why You have orchestrated this kind of environment for me. Are You exposing me? Oh, God! What is Your will? May You enlighten and illuminate me….” That evening, I lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep. I kept thinking: “Doing my duty here is just too painful and I feel so dispirited. I don’t want to stay here in this place any longer. I’d rather go work as a coolie than stay here.” But when I thought this, I remembered how I had previously made a solemn vow to God to expend myself and repay God’s love for as long as I lived. If I really gave up my duty, wouldn’t that vow become just a lie? Wouldn’t I have deceived and betrayed God? But if I stayed here and did my duty, living in a pained, stifling state, I wouldn’t be willing to face the situation God had arranged for me—what was I to do? I was in a dilemma and I cried constantly. Crying, I prayed to God: “Oh, God! I’m so upset. I don’t know how I should be pursuing the truth in this situation, and I don’t know what lessons I should be learning. I ask that You enlighten and guide me, and allow me to understand Your will….”

Afterward, I turned my phone on and listened to a hymn of God’s words. As I listened, some of the lyrics touched my heart: “For many years, the thoughts that people have relied upon for their survival have been corroding their hearts to the point that they have become treacherous, cowardly, and despicable. Not only do they lack willpower and resolve, but they have also become greedy, arrogant, and willful. They are utterly lacking any resolve that transcends the self, and even more, they don’t have a bit of courage to shake off the strictures of these dark influences. People’s thoughts and lives are rotten, their perspectives on believing in God are still unbearably ugly, and even when people speak of their perspectives on belief in God it is simply unbearable to hear. People are all cowardly, incompetent, despicable, as well as fragile. They do not feel disgust for the forces of darkness, and they do not feel love for the light and the truth; instead, they do their utmost to expel them” (“Man’s True Condition of Being Corrupted by Satan” in Follow the Lamb and Sing New Songs). Listening to these words, I suddenly thought: Wasn’t I now living out the ugly life that God had exposed? All day long, I pulled a long, moping face, was pessimistic and despairing, and in my duty I was negative and passive, so much so that I even had the idea to throw down God’s commission and go out and get a job, and I hadn’t even a shred of resolve to pursue the truth and change myself. Only because the thoughts people live by are corroding their hearts do they have these states that God exposes. So exactly what thoughts was I living by? What thoughts had actually been tormenting me so painfully, to the point where I was even going to break my vow and give up my duty? As I contemplated God’s words, I began to calm down and reflect on exactly what I was pursuing and what things I had become fond of. I then thought of a scene in a music video. Written all over it were all kinds of satanic poisons and satanic laws, and three of them were: “I am my own Lord throughout heaven and earth,” “rising above others,” and “One should bring honor to his ancestors.” I suddenly realized that I had always lived by these poisons, and had therefore sought to be treated as important and held in high esteem by other people, and to gain their respect. At the very least, I wanted to be taken seriously, and at best, everyone would like me, admire me, agree with and approve of me. Only that was a life of value and meaning. Only that was the life. If I wasn’t held in high esteem by other people, but instead was seen as unimportant or snubbed, I would feel that life was so painful and meaningless, and that kind of life was so disheartening and degrading. Since I was small, I had always been worshiping and admiring those people with a towering image, always seeking to be someone like them. After I had come to the church to perform my duty, I was still living by Satan’s poisons. These things had become the beliefs I lived by and they had become my motivation and my goal, and no matter what situation I was in, I always worked hard and struggled to achieve this goal. When I had tried my hardest and failed to be seen as important and held in high esteem by other people, I would become despondent and would feel pained and downhearted, so much so that I wanted to give up my duty and betray God. Thoughts of pursuing fame and gain were in firm control of me and were dominating me. I suffered for them and struggled for them, so that all my joys and sorrows were affected by them and controlled by them. They were like phantoms, entwined so tightly around every piece of the deepest part of my soul, that if someone had dared to lay a finger on them, it would have killed me. At that moment, I realized that the direction in which I was pursuing was wrong. I was believing in God and doing my duty not to pursue the truth or repay God’s love, but instead I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to do my duty to satisfy my desire for status, and achieve my ambition and desire to distinguish myself. The enlightenment of God’s words enabled me to have some knowledge of my corrupt disposition of pursuing fame, gain and status, and I came to see clearly my future path. My heart felt very much unburdened. Although I was still bottom of the group, I didn’t feel as pained as I had before, for I knew that it was unimportant whether I was bottom of the group or not, and whether other people looked highly upon me or not was equally unimportant; what was most important was to be able to obey God’s orchestrations and arrangements, seek to practice the truth and satisfy God in all things, live by God’s words, fulfill my own duty well and ultimately earn God’s praise.

Once I had come to this realization, I felt so much stronger than I had before, and when I encountered matters that touched upon my self-regard and status, I wasn’t as frail, and I could face them somewhat correctly. But my satanic nature of pursuing status had been deeply rooted within me and it had become my life. It wasn’t something that could be utterly resolved by undergoing a few instances of judgment, chastisement, trials and refinement. In order to better purify and change me, God continued to arrange situations in which He could judge, chastise, try and refine me.

In the days that followed, the person in charge arranged for two sisters to direct the work due to them being so capable. So as not to interrupt me doing my duty, whenever they had to exchange ideas with other brothers and sisters, they would go into another room. When I saw them leave the room, I felt both admiration and envy: “How come I’m not as capable as them? They are able to direct the brothers and sisters in their work, which sounds great, whereas I just sit in an empty room, next to a huge desk, doing some small jobs that don’t require any skill whatsoever. Oh! Aren’t I just a dogsbody?” Afterward, although I was elected to be group leader, I couldn’t muster up any happiness at all, and I even looked down on this duty. I always felt that the titles of “skilled” and “talented” sounded so fantastic, whereas the job of group leader was only done by idle people who weren’t skilled enough to do anything else. No matter how well I did at this duty, who would look highly upon me? Ah … Doing this duty, I felt so dejected. Because I had the wrong state of mind, because I was disobedient and paid no consideration to God’s will, the Holy Spirit didn’t work in me. I couldn’t summon up any energy to perform my duty, and every now and then I would think: “What special skill has God actually given me? When will I be able to bring my talents into full play in a duty I’m genuinely good at? …” Little by little, I once again began to follow the wrong path, my feelings of resentment got stronger and stronger and I felt more and more agitated, so that whenever one of the two sisters asked me to conveniently close a door or open a window, I always got angry, and thought: “How old are you? How long have you believed in God? You’re better at professional work than I am, but even if that’s the case, it doesn’t mean you can order me around.” I therefore developed prejudices about her, and I wasn’t willing to pay any attention to anything she said to me. Sometimes when she asked me a question I would purposefully pretend not to have heard and I wouldn’t make a sound. Sometimes, even though I did respond to her, I wouldn’t use a nice tone of voice. One morning, the two sisters had to go out to take care of some things. I saw that they were dressed so neatly and that they looked so classy, and my heart felt uneasy. I thought: “It’s fine if I’m not to go with you, but at the very least you could show me the courtesy of sparing me embarrassment, and ask me if I want to go with you. It seems as though you both look down on me, and that you just don’t have any regard for me at all….” While I was eating lunch that day, a sister asked me: “Where were those two going?” I then felt even more like I’d lost face, and I thought: “Just don’t ask, OK? You all know that the main strength of our group is those two. You must surely think I’m so lacking in ability and that I can’t do anything.” Although I knew very well my own weaknesses and that I wasn’t able to do that kind of duty, yet losing face had made me seethe with secret rage. At seven o’clock that evening, the two sisters returned, and all the sisters in the house went to welcome them and ask them about their day, and some sisters busied themselves with preparing a meal for them. I wanted to go over and ask them how their work had gone that day, but as I watched the scene unfold, the envy in my heart once again rushed to the fore, and I thought: “You two have bound to have been successful and impressive today, and all the brothers and sisters revolve around you. Looks as though I’m even more worthless.” Thinking these thoughts, I turned around and went to my room without saying a word. Once in my room, I just couldn’t calm my heart and I didn’t feel like doing my duty. I felt such pain in my heart and so, weeping bitter tears, I came before God and prayed: “Oh, God! I know that my desire for status is causing trouble again. I know in principle that I shouldn’t seek to be looked highly upon by others, much less seek to have status in other people’s hearts, but I feel so distressed and pained. Oh, God! I want to relinquish my self-regard and the desire for status and not think about the opinions others may have of me, but I can’t accomplish that at the moment and I feel incapable of action. Oh, God! I pray that You guide me, lead me and save me, allow me to understand Your will and cast off the bonds and constraints of status and reputation.” That evening, my heart was in such pain that I didn’t want to talk at all. As the night drew on, the sisters one by one went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep at all …

The next day, one of the sisters realized that I was in a bad state and came to help me, and together we read two passages of God’s fellowship. God said: “As soon as it involves position, face, or reputation, everyone’s heart leaps in anticipation, and you always want to stand out, to be famous, to be glorified. You are unwilling to yield, always wanting to contend, although contending is embarrassing. However, you are not content not to contend. When you see someone stand out, you are jealous, feel hatred, complain, and feel it is unfair. ‘Why can’t I stand out? Why is it never me? Why is it always he who gets to stand out and it’s never my turn?’ There is some resentment. You try to repress the resentment, but you can’t, so you pray. After praying, you feel better for a little while, but later when you encounter the matter again you cannot overcome it. Is this not a case of immature stature? Is not a person’s falling into these conditions a trap? This is the bondage of a satanically corrupted nature” (“You Can Obtain Truth After Turning Your True Heart Over to God” in Records of Christ’s Talks). “What kind of person does God want? Is it someone who is great, a celebrity, a noble person, a world-shaking person? Is that the kind of person that God wants? (No.) So what kind of person does God want, then? Tell Me. (Someone with their feet firmly on the ground, who is a worthy creature.) Aha, so someone with their feet firmly on the ground who pursues to be a worthy creature, who can fulfill a creature’s duty” (“Only Seeking the Truth and Obeying God Can Resolve a Corrupt Disposition” in Records of Christ’s Talks). In contrast with God’s words, I saw that the views I’d always had on what to pursue had not changed at all. I always wanted to stand out and show myself off, wanting to be a star or an A-list hotshot, to be seen as important by others. I always wanted to do some important, skilled work, believing that, only by doing work like this could I be held in high esteem by other people and obtain God’s approval, and the blessings I’d ultimately receive from God would be proportionally great. Dominated by these thoughts, I always wanted to do important work and take great strides, and disdained having to do what I considered small jobs or odd jobs, so much so that I even looked down on the duty of group leader, blaming God for not having given me a good caliber—I was so completely without sense! In fact, God doesn’t want noble people or world-shaking people; the people God wants are those who can perform the duty of a created being with their feet planted firmly on the ground. No matter what duty is arranged for them to do, as long as they use every ounce of strength they possess to cooperate with God and bring all their power into play, as long as they do not mask their treachery and act all slick, are not petty, but are able to perform their duty so as to satisfy God, then God will be well pleased. God hadn’t demanded that I have some great ability in professional work or that I possess some amazing caliber, or that I achieve incredibly high standards in my duty. There’s no way I could achieve this all in an instant. God only required me to perform the duty of a created being, to do my utmost and put my all into cooperating with God, not to be slipshod, but to be devoted to my duty—this is something I could achieve. Though my caliber was not up to scratch, as long as I brought it all into play and acted with all my heart, all my mind, all my soul and all my strength, then I would achieve what God required. This was all I should be pursuing. God had arranged for several of us with different calibers to do our duty together in the hope that each of us would perform our own function, work together and make up for what each other lacked, and fulfill our duty well. But because I was pursuing status and reputation, whenever I saw someone else being able to perform an important duty, whereas I was left only doing some jobs no one could see and not being able to show myself off, I would become jealous, even to the point where I would cause disturbances and undermine other people. When my desire for status was left unsatisfied, I wouldn’t be diligent in my duty and I would get in a huff with my sisters, pull a long face when around them, and have a bad attitude and vent my displeasure. Not only was I completely ineffectual in my group, but on the contrary I would cause disturbances, make trouble for our work and would cause harm to my sisters. This is how I was—I still didn’t know myself and hatred arose in me for my sisters. What kind of person was I? Was I not a living demon? I was so selfish and mean, without a shred of normal humanity. The more I thought about it, the more I reproached myself. I saw that my corrupt disposition was so severe, that my pursuit of status and reputation had caused so many disturbances to the work of God’s family and that I’d caused so much trouble for my brothers and sisters. These kinds of expressions I was making were indeed satanic behaviors. I was defying God, and I was truly following the path of opposition to God. Seeing my own nature and essence of defying God, I felt afraid, but at the same time I felt God’s mercy and salvation. God hadn’t given up on me because I hadn’t been pursuing the truth or walking the right path. Instead, God was exposing my corrupt disposition by means of His judgment, chastisement, trials and refinement, so that I would come to know my own nature and essence, turn back to God, and become someone who submitted to the sovereignty and arrangements of God. Only then did I understand the care and thought God was taking on my behalf, and some reverence for God awoke in my heart. In remorse, I fell to my knees and prayed to God: “Oh, God! I give thanks for Your judgment and chastisement. I now see that the pursuit of reputation and status is so dangerous, and that this pursuit is what has led me to live in my satanic, corrupt disposition and to be opposed to You. I have lost my humanity, and when I encounter issues I don’t seek the truth or practice Your words, nor do I pay any consideration to Your will or put my heart into my duty. On the contrary, I live a life vying for fame and gain, in which I interrupt and disturb Your work. I’m so selfish and mean, and I really haven’t a shred of humanity. Oh, God! I keep saying that I want to be Your close friend, that I want to pursue the truth in earnest, perform my duty properly and repay Your love, but thinking about it now, they’re all just empty words, all lies and all said to deceive You. Oh, God! I don’t want to cause You any more grief. I want to relinquish my desire for status and self-regard, and seek to be someone who is considerate to Your will. No matter what duty You allocate me in the future, even if it’s the most unremarkable duty, I will still earnestly cooperate. I wish to be the most insignificant servant in God’s family and submit to Your sovereignty and arrangements.”

Afterward, I read some more of God’s words: “I decide the destination of each person not on the basis of age, seniority, amount of suffering, and least of all, the degree to which they invite pity, but according to whether they possess the truth. There is no other choice but this. You must realize that all those who do not follow the will of God will be punished. This is an immutable fact” (“You Ought to Prepare a Sufficiency of Good Deeds for Your Destination” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). “I do not care how meritorious your hard work is, how impressive your qualifications, how closely you follow Me, how renowned you are, or how improved your attitude; so long as you have not done what I have demanded, you will never be able to win My praise. … for I cannot bring My enemies and people reeking of evil on the model of Satan into My kingdom, into the next age” (“Transgressions Will Take Man to Hell” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). God’s words tell us in absolute clarity about His disposition, His will, what people He praises and what people He eliminates and punishes. From God’s words, I came to understand that God doesn’t base His decisions on what person to praise or what destination a person may have on whether that person has status, fame or prestige, or on how many people endorse and approve of them, or on how much capital they have—God doesn’t look at these things. He only looks at whether or not people follow His way and whether or not they practice the truth. He looks at whether or not the views people have about what to pursue and the path they follow in their belief in God are in accordance with His will, and whether or not they meet His requirements. All through the ages, despite the fact so many famous, prestigious people held status amongst other people and were worshiped, yet they were unable to follow God’s way. When God’s work was at odds with their notions, they defied and judged God, they stubbornly clung to their own notions, they didn’t acknowledge God’s words, they didn’t pursue life and, in the end, they all embarked upon the path of defying God and opposing God, and were condemned and eliminated for their having done all manner of evil. For example, the chief priests, scribes and Pharisees had status and influence, and amongst the common people of Israel, they had much prestige and were endorsed by a great many people. But when the Lord Jesus came to do His work, they did not seek the truth or investigate the true way. Instead, so as to protect their own positions and livelihoods, they wildly condemned and defied the Lord Jesus, and ultimately nailed Him to the cross, and thus were cursed and punished by God. God is righteous, and in God’s work, only those who can fear God and shun evil are able to earn God’s praise. Those people are able to obey God and heed His words. They know their own mission in life and can hold to their own duty. Because they are able to submit to God’s sovereignty and arrangements, practice God’s words and bear witness for God, they obtain God’s praise and blessings. Take Noah, for example; he was a righteous man in the eyes of God. He did what God told him to do; he was capable of heeding God’s words and cooperating with God’s work. He completed the commission God gave him to do and built the ark in accordance with God’s requirements, and ultimately he attained God’s salvation and survived. As another example, Abraham was able to follow God’s words and wholeheartedly return his beloved only son to God. Because of his absolute obedience, the offspring God blessed him with built a great nation. And also, Job merely heard tell of God and was then able to follow the path of fearing God and shunning evil. Although he encountered a trial whereby his property and his children were all taken from him, he would rather have cursed himself than blame God, and was actually able to extol the name of God, therefore becoming a perfect man in the eyes of God. Even the poor widow who gave two copper coins, although to other people this may not have seemed worth mentioning, to God, this woman was giving everything she had to Him, and by doing so she earned God’s praise. … Comparing and contemplating along these lines, I saw how righteous God is. As long as people can heed God’s words, submit to God’s sovereignty and arrangements, practice His words in accordance with His requirements and perform the duty of a created being, even if that duty is not considered by others to be worth mentioning, they will earn God’s praise by offering up their sincerity. Only then did I appreciate that what people should most be pursuing in their belief in God and as they follow God was how to satisfy God’s will, how to follow God’s way, and they should not seek to make others look highly on them; the most precious people are those who live to satisfy God, and only they can live out a true human life.

Suddenly, all was revealed, and I understood: God has arranged for me to be doing my duty in this environment and has arranged these people, matters and things intentionally to puncture my inflated self-pride. All this was done to allow me to experience the pain of living in Satan’s domain striving for fame and gain, thereby to understand God’s will, cast off Satan’s net, remedy my absurd outlook on life, live before God in freedom and perform the duty of a created being. After I came to this realization, I also came to appreciate the care and thought God took, and I was able to understand God. God knew my desire for status was too strong and that I had to experience these situations in order for God to refine me, to enable me to know myself and cast off my corrupt disposition. This was the best way for God to purify and change me, and it was a special favor for me, so I must obey God’s words and grab hold of this opportunity with both hands. I then went before God to pray: “Oh, God! My desire to pursue fame, gain and status is so strong, and I can be purified only by experiencing this judgment and chastisement. I now know in my heart that You prepared this environment for me, and that it was You who carefully arranged it in order to purify and change me. Oh God, I give thanks to You! I now ask for nothing else, only that You guide me to learn the lessons in this environment. If I don’t learn them, then may this situation last forever.” After I’d prayed, I felt the courage and the resolve to submit to my current situation arise in my heart, and my state became somewhat positive.

When I had become willing to relinquish my pursuit of status, steadfastly pursue the truth and conscientiously do my duty to satisfy God, God tested me by means of some situations. One time, I heard that some of us had to be temporarily transferred elsewhere to perform their duties because of the requirements of our work. When I heard this, desire once again lifted its head: Maybe this time I’d have the chance to go somewhere new and distinguish myself. When the sisters were discussing this work, I listened closely, hoping to be able to go together with them. But a sister said that it wasn’t necessary to get so many people involved. They would go, and I could stay at home and keep things ticking along this end. When I heard this, I felt somewhat disheartened and I felt like I was someone who only ever worked behind the scenes and there would never come a day when I could shine…. I then realized that my motives were wrong. I wasn’t putting my heart into my duty and was once again vying with my sisters for fame and gain. A passage from a sermon came to mind: “If people always scheme against each other, are they able to do their work well? When everyone just does their own thing and takes care of their own business, then they will be incapable of doing their work well. People working together is terrific; when people are able to work together harmoniously then they are blessed by God, and as the proverb goes: ‘If people all work together with one mind, they can turn ocher into gold’” (“Sermons and Fellowship About God’s Word ‘God Himself, the Unique II’ (XXIII)” in Sermons and Fellowship on Entry Into Life (XII)). And God’s words say: “What did the Lord Jesus say? (‘That if two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven’ (Mat 18:19).) There’s another. (‘For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the middle of them’ (Mat 18:20).) So what’s the issue here? (We can’t act all on our own.) … Using the language of a believer in God, what do these words refer to? (We should collaborate harmoniously.) Collaborate harmoniously, do things with one heart and mind, have a common goal. Colloquially, it can be said that ‘sticks in a bundle cannot be broken.’ So how can you become like a bundle of sticks? You must be in accord, and then the Holy Spirit will work; that is how the Holy Spirit works” (Records of Christ’s Talks). From God’s words and the passage of a sermon, I realized that we are blessed when we work together with one mind, and that God hates it when we live within our satanic, corrupt dispositions and each do our own thing, striving for fame and gain, and doing whatever suits ourselves. And there I was, once again beginning to vie with my sisters for the sake of self-regard and status—living within this kind of corrupt disposition, how could I possibly gain God’s blessing? And how could I possibly perform my duty well? I then thought of some of God’s words that say: “The functions are not the same. There is one body. Each does his duty, each in his place and doing his very best—for each spark there is one flash of light—and seeking maturity in life. Thus will I be satisfied” (Utterances and Testimonies of Christ in the Beginning). I saw in God’s words that the mission God entrusts to each of us is different and that, in God’s eyes, there is no distinction between high or low, noble or humble when it comes to the duties we perform. God requires only that we act dutifully to keep the principle of “each in his place and doing his very best.” If we can achieve this, then God is satisfied. In fact, regardless of whether other people look highly upon me or not, my identity as a created being will not change, and no one can strip me of my right to pursue the truth and follow the right path in life. Thinking carefully about all this, I realized that I hadn’t put my heart into pursuing the truth or doing my duty for such a long time, but instead had single-mindedly pursued status, fame and gain, and had vainly squandered all this precious time and energy on these worthless things. What could I actually gain in the end by pursuing these things? Could I earn God’s praise? Could they bring me God’s blessing? They couldn’t do anything for me. There would be pain and then more pain. Every time I’d wanted to gain fame and benefit but had failed, I really had suffered unspeakably, and I always had a feeling like I was being toyed with in the palm of Satan’s hand and was distorted so that I resembled beasts of unbearable ugliness. Thinking about it now, status and self-regard really are so harmful to people, and I really don’t need them. God had predestined and chosen me, and my caliber and stature had long since been predetermined by God. Since I didn’t have the ability to perform any important duty, I would dutifully work to the best of my ability and become someone with sense who obeyed God. If the work I did could satisfy God’s will, then my life would not have been lived in vain and I would not have wasted this time spent following God. The more I thought along these lines, the more encouraged I felt, and I felt that God was beside me, leading me out of the bonds of fame, gain and status. From that moment on, my state of mind about doing my duty underwent a huge transformation; my initiative in doing my duty increased, and my heart felt calm and liberated. When the two sisters needed to go out to perform their duties, I prayed for them and asked God to enlighten and guide them. I then did all I could to get the preparatory work done, in order to lessen their unnecessary worries, and to save them both time and energy so they could more easily give all their attention to doing their important work. When I started practicing in this way, my heart felt a sense of ease and peace it had never felt before, and I felt that this was a great way to do my duty. Besides this, when I had time, I would urge others to focus more on their spiritual devotions and on writing articles, so that they wouldn’t overlook life entry while they were doing their duties. This was the function I should perform and it was also the most suitable position God arranged for me, therefore I should take my place, accomplish everything I was capable of accomplishing and practice God’s words that say “for each spark there is one flash of light.” This is the sense a created being should have, and this is both my responsibility and my duty. After undergoing this kind of transformation, I gradually came to like this duty and my heart was calmed. I no longer thought about when I’d be able to distinguish myself, but thought only of steadfastly performing my duty well; so long as God was pleased, then that was my greatest comfort and greatest happiness.

From then on, whenever I expressed my corrupt disposition of vying for fame and gain, I would quickly realize that I was living in a wrong state. In order to deal with my corrupt disposition, I would both pray to God to forsake my satanic nature and practice being an honest person. I was open and honest with my sisters about my corruption, and I would never let Satan trick me again. When I saw my sisters encounter difficulties in their duties and get into a bad state, I was able to relinquish myself and proactively commune and fellowship about God’s words with them. Even if I couldn’t fellowship about God’s words very clearly, I was still willing to rely on God and cooperate, be considerate toward God’s will and do all I could to help my sisters. Furthermore, although most of the time I was only doing some inconspicuous duties and doing some unremarkable things that weren’t worth mentioning, when I applied my heart to every single thing I did, I would feel at ease and at peace. Before, there had always been status, fame and gain between me and God, and I had been unable to sincerely perform my duty before God. In my heart I was always demanding things from God, and I had never had a normal relationship with God. Now, I was no longer constrained by status or self-regard, and I had fewer requirements of God. I felt that my relationship with God had become closer and my relationship with other brothers and sisters had also become normal. I felt that I was no longer that kind of extremely petty person I had been before, and my mind had now been broadened somewhat. Seeing that I could change in these ways, my heart became filled with gratitude to God—it truly was God’s judgment and chastisement that had saved and changed me.

God’s words say: “God pays a price—a painstaking price—for every individual, and they each have His will. God has expectations for everyone, and He entrusts them all with His hope. He freely pays the painstaking price for those people of His own will, and He willingly gives His life and truth to every individual. So God is gratified if anyone is able to understand this aim of His. If you can accept and obey the things He does, and if you can receive all from God, He then feels that the painstaking price has not been paid in vain. This means that, if you have lived up to the care and thought God has invested in you, you have reaped the rewards in every environment, and haven’t disappointed God’s hopes in you, and if what God does on you has had the expected effect and has reached the expected objective, then God’s heart is satisfied” (“To Attain the Truth, You Must Learn From the People, Matters, and Things Around You” in Records of Christ’s Talks). God’s words allowed me to feel His love and warmth, and allowed me to perceive that every tiny thing God did for me contains God’s care, thought and painstaking effort, just as God’s words say: “… how important God’s love is to man. But what is even more crucial is man’s appreciation and comprehension of God’s love” (“God’s Work, God’s Disposition, and God Himself I” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). I recalled how I always used to have a sense of superiority when performing my duties in the church at home, and in that kind of environment, my vain heart derived satisfaction and I suffered nothing at all—how then could I have realized the harm reputation and status were causing me? Only God knew what vital weaknesses I still had that had not yet been resolved, and God knew what environment to orchestrate for me in which He could better save me. God treated me like an ignorant child who doesn’t know what it is to be hungry. When parents prepare a bowl of nutritious food that is best for the child and they bring it to him, then even if the child doesn’t want to eat it or cries and screams because he doesn’t like the taste, the parents will patiently use all kinds of methods and apply all their wisdom to get the child to eat it, so that he grows up healthy and strong. This was how God was supplying and nurturing me now, and yet I was like that ignorant child, harboring so many misunderstandings and so much blame toward God, so much so that there were many times when I wanted to rid myself of God’s sovereignty and arrangements and flee from these situations. But God had not made a fuss about my transgressions, but instead had used His words to enlighten and guide me, had worked to save me and had delivered me onto the right path in life. While God worked in this way, I truly felt how real God’s salvation of me was, and how sincere God’s heart was. In order to get me to understand the truth and so that He could change my corrupt disposition, God maneuvered so many people, matters and things and arranged so many situations in my service. Some I let slip by, some I stubbornly rejected, and there were so many times when I misunderstood God or rebelled against Him, and there were so many times when I cried and wailed before God. That I can today have this knowledge and be transformed is the result of God judging, chastising, trying and refining me time and time again. In order for the truth to be wrought within me and in order to change my corrupt disposition, God expended such great painstaking effort on me—God’s love is so real. From now on, no matter what situations God arranges for me, or what duties He arranges for me to do, I will always accept them and obey. I will use my heart to experience, savor and feel God’s love, so that I can know God even more, become someone who obeys God, worships God and loves God, and live out a life of value and meaning.

Thanks for your listening. All the glory be to Almighty God!

[grantplant]

Inside/Outside

This week, Mira is nine months old. I guess nine is a number pregnant (har) with significance, and I’m wrestling with the impossible-seeming reality that she’s been out for about as long as she was in.

She was a timely little lass, arriving two days after her due date. In fact, everything about her arrival was routine. I started contractions the evening of July 13, recording their strength and frequency throughout the night, calling into the doctor around 2 AM and then taking a cab to the hospital at 6 that morning. Boring, right?

The family room we requested was open, so the staff instructed us to settle in, nap, and try to eat something. I puked a lot, someone brought us lunch at 12, and by 2 I was in the tub in the birthing room. By 3, I was on the bed, hooked up to my short-release opiate (“the happy button,” they called it, and it was, for a short while at least).

At 7:49 that evening, after what felt like an eternity of pain and bellowing but was really only a few action-packed hours, out popped Mira, all according to the birthing plan. Granted, it was a simple one: Get her out, preferably without an epidural, and delay cord-cutting until she’d gotten the maximum benefit of the placenta. The rest was built in to their (the hospital’s) approach: baby stays on mama, no bathing, relaxed approach to taking weight and height. What didn’t go to plan was a burst blood vessel during delivery, and the somewhat extensive blood loss and stitching that happened immediately after Mira’s arrival. And I thought I was done with the pain and discomfort. But I had 7.7 pounds and 19 inches of Mira to behold, so I was well-distracted.

If I am this nostalgic about her entrance into our lives a mere nine months later, I can only imagine what I’m going to feel in nine or nineteen years! Hear me now: you don’t have to listen to my blubbering. Just pat my arm and walk away.

In the era of Mira, I have an all-new subset of favorite things. Where the saddest part of my day used to be saying goodbye to Pat when he left for work, and the gladdest part welcoming him back (gag, sorry… I love him), I have added to the sad list dropping Mira off at daycare (on those days that she goes), and the glad list collecting her again, as well as seeing her sleepy face first thing in the morning. Also on my list of favorites is reading to her before bedtime, and I daresay it’s a fave of hers, too. She’s really into Yummy Yucky (I think she likes the baby) and we’re digging deep into that whole series of opposites: Quiet Loud, Big Little, No No Yes Yes.

Someone told me that opposites have to be taught in context or else kids will confuse which is which. Near/Far, for example. I guess the way Grover did it on Sesame Street is the right way?

Otherwise, the two get conflated and baby/toddler/child can’t remember if near is called near or far, and far is called far or near. Same for above/below, front/back, inside/outside, and so on. (For my part, I swapped the meanings of by accident/on purpose when I was little, and I remember keenly how confused I was when I’d get in trouble after claiming I did something on purpose. Opposites, man. Tricky.)

I’m sure one day Mira and I will have the age old conversation about how she was once inside of me, and then she came out. She may ask what it was like then, when she was growing in my belly, and I’m glad I have a handful of mostly sunny, positive blog posts from that time to point her to. For all the journaling I do now, jotting daily milestones, challenges, dear moments and my impressions, I did very little writing for myself in those first nine months.

It’s not that my blog posts were at all dishonest, but they didn’t paint the whole picture. There was a significant period of time—mostly relegated to the first half of my pregnancy, when I was so sick and dispirited—that I felt sure we’d made a terrible mistake. I was too ashamed to put to paper everything in my head and heart: I wasn’t going to like being a mom, at least not right away; this was an aspirational journey and I’d know at the end of my life I made the right choice and it was all worth it. I just had to grin and bear the rest. I was surely going to suffer from postpartum depression. I think I was already depressed.

The latter four and a half months were a lot better. I stopped throwing up and started eating; winter ended and the sun came out; I could see, then feel, evidence of the baby inside; we found out, finally, that we were having a girl. It got better, but I don’t think I ever stopped feeling a low level dread born of deep uncertainty about what Pat and I had gotten ourselves into.

That is, until July 14, 2016 at 7:49 PM. Or maybe 7:50.

Unbeknownst to me, Pat and the midwife (who had become fast friends and mutual fans during my private trial) had been gaming how many more pushes until Mira was free of me and fully out in the world. I was on my hands and knees facing away from them, eyes closed, praying, bargaining, asking for help, begging for someone to get her out. The midwife had told Pat three more, but it only took two before I looked down and saw that heap of baby below me. Then I wailed. I remember thinking that I wasn’t even happy—not yet. Just relieved. It was over.

And then the switch flipped.

Inside/Outside. Before/After. Sad/Glad. Pain/Joy. Where there had been notions and expectations, deep uncertainty followed by the most incredible pain I ever hope to know, her arrival marked the start of a new reality. And this reality couldn’t be more different from the one I’d imagined.

If you know me, you know I hate being wrong. Almost as much as I hate spiders and bigotry. I’m so ashamed of how wrong I was about this. I’m so grateful that I was so wrong about this.

Wrong/Right. Sad/Happy. Endured/Treasured. Burden/Blessing. I give thanks for opposites, and living long enough (or being patient or foolish or lucky enough) to learn the difference between the two.

[regrettablewritings]

A Practice in Happy Memories

You always felt a little guilty whenever you performed magic in front of Credence. Despite his clear potential and strength in magical abilities, he was incredibly far back in terms of structure and discipline and therefore couldn’t readily concoct a decent spell to save his life. Not that he would; the poor dear was filled to the brim with worry over who he could harm or what he could damage, still recovering from that unfortunate day when he broke down into Obscurial form. 

But he was quite happy to watch you make objects float or transform one thing into another. And you, being his loving other half, were not one to disappoint. Sometimes after his lessons with Tina or Queenie, he would come back excitedly and ask if you were aware of or able to perform that day’s lesson as well. Sometimes, you would smile lightly and shake your head; but usually, you were capable enough. It was one day when he came back from his lessons, quieter than usual. 

Sure, he nodded at you and offered a quiet response to your greeting him when he entered your shared apartment that evening. He even returned the hug you gave him, as Credence normally would. But there seemed to be a lack of focus in it. It just didn’t have as much … What was the word? Credence-ish charm?

You questioned him lightly about today’s lesson, curious but not wanting to prod. Credence would give small but technically sufficient answers like, “It went well” or “Ms. Tina said my wrist technique is getting better.“ 

Dinner, while normally quiet, felt altogether conversationally bankrupt. Usually it was quiet because shared moments between you and Credence were, in their very nature, quiet: he was a shy boy and while you were more outspoken by comparison, you weren’t that much more verbose than he. And yet, it didn’t fail to startle you when he finally spoke as you brought out pie for dessert. 

 "Do you have a Patronus?” he said. It was soft and low, much like most of what Credence said, yet it seemed to weigh heavily in the air like an erumpent. 

 Your head cocked, “Pardon?" 

 The boy’s pale cheeks grew a twinge of rouge as he stammered, "I – I just meant – Ms. Tina told me about Patronuses. And how it’s usually like a burst of light or vapory but … But if you’re really skilled about it, it can turn into an animal. Or something …” He began to fidget. “I know you keep saying you’re not, but I really do think you’re very talented with … with magic." 

Your own cheeks began to bloom with rose. "Well,” you smirked. “I haven’t done it in a while but …” You plucked your wand up from its place on the table and, ever the showoff, proudly spoke, “Expecto Patronum!" 

A stream of light emerged from your wand before taking the form of your Patronus: A silvery dove flew gracefully throughout the room, not disturbing any of the surroundings it grazed so much as it bathed a portion of it in a wisp of light vapor. 

 Credence, of course, was amazed, his eyes following every movement your dove made until it eventually appeared to evaporate, it’s summoning expired. "A dove …?” he finally spoke. You shrugged. 

 "A dove,“ you confirmed. 

 "May I – is it okay if I ask why?” Once again, you offered a mere shrug.

 "Patronuses are a little complex, dear. They got something to do with the person who makes ‘em. Like who they are or what animal they like the most. Something like that. Though I heard it can change throughout life.“ You settled yourself back into your seat as you prepared to cut the previously forgotten pie. 

 While you were quite happy to dig into your slice, it didn’t take long for you to notice that Credence was merely picking at his own. Once again, you found yourself asking what was the matter. This time, it was his term to offer a shrug, more docile than yours. 

 "Ms. Tina told me that in order to do it, you have to think of your happiest memory,” he answered. What he said next was in a voice you hadn’t heard him use in ages, not since his days being fresh from under Mary-Lou Barebone’s guardianship. It was this quiet, disheartened voice and what it delivered that broke your heart: “I guess this means I might not be able to ever do the Patronus Charm …" 

 The clatter of your fork and the screeching of your chair contrasted brutally with the soft somberness of Credence’s voice. Your tight, familiar embrace soon followed, encompassing his shoulders and neck as you awkwardly tried hugging him from your position on your feet and too his side, and his own position in his chair. 

 "Don’t say that,” you said. It was in a gentle but nevertheless stern and insisting tone. One you used whenever Credence lapsed back into the dispiriting mode Mary-Lou had literally beat into him, as a means to remind him that he was never who he was told he was. 

“Credence, I know you can do it. You’ll just need practice, that’s all. Some good old practice like every witch or wizard needs and you’ll be just fine!” Your voice returned to its normal cheeriness upon the last sentence’s delivery as you moved yourself into a position where you could simply face your beloved and flash him that smile he loved so much. “Besides, you’ve had nicer memories recently, right? Tina and Queenie’s lessons, the first time you got to go to Jacob’s bakery and eat for free, Newt showing you his suitcase, the moon calves … Meeting me!" 

You’d meant for that last part to be a joke (somewhat). Unfortunately, it was a joke Credence failed to capture. He slouched with guilt. Your smile faltered; so much for his progress in posture. 

"I know,” he responded, same saddened voice. “I’ve thought about all those things. I tried. I really did” – At this point, your grin fell completely; his insistence sounded like a small child who had tried and failed in earnest to comprehend a subject that they just couldn’t get the grasp of – “But every time I get close enough … I hear her." 

 You couldn’t help but press your lips and furrow your brow. "Her”, being Mary-Lou, was never a good thing. When you and Credence had first gotten together, he was still quiet fragmented from his treatment under the vile woman. Who could blame him? All those years of cruelty and mental distortion, those countless times she convinced him that he was a child sullied by the ways of the world and needed to answer for it with the lash of his own belt. As painful as the whippings were, it became very apparent that what hurt most of all were Mary-Lou’s words. These verbal criticisms, embellishments of things he had done or even didn’t do, they shot into his mind and bit like bullets. Ones, he eventually convinced himself, that were well-deserved and thus needed to stay in no matter how much he bled for it. 

These thoughts eventually morphed beyond what Mary-Lou initially intended, taking lives of their own: You don’t deserve friends, you don’t deserve this new life, not after what you’ve caused. Even after her demise, the actions done were too great to just forget or get over. Especially after his little rampage in Obscurial form. It had taken literal months to even so much as chip the surface of this problem with Credence but he was making surprising baby steps in progress with you as his biggest source of encouragement. So whenever he felt that damnable woman was back in his head, whispering things and pulling him back into the darkness, you’d always felt a fury inside you, angry that such a good person would now have to suffer and be held back even at the slightest for possibly the rest of his life. It was with the revelation of this latest “return” that you, without thinking, took Credence’s hand into your own. 

 "Credence,“ you said. "Please look at me.” He kept his head down, out of guilt from either his failure to produce a Patronus Charm or from his failure to keep Mary-Lou from his mind. It was very likely both. You sighed. “… When I casted my first ever Patronus charm, it was just a simple blob of light. And the thing I thought about was when my parents gave me the doll I’d seen in a shop window for my sixth birthday.” You gingerly began to curl your fingers around Credence’s palm. 

“And it stayed like that with that being my happiest memory until I reached my sixth year at Ilvermorny – that’s when it turned into a dove because I gained more focus. The happiest memory I had then was when I got my first kiss from a boy I insisted was my true love." 

 You felt Credence’s shoulders tense as his fingers twitched. Mary-Lou must have begun to whisper things into his head again: "She’s thinking of someone else, you don’t deserve her, she’s not happy with you–" 

 You quickly followed it up to drown her out. "But when I used it just now? The thing I thought of, the thing that makes me the happiest to remember? It’s when I met you." 

If his shoulders could tense any further, they probably had. It was a slow movement, but Credence did lift his his head to your revelation. His brows furrowed with confusion over his dark eyes. You, on the other hand, wore a small but warm smile. 

He was expecting that comment to have been a joke: You two had met not long after his breakdown across New York City. He was tired, somehow paler than usual, emotionally fatigued, clothes a complete mess (retrieved from a church that accepted clothing donations), and his outlook on life was projected through his eyes: bleak and without energy. While Credence had very little confidence in his sense of self, he could easily assure that the state he was in when you’d first met was not the state he would have liked to have been in if he could redo the situation. And yet, a taunt or giggle was never released. You’d really meant it. 

 "But – but I was –" 

 "Tired, stressed, maybe a little empty … But you were still my Credence who I love so dearly today.”

 "I looked awful.“ 

 ”–Ly cute. You seriously shouldn’t underestimate how you look in a baggy sweater, Hun.“ 

 "How could that have been your happiest moment? What about that time we went to Coney Island? Or even Mr. Kowalski’s bakery? Or – or –?" 

 "Those are some of my favorite memories, Credence, and nothing is going to change that. But none of those would’ve happened if I hadn’t met you first.” And with that, the young man went quiet. Not from his usual nervousness but from finding himself silently stunned. You took it as an opportunity to carry on. “Credence, I can’t take away what happened to you though God knows I wish I could … And I’m not going to sugarcoat it and suggest you get over it because that’s not how it works. But I just want you to know that no matter how long it takes, even if it takes as many lifetimes as, say, Albus Dumbledore –" 

"Pardon?" 

 ”–I’ll be with you every step of the way. And if the happiest memories you got right now aren’t good enough, then … I’ll make all kinds of happy moments. All for you! You’ll have so many happy memories that it’s gonna crush that Bare-bitch’s voice out, you’ll have all kinds of Patronuses!“ 

 If you hadn’t already been smiling so joyfully, so hyped up by your own words of encouragement, you would have at the mere sight of your Credence upon hearing you say what you had. It wasn’t that smiles were a completely foreign concept to him, not especially after your entry into his life. But it still never ceased to amaze and warm you up inside whenever one grazed his lips. It was in that shared moment of happiness that he decided to take an initiative he almost never took on his own, leaning upward to press his lips against yours.

 You’d decided that even as your first meeting being your happiest memory, this kiss right now was surely a close runner-up. 

 You both were quiet upon separation, with you wanting to just take in the moment and with Credence, while quite pleased with himself, was pink-cheeked and looking anywhere but at you. Smiles, however, were both still intact. 

 It was therefore somewhat of a shock when he broke the silence, but in his regular voice, with, ”(Y/N)? I think I’d like to try performing a Patronus Charm now.“ You made no attempt to question his certainty. Immediately you retracted from his form, allowing for him to get up and retrieve his own wand from his side and to provide him the space needed. 

 "Remember,” you said gently. He positioned his arm in preparation. “I’m right here.” Credence nodded slightly. 

 "Expecto Patronum.“ 

It wasn’t loud or necessarily enthusiastic. But it wasn’t fragile and trembling to the cusp of collapse either. It was passionate, subtly triumphant. It had an underlying essence of an embrace wrapped around a feeling of acceptance.

 And for a moment, it looked like a mere vapor, just as you had expected his first successful attempt would be. What you didn’t expect, much less Credence, was that merely two seconds later, it began to morph. 

 It grew legs – thin, bony ones – and a body just as skeletal. A whip-like tail lashed through the air as its narrow, gaunt face shook into life. Its wings, like a bat, stayed open as it galloped through the air and around the dining room, leaving wisps of vapor and light in its wake.

Your mouth hung in complete awe as your frantically blinked as though just the right amount would disprove what you were seeing. Credence, on the other hand, appeared slightly horrified. What in Merlin’s name had he produced? Was it a mistake? Did he mess up? Did he not focus hard enough? Was … was the happiest memory he could think up not good enough? 

 ”… Thestral,“ you breathed, snapping Credence out of his worried trance.

 "What?” Credence questioned in a mix of both dismay and confusion. Your eyes never left his Patronus. 

 "It’s a thestral,“ you repeated. "They’re often seen as a bad thing because you can only see them if you’ve seen death” – Credence’s heart plummeted. Of course he’d only be able to summon such a miserable creature. – “and a lot of people may find them scary or unapproachable. Bad luck even.” It was what he deserved. “But they’re actually very sweet creatures. Misunderstood, but wonderful. Smart, loyal, gentle …” You finally turned to look at Credence and smiled glowingly. “I think it’s a perfect fit for my sweet, kind, loyal, clever Credence." 

Credence’s cheeks burned, deciding to quickly return his attention to his thestral. "What’s more,” you continued, “is that having a magical creature as a Patronus is exceedingly rare. I’d dare say that you are not only a natural, dear Credence, but an exceedingly rare one at that." 

You made certain to clarify how proud you were of him in your tone and he noticed. You’d decided that that was enough of making him blush. 

 "Maybe I should introduce my Patronus to yours … Expecto Patronum!” You waved your wand, expecting the dove to come swooping out and into the path of Credence’s thestral. That expectation fell to the floor and shattered. What stayed up in the air and alongside Credence’s thestral was another thestral.

 Your thestral. 

They glided and trotted in the air alongside each other, enjoying one another’s company as they fazed through the table and the long-forgotten plates of pie. You and Credence, however, could only stare with complete confusion. You stared at your wand, back at your new Patronus, and then at Credence. You cracked a smile. 

“Well,” you giggled sheepishly, “I did say that Patronuses can change depending on what a person likes the most.” What more could you say?

 Apparently nothing, as Credence wordlessly took your hand in his, smile ever-present, face burning with blush as he kept his gaze on yours and yours on his. 

 In any future instances where you would use the Patronus Charm, you would try to think of when you and Credence had first met. But, in the end, you would always come back to this moment in the kitchen one evening during dinner.

[wavenetinfo]

As the Golden State Warriors sat in their locker room a year ago, digesting the final loss of the worst collapse in NBA history, Andre Iguodala stood and said he wanted to address the group. Iguodala rarely does this, according to several members of the team. Everyone stopped.

Iguodala insisted they would recover. He mentioned that the San Antonio Spurs had never repeated as champions, a tidbit Warriors coach Steve Kerr, himself a former Spurs player, had mentioned often to underline the difficulty of last season’s challenge. If the team responded the right way, Iguodala said, they could put themselves in position to chase several titles — and wash away the sting from this loss.

Some in the room thought Iguodala might have been hinting at the potential signing of Kevin Durant, though Iguodala never uttered his name or directly discussed free agency, sources said. They glanced at Harrison Barnes and Andrew Bogut, two players who would almost certainly be elsewhere if Durant joined.

Durant joined the team, of course, and the Warriors are champions again after vaporizing the competition over an unprecedented 16-1 rampage through the playoffs, capping the NBA Finals with a 129-120 win over the defending champion Cleveland Cavaliers on Monday to take back the crown in five games.

In the end, they are exactly the team the league expected and feared: the best offensive team ever, and the league’s stingiest defense over the regular season and postseason combined. Aside from an embarrassing season-opening loss to the Spurs, there was almost no drama — no angst over touches, no tense players-only meeting, no slow start. They gelled fast, and blitzed everyone.

“I don’t feel like I sacrificed at all,” Klay Thompson told ESPN.com last week. “I’d rather be a part of something that could leave a legacy. There is more to basketball than getting yours, or being the guy. I hope I do this for a long time for the Warriors.”

The Warriors were never worried about integrating Durant on the court. “This was not getting an isolation guy who needs the ball in his hands,” Kerr told ESPN.com in Cleveland. “He loves moving without the ball. He loves passing. He loves running the floor. He fit in to our system perfectly. We lost some key guys to get him, but you are talking about the second-best player in the world. You don’t even think about it. You think, basically, it’s a miracle: ‘Holy s—, we are getting KD to this team.'”

Team officials like to say that in a way, adding Durant was easier in basketball terms than mixing in LeBron James would have been.

They fretted a bit about how Durant would transition into their culture, and how he would get along with Curry. They did not know each other well. At a team dinner after their fourth preseason game, in Denver, Durant and Curry ended up at the same table. Players and coaches gradually filtered out, but the two stars sipped wine long into the night. Team officials watched, happy the two were getting past the awkward early stages of any friendship.

“We just talked about life,” Durant told ESPN.com. “When you get a good bond with someone, you can talk for hours.”

Five days later at a dinner in Las Vegas, after an exhibition game there, Durant approached Bruce Fraser, an assistant coach, and revealed why he came to Golden State, they both recalled. He didn’t need a championship, Durant told Fraser, though of course he hoped to win one. He wanted a new experience, and from afar in Oklahoma City, the Warriors’ culture looked appealing.

After a month, Durant was ready to offer an early conclusion: “It’s even better than I thought,” he told Fraser.

“I came here to have fun,” Durant told ESPN.com before Game 4. “I wanted to be one of the guys. Right away, they didn’t treat me like I was ‘KD,’ or act like they wanted me to be a kind of vocal leader. I was happy from Day 1.”

Even if the basketball fit were to prove more troublesome than expected, Durant was obviously worth it. “We all felt we needed some fresh blood anyway,” Kerr said. “Getting to the Finals a third year in a row is so difficult emotionally.”

The basketball fit was not troublesome. The coaches added more new plays for David West than for Durant, Kerr said. They only had to break Durant from some of the habits he learned in Oklahoma City’s more stagnant system. On fast breaks, Durant would run to the corner and stand there. The Warriors taught him to keep moving if he didn’t get the ball right away, slash inside, and set screens for Curry or Thompson.

Fraser ran him through basic give-and-go drills. After offensive rebounds, Durant learned to slam Curry and Thompson’s defenders with picks instead of floating out to the 3-point arc.

“I was used to waiting around for the ball to come to me,” Durant said. By the end of training camp, he had those things down.

“It was pretty seamless,” Thompson said.

There were hiccups, of course. Curry agitated for more pick-and-rolls after taking only 11 shots in a dispiriting fall-from-ahead loss in Cleveland. Twelve days later, Green yelled at Durant for freezing the offense in crunch time of a loss against Memphis. Amid what passed for drama, the Warriors were 31-6.

“Those were basically the only two times we had anything to talk about as a team,” Kerr said. Kerr recalibrated the offense to feature more pick-and-rolls for Curry. The team’s passes per game ticked up in mid-January after falling into a rut in the prior six weeks.

“What makes our team dynamic is Steph using high screens,” Kerr said. “We should have been doing more of that around Christmas. We basically told Steph, ‘Just be you again. KD is going to get 25 no matter what.'”

The NBA has had super-teams before, but none quite like this. The Warriors boast four All-NBA-level players age 29 or younger. Three of them rank among the 10 greatest shooters ever; they are all lethal away from the ball. The fourth, Green, is more initiator than finisher, and ranks as a generational defensive player.

The only-one-ball problem that caused growing pains with the Miami Heat was never going to be an issue in Golden State. They are a fully realized powerhouse in Year 1, and they are confident they will get even better as Durant absorbs the tendencies and quirks of his teammates — and they absorb his.

“We only peeled the first layer,” Fraser said. “There are many more.”

The league and union must grapple with how we arrived here. A salary cap is designed to prevent star-laden teams from adding more talent without giving up much in return. The league’s rich new national TV deal broke the system. It triggered a one-time-only mega-spike in the cap — from $70 million last season to $94 million in this one — that provided Golden State room to sign Durant and retain most of its key players.

The league saw it coming late, and in 2014 proposed a method of phasing in the cap increase in increments over more years. The players would still get all their money. It would be just be distributed a little differently. The union rejected the idea out of hand, and didn’t counter by asking for anything in return — beyond making a little noise, sources say, about the possibility of getting some of the TV money in advance.

The dialogue basically ended there. The league has insisted there was nothing more it could do. The union’s objection was absolute, and ironclad. Perhaps that is true. It does not change the fact that there are team executives who believe the league could and should have done more — threatening, bargaining, something — to foreclose the possibility of this monster growing in Oakland. (Depending on the particulars, Golden State might have been able to fit Durant under a smoothed cap by dumping Iguodala into another team’s space. It’s hard to know for sure.)

Rivals a tier below Golden State and Cleveland are contemplating whether chasing the Warriors is even worth it while all four stars are in their primes. Why exchange draft picks and young players for present-day talent if an upgrade still leaves you way short?

“You know where your competition is,” said Danny Ainge, the GM of the Boton Celtics, who chose to stand pat at the trade deadline when the Chicago Bulls demanded a king’s ransom for Jimmy Butler. “The formula to become an elite team hasn’t changed. What you’re asking is if Golden State has changed things so that you have no chance.”

Most teams don’t have the luxury of even asking this question. Franchises in Charlotte and Memphis just have to be as good as they can be every season. The Celtics are different. They are straddling two paths as a 53-win team with a heap of extra draft picks, including the No. 1 pick this month and the Brooklyn Nets’ unprotected pick next season.

The Toronto Raptors were in a similar situation when they flipped Terrence Ross and three draft picks — including one first-rounder — for Serge Ibaka and PJ Tucker. They went close to all-in, though without surrendering any asset nearly as valuable as those Brooklyn picks. Cleveland humiliated them in four games.

Most team executives around the league agree there might be some small overall chilling effect on win-now transactions in the wake of Golden State’s run. Middling teams without a star could attempt a multi-year process-style bottoming out, though none appear primed to do so. “As a response to the Golden State mega-team, I hear the NBA is considering giving out banners to teams who don’t get swept,” chuckled Daryl Morey, Houston’s GM.

Morey is joking. He has a top-five player in James Harden — “top-three, we think, for sure,” Morey said — and will not sacrifice a season of Harden’s prime in trembling awe of these Warriors. Nor will the Spurs trifle with Kawhi Leonard’s best years. They will not trade those players to bottom out, either. The whole point of tanking is to get a chance at players who might be as good as Harden and Leonard.

Weird stuff happens. Role players make unexpected leaps. Teams nail draft picks. Stars get hurt at the wrong time. Making the Finals would still mean something to any Eastern Conference team that unseats LeBron, even if the Warriors sweep them.

“They are not unbeatable,” Morey said of Golden State. “There have been bigger upsets in sports history. We are going to keep improving our roster.”

Ainge remembers feeling his 1986 champion Celtics would stay on top for years. The Detroit Pistons seized the Eastern Conference two years later.

“Something can happen that nobody foresees,” Ainge said. “I don’t look at it as doom and gloom right now.”

Boston paid Al Horford the max last summer. He is 31. If Durant were still in Oklahoma City, Boston might burn more future assets to win today. But they are still going to try.

“We are definitely not in punt mode,” Ainge said. “But trading away picks and promising young players for a veteran who might be 5 percent better is not in our plans, either.”

There is always a super-team to chase. If this one is better than its predecessors, that doesn’t mean everyone peels off that chase. “I like having targets in Cleveland and Golden State,” Ainge said. “I like trying to meet their standards. It might not happen in a year. It might not happen in five years. WIth them, it might never happen. That’s how special they are.”

The next tier of teams might have to take more risks to increase their game-to-game variability — and nudge their ceiling up, Morey said. Houston traded a first-round pick for Lou Williams, a streaky scorer who might give an underdog two or three crazy outlier games it needs to pull off an upset. Other rivals will need to hit home runs on those trades, or preserve cap space for long-shot runs at stars in free agency. Miami is loading up now to pursue Gordon Hayward, according to league sources.

“We are used to long odds,” Morey added. “If Golden State makes the odds longer, we might up our risk profile and get even more aggressive. We have something up our sleeve.”

They also know the Warriors may not be able to afford their team as the four stars sign mammoth new deals, potentially starting with Durant and Curry this summer. Depending on what happens with Iguodala, Shaun Livingston, and Zaza Pachulia — also free agents in July — the Warriors could vault $20 million over the tax next season, and $30 million over in 2018-19.

Thompson becomes eligible for a new deal that summer. Max him out, and the payroll could crack $300 million with extra penalties for repeat taxpayers. And that is factoring conservatively, with Iguodala and Livingston off the books after 2019; a below-market estimate for Patrick McCaw (a restricted free agent after next season); and the rest of the roster filled with minimum contracts, cost-controlled first-rounders, and cheapo second-round picks. (The Warriors have traded their second-round picks in each of the next three drafts, but they are trying to buy back into this draft, according to several league sources.)

Then comes Green, in the summer of 2020. If he hits free agency eligible for the super-max designated player extension, the Warriors are looking at a roster bill approaching $440 million. Coaxing two of the stars into below-market deals wouldn’t make enough of a dent. They also paid almost $50 million into the league’s revenue-sharing system last season, according to sources familiar with the data.

The Warriors print money, and they will print more when they move into a new arena in San Francisco. They are worth at least four or five times what this ownership group paid for them a half-decade ago. An unexpected leap in the cap could ease the pain.

Still, no team has ever paid anything like that. The Warriors almost certainly won’t. The only way out is to trade one star. Thompson would seem the likeliest candidate.

Nobody is ready to go there yet, of course. The Warriors can’t even acknowledge the dilemma — even whisper the chance of a breakup — before they have signatures from Curry and Durant on long-term deals. They will swallow normal-ish tax bills to hunt rings over the next two years.

“That’s what we want — to be contenders for years and years,” Thompson said. “So far, so good.”

13 June 2017 | 8:25 am

Source : ABC News

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