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anaiswriterr · 4 years

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The Dragon Kings Queen

Pairing: Dragon King!Bakugou x Queen!Reader

Rating: M

Warning: This is part four, I’d like to point out be aware: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐠𝗼𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐭𝐜. Please don’t read if you are not comfortable with it, and if you’re under the age of 18+ I will give a warning when it becomes NSFW but at the moment it’s SFW.

Synopsis: ➪ When the word marriage crossed your mind, you believed you’d marry someone you loved. Not this brute of a King. So here you are standing at the end on an alter, pushing away the urge to run and fight. Possibly start a new life, instead of being dragged into a loveless marriage. But for the sake of your people.. They say he’s not what rumors make him out to be, but how can you believe that when his eyes burn into yours; just as fiery as before. How could you, ever love someone as barbaric as him…

- chapter four: gifted dagger -

•

You clutch hard onto an old bladed dagger, it digs into your palm and slices a long line against the soft skin. Droplets of blood pools onto the gravel below you, heaving you throw the weapon into a tree bark. You groan out in frustration when it doesn't latch onto the wood, "I can't do this!"

"Don't say that, it's your first day. Try again," Kirishima urges, bending down to grab the dagger off the ground, handing it back to you placing the blade down into your palm; you seethe in pain. Swallowing down the yelp that threatened to escape passed your lips, Kirishima notices your stained palms before snatching the dagger back from your grasp.

"We'll pick this back up later, don't want you getting an infection."

Perhaps he was right, the blade was only slightly rusted - it's been over an hour with the blade constantly digging into your skin; if you didn't cover it up soon then an infection was possible. You shrug, "An infection compared to getting eaten by a bear, or an ogre is nothing in my eyes; so don't worry about me. We can continue," You reach out to grab the dagger out from his hands, but he hides the blade into his holster. Nodding his head side to side, "No can do, my job is to make sure you are safe 24/7 and if that means making you go to the infirmary then so be it."

You arch a brow wiping away the sweat beads off your forehead from the hot dewy morning, "Is that a request?"

"Your Highness, will all due respect, it's an order."

"Fine, but I quite frankly would like to survive so if we could continue this on later-"

"Of course," he smiles, "Now, go fix your hand. I was told Bakugou would like to speak to you-"

"That will not be necessary since I will not be speaking to him." You pour a cup of water over your palm, attempting to clean off the dirt. After yesterday's events you have vowed to not utter a single word to him, he's clearly a hard head who never had anyone stand up to him. As his "wife" what better then to punish his actions then using the silent treatment towards the temperamental brat. Kirishima scratches the back of his head sheepishly, fiddling with his weapon. "Well you know Your Highness-"

"Y/N will do just fine. Please no formalities between us two."

"Right. Um well, you know. Bakugou is a hard kinda guy to work with, it was hard for even I to get to be as close as I am with him. He hates silence, he might ask for it. But radio silence might not be the best answer between the two of you.. considering you two are on thin ice right now."

You arch a brow in question, wiping the sheen layer of sweat off your brow bone. "What do I do then, Kirishima. How do I win over a beast who doesn't attempt at all?"

***

To say you utterly hated Katsuki Bakugou was an understatement.

For one night he managed to put on a mask that nearly caught you in a rope of curiosity for the man - maybe he was just misunderstood. Like hell, his mother had the same fighting and burning spirit one of a dragon meanwhile his father was more calm, well rounded, wise like a dragon. So why was Bakugou the mean one of the bunch.

'You can't fix everyone, Y/N.'

Well that sentence surely did not age well, you wince as the healer places an alcohol soaked cotton ball onto your wound. Biting your lip back in pain it takes up all your strength to not pull back and away from the old man.

"I'll be right back, my Queen it seems like you may need some herbs from the garden and recently I've run out. Don't worry it'll only take me five minutes." The healer reassures you, you nod in return pressing the cotton ball into the cut, cleaning the area in the meantime.

"That's alright, take your time." You smile.

The stinging pain slowly subsided when you finally became accustomed to the clear liquid, to handle a dagger will be much harder now. You are determined to prevail, just a small bump in the road nothing quite serious. A knock on the infirmaries white door retracts you from your thoughts, eyes wondering towards the window that overviewed the garden shows it's not the healer.

"Come in."

Short blonde hair with ruby red eyes strut in, Mitsuki, your mother in law smiles down at you. "Hello dear, I heard you were in here.. I wanted to speak to you. Are you okay?"

You can feel your heart nearly drop, your mother in law was as sweet as a ripe strawberry in season but the aura she carried screamed and resembled Katsuki. You nod, greeting her with a formal cheek kiss, "Oh I'm fine just a tiny cut is all. What would be the problem?" You wave off her worry.

"Oh no dear, there is no problem. I'm glad it's just a cut, I was worried it was far worse. I just wanted to spend time with my daughter in law - I wanted you to know that though this may be a hard time, I went through this. You will be just fine. I also... heard your and Katsuki's fight last night.. I didn't mean to intrude I was just on the way to find Melody when I stumbled upon you two, how are you feeling?"

Oh dear. She knew, did anyone else know? Of course people know the two of you were practically testing who can yell the loudest - this is embarrassing. He really did manage to get a rise from you.

You stare down at your palm, this was the first time anyone here has actually asked whether or not you were fine.

"I-I'm okay, he's just hard to get to."

The bed of the infirmary dips slightly beside you as Mitsuki's takes a seat beside you, "Yes, he can be a handful most days. Katsuki doesn't exactly know how to be... nice? It's probably my fault, I was constantly pushing him as a child. You know, he turned out to be a fine warrior; a fine commander." You nod listening to his mother, "I guess the two of you are no longer on speaking terms. I get it, I moved from a neighboring kingdom to here. It was hard to get his father to open up," Mitsuki sighs.

"But the two of you fell in love."

"You are very right, but like all love. It took time."

A silence falls between the two of you, she was the only person who you could remotely relate to right about now. She was the only one who could even fathom how scared you are, you were served with a silver platter all your life nearly always spoon fed and suddenly thrown into a tribe you knew nothing about. "How did you do it?"

Mitsuki arches a brow, "What do you mean?"

"H-How do I survive in that forest? What do I have to expect even after? How did you do it?"

The former queen sighs, eyeing your injury. "Well, from my kingdom we had similar principles I already had the basic knowledge of outdoor survival. To keep it short," She grabs your free hand in comfort. "I'm sure they haven't bothered telling you the objectives, the point system.. the tribal ceremony for those who make it out of alive. You must come out with a Goblin heart, no exceptions. Afterwards believe it or not you are placed on a pedestal at midnight the day you arrive back where you must eat the entire muscle, uncooked. The blood is told it'll bring great fortune and fertility. The process.. was nevertheless grueling I felt like a caged animal with all the drums and cheering. Y/N you must not, and I repeat my not throw up during the feasting."

You nod intently, stomach curling at the thought of a eat raw heart. But tribal traditions and regulations must be met, your heart pounded. It seemed like no matter where you turned there was always a set back, a catch. You survive the forest and now you must feast in front of the entire kingdom?

"Stay high, on top of the trees are the best option. Don't make a fire at night - I know, it'll be tempting. It'll grow cold as night falls, but the most dangerous creatures come out then and are attracted to light. You'll be dead before you even know it." Mitsuki lectures with a stern gaze, tightening her grip around the palm of your uninjured hand. "Find running water, a stream, lake, river. Whatever, it's freshwater. You'll catch your fish there, berries and nuts are also located near there. If you'd like to start a fire I suggest start when the sun rises, the creatures of the forest will retreat since they are nocturnal."

You store this information into your head, such valuable keys of survival. You are determined to return breathing, to return alive.

"Goblins are tricksters - never trust a single word that utters from their mouths. It's poisonous. They are most active during the day, but during sunlight stay low and stay quiet, follow the wind and it'll guide you. That is all I can say, I wish I could say more. Personally, I attempted to change this law for years. It never seemed fair, I pray I see you again Y/N."

"Thank you. I hope to see you as well." You smile sadly at the blonde woman who carried a guilty expression, her hands finally let go of your free one. "I'm terribly sorry, Y/N. I have one last thing to gift you, It's not much. Katsuki was supposed to give it to you this morning but it appears the outskirts have called upon him once again." Mitsuki reaches out for a golden box to the left of her, the velvet embroiled box calls your attention.

"It's said to be a gift from the gods. The gods who birthed dragons, carried down by generations. All Dragon Queens have used this, a sacred weapon to help kill the beast and restore balance; Katsuki has made the executive decision that you get to receive this gift." Mitsuki's hand fiddles with the locks of the box, the top lid opens with a flick of her fingers.

A blade, shines in the light.

Cleaned and sharp, the Queen's dagger passed down from hundreds of years worth of battles.

Is gifted.. to you, by the king.

"I-I can not accept this. This gift, I do not deserve this. It's sacred-" You babble, waving your hands you gently push away the box bestowed to you between the spot that separated the both of you. Two queens of the Dragon Kingdom. "You can, and you will. I was gifted this dagger two months after both I and Masaru's wedding. Katsuki wanted you to have this sacred weapon now. He has chosen you, please take it."

You nod in response, hands trembling as you reach out for the velvet box. The handle of the dagger stings in your possession, the bleeding in your right hand has finally stopped when you hold the blade with two hands. It was much more easier to carry, sharper, and even thinner - as light as a feather, fit for a Queen, fit for battle. It was your husband who bestowed this gift to you, "When you are out there, Y/N. Remember.. to fight like a dragon."

"And how must I manage to fight like a dragon? I don't even know how to throw a dagger properly - at a still object, may I add." You show her the deep cut in need of stiches on your palm, "Dragons, my dear, always find a way to win."

***

Your palm is tightly wrapped with herbs to protect the freshly new stitches, meeting Kirishima in the backwoods where training took place. You managed to learn how to build a fire, a makeshift knife if your original weapon were to ever be kicked away from you, how to catch a fish and how to determine which berries were poisonous and which were safe for consumption.

You wince at the feeling of sharp branches scratching against your bare legs, dressed with royal training gear you wondered if you could actually make it to the finish line. You take a bite of a berry, it's tart yet semi sweet flavor cleans your palette of fish. Kirishima watches from the side with a satisfied grin, nightfall was quickly approaching and since this morning you have requested no sort of rest. You drink away at your makeshift cup, the leaf holding only a handful of water you eagerly drink away at.

Kirishima looks up to the darkening sky, hews of purples, pinks, and blues paint the sky as stars begin to appear.

"I should probably get you back to the Palace," He says wiping his hand away from dirt he collected off the tree bark he leaned against - watching your crouched and exhausted figure warm your hands over the mini fire you created. You look up, "I suppose you're right," You reach over to the stream beside you cupping a handful of water and watering down the fire, stomping it out with wet breaches and leaves. Patting it into the ground to stop the embers from continuing to burn.

Kirishima fiddles with his swords and daggers, "You did great today, Y/N." He praises you, proud of how far you've come in just a day. It took him hours to catch a fish when he was just a child, when his parents were alive. You thank him, moving beside him as the two of you walk down the backwoods trail. Only sharing small talk and friendly conversation.

You hum at the story he told of both him and Bakugou, "Well.. how exactly did the two of you meet. You two seem so close to one another, not to mention.. Kirishima you're very loyal to him - his family. What's your story?" There's a visible hitch in his breath, his shoulders tense up as he stumbles upon his words. "I-I'm so sorry! If you don't want to talk-

Kirishima chuckles waving off your worries, "No, nobody has ever asked me. We were just.. brothers. I met him in the mountains, I was just eight years old and back then Dragon hunting use to be a huge problem. Hunters, Poachers - they would all terrorize Dragons who lived peacefully with no mercy murder entire hoards. My parents.. were hunted and killed along with the entire clan and neighboring tribes. I was running, miles away from my home for days. Crying, hungry, thirsty, I was to afraid to fly because they would see me."

You listen intently, nodding along to his words, saddened by his past. Feeling guilty for even asking, he continues.

"Bakugou, can be mean, a brute, barbaric, and even sometimes cruel. But I promise you he has a good heart; so easily he could've turned his back away from me in the mountains. Let the Goblins and Wolves feast on me, instead he took me in. Into the Royal campgrounds, his parents welcomed me in. Cleaned my wounds, gave me a hot meal, warm milk to combat the winter, fresh pair of boots and clothes, even a warm bed to sleep in. Bakugou didn't talk, didn't even introduce himself to me after a few days. However if he didn't take me in then I would've died alone in the cold. And for that I am loyal to them, hell he even let me hold onto his toy for a while." He chuckles.

A silence grows between the both of you, with only snapping branches beneath your boots. Its crunches sooths the silence until he spoke once more.

"I hope you know you're going to be okay, Y/N. I believe in you, and in three days time when you have to walk into that forest; I am convinced I will see you also walk out.

"Thank you Kirishima, I-I'm sorry for what happened to your family."

The redhead waves you off once more smiling to you as the castle gates approach, "It's okay, things happen for a reason. Now go clean up, Melody should have your bath ready. Sleep tight your Highness." He bows gesturing for you enter passed the gates. You press a small kiss to his cheek watching a dark red blush spread throughout his face, "Goodnight Kirishima."

Walking passed him and into the handmaidens arms, Kirishima watches you. A hand pressed hard onto his sizzling red hot cheek that burned out against his palm, smiling sheepishly, gushing over the lingering feeling of ghost lips that once pressed against his cheek. Turning away with his back foot, he hears two pairs of heavy boots stomping against the ground, royal guards heave - catching their breathes.

"What's wrong- where Bakugou?" Kirishima quickly asks eyeing the guards who ran all the way here from the stables in search for him. "Sir Kirishima, King Bakugou has requested your immediate arrival at the outskirts-"

"It's the eggs, sir!" The other interrupts, "The Dragon eggs, the four Gardina left behind."

***

"What's the problem? What happened with the eggs, I thought they were fine."

"Since Gardina's sudden death the eggs need warmth, there's talk from other kingdoms across the seas even, that people are thinking about stealing them, selling them for one million gems on the magical black market." Bakugou grimaces, his arms crossed over his chest. "It seems that we should pay a visit, remind them who we are."

Kirishima nods his head, moving along with his friend passed the campfire where soldiers sat. "What can I do to help?"

Bakugou moves the curtains of his tent, "After you train Y/N, the same day as the games I need you to take the eggs and hide them away as far as possible, I don't care where just away from here. Hide them with the others in the mountains if you'd like - we can not afford them to go missing. Far too dangerous for anyone else." The blond commands, tiredness seeps through his voice as he rubs his eyes to combat the sleep he's been in desperate need for. "I'll give you the green light when to bring them back, I won't return to the Kingdom until the day of the games. Did my mother give Y/N the Royal Dagger?"

Nodding to himself Kirishima smiles, "Yes, she was given it this morning just before noon."

"How did she do?" Katsuki rubs the back of his neck, "Rocky as first, but the girl picks up fast. Will you be here to send her off?" Kirishima tilts his head crossing his arms, "I don't know if she wants me there."

"If you care about her coming back alive, you'll be there." ***

- 3 days later -

The carriage ride is slow, dangerously slow as you remember the long tight hug Melody gave you before your leave at the sunset, Former Queen Mitsuki sits in front of you, her hand clutches onto yours in comfort as you shake in fear in your seat. Kirishima is waiting outside the enchanted forest where it was the most safest - a crowd has formed of simple tribe and clan members outside their homes as they attempt to try and get a glimpse of you; their Queen.

You have yet to meet them, only knowing the castle walls and the workers who served.

You can feel your dagger inside it's brown leather hostler dig into your thigh; but it's fine. It's the only thing keeping you distracted from your pounding heart beat against your chest and the clamminess of your palms. The stitch's finally healed by a magic teller.

You don't even notice the purple hews of the setting sun turning pitch black with only the moon and stars to prove it's light on the passage way; you breath deeply through your nose. Watching how you approached the enchanted forest quicker then you anticipated. Queen Mitsuki and King Masaru insisted you sleep, but you respectfully declined. How were you supposed to sleep when you were being forced into the most dangerous forest known to mankind. They could've just simply pushed you into a hungry Dragon's nest.

The carriage stops and the horses neigh signaling your arrival, a part of you wishes your mother had declined the offer of King Bakugou it would've been nice if he were to even apologize. But since you do not live in a fantasy world, you are reminded this is real life. And you are most certain no prince dressed in armor will come to your rescue and insists he runs off with you. You're stuck here.

You look back nervously at the former king and queen who both bite back their bottom lips, "I will see you in three days time. We both will."

The door to your side of the carriage is thrown open by Kirishima who holds his hand out to grip yours, "M'lady."

Hesitantly you let go of Mitsuki's hand, bidding the two goodbye and latch onto Kirishima's calloused rough ones. Your boots settle into the ground when you let go of his hand, eyes catching a pair of vermillion orbs, ones you haven't seen in three days. His necklaces of teeth he's collected over the years frightens you, will you have a necklace like that one day? "Are you ready, my Queen."

His eyes.

They say nothing at all, just a simple red gleam. He watches you approach the entrance of what seemingly looked like a one way ticket to death, is he going to say anything all? Probably not.

His malicious words still ring clear in your mind, "You wont be a Queen if you're dead."

Death is something you refuse to meet, at least not yet. You turn to face him, he has no emotion and the tears that threaten to spill are wiped away by your wrist. The only people here to witness the games are him, Kirishima, a few men from the counsels parliament, royal soldiers (who you suppose are only here to protect the king and stop you if you decide to run) and both Bakugou's parents who insisted on staying in the carriage. Bakugou's quiet glare is something most would be terrified of, but you refuse to be belittled and underestimated.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" You hear Kirishima ask, your eyes detach from the blonds. Nodding you wipe your clammy hand against the leather hunting skirt you were dressed in. "I'm fine, I'm ready."

You're scared. That's an understatement, "Time starts as soon as you enter, retrieve the Goblin heart and come back here the third day at sunset. If you are not here by then we will assume you have died." A counsel man announces, you hold back the urge to flip him off - he didn't know you. Nor did you know him, to throw your life away as if it were never meaningful to another was plain cruel but there was a thing you refused to do.

Give up.

"I'll see you later Y/N."

'I will not die'

You set out into the forest, without looking back, with the feeling of two vermillion eyes staring into your back.

TAGLIST: @loxbbg @urmomsshousee @samkysnks @mikithekiki @aegeanblues @mykuronekome @lowkey-a-faerie-in-disguise @orange-aesthetic-yay @katsukibabe @vvanills @katiekat300 @utterlyconfused-tm @learningasigo @bigkoalafications @bnhaficswriter @tspice283 @simpforeveryone @crackhead1-800 @poetryandhoetry01 @bakasbitch18 @riceballsandanime @franko-pop @lostmarimoismyhubby @junniev8 @thirsthourdemon @cowward @the2ndl @reaperintheroses @bakugousmrs @maemi324 @beautifulparisiangirl @commandertorinshepard @bnhafan101 @meliapis @thecaoswitch @liviwivi1 @hikaru-mikazuki @angie-1306 @theinfamoushotdog @minibobabottle @honeylemondragonemperor @iloveitblackbnha @yokesmam @annepamgkrth @the2ndl @sugarandsoft

AUTHORS NOTE: Personally one of the worst fucking chapters I’ve produced, anyways yooo Bakugou kinda feels guilty Y/N is going through this but you know this is going to be a strength building exercise for her. The ceremony after is based off of GOT so iykyk. Anyways my eye has been shut for like three days it just keeps watering and so irritating to write with. Okay I’m done ranting, I hope you liked it.

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freelancearsonist · 4 years

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It’s been one hell of a year and if you told me on March 3rd, 2020 when I posted my very first fic that my life would be what it is one year later, I would’ve called you insane. But here we are! I never anticipated having a growing community of about 1.4K wonderful, beautiful people, and I’m so thankful for each and every one of you and the way that you’ve all helped me get through this past year.

Because of how fortunate I’ve been and everything I’ve received in the past year, I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to help give back to those who need it!

GLBTQ Legal Advocates & Defenders (GLAD) is a group that advocates and fights for the rights of people within the LGBTQ+ community.

“Civil rights have never been easy to win. Fighting for them takes passion, skill and an absolute determination to prevail. That’s what GLAD delivers every single day. GLAD’s bold and effective advocacy has achieved scores of precedent-setting legal victories to end discrimination based on sexual orientation, HIV status and gender identity and expression, benefiting individuals, couples and families across New England and throughout the United States. Each time GLAD argues a case or tackles an issue, we tear down more of the outdated laws and stereotypes that have denied LGBTQ people and people living with HIV basic protections and opportunities in every area of daily life – family, school, employment, housing, government, health care, and beyond. Whether it’s marriage for same-sex couples, non-discrimination policies for transgender people in the workplace, or protections for people living with HIV, GLAD doesn’t shrink from tough issues. And we don’t compromise on our belief that every person deserves full equality under the law – without exception.”

“Through strategic litigation, public policy advocacy, and education, GLBTQ Legal Advocates & Defenders works in New England and nationally to create a just society free of discrimination based on gender identity and expression, HIV status, and sexual orientation.” (source)

This is a cause that’s really close to my heart as a member of the LGBTQ+ community—a community where sadly no one goes without being discriminated against at some point in their life. GLAD does amazing work fighting for people like you and me who lead ordinary lives, and they help bring about change for those people.

For one day only, if you submit proof of donation to GLAD (use this link) to the Google Form attached below (I have no clue why the preview isn’t in English I’m so sorry 😭), I’ll write a ~1k fic specifically tailored to your interests!

Thank you again to each and every one of you for such a wonderful year on this website. Through the ups and downs I’ve made such wonderful friendships that have enriched my life in a way I never could’ve anticipated. Truly thank you 💛

#clarke’s one year tumblr anniversary celebration #glbtq legal advocates & defenders #glad

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goddamnitkastle · 4 years

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The Ring

Happy Valentine’s Day!

So I finished my binge watch of the CW’s Nikita and well, I think we all know by now that I just love ripping off scenarios from other media and making Kastle fics. It’s my schtick and I’m gonna run it into the ground.

So here is an unconventional marriage proposal Kastle fic. Honestly this is probably how it would go anyway so it’s not like it’s beyond the realm of reality.

But first I want to give a huge thank you to my beta reader and editor, the amazing @joanofarkansass. This fic was initially, um, rough to put it nicely. But like a fairy godmother, she made it happen with incredible insight and gentle critique. I am literally indebted to you and I cannot thank you enough.

I also want to thank @evilbunnyking for reading the final draft, their awesome support, and catching every misplaced period and comma. Thank you!

And just a heads up, the canon in this is really screwy. Foggy and Karen know that Matt is Daredevil and Daredevil Season 2 is canon but basically just ignore the rest of the Daredevil/The Punisher Netflix/MCU timeline lol. Frank is a free man and clear of all charges here (yes that is unbelievable but just go along with it please and thank you). This is canon divergence borderlining on AU and slightly self indulgent and well, I don’t care ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Enjoy!

Karen pulls up right behind the police cruiser, about a block away from the 15th Precinct. She gets out and knocks on the windshield window, making Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney jerk his head up at her in fear for a fraction of a second.

But once he sees her he lets out an annoyed sigh and gets out. Karen crosses the front of the cruiser to get out of the street and onto the sidewalk, trying to hide her laughter from scaring Brett.

“What’s got you nervous, Mahoney?” Karen asks as he joins her and pockets his keys.

“What’s got me... oh, you know, about to watch Frank Castle walk out and be a free man. Again.”

“Nelson and Murdock won the case. Unfortunately this was not the sequel to The People vs. Frank Castle that New York City was hoping for.”

“That you were hoping for?” Mahoney cracks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No. Well, maybe Ellison was hoping for it, but… look I’m just glad he was acquitted and that justice prevailed. It’ll be a more positive ending to write up.”

Mahoney shakes his head and starts walking toward the precinct. Karen follows and falls into his stride.

“Look, I know he didn’t kill that mobster,” Brett starts. “As crazy as that sounds, given his track record. But he gave us a hell of a time when we arrested him…”

“Do you blame him? In the span of two years, he has been charged and put on trial for murder twice,” Karen says pointedly.

“Well, you didn’t hear me say this but… the guys did a great job convincing everyone that Frank Castle was a changed man.”

“He is a changed man, Brett.”

“Believe me Karen, I know. I thought Frank Castle was scary as a man who had nothing to lose. I was wrong. Apparently I needed to deal with Frank Castle when he’s got someone he cares about…”

Now it’s Karen’s turn to jerk her head up at him.

“What did he say?” she asks.

“Nothing incriminating, your reputation is safe... I guess. But it’s all over the man’s face Karen. He really…”

“I know.”

It’s a tense silence but the look Mahoney gives Karen is more perplexed than judgmental.

“Do Nelson and Murdock know?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Jesus…”

“We kept it quiet for a while but when he was arrested we had to tell them. They’re… slowly coming around to it. Should only take another couple years for them to be sort of okay with us.”

“Yeah I doubt that,” Brett replies sarcastically.

Karen chuckles half heartedly in response.

He quickly sobers up again though. “Well if you’re both happy then… I am glad. You both deserve some happiness after this shit show.”

“Thank you, Brett. That’s really sweet of you.” Karen says, just barely able to hide the emotion in her voice.

“Like I said, you didn’t hear any of this from me. Alright, let’s go get him.”

Just then, the front doors of the precinct building burst open with Matt and Foggy dragging Frank away from a horde of pissed off cops.

“Shit,” Mahoney mutters. He jogs ahead toward the mob with his hands up to stop their hot pursuit.

Karen takes her .380 out of her purse and speed walks toward the commotion. She honestly hopes she’s not gonna have to use it but she’s glad to have the comforting weight of it in her hand. She catches up to Matt and Foggy as they let go of Frank. Matt tilts his head toward her, then lets out a deep sigh.

“Come on Karen, that’s not…” he says as he gestures towards her hand that’s holding her gun.

“It’s just Mahoney, Matt. They’re gonna kill him. We have to help,” Karen insists ardently.

“No, we have to get out of here,” Matt dismisses with a wave of his free hand.

“I’m with Matt on this one, Karen,” Foggy agrees. “You have no idea how lucky we got with this case. And that none of those cops tried to kill him just now.”

“Exactly, because of Brett.” She turns her attention back to Matt, who has his walking stick in a vice grip. “We can’t leave him behind.”

“The cops are just upset. They’d be stupid to try anything. He is their boss, and at the end of the day they have to follow his orders.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Karen argues.

The frustration is palpable between the three of them. Karen just then notices Frank’s silence. She turns to him and takes in his clenched jaw and that trigger finger of his tapping away against his thigh.

“Frank? Are you…”

Just then several loud shouts catch everyone’s attention. Mahoney is on the ground now and a cop has his gun drawn.

“Oh, that’s not…” Foggy gasps.

“Come on Foggy.” Matt grabs Foggy’s arm, leaving Frank and Karen alone.

“Let’s get to the car, Frank. Before this gets a lot worse…”

Frank’s expression had barely changed so when he whips his head toward her she can’t help but take a step back.

“Give me the gun,” Frank commands quickly.

“What? Why?”

“Give me the damn gun, Karen!”

He snatches it from her hands and runs back toward Mahoney and the cops.

“Where are you going?!” Karen shouts incredulously.

“To get your engagement ring!” Frank shouts back.

Karen is stunned and suddenly, the last month comes into focus for her. The jumpiness of his movements whenever she entered a room before he was arrested. His trigger finger tapping away more than usual during the trial. How his bottom lip began to tremble out of nowhere each time she kissed him.

Karen smiles as Frank bolts past Matt and Foggy. He takes on several cops at once, knocking them down like bowling pins. Karen makes her way to the boys as Foggy raises his arms in disbelief while Matt tries to pull him away.

“Unbelievable! Are you kidding me, Castle?!” Foggy yells. “Matt, can’t you do something?”

“I’m in the wrong suit, Foggy.”

“Damn it.”

“Matt is also technically blind Foggy. Do we really want to open that Pandora’s box tonight?” Karen reminds him.

“Come on, let’s get to the car. Looks like we’re gonna have to make an escape. And figure out how we can keep this quiet...” Matt muses.

“We almost got through this damn trial without issue, I swear on the Nelson name…” Foggy groans as he runs his hand over his face.

“Karen, come on,” Matt says as he passes her.

Brett is the last man standing and both men have their guns pointed at each other. Karen is about to join the standoff when Brett holds his hand out and reaches into his back pants pocket. He reveals a ring box. Frank takes it and starts running toward her.

“Go! Go! Go!” Frank hollers at her.

Karen bolts to the car, makes a beeline for the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. Frank joins her a moment later in the passenger seat, flushed pink and his hand wrapped around the ring box.

...

“I’m surprised you didn’t take me to Metro General. Or get us back in that service elevator at the hotel…”

Frank laughs and Karen is relieved that the last 24 hours haven’t deterred Frank.

“Seriously, what was your proposal plan?” She teases as she pokes him in the arm.

“Just... trust me Karen. Okay?”

The Williamsburg Bridge is shadowed by a deep orange sunset as they walk hand in hand. Frank suddenly stops and Karen’s stomach drops. He turns to her, tears in his eyes as he exhales a shaky breath.

Suddenly Karen can’t catch her breath, everything is about to change and she isn’t sure she is ready for it. “Frank, you don’t have to do this…”

“Yes I do. It’s tradition and I’m a traditional man. And the hell I went through to get this ring to you... I want to do this right.”

He gets down on one knee and Karen covers her mouth with her hand. Frank produces the ring box in his hand and opens it. It’s simple; a small, oval diamond on a silver band. It’s perfect.

“Karen. A long time ago now, in some diner, I told you that you had everything with a man that I thought you deserved to be with. I told you to hold onto it, use two hands, and never let go. But the truth was he didn’t deserve you. And I honestly don’t either. But I will spend whatever remaining days I have to be worthy of someone like you. I love you. Karen Page, will you marry me?”

Karen hoists Frank off the ground, holding his face in between her hands. Any doubt she was holding onto is gone now.

“You had me at ‘Give me the damn gun, Karen.’”

They both laugh as Karen holds out her left hand. Frank takes the ring out of the box, caresses her hand before sliding the ring into place. They crash into each other, their hands wrapped around each other’s necks.

“I love you too, Frank Castle,” she says when they finally break apart. She takes his hand as the darkness settles in around them. But the ring doesn’t feel like the weight of her .380. Rather it feels like it has always been there. Like home. And she’ll fight like hell to keep it that way and so will Frank. They’re in this together now.

#kastle #kastle fanfiction #meganerinff #frank castle #karen page #kastlenetwork #joanofarkansass #evilbunnyking #daredevil #the punisher #the ring #This might be my first fic with the entire Hell's Kitchen gang????#Wow only took 30+ fics to get here #Woo!

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classysassy9791 · 5 years

Text

Everyone would get their happy ending. Even if she wasn’t a part of it.

Pairing: InuKag, MirSan Chapter 1 Word Count: 6,950 Can also be found here

A torrent of rain fell from the sky and gales that rivaled a whirlwind of destruction tore through the forest, making the trees come alive. Leaves tore from their branches and spiraled to the dreary earth below. The storm raged callously, intent on bringing destruction to everything it touched.

But Kagome didn't care about the water splattering against her cheeks or the way her hair blew wildly in the wind. She didn't even mind the soil that dirtied her knees as she knelt in the wet grass. Her eyes could only stare disbelieving at the object she held in her hand. The Shikon Jewel glowed pure and bright.

The final battle had been fought. And she had finished it.

"Is it over?" her fox demon companion asked, bouncing to sit on her shoulder.

She didn't spare a glance at the kit, instead nodding her head slowly with incredible realization. After everything they had been through, Naraku's reign had come to an end. The only fatality was that of the demon himself, and no one had felt a pang of regret or sorrow. At the same time, though, tears fell from her eyes. They were not borne of pity for him and his evil ways. Instead, she wept for those he had hurt and killed; for those whose very lives had been destroyed due to his desire for power and revenge. Kagome cried for everyone who had fallen victim to his wrath. It didn't seem right that so many had to die from one creature. All because of his greed.

Footsteps fell softly upon the grass as her other companions struggled over to where she knelt. A flash of red caught her gaze and she looked up to be greeted with the amber eyes of her protector. "Inuyasha," she murmured, blinking against the falling rain.

"Come on, Kagome," he said, reaching out a clawed hand to help her stand. "Let's get you back to Kaede's."

She gave in to his command as she stood, immediately finding her place upon his back. Without a word, the heroes slowly made their way back to their safe-house.

. . .

Sunlight streamed through the treetops and glistened off the small lake, causing a rainbow to sparkle on the surface. The storm from almost a week ago seemed like a bad dream, the aches and pains of battle now faded. Even Kagome's spiritual abilities seemed to have returned completely, originally drained after she shot the fatal arrow that caused Naraku's demise.

But she remained restless, her mind unable to quiet and allow her to enjoy the peace her companions took pleasure in. She had been thinking constantly over the past few days. Being the reincarnation of Kikyou, the sole duty of protecting the Shikon Jewel fell to her shoulders. She had long ago decided that if this day should come, she would rid the jewel from existence – or at least make a pure wish on it so that harmony would prevail over the land.

So, Kagome found herself sitting at the base of the Goshinboku, mulling over what her decision would be. A soft rustling of tree branches brought her attention from the cloudless sky to the direction of the village. Only a moment later did the old priestess appear, rather frazzled to have traveled so far from her hut. "Goodness me, Kagome," she chided upon spotting the girl. "What on earth were ye thinking, dragging an old woman out into the forest?"

She smiled apologetically, watching as her mentor took a seat on one of the tree's large roots. "Sorry, Kaede. This was the only place I could think of that would give us some time alone."

"Aye," she agreed. "Tis a wise decision, with Inuyasha working in the village today. Although, it would not sit well with him if he learned of ye little adventure all alone."

She waved her words aside. "I asked Miroku to keep an eye on him so I could talk to you." Kaede gazed at her expectantly. "It has to do with the fate of the jewel."

Kagome held up the small pink jewel in her hand, letting the old woman catch a glimpse of it. "I see," she murmured. "So ye wish to seek my wisdom as to what ye shall do with it?"

She shrugged. "Sort of. It's more about the wish."

Kaede sighed and looked to the treetops. "When the jewel fell into my sister's possession fifty years ago, I knew little of its origin or the abilities it held. After her demise, I learned it contained great powers beyond my imagination. 'Tis why we were glad it had been burned with her body, to ensure no harm would come from it. But it seems Kikyou's efforts were in vain, for it has been brought back and now lies in yer hands."

Confused, Kagome waited patiently, expecting more of an explanation. When none came, her shoulders slumped in disappointment. "I'm guessing you have no clue as to what I should do?"

"Not in the slightest," Kaede replied honestly. She chuckled at the predicament, but was quickly silenced by the distraught expression on Kagome's face. "What troubles ye, my dear?"

"I think I know what I want to wish for. I'm just not sure if it's the right one."

The old priestess smiled. "Ye heart is pure, Kagome. I'm sure that whatever you choose will bring nothing but good." She patted the girl's knee in closure as she stood, preparing to return to the village. "Be back by sundown. Otherwise Inuyasha will be coming after ye."

Kagome smiled in response, but as soon as Kaede had vanished, gloom dwindled her happy façade. Not for the first time that week did she long for Kikyou to still be alive. A strange notion, considering their history, but Kagome felt lost in being the protector of the jewel. Kikyou had somehow always known what to do, and now Kagome desperately pleaded for her guidance.

. . .

One more day.

Kagome finally determined that she had the right wish in mind, but it would undoubtedly change everything they knew, so during the trek back to the village, she had decided to give herself a set time in which would allow her to say her final goodbyes. She only had until the following night to say what needed to be said, and to do what needed to be done.

The campfire glowed merrily as everyone chatted quietly around it. Misery stayed far from their minds, replaced by laughter and good nature. Kagome smiled along with them, but even she could feel how aloof she kept herself; she had always been a terrible liar.

Her eyes drew to the half-demon she had unintentionally fallen in love with. His silver hair shined from the fire's glow as shadows were sent around the clearing. The amber intensity of his eyes made her heart race and his permanent scowl inadvertently filled her with delight. As usual, his arms were folded over his chest, Tessaiga propped against the crook of his elbow, as he sat with his attention on the forest, although Kagome was sure he was listening to their conversation.

Kagome's gaze turned to the rest of her companions, marveling in the minute details she knew she would miss. That's if I remember them, she sourly reminded herself. Sango's hair freely swiped at her back as Miroku took her hand in his, rubbing small circles with his thumb over her palm. Marriage had been spoken about earlier in the day, but even as Kagome fussed over the wedding plans and gave her congratulations, a sharp pang to her heart reminded her there would be no happy celebration.

"What's the matter, Kagome?" Shippou asked, propping his hands upon her thighs and looking up at her curiously.

A smile tugged at her lips at her little fox friend. Even young, he always seemed to have a keen eye when it came to details. "I'm fine," she assured softly, trying not to draw attention to her melancholic mood. She rubbed the kit's hair affectionately and gave him a comforting nod.

His bright green eyes seemed hesitant to drop the subject, but he finally gave in with a shrug of his shoulders. She could tell he knew something bothered his surrogate sister, but to him the reason would forever remain a mystery. He galloped back to where Kirara had curled up, and immediately took part in the conversation that passed between his comrades.

Inuyasha didn't miss the exchange Kagome and Shippou shared. He noted the way her hands curled into tight fists and every so often she would bite the inside of her cheek in a nervous habit. Sniffing the air around her, he could smell the anxiety coming off her in waves. He didn't understand it, though. They had just defeated their arch nemesis, and everyone remained in good health. It was a time for celebration.

His eyes flickered over her curiously, trying to pinpoint the source of her affliction. When his gaze landed on the Shikon Jewel hanging by the column of her throat, he swallowed nervously. Although he did his best to hide it, he couldn't deny the dread that had been building in his stomach over the past few days. He couldn't remember when exactly he had decided not to become a full demon with the power of the jewel - it most likely had to do with the times he had transformed into a demon and threatened the lives of his friends. However, he recalled a sense of worry that had bloomed in his chest during their last few battles as they reached closer to Naraku's end.

Inuyasha knew that once Naraku had been defeated, the jewel would be complete. It had never swayed their quest to destroy the half-demon who had caused so many a great deal of pain. But… it also meant that the reason Kagome had been brought to the feudal era, her purpose to be by his side, would vanish. He knew there was always a very real possibility that Kagome would leave them once she had completed her mission.

Could that be the reason why she was so upset?

Feeling someone's gaze on her, Kagome averted her eyes from Miroku and Sango's playful banter and peered up at her half-demon friend. She tilted her head questioningly. "You okay?" she whispered, her brows knitted in concern.

"Keh," was the only reply she received as he turned away.

Kagome frowned, but knew if it held any great importance to him he would tell her eventually. The twosome tuned back into the conversation between their friends and continued to laugh even as the shadows grew darker. Not until the last flicker of flames died down did the warriors begin to feel weary and said their goodnight's, moving into the hut to rest.

The young priestess listened to her companions' deep breathing as they each lulled to sleep, looking up at the ceiling and clutching the jewel in her hand. Please, Kikyou, she silently prayed. Give me strength.

. . .

Kagome stepped out of Kaede's hut with a yawn and stretched her arms over her head. Her sleep had been restless and dreamless, which she was silently thankful for. She didn't need any help procuring doubt or deepening the dread in her gut. Holding a hand over her brow, she glanced up at the midday sun. It looked like it would be another beautiful day.

"Morning, Kagome," Shippou called, scampering toward her and bouncing into her arms. "You've been asleep for ages."

She shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. I guess I'm still exhausted."

"It's okay. I was playing with my fox magic while you slept." He manifested a ball of blue fire as if to prove his claim.

"I see," she replied with an amused smile. "And where is everyone else?"

He pointed toward the village. "Miroku and Inuyasha went to help fix a roof, Kaede is bringing medicine to someone, and Sango took Kirara to take care of a small demon nearby."

Kagome scrunched up her nose, displeased that all her friends had left without waking her, but it was short-lived as she gazed down at the fox kit's carefree expression. "Well, then," she said, her chipper voice helping to push aside her dark thoughts. "Why don't we hang out, just the two of us?"

The silly grin on his face caused her to laugh as he expressed his delight for her company. He began sprinting toward the well, glancing back every so often to make sure Kagome followed. She chased after him, the wind on her face helping her to momentarily forget the concerns that kept her awake at night.

An hour easily passed as the two surrogate siblings played games. Shippou showed off his fox magic tricks and they shared the crayons she had gifted him as they drew pictures of their friends.

"Look at this one," he announced suddenly through the quiet clearing. He held up his drawing. "Bet you can't guess who this is."

Kagome peered at the picture closely, her eyes scanning over the brown outlines and tanned skin.

"I bet that one's Kouga," she smiled, pointing to the larger figure in the foreground. "And those two behind him are Ginta and Hakkaku." The two wolf demons chased after their leader, desperately trying to keep up with his speed.

"That's right!" he gleefully replied, setting the drawing down and choosing a blank piece of paper to start a new work of art.

The picture she currently worked on consisted of Shippou. His red hair shined like a beacon and his emerald eyes seemed to sparkle. She drew him in a battle stance, a wave of blue fox fire surrounding him; she disdainfully admitted she didn't possess the artistic talent Shippou had when it came to likeness. The drawings splayed out to the left of her consisted of the rest of her companions: Inuyasha with Tessaiga, Sango with Hirakotsu, Miroku with his golden staff, and Kirara in her transformed state.

A lazy breeze swept across the grass and brushed through strands of Kagome's hair. She sighed and set aside her latest completion, placing her crayon back in the box while admiring the small kit laying on his stomach across from her; his tongue sticking out between his lips in concentration as he continued to draw.

"Shippou," she spoke quietly, sitting on her knees with her back against the well.

He didn't look up from his drawing. "Yeah?"

"Come here." She beckoned him to the place beside her, and with a puzzled expression he did as she said. He sat down and felt his stomach churn with a feeling he couldn't identify. "You've grown up quite a bit since we first met you."

"Y-yeah," he agreed with a touch of pink to his cheeks, her observation catching him off guard.

Kagome ruffled his hair affectionately, her smile sad. "You know, you're going to be a great demon someday. You'll probably be deemed protector of a whole village."

His eyes shined from the compliment – too often had she found him looking up to Inuyasha, the half-demon's strength and reputation finally earning him the respect he deserved. "Really?"

"Really." She chuckled. Turning to grab her yellow bag, she dug through it until she found what she was looking for. "I want you to have these."

His eyes peered over the gifts she presented him. "You're giving me all your pocky?" He gawked.

"Yeah," she nodded. "With all the hard fighting you've done, I think you deserve it." She deposited his treasure in his hands. Kagome only gave him treats few and far between; she always lectured him about sweets making him sick if he ate too much at once. So, giving him all of her pocky not only gave him a big responsibility involving his heath, but also meant a great deal of praise.

"Thanks, Kagome!"

Trying to fight back the tears, she gathered the young kit in her arms, holding him close in an embrace. "You're like a little brother to me, Shippou. I want you to be as strong as I know you can be."

His little hands clutched her shirt and his eyes suddenly watered. It sounded as if Kagome planned on leaving, as if she was saying goodbye forever.

"Kagome," he spoke in a quiet, shaky voice. "Are you... gonna leave us?"

She shook her head and brushed the tears from her eyes. "No," she promised. "I'm not going to leave you."

How can I leave, if I never came?

Her words brought a relieved smile to his lips as he jumped off her lap. Quickly collecting his drawings and pocky in his arms, he began the trek back to the village.

"I'm going to show these to my friends!" he said, grin widening at the thought of the village children's reactions.

Kagome watched him leave, taking a moment to gather her thoughts as she wrapped her arms around herself. The wind touched her gently as it blew across the clearing, carrying along the crisp scent of autumn. Colder months would be approaching soon – just like the feeling in her chest; with each subtle goodbye, another layer of ice covered her breaking heart.

. . .

"Hey, Sango," Kagome called as she stepped through the trees outlining the hot springs.

The slayer, having returned from her demon extermination, turned to face the newcomer with a smile. "Good afternoon, Kagome."

Kagome slid into the steaming pool of water, relishing in the slight burn against her skin. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the smooth rock behind her.

Something in her mood set Sango on edge, and she gazed at her friend curiously. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, don't be silly. Of course it is." Even Kagome could notice the too-obvious falsity in her words, and knew Sango wouldn't believe her facade. As expected, the slayer frowned and narrowed her eyes. Eager to change the subject away from her somber disposition, she asked, "I was just wondering if you've visited your village recently."

The sudden question rendered Sango speechless. Come to think of it, she hadn't returned home in quite some time; they had been too close to catching up to Naraku and didn't have the luxury to make extra stops. Now that Naraku had been defeated for good, it would give her an opportunity for proper closure since her people had been avenged – and perhaps rebuild the village to its former glory.

"No," she finally answered with a wistful smile. "I suppose not. Perhaps tomorrow would be a good time to go."

"Yeah, tomorrow," Kagome mumbled distractedly, looking up at the clear, blue sky through the treetops. She clenched her jaw as she thought about Kohaku. His life had ultimately been stolen by Naraku and the jewel, leaving Miroku as Sango's only family.

The demon slayer moved closer and tilted her head. "Something's troubling you."

Curse a girl's intuition.

Kagome sighed deeply. "I guess." Her eyes found those of her friend. "I don't know how you do it. You've lost everything: your village, your friends, your family. And yet, you still manage to smile."

Sango hung her head in acknowledgement, but shed no tears. "You're right. The pain of losing those I love will always be a heavy reminder of the past. I won't ever forget my father, or Kohaku, or any of the other villagers. But… instead of dwelling on all that I've lost, I try to be thankful for what I've gained." She lifted her gaze to the priestess. "I have a new place to call home, people whom I can call family, and a man I would lay down my life for."

Kagome nodded sympathetically. She understood where the slayer was coming from, but still found it daunting that someone could shoulder so much. "Speaking of Miroku," she said, turning their conversation in a lighter direction. "How are the wedding plans going?"

Sango rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "I think he's more concerned with having children than he is of making me an honest woman. He's unbelievable."

"Well, his family was cursed for generations. It's no wonder he's eager to continue the lineage," Kagome mentioned. "I think you should cut him some slack."

She smiled. "Yeah. I do love him, but sometimes I wish he was less of a lecher."

"Then he wouldn't be the Miroku we all know and love."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

Kagome pondered her words for a moment before grinning. "We definitely would've lost out on quite a few humorous situations during our adventures."

"Isn't that the truth," Sango agreed with a dramatic roll of her eyes. A sudden thought caused the humor to fade from her expression, shifting seriously as she turned to fully face Kagome. "While on the subject of love and marriage, how are you and Inuyasha?"

Vulnerable to Sango's impromptu question, Kagome blushed a deep shade of crimson. "W-What do you mean?"

Sango folded her arms over her chest. "You know exactly what I mean. You and Inuyasha have grown closer, especially during the time leading up to the final battle. It's obvious to everyone that you two have feelings for each other."

She winced. "Everyone?"

The slayer scoffed. "You didn't really believe it was a secret, did you? I'm sure I've known since the day I met the both of you. There was always an undeniable chemistry between you two, and there's no doubt Inuyasha cares for you, especially with the way he's so protective."

"Maybe," Kagome replied, turning away, finding the ripples in the water from her movements more interesting.

"No, not maybe," she argued. "It's true. You need to find out how he feels about you. If you don't, you'll never be able to make a decision."

"Decision?"

"Seriously?" Sango deadpanned. "Earth to Kagome. I'm talking about your decision to return to your time on the other side of the well. I'm sure Inuyasha plays a big part in that."

Kagome glanced over her shoulder toward the trees. "Oh, I think I hear Shippou calling," she said, rising to stand.

Sango quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the hot springs. "You're being evasive."

"No, I'm not," Kagome challenged.

"Yes, you are. Kagome, I'm your friend. You can talk to me."

Kagome stared at her for a long moment, musing over Sango's statement, contemplating the speck of doubt that lingered behind reason. She surely had the correct wish in mind – she could feel it in her soul – so why did hesitation appear?

"Do you believe in fate?" she asked quietly, glancing over at the slayer. "I mean, if you're meant to be with someone, fate will bring you together no matter what?"

Sango chuckled. "Yes, I do. My answer to that perverted monk's proposal is proof enough."

She smiled, recalling the day in which Miroku asked Sango to become his wife once their battle with Naraku had come to an end. Everything had been so different then. They were constantly fighting demons, struggling to stay alive after each encounter with one of his incarnations. Now, peace had settled quietly and Kagome knew life would move forward toward a happy ending soon enough. The only problem being, it wasn't the original happily-ever-after they had hoped for.

. . .

The sun began setting into early evening as the day wound down to an end. Kagome lay back on a grassy knoll, watching the sky while the deep oranges and reds fade to purple. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of the village folk preparing for the night, but they were far enough away not to bother her. Closing her eyes, she drew a breath full of the woodland air, letting the sounds of birds fill her ears, the melody much more welcomed than the traffic noises of her own era. Here, ten minutes seemed like a long time and so the day stretched out like a small eternity.

Kagome had a wealthy understanding that she couldn't stop bad things from happening in the world, even if she knew ahead of time they would occur. Thinking about it only made her more anxious, more fearful, but with the wish she had in mind, she knew she could at least prevent some of the bad from happening. Even at the risk of her own happiness.

In her quiet contemplation, she'd decidedly turned her thoughts elsewhere. She thought about love, the people she cherished, and everything right in her life. She felt like a higher power's whisper drifted through the trees, assuring her she had made the right choice.

The correct path is not always the easiest.

"Kagome?"

She opened her eyes and looked up, seeing Miroku towering over her. "Oh, hey."

"May I join you?" he asked with an amused smile.

She fanned her hand out beside her, offering him a spot of grass, before turning her gaze back toward the sky. They stayed quiet for a while, simply enjoying each other's company and watching as the clouds lazily moved across the expanse of magenta canvas.

"I spoke to Sango," he finally said, folding an arm beneath his head.

Kagome frowned. "About what?"

"She's concerned about you." He peered over at her hesitantly. "She fears you will do something that can't be undone."

Curious, Kagome sat up on her elbows and gazed accusingly at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Miroku sat up, holding his hands out in a manner of peace. "Please, forgive me, I'm only trying to help. With Naraku gone and the jewel in your possession, we understand you have a lot on your mind. Sango is only worried you will make a hasty decision you will later regret. And truthfully, so am I."

"I'm well aware of the weight I have on my shoulders. I understand what my duty is to the jewel and to the future of this world. I don't appreciate you thinking I'm taking this lightly."

"That's not it at all," he assured. "We're your friends, Kagome. We only want to be here to help and support you in whatever you need. Offending you was not my intention."

Honest eyes bore into hers as if trying to convince her he wasn't lying. She silently cursed herself for giving into Sango's open nature earlier. She should've known they were keeping a close eye on her, picking up on her moods and behavior now that the battle was over. But what they didn't understand was that she still had a battle to face. One she had to face alone.

Miroku had always been so genuine and honest, so she wondered why she didn't believe him now. His warm smile begged her to trust him, her heart told her he would never deceive her, but her gut warned her otherwise.

"You want to know what I plan to do," she stated bluntly, calling out his true reason for questioning her alone like this. "You're afraid I'll make a decision that benefits others with no thought of myself. Well, I hate to break it to you, but the wish on the jewel has to be selfless. I'm not allowed to think of my own feelings when it comes to this."

Or yours, for that matter.

His face shifted to one of open concern, brows furrowing. "I understand that. I simply wanted to let you know that you weren't alone in this. We can help you make a decision. We can help protect the jewel as long as it needs to be protected."

Kagome averted her gaze and ran her fingers through the grass. Miroku was a good friend. He encompassed all of the things she didn't know she needed or loved so dearly. He meant so much to her, meant so much to all of those lives he touched. How could she lie to him? How could she pretend as if everything was okay, when in truth, it was the farthest from it?

Now she understood the cold demeanor Kikyou lived with, the constant need to keep everyone at a distance. Her life was no longer her own. It was forever bound to the Shikon Jewel.

"I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet." She sighed, her white lie making her stomach heavy with guilt. "I don't even know what era I want to be in. Back home, I have my mom, and my brother, and my gramps. I have school to finish and friends to catch up with. I have put so much on hold in my life in order to take down Naraku and complete the jewel."

"Do you wish you had never come to this place?" Miroku asked.

"Of course not!" Kagome exclaimed, appalled he would even ask such a thing. "Everyone I've met and everything I've done… I wouldn't change it for the world. I can't imagine living without knowing of my adventures. I wouldn't be me without them."

Miroku sensed there was more to it than that, and patiently waited for her to continue.

Finally, she shook her head. "But this whole thing is so much bigger than me. How can I think of myself and what I want, when there's so much more at stake?"

"Kagome, no one can change the world in a single stroke. However, with each kind deed you've done during your time with us, you've made all the difference to the world. I feel blessed to have known you. You deserve happiness, too." He smiled.

Kagome turned away shyly, blushing at his praise. "Thank you. I just feel as if there's more that I could do."

"What's done is done," he said softly, climbing to his feet. "No one can change the past. We can only work to protect the future from our prior mistakes. Besides, with Naraku gone, I don't foresee anything detrimental happening anytime soon."

"I hope you're right," she mumbled, pulling her knees into her chest.

He held out his hand. "Now, shall we head back to Kaede's for supper?"

Kagome shook her head. "You go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Miroku nodded and took his leave, but a little ways down the hill, he stopped and glanced back at the time-traveling priestess. She sat staring up into the sunset sky, her obsidian hair blowing gently in the breeze. She had a kind of understated beauty. Perhaps it was because she was so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness and flawless, pale skin. She made things simple and easy, helping those around her to relax and be happy with what they had. Perhaps that was what caused her skin to glow. Her inner beauty lit her eyes and softened her features. To be in her company made a person feel that they too were someone, that they had been warmed in summer rays regardless of the season.

However, a sinking feeling formed in the pit of his gut. Not understanding why, Miroku had a sneaking suspicion that her rays wouldn't be there to warm them when the winter months approached. Something in his heart told him that she had made a decision that would change everything. And he knew. He knew that this would be the last time he saw Kagome Higurashi – that fiery young priestess from the future.

Exhaling deeply, and praying his conjecture was wrong, Miroku turned and continued toward Kaede's hut.

. . .

Long shadows of the evening dissolved into the gathering darkness of nighttime. The air cooled and the cicadas sang. A canopy of luminous stars materialized amongst the ocean of blackness. Some were dull, merely flickering into existence every now and then, but a collection of shimmering stars illuminated the dark, half-moon night. The lake glistened, mirroring the dazzling assemblage of glittering stars and the incandescence from the campfire glowed merrily beside it. Faint wind brushed against the water's surface, the ripples ruffling the stillness, and shattering the reflection of the sky.

Brown eyes turned toward Inuyasha's forest, the place in which this whirlwind of a fairytale began. There Kagome had stumbled upon this other world through an old well and had met her half-demon for the first time, pinned to the Goshinboku.

The woods always looked different at night. Everything had an unfamiliar slant to it, as if the daytime trees and flowers and stones had gone to bed and sent slightly more ominous versions to take their place. The forest became dark and uninviting, but she knew it was the safest place she could ever be.

Kagome sighed, curling her arms around her bent knees and resting her chin upon them. The fire beside her kept away the night chill, but did nothing to aid the cold that beat within her chest. Time had passed by so quickly. She dreaded what would occur in the next hour, but she knew she couldn't avoid it.

She felt like a prodigious courage pushed inside her, demanding her to be brave and strong during this climax. The decision final, she refused to change her mind, trusting that fate would take care of the rest. It had to.

"Kagome?"

Footsteps fell upon the grass and she knew who had come to find her. She took a deep breath and looked up, her gaze falling on amber eyes full of concern.

"Hey, Inuyasha." Kagome smiled meekly.

He sat down beside her, crossing his legs and sliding his hands into his sleeves. He regarded the lake for a moment, ears twitching anxiously upon his head, silver hair shifting in the breeze, brushing lightly against his cheek.

Kagome worried her bottom lip. What would she tell him? What would she say to him during what would most likely be their final conversation?

"What's bugging you?" he asked frankly, sliding his gaze toward her.

"What makes you think something's bothering me?"

He frowned. "I'm not stupid. You've been sad and moody all day."

"It's not a big deal." She shrugged.

"It is a big deal. Naraku is dead. You should be happy."

"I am happy." She smiled. "I'm glad that it's finally over."

Inuyasha's ears flattened against his head, pausing, words suddenly unnecessary. One look in his eyes spoke volumes. Sorrow dwelled in his gaze as clear as if he'd spoken his thoughts and emotions aloud.

"You're going home, aren't you?" He said, finally acknowledging what he'd been dreading. "To your own time."

"What? Is that what you think?" She grimaced.

He turned away. "What else is left for you here? What reason do you have to stay?"

"Inuyasha, I have every reason to stay," she proclaimed, giving a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I have my best friends here. I feel as if I make a difference. Not to mention I have so much more to learn from Kaede."

"Keh, I guess so," he grumbled.

Kagome placed a hand on his shoulder. "Most importantly, I have you."

Dark brows furrowed and his lips parted. He turned wide eyes in her direction. "Me?" he echoed, unsure, even with his sensitive hearing, if he had heard her correctly.

"Of course. You are the most important person in my life. Haven't you realized that?" Kagome giggled.

He frowned, contemplating her words as she scooted closer to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. A heated blush rose in his cheeks as he averted his gaze, embarrassed, as always, by her show of affection.

"I don't ever want to leave here," she continued, looking up at the stars. "This is home for me."

"You mean, you want to stay?"

"Yeah, I do." She lifted her head to look at him. "I want to stay with you, Inuyasha."

"Then, why do you look so sad?" He swallowed, apprehensive.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter. I just want to enjoy tonight," she dismissed.

"All right," he growled, fed up, turning smoldering amber eyes on her. "You're really starting to piss me off."

Surprised, she knitted her brows and shifted away from him. "Inuyasha?"

"All of this talk about wanting to stay, but you still look so damn sad, Kagome. Why? What is making you so upset?"

"Drop it already, would you?" she shouted, jumping to her feet, tears welling in her eyes.

"No," he defiantly refused, standing up beside her and pointing at her accusingly. "Something's up, Kagome. I'm not lettin' you off the hook that easily."

She spun on her heel, ready to run from his barrage of questions, to run from the truth eating her up inside. A clawed hand reached out and grabbed her gently, pulling her toward him. "Damn it, woman! Just talk to me!"

Kagome bit her lip, considering her next move. If she told him the truth, she would never be able to go through with it. He wouldn't let her. So, there was really only one thing left to do, only one thing left to say.

Slowly, she turned to face him. She sniffled and took a deep breath, fingering the glowing pink jewel that hung around the column of her throat. "The Shikon Jewel has caused so much pain," Kagome whispered.

"Is that what this is about?" Inuyasha questioned, releasing her and clenching his hands into fists at his side. "Kagome, you don't have to make a wish. We'll protect it for as long as we need to."

She shook her head vigorously. "No, you don't understand. As long as the jewel exists, there will be pain and suffering. A wish has to be made."

"Then what's the problem?" He frowned.

Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around his waist in an unexpected embrace. Pink dusted his cheeks, his eyes wide with surprise before he hesitantly returned the gesture, holding her firmly against him, still frustrated with her evasive answers.

The tears flowed unchecked down Kagome's cheeks and dripped from her chin into his robe of the fire rat. Too sad to cry out or wail, she just stood there as still as a statue while the magnitude of her loss swept over her. She became lost in the vortex of the moment, and she knew that she would be forever tormented by a past that could not be undone.

Taking a deep breath and drawing forth every ounce of courage she could find, she pulled away and gazed up at him. She took in every detail: the wash of concern showing in his clear, luminous, warm, amber eyes, the tufts of silver dog-ears she loved so much, twitching upon his head, his furrowed black brows and frowning lips. She breathed in his scent, the forest mixed with the charcoal remains of a campfire. She listened as he breathed deeply, feeling his breath tickle her cheek. She felt the warmth of his embrace as he tightened his hold on her.

He happened to be everything she never knew she wanted. He was brash, arrogant, and stubborn, but he became hers. And now it was time to give him up, to trust that fate would one day bring them together again. Her heart accelerated, almost beating right out of her chest as her stomach filled with wild butterflies, and she prayed to every spiritual being that her voice would not escape her.

"Kagome?" he murmured, his eyes questioning.

"I love you," Kagome whispered, her words almost lost in the soft breeze. "I love you, Inuyasha. I have for a long time."

She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard. He seemed at a loss for words, but she'd expected that. He never was one to voice his feelings, and she knew that not long ago he had lost Kikyou. He probably wasn't ready to commit to her.

Smiling, she stepped away, out of his grasp. "I just needed you to know that. I just needed you to understand how much I care for you."

"Kagome, wait," He reached for her, desperation growing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"A wish has to be made," she repeated, clasping her hands around the jewel and holding it to her chest. "This is the way it has to be."

His eyes turned wide, fearful, and he stormed toward her. "Wait, Kagome!"

She closed her eyes, pressed her lips close to the jewel, and whispered, "I wish Naraku had never been born."

For a brief moment, the world stopped spinning. She could feel her blood rushing through her veins as her heart pounded erratically in her ears. Inuyasha's terrified expression stayed with her as he rushed forward, hoping to undo what had already been done. But it was too late.

A flurry of pink light burst forth from the jewel, enshrouding them completely.

#inuyasha #inukag #mirsan #fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #kagome #miroku #sango #shippou #tomorrow's destiny #sassy stays classy #my fanfiction

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santoteez · 5 years

Text

The Dormant Beast - Jongho (4)

Read Part 3 HERE

Part: 4 of ?

Idol: Jongho of ATEEZ

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Friends to Lovers

Word Count: 4,028 (I was on a ROLL, baby)

Warnings: Slight prejudice and bullying (non-racial and it’s not body shame either), swearing and shit, Mild name-calling, MC is a Black Female

A/N: I use certain names in this fic that are meant to be similar to real people. It’s just to add to the whole “post-human race.” For example, if this story takes place AFTER the human race expired, it wouldn’t make sense that someone like Lizzo to exist, right? Also, I wanted to change it up bc it’s fun lol. Anyways, Enjoy!

Jongho stood outside the restaurant, annoyed and tapping his foot rapidly against the pavement.

“Crescent would never be this late.” He huffed, glancing at his watch. How did he wind up in a date with Desire? Glad you asked.

The afternoon of Crescent’s attack on Rory, Jongho walked up to his locker to put his books away for the day. The minute he opened it, a letter slipped out. Opening it, he smiled, noticing Crescent’s loopy handwriting.

Can’t walk home together today. Decided to skip town for a while. Please, don’t look for me. Don’t stop by the house either. I asked my parents to keep my whereabouts a secret. I’m sorry, Jongie. It’ll only be a few days max. I just need to clear my head on things. Shit’s getting too crazy. I won’t be alone, Clips is coming with.

P.S. à You should go on the date with Desire. It’ll do you some good to be around someone that isn’t me. Plus, I need something funny to look forward to when I get back.

Love,

Crescent

Jongho’s smile dropped, furrowing his eyebrows. What did she mean don’t look for her? Where was she going? Why couldn’t he come?

Against her wishes, Jongho sped to her house. The door swung open before he even got a chance to knock.

“Crescent owes me five bucks.” Lunar said, stepping out onto the porch. “She had faith that you wouldn’t come looking for her at least until tomorrow. I knew better.” He sat on the porch swing.

“Of course I’d come. She’s my-”

“Your best friend, which is code for the love of your life?” Lunar glanced up, amused by Jongho’s frozen expression. “I was your age once too, you know.” He said, patting the porch swing.

“I met Solar in high school. A little late compared to you and Crescent, but that didn’t make the feelings any less real.” He said as Jongho sat down. “And when you look at Crescent, you know what I see? I see the same way I looked at Solar all those years ago. That look of longing, wanting what you couldn’t have.”

“What was wrong that you couldn’t be with Mrs. Moon?”

“…She was already married.”

“What? But you said you were in high school?”

Lunar shrugged. “It was a different time back then. When it came to marriage, it was aura over age. This guy with a super-strong aura, an elephant or something, came to her house one day. Asked for her hand in marriage, he had seen her walking to and from school and wanted her for his wife.”

“And her parents just accepted some random guy who had seen her on the street leaving a high school?” Jongho asked incredulously.

“Yes, but please remember it was a different time. Beliefs were different, and because of it, people got away with a lot of things. Of course, he had to prove he was the aura he said he was, as well as proof he could care for her and other things.”

Jongho nodded. “So, if she was married, how did you end up together?”

Lunar smiled. “We started as friends. We didn’t realize when it became more. One minute it was innocent study dates, and the next we were sneaking around behind the bookcases. Word got out that I was getting too close for comfort, and her husband wasn’t pleased. He challenged me to battle, confident that a hyena had no chance against an elephant. Well, he was right. I was beaten to a pulp. He told Solar to follow him; they were going home.”

“And then?” Jongho asked, fully engrossed in the story.

“She told him no. She didn’t want to go with him. He said she had to; those were the rules, after all. She asked him what would be the point if everyone knew she wasn’t happy. She was clearly not in love with him. She stated that he should fight for someone that cared about him. Which is what I had done. So, though it took some time, they divorced and parted ways. Divorces weren’t as accepted back then, so her family shunned her, closing her out. Embarrassed that she would divorce an elephant for a measly hyena. My parents received backlash for the whole situation as well, so they wanted nothing to do with me. We did odd jobs on the weekends, sometimes living out of motels to make ends meet. To the outside world, it seemed we had nothing. But to us, we had everything. We had each other. We graduated high school, moved here to Strongville. We had a small wedding, only inviting what few friends we had. We got steady jobs, putting ourselves through college. Months after graduation, we had Eclipse. Then came Crescent. The whole point of telling you this, Choi, is that when you want something, no matter how unattainable it may seem, you’ve gotta try. There will be obstacles. There might be consequences. Even times when it seems like you’ll never come out on top. But love will always prevail.”

Jongho sat in silence, absorbing the information. “So, that’s why Crescent never mentions her grandparents. But, Lunar, Mrs. Moon and you were on the same page back then. What do I do if Crescent and I don’t see eye to eye? I’ve tried expressing my feelings before, and she shuts me down before I even get a word out. She’s always giving me excuses for why I can’t like her, whether it’s my parents, or her aura, or the stupid hierarchy. What if she doesn’t like me back?”

Lunar chuckled. “Trust me. You don’t have to worry about that.” He said, remembering the constant teasing from Eclipse. “Crescent’s her father’s daughter. Stubborn and stuck in her ways and opinions. But if anyone can get through to her, it’s you. Don’t give up on her just yet.”

Jongho shook his head. “I wouldn’t give up on her for the world.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Lunar smiled. “So, get outta here. She’ll be okay. She has two auras, and that’s two more than she’s had all her life. Let her sort things out. She’ll be back. She can’t go too long without ‘Jongie’.” He said, repeating the nickname in a mocking tone.

“Oh, and Jongho,” Lunar called out before heading inside.

“Yeah?” Jongho responded from the walkway.

“Have fun on your date.” Lunar winked, closing the door swiftly.

Just when Jongho registered what Lunar had said, his phone rang. The contact was listed as “Don’t Answer.”

“Hello?”

“Jongho! Honey, is everything alright? I got a frantic call from Crescent. She didn’t say much but told me to call you. Did you have to talk to me?”

Jongho sighed. Of course Crescent would call Desire, knowing he wouldn’t do it himself.

“Yeah, actually. Are you doing anything Friday?”

Now here he was, dressed uncomfortably in a dress shirt and pants with his ash-colored hair gelled back, standing outside a restaurant where the prices were bigger than the portions, waiting for Desire, who was 20 minutes late.

Just when Jongho had lost all hope, Rory’s Lamborghini Veneno pull up to the curb. Desire’s Giuseppe heels clicked onto the pavement, her emerald green dress contrasting with her fire-red hair. Her smile didn’t match up with Jongho’s grimace.

“Have fun, you two!” Rory called out, raising his eyebrows in amusement at Jongho’s expression before speeding down the avenue.

“I told you to be here at 4:30 because the reservation was for 6:00. It’s 6:45.” He deadpanned.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie! I was going to make it on time, I swear but, then I couldn’t decide between the red clutch or the black clutch. The red goes with my hair, but the black goes with my shoes. So, I brought both!” She said. She squeezed Jongho’s hand when he didn’t react. “C’mon, I’m here now! Let’s go in.”

They entered and were immediately recognized and seated despite the reservation having passed. The waiter sped to their table.

“Good evening, may I start you both off with some drinks?” He asked, flipping open his notepad. “Our special of the night is the Moet & Chandon Nectar Rose, which has been chilled on ice.”

“Ooou, that sounds good, let’s have that!” Desire said, opening the food menu.

The waiter nodded, turning to Jongho. “And for you, sir? The same?”

Jongho gave the man a baffled look. “You realize we’re like 16, right?”

“Oh, Jongho honey, age restrictions don’t apply to us! We’re the future Duke and Duchess!” Desire laughed, shaking her head. “If it’s your first time drinking, I’d suggest not ordering tequila. I made that mistake last year and between you and me, I can’t remember much about that night.” She shrugged.

“So, just because we’re a little stronger than others, rules and law don’t apply to us? Then what’s the point?” Jongho sighed. “Sprite, please.”

“Are you sure, Sir? If not the Moet, we have other options that might better satisfy your palette. A Chateau, perhaps? Maybe even our prized possession, the Dom Perignon? I can guarantee our batch is the most aged, dating back to human times.” The waiter pressed, surprised at the fact that Jongho wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to drink the way Desire was.

Jongho gave him a tight smile. “Sprite.”

“Very well, then. I’ll be back with your drinks and will take your course orders when I return.”

“I can give you some of my glass to try if you’d like? That way you don’t have to order something you’re not sure you’ll like?” Desire offered.

“No thanks, I’ll wait till 21 like everyone else.” Jongho said, opening the menu. “What are you having?”

“A garden salad.”

Jongho looked up at her. “Is that it?”

“Oh, you’re right. It’s my cheat day. I’ll order some shrimp on the side.”

“Cheat day? You work out?”

“Oh no, I’m on a diet because I bought this dress and they didn’t have it in my size so I’m gonna lose weight to wear it.”

Jongho furrowed his eyebrows. “Aren’t you already pretty slim? How much smaller can the dress be? Why couldn’t you just get the dress in your size from the portal?”

“Ugh, no! Only lower auras use the portal. High auras like us should use storefronts. Plus, I’m a 4 and the dress is a 2, so it should fit pretty soon.”

In midst of the technological advances that caused auras to become a thing, the internet evolved into the Portal. The Portal allowed for a more intimate internet experience. For instance, one who may be shopping for clothes or shoes could choose to have their order shipped to their home or a storefront like in human times, or they could choose the Portal, which opens up a large egress on location. This allowed the person to then reach in and grab their item from inside the threshold. It was popular amongst the lower auras who were intimidated from the possibility of running into higher auras and to avoid higher auras from snatching things right out of their carts, which was a common occurrence. Being friends with Crescent, Jongho knew the ins and outs of the Portal and even frequented it himself.

“There’s nothing wrong with the Portal. You can shop right from home, in your pajamas or the middle of the street and get your things right then and there.”

“Exactly, but higher auras are to be seen. Not hidden away at home.” Desire said, as the waiter came back.

“Still better than starving yourself into oblivion,” Jongho said, shrugging. “Are we ready to order?” he asked her.

“Yes! I’ll have a garden salad, hold the dressing, croutons and cheese. And an order of steamed shrimp, hold the cocktail sauce.”

The waiter nodded, turning to Jongho.

“I’ll have the top sirloin steak with roasted potatoes.”

“Will that be medium-rare?” The waiter asked, writing everything down.

“Uh no, well done, please.”

Desire scrunched up her face. “Well done? You’re killing the animal all over again, Jongho.”

“Well…it’s gonna be on my plate so, I hope it’s dead.”

“Where’s the flavor in that, Jongho?”

“The seasoning? Anyways, sirloin, well done, end of discussion. We were already late so I’m pretty hungry. Can we move this along?”

“Yes, right away, sir! Your orders will be expedited.” The waiter said, rushing off to the kitchen.

“Did you learn to eat well-done steak with Crescent? Even your parents don’t eat it like that.” Desire asked.

“How’s that store you opened last year doing, Desire? Is it seeing profit?”

“You’re changing the subject. You don’t wanna talk about her?”

“I finally took you out on a date, which is what you’ve wanted me to do for the past three years, so I’m confused as to why you would,” Jongho said, twirling his salad fork coolly. “So, about that store…”

Desire sighed, sitting up in her seat. “It’s going well, a lot of sales in-store and online, we received a purchase from Teyoncé. You know, the singer with the eagle aura?”

Jongho nodded, impressed. “I’m sure you’ll have members of the Teapot flooding in from all over to buy your products now. They idolize her so much, they follow every trend she portrays.”

“I’m excited. If we continue selling at this rate, we can open up another storefront.”

“Do you offer Portal?” Jongho asked as their food was placed in front of them. He thanked the waiter, cutting into his steak.

“Why would I do that?” Desire asked, annoyed that they were once again discussing Portal.

“Well, you’re targeting the Teapot. You know how many fans Teyoncé has? She comes from a long line of performers, starting from her great-great-great-grandmother. She has fans everywhere, from Strongville to Freehold to Cherrynight Valley. Surely, you can’t expect everyone to come to one store in the middle of Strongville?”

“Anybody who’s somebody will make it. Those who can’t will miss out.” Desire said.

“And the one missing out on money will be you. Exclusivity is for companies with seniority, like the brand on your feet. People are gonna see what it takes to even buy from your store and give up when you can easily offer Portal and have your brand all over the world. Or is Portal beneath you?”

“I just don’t think someone of my caliber should have to settle or beg for sales by lowering my standards.” She retaliated.

“What if Crescent was a fan? She can’t just walk into your store, especially with the way you’ve treated her and her reputation amongst your friends, also your fault by the way. Someone like her would need Portal. Imagine what would happen if word were to get out that you don’t even accommodate for people right here in your town? That’s the thing, though. When you become an entrepreneur, you have to be money hungry. Imagine all the sales you could be making this very minute if you activated Portal.”

The conversation died down, the pair eating in silence. Jongho set his utensils down, finishing his plate rather quickly. He sighed. He’d definitely need to stop at Patty Queen on his way home. The portion was nowhere near enough; he would need at least a burger to be full.

“What do you see in her?” Desire asked suddenly.

“Huh?” Jongho asked. He had heard her but wanted to buy himself some time before having to answer.

“Do you know how much I’ve done to catch your attention? I wear the best outfits, watch my figure, always have my hair done. I’ve wanted to dye my hair so many times, you know why I never did? When we were younger, and I was getting picked on for how bright red my hair is, you defended me. Told me that it suited me, and that I didn’t have to change it. So now, even when I want to change it, I don’t. Because you liked it the way it is.”

“That’s the problem, Desire. You’re always doing things to impress me. Impress others. Haven’t you ever thought I’d like you much more if you were just yourself? That’s what I like about Crescent, to answer your question. Someone living without an aura for that long, especially being scrutinized by the likes of you, would’ve broken down at some point. Not Crescent. She stood her ground, even when she knew you could crush her. She’s seen as weird for liking things like true crime and poetry, but that doesn’t stop her from watching documentaries or geeking over underground poets. She’s unapologetically herself, always. Doesn’t mean she’s perfect, but she’s real.”

Desire laughed humorlessly. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger. Pathetic.”

“Now I’m pathetic?”

“YES. You’re pathetic! You could have this entire town eating out of the palm of your hand. You could be getting bottle service, Ferragamo shoes, thousand-dollar threads, the best of the best! But you walk around in Converse and Levi’s just like that inferiority! You’re sitting here drinking a Sprite when you were offered Dom Perignon. You’re eating burnt meat and running the school passively when you can easily be treated like a King with me by your side. But instead, you treat everyone kindly like they were your equal. All because of that chick. What’s she got that I don’t? It’s certainly not money or strength. I’m tired of being overlooked by her. I’m so sick of it. Grow up, Jongho.”

Jongho stared her in the eye, silent at first. Then, what started as a chuckle turned into a full-on cackle.

“What’s so funny?” Desire asked.

“You know, it’s so fitting that you’re a wolf aura. I don’t think I’ve ever met a bigger bitch.” He said, taking out $200 from his wallet and throwing it onto the table. “Tell the waiter he can keep the change. I’ll see my pathetic ass out.” He said, getting up.

“Oh, before I go.” He turned back around. “I already wasn’t interested in you romantically, but after today, you can forget about this whole Duke and Duchess narrative. I wouldn’t marry you even if there was a gun to my head. And all that whining you just did? The one that has growing up to do is you.” He said, walking out of the restaurant to his car.

“Crescent, Crescent, Crescent.” He sighed, unlocking his car door. “You owe me big time.”

Meanwhile, Crescent panted, leaning against a tree. She’d been training with Eclipse all day long, same as she’d been doing since Wednesday.

“Come on, Crescent. Again.” Eclipse said, sweat dripping down her neck and into her sports bra.

“I told you, Clips. I can’t activate the tiger aura on command.”

“And I told you, AGAIN. In order to activate your aura, you must become one with the animal. You have to feel it. You can’t just clap or jump and become a tiger or a seal. It has to stimulate your senses.”

Crescent sighed, momentarily regretting bringing Eclipse along. The older girl had done nothing but boss her around day in and day out, attempting to train the younger girl aurally.

Crescent closed her eyes, envisioning a seal in the middle of the ocean. She felt a rush of warmth against the frigid breeze.

Lunar and Solar owned a log cabin on the outskirts of town, at the beginning of the woods. It was far away enough that Jongho couldn’t sniff them out, but close enough to rush back home in case of an emergency.

Crescent opened her eyes, the usual dark brown replaced by a dark abyss, similar to that of a seal.

“Good,” Eclipse said. “Now, the tiger.”

Crescent took a deep breath, envisioning a tiger in a vast grassland. But, just like all the times before, the tiger was laying down in the grass, fast asleep. Nothing Crescent did woke it up.

She shouted in frustration. She envisioned it perfectly. What was she doing wrong?

“Okay, let’s take a break. Maybe it’s having an off day. Could it be the climate?” Eclipse asked, taking a seat next to Crescent. “But, tigers and cheetahs are kind of similar, and I can activate my aura out here just fine. But it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.” Eclipse pulled Crescent in for a hug.

Just then, Eclipse’s phone rang. Crescent rolled her eyes. Her phone had been going off nearly every hour since they had reached the cabin.

“Can you stop answering your booty calls? Just for ONE night?” Crescent sighed.

Eclipse smirked. “Why? Am I making you miss Jongho? Maybe he can come over after that date you forced him to go on. I heard from Rory he took her out after all. Still don’t know why you made him take another girl out.” She said, typing something into her phone.

Crescent huffed, looking away at the mention of Jongho. The truth is, she wanted to be sure Desire didn’t stand a chance. She felt that Jongho never gave much thought to the idea of him and Desire because Crescent was always around. So, she decided that isolating herself and putting them both in a situation without her would be the only way to know for sure where Jongho stood. It was a weird, convoluted plan, but Crescent wanted to be positive her feelings wouldn’t be met with heartbreak. If she returned and they were together and in love, she’d keep her feelings to herself and move on. If not, she’d confess once and for all.

“Okay…don't be mad.” Eclipse said, pulling Crescent out of her thoughts.

“No. You’re NOT leaving me here alone again tonight.” Crescent glared at her sister.

“It won’t be the whole night! Jared is a jackrabbit aura, I’ll be back in like an hour tops! And that’s if I stroll!”

“Eclipse, gross! And still, no!” Ever since Eclipse turned 18, Crescent was plagued with hearing about her sexual endeavors with nearly half the graduating class. And, being the blunt person she was, Eclipse held nothing back. There are people Crescent couldn’t even look in the eye anymore after hearing her sister’s stories.

There was an awkward silence between the two, until Crescent saw the amber glint in Eclipse’s eyes.

“Eclipse, I swear to everything I love-”

Crescent couldn’t even finish her sentence before a gust of wind ran through Crescent’s curly, auburn locks.

“ECLIPSE!” Crescent shouted, smacking her hand against the bench in frustration.

And that’s when she felt it. The tiger suddenly jumped up in her envisioning, running rampant. Crescent took off too, her eyes turning a bright amber. But something was different this time. A cheetah appeared next to the tiger. The two cats ran in unison, their astral projections blooming from Crescent’s chest like sun rays. She had the speed she needed to reach Eclipse, and that she did.

Once she was close enough, she pounced at the older girl, the strength of her tiger aura allowing her to overpower the cheetah aura of her sister.

“Why. Do. You. Keep. Leaving.” Crescent gritted through her teeth.

“Crescent. Your aura activated!” Eclipse exclaimed, completely disregarding her sister’s death mission. “But, how did you catch up to me? Tigers are fast but no way are they fast enough to reach cheetahs.”

Crescent sighed, falling back onto the dirt. “Because I’m using both.”

“Woah, wait, what?” Eclipse asked, puzzled.

“The tiger is awake, and the cheetah is right next to it. They ran together, and that’s how I was able to catch you.” Crescent said, describing the envisioning.

“Crescent, did you just hear yourself? Not only do you have THREE auras, TWO of them work TOGETHER. I’ve heard of multiple aura holders, but never have I ever seen anything like what you just did. Double aura? Dual aura?” Eclipse shook her head. Her phone rang again. She fished it out of her pocket, silencing it.

“So, if not even you know what’s going on with me, what happens next?”

“That’s the scariest part, Cres. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Stephie here! Don’t wanna make this longer than it already is, but just checking in. Jongho finally told Desire off, is anyone relieved? Anyways, please look forward to the next chapter. Happy Reading!

#ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez jongho #choi jongho #jongho #kpop #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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thejcshow · 5 years

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Mental heath is serious, me being 16 years old I have struggled. Mental health has been a serious contributor to my life, it’s costes me and my family multiple years of happiness. I own a podcast with my friend, we not only talk about our experiences but our strategy to get over them and what we did to get to where we are!

My name is Connor, I am 16 years old and write about my mental health and life experiences! Some of my poetry is based on what I have learned, what I have experienced and what I feel at the point of time I wrote it

Poetry

Poetry and motivational stuff

Depression is flawless, it is hard to demolish but it’s easier to accomplish if you try and abolish

The advantages of having disadvantages is the distant sound of happiness

Don’t be outlandish unless you’re fantastic. Express your anguish through your awareness

Being perfect is never conceivable. But ambition is always authentic. Don’t be hostile try and be fragile.

The gaze of one will empower most. The struggle will bring lots of hopes. There they will sleep a soundly night. For the light has dimmed for sleeping tight

The fall of night is the hardest fight but the shine of light is the healing sight. for there they shall fall and rest for life.

One who loves will fight for marriage one who falls shall look at one another. Once they portray their true meanings then one can rest for the nights to come

The one who breaths is living life. The one who falls will perish for life.

The one who loves will shine for life.

The one who hugs will embrace the light. As they show their peace. The darkness lifts, the light will shine for days and days. The darkness shall perish. And life will be good. As long as you stay strong the sadness will be gone.

For those who feel no end in sight. Don’t forget you’re bright and full of light. You give life while there is fright. So bright and beautiful you push for life. Feeling so dark but you know you’re bright. Shine brighter than the cosmos and you will fight. One day you shall live the life you wish. Don’t give up. It will come one day soon.

Embrace the darkness. Live the sadness. In the end it will help you grow. Be the person you want to be. Not everything will be handed to you so don’t expect it to be easy. Don’t give in to the emotional despair you feel like you’re in. You’re a beautiful person with an amazing personality.

Be proud and try not to frown

Passion, love, grief, sadness, happiness. This is a small list of what makes you the person you are. Nothing can change the past and you can’t predict the future. All you can do is try. Never let your dreams slide away. Catch em and hold them tight.

Love and passion is a large fueler to happiness, time and time again depression will hit. But it’s how you get back up. Life will throw it’s curves and will throw it’s ups and downs. Nothing is for sure in life. Ride the waves and see where you end up.

The ones who push will fight for light. the ones who cry will be held tight. the ones who try shall breathe with ease. The ones you want shall feel free.

Seeing the end does not usually happen. But that does not mean you won’t be happier. Push for the light and try and be bright. If you do that you will be okay.

The ones who cry stand bright at night, the ones who try shine brighter than light. The ones who push will achieve the light as the night begins prepare for your fight.

The struggle starts. The emotions pour. Life seems distant like the North Star. The lonesome feeling comes to much to bare. But fear is powerful. So handle with care. Life will prevent the feeling of despair as long as the happiness is clear. Fear not as the struggle lifts. Be one with the fear and you will be full of cheer. Not one can change the darkness so listen here. The sun rises and the darkness still prevails. Somehow the feeling of air slowly disappears. But with a fight you will begin a new year. So stand and speak and you will achieve the happiness you might feel that is not so clear. Love the passion and embrace the darkness. You will soon achieve the happiness with single bits of fear.

The cultural stigmatization of mental health is cruel and demeaning. Life will throw its curves. It’s how you take those ups and downs and build off it. Life is tough. But it’s only achievable if you try.

Glowing appreciation, yielding dysphemisms. Showing support can be the healing hand to some. Living the light. Sleeping the night. Neither bring the spite that some can type. Showing the way to the ones who plead may be the saving grace for those in need. The spite of night is not a good fight. For there you lay in bed wallowing in the despair that seeps through the ears. The light won’t always show so be ready to fight. Not one or two understand the struggle. You’re the only who knows the struggle as one cannot breathe another emerges. So wake up as it will proceed like the tears on your face. Just fight the struggle and you will accept the fear and despair that one might feel so dear.

Piercing soul, blue eyes. I know the feeling when someone is daunting. So perishable I strive for truth, the ones who like are the ones who glow. Everyone has a fearful soul, the love of one is a thousand times, in the struggle to be, you will feel unfree. As naive as it sounds the truth is within. So fight for life or the wrath will strike. Fearing is strength, fearing is powerful. So don’t get close or it won’t seem plausible. Curves and curves will begin in light but the darkness is the daunting fight. Powerful and whimsical you will survive, just be careful as to not draw cheer or the fear will rise. But do not fear as one day you embrace the clear truth within yourself.

Peace within, live within, the world spins, the darkness comes. The thoughts roar and the fear sprouts. The happiness hides and does not come out, as it is sad to see the missing light. The truth will rise, but overtime it will feel as if the world is gone. But do not fear as your peers cheer. As it is a beginning of a new year, be proud of life and ride the waves, as you will find your tide one day!

Thinking, Sparing. Life is tough, it can be rough, gotta be tough. Love is fear love is beautiful. But the darkness overtakes those who feel. The light lowers and the breath goes cold, death feels near and it’s so hard to bare, but the light prevails and slowly spreads. As the darkness goes away the feeling of sadness will fade. So be ready to care or the sadness will reappear, show the passion and spread the love, for there you shall live, laugh and love

The love of one empowers most, the feeling of care is treated as tears, as the girl you like feels distant, the sadness of leaving is the heart of feelings. But one will come, the truth will show, my heart is full of glow, there’s a sparkle in my eye and grin on my face. As I look into the mirror and decide try. So deep and meaningful I build my spirits. But the thoughts of worry go through my mind. I yield my attempt and start to cry. But as the world spins it makes me try. It’s worth a shot. as I have some courage. I push for success but the feeling fades. As I realize I realize the truth. I relax in my heart and start to guess. But I do not give in and I try again. The feeling of happiness is too good to be true. So I sit down and wait, for the message to send, I realize I failed but it wasn’t in vein. I tried and tried but did not prevail, I will one day soon find the happiness I search for.

Strength, determination. The struggle will bring lots of slopes, just hold on tight and you will soon see the light. As the night sky glistens the sun will soon rise. The fight will be over and the joy will come, be strong with your heart and weak with your fists for there you will see the darkness lift. The feelings are the same so do not feel ashamed. You will soon understand the hours of darkness. As the joy comes the sadness will dim. The light will shine brighter than a firelight. So be proud and appreciate your life, as most may feel better soon you will discover sadness is strong and will never be gone.

The sound within battles the most. As I strive and thrive, the struggle appears, but I do not feel weird as it is a feeling. I push for happiness and ride the darkness, in reality I feel despair but I hide it and show my care. As long as I try the success will come but I must stay strong for the years to come. I feel as if the world is gone, my breathing disappeared and is yet to appear. So I lay in the darkness feeling the fear. But I do not care as I try to find the breathing that has since disappeared. I feel glad but the darkness will reappear. As I enjoy the light for the time to come, I push for love and make a change. I feel happy, waiting for it to dissipate. I start to cry but realize I must try. So I thrive for life and make up my mind. I must fight for the happiness I want this time

Acceptance, growth. Some will boast, Some will coast. But none will show the most. Life is weird, life is tough, but strength will show to those who know. acceptance is good and the truth can hurt. But that’s okay if you push and push, the sadness will show as the tears will flow. The hardest fight is the dusk of night. Hold on tight as the light is bright. The happiness will show to those who feel fright.

‪The best and the worst, don’t feel like a ghost. Ignorance and hatred spreading worse and worse, people in homes crying out for help, the tears are flowing but no one is going. Lifetimes of sadness go into darkness, but yet the fight continues so don’t feel discouraged. ‬

‪Blue eyes blonde hair, I see myself in the mirror. Withered by darkness, riddled by fear. The thoughts of happiness are becoming so dear.‬

‪The withered distress to my dismay means something more about my day, the lights shut off my mind turns on. The feeling of cheer slowly disappears, throughout the night I feel fright but the healing sight is the nearing light.‬ ‪

‪Problems fade and lifetimes parade, the light comes out and doesn’t fade, the band marches the crowd cheers, then I woke up and felt the fear and realized the truth is not as it appears, I feel a tremble and start to worry, but I push for the happiness that I feel is nearing.‬

‪The sky is blue, you may feel blue too, but do not fright as the light will be bright. Fight through the night and rise in the light, as you will succeed the dangerous fight!‬

#podcast #mental health #radiohost #podernfamily #podnation #support #twitter #motivation

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elareine · 5 years

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A fool to believe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, mention of war and injury Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Daemons, though they barely feature here tbh, Getting Back Together, Misunderstandings, mention of serious injury, but no details given, Fluff, the lightest of angst, Epistolary Series: Part 3 of foolish, perhabs AO3: /18771535

When Jason Todd is tired, frustrated, angry, happy - in short, when he feels any emotion at all -, he writes a letter. Here are six letters he never sent.

A letter that was torn up by the writer in disgust at himself:

Dearest Dear Tim,

I know what I’ve done will be a shock to you. I know you will be angry. So am I. As I write this, I am in London, waiting to be shipped out to France, maybe Spain.

However, what could you expect if your father tells me that your family will never accept me us and that we’re over? Of course you choose them. Why wouldn’t you? I understand. But you could’ve at least told me yourself, not through your father! He’s always looked down on me. I could tell he was utterly convinced he was saving you.

I expected better from you. I thought you would at least tell me yourself. Why didn’t you? I don’t understand.

Do you even remember what you told me? How it didn’t matter that I don’t have a family anymore, because we would make our own? Ha.

Was I just a diversion? An amusement because you were bored? Do you not love me?

Why? I just don’t understand

Damn it

A letter that was replaced by a terse note of acknowledgement:

Tim,

I see that I have my answer then. I was wondering - hoping, even - if it hadn’t just been a misunderstanding, your father testing me, perhaps, that somehow, you still loved wanted me. But no.

“It is obvious that our visions for the future do not match.”

What vision was that, then? A vision where I am somehow highborn, with rank and income enough to impress your family? Because it can’t be the future we have been talking about, with us together, come what may, for better or worse, in sickness and health, or you wouldn’t have had your father deliver the notice and only write me yourself weeks later.

Could you at least explain yourself? Tell me what made you change your mind? Was it really just the pressure of potentially losing your family? What did I do wrong? I love loved you so much; why wasn’t that enough?

A letter that Roy found and threw away because it wasn’t legible:

How is it that I still find myself talking to you in my mind? I want to tell you about the people I met here. About General Prince, who is the most amazing fighter I have ever seen and the best person, too.

It wasn’t her fault. Sometimes, the enemy is just too strong.

I made friends, you know. I talk to them. I’m not alone but for you anymore. One of them carried me out of that hell.

And still, I keep thinking I hear your laugh. Or, more likely here, your sarcastic comments. You would have had that coward cowing at his knees…

I’m not making any sense, I know. They fixed me up, we thought, but fever is setting in. My hands are shaking. I just wanted to say… I miss you very much.

Maybe your father was right. You would have been a widower within a year.

A letter that was thrown into the fire, unnoticed by cheering sailors:

Dear Mister Drake Wayne,

I would hereby like to inform you that I have just received my commission as an officer. I am navy, now. The General saw how I fought and gave me an opportunity to transfer and buy my commission. I must confess to being very pleased. Not only does this mean a much better income and chance to advance, but I have also always longed to see more of the world than an infantry soldier could.

My new rank also means that I was informed about your and your family’s activities for the Crown, by the way. I cannot escape you, it seems. So there is no need to keep that a secret anymore.

I suppose you wonder why I am writing to you, three years after we’ve broken our engagement. I must admit that there is some curiosity still lingering after that event, that I would hereby seek to satisfy.

Back then, you spoke of different visions for the future. My lower social status, in particular, was objectionable, as you insinuated. What do you think now? Would I fulfil your standards? Or would my birth still speak against me? Am I good enough now?

I am glad to inform you that others do not find me as repulsive. Now, if only I could stop comparing everyone to you and find them wanting. Hopefully, I will find myself married soon enough, so that we both may be spared any embarrassment when I return to Gotham eventually, as I am sure you have found another long ago. Is it the oldest Kent boy? Some wealthy stranger, perhaps, sweeping you off your feet, giving you everything I never could

A letter that would have arrived in Gotham after the writer did, anyway:

Dear Tim,

How are you? I’m doing well, thank you for never asking. It’s “Captain” now. Captured two ships, made money, made the General proud. I was even able to pay her back.

So now it’s back to England for us. I will not leave the navy - where would I go? - but we have accumulated many days of leave, and Roy Harper wants to go to his best friend’s wedding. That’s Sir Roy Harper, now, in case you are wondering, and that best friend is your brother. Small world, huh? He wants me to come along, and I have no excuse to give.

I suppose I should have known that I couldn’t avoid Gotham forever that this day would come.

You told me about Dick and Barbara Gordon. I remember the exasperation in your voice when you spoke of his puppy love and their inability to see how true it ran. There will be no way to avoid seeing each other at this wedding.

I don’t know how I feel about that. I miss you - I can admit that now - but I don’t want to see you. What if you are still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen? What if six years did nothing but make me love you more?

What am I saying? We both know that my pride and temper will prevail once I see you.

Hopefully, our meeting will show me that I have been holding on to a phantom all this time. My idea of you, that idealized memory tainted by nostalgia for peacetime, cannot possibly compare to reality.

A letter that the writer left on his writing desk, but that Tisiphone and Lachesis hid under Tim’s pillow for him to find upon waking:

Dearest Tim,

Do you know how many times over the last seven years I have found myself in this exact position? Sitting at my desk, thinking of you, writing a letter that you will never read… Yet today I write with the hope that it will be the last time, for tomorrow, I will stand in front of God and vow to be with you for the rest of our lives.

I do not kid myself that we will never be apart. You have your work, and I have mine. We are both quite stubborn about it, too, which I think we have adequately proved in this lifetime. But I swear to you that I will not let words go unspoken anymore. Everything I write here, I have told you or will tell you, if need be, again and again. I will not see us hurt for lack of communication again.

When I returned to Gotham, I was so angry to see you behaving as if nothing had happened. You introduced me to eligible bachelors - it seems so ridiculous now. What in God’s name ever possessed us to do such a thing?

Still, I knew you better than we both remembered, and I couldn’t understand how you could look so sad even as you were smiling and surrounded by your family. Yet something in me recognized that feeling and echoed it. It’s a loneliness that’s not borne out of a lack of friends or family, but out of want for a heart that calls to your own.

There is, simply put, no one else I could ever imagine spending my life with.

I know what marriage means. I know it means more than just declarations of love and long walks together; that there will be hard times. I swear to love you even when you are in a foul mood or withdrawn; when we fight again and again over the small and big things; when one of us has to leave for long periods of time, and we don’t know when we will see each other again; when one of us wishes the other would just go away for need of some quiet. I will even endure weekly dinners with your family. Yes, even Damian. There, that is a proper declaration of love, is it not?

I started writing this as a way to prepare for my vows tomorrow. Now that I think about it, though, I am reconsidering my strategy. As much as you’ve always secretly appreciated my letters (and you needn’t lie about that - Lachesis told me), public displays of affection still make you blush.

Well. With the notable exception of the day I proposed a second time, of course. You always know just what I need.

Still. Perhaps you would not appreciate it if I poured out my heart in front of everyone. I think I will keep my vows to the most crucial point, the one thing you need to know:

I love you.

Yours,

Jason

#jaytim #foolish perhaps #jason todd #tim drake #elareine writes #fanfic

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sgannaoui-blog · 5 years

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The Odyssey- 2019 Film Adaptation

"'When your crew have taken you past these Sirens, I cannot give you coherent directions as to which of two courses you are to take; I will lay the two alternatives before you, and you must consider them for yourself. Homer’s great literary work, The Odyssey, is coming to the big screen in 2019. With background information on the film, we are interviewing Sound Designer Sophia Gannaoui. We have a list of songs featured in the film with descriptions of why they were chosen by Gannaoui herself.

*Note: This film is Rated R because of strong references to alcohol and the inclusion of mild curse words.

1. The Light Behind Your Eyes by My Chemical Romance

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSg-eHng52E

Book 1 in The Odyssey holds an introductory discussion about the fate of Odysseus- the king of Ithaca. The instrumental of this song at the beginning represents sadness and mystery which is reflected upon the whereabouts of Odysseus himself. When the song transitions into having lyrics, the lyrics contain a very resigned mood starting off by saying, “So long to all my friends, every one of them met tragic ends.” For Odysseus’ son, Telemachus, he has given up all hope of reuniting with his father by saying “‘My father is dead and gone,’" answered Telemachus, ‘and even if some rumour reaches me I put no more faith in it now. My mother does indeed sometimes send for a soothsayer and question him, but I give his prophecyings no heed.’” Odysseus is the friend of Telemachus and the possible death of Odysseus is the “tragic end” that is mentioned in the song.

2. Pachelbel's Canon in D Major

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NlprozGcs80

Love is in the air in Books 3 and 4 filled with great elegance. Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major is a classic song played at weddings and is enjoyed by many. It already emotes romanticism through its legato playing. The celebration of the marriages of the children of the King and Queen of Sparta was a grand event, “For his only son he had found a bride from Sparta, daughter of Alector. This son, Megapenthes, was born to him of a bondwoman, for heaven vouchsafed Helen no more children after she had borne Hermione, who was fair as golden Venus herself. So the neighbours and kinsmen of Menelaus were feasting and making merry in his house. There was a bard also to sing to them and play his lyre, while two tumblers went about performing in the midst of them when the man struck up with his tune.] “

Weddings bring people together in great unity and the ones in the story were what brought Odysseus closer to the royalty that took him in and discussed the Trojan War altogether.

3. Aaron Burr, Sir from Hamilton the Musical (Karaoke)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLgo9drgZ6g

This song contains many breaks for dialogue to speak over which is needed for scenes in Book 7 because of the main conversation going on between Ulysses and Alcinous. The original song contained comedic lines of reasoning and logic about drinking and reaching an elite level of political control. When “Ulysses said: ‘Pray, Alcinous, do not take any such notion into your head. I have nothing of the immortal about me, neither in body nor mind, and most resemble those among you who are the most afflicted,’” we had our actors saying this in a teasing way for the idea of immortality to be such an absurdity to Ulysses.

4. Troy Song from Phineas and Ferb

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIOjFkcWT5g

In Book 8, “the muse inspired Demodocus to sing the feats of heroes, and more especially a matter that was then in the mouths of all men, to wit, the quarrel between Ulysses and Achilles, and the fierce words that they heaped on one another as they sat together at a banquet... Thus sang the bard, but Ulysses drew his purple mantle over his head and covered his face, for he was ashamed to let the Phaeacians see that he was weeping.” The Troy Song tells the story of the Trojan War in an upbeat matter. It is a positive song about defeat and victory which would give a reason for Odysseus to cover his face while crying. If the song was meant to be sad, Odysseus could freely express his sadness and memory of the war through tears but because it is a celebratory song, it gives him the purpose of hiding his true emotions.

5. I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by Sleeping at Last

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vU81DihqD0c

When Odysseus reveals who he is in Book 9, he describes his experience in fighting throughout the time of the Trojan War. When telling of the victory his soldiers faced, Odysseus said, “‘Thence we sailed onward with sorrow in our hearts, but glad to have escaped death though we had lost our comrades, nor did we leave till we had thrice invoked each one of the poor fellows who had perished by the hands of the Cicons.’” This represents sadness and struggle after the war and I imagine each soldier to have had the mission and duty to work as hard as walking the “500 miles” somberly sung in the song. The song does represent the hope of reuniting with loved ones saying “when I wake up, yeah I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man that wakes up next to you.” Soldiers waking up each day in hopes of being a day closer to being at home with their family in comfort, a fantasy that could not be lived by other members of their party.

6. Sail by Awolnation

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CaypEojjKQ

As the men accompanying Odysseus on the ship believe him to be hoarding gold and silver in Book 10, their distrust corrupted their minds “‘Thus they talked and evil counsels prevailed. They loosed the sack, whereupon the wind flew howling forth and raised a storm that carried us weeping out to sea and away from our own country.’” The “ooh’s” in the song represent the strong howling noise caused by the wind escaping from the sack that was irresponsibly opened. In addition, the fragmented beats of the song represent the quick jumping of conclusions that led Odysseus’ men to open the sack.

7. Coming Home by Diddy featuring Skylar Grey

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-ImCpNqbJw

In Book 12, Circe warns Odysseus, "'When your crew have taken you past these Sirens, I cannot give you coherent directions as to which of two courses you are to take; I will lay the two alternatives before you, and you must consider them for yourself.” This line marks the true life or death matter in the journey back to Ithaca. Circe gives the choices of safety or risk to Odysseus and the beginning of the song’s slow tempo and somber tone represents this sad moment of decision making and risk taking. When the song transitions into rap, this follows the build-up of anticipation and danger in what Odysseus would have to face on his journey back home.

8. Thrift Shop by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis Featuring Wanz

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QK8mJJJvaes

This song represents a complete wardrobe change based on a lower budget on clothing spending in thrift shops. Minerva transformed Odysseus into a man that looked older and dirtier than what he was in Book 13 and “As she spoke Minerva touched him with her wand and covered him with wrinkles, took away all his yellow hair, and withered the flesh over his whole body; she bleared his eyes, which were naturally very fine ones; she changed his clothes and threw an old rag of a wrap about him, and a tunic, tattered, filthy, and begrimed with smoke; she also gave him an undressed deer skin as an outer garment, and furnished him with a staff and a wallet all in holes, with a twisted thong for him to sling it over his shoulder.” The complete transformation of Odysseus’ looks is something new for him to experience and the increasing pace in the song is empowerment and motivation to make this change worth the sacrifice in order to take his kingdom back.

9. Jealous by Nick Jonas

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQw2qIl838Q

In Book 18, Odysseus gets into a fight with a beggar named Arneaus (also called Irus). Irus challenges Odysseus in fighting for the hand in marriage of Penelope by saying, “I have a good mind to lay both hands about you, and knock your teeth out of your head like so many boar's tusks. Get ready, therefore, and let these people here stand by and look on. You will never be able to fight one who is so much younger than yourself." As the song says, “I turn my cheek, music up, and I’m puffing my chest, I’m getting ready to face you,” Odysseus is indeed getting mentally prepared to fight off Irus to become the suitor of his own wife Penelope. This is the moment where Odysseus goes into his mind for a moment to gain strength and realize his fight from the Trojan War is not over until he is reunited completely with his family.

10. Thousand Years by Christina Perri

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrM-Bkm4c_I

In Book 19, Odysseus talks with Penelope, still in disguise, about how he will return to her soon. Penelope has waited for so long for him to come home but there would be civil unrest if she waited any longer to find a suitor. She comes up with a solution to the public that would delay time for her marriage in order for Odysseus to come home before then which “Ulysses answered, ‘Madam wife of Ulysses, you need not defer your tournament, for Ulysses will return ere ever they can string the bow, handle it how they will, and send their arrows through the iron.’” Thousand Years reflects the undying love Penelope has for Odysseus as she truly does not want to find a new partner. She has waited for a long time for Odysseus to come home which can hyperbolically be compared to waiting a thousand years.

11. Shut Up and Drive by Rihanna (Karaoke)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPVo9MnoiEc

In Book 22, Eurymachus encourages Odysseus to fight every man fighting for Penelope by announcing, “‘My friends, this man will give us no quarter. He will stand where he is and shoot us down till he has killed every man among us. Let us then show fight; draw your swords, and hold up the tables to shield you from his arrows. Let us have at him with a rush, to drive him from the pavement and doorway: we can then get through into the town, and raise such an alarm as shall soon stay his shooting.’" The fighting montage that ensues after this proclamation has the karaoke track of Shut Up and Drive playing underneath it because it is as fast paced as the action taking place.

12. i love you by Billie Eilish

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXfh63M5yLo

In Book 23, Penelope struggles with believing that the man who claims to be Odysseus really is him. Euryclea reasons "‘My dear child," answered Euryclea, "I am not mocking you. It is quite true as I tell you that Ulysses is come home again. He was the stranger whom they all kept on treating so badly in the cloister. Telemachus knew all the time that he was come back, but kept his father's secret that he might have his revenge on all these wicked people.’” The back and forth tempo increase and decrease in the song represent the fluctuating belief of Penelope that Odysseus is with her.

To listen to all of these songs incorporated within the storytelling of Odysseus’ journey home, watch The Odyssey in theaters- coming in the summer of 2019.

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clairebeauchampfan · 6 years

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What if Jane Austen was writing Outlander Fanfic today?

I wonder what Jane Austen would have made of the Outlander shenanigans this last year. Here is an excerpt from Pride and Prejudice, the 2018 RPF version, in which Caitriona Bennet, star of Outlander is apparently engaged to Tony Bingley rather everyone’s favourite TV star, Sam Darcy, as shippers, indeed the whole of Meryton, had expected.

One morning, about a month after Caitriona's engagement with Tony had been formed, as he and the females of the Outlander cast were sitting together over coffee in the craft-service canteen, congratulating him on his good fortune in winning the hand of Caitiona, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window, by the sound of a motor-vehicle; and they perceived a car driving up the road leading to the Meryton studios. It was the wrong morning for visitors from Sony, and besides, the equipage did not answer to that of any of their bosses. It was too early for the postman and neither the car, nor the livery of the chauffeur who drove it, were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, that somebody was coming, Caitriona instantly prevailed on Laura to help her fiance avoid perhaps meeting a member of the public, so putting on his dark-glasses, Tony walked away with her into the back lot. They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining three continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown open and their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine de Burgh, Queen of the Extreme Shippers.

They were of course all intending to be surprised; but their astonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs Maril Bennet and Miss Sophie Bennet, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even inferior to what Caitriona felt.

Lady Catherine entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no other reply to Caitriona's salutation than a slight inclination of the head, and sat down without saying a word. Caitriona had mentioned her name to her producer on her ladyship's entrance, though no request of introduction had been made.

Mrs Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such high importance in the Outlander fandom, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, Lady Catherine said very stiffly to Caitriona,

“I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your producer.”

Caitriona replied very concisely that she was.

“And that I suppose is one of your co-stars.”

“Yes, madam,” said Mrs Bennet, delighted to speak to Lady Catherine. “She is Miss Sophie Bennet, my youngest star but one. My biggest star, Caitriona Bennet, is lately engaged, and my other leading lady Miss Laura Bennet is somewhere about the grounds, walking with a young man who, I believe, will soon become a part of the Bennet family.”

“You have a very small studio here,” returned Lady Catherine after a short silence.

“It is nothing in comparison of Hollywood, my lady, I dare say; but I assure you it is much larger than Pinewood”

“This must be a most inconvenient canteen for the evening, in summer; the windows are full west.”

Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner, and then added:

“May I take the liberty of asking your ladyship whether you enjoyed the last season of Outlander?”

“No, not at all. I binge watched it again on my i-player the night before last. You ruined the photograph scene. The wigs were terrible, and we all hated the character of Geneva.And Frank. I could have done it much better, myself. Had I ever learned to direct. I would have been a true proficient. ”

Caitriona now expected that Lady Catherine would produce a photograph of her and Sam together, for her to sign, as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no incriminating photos, or even an album of receipts appeared, and she was completely puzzled.

Mrs Bennet, with great civility, begged her ladyship to take some refreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely, declined eating anything; and then, rising up, said to Caitriona,

“Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness on one side of the studios. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favour me with your company.”

“Go, my dear,” cried her producer, “and show her ladyship about the different walks. I think she will be pleased with the sets for Season 4.”

Caitriona obeyed, and running into dressing- room for her clutch-bag, attended her noble guest downstairs. As they passed through the hall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the kitchen of Fraser’s Ridge and the drawing-room of Lallybroch, and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be decent looking sets, walked on.

Her car remained at the door, and Caitriona saw that two other well known Shippers were waiting in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk that led to the copse; Caitriona was determined to make no effort for conversation with a woman who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.

“How could I ever think she once fanned me?” said she, as she looked in her face.

As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following manner:—

“You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.”

Caitriona looked with unaffected astonishment.

“Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have not been at all able to account for the honour of seeing you here.”

“Miss Bennet,” replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, “you ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told that not only was that troll, Miss Mackenzie, on the point of being most advantageously married to some British TV star, but that you, Miss Caitriona Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to Mr Anthony Bingley. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure Sam so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

“If you believed it impossible to be true,” said Caitriona, colouring with astonishment and disdain, “I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?”

“At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.”

“Your coming to Meryton Studios, to see me and my co-stars and producer,” said Caitriona coolly, “will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence.”

“If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously circulated by yourselves on the internet? Do you not know that such a report is spread abroad by that Australian journalist?”

“I never intended that it was.”

“And can you likewise declare, that there is no foundation for it?”

“I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer.”

“This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has he, has Tony Bingley, made you an offer of marriage?”

“Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible.”

“It ought to be so; it must be so, while you retain the use of your reason. But his arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made you forget what you owe to yourself, to me and to all the Extreme Shippers. He may have drawn you in.”

“If he has, I shall be the last person to confess it.”

“Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost Sam’s greatest fan in the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.”

“But you are not entitled to know mine; nor will such behaviour as this, ever induce me to be explicit.”

“Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. I know Mr. Darcy is so married already to you. Now what have you to say?”

“Only this; that if that is so, you can have no reason to suppose Tony will have made an offer to me.”

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied:

“The ‘marriage’ between you is of a peculiar kind. From your screen test, you have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of mine, as well as of all my fellow Shippers. Whilst you were still shooting Season 1, we planned the union: and now, at the moment when the wishes of all of us would be accomplished in your marriage, to be prevented by a young man of inferior finances, of no importance in the world, and wholly un-allied to Outlander! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of Sam’s fans, to his tacit engagement with you, Miss Bennet? Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say that almost from the first day, from the moment of your first audition, you were destined for Sam?”

“Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is no other objection to my marrying Tony, I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that you and all the Extreme Shippers wished Sam to marry me. You all did as much as you could in planning the marriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by honour nor inclination confined to me, why is not he to make another choice? And if I am not that choice, why may not I reject him?”

“Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his fans, if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected with the Outlander fandom. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us.”

“These are heavy misfortunes,” replied Caitriona. “But the wife of Mr. Bingley must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine.”

“Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for our attentions to you these last four years? Is nothing due to us on that score? Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.”

“That will make your ladyship's situation at present more pitiable; but it will have no effect on me.”

“I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. You and Sam Darcy are formed for each other. He is very good looking, physically fit, has very large feet, and is the heart throb of hundreds of thousands of adoring women. You are a handsome woman. Your fortune on both sides is now splendid. You are destined for each other by the voice of every member of your respective fandoms; and what is to divide you? The upstart pretensions of a young man without family, connections, or fortune. Is this to be endured! But it must not, shall not be. If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you now find yourself.”

“In marrying Tony Bingley, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a wealthy musical impresario and business man of independent means; I am a TV star; so far we are equal.”

“True. You are a TV star. But who is Tony Bingley? What does he actually do for a living? Do not imagine me ignorant of his condition. I have looked up hios company accounts.”

“Whatever his career prospects may be,” said Caitriona, “if I do not object to them, they can be nothing to you.”

“Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?”

Though Caitriona would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but say, after a moment's deliberation:

“I will neither confirm nor deny the story that appeared on twitter and in People Magazine’s exclusive.”

Lady Catherine seemed happy that Miss Bennet could not bring herself to mention Tony’s name.

And will you promise me, never to enter into such an engagement?”

“I will make no promise of the kind.”

“Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require.”

“And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants me to marry Sam Darcy; but would my giving you the wished-for promise make our marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it, for example, on Miss Mackenzie? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far Mr Darcy might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the subject.”

“Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the objections I have already urged, I have still another to add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your engagement announcement. I know it all; that the young man's proposal was a patched-up business, at the expense of your global fandom. And is such a man to be married to you? Is such a man to be your husband? Heaven and earth!—of what are you thinking? Are the shades of Lallybroch to be thus polluted?”

“You can now have nothing further to say,” Caitriona resentfully answered. “You have insulted me in every possible method. I must beg to return to the studios.”

And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned back. Her ladyship was highly incensed.

“You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of Sam Darcy! Unfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider that Tony’s connection with you must disgrace Sam in the eyes of everybody?”

“Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments.”

“You are then resolved to have him?”

“I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.”

“It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to lower Sam in the opinion of all his fans, and make him the contempt of the world.”

“Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude,” replied Caitriona, “have any possible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either would be violated by my marriage with Mr. Tony Bingley. And with regard to the resentment of the Extreme Shippers, or the indignation of the world, if the former were excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment's concern—and the world in general would have too much sense to join in the scorn.”

“And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but, depend upon it, I will carry my point.”

In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door of her car, when, turning hastily round, she added, “I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your Producer. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.”

Caitriona made no answer; and without attempting to persuade her ladyship to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She heard the carriage drive away as she proceeded up stairs. Maril impatiently met her at the door of her dressing-room, to ask why Lady Catherine would not come in again and rest herself.

“She did not choose it,” said her leading lady, “she would go.”

“She is a very fine-looking woman! and her calling here was prodigiously civil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell us how much she loves Outlander and fans all the cast. She is on her road somewhere, I dare say, and so, passing through Meryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to you, Caitriona?”

Caitriona was forced to give into a little falsehood here; for to acknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible.

#JaneAusten Outlander Pride and Prejudice RPF

#outlander #samcait samxcait sam and cait

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dailyaudiobible · 6 years

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07/03/2018 DAB Transcript

2 Kings 22:4-23:30, Acts 21:37-22:16, Psalms 1:1-6, Proverbs 18:11-12

Today is July 3rd. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It is great, as it always is, to come together around this global campfire and spend some time together, allowing God's word to wash over us and wash into our lives and form us and to do it together in community. It's great to be here today and every day. And so today we will take the next step forward, picking up where we left off. We're reading from the Voice translation this week. 2 Kings 22:3-23:30 today.

Commentary:

Alright. So, in 2 Kings, we read the story of Josiah, who was a king who's perhaps the greatest reformer. Definitely one of the greatest reformers in ancient Israel's history. And we saw what he did. He went on a rampage for God as it were when he discovered the book of the law that was in the temple. It had become obscure. And it was read and he realized just how far from the path that they had wandered. He spent the remainder of his time as king setting thing as right as he could. And as the Bible said, there was no one else like him ever. So, we read of his life and events and times and legacy and we left the Old Testament reading today with his son taking his place on the throne. And we'll have to see where that story goes tomorrow.

Then in the book of Acts yesterday, we saw a mob form, we saw Paul being beaten to death until he was rescued by Roman soldiers. And he was taken into custody. And we begin to see the counter intuitive ways of what's happening because of Paul's incarceration, even today. Because the mob is following Paul, screaming, trying to get at him. The soldiers have to pick Paul up to get through the crowd and to try to save Paul, though it's a pretty tense situation. But Paul reveals himself as a Roman citizen to the Roman guards. They had mistaken him for someone else, but now they're holding in custody a Roman citizen which changes everything. And Paul asks for permission to speak to the mob. So, the people who were going to and would have killed Paul by beating him to death are now his captive audience. And under guard of the Roman soldiers, under their protection, he is speaking the gospel to the very people who were trying to kill him. And that will become Paul's story going forward in all of his travels. Paul could have never shared the gospel story, his own testimony, to that mob. They would have killed him. But he was able to share the gospel story with the very mob that wanted to kill him because he got arrested. So, we will witness the counter intuitive ways of the Lord through the Apostle Paul as we continue forward through the book of Acts and then into his letters.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your ways. Your ways are higher than our ways and Your ways are often counter intuitive to us. But Your ways are always good and righteous and right. And so we ask, Holy Spirit, come. Reveal Your ways to us. Show us what this day is supposed to look like for us and give us clarity and wisdom and awareness. And help us to slow down enough to walk with You so that we might know and follow Your ways. We ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, it's where you find out what’s going on around here.

And the one thing that's going on around here right now is what's coming up this Saturday. I mean, there's other things going on around here. Tomorrow is a big national holiday for those of us who live in the United States. It also happens to be my wife's birthday. So, there are other things going on around here. But what's going on in the community happens on the 7th of July. We have our little holiday, our own little tradition. It's called the Daily Audio Bible Long Walk. And it's simple as can be. Doesn't matter where you are in the world, you can participate. Just mark the day off. Take that day and give it to God. Go for a long walk. And let this be one of those times where you had all the time you needed to say everything you needed to say. Just to talk through everything that's going on in all of your relationships, your work environment and in your ambitions and in your hopes and in your dreams. Just take the time to talk about it all. And take the time to listen. And it's a great thing to go somewhere beautiful. Go out into nature where there is some stillness, where you can disrupt the normal flow of your busy life and just breathe and see the rhythms of nature that God has created. And allow that to speak because it does. It's all created by God and it all bares his glory and speaks of his glory. And so, we go out into nature and just disrupt ourselves. It can be very, very (meaningful). So, that's what's happening and thousands of us will be doing it all over the world. What makes it a community experience is that when we're on our long walk, we know that someone else is too. And just take a picture, shoot a video wherever you go, whether it's across the street or across the country. Take a picture, shoot a little video or something. Keep that as a commemorative of your long walk. But you can also post it up to the Daily Audio Bible Facebook page. Just go to facebook.com, search for Daily Audio Bible. Or facebook.com/dailyauiobible will get you there. And we get to watch the windows open into each other's lives as we experience each other's pictures from their long walks and maybe some things that God spoke or just how you were feeling or what the day was like for you. So, make plans for that this Saturday, the 7th of July.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, if what we're doing together as a community is bringing life to you and bringing transformation to you, than thank you for your partnership so that we can continue to move forward. There is a link on the homepage of dailyaudiobible.com. If you're using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the give button in the upper right-hand corner. Or if you prefer, the mailing address is P.O Box 1996, Spring Hill, Tennessee, 37174.

And as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi. I want to praise God for his love, mercy, and grace. I am a pastor’s wife and I’d like prayer for my two adult children, one son who recently married whose marriage is in deep trouble and a daughter who has been away from the Lord since her teenage years and now serving in the United States Army but not serving the Lord’s army. Thank you so much for remembering those two children who are a great burden to my heart. Thanks and God bless you all. Have a great, wonderful time serving the Lord.

I know the plans that I have for you plans not to harm but to prosper you behold I am making all things new return to me and I’ll return to you what an awesome promise from our Lord that I, even I could be restored sins forgiven, past ignored blessings in and on me pour God I’m so glad that You’re not like men because You’re more patient with me than my most patient patient friend because I return to You again and again and again and again I return to my sin and not just in some mistaken airing way but blatantly disobedient day after day forgive me Father please forgive me now because I do want to serve You please show me how I read your word I fast I pray and I still fall short every single day that’s why I thank You for your mercy and your grace and for Your open arms and your smiling face and You let me know even though I fail victory is mine I will prevail and I thank You for telling me every day Father the battle is not yours because I still need help staying out of those revolving doors because even though I’m out of Egypt Egypt is still in me and even though there are no bars walls or chains I know I’m still not free Father give me more of your Holy Spirit I love Your voice and I long to hear it and one more thing Father grant me please an open broken heart on bended knees [email protected]. Blessed Like Me and Show Me God’s Love In This life, I hope you’re both still hanging in there. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Know you’re still loved and prayed for every day. And once again Brian, thank you for this wonderful podcast for God’s Holy Spirit to flow. Keep it flown’ y’all. All right. Bye-bye.

Hi family this is his little Sharif in Canada. It’s a July 1st today. Happy Canada Day to all my fellow Canadians. Last month I called and shared with you prayer plans as a creative way to pray and this month I’d like to tell you about mosquito bite prayers. Mosquito bites are one of the most effective triggers for prayer that I’ve ever discovered. And I call them trigger prayers. They’re just prayers that are triggered by something. For instance, you can decide that every time you hear a certain song on the radio you’ll pray for a certain situation or every time you see a chickadee at your birdfeeder you’ll pray for a certain person, etc. etc. Well, recently, after I spent today in the country I came home with a bunch of mosquito bites and I was scratching like crazy but then I thought, maybe I can turn these bites into prayer somehow. So, I decided that every time they itched, which seemed like every 60 seconds, instead of scratching I’d pray for people I knew who were battling addiction. And, so, that’s what I did. And I found myself praying all day for people like Terry the truck driver and other DABbers fighting addictions, that God would deliver them and give them supernatural strength to resist temptation. So, maybe that’s something that you’d like to try this summer. Mosquito bite prayers, another creative way to pray from the banqueting table of prayer. God bless you family. Bye for now.

Good afternoon Daily Audio Bible family. This is Akeem from Edmonton Alberta Canada. I just wanted to say hello and God bless you all in 2018. Today is July 1st. Happy Canada Day to all my Canadian friends and family. Anyway, I just wanted to check in. I haven’t called in for a while. I just wanted to let you know guys, I’m listening and I’m praying with you all. And 2018 has been amazing. God has been working wonders in my life and with my family and I hope He’s been doing great for you as well. Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you to Brian and Jill and the family for this wonderful podcast. And I’m just checking on my sister, Nora. She’s from Canada I believe and she hasn’t called for a while. And she’s got an Islamic background. Family, so I hope God is great with you and you are keeping good with Jesus and He’s just working in your life. Take care everybody. Thanks. Bye.

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multifandom-hoes · 7 years

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The Lost Queen

Member: TaeYong // NCT

Genre: Angst, Romance, Royalty!AU, a bit of Gothic elements, I guess

A/N: Let me just quickly thank our Lorde and saviour for inspiring me to write this one, as well as the movie Dracula since it was the movie in which I heard this song being used(trailer anyway). Amen.

P.S. I hate this so much because damn it Cathy, you butchered a scenario again...

Words: 2.3k

The darkness in one’s heart had, is, and always will be that of the thicket colour, richest of coals and scariest of places to visit. The dark heart of a queen serving another country might as well be a whole another realm of darkness, so scary and lonely and murderous- you’d almost think there was no one to make that dark place bright again.

But there was. An insignificant little light in the castle made of blood and bones, where the dark queen sat atop a throne made of same materials. A light that would not go out- no, could not go out- under any circumstances.

The darkness that perished and the light that prevailed in the crumbling castle of death will await the two at the end of their journey.

10th of February, 1876

Dear whoever finds this stash of letters,

I am writing this letter in correspondence to the fact that the atmosphere surrounding me at this current moment in time is absolutely terrible. The Rightful Queen seems to have run off to only Gods know where, leaving the paperwork to Her attendants, and Her guests to the staff to entertain. So generally, I shouldn’t be writing this at all and instead go and amuse some pompous old men as they drink their expensive, hand-made wine. However, my English seems to deplete their interest in me and I was sent back to my chambers- or barracks, really; the humidity and stank of this place is barely bearable.

You might be wondering who, exactly, I am, to be in the castle and one of the escorts to the more powerful Dukes. I am no one, really. I was born into a family of servants, though in another country, and through the fall of that country’s economy, my family migrated to England and became servants of yet another powerful family. Through this and that, ties and connections, my assistance was gifted to the Rightful Queen and I was to serve as one of the many of Her butlers.

The rules of the castle seem to be quite strict, and I have already seen a numerous number of servants being executed for stealing bread, or wine. In terror for my own life, it was my decision to start writing letters to whomever my so called `successor` might become. This might be my only letter, there might be more. Hopefully, there will be more.

-Yours Sincerely,

Lee TaeYong.

17th of March, 1876

Dear future,

It has been a couple of months since I had been sold to serve the Rightful Queen, and to my greatest surprise each and every town gossip that I had ever heard about that woman had been proven absolutely ridiculous and too exaggerated of the actual truth that veiled the Queen.

She was a woman of witch-like features, bathing in the blood of young maidens once a month to keep her youth and non-existent beauty present for ever after; a clear exaggeration of reality, that one was. The Queen was simply a youth- barely the age of seventeen, being bargained off to the belated King of this kingdom and now having the throne all for herself. The `witch-like features` point was also false- that woman, or should I write girl, was of soft, baby-like contours, and her eyes shone with melancholy. She had a body of a woman that she didn’t have enough time to grow into.

She was a woman and a witch, cursing the belated King in the aims to get his throne and rule over his kingdom in vile ways, destroying all that was good under some kind of dictatorship; also false, since the Queen, as much as she possessed her title- which wasn’t that much at all, really- did not get to rule the kingdom at all. Instead, she was the figurine atop the doll house, standing as the face of the empire while behind her the advisors sent the orders and ruled the country. After all, she was yet only a child, and in their rightful thinking she was unsuited to the rule of their lands.

In a sense, her circumstances reminded much of my own- being there against her will, sold off, almost, and given away like some kind of possession, and then simply being discarded and put aside like some kind of play thing.

It was sad, really, and through her melancholy I had succeeded to discard my own. Why, you might ask, I know so much about that Rightful Queen? It was under the hands of one of the visiting Lords who forgot the fact that communicating in their twisted tongues had yet to become a skill of my own that She spotted me and decided to take up the burden of introducing me to their language; me, but barely a speck in Her sparkling castle.

I guess I was promoted since then, since a couple of days ago, and I am currently with the honour of serving the Queen directly, while at the same time learning the twists of the language that I came to despise. It doesn’t seem like such a bad language anymore…

-Yours Sincerely,

Lee TaeYong.

29th of July, 1876

Dear future,

I had barely found the right time to write, as serving under the Queen’s direct orders turned out to be more stressful than I had first anticipated. Her schedule was always full to the brim for the whole day, and yet my task had stayed the same all throughout these months as Her servant- to find Her and bring Her to Her classes.

That child was despicable. Always on the run, away in the forests with her good robes of silk and satin. She was a daemon of sorts, with her energy on high-levels at all times of the day. I felt more like a nanny than a servant. As if really taking care of a child. But then, yet again, she was still a child.

And still, her bouts of running away were accomplished with no childish malice, and yet with the mind of a runaway. Every time she got outside the walls of the castle her aim was to run away and return to her righteous home somewhere far away. It didn’t take me long to realize that, and yet as much as I wanted to let her run away, the punishment for that would have been the stake of my head perched atop the castle walls.

We had grown to learn to hate each other, and I was glad for it, since hating seemed like an easier option in such a situation. Hating her and making her comeback to the place she hated seemed so far easier than feeling pity for that child. Yet guilt still ate at my conscious at nights, particularly on the nights when her sobbing could be heard through the crack at the bottom of her door.

Yet despite hating me, the Queen still taught me Her language, and I am proud to confirm that She was certainly a fantastic teacher, since I was quite proud of my own accomplishments. I had begun to learn the very basics of a general conversation, and was on an even higher level of understanding when people spoke.

And yet again, the language that I came to enjoy learning brought me immense pain, since now that I began to understand the meanings behind the words being spoke in the castle, I realized that all of them, or most of them, had been about the Rightful Queen, and none of them were nice. It wretched my heart, yet I dared not speak out- not to the servants, and definitely not to the Lords and Dukes frequenting the castle.

As our lessons progressed, I had begun to figure out the Queen’s behaviour, finding out her secrets- for example how her late husband, the King of this wretched kingdom had never consummated their marriage, and had a mistress away from the eyes of everyone in the castle. The mistress bore Him children and they were to become the heirs of the throne. She was not that Rightful a Queen after all. Yet I supported her fully, and my heart went out to her favour, promising to stand by her side at all times.

As my promise was being made, she asked me to leave this castle together, but I had to reject and see how her face turned from hopeful to disappointed to irritate; how her posture stiffened and with a puff of her breath she stomped out of the room.

She was still a child, but I supposed that child had a flare of a real Queen, and I had come to adore the part of my own wretched being that seemed to grow an affection for her.

The thing that did scare me was the fact that the next time she would ask of me to leave together, I would not be able to reject, and risk our lives to escape into a better tomorrow.

-Yours Sincerely,

Lee TaeYong.

24th of December, 1876

Dear future,

I am afraid to confirm that there might very well possibly be not any letters for the future to write. The worst of things has happened, and though my knowledge of languages is yet quite poor, it was enough to understand the conversation that the royal advisors and Lords and Dukes had amongst each other. My dear Rightful Queen was to be assassinated and some other Lord and His wife was to take up the throne as a direct family line from the King’s side.

My entire being had flushed white in fear and that night I had started packing bags and some reserves of food, though sparsely so as to not attract any lot of attention to my behaviour. Yet of course my Queen had noticed my act of unusualness, my behaviour milder towards her, my sorrowful smiles when I thought she was not looking. But she was always looking, her eyes were always on me, and she had always been able to pick up on my mood changes. She was my Queen, after all, and I was unable to keep secrets from her, so I told her what I heard and in response only got a curt nod of her head as she walked out of the room.

I was confused and scared of what she was to do, yet she did nothing at all and instead walked around the castle with her head held high in proud façade, as if trying to show off any last bits of dignity she had left of this confrontation, living in the castle as a Queen for not even two years yet.

I then decided that I would not allow her death, soldering that determination further into my being and packed our bags with more fervour.

I write on this day knowing that this will be my last entrance of the many letters I had collected for whomever may be willing to find them, to let that person know just what kind of wretched a place they were entering, and what they should fear.

You, dear reader, should fear for your life and help those who seek asylum, forgetting your own pains if such a price is to be paid in order to help others.

Yet, how ironic is I, who tries to cover my love for my Queen with all that pompous speech.

I guess what I’m trying to writ is that to the person whom you fall in love with, give your all. Don’t regret things you couldn’t offer and instead live for the better future of your own, as well as theirs.

My story, I believe, had only begun with the love of my life, a shunned Queen of this kingdom who was barely a play-thing in the hands of these manipulators and thieves and liars. A lair of monsters, this castle was, made of bones and remains of all that was vile- just like the kingdom itself. Rumours and gossips is all that clouds these streets and walls- yet fear not, young reader, for there is always a solution to each problem, and that would be a friend, a lover, family. If you fail to have one or the other, then abandon your fear as well, since the happiest moments come unexpected and may very well mask themselves as torturous monsters of your nightmares. You’ll have to battle them to realize the relish they bring upon your spirit, yet all is fine at the end of the road.

Ah, I fear I have to go, since my Queen is standing at the threshold of my chambers; she looks so frail and even younger than she actually is in the moonlight illuminating this room. It’s hard not to think of my love for her in moments of those, and I can only console you by saying that once you will find such a love yourself, dear reader, and then life will become right for you.

My Queen and I may not live for much longer, but at least we’ll live the remainder of our lives in love and infatuation with each other. Maybe we will instead get to live an immortality filled days of youth, being chased yet not found by our pursuers.

This will be the end of my entries, yet you must only know that I lived through the happiest of my days while serving the woman whom I learned to love.

-Yours Sincerely,

Lee TaeYong.

#nct #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct requests #request #kpop requests #kpop #nct reaction #nct scenario #lee taeyong #taeyong #nct taeyong #nct lee taeyong #royalty!au #kpop royalty!au #nct royalty!au

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heavens-light-and-hells-ice · 7 years

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Letter from Rosaire to...

To the one who deserves greetings, warm communication, and acknowledgment, this letter is not delivered.

Sweet child, pious son of Halone, worthy scion stamped in Ishgardian steel, I extend my thoughts, tremulous and anxious, towards you, and withdraw, in cowardice, at the last moment.

I might write to you for word of your health and of what exploits in and beyond Dravania your new employment has led, for clues as to whether my blasphemous aim of moving you out of the direct line of Nidhogg's gaze succeeded at keeping you from harm; I might confess my sin and invite your rebuke for ever so meddling your career and stymying its advancement. I sketch, in my imagination, the scope of your resentment and anger regarding this misdeed of mine -- this single mountain of a misdeed, dwarfed by the scale of the sum of them, like a small hill in the foothills of Abalathia -- and know how much more I deserve. But I do not write.

I might write to you to share the news of my impending marriage, for as perverse as it is to report to you such tidings as if you should be glad to hear them, to conceal them from you would surely be worse. I might speak of them as briefly and minimalistically as possible, so as to not trouble you with details you might not wish to learn; I might allude, with careful turns of phrase, to the exceeding generosity and gentleness of my intended's heart and the openness of her attitude to a relationship between us. In my imagination another mountain springs up in the range, and you regard it with the offense and disgust it deserves. But again I do not write.

I might write, at last, the unconfessed confession. I might beg for forgiveness which ought not to be granted; I might hope instead for excoriation of mine own soul, to do penance so that She might grant me a drop of Her mercy -- though I doubt I could ever earn enough to escape damnation. Rather than either, I ought to bare myself to you and receive the full brunt of your anger, to open the stage on which you may express the full scope of your rage. Your rage is Halone's rage; She is with you, the righteous, holy, and wronged. Your hate is Her spear, and every moment I feel in my heart the spot through which I should be impaled.

But I do not write.

I almost know you, worthy youth, hearty flower of Coerthas. I have seen you with eyes not mine, traced your name in censuses, spied upon House Haillenarte's reports. I know the dates you served at the country altar, the name of your village schoolmaster and the year you stopped attending his lessons. I know the Lock at which you were first squired, the name of your first commander, and the fate of your knight. I know the names of the squires involved in all the incidents precipitating disciplinary actions; I know from their records that you were, in all likelihood, probably justified in taking the first swing, at least a few times. I know how the knights have criticized you, and I know how their criticisms are overshadowed by the honor, bravery, piety, and truthfulness they describe. I know how oft your courage has placed you right in the mouths of Dravanians, protecting your peers, and speculate how soon you may have entered Halone's Halls a hero if I, despicable man that I am, had not exerted my influence to divert you from that fate.

I know what you are, son of Halone, brimming with all the best virtues of Her people, everything a Coerthan is and an Ishgardian should be. I admire you, shining white spear, as one who could never so be and can only hope to serve Her from the dark, in sin's shadow. I pray for your safety and pray for your glory even as I know you cannot have both; I imagine that these sentiments, proud and fearful, might begin to resemble those of a father.

But I do not know you.

The power to do so is in my hands -- but I do not exercise it.

You have had, mayhap, enough of my intrusions for a lifetime. Your anger may be such that to have aught to do with me again, before the time for your inheritance, is more than you wish to bear. Or mayhap you do not care -- for, born in lawful marriage and raised to adulthood by father and mother already, you have neither reason nor motivation to bear the egoistic lamentations of a stranger. You are known to the world as a trueborn Coerthan of bloodlines no less worthy for their unpretentiousness; mayhap you have no wish to discard that humble but straightforward honor for complication, ignominy, and shame.

I am a man of great talent in crafting plausible excuses.

I think of the woman I dare to think I love and whom I pray I shall treat as though I do. I can imagine how she would -- no doubt will -- advise me; it shall not be to make excuses. To know if you are angry or indifferent or filled with yearning, whether that be to punish or to solace, cannot be accomplished through remote cogitations, spycraft, or clever predictions; what I must do is ask.

But I do not ask.

If I love her, I am sure that she will prevail upon me, eventually, to do; her moral argument will sway me and, desiring not only to claim love but to enact it, I shall put it into practice. But the courage to do so, the moral fiber, is not yet within me. This moon, I delay, and again and again shall I do so, degenerate and craven.

Until the moon that I at last no longer delay, and I write, and I ask, and I know, I beg of you only one thing -- that you must live.

Written here, this day, by your Rosaire Ledigne, and then burned.

#ffxiv rp #rosaire ledigne #hyacinthe aubeheraut #gwenneth gilrouis #letters #angsty old men #manfeels

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dailyofficereadings · 5 years

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Daily Office Readings October 20, 2019

Psalm 148-150

Psalm 148

Praise for God’s Universal Glory

1 Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord from the heavens; praise him in the heights! 2 Praise him, all his angels; praise him, all his host!

3 Praise him, sun and moon; praise him, all you shining stars! 4 Praise him, you highest heavens, and you waters above the heavens!

5 Let them praise the name of the Lord, for he commanded and they were created. 6 He established them forever and ever; he fixed their bounds, which cannot be passed.[a]

7 Praise the Lord from the earth, you sea monsters and all deeps, 8 fire and hail, snow and frost, stormy wind fulfilling his command!

9 Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars! 10 Wild animals and all cattle, creeping things and flying birds!

11 Kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all rulers of the earth! 12 Young men and women alike, old and young together!

13 Let them praise the name of the Lord, for his name alone is exalted; his glory is above earth and heaven. 14 He has raised up a horn for his people, praise for all his faithful, for the people of Israel who are close to him. Praise the Lord!

Psalm 149

Praise for God’s Goodness to Israel

1 Praise the Lord! Sing to the Lord a new song, his praise in the assembly of the faithful. 2 Let Israel be glad in its Maker; let the children of Zion rejoice in their King. 3 Let them praise his name with dancing, making melody to him with tambourine and lyre. 4 For the Lord takes pleasure in his people; he adorns the humble with victory. 5 Let the faithful exult in glory; let them sing for joy on their couches. 6 Let the high praises of God be in their throats and two-edged swords in their hands, 7 to execute vengeance on the nations and punishment on the peoples, 8 to bind their kings with fetters and their nobles with chains of iron, 9 to execute on them the judgment decreed. This is glory for all his faithful ones. Praise the Lord!

Psalm 150

Praise for God’s Surpassing Greatness

1 Praise the Lord! Praise God in his sanctuary; praise him in his mighty firmament![b] 2 Praise him for his mighty deeds; praise him according to his surpassing greatness!

3 Praise him with trumpet sound; praise him with lute and harp! 4 Praise him with tambourine and dance; praise him with strings and pipe! 5 Praise him with clanging cymbals; praise him with loud clashing cymbals! 6 Let everything that breathes praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!

Footnotes:

Psalm 148:6 Or he set a law that cannot pass away

Psalm 150:1 Or dome

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 114-115

Psalm 114

God’s Wonders at the Exodus

1 When Israel went out from Egypt, the house of Jacob from a people of strange language, 2 Judah became God’s[a] sanctuary, Israel his dominion.

3 The sea looked and fled; Jordan turned back. 4 The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambs.

5 Why is it, O sea, that you flee? O Jordan, that you turn back? 6 O mountains, that you skip like rams? O hills, like lambs?

7 Tremble, O earth, at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the God of Jacob, 8 who turns the rock into a pool of water, the flint into a spring of water.

Psalm 115

The Impotence of Idols and the Greatness of God

1 Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name give glory, for the sake of your steadfast love and your faithfulness. 2 Why should the nations say, “Where is their God?”

3 Our God is in the heavens; he does whatever he pleases. 4 Their idols are silver and gold, the work of human hands. 5 They have mouths, but do not speak; eyes, but do not see. 6 They have ears, but do not hear; noses, but do not smell. 7 They have hands, but do not feel; feet, but do not walk; they make no sound in their throats. 8 Those who make them are like them; so are all who trust in them.

9 O Israel, trust in the Lord! He is their help and their shield. 10 O house of Aaron, trust in the Lord! He is their help and their shield. 11 You who fear the Lord, trust in the Lord! He is their help and their shield.

12 The Lord has been mindful of us; he will bless us; he will bless the house of Israel; he will bless the house of Aaron; 13 he will bless those who fear the Lord, both small and great.

14 May the Lord give you increase, both you and your children. 15 May you be blessed by the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

16 The heavens are the Lord’s heavens, but the earth he has given to human beings. 17 The dead do not praise the Lord, nor do any that go down into silence. 18 But we will bless the Lord from this time on and forevermore. Praise the Lord!

Footnotes:

Psalm 114:2 Heb his

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Jeremiah 29:1

Jeremiah’s Letter to the Exiles in Babylon

29 These are the words of the letter that the prophet Jeremiah sent from Jerusalem to the remaining elders among the exiles, and to the priests, the prophets, and all the people, whom Nebuchadnezzar had taken into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Jeremiah 29:4-14

4 Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: 5 Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. 6 Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. 7 But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. 8 For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Do not let the prophets and the diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams that they dream,[a] 9 for it is a lie that they are prophesying to you in my name; I did not send them, says the Lord.

10 For thus says the Lord: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. 11 For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. 12 Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. 13 When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, 14 I will let you find me, says the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile.

Footnotes:

Jeremiah 29:8 Cn: Heb your dreams that you cause to dream

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Acts 16:6-15

Paul’s Vision of the Man of Macedonia

6 They went through the region of Phrygia and Galatia, having been forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the word in Asia. 7 When they had come opposite Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them; 8 so, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. 9 During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” 10 When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.

The Conversion of Lydia

11 We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, 12 and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district[a] of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. 13 On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. 14 A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. 15 When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, “If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.” And she prevailed upon us.

Footnotes:

Acts 16:12 Other authorities read a city of the first district

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Luke 10:1-12

The Mission of the Seventy

10 After this the Lord appointed seventy[a] others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. 2 He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. 3 Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. 4 Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. 5 Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ 6 And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. 7 Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. 8 Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; 9 cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’[b] 10 But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, 11 ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’[c] 12 I tell you, on that day it will be more tolerable for Sodom than for that town.

Footnotes:

Luke 10:1 Other ancient authorities read seventy-two

Luke 10:9 Or is at hand for you

Luke 10:11 Or is at hand

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Luke 10:17-20

The Return of the Seventy

17 The seventy[a] returned with joy, saying, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” 18 He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. 19 See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. 20 Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

Footnotes:

Luke 10:17 Other ancient authorities read seventy-two

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

#October 20 #2019

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hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff · 6 years

Link

INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENTS advance on multiple levels — through academic and popular books and journals, via mass and social media, and in the populist grassroots imagination. At present, the world of Midwestern studies is advancing on all these fronts, although at different speeds.

On the level of popular but serious books, the forerunner is J. D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy (2016), much of which transpires in southern Ohio, though the story is mostly concerned with the culture of Appalachia. A few years on, Vance has been overtaken by writers of greater intricacy who are specifically focused on the Midwest. The literary world also needs to move on. While entertaining pitches from agents about “the next Hillbilly Elegy,” publishers searched for something new, something less conservative, something more nuanced. The results include three new books about the Midwest by three young authors (two first-timers), all released by major publishers, and each garnering a New York Times review. Collectively, they signal a new moment, a time of rejuvenation for a neglected American region, a springtime for the Midwest.

The most magnetic of these authors — and surely a voice to be reckoned with for many decades to come — is Meghan O’Gieblyn. After growing up in Michigan, O’Gieblyn went to college in Chicago and then landed at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where she earned an MFA. While a student there, she penned most of the essays woven into Interior States. All of O’Gieblyn’s work is deeply pondered and researched, infused with a Midwestern pragmatism, and elevated by the author’s innate curiosity and intellectual acuity. Her prevailing method is logic, not passion; her style is persuasion, not badgering.

O’Gieblyn’s father sold industrial lubricant, so her family moved around the Midwest “to the kinds of cities that had been built for manufacturing.” In short, she knows the territory well. She is bonded to Lake Michigan, especially the beautiful shores around Muskegon, and can nimbly read the scenes of Chicago’s south side, its traces of industrialism and its bawdy bars. She recalls visits to Henry Ford’s Greenfield Village, a monument to the remembrance of things past, especially the Midwest’s old agrarian order. She drives down to the large Creation Museum in Indiana, in the midst of her own confusion over her diminishing Christian faith. The fading industrial remnants of Southern Chicago and Northern Indiana, and the ebbing of the old Christian order in the Midwest, conjure a “profound loss of telos, the realization that the industries and systems that built the region are no longer tenable.” If the old core of the Midwest has lost its vibrancy, its “bucolic peripheries” persist, undergirding the “autumnal sentimentalism” of the “Pure Michigan” campaign, but also the calming, woodsy, cabin culture that draws so many to the northern half of the Midwest.

As an emerging writer and intellectual, O’Gieblyn expected to leave the Midwest, to join the preponderant pattern of out-migration, to follow the interstates, the “sound of transit, or things passing through.” Instead, she stayed in her home region, becoming part of its stable rhythms while still feeling an “existential dizziness, a sense that the rest of the world is moving while you remain still.” As an intellectual, an analyst, a quiet observer with a monkish reserve, O’Gieblyn appreciates the Midwest’s “stoicism, a resistance to excitement that is native to this region” and its habit of “tuning out the fashions and revelations of the coastal cities, which have nothing to do with you.”

The trendy bakeries and co-ops and fair trade coffees and Orange You Glad It’s Vegan? cakes of Madison and the drone of NPR do not impress O’Gieblyn. She thinks Madisonians have “suffered from the fundamental delusion that we had elevated ourselves above the rubble of hinterland ignorance.” O’Gieblyn’s métier throughout her essays is intelligence and nuance and gratitude. The highlight of the book might be the chapters “On Subtlety,” which was first published last year in Tin House, and “American Niceness,” which ran in The New Yorker in 2017. Wisconsin, she says, “is a place where niceness is so ubiquitous that it seems practically constitutional”; in her work, and in her travels and speeches, she shows no sign of breaching these constitutional norms.

O’Gieblyn’s particular concern is faith, her internal beliefs, her journey within the Midwest toward a new state of mind — thus, the dual meaning of the smartly titled Interior States. O’Gieblyn grew up in a family that attended a shrinking Baptist church in southeast Michigan. She was homeschooled until the 10th grade and then attended Moody’s Bible Institute in Chicago. She left Moody’s after her sophomore year, and her dwindling faith and search for a new purpose form large chunks of the book. She dials up the pills and drinking and hard-living for a while, to contend with the “overwhelming despair at the absence of God.” But she also reads and thinks and begins to write, launching what we can confidently predict will be a triumphant career.

O’Gieblyn’s voice is consistently generous and inquiring. She still finds Christianity beautiful, though unconvincing, certainly not worthy of scorn. She takes a telescopic view, always considering ancestry and posterity and the world ahead — surely a flickering vestige of her biblical training — and rightly remains annoyed with electronic devices and the digital world’s “hypnotic […] assurance that nothing lies beyond the day’s serving of novel minutiae.” Instead of a fashionably snarky dismissal of John Updike, she attempts to understand his moment and his appeal, a rare maneuver indeed.

Soon after the appearance of O’Gieblyn’s Interior States came Sarah Smarsh’s memoir Heartland, an account of her life growing up in Kansas. The book has been reviewed in all the right places, and Smarsh has talked to all the key gatekeepers, large and small, orchestrating the literary equivalent of the “full Ginsburg.” She even became the master of ceremonies at the Topeka inauguration of the new Kansas governor, Laura Kelly, who last fall defeated Trump’s choice, Kris Kobach, a result widely cheered by The Resistance.

Smarsh’s coming-of-age experiences are not easy to summarize. Her grandmother, Betty, and her mother, Jeannie, grew up primarily in Wichita and other nearby places; both were teenage mothers. Due to fizzled marriages, protracted poverty, and various failed ventures, Jeannie had moved 48 times by the time she started high school. Smarsh’s greatest source of love and stability did not come from the maternal side of her family, urban-oriented and transitory as it was, but from Smarsh’s father, a genuinely kind and decent man who was descended from a long line of Kansas wheat farmers. Smarsh’s step-grandfather, Arnie, who married Betty (her seventh marriage), operated a small wheat farm west of Wichita, which provided a refuge for Smarsh, with a piano and a pool and a rural room to breathe when she needed to live away from her mother. Grandma Betty “found her happiest home in the country,” as did Smarsh. Smarsh’s encomium to rural life is reminiscent of Debra Marquart’s ruminations on the northern plains in The Horizontal World (2006).

In a sad breach of the Midwestern code described by O’Gieblyn, Smarsh’s mother was not nice to her daughter. As a result, Smarsh was left “emotionally impoverished,” a sharper source of agony, she implies, than her family’s financial constraints. Her frustrations with her mother are laced throughout the book, her swelling disgust palpable. When her mother leaves her father, Smarsh gives no explanation. When her mother leaves her new and likable and stable newspaper-columnist husband with the nice house, who subscribes to The New Yorker and reads art books and collects Beat poetry and watches Woody Allen movies and listens to NPR, Smarsh gives no explanation. Maybe none was given to her at the time. But Smarsh’s abrupt announcements of these splits leave the clear impression that she disapproved, that these decisions only brought more instability and financial pain. She hints that her mother was partying too much, stepping out, enjoying a nightlife she was deprived of as a young mother, but few details are provided. One feels Smarsh inching toward a full ventilation of her feelings but pulling back, seeking to protect her mother, not wanting to reignite simmering animosities.

By contrast, her treatment of Betty, her heroic grandmother, steals the show. After settling into her seventh marriage, on the wheat farm with Arnie, Betty finds some normalcy and success. She begins work at the Sedgwick County (Wichita) courthouse, working her way up to subpoena officer and even joining the Wichita Police Reserve. Smarsh bonds with Betty, along with an African-American county judge dubbed “Hang ’em High Watson,” over case files; she admires the young female district attorney, and contemplates the miseries of the parolees and prisoners. Betty brings a salty cynicism to the parade of excuses she hears from her wards about spotty childhoods: “Don’t give me that dysfunctional childhood bullshit. My family invented dysfunction.”

The difficulty of overcoming this dysfunction is the burden of Smarsh’s book. She carries it well, with a few qualifications. One can simultaneously offer a hard-boiled look at the complexity and hardship of prairie poverty while also rejecting the increasingly frequent and grand but tiresome pronouncement that the American-Dream-is-Dead, another form of beating the anti–Hillbilly Elegy dead horse. The Washington Post review insisted that Heartland is a “rebuke” to the “myth” that “clean living” can promote social advancement. But, in fact, Smarsh tends to show the opposite — that the DWIs, fights, drugs, drinking, excessive gambling, broken marriages, shoplifting, random shootings, car wrecks, teenage mothers, et cetera, do indeed tend to set back the Kansans she describes.

Smarsh eschews a simple morality tale. She wants her readers to understand the various forms and levels and intricacies and traps of poverty, first and foremost, but she does not blush at highlighting self-imposed stumbles. Smarsh lends credence to the advice dispensed to young Kansans, which has hardened into a foundational piece of conventional wisdom common to the center of the country: “Don’t act like a knothead or you’ll end up in jail.” In the end, Smarsh offers a qualified version of the American Dream: “You got what you worked for, we believed. There was some truth to that. But it was not the whole truth.”

To understand the first part of that truth, it is essential to pause and admire Smarsh’s resilience and fortitude. She vowed to work hard and overcome her circumstances. In the aspect of her book most widely panned by critics, Smarsh explains to her never-born child why she tried so hard to avoid teenage pregnancy. A snide New York Times reviewer mocked how Smarsh’s “unborn child pops into the prose like Ally McBeal’s Baby Cha-Cha.” But I found this device to be touching and real and, as Smarsh says, vital to her achievements: “[Y]ou kept me away from poison and danger.” She got into gifted programs, published a story in a national children’s magazine, won public speaking contests, was a homecoming queen candidate; she made it to the University of Kansas for her undergraduate degree and to Columbia University for a graduate degree, and recently she finished a stint at Harvard’s Shorenstein Center. She barely missed winning the National Book Award. There were no bullshit dysfunction excuses from Smarsh, as grandma Betty would say.

In the end, despite the lure of its simplicity and the tug of its narrative cohesion, Smarsh’s Heartland doesn’t really fit into our conventional political boxes. She examines poverty unflinchingly, but she also shows how the “cycle had been broken” with her success. She suggests ways to make poverty less difficult, but she is neither grandiose nor annoyingly didactic. In other words, Smarsh is real — Kansas hardscrabble, no-bullshit real. Smarsh’s realism taps into an older and once-prominent literary tradition from the Midwest, the region that broke the Northeast’s domination of the proper 19th-century Victorian drawing room. She’s in the line of Midwestern realists that includes Hamlin Garland and Theodore Dreiser.

Smarsh’s realism is closely connected to place. She writes powerfully of thunderstorms and prairie winds and the tornadoes that made Kansas famous. When Kansas-born Betty visited Chicago, she was not impressed with “The Windy City”: “Shit. They never seen wind.” To better understand the appeal of agrarianism and the traditions of small farms, Smarsh reads Wendell Berry. She sees how critical rural Kansas was to her plan to succeed: “[M]ost essential to my well-being was the unobstructed freedom of a flat, wide horizon.” As someone who understands and defends Kansas as a place, she grows weary of her home being “spurned by more powerful corners of the country as a monolithic cultural wasteland,” a “flyover country” populated by “backward” “rednecks” and “white trash.” The wider nation, she comes to see, viewed places like Kansas as “unimportant, liminal places. They yawned while driving through them, slept as they flew over them.” Smarsh calls for a new way of thinking about diversity, one that also stresses class and neglected regions of the country. She seeks to counter a form of inequality seldom commented on but frequently hinted at — the regional inequality that leaves New York and California the dominant forces in our culture.

If O’Gieblyn is the cerebral analyst and Smarsh the plucky climber of this trio, then Stephen Markley is the guy in the fluorescent green vest running the jackhammer on the streets of Akron while imagining happy hour. Like O’Gieblyn and Smarsh, Markley is young and Midwestern and on the brink of a major literary career. Growing up in Mount Vernon, Ohio, about an hour north of Columbus in the center of the state, he played basketball and partied a bit but maintained his grades. His social life was bonfires, dances, and football games. His parents are professors — his mother, Laurie Finke, is Kenyon College’s first tenure-track director of women’s and gender studies, and his father, Robert Markley, is a prominent professor of English at the University of Illinois. Markley majored in creative writing and history at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, and then freelanced in Chicago for six years while writing two nonfiction books. For three years, he lived in Iowa City, where he earned a degree from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and began work on his novel, Ohio. (MGM recently bought the rights, and it will be made into a television series.) He’s now in Los Angeles writing a new book and working as a screenwriter. An ex-girlfriend has described Markley “as a Midwestern bro who happened to make it.”

Markley sees Ohio as a hopeful novel, rejecting some critics’ charges of nihilism, and he is not wrong. But it takes some readerly endurance to reach that conclusion. Ohio is the story of one day in the town of New Canaan, Ohio (population 15,000, located halfway between Columbus and Cleveland). It focuses on The Big Chill–ish re-convergence of several young lives a decade after they all graduated from high school. Some of their comrades were slain by drugs, some by war; the survivors struggle with their identities, one becoming consumed with the clichés of left-wing politics. The backdrop is the death of Rick Brinklan, whose parents were “prototypical kind, plainspoken midwesterners.” Rick was an earnest and patriotic running back at New Canaan High School, with an “electric core of decency,” who bravely defended the honor of victimized classmates, while his friend the social justice warrior (Zuccotti Park, Mexican collective farms, Cambodian NGOs) wilted under the pressure. Rick went off to Ohio State to become a math teacher and coach, but dropped out to join the Marines after 9/11, ending up dead in Iraq.

Ohio is brilliantly structured and a challenge to set aside. While executed well, the numerous flashbacks and the complex connections among the characters require close attention; the reader is advised to make a small chart inside the book’s front cover for easy reference. Markley’s descriptive powers and characterization skills shine throughout. A school is an “institutional slab of crap architecture with that sixties-era authoritarian aura to its brick Lego look.” A bar is “one of those sad dips in the dunes of the rural-industrial Midwest.” A grocery store is the “epicenter of New Canaan stop-and-chat time sucks.” As for Rick, he was the

kind of guy you’d find teeming across the country’s swollen midsection: toggling Budweiser, Camels, and dip, leaning into the bar like he was peering over the edge of a chasm, capable of near philosophy when discussing college football or shotgun gauges, neck on a swivel for any pretty lady but always loyal to his true love, most of his drinking done within a mile or two of where he was born.

Markley’s most salient descriptions are reserved for Ohio itself. Characters cross the Ohio River into the state or cross the hills around the Mahoning Valley, where the “oblate plain of Northeast Ohio came into repose.” They pass through the “flat expanse of cornfields, barns, and country homes that peppered the drive south to Ohio’s capital,” always watching closely for deer. They get sunburned up on Lake Erie and visit Cedar Point and take boats out to South Bass Island. The kids go to the country to drink: “Shit, if you can’t drive these country roads loaded on cheap whiskey what’s the point of being from Ohio?” Characters bounce between Dayton, Toledo, Mansfield, Youngstown, Akron, Marysville, Dover, Worthington, Springfield, Cincinnati, Canton, Cedar Point, Van Wert, and Lima. They take in the rural and forgotten places that Markley calls “Deep Ohio.”

The students of New Canaan learned the details of Ohio history in seventh grade from the devoted Mrs. Bingham, who was a teacher for 50 years and had thick “Buckeye blood.” Bingham taught Ohio history by way of stories of savage frontier warfare, of General “Mad” Anthony Wayne, Little Turtle, the Battle of Fallen Timbers, the Gnadenhutten massacre, and Marcus Spiegel (a German Jew who immigrated to Ohio and led the 120th Ohio Volunteer Infantry as it sliced through Mississippi and Louisiana and learned, as he said, the “horrors of slavery”). All this expertise on Midwestern history brings to mind the work of Andrew Cayton of Miami University — and, sure enough, when an Ohio character visits his former high school teacher in the nursing home, he tells her: “I’ve actually been rereading some Ohio stuff. Andrew Cayton and this historian Rob Harper.” [1] The intense focus on early Ohio recalls a comment by the novelist Dawn Powell of Mount Gilead, Ohio (30 miles from Markley’s Mount Vernon) — which, oddly enough, serves as an epigraph for O’Gieblyn’s book: “All Americans come from Ohio originally, if only briefly.”

Markley chronicles the ravages of deindustrialization — New Canaan is hurt by the loss of a steel-tube plant and two plate-glass manufacturers — and recounts the ravages of opioids and other drugs, as well as episodes of sexual abuse. Channeling the themes of the century-old “revolt from the village” genre, [2] he at times sees the town as the “poster child of middle-American angst,” finds the “raw wrath roosting in the small towns, suburbs, and exurbs of Middle America,” and detects an abiding “alienation.” And yet the town has fierce defenders — like Rick, of course, and also Dan Eaton, another New Canaanite who joined the military. Eaton tacks an Abraham Lincoln quote to his corkboard: “I like to see a man proud of the place in which he lives. I like to see a man live so that his place will be proud of him.” After a chat with her high school teacher, one young woman “marveled at how many extremely decent people she’d known in this place. How much she’d taken them for granted.”

The book bounces between love and contempt for small-town Ohio in a manner that makes broad conclusions impossible. Momentary truths are found in the stories of individuals who struggle to stabilize their lives after going through a rough patch, an experience that is hard for them to articulate to others. In this regard, Markley resembles Sherwood Anderson, who found his muse close to Markley’s Mount Vernon in Elyria, and whose varied characters in Winesburg, Ohio (1919) contend with forces similar to those in Ohio: secrets, rumors, poverty, muted emotions.

These three new books display both odd convergences and intra-regional variations. A character’s religious de-conversion in Ohio recalls much of O’Gieblyn’s story in Interior States, and Smarsh says too that she has abandoned the pro-life Catholicism of her youth. The poverty discussed in Smarsh’s Heartland recalls the struggles of one of Markley’s young adults, working at the Walmart in Van Wert over by the Ohio-Indiana line. The drugs that trip up Smarsh’s relatives at times kill Markley’s characters.

These similar themes play out over variable Midwestern terrain. Smarsh’s flat Kansas of tornadoes and dust is distinct from Markley’s hilly and green Ohio. Smarsh’s Wichita feels, at times, like a Midwestern borderland, one that bumps into the South and witnesses some cultural cross-pollination. [3] Smarsh does not comment on Wichita’s proximity to the southern pale, but Markley is adept at distinguishing Ohio from what comes farther South. In his military scenes, he describes chip-on-the-shoulder Kentuckians who view Ohioans as “effete snobs sticking their noses up at the real salt-of-the-earth south of the river.” For their part, Ohioans mock Kentuckians for calling their towns “hollers” and make Kentucky jokes: “You know why they can’t teach driver’s ed and sex ed on the same day in Kentucky? ’Cuz that poor fucking horse gets too tired.”

This variation and texture highlights an intra-regional diversity across the Midwest, a complexity that is captured not only by O’Gieblyn, Smarsh, and Markley, but also by many other novels of the current wave. These include Peter Geye’s Wintering (2016), Keith Lesmeister’s We Could’ve Been Happy Here (2017), Nickolas Butler’s The Hearts of Men (2017), Melissa Frateriggo’s Glory Days (2017), Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere (2017), Sarah Stonich’s Laurentian Divide (2018), Steve Wingate’s Of Fathers and Fire (2019), and J. Ryan Stradal’s greatly anticipated follow-up to his Kitchens of the Great Midwest (2015), The Lager Queen of Minnesota (2019).

Similarly, in nonfiction, the wave includes Ted Genoways’s This Blessed Earth: A Year in the Life of an American Family Farm (2017), Matthew Desmond’s Evicted (2017), Amy Goldstein’s Janesville: An American Story (2018), Eve Ewing’s Ghosts in the Schoolyard: Racism and School Closings on Chicago’s South Side (2018), Andy Oler’s Old-Fashioned Modernism: Rural Masculinity and Midwestern Literature (2019), Jim Reese’s Bone Chalk (2019), and Carson Vaughan’s Zoo Nebraska: The Dismantling of an American Dream (2019). It also includes the wonderful work of Belt Publishing (as in Rust Belt), which, for the past few years, has released such titles as Edward McClelland’s How to Speak Midwestern (2016) and the anthologies Grand Rapids Grassroots (2017) and The Milwaukee Anthology (2019). And it includes recently launched journals such as Middle West Review, Studies in Midwestern History, Midwest Gothic, and The New Territory, along with the creation of the Midwestern History Association, which hosts an annual conference in Michigan in conjunction with the Hauenstein Center in Grand Rapids. [4]

The Midwestern studies wave, in other words, is building. O’Gieblyn, Smarsh, and Markley are riding it. The region, after a half-century of neglect, is having its moment. Even the coasts are starting to notice.

To have more than a moment, however, the Midwest must build some enduring institutions. It cannot depend on the periodic notice of The New York Times, an unreliable arrangement at best and a position of colonial domination at worst. The dependence on the Times and the concentrated power of Manhattan’s literary scene leave interior writers forced to produce work “warped to the market” (as Hamlin Garland once said during an earlier era of burgeoning regionalist energies) — a distant market with distinct interests, which is driven by the logic of commodification and the demand for the edgy and the novel. The Midwest must also overcome a history of failed regionalist ventures, such as Midwest Review, Mid-America, Upper Midwest History, Flyover Country Review, and The Midwesterner.

In sum, the Midwest needs a sustained cultural presence so that its cultural production does not have to be consistently revived. The Midwestern literary scholar Sara Kosiba has noted John Updike’s shrewd comment on the literary output of Ohioan Dawn Powell, which he saw as “doomed to a perpetual state of revival.” [5] The Midwest needs an archipelago of university-based regional studies institutes, such as those that the South and the West enjoy. It needs a permanent presence on Big Ten campuses in the form of Midwestern studies classes. It needs to become a strong cultural force independent of the coastal gaze. This would be a revolutionary regionalist revival, one with permanence, not a fleeting spasm from the American center destined to repeat itself in another two decades.

An adjunct professor of history at the University of South Dakota, Jon K. Lauck is the author of From Warm Center to Ragged Edge: The Erosion of Midwestern Literary and Historical Regionalism, 1920-1965(University of Iowa Press, 2017).

[1] On the early passing of Cayton and the significance of his career in Midwestern history, see Jon K. Lauck, “Remembrance: Andrew R. L. Cayton: Midwesterner, 1954-2015,” Middle West Review vol. 2, no. 2 (Spring 2016), 201–205. Harper is a graduate of Oberlin College in Ohio and earned his PhD at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He now teaches at University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point and is the author of Unsettling the West: Violence and State Building in the Ohio Valley (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017).

[2] Jon K. Lauck, “The Myth of the Midwestern ‘Revolt from the Village,’” MidAmerica vol. 40 (2013), 39–85.

[3] See Jay Price, “Where the Midwest Meets the Bible Belt: Using Religion to Explore the Midwest’s Southwestern Edge,” in Jon K. Lauck, (ed), The Interior Borderlands: Regional Identity in the Midwest and Great Plains (Sioux Falls: Center for Western Studies, 2019), 229-42 and Price, “Dixie’s Disciples: The Southern Diaspora and Religion in Wichita, Kansas,” Kansas History vol. 40 (Winter 2017-18), 244–261.

[4] See Jon K. Lauck, “The Origins and Progress of the Midwestern History Association, 2013-2016,” Studies in Midwestern History vol. 2, no. 11 (2016), 139–149.

[5] Sara Kosiba (ed), A Scattering Time: How Modernism Met Midwestern Culture (Hastings, NE: Hastings College Press, 2018), ix.

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