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sucaliaric · 2 years

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Colorado by Night - 30 January - Audio Journal by Elias

Waking up in the new night, we meet at the Bottoms Up as usual. O'Neil is there, eager to collect the Thin Blood we were watching for him. Todd has made the decision as Baron that I will serve as his Keeper and be his second with interactions with external visitors, while Sam will be his second for internal matters. Bottoms Up remains a coterie resource, as does Sherri but I will provide her vitae to maintain her status as a ghoul.

I took a moment to advise O'Neal that the thin blood unfortunately did not survive the night, but at least that matter was fully resolved which should calm him. Unfortunately, it seemed to anger him... he also inquired about Peter, so I advised that Peter had gone into Torpor as a result of the events of that evening. He wished to take Peter in exchange for the Thin Blood, so I suggested that perhaps if he gave a sufficient supply of his vitae Sam could be persuaded to locate Peter again. At this point, Todd asked that I retire to visit with Sherri in the face of O'Neil's steadily growing rage... I think O'Neil actually thought about attacking me! I drew my Tarot deck and started a reading on Sherri while Todd and O'Neil continued their discussion. After some time, two of the Garou stormed in... we may consider investing in a revolving door, given the volume of unwelcome visitors we receive. O'Neil is clearly on edge with the visitors, but Todd addresses them with Sam supporting him. They are enraged over the events at the manor, and are here to declare war. I test my latest Compel abilities, but the power is not yet strong enough... more practice is clearly critical. The Garou leave, and shortly after O'Neil leaves as well, having decided that with a hostile Garou pack that Fort Collins is not worth the investment that the Cam would need to make on it. Alone with the coterie again, Sam and I move down to Splinters apartment to investigate for any details on what the old monster might have been up to before his surprise exit from this world. Sam seems to be acting strangely... I continue to search, when Sam charges me! I fall against the toilet, shattering it. Looking towards where Sam was, I see Splinter! I resist the urge to lunge and destroy the monster as the vision fades and I see Sam, weeping uncontrollably. How could I have overreacted so? I MUST keep the beast under control! Todd comes down to see what is going on, and I let him know that I accidentally bumped Sam, but we have it under control now. While recovering, I notice what we missed before - a sealed package that was stored in the tank of the toilet. Going upstairs into the bar, we look at our finding. Inside are keys and a map to a location in a park to the west of the city, on the other side of the reservoir. With the Garou threat, we discuss on crossing the reservoir or taking the road in... I use my senses and see that the trip across the reservoir will be safe, but the climb on the other side is steep. It is clearly too steep for me, though Todd and Sam should be able to make it. After further discussion, we decide to take the road despite the risk. Once in the park, we get about a mile from our target when the road ends in a parking lot. We have a choice - travel the rest on foot or give up for the night. We continue on our journey. The walk is long, and painful for me. The rustling of the wildlife in the night is not something I am used to, and partially there a squirrel comes and accosts Sam! It seems like the creature wants something to eat, but none of us have anything appropriate. Eventually, we realize this must have been one of Splinter's pets, and Sam feeds it some Vitae. The rest of the trip to our destination goes without incident; once there, the only thing of note is a trash can. Todd is able to determine that at the bottom of the can is a dead-drop that Splinter had the key for; opening it shows two vials of blood and $2000. We collect our bounty and head back towards the vehicle. The trip back to the vehicle is relatively quiet and quick, but we get there and see that the tires have been slashed... Sam positions himself between Todd and myself as Todd fights with the beast to maintain control. Eventually, I call Amanda to have her pick us up at the park entrance and we drive on the ruined tires to meet her there. While waiting, a strange old man rides by on a bicycle... Amanda arrives, makes arrangements for a tow truck for Todd's car, and drives us back to the bar where we split up to our respective havens for the night, planning to meet again the following night. Back at the bar, we decide to try and use one of the vials of blood to see if it will wake Peter. We go to Sam's haven and Sam pulls Peter out at the mausoleum. Todd provides one of the vials, which Sam pours into Peter's mouth. Peter immediately goes iridescent! His eyes flutter, and he vanishes! He re-appears and appears to resume torpor. Sam wraps and ties Peter up and puts Peter away, and looks at Splinter's pager before paging the two numbers we do not recognize. We then head back to the bar to see who turns up. Once again at the bar, I hide using Cloak of Shadows while Sam and Todd prepare for visitors. The first one to show is the lead of the Crazy 6's - a biker group of Anarchs local to Fort Collins. Shortly afterwards, a representative of the Circulatory System shows up as well. Sam advises them of the changes in leadership and the werewolf threat and provides new pagers. Sam and Todd also collect information from the strange Circulatory System representative, and barter to exchange our remaining vial for 5 vials of the finished product.

#VtM #CbN

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defstolemyheart · 4 years

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ex - kim seungmin, park jinyoung pt i

tags: angst, , jinyoung x fem! reader, brother! seungmin, cheating trope

note: another one I cross posted from my instagram. this was my tribute for Seungmin’s and Jinyoung’s birthday, since they both share birthdate! I was inspired after listening to Stray Kids - EX.

word count: 2.5k

synopsis:

Kim Seungmin prides himself for being extremely patient, and for having the decency to never cuss at anything or anyone, no matter how intense his emotions are.

But Park Jinyoung deserves none of Seungmin’s groomed patience and decency.

Not after what he has done to you.

No.

Park Jinyoung can go fuck himself.

A ring. And another. And another one.

Again and again, the doorbell rings for over a dozen times before Seungmin drags himself out of the comfort of his bed, murmuring annoyance under his morning breath. He takes his time stepping downstairs to the living room, rubbing the remains of sleep off his eyes before glancing at the wooden clock on the TV stand. 7.14 AM.

It’s far too early on a Sunday morning to wake up and irritation begins to grow rapidly under his skin as the doorbell won’t stop ringing. Who would be so cruel and dumb as to visit people’s house this early on a rest day?

“Tsk.”

Seungmin’s face contorts to disgust as soon as he opens the front door of his house. Any trace of sleepiness in his being disappears as he slams the door shut, only to bounce back as the person on the other side of the door is forcing it to stay open. Their sneaker clad foot lodges between the teak door and the doorframe.

“Fuck off, Jinyoung. My sister doesn’t want to see your face.” Seungmin puts his body against the door, exerting as much force as he could to close it and paying no mind that the person outside, Park Jinyoung, asshole extraordinaire, is yelping in pain.

“First, address me properly, I’m older than you. Second, let my fucking feet go, it fucking hurts. And third, please, please let me talk to y/n, I’m begging you, Seungmin.”

“Ha!” Seungmin scoffs. “Don’t you think you got the order wrong? Beggars can’t be choosers, Jinyoung. You’re not welcomed here. Go home.”

Seungmin pushes the door again, but Jinyoung persists despite yelling out curses in agony as his toes are practically being crushed in his shoes. For a split second, Seungmin considers kicking on Jinyoung’s ankle until it breaks. Or should he just go get his baseball bat and beat the shit out of Jinyoung?

“I’m sorry Seungmin, please, please let me talk to your sister.”

“No! Fuck you! I’m not going to let you see her and just cause her more pain, you asshole!”

“I was wrong, Seungmin. Please, man…”

“You dumped her!” Seungmin’s patience is running thin, much like his strength now. Why couldn’t Jinyoung come after breakfast so that Seungmin would have a lot more energy than he is now? In fact, he could’ve just not come at all. “You. Fucking. Asshole. You threw my sister away, after she forgave you despite knowing you fucking cheated on her. You dumped my kind, loving sister, for some- some dumb ugly bitch.”

Jinyoung groans at Seungmin’s words. “Seungmin, I’ll tell you what really happened. Please let me in.”

“NO! I AM NOT LETTING YOU STEP INTO THIS HOUSE!”

“Please-”

“You hurt her! You fucking hurt her when all she’s ever done is love you.” Jinyoung flinches, all struggles pausing at the younger’s words, and Seungmin feels tears forming on the corners of his eyes.

His lids squeeze shut in an attempt to barricade the tears in, but it’s a vain effort because they eventually break through and Seungmin weeps as he tries his best to push Jinyoung out.

Call him weak and sissy for crying, but who wouldn’t be, if they were in his shoes?

Seungmin came home from school early two days ago, one of the off chances that a senior in high school like him rarely gets.

He was excited because he finally gets to sleep or play games or most likely sleep. Seungmin barely has time to sleep the past six months because of afterschool studies and late night classes, so he was looking forward to diving and snuggling in the soft comforter on his bed. But he threw his plans out the window the moment he opened the door and saw you, his older sister, slumping against the wall by your entryway.

You were crying- fists pounding merciless hits on your own legs as screams continuously ripped from your throat, curses he had never heard you say are targeted to yourself.

Seungmin flustered and panically asked you what had happened. The sight of Seungmin had you sobbing so mournfully. He scooped you up and carried you to your room, your trembling hands landing hits on his chest as you wanted Seungmin to just let you be. But how could he?

You were just fine in the morning, all bright smiles when you served him breakfast in place of your mother, who was out with your father, visiting your grandparents for the week. You were laughing as you chased after Seungmin who forgot his bus pass. You were giggling when his eyes widened at the ten thousand won bill you slipped in his hand, a pleasant surprise that had him thanking you with a wink which made you laugh louder.

And just mere hours later, you were all tears, and he was utterly confused but he did the best he could to comfort you. He wrapped you in your soft fuzzy blanket, and hugged you, rocking you back and forth in his hold as you broke down completely, like somebody just tore your heart out.

And somebody did.

Fucking Park Jinyoung did.

You cried for hours, with your brother hugging you through the hiccups and the hyperventilations, side effects of weeping your lungs out. He took all the hits you threw to his chest, all the while your trembling lips uttered your boyfriend’s name painfully.

Seungmin’s heart hurt, not from all the beating, but from witnessing you as your heart shattered to pieces. And he was angry. Even as he rubbed comforting circles on your back, rage pulsed through him in turbulent ripples.

He wanted to curse at Park Jinyoung.

Curse him and pummel to the floor him for making you cry, because Seungmin could already guess what Park Jinyoung had done to you, to cause you to weep this hard. Though he hoped for it to not be true.

And when you finally calmed down and told him what happened with stuttered words and a shredded voice, confirming his hypothesis, Seungmin wanted to find the man and kill him on the spot. The only thing holding him back is his conscience and the fact that your fragile self needed all the comfort you can get. He couldn’t let you be alone that night because right after the calm, the storm of sadness hit you again and your body shook violently as you cried and Seungmin was scared that if he left, worse things would happen.

So he stayed up all night that night, and last night he kept waking up every other hour because he was scared you’d break down again.

Now he’s crying, because he’s thoroughly tired, hurt, offended and enraged. His teeth sink in his dry, chapped lips, holding back more tears as he wipes the remaining ones off his eyes.

“Fuck off, Jinyoung!” He cries out as he pushes on the door with his knee, gritting on the pain erupting from the joint.

Your mother would have fainted if she heard what Seungmin said just now. She’d have a heart attack if she heard what his youngest child has been spouting for the last five minutes since Jinyoung’s arrival.

Never, in the relatively short time he’s been living on earth, has Seungmin ever uttered profanities. It’s something that his friends found to be rather baffling but he really likes about himself.

Kim Seungmin prides himself for being extremely patient, and for having the decency to never cuss at anything or anyone, no matter how intense his emotions are.

He was raised gently, by both of his parents, and you, his older sister. The three of you would speak to him softly, though stern at crucial moments. Your parents are saints. They never snapped at you and Seungmin, never letting their emotions take control of themselves.

Their patience is unwavering even when the both of you made the stupidest decisions. Their lips never once uttered curses, not at you, or him, not at anyone. They’d rather stay silent even in times of frustrations, while others would’ve rambled all the names of the animals in the zoo and come up with even more vile terms to say.

And his upbringing really, really shaped Seungmin to be the boy that he is now.

But Park Jinyoung deserves none of Seungmin’s groomed patience and decency.

Not after what he has done to you.

No.

Park Jinyoung can go fuck himself.

Better yet, maybe Seungmin should really grab his baseball bat and beat the older man to a pulp.

Seungmin’s heels dig hard on the cold floor, trying their best to hold his stance as Jinyoung won’t relent. “Just- Seungmin- please, give me five minutes, please.”

“No. Kindly fuck off please, Jinyoung, before I call the police on you.”

Jinyoung’s arm flails into the gap of the door, hand reaching around to grasp on the door handle the younger is holding with his life. Seungmin lands a particularly hard hit on the older’s hand and slams the door once more, positively bruising the older man’s arm. Jinyoung shouts in pain and retracts himself away from the door and Seungmin uses the chance to close and lock the door twice, for safety measure.

He slumps against the creaking wood, chest heaving as he tries to regain composure. But it’s hard to do so when Jinyoung is now banging fervently from the other side.

“If you’re not getting off our porch in two minutes, I am seriously going to call the cops on you, Jinyoung!” Seungmin yells, anger seeping out in every syllable he utters. “And we have CCTV installed on the porch last week. I will show them the tapes and tell them you’re harassing my sister if you won’t leave.”

Seungmin hears Jinyoung groaning, and his steps slowly fading away from the door. Through the small window by the door, Seungmin takes a peek of the world outside. Jinyoung is walking out of their gate, hand roughly ruffling his brown locks out of frustration. The steel gate closes with a loud bang as Jinyoung slams it close after him.

Rude, Seungmin mutters under his breath.

The boy stands up and decides he needs to hydrate his parched throat. All that cursing and screaming really took a toll on his vocal chords, but Seungmin thinks they’re worth the soreness and inability to speak loudly for the next few days.

He gets to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. He leans on the kitchen counter, closes his eyes and sips his water slowly. His whole body begins to ache, though it was no surprise because he was basically roughhousing the door to keep Jinyoung out. He pats himself in the back for doing such hard work so early on a Sunday morning.

“Good job, Kim Seungmin. You did very well-” He nearly chokes himself when he opens his eyes to you appearing silently next to him. “N-noona. You’re up already?”

It’s been a day since he’s seen you out of your room, and you’re not looking any better than he saw you last when you sat on the living room couch at 5 AM yesterday, crying as you finished a pint of the mint and dark chocolate ice cream he had saved for foreseeable moments of mental breakdowns that commonly plagued high school seniors in the country.

Seungmin didn’t protest like he’d usually do when you swiped his snacks away. He thought you needed the sugar boost more than him, and probably more, so your brother went out to the convenient store and got you another pint to finish.

He wondered if all heartbroken people can finish two pints of icecream in one sitting at the crack of dawn. He wondered if he’s heartbroken, will he become like this too? Or will he be the cause of someone’s cries and binge-eating.

He still wonders until now, how much people can hurt each other, as he looks at you.

His eyes study you with palpable worry. Your skin is pallid, with dry, tender patches around your nose, the effect of rubbing it harshly with tissues as you tried to soak snot and tears that pooled around it from hours of crying. Your eyes are bloodshot and tired, apparent from the bags under your eyes. You crack a feeble smile, and he smiles back, just as weak.

“Was that Jinyoung?” you ask hesitantly and Seungmin isn’t quite sure how to answer, the question feels almost rhetorical.

“Yeah. Jinyoung was here. He wanted to see you.” Seungmin sips more of his water, Jinyoung’s name gives a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

Seungmin grabs a clean mug from the upper cabinet and pours you warm water. You take it gratefully, though your hands still tremble and it doesn’t go unnoticed by your brother. You didn’t eat last night. He knows that because after the morning melt-down over ice-cream you asked to be left alone in your room and he hadn’t heard the door opening at all.

“Noona, I’m going to cook breakfast. What do you want?” Seungmin asks, wanting to get Jinyoung off and away from your mind and also genuinely worried for your well being. You shake your head lightly, though and he squints his eyes to you in hard judgement.

“I don’t feel like eating, Min.” you reply weakly.

“If you’re going to cry again, you at least need some energy to do that.” Seungmin huffs a tired sigh and you chuckle sorrowfully from your brother’s words.

“Okay then. Anything but pancakes.” you sip the water slowly, feeling the way it slides down your throat and warming up your stomach. “Your pancakes are horrible.”

“Just because I burnt them twice- nevermind. I’ll make toast and sunny side ups. Do you want bacon? Or sausage?” He makes his way to the fridge and grabs some eggs and bread.

“Sausage.” you sit down on the stool of the kitchen island, watching your brother looking for sausages from the freezer, brows furrowing as he’s considering between blackpepper or cheese sausage. “Do we still have salad-mix, Min? I think I need some vegetables in my system.”

He puts the ingredients he has in his arms on the counter and comes back to the fridge, hand rummaging the shelves for the clear plastic packaging he was sure to have seen last night. “We do. I’ll mix them with the roasted sesame dressing.”

“But you don’t like sesame dressing.” Your eyes widen, perplexed, and Seungmin clicks his tongue at your statement.

“Let me be a good brother for a day, will you?”

You laugh, albeit shaky, and it brings a smile to Seungmin’s previously scowling face.

“You’ve always been a good brother.” you say and Seungmin beams even more, feeling rather fired up to cook you the best breakfast he can fix.

In his excitement he hums and the kitchen is filled with the sound of him cooking and singing, that he fails to catch your whisper.

“Thank you, Seungmo.”

end notes: I feel like this is sort of cringe, but hey, baby steps, right? I’ll post part two tomorrow!

#skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz x you #skz series #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 x reader #got7 fanfic #got7 x you #skz fanfic #park jinyoung #jinyoung got7 #kim seungmin #seungmin stray kids #jinyoung #seungmin #man what did was I thinking writing this

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

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A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 10

<- Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 ->

Summary: It’s your wedding day. Things are... great.

Thank you @sexy-opium-ravioli for helping beta! This is an important chapter, so I hope it scans!

Everything feels numb. There is a veil draped between you and the world, even before someone—your mother, perhaps—drapes a veil of gossamer over your face. It’s fitting. You sit behind it and pretend you are not there as the world moves you.

Someone fusses with your hair. Someone dresses you in a gown. Someone takes your arm and you are inside a church. Someone puts a plate in front of you, a rich meal of savory meat that tickles your nostrils—the kind of meal you should expect with a wealthy husband (as wealthy as this small village can offer). But you don’t eat.

It’s funny. You had worried about starving if you ran away with your monster, but now you have food and can’t eat anything.

Where was he at this moment? Far away, you suppose. You broke his heart and betrayed him. You’re marrying a man you despise because you were too afraid to go with him. He always did try to push you away whenever his feelings were too raw—to claim you were better off without him—so you know exactly what he did. He left without you, thinking it was what you wanted.

Or maybe he is close—he loves you too fiercely to just leave, doesn’t he? He might be watching the proceedings from some secret hiding place, weeping and raging, unable to do anything to stop it. It’s not as though he could claim you as his rightful wife. He can never show his face to the world without putting himself in danger; he can’t protect you from the realities of life. He can’t undo your choices.

Then again, he had also told you he was afraid of the evil he was capable of in the absence of love. You spurned him, and threw him back into a loveless world, where all he will ever know is rejection and isolation. Seeing you, who had promised yourself to him, start a family with another could be enough to push him over the edge. You had seen flashes of his anger before, his fits of passion. If Ferdinand had gone though such lengths to reclaim you after you left him, and he is a mere mortal, what is the daemon capable of?

He would never hurt you, you’re sure of that. Or you were sure. You never betrayed him before. What if he hates you, and that hate turns into vengeance? If he burns Ferdinand’s house down with you inside, that might be the most satisfactory ending left to you now. It would be favorable to living as Ferdinand’s wife for the next twenty years, unless you could manage to die in childbirth sooner.

Your mind drifts to that deep and rapid river, flooded with icy spring snow-melt, and you wonder how much trouble everyone would have been spared if the creature had never pulled you from its deathly current. At the bottom of that black stream, you imagine the sheer layers of your gown floating gently above your head, surrounded by bubbles, and the veil pulling off your crown and washing away into the turbid dark. A kind of peace settles over you. You think of nothing else for a long time.

**********

The organ plays a funeral march as your father drags you down the aisle, and you find yourself, through no will of your own, standing before an altar with vows being read to you and practically no memory of how you came to be there.

You feel sick.

Perhaps if you throw up on your husband’s shoes it will be some small rebellious victory. You feel your face want to smirk at that, instinctively. It’s what your cheeks would normally do. Yet your facial muscles remain slack and lifeless.

A sea of uncaring faces watch with curiosity from the long wooden pews, with a faded red carpet dividing them in two. Neighbors turn to whisper in each other’s ears with a frown or a smirk half-hidden behind a hand. They all came to watch. None of them had spoken to you in years, but they came for the show.

As the priest makes his pronouncements, your mind swirls with a torrent of self-reproaches. Why didn’t you fight while there was still a chance? You could have screamed and struggled until your parents had no choice but to let you go. Until Ferdinand realized you weren’t worth the trouble. You could have tied your sheets together and sneaked out the window before dawn—the storm had stopped by then.

It’s too late, you gutless fool. You can’t make a scene in front of all these people.

“If anyone knows a reason why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

Someone save me, you silently pray, but the large wooden cross looming above the altar seems to be on their side. Your eyes dart across the indifferent faces of the guests, desperately hoping for a savior, but they were only spectators. They know you’re being forced into this, and they’re complicit. Not that you had fought it either.

Not that you had fought it. The realization breaks upon you like an avalanche in spring. How could you expect someone else to save you when you would do nothing to save yourself from this fate? When you turned down your own best chance of escape because you were afraid? Now it was too late. There was no way out anymore.

Your stomach turns, and a sob breaks through the numbness that had swallowed you. Even through the veil, there was no hiding your tears, or your wail of abject sorrow.

The crowd gasps in unison, but not at you. At that same moment, the heavy double doors of the chapel burst open, banging against the walls in an explosion of splinters and a shattering roar: “I object!”

Standing beside you with a clear view down the center of the aisle, your mother makes a sign of the cross over her chest and points into the doorway, now filled by a massive silhouette. “The demon!”

A wave of reaction spreads through the crowd like the churning of a river around a large rock as the witnesses scream and push each other trying to get away from the enraged monster, flooding toward the back of the church and pressing themselves against the far walls.

He stands glowering in the doorway, eight feet tall and filling the entire entrance that he has to stoop to get inside. His arms spread wide from throwing open the doors make him appear even larger—inescapable. Silhouetted in the light streaming behind him from outside, his face is a vicious mask of cruelty and stark shadows.

Your heart stops beating, or races so quickly that you can’t distinguish one beat from the next, and you feel the blood running from your face. He—he came. He’s here. How can he be here? He can’t be here! Not like this. There was a chance you could have introduced him little by little to people you trusted, like Bess, if she hadn’t walked in with such poor timing. She might have understood. But this? He is poisoning himself to them forever. Why? Has he come to rescue you… or to take revenge?

“It is I—the Serpent,” he snarls in a voice that booms and resonates through the arched ceiling. You haven’t heard this voice since the day you encountered him in the forest and he tried to scare you away. “He who reigns among of the Legions of Pandemonium, sprung from the Deep, through the gates of Hell lays claim upon this woman. All the Seraphim of heaven shall not keep me from my prize!” He raises himself to his full height, scattering guests left and right with his sheer enormity and the terror of his presence. Your mouth goes dry as you suddenly become aware of how much he hunches over when he’s with you to make himself less intimidating. You’ve never seen him like his—his teeth bared and his long black hair whipping around him. The gentle creature who milked your cows and waited patiently for you in the dusty hayloft was gone. A cold shiver runs down your spine.

The demon snaps his huge white jaws at the crowd like a feral beast, lashing out at one side of the aisle and the other as he stalks up the faded strip of carpet. Each crashing footfall shakes the whole floor under your feet and sends dust streaming down from the rafters. With each threatening lunge, fresh screams of panic erupt from the congregants still frozen in their seats, and those fleeing toward the rear of the church now creep along the walls toward the front as he moves away from the broken doors. A trickle of congregants risk sneaking out the doors behind him, and when the first brave group manages to run to freedom without the monster whipping about and killing them, more flood out the doors in a turbulent stream of pushing and screaming.

What is he doing? You spent so much time and care hiding him, and now he’s in the middle of the village, exposed in full view, deliberately calling attention to himself. It’s as if everything you strived for together doesn’t even matter. Is he trying to get himself killed? Does he not even care anymore?

“Your God cannot help you now,” he thunders as he approaches the small wedding party at the altar. “I am the Prince of Darkness, the Morning Star, and a curse be upon any soul who stands in my way!” Your mother takes a quick step backward, then drops to the ground with a thud. Your father turns and runs, abandoning her.

No one is trying to stop him. They’re too terrified. You rip off your gossamer veil and look around the church—those who are not mobbing the exits are fainted or quivering in shock.

Everything you strived for doesn’t matter. All that hiding and pretending didn’t work—if you stay on that road, it leads to you marrying Ferdinand and living the rest of your life in a cold fog waiting to die. It’s time to try something different.

This.

All cards on the table. Winner takes all.

He towers over the trembling priest, and pronounces with a warning glare, “I claim this woman for my wife! No mortal shall touch her; no contract under God may bind her—her soul belongs to me!”

His eyes flit down to you and he stutters in his fierce tirade. Your wedding dress is new—a modestly expensive modern gown purchased by the groom to show off his assets. A taffeta robe the color of summer is pulled back to reveal a bright white petticoat underneath, and a neckline plunging almost scandalously low shows off more of your cleavage than he is used to seeing. His pale cheeks redden at your beauty, and for a moment he looks so much like an infatuated school boy it nearly gives away his act. To you it does, at least. At that moment, you’re certain what his intentions are, and the relief at those loving eyes you thought you would never see again makes your vision swim with tears.

He drops to one knee, sweeping his cloak out behind him, and holds a hand out to you. “Take my hand, and be my bride,” he commands in a booming voice, then adds, softly, earnestly, locking his eyes with yours, “If you will have me.”

You smile and cover your mouth, a warm feeling fluttering through your stomach.

You take his hand.

“I knew it,” growls a voice behind you. “I knew I did not imagine you, fiend! And you,” he shoves aside the preacher, still a trembling mass of robes, so he can grab the hand raised to your mouth roughly by the wrist and pull you back toward him. “I knew you were a whore! I’ll teach you to know your place!”

“Let me go!” you scream and try to twist away toward the creature, but Ferdinand holds on with bruising force. You cry out in pain.

The creature roars in outrage and snatches Ferdinand’s wrist just below where it grips yours. There is a sound of snapping bone as his hand goes limp and releases you, and the giant being of immense strength pulls the smaller man’s arm upward until he hangs off the ground like a limp rag doll. You pivot and join the creature at his side, interlacing your fingers with his.

“Her place is where she chooses. No one shall force her hand so long as I will live,” the creature snarls in the boy’s face, gnashing his dripping teeth. “You should have begged to be worthy for her to choose you.”

A slow, unhinged laugh shakes Ferdinand’s dangling form. “Choice?” he cackles, “She would choose to leave me? For this thing?! Then it is fortunate you have no choice, you filthy sow!” He lashes out with his feet, but the creature whips him away, a symphony of popping joints and screams following, until he hangs limp and defeated again.

“Yes, I do,” you growl. “I always have; you just didn’t want me to see it. But I see it now, and you can never have me.”

“Would you like me to rend him limb from limb?”

“No,” you reply coldly. “He isn’t worth the mess.”

“Disgusting wench!” Ferdinand coughs, wriggling impotently like a marionette on the end of a string. He’s at least learned not to kick. “Your defile yourself in the eyes of God!”

“If God wants me to be with the likes of you, then consider me happily defiled,” you sneer. You’re feeling downright brazen now at seeing your oppressors so weak and helpless—how pathetic they really are. You have every right to be with the one you love, with the one who makes you happy. “There is nothing wrong or immoral about what we have.”

Ferdinand’s eyes spark with rage. “So you admit it, then. All along you’ve made a cuckold of me. You were mine! Corrupting devil,” he spits, “She was the perfect woman when I chose her for my own—meek and biddable—there was no competition for her hand due to her social defects, but I could have tamed those peculiarities in short order. Instead you made her stubborn and willful. I will not forgive you for making her your whore, beast!” His free hand reaches into the lining of his waistcoat, and he pulls out a dueling pistol. “This time my aim will be straight for your heart—die, vile adversary!”

You see him raise the gun to the creature’s chest, and you don’t think. You slam your full body weight against his arm, pushing it out to the side as he pulls the trigger. A shower of sparks erupts from the muzzle with a loud bang, and a lead round embeds itself in the chapel wall. Burning black powder makes you cough. The creature grabs the gun from Ferdinand’s hand and crushes the barrel with a single squeeze, then tosses it and Ferdinand away like so much garbage.

Ferdinand crashes into the altar, candles toppling down over him in a heap.

“Bitch! You bitch!” Ferdinand shouts disparaging swears from his position on the floor. It’s more than the impotent rage of defeat. He pulls the second dueling pistol of the set from the other side of his waistcoat—he was paranoid enough to be wed with two loaded weapons strapped to him—more shrewd than paranoid, considering the outcome. He takes aim at you this time.

He had struck the creature while both were sprinting through the undergrowth of the forest—he was a good shot. At only a few meters distance, he is unlikely to miss. The blood freezes in your veins and time seems to stand still as you watch his finger slowly depress the trigger, millimeter by millimeter. This is what you had been terrified of for the past months, why you had so feared discovery. You squeeze the creature’s fingers, still locked in yours, and you smile. You smile like it’s the last time you will ever get the chance to, because you’re afraid to die.

The flint snaps down onto the flashpan and tiny golden sparks spray out from the top of the pistol. The spark reaches the barrel, but carelessly loaded and ill-maintained, the ball does not fire, but the barrel explodes in his hand, sending shrapnel whizzing past your head and setting the cloth of the altar ablaze. He shrieks in agony, dropping the wreckage of the gun from his mangled and bleeding hand.

The creature pulls you to him in a protective embrace as time starts moving again.

“Goodbye, Ferdinand,” you say through your teeth. “If you ever come near me again, I’ll kill you.” Eyes wide with terror and pain, Ferdinand scrambles away from the spreading flames.

You leap into the creature’s arms, a grin spreading from ear to ear as he holds you in a bridal carry. He smiles back triumphantly, chest heaving from adrenaline. You don’t know how this happened, how everything turned upside down so suddenly, but you’re ready now. You already felt the cold jaws of a living death closing around you, and as the fire begins to spread out from the altar, you feel alive again—truly alive, for perhaps the first time in your life.

The growing fire spurs a rapid call to activity—swooning parishioners startle awake at the smell of smoke, and shake their stunned companions out of their trances. The priest, to his credit, kneels beside your mother and lifts her to her feet. She gives one last bleary-eyed look of confusion at you with your bright wedding gown streaming down from the dark-haired monster’s arms before the priest guides her out a side door.

You clasp your arms around the back of the creature’s neck. His smile has faded to a faraway sort of sadness. “I never meant to hurt you, I just… panicked,” you explain quietly. “I was so afraid of dying with you, but I realized just now, there are worse things. When I resigned to marrying him, I kept thinking of the merciful ways my life might be cut short so I wouldn’t have to grow old in his house. I was afraid of living. You make me afraid to die.” He carefully wipes a tear from the corner of your eye with a calloused thumb. “Can you forgive me for being such a coward?”

“Of course I do. I only wanted to give you a choice. You could have renounced me, and then all would know you were innocent. That none of it was your fault. So disrupted, the ceremony would at least be postponed, and if you cast out the demon, perhaps they would not force you into marriage.”

“That… that was really your plan?” You hadn’t considered for a moment the possibility of turning against him.

“I was hoping you would choose me,” he shrugs sheepishly. “What is your choice, my angel? Do you wish to leave with me?” His question is uncertain and soft and familiar now that you’re alone. You lift a hand to his cheek, and he turns his face to nuzzle into your palm.

“I do!”

Your sweet daemon leans his head down and kisses you before the burning altar. As the church begins to fill with the dry smoke of ancient timber, the creature hefts you in his arms, hugging you closer, and carries you down the aisle.

#frankenstein #Frankenstein's Monster #the creature x reader #monster x reader #My writing #JUST ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT AAAAAAAHHHHH #I almost waited to post them together #but I'm too anxious so there's gonna be an epilogue

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sleephyjhs · 4 years

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forget-me-not | pjm

pairing: jimin x original character

genre: angst, ex-lovers AU

summary: breaking his heart the first time around ripped you to shreds, having to do it for the second time was close enough to unbearable. out of everybody he could’ve remembered, it just had to be you.

wc: 2.3k

song rec: miss missing you - fall out boy

m.list

tw: mentions of accidents, hospital setting, amnesia

“No, he only wants you. He’s got you on the brain.” The phonecall that kickstarted your Sunday morning was nothing short of overwhelming. Even your sounding alarm would have been a more welcoming alert to waken to, “You have to come and see him.”

Exhaling down the phone, you raked your fingers through your knotted bed hair and sank back into your warmed pillows, “Why do you need me? We haven’t spoken in months, it’s just unnecessary.”

His name lived constantly in your mind; it hadn’t left since the night he did. The time that had passed between the breakup and that Sunday morning was time you could’ve spent wondering about something other than what you did so wrong to come back to his tapes boxes and stuffed suitcases. Reuniting with Jimin after so long was a can of worms you were unprepared to pry open.

“Haewon, he doesn’t know who the fuck any of us are. Do you really think if he knew who we were he’d be asking for you?” It was relieving to see that time hadn’t shrunk his ego. Initially, there were many things you came to miss about Jimin but his friendship group could never have been one of them. With conceit as strong as theirs, their related influence on Jimin was never noticeable; that much you appreciated.

Still, the draining compulsion to punch them returned to you as strong as ever, “What ward is he in?”

“R6, south wing. Hurry up, the nurses can’t get anything out of him, you’re the only hope we’ve got.” As Jimin’s friend hung up the phone, remains of guilt and anger drowned you. Everything that you’d thought you’d managed to suppress was now swallowing you whole; the guilt of knowing you did something to make him up and leave, and the anger of never knowing what it could’ve been.

The process of making yourself look somewhat presentable took even more effort than usual; the unusual circumstances you’d awoken into needed to render before you could even begin to believe what had happened. Considering the rush of a city in the early morning, you skipped the makeup routine and accepted the mean comments that were bound to be hurled at you. Last night’s jeans and tee would have to do; it wasn’t as though you had anyone to impress anyway.

Even the radio was unable to draw your thoughts away from Jimin. Receiving a call from Jimin’s best friend could only mean trouble, and you wanted none of the mess that had been created overnight. It had been mere weeks since you gave your peace on the end of your relationship, yet here you were, willingly ripping open the stitches that now bound your heart together.

Maybe you appeared strange in the elevator - flushing all shades of pink - but you couldn’t seem to help it. Not only was your situation unprecedented, but you had no idea what sight you’d be greeted with. Jimin’s friend wouldn’t let up how bad the accident was, and despite the pain he’d given you, never could you wish for him to receive it back.

R6, south wing; it was further away than you’d remembered. It was always strikingly obvious that you’d wandered away from the commotion of a hospital when the bustling visitors exchanged with surgeons and nurses, coated in their same minty scrubs. The lack of casual clothing in the corridors haunted you; it only seemed as though you were edging further from civilisation with each step.

Buzzing the security intercom increased the building pressure in your lungs. As you cleansed your hands with provided gel, any predictions of what might be waiting for you behind the doors suddenly evacuated. Although he may have, your attachment to Jimin has never truly abandoned you; once upon a time, he was your best friend.

Ambulating down the sapphire linoleum, you counted the enclosures of hospital beds. Fourth from the right was your intended destination. One; empty. The landscape of empty beds inside was almost as depressing as a full room. Two; full. Silence fell upon 4 conscious patients who all stared into the same space. Three; weeping family. Expecting anything less from a trauma unit would have been foolish even for you, but the extremes of human emotion were perhaps all too much for a Sunday morning.

And then, you came to four. Through the moderately open shutters, you stole the first glimpse of Jimin you’d had in months. Your view was blocked by his crowded friends; the worst of it was approaching.

“Excuse me?” A voice from behind introduced. Startled, you turned to meet conversation, not expecting to be greeted by a nurse, “Are you Ms. Haewon?”

You nodded politely, remaining unsure what to expect. The nurse returned her eyes to the clipboard she cradled and shrewdly, you copied, “Thank you for coming at such short notice, you seem to be the only person he can name.”

“What happened? To him, I mean.”

“A car accident. He’s lucky to say the least. I’m glad I caught you before you entered.” Her abrupt statements couldn’t calm your ever-trembling hands; coming here was surely a mistake, ”I’m sure you’ve gathered that what you’re about to walk into isn’t going to be easy. Whatever he says to you is his own version of reality, no matter how far from the truth it really is. I’d like to advise you against correcting him for the time being, it’s better for the recovery process if he is allowed time to adjust.”

You flattened your lips, finally coming to realise how serious Jimin’s accident actually had been. Being left to only remember your time together must’ve been more pain than he knew, but he didn’t.

After thanking the nurse, you brushed your hands on your jeans to dry the accumulated sweat on your palms and exhaled breath you didn’t know you were holding. Not a single word of preparation scrolled through your mind as you turned the corner into the room.

All eyes fell upon you, including Jimin’s. Arrangements of purple and mouldy yellow bloomed from his brow to jaw, following a delicate manoeuvre down his cheek. Clear tubes were strung from the back of his hand to several bags of various liquids. To say the resemblance to a marionette doll was uncanny would have been an understatement, “Haewon!”

Conjuring the equal amount of enthusiasm to see Jimin pointlessly unachievable. Even seeing your worst enemy in such a bad state wouldn’t have changed the torment struggling inside your mind.

Softening your eyes, you fixed upon his sable eyes and released a gentle smile, “Hi, Jimin.”

The simple greeting was all you could muster. It was pathetic, but it would have to do. By the window, one of Jimin’s friends pulled faces to his own reflection. Usually distracted by small aggravations, all of your attention remained devoted to Jimin. You were here for him, no one else.

“I managed to end up in hospital. Do you know why?” The tails of his eyebrows sunk into his temples. Dancing around topics in fear of confusing him more was risky. Following his own lead in conversation was the only way to avoid slipping up; all you could hope is that what you were doing was the best for him.

The rolling eyes of his cornered friend enraged you. Assuming he would have any feelings of compassion was ridiculous, “I know.” You places your bag gently on the floor and perched on one of the plastic meeting chairs beside the bed, “Do you know why..?”

Before your question had finished, the monotonous shaking of his head swung against his pillow, “There’s strange people here, they won’t go away.”

At the sound of his words, Jimin’s friend turned away from the window to watch his injured friend. You hated him with your whole being, but watching him be shut out by Jimin was unfair. Of course, there was nothing that could be helped, but an overhanging guilt began to overshadow you, “They’re here to help you, Jimin. You were in a car accident, and you can’t get better by yourself. They’ll help you as much as they can.”

Soft smiles were all you could offer for comfort. Embracing him in any kind of way was sure enough to damage him further. Porcelain would have appeared stronger than Jimin; another crack in his dainty exterior guaranteed him to shatter.

Fiddling with your fingernails allowed you to witness Jimin’s hand creep down the bed. The transparent tubes stretched to follow his roaming digits; his palm blossomed and tiny cuts, most likely made by broken glass, scattered over his calluses. Holding his hand was not a task you had signed up for, but then, Jimin never asked to remember you.

Slipping your hand against Jimin’s was strange to say the least. His familiar warmth was once soothing, now it was more like an icy slate. Whatever you could do to help him recover, you would; you’d assured yourself that much.

“Am I going to be alright?” Jimin whimpered, caressing your thumb with his. Immense pity was simply inevitable. How badly damaged was he? So much so, Jimin wasn’t sure if he was even going to make it.

“Of course you are.” You resumed your amiable smile, knowing very well you may have just lied to him. Considering the state you found him in, surely it wasn’t certain?

As Jimin groaned while he hesitantly adjusted himself, the same nurse from earlier returned to the room. She pushed a small cart equipped with medical appliances, bandages and capsules of all different colours, “I need to change Jimin’s drips. For sanitary reasons, you both need to wait outside.”

Your eyes met with those of Jimin’s friend, and you led the walk outside of the room. The door closed behind you, and the awkward silence began. Even when your relationship with Jimin was active, you’d never found much in comin with his friends. In fact, the more you came to understand Jimin, you couldn’t understand what attracted him to them either.

Before you’d gotten the chance, the man sat in the only seat outside of the room. Chivalry was no expectation when it came to Jimin’s acquaintances. As expected, nothing much had changed.

Even when deep in silence, you couldn’t bring yourself to dawdle on your phone. Nail-biting was the only appropriate way to pass time as well as take out your pent up anxieties. He looked up from behind his screen, and thrusted it deep into his jacket pocket, eyeing you from head to toe with a grimaced face. You shared his sentiments.

“It’s better he forgets you. You never bother with him, what an unfortunate coincidence he only remembers you.” His breath exalted ignorance. You were here for Jimin, not to argue over the past.

But still, it was too much bait to simply avoid, “What do you mean I never bother with him? Conversations work two ways; if he wanted me to check up on him, he’d check up on me too.”

“He’s been a mess since you stopped dating. You were the best thing that ever happened to him.”

His confession was perhaps the most sincerity you thought possible to get out of him, yet that wouldn’t fog your version of events, “That’s his own fault. I never wanted us to end.”

He scoffed, smirking as he shook his head, “There’s no compassion with you, is there?”

“Your best friend could have died, and you’re still taking jabs at me. I didn’t have to come but I did. Instead of being concerned for Jimin’s wellbeing, I reckon you asked me here just to make your points.” His sly smirk soon faded into his flushing cheeks.

Perhaps it was true that if he knew any better, Jimin wouldn’t want you there. But he didn’t know any better, at least not now. How you were supposed to help, you were unsure of. Were you even prepared to be present when he realised? Realising your beloved was no longer yours must hurt more for the second time, there could be no doubt about it.

“Visit hours are over in five minutes. Go, and don’t come back. At least for a while. At least give him a chance to remember someone other than you. I only asked you here to lessen the blow anyway.”

For someone who should no longer concern you, the motion of avoiding Jimin was strangely painful. He was vulnerable, anybody could see that. Abandoning him as the only person he could openly recognise felt immoral, disgusting almost. But what authority did you have?

The nurse soon allowed you back into the room for the final goodbye before the cue to leave. Jimin beamed as you timidly approached the plastic chair beside him. It must’ve stung him to smile with such cheer. It was a lie. His happiness was a lie. Soon, he’d know the truth.

“I’m going to have to leave soon. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer.” Although your romance wasn’t, your remorse was real. The pity you empathised from being stuck with his ignorant friend was also very much real.

“You’ll come back for me, right?”

So much you were yet to decide. A sleepless night dwelling upon the events of the day was due, “Of course I will.”

With all your endurance, you avoided the eyes of his lingering friend. He was better off invisible for now, “You promise to keep well, Jimin. We’ll get through this together.”

Sending Jimin your last smile of the day, he reflected your sentiments and watched you approached the door, “Haewon?” You turned around with a raised eyebrow, “I love you.”

And there it was. The dreaded three words that held no meaning to you, at least not from him. Did they even hold any meaning to him? You were the only person he recognised; if there was only one person you knew, you’d feel compelled to live them at some point.

“I know you do.”

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betweenthelinesinmysoul · 7 years

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Reawaking old words...

I watch as all I've saved and worked for falls, slipping through my fingers no matter how hard I try to hold on. I cannot bend to pick it up, I may not go down to retrieve, as there is no such direction. The only way to recover what is lost is to go up, further up then I've gone before.

But time has not allowed such a growth for my place is still yet here. Trapped am I. With the hated blood of this world, that is mans salvation and damnation, slipping through my hands and leaving me empty and enraged.

Swimming in a current, fighting to move forward, but staying in place and slowly moving back. Is there no way to beat this endless tide? Must this be the way the world works when I must die?

For all the struggle and anger in the world and in my heart I ask myself what is worth this distress? My heart sings of love and my mind joins the band but a shatter of my soul weeps for it's lost hand. It yearns for it's freedom for it's ability to fly, tied down -it feels- to this earth with no wings to brush the sky.

If only for those moments when the mind and heart still, does this sliver of soul have a voice which to kill. Sliding like the serpent of many myths past it flicks its evil thoughts with an angered wife's wrath.

Never shall the sliver win for love does beat true, but on the rare occasions it's words shine through.

#poetry sort of #poetry #feelings #word vomit #old work

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shesgottawatchit · 5 years

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Pariah (2011) dir. Dee Rees

“I’m Not Running, I’m Choosing”: ‘Pariah’ and Gender Performance

“Who do you become if you can’t be yourself?” Pariah, my absolute favorite film of 2011, tackles that question.

Written and directed by Dee Rees and produced by Nekisa Cooper, the powerful, award-winning Pariah tells the story of Alike (Adepero Oduye in an astounding performance), a 17-year-old black lesbian in Brooklyn. Studious, artistic and sensitive, Alike is a writer who knows who she is but hides her sexuality from her family. We so rarely see positive portrayals of black women and queer women on-screen. Here, we have the privilege to see both. With subtlety and grace, it’s an exquisite and achingly beautiful female-centric coming-of-age film about a young woman discovering her sexuality and asserting her identity.

Carrie Nelson already wrote an articulate and intelligent review of the award-winning film. You should seriously go read it! But I want to touch on a few points that particularly struck me while watching, particularly about gender performance and identity. Most films don’t address teenage sexuality. Sure they may objectify women or poke fun at raging hormones. But they don’t often explore how teens’ discover their sexuality, especially women’s sexuality, people of color’s sexuality, or queer sexuality.

Throughout the film, we receive visual cues to Alike’s gender performance. When we first see Alike in a club, she’s wearing a loose men’s jersey, baggy jeans, and a baseball cap. She’s emulating her butch best friend Laura (Pernell Walker). On the bus home, Alike removes her hat and shirt, revealing a form-fitting top. She puts on earrings. All for her overprotective, lonely and overbearing mother Audrey (Kim Wayans). When she’s around her mom, Alike wears stereotypically feminine clothing. Flouncy skirts, dresses, snug blouses – all clothing that “shows off her figure” like her mother wants. form-fitting tops. Her mother buys her these clothes, knowing full well that Alike abhors wearing them. Yet refusing to accept her daughter, trying to orchestrate her daughter’s identity.

Alike’s mother can’t handle the fact that her daughter is a lesbian. Audrey shows a colleague at lunch a fuchsia sweater she bought for Alike. She tells Arthur (Charles Parnell), Alike’s father, that she’s “tired of this tomboy thing she’s doing.” Yet Alike tries to express herself, telling her parents that the sweater “isn’t me.” Alike’s identity contradicts her vision of her daughter that she imposed on Alike. Alike’s father is more protective of her as she’s a “daddy’s girl.” Yet he refuses to admit or see the signs that Alike might be a lesbian. Between the two is Alike’s sister Sharonda (Sahra Mellesse) who knows about her sexuality and loves her regardless.

Whenever Alike leaves home, she transforms herself into the identity she chooses. At school, we see her rush to the girls’ bathroom to change. She adopts a more masculine appearance to coincide with her gender non-conformity. Laura buys Alike a strap-on to have sex with a woman. But Alike’s uncomfortable wearing it (it’s white, it pinches her) and ends up throwing it away.

For Alike, both sets of clothing – the hyper-masculine and hyper-feminine – are a costume. She rebels from the princess wardrobe her mother wants for her by going to the other extreme, exploring if it’s who she is. But neither appearance encapsulates Alike. Both the butch and the femme identities are disconnected from her personality.

In an interview, Rees, an out lesbian herself, said Pariah is about identity and finding your place in the world:

“Alike’s a woman who knows she loves women and is sure in that, but her struggle is how to be. Her struggle is a more nuanced struggle of gender identity within the queer community. She’s not the same person that (her friend) Laura is, neither is she this pink princess that her mother wants her to be. She falls somewhere in between. Finding the courage to carve out that space is her journey.”

Audrey suspects her daughter is a lesbian or at the very least is attracted to women. But she tries to derail Alike’s sexuality. Audrey forces Alike and the charismatic Bina (Aasha Davis), the daughter of a work colleague and one of Alike’s classmates, to spend time together in a vain attempt to separate Alike from hanging out with Laura, whose own mother has disowned her for being a lesbian. Alike tells her mother that nothing is going to change, Audrey replies, “God doesn’t make mistakes,” as if homosexuality is a mistake. But Audrey’s plan backfires as Alike and Bina bond over music and share a growing attraction to one another.

Drawn to one another, Alike and Bina have sex. Despite their shared intimacy, Bina rejects Alike. Breaking Alike’s heart and devastating her, Bina tells her she’s not “gay-gay” and asks her to keep their encounter secret. We see that Bina possesses sexual fluidity yet is afraid to commit to a woman, perhaps due to society’s heteronormative standards. Or maybe she doesn’t want to commit to anyone, male or female. Or maybe she’s an insensitive asshole.

Whatever Bina’s motivations, Alike’s heartbreak ushers in her refusal to bury her identity any longer. Amidst a huge fight between her parents, Audrey angrily tells Arthur, “Your daughter is turning into a damn man right before your eyes.” Alike tells her parents she’s a lesbian, which enrages her mother. Audrey hits her repeatedly, her father trying to restrain her, after Alike finally confirms what her mother already knew.

Alike turns to Laura (who tries again to reach out to her mother after she earns her GED) for solace and support. Both women are able to commiserate as friends and as lesbians rejected by their mothers’ gendered expectations.

By the end of the film, we see Alike’s clothing change again. Adopting some of Bina’s style fused with her own – perhaps to convey that she’s learned from her heartache or it may be her acknowledgment of her sexual transformation – she wears scarves and earrings with jeans. No longer shadowing Laura and no longer conforming to her mother’s gender binary, Alike rejects the gender binary of butch and femme, a symbolic balance of her identity, a unison of femininity and masculinity.

Alike divulges her feelings through spoken word. Her poem at the end of Pariah is hauntingly stunning (making me weep uncontrollably), echoing her painful yet ultimately freeing journey towards self-acceptance:

“Heartbreak opens onto the sunrise for even breaking is opening and I am broken, I am open. Broken into the new life without pushing in, open to the possibilities within, pushing out. See the love shine in through my cracks? See the light shine out through me? I am broken, I am open, I am broken open. See the love light shining through me, shining through my cracks, through the gaps. My spirit takes journey, my spirit takes flight, could not have risen otherwise and I am not running, I am choosing. Running is not a choice from the breaking. Breaking is freeing, broken is freedom. I am not broken, I am free.”

Pariah shattered my heart with its aching beauty, uplifting my soul. We are allowed a window to witness her journey and self-discovery. Through her wardrobe and poetry, Alike eventually expresses herself as a lesbian in the way that she wishes. Alike insists she’s not running, she’s choosing. While she means this literally, there’s meaning beneath the surface. No longer running from who she is, Alike chooses to embrace her identity. Watching Alike discover and assert herself is beauty, poetry in motion.

http://www.btchflcks.com/2012/06/lgbtqi-week-im-not-running-im-choosing-pariah-and-gender-performance.html#.XKJ2c-tKiu4

#creators #subjects

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rubypop · 7 years

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Hunger, Chapter 11 - Dragon Age 2

Hunger by rubypop Chapter 11

Anders blinked slowly at the gathering clouds, lacking the sense to wonder whether or not he was dead. At first he saw only the overcast sky, which gradually stained pink with the setting of the sun. The pain was slow to creep through him, until it ignited his nerves like a line of fuses, and he cringed, and almost screamed, for suffering this mistake.

He could scarcely feel the ground through this pain. He writhed over cold, jagged limestone. A slow panic was taking hold, and he, well-versed in healing, urged himself to relax, to calm down, but, oh, such pain was unlike any he'd yet survived. He had the impression that he was not here, sprawled upon the ground, but was instead standing over himself, staring down at bruised-black flesh and crushed bones. Neurons in his brain were fireworks, explosions, conflicting bursts of information. I am dead, he thought; I am going into shock; I will not leave this place; I will never see her again.

With something of a whimper he forced himself to lay still, letting go of the instinct that screamed for all of his muscles to cramp around his injuries. Tears flooded his eyes. He breathed deeply, and counted: one. Two. Three.

With great effort, he took stock of his condition. He could move his head, just barely, and thanked every deity and spirit he could imagine that he hadn't snapped his neck. He felt slightly less grateful when he caught sight of a splintered, yellow length of bone, and he lowered his head again dizzily. He breathed, and counted again. One, two, three.

"Oh, Maker," he said.

In one hand he still clutched his staff. Miraculous. He could not lift it. A sharp new pain sliced through his shoulder when he tried, and he knew that his collarbone must have broken in at least two places. He dared not guess how many bones, exactly, he'd shattered, in case that tide of panic were to rise again. Instead he focused on the staff, urging all of the warmth he had left into a single focal point, and he whispered words of healing, stopping to cringe, to gasp, and to begin again.

He was forced to work slowly, forced to identify as many individual wounds as possible, one at a time, so that the healing would be total: every clot of blood, shredded muscle, fragment of bone, and traumatized tissue. He thought, at first, that the worst of it was over once he'd repaired the punctured lining of his lungs, and then he arrived at his left leg. Here was the yellow point of his femur, which had split, vertically, almost in two.

"Maker," he said again, and twisted the fabric of his coat between his teeth, and he tried not to call too much attention to himself as he rejoined the halves of the bone.

He lay still for quite some time, feverish and doused in sweat. The sky, by now, had grown dark.

He sat up. His newly-repaired nerves were raw, and protested.

Black carcasses were stretched and crushed around him. The rest had gone over the sheer drop. He had slammed onto an outcropping, which now was littered with the boulders he had brought down the cliffside. He stared up, beyond the white wall and its crooked scarlet mineral veins. He did not know what awaited him at the village. He could not be certain how much time had passed, and hoped it had only been half a day — though even now it might be too late.

He found himself praying, for the first time in his life, that Fenris was still alive.

"Little poppet," Dragana sang softly. "Little girly poppet, with snipped strings."

She lay next to Fenris, her eyes staring.

"Little girly poppet, with your ribbons and things."

Her teeth stained red.

"Little poppet, why do you not walk?"

Her gaze settled on Fenris, focusing at last.

"Why do you not walk?" she whispered.

She forced herself up. Her dripping hair dragged through blood. She leaned over the silent body. She skimmed at the blood with her hands, but it had already begun to coagulate, and she gagged, and could not get it down. She stared at Florian as though seeing him for the first time, and screamed.

She fell upon the body, weeping and shrieking. "I'm sorry, dearest." She fumbled at his doublet and stroked his black curls. "I'm sorry, oh, sweet dearest, look at you, oh, those clothes will have to be replaced, just look at your shirt, I am sorry, I am sorry."

She reared back again, covering her mouth. "Oh, Maker. Oh, Maker. Oh, no. Oh, no."

She backed away and crawled across the floor, stamping it with handprints, until she cowered against the wall.

"Little poppet," she whimpered. "Little girly poppet."

"Dragana," Fenris managed. "Lady Dragana."

She stared at him incredulously.

"Please try to be calm," he said.

"Ser Silver Elf?" she said, as though she had forgotten him.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, Dragana. Please, just look at me, and be calm."

She gathered handfuls of her hair. She pressed her fists to her scalp. She was about to speak when she glanced up suddenly, her mouth hanging open, and Fenris turned to look. Grasin gaped at them from the doorway.

"Grasin," Dragana said.

Fenris watched his gaze move first from them to Florian, then to the knife, and back to Dragana's blood-spattered face. He turned and ran.

"Grasin!" Dragana shrieked.

The slamming of a door echoed from the foyer.

Dragana began to weep hysterically and crumpled to the floor. Fenris strained against his bindings, but his wrists had been knotted fast, and he could not reach the rope with his claws. He struggled and twisted about on the floor.

Just as suddenly as she began, Dragana stopped crying. Fenris froze. She'd sat up again, her face inscrutable. She swayed. She said, "I've done something wrong."

She met his eyes. "I must have done something wrong."

Painstakingly, she stood and tottered across the room, waving her arms for balance. She dropped down beside Fenris and stared, for a very long time, at Florian. Fenris dared not move.

"You said you hurt her," she said, without taking her eyes off of the body.

Fenris didn't speak.

"Do you think — she will forgive you?"

"I," Fenris said.

The glassy stained face turned to him.

"I don't know," he said.

She sat back and ground her little fists into her lap. She rocked back and forth and hummed.

"Little girly poppet," she mumbled. "With snipped strings."

She lay her head against Florian's chest and was silent.

Anders leaned against his staff like an old, old man. He slid to his knees. His heart hammered. He could not focus. In his mind, he saw Fenris groping at the cleaver in his shoulder. He saw Florian, enraged and deadly. He saw Hawke vanishing into the maw of the beast.

He groaned and stabbed at the cliffside with his staff. He drew upon all of the natural energies that he could summon, all that would listen. He felt for the pulse of the earth. Cracks ran like ripping seams down the sheer wall. The rock shifted, caving here and jutting there, crumbling and cleaving and reshaping, and he had, for a horrible instant, a vision of the entire cliff coming down on him, destabilized and vengeful. He clung to sheer concentration, until the fractured rock settled and became still, forming a series of inexpertly-wrought steps that led back up the cliffside.

Exhaustion leached through him. He slumped. I must go, he thought. I must go.

Dragana flung open the garden doors. Dressed in moonlight, the overgrown rafflesias lurked. She staggered against her cane into the vines. She seized handfuls of flowers and tossed them away, and kicked the largest foul-smelling bloom. She wedged her cane beneath its spotted lobes and wrenched it from the ground, revealing a black, rocky cavity. She turned back to Fenris, her wet eyes shining.

With the long, curving knife she cut the rope from his feet. She tugged the bindings at his hands, urging him up, and dragged him into the garden. He went unsteadily. When he swayed back, more for lack of balance than any genuine attempt to escape, she rounded on him with the knife, pressing its edge into the soft flesh beneath his jaw.

"You will come," she said. The knife trembled in her little hand. "Or I will kill her myself."

She yanked the lead at his wrists and together they descended into the mouth of the cave.

The heat, here, was familiar, and for an instant Fenris was racing along the manor stairs again, cradling Hawke to his chest. A fist of longing squeezed his heart. He followed Dragana through absolute darkness. He breathed hot, wet air, and a more potent carrion stench, upon which he gagged, and which stirred the bile in his gut. He heard deep, steady breathing, a rhythm which grew gradually louder, and it seemed to emanate from all around him, seismic, ever-present, swallowing him whole, as though they walked the gullet of a behemoth.

They came to a vast, torchlit cavern. Condensation, which dripped even now, had shaped these calcareous walls, and stalactites choked the dome of the ceiling. His gaze fell upon a pile of corpses. No — a mountain, staggering in its implications, of parts and pieces, twisting limbs and reaching fingers and unidentifiable viscera. Fenris retched and tried to turn away, but Dragana yanked his lead, unmoved by the sight, and he glimpsed bones, and gaping jaws, and all that was now mere detritus of the villagers who'd once lived ignorantly above this place.

"My Lord," Dragana said.

The great beast turned, with brilliant unblinking eyes.

Anders laboriously climbed the cliffside, his fingers bruising against jagged rock. Wind stung his eyes and yanked at his tattered robes. His nervous system howled. Despite his healing, the trauma of broken bones and punctured organs still rattled his skull like a cage. Cold reason penetrated his thoughts: certainly this outcome was preferable to being eaten alive. Anders found that he could not argue as he groaned and dragged himself up, and up.

Justice did share his bodily pain, at least.

This did not comfort him — that mortally fragile side of all human brains which seeks self-preservation. He could not deny that Justice had rendered him a helpless passenger in the body that they both shared, in a body which Justice had sent purposefully over the edge of a cliff. Cold reason, again: but we have survived.

His frightened brain: I would not have done that, could never have done that. What else will I be made to do?

Onward he climbed, white and shaking.

He neared the peak. He wished desperately to pause, to catch his breath, but forced himself to go on, to spare no time. A dark face peered over the edge, long-nosed and pointed-eared. For a wild second he thought it must be Fenris, until he recognized the harrowed expression.

Grasin reached for him, and Anders grasped his hands gratefully, allowing himself to be hauled over the edge, until he sprawled on solid ground, heaving, exhausted. Grasin helped him to his feet.

"I saw you fall," he stammered. "I thought, for certain . . ."

Anders waved his hand. "There's no time," he said. "I must hurry. I have to find her. And I have to find Hunger."

Confusion clouded Grasin's face for a moment, and then he seemed to understand. "But, your companion —"

"I will have to come back for him."

Grasin lowered his head regretfully. He nodded. "I will take you to the Lord's den," he said. "But we cannot go through the manor."

Anders jolted. "The demon is in the manor?"

"No. You misunderstand. There is an entrance. There are many entrances. This way. Hurry."

He beckoned, and led Anders toward the butcher's shop, the front of which gaped open, all splintered wood and shattered glass. Anders stopped short.

"I cannot go back in there," he murmured, and Grasin turned, not hearing. At that moment, ice flooded Anders's veins and poured from his eyes, stinging, stealing his breath and his voice.

"Lead on," Justice growled, and Grasin trembled where he stood.

Fenris and Hunger faced one another for the first time since the abduction at Hawke Manor.

The demon huddled against the concave wall, massive, solid, its black hide shining. Its teeth clenched and unclenched as it breathed. Its gaze penetrated Fenris as readily as the curving talons on its fingers.

"You brought him here," Hunger said, and growled, long and resonant.

"My Lord —"

"WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT HIM HERE," Hunger roared, and Dragana ducked her head, hiding her face.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry."

The demon groaned then, leaning back, so different, now, than the first time Fenris had seen it.

"I didn't know what to do," Dragana said, near tears.

"I have told you what to do. Useless little twit." Hunger dragged its enormous claws against the wall, and fleshy tumors sprang up, bloated and pulsing, and it settled back against them wearily. "Tell me that is the blood of the mage."

"It is not," Dragana whispered, touching her face. The blood had long dried, and flaked from her mouth. "But he is dead. I swear it."

"And you've not brought his head?"

"He fell from the cliffside."

"Then I am not convinced," Hunger snarled, "until his head is in my hands."

"My Lord." Dragana began to cry. "You treat me so poorly now."

The white eyes narrowed without pity.

"Please hold me. Please kiss me, and tell me that you love me."

"You are undeserving," Hunger said.

A long, pitiful sob escaped her. She nearly crumpled, swaying against the silver cane. She smeared blood across her arm as she roughly wiped her tears.

"I killed Florian," she wept. "I cut his throat. I drank his blood."

Hunger said nothing.

"Still the tremors have not stopped," she stuttered. "My legs. They will not stop shaking. Nothing has changed."

"Stupid, foolish girl," Hunger said, and Dragana fell silent.

Hunger's claws raked against its forehead, dancing along the crown of spikes. "It is beyond my power to heal you," it said.

Dragana stared. Her arms lowered to her sides, and hung limp there. "What?"

"Did you think I hold sway over miracles? That blood rites and rituals are enough to eliminate the affliction that is just as much a part of you as your red hair? My dear. My silly, stupid girl."

"What?" she said again.

Hunger sneered. "Do you still not understand? Nothing, my dear," and the demon rose, towering above them both, "will ever banish the tremors from your body. 'Twas a hopeless dream of your father's."

"You lied to me?" Dragana said.

"I followed along with the fantasy." Hunger sat again amongst the tumors. "The one that so blinded your father. A pleasant dream. It gave sweetness to the taste of his flesh."

"But — the rituals. The sacrifices —"

"All a pleasing way to pass the time." The black lips curled back over yellow teeth. "Marvelous, sensuous entertainment."

"Entertainment?" She turned to Fenris, as though he could explain. Her frightened eyes stirred within him a deep pity. "Entertainment?" she said again. "My love . . ."

A deep purring sound emanated from the beast.

"But. What was it all for? What do you want?"

Hunger shook its head. "Her," it crooned, stroking its hard stomach. "The contract she and I shared has been fulfilled. I thank you, for providing this waiting-place. You have been a most pleasing host."

She stared, dumbfounded, at nothing. Her fingers loosened around the knife.

Hunger chuckled. "And the little girl realized at last," it said delicately, "where her selfishness had gotten her."

Justice and Grasin passed through the gaping portal and into the butcher's shop.

They followed a long, snakelike vine that was smothered with rafflesias. Justice ignored the human trepidation that resisted every step, and he went into the back room, awash in the fetor of rotting blood.

A great butcher's block stood on wooden legs in the center of the room. Its stained surface bespoke frequent use. A series of tools, well-cleaned and gleaming, hung on pegs all around: cleavers of varying sizes, honing steels, skinning knives, bone saws, wicked little larding needles. Over a long draining trough dangled a telltale row of hooks. Justice observed these. They had not been empty, mere hours ago.

Earlier when he'd arrived — when Anders had arrived — he'd heard moaning, low and piteous, and, going into the back room, had found bodies — villagers — contorted and hanging from the hooks. Naked, mewling, twisting about, discolored, inhuman. They'd reached for him, many with maimed hands, as blood sluiced into the trough. Mid-ritual. Mid-transformation.

Grasin hurried through the workshop, ducking his head low. Justice followed. They came to a wooden slat set into the floor, and Grasin drew it open. Underneath there was a staircase that sliced deep into the earth.

"Messere Lefebvre," Grasin murmured, with sorrow thick in his throat, "lured villagers here. Routinely. And he butchered them. He brought them in pieces to the Lord, through this passage. He — and the Lady Croceum — dined on their flesh. I — they had me cook it. Prepare their meals."

He gave Justice an imploring look. "Please spare her," he said. "If you can. I have cared for her since she was a babe. Since she learned to walk. Before her illness made itself known. She was not always the monster that she has become." He blinked away tears. "Her mother died to bring her into this world. I've been told it was a difficult birth, very difficult, one that should have taken both mother and child. But my Lady survived. I believe with all of my heart that this trauma was the cause of her affliction." He wiped his eyes. "A terrible curse, to have obsessed her father so, and brought this demon upon us."

"I will do what I can," Justice said. "But I will also do what I must."

Grasin took a deep breath, and dropped his head. "Save her," he whispered. "End this atrocity."

Justice nodded. He turned to the staircase. He descended.

"You," Dragana murmured. The knife shook in her hand. "You. I killed Fluh. Florian. I . . ."

The demon watched her, amused.

"He loved me." She stared at the blade. "And I. I . . ."

"I knew that you would," Hunger said. "If I only asked."

"And Daddy?" Her eyes were glassy now, unfocused.

"His flesh was sweet," Hunger repeated.

"Daddy," Dragana said.

"You did not seem to care, when he had gone."

"Stop this," Fenris said suddenly, unable to take any more. "Stop taunting her, you beast, you monster."

"Ah, you. Elf." The penetrating gaze fell upon him again. "Such a waste, for my little thing to have surrendered herself for you. Now I shall have to devour you, and her trade will have been for nothing."

"Where is she?" Fenris cried.

Hunger's claws again ran over its stomach. "She is with me," it said. "I could not resist. I swallowed her whole. So that she will always be with me."

"She still lives?"

Hunger's smile remained, stretching wide, secretive.

"Daddy," Dragana murmured. "Florian."

"Your time is done, child." Hunger flicked a hand in her direction. "Go. Leave me. Live out your miserable existence elsewhere, where I will not be bothered. It is my gift to you, precious hostess.

"But first." The demon turned again to Fenris. "Bring the elf to me."

Dragana lifted her head. She stared, for a few moments, at Hunger, and then turned to Fenris. He saw new clarity in her eyes, as though a pall had been lifted for the very first time.

She drew close to him — slight, pale, trembling Dragana. She released her cane, which clattered to the cavern floor. She cupped his cheek.

"Perhaps she will forgive you," she whispered, and, with one stroke of the knife, cut him free of his bonds.

Hunger roared — a deafening, earth-shaking sound. Dragana smiled sadly at Fenris. She turned the knife and plunged it between her ribs.

Fenris started. He moved toward her, but Hunger had thundered onto all fours, had begun to charge. Dragana collapsed with a rattling breath. Fenris turned. He stared down the approaching beast.

Hunger's jaws sprang open wide.

Fenris leaned forward. He sucked in his breath.

He ignited, silver, hot.

Hunger dove.

Fenris charged.

He sprinted, and sprang up, ghostly bright, and dove into the great gaping mouth, and vanished.

#rubypop #fanfiction #dragon age #fenris #anders #hawke #horror #hunger

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ecstaseagayle · 5 years

Text

In Admiration

We were, at that time, fighting, quarreling, skirmishing, arguing, every word synonymous to that,

We were talking about how everything was, about how we evolved into this, from my selfishness

About how we got here, about how we were arguing, about how we were talking about that one Thought that she thought about, that one thought I never did. How did she ever thought of it? How did? Here, I’m,

In front of my laptop, my acer, how lucky I was that my father did give it. Here, I am tainting

My fingers, not with ink, but with keys, keypresses, the dust on my keyboard. For her, the sand shall be swept,

For her, I will write this poem, a poem of a hundred lines, and with a quarter of it as syllables

The poem she requested, I shall bestow, for no matter the sun rises and sets, she is my queen, yes

For her this poem is written, for my queen, for her, just for her. Solely hers is this poem to be written

Heed closely, for there is love, there is death, there is confusion. There is everything Everything she asked

How did this poem, of a hundred lines and a quarter of it as syllables came about? How did it?

You see, I the author, stupid, wretched, foolish, I became a monster. I was very, a trouble

“It can’t be that bad” You see, I had done what even death could be acceptable over that hell deed

It was always hell day for her, for I created her hell, and how strong she is to make it heaven

She is a complete hurricane, for she drove me insane whenever I see her, her beauty, herself

With her, I have never felt the urge to die more than when I was with her, for I was dead over her

Yes, she was-and is-my everything, my ecstasy, me insanity, my drug, the beads on my wrist,

But how could I have messed up? Well, I promised her I’d never hurt her, I lied, I was such a huge fool

She wrote it down, I pulled her heart out, and ended up losing it. I killed her, thinking we were happy

I was a snake, venomous, a traitor, an epitome of lies, the epitome of lying

Even if I did everything to revive her, I could not erase it from me. She was at death, but

breathing, confused but aware. She was living , while dying, through the lies I fed her, those daggers of pain

I grabbed her by the neck and choked her thoughts of peace, for her, I destroyed her world by being the liar

I left her alone to die, for I had done something grave, and with the hurt, she thought, “suicide is good”

With it, they all started to unfold. The shattering of her from his heartbeats, from the lies out of his

Mouth, filled with filth, filthier than dung, filthier than criminals, filthier than genocide and all

Quiet whispers hold the loudest pain, and her cries destroyed every cell in my body, for I had tried

to do better, be contented and accept, but the damage is clear, and I, my entirety of

stupid destroyed my treasure. It seemed, to her that I would leave her as a pile of nothing, it ached her

She thought that I can walk away, and with it, to her kitchen, she got and held the knife close to her chest

She was ready to leave, for the rejection and judgement is a fragment of her memory, it hurt

That never ending misery, that burning passion to just explode like a grenade inside a body

That addiction to suicide just came out of nowhere, from the deserts of pain, hurt and misery

It fogs the mind, drove her mad, she was hurt, for for all the people that could’ve did, it was her lover

Fortunately, she dropped the knife, she contemplated, “I am strong, and I can walk away” and she stayed

She wanted to erase it from her, from her memory, her clouds, her thoughts, her hard drives, her pictures, movies

She wanted nothing to ever bother her again, she wanted nothing of me, she wanted nothing

“I will be with someone else” she could not say it, however, for she loved me, anchored me to her ship

“I can’t seem to let you go”, she thought, furious for she still loved me no matter what, for her love did stay

She was astounded, but enraged. Engulfed with fury, but mesmerized, for her thoughts of love came forth

Even if I was killing her from the inside out, she stayed strong, her words and her blood was of her strength

Through all the pain and the loneliness, she was still on her feet, fighting, getting back up from the ashes

However, what I couldn’t see, was that my tongues had turned her thoughts into this monster of lamenting

And then again, those thoughts came about, and for the seconds, minutes, it seemed like death was calling her forth

He wanted to engulf her, into his eternal embrace, his eternal sleep, and he was waiting for

Her to join in his world of eternal slumber, for her to forget, to dislodge herself from myself

She started to cry, she started to weep, and as she looked to her right, she found a blade, a sharp rusty cutter

She picked it up, examined it, grabbed it up from her wooden floor and held it near her delicate wrist

Again, she thought, “the damage is clear, I should leave”, and started to place the rusty blade upon her palms

But then, as she was about to slit the skin from her, she had thought about someone, “I should say farewell”

She reached her phone, clicked that blue square with an “f” on it, and searched through the screen for the button with a logo

But when she clicked on the name, and saw the picture, she dropped the blade and started to weep, for it was him

It was the guy, the guy who lied to her, the guy who broke her, who stabbed and shot her, the fool, himself

She just could not bear it, the thought of the romance planted on her heart with his image glued to itself

“I never knew I could love someone who has done nothing but hurt me” she said, furious about her thoughts

She can’t stop crying, for the demon on her left said “kill him along with you”, he wanted her to die

However, the angel, with the halo on her right, replied “no, revive yourself along with him, live”

She gave them both an ear to listen, however, with much fortune, she listened to the angel so kind

She gave it, *blink* and slowly, the thoughts of hope and love consumed her emotions and her determination

She’s addicted to a broken, or should I say breaking, person, but she did the last the she would do

She gave him a chance

Thinking, I am, “I can never fix her”, for I had just lost her, killed each good memory from her mind

I had just ran her over, bloodied her with the speeds of my endless train of cruelty, that murdered her

Her lungs, were so fine, until I, the deadly secondhand smoke, invaded her, it was like every

Deadly inhale of intoxicating cigarette, I was the reason why she was breaking, dying

With the sadness, destruction dealt, I had concluded; “everything turns out to be almost like nothing

However, as I was demeaning, degrading my entirety, a message popped on my phone, *beep*”

“Fine, I’m gonna give you a chance” I had read, I was confused, blended with emotions, for I had read

A profounding message from the girl I broke, wanting to fix what I had destroyed, with me, together

It felt like the utopia I can never have in this reality, the only difference,

It was just real, and it was perfect

So here I am still in admiration, of how strong she is, and how she could bear what seemed like never-

Ending misery. Despite what was an addiction to suicide, she still manages to be well,

She had slit the strings of despair, the strings that puppeted her, and started to write her own happiness

All her secrets, her secret strength, her secret faith, could not be consumed. And the demons ponder upon;

“Why can’t it be official? Her loss, her death?” her tears fool you, her frown disguises her strength within

Even though it seemed that our love left like a wrecked ship, it still sailed the harsh sea and returned, stronger

As if our bond was now lovely, herculean, unbreakable, great, rather than broken and empty

I will be happy without her, happy to die. If she is to leave , I would be a tribute to death

If she was a blind heroine, I am of luck, for she saw me despite my flaws and rescued me

Yes, she is a suicidal dove, for she killed herself by loving me again, but she made life seen

to the both of us

And here I am, the author, proud of my babe, my fierce, fighting Jaguar, who never gave up on her love

Here to explain, what my fingers have typed through the night with the acer, with the keys and those keypresses

My dear, you have asked to never bother you again, to erase myself from you, to be with someone,

Someone better than a girl with suicidal hands, desperate to take away everything from life

You said that I will be happy without you, without your foolish heart. To be a grain of sand, dispersed

Honey, of all the things you would ask me to do, all these saddening, deathly matters, I cannot do

For this poem, is about how you, the girl I had damaged, hurt, destroyed, and stabbed without your knowledge

Became the girl that had stood firm, be the rose among her thorns, and welcomed me into her arms despite

The blood that I have shed and the daggers that I have said, you have remained faithful and proud towards me

And my dear, I cannot simply think of anything, besides adore on how you have remained for us two

I cannot be of negative thoughts, seeing and feeling the warmth of your love, tasting your sweet, sweet care

And doubting your own value, do not, for you are of value to me, having written this poem of a

Hundred lines, and a quarter of it as syllables. Love, I am not perfect, and I have died reaching

The end of my time that I couldn’t have finished this story for my queen, in her desired hour

But please know that this poem is for you, my princess, the woman of my life, the faithful damsel of mine

The poem that I thank you in, for latching on to me, despite all the storms that have arrived to destroy

You are my prime, my first, you are the sole soul who can put a smile on my face when it rains heavily

The woman, whom I’ve been ungrateful towards, and whom I have been blessed enough for being the woman

Who has been thankful for me, and with me, ever since we have met, and until now, when we are reading

And writing our own stories, poems, epics, adventures. To my dear, in admiration, I love you

And if at one point, you have told me “God bless you”

I would thank God everyday

For blessing me with you

- a poem i told you to write for us not to fight (January 7, 2016)

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pamphletstoinspire · 7 years

Photo

Novena for All Souls - Recited from: October 24th through November 1st - Feast Day: November 2nd

God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him might not perish but might have eternal life. - John 3:16

October 24

The king (David) was shaken, and went up to the room over the city gate to weep. He said as he wept, “My son Absalom! My son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you, Absalom, my son, my son!” 2 Samuel 19:1

The death of someone we love hurts us deeply and often sends us into a period of grieving. It can be difficult to adjust our life but with God’s help, through family and friends, it is possible. We also gain strength and courage from the knowledge that the love this person has for us did not die but lives eternally and continues to flow to us. Just as we pray to canonize saints, we can pray to our deceased loved ones and remain close to them, united in the communion of saints.

I remember, God, my loved ones who have died. They were Your gifts to me and what wonderful gifts they were. I thank You for each of them and for the gift of eternal life, which we believe they now share with You. I hope to be with You and with them someday but, for now, I accept Your will for me on earth. Help me to bring Your love and compassion to the people in my life now. Help me to follow in their footsteps . Amen.

October 25

I no longer call you slaves, because a slave does not know what his master is doing. I have called you friends, because I have told you everything I have heard from my Father. John 15:15

A good friend is a priceless treasure and when one leaves us through death, the pain of our loss runs deep. Jesus, our friend, understands our suffering. Remember how He cried over the death of His friend, Lazarus. It is good to remember our friends who have died and thank them for all the love, joy, and support they gave us with their friendship. At the same time, it is good to rejoice in the friends now in our life and to cherish all they give us.

Jesus, thank You for being my friend and for sending so many special friends into my life. Today I recall my friends who have died and are now with You in eternal life. I remember the times we laughed together, cried together, supported one another and enjoyed just sharing time with one another. Help me to be a good friend to the people in my life today and to reach out to others I meet with friendship. Amen.

October 26

Hazael asked, “Why are you weeping, my lord?” Elisha replied, “Because I know the evil that you will inflict upon the Israelites. You will burn their fortresses, you will slay their youth with the sword, you will dash their little children to pieces, you will rip open their pregnant women.” 2 Kings 8:12 The September 11 terrorist attacks in New York City and Washington, D.C., have brought home to us the reality of the terrible suffering expericed by millions of innocent people in the world due to war, strife, persecution, and unjust political systems. Through prayer, our hearts can reach out to all these innocent victims in our country and in other countries.

My prayers, Jesus, are for all the innocent men, women, and children who have been and even now are being killed as a result of violence in this world. They sought to live peacefully and lovingly in this world but there were those in the world who rejected them, Jesus, just as some rejected You. May they know Your loving embrace and the joy of eternal life. I pray, also, for those on this earth who live in the shadow of violence and terrorism. May they cling to You, Jesus, and be sustained by Your love. Amen.

October 27

The forces of Israel were defeated by David’s servants, and the casualties there that day were heavy – twenty thousand men. 2 Samuel 18:7 Since the September 11 terrorist attacks, we have become more aware of the millions of men and women who, when they go to their jobs, put their lives on the line for others. They include military personnel, police, firefighters, and emergency personnel. They do not expect to die on the job, but they know the possibility exists. They are gifts from God to us and we treasure them.

I pray, God, for all the military personnel, police, firefighters, emergency personnel and others who have died while working at their jobs of serving others. May they bask in the light of Your love and know the joys of eternal life. I pray, also, for the spouses, children, parents, siblings, and other relatives of those who have died in the line of duty. Comfort them in their grieving. Strengthen them as they mend their lives and move onward. Let them feel Your embrace and be warmed by Your compassionate love. Amen.

October 28

Now there was a man full of leprosy in one of the towns where He was; and when he saw Jesus, he fell prostrate, pleaded with Him, and said, “Lord, if You wish, You can make me clean.” Jesus stretched out His hand, touched him, and said, “I do will it. Be made clean.” And the leprosy left him immediately. Luke 5:12-13

In some parts of the world, particularly Africa, AIDS has become the dreaded scourge that leprosy was at the time of Jesus. Millions of innocent adults and children are its victims, and most face a tortured death. Children who escape the disease themselves are often left orphans and face difficult lives. Jesus loves them and so should we. This is why we must show compassion to them.

My heart goes out, God, to all victims of AIDS. May all those who have died find rest and peace in eternal life with You. May the loved ones they left behind know Your love for them. And may those who are now suffering with AIDS be touched by Your healing hand. I also ask You, Lord, to lead us in finding ways to stop this dreaded disease from destroying such vast numbers of innocent people, many of whom live in distressed parts of the world. Shower Your healing mercy upon them, Lord. Amen.

October 29

They were hungry and thirsty; their life was ebbing away. In their distress they cried to the Lord, who rescued them in their peril. Psalm 107:5-6 There are many people in the world today who are starving to death. Some are victims of war, political turmoil, ethnic cleansing, and religious disputes. Others are victims of drought, earthquakes, storms, and other natural disasters. Even in the United States, where food is plentiful, there are adults and children who do not have enough to eat.

Lord, come to the rescue of my brothers and sisters throughout the world who are starving. Bless those who have already died, be with those who are dying and help us to distribute the world’s bounty of food justly. You have gifted us with a world overflowing with food and drink. Help us to be good stewards and to remember that every man, woman, and child in this world is our brother and sister. Amen.

October 30

Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” Luke 23:24 It is difficult for us to forgive someone who has taken the life of a loved one. It doesn’t matter whether the person who caused the death is a terrorist, robber, rapist, drunk driver, enraged spouse, or misguided teen. It doesn’t matter if the death was the result of a deliberate act or an accident. Our hurt and loss can fill us with anger and bitterness. We want to strike back rather than follow Jesus’ example and offer forgiveness. The culprit may or may not benefit from our action, but we will, because it is through forgiveness that we can find peace and try to restore the human community.

This prayer, God, is for all those who are suffering with the loss of a loved one at the hand of another. Counsel and console them in their grief. Wipe away their tears. Help them to gather up the shattered pieces of their lives and begin anew. And lead them to forgive those who caused the death of their loved one. Help them and help all of us to find peace through forgiveness. Amen.

October 31

As they were stoning Stephen, he called out, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Acts 7:59

It is natural for us to fear death because survival on earth is a basic instinct. Yet our faith in God and in Jesus’ promise of eternal life can ease our fears at the moment of death. Thus we are able to go confidently from this imperfect world into the joy of the next, where we will be reunited with loved ones and, at long last, see the face of God.

When it is time for me to leave this earth, Jesus, send Your Mother, Mary, to come, take my hand and lead me to You. Calm my trembling heart with Your warm embrace. Welcome me with Your kiss. I am not worthy of Your generous gift of eternal life, but through Your suffering and death You have cleansed me. I long to be with You forever. Amen.

November 1

For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him might not perish but might have eternal life. John 3:16 How powerful are these words of St. John the Evangelist! Do they not take our breath away and cause us to drop to our knees in awe and wonder? There is no love greater than God’s love for us. There is no action greater than God giving His only Son so that we might have eternal life. There is no one greater than God. In one sentence, St. John has summed up the glory and majesty of God.

I raise my voice in praise and thanksgiving to You, God. Your love for us is so magnificent that I cannot comprehend it. Your actions are so wondrous that I am spellbound. Thank You, God, for all that You have created for our use. Thank You for sending Jesus to teach us the way to eternal life. Thank You for sending Your Holy Spirit to dwell in us as our constant companion.

And thank You for Your untiring love and for the gift of eternal life with You. There is nothing more we could want than to be with You forever. Amen.

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ALL SOULS DAY

As You are The Light of the World:

#novena for all souls

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