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andawaywego · 4 years ago

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Omg write about what happened after Jamie found Flora and Dani at the lake. Just pure softness an fluf, Jamie tucking Dani in

ahh okay. so...confession: there is some angst at the beginning of this. i’m sorry! i wasn’t sure how to get them from the lake to Dani’s bedroom without dealing with some stuff, so...but there’s fluff at the end and cuteness and soft cuddling and promises and all that! i promise! i hope you enjoy regardless of the necessary sadness.

The entire night is a blur of quiet terror, the squeezing of cold fingers around her throat, the chill of the water. But when it’s over—when she’s standing up to her knees in the cold lake, Flora in her arms, Jamie wrapped around them both—Dani still feels like she can’t breathe.

Hannah is gone and Miles is himself and Henry is there—finally, finally. And Dani has no idea how much time has passed since she walked into Flora’s bedroom and saw a woman who was supposed to be dead sitting on the little girl’s bed, but there’s cold sweat on her neck and face and chest.

No one is sure what to do.

Dani sets Flora down on dry ground and Flora runs off, wrapping her arms around her uncle with Miles, and nothing makes sense. None of it. Dani can’t think clearly.

Jamie turns to her immediately. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice low and panicked. She jolts forward and skims her hands up Dani’s side, cupping her face, looking for injuries or changes or anything that’s off. Dani shakes her head, both in answer and in an attempt to put a semi-normal amount of space between them again.

There’s nothing she wants more than to fall into Jamie’s arms and stay there, but she can’t. Not right now. Not with Owen running off and calling out for Hannah, not with the children crying and being held in the arms of the only blood relative they have left.

She can’t let it be about her right now. It isn’t about her right now.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m okay.”

She tries to sound as sure as she can manage, but she truly doesn’t know how. For all she knows, she could be seconds away from collapsing—from being dragged back into that lake and under the water.

Owen’s yelling is reaching a fever-pitch. Jamie stares after his form, retreating into the fog of the night, and Dani grabs her hand to start pulling her after him. To find Hannah.

They search for hours, for what feels like years, really. Dreaming up the worst case scenarios that they can manage and they’re still not prepared for the moment they actually find her.

Down at the bottom of that well.

Owen collapses to his knees and Dani falls with him, wrapping her arms around him. She’s trying her damndest to keep him together—to keep everyone together—because she’s not sure how much she can manage that for herself.

Jamie has spent the entire time walking beside Dani, a fierce expression on her face that only falters in that moment. It’s been to keep Dani feeling safe. To make sure that she knew that if anything were to happen again, Jamie wouldn’t hesitate to end the person at fault.

But now, her straight spine slumps and she kneels beside Dani, touching Owen on the shoulder. She’s crying, her shoulders shaking silently. Dani presses her face into Jamie’s coat and lets herself sob.

There are things to be done. Henry has to call the local police, get a team out there to pull Hannah out, and the children are exhausted. They fall asleep on the couch in the sitting room together, and Owen eventually joins them in a restless slumber, his head lolling on the back of the armchair he’s sitting in.

Jamie drapes a blanket over him and puts his feet up on an ottoman, and then helps Henry carry the children to their beds. Dani trails after them on autopilot, not saying a word.

Her panic, for the most part, has not come even close to dissolving. It buzzes, aching through her bones, resonating through her chest. This, she thinks, is only part of the emotion, the half she can handle right now. As soon as she’s alone, she knows that the weight of everything will probably take her out at her knees.

“You should get some rest,” Henry says once they’re back in the hallway. He looks between Jamie and Dani, an affectionate—almost fatherly—expression on his face. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

He squeezes Dani’s shoulder in passing, giving her a look that is probably meant to be reassuring, and then drifts back down the hallway and down the stairs.

And Dani does feel tired—so, so, so bone-tired and weary—but all she can think about is that faceless woman, Flora in her arms. How she had come so close to ending everything, all of it, and she would have succeeded, too, if it weren’t for those simple words Dani had found within herself. Without them, she would have killed Flora or Miles or even Jamie, which would have been the same as killing Dani herself.

It’s such a terrifying thing. The love of her life. The children in her care. Two things she’s practically already lost once. Two things she’s been so lucky to find again, that she cannot bear to lose.

Her heart aches with every beat and it’s only by some stroke of luck that she hasn’t started weeping yet. She hates this, hates herself for everything that’s happened. Whatever she missed and could have done better. She doesn’t know yet what the consequences of saving Flora are and she selfishly wants to go back and find a different way. Figure out how to save Flora and be selfish as well. To put her health, safety, and security first for once.

But it hadn’t been that simple.

In the hallway outside of Flora’s room, where she and Jamie kissed not even twelve hours before—so carefree and unaware of what was to come—Dani finally falls into Jamie’s arms, sobbing in a way that feels like it might never end. Jamie holds her and kisses her and whispers nonsense to try and calm her down, but Dani knows that she’s only putting on a brave face.

“You’re okay,” Jamie tells her, holding her closer and closer. “We’re okay.”

It’s true enough, at least, to let Dani breathe. To pull back and move to her own bedroom, pull Jamie inside and shut the door.

Behind the closed door, Dani pulls her clothes off piece-by-piece. She fumbles with her belt and zipper and sighs with relief when she finally manages to get her pants off, kick off her shoes. Jamie finds pajamas for her in her dresser and she helps Dani dress.

Dani feels very, very young for the first time in as long as she can remember as Jamie buttons up her pajama shirt. Even after having left all of that danger behind—for now, at least—she feels exposed and vulnerable within the drafty hollow of her bedroom.

She sits down heavily on the edge of the bed once she’s dressed, watching Jamie kick off her boots and drop her coat to the floor. For a moment, Dani thinks she’s going to join her on the bed, but she doesn’t. Instead, Jamie leans heavily against the dresser by the window and crosses her arms.

Dani can still taste the lake water at the back of her throat, the press of those fingers into her neck.

“I don’t even...What exactly did I miss, Dani?” Jamie asks, and that’s how Dani knows how serious she is:

The solemn use of her given name, no nicknames or pet names between them and her point.

“I don’t...I don’t even know,” Dani says, frustration bubbling inside of her chest, licking flames up her throat. “There was...Peter and Hannah were going to...take over Miles and Flora’s bodies and then—I got Flora out and we were going to run, but that...that thing grabbed me and I thought I was going to...So when she took Flora instead, I had to stop her. I had to...Flora would have died if I hadn’t.”

When she looks up, Jamie is staring at her with a look she can’t quite read in her eyes. “You might have been killed, Dani. That...that thing could have killed you.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Dani’s irritation turns into anger, so boiling that it’s near-incoherent.

“I know that!” she yells. “I know what could have happened and I know that I almost...but I...she was going to kill Flora, Jamie, I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t just—”

Every muscle in her body is trembling, shaking, and they have been since she stood at the edge of that lake. This is the reality of that emotion she’s been swallowing since then. This is what her heart had been protecting her from.

There’s silence for a few moments. Dani keeps her eyes down, her hands flat and tight as she grips her knees, silent tears tracking down her face and dripping onto her shirt. Something touches her shoulder and she jumps, pulling away.

It’s Jamie, who withdraws quickly. “Sorry,” she says, sounding broken and longing.

Dani looks up at her and reaches one hand up, beckoning her closer. “Come here. Please touch me.”

At once, Jamie is kneeling in front of her, brushing hair out of Dani’s face and wiping away her tears. The bed is low but Jamie is still a head shorter now. She holds Dani’s hand, always anchoring her down when she’s at risk of blowing away.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie whispers, and Dani leans down to press their foreheads together. She closes her eyes. “I was just so scared. I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life.”

Dani cups her face in her hands. “I’m okay,” she says. “We both are. It’s okay.”

“I know that we haven’t really…” Jamie trails off, swallowing thickly. “I’m just really fucking terrified of losing you, Dani.”

Dani wants to say that she is, too, but she knows that she’s already made that pretty clear. Of course she’s terrified. She has every reason to be. She doesn’t exactly know what’s going to happen next.

“Come here,” Dani says, pulling away from Jamie to give her an earnest look. “Come up here and hold me.”

“Always,” Jamie promises, rubbing her hands up and down Dani’s thighs, warming her up. “Try and stop me.”

And, despite it all, Dani can’t help but smile. Jamie is the only person who’s ever cared for her this fervently. She can’t help believing every word that comes out of her mouth.

“I would never,” she says.

Jamie gets to her feet and crawls onto the bed, pulling Dani with her until they’re lying beneath the blankets, facing one another. Beneath the sheets, Dani feels her warm hand slipping beneath her shirt to rest on her hip, drawing idle patterns there.

It’s hard to believe that this woman is real sometimes. That Dani just happened upon her by some stroke of luck and that she plans on sticking around. That she’s still here after it all to offer a steady hand, a warm embrace, loving words. Dani doesn’t think she’s ever been able to lean on anyone the way she’s leaning on Jamie right now.

Maybe that’s because she doesn’t think Jamie could ever come close to letting her down. Falling in love with her is as easy as breathing.

“Jamie,” Dani whispers, shifting close enough to feel Jamie’s breath on her face.

Jamie kisses her chin, her nose, her eyelids. Everywhere she can reach with as much tenderness as anyone has ever had. Her touch is engulfing, the press of her lips reassuring.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jamie whispers. She tucks her face into the space between Dani’s neck and shoulder and kisses the skin she finds there.

Dani rakes her nails down Jamie’s back, through the fabric of her t-shirt, and smiles at the words—the same ones Jamie whispered over and over just the night before as her lips and fingers found every yielding inch of Dani’s body. She wonders if she’ll ever get tired of hearing them.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Jamie whispers next.

Dani sighs, boneless with the safety of exhaustion in Jamie’s arms. “Me too. Please just...stay.”

Chuckling, Jamie pulls back and kisses Dani’s forehead. “As long as you like.”

They’re quiet for a while. Just Jamie’s fingers making circles in the skin of Dani’s hip, pressing her mouth against her forehead and cheek. Dani closes her eyes and listens to the sound of Jamie breathing.

“How’s forever sound?” Dani asks, her brain filled with soft cotton and a calm fog that’s making everything—the house, the events of the evening, the world—feel distant and hazy.

Jamie is still for a moment, and then she laughs. Dani feels it against her body. “You’re serious, are you?” she asks.

Dani smiles, pressing a kiss to Jamie’s sternum. “Yes,” she says.

Guilt pricks at her stomach. She feels like it’s a promise she can’t offer. Whatever is inside of her—whatever’s just happened—neither of them know what’s coming next. They’re flying blind and she can’t help wondering: what if something happens? What if this doesn’t work out?

But those are questions for another time. Another Dani. One who’s had time to rest and sleep and breathe in the arms of the woman she loves.

Jamie pulls away so they can look at one another and her smile lights up the room. “Then you’ve got me,” she says. “S’long as I have you?”

Dani can’t help but grin. “Of course you do.”

Silence falls between them again and Dani snuggles a little closer. She’s not sure what time it is, and because of this, part of her is worried that they’re going to be interrupted by something else—something terrible or even mundane—any moment. She’s just about to ask when Jamie tightens her hold around Dani’s body.

“I’m not gonna let you get away, you know,” she says, so quiet and desperate she doesn’t really sound like herself.

Dani presses a kiss to the skin she’s lying against. “Thank you,” she says. Her eyes drift closed sleepily. “What time is it?”

Jamie kisses the corner of her mouth and shifts even closer. “There’s time,” she says. “Just rest.”

Dani does.

...

#i’m sorry #it had to be sad a little!#the haunting of bly manor #hobm #hobm spoilers #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #jamie/dani #dani/jamie #jamie and dani #andawaywego fanfic #if you are so inclined #hmu for more stuff #prompt #damie prompt

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lizzieraindrops · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eris Morn/Ikora Rey Characters: Eris Morn, Ikora Rey Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Hello destiny sapphics; allow me to introduce myself, Femslash, if nobody is going to write the content i want to see then i will create it myself, listen. it's about perceiving the weak and wounded places in someone you love, and lavishing love and care upon them even when they won't admit they need it, it's about the Mutual Support, it's about being kind to them even when you don't know how to be kind to yourself, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, oh and ikora has the most Distinguished Bisexual energy i've ever seen so jot that down, it doesn't come up but you needed to know, this is all just a bunch of softness and tenderness don't @ me okay

Summary:

Five storms Eris and Ikora weathered and one they didn't need to.

The Shadowkeep weblore lives in my head rent free. Set post-Taken King and mostly during Shadowkeep.

“As I told Asher, there is a storm coming...” “Oryx is dead. We’ve weathered the storm.” Ikora is upset. She has yet to understand the bigger picture. “Yet his sisters would see his will done. There will always be another storm.” “Then let’s weather it together.” -Shadowkeep Narrative Preview #1

Many thanks to @hencegoodfortune for the beta read and of course for the memes.

Chapter: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | +1 |

Set just after The Taken King.

Eris knows she is not in the Hellmouth. Although the Tower has never felt the same since her ordeal on Luna, she recognizes it easily nonetheless. At every moment, the freshness of the open air reminds her that she is here, she is on Earth. She has been for some time now.

However, she has never forgotten how to move like a ribbon through the darkness, arcing undetected round predator and prey alike. She doubts that she ever will. Sometimes the habit returns of its own accord, and she’ll find her feet and hands floating weightless as she moves. Joints and muscle and sinew flex in careful concert to absorb every sound before it is made. The lines of lightly tensed limbs spiral seamlessly into the coiled core of her, tethering her in perfect silence. At the same time, she remains ever ready to fight, ready to flee. How often has Eris’ last, Lightless life lay along the knife’s edge of a split-second choice, the divergence between action and stillness, vengeance or survival?

Somehow, the smooth stone of the Tower’s level floors is harder to walk quietly on than the rough winding warrens through Luna’s porous rock. There are no edges to test with the edge of her boot, no uneven surface to ease her soles onto by swift and silent increments. There is only the unsubtle strike of heels on a flat, unforgiving surface. She makes the most of it, as every Hunter here does. Still, it leaves her uneasy. Her feet cannot quite keep to the ground.

Consequently, she often finds herself pacing, wandering from her post in the heart of the Tower whenever she grows restless. Every step falls lighter than the last, chasing silence in a meditation on weightlessness. It does not make her feel any better.

After so long underground, she is unaccustomed to the plenitude of open space here. While she has traced much of the Tower’s perimeters, the negative spaces in the centers of broad rooms and vaulted halls she leaves less frequented. She is too exposed there.

Yet maybe she is less affected by the empty space than the sheer number of souls that so often fill it. After so long so alone, they are simply so many, pressing at her survival-sharpened awareness from every angle. Not to mention she attracts too many of their stares in the crowded plazas. Although detection here is not followed by shrieking howls or the lightning strike of boomers, distrustful eyes still make her hunger for shelter. The choice to endure or to withdraw still needs to be be made. And whether well-meaning or ill-intentioned, a close approach still makes her instinctively recoil.

Eris has scraped out a place for herself here, lingering close enough to share with those who will listen the knowledge she has gained at a terrible price. But it has been made clear enough that she does not belong here anymore, not as she once did. If the condemnation of the Speaker and the only begrudging trust of the Vanguard’s Commander were not enough to tell her that, then the wary regard of most of the Tower’s populace would. So she holds herself back, toward the edges of things. It is difficult to do so at her station so near the Hall of Guardians, the greatest locus of Guardian activity on the planet. She draws herself to her full height and stands there proud, but never takes the ground she stands on for granted. When it becomes too much, like now, she paces.

This time, her pacing has led her to the edge of the Tower where her ship was once tethered. With how wary she has grown of exposed spaces, the open sky above that lays bare every courtyard and balcony should send her seeking cover - and yet, it does not. If anything, its incomprehensibly vast expanse calls to her. Strange.

Eris has traversed the spaces between planets with her own fragile body, with only a ship’s hull to keep the cold from swallowing what remains of her. Yet from Earth’s surface, a few mere miles of atmosphere transforms that emptiness, and its beauty holds her spellbound. It scatters sun into prismatic slices of light. The stars’ unblinking gaze softens into a flutter of eyelashes. No longer can she see the narrow spectrum of colors that humans evolved to discern; it has all faded into endless shades of the same hue. But the contrast of such brightnesses against the dark have become sharper than ever. Indeed, daylight has become a blaze to truly blind her. These stolen eyes of hers were made instead for depths and shadows.

Even so, she often finds herself staring out into the searing sky until her head aches. The sensations make her remember. She is no longer buried beneath stone, lost to this cosmos. She is free now, in some ways.

Eventually, her wanderings bring her back to the shaded refuge beneath the stairs just outside the Hall of Guardians. She is glad for this, too. Her station provides some small respite for her sensitive, ever-weeping eyes. And there she stays, until exhaustion drives her to rest, or else grief or fear or restlessness or her ever-smoldering rage drive her to pacing once again.

It’s true that many other eyes pass by that shadowed alcove of hers. Guardians constantly sweep in and out on either side of her, running and jumping and gliding up and down the stairs with urgent reports and important orders and burning questions for the Vanguard. They are so bright. Few of them spare a glance for her, these days, save for startled new Lights.

There are a few, though, who look upon her not with distrust or fear or begrudging tolerance, but with recognition. Once in a great while, cousin Asher will grace her with his inimitable company. It gladdens her heart, even when he merely stops to exchange research notes or brief insults. He cleaves to his research with a passionate vengeance, as does she. Unlike most, he pays more attention to her knowledge and her current work than her past. With the way he helped care for her in the months after her escape from Luna, she has come to hold him in close confidence.

On occasion, her friend the Guardian, who avenged her fireteam upon the very souls of Crota and Oryx, stops to greet her. Sometimes they bring her news from Luna or Mars. Words are few with that one lately, though. These days, their outgoing ghost is the one who relays whatever tidings they carry. The change leaves a cold shadow over Eris’ heart. Therefore, she values their quiet presence all the more. She fears for them.

Of course, Ikora’s is the kind regard she is subject to most often. Eris has never forgotten that Ikora believed her since the beginning. Most met her genuine warnings of inbound danger from the Hive with distrust, dismissal, or fear. Ikora not only listened, but met her with endless kindness. Even now, as the Warlock Vanguard steps into nearer chamber of the Hall for a brief consultation with Lord Shaxx, she spares a moment and a smile for Eris.

Ikora’s smile has always been warm and real and reassuring, a balm on the fibers of frayed nerves. Among the very few who welcomed Eris back to Earth, that smile was a signal of genuine care and safety that she homed in on immediately. The one directed at Eris now is subtle, a mere quirk of the lips. Yet it hints at the vast depths of passion and compassion below the surface, like a ripple that disappears swiftly on the surface of a deep, deep pool.

Ikora’s outward cool composure that obscures that intensity is not a façade. It is more an ingenius piece of architecture, a mighty aqueduct capable of holding and channelling the endless font of her inner immensities. It is an elegant and functional work of art well-kept and expanded over centuries.

The warmth that must be behind such a small yet genuine smile is palpable; it falls on Eris like the creeping warmth of sunlight, sinking in deep even though it scarcely touches her skin. Even the lower half of her face, where her many layers do not shield her from long-lost Sol, is still sallow and nearly as grayed as the dust of Luna. She hadn’t known at first, with the changes to her vision, not until Asher had told her. He never does shy away from the speaking of truth. In those endless years of darkness, the lack of light and loss of Light took something from Eris, sapped something vital, and left something strange in its place.

Yet Eris can feel the sun again, now. She can walk out into the courtyard at any time of day, find a south-facing wall to lean on, and bask in the radiating warmth like an ectothermic reptile.

Even without leaving the cool shadows of her post, another warmth still reaches her. Ikora offers her one more smile as she goes to return to her own station. Eris stands a little taller under the aegis of her regard, her spine the stem of a sunflower lifting her toward its steady kindness.

Eris takes not a single one of these boons for granted. Each one is a precious gift far beyond what she ever expected to experience again, after her descent into the Hellmouth. Yet none of it can quell her restlessness, for it springs from the same source as her gratefulness. It always comes back to what happened to her on Luna.

Each time she returns to her pacing, the Tower feels a little smaller. The scope of the sky distracts her for a shorter time. Now, even after her sworn vengeance upon the Hive has been fulfilled twice over in double deicide, the path of her vow still pulls her feet forward. She does not know where its shrouded course leads, only that there is still a threat yet to be met along it. More and more, she is certain that she cannot wait here to meet it, or it will be too late.

However, she never expected to leave behind wounds when she leaves. After she departs to sight the next storm on the horizon, she is haunted as often by the surprised hurt that she left in Ikora’s eyes as by the memory of her smile.

#eris morn #ikora rey #destiny 2 #eris/ikora #erikora #ikoris #destiny the game #destiny fanfiction #lizzie's adventures in writing #destinewt #long post #fic #HELLO I AM FINALLY HERE WITH THE FEMSLASH #apologies if i misled you with the o14 this is actually my usual abode #it's mostly written so look out for updates soon!#happy season drop have some sapphics #it's a beautiful day in a non-femslash-focused fandom and you are a terrible little lesbian here to cause problems on purpose #please talk to me about these ladies i love them so much #; ;

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purplebass · 4 years ago

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Nothing Makes Sense Anymore

Yesterday I was listening to this song which gives the title to this one shot and I was inspired to write this story. It is about the feeling of loss you feel when someone dies or disappears, the anxiety about not being able to see them anymore, to talk to them anymore. It made me think about Will and Jem and how they deal with each other’s loss, and also how Tessa is the only constant in both of their lives, in different times of their lives. I hope this isn’t too depressive but I was in the mood to write something like this.

Relationship/Characters: Will Herondale, Jem Carstairs, Tessa Gray, Herongraystairs, Wessa, Jessa POVs: Will and Jem’s Rating: T TW: death, depression Background Music/Inspiration: Nothing Makes Sense by Mike Shinoda

Will 1878: 21 Long Days Later

Nothing makes sense anymore.

It takes 21 days to form a habit, but Will Herondale still hadn’t got used to Jem Carstairs being gone. He hadn’t died, but he was still gone from the places they shared together, from the table they shared to eat their dinner, from the sofa they shared to laugh about this or that, from the bed where he used to lie when he was ill and Will was tending to him. Gone was the pale color of his mane, the faint but vivid hue of his irises, the joy of his smile that he always gifted him despite his body was collapsing. Jem had words of reassurance for him even if he did make no sense sometimes.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Still, even if his whole life up until that moment had been a whirlwind of strong emotions that he kept hidden and of people he tried to push away, the only constant in his existence had been Jem. His greatest sin. The only person who made his world make sense, the true north, the flame that couldn’t be put out. The light which guided him home whenever he was lost, but also the comfort he sought when he felt emotionally drained because he had to pretend to hate others.

He had put up walls, but Jem had destroyed them.

He had hated himself for what he did, but Jem had loved him more.

As Will stared at the small waves of the Thames in front of him at midnight, he wished he would just have the strength to saunter to the river bank and drown in his sorrows. He was already drowning, after all. Nothing made sense in his life, he had lost his compass. He was lost, it wouldn’t have been bizarre if he had…

No.

He glanced at his right side, where he would be if he didn’t have to leave.

It was empty.

Vacant, just like his heart. If he had to be honest, his heart was not vacant, it was full of bottled emotions ready to explode, to wound him, to cut him, to break him. Twenty-one days ago, a part of his soul was carved out of his heart. It still scorched, but scars are also a remainder experiences, of people. He would not forget Jem, nor Jem would forget him. They would still be linked for eternity, until they would both leave this world and meet in the afterlife, where they could be together. If there was an afterlife, but he decided that it existed.

He touched his chest, right where the rune of his never-ending friendship with Jem was. His love for Jem wouldn’t fade, despite their parabatai rune was white as a scar on his heart. He opened his shirt to check that he hadn’t dreamed about this, that Jem had been real and that he wasn’t his imagination who was playing tricks on him.

“It’s still here,” he murmured to the river, assuring himself that it was indeed reality. And then he broke down in tears, desperate because he couldn’t be with him. He was there but also not there. It comforted him, but it also made him desperate because he couldn’t spend his days and nights with him by his side.

Nobody would take Jem’s side.

“Will.”

He froze but he didn’t stop weeping, but now it was tears mixing with laughter. “I think I’m imagining voices,” he said directed to the river. “I lost the light of reason.” But then the only person who always went where he and Jem went, where he now went alone, filled the void by his side, and made him see things from a different perspective.

Jem’s place would stay vacant, but the other side wouldn’t.

The only person who understood what it meant to lose him would fill his other side, and she would be bound to him by drawing the marriage rune on the same place where the faint parabatai one once was. The person who Jem also loved, and in which his affection also reflected.

He gazed at her with eyes devoid of life, but full of emotion. “Tess, I… I want to be alone.”

“Well, I don’t,” she replied, her eyes as glassy as his, hurrying by his left side. “Want to tell me about the time you met Jem? You’ve never told me about it.”

Will’s heart would shatter with feelings of loss and love but he would comply, and they would laugh or cry at what he had just said.

That was how they tried to cope with the fact that Jem had to become a Silent Brother in order to save his life. That is how Will and Tessa coped with loss, knowing that what mattered the most was that Jem couldn’t be with them, but he was still alive. That, despite he couldn’t be all the time with them as they wished, he was still breathing. They could still see him, he would still be there when their children would grace this world, until it would be Will’s time to leave them. His time, however, would be final.

21 grams was also the weight of a soul. Jem and Tessa felt the loss of balance when Will left them, and their worlds would never be the same.

Jem 2007: 70 Long Springs Later

Seventy years. Almost the age he had when he left them, Jem thought as he stared at London from Blackfriars Bridge. He had been there at least once a year, for his annual meeting with Tessa, and things didn’t seem different except they had changed drastically. At least from his perspective. He could still fell the imbalance and void in his existence, the idle spot where he used to be whenever they fought together in battle. He could still see the mark that linked them on his shoulder, but to an onlooker, the area was bare, the scar barely visible. But still there, still present.

People’s life span isn’t long. In the 150 years he had been alive, he had seen things change, people getting old and leaving this world, places decay, turning into the ghosts of what they once were.

Ghosts.

He couldn’t see ghosts, but he knew that they existed. And they were around them, protecting them like an invisible mantle, a coat of tenderness, of everlasting devotion. Anyone would think he was mad to think ghosts were part of their world too, but Tessa would not. She would believe that his ghost had crossed the bridge to the afterlife but he was still very present in their essence. In their memories, in their love, in their journey.

It was the crack of dawn, too early for pedestrians to walk on the bridge and maybe even for ghosts to appear, had he been able to see them. It was the time he preferred because the city was quieter and he could go undisturbed to remind himself of his first life, of his life before the one he had just left, of the life before he became a Silent Brother.

The first life where the third missing piece of his current life had been with him. The one who had made his first life feel more valuable, gave it more meaning than what he would have had if their paths hadn’t crossed. If he had kept his feelings to himself and drowned in depression. The one who would go out in the middle of the night whenever he had a withdrawal and he was out of his poison, which was also his cure. The one who would stay by his bed to keep his hand warm and his forehead covered by a cool cloth to make his temperature go down, or would risk his life to save his frail one without batting an eye when he was too weak to wield a sword.

Will had been part of Jem’s second life as a Silent Brother. He had made it colorful, fiery, vibrant. As a Brother, the light, the joy, the emotions were denied to him, but through Will and through Tessa, he had experienced a chromatic life, which helped him endure his new reality dressed in anonymous parchment colored gear.

Will had also had children who had been equally important to Jem, who had reminded him who he was and… He passed a hand through his now black hair remembering when Will informed him that his first son would be named after him. “I can have a piece of you even when you’re not here,” he had told him with pride, and James had turned out to be a great person who loved profoundly just like his parents. Lucie, their second daughter who had Tessa’s lovely features, had also lighted his life. Jem never told them what Lucie did when she was sixteen, and when they found out they were worried sick, but they never blamed him for not telling them what their daughter was risking. He just wanted the people he loved the most to be safe. He would guarantee them that he would continue doing that for the following generations.

His view of the river few feet below blurred. He hadn’t realized that he was crying until he wiped his face with the back of his hand. Seventy years had passed since his parabatai had left this world, but he was a mess after every visit to London, still longing for Will’s presence. He knew that he had to be there, somewhere close. He felt his shoulder warm, as if someone had an arm around him to wrap him in a comfortable feeling of homeliness. Shadowhunters believed in ghosts, Will could see ghosts himself, and even if Jem wasn’t able to do it, he was sure he wasn’t alone.

“It’s okay to cry.”

It was Tessa. She was by his side, looking at the same view he was contemplating. In the years following Will’s death he had only met Tessa in sparse occasions. She had decided to leave that city because she couldn’t bear his loss and then the war broke, and they couldn’t properly meet the way they wanted to. After all, they still had each other.

This year, seventy years after their world broke apart, he had been cured, and there wasn’t anything stopping them to be together every day like they had wished to do when Jem was still 17. When he was dying. He knew that he had survived because of Will’s and Tessa’s love for him even when he became a Silent Brother. He wasn’t a Silent Brother anymore now, he was just Jem, and by his side there was still Tessa, the only constant in his life who was also a reminder of Will, the only person who had loved his parabatai the same way he also loved him, and the same way they both loved him right now, after seventy long years.

“Seeing London every year still moves me,” Jem commented as the sun was about to rise higher in the sky before them. “But this time is different, because I’m seeing London as myself. As Jem. It reminds me of when me and Will used to sit on the ledges of bridges around town when we were patrolling the streets at night.”

“Tell me more about it,” said Tessa with a smile.

He nodded and managed a grin and he would indulge in her request. He could still feel the warmth around them as he recalled hilarious experiences with his parabatai. He decided to recollect only the happy memories on this anniversary, because Will wouldn’t want them to be sad, even if he wasn’t physically with them.

Even when he exhaled his last breath, he had told them that he wanted them to hold onto each other, just like Jem had done when he became a Silent Brother. His disappearance from this world just meant that he was going somewhere incorporeal, but they would still live, their hearts would still beat. They couldn’t lose sight of each other or they would lose their minds, even if he couldn’t be with them anymore.

The soft spring breeze was blowing and it embraced their huddled figures next to the bridge. They would still have time before crossing that bridge to go to Will, whose presence was still resounding around them, a ghostly presence, especially there in London where he had lived most of his life.

When the morning sun was glowing far above the clear skies and he had told her about the past, Jem felt the need of asking something to her.

“If we ever have a daughter, can we call her Wilhelmina?”

Tessa turned to him and watched him with a pensive expression, still lost in the stories they had just shared on the bridge. She smiled fondly and she nodded. “You don’t even have to ask.”

In that moment, Jem realized that even if Will was not there, they would still remember him every day, he and Tessa. She was, after all, the thread that had made their bound stronger, the only constant in both of their lives. This made life worth living, despite their lives wouldn’t be the same until they would be able to finally reach the place where Will was.

Until then.

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contrariian-archive · 6 years ago

Text

HOZIER’S “WASTELAND, BABY!” SENTENCE STARTERS

feel free to change pronouns, etc!

NINA CRIED POWER

‘ it’s not the waking, it’s the rising. ’ ‘ it is the grounding of a foot uncompromising. ’ ‘ it’s not forgoing of the lie, it’s not the opening of eyes. ’ ‘ it’s not the shade; we should be past it. it’s the light, and it’s the obstacle that casts it. ’ ‘ it’s the heat that drives the light. ’ ‘ it’s the heaven of a human spirit ringing. ’ ‘ and i could cry power. ’ ‘ it’s not the wall, but what’s behind it. ’ ‘ power has been cried by those stronger than me, straight into the face that tells you to rattle your chains if you love being free. ’

ALMOST (SWEET MUSIC)

‘ i came in from the outside, burned out from a joyride. ’ ‘ the same kind of music haunts her bedroom. ’ ‘ i’m almost me again. ’ ‘ i’m almost me again. she’s almost you. ’ ‘ i wouldn’t know where to start. ’ ‘ be still my foolish heart. ’ ‘ don’t ruin this on me. ’ ‘ let’s get lost and let the good times roll. ’ ‘ let’s smoke rings from this paper doll. ’ ‘ i got some color back. ’ ‘ i laugh like me again, she laughs like you. ’ ‘ the very thought of you, and i am blue. ’ ‘ i get along without you very well some other nights. ’

MOVEMENT

‘ i still watch you when you’re grooving. ’ ‘ you’re moving without moving. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m moved. ’ ‘ you are a call to motion. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m put to mind of all that i wanna be. ’ ‘ i could never define all that you are to me. ’ ‘ move me, baby. ’ ‘ you do it naturally. ’ ‘ honey, you’re atlas in his sleeping. ’ ‘ i recall something that’s gone from me. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m put in awe of something so flawed and free. ’

NO PLAN

‘ what a waste to say the heart could feel apart, or feel complete. ’ ‘ why would you make out of words a cage for your own bird, when it sings so sweet the screaming, heaving fuckery of the world? ’ ‘ why would you offer a name to the same old tired pain? ’ ‘ all things come from nothing. ’ ‘ my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. ’ ‘ i know now that you understand. ’ ‘ there’s no plan. ’ ‘ there’s no race to be run. ’ ‘ the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun. ’ ‘ there’s no kingdom to come. ’ ‘ i’ll be your man if you got love to get done. ’ ‘ sit in and watch the sunlight fade. ’ ‘ it’s getting late. ’ ‘ there’s no hand on the rein. ’ ‘ as mack explained, there will be darkness again. ’ ‘ let the awful song be heard. ’ ‘ i know your beat, baby. ’ ‘ your secret is safe with me. ’ ‘ if secrets were like seeds, keep my body from the fire, hire a gardener for my grave. ’ ‘ if secrets were like seeds, when i’m lying under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made. ’

NOBODY

‘ it’s gin o’clock. ’ ‘ i think about you everywhere i go. ’ ‘ i’ve done everything and i’ve been everywhere. ’ ‘ i’ve been fed gold by sweet fools. ’ ‘ i’ve had no love like your love from nobody. ’ ‘ i’d be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint. ’ ‘ i wouldn’t fall for someone i thought couldn’t misbehave. ’ ‘ i once warmed my hands over a burning maserati. ’ ‘ why should we deny the truth? ’ ‘ we could have less to worry about — i won’t lie to you. ’

TO NOISE MAKING (SING)

‘ remember when you’d sing just for the fuck of it? ’ ‘ the look of it was as sweet as the sound. ’ ‘ i couldn’t name that feeling carried in that voice — was it that, or just the act of making noise that brought you joy? ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right, but who could call you wrong? ’ ‘ put your emptiness to melody, your awful heart to song. ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right. ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right, but sing it strong. ’ ‘ at best, you’ll find a little remedy. ’ ‘ at worst, the world will sing along. ’ ‘ we’d scuff up our shoes. ’ ‘ you didn’t always sing it right. ’ ‘ who could ask you to be unbroken or be brave again? ’ ‘ be unbroken. ’ ‘ be brave again. ’ ‘ who could ask you to be sound or to feel saved again? ’ ‘ stick around until you hear that music play again. ’ ‘ so honey, sing. ’ ‘ sing. ’ ‘ remember when you’d sing just for the love of it? and any joy it would bring? ’

AS IT WAS

‘ there is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved, whenever i’d have life enough, my heart is screaming of. ’ ‘ and in a few days, i would be there, love. ’ ‘ whatever here that’s left of me is yours. ’ ‘ the highs hit the heights of my baby, and its hold had the fight of my baby. ’ ‘ the lights were as bright as my baby, ’ ‘ your love was unmoved. ’ ‘ tell me if, somehow, some of it remains, how long you would wait for me. ’ ‘ make your good love known to me. ’ ‘ tell me about your day. ’ ‘ and the nights were as dark as my baby, and half as beautiful too. ’

SHRIKE

‘ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted. ’ ‘ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now. ’ ‘ i’m singing like a bird about it now. ’ ‘ i couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted. ’ ‘ words hung above, but never would form — like a cry at the final breath that is drawn. ’ ‘ remember me. ’ ‘ remember me, love. ’ ‘ remember me, love, when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn. ’ ‘ i’d no idea on what ground i was founded. ’ ‘ all of that goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ then, when i met you, my virtues uncounted — all of my goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ all of my goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ dragging along, following your form, hung like the pelt of some prey you had won. ’ ‘ i’m hung like the pelt of some prey you had one. ’ ‘ remember me when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn. ’ ‘ i fled to the city with so much discounted. ’ ‘ i fled to the city with so much discounted, but i’m flying like a bird to you now. ’ ‘ i’m flying like a bird to you now. ’ ‘ i’m flying like a bird to you now, back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted. ’ ‘ i was housed by your warmth. ’ ‘ i was thus transformed by your grounded and giving and darkening scorn. ’

TALK

‘ i’d be the voice that urged orpheus when her body was found. i’d be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground. ’ ‘ i’d be the dreadful need in the devotee. ’ ‘ i’d be the immediate forgiveness in eurydice. ’ ‘ imagine being loved by me. ’ ‘ i won’t deny — i’ve got in my mind now all the things i would do. ’ ‘ i try to talk refined for fear that you find out how i’m imagining you. ’ ‘ i’d be the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love. ’ ‘ i’d be the sweet feeling of release. ’

‘ be as you’ve always been. ’ ‘ lover, be good to me. ’ ‘ be like the love that discovered the sin, that freed the first man and will do so again. ’ ‘ be that hopeful feeling when eden was lost. ’ ‘ it’s been deaf to our laughter since the master was crossed. ’ ‘ which side of the wall really suffers that cost? ’ ‘ be love in its disrepute. ’ ‘ love, in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root. ’ ‘ watch the slowing and starving of troops. ’ ‘ be like the rose that you hold in your hand, that will grow bold in a barren and desolate land. ’ ‘ love, won’t you be as you’ve always been? ’

DINNER & DIATRIBES

‘ this club here is stuck up. ’ ‘ i knew well from our first hookup the look of mischief in your eyes. ’ ‘ your friends are a fate that befell me. ’ ‘ hell is the talking type. ’ ‘ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ’ ‘ that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. ’ ‘ honey, i laugh when it sinks in. ’ ‘ the evening is slowing. ’ ‘ the end is in sight. ’ ‘ it’s easier knowing what you’d do to me tonight. ’ ‘ let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised. ’ ‘ let there be damage ensued and tabloid news. ’

WOULD THAT I

‘ i saw your hair like the branch of a tree — a willow dancing on air before covering me. ’ ‘ that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me. ’ ‘ the sound of the saw must be known by the tree. ’ ‘ i fretted fire, but that was long ago. ’ ‘ i blink in sight of your blinding light. ’ ‘ it’s not tonight where you hold me tight. ’ ‘ you’re good to me. ’ ‘ with the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet. ’ ‘ like the ashes of ash, i saw rise in the heat. ’ ‘ i fell in love with the fire long ago. ’ ‘ with each love i cut loose, i was never the same. ’ ‘ i’m watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame. ’ ‘ i was fixed on your hand of gold laying waste to my loving long ago. ’ ‘ in awe, there i stood. ’ ‘ though i’ve handled the wood, i still worship the flame. ’ ‘ as long as the amber of ember glows, all the would that i’d loved is long ago. ’

SUNLIGHT

‘ i would shun the light. ’ ‘ share in evening’s cool and quiet. ’ ‘ who would trade that hum of night for sunlight? ’ ‘ but whose heart would not take flight? ’ ‘ but whose heart would not take flight, betray the moon as acolyte, on first and fierce affirming sight of sunlight? ’ ‘ i’d been lost to you. ’ ‘ i flew like a moth to you. ’ ‘ oh, your love is sunlight. ’ ‘ all the tales the same, told before and told again. ’ ‘ a soul that’s born in cold and rain knows sunlight. ’ ‘ oh, my sunlight. ’ ‘ all that was shown to me, sunlight, was something foreknown to me. ’ ‘ all these colors fade for you only. ’ ‘ hold me. ’ ‘ carry me slowly. ’ ‘ each day, you’d rise with me. ’ ‘ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty. ’ ‘ strap the wing to me. death trap-clad, happily, with wax melted, i’d meet the sea. ’

WASTELAND, BABY!

‘ all the fear and the fire of the end of the world happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl. happens great, happens sweet. ’ ‘ happily, i’m unfazed here, too. ’ ‘ wasteland baby, i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ baby, i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ all the things yet to come are the things that have passed: like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass. ’ ‘ i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ and i love too that love soon might end. ’ ‘ be still, my indelible friend. you are unbreaking. ’ ‘ you are unbreaking, though quaking. ’ ‘ that day that we watch the death of the sun; the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on. ’ ‘ you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins. ’ ‘ the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen. ’ ‘ not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do. ’ ‘ that’s it. ’

#sentence starters #hozier sentence starters #wasteland baby starters #askbox memes #long post #long post for ts #the answer is blowing in the wind || memes.

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boogiewrites · 5 years ago

Text

Choking On Sapphires 86

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Love Interruption

Summary: As Genevieve comes out of her Morphine haze, she finds that life both inside and outside the house isn’t the same as it was before her incident. She and Alfie come to a breaking point of tension for her behavior. Song is Love Interruption by Jack White.

Warnings/Tags: Language. References to assault and violence. PTSD. Angst. Trauma. Fighting, verbal and physical. Discussions of pregnancy and miscarriage.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Life without the fog of influence from Morphine was much different for Genevieve. She lets it work out of her system, a nasty process she suffers through, feeling as if she were being punished for the blindness it caused to her behavior. She’d spoken to Claire and Aggie on very intimate levels, demanding they not hold back or be dishonest. She realized she’d been suspended in a dream. Somewhere that wasn’t reality and time had kept passing by without her being involved. She knew that wasn’t how she wanted to live. She wanted her life back. She wanted to be herself again and that self was now someone who had been through something terrible but she couldn’t change it now. She knew it was time to stop living in the past where the pain was. It was time to move forward and leave that old version of herself behind and rise anew.

She and Alfie were not the same people they had been before. She had a lot of thinking to do as to how to approach a relationship with him now. Everything was kept at a surface level while she detoxes and reflects. They share polite conversation in the evenings most nights, but nothing of substance. She wasn’t sure how to even bring up what they had said and done to each other. It wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss, and it loomed over her like a cloud, always threatening to burst. She knew he was tense from the experience, but she didn’t feel any ill will towards her now like she had before. There wasn’t anger when he met her eyes, nor was there disappointment. Only a carefully calculated endearment that kept them both in their own space, merely cohabitating together.

What Gen didn’t know was that Alfie’s hesitancy to embrace this new version of herself came from his own pessimism for it. He was holding his breath, waiting for something else to happen, something bad, a relapse always on the horizon in his mind. It kept him tense and unapproachable. He thought it was to save Genevieve the hurt of his anger and disappointment again when it happened, but it was really to save himself.

With the withdrawal effects fading from her system, Gen had begun to feel rather poorly one morning. It didn’t incite the lust for the relief from medicine and she was grateful, but she did succumb to an indulgent nap. She sleeps soundly, as she had since ridding herself of the toxins. She does something she hadn’t done with clarity in some time, she dreams. With an array of everyday mundane events, a maze of her own home twisted into a dreamscape she finds herself in her garden again. Surrounded by large blooms, larger than her head that makes her feel happy. In the center of this Eden with its four fountains and golden hour sunlight, an unlikely prospect emerges. One she hadn’t seen in weeks now. One of the children from the Morphine fits stands smiling.

“Hello, Mum.” she greets sweetly, a low and steady voice like Gen’s, the same long black hair and olive skin. Alfie’s eye color and lips. She runs to embrace her, and unlike times before she does not disappear. She holds her as real and solid in her arms as any living thing.

“My darling, my love, my angel...are you real now? Have you come to me finally?” she asks, kissing her hair and holding her face in her hands as she cries.

“No.” she answers with the same soft inflection. Gen’s heart drops. “I’m only what you want to see. I’m what could’ve been What could still be.” she adds with a wise mind that is far beyond the teenage years she appears.

“What do you mean, child?” Gen rasps, touching her face and trying to memorize every feature.

“You’re a mother. You always will be.” she says supportively with a subtle smile.

“I’m...I’m not…” Gen shakes her head in confusion.

“You know it to be true. You’ve seen me. You’ve seen us.” She puts her hands over Genevieve’s and gives her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t cry. There’s no reason to. Only good things to come, mum. Only good things.”

“But my darling I don’t understand. I’ve been told there are no children. So many times.” she weeps.

“What do they know?” she quips with a smile exactly like Genevieve’s. Full of spark and life and mischief. “Only what YOU know matters.”

Genevieve feels her slipping away, the skies going dark, the light is taken away and she grows soft in her hands. “No, love. Tell me what you mean. Please.” she chokes out as everything fades, left in an empty garden on a new moon night. Only her in the center now, no fountains, no flowers, only Gen and her questions.

She pulls herself out of the deep sleep with a deep breath, rising in her bed. She notices the pain in her stomach immediately, pulling back the covers to reveal she’d started bleeding in her sleep. The relief that hits Genevieve makes her cry. She thanks God and cries happy tears, finally a beam of sun breaks through the gloomy cloud of thoughts that haunted her. She wasn’t pregnant, her body was healing now, regaining its normal functions. She could stop worrying about the past haunting her in that way.

She scrubs her gown, the bed linens luckily not soiled, then soaks herself into a steaming hot bath. The pain was intense and making her dizzy, the heat helped soothe her.

“Christ!” Aggie screeches walking into the bathroom, terror in her face as Gen lazily opens her eyes.

“What is it Ags?” she asks in a daze, trying to breathe through the pain.

“What have you done child?!” she rushes to the tub and tries to drag Gen out.

“Fucks sake Aggie what are you on about?!” Gen raises her voice and smacks her away.

Aggie holds Gen’s arms and lets out a wild sound of relief. “Heavens.” she groans. “I thought you’d tried to bloody kill yourself.” she says with her forearms on the edge of the tub, her head resting with a dark laugh as she feels dizzy from the emotional dips and highs.

Gen looks to see the water reddened, and understands and it makes her smile for a moment. “No, no. Just the menses is all.” she shakes her head.

This perks Aggie up as well, she holds her face. “Oh thank God!” she kisses her cheeks. “Oh that’s...that’s the best news.” she sighs out.

Gen can see now she wasn’t the only one holding onto that terrible fear. “Was my reaction as well.” she gives her a soft smile and she kisses her forehead. “I scrubbed my gown. It’s on the sink there.” she motions with a tired hand. “It hurts something awful though, Ags.” she whines with a wince, resituating herself.

“Is it...are you...alright?” she asks, her hands going stiff.

“If my dreams are any indication I am.” she sighs and leans back against the tub.

“What are you on about?” Aggie's face sits uncertain.

“No hallucinations, no medicine, no worries, Ags.” she responds quickly. “I had one of the children I would see visit me though. Hard to tell what she meant.”

“If she was yours it's no wonder.” Aggie smirks, stroking back Gen’s hair.

“I believe she was.” Gen’s face is frowning in thought, looking to the lavender plant Alfie had gotten her sitting on the window sill still. ��She said I was right. That I knew.”

“Knew what?” Aggie pulls a stool next to the tub, delighted Gen was willing to talk about such a thing. Babies had been such a delicate subject for her before.

“I think…” she frowns deeper, looking into the water. “I have no proof, mind you.” She shrugs. “But she told me I knew, and I had suspected before I was taken.”

Aggie stiffens at the mention of it, holding her breath, waiting for tears, for screaming, but they never came.

“I didn’t tell anyone, it wasn’t long enough to cause a fuss over. But I was late before I was taken.”

Aggie's eyes go wide, knowing what she meant. She had been, but like Gen said, it wasn’t enough to think twice about.

“Perhaps she’s what could’ve been...you know?” she says with a sad face turning to meet Aggie’s tearful eyes. It hits Gen’s and her cramps worsen, the sting of tears.

“Oh my love, I’m so sorry.” she whispers and leans in to kiss her damp hair.

“She told me it would be alright.” she wipes away the tears that fall. “I'm inclined to believe her.” she nods. “But if I were...if I had been…” she whispers with a soft voice, almost afraid to say any of it out loud, but feeling lighter as she spoke of it. “That means that I, in fact, can become pregnant.”

“You’ve always worried about that haven’t you?” Aggie adds sympathetically with a knowing glance.

Gen’s honest and wide eyes met hers and she nods quietly. “How did you-?”

“I know you, dear.” she gives a wise smile. “I know your cycles and I know what’s going on behind those big brown eyes more often than you do. I know you’ve worried. After all this time with Alfie as well, and not even an accident despite your new-fangled timing as you call it.”

“I didn’t know if I was lucky, using that method or if it was a sign of something more...serious.” she mutters with a purse of her lips.

Aggie leaves a lingering kiss to her head. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” she whispers into her hair.

“For what?”

“For talking about this. Admitting it. And being so...reasonable about it.”

“I find if I bring up the things that upset me first, I can more easily control myself. It’s the outside factors I still have to worry about. But at least...this is one less thing to weigh on my shoulders.”

“Yes, yes, always look to the positive.”

“Even though it’s never hurt so badly before. Christ.” she groans and winces.

“It’s a woman’s pain to bare.” Aggie nods. “Would you like something to ease it?” she asks with a chirp of happiness for being helpful.

“No, no. I don't...well I can’t really.”

“How about just something to sleep? So you don’t have to feel it at least?” she offers with a shrug.

“I don’t think Alfie would be too happy about coming home to me being dopey.”

“Nonsense. You wouldn’t be. I’d tell him you were menstruating and he’d understand.”

“Oh to live with a man so intimately.” Gen chuckles and it causes her stomach to pain again. “Alright. I can do that. I just don’t want him to look at me with that disappointment any longer. It hurts every time.”

“I know my sweet, he’s had his own problems to deal with as well. It’ll all get back to normal eventually.”

----

“Why is she asleep? It’s the middle of the afternoon?” Claire demands of Aggie as she takes care of Gen’s gown, wanting to keep the news of her bleeding a secret under Alfie’s orders. He didn’t want anything personal discussed, there were many rumors that were true getting out and he had no idea how still. So the paranoia game was afoot.

“I gave her some tonic.”

“You what?” Claire says angrily.

“No, no, just something for sleep. She started bleeding and it was rather painful so in place of something for that I talked her into something for sleep.”

“Oh, she…” Claire’s shoulders slump and she lets out a sigh. “Oh thank fucking Christ.” she groans and rubs her face.

“My reaction was much the same.” Aggie says happily. “But I think there’s something we should tell Alfie.” she adds with hesitation.

“What?” Claire asks moving in close and speaking in whispers.

“Gen believes herself to have been with child before she was taken.” she whispers with wide eyes and tight lips that show her upset at the news.

“What reasoning?” Claire asks with a raised brow that wasn’t convinced.

“She was late. Not much but…” she shrugs. “And she says her dreams are telling her she knows. And she’d thought she might be.”

“All that blood.” Claire’s face contorts.

“Yes.” Aggie lets out a noise of upset. “Should we tell Alfie? It was his after all.”

Claire shakes her head. “No. Absolutely not.” she barks in a confident voice.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you want to know?”

“It will serve no one now. It’ll only bring upset to the house again. He’d dig up that monster and kill him all over again. You can’t tell him.” she glares at Aggie who’s disappointed but nods in agreement. “We also have no proof. And neither does she. It could not even be true. Just her mind wanting her to feel better now, her working through all this you know? Could always be nothing.” she states with a self-assured nod. Claire wasn’t as quick to believe Gen’s dreams as Aggie was. Was a key difference in how they handled things. “It doesn’t matter whether it was or wasn’t. I’m happy and relieved she’s bleeding now, that’s all that matters. He’ll be plenty eased by it as well. These things are women's troubles after all. We must bare them among ourselves. And this is one of those things. Don’t. Tell. Him.” she states coldly.

“I won’t. I won’t.” Aggie agrees. “But I would want to know.” she retorts.

“Well, you aren’t him. He’s on edge enough as is. And I don’t need him becoming a bigger problem than he already is. People are asking about Gen for work, and I don’t want to have to start making up things or pushing her back into it. But it’s starting to get to me.” she admits and sighs.

“She did so well today. Talking about what happened and even mentioning being… kidnapped. She didn’t seem too bothered aside from stray tears. She spoke very clearly and reasonably. I believe she’ll be well enough to return to work soon. I have faith in her.”

“As do I.” Claire agrees with a half-hearted tone. “It’s everyone else I”m worried about.” she frowns.

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

Alfie had been dealing with much the same outside of the house. Gossip and rumors galore kept making their way back to him. Some were ridiculous. Those were easy to ignore and dispel, it was the oddly accurate ones that bothered him. It made him on edge in his own home, which made him furious. He didn’t trust anyone, and it led to him being short and cruel to the staff. But at this point, his mood swings were seen as regular, something to expect and look past, he was becoming more difficult to deal with than the one that was expected to act out.

Most recently he’d lashed out in a meeting with a civilian. A simple question of how Gen was doing lead him to accuse him of being up to something. His hand twitching over his drawer with the gun and the man sweating bullets across the desk in his innocence.

“I meant nothin’ by it Mr. Solomons, only heard she’d been down after someone kidnapped her, poor girl. She hadn’t been seen out at her usual functions, my wife told me she wasn’t teaching currently. Thought it best to ask is all.” He stutters out and Alfie's nose twitches, not seeing any ill will in the man’s face.”

“Right.” He draws out, hand returning to the top of his desk as he rubbed his chin. “She’s doing better. Slow process with women and that, yeah? You remember how the younger boys were in the war. Similar to that. But she’s much improved and working again.” He gives the man a nod and returns his eyes to the contract in front of him. “So you can spread that around, right? She’s back to work, studying for her bat mitzvah with the Rabbi. Busy little bee again.”

The man nods supportively, eyes darting and not meeting Alfies face as it still read as angry. “I didn’t mean to pry, sir.”

“No, no. It’s just y’know...people fuckin talk 'bout what they don’t fuckin’ know nothin’ bout yeah?”

“Course sir. I’ve heard nothing but nice things about Your Miss Durand.”

“You’d be the only fuckin one.” He grumbles, hand to his brow before he grunts and returns back to the business at hand.

Afterward, a hesitant Ollie gives him a sympathetic look.

“Don’t fuckin’ look at me like that boy.” He snaps at him as he pops his back in his chair and makes a pained face.

“Sir-“

“Fuckin...NO.” He shakes his head and glares. “I know what ya fuckin did yeah? Sure as fuck don’t need you to point it out. Like I don’t fuckin know.”

“I thought maybe you could do something to bring down the talk?”

“And what fuckin brilliant idea, that I have not thought of already so you suggest?” He groans.

“Perhaps with Miss Durand doing better you could take her out... y’know if people see she’s alive and well they won’t be as inclined to start rumors.”

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that Ollie!” He answers sarcastically and Ollie sighs, knowing a berating is coming. “And what happens when one of those cunts brings up what happened? What will she do when they say his name, even have the fuckin bollocks or ignorance to ASK what happened? You think she’s ready for that? Because she’s fucking not. She’ll crack and do...who fuckin knows what! Kill someone? Who the fuck knows!” He shouts, rising from his chair.

“Yes, sir.” Ollie answers, looking down to the floor.

“Fuckin daft.” He bites with a slap of his hand to the desk. “Speakin' of I am goin' home after doin' my rounds. See what madness I’ll inherit today.” He mutters as he stomps out of his office.

————

Gen’s taking a nap before tea when Alfie comes home. Claire greets him and her face tells him nothing horrendous happened that day.

“How is she?” the same question, the same gruff way every day.

“She’s been very well. We’ve been working or trying to. She’s still a bit slow, but she’s improving. It’s the memory she’s struggling with now. The names and who people are, she’s getting frustrated with herself but she’s taken it in stride.” her voice is light-hearted and she explains the day with small shrugs and hand movements to accompany her.

Gen had heard Alfie’s car coming up the drive and pulls on a robe to greet him, she finds him and Claire in mid-conversation as she stalls her entry into the entryway and eavesdrops.

“Good. Good. All good. I don’t know if I could’ve taken bad news today.” Alfie says with a sigh.

“I have none as far as she’s concerned.” Claire says with a nod.

“What’s that mean?”

“You know. Outwardly issues.” she gestures vaguely.

“Fuckin’ tell me ‘bout it right? These fuckin’ cunts... runnin’ their fuckin’ mouths ‘bout her. ‘Bout us.” Gen can hear the anger bubbling in his voice as he speaks.

“Yes the clients are getting antsy it seems. They want the personal touch back, the store owners want to know they’re still being heard and they’ll have roofs over their head come next payment.” Claire groans.

“The absolutely ridiculous things I’ve heard, yeah?” he rubs his temple. “From her being dead to pregnant to comatose. Without her out there, they’re runnin’ wild and taking all liberties with it. With her not even takin up her volunteer work they’ve been particularly fussy it seems. What the fuck do they know about anythin’.” he rolls his eyes, hands on his hips.

“Yes, I’ve been asked so many off questions about her. I tell them the same. She's getting better and working from home now. Back on her feet, waiting for the right moment to enter back into her former life.”

“Seems they wanted that months back. Cunts.” he grunts and shifts his feet. “Greedy little wankers, yeah? Can’t let a woman have her peace. And bringin’ me into it! Sayin’ I’m afraid she’ll get taken again and I”m keepin’ her locked up. What a load of bollocks.”

‘Yes, they are all rather...tremendous in their imaginations when it comes to this sort of thing.” Claire's mouth goes into a straight line in annoyance.

Gen steps back, a hurt expression that she feels into her chest is clear on her face. She was making their lives harder. She wasn’t getting better fast enough for them or for the public. She’d been trying so hard as well. Pushing herself and trying to improve, but it seems just as she was feeling good about her progress, there was news to make her feel less than again.

This of course only led to her pushing herself harder. Claire and Alfie both saw it and thought it was her stubborn nature coming back. The problem with it was she was going too hard, too fast and it was doing more harm than good. She’d study her Hebrew until her nose bled and she couldn’t see, knocking her out with a migraine for days and making her useless. She’d exercise to get her strength back in the gardens and pull something, twist her weakened ankle and be down again for even longer. A miserable sight to behold when she was incapacitated because she was so intent on getting better she couldn’t emotionally handle the setbacks gracefully. She was as miserable as Alfie when they happened and neither spoke much. Alfie finally intervenes when he finds her sobbing one afternoon. Inquiring as to what’s upset her as she kneels by the toilet, making herself sick with her thoughts.

“I wanted to be able to face what happened. To remember and know...so that when it was discussed it wouldn’t ruin me.” she groans with exhausted eyes and a scratchy voice.

“Not go well?” he asks, pushing back her hair.

“I was okay with Aggie, but then new things started coming back to me and it just...it’s all so much. And so...bad.” she moans as her stomach turns again.

“You've got to slow it down, love. You’re pushin’ too hard. I was lettin’ you go at what pace you liked but you know right?” he inquired, kneeling by her now.

“No. I'm not. I”m behind.” she sighs out, hands over he face.

“There is no schedule for such a thing. Therefore you cannot be behind.” he states matter of factly.

“Everyone thinks so.”

“Not true.” he insists with pursed lips and a coddling voice.

“Don’t lie to me.” she scowls. He’s almost happy to see it as he knows she is getting back to her old self. “I know you and everyone else thinks I’m broken and I need to prove I’m not. I-”

“But if you keep pushing so hard that you have continued setbacks you lose progress and time.” he explains. “Like a business. Ya got to give them time off to recoup after work. Can’t just make ‘em work round the clock, they’d all fall over dead, wouldn’t they? Same with you.” he points. “Gotta give yourself room to breathe, relax, recuperate. If you do that your progress will be more continuous.” he speaks in plain terms, one hand on her knee.

“But I’m so tired of being like this.” she whispers, he can see her frustration on her face.

“I know love but it’s all part of it innit? Let nature take its course. You are clearly improving, and that in itself is something to be thankful for yeah? Let's not push our luck.” he gives her knee a little squeeze.

“If I have any left.” she rolls her eyes and lets her head fall back against the wall. “I don’t mean to be such a burden.”

“Ya not.” he insists. “Now let's get you into bed, yeah? I’ll have ya tea brought in. How’s ‘bout I read to ya? Haven’t done that in ages. Ya won’t have to work that pretty little head of yours wif ‘at, eh?” he offers and she gives him a weak smile. It had been so long since they’d been close and done such a thing together. He was offering to help her, possibly out of pity or bribery but it didn’t matter so much to Genevieve. She just needed a break.

----------

With increasing pressure from outside, Alfie is feeling the stress of Genevieve and her reputation slipping away. She had been absent for months, but she had also been through a hell of a lot. Without telling exactly what it was, it was understood that people would speculate. But after being taken and held by a man with a reputation like Horne, you’d think people could make a fairly accurate guess. That’s what he’d done. And he found personally, her recovery to be fantastic. But professionally it was a huge thorn in his side. He wasn’t in control of it, and he did NOT like not having control. Therefore resentment built. He’s still polite, he’s still careful with her, but there’s a barrier between them neither want to address. And Gen is desperately trying to make it disappear before it too becomes a real issue.

SO when Gen suggests they go out for a night. Just stop to his club, a little appearance to knock the rust off, you’d think he would be delighted. But he wasn’t. He was suspicious and pessimistic and he wasn’t shy to let her know that.

“I don’t fink it’s a good idea, love. How ‘bout you stick to work for now, eh?” he offers first, a scapegoat to keep her busy.

“Alfie I need to get out and be social again. It was the majority of what I used to do. I know people think I’ve gone mad out here or...whatever else. I need to try to remember how to do this.” her voice is pleading but he does not budge.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea Genny. I don’t think you’re ready. Socializing is its own game. You know that. I don’t want it to overwhelm you.” he puts as delicately as he can.

“I think I'm ready.” she pouts. “It won’t be an event, I won’t be speaking, we’ll just….go out.”

He side-eyes her, looking up from his book as she sits like a sad little kitten wanting attention.

“Please?” she offers with a bow of her head.

“I don’t want you havin' an episode in public, Gen. We can’t have that right now.” is his way of warning her.

“I haven’t had one in weeks. At the worst, I cry. And I can hide that. Excuse myself. Whichever. We can hide in your office if need be.”

“I don’t want to have to do that because that in itself is suspicious.”

She sighs and groans, shoulders slumping. “How will we know if I don’t try?” she offers up. “If it goes well it would do wonders for my confidence.”

His lips form a tight line and his nose twitches. “If you so much as feel your heart go faster you tell me. We can’t-” he scolds.

“THANK YOU!” she moans, leaning forward and kissing his cheek. “I won’t. It’ll be brilliant.” she speaks quickly and rises with her skirt in her hands. “Thank you, darling. Truly.” she dotes with a lovely smile he wants to give back to her as she dashes out of the room, but he doesn’t feel as optimistic as she does.

--------

It was a lovely sight to take in once again for Alfie, Genevieve in her best and decorated like a doll. He gives in to drinking in the sight of her as she emerges from their bedroom as if they’d had the good fortune of never having gone through the past few months.

“You look lovely.” He coos with a gentle tone, a kiss to her cheek as she’s given her handbag and shawl before they depart. He sees a blush to her face, thankfulness for his kind attention that gives away how starved she was for him to be soft and affectionate with her again. He feels guilt stir heavy in his stomach as she bravely ventures out of the house for the first time since coming back from the hospital. However, his reservations for the bold steps she practically demanded he take we’re keeping him reserved and far from the loving and complimenting man she’d fallen for. Alfie was still in business mode, she could tell by his tight jaw and stone-cold eyes that held no warmth for anyone.

She feels so very vulnerable. Far more than she anticipated. Everyone stared, whispered and turned to speak of her arrival en masse. It was bringing up a lot of suppressed reservations she’d pushed through to get herself to this point and making her confidence falter. Something that made her feel very much unlike herself. This is where the trouble began.

Alfie studied her with such precision, down to checking the pulse in her neck and the shine of perspiration on her skin for signals she was weakening. He was not going to let her break down the last of the normalcy he’d built for her in her absence.

The nerve, the gall, the bollocks on the cunts that dare ask her so boldly of her experiences. He assumed it was all from malice and a grotesque need to gawk at the woman who had the poor misfortune of being beaten and abused. Although some asked for pure ignorance of knowing anything of the trauma, a curiosity born from the boredom of their mundane and cushioned loves that knew nothing of the sort. But Alfie's anger burned like the fires that destroyed Horne’s businesses that day for what they were doing to her. She could only take so much until she broke.

“I had heard he was artful in his brutality with women. Did you find it such?” one spectacularly posh, old money hag insinuated with a nasty smirk and a pull of her long cigarette holder.

Gen gulps and chokes mildly. She didn’t expect someone to be nasty enough to ask. But the rich weren’t known for their tact. “He… umm…” Gen begins to feel light-headed, sweat forming and her throat closing, with tears building fast.

“Alfie.” She squeaks with a death grip on his arm, nails digging into the fabric and entirely not subtle. No part of her reaction was and the part that angered him the most in the moment was the old cunts nerve to try to get a reaction from a broken woman. “I believe I need some air.” She strains with a shamed and lowered gaze that wouldn’t meet his, a single tear escaping and his need to protect his image overtakes all else.

“If you would excuse us. She’s not accustomed to such intrusive blatant rudeness from the type of person who should fucking know better. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He spits as he turns her and gives Gen no option but to head towards his office. The woman is offended and leaves with her feathers ruffled and mouth agape with shock at his retort.

With the click of a closed-door Gen breaks, leaning on his desk and wheezing, her heart feeling like it might burst, breathing being the hardest thing to do while he body tingled and felt numb. She was crying but not voluntarily, her back bowing and heaving as she loudly fell apart.

Alfie with no gentleness turns her to face him and with a cool tone and hard face, he informs her of how to correct herself.

“Breathe in through your nose and out your mouth. Count it out.” He nods as she comes down, her body shaking under his hands on her upper arms. “Like the doctor said. 1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7.” He counts for her and finds her responding better. “She was only trying to get a rise out of you. Old gossipin’ mare.” He grumbles and lets her go, handing her his handkerchief. “There now. Dry your eyes. Need to look presentable as we leave. Like nothin’ happened, right?” He orders, looking towards the door with a hard brow, no thought to coddle her at all crosses his mind. He could only think of how he told her this would happen and how he’d have to deal with the consequences now. Entirely avoidable but no… she’d had to get her way.

She feels sick on the ride home. A thick and heavy silence in the car, feeling like a young child being punished. She hides her tears of sadness, no longer from panic as they roll down her cheeks silently. As they enter her home his mood does not change, and he begins speaking to one of the maids as Gen begins readying herself for bed.

“Just...keep someone with her now. At all times, yeah. This didn’t go well and she’s not stable yet.”

“Alfie that really isn’t necessary.” She adds in meekly, taking off her jewelry.

He ignores her and continues, her tears growing heavier in her eyes by the second. “Don’t let her make any business decisions, yeah? She’s not herself. Can’t be trusted with things of any significance.” He speaks as if she isn’t standing right there and anger of her own bubbles to the surface.

“Alfie!” She demands with balled fists.

“Wot?” He groans with an annoyed face, showing no other emotion as it meets hers and her heart aches.

“Why are you doing this? It was only a minor set back.” She stutters out as the sadness builds on her chest.

“Because I fuckin told you dinnit I?” He head tilts with aggression. “Like a little brat, ya had to get ya way.”

“I don’t need to be watched. I don’t need that, I-I-...” she chokes a bit, her back stiffening straight as tears bring the black mascara and liner down her round cheeks. His face holds no sympathy and she hurts so deeply it brings out a sob. “Why are you being so HARD on me?!” She demands with a shrill voice trembling with shame.

“Because I can't have you fuckin up, can I?” He spits back to meet her rise in emotion. “I gotta be fuckin scared you’ll hurt yourself. Your body, your business, MY business.” He speaks aggressively with his hands towards her. “You could hurt yaself, someone else or do something bloody stupid with your judgment right now.” A harsh delivery does nothing to soften the words of the same that cut her in a far more painful way that Horne ever did. “I’ve gotta worry that everyone will see how bad you actually are, yeah? Like they almost did tonight?” He takes slow steps towards her and his tone is belittling. “...and ruin your reputation?” He asks her closer now, ignoring the tears and wringing hands of the woman he loved, no longer her Ari but that Alfie Solomons of Camden that everyone warned her about.

“I-I…” She stutters, unable to defend herself from her own injury and pure shock and betrayal. “You’re being so ...so ….MEAN.” She breaks and begins to cry harder, trying so hard to meet his heartless eyes that gave her nothing of the man she knew.

“No, I’m being perfectly realistic, sweetie.” He barks back. “I’m just dealing with this in me own way, yeah? Don’t expect you to understand it.” He taps his temple condescendingly. “Cause I fuckin TOLD YOU this would happen yeah? I fuckin TOLD YOU you weren’t ready.” His brow his low and hard and shows the worry he’s carried the past months for those outside of their conversation. “Because you can’t handle what the fuck is going on out there yet.” He points to the window behind her but she flinches as his arms extend and instead of shame he feels only anger for her weakness in their heated state. “I’m fuckin stressed, right? I’m fuckin worried and workin' me arse off to control everything you've been so adamantly been trying to fuck back up!” He shouts and she cowers like a scolded child. “I have enough to worry about with me own shit. I don’t want to have to deal with another’s. I don’t. Because I want me home to be a place of calm, of refuge and I’ve been comin' home to a fuckin circus for months and I’m fuckin tired, Genevieve.” He groans and rubs his face. “I don’t need this extra worry. I don’t take it well!” He states obviously and raises his arms out to his sides to show his true self. “This is why I never married before. This type of shite. There’s no room for it in a life like ours.” He speaks freely now, and far too honest for the situation. “This is how I deal yeah? This is how I’m trying to control all ...THIS.” He waves his hands to her.

When he stops with flared nostrils and looks in her eyes he feels nothing in that moment. Everything coming to a head between them, it was inevitable.

“IM FUCKING TRYING!” She screams and it surprises him. The raw anger from her clenched teeth and shaking hands that were wet with tears and stained with her makeup from wiping her eyes.

“WELL STOP FUCKIN TRYIN!” He screams back and her lip trembles like a toddler.

She takes a step back and holds her chest, physically wounded from his words and actions.

“You’re not supposed to be trying, you’re supposed to be gettin' better!” His voice lowers but still spits venom in her vulnerable state. “You’re supposed to be HEALING not pushing yourself so you keep getting worse!” He hisses again with outstretched hands and he might as well have struck her for how she was gawking at him. “I don’t want to have to worry about you Genny!” he bellows out and slumps, a long sigh coming from deep in his chest. “I want this to be over.” He moans. “And what you’re doing isn’t how we get past this.” His voice drops as he sees the betrayal on her face. The hurt and hate and fear he’d caused.

She doesn’t try to talk. She only sobs into her dress she’d brought up to cover her face. He steps closer to try to comfort her and she shoves him away with one hand blindly. The other clutched, white-knuckled into the gown that was now drying her tears since he wouldn’t.

“Don’t touch me!” A screech from her haggard throat shouts as she slaps at the air between them. “If I’m such a burden then, GO! Go on then! Anything further you see from me tonight will only lead to more disappointment.” she shouts and turns from him, quickly wiping her face.

“Gen, I-“

“GO!” Screams and bends over at the waist, bent in half from heartache. “There is NOTHING you can say to make me want to face you.” She speaks powerfully, a hand extended to her side with a pointed finger to show the determination of her words since her broken voice could not.

“As you wish.” He says with a defeated posture, backing out of the room and heading back to his place of refuge of his old room.

She sobs until she throws up, pushing everyone away that tried to console her. She loudly proclaimed she needed no one and nothing over and over as she sobbed into her pillows and demanded to be left alone. She cried herself to sleep like a child. She rests deeply despite the heart that ached in her chest. But a power rises, a beauty in her breakdown of strength and self-assurance. If no one else believed in her, she’d just have to believe in herself. Alfie has proven she couldn’t have others handle her problems. She had to take control back. She had to get her life back.

———-

He sneaks in during the wee hours of the morning despite Aggie begging him not to. He pads along in the silk pajamas she’d bought him, tired and naked feet on the imported overlapping jewel-toned rugs towards her sleeping form.

She hears him enter, she would always know his footsteps by sound alone and she lays still and quiet. Seething at his nerve to show up the same night. She didn’t need to be coddled by him. Not anymore.

He gets into bed with the woman he does love. Even if he has an ass-backward way of showing it. He knows he was too heavy-handed, but he didn’t handle delicate and intimate matters well. He was business, not all heart. This love and devotion thing was as new and hard to navigate for him as it was her. But even in her less than 100% state she was still handling it far better than he was.

His hand reaches out in the dark. Calloused fingers to her back lightly as he sighs. They run down her spine, over the soft fabric of her gown, feeling her hair cascaded down with it over her feminine form. “I’m sorry, Gen.” he forces out in a breathy whisper into the dark. He feels her move, knowing she was awake even before, only having it solidifying his thought. She says nothing, no sigh, no grunt or sniffle. Only silence beside the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears in the darkness. “‘Spose I deserve that.” He admits quietly with a heavy thud of his hand against the bed and into the expanse between them. Both fall back asleep, dreaming of the other. Both complicated and distorted just as their lives on the other side of waking were now as well. Tomorrow would be more tests and trials, and they would both have to decide how to mend the parts of themselves they were still both so unsure of, their hearts.

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gcwcns · 6 years ago

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ROLEPLAY TAGS: HOZIER EDITION

below the cut you will find 100+ (i lost count) lyrics from hozier’s entire discography that could be used as rp (charrie, otp, etc.) tags. they are arranged by song. if you’re looking for a specific song press ctrl (command if on mac) and f to search it!

take me to church

if the heavens ever did speak she's the last true mouthpiece

i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

i’m a pagan of the good times my lover’s the sunlight

drain the whole sea get something shiny

there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

angel of small death & the codeine scene

shaking the wings of their terrible youths

with her sweetened breath and her tongue so mean

she's the angel of small death and the codeine scene

it's bloody and raw, but i swear it is sweet

the sweet heat of her breath in my mouth I'm alive

jackie and wilson

so tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes

no better version of me i could pretend to be tonight

she blows outta nowhere roman candle of the wild

every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside

cut clean from the dream at night let my mind reset

someone new

electing strange perfections in any stranger i choose.

there's an art to life's distractions,

the dark caress of someone else i guess any thrill will do

my heart's already sinned.

i fall in love just a little bit every day with someone new

to be alone

never feel too good in crowds

all i’ve ever done is hide

i feel like a person for a moment of my life

to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

it's the god that heroin prays to

from eden

something tragic about you something so magic about you

honey you're familiar like my mirror years ago

idealism sits in prison chivalry fell on its sword

innocence died screaming honey ask me i should know

i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door

in a week

i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me

our hunger's appeased our heart beats becoming slow

so long, we'd become the flowers

after the foxes have known our taste

they'd find us in a week when the buzzards get loud

sedated

just a little rush to feel dizzy to derail the mind of me

our veins are busy but my heart's in atrophy

you and I nursing on a poison that never stung

free and young and we can feel none of it

i'm somewhere outside my life babe

work song

there's nothing sweeter than my baby

she'd give me toothaches just from kissing me

no grave can hold my body down i’ll crawl home to her

in the low lamp light i was free

heaven and hell were words to me

like real people do

why were you digging what did you bury

i will not ask and neither should you

honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

we should just kiss like real people do

i knew that look dear eyes always seeking

it will come back

i know who i am when I'm alone

you should never know how easy you are to need

don't let me in with with no intention to keep me

give me mercy no more

don't you hear me howling babe

foreigner’s god

she moved with shameless wonder perfect creature rarely seen

her eyes look sharp and steady into the empty parts of me

always a well dressed fraud

screaming the name of a foreigner's god the purest expression of grief

i've no language left to say it every word i've got is foreign to me

cherry wine

her eyes and words are so icy

she burns like rum on a fire

the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

her fight and fury is fiery

and it's worth it all it's divine

in the woods somewhere

i called your name til the fever broke

night so black that the darkness hums

i prayed my mind be good to me

i spoke no word no sound he made

to save a life i didn't have

run

tare is this love keep it covered

her hungry eyes her ancient soul

a shame without a sin

with as many souls claimed as she

run til you feel your lungs bleeding

arsonist’s lullaby

i learned the voices died with me

all you have is your fire

don't you ever tame your demons but always keep em on a leash

i knew that something would always rule m

but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake

my love will never die

honey please try to love me

my love will never die

flowers grow where I'm laid to rest

pick a blossom and hold it hold it to your breast

my love bursting loud from inside

nina cried power

it's not the waking, it's the rising

it's the heaven of a human spirit ringing

i could cry power

power has been cried by those stronger than me

rattle your chains if you love being free

nfwmb

give your heart and soul to charity

the rest of you the best of you belongs to me

If I was born as a black thorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you

fuel the pyre of your enemies

ain't it warming you the world goin up in flames

moment’s silence (common tongue)

relax and catch the manic rhapsody

all of me is a prayer in perfect piety

when the meaning is gone there is clarity

since it all begun to it's reckoning

so summon on the pearl rosary

shrike

the words hung above but never would form

remember me love when i'm reborn

as the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

all of my goodness is going with you now

grounded and giving and darkening scorn

almost (sweet music)

sweet music playin in the dark

be still my foolish heart don't ruin this on me

let's get lost and let the good times roll

a love supreme seems far removed

reporting russian lullabies

movement

i could never define all that you are to me

shake like the bough of a willow tree

honey you're atlas in his sleeping

in awe of something so flawed and free

when you move i move

no plan

the screaming heaving fuckery of the world

there's no kingdom to come

there will be darkness again

keep my body from the fire hire a gardener for my grave

when I'm lying under marble marvel at flowers you'll have made

nobody

i've been fed gold by sweet fools in abu dhabi

i'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint

if i had the choice between hearing either noise

i once warmed my hands over a burning Maserati

i’ve had no love like your love

to noise making (sing)

your head tilt back your funny mouth to the clouds

was it just the act of making noise that brought you joy

you don't have to sing it right but who could call you wrong

put your emptiness to melody your awful heart to song

who could ask you be unbroken or be brave again

as it was

i'd had life enough my heart is screaming of

whatever here that's left of me is yours

but your love was unmoved

just as it was before the otherness came

nights were as dark as my baby half as beautiful too

talk

i’d be the voice that urged orpheus when her body was found

i'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground

imagine being loved by me

i'd be the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love

that's found in the last witness before the wave hits

once atrocity is hoarse from voicing shame

with the same sweet shock of when Adam first came

be the hopeful feeling when eden was lost

when i have no kind words left love for you now

that will grow bold in a barren and desolate land

dinner & diatribes

hell is the talking type

i'd suffer hell if you'd tell me what you'd do to me tonight

a pillar i am of pride

let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised

that's the kinda love i’ve been dreaming of

would that i

love in withdrawal was the weeping of me

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet

i fell in love with the fire long ago

i was fixed on your hand of gold

and it’s not tonight where i’m set alight

sunlight

betray the moon as acolyte on first and fierce affirming sight

a soul that's born in cold and rain

i would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty

strap the wing to me death trap clad happily

your love is sunlight

wasteland, baby!

all the fear and fire of the end of the world

like the bonfire that burns that all words in the fight fell to

be still my indelible friend you are unbreaking

and that day that we'll watch the death of the sun

the death of all things that are seen and unseen

better love

blind to the purpose of the brute divine

Staring in the blackness at some distant star

you whose heart would sing of anarchy

when our truth is burned from history

like fire weeping from a cedar tree know that my love would burn with me

#rp masterlist #masterlist #rph #rpt #rpa #tag masterlist #rp tags

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hartsgold · 5 years ago

Note

big eye friend

#eisbyl #❛ ・ﾟ when we're free‚ we can change the whole world — asks. ✧#❛ ・ﾟ true that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me — save. ✧

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cumbersomelift · 4 years ago

Text

Fire and Brimstone

A few years ago, a close friend of mine came out to their parents as a non-Christian. Distressed by their child's infidelity, they said that if they had known this would happen then they would have never had kids in the first place. In effect, things would have been better if they were never born.

That’s a cruel thing to say to a child, but it’s also refreshingly honest. I think if more of us took the fundamentalist doctrine of hell seriously, then conversations like this would be more common. These feelings might surface for others. Fundamentalism of any kind can create the circumstances that lead kind and gentle people say remarkably harsh things.

Damnation complicates interfaith relationships because it raises the stakes in a way that's rarely acknowledged. For me, it also dredges up a series of experiences I had as a child preoccupied with the fear of hell. I've since discovered that this is not uncommon. So before I talk about the doctrine as a barrier to relationships, I wanted to share a few experiences of why I see efforts to internalize the doctrine of hell in children as emotionally manipulative at best and abusive at worst.

Growing Up Damned

Growing up in a fundamentalist tradition, I thought about hell a lot. Of course, I was taught about hell a lot. I imagined it as an active, eternal torment and in long family car rides I wondered what it would even look like to inflict that kind of pain. I pictured immersion in lava pools, splinters under fingernails, hooks in one's skin, and being eaten alive by rats. I shuddered at these ideas. I also cried a lot. For a significant portion of my childhood, I believed I was nearly or definitely damned. Based on my 4th grader's interpretation of Hebrews 6:6 and an offhand comment by the Bible school teacher, I thought my joke delivered in a sugar rush at bible class was "mocking the holy spirit" - which I interpreted to be the unforgivable sin. I remember sobbing into my pillow and quietly weeping hymns that night just in case God was still listening.

Now that I'm older - and out of the church - some friends have shared similar experiences. Their damnation came from things like muttering "godammit" or was evidenced by their failure to speak in tongues. Some described recurring nightmares and even panic attacks that were triggered by fire and brimstone sermons. Many of the object lessons I received on hell are still burned in my memory.

A high school friend from a sister church recounted one object lesson about hell that she found especially devastating. One time at Bible camp, about half of the campers hiked to a hilltop for the nightly sermon only to find that many of their friends were missing. She took a seat among the empty chairs as the preacher welcomed them to heaven, and began preaching from Matthew 7 & 25. He read, "small is the gate and narrow is the way that leads to life and only few will find it" and "[the unsaved] will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life." At that moment, she began to hear her friends calling her name through the trees from the bottom of the hill. They, the unsaved, were begging her to come back. To save them.

I remember listening to a leader in my old church as he explained how the gospel is like a cure for cancer. "Imagine that everyone in your school is dying of cancer, and you have the cure in your backpack. Are you going to share it with them, or keep it to yourself? How selfish must a person be to withhold that from those that need it most?" I agreed and felt a fresh burden of guilt - how many people haven't I told? How many are unsaved from my cowardice and apathy?

Parents sometimes complained about these lessons and as a teenager I didn’t understand that. If we really believed these are the terms of existence shouldn’t be we made fully aware of their gravity?

I've often wondered if, as kids, we took the idea of damnation more seriously than our parents did. In an episode of The Life After, a therapist joins the hosts to talk about internalized fundamentalism and undoing what some call religious trauma syndrome. One host offers an explanation for why children (now millennials in their 20s-30s) experienced this growing up:

“This is something very interesting that I have not heard a lot of commentary on, but I’m really interested in exploring: A big part of the reason that our generation experienced so much religious trauma is that our parents' generation more or less chose Christianity, and our generation was born into it. So for us, growing up, it was our entire reality. Whereas for our parents, it was an augmentation to the reality they already knew. They were able to pick and choose what they let in, whereas we didn’t have a choice. That’s part of the gap. That’s why we can’t communicate [about the impact of our religious upbringing].”

The doctrine of hell was a defining aspect of my faith by design. While I personally think it's a stretch to call these experiences religious trauma or spiritual abuse, I'm troubled that emotionally manipulating teenagers this way is normalized -- even systematized -- in so many traditions.

Why Hell Matters for a Nonbeliever

I became a Christian universalist at 17 - even as a Christian, I thought to torture nonbelievers for their nonbelief was morally indefensible. But even after leaving the faith entirely, that fundamentalist doctrine has caused me more pain than any other. It also makes interfaith relationships much trickier to navigate.

One reason for this is that I find myself preoccupied by its normalcy. In fact, I'm comfortable saying that my damnation is the primary lens through which I view the church. Every steeple, every cross on the highway, and every bible verse on Facebook is a reminder that a considerable portion people in this country would not object to my eternal suffering as long as it's at the hands of the right deity. That number includes many family members and people I grew up with. Maybe you can see why that’s a little preoccupying.

This means that my damnation often becomes the unshakeable backdrop to any relationship that I have with a Christian person. Even when they’re not thinking about it, I almost certainly am - and I want to know what they're thinking about it. There's not a clear way to introduce that into a conversation, but I'm always curious. I mean, maybe I want to be friends, but it's awkward if you think your God will call for my torture in fifty years. In many cases, there’s no aspect of faith that I want to engage believers on more than this point exactly. I rarely do, because it's impolite to ask that kind of question, and when the conversation arrives I often find myself ill-prepared to engage.

This is because I find communicating the relational toll of this dynamic to be almost impossible. Asking someone to take my perspective is hard because, for one, there is a lack of any secular analogue. In that past, I've asked whether it would change our relationship if I believed that eating animals for food was a sin. (I'm a vegetarian.) Would it change anything if I believed that, if you don't also become a vegetarian, you will be reincarnated as an animal that's needlessly slaughtered forever? That if you stop eating meat now, you can save yourself this fate, but that I'm afraid your late omnivorous relatives are already in anguish for their crimes? Of course I don’t want that for them, and it’s sad but it’s true. That I don't make the rules, but also the rules are fair? Maybe our dinner parties would be a little more awkward. Maybe you wouldn't let me around your kids. Or invite me to dinner at all. You can see that our interactions might be a little strained, and you might have some questions about what this means for our relationship.

Why Hell Matters for Believers

The doctrine of hell also impacts Christians who have relationships with nonbelievers. It raises the stakes for any Christians willing to have interfaith relationships by casting nonbelievers as both a soul that’s in danger and a spiritual threat. This is why I've seen preachers tell new Christians not to befriend nonbelievers, and why I've had parents tell their Christian kids to stop hanging out with me. I think this advice is hateful and misguided, but more than anything it’s self-preserving and intuitively follows from the doctrine of damnation. Moreover, it puts many of the necessary conversations out of reach.

The mathematician Blaise Pascal invented a tactic of evangelism that won souls by threatening them with Hell. (He was also a lot of fun at parties.) It’s called Pascal’s wager, and it goes something like this: “If you’re an atheist then you might as well be a Christian, because if you’re right then you’ll die and be dead, but if you’re wrong then you’ll die and be damned. So, just be a Christian. Why roll the dice?” It's about as effective for evangelism as it is unethical. But it's an excellent retention technique for those already in the pew. If you're a Christian already persuaded of the stakes, it's a paralyzing reminder about the cost of defecting.

When I was a Christian, I found the risk of dissuasion utterly terrifying. I read up on apologetics mostly to reassure myself that I could parry every objection with my faith intact if any atheist came looking for a fight. But when the atheist is a loved one, the stakes get even higher. It’s not enough to defend myself anymore. I have to bring that person back to the fold before they're calling my name from the bottom of the hill. So many believers decide to withdraw altogether. By taking a step back, they can at least say it's in God's hands. But the relationship is too risky to pursue.

My point here is not to say that the doctrine of damnation is incorrect -- though I obviously think that. My point is to say that it’s damaging. A judgment about whether another person’s life stance makes them worthy of suffering will matter for that relationship, and in the end that judgment is what the doctrine is about. It’s especially preoccupying for the deconverted when we assume that Christians take the belief as seriously as we did when we internalized it in childhood.

Addressing that assumption requires a conversation where we may find ourselves at an impasse: the doctrine of damnation is both preoccupying to nonbelievers and immobilizing to believers. I can't say that every nonbeliever wants to have this conversation or that every believer is so reticent. What I can say is that on three different instances, I have been contacted by an old friend who I thought was just catching up, only to discover they were enlisted by a concerned believer to "give me a nudge in the right direction." Presumably feeling ill-equipped to do this themselves, my family recruited someone with ministerial experience. I found myself heartbroken, not only by the pretense of reunion, but because I desperately wanted to have that conversation - not with a minister but with those closest to me. Not to interrogate or dissuade them, but to unpack the challenges that I'm writing about now.

Even as I'm attempting to acknowledge the pain on both sides of this discussion, I'm still blinded by my indignation about it. (I’m shaking as I type this.) Personally, I've found it a relief to openly ask Christians about this in a way that is as nonjudgmental as I can muster. Taking an exploratory posture toward these attitudes has at least put my wandering mind at ease and is a big part of why I feel less preoccupied with all of this than in years past. That's required self-restraint on my part and interpersonal courage on theirs. Relationships have grown as a result, and I consider myself extremely lucky for the opportunity to have them. I don’t know if it’s something talk through and be done with, but even if the questions may never be entirely resolved it’s a conversation worth having.

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eddsworldshippinghell · 7 years ago

Text

Forgive and Forget Ch6

[Ch1][Ch2][Ch3][Ch4][Ch5] [Peru Fic]

Okay so, it took a zillion years but here it finally is! I hope some people are still interested in reading this after I took so long to update. Let me know what you think!

Warning: Graphic descriptions of murder are sprinkled throughout this chapter.

“This is a substandard trap.” Paul mutters as they all creep down the hall, guns at the ready. Patryk makes a half-hearted noise of agreement, but Tord shakes his head.

“No,” He mumbles. “He's planning something. He's fucking with us.”

“Do you think Tom and Matt are okay?” Patryk asks gently, and Tord grits his teeth and squeezes his gun tighter almost subconsciously.

“They'd better be.”

As they creep through the darkened hallways his mind wanders, and he wonders again what his boyfriends will say when he sees them. When Edd isn't with them. He grimaces, chest aching, but he determinedly pushes his anguish to the back of his mind so he can focus on getting Tom and Matt back; that's the important thing. He knows if Edd was here he’d want nothing more than to have them back in his arms, and Tord shares the sentiment.

If they want to touch him, that is.

His chest twists.

Will they blame him? It would be fair; he blames himself.

He stops suddenly, and his partners stop within the same second, poised ready for attack in case their leader has spotted or heard something that they have not.

“Down this hall,” He begins, and if they notice the tremor in his voice they don't react. He appreciates it. “We’re going to come to a door. That door will open into a small hallway, which if you recall is one of the hallways that has holes in the ceiling for easier ambush.”

“You think an ambush will be waiting?” Paul asks, and Tord hesitates.

“I want to separate.” He says, and both immediately leap to protest. He lifts his hand to signal he wasn't done, and they reluctantly fall silent. “A little back up this hall is a door that'll take you up a staircase and right to the hallway that's overtop that room.”

“You want us to go and kill anyone waiting to kill us.” Paul guesses, and Tord nods his head.

“I'll continue through there and into the dungeon. You guys can come down through the ceiling and follow when you're done.”

Paul grimaces, clearly unhappy with the idea of splitting up, but eventually he nods.

“Okay.” He turns back toward the door, and Patryk reluctantly follows.

As soon as they start walking away, Tord feels sick and regrets his choice; he can't help them stay alive if they separate.

“Hey-” He begins, faltering slightly, and Patryk turns to smile over his shoulder.

“We’ll see you soon, Red Leader.” He says softly, and then they disappear around the corner.

----------

Tord hesitates outside the door to the dungeons, unsure what is waiting for him inside. Paul and Patryk still had yet to reunite with him, and to say he's worried would be an understatement.

His hand reaches slowly toward the doorknob, other hand holding his weapon at the ready in case of an ambush. He can’t wait any longer; every second he waits is another moment that Tom or Matt could be killed. Steeling himself he takes a deep breath, twists the knob, and shoves the door open. The hallway is empty.

“Definitely a trap.” He mutters, slowly creeping forward and closing the door behind himself.

“Did you hear that?” A voice asks timidly down the hall, and Tord’s heart leaps into his throat.

“Shh.” Comes a second voice, and he breaks into a sprint.

It’s stupid and unsafe, and it immediately gives his position away to any potential threats, but when he hears their voices he doesn’t care. He needs to see them right away.

“Tom!” He cries raggedly, “Matt!” He yanks the deadbolt aside and throws the door leading to their cell open and they’re immediately scrambling to their feet.

He crashes painfully into the bars, arms reaching desperately through the openings, and tears are welling in his eyes before they even touch him. They both crash into the bars and their arms fling through the bars, clutching at his hoodie, pleased sobs escaping them.

“Oh god- Tord I’m so happy to see you.” Matt blubbers, trembling lips pressing shaky kisses to Tord’s cheek through the bars, and Tord feels dizzy with relief.

Oh god, they’re alive. They’re here. They’re okay. He made it in time, and they love him. For the first time in days, Tord feels happy for a moment.

And then the moment ends.

“Hey, where’s Edd?” It’s Tom that asks, and Tord goes rigid.

“Oh- Uh-” He withdraws when he feels his hands shaking, and he feels dizzy as he steps back. “I- We should get you guys out of there!”

He forces a laugh and whirls around, briskly walking away to search for the keys to the cell. Tom and Matt follow along slowly as far as their cell stretches, and when he turns around to ask them if they have an idea he feels as if his heart has been ripped out anew.

“Tord..” Matt says weakly, and he can see in their eyes that they know the answer to what Matt is about to ask. “Where is Edd?”

“I- I-” He stutters. He takes a step toward them, legs shaking, and he manages another step before his body refuses to move forward any further. His hands come up and he pushes his fists into his face, stifling a sob, and his shoulders shake when he takes a breath. “I-” He tries again, but he can’t make himself say it.

“Tord?” Tom asks gently, and Tord knows this time its concern for him and not Edd. The thought makes him feel even sicker.

“Please don’t make me say it.” He breathes shakily. “I- I can’t.”

He hears Matt’s horrified gasp and his legs give out, sending him to his knees. He hears feet running across the cold stone floor, and then Matt is crouching as close to Tord as he can.

“Tell me it’s not true.” He begs, and a sob escapes Tord.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” Matt breathes, “No! You’re wrong!” But he knows Tord isn’t lying; he can see the utter anguish upon the Norwegian’s face. “Tom-” He turns, and Tom is frozen.

He can’t bring himself to move, his heart feels as though it’s been violently ripped from his chest and his stomach is in knots. A split second later, he’s falling. Matt is the only thing that stops him from hitting the ground, and he’s cradled to the redheads chest as he weeps. Tom blinks, waiting for tears.

But they don’t come. He just feels numb.

He wants to blame Tord. Wants to scream and yell, and tell Tord that it’s all his fault. But he doesn’t, because he knows deep down that it isn’t. He knows that Tord loved Edd and would’ve done anything in his power to save him. And he knows Tord needs them right now.

He sits up, gaze locking on Tord.

“Get the keys.” He says, and Tord looks up for the first time since he had fallen, eyes red rimmed from crying. “They’re usually hung on the other side of the deadbolted door.”

Tord holds his gaze for a moment longer before weakly getting to his feet and approaching the door. He steps through it once more and sure enough the keys are hanging where Tom had said. He grabs them, and within moments the cell is unlocked.

He steps back, and the keys fall to the floor.

“I understand if you hate me.” He says, voice barely a whisper. “I’d hate me too-” He breaks off when Tom firmly embraces him, arms winding tightly around Tord and pulling the Norwegian firmly against his body.

“It’s not your fault.” He says, and Tord goes rigid in his arms once more. “You did everything you could.”

“I-” He falters, more tears welling in his eyes, “I should have done more!”

“It isn’t your fault.” Matt whispers from behind him, and Tord has to struggle against sobs. “We don’t blame you.”

Tord starts sobbing. He starts and he can’t stop, chest heaving as Matt’s arms envelope him as well, and he trembles in their arms.

“It’s my fault!” He wails, “It’s my fault Stephan came after you all in the first place- it’s my fault Edd is dead!”

“Shh, Tord, no it’s not. You loved him.”

“The only thing you’re guilty of is loving Edd. This is just a horrible accident.”

Tord tries to choke back a sob but ultimately fails, and Matt can't contain himself anymore, pushing his face into Tord’s back as sobs wrack his thin frame.

-----------

“Did you come alone?” Tom asks softly as they creep down the hallway, one of his hands gripping the back of Tords hoodie, the other holding Matt’s hand.

“No, I had Paul and Patryk with me.” He admits. “They insisted they must come and help me rescue the two of you.”

“So.. Where are they?” Matt whispers, and Tord feels his stomach twist because he has no clue where his friends are.

“I don't know.” He admits.

The two behind him share a worried glance.

“What's the plan for getting out of here?” Tom asks after an uncomfortable few minutes of silence.

“I don't have one.” He sighs softly. “I.. honestly thought by the time I found you, you two would be..” He trails off, but the two of them understand.

Dead.

“Oh.” Matt whispers.

“What has he been doing to you?” Tord asks, and the two of them share a look once more.

“We’ll tell you when we’re home, okay?” Tom offers. “Here isn't the best place to talk about it.”

Tord glances over his shoulder at them, meeting each of their gazes for a moment, before he nods his head in acceptance of their words.

“Okay.” He says. “Home.”

He can't deny the relief he feels at the word. The relief he feels that they don't hate him, and they still want him to come home with them. To be with them. He's still theirs. His heart aches at the thought, desperately missing Edd.

He shakes his head, gun lifting when he hears footsteps. Tom and Matt immediately shrink behind their boyfriend and he growls protectively. The person that rounds the corner is Patryk, cheeks stained with tears as he frantically runs toward Tord.

“Tord!” He whispers hoarsely, and Tord drops his weapon and immediately takes off toward him, sweater pulling free of Tom’s hand. Their bodies crash together only a few feet from Tom and Matt, and Patryk clings to him while he struggles to control his breathing.

Tom and Matt quickly shuffle over, Tom’s hand reclaiming its spot on Tord’s hoodie, and Tord gently pats his soldiers back.

“What's wrong?” He asks, and Patryk stifles another noise of anguish.

“They got Paul.”

-------

“I don't know what you want me to do, Patryk-”

“If we leave him here he’ll be killed!”

“If I take them up there so will they!” He cries, gesturing frantically to his two boyfriends. His hands are trembling and he's /petrified/ of losing one of his best friends, petrified of putting Tom and Matt at risk again.

Maybe Tom could fight, but Matt was a lover, not a fighter, and Tord /knows/ Tom will be more focused on keeping Matt safe than the task at hand.

“Paul is your friend.” He insists, and Tord’s hands lift and fist into his hair, tugging as he lets out a strangled noise.

“I /know/ Patryk, but think about what you're asking me to do! The whole reason we came here in the first place was to get these two back home. I can't jeopardize that. I can't risk their safety. I already lost Edd, I can't lose them. You're asking me to risk everything I have and I-”

Patryk falters and looks away.

“We risked everything to help you.” He whispers.

Tord's chest twists.

--------

“I didn't want you guys to see me like this,” Tord whispers as Tom and Matt follow along behind them. “If I had my way, you wouldn't.”

Before they can question him he slips through a door, and they hear a crack and the sound of a limp body hitting the floor.

“It's safe.” He calls softly, and they timidly creep through the door, Patryk bringing up the rear, all three of them determinedly avoiding looking at the dead man on the floor.

The group is silent, all refusing to make conversation in case Tord needs to hear someone coming up to them. The walk is mostly uninterrupted again, which leaves Tord feeling uneasy. Eventually he opens a door housing approximately 10 guards in it, including one standing right in front of him, with his back to the door. He jumps onto the taller man's back and wraps his arm around his throat, kicking his leg out to kick the gun from the man's hand. The man's fingers claw at his arm, and Tord shifts and snaps the man's neck in an instantaneous movement. When the body falls he goes with it, finally catching the attention of the other guards.

He grabs the gun and fires, taking three down. He grimaces as the others come running, screaming to each other to disarm him and then take the hostages back. He sees red.

He crouches, body tensed, and he leaps up, tackling one to the floor. He quickly puts a bullet through his head, screaming when he feels the flesh of his arm ripping. He growls, and reaches into the dead man's utility belt, tearing a knife free and whirling, stabbing it into the leg of the man closest. The man shrieks, subconsciously bending over, and Tord rips the blade free and stabs it up through the man's jaw, killing him with little more than a choked gurgle from the man.

The other man grabs Tord from behind, lifting him off the floor, and Tord power drives his elbow back into the man's stomach. The force of impact earns a choked cry, stomach rupturing from the impact, and Tord is dropped unceremoniously to the ground as the man keels over.

He's quick to shoot the remaining guards between the eyes, chest heaving as the gun falls from between trembling fingers, pose imposing and threatening as he glowers down at the man slowly bleeding to death at his feet.

“Hvor er han?” He snarls, and the man flinches away.

“Jeg vet ikke! Jeg er bare en soldat!”

Tord bares his teeth in a grimace and lifts his foot, slamming it down on the man's throat, muffling his choked shriek. He then turns and faces his boyfriends, regret seeping into his brain at the looks of fear upon their faces.

“Tom- Matt-” He begins, breaking off when both rush forward and throw their arms around him.

“We thought you were a goner.” Matt mumbles.

---------

They creep through the halls for what feels like hours -and very well might be- before coming upon a room with guards once more. This one is different than the last, however, as they can hear screaming voices through the door.

“Go to hell!” A familiar voice shrieks, and without a beat of hesitation Patryk is tearing forward.

Before Tord can manage to stop him the door is kicked down, and he has no choice but to fight. The room contains 4 heavily armed guards, and Paul is strapped to a table in the middle of the room, blood welling on his chest from his wounds.

The guards start toward them and Tord runs forward, catching a man's arm as he raises his gun. He jerks it down as the trigger is pulled, bullets firing harmlessly into the ground, and his fist flies forward into the man's face. The man snarls and flings his fist forward, and Tord catches it and twists it behind the man's back, kicking his leg out and sending him to his knees. The man screams, and the noise is choked off when Tord snaps his neck.

He goes rigid when he hears more gunfire and whirls, but the remaining guards drop limply to the ground revealing an unharmed Patryk holding the weapon that had fired. They maintain eye contact for a fraction of a second, and then Patryk is running frantically toward Paul. Tord takes a step toward him, but falters when he hears a grinding noise. He turns his head, and as he does a warning light on the wall begins flashing, bathing the room in red light as metal barriers begin lowering from the ceiling.

Panic clutches him and he glances to Tom and Matt, and then to Paul- he can't save them all, if they're trapped in here they're dead. He barely stops himself from puking and instead shrieks an order.

“Run!”

The sheer terror in his voice is enough to drive Matt and Tom toward the exit, and Tord takes off to Paul's side and starts tugging aggressively to free his friend, fingers clawing at the metal bindings.

“Patryk!” He says frantically, shooting a glance toward his boyfriends. “Patryk hurry!”

“Tord!” Comes a frantic shriek, and his heart plummets into his stomach when he sees the doors have nearly closed.

He glances back as one of Paul's wrists is freed, and he loops his fingers through and leaps up so his feet are braced on the side of the table and pulls with all of his might. The metal snaps and he flies to the floor.

“Go! Go go!” He roars as he pulls himself off the floor and tears across the room.

His fingers close around the base of the rapidly descending door and for once he doesn't concern himself with keeping his secret, and instead concentrates on lifting the door.

“Go- go go-” He commands through gritted teeth, and Patryk obediently pushes Paul through the small gap and rolls under right after.

Tord groans in pain, fingers slipping, and he screeches in pain when a bullet tears through his flesh. The pain makes his fingers release, and the door plummets to the ground, sealing himself from his boyfriends.

He can hear Tom and Matt shrieking his name frantically, but he trusts Patryk and Paul to take care of them and instead turns to see who had shot him. He growls at the guard in the opposite doorway, and he can hear other ones rushing toward them.

---------

“Come on.” Patryk orders, helping Paul stay on his feet as he rapidly begins making his way away from the room. Tom and Matt don't budge, and he turns to flower at them. “/Come on/.” He snarls.

“We can't leave without him!” Matt cries, and Paul shakes his head.

“Tord will be fine. We have to go, or we’ll be killed and all of this will be for naught. We’ll meet up with him again.”

The two share a look and then nod, immediately scurrying after true soldiers and hoping to god they're right.

--------

“Hei, gamle venner. Jeg er sikker på at du husker meg, så du vet at samarbeidet er nøkkelen til din overlevelse.” Tord says coldly into the microphone, voice echoing through the entire base. “Manglende å fortelle meg hva jeg vil, vil resultere i din død. Jeg vil ha Stephan. Du vil enten overgi ham til meg, eller du vil dø alle.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Matt asks nervously, peeking for what must be the hundredth time out of the window of the guard tower they found themselves in.

“I want him to pay.” Tord growls, and Tom nods in agreement.

“We’re not going the noble route. We have to make Stephan pay for what he did.”

“I want revenge as much as the next guy, but it'll be a little hard to get it if we’re dead!” Matt defends. “We don't even know where Paul and Patryk are!”

“They'll be coming now.” Tord replies. “If they're still alive they'll know where we are and they'll come.”

“And if they don't?” Tom asks, and the Norwegian grits his teeth.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

---------

In retrospect, Tord would acknowledge that perhaps he should have just taken his boyfriends to safety before pursuing Stephan; he had never wanted them to see this side of him- the side of him that murders whoever stands in his way.

He shakes his head. That's not who he is. Stephan had killed Edd, and he was going to get even. This is all self defence, he tells himself, we don't murder innocents. If anyone surrenders they can leave.

He takes a deep breath, glances behind him to make sure that Tom and Matt are still there, and then stands to leap over the wall.

“I heard you're looking for me.” A voice coos sweetly, and before Tord can react there's a knife against his throat.

He can barely hear Tom and Matt shrieking over the laughter in his ear, and he curses and spits and struggles to no avail. Stephan chuckles lowly in his throat and forces Tord to walk forward, and the Norwegian can feel beads of blood welling up at the pressure upon his throat, leaving him no choice but to cooperate; without him alive, Tom and Matt are alone.

“You know,” He begins as his men walk over and attach chains to Tord’s wrists. He pushes him to his knees and the chains are pulled behind his back and attached to his ankles, leaving him immobile. A glance to the side shows Tom and Matt in the same situation.

“If you had just surrendered, I would have let them live.” He strolls away and strokes his finger down Matt’s jaw. “If you hadn't been such a pain in my fucking neck, I wouldn't have had to snap Edd’s.”

Tord goes rigid and a hushed noise of anguish escapes Matt, and Stephan’s delighted laughter rings through the clearing. He returns to Tord, stopping in front of him and smirking.

“It was so easy, too. Like.. snapping a popsicle in half.” He leans down and tilts his head, tone as if he was talking to a toddler. “It's amazing how easily you can snap someone's neck. Just a little-” He trails off as his hand repeats the motion he had used to snap Edd’s, and he practically roars with laughter at the look on Tord’s face. “Snap.” He coos. “And there he goes.”

Tord practically shrieks and rears up, one hand managing to rip free, and he slams it full force into Stephan’s face. The man stumbles back, and Tord’s hand flies to the remaining chains binding him, tearing them apart and getting to his feet. By this time Stephan has recovered from the shock and is laughing again.

“Do you remember it, Tord?” He taunts. “The sound he made when I snapped his neck? The way he hit the ground? The way he used his last words to say he loves you?”

“Shut up!” He shrieks, lunging at the other man.

Rage and grief blinds him as the feeling of overwhelming guilt resurfaces, and he throws his fists into Stephan’s face as fast as he can. Stephan only laughs beneath him, laughing harder at Tord’s sob of misery.

“It could have been easy.” He growls, and in his grief stricken state Tord doesn't react fast enough to avoid Stephan’s hand. It grasps his throat, and in a swift movement Tord is thrown to the floor, Stephan's boot pressing down on the back of his neck. “But now that you've really pissed me off, I'm going to make you watch them die before I kill you.”

Tord goes rigid,and Stephan lifts his boot. Before he can react, the guards swarm him and pull him off the ground, holding him tightly with no hope of tearing free. Stephan smirks, and makes his way over to Tord’s boyfriends. Matt is softly weeping to himself, and tear streaks are evident on Tom’s cheeks as he tries to lean himself against Matt to comfort the redhead.

“Now.. which one of you should I kill?” He asks himself, smirking cruelly down at them. The men carry Tord over to them, coming to a stop next to Tom, and Stephan looks toward him. “Who do you think?”

“Me!” He tries frantically. “Kill me- please don't hurt them!”

Stephan snorts and makes a harsh buzzing noise in the back of his throat, and then pretends to ponder to himself.

“Me- kill me just- don't hurt him!” Tom tries when Stephan’s hand reaches toward Matt. “Please!”

Stephan hesitates and draws his hand back. Matt squeaks and pushes closer to Tom, and Tord screams and struggles in his hold.

“Hmmmmm…. no.”

In a swift movement that neither of them properly register, Stephan swoops and grabs Matt's chains, tearing him away from Tom and over toward a large man standing by with a gun in his hands.

Tord goes white.

"No!" Tord’s voice is a shrill screech, blood running cold as he drags Matt away from them. Tears are welling in Matt's eyes, face white with fear, and Tom is screaming bloody murder next to Tord. "Matt no!" Tord wails, panic clutching his chest, heart twisting. "No- no please- Stephan please I can't lose him too- I'll do anything don't hurt him!" Tears flow in torrents down his cheeks and his throat throbs in pain, and Matt is trying to smile at his boyfriends, and Tom is writhing and spitting, toppled over onto his side and flailing his arms, kicking his legs out in a futile struggle to get free. "Matt!" He roars in protest, and Matt's eyes slip shut. "I love you both." He says, and the resignation in his tone is enough to make Tord retch, entire body heaving forward as it tries to expel the nonexistent contents of his stomach.

#forgive and forget #forgive and forget au #tomtord #mattedd #tomedd #matttord #Tommatt #tordedd #my fic #ot4

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ffxiiscenarios · 7 years ago

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Waahhh I would love it if you could write a scenario post FFXII, where an attendant s/o discovers Basch is masquerading as Judge Gabranth??? (like maybe they knew Gabranth before the game and would recognize the voice change once Basch takes up the armor)? Thank you :) I'm so glad there's an FFXII Reader blog.

Everybody loves Lord Gabranth now.

“He’s so kind,” they say.

“I can breathe easy around him now.”

“Lord Larsa’s new rule has brought out the good in everyone.”

But you know better. You know people. Nobody simply changes out of the blue like that! Though relatively new to castle duties, you’ve served as Gabranth’s maidservant since at least the fall of Dalmasca.

Before this “change,” you mostly cleaned, did his laundry, and served him food on the rare occasion he cared to eat in his quarters, so your interactions were limited. But little as you knew him, one thing was certain: like all Judge Magisters, he was to be feared, not adored. And he made sure of it. Once, when he accidentally removed his helmet in your presence, you’d managed to sneak a glance at his face.

He was handsome, to be sure. Exactly what one might imagine if one was stupid enough to romanticize a ruthless Judge Magister. But you knew better, even then, and his eyes were nothing but cold. You easily averted your gaze and left his quarters at once, understanding that you were to speak of it to no one.

Now, suddenly, simply for the death of the Emperor and his mad son, Lord Gabranth has become the kindest man in Ivalice? Preposterous.

Of course, you can’t deny that he is kind nowadays. He acknowledges those who dare to address him, and politely, too.

“Thank you, ________,” he even said this morning, when you brought in his breakfast.

Before then, you weren’t even sure he knew your name. It’s nice, but there has to be something more to his sudden transformation. This Gabranth is not the lord you knew, served, and feared.

Clicking your tongue in frustration, you scrub the floor of his bathroom dutifully. Regardless of his odd change, after all, you still have a job to do. You can’t deny that the Judge Magister certainly does his.

That’s when the sound of shuffling outside snaps you out of your thoughts.

Pausing, you glance up. No one is allowed to be here save you and anyone who would take your place if you were ill, and Lord Gabranth is never home during the day. A thief, then?

You get up and slowly open the door, ready with a broom in hand - when a peculiar sight greets you. Several scars on a muscular back. Old lashings, but not that old - and they sting to even look upon. You stare in horror until something on the bed catches your eye. A helmet, breastplate, gauntlets…

Your gaze snaps back to the scars - or it would, if their owner didn’t just turn to face you.

Your gaze falls to the floor at once. “Forgive me, my lord. I…” Your mind runs over itself trying to think of an excuse, but it’s clear to both of you that his scars distracted you.

Gabranth startles, but his voice is calm. “______. I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I - I was cleaning, Lord Gabranth. Forgive me. I’ll take my tools and leave at once.”

“It really is no matter, _______.”

Your eyebrows furrow. Not at his kind response, but the way he says it. The way he speaks, and his voice… It isn’t just a matter of intonation. You’ve been trying to pin down what it is, but there’s no other way to put it.

His voice is simply….different.

Gabranth’s face now mirrors your knitted brow. “Is aught amiss, _______?”

After a long pause, you softly admit, “Yes.”

His brows lift in surprise at that. “Know that you may speak plainly with me. What is it?”

“…Who are you?”

Gabranth blinks at your sudden question and the way you’ve lifted your broom somewhat, as though ready to defend yourself at any moment. As though it would matter against a Judge Magister. “_______? Have you grown ill?”

“…I’m fine,” you curtly answer. The real Lord Gabranth would be cross at such an accusation. Not concerned. “One does not speak plainly with Lord Gabranth. And…” You rattle away, all your thoughts tumbling out of your mouth, “it would be impossible for him to bear your scars. New scars. Or your voice. Neither was he kind.”

When you finish, Gabranth levels you with such an intense stare that you almost take a step back. Not even the real Lord Gabranth had ever looked at you like that. Still, you hold your ground, even if you’re barely able to stop yourself from nervously gulping.

“Did he hurt you?” is what he asks.

Relief washes over you, but so does alarm. At least he isn’t angry, but…

“No, never,” you murmured. “But—”

Gabranth sighs, letting his shoulders slump as he runs a hand through his short hair. “I had thought my acting fine enough to fool even those closest to my brother. I see I was wrong.”

His brother…? That is the only plausible explanation, you suppose. But why? “Well, yes… You and Lord — the real Lord Gabranth are markedly different.”

You speak without hesitation, but Gabranth doesn’t miss the question in your eyes. When? “During the battle with Vayne,” he answers it. “It was his last wish that I protect Lord Larsa, as he had.”

There are so many questions on your mind. Where did this man come from? Does the Emperor know? And is Lord Gabranth really…?

It isn’t as though he had been anything more than your master, but knowing that someone you knew passed away, and to no one else’s knowledge… Tears prick your eyes, to your confusion, and to this Gabranth’s shock.

Your chest heaves for a moment, taking in the news - and then you school your features into the neutrality of a trained maidservant. But you still can’t bring yourself to speak.

Gabranth watches you for a time, perhaps waiting for your response, but your reaction isn’t lost on him. He lets a moment of silence pass before he speaks again.

“I suppose it didn’t help that I smiled. He wasn’t one to smile, was he?”

The sudden question - or the smile that graces this Gabranth’s features - makes you think of the real one, and how he might look if he smiled. You find that even with one on this Gabranth’s face, you can’t imagine it on the old one.

“No. And neither did your sudden change in manner and temperament,” you say, unable to help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Gabranth gives the smallest chuckle that makes you laugh even harder - at least until tears begin to slip onto your cheeks. Dropping your broom, you rush to wipe them even as you weep. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Gabranth - because that is who he is now - draws closer when it is clear you won’t push him away. He rests a hand on your shoulder. “I am glad - that he had someone who cared for him. I am sorry you could not know. Lord Larsa thought it best.”

Your gaze lowers again. “I had no right to. I was merely his maidservant. I didn’t really know Lord Gabranth.”

“Few did. Nevertheless.”

You can’t help but look up at his kind voice - one that matches his kind gaze. He bears a scar across one eyebrow, and now that you know the truth, you see all the little differences in their appearance. How could you ever have mistaken him for the true Gabranth? Still… he is handsome, just like his brother. And though his voice is much more gravelly, it isn’t unpleasant.

And his form…

His half-naked form.

Suddenly, your face blooms red and you turn your back on the Judge. “I’m sorry for intruding, Lord Gabranth. I’ll take my tools and go.”

You hurry into the bathroom as Gabranth appears to realize his state of undress. When you return, he looks peculiar in a tunic and the bottom half of his armor. Before you can scurry out, however…

“Wait.”

You turn, hoping you are no longer as red as you feel. Now that you’ve realized just how handsome this kind man is, you can’t quite look him in the eye, and heat pricks at your back in embarrassment. You are suddenly aware of how plain you might look in your maidservant’s dress.

“Don’t fret, Lord Gabranth. Your secret is safe with me.”

“It isn’t that. _______… we have our duties, but might we speak again?”

This time, you do gulp. He wants to see you again? “Milord?”

“You knew my brother, and now you know me - something true of no one in Archades but the Emperor. I must admit, I find it a relief.”

Oh.

“Oh. Well…”

“And - I would like to hear of what you knew of him, however little. But I understand if you don’t wish to—”

“I would love to,” you blurt out, before he can withdraw the invitation.

Gabranth pauses, and then smiles, gaze lingering on yours. It seems as though he’s looking at you for the first time. “I am glad to hear it. …Dinner, perhaps?”

“I - I suppose?” You clear the nerves from your throat. What is the matter with you? He’s only asking to speak with you again to discuss his brother. You don’t even know this man, and yet… “Yes.”

“Thank you, _______.”

“Good day, milord.” You nod, giving a quick curtsy before rushing outside with your tools. You lean against the wall as you shut the door behind you, trying to calm your beating heart.

You will mourn Lord Gabranth. He deserves that, at least. But perhaps this new one isn’t so bad after all.

Here you go! Thank you so much for the ask! I love Basch and i needed this to kick me back into gear! Love Noah by extension, but I wonder how s/o will react to the knowledge that Basch’s scars were Noah’s doing. I know there wasn’t much romance, but s/o is getting a bit of a crush! :D (And so is Basch.)

I still have the previous asks to answer and I will absolutely get to them! I’ve just gone through a change of life-everythings and so it’s taken me a while to get back into the groove, I’m so sorry guys! But this definitely helped and I’ll be picking up and finishing the other asks soon c: sorry to keep you guys waiting oTL

#FFXII #the zodiac age #Basch #basch fon ronsenburg #Gabranth #Noah fon Ronsenburg #gets a mention #!#LOVE ZODIAC AGE BTW #edited because of past/present tense things I noticed on reread HOW EMBARRASSING I'm sorry #scenarios

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risalei-nur · 7 years ago

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TAFSIR: Risale-i Nur: The Rays Collection:The Thirteenth Ray.Part10

My Dear, Loyal Brothers! Today I recalled the conversation between my elder brother, Molla Abdullah, and Hazret-i Ziyaeddin, which you know about. Then I thought of you and said to myself: if the Unseen was to be revealed, if each of these sincerely religious and earnest Muslims who display such constancy in these inconstant times, not being shaken by these tortuous, testing circumstances, were to appear to be saints or even spiritual poles, the importance they have in my view, and my concern for them, would increase very little; or if they were to appear to be commonplace and ordinary, the value I attach to them would in no way diminish. For the task of saving belief under such extremely severe conditions is of greater worth than everything. In such stormy, unstable conditions, the virtues afforded by personal ranks and the good opinions of others dissolve when those good opinions are destroyed, and their love lessens. The one possessing the virtues then feels himself obliged to adopt artificial manners, empty formalities, and a burdensome dignity in order to preserve his position in their eyes. Endless thanks be to God, we have no need for cold artificiality such as that. Said Nursi * * * My Dear, Loyal Brothers! I congratulate you with all my spirit, heart, and mind on your 'ten nights,' and beseech Divine mercy that they will bring great gains to our spiritual partnership. Last night I dreamt that I had come to you and awoke when I was about to lead the prayers as imam. When, according to my experience, the dream was going to be interpreted, two of our brothers from among the heroes of Sava and Homa arrived in the name of all you to interpret it. I was overjoyed, as though I had seen all of you. My Brothers! Certainly, the situation has caused some officials and others to withdraw from the Risale-i Nur, and has scared them, but it has aroused the attention of, and a longing in, all opponents and religiously minded people and officials connected with the business. Do not worry, these lights shall shine out! {Brother, please note! In Denizli Prison, when everything was apparently against him, and the prosecution was even seeking his execution, Üstad said: "Don't worry, my brothers. These Lights shall shine out." See how his words have turned out to be true!} * * * According to Sabri's interpretation, in conformity with the allusion of Sura Wa'l-'Asr, the Risale-i Nur is a means of preserving Anatolia, and Isparta and Kastamonu, from heavenly and earthly calamities, like the ark on Mount Judi; they should not therefore interfere with it, or the expected disasters will shortly be visited on them. They should come to their senses. I say again what I said shortly before the disaster, and before those letters had been sent to you. According to news I have now received, Kastamonu and its surroundings and citadel are weeping as though mourning the Risale-i Nur; it has caught a fever and is shaking with earthquakes; God willing, it will be reunited with the Risale-i Nur, and will laugh again and offer thanks. I wrote to you the other day about my two important gains. In the second I said, offering supplications and glorifications with hundreds of tongues... till the end. Some is missing here, it should be: Each one of us, according to his degree, offers... with hundreds of tongues... and so on. Also, a venerable elderly man from the village of Sava, to which I am very attached, was handcuffed to me and we came together; it pleased me greatly and I understood from it the village's strong attachment to me. I send special greetings to that brother. * * * My Dear Brother! The verse, And even thus did the rejecters of God perish [utterly] (40:85) indicates the allusion of By [the token of] time [through the ages], *Verily man is in loss, (103:1-2) that all the wars and destruction of the infidels have caused untold damage and loss. There is also an indication in the phrase Wa'l-'Asr (By [the token of] time) which points to the date 1360 according to the Rumi calendar, in which year dissemblers and disbelievers would attack the Risale-i Nur, but they would be the losers. For the Risale-i Nur is a cause of calamities like earthquake and war abating. It may be a concealed sign that its ceasing from activity attracts disaster. Said Nursi * * *

#islam #muslim #quran #allah #solution #ayat

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pamphletstoinspire · 7 years ago

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Novena to the Black Nazarene - Processed - New Year’s Day—January 9th—Good Friday

Novena may be recited for nine consecutive days Before the days of procession or at any time.

Novena

The word Novena derives it name from the Latin word “novem” meaning “nine.” A novena can be either a private or public devotion in the Catholic Church to obtain special graces.

NOVENA TO THE BLACK NAZARENE

The Black Nazarene is a Christological devotion to Our Blessed Lord Jesus Christ, under the approved title of Jesus, the Nazarene.

This devotion is especially popular among the suffering, the neglected and the poor.

An Act of Contrition (O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell, but most of all, because I offend thee my God, who art infinitely good and deserving of all my love, and I firmly resolve with the help of Your Grace to do penance and to amend my life. Amen.) - Old Traditional Way

(Said before reciting daily prayers)

Leader:

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

People:

Lord Jesus Christ, true God and true man, I am heartily sorry for having sinned You and my neighbor. You are my Lord and my Brother whom I love above all things.

Come and help me, not to sin again, and led me into a new life. I trust in Your loving forgiveness.

OPENING PRAYER

(Said before reciting daily prayers)

People:

Lord Jesus of Nazareth, Your cross proclaims the wonder of Your love. Teach us to reflect on Your suffering, death and resurrection, in order to have an unfailing faith in Your goodness that has no end. You live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit forever and ever. Amen.

DAY 1

JESUS OF NAZARETH FOUNDED THE SACRAMENT OF THE EUCHARIST

Reflection: [Mt. 26:26-28]

While they were eating, Jesus took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and giving it to his disciples said, “Take and eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you, for this IS my blood of the covenant, which will be shed on behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins.

At the Last Supper, Jesus founded the Eucharist to share with us His life and to provide us with the remembrance of His suffering and pain.

[Short Silence]

INTERCESSION

Let us adore our Lord and Savior, who, at the Last Supper, entrusted to His Church the memorial of His death and rising again.

Response:

(R) Lord Jesus of Nazareth, share with us Your life in the Eucharist.

Lord Jesus, on the cross You offered Yourself to the Father. Teach us to offer ourselves, together with Your offering of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. ®

Lord Jesus, one with You, we offer to the Father our works and sacrifices, so that justice and peace may reign in our land and in the world. ®

Lord Jesus, You are our special Guest in the Holy Mass, knocking at the door of our hearts. Help us to be generous and open our hearts to receive You. (R)

[Pause for Personal Intentions]

Lord Jesus, the Nazarene, You gave to Your Church the Sacrament of the Eucharist

as a remembrance of Your suffering. Make us worthy to receive Your sacred Body

and Blood that will make us holy. You live and reign with the Father and the Holy

Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen.

LITANY

(Said after reciting daily prayers)

Response:

(R) Have mercy and save us.

Blood of Christ, the only Son of the Father. (R)

Blood of Christ of the old and everlasting covenant. (R)

Blood of Christ that washes away my sins and the sins of the world. (R)

Blood of Christ that formed like sweat and fell to the ground at Gethsemane. (R)

Blood of Christ that flowed out while You were scourged at the pillar. (R)

Blood of Christ that covered Your face at the crowning of thorns. (R)

Blood of Christ, scorned by the people on the road of Jerusalem. (R)

Blood of Christ, emptying itself at the crucifixion. (R)

Blood of Christ, source of our salvation. (R)

Blood of Christ, river of mercy and forgiveness. (R)

Blood of Christ, that won over violence and injustice. (R)

Blood of Christ, refuge of the abused and the downtrodden. (R)

Blood of Christ, strength of those who suffer. (R)

Blood of Christ, consolation of lonely souls. (R)

Blood of Christ, hope of sinners. (R)

Blood of Christ, that makes strong the weak and the afflicted. (R)

Blood of Christ that leads the poor souls into heaven. (R)

CONCLUDING PRAYER

(Said after reciting daily prayers)

People:

Lord God, our Father, You willed that Your Son, Jesus, died on the cross for the sins of the world. Grant us the grace to be one with His suffering so that we may be worthy to hope for a new life. Help us to walk the way of Your commandments and to serve You in our neighbors. Grant this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

DAY 2

Contrition and Opening Prayer from Above

JESUS PRAYS IN THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE

Reflection: [Lk. 22:41-42, 44-45]

After withdrawing about a stone’s throw from them and kneeling, he prayed, saying, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done.” He was such in agony and he prayed so fervently that his sweat became like drops of blood falling on the ground. When he rose from prayer and returned from his disciples, he found them sleeping from grief.

In Gethsemane, Jesus of Nazareth teaches us to trust and obey the will of God in the midst of hardships and trials in life.

May our prayers and coming to Mass give us the grace and courage to follow God’s will.

[Short Silence]

INTERCESSION

Lord Jesus of Nazareth, we thank You because, through your death and resurrection, You showed us the abundant fruit of obeying the will of the Father.

Response:

(R) Lord Jesus of Nazareth, teach us to pray always.

Guard our thoughts and senses, so that all that we do may be pleasing to You. ®

Through Your suffering and death, You brought us everlasting life. Give us the strength of the Holy Spirit, so that we may never grow tired of serving You and our neighbors. (R)

By Your suffering and prayer at Gethsemane, teach us obedience to God’s will I spite of hardships and trials in life. (R)

Help us to honestly and faithfully pray; and not to do good only to be seen by people. (R)

[Pause for Personal Intention]

Lord God, come and strengthen the hope and faith that You have given us, so that we may truly experience Your presence in our lives. Through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

LITANY AND CONCLUDING PRAYER from above:

DAY 3

Contrition and Opening Prayer from above:

JESUS IN THE HOUSE OF CAIAPHAS

Reflection: [Mt. 26, 36-68]

But Jesus was silent. Then the high priest said to him: “I order you to tell us, under oath, before the living God, whether you are the Messiah, the Son of God.” Jesus said to him in reply, “You have said so. But I tell you: From now on, you will see ‘the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Power’ and ‘coming on the clouds of heaven.’". Then the high priest tore his robes and said, “He has blasphemed! What further need have we of witnesses? You have now heard the blasphemy; what is your opinion?” They said in reply, “He deserves to die!” Then they spat in his face and struck him, while some slapped him , saying , “Prophesy for us, Messiah: who is it that struck you?”

See the humility of the Nazarene, as His holiness and divinity are trampled upon by the people He has chosen to be His own. He could have called down His angels and sent fire to destroy them. Nothing is impossible with God. But he chose to suffer in obedience to the will of the Father.

[Short Silence]

INTERCESSION

Let us come before our loving Lord with full trust, and ask Him for strength to hold on to our faith in the midst of present danger and fear.

Response:

(R) Lord Jesus of Nazareth, strengthen our faith in You.

Lord Jesus, You experienced suffering and death for our sake, give strength to all who are suffering. (R)

Through Your victory on the cross, listen to the prayer of those who weep; fill them with joy. (R)

Grant that we may unite ourselves to Your pain by facing up to our responsibilities in life. (R)

Help us live the Good News so that, through our word and deed, we may reflect Your goodness to all. ®

[Pause for Personal Intentions]

Lord God, our Father, lead us to the many beautiful lessons that the cross of Jesus teaches. Teach us and our families to bear our cross so that we may be united with the suffering of Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives forever and ever. Amen.

LITANY AND CONCLUDING PRAYER from above:

DAY 4

Contrition and Opening Prayer from above:

JESUS BEFORE PONTIUS PILATE

Reflection: [Mk. 15, 8-15]

The crowd came forward and began to ask him to do for them as he was accustomed. Pilate answered, “Do you want me to release to you the king of the Jews?” For he knew that it was out of envy that the chief priests had handed him over. But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have him release Barabbas for them instead. Pilate again said to them in reply, “Then what (do you want) me to do with (the man you call) the king of the Jews?” They shouted again, “Crucify him.” Pilate said to them, “Why?” What evil has he done?” They only shouted the louder, “Crucify him.” So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Barabbas to them and, after he had Jesus scourged, handed him over to be crucified. Jesus of Nazareth is king; He is God made man. Let us put ourselves under His kingship.

[Short Silence]

INTERCESSION

Jesus of Nazareth You embraced all humans, when you stretched Your hands on the cross to redeem us from our sins.

Response:

(R) Lord Jesus of Nazareth, reign over our lives.

You created the universe. May we see and experience Your care and love in everything that happens in our lives. (R)

May we live holy lives, so that, in our final moments in this world, we may not fear the everlasting punishment. (R)

The new and never-ending covenant of God and His people was sealed by Your blood. Help us to be true to this covenant. (R)

O Lord, You bore the insults of humans, notwithstanding Your kingship. Give us courage to bear witness to Your goodness and truth. (R)

[Pause for Personal Intentions]

Lord God almighty, we offer this novena to You, as Father of Jesus Christ, the Nazarene. Bring us the peace that comes form Your reign, and lead us to the life that has no end. We ask this through the same Christ our Lord. Amen.

LITANY AND CONCLUDING PRAYER from above:

DAY 5

Contrition and Opening Prayer from from above:

JESUS OF NAZARETH CARRIES THE CROSS

Reflection: [Mt. 27:31-34]

And when they had mocked him, they stripped him of the cloak, dressed him in his own clothes, and lead him off to crucify him. As they were going out, they met a Cyrenian named Simon; this man they pressed into service to carry his cross. And when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means Place of the Skull), they gave Jesus wine to drink, mixed with gall. But when he had tasted it, he refused to drink. Strive to be with Jesus of Nazareth as He carries His cross to take away our sins.

[Short Silence]

INTERCESSION

The way of the cross gives us the strength to carry our cross on the way to heaven.

Response:

(R) Lord Jesus of Nazareth, make us strong to follow your footsteps.

Lord Jesus you give consolation to the lonely, the suffering, and the sick. Lay your healing hands on them so that they may feel Your presence. ®

Lord make us faithful witnesses in doing good. ®

Deliver from evil all who travel by land, sea and air; lead them safely to their destination. (R)

Have mercy on parents who fail in their duties, on children who lose their way, and on people who keep envy and anger in their hearts. Show them love that they may turn back to You. (R)

[Pause for Personal Intentions]

Father in heaven, in obedience to Your will, Your Son, Jesus of Nazareth, carried the cross for our salvation. Grant that we, who believe in the mystery of the cross, may share in the glory of heaven. We ask this through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

LITANY AND CONCLUDING PRAYER from above:

DAY 6

Contrition and Opening Prayer from above:

JESUS IS CRUCIFIED

Reflection: [Mk. 15:25-30]

It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read, “The King of the Jews.” With him they crucified two revolutionaries, one on his right and one on his left. Those passing by reviled him, shaking their heads and saying, “Aha! You would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself by coming down from the cross.”

Meditate the abuses that Jesus of Nazareth suffered from His people. He allowed Himself to be nailed to the cross by His creatures. All this He took upon Himself to make us realize the evil of sin. The Word made flesh died out of love for us. Jesus the High Priest offered His life for sinners.

[Short Silence]

INTERCESSION

We have a High Priest who remains with us in our weakness, because He took upon himself our humanity and became like us in all things except sin.

Response:

(R) Lord Jesus of Nazareth, who suffered death on the cross, have mercy on us.

Lord Jesus, You died and entered the glory of heaven. Grant Your Spirit to those who believe in You. (R)

You sent Your followers to preach the Good News to all peoples. Bless the men and women who proclaim Your kingdom to all. (R)

Take care of those who are sick and dying, that they may feel the Father’s love for them. Heal and strengthen them. (R)

Lord through the sanctifying power of the Holy Mass, make us compassionate and loving persons. ®

[Pause for Personal Intention]

Lord Jesus, stretched in the cross, grant us the light of truth and the fire of Your love to guide our families and societies into everlasting life.

LITANY AND CONCLUDING PRAYER from above:

DAY 7

Contrition and Opening Prayer from above:

THE LAST WORDS OF CHRIST

Reflection: [Jn. 19:25-27]

Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary of Magdala. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.

Saint John represents the followers of Jesus on the cross. Jesus gave us to His mother to be her children; she is our mother. Just as God used the Blessed Virgin to come close to us, so He wants that we come close to Christ through the Blessed Mother. Let us love her the way we love her Son, Jesus. Learn from her humility, purity, and love for God and our neighbor.

[Short Silence]

INTERCESSION

Father in heaven, Your Son Jesus prayed that You forgive us our sins. Receive his prayer for all of us, sinners.

Response:

(R) Lord of Nazareth, be merciful to us.

Through St. John, You gave Mary the Mother of all. May we be shining reflections of your Mother. (R)

Lord, listen to those who hope in You; from all snares and loneliness, deliver us. (R)

Lord, Jesus, at the time of our death, may Your Mother pray for us so that we may be with You in paradise. (R)

[Pause for Personal Intention]

Loving Father, You willed that Your Son Jesus give His life, so that we may be with You in heaven. Grant that we may be united to His suffering and death, so that we can be united with him in his rising again. We ask this through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

LITANY AND CONCLUDING PRAYER from above:

DAY 8

Contrition and Opening Prayer from above:

JESUS OF NAZARETH WAS BURRIED

Reflection: [Mt. 27:57-61]

When it was evening, there came a rich man from Arimathea named Joseph, who was himself a disciple of Jesus. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus; then Pilate ordered it to be handed over. Taking the body, Joseph wrapped it (in) clean linen and laid it in his new tomb that he had hewn in the rock. Then he rolled a huge stone across the entrance to the tomb and departed. But Mary Magdalena and the other Mary remained sitting there, facing the tomb.

May the tender love that Mary, John, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea showed the body of Jesus bring us to a healthy respect for the dead, whether they are our relatives, friends or people we do not know.

They all need our prayers.

[Short Silence]

INTERCESSION

All creation will return to God through Jesus Christ, because through His cross, he opened the gate of heaven.

Response:

(R) Jesus of Nazareth grant us Your pardon and love.

May greed and jealousy be removed from our hearts, and may we put on the strength and gentleness of Your love. (R)

Lord, we believe that at the hour of death we will be judged according to how we have put into practice Your teaching. May we be constantly aware of our end and remain close to You. ®

Remember those who hope in You while they live. By your suffering and death, grant them forgiveness of their sins. ®

[Pause for Personal Intention]

Almighty God, make our faith strong. Grant that we may rise again, together with Your Son Jesus, who lives with You and the Holy Spirit forever and ever. Amen.

LITANY AND CONCLUDING PRAYER (From page 4)

DAY 9

Contrition and Opening Prayer from Page 2

JESUS OF NAZARENE IS RISEN!

Reflection: [Jn. 20:19-20]

On the evening of that first day of the week, when the doors were locked, where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and showed them his hands and his side. The disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.

By His resurrection, Jesus proved His being God, and He gave us the hope that we, too, will share His resurrection when our time comes. As St. Paul declares, “If Christ did not rise from the dead, our faith is useless.” The suffering and death of Jesus is a preparation for His rising. His suffering, death and resurrection is the pattern of life for His disciples.

[Short Silence]

INTERCESSION

Because Jesus Christ is risen from the dead, we, too, will end not in death, but with new life.

Response:

(R) Lord Jesus of Nazareth, may we now renew ourselves as we await our resurrection.

Lord of the living, may we enjoy life and be delivered from everlasting death. ®

Lord Jesus, You gave us the living Bread. May Your Body lead us to life without end. (R)

Jesus, our Savior, cleanse us from our sins. May we reap the harvest of eternal life and be kept away from death. (R)

Christ, our Redeemer, look with compassion on those who live without hope and those who do not know You. Bring them to the knowledge of the Resurrection and to life in the bosom of the Trinity. (R)

[Pause for Personal Intention]

Lord Jesus of Nazareth, while we reflect on the wonder of Your suffering, death and resurrection, may this mystery touch our lives. May we be like You in all things. We are confident that You will listen to our petitions in this novena. You live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen.

LITANY AND CONCLUDING PRAYER from above:

***

The Black Nazarene, known to devotees n Spanish as Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno (Tagalog: Poong Itim na Nazareno) is a life-sized, dark wooden sculpture of Jesus Christ carrying the cross, while representing his passion and sufferingand is believed to be miraculous by many Filipino Catholics. It is one of the two Nazarene portraits of Christ that were brought from Mexico and enshrined in the Churches of Manila. The older and much popular copy of the Recollects was destroyed during the liberation of Manila in February 1945.

Originally with fair complexion, it is believed to have turned dark after the statue survived a burning galleon ship on its arrival from Mexico.

The Black Nazarene is publicly processed on three annual occasions: New Year's Day, Good Friday, and on 9 January, when its first novena feast, official translation (Spanish: traslación) and enshrinement in the present Basilica is commemorated. The event is attended by several million devotees that crowd the streets of processional route in Metro Manila.

***

Hymn

Below are the lyrics of the National Hymn composed by Lucio San Pedro, which is used by the Quiapo church as the main hymn to the Black Nazarene.

Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno

Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno, (Our Father Jesus Nazarene,)

Sinasamba Ka namin (We worship Thee)

Pinipintuho Ka namin (We admire Thee)

Aral Mo ang aming buhay (For Thy teachings are our life)

at Kaligtasan. (and Salvation.)

Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno (Our Father Jesus Nazarene,)

Iligtas Mo kami sa Kasalanan (Deliver us from Sin)

Ang Krus Mong Kinamatayan ay (For the Cross Thou died on is)

Sagisag ng aming Kaligtasan. (The Emblem of our Salvation)

Chorus:

Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno, (Our Father Jesus Nazarene,)

Dinarangal Ka namin! (We honour Thee!)

Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno, (Our Father Jesus Nazarene,)

Nilul'walhati Ka namin! (We glorify Thee!)

Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno, (Our Father Jesus Nazarene,)

Dinarangal Ka namin! (We honour Thee!)

Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno, (Our Father Jesus Nazarene,)

Nilul'walhati Ka namin! (We glorify Thee!)

***

IF YOU PREFER THE ABOVE NOVENA CAN BE DOWNLOADED IN PAMPHLET FORM:

Novena To The Black Nazarene

https://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/a84285_7a2e527fda6943b8910508c862b40849.pdf

#novena to the black nazarene

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