#i have the right to feel angry at injustices and grieve losses. i have a history of tremdous loss generationally. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ajokeformur-ray · 3 years

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Help me to find where to leave my hurt behind // Rosie x J x Pat

Summary: It seems as though injustice and unfairness surrounds you and it’s all you can do to keep your head above water. So angry are you, so tortured and tried almost to the point of not wanting to go on are you... but don’t you remember that Pat and J have always been there to catch you as you fall? This time is no different, dear heart. You are safe within your love.

A/N: Because @loveletterstoledger deserves🙃better🙃. I hope that you enjoy this ksksksk you mean a lot to me and I cherish you immeasurably!💙 I know you’re having a really rough time right now, angel, and I wanted to do something small for you; I hope it comforts you in even the smallest of ways. Keep your loves and your joys close to you, my love, and know you’re not alone!💚

Word count: 3,195 (uh... my hand slipped?😂😅)

Anger.

A secondary emotion which hides pain or fear behind it and is often used as a coping mechanism. Only those whom still care about a situation or a person will be infuriated by the mistreatment, for anger is the part of you which loves you and realises that you deserve better. Even knowing this, oh so aware were you of that which plagued you on the daily, was it difficult for you to cope with the sheer levels of rage which coursed through your young body, leaving you scared even of your own self.

Oh, but you were a livewire, so much so that even J was beginning to wonder if you weren’t a conductor of electricity despite the fact that your body was made up of seventy per cent water; the very air seemed to crackle when you moved. You were alight with energy, your nerves fried, your temper short, your fuse rapidly draining. It was taking everything you had to not let out your anger in the wrong place, on the wrong people, and as days passed with this same pattern did the anger slowly work out its own self. Emotions were visitors who come and go as they pleased, and you could only hope that this feeling would not stay for long. You hated what it was doing to you, what it was turning you into, and you didn’t like it. This wasn’t you and daily did you work to find the woman you knew so well. She was in there, not so far from the surface, and you would find her. Pat and J would allow nothing less.

J could see, so intuitive was he and so knowing of you was he, that you weren’t all that angry. Not really. You were more so badly hurt; your large and beautifully open heart practically carved out with others’ names. Indeed, if J had gently opened your chest to crack into your rib cage and extracted your heart, the hunk of meat pulsating slower and slower with each passing second as rivulets of red ran down his slender wrists and disappeared into the royal purple you so dearly loved to encase yourself within, he didn’t doubt that your heart would be taken up with things which only harmed you. Names, places, faces... all carved into the brightest, warmest heart he had ever seen. J loathed entirely the way it seemed that life itself had been working against you in the recent months, a mostly silent observer was he to all that you struggled with. The sleepless nights; the constant stomach aches; the backwards and forwards of friendships and social ties which seemed to be one dynamic and then just as suddenly another, leaving you dizzy; the weight loss and the nausea; the questions which only bred more of the same without producing even a single answer to still your rampaging mind... oh, but you were suffering. Perhaps even more than even he was fully aware of.

For his own part, Pat was incredibly emotionally intuitive and wise was he, matured beyond his years due to the emotional and psychological trauma of caring for his sick and dying grandfather all alone when he was just eighteen; shortly after getting himself back into high school while arranging and attending the funeral, grieving and dealing with false accusations and rumours at the same time. It had all taken quite the heavy toll on Pat but just like you, he did his best to get through everything. J, too, was a tortured soul, but he had emerged from his chrysalis already and he was owning it with everything that he had. A decade older than you and Pat was he, and this had afforded J his own advantages. For one, he was no longue plagued so greatly by his past and it left him more available for you and for Pat. Both of your men were bursting with pride for you and each did their own part every single day to be there for you and to support you as best as they could, all too knowing were they of your great suffering, which they so desperately wished to alleviate by any means necessary. For J, this was a darker statement but nevertheless did you appreciate the sentiment.

It was true that when you weren’t feeling well, you distanced yourself emotionally from J and Pat; you didn’t want to be around them, for you knew that they would, in their own vastly different ways, try to comfort you. And even if every cell of your body was screaming out to be held, you just couldn’t allow yourself that luxury. Even so, even still, you allowed Pat and J to remain by your side, to stay with you even when you felt like you were your worst possible self; turned cold and bitter were you by all that you fought through and dealt with every single day. Despite sometimes toying with the idea of completely sinking into the same apathy which practically radiated off J, you knew that you weren’t that person, and so, while you allowed yourself to be influenced by J’s own devil may care attitude, while you encouraged yourself to emulate his apathy, you also stuck close by to Pat, who kept you warm and safe inside yourself. Used was Pat, the youngest of your trio, to being used and abused by others and their wrong opinions of him, and you took a great deal of courage from that. If Pat could do it, so could you. If J could do it... so, too, could you.

And, oh, how proud your clown and your koala were of you, their Rosie, for through it all... through it all, you loved. It was something both men truly admired within you; your heart, despite your temptation for it to be so, was never wholly compromised by the true depths of pain and sorrow which you held within you. You were so giving of a soul, so kind and warm and compassionate and, oh, the love you held for your now husband and J, who was finding his own dynamic within the changed one of you and Pat, was insurmountable. You loved them dearly as individuals and you cherished immeasurably the bond which you maintained with them as a polyamorous relationship. You would be so lost without them in the worst of days and you needed them so badly; perhaps now more than ever.

On this night was it the same old routine. You were weary to the bone, the core of you dimming in brightness, like a night light which was in dire need of a battery replacement. You were already beginning to feel sick and you were contemplating watching an hour or so of The Goldbergs, your favourite comfort show, before you went to bed; it only ever took an hour before your least liked night time companion, a stomach ache with as yet unknown causes, which made it impossible for you to lay down or to go to sleep, began to fade so that you could finally get some rest. It wasn’t late in the evening, only eight, and you were exhausted in every sense of the word. You just wanted your comfort items and your men and then you wanted to sleep and forget the rest of the world even existed. It was all just too much and yet somehow was it not enough. The world was against you, it seemed, and you were almost at the emotional threshold of not even wanting Pat and J near you. It was a boundary you had always sworn to yourself that you would never cross, so you were aware also of how critical it was for you to simply... be as much as you could.

You got yourself ready for bed on autopilot, your mind somehow both empty yet also noisy was it with thoughts which repeated themselves and seemed to trip over one another in their haste to pass through your tried and tired mind. Oh, but you were so tired of being angry, you were infuriated by your own rage, knowing were you that it was not who you really were and that it was a circumstantial and therefore temporary experience... though that did not to calm your nerves. You were just so done with the situations and emotions which had tormented you daily, defeated but not defeated were you. It was a very subtle but important distinction and it was one which your men sought to reassure you of this night. You got yourself into bed without saying anything to either of them. Guilt nipped at you and you closed your eyes against the lump in your throat. Everything was just too much and you felt both trapped within your own self but also completely outside of yourself as emotions heightened, tensions rose... you choked on a breath and you felt yourself falling, falling...

“Ea-sy, sweets.” J advanced into the bedroom cautiously, his royal purple trench coat making him out to be far bulkier than he was. His chin was dipped and the low light in the room only accentuated the sharpness of his cheekbones. He looked positively menacing with the slight tilt of his head, those stringy green strands gently brushing across the tops of his shoulders as he moved. He was stalking you and you felt a shiver which was somehow both hot and cold dance up your spine as J stepped closer and closer to you. “Wha’s bit-ing at’cha, hm?” J’s hands came palm up to face you; he was telling you without words that he wasn’t here to bother you or to harm you in any kind of way, but he was here to genuinely listen to you and to help you. You were at the point where J’s intervention was what you most desperately needed, and your sharp eyes caught sight of Pat hanging close by behind J.

You were never alone in your feelings, no matter how much your mind told you otherwise.

J sat down on top of the duvet, his body turned wholly towards you and his dark eyes trained on your face. As you stared at J, listening to what he wasn’t telling you, Pat slid into bed beside you and practically smushed himself against your body, as if he was trying to climb inside your skin and become one with you. J was telling you that you were going to talk in the way that he had sat atop the bed; you couldn’t get out on your side and with Pat laying beside you, his arms around you and his head resting on your shoulder, you couldn’t get out that side, either. Both men were going to listen to you and as a family unit were you going to work it all out. J trusted you implicitly and he had been a silent observer for all of the time in which you had been struggling with this, as had Pat, and now was enough enough. Pat, picking up on J’s cues, reinforced J’s words. “Talk to us, sweetheart.” Please. Pat leaned upwards to press a kiss against your cheek, truly pleading with you was he. He understood, just as much as J did, how powerful emotions could be, and ones which were intense and yet unchecked were more dangerous still.

You hesitated. What could you say which hadn’t already been said in the previous months? But even so, J’s soft chocolate gaze and the sympathetic and tender look in Pat’s eyes, so much like J’s, helped to break any seal which still remained within you and words poured out of you like someone had left the bath running. Periodically did Pat press a kiss anywhere he could reach. J, when he finally got comfortable in the knowledge that you were talking to them, reached out and held both of your hands in his. The calloused pads of his thumbs rubbed across the backs of your hands in a slow motion. J kept you grounded in the moment and Pat kept you reassured of the love which was in the room, so rich and so potent was it in its entirety that it was almost a fourth presence in your bedroom.

When at last were you done, Pat hummed in empathy and pressed kisses all over the side of your face, his plush lips soft and warm against your skin. He was gentle and delicate and his eyelashes fluttered against your skin like the wings of a butterfly, always so careful with you was he. J was silent for one moment, two, three... you thought that J wasn’t even going to talk at all, but then he shuffled forward even more so that his knees were overlapped with yours. The heavy weight of him somewhat atop you and the pressure of Pat pressed up against you reassured you just as much as his next words did.

“All right, look - listen - “ J took one hand away from yours so that he could talk with it, so expressive was he. “These people have got nothing on you, doll. They are... they think they have it all, they think they’ve reached where they’re supp-osed to be, but you - “ J huffed in amusement, “now you, my wild red rose, are somethin’ special.” There was true pride in his voice and you couldn’t have stopped your smile if you had tried. “Your, ah - your anger is right. Ya’ a prickly pear, ain’t’cha? Use it, hm? Use your anger to push ya’ forward to where ya’ wanna be. Ya’ bigger than ya’ know, and the kid here is just the same. I’m proud o’ya.”

Pat shuffled closer to you, almost lying on top of you now was he, and it seemed that neither of your men could get enough of you. They had to have you near them, they had to take care of you because to take care of you was to take care of their own selves. One’s spirit could starve as well as the body and with you were their souls and their bodies taken care of. You were their light in the dark. if J was the grenade, then you were the pin. If Pat was fire, then you were the match which made him that way. Both men were complete on their own, but with you were they altogether more, altogether stronger as individuals as did the light of your love warm them from the inside out and protect them even from their own selves.. With each other was this equally true, and as a trio were you powerful. Gotham trembled before the three of you. People knew not The Joker’s connections, dangerous would it be for you and for Pat, but the three of you knew well enough this truth of what you were to one another and you each held it dear to you. You held each other close to your own selves and the beating of your heart echoed within the chests of Pat and J, for surely there was no zest to life without you.

You, the woman who was so full of anger, so full of pain, that most days she wondered if she was to become bitter and cold. You, the woman who, despite feeling this way, was only ever warm and kind to those she held dear. You, the woman who had threads of gold within her soul, the woman who protected her loved ones fiercely, the woman who baked and created and loved with everything that she had within her despite even the things she faced and went up against every day. You, the woman who had experienced so much pain but despite that, only showed love and tenderness. You, the woman who gave so much to others, more than anyone knew other than herself, and still managed to find time for herself and for the things she most held dear.

You... the woman who was so beautiful inside and out, the woman who took all of her passion and her pain to portray the deepest of loves in the things she created. The woman who was so much more than she knew, one of the very best humans. The one who kept J from wholly going off the rails and the one who gave Pat the strength to be uncaring towards those who deliberately sought to misunderstand him.

You.

“I don’t know what to do,” You spoke generally to the room. “I’m so sick of feeling like this.”

“You don’t have ta’ do anything. Just be.” J’s hands squeezed yours and you knew that the moment was coming to an end. If there was one thing J never skimped on, it was making sure that you went to bed when you needed to, that you were taken care of. He did the very same thing for Pat and though J took little care of himself, you and Pat picked up that slack and in this way were all three of you tended to and looked after. “Just be ya’self, hm? I know ya’ know how. Doin’ it right now.”

“Leave it with us, strawberry, right? All the... the pain and the anger... I know what it’s like and I know what it can do to someone. So come to the old man and me.” Pat flashed J a grin. The older man grunted but otherwise didn’t take the bait. He had bigger things to attend to in that moment. “Stick to us and we’ll keep you here with us. You’re not alone, okay?”

J gave a solemn nod as his eyes met yours and you knew, somewhere deep within you, that a vow had just been made by one man, sealed by the other... and upheld by you, so thoroughly and so unashamedly did you complete one another.

“All right, ah - to bed with ya’ young ones, hm?”

J stood up and turned in one fluid movement, which prompted Pat to lay down fully beside you. As you sunk down into a prone position did Pat tuck you in and get comfortable with you in the usual way you slept. J did his nightly checks of all of the locks, the windows, all the possible exits and entrances into the house... he took off his face paint and he stripped down to his underwear before he, too, followed Morpheus’ call to the bedroom where his loves, his life, laid to rest. He made no pretence this night and only climbed in beside Pat, lying down on his back, his chocolate eyes trained on the room as you shut off the lamp.

Three tortured souls, three fractured hearts, found rest, as did the love they held for one another kept each other safe. Whispers of love were heard and returned, hands interlinked in the dark, limbs entangled... and anger, thick and almost impossible to shake on your own, melted away into nothing but love. You could survive this, dear heart, for your loves would allow nothing less. You were safe.

#J x rosie x patrick

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bred-by-insanity · 3 years

Note

It’s completely unfair, you’re absolutely right. It’s an awful, heartbreaking injustice to you and your family. Taking time to mourn with your loved ones is all you can do at this moment to help ease the burden of your collective grief. Please try to lean into the support of your friends and family, if you can. Their presence might provide some much needed comfort to you, if only as a reminder that you’re not alone.

It’s unnecessary for you to try and think about the future at the moment. Please try to be kind to yourself and understand that finding happiness or attempting to emotionally manoeuvre through your grief is too much at this time. Please try not to torture yourself with any apprehensions, fears, and uncertainties that your future might hold after you’ve only just faced such a devastating loss. You won’t find anything but despair if you do.

Try to be kind to yourself and embrace your grief without imagining every possible way your future could be broken. Nobody has any idea what your future holds. You won’t know until you get there. You don’t need to grieve over events that haven’t happened yet while you’re already grieving right now. Be kind to yourself as much as you possibly can and try to let go of the future. Try to focus on the present. It’s too much to ask, I know. But please try, if you can. You are worth the effort.

Surround yourself with loved ones and grieve. Cry, be angry, be empty, and know that your family and friends are constantly supporting you. They won’t let you fall. Take time to mourn, one day at a time.

Your followers here on Tumblr are sending thoughts of love and compassion your way 🖤

Please don’t give up today. You are so needed. You are so loved 🖤

I know. It's just... hard. It's so so SO fucking hard. I miss him so much, you know? There was nobody like him. He was special. You would have loved him. He's impossible not to love. He was one of a kind. He was the most kind, hard-working, funny, clever, intelligent, considerate, loving man and father anyone could have ever asked for. He was a caring husband, and a friendly co-worker, and such a good friend. A loved brother and son.

Seeing his stuff, living in this house, everything. It's just such a shock, it happened so fast. It's like, he was fine, and then he wasn't, and then he was in the hospital with covid pneumonia and then he was on a ventilator and then he was dead. This world just feels so wrong without him.

Me, my mom, and my sister were everything to him. He hardly cared about himself, he just wanted to take care of us. I hate it. I know I shouldn't think this way, but maybe if he put even a quarter of the effort he put into taking care of us into taking care of himself, maybe he would still be here.

He got through so much. Neck surgery, knee surgery, Achilles Tendon surgery, almost-fatal shoulder surgery. My uncle got over covid, my boyfriend and his family beat it twice, my mom and sister beat it. Why couldn't he? It's just so fucking unfair.

He loved us all so much. His family and his friends and everything. He loved so deeply. He cared so much. I miss him. I love him. I just want my dad back. I want my dad I want my dad I want my dad.

This stupid awful, horrible world just got a lot darker without him. My dad was one of the good ones, the good things. A light in the dark. The list of us who are grieving is so long. It's too fucking long.

Your asks make me feel better though. They've been helping me through this a lot. If it isn't any trouble, can you keep taking to me, if not in asks, DM? Only if you can though.

#my dad #fav #save forever #I love him

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aredhel85 · 4 years

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Blood and Regret

If you want to read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368564/chapters/56444086#workskin

So I decided to write not only Marius’s POV, but also a third chapter about the following night, which should be up sometime this week :)

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Blood and Regret

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I knew I should feel satisfied.

After all these years the source of my pain was gone. Santino was dead.

But that feeling wouldn’t come.

The house was empty now; everyone was gone. The complete silence was almost unbearable and too many unwanted thoughts were crashing down on me.

Why had I acted like that? Why had I insisted on Santino’s death? Because of the fire? Because of the pain? I could have done it years ago then without asking for permission, without dragging Thorne into this.

Why now then?

The reasonable part in me knew perfectly well that I had lied to myself about the reason I had wanted Santino dead. After all, the feeling of needing revenge to find peace hadn’t been there until only some time ago.

When exactly?

Probably after I had given the blood to Amadeo’s children and seeing his reaction. The anger, the anguish. Again, I had made a horrible mistake. I hadn’t done what was best for him, but what I had considered best. I had made a decision that was not mine to make.

It was difficult for me to admit to mistakes and maybe, just maybe, it had been easier to blame Santino for all this pain, for taking him from me and making us almost strangers.

Maybe this was why Santino’s death only left me feeling empty.

I sat on the sofa, perfectly composed, not moving, just staring at the painting of Venice above the fireplace. I had painted it about two years ago.

Not the modern Venice, but the city as it had been when I had spent the few precious years with Amadeo there; the happiest years of the 2000 years of my existence.

Santino had taken it all away from me, but his death had not given it back.

Amadeo had been all too eager to leave, eager to get away.

Understandably so … after all I had hardly recognized myself tonight.

Suddenly the stillness was broken by a very quiet voice from balcony. Too quiet for a mortal to hear, but I understood every word and heard the bitterness behind them.

“Are you happy now?”

I looked up, although I already knew who it was. Amadeo looked at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I thought, you had left with the others. Why don’t you come inside?” The words sounded hollow in my own ears. I did not answer his question, because I didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? Santino was dead and how I felt about it did not change a thing.

“I was hesitant to remind you of your greatest mistake, the greatest crime against our kind.”

I flinched. I could hardly blame him. These had been my words, although he had not held them against me until now.

But I still saw him before me, in his black robes instead of the splendid clothes I had bought him when he had still been with me, devoted to the order, no longer considering that life could be different. If had made him a vampire later, if I had allowed him to mature a little more, maybe he would have been able to withstand. Instead he had become another coven leader who had followed Santino’s example.

“Amadeo, I …”

“Don’t call me that!” I closed my mouth. Except from the incident with Sybil and Benji, he had never spoken to me that way. But he wasn’t finished yet. “Amadeo died long ago. He died when he lay awake in his coffin until the rising sun forced him to sleep, thinking of you, grieving for you. He died with every nightmare of you burning.”

I was stunned. He had grieved for me? Well, of course I had expected that he had for a little while, but when I had seen him in the coven, he had seemed perfectly accustomed, content with where he was.

He came in and sat down in an armchair facing me. His next question took me off guard. “Are you disappointed?”

“In what?”

“In me.”

I wanted to say something, but I was at a loss for words. I couldn’t exactly say no without lying. Still it hurt to see him so obviously distressed, although his expression hadn’t changed. The signs were subtle. He had become a master of hiding his true feelings.

Obviously, he did not expect an answer, but continued speaking right away, corrected himself. “No, I know you’re disappointed in me. I mean in the fact that I survived against your prediction. You told Lestat that you thought I would go into the fire or the sun sooner or later after the coven was destroyed. Are you disappointed I didn’t do it?”

I felt cold all over. How could he say that? I remembered the absolute dread, the anguish when I had thought him dead after the incident with Memnoch, the pure relief when I had found out he was still alive. “What? Of course not.” His only answer was a bitter smile, as if he didn’t believe me.

“Ama … Armand, please, I know how all this must sound for you, but …”

Again, he cut me off, his voice so angry, and still, it shook slightly. Out of anger or hurt?

“Stop it! You know nothing! How would it sound to you, if your maker, who swore he would love you forever, called you his greatest crime?”

“That was merely because of your youth.”

“I was not that young, Marius! I look old enough to get along just fine! And I’m more than 500 years old now, I don’t think you should keep using my ‘youth’ as an excuse.” He got up and walked over to the window while I watched him. I had to admit, he wasn’t completely wrong. What I had done to him was nothing compared to what Lestat had done to Claudia. Amadeo had been 17 and fully aware of what I had been planning to do. Still, if he had been older …

“How would it sound to you, if your maker, who claimed he loved you, who you thought dead for the longest time, knew that you were in the hands of a satanic coven, and just decided to walk away?”

His voice was so full of pain that I got up without thinking and walked over to him. I raised my hand to reach out to him, but I saw that this gesture was unwanted and would not give him comfort, so I let it sink down again.

Instead I told him what I had told myself for so many years. A version of the truth I had made myself believe. “If you had wanted to leave, you could have. You could have saved yourself. I made you what you are, my blood is powerful, you were stronger than them.”

“Does that make you feel better about yourself? Or do you not even need such a reassurance because at that point you didn’t care anymore already?”

“Armand, I do care, and you know it.”

“Do I?” The tears he couldn’t hold back anymore stung, but even more so did his words. “Then tell me why, why would I have left? What was waiting for me outside of the coven? I thought you were dead, you were everything and I saw you burn, and my whole world went down in flames with you. Tell me, Marius, why should I have left and where would I have gone?”

Was this the only reason he had stayed with the coven? No, that would mean that what had happened with Sybil and Benji would pale in comparison to this betrayal. Automatically, without thinking, I once more tried to defend myself. “You could have started a new life. Lestat was alone, too, after Magnus …” I broke up. The moment the words had left my mouth I regretted them deeply.

I remembered Lestat’s portrayal of me. Marius, the wise father figure, knowing the answers to all the questions. Had I been a fool all along? Had I betrayed my beloved Amadeo in my pride and hurt? In my fear?

Fear of what? What could I have been afraid of?

But I knew it, didn’t I?

All these years I had told myself that Amadeo hadn’t wanted me anymore, that he had found a new home and family with the coven. That he could just have left if he had wanted to. I had even been disappointed that he hadn’t done it, and for the first time I allowed myself to face the injustice I had done to him. He had asked me the perfect question just a moment ago. Why should he have left? Why indeed …

Of course, I couldn’t read his thoughts, but I once thought I knew him through and through. How could I have been so wrong?

He had been through a horrible trauma, he had thought me dead, the coven members had certainly done their best to break his will. He had been alone and afraid and I had left him.

“Oh yes, Lestat.” His voice was dripping with bitterness, bitterness I deserved. It had been a completely different situation. Once more I had done him wrong by comparing his situation to Lestat’s. I shouldn’t have brought him into that. “So I was not strong enough for you, is that it? I was not as strong and bold as Lestat, was I? Maybe not. But when Lestat’s maker went into the flames he had known him for mere hours. But I loved you, Marius, with all I had in me. And then I saw you burn, I was grieving, I was alone, I didn’t care what happened to me. And at some point, I had just … I didn’t know … how to …” His voice broke and he stopped speaking. Tears were running freely now, but he did not allow himself to sob. He wasn’t a boy anymore, I had to stop treating him like one, talking down on him, making decisions for him.

Still, as I saw him before me, so broken, almost defeated, I wanted to hold him, as I had done so long ago.

I decided to just lay a hand on his arm instead, but he pushed me away and for once I respected this and did not try to touch him again.

Instead more excuses. “Armand, I couldn’t have known, I cannot read your mind, you know that. I had been hurt myself, I was disappointed to see you there …” What in the name of God was wrong with me? Couldn’t I just forget my cursed pride and admit a mistake? Beg for forgiveness? Tell him it wasn’t his fault, that I should have seen what was right before my eyes? That I should have understood what had held him there? That he hadn’t betrayed me? That I was sorry for everything I had said and for everything I had failed to do?

I opened my mouth, tried to find the words, but he spoke again before I could.

“They would have killed me, if I hadn’t joined them! I was still in shock from everything that happened, I was weak from them starving me. I couldn’t have fought them then if I had wanted to. But them killing me would have been preferable to you, wouldn’t it? You could have grieved for the sweet little martyr, painted his portraits and I would have been out of your life for good.”

“No!” I had not intended it to come out so loud and he flinched back. Still I did not stop, ignoring my own pain at his words, which were perfectly justified, now that I finally understood what he had indeed been through. It also didn’t matter that I was crying now, too, for the first time in front of anyone else for who knew how many years. My voice shook. “I never ever wanted you to die, Amadeo. In all my existence there was not a single moment in which I wanted you dead.” That was true, even in all my misguided disappointment in him for joining the coven I had never wanted him dead.

“Well, you have an interesting way of showing that.”

I was quiet for a moment. I knew that the only way to make him believe me was to be completely honest with him and share a truth I had only just discovered myself. As shameful as it was. “I was afraid, you know.”

He looked confused. “Afraid? Of them? The coven?”

“No. If I had known that you would have come with me, I would have fought them gladly. I was afraid you had forgotten me. Afraid you would join them in fighting me. I may have just let you kill me if the alternative was hurting you. That was what I was afraid of.” It seemed even more real, now that I had spoken it aloud.

He looked at me for a long time and the silence was so deafening that I wanted to say something just to break it, but he spoke first, his voice barely a whisper.

“I would have come with you. If I had known you were alive, if you had come, if I had seen you, I would have fought them all myself.”

Before I knew it, a very quiet sob escaped me together with fresh tears. Knowing how much pain I could have spared him, made the last bit of my pride vanish.

“I will not insult you again by asking for your forgiveness. But I am sorry. For all the pain I caused you. For not being there when I should have been. For breaking all the promises I ever made you.”

He brushed his tears away, took a deep breath before speaking again. “So you told the whole world repeatedly – because this will be published too, you know – what a terrible and weak fledgling I am because you were afraid I’d reject you if you came to me? You didn’t come to me when I most needed you, because you were afraid I wouldn’t want you?” “It does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it?” What else could I say?

“So the Great Marius is not perfect after all.”

There was almost something like humour in his voice and a bitter laugh escaped me. “Believe me, I’m far from perfect. For what it’s worth, Armand, I am proud of you. You have come far after the theatre was gone, after Louis and you parted ways. You are not weak, I never thought you were.”

He looked me in the eyes, then sighed. “It means something. It means a lot.” It felt good to hear that, if only for the vague hope that it would give him the chance to heal. From old wounds and fresh ones I had inflicted on him tonight with my ignorant words. Without thinking I reached out a third time and this time he did not push me away when I touched his arm.

“You’re terrible, you know. I came back to be angry with you”, he said instead.

“Which you have every right to.” “Indeed. I came here to tell you I hated you and I never wanted to see you again. I wanted to tell you to stay out of my life.”

It hurt to hear that, it was more than understandable, but it hurt nonetheless.

He must have seen my pain and rolled his eyes. “Originally. You can’t even let me hate you properly, can you?”

Now the humour in his voice was more obvious, but I hesitated to smile, let alone laugh. We looked at each other for a long moment, and then we both burst out laughing anyway. Short and maybe a little uncomfortable, but still a shared laugh.

“It is almost dawn.” I said this mostly to break the silence once more, but it was true anyway. It was too late for him to leave and find a safe place, if he didn’t want to sleep below ground. “Will you stay? It is too late to safely go somewhere else. You can leave tomorrow.” I hesitated, looking out of the window instead of at him, still ridiculously afraid of rejection, but it was that fear that had brought us to where we were. “Or you can stay. We can hunt together and then … if you want to … talk some more.”

“Do you want me to stay? Be honest, Marius, please. If you made this offer because you feel guilty now or any kind of obligation, please be honest this time. Please.” His voice was steady once more, almost calm. I admired him. He truly was not a boy anymore and the wish to get to know him as he was today grew in me.

“No. I do feel guilt, that is true. But I see now that you don’t need me.” That was painful to admit. “I want you to stay. I want to get to know the person my boy has become. Pari passu this time.”

He looked at me thoughtfully, then nodded. “Alright then”, he said to my surprise. “Pari passu.” The slightest hint of a smile came to his lips. “I will not call you Master again.” “I would not ask for that. And you haven’t today. Marius is fine. I am no longer your master and you are no longer a boy.”

He looked as relieved as I felt. For once I had said the right thing.

“I will stay for the day and … tomorrow night.”

That was all I had hoped for, all things considered, and I couldn’t help but smile.

--- The same dialogue as in the first chapter couldn’t be avoided, I hope it was still interesting to see Marius’s side of the story! I’m looking forward to writing the last chapter, until then I’ll be happy if you tell me what you think :)

#the vampire chronicles #vc #armand #marius #marius x armand #post blood and gold #sequel to my story blood and tears #fanfiction #my fics #angst with a hopeful ending #this is blood and tears all over again from marius's pov #i hope it's still interesting #there will be a third chapter and it will be something new #i promise

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Link

* * * *

It’s very strange to think of Joe Biden as a world-historical figure. For decades, he seemed to me to be a bit of an irritating blowhard who rarely took the chance to edit himself. He was a classic slap-on-the-back backroom pol, with an everyman-on-the-train vibe, who loved the ornaments of public office, and that was basically it.

Washington will always need people like Biden, and he played the part well, but he was hardly a star. He rarely inspired, he made cringe-inducing gaffe after gaffe, his vanity required him to cover up his baldness with what, for a while, looked like a painful rice-paddy of plugs, he plagiarized a speech so obviously and crudely he almost begged to be caught, and despite his rep for retail politics, was terrible at campaigning for president. In 2008, he quit after Iowa, with one percent of the vote.

His big moment came when Barack Obama picked him as his veep. And the choice of Biden was specifically designed, it seems to me, to ruffle no more feathers, and to assuage white working-class discomfort with a young, inexperienced black guy with a funny, foreign-sounding name. Even at the time, it felt to me that Biden’s acceptance speech was fine but not exactly great — but what worked nonetheless was his persona: “It’s hard not to feel affection for this scrappy old guy — especially if you’re a Catholic,” I wrote. “This was a very culturally Catholic speech, especially at the beginning, and Biden will speak to people who might be leery of this young African-American. It was also focused on middle class economic anxiety and spoke about it in intimate ways that voters will immediately understand.”

Twelve years later, this guy is even older and less scrappy but still has the same core appeal: that old Irish dude who can go on a bit but has a heart of gold and hasn’t completely disappeared into the left-liberal elite. The drastically curtailed Covid campaign was a godsend in retrospect because it removed countless opportunities for him to get in his own way, while very successfully projecting and burnishing this image. Yes he could get a bit Abraham-Simpson-y at times, but I confess I began to find that a little comforting after a while, in the era of Trump. The combination of decency, vulnerability and humanness became even more potent up against an indecent, inhuman con-man. It became the stutterer versus the monster.

And Biden’s core appeal, as he has occasionally insisted, is that he ran against the Democratic left, and won because of moderate and older black voters with their heads screwed on right. He was the least online candidate. For race-leftists like Jamelle Bouie, he was part of the problem: “For decades Biden gave liberal cover to white backlash.” For gender-warriors like Rebecca Traister, he was “a comforter of patriarchal impulses toward controlling women’s bodies.” Ben Smith a year and a half ago went for it: “His campaign is stumbling toward launch with all the hallmarks of a Jeb!-level catastrophe — a path that leads straight down … Joe Biden isn’t going to emerge from the 2020 campaign as the nominee. You already knew that.” The sheer smug of it! And the joy of seeing old Joe get the last laugh.

It’s worth recalling the obloquy the woke dumped on Biden in the early stages of the race because this will surely be a battle line if he wins the presidency, and we will have to fight for him and against them if we are not going to sink into deeper tribal warfare. He is one of the last vestiges of the near-extinct rapport between white working-class voters and the Democrats, and if he wins next week, it will be because he has wrested older white voters from the Republican grip, and won white women in a landslide (unlike Clinton), even as his support among blacks and Latinos may come in slightly behind Hillary’s.

Biden ran a campaign, in stark contrast to Clinton’s, focused not on rallying the base around identity grievances, but on persuading the other side with argument and engagement. If you believe in liberal democracy — in persuasion, dialogue, and civility — and want to resist tribalism, Biden may be our unexpected but real last chance. And in this campaign, he has walked the walk.

His core message, which has been remarkably consistent, is not a divisive or partisan one. It is neither angry nor bitter. Despite mockery and scorn from some understandably embittered partisans, he has a hand still held out if Republicans want to cooperate. In this speech at Warm Springs, where Biden invoked the legacy of FDR, you can feel the Obama vibe, so alien to the woke: “Red states, blue states, Republicans, Democrats, Conservatives, and Liberals. I believe from the bottom of my heart, we can do it. People ask me, why are you so confident Joe? Because we are the United States of America.”

And while he has promised a deep re-structuring and redistribution in the wake of Covid, climate change, and destabilizing inequality, he has done so in pragmatic, rather than ideological, terms. Against the surreal extremism and divisiveness of Trump, he has offered moderation and an appeal to unity. Look at the careful balance he has struck on the protests against police misconduct this summer: “Some of it is just senseless burning and looting and violence that can’t be tolerated and won’t, but much of it is a cry for justice from a community that’s long had a knee of injustice on their neck.” We need both these impulses, if we are to extract real reform from distorting rage, and make it stick.

He is not perfect, of course. I suspect he is naive on some questions. He realizes, does he not, that when he uses the term “equity” rather than “equality”, with respect to race, he is using code for the crudest racial discrimination. He surely knows that critical race theory is not about being sensitive to the pain of others, but about seeing the U.S. as no less a white supremacy now than under slavery, and liberal constitutionalism as a mere mask for oppression of non-whites. He knows that the Equality Act eviscerates the religious freedom he has previously championed, does he not, and folds the category of sex into one of gender, jeopardizing at the margins both gay and women’s rights? And it should be troubling, it seems to me, that, when confronted with the fact that his son, Hunter, is corrupt in the classic, legal, and swampy way, Biden refuses to see anything wrong with it at all.

But these are quibbles in the grand scheme of things. And it is striking, as David Brooks noted this morning, how deftly Biden has walked through a field of culture war landmines and not see one go off. That has taken discipline — and Biden has shown that he can exercise it. Maybe he learned it from Obama.

His closing message has been about healing — from the wounds of Covid, economic crisis, and resilient racism. And if there is one thing Biden really knows in his heart and soul it is healing. Recovering from the loss of a wife, a daughter and a son requires a profound sense of how to take the hits that life can bring, how to stay strong while accepting vulnerability, and how to move slowly forward.

This is how he put it last week, as he related to the isolating, desolating casualties of Covid19: “Alone in a hospital room, alone in a nursing home, no family, no friends, no loved ones beside them in those final moments, and it haunts so many of the surviving families, families who were never given a chance to say goodbye. I, and many of you know, what loss feels like when you lose someone you love, you feel that deep black hole opening up on your chest and you feel like you’re being swallowed into it.”

I have felt that way for four years now. What I grieve is an idea of America that is decent, generous, big-hearted, and pragmatic, where the identity of a citizen, unqualified, unhyphenated, is the only identity you need. I miss a public discourse where a president takes responsibility even for things beyond his full control, where the fault-lines of history are not mined for ammunition but for greater understanding, where, in Biden’s words, we can once again see the dignity in each other. I am not a fool, and know how hard this will be. But in this old man, with his muscle memory of what we have lost, and his ability to move and change in new ways, we have an unexpected gift.

“I’ve long said the story of America is a story of ordinary people doing extraordinary things,” Joe Biden said last week. Well, ordinary old Joe, it’s your turn now. Do the extraordinary.

ANDREW SULLIVAN

THE WEEKLY DISH

#corrupt GOP #election 2020 #political #Joe Biden

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haninabaninah-word · 4 years

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Forgiveness & Justice

I used to think forgiving wasn’t really a big problem to me. It was normally very easy for me to forgive (and even forget) when others do me wrong or hurt me personally.

With all the news in the world, I’ve really felt anger and frustration in my heart towards situations and people. Well-plotted schemes, corruption, big time government theft while millions starve, deceit & propaganda, red-tagging, torture, murder, and other inhumane acts especially to those who are fighting for the poor & the oppressed. A family grieves for the loss of a loved one because one person wants stay in power. Millions of families are robbed of their meals because one family wants an extra luxury car.

How can they do that? It really makes me angry, just thinking about the scale of what they are doing. Benefitting a few families, while millions in poverty are pushed into even more poverty and desperation. I hate that they are intentionally plotting all this. I want them to pay for their sins. I don’t want them to get away. Everyday, I ask God to expose all that they are doing, stop them from being in power, and punish them.

It frustrates me when I think about how the corrupt officials are always getting away with what they did. Sure, their life isn’t over yet, but I’ve always wondered how anyone can pay their sins of that magnitude- hunger and death of many people. It frustrates me even more when I think about the wicked seemingly dying peacefully without punishment. It seems like the likes of Marcos or Hitler just died. On top of that, when I think about hell, it also frustrates me when they are simply going to the same place as those who lived their lives being nice people but were not saved by the cross. (We don’t really know how hell works, but just considering the effect of their sins vs other people’s while having the same punishment hurts me.) All sins are equal, but the effect of their sins are for generations and it annoys me.

The idea of them having eternal life seems very unlikeable to me. What if they repent the day before they die? I should be happy, theoretically, but in reality, it doesn’t give a very nice feeling. God loves them, but God also loves the people they killed or robbed.

And then it dawned on me that maybe this is the manifestation of an unforgiving heart, which is caused by a lack of unconditional love, like how Christ loved us.

GOD’s CHARACTER: LOVING AND JUST

Ephesians 4:32 Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

Luke 6:32-36 If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. And if you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to get back the same amount. But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil. Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.

It’s never been this hard to forgive. But as someone who has been forgiven, I need to forgive too. No matter what. God loves everyone, no matter what they do or how much they do it. God loved me no matter what I did wrong.

Did Jesus ever think about any of us and say “I hate them, I don’t want them to be saved. I want them to pay for everything.”? Instead, Jesus went the extra mile and paid for everything he didn’t do.

Even these people I consider enemies? God loves them. Jesus died for them.

Romans 5:8 But God proves His love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Luke 23:33-34 And when they came to the place that is called The Skull, there they crucified him, and the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. And Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

He knew that we know what we are doing when we decided to sin. And yet he said, “they know not what they do.” Jesus understood better, loved better, and saw all of us as lost sheep, minds clouded by earthly desires. Jesus is the ultimate forgiver.

And the frustration of them being unpunished? (How very timely is this quiet time passage that reflects my heart so much?)

Psalm 10:13-14, 17-18

Why do the wicked get away with despising God? They think, “God will never call us to account.” But you see the trouble and grief they cause. You take note of it and punish them. The helpless put their trust in you. You defend the orphans.

Lord, you know the hopes of the helpless. Surely you will hear their cries and comfort them. You will bring justice to the orphans and the oppressed, so mere people can no longer terrify them.

God is both loving and just. We can rest knowing that, trusting in His character.

This is not to say that we stop fighting against oppression and injustice. But ultimately, it is God who will bring justice, whether we see it or not.

Forgive because God forgives. Forgive because God will bring justice.

#QT #forgiveness #justice #psalms #injustice #oppression

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healinghoneybee · 4 years

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what I wish my friends could understand about post traumatic stress

This is what I wish my friends could understand about PTS. Particularly about my periods of upset (sometimes breakups are the trigger). I’m not just upset about this loss. I’m upset because I’ve tried to heal, think positively, forget the past, do everything I’m told, but sometimes I get tired and overwhelmed and I give up for a moment. Sometimes my grief sometimes finds its way back.

Experience and impacts:

Someone committed a crime on my body and walked away free, they shattered my ability to trust and used me. [Someone who I loved and respected, did not respect me enough to make sure I was sober, awake, responding, consenting, not terrified, okay, and treat me like an equal.] I felt powerless and not able to control or trust anything. I now see and admit that I experienced gas-lighting (denial of my experience, thoughts, feelings which causes loss of the ability to validate and trust oneself) and narcistic, emotional abuse from an emotionally unavailable person beginning 1 year after this incident when I was 21, which continued in bursts for several years. I am embarrassed for it. From what I understand this is because the rape threw me far away from my sense of self, my relationship with my body, my intuition and my ability to set boundaries, ability to deflect shame. Despite this, I’ve built up the confidence and courage to be intimate with someone again, to even share my story with my partner, but in my experience it was not met with care. This hurts. I do not know if I will ever find someone who wants to deal with me. That can be scary, having extra needs as a survivor in the dating culture we have. Often I get rejected again and again. while I keep doing the hard work of healing which seems never ending sometimes. When do I get to find someone who wants to love and support me? When is it my turn to be loved and cared for instead of hurt?

Symptoms and impacts:

I want you to understand that I’m angry. I’m angry that people can talk about sex and relationships as if it’s easy, while I struggle with PTS symptoms. I’m angry that someone took away my ability to have a one night stand and laugh about it after, without feelings rushing back of my body being used. I’m angry that I have to deal with all the thoughts and feelings that come with this experience. I want to thrive like the people around me seem to be. I’m angry that people logically see the issue of gender-based violence but they don’t FEEL it. The injustice. Not like I do. Sometimes the grief circles back around. But it’s more than the grief of just one boy hurting me, or 2 or 3. It’s the grief that when I told my mom, she told me 2 of my aunts went through the same thing. It’s grief for the women I took care of, of carrying the weight of knowing this experience of women is happening everywhere again and again. I grieve for lost innocence and the lost time. I’m angry because after sharing my experience, but also after being actually hurt by someone in relationships, being told I’m “too sensitive” or “too serious” and denying my thoughts and feelings are real. I’m angry that I don’t get to be so care-free. I’m angry that someone I cared about wanted someone more “light-hearted”. Someone without trauma. I’m angry that my story wasn’t treated with care. I’m angry I was asked if I was drunk. If a month later I was “still upset” over it. I’m angry I was told your first time “always sucks” by my mom. And that she never checked in again. I’m angry people in society don’t educate themselves on rape and trauma.

Wondering why forced positivity or responsibility phrases can be inappropriate at times?

I’m tired of reading I need to take responsibility for my problems. Take control of your life, forgive, think positive. I see your point, I’ve read the books, I’ve even tried the self-help strategies. I bought into all the new age bullshit for a while - I embraced it more than you know. But please know that this was the act of a person and of rape culture, and I’m tired of carrying guilt, or blame, or shame, for not thinking positively to “attract better”. I didn’t attract a rapist, period. Shitty things happen, statistically more for women, and I’m not going to be told to see the “lesson” or the rainbow, or look for something to be grateful for. There is no positive spin on this reality of sexual assault. Forcing positivity can feel dismissive if you are experiencing difficult emotions from trauma. And god bless the therapists who understand this. This is a different issue.

What I need from friends:

All I need you to do is hold space for me. That means simply let me feel what I need to and tell me my feelings are valid no matter what. Try be careful with comparing different experiences. Be angry with me. Come to feminist protests with me. And remind me to be gentle and kind to myself and keep the faith that things will get better even if I don’t believe you. I will always believe you meant well if you don’t get it perfect. We are not taught about this stuff, and there is an active and purposeful denying of women’s experiences that prevents us from learning it. I’m sorry for having extra needs, for being sensitive, for what I carry. Maybe it is a little harder for both of us at times but I hope our friendship is always worth it. Someday it will get lighter. I believe in my ability to heal and learn how to cope and parent and take care and love myself. But sometimes, this is my experience right now, to fully grieve and reckon may be what I need to move forward. Of course I hope and will work towards change. I will do my best, I promise.

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exclusivelyirondad · 5 years

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I am still so angry, and miserable. I have trouble swallowing food. I am exhausted every day; this wound saps my life as it bleeds. I feel betrayed. I was led to hope for something after the Decimation. I was led to hope for a way to heal. I was happy in that almost-state, in my naivete. I really didn't see this coming. I knew it was a possibility, but I really thought they knew better--I'm ashamed to admit that, while one half of me wasn't surprised, the other was shocked. We should not have to pay a price for loving someone. In life, we often do. I waited and waited for that Long Breath these characters so deserved, and so easily could have been given, only to have my wings torn from my shoulders. There is no air in my sails; I am stranded in a still and breathless sea. I inhale only to choke on empty space. I try to go home, but home no longer exists. There is no bed into which I can fall, no grove under which I may lie in secret. My blood is now lead, and there is a frigid gash at my core, and I can neither place nor reach it. Those in charge seem to have this idea that, with every movie, there needs to be more pain so that any release at the end *feels* (mind you, not really *is*) amplified. It’s only there because the precedent is so removed from mainstream movies; it would have broken records to show something that was Mostly Fixing, Mostly Better. Their little Formula... is a cake lying next to a portal gun.

Admitting you're in pain is one step, I think, but I'd go so far as to suggest that an acknowledgement--not just from you, but from those witnessing your tormented state--of the existence of the CAUSE of that pain is also essential. Sometimes, if not always, it is braver to call bad things Bad. We can no longer put the onus on people having a response to real things--society is slowly, almost too slowly, learning that emotions are rational responses to real, external stimuli. We bleed when we are cut. The knife exists. It should seldom--that is, VERY rarely--be on Us to "have a better outlook" in order to cure our ailments; we must remove the toxin in our environment, or at least point to it as a real, negative cause if we cannot, to at least recognize the injustice. There is a true, and not an imagined, distinction between Being Allowed To Be In Pain and Keeping Pain's Cause In Our Lives. The former is our right. I think the only reason society is so slowly moving away from its rugged individualism is because the alternative is unsettling to both ourselves and those who would control us. It is more difficult to face the pain if it's NOT "all in your head." It is more difficult if there is a real cause that cannot be removed, one that is outside our control, or that suffering is an indisputable aspect of life that, simultaneously, SHOULDN'T just be accepted. "How do you expect to live with something you shouldn't accept?" Well, I say it is better than to accept something wrong without question--to call Bad things "Good" just to silence ourselves and others. For this action preserves no peace but only internalizes the struggle. For people to be honest about our wounds flies in the face of those who would rather dismiss pain as a conjuring of the imagination. To acknowledge our pain is one step above Ignoring The Wound, but above both, yet, is to be neither wounded nor in pain, and this will always be true, and will always be out of our reach as long as new people continue to be born and live and die. And, as a reminder, pain is always evidence of a wound--pain, itself, is a wound of its own kind, both Cause and Symptom.

My response to Tony Stark's death exhibits one kind of acceptance but not another; I accept that it happened (meaning, I am not deluded in understanding that the MCU really did kill him off), but I will NEVER accept that Death "is a good (or even neutral) thing." I've stated before that it has only intrinsic Negative value; any positive value we may see around it (and any other intrinsically negative thing in our world) is only Extrinsically associated with it. I was already afraid for Robert's welfare, already grieving prematurely last year, already concerned for his safety and longevity. I often console myself with the reminder that he surrounds himself with those who love him, and those whom he loves, but preemptively contemplating death does nothing to soothe the suffering it inflicts each time it happens in the world; it will always be painful, or cause some sort of damage. The world won't be prepared to lose him, and it won't handle that loss with a graceful stoicism. I won't go so far as to suggest he is the most stunning of all the brilliant souls that walk the earth, but he is very well-known, and has been known for a long time. He's been in at least one movie for every year his career has been active, and this gives him a real Presence of which not many others can boast.

#personal #i can probably point to the fire as being one of the other factors that spurred my hope in Endgame #which in hindsight i know was likely my own mistake for seeking a crutch in a big-franchise movie #but then again i shouldn't have had a reason not to #it was supposed to Fix the world after a catastrophic event #my post #text post

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kismetcanwriteme · 5 years

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Spoils of War

“Is this her?” the general regards Clarke distastefully, and Clarke tries not to be offended. Dante rushes to answer bowing low before her. “Yes, just as the king has requested and let this be a step towards peace… for both our countries” The general smiled coldly “I suppose that would depend on whether or not Arkadia knows better than to invade our country looking for resources that don't belong to them now doesn't it.” The king seems thoroughly mollified by that and backs away slowly. “This girl as promised” he says quietly

or Arkadia loses a war and Trigeda wants Clarke

Also on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172064

She’s being sold. As Clarke is led through the blue gray stone halls of a palace that once was hers that’s all she can think. Her mother is selling her and Clarke can’t help but hate her for it. She knows it’s harsh. They lost the war, and now the winner takes the spoils. Namely her.

The war between Arkadia and the savages, the Trigeda, had gone on for centuries. Towards the end she doubted anyone remembered what caused Arkadia and the proud kingdom to their north to fight. All anyone remembered was the bitter rivalry.

Clarke hates the frigid northern country with every bone in her body. The Griffins were a proud family and had close ties with the King. They were even hoping to marry Clarke to the prince in time. Now, Clarke supposes, that was for nothing. More anger fills her. The prince was the very reason they were involved in this mess. If Clarke had her way they would have never spoken to the royal family. She would be a free woman, riding through the hills with her stable girl. Her heart gives a pang. Lexa was gone. Trigeda had claimed her as one of their own. Her best friend in the entire world. Everything she wanted was gone in an instant. By rights Lexa was Trigedian, and by their laws she had to join their army for a least a year before settling down. That was three years ago. Clarke is twenty two now and the woman she wants is nowhere to be found.

As the great oak doors of the throne room loom closer, and the guards on either side of her tighten their hands on her arms. Clarke allows herself to pretend. She isn’t here. She’s with Lexa in the small cottage she had shown Clarke when they were girls. Its cleaned up now, not so bedraggled. Lexa leans against the doorway and smiles at her. She hears the babbling brook and smells honey cakes, Lexa’s favorite. Just as shes leaning in to finally kiss her-

“Lady Clarke Griffin, your majesty,” the attendant announces as the doors open to reveal the court standing somberly.

Shes led to the center of the room, and her mother weeps to her right. Clarke can’t look at her.

“My dear Lady, King Dante starts, I am deeply sorry for the necessity of this grave decision.”

Clarke remains silent but the king continues as though she were weeping, trying to explain to her why this injustice is permitted “There is no other way dear lady! If there were I would find it, but Trigeda is insistent that you be given to them along with the spoils of the war...to be the King’s bride.” he says sinking down into his throne as Clarke’s mother gives another wail.

The prince, Clarke’s would-be fiance looks bored and a bit petulant. He rises and says “Yes yes I'm sure we all regret the fate of lady Clarke, but we have to hand her over by sundown so if we could..” he makes a move along motion with his hands either ignorant or uncaring towards the melancholy mood of the court.

Clarke feels herself go faint “sundown” she breathes “so soon?” She thought she had time. Time to say goodbye, time to grieve the loss of her freedom, the loss of her life.

“Yes, my dear” the king says, and to his credit Clarke sees his eyes brimming with genuine remorse. “And now it is time you should leave us”

Clarke curtsies to the court on shaky legs, and though she is still angry allows her mother to kiss her forehead and choke out an “I love you” that Clarke whispers back.

With that she is whisked back out of the throne room and led back down the stone halls and taken toward the front of the castle. The court follows her to watch as she is stripped of her life. She rolls her eyes and thinks she will probably be the talk of the palace for at least the next week. Outside it has grown colder something she supposes she will have to get used to the cold if she is to live in Trigeda with the king.

Outside there is a caravan waiting for her. Hundreds of horses and a carriage at the base of the palace. For a savage county they certainly have fine travel gear. King Dante goes before them to speak to the general stationed at the bottom of the palace steps. The general is tall and slim, with cheekbones that could cut glass. Her eyes are painted with the warpaint the Azgeda favor. In short Clarke is terrified. She’s thankful Lexa at least taught her to fight before she left.

“Is this her?” the general regards Clarke distastefully, and Clarke tries not to be offended.

Dante rushes to answer bowing low before her. “Yes, just as the king has requested and let this be a step towards peace… for both our countries”

The general smiled coldly “I suppose that would depend on whether or not Arkadia knows better than to invade our country looking for resources that don't belong to them now doesn't it.” The king seems thoroughly mollified by that and backs away slowly.

“This girl as promised” he says quietly

“Good we leave at once.” she replies and gestures at Clarke to follow her. The guards holding Clarke's arms try to manhandle her forward but the general turns and barks out at them “She knows how to walk by herself doesn't she?” and from there Clarke is alone and being ushered into a carriage made of fine red wood lined with fur inside. For a prisoner, she thinks, this is rather kind treatment.

________________________________________________________________

They travel for days. Clarke is too tired to sleep and too sad to cry, so she stares at the carriage wall until one day they pass a town. The general she's heard called Anya shoves a pad of paper and a piece of charcoal wordlessly into the carriage window. And so Clarke draws. She draws Arkadia and her father and her mother and Lexa. Lexa again and again and again. She draws all the things that have been ripped away from her forever.

Too soon the carriage stops. And Anya is opening the door gesturing to her to get out. Clarke freezes though. It’s too close and too much and all she can picture is some brutish beastly savage man bending her over the war table and- Anya picks her up out of the carriage, muddy silk petticoats and all, and deposits her on the path.

“Walk” is all she says. The carriage rolls away with most of her drawings still in it except for one of Lexa clutched in her fist. She holds it close and prays for strength. Anya leads her into the tallest tower she has ever seen.

Its freezing and she is ushered into the castle quickly, her summery silk dress too bare outside the confines of the warm carriage. Once inside, she is herded up the dark grey steps into a room with a claw foot tub at the center. An entire team of women undress her quickly, heedless of Clarke’s discomfort, pluck the drawing from her hand, and scrub her from head to toe in soaps and oils that smell like lemons and pine. They wash her hair, rub her dry, and dress her in a white gown that could qualify as a night dress. When she asks the oldest woman about this she tuts and says “Of course it's a night dress, child. It's getting late”

“But aren't I supposed to be presented to the king?”

“Yes of course”

“But in my nightdress? She blanches It's hardly proper”

The woman rolls her eyes and continues to braid her hair. “Child, the king does not care one way or the other,” she says heedless that Clarke might care if she meets the king in her nightdress.

They fit her with a warm quilted robe and slippers and push her out the door. Clarke is rather tired of being pushed at this point and really just wants to sleep, although she’s so anxious about being married to a stranger she isn’t sure she could. Still as she’ led down the hall by her new ladies maids Clarke holds her head high. The hall they're in is circular and the tapestries have warm colors like scarlett and emerald. The door she is stopped in front of doesn't look as grand as the many throne rooms she’s seen, and she furrows her brow when it opens and reveals a small room with two velvet high backed chairs and a small table with a plate of cookies on it in front of a roaring fire. She can’t see the occupant of one of the chairs, but she steels herself and steps inside.

Clarke was expecting a lot of things. A burly man, a cold throne room, a demand for her to remove her clothes. What she was not expecting was a child. Well teenager. A boy of about twelve summers smiling sheepishly at her.

“King… Aden?” Clarke asks stepping closer

“Uh ye...yes hi!” The boy stands and sticks out his hand which Clarke hesitantly shakes

“You must be hungry. I have cookies and cocoa!” he says rather excitedly

Clarke sits in a daze watching as he pours her a full mug and puts some cookies on a plate for her. “I… I beg your pardon your majesty but are… are we supposed to get married?” Clarke had looked after children older than this boy.

The young king looks alarmed “Married! To me? Is that what they told you?” Clarke nods and he slaps his forehead “Of course they told you that. They must have assumed I meant… No” he says “They didn’t …. You aren't marrying me, and you must have been really scared to come here huh?” his eyes go wide in horror “I just offered cookies and cocoa as if everything was fine.” he says, looking rather like a sad puppy.

Clarke hastens to comfort him “No! No! I love cookies and cocoa. How did you know?” and shoves one in her mouth cheeks puffing out comically . Aden laughs a bit, and Clarke feels twelve times lighter. She swallows her cookie and asks, face growing somber “Your majesty, if I'm not marrying you, why am I here?”

________________________________________________________________

Clarke is pale and more scared than she has ever been in her life. Aden was so happy to tell her she was engaged to the leader of his military, that she couldn't choke out that that was a much much worse prospect than marrying a twelve (“and three quarters”he protested) year old king. The Commander was ruthless and vicious. This was known throughout the world. And now Clarke was headed toward the bedchambers of a savage beast. Aden had sent her off cheerfully not noticing how stricken she looked, and she couldn't bring herself to tell him how much she really really didn't want this. Clarke wishes they hadn't taken away her drawing of Lexa. She needed it

The handmaid's lead her further and further up the tower on weak legs until they stand before a wooden carved door. They leave her there disappearing back down the staircase. She could run Clarke thinks they would catch her but maybe they would be so angry they'd kill her instead. No. she isn't ready to die. So she raises one trembling hand and knocks.

A voice from inside calls faintly “Come in”

She pushes open the door slowly and nearly collapses.

“I...I’m sorry for all the red tape, but I said I would never leave you and I meant it. And Aden was excited to meet you, and I should have told you about all this and our rise to the throne and my family and becoming the commander and- and well… I just- please say something.” Lexa babbles to a stunned Clarke, green eyes hopeful.

There she is. Standing there in a thin black nightdress looking so so beautiful with more scars and muscles ( and oh god is that a tattoo??) than when she left but still Lexa . So it shouldn't have been a shock when Clarke lets out a sob and dashes across the room to tackle her onto the bed hands and lips everywhere ripping at the dress to get to skin and upon finding it pulling her as close as humanly possible. Clarke kisses every bit of precious skin she can reach finally landing on her lips and staying there until they can’t breathe. She scrambles to grab handfuls of her best friend, of Lexa. The green eyed girl tries to speak but can’t seem to find her breath as Clarke cups her jaw and drops open mouthed kisses on her throat. They both ignore the tears streaming down their cheeks.

Soon Clarke ditches the robe and slippers and shoves Lexa under the covers pushing them as close as they were when squeezed into Clarke’s twin bed as children. Clarke’s head on Lexa’s chest, Lexas arms wrapped around her shoulders and hips. “So.” Lexa begins, “You aren't angry?”

Clarke picks up her head to look Lexa in the eye “Oh I’m furious with you” she said satisfied at Lexa’s wince “We will be talking about this extensively in the morning but for now let’s just sleep. I’m tired, you made me ride in a carriage for a week , Lexa.”

Lexa chuckles “You must realize why that was necessary, my love…”

“Shhhhh, sleep Lexa. You can explain yourself to me when I’ve had at least twelve hours in bed with you”

“Clarke you can’t possibly sleep that long.”

“Who said anything about sleep?” Clarke smirks into the commanders chest.

Lexa drops a final kiss to Clarke’s temple and they both drift off smiling.

#clexa #clexa au #clexa fanfiction #clexa fanfic #clexa fanfic au #clexa royalty au #clexa arranged marriage au #clexa fic #clexa ao3

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firstumcschenectady · 3 years

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“God, Hope, and Fear” based on Isaiah 64:1-9 and Mark 13:24-37

“But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.” Is it fair to say, CHECK? I mean, these things haven't literally happened, but it feels like it is close enough. The world has we know it has been through at least as much upheaval as the moon losing it's reflective qualities.

It also sounds like grief to me, the darkness and heaviness of grief, when even if the sun shines, it doesn't matter, because the heavy cloud of loss serves as a thick fog that doesn't let the sunlight in.

And most people are grieving right now, to greater or lesser extents.

This year (probably for the first time), I'm glad that Advent Scriptures are apocalyptic. Usually I'm annoyed by that. But this year, they... fit.

“The sun will be darkened, the moon will not give light, the stars will stop shining.”

Yes, fine, that happened. Now what?

Well, the writer of Mark says that when that happens, Jesus will show up. It probably helps to remember that the early Christians expected end times during their lifetimes, and that the destruction of the Temple and Jerusalem by Rome in 70 CE seemed like the beginning of the end. The Gospel of Mark was written pretty soon after that.

So it seems like the Gospel writer is suggesting, “these terrible times are just a sign of the good things God is about to be up to.”

Can I admit something?

That sounds terribly naive!

(I feel like I just lost pastor points in some tally somewhere.)

Except....

My life has been about paying attention to the Divine, both in the stories of the Bible and in the stories of people's lives, and as much as I hate to admit it, the Gospel writer isn't wrong. When things are looking particularly bleak, and when everything is shaken up, God is still there – and God is EXCEPTIONALLY good at breaking into moments like that with grace and wonder. (Perhaps the reason a Hail Mary pass is called that...)

Or perhaps, it is just that when everything else is chaos, there are less barriers to God doing God's thing, because it is people's control that keeps God away.

Now, I believe that people have failed to contain this pandemic, and people have made choices not to protect the vulnerable from the devastating economic impacts in individual and family lives. Much of this has been done by government, and institutions. It has NOT been God's will that so many got ill, so many have died, nor that so many have been harmed by the side effects of the pandemic (which, as with medicine, can be deadly serious.)

Yet, I believe that God is at work to bring as much good out of all of this as possible. Because that's just how God is.

And I think our work is to try to help God along the way, mostly by not letting people put up barriers to God's work.

Of course, it can be hard to tell exactly what God is up to, and it can be REALLY hard to find the difference between our agenda's and God's agenda, but as a general rule, God's agenda has to do with bringing full and abundant life to all people, or any step in that direction that doesn't do more harm than good.

The pessimistic part of me is afraid that the pandemic is going to be used to make profit for the already wealthy, to consolidate power among those who have it, and to reverse any progress made for vulnerable populations. As supporting evidence I offer: the stock market, and women dropping out of the labor force. I'm stopping there before I get angry all over again at the injustices.

And, indeed, human beings are an easily terrified lot, with existential anxiety, and a tendency towards tribal thinking that results in short term and feel good actions rather than long term and global problem solving. We can be our own worst enemies, and no matter how much someone has (in wealth or power), basic human fear often tell them it isn't enough, and they keep trying to get more.

So, God's agenda isn't going to get implemented automatically. There are real impediments to it, even though God's agenda is the best one out there.

Now more than ever, it can be easy to feel small and helpless in the face of the problems of the world. However, we each have our own power, and we have a connection to the God-of-All who takes our power and effort and might and combines it with others to make the best use of what we offer.

So, in these early days of Advent, I invite you to do what you can to advance God's agenda, and my suggestion in this case is: do what you can to let go of your own fear.

(NOTE: this doesn't mean stop being SAFE, they're different)

Letting go of fear probably means acknowledging it, naming it, listening to it, possibly even playing out a lot of worse case scenarios. You may want to share about this with someone you trust, it will help even more. It may be worth examining fears, as they often contain fears themselves, stacked like nesting dolls. The really great part about this is that by the time you examine all the way down, the fear at the core is quite small and can be managable!

At the end of this process, reminding yourself that even in those worst case scenarios you are loved by God and by other people, you are worthy, you are cared about, and you are not alone. None of us can be alone, because God is with us, and God carries the love of others to us.

It may feel small, but letting go of our fears is a way to let God live more fully in us. And it makes the world a little bit less fearful and a little bit more … vibrant.

And that is a lot like lighting a candle in the darkness. It makes a big difference.

So, dear ones, face a fear this week, and let it's power diminish. In doing so, you participate in building the kindom. Amen

Rev. Sara E. Baron First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305 Pronouns: she/her/hers http://fumcschenectady.org/ https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

#FUMC Schenectady #Schenectady #UMC #Sorry about the UMC world #Rev Sara E Baron #Thinking Church #Progressive Christianity #Advent 1 #Light in the Darkness

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jessejackreyes · 6 years

Text

Time's Arrow

Chapter 0: Regrets and Second Chances

Also on (ao3)

Summary: A year ago Hanzo lost everything that gave his life meaning. He left Overwatch shortly thereafter, seeking revenge. But, when a strange Omnic shows up and offers him his revenge on a silver platter, Hanzo finds himself caught up in the robot's strange plan and given a unique opportunity. He has a second chance to make things right, to save the people he loves and nothing is going to stop him, if only he could figure out how to do it.

It seemed fitting that the sky had opened up with a near torrential downpour on today of all days. The large tree provided no protection against the freezing rain, not that he sought any. Instead, he simply kneeled in silent mourning. He had no more tears of his own to shed, for tears required a heart and he had lost that on this very day a year ago. The rain would have hidden his tears anyway, if he had managed any, but, in it he took some solace. The sky grieved for the fallen in his place, rain falling in place of tears, lightning and thunder screaming out for all to hear of the tragedy and injustice that had happened here.

Soaked from head to toe, he honored the fallen, those left behind, as best he could. He wanted to speak of the things that had happened since that day, the things he had done. He wanted to tell their spirits of his progress. But, sorrow and pain held his tongue. Instead, he silently asked forgiveness for his failures, for failing them, knowing that he did not deserve it. He was content to kneel here all day, even in the chill of the rain, where he remembered them, remembered him. This was his day of mourning, a break from his crusade for a short moment, until his hunt continued.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him out of his reverie. They were loud, practically booming towards him despite the roaring wind and pouring rain. Whoever was coming wanted to be heard as they approached. They did not want to surprise him. His hands shifted to grab his bow where it had been lain on the ground and he waited to see what this mystery guest would do.

“You are a difficult man to find Hanzo Shimada,” A mechanical voice called out, footsteps ending a dozen feet behind him.

“And you are very bold to bother me knowing who I am,” Hanzo replied, body unmoving.

“Yes, I apologize for interrupting you during such a difficult time,” The voice called out softly. “But, this was my best bet for finding you and I could not waste it,” He tensed as the Omnic spoke, but did not attack, not yet.

“An assassin wouldn’t have announced his presence so loudly,” The question and accusation clear in his harsh tone, challenging the main to explain himself or suffer the consequences.

“I am here as a friend, offering something that I believe you want,” The voice replied calmly.

“Spit it out then,” Hanzo snapped. This Omnic was trying his patience already, interrupting his mourning was not a smart move for anyone.

“In four days time the Talon agent known as Widowmaker will be transferred to a facility in Romania where she will undergo an intense procedure that will leave her hospitalized and helpless for at least three days,”

His grip tightened on his bow and he spun around rapidly, facing the Omnic, arrow at the ready, trained right where it's heart would be. Whoever this person was they did not flinch at the weapon poised to end their life. The only movement was the fluttering of the Omnic’s cloak in the strong wind.

“Who are you?” It was a demand, not a question.

The strange Omnic reached into his cloak, Hanzo’s fingers itching to end it’s life if it made even the tiniest of hostile movements. Instead, he procured a small card and proffered it forward. They stood frozen in place, card held forward and arrow ready to fire. The moment held for what felt like several minutes before Hanzo reluctantly lowered his bow and grabbed the card, briefly examining the contents. It was a strange business card to say the least.

ER-45M-US

Enemy of Talon

Among other things

“Most call me 45,” It spoke. “I’m a friend,”

“What is the cost of this information?” He asked, wary of the actual intentions of this so-called friend.

“Nothing,” Hanzo raised an eyebrow at the claim. “We want to get rid of many of the same people,” 45 added by way of explanation. “Getting rid of the sniper and damaging that base helps me. We both get something out of this,”

“What do I get exactly?” Hanzo asked guardedly.

“Revenge,”

The thoughts and feelings came unbidden. The dragons beneath his skin vibrating with approval at the thought of killing the spider that had taken his mate, had taken Jesse away from them. Sorrow at the memory turned to rage as his dragon’s manifested in all their glory, coiling around their master egging him on. Urging him to act, to seek the woman out and consume her.

“You wish to avenge those you have lost don't you?” For a moment all of the rage he felt turned towards the Omnic at it’s words. He took two steps forward before he regained control of himself, remembering that 45 is the one who knew, or at least claimed to know where the sniper was.

“Where?” Hanzo spoke with three voices at that very moment, all of the same mind. If this was a trap they would kill everybody there and seek out 45 to pay it back, if it was the truth, they could not pass up this opportunity. The Omnic held out another card, this one with coordinates and a time on it.

“Her treatment is scheduled to start at that time,” Hanzo grabbed the card and stomped off rapidly, the purpose of all three of them clear at that moment. As he retreated the Omnic shouted after him over the storm. “When you are seeking a new way to make things right, come find me. I can give you something better than simple revenge,”

Hanzo turned back to where the figure had been, confused by such a strange claim, but the Omnic had disappeared after it’s speech. He would wonder about that later. Now he had someone to pay a visit to.

It was almost disappointingly easy to assault the Talon base when he found it. Their outer security fell quickly and quietly to his arrows, the people inside faring little better. When they finally noticed him and reacted it was far too late. They did not have the man or firepower necessary to stop the scion of the Shimada clan in all of his fury. Anyone who did not fall to him was torn to shreds by rampaging dragons.

He had lost count of how many Talon grunts he and his dragons had slain by the time they reached sub basement three. There were guards amongst the doctors and nurses on the staff for this floor; they were easily dispatched. The medical staff itself could not really resist. A year ago, with Jesse by his side, he would probably have felt bad or reconsidered killing these people, not that they necessarily deserved it. That felt like a lifetime ago. Now, they screamed and begged, but they were devoured all the same.

The trail of future corpses eventually led him to what he sought. Hanzo was not quite prepared for the pitiful sight that awaited him. The woman he knew as Widowmaker was clearly not here for some surgery or simple treatment. She was tied down to a cold metal table tightly, more devices than seemed reasonable attached to her and chirping away for some reason or another. A strange unlabeled fluid was being dripped into her arm. She also appeared to be entirely conscious and in pain, aware of what was going on around her.

He killed the people attending her. They seemed more like torturers than doctors. Regardless, they died like all the rest, leaving Hanzo alone with Jesse’s murderer. He felt a great many things at that moment: disappointment at how easy this was, righteous anger and even a strange calm as he stared down at the defenseless terrorist.

He remembered hearing from someone back in Overwatch the tragic story of Amelie Lacroix. The state he found her in seemed to prove that what had been said was true. She was taken against her will and worked for them only because of what they had done to her. He felt not a shred of pity or sympathy for the woman; there would be no mercy. He had lost all semblance of such things when he watched Jesse died, when his heart shattered.

Angry snarling filled the room as two great dragons made their presence known. They were as hungry for this as Hanzo was himself. He had dreamed of nothing but his loss and avenging that loss since that day. He had left the rest of Overwatch when they would not facilitate his crusade. The death and destruction he wrought against the organization that stole everything from him was the only thing that brought him even a modicum of satisfaction. He could only imagine how good this was going to feel.

“There is no pain, no torture that you have ever felt that will compare to what you are about to experience,” There was no true guarantee that she could even understand him right now, though that did not deter him speaking. They descended upon her with a roar that shook the building. There was normally a single mercy for those that found themselves the victims of these dragon’s fangs and that was that while painful, their deaths were quick.

Hanzo watched with less interest than he had expected as Jesse’s murderer was devoured slowly and painfully in front of him. She struggled against her chains, screams muffled. The various monitors fluctuating wildly. Time passed quickly, Hanzo turning to leave as they finished their task here, their vengeance accomplished. His dragons joined him as he set about to destroy the rest of the base while he was here. He was here, in part, to raze it to the ground.

He was gone by the time the explosions leveled the facility. The city responded quickly to the conflagration, though it was no simple fire to control or put out. The sounds faded in the distance behind him as he made his way back to his safehouse, not allowing himself to collect his thoughts until the doors closed behind him and he was in some semblance of safety.

Less than an hour before he settled down on his bed with a bottle of sake had seen Hanzo exacting painful revenge on the woman who had taken everything he cared about. She had suffered. She was dead. He had been dreaming of this day for the past year. Despite all of that, he did not feel fulfilled or satisfied. All he could feel was that same hollowness that had consumed him the moment he watched the light drain from Jesse’s eyes. This was supposed to change things somehow. But, in the end, it did not bring his beloved back, so what was the point?

Hanzo is not entirely sure what it was that made him get into contact with 45. But, less than a week after the incident in Romania, sees him finding contact information on the back of the business card he was handed and agreeing to meet with the omnic, based out of the United States. The journey brought him landing to LAX within the day. He had only been here once before, when he was much younger, but he was use to the busy airport and the obnoxious crowds. He gathered his luggage, carrying his bow, and he walked swiftly across the terminal, searching for whoever was supposed to pick him up. IT was more difficult to ignore the crowd, the noise, while he was scanning it, but he managed as best he could to put it in the back of his mind.

“Greetings,” A voice called out to him as he exited the terminal building.

“I did not expect that you would be here personally,” Hanzo replied as 45 led the way across the airport.

“Time is unfortunately shorter than I would like,” The Omnic replied by way of explanation. “We have somewhere to be rather quickly if you truly wish to see what I intend.”

“Where are we heading?”

“It will take us several hours to get there.” Was the only response he was given, not that he had truly expected to be told.

Hanzo sat in silence, merely taking in the direction that they were traveling. They made their way northeastward. The trip took them through the city around the airport, but quickly became long stretches of highway dotted by specs of civilization. They continued into the harsh desert, Hanzo recalling that they were likely headed towards Death Valley.

As the heat grew more intense, and the air dryer, they eventually abandoned any marked roads altogether. Setting out into the grand expanse of the inhospitable desert. These wanderings drew them a long distance, though he spotted nothing for a long time. Eventually their destination all but materialized around them, as if from thin air.

Four large, slender towers made of dull metal stood around the perimeter of what appeared to be some kind of solar energy farm. A hidden power plant of some kind out in the middle of nowhere in along the edge of California. Though the outside was significantly less impressive than the inside.

With nary a word, 45 ushered Hanzo quickly to a large metal blast door that allowed them underground, into the real meat of the facility. They passed through some type of reception office and into a marvel of modern technology. Machines, large and small that alll appeared to be doing something or another, perhaps some kind of strange assembly line, surrounded them on all sides. 45 seemed to ignore Hanzo’s brief pause, never breaking their stride through the facility.

“What is this place?” Hanzo finally asked as he jogged briefly, to catch back up with the Omnic.

“An Omnium,” It replied simply.

“I was under the impression that they were all shut down,” Hanzo commented.

“It was never quite finished and has been forgotten by everyone but me,” 45 explained. “I haven’t been bothered out here in quite some time.”

“It is quite the impressive facility,” Hanzo noted. Even today, the technology on display seemed quite advanced.

“I wish I could take more credit for it. Very little of this is directly my work, though the reason we are here is all thanks to my effort,”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“First I have a question,” Hanzo stared at him, raising an eyebrow, but not objecting. “What would you give to fix the mistakes of your past?” The hypothetical was not what Hanzo had been expecting when it said that it wanted to ask him a question. This seemed silly, but the omnic’s tone was serious.

“Anything,” The answer was simple and true.

“Good. Then we are on the same page here,”

“Might I ask what your goals are here? You introduced yourself as an enemy of Talon, which does not necessarily align our paths,”

“I am afraid my answer is less personal than yours,” 45 did not pause in its stride as it spoke. “I have dedicated my life to, among other things, maintaining the peace in the aftermath of the crisis and they seek to undo all of my work. They will plunge the world into war. They will kill countless innocents and this cannot be permitted.”

“And you have a plan to stop this?”

“Yes, one that has been in the works for some time. One that I need your help to accomplish,” They reached a computer console of some kind that 45 moved to access before Hanzo responded.

“I…” A cough interrupted his response. The air suddenly felt thick. A heaviness settled into his limbs rapidly, his vision clouded before fading to black altogether.

Consciousness returned to him all at once, though everything seemed sluggish and it was incredibly difficult to concentrate. He immediately began examining his situation as best he could given the circumstances. He was apparently strapped down, his arms and legs bound, holding him against a metal table. The table was, in turn, surrounded by a circle of thirteen huge, weirdly high tech, mirrors. Some current of energy arced between the tops of the mirrors every several seconds. He began wondering what all of this could mean.

“You are finally awake. Good,” 45’s voice pulled him back to reality.

“Where am I?” Hanzo kept his voice calm, despite being bound and relatively helpless at the moment. He would not show weakness.

“In the heart of this facility,”

“Why am I restrained?”

“I apologize for that, but I did not believe that I had enough time to convince you that I was serious and that my plan would work,” 45 did not sound apologetic in the slightest.

“So you kidnapped me and expect me to go along with what you want in the future?”

“No,” 45 responded simply. “In the past.”

“What the hell are you talking about,” Hanzo asked, confused and irritated.

“I have devised a method to, with limitations, send an individual into the past,” The Omnic answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You are crazy,”

“That is why I needed to render you unconscious. I did not have time to argue.”

“Why?”

“There is a limit to how far I can send someone without my equipment frying before it finishes its job. That limit is roughly 12 years,” They continued to explain. “There is a margin of error of about six months on top of that limit. I can absolutely guarantee you will arrive at least 11 years, five months and 12 days ago from whenever I press this button.”

“Why is that so important…” Hanzo paused as he realized what those numbers meant to him. If it was still the same day as before he was knocked out. Then he killed Genji 11 years, five months and 11 days ago.

“I’m giving you a second chance,” 45 continued as the mechanical sounds and thrums of power in the Omnium mounted higher and higher.

“Assuming this will work and is not simply the ravings of a lunatic, Why me? Why not send yourself back?”

“Not enough time to explain, but in short it won't work. It will work for you and I am well aware of what you will likely do and how it will further both of our goals.” Suddenly he heard an explosion, shaking the very foundations around them.

“What was that?”

“I am siphoning most of the power from the western United States in order to successfully send you back. This place is no longer hidden,” A second boom, loud, but apparently not as strong rocked the base. “They seriously think that an EMP will take this place down,” The Omnic shook his head at the implication.

“Who is attacking you?”

“Right now, the American government worried about a rogue Omnium coming online. Soon it will be other people, including your enemies, but they will all be too late.”

“And if this crazy plan of yours does not work?” Hanzo asked irritated.

“Then all of my work ends here,” The omnic replied simply. “But it will work and you will thank me when it does.”

The energy arcing between the mirrors had been growing brighter and the frequency of the jumps had increased while they spoke. Hanzo tested his bonds, hoping he could get out of them quickly enough to act, though he had no such luck at the moment. As his head cleared he realized that all he needed was enough time to concentrate through the fog in his mind and his dragons would get him out of this situation easily. He could only hope he could manage it soon enough.

“If all goes well now, we won’t meet again,”

There was a loud click and he was surrounded by a bright blue light. Briefly he felt as if everything was wrong, not in any specific way, just abstractly wrong. For a few moments he was weightless, floating, then he felt himself falling.

He bolted upwards as he regained consciousness, breathing heavily and sweating, as if awakening from a particularly terrible nightmare. The first thing he noticed as his breathing calmed was that did not appear to be in the Omnium that 45 had taken him to. It was not cold and metallic, but rather warm and wooden.

The bed he had awoken in was soft and comfortable and, on second examination, lavish. His surroundings were equally so. It took him longer than he would care to admit to reason out where he was. To his credit though, the correct answer should have been impossible. He found himself back in his own room in the Shimada estate and it took every ounce of discipline he possessed not to freak out.

He breathed deeply, calling on the force of will he had trained his entire life for to analyze what was going on logically. He rose from the bed, focusing on the sights, sounds and smells and how they reminded him of Hanamura. Everything about the situation seemed consistent, so he walked across the room to his own personal washroom to find a mirror. The face staring back at him did not surprise him too much, the look of himself as he was over a decade ago. It fit with the rest of what was going on.

This had to be a dream. Whatever 45 had done had simply rendered him unconscious and all of that talk of time travel had conditioned him to dream about this. The alternative was impossible. The alternative would truly mean that he was being given a literal second chance to change things for the better. If that was true, he was not really sure what to do.

He had thought about how things could have gone differently, what he could have done differently. All of the regrets, the what-ifs, none of that had actually never coalesced into any actionable plan. Why would it have? There was no reason for him to ever have thought that something like jumping back into his younger self’s body was even a possibility. Planning for something like this would have been a huge waste of time.

Hanzo decided to take a shower, to help calm his nerves, to help keep him focused. His old routine, something he had not done in over a decade came back to him as naturally as breathing. He prepared himself for whatever day ahead he would face. If he was really going to do this he needed to meet nearly impossible standards, but he remembered every step.

The hot water helped to wash away the stress, the tension in his muscles. It also allowed him to think. He considered the situation while he cleaned himself as befitting the head of the Shimada clan. This could be a dream, a dream was more likely than having been successfully sent back to fix his mistakes. But, if it was a dream, there was no harm in playing along and if it isn’t he would not want to play along.

He exited that shower cleansed of body and decided in purpose. He grabbed his own tablet as he dressed himself meticulously. He checked his schedule and the date. He had killed Genji 29 days in the future from this day. That gave him about a month to figure out exactly how he was going to protect his brother, and himself, from the wrath of the clan. Genji couldn’t simply run away; the clan would never give up searching and he did not want his brother to be on the run for the rest of his life.

There were also other things he wished to change, people he wished to aid. He had made some friends in Overwatch and would like to keep certain bad things from happening, especially if he might help avert the disaster in Zurich. Though most of these ideas seemed to fade away when he let himself think about how he might save Jesse. He would worry about what this meant for their relationship later. Right now he had a brother to save, Jesse was in no immediate danger while he and Genji were.

#hanzo shimada #genji shimada #jesse mccree #McHanzo #time travel #many other characters to come #Widowmaker

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11/3/2017 DAB Transcript

Ezekiel 7:1-9:11; Hebrews 5:1-14; Psalms 105:1-15; Proverbs 26:28

Today is the third day of November. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It's great to be here with you today as we dive in and take the next step forward through the Scriptures this year. And this week we’re reading from the Good News translation. And, so, for our Old Testament reading, Ezekiel chapter 7 verse 1 through 9:11.

Commentary:

Alright. So, the portion of the Proverbs that we are in right now is speaking directly to the kinds of things that come out of our mouth. And, of course, before something ever comes out of our mouth, it bubbles up from within our heart and filters through our mind and is formed into words and then we use, of course, our facial muscles and tongue to say those words. And we should become aware of the things that are forming in our heads that we’re about to say because, you know, when something comes bubbling out of our heart and filters through our mind, there's still time. There’s still time to invite the Holy Spirit before we actually say the thing. So, for example, we talked about insincere talk the other day with the clay pot that's of substandard quality but varnished to look like it's valuable and the proverb equated that to insincere talk. Today the proverb tells us, look, insincere talk brings nothing but ruin. So, as one of the things of my father, that he would say to me, that has actually stuck, and, you know, I have been without my dad for 15 years now, but one of the things that he would counsel me on is, son nothing good can come from that - whatever that was. Today, it's insincerity. Insincere talk brings nothing but ruin, the Bible says. So, nothing good can come from that. But the proverb starts, you have to hate someone to want to hurt them with lies. So, have you ever been lied to or lied about and then became aware of it and it wasn't true, it was a lie and you were deeply hurt by it? Or maybe you've hurt someone that way? Maybe you’ve told things that are not true, spread things that are not true, and hurt someone deeply? According to the Scripture that comes from a place of hatred. So, remember when we were talking about things bubbling up in our heart and then filtering through our mind and then we speak them with our mouth. Well, that thing that was bubbling up in your heart before it was formed into words was hate and nothing good can come from that. The chaos and confusion that you may cause by that may feel like revenge or justice to you, but nothing good can come from that. Only ruin can come from that, according to the proverb. And, so, once again the Scriptures become the mirror that we have to face ourselves in. And once again the Bible penetrates deep, like we were talking about yesterday in the book of Hebrews, to the place where soul and spirit meet. If hatred is there and insincerity is there, in other words, falseness is there, then nothing good is going to come from it. And here is an example of the Scriptures reaching us at that level and challenging us, that we are new creations. This stuff does not have to linger anymore and be a part of our story anymore. And as old as the Proverbs are they still speak prophetically into our lives because this is the rhythm of the Scripture. How many times have we read through prophets who have been instructed by God to go warn people? Nothing good is going to come from what you are doing. It is only going to lead you to destruction and loss. It is only going to be bad. Come back. Return to me. Come home. This doesn't have to happen. Our words work the same way. They bring about the same kind of destinies. And if we are harboring hatred and hurt people with lies and our insincere and false. Well then, there’s our warning straight out of the Bible today. It’s not going to go well. Turn back, come home, invite the Holy Spirit back into a leadership position in your life because it doesn't have to go this way unless you want it to.

Prayer:

Father, we don't want to live our lives piling up things that amount to nothing but ruin. We want our lives to matter. We want to reflect Your glory in this world, but we all have our own injuries and wounds, our own histories. And, so, we invite You into those places that are so deeply hurt that we would strike back with insincerity and lies and hatred in the places that we think there's injustice toward us. And yet You are telling us through Your word, perpetuating that, passing it forward, is going to bring nothing but ruin. And, so, we give You control over our minds, our spirits, our identities and our tongues. And we ask, Holy Spirit, that You would come into those places that are broken and that we would yield to You before we say something that nothing good can come from. Come Holy Spirit. We pray. In Jesus’ name, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website. It’s home base. It’s where you find out what's going on around here. So, be sure to check it out.

So, there's always plenty going on around. So, check it out. Looking at the calendar, the 19th of November will be our next date out on the road. And we will be in the Shreveport Louisiana area bringing the Sneezing Jesus message at River Valley church, which is in Bossier City, Louisiana. So, if you are in the South, come say hello, love to see you. And you can get all the details: maps, times, websites, phone numbers, all that kind of stuff dailyaudiobible.com.

If you want to partner with the daily audio Bible, you can do that dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link on the website on the homepage. Thank you for your partnership. If you are using the app you can press the More button in the lower right-hand corner or if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

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

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

Community Prayers and Praise Reports:

Hello Daily Audio Bible. This is Joe The Protector from Georgia. It’s October 30th at 7:50 in the morning. I just got finished listening to the podcast and the prayer at the end and I just want to lift up our sister Candice from Oregon. Candice from Oregon, I just want to encourage you and lift you up and when I heard you on today’s podcast it just gave me a new Spirit, like I believe you have. You’ve got a fresh new Spirit and it gave me something when I heard you singing and I just want to lift that up and lift that up to Jesus and thank Him for giving you courage through this time. And just know that you are loved. Alright. Love you all. Bye.

Hello DABber friends. This is Amanda from Virginia. I wanted to call in out of encouragement and sharing for Jacqueline from Texas. Oh, sweetheart, I have been where you are. I am on the other side of that and it was the hardest, darkest era of my life, but I can tell you that there is hope in Jesus. You are so doing the right thing by just engulfing yourself in the word because, think of it like your shelter, my husband did the exact same thing. I have 5 very small children and over a year ago he became angry and withdrawn and cynical and he is saved as well but he went to the darkest place I had ever seen. He got a girlfriend, which happened to be one of my good friends, and ended up sleeping with her for 8 months. It was just insane. And I cannot tell you the level grieving and depth of confusion and hurt and betrayal from the whole thing. But I’m telling you honey, this is an attack. It’s an attack on your family. It’s an attack on your husband and it’s an attack on you. Surround yourself like armor, with the word of God, with music that is just speaking life, and surround yourself with people that are seeking and praying for you. One of the best things that I did that changed everything was to pray for my husband. I actually had an alarm on my phone. So, it was three times a day. I actually called it my battle prayer because I felt like I was going to battle for my husband…for…

Hey everyone. This is Tony the painter. I just want to say a big thank you to everybody who replied to me on the prayer wall, especially to Brian and Jill but especially, especially, especially, especially to Jill. The words that you wrote were…yeah…just lovely. Thank you so much. Things are pretty bad. My marriage is dying or dead and guys…I just…being 4000 miles away from your spouse for like 10 months now is painful. I just want you to know I am praying for. I’m praying for the Global Campfire and the new app and…yeah…I just love you guys so much. God bless you all. Bye-bye.

Hi Daily Audio Bible, this is Paul from Houston and I was calling regarding response to the lady that didn’t give her name from September 16. I know, I'm a little behind, I’m trying to catch up. But she was mentioning, she was asking prayer for her husband who had a bipolar condition and had been speaking a lot of negativity and threatening different things and going with different episodes and I just want to pray that there would be peace in the house and I thank You Lord that Your Holy Spirit will dwell there. And I ask Lord that the Spirit of control or this bipolar condition would be addressed and I ask Lord that this husband would seek out that help that he needs and I thank You Lord that he’d be open to that and I ask Lord that your Holy Spirit to work there so that there will be a softening of hearts and a softening of countenance and I ask Lord that you would just be with them and be with this family Lord and I ask Lord for peace and Lord I pray that people would not be affected by these words for they realize that these words are not from God but there from the enemy. And I thank you Lord that you realize that the enemy tries to throw darts at You and that he have put Your shield up, put Your armor on, and be ready for that battle. And I just thank You Lord that You would bless and You prosper this family Lord and that You would be with them and I ask for Your peace and Your protection and Your Holy Spirit to guard this family. In Jesus’ name. I just thank You Lord for that. And thank you guys. Anyways, thank you for praying for Houston. We’re still recovering. There's a lot of folks still having difficulty getting contractors and…

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