#I wonder what I could find to that effect in Prophecy/elsewhere

[blakistan]

...waitwait wait. So Ghosts, right. I've long thought that one of the twists we'll come across is that Ghosts are in fact made from both Darkness and Light, that they're almost similar in nature to Hive Throne Worlds. Memory and echoes and all that. And then it hit me that the quintessential Ghost, with an unmodified shell, is a black sphere surrounded by white pyramids. Light if it was Dark and Dark if it was Light.

#this isn't like. I'm not really going anywhere with this I just think this is a twist we're gonna get and this another little breadcrumb yk #I wonder what I could find to that effect in Prophecy/elsewhere #destiny theory #destiny 2

[harrynochill]

it’s my 30th birthday and, honestly, I wasn’t convinced I’d make it this far

Here’s something I wrote last month; I’m not totally sure what I wanted from it

✨bonus moment of vulnerability✨

Today is the 9 year anniversary of when my mom died. If you’ve spent time with me in the last 8 years, you probably already know my feelings about her.

My mom was dealt an exceptionally difficult hand. She talked about how heavy the pressure of being a preacher’s daughter was on her. She was told she was never going to have children, which devastated her. She went through some traumatic events; some of which I heard about in jokes, some in stories, and, I’m sure, some not at all.

She did eventually have kids, obviously, and I think I should be grateful for that. It’s complicated.

She was suddenly left to raise 3 kids, who she was told she wasn’t supposed to have in the first place, by herself. She had a lot of insecurities, a lot of fears, and a lot of anger. With my dad buried, she didn’t know where to direct those feelings anymore.

I don’t say she tried her best - I think she tried to find happiness and love elsewhere, but she didn’t realize we would give it to her freely if she let us. Instead, she got mean. She thought everyone, family included, was against her, and she would make them regret it.

She got cancer, which felt like a mean joke. I spoke at her funeral, and I think I embarrassed her dad. I felt worse about that than her dying, which was very telling at the time. I wanted, so badly, to have a mom I loved. I still do.

I could talk about how I’d laugh when she did my makeup as a child or about how much I loved and prayed for curly hair just like hers. I could also talk about the times she told me I wasn’t truly a part of her family or the times she tried convincing my brothers why their sister is worthless.

She was a person, and like all people, she deserved to find love and happiness. In her frantic search for those things, she didn’t realize she left her children as collateral damage. She hampered my own chance at those things by withholding them; I’ve found ways to cope instead.

Sometimes I think my relationship with my mom is messy and complicated. Most days it feels black and white. I feel guilty for loving my dad as much as I do and not feeling the same about my mom. I feel guilty for understanding exactly why she acted the way she did but expecting something better. I feel emotionally stunted by her, and embarrassed that I can’t shake it off.

I’m sorry that my mom had such a strong internal struggle with herself. I’m sorry that I didn’t have someone I knew I could trust with my heart.

————-—————————————————/

I also like this, which I honestly don’t remember writing but found in my notes

I’m still just a little girl

I’m destined to be at least a little sad all the time

I’m so lonely, and I’m learning that loneliness has a physical effect on the brain

I wonder how misshapen mine is

I wonder if it can be repaired

Is it smooth, a part of me so underdeveloped that it never even had to pretend to strain?

Maybe it’s wrinkled as a raisin, so dehydrated and forgotten that it’s collapsed in on itself.

I felt so good, just in time to remember what I’m supposed to feel.

If I hate everyone, I’m supposed to eat. If I think everyone hates me, I should sleep.

What do I do when there’s no hate - just a complete and firm understanding that I’ll never not be alone? When I ache for the loneliness I had at 16; the one that I was sure would be temporary, should I drink something? Do I smoke until I forget what I was so sad about?

How the fuck does anyone get a good nights sleep?

Sometimes (a lot of the time) I feel like a ghost, but I don’t have anyone to haunt. I hover over myself, the self fulfilling prophecy of my own black cloud, and remind myself of what isn’t. I haunt myself with the ghosts of things that never happened, that never could happen, and that might have happened if I wasn’t such a chicken shit.

[iamtheprotagoneil]

it's late, and i'm on my phone so most of this probably won't make sense but i'm thinking about how neil could have been a rogue agent, before he was recruited into tenet.

thinking about what an insubordinate little shit he could be, how it drove his superiors insane, with all the wild ideas he thought of to get through a mission. despite that, they still allowed him more leniency than they cared to admit, because as erratic as he was, he still fucking delivered some pretty darn good results.

thinking about how neil always had this certain flair to him, an affinity for the dramatics (despite what he'd said in the film). he'd always try to cause a scene (as diversion, of course), make it loud and banging so no one would look where he was. it was effective, sure, but the clean up would always give his superiors a headache.

thinking about, at some point, push would come to shove, and neil's agency decided that they just couldn't accept his antics anymore. "enough is enough," as they'd exclaim in their secret meeting or whatever, before sending an in-house assassin to neil's flat. they only realized what mistake they'd made, when news came next morning, stating that the body they recovered was not of neil's own.

thinking about how neil got smart after that, learning to contain himself as he went underground. he didn't hold a grudge; there was no point, really. it hurt, sure, to know that the organization he'd poured his heart and soul into serving had abandoned him so coldly, but he understood why they did it. so as they'd turned their back on him, he did the same, going in search for excitement elsewhere. because you better believe that as much as he wanted to do good, the adrenaline rush from it all was what *truly* kept him going.

thinking about how he stumbled onto tenet by sheer coincidence, having been in the right place at the right time when the chatter occered. his intention was set. he couldn't let it go, couldn't get this super secret agency that seemingly operated out of the usual time-space continuum out of his mind, because there was just so many questions, so many things left unanswered, and neil just simply couldn't sit idly on an unsolved mystery.

thinking about how neil's obsession ultimately lead nowhere, how he got so frustrated over the trails that kept getting colder and colder, loose ends getting tied up quicker than neil could ever reach or catch tails of. but despite that, neil just wouldn't give in.

thinking about how his determination paid off, or perhaps the universe just ran its course to ensure the plot it'd written out would progress. neil, once again, found himself in the right place, at the right time, and tenet was just right in sight. literally.

thinking about how neil broke in to learn more about them. he got through the front gate, through the back door into the building with a stolen badge. he managed to catch sight of very strange occurrences, for example, a gun being lift up from the ground by, seemingly, magic. but well, neil didn't believe in magic, quite the opposite, in fact. he was enthralled by it, head swirling with theories and explanations on how this could have worked. he was so focused that he didn't hear or see the person stepping up to him, not until that person spoke up from right besides him.

thinking about how neil startled out of his science-induced daze, turning to face the stranger, getting himself in a fight stance, hand ready on the gun strapped to his hip. but well, the stranger didn't look like he was going to do anything to neil. in fact, he was only looking back, an inexplicable glint in his eyes as he gazed up at neil, too meaningful yet neil could catch none of it. he could only stare back at the stranger, gauging his reaction, his expression, his everything but coming up entirely empty. it gave him a sense of deja vu, of how he'd felt about tenet during the months searching for answers.

thinking about how the protagonist (if you haven't guessed already) smiling in consolation, assuring neil that he meant the other no harm. in fact, he only wanted to talk. neil complied, but keeping his guard up still.

thinking about how the protagonist started talking about tenet and all that came with it. this was ass-backward to the policy of tenet, of course. they didn't talk about what tenet was before they recruited the agent, it was vice versa. but well, neil was already recruited wasn't he? neil didn't know it yet, but he was, and not right when he thought.

thinking about how neil took a look at this stranger, who'd definitely read up on neil before this conversation, and saw not judgement, not one bit of malicious intentiond, but only understanding. neil liked to think that he was a good judge of character so he interrupted the stranger's explanation about inversion with an emphatic, "yes."

thinking about: "yes... what?" / "yes, i'd work for you." / "i don't remember asking." / "no, but you wanted to. 'else you wouldn't have told me so much about this- all of this."

thinking about how the protagonist wouldn't be able - didn't bother to - hide an impressed grin from his face. he was just so enticed by how intelligent neil was, how excited neil was acting over all of this. he couldn't help but compare this neil to the one he kept in his memories. the similarities were all there, but at the same time, still so different. it was hard for the protagonist not to wonder about how, or when, this neil would grow into the one the protagonist would meet later in the past. another version of himself, that is.

thinking about how eventually, the protagonist pushed all of his own excitement - about working with neil, about fullfilling the prophercy neil'd given him about their friendship, about the things they would get up to - down. neil still needed to pass the test, first, despite the protagonist already knowing the result. he still couldn't have people looking at neil and called favoritism (there would be none; they were both too good of agents for that). besides he didn't think any other agents would be able to trust neil if he didn't have to go through the same torture they did.

thinking about how the protagonist only hummed thoughtfully at neil's answer, before saying, "okay." they got neil settled, although keeping him at arm length from all the missions he wanted to go on. at one point, neil snapped, couldn't stand the monotomy of lessons about physics (which he already knew about) and theories rather practicing such things for himself.

thinking about how he confronted the protagonist about it, stopping the man on his way to the mess hall and demanded to be put on active duty. he explained about the field experience he's already got as an ex-mi6, all the expertise he possessed, things he was certain the protagonist must have already known from reading neil's file.

thinking about: “is it because i went rogue? because it wasn’t my fault, you know? they decided that i was too *difficult* and apparently not worth the effort of containing so, well...”

thinking about neil ending his words dejectedly, eyes shifting to the ground as memories of being pushed out by his agency came back to haunt him. the protagonist saw it on his face, expression shifting from bemusement to something akin to worry, as a fire burned bright in his chest, urging him to find the people who’d brought this look to neil’s face and made them *pay*.

thinking about how the protagonist snapped neil out of it with a gentle hand on neil’s shoulder, how the protagonist sighed and gave in to it, deciding that it was time he stopped delaying the inevitable. he didn’t comment on neil’s rant, bypassing it as there was no point to talk about the past. he knew who neil was, what he would become, so what he had been to another agency did not at all matter.

thinking about how the protagonist assigned neil to a mission that was sure to end in disaster. the lives sacrificed in it were as necessary as it was tragic. they were doing it for the better good, years from now on, then years into the past. they didn't know it though, thinking of it as nothing more than a usual infiltrate and retrieve mission.

thinking about how went things turned bad, it went *real* bad. all team members were caught an tortured although none talked, not even neil. we already knew how this part would go so there was no need to be lengthy about it. neil 'killed' himself with a pill provided to all agents for moments just like this. what he didn't know that his own pill was swapped right before the mission started, when the protagonist came down personally to wish them good luck. as if he didn't know already that it wasn't what they needed, that only a few of them would get out of there alive with the help of an extract team after the fact.

thinking about how neil would wake up from his drug-induced coma, and met with a blurry image of the protagonist, welcoming him to the afterlife.

thinkin about: "why didn't you talk? you barely knew us. why even bothered protecting us instead of saving yourself?" / "you've read my files already, boss, so you should know that that's just not the kind of person i am."

thinking about how the protagonist would feel so utterly speechless at that - not at neil's words specifically, but at the way he said it. he decided right then that neil had been right all along, that his prophecy would definitely come through. in the protagonist's mind's eyes, he could already see the fun they would have together, the journey they would take together, and the friendship that would so easily form between them.

#protagoneil #tenet #thinking about the contempt neil must have held for the protagonist #when he found out that the protagonist knew all along how that mission would go down #he'd be so mad; confronting the protagonist about it; and the protagonist would let him #he was used to it after all; this wasn't the first time an agent came to him with this exact issue #thinking about how neil would come to understanding later #thinking about neil realizing how hard this was on the protagonist #having to carry carry the weight of the entire world on his shoulders and not complaining one bit #it was hard for him not to say anything about this mission; about any other mission; about the last one neil would be assigned to #because what's happened happened and they simply could not afford any deviation from it #anyways ramblings aside; who's gonna write it? 🙂 #(yes i turned on my laptop just to put this under a read more) #(no one needs to scroll through this giant ass ramblings forcefully lmao) #*my ramblings #idk wtf this is only i just have Thoughts and here they are

[wr1t3-my-wr0ngs]

Remembering Yesterday's Tomorrow (In the Here and Now) - Part 5

-------------

The darkness stretches infinitely. Ahead of her, the only thing Ahsoka can see is the bright shape of Morai, the convor unfailingly flying forward, and the ever-constant blackness that presses in from all directions. And it does press like a physical weight —she can feel it on her skin, a cross between the atmosphere of a planet that has a different gravity, and being submitted in water.

She is viscerally reminded of her time spent in the World Between Worlds, where the rules of conventional gravity and time did not apply. But in comparison, this place feels wild, untouched. No paths of light or dancing stars or infinite doors mark the landscape. It hadn't occurred to her before now that the World Between that she had experienced with Ezra had been artificial, constructed by someone or some group to be just as much a part of the temple on Lothal as any other room or mural.

Walking through the endless void, it seems a little obvious in retrospect.

It's unclear how long she has been following her avian companion, concepts such as hours, minutes and seconds, have no use in this place. There is the sense that she has been walking for a while, but even that is only a vague notion that sits in the back of her mind like the dawning of an idea before it has coalesced. She only knows that she is not where she was when she set out, Rex's grave having disappeared from view almost as soon as she had decided to follow Morai.

Rex.

Her heart twists at the thought of him; the aching loss still too fresh to be touched without dredging up the pain. She touches it anyway; lets herself grieve without shame or obligation, remembering the joy along with the sorrow. His smile, hidden behind his beard, a little crooked and always so genuine; the sound of his voice as he sang in the shower, the embarrassed flush on his face when caught in the act, but willing to oblige with a song when asked; the way he never looked at her with resentment when she had to go and the overwhelming, pulsing, warm joy he broadcasted every time she returned, no matter how long she was away.

Deep inside, she wishes they had more time together, wishes that it hadn't taken so long for her to recognize that her feelings for the clone ran deeper than just friendship. Not the sweeping romantic feelings her old master harbored for his wife, or even the quiet longing between Obi-wan and Santine. It had taken her years to realize that she didn't have those sorts of inclinations and even longer to reconcile it with her ability and capacity to love. She's still not entirely sure she understands it herself but is forever grateful for Rex, who took the time to try and understand and learn, put in his share of effort to make things work between them.

A chirp from Morai brings her back to her surroundings, a little surprised to find that she had stopped walking at some point, her cheeks damp with tears. The bird hovers before her, head tilted with concern, and settles on Ahsoka's shoulder, nuzzling her beak against the Togrutas montral.

Despite herself, Ahsoka smiles and gently strokes the soft feathers before drying her eyes. Morai hoots once before taking off back into the dark, and Ahsoka, heart still full, follows.

---

To say that Anakin Skywalker is frustrated would be the understatement of the galaxy. It's been almost two weeks since Umbara, two weeks since he left his men in the hands of Krell, two weeks of his Captain being locked away for doing something Anakin does not, cannot fault him for. Just thinking about Krell brings a snarl to his face.

Good riddance, he thinks as he works on writing up his latest report, jamming the stylus too hard against the datapad screen. Not even the sun, shining brightly through the window by his desk, or the feeling of thousands of lifeforms in the force bustling around Coruscant, can lighten his mood.

Yes, Anakin Skywalker is frustrated and angry. Frustrated because Rex doesn't deserve to be kept as a prisoner, mad because he should have known. What good is being the kriffing chosen one if he can't spot a karking Sith Sympathiser when they are standing right in front of him?

All at once, the anger leaves him and is replaced, as it has been off and on since he got the news of Umbara, by the underlying guilt and shame. He should have been there, not flying back to Coruscant to take care of some whim of the Supreme Chancellors. 

For the first time in a long time, he resents his old friend. Rationally, he knows Palpatine must have thought he had a good reason, and that perhaps if it were anyone but Rex on the line, he would be able to forgive the older man after a few days. He knows he'll forgive his friend eventually; after all, it was an accident. It's not as if the old senator could have known Krell's true agenda.

But for now, Anakin is still mad. Because it's Rex, his second in command, one of the best damn soldiers he has ever known, and the missions haven't been the same without him, have practically ground to a halt in his absence. More than that, the Captain is one of the few people the Jedi truly considers as a friend.  Someone who doesn't give two shits about the so-called prophecy or his relationship to it, who has seen him at his most ridiculous and still respects him. Is one of the two people -not counting Padmé herself- that knows about his relationship with his wife.

And friends don't just let friends sit in a cell, waiting on either freedom or a death sentence.

A knock on the door pulls him from his reverie.

"Enter."

The door opens with a swish, revealing, to his surprise, Obi-Wan, dressed only in robes for a change, his chest plate and vambrace elsewhere for the time being, looking haggard.

Amusement briefly flickers across the old bond from his Master, before Obi-Wan slumps into the only other chair in the room.

Glad for the excuse to set aside his report, Anakin turns to face the bearded man.

"I didn't expect to see you planetside."

"I'm only here for your Captains Court Marshal. I thought it best if I gave my testimony in person rather then via holo-call. I ship back out to the front lines tomorrow."

Anakin scowls at the mention of the trial but quickly drops it with a sigh.

"Thank you."

Obi-Wan nods.

"He's a good man and doesn't deserve to be punished for his actions on Umbara."

The bearded Jedi pauses in the way that Anakin has come to know means that his former Master wants to say something, but isn't sure how to approach the topic.

"Have you spoken to him yet?"

Inwardly, Anakin curses himself. He thought he had control over his tumultuous emotions, tight enough that they wouldn't spill into the bond with his master and let Obi-Wan glimpse his rolling guilt and anger. Apparently, his control wasn't as good as he had thought.

"Not yet, " he responds truthfully, picking back up the half-finished report and feigning interest, hoping that the appearance of having work to do will discourage Obi-Wan from his line of questioning.

It seems to work, as his former Master goes silent for a few moments. Just when he thinks that Obi-Wan has dropped the topic and that it's safe to put down the report, the older Jedi speaks.

"I think you should visit him. I imagine that it's starting to get a little lonely and that a supportive face might do Rex some good."

To anyone who hadn't grown up under the tutelage of Obi-Wan Kenobi, the double meaning would be subtle, sounding like nothing more than concern for the Clone Captains well being. Anakin does not have that disadvantage, and catches what his Master isn't saying. How visiting Rex might do him some good too.

Anakin takes a moment to breathe deeply before looking at his Master, a sharp reply on the tip of his tongue about being coddled this late in his life, only to cut himself off. Obi-Wan looks tired. Shoulders slumped forward, and the young Jedi briefly wonders how much of his Master's posture in the battlefield is due to the confines of his chest plate and pauldrons enforcing the rigid set to his shoulders.

Gently he reaches out through their shared bond, taking the measure of the bearded man's intentions. He finds nothing malicious, only love and concern, and it feels to his mind, forever the product of a hot and sandy planet, like a cool blanket being draped around his shoulders after a day working in the suns.

"I'll visit him tomorrow."

Obi-Wan smiles, and Anakin finds himself smiling back. With that, the conversation drops into a lull, the two men chatting aimlessly about one thing and another, before eventually checking back around to Obi-Wans up coming mission.

"Where is the Council sending you off to this time?"

"Kiros. It seems the colony there is feeling mounting pressure from the war and has requested aid."

Recognition sparks in the back of Anakin's mind. He was supposed to be joining that mission, but with the trial proceedings running longer than expected, the order had opted not to assign the Knight. Anakin understands the thinking, that doesn't mean he has to like it, but at the same time, he's grateful that he won't be abandoning Rex to his fate alone.

"They found someone to accompany you after all?"

Obi-Wan hums.

"Indeed. Master Ti found herself available, and we are hoping that her presence as a fellow Togruta will help things go over more smoothly."

Anakin huffs in amusement.

"They're an artisans colony, shouldn't be too hard."

The Jedi Master tilts his head in concession and smiles, relaxing back into the chair.

"It will be nice to have a relatively easy mission for a change."

---

Rex is starting to go a little stir crazy. A side effect he had not considered when he had decided to take responsibility for Krell's death. His immediate thoughts had been to keep his men out of harm's way, fix one last piece of the mess that was Umbara.

In hindsight, his plan was a bit shortsighted, but he honestly didn't know what to expect after - if he would still be around or if the galaxy had finished toying with him and would let him march ahead and rest with his brothers.

Two weeks of waking up in a cell, at first on Umbara, later on, a star destroyer, and finally on Coruscant, had cemented the notion that the Captain was in this whatever this is for the long haul. It had also lost its novelty rather quickly. Despite the growing restlessness, only alleviated by the occasional walk to and from the senate building to give testimony, it has given him time to think. Even so, he hasn't come to a decision and so he runs through his options one more time.

He knows Palpatine is corrupt, is the shadow figurehead wielding two separate armies for control of the galaxy, is responsible for the death and misery of millions.

It would be easy to do nothing. To let the war and rebellion play out as they did. He knows that Palatine will get what's coming to him in due time.

Rex buries his face in his hands and feels like a coward for even considering the idea. But the alternative is daunting: Stop the Empire before it can even exist, more so then it already does (it's sickening to see how much is already in place, to realize that between the Separatists and the Republic, the Empire already stretches across the Galaxy, is in every home and hyperspace lane. Seeds of a dark and totalitarian regime just waiting to sprout). He doesn't even know how he would start or if it's even possible to change things on such a large scale.

But things are already different. In small ways, yes, but still distinct from what they were.

Dogma, Hardcase, and a handful of other troopers that would have died (did die once) because of Krell's orders, alive and ready for a fight.

Burgeoning hope roots itself under his ribs, a fragile thing that Rex is afraid to cling too tightly to and accidentally kill, so he lets it sit near his heart, next to his joy and sorrow, and contemplates what it would take to change the fate of the galaxy.

Help, his mind supplies, I need help.

He can't do this alone. It's a risk involving others- letting anyone in on the knowledge he has, or even his suspicions, will raise questions, some that he won't be able to answer truthfully. Even in the privacy of his own mind having experienced it for himself, time travels as an explanation sounds ridiculous, and not everyone will be as willing to believe him as Fives.

And although Rex trusts his brother and knows that Fives will have his back in this, two soldiers do not a rebellion make. But it is a start.

More than people, Rex needs information, connections that can help him prove the Chancellor's corruption. His own set of skills in information gathering is, admittedly, limited, although more comprehensive than it was before he had lived through the Empire. But success hinges on convincing people to join him, and for that, he needs proof.

A face comes to mind, unbidden, and it gives the Captain pause. His first instinct is to bury the idea as deep as he can. Senator Amidala is, by all counts, not someone Rex wants to risk in this endeavor. But he can't deny that she would be nearly perfect for the task, is reasonably sure that she already has a list of the Chancellors more questionable decisions and policies.

The longer he thinks about it, the better he likes the idea. She's an intelligent woman, who Rex knows (if he can recruit her) will understand the risks and the stakes, knows she already has connections of her own, and isn't afraid to get her hands dirty.

One thing is for certain, should he find out, General Skywalker will kill him.

#captain rex #ct 7567 #star wars #ahsoka tano #star wars: the clone wars #rexsoka #star wars fanfiction #rex x ahsoka #time travel #time travel au #my ao3 #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin x padme #Remembering Yesterday's Tomorrow (In the Here and Now) #part 5

[charmingpplincardigans]

An angel and a demon share a drink on an anniversary, 34 AD.

I’m writing an Aziraphale POV follow up to What’s Done In the Dark, and while I like this scene, I don’t think it belongs in it, so here *dusts off scene and gives it a spit shine* please take this slice of pure celestial emotion as it is. I’ll have to write several of these feelings back into the fic in a different way, but enough of it will have to change due to setting change that it felt a shame to just trash the like five really good lines in it. I hope someone else finds them as lovely as I do. ❤❤ 

Aziraphale felt the love the minute it took shape. 

He and Crowley were together again at the foot of a hill under the stars. It was the least amount of time they had ever gone between meetings. They hadn’t planned it, they had both just come to investigate the same open wound in the fabric of the universe on the same night, the anniversary of the death of a carpenter. Crowley had already been there when Aziraphale showed up--sitting with his legs crossed, feet and ends of his robes buried in the sand as if he had been there for days and it was starting to cover him over as the landscape naturally shifted, face tilted to the sky. 

Crowley always had his face tilted to the sky. Aziraphale wanted to know if he was searching for something or simply waiting. He didn’t think he was allowed to ask. 

There were two jugs of what was probably some kind of ferment half buried in the sand next to Crowley. 

“Do you mind?” Aziraphale asked. “Or should I go elsewhere?” 

Crowley turned his head to look into Aziraphale’s face. He was still looking up, but had had to lower his gaze from the stars to the earth to get there all the same and it made Aziraphale feel condescended to. Crowley’s thin lips were pulled into a straight line. One eyebrow arched in a half-formed question. He didn’t ask it. Instead he turned back to his stargazing. 

“I don’t own the place,” he said after a beat.

Aziraphale decided to interpret that as an obtuse acceptance rather than a denial. He sat on the other side of the jugs and faced the opposite direction as Crowley so that when they both looked up the space between them became an empty vase made of night. 

"It's where they bring the corrupt and the wicked," Aziraphale said as he tucked his robes around his legs. "Your side might as well lay claim." 

The look Crowley answered that bit of small talk with could have lit a fire over the whole spill of the Dead Sea. Now that Aziraphale was closer he could see the demon's golden eyes were rimmed with red. He debated whether he should ask what was wrong, but decided that he'd done enough damage already.

Crowley took up one of the jugs and took a long pull from it. Then he held it out to Aziraphale, who accepted. It was a sort of ale apparently. Not Aziraphale's favorite, but not half terrible, all things considered. 

"You can feel it, can't you? The emptiness? I assume that's why you're here. I'm surprised there aren't more of you here to investigate."

Aziraphale could feel it, but he hadn’t been drawn by it. On the contrary, he’d been repulsed by it, which is why he was here. He wanted to investigate what it was the universe seemingly didn’t want him to see. Probably if there were any other angels close enough to feel it they were heeding the black ebb of it as a warning, but it was his duty as an emissary to the Earth to know and understand these things, so here he was. 

The desert chill was starting to seep over him. At least, he hoped it was from the desert and not anything more malevolent. 

"Makes it an odd place for you to be then,” he said. “Someplace where you expect there to be many angels. Considering how you told me they usually react to your presence."

"We," Crowley said. 

"I'm sorry?" Aziraphale asked, confused. He took another drink from the jug. Judging by the state of Crowley's mood, he had some catching up to do.

"We for you and being here, not they. Since you're one of them. The whole heavenly host are a package deal, yes? Same actions, same intentions, same holy decree to follow." 

"We are all hands of the same body," Aziraphale said. "But we do not all have the same orders."

"S'a lotta hands," Crowley said. "Sounds grotesque when you say it like that."

"Well, it can be, quite." Aziraphale set the jug back between them. "But I think we're both used to that by now."

Crowley nodded and took up the other jug, which he cradled in his lap. "Four thousand years and every time I think I've seen everything they're capable of, they manage to surprise me." 

"The humans you mean? They are many more hands than either of us can lay claim to. Many more heads."

"Many more hearts," Crowley agreed. He took another long pull and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. 

Aziraphale hummed in response. "What does it feel like to you?"

"Sorrow," Crowley said. "It feels like a sorrow so deep it's ripped a hole into all the layers of existence. Down to the light in the stars."

"Hm. It feels like love to me. Bleeding and darkly grieving, but love nonetheless." 

"Two halves then. I wonder who they belong to."

"Maybe they belong to God. She was his heavenly father after all."

A haunted look of grief crumpled Crowley's face for half a moment and he dipped his head so that his long, curling hair could hang around him like a curtain. He was silent, except for one shaky inhale, and then he seemed to push it away. If Aziraphale hadn't been looking at him, had instead been looking at the stars, he would have missed it completely. He wondered what other secrets he had missed by taking his eyes from the demon.

Crowley shook his head, short and quick, as if to rid himself of the emotion, and lifted his face to the night. He flipped his hair back behind his shoulder with his hand and left his fingers tangled in it at the side of his neck, as if he’d been distracted mid-motion by a movement off in the distance. Aziraphale found himself wanting to know if it was soft, or if it was heavy, or if it was warm. He looked down at his own hands.

"When would God have learned to care about those who fulfilled Their prophecy?” Crowley asked. “Haven't They been too busy punishing people for simply living up to the flaws in Their design?" 

Aziraphale thought about this for a moment. Not because he needed to wonder at God's feelings on the matter, but because he'd never considered Crowley's. The demon was made entirely of questions. He and Aziraphale had rarely met throughout the whole history of time when Crowley was not working out some holy injustice or infernal puzzle with is mind. His whole being felt like want. What he wanted Aziraphale didn't know, but he had never supposed it mattered much if he ever found out. Crowley was a being of just as much power as him, surely if there were things he wanted he could manifest the getting of them. Except, perhaps, things that were out of his reach. The stars did feel so far away when one's feet were on the ground.

"Maybe they're his?" Aziraphale ventured, meaning Jesus. "Maybe he left them behind, felt them so deeply in this place they became real." That really had been a bad deal, but above his pay grade.

"Tangible," Crowley said. 

"Yes, you're right. Real isn't a meaningful measure. Tangible."

Crowley sat silently for the better part of an hour and Aziraphale sat with him. Crowley looked at his hands. He looked at the sky. He looked at the jugs between them. He looked at the sky. He looked at Aziraphale's hands where they rested, folded neatly in his lap. He looked at the sky. He looked at the sky. He looked at the sky. His eyes were so bright they might be mistaken for stars themselves. Aziraphale didn't know if that was meant to be a kindness, or a justice rendered in the light of his ruined existence, that kept him as a shard so far away from all of his coveted starlight. 

"Why do you never try to smite me?" he asked, eyes still tilted up. 

"Why would I?" Aziraphale asked.

"Because the others do. Because we're different. Didn't you get the memo? We're at odds." 

"Oh, I'd much rather keep it even if it's all the same to you," Aziraphale said. "Dreadful work, smiting. Makes such a mess." 

And you're so beautiful, he thought. It would be a shame to keep that from the world.

As thoughts went he knew that one was objectively disgraceful in the true meaning of the word. There was no reason for him to keep running into this enemy agent, to let him continue his work, except that it made Aziraphale's own work more interesting. And, when they ran across each other, his personal hours as well. Crowley was a bit wicked, but Aziraphale hadn't sensed anything about him that took pleasure in the truly evil. Mostly he took pleasure in changing fashions and new things people did with grapes and the night sky. All of those things, in Aziraphale's book, were good. Or if not good, worldly, common for their lack of grace and therefore not worthy of condemnation. So, it followed to reason, neither was Crowley. 

The smile that split across Crowley's face was the exact opposite of the grief from an hour before. A sense of relief flooded the area around them, Crowley letting go of this fear he had apparently been holding that Aziraphale might decide to do him in after all. He'd had that fear, but he hadn't let it guide him over his curiosity. Aziraphale was so intensely fascinated by that juxtaposition of feeling that he was about to cross over the border of the emotion and into smitten. What did any of that mean? What bravery was at work in this demon and why hadn’t God seen fit to keep him? 

That was when the love hit him. The wave of it overwhelmed him, but it didn't seem to have a direct source the way much of the love he felt did. Perhaps it was a side effect of the ghostly echo of the murdered son. Or perhaps it was his own and it was merely being bounced back at him like a refraction, like lamplight over water. Either way, the vase between them filled.

The lines of Crowley's body had relaxed entirely. He looked so loose Aziraphale thought he might slip back into snake form any minute and just curl up there in the sand. He did nothing to indicate that he had felt the change in emotional temperature, so Aziraphale did not ask him about it. 

Aziraphale did metaphorically hold his hand in it for as long as he could, until it got too hot to keep touching it. It was love, but like the tear it felt like it had been mixed with something dark and roiling. There was a different kind of aura around it, an aura of desire, which meant that it couldn’t be coming from Aziraphale. Or at least, he didn’t think it could. He thought about what he knew of desire, both human and angelic. He thought of two lovers from before the world they were sitting on had a name, one murdered and one destroyed. He thought about how, for angels certainly, desire’s end was death, and then he let his fear overtake him. 

He pulled away from the feeling of it, even though it pulled back at him instead of pushed him away. He felt the stretch of his aloofness tear like a muscle as he went and he gasped with the pain of it. 

Crowley looked at him, sharp and quick. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Aziraphale said. He took up his jug again. 

Crowley nodded, accepting the lie, and tilted his face back to the sky.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #in which crowley has more emotions in the span of an hour #than aziraphale knew it was possible to have #look #he's a being of love #not a being of extreme emotional intelligence

[delta-the-mando]

My GCBC headcanons/theories

After seeing and reading so many different theories and headcanons about Good Cop Bad Cop (like how they switch if they were actually human rather than Legos, or abuse under Business), I decided to combine some good ones (so some of these may sound familiar) and write down my own to share!

Warning: This is VERY long

- Good Cop is the “true” cop -

I’ve seen a theory or two that Ma and Pa Cop aren’t GCBC’s real parents, but rather his adoptive ones as his real parents couldn’t handle his two personalities. But what if he wasn’t always that way? I headcanon Ma and Pa Cop are indeed his real parents, and only Good Cop was “present” at first. Let me explain.

I mean, Ma and Pa are so sweet and caring and they love their son so much, so it only makes sense that their son would pick up the sweet behavior, right? And since they’re both cops, perhaps their son wanted to follow in their footsteps and be a cop too (or they greatly encouraged him to be) to help people and keep the peace - and since he wanted to be nice and friendly too, when he finally signs up and becomes a cop, we can officially call him Good Cop as that’s what he wanted to be.

Soooo where does Bad Cop come in?

- Good Cop has DID -

Bad Cop is a tougher side Good Cop develops while a part of the police force. With “President” Business in charge of Bricksburg, Good Cop would naturally have to obey his orders, no?

Anyway, we all know that Business is very strict and failure to obey him results in punishment, and we (should probably) know that DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) may likely come about from some form of traumatic experience. Perhaps this is how Bad Cop developed - GC probably saw the faults and negative impacts of Business’ orders, and was punished for his disobedience, as well as punishment for “being too soft”, if you get what I’m saying. Thus he developed a tougher, fiercer, grittier side to handle the harder work and prove himself to be effective and efficient to avoid any more such abusive punishments. But of course, mistakes happen.. and as we’ve seen when he kept losing the Special and didn’t retrieve the Piece of Resistance from the ocean, Business gets pretty mad. With each mistake and resulting punishments, his bad side grows stronger and switching between the two becomes so fluid that at times he needs to force himself not to switch. This leads to more problems for him.

- He was turned against himself -

Business uses this knowledge of the cop’s DID against him to turn him into the perfect tough-guy right-hand man. A very good example of this conversion attempt would be when GCBC was faced with the task of using the Kragle on his parents, where he was basically turned against himself. BC was primarily in control at the time, and even though he was faced with a difficult decision he was about to follow Business’ order. GC, however, was strongly against it and the two sides argued until he finally took control and spoke his mind that they’re innocent and he can’t do it. This was the last straw to Business, and resulted in Good Cop being “erased” and Bad Cop left with no choice but to obey him.

Two different scenarios could come from this:

1. Good Cop was still there, but knew it was too risky to do anything then so he stayed hidden and let his bad side take control until the time was right to do something.

2. Bad Cop completely took over and hated his good side for getting in the way, only to regret it later when Business left him for dead, hoping he still had a good side in him after what happened and decided to help the Master Builders.

- How they switch -

Many people have different headcanons/theories on how GCBC switches personalities as a non-Lego, be it switching their glasses or simply flip-up shades. I would personally say different glasses. This could lead to a symbolic moment for the two scenarios above. When Good Cop gets erased, perhaps his glasses break (whether they fell to the ground or someone threw them down). In the first scenario, after he Kragles his parents, as BC walks away maybe he picks up the broken glasses and puts them in his pocket, hoping his good side really isn’t gone for good - In the second scenario, however, when he notices the glasses he decides against picking them up, calling his good side soft or weak, and leaves them there. Duty comes first.

An optional scenario would be he steps on the glasses while he’s walking (as a fairly popular headcanon is that he can’t see well), and then takes notice of them.

- Acid burns -

Ever had your face burnt with acid? Hope not. That’s basically what nail polish remover is, especially to a Lego. When Business used a strong acidic substance on Good Cop, I imagine it was extremely painful, maybe even permanently scarring him for life. GC took it like a trooper, though, and didn’t want to give Business the satisfaction of knowing how badly it hurt him. As others have noted, not a peep, not a scream, not a whimper was heard..

- He’s a Master Builder -

Popular theory says GCBC is a Master Builder. I agree.

Maybe he was always talented with building things as a kid at home, and though his parents were amazed and proud of him, they knew the dangers of anyone finding out about it at the time, so they taught him to embrace his wonderful ability but to never let anyone catch him in the act. He listened and obeyed them well, but he couldn’t help but modify his police car.

Even after all this time, he still obeyed his parents. And why not? Business has him hunting down Master Builders! He realized he had their remarkable ability, but he didn’t want to be caught too. In the Wild West part of TLM when BC and the robots are chasing down Emmet, Wyldstyle, and Vitruvius, he demonstrates how helpful his car’s modification is - switching from ground vehicle to air vehicle to save himself and continue the chase. Note this is after the robots have all fallen into the canyon, so really the only witnesses were the Master Builders (and Emmet). I’m amazed they haven’t paid more attention. 

Perhaps this is also why there is no mention of him being a Master Builder - because no one even knew in the first place.

...Or did they?

There’s one more theory I have that could be a real game-changer - and it’s that Business eventually found out that GCBC was a Master Builder. That’s the unspoken reason why Business left him for dead. Maybe he had found out sooner, and that’s why punishment for the poor cop was so intense. Business wanted to not-literally break him.

Nothing is certain until it’s actually confirmed, but that’s my deepest guess.

- Other random (and maybe pointless) headcanons -

— He gets headaches from switching too quickly.

— Fav food? Croissants.

— I’d say Good Cop isn’t really a morning person. He’d rather sleep in, dream peacefully, and forget about the stresses of life. After he developes his bad side, however, Bad Cop takes control in the morning to make sure he gets up and isn’t late to work. Words of wisdom: don’t try to talk to him if he didn’t have his coffee yet.

— He moved into an apartment shortly after joining the police force.

— Since his real name isn’t revealed, many people came up with some cool names for him. I pick Daniel.

— His parents probably sang “Danny Boy” to him when he was younger, and he occasionally sings it to himself when he’s feeling down.

— He has various scars on his face (maybe even elsewhere on his body) from punishments dealt to him and from simply going on dangerous missions out in the field.

— He’s self-conscious about his damaged face, so he hides it under a helmet with a face shield. To indicate different facial expressions, he draws on the face shield with washable paint/markers so he doesn’t appear intimidating when he doesn’t mean to be. Thus “Scribble” Cop. This also means he carries a handkerchief with him to wipe the paint/marker off.

— He never received proper treatment for said injuries and always either had to suck it up and deal with it or handle it himself (which he usually didn’t). But sometime after he helps the Master Builders, some of the Builders wanted to help him out too. Kind of like a big Thank You. His injuries never fully healed, though, but he figured they wouldn’t.

— He whole-heartedly believed in the Prophecy and was actually disappointed when Vitruvius revealed it was fake.

— After the events of TLM, he keeps himself away in his apartment and doesn’t go out often, which makes the people who care about him worry.

#the lego movie #lego movie #gcbc #tlm gcbc #good cop bad cop #tlm good cop #tlm bad cop #sorry this is so long #extras #tlm spoilers #headcanon #headcanons #dissociative identity disorder #split personality

[aithne]

(Illume) July 7th - July 8th, 1583: Smoke and Mirrors

7/7/1583 at sea, western coast of Hokkaido

We've set a course south, but when I asked Funitsu where we were ultimately going, his answer was just to shake his head and mutter, "We're going to be late."

The Scorpion has been acting odd, and I could almost imagine that he's in over his head with his new clan responsibilities, but until he asks for help I really can't render much aid. If I cornered him and ordered him to tell me what's troubling him, it might work or it might only make him resent me. I think I'm going to stick with subtle hints about the fact that we can't help problems we know nothing of.

I do have to admit that knowing that there are things going on that I know little of itches at my mind. I fear I may need to do something somewhat rash if that itch isn't scratched soon.

But the "we're going to be late" comment prompted me to ask, "Late for what?"

Evidently, Funitsu had been sent a package that contained a love letter written a few centuries ago by one Soshi Badayushi. At least, the rather amusing love letter was all I could read. Woven in with the letter was a prophecy, a very specific one, concerning Funitsu, that only he and the librarian could read. I wonder how closely the librarian and Funitsu are related, anyway? The librarian has never said a thing about his origins.

I'll copy the letter here, with the parts that I could not read but had Funitsu read aloud to me.

Anmari, my love

It is with a great sadness that I write to you of my impending betrothal to the Clan Crane Witch, Isada. In 1583 a new Lord Soshi will be named in a time when all of Japan is changing. Oh my love, I am so unfortunate to have a crane wife that is so ugly. Later in that year, he will be forced to abdicate the throne as his mind will be corrupted like his fathers. At least by marrying her, she will become a scorpion and be forced to wear the mask of the Scorpions and thereby forcing none to look upon the visage. The Crane will push them over the edge, only the 2nd son, whose alliance with the crane will keep him safe. I fear greatly what is underneath, that mu-mu that she wears as well. Three who work for the crane, will meet, but not the leader, in the shadow of the scorpion, the beginning of the second week of July 1583. I fear the need for opium will be strong that night, just to wash away the images that I will have to take to my grave. The crane will be wounded by the Scorpion, not enough to fall but the blood that it sheds will make the Scorpion stronger.

There is perchance a happy ending that could be accomplished by this marriage. The dragon stands in the same position but it will not know its fate until too late. It would be easy my love to rid ourselves of Isada and replace her with you. Avoid the war with the crab by calling in a friend. You would have to wear some very unflattering clothing for a time and a mask but it could be done my love. The phoenix will strike upon is rebirth, its rebirth a direction pointed to by the scorpion. Please reply to me as soon as you can, as inspiration has struck and I would love to find you on my are as Isada than Isada herself.

Sometime in the year a third Soshi will be named to Clan Scorpion.

Your loving, devoted, hopefully soon to be husband,

Soshi Badyushi

April 26th, 1206

You can imagine the hubbub that erupted after Funitsu read this letter aloud to us. The Shadow of the Scorpion, I knew could mean one of two things --a beach near the Scorpion ancestral home in Miyazaki, or a system of caves named for the odd overhand over the entrance. Funitsu coughed and gave a significant look Panda's way. "There is another possibility, Lady, but..."

Panda said, "This is one of those conversations that I probably shouldn't listen to, right? I'll be outside." She left, closing the door behind her.

Once she was gone, Funitsu said that the other possibility was that the prophecy was referring to a boat called The Shadow of the Scorpion, a ship run by the Black Hand. "But there's no telling where the ship is, and according to this prophecy, the latest that this meeting could take place is tomorrow. Miyazaki is at least ten days away. We should go there anyway--there's a lot of Crane activity in the town, and there's a schism within the Black Hand threatening--but there's no way, if it's referring to the beach, that we can be there by tomorrow."

Reiko looked up from where she was playing with a little white ball. "If it's truly prophecy, it'll happen no matter what. That's what prophecy is. Don't worry about it."

We decided, in the end, to head down the eastern coast, stopping in Aomori on the way. Just in case, you understand.

7/8 Aomori

What a thoroughly unpleasant town. It's a Unicorn-controlled town, and though I've been through several times my father never let any of us get off the ship here. Walking down the docks, I could see why. People in various states of dying and decomposition hung from poles spaced evenly along the docks and, as far as I could see, farther up into the town. We stopped someone who looked like they belonged and asked what the bodies were about. He said that anyone who acted strangely was strung up; a crude yet effective means of combating the mind control that the Crane have been so successful with elsewhere.

We noted that there were many Cranes strung up, obvious with their white hair and blue and white clothing. Our helpful informant told us that the Cranes had been caught trying to kill the leaders of the Unicorn clan, so they were being hung up on mere principle.

Panda, at this, began to look rather nervous. So did the shaman, for the matter--I saw her step closer to the gryphon. Two different and equally valid reasons for nervousness--Panda because with her hair she can be easily mistaken for a Crane, and Reiko I assume because "acting normally" is something of a strain on her acting abilities. Panda at that point said she was going back to the ship, and asked if I would come with her.

Not wanting to either cause a scene by arguing with the samurai or continue seeing the macabre corpses that swung in the breeze above our heads, I assented.

About half an hour later, the rest returned to the ship with a girl in tow. Young enough that the usual reedy Crane body still read as gawkiness rather than elegance, she was quite obviously a bit frightened. (Though, truly, I saw her throw a canny look Tadaki's way when she thought none were looking. Perhaps she was not as frightened as all that.) She said her name was Kakita Reina--her family one of the more minor in the Crane. Haku bound her securely, and while he was doing so, noted to the rest of us that she had an odd tattoo on her leg--a wakizashi, full-sized. Funitsu explained to Panda and I what had happened--evidently, the girl had run into a Unicorn mob, and our group had asked for custody of her for questioning. Because Storming Bear, the Unicorn Samurai we'd helped the other day, was there, he let us have her.

Funitsu said that the Shadow of the Scorpion was in port here; there had been a hung-up Scorpion who had said that they had been caught stealing supplies for it. This girl, likely, was the key to that meeting that the prophecy had mentioned. He showed us a mirror Bear had taken from the girl and given to him, and said, "She was guarding this with her life. And she asked us to take her with us, because she could show us where the other mirrors are. I'm not sure what the other mirrors are or even what this does, but it sounded interesting enough to at least question her."

The girl sighed, and said, "Fine. Look, you folks seem like good people--and I recognize my Lord's daughter, over there." She indicated Tomika with her chin. "This mirror leads into a pocket dimension, and inside is a mansion of sorts, with all of the creature comforts one could want. Currently, it contains several of the leaders of our clan. I was assigned to take them to a meeting, and I got caught by the Unicorns. Bad luck for me, that the Cranes are currently Clan non grata here."

"Your people are trying to take over the clans, you know."

"That's Arenro. Let's just say that the Crane is only unified out of terror of him, not because all of us agree with his goals. But people who ignore his orders tend to be used as subjects for his experiments."

Reiko as still playing with that little white ball, and at this point she wandered over and looked down at the bound Crane girl. "Who's in the mirror, anyway?"

"Lord Akazawa Tsuneyasu. And two of his attaches, both powerful within the clan of their own right."

Tomika blinked. "My father! You have my father in your mirror?"

The Crane shrugged as best she could with her elbows tied behind her back. "I was going to tell you, but you interrupted me."

"So how do we get into the mirror?"

"Just touch the surface. You'll get pulled inside. Inside, there's a mirror back out--two, actually. One of them leads into the heart of the Crane lands, the other to this mirror here. You'll probably want to avoid using the other mirror. They tend to shoot people who don't wear Crane badges on sight."

We asked her about her statement that she could find the other mirrors, and she showed us a tattoo on her chest that changed, the mirror locations seeming to change randomly. (It's a good thing she was so flat-chested, otherwise the map would have been quite distorted.) "There are mirrors for many things, it's a major Crane magic specialty. They all do different things."

Everyone except Haku and I went into the mirror. Reiko later related what went on, and I'll write down her account here.

We appeared in a palatial mansion, in a corridor with the other mirror that led to Crane territory. The place is really nice. I could have stayed there all day. We searched through the rooms and finally found Tomika's father, who was sitting in the library, reading. He looked up and said, "Who are you? What are you doing here, daughter?"

Funitsu, who was standing next to Tomika, bowed and said, "Soshi Funitsu, sir. Your son-in-law."

"Ah, I finally meet the man who's allied our Clans." He gave Funitsu a long look, up and down. I couldn't tell whether or not he approved; I think he hasn't made up his mind yet. I mean, really, your daughter sends you a message that she's marrying a member of the traditional enemy of your clan. She's obviously not marrying for love, and all you can hope is that her husband will treat her well. Well, at the very least, that he won't beat her.

Reiko. The story, without editorializing, if you please?

Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes, Tomika's father. He said, "My daughter looks well enough. Try and make sure she stays that way. So what are you doing here?"

We explained that the Crane girl had been captured through no fault of her own, and had told us about the meeting--which we knew about because of that very silly love letter that what's his face, the Soshi, had written.

"This meeting was not, shall we say, quite above the board. I'm convinced that Arenro's ambition is going to destroy all of us if we don't do something. I was hoping to make an alliance with the Black Hand. I knew that this meeting was very likely a trap, but it was a chance for us to make an alliance that will mean our survival. That chance, however slim, is what brought us here." At this point, Panda coughed left the room. Again! Silly samurai and their honor. Er. Begging your pardon, Lady Yukiko. And--hey! Darnit, sorry, Setto, too. Sheesh, you'd think that after five centuries you'd be used to me calling samurai silly. Er. Anyway!

Funitsu replied, "It evidently wasn't quite above the board within the Black Hand, either. There are...factions. The faction you were meeting with is likely controlled by Arenro. Which means that you've been set up, Lord."

Lord Tsuneyasu shrugged. "Wouldn't you take the same chance if there was even the slimmest of hope of an alliance? Arenro doesn't care whose blood he spills on his way to destroying the clans, and the things he orders..." He closed his eyes briefly. "Those who he forces into the darker ways of magic go mad. If they do not go mad, their souls become so twisted that they are barely recognizable."

Funitsu glanced briefly at Tomika and said, "Why don't we continue this conversation with our entire group present? I think there is a solution, but it may be somewhat bloody."

I went and found Kittycat. He had been gorging himself in the cold room that had meat in it. Silly thing. Remind me to get more pickled eggs.

Thank you, shaman, that's enough.

Any time! I like telling stories.

They came out of the mirror and briefed Haku and I about the preceding. "So, basically, it's a trap. We know it's a trap, which is an advantage, but it's still a trap. If can somehow circumvent this..."

The librarian said, "I know Chikako is on the ship--she's my direct superior. I can ask for a meeting with her, and we can spring a trap of our own." The librarian explained that his three superiors in the hand were named Chikako, Takako, and Minaku. None of them, he said, could be trusted, and all were probably aligned with Arenro.

The rest of us liked the plan of the librarian's, and with a few more details added, we were ready to go. I saw Tomika's father, after determining who Tadaki was, hand him an orb that was identical to the ones that Tadaki and Panda carry. We now have the full set of three orbs--and that alone would make us hunted relentlessly, if our enemies knew.

The librarian carried the mirror into Chikako's meeting room aboard the ship, evidently without incident. When he gave the signal to us, my retinue came out of the mirror, one by one, leaving me and Karasuko behind. The Thrykeen were to hold off the rest of the people on the ship, while my retinue attempted to kill Chikako. When the smoke cleared and Panda called me out, I found my retinue more or less in one piece. Reiko was unconscious, but a quick inspection revealed that she'd merely been knocked out, rather than wounded so badly that she was bleeding to death. Tadaki had been stunned, and was sitting with his back propped against the wall, rubbing his head.

There was also a metal warrior, sitting down, seemingly deactivated now that its master was dead. The Thrykeen stood aside and let a few people into the room. Funitsu said, "Chikako was a traitor. Does anyone else feel like traitors today?"

With glances at the bloody body of their former commander, the Hand members shook their heads and murmured, "No, Lord."

The Scorpion asked for an accounting of what the shadow of the Scorpion had been doing, and they'd replied that a few days ago they had been sent to escort a ship full of Thrykeen warriors south, and today they had been assigned to guard a meeting Chikako had with the Crane. She had evidently been worried that it was a trap and the Crane were going to attack her.

If we didn't know that Arenro was probably behind the meeting, and that Chikako was probably planning to attack the Cranes, I'd feel a bit guilty about turning the tables against her.

The Crane girl, after we untied her, touched her leg and the tattoo of the wakizashi transformed into a real sword, coming away from her leg in her hand. She turned and with a fluid motion that I wouldn't expect from someone as gawky as she is, slapped the sword against Tadaki's leg. The sword disappeared, and as he pulled up his leggings to look, the tattoo that had been on her leg was now on his. The look of astonishment on his face was amusing to watch.

The girl grinned at him. "You look a likely type, wu jen. With this, you'll never be without a weapon. And it's a brother to the sword your Scorpion carries--with the two together, the passage it cuts through reality will go twice as far. There are three more of them, by the way."

At the moment as I write, the librarian, Funitsu, and Tomika's father are negotiating an agreement between themselves and the Crane who aren't sympathetic to Arenro. When I finish here, I'll go add my voice to the proceedings.

I believe we're going to try to find another piece of that key next, which might occasion a trip to Funitsu's home in Miyazaki. We'll see what happens, I'll discuss next moves with my retinue. I believe the librarian needs to find some backup for himself within the Hand, and there are some of his superiors that need to be eliminated to take care of the schism inside the organization. I don't pretend to understand the politics of the Hand, but I have a feeling I might need to before we're done. The librarian and I are due for a long talk, indeed. There's too much I don't know, and what I don't know may in fact harm us.

As are Funitsu and I, but I'm going to need to wait until the Scorpion is ready to talk. I worry that he's in over his head and is trying to handle everything himself. I hope, at least, he's recruited Tomika to help.

Miu's come to sit and bat at the end of my brush. I believe that's my cue to join the others in a discussion of our next move.

Quotes:

"Reiko is such an anime chick." (Laura)

"Why don't we go in and play it by ear?" "Isn't that what all of our plans end up being anyway?" (Reiko and Haku)

"I was like, what, I can't go on a nine?" "Nine's been cancelled today due to lack of interest." (Laura and Bryan)

"Chiaku was a traitor. Anyone else feel like traitors today?" "No, Lord." (Funitsu, various ninjas)

"Did you say 'my brains are so useful?'" (Laura)

(play date: 6/27/2004)

#so queued #gaming recaps: illume #D&D recap

[lawofavgs]

The Sacrifices We Make - Chapter 5

A/N: I’m so sorry for the delay! My wee bairn started teething, so it’s been very loud in our house lately. If I have to write with a five month old sleeping on my lap, I’ll do it! Thank you so much for all of the positive feedback on this fic. You guys are amazing!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

The next few days trudged by slowly as work was tended to around the estate. Brian kept a wary eye towards the road, waiting for the day a band of Redcoats would come for their first helping of unearned spoils. I wondered if, even now, he would hide his fully grown children away in order to protect them. Thankfully, it seemed as though their secreted stockpiles would last them for some time, as long as nothing spoiled and their locations weren’t discovered.

As for Jamie and I, we walked on slightly sturdier footing since that moment in the barn. I could tell there was still a cautious suspicion within him, his deeply entrenched need to defend his family not allowing him to simple accept  completely that I wasn’t a threat to Lallybroch. Still, it was nice to be greeted with a nod and a “Mistress”, instead of a glare or a biting comment.

How things had changed in such a short while. To be content with indifference, when in all truthfulness, there was nothing I wanted more than the warm embrace of my husband.

I often wondered to myself who this new version of Jamie was. I had been quick to label him as immature, given his reaction to my presence. Now that I knew what the past six years of his life had been, I was more willing to see that it was less about being a brat and more about being frustrated and in the dark. Seeing him with his family, however, that was where I saw the man I had known and loved. To see his warm teasing with Jenny, his comradery with Ian, and his deep respect for his father and Murtagh, I knew that part of him would never change. When I witnessed him playing with Wee Jamie, swinging the lad about and laughing heartily, I had to excuse myself to hide the tears in my eyes.

Helping with the household chores, I scrubbed at a filthy white shirt in the courtyard and ended up lost in my thoughts. Would Jamie and I become as close as we once were back at Leoch? Would he believe me if I told him the rest to the story – and that I was carrying his child? I was so plagued by my fretting that I didn’t hear the sound of boots pounding against the dirt.

“Claire!”

I turned away from the wash tub and saw Brian rapidly approaching. The worry in his voice made my stomach turn icy as possible scenarios raced through my mind. Discarding the shirt in my hands, I rushed over to meet him.

“It’s Jamie. The lad was thrown from his horse and he’s hurt. I need you to take a look,” Brian informed me, breath coming swiftly from the exertion of rushing to the main house. Without waiting for any further explanation, I started off towards the paddock where Jamie had been earlier, Brian close behind me. As we ate up the distance quickly, I saw Jamie seated on the ground, hunched over protectively, Murtagh standing off to the side. Even from where I stood, I could see what was wrong.

His right shoulder was dislocated.

I almost tripped over my own feet as I thought back to the first time we met: Jamie on a too-small stool, bathed in firelight, arm at an awkward angle. From a glance, aside from longer hair, he looked nearly the same. I fought to keep my composure as I ran to his side. The struggle to remain calm was made all the more difficult as he looked up and met my eyes. He was so…open. The sweat on his brow and the pain in his gaze – he needed help. He needed me.

“Can ye fix him up then?” Brian asked, panting slightly. With a nod, I requested something for Jamie to sit on as well as a belt. Murtagh hurried off and returned with a metal bucket before yanking the leather at his waist loose and handing it over.

With trembling hands, I grabbed Jamie’s arm at the correct spots. I gave him one last glance and nodded, watching him nod back as if to say he was ready.

This is the worst part.

I went through the familiar motions of getting the joint back into its socket. The sickening pop and the sudden shift under the skin let me know that his shoulder was righted again.

Taing Dhia! It doesna hurt anymore!

“It will,” I managed to croak out, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact for fear my glass face would give me away. “You’ll be tender for about a week.”

My stomach twisted as I recited to Jamie the care instructions – words I had already spoken to him in a different life. It took more strength than I thought I possessed to loop the belt around Jamie and secure his shoulder without letting my hands shake.

“Are ye all right, lass?” he asked quietly, dipping his head to try and catch my gaze. With nowhere to hide, I let out a humourless huff of a laugh.

“I’m not the one who separated my shoulder,” I replied. If he noticed that I dodged his question, he at least had the grace not to call me out on it. I watched as he stood to his full impressive height, unable to find the self-preservation in me to look away.

“I thank you, Mistress.” His words came out strong, without a hint of pride or ego. He gifted me with a quick bow before he turned and followed Murtagh back into the barn, joking with his godfather about his horse being sent straight from the depths of hell itself.

“Seems ye have a knack for rescuing Frasers. I am indebted to ye once more, Claire,” Brian said with a rueful smile gracing his features.

“You’ve given me shelter and food, Mr. Fraser. I think it’s safe to say you’ve repaid that debt and then some.”

“And I think it’s safe to say ye’ve earned the right to call me Brian, lass,” he informed me warmly. I was once again struck by his kind countenance, so much like Jamie’s. I couldn’t be blamed for wondering, once again, if Jamie would have his father’s paternal instincts as well.

And if I would get to see those similarities with his own child.

The cold burn that nipped at my heart distracted me, and I turned to glance at the barn to compose myself once more.

“He’ll be fine, Sassenach,” Brian assured me, mistaking my intent for turning away yet somehow soothing my secret fears all the same. “He’s a braw lad, tough and sturdy and stubborn as ye please. He’ll be feeling fine in no time.”

I nodded, picking up my skirts as I began the walk back to the house. “Of course, as long as he doesn’t get himself hurt again.”

---

If I thought the change in Jamie after I revealed the truth of my prophecy was remarkable, his new demeanour towards me after I set his shoulder was just as incredible. He told me stories of his life over supper that day, speaking more in one sitting than he had in all the time since I arrived. Some of the tales were ones I had already heard, but I still listened intently and enjoyed the cadence of his voice and the charm of his storytelling. Others covered this new six year period he had a chance to re-do, giving me the opportunity to appreciate how his new experiences shaped him.

When I exchanged the belt for a more proper sling later that evening, it didn’t escape my notice his ease with regards to removing his shirt. It was a shock, to be sure, to see his back unmarred and scar-free. I knew it would be, of course, but like Jamie had said to me once: to know something is not the same as seeing it with your own eyes.  Instead of discomfort at baring his marked skin, Jamie had been simply antsy about healing quickly and being able to return to his normal household duties.

“I dinna want my father to be burdened o’ermuch by my injury. With what ye told me, about the apoplexy that would have taken him…,” Jamie trailed off, worry etched into the lines of his face. I gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and he laughed. “For years, I was so angry with him for treating me like a wean when he was only trying to keep me safe. Now I wish to do that very same thing to him.”

“That’s what you do for family,” I assured him softly, dropping my hand back to my side. “Just don’t push yourself too much too fast, or your injury will get even worse and hinder your recovery time.” I watched him nod absentmindedly, his gaze transfixed on the fire blazing in the hearth. With his attentions elsewhere, I found myself taking in his features, admiring the glow of the flames dancing over his skin and lighting his eyes. I yearned to wrap myself up in him, to lose myself in the strong embrace of his arms. I was heartsick for that love and companionship.

“Weel,” he started, breaking me out of my reverie, “I best be off to bed. Thank ye for tending me, Claire.”

My name on his lips sent a solid shot to my chest and I managed a weak smile as he stood and headed for the stairs. I remained where I was, inhaling the scent of woodsmoke as I tried to calm my racing heart. No matter who he was, it only took a simple word from Jamie to knock me off of my axis.

---

I kept a watchful eye on Jamie in the coming days to ensure he wouldn’t reinjure his shoulder in a foolhardy attempt to maintain his usual productivity. Instead, he stuck to tasks he could accomplish with one working arm. I observed him reviewing ledgers in his father’s study, washing potatoes for Mrs. Crook, even entertaining Jenny’s children so she could finish her chores in peace. Despite his obvious restlessness and wish to return to his full duties – a man unable to sit still for long – Jamie was in incredibly good spirits.

I found myself some distance from the house, digging up wild plants to bring to the garden, when I heard him yell out, “Sassenach!”

My heart and stomach did a simultaneous flip as I looked up from my work. I couldn’t seem to stop the hitch in my breath, the effect of hearing him call me that for the first time since I came here gripping me in a stranglehold. Using the short amount of time until his long strides carried him over to me, I began fiddling with the greenery in my basket, counting from one to ten and attempting to match my breathing with the pace. Without a moment to spare, I regained enough composure to look up and smile in greeting.

“Ye shouldn’t be out here by yerself, lass. Heaven knows when a Redcoat patrol will be along and we dinna want you to greet them alone,” he warned lightly. He was right, of course, but I had assumed the spot I was in was close enough to the house in case any danger may happen this way. Without waiting for a response, he took the basket out of my hands.

“I’m not finished here,” I informed him primly. There were still plenty of plants I could bring back and tend to in the courtyard garden.

Jamie offered me a lazy half smile, half smirk that I recognized well and sent my pulse racing. “That’s fine, Sassenach. I’ll hold yer wee basket while you dig up what ye need. I reckon it’s not too taxing on my one good arm, aye?”

“I think I can clear you for such a strenuous task,” I joked back, trying to hold the smile that wanted to break out on my face at bay. “How is your shoulder, by the way?”

He scratched his chin with the aforementioned injured arm, past the need for the sling but not yet ready to use to its full capacity. “Oh, it’s fine, Mistress. A wee bit sore, but no’ troubling me o’ermuch. The warm cloth at night helps.  I should be able to push it a bit further in a day or so.”

“Yes, well, as long as you don’t push too far. Listen to what it’s trying to tell you. If it starts hurting, you need to scale it back. Don’t be stubborn or attempt to battle through it with manly pride.”

“As you say, Mistress,” he acquiesced, tilting his chin down just so. I returned my attention to the shrubbery at my feet, finding myself taking much more care in removing the plants from the earth. I relished the extra time alone with Jamie, whether it was in comfortable silence or caught up in an amusing tale about a broken paddock rail and a herd of runaway goats. Finally, I could stall no longer as I handed him the final uprooted bundle of herbs. We made our way back to the house, enjoying the deceptive peace and calm around us, despite the knowledge of hard times about to come. Sooner or later, the English would ride up to Lallybroch demanding food and supplies. We could only hope their wrath would not be aimed at the innocent inhabitants of the area.

Approaching the dooryard, I saw Brian coming down the stairs with a bannock in hand. His gaze bounced from me to Jamie and back again, and his eyebrows drew together questioningly before rising up slightly. As I stood there, Jamie handed me my basket and reminded me to bring an escort the next time I went gallivanting, then trailed after his father. I could hear my blood rushing in my ears as I dissected the look on Brian’s face and could only ask myself one question.

Does he know that Jamie is the husband I left on the other side of the stones; the father of my unborn child?

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #jamie x claire #claire x jamie #outlander #the sacrifices we make #fanfic

[starredwrites]

Fate’s Door, Chapter 7: Do Not Become Distracted By The Books

Masterpost/Chapter 6/Chapter 8

As he’d promised, Patton was at the bookstore the next afternoon, at 4:30 on the dot. Perhaps it was not the escape he’d hoped for, but the knowledge that he had the power to stop the deaths of everyone he knew, and especially the children’s, had kept his spirits slightly more aloft throughout the day. After seeing how taken aback Logan had been by his seriousness, Patton took care to keep his demeanor easy-going when he came to the bookstore.

Logan was behind the desk again, with an impressive pile of books stacked next to him. He was reading a book, but stood up when he saw Patton. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi,” Patton said, “So, where do we start for the prophecy thing?”

In typical Logan fashion, he started rambling about the books he’d found on the topic. “So, most books about sorcery are in some weird sorcerers-only language that we can’t read-unless you’re a sorcerer-but I managed to find some that are in commoner’s language. There’s not a lot of them, which doesn’t matter as far as lightening our workload, because I scrounged up every record I could about criminals and dungeons from 100 years ago, and trust me when I say that there are a lot,” Logan said, barely taking a breath in between words. Patton nodded along to Logan’s informational rant as the two of them moved the tower of books to the round table, set out for customers to read at.

“I think I’ll start out with the records,” Patton said, reaching for the heap of paper booklets.

“I’ll help you.” Logan took the largest booklet and began leafing through it. Patton did the same, although he was much more erratic. They sat in the peaceful quiet of a closed bookstore that’s secrets were open to those who desired them.

Patton made the first breakthrough, locating the exact date of imprisonment. With that information, they stopped reading through the books entirely and skipped to the date of imprisonment. Logan ran to get paperclips, sticking them where they found the date in other books. The records of imprisoned criminals were another case to crack, since most of the top-security prisoners’ identities were kept secret, the most the records yielded was the sentence “Dragon-Witch, incarcerated on evidence of illegal sorcery.”

Before Logan and Patton knew it, it was 5:45 and Patton had to go back to the institution. They cleaned up everything, and talked about their lives to one another while making sure everything was kept as meticulously ordered as Logan needed. Patton gave Logan a hug to thank the bookworm for letting him help, and left the shop with a wave.

Logan waited for Patton to be out of sight, then satisfied his burning curiosity by running back to the books and opening them again, in search of the perfect secret. He added the books in foreign languages back to the pile, and several dictionaries to decipher them with. He almost forgot to eat until he leaned to close to one of his books, sniffed the page, and was reminded that food also smelled really good. Wondering what he was doing with his life, Logan ate and went to bed.

The quest to save Straith continued the next day, preceded by Patton and Logan’s daily lives. Both boys found themselves thinking of the spell during the day, even when they were focused on something else that was entirely unrelated to the curse. Logan’s gut reaction told him that it was magic, but his common sense wholeheartedly disagreed. He had another meh day of working at the bookstore with Virgil, although he found his days were becoming less mundane working with her, now that they had more to talk about. Apparently, she’d done a little digging on the prophecy, but hadn’t yielded much of anything. Patton played with the kids and did his chores, remembering at inopportune moments that the fate of the children in front of him rested on whether or not he and Logan could find the right information in forty or more books and execute a plan based on it. At times he could’ve sworn that there was a literal weight resting on his shoulders, but he chalked it up to an overactive imagination.

Patton arrived early to the bookstore, and him and Logan settled into the same rhythm they’d had the day before. Logan shared his information on sorcery that he’d gathered the night before, and they worked together to find as many connections between the sorcery books and the records as possible. Still, the records didn’t have much information pertaining to the prophecy, and the most they could find were one-sentence blurbs talking about the Dragon Witch’s crimes, not how she was imprisoned.

An idea struck Logan, and he disappeared into the back room for a half hour digging up newspapers and magazines from a hundred years ago. He’d never been more thankful that his bookstore had been run by his family for centuries, otherwise all of this information would be completely inaccessible. Him and Patton started looking through the articles, cutting out the ones that were about the Dragon Witch or even just sorcery in general. They accumulated a large file of clippings, many of which were advertisements for what appeared to be a sort of fix-it service the Dragon Witch had run in her prime as a sorcerer. While they found a lot of backstory on the spell’s creator, nothing about her imprisonment had appeared so far.

Thinking that it couldn’t hurt to try, Patton started leafing through a well-established gossip magazine that was famous for being unreputable, named Dee-Dee’s Hot Take. The modern copy was as abhorrent as the title, but this old one had more exaggeration and less outright blasphemy. Tucked in the very middle of the magazine, in between stories about curing the common cold and a helpful infographic about sewing machines, was a short piece by a journalist who had attempted to witness the imprisonment of the Dragon Witch but had been stopped before he could enter the throne room.

The journalist wrote, in detailed description, everything he’d observed while following the procession taking the Dragon Witch into the castle. Patton realized how important this article could be a paragraph in, and he nearly knocked his chair over getting up to show it to Logan. They looked it over and started delving into the books on magic to see if the “shackles fashioned out of a white granite-appearing rock,” or the “gaseous strands of deep purple energy,” could be explained by the resources on sorcery. Patton took the books in plain commoners-tongue, while Logan tried his hand at deciphering the sorcerer language, which made a surprising amount of sense to him. According to the cover of the dictionary, only sorcerers and “those attuned to the effects of magic” could even begin to comprehend the language.

All too soon, it was time for Patton to leave. Unlike the previous night, Logan didn’t dive back into the resources. He was too exhausted, and opted to write down a reminder to go to the library for more books tomorrow. Patton went to the orphanage, had dinner, and got to play with the children. Fresh fear coursed through his veins when he realized they were all starting to come down with some sort of cold. The line “The young die first,” echoed in his head. Logan had dinner with Dominic, then read a book in bed until he fell asleep while reading, glasses askew on his face

Logan couldn’t stop thinking about their breakthrough during the day, and let Virgil leave early so that he could go get the books as soon as possible. He found several useful titles by reputable authors, and came back from the library with his backpack full of books to find that Patton was already at Food for the Mind. For the third time, they delved into the books, marking anyone that could even slightly be of use with the paperclips.

They found a lot of newspapers from the date of imprisonment, but most of those didn’t tell them any more than they already knew. The papers and magazines dated from before the solstice helped them piece together more of a story on the mysterious Dragon-Witch. Judging by the many advertisements for her services, the Dragon-Witch had been creating a successful business from her rare powers, using them to help whoever she could in exchange for very low rates, or payment in ingredients for spells and potions. According to several of her customers, she had cured a wide spread of illnesses and ailments, and could make plants grow from dead ground overnight. Logan found many connections from these accounts to the spells he found in the magical books. Still, he turned up nothing on the shackles and “waves of energy” the reporter for Dee-Dee’s Hot Take had described, but he reminded himself that there were still a lot more magical books to go through.

Patton became bored with the commoner’s-tongue books on magic, as they were getting quite repetitive. He started going through more of the magazines and newspapers, discounting no source as unreliable. If Dee-Dee’s Hot Take could give them their first lead, anything could. There was a ridiculous amount of material to go through for a one-month period, Patton had had no idea that there were so many publications in the capital a century ago. Newspapers had a tendency to repeat information among one another, but they also had a lot of useful tidbits. He made sure to check through all of the paper so as to not miss any detail that could potentially be life-saving.

A lot of advice columns were packed full of people who had been relying on the Dragon-Witch for something important, but now had no idea what to do now that she was imprisoned. Most of the time, the columnists just advised their clients to look elsewhere for assistance and to save away money. They cited facts such as the rarity of sorcerers being born, the finality of the king’s sentence, and the way that magic always fades out unless kept properly.

One columnist was particularly frustrated (read:pissed) at the sheer volume of people sending them letters about the Dragon-Witch, and dedicated their whole column to explaining the Dragon-Witch situation about a week after the solstice. They did extensive research on everything about the case they could find, and dug up some facts that were very useful to Patton and Logan. The whole article was an informational gold mine.

I’ve received so many letters about the Dragon-Witch’s imprisonment that I decided to answer all of your questions in one article so that I can address other issues with this column.

There are some who want to march into the palace with torches blazing and break the Dragon-Witch out of prison. As someone who has tried to penetrate castle defenses in search of a story more than once, I know that the defenses are close to impenetrable. Remember, the castle was where the whole city used to hide when we were under attack. It is made to not let anyone enter or exit without observation. Guards are stationed in every corridor, and they let no one pass unless they bear the crown’s insignia.

To everyone who is biting their fingernails waiting for the Dragon-Witch(DW) to break out, know that it’s not going to happen. The prison she is being kept in was specially created to hold magical inhabitants. It is fashioned from Solus stone, sandstone mined from Mt. Sniketau during summer months. This stone blocks and represses all dark magic. If you saw the DW being hauled into the castle and expected her to make a heroic escape, her shackles were also made from Solus stone. The only thing that can damper the effects of Solus stone is a dark sorcerer who is outside of the stone’s reach. From afar, they can conduct magic that will break the stone, and could free the Dragon-Witch.

Of course, sorcerers are such a rarity, let alone exclusively dark ones that this solution is highly illogical. So many people are asking how to move forward. The surefire way to do this is by preserving the magic for as long as possible while figuring out how to run things without it. If your magic has already run out, find a way to replace it and stick with it as long as needed. There is no way you can count on the DW’s escape. Please try to take your lives back to where they were before the Dragon-Witch.

Talyn Felis

Patton showed the article to Logan, who immediately began searching through the books on sorcery he’d been looking at for verification of what Talyn had said. He clipped the article and put it in the file with the others. Logan found the passage he’d been looking for and showed it to Patton.

The two boys looked at each other in astonishment. They’d found the answer to the puzzle: the stone could be broken with any object that harnessed dark magical power.

“This is it,” Logan said, “All we have to do is find some magical object, harness it to break the stone, and set the Dragon Witch free.”

“Most museums have at least one magical artifact. Maybe we could...borrow it?” Patton was inherently uneasy at the idea of breaking the law, but if it saved lives, it couldn’t be too bad?

“Surely there’ll be one that’s willing to lend something to us,” Logan reasoned.

“Don’t call me Shirley, but I think that’s a problem for tomorrow. It’s six-fifteen, and I need to be back at the orphanage really soon. I think we can scheme more tomorrow.” Patton left, and Logan continued his research alone, engrossed with the possibilities that lay before him. It was less fun without Patton there, but he accumulated new information so quickly that to do otherwise would be foolish. Knowing what the chains and cell were made of was of utmost importance, and Logan delved into tens of books as the sun set in the sky.

He remembered dinner upon reading a page about food spells, and decided to eat his dinner while studying, almost falling asleep on top of an open book before dragging himself upstairs to bed.

When Patton came by for the fourth day straight, Logan had already partially formulated a plan for freeing the Dragon-Witch. Anxious to share his ideas with Patton, Logan started talking as soon as Patton came in.

“I looked into it, and since I’m about 97% certain I’m attuned to magic or whatever it turns out I can harness magical object’s power. There are 12 museums in the area that would probably be willing to lend us something as long as we say it’s for intellectual purposes because they’ve got huge collections that aren’t even on display. We have fifteen days, so if we do one museum a day worst-case scenario is we have 3 days to break into the castle and free the Dragon Witch. I’ve figured out transportation, there’s this guy Joan who used to work here but left to do theater who has a great car, one that actually runs…”Logan continued on, Patton nodding along until Logan finally paused.

“That’s a great plan, but I don’t think we have fifteen days. The children are already starting to get sick, which probably has to do with the “the young die first’ line. Maybe to get this done quickly we could take something from the castle museum’s collection and then go and break the Dragon Witch out. I’m sure it’s breaking a thousand laws, but at least we won’t all die,” Patton explained, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“I think we can plan it out so we can do it tomorrow, and most of my ideas can still work for this,” Logan said, “We have blueprints, some equipment that could be useful, and we both own backpacks. I’ve read more spy books than is probably healthy, and I think I’ve picked up a few things.”

The planning began, and Patton and Logan both felt bad about stealing, but the words of the spell still rang true in their heads. This situation was sink or swim, and lives rested on their abilities to swim. Planning diversions, disguises, directions, and alibis took a lot of energy, but Patton and Logan dived into the work eagerly, as if it would alleviate their remaining insecurities over breaking a serious amount of laws. All too soon, six o’clock neared, and Logan promised to get what he could done overnight. Patton took work home, and both boys set about their task to save the kingdom. Tomorrow, they would put their plan into motion.

TAGS: @fanficptsd

#ts logan #ts logic #logan sanders #logic sanders #ts morality #ts patton #patton sanders #morality sanders #starredwrites #chapter 7 #fates door #snders sides #sanderssides #sanders sides

[thejonzone]

A Lifetime Gone: Notes on Jim Sullivan and The Hours

Laura Brown does not want to be Laura Brown. She is one of three protagonists in The Hours (played by Julianne Moore in the movie adaptation), and for her it is 1949 in the hot desert suburbs of Los Angeles. Laura has a husband and a young son but dreads her housewife role, knowing it isn’t for her, knowing she can’t keep it up. She stays in bed for as long as she can, her eyes drop with empty relief as she watches her husband pull out of the driveway, and she reads, despairing for a different world.

After a failed attempt to make a birthday cake and an intimate moment with her neighbor Kitty, Laura has an existential panic. She drops her son off at a friend’s house and, under the guise of running an errand, takes a drive into the city: “As she pilots her Chevrolet along the Pasadena Freeway....she feels as if she’s dreaming or....as if she’s remembering this drive from a dream long ago.”

20 years later in Los Angeles (and in real life), Jim Sullivan records his debut album, U.F.O. It’s first song, “Jerome”, begins with a bright, unsettling orchestral arrangement. Swelling and theatrical but foreboding and alone, it’s the musical equivalent of “red sky in morning, sailors take warning.” Something is wrong. But just as the tension peaks, it all falls away, and for a moment everything is still.

Jerome is a town in Arizona, but you’d be just as right if you thought Jim Sullivan’s song was describing a person. In the late 1800’s, the town in the Arizona desert boomed with copper mining, but the mine closed in the early 1950’s, and the people left with it. Sullivan sings about buying drugs and wanting to go to Jerome, but he doesn’t know where it is or how to find it. He wonders where this ghost town could be. Is it “just a town out there”? Can you only find it “if you’re driving slow”? What exactly does Jerome mean to Sullivan, and how real is the place he’s searching for?

Jerome revitalized itself in the early 1970’s, in part due to its proximity to Sedona, the nearby capital of new-age spirituality. Sedona is known for its vortexes, places in nature that supposedly have high spiritual energy. It doesn’t seem coincidental that Jim Sullivan mentions Jerome-- he and his wife were both interested in New Age mysticism. The album has a clear spiritual bent, exploring reincarnation, religion, and grief: the foggy space between worlds. Even without knowing his strange and tragic backstory, Jim Sullivan’s U.F.O. captures the uneasiness of a dream world, the rising anxiety of realizing you’ve been traveling in the same circle, over and over again. It’s a nightmare. U.F.O. is about illusions and ghosts, it’s full of ghosts, one of whom (in hindsight) is Jim’s ghost, which haunts the album more than anyone he wrote about.

There’s a decent amount written about Jim Sullivan’s story. It ends with him in the New Mexico desert in 1975. Before that, he’d been living in Los Angeles. He made two albums that both failed to create any real traction for him. He had some small success (he was in the movie Easy Rider) but decided to leave his family behind and drive to Nashville to find session work. And that’s that. He never made it to Nashville. He disappeared, was never found or heard from. Ever again! They found his car, all his stuff in it, but never found him. For a guy that talked about driving into the desert and disappearing, it’s spooky how 6 years later he drove into the desert and disappeared.

His music faded to almost nothing, until Light in the Attic reissued it in 2010. My initial fascination is summed up by PopMatters: “When you discover a story like [Jim’s], you start hearing the music differently...It seems impossible not to hear the lyrics as a prediction...that he would come to some kind of mysterious end.” It kept tickling my head, the already cryptic and confusing lyrics morphing into some type of eerie prophecy I felt compelled to piece together.

For Sullivan, it’s not what we see, but how we see it. Eyes show up all over U.F.O. “Plain As Your Eyes Can See” is a lamentation of unreciprocated love. The song is claustrophobic: A crowd’s whisper amplifies to a drowning yell, fallen rocks constrict a bridge’s path. As the world contracts, the narrator realizes they don’t have a place in their love’s life. The song’s idiomatic title is deceptive. Because something that’s as “plain as your eyes can see” should be simple. But U.F.O. is full of moments when our eyes observe something strange, when seeing is anything but plain. He tells us that eyes can easily be deceived, and now here we are, our eyes deceived. The album is a disappearing act, a magic trick.

Throughout the album, characters have surreal, impaired vision. “Whistle Stop” begins with “thunder and lightning in my eyes”, before the narrator describes an interaction with a woman he believes to have known from a past life. “All the air seemed quite foggy to me,” he says, setting up a dream world where he contemplates the soul having some type of knowledge that transcends a body. On “Rosey”, men look at the titular sex worker with “diamonds in their eyes”, and Sullivan tries to figure out who really sees who in the exchange. The song is dark and melodic, the strings and horns are exalting at times, dangerous elsewhere.

The characters in Sullivan’s songs are observers, peering from windows, or watching from crowds. They are searching for answers and they search by watching. In the title song, the narrator describes watching a religious ceremony as “checking out the show / with a glassy eye”, whereas in “Johnny”, the narrator is watching a crowd form to watch a boy who is flying in the sky. They yell out to him to come down, and then wonder if he has discovered anything from up there. As the album goes on, it becomes clear that Jim himself was a watcher, as lost as his characters. Even the album’s cover art expresses a fractured and confused gaze, as 5 duplications of Jim’s face, rapt in attention, look up curiously at something out of sight.

Laura Brown, after some aimless driving, decides to rent a hotel room for the afternoon. She’s impressed by the “cool nowhere” of it, a place of travel and transition, a place to sleep but not a home. After checking in, she realizes how “far away from her life she is. It was so easy.” In the hotel, she sees her anger, her panic, her nervousness, all still in existence, but separate from her: “It’s almost as if she’s accompanied by an invisible sister…”

It is Sullivan’s discussion on death and reincarnation that proves most eerie in hindsight. Even with Rosey’s protective facade, she’s surprised to feel seen by her johns, as they see a part of her that she “often thought was dead”, which makes that part of her alive again, if just for a moment. U.F.O.’s title song begins with strings that feel celestial, so it’s only right that he sings about Jesus and resurrection-- “the only man I know that got up from the dead”. It’s neither critique nor praise of Christianity; the narrator wonders if people can come back, if they can ever be seen again. That idea is carried over in the most affecting song on the album, So Natural. In it, Sullivan most directly grapples with a grief that permeates the whole album: the death of his brother. He again is a watcher, this time at his brother’s funeral. His bizarre take on the experience is how natural his brother looks in death. Sullivan has molded a character who is both alive and dead. In a later verse portending his own death, Sullivan wishes for oblivion: for nobody to be at his eventual funeral, for his ashes to scatter across the desert. And here’s the wild part: both those things effectively happened.

Free of her responsibilities, Laura reads Mrs. Dalloway in her hotel room: “did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely, did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely?” And after closing the book: “It is possible to die. Laura thinks, suddenly, how she-- how anyone-- can make a choice like that.” It’s a grounding realization for Laura. It’s not necessarily one about suicidal ideation, although (at least in the movie version) she does attempt it, but one about agency. Death changes from something that happens to something one can make happen. In that moment, Laura realizes that she can choose life.

So what happened to Jim Sullivan? There are a few theories, and of course, nothing is confirmed. One is that he was killed, perhaps he ran into an unsavory figure, maybe small town police, maybe a remote branch of the mafia, maybe just a wrong place wrong time situation. Some think that he was abducted by aliens. I don’t think it should be ruled out that he chose to disappear.

After driving back from the hotel, Laura picks her son up on the way back home. She steps out of the car, feet planted back in the real world, and “is overtaken by a sensation of unbeing...it seems that by going to the hotel she has slipped out of her life…”

“Highways”, U.F.O.’s emotional centerpiece, sparkles and trills in a way that would certainly make Sufjan Stevens shit. Sufjan for sure takes a page from Sullivan’s book. Both these fellas love horns and using place to ground their songwriting. Both seem to float over the scenes they describe. Highways is optimistic, in a way. On an album where he’s searching for a place to feel at home, he finds it: being lost. He’s lost both physically and spiritually, as he describes losing his sense of identity. But that doesn’t concern him. “It’s easier to stay here, think I know my way here”, he sings. The place he feels most comfortable in isn’t a place so much as a state of motion. It’s part of the fantasy of escape, that giddy rush of being invisible, of not owing anyone anything, it’s that same feeling that coursed through Laura Brown as she drove down her own highway. “Highways” sounds like Jim Sullivan making a promise to disappear one day.

But he doesn’t disappear, at least not right away. He returns after a trip both in and out of our world, returns home, but he doesn’t return fully, he returns on the final song as a Sandman, bringer of sleep. It’s depressing, dark, insidious-- “honey now your sandman’s back in town” Sullivan croons, a promise of someone who knows death, holds it with him. Laura Brown, similarly obsessed with death, also doesn’t disappear right away. Her afternoon in the hotel makes it clear that she needs to leave, but she formulates her plan and waits for the right moment before doing so. As Laura delays having to join her husband in bed, she thinks over her life-changing day: “She might be nothing but a floating intelligence, a presence that perceives, as a ghost might. Yes, this is probably how it must feel to be a ghost. It’s a little like reading-- that same sensation of knowing people, settings, situations, without playing a particular part beyond that of the willing observer.”

I know what it is to fear life. To tip-toe, lie, crumple, appease, stay quiet, get angry, run. I know what it is to become a ghost. I want to believe that desire is stronger than fear, but I know it’s a choice like anything else. Jim Sullivan made a decision to improve his life. He chose to go to Nashville, and either was killed along the way, or chose to go away, just like he said he wanted to. I want to believe that we will do whatever we can to achieve what we need, but I know it’s not so simple. Jim’s voice is weighed down by despair, yet it’s clear he had a deep spirituality within him, some guiding force. He teases us to see, to really see.

Jerome is a town in Arizona, but you’d be just as right if you thought Jim Sullivan was describing a person. A person who once existed, a person who might come back. Jerome is the person who we are when we stop lying to ourselves, and it’s the place we’re constantly looking for. Good luck finding it on a map. Jerome is Jim Sullivan’s opening statement on his baroque pop nightmare, his declaration that we never really die, that we are constantly alive and dead, and what defines those qualities is rooted in what we’re searching for and what we’re hiding from. In the end though, it’s the Jerome Tourism website that puts it most mysteriously and succinctly: “Forever? Jerome never knows.”

[masteredshadows]

do any karma blogs following me or anyone interested in lore in general (so, you know, anyone following me :^) ) have any thoughts on karma’s and kennen’s and basically all updated lore besides the ones everyone’s talked about because

No champion exemplifies the spiritual traditions of Ionia more than Karma. She is the living embodiment of an ancient soul reincarnated countless times, carrying all her accumulated memories into each new life. With this insight, she serves as a spiritual beacon to her people, bestowing boundless wisdom and healing in times of crisis. Despite being blessed with power that few could comprehend, she rarely uses her magic for destruction, as it always comes at a considerable cost—both to her, and to the land she holds most dear.

She remembers her past lives? Like -- it sounds like she’s basically the Aang/Korra/Avatar of Runeterra. Which is a direction that gives her a shitton of power and says a lot about her characfter

And I’m also really curious about how magic is viewed in Ionia as a whole? Because if someone like Karma exists, then obviously people use it and respect those who use it to some degree, but then there’s things like Rakan/Xayah’s lines that indicate a disrespect of magic (perhaps from their perspective alone?) + all the mention of totems kinda indicated they’re supported by Ionia large scale

Also Kennen’s lore!! 

More than just the lightning-quick enforcer of Ionian balance, Kennen is the only yordle member of the Kinkou. Despite his small, furry stature, he is eager to take on any threat with a whirling storm of shuriken and boundless enthusiasm. Alongside his master Shen, Kennen patrols the spirit realm, employing devastating electrical energy to strike down his enemies. 

He goes into the spirit realm. Or, patrols it. Whatever. Regardless, that indicates that for one, Shen’s probably a little less isolated than commonly thought? 

Like -- I guess Akali might act as his right hand, in the human world, and Kennen as his left, in the spirit world, with Shen in the centre. Can all yordles access it? Or is it something Kennen learned through training? Is it something specific to Ionia’s spiritual existence? Does he chill there regularly or is it like a, “I sense a disturbance in the force spirit world lemme go check it out real quick”

idk basically I want my full Ionia update Now

incredibly scattered thoughts on a few other champions --

I’m really really really curious about Morg and Kayle, but Morg more specifically. “Comforted by a prophecy that claims she will strike the final blow and gain her revenge, Morgana lies in wait, her lust for power growing endlessly.“ 

Like... Prophecy? That indicates a really cool potential direction for their story to go, but where did that prophecy come from? Is it from their world race etc? Is it from someone on Runeterra yet to be introduced?? Someone we know???

And Lee!!

"A master of Ionia's ancient martial arts, Lee Sin is a principled fighter who channels the essence of the dragon spirit to face any challenge. Though he lost his sight many years ago, the warrior-monk has devoted his life to protecting his homeland against any who would dare upset its sacred balance. Enemies who underestimate his meditative demeanor will endure his fabled burning fists and blazing roundhouse kicks."

I feel like what I’m getting from all of the Ionians’ short form lores is that magic in Ionia is largely based off ties to spirits, channeling spiritual energy whether latent or alive, etc. This doesn’t seem to hold true outside of it, indicating magic probably functions diffierently between nations? It’s very prevalent in Ionia because of their connection to the nation, I suppose, but is this something that could happen elsewhere or is it specific to the island itself as opposed to the methods practised by the people?

And I just wanna point out that I fucking love shaco’s lore update

Crafted long ago as a plaything for a lonely prince, the enchanted marionette Shaco now delights in murder and mayhem. Corrupted by dark magic and the loss of his beloved charge, the once-kind puppet finds pleasure only in the misery of the poor souls he torments. He uses toys and simple tricks to deadly effect, finding the results of his bloody “games” hilarious—and for those who hear a dark chuckle in the dead of night, the Demon Jester may have marked them as his next plaything.

I do wonder who the lonely prince might be and if there’s a specific city state that Shaco hails from but yeah nice very spooky

stopping myself from rambling now because I actually like where a lot of these are going but I do wanna say I commend riot for making all of these very quick paragraphs engaging and managing to convey quite a bit of information with not very many words

I still wish they’d tie up more loose ends because they’re never going to actually be able to give us every champion’s story so it’d make more sense to have a few completed ones here and there and stop teasing “it’s a mystery!!” for every single champion because they hype up far too much for how relatively little they put out

but

I’m excited to see the noxus update and I do hope they elaborate on the state of the world a bit further soon as well as put out some more long form lores

#lore meta. #but like in the most casual least analysis-based way possible :D #INSOLENT CHILD ( ooc. )

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

27th March >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on John 7:1-2, 10, 25-30 for Friday, Fourth Week of Lent: ‘There is one who sent me’.

Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

John 7:1-2,10,25-30

They would have arrested him, but his time had not yet come

Jesus stayed in Galilee; he could not stay in Judaea, because the Jews were out to kill him.

As the Jewish feast of Tabernacles drew near, after his brothers had left for the festival, he went up as well, but quite privately, without drawing attention to himself. Meanwhile some of the people of Jerusalem were saying, ‘Isn’t this the man they want to kill? And here he is, speaking freely, and they have nothing to say to him! Can it be true the authorities have made up their minds that he is the Christ? Yet we all know where he comes from, but when the Christ appears no one will know where he comes from.’

Then, as Jesus taught in the Temple, he cried out:

‘Yes, you know me

and you know where I came from.

Yet I have not come of myself:

no, there is one who sent me

and I really come from him,

and you do not know him,

but I know him because I have come from him

and it was he who sent me.’

They would have arrested him then, but because his time had not yet come no one laid a hand on him.

Gospel (USA)

John 7:1-2, 10, 25-30

They tried to arrest him, but his hour had not yet come.

Jesus moved about within Galilee; he did not wish to travel in Judea, because the Jews were trying to kill him. But the Jewish feast of Tabernacles was near.

But when his brothers had gone up to the feast, he himself also went up, not openly but as it were in secret.

Some of the inhabitants of Jerusalem said, “Is he not the one they are trying to kill? And look, he is speaking openly and they say nothing to him. Could the authorities have realized that he is the Christ? But we know where he is from. When the Christ comes, no one will know where he is from.” So Jesus cried out in the temple area as he was teaching and said, “You know me and also know where I am from. Yet I did not come on my own, but the one who sent me, whom you do not know, is true. I know him, because I am from him, and he sent me.” So they tried to arrest him, but no one laid a hand upon him, because his hour had not yet come.

Reflections (7)

(i) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

The Book of Wisdom from which our first reading came was written less than one hundred years before the coming of Jesus. It is probably closer to the time of Jesus than any other book of the Old Testament. In our reading, the author places a little speech on the lips of those who were hostile to people of faith, those who took their Jewish faith seriously. They begin by saying, ‘Let us lie in wait for the virtuous person’. They go on to say, ‘the very sight of him weighs our spirits down’. They conclude by declaring, ‘Let us condemn him to a shameful death’. The early church recognized in this speech a prophecy of what was to happen to Jesus. He would be condemned to a shameful death by those who could not stand the sight of him. In today’s gospel reading, we sense the growing hostility to Jesus. We are told that the Jewish authorities ‘were out to kill him’. As a result, the ordinary people of Jerusalem ask of Jesus, ‘Isn’t this the man they want to kill?’ The gospel reading ends with a reference to Jesus’ opponents wanting to arrest him. We might be tempted to ask, ‘Why such hostility towards one who is so good? Why are people plotting to kill someone who came so that everyone may have life and have it to the full?’ The phenomenon of violence towards the innocent, the just, the good, is one we will always struggle to make sense of. Goodness does not always have its reward in this life. However, the message of Jesus, and his life and death, shows us that those who keep trusting in God and remain faithful to the ways of God will experience God’s vindication. God will not ultimately abandon his faithful ones, those who are faithful to the ways of his Son whom he sent into the world for our sakes.

And/Or

(ii) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

It is just over a week now to the beginning of Holy Week, the week when we remember the events of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. The gospel readings are beginning to have a more ominous tone. In this morning’s gospel reading we hear of Jesus’ enemies who want to arrest him and are out to kill him. There are others in the gospel reading who are not hostile to him but they claim to know him when in reality they do not know him. They say about Jesus, ‘We all know where he comes from’. By that they mean that they know he is from Nazareth in Galilee. However, Jesus reminds them that they do not really know where he comes from, because he doesn’t just come from Nazareth. He comes from God and those who claim to know where he comes from are not aware of that. Jesus says to them, ‘There is one who sent me and I really come from him, and you do not know him’. There is much more for them to know about Jesus than they realize. It is the same for all of us. There is always more to Jesus than we realize. When it comes to the Lord we are always seekers. We may know him to some degree but there is always so much more to Jesus that we do not know than we know. In one of his letters Paul prays that we would ‘know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge’. There is a love to Jesus that cannot be fully grasped by the human heart or mind. As Paul says elsewhere, now we see as in a mirror dimly; it is only in eternity that we will see the Lord face to face and know him as he knows us. In the meantime we are on this wonderful voyage of discovery in his regard.

 And/Or

(iii) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

As we approach Holy Week the gospel readings have more of an ominous tone to them. Jesus is spoken of in this morning’s gospel reading as the man they want to kill. Yet, in spite of that, Jesus is described as ‘speaking freely’. The gospel reading suggests that Jesus did not allow the hostility of some people towards him to deter him from doing what he had been sent to do. Twice in that gospel reading Jesus speaks of himself as having come from God and of God as having sent him. Jesus was faithful to his God-given mission, even when that mission made people very hostile towards him. Jesus teaches us to be faithful to our own calling, regardless of the environment in which we find ourselves. The environment in which we live has not been all that supportive of a life of faith. We could easily get very discouraged as people of faith who are trying to grow in our relationship with Jesus. The portrait of Jesus in today’s gospel reading teaches us to keep living out our baptism as best and witnessing to the gospel even when it is difficult to do so. Just as Jesus knew the support of his heavenly Father, we will know the support of Jesus.

 And/Or

(iv) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

As we draw nearer to Holy Week, you will find that the gospel readings have a more ominous tone. Today’s gospel reading begins with the statement that Jesus could not stay in Judea, because the Jews were out to kill him. By the term ‘Jews’ John’s gospel nearly always means the Jewish religious leaders. That gospel tends to distinguish between the Jewish religious leaders and the people. In the gospel reading, it is not said that the Jewish people were out to kill him. However, they do make the following statement about Jesus, ‘We all know where he comes from’. They were saying, in effect, ‘we know that he comes from Nazareth’. Jesus, in reply, declares that he really comes from God, the one who sent him. To know that Jesus came from Nazareth falls far short of knowing who he really is. It is generally the case in John’s gospel that those who say ‘we know’ don’t really know. The evangelist is reminding us that there is always more to Jesus than we realize. When it comes to the Lord, we are always on a journey of discovery. What really matters is to keep travelling that journey, to keep striving to know him more fully.

 And/Or

(v) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

Sometimes we can claim to know more than we actually know. We are not humble enough in our knowing. We fail to recognize our ignorance about some issue or some person, as well as our knowledge. What we know is only a fraction of what can be known, and that is the case with every human person and every human situation. It is even more the case with matters of faith, with what pertains to God and to his Son, Jesus. In that domain above all, it is true that, in the words of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, ‘Now I know only in part’. In this morning’s gospel reading, the people of Jerusalem declare concerning Jesus, ‘we all know where he comes from’. They were saying that they all know that Jesus comes from Nazareth. Yet, at a deeper level they did not know where Jesus really came from. In that gospel reading, Jesus goes on to state, ‘there is one who sent me, and I really come from him, and you do not know him’. Jesus ultimately came from God his Father and not from Nazareth. The people of Jerusalem who are suspicious of him do not know God and, in that sense, do not know where Jesus came from, in spite of their claims to know. This morning’s gospel reminds us that when it comes to God and his Son Jesus, we will always be learners. There is always more to him than we realize. We constantly need the Lord to teach us. Later on in John’s gospel, from which this morning’s gospel reading comes, Jesus promises to send us the Spirit of Truth who will guide us into all the truth. If we are to come to know the Lord more fully we need to keep praying, ‘Come Holy Spirit, come Spirit of Truth’.

 And/Or

(vi) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

In the gospel reading, Jesus speaks of himself as the one whom God has sent. ‘There is one who sent me and I really came from him’. He goes on to claim that because he came from God, he knows God. ‘I know him because I have come from him and it was he who sent me’. It is only Jesus who can make the claim to know God, because it is only Jesus who, according to this fourth gospel, was with God in the beginning, who came from God to earth and who remains close to the Father’s heart while on earth. It is Jesus who is uniquely placed to make God known. ‘No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known’ (Jn. 1:18). It is because Jesus is the only one who can make God fully known that he is at the centre of our faith. We all have a deep desire to see and know God. In this fourth gospel, Philip speaks for us all when he says to Jesus, ‘Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied’ (Jn. 14:8). On that occasion, Jesus had to remind Philip, ‘Whoever has seen me has seen the Father’. Jesus shows us the face of God because he is God in human form. If Jesus shows us the face of God, it is above all the gospels that show us the face of Jesus. The gospels are our bread of life because there we meet Jesus who reveals the God who alone can satisfy our deepest hungers.

 And/Or

(vii) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

People often ask us where we are from. We ask others what part of the country they are from or if they live in the city what part of the city they are from. We sense that if we know where people are from, we are in possession of information that might help us to understand them. It is not surprising that people often return to where they are from, if only to visit it. They know they are getting in touch with their roots. In the gospel reading, the people of Jerusalem say of Jesus, ‘We all know where he comes from’. They were aware that he came from a very different kind of place to Jerusalem, from a small village far to the north of Jerusalem, in the region of Galilee. Jesus acknowledges that, in one sense, the people of Jerusalem know where he comes from, but, in a deeper sense, they do not know where he comes from. As Jesus declares, ‘there is one who sent me, and I really come from him, and you do not know him’. Jesus speaks as one who, ultimately, comes from God, and the people of Jerusalem do not know God as well as they think. It is as if Jesus was saying, ‘the place of upbringing does not explain who I am’. That is true of us all. We cannot be fully understood on the basis of our place of origin. It is even truer of Jesus. He was not simply the son of a carpenter from Nazareth in Galilee. He was also the Son of God. If there is more to each of us than meets the eye and ear, that is true to a much greater extent of Jesus. There is such a depth to the mystery of Jesus’ identity, that we are always only coming to know him. Part of the adventure of faith is coming to know the Lord more and more. I have always liked the prayer associated with a 13th English bishop, ‘O most merciful redeemer, friend and brother, may I know thee more clearly, love thee more dearly and follow thee more nearly, day by day’.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: [email protected] or  [email protected]

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ie  Please join us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

5th April >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflections / Homilies on John 7:1-2,10,25-30 for Friday, Fourth Week of Lent: ‘I have not come of myself’.

Friday, Fourth Week of Lent  

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

John 7:1-2,10,25-30

They would have arrested him, but his time had not yet come

Jesus stayed in Galilee; he could not stay in Judaea, because the Jews were out to kill him.

As the Jewish feast of Tabernacles drew near, after his brothers had left for the festival, he went up as well, but quite privately, without drawing attention to himself. Meanwhile some of the people of Jerusalem were saying, ‘Isn’t this the man they want to kill? And here he is, speaking freely, and they have nothing to say to him! Can it be true the authorities have made up their minds that he is the Christ? Yet we all know where he comes from, but when the Christ appears no one will know where he comes from.’

Then, as Jesus taught in the Temple, he cried out:

‘Yes, you know me

and you know where I came from.

Yet I have not come of myself:

no, there is one who sent me

and I really come from him,

and you do not know him,

but I know him because I have come from him

and it was he who sent me.’

They would have arrested him then, but because his time had not yet come no one laid a hand on him.

Gospel (USA)

John 7:1-2, 10, 25-30

They tried to arrest him, but his hour had not yet come.

Jesus moved about within Galilee; he did not wish to travel in Judea, because the Jews were trying to kill him. But the Jewish feast of Tabernacles was near.

But when his brothers had gone up to the feast, he himself also went up, not openly but as it were in secret.

Some of the inhabitants of Jerusalem said, “Is he not the one they are trying to kill? And look, he is speaking openly and they say nothing to him. Could the authorities have realized that he is the Christ? But we know where he is from. When the Christ comes, no one will know where he is from.” So Jesus cried out in the temple area as he was teaching and said, “You know me and also know where I am from. Yet I did not come on my own, but the one who sent me, whom you do not know, is true. I know him, because I am from him, and he sent me.” So they tried to arrest him, but no one laid a hand upon him, because his hour had not yet come.

Reflections (5)

(i) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

The Book of Wisdom from which our first reading came was written less than one hundred years before the coming of Jesus. It is probably closer to the time of Jesus than any other book of the Old Testament. In our reading, the author places a little speech on the lips of those who were hostile to people of faith, people who took their Jewish faith seriously. They begin by saying, ‘Let us lie in wait for the virtuous person’. They go on to say, ‘the very sight of him weighs our spirits down’. They conclude by declaring, ‘Let us condemn him to a shameful death’. The early church recognized in this speech a prophecy of what was to happen to Jesus. He would be condemned to a shameful death by those who could not stand the sight of him. In today’s gospel reading, we sense the growing hostility to Jesus. We are told that ‘the Jews were out to kill him’. The people of Jerusalem ask of Jesus, ‘Isn’t this the man they want to kill?’ The gospel reading ends with a reference to his opponents wanting to arrest Jesus. We might be tempted to ask, ‘Why such hostility towards one who is so good? Why are people plotting to kill someone who came so that everyone may have life and have it to the full?’ The phenomenon of violence towards the innocent, the just, the good, is one we will always struggle to make sense of. Goodness does not always have its reward in this life. However, the message of Jesus, and his life and death, shows us that those who keep trusting in God, who remain faithful to the ways of God, will experience God’s vindication. God will not ultimately abandon his faithful ones, those who are faithful to his Son whom he sent into the world for our sakes.

And/Or

(ii) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

It is just over a week now to the beginning of Holy Week, the week when we remember the events of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. The gospel readings are beginning to have a more ominous tone. In this morning’s gospel reading we hear of Jesus’ enemies who want to arrest him and are out to kill him. There are others in the gospel reading who are not hostile to him but they claim to know him when in reality they do not know him. They say about Jesus, ‘We all know where he comes from’. By that they mean that they know he is from Nazareth in Galilee. However, Jesus reminds them that they do not really know where he comes from, because he doesn’t just come from Nazareth. He comes from God and those who claim to know where he comes from are not aware of that. Jesus says to them, ‘There is one who sent me and I really come from him, and you do not know him’. There is much more for them to know about Jesus than they realize. It is the same for all of us. There is always more to Jesus than we realize. When it comes to the Lord we are always seekers. We may know him to some degree but there is always so much more to Jesus that we do not know than we know. In one of his letters Paul prays that we would ‘know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge’. There is a love to Jesus that cannot be fully grasped by the human heart or mind. As Paul says elsewhere, now we see as in a mirror dimly; it is only in eternity that we will see the Lord face to face and know him as he knows us. In the meantime we are on this wonderful voyage of discovery in his regard.

And/Or

(iii) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

As we approach Holy Week the gospel readings have more of an ominous tone to them. Jesus is spoken of in this morning’s gospel reading as the man they want to kill. Yet, in spite of that, Jesus is described as ‘speaking freely’. The gospel reading suggests that Jesus did not allow the hostility of some people towards him to deter him from doing what he had been sent to do. Twice in that gospel reading Jesus speaks of himself as having come from God and of God as having sent him. Jesus was faithful to his God-given mission, even when that mission made people very hostile towards him. Jesus teaches us to be faithful to our own calling, regardless of the environment in which we find ourselves. The environment in which we live has not been all that supportive of a life of faith. We could easily get very discouraged as people of faith who are trying to grow in our relationship with Jesus. The portrait of Jesus in today’s gospel reading teaches us to keep living out our baptism as best and witnessing to the gospel even when it is difficult to do so. Just as Jesus knew the support of his heavenly Father, we will know the support of Jesus.

And/Or

(iv) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

As we draw nearer to Holy Week, you will find that the gospel readings have a more ominous tone. Today’s gospel reading begins with the statement that Jesus could not stay in Judea, because the Jews were out to kill him. By the term ‘Jews’ John’s gospel nearly always means the Jewish religious leaders. That gospel tends to distinguish between the Jewish religious leaders and the people. In the gospel reading, it is not said that the Jewish people were out to kill him. However, they do make the following statement about Jesus, ‘We all know where he comes from’. They were saying, in effect, ‘we know that he comes from Nazareth’. Jesus, in reply, declares that he really comes from God, the one who sent him. To know that Jesus came from Nazareth falls far short of knowing who he really is. It is generally the case in John’s gospel that those who say ‘we know’ don’t really know. The evangelist is reminding us that there is always more to Jesus than we realize. When it comes to the Lord, we are always on a journey of discovery. What really matters is to keep travelling that journey, to keep striving to know him more fully.

And/Or

(v) Friday, Fourth Week of Lent

Sometimes we can claim to know more than we actually know. We are no humble enough in our knowing. We fail to recognize our ignorance about some issue or some person, as well as our knowledge. What we know is only a fraction of what can be known, and that is the case with every human person and every human situation. It is even more the case with matters of faith, with what pertains to God and to his Son, Jesus. In that domain above all, it is true that, in the words of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, ‘Now I know only in part’. In this morning’s gospel reading, the people of Jerusalem declare concerning Jesus, ‘we all know where he comes from’. They were saying that they all know that Jesus comes from Nazareth. Yet, at a deeper level they did not know where Jesus really came from. In that gospel reading, Jesus goes on to state, ‘there is one who sent me, and I really come from him, and you do not know him’. Jesus ultimately came from God his Father and not from Nazareth. The people of Jerusalem who are suspicious of him do not know God and, in that sense, do not know where Jesus came from, in spite of their claims to know. This morning’s gospel reminds us that when it comes to God and his Son Jesus, we will always be learners. There is always more to him than we realize. We constantly need the Lord to teach us. Later on in John’s gospel, from which this morning’s gospel reading comes, Jesus promises to send us the Spirit of Truth who will guide us into all the truth. If we are to come to know the Lord more fully we need to keep praying, ‘Come Holy Spirit, come Spirit of Truth’.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

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