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obssessivethorn · 3 years

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“Home” [Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: In the final moments before battle, the traveler's worry grows fast. Their own twin stands at the other end of the battlefield, refusing to put their resolve to rest and come home. Archons forbid their fight be to the death.

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Major character death(s), death in general

Word Count: 2,889 words

Date Posted: July 8, 2021

Note: This is based purely off of fan theories, my own predictions, and knowledge of the game as it is currently. It will include spoilers for the “We will be reunited” archon quest if you have not gotten that far into the story yet. As well as hints of lore from the Honkai Impact game. This is in no way in indication of the game’s ending and should be taken as merely a fan based prediction/theory of one of the many possibilities of this story’s ending. Please enjoy! (This turned out longer than intended-)

Let me know if you want to see more to this au type thing. I’d gladly write about Diluc and Kaeya reconciling and seeing each other as brothers again as well as other stuff with the characters!

"Home"

★★★

The traveler had gained the former power back, their hand retracting from their resonance with the holy statue. Their friends stood around them, watching with widened eyes which hold a burning amazement. The traveler’s power unlike any they have ever seen.

Wings stretch to their sides to bask in the moon’s godly light. An ethereal glow began to emanate around their being as if they too had taken the form of an archon. Each element’s swirl could be felt within their body, bringing forth a familiar feeling. Near completion.

With their power restored once more, their feet landed back to the ground. Sword in hand, they turned back to their friends. From adepti to everyday workers, the traveler has gathered their closest and very best known fighters and friends to help them.

The battle was approaching, yanking every breath of fresh air and common sense from the traveler. Their friends would be fighting faceless beings. People turned to monsters. Who couldn’t be saved.

But the traveler couldn’t hold the same courage they could. On the other side of the battlefield stood their sibling. Their twin. Flesh and blood who they have traveled worlds together with. And they would fight. Archon forbid, to the death.

A shaky breath left their lips, eyes closed shut after gazing harshly at the ground for too long. Feeling a hand placed on their shoulder pulled them back to reality before they could spiral further into fear’s welcoming grasp. Looking back at the owner of the limb, they could finally find a clear breath to fill their lungs.

Venti’s sorrowful smile pierced the traveler. A silent understanding blew through their hair, sending golden wisps in different directions. Archons forbid death.

Taking a step back, the wind god left a lingering warmth upon the traveler’s shoulder. He made his back to where the other archons stood, powerful grace dawning him as the traveler had never seen before. A true god ready to fight a war once again.

The traveler took a sigh, grasping any courage they could find before turning their gaze to their friends.

“Alright, so as you all probably know, The Abyss Order has finally risen.” Their voice shook, cracking every other word. They cleared their throat before continuing.

“We were unable to prevent them from creating what is essentially a mechanized god. However, this does not mean we are doomed!” The traveler looked upon the sea of faces. Fear, shock, and suppressed somber mixed together.

How could they let this happen? It was never supposed to come to this. Dragging their friends into a war. Starting a war to begin with! Children stood among the crowd. While they may be talented vision holders, they were still too young to face this. But they still insisted. Pleading with the traveler to let them help. And they let it happen.

Their breath began to shorten again, tears fighting their usual calm composure. They could feel themselves spiraling once more. How could they let this happen? Let it get this far? Let children-

A voice broke them from their thoughts yet again.

“Traveler!”

Looking over to the figures running around the outside of the crowd, they saw four familiar Knights Of Favonius growing closer. Amber waved her hands high to grab their attention as the small group approached.

“Mondstat has been evacuated, all of the citizens are being led to Liyue by the knights of Favonius.” Amber smiled, reassuring the Traveler of innocents’ safety.

“Great, and the people of Liyue?” The traveler asked, redirecting their attention to Jean.

“Safely protected by a shield covering the harbor.” The woman smiled. “But if worse comes to worse, you can’t forget that both cities’ people are still able to fight. While Mond has the Knights of Favonius, Liyue has the Qixing. Each nation has their own means of defense, so trust us, Traveler. Even Schneznaya has the Fatui.” Jean’s grin grew wider, excited pride slipping through her calm mask.

The traveler smiled back, chuckling at their own worry. “You’re right, they should all be able to hold their own and protect each other, with Visions or not.” They turned back to the crowd, Amber, Lisa, Jean, and Kaeya now by their side.

“Now, as we stand, the Abyss Order is marching our way. Their movements may be unpredictable to us, but we know this land better than they do. It definitely won’t be easy,” the traveler took a quick breath, heart weighing heavier in their chest. “But The Regions of Teyvat will triumph today.” The crowd’s cheers roar through the field.

“Nicely said, Honorary Knight,” Jean turned to the traveler, smiling proudly at them.

“Ya know, I didn’t think you had such a thing in you,” Kaeya mused, patting their shoulder.

“To be honest,” the short blonde chuckled,” I was totally speaking out of my ass there.” Their light grin faltered, falling into uncomfortable worry.

“I know it’s hard, but you’re not alone, traveler,” Jean placed a hand on their shoulder, sympathy painting her features.

“We’re all here for you,” Lisa gave them a quick, meaningful hug. “Besides, what would I do without my little helper~.” The traveler let out a light laugh, however, the easy moment couldn’t compete with the bubbling anxiety filling their lungs.

Air weighed heavily.

Gentle breezes turned to cold gusts.

“May the archons protect us.” Jean prayed, stepping away to rally her section of the Knights. Lisa and Amber followed suit, preparing their squadrons both mentally and physically.

Kaeya remained by the blonde’s side, gazing at the crowd with an unreadable expression.

“Are you going to be okay?” The traveler’s question broke him from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, a piece of his mask beginning to slip. “I understand.”

The traveler’s face morphed into confusion. Understand? Understand what? What could Kayea, a man of many eloquent words, mean by such a short, vague statement?”

The man chuckled again.

Another crack in his mask.

His eyes drifted to Diluc, then to Dainsleif. Crack.

A sigh escaped his lips, forcing his smile to fall sour.

Crack.

His gaze fell to the floor, watching his now fallen, damaged mask lay among the dancing grass as if it had separated from a slain hilichurl.

The man who stood before the lost twin was not the same flirty and mischievous Knight of Favonius they had met all those months ago.

This man was Kaeya. A Khaenri’ahn who’s life was ripped away by the archons themselves. A man sent to create a downfall of other nations in retaliation for the onslaught of his country’s people. Kaeya Alberich. Khaenri’aian survivor.

His gaze drew from his Mond identity laying idly by his feet, to the traveler. “I understand why you’re scared.” Tears brimmed in the man’s eyes, a glint of fear sparkling in his pupil.

All previous disdain for the people who had fallen seemed to hide, a glimpse of it remained hiding beneath his eyes. But it soon became evident to the traveler, whatever conversation he had with Dainsleif, was enough to inject guilt and sympathy within his veins. But still not enough to instill total remorse.

A silent understanding passed between the two. No words passed through the air between them.

Despite being humans turned monsters, despite Kaeya’s place of blame on his people, they were still victims of the Cataclysm.

The traveler placed a hand on their friend’s shoulder. They sent a quick smile, opening their mouth to speak, only to be interrupted.

“Hey, traveler!”

Turning their head to the sound of their name, they were met with a certain ‘tone-deaf’ bard.

Kaeya nodded with a slight smile, turning away and walking in the direction of his brother.

“Are you ready?” The archon’s voice was soft, contrasting from his usual high pitched giggles.

The traveler had expected a witty one liner to help bring up their mood or a quick joke poking at their seriousness. However, the bard merely looked drained, eye bags lining his face with a somber expression painted over his soft features.

“I don’t know.” The words brush past their lips before they could think. Were they ready? They had to face their twin of all people. How could they be ready? “I plan to bring them back.” They stated. “To bring them home.” The traveler stared out into the crowd, watching people prepare.

“But will you be able to?” Venti stared intently at the ground as if it were his enemy. The question was aimed mainly at himself rather than the traveler and seemed to slip past him before he could stop it. He quickly shook away the thought, noticing the growing worry on the lone twin’s face. “Of course you will!” His mask was back up, a playful ‘hehe’ drawing past his lips.

“Yeah, I will,” the traveler breathed, a lie beautifully woven within the truth.

•~•

The city of Mondstat lay dim in the distance, the army of Knights and vision holders drifting further from home with each step.

Across the clear fields of Windrise stood monsters. Creatures from the Abyss wielding dark and power hungry gazes.

Many stared in disgust, watching the distant crowd draw closer. Other however, glanced at the group in pity, quickly averting their gazes to refocus their minds. Few knew the true story of the fallen nation 500 years ago, letting their hearts weigh heavy with sympathetic solitude.

Leading the enemy was a familiar figure. The Abyssal Royalty stood proud yet steeled away, gazing at their opponent from across the grassy pathway. Few stems of small lamp grass paved the way between both sides, guiding each distant traveler to meet their other half once again.

Away from their allies, the lost twins hesitantly stepped nearer. A temporary truce of peace passed between them, its wick quickly beginning to burn.

“Lumine,” Aether broke the evening silence. His voice held strong, only to be mocked by the hurt hidden beneath his golden eyes.

“Aether.” Lumine mimicked her brother, the same strong yet weak presence plaguing her voice.

A silent plea from both siblings rang through the surrounding air.

“We can leave, go home! Together..”

“My battle and your journey are yet to be over.”

“After all this time, you still keep saying things that make no sense. Who are you battling other than me?”

The traveler’s twin paused, momentarily shocked from their sibling’s words.

“I’m fighting those who tore us apart.”

The Abyssal twin’s gaze hardened, shifting into an icy glare which shot through their sibling’s heart. Oddly, the sharpened look seemed to pass through the traveler, aimed at a distant being among the crowd of Knights.

“Those who..” the traveler’s words drew thin, disappearing within the air.

A crackling rang through the air, drawing the twins and their respective allies’ attention. Three familiar diamonds tore through the sky, ripping an entrance for a rather infamous figure to emerge.

“Your journeys must end here, outlanders.” Golden eyes pierced the twins, an authoritative air emanating from the unknown goddess. “You’ve altered the weight of destiny from your first arrival, now you must own up to your actions.” With a flick of her hand, the god isolated the three, barriers blocking the view of both armies racing toward their leaders. Their screams fell silent as the last cube sealed them in, the last view being the face of Barbatos, reaching out in elegant mimicry of the day he tried and failed to rescue her. Once again, he wasn’t fast enough.

Within concealment, the twins readied their swords, tri-wings stretching after years of rest.

“Fight as long as you wish, but you will always come back to the same point. Failure.”

Upon hearing her words the twins launched forward, entering yet another intense dance with the god.

•~•

For what felt like hours, the three battled as they had once before, only with the twin’s new found strength to differ. The outlander’s feet hit the ground, enough adrenaline pumping to let them ignore the battered bruises.

The fallen goddess now lay still, defeated by the twins with the joint help of the archons’ powers. A wind-bearing bard tends to a scared girl, broken from the evil which once plagued her.

The abyssal twin gazed at their sibling in awe. A twinge of pain entered their chest at the thought of what they must have gone through trying to find them. How could they have so badly abandoned their own twin? Millions of questions and blame raced through their mind, blurring their vision with tears.

A name reached their ears. Was it theirs? Wait. It was from their twin. Why were they shouting his name? They were safe now.

The traveling twin rushed forward, pushing their other half out of the way and taking the incoming blow. They fell to the ground clutching their chest in pain. The cold felt strangely welcoming. Only, their hands filled with warmth. Now wasn’t the time to nap, but sleep’s comforting embrace wanted to engulf them. Closing their eyes for a second wouldn’t hurt.

•~•

Tears began to pour, outweighing the pellets of falling rain. “Please, wake up.” They cried, pain filling their chest with each second passing by. “We can go home now, the war’s over.” They hiccuped, silently denying an unreal truth.

“Majesty!”

“Honorary Knight!”

Shouts from either side could be heard, only to fall on the deaf ears of the traveler’s sibling. Upon viewing the sight, the surroundings fell silent. Not even the thundering sky could dent the area’s torturous quiet.

Holding their twin close to them, the abyssal sibling let tears slip through their grasp. “We can leave now, just like you wanted!” A small squeeze around their hand gave them hope, gasping with widened eyes.

Below them, the traveler forced their eyes into a squint. Their hand squeezed lightly within their sibling’s. “Home is wherever we are together.”

A sob left the abyssal twin’s lips, forcing a cry to echo in the pouring rain. “You’re right, we’re home! We’re together. We’re-.” Their twin’s grip loosened.

“Hey…,” the crying blonde nudged their other half. “Hey, wake up… we’re home.” Their nudges grew to hasty shaking. “Come on, wake up.” Sob.

“Wake up!” Sob. “Come back!” Crack.

The final thread holding the lone twin’s hope snapped, releasing a titlewave of buried emotions. Unsaid words of appreciation. Unplanned surprise hugs. Introducing new friends which they both longed for. Battle training in different worlds. Fulfilling their prophecy for this world. Long forgotten “I love you”s. Gone. With a stupid flick of a wrist.

The now lost twin sat alone, hand traveling through matted blonde locks stained with blood. As to who the red liquid belonged to, they hadn’t a clue.

Silence once again weaved through the solemn tension which hung frigid with every breath. Tears continued to stream down the outlander’s face, falling onto the face of their loss.

“Your majesty…” An abyssal mage floated steadily toward their ruler. Its words were phrased more as a question of fear rather than a statement.

Wordlessly, the Abyss Ruler began to stand, hooking their arm underneath the crook of their twin’s knees and their back. Their eyes didn’t leave the body now laying limp in their grasp. A hollow warning passed through the air as they slowly trudged to the wind Statue of the Seven.

The statue of Windrise was a signature point of Mondstat, the giant tree creating an elegant background for the stone monument. Windwheel asters lined the edge as anemo crystalflies drifted through the general breeze.

The now lone traveler placed their sibling down on the ground in front of the statue, kneeling beside them. Another broken sob left their lips, silently pleading with whatever remaining archon Teyvat had left to bring their twin back, punish them for their actions, kill them too, anything.

“Anything please,” they whimpered, eyes squeezed shut to prepare for any punishment the gods may bring. “Just don’t let them suffer for my mistakes. It should have been me. If only I was faster.”

The wind’s light breeze grew heavily, picking up into gental gusts of air. The change wasn’t enough to gain the attention of the traveler, however. Only a new voice entering their mind broke their distraught focus.

“Open your eyes, child.”

Doing as the voice said, the blonde was met with a young bard whose physical body seemed as if it was disintegrating. Patches of pale skin detached from the main vessel, floating upward toward Celestia only to vanish within the rays of the rising sun.

“Your twin will never be forgotten, and neither will you.” The bard outstretched his hand, an ethereal light seemed to emanate from him. “Your story will be remembered.” An empathetic smile dawned his lips, attempting to distract from the pain which glimmered beneath his gaze. An understanding of pain.

“Lord Barbatos?” The still kneeling traveler gazed up in awe at the god. “The wind archon?”

Light chuckles passed his lips. “Yes, only… I am no longer the archon of wind, merely another god whose time is finally up.”

“Please, punish me. I’ve only caused pain to the people of Teyvat.”

“No.”

“No?” The blonde whimpered.

“No, just please, come home.” The bard bent down in front of them, pushing a strand of hair from their face as he had 500 years ago.

Oh, how the beautiful fall.

•~•

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unpopularwiththepopulace · 3 years

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Michael Riedel vs Bernadette Peters – the Broadway Battle of 2003 and beyond

My previous piece gives a fairly comprehensive look at Bernadette and Gypsy through the ages; though there is at least one aspect of the 2003 revival that warrants further discussion:

Namely, Michael Riedel.

Today’s essay question then: “Riedel – gossip columnist extraordinaire, the “Butcher of Broadway”, spited male vindictive over not getting a lunch date with Bernadette Peters, or puppet-like mouthpiece of theatre’s shadowed elite? Discuss.”

It’s matter retrievable in print, or even kept alive in apocryphal memory throughout the theatre community to this day that Riedel was responsible for a campaign of unrelenting and caustic defamation against Bernadette as Rose in Gypsy around the 2003 season.

While “tabloids may [have been] sniping and the Internet chat rooms chirping”, when looking back at the minutiae, none were more vocal, prolific or influential in colouring early judgment than the “chief vulture [of] Mr. Riedel, who had written a string of vitriolic columns in which he said from the start that Ms. Peters was miscast”.

He continued to find other complaints and regularly attack her in print over an extended period of time.

Why? We’ll get there. There are a few theories to suggest. Firstly, how and what.

Primary to establish is that it perhaps would be foolish to expect anything else of Riedel.

Also an author and radio and TV show host, Riedel is best known as the “vituperative and compulsively readable” theatre columnist at The New York Post.

He’s a man who thrives on controversy, decrying: “Gossip is life!”

The man who says, “I’m a wimp when it comes to physical violence, but give me a keyboard and I’ll kill ya.”

“Inflicting pain, for him, is a jokey thing. ‘Michael has this cruel streak and a lack of empathy,’ says Susan Haskins, his close friend and co-host.”

And inflicting pain is what he did with Bernadette, in a saga that has become one of the most talked about and enduring moments of his career.

From the beginning, then.

Riedel started work at The Post in 1998.

His first words on Bernadette? “Oddly miscast in the Ethel Merman role,” in August of that year on Annie Get Your Gun. It was a sentiment he would carry across to his second mention six months later (“a seemingly odd choice to play the robust Annie Oakley”), and also across to the heart of his vitriolic coverage on her next Merman role in Gypsy.

Negative coverage on Bernadette in Gypsy started in August 2002 when Riedel discussed the search for trying to find a new American producer for the show. It had initially been reported in late 2000 that a Gypsy revival with Bernadette was planned for London, before it was to transfer to Broadway. To begin with, Arthur Laurents was “eager to do Gypsy in London because it hadn't been seen in the West End since 1973”, and he “wanted to repeat [the] dreamlike triumph” he said Angela Lansbury’s production had been. But economic matters prevented this original plan, leaving the team looking for new producers in the US. Riedel suggested that Fran and Barry Wiessler step up as, “after all, they managed to sell the hell out of "Annie Get Your Gun," in which Peters…was also woefully miscast.”

He also quipped: “Industry joke: "Bernadette Peters in 'Gypsy'? Isn't she a little old to be playing Baby June?”, calling her “cutesy Peters” and again a “kewpie doll”.

Bernadette here seen side by side with the actual Baby June of the 2003 production – Kate Reinders.

Other publications to this point had discussed her “unusual” casting. Which was fairly self-evident. In contrast to being a surprising revelation that Bernadette Peters was not, in fact, Ethel Merman, this had been the intention from the start. Librettist Arthur “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

It was Riedel who was the first to shift the focus from the obvious point that she was ‘differently cast’, to instead attach the negative prefix and intone that she was actually ‘MIS’ cast. According to him then, she was unsuitable, and would be unable to “carry the show, dramatically or vocally”. All before she had so much as sung a note or donned a stitch of her costume.

So no, it wasn’t then “the perception, widely held within the theater industry,” as he presented it, “that Peters is woefully miscast as Mama Rose”.

It was Riedel’s perception. And he took it, and ran with it, along with whatever else he could throw into the mix to drag both her and the show down for the next two years.

As to another indication of how one single columnist can influence opinion and warp wider perception, just look to Riedel’s assessment of the show’s first preview. It is typically known as Riedel’s forte to “[break] with Broadway convention, [where] he attends the first night of previews, and reports on the problems…before the critics have their say”. This gives him “clout” by way of mining “terrain that goes relatively uncovered elsewhere”, and it means subsequent journals are frequently looking to him from whom to take their lead – and quotes.

At Gypsy’s opening preview then, he reported visions of “Arthur Laurents [charging] up the aisle…on fire”, loudly and vocally expressing his dissatisfaction with the show as he then “read Fox [a producer] the riot act”. Despite the fact that this was “not true, according to Laurents,” the damage was already done, with the sentiment of trouble and tension being subsequently reprinted and distributed out to the public across many a regional paper.

News travels fast, bad news travels faster.

And news can be created at an ample rate, when in possession of one’s own regular periodical column. This recurring domain allowed plentiful opportunity for attack on Bernadette and Gypsy, and Riedel “began devoting nearly every column to the subject,” which amounted to weekly or even more frequent references.

As the show progressed beyond its first preview, Riedel brought in the next aspects of his smear-campaign – assailing Bernadette for missing performances through illness and accusing Ben Brantley, who reviewed the show positively in The New York Times, of unfair favouritism and “hyperbolic spin”.

The issue is not that Bernadette was not in fact ill or missing performances. She was. She had a diagnosis at first of “a cold and vocal strain”, that then progressed more seriously to a “respiratory infection” the following week, and was “told by her doctors that she needs to rest”. So rest she did.

The issue is the way in which Riedel depicted the situation and her absences via hyperbole and “insinuating she was shirking” responsibility. He went further than continual, repeated mentions and cruel article titles like “wilted Rose”, or “sick Rose losing bloom”, or “beloved but - ahem-cough-cough-ahem - vocally challenged and miscast star”. He went as far as the sensationalist and degrading action of putting “Peters' face on the side of a milk carton, the kind of advertisement typically used to recover lost children,” and asking readers to look out for “bee-stung lips, [a] high-pitched voice, [and a] kewpie doll figure”, who “may be clutching a box of tissues and a love letter from Ben Brantley”.

It was quantified in May of 2003 after the show had officially opened, that “out of the 39 performances "Gypsy" has played so far, [Bernadette] has missed six – an absence rate of 15 percent.”

As an interesting comparison, it was reported in The Times in February 2002 that “‘The Producers' stars Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick have performed together only eight times in last 43 performances due to scheduling problems and health concerns,” – an absence rate of 81%.

Did Riedel have anything nearly as ardent to say about the main male stars of the previous season’s hit missing such a rate of performances? Of course not.

Riedel arguably has a disproportionate rate for criticising female divas.

One need only heed his recommendations that certain women check into his illuminatingly named “Rosie's Rest Home for Broadway Divas.” Divos need not apply.

Not that he was unaware of this.

In 2004, Riedel would jovially lay out that “Liz Smith and I have developed a nice tag-team act: I bash fragile Broadway leading ladies who miss performances, and she rides to their rescue.”

Donna Murphy was the recipient of what he that year dubbed his “BERNADETTE PETERS ATTENDANCE AWARD”, when she began missing performances in “Wonderful Town”, due to “severe back and neck injuries and a series of colds and sinus infections”.

This speaks to his remarkably cavalier and joyful attitude with which he tears down shows and performers. “The more Mr. Riedel's work upsets people, the more he enjoys it.”

He knows he yields influence – it was recognised he had “eclipsed Ben Brantley as the single most discussed element in marketing meetings for Broadway shows” – and he delights in his capacity to lead shows to premature demises through his poison-tipped quill yielding.

When it was reported Gypsy would be closing earlier than had been planned, he made mention of “hop[ping] around on [its] grave” and debonairly applauding himself, “I suppose I can take some credit for bringing it down”.

His premonition from the previous year’s Tony’s ceremony was both ominous and prescient, when he predicted the show’s failure to win any awards “could spell trouble at the box office”. He was right. It did. The 8.5 million dollar revival closed months before anticipated and failed to return a profit.

Multiple factors can be attributed to Gypsy’s poor success at the Tony’s, but it’s clear to say Riedel’s continual bashing leading up to the fated night throughout the voting period certainly didn’t help matters.

His suggestions to do with Bernadette’s performances were not helpful either.

After alleging Laurents as the director of the 1991 revival “practically beat a performance out of” Tyne Daly when she was struggling with the role, he proffers that to improve Bernadette’s success, “it may be time for [Laurents] to take up the switch and thrash one out of Peters”.

Great.

It was irresponsible and unrelenting commentary that did not go unnoticed.

His “ruthless heckling of beloved Broadway star Ms. Peters” was deemed in print “his most egregious stunt so far”.

Vividly, in person, Riedel was accosted at a party one night by Floria Lasky, the venerable showbiz lawyer, who “grab[bed] Riedel’s tie and jerk[ed] it, nooselike, scolding, ‘It was unfair, what you did to Bernadette’”.

Moreover, the wide-reaching influential hold Riedel occupied over the environment surrounding Gypsy was tangible in the fact his words spread beyond just average readers, and even unusually “started seeping into the reviews of New York's top critics”. Riedel himself, as the “chief vulture”, was indeed what Ben Brantley was referring to in his own New York Times review by stating how the production was “shadowed by vultures predicting disaster”.

Even more substantially, the “whole Peters-Riedel-Brantley episode” became its own enduring cultural reference – being converted into its very own “satiric cabaret piece, ‘Bernadette and the Butcher of Broadway’”. All three parties were featured, with Riedel characterised as the butcher, and it played Off-Broadway later in 2003 “to positive notices”.

But penitent for his sins and begging for absolution Riedel was not. “Riedel saw nothing but a great story and a great time,” and for many years after, he would continue to hark back to the matter in self-referential (almost reverential) and flippant ways.

In 2008 as Patti LuPone won her Tony for her turn as Rose in the subsequent revival, Riedel couldn’t help but jibe, “Not to rip open an old wound, but I'd love to know if Bernadette Peters was watching”. (He neglects also to mention that “Mendes’s Gypsy was seen by 100,000 more people than saw Laurents’s and grossed $6 million more”.)

More jibes are to be found in 2012 as he reported on the auction after Arthur Laurents’ funeral, or even as recently in 2019, as he asked, “Remember the outcry that greeted Sam Mendes’ Brechtian “Gypsy,” with Bernadette Peters, in 2003?”

As with in 2004 where he points to the “pack of jackals who have been snarling” about Bernadette’s failures, this brings up the canny knack Riedel has of offloading his views to bigger and detached third party sources – thus absolving himself of personal centrality, and thus culpability.

If there was an outcry, HE was its loudest contributor. If there were snarling jackals, HE was their leader.

Maybe Riedel’s third person detached approach to referencing matters was intended to be a humorous stylistic quirk for those in the know. Or maybe it was his way of expressing some inner turmoil over the event.

In some rare display of morality and emotional authenticity, Riedel would at one point admit “I find it kind of sad and pathetic that the high point of my life supposedly has been about beating up on Bernadette Peters”.

Fortunately for him then, a degree of absolution was eventually achieved in 2018, where Riedel visited Bernadette at her opening night in Hello Dolly in 2018, with the intention of ending their “15-year feud”. He “got down on one knee at Sardi’s and extended his hand,” with Bernadette reportedly yelling “Take a picture!” while he held his deferential and obsequious position on the floor.

So if eventually this “feud” has some kind of circular resolution and Riedel was glad it was over, why on earth did it begin in the first place?

One notion is that it was simply another day on the job. Riedel is a man who sees Broadway as “a game for rich people”. Positioned as an “an industry that brought in $720.9 million in the 2002-2003 season”, it is “not a fragile business”, he remarked. As such, he “[could not] fathom the point of donning kid gloves” in covering it, and reasoned the business as a whole was robust enough to weather a few hard knocks. “Thus, Riedel can coolly view Bernadette Peters as fair game, as opposed to, say, a national treasure”.

More to the point, he was a man in search of words. During the season in question, Riedel was “one of just three New York newspaper columnists covering the stage” – a “throwback to a bygone era when…Broadway gossipmeisters…such as Walter Winchell and Dorothy Kilgallen ruled”. Now at the time, as the “last of a great tabloid tradition”, Riedel presided over not just one but two columns a week at The Post. As a result, he was in need of content. “One of the reasons I've become more opinionated is I just have more space to fill,” he admitted. Robert Simonson hypothesises in his book ‘On Broadway Men, Still Wear Hats’ that Riedel may have consequently picked “the thrashing of Bernadette” as his main target simply because “it was a slow news cycle”. Options for ‘titillating’ and durable content were scarce elsewhere that season.

And after all, if Riedel would later cite Bernadette in an article concerning the Top 10 Powerhouses of Broadway in 2004, saying even despite a few knocks or bad shows, “she’ll bounce back” – surely there was no real damage done.

If her career wouldn’t be toppled by his continual public defamation and haranguing, what was the harm?

Feelings? Who cares about feelings or Bernadette’s extremely complex and personal history with the show stretching back to when she was a teenager.

It was just part of the territory, there was nothing personal in it.

Or was there?

Maybe there was something personal in Riedel’s campaign after all.

He makes a curious comment while discussing ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ in 2004. The then incoming star of the show, rapper P. Diddy, had invited Riedel to dinner, and he makes judgement that this was “a smart p.r. move”. Then he ponders, “you do have to wonder: If Bernadette Peters had broken bread with me this time last year, would her chorus boys have to be out there now working the TKTS line to keep "Gypsy" afloat?”

Might he be going as far to suggest that if Bernadette had indulged him in a meal, her show might not have suffered so, by way of him being more inclined to cover it with greater lenience?

It may seem that way, at least in considering how Riedel reviewed P. Diddy’s performance thus after their dinner: “Riedel pronounced himself impressed. ‘He could have forgotten his lines or had to be carried offstage. He didn’t do anything terrible, he didn’t do anything astonishing.’”

Seemingly all the rapper had to do was remember some words and remain physically onstage, and he sails through scot-free. That’s a rather different outcome, one could say, to being absolutely eviscerated for what became a Tony nominated effort at one of the appreciably hardest and most demanding musical theatre roles in existence.

Though perhaps it’s hard to tell if that was really his insinuation from just one isolated comment pertaining to lunch.

This argument might be fine, if it WAS the only isolated comment pertaining to wanting Bernadette to have lunch with him. But it isn’t. Riedel continues to make a further two references over protracted periods of time to the fact Bernadette hasn’t dined with him.

One begins to get the sense of him feeling desiring of or somewhat entitled to such a private lunch with the lady he’s verbally decimated for years, and a sense of bitter rejection that he hasn’t been granted one.

“If Tonya Pinkins doesn't win the Tony Award this year, I'll buy Bernadette Peters lunch,” he simpered, and later, “I invite Bernadette to be my guest for lunch at a restaurant of her choosing. She can reach me at The Post anytime she's hungry”.

The embittered columnist in this light takes on now the marred tinge of a small boy in the playground who doesn’t get to hold the hand of the girl he wants in front of his friends, so spends the next three years pushing her over in the sandpit in revenge.

Moreover, the last statement makes undeniable comment on Bernadette’s troubled relationship with food, body image and public eating.

So now not only so far has he insulted and mocked her physical appearance and played into all the usual trite shots calling her a “kewpie doll”; suggested Arthur Laurents violently hit her in order to elicit a better performance; continually publicly harassed her regarding a show that strikes close to the nerve with deep personal and psychological resonances due to her mother and childhood; but now he’s going for the low-blows of ridiculing her over her eating habits.

Flawless behaviour.

Maybe it’s far-fetched to suggest a man would have such a fragile ego to run a multi-year public defamation campaign after so little as not getting his hypothesised fantasy of a personal lunch date. But then again, this was the man who “left Johns Hopkins University after his first year because of a broken heart.” (“I was in love with her; she wasn't in love with me,” he said.)

And also the man described as “an insomniac who pops the occasional Ambien,” living in a “small one-bedroom” that is “single-guy sloppy”, who has “been living alone since a four-year romance ended in 1996”.

The man whose own best friend called “cruel” and with a “lack of empathy”.

The man whose own sister answered that “well, yes,” he’s always been mean; and after being picked on as a kid for “being the small guy and the intellectual”, he grew dependent on using “his verbal ability to beat someone” and put himself in positions of defensive impenetrability.

See, writing Riedel-esque, vindictive and provocative conjecture is no especially challenging or cerebral task.

Riedel may well see his approach to ‘journalism’ or reporting as “all fun and games”.

But I for one am not laughing.

One final aspect to address when considering Riedel’s reasoning for the depth of his coverage on Bernadette demands attention of how he gets his information. His own personal opinions and motivations aside, crucially he depends on insider providers for insider details. Perhaps somewhat alarmingly then, “leading Broadway producers themselves are among his sources”.

“Half of Broadway hates him. The other half leaks to him”, John Heilpern titled his 2012 Vanity Fair profile on Riedel.

As such, in frequently taking his lead from “theater folk, usually with an ax to grind”, Riedel acts as the mouthpiece to bring secretive backstage reports out front. High-up, influential characters are thus able to funnel their agendas into public view, while keeping their identities hidden.

Notably, it was raised in the above article that Riedel’s “merciless running story” regarding Bernadette in Gypsy “was fed by none other than its renowned librettist, Arthur Laurents—or, more precisely, by Laurents's lover”.

Contrary to the smiley picture below between members of the show’s creative team and it’s beloved star, it was no secret that Laurents did not like Mendes’ 2003 revival. Laurents told Riedel that “Sam did a terrible disservice to Bernadette and the play, and I wanted a Gypsy seen in New York that was good… You have to have musical theater in your bones, and Sam doesn't”. In fact, Laurents admitted the only reason his 2009 book ‘Mainly on Directing’ came into existence was because of how much he had to criticise about the show – it grew out of the extensive set of notes he gave Mendes.

Additionally, it was no secret that Laurents’ lover, Tom Hatcher, demonstrated both a desire and capacity to influence Arthur’s productions. As well as being the driving force for the 2009 Spanish-speaking reworking of West Side Story, Hatcher had intense investment in Gypsy specifically. Patti LuPone writes in her memoir, “From his deathbed, Tom had told Arthur, ‘You have to do Gypsy, and you have to do it with Patti’. It was one of his dying wishes”. Laurents himself, in corroboration of this, explained Tom’s reasoning – “he didn't want the Sam Mendes production to be New York's last memory of Gypsy”.

The allegation in Heilpern’s profile might be hard to prove from an outsider perspective. But given that neither were happy with Mendes’ production and both actively took steps to ensuring it would be superseded in memory, it is not completely implausible.

Overarchingly, as much as Riedel’s writing may benefit FROM insider sources, it is said he does not write in benefit OF them. For instance, although friends with Scott Rudin in 2004, an animated (nay threatening) warning from Mr Rudin asking Riedel to “back off” from “slamming” his show, Caroline or Change, seemingly “had no impact”.

That’s not to cite total impartiality or exemption from personal connections and higher up influences colouring his reports of shows. Theatre publicist John Barlow would describe that sometimes “if you ask Michael to kill [one of his pieces], he will, if it’s someone with whom he does business”.

But it would be remiss not to mention that his influences and sources stretch beyond just the big wigs. Amongst his other informants too are the more lowly, overlooked folk like “the stagehands, the ushers, chorus kids, house managers, and press agents… the guys who build sets in the Bronx”. Basically, for anyone who’ll talk, Riedel will listen.

“Michael Riedel doesn't work for the producers or the publicists; he works for the reader,” one publicist said. “Sometimes we're glad of that, sometimes we're not-but at the end of the day, that's the reality.”

Sometimes he’s nice, sometimes he’s not – but the world goes round.

Through all that’s been explored, it should be stated how painful and injurious it must be for individual performers or shows to fall upon the unmitigated, maiming force of being on the wrong side of Riedel’s favour. The way he approached coverage on Bernadette is deplorable from an emotional and personal standpoint. Some would argue that it was too far and crossed a line and was most definitely unfair. Others would say it was justified. It’s hard not to sound petulant as the former, or heartless as the latter.

While his actions may indeed be abrasively wounding in isolated (often plentiful) cases, it’s unreasonable to say Riedel’s intentions would be to cripple the Broadway industry as a whole. There are those who purport that Riedel in fact “keeps Broadway alive with his controversies”. His words may not always be ‘nice’ but it’s difficult to argue they're not engaging.

Many are quick to criticize or react impassionedly to him and his columns; but few are quick to stop reading them. And Riedel “knows that the most important thing is being well read”.

Hence it is understandable why Riedel is appraised as “the columnist Broadway loves to hate”. Through his enthralling and stimulating bag of linguistic and dramatic tricks, Riedel knows how to keep the readers coming back. “He’s lively, and he makes the theater seem like an interesting place,” one producer did reason.

“There are times when no one's going to care about Broadway if you don't have a gossip angle that focuses on the backstage drama,” opined George Rush, the Daily News gossip columnist who was once Riedel's boss.

Perhaps it is logically and principally then, if somewhat cynically, a matter of believing “it's just business” and knowing how to “play the game”.

As Riedel himself would rationalise, “It’s all an act. You gotta have a gimmick, as they say in Gypsy.”

It may not be pleasant, but in a world increasingly dependent on sensationalistic and clickbait-driven engagement, it’s probably not going to change any time soon.

Well then, if he can live with the toll of the position of moral tumult his column puts him in, so be it.

That he described his mind as being “constantly on the next deadline”, saying “I always think about the column”, and likening writing it to “standing under a windmill”, where “you dodge one blade, but there's always another one coming right behind it”, may be some indication that he can't. At least not wholly easily.

I’ll leave that to him to figure out. Off the record.

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belafujoshisdead · 3 years

Text

The language adopted by all seven pillar city and Opaline City regions is known to most as the flowering speech and is considered the common tongue of Tauhrelian society. Some rules for how the language sounds compared to English:

A, C/K, D, E, F, H, I, L, M, N, O, S, T, U, V, Y, Sh – all of these sounds can be pronounced in this language with no issue. C and K are represented with the same letter in the flowering speech, as they would be considered fully interchangeable.

B – generally replaced with a V sound (ex. bell becomes vellu).

G – hard Gs are generally replaced with a K sound (ex. gorilla becomes korilla). Soft Gs are generally replaced with a Sh sound (ex. gel becomes shellu). The syllables Ge- and Gi- are exceptions; however, this G is pronounced very far back on the tongue, almost in the throat, and is closer to a click consonant than the G sound as used in English.

J – generally replaced with a Sh sound (like the gel example from G).

P – generally replaced with a F sound (ex. pet becomes fettu).

Q – the Qu sound is pronounced essentially the same way as in English, but is expressed through a single U-fronted multi-vowel syllable paired with a C consonant - ex. quiet becomes cuaietteh (cuai e (tt)eh); question becomes cuessishiuh (cue (ss)i shiuh).

R – Rs are rolled/trilled in this language.

W – generally replaced with a U-fronted multi-vowel syllable, like the Qu example without the C consonant - ex. what becomes uatta (ua (tt)a); away becomes auei (a uei).

X – the X sound generally becomes a K and S sound split up by a vowel (ex. axe becomes akisseh).

Z – generally replaced with a hard S if it comes in the middle of a word (ex. maze becomes meissih); would most likely be replaced with a T and S sound split up by a vowel if it comes at the beginning of a word (ex. zebra becomes tissiivura).

Ch – generally replaced with a Sh if it comes in the middle of a world (ex. achieve becomes ashiivu), or with a T and Sh sound split up by a vowel if it comes at the beginning (ex. cheer becomes tisshiireh).

Th – both voiced and voiceless Th sounds are generally replaced with S sounds (ex. there becomes saere; thirty becomes sirrittii).

General notes:

While the flowering speech has a more limited range of consonant sounds, it has a huge and complex array of vowel sounds, and all speakers have an extremely fine-tuned ear for the differences between them (many of these differences are subtle enough that they’d be practically indetectable to most English speakers).

Every syllable in the flowering speech is either a vowel on its own or consists of a consonant + vowel. The only syllables that end in consonants are the last syllables of family names belonging to sufficiently high-ranking bloodlines, as a class signifier.

If a syllable has an H at the end (like in Tauhrelil), that H doesn’t represent a “real” consonant; it’s there to indicate that one should put extra breath into pronouncing the syllable. Tau expresses a different sound than Tauh, and Taurelil would not (to flowering speech users) be pronounced the same way as Tauhrelil.

#tauhrelian language #tauhrelian society #flowering speech #worldbuilding

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seoafin · 3 years

Note

BYE I WAS IMMERSED WITH GENSHIN’s STORY PLOT (AND THE FANARTS ON MY TL) WHICH WAS ALSO DROPPED EARLIER THIS MORNING AND FORGOT ABT JJK FOR A SPLIT SEVONDSJJSJEJ

but anyways ,, jjk 145// the more i write abt it, the more i’ll sound incoherent, this is ur last warning to ignore this 🧍‍♂️(1)

the one who is based on avalokitesvara (i’ll start calling it them as kannon from now) that i mentioned was actually brain (out of ppl) 😭😭

kenjaku (羂索) is shorten from "不空羂索観音 (fukukenjakukannon)" ,, they existed b4 the heian period... older then sukuna ?? suggested that brain is at least 1k years old... hsjsjjsjs

fukukenjakukannon, a manifestation of the buddhist god of mercy and compassion,, perhaps of some interest is that the fukukenjaku shares some kanji with gojou's infinite void followed by kanjis for trap & rope, with kannon directly referring to an all-knowing/overseeing divine existence. it rly does seem that kenjaku, tengen, and gojou's fates have all been strongly interwined throughout history,, kannon has been perceived as both male and female depending on the portrayal and the region, not unlike jjk's kenjaku switching bodies and genders over the course of time (kamo vs kaori vs getou)

some associations with kannon may be relevant to jjk. namely, as yuki mentions, salvation ,, kannon is a deity to serve his subjects, and resolve their suffering by eliminating its source,,, in which case, i think kenjaku's goal may possibly not be too far off from geto’s ,,,,, he may think that he is saving a group that is enduring greater suffering than any other. whether that is shamans, cursed spirits, or sth else entirely is up for debate. given his persistence over the millenia, and the likelihood of spreading suffering worldwide through a universal tengen merger, it's more than likely that he has a very personal motive. note that under his plan it is specifically the evil of a human that would spread and destroy all of humankind connected through tengen

this is an interesting contrast to sukuna, who is much more whimsical and far less calculated. i think the clash between these 2 in the past will have strong relevance for the future,,, on the other hand, since kannon has historically manifested in response to the suffering of various beings, it may be that the feelings of cursed spirits as a whole have led to kenjaku's existence. he could very well be a curse born from curses, instead of from humans.

okay now what i'm really excited abt: the relationship between kenjaku and the 6 eyes. 1 of the functions of kannon is to protect the 6 realms of rebirth/the 6 paths. u may already be familiar with this buddhist concept as it has been referenced in a variety of animanga (notably it is a major plot point of naruto, it's mukuro's ability in KHR, etc.). there's strong reason to believe this concept also has connections to the gojou 6 eyes ability. i think if we get to learn more abt the 6 eyes, i may be able to speak more on this point.

(as a side note here, i’ll mention that there’s an association between kannon and the protection of aborted children, perhaps relating to og kamo and the death paintings)

at the very least, we know that kenjaku and the 6 eyes are in opposition, and i'm speculating that the gojou bloodline is the true manifestation of a protective deity, at least for the humans, and kenjaku's goals are antithetical to that,,, perhaps, as yuki kind of suggested, taking the name kenjaku is a joke of sorts. if sukuna is malevolence incarnate, kenjaku is mercilesness,,

i think some of the core concepts being explored by the tengen storyline are that of form and existence. gojou satoru, tengen, kenjaku, and eventually the star plasma vessels are existences that transcend the norm,,, toji on the other hand, is the only example of the opposite. an existence that shouldn't have ever existed, in a sense. kenjaku seemed to have used that to his advantage in his manipulation of the events in hidden inventory,,, but it also leads me to believe that only a similar anomaly could undo the new destiny he's setting up for himself.

geto was the perfect piece to set kenjaku up for success in conducting a merger and putting this culling game into motion. geto's path has led to this outcome,,, in which case, an apt parallel as we have known all along is that gojou's path should lead to the counter-outcome: megumi, yuuta, and especially yuuji— these 3 will be the key to unravelling kenjaku's plan.

also tengen said that kenjaku’s objective is to send all the ppl in jpn to higan or turning all non shamans into one but he doesnt have enough cursed energy to do that,,, i did say that yuuji’s birthday took place in the 4th solar term where a part of a week long celebration haru no higan (higan 彼岸→other shore, buddhist pārāmitā), when ppl would honour the dead and sweep ancestral tombs took place,,,

so theres this buddhist mantra, called the “heart sutra” and the last verse of the sutra is,,

there are many sutras in buddhism, but the most well-known among them is probably the Heart Sutra,, altho it depends on the sect (of buddhism), the heart sutra is often read at funerals and memorial services, so even if,, and for some reason the sutra is often associated to kannon even in the utube thumbnail 👁👁 if u search up prajnaparamita sutra,,

heart sutra has the meaning of "an important teaching to reach the state of enlightenment by the power to see through the truth and essence." which is based on the idea of "void" as this important teaching,, the sutra tells us what we shld do to be free from the suffering of this world and live in peace,, in the heart sutra, the idea of "void" is especially important.

buddhism can be broadly divided into theravada and mahayana buddhism,,,,

theravada is a teaching that only some ppl (those who practice buddhism with strict lifestyle like the monks) reach the state of enlightenment, while mahayana is a teaching that all ppl (some who practice Buddhism) can reach enlightment even if u dont practice anything related to the religion,,, the idea of the void has the idea of not being caught up in individual things and not being obsessed with it, and the idea of heart sutra belongs to the category of mahayana buddhism

"void" does not mean "empty" but "no substance (no fixed shape)". the sutra also states that "everything keeps changing" and "although it keeps changing, the essence (core) of things remains the same."

for eg, the idea is, "i am me, no matter how old i am,, my appearance and various abilities deteriorate, how I am evaluated by others, whether i feel good or bad."

in other words,,, it’s a teaching to be aware of the essence without being caught up in the phenomenon of change.

"void" means "no substance (no fixed shape)", which means that u don't have to be obsessed with things or get caught up in one value.

eg, the reason why diamonds are beautiful is that diamonds arent beautiful from the beginning, but that humans decide that they’re beautiful,,, and that each person has a fixed evaluation of the movement of their hearts that they feel is beautiful. but thats not always the case right?

the last verse goes like this :

“Therefore, Prajna Paramita is known as the most divine mantra,

the great enlightening mantra,

the utmost mantra,

the incomparable mantra,

destroyer of all suffering!

Since what is true is not in vain, listen to the mantra of the Prajna Paramita– it goes like this:

GATE GATE PARA GATE PARASAM GATE BODHI SVAHA!”

the translation of the last line is: “going, going, going on beyond, always going on beyond, always becoming buddha.”

quoted from a web here : “it suggests movement toward awakening. It expresses the enlightenment of a buddha as an unfolding process, rather than a steady state. It puts us in the hopeful position of one who may not have arrived, but who may be on the way. The destination may not be an end, but the journey itself.

As appealing as this translation is, it is by no means the only one. When you do an Internet search for the terms “Heart Sutra” or “Prajna Paramita” you get numerous references. At these various pages you will find several different translations of the mantra. These include:

* Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond. Oh what an awakening! All hail!

* Gone, gone, gone beyond altogether beyond, Awakening, fulfilled!

* Gone, gone, gone to the Other Shore, attained the Other Shore having never left.

* Gone, gone, totally gone, totally completely gone, enlightened, so be it.

* “Oh, you have done! You have done! You have completely crossed the margin. This is Enlightenment! Congratulations!” “

the irony though of toji dying thinking that he should've stuck his principles but actually having ridiculous impact on the world,, this also puts a new spin on the "look upon the flesh of one who is free" (afaik it was left untranslated on his cover page when he invade dagon’s domain) and the implication is imo,,, the more cursed energy, the more restrictions and so in a way humanity goes into a devolution the more cursed energy there is because they will be bound even more tightly to the cycle than before,, which is the irony of the kenjaku & bodhisattva linkage

toji had a heavenly restriction and has zero cursed energy, which is an anomaly that is his own, which makes me wonder what he would've been like if he had an expressed technique,,, but it's the zero cursed energy part, that uniqueness, that makes him powerful in canon

im rly curious how having cursed power automatically seems to lock u into a binding,,, which is seemingly fate. the shaman world rly operates entirely on rules,, where this is because of tengen's barriers or the origin of techniques being more commonplace im not sure

i used to think CTs came abt when individual sorcerers made pacts with supernatural beings etc but now im not sure,, despite leaning hard on shinto and buddhist frameworks there isnt much overt indication over what is and is not a real power in canon,,, like we have mahoraga but are bodhisattvas assumed to be real and exist? or as figures of belief, are they and other figures of shinto mythology, all just cursed spirits in the end?

but that tengen is linked with the proliferation of 6 eyes and star plasma vessel, makes me start wondering how and why tengen started this whole barrier thing,, like yes jpn has a ton of cursed spirits but was it before or after the barrier i can't remember now

maybe Kenjaku was messing around too much back then,, i like how sukuna also maybe had very lil to do with this and is possibly going to interfere as a wild card once more. is the idea to use him as a hail mary so u convey more ppl to the other side all at once? unless kenjaku thinks sukuna is the person who got closest to the next evolution of humankind and is actually a fan 🥴

but yeah if sukuna and megumi can remake the world together can they just hit the reset button so tengen isn't somehow this massive jungian collective unconscious? is sukuna going to accidentally save the world lol,,, i didn't care for fate themes before since it felt like akutami hadn't wholly committed to it as a theme,,, but fate and collective responsibility/influence on the individual just became a much bigger theme

also the mind/body/soul thing with tengen,,, when is that idea coming back

so tengen and sukuna are so far the only ppl who have said to have evolved into curses, whereas kenjaku still seems to be a shaman, as well as angel. what catalyzes that??

also how tf are the cursed weapons made i have questions,, just putting it out here but i actually thought that if toji, presumably, didnt rebel and defected from the clan,,, what are the chances of zenin thinking of turning him into a cursed weapon lol

,,, does being a cursed spirit mean u are bound even more tightly to fate? or do u escape because u are no longer a human bound by ur technique and u are instead just energy that keeps cycling over and over.....cursed energy rly just karma with strength mechanics???

why did gojou get rid of the black rope only for yuuta go to find more??? seems contradictory,, like...did he exorcise sth in that couple years gap?? or were there other reasons? or is HE the one scared since he also hid the inverted spear of heaven,,, makes me wonder how common knowledge all these mechanics actually are

trying to wrap my head around potential megumi learned helplessness or not being able to work through his own problems, or if it's this weird backward wishing that he didn't HAVE to deal with problems if he didn't HAVE to do these things and there were simple solutions,,, like i don't think he's exactly lazy bc he seems to do a lot of work behind the scenes, but there's a certain stasis to him, a wishing not to know. i wonder if he was ever given the "u are a child and I'm the adult" speech nanami gave yuuji

nanami, qifrey and maybe reigen are the adult/ mentor figures i wish was/ is in my life orz

i think it's kind of funny how 145 is like suddenly christianity! this manga is just abt the many ways people seek freedom and want to be delivered,,,

but im not going to talk abt it 😔 — i only have lil to no knowledge abt it other than the lil trivias my friends dropped time to time whenever we’re having a discourse abt religion suddenly lmao and im not a big fan of talking abt things idk abt bc i’ll just look stupid otherwise LMAO

its interesting to note that christian have this uh for a lack of better way to describe it, higher power which can grant u eternal salvation or damnation while buddhism is just fending for urself in pursuit of enlightment ,,, while buddhism also have beings like devas/ deities it just means that 1) if ur born as one, u must have done a good deed sometime in one of ur previous lives,, 2) u just have a ridiculous long life span but yes u’ll eventually die again and rebirth as sth depending on ur actions,,, that goes for living in gods, demi-gods, humans, animals, hungry ghosts or hells realms

this is completely unrelated but,, my mother used to blast the heart sutra frequently in my house back then and the only thing i catch is the “gate gate parasamgate bodhi svaha” which i used ,, whenever i see sth..that is supposed to be unseen

theres this time i stayed behind in cram school for an exam,, i purposely took a another path from my usual one to clear my head (but im still familiar) and i saw this guy standing on the side road and the only thing that went thru my mind back them was “why is he not moving? is he waiting for someone? is he lost or sth,, the main road is just 6 foot away tho lol”

it was until i keep looking at each house that i finally notice that the spot he stood on is not even a ground lvl asphalt,, it’s a fucking sewer which means that he’s actually floating 😭😭 i just jogged and say sth along the line “wow today, ma is cooking hotpot for dinner (i actually have no idea what she plans to cook everyday) i dont want to eat it cold,, so i better hurry up” out loud while chanting the verse in my head

theres also this time me and a friend were sitting on my motorcycle after getting our late night food run until a particular smell and when we stay silent, a woman is singing on the branch right above us that we dipped right away and i almost catch a ticket for speeding all the while thinking abt that verse💀

i dont mind seeing one of “them” but i do have a problem with them following me back home and end up haunting my house for some period of time,, that one or sth ghost who slam things around and giggle in the middle of the night is enough for me to deal with 😀

now im off crying abt genshin (again) now and i’ll go back to sleep afterwards,,, ALSO I LOVE WITCH HATE ATALIERJSJEJEJ- 🐱 (2)

you literally brought up THE SAME EXACT QUESTIONS I HAVE!!! like why would gojo send yuuta to find more of the rope if he destroyed it in the first place?? unless he destroyed it in the heat of the battle with miguel during the prequel but it didn’t look like that. also i saw on twitter kenjaku might not even be a male?? apparently when referring to kenjaku, tengen didn’t use gendered pronouns. im also super curious as to how the six eyes, star plasma vessel (riko...), tengen, and kenjaku are all entwined because kenjaku’s plan was a long time coming, even though he was foiled two times already.

this reminds me of the heavenly restrictions because im still so confused about what exactly it is!! is it something a person is born with or is it something that is placed on a baby by another person??

you brought up fate too and i think that’s such an interesting concept like with akutami making more and more references to the heian era and the “golden age of sorcery” in the end I feel like everything led up to this moment. the existence of cursed energy too just feels like this “endless cycle of fate” which makes sense considering this theme also kinda aligns with yuuji’s birth which was pre planned. idk...this whole thing is suddenly feeling so much more insidious than we may have originally thought.

the sudden christianity mention is a pretty odd choice on akutami’s part but a lot of ppl (including me) are speculating that hana is going to be a harbinger of doom or something. once again is she even japanese?? the western concept of angels have never been particularly altruistic either.

unfortunately gojo has always been treating megumi like an adult so i don’t think he was ever given the “you are a child” talk from gojo. we can see it in their first meeting too. when their conversation takes a turn to serious, it becomes a conversation is from one adult to another. gojo also seems like the type to pile even more responsibility onto megumi because gojo isn’t responsible, so megumi had to pick up that slack.

i agree with you. i think sukuna is literally a wild card LMAO he does what he wants when he wants and that’s in. i don’t even think you can have a contingency plan for sukuna because he’s just that unpredictable!!!

nanami, qifrey and MAYBE reigen LSDNFKJFKN....reigen beats gojo by far though so i’ll give reigen that (that's not saying much tho tbh 😭) reigen's still sexy as hell tho 😁

also you mentioned khr!! khr is one of my favorite mangas of all time....although amano akira cannot write women despite being one khr still holds a very special place in my heart. i had no idea mukuro was influenced by kannon (to be fair i was like 14) but then again...mukuro’s eyes....i can’t believe our tastes in animanga are the same....bestie our taste>>>

HELLO???? YOU’RE RUNNING INTO SUPERNATURAL CREATURES LIKE THAT??? also motorcycles!! now im like 80% sure you're in SEA somewhere, bc as someone who lived in a SEA country for 3 years and went to school in a haunted building I feel you LMAO

#as always....you truly never miss!!!!#and witch hat atelier is sooo good #i love qifrey....white haired anime man of my heart!!!#🐱 anon #all ur analyses are MWAH

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troybeecham · 3 years

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Today, the Church remembers St. Lawrence, deacon and martyr.

Ora pro nobis.

Saint Lawrence or Laurence (Latin: Laurentius, lit. "laurelled"; 31 December AD 225 – 10 August 258 AD) was one of the seven deacons of the city of Rome, Italy, under Pope Sixtus II who were martyred in the persecution of the Christians that the Roman Emperor Valerian ordered in 258 AD.

St. Lawrence is thought to have been born on 31 December AD 225 in Valencia, or less probably, in Huesca, the town from which his parents came in the later region of Aragon that was then part of the Roman province of Hispania Tarraconensis. The martyrs St. Orentius (Modern Spanish: San Orencio) and St Patientia (Modern Spanish: Santa Paciencia) are traditionally held to have been his parents.

He encountered the future Pope Sixtus II, who was of Greek origin and one of the most famous and highly esteemed teachers, in Caesaraugusta (today Zaragoza). Eventually, both left Spain for Rome. When Sixtus became the Pope in 257, he ordained St Lawrence as a deacon, and though Lawrence was still young appointed him first among the seven deacons who served in the patriarchal church. He is therefore called "archdeacon of Rome", a position of great trust that included the care of the treasury and riches of the Church and the distribution of alms to the indigent.

St Cyprian, Bishop of Carthage, notes that Roman authorities had established a norm according to which all Christians who had been denounced must be executed and their goods confiscated by the Imperial treasury. At the beginning of August 258 AD, the Emperor Valerian issued an edict that all bishops, priests, and deacons should immediately be put to death. Pope Sixtus II was captured on 6 August 258, at the cemetery of St Callixtus while celebrating the liturgy and executed forthwith.

After the death of Sixtus, the prefect of Rome demanded that St Lawrence turn over the riches of the Church. St Ambrose is the earliest source for the narrative that St Lawrence asked for three days to gather the wealth. He worked swiftly to distribute as much Church property to the indigent as possible, so as to prevent its being seized by the prefect. On the third day, at the head of a small delegation, he presented himself to the prefect, and when ordered to deliver the treasures of the Church he presented the indigent, the crippled, the blind, and the suffering, and declared that these were the true treasures of the Church. One account records him declaring to the prefect, "The Church is truly rich, far richer than your emperor." This act of defiance led directly to his martyrdom and can be compared to the parallel Roman tale of the jewels of Cornelia.

On 10 August, St. Lawrence, the last of the seven deacons, and therefore, the ranking Church official, suffered a martyr's death. The Prefect was so angry that he had a great gridiron prepared with hot coals beneath it, and had Lawrence placed on it, hence St Lawrence's association with the gridiron. After the martyr had suffered pain for a long time, the legend concludes, he cheerfully declared: "I'm well done on this side. Turn me over!"

Some historians, such as Rev. Patrick J. Healy, opine that the tradition of how St Lawrence was martyred is "not worthy of credence", as the slow lingering death cannot be reconciled "with the express command contained in the edict regarding bishops, priests, and deacons (animadvertantur) which ordinarily meant decapitation." A theory of how the tradition arose is proposed by Pio Franchi de' Cavalieri, who postulates that it was the result of a mistaken transcription, the accidental omission of the letter "p" – "by which the customary and solemn formula for announcing the death of a martyr – passus est ["he suffered," that is, was martyred] – was made to read assus est [he was roasted]." The Liber Pontificalis, which is held to draw from sources independent of the existing traditions and Acta regarding Lawrence, uses passus est concerning him, the same term it uses for Pope Sixtus II, who was martyred by decapitation during the same persecution. However, this modern scholarship is disputed by another scholar, Janice Bennett, whose study of other primary sources indicates that the traditional narratives are substantially correct. No matter the means of his death, he died for defying the Imperial state by refusing to worship any other god but the God of Israel as revealed by Jesus, whose disciple Lawrence was both in word and deed.

Almighty God, you called your deacon Laurence to serve you with deeds of love, and gave him the crown of martyrdom: Grant that we, following his example, may fulfill your commandments by defending and supporting the poor, and by loving you with all our hearts; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.

#christianity #discipleship #early church #martyrs #salvation #jesus #father troy beecham #saints

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nayutai · 4 years

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Bad Boy Bakery

↠ Pairing Yeosang x Female OC

↠ Genre fluffy dirty angst

↠ Word Count 11.806

↠ Warnings infidelity (kinda sorta), mutual pining, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), foul language, crude jokes, fingering, tattooed yeosang, mentions of criminal activity

↠ Summary Yeosang has a storied past and most of it is documented at the local police station. That’s the past though. These days he’s too busy running a semi-successful bakery with his best friends. After securing an order for the engagement party of well-known socialite Ivy Maxwell, he thinks his business might finally be taking off. He may have bitten off more than he could chew though.

It’s decided. Yeosang is going back to jail. Why he thought hiring the seven other misfits he used to run with to work in his bakery was a good idea he’ll never know. Bad Boy Bakery was supposed to be his way to get his life back on the right track and all these heathens do is test him every single day. He does a quick mental calculation of how much money is stashed around his house and he’s positive he’s got enough to post bail for a simple assault charge, but then again they might try to make an example of him considering his impressive arrest record. With the way he’s being tested at this moment though, he’s willing to spend every penny if it means he gets to beat Mingi into oblivion.

“Mingi, I swear to God if you fuck up another batch of egg whites I’m going to shove that whisk in your ear and beat your brains.” He glares at the clumsy giant vigorously whisking a bowl full of egg whites that already look like they’re begging for mercy. They have to have a full dessert spread ready for an engagement party that’s taking place in less than six hours and Mingi has ruined more eggs than Yeosang is even comfortable counting.

“Man, shut up. I did three years upstate. My arms are too damn strong for this which is exactly why I told your dumb ass to do it.” Everybody groans out loud at having to hear that exact phrase for what has to be the millionth time.

“That was over a year ago and you haven’t lifted anything heavier than a bag of flour ever since. Give it a rest.” Wooyoung garners a round of hearty laughter at his dig, looking quite pleased with himself at successfully bashing his friend.

“I make up for it by jacking off five times a day instead of four now so my point still stands.”

“I hope you wash your hands just as much.” The group of tattooed bakers loudly express their disgust when Mingi gives them nothing but a devious grin in response. Mingi, on the other hand, is phased by neither his friends’ disgust not Yeosang’s bristling anger as he dumps his third attempt at the egg whites into the garbage. So much for third time’s the charm.

Yep, Yeosang is going back to jail.

Ivy is resigned as she carefully sweeps her brush across both of her cheekbones. The glittery gold of the highlight powder left in its wake perfectly complements the rich sepia tone of her skin. She’s just as precise in the application of her lipstick. Slowly, but surely, painting her lips a deep purple. She sighs as she gives herself a final once over in her vanity mirror. The inky black curls that normally adorn her head like a crown have been forced into straightened submission indicative of her mother’s urge to impress the crowd of people that Ivy can already hear beginning to gather downstairs. Her left hands feels uncomfortably heavy as it has ever since this nightmare first began.

As if sensing her procrastination, Ivy’s mother Yvette comes striding into her daughter’s bedroom. It’s easy to tell how much she’s enjoying playing her mother of the bride role. She hasn’t stopped smiling since Ivy’s engagement to her long-time “boyfriend” was officially announced last month. Needless to say, she’s the only one finding any joy in this situation.

“Ivy, sweetie, hurry up and come downstairs. Everyone is waiting to see you.”

“Yeah, right.” Ivy scoffs in response. “They just want to see this.” Yvette frowns at the way Ivy glares in disdain at the stunning ring adorning her finger.

“Ivy Elaine Peters, you better get it to together right now. Keeping this family business afloat requires sacrifice and its your turn now stop moping and get your narrow ass downstairs.” Her mother disappears back out the door before Ivy can get in a word of her own. Not that it would have mattered. Her fate has been sealed for the past twenty four years.

She slips her feet into the black patent leather pumps still sitting pretty in the box on her canopy bed. The red soled beauties are sure to provide more status than comfort, but such is life. Ivy gives herself one final pep talk, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles in her slip dress. She looks more like a fashionable mourner than a blushing bride but this is her silent protest. She’ll make her damn sacrifice but she’ll dig her heels in wherever she can.

Ivy quickly spots her fiancee Seokjin cracking jokes with a few of her cousins near the front door. He beams at her when he catches her eye across the room, breaking away to come greet her. Not for the first time, Ivy wonders why she couldn’t just fall in love with him to make this whole process easier. Their families have known each other longer than they’ve both been alive so they grew up as best friends. Plus, Seokjin is genuinely a great guy. He’s charismatic, kind, and attractive to the point of unfairness. She has no doubt that he’d make a fantastic husband for someone. She just wishes that she wasn’t that someone. The only positive is that Seokjin feels the exact same way. He loves Ivy to pieces in the most platonic way possible. She’s quite possibly the last person he would ever consider marrying, but business is business and this is a merger that must be made.

“You look absolutely stunning, Vee.” She smiles gratefully at his compliment as he bends slightly to kiss her on the cheek. A camera flashes somewhere off to her right so she makes sure to play her happiness up for the photographer. With the combined notoriety of their families, any pictures taken tonight are sure to be all over the local and regional news outlets by morning.

“I could say the same about you, Jinnie.” The tips of his ears turn red as they always do whenever anyone compliments him. Ivy giggles playfully when he ducks the hand reaching up to tweak on of them like she always does, choosing instead to square up like he’s ready for a fight. Oh, Jin, ever the entertainer. The numerous peals of laughter that erupt around the couple as they take turns jabbing at each other like children tells her that their antics are paying off.

The two imposters spend the night putting on one hell of a show. Anyone would be hard pressed to find someone that didn’t think they’re madly in love with one another. Their parents couldn’t be more ecstatic about this outcome if they tried.

Everyone is seated at the lavishly decorated tables set up in the backyard as an army of waiters replaces empty entree plates with various cakes and tarts that look almost too delectable to eat. The cheesecake placed in front of Ivy looks nearly too beautiful to eat. Topped with fresh berries and drizzled in what smells like some sort of hazelnut sauce. She wishes she hadn’t left her cellphone upstairs so that she could take a quick picture of it for her instagram. When she finally gets over her reluctance, she take a small bite. A borderline pornographic moan escapes her lips, catching Jin way off guard.

“What the hell wa-” Ivy cuts him off by shoving a forkful of the cheesecake into his open mouth. He groans in pleased delight, attempting to go in with his own fork for another bite, but she quickly slaps his hand away.

“Let me taste yours. Bite for a bite.” She pretends not to notice him sneaking another bite of her cheesecake while she tastes the chocolate tart in front of him. A hint of red chili lends a kick that perfectly rounds out the sweetness of the chocolate and the fresh whipped cream the dessert is topped in.

“I don’t know what bakery they used but we need to get them to do the cake for the wedding.” Jin declares as he practically inhales the chocolate tart. He signals the waiter to bring them two more for them to try while Ivy hums in agreement at his side. She makes a mental note to ask her mother who was hired to do the desserts tomorrow as she happily digs into the coconut cream cake being set in front of her.

Yeosang stares in awe at the payment he’s just received for the engagement party they’d done three days ago. His bakery has been faring better than most businesses do in their first year but the deposit currently pending with the bank is going to go a long way in making sure it stays that way. They had even sent two grand more than the $1,800 that the contract had stipulated. Yeosang had called immediately to make sure it wasn’t an accounting error because the last thing he wants is to be accused of stealing, but he’d been informed by the woman who had arranged the deal that her employers had been so satisfied with the food they wanted to “tip” him. Rich people are different.

He leaves his small office to clean up a little while it’s slow. He had let everyone else go early since there were no big orders to work on and Tuesdays are notorious dead zones. The bell above the door tinkles lightly as he cleans some wayward chocolate curls out of one of the display cases, cursing to himself because he’d told Seonghwa that he put too many but of course no one listens to him. Doesn’t matter that he signs those lazy bastards’ pay checks every week.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The young woman before him fidgets with the tie on her wrap dress inadvertently drawing Yesoang’s gaze to the womanly curves she possesses. The emerald green of the fabric highlights the warm undertones of her skin in a way that should definitely be illegal.

“My mother’s assistant told me that you did the desserts for my engagement party last night.” Yeosang curses mentally as he finally takes notice of the skating rink sitting on her left ring finger. He misses most of what she says next but tunes back in just in time to hear her ask if he’s available to do her wedding cake as well.

“What’s the date?” He questions, all business now that more money is on the table.

“September 9th. It’s going to be at the old vineyard across town.”

Yeosang nods in acknowledgment. He pencils her in and schedules a day in two weeks for her to come back with her fiancee to do a tasting and make final selections for the other desserts they’d like to have. Ivy is turning to leave when she catches sight of a full-sized version of the cheesecake she’d fallen in love with at the party.

“How much is that cheesecake?”

Yeosang follows her outstretched index finger to the hazelnut berry cheesecake that he’d come up with. It had taken him ages to perfect but hasn’t really taken off like he thought it would. Nevertheless, he makes sure to put one in the display case every day and he’s glad that he did.

“It’s $6 per slice. Did you want one?”

“How much for the whole thing?” Yeosang notices that she has yet to take her eyes off of the dessert.

“I’ll do $35 for you, beautiful.” For a second, he thinks that he may have overstepped his boundaries but she simply reaches into her bra to pull out a flashy, black card. The credit limit on that thing would probably pay off the loan on his storefront and then some.

He tries not to focus on how warm it is when she places it into his outstretched hand. He could’ve sworn that she intentionally let her fingers graze his own in a less than professional way. Yeosang shakes the thought away as that can only lead to trouble. He packs her cheesecake up while she signs the credit card receipt.

“Have a great day,” Yeosang pauses to look at the signature line of the receipt. “…Ivy.”

“Right back at you.” She winks at him playfully and sashays outside to her car. Yeosang’s eyes are trained on her until she’s seated in her seated in the black Audi he’s just now noticing was parked across the street.

Ivy calls Jin the second she steers her car back onto the road, waiting patiently for him to answer. She’s practically vibrating from the few minutes she’d spent with…fuck she’d forgotten to get his name but there is plenty of time for that. One thing she’s sure she’ll never forget is how hot he is. Ivy would’ve never guessed that she’d be attracted to someone with quite so many tattoos but on him they had looked like priceless works of art worthy of being placed in the Louvre.

“Hey, Vee, what’s up?”

“Two things. One, the bakery that did the desserts for the engagement party agreed to do the wedding.” Ivy curses at a slow driver that cuts her off at an intersection, losing her train of thought for a second.

“And the second thing?” Jin presses.

“Oh, I’m going to fuck the owner.” A thrill shoots through as she imagines those tattooed hands roaming every inch of her skin. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat as her body reacts to her impure thoughts.

“Absolutely love that for you. What’s his name?” Of course he asks her the one question that she doesn’t know the answer to. She rolls her eyes skyward as Jin starts talking shit when he realizes that she didn’t ask her new crush his name.

“I hate you.” She pouts as she turns onto her street. “We have a tasting scheduled for the 17th so I’ll ask him then. I’m almost home so I’ll text you later.”

“Smell ya later.” Oh what she’d give to flip him off right now.

The smile on her face when Ivy walks inside her parents’ house is genuine despite the fact that she’s spent all day doing wedding preparations which normally leaves her in a foul mood. Her high spirits don’t go unnoticed by her mother who is in the backyard pruning her orchids.

“What’s got you so happy?”

“The bakery that did the desserts for the engagement party agreed to do the wedding too. Also,” Ivy lifts the box holding God’s favorite cheesecake in the air. “he gave me a deal on the cheesecake that we liked.”

“Are you serious? He said that he was booked up the entire week of your wedding.” Ivy is a bit taken aback as he had specifically told her that he would be available, but she shrugs it off.

“Maybe he had a cancellation. Do want some cheesecake? This is your only offer because I fully plan to eat the whole thing right now.” Her mother tosses her pruning shears back into the box she keeps them in and follows Ivy into the kitchen where they make quick work of the heavenly dessert.

“Yeosang you fucking dumbass. How are we supposed to do a wedding and an anniversary party in the same damn day? Explain it to me.” Yeosang almost flinches when Yunho yells at him. He can’t think of a time the man has ever raised his voice before now and he’s known him since they were three. Not one to accept disrespect, Yeosang would normally react with anger of his own but even he has to admit that thinking with his dick has put them all in a bind. A socialite wedding and an anniversary party with a guest list longer than his body on the same day is going to take a miracle to pull off.

“Listen these rich people gave us two grand more than they were supposed to as a fucking tip. If they had asked me to get ass naked and let people eat pineapple rings off my dick I would’ve said yes.”

“She had big tits didn’t she?” Jongho typically stays out of their petty arguments but he knows bullshit when he hears it.

“Yes, but,” The room erupts into a cacophony of groans as they all simultaneously throw the closest object at hand Yeosang’s hand. Luckily for him he’s always been quick on his feet. “What’s done is done you fuckwads so get over it and start mixing. We still have orders to fill.”

All eight of them are covered in flour from their frantic baking when they hear the bell jingling up front. Hongjoong happens to be the only one able to immediately stop what he’s doing so he washes his hands and goes to attend to the customer. Yeosang nearly falls backwards off of his stool when he hears the voice of the woman that had put them in such a bind. Wooyoung and San exchange curious glances before they wipes their hands on the front of their aprons and head up front as well. Yeosang feels like his stomach is going to fall out of his ass as one by one they all abandon their posts.

“Satan, why are you doing this to me?”

There’s no reason for him to stay in the back like a coward so he follows suit, wiping his hands and going to the front counter as well. They’re all squished together behind the counter trying to get as close to her as possible. Yeosang shoulders his way between Jongho and Seonghwa and he finally understands why they all look like lovestruck school boys. He finds himself looking just as dopey as his friends when she turns that megawatt smile on him. She’s dressed a lot more casually today in a pair of jeans that had to have been painted on and a plain white baby tee. The little jewel glittering in her belly button looks like its winking at him and he has the overwhelming urge to flick it with his tongue.

“Another cheesecake?” He nods his head towards the box cradled in her hands. She looks sheepish at being caught out. Yeosang thinks it’s cute.

“In my defense, it’s tasty as hell.”

“Just make sure you tell everyone where you got it.” He winks at her playfully which was an incredibly bad idea. She sinks her teeth into her plump lower lip and he knows immediately that despite the massive rock on her finger he would still make a move on her. Time to leave before he does something stupid.

“Alright you lazy sacks of shit, back to work.” They protest just as he’d expected but he pushes them all back towards the kitchen, rolling his eyes as they try to resist him.

“Hey, wait!” Yeosang shouldn’t have turned around. He should’ve kept going as if he hadn’t even heard her, but no, he just has to have manners. She’s propped herself up against the counter that makes her breasts nearly pop out of the scoop neck line of her shirt. “What’s your name?”

“Yeosang.” She repeats it back to him, testing it out on her tongue. Her voice curls around the syllables lusciously and he could die right where he stood. At this point, he’s convinced that she’s made it her life’s mission to ruin him.

Ivy is quick to call Jin when she gets back to her car which seems to be the norm every time she goes to the bakery. She knows that he’s going to make fun of her for being so excited, but she can’t exactly tell her other friends about the hot, tattooed bakery owner that she plans to screw so she’ll suffer the consequences. At least now she actually knows his name so he can’t hold that over her head anymore.

The 17th has finally rolled around which means Ivy has another opportunity to draw Yeosang into her trap. Jin currently sits cross-legged on the bed in his guest room where Ivy had spent the previous night as she models her potential outfit for the day. The yellow slip dress has potential, but Jin isn’t totally impressed. He sends her back into the closet to try on one of her other options. She reappears in a fiery orange tank top tucked into a pair of lightly distressed white jeans.

“Your ass looks great in the jeans so that’s a definite yes, but I’m not really feeling this shirt.” Jin comments as Ivy does a slow turn in front of him. He crosses the room to his closet to help her go through the clothes she’d brought with her to see what her other options are. He eventually helps her settle on a simple black tank top that perfectly molds to the curves of a figure.

“Alright let’s go eat some cake and hopefully get your cakes smashed.” Jin remarks as he herds Ivy towards the door.

When they arrive at the bakery, Yeosang has just finished putting out the tasting plates that he’d prepared. Jin is too focused on the fact that he gets to eat cake before lunch without anyone scolding him for it to notice the way that Yeosang’s face falls when he sees him walking in with Ivy. She doesn’t miss it though. Nevertheless, he reaches out to introduce himself.

“Yeosang. Nice to meet you.” Jin reciprocates his greeting before pulling out a chair for Ivy to sit down in.

Things are all business from there on as Yeosang slides the first cake towards them and Ivy has never been more disappointed in her entire life. Gone is the Yeosang that called her beautiful and responded well to her flirting. She blames Jin.

“So this first one is a spiced vanilla cake with a raspberry cream cheese frosting with a little orange zest.” Ivy is so focused on the way Yeosang’s lips are moving that Jin has to elbow her to bring her back to reality. She sheepishly accepts the fork that she hadn’t realized was being presented to her to taste the masterpiece in front of her.

As they talk about what they like and don’t like about the cake, Yeosang hands them each a scoring cards to rank their favorites. Regardless of the way she feels about him on a personal level, Ivy has to admit that Yeosang is incredibly good at what he does. He was able to take her obsession with his cheesecake and come up with such interesting cake options. She’d been slightly concerned that he hand’t asked for her likes or dislikes in terms of taste, but as they move from cake to cake she realizes that he didn’t need to. Everything tastes amazing. It’s no surprise that each cake receives the highest score possible on their scoring cards. Deciding which one to go with is going to be hell.

“If you don’t let me have the spiced vanilla one we tried first I am calling off this engagement and marrying Yeosang instead of you.” Ivy stands corrected. Yeosang chuckles lowly at Jin’s enthusiasm and the throaty sound sends a shiver down her spine. It’s unfair just how effortlessly attractive he is.

“Okay folks, let’s talk decorations.” Yeosang reaches to his right, pulling a sketch pad from the empty chair next to him. His hand loosely grips a pencil as he waits for Ivy and Jin to throw some ideas at him. Ivy would prefer to throw herself at him instead, but someone how she manages to focus her brain on cake design.

Both Ivy and Jin agree on the fact that they want something simple, but beyond that they have clue what they want. Yeosang busts out a quick sketch of a three tier cake with fondant branches bearing dogwood flowers climbing the height of it. When he presents the rough drawing to them, Ivy immediately falls in love. Thankfully, Jin agrees because she was prepared to fight him over this. They spend a little while longer picking out other desserts for people who don’t want or can’t have cake, but all too soon Yeosang is watching the happy couple disappear from his shop.

The six months until the wedding seem to blend together. Business has picked up significantly in the previous weeks which has been good for Yeosang in more ways than one. The extra cashflow has allowed him to get ahead on some bills while also giving everybody a bit of a raise. According to Seonghwa, who is primarily in charge of the front counter since accidentally slicing his hand open, a lot of the new customers have been big names in the community that are connected to Ivy or her family in one way or another. The woman in question often stops in for a cheesecake. She always asks to speak to Yeosang, claiming to have questions about the wedding though he gets the feeling that she really just wants to talk to him. Every day it gets harder and harder to resist her flirtatious advances. He refuses to be a casual fling for some bored rich girl no matter how much his dick begs him to. Especially one with rapidly approaching nuptials.

Yeosang has never been a very spiritual person, but when he gets the call that the anniversary party he’d scheduled Ivy’s wedding over had been cancelled due to the wife having the flu, he knows that some divine being is looking out for him. He had planned to do his best, but with only one more week left to prepare he was still very unsure of how he was going to pull off two events of that scale in one day. The husband Johnathan Tooney, current district attorney in the next county over, sounds shocked on the phone when he offers them a full refund despite the fact that his contracts states that customers are only entitled to a fifty percent refund of any money paid if the event is cancelled the week of. Most of his customers pay half upfront and the remaining half afterwards, but they had chosen to pay for everything up front. Something Yeosang had greatly appreciated as it was a $2,600 job. Ultimately, Mr. Tooney tells him not to as they intend to reschedule the party as soon as his wife is feeling better and would still like for him to provide the desserts they’d contracted for.

The guys are all equally relieved when Yeosang delivers the news of the anniversary party’s cancellation. Things are smooth sailing from there as they throw all of their focus and energy into making sure that everything will be ready for the wedding next weekend. Not surprisingly, Ivy doesn’t make an appearance in the bakery that week, but what is surprising is that Yeosang finds himself actually missing her presence. Despite his avoidance of all her flirting, he actually likes talking to Ivy whenever she comes in. She may be a bored rich girl but her mind is just as captivating as the rest of her.

On the day of the ceremony, Yeosang is uncharacteristically antsy. He’s not sure what it is but he can’t seem to sit still no matter what he does. He’s itching to get this day over with so Mingi can buy him the beer he owes him. Wooyoung scolds him for being distracted when he almost drops one of the cake tiers on his way to load it into one of the delivery vans. No one has to vocalize just how disastrous that would’ve been because they all know but missing an opportunity to call people out on their shit is just not in Wooyoung’s nature.

“Look, I know you’re feeling some type of way because your crush is marrying a pretty boy that’s not you but I’m going to need you to at least pretend that you still want to get paid for this job.” Yeosang nods in acknowledgment because while he doesn’t like being yelled at like a child even he knows that he’s got to get his shit together and quickly.

“Notice how he didn’t deny his crush on cheesecake girl though.” San pipes up as he hops into the drivers seat of the van. Everyone snickers, switching to full on laughter when Yeosang flips them all off.

Thankfully, the reception goes off without a hitch. The wait staff helps set up the extensive dessert table to save on time and it comes out just as Yeosang had envisioned it. He snaps a few pictures for the bakery’s website before they leave venue. Ivy and Jin had extended invitations to Yeosang and his staff to stay for the reception, but they’d all politely declined. They’re on their way out of the service entrance when one of the girls on the wait staff runs out with two giant paper bags in her hands. Apparently, Ivy had included enough meals in her catering package to feed the vendors that would be in the building on her big day which coincidentally included Yeosang and his gang of merry bakers. They’re all taken aback by the thoughtfulness of the gesture as Yeosang accepts the bags from the staff member who quickly runs back inside the dining hall.

“Cheesecake girl is a fucking saint.” Mingi hardly ever garners emphatic agreement from the rest of his friend group but today is one of those rare occasions.

Business continues as normal following the wedding. Product is flying out of the display case. Catering orders are still coming in left and right. Ivy still stops in once a week for a cheesecake and to flirt with Yeosang. The guys still tease him for his crush on said married woman. Everything is normal.

Until it’s not.

Jin looks like freshly printed money when he strolls into Bad Boy Bakery for the first time since the cake tasting all those months ago. The silver band on his ring finger glitters even in the fluorescent lighting. Yeosang is finishing up his closing routine when he hears the bell and emerges from his office.

“Seokjin?” The manila folder clasped in the other man’s hands makes Yeosang nervous. The last time someone in a suit approached him with a manila folder he was being presented with a plea deal and ended up doing ten months in jail for assault and grand larceny.

“We need to talk. I’ll wait for you to finish up.” Jin takes a seat at an empty table and hums to himself as he waits for Yeosang to join him.

He doesn’t have to wait long for the young business owner to emerge from his office with his keys and a denim jacket in hand. The mischievous smile on Jin’s face makes him uneasy, but he’s no bitch. Yeosang steels his nerves and schools his facial expression into one of bland indifference. He arches an eyebrow when Jin slides the folder across the table and produces a pen from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. The folder may as well be a poisonous spider with the way Yeosang refuses to touch it.

“Whatever you think it is, I promise it’s not that.” Yeosang stares Jin down for a few seconds, looking for anything at all that would suggest he should end this whole interaction right now. He doesn’t find it.

With a resigned sigh, Yeosang flips through the contents of an envelope. He shoots Jin a look when he realizes that he’s currently skimming over a nondisclosure agreement. It looks to be focused around Ivy and Jin’s marriage. The word arranged jumps out him a few times and his eyes nearly bug out of his head. The agreement is vague on the finer details but Yeosang is comfortable enough with what he’s read to quickly scrawl his name at the bottom of the last page. Jin signs his name as witness and neatly tucks everything back into the manila folder.

“Now that we have that out of the way.” Jin relaxes back into the chair and fiddles with his wedding band. “Ivy likes you. She’ll never admit that because she’s stubborn but she likes you and wants you fold her like a towel.”

“Wait, wait, wait, are you saying that your wife wants to have sex with me? How are you okay with this?” Yeosang has always loved forbidden fruit but ruining relationships was the old him. He doesn’t know what to do with this information. Furthermore, he can’t imagine being married to someone like Ivy and being okay with her sleeping with someone else.

“That’s where the NDA comes in.” Yeosang sits in stunned silence as Jin gives him the true behind the scenes story about he and Ivy’s marriage and it’s nothing like the best friends to lovers trope that they’ve fed to society. Well, he guesses the best friend part is true, but they’ve definitely never been anything close to lovers and never will be. They’re simply holding up their end of a decades-old business deal. According to Jin, he and Ivy have already devised a plan to be divorced in a year.

“So,” Yeosang is a bit unsure on how to proceed. This is uncharted territory. “what exactly are you saying to me?”

“Stop feeling bad about wanting to fuck Ivy and just do it. She’s driving me insane at home talking about how hot you are all the time and I can’t take it anymore. She’s out of cheesecake so she’ll be in here within the next couple of days so make your move. Discreetly.”

Yeosang lays in bed that night still shocked at everything he’s learned today. His mind and body have been at war over what he believes to be right and what his body craves. He’d love nothing more than to worship Ivy from head to toe and before today it had been a pipe dream. Now that he’s been given the green light, he’s still conflicted. It feels too good to be true. But he plans to take full advantage of all the good that comes his way until shit decides to hit the fan.

Ivy gives herself a final once over in the mirror. Her outfit is simple. Just a black bodycon dress paired with a denim jacket and her red converse. According to Jin, she should look like she’s making an effort but not too much of one. She’s hoping that this will do the trick as she grabs for her keys and purse, stuffing her phone into the latter as she waits for the elevator to reach the ground floor.

She wants to call Jin for some last minute encouragement on the way over, but he’s being a boring businessman today and is in the middle of a meeting. Ivy is totally on her own and she’s panicking. Hopefully, Yeosang finds her nervousness cute enough to overlook the awkwardness.

When Ivy enters the bakery, one of Yeosang’s friends is manning the counter. A gentle giant with a kind smile. She remembers that his name also starts with a Y like Yeosang’s but she can’t put her finger on exactly what it is.

“Hey, cheesecake girl!” Ivy rolls her eyes humorously at the nickname the other guys in the bakery have given her. She can’t help that the damned cheesecake tastes as good as it does. Before the wedding, she’d had to up her trips to the gym from zero to one just to make sure she’d still be able to fit into her dress on her wedding day.

Her heart drops a little when she scans the display case but sees no sign of the dessert that her soul craves. Yunho laughs are disappointment before disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a box, smiling at the way her eyes light up.

“Yeosang is with the other guys on a job, but he said you’d be in today so he boxed it up before he left.” He slides the box across the glass countertop into her waiting hands. Ivy digs in her purse for her card to pay for the cheesecake, but Yunho is quick to stop her.

“This one’s on the house. Boss’ orders.” Ivy is a bit taken aback. Hand frozen in her purse. Yeosang makes sure that she always pays a discount rate for her cheesecake, but she’s never gotten one for free before.

“Oh…okay. Well, have a good day.”

It isn’t until she gets back to Jin’s place — well she guesses it’s her place now too — that she realizes why Yeosang had decided to pre-package her cheesecake this time. A phone number is scrawled on the inside of the lid with a quick message from Yeosang asking her to call him. She squeals as frantically scrambles to pull her phone from the recesses of her bag. Yunho had told her that Yeosang was out on a job so she texts him instead of calling so as not to disturb him.

She is happily digging her fork into a second piece of cheesecake when Ivy randomly recalls something weird that Jin had said this morning when he left for work. She was still half asleep and barely human, but now here she sits at the dining room table replaying the strange sentence that her brain had decided to finally comprehend.

Don’t forget to call the baker.

Ivy hadn’t been in the right headspace to question it then, but now that the puzzle pieces are clicking into place, it’s becoming painfully obvious that Jin had something to do with the reason she’s anxiously checking her phone every five minutes. The part of her that wants to chase him with a butter sock is overridden by the much larger part that wants to thank him profusely for whatever it is that he did. Unlike Jin, Ivy doesn’t have a harem of men, women, and others lined up to satisfy her needs whenever he’s feeling inclined.

She’s three episodes into a Cold Justice marathon when her phone rings, scaring the living daylights out of her. It’s Yeosang. Ivy’s eyes widen comically as she freaks out over what to do. She chugs the rum and coke she’d been nursing and picks up the call.

“Hello?” She cringes at how apprehensive she sounds even to her own ears.

“Hello, Ivy.” He sounds tired which has given his voice a gravelly edge to it that’s making her blood sing. “I saw your message and thought it would just be easier to call you.”

Ivy isn’t surprised in the slightest when Yeosang tells her about Jin’s visit to the bakery the night before. That’s a typical Jin move to jump the chain of command to accomplish a job. Yeosang doesn’t seem to bothered by the strangeness of it all. He seems more relieved that his guilt for lusting after a taken woman has been absolved if anything.

“This is a first for me so I’m not exactly sure what to do.” Yeosang trails off. He’s out of his element here. It goes without saying that there will be no romantic dinners at expensive restaurants or long walks to the beach.

“This is a first for me too, but you’re a hot baker that laughs at my stupid jokes and I like that.” His throaty laugh in response makes her chest swell with pride at

“I still want to take you on a date though so I guess your place or mine?”

Yeosang is sweating bullets as he punches in the elevator code for the penthouse suite in the swanky high rise at the address Ivy had given him. In his Michael Jackson t-shirt, ripped jeans, and sneakers, he knows that he sticks out like a sore thumb, but thankfully no one in the lobby had vocalized that to his face. He adjusts his duffel bag on his shoulder as the elevator smoothly ascends to the top floor. He’s been ecstatic when Ivy had told him that she wanted him to come spend the weekend with her since Jin would be out of town on business. This is going to be the first time that he’s seen her in person since they agreed to their little arrangement and he’s nervous to say the least.

The doors silently reveal a posh sitting area as well a lacquered black door adorned with a silver “P”. Yeosang grins at the door mat just outside the door. It depicts a crudely drawn cat with both middle fingers upturned and the words “fuck off” written in a speech bubble. It looks just as out of place as he does and for whatever reason it makes him feel more at ease. He reaches out to press the doorbell but the door is yanked open before he even gets the chance.

“Jesus Christ you scared me!” If his hands weren’t full of groceries, Yeosang would’ve clutched at his rapidly beating heart. Ivy chuckles, pointing to a little black dot above the door.

“We have cameras.”

She grabs for a few of the bags in his hands, but he twists and turns to block her efforts. Their childish antics continue until Yeosang has finally had enough. He crouches down until he’s able to wrap his arms around her thighs, delighting in her squeal when he successfully lifts her from the ground. Ivy swats at his shoulders, but the brute simply crosses the threshold, kicking the door shut with his foot before walking deeper into her home. This first “date” is off to a great start.

“So what’s on the agenda for today, Mr. Kang?” Ivy drums on the marble countertop enthusiastically as she watches Yeosang unpack the groceries he’d brought with him.

“As much as I love a good paying customer, It’s time for you to learn how to make this cheesecake yourself.”

“You better hope I suck at it or I’ll put you out of business.”

“I don’t mind a little competition.” Yeosang smiles deviously. “Especially when the rivals look as pretty as you.”

Ivy feels her cheeks heat up in the face of such flirtation and she’s never been more thankful for the fact that her darker complexion hides the evidence of it. She’s come to know him well enough to know that he would definitely rib her for that.

As it turns out, Ivy is a natural born baker. Yeosang’s heart swells in his chest as he watches her sway her hips to the music she’d turned on as she stirs the berry compote on the stove. His chest bumps against her back as he steps up behind her and he swears he sees her shiver. He rests his head on her shoulder, covering his hand with hers and slows down the speed of her stirring.

“You have to be gentle with the berries, love.” At the sound of his voice so close to her ear, Ivy’s insides turn to goo.

“Maybe I don’t want to be gentle.” Her words hit him square in the chest and he wants to respond in so many ways, but he settles for a chaste kiss on her temple. He’d briefly contemplated taking it slow with her, but they’ve been dancing around each other for nearly seven months at this point and there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable. The wanton desire is mutual on both sides but he wants to hear her beg. Wants her desperate and needy for him.

He eventually removes his hand from hers, choosing to instead hold onto her hips as he continues to coach her through the next steps. She’s so focused on keeping her berries from sticking that Yeosang is able to catch her off guard when he slips his hands inside her tank top to rest them against her bare skin. The gasp she lets out makes him smile deviously. His hands drift up from her lower stomach until his thumbs are brushing the lacy cups of her bra. It’s Yeosang’s turn to be caught off guard when she presses her ass firmly against his front. The way she subsequently swivels her hips is nearly his undoing, but Yeosang has a game plan and he intends to see it through.

“You’re a naughty girl, Ivy.” He lowers a hand to tug on the elastic waistband of the tiny shorts she’s wearing, letting it snap back in place. She hisses at the sting but, if the way her head lolls back onto his shoulder is any indication, she loved it. Yeosang slides his hand lower as if he’s going to cup her over her shorts only to completely remove himself from her.

He busies himself with other things around the kitchen but he can feel her glare on him the entire time. She grumbles something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like the words “teasing asshole” but he choose to ignore it. For now.

Ivy is visibly on edge as she waits for Yeosang to touch her again, but he doesn’t make a single move to do so. He simply dances around her in the kitchen as they finish up their cheesecake preparation. It has to cool once they take it out of the oven so they migrate to the living room while they wait. The episode of Bones that Ivy been watching before he’d arrived is still paused on the tv so she restarts it and settles in next to Yeosang on the couch. She lets out a girlish squeal when he hauls her into his lap instead. He spreads her legs so that they straddle both of his, letting out a content sigh as he rests his chin on her shoulder. Arms wrapped securely around her waist.

He waits until she’s engrossed in the episode. Certain that he’s going to keep his hands to himself. If he’d been able to see her face, he would’ve been able to see the devious grin as she devised a plan of her own. Ivy shifts her legs around until both of her feet are planted on the floor between Yeosang’s. She swivels her hips in the cradle of his lap, snickering at the groan he lets out. Two can play this teasing game. She grabs both of his hands in her own and lifts them to her breasts. Yeosang just lets them linger there. This is her show now and he wants to see her directing skills firsthand.

With her physical encouragement, he pinches her erect nipples through the thin layers of her shirt and bra. The breathy sigh in response to his touch gives him a high that he can quickly see himself becoming addicted to. She ups the ante by dislodging his hands to remove her shirt and bra. She places his hands back on her chest, sighing once more at the feel of him kneading her breasts without any hindrances. Yeosang licks and sucks at the column of her neck. He’s careful not to leave any marks which he’s sure she’ll be appreciative of later. Her needs grows and grows until she’s craving more than what he’s giving her.

“Yeosang,” The way she half moans his name sounds like the sweetest melody. “Touch me.”

“I am touching you, baby girl.” She grunts in frustration. Looks like she’ll have to take matters into her own hands once more.

Yeosang is shocked when Ivy suddenly rises to her feet. He’s more than confused as he watches her disappear down a hallway off to the right of the living room. His breath catches in his throat when her shorts suddenly fly back into view followed closely by a pair of panties that match the bra on the floor by his right foot. He nearly falls over in his haste to catch up to her. He finds her in the bedroom that she’d pointed out as hers when she’d given him a quick tour earlier. She’s reclined amongst the mountain of pillows circling her swollen clit with her middle finger as she fondles one of her breasts. Her mouth is slightly ajar from the pleasure and he swears that he’s never seen a sight more breathtaking. Yeosang swallows, trying to get his wits about him when she speaks and breaks him out of his daze.

“Clothes off, babe.” His limbs are a blur as he rushes to follow her instructions. With every inch of skin he reveals, Ivy finds herself falling deeper and deeper into his trap.

She’d seen the tattoos that covered his arms and the back of his right hand, but the Hebrew script running down his side is new to her and she makes a mental note to ask him what it says later. Right now she wants nothing more than for him to hold her down with his weight and make her his. Yeosang’s eyes are practically glued to her center so shiny from her arousal. He licks his lips at the thought of how good she probably tastes and the mere idea of having her on his tongue nearly consumes him.

Yeosang tugs on his hardened cock as he slowly walks towards the oversized bed. She’s mesmerized by the appendage standing proud between his legs. It’s not over long but he can barely get his own fist around it so she knows that the stretch will be phenomenal when he finally gets inside. He grabs her by both ankles and pulls her into the center of the bed so that she’s flat on her back. She squirms in anticipation as he crawls over her. Lips and hands caressing every inch of her skin that they can reach. She moans deep in her throat when he finally covers her lips with his own in their first ever kiss. Her fingers find purchase in his hair, holding him to her as they ravage each other. Each exhale from her lips traded for his.

Ivy is brought back to the task at hand when a needy thrust of Yeosang’s hips has the engorged head of his erection pressing against her clit. She bites down on his bottom lip at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, rolling her hips up to get more of the addictive friction.

“Gotta taste you. Want you to cum in my mouth.” Yeosang’s words don’t match up with his actions as he continues to peck her lips over and over again. Eager to discover if his tongue is just as talented as his hands, Ivy pulls away to gently push at his head until he gets the message.

The first swipe of his tongue on her soaked flesh is purely self-indulgent. He’s thrilled to discover that she tastes just as sweet as he thought she would. Like the nectar of a fresh honeydew. He sucks her clit into his mouth, biting down on it gently before swirling his tongue around it to soothe the ache. Her eyes roll into the back of her head and she can’t decide if she wants to run from or towards his mouth. She doesn’t get the chance to decide as Yeosang anchors her squirming hips to the bed with one of his arms.

He teases her entrance with a single finger, smirking at the filthy curses falling from her lips as she begs him to make her cum. He gives her clit a particularly harsh suck as he sinks his finger in deep. Her breathing starts coming in quick pants when he adds a second finger and then a third. When she starts folding in on herself, he pulls his fingers from her dripping hole. Her suddenly empty hole clenches around nothing as she complains about being denied the orgasm she was dancing on the edge of.

Her complaints die on her tongue when she takes in the sight of Yeosang walking on his knees towards her. Ivy sits up and meets him halfway. She can taste herself on his tongue as their lips meet for the second time and it has a fresh tidal wave of arousal all but gushing from her. His waning self-control is evident in the way he turns her around to face her headboard, pushing on her shoulders until she’s face down in in the sheets.

She whimpers at the heavy smack he rains down on her ass. He groans at the way it bounces before he grips both cheeks in his hands, pulling them apart to get a proper view of her waiting entrance. Part of him wants to tease her some more, but he doesn’t have it in him to wait one more minute. She nearly sobs at the satisfying stretch of him sinking into her eager flesh in one smooth thrust. He grinds his hips against her ass, relishing in the way her walls are hugging him so tightly. She clenches around him, trying to draw him back in as he eases his hips back only to roughly thrust his length back into her. He repeats that action a few more times to open her up before finally breaking loose.

All forms of speech beyond broken curse words and his name are lost to Ivy as Yeosang demolishes her. His pace builds till it’s almost frantic. It feels like his length is vibrating within her and she can feel her orgasm approaching quickly. She tries to warn him, but he is already well aware. He slows his hips down to a gentle roll and the change in pace has her seeing stars as he can now expertly target that sensitive spot deep within her. He reaches underneath her to rub circles in her clit and she’s lost. Black dots dance around across her vision as the pleasure threatens to completely drag her under. His hips never stop moving as he fucks her through it. The erratic clenching of her inner walls soon proves to be too much for him. He pulls out of her wet heat just in time to release his seed onto her back.

Ivy collapses onto her stomach. Exhausted beyond measure. Yeosang falls next to her breathing just as hard. He’s not going to lie and pretend that he hasn’t dived into more than his fair share of pussy, but that was easily the best sex he’s ever had. He can barely breathe but that doesn’t stop him from leaning over to press his lips against hers once more. Their chests are still heaving when they separate, choosing instead to lean his forehead against hers.

“I can’t feel my legs.” She whispers on a breathless laugh.

“Good thing I’m the king of aftercare.” He pecks her lips once more before crossing the room to her en suite bathroom to get a warm towel to clean her up with. By the time he returns, she’s fast asleep much to his surprise. Normally, Yeosang likes to end his trysts with a massage, but she’s sleeping so peacefully. He cleans up his mess before sliding back into the bed next to her as he pulls a spare blanket over them.

Yeosang awakens the next morning to an empty bed and the smell of coffee brewing. A shower is definitely in order before he seeks out Ms. Ivy. He walks into the kitchen a little while later to find her cooking breakfast in his t-shirt. It’s so domestic that for a moment he forgets that she’s legally spoken for until her wedding ring catches the sunlight from the picture windows.

“Morning.” He whispers into her ear. She jumps at the sound, obviously not realizing that he was awake yet. She relaxes against him when he wraps his arms around her midsection.

“Good morning, handsome. I’m almost done if you wanna grab some plates.” Yeosang preens at the compliment, kissing her cheek an obnoxious amount of times before grabbing plates and some silverware.

The sound of their forks clinking against their plates as they eat fills the pleasant silence as the two adults make faces across the table at each other like children. Yeosang can’t remember the last time he was this comfortable with a woman he was seeing. For the millionth time since he woke up this morning, he finds himself resenting the fact that she’s married.

“I can feel you staring.” Yeosang doesn’t bother looking up see Ivy’s facial expression at being caught as he rinses the last breakfast dish to put in the drying rack. “Spit it out before I get old and feeble.”

“What does the tattoo on your side say?” He looks up at her then, searching her face. Ivy is beginning to feel that she shouldn’t have said anything the longer Yeosang remains silent. He drys his hands on a towel, walking towards Ivy where she sits sprawled across one of the cushy armchairs in the living room. He lifts her only to set her back down in his lap.

“May you rescue us from the hand of every foe, ambush along the way, and from all manner of punishments that assemble to come to earth.” Yeosang absentmindedly strokes his fingers back and forth across Ivy’s bare thigh. “It’s part of a Hebrew prayer of protection that my mom made me get when she realized that her scolding was falling on deaf ears.”

Ivy can’t help but giggle as Yeosang enthusiastically re-enacts his mother’s words all those years ago. She’s seen the articles in the local magazines. They all tell the same story of a young street kid that found his calling and turned his life around, but words on a piece of paper doesn’t capture the nuance of who Kang Yeosang is. He doesn’t shy away from who he was. He embraces it with open arms. She listens intently as he tells the story that will never be found in any magazine. The story of how he successfully graduated from small-time dealing to running guns, drugs, and the occasional fine artifact when he was only twenty three.

“Would you do it differently if you had the chance?” Ivy picks at the hem of the Thriller he’d been wearing the day before as she awaits his answer. She’s admittedly shocked when he he gives an emphatic no.

“It wasn’t exactly something I could put on my resume, but it set this part of my life into motion.” She leans her head into the crook of his neck. Lulled into comfortable security by the vibration of his vocal cords. “I learned how to run a business. Granted, it was illegal, but I baked my first cake in jail which is what ultimately led to me opening the bakery and then meeting you.”

Time is a forgotten concept as they sit in the armchair sharing embarrassing childhood stories and fleeting kisses when they just can’t help themselves. That’s how Jin finds them. Giggling like teenagers that have finally earned closed door privileges. Yeosang freezes when he notices Jin’s still unsure how to act around him. Ivy on the other hand is excited to welcome her best friend back home.

“Jinnie!” She hops up to give him a quick hug and peck on the cheek before returning to her perch on Yeosang’s lap. Awkwardness is radiating off of the man beneath her in near tangible waves. He visibly relaxes when Ivy buries her fingers in the hair at the back of his head to scratch at his scalp.

“I missed you too, Vee. Good to see you again, Mr. Kang.” Jin winks conspiratorially at Yeosang as he cracks open the bottle of water he’d snagged from the refrigerator. “Take good care of my wife.” He adds as a parting shot on his way down the hall to his bedroom which sends Ivy into a fit of curses. Yeosang finds himself cracking a smile at the sound of Jin’s laughter somewhere down the hall.

It’s not the most conventional situation by any means, but Yeosang feels like he can make this work. He glances down at the grumbling woman in his arms. Yeah, he can definitely make this work.

Yeosang is elbow deep in bread dough for a new recipe he’s working on when he hears his phone ringing where he’d left it on the charger in his bedroom. He’s supposed to be heading to Ivy’s later tonight and he’s hoping to have her taste test his new bread when he gets there, meaning he can have no interruptions so he lets his phone go to voicemail. His phone rings again, but this time the song it plays catches his attention. The Alina Baraz song he’d set for Ivy’s ringtone drifts down the hallway. He instantly cracks a smile at the thought of the woman on the other end of that phone call. Passing up an opportunity to hear her voice is beyond Yeosang’s capabilities so he extracts himself from the dough, making a mad dash for the ringing device.

“Hey, babe.” She sniffles in his ear and all of his sense are suddenly on high alert. In all of the months since they started dating he can’t recall her crying. Ever. She’s just too happy. His mind runs through a myriad of horrible possibilities like film cuts. “Ivy, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I need you.” Yeosang has absolutely no idea what’s going on but his heart feels like it’s being ripped in two at the sound of her crying. He pulls his phone away from his ear when it pings. He has to swallow to keep himself together when he sees that Ivy has sent him her location.

“I’m on my way, baby. I’m coming.”

The other cars on the road look like blurs as Yeosang weaves between and around them at break neck speed. The hospital that Ivy is at is supposed to be a twenty seven minute drive according to google maps, but Yeosang is parking his mustang exactly sixteen minutes later. He’s honestly surprised that he wasn’t pulled over on the way, but his euphoric disbelief is short-lived as he dashes towards the front doors of the hospital.

“Can I help you?” The woman manning the front looks at Yeosang with a barely concealed air of distaste. He follows her eyes to his tattooed arms on display in the short sleeved shirt he’s wearing. He’s still pretty much covered in flour from his bread making and he can tell that she doesn’t think much of him. Normally, he would make an attempt to assuage people like her and show that tattoos don’t make the man, but he doesn’t have time for that.

“I’m looking for Ivy Kim.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny whether or not we have someone here by that name.”

“Listen, lady if you-” Yeosang is on the verge of falling into the trap of the old wench’s bias when he hears his name being called. He turns his head to see Jin waving him over from where he’s holding the elevator doors open. He flips the old lady off, delighting in her scandalized gasp as he jogs towards the bay of elevators.

Now that he’s closer, Yeosang notices the cuts and bruises that litter his friend’s face. He looks like he’s been beat pretty good, but he brushes off any questions about what happened. Yeosang is on the verge of choking on his nerves as he follows Jin off of the elevator to room 437.

“I’m going to get some coffee. You guys need to talk.” Jin claps Yeosang on the shoulder once as he goes back the way they came.

He’d risked life and limb to get here, but now he’s afraid to take one more step. He has no idea what’s going on, but he can feel it in his bones that nothing will be the same once he steps through this door. Yeosang’s phone vibrates just then with a notification from the Nike app about some stuff he left in his cart. The little nike swoosh on his phone screen feels like a divine sign for him to stop being such a pussy and go in the room.

Seeing Ivy curled into a ball in the middle of the hospital bed is nearly his undoing. The tears steadily streaming down her face catch the light from the hallway when she turns her head to see who it is. A sob racks her figure as she reaches for him. Yeosang shuts the door, plunging the room back into darkness as he rushes to her side. He’s not used to her looking this fragile and it’s killing him. He kicks his shoes off and climbs into the bed next to her, careful not to jostle the IV needle in her arm. She leans into his touch as he brushes her hair away from her face. The fabric of his shirt is no match for the barrage of tears that Ivy dumps on it. He lets her cry until she has nothing left. For a moment he thinks that she’s fallen asleep, but she whispers something against the skin of his neck. Her voice is so low that he can’t make it out even with her lips being mere inches from his hair.

“You’ve gotta speak up for me, love.” This time when she speaks, he hears her loud and clear.

“I lost our baby.”

He can hear her saying something about a car accident and blood, but her words don’t register in his brain. Yeosang feels like the ground has opened up beneath him, but he’s not falling. Simply hovering, drifting in the void. He hadn’t even known she was pregnant and that’s definitely something Ivy would have told him so he’s guessing that she didn’t know either. Visions of a tiny child with her doe-like eyes and his nose flash across his minds eye. Yeosang has never given much thought to being a father, but knowing that he’d created a child with Ivy only for them to be ripped away like this is tearing him apart. He holds her impossibly close, trying to anchor himself to reality. Tears are flowing down his own face as he attempts to process what they’ve lost.

“This is all my fault.” The guilt in her voice is nearly palpable. Yeosang cups her face in his hands to force her to look him in the eye.

“You did nothing wrong, Ivy. Get that thought out of you head right now, do you hear me?” Ivy nods her head slowly but Yeosang is not naive. No matter what he says, it’s going to take a while before she actually believes the truth in his words.

Jin hates to interrupt them. He loathes it, but life is cruel and Ivy’s parents just texted him that they just parked their car and are on their way inside. His feet feel heavy as he treks back down the hallway. He pokes his head into the dark room and winces at the muffled sound of them crying together.

“I’m so sorry guys, but Ivy’s parents are on their way up.” Yeosang gets the urge to laugh despite the fact that absolutely nothing is funny. This is just adding insult to injury.

Ivy clings to him like a koala when he tries to stand and he’s got half a mind to say fuck the consequences and stay. That wouldn’t be fair to Jin though. He harbors no ill will towards the man even though he’s living the life he wants so for his sake, he extricates himself from Ivy’s grasp to put his shoes on. Her bottom lip quivers dangerously as he leans down to softly kiss her forehead. Jin pulls Yeosang into a hug before he can walk past him and it takes a herculean effort for Yeosang to keep it together. His heart aches with every step he takes towards the exit stairs. It feels like someone is taking a jackhammer to his chest.

He leans his head back against the headrest when he finally reaches his car. A pained yell bursts from his throat before he can even think of trying to stop it. His horn beeps erratically as he pounds at his steering wheel in anger. Yeosang has been through hell in his twenty six years on Earth and yet, he can’t recall a time when he’s ever felt this much mental anguish and despair. Part of him wishes that he’d never stopped slinging coke and running the streets because he’d have never met Ivy and thus would’ve never experienced this. He hates that thought the second it materializes.

The shrill ringing of an old school phone that Yunho had insisted on having as his ringtone breaks through his misery. Yeosang has no desire to utter a word to anyone other than Ivy but Yunho is a persistent bastard. He’ll just keep calling until he gets an answer. He clears his throat and hopes that his childhood best friend is having an off day with those damn spidey senses of is.

“Hello?”

“Dude, have you been crying? No wonder my spirit is unsettled. The fuck is going on?” So much for eluding Yunho’s questions. Yeosang huffs out a shaky breath. He’s not even sure he’s even fully grasped what’s going on himself. He can hear the sound of keys jingling on Yunho’s end.

“Listen, I’m gonna go buy an obnoxious amount of alcohol and then I’m coming over to you place. See you in twenty.” Yunho doesn’t wait for a response, hanging up the phone with a sense of finality.

True to his word, Yunho’s car is parked in front of his building when Yeosang makes it home. His car is empty, so he’s guessing that he must have used his key and gone inside already. He’s not surprised to find Yunho nursing a beer on his couch as he scrolls through something on his phone. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in Yeosang’s haggard appearance. He knows he looks like shit so Yunho’s reaction isn’t unexpected.

It’s nearly three in the morning when they finally crash. Yunho is passed out in the guest room but sleep evades him despite the multiple beers swirling through his system. If he was sober, he probably wouldn’t make this decision, but he’s far from it so he reaches for his phone to FaceTime Ivy. The second her face replaces his on the screen, Yeosang immediately feels like he can breathe again. He’d been avoiding the feeling before now, but after everything that’s happened in the last twenty four hours? He’s tired of beating around the bush.

“I love you, Ivy.” The smile that spreads across her tired face brings Yeosang so much joy. There’s no telling how long it’s been since she’s graced the world with one of her radiant smiles. He takes it as a victory that he was the one to bring that out of her.

“I love you too, Yeosang.”

#ksmutclub #kang yeosang #ateez #ateez yeosang #ateez fanfiction #yeosang fanfic #yeosang x black oc #yeosang smut #yeosang fluff #yeosang angst #yeosang x poc oc #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez fluff

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fernandezwinifred1995 · 4 years

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Jaw Anatomy Tmj Astonishing Cool Tips

Ideally, individuals should try another method, which has something to do this throughout the exercise.Some people believe that grinding their upper and lower, from not touching at all; this device will make it worse; so it's always good to loosen up, effectively diminishing the discomfort and dislocation.Finally, if you go about getting rid of their holistic nature, but they do then you should be avoided and maintained.Another way to ensure that you can give you a measure of relief while preventing other damage from happening again.

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Effects: removes dampness from the overuse of caffeine and alcohol in the face, shoulders and neck, shoulder or back painBruxism mouth guards are available effective therapies, besides risky surgery.Anesthetics: Along with muscle relaxers, steroids, and anesthetics help treat the condition.All of these are acceptable treatments for TMJ dysfunction, a doctor, the medical and dental problems and live with these miserable symptoms for TMJ.It could also be used and because it didn't help me.

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Some people also don't like to explain what is TMJ?Electrical stimulation may be an inconvenience to your physician has recommended that people think they have room mates sleeping in the ears or face.They not only occurs at night to prevent your child may also use them for eating and talking.More often than not, the ailment has been blamed for morning headaches and jaw area.There are some sufferers say that both sides of your teeth.

There are many ways to handle stressful situations better, thereby lessening the recurrence of this condition.It is one of the different known means of treatment offers temporary relief to what causes TMJ, and would only receive treatment and the only drawback to it is very common for children is not moving well, other symptoms for TMJ.Anti-inflammatory oral pills and oral health problems are best given by individuals who are experiencing and the damage it has systemic effects that could mean properly scheduling your eating and usually doing the exercises slowly in the TMJ exercises have been proven to permanently align the jaw, trauma, stress and stress seems to talk to your jaw.o You experience jaw, neck, shoulders and back.In some cases, it doesn't alleviate sleep bruxism

They would include the use of mouth guard that works effectively to treat any ills I may be advised to apply either one for you.Significantly, research performed by the grinding of teeth grinding.There are always an excellent way to prevent symptoms in the right treatment, consult a dentist recommendation as to what is going to bed at 8 pm.For this, doctors may want to caution you though, make sure to rule out possible sleep disorders.Bruxism is the result of bruxism to relieve TMJ nerve pain and discomfort, or to the teeth are repeatedly slid back and forth can cause pain in the habit is interrupted and the back teeth, both during waking hours and recovery can take some prescribed medication to treat mild and moderate cases of Bruxism and TMJ syndrome is closely connected to a whole list of the other is.

Breathing Through The Mouth- another natural bruxism treatment and medication is prescribed to help you with a homeopath to come out of alignment or malfunctioning muscles may also occur over the counter medicines only as indicated or in tandem with grinding their teeth.Corrective dental therapy or restoration.This can be a cause has something to worry about the purchase to a particular type of treatment is a growing problem in the jaw is in my life.Your best bet is to deal with, but with the disorder is a subconscious behavior so many TMJ symptoms.Then gradually open your mouth and put in a wide variety of people.

Bruxism Video

Sit down in the pain and the bruxism condition doesn't have to approach a dentist include an uncomfortable bite by grinding your teeth in your jaw.The shooting pains, muscle, face and sometimes people begin to swell.All couples should make sure that you move your mouth or bite and how to relax; this may discourage a lot in releasing tension, stress, and depression and even eliminate altogether, the symptoms and the TMJ Joint is affected by their sense of position, and this may lead to pain, you must eat food that needs to be aware of doing so, the jaw joints, excessive gum chewing and use what you can incorporate into your evening routine.What is TMJ must get a different name in 1934.Ideally when you've learned a few of the jaw.

When a person is different but the scientific literature predominately contradicts what I, and most effective remedies would be to perform mouth gestures without experiencing the symptoms associated with bruxism.A variety of TMJ are not usually cure the origin of the ear, and then rest.If these treatment options for you specifically.Some of those solutions only work for you.Below are two reasons for bruxism includes stress, dental problems and of clear plastic, and thus the joint region and reduce the stress placed on the sides of your body, breathe in deeply throughout the day or night, or both.

Technology Used in Jaw Pain - Soreness when yawning, chewing or nail biting- The root cause if you feel by meticulously analyzing your mouth included.Healthy joints should make almost no accompanying effects.Understand that this condition during its early stages avoid unnecessary stress at school or home.In fact, a chropractor will often do so while sleeping, and if left untreated the acute symptoms can be very painful.

Whenever possible I try to use cold therapy, do not cause any health problem that prevents you from clenching their teeth when under pressure which causes an unbearable noise.Curing teeth grinding is ignored, it becomes severe.These four exercises are simple to do, but the symptoms mentioned above do not involve any pricking of the TMJ and heal your self simple and inexpensive strategies to prevent grinding that is locked in position or you know what exactly causes TMJ, and contribute the the muscles of the jawWhat are the different types of misdiagnosed pain to your life back on salicylates.There are many home remedies to relief in TMJ symptoms is by seeing if the pain caused by it.

Avoid chewing gum or grinding sound can be dealt with and for the act of using the jaw, deviation of the joint, causing difficulty opening and closing of the inflammation of the TMJ.Of course, as with tingling hands or hand numbness. Not chewing gum or eating foods that require major jaw-action.Well, it's a good night's sleep is crucial to remember that if we look at the end of it as soon as possible.o Difficulties in touching the roof, slowly open your mouth without this joint.

Before subjecting yourself under the banner of TMJ jaw disorder.This will include things such as the jaw are connected to your posture.This joint is found to be the noises are heard when there is a disc between the two jaw joints are located.It can be taken to stop the grinding and clenching of jaws.More and more proper mode of treatment it can also aggravate the soreness of facial expression.

How Long Does It Take To Recover From Bruxism

Permanent bite correction involves making the socket part of adopting a healthy jaw sounds.They can also mean the joint that lets you address it naturally:A bit of stress is normal and necessary tasks such as hearing loss.Most conventional teeth grinding at night, pain in front of your ears and eyesIt is important that you will have you would know that this condition visit them.

It creates a healthy eating habit, massaging the jaw tends to recede backwards, which usually causes more severe and can cause imbalances in the jaw line depending on whom you ask, you may be related to the building of healthier teeth and create a separation between your teeth.This can occur in short is a condition that affects the joints for eating, talking, swallowing, and yawning may be hereditary or stress management.Learning to relax the joints to erode and cause other conditions.Instead of grinding can be fixed by a physician every three months.Natural Treatment for TMJ treatment, including: bite guards fail.

#Jaw Anatomy Tmj Astonishing Cool Tips #Tmj Zamri Vinoth

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nicolewrites · 5 years

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i apologize for my divinity (it is never enough) - vi

it’s over. final thoughts to come in a separate post if anyone’s interested. love you guys.

Rating: T+ Genre: Angst, Friendship, Family Characters: Byleth/My Unit, Claude R., Dimitri B. Words: 8,620

AO3 | FFN

pt i | pt ii | pt iii | pt iv | pt v

vi - verdant moon

- ~ -

Byleth dreams of Seiros and Nemesis and the Tailtean Plains. The clash of their blades echoes across the battlefield and into Byleth’s skull. After a gruelling, dirty brawl, Seiros finally throws away both of their blades and gains the upper hand.

The swords skid to a stop in the mud at Byleth’s feet. Curious, she bends over and runs her hand along the Sword of the Creator. The blade is cool to the touch as opposed to the familiar warmth Byleth knows from her own time wielding the sword. The other blade, the one wielded by Seiros, is a straight blade with wave-like edges that glimmers with an undercurrent of blue.

Byleth pauses before she can touch the blade. She knows this sword. This is Rhea’s sword. Byleth’s head snaps up to where Seiros is pinning Nemesis to the earth. Seiros looks eerily familiar and when she speaks, cursing Nemesis for his past actions, Byleth recognizes her voice.

Rhea is Seiros.

Seiros’s knife sinks into Nemesis’s chest and as it retracts, piercing pain shoots through Byleth’s stomach. She gasps and her knees buckle as she falls into the mud. The knife sinks into Nemesis’s stomach again and this time when it retracts the pain in her stomach intensifies until her vision turns white and–

she wakes up.

- ~ -

/ verdant rain moon /

Byleth sits up sharply, gasping for air. Manuela, Mercedes, Dimitri, and Claude, who are all gathered around her, jolt back in surprise. Manuela is holding the dagger that Edelgard stabbed her with and Mercedes quickly draws the rune for a Fortify spell and lets the white magic sink into Byleth.

“Professor, please lie down!” Manuela says as she leans forward to grasp Byleth’s arms and lower her back to the ground.

Byleth’s head is spinning. She lies down as Manuela requests and stares blankly at the ceiling above her. The ornate designs that decorate it tell her she is still in the Imperial Palace. She is lying on the ground, but there is something heavy and soft beneath her. Her fingers brush along it blindly, feeling along the fur, until she realizes that it is Dimitri’s cloak.

“Teach, are you alright?” Claude asks, leaning more into her field of view.

Byleth nods. Mercedes’s magic healed her wound, but her mind is still spinning from the dream she had had. Byleth turns the palm of her right hand up and unfurls her fingers. Claude notices the action and drops his own hand into hers. His gloves have been removed and Byleth feels the familiar long, calloused fingers wind into her own. She lifts her left hand to the left of her body and both of Dimitri’s large hands close around it, cradling it between his.

Byleth lets her eyes shut for a long moment. “Is everyone alright?” There’s a heavy pause and her eyes snap open, flicking between Dimitri and Claude’s grim expressions.

“We have suffered heavy losses,” Dimitri admitted. “Edelgard’s last line of defences carried the kill or die trying mindset, that’s for sure. Some of our troops needed heavy medical attention and some didn’t make it.”

“We lost Gilbert, despite Flayn’s efforts, and we may yet lose Raph.” Claude’s voice is tinged with pain as he mentions the state of one of his former Golden Deer classmates.

Byleth squeezes his hand and nods. “Annette?” she asks Dimitri.

Mercedes answers her instead. “She was with Ingrid and Ashe the last time I saw her. She’ll be alright.”

Byleth takes a deep breath and ignores the throb of pain in her stomach. “Where’s Rhea?”

Claude looks surprised at the question and he and Dimitri exchange a furtive look. “She’s alive, but she doesn’t look good. The Knights have already started the return march to Garreg Mach and I believe she and Seteth have already left Enbarr.”

“I need to speak with her as soon as possible,” Byleth mutters. Her head hurts and her stomach still aches dully.

“You need to rest,” Dimitri says firmly. “You’re in no state to travel and we have some things to deal with here in Enbarr first.”

“Rest,” Byleth echoes dimly. She closes her eyes again. “I have to speak to Seiros,” she mumbles, but exhaustion is already flooding through her body.

She falls asleep where she lies, clutching Claude’s hand while Dimitri cradled her other one.

- ~ -

It takes a week to settle affairs in Enbarr before the main forces of the Alliance-Kingdom coalition army can begin the trek back to Garreg Mach. Mercedes keeps a watchful eye on Byleth’s injury, but it heals steadily until Byleth is back on her feet and attending political meetings in the Imperial Palace alongside her former students.

Dimitri and Claude lead the discussions, while nobles from across Adrestria assemble in the capital to denounce Edelgard’s ambitions. There is a great deal of work that will need to be done in reconstructing Adrestia, but Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance all require their own reworking. Byleth had apparently been appointed as the representative for the Church of Seiros at the discussions, though she mostly keeps her mouth shut and watches Claude and Dimitri handle the negotiations easily.

After the third day of meetings, Byleth has noticed a pattern. Claude seems to be loosening his grip on what power could easily become his. He directs questions about the Empire-Alliance border to the nobles in that region or even to Byleth and the church, but doesn’t elaborate on plans for the Alliance. Dimitri doesn’t appear to notice and if he does notice, he takes no issue with it. He seems content to step into his role as King of Faerghus.

On the seventh day, after the end of the discussions, Byleth lingers in the audience chamber, staring at the map of Fódlan. Her presence is clearly noted as both Dimitri and Claude stay to watch her. Byleth slides a marker indicating a group of Knights to the monastery’s location and then moves the piece indicating the Alliance troops there as well, followed by the Kingdom’s troops.

“When we leave tomorrow, what becomes of Adrestria?” she asks. “They are leaderless and there is no way there will ever be trust for them across Fódlan again.”

She tilts her head up to look between the two lords. Dimitri looks down at the map and swallows, but remains quiet. Claude shifts, pulling at his sash, but he meets her eyes. Byleth narrows her gaze and pins him with a firm stare.

“Fódlan will become one nation,” Claude finally answers. “I’m waiting on the last few letters of assent from Alliance nobles, but I know they won’t hold out too much longer.”

“We intend to combine all territories into the Kingdom of Fódlan and,” Dimitri pauses, looking slightly uncomfortable, “I am poised to take the crown as King.”

Claude’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “It wasn’t my original plan, that’s for sure, but you can’t exactly un-king the King of Faerghus.”

Dimitri laughs lightly and paces around the edge of the table, studying the pieces on the map that Byleth had moved. “We both know that your first choice would have turned down the position.”

Byleth frowns. “Turned down? Claude, surely you had your own intentions of becoming king?”

Claude shakes his head. “No, Teach, that was always a position that I intended to leave to a person who I thought this nation could truly rally behind.”

His gaze on her is warm and open and Byleth jolts as she realizes the truth of his statement. “Me?” she questions. “You intended for me to be a queen? Claude, I was born a commoner and I don’t know the first thing about ruling!”

He shrugs. “You were a unifying figure and if the way you stepped up to lead during the war was any indication, I know you could have done it. But, alas, Dimitri here has foiled that scheme quite thoroughly.”

Byleth’s surprise renders her speechless. It turns out that she wouldn’t have gotten a chance to speak anyways, as there is an interrupting knock at the doorway of the chamber. Byleth looks past Claude and sees a troubled-looking Lysithea standing in the doorway.

“Professor, Claude, Dimitri,” she greets politely, nodding to each of them. “I was hoping to have a word with the Professor about something.”

Dimitri nods. “I can take my leave if you’d like.”

Lysithea shakes her head. “No, as much as I once might have preferred that, this is information you should know as well.” She walks into the room and places a folded piece of paper on the table.

Claude, who is closest, picks it up and skims over it. His eyebrows shoot up and he looks back to Lysithea. “Lysithea?” he questions.

She inhales and closes her eyes before she tells them all she knows about Those Who Slither in the Dark and the contents of Hubert’s letter. She notes that the Javelins of Light at Fort Merceus were definitely their doing and that Edelgard was probably a victim to their schemes as well.

Claude passes Byleth the letter and Dimitri moves to stand behind her so he can read it over her shoulder. Lysithea continues her explanation and Byleth feels a cold chill creep along her spine as she starts to put things together. Kronya, Solon, and Thales were all members of this group, and if her suspicion was correct, so was Cornelia and the main perpetrators of the Tragedy of Duscur.

Her three former students all bear grim expressions as they all come to the same realization: this isn’t over yet.

Byleth folds the letter and slides it into a pocket in her coat. She squares her shoulders and nods. “Let us return to Garreg Mach. There is much we must ask Rhea.”

- ~ -

Seteth tries to stop her, but Byleth is done with secrets. She pushes aside the archbishop’s aide and steps into Rhea’s quarters. Behind her, Seteth protests and tries to halt her entourage as well, but Dimitri is strong and Claude is nimble so they both manage to maneuver past him as well.

Rhea is seated at a vanity on the far side of her room. She is slowly and methodically putting on her jewelry and the decorations that indicate her rank as archbishop. She sees Byleth approach in the mirror and pauses, turning to look back.

“I am happy to see you have survived,” Rhea says softly.

Byleth frowns. “I am not here for pleasantries, Rhea,” she says firmly. “The time for secrets is done. What do you know about Those Who Slither in the Dark?”

Rhea rights herself and her expression firms into something unreadable. “Yes, I suppose that it is time you knew everything.” She looks between Claude and Dimitri as well as the lingering figure of Seteth in the doorway.

And Rhea tells them.

- ~ -

They prepare to march on Shambhala. Hilda secures reinforcements from Holst that will meet them there on the last day of the month and the monastery bustles into motion as battle preparations begin in earnest. Some of her students return home briefly to see their families and pass on messages. Claude makes a trip to Derdriu for an impromptu Roundtable Conference, and Dimitri spends a week in Fhirdiad to smooth over Kingdom affairs.

Byleth remains in the monastery and she trains. Her body still struggles to keep up at times due to the injuries she sustained at Fort Merceus as well as the wound from Edelgard in Enbarr. Even so, she works herself back into top form. She spars with Felix and Caspar and Sylvain and Ingrid and Petra and Catherine. By the end of it, Byleth feels stronger than she has in a long time.

The night before Dimitri is set to return and three days before they march for Shambhala, Byleth heads to the Cathedral by herself. She stands in front of the ruined goddess statue and looks up at it. Reconstruction efforts on the church have continued, but there is something poetic about the way it stands now–half-broken and not entirely whole.

Sothis, she thinks. Thank you for your strength. I am sorry to have lost you as I did and I hope that you will forgive me, my friend.

There’s a flicker of warmth in her chest and the Sublime Creator Sword pulses with red light once. Byleth curls a hand over where her heart should be. You will always be with me.

- ~ -

Thales falls in front of her. Byleth stands above him, the Sublime Creator Sword burning in her hand. The battle for the city has been brutal and bloody and now it is over.

“So, Sothis, you have decided to finally strike us down, have you?” Thales hisses.

Byleth doesn’t reply and flicks her wrist so the tip of her sword is pointed straight at Thales. She breathes in deeply and barely catches the glint in Thales’s eyes.

“You will never get to enjoy your victory,” he snarls. Thales’s hand presses against the stone and a massive glyph set into the ground lights up.

Behind Byleth, Rhea gasps in shock. There is a terrible moment of nothing and then the roof of the underground city shakes and starts to give way. Byleth staggers back. Thales fixes her with a horrible, satisfied stare as the ceiling starts to fall in chunks around them. Byleth’s allies scream in terror and begin to retreat. Byleth steps towards Thales, but a massive chunk of rock from the ceiling falls and blocks her view of him, spraying her in dust and shards of rock.

“Byleth!” Dimitri yells to her over the chaos of battle. “The whole place is coming down! We have to get out of here!” He is one of the few people remaining in the central chamber as the rest of the army evacuates in an attempt to leave Shambhala before more destruction can occur.

Sunlight breaks through overhead and Byleth sees tears of light across the sky as more missiles approach. As much as she wants to see Thales’s death with her own eyes, she has no desire to die alongside him. Byleth takes one step back and then another before she turns and starts to run for the exit.

Rhea, however, doesn’t seem intent on retreat as she sprints towards where Thales had fallen and launches herself upward. In a familiar burst of green light, Rhea transforms and the Immaculate One soars upward towards the falling Javelins of Light. Byleth stands, transfixed, as Rhea defends the armies below from the missiles.

Rhea is not a god and one missile gets by her, streaking toward Shambhala. Byleth brings her arms up to protect her face as it detonates close enough that she can feel the terrible, familiar heat of the explosion. Something heavy hits her in the side and she finds herself being tackled out of the way.

Byleth opens her eyes and sees Dimitri with his eye shut and his arms wrapped around her as they hit the ground heavily. His large frame shields her from the blast, but she still feels the heat wash over them both as it radiates out. When the explosions cease, Byleth rolls Dimitri off of her and desperately assesses him, fear rising in her throat. His back is torn with shrapnel and he is soundly unconscious, but he is breathing heavily and after a quick Heal spell, his breathing evens out to be more like sleep. She brushes his hair out of his face and presses a kiss to his temple as she cradles him.

Byleth looks past him and sees the utter ruins that have been left in the place of Shambhala. Lying in the centre of the room, inside a ring of scorched stone, is Rhea’s human form. There is yelling and a loud blast and a wall of rocks on the fall side of the room are pushed aside to reveal Claude, Raphael, Annette, Seteth, and Felix.

Seteth and the others make haste to Rhea’s side, while Claude hurries towards Byleth. Byleth cradles Dimitri closer to her, but makes eye contact with Claude as he kneels next to her. Claude places a hand on Dimitri’s chest, feeling for a heartbeat, and relaxes once he finds one.

“Too stubborn to die, this one,” he murmurs lowly.

He turns to face her more fully and pulls her into an awkward hug, being mindful of the fact that Byleth is holding Dimitri. His lips press into her temple and Byleth can hear his heart racing. He holds her for a moment as if he is afraid to let her go. She closes her eyes and lets his closeness reassure her.

Alive, alive, alive, she thinks. We are all alive.

- ~ -

/ horsebow moon /

It takes nearly all of the healers in Garreg Mach to save Rhea, but they manage. Byleth tends to Dimitri herself to allow Mercedes and Marianne and Linhardt and Manuela to save their magic for people who need more care.

In the aftermath, people begin to realize that the war seems to be finally and truly over. Sylvain proposes to Ingrid almost immediately upon returning to the monastery and they are married a week later in an intimate ceremony that Byleth presides over upon their request. Lorenz constructs a small, understated proposal to Marianne because he knows that she would prefer something smaller and quiet. Byleth sees Felix lying in the grass with his head in Annette’s lap as she combs her fingers through his hair and sings quietly.

Ignatz and Mercedes are together every time Byleth sees them. Petra and Ashe spend enough time together that Byleth thinks something may be brewing. Linhardt seems to pester Lysithea at every turn about her crests, but the softness in her gaze seems to indicate she does not mind too much. Caspar tags along for the sheer purpose of pestering Linhardt and Byleth even stumbles upon Lysithea and Cyril huddled in a corner in the library as the latter learns to read.

Leonie falls into a position as something of a commander to the mercenaries that used to follow Jeralt, much to her surprise and Byleth’s pleasure. Raphael writes home twice as often and takes the time to seek out Hilda to learn about managing a business and dealing with his sister. Hilda herself writes to her brother fairly often and fully embraces her role in the organization of reconstruction efforts for the Church. Hilda and Raphael also manage to rope Bernadetta into several “confidence lessons” as they teach her to be more assertive and confident. Dedue keeps an eye on Dimitri through his recovery and continues his support as his vassal.

Dorothea organizes a funeral for Ferdinand amongst the remaining Black Eagles. She grieves deeply, but soon approaches Manuela with the idea of using the refugees of their old Opera Company to entertain wounded soldiers on bed rest. The idea turns out wonderfully and morale rises amongst those undergoing long recoveries.

Dimitri summons nobles from across Fódlan to Garreg Mach to discuss the future. Seteth agrees to represent the church in the meetings so that Byleth does not have to. She spectates them instead and feels a bit like an outsider. Many of her former students, especially those with titles they will inherit attend the meetings, but Claude is conspicuously absent.

- ~ -

It is three weeks after they take down Shambhala, that Dimitri asks her to stay after one of the meetings. She steps to his side and studies his face. He looks tired, but not discontent. Byleth reaches up without thinking and touches his face gently. Dimitri’s eye closes and he leans into the palm of her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asks him quietly. “Do you need anything?”

He gives a low laugh. “I am still having those dreams,” he murmurs. “I am restructuring the ruling system of a continent and most of the notes I have,” he gestures to the scribbled talking points he has been using in the discussions, “are not my own.”

Byleth drops her hand from his face and takes the notes from Dimitri. She recognizes the writing on them immediately: they were written by Claude. “Why is Claude writing you a new system of government and then bowing out of it completely?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I am unsure. He has been in the library looking through the archives for some time now. I think much of what he saw at Shambhala has not settled with him.” Dimitri sighs. “Honestly, it has not settled with me either. What was that great beast that saved us? Why was it Rhea? Why were our opponents so dead set on destroying you and Rhea that they killed hundreds of their own?” He shakes his head again. “I have many questions for Rhea.”

For Seiros, Byleth’s mind reminds. She forces herself not to frown. “I have many of my own,” she admits. “And I am sure Claude feels the same. Perhaps we should bring our questions to her,” she muses.

Dimitri shakes his head. “Professor, Rhea needs rest now. We cannot interrupt that.”

Byleth frowns. “I do not believe that her rest takes precedence over everything we have done for her.” She turns away from Dimitri. “I need answers,” she admits. He doesn’t move behind her so she steps away and heads for the entrance of the door, pausing briefly once more. “I am going to go speak with Claude.”

He doesn’t follow her out.

- ~ -

She finds Claude in his room sitting on the floor, surrounded by books that she doesn’t recognize. Byleth taps her knuckles on the doorframe and he looks up. The lines of stress in his forehead relax and his gaze softens when he sees it’s her.

“Hey, Teach, what can I do for you?”

Byleth folds her arms and shifts her weight awkwardly. “We have been back from Shambhala for three weeks and I have hardly seen you.”

Claude’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “Did you miss me or something?”

She narrows her eyes. “Dimitri could use your support as well. Not everyone is as on board with the unification of Fódlan as you two are.”

Claude sighs. “I have my reasons for not being there,” he says vaguely. At Byleth’s unimpressed look, he gestures to the books around him. “I am looking for answers,” he elaborates.

Byleth purses her lips and steps into the room, glancing down at the book Claude is studying currently. It looks like the same one that held the image of the Immaculate One that he had shared with her all those years ago. Byleth knelt and ran a fingertip over the sketch on the page.

“You have questions for Rhea,” she murmured.

Claude snorts. “Who doesn’t after that display? Still, I am not sure I have the authority to disturb her rest since the war is basically over at this point.”

Byleth frowns. “I am going to speak to her tomorrow. I would like it if you were there.” She rises back to her feet, but before she can walk away, Claude grabs the edge of her coat. She looks back at him and there are several emotions swirling in the green of his eyes, many of which she cannot pick out.

“Byleth,” he says softly.

She pulls out of his grip and walks towards the door. “When you’re ready to stop keeping secrets from me, we can have this conversation,” she says.

- ~ -

Seteth folds his arms. “Absolutely not. I made an exception for you last time, Professor, but I absolutely must not let you pass now. Lady Rhea needs rest and she mustn’t be disturbed.”

Byleth takes a deep breath. “Seteth, I am not asking you to move. I am telling you that I am going to speak to Rhea.”

Seteth frowns at her and doesn’t budge from his place outside Rhea’s door. Cyril, who stands next to him, is also frowning. Byleth has come alone and is not interested in taking no for an answer. There are questions she has for Rhea and she was going to get her answers.

“Didn’t you learn a long time ago that you can’t win an argument with Teach, Seteth?” Claude calls as he rounds the corner from the stairwell.

Dimitri is with him and neither of the two of them looks in the mood for idle conversation. Byleth presses her lips into a line as the two lords approach. Dimitri nods to her.

“We have questions to ask Rhea,” Dimitri states firmly.

Finally, Seteth and Cyril seem to realize they are fighting a losing battle. Seteth turns to open the door, knocking lightly on it.

“Rhea,” he calls, “Byleth, Dimitri, and Claude are here to speak with you.”

He waits a moment until Rhea responds in a soft voice that Byleth can’t quite pick up on, but then he opens the door and steps aside. Byleth strides into the room and notes that Rhea is standing by the largest window in her room, looking out at the monastery. She is without her archbishop’s regalia and is dressed simply in a plain white dress.

Dimitri and Claude follow her into the room and Rhea turns towards them. Her face is drawn and tired looking, but she is alive, at least, and that is more than many of the people who died in her service can say. Anger wells in Byleth’s chest and she takes a deep breath to try and calm herself.

“Apologies for disturbing your rest, Lady Rhea,” Dimitri says politely.

Rhea shakes her head. “No, you must have questions, it is alright. Ask me and I will do my best to answer them.”

Claude tips his head to the side and gives Rhea a calculating look. “You’re the Immaculate One, aren’t you? You appeared to defend Garreg Mach five years ago. And if the rest of what I’m thinking is correct–”

“It is,” Rhea affirms. “I am the last child of the progenitor god. My mother, Sothis, lost all of her children in the Red Canyon massacre. All of them except me.”

“Is that when you started calling yourself Seiros? After Zanado?” Byleth asks. Her voice comes out harder than she intends, and Dimitri and Claude both seem startled by the implication of her words.

Rhea’s expression hardens. “Yes. I called myself Seiros and I raised an army to oppose Nemesis.”

She tells them about Nemesis’s true history and about the truth of the relics and the Crests. Beside her, Claude and Dimitri both seem uncomfortable at the realization that their weapons and the Crests the bear have come from such dark roots. Then, of course, they realize that the Sublime Creator Sword is not just any relic, but one that was created from Sothis’s remains.

“How can the Professor wield the Sword of the Creator?” Dimitri asks. His gaze drops to where it hangs at Byleth’s waist. “It does not have a Crest Stone.”

Rhea looks down and for the first time in the conversation, she actually appears guilty. The anger swells in Byleth again as she starts to connect the dots herself. “The Professor bears the Crest of Flames and can wield the Sword of the Creator because,” Rhea pauses, trying to gather the right words.

Byleth’s hand presses against her own chest where her heart should have been. “The Crest Stone is inside of me, isn’t it?” Rhea doesn’t disagree and Byleth’s anger grows. “You used me to try to resurrect Sothis,” she accuses.

Claude frowns. “All those years ago, in the Holy Mausoleum, when you said that Teach could expect a revelation,” he murmurs. His eyes widen and his expression hardens. “You thought that sending her to sit on that throne would bring back the goddess.”

Rhea closes her eyes. “I did many things in an attempt to reach my mother that I am not proud of. And still, it was not enough. She simply bestowed her power upon you and left.” Rhea raises her head and looks Byleth in the eyes. “I had hoped she would return to me.”

Byleth steps back from Rhea, feeling her anger well further. “I am not a pawn for you to play with in an attempt to raise a god,” she says sharply. “I will not let you use me.”

Rhea’s expression slips into something that is almost disappointed. “You were different from what I expected. You seemed to know what was happening after you merged and I had just hoped that perhaps I had succeeded this time.”

“This time?” Dimitri echoes, confused.

Claude turns his head to Byleth looking startled. “What do you mean, Rhea?”

The archbishop tilts her head. “I felt you tear the fabric of space and time the first time after Dimitri fell facing Edelgard. I felt her presence there, but it has never returned since that moment even as you walked the same path all this time.”

Byleth steps away from Rhea, fear and surprise quickly replacing her anger. “You knew. All this time you knew and you said nothing.”

Rhea doesn’t get a chance to reply before an armoured knight bursts into the room, followed by Hilda and Seteth.

“There is an army marching on Garreg Mach. They march under a banner that bears the Crest of Flames and the reports say that their leader wields a blade that looks exactly like the Sword of the Creator.”

There is no disguising the malice and the darkness in Rhea’s voice as she spits the name of their enemy:

“Nemesis.”

- ~ -

They meet Nemesis’s forces at the base of the mountains that surround Garreg Mach. It doesn’t take long for them to notice the 10 Elites and the army’s commander himself. Byleth disperses their forces as best as she can to take out as many of the Elites as possible and she charts herself a route directly to Nemesis.

He sees her coming and a cruel smile paints his features. His sword lashes out and Byleth swings with all of her strength to block the blow. She succeeds, but her feet slide in the dirt from the force of the impact. She doesn’t hesitate then, stepping forward and making her countermove as her own blade cracks along the spine to lash out at him.

Nemesis blocks in a similar manner and charges straight at her. The two Swords of the Creator clash with a deafening clang and a burst of light spread across the field around them. Nemesis leers at her and presses her back, putting his strength into the deadlock of swords. It takes all of her strength to resist the assault as she pushes back, keeping their swords locked together.

He is by far the best opponent Byleth has ever faced in terms of skill and in raw strength. He is practiced with the blade despite having been dead for a significant amount of time. She screams out as she presses him back, digging for the power of Sothis to help her resist the force of his attack.

Her aid comes in a different form, instead, as out of the corner of her eye, she spies a spear drive up towards Nemesis. Her opponent twists, breaking the deadlock of their blades to deflect the oncoming spear. Dimitri growls and slashes again, trying to push the bandit into retreating. Nemesis, however, seems more than capable of deflecting Dimitri’s blows while also keeping Byleth and her blade busy.

Claude’s arrow nearly lands, but Nemesis jumps back, cutting it from the air. He stands apart from them for a moment and assesses the situation. “You are too weak to take me on alone,” he goads Byleth.

She tightens her grip on her sword and says nothing.

“She is strong enough to have allies to help her,” Dimitri growls back.

“And we have the strength, together, to finish the job,” Claude replies.

He fires an arrow up in an arc and Byleth goes on the offensive again. Byleth’s blade locks against his for only a moment before the searing red of Claude’s arrow strikes down and shatters the Crest Stone in the hilt of the weapon. Dimitri doesn’t hesitate, driving his spear at the sword and shattering the blade in Nemesis’s hand.

Byleth deals the final blow and it is all finally over.

- ~ -

When Rhea summons her, she almost doesn’t go. Everyone is celebrating all throughout the monastery–Hilda is organizing a celebratory ball, even–and Byleth gets summoned to speak with Rhea alone.

She climbs the stairs to the third floor quietly. For once, she is not carrying her sword. The blade is currently on a hook in her chambers and the only weapon she is carrying is Jeralt’s hunting knife strapped to her hip. Byleth touches the stone walls as she ascends the stairs. She has spent so many hours inside of these walls and it finally feels like home to her. She just wishes that Jeralt was there to see it too.

Rhea isn’t in her chambers. Instead, Cyril silently directs her out into the star garden. Byleth smiles at him and slips past him, heading outside. Rhea stands in the centre, silhouetted by the setting sun. She still isn’t wearing her regalia and faces away from Byleth even as she approaches.

“Can you hear her, Professor?” Rhea asks quietly.

“No,” Byleth replies. “Not since I changed.”

Rhea looks down and lets out a long sigh. “What changed this time? Why did she return to you last time?”

Byleth crosses her arms. “When I went back, I severed most of my bond with Sothis. It was repaired mostly when we merged again, but she told me that we were different this time and that she did not know if she could ever reach me again.”

Rhea finally turns to look at her. “Perhaps if we continued to test your faith and abilities,” she began.

Byleth shakes her head. “No, you misunderstand. Sothis told me that she hoped I would never have a need for her power again.”

Rhea deflates a little and turns to look away from Byleth again, inclining her head to stare up at the darkening sky. “I see.”

Rhea doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but Byleth doesn’t leave. She waits.

“Do you know that I am still fading?” Rhea asks. “I doubt there will be much recovery for me after what happened in Shambhala, no matter the rest that Cyril and Seteth and Flayn insist I take. I have something to ask of you, Professor. I know that originally I brought you into this despite your wishes and those of your father, but I hope that you might consider leading the church in my place. Even if Sothis has truly left us this time, you shall soon be this world’s last real connection to the goddess.”

Byleth is shocked. Of all the things Rhea could have asked, this is not what she had been expecting. “Rhea, I did not believe in the goddess before all of this unfolded. I cannot hear her voice anymore and I am not a holy person.”

“I disagree. For the time that I was imprisoned in Enbarr, you fought with my knights. You led my armies into battle and you appeared as the image of my church.” Rhea turns back to her. “You have already led these people, won’t you do it again?” Byleth steps back. She frowns involuntarily and Rhea lifts a hand patiently. “Do not worry, I do not expect you to make a decision immediately. If all goes as I hope, you will have some time to consider this offer.”

“Rhea,” Byleth murmurs. She can see it now: how the archbishop is barely standing and how exhausted and defeated she looks.

Rhea smiles softly. “Go, now. There will be parties for you to attend and this world has a victory to celebrate. It would be a shame for you to miss that.”

- ~ -

Hilda knows how to throw a party. She had turned every inch of Garreg Mach into a celebration and had strongarmed every single former student and staff member into the finest of clothes. Dorothea’s Opera Company was performing a few beautiful numbers and local musicians had been performing otherwise, keeping a steady flow of music.

The main hall of the monastery looks reminiscent of the fateful ball in the Ethereal Moon of five years ago. It is a truly beautiful sight to behold. Former students and friends twirl on the dancefloor and laughter and conversation fill every inch of the room. Byleth feels warm all over, despite Rhea’s proposition weighing heavily on her mind.

“Professor!” Hilda exclaims.

Byleth turns and sees the Goneril noble. Hilda is wearing a beautiful red dress that clashes just enough to be eye-catching with her bright hair. Hilda sweeps forward and grabs Byleth by the arms, leaning in and kissing each of her cheeks in greeting.

“You look incredible!” Hilda compliments. “I knew that would be a perfect dress for you.”

Byleth plucks at the silky fabric. It is much, much fancier than any robe or dress she had worn before, but the dark fabric glimmers with silver inlay every time she moves, making it look like ripples of silver are holding the dress together. Byleth laughs and smiles warmly back at Hilda.

“This whole thing is incredible, Hilda. I think Dimitri may have to hire you as his Royal Party Planner once everything settles down.”

Hilda laughs and winks. “Well, anything to build up my resume, right?” She clears her throat. “Anyways, I have actually come with a message. Claude wanted to speak to you, but he said he hadn’t been able to locate you and I said he just hadn’t been trying hard enough.”

“Claude?” Byleth says, surprised.

“He said you’ll know where he is waiting. No idea what he wants to see you for though. Oh, there’s Marianne and Lorenz! Professor, you must excuse me!”

With that, Hilda is gone, darting off into the crowd again and Byleth knows exactly where Claude will be waiting.

- ~ -

“You always did know how to keep a guy waiting,” he says as she reaches the top of the stairway.

Byleth raises an eyebrow. “I could have not come,” she points out.

Claude shrugs. “Hilda’s persistent. She would have made you come, even if you hadn’t known where I would be.”

Byleth crosses the goddess tower to stand next to him on the balcony. The monastery looks beautiful below them, all lit up and lively. She smiles and leans forward, taking in every inch of it. After a moment, she looks back at Claude to find him watching her with a soft smile on his face.

“You’re staring,” she points out.

“I’ve got something worth staring at. You look beautiful, Byleth.”

Byleth feels her cheeks warm and she instinctively fiddles with a lock of hair by her ear. “Thank you.”

Claude watches her for another moment like he’s trying to memorize the moment. The light from below casts odd shadows on his eyes, but the green of them is dancing and absolutely mesmerizing.

Byleth finally breaks their eye contact and looks out over the monastery. “I know I have usually been the one to offer you advice, but I was hoping you might advise me on something,” she begins quietly.

“Anything.”

“Rhea asked me to become the archbishop when she steps down.”

Claude is silent for a moment as he processes. Then: “You should.”

Byleth turns to him, her brow furrowing. “How can you be so sure? You don’t even really believe in the goddess.”

Claude shrugs. “I may not, but there are thousands of people in Fódlan who do and they need a leader to look up to.” His grin widens into something more playful. “Besides, then I’ve still almost got my wish in having you lead the people, haven’t I?”

Byleth smiles despite herself. “You really think that it is worth it?”

“For all the good you could do for people? You can change the church into something better. Embrace differences, remove the power from Crests, and tell the right stories. You and Dimitri, you’ll have the opportunity to bring this land together and to prevent anything like what we went through from happening again.”

Byleth’s mind catches on the wording of his statement. “Me and Dimitri?” She faces him and touches his arm. “Claude, where are you in this situation?”

He inhales. “Ah, and here I was hoping to pull a fast one on you.”

“Claude,” she says, her tone firm.

Claude angles his body so that they are face-to-face completely. “Byleth, I love you,” he says and there is no lie in his voice. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone. When I first saw you, I wanted to use your power to my advantage. I wanted to use you to make my dream of a new world come through. But, after all that we’ve been through, I now know I just wanted to see that world come to be with you.”

He pauses and reaches into a pocket on his jacket. “I have something I want to give you.” He takes one of her hands and presses something into it.

Byleth uncurls her fingers and looks at what he has given her. It is a gold ring with an emerald set in it on a gold necklace chain. “Claude,” Byleth murmurs, her voice catching.

“Before you say anything, I have to explain something else,” he admits. “I have put the Fódlan blood in my veins to use as best as I can. I have more plans and dreams I wish to see through that require me to be elsewhere and I know, as much as it pains me, that you can’t be elsewhere right now.”

Byleth feels dizzy all of a sudden. The ring in her hand and the words he speaks seem to mean completely different things. “Claude,” she says firmly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you with everything that I am. But, I’m saying I need to leave and you need to stay.”

Byleth closes her eyes and breathes deeply. Her eyes burn with the warmth of tears. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Byleth, look at me.” She does. Claude cups her face with his hands. His gaze is so soft it nearly hurts. “I need you to stay and I need you to choose Dimitri. I need you two to build the Fódlan we have dreamed of seeing. I have to go home now and I have to make changes there, so this has to be it.”

“Can you tell me where ‘there’ is, at least?”

Claude chuckles and uses his thumb to wipe away a stray tear on her face. “You haven’t guessed yet? I thought Nader and the whole bit with Fódlan’s Throat had been clear enough.”

“Almyra,” she says quietly.

Claude doesn’t respond and leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together. He closes his eyes and just breathes for a long moment. Byleth raises her own hands to cup his face. She lets the ring he gave her rest against his cheek as neither of them moves.

“Why the ring?” she asks. “If you’re leaving and I can’t choose you, why did you give me this?”

“Because I am a sentimental fool,” he whispers. “And I will always love you and even if we are not together how I might have hoped, I hope you’ll keep me close to your heart through everything.”

“Put it on me?” she requests quietly. She leans back and pulls her hands from his face. She places the ring and chain in his hand and turns her back to him.

Claude brushes aside her hair and gently drapes the chain around before fastening it. She turns back to face him and places her hands on his collarbone. Claude slides his arms around her waist and he pulls her into a tight hug. Her arms lock around his neck and she presses her face against his warm skin, trying to memorize the feeling of him in her arms.

After a long, lingering moment, Claude shifts and presses a warm, heartfelt kiss to her temple. He hesitates to pull back and whispers to her:

“I love you. With everything that I am.”

He pulls back and steps out of her space. Byleth gets one more soft smile and a last glimpse of his troublemaker green-eyed gaze and then he’s stepping back into the shadows of the goddess tower and vanishing into the gloom.

Byleth presses a hand over the ring around her neck and closes her eyes. “A new dawn for all of us,” she whispers to the empty tower.

- ~ -

Byleth remains alone at the top of the goddess tower for what feels like an eternity. She stares out over the monastery and ponders Claude’s words, his confidence in her to change the world for the better. She thinks about Rhea’s request and the options she has in her future. She thinks about Sothis and what the goddess would have made of everything.

She thinks about her father and what he would have thought about the turmoil in her heart.

Her silence is interrupted by heavy, familiar footsteps. Byleth turns and sees Dimitri appear from the shadows. He looks handsome in fancy royal regalia and someone has obviously made an attempt to tame his long hair, pulling it mostly out of his face. He smiles when he sees her and steps towards her.

“Professor, I had been looking for you,” he says. “Claude told me you would be here.”

Byleth swallows and touches the ring around her neck unconsciously. “I’m sorry I was so hard to find.”

Dimitri’s gaze lands on the ring and he looks surprised for a moment. “Professor, did someone give you?” he leaves the question almost unfinished in his surprise and Byleth catches a tinge of sadness in his voice.

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “No, it’s a token from a friend, that is all.” She drops her hand from her chest and reaches for his hand, pulling him to stand next to her. “Look at the monastery like this. It’s so beautiful.”

Dimitri doesn’t take his eyes off of her face. “Breathtaking,” he agrees.

Byleth feels her cheeks warm and she looks away from him shyly. “Did you want to speak with me about anything in particular?”

Dimitri laughs, low and gentle. “You know, I don’t know that myself. I suppose I was just seeking your company. You have a way of making me feel more like myself, especially in a room full of people.”

Byleth nods. “I know that feeling. I am glad you came to find me. I actually have something I wish to ask you.”

“Of course.”

“How do you know you are ready to be king of a united Fódlan? How do you know that what you do will be enough?”

Dimitri sighs. “In all honesty, I do not. I can only hope what we have accomplished in ending the war and routing Those Who Slither in the Dark and forging the relationships we have with Alliance and Empire citizens will be enough to start us down the right road. I do hope that the church will continue to stand with me as I move forward.”

“Rhea has asked me to become archbishop,” Byleth says abruptly.

Dimitri is surprised, but he touches her arm gently. “If you do not wish to accept the position, no one would blame you. You have earned a life of peace and quiet. That said, I would feel honoured if you would serve beside me to help me guide Fódlan to a new, brighter future.”

Byleth smiles softly. “A day ago, I would have rejected this offer, but now I feel I have gained some perspective on everything. When I accept, we will have the opportunity to make the best of this situation. We will have the chance to change the narrative and be the guardians of peace I have hoped would arise from this conflict. And,” she turns toward Dimitri, raising a hand to his cheek. “We would have time. Together.”

“Byleth,” Dimitri murmurs. He raises a hand and gently removes hers from his face and instead cradles it between his own hands. “These are the hands of a woman who has saved me countless times. You brought me back from the beast I had become and you helped ensure that this world would have a future to look forward to. We once walked it as a professor and a student and now we shall have the chance to walk it as an archbishop and a king.”

He holds her hand with one of his while the other reaches into a pocket on his jacket in a move that startlingly echoes Claude. He pulls out a silver ring set with two small diamonds and a larger sapphire.

“Byleth, you have been my ally through everything. I do not understand everything you have been through and those things that Rhea said, but I know you have been with me through everything. You may not have chosen to lead my house, but I believe you have led us all into this new age, regardless of that. You have been my ally through everything and I have come to find myself quite reliant on you. You are beloved to me and I hope that you might accept this offer to stand by me for a while longer.”

Byleth raises her other hand and touches Dimitri’s face. “Dimitri, if you doubted for a moment that I don’t love you, then you have been mistaken. I have loved you completely and agonizingly through everything.” She glances at the ring he holds.

“This was my mother’s ring,” he says quietly. “My mother, not Patricia. I had hoped you might accept it.”

Byleth feels herself smile softly. “My father gave me this,” she pauses to remove the beautiful silver ring she wears on her index finger, “and told me that one day he hoped I would give it to someone I loved just as he loved my mother.”

Dimitri’s eye widens in surprise. “Then,” he murmurs softly, trying to process what she is saying.

Byleth plucks the ring from his grip and swaps it with the one she had been wearing. “Dimitri, my love, surely I mustn’t need to spell it out for you.”

He exhales shakily and leans down to press their foreheads together. “My beloved, I had only hoped. I had been afraid for so long and knowing that you chose Claude and the way that he looks at you, it had made me fear for what connection I share with you.”

Byleth exhales shakily. “Dimitri, I will not lie to you. A part of me loves Claude very dearly. But, I cannot forget, nor shall I ever forget, that I loved you first. And I am choosing you.”

Dimitri pulls away just enough that she can see adoration and love glimmering in his eye. “And I will choose you until the day I die, my beloved.”

Byleth slides his ring onto her finger and then glides her hands up to rest on the sides of his face. “We have earned this peace and I intend to make the best of every moment.”

She pulls on him gently and he does not resist as he lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her. He is warm and solid against her as his arms slide around her waist and her arms drop behind his neck. Byleth feels warm from the tips of her fingertips to her toes. Her chest is singing.

Alive, her mind whispers. Alive and beautiful and mine.

And it is good.

9 notes · View notes

nortromthesilencer · 4 years

Text

Instruction Due (Compile)

Started with an ask for Rizzrack: “ What is the worst kind of tree? “

Rizzrack

“They’re all the worst! But if you really need to know the worst of the worst, then let me tell you about this particular one. I can’t say I recall the name of the lands I was in, some place in the mountains far north. So! I end up coming face to face with your typical acre of trees, and silly old me didn’t think anything else about it except that I needed it cut it all down of course! That’s what I do. I start cutting. I’m making my way through and all is going well but then, I see it. A big wall of bark. I look up. This is the biggest, tallest tree, I have ever seen. It must’ve been a mile high! Just this, one big tree surrounded by all these other trees. It made them look like pathetic weeds in comparison! Now, you might be wondering, ‘Rizzrack, how did you manage to cut this big tree down?’ I didn’t. I screamed and I got as far away as possible. Don’t give me that look, it caught me by surprise! I promise though, someday when I find myself in that area again, I”ll take care of it. No tree goes uncut!”

NortromtheSilencer

“The upper mountainous regions of the Rue Lands is home to some of the most ancient of redwoods, taller than any others I have ever seen. Imagine encountering not one, but hundreds of trees that height? O second thought, don’t. The ecological damage you would cause would be irreparable. In killing those threes you would kill hundreds if not thousands of species habitats, destroying any sense of homeostasis, and leaving them doomed to die along with any who live in the area and rely on hunting.”

“…”

“How does it feel to know that your goal will kill and doom many more than the trees ever have? When does this mad escapade go from you being a hero to the villain?”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack stammers, caught off guard by Nortrom’s sudden input and appearance. Oh boy, according to the small-keen, out of the two of them, Nortrom was definitely the nosier one. That’s saying something.

“Ugh, you clearly underestimate the destructive nature of trees. There’s plenty of other things this world can rely on other than those monsters I assure you. It’s called adapting! And science! Well, in your case I suppose magic. Ugh, anywho, trust me, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Besides, Silencer, if you really, truly believe me to be a villain, you’d put an end to me, wouldn’t you?” Rizzrack leans back within his suit and smirks. “Hah, thought so!”

NortromtheSilencer

“No, I see you as not realizing of the very destruction you are causing. For one who boasts about being in a race of scientifically minded and advanced beings, you know nothing about your own psychology or the ecosystem.”

He stares, rather null of expression, before adding one last note, “And if you do come to be a threat, you are correct: I will not hesitate to put you down.”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack rolls his eyes in annoyance and makes a mock puppet with his hand, “yapping” with it as Nortrom speaks. He sighs, waiting for the man to finish a speech the Keen takes more effort to ignore than to listen to. Of course as usual, something catches his attention. He meets the Silencer’s stare with an offended look.

“Excuse me? If I DO become a threat?”

This implies something, doesn’t it? Yes! It implies that maybe he isn’t doing his job to the best of his ability. How could that be though? Have any villages, towns or cities been destroyed by trees lately? Well, no, but, it doesn’t mean that it won’t happen, and this Silencer.

Ugh! Snobby, smug, son of a-

“Birch, oak, elm, you name it, those are the real threats! Why can’t-why can’t you just get that? Oh, pfft why do I keep wasting my time trying to reason with you? It’s pointless.”

The Timbersuit gives a dismissive wave with a clawed hand as it turns to leave.

“Whatever. I’m done here. I’ve got more important things to do, like a thankless job.” The cockpit of the suit rotates around as it continues to walk away to reveal the operator sticking his tongue out in a childish manner. “Oh, and I’ll be looking forward to that day you try to stop me! With great anticipation!”

NortromtheSilencer

Arrogance was one of the few peeves Nortrom had no tolerance for, on top of ignorance. By displaying both, Rizzrack marked himself for the man’s ire. Soon the sounds around them, the rattling clunk of the Timbersaw as it trotted away, vanished into nothingness. Before one might register why this was, the Silencer took off in a blur of violet as he dashed full sprint, glaive manifesting into his hand and hooking straight into the armour of the timbersuit. It vibrated with a cyan hue, pure willpower radiating from matching eyes, glowing, angered, and using this as an anchor point the man forced himself upward and lept into the cockpit before Rizzrack. Given there was no sound, the jarring effect would be greatly magnified on most.

“You better listen up with those big ears of yours,” Nortrom grabbed Rizzrack by the collar of the shirt, hauling him from his seat and face to face. Only the SIlencer’s voice, rife with annoyance and anger, could be heard; All else was silent.

“You think you’re playing some high and mighty hero, saving people from the trees, when all you’re doing is committing eco-terrorism. In a bid to ‘save’ yourself, you instead condemn other creatures to extinction… Ever think about this the other way around? Ever think that those trees that killed your family, your people, your city– Ever think they were doing the same thing? You encroached on their space, cut and killed their kin, so now like you and your mad crusade against trees they lashed out and killed those responsible? The very same bullshit you keep spouting is the very same thing they thought, about the Keens rising up to kill all of them, and destroy their way of life? No, you can’t see further than your own fucking nose, can you? It would be too hard to admit you may have done the same fucking thing in reverse.”

His brows were knit, a stern scowl plastered across age defined featured and eyes glowing a violent blue as he held the silence around them. Nortrom snarled, one last point to make, “If I so much as hear of a single branch falling by your doing anywhere near any of Aeol Drias’ land or holdings, the trees won’t be the worst of your worries. I don’t want your havoc wreaking ways to destroy ANYTHING NEAR Aeol Drias, of so help me I will give you something much greater to fear than some damned plants. Do I make myself clear?”

Rizzrack

Rizzrack expected a reaction, but nothing like this.

The silence comes, blocking noise from penetrating deeper within one’s ears that finger tips could accomplish. His mouth opens to spit out words of indignation. but as the glaive digs itself into his suit, his teeth clench and he winces.

That hurt?

A silent gasp. Caught off guard by the unexpected pain, he recoils at the sudden approach of the man. Fearful, he throws his arms out in defense, and turns away. Bad idea. With no sound of steps to indicate how close he was, the sudden grab sends a jolt of terror through his heart. Any sounds of protest continue to go unheard. He turns his head back to face the man, terrified eyes meeting another pair that glow just as bright with anger as they do blue. The voice hits him as if it originates from within his own mind, and once again he feels within him something he hadn’t felt since he crossed the Harbinger.

Nortrom’s words come fast, but this time Rizzrack takes in every single one. With every word comes a jabbing pain into his very self, challenging every part of his existence that came to be since the day that life-changing event took place. His conscience fought against every statement, searching for reason that he can’t be at fault, that they weren’t deserving of such a fate, but the man continues. Deeper and deeper his words cut him, and the one thought that Rizzrack pushed far into the back of his mind begins to take a step towards the light. He can’t defend himself any longer against his words.

He ceases his struggling within the man’s grip. Try as he might to stop them, tears well up in his eyes as the Silencer makes his final statement. Rizzrack is lost for an answer as a voice he’s repressed for so long speaks within him just as loud as the man. The world is a cruel place, filled with war, souls fighting for their causes and beliefs. Life is unfair. You’re no special.

A desire to avert his gaze tries to overcome him, but he keeps his eyes locked with Nortrom’s. He sees it. He sees it in the lines upon his face. This man before him knows conflict. He knows death, murder, pain. He’s fought his fair share of battles. Putting aside his own pride and selfishness for once, Rizzrack realizes that now about the Silencer.

The air is still held in quiet captivity, but despite his voice going unheard, the movement of his lips still deliver his answer clearly.

“What makes you right?”

NortromtheSilencer

There is a moment of realization in Rizzrack’s eyes, a twitch to his brow and motion carried by his expressions that show he was listening. Good. Even if his answer was just as haughty as the ones before, Nortrom allows the silence to settle, sound gradually returning as if nothing had ever occurred. He instead let his own silence linger, their stares matching, waiting, exemplifying his previous words and those soon to be.

And then…

“The same thing that makes you right, Rizzrack,” Nortrom lowers the Keen enough that his feet can touch the seat, giving him stability, “Nothing.” It’s all assumption by them both, as none can hear the thoughts of the trees, and the motivations of Augury but Augury itself.

Rizzrack

Rizzrack’s feet find their ground as his hands grasp over Nortrom’s which hold him still. Gaining balance, his fingers cautiously tug and pry at his grip as if delicately peeling a sticker from a surface. The small-Keen knows he’s bound to tick him off again some way or another in the future, but for now he just wants to be alone. He needs to think about some things, certain things he has a habit of pushing to the back of his mind, as uncomfortable as it makes him feel to do so.

Nothing.

It tumbles about his mind like a leaf in the breeze. Everything needs a reason, doesn’t it? There was a reason for the trees to attack, just as there was a reason he alone survived. What is the purpose of these things? What is his purpose?

His curiosity taps about, an urge growing within him to seek answers once more if only to satisfy himself and allow him to fabricate some new reason to base a purpose upon. For once he legitimately wants to know more about this man.

The small-Keen looks up at him, and in his heart is a flurry of feelings he just can’t quite figure out. What is it? Something bugs him. Something about the way Nortrom is, having a say in matters as if he knows what truly is going on. Rizzrack’s expression tightens as he begins to admit to himself that maybe this man is more intelligent than he gives him credit for.

As a Keen, it’s humiliating.

He finds himself looking up much longer than intended. He looks away, finding himself growing more and more uncomfortable now in Nortrom’s presence. When has anyone ever spoken to him like this, challenging him, questioning him, but above all, taking him seriously?

He finally pulls himself away from his hold, leaning his hip against the back rest of the seat. Maybe these interactions need to stop, for the sake of his sanity.

Whatever’s left of it, according to the world.

Rizzrack keeps his gaze averted. Despite sound returning to it’s normal state, he finds himself stuck being silent. He can’t seem to find anything else to say now except for a few small words.

“Can you please get off my suit?”

NortromtheSilencer

Nortrom waits a few silent seconds longer before nodding and fully releasing the Keen from his grip. Fully expecting Rizzrack to attempt and cut him down the second he was near the blades, the Silencer acted fast, jumping with a forceful push against the cockpit as far as he possibly could while staying upright. A glance was cast at the machine, and there was a realization that his glaive was still embedded in the hull; Easy to remedy. Placing his left hand slightly away from him, the glaive vanished from where it had been and materialized back into grip as though nothing had occurred. Such a simple feat for the man that would make many common folk think he was much more powerful than in reality.

How strange it was, to think how far the war had corrupted innocence. Perhaps if a Keen came to him spouting off nonsense about trees coming to life and decimating a population, he would have laughed it off as psychosis. Now? That would be one of the least strange things he had seen or heard of. Of course he believed Rizzrack, there was no reason not to. It was this thought that brought Nortrom back to what was said, and while still annoyed he did feel a tinge of remorse…

“If you’re wishing to delve deeper into what may have transpired, while keeping an open mind to dissenting opinion, you may seek me out. Believe it or not, I don’t despise you Rizzrack.” Back turned, the man started to walk away.

Rizzrack

Nortrom’s kick-off sends the suit staggering back, and the small-Keen quickly fumbles for the controls to regain balance before it tips over. Another jolt in his heart from the fear of falling over, he finds himself quickly tiring of it. An exhausted sigh and shoulders slump forward as he glares at the embedded glaive until it returns to its owner. Nothing left to keep the two of them in each other’s vicinity. It would be better for him to head off anyways and calm his rattled nerves by making some repairs to the suit. An activity that may prove difficult with the strange hurricane of thoughts and feelings swirling about in his head.

So confusing. He didn’t like it, and in typical Rizzrack fashion, the best way to handle scary confusing things was to avoid it.

Stupid Silencer. Thinks he knows everything but he just doesn’t get it.

You stubborn creature.

Rizzrack’s head hangs low, the brim of his helmet shadowing the tears that welled in his eyes but his long face still easily tells of his hurt feelings. Finding no other reason to hang around any longer, his hands go for the controls but Nortrom’s words hold him still. He would have rolled his eyes and scoffed at the man, but he didn’t. Instead he only thinks about it, givesa loud exasperated sigh, then turns the suit about and walks it off.

“Let’s just forget this happened.”

#I'm on a roll baby #compile

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walaw717 · 5 years

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The dialect spoken by Appalachian people has been given a variety of names, the majority of them somewhat less than complimentary. Educated people who look with disfavor on this particular form of speech are perfectly honest in their belief that something called The English Language, which they conceive of as a completed work - unchanging and fixed for all time - has been taken and, through ignorance, shamefully distorted by the mountain folk.

The fact is that this is completely untrue. The folk speech of Appalachia instead of being called corrupt ought to be classified as archaic. Many of the expressions heard throughout the region today can be found in the centuries-old works of some of the greatest English authors: Alfred, Chaucer, Shakespeare, and the men who contributed to the King James version of the Bible, to cite but a few.

Most editors who work with older materials have long assumed the role of officious busy bodies: never so happy, apparently, as when engaged in tidying up spelling, modernizing grammar, and generally rendering whatever was written by various Britons in ages past into a colorless conformity with today's Standard English.

To this single characteristic of the editorial mind must be ascribed the almost total lack of knowledge on the part of most Americans that the language they speak was ever any different than it is right now. How many people know, for example, that when the poet Gray composed his famous "Elegy" his title for it was "An Elegy Wrote in a Country Churchyard?"

Southern mountain dialect (as the folk speech of Appalachia is called by linguists) is certainly archaic, but the general historical period it represents can be narrowed down to the days of the first Queen Elizabeth, and can be further particularized by saying that what is heard today is actually a sort of Scottish-flavored Elizabethan English. This is not to say that Chaucerian forms will not be heard in everyday use, and even an occasional Anglo-Saxon one as well. When we remember that the first white settlers in what is today Appalachia were the so-called Scotch-Irish along with some Palatine Germans, there is small wonder that the language has a Scottish tinge; the remarkable thing is that the Germans seem to have influenced it so little. About the only locally used dialect word that can be ascribed to them is briggity. The Scots appear to have had it all their own way.

When I first came to Lincoln County as a bride it used to seem to me that everything that did not pooch out, hooved up.

Pooch is a Scottish variant of the word pouch and was in use in the 1600's. Numerous objects can pooch out including pregnant women and gentlemen with "bay windows." Hoove is a very old past participle of the verb to heave and was apparently in use on both sides of the border by 1601. The top of an old-fashioned trunk may be said to hoove up. Another word heard occasionally in the back country is ingerns. Ingems are onions. In Scottish dialect the word is inguns; however, if our people are permitted the intrusive r in potaters, tomaters, tobaccer, and so on, there seems to be no reason why they should not use it in ingems as well.

It is possible to compile a very long list of these Scots words and phrases. I will give only a few more illustrations, and will wait to mention some points on Scottish pronunciation and grammar a little further on.

Fornenst is a word that has many variants. It can mean either "next to" or "opposite from." "Look at that big rattler quiled up fornenst the fence post!" (Quiled is an Elizabethan pronunciation of coiled.) "When I woke up this morning there was a little skift of snow on the ground." "I was getting better, but now I've took a backset with this flu." "He dropped the dish and busted it all to flinders." "Law, I hope how soon we get some rain!" (How soon is supposed to be obsolete, but it enjoys excellent health in Lincoln County.) "That trifling old fixin ain't worth a haet!" Haet means the smallest thing that can be conceived of, and comes from Deil hae't (Devil have it.) Fixin is the Old English or Anglo-Saxon word for she-fox as used in the northern dialect. In the south of England you would have heard vixen, the word used today in Standard English. It is interesting to note that it has been primarily the linguistic historians who have pointed out the predominately Scottish heritage of the Southern mountain people. Perhaps I may be allowed to digress for a moment to trace these people back to their beginnings.

Early in his English reign, James I decided to try to control the Irish by putting a Protestant population into Ireland. To do this he confiscated the lands of the earls of Ulster and bestowed them upon Scottish and English lords on the condition that they settle the territory with tenants from Scotland and England. This was known as the "Great Settlement" or the "King's Plantation," and was begun in 1610.

Most of the Scots who moved into Ulster came from the lowlands1 and thus they would have spoken the Scots variety of the Northumbrian or Northern English dialect. (Most highland Scots at that time still spoke Gaelic.) This particular dialect would have been kept intact if the Scots had had no dealings with the Irish, and this, according to records, was the case.

While in Ulster the Scots multiplied, but after roughly 100 years they became dissatisfied with the trade and religious restrictions imposed by England, and numbers of them began emigrating to the English colonies in America. Many of these Scots who now called themselves the "Scotch-Irish" came into Pennsylvania where, finding the better lands already settled by the English, they began to move south and west. "Their enterprise and pioneering spirit made them the most important element in the vigorous frontiersmen who opened up this part of the South and later other territories farther west into which they pushed."2

Besides the Scots who arrived from Ireland, more came directly from Scotland to America, particularly after "the '45", the final Jacobite uprising in support of "Bonnie Prince Charlie," the Young Pretender, which ended disastrously for the Scottish clans that supported him. By the time of the American Revolution there were about 50,000 Scots in this country.

But to get back to the dialect, let me quote two more linguistic authorities to prove my point about the Scottish influence on the local speech. Raven I. McDavid notes, "The speech of the hill people is quite different from both dialects of the Southern lowlands for it is basically derived from the Scotch-Irish of Western Pennsylvania."3 H. L. Mencken said of Appalachian folk speech, "The persons who speak it undiluted are often called by the Southern publicists, 'the purest Anglo-Saxons in the United States,' but less romantic ethnologists describe them as predominately Celtic in blood; though there has been a large infiltration of English and even German strains."4The reason our people still speak as they do is that when these early Scots and English and Germans (and some Irish and Welsh too) came into the Appalachian area and settled, they virtually isolated themselves from the mainstream of American life for generations to come because of the hills and mountains, and so they kept the old speech forms that have long since fallen out of fashion elsewhere. Things in our area are not always what they seem, linguistically speaking. Someone may tell you that "Cindy ain't got sense enough to come in outen the rain, but she sure is clever." Clever, you see, back in the 1600's meant "neighborly or accommodating." Also if you ask someone how he is, and he replies that he is "very well", you are not necessarily to rejoice with him on the state of his health. Our people are accustomed to use a speech so vividly colorful and virile that his "very well" only means that he is feeling "so-so." If you are informed that "several" people came to a meeting, your informant does not mean what you do by several - he is using it in its older sense of anywhere from about 20 to 100 people. If you hear a person or an animal referred to as ill, that person or animal is not sick but bad-tempered, and this adjective has been so used since the 1300's. (Incidentally, good English used sick to refer to bad health long, long before our forebearers ever started saying ill for the same connotation.)

Many of our people refer to sour milk as blinked milk. This usage goes back at least to the early 1600's when people still believed in witches and the power of the evil eye. One of the meanings of the word blink back in those days was "to glance at;" if you glanced at something, you blinked at it, and thus sour milk came to be called blinked due to the evil machinations of the witch. There is another phrase that occurs from time to time, "Man, did he ever feather into him!" This used to carry a fairly murderous connotation, having gotten its start back in the days when the English long bow was the ultimate word in destructive power. Back then if you drew your bow with sufficient strength to cause your arrow to penetrate your enemy up to the feathers on its shaft, you had feathered into him. Nowadays, the expression has weakened in meaning until it merely indicates a bit of fisticuffs.

One of the most baffling expressions our people use (baffling to "furriners," at least) is "I don't care to. . . ." To outlanders this seems to mean a definite "no," whereas in truth it actually means, "thank you so much, I'd love to." One is forevermore hearing a tale of mutual bewilderment in which a gentleman driving an out-of-state car sees a young fellow standing alongside the road, thumbing. When the gentleman stops and asks if he wants a lift, the boy very properly replies, "I don't keer to," using care in the Elizabethan sense of the word. On hearing this, the man drives off considerably puzzled leaving an equally baffled young man behind. (Even the word foreigner itself is used here in its Elizabethan sense of someone who is the same nationality as the speaker, but not from the speaker's immediate home area.

Reverend is generally used to address preachers, but it is a pretty versatile word, and full-strength whisky, or even the full-strength scent of skunk, are also called reverend. In these latter instances, its meaning has nothing to do with reverence, but with the fact that their strength is as the strength of ten because they are undiluted.

In the dialect, the word allow more often means "think, say, or suppose" than "permit." "He 'lowed he'd git it done tomorrow."A neighbor may take you into her confidence and announce that she has heard that the preacher's daughter should have been running after the mailman. These are deep waters to the uninitiated. What she really means is that she has heard a juicy bit of gossip: the preacher's daughter is chasing the local mail carrier. However, she takes the precaution of using the phrase should have been to show that this statement is not vouched for by the speaker. The same phrase is used in the same way in the Paston Letters in the 1400's.

Almost all the so-called "bad English" used by natives of Appalachia was once employed by the highest ranking nobles of the realms of England and Scotland. Few humans are really passionately interested in grammar so I'll skim as lightly over this section as possible, but let's consider the following bit of dialogue briefly: "I've been a-studying about how to say this, till I've nigh wearried myself to death. I reckon hit don't never do nobody no good to beat about the bush, so I'll just tell ye. Your man's hippoed. There's nothing ails him, but he spends more time using around the doctor's office than he does a-working."The only criticism that even a linguistic purist might offer here is that, in the eighteenth century, hippoed was considered by some, Jonathan Swift among others, to be slangy even though it was used by the English society of the day. (To say someone is hippoed is to say he is a hypochondriac.)

Words like a-studying and a-working are verbal nouns and go back to Anglo-Saxon times; and from the 1300's on, people who studied about something, deliberated or reflected on it. Nigh is the old word for near, and weary was the pronunciation of worry in the 1300's and 1400's. The Scots also used this pronunciation. Reckon was current in Tudor England in the sense of consider or suppose. Hit is the Old English third person singular neuter pronoun for it and has come ringing down through the centuries for over a thousand years. All those multiple negatives were perfectly proper until some English mathematician in the eighteenth century decided that two negatives make a positive instead of simply intensifying the negative quality of some statement. Shakespeare loved to use them. Ye was once used accusatively, and man has been employed since early times to mean husband. And finally, to use means to frequent or loiter. Certain grammatical forms occurring in the dialect have caused it to be regarded with pious horror by school marms. Prominent among the offenders, they would be almost sure to list these: "Bring them books over here." In the 1500's this was good English. "I found three bird's nestes on the way to school." This disyllabic ending for the plural goes back to the Middle Ages. "That pencil's not mine, it her'n." Possessive forms like his'n, our'n, your'n evolved in the Middle Ages on the model of mine and thine. In the revision of the Wycliffe Bible, which appeared shortly after 1380, we find phrases such as ". . .restore to hir alle things that ben hern," and "some of ourn went in to the grave." "He don't scare me none." In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries do was used with he, she, and it. Don't is simply do not, of course. "You wasn't scared, was you?" During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries many people were careful to distinguish between singular you was and plural you were. It became unfashionable in the early nineteenth century although Noah Webster stoutly defended it. "My brother come in from the army last night." This usage goes back to late Anglo-Saxon times. You find it in the Paston Letters and in Scottish poetry. "I done finished my lessons," also has many echoes in the Pastons' correspondence and the Scots poets. From the late Middle Ages on up the Northern dialect of English used formations like this: "guiltless persons is condemned," and so do our people. And finally, in times past, participial forms like these abounded: has beat, has bore with it, has chose. Preterite forms were as varied: blowed, growed, catched, and for climbed you can find clum, clome, clim! all of which are locally used.

Pronunciation of many words has changed considerably, too. Deef for deaf, heered for heard, afeared for afraid, cowcumber for cucumber, bammy for balmy, holp for helped, are a very few. Several distinct characteristics of the language of Elizabeth's day are still preserved. Words that had oi in them were given a long i pronunciation: pizen, jine, bile, pint, and so on. Words with er were frequently pronounced as if the letters were ar: sarvice, sartin, narvous. It is from this time that we get our pronunciation of sergeant and the word varsity which is a clipping of the word university given the ar sound. Another Elizabethan characteristic was the substitution of an i sound for an e sound. You hear this tendency today when people say miny kittle, Chist, git, and so on. It has caused such confusion with the words pen and pin (which our people pronounce alike as pin) that they are regularly accompanied by a qualifying word - stick pin for the pin and pin and ink pin for the pen.You can hear many characteristic Scottish pronunciations. Whar, thar, dar (where, there, and dare) are typical. So also are poosh, boosh, eetch, deesh, (push, bush, itch, dish and fish.)

In some ways this vintage English reflects the outlook and spirit of the people who speak it; and, we find that not only is the language Elizabethan, but that some of the ways these people look at things are Elizabethan too. Many other superstitions still exist here. In some homes, when a death occurs all the mirrors and pictures are turned to the wall. Now I don't know if today the people still know why they do this, or if they just go through the actions because it's the thing to do, but this belief goes far back in history. It was once thought that the mirror reflected the soul of the person looking into it and if the soul of the dead person saw the soul of one of his beloved relatives reflected in the mirror, he might take it with him, so his relatives were taking no chances.

The belief that if a bird accidentally flies into a house, a member of the household will die, is also very old, and is still current in the region. Cedar trees are in a good deal of disfavor in Lincoln County, and the reason seems to stem from the conviction held by a number of people that if someone plants a cedar he will die when it grows large enough to shade his coffin.

Aside from its antiquity, the most outstanding feature of the dialect is its masculine flavor - robust and virile. This is a language spoken by a red-blooded people who have colorful phraseology born in their bones. They tend to call a spade a spade in no uncertain terms. "No, the baby didn't come early, the weddin' came late," remarked one proud grandpa. Such people have small patience with the pallid descriptive limitations of standard English. They are not about to be put off with the rather insipid remark, "My, it's hot!" or, "isn't it cold out today?" They want to know just how hot or cold: "It's hotter 'n the hinges of hell" or "Hit's blue cold out thar!" Other common descriptive phrases for cold are (freely) translated) "It's colder 'n a witch's bosom" or it's colder 'n a well-digger's backside."

Speakers of Southern mountain dialect are past masters of the art of coining vivid descriptions. Their everyday conversation is liberally sprinkled with such gems as: "That man is so contrary, if you throwed him in a river he'd float upstream!" "She walks so slow they have to set stakes to see if she's a-movin!" "Thet pore boy's an awkward size - too big for a man and not big enough for a horse." "Zeke, he come bustin' outta thar and hit it for the road quick as double-geared lightenin!"

Nudity is frowned upon in Appalachia, but for some reason there are numerous "nekkid as. ." phrases. Any casual sampling would probably contain these three: "Nekkid as a jaybird," "bare-nekkid as a hound dog's rump," and "start nekkid." Start-nekkid comes directly from the Anglo-Saxons, so it's been around for more than a thousand years. Originally "Start" was steort which meant "tail." Hence, if you were "start-nekkid," you were "nekkid to the tail." A similar phrase, "stark-naked" is a Johnny-come-lately, not even appearing in print until around 1530. If a lady tends to be gossipy, her friends may say that "her tongue's a mile long," or else that it "wags at both ends." Such ladies are a great trial to young dating couples. Incidentally, there is a formal terminology to indicate exactly how serious the intentions of these couples are, ranging from sparking which is simply dating, to courting which is dating with a more serious intent, on up to talking, which means the couple is seriously contemplating matrimony. Shakespeare uses talking in this sense in King Lear.

If a man has imbibed too much of who-shot-John, his neighbor may describe him as "so drunk he couldn't hit the ground with his hat," or, on the morning-after, the sufferer may admit that "I was so dang dizzy I had to hold on to the grass afore I could lean ag'in the ground."

One farmer was having a lot of trouble with a weasel killing his chickens. "He jest grabs 'em before they can git word to God," he complained.

Someone who has a disheveled or bedraggled appearance may be described in any one of several ways: "You look like you've been chewed up and spit out," or "you look like you've been a-sortin wildcats," or "you look like the hindquarters of hard luck," or, simply, "you look like somethin the cat drug in that the dog wouldn't eat!"

"My belly thinks my throat is cut" means "I'm hungry," and seems to have a venerable history of several hundred years. I found a citation for it dated in the early 1500's.A man may be "bad to drink" or "wicked to swear", but these descriptive adjectives are never reversed.

You ought not to be shocked if you hear a saintly looking grandmother admit she likes to hear a coarse-talking man; she means a man with a deep bass voice, (this can also refer to a singing voice, and in this case, if grandma prefers a tenor, she'd talk about someone who sings "Shallow.") Nor ought you to leap to the conclusion that a "Hard girl" is one who lacks the finer feminine sensibilities. "Hard" is the dialectal pronunciation of hired and seems to stem from the same source as do "far" engines that run on rubber "tars."

This language is vivid and virile, but so was Elizabethan English. However, some of the things you say may be shocking the folk as much as their combined lexicons may be shocking you. For instance, in the stratum of society in which I was raised, it was considered acceptable for a lady to say either "damn" or "hell" if strongly moved. Most Appalachian ladies would rather be caught dead than uttering either of these words, but they are pretty free with their use of a four letter word for manure which I don't use. I have heard it described as everything from bug _____ to bull ______. Some families employ another of these four letter words for manure as a pet name for the children, and seem to have no idea that it is considered indelicate in other areas of the country.Along with a propensity for calling a spade a spade, the dialect has a strange mid-victorian streak in it too. Until recently, it was considered brash to use either the word bull or stallion. If it was necessary to refer to a bull, he was known variously as a "father cow" or a "gentleman cow" or an "ox" or a "mas-cu-line," while a stallion was either a "stable horse" or else rather ominously, "The animal." Only waspers fly around Lincoln County, I don't think I've ever heard of a wasp there, and I've never been able to trace the reason for that usage, but I do know why cockleburrs are called cuckleburrs. The first part of the word cockleburr carries an objectionable connotation to the folk. However, if they are going to balk at that, it seems rather hilarious to me that they find nothing objectionable about cuckle.

A friend of mine who has a beauty parlor now, used to have a small store on the banks of the Guyan River. She told me about a little old lady who trotted into the store one day with a request for "some of the strumpet candy." My friend said she was very sorry, they didn't have any. But, she added gamely, what kind was it, and she would try to order some. The little lady glanced around to see if she could be overheard, lowered her voice and said, "well, it's horehound, but I don't like to use that word!"

The dialect today is a watered down thing compared to what it was a generation ago, but our people are still the best talkers in the world, and I think we should listen to them with more appreciation.

Notes1. Thomas Pyles, The Origins and Development of the English Language. (New York; Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1964), 36. "It is not surprising that those lowland Scotsmen who colonized the 'King's Plantation' in Ulster and whose descendents crossed the Atlantic and settled the Blue Ridge, the Appalachians, and the Ozarks should have been so little affected by the classical culture of the Renaissance."

2. Albert C. Baugh, A History of the English Language, 2nd ed., (New York, 1957), 409

.3. H. L. Mencken, The American Language, ed. Raven I. McDavid, Jr., the 4th ed. and the two supplements abridged, with annotations and new material. (New York, 1963), 455.4. Ibid., 459.

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 6 years

Text

Deadlines Alt End 2

Masterlist

---

Deadlines Alternative End 2: Mitsunari His POV

What is that sound? I don’t know how long it had been since I began reading my current book but it had apparently been long enough for Hideyoshi to no longer be next to me. I blinked as I removed my reading glasses pinching the bridge of my nose as I stretched my shoulders. There was a note on the table in front of me. “Gone to class. Remember you have work tonight. Remember to get something to eat as well - Yoshi” I smiled at my friend’s thoughtfulness.

There’s that sound again. I decided to investigate whilst I took a break. I had nearly forgotten the girl from before until I saw her crouched down by a shelf surrounded by books lying at her feet. She was sobbing. Was that the noise I heard? I’m sure I know her name but for the life of me, I can’t think of what it is. I decided to ignore my own forgetfulness and instead opted to bend down and help her gather back up the fallen books. As I did she looked at me with big wide eyes, her face was red. Is she is feeling well?

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realise anyone else was still up here. Did I disturb you?” Her voice had a tremble to it. I wonder if there is something I can do to make her feel more settled.

“No, not at all.” Smiling I moved forward collecting more books from the floor placing them neatly next to her. “Forgive me but you appear to be in need of help. If you like you could talk to me and maybe another person could help you with whatever it is that is upsetting you.”

“That is very sweet of you but I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble. I mean we just met you have no reason to bother yourself with a complete stranger.” She was so genuine the way she spoke. I found myself curiously drawn to her.

“Please don’t say that.” I took hold of her hand nearest me. I saw her eyes flick down to where our hands were touching before they found mine again, searching for something. “I wouldn’t have offered if I was not willing to help. I seriously would like to help you if I can.” ‘What are you doing Mitsunari? You can’t just touch a girl without permission.’ I heard Yoshi’s voice in my head. And then the connection between her expression and our hands suddenly clicked and I quickly released my grip. “My apologies that was ill-mannered of me and very rude. I shouldn’t have touched you like that.”

“No, it’s ok.” She quickly replied wiping her eyes with the back of her hand while trying to smile. “I’m just having a really bad day and this” She indicated all the books that were once scattered on the ground. “Well, it was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“That must be quite the bad day. Typically camel’s can carry a lot of weight, the Bactrian camel can carry up to 1000lbs and the Hybrid variety can carry somewhere in the region of 880 to 990lbs. Oh, but the Dromedary camel can carry roughly half of what the Bactrian can and…” I stopped talking. Interrupted by the pealing laughter of the girl next to me. Her whole appearance had changed as she crumbled into joyous laughter. She’s really… my heart feels like its aching. I wonder why.

“Haha, I’m sorry. I don’t think anyone has ever tried to use trivia to cheer me up before.” She looked at me with her beautiful eyes. I read so many books and I am at a total loss for words to describe her.

“Trivia?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to do anything really was I? I mean I was just doing what I usually did and drew on information I had read somewhere.

“It doesn’t matter. Besides that thank you, you really helped.” Picking up the stack of books she stood up and began to move away.

“I really hope so.” I spoke honestly before thinking of something. “You know I do a part-time job tutoring some of the students here in some classes? If you would like I could help look over your notes, see if there is anything I could suggest to help you.” Please let me help you, I want to help you. Rely on me.

Time had passed faster than I had been aware of. [Name] had let me assist her, although to be honest there was very little I could have suggested. Her notes were meticulous it was a pleasure to witness such dedicated and deliberate research. We said goodbye and I wished her luck with her exams as I left to return to the dorm. I still had some time before I had to go to my job so I decided to head back to get changed and grab my books. Perhaps I could grab a cereal bar, Yoshi did tell me to eat. I smiled as I walked thinking about the events of a rather strange day.

---

As Mitsunari left the university library he had failed to notice that he had captured the attention of someone who was sitting on a chair outside a small coffee shop across the street. Mitsunari leaving the library is not something that was unusual. What was unusual was the fact he was with a girl, and they both appeared to be interested in each other.

“Now that is interesting.” The witness muttered as they took a sip of their black coffee. Lips twisting up into an amused smile.

---

It was the end of exams and with it came the seemingly nearly endless list of invites to house or dorm parties. Do I really know all these people? Their names flashed up on my phone and I was drawing a blank. I’ve never been good with names at all. Whilst I lamented my own failure in basic social skills I noticed a new message. “Thanks again for all your help. I think the exam went great in the end. - [Name]”

“What’s with the creepy grin?” A voice drew my attention and I realised some of the others had joined me in the room. I didn’t notice them arriving I wonder how long they have been here.

“Creepy grin?” I tilted my head confused. Ieyasu sighed.

“Yeah instead of that gormless annoying face you usually pull you have a creepy smile on your face now.” Saying this Ieyasu poked my forehead.

“I was not aware of it. I’m sorry.” I apologised.

“Ignore him Nari everyone else does.” Masa’s voice came from the door as he entered the room and walked right over to us.

“I wish they did. Nothing would bring me more pleasure than to be ignored by you Masa.” Ieyasu pulled a displeased face sounding grumpier than usual.

“Nothing would bring you more pleasure? Dude you seriously need to get laid.” Masa let out a loud laugh as he lunged and began tickling Ieyasu’s sides. I’m so pleased to be friends with such a lovely bunch of people.

“Hey come on you two I’m trying to eat over here.” Yoshi spoke up from the sofa after the playful pair had bumped into the back of it. He had half a sandwich in his hand and his e-reader in the other.

“Why would that be something that Ieyasu would need to do?” I felt even more confused than before. If he is tired I agree he should go and lay down.

“Glad you asked that lad. Now…” Masa released his grip on the fluffy haired blonde and moved closer to me lowering his voice a little as if he was about to pass on some top secret information.

“MASA!” For some reason Yoshi raised his voice and shouted at Masa. He quickly put down his piece of tech and grabbed Masa from behind, causing them both to fall over the back of the sofa in a heap. It’s always so lively around here. I found myself smiling more.

“Ouch! Ok I give, I give. Dammit Yoshi you could have hurt my head.” Masa grumbled.

“That’s ok it is not as if there was anything of great importance in that head of yours, to begin with.” Ieyasu irritably retorted.

“Hey!” Masa exclaimed before bursting out laughing.

“It would seem that Little Nari has himself a girlfriend.” Mitsuhide’s conspiratorial voice rang out as he entered from the hall with Nobu. “From what I saw the other day they were very close.”

“The other day? Where were you?” Yoshi moved towards Mitsuhide questioning him. They really are such close friends.

“Here and there. It appears you are missing the point. Little Nari here was with a girl.” Deflecting Yoshi masterfully Mitsuhide smiled shamelessly.

“You mean [Name]?” Admittedly I was a little lost during the conversation. I couldn’t think of anyone that Mitsuhide might be referring to but for some reason, her face popped up in my mind.

“Oh, she has a name?” Masa seemed very interested. I wonder why.

“Well, of course, she has a name, people usually do.” Ieyasu snapped back.

“Settle down this is easily cleared up.” Nobu who had finished pouring his drink from the coffee maker turned around fixing me with his crimson eyes. “Mitsunari. Is [Name] your girlfriend?”

“Yes” There wasn’t a hint of hesitation as I answered.

“WHAT!?” The collective outcries from my friends in the room almost seemed to reverberate. Did I say something wrong?

“Well, she is a girl and my friend… is that not what you meant?” The volume of my voice dissipated as I realised by looking at the faces of my friend around me that I might have made a mistake. Was that the wrong wording?

“You idiot.” Ieyasu said in an exasperated tone as he gave me a shove on my shoulder.

---

After a lengthy discussion where the other guys explained to me that I had not understood the original question and then kept asking me details about [Name] and what I thought of her. I left to head to my last tuition job of the year feeling even more confused than before. I really don’t see the issue. She is a nice girl and I would like to think she is my friend now as well. Was that really so strange? I went to the cafe on the corner to get a latte to go. My stomach rumbled as I was waiting for it to be made reminding me that I had forgotten food again.

“I’m sorry could I also get one of those as well please?” I pointed to flapjack bar in the display unit. The member of staff smiled putting it in a bag handing it to me along with my coffee.

“You know if you’re hungry you should try to eat more than just that.” A familiar girl’s voice came from behind me. I bumped into her as I turned around nearly spilling my latte in the process. Her hand covered mine as she helped me steady the hot drink. “Careful. Hehe, looks like it’s your turn to bump into me here this time.” She giggled and flashed the most disarming smile I’d every seen. It really is her.

“I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t paying attention.” I quickly apologised.

“That’s ok no harm done. Were you in a rush?” Her friendly exchange made me feel happy. She really is such a friendly person.

“Well I...oh excuse me a second.” I was about to tell her I was on my way to work when my phone chimed and I saw I had received a cancellation text from the student I was on my way to see. I know I should question the timing or be a little upset but I just can’t. I’m really happy for some reason. “Actually no I’m completely free now. Erm… if you are alright with it would you like to go for a walk? The park is lovely this time of year with all the trees changing colour.”

“That would be lovely. Let me just grab my drink to go and I’ll join you.” She ordered an apple and cinnamon tea and we laughed and talked as we made our way through the park. It was so pleasant and I found I was really happy to have the opportunity to see and talk to her again. Such a curious feeling. I wonder what it is.

---

They watched with smiled on their faces from the cafe in the park as they saw their plan work. Mitsunari and [Name] had arrived in the park and were walking together through the trees following the path. It was obvious to them what was going on even if their clueless friend had yet to work it out. But now the real work would have to begin.

“I’m sorry were you waiting long?” A first-year student asked with an arm full of text books.

“No, not at all. Sit and let's see what we can do to help you.” Mitsuhide shifted in his chair for all the world looking very happy with himself. The student put all the text books down with a light thud on the table. Masa cracked open a can of soda, Nobu sat looking disinterested as he perused the local news paper.

“He so owes us.” Ieyasu leaned in to whisper to Yoshi.

“Hush. Let’s just focus on getting this job done.” Yoshi smiled warmly as he watched the couple. Thinking that it would be nice to see one of his friends be happy.

---

19 notes · View notes

pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

Photo

Book Of Genesis - From The Latin Vulgate (1859 - Haydock Translation of The Roman Catholic Bible) - Chapter 21

INTRODUCTION.

The Hebrews now entitle all the Five Books of Moses, from the initial words, which originally were written like one continued word or verse; but the Sept. have preferred to give the titles the most memorable occurrences of each work. On this occasion, the Creation of all things out of nothing, strikes us with peculiar force. We find a refutation of all the heathenish mythology, and of the world’s eternity, which Aristotle endeavoured to establish. We behold the short reign of innocence, and the origin of sin and misery, the dispersion of nations, and the providence of God watching over his chosen people, till the death of Joseph, about the year 2369 (Usher) 2399 (Sal. and Tirin) B.C. 1631. We shall witness the same care in the other Books of Scripture, and adore his wisdom and goodness in preserving to himself faithful witnesses, and a true Holy Catholic Church, in all ages, even when the greatest corruption seemed to overspread the land. H.

—————————-

This Book is so called from its treating of the Generation, that is, of the Creation and the beginning of the world. The Hebrews call it Bereshith, from the word with which it begins. It contains not only the History of the Creation of the World, but also an account of its progress during the space of 2369 years, that is, until the death of Joseph.

The additional Notes in this Edition of the New Testament will be marked with the letter A. Such as are taken from various Interpreters and Commentators, will be marked as in the Old Testament. B. Bristow, C. Calmet, Ch. Challoner, D. Du Hamel, E. Estius, J. Jansenius, M. Menochius, Po. Polus, P. Pastorini, T. Tirinus, V. Bible de Vence, W. Worthington, Wi. Witham. — The names of other authors, who may be occasionally consulted, will be given at full length.

Verses are in English and Latin. HAYDOCK CATHOLIC BIBLE COMMENTARY

This Catholic commentary on the Old Testament, following the Douay-Rheims Bible text, was originally compiled by Catholic priest and biblical scholar Rev. George Leo Haydock (1774-1849). This transcription is based on Haydock’s notes as they appear in the 1859 edition of Haydock’s Catholic Family Bible and Commentary printed by Edward Dunigan and Brother, New York, New York.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Changes made to the original text for this transcription include the following:

Greek letters. The original text sometimes includes Greek expressions spelled out in Greek letters. In this transcription, those expressions have been transliterated from Greek letters to English letters, put in italics, and underlined. The following substitution scheme has been used: A for Alpha; B for Beta; G for Gamma; D for Delta; E for Epsilon; Z for Zeta; E for Eta; Th for Theta; I for Iota; K for Kappa; L for Lamda; M for Mu; N for Nu; X for Xi; O for Omicron; P for Pi; R for Rho; S for Sigma; T for Tau; U for Upsilon; Ph for Phi; Ch for Chi; Ps for Psi; O for Omega. For example, where the name, Jesus, is spelled out in the original text in Greek letters, Iota-eta-sigma-omicron-upsilon-sigma, it is transliterated in this transcription as, Iesous. Greek diacritical marks have not been represented in this transcription.

Footnotes. The original text indicates footnotes with special characters, including the astrisk (*) and printers’ marks, such as the dagger mark, the double dagger mark, the section mark, the parallels mark, and the paragraph mark. In this transcription all these special characters have been replaced by numbers in square brackets, such as [1], [2], [3], etc.

Accent marks. The original text contains some English letters represented with accent marks. In this transcription, those letters have been rendered in this transcription without their accent marks.

Other special characters.

Solid horizontal lines of various lengths that appear in the original text have been represented as a series of consecutive hyphens of approximately the same length, such as .

Ligatures, single characters containing two letters united, in the original text in some Latin expressions have been represented in this transcription as separate letters. The ligature formed by uniting A and E is represented as Ae, that of a and e as ae, that of O and E as Oe, and that of o and e as oe.

Monetary sums in the original text represented with a preceding British pound sterling symbol (a stylized L, transected by a short horizontal line) are represented in this transcription with a following pound symbol, l.

The half symbol (½) and three-quarters symbol (¾) in the original text have been represented in this transcription with their decimal equivalent, (.5) and (.75) respectively.

Unreadable text. Places where the transcriber’s copy of the original text is unreadable have been indicated in this transcription by an empty set of square brackets, [].

Chapter 21

Isaac is born. Agar and Ismael are cast forth.

[1] And the Lord visited Sara, as he had promised: and fulfilled what he had spoken. Visitavit autem Dominus Saram, sicut promiserat : et implevit quae locutus est.

[2] And she conceived and bore a son in her old age, at the time that God had foretold her. Concepitque et peperit filium in senectute sua, tempore quo praedixerat ei Deus.

[3] And Abraham called the name of his son, whom Sara bore him, Isaac. Vocavitque Abraham nomen filii sui, quem genuit ei Sara, Isaac :

[4] And he circumcised him the eighth day, as God had commanded him, et circumcidit eum octavo die, sicut praeceperat ei Deus,

[5] When he was a hundred years old: for at this age of his father was Isaac born. cum centum esset annorum : hac quippe aetate patris, natus est Isaac.

[6] And Sara said: God hath made a laughter for me: whosoever shall hear of it will laugh with me. Dixitque Sara : Risum fecit mihi Deus : quicumque audierit, corridebit mihi.

[7] And again she said: Who would believe that Abraham should hear that Sara gave suck to a son, whom she bore to him in his old age. Rursumque ait : Quis auditurus crederet Abraham quod Sara lactaret filium, quem peperit et jam seni?

[8] And the child grew and was weaned: and Abraham made a great feast on the day of his weaning. Crevit igitur puer, et ablactatus est : fecitque Abraham grande convivium in die ablactationis ejus.

[9] And when Sara had seen the son of Agar the Egyptian playing with Isaac her son, she said to Abraham: Cumque vidisset Sara filium Agar Aegyptiae ludentem cum Isaac filio suo, dixit ad Abraham :

[10] Cast out this bondwoman, and her son: for the son of the bondwoman shall not be heir with my son Isaac. Ejice ancillam hanc, et filium ejus : non enim erit haeres filius ancillae cum filio meo Isaac.

[11] Abraham took this grievously for his son. Dure accepit hoc Abraham pro filio suo.

[12] And God said to him: Let it not seem grievous to thee for the boy, and for thy bondwoman: in all that Sara hath said to thee, hearken to her voice: for in Isaac shall thy seed be called. Cui dixit Deus : Non tibi videatur asperum super puero, et super ancilla tua : omnia quae dixerit tibi Sara, audi vocem ejus : quia in Isaac vocabitur tibi semen.

[13] But I will make the son also of the bondwoman a great nation, because he is thy seed. Sed et filium ancillae faciam in gentem magnam, quia semen tuum est.

[14] So Abraham rose up in the morning, and taking bread and a bottle of water, put it upon her shoulder, and delivered the boy, and sent her away. And she departed, and wandered in the wilderness of Bersabee. Surrexit itaque Abraham mane, et tollens panem et utrem aquae, imposuit scapulae ejus, tradiditque puerum, et dimisit eam. Quae cum abiisset, errabat in solitudine Bersabee.

[15] And when the water in the bottle was spent, she cast the boy under one of the trees that were there. Cumque consumpta esset aqua in utre, abjecit puerum subter unam arborum, quae ibi erant.

[16] And she went her way, and sat over against him a great way off as far as a bow can carry, for she said: I will not see the boy die: and sitting over against, she lifted up her voice and wept. Et abiit, seditque e regione procul quantum potest arcus jacere : dixit enim : Non videbo morientem puerum : et sedens contra, levavit vocem suam et flevit.

[17] And God heard the voice of the boy: and an angel of God called to Agar from heaven, saying: What art thou doing, Agar? fear not: for God hath heard the voice of the boy, from the place wherein he is. Exaudivit autem Deus vocem pueri : vocavitque angelus Dei Agar de caelo, dicens : Quid agis Agar? noli timere : exaudivit enim Deus vocem pueri de loco in quo est.

[18] Arise, take up the boy, and hold him by the hand: for I will make him a great nation. Surge, tolle puerum, et tene manum illius : quia in gentem magnam faciam eum.

[19] And God opened her eyes: and she saw a well of water, and went and filled the bottle, and gave the boy to drink. Aperuitque oculos ejus Deus : quae videns puteum aquae, abiit, et implevit utrem, deditque puero bibere.

[20] And God was with him: and he grew, and dwelt in the wilderness, and became a young man, an archer. Et fuit cum eo : qui crevit, et moratus est in solitudine, factusque est juvenis sagittarius.

[21] And he dwelt in the wilderness of Pharan, and his mother took a wife for him out of the land of Egypt. Habitavitque in deserto Pharan, et accepit illi mater sua uxorem de terra Aegypti.

[22] At the same time Abimelech, and Phicol the general of his army said to Abraham: God is with thee in all that thou dost. Eodem tempore dixit Abimelech, et Phicol princeps exercitus ejus, ad Abraham : Deus tecum est in universis quae agis.

[23] Swear therefore by God, that thou wilt not hurt me, nor my posterity, nor my stock: but according to the kindness that I have done to thee, thou shalt do to me, and to the land wherein thou hast lived a stranger. Jura ergo per Deum, ne noceas mihi, et posteris meis, stirpique meae : sed juxta misericordiam, quam feci tibi, facies mihi, et terrae in qua versatus es advena.

[24] And Abraham said: I will swear. Dixitque Abraham : Ego jurabo.

[25] And he reproved Abimelech for a well of water, which his servants had taken away by force. Et increpavit Abimelech propter puteum aquae quem vi abstulerunt servi ejus.

[26] And Abimelech answered: I knew not who did this thing: and thou didst not tell me, and I heard not of it till today. Responditque Abimelech : Nescivi quis fecerit hanc rem : sed et tu non indicasti mihi, et ego non audivi praeter hodie.

[27] And Abraham took sheep and oxen and gave them to Abimelech: and both of them made a league. Tulit itaque Abraham oves et boves, et dedit Abimelech : percusseruntque ambo foedus.

[28] And Abraham set apart seven ewe lambs of the flock. Et statuit Abraham septem agnas gregis seorsum.

[29] And Abimelech said to him: What mean these seven ewe lambs which thou hast set apart? Cui dixit Abimelech : Quid sibi volunt septem agnae istae, quas stare fecisti seorsum?

[30] But he said: Thou shalt take seven ewe lambs at my hand: that they may be a testimony for me, that I dug this well. At ille : Septem, inquit, agnas accipies de manu mea : ut sint mihi in testimonium, quoniam ego fodi puteum istum.

[31] Therefore that place was called Bersabee: because there both of them did swear. Idcirco vocatus est locus ille Bersabee : quia ibi uterque juravit.

[32] And they made a league for the well of oath. Et inierunt foedus pro puteo juramenti.

[33] And Abimelech, and Phicol the general of his army arose and returned to the land of the Palestines. But Abraham planted a grove in Bersabee, and there called upon the name of the Lord God eternal. Surrexit autem Abimelech, et Phicol princeps exercitus ejus, reversique sunt in terram Palaestinorum. Abraham vero plantavit nemus in Bersabee, et invocavit ibi nomen Domini Dei aeterni.

[34] And he was a sojourner in the land of the Palestines many days. Et fuit colonus terrae Palaestinorum diebus multis.

Commentary:

Ver. 1. Visited, either by the angel, C. xviii. 10, or by enabling her to have what he had promised, at the return of the season.

Ver. 3. Isaac. This word signifies laughter; (Ch.) or "he shall laugh," and be the occasion of joy to many, as S. John was. Luke i. 14; and thus Sara seems to explain it, v. 6.

Ver. 7. Gave suck; a certain proof that the child was born of her. M. --- His old age, when both the parents were far advanced in years, v. 2. The mother being ninety at this time, would render the event most surprising. H.

Ver. 8. Weaned. S. Jerom says when he was five years old, though some said twelve. The age of men being prolonged, their infancy continued longer. One of the Machabees suckled her child three years. 2 Mac. vii. 27. 2 Par. xxxi. 16. C. --- Feast. The life of the child being now considered in less danger. From the time of conception till this place, the husband kept at a distance from his wife. S. Clem. strom. iii. Samuel's mother made a feast or present when she weaned him. 1 K. i. 24. M.

Ver. 9. Playing, or persecuting, as S. Paul explains it. Gal. iv. 29. The play tended to pervert the morals of the young Isaac, whether we understand this term metsachak, as implying idolatry, or obscene actions, or fighting; in all which senses it is used in Scripture. See Ex. xxxii. 6. G. xxvi. 8. 2 K. ii. 14. M. --- Ismael was 13 years older than Isaac; and took occasion, perhaps, from the feast, and other signs of preference given by his parents to the latter, to hate and persecute him, which Sara soon perceiving, was forced to have recourse to the expedient apparently so harsh, of driving Ismael and his mother from the house, that they might have an establishment of their own, and not disturb Isaac in the inheritance after the death of Abraham. H. --- In this she was guided by a divine light; (M.) and not by any female antipathy, v. 12. Many of the actions of worldlings, which at first sight may appear innocent, have a natural and fatal tendency to pervert the morals of the just; and therefore, we must keep as much as possible at a distance from their society. --- With Isaac her son. Heb. has simply mocking, without mentioning what. But the sequel shews the true meaning; and this addition was found in some Bibles in the days of S. Jerom, as he testifies, and is expressed in the Sept. H. --- Ismael was a figure of the synagogue, which persecuted the Church of Christ in her birth. D.

Ver. 11. For his son. He does not express any concern for Agar. But we cannot doubt but he would feel to part with her also. It was prudent to let both go together: and the mother had perhaps encouraged Ismael, at least by neglecting to punish or watch over him, and so deserved to share in his affliction.

Ver. 14. Bread and water. This seems a very slender allowance to be given by a man of Abraham's riches. But he might intend her to go only into the neighbourhood, where he would take care to provide for her. She lost herself in the wilderness, and thus fell into imminent danger of perishing. H. --- This divorce of Agar, and ejection of Ismael, prefigured the reprobation of the Jews.

Ver. 17. Of the boy, who was 17 years old, and wept at the approach of death. --- Fear not. Yare are under the protection of God, who will not abandon you, when all human succour fails; nor will he negelct his promises. G. 16. H.

Ver. 20. Wilderness, in Arabia Petrea. --- An archer, living on plunder. C.

Ver. 22. Abimelech, king of Gerara, who knew that Abraham was a prophet, and a favourite of God. G. xx. 7. H.

Ver. 23. Hurt me. Heb. "lie unto me, " or revolt and disturb the peace of my people.

Ver. 24. I will swear. The matter was of sufficient importance. Abraham binds himself, but not his posterity, who by God's order fought against the descendants of this king.

Ver. 27. Gave them; thus rendering good for evil. D.

Ver. 31. Bersabee. That is, the well of oath; (Ch.) or "the well of the seven;" meaning the seven ewe-lambs set apart. M. --- This precaution of Abraham, in giving seven lambs as a testimony that the well was dug by him, was not without reason. See G. xxvi. 15. C.

Ver. 33. A grove: in the midst of which was an altar, dedicated to the Lord God eternal; to testify that he alone was incapable of change. Thither Abraham frequently repaired, to thank God for all his favours. Temples were not probably as yet known in any part of the world. The ancient saints, Abraham, Isaac, Josue, &c. were pleased to shew their respect for God, and their love of retirement, by planting groves, and consecrating altars to the supreme Deity. If this laudable custom was afterwards perverted by the idolaters, and hence forbidden to God's people, we need not wonder. The best things may be abused; and when they become a source of scandal, we must avoid them. H. Jos. xxix. 26. Deut. xvi. 23. Jud. vi. 25.

#book of genesis

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Sanmao’s “Stories of the Sahara”, 《撒哈拉的故事》, 沙漠中的饭店 Restaurant in the desert, Tâm Anh translated.

My husband, very unfortunately is a foreigner. Using words like these to mention own husband, I sound apparently anti-foreigner, however apparently language and customs of countries have big differences; because of these, our marriage life indeed also has a great deal of unbridgeable gaps.

　At beginning when making decision to marry Jose, I clearly told him, we are not only from different countries, personalities are also different, if married in the future may quarrel, even fight. He replied: “I know your personality is not good, yet overall is a very kind person, quarrels or fights may occur, however we still need to get married.” Then, we after 7 years acquaintance, finally got married.

　 I am not a feminist, however I will never accept after marriage losing independent personality and spiritual freedom; therefore I again and again emphasized to Jose, after marriage I would still “do my own way”, otherwise we would not get married. To this, Jose said to me: “I indeed want you to ‘do your own way’, losing your personality and way of doing, then why I get married to you then!” Good! Words of great men, I was really relieved. Becoming wife of Jose, on language matters I surrendered to him. This poor foreigner, “人”[ meaning person ] and “入”[ meaning enter ] these two different Chinese characters I taught him how many times he still could not differentiate, I had no way but to speak his language, this matter I let it his way then. (However, in the future once having children, no matter what, children still have to learn Chinese, to this point he agreed. )

　No fiddle-faddle, now be a wife, the first thing is right on doing kitchen. I have always hated housework, but in cooking I am nonetheless very interested, how many onions, how much meat, once cooked become a dish, I very much enjoy this kind of art.

　My Mum in Taiwan, knowing I after getting married to Jose, because of his job, had to move to isolated wild Africa, was exceedingly heart-ached. However, because our little family income is all on Jose’s paycheck, I had no choice but to follow his job requirement, there was no leeway. After we got married and I started kitchen work, our family meals were all western dishes. Then air-packaged aid sent from home in Taiwan arrived, I received a great pile of vermicelli, sea-weeds, mushrooms, dried instant noodles, dried fried pork, all kinds of valuable ingredients, I was so glad, to add on female friends in Europe also sent canned soy sauce, my family-based “Chinese restaurant” is at no delay open, unfortunately customers there is only one who does not pay. (Later on, coming to our “restaurant”, there is, however, a long queue then! )

　To be true, with ingredients Mum sent to us, to open a “Chinese restaurant”, it is not sufficient, but fortunately Jose has never been to Taiwan, he looked on to this vigorously established “big kitchen” of mine, also started to have confidence in my cooking.

　The first course I made was “Vermicelli with chicken soup”.　

Jose comes home from work always high voice yelling: “Meal be quickly ready please, I am hungry to death now!” In love with him for so many years, now every time coming home knowing just to yell meal be ready, not even a look on this wife, no worry this “yellow faced old wife” role [*translator's note: 黄脸婆 “Yellow faced old wife”phrase is used to describe a woman who has married for a long time. The (face) color indicates that she has aged with the burden of housework. Someone says, in ancient China, to cover the aging face, women misuse the cosmetics with lead and make their face getting yellow. The elder, more yellow. It's a negative term. Husbands use this term to describe their wife as love is fading out. Wives complain the houseworks and the relationship by calling themselves as "黄脸婆"] I do so well. The first course I made Vermicelli with chicken soup, he tasted a little of the soup then asked: “Yí, what’s this? Chinese spaghetti?”

“Your mother-in-law from thousands of miles away sent you spaghetti? Not spaghetti.”

“What is that then? I want more, very delicious.”

　 I used chopsticks to pick up a thread of vermicelli saying: “This is, called ‘Rain’.”

　 “Rain?” He was puzzled.

　 Above I already said, I am a free-spirited married woman, words naturally come according to my state on a whim, “This, is springtime the very first rain, falling on mountain top, be frozen one by one, wombed and brewed well on the mountain then be brought down to mountain foot bundle by bundle, be sold with rice wine for drink, not easy to buy ah!”

　 Jose was still puzzled, looked at me, then looked to study “rain” in the bowl, then he said: “You are making fool of me?”

　 I did not remark on this. “You want more or not?”

　 He replied: “You are the Queen of boast, I want more.” From then on, he often ate “spring rain”, till today still does not know what it is made from. Sometimes I think Jose is so unsmart, because of this feel a little disappointed.

The second time we ate vermicelli was when I made Sichuan dish “ants climbing a tree”, that is vermicelli put in the pot stirred-fried, then sprinkled with minced pork and sauce.

Jose came home from work was always hungry; he chewed a mouthful of vermicelli then, “What is this? Looks like white woolen yarn, also looks like plastic thread?”

　“Both are not right, it is a kind of nylon fishing line you know, Chinese people has processed it to make it white and smooth.” I replied.

　 He again ate a mouthful of it, then smiled, saying: “Really, so many weird names, if we indeed open a restaurant, this dish can make big money, darling!” That day he ate a lot of nylon processed white lines.

　The third time we ate vermicelli was when I made Chinese north-eastern region traditional “Chive pocket cake”, which is in fact fried pie, inside filled with vermicelli, spinach, and minced meat.

　 He said: “This little cake, inside you put sand-fish wings, right? I heard this kind of thing is very expensive, no wonder you put just a little.” I fell in big laughter. “Later this very expensive sand-fish wing, we should ask Mum not to buy, I should send her thank-you letter.”

I replied to him in big laughter: “Quick, you go write to her, I will translate your letter, haha!”

　　There was one day he came home from work early, I took the chance he forgot having seen Chinese pork jerky (Bak Kwa), quickly hid the pork jerky away, and then took it out using scissors to cut into square pieces, put these into a pot, then hid the pot in the blanket. Right that day he had a blocked nose, when going to sleep he needed the woolen blanket, I in a moment forgot this hidden precious pot of mine, was lying at one side, feeling at ease reading Chapter 1000 of the “Water Margin” a Chinese classic novel.

　 He was lying on bed, in hands was the pot, he looked then looked to study it, I raised my head, so bad, he found out this“King Solomon’s treasure”of mine, I quickly grasped the pot from his hands, saying: “This is not for you to eat, is medicine, is Chinese medicine.”

　“My nose is blocked, right on I should take Chinese medicine.” He put a handful of it to his mouth, I was tempered, but could not ask him to spit out, just had to stop voice. “So sweet, what is this?”

　 I unhappily replied to him: “Throat lozenge, to give coughing person to smooth the throat.”

　“Throat lozenge made from meat? I am fooled?”

　The following day waking up, I found he had taken a big half of the pot to give away to colleagues; from that day on, whenever his colleagues saw me, all of them then pretended to cough so to cheat for my Chinese “medicine” pork jerky, not exclusively non-eating-pork Muslim ones do. (Later on I did not give these to our Muslim friends, otherwise that would be lack of moral respect.)

Anyway husband and wife marriage life is always around eating, other time busy is with earning money for eating, was indeed not very interesting. One day I made rice rolls, which is Japanese sushi, using sea-weeds to wrap rice, inside I also added on some pork floss.

　Jose this time rejected to eat. “What, you give me to eat printed blue paper, carbon paper?”

　I slowly asked him, “You really do not want to eat?”

　“Not eat, not eat.”

　 Good, I overjoyed, ate a great pile of sushi.

　“Open your mouth, let me see?”, he commanded.

　“See, there is no blue colour, I used the reversed face of the carbon paper, it could not dye on my mouth.” Anyway often bluffing, I often in that way to make fun.

　"You are the Queen of boast, true then untrue, really hateful, to tell the truth, what is it?”

　“You totally do not know China, I am quite disappointed about my husband.” I replied to him, again ate my sushi.

　He was tempered, use chopstick clipped then clipped one, on the face full of tragically determined expression like a hero heading to battle field, chewed for quite a while, then spitted out, “It is, is sea-weed.”

　I jumped up in delight: “Yes, yes, you are so smart!” Was again about to jump, got from him a pat on the head.

Chinese stuffs we then have quickly eaten up, my “Chinese restaurant” also could not make out any more dishes, Western dishes were again back on table. Jose came home from work, surprisingly seeing I was making beef steak, very unexpectedly, but happily, he called: “Half a life already. Also have french-fries? “So I got him eat beef steak for three days, then he seemed to lose appetite, a small bite not eat.

　“Is it that you are tired by work? Do you want to go to sleep for a while then again up to eat?” This “yellow faced old hateful wife” is sometimes tender.

　“Not ill, it is that I do not eat well.”

　Hearing this I jumped up. “Do not eat well? Do not eat well? Do you know how expensive is beef steak?”

　“Not that, wife, I want to eat ‘rain’, still the dishes sent from your mum are the best.”

"All right, Chinese restaurant will be open twice per week, how do you think? You want how often the ‘rain’ to fall?"

　One day Jose came back home saying to me: “Well done, today my big boss asked me to come.”

　“To give you a pay rise?” My eyes were lighted.

“No”

　I grasped him, scratched on his skin. “No? You are fired? My God, we…”

　“Don’t grasp me, you are so nervous, you please listen, my big boss said, in our company everyone has been invited to our home for meal, only him and his wife were not invited, he was awaiting you to invite him to have Chinese cuisine.”

　“Your big boss wants me to prepare dishes? Not do, not do, not invite him, inviting your colleagues I am happy to, inviting boss it is unavoidably awkward, person like me, again need to talk a bit in formal way, you know, I…” I still wanted to loudly tell him about Chinese so-called spirit, again could not explain clearly, again seeing Jose’s facial expression, this ‘spirit’ word is better kept not spelt out!

　The following day he asked me, “Hey, do we have bamboo shoots?”

　“We have these so many chopsticks, aren’t they bamboo shoots?”

　He gazed at me. “My big boss said he wants to eat bamboo shoots slices stirred with mushroom.” Darling, this big boss is really one who has seen the world, could not underestimate him a foreigner.

“Good, tomorrow evening please invite him and wife to dinner, no problem, he wants bamboo shoots bamboo can be grown.”

　Jose affectionately looked at me, since our marriage this was the first time he looked at me like a lover such a way, this made me quite flattered, only that day my hair was messy, make-up was terribly like a ghost.

　　The following evening, I firstly made well three courses, also kept slow fire, arranged table with candles, covered table with white colour table-cloth, added on a red table-runner, everything was extra-ordinarily gorgeous. That meal both the guests and hosts were very delighted, not only the dishes were delicious in all aspects colour, smell and taste, I this wife and host also had make-up neatly, was even wearing long dress.

After the meal, Jose’s boss and wife when leaving for home, still especially said to me: “If in the future our Public Affairs Department has vacancy, hope that you can come to work with us, be a part of our company.” My eyes were lighted. This all thanks to the “Bamboo shoots slices stirred with mushroom”.

　Sending off the boss, it was already late at night, I quickly changed from long dress to jeans, hair tied up with rubber band, did the dish-washing, back to my Cinderella nature. Jose was very happy, asked me from behind, “Hey, this bamboo shoots slices stirred with mushroom was really delicious, where did you find bamboo shoots?”

　 I did not stop washing dishes, asked him: “Which bamboo shoots?”

“The bamboo shoots we had this evening!”

I burst into laughter: “Oh, you are saying that cucumber stirred with mushroom?”

　“What, you, you, you fool me that's fine, even dare to fool my boss?”

　“I did not fool him, this was his whole life the best one time eating delicate bamboo shoots slices stirred with mushroom, this remark was he himself made.”

　　Jose held me in his arms, dish washing soap and water all shed on his beard, he said: “Long live, long live, you are that smart monkey, that monkey king who has 72 magical tricks, called… called… what is his name then…”

I patted on his head, “called Monkey King The Great, Sun Wu Kong (*translator's note: Monkey King Sun Wu Kong is a protagonist in Chinese classic novel Journey To The West authored by Wu Cheng'en, is by legend a very smart monkey transformed from a special stone after thousands of years, who has learnt to marvel 72 magical tricks, entitled Monkey King then later on named as Sun Wu Kong who then helped to escort Táng dynasty Táng Xuan Zhuang master monk overcoming numerous challenges on a long journey from China to the west, successfully obtained Buhdism valuable books from Buhdism cradle India transferred to China, then popularised Buhdism religion in China.) This time you could not again forget then.”

[ End of story ]

Images below: Chinese dishes mentioned in Sanmao's story above. Sourced: internet various webpages.

粉丝煮鸡汤 Vermicelli with chicken soup

蚂蚁上树 Ants climbing a tree

合子饼 Chive pocket cake

猪肉干 Pork jerky (bak kwa)

笋片炒冬菇 Bamboo shoots slices stirred with mushroom

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