#light world is raw rules (reality or as close as can be approached to it from within the system) - nothing has Story to it

[krispdreemurr]

in my head like, dark is the raw stuff of narrative and imagination, the loose clusters of ideas and thoughts - dreams, etc - while light is the rules and the structure that holds it all together into something coherent with goals and a narrative arc (hopes etc). dark fountains basically draw out raw dreams and anchor them to the solidity of light. this also means that as we go deeper/whenever there's fountains in fountains things will get progressively more surreal

[dirtbagwitch]

MAGIC FOR THE CITY DWELLER

CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME TO THE CONCRETE JUNGLE, WHERE MAGIC NEVER SLEEPS

magic isn’t just for the deep woods and moss-covered stones. it’s not limited to candlelit covens or ancient runes etched in a sacred grove. magic is where you are. in the humming neon signs, the flickering streetlamps, the rhythm of bus doors opening and closing, in the energy of walking amongst a crowd on a busy street.

urban magic is about finding the mystical in the mundane, harnessing the city’s restless energy, and using every graffiti tag, liminal space, cracked pavement, and forgotten coin as a tool for enchantment. the city is alive—a churning, breathing, chaotic organism—and if you listen closely, it’s whispering spells in the wind between skyscrapers.

this isn’t some high-brow, ceremonial magic doctrine. here, we work with sigils written on coffee shop napkins, metro card protection spells, and phone screens charged as scrying mirrors. this is magic for the streets, for the punks, for the witches in walk-ups and studio apartments, for the ones who find the divine in the hum of a dive bar at 3 AM.

WHAT MAKES URBAN MAGIC DIFFERENT?

the biggest shift between traditional and urban magic is the environment. instead of sacred groves, we have community gardens. instead of rivers, we have storm drains. instead of bonfires, we have neon lights and power grids pulsing with raw electricity.

but just because the setting is different doesn’t mean the magic is weaker. city magic is potent as hell, because it’s charged with movement, history, technology, and millions of lives overlapping in real-time.

ELEMENTS IN AN URBAN CONTEXT:

• earth → concrete, bricks, asphalt, parks and park dirt

• air → the wind between high-rises, the whispers of overheard conversations, the endless streams of information moving across the city

• fire → electricity, neon lights, the heat of a crowded bus, a match or lighter

• water → rain pooling in the streets, sewer systems, fountains in public squares, water dripping from rooftops

• spirit → the city itself, the collective energy of its people, the ghosts in old buildings, the echoes of everyone who’s walked these streets before you

this practice isn’t about forcing the old ways into a modern setting. it’s about adapting magic so that it fits your world, your reality, your city.

THEORY & FRAMEWORK: CHAOS MAGIC, QUEER MAGIC, AND CITY SPELLS

urban magic thrives on three key principles:

1. ADAPTATION – use what’s around you. city witches need to be resourceful as hell. your “wand” can be a pen, a drumstick, or a crowbar if that’s what speaks to you (though a crowbar is a little extreme). your “altar” can be a windowsill, a shoebox, or even temporary like the back of a bus seat where you traced a sigil in the condensation.

2. INGENUITY – urban magic is subtle, fast, and often disguised. your ritual circle might be drawn in spilled coffee, your sigils hidden in street art, your glamour spells worked through fashion choices and body language.

3. INTERACTION – the city is alive. talk to it. work with the spirits of your apartment building, the crows and raven and wandering city cats who see a lot, the graffiti messages that seem to answer your questions in cryptic scrawls, street names that feel like answers to questions. trust your gut, keep watch for the synchronicity

MAGICAL SYSTEMS THAT THRIVE IN THE CITY:

1. CHAOS MAGIC: THE DIY APPROACH TO WITCHCRAFT

urban magic truthfully falls under the umbrella of chaos magic.

chaos magic is sort of like punk rock spellwork. no rules except what works. it’s the belief that magic isn’t just about ancient texts and strict traditions—it’s about belief as a tool. hacking reality, using symbols, and experimenting with what actually gets results. if something stops working you chuck it and move on to something new.

• create sigils from street signs, corporate logos, and subway maps.

• use “reality hacking” spells—like placing intent in a QR code or whispering an incantation into a social media post before it goes viral.

• swap out outdated correspondences for modern tools—your phone can be your scrying mirror, your router a beacon for intention-setting.

chaos magic thrives in the city because cities are chaotic. they’re full of random encounters, glitches, synchronicities waiting to be tapped into.

2. QUEER MAGIC: BREAKING RULES, BENDING REALITY

witchcraft has always been the domain of outsiders, rebels, and the marginalized. queer magic embraces fluidity, resistance, and radical self-expression.

• use genderfluid deities, archetypes, and spirits in your workings.

• cast spells at drag shows, pride marches, and underground raves—because those are modern sacred spaces.

• turn self-love into a spell, defying the narratives that say queer people don’t deserve power, joy, or love.

urban queer magic is loud, unapologetic, and built on the bones of those who paved the way before.

TOOLS & MATERIALS: USING THE CITY AS YOUR SPELLBOOK

urban witches don’t need fancy supplies. we use:

• 📱 smart phones – scrying mirrors, digital sigil boards, enchanted playlists

• 🎫 metro cards & transit tickets – protection charms, travel blessings

• 🗝 keys – for unlocking opportunities, closing doors that need to stay shut

• 🖋 pens & sharpies – sigil-making, graffiti spellwork

• 🪙 spare change – prosperity charms, offerings to city spirits

• 🧾 receipts – paper magic, petition spells, glamour workings

if it exists in your daily life, it can be a tool.

EVERYDAY SPELLS & RITUALS

🔮 PROTECTION SPELLS FOR NAVIGATING CITY LIFE

• “doorway ward” – rub salt along your threshold, whispering “no harm may cross this line.”

• “metro shield” – imagine a glowing energy bubble around you before stepping onto public transit.

💰 PROSPERITY & SUCCESS SPELLS

• “lucky coin” – pick up a found coin, say “bring me fortune,” and carry it for a week.

• “resume enchantment” – anoint your job applications with cinnamon for luck before sending.

💡 HACKING REALITY WITH CHAOS MAGIC

• “digital sigils” – set a sigil as your phone wallpaper and charge it every time you unlock your screen.

• “parking spell” – whisper “open the way” as you search for a spot—watch as one appears.

🌀 COMMUNITY SPELLS & URBAN COLLECTIVE MAGIC

• “city-wide sigil work” – drop the same symbol in different places and see what manifests.

• “full moon offerings” – leave a quarter at a crossroads to honor the city’s spirits.

THE CITY IS YOUR ALTAR

this is your grimoire, your spellbook, your guide to turning the city into a magical playground. don’t just live in it—work with it, enchant it, let it enchant you back.

magic is everywhere, babes. you just have to know where to look.

[honestlyfrance]

first lines

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

thank you so much @buckyrhodey for the tag!! miss youu 💕

idk what were my last stories so i went deep for these hehe, mostly a mix of published and wips

1. A Better Starry Night (sam/bucky ; horror)

The sky was silent. There’s a thundering crack from down the horizon, heads turning down by the mountainside. It seems to be approaching — faster now.

2. the sweetest tragedy (sam/bucky; mcd) - def a fave of mine!

It's a goddamn tragedy, it's what it is. You love him but he's leaving, high on euphoria with a rank under his name, you're going to lose him in every universe and there's nothing you could do about it.

3. to cease intimacy (sam/bucky ; first date) - this makes me yearn till this day

It's that moment when your heart hitched in your throat and you're unable to breathe freely, feeling asphyxiation nipping at your veins, it’s like you know that your heart was too full of emotion to function right, too much love that sends your heart running a marathon. It was a good feeling, a blissful moment, yet there was that betrayal within it that makes you question your feelings over and over again because there’s that one question running through your head: “Why is it him?” but it’s all good, everything’s peachy-keen because you don’t have to hide it anymore — you had to show it now, however, and that was a wave of dread coming all at once.

4. hug infinitely (sam/bucky ; protective!bucky)

It’s only a fact that you can’t protect who you love from every little inconvenient thing. You can’t fix every crack in the world just so you could breathe easy thinking your love wouldn’t trip. You also can’t make the sun go away so your love can’t get a sunburn on your nice little beach date. It’s miserable thinking that the world just has it’s ways to hurt your love, but that’s reality, and to have it bother you so much, it’s only a tragedy in three acts.

5. falling in love against gravity (sam/bucky ; sam centric) - i loved exploring sam’s experience with flying in this one

Falling was a violent act. You’ll trust the fall with intent so dangerous it’s almost like a kiss with death, and you’ll love it. You’ll love how you can fall backward and have a night with death. You’ll love how you could close your eyes and never open them again. Yet, you fly instead somehow. You fall then you fly, defying the law of gravity.

6. pine (wip name) (sam/bucky/steve ; thirst tweet acc)

The thing is, it didn't happen suddenly at all. They had mulled it all over, understood the risks and consequences. It's dangerous work, and there's no assurance that they'll make it out with their dignity, but what the hell. The 21st century needed more of Captain America and the Winter Soldier pining over the Falcon; let them be.

7. (wip name after mutual heh) (sam/bucky)

Little boys growing up in grand houses and ocean views are the kind of boys who would like adventure, the kind of boys who would yearn for the woods, and cozy little cabins in farms. Instead, December comes and they grow up smoking like chimneys in winter. Yes, little boys grow up and move into cities with blinking white lights, but they always come back seeking adventure.

8. death speaks (they called it kindness) (sam/bucky ; sam centric ; wip)

They say death aches like a motherfucker. Sam Wilson presses on it like a bruise, wanting to feel something before the sensation leaves his senses. He’ll ache for it, flawlessly manipulating it, and sooner or later, he’ll resurface and regret every single bruise he’d made. They say death licks all the wounds of the forgotten faces away, but to Sam, it’s just unforgivable.

9. milkshakes in two (sam/steve/bucky ; stucky fight for sams luv ; wip)

Truth is, love comes in many forms, but the form of a fist fight at a parking lot in three in the goddamn morning, like a modern-day Achilles versus Hector except they both leave with a cut under the eye and a broken nose instead of, you know, a bloody corpse, is just as romantic as leaving cute sticky notes around the house for them to see. It’s even more romantic if they noticed it, but sometimes a romantic gesture such as a fist fight between two supersoldiers need to tilt towards the murder part of Troy before a certain Falcon could notice.

10. field of flowers (sam/bucky fatws drabble 1x03)

When you look into Sam Wilson’s eyes, maybe you might see something surreal. Maybe something you shouldn’t have seen in the first place. After all, the eyes are the window to the soul, wouldn’t it be quite intrusive to look at him so bare?

(yall know my damn first lines are chunky paragraphs long so more below 🥰 )

11. love sweeter than candy, cavities to the heart (sam/bucky) 

It’s not that Sam despised the idea of it, in fact, he breathes it in like cocaine, feeling the rush and instant fall of his senses, and maybe it’s not actually drugs to him but maybe something milder, like, a kiss, one that is so slow and soft that it makes him scream at the deprivation, making himself aware of how desperate he just was about touch, literally any sort of touch, but then again, it’s Sam we’re talking about; suppressed and no-nonsense, he couldn’t possibly want something so good like some cliche grand romantic gesture that is too cheesy for its own good, and maybe it’s for the best that he keeps quiet about this want because it’s not like he gets it every day.

12. Partners (sam/bucky)

It was in the bathroom of a safe house that Sam Wilson finds himself bandaging himself up. There was a small gash on his forearm from the afternoon before; it ran down from below his shoulder blade to above his elbow, but it wasn’t as deep as it should be, just looking quite raw but wouldn’t need any serious stitching.  He’s been washing the same spot with clean water from the faucet for the past solid half hour, the sound of water gushing echoing in the tiny bathroom.

13.  oranges in october (sam/bucky) - this one!! this!!

You’d think that just because he had wings and he flies, that makes him an Icarus. Icarus fell to his death. He did not resurface, he did not live beyond that power. Sam Wilson soared high into the missiles of war and came back battered and red, dripping love and death as he stands in the aftermath of it all. You think he was an Icarus when he was actually Apollo. Anyone who gets close to him falls to the ocean waves, then sooner than later, he’s left singing eulogies as his heart rattles in a cage.

14.  It Rains Every April 10th (sam/bucky; mcd) - this too! ive been told by someone that this was the most accurate desc of depression theyve seen

Depression hits like a wave on a cliffside — sometimes you see it coming, sometimes you didn’t see it, and sometimes you just let it happen. It sometimes gnaws at your skin, always there, but more of a ghostly hand hovering over you; there’s that presence but you think you don’t have enough proof to prove it existed. Times like these you try your best to move but you become unmotivated, absolutely immobile except for the moments your body decides to exhaust itself for unrelated things you shouldn’t be doing. It takes a toll on you you wouldn’t even realize, and even then, who else realized it? You’re just tired. You don’t cry. You’re just tired.

15. to hold dear (sam/bucky)

Bucky Barnes didn’t want a lot of things. He’s got a really low bar of standards now, even just waking up without a threat on his life counts as a win. He doesn’t even mind if there wasn’t any more soap in the bathroom; he’s just glad he’s got a shower in the first place. Breakfast? God, he’s just glad that he could walk around a house with his guard let down.

i have no more (:

tagging: @enchanted-lightning-aes @siancore @pianistwriter80 @glittercake @lesbians-love-samwilson @mariahthelioness29 @rhodeslabs @lovelyirony :)

[re-diesirae]

9. Leon

It was getting dark, and with the fading sunlight, Leon and Claire grew more and more restless. So far, they had been lucky. All the foes that had crossed their path had been relatively weak and easy to handle. Things would not be as easy once the shadows fell over them.

Leon was worried. He noticed that Claire's movements were starting to slow down. She was growing tired. The woman would not say it, but it was pretty obvious.

"We should find refuge before the sun goes down completely," Leon said, stopping to look at Claire. "If you are correct, those monsters will come out as soon as the sun goes down."

"Uhm, you are right," Claire sighed.

"Besides, it's been a long day. We need to rest," Leon said, cleaning the sweat from his forehead. "We are both tired, and we need our strength to fight. Pushing ourselves to the limit is a stupid decision."

Claire rubbed her neck and sighed.

"You're right," she said, "The question is where?"

Leon looked at her. Claire was looking pale again, and her cerulean eyes showed what she refused to say.

Leon was not an expert at survival mode; that was probably more Chris's area, or perhaps even Claire's.

After walking around the cliff for a while, they found a small cave, hidden between some bushes. The entrance was small, which Leon thought was an advantage. It was easier to fend off enemies when they had something stopping them.

Leon made sure the cave was clear before they finally settled down inside. He picked up some branches and plants and made a makeshift door to camouflage the entrance. It would be useless to keep enemies out, but at least it would keep them concealed.

"So that's what the government teaches their agents? How to make woodland crafts?" Claire asked playfully.

Leon smirked, putting the "door" in its place.

"Sure," he answered in the same playful tone, "It's rule 4 in How to be an agent 101."

Claire laughed and rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes.

"Chris would kill us if he saw us," she whispered.

"Why?"

"Keep yourself focused. No time for jokes," Claire said in a low voice that tried to mimic Chris's grunt.

Leon laughed at the impression. It was perfect.

"Sounds about right," Leon laughed, "I can't picture Chris joking around in normal circumstances, even less in a mission."

"I keep telling him that sometimes a little humor is what you need to keep yourself going."

"Maybe he needs to learn. You should teach him."

"Uh, I doubt he will be willing to learn from me," Claire chuckled, "but Chris wasn't always like that, you know. He used to be a little more chill."

"Chill?" Leon said incredulously, "Is that even possible?"

Leon had always wondered how Chris and Claire, being siblings, could be so different and yet so alike at the same time. Claire was cheerful and charming; she always found a way to lighten the mood, and her whole personality made her an approachable person. Chris, well, Chris was just intimidating.

"You are one to talk. Each time I see you, you're grumpier than before," Claire said, resting her chin on her knees.

Leon sighed. Claire was right. After so many years of working with DSO, he had become more reserved and shut-in. Things only got worse after all the tragedies that Leon had found himself forced to witness. Then again, he was not the only one that had faced tragedies. Claire had her share of hardships, and yet, she was the same lovely woman he had met in that pit stop in Raccoon City.

"Then, maybe I should ask you to teach me, too," he snorted.

"What are you saying?" Claire said, rolling her eyes. "Sometimes, I feel like I should be more like you two."

Leon shook his head.

"You are perfect the way you are, Claire. It is enough with one Chris Redfield or me in this world. There's no need to add another one into the equation," he said, "and honestly, the world would be a better place with more people like you."

"If there were more people like me, the world would be chaos," Claire snorted bitterly,"I caused a lot of trouble because of my naiveness."

Leon looked at Claire. Her face was getting wrapped by the darkness, so he could not see her expression; however, her voice sounded mortified. Sometimes Leon forgot that Claire had her inner demons, too.

In his mind, Claire was that brave girl, filled with optimism, willpower, and a heart of gold. He sometimes forgot that she was human, too, and like any other human, she could feel doubt, fear, and grief.

"It sounds like you are too hard on yourself, Claire."

"And you, guys, are just too soft on me,"Claire sighed, "When I think back of all the things I've messed up…"

Leon was ready to say more, but a distant roar interrupted their thoughts. Leon reached for his gun, and he heard Claire do the same. The pair exchanged knowing looks and moved, quietly, towards the entrance to peek out through the makeshift door.

The forest was dark, barely lit by the dim light from the waning moon. A group of Plagas infected subjects wandered at some distance from them. None of them seemed aware of their presence, so Leon did not worry much about them, but the owner from the roar was what had him on edge.

They had a poor sight from their position, but Leon tried to scout the area the best he could.

At first, he didn't see anything, but then he felt Claire grab his arm. She was staring blankly at some rustling shrubs behind the group of Plagas.

The creature was the most horrible thing Leon had ever seen. The monster had pale skin, so pale that it almost looked like it glowed under the moonlight. The body looked stretched, and its back made a curve in a nasty deformed hump as it moved through the darkness on its black limbs. Pieces of tissue hung from its body as if it was falling apart. If the monster had eyes, Leon could not tell where they were. The face was a lump of bloodied meat with no distinguishable features aside from the largemouth filled with a row of yellow fangs.

The monster sniffed the air, and without warning, it jumped forward, snatching several Plaga infected and ate them with a roar.

That's new. I've never seen B.O.W.s eating each other.

Leon watched the gory show with a frown. The monster ate every Plaga carrier in the area, and once it had finished, it let out a roar and began to twist and contort on the ground.

"What the..." Leon whispered.

"It's mutating, I think..." Claire said from his side.

"Mutating?"

"Yes, that's how it looks."

Leon grimaced. Mutating monsters were never good news.

"Is it the one you saw yesterday?" he asked.

Claire shook her head.

"No, this one looks different."

The monster howled again, making a painful sound. The body twisted on the ground, and more pieces of tissue fell to the ground, revealing the raw muscle. By now, the creature looked like a giant licker, except for its head.

Leon was not sure of what had just witnessed, but there was something he was sure about that was not a monster he wanted to face if he could help it.

The pair watched the disfigured creature disappear into the darkness again, and both let out the breath they'd unconsciously held. Claire and Leon did not speak until they felt sure that the monster had left.

"I think I understand what you meant by bigger friends," Leon whispered, turning to the woman beside him.

Claire was calm, but Leon could see the horror hiding behind her beautiful aquamarine eyes. She gave him an ironic smile and shrugged.

"We didn't see anything like it during the day, so either we were lucky, or you are right, and they are nocturnal."

"B.O.W.s that come only during the night. Talk about nightmarish monsters..." Claire sighed, "I am just glad they didn't find us, but I've got the feeling that our luck won't be that good for too long."

"Well, we'll face it when it comes. Don't worry about it," Leon sighed.

They returned to the back of the cave and sat down quietly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Me?" she asked, surprised, "I'm peachy."

Leon looked at her skeptically.

"You can't fool me, Claire. You've been struggling since that climb we did," Leon said, "Is it your head? Is it bothering you again?"

Claire let out a vague snort and shook her head.

"I told you I didn't like hiking," she replied, "I am alright. My head bothers me a little when I am tired, but it's not bad. You should know how concussions work."

"Yeah," Leon sighed, "Try resting a little."

"I had my share of sleep yesterday," Claire said, shaking her head, "You must be exhausted, though. You didn't sleep at all. You should be the one taking a nap."

"I work better with less sleep," he half lied.

In reality, Leon knew he worked a lot better with five or six hours of sleep, perhaps even four. His senses seemed more alert under those conditions, but his body still needed the rest.

"Liar," Claire muttered. "You know you don't need to act all cool with me. Get some sleep, idiot. I'll take the first watch."

"Fine, but only if I can use your lap as a pillow," he joked, earning a soft smack on his arm.

"You are such a flirt, Leon. I guess that side of you has not changed," Claire chuckled. "Go to sleep, idiot."

"You know, I think you are the only person who dares to call me an idiot."

"Well, if I can call Chris an idiot, I can definitely call you an idiot."

Leon laughed. Claire had to be the bravest woman in the world if she dared to call the almighty Chris Redfield an idiot, but then again, Claire had a privileged position in Chris's eyes. Leon was sure that Claire was one of the few people, if not the only one, with whom Chris would never be mad at no matter what she did.

"Now, I have to argue about that. No one would dare call Chris an idiot, but you have special treatment."

"Do I get special treatment with you?"

"Maybe..." Leon smirked.

"Do you tell all your partners that?"

"Only those who I like. What? Getting bored with paperwork and considering a career as an agent?"

If Claire had been an agent like himself, he would have considered asking her to become his permanent partner. He worked well with Helena, but Claire had her charm; his mission would be a lot more enjoyable with her by his side, but Claire did not work for the DSO.

"Nah, I am not agent material. You know that, Leon?"

"What are you talking about?" he chuckled, "You were agent material even before I was. Rushing into Raccoon City in search of Chris and saving Sherry, and taking care of all of us..."

"You sure are sentimental today," Claire snorted. "What's up with you today?"

"Well, this brings back memories," Leon sighed, "Can you blame me?"

"It does?" Claire asked.

"Yeah. I think I kind of missed this."

"Sleeping in a cave surrounded by bloodthirsty parasitic entities and mutant monsters? I can't say I share the sentiment, but who am I to judge?"

Leon smirked at the comment. The darkness in the cave would not let the woman see his face, and he was somehow glad that it was like that since he was sure that he looked like a fool.

Leon leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as tiredness began to engulf him.

"I was talking about you. I missed you, Claire," he muttered in an almost inaudible whisper.

NOTE: if you guys want to come and chat about the fic, or just about CLEON in general. Feel free to drop by the discord and say hi! JOIN SERVER

[lovemesomerafael]

EL AMOR TODO LO PUEDE Chapter 13:  Evolution

Chapters 1 - 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12

There’s a phenomenon in psychiatry called transference.  It happens when a patient transfers to their therapist feelings of love and dependence that rightfully belong elsewhere. Laura was familiar with the phenomenon, but she didn’t think transference had anything to do with her love for Dr. Charles.  He was, quite simply, her savior, and she loved him for the concrete way he had walked her through a trauma that would otherwise have destroyed her.  The way Ethan Choi had healed her body, Daniel Charles was healing her soul, and she loved him for it.  She loved him the moment he came into her room the first time and, rather than tell her she was a hero for killing that man, asked her what it meant to her that she had killed him.  

Dr. Charles was a big lummox of a man, rumpled and messy. He could smell bullshit a mile away and gently, kindly called her on it every time she tried to deny feelings she really had, or claim feelings that weren’t properly hers.  At the same time, he never once told her not to feel them. Instead, he helped her sort through them and reject them if they weren’t useful.  

Much of that was easier said than done.  Her shame and guilt over having exposed herself to such obvious danger were, in some ways, deserved and appropriate.  But the penalty for taking a foolish risk was worlds away from what that man had done to her.  In the same way, it was appropriate to feel guilty for having killed a man, and to be disgusted by the manner in which she had done it.  But, again, that guilt and disgust had to be tempered, all but negated, by the fact that the man had given her no choice.  He had made the rule: only one of them was going to get out of that room alive.  She had only reacted.

So Dr. Charles had helped her sift through the deformed mess of her shame and guilt to work through what was real and what was not, and then figure out how she was going to carry what was hers through the rest of her life.  

The other thing Dr. Charles did for her was to assure her, as many times as it took, that her intrusive thoughts and night terrors would not always be as pervasive as they were now.    Mouse said that his own trauma had been turned into a gift, because she could see that his PTSD was manageable and survivable and know that hers would be, too. Laura couldn’t imagine that, but she trusted both Dr. Charles and Mouse completely, so she allowed herself to hope.

In the meantime, she could not tolerate hearing noises behind her.  She could go only a few minutes before the sight of that room, the sound her ribs had made as they cracked under his foot, and the feel of that man’s throat in her fist, overwhelmed her.  And the worst part was the screaming, sweaty, uncontrollable terror that woke her every night.  She flailed her healing limbs, desperate to escape the sensation of being trapped while something monstrous approached.  

Dr. Charles had taught her to look around her, telling herself as many times as it took what was real and what was nightmare. Some of the things she chanted to herself made him struggle to control a grin.  He suggested that she tell herself, “I’m alive.  He’s not.”  She preferred, “That motherfucker’s taking a dirt nap.  I’m still here.”  Whatever worked.  

Dr. Charles couldn’t be with her every night, but Mouse could.  And he was. Whenever he was jolted from sleep by her screams, he would quietly, calmly turn on every available light and help her remember what to tell herself as she gulped for air and cried uncontrollably. He sat with her for as long as it took to pull herself out of that cellar with the dirt floor and back to reality.

“He’s not here.  He can’t be here.”  He’d prompt her.

“He’s in hell!  I know he’s dead because I killed him.  I felt him die.  I saw him dead,” she would gasp.

“Look around.  He’s not here, is he?”

“He’s not here.”

“And you’re safe.  You’re OK.”

“I’m safe.  I’m OK.  You’re here. You’re Mouse.  You’re my friend.”  Her sweat-soaked chest would heave as she panted in terror.

“Can he hurt you when I’m here?”

“No.  He can’t hurt me.  You’re a trained killer and I am your only mission.”  OK, maybe teaching her that one had been a little self-indulgent, but it made him smile every time he heard it.  

“Fuckin’ A,” he would reply.  

Mouse started to see the light at the end of the tunnel when, one night, she’d looked right at him – not past or through him as she did when she was struggling to find her way out of that cellar – and asked, “Why do people say that?  What does ‘fuckin’ A’ even mean?”

He’d thrown his head back and laughed while shedding relieved tears.  Then he’d distracted her by scooting next to her in bed while they Googled the etymology of that expression.  

Ethan Choi objected to the way Mouse continually found his way into Laura’s hospital bed.  When it first started a few weeks after her attack, he’d threatened that she’d be crippled for life if her traction was messed up, or suffer some catastrophe if her IV was kinked or disconnected, only to arrive most mornings to find them, limbs and casts tangled up but traction and IVs intact, sleeping peacefully. He’d grumbled about it to Dr. Charles, who made him sit down and review Laura’s chart.  The numbers didn’t lie.  Since she’d been healed enough for Mouse to crawl in beside her, she’d had a lower blood pressure and needed less pain medication.  Although Ethan had scowled and shaken his head, he hadn’t bothered to forbid Mouse and Laura from finding whatever physical closeness she could safely tolerate.

******

The first time Voight and Olinsky had visited her in the hospital had been rough.  They’d needed to take her statement about what had happened in that cellar, and all three of them had cried at times as she told them the hellish story. Although the Medical Examiner had explained that she had crushed the killer’s larynx and damaged the internal structures of his throat to the point that he’d drowned in his own blood, her description was even more horrific.  He had already beaten holy hell out of her, and she hadn’t been able to do much of anything to defend herself or wound him back.  But once he’d broken her leg, she’d been unable to rise from the floor.  When he came for her, she knew it was over.  He would rape her, then kill her, then rape her dead body, as he’d done to those other women.

The only thing that saved her was that he made a mistake.  She was lying against a wall where he’d thrown her, head first and too disoriented and injured to put her hands out to protect herself.  He’d stomped her thigh with his full weight, breaking her femur with a sickening crack.  Then he’d gotten behind her head to put his hands under her shoulders and drag her into the middle of the floor where he could defile her.  He kept telling her all the foul things he was going to do to her in retribution for having fought back so fiercely.  And that’s when he had made his mistake.  He’d leaned down over her.

She’d screamed defiance as she lifted her arms to grab at him; dislocated shoulder, broken fingers and all.  She’d clutched his hair as well as she could with her twisted left hand, and seized his neck with her right.  He was huge; her small hand would not go around even half his neck. But she sensed her fingers sliding toward the center, and felt them latch onto the hard mass of his larynx.  Pure, adrenaline-fueled survival instinct overtook her.  She held on, digging her nails as hard as she could into his flesh, determined to wrap her fingers completely around his larynx and tear it from his throat.  She refused to let go.  He dislocated her finger trying to pull her hand away, and pounded on her arm trying to get her off of him.  But that pounding only helped her pull harder at his neck.  She had a literal death grip on his throat.  She squeezed, pulled, and screamed until he’d fallen over onto her.  Still she hadn’t let go.  She’d clutched at his throat until he began to retch and gasp wetly, then whimper. He went quiet and still she squeezed with all her strength.  Only when she realized that her strength was gone and she was no longer really squeezing, yet he wasn’t moving or breathing, did she let go and shove him heavily off of her.

Voight asked her to email him the typed responses she’d been making on her tablet to tell this story, which she did.  She then quietly made a personal ceremony of deleting them.

Olinsky had stayed after Voight left, awkwardly and haltingly trying to apologize to her.  She would have none of it.  In the end, they made each other agree that all blame, the only blame, lay with the inhuman killer who was now in a drawer at the morgue.  

*********

When Laura was discharged from the hospital, a train of Intelligence detectives had carried the mobility equipment, flowers, and other paraphernalia she’d accumulated to her apartment.  Mouse had worked with the physical and occupational therapists to prepare everything for her homecoming and had moved in temporarily. She had long since ceased to need the sling on her right shoulder and her dislocated finger was no longer splinted, so he had full use of her right arm and hand.  At long last, her left leg had been released from traction and encased in a huge, cumbersome cast.  Although her jaw was no longer wired shut, she had only a temporary flipper where her missing teeth had been.  She hated it and covered her mouth when she smiled, but it beat the hell out of the raw, gaping hole it covered.  She looked forward to getting permanent teeth back.  The bruises and cuts had healed, along with the wound where her chest tube had been.  Ethan assured her that her internal injuries, including the skull and rib fractures, were healing, too.  She had a long course of physical therapy and rehabilitation before her, but she was home.

Laura’s brothers had gone home to Bloomington as soon as it had become clear that she would survive.  Her parents had stayed long enough to participate in the happy parade from the hospital to her apartment and see her settled, but now headed home themselves.

She and Mouse had a hell of a party that night; the apartment crammed with cops, firefighters, medical personnel, and assorted other friends until well after the sun had begun to rise the next morning. When one of her neighbors had called the police about the noise, the responding officers hadn’t tried to quiet the party.  They had gone instead to the neighbors’ apartment, explained the situation, and told the neighbors that they were invited.  The neighbors initially declined, but it turned out that they were friends of the Dawson family, so Gabby and Antonio had drunkenly dragged them upstairs to meet Laura and Mouse and have a drink.  

Peter Stone had shown up for a while, bringing a court reporter he’d been seeing.  At first, he’d been afraid to hug Laura as tightly as he wanted to as she sat in her wheelchair, surrounded by drunken friends.  She still seemed very fragile to him.  Somehow, in the middle of that loud, festive, alcohol-fueled party, Peter and Laura had managed to have a quiet, tearful conversation in which he told her how afraid he’d been for her, and how viscerally angry he’d been at what she’d been through.  He’d visited her plenty of times in the hospital, but this was the first time he allowed himself to share the depth of his feelings, now that she was safely on her way to healing.  By the time they were finished talking, he hugged her back as fiercely as she hugged him.

It was that night, seeing Laura talking and laughing, and especially seeing her with Peter, that a thought began to form in the back of Mouse’s mind.  He wasn’t even aware of it.

********

As the months passed, Laura’s life slowly began to resume its shape.  Mouse had returned to work as soon as she could care for herself at home and, when she was ready, she returned to work as Sergeant Voight’s assistant.  

Since there was no elevator in the building, Kevin Atwater insisted on being the one who got to carry her up and down the stairs. For some reason, he had demanded to be the first to carry her up on the day she returned, and it became his job. Only when he wasn’t there did Mouse or one of the male detectives do it.  Laura had never felt so loved and supported, and did everything she could to return that love by making their jobs easier.  She decried the sorry state into which the unit had fallen since she’d been gone, but no new assistant had been able to work with Voight.  He quickly either fired them or they quit.  Either way, he was happier than he’d been in quite a while to have Parker back.

*****

The day her leg cast was removed was a landmark for Laura. She couldn’t wait to take a shower without having to wrap anything in plastic, or a bath without having to let her leg hang out of the tub.  

Ethan told her that, now that her cast was off, she was cleared to have sex again if she wanted to.  

“Oh…  um… were we supposed to wait?”  She’d asked.  

The surprised look on his face was so funny she couldn’t help laughing out loud.  

“Well, I guess no harm, no foul,” he responded. “Let me rephrase.  You’re cleared to do anything that doesn’t hurt.  How’s that?”

“Works for me.”  

She and Mouse enjoyed a laugh about that as they relaxed in the huge bathtub in the hotel room they’d splurged on to celebrate her freedom from the last of her casts.  They had candles, sparkling cider, and so many bubbles they were overflowing onto the floor.  Mouse spent a very long time massaging, soaping, and shaving her newly-liberated leg, something she’d been dying to do for months.  Not surprisingly, pretty soon his hands were roving.  He loved the feel of having all of her skin to touch again, without anything getting in the way of his caresses.  

In the soft candlelight, with no casts, braces, or bandages, and her healing scars invisible, Laura felt normal and attractive for the first time since the attack.  She eagerly returned Mouse’s kisses, moving to give him access to her body and letting her own hands explore his arms, torso, and finally his more intimate parts.  

They had to laughingly figure out how to adjust their positions so that he was laying stretched out in the tub with her on top of him, which spilled more bubbles and not a small amount of water onto the floor. Eventually, though, they got there. Laura’s left leg was still too stiff to bend and her left wrist still too weak to support her full weight, but in this position, supported somewhat by the water, she could maneuver just fine.

She kissed him deeply as he caressed her breasts, teasing her nipples and rubbing his hardening cock against her.  

“Thank you,” she murmured, a moan escaping at the end as he did something particularly wonderful with his hands.  

He chuckled.  “I haven’t done anything yet.”  

She pulled up a bit so that she could look in his eyes, which looked purple in the candlelight.  “Oh, yes, you have.  You’ve done everything.  You saved me, Mouse.  I mean it, thank you.”  

“You saved me a little bit, too,” he said sincerely. He then pulled her back to him and resumed moving against her.  Apparently that was all the serious conversation he was in the mood for.  “And I got a great idea how we can show our appreciation.”

She sank herself down on him, both of them groaning with pleasure as he was able to bury his full length in her at long last. “Horndog,” she whispered.

“Yes, Ma’am.”    

Their rhythmic movements began to slosh water and bubbles out of the tub, and actually put out a couple of the candles, but neither noticed.  

Later, in the huge, fluffy bed, Laura had to talk Mouse into getting on top to make love to her the second time.  For months, they’d had to use their hands and mouths to pleasure one another, which they’d made into kind of a fun game, but they were thrilled when they could finally manage to actually fuck again.  Even then, she’d had to be on top because of her cast.  Which was exactly why she insisted that she wanted to feel his weight on her again now that she could.  

“Ethan said I can fuck however I want to,” she urged. “I’m tired of being careful.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Don’t ‘yeah but’ me, Soldier.  I’ve fucked you enough.  I want you to fuck me.”

Mouse was a sucker for dirty talk, which Laura felt silly doing most of the time.  So hearing her growl that order, he didn’t hesitate to obey.  He was overjoyed to finally be the one setting the rhythm and free to control how deeply he penetrated her.  He hadn’t known how much he missed it until he felt how blissfully good it was again.   Happy to be making progress with her recovery, and delighted to feel Mouse’s weight and the sensation of him plunging into her again, Laura very quickly lost herself in the second of many orgasms he gave her that night, with him following closely after her.

*******

The following morning, as they were lying sprawled across the bed with the room service breakfast dishes scattered around them, Mouse was abruptly distracted from his lazy tonguing of her nipple by her completely random question.

“Do you know krav maga?”

He looked up at her, eyes wide and mouth in the ridiculously sexy crooked smile he sometimes used.  “What?”

“I want to learn krav maga.  You know, the self-defense techniques the Israeli Defense Forces use?  I thought if you knew it, you could teach me.”

“Well, I’m kinda busy right this minute.”  She could tell Mouse was a little offended.

She laughed apologetically.  “I…  Right, sorry… and I was paying attention, I promise.  It just popped into my mind.”

She was entirely taken off-guard to find herself suddenly and completely in a different position, with him directly over her, her arms above her head and both wrists held in one of his hands.  The other was softly but unmistakably around her neck. He let her notice that, then moved it up to hold his thumb under her chin while his hand splayed across her cheek in a soft caress that allowed him to turn her face to his.  He gave her an expert, demanding kiss.

“Yes.  I know some krav maga,” he said.  She gasped, feeling her body instantly respond.  

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

For the next hour, he took absolute control of her willing, electrified body with a profound mastery that was so intense it came just short of scaring her.  She was pretty sure krav maga didn’t actually include a series of mind-blowing sexual techniques, but apparently, she’d asked the right question of the right man.

[resetmypatientviolence]

It’s Over (Drake x MC  x [Liam])

It’s Over– Part 20 of “Supposed To Be” 

Part 1: Not Yet Part 2: Wait Part 3: Confused Part 4: Didn’t(NSFW) Part 5: I’m Pregnant Part 6: Choice (NSFW) Part 7: Future (NSFW) Part 8: FightPart 9: Show (NSFW), Part 10: It’s Yours, Part 11: Please, Part 12: How, Part 13.1: Queen (NSFW)13.2: Queen (NSFW-ish), Part 14: Ready, Part 15: I Think, Part 16: Acceptance, Part 17: Okay, Part 18: Goodbye, Part 19: Squeeze

Word count: 3,502 Pairing: Drake x Jaela x [Liam]

Rating: T

Warnings: Language; Mentions of abortion

Summary: Yes, Drake’s awake. Drake’s alive-- fully. Jaela can only imagine their future, picture perfect in every way. But can Drake?

Suggested Song Accompaniment: Lovely-- Billie Ellish ft. Khalid

Notes: Thank you all for your support! If life goes well, there will be a chapter from Drake’s POV coming out before next Saturday. Please, enjoy! MASTERLIST

The next thing she remembered was Liam’s arms around her waist, holding her steady as Drake disappeared, back into the hospital— alive. Awake. Awake. “Woah, woah, Jaela,” Liam said in her ear as he steadied her, staring through doors which Drake went back in. She clutched her chest, Hana, Maxwell, and Savannah looking around in their own bewilderment, the helicopter blades coming to a stop, silence on the rooftop. 

She turned her head, looking into Liam’s tear filled eyes, hers a mirror. “He’s…”

“He’s awake,” Liam finishes, turning her around in his arms and pulling her close.”He’s awake,” he repeats into her hair, sighing. She bit her lower lip, the pain bringing a jolt of reality to her. He… he woke up. He was there. Here, in the present. 

“We-we should head down and see…” Savannah trailed and Max patted her back. 

“Yes, we should,” he said, linking arms with Hana and heading back the way they came, just fifteen minutes before, how things had changed so fast. Jaela and Liam separate, his arm around her waist as they followed, a wide, dreamy smile on Jaela’s face, wiping away the tears, heart— so empty the past week— full and vivid, the dreams of what they’d do together building a life together, finally. 

Like they both wanted for so long, but neither could say, until now. Until now. 

Back in the halls she’d grown all too familiar with, Jaela was nearly bursting at the seams in the waiting room, smile coming and going, pacing, Liam and the others watching her with careful eyes, except Savannah. 

Oh, the things she imagined in that waiting room, waiting for the doctors to give the all clear. The things she would say, whispered confessional late at night in the open, showering him with all the love she tried to pour into every kiss before, urging him to feel what was always on her tongue, the happiness when they visited his cabin, drinking in a bar, laughing and kissing freely, unbound by the limits of court and life and everything that said that what they were doing was wrong, yet right. So, so right. 

The late nights, kissing until the sun rose, their names slipping over their tongues like a breathless prayer, bodies spent and wound together, every inch discovered and worshipped as the only deity in existence, their love, limitless. A love that neither had ever felt before. Then, the little moments in between. Sneaking off during the middle of balls and galas because all they want is each other, joint fire burning low in their bodies, maybe just sitting on the couch together, her head on his shoulder, needing no words to feel comfortable, happy. The world, only theirs to explore, no bounds, no rules— theirs. 

Just theirs. 

Time passed. She didn’t know how long, continuously pacing, lost in her world of what to say, what to do, what to tell him— all dependent on him, of course. He’d remember everything, right? It wasn’t like he got shot in the head or…. But he died for you, remember? Jaela frowned at the wayward thought, an intrusion during her happiness. No, there wasn’t room for that. Not anymore. He’d remember it for even when he was dying, the light fading from his eyes, there was something fierce and determined in there— fierce and determined to get her safe. Alive, even when he was dying. 

Jaela stopped when the doctor came out and motioned to Savannah to follow him. “Can we come?” Jaela blurt. “To see how he is…?”

Savannah sighed but nodded. “You and Liam can.”

“I’d advise against it, Ms. Walker,” said the Doctor, adjusting his glasses. “He’s… disoriented and agitated and too many people at once might further confuse him.” Jaela frowned and crossed her arms over her green shirt. “We’d want to avoid crowding him as much as we can. He’s been through an extreme ordeal.”

Liam set a hand on Jaela’s shoulder, nodding. “We understand. We can wait.”

“We don’t need to talk to him,” Jaela said, shifting between her feet. “We can stand in the door or at the edge of the room. I just want to see him awake, just a for a few minutes.” It was illogical to think that she could just walk right up to him and shower him with kisses, she knew that. She didn’t expect. She knew they’d have to wait a while… but she did want to see him move around, even if he just blinked a few times. Anything to prove to her that she didn’t imagine the hand wave. 

Savannah nodded. “That’s fair. You two can.” Things were still tense with Savannah, but Jaela smiled at her and took Liam’s hand in hers, as they both had over the course of the past few days. It meant nothing, nothing like that— it was purely a comfort, their hands the only thing they thought they had left in the face of adversity and loss.

The too familiar walk down the hall seemed to drone on forever, even longer than when she walked out of it this morning, thinking it would be the last time she’d get to see Drake. Liam and Jaela hesitated outside of the door, letting Savannah go in first, listening. “Drake! Oh Drake…”

Jaela held her breath, just waiting to hear him again. “Hey Sav…” he croaked behind the wall and her heart stopped. It was him. Voice rough and raw… but it was him. Jaela grinned at Liam. “What… what happened?” Her grin fell, and even Liam, so composed in his emotions, furrowed his brows. 

“They didn’t tell you about what you did?”

“N-no. To not shock me or… I don’t know. I just want… this shit off of me and to go home.”

“To the palace?”

“No,” Drake said, voice sharper, clearer than before. Jaela tightened her grip on Liam’s hand. “Not there.” Her stomach dropped. How much did he remember? Why was he angry?

“Why’s he angry?” Jaela whispered, taking a step towards the door. 

“Jaela, maybe we shouldn’t—” But he followed and they paused in the doorway, looking at him in the same bed where she was swore she’d see him last in. He was shaking out his hand, and then clumsily pressed it to the side of his head, eyes shut. 

Savannah sighed. “I’m staying there too, Drake. Liam’s letting Bartie and I. But you’ll still be in here a bit. They need to see the extent of the damage from the coma.”

“I-I—“ Drake grunted, wincing, and then opened his eyes. They focused on Savannah at first, looking glazed and groggy. “I don’t… you don’t understand…”

“Is it because you don’t think it’s safe after the attack? It… it is, Liam’s assured me and is trying for the court—”

Drake shook his head, and when he did, he looked right at Jaela, again, eyes widening. She sucked in a breath, and smiled, holding Liam’s hand even tighter. She waved, but he didn’t wave back, speechless, looking between the two of them… then down, to their hands. “No-no, not that. Sav… why… why are they here? An attack? What the hell happened? Why isn’t anybody telling me anything?”

It was like a knife through her heart, when he spoke. The anger and confusion through the thickness of grogginess, of waking back up and returning. Of what he remembered last. And he didn’t remember what they said, confessed, when they thought that was all they had left? 

Savannah looked back at them, shaking her head. “They’re… here because they love you, Drake, and have been waiting for you to wake up.”

He tore his eyes away from them, lowering the hand from his head, curling it into a loose fist, face reddening. “Why? I don’t want—”

“You don’t remember?” Jaela burst, letting go of Liam’s hand and rushing to Drake’s bedside. She tried to reach for the hand she held for as long as she possibly could for days on end, but he jerkily moved it away from her reach, eyebrows lowered. Jaela froze, then retracted it and set it on the railing, blinking away tears. No, she couldn’t cry. Shouldn’t cry. Not now, not where he could see. Didn’t he know how much she wanted to kiss his lips?

“No.” A shattered heart, turned to dust on the roof, now being set ablaze, to nothing. 

“Jaela, this isn’t the time,” Liam said, approaching the bed too, Drake now frowning. “We should give him space.”

“But-but—” When Liam touched her arm, Drake looked away and down at his hand, opening and closing it slowly. “Drake, you-you took a bullet for me and— and we said—”

“I’m h-… happy… for you two,” he breathed. “Really. You’ll… make a great King and Queen.” Even Savannah looked confused, opening her mouth to speak but then didn’t as three stared at him with the same confused and shocked expression. Jaela didn’t miss his meaning. The baby. He meant the baby. So, he remembered what she said. 

But just that. 

And he believed it, too. Jaela gulped. “Drake… it’s not like that… I lo—”

“Can I be alone?” He muttered. “I want to sleep.”

“You were just—”

“I want to be fucking alone right now, Sav,” he snapped and then lay back, shutting his eyes, arms crossed. When he didn’t move after thirty seconds, all three uncertainly looked at each other and then left. There was so much she wanted to say, to tell him— but he didn’t want it. He believed what he wanted to. They were supposed to be happy now. 

Why couldn’t they be happy? She just had to tell him everything and he’d believe her. 

But she couldn’t tell him with Savannah in the room, Jaela not willing to let her of all people know what choice she made. 

*

Later that night, back at the palace for the first time in days, Jaela slid the empty tumbler across to Liam, the two back in his office. The conversation first started with Drake, then went to matters of the assassins and brainstorming on how to unify Cordonia—coming up with no good ideas, again— then slid back to Drake. It killed her not being in the hospital, her room unfamiliar when she entered it for the first time in days. 

How much had changed. 

“Any updates from Savannah?”Jaela asked as Liam poured her whiskey. Second glass of the night. 

“She tried to tell him that you… you’ve been by his bedside and isn’t with me, but he refuses to believe her. He says it’s because… because of something you said, but won’t tell her what.” Jaela shut her eyes, amber liquid at her lips. “Otherwise, he doesn’t remember the attack, seems to be okay, as far as they know. He’s just… angry, she says. Defensive.”

“Course he is,” Jaela whispered, opening her eyes to find Liam’s boring into hers. 

“Jaela… what did you say to him?” The whiskey burned on its way down and she coughed. 

“I… no.”

“Jaela. What did you say?” How could she look into his eyes and tell him that before Drake was shot, she would have chosen him, potentially? Well, she had to, didn’t she? No more secrets between them, broken people trying to fix a country as a team, a symbol of hope— even if they had little of their own to give. 

She shut her eyes, again, drinking more before she opened them, holding the glass between both of her hands. “I… I was talking to Hana and Max. I said I’d… that I knew once I told you about the baby… that I’d choose you. There’d be no competition.”

Liam tensed and stared at the floor. They were silent in the dark office, and Jaela finished her drink, standing up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Liam. I’m going to the hospital to talk to him in the morning, alone.”

Liam still said nothing— until she reached the doors. “Jaela… I thought you said getting the abortion wasn’t because of him.”

Gripping the handle tight, she didn’t look back. “It wasn’t. It’s because of—”

“It feels like it is, if that’s the last—”

“Things happen in life and it completely changes everything you thought you knew, Liam. It can happen in a second. I promise you everything we talked about in Greece and in here is true. We’re not rehashing my choice. I’m going to the damn hospital tomorrow to reason with him so we can get the Drake Walker we know and love back, alright?”

Liam sighed and Jaela didn’t wait for him answer when she exited the office and went back to hers, scrolling through pictures from the social season and Engagement Tour, back when Drake would smile at her like she was his world. 

She wasn’t leaving the hospital until she could prove to him that he was hers, too. 

*

Was he asleep? Or awake? She didn’t know. But Jaela stood in his doorway, hands behind her back, trying to piece back her heart. He’d remember. He’d believe her. He had to. He was just groggy from the coma. Surely almost 24 hours had helped… right?

When he shifted, head turned to the window, she stepped in fully, heart pounding. She’d practiced what to say in the morning, over and over, editing and changing the words every other time she attempted the spiel, the please believe me plea, but then settled on… on just speaking from her broken heart, hoping that the words would come when he looked at her. 

She slowly made her way to his bed, cheeks still slightly gaunt but there was color back in his face, warm again. Jaela smiled, then froze when he turned his head, looking at her cooly. They said nothing, then, he spoke first. “What are you doing here?”

Was he still angry? He spoke calm, but there was a sense of… something… underneath there. Hurt. That’s what it was. Hurt. Jaela walked until she was next to him, as she had been. But he didn’t believe it. How could he? Only remembering her last words? “We need to talk,” she said, setting her hands on the railing. Drake frowned but sat up. Oh, how she loved to see him move— but she didn’t smile. 

“Yeah, we do. Apparently.” His words were harsh, cutting deep. Jaela held the railing tight, back straight. This wasn’t how she imagined their reunion. 

“You don’t believe Savannah.”

“How can I, Jaela?” Drake said, rubbing his eye. “You wouldn’t let go of his hand. And how he was looking at you… I… is this a cruel joke? Having her tell me that you love me when you… you’re with him?”

A pit formed. Oh no. “Drake, I can ex—”

“You don’t need to, Jaela,” he said between grit teeth, hands curling into fists, strong this time, on the bed. Jaela gulped. 

“Then… what do you remember?”

Drake laughed, harsh, shaking his head. “The worst fucking moment of my life.”

“The bullet?”

“No,” he snapped, raising his gaze hers, brown eyes filled with anger and hurt. Mostly hurt, a hurt that carved through her soul, crumbling her resolve to stay strong. Drake was a man who couldn’t be reasoned with— not when it came to what he perceived as the truth. “When you basically said that after everything I tried, that I never stood a goddamn chance with you. That everything we did and said and what… what I thought… what I fought for as best I could… was for nothing. Just a game of yours. For what? To get shot and miss a week of my life only to be told when I wake up that you’ve apparently been by my side and love me and do… do you know how that makes me feel? Being lied to?”

Jaela listened to his rant, her mouth open, hands gripping the railing hard, wanting to rebuke and scream at everything he said, his own truth. One that she couldn’t make him see, not if he was like this, determined to see the world through his own lens, one before a bullet changed everything. 

But through it all, the thing that killed her the most, a tear escaping, was the reality that his worst moment wasn’t getting shot. No, it was from her. What she fucking said in the moment, confused and lost and unsure about everything. She hurt him too much to… should they even be together? Would the pain be worth it? 

“Thought so,” Drake mumbled, shaking his head. 

“You’re being an ass,” Jaela whispered. 

“And you’re being…” Drake shook his head, a gloss over them, then gone when he stopped. “You’re being cruel, coming here alone, and making me think that it’s fucking true. Because, shit, Abdi, I want it to be— but you love him. Just because I was in a coma doesn’t mean I can’t tell how you look at each other. Besides, he’s the father of your baby.” At the mention of the baby, Jaela tensed and touched her stomach, Drake’s expression softening for a moment. “I… I’m glad I took the bullet though, I’ll always take one for you. And… and for your kid.”

“You… you shouldn’t have Drake, I-I deserve it—”

Drake shook his head. “As angry as I am at you, you don’t deserve it.”

What would make him believe? She had to do something other than stand there useless and weak. “I love you, Drake. I do. I love you. I love you with everything I have and—” Against better judgment, she bent over and kissed him, hard, hands on his cheeks. 

She tried to get him to kiss back, nipping his lower lip like he liked, tongue teasing for entrance— but Drake did nothing. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her, tears glossing back over, a thin film. Jaela pulled away, the passion of their previous kisses… nowhere to be found. “Drake… please…”

“I don’t believe you,” he gulped and wiped his lips. “You always went between us, whoever you needed more at the time. I fell for it. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I should have kept my distance. You were always Liam’s and I was a fool to believe that we could be something more. Now, you’re having his kid. I can’t compete with that. I refuse to. I�� we can’t. Not anymore.”

Jaela wished she could say that she couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or not. But, she knew. Oh, she knew he meant every word, every word held behind the mask of pain, carefully crafting each word as Liam did when upset. She always wished she could tell him that she wasn’t having Liam’s child, but the words were stuck— pushed aside for the gravity of Drake’s words, what he was doing. About to say. 

“I’m not with—”

“Maybe you aren’t. For now. But… but I can’t get in the middle of you two anymore. Not with how you look at each other,” he said, and then, carefully reached out and set a hand over hers. “Jaela… I wished for a time when we’d look like that, but… but that’s gone. Everything changed. Whatever you feel for me, it needs to stop. Us… we’re nothing.”

“Please listen to me—” No, no, no, no…

“I… I thought a lot about this last night. I thought you might try and do this, for whatever reason. But… I can’t be hurt by you anymore. We can’t do this. Jaela, we… it’s over between us.”

And there it was. 

Her heart, gone, replaced with only two words pounding in her chest as she cried in the car, on the way back to the palace, sitting in it until her new bodyguard Mara found Hana, who helped her out and held her, the words it’s over a continuous beat even as Hana made her tea and held her. 

Of all the endings she imagined and dreamed for them, for him, while at his bedside, this was never a thought. Never a reality that would come to be. She never considered his feelings, how hurt he was by her words. Even if he would remember the shooting— would he think her confession of “I love you” was just a desperate plea to trick him into staying alive? Was she dreaming? No, the pain too real and Drake’s own tears before he turned away from her were too vivid and raw to be anything but. It was over. He… he couldn’t suffer in her hands anymore. 

Was she selfish for wanting him to? 

Maybe. 

But he didn’t know that she didn’t want him to suffer anymore. Because she made her choices. 

Yet, it didn’t matter. 

Maybe some choices didn’t have a clear and direct path to the ending she wanted. 

She wanted him. A life. A future. But…

He didn’t want her, no, not anymore. 

This was it, wasn’t it? 

This was supposed to be.

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Pixelberry Studios.

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[krysalla-archive]

devotion.

relationship: gaius chau x reader word count: 3.4k warnings: mention of suicide summary: loosely based on the song worship by years and years.

You figured the first time he kissed you that it would feel wrong, that you were being used by him, but it didn’t feel that way at all, in fact, everything seems to fall together perfectly. It felt real. The fact that he’s the son of a Baron and that you’re just a house Cog melts away. The difference in status doesn’t mean a thing when he holds you.

It’s not uncommon for Barons and their sons to take up Cog lovers, it’s less common for them to marry one, and even less common for them to actually, truly fall in love with one. It makes you feel special the first time he tells you he loves you, even though you were huddled in a small closet, hiding from your duties and his training. You felt gross, both of you covered in a sheen layer of sweat, clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin and his lips hot against your neck. It was a hot summer and the little closet had little ventilation.

You pick at the collar of your shirt. It’s a little bit dirty as all your other clothes had yet to be washed and you picked this one because it didn’t smell as bad nor was it stained so badly as the others. You only wish you were a little more presentable for the Baron and his wife.

It’s your turn to serve the family tonight, and while you are glad that you’ll be able to steal a moment with Gaius, it will be hard to act professionally around him while surrounded by his family when all you want to do is kiss him. You haven’t been able to be alone with him in nearly a month thanks to his sister suggesting that he help pick up training some of the potential Colts.

He’s not the only one to blame, you’ve been quite busy as well. There was an awful flu that swept through the huts of the Cogs, taking nearly a third of them down with it and nearly half of the house Cogs. That meant doubling up on your duties while also training the slow influx of new house Cogs. The Chau’s never seemed to stop providing new ones.

You sigh, rolling your shoulders before pushing the cart of pitchers, full of different drinks, and you can only hope you don’t make it too obvious to the Chau’s your relationship with Gaius. A straight face, deflect from initiating anything or avoid any looks or friendly smiles he may give. You don’t want to ruin any future prospects for him. This could only go so far.

The air in the dining room is stiff and filled with tension. It makes you sick.

Juliet is who you serve first. Water and wine. Occasionally, she will ask for coffee, but only with dessert. The Baron, you just leave the bottle of wine with him. The Baroness only drinks water.

Gaius smiles at you. It’s not uncommon that he’s friendly with the Cogs, but you still have to maintain your composure. There can be nothing to suggest what the reality of your relationship is, you don’t want to end up even more expendable than you are, or worse end up as a pawn in Juliet’s game. It’s no secret that she doesn’t like her brother. She thinks he is weak-willed and easily manipulated.

You pour the water, tight-lipped and stiff, and you can see him out of the corner of your eye as the water spills into the glass. He’s staring at you, unable to keep a straight face with a dreamy look in his eyes.

The inside of your cheek becomes tender from biting it, from suppressing the smile that you so wanted to give him, to pretend like there was no one else in the room but you and him. That the status between you was a level field. That there could be something normal in your future, maybe marriage, or even living in some peaceful place, just the two of you where the worries of the world can’t find you. But that’s not the reality, you’re beneath him in your station and you always will be in this life, there’s no use in fighting it.

You keep yourself small, out of sight and out of mind, one of the first rules you learned, the thing that’s kept you alive and mostly out of harm's way. Nobody thinks to go after a Cog who can blend into the background, nobody can punish you for something you had no involvement in if you’re invisible. But Gaius saw you, he always saw you.

When the family takes their leave, you let out a sigh of relief, hours closer to what you’ve waited weeks for. You stay still, back pressed against the wall, the chair rail digs into your spine. He lingers, the last to get up and the last to leave, looking to you and smiling at you. His eyes crinkle as his lips curve and you let the little bit of resolve you have left melt away to smile back. You couldn’t hold it back, not with how softly he looked at you like you were his world.

You bow your head and watch as he leaves and you finally take to the last of your chores for the night. Clean up and preparing the room again, making it spotless and orderly. 

Just a few more hours.

You scrub the dishes until your fingers are raw and your hand cramps up from the tense position it took around the sponge you held. You can see the tendons on the back of your hand move as you try to flex your fingers and ease the tightness and discomfort. It’s another night, but the pain only gets worse with another meal and another stack of dishes to do. You’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to do this.

The skin around your nails is dry and peeling, irritating you when the rag brushes against the fraying and small pieces of skin as you dry the pots and pans clean. You’re the last one in the kitchen, once again, but it isn’t so bad. You like the quiet and the solitude. Besides, you’ve got Gaius to think about and to help you pull through on finishing. You’re so, so close and it's making you anxious. 

When you finish, your feet hurt and your arms are sore and although you want to go to Gaius and have your own reunion, you just want to sleep. It drags on, pulling yourself up the stairs, trying to keep quiet in case any of the Chau’s or worst of all the Overseer is still awake. You doubt that to be true since it is nearing midnight and the house is still eerily quiet, but you want to be careful. It’s in your best interest and Gaius’.

As you approach his door, you roll your shoulders and sigh. It opens before you can even raise your fist to knock. He stands there, disheveled and half-dressed but smiling widely. Your heart lifts in your chest, it always does when you see him look at you like that. You had heard of love stories, you heard your own parents and read them from books that the Chau’s collected. Some of them were tragic, others hopeful and beautiful, and you longed for something like that. You felt as if your life would start and end as nothing more than a Cog, and when you first met Gaius, you felt the possibility of a great love story go from nonexistent to completely and utterly possible. But you’ve become more aware since you were eighteen and realized that just because it was possible didn’t mean it would be right.

But he makes that fade away, the want to hide away from the world and keep what you have covered and swept away. You feel braver with him, but you know it has to be done.

“I missed you so much,” he breathes out, it’s rushed as he surges forward, wrapping you up in a tight hug. It’s like you’ve been separated by barriers and obstacles, each rushing to each other and when you get close, fingertips barely brushing as you try to grab the other, you are pulled away.

You smile, pressing your face into his neck and inhaling. He smells like sweat and wood and the sweetness of vanilla. He always tries to be so presentable in every sense of the word. You pull away from him, looking to your left and right before pushing yourself into his room.

His room is dark, only the light of the moon and a single candle make it possible to see. You turn to him, finally letting the stress of the weeks leading up to this moment vanish. Your shoulders are lighter. 

Gaius shuffles you to the bed, smiling at your choppy movements as you walk backward. You want to swat at him for the shit eating grin he has, but you can’t help but smile too, because you do look quite ridiculous shifting your weight on your feet like this. It’s almost as ridiculous as how he towers over you. It’s an effort to kiss him when you’re both standing and it leaves both of your necks sore. 

The back of your knees hit the mattress and you nearly fall, but he catches you. Your shock gives him the perfect vantage to kiss you.

It’s soft and sweet, and somehow he’s able to pour in how much he missed you into it. The pressure of his hand at the small of your back anchors you in this moment, makes sure that your mind doesn’t go off in places that it shouldn’t. Gaius noticed how you would get distracted so easily, wrapped up in your own thoughts, that you couldn’t enjoy the present. He figured out that extra stimulus kept you grounded with him. 

You smile into the kiss and push yourself onto your toes to make it easier for him. He likes to joke about how much it hurts to kiss you. You don’t care much to hear it, it gets old after a while. 

You finally break from his lips and rest your forehead on his, fingers pulling him down with you as you move to sit down and rest your feet. The exhaustion of work is finally starting to catch up to you.

“You know, we don’t need to hide…” he says, sitting next to you on the edge of his bed, “I don’t want to hide how I feel about you.”

You had been happy, but now this brings you down from your euphoria. This conversation always ends your little fantasy. You sigh and put your hands in your lap, playing with your already water damaged nails.

“Gaius, you know why we have to do this, why we have to be like this. It’s not safe for me, and definitely not for you. Your sister… she’s poison, and she will use me against you.”

You let him lean on you. You don’t mind the weight that he places on you, it’s comforting. The mood is more somber than you wished it would have been. Heated and passionate and full of love is what you wanted. To kiss him until your lips were sore, to touch him and continue to memorize the expanse of his skin. To lie next to him with soft smiles and softer words exchanged. You want to stay trapped in your fantasy of a real life with him rather than your continued sobering thoughts of what this really will be.

“I know but... sometimes I hate when you’re right.”

Sometimes, you hate being right too.

“Gaius, I love you,” your voice is light, barely even a whisper. It’s a private thing to say, and maybe you’re a little bit paranoid, but you don’t want anyone to hear you, “I would give anything to be able to show you that whenever I wanted, but I can’t.”

“Let’s runaway then.”

Your fingers stop their movements. You’re frozen in your spot, trying to understand what he said. But you know what he said and you know he’s been thinking about it for a while too. He wouldn’t just burst in with an idea, he always has to think it through.

“We always talked about it, what we could be if you weren’t a Cog and I wasn’t a Baron’s son. Let’s do it, sneak out in the night, live out our lives together in some little cottage away from all of this.”

“You don’t mean that,” you pull your body away from him, pushing yourself back and angling your body to face him completely. When you look at him, when you see the way he looks at you, warm eyes lit up with determination and conviction. He always means what he says, even if it isn’t a good idea. You can see that he’s already planning out his moves, “You already have everything you could ever want here. You would have to start from scratch.”

“But I don’t have everything I want. All I want is you. I’m tired of hiding. I want to kiss you whenever I feel like it. Hold you when you're upset, be able to comfort you. Do you know how shitty it feels when I have to sit there and watch you get berated by my own father, get punished by my sister’s hand?”

“Do you know how shitty it feels when you can’t come in and swoop me away from this awful life? Gaius, I would have done something to end this misery I felt, but you saved me from that. You’re the reason I’m still alive,” you take his hand and press it over your heart, “I went through that, years of suffering, for you. Because I knew that you would be there at the end of the day, to wipe away my tears, to keep me calm, to remind me that there is good in the Badlands.”

He doesn’t say anything, he only stares at you. You can see the sadness in his eyes, only accentuated by the blue hues of the light that filters into his room. 

“We can do this,” he takes your hands in his, “I can get you and everyone else out of here. We would be lost in the chaos and they’d be looking for more than just one of you. We can be together.”

“You’re just a rebellious son, you don’t mean it. All you want is to spite your father.”

He stares at you, eyebrows pushed together. You quirk your lips at him, trying to give him a smile, to let him know that it’s okay, that you are okay.

“That may be so, but I want this, I want you completely with nothing hindering that.”

You breathe out, tightening your grasp around his hands and lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. Maybe it would be okay. If he’s the one by your side, you’re sure it will be.

You count the days, the hours and the minutes until you run, until he gives the signal to go, so you can finally get the happily ever after you’d heard of, to live out the rest of your days with the man you love. With that goal, you keep yourself on extra good behavior, always subservient and calm, level-headed with no backtalk.

But when it comes down to the day before it’s supposed to happen, Juliet takes out her rage on you, the closest one around. Wrong place, wrong time. Now you’re paying for your mistake, for believing that anything could change.

You sit among the filth of the pigs, head leaning against the wooden wall that keeps you separated from the world. You breathe slowly, mouth nearly pressed against a small crack in the wood, trying to take in all the fresh air you can.

It feels like you’re in there for weeks, but you know it’s only been three days, losing your mind among the pigs that are bigger than you, and fighting for the scraps that they are fed, choking on the rot of the fruits, but knowing that you’ll need your energy if the escape ever takes place.

You had that to keep it together, that you knew there would be an end to this, but it never came. And you didn’t want to think about the fact that he didn’t come for you, didn’t come to save you from the hell his sister put you through. You feel your heart well up in pity and then anger at Gaius, at yourself for trusting him and thinking he actually cared for you. But you know you are just looking for an outlet, for something to blame.

It’s your fifth night in the pigpen when the doors open and you come falling out into someone’s arms.

You gasp in shock of it, overwhelmed by the breeze and the cool air and the sounds of metal clanging and shouting.

“Hey, hey, baby, come on, we’ve got to go.” Gaius pulls you up to stand on your feet but you lean forward on him, unable to move your legs or support yourself.

The world is more dizzying than you remember it being.

He wraps your arm around his neck and his own arm around your waist, trying to help you move. The daze of the world slowly falls away with each step you take and the realization that he’s here, that he is getting you outcomes to you. The anger you had felt for him feels silly now, irrational and completely pointless. You knew he would never let you down.

It feels like it takes years to finally get to the small crowding of people. They are terrified, huddled against one another. There are a few children who cling to parents and siblings, afraid of getting caught. It’s deathly silent, each knowing that their lives would end the moment one of the spotlights fell to them. 

A truck pulls in front of the group, the brakes squeak and metal clangs in a horrible way that makes you think it’s nothing more than a piece of junk that can get you no more than five miles out.

One by one, the Cogs- ex-Cogs is a proper fit now- file into the back of the truck, pulled up by the helping hands of the Clippers that Gaius enlisted until it is just you standing there. Gaius doesn’t make a move to approach the truck like you do.

“Gaius, why are you just standing there?”

“You need to go.”

“What?” your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“I can’t go with you.” Gaius has some shame to look down. He’s breaking his promise.

“Gaius, you can’t leave me. Please, come with me. I can’t do this without you.” 

He looks back up at you, eyes wide and face contorted into a feature of pain, “I’m doing this for you. You need to leave. I love you.”

Your eyes begin to swell with tears, not wanting you to end like this, with the possibility of never seeing him again. You know his sister’s rage better than anyone, and doing this could get him killed, and if that is how it will be, then you would rather die with him than go on without him, “I can’t. I need you.”

“Go!” he shouts at you. You flinch at that. He’s never so much as raised his voice at you and the scream that rips from his throat when he said it nearly leaves you a mess.

You stare at him for a moment longer, trying to burn his features into your mind, the sadness in his eyes is not what you wanted to remember. You’re shuffled onto the truck, pulled up by Clippers whose names you never knew. It seems your frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

A screeching noise erupts from the engine and you’re thrown in your seat as it lurches forward. You don’t know how to process it. You were so close to it, the fantasy that he’d indulged you in. Now you wonder if it was ever going to be real.

@johnallerdyce

[dfroza]

A set of questions about seeing clear:

Jesus: Do you believe in the Son of Man?

Formerly Blind Man: I want to believe, Lord. Who is He?

Jesus: You have seen His face with your new eyes, and you are talking to Him now.

Formerly Blind Man: Lord, I do believe.

The man bowed low to worship Jesus.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 9th chapter of the book of John:

While walking along the road, Jesus saw a man who was blind since his birth.

Disciples: Teacher, who sinned? Who is responsible for this man’s blindness? Did he commit sins that merited this punishment? If not his sins, is it the sins of his parents?

Jesus: Neither. His blindness cannot be explained or traced to any particular person’s sins. He is blind so the deeds of God may be put on display. While it is daytime, we must do the works of the One who sent Me. But when the sun sets and night falls, this work is impossible. Whenever I am in the world, I am the Light of the world.

After He said these things, He spat on the ground and mixed saliva and dirt to form mud, which He smeared across the blind man’s eyes.

Jesus (to the blind man): Go, wash yourself in the pool of Siloam.

Siloam means “sent,” and its name reminded us that his healing was sent by God. The man went, washed, and returned to Jesus, his eyes now alive with sight. Then neighbors and others who knew him were confused to see a man so closely resembling the blind beggar running about.

Townspeople: Isn’t this the man we see every day sitting and begging in the streets?

Others: This is the same man.

Still Others: This cannot be him. But this fellow bears an uncanny resemblance to the blind man.

Formerly Blind Man: I am the same man. It’s me!

Townspeople: How have your lifeless eyes been opened?

Formerly Blind Man: A man named Jesus approached me and made mud from the ground and applied it to my eyes. He then said to me, “Go, wash yourself in the pool of Siloam.” I went and washed, and suddenly I could see.

Townspeople: Where is this man who healed you?

Formerly Blind Man: I don’t know.

The townspeople brought the formerly blind beggar to appear before the Pharisees the same day Jesus healed him, which happened to be on the Sabbath Day. The Pharisees began questioning him, looking for some explanation for how he could now see.

Formerly Blind Man: He smeared mud on my eyes, and I washed; now I see.

Some Pharisees: God can’t possibly be behind this man because He is breaking the rules of the Sabbath.

Other Pharisees: How can such a lawbreaking scoundrel do something like this?

The Pharisees were at odds with one another about Jesus and could not agree whether His power came from God or the devil.

Pharisees (to the formerly blind man): What do you say about this man, about the fact He opened your eyes so you could see?

Formerly Blind Man: I have no doubt—this man is a prophet.

Some of the Jews suspected the whole situation was a charade, that this man was never blind. So they summoned the man’s parents to testify about his condition.

Pharisees: Is this man your son? Do you testify that he has been blind from birth? How therefore does he now see?

Parents: We can tell you this much: he is our son, and he was born blind. But his new sight is a complete mystery to us! We do not know the man who opened his eyes. Why don’t you ask our son? He is old enough to speak for himself.

The man’s parents were a bit evasive because they were afraid of the Jewish leaders. It had been rumored that anyone who spoke of Jesus as the Anointed One would be expelled from the synagogue. So they deferred the thorny question to their son, and the Pharisees called on him a second time.

Pharisees: Give God the credit. He’s the One who healed you. All glory belongs to God. We are persuaded this man you speak of is a sinner who defies God.

Formerly Blind Man: If this man is a sinner, I don’t know. I am not qualified to say. I only know one thing: I was blind, and now I see.

Pharisees: What did He do to you? How did He give you sight?

Formerly Blind Man: Listen, I’ve already answered all these questions, and you don’t like my answers. Do you really need me to say it all over again? Are you thinking about joining up with Him and becoming His followers?

Pharisees (berating him): You’re one of His followers, but we follow Moses. We have confidence that God spoke to Moses, but this man you speak of is a mystery; we don’t even know where He comes from.

Formerly Blind Man: Isn’t it ironic that you, our religious leaders, don’t even know where He comes from; yet He gave me sight! We know that God does not listen to sinners, but He does respond and work through those who worship Him and do His will. No one has ever heard of someone opening the eyes of any person blind from birth. This man must come from God; otherwise, this miracle would not be possible. Only God can do such things.

Pharisees: You were born under a cloud of sin. How can you, of all people, lecture us?

The religious leaders banished him from their presence. Jesus heard what had happened and sought out the man.

Jesus: Do you believe in the Son of Man?

Formerly Blind Man: I want to believe, Lord. Who is He?

Jesus: You have seen His face with your new eyes, and you are talking to Him now.

Formerly Blind Man: Lord, I do believe.

The man bowed low to worship Jesus.

Jesus: I have entered this world to announce a verdict that changes everything. Now those without sight may begin to see, and those who see may become blind.

Some Pharisees (who overheard Jesus): Surely we are not blind, are we?

Jesus: If you were blind, you would be without sin. But because you claim you can see, your sin is ever present.

The Book of John, Chapter 9 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 41st chapter of the book of Job:

Eternal One: Now let us not stop here.

What of Leviathan?

Can you haul it in on the end of a hook

or strap down its tongue with your line?

Will you subdue it with a fragile reed through its nose

or pierce its jaw with a hook?

Do you imagine it will beg you endlessly for mercy

or lower its voice to a whisper when speaking to you?

Will it strike a deal with you

and enter into your service as a lifelong slave?

Will you play with it as you would a pet bird

or put it on a leash for your girls?

Will traders haggle over its price

and others seek to divide it up among the merchants?

Can you fill its hide with harpoons

or its head with fishing spears?

If you are able to lay a hand on it,

You will remember the struggle all of your days,

and you will never do it again.

Now look, any expectation you could subdue it will be shattered.

Just the sight of it is enough to overpower you.

No one is fierce enough to dare disturb it.

So is there anyone in all the earth who dares to stand up to Me?

Who could ever confront Me and force Me to repay him?

Everything and everyone under heaven is Mine![a]

I will not be silent regarding Leviathan’s powerful limbs,

its enormous strength, or its beautiful form.

Who can reveal what is under its outer armor covering

or penetrate down through its double coat of mail?

Who can pry open its enormous jaws?

Remember: its teeth are a terror from every angle.

Its back is covered with rows of shields

that overlap and shut with a tight seal—

One against another,

so close that no wind passes between them.

They are joined to one another,

inseparably locked.

When it sneezes, light flashes from its nostrils;

its eyes are like the rays of the morning sun.

Fire streams from its mouth

as fiery sparks fly outward.

Smoke pours from its nostrils

as from a boiling pot or a brush fire.

Its searing breath sets coals ablaze;

its flaming tongue darts from its mouth.

Leviathan’s neck bristles with raw power;

terror dances before him.

The creases in its flesh fuse together:

firm, fixed, immovable.

Its heart is rock hard,

as hard as a lower millstone, impervious to grinding.

When the beast rises up and moves near, the mighty ones shudder in fear;

when it crashes down, they retreat.

The sword that reaches it may strike but to no effect,

so, too, the spear, the dart, and the lance.

For it treats iron as straw

and bronze as rotten wood.

The arrow cannot force its retreat,

and the stone from the sling shatters on impact.

A club is no more dangerous to it than a piece of straw;

it taunts and laughs at the rattling lance.

Its underbelly is as sharp as broken pottery shards;

it easily dredges a channel in the mud behind it.

It brings the deep to a rolling boil like a pot over a hot fire;

in its course it stirs the sea like a pot of ointment.

Behind it, the wake is bright and shining,

as if the sea has long white hair.

Nothing on earth is its equal,

this creature fashioned without fear.

It looks upon all the high and mighty—

this king over the children of pride.

The Book of Job, Chapter 41 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, may 18 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that looks at the absolute “Oneness” of God:

The revelation of God in Yeshua means that Ultimate Reality -- that is, the transcendental source of all that exists -- is intensely personal, intimately knowable, and full of love. "Metaphysics" (i.e., that which is "really real") is therefore not about an impersonal force known in objective relationship (i.e., a "what") but a personal agency and creative mind known in subjective relationship (i.e., a "who"). The Scriptures teach that what is ultimately real (אהיה אשׁר אהיה) is the Ultimate Person of the LORD (אני יהוה). In Him we "live and move and have our being" (Acts 17:28).

The LORD who is the Most High, the possessor of heaven and earth (אל עליון קנה שׁמים וארץ) is not just the Creator and Sustainer of all possible worlds, but the Lover and Redeemer of our very souls -- the One who empties himself to become "with us" and who overcomes the sickness of death for us... The climactic expression of the character of Ultimate Reality is revealed at Golgotha, the "place of the skull," where God's sacrificial life in Yeshua destroyed death by the greater power of divine love (Psalm 85:10). The heart of our Lord as he suffered and died for our sins reveals the great compassion of God; it is "ha'makom," the place of his atonement for us; his hidden dark cloud, and his resurrection glory reveals our deliverance from death. God loves us despite knowing all of our sins and yet redeems us from its curse...

We "connect" with the truth of God by means of the instrumentality of faith, and the essential question is whether we are in a "trusting relationship" with God or not, for if we do not truly know God as our loving Savior, we remain lost, in darkness, and alienated from the life of God. Faith is self-authenticating as we experience grace in the exercise of our trust in God.

Practically speaking, our relationship with God "shows up" in our lives by means of the various choices we make, though particularly in our moral choices. That's because righteousness is "ontological," or grounded in what is real. Since God is righteous, doing acts of righteousness partake in God's life and passion (1 John 2:29). On the other hand the practice of sin deadens us and turns us away from God’s Presence...

Love is essentially relational, and therefore the Scriptures reveal God as being in relationship both with others within creation, but also within himself - the One God is unity in plurality of relationship: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (John 17:24). The "I AM" of God (Being) is also known in the "Thou Art" of God (Doing). God is not only the Eternal Lover but also the Eternal Beloved, and the bond of that love is the Spirit of God "hovering above the depths." "Draw near to me, hear this: from the beginning I have not spoken in secret, from the time anything came to be there I AM, and now the Lord GOD has sent me, and his Spirit" (Isa. 48:16). Note in this verse the transpersonal unity of the Godhead.... Now while the Torah certainly affirms that "God is one" (יהוה אחד), note that the word "one" (i.e., echad: אֶחָד) means something more than merely numerical identity (i.e., yechidut: יְחִידוּת) but instead unity in plurality, a "transcendental oneness" that points to the unfathomable mystery of the Name YHVH (יהוה) and the ineffable Godhead (אֵין סוֹף). God is love means that he is the Lover, the Beloved, and the Communion of true love in all possible worlds.

The doctrine of the tripartite-yet-one divine nature (השילוש הקדוש) is not known apart from the revelation of Yeshua, and it is an essential part of His message of redemption to us (John 17:3). In other words, if you believe that Yeshua embodies and reveals the "Who" of Ultimate Reality, then you will accept his teaching that God is expressed in relationship - the Son in relation to the Father and to the Holy Spirit, and that these three are "echad," or one... “The Father has borne witness of me; whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 5:37; 14:9); “I and the Father are one”; “before Abraham was, I am...” “who is the liar but he who denies that Yeshua is the Messiah? This is the antichrist, he who denies the Father and the Son” (1 John 2:22). Believers in the Lord are commissioned to go and make students (תלמידים) of all the nations, baptizing them (i.e., identifying them) in the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit” (Matt. 28:19).

There are various clues given throughout Scripture about God’s divine nature (Rom. 1:20). The Torah itself begins with intimations of the "One-in-the-Many" character of God. When we read, "In the beginning, God (אֱלהִים) created the heavens and the earth," we must ask who exactly is speaking? In other words, who is the divine narrator of the Torah? The next verse states that the Spirit of God (רוח אלהים) was hovering over the face of the waters, followed by the first “direct quote” of God Himself: i.e., יְהִי אוֹר: "Let there be light" (Gen. 1:2-3). The creative activity of Elohim (God) and the presence of Ruach Elohim (the Spirit of God) are therefore narrated by an omniscient Voice or Davar Elohim (the Word of God). Obviously the Spirit of God is God Himself, just as the Word of God is likewise God Himself, and consequently the very first verses of the Torah reveal the nature of the Godhead: God is One in the sense of echdut, “unity,” “oneness,” and so on, though not “one” in the monistic sense of a solipsistic mind (νοῦς). Indeed, a monistic idea of God (i.e., God as "absolute" oneness) is inherently self-absorbed and unable to accommodate being outside of itself. Such a god may serve as an "unmoved mover" or "first cause" of a cosmic machine, but it is not relational within itself. Indeed, there can be no sense of “person” apart from relationship, and therefore God’s Personhood is as eternal as his Being.

Yeshua is the Source of all life in the universe: כָּל־הַמַּעֲשִׂים נִהְיוּ עַל־יָדוֹ / "All things were made by Him (John 1:3). The "Word made flesh" is the "image of the invisible God" and the "radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint (χαρακτήρ, 'character') of his nature" (Col. 1:15). All of creation is being constantly upheld by the word of His power (Heb. 1:3): "All things were created by Him (i.e., Yeshua), and for Him" and in Him all things consist (συνεστηκεν, lit. "stick together") (Col. 1:16-17). As our Creator and Master of the Universe, Yeshua is both our King and our Judge, and therefore our lives center upon him... Ultimate Reality is found in the presence of Yeshua our LORD, and eternal life is found in Him alone: "For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Yeshua the Messiah" (2 Cor. 4:6). “And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit” (2 Cor. 3:18).

“The grace of the Lord Yeshua the Messiah (האדון ישׁוע), and the love of God (אהבת האלהים), and the communion of the Holy Spirit (רוח הקדשׁ), be with you all” (2 Cor. 13:14). [Hebrew for Christians]

5.18.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

May 18, 2021

The Message of the Old Testament

“Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I am God, and there is none else.” (Isaiah 45:22)

Ever since sin entered into God’s created world, His message to all people of all ages has been the same. At the time of the curse, God prophesied that there soon would be a coming Redeemer—the seed of the woman who would crush the head of the serpent, although the Redeemer Himself would be made to suffer in order to do away with the effects of sin (Genesis 3:15). “For the life of the flesh is in the blood: and I have given it to you upon the altar to make an atonement for your souls: for it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul” (Leviticus 17:11).

God repeatedly warned the people of His hatred of sin and wickedness (see, for example, Psalm 5:4-6; Proverbs 6:16-19), but He recognized that humankind was totally incapable of measuring up to His standard of perfection. That great statement of righteous requirements, the Ten Commandments, demonstrated the utter impossibility of complete compliance (Exodus 20; Psalm 14; etc.). Conversely, God repeatedly extended His invitation to be rescued from sin and its effects and its necessary judgment by confidence in His plan for mankind. In our text, we see that “all the ends of the earth” have the opportunity to be “saved.” “Surely, shall one say, in the LORD have I righteousness and strength: even to him shall men come” (Isaiah 45:24).

This plan of God focuses on the promised Redeemer who would come to buy back humanity from its enslavement to sin. “A virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel” (Isaiah 7:14). “He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities:...and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all” (Isaiah 53:5-6). JDM

[yeoldontknow]

Hero 7: (M)

Author’s Note: this chapter is a monster, literally a monster. i have been staring at this thing for about a week, and it could have been even longer, what is wrong with me. anyway, i really truly hope you enjoy this chapter because my heart and soul went into this one. we’re finally moving guys, look at as go! 0-100, ain’t no stopping now. enjoy loves! Song for this chapter: Carrion Flowers - Chelsea Wolfe Genre: Vampire!Chanyeol; horror; thriller; suspense; drama; eventual smut Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Rating (this chapter): M Warnings: graphic sexual situations; graphic violence; blood/gore; ritual sacrifice; explicit language; PLEASE, PLEASE TREAD LIGHTLY Word count: 7,866 why tf

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Ceremony. 

You turn this word over in your mind for hours, breaking it apart and putting it back together again until it seemingly takes a new shape; it becomes something new, something different, something dark. Words, to you, are the most subtle of weapons, an arsenal of infinite proportions comprised only of twenty-seven letters and you’ve always been proud of how utterly sharp yours have grown to be. They’ve been cultivated and crafted over years of sparring matches with your older siblings, your cousins, friends, boyfriends. You’ve used words to cut and sever, used them to soothe and heal, and now you think you think you’ve finally met someone who uses them to kill.

Yixing let the word fall from his lips with a foreboding sense of doom that tasted like gunmetal, and you noticed almost immediately the way the atmosphere seemed to shift around it - making room to let it linger without having to get too close, without having to touch it. Just like Yixing, the word is dichotomous in nature - both beautiful and sinister, aggressive and jovial. And, just like Yixing, it's very nature - its semantics - is nothing without context.

Considering the confines of your situation, the reality of the world you find yourself in, you decide this context affords little room for love and light. Ceremonies take multiple different shapes, many as forms celebrations of new life, new futures, new hope. This, you think, is the true meaning of celebration - something welcomed and desired with wide eyes and wide smiles. Celebration here, in shadows of this damned world, is limited. You can’t imagine the essence of it in the tin and concrete of the building; any that dares brave these walls is likely reserved for death - either of an enemy or an inconvenience, though you don’t think there’s much difference between the two.

Knowing your context means ceremony is the wrong word, a word used to pacify and trick you - a word used by a man made of nothing but false securities to coddle and calm you.

Knowing your context means ceremony gets shattered and replaced altogether. You rearrange the pieces and build yourself a new word. You build yourself the truth.

Ritual.

They dress ceremony up, make it pretty with intent, kiss at it with tongues that handle syllables like treasure, but you think these are two different things. These are words that should never be considered synonyms. With ritual in your head, this world starts to make sense, starts to have rules and an order that you’ve been trying desperately to ignore. Ritual has loomed in the dark shadows of these walls for days, even before you arrived, hovering around the cage with purpose. And, now that you’ve acknowledged it, images start to form in your head. All of them are brutal and none of them end with your survival, and suddenly you start to feel very aware of the blood flowing in your veins.

For the first time in your life, you give it concentration, consideration. You absolutely will yourself to hear it - to truly listen to how utterly alive you are. The throbbing of your pulse in your ears has never sounded so fragile or finite. It’s been steady and reliable, something easily ignored and relied upon, your blood moving in a concentric circle from the day you were conceived but now you start to imagine a thin line from your throat to an open, expectant mouth.

You’re well read, you’re smart. You’ve never been naive, and you think you start to understand why you’ve been left with animals for so long. No cross-contamination between you and the guests of honor; don't play with your food; what is there to do with all of this meat?

Part of you knows you should be scared. Part of you knows you should be weeping over the sudden finite proportions of your life, but you’ve spent days waiting to die and all you can manage is a grim sort of relief that takes wistful forms of I knew it and at least it will finally be over.

The metal door swings open and you hold your breath, almost overwhelmed by the sense of urgency behind the push. Yixing is always cautious and gentle with it, letting you know he’s on the other side before you can even see or smell him, and Chanyeol enters the room like he assumes you’ve been waiting for him - elegant and grandiose. This is an ugly, abrupt swing that sends the door ricocheting off the wall and the noise of it makes you tremble. Even when he was dragging a chair behind him, Chanyeol was still somewhat quiet and composed in his judgement of you.

Two men you don’t recognize enter with gruff footsteps, faces stoic and impassive, and they say nothing as they approach the door to the cage. They don’t acknowledge you as it opens, all its locks coming apart with a din that sounds like a death toll, nor do they bother to speak to you as they reach towards you with outstretched hands. One extends his arm next to you, a hook attached to a leash held tightly in his fist, and your eyes widen at the sight. You dodge him easily only to realize he was not aiming for you, but for the pig at your side.

You've spent days in the cage naming the goats and pigs, calling them your companions, your bed mates, your friends. A small feeling of guilt and sadness settles in your heart, making it drop slightly, when you realize that every animal has a collar with a latch and it's easy to understand where they would be lead. You’ve been sleeping with a herd, sleeping with food stock. Bile rises in your throat as you think of all the meals Yixing has given you, and why you never once questioned where they were getting all the protein. 

The other man interrupts your thoughts by gripping your ankle and dragging you along the cage floor. You topple backwards, the sudden weight on your wrists making you yelp, and you kick your other leg at everything and nothing hoping to break away by sheer force of will. 

He starts to laugh at the sight of you, how you twist and writhe trying to loosen his hold. It only makes his grip tighten, the strength of his arm suddenly so powerful you feel as though you are fighting against steel and you resign to letting yourself be pulled. Your stillness makes him purse his lips and you think he was expecting you to plead or beg or cry, but you're very used to this game and you aren't in the mood to start losing.

As he lifts you up and out of the cage, gripping your shirt and yanking until your legs extend and straighten, you realize how tense you are. You’ve not been able to stand for days, and your knees are throbbing with an ache that extends deep into the bones of your shins. Everything below your hips is painfully stiff, numbed to stone and asleep, so you stagger forward with the effort of keeping yourself upright. A cold hand clenches your wrist, fingers digging into the skin beyond the ropes, as he wrenches you back against his chest, and all at once you aren’t alone in your head.

Do not speak. Walk where I guide. Do not make any attempt to run.

You have the passing sensation you’ve been punched in the chest as you realize these thoughts in your head are not created or spoken in your voice, and your breathing starts to come in shallow huffs. You think this is what influence is, that maybe D.O. isn’t the only one with this gift, but suddenly the voice is back.

This is not influence. I can read and put thoughts in your head. Don’t bother trying to hide anything from me. I can see it all. If D.O. were here there’d be little hope for you, bitch.

And so because you remember Yixing saying connections feel like a door, because you know that if D.O. were here, his influence would have no effect on you, you suddenly understand you’ve been going about this all wrong. Now, you force yourself into this man’s head because you know these gifts can work both ways. If he wanted to take, so would you, you'd take everything from him with greedy, hungry hands, and you’d feel no remorse for never once considering his permission.

Immediately, you come to regret your gumption. The words in his head are jumbled but the images are not. The images are crystal clear and visceral, and they make you bite your tongue to keep from screaming.

There are almost too many for you to focus on, most of them red and angry and brutal, but one - the most detailed and explicit of all - is of you. You're naked, at least what he believes you'd look like naked, and you're splayed out on a table. Your legs are spread wide, delicately spread eagled, and you are looking off in a distance, eyes glassy and vacant, with the whisper of a scream still seeping from your lips. There's long slice marks on your wrists and you are bleeding, in an almost graceful fashion, into crystal glasses on the floor below. This alone would be enough to insight horror deep within your soul, the act of making your murder into a work of art, but you can see him, his head between your thighs and his fangs out, biting, lapping, and sucking at your sex turning your most sensitive parts into raw pulp.

With your tongue against your teeth, pressing in fitful desperation to keep silent, and your jaw clenched, you keep your thoughts empty as shove against his consciousness with one vicious image of your own.

He wanted to take, so you took. He wanted your death to be clear and beautiful and perfect, and so would his.

It’s complicated and strenuous, moving against the threads of his mind to stabilize yourself, more than you thought it would be and a sheen of sweat starts to build along your hairline from the focus. But you gather the pieces of what you want him to see, arranging them first in your head before placing them behind his eyes like the film of a movie.

You, in front of him, naked and sitting up on that table. You, knife in your hands and fist clenched. You, dragging the knife along the center of his throat until he’s bleeding. He’s bleeding all over your hands and arms, so much you’re covered in smears of him, and you’re laughing. It’s a cold, unfeeling laugh, that tastes like bullets and you salivate. You could paint yourself with all the blood he’s lost - you think you look beautiful like this. Him, dead in a heap at your feet and you, walking away from the table as you lick your fingers and lips with a smile. 

Task complete, you find yourself gasping for breath, exhausted from the concentration of building something so clear without having learned the art of telepathy. But you know he’s seen it, you know he’s seen every detail, because his free hand clenches your throat as he presses you against his chest, tight and unyielding, mouth against your ear in hot, sticky breaths in direct contrast with the cold marble of his hands.

‘Don’t be bold. Bold will get you killed, and I am starving.’

His words rumble against your eardrum as he pushes you off of him abruptly, thrusting you forward on your weary legs with such force you fall to the floor. You choke back a sob as your teeth connect with your tongue as you hit the ground, arms unable to catch your fall. Within moments, you’re lifted up by your hair and you clamber with all your might to stand, to be free, to fight. 

Keep fighting me and I will have your heart.

A strong arm is wrapped around your waist, guiding and essentially carrying you as you flail, but it's no use. His hands are strong and large, commanding. You're trapped against him, and you’re tired down to the marrow of your bones, so you decide to conserve energy and take to learning the route he takes as he pushes you into the hallway.

Memorizing without thinking, you find, is a skill much easier to learn than telepathy. Head empty you simply watch, keeping your face blank and your eyes active.

Right out the door, then left, pass four doors then left again. You push through double doors and go down some stairs to take a right.

He shoves you through wide doors not far from the stairs and you find yourself in a large room filled with lopsided pews and elaborate wooden panels lining the walls. The space is wide enough to fit about one hundred people, but it’s not the scope of the room that captures your attention, nor is it the way the pews have been haphazardly bolted into the floor. No, it’s what lingers in the back of the room that commands your attention as you are pushed down the makeshift aisle. 

A platform has been created at the back of the room, raised about three feet from the ground and spanning the length of the wall. In its center is a large wooden chair, almost the size of what you might consider a throne, and it is lined almost entirely with red candles, along the back and arms. They have been lit, now and before, all melting in different shapes and sizes, giving the chair the eerie effect as though it is bleeding. In front of the chair is a large slab of concrete, covered with a sheet of ivory cloth. Resting on top is one large, intricately designed silver chalice and next to it, a large cutting knife.

You know this is an altar. You know this room is meant to represent all the icons and idols of what they consider to be religion. In any other world, you think being in a chapel or temple would bring you comfort, that you finally found faith and hope in a world filled with so much darkness. Instead, your chest is constructed, struggling to breathe as your lungs fill with dread. It's hard for you to ignore the obvious red stains adorning the base of the concrete, how they seem to spill from the stone and onto the floor as if they were attempting to move throughout the room - flooding it with malicious intent.

You are shoved into a pew at the very front of the room, and you drop awkwardly into the wood as your guide comes to sit next to you.

You will sit and you will watch. Say nothing. You are here because sire wishes you to be.

The words travel around your mind with a rough growl, deep and filled with many things best left unsaid. You are a guest in their world. To disrespect means to die. Most importantly, this is a test. 

There’s an anxiety that has been brimming under your skin, seeping out of your pores like sweat the minute you laid eyes on your guide, and now, with him pressed so tightly against your side, you are almost paralyzed. Normally, you’re curious. Normally, you observe and learn your surroundings with an exactness found only among hunters, but now you choose to keep your eyes forward. You plaster what you think resembles disinterest on your features and remind yourself to blink. 

Eyes focused on the panels adorning the walls, you study the intricacy of their designs and patterns, the stories they tell as you feel more people arrive behind you. They are staring at you, hungry for you, willing you to meet their scrutiny and to acknowledge how badly they’d like to bleed you dry. You can feel how intensely they crave you, and you know it’s because you shouldn’t be here. You are neither meant to bear witness to this nor, and you think this is more likely, should your presence be on a pew, you should be laid out on the altar waiting for them. 

Behind you, someone takes a long inhale of breath and you know they are smelling you, pulling all of your pieces from the air to dance along their senses. The man next to you can feel your shoulders bristling and he drags his nail on the inside of your wrist, twisting between the ropes to scratch away at you.

 Get used to it, bitch. You have no idea how sweet you are.

You’ve been chewing on your bottom lip for so long, you’re only aware you’re bleeding until you taste the iron on your tongue. Licking up the mess you’ve made, you keep staring at the panels and one behind the throne catches your attention.

It’s a man, a man you assume is Chanyeol given the height and the elegance of him, arms outstretched beneath the moon. A dragon is wrapped at his feet, curled there for comfort and possibly honor, head bowed in esteem. Beneath Chanyeol’s open hands, an oak tree is taking root, sprouting from the earth with dignity and poise. The longer you look, the more you see the true essence of love and worship, the image becoming a symbol of respect, equality, and magic.

The carving is ornate and striking in its craftsmanship, but you don’t find yourself enamored with its construction rather you find all elements of the display to be familiar in some way. You feel briefly as though you’ve seen the image before, or at least that you have recognized each piece to make it whole before you even rested your eyes on it. You find it beautiful. You find it comforting.

The din of the room suddenly falls silent as the doors are pushed open roughly, and you watch as seven regal looking men enter the room in a line. Their dress is unusual, not the typical black army boots and fatigues you've seen on your captors, or even the basic black denim Yixing regularly sports. Instead, they are dressed impeccably in black suits with metal plated shoulder casings, each man swishing a silk cape in various bold colours. Backs rigid and held in perfectly straight lines, they march to the end of the room before flanking each end of the altar with postures found only on those of high military ranks.

Immediately, your eyes find Yixing. He’s standing on your side of the altar, close to your pew and he’s staring at you with warm, kind eyes that hold the echo of sympathy. Behind his gaze, you see him willing you to understand that this will not be easy for you, but you are supported and welcomed; he is happy you are here and things will make sense soon. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so truly beautiful, his eyes a brilliant, rich amber- signifying that he’s fed and healthy - and he looks clean, skin glowing from the inside out. He’s remarkable and radiant, and you find yourself wilting slightly beneath his gaze knowing that the gold of his beauty is nothing but an amorous sort of danger. 

Next to him, however, is a man that you find painful to look at. Even as you regarded Yixing, your eyes strained to keep focus because he is blinding, too bright to truly discern beneath the hot white of his glow. After several moments, your eyes adjust, you see him, and you feel as though you are eclipsing the sun.  

He stares straight ahead and you are glad for it, knowing that if he looked directly at you, you would surely melt. Where Yixing glows from the inside out, making warmth with his presence, this man is the light - he's all the light in the world and you are blistering beneath him. Light bends to him, is born from him, and follows only him. You think this is what an angel is supposed to be, that this is what every Renaissance artist was trying to depict when they made halos and tried to control the light.

You realize he's laughing, someone next to him has made him smile, and as he settles back into a quiet, complacent expression, so too does the light dim. In the aftermath of his joy, you think you've finally learned the true meaning of awe.

You wonder briefly if all these men glow, or radiate in some way, and you drag your eyes across their faces allowing yourself to be taken by their energy.

Moving your eyes across their line, you see them all in quick succession: one sending a chill down your spine despite the warmth of his eyes, another making your skin tingle with static electricity, another, the most regal of them all, somehow making you feel as though your lungs are filled with water

Most bewildering to you is the man on the left side of the altar, his cape a deep royal purple and his full lips set into a soft expression of concentration. You see him. You know he is there, but you have the passing sensation he isn't there at all. When you pull your eyes away, you almost forget what he looks like or that you'd even seen him at all, the memory of him disappearing as soon as he is no longer in view. The air around him seems to ripple, as though he moves differently through the world than all the rest.

Beside him, you can feel D.O.’s hard stare as it moves over your face. Everything about him makes you feel rooted to the earth, the ground almost becoming a cavern to swallow you whole, but when you finally think you're brave enough to return his stare, he looks more quizzical than anything. He doesn't look cruel or malicious as you remember him, he simply looks frustrated. You're reminded Yixing had said he was apologetic, but this is not how you expect remorse to look. There's no element of softness to him, just a scowl that makes his brow look withered.

All at once, the men flanking the altar start to hum in a low intonation that is so quiet it takes you a moment to hear it at all. Their eyes are closed and they almost look transcendent, mouths once held in stern lines softening to almost form smiles within the music.

The door opens in the back and suddenly you're lifted to stand by the collar of your shirt. Chanyeol makes his way down the aisle, hands clasped behind his back as we walks, the train of a crimson cape flowing behind him like pools of blood trailing at his feet. You don't fail to notice the bandolier of wooden bullets draped over his chest in an X, but you almost can’t imagine him without it, without the symbols of war. 

When he reaches the altar, you notice the humming now consumes the room. That everyone, not just those on the platform, have joined in and are harmonizing. Chanyeol positions himself in front of the throne and raises his hand as a request for silence, sitting gently in the chair with cold eyes and soft lips. Back relaxed and resting against the wood, you watch as the flames of the candles seem to bend to him, calling and beckoning his skin to their touch, desperate to hold, and taste, and burn. He seems at home in the fire, the colour making his skin look alive and vital, and turning his lips pink.  

Now that he’s seated, you expect everyone to sit with him, however once again they turn towards the door with heads bowed, whispering words in a language you can almost understand but the cadence is off. The language moves through your mind and is too slippery for you to hold, so it drifts through the air and you let yourself luxuriate in the sounds as a tall, slim man with a black cape and a severe brow approaches Chanyeol as though we were approaching God.

Looking at him is even more difficult than looking at the gentleman in the purple cape, though at least you can remember this one when you look away. Again, the air ripples and swirls around him as he moves but it doesn't give you the impression that he isn't there, or never was. Instead you get the sense that he makes the air, controls it, and it is parting for him, its father, out of respect.

He comes to kneel in front of the altar, long limbs gracefully bending in unison with his head, and Chanyeol regards him with what could only be described as a fond expression. It settles deftly on his pink and yellow features, and you find yourself admiring him. 

As Chanyeol rises to stand, the flames of the candles grow larger, as if coming to stand with him, and warping as though they are whining at his absence. He pays them no mind and motions for everyone to sit with soft hands.

 ‘Today is a rite of passage and honour,’ he begins, voice strong and commanding attention. ‘Today is an act of pride. Today, we welcome Oh Sehun, once named and twice born, through the HeTao gates and into the arms of the brotherhood.’

He brings his eyes to Sehun who remains kneeling, bowed dutifully at the altar with piety, and you watch as a smile, a real genuine smile crosses his lips; this alone leaves you breathless in its wake.

‘You may stand, Sehun, and greet your brothers.’ There's a gentleness in his voice, an air of admiration resonating in the deep timbre, that bewilders you slightly. He's been cold and cruel with you, arrogant and political, and never did you think he had it in him to devote himself to tenderness.

Sehun rises, expressionless save for the twinkling of life behind his eyes. A light seems to linger in his irises, swirls of joy, veneration, and respite mixing in the dark shade. To you, this kind of life seems out of place, unfathomable in its brilliance. He turns to face the rest of the coven and his fists clench at his sides, from discomfort or emotion you cannot be sure. 

‘Two hundred years,’ Chanyeol continues, ‘Sehun has served this coven without rank and without oath to prove his worth - the first and maybe last to do this. Two hundred years, Sehun has filled every role within our brotherhood and today, he joins our rank as General.’

This seems to catch Sehun off guard, and his expression falters, becoming one of shock as he turns slightly to regard Chanyeol before remembering himself and locking all these intimate pieces of himself away from prying eyes. You don't think he was expecting this and, giving the whispers throughout the room, you don't think anyone else did either. 

‘You may face me, Sehun,’ Chanyeol says, evenly.

‘You have killed for me, and bled for me,’ he says, voice low and deep, but somehow soothing and affected. ‘You have burned for me, and saved me. You have protected this brotherhood as if your oath had been bled with your mortal birth. You have mastered our armory - I daresay you know it better than I.’

Light rumbles of chuckling seem to vibrate throughout the room at this. The joke, if there was one, is lost on you. 

‘Your allegiance is unprecedented and proved; this rank is deserved.’ He reaches a hand across the altar, and Sehun takes it warily, still unable to comprehend the offer being given to him. They shake only once, and Chanyeol hardens himself only for a moment as he speaks.

‘Does anyone object?’

No voices ring out, but there is reverent applause as Sehun faces his brothers with wet eyes and clenched fists. For a moment, you feel a certain affinity for Sehun. He seems to be just as unprecedented as you.

‘Then we continue with the oath. Bring the pig.’

From the right side of the room, a small door is opened and a man enters carrying the pig taken with you, only now it is limp and unconscious. The man bows briefly to Chanyeol, and then to Sehun, before placing the animal on the altar.

You know exactly where this is going. You know where this is going and you don’t want to look, so you close your eyes and are relieved, if only slightly, that no howl or wail will be made from the animal today. The only sound is the wet noise of skin being cut and blood starting to flow. 

Opening your eyes, they start to water slightly at the sight of the white cloth stained crimson and the blood from the animal’s throat weeping into a cup waiting below in Sehun’s hand. Even after the goblet is placed back on the altar, the animal continues to bleed and you feel a deep remorse at the sight. They’ve placed great emphasis on brotherhood this evening, and this pig was your companion.

Chanyeol lifts his right arm and starts to roll up his sleeve, and Sehun does the same, mirroring everything from his expression to his brisk movements. Taking the knife in his left hand, he drags the blade across his wrist and turns the wound over the chalice, clenching and unclenching his hand to make his blood flow like water. Once satisfied, he hands the blade to Sehun who does the same. In unison, they raise their wrists to each other’s mouths and the lick at the cuts.

Sehun places his right hand on the cup’s rim, wrist now perfectly healed, and begins to speak.

‘My devotion to this coven shall be as unwavering as the flame to your skin,’ he pledges, and the sound of his voice catches you off guard. He’s young, almost a child in tone, but he speaks with sincerity befit for a king.

‘Today I gain brothers of a new life, and new life shall be served, honored, and protected. Should I bring harm to my brothers, may my throat be cut by each of their hands. Should I betray my brothers, may my throat be cut by each of their hands. Should I dishonor my brothers, may the wind of my soul be used against me. Should I dishonor my Sire, may the flames of this coven burn me alive for eternity. Should what I say be false, may your flames consume my soul.’

There’s a pause, and you realize that everyone has turned their eyes to the candles lining the throne, waiting on its actions with baited breath. Only now do you understand that Sehun meant this literally: the flames will tell Chanyeol if he is lying or disloyal. The fire will decide his face.

The flames only seems to spark and dance, and this satisfies the coven who release their tension with quiet sighs. 

‘My devotion to you shall be as unwavering as the air in your lungs,’ Chanyeol begins, placing his right hand over Sehun’s. He stares him directly in the eyes, with admiration and respect, and continues. ‘Today I gain a brother in this new life, and new life shall be served, honored, and protected. Should any harm befall you at my actions, may my throat be cut by our brothers’ hands. Should you be taken against your will, used for ransom, used as a prisoner of war, I will find you, or may the energy of our brothers pierce my heart like swords. Should I fail to protect you at any turn, from any threat, may a silver sword pierce my heart and a wooden bullet find my skull. Should what I say be false, may your air strangle my lungs.’

You look back at the flame, expecting its judgement, but soon realize this is not where you focus should be centered. A breeze seems to be blowing through Chanyeol’s hair, a gust of wind surrounding him and only him. And now you understand why Sehun moves so easily through the air: the air belongs to him.

‘Blood of my blood, blood of your blood, blood of life. We three are bound for eternity by choice and by respect,’ Chanyeol whispers, satisfied and smiling in the aftermath of the current.

‘Blood of my blood, blood of your blood. Our blood.’

Chanyeol lifts the chalice, now filled to the brim with blood, to his lips and drinks, whole mouthfuls spilling down his throat, eyes closed as though he were praying. When finished, he passes the cup to Sehun, who reaches for it with an unsteady hand. He does not seem nervous or regretful - his posture too sure and resolute to be wavering - you think perhaps he is overcome with relief.

‘Blood of my blood, blood of your blood. Our blood,’ he repeats, and he drinks with the same rapture on his face.

He places the cup back on the table next to the still bleeding pig, and you watch as the flames on the back of the throne grow taller, becoming wide and large, and the men flanking Chanyeol’s side step away. All at once, the fire turn to wings behind his back, elegant and enormous. And Sehun, still and proud, releases a sigh that forces a gust of wind throughout the room, smoke from the blaze gathering behind him to deliver him large wings of his own.

You're awestruck and dumbfounded, but this visual seems the only likely conclusion to these oaths: their elements, their souls, are bound. Now, they are pieces of each other’s whole, incomplete should they ever become separated.

You watch this all unfold, the back of your neck prickling with unease as you watch Sehun and Chanyeol regard each other with red lips like lovers, wings fading to memory. Part of you finds it unnerving to think that all these men had looked up at Chanyeol this way, eyes wide with ardor and desperate to be sired. It isn’t hard to imagine each one approaching the altar with a reverence reserved for their wedding day. And, perhaps, that is exactly what this is, a marriage and a baptism, binding yourself to one man and one idol only - your sire.

‘Name yourself, my brother, now at the time of your second life,’ Chanyeol says, a bright air to his voice you find uncharacteristic for this world.

‘I keep my mortal name Sehun,’ is the adamant, quick reply. 

Yixing told you a vampire has three names and said clearly, one of the few things you understood about this world, that the sire gives his members their second name. You had asked why Yixing had been so named twice, and now you understood: Chanyeol never named his members on their behalf, he let them choose. Every man in the room has named themselves of their own volition.

It strikes you now why Yixing had stressed there was always a choice, why he had pressed the notion that kindness existed here in small, unseen spaces. No man is here out of the loss of free will or by force, they each have chosen to be here - to serve and protect. And Chanyeol, as detached and violent and furious he is, has chosen to guard them with the whole of himself, every fibre of his being becoming a thread of gratitude for their service and judgement.

‘You will choose your third name after war. I pray it is never earned.’

They bow to each other, and you think this seems odd, though you aren’t sure why you’re surprised. Chanyeol has made it clear he is the conven’s sire, but he bows to his men and handles them as though they are his equals. This, you think, is the only truly consistent thing about him. 

Sehun rises and walks behind the altar, flanking the left side to stand beside the man in purple and D.O. turns to offer him a smile - a large, full smile that makes his eyes appear soft. Your breath hitches in your chest, awed and baffled that such natural love could radiate from a man you thought to be harder and colder than steel. You see him now, for who he really is, and find yourself believing Yixing against your better judgment. 

‘Kindness exists in unseen places.’

‘Our brotherhood is stronger now that we are all one. Our blood flows in and between, forever amongst ourselves. We stand to serve and protect.’

The rest of the coven repeats ‘to serve and protect’ before rising to stand and offering each general a bow. Assuming the ritual is over, you start to stand on your own, preferring not to be guided by an almost abusive guide. You’ve barely lifted from the pew when a strong hand presses on your shoulder and forces back into the wood.

You will wait. Sire expects you. 

Comprehending what you have seen is strenuous and daunting, every moment of the evening simply too full to be handled by your mortal hands. You've thought it both beautiful and terrifying, remarkable and horrible, and you find it truly unbelievable to have witnessed any sort of love or fraternity in this room. But of all the things you've seen, only one truly stays with you - because it directly effects you, it’s about you.

You've stayed with the pigs, you've named them, and cared for them. The first words directed at you were a reduction of your humanity to nothing more than meat. You've stayed with the pigs and you've seen the ritual, thus you've seen your future. You are a sacrifice, and you've been nurtured and fed to be full and bloated only to spill over into their eager throats.

Now that you know this, you refuse to sit idly by and not fight. You've been called hero over and over again, and now you decide you will live up to the name if only to save yourself.

Slithering out from under his grasp, you make to run towards the side of the altar, hoping to get to the door where the pig was brought through. You’re nearly there, you can see it, and you know you are fast, but strong arms wrap around your waist, lifting and carrying you away. You scream with all your might, kicking your legs as the hands that hold you move around your torso, and suddenly you are everywhere and nowhere at once.

You see the world behind your eyes, time and places blending together to shatter your concept of temporality. There is purple here, secretly presiding in every location until you are drowning in violet. This only makes you scream harder, the knowledge of who is holding you crashing through your senses but you can’t see him at all, and your chest starts to ache with the force of your shouting. 

‘Minseok, please!’ Chanyeol demands, though you are unable to see him.

And suddenly you are cold. So cold you can barely move. A finger has been placed against your lips to silence you and you have no choice but to obey. Your back is tense and aching, and your legs drop to the floor like lead, their fight halted altogether. You are passive and complacent now, body chilled to ice, and the man you thought looked so warm hovers in front of your vision whispering ‘I’m sorry.’

It’s easy now, so easy, to drag you from the room and into the hall. You can’t turn your head to watch the route, your skin nothing but a polar blaze, burning with cold to the very core of your soul, but you know you’re going back to the cage. This, you think, is what breaking feels like, a shattering of will so complete and absolute you wonder if death itself has already found you and this has been your hell. 

Eventually, you enter a room and as soon as you are released, the world gathers at your feet and the warmth returns to your body as though you’ve never been cold at all. You’re suddenly too warm, and you turn to see Chanyeol standing in front of you with a frown as the men in blue and purple swiftly leave the room.

You don’t give him time to scold you. You’re furious. Furious in a way you don’t think you’ve felt in years, and you don’t care that you were guest of honor, you don’t care that he’s shown you your future as though it’s an act of kindness. You want him to bleed with you.

‘What the fuck was that?’ you shout. ‘Am I supposed to feel privileged to have witnessed the death of an innocent animal? Am I supposed to feel proud I’m some kind of fucking sacrifice?’

Chanyeol steps close to you in one stride, close enough so that his face is inches from yours. Any other man, and you think your breath would catch from the intimacy, but instead your rage only burns brighter.

‘You are only a sacrifice if that is your wish,’ he seethes. 

‘Then why are you holding me here?’ you demand. ‘What the fuck is the point of this? I’m just going to stay here and watch you marry or fucking baptize grown men at your leisure for the rest of my life?’

His hand raises as though he were making to hit you, and you don’t flinch. You don’t grant him the pleasure. Instead, his hand pauses by your temple as he remembers himself. 

‘You have insulted my coven and my honour far enough. Next time, my hand will fly freely.’ 

‘I fucking dare you,’ you whisper. ‘You’ve had me in a fucking cage for days, you think I’m stupid? You think you need to prove your power to me?’

‘You have yet to see how truly cruel I can be. You have been spoiled, hero.’

You cock your head back and cackle. ‘You’ve treated me like a prisoner of war.’

‘Are you truly so ignorant to think that is not precisely what you are?’ he shouts, and the closeness of his voice sends you stepping back a step from the force. ‘I had to initiate a young vampire centuries before his true wish because you started a war.’ 

There’s holes in his story, too many moments of kindness and threats unfulfilled that make you question every word he says.

‘If I’m a prisoner of war, why feed me? Do I really need to keep asking why I’m still alive? Why I was in a cage when you’ve made it so clear you’d be happy to kill me?’

He steps forward again, matching the step you took in the wake of his shouts to come close, close enough you feel his breathing. 

‘I am not in the habit of taking in human strays. The cage was to mask your scent so you wouldn’t immediately become a feast.’ Chanyeol whispers the words against your skin and close to your cheek in hot waves, and, against your best intention, you shiver. I feel there is use for you, yet.’

He pulls back then, searching your face for your reaction. You keep every thread of your shock and confusion locked tightly away from his gaze, pressing them into dark corners and keep your face cold.

With an exasperated exhale, Chanyeol leans back and gestures to the room you are in.

‘This room is where you will stay. My apologies that it took so long to prepare. You were uninvited.’

The words fall from his mouth with a slight air of sarcasm, but you know that he means what he says. Turning to glance at your surroundings, you see he’s prepared a large bed for you with one cotton sheet and two large, but lumpy, pillows. A water basin rests in the corner and a wooden closet stands directly opposite. 

‘The walls are coated in petroleum to mask your smell. I’ll finally be able to sleep without you permeating my fucking bedroom.’

You turn back to face him then, and are shocked to find an element of laughter on his face as he chuckles at his own joke. For one, short moment, he looks human.

‘How do you know I won’t run?’ you ask, although your words are not as sharp as you hoped.

‘Because it’s not in your best interest to,’ he responds, plainly.

As loathe as you are to admit it, you know that if you run you will be caught and found, likely punished in whatever twisted way his imagination fancies. But, though he is right, you know you will still try. And the gift of this room may be the flaw in whatever plan he thinks he has. 

So you shrug your shoulders and acquiesce.

‘Okay.’

He cocks an eyebrow at you. ‘Don’t lie. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘My hands are still bound, what fucking escape plan do you think I have?’ you say, shortly.

‘About that,’ he says to himself before reaching for you. He turns you quickly and holds your shoulders with strong, warm hands.

This is a position you’ve been in before, back grazing a man’s chest as their hands roam freely along your arms. You can feel his breath in your ears, the long, deep inhales coming in a tantalizing rhythm. You know this position and you know that with him, you don’t want it.

‘I will not bend over for you,’ you spit.

He presses himself roughly, against your back, hard and purposeful, and suddenly his mouth is next to your ear, tongue laving your earlobe. You're reminded of the soldier earlier, the one who wanted to turn you into a feast, but it feels different with Chanyeol. Almost like there's a fire against your back, warming and warning you, and you tremble in his arms.

‘If that was what I wanted from you,’ he whispers, deep voice vibrating into your chest, ‘you would already be on your knees begging.’ 

Air escapes your lungs in a silent sigh at this, and your eyes close briefly as fire starts in your chest and spreads down into your fingers. It burns at you with an almost ravenous desire, and you’re unsure if this belongs to you or to him.

Distracted as you are with the flames, you only realize your hands are free when Chanyeol turns you back around to face him, his eyes much warmer than you’ve ever seen them before. The black has turned to a chocolate brown, and you’re bewildered by the change.

‘Now it is I who is at your mercy,’ he offers gently.

He gives you no time to ponder the words, turning on his heels to stalk out of the room as you are left massaging the soreness of your wrists, the fire still burning, burning in your chest.

[lazodiacale]

My boyfriend has a 9th house stellium! Sun, Mars, Mercury, and Saturn. Without his Aries sun it's a Pisces stellium. What do you think? 😊

The 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th house are houses that prioritise and emphasise on understanding worldly ideals (more so than familiar, personal ideals). The 9th house is the house of expanding your horizons, freeing yourself from any personal limitations. Here lies travel, culture, morals and religion, philosophy, and higher education. With his Aries Sun in the 9th house, he is a bold and adrenalised individual with impulsive desires. As Aries is the first sign on the zodiac wheel, he has a need to begin anything and everything. Because Aries is ruled by Mars, Martian individuals tend to embody a sense of drive like no other. His need for initiation tends to come with a sense of raw and pure devotion. As his Sun falls in the 9th house, he finds himself most driven, courageous, and passionate wherever there are 9th house related themes. He upholds strong eagerness to understand the world on a whole different level. As the 9th house is ruled by Sagittarius, finding wisdom and knowledge are key. Simply put:- He may uphold very strong moral and/or religious beliefs. - His immense need for answers may come with pursuing several academic goals in terms of higher education. - He may find himself attracted to long distance traveling because he may strongly seek understanding of the world. *As Aries is a Fire sign and the 9th house is a fire house, his approach to understanding the world is closely relative to the Sagittarian way of life. Aries; however, is a Cardinal sign whose approach comes with a sense of consistent on-the-go action. Sagittarius, on the other hand, is a mutable sign whose approach comes with a tendency to change. There is no certain way for Sagittarius to seek answers — Sagittarius simply goes with the flow.As his Mercury is in Pisces, his thoughts are rather unclear, for they are seemingly indirect. Mutable Pisces tends to absorb each and every feeling and/or thought, so a Pisces Mercury may be subject to absorbing the thoughts of others. As Pisces is a Mutable Water sign, its feelings tend to colour its judgment. With that being said, his Mercury in Pisces may make him more prone to thinking on the opposite end of the spectrum. That is, he thinks with his feelings, and he is more likely to think in illogical ways. His Mercury in Pisces can make him a daydreamer where his reality is blurred, and his thoughts may often revolve around art and/or music. He is likely to have a pleasant voice, and his speech may be calmer than his Fiery Aries Sun lets on, often toning it down. In the 9th house, his dreamy Piscean nature corresponds well, for both Sagittarius and Pisces are ruled by Jupiter. His creative flow of thoughts allow him to expand his horizons, making him a traveler in his own mind.His Mars in Pisces (http://lazodiacale.tumblr.com/post/162449663039/mars-in-pisces) in the 9th house indicates his energy will be devoted to 9th house related themes. As Pisces is a Mutable Water sign, his passion goes hand-in-hand with his feelings, often finding himself emotionally involved. He will act upon his desires to seek the truth in a spiritual, intuitive way. His Aries Sun, Mercury in Pisces, and Mars in Pisces correlate with one another as these energies are all directed into the 9th house. While his Aries Sun might make him prone to acting out rather impulsively and brashly, the prominence of Piscean energy in his chart tends to make him calmer than Arian energy suggests. It is possible that he may find himself pulled in two different connections when it comes to acting out, but the energy is all put into his desire to seek understanding and wisdom of the world. While Mars in Pisces indicates that he is calmer and more passive, as the 9th house is a Jupiterian houses, Pisces energy fits in just right.Enters his Saturn, who tends to shed light on the said area of life. Saturn aims to wake up. While his desires are aimed at understanding the world through the lens of the 9th house, Saturn here indicates that he must slow down and take the time to learn. His Aries Sun always urges him to act, but he must learn to understand that through hardships he will acquire desired knowledge and experience. As Saturn is an outer planet, the sign it falls in affects people on a global level (not a personal one), but the house it falls in is personal to each and every individual. In brief, Saturn in Pisces indicates individuals who struggle with finding a common ground. As Saturn runs on practically and pragmatism, it is in conflict with out-of-this-world, dreamy Pisces. Responsibility is affected, and structure is seemingly at fall. In the 9th house, he may find himself falling in a spiral of anxiety, fear, and disbelief regarding 9th house concerns. He may often find himself restrained and let down by his desires. It is also possible that his father (or guardian) is involved or is a reason for the occurrence of such restrictions. In time; however, he will realise that it was only a matter of LEARNING BEFORE ACHIEVING. He must try to keep an open-mind because Saturn simply creates a delay — Saturn is never the dead end.I tend to get carried away when I write, but I hope this information helps you. :-)NOTE TO ANON: I had to repost your question myself, and I'm so sorry about that. The code got fucked up on Tumblr mobile. I attempted to fix it through Safari, but it was hopeless. It wouldn't let me select the code to delete it. I took it down, and I told myself I'd repost later. I hope you see this.

[networkingdefinition]

Garlic Quotes

Official Website: Garlic Quotes

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• A basic all-purpose rub: mix together one or two tablespoons equal parts black pepper, granulated garlic, grilled onion, and onion powder. That will give you real good base for any kind of meat. Just increase the amount if you’re grilling large quantities. – Johnny Trigg • A garlic caress is stimulating. A garlic excess soporific. – Curnonsky • A gold standard is to the moochers and looters in government what sunlight and garlic are to vampires. – Herman Cain • A good hamburger mix: add equal parts black pepper, granulated garlic, grilled onion, onion powder and some chopped onion. And mix in a little barbecue sauce, which will add even more great flavor. – Johnny Trigg • A plot without action is like pasta without garlic, like Dolly Parton without cleavage, and like a writer without his similes. – Dean Koontz

• After waking up, I take my vitamins and eat fruit or, sometimes, bread with garlic, which is good for your health. – Jordi Molla • And if you worry that not finishing the food on your plate is a slap in the face of all the hungry people everywhere, you are not living in reality. The truth is that you either throw the food out or you throw it in, but either way it turns to waste. World hunger will not be solved by finishing the garlic mashed potatoes on your plate. – Geneen Roth • Animals have rights, to be smothered with garlic and butter! – Ted Nugent • As a rule they will refuse even to sample a foreign dish, they regard such things as garlic and olive oil with disgust, life is unliveable to them unless they have tea and puddings. – George Orwell • Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic. – Anthony Bourdain

  jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Garlic', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_garlic').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_garlic img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Beetroot, garlic, lemon … and buy a bottle of olive oil. All these things are very critical. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • Danger is to adventure what garlic is to spaghetti sauce. Without it, you just end up with stewed tomatoes. – Tom Robbins • Do not eat garlic or onions; for their smell will reveal that you are a peasant. – Miguel de Cervantes • Do you guys have any raw garlic? – Shailene Woodley

• Following the Rumanian tradition, garlic is used in excess to keep the vampires away… Following the Jewish tradition, a dispenser of schmaltz (liquid chicken fat) is kept on the table to give the vampires heartburn if they get through the garlic defense. – Calvin Trillin

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • For a rub with sweet tang: mix just a little bit of light brown sugar to garlic pepper, black pepper, and onion powder. – Johnny Trigg • Garlic bread – it’s the future, I’ve tasted it. – Peter Kay • Garlic is as good as ten mothers. – Les Blank • Garlic is divine. Few food items can taste so many distinct ways, handled correctly. Misuse of garlic is a crime…Please, treat your garlic with respect…Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic. – Anthony Bourdain • Garlic, like perfume, must be used with discretion and on the proper occasions. – Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings • Garlick maketh a man wynke, drynke, and stynke. – Thomas Nash • Hatred, for the man who is not engaged in it, is a little like the odor of garlic for one who hasn’t eaten any. – Jean Rostand • He added that a Frenchman in the train had given him a great sandwich that so stank of garlic that he had been inclined to throw it at the fellow’s head. – Ford Madox Ford • Home-made bread rubbed with garlic and sprinkled with olive oil, shared-with a flask of wine-between working people, can be more convivial than any feast. – Patience Gray • I always get nervous before a kissing scene. I make sure I always brush my teeth and eat lots of fruit and nice foods rather than garlic. I’m terribly self conscious. – Drew Barrymore • I am very moody when I cook. I cook according to the way I feel at the moment. A little of this, a little of that, and almost always a coupcon of garlic. I never proceed by the rules. – Marcel Tabuteau • I believe in the magic of preparation. You can make just about any foods taste wonderful by adding herbs and spices. Experiment with garlic, cilantro, basil and other fresh herbs on vegetables to make them taste great. – Jorge Cruise • I do a chimichurri sauce with garlic, parsley, olive oil, and red and black pepper. You just mince the garlic and the parsley and mix it all together. Brush a little of that on a steak and it kicks it up, like, 10 notches. – Julie Gonzalo • I don’t want to sound too mystical or weird but it’s important to know what garlic smells like when it’s cooking, or what eggs look like when they’re cracked out of a shell. – Joel Salatin • I had a meal in Pizza Hut and the waitress told me I didn’t need to pay. So I decided to be a bit cheeky and ask for more pizza and garlic bread. – Gareth Gates • I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill. – William Shakespeare • I had the lunchbox that cleared the cafeteria. I was very unpopular in the early grades. Because I hung out with my grandfather, I started to bring my lunchbox with sardine sandwiches and calamari that I would eat off my fingers like rings. I was also always reeking of garlic. – Rachael Ray • I have a trainer who comes three times a week and just listens to me moan… and I keep fit and keep moving… and I do watch what I eat. I am a vegetarian… I can’t eat crazy food. I’m highly allergic to onions and garlic and spices… I’ve never had a pizza, never had a curry. – Ringo Starr • I love garlic, and I use it often. – Eric Ripert • I love to cook. In fact, at this exact moment, I am trying something new: I am cooking a whole chicken in my crockpot, which I’ve never done before. I browned it with garlic powder, salt and pepper, and I put a bunch of celery and onions – which I’ll have to hide from the children because they claim to hate onions – and I’m going to make homemade mashed cream potatoes. I always, before I leave for work in the morning, have supper cooking. That way, when I come home and they come home from school, there’s all kinds of good smells in the house. – Nancy Grace • I panicked when my son, Jett, stopped eating baby food. He’s only two but his food vocabulary is fantastic. He likes my baked tilapia and string beans with chopped garlic. But he really likes pizza. Sometimes every inanimate object to him is pizza. – Jill Scott • I think garlic is absolutely critical. Lemon is absolutely critical to boost the immune system. Olive oil is absolutely critical … just one teaspoon, it will last the whole month. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • I use a lot of fresh citrus, garlic, and fresh herbs when cooking to cut down on fat and sodium but punch up flavor. Our cupboards and fridge are full of condiments – mustards, vinegars, etc. that also add tons of flavor but are low in fat, calories, or other processed additives. – Cat Cora • I used to like eating frozen corn straight out of the bag. But I also love microwaving frozen corn and adding butter and sugar and garlic powder and chili powder to it. And sometimes I just like to microwave it and add a little bit of hot sauce to it. My friends always laugh at me when they catch me eating it. – Thu Tran • If Ive gone to the market on Saturday, and I go another time on Tuesday, then Im really prepared. I can cook a little piece of fish; I can wilt some greens with garlic; I can slice tomatoes and put a little olive oil on. Its effortless. – Alice Waters • If stakes and garlic were the top two things that could kill a vampire, ninth grade gym was a close third. – Heather Brewer • If you can smell garlic, everything is all right. – J. G. Ballard • If you like garlic, you’ll like ramps. – Jim Chamberlin • If you thought eighth grade was tough, try it with fangs and a fear of garlic. – Heather Brewer • I’m not a vegetarian, and I like filet minion which is sort of a guilty pleasure because I have vegetarian leanings. I eat that once in a while, but generally speaking I like to eat vegetarian things. I really like pasta. I really like bread with olive oil and garlic and I like salads. – Jesse Michaels • I’m particularly fond of boned chicken breasts with a little garlic under the flesh and cooked in a casserole for 40 minutes with a jar of olives, some cherry tomatoes and a spoonful of olive oil. – Maeve Binchy • In Manhasset you were either Yankees or Mets, rich or poor, sober or drunk…You were ‘Gaelic’ or ‘garlic,” as one schoolmate told me, and I couldn’t admit, to him or myself, that I had both Irish and Italian ancestors. – J. R. Moehringer • In Pizza Express you can get garlic bread with cheese and tomato. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s a pizza. – Jimmy Carr • It has been said of garlic that everyone knows its odor save he who has eaten it, and who wonders why everyone flies at his approach. – George Ellwanger • It’s a comfort to always find pasta in the cupboard and garlic and parsley in the garden. – Alice Waters • It’s very freaky in Chicago.There’s something in the water there, I don’t know what it is. But the actual word Chicago means, in the Indian language, garlic. It was just garlic and mosquitoes there. And that is the roughest city on the planet, and I been to every place in the world. – Quincy Jones • Maybe it was a good thing that Bones was putting Don’s remains away instead of me. With my current emotional state, I’d probably think the only safe place for his ashes was tucked inside my clothes next to the garlic and weed. – Jeaniene Frost • Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath. – William Shakespeare • My favorite comfort food would have be braised beef. You know, beef, slow-cooked in a Dutch oven or in a slow cooker until it falls apart with simple mushrooms, some onions and lots of fresh thyme and garlic. – Tyler Florence • My favorite is the garlic press. I think it’s beautiful as an object. But the awkward part of it all is that I don’t use it much because I’m allergic to garlic. – Michael Graves • My favorite to cook is this recipe I’ve been making since I was 12 years old with my mom, and it’s an angel hair shrimp pasta with tomatoes, feta, garlic, white wine – it’s so easy but so fresh and so delicious! – Devon Windsor • My final, considered judgment is that the hardy bulb [garlic] blesses and ennobles everything it touches – with the possible exception of ice cream and pie. – Angelo Pellegrini • My mother was making $135 a week, but she had resilience and imagination. She might take frozen vegetables, cook them with garlic, onion and Spam, and it would taste like a four-star dinner. – Andre Dubus • My perfect last meal would be: shrimp cocktail, lasagna, steak, creamed spinach, salad with bleu cheese dressing, onion rings, garlic bread, and a dessert of strawberry shortcake. – Joan Rivers • My wife and I use a lot of garlic and rosemary with roast lamb. It has to be New Zealand lamb. The domestic variety is too gamy, in my experience. – Alfred Molina • Not me, paranoia’s the garlic in life’s kitchen, right, you can never have too much. – Thomas Pynchon • Of the many smells of Athens two seem to me the most characteristic – that of garlic, bold and deadly like acetylene gas. and that of dust, soft and warm and caressing like tweed. – Evelyn Waugh • Or you can broil the meat, fry the onions, stew the garlic in the red wine…and ask me to supper. I’ll not care, really, even if your nose is a little shiny, so long as you are self-possessed and sure that wolf or no wolf, your mind is your own and your heart is another’s and therefore in the right place. – M. F. K. Fisher • Our lives are full of stress. Some meditate, some walk, some sing and dance. Nature offers us garlic, maitake and hibiscus to relieve stress – Gunter Pauli • Peace and happiness, begin, geographically, where garlic is used in cooking. – Marcel Boulestin • Peppers, garlic, hazelnuts and brazil nuts make my mouth, tongue and eyes swell and itch within minutes of eating them. – Andrea McLean • piety is like garlic: a little goes a long way. – Rita Mae Brown • PORTUGUESE, n.pl. A species of geese indigenous to Portugal. They are mostly without feathers and imperfectly edible, even when stuffed with garlic. – Ambrose Bierce • Pounding fragrant things – particularly garlic, basil, parsley – is a tremendous antidote to depression. But it applies also to juniper berries, coriander seeds and the grilled fruits of the chilli pepper. Pounding these things produces an alteration in one’s being – from sighing with fatigue to inhaling with pleasure. The cheering effects of herbs and alliums cannot be too often reiterated. Virgil’s appetite was probably improved equally by pounding garlic as by eating it. – Patience Gray • Raw garlic and a skin of the lemon – not only do they give you a beautiful face and skin but they also protect you from disease. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • Some hours after eating this dish [lièvre à la royale, which contains 20 cloves of garlic and twice that quantity of shallots], there is a peculiar sensation of liberation in the head. and it is sensation of smell. – Patience Gray • Stop and smell the garlic! That’s all you have to do. – William Shatner • The air in Provence is impregnated with the aroma of garlic, which makes it very healthful to breathe. – Alexandre Dumas • The Brit abroad is always the voice of caution. Persons of other cultures are known to be undisciplined, prone to leaning out of car windows and cooking with garlic. – Nick Harkaway • The combination of olive oil, garlic and lemon juice lifts the spirits in winter. – Yotam Ottolenghi • The fashion industry isn’t merely content to encase my meaty flanks in skintight denim. Oh, no! That denim also has to be white, a color that attracts ketchup, wine, garlic aioli, and any other foodstuffs I might otherwise be able to enjoy if I wasn’t wearing ridiculously tight pants. – Diablo Cody • The food in such places is so tasteless because the members associate spices and garlic with just the sort of people they’re trying to keep out. – Calvin Trillin • The grotesque prudishness and archness with which garlic is treated in [England] has led to the superstition that rubbing the bowl with it before putting the salad in gives sufficient flavor. It rather depends whether you are going to eat the bowl or the salad. – Elizabeth David • The most annoying person on the BBC is Russell Brand, I’ve actually been close up to that boy. He smells like when you mix garlic with coffee and alcohol. I’m just saying when you get close to him, he could do with a bit of Sure For Men, he stinks. – Noel Gallagher • The most overrated ingredients are garlic and extra-virgin olive oil. With garlic, it’s personal; I have never been that big of a fan of its flavor. As for extra-virgin olive oil, I do use it quite often but its ubiquity serves to overshadow many wonderful oils like pistachio, walnut, argan and even grapeseed. – Lela Rose • The only advice I can give to aspiring writers is don’t do it unless you’re willing to give your whole life to it. Red wine and garlic also helps. – Jim Harrison • The strands of spaghetti were vital, almost alive in my mouth, and the olive oil was singing with flavor. It was hard to imagine that four simple ingredients [olive oil, pasta, garlic and cheese] could marry so perfectly. – Ruth Reichl • The summer has seized you, as when, last month in Amalfi, I saw lemons as large as your desk-side globe-that miniature map of the world-and I could mention, too, the market stalls of mushrooms and garlic bugs all engorged. Or I even think of the orchard next door, where the berries are done and the apples are beginning to swell. And once, with our first backyard,I remember I planted an acre of yellow beans we couldn’t eat. – Anne Sexton • There are five elements: earth, air, fire, water and garlic. – Louis Diat • There are many miracles in the world to be celebrated and, for me, garlic is the most deserving. – Leo Buscaglia • There are three things you cannot hide: smell of the garlic, fragrance of the flower and the wisdom of the teacher. – Harbhajan Singh Yogi • There he got out the luncheon-basket and packed a simple meal, in which, remembering the stranger’s origin and preferences, he took care to include a yard of long French bread, a sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which lay down and cried, and a long-necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottled sunshine shed and garnered on far Southern slopes. – Kenneth Grahame • There’s no doubt that after you eat a lot of garlic, you just kind of feel like you are floating, you feel ultra-confident, you feel capable of going out and whipping your weight in wild cats. – Les Blank • This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is – A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo; Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace; All these you eat at Terre’s tavern, In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. – William Makepeace Thackeray • Vlad decided that teachers’ ideas were a lot like bunches of garlic-intriguing from afar, but up close sadly sickening and, if you weren’t careful, DEADLY. – Heather Brewer • Vulgarity is the garlic in the salad of charm. – Cyril Connolly • We have garlic days, and onion days. You know what they’re cooking. – Leslie White • What do you think? Young women of rank eat – you will never guess what – garlick! – Percy Bysshe Shelley • What garlic is to salad, insanity is to art. – Augustus Saint-Gaudens • Without garlic I simply would not care to live. – Louis Diat • You can never have enough garlic. With enough garlic, you can eat The New York Times. – Morley Safer • You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch. Your heart’s an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders, You’ve got garlic in your soul. – Dr. Seuss

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Garlic Quotes

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• A basic all-purpose rub: mix together one or two tablespoons equal parts black pepper, granulated garlic, grilled onion, and onion powder. That will give you real good base for any kind of meat. Just increase the amount if you’re grilling large quantities. – Johnny Trigg • A garlic caress is stimulating. A garlic excess soporific. – Curnonsky • A gold standard is to the moochers and looters in government what sunlight and garlic are to vampires. – Herman Cain • A good hamburger mix: add equal parts black pepper, granulated garlic, grilled onion, onion powder and some chopped onion. And mix in a little barbecue sauce, which will add even more great flavor. – Johnny Trigg • A plot without action is like pasta without garlic, like Dolly Parton without cleavage, and like a writer without his similes. – Dean Koontz

• After waking up, I take my vitamins and eat fruit or, sometimes, bread with garlic, which is good for your health. – Jordi Molla • And if you worry that not finishing the food on your plate is a slap in the face of all the hungry people everywhere, you are not living in reality. The truth is that you either throw the food out or you throw it in, but either way it turns to waste. World hunger will not be solved by finishing the garlic mashed potatoes on your plate. – Geneen Roth • Animals have rights, to be smothered with garlic and butter! – Ted Nugent • As a rule they will refuse even to sample a foreign dish, they regard such things as garlic and olive oil with disgust, life is unliveable to them unless they have tea and puddings. – George Orwell • Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic. – Anthony Bourdain

  jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Garlic', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_garlic').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_garlic img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Beetroot, garlic, lemon … and buy a bottle of olive oil. All these things are very critical. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • Danger is to adventure what garlic is to spaghetti sauce. Without it, you just end up with stewed tomatoes. – Tom Robbins • Do not eat garlic or onions; for their smell will reveal that you are a peasant. – Miguel de Cervantes • Do you guys have any raw garlic? – Shailene Woodley

• Following the Rumanian tradition, garlic is used in excess to keep the vampires away… Following the Jewish tradition, a dispenser of schmaltz (liquid chicken fat) is kept on the table to give the vampires heartburn if they get through the garlic defense. – Calvin Trillin

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • For a rub with sweet tang: mix just a little bit of light brown sugar to garlic pepper, black pepper, and onion powder. – Johnny Trigg • Garlic bread – it’s the future, I’ve tasted it. – Peter Kay • Garlic is as good as ten mothers. – Les Blank • Garlic is divine. Few food items can taste so many distinct ways, handled correctly. Misuse of garlic is a crime…Please, treat your garlic with respect…Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic. – Anthony Bourdain • Garlic, like perfume, must be used with discretion and on the proper occasions. – Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings • Garlick maketh a man wynke, drynke, and stynke. – Thomas Nash • Hatred, for the man who is not engaged in it, is a little like the odor of garlic for one who hasn’t eaten any. – Jean Rostand • He added that a Frenchman in the train had given him a great sandwich that so stank of garlic that he had been inclined to throw it at the fellow’s head. – Ford Madox Ford • Home-made bread rubbed with garlic and sprinkled with olive oil, shared-with a flask of wine-between working people, can be more convivial than any feast. – Patience Gray • I always get nervous before a kissing scene. I make sure I always brush my teeth and eat lots of fruit and nice foods rather than garlic. I’m terribly self conscious. – Drew Barrymore • I am very moody when I cook. I cook according to the way I feel at the moment. A little of this, a little of that, and almost always a coupcon of garlic. I never proceed by the rules. – Marcel Tabuteau • I believe in the magic of preparation. You can make just about any foods taste wonderful by adding herbs and spices. Experiment with garlic, cilantro, basil and other fresh herbs on vegetables to make them taste great. – Jorge Cruise • I do a chimichurri sauce with garlic, parsley, olive oil, and red and black pepper. You just mince the garlic and the parsley and mix it all together. Brush a little of that on a steak and it kicks it up, like, 10 notches. – Julie Gonzalo • I don’t want to sound too mystical or weird but it’s important to know what garlic smells like when it’s cooking, or what eggs look like when they’re cracked out of a shell. – Joel Salatin • I had a meal in Pizza Hut and the waitress told me I didn’t need to pay. So I decided to be a bit cheeky and ask for more pizza and garlic bread. – Gareth Gates • I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill. – William Shakespeare • I had the lunchbox that cleared the cafeteria. I was very unpopular in the early grades. Because I hung out with my grandfather, I started to bring my lunchbox with sardine sandwiches and calamari that I would eat off my fingers like rings. I was also always reeking of garlic. – Rachael Ray • I have a trainer who comes three times a week and just listens to me moan… and I keep fit and keep moving… and I do watch what I eat. I am a vegetarian… I can’t eat crazy food. I’m highly allergic to onions and garlic and spices… I’ve never had a pizza, never had a curry. – Ringo Starr • I love garlic, and I use it often. – Eric Ripert • I love to cook. In fact, at this exact moment, I am trying something new: I am cooking a whole chicken in my crockpot, which I’ve never done before. I browned it with garlic powder, salt and pepper, and I put a bunch of celery and onions – which I’ll have to hide from the children because they claim to hate onions – and I’m going to make homemade mashed cream potatoes. I always, before I leave for work in the morning, have supper cooking. That way, when I come home and they come home from school, there’s all kinds of good smells in the house. – Nancy Grace • I panicked when my son, Jett, stopped eating baby food. He’s only two but his food vocabulary is fantastic. He likes my baked tilapia and string beans with chopped garlic. But he really likes pizza. Sometimes every inanimate object to him is pizza. – Jill Scott • I think garlic is absolutely critical. Lemon is absolutely critical to boost the immune system. Olive oil is absolutely critical … just one teaspoon, it will last the whole month. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • I use a lot of fresh citrus, garlic, and fresh herbs when cooking to cut down on fat and sodium but punch up flavor. Our cupboards and fridge are full of condiments – mustards, vinegars, etc. that also add tons of flavor but are low in fat, calories, or other processed additives. – Cat Cora • I used to like eating frozen corn straight out of the bag. But I also love microwaving frozen corn and adding butter and sugar and garlic powder and chili powder to it. And sometimes I just like to microwave it and add a little bit of hot sauce to it. My friends always laugh at me when they catch me eating it. – Thu Tran • If Ive gone to the market on Saturday, and I go another time on Tuesday, then Im really prepared. I can cook a little piece of fish; I can wilt some greens with garlic; I can slice tomatoes and put a little olive oil on. Its effortless. – Alice Waters • If stakes and garlic were the top two things that could kill a vampire, ninth grade gym was a close third. – Heather Brewer • If you can smell garlic, everything is all right. – J. G. Ballard • If you like garlic, you’ll like ramps. – Jim Chamberlin • If you thought eighth grade was tough, try it with fangs and a fear of garlic. – Heather Brewer • I’m not a vegetarian, and I like filet minion which is sort of a guilty pleasure because I have vegetarian leanings. I eat that once in a while, but generally speaking I like to eat vegetarian things. I really like pasta. I really like bread with olive oil and garlic and I like salads. – Jesse Michaels • I’m particularly fond of boned chicken breasts with a little garlic under the flesh and cooked in a casserole for 40 minutes with a jar of olives, some cherry tomatoes and a spoonful of olive oil. – Maeve Binchy • In Manhasset you were either Yankees or Mets, rich or poor, sober or drunk…You were ‘Gaelic’ or ‘garlic,” as one schoolmate told me, and I couldn’t admit, to him or myself, that I had both Irish and Italian ancestors. – J. R. Moehringer • In Pizza Express you can get garlic bread with cheese and tomato. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s a pizza. – Jimmy Carr • It has been said of garlic that everyone knows its odor save he who has eaten it, and who wonders why everyone flies at his approach. – George Ellwanger • It’s a comfort to always find pasta in the cupboard and garlic and parsley in the garden. – Alice Waters • It’s very freaky in Chicago.There’s something in the water there, I don’t know what it is. But the actual word Chicago means, in the Indian language, garlic. It was just garlic and mosquitoes there. And that is the roughest city on the planet, and I been to every place in the world. – Quincy Jones • Maybe it was a good thing that Bones was putting Don’s remains away instead of me. With my current emotional state, I’d probably think the only safe place for his ashes was tucked inside my clothes next to the garlic and weed. – Jeaniene Frost • Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath. – William Shakespeare • My favorite comfort food would have be braised beef. You know, beef, slow-cooked in a Dutch oven or in a slow cooker until it falls apart with simple mushrooms, some onions and lots of fresh thyme and garlic. – Tyler Florence • My favorite is the garlic press. I think it’s beautiful as an object. But the awkward part of it all is that I don’t use it much because I’m allergic to garlic. – Michael Graves • My favorite to cook is this recipe I’ve been making since I was 12 years old with my mom, and it’s an angel hair shrimp pasta with tomatoes, feta, garlic, white wine – it’s so easy but so fresh and so delicious! – Devon Windsor • My final, considered judgment is that the hardy bulb [garlic] blesses and ennobles everything it touches – with the possible exception of ice cream and pie. – Angelo Pellegrini • My mother was making $135 a week, but she had resilience and imagination. She might take frozen vegetables, cook them with garlic, onion and Spam, and it would taste like a four-star dinner. – Andre Dubus • My perfect last meal would be: shrimp cocktail, lasagna, steak, creamed spinach, salad with bleu cheese dressing, onion rings, garlic bread, and a dessert of strawberry shortcake. – Joan Rivers • My wife and I use a lot of garlic and rosemary with roast lamb. It has to be New Zealand lamb. The domestic variety is too gamy, in my experience. – Alfred Molina • Not me, paranoia’s the garlic in life’s kitchen, right, you can never have too much. – Thomas Pynchon • Of the many smells of Athens two seem to me the most characteristic – that of garlic, bold and deadly like acetylene gas. and that of dust, soft and warm and caressing like tweed. – Evelyn Waugh • Or you can broil the meat, fry the onions, stew the garlic in the red wine…and ask me to supper. I’ll not care, really, even if your nose is a little shiny, so long as you are self-possessed and sure that wolf or no wolf, your mind is your own and your heart is another’s and therefore in the right place. – M. F. K. Fisher • Our lives are full of stress. Some meditate, some walk, some sing and dance. Nature offers us garlic, maitake and hibiscus to relieve stress – Gunter Pauli • Peace and happiness, begin, geographically, where garlic is used in cooking. – Marcel Boulestin • Peppers, garlic, hazelnuts and brazil nuts make my mouth, tongue and eyes swell and itch within minutes of eating them. – Andrea McLean • piety is like garlic: a little goes a long way. – Rita Mae Brown • PORTUGUESE, n.pl. A species of geese indigenous to Portugal. They are mostly without feathers and imperfectly edible, even when stuffed with garlic. – Ambrose Bierce • Pounding fragrant things – particularly garlic, basil, parsley – is a tremendous antidote to depression. But it applies also to juniper berries, coriander seeds and the grilled fruits of the chilli pepper. Pounding these things produces an alteration in one’s being – from sighing with fatigue to inhaling with pleasure. The cheering effects of herbs and alliums cannot be too often reiterated. Virgil’s appetite was probably improved equally by pounding garlic as by eating it. – Patience Gray • Raw garlic and a skin of the lemon – not only do they give you a beautiful face and skin but they also protect you from disease. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • Some hours after eating this dish [lièvre à la royale, which contains 20 cloves of garlic and twice that quantity of shallots], there is a peculiar sensation of liberation in the head. and it is sensation of smell. – Patience Gray • Stop and smell the garlic! That’s all you have to do. – William Shatner • The air in Provence is impregnated with the aroma of garlic, which makes it very healthful to breathe. – Alexandre Dumas • The Brit abroad is always the voice of caution. Persons of other cultures are known to be undisciplined, prone to leaning out of car windows and cooking with garlic. – Nick Harkaway • The combination of olive oil, garlic and lemon juice lifts the spirits in winter. – Yotam Ottolenghi • The fashion industry isn’t merely content to encase my meaty flanks in skintight denim. Oh, no! That denim also has to be white, a color that attracts ketchup, wine, garlic aioli, and any other foodstuffs I might otherwise be able to enjoy if I wasn’t wearing ridiculously tight pants. – Diablo Cody • The food in such places is so tasteless because the members associate spices and garlic with just the sort of people they’re trying to keep out. – Calvin Trillin • The grotesque prudishness and archness with which garlic is treated in [England] has led to the superstition that rubbing the bowl with it before putting the salad in gives sufficient flavor. It rather depends whether you are going to eat the bowl or the salad. – Elizabeth David • The most annoying person on the BBC is Russell Brand, I’ve actually been close up to that boy. He smells like when you mix garlic with coffee and alcohol. I’m just saying when you get close to him, he could do with a bit of Sure For Men, he stinks. – Noel Gallagher • The most overrated ingredients are garlic and extra-virgin olive oil. With garlic, it’s personal; I have never been that big of a fan of its flavor. As for extra-virgin olive oil, I do use it quite often but its ubiquity serves to overshadow many wonderful oils like pistachio, walnut, argan and even grapeseed. – Lela Rose • The only advice I can give to aspiring writers is don’t do it unless you’re willing to give your whole life to it. Red wine and garlic also helps. – Jim Harrison • The strands of spaghetti were vital, almost alive in my mouth, and the olive oil was singing with flavor. It was hard to imagine that four simple ingredients [olive oil, pasta, garlic and cheese] could marry so perfectly. – Ruth Reichl • The summer has seized you, as when, last month in Amalfi, I saw lemons as large as your desk-side globe-that miniature map of the world-and I could mention, too, the market stalls of mushrooms and garlic bugs all engorged. Or I even think of the orchard next door, where the berries are done and the apples are beginning to swell. And once, with our first backyard,I remember I planted an acre of yellow beans we couldn’t eat. – Anne Sexton • There are five elements: earth, air, fire, water and garlic. – Louis Diat • There are many miracles in the world to be celebrated and, for me, garlic is the most deserving. – Leo Buscaglia • There are three things you cannot hide: smell of the garlic, fragrance of the flower and the wisdom of the teacher. – Harbhajan Singh Yogi • There he got out the luncheon-basket and packed a simple meal, in which, remembering the stranger’s origin and preferences, he took care to include a yard of long French bread, a sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which lay down and cried, and a long-necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottled sunshine shed and garnered on far Southern slopes. – Kenneth Grahame • There’s no doubt that after you eat a lot of garlic, you just kind of feel like you are floating, you feel ultra-confident, you feel capable of going out and whipping your weight in wild cats. – Les Blank • This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is – A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo; Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace; All these you eat at Terre’s tavern, In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. – William Makepeace Thackeray • Vlad decided that teachers’ ideas were a lot like bunches of garlic-intriguing from afar, but up close sadly sickening and, if you weren’t careful, DEADLY. – Heather Brewer • Vulgarity is the garlic in the salad of charm. – Cyril Connolly • We have garlic days, and onion days. You know what they’re cooking. – Leslie White • What do you think? Young women of rank eat – you will never guess what – garlick! – Percy Bysshe Shelley • What garlic is to salad, insanity is to art. – Augustus Saint-Gaudens • Without garlic I simply would not care to live. – Louis Diat • You can never have enough garlic. With enough garlic, you can eat The New York Times. – Morley Safer • You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch. Your heart’s an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders, You’ve got garlic in your soul. – Dr. Seuss

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

[party-hard-or-die]

Keeping Summit Hopes Alive Suggests Kim Jong-un May Need a Deal

SEOUL, South Korea — Ever since Kim Jong-un took over as the young, untested ruler of North Korea seven years ago, he has promised his country a future free from deprivation.

In his first speech as leader, he vowed that North Koreans, millions of whom starved during a famine in the 1990s, would never again have to tighten their belts. Last year, he apologized to the nation for failing to live up to that pledge, expressing how “anxious and remorseful” it made him.

Then, this year, he proclaimed a new shift to North Korea’s 25 million people: Now that the nation possessed a nuclear arsenal, it could change gears and start building a prosperous economy, after years of international sanctions.

So when President Trump on Thursday abruptly canceled their much anticipated summit meeting on June 12, the North Korean response was remarkably diplomatic and cordial, holding open the hope that the meeting could still take place, after all.

It was a strong reminder, analysts said, that Mr. Kim not only wants a diplomatic deal with the United States. He may need one.

“North Korea can still survive under sanctions, especially if China helps it,” said Shin Beom-chul, a senior fellow at the Asan Institute for Policy Studies in Seoul. “But as long as sanctions are there, Kim Jong-un can never deliver the kind of rapid economic growth he has promised for his people.”

Mr. Kim’s stated desire to continue engaging with Mr. Trump — even after such a high-profile snub — does not necessarily mean the North Korean leader is willing to renounce his nuclear arsenal, the primary American demand.

No matter how painful sanctions may be, analysts say, Mr. Kim would be unwilling to give up his nuclear weapons unless an accord left him feeling completely safe without them. The security of his family-run regime is a nonnegotiable priority.

Still, his apparent willingness to continue diplomatic efforts does signal that Mr. Kim, 34, is under pressure to satisfy rising expectations in North Korea for economic gains and shake off the painful grip of sanctions.

While largely depicted as a nuclear provocateur in the outside world, Mr. Kim is determined to be the face of a modern and more open North Korea at home. He has erected new buildings and repainted old ones in Pyongyang, the capital, attended a concert by a South Korean girl band and let a state orchestra play American pop music.

Mr. Kim has also sent party officials to China to learn its economic policies, and has even admitted to other failures during his supposedly faultless leadership, like a botched satellite launch in 2012. When he met with South Korea’s president, Moon Jae-in, last month and invited him to Pyongyang, he asked Mr. Moon to fly there because North Korea’s roads and trains were in such “embarrassing” condition.

The contrasts between the North and South are particularly stark. North Korea generates a tiny fraction — less than 5 percent, by some estimates — of the electricity that South Korea does, leaving passengers stranded for hours in immobilized trains because of widespread power shortages, according to defectors from the country.

The dueling economic realities of the two countries are on clear display from space: Even now, nighttime satellite photos show the southern half of the Korean Peninsula splotched with bright lights, while Mr. Kim’s North is shrouded in darkness, with only a pinprick of light indicating the location of Pyongyang, where the nation’s elite lives.

Without a doubt, North Korea has come a long way since the 1990s, when mass starvation stalked the population and the country was so energy-starved that travelers camped out in stations for days waiting for trains.

Since taking over after the death of his father, Kim Jong-il, Mr. Kim has installed water parks, ski resorts, a new airport, skyscrapers and even a dolphinarium. He has appeared in public with his fashionable wife, Ri Sol-ju, and has been seen pulling weeds in an amusement park, riding roller-coasters with foreign diplomats in Pyongyang and hugging and hooking arms with soldiers and workers. Cellphones have become a common consumer item in North Korean cities, although the country remains mostly shuttered from the global internet.

But for all his efforts to portray himself as vigorous, approachable and goal-oriented, there is a limit to how far Mr. Kim can go under international sanctions, analysts say.

The domestic pressures on him are compounded in some ways by the growth of markets he has introduced and the emergence of a moneyed class in Pyongyang. Under Mr. Kim, a new generation is growing up exposed to DVDs and flash drives of South Korean soap operas and movies, raising expectations for a better quality of life.

Mr. Kim has the power to rule his country and suppress dissent through extreme brutality. There is no political opposition.

He is believed to have ordered dozens of executions, including the killing of his own uncle, and North Korea still runs a network of prison gulags. Mr. Kim keeps the elite on its toes by frequently purging and reshuffling senior military and party officials.

But he is also eager to be seen as “people loving.’’

Building a “strong socialist country” is his catchphrase.

Recent visitors say Pyongyang looks more colorful and prosperous than it did a decade ago, with stores stocked with imported and domestically produced foods. But conditions outside the capital remain dismal, with widespread malnutrition among children and nursing mothers, according to United Nations relief agencies.

The American-led “maximum pressure” sanctions campaign has seriously undercut North Korea’s ability to earn hard currency needed to buy imports. Since September, the United Nations Security Council has banned all major North Korean exports, including coal, iron ore, seafood and textiles. If enforced fully, the sanctions could eliminate 90 percent of the country’s total exports.

North Korean exports to China, which account for more than 90 percent of the North’s international trade, fell by one-third to $1.65 billion last year, with volumes plunging by as much as 95 percent in recent months. The United Nations sanctions also cut the North’s imports of refined petroleum products by 90 percent, causing gasoline prices to double.

Many mines and factories have closed for lack of raw materials or export orders, according to South Korean and Japanese news organizations.

Investors and fishermen have deserted fishing ports, after lucrative exports to China were blocked. Last year, four North Korean soldiers defected to South Korea through the heavily armed border. One of them braved a hail of bullets while fleeing. When South Korean doctors operated on him, they found his intestines riddled with worms.

There is no sign of a return to mass starvation, experts say, and the country is believed to still earn substantial amounts of cash through smuggling, hacking and weapons sales.

But analysts warn that the North Korean economy could reach a breaking point unless Mr. Kim finds a way to loosen sanctions soon.

Mr. Trump’s surprise decision to withdraw from the summit meeting could play into Mr. Kim’s favor in some ways, especially if it chips away at the willingness of China — North Korea’s main trading partner — to enforce sanctions vigorously.

In the weeks leading up the meeting, Mr. Kim had taken very public steps to lay the groundwork for negotiations, including releasing three American prisoners. On Thursday, he demolished his country’s only nuclear test site.

Then, just hours later, Mr. Trump abruptly pulled out of the summit. Instead of reacting with rancor, the North Koreans put out a calm response, saying they would do “everything we can for the peace and stability of the Korean Peninsula.”

Mr. Trump softened his tone on Friday, saying a meeting might take place after all, but the diplomatic seesawing by the American president suddenly made Mr. Kim look like a reliable and consistent negotiating partner.

“Kim has perfected the most dramatic makeover within a few months,” said Lee Sung-yoon, a professor of Korean studies at Tufts University. “He’s gone from pariah to statesman, from madman to gracious, well-prepared leader who knows his brief.”

Some analysts said Mr. Trump’s initial decision to scrap the summit meeting was a hiccup before a return to dialogue.

Others said that if the two nations failed to get diplomacy back on track quickly, Mr. Kim could feel growing pressure to resume weapons tests to pressure the United States and “salvage his fallen status at home and abroad,” said Cheon Seong-whun, an analyst at the Asan institute in Seoul.

While Mr. Kim may wield tremendous power, his longevity as North Korea’s undisputed leader is not guaranteed.

Mr. Kim’s engagement with Mr. Trump may be unsettling to senior figures in North Korea’s military who worry that he could, in fact, relinquish the country’s nuclear arsenal, which he has called a “treasured sword” that ensures the country’s survival.

At the same time, Mr. Kim’s failure to meet the expectations he has raised for greater prosperity at home could anger the people who already have had a taste of a more affluent life.

“The group around Kim that are living reasonably well and benefiting from the way he’s kind of running things is relatively large,” said Scott Seaman, a Korea analyst at the Eurasia Group, a consultancy in Washington. “That could mean you don’t want to tick it off.”

Like many dictators, Mr. Seaman said, “This is a guy who goes to sleep at night not knowing whether he’s going to wake up.”

The post Keeping Summit Hopes Alive Suggests Kim Jong-un May Need a Deal appeared first on World The News.

from World The News https://ift.tt/2GVhtDq via Breaking News

[newestbalance]

Keeping Summit Hopes Alive Suggests Kim Jong-un May Need a Deal

SEOUL, South Korea — Ever since Kim Jong-un took over as the young, untested ruler of North Korea seven years ago, he has promised his country a future free from deprivation.

In his first speech as leader, he vowed that North Koreans, millions of whom starved during a famine in the 1990s, would never again have to tighten their belts. Last year, he apologized to the nation for failing to live up to that pledge, expressing how “anxious and remorseful” it made him.

Then, this year, he proclaimed a new shift to North Korea’s 25 million people: Now that the nation possessed a nuclear arsenal, it could change gears and start building a prosperous economy, after years of international sanctions.

So when President Trump on Thursday abruptly canceled their much anticipated summit meeting on June 12, the North Korean response was remarkably diplomatic and cordial, holding open the hope that the meeting could still take place, after all.

It was a strong reminder, analysts said, that Mr. Kim not only wants a diplomatic deal with the United States. He may need one.

“North Korea can still survive under sanctions, especially if China helps it,” said Shin Beom-chul, a senior fellow at the Asan Institute for Policy Studies in Seoul. “But as long as sanctions are there, Kim Jong-un can never deliver the kind of rapid economic growth he has promised for his people.”

Mr. Kim’s stated desire to continue engaging with Mr. Trump — even after such a high-profile snub — does not necessarily mean the North Korean leader is willing to renounce his nuclear arsenal, the primary American demand.

No matter how painful sanctions may be, analysts say, Mr. Kim would be unwilling to give up his nuclear weapons unless an accord left him feeling completely safe without them. The security of his family-run regime is a nonnegotiable priority.

Still, his apparent willingness to continue diplomatic efforts does signal that Mr. Kim, 34, is under pressure to satisfy rising expectations in North Korea for economic gains and shake off the painful grip of sanctions.

While largely depicted as a nuclear provocateur in the outside world, Mr. Kim is determined to be the face of a modern and more open North Korea at home. He has erected new buildings and repainted old ones in Pyongyang, the capital, attended a concert by a South Korean girl band and let a state orchestra play American pop music.

Mr. Kim has also sent party officials to China to learn its economic policies, and has even admitted to other failures during his supposedly faultless leadership, like a botched satellite launch in 2012. When he met with South Korea’s president, Moon Jae-in, last month and invited him to Pyongyang, he asked Mr. Moon to fly there because North Korea’s roads and trains were in such “embarrassing” condition.

The contrasts between the North and South are particularly stark. North Korea generates a tiny fraction — less than 5 percent, by some estimates — of the electricity that South Korea does, leaving passengers stranded for hours in immobilized trains because of widespread power shortages, according to defectors from the country.

The dueling economic realities of the two countries are on clear display from space: Even now, nighttime satellite photos show the southern half of the Korean Peninsula splotched with bright lights, while Mr. Kim’s North is shrouded in darkness, with only a pinprick of light indicating the location of Pyongyang, where the nation’s elite lives.

Without a doubt, North Korea has come a long way since the 1990s, when mass starvation stalked the population and the country was so energy-starved that travelers camped out in stations for days waiting for trains.

Since taking over after the death of his father, Kim Jong-il, Mr. Kim has installed water parks, ski resorts, a new airport, skyscrapers and even a dolphinarium. He has appeared in public with his fashionable wife, Ri Sol-ju, and has been seen pulling weeds in an amusement park, riding roller-coasters with foreign diplomats in Pyongyang and hugging and hooking arms with soldiers and workers. Cellphones have become a common consumer item in North Korean cities, although the country remains mostly shuttered from the global internet.

But for all his efforts to portray himself as vigorous, approachable and goal-oriented, there is a limit to how far Mr. Kim can go under international sanctions, analysts say.

The domestic pressures on him are compounded in some ways by the growth of markets he has introduced and the emergence of a moneyed class in Pyongyang. Under Mr. Kim, a new generation is growing up exposed to DVDs and flash drives of South Korean soap operas and movies, raising expectations for a better quality of life.

Mr. Kim has the power to rule his country and suppress dissent through extreme brutality. There is no political opposition.

He is believed to have ordered dozens of executions, including the killing of his own uncle, and North Korea still runs a network of prison gulags. Mr. Kim keeps the elite on its toes by frequently purging and reshuffling senior military and party officials.

But he is also eager to be seen as “people loving.’’

Building a “strong socialist country” is his catchphrase.

Recent visitors say Pyongyang looks more colorful and prosperous than it did a decade ago, with stores stocked with imported and domestically produced foods. But conditions outside the capital remain dismal, with widespread malnutrition among children and nursing mothers, according to United Nations relief agencies.

The American-led “maximum pressure” sanctions campaign has seriously undercut North Korea’s ability to earn hard currency needed to buy imports. Since September, the United Nations Security Council has banned all major North Korean exports, including coal, iron ore, seafood and textiles. If enforced fully, the sanctions could eliminate 90 percent of the country’s total exports.

North Korean exports to China, which account for more than 90 percent of the North’s international trade, fell by one-third to $1.65 billion last year, with volumes plunging by as much as 95 percent in recent months. The United Nations sanctions also cut the North’s imports of refined petroleum products by 90 percent, causing gasoline prices to double.

Many mines and factories have closed for lack of raw materials or export orders, according to South Korean and Japanese news organizations.

Investors and fishermen have deserted fishing ports, after lucrative exports to China were blocked. Last year, four North Korean soldiers defected to South Korea through the heavily armed border. One of them braved a hail of bullets while fleeing. When South Korean doctors operated on him, they found his intestines riddled with worms.

There is no sign of a return to mass starvation, experts say, and the country is believed to still earn substantial amounts of cash through smuggling, hacking and weapons sales.

But analysts warn that the North Korean economy could reach a breaking point unless Mr. Kim finds a way to loosen sanctions soon.

Mr. Trump’s surprise decision to withdraw from the summit meeting could play into Mr. Kim’s favor in some ways, especially if it chips away at the willingness of China — North Korea’s main trading partner — to enforce sanctions vigorously.

In the weeks leading up the meeting, Mr. Kim had taken very public steps to lay the groundwork for negotiations, including releasing three American prisoners. On Thursday, he demolished his country’s only nuclear test site.

Then, just hours later, Mr. Trump abruptly pulled out of the summit. Instead of reacting with rancor, the North Koreans put out a calm response, saying they would do “everything we can for the peace and stability of the Korean Peninsula.”

Mr. Trump softened his tone on Friday, saying a meeting might take place after all, but the diplomatic seesawing by the American president suddenly made Mr. Kim look like a reliable and consistent negotiating partner.

“Kim has perfected the most dramatic makeover within a few months,” said Lee Sung-yoon, a professor of Korean studies at Tufts University. “He’s gone from pariah to statesman, from madman to gracious, well-prepared leader who knows his brief.”

Some analysts said Mr. Trump’s initial decision to scrap the summit meeting was a hiccup before a return to dialogue.

Others said that if the two nations failed to get diplomacy back on track quickly, Mr. Kim could feel growing pressure to resume weapons tests to pressure the United States and “salvage his fallen status at home and abroad,” said Cheon Seong-whun, an analyst at the Asan institute in Seoul.

While Mr. Kim may wield tremendous power, his longevity as North Korea’s undisputed leader is not guaranteed.

Mr. Kim’s engagement with Mr. Trump may be unsettling to senior figures in North Korea’s military who worry that he could, in fact, relinquish the country’s nuclear arsenal, which he has called a “treasured sword” that ensures the country’s survival.

At the same time, Mr. Kim’s failure to meet the expectations he has raised for greater prosperity at home could anger the people who already have had a taste of a more affluent life.

“The group around Kim that are living reasonably well and benefiting from the way he’s kind of running things is relatively large,” said Scott Seaman, a Korea analyst at the Eurasia Group, a consultancy in Washington. “That could mean you don’t want to tick it off.”

Like many dictators, Mr. Seaman said, “This is a guy who goes to sleep at night not knowing whether he’s going to wake up.”

The post Keeping Summit Hopes Alive Suggests Kim Jong-un May Need a Deal appeared first on World The News.

from World The News https://ift.tt/2GVhtDq via Everyday News

[dani-qrt]

Keeping Summit Hopes Alive Suggests Kim Jong-un May Need a Deal

SEOUL, South Korea — Ever since Kim Jong-un took over as the young, untested ruler of North Korea seven years ago, he has promised his country a future free from deprivation.

In his first speech as leader, he vowed that North Koreans, millions of whom starved during a famine in the 1990s, would never again have to tighten their belts. Last year, he apologized to the nation for failing to live up to that pledge, expressing how “anxious and remorseful” it made him.

Then, this year, he proclaimed a new shift to North Korea’s 25 million people: Now that the nation possessed a nuclear arsenal, it could change gears and start building a prosperous economy, after years of international sanctions.

So when President Trump on Thursday abruptly canceled their much anticipated summit meeting on June 12, the North Korean response was remarkably diplomatic and cordial, holding open the hope that the meeting could still take place, after all.

It was a strong reminder, analysts said, that Mr. Kim not only wants a diplomatic deal with the United States. He may need one.

“North Korea can still survive under sanctions, especially if China helps it,” said Shin Beom-chul, a senior fellow at the Asan Institute for Policy Studies in Seoul. “But as long as sanctions are there, Kim Jong-un can never deliver the kind of rapid economic growth he has promised for his people.”

Mr. Kim’s stated desire to continue engaging with Mr. Trump — even after such a high-profile snub — does not necessarily mean the North Korean leader is willing to renounce his nuclear arsenal, the primary American demand.

No matter how painful sanctions may be, analysts say, Mr. Kim would be unwilling to give up his nuclear weapons unless an accord left him feeling completely safe without them. The security of his family-run regime is a nonnegotiable priority.

Still, his apparent willingness to continue diplomatic efforts does signal that Mr. Kim, 34, is under pressure to satisfy rising expectations in North Korea for economic gains and shake off the painful grip of sanctions.

While largely depicted as a nuclear provocateur in the outside world, Mr. Kim is determined to be the face of a modern and more open North Korea at home. He has erected new buildings and repainted old ones in Pyongyang, the capital, attended a concert by a South Korean girl band and let a state orchestra play American pop music.

Mr. Kim has also sent party officials to China to learn its economic policies, and has even admitted to other failures during his supposedly faultless leadership, like a botched satellite launch in 2012. When he met with South Korea’s president, Moon Jae-in, last month and invited him to Pyongyang, he asked Mr. Moon to fly there because North Korea’s roads and trains were in such “embarrassing” condition.

The contrasts between the North and South are particularly stark. North Korea generates a tiny fraction — less than 5 percent, by some estimates — of the electricity that South Korea does, leaving passengers stranded for hours in immobilized trains because of widespread power shortages, according to defectors from the country.

The dueling economic realities of the two countries are on clear display from space: Even now, nighttime satellite photos show the southern half of the Korean Peninsula splotched with bright lights, while Mr. Kim’s North is shrouded in darkness, with only a pinprick of light indicating the location of Pyongyang, where the nation’s elite lives.

Without a doubt, North Korea has come a long way since the 1990s, when mass starvation stalked the population and the country was so energy-starved that travelers camped out in stations for days waiting for trains.

Since taking over after the death of his father, Kim Jong-il, Mr. Kim has installed water parks, ski resorts, a new airport, skyscrapers and even a dolphinarium. He has appeared in public with his fashionable wife, Ri Sol-ju, and has been seen pulling weeds in an amusement park, riding roller-coasters with foreign diplomats in Pyongyang and hugging and hooking arms with soldiers and workers. Cellphones have become a common consumer item in North Korean cities, although the country remains mostly shuttered from the global internet.

But for all his efforts to portray himself as vigorous, approachable and goal-oriented, there is a limit to how far Mr. Kim can go under international sanctions, analysts say.

The domestic pressures on him are compounded in some ways by the growth of markets he has introduced and the emergence of a moneyed class in Pyongyang. Under Mr. Kim, a new generation is growing up exposed to DVDs and flash drives of South Korean soap operas and movies, raising expectations for a better quality of life.

Mr. Kim has the power to rule his country and suppress dissent through extreme brutality. There is no political opposition.

He is believed to have ordered dozens of executions, including the killing of his own uncle, and North Korea still runs a network of prison gulags. Mr. Kim keeps the elite on its toes by frequently purging and reshuffling senior military and party officials.

But he is also eager to be seen as “people loving.’’

Building a “strong socialist country” is his catchphrase.

Recent visitors say Pyongyang looks more colorful and prosperous than it did a decade ago, with stores stocked with imported and domestically produced foods. But conditions outside the capital remain dismal, with widespread malnutrition among children and nursing mothers, according to United Nations relief agencies.

The American-led “maximum pressure” sanctions campaign has seriously undercut North Korea’s ability to earn hard currency needed to buy imports. Since September, the United Nations Security Council has banned all major North Korean exports, including coal, iron ore, seafood and textiles. If enforced fully, the sanctions could eliminate 90 percent of the country’s total exports.

North Korean exports to China, which account for more than 90 percent of the North’s international trade, fell by one-third to $1.65 billion last year, with volumes plunging by as much as 95 percent in recent months. The United Nations sanctions also cut the North’s imports of refined petroleum products by 90 percent, causing gasoline prices to double.

Many mines and factories have closed for lack of raw materials or export orders, according to South Korean and Japanese news organizations.

Investors and fishermen have deserted fishing ports, after lucrative exports to China were blocked. Last year, four North Korean soldiers defected to South Korea through the heavily armed border. One of them braved a hail of bullets while fleeing. When South Korean doctors operated on him, they found his intestines riddled with worms.

There is no sign of a return to mass starvation, experts say, and the country is believed to still earn substantial amounts of cash through smuggling, hacking and weapons sales.

But analysts warn that the North Korean economy could reach a breaking point unless Mr. Kim finds a way to loosen sanctions soon.

Mr. Trump’s surprise decision to withdraw from the summit meeting could play into Mr. Kim’s favor in some ways, especially if it chips away at the willingness of China — North Korea’s main trading partner — to enforce sanctions vigorously.

In the weeks leading up the meeting, Mr. Kim had taken very public steps to lay the groundwork for negotiations, including releasing three American prisoners. On Thursday, he demolished his country’s only nuclear test site.

Then, just hours later, Mr. Trump abruptly pulled out of the summit. Instead of reacting with rancor, the North Koreans put out a calm response, saying they would do “everything we can for the peace and stability of the Korean Peninsula.”

Mr. Trump softened his tone on Friday, saying a meeting might take place after all, but the diplomatic seesawing by the American president suddenly made Mr. Kim look like a reliable and consistent negotiating partner.

“Kim has perfected the most dramatic makeover within a few months,” said Lee Sung-yoon, a professor of Korean studies at Tufts University. “He’s gone from pariah to statesman, from madman to gracious, well-prepared leader who knows his brief.”

Some analysts said Mr. Trump’s initial decision to scrap the summit meeting was a hiccup before a return to dialogue.

Others said that if the two nations failed to get diplomacy back on track quickly, Mr. Kim could feel growing pressure to resume weapons tests to pressure the United States and “salvage his fallen status at home and abroad,” said Cheon Seong-whun, an analyst at the Asan institute in Seoul.

While Mr. Kim may wield tremendous power, his longevity as North Korea’s undisputed leader is not guaranteed.

Mr. Kim’s engagement with Mr. Trump may be unsettling to senior figures in North Korea’s military who worry that he could, in fact, relinquish the country’s nuclear arsenal, which he has called a “treasured sword” that ensures the country’s survival.

At the same time, Mr. Kim’s failure to meet the expectations he has raised for greater prosperity at home could anger the people who already have had a taste of a more affluent life.

“The group around Kim that are living reasonably well and benefiting from the way he’s kind of running things is relatively large,” said Scott Seaman, a Korea analyst at the Eurasia Group, a consultancy in Washington. “That could mean you don’t want to tick it off.”

Like many dictators, Mr. Seaman said, “This is a guy who goes to sleep at night not knowing whether he’s going to wake up.”

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Keeping Summit Hopes Alive Suggests Kim Jong-un May Need a Deal

SEOUL, South Korea — Ever since Kim Jong-un took over as the young, untested ruler of North Korea seven years ago, he has promised his country a future free from deprivation.

In his first speech as leader, he vowed that North Koreans, millions of whom starved during a famine in the 1990s, would never again have to tighten their belts. Last year, he apologized to the nation for failing to live up to that pledge, expressing how “anxious and remorseful” it made him.

Then, this year, he proclaimed a new shift to North Korea’s 25 million people: Now that the nation possessed a nuclear arsenal, it could change gears and start building a prosperous economy, after years of international sanctions.

So when President Trump on Thursday abruptly canceled their much anticipated summit meeting on June 12, the North Korean response was remarkably diplomatic and cordial, holding open the hope that the meeting could still take place, after all.

It was a strong reminder, analysts said, that Mr. Kim not only wants a diplomatic deal with the United States. He may need one.

“North Korea can still survive under sanctions, especially if China helps it,” said Shin Beom-chul, a senior fellow at the Asan Institute for Policy Studies in Seoul. “But as long as sanctions are there, Kim Jong-un can never deliver the kind of rapid economic growth he has promised for his people.”

Mr. Kim’s stated desire to continue engaging with Mr. Trump — even after such a high-profile snub — does not necessarily mean the North Korean leader is willing to renounce his nuclear arsenal, the primary American demand.

No matter how painful sanctions may be, analysts say, Mr. Kim would be unwilling to give up his nuclear weapons unless an accord left him feeling completely safe without them. The security of his family-run regime is a nonnegotiable priority.

Still, his apparent willingness to continue diplomatic efforts does signal that Mr. Kim, 34, is under pressure to satisfy rising expectations in North Korea for economic gains and shake off the painful grip of sanctions.

While largely depicted as a nuclear provocateur in the outside world, Mr. Kim is determined to be the face of a modern and more open North Korea at home. He has erected new buildings and repainted old ones in Pyongyang, the capital, attended a concert by a South Korean girl band and let a state orchestra play American pop music.

Mr. Kim has also sent party officials to China to learn its economic policies, and has even admitted to other failures during his supposedly faultless leadership, like a botched satellite launch in 2012. When he met with South Korea’s president, Moon Jae-in, last month and invited him to Pyongyang, he asked Mr. Moon to fly there because North Korea’s roads and trains were in such “embarrassing” condition.

The contrasts between the North and South are particularly stark. North Korea generates a tiny fraction — less than 5 percent, by some estimates — of the electricity that South Korea does, leaving passengers stranded for hours in immobilized trains because of widespread power shortages, according to defectors from the country.

The dueling economic realities of the two countries are on clear display from space: Even now, nighttime satellite photos show the southern half of the Korean Peninsula splotched with bright lights, while Mr. Kim’s North is shrouded in darkness, with only a pinprick of light indicating the location of Pyongyang, where the nation’s elite lives.

Without a doubt, North Korea has come a long way since the 1990s, when mass starvation stalked the population and the country was so energy-starved that travelers camped out in stations for days waiting for trains.

Since taking over after the death of his father, Kim Jong-il, Mr. Kim has installed water parks, ski resorts, a new airport, skyscrapers and even a dolphinarium. He has appeared in public with his fashionable wife, Ri Sol-ju, and has been seen pulling weeds in an amusement park, riding roller-coasters with foreign diplomats in Pyongyang and hugging and hooking arms with soldiers and workers. Cellphones have become a common consumer item in North Korean cities, although the country remains mostly shuttered from the global internet.

But for all his efforts to portray himself as vigorous, approachable and goal-oriented, there is a limit to how far Mr. Kim can go under international sanctions, analysts say.

The domestic pressures on him are compounded in some ways by the growth of markets he has introduced and the emergence of a moneyed class in Pyongyang. Under Mr. Kim, a new generation is growing up exposed to DVDs and flash drives of South Korean soap operas and movies, raising expectations for a better quality of life.

Mr. Kim has the power to rule his country and suppress dissent through extreme brutality. There is no political opposition.

He is believed to have ordered dozens of executions, including the killing of his own uncle, and North Korea still runs a network of prison gulags. Mr. Kim keeps the elite on its toes by frequently purging and reshuffling senior military and party officials.

But he is also eager to be seen as “people loving.’’

Building a “strong socialist country” is his catchphrase.

Recent visitors say Pyongyang looks more colorful and prosperous than it did a decade ago, with stores stocked with imported and domestically produced foods. But conditions outside the capital remain dismal, with widespread malnutrition among children and nursing mothers, according to United Nations relief agencies.

The American-led “maximum pressure” sanctions campaign has seriously undercut North Korea’s ability to earn hard currency needed to buy imports. Since September, the United Nations Security Council has banned all major North Korean exports, including coal, iron ore, seafood and textiles. If enforced fully, the sanctions could eliminate 90 percent of the country’s total exports.

North Korean exports to China, which account for more than 90 percent of the North’s international trade, fell by one-third to $1.65 billion last year, with volumes plunging by as much as 95 percent in recent months. The United Nations sanctions also cut the North’s imports of refined petroleum products by 90 percent, causing gasoline prices to double.

Many mines and factories have closed for lack of raw materials or export orders, according to South Korean and Japanese news organizations.

Investors and fishermen have deserted fishing ports, after lucrative exports to China were blocked. Last year, four North Korean soldiers defected to South Korea through the heavily armed border. One of them braved a hail of bullets while fleeing. When South Korean doctors operated on him, they found his intestines riddled with worms.

There is no sign of a return to mass starvation, experts say, and the country is believed to still earn substantial amounts of cash through smuggling, hacking and weapons sales.

But analysts warn that the North Korean economy could reach a breaking point unless Mr. Kim finds a way to loosen sanctions soon.

Mr. Trump’s surprise decision to withdraw from the summit meeting could play into Mr. Kim’s favor in some ways, especially if it chips away at the willingness of China — North Korea’s main trading partner — to enforce sanctions vigorously.

In the weeks leading up the meeting, Mr. Kim had taken very public steps to lay the groundwork for negotiations, including releasing three American prisoners. On Thursday, he demolished his country’s only nuclear test site.

Then, just hours later, Mr. Trump abruptly pulled out of the summit. Instead of reacting with rancor, the North Koreans put out a calm response, saying they would do “everything we can for the peace and stability of the Korean Peninsula.”

Mr. Trump softened his tone on Friday, saying a meeting might take place after all, but the diplomatic seesawing by the American president suddenly made Mr. Kim look like a reliable and consistent negotiating partner.

“Kim has perfected the most dramatic makeover within a few months,” said Lee Sung-yoon, a professor of Korean studies at Tufts University. “He’s gone from pariah to statesman, from madman to gracious, well-prepared leader who knows his brief.”

Some analysts said Mr. Trump’s initial decision to scrap the summit meeting was a hiccup before a return to dialogue.

Others said that if the two nations failed to get diplomacy back on track quickly, Mr. Kim could feel growing pressure to resume weapons tests to pressure the United States and “salvage his fallen status at home and abroad,” said Cheon Seong-whun, an analyst at the Asan institute in Seoul.

While Mr. Kim may wield tremendous power, his longevity as North Korea’s undisputed leader is not guaranteed.

Mr. Kim’s engagement with Mr. Trump may be unsettling to senior figures in North Korea’s military who worry that he could, in fact, relinquish the country’s nuclear arsenal, which he has called a “treasured sword” that ensures the country’s survival.

At the same time, Mr. Kim’s failure to meet the expectations he has raised for greater prosperity at home could anger the people who already have had a taste of a more affluent life.

“The group around Kim that are living reasonably well and benefiting from the way he’s kind of running things is relatively large,” said Scott Seaman, a Korea analyst at the Eurasia Group, a consultancy in Washington. “That could mean you don’t want to tick it off.”

Like many dictators, Mr. Seaman said, “This is a guy who goes to sleep at night not knowing whether he’s going to wake up.”

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