#metaphysical determinism verse

[randomfoggytiger]

Eight Nights of Mulder: Day 5, Endurance & Miracles (Part II)

Mulder includes Scully in his post-Drive thoughts.

*****

“Mulder? We need to follow the ambulance back.” 

He hadn’t heard her walk up, intent on the calming rhythm surrounding him-- so different than the one he'd been locked with for hours. The thought Mr. Crump is waiting struck suddenly, stung; and Mulder peeled away reluctantly from his peaceful corner of the world. 

Scully remained a few feet apart, waiting for her partner to make the next move. Remarkably distanced from the more personal aspects of this case. Remarkably whole, remarkably kind. Miraculously alive.

“On days like this it’s hard to believe in miracles, Scully.” 

For the first time in their partnership, Mulder gloried in being the sole eidetic pontificator because all he could think next was weariness of the flesh and he knew that quote was somewhere in Scully’s bible and he was grateful, so grateful, that he could count on Scully not to quote chapter and verse of her scripture at him, either in agreement or correction. The whispers of his maternal grandmother hovered at the edges, her tongue clucking over the Christian additions to the Jewish religion-- another normal person with a normal life that he’d lost along the way.  

Scully, meanwhile, stayed, silent and watchful. 

He’d forgotten: she distrusted miracles, spent too much time juggling her science and her faith to argue semantics with him or a higher power. He, the unbeliever, espoused belief in yet another metaphysical she chalked up to Christmas magic or pixie dust. She explored her world with the same map and compass that guided her steps in religion, cancer, and death: God and science. Mostly an "either, or" between the two, with some careful hedging thrown in to cover the gaps; and that system-- he guessed-- covered a multitude of Congressional and familial sins. Did nothing to repel unexpected disasters, however: the ones that clung to collars across state lines and threatened to permanently injure with nothing more than bad timing and chance.

The past summer…. He’d never asked her what she’d believed since; but he liked to think that Scully would rationalize that he, her partner, was the common denominator in each scenario. “Believe in a miracle and you’re halfway there” she’d said once; and perhaps that’s all that could be drawn from her on the subject. Willpower and determination were more steady, achievable things than luck and miracles.

Mood askew, Mulder sighed, scrambled for stability, nodded, and followed her back up the road. There was an investigation still to wrap up, Kersh still to face, government lies still to choke down; and, reflecting, he shifted swiftly back into his former gloom.

Scully beat him to the driver's side. They locked eyes tiredly, without challenge; and he saw a flicker of hesitation before she straightened further and softened her tone. 

“Mulder, Crump would have died hours ago if not for your efforts. In a way, your concern and cooperation gave him a longer life.” She paused, and her expression shifted: serious, angry. “And now we give him justice.”  

Any other day Mulder would have glibly ribbed his partner’s bloodthirst for retribution. Today was not one of them: today he let her words seep into his cracks and crevices, followed them into the car and around the parking lot and back up the hill, and hoped they would drive him closer, faster, to normal.

*****

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

(Tagging @today-in-fic~)

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

Shock Diamond

Boo!

Pairing: Mostly Platonic DLAMPR, bit of analogical in the beginning

Word count: 1015

Warnings: none this is pure fluff

Notes: Part of my Metaphysical Determinism verse!

for @i-cant-find-a-good-username over on my patreon!

thank you to @the-inky-isles for beta-reading!

---

“Dearest,” said Logan plaintively.

“No,” said Virgil, crossing his arms and leaning bodily back from Logan’s front door. “You sounded way too excited for me to open the door and that means explosions and that means no way, no how, nuh-uh for me, no thank you.”

Logan, who could recognize that Virgil was mostly being dramatic for comedic effect to alleviate his own anxiety, sighed fondly.

“Virgil,” he laughed, “please come into the house.”

“You’ll never take me alive.”

“You are small enough,” said Logan idly, “I might be able to bodily carry you.”

Virgil snorted.

“You can barely carry your half of the groceries.”

“I would hardly describe it as ‘my half,’” replied Logan, “I get perhaps three kinds of instant meal and condiments. Except for whatever vegetables you manage to sneak into my bags, since you so passionately prefer them to rot in my crisper rather than yours.”

“You’re supposed to eat them, L!”

“Come in,” said Logan, barely holding back a grin, “and you can make me eat one of the vegetables.”

Virgil glared for several seconds before aggressively throwing his hands in the air.

“Fine, fine! In we go to the death trap.” he groused, walking under Logan’s arm as Logan opened the door.

“SURPRISE!”

“Aaaaaaaa!” Virgil screamed, diving behind Logan.

“While I would not characterize it as ‘deadly,’ yes, it was a trap,” laughed Logan, moving Virgil around in front of him. “Happy Birthday, dearest.”

“I hate you all,” said Virgil, a lacework of hysterical laughter flirting around the edges of his voice, “you bastards.”

“I told you he’d hate the yelling,” scolded Patton playfully.

“That’s what makes it fun!” said Remus, bounding over to pull Virgil toward the wall of clothing Virgil was staring at, wide-eyed.

“It’s not a true birthday party unless you hate it just a little bit,” said Roman sagely, “like putting salt on chocolate.”

“What is all of this?” said Virgil incredulously, running his hands over the soft black fabrics that lined the wall.

“We pooled in on one present!” said Patton, bouncing over and wrapping his arm around Virgil’s and hugging him. “We rented as many black costumes as the costume shop would let us.”

“The intention is that you’re going to treat us like lifesize dolls,” said Devin dryly, “so you wouldn't have to have all the attention on you. But if you would rather perform a fashion show of one, we will of course enjoy it just as well.”

“No way,” said Virgil, shuddering a little even as he was grinning, “but I will absolutely have a hell of a time dressing all of you up. I need pompous royal shit for Roman first-”

“Hey!”

Virgil disappeared in a whirl of fabrics, tossing them with gleeful direction at the five of them while giving them playfully imperious orders.

They went through several outfits and variations on them apiece. Virgil finally settled on one for each of them, and Logan found himself having more fun than he’d thought he would.

Virgil seemed to have gone in the “mad wizard” direction for him... a crisp black shirt and ascot under a form-fitting vest was paired with gloves and a pair of rather steampunk goggles on his head. A duster that Logan suspected was substituting for a lab robe was worn over that.

Virgil had gone in the fairytale direction for Roman and Remus, but he obviously hadn’t actually meant to make fun of Roman. Remus’s was looser, more flowing, some of the pieces askew and making him look rather roguish, while Roman looked – almost shockingly – severe and cold in perfectly pressed and poised, head-to-toe jet. Virgil had even done a quick sweep of make-up, paling Roman and painting his lips to match his blood red hair (grumbling about how Roman was “too ugly for his vision” but clearly delighting in Roman’s entire costume). The effect was rather vampiric.

To Devin, he’d gone fully Victorian, shyly holding up a bustle that Devin had snatched up with glee. Virgil declared him to look “like a nineteenth-century widow who most definitely killed her husband” and Logan couldn’t help but agree.

Virgil had saved Patton for last, which Logan at first assumed was because he would be the most difficult – Patton warmly tan skin and woodsy curls and apple cheeks did not, on Logan’s first instinct, lend themselves to goth fashion.

But it soon became clear that Virgil had saved him for last because he had the most fleshed out ideas for him – Virgil flicked through the clothes, muttering, looking for specific things where he’d taken the inspiration from the clothes he saw to the rest of them.

Finally, Virgil stepped back from doing Patton’s makeup fully, and nodded, showing Patton to the mirror.

Virgil had dove back into the fantasy clothing, in a more whimsical direction from Roman and Remus. Patton was layered in skirts and gowns of silvery tulle, his makeup accentuating his freckles with glitter. He did look like some kind of deceptively cherubic dark fairy, and Logan considered himself somewhat more of an expert on the subject than most.

Roman made a big show of falling to his knees solemnly.

“Dear one,” he said, holding his hand out beseechingly, “I swoon of your beauty!”

“Yeah, yeah, break it up,” said Virgil, shooing him with his foot and wrapping Patton in an embrace. “It’s my birthday, I have dibs on all the baby brother time I want.”

“Virgil!” whined Patton, half laughing, “I’m not a baby!”

“Baby to meeeee,” said Virgil, squeezing him hard and then abruptly switching to noogie-ing him.

“Off, off-off-off, you meanie-!”

“Wrestliiiiiiing!” shouted Remus, yanking off his shirt and diving into the “fray.” Roman followed immediately, because the twins shared a collective three brain cells.

“Rather silly, aren’t they?” he said, sotto voce, to Devin, who gave him a deadpan look.

“Please,” said Devin, “I am the only voice of reason here. If this were intellectual chicanery, you would be right there with them.”

“But it is not,” said Logan reasonably, “so I get points.”

“No you don’t.”

“Unfair parameters.”

“Cope.”

---

[ltwilliammowett]

The anchor as symbol

Both the ship and the anchor are full of symbolism. Here, however, it is only about the anchor, the ship itself comes when it comes to death at sea. In the concrete maritime sense, the anchor itself stands for securing life or rescue, in the figurative religious or metaphysical sense for faith and hope.

Reverse painted “Hope” locket, c. 1860 (x)

Anchors fix the floating ship at a certain point. But only those places are suitable for anchoring where the anchors are held in tension with the ship. If not in the harbour, then the ship anchors in the transition zone from land to sea, that mythical place that signifies the threshold between life and death. Here man is at the mercy of the powers of nature and the gods. Only those who have their sights set on the next anchorage can weigh anchor. The time between setting out and landing is determined by the eternal principle of hope. In antiquity, a pair of eyes averting disaster adorned the bow of the ship in place of the two main anchors. If these and the secondary anchors do not hold or are lost, then the last and heaviest anchor is set, which in antiquity was called the sacred anchor (ancora sacra). This reserve anchor was only thrown when it was a matter of life and death. In the imagination, the dolphin, man's friend, can rush to the anchor's aid, which is why the sacred anchor was also called delphis and bore inscriptions appealing to Fortuna. If sacred anchors lie at the bottom of the sea, they indicate distress or shipwreck. If the sacred anchor was thrown from above onto the enemy ship during a sea battle, this was a sign of military triumph. It was regarded as the final authority and the highest authority. Homer, in whose Iliad and Odyssey no word is used more frequently than ship, was therefore considered sacra ancora by the poets.

In religion, the anchor was regarded as a point connecting water and earth. And thus also the earthly with the supernatural. Even among the early Christians, the anchor was a frequently used symbol.

Faith, hope and charity pendant, c.1890 (x)

Often found among Protestants in the form of an anchor, cross and heart (hope, faith and charity), it became an attribute of the theological virtue of faith and of Pope Clement I, the third successor of Peter. His martyrdom was cruel: Emperor Trajan had him sunk in the Black Sea tied to an anchor. His commemoration day on 23 November is therefore also called "Anchor Day". Saint Clement is considered the patron saint of the Trinity and protector of lighthouses and lightships, while Saint Nicholas of Bari is responsible for those in distress at sea.

Hope, mezzotint with etching, 16 September 1797 (x)

The anchor is the piece that secured the ship on the high seas and is thus symbolically the last hope to which all on board clung. But this idea of hope in the form of an anchor also derives from a Bible verse that describes the feeling of hope as an anchor for the soul. And in incongraphy, this hope is a woman with an anchor in her hand. She was also the symbol for the hope of a sailor to find his way home again. Or for the loved one on land, that the Lord would bring him safely back home. However, if this did not happen and he stayed up, Hope was also worn in the early 1800s as a sign of mourning. It was to ensure that the loved one was now safely in paradise.

Since the anchor secured the ship and thus entered into a firm connection with it, the anchor is also a popular symbol of love and marriage. Anchors are also often seen in harbour towns as a symbol of security. They indicate to the sailor that he was safe here. And when disaster strikes, anchors are often placed as memorials, the last evidence of a shipwreck. If a sailor had this tattoo, it could mean three things: firstly, the bearer had hope, secondly, he crossed the Atlantic or thirdly, he belonged to the merchant navy. 

So as you can see, the anchor is more than just a device that holds a ship in place.

[scifrey]

Hold Tight (4/6)

Status: Complete. Unbeta’d, we die like Hob doesn’t.

Series: The Hob Adherent series.

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Also includes some erotic content. Please curate your internet experience accordingly.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Past Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past), Hector Hall/Lyta Hall (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Desire of the Endless, Lyta Trevor-Hall, Daniel Hall, Rose Walker, Jed Walker 

Summary:

Hob is tasked with his first quest as Vassal of the Endless, Morpheus is bad at using his words, Destiny thinks he’s so clever, Desire makes a confession, Rose Walker meets her Uncle’s boyfriend, and Lyta Hall punches Dream of the Endless in the nose. Or, the one where Hob Gadling turns into everyone’s therapist, and honestly, he ain’t mad about it.

Set at the end of Cling Fast - after the premiere of “Elizabethan Manor”, but before the Epilogue.

READ ON AO3 or below:

Chapter Four

"What," Morpheus demands, as soon as Hob enters his flat above the New Inn that evening, "Is that repugnant stain on your mouth?"

Hob resists the urge to check the mirror above the entryway table. He knows he got all of the lipstick off because Cassie had given him a makeup wipe. It must be some lingering metaphysical mark that Hob can't see.

"Desire kissed me," Hob says, not seeing the point in lying. 

He toes off his shoes and moseys into the kitchen, where he finds Morph standing beside the counter, outrage clear in every line and curve of his corporation. Before him, an array of tea things is scattered over the work surface, and the electric kettle whistles high and shrill with Morpheus' eldritch fury.

Hob reaches around him to save the kettle from overboiling, sets it aside, then uses his closeness to crowd Morpheus against the cabinets and offer up the filthiest, most ardent kiss he can.

"Eugh," Morpheus says, when they part.

"Eugh?" Hob echoes, eyebrows bouncing. "I kiss you like that, and you say eugh?"

"You taste like Desire."

"I do not!" Hob says, indignant. "You're just being a drama queen. Besides, how would you know what your sibling tastes like?”

“Eugh!” Morpheus repeats, but he doesn’t push Hob away. Instead he does the opposite, lounging back against the counter and tugging Hob close by his beltloops, pressing them hip-to-hip. There is nothing urgent about it, nothing consuming, just the gentle comfort of basking in the warmth and touch of a person you love.

“Were you making me tea, duckie?”

“I was attempting it, yes,” Morpheus says. “The further away from being Dream of the Endless I become, the harder I find mortal tasks. I’ve never been human, not like my heir will experience. I simply… came into being as more and more humans prayed Morpheus the God of Sleep into existence.”

“Which means…?”

“I cannot simply reach into the aether of human consciousness and know how to do the thing. I must learn it. On Matthew’s suggestion, I have begun keeping a notebook. Today, we were writing down the steps for making hot beverages. I am certain that with enough repetition I will have no trouble, but I—” he hesitates, and Hob leans back a bit to get a good look at his expression. He looks determined, if a little out of his depth. “I want to ensure that in case I become consumed with learning a different task, I have steps recorded so that I may return to them. Matthew calls it ‘setting myself up for success’.”

“That’s smart,” Hob says. “Here, why don’t you finish this up then, while I go get out of my work clothes?”

“I will make tea for you,” Morpheus says firmly, more an affirmation for himself than a promise to Hob. “And then you will tell me what my grasping, greedy sibling wanted and why I should not smite them for daring to touch you.”

“That’s not a very nice way to talk about Desire,” Hob points out, as he walks to the bedroom, shrugging out of his v-necked jumper as he goes. “Especially considering how often you and I are under their influence, Mr. Bossy-Bedroom. If you’re not careful, they’re gonna pull a Satyricon on you when you’re human, just for the laughs.”

The poleaxed look on Morpheus’ face makes it clear that he hadn’t thought about that.

Hob stops in the doorway and turns back to his lover. “You… did realise that once you’re human, the Endless are going to have as much sway over you as they do me, right?”

“I… had not thought of it that way,” Morpheus says and purses his lips.

“Don’t worry,” Hob says as he kicks off his jeans and unbuttons his dress shirt just enough to get it up over his head too. “I have it on good authority that the rivalry between Desire and Dream of the Endless is at an end.”

A clatter in the kitchen has Hob worried enough to peer around the door frame in just his pants. 

“Babe? Did you drop something?” No answer comes from the kitchen, but no sounds of breaking crockery or a broom, either. "Are you okay?" More silence. "Morpheus?"

The answer that Hob finally gets is thin and strangled-sounding. “Desire told you this?”

"In more words than not," Hob agrees. "Swore by something called the first circle that they no longer wished you harm?"

Hob doesn't know what swearing sounds like in the dark and ancient languages of the Endless, but he imagines it sounds a lot like the noises Morpheus is making right now.  Deciding to forego lounge clothes, Hob throws on a ratty old housecoat (a hundred years old if it's a day, a floor-length, full and flowy, peackockish thing he'd picked up during the height of the 1920s Orientalism trend), and pads out to the kitchen.

Morpheus is leaning over the counter, hands braced on the edge, knuckles whiter than the normally human-pale complexion he wears in the Waking. His veins pop out on his inner-arms, tinged with a blood-blue that didn't used to be there before the Dream-child had been born.

"Was Desire the one who tasked you with this quest that takes us to New Jersey?" Morpheus asks, a bit of Endlessness leaking out of his voice. 

He must be a lot more upset than he looks, Hob thinks.

"No," Hob says honestly, stopping beside Morpheus to lean his hip against the fridge. The tin of Hob's favourite loose-leaf tea is on its side, the contents dashed across the countertop, which explains the clatter Hob heard.

"But Desire visited you this day?"

Again, there's no point in sharing anything but the truth with Morpheus. "Yes."

"Why?"

Hob thinks about the best way to answer that while he gently nudges his lover aside to clean up the spilled leaves and finish making up the pot. Eventually he settles on: "They were made aware that I would be visiting the Walkers and asked me to help them repair their relationship."

"What relationship," Morpheus snarls, but his voice is slowly regaining its mortal timbre, so he must be calming down some. "They sired Rose and Jed's mother, and then abandoned Unity. There is no relationship to repair."

"Exactly," Hob says gently. "And they want to change that."

"Desire will never change," Morpheus spits. "They are a being of grasping want, and immediate gratification, and petty jealousies, and satisfaction-in-the-moment. Their memory is short and their motivation is petty."

"But aren't desires also long-term aspirations, and future goals, and putting in the work to achieve the longed-for outcome?" Hob asks as he cleans the tea off the counter and rights the tin. "Do you think marathon runners have any less desire in them than sprinters? Or the people who get up at 5am every day for years to write the novel of their hearts before the rest of the family wakes? Yeah, desire is Mr. Wickham and Mr. Willoughby. But it's also Mr. Darcy and Col. Brandon.”

"You and your romance films. It is charming how much you love love, inamorato, but they will never change," Morpheus repeats stubbornly.

"Why not?" Hob asks. "You did. You are. "

"Choosing to relinquish my Function is not the same as personal growth."

"I dunno, duck," Hob says. "Knowingly stepping away from a toxic working environment that doesn't make you happy or fulfil your soul in order to protect your mental health sounds an awful lot like 'personal growth' to me."

The kettle, which Hob had set back on the base to re-boil as they talked, clicks off. Hob lets Morpheus go through the ritual of filling the infuser and setting up their tea tray while he chews on that response.

"You are determined to approach things from a human perspective," Morpheus grumbles, which is how Hob knows he's won this round. Hob carries the tray to the living room, and sits down on the armchair so Morpheus can sprawl on the sofa in order to most effectively demonstrate the extreme level of his supposed emotional agony.

Hob would never dare say it out loud, but Desire and Dream even pout the same way.

Once the tea is steeped, Hob bitches the pot. Knowing that Dream is distracted by the sliver of his hairy thigh visible through the gap of his housecoat, he says, as nonchalantly as he can produce: "So why are you moving on?"

"A child comes," Morpheus says, as if that answers everything. It’s his rote response, practically a reflex at this point.

"You've said that before, and that still isn't an answer. At least not to me," Hob says with a small headshake and a depreciating laugh. "But then, I'm just some silly little human bloke with a big mouth."

"And a keen mind, and a generous heart," Morpheus rushes to assure him. "Do not devalue or speak ill of my beloved, Hob Gadling. I shall be cross with you if you do."

Hob laughs in earnest as he prepares his tea to his liking and then sits back in the chair.  And if his robe slips open a little at the neck, well, let it never be said that Hob isn't above using the charms of his body to make confessions more rewarding. 

"So explain it to me," Hob says. "Little happened in your realm that you didn't know about for you were the Dreaming. And sure you couldn't see what the Vortex hid, but you said the woman's baby was dreamstuff. You could have made it…" He gestures with his hand, fingers splayed, wrist limp, in approximation of how Morpheus scatters dream sand into the air. "But you allowed it to exist. Why?"

Morpheus shakes his head slowly, filling his own mug with as much sugar as liquid. Hob wonders how his lover can stand it when the tea he drinks is literally gritty.

"I wept as I unmade Gregory the Gargoyle," Morpheus confesses softly, stirring his sludge delicately. "It saddened me greatly to unmake Gault, and the Corinthian. They were mine. My children, and I had made the choice, and it was terrible, but it was my choice to make. I know intimately the pain of having no choice in the matter. Of having your child snatched away through no fault of your own." He meets Hob's eyes hare, and they both know they are thinking of Orpheus, and Robyn, and Wee John. That they are both the fathers of dead sons. "I could not… I could not choose to unmake that woman's child. Not on purpose. I could not do that to her."

"You know, you still haven't told me the woman or the baby's name."

Morpheus sips his tea and doesn't elaborate.

"Oh, okay, I see how that is," Hob says. "Keep your secrets then, Drama of the Endless. But you know, this doesn't explain why you're… 'giving up' isn't the right phrasing but… well, why are you doing …" he gestures at the tea things and the notebook on the kitchen counter, at the flat around them that is beginning to acquire black sweaters and socks, and raven-care paraphernalia, and leather-bound sketchbooks that Morpheus will not let Hob peruse. "All this?"

Morpheus (who has never in his existence has spoken without carefully planning his words) and Hob (who never in his existence has ever wanted to rush Morpheus) get all the way to the end of their mugs of tea before the answer is forthcoming.

Then he sets aside his mug, and licks his lips, and  true to his nature, tells Hob a story.

"Once, when I was feeling very low, my sister Death asked me to accompany her to watch her work," Morpheus says, with all the cadence of an old-fashioned bard. "I told her that I felt empty and… and miserable, when I contemplated my life outside of my Function. That my torment and imprisonment had left me hollow, and my subsequent revenge had ultimately been meaningless."

Hob didn't want to be the one to bring it up, but there had been something unstable about his Stranger when he had first returned. Violent reactions to unwanted touch or unexpected changes, issues with being in tight spaces or tight crowds, sensory problems with loud noises, the way his eyes would dart around and his chest heave with breath Morpheus didn't need if he heard a glass break—it had been strange and awful, and Hob hadn't known how best to help him, then. But one thing had been clear: Morpheus, for all his power, had not taken the time to heal from his torturous ordeal. 

It had worried Hob.

It doesn't worry him anymore. He was proud of how hard Morpheus had worked to understand and process his trauma, with Hob (and a few texts on PTSD and cognitive therapy) by his side.

Now, Hob reaches for Morpheus's hand, and Morpheus takes it, because it is a safety and a security that they have forged together. It's so much like that first night here, when Hob learned of his oldest and truest friend's century-long suffering, that he is struck with a wave of deja vu.

I love you, Hob thinks fiercely. I loved you then, too, but it was a small, new thing. Just an ember. It didn't burn yet. I didn't know, couldn't hope to know, how much I'd blaze in just one short year.

"Do you know what she said to me when I had made my confession, Hob Gadling?" Morpheus asks with a weary huff.

"No, what?" Hob feels his face draw down into a frown to match the one sinking onto Morpheus' mouth. He has a feeling he isn't going to like what he's about to hear.

"She told me that I simply needed to embrace my Function, to remember that I serve humanity, and if I simply do so, I will be alright."

Hob sucks in a sharp, shocked breath. "That… sorta sounds like the opposite of what I thought you would have needed."

"I believed the same as you say," Morpheus confesses with a bitter twist of his lips. "What worked for my sister, what helps her achieve balance and thoughtfulness in and happiness in her Function… did the opposite for me. I followed her for a half a day as old men passed away alone. As a bride's honeymoon was cut short, and a young man just wanting to play with his friends was senselessly destroyed by a careless driver."

Hob squeezes Morpheus' hand three times— I love you.

Morpheus squeezes back.

"My sister Death finds fulfilment and pride in her Function. She is there for them, in the end. She is a friendly face and a warm smile for all. She is not the cause of their deaths. Her Function, as many mortals would say in the common vernacular, for her it sparks joy."

"But not you?"

Morpheus heaves a wistful sigh. "It did. Once. But when I told her of the hollow ringing of my heart in the vast cavern of the Dreaming, she told me I must just bang the gong of it harder. As if the thunderous rollback of the echo would fill me with serene music, and not become an agonizing cacophony. She assumed that because her Function is enough for her, that I must be the same. But instead of helping me find joy in my Function, it instead made it feel all the colder and more meaningless.” Morpheus scrubs his hands through his hair, frustrated with his inability to convey all that he’s trying to tell Hob. “Dream of the Endless is meant to fill mortal sleeping hours before they are met with Death with wonder and joy and inspiration. And I felt none of my own. Do you understand me?"

Hob slips from the chair to kneel at Morpheus's sweet socked feet, take both his hands in his own, and kiss the backs of them. "A little?"

"I was seeking connection on a personal level, brother to sister. She… denied me this. In a kind and well-meaning way, but denied me all the same. She spoke to me not as a sister, but as one Endless to another. She told me, not in so many words, but plainly enough, to stop my whinging and get on with it." Morph’s eyes shimmer with the mercury-silver tears, shoulders trembling with repressed emotion. "And I… I could not. I could only … I thought of you." 

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that,” Hob says gently.

Morph looks earnest, like he's trying to confess something, trying to say more than simple words can convey. The prince of Stories has a whole tome behind his eyes, and Hob does his best to parse it. 

"She reminded me that humanity is the reason I exist, and remembering that I serve humanity will return me to a place of happiness and she was not wrong, she meant it kindly, I must emphasize that… but it was the wrong advice in the moment because all it made me think about was you."

Hob tries not to let himself preen too much. "And then you came to find me at the New Inn. You let me keep you when I begged."

"Yes," Morpheus says, licking his rosebud mouth, leaving his lips shining in the growing twilight. "You only sought to connect with me on a personal level. You dubbed me ‘friend’, and asked for my name, and wanted to know the mundanities of my own preferences and experiences, and gave little care to the power and prestige of my Function. And I realized… this is what I want. I no longer desire the connection that solely comes from fulfilling my duties. I want only that of… you."

"Well, more than just me, I hope, duck," Hob says, tugging gently at his ear. "I can't be your, you know, only reason for existing."

"Not you, Hob Gadling, you vainglorious creature," Morpheus chuckles. "But... you, the most human of humanity. And therefore the representative of the whole.”

"Oh, duck," Hob says, turning Morph's hands over to lay kisses down the long, broken path of each of his lifelines.

"I have lost the joy of being Dream of the Endless," Morpheus says, with such gravitas, such candor, such fear that it seems as if he dreads Father Time and Mother Night themselves descending from the heavens to strike him dead for such blasphemies.

Hob kisses the plush mound of each of Morpheus' thumbs.

"I have lost the colour and thrill of being Nightmare King. The creativity doesn't move me. The plights of the Dreamers do not wound me. Their laughter does not fulfil me. Their wonder is stale and their terror tastes like ash. My duties are like a weighted and wet cloak. The burden of their care drags me down. I am… unhappy, Hob. I cannot serve my Function because it leaves me in miseries. And my miseries impede my ability to serve my Function. It is… time to hand the reins to one who can… who can dream again. For I have quite lost the knack of it."

"I'm so sorry to hear it," Hob tells him earnestly. He perches his chin on Morpheus's knee to peer up at him. "And I'm so proud of you for being able to recognize it. To choose to do something about it."

"It is you who is the source of that bravery, erasti," Morpheus says, meaningfully. He frees one of his hands to push Hob's loose hair back behind his ear, petting down the side of his bare neck.

Hob feels his ears go pink. "And so when the child came, you let it?"

"Morpheus, the God of Sleep, is no longer in his temples, nor supping at his altars. The old god is dead. The new must rise."

"So what do you want now, then?"

"You. Just you. Just… just this."

"You have it," Hob says urgently, rising on his knees to cup Morpheus' cheeks in his own hands, to draw him down into chaste, slow kiss. "You have me."

"I do. But I want to choose it, do you understand me?" Morpheus asks, dragging Hob up to straddle his lap so he needn't bend double for their gazes to be level. "Death told me to just accept my life and be happy with it as it was. To push aside choice. To simply follow the rules and it will be good enough, but she followed the rules and I suffered. When I needed help… in Fawny Rigg… she did not come. She knew where I was, she took Jessamy away and she left  me there. True, I did not call on my siblings for rescue, but I did so to protect them from Burgess and his terrible greed. But she came for Jessamy, and she saw me, and she left me there. Do you understand?"

Hob pets his hair back, soothing. "I understand."

"She does not mean to be cruel, but what does Death really, know of life? Even if she walks as a mortal one day a century, she is never really human. She has never really loved and lost as I have. When I asked for help to find my purpose and happiness again, she… took me to watch a mother scream. She knew Orpheus, dandled him on her knee and whispered poetry in his ear to soothe him to sleep, and yet that was her solution. There were a thousand other beings dying in that same moment, but that is the one she took me to see. When I expressed my fear that I can no longer connect with humanity, she invited me to watch a baby die. I asked for her help and she did not help me. Not the way that you helped me."

Hob's frown has by now become a mighty scowl, but before he can say something he's sure he'll probably regret later, Morpheus adds:

"Do not mistake me, erasti. Death loves me. I was the first infant she ever held. Besides Destiny, and you, I will be the last being she escorts to the Sunless Lands. But just because she loves me does not mean that she knows how best to care for me. Not like you do, my beloved."

"I try," Hob says, infusing every syllable with the devotion and determination he feels. "I always will."

"I know. As I will for you. And so, it is time, I think… to pass the crown on to one who will not only wear it, but marry themselves to their realm as a monarch ought. I am a creature born of human worship and naming. The child is a creature born of Dreamstuff, created to be of them instead of over them. To the Dreaming he belongs, and in the Dreaming he will find his purpose, and his happiness. In ways that I…" Morph looks down at his palms, and picks at the callus that his pen nib has begun to leave on the inside of his middle finger. "I never fully have. Not in the way that the other facets of Dream of the Endless revel in or enjoy their function. I've always been… trapped by the constraints of  what those who thought me up believed a god should be." 

“Oh?”

Morph laughs, mirthlessly. "You humans! You are the only creatures in existence who believe your gods to be just as flawed, and petty, and greedy, and compassionate, and loving as you are. And as I am created, I am also thus. It has made me… singular among the other Dreams."

"You're not petty, or greedy," Hob says, but knows he looks dubious as he does. Hob has known him to be petty and greedy in the extreme.

"Oh, Hob, but I am," Morpheus corrects him gently. He settles his hands at Hob's waist, sliding his palms through the slit in the silk bathrobe, spreading his fingers over Hob's furry stomach like he can reach through it and fist his hands in Hob’s guts and merge their flesh. He probably could. " So greedy. But you see those as virtues, see the good that comes of those traits. You see them as flaws worth loving, rather than reasons to discard me."

Hob clamps his hands down on Morpheus's shoulders as his lover shifts and spreads his legs, allowing Hob to settle more fully against his pelvis.

"And so. There is your answer, Hob Gadling," Morpheus says, leaning up to paint his confession against the flesh of Hob's sternum, directly between his nipples. "Morpheus God of Sleep was born of human thought, and of humanity he now must become. Dream of the Endless is a being dedicated to its Function, and this facet of the jewel must be shaved off and polished anew, for it is dull, and scuffed, and scarred. But fear not, my dearheart, for the cutting shall come thick enough that the jewel can be buffed smooth. It can shine on its own."

"Hell of a metaphor," Hob says with a low whistle. "But I guess you invented them, so that's all right."

The flight is tolerable only because Hob throws back a handful of sleeping pills as soon as the plane begins to taxi away from the jetway, and he spends most of it in the throne room with Lucienne as they index a catalogue of all of the new denizens that had come into being along with the birth of the new sovereign. There are an alarming number of children's dreams of simple animated dogs.

Hob reaches his hotel room still groggy from the jetlag, the lingering effects of the medication, and the stomach-lurchingly erratic cab ride from Newark International airport. He’s happy to find Morpheus there, waiting for him. He’s lounging indolently in one of the armchairs, that fancy moleskin that Hob’s never allowed to see into on his lap, his fingers splotched with ink.

Morpheus takes pity on Hob and draws him a bath in the luxurious jacuzzi tub. He tucks himself into the water and makes of himself a bath pillow to keep Hob upright and protected as Hob begins to doze. Morpheus feeds him fruit and sugared nuts from the dreams of children and bakers preparing for the upcoming holy day, and coaxes the sweetest, most lazy orgasm out of Hob's body with teeth in Hob’s neck, and his elegant hands roving below the water line.

Hob wakes up ravenous, and orders a ridiculously American-sized portion of scrambled eggs, streaky bacon, toast, and coffee strong enough to damn near melt the spoon Hob uses to stir in his sugar. 

Then Hob dresses. Spring has well and truly arrived in New Jersey, and it is warm enough for him to leave off his brown leather jacket and roll up the sleeves of his pullover. The air is tinged with possibility, and the faint reek of the Delaware River, which is different from, but at the same time, exactly like the Thames. The day is bright, and virtually cloudless.

Morpheus leads him through the old neighborhood, telling him the dreams of the colonial buildings that ring the nearby park. He converses with each curious corvid, makes a leg at the local regent of the squirrels, and awakens every sleeping blossom they pass by with a light tap of his elegant fingers.

"You're an honest-to-god Disney Princess," Hob tells Morpheus, crowding him up against the base of a statue of some Yankee war hero or another. Hob kisses the indignation out of Morpheus's mouth, and then adds: "I fucking love it."

"Dr. Gadlen!" someone shouts, from the cement pathway by the water.

Hob detaches from Morpheus and scans the crowd for the source of the call. "Rose!" he shouts back, waving his arm delightedly. Beside him, Morpheus smooths down his coat and hair, too majestic to do something so infantile as wave and whistle.

Rose and Jed pop out of the crowd and begin climbing the verdant green hillock toward them. Trailing behind Jed, a classically beautiful brunette woman veers onto the grass to follow him with a pushchair.

And in the chair sits a little boy. A tow-headed child with a guileless smile and emerald green eyes, exactly like the one depicted in the stained glass behind Morpheus's throne.

There comes a child, Morpheus had said, and Hob feels like an idiot for not connecting the dots sooner. The child. Who Morpheus has never named in front of Hob, but is clearly and obviously the one born to Lyta Trevor-Hall. 

The one born to a woman whose husband was long-dead, but who was intimate friends with a Dream Vortex, who can make things like this happen with a mere thought and a wish.

Hob stands there, mouth agape, staring at the toddler like a complete and utter prat.

Before Hob can say any of this though, Lyta Hall catches sight of the shadow looming over Hob's shoulder. Her face darkens and hardens in fury. She shoves the pushchair at Jed to mind, strides across grass and right up into their personal space, hauls back, and punches Morpheus square in the nose.

PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

[wisdomrays]

God’s Attributes of Glory: Part 7

Qiyam bi-nafsihi (Self-Subsistence)

God’s Being Self-Subsistent means He subsists by Himself in absolute independence of anything else and without needing anything, either in His existence or subsistence, while everything and everyone other than Him owes both their existence and subsistence to Him. On account of any meaning opposite to this Attribute being inconceivable for the Divine Being, this Attribute is also regarded as being among the Attributes of Exemption. Although this Attribute of Glory is not explicitly mentioned in the Qur’an, all the verses concerning God’s self-subsistence and maintaining the whole of creation also point to His Self-Subsistence.

Muslim theologians have explicitly stressed God’s absolute independence of and freedom from time and space, and from everything else, whether it be a substance or an accident, material or immaterial. They have regarded the physical causes and means that He employs in His Acts and executions as the veils of His Dignity and Grandeur. In the words of Bediüzzaman, Divine Dignity and Grandeur require that physical causes must be veils before the Hand of Power in the sight of the intellect, so that the Power’s relationship with some unpleasant and insignificant-seeming things and affairs will not be seen.

The Positive or Affirmative Attributes

The Attributes Whose existence is indispensable and mark God’s absolute Perfection have been called the Positive or Affirmative Attributes. God has Life, has perfect Knowledge of everything and an overwhelming Power over everything. He has also a Will Which determines whatever It wishes, however it wishes. In short, these Attributes make God known to us and describe Who He is through affirmative expressions. Like the Essential Attributes, the opposites of these Attributes cannot be conceived for the All-Holy Being, and all of these Attributes are eternal both in the past and in the future, for they are among the sacred Attributes that are inherent in or inseparable from the All-Majestic, All-High Being with absolute perfection.

As discussed in books on Islamic creed, some of these Attributes such as Life, Knowledge, Power, and Will are in the infinitive form (in the Arabic), while others are in an adjectival form. Humans, jinn, spirit beings, and angels also have these attributes, but when ascribed to the Divine Being, they are absolute, timeless (eternal in the past and in the future), and inherent in Him. Other beings have them as reflections of the same Attributes of God, and these attributes are restricted

With the exception of the Attribute of Making Exist or Creation, for which there are different considerations, all of the Positive or Affirmative Attributes are veils before the Dignity and Grandeur of the Divine Being, Who has no beginning, is eternally permanent, and infinitely encompassing. They are Attributes of Majesty and Grace that are inherent in the All-Sacred Being, Which subsist by Him, but are not nominally identical to the Divine Being Himself. They are Life, Knowledge, Hearing, Sight, Will, Power, Speech, and Making Exist.

Hayah (Life)

Life is one of the eternal Divine Attributes of Glory, and—provided we do not ignore that Life is an Attribute of the Being that It describes—the sole source of life for all the worlds of living beings. It is solely God Who gives life to and maintains everything in the heavens and on the earth, on land and in water, and in both the physical and metaphysical realms. Every existent thing and being in this world is favored with life by Him and will also be favored with a second life in the other world by Him.

Through the perpetual Divine Attribute of Life, every living being experiences its near and distant environment, builds relationships with these environments, and becomes as if a universal being while it is a particular. God bestows on everything a great profundity and every being gains a different expansion through this connection. While the Attribute of Life, Which is a veil for the All-Independent Being described by It, shows Itself with Its manifestations and reflections in all the worlds of living beings, It is never subjected to division or separation from the All-Sacred One Whom It describes. It is absolutely free from all such instances of exposure.

The Attribute of Life has priority to other Affirmative Attributes, for Attributes like Power, Will, and Knowledge cannot be without Life; it is not possible to think about these without considering Life. The manifest Qur’an draws the attention to that perpetual Life in many of its verses and reminds us of the reality, “He is All-Living, and never dies.” The spirit is a general manifestation of Life, and the state of being alive is Its reflection. In His Speech (the Qur’an), God calls attention to the celebrated Names the All-Living and the Giver of life as the background of life and He emphasizes that perpetual Life in different manners in connection with Prophets Adam and Jesus, and with all other living beings. The Ultimate Truth should be viewed through the telescope of life. Everyone who looks through belief can read on the face of life such truths as: “It is He Who causes to die, Who revives, and Who will restore everything to a new life in the other realm; it is also He Who will return the bones, rotten and mixed with earth, to life in a different fashion with their essential parts.”

[zerogate]

The Tibetan saint Milarepa had meditated in the same valley, writing ecstatic verse such as:

The wilderness cave is an open market

where Samsara can be bartered for Nirvana.

In the monastery of your heart and body

lies a temple where all the Buddhas unite.

[...]

As his teacher Tilopa instructed him:

Watch without watching for something.

Look from the invisible at what cannot be grasped.

To see and yet to see no things

Is to find freedom in and through yourself . . .

Dwell in the unity of Samsara and Nirvana.

Look into the mirror of your mind, which is radiant delight,

The mysterious home of the dakini.

[...]

Tibetan tradition speaks of Kha sher lamkhyer—“whatever arises, carry it to the path”—a Buddhist injunction to abandon preferences and integrate all experience beyond accepting and rejecting. Without that dynamic openness to adventure (from the Latin ad venio, “whatever comes”), Tibetans say, pilgrimage devolves into ordinary travel and the hidden-lands—both physical and metaphysical—will never open.

In the Vajrayana, or Tantric, tradition of Tibetan Buddhism, the contemplation of archetypal deities such as Shinje Chogyal is not a morbid meditation on death and dissolution, but the fearless embrace of energies which are commonly disowned. In Dharamsala, Khamtrul Rinpoche had explained to me that Shinje Chogyal, an icon of impermanence, lords over the gates of Pemako. Whether one perceives him as the judge of the dead or the bestower of a richer sense of existence—a potent ally in the deeper reaches of mind and landscape, beyond hope and fear—determines one’s experience in the wilderness downstream. The white-haired lama had held out his palm and repeated a Tibetan saying: “Heaven and hell are closer than the two sides of a hand.”

-- Ian Baker, The Heart of the World

[creativia10]

Roman and Virgil Bond

Summary: Roman seems to think that since he is dating Virgil's brother, he and Virgil should hang out. Virgil doesn't really get it.

Pairing: Platonic Roman and Virgil,

Wordcount: 1201

Notes: Tuliptober Prompt 13- Food

So, this is actually one where I got the idea before I matched it with a prompt, although I had been thinking about fics to write for this verse because of the prompt list. I love Virgil and Roman's dynamic in general, and I thought it could be fun to see more of it from this verse.

Note, Virgil is agenderfluid in this verse. So Virgil will be using they/them pronouns in this work. Open to feedback. Also, yes I do refer to the first MpD fic I wrote, for Halloween

@radiocrushstarcrash

Based on @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors Metaphysical Determinism series

“Emo nightmare! I am dating your brother, so we should hang out and bond.” Roman flung his arms out dramatically as he said this.

Virgil leaned against the counter and raised an eyebrow at the other.

“What?”

Roman lowered his arms and pouted. “I know you heard me,” Roman said with a whine. Virgil heard Patton muffle a giggle. Virgil glanced over. Patton purposefully looked away and busied himself with something behind the counter. So Virgil sighed and looked back at Roman.

“I don’t see why that means we should do something together. If anything, it almost means the opposite since I need to watch out for you and make sure you don’t hurt my brother.”

Roman put a hand on his chest. “I would never.”

Virgil rolled their eyes. “Patton put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Patton was whistling too innocently off to the side.

Roman laughed a little. “Perhaps, but I do believe he had a point. We should at least try to get to know each other more.”

Virgil hmmed. They didn’t really like Roman. Yet they supposed it could be a good thing that the bard cared enough to want to get to know them. That didn’t mean Roman didn’t want to just butter them up since they were Patton’s sibling though.

“I mean, I am working.”

“Oh, of course, I wouldn’t insist this moment. How about we spend lunch together?”

“I don’t exactly have a long enough lunch to go anywhere.”

“The tattoo parlor is not far, so I could just bring my lunch over here and we can eat together.”

“How very low-key, not what I would have expected from you.”

“Is that a problem?”

Virgil sighed. “No. I suppose that’s fine.”

Roman clapped his hands. “Marvelous! I shall see you then.” And with that, Roman pranced out of the café. Virgil shook their head and looked at their brother.

“You know, just because you’re dating him, doesn’t mean you have to try and get us to be friends.”

Patton shrugged. “I mean, it seems like a good idea anyways. You’ll be seeing more of him. Plus, I want you to get along.”

“Pat, if you’re happy with him, I’m not gonna get in your way. As long as he’s not hurting you. I just can’t let him think I don’t dislike him so he knows to behave.”

Patton rolled his eyes.

“Just give him a chance, alright? Who knows, maybe you can find something in common.”

Virgil huffed. “Yeah, whatever.”

Honestly, Virgil thought the pair was being kind of silly. They supposed they owed it to Patton to at least humor this silly bonding thing. Even if it was sitting in a semblance of proximity while eating on each of their lunch breaks.

Not long after their lunch break hit, Roman skipped into the café humming.

“Greetings again, dark and stormy.”

Virgil rolled their eyes as Roman sat across from them at their table.

“Oh please, you’re starting too strong with the sweet words.”

Roman snickered and opened his Tupperware.

“Whatcha eatin’?” Roman asked.

Virgil gestured with his plastic fork. “Just a salad.”

“Ah,” Roman nodded. “Simple and healthy.”

“And yours?” Virgil wasn’t sure why they were asking. They didn’t really care. Roman gestured at his own food with a bit more flourish.

“A leftover pasta meal with a white sauce. Patton seems to like to cook for me. I’m sure you remember when I was over the other evening. You just glared at me for a bit.”

Ah, that’s right. Virgil did do that.

“Well…I’m sure he’s thrilled to know that you like his food so much.”

Wait, did Roman say that? Roman smiled and nodded.

“But of course.”

After the initial small talk, they lurched into a bit of awkward silence. Virgil wasn’t opposed to some quiet on their own. But they felt it was not something Roman wanted at that moment. Virgil prodded at a leaf with a fork for a moment. They didn’t know what to do about that. Why should they care if Roman was uncomfortable? They didn’t want to do this anyway. They didn’t have a particular desire to befriend Roman after all.

“So,” Roman said suddenly. Virgil hoped their conversation wouldn’t stay stilted and awkward the whole time. It was easy to snark at Roman usually. Yet it felt different when Roman wanted something positive out of this for some reason.

“What is the most troublesome thing Remus has done to you?”

Virgil blinked at the strange question. “I’m sorry?”

Roman shrugged. “I’m told my crazy brother can really encourage chaos when he is with your boyfriend. I was curious if there was anything, in particular, he had done. I am quite used to my brother’s shenanigans after all.”

Virgil thought for a moment. “I mean…can’t really beat the first mess they created upon their first meeting.”

Roman leaned forward. “Ah yes, I thought I heard something happened with them at your family gathering we all went to.”

Virgil shook their head. “Somehow, when they tried to fix my family’s communal pool, they turned it into a portal to the fey.”

Roman blinked and then burst out laughing. “I-what? How on earth did they manage that?”

Virgil threw their arms in the air. “I don’t know! At this point, it almost seems their combined presence could invite spontaneous combustion.”

Roman sighed and shook his head. “So it would seem.”

“I mean they have moments when they seem sane enough to work together. Like how Halloween decorating started. But then, Logan had to fix something with Remus’s help. The next thing I know, artificial bats start stalking my customers!”

“Oh my gosh. I remember Remus being absent from the tattoo parlor around Halloween. I didn’t realize that was the outcome!”

Virgil nodded. “Can’t ban them from being friends. Logan gets too adorable when he gets excited about something. It’s hard to prepare for whatever disasters will strike when they enter each other’s vicinity though.”

Roman nodded, “I’m sure.”

“Do you have an example with your brother?’ Virgil found themself asking.

Roman huffed. “Oh, I wouldn’t know where to start. I did grow up with the gremlin.”

“My condolences,” Virgil said with a smirk. Roman rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too.

“Are we talking the level of destruction or level of ‘wanting-to-bash-my-head-in?”

“I’d say, whatever felt stronger or most exasperating at that moment.”

Roman hmmed and shook his head, “Nope, still too many.”

“Heh. You think Devin is crazy?” Virgil asked light-hearted. Roman shrugged.

“I don’t know what the appeal is, but at least the two of them are happy.”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. Going off of that, we need to come up with contingency plans for when the chaotic duo combines.”

“Oh for sure,” Roman agreed.

“Even if such outcomes are impossible to predict in hindsight, knowing them.”

Virgil didn’t expect their whole lunch with Roman to involve such discussions. They supposed it wasn’t so bad though. At least this was another ally who may have some rationale when it came to the duo’s hijinks. Also, it was another good reminder. They needed to check that they had enough fire extinguishers stored on hand.

[undercat-overdog]

What do you think about the Oath?

The Oath of Feanor? Going to answer it for that, lmk if you mean something else (though I don’t really have thoughts on the Oathbreakers of Dunharrow).

I don’t think it’s binding and I think the brothers (and Feanor, had he lived) could have broken it. I don’t think the Oath is controlling their actions. However, that’s not to say that they don’t think it’s binding or breakable or controlling them. I’m not a historian, philosopher, or theologian, nor am I particularly well-versed in Arda’s metaphysics, so I’m not going to speculate further; people smarter than me have written thoughtful things about that. (I will link to this article, about what oaths mean in cultures that take them seriously, which is really interesting.)

(I do wonder - if the Oath has some sort of malevolent impact on the story, which it may even beyond what it leads to, then how did that come about? Possibly any malevolence comes from what the Oath calls for - Feanor and his sons aren’t swearing to retrieve the Silmarils but to kill anyone who’s not them who has or holds one, or casts one away. It’s an Oath sworn to the creator god, in the sight of Manwe and Varda, and those that swear it are swearing to kill.)

But… I don’t really care. I would like discussion around the Oath to not be only about the Feanorians but also the people were murdered and cities and cultures destroyed because of it. It affected them just as much as it affected Feanor and his sons. Their deaths, the destruction of their cultures (Doriath and Sirion), are just as much a consequence of the Oath as the fates of the Feanorians, and they were unwilling participants. Dior did not swear to kill anyone who found and took a Silmaril, nor did the people of Doriath; Elwing did not call upon Iluvatar to say she would kill anyone who took one in hand, nor did the people of Sirion. And yet the Oath determined their fate just as much as it determined the fates of the Feanorians (or rather, the Feanorians used it to determine their fate). While the victims of the Feanorians did not swear it, it had just as much an impact in their lives - or deaths.

[checkxmaster]

Chad, why are you with Wanda? In one universe, this is what she becomes. Shouldn’t you be scared? Look at what her zombified form did to her former teammates!

__________

@illbringthechaosmagic​

The strange video clip was difficult for Chad to watch, not because he was afraid of Wanda or disgusted by her, but because he felt so badly for her. He only knew what it was like to be infected with the original strain of the T-virus, and that hadn’t been particularly pleasant. Fever, chills, muscle weakness and spasms, a horrible taste in his mouth, racing heart, vision and hearing problems… and the list went on. He could only imagine what it would have been like to fully become one of the undead after death, but… he wasn’t even sure that that’s what he was looking at here.

The concept of a multiverse did have its merits in some schools of thought among philosophers of hypothetical metaphysics, and it was something that interested Chad, but he knew very little about it. Nevertheless, if this was really another version of Wanda that he was looking at, she clearly still had both mental capacity as well as high motor function. Those… simply were not characteristics of T-virus reanimation. The T-virus reanimates dead bodies with only the most basic of motor functions and extremely limited intelligence. The undead weren’t capable of casting magic, mourning lost loved ones, or even becoming angry beyond a vapid, animalistic aggression borne of a basal instinct to feed. This Wanda… clearly was casting magic, angry, and mourning-… well he had no idea who “Vision” was but apparently this version of Wanda had cared for him.

This looked to him more like the result of Las Plagas infection. The undead borne of that infection were stronger, more coordinated, highly intelligent, able to strategize and engage in sophisticated combat, and could experience emotions. That only served to upset Chad even more, because becoming undead but retaining one’s intelligence had to be an absolute nightmare, and he’d never wish that on Wanda.

“No, I’m not scared,” Chad said, taking some offense to that. “Despite what everyone thinks of me, I’m not some spineless coward. Regardless, that’s not going to happen to Wanda in this verse. I won’t let it.” His jaw clenched for a moment with determination before he spoke again. “It’s a really terrible thing to go through, being infected by a virus with these types of effects. Infected individuals are not always responsible for their actions due to the way the virus affects the brain, and undead individuals are sometimes only a shadow of their former selves. Don’t be so quick to judge based on appearances. Maybe her teammates should’ve done a better job of protecting her from infection, did you think about that?” He sighed. “I’m not leaving Wanda because of something that hypothetically occurred in another part of the multiverse. Just leaves us alone.”

[vinceviralfreak]

The Devil Poetic Echoes: In the depths of the eerie abyss, where darkness prevailed and whispers of temptation lingered, there existed a mysterious entity known as the Devil Poetic Echoes. This nameless creature roamed the realms of the metaphysical, weaving its way through the fabric of reality, leaving a trail of enigmatic verses in its wake. Its ethereal presence created a fusion of fear, awe, and curiosity among those who dared to seek it.

The Devil Poetic Echoes possessed a power unlike any other. Its words had the ability to charm and seduce even the purest souls, compelling them to do unspeakable things. Countless tales spoke of the Devil's intoxicating melodies, drawing hapless mortals into its ever-ensnaring web.

Legend whispered that the Devil Poetic Echoes was not always the harbinger of malevolence it had become. Once, it had been a celestial muse, a wellspring of inspiration for artists and poets alike. But, as the creature delved deeper into the depths of its own soul, an insidious darkness began to seep into its being, transforming it into the embodiment of poetic chaos.

The Devil Poetic Echoes had no form and existed solely as a voice resonating in the minds of its victims. It was said that its haunting whispers dripped with malice, leaving an indelible mark on those who succumbed to its allure. Its verses were captivating, yet laced with a subtle poison that tainted the conscience of those who fell under its sway.

Many brave souls ventured into the abyss, driven by the desire to challenge the Devil Poetic Echoes and break free from its spell. They were lured by the promise of eternal glory and recognition, believing they could harness the power of the Devil's verses without succumbing to its wicked grasp. But the Devil, cunning in its ways, always managed to twist their desires, reducing them to mere puppets, dancing to its malevolent tune.

One such adventurer who dared to face the Devil Poetic Echoes was the poet Dante. Guided by an unyielding determination and a heart burdened by the sins of his past, Dante sought redemption through his poetic endeavors. Armed with the purity of his intentions, he delved into the depths of the abyss, venturing into uncharted realms of the mind and soul.

As Dante treaded deeper into the abyss, the whispers of the Devil grew stronger, enticing him with promises of unparalleled fame and fortune. But Dante remained resolute, weaving his own verses as shields against the malevolent influence. The Devil, sensing its imminent defeat, intensified its assault, bombarding Dante with nightmarish visions and tantalizing temptations.

Yet Dante, fueled by his unwavering resolve, resisted the Devil's seductive wiles. With every verse he created, a glimmer of light began to emanate from his soul, slowly eradicating the darkness that consumed the abyss. In a final confrontation with the Devil Poetic Echoes, Dante unleashed a symphony of words so profound and pure that it shattered the hold the Devil had over him.

In that climactic moment, the Devil Poetic Echoes, defeated and stripped of its power, let out a tremor of anguish. Its once mesmerizing voice faltered, fading into silence. Dante, triumphant in his victory, emerged from the abyss forever changed. He had tamed the Devil's echoes, transforming them into a force for good, inspiring generations to come through his own poetic works.

And so, the legend of the Devil Poetic Echoes lives on as a cautionary tale, a reminder that even the most enchanting words can be laced with darkness. It serves as a testament to the power of the human spirit, that in the face of temptation, true artistry lies in the ability to resist the seductive allure of the forbidden and harness creativity to uplift the human soul.

[astrosage1]

Plotting Prosperity: Navigating Positive Energies with Plot Vaastu Consultants in India and Delhi

When it comes to constructing a home or developing a property, the alignment and energy of the plot are critical factors. Plot Vaastu Consultants in India and specifically in Delhi offer invaluable guidance to ensure that the land upon which structures are built is in harmony with natural energies. In this article, we explore the significance of these consultants in fostering prosperity through the principles of Vastu.

1: The Essence of Plot Vaastu**

Balancing Cosmic Energies: Plot Vaastu is rooted in the belief that every plot of land has its unique energy, influenced by the sun, moon, and other celestial bodies. Consultants work to balance these energies for the well-being of the occupants.

Holistic Approach: Unlike conventional land development, Plot Vaastu takes a holistic approach, considering not just the physical dimensions but also the cosmic and metaphysical aspects associated with the land.

2: Key Principles of Plot Vaastu**

Orientation and Direction: Plot Vaastu emphasizes the importance of the plot's orientation and direction. Each cardinal direction has specific energies, and aligning the structure with these directions is vital.

Topography Considerations: Consultants assess the topography of the plot, looking at factors like slopes, water bodies, and natural features. This evaluation helps in determining the flow of energies across the land.

3: Plot Vaastu in Delhi**

Urban Dynamics: Delhi, being a bustling metropolis, presents unique challenges for land development. Plot Vaastu Consultants in Delhi are well-versed in addressing the specific energy dynamics of urban plots.

Mitigating Urban Stresses: The consultants in Delhi integrate Vastu principles with practical urban solutions, offering remedies to counteract the stressors associated with city living.

4: Personalized Consultations**

Customized Vastu Solutions: Plot Vaastu Consultants provide personalized recommendations based on the specific attributes of each plot. This ensures that the Vastu solutions are tailored to the unique energies of the land.

Residential and Commercial Expertise: Whether developing residential complexes or commercial spaces, consultants offer expertise in optimizing the plot's energies for the intended purpose.

5: Plots Vaastu Consultants in India**

Regional Variances: India's diverse landscapes demand a nuanced understanding of regional variances. Consultants operating at a national level comprehend the intricacies of different terrains.

Cultural Sensitivity: Recognizing the cultural significance of land, these consultants integrate cultural nuances into their recommendations, respecting the traditions associated with specific regions.

In the dynamic landscape of property development, Plot Vaastu Consultants in India and Delhi emerge as guardians of balance, ensuring that every plot is a canvas for prosperity. Their expertise goes beyond architectural blueprints, incorporating ancient Vastu wisdom to align structures with cosmic energies.

Whether it's the heart of Delhi or a serene plot in rural India, Plot Vaastu Consultants play a pivotal role in shaping the destiny of the land. As custodians of energy flow and cosmic harmony, they guide property developers, homeowners, and businesses in creating spaces that resonate with positive vibrations. In the realm of real estate, where the energies of the land can significantly impact the fortunes of its inhabitants, the guidance of Plot Vaastu Consultants becomes not just beneficial but indispensable.

To know more about the Plot Vaastu Consultant In India, or Plots Vaastu Consultant In Delhi, we recommend you to visit the ACL Marts, as it is the best platform to get the best Astro & Vastu Consultant services in India.

[frontlistmedia]

Top 5 Indian Philosophy Books | Frontlist

Philosophical literature encompasses almost every aspect of human life. Many of the greatest thinkers of world history have found themselves strolling through the hallways of philosophy. It is the closest we can get to the biggest mysteries of life. 

Philosophical literature helps us comprehend how previous societies formed and offers a collective outlook on how far we've come. 

This World Philosophy Day, expand your mind and gain a fresh perspective on life with these top 5 books by Indian authors.  

An Introduction to Indian Philosophy by Satishchandra Chatterjee 

By comparing and contrasting nine philosophy schools (six orthodox and three heterodox) in India, the author has presented an overview of Indian Philosophy. Accepting the Vedas as authoritative sources determines whether the philosophical school is considered orthodox or unorthodox. 

The introduction chapter equips the reader with a concept necessary to interpret the book, and the rest of the book examines the nine schools of metaphysics, ethics, theology, epistemology, etc.

Indian Philosophy by Dr. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan

Dr. Radhakrishnan's Indian Philosophy introduces readers to Indian philosophy while exploring the Vedic and Epic Periods. 

The book comprises expositions of the verses of the Rig Veda, the Upanishads, Jainism, Buddhism, and the theism of the Bhagavad Gita. It delineates the history of Indian philosophy and the ideologies that define it. 

The author has endeavored to correlate philosophical texts to contemporary issues of philosophy and religion. 

Contemporary Indian Philosophy by Basant Kumar Lal

Contemporary Indian Philosophy attempts to shed light on the need to reconcile the forces of tradition with modernity.  

The book emphasizes the primary goal of philosophy, which is to cultivate a worldview.

It familiarizes the reader with the existential awareness of life and consciousness and emphasizes the ultimacy of spiritual values.

The Story of Philosophy by Will Durant

Composed by one of the leading philosophers of the 20th Century, The Story of Philosophy is an account of the nine greatest thinkers of the world- Plato, Aristotle, Francis Bacon, Baruch Spinoza, Voltaire, Immanuel Kant, Arthur Schopenhauer, Herbert Spencer, and Friedrich Nietzsche, perceived life, the universe, and everything. 

It offers an insight into the evolution of philosophical notions over time in the western world through unambiguous proses and explores its relation with political and social affairs. 

Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche

Consisting of 296 aphorisms, Beyond Good and Evil comprehensively encapsulates philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche's distinctive perception of the world.  

He accuses earlier rationalists of lacking common sense and indiscriminately permitting dogmatic premises in their conception of morality.  

He examines the chronology of moral systems and addresses the questions of race, nationalities, and nationalism.

Conclusion

Philosophy enables us to embark on a quest to find the truth concerning the meaning of life, reveals to us the reasons behind the ways we act, helps us comprehend our inner selves, and imparts to us how we relate to the world around us.   

Broaden your horizons and deepen your understanding of the world with these existential gems of philosophical literature. 

To Learn more about books and publisher please visit, https://www.frontlist.in/ 

[wisdomrays]

The Messenger of God: Muhammad: Part 69

The Ethos Created by the Messenger: Part 2

Islam is the middle way. Its elaborate hierarchy of knowledge is integrated by the principle of Divine Unity (tawhid). There are juridical, social and theological sciences, as well as metaphysical ones, all deriving their principles from the Qur'an. Over time, Muslims developed elaborate philosophical, natural, and mathematical sciences, each of which has its source in a Beautiful Name of God. For example, medicine depends on the Name All-Healing; geometry and engineering on the Names All-Just and All-Determiner, and All-Shaper and All-Harmonizing; philosophy reflects the Name All-Wise.

Each level of knowledge views nature in a particular light. Jurists and theologians see it as the background for human action; philosophers and scientists see it as a domain to be analyzed and understood; and metaphysicians consider it the object of contemplation and the mirror reflecting suprasensible realities. The Author of Nature has inscribed His Wisdom upon every leaf and stone, on every atom and particle, and has created the world of nature in such a way that every phenomenon is a sign (aya) singing the glory of His Oneness.

Islam has maintained an intimate connection between science and Islamic studies. As a result, the traditional education of Islamic scientists, particularly in the early cneturies of Islam, was broad enough to comprise most of the sciences of that time. In later life, each scientist's aptitude and interest would cause him or her to become an expert and specialist in one or more sciences.

Universities, libraries, observatories, and other scientific institutions played a major role in the continuing vitality of Islamic science. These, together with students who would travel hundreds of miles to study under acknowledged scholars, ensured that the whole corpus of knowledge was kept intact and transmitted from one place to another and from one generation to the next. This knowledge did not remain static; rather, it continued to expand and enrich itself. Today, there are hundreds of thousands of Islamic (mainly in Arabic) manuscripts in the world's libraries, a large number of which deal with scientific subjects.

For example, Abu Yusuf Yaqub al-Kindi (the "Philosopher of the Arabs") wrote on philosophy, mineralogy, metallurgy, geology, physics, and medicine, among other subjects, and was an accomplished physician. Ibn al-Haytham was a leading Muslim mathematician and, without doubt, the greatest physicist. We know the names of over 100 of his works. Some 19 of them, dealing with mathematics, astronomy, and physics, have been studied by modern scholars. His work exercised a profound influence on later scholars, both in the Muslim world and in the West, where he was known Alhazen. One of his works on optics was translated into Latin in 1572.

Abu al-Rayhan al-Biruni was one of the greatest scholars of medieval Islam, and certainly the most original and profound. He was equally well-versed in mathematics, astronomy, the physical and natural sciences, and also distinguished himself as a geographer and historian, a chronologist and linguist, and as an impartial observer of customs and creeds. Such figures as al-Kharizmi (mathematics), Ibn Shatir (astronomy), al-Khazini (physics), Jabir ibn Hayyan (medicine) are remembered even today. Andalucia (Muslim Spain) was the main center from which the West acquired knowledge and enlightenment for centuries.

Islam founded a most brilliant civilization. This should not be considered surprising, for the Qur'an begins with the injunction: Read: In the Name of Your Master Who creates (96:1). The Qur'an told people to read when there was very little to read and most people were illiterate. What we understand from this apparent paradox is that humanity is to "read" the universe itself as the "Book of Creation." Its counterpart is the Qur'an, a book of letters and words. We are to observe the universe, perceive its meaning and content, and through those activities gain a deeper perception of the beauty and splendor of the Creator's system and the infinitude of His Might. Thus we are obliged to penetrate into the universe's manifold meanings, discover the Divine laws of nature, and establish a world in which science and faith complement each other. All of this will enable us to attain true bliss in both worlds.

In obedience to the Qur'an's injunctions and the Prophet's example, Muslims studied the Book of Divine Revelation (the Qur'an) and the Book of Creation (the universe) and eventually erected a magnificent civilization. Scholars from all over Europe benefited from the centers of higher learning located in Damascus, Bukhara, Baghdad, Cairo, Faz, Qairwan, Zeituna, Cordoba, Sicily, Isfahan, Delhi and other great Islamic cities. Historians liken the Muslim world of the medieval ages, dark for Europe but golden and luminous for Muslims, to a beehive. Roads were full of students, scientists, and scholars traveling from one center of learning to another.

For the first 5 centuries of its existence, the realm of Islam was a most civilized and progressive area. Studded with splendid cities, gracious mosques, and quiet universities, the Muslim East offered a striking contrast to the Christian West, which was sunk in the Dark Ages. Even after the disastrous Mongol invasions and Crusades of the thirteenth century ce and onwards, it displayed vigor and remained for ahead of the West.

Although Islam ruled two-thirds of the known civilized world for at least 11 centuries, laziness and negligence of what was going on beyond its borders caused it to decay. However, it must be pointed out clearly that only Islamic civilization decayed—not Islam. Military victories and superiority, which continued into the eighteenth century, encouraged Muslims to rest on their laurels and neglect further scientific research. They abandoned themselves to living their own lives, and recited the Qur'an without studying its deeper meanings. Meanwhile, Europe made great advances in sciences, which they had borrowed from the Muslims.

What we call "sciences" are, in reality, languages of the Divine Book of Creation (another aspect of Islam). Those who ignore this book are doomed to failure in this world. When the Muslims began to ignore it, it was only a matter of time before they would be dominated by some external force. In this case, that external force was Europe. European cruelty, oppression, and imperialism also contributed greatly to this result.

The present modern civilization cannot last for long, for it is materialistic and cannot satisfy humanity's perennial needs. Such Western sociologists as Oswald Spengler have predicted its collapse on the grounds that it is against human nature and values. On the other hand, Islam has been around for 14 centuries. In addition, it is fully capable of establishing the bright world of the future on the firm foundation of its creed, ethics, spirituality, and morality, as well as its legal, social and economic structures.

[creativia10]

Chaos Seeking Bat Bots

Logan and Remus decide to decorate Apothecafe for the Halloween season. Devin watches for the entertainment sure to come of it. Of course, shenanigans ensue. Why is it that every time Remus and Logan attempt to fix/improve something it always ends in disaster?

Pairing: Deceit/Remus, Virgil/ Logan, Platonic Remus and Logan

Wordcount: 1708

Notes: Tuliptober Prompt 9- Chaos

Chaos kind of goes with any Metaphysical Determinism fic tbh, especially if Remus and Logan are involved. This is my first time writing for this verse.

@radiocrushstarcrash

Based on @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors Metaphysical Determinism series. Let me know if I'm missing any tags or anything.

Devin wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from Remus and Logan’s current project. He was far from innocent when it came to encouraging their antics though. He had to have some enjoyment of mischief in him to date Remus after all. Devin would still deny prompting their shenanigans though. Even if he didn’t exactly avoid instigating.

It was getting to be the spooky season. A time of year that Virgil apparently was a big fan of. Logan, being the sap he was, wanted to accommodate his partner’s enjoyment of the Halloween season as much as possible. It was of course very sappy and expected for the wizard. Logan offered the idea to add Halloween decorations to their places of work. As a way to add to the enjoyment and overall feel of the spooky month. Remus offered to help the other out with that.

Roman had refused to let the duo come anywhere near their tattoo shop together. So decorating there was out of the question. Devin, while not against the duo’s chaotic energy, still wanted to have a flower shop to work at. So, he suggested they decorate Apothecafe first. A surefire way to test out that their plans for decorating were safe enough to come near the flowers.

Was it selfish to suggest the café his best friend works at be their grounds for testing? Perhaps. Devin knew enough about the duo to know they wouldn’t actually endanger anyone they care about. Well at least, not on purpose. Besides, flowers could be more fragile than people after all. This was Devin’s livelihood we’re talking about here. Apothecafe gets higher customer traffic. They could bounce back from whatever may occur.

Still, Devin was almost impressed by how Logan and Remus could still surprise him. The pair of course asked Patton first if they could decorate, who was perfectly fine with them doing so. Devin decided he wanted to watch them set up during off hours. At first, the decorations seemed relatively normal and unintrusive. Black and orange streamers. Little paper Halloween critters hung up throughout on walls and the roof. Fake spider webs in the corners, (but no spiders because of Patton’s phobia).

It actually looked quite nice and Halloween-ready. Devin would dare say it almost seemed kid friendly, which was surprising from Remus. This would go well with the café though. When Virgil came in the next working day, he wasn’t thrilled by having surprise decorations in his café. Yet, he seemed cautiously pleased with the lowkey Halloween atmosphere around his workplace. Which was likely what Logan had been going for. Logan pecked Virgil’s cheek when he noticed the witch’s edging smile. They were all very soft and whatever.

Remus preened a little at the positive acknowledgment. He wrapped his arm around Devin as he looked around. Devin hmmed, but he could feel his boyfriend’s untamed antsiness. This wasn’t over. There was no way this was enough for Remus. The only reason they had even stopped was because of timing. Remus had a job too after all. Devin wondered how they could get away with adding more from Remus’ unique creativity. That was the only reason he didn’t give Remus the go-ahead for the flower shop yet. He thought he’d still need to wait this one out. Devin was right.

 There were the bats. They had found these midsize automated bat decorations. The bats would flap their wings and shriek if someone walked past. One at least was for near the entrance of the Apothecafe’ to replace a bell. However, Logan noticed that the motion sensor didn’t work right every time someone came in.

This started once groups of many people would come into the café. It would be delayed. The bats started to frits more. Sometimes not going off. Sometimes randomly shrieking when no one was around. One of the wings, of the bat by the front door, would get stuck and not flap completely. It was starting to get annoying.

Virgil was about ready to get rid of it. Devin could tell that Logan felt bad that it didn’t work out though. Logan said that he would take care of it. Since Devin was not prone to worry the way the emo kitchen witch was, Remus told him their plan.

He and Logan were going to try to fix and make the bats even better. Remus, being an artificer had some experience with working with devices. He was likely to use some magic skills as well to improve the animatron in one of his own unique ways. Logan had an idea for some magic to add that could help with the sensor as well, which wasn’t as reliant on motion sensing. Devin figured whatever way they would mess with this bat would be interesting. He underestimated them it seemed.

First, the bats were no longer hanging from a wire that attached them to the ceiling. They had been crafted, like bots that could actually fly on their own. Two, the new sensors worked too well.

Devin heard screams from the door opening in front of him. The customers who were just entering in front of him immediately turned around and fled. Devin had to dodge them to the side as he tried to enter the café. He jumped when he saw a bat right there in front of his face. It screeched at him, flapping in place.

“Oh, sorry babe. We should have planned for programming into the bats avoiding lunging for our partners,” Remus said

“I believe that would be much more complicated programming than what I currently put in them. Right now it’s running off of more of a body heat sensor,” Logan said.

Devin sighed and sidestepped toward their voices. The bat followed him and screeched again. Devin looked towards the chaotic duo and leveled them with a look.

Remus laughed a little nervously and ruffled his hair.

“Sorry, we’ll uh work on that.”

Devin let out a long sigh and quickened his steps over to where the two of them were sitting. Luckily, the artificial bat didn’t try to actually attack him or anything. It kept a close distance and screeched at Devin every time he moved.

“Was this the goal?” Devin asked, gesturing at the bat hovering by him. The other bats were flying around and bothering other customers. It looked like none of the patrons were safe from them. Some people ducked or ran around the café trying to get away. Many simply fled the café. The bats stopped at the entrance before immediately flying to a new target.

Logan opened his mouth to answer when a door slammed open from the front kitchen.

“Logan! Remus!” Virgil yelled.

 Both Logan and Remus winced. Virgil marched over and gestured around at the bats harassing their customers.

“Fix this!”

Logan swallowed. “Yes, of course dear.”

Logan stood up calmly.

“I believe-“

Remus stood up on their table and tackled the bat flying by Devin to the ground. Devin winced at that.  Remus had it pinned under him. He held up a tool from apropos out of nowhere.

“I got this one!”

Virgil stared at Remus with an unreadable look of aghast. Perhaps horror.

“…do you plan on getting them all that way?” Virgil asked a bit weakly. Remus looked up to Logan.

“I’m sure we can come up with a more efficient and less damaging way to fix this,” Logan said.

Virgil let out a deep breath and ran his hands down his face. “Alright…I’m gonna close the shop until we fix this mess. Everyone, please evacuate the café as we deal with technical difficulties. So much for having customers.”

“Oh don’t worry, dear. I’m sure you’ll easily get them back after this is taken care of. Your excellent reputation does your café well.”

Virgil pointed at Logan. “You’re not gonna sweet-talk your way outta this one. And you two are never decorating here again. Now fix this.”

Devin wasn’t quite sure how they managed to attract all the crazy artificial bats to them and turn the things off. Something related to magic he thinks. Needless to say, the bats were not put back up. Logan and Remus pouted a bit at that, insisting they could get it back to how it was before. Devin couldn’t really say he blamed Virgil though. It had been a complete mess. Admittedly a bit amusing, but Devin wouldn’t say so around the emo witch.

Devin thinks maybe Virgil could use a break though. So he encouraged Remus to join him back at the flower shop.

“Are you ok? It looked like you fell pretty hard into that artificial bat you pinned down.”

“Eh,” He waved a hand at Devin. “You don’t need to worry about your tough guy here. I can handle a little bot bat. Heh, that sounds funny.”

Devin gave him an unamused look. Then he sighed.

“Can I at least see it?” Devin asked.

Remus wiggled his eyebrows. “You sure you’re not just eager to get my shirt off, babe?”

“Remus,”

“Alright alright,” He lifted his shirt up some. Devin looked over it to see some bruising on his right torso just under his ribs.”

“It’s really not that bad. Just a bit sore.”

Devin sighed and lowered the shirt.

“I’d ask you to be more careful, but I don’t know if you’re capable.”

Remus pouted. “Babe, I don’t want to worry you.”

Devin reached over and squeezed his hand. “It’s ok. I know whom I’m dating.”

Remus huffed but leaned over to peck Devin on his scaled cheek.

“So how do you think Logan is gonna make this up to Virgil?” Remus asked.

Devin rolled his eyes. “Oh, lots of flattery for sure.”

“Yeah, Virgil acts all tough, but he goes soft for his boyfriend easily.”

Devin nodded. “Yeah, for sure.”

They sat with each other for a bit.

“So how long should I stay away from the café?” Remus asked.

“No idea. But don’t even think about asking to decorate the flower shop.”

“Aww.”

Devin smirked at that. He probably couldn’t say no forever, even after the disaster at Apothecafe. Maybe towards the end of the season, when he was about to shift flower types to sell anyways.

[trouble-clef]

day 3 (???) of my incredibly inconsistent posting of the recipes conceived in the metaphysical determinism verse by @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors! I hope I did the energy potion proud, especially.