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oreosmama · 4 years ago

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Darling Traps Them in a Room to Escape (Yandere Haikyuu Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

Sugawara and Kuroo Version

Bokuto, Kageyama, and Kenma Version

Tendou and Hinata Version

A/N: Hey y’all, I just wanted to say I am working on the requests in my box, I promise. Anyways, here’s a little something I wanted to write for me, but I figure maybe some others might like it as well. It’s yandere, bc honestly I just need more yandere Haikyuu content in my life. Enjoy! (Side note: Thanks for 1k followers!)

Word count: 1909

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

For the first few minutes, the home is filled with a dead silence. You had managed to lure him into your “bedroom” (aka the room where he kept you locked up tight) and trap him inside, blocking the door with the tallest, heaviest furniture you could manage.

The only audible sounds are you sifting through every drawer within the apartment and you cursing under your breath every time you come up empty.

Where the hell is it?

The prize of your scavenger hunt? The keys to the door. The keys to your freedom. You see, the door Ushijima held you captive behind wasn’t the issue-- it was the sheer number of locks that lined up above and below the knob.

Ushijima was a strong man, but he was also smart. He made a door that not even someone of his intimidating stature could break through.

It was quite effective, too. You couldn’t find the damn key ring that you always heard jingling from your bedroom that signaled his arrival. Every cabinet, drawer, nightstand, anything throughout the apartment was empty of your target.

“What the fuck?” you hiss, slamming yet another cupboard closed. You’d even climbed the countertops to search above the shelves in the kitchen and in the nearby living room. Nothing.

BANG!

The sudden slam makes you squeal in terror.

BANG! BANG!

It’s coming from your room.

Ushijima.

He’s trying to break out.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Even you can see from your viewpoint directly across from the hallway that the door is shivering. The hinges are whining with every slam as your kidnapper rams against the barrier with all the strength in his body.

You don’t make a sound. Your heart is pounding, blood rushing in your ears as you pick through every hiding spot you can think of, hands trembling as you sift through pens, notepads, random things in every office drawer.

“No, no, no,” you choke out, throat tightening at the booms behind you.

Then you hear splinters. With a glance behind your back, you notice the door has been cracked in two.

“NO!” you scream, frantic as ever. Suddenly, the keys no longer matter. You just need to get the hell out of there.

But there’s no windows. Not any that you can fit through. So you charge towards the main door, taking a page out of Ushijima’s book and ramming into it.

“COME ON!” you cry helplessly, pawing at the door when it doesn’t budge. Not even a shiver. You kick against it, fumble with the locks, twist the knob, do anything and pray to God that it works.

“YN.” No. A large hand falls on your shoulder, halting your movements.

“Come on,” you whisper, arms dangling lifelessly at your side. All you can do is stare at your failure. The door is locked, and deep down you know it always will be. Now it will, anyways. Thanks to him.

“YN,” Ushijima repeats, raising his voice just a notch. He doesn’t even sound angry or pissed. For some reason, it sounded like he pitied you.

All you can do is give in. That’s it.

So you turn around and grab two fistfuls of his shirt, slamming your face against his solid chest as you mourn, crying for what could have been, but will never be.

There’s no will to fight when his hand falls into your hair, petting the strands gently while the other palms the small of your back.

“You know I hate seeing you cry.” The rumble of his voice is soothing in a way, and part of you instinctively relaxes in his grip. “Come. I’ll make you a nice dinner to calm down and then we can discuss our new sleeping arrangements, since your bedroom is obviously unusable now.”

This man had taken you from your own home and claimed he loved you. But he was a beast, a six-foot monster of pure muscle. How do you escape that?

Answer: you don’t.

“...Okay.”

Oikawa Tooru:

“YN come on, you’re being ridiculous.”

“It’s very cramped in here. Would you mind letting me out, darling?”

“YN, give up. You’re never leaving me!”

His voice was muffled from the closet where you had managed to trap him, stuffing a chair under the knob to keep him in place.

“Fuck you, Oikawa.”

“Don’t be like that, YN. Just let me out and we can talk about this!”

Rolling your eyes, you continued picking at the locks with bent paper clips. At some point, you had seen this in a TV show somewhere, so surely it worked, right?

Honestly, you had no idea what you were doing, but you quite liked the panic that seemed to grow in Oikawa’s voice every second you fumbled with the lock just a bit louder. The smallest clicks made him whine from across the room.

“YN, please! I love you so much, darling. Just let me out of here and I promise I’ll forget this ever happened. No punishments, I swear.”

Bile crawled up your throat at the words, forcing you to slam your fists against the door in frustration. “Shut the fuck up, Oikawa-”

“Tooru, YN. You know I hate it when you don’t say my name.”

“Oh I am so gonna kill you!” you seethed, rising to your feet and spinning, throwing a hard heel kick against the door.

For the first time in twenty minutes, Oikawa shut his trap. Maybe he had found a way out, or maybe he had taken your threat seriously. To be honest, neither scenario was appealing to you at the moment.

“Y-YN, surely you don’t mean that,” he finally mumbled, sounding crestfallen. “You don’t hate me that much. No, no you don’t. You’re just confused-- you see, you can’t escape because you don’t want to escape.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You don’t want to escape because you love me.” A noise suspiciously akin to that of someone slamming their forehead against a door sounded from Oikawa’s general area. “And I love you too, YN. So just let me out and we can talk about this. You don’t have to be afraid of your feelings for me!”

Oh wow. WOW. This guy was the definition of delusional.

“Oh Tooru,” you sighed, massaging your temples from an oncoming headache. “How are you so blind?” You draw closer to the closet, noting the excited scrambles behind the door as Oikawa audibly hears you approach.

“You see, I fucking hate your guts.”

He chokes on his breath. “N-no. You don’t mean that.” His voice wavers with every syllable.

“I despise you.”

“No.”

“How sad is it that the one you love absolutely loathes you? Does it hurt to know that I will never love you? To know that you’re the bane of my existence?”

“YN don’t be like this.”

“Because Tooru, how could I love someone who is such a failure?”

“STOP IT! SHUT UP AND LET ME OUT!”

It was a rush to torture someone who had taken you from your own family. To hear them wilt under your thumb like a pest.

“Oh I’m sorry Tooru, do you want to be let out? Do you want to escape-”

*click*

Your mind goes blank at the sound. The door.

No. Not that door. This door.

The chair squeals against the wood floor, being pushed by pure will alone. Simple strength couldn’t do that. And when it’s finally opened to the fullest, Oikawa stands in the doorway, head hanging as his hand drops from the knob.

You couldn’t move, feeling frozen in fear like your feet were locked in quicksand. Eyes wide, you track Oikawa’s every move while you plead with your own body to do the same. But you couldn’t.

Did he really just…

Finally, his head straightens up, giving you a chance to see his face.

Stained with tears, streaks trail down his cheeks, but a small smile has formed from his lips. His pupils are dilated, not even squinting at the change of lighting.

“YN… YN, YN, YN. God, I could say your name for days. Now you say mine.” His voice is overall blank, but there’s a small tinge of encouragement in it and a dash of glee in his eyes.

“T-Tooru.” Your meek whisper is enough to please him. In an instant, he’s on the move, approaching you and grabbing your hands, pressing them to his face before moaning at the contact.

“Good girl,” he stares deeply into your eyes, running his lips along the palms of your hands. “Now, it’s almost lunchtime. How about we order in for today?”

The sudden shift in his attitude… shit. You knew he was insane, but this? Was this even real? Had he completely forgotten what you said??

After seeing what he could do with sheer force of will, you didn’t want to poke that bear. No. You had never heard him so frustrated and broken before. And now, suddenly he’s all hunky-dory, acting as if that phase of utter fear hadn’t just happened.

Who the hell was this guy?

“O-okay.”

He smiles at your agreement. Then he pulls you by your hands towards the living room, sitting on the couch before gently tugging you into his lap. His arms are wrapped around your waist, but the grip is like waves on the beach. Every few seconds, it will tighten as his fingernails dig into your hips, then it will recede and he will loosen up a bit before the action repeats itself.

You can feel his hot breath on your neck and his strong thighs underneath you on the couch. The warmth of it all is almost too much as sweat, nervous or heated, gathers at your brow. Your own hands are folded against your lap, not daring to move.

What happened to the strong girl from a few minutes ago who was trying to escape? The one who was willing to spit at him viciously and throw caution to the wind?

The question was completely valid. But that was before you could see him. For a split second, you forgot he was a grown man, completely and utterly capable of hurting not only you but also your family. It felt so safe to be protected by a wall from him.

Until he broke that of course.

“YN…” Oikawa trails off, waiting for your attention.

“Yes?”

“Those words from earlier hurt.” Oh God. “You didn’t mean them, right?”

The silence is deafening as he waits for an answer. At first, you thought he was being patient, then his fingertips began digging into your hips enough to cause bruises.

“No, o-of course not.” His grip doesn’t relent.

“Good. Now tell me you love me.”

This was your fate now. A grown man, no longer the teen who had a childish crush on you in high school, had kidnapped you and you couldn’t escape. Your chest constricted at the thought, and your gaze strays to the door. I was so close.

“YN,” he warns, tone dipping dangerously. Ow, ow, ow.

“I love you, Tooru.”

A giggle slips out of the man beneath you as his forehead drops to your shoulder. “I love you too, darling!”

So close.

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

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Good Omens one-shot “At the End” (Rated PG)

Summary: When the angels and demons finally succeed in having their war, there's only one thing that Aziraphale and Crowley can do with the time Earth has left...

Say goodbye to their home. (1408 words)

Notes: I wrote this hoping I would be accepted into a zine that ended up being canceled. The theme was basically what happens after Armageddon.

Read on AO3.

"Wot do you think you'll miss most about Earth?"

"Really, my dear?" Aziraphale clicks his tongue in disgust, but he can't bring himself to look away from the chaos ensuing below them to berate his companion properly. "What a question to ask at a time like this!"

"I think this is the perfect time to ask that question," Crowley says, but without his teasing edge. He offers it sympathetically. They both have a similar connection to this planet, had an investment in it thriving, but Crowley feels Aziraphale's heart breaking more than his. "When you lose something, you mourn it."

"It's not entirely lost! N-not yet." Aziraphale chokes around the words. Even though they leave his mouth passionately, he knows he has sinned by saying them.

Not lost yet may be the biggest lie he's ever told.

The first few hours had been soul-crushing.

The moment Holy rays broke through the clouds and shone down from above, ethereal voices announcing the arrival of God's angelic army, a flock of the faithful came out in droves to greet them. They prayed, sang joyously, raised their voices to the Heavens, invoked every one of God's Holy monickers. It should have been a huge stroke to Her ego... if She had been paying attention.

From Aziraphale and Crowley's perch atop St. Paul's Cathedral, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Those God-fearing mortals were the first to get trodden underfoot as angels barreled over them to confront their enemy - an extremely vulgar and unnecessary display when one considers that angelic footsoldiers can fly.

Hordes of evil-doers emerged from hiding as well, in lesser, but equally exuberant, numbers. They seemed suspiciously more eager for the fight, proving that those who call themselves 'Christian' might outnumber worshippers of Lucifer, but demons had their zealots better prepared for what the end of times would actually entail.

Either way, it didn't matter.

Those humans willing to spill blood at the drop of a hat, even their own, were used as cannon fodder against a foe they couldn't possibly hope to defeat. Within seconds, thousands lay dead on the streets of London and, Aziraphale suspected, all over the world.

For their part, Aziraphale and Crowley refused to join the battle, but no one paid them a lick of attention. An angel cavorting with a demon was no longer an issue. They could finally do as they pleased without fear of retribution, albeit on a planet whose hours were numbered.

"I would have to say I'm going to miss my car," Crowley continues, provoking conversation in an effort to allay his angel's anxiety. "And my flat. And alcohol. Hell's bells am I going to miss alcohol."

"Pity we don't have some now. I think a hull full would find itself useful," Aziraphale adds in a weak attempt at humor.

"Wot about you? Will you miss the food? Your bookshop?"

Aziraphale sighs. "Humanity."

Crowley raises a brow. "Humanity?"

"Yes. Without humanity, the rest of it wouldn't have been possible." Aziraphale scans the carnage below, trying not to focus for too long on any one thing... or any one person. He's already seen too many faces he recognizes, twisted from agony. "Without humanity, it wouldn't have meant anything."

"I suppose."

A tortured voice rings out, but it's snuffed out quickly. Aziraphale doesn't know which side does it, but he shakes his head in shame all the same. “I thought She’d show them mercy. I thought that, in the end, She’d come through. Spare them. That She wouldn't allow them to suffer as bystanders in all of this.”

“I hate to be the one to say I told you so, but… ”

“Then don’t, my dear.” Aziraphale reaches out and takes Crowley's hand, pleading wordlessly for him to stop, but also needing him for comfort. “Where is She? Where has She gone? Why has She abandoned them?”

"You've been asking that question for generations. I would think, by now, you'd know the answer."

"But I don't. Perhaps I should... " Aziraphale swallows heavily, his attention pulled to the skies by a streak of gold, then one of violet, passing overhead. "They know," he spits bitterly. Crowley follows his angel's gaze to the trails above them, one which he assumes must be Gabriel's. "She's obviously told them."

"Perhaps not," Crowley says, not in an attempt to defend Her, but to soothe his angel. "Just like last time, they're doing wot they think is right. Following wot they believe."

"And what do they believe? I don't know! They've never told me!"

"You'd think you'd all be on the same page. I mean, there's a book about it and all."

Aziraphale scoffs at that. "I think you and I both know that the archangels, Gabriel in particular, have never held any stock in books. Books are primitive, human things. They have nothing to do with angels. Not even the Bible... " A host more gold streaks zip by, and Aziraphale's words trail off into nothingness. Of all the books in Aziraphale's collection, his Bibles have always been his favorites. And not just the misprinted ones. The words inside gave him comfort, especially during those long stretches when he didn't hear from God at all. Though written by man, they were imparted by Her (if he overlooked the dodgy editing).

But they're gone. Not a single one remains, not even in the church where they stand, its insides crackling, burning beneath their feet.

Earth had become Aziraphale's Eden. Now, so many things he held dear are disappearing before his eyes.

Crowley squeezes the hand holding his. "Come, my love. It’s time to leave the garden.”

Aziraphale's eyes snap his way. They linger on his face for a moment, then drop to their clasped hands. “6000 years on this planet and you choose today of all days to call me your love?”

“I'm sorry." Crowley inches closer, lifts Aziraphale's hand to his mouth and kisses it. "I really am. I should have said it sooner. But I’m going to take you to a place where I’ll say it every day. I promise.” He wraps an arm around his angel's shoulders, gently urging Aziraphale to leave before the battle brewing, showing no sign of slowing down until it has consumed every last brick, every last breath of air, swallows them, too.

But Aziraphale hesitates. "C-can't we take them with us?" He gestures down to a tattered group of frightened survivors - a shivering young woman, no older than twenty-five if she's a day, and three children, all under the age of ten - huddled in a narrow crevice created by a metal door off its hinges, sheltering them among the rubble of the church's ruined stairs.

They've found themselves a decent hideaway, Aziraphale thinks. But he knows they're simply delaying the inevitable. They'll be found out before too long, become collateral damage.

Like everyone else.

"We can't just leave them to die, Crowley."

"We have no other choice." Crowley's need to escape intensifies as he watches the poor humans, tastes their fear rise with the heat of the flames. "Besides, perhaps they'll pull through. You never know. Humans have always been resourceful. They might find a way."

"Do you honestly think so?"

"Yes," Crowley lies. He would give his angel anything in the universe, anything within his power. He's trying to give him faith.

Because he can't give him this.

They can't save anyone but themselves.

Crowley turns Aziraphale away, blocks his view by unfurling his dark wings, ready to lift his angel into the air on his own if Aziraphale refuses. "I'm sorry, my love. We must leave them behind."

Aziraphale relents, unfurling his own white wings and heading for the upper atmosphere, watery eyes focused on the where in front of him and not the destruction behind him, with Crowley's shard of hope keeping his heart pinned in place.

Crowley should do the same. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But like Lot's wife, Crowley peeks behind him one last time to say goodbye to this place that has been his home for most of his existence.

It was a wonderful existence, but mostly because he had Aziraphale there to muddle through with him.

At least Crowley will still have him when all is said and done.

The last thing Crowley sees before they breach the clouds is St. Paul's Cathedral crumble in on itself, leaving behind a mound of ash.

And nothing more.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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nicocoooo · 4 years ago

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Obey Me: Part 8: So Much For "The Avatar of Pride"

Disclaimer: I'm going to try to make the paragraphs even shorter now because they seem to be messing with the posts. Although, maybe this is only a issue for me. — Nico shuffled around underneath the warm covers, awakening from his peaceful slumber. He groans and buried his face into Lucifer's chest and realized something. This.. wasn't a dream? This was totally real, he wasn't just imagining it. He rubs his eyes, trying to process this entire scenario he believed he only made up. Lucifer was really in his bed, laying there next to him. After a few tiring minutes passed, he feels Lucifer's hand move up and down his back. He smiled, lifting his head to look at him with weary eyes. He was refreshed, especially knowing that Lucifer was here with him. He places his palm on the side of his face, exchanging morning kisses. His morning was already off to a great start. Lucifer wrapped his arms around the adoring human, pulling him towards his chest. He squeezed him tightly, grazing his hand towards his hair with a half-smile on his face - watching him blush and squirm clearly made him amused. He never wanted to leave his bed, he wanted to stay like this forever. He wanted to demonstrate how much he loved his little human. He wanted to make him feel loved and safe in his arms. He made a vow to protect him, always. "You're mine...and I won't let anyone hurt you," Lucifer said with a reassuring smile. Unfortunately, this romantic tension resting between the two of them didn't last too long. Daniel kicked down the door, screaming, "MOTHER FUCKER!" Angrily, he stomped forward. "I ORDERED YOU TO MEET ME!" He was not messing around. Not at all. Frankly, being in a enclosed space with a furious dad was a terrifying thought. Of course, it's not like it isn't happening right now. Lucifer flinched at the sudden scare, helplessly watching Nico's door fall off its hinges. To tell you the truth, he was always uneasy around Danny. Whenever he conveniently bumps into him, he expects an outburst or anything else involving his wings being clipped off, really. He always believed he need to create a good impression. Otherwise, he wouldn't be alive by now. He leans his hand into Nico's, gently holding it for comfort or... well, good luck. "I admit, it was a mistake on my part for not meeting up with you in the first place." He expected this entire room to explode at this very instant. Any second now. To break off the awkwardness in the room, Nico got on top of Lucifer, leaning forward. He smiled, placing both of his palms on the sides of Lucifer's face. He gazed into the other's eyes, falling in love with him twice in a row. His eyes were so hypnotizing, so enchanting, so beautiful. In addition to his eyes, everything else about him was absolutely gorgeous. He loved him. He loved him so much. He grabbed his face, kissing him hard. Once again, Lucifer's eyes widened while flinching. He nearly forgot they had "company" over. Eventually, they both closed their eyes — embracing the long and warm kiss. Their kissing turned to petting, and he pressed his back onto the bed. Daniel glared at the two of them, then stomped forward, forcefully grabbing Lucifer by their hair. He dropped a giant book onto his lap with the angriest look you could ever possibly imagine. "This is a list of most favorite and hated things, how to treat MY SON with respect, and rules.." Maybe he was going too far... but, could you blame him? He wants to protect his son's fragile heart from shattering into a billion pieces. He's only experiencing love for the first time and he doesn't want it to leave a horrible impact on his life. "If you ever even think about breaking my boy's heart, I WILL FUCKING KNOW...and-" A knife appeared in the center of his arm, it was summoned out of air and gemstones. "I will fucking cut your dick off, feed it to you, and make your soul into a high roller sushi." It didn't seem like he was bluffing at all. He wasn't fooling around, he was being genuinely serious. Little did they know, they actually had an audience. Kauffee was peeking into the

room, watching everything go down through the window. He tried his best to hold back his laughter. Guess who else was there? Mammon. He joined in on the shitshow, watching his lover scold the Avatar of Pride. "I will wake up the demon king for this shit. I will wake him up, and force Diavolo, or however the FUCK you say it, and force him to watch me castrate you while he and the demon king LAUGH as you are killed by a fucking human- do you understand Lucifer?" Daniel remained serious the entire time, sticking his face into Lucifer's. He was literally holding up a knife to his neck. Lucifer stared directly at him, speechless. He didn't move an inch nor lift a finger. His face had an unnatural, pale hue. He silently took the book with a shaky grip, terrified. He didn't expect himself to fear a mere human, a human for fuck's sake. What was he doing? He was praying to himself. That's right, he was praying. He was praying this wouldn't be the last breath he took. He nearly crushed Nico's hand as he was speaking. "I'll.. m-make.. s-s-sure.. to g-go over th-the.. list.. I'll m-make.. your s-s-...s-son h-happy..." He was sweating. He was sweating so badly. The frown on his face was immediately replaced with a sweet, innocent smile as he dragged his knife across Lucifer's cheek. "I've killed more powerful beings for less.." He said in a faint whisper while imputing images in the demon's head, revealing himself towering over giant demons, ripping the wings off of angels, and a few duels he had with witches. Lucifer wouldn't be the first demon he forced into submission. He's had to endure worse enemies. (He's killed worse.) "I want a quiet life.. I'm done living with my sad and immortal life alone." Daniel pulled away with a sigh, frowning. "Don't give me a reason." He muttered under his breath, before turning and fixing the jacket he was currently wearing, which just so happened to belong to Mammon's. With a huff, he waddled out of the room, pouting, "Why Mammie's sweat pants so large..?" Turns out, Lucifer left a giant sweat stain on the pillow and blankets. Gross. Lucifer let out a relieved sigh, easing into the warm covers. He couldn't help but wonder how Nico felt about this. He shifted his gaze towards the human with immense curiosity. He wasn't doing anything, just staring into space. He still couldn't get over those mental images - they were burned right into his mind. He was totally traumatized. He might even need a therapist. He stared at the giant book planted in his lap, rubbing the back of his neck. Nico turned his head, raising a brow. He pitied him, he truly didn't deserve to have the small shrivel he had left, crushed. Once again, he slowly got on top of him, touching his lips almost. He dipped his fingers into his hair, caressing his head in large amounts. "It's okay, Luci... I'll protect you no matter what." Nico hums, giving him a brief kiss. Seeing Lucifer melt due to his comforting touch made him giggle. His heart always yearned for Lucifer. His strong, protective demon. He's so grateful Lucifer entered his life. He's the best thing he could ever ask for. He gets himself comfortable, resting his head on right in the center of his chest. He allows the last shreds of his energy to fade away into a deep sleep.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #fanfic #fanfiction #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction

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srwestvikwrites · 4 years ago

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Privilege is the Haven of Thorns

I wrote this post the week George Floyd was murdered. I was angry, and tired, and confused, and increasingly more apprehensive in my capacity as a person and as a writer as I was drawn in to the immense whirlpool of the zeitgeist gripping the internet and society.

It was such a complicated and emotional time. I was wracked with guilt at not going to the BLM protest in Madrid because we had just opened up into Phase 2 of the desescalada and I was scared of COVID. I was furious at the denial of individuals in my home country of Singapore who refused to believe that just because our race riots were in 1964 and not 2020 that it meant we had no more issues of systemic discrimination or privilege to challenge. I was exasperated and uneasy and inspired at having been drawn into a massive shitshow about race that rocked the Tolkien fandom within the same timeframe.

All of this made me question my place and my purpose as an author writing a story like Haven of Thorns. It doesn’t dwell on these issues, but it draws on them, in the same way that my life doesn’t linger on the colonisation of my home country or the country of my ancestors (India) and yet is irrevocably shaped by this history.

Haven of Thorns was always going to be a story taking place in the strange rivers of colonial legacy. It is a story of drowned histories and ghosts that reside in the very stones of a city and demons that linger inside people who were happy enough to let them back in. All of it is pushed along by the current of time, where history is not stagnant but forces change. It is about war, and it is about subtle discrimination, and it is about what we choose to do when we’re so hung up on our independence story that we refuse to acknowledge the rot in our roots.

I’m reproducing the post as I wrote it all those weeks ago, even though there are better ways I could have expressed my thoughts, and indeed some of these thoughts have new nuances now as I have drafted pivotal scenes in the story. There are other things I’d rather have focused on. The haven of thorns is more than mere privilege now. And perhaps one day I’ll expand on that.

But for now, this is a historical record of what I was thinking as it was all going down and I was trying to decide what sort of story I wanted to tell in the world I lived in as the person I am.

_________________________________________________

I’m not going to be coy about the metaphor anymore. This book was always going to be highly political. It has just become even more political. I cannot begin to describe how apt and how heartbreaking it is to be drafting my novel right now.

Some context should perhaps be given as to the kinds of politics that are informing this story. I began outlining the earliest iterations of Haven of Thorns at the height of the European migration crisis. While migration itself is not a main theme of the story – and where it does feature, it’s from a rather inverted historical power dynamic – the backlash against it was always present in the telling of the tale. The rise of the European right terrified me. I had never experienced open racism before until one incident when I moved to Norway in late 2015, where I was lucky enough to have an ally at the time, though I never learned her name. I have seen far too many swastikas misappropriated from their holiness to represent hatred, spraypainted on neighbourhood walls in Trondheim, London, and Madrid.

For many years, I likened racism and xenophobia and white supremacy to a contagion, even to possession (which may have been down to the title of this book I read during high school). My view on this has changed, now. For those raised into these ideas, sure, the demon metaphor may still apply. But for many, these corrupted values take root and fester because we allow them to.

The old first draft of Haven of Thorns was begun in the first week of November, 2016. I feel I have no need to elaborate on why this timing is significant. Globally, the sense of the triumph of ignorance and vitriol was palpable. Over the next few years, partially because I became more active on social media and partially because of the degree I was studying for, every day required exposure to injustices very often predicated on culture, ethnicity, language, and/or race.

Then in 2019 Singapore commemorated the bicentennial – our 200 year anniversary of being colonised. And once again I was confronted with the bizarre lack of acknowledgment of how blatantly race relations had been directed and segmented by the British, and how whatever the government line says, we have not bounced back from the wounds that gouged in our society. I interned at an NGO dealing with race relations, and it only illuminated what we’d rather cover up – the value judgements we make of people based off their skin colour, the god(s) the pray to, or the language they speak. When COVID-19 reared its head Singapore was lauded for their response, until it hit the migrant worker dormitories. That was a powder keg waiting to explode. And it is false and unjust to pretend that the conditions they are living in do not have their own origins in the petulant protests of those who unfairly profiled and characterised the workers and robbed them of better conditions, resulting in the tragedy that has taken place now.

Even climate justice and its link to ethnicity began to seep into the story, particularly during the early 2020 fires in Australia and how severely the Aboriginal peoples were affected.

As I write this post Minneapolis is up in arms, and Americans are out in the thousands across the country protesting for justice for George Floyd and the countless other black Americans who have been victims of the system and of police violence.

Growing from childhood to adulthood in the 2000s-2010s has meant growing up in a time when discussions about race, ethnicity, culture, and the legacies of our most backward perceptions and prejudiced notions have come to the forefront, both of activism and of violent action taken against others. How could I not be impacted, for example, by the horror of the massacre in Norway on 22 July? How could I not have felt the shadow of the War on Terror through the rampant Islamophobia in the media and in society?

The extent to which all these disparate ideas of politics and power and race and xenophobia and colonialism actually manifest in Haven of Thorns isn’t perhaps measurable in the amount I’ve discussed them here. But the core of this book is that the haven is privilege, and thorns are both the barrier of our ignorance and the spears upon which we sacrifice those who challenge it. White privilege in the West. Chinese privilege in Singapore. Yes I fucking said it. To refuse to see that is privilege, in and of itself. One can feel hurt, to be associated with the violent ways these ideas manifest. Or, one can choose to acknowledge that feeling implicated by despicable acts is perhaps the spark to challenge one’s own biases.

This story is about breaking that thorn barrier and letting in the light, in all its unbridled blinding glory, to burn away the festering hatred we’ve allowed to take root in our flesh.

In the end an important theme in Haven of Thorns – perhaps the most important – is the power structures and prejudices that prevail when colonisation has ended, along with its associated forms of exploitation, and a state becomes self-governing. It’s about who remains in power, why they remain there, and what it means for those who do not have an equal share in that power. I’m not just talking about physical force. I’m talking about value judgments that disenfranchise people based on their inherent qualities. Things like language, religion, or skin colour. Having a voice and having the power to exercise and sustain what you advocate for are all very different things, and this is why these stories cannot be apolitical. A person’s life, their right to life, and their rights to liberty and equality should not be a matter of politics – and yet they are. Because politics is about power. And power is far too often exercised unjustly.

Blaming the old oppressor only works up to a point. At some stage, a country has to face what it has done and continues to do to itself, and whether they are going to choose to make collective, powerful, and perhaps jarring value changes for the sake of basic human rights and justice. After all, prejudice is learned. It can be unlearned.

While this tale focuses on the legacy of colonisation, these same principles lie behind the abuse of authority and the untended wounds of what has happened to the black community in America for centuries, itself founded upon ideas of racial superiority. The police brutality coupled with endorsement from the highest offices in the land is a horrific ugliness – but worse, is those who choose not to see it for what it is. Those who tweet #alllivesmatter. Those who say they don’t see colour. Those who question why race has to be dragged into everything. To quote Moses in Dreamworks’s The Prince of Egypt: “I did not see because I did not wish to see.” This is privilege. This is us inviting contagion into our societies and refusing to mask up and letting it kill us from the inside out. But unlike a contagion, this is discriminatory. That is the essence of it. The differential treatment is the point. If you question why people are burning and looting, why they aren’t being “peaceful”, why they don’t comply (they do – it doesn’t work, as anyone who watched the clip of the CNN reporter would know), why they are so angry – then you are in the haven of thorns. You just refuse to acknowledge it, because the only light seeping into your little puddle is filtered, screened, and you’d rather ignore the shadows cast by the thorns.

So many of the choices in Haven of Thorns hinge upon deciding whether to preserve or whether to overturn these vicious cycles of hatred. It’s so painful to see these struggles continue to be mirrored in the real world, happening to real communities at this very moment. Part of me wants to stop writing this, because I cannot begin to capture the true agony of what is happening, no matter how much I empathise. But another part of me knows that I am in a position of great privilege, and perhaps it is time I put my voice to something that truly matters. Add another line to the anthem that advocates for these deep-set value changes that we need to make on a domestic and an international scale.

In the first very first chapter of this story, the royal palace burns. It may just as well have been a police station.

#work:hot #irdiverse #privilege #race #fantasy #social justice #my writing

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homesoutofhuman · 6 years ago

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Daddy Issues: John Wick/Reader Chapter 8- Bell, book and candle

White horses on a troubled sea

Your smile will flash through time

Up ahead a blackbirds wing

Your hair will come to mind

Every time I see your face

When I have to pray

I need a bell, book and candle

To keep your ghost away

-Bell, book and candle - Eddi Reader

John sleeps heavily, his dreams so vivid they seem real. He has you, under his hands again, on the couch. But this time, he kisses down the length of your spine, unclasping your bra and turning you over in his arms. Your face is warm with want, and when he kisses you, his name falls from your lips like a prayer. He touches you, and you’re wet, sighing against him and pleading with him to take you.

He listens to you begging him for a few moments, revelling in it, pushing you to the point where you’re promising every wicked thing under the sun if he will just fuck you, before he finally lets himself get what he wants, pushing inside your warm tightness with a groan...

...Ring ring...

John curses out loud and grabs the phone, voice groggy from sleep, pushing at his morning wood to make it go away.

“Yeah?”

“Jesus John, were you sleeping? I’ve never known you to sleep in…”

“Aurelio…” John scrubs a large hand over his face “what time is it?”

“It’s nearly ten, I’m guessing you’re missing work today.”

“Shit!” John leaps up

“Don’t worry…” says Aurelio, calm. “I doubt anyone would dare give you any trouble about it.”

“It’s not that…I meant to call the nanny and let her know she could have a late start...we had a hell of night…”

“Oh really?” John can hear Aurelio’s smug smile through the phone.

“Not like that...Connor was sick…”

“Is he better now?” Aurelio’s voice turns serious, concerned.

“Yeah...he’s…” John glances into the boy’s room to find it empty, panicking a moment before he hears to sound of you and Connor playing downstairs. You must have let yourself in and got the boy up all on your own without waking him.

“He’s fine…”

“And how is the hot nanny?” Aurelio’s voice goes back to teasing.

John peeks down the stairs to see you are both okay, then walks back into his bedroom, shutting the door.

“Can I be honest? It’s a living nightmare. I’m so on edge around her...I keep making excuses to touch her. It’s not good my friend.”

Aurelio sighs “and there’s not a chance she could be the one to break your dry spell?”

“I can’t expect that. Firstly, she would never look at me in that way. Second, even if she did, I’m her employer, it’s wrong.”

“Then I guess you won’t mind that I set you up with a date tomorrow night then.”

“What?!” John thunders down the phone, outraged.

“Great.” replies Aurelio snarkily. “Her name is Sarah. You’ll meet her at Francino’s at 8pm, wear something other than black, and make an effort to smile, okay?”

John opens his mouth to protest but Aurelio has already hung up. He starts to call him back but he hears a loud shout from downstairs so goes to investigate, almost forgetting about the phone call.

You’re swinging Connor around high in the air and he is squealing with laughter, his chubby face pink with glee.

John attempts a frown, but his heart melts. “If he throws up on you don’t blame me.”

You set Connor down, who promptly tugs at your skirt for ‘more’ but you shake your head.

“You’ll still not completely better…we’re taking it careful, aren’t we Daddy?”

You turn to John, who, at the sound of that word from your mouth, has turned pale, all the blood rushing from his head to a destination much further south. Trying to hide his reaction from you, he contemplates throwing himself out of the window, or at the very least into an ice cold shower.

“Yeah…” he replies, voice hoarse, moving to the kitchen to make you both a coffee.

You blink a bit, leaving Connor to play, and follow him.

John glances up, having caught his breath and hidden his hard-on, he manages to smile at you. “You should have woken me…”

“You looked...so peaceful…”

It’s your turn to blush. Having let yourself in as usual in the morning and finding the house quiet, you had peeked into John’s room and seen him, dark hair ruffled, bearded face squashed against the pillow, letting out soft snores and sighs as he slept deeply. The covers pulled back just enough for you to see his bare chest, a line of dark hair running down it. You got to see what you suspected, that he is in amazing shape, muscles on his arms rounded and his chest toned, with just enough matured softness to make him achingly touchable.

You are in no doubt of how much you desire him. You just have to keep it hidden.

“I was having a good dream actually…” John chuckles softly to himself and you wonder what inspires his secret smile.

“But I wanted you to rest as well…” he continues, passing you the coffee cup which you take gratefully.

“I felt pretty rested after last night….you did help relax me John…”

“I’m glad.” he replies, and you both stand in the kitchen, staring at each other, until Connor runs in and disturbs the moment, demanding cereal.

You get it for him, urging him to eat some fruit as well, and John regretfully goes to get ready for work.

“I’ll see you tonight?” he says, reluctantly hanging by the door.

You sense it, and go to him. “Connor is himself again John. In fact he seems to have even more energy than ever. Please don’t worry.”

“I’m not.” he gives you a wide smile, which is just as startling as his dark, moody looks. It takes your breath away.

“I trust you.”

With that, he’s gone and you’re left gaping like an idiot after him.

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

John checks his phone throughout the day, but there are no panicked messages, just a couple from Aurelio informing him there is no backing out now, he’s promised to go on the date, and he wouldn’t stand up a lady would he?

John swears, Aurelio knows his weakness, his wish to be a gentleman and not be rude. He’s caught, but now he needs a babysitter.

It’ll be fine. He tells himself. Maybe this is a good thing, I’m moving on with my life. Y/N is a friend, an excellent nanny, that’s all.

The house is a picture of domestic calm when he returns. Connor has been running you ragged all day, then suddenly the hit with a wave of tiredness, he took himself to bed with little insistence from you, clutching his teddy, .

You take advantage of the quiet and lift out your book, making yourself a cup of tea and sitting by the window. You found an old candle in the back of one of the drawers, and light it, sending a warm glow up the wall, the summer rain starting to fall outside, it is cosy, and you snuggle into John’s armchair, content.

John is loathe to disturb you, so he stands in the doorway for a few moments taking in the scene. The candle sends flickers of light up your skin and into your hair as you bend over your book, your lip caught between your teeth in concentration. John feels winded, as if someone punched him in the stomach. The door bangs on its hinges but you do not jump, you simply look up and smile at him, your eyes as soft

“Hey….”

It takes every single ounce of control he’s ever cultivated not to run up to you and take you in his arms, but he manages it, walking faltering up to you instead and sitting opposite.

“What are you reading?”

You put your book down so you can give him your full attention.

“Jane Eyre. I’ve read it about ten times I think...but I love it every time.”

“I love it when you find a book like that.” John nods with understanding. “It’s like finding a piece of yourself written down.”

You smile, surprised that he understands, but pleased. “Yes….exactly. And it’s so romantic...makes me a little weepy.”

John frowns, his almond eyes running over your face for signs of tears but you smile and shake your head to reassure him.

“Don’t worry...I’m at the good part...Rochester is declaring his love for Jane. Of course he teases her about it a bit at first, pretends to be in love with someone else. But they are made for each other.”

“Shame that doesn’t happen in real life…” mutters John and you feel your heart drop a little, sad he doesn’t believe in soulmates.

“Anyway.” You say, wanting to break the soppy tone. “How was your day?”

John takes a breath “Actually...a bit eventful. I need to ask you a favour. Are you free tomorrow night?”

You feel a little dizzy, your stomach flipping. Is John asking you out? Your mind goes blank for an answer, but of course your heart is screaming yes, yes.

“I have a date, I was hoping you could look after Connor.” He goes on, and suddenly you feel stupid. Of course it isn’t you, you’re the nanny, a stupid girl who believes in Byronic heroes falling for plain governesses.

John sees your crestfallen expression, and wonders what he said wrong.

“I would let you have the day off in exchange of course, and pay you double for the evening.”

You hold up a hand to stop him, the thought that he thinks you’re upset about the money makes you feel sick.

“It’s fine John. I can do it...what time?” You keep your words clipped and formal. Since you’re just the nanny you’ll let him feel it.

John frowns “I need to be there at 8pm but…”

“I’ll be here at 7.30pm, you can’t leave a lady waiting.” You get up as fast as you can, grabbing your bag and shoving your jacket a little angrily inside.

John stands up abruptly to see you out but you’re already leaving, blowing the candle out as you go. John stands in the middle of the room, the smell of candle smoke in his nostrils, wondering what the hell just happened. He picks up the book you left behind and takes it to bed with him.

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

You’re fuming, but you can’t explain why. John simply asked you to change the hours of your work, and you agreed, you didn’t have to.

And yet

The thought of him going on a date. Of his soft brown eyes turned on another woman, talking about Connor in that adoring way he does, of him putting the moves on her, leaning in a little too close, lifting her chin to kiss her goodnight.

You have to go for a run to release some of your anguish, pounding your feet against the pavements, feeling your muscles burn and welcoming it. You hope the physical exertion will block of the insistent image of John’s mouth glistening wet with wine at his dinner, but it fails.

You know Connor will be in bed by the time you get to John’s so you buy yourself a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon to take with you, thinking you can bring yourself a little comfort that way. You realise you’ve left your copy of Jane Eyre at John’s house, so you figure you can spend the evening drowning yourself in Victorian romance and forget about real life for a while.

#daddy issues #john wick x reader #john wick x you #arghhh let me know what you guys think i'm in love with jw it's a problem

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openheavenchurch-blog · 7 years ago

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‘Naturally Supernatural’ by Phil Lee

In the month leading up to Naturally Supernatural I was at a real low. I’d been prioritising my relationship with God less and less, and started to believe the enemy’s lies that that was okay - I could always go back later so what does it matter how I live now?

That led me down a path of drinking more than I knew was good for me, old habits of lust and porn-use reemerging and I’d spend all of my days filling my time with “stuff”. Nothing of substance, just distractions from dealing with my problems. When I wasn’t at work I’d just be flooding my mind with input from random YouTube videos, secular music and pointless podcasts.

I’m not saying those things are bad in themselves but when they are what’s keeping you from engaging with God that’s a pretty good sign you’re not using them in a healthy way. And even work itself became just about completing tasks rather than the people the work affected.

The last week before Naturally Supernatural I was thinking of dropping out. “It’s camping, it’s cold, it’s a lot of effort, and surely I’ve progressed past the point of needing a summer camp to boost my relationship with God”. The enemy’s last ditch attempt to keep my away from the Truth.

See, the devil knows that when you spend time in God’s presence your life changes. It’s like being near the sun, you can’t help but be warmed by it. And it also changes the world around you when you live in the power and authority you have as a child of God. As was pointed out at Natural Supernatural, the devil believes you can change the world more than you do! So he wants to stop you from realising your potential.

It still amazes me that God welcomes us back so readily when we turn and choose him over our own way of living. His mercy is mind blowing. If anyone had asked, I’d have said ‘of course God welcomes people back like that - check the prodigal son’. But I’d started to believe that yeah God might do that for everyone else, but for me? No.

- See when the enemy attacks he always tries to strip us of our security, our self-worth and our significance. He gets us looking for these things in places other than God which will inevitably let us down. But God designed us to find these things in him.

- I’d fallen for the lie that “God doesn’t want to meet with me. He doesn’t want to manifest his power in my life.” But as was pointed out at the conference, if you want reassurance that God wants you just look at all he did to be with you in the first place. Jesus didn’t go through all that to finally have a relationship with you, have the Holy Spirit living in you and then say, “Nah I’m not really interested in giving you life to the full”.

God re-taught me so much truth about my identity in him at Naturally Supernatural, which is why if you’ve already talked to me you’ll have heard me say the week was life-changing. The fact is, how you define yourself is how you will live. So I had to let God redefine me. And now I can live for what lasts, with eternal significance. Again, the enemy is going to try and tell you that you can’t make a difference, but that’s because he knows just how big a difference to the world you could make if you knew the truth of who you are!

Looking at my life I can see that from about 9 months ago I’d become much more apathetic about my relationship with God in my day-to-day life. I’d hardly put up any consistent fight to maintain, let alone push into my relationship with God. God challenged me to my core on this.

- The fact is that my relationship with God is the centre of my life. Everything hinges on it. He is the purpose of my life. So how can I sit there and let the enemy walk all over me? No, it’s time to get up, dust off, armour up and wage war. Wage war against the sin in my own life, wage war against the work of the enemy in the world around me, to claim territory and to change the norms of our society.

I now see that a key part of how the enemy has got a hold of my mind over and over again is letting me focus on myself. To miss the big picture of what God’s doing in the world - of the spiritual war going on around us. But at Naturally Supernatural my eyes were reopened to the strongholds of the enemy in our world: the desperate spiritual poverty, the rampant homelessness around our nation, the 10% of the world that still doesn’t have access to clean water, the breadth and pace of the slave trade still thriving under the surface of our society, the millions of women and children forced into a life of prostitution and the millions more men crippled by lust, pride and fatherlessness.

- And what I’ve found is that when I take my eyes off of me and instead see the big picture, my petty issues pale in comparison and it breaks the enemy’s lies about my struggles counting me out of God’s plan for the world.

See, God doesn’t come to make the bad good, he comes to make the dead alive. He calls his whole Church to fight for justice in this world. It’s not an optional extra to the Christian life, it is essential. As Tim Ross said, “in the last few decades Christians have become known for what we’re against, but it’s time we’re known for what we’re for.”

We need God to give us boldness. Boldness to fight in these areas, boldness to use the spiritual gifts he’s given us to step out and to act. It’s what the Holy Spirit empowers us for and it’s what the Bible equips us for:

Joshua 1:8 “Study this Book of Instruction continually. Meditate on it day and night so you will be sure to obey everything written in it. Only then will you prosper and succeed in all you do.”

When God was saying this to Joshua the “Book of Instruction” he had was the book of Deuteronomy! So with just Deuteronomy, Joshua went on to conquer the whole of the promised land. We have 66 books of the Bible. How can we live a defeated life!? What’s our excuse?

Now, I know a thing or two about being resistant to going for it when you think God is calling you to something. Whether that’s to go to a new country or to go pray for someone to be healed. But being in God’s presence for a week and getting my daily bread in his Word, God broke through that fear. Perfect love cast it out. And for the first time in 9 months I willingly went to pray with someone for them to be healed, and for the first time in my life I got to be a part of someone getting fully healed! And again I realised, this is what God does in you when you take your eyes off yourself and turn them to loving him and loving others.

If you’ve been to a Soul Survivor camp before you’ll have heard some of the awesome testimonies of God healing hearts, healing bodies and changing lives through the obedience of someone who received an instruction from him. And as Mike Pilavachi put it, “isn’t that one soul saved, that one relationship with God restored or that one person’s ability to walk again worth so many failures? So many times getting the word wrong? So go for it! And if you get it wrong, nobody died.”

- So I’m choosing to say “God, I’m willing to get it wrong and look weird, but use me to change lives. I want my life to be for you and with you.” And you know what, part of God’s purpose for the church gathering each week is for it to be a place to learn to love people in the safety of family. So I’d encourage all of you who have reservations about stepping out in praying for healing, the prophetic, or anything like that, that OH is one of the best communities for giving it a go and practicing being obedient to God’s directions.

I’ll end with this: I had a vision in one of the Naturally Supernatural ‘Inner Healing’ seminars. I was myself but as a child sat on top of a mountain overlooking a beautiful lake below when Jesus met me there, all smiles. But then he took me down the mountain, down a steep muddy path towards a dark valley. I was confused and worried that I wouldn’t get to be in the light again, but Jesus said he was leading me up to a different mountain. As we started up the next hill I complained that I was tired, he chuckled and said “don’t worry I’ll make sure you get there” and gave me a piggyback ride the rest of the way up (remember I was a child). We got to the top of the mountain and I looked out and saw an astonishingly breathtaking view, a good 10 times better than the last mountaintop view. After a few moments of me sat there awestruck Jesus whispered, “do you want to know a secret? I’ve got dozens of mountain tops even better than this, and each better than the last. Don’t be afraid when you start to head down from the mountaintops towards the valley, because it’s me leading you to an even better place, and I’ll make sure you get there.”

God touched on so many areas of my life over Naturally Supernatural. He broke through all the lies and fears I came with and reestablished his relationship with me and his purpose for my life. And that’s not to say I no longer have any struggles. But I now know that that’s not because I am a weak useless Christian. It’s because God wants to teach me to rely on his grace and power like Paul with his thorn (2 Cor 12:8-10), and because he wants to toughen me up for the fights ahead (Hebrews 12:1-13). God disciplines those he loves. And now I choose to live for him. Not as a victim but as a victor, not as a slave but as a son - perfectly loved, purposefully made, heading down the mountain on the way to an even more beautiful place.

Phil.

#blog #church #prayer #naturallysupernatural #openheaven #testimony

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