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mcuwritin · 4 years ago

Text

Mission gone wrong II

Part 1

Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

genre: angst

warnings: blood, death, injury (let me know if I should add more)

word count: 1600+

12.12.2022.

You were never allowed on a missions that involved Avengers. Every agent Hydra had faced them at least once, but not you. You were held as far away from them as possible. And that, for some reason, frustrated you to no end. You were not used to feeling anything besides anger and pain, but whenever you saw someone head out on a mission against the Avengers you felt a weird pull in your chest. Almost like... longing? But you've never met them so it didn't make any sense. You can't miss someone you don't know.

But then they changed their mind.

You were training the newest set of recruits, when Vlad, a particularly cruel supervisor, told you to start packing. You were heading to the States.

You started your mission right after the darkness settled.

Defense system of the building that houses The Avengers is laughable. It took you exactly three minutes to bypass it. Maybe that's because they think no one would dare to trespass or maybe you're just that good.

They're pathetic, said the voice in your head. Sometimes you felt like it didn't belong to you. You wondered if the fury inside you didn't belong to you either. What if it was simply planted inside your head?

Passing by the elevators you turned to head up the stairs. Your footsteps silent, your body hidden in the shadows. After reaching the 6th floor you waited until the camera turned to face the other way to move further. Pathetic.

Compound was empty, safe for the man who built it and some agents, who could never pose a threat. Not to you.

You've been injected with what Hydra spent decades trying to perfect. You became their perfect weapon, silent and deadly. You've never failed a mission, always coming back successful. But it was never enough for Hydra, so each time you came back, they tried to make you even better.

Sometimes you thought about not coming back, but the pain caused by such thoughts was so intense and unbearable, you couldn't even move an inch, let alone run away.

Just as you reached the door to Stark's laboratory you hesitated. Hand that held the knife in your hand shook slightly. You wondered what the anxious feeling in your chest meant. But you can't afford distractions, not now.

You went in.

There, hunched over some blueprints, stood the Iron Man. He was in here for the past three days and you wondered what was so important to keep him here day and night.

He didn't look like his usual self. His goatee grown out and his closes were crumpled. There was an untouched mug with an AC/DC logo. You felt a pang in your chest when you noticed the writing just under the letters.

Sorry for the one I broke!

Y/n.

You knew of every Avenger and Shield agent living in the compound, but you've never heard of Y/n. Is she the newest addition to the team? If so, you need to report about her to Vlad. Maybe he'll be happy enough to let you go without a beating.

"Hey, kid." Stark said turning around.

You remained silent, stepping closer and closer to your target.

"Not going to say anything?"

"No." You replied.

He smiled and crossed his arms, leaning against the table. He didn't attempt to reach for his suit and he didn't try to notify someone of your presence.

"I knew you'd come once the compound was clear of the rest of the team. Hydra's been watching me for the past six months, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Hoped they would send you. I'm glad I was right."

"So you have a death wish. How cute." Your voice devoid of any emotion. You are running out of time.

You raised the hand with a knife in it, ready to slice his throat clean when Stark spoke up again.

"What about Wanda?"

You stopped. You heart skipped a beat and then another one and then it started to hammer against your chest with a newfound strength. You hands strated shaking again.

"Are you going to kill her too?"

"Who's Wanda?" You said, trying to remember why her name has such a strong effect on you.

"You always introduce her as the love of your life." He replied inching closer to you. Only now you noticed a syringe with a bluish liquid in it squeezed in his left hand.

You immediately grabbed his wrist so tight that his bones broke. He dropped the syringe on the ground and pushed away, outstretching his right hand to catch the flying glove of his suit.

You tried to catch it, but the defence mechanism in it sent a blast at you. You almost managed to get out of the way, but your back got badly burned, revealing your vibranium bones.

"What did they do to you?" Stark asked, terrified. He got both of his now gloved hands trained on you, wincing whenever he tried to move the left one.

"They made me better." Was all you said, before launching yourself at him.

He tried to dodge your blows, but he is nowhere as fast as you are.

You tore off the right glove, feeling a pang of guilt when you noticed his pained expression.

Before he could even think about using his injured hand you plunged the knife right into his heart, your hand jerking slightly just before it pierced his skin. You didn't bother checking for his pulse, needing to get out of this place as soon as possible.

Mission accomplished.

Why do you feel like a part of you just died?

03. 03. 2023.

The cold wind ruffled your hear, distracting you for a second. You've been in the position whole day, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. The roof you occupied is empty, closed for construction.

You were more than a thousand feet away from your target. There's a gathering in what used to be the Stark tower, the Avengers and some government officials are meeting to discuss something rather important.

You adjusted your grip on the rifle, not daring to put it down even for a moment. You can't miss the moment Black Widow comes out for a breath of fresh air. Recently she's been doing it a lot. Pathetic.

You've spent the past month studying her, looking for the best way to take her out. Since Stark's death the Avengers were rarely seen alone and Natasha Romanoff was always in the company of Steve Rogers. You knew you'd have no problem killing her if she was alone, but with Captain America by her side she might defeat you. You were willing to try, but Vlad didn't let you.

"There's also a witch, she will get into your head if you come too close." He said on a briefing.

"I've never heard of her. Who is she?"

"Briefing is over. Valentina is waiting for you in the lab."

You were pulled out of your head when you noticed the movement just in front of the balcony. Black Widow opened the door, ready to step out, but someone put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

You were getting impatient waiting for the conversation between the two to end so the spy could finally step out of the protection of the bulletproof glass.

The door finally opened letting out the spy and another woman.

A woman that looked too familiar for your liking.

Wanda.

Ever since your last mission you couldn't get her name out of your head.

You became unstable when you got back from the compound and they had to wipe you again.

You woke up with her name on your lips.

Is she the witch Vlad was warning you about?

You saw them hug on the balcony. It looks like Wanda is crying and you don't know why, but you felt the strongest urge to wrap her into your arms and tell her everything is going to be okay. You need to make sure that your girlfriend is fine.

Your... Your girlfriend?

Your hands relaxed their hold in the rifle, ready to turn and run as fast as you can, but before you could move insufferable pain shot through your skull, rooting you in place. Your vision blurred and you legs gave out under your weight.

You felt your hands involuntary reach for the rifle again, adjusting the aim.

No. No. No.

It's Natasha! You can't hurt her. She is the one who welcomed you into the family. She is the one who introduced you to Wanda. She is the one who helped you pick out the ring.

And you... you killed the person who felt like a father to you. You killed Tony with your bare hands.

The pain shooting through you body is not allowing you to breathe anymore and your hands are adjusting the position of the rifle.

You need to stop.

You need to complete the mission.

They're still on the balcony, you have enough time to aim and pull the trigger.

Pull the trigger and the pain will stop.

You tried to stop, you tried to scream and cry, but your body didn't belong to you anymore.

You felt like you were in a passenger seat of car, that was going off the road.

You can't do anything now.

You tried as hard as you could to stop your finger from pulling the trigger, but you still saw the bullet hit your best friends chest.

You couldn't hear Wanda's scream from this distance, but you felt it pierce your heart.

The pain went away.

Your mission is done.

They left you in your cell to rot in your grief.

At this point you didn't feel anything. You didn't feel the pain in your heart and your head. You were numb.

And then you were terrified.

They're going to wipe you again. You'll forget everything again and they'll make you kill another Avenger.

You started scratching the floor with your nails, trying to write the dates before they wiped you again.

They will make you kill Wanda.

_________________________________________

Sorry it took me so long.

Feedback is appreciated 💞

tags: @marvels-writings @kermy48

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #scarlet witch x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #mission gone wrong

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lisinfleur · 4 years ago

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Pity

Author’s Notes | It was almost instantly that I thought about this idea. When I saw the plot, this story just unfolded in my mind. I hope you guys like it as much as I did! Congratulations once again, my dear @youbloodymadgenius for your first K of followers! May them become a thousand more! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, produced for @youbloddymadgenius 1K Challenge, prompt number 50. Words | 1989 ⁑ Warnings: Some cursing, mentions to murder and violence.

It was the third or fourth ball you were participating in after becoming engaged to your fiancé - an arrangement made by your family to tighten your allegiance towards prince Oleg and somehow a reward for the many years of loyalty to his crown: you would be married to his brand new ally and the soon-to-be re-crowned king of Kattegat, the nordic Ivar, the Boneless - someone you had grown to admire and fell in love with within his short time at the Rus palace in Kyiv.

You would be crowned queen by his side - to your father's major happiness - and would grant him the children his former wife wasn't able to give to him. If you were able, of course, to surpass his infinite jealousy and the marks her treason had left in your soon-to-be husband's mind.

It was something visible that Ivar had grown interested in you at the palace and you had been able to break up his barriers approaching him with your loyalty to his cause and comprehension of his actions: your family was loyal to prince Oleg, but you were loyal to yourself and you didn't hide your support to Ivar's intentions to get rid of Oleg's strings as soon as it was possible. Your family's loyalty to the Prophet was a ladder that conducted you towards the position you wanted beside Ivar, but it was it. If you had to put a knife through Oleg's neck for Ivar you would, and your fiancé loved to hear this coming out of your mouth with all the beautiful letters he said were music to his ears.

However, you would cease to be his singing bird as soon as your laugh could be heard by anyone else other than him. Even other women were considered threats in his eyes and to be isolated wasn't something you would accept just for him to feel safe in whatever insecurity he insisted to keep about your love.

Fights were inevitable, although the two of you had grown perfectly able to hide it from anyone else around as if you were the perfect couple, born to be with each other.

Yeah... His hand was quite the size of your neck and you had tested it already once - Something you swore would be the first and only time he would ever touch you like that. Something he promised would be the first and last time he would ever lose control like that.

Bless the soundproof walls of your room...

"I CAN'T TURN AROUND A SINGLE SECOND AND THERE ARE YOU, SMILING AT EVERYONE!"

You could understand the fear his people had of him: Ivar was really frightening when he was angry - and he was angry almost all the time. But you were never scared of the monsters under your bed and the last man who looked like a monster in front of you died by your own hands when you were younger and decided your honor worthed more than the life of that bandit. Maybe it was this what attracted him in you: as he was screaming, you were looking at him, standing, firm, strong even when his servants and slaves had fled in awe.

"So what? If I hear funny jokes, I'll laugh, Ivar. That's natural to any human being!" you answered, almost acid.

"Oh, then Hvitserk is the only one to tell funny jokes around, my dear?" he answered, finally putting out the jealousy behind all that angry rampant. "Cause you laugh whenever you're close to him! You're all smiles to Hvitserk! Are you growing fond of him too, my dearest bride?"

You rolled your eyes, causing him to grunt in fury - he just hated the way you wouldn't be affected by his greatness or afraid of his furious glares. Ivar loved how strong you were and hated it in the same proportion.

"You speak as if you didn't know what I did to be here by your side, into this room, hearing these stupidities," you sighed, frustrated, pouring some wine from his amphora into a cup for you and sipping the content.

"Did you really do it for me, Y/N?" he questioned, finally touching a sensitive topic that made you stop the cup you had on its way to your lips once again and place it at the table with a louder noise.

Your eyes became as fierce as his own and Ivar knew he'd gone too far. Yet, his eyes continued to look at yours, making his doubt genuine and causing your anger to boil up.

"Are you insinuating I'm a climber who just wanted to use you as a ladder to a crown, Ivar the Boneless?" you spat it with all the letters, causing him to cringe at the sound of those words so clearly said.

But you continued, defiant. Not a drop of fear mixed with the indignation into your eyes when you stood in front of him, facing the great Ivar, the Boneless, as if he was nothing but a boy speaking gossip of you through the town.

"Is this what you're saying, my king? That I fought my father's intention to have me married to one of Oleg's commanders, came into foreign lands to live with foreign people and among heathen customs, for nothing but the crown you can place on my head?"

Your voice sounded firm as you approached him. Your eyes diving enough into those pools of icy blue waters he had on his face to see his soul shrunk into them, hiding insecurity behind those dangerous words.

"Are you calling me a whore and saying I'll fuck your brother behind your back just because I smiled at him, Ivar?"

"Fucking stop it!" he finally blew up, moving bothered over his bed, frowning with tones of disappointment and frustration covering what was once pure anger in his expression. "I just... I just don't see what you saw in me!" he started, pouring what was truly bothering his heart. "You're a fierce woman, strong, gorgeous mare kissed by Freyja! What would you want with me, Y/N? You seem so relaxed among them... It seems so more natural to see you smiling beside him that..." Ivar paused.

But you knew it was hard for him to admit his fears and so, you gave him time and space, crossing your arms to look at him, waiting for his words.

You would give him time. But he would say it.

And he knew you wouldn't give up until he'd said all the letters so, Ivar sighed, defeated.

"He's whole, Y/N. My brothers are all whole and don't come to me with these eyes rolling once again!" he reprehended you before you could really do what he complained you would. "Hvitserk is a gorgeous man who I've seen attracting more women into his bed than lambs into his stomach! The bastard can lure any woman he wants into his sheets!"

"But not me," you affirmed, categoric.

"It's not what I'm saying!" Ivar complained again, annoyed by the interruption. "Look at them! They're all perfect. Hvitserk is perfect. I'm the broken thing my father's seed produced when he was already full of the many children the gods had promised him," he mourned.

However, instead of allowing him to dive into his grief as his mother used to do, or proceed to spoil his ego as Freydis would do to heal his pain with her sweet little lies, you approached him, caressing his face, turning his insecure blues towards your firm gaze.

"You can't see yourself, can you?" you asked, making his fear become confusion into his blues.

Ivar wasn't used to your way to deal with his self-indulgence yet.

"Oh, pity for him, the broken child of Ragnar Loðbrók," you pretended to cry for a moment, just to light the fire of his anger in the back of his eyes once again before continuing your speech, not letting him try to answer your words. "Cut the bullshit, Ivar! You're a man, like all the others. You grew from a boy, like all the others. Hvitserk may be 'whole' as you said, but he has his flaws and I can see them. He's funny and charming indeed, but his charm doesn't mislead me from the womanizer I can see in his actions nor from the drunken rag he becomes whenever the ball comes to an end. Ubbe could be whole as well, and what did he use his perfect legs for? To flee, like a good coward, from the consequences of his own stupidity, hiding somewhere in Kattegat to lick his mother's murderer's shoes and follow his older brother like a dog instead of a man! Sigurd was whole as well. It didn't prevent him from taking an ax to his chest and who among the two of you is alive, uh?" you asked, increasing the confusion into Ivar's eyes.

How could you be so sure of his value?

How could you be so determined to be with him? By his side?

But there was no mistake in your words, no weakness in your voice. Your words were being poured from your heart and he could see that in your eyes.

"They may be whole, Ivar. You're broken indeed. You can look at your broken legs and cry like a pitiful baby, mourning the gods' will to put the biggest burden over your shoulders. Or you can look at yourself and see that even with this burden over them, you dragged yourself when anyone believed you would even move. You stood when they said you would never walk. You became a leader when they believed you would become a corpse among the children who die at their first Winter."

"But Y/N," he started, this time sounding like that boy you could always see deep inside his eyes. "I'm..."

"You're the boy who lived," you said, cutting his sentence and holding his chin up. "You're the boy who survived, Ivar! They may be whole, but it just proves that with half of what they have you did the double of what they do! Or maybe more! Now stop mourning and stand by my side, husband! Cause I may laugh at them, but it is for you I'll be moaning and it will be your name echoing in my voice in bliss."

"Y/N..." he tried one last time.

Probably, Ivar would start again with that conversation about his supposed impotence. You didn't even let him start, touching your fingers over his lips.

"I'm not a slave whore you had to share with your brothers. Nor a filthy bitch who decided to mislead you with lies and treason, my dear. If you couldn't do it with them, then I'll show you by my side, you can. There is nothing you can't do in this life, Ivar. Your very presence in this room is proof enough of what I'm saying. They told you would never reach your first year... And here you are, leading them all, over their heads. You're more than your self-pity will let you see. But don't worry, my love. I'm here to open your horizons."

You smiled at him, so full of your words.

Ivar still couldn't believe what you were saying. But you were so sure that he couldn't really doubt your convictions.

"Now put a smile on your face and come with me, love," you said, smiling. "If you don't want me laughing at their jokes, then stand by my side and make me laugh by yourself. And stop with this jealousy, Ivar. I'm yours, my love. I chose you. You better be ready to bear my presence for a long time..."

His lips curved although he was trying to hide that smile. And you knew by Ivar's giggle that the arguing was over. He was your man and you were his woman. And no charming prince around would change this.

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#history vikings #imagine vikings #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x reader #ivar’s heathen army #sister wives #shot

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prettieparker86 · 4 years ago

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The Ghost of You is Close to Me

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Sadness? set pre-WWI

Note: I’ve been trying to find my writer’s voice again. It’s felt lost and so far away from me. I still don’t feel it’s back per say. My previous characters still feel foreign to me. But when I feel the urge to write now, I try to listen. Not quite sure what this is. Watched a WWI movie the other night and this sort of rushed out of me like a flood, so I let it pour. For this I really tried to imagine what Tommy was like before the war based on the little pieces we've gotten from the show. And I wanted to explore the idea that she sensed he'd never come back, which in a way he didn't. His body did, but not the Tommy from before.

I’m not super well versed in the Romani culture and what knowledge I gained in the past feels mostly lost, I apologize. I was trying to find the word for horse, Grast was the closest I could. As with cozonac. I’m not sure if it’s really a traditional food. My research said it was. I’m trying my best. My intention is not to offend. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks

Don’t know what I’m suppose to do, haunted by the ghost of you.

It only takes the sight of him to send you running. As fast as your horse can take you, holding tight to the notion that as long as you never stop running then he never leaves. You hide away to the place you would always run to as children. Back when Tommy's mum would drag the whole Shelby brood up into the hills, running away from her pitiful life in the city and Arthur Sr.

Its a grove of trees overlooking a deep fertile valley, the spot where you use to steal away as children. Long before you knew adults could run away from their grief as easily as little ones, and there was no mistaking it, you were running. You secure your horse to a tree branch where she can nibble away on the overgrown grass encircling the base of trunk, and settled atop a rock that's yours as much as it is the earth's. A rock that has only grown smaller over the years as you've grown bigger. Your family comes to this hills nearly every spring. As a child it never seemed different, now all you see is the changes.

Everything changes, this you know, but you swear if you just sit there long enough this change won't find you. It wont be so. Tommy wont leave. You're oldest companion. Your dearest friend. Gazing out at the valley blanketed in a tapestry of green hues, shadow and light, as the overcast sky moves above you - you tell yourself he isn't leaving. Even though the steady ache in your heart makes it feel like he's already gone. You miss him, before he's even left. You miss him... The words echo through you in shuddered vibrations that sting at your eyes, even worse at your heart, as a rogue tear manages to break free and make a run down your cheek before you briskly swipe at it.

You can't imagine him not being there. Being unreachable to you. You cant imagine not listening to Tommy's thoughts, his sparks of creativity, or the way he can make you laugh. You cant imagine him not being there. The hole he will leave, the one already opening up inside you feels unbearable, sickening, and you just want it to go away. Who will be there when you need someone most? Who will convince you things will turn out ok or you should keep fighting even when neither feel true? Who will know you? Who will see you? Really see you and genuinely care? You never felt you took his friendship for granted, never mistakenly felt there were others who could fill such big shoes, and yet now, as the chill of a breeze sweeps by you, sending goosebumps to prickle on the flesh of your arms, you wonder if you cherished that gift enough. You wonder if it meant the same to him and if he will miss you as deeply once you're gone.

You try not to think about it. You've been trying not to think about it since you received word Tommy had enlisted. You've kept yourself busy, both in mind and your hands. Filling the moments whenever he would start to creep in. But in the end its pointless. Because the more you try not to think of him, try not to miss him... The more you do. Its like trying to stop the rain by shaking your fist at the heavens. Futile and maddening. You see him when you're with the horses, whispering and enchanting them the way only his tongue and heart can do. You see him in the glow of a campfire where he'd often gets lost in his thoughts, scribbling them down or creating a loose sketch. You see him in the charming smirk of a young man, or a joke he once told you. He's everywhere. Inside you. A part of you. And denying that never made it less true.

And the thought of living without him feels terribly sad and lonely in a way your heart feels pathetic to admit and yet hopeless to reconcile. It isn't any place you want to be and yet you also have the sense to understand you have no say in that. You feel immersed in the overwhelming ache of your heart, the one that's been plaguing you for days now, when you suddenly hear the stir of your horse behind you. You glance back and watch as she pawns happily at the earth beneath her hoofs, snooting and pawing at the ground as Tommy appears nearby. She loves him. They all love him. You've often teased he's more horse than man and no one notices that more then the horses.

Tommy meets her joy with firm pats along her neck and gentles strokes to her mane and nose. "Hey girl" He greets.

Seeing him standing there both fills your heart with joy and deeper sorrow. Lean and strong, his hair tousled from his ride over, with those piercing sapphire eyes that cut you like a knife and see right through you at a glance. The sight of him like an old beloved quilt, comforting and well known, now tattered and tore as he rips from your life.

"Little bird", he says as your eyes meet. A name he gave you so long ago you cant even remember how it came to be.

"Grast", you answer back.

"How did you know I would be here?" You ask as you look away, not wanting him to see the turmoil brewing in your eyes the way you know he will.

Tommy shrugs easily, "Just knew." Just knew because he knows you, in a way most will never get to know you. Same way you trust in the way you know him and the ways he's shares himself with you.

When Tommy comes to sit beside you, it takes every ounce of willpower not to hug him desperately, beg him to change his mind, beg him not to go, but you don't, because you're sure it won't change anything.

"You heard," Tommy says, the grit of his breath stressing the weight of his words.

"You're a damn fool, Thomas Shelby. What did the crown ever do for us?"

He chuckles lightly to the fire on your breath, the bite in your words and you can see in his eyes he knows they only come from a place of love and concern for him.

"They need fighting men to win a war. " He tells you, as he pulls a cigarette from his breast pocket and strikes a match. Telling you things you both already know. As if it were that simple. As if the need for more men didn't come from the loss of the ones they have.

"Well then I oughta sign up. I can fight." You carry on as you snatch the cigarette hanging from his lip. Allowing yourself to feel the anger this situation ignites inside you, because anger feels far more powerful and safe than heartache and fear.

"ey, god help any man that stands between you and your cozonac." Tommy teases you, the crook of his mouth curling as he await your reprisal. Knowing your tales of blunder and greatest mishaps better then anyone. Your stories are his stories, your journeys connected.

You gasp in mock offense. "He would have eaten it all! Fistin’ it down like the whole roll was his!"

"A good stab of your fork put an end to that, didn' it?"

"He shouldn't have been so greedy." You feign defense and tug hotly at the cigarette, fighting back the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth to match Tommy's devilish grin. A battle you quickly lose as he elbows your side and snatches back his smoke before you jab him back. And just like that you aren't mad anymore. That's something only Tommy can do, make you laugh when you want to cry. Because he knows you... your dearest friend. The keeper of your secrets, biggest fears, and dreams. It's a gift to be known. An even bigger gift to be known and cherished for who you are. You never thought it wasn't, but you didn't realize how much you needed that gift until it was being taken away.

You both grow quiet against the steady decent of the sun at your backs. The low crinkle of burning paper fills and hovers in the space around you both as his cigarette burns down, subtle like the smoke dancing in swirls past his lips. Its the quiet moments that haunt you now. The hours and space he once filled in your life. The echoing loneliness that you know will only expand and grow in his absence. Those hours eat at you, devour you. Gnawing away until you feel raw and desperate to make them stop, because you swear you can't take another moment in that place. Only this time you know it wont stop. There will be no reprieve, no mercy, your best friend is leaving and you can't stop him. And when he's gone, this- This torturous way of existence, with its crawling of time, absence of joy, and echoing loneliness, it will fill the space his light once illuminated in your life. Like thick dark clouds rolling in over the backcountry hills to settle in around you and call you there home.

Tommy has his reasons, none more then Greta you suspect but you cant help but feel he's choosing the war over you, that he's abandoning you, as preposterous as you know that notion is. But there's nothing logical about missing someone. You can't reason it away with facts and rationality. And it doesn't care that it feels like it's killing some part of you. Nobody tells you missing someone is a physical sensation, a state of being above all else - like an empty or upset stomach, like a punch to the chest or falling off a horse that leaves you winded. It's not merely a thought and it's more than an emotion. You feel it in your bones, the tight hollows inside you, the vibrating ache of longing, the chill that settles in under your skin.

Sitting quietly side by side, you rest your head upon his shoulder. All the girls love Tommy, they always have. With his charming smile, deep set eyes that reach into the soul with a glance, and his devilish humor, its easy to see why so many would be drawn to him. And there was a time even you were too, but there was always too many things in the way and what you've built instead is deeper and more intimate because its not bound to the fickle confines of romance.

Closing your eyes, you can see it all so clearly in your mind. Replaying like a reel at the pictures... Wading in knee high murky pond water and reeds in search of frogs to catch. Covered in filth from head to toe as you battled on rain soaked mud hills with John to see who would be crowned king of the mountain. Sneaking off with mum's herbs and spices into the woods to craft witches brew and cast magic. Building campfires from dried old birch tree branches by the moonlight, to bathe in the scent of it, and tell old spine-chilling tales. Gazing up at the stars on warm summer night, seeing who could count the most. Lying awake late at night by candle light trying to read each other's mind. Hiding in the haystack to terrorize Arthur and any unlucky girl he tried to steal away with for a moment alone. Dragging you off to your first pub in Birmingham and knocking some bloke on his ass when he tried to get handsy. Trying to teach you to drive on slick muddy streets, as you swore at him like a sailor when he wouldn't stop laughing. The keeper of your deepest secrets as you are of his. The person who tried to offer you hope in your darkest moments and celebrated you greatest success. Who genuinely listened to you and sought out your thoughts on matters. The person you trusted most with the innerworkings of your heart and mind. The one you trusted would be there.

All of it feels like yesterday. The memories still fresh and vivid. The thought there wont be more to make constricts your windpipe, tightens your heart, as tears you couldn't possibly hold back any longer fill dangerously to the brim of your eyes... You don't know how to do this. You don't know how to live this. You don't know how to say goodbye to him. To let him go. Watch him disappear from your life. And the truth is... You don't wanna know. You don't want to say goodbye. And a part of you feels hurt this seems so easy for him, though you don't actually know it is. And the part of you that knows Tommy's heart, suspects it isn't so easy for him to say goodbye to you either.

The thought you might never speak to him again leaves a frantic feeling trying to rip free from your chest. How do you find peace when you long for someone still there but just beyond your reach, drifting further out to sea by the moment? How do you let them go when everything inside you screams to pull them back in? The tears feel warm as they fall down your chilled cheeks onto the shoulder of his jacket. He can't see your tears, but you swear he can feel them as he pats at your knee in an old comforting gesture you've grown to trust will be there. As Tommy pulls away, you fight with the urge to rapidly wipe away your tears and keep your pride. But as your eyes meet, you realize there's no room for pride here. Staring into his eyes you fear the silence that's already invading the space he holds.

But then he touches your face and you remember to breathe. Though his hands are rough from work, the pad of his thumb feels soft, full, and steady against your skin as he gently wipes away at the tears fallen on your face.

"I'm coming back." Tommy promises you, and you want to believe that more then you've ever wanted to believe in anything. That he will return to you. But you've heard the news of the war, the dyer news that continues to abound. And something deep and sharp within you whispers it isn't true. He isn't coming back, and that quiet piercing whisper radiates more loudly within you then the words on his lips.

"Let's make a fire," Tommy suggests as he gives your knee a final pat. You can see in his eyes he's trying to mend your heart, soften the blow. A solemn smile of acknowledgment creeping around the corners of his mouth, as if anything in the world can be solved by a stiff drink or roaring campfire.

You nod in agreement, there's nothing the dancing flames, glowing embers, crackling branches, and heady smoky aroma can't clear from your mind. Nothing like bathing in a campfire to wash your mind and soul clean.

You rise from the rock in slow unison. You gaze across the rich fertile valley below as it slowly descends into darkness all around you. Vibrant greens from early now turning to deeper winter tones as night begins to envelope all that you see. This place you know. This man you know. As you turn back to Tommy, watching as he moves past the horses.

Your eyes fall closed for a moment as you call to him. You pray he can hear you. The way he use to when you were children lying awake late at night, pretending there was magic between you. "Dearest friend... I love you and perhaps I always will. I see you're headed on a road, and I don't know where it leads, but you will take a part of me with you. It's been yours a long time. I hope you remember its there, I hope you protect it and treasure it. But I won't stand in your way, because that's what it means to love someone more then yourself." You whisper to him, not with your lips but from that place in your heart that already belongs to him. The one he gets to keep. You embrace the truth that your world will never feel the way it did before. You will never feel like you did before. That a part of you dies with him as he slips away. You acknowledge this new reality for what it is, whether you know how to live it or not, whether you even want to.

You take a deep breath and slowly open your eyes.

He's gone.

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #I'm trying my best

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soliverse · 4 years ago

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winter promises - q.kn

pairing: gangster au!kun x student!reader

genre: angst, a tiny bit of fluff

warnings: mentions of violence, death, injury and bullying (they weren’t explicitly shown but they were mentioned by the characters. nothing too graphic or triggering.)

word count: 2323

ps: hello @strykiss! I got chosen as your secret santa this year. I debated whether to post From Home or Winter Promises at the last minute but this was the fic that I promised you at my ask. Sorry it took a while :< I hope you liked it.

Winter Promises is a part of the Secret Santa Collab by @lucaswithnoshirt and @bumblebeenct. This is my very first collab and I’m thankful that you have let me be a part of it.

If you want to read the other fics created by the other amazing nct writers, just head over to @neoculturechristmas for the other secret santa entries.

networks: @nctcreations @kdiarynet @kpopscape

The harshness of the winter has never felt colder than today. Just a few weeks ago, you planned to visit your brother James and spend the rest of Christmas break together. Everything changed when you received a call from the police a few days ago. You almost broke down when they told you about your brother’s passing.

You lived in a different area from your brother because you had to go to school. All this time, you believed that your brother is a salesman. That’s how he was able to pay for college fees and living expenses. Little did you know, he was actually hiding a secret from you.

The police found his body after a gang fight. After a bit of an investigation, they discovered that your brother is actually a member of one of the notorious gangs in the area. He is one of the Guardias. They are people of the night, lurking in the shadows and can only be identified by the tattoo of a black wolf in their forearms. That explains why he wore those long sleeves all of the time whenever he visits, even when in the blistering heat. He just used the excuse that he had to look professional at all times

What’s worse about his death is you had no other living relatives. You were both orphans that got kicked out of the systems when you got older. Nobody attended his funeral but the priest and yourself.

You stood at the middle of the field alone, the cemetery wrapped in a think blanket of snow. You did nothing for the past few hours but stood there in front of his grave and stared blankly at his epitaph.

IN MEMORIAM

JAMES Y/L/N

March 31, 199x – December 20, 20xx

A LOVING BROTHER

Reading the engraved letters made you tear up again.

You just can’t believe that he had to die like this, that he had to lie to make you feel better. You wondered how much he had to suffer just seconds before he dies, recalling the horrible state of his body when they discovered him. Just thinking about it made you shake from anger and grief. It didn’t take long before you broke down and sat right next to the grave hugging your knees.

“Hey…”

You were interrupted by a concerned Kun. He pulled you towards him and wrapped his loving arms around you.

“Sorry for being late.”

You desperately needed someone that day and him coming meant the world to you. If there’s someone that will understand what you are currently going through, it would be him. Just like the two of you, he’s also alone because he had to study overseas. He had a brotherly bond with James, like he��s an extension of your brother. James would always tell Kun that he would be the one to take care of you while he’s gone. It’s safe to say that he still fulfilled that promise.

“I’m sorry you had to spend Christmas like this…”

Eventually, he took your hands to find a nearby bench that you can sit comfortably. He started patting your head and never let go of you until you stopped crying.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for coming.”

He handed you a handkerchief from his pockets so you can wipe your tears away. His hand still remained your shoulders, patting it gently to calm you down.

“If it makes you feel any better, I got a gift for you.”

He started patting all over his winter coat and his pockets to look for something. Taking it out on one of his inner pockets, he pulled out a box wrapped with a tiny red bow on top. You opened it right away and there was a unique bracelet inside of it.

“Merry Christmas Y/N. I made a promise to James when he’s still alive...”

He took your hand and placed the bracelet in your palms.

“As long as you’re wearing this, James and I will always be with you…”

Your heart melted as he said this to you. You couldn’t help yourself but to hug him once again. His touch felt like summer on this cold, winter night.

///

About a few weeks passed by and your classes resumed once again. You used that supposed break to mourn over James and help yourself to get over from his loss. Kun had a part-time job to attend to, but he always made sure to check on you from time to time.

Wintertime still surrounded the area, but some people already took down their decorations and things went back to normal. As you skipped across the snowy road, you couldn’t help but stare at the thing that’s jingling in your right arm. You stopped on your tracks and held it up to the sky. Your eyes squinted, trying to look for something special in the bracelet that the Kun gave you for Christmas.

It was the single thing that made you smile every day. His words repeated in your head like a broken record and you can’t help but blush at the thought of it. You always this little crush on him even before, but his caring nature the past couple of weeks make your heart flutter even more. This made you unconsciously touch it. You raised your arm up to your eye level and you finally realized that the bracelet is held together by two wolves, one on each side of the bracelet. You wondered why this was the design that he chose, considering that it doesn’t look that girly. It was weird, but you just shrugged it off when you realized that you still have to walk to school.

///

You came just shy a few minutes before the class starts. The professor is still out of sight, so you bowed to greet everyone inside before you walk towards your desk. The class didn’t pay you any attention. It’s always been that way ever since you got admitted to the school. Making friends is hard when people judge you from the way that you dress or the life that you live in every day. You don’t get to wear nice cloths just like everybody else because you liked to save your money for things that are more important.

The other girls would roll their eyes out and point out how worn out your uniform looks or make gestures behind your back. It stayed that way for years, but you never had the guts to tell Kun or James. You have to be strong for yourself sometimes and just ignored their mockery.

You were taking out the textbooks from your bag when you overheard the other girls squealing excitedly at each other. One of them is your classmate Lilith. Everyone thinks she’s so cool because she has a gangster boyfriend that buys her expensive stuff. It’s probably another designer brand bag or something.

“It looks so pretty! Have you tried using it yet?”

You swear that you can sense Lilith’s condescending smirk even when your back is turned against her.

“I haven’t actually. But he said it’s suuuuppppeeeer expensive. Like, it’s worth more than anything he’s ever bought me. I can’t wait to use it at clubs tonight!”

She said in this exaggerated tone that you hate. She had this habit of making herself extra loud so that you’ll hear what she’s trying. You roll your eyes internally and just proceeded to open your notes and tried to recall the lessons that you had for the past few weeks.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t look that much…”

“Ugh…” She sounded so offended at her friend’s remark.

“This bracelet are only given to very special people. It means they are under the protection of the whole group. It means nobody is allowed to touch the very fiber of her being. I can basically do whatever I want and no one will stop me.”

Your hopes of concentrating on your lessons was completely thrown out of the window. At a desperate attempt to keep your sanity intact, you cupped both of your ears with your hands.

“Special, huh? Then why does Y/N have one too?”

“There’s no way…”

You yelped as you felt someone yank out your hand away from your head.

“What do you want, Lilith?”

She yanked it again towards her face and so she can get a better view of your right hand.

“Hey! Let me go!”

You tried grabbing your hand away from her at the same time that she lets go of your hand aggressively, the force sending you off to the floor.

“So, you got claimed too huh?”

You glared at her direction, but the bright red thing on her wrists caught your attention. It looked similar to your bracelet, the only difference being that it was red and the wolf was replaced with a silver dragon. It’s strikingly similar to the one you’re currently wearing.

“I wonder which lowlife scum you had to sleep with just so you can have one of those.”

She folded her arms and scoffed at your direction

“Of course. It had to be one of those filthy G-.”

A stern voice interrupted her from the front door.

“Watch your mouth, Lilith.”

The voice came from Kun, you looked incredibly pissed.

“Leave her alone. She just lost her brother.”

Lilith opened her mouth again but Kun just raised his eyebrows at her. His gaze seemed to be sending her a message that only the two of them can understand.

The stand-off have successfully shut Lilith down as she begrudgingly went back to her desk. The professor came right after, so Kun smiled sweetly at your direction before he sat down at his desk.

You got up from the floor and dusted the dirt off of your uniform, still completely oblivious at what just happened. It made you a bit more self-conscious now that everyone has their eyes on you. Thankfully, the professor caught everyone’s attention and your class proceeded as usual.

It didn’t take long before lunch break comes and the bell rang. As soon as the last professor left the door, everyone’s attention was back on you once again. You just sat there awkwardly as you waited for everyone to leave the classroom, not really sure what else to do about this situation.

Kun felt your uneasiness. He stood up from his chair and offered his hand to help you stand up from your chair. Your smile grew wider once again as you took his hand and you walked together to your usual place in the cafeteria.

The both of you took your seats and brought out your lunchbox with you. You took out your lunch, which was a simple meal composed of eggs, bacon and a cup of rice. When took out his containers, you remembered that your bestfriend is actually a bit of a masterchef. There were several varieties of home-cooked meals from his lunchbox. There are dumplings, warm chicken soup, and some of which you don’t even know the names of.

“I made extra so we can share...”

You can tell that there was extra care given to the meals that he made. This man just never fails to amaze you. Looking around the cafeteria, everyone felt the same way. Some of the other girls looked at you with what you can assume is jealousy written all over their faces.

“You know, the girls of this school hate me because they thought I’m your girlfriend right.” He laughed at your comment, his eyes completely disappearing from the stretch of his smile.

“If you’re actually dating me, then I’ll be the luckiest man alive.”

You felt heat coming up from your face, unsure if it was because of his laugh or the thing that he said. Instead of answering him, you took some of the fried rice that he made and stuffed your mouth to hide your embarrassment.

Time passed and you’re about to walk home as well. Kun called out your name and offered to walk you home. You felt some dirty glance being thrown away at your direction once again, but for once, you didn’t mind them.

“Just making sure got home safe.” He explained when you asked him on the way. It’s a sweet gesture from his part once again, but he’s been acting weird throughout the walk. His eyes kept on looking from left to right, as if he’s looking for something.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He relaxed and his cheery self appeared in front of you once again.

As soon as you got inside your house and closed the door behind you, he started to walk along the snowy road. His uneasiness crept back in, looking left and right to make sure that no one is following him.

His whole demeanor changed as soon as he entered his territory. The apartment that you thought he’s staying in is actually the headquarters of a secret gang that’s meant to protect the whole city. Men lined up in his path, bowing at his presence. At his room, he took off layers of his winter clothing, finally revealing a secret that he’s also been hiding from you. It was a tattoo of a black wolf, only given to the elite members of Guardia.

He sat on his couch and grabbed his phone to dial someone’s number.

“Yes, boss?”

“Hey Xuxi, would you mind giving the Kids a call?”

“Sure. What for?”

“Tell Chan that one of his bitches is misbehaving…”

He rested his head and closed his eyes, reminded of how you were treated earlier by Lilith.

“If he doesn’t do anything about it, I will. Make that very clear to him, unless he wants me to break his other arm.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

The call dropped and his phone was now showing his wallpaper, a candid picture that he took without you knowing.

The other gangs have been becoming bold lately and have orchestrating attacks from left to right. Knowing them, he’s sure that they’ll be going after the next Guardia successor, you.

///

“Protect Y/N at all cost. It won’t take long before the world knows about her real identity.”

That is a promise that he’s willing to keep, even to his death.

#nctcreations #kdiarynet #kpopscape #neoculturechristmas #secret santa collab #nct #wayv #nct fic #wayv fics #kun x reader #qian kun #gangster au #winter promises #soliverse

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wormstacheangel · 4 years ago

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Since your last post implied it I would love to know about your AU recommendations ❤ I am obsessed too!! Thanks in advance 🙏🏻

hello! I hope you don’t mind if I just make a basic list of some of the AU stories I have read or want to read. Not in any order I just went through my bookmarks on AO3 :) Also I need to read more...Under the cut because it got too long!

Angel's Wild (not gonna lie this is my favorite fic. I have read this almost a dozen times now)

Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Checked Out

Summary: Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.

A Ghost Story

Summary: Castiel Novak has haunted his family's estate for 150 years, awaiting the return of his lost love. Upon their reunion, Dean Winchester learns of his past reincarnation. After the night of Castiel's resurrection, the two try to find out why they've been given a second chance. The answers may be hidden in the forgotten memories of Dean's former life - but sometimes the truth is better left buried.

Patient Love

Summary: Castiel Novak is 27 when he suddenly loses his twin brother Jimmy, and his whole world turns to ashes. How do you deal with losing half of yourself when your whole life always revolved around the two of you, like yin and yang and black and white? How do you deal with a broken soul and old demons looming over you with no one to hold you back anymore?

After 10 years as a Navy Special Warfare Operator and more than a dozen deployments in both Afghanistan and Iraq, a battlefield injury forces 28-year-old Chief Petty Officer Dean Winchester to chose between being stuck behind a desk for the rest of his career or going back to civil life. When he learns about his friend Jimmy’s death, Dean makes his way back to Kansas with his heart in his throat and broken pieces at his feet.

Things are already complicated and painful enough as it is, but when former lovers Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet again after 10 years of radio silence and a galaxy of wounds and scars solidly standing between them, it feels like both a curse and a blessing has been placed on them both. Is there any hope in putting back their broken pieces together after a decade, and how do you deal with grief and broken dreams?

The Unbroken

Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing.

But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done.

Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake.

There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.

While You Were Sleeping

Summary: A Destiel version of While You Were Sleeping! Castiel is alone and floundering. He has a crush on one of the passengers who passes through his subway station every morning. When the man gets pushed onto the tracks, Cas saves him. But when they get to the hospital there's a mix up and Cas finds himself engaged to a complete stranger. Enter, the rest of the family, including big brother Dean. How will Cas navigate the relationship with his supposed future in-laws? What will he do when Sam finally wakes up? And why can't he stop thinking about Dean?

Purgatory, director's cut

Summary: this doesn’t have a summary but it is dean and cas in purgatory and it’s soooo cool! I promise it’s amazing and worth the read!

Basic Lessons in First Aid, Magical or Otherwise

Summary: Most people probably wouldn’t take the naked, heavily wounded man they found in an alley home with them. Most people probably wouldn’t also offer that man a place to stay and become his best friend after realizing he’s suffering from an intense case of post-traumatic retrograde amnesia. Most people probably wouldn’t then risk almost everything they know to save said man, and maybe save the world in the process.

But then again, Dean Winchester, RN (with a specialty in supernatural care), has never been like most people. He may not have a magical bone in his body, unlike his brother Sam, but he’ll do whatever it takes to help. Even if Castiel has questionable opinions about Star Trek.

What Greater Gift

Summary: Story idea: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail, the cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.

From a prompt found on Tumblr. Saw this and I couldn't resist a Destiel AU, and I've been wanting to write Witch!Cas for ages.

I know when you go down all your darkest roads

Summary: Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.

They end up going through a lot more than a case, unfolding feelings left untold for so long, discovering parts of each other they never intended to uncover.

But will the feelings raging inside them be enough to bring their walls down?

A Fish Out of Water

Summary: To tie up the loose ends of a hunt, Dean is forced to go undercover and visit Brock Pleasure Ranch, a horrifying establishment that markets its inhabitants to people with ‘monstrous’ tastes.

It should have been a simple thing, to persuade a mer to give him a few scales for a spell. All part of the usual Winchester byline: saving people, hunting things.

But Castiel is far less of a ‘thing’ than Dean expected. He might not be human, but he’s definitely a person. And that means he needs saving, too.

The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through Chlamydia

Summary: Dean doesn't expect to see his one night stand again, but then again he also doesn't expect to find out he has an STD. Sometimes life is hilarious like that.

Just as lost as I

Summary: Dean's been in love with Castiel for centuries. He keeps it buried, never letting himself get too close, but when Castiel goes missing he doesn't hesitate. He's going to find him if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Love Bites

Summary: Cas Novak graduated with a 4.0 in Mathematics, but not even Naomi Novak’s money could help him at job interviews. Anxious and dissatisfied with life, at nearly thirty he’s still washing dishes in the back of his best friend Hannah’s café.Until one night when his cat drags an injured bat into his apartment.

Dean may be a vampire, but he’s not an asshole (well, not much.) He feels like he owes the awkward guy for rescuing him from the cat’s clutches, so he sets about changing Cas's life.

A silly story about families who aren’t quite what they seem, fake boyfriends, and falling in love with someone who’s never, technically, met you.

The Bad Cop, Worse Cop Adventures of Freckles and Feathers

Summary: Miami. A place with beaches, babes, palm trees, and a growing drug-fueled crime organization. To help combat the drugs littering the streets, Captain Singer puts together a Tactical Narcotics Team composed of Miami's two finest and fearless officers. Charming casanova Dean Winchester has fought tooth and nail, rising through the ranks for this position. Trench coat toting Castiel Novak knows more hand-to-hand combative techniques than he does people skills. Between Dean's big mouth and Castiel's take-no-shit attitude, their introductory meeting ends on a less than stellar note and a couple of hard to shake nicknames.

After six months of partnership, the nicknames have stuck and so has the sexual tension. When a murder in the middle of the night launches their biggest lead on a cleverly evasive drug lord, Dean is shocked to find Sam at the center of it. Sam comes clean with his involvement and Charlie, their witness, seeks revenge against the man responsible for killing her friend. As the stakes rise higher so do Dean’s feelings putting everything in jeopardy. Is a cop with everything to prove, a cop with everything to lose, one computer hacker witness, and a damn good ADA enough to save the day?

The Care and Feeding of Castiel

Summary: Dean’s quiet time in the bunker is interrupted by some stranger-than-usual behavior from his angel. Oh, and feathers...there are a lot of those, too.

First Gentleman Wanted

Summary: President of the United States Castiel Novak is popular, charismatic, and knee-deep in campaigning for a second term. He’d be the ideal candidate if it weren’t for the fact that he hasn’t dated once while in political office. With his opponent’s relentless PR team calling him incapable of emotional commitment, Castiel’s staff decides to remedy the situation by finding their boss a fake, picture-perfect boyfriend. And when Dean Winchester enters the scene, he and Cas become America’s new favorite couple, except they’ve got a whole lot of history between them and complicated feelings to resolve.

The Graveyard Shift

Summary: Dean’s favourite coffee shop, The Graveyard Shift, is only open after the sun goes down. Which is perfect for him, because that’s exactly when he craves coffee the most while doing the overnight at the fire hall. The coffee shop’s owner is pretty perfect too, but it’s kind of a bummer that Dean never gets to see Cas during the day. In a world where the supernatural live more or less in peace with the rest of humanity, it’s a little impolite to ask Cas just what he really is - or what his dark past entails.

The Path of Fireflies

Summary: After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Summary: Heaven is white.Well. Isn’t that fucking stereotypical.-Dean isn’t really sure how he got here. Or even why he’s here. And hell, for all the times the Winchesters have died, he thinks he ought to know the drill by now. But what he doesn’t know is when most folks go, they find something different.

There’s a system God put in place. That when you’re gone (for good), there are a couple things you gotta do first. There are five people waiting for you.

They are the five people you meet in heaven.

Doing this made me realize I need to read more longer fics. I usually just read the short ficlets on tumblr but I need to broaden my horizon and read more. But yes! These are the AU’s currently in my bookmarks. Hope you find one to enjoy :)

#fic rec #answering the q's #lalisfandoms

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theaspers · 5 years ago

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you feel like home | satan x reader

a/n: i’m too lazy to finish this but i got lazy towards the end so here, you can have it. college au so everyone’s human here but u will find i rarely ever write satan’s name and that’s only bc it’s so weird to write it and think about how in this au a set of parents thought naming their child satan is ok lol. this will be the only time u see me use a post divider bc it’s that messy.

here is how it usually is:

satan wakes up with a start. his breathing is heavy, every gasp sounding terribly like it might be his last, and his eyes are wild. this isn’t fear because he is not afraid. he is never afraid. rather, it is anger. anger at himself, at his brothers, at anyone and everyone who has ever wronged him before. fiery red and burnt orange, anger in all possible forms and shapes and sizes, rolling off of him in waves.

there is not many places in which he finds respite from the barrage of emotions he constantly feels. but when you wake up, bleary-eyed and groggy, and say nothing, waiting with the utmost patience for him to return. when you wrap an arm around his shoulders, careful and cautious. when you tug him down and hum a little tune under your breath that lulls him back to sleep. it’s as close to one as he’ll ever get, he thinks.

for a fleeting second, he thinks about telling you of his feelings. vomit it all out so he doesn’t have to sit any longer with the uncomfortable feelings that’s been bubbling at the pit of his stomach for far too long. but your fingers are too gentle as they press against his still-pounding heart, and your eyes are too tender as they meet his own. there’s an unusually bright beam of moonlight spilling across your features from the gap between the curtains and it makes you look as dazzling as ever. it wouldn’t be right to ruin such a beautiful moment, he thinks, to ruin such a beautiful person with all of whatever he is. so he doesn’t.

repeat and recycle.

you are kind. with him, you’ve managed to practice this weird balance of confident indifference and empathy that just works for him. it’s never been like that before. not when he’d lost his parents but had felt relieved instead of the expected grief. not when his sister had died and had taken along with her a good portion of everyone’s soul. not when he’d finally just upped and left because the tension in the house was getting too much for him to bear.

he has no parents, he told you once, a long time ago. a green haze of disgust had curled around him and eyes steaming, rolling and boiling. the grip he had on the stack of papers he’d been flicking through caused ripples across the filled pages. you know this fact, clever enough to have gathered as much from how much he soured whenever parents were mentioned, but he had never outright admitted it.

“you’re ruining my notes,” you’d said to him instead of the pity he is all too familiar with. there had been a deep furrow between your eyebrows, displeasure in your frown, “i worked extremely hard on that.”

it had been relief, looking back now, that had filled him up to the brim. his heart had felt full, but not in the bad way - always in the good way with you - and he’d felt unburdened for once. he looked at you then, eyebrows raised. where he thought there would be anger, there was only amusement. he’d only known you for a handful of months but somehow he’d expected as much from you. and it’s comfortable.

“the world’s full of awful, terrible people who shouldn’t be parents,” you’d pointed at him with an opened highlighter pen, waving the neon tip in his direction, “doesn’t mean you’re awful or terrible too.”

huh.

“and it certainly doesn’t mean i want to spend my whole afternoon talking about them,” your frown turned into a scowl as you reached over the tabletop filled with textbooks and worn notebooks and loose papers, “give those here if you’re not gonna treat them right.”

light laughter spilled out of his lips as he pulled the notes away. you were kind. too kind. looking back, that must have been the start of it all.

you’re curled up in a hoodie, crumpled up on the sofa in a way he’s sure is not good at all for your posture but he’s long given up trying to chastise you over it. face smooshed against the arm of the chair, a textbook draped open over your chest in a way that makes him wince, you looked positively ridiculous. ignoring the pang of fondness, he nudges you with his knee.

“come on,” he says, closing the textbook and putting it aside, “let’s get you to bed.”

you groan but are otherwise easily coaxed into bed, curling into his side as he lead you to your room. the fondness magnifies immensely. that you’d spent the better half of yesterday revisiting old topics and making notes which is why you’re so tired right now is somehow endearing to him. he brushes his lips against your forehead as he watches you settle into bed. if he spends a bit more time lingering at the door, no one would know.

he doesn’t want to say it’s because of you but you did play a big part in it. he talks more to his brothers now and it’s, well, good. it’s the distance and the fresh air too, maybe.

he doesn’t have parents but he does have 6 brothers, he’d admitted one quiet night. the two of you had been lying on your backs, the clear night sky spread out over your figures, gorgeous swirls of different shades of blacks and dark blues with specks of bright diamond jewels. 6 brothers and a sister who had passed and had taken a piece of all of them with her.

“oh.” you’d said but you already knew about his brothers because he’d told you. not so much in stories, of course, but through bits and pieces he’d mentioned here and there. beel likes that snack, he would tell you and so you’d tell him to send some to him. asmo’s been talking to him about a brand new make up collection that’ll be released soon and so you’d tell him that you’ll keep an eye out. but the thing about his sister - that’s new.

the hurt is still there even though it’s been a long time now. raw pain as if his chest is dangerously exposed and someone’s gone ahead and ripped his still-beating heart out of him. he has yet to find that heart, it seems. it still hurts but ever since he’d left, he’s been able to breathe a bit better. see past the green and grey cloud that hovered over him and his brothers when he’d been at home.

“that one’s orion,” you’d murmured, and he knows it’s just you trying to digest his words, trying to figure out a good response, “people use that one to find other stars too, did you know that?”

he did, in fact. but still, he’d watched, quiet as you pointed out a few others. your eyes are wonder-filled, the twinkle brighter than anything else in the sky, and it had left him breathless. the tightness around his throat had loosened. southeastward and there is sirius, you’d said, in awe and in love. from rigel to betelgeuse, there is gemini - the stars castor and pollux.

“it must be stuffy to be immortalised like that, huh?” you’d turned him then, meeting his eyes, smile gentle, “always expected to be same. unchanging. must be suffocating.”

a stray chuckle leaves him, weak.

“just let it happen,” you told him afterwards and he’d wanted to laugh even more because it shouldn’t be that easy to absolve him of everything he’s been feeling but it had been. “all i’m saying is that you don’t need to feel guilty anymore.”

“talk to them,” you suggested, no hesitation, letting him lean against you, “they lost a sister too, you know?”

there’s a lecture that he has to attend in about an hour but you’re still snoring away on your side of his bed and it’s so tempting to join you in sweet slumber. you don’t have classes until later on so you’re good but he’ll be late if he dallies for any longer.

but he can’t seem to pull himself away from you. so he takes this in, the absolute mess in the morning. listens to your steady breathing. savours the moment and keeps it close. a beautiful solace that he’ll allow himself for when he needs the reprieve.

“ha,” there’s a smug curl to your lips, eyelids fluttering open as if knowing that he’d been starting, “nerd. go to class.”

he rolls his eyes. he could always count on you to ruin a tender moment.

“you should get one for lucifer,” the words barely leave your mouth before you’re laughing, from a tiny little snicker to full blown laughter, “for- for cerberus.”

the hand that’s holding out your phone for him to see the page full of ugly little suit for dogs shakes wildly. he scowls at the mention of his eldest brother and you laugh even more, setting down your utensils in favour of rubbing the tears that have sprung up in the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard.

“are you going back for the break?” you ask once you’ve calmed down, reaching over to pull his plate of pie closer to yourself. you pick up your fork once more, digging into the soft pastry.

he curls his nose at the prospect of going back home, “unfortunately.”

“unfortunately,” you parrot playfully, rolling your eyes. “yeah, okay.”

“it’s been a long time coming anyways,” you grin around the mouthful of pie, “they miss you, i think. and don’t tell me you don’t miss them too.”

he sighs, shakes his head as he tugs his plate back over to his side. he knew he shouldn’t have given asmo your phone number. he would never attest to the happiness that blooms in chest. no one would be able to prove it, anyways.

here’s how it is now:

he reels you into a hug as he’s about to leave for back home. he feels as light as a feather, and he has to admit, he’s a bit...excited. when the two of you break apart, he says thank you and gives you an earnest smile. he has to suppress his laughter when feels the way you shudder in his arms.

something’s changing. and change is, well, good. in most cases. and this is one of those cases. it’s good. he’s not afraid, he tells you, he’s never afraid. there is no fear. no anger. just adoration and fondness. for you.

and so he decides in that moment - when he gets back, he’ll let you know.

#and then he never comes back lolol im jk...or am i?#obey me #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me satan

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nurseofren · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 22

Read on AO3

Read chapter twenty-one

Title: CONNECTION LOST

Words: 5800

Warnings: Rape (bow out if you need to, I will include a brief summary in the end notes), graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of trauma.

Summary: When it rains, it pours. And then the world starts to explode. So it's all just a giant mess.

ST Rambles: Did not upload yesterday because I wanted to take my time instead of rush this thing out. I truly hope you all have enjoyed the story thus far.

Okay, so. My ADN classes and clinical start again on Thursday. What this means: I'm taking a 2-3 week break from writing so I can get into a good rhythm for school and just find my bearings. I think this is a perfect place to take a break. It'll act as an intermission in a way. Jeez, I think you all have earned one by now.

[MASTERLIST]

Excess saline dripped in crimson creaks toward the floor, a bog forming beneath a shaking foot onto a towel. Two empty flushes laid in their respective positions, remaining diagonal to each other as they’d landed earlier. Another towel was set below your thigh as you propped it onto the bathroom counter with your knee bent over the edge, choosing to remain standing rather than chance losing the ability to crawl up from the floor if you’d sat. With every thumb-push of the syringe plunger new streaks of liquid agony soaked into the red, throbbing, raging wounds; each lick of searing solution reminding you of their harbinger, your tongue stained in acrid remembrance of the words which had fallen from it.

I hate you. The phrase you’d feared most had turned out to be the least insidious, its existence light-hearted in relation to the ones that came quickly after. The simple statement had catalyzed the catastrophe, its memory burning what remained of your heart, ashes now dormant and gray within your chest, each beat superficial in the way it sustained a life you no longer wanted. It was difficult to name what you were feeling, the uncertainty rooted in the fact that you were twisted in the clutch of grief and guilt while also floating in a nebula of numbness, the contradiction dissonant and dizzying.

With each haunting phrase, each sharp with a venomous bite, new collections of misery scathed into the scarring tissue, each tear acidic in its salty existence. A recoil was earned whenever recalling the wrath that inhabited Kylo Ren’s tone when he called you a liar, its mental presence ricocheting between your ears and setting your skin aflame with goosebumps, each wave of heated chills revitalizing the blistering burns as they settled into their intentional permanence.

Upon your left thigh, bright and belligerent and baleful, sitting just above the hem of your uniform, stung the evidence of Kylo Ren’s indignation. Staring down at the welts – two pointed, laser-sharp letters – shame accompanied the initial longing regard you held for the brand. You now bore the undeniable truth of your time with Kylo Ren, a raised K set in finality next to a partnering R, the pain-inked initials tied to a turmoil laden conflict you didn’t want to acknowledge. It was too pitiful, too pathetic and disgusting even in the infancy of its consideration.

At the fringes of your mind, the dark corners of consciousness you rarely visited, sprung an aching truth that thrashed against every belief you thought you’d once held. Yet, with each shiv of shaky air, every dagger of dread pitted in pain, you came closer to accepting it. Barely below the surface now, even as the injury pulsated with piercing torment, smarted in sync with the blatant beat of your heart, you could not deny the fact that you felt deserving of its detriment and relieved by its reality. As you tended to the wounds, using whatever scrapped supplies you’d accidentally brought home from the med bay, you fought to react in a way that would be appropriate to this situation.

The malice-born mark should have tinged your blood with fury. In its wake, the aura of red which bled outward from each initial should have filled your lungs with an indisputable hostility towards their maker. Right now, suffering in solitude, you were supposed to be cursing Kylo Ren, spitting his name and screaming hellfire over him as he’d singed into you. There was an overwhelming presence of heavy self-set expectation to sink into an unrivaled hatred for the creature you’d left in that room, the same who’d left less permanent proof in the past. Though, while the targeted tissue throbbed below your trembling hands as you attempted to apply an antibacterial protectant, you found it impossible to feel anything but misery for him.

The haunting image of Kylo Ren’s fleeting soul tore talons into your chest, a coughed sob echoing in your empty residence as you replayed the tangible change in his demeanor. Had light been scarce you swore you could’ve seen the shroud of darkness fog into his sclera, set his jaw flat and firm as he’d backed away from you. Swiping the salve over your wound you shuddered into yourself, time barely hindering the void tone with which he’d rescinded his trust, the abandonment in his voice contradicting the promise you’d made him the night he’d spoken protection over you.

Time ticked on, each second one of slow suffering. As you healed the outward wounds, inward ones formed fresh and raw, head pounding with pain and regret. Even that made wrought you with guilt. The whole reason you’d gone through with Snoke’s plan was to save Mason; his life had been equated to a trading card and it had been your doing. The least you could do was free him from the hell only intended for you. But, similar to the way regarded your new scars, shame took root in the acceptance that you didn’t deem the deal a fair wager.

Maybe it was just the immediacy of the situation, or maybe you were crueler than you’d once believed, but as you’d watched Kylo rip away from you, there was a silent moment where you wished you could allow yourself to embrace the selfishness that would keep him in your life. If you’d had the time to think on it, or if the ultimatum had been less dire, less fatal, in that moment you were swallowed by the fact that your choice would have been Kylo. Completely, entirely, wholly, undoubtedly, instantaneously. Mason had been a comfort for years, someone to rely on, the boy you’d founded a fictional future with. But you’d never wanted him the way you did Kylo. It was the most foreign, mortifying thought you’d ever held, but, however small, there was a part of you that would always choose Kylo. Over Mason. Over anyone.

“Fuck!” Anger swelled as a flare of pain lashed under your touch while applying a saline saturated gauze. “I hate this!” No one was around to hear you, but that was always when the harshest truths hit.

Steadying yourself with the counter and the door, you hobbled away from your working position, affected leg just barely grazing the ground while you made your way into the kitchen. “How did this even fucking happen? Why did it have to be me?” You stood away from a drawer, activating it and digging around until you found a roll of paper tape. “I left here this morning hating him. Why can’t I just go back? I-,” a strangle of tears came, fingers prying uselessly to find the start. “I want to go back.” Thick and faltered, the words fell from devastated lips.

Giving up on your hands you ripped your teeth into the waxy material, spitting the torn tape from your mouth once you finally found the start tab. A rush of hysterics hit, lungs stuttering in defensive laughter. “You can probably fucking hear me, I bet! What, you saw me then, why not now? Why wouldn’t you see me like this, you fucked, disgusting, wretched, voyeuristic scum!”

Pressing down on the damp gauze, keeping it in place, you reached into the drawer once more to grab a roll of left over Kerlix. Tearing it open – again, with your teeth – you pressed it against your upper thigh and held it in place, regarding your scars covered the surface area that spanned the length of your pinky, both horizontally and vertically. Wrapping the rolled gauze continuously around your upper thigh, you couldn’t help but appreciate how precise and clean the letters were. Even brandishing a pen of pain Kylo Ren’s handwriting was beautiful, the thought bringing you a hesitant warmth with a short burst of guilt. The uproar of conflict currently battling in your soul would surely be the death of you.

Taking the last strip of tape, you secured the dressing, smoothing your left hand over it to make sure friction was minimal. While doing so, you caught sight of a flashing message scrawling across in bright red capital letters. The radar had disappeared altogether, not only vacant of the red dot indicative of Kylo’s location, but even of the faint red lines it had moved across. Waiting until the message cycled through until the beginning, you felt your lungs empty as the last letter solidified the severance from your Master.

CONNECTION LOST

“No. No. No no no. Why?” Frenzied fingers tread through sweat sodden roots, pain shooting up your leg as it bore new weight. “I didn’t ever want this! Why? Why? Why?” Sinking to the floor, willfully basking in the pain, you crumpled onto the tile until ice bit the backs of your calves.

Heaves of air collected and left in rushed lungfuls, choked cries reverberating through the room while the heels of your hands dammed the influx of tears. A frantic effort was made to think of anything else, a distraction sought in the face of your now official loss. Cycling through this morning you recalled conversations held by stormtroopers on the Command Shuttle, sharing news and celebrating in the fact that the Republic had been destroyed just prior to landing on Takodana. Mason had gone out of his way all those weeks ago to tell you of the mandatory rally, only for neither of you to be on Starkiller to attend it. It had to have been at least two hours since it occurred, its contents and importance still a mystery to you. A shawl of shivers fell onto heavy shoulders, that feeling of dread you’d felt this morning reminding you of how this day had begun on an off note, like it was destined for doom.

A click and a hiss came from behind, your heart stalling and nose sniffling. The only other person who could have access to your residence was-

“Kylo?” It was a quiet plead.

There was no response, no movement. Unease struck the hairs on the back of your neck. Looking back to your watch, the same message still running across the screen, you didn’t know what to think. The first thing that came to mind was to grovel, to take his sudden presence in stride and fulfill your wishes of selfishness. This was your opportunity to tell him everything, already knowing the excruciating truth of not doing so earlier. Him coming back gave you the chance to right all the wrong done today.

Sloppy, careless movements brought you to your knees. Seething, you remained here while the stinging diminished. “Kylo, none of it was true! You were right. I don’t hate you. I don’t. I promise, I don’t. I can’t.” Confessions were abundant while he evaded your senses. “Snoke. It was all Snoke. He threatened Mason, and, and I had to. Please, you have to understand!”

There was still no answer, but a hiss; it was similar to the mask’s muzzle, but not exact. The difference was strange, like your ears were playing tricks. The sound was closer than the door, still out of sight.

“Kylo, I’m so sorry! I’ll do any- ah!” No matter how tender you tried to be, attempting to stand without pain proved impossible. “I’ll do anything. But please know that I didn’t mean any of that! You aren’t irredeemable. You’re not a bastard. I never… I never want to forget you.”

“And you won’t, I promise. Though, I’d prefer you call me by my name.”

Just as soon as you’d regained an upright posture, you nearly lost it. It was Robbie. He was in your residence. He was here. Robbie was here, talking, with you. At you.

“You know the one.” He came into view, armor intact other than his helmet. “Miss me?”

“How are you- how did you get-,”

“Mm, you really should be more careful, especially with belongings like this.” Robbie, wicked eyes slithering down your stature, held a black rectangle between two fingers. “You never know who might get a hold of them.”

As light glinted over the object your chest sunk in instant realization. It had been so long ago, such a minute occurrence that you hadn’t thought anything of it. All those weeks ago, only a few days after Kylo had barred your practice, you had lost the keycard he’d given you. The one that had been folded into his note was lost in an accidental run-in with a stormtrooper. Its absence had only been noticed a few hours after losing it in the cafeteria, when leaving Mason’s and having to get an emergency replacement that day.

“Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.” A hobbled step neared you towards the counter.

“I told you the last time we spoke—” the card hit the floor with a booming clip, its sound lost in your pulse “—this isn’t over.” A slow step carried him forward, sending you back further. “Almost, but not just yet.”

His presence was mutilating, every muscle tensing even as your leg throbbed in rejection. The edge of the counter bit at the small of your back, hands gripping into the edges.

“Why are you doing this? Why now? Why me?” It seemed that was the question of the day. Two quivering lips took turns quieting pain and hiding fear.

“Why am I doing this?” He was a madman, visage void of sanity. Another calculated step forward, your pulse peaking. “I knew you were stupid, but this? Come on, you don’t actually think you’re completely innocent here, do you?”

One final step and he was smothering you, fury sweltering as it drifted from his skin to yours. His jugular vein was throbbing to match one prominent on his forehead. Kylo’s eyes may have resembled the emptiness of death, but Robbie’s were swimming with a vengeful desire to deliver it. Vomit rose when you smelled his breath, felt it hot over your nose in his proximity.

“Maybe you can learn, though.” He brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear, clammy hands slick over burning skin, scanning eyes set in thought. “Maybe you’re not completely helpless after all.”

Two hands strangled your own, tightened them to the counter as he pressed his chest against you, leaning down until he could bury his nose in the collar of your uniform. A complete breath hadn’t come since seeing him, head dizzying with thoughts of blame, rejection, and emergency.

“Why are you apologizing to Ren, huh?” Violating lips pressed into your neck, a whimper leaving as you fought to escape him, searching for the fasted route to safety while he couldn’t see you. “Say sorry to me, baby. It’s that simple.”

Self defense was useless against his armor. His lips pulled at your lobe, a gag forming at the touch. Twisting away from him, you peered down to the drawer and found a pair of scissors, their red handle bright in your periphery. The crushing weight over your hands became bruising, your throat thirsty for escape. The only way to evade him was to indulge him, to distract him with the very thing he sought most.

Repulsion clawed at your stomach. “You want me to apologize, correct?” Sultry words hid the sickness they brought.

Robbie hummed into your neck, nose now buried in your hair while he bucked his hips into you, fire sprouting from your wounds under the pressure. “That’s all I’ve wanted this whole time,” just as Snoke had claimed your last name, Robbie clutched your first, rolling it off in a purr.

“I bet you want me to say your name, too, right? You’d like that a lot?” Today had tested your ability to hide your true intentions. Brushing your thumbs along his hold, as much as you could under their restriction, you eyed the scissors. “The name I gave you?”

A grunt left him, another thrust into your brand fuzzing your vision. “Yes. Say my name. Apologize to me.”

Eyes shut tight while Robbie continued in his unwanted nearness, you swallowed hard. “Kiss me, then.” He stopped moving, shoulders still as air stalled in his lungs. “Kiss me and I’ll apologize. I’ll say your name.” It was a desperate hope to hold that he wouldn’t hear the shakiness of the offer.

“Dammit,” he breathed, “you can’t be taught.” Rage grated against his throat, grip leaving your hands and wrapping around your neck. He leaned you back over the counter, the stance awkward and agonizing. “What a stupid bitch! You think this is a trade? You ruined my life! You gave me an identity and ripped it away like it was nothing! Like I was nothing!”

Black pulsed at the corners of your vision, his face doubling and dizzying as you reached for the drawer, fingers inching over nondescript items. “Apologize! And maybe, maybe! I will let you leave here. How does that sound?”

Grappling your free hand over his clutch, you gagged for words, none escaping his compression while you collected saliva at the back of your mouth. You mouthed his name, eyes full of feigned pleads while your fingers found the scissors’ handle.

Robbie’s jaw quivered more while he watched you struggle. Your manipulation was working. That seemed to be a theme today. Though, this one was much easier to endure. Two murderous eyes flickered between yours, quicker and quicker with each movement until he released your throat just enough for you to form words.

Fist locked onto your weapon, adrenaline readying, you stared directly at him and hocked a gob of hot spit into his eyes. He went to shake it free, but your hand came up and slashed down through his brow and over his left cheek. Robbie’s hands flooded towards his face as you pushed him out of the way, scissors still in hand while you rushed for the door. But your leg was a hindrance, dragging behind you, eventually only hopping on the one when the pain began to cut deeper with each stride.

The door activated per your touch and basked you in the light of freedom, only for your head to fly backward as a fist dragged you away from safety. A string of winces left in line with a pouted scream. It barely registered but the exit hissed shut again, your forehead cracking against it with the same force that’d just been around your throat.

“This is what I’ve been waiting for—” a harsh inhale came at your nape “—you knew it all along. Away for months only to get new fucking security the moment you return?”

He had you pinned, legs splayed and arms flung out. Your forearms framed your head, his hands flat over your wrists and stealing every bit of opportunity. The scissors hung loosely under your hand, teetering closer to the floor with each second.

“You left me! I woke up and you were gone. Such a fucking cunt, and for no reason.”

“You are psychotic you sick, vile creature!” Pain seethed into your tone, bandage rubbing into the raised skin.

Robbie trembled with anger, his body vibrating at your back as he pressed further into your right hand so the scissors finally fell. “Maybe that voice was never beautiful.” His right arm bent your elbow behind your back so his abdomen could trap it there; when he was satisfied, he reached it around you so it lay flat in front of your mouth, grip wrapping around your left forearm. His head pushed into yours so your mouth went flush with his arm and your nose could barely attempt at breathing. “Maybe it was only ever annoying. Useless.”

You couldn’t escape him. There were no defenses left to attempt, the only one now bloodied at your feet. All you could do was endure. There was nothing left. No time. No saviors. All that remained was an overwhelming sense of guilt and a pestering question: did you deserve this? After all you’d done, all you’d been forced to do and go through with? In some way, was this karma? In turn for hurting the one you loved, you would be hurt by one who you’d wanted to love? Was this the restoration of balance?

A stifling hand rushed under your skirt, taking time to grope at the flesh over your underwear. Every effort to flex away from him was wasted, and there was so little left to fight for. The message that flashed over your left wrist taunted you, held you just as captive as the monster behind you; in saving two lives, doing what you thought was right, you had given up every aspect of your own. Robbie had snaked his touch beneath the thin fabric, now moving it aside and preparing his own clothing, and the only thing you could focus on was the patterned scrawl on your watch.

It was mocking you, emphasizing its point in the darkest moment of your life, your body stiff and scared with no lasting dignity. There was less than a person, less than a shell now. Each organ working to keep you alive was doing so in vain, purpose fleeting from your foggy thoughts; you’d returned to heal wounds you’d grown to want, and now you wouldn’t live to see them scab over.

You wretched onto his arm, biting down onto the flexed muscle, when you felt the head of his penis swipe over the back of your injured leg. Vomit threatened when his hips circled and he moaned, breath thick and satisfied.

“No, you’ll never forget me,” he huffed, “You won’t have the time.”

Robbie readied himself for penetration, your tears hot and obstructed at his arm, your eyes peering over at the watch as you tried to die at your own will first. Furious, unrefined disgust and shame stabbed your soul when you felt him proceed, felt him buck into you. Your brain couldn’t decide whether to catch fire or burn out, didn’t want to accept this as one of the last things you’d feel.

His breath shuddered at your neck, your cries silent and shattered beneath him. He attempted to speak, but something happened. Something sudden and fleeting and rapturous. A miracle born in the absence of hope.

The lights went out. Pitch blackness swallowed you, enveloped him and in tow distracted him. His restraints weakened and you slammed your head back against his, adrenaline softening the blow.

“Fuck!” Robbie tripped backwards, leaving you completely.

Stunned at the event, you stalled, not knowing what to do. You couldn’t move quick enough, Robbie catching your knee in his bent over position. It was nearly impossible to see him, but the red cast of your watch threw crimson shadows just far enough to glint off his bloodied features. He wasn’t going to give up until one of you was dead.

“Get off of me!” Of course he’d attached himself to the leg currently rippling pain through your body.

“We’re not finished!” A rough tug brought you down next to him where he attempted to climb on top of you, your fingers digging into his eyes and sending him to his back.

“No—” scrambling fingers searched the dark for your earlier weapon, drying blood sticking when you found it “—we’re not.”

Red. Everything was red. Robbie’s face. The blood which dripped from it. Your hands, the same blood streaking and drying in place. He couldn’t see you’d gained the upper hand. In a final glance over the animal beside you, searching him for humanity and drawing a blank, you felt your heart stutter with a decision that would mark you for life. A mark you’d make yourself.

Interlocking your fingers over the red handle, two steady hands pulsating over the hard object, you brought your arms up and slammed them down with insurgence, hitting the break in his uniform over his right inner thigh. Robbie roared in response, his howls echoing into the nothingness which surrounded him. The red haze of your radar glinted off the pool of blood forming beneath him. With each second, each flashing moment, it grew wider and fuller.

With a hard swallow, relief barely recognizable, you looked into his wide eyes just as the ground began to shake. “Now we’re done.”

Without dropping his stare, your hand slammed to activate the door and you backed out of your residence, watching him fade from view when it locked in front of you. It had to be done. He would’ve done the same. It was him or you. In searching for a reason why, you saw a change in the light coming from your watch. The flashing was different, and it started vibrating. Lifting it to your face, you found the message missing and the radar returned. It was fading in and out, though.

No matter, you were rushed back into the reality of people running past and into the floor lobby. A crowd surrounded the elevator, anger being pushed into the button when it wouldn’t respond. You and your floormates were exiles, the floor continuing its violent shaking. A cloud of rushed and flustered conversation plumed down the hall before every face turned towards you.

“Stairs,” said a quiet collection. “Stairs!”

A group of two dozen people stormed in your direction, their speed scaring you past your pain and into the stairwell. The group moved over each other, the leader switching between you and two men. It was a hushed chaos of stomping feet and fast breath. Nobody would make any noise other than the occasional grunt. On the fourth flight of stairs, more and more people piling out from the doors of their respective floors, your leg began to ache again. Though every step burned into you, you knew you had to escape this. You’d escaped much worse just a minute ago, and, for whatever reason, you were still living. Unknown to you, only revealing itself when it was entirely too necessary, there was a fight in you, and whether it be for yourself or someone or something else, you indulged in it with each step.

When the now stampede of officers of all backgrounds pushed past the doors into the Elite docking bay an alarming new mayhem ripped into realization. Hoards of people were fumbling and climbing over each other while screams tore through the room from all directions. TIEs were being crowded with as many bodies that could fit, and then some. The group you’d arrived with all flailed out, each person on their own journey towards safety.

Right where you’d left it earlier, before every horrible thing had gone on, sat the Command Shuttle. Even this far you could hear the engines stirring. Your legs took over and carried you as fast as they could, no matter the injury or barricades of people. The hell that had been born on this forsaken base would die with it, but you refused to do the same.

Each stride brought you closer the now ascending ramp, watching it close as you caught a glimpse of the future you wanted and were going to fight like hell to protect. One, two, three sloppy paces and your foot caught on the elevated ramp, your body sliding into the ship as it closed completely under you.

Desperate breaths stifled a groan as you slid across the floor. A white boot stomped in front of your face as you remained splayed and heaving beside it.

“Clearance?” It was a command, however useless as you felt the ship lift from the ground.

A dark thought crossed your mind – well, do you want my watch, or my keycard, or my uniform, or my leg? Rolling over you found General Hux standing on your opposite side. A thick gulp came as you patted your left arm to your chest, tracing over R – E – N to point towards your position.

“I’m his nurse.” Each word was separate and gasped. “His. I’m his. Commander Ren, I’m his nurse.”

The stormtrooper looked to Hux for approval, only for Hux to look at you with grim, stunned eyes and nod his head. “She’s authorized,” he said. He turned toward the bow of the ship. “Proceed to Ren’s location.”

Remaining on the floor, you felt the ship vibrate into your tired chest, felt the adrenaline course through you in violent pulsations. A veil was cast over your mind, everything close yet distant, present yet past. The only thing you registered was when the ship descended once more and sent your body towards the hatch again. Gripping onto the edge of a seat you strained your arms to keep still, not knowing what was going on, just aware you were still breathing.

Six pairs of boots crowded and fled the now open hatch, frigid air stinging over heated skin. “We’ll get his right, you three get his left!”

Ren’s location? Get his left? “What’s going on? Where is Ren?”

Your questions fell on absent ears, Hux now standing and staring out at the threshold until turning his body to allow the men more room.

“He’s breathing, General, but-,”

“But what?” It was the loudest you’d been since screaming in the halls.

Forcing yourself onto your knees, relying on the adrenaline keeping your own pain at bay, you stood to see your Commander being lowered onto the ground, three men at either of his sides seemingly struggling under his weight.

It was an automatic response to rush to him, to begin searching for injuries and checking for airway, breathing, and circulation hindrances. There wasn’t much hiding the emergency residing over his right side, splitting the skin and muscle apart in a broken, bloody stripe. It flayed his face, red streaks spilling from it and glinting in the low light of the ship.

“Stars! Someone get me some light!” you screamed, command taking over. This was your patient. This was your future. You were going to protect him. No matter what, that’s what you were going to do.

Two soldiers jumped at your voice, flooding away and falling into the wall when the ship catapulted upward once more. One grappled for the back wall and pulled a black box with a red medic symbol engraved on top. He threw it to the second and the three next to you scattered so he could open it for you and shine an overhead light.

“Hey! You three—” you barely glanced at the men before gesturing them down “—take these and apply heavy pressure when I say, understand?”

None of them moved when you threw three dense collection pads toward them. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” They all quickly grabbed one and waited for your go ahead.

Angling yourself so you could finally find Kylo’s eyes, you leaned over him and watched as he seethed away; you didn’t know if this was a reaction aimed towards you or due to the very obvious pain he was in.

“Kylo,” you whispered, knowing it was too loud and chaotic for anyone else to hear or care, “you’re going to feel pressure and then it’s going to be really painful, but I need to make sure the bleeding stops. Just be prepared.”

He looked up at you like he’d never met you, like you were a perfect stranger. It wasn’t the nothingness from before, but instead something more alive. Wonderment, almost. Or shock. That was a more reasonable emotion at this moment.

Keeping his stare, you gestured the three waiting men with your hand. “Now.”

The men plunged the sponges into his wound and watched as the material expanded and filled with blood. Kylo’s jaw set firm and fluttered by his ear. A quiet grunt left him while your own breath caught. Watching him so pained and wounded was an impossible act. The only thought you’d allow yourself to have was of the relief you’d have once he was being cared for by a team from wherever the ship was heading.

Something warm washed over your right knee. Looking away from him you found it was more blood, another wound on the side of his abdomen dripping through his uniform.

“Fuck, I swear!” You threw your hands over it, pushing deep into his tissue. “How much longer till-,”

The ship answered your question before you could finish it, slightly angling to the side as it went into a rough, screeching landing. Kylo grimaced at this just slightly, lip trembling only a second before he returned to that same shock, staring up at you in silence.

Light seared into the ship when the ramp fell without effort, hitting the floor with two loud bangs. Before you could register, a team of medical professionals slid a transfer board below him and went to move. You grabbed one of the handles on the side, remaining at his waist while you watched him, keeping steady pressure over his abdomen. Blood sopping onto your hands and burying Robbie’s.

“How long has he been like this?” came an indiscriminate voice from behind you. A man, again. The same one who’d helped you with Talia. The physician you’d worked with to save your patient.

“We collected him probably five minutes ago. Initially I only noticed the one gash but found another two minutes ago. There has been constant pressure applied since discovery. The patient is semi-alert, not responding verbally, but appears to be awake.” There was no time for stuttering, the group closing in on the entrance to the Elite med bay.

“Another one right over his shoulder, sir.” Another voice, female this time, came from behind.

“I’m ordering stat fluids and blood replacement therapy. Along with that I will instruct the pharmacy to have antibiotics ready and for the arrival team to gain the appropriate IV access first thing.” The team pushed into the assessment room you’d come to know all too well, your feet stopping as the physician’s did next to you.

“Do you approve of those orders?” He snaked his head to get your attention.

Stunned, shell-shocked eyes peered up at him, head dizzy and ears rushing with blood. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re his nurse. You got him this far. Do you think anything else needs to be added to the immediate care plan?”

You’d meant to say no, to agree that the physician was appropriate and logical in his treatment. Instead, your eyes fluttered shut as sound began to fade. The ceiling grew in distance while you felt your knees give out.

“Get her head!”

The last thing you registered was a hand at the back of your neck and the sound of urgent feet rushing toward you. There was a faint set of three beeps which accompanied your fall, monitors running beyond the threshold where Kylo was receiving care. A team was caring for him. He was safe. You could rest now. You could heal now.

And so you did.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #ao3 #st kyp

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ayse-buntion · 4 years ago

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It’s time to live for myself.

Now I must move on, let go of these restraints, and all of my mistakes that are hanging onto me. I must accept myself for who I was and love who I became, because only God knows the beauty and success that I have yet to become.

It’s time now — I must free myself from the pain and agony from my grief that has kept me tied down.

All that is old; I must let go. There are so many parts of my heart that I’ve never gotten to show, and there’s so many depths of my soul that I have yet to know. If I hold on any longer, I am only being the wall between myself and my blessings.

He did not love me in the way that God made him a man for him to love his wife as such, so He took me from him because he was not ready for such a blessing as me. And this pain, this trauma, and my every ache at the loss that has stricken me and left me in shock, God called for me to be a woman so I would be strong enough as a whole, alone and by myself, to get through the sunken hole in my chest that has caused me to lose my best, and put my soul to rest while my heart wept. He built me as a woman so I could heal while my heart learn and grew, and my soul slept.

He put ease to my inner being by creating me in this form of womanly existence, so my heart could hurt and grieve my losses and beat stronger as it put itself back together and grew into all that it’s meant to be.

God built me as a woman so I could have the strength to love myself beyond a man’s heart that had once beat for me. He made me in this form so I could relearn myself and learn how to make my own heart beat in love for myself.

My one last word for you, whom it wasn’t that truly lost in losing me;

My love, despite what you may think, who I was is not who I am meant to be. You don’t even know the slightest part of me, because beyond what I had been was all that we could see. It was I who had truly lost in losing me, and I will no longer allow you to make me complete. I will be enough for me. I can no longer listen to your false opinions and ignorant presumptions of me, because how can you know me truly whenever I do not even have the same blessing as such?

I am free. You can no longer hold me, and my heart and soul are no longer yours to keep.

Truth be told, it is God who made this body that I carry upon my soul for this life, and it is Him who made this body the flesh of a woman because only He has known the very greatness and blessings that are meant for me. This body is no longer yours, it is mine. This body is my gift from my God, and I will no longer share it with anyone who does not touch it in love and with pure intent for me.

This body is a temple that I have been given, my heart being a gift that I have been chosen to hold, and I will not allow you to break my soul anymore. It is God who has created me, it is Him who continues to make me and save me from my burdens and stress of this heavy heart, filled with love and purity that you no longer deserve. So, now, I must give my body back to myself and give my heart back to God, so my soul can be replenished and cured of its ailments with God’s dignity, His grace, and His love for me — I know now that it’s God who has always had the most love for me and the purest intent for who I’ve been called to be.

I am learning. I will make mistakes.

God has built me, flesh and bone, as a WOMAN, so I can withstand ANY and EVERY break and tear, the VERY DESTRUCTION of ALL that I am composed of, and build myself up to come back to life and keep walking through the fire that loss and grief will always ignite. He has built me, from skin to spirit, as a woman, to carry and birth the humanity that He has created. Women carry the human body — ones of both the man and the woman — FOR the man, and you had best believe that God will take the woman from a man who does not cherish and place the crown upon his woman. He will take the woman from a man who does not respect, love, dedicate himself to, or devote fully his heart and soul to his woman.

You did not do these things past the point of my flaws, and you did not keep me attached in half to your soul. You undid those strings and did not allow me to carry your heart past the point of my troubles, trials, and tribulations while I fought for myself, lost myself, and battled my hardest to learn who I was again while I was growing and had to mend for me to heal. You cut off your attachment to me and left me halfway incomplete, ripped open and bleeding from the side of myself that you were once sewed onto and attached to. You left your space battered, broken, and bruised with the infection of your memory causing the furthering of my deterioration as I was already bleeding from wounds among the empty places of my heart where I lost battles and part of my soul.

My God is so pure and kind, and He loved me enough, way more than you ever did or ever could’ve, to thread His needle and create me, sewing me back together and mending me as I unraveled and tore, all while He continued to make me into the image of who I’m to become and the plan that He has had for me. Since before He even began to place every piece, God had a reason for everything that I have been through and endured. Whatever God takes, He gives you something better for you in its place, once you learn the lessons that He wants you to learn, and survive the pain that He knows will teach the words of His love and plan for you in the aches.

My God loves me so very much that He gave me the body of a woman, He created me into one, so the flesh of my heart and the skin of my Godly temple could bare the wounds of an empty hand that was once full of love, but burned me and cut deep into the crevices where my soul is its most vulnerable. God gave me the nature of maturity, comfort, gentleness, kindness, love, and strength, in His decision of creating me as a woman. He did this so I could find the pieces that are broken and scattered, fit them all together with the new parts that I have found of myself, and put myself back together again with strength and in gentle love for myself that begins my own healing, so and while He sews me and mends me back together.

If you think, my love, that God would truly gift you a woman whose body is the only thing that you love while her heart and soul is left untouched, unloved, not cherished, unheard, and unseen, while she fights and loses herself for you to grab onto, attach yourself to, and make love to the deepest points of her being, you are wrong. She is not truly yours though she wants to be.

God does not gift the ungrateful and blind man the purest woman in her heart and soul for the man, for him to keep. He is only showing the man what love truly is, and giving the lesson of what the sight that the blind man is missing. God is only giving the purest woman you, just as a lesson. This is one that you must allow God to teach. You must allow God to speak and listen when He has His word to preach. You are nothing but a lesson to the purest woman of what she truly deserves so she can see what is truly meant for her, that way she won’t allow herself to be given less than all of what she’s worth because of her pure and devoting love for somebody who isn’t herself. She is still learning.

She is nothing but an eye opener to you, that God hopes you wake up and see for you to become all that you are meant to be. You must choose to hear God for what He speaks, and not close Him off or shut Him out because those words are not what you want to hear.

Don’t you see?

The body of the woman, the flesh and blood, the skin and heart, the soul and spirit, all that are of her grace and glory, both that are bestowed upon those who are around whenever the world surrounding her is gifted with her presence — it is not meant to fulfill your physical or emotional needs. The body of the woman brings you what you TRULY need in her heart, soul, mind, and spirit.

If you do not take in, hold onto, and love with pure intent, all of the beauty that she comes with, the chaos and gentle oceans that lies within, or the holy and vivacious strength that she resides in, losing you would be the only battle with you that she’d win.

I have been given this body, not for your blessing, but my own. Yes, this body can make you feel good and temporarily fix your urges and temptations to physically release the stress, burdens, and desires that you hold in. This body can make you go crazy — it can drive you to the point of insanity whenever you crave to get your hands onto it and bring it in for you to taste, but it’s not truly yours unless you crave and desire, unless you fight for and hold onto her whole entirety. Her soul and her heart, you must hold onto, see, and hear all that it’s written of in the words of God. Her mind, you must listen to and tend to as a garden. You must listen, understand, and secure her safely within yourself by gently handling and caring for her spirit.

The spirit of the woman is the most fragile of herself. You must speak with words of hope, comfort, peace, and security, in your concern and through your disagreements, during all of your unsettled and untamed anger, sadness, or misunderstanding. The body of the woman can not be taken as all that you need to make love to, it can not be treated as just a monument of flesh that can cause you to climax and give you euphoria in its physical sensations and touch. You must love her spirit and make love to her soul, mend gently her heart, listen and understand her mind, while making love to her body. The place of ultimate pleasure is not the place of the creation of the human.

To truly be blessed with the body of the woman, you must see, understand, know, and cherish the woman is a whole. Otherwise, God will take her from you because you chose to be the obstacle in the road to her blessings instead of being a blessing yourself.

God will take from you, the body of the woman who you only loved that deep whenever she was enough to fulfill your whole heart and ease it’s pain, and bring your soul the pieces and the part that it needed to be complete so you could heal when it’d break. But if you make it your mistake to not give the woman what you take, and create her position in your life as her being nothing but a tie that you can can take advantage of whenever you come to her for an undying love, to get all it is from her that you want, just know that God will make sure that the tie you create to her that’s impure and is less than she is deserving of, will be cut.

You can not keep a blessing that you do not bless.

This is my body. God has given this to me.

He took it away from you so I could be complete and find somebody that who, when opening me up and picking up each piece of me, is seeking my soul when they listen to my mind, hear my soul, learn of my spirit, and heal my heart. God will instead give me to a man who holds onto me, and with each part of myself that I set free to them, they carry pure intentions and attach to every detail, each intimate and vulnerable depth of me, they always hold the closest to their own and hold onto them with intentions to keep.

Since you did not love me in the way that God made you a man for you to love a woman as such, God didn’t take you from me, though I had felt as if it was my loss. But it was rather God taking me from YOU, so I would not be the one to lose. In His separating of you and I, God untangled my wings and unchained you from around them, freeing me from the weight that you had put upon them. He threw you to the sea within me so you could always be a part of me, but lifted you from my my eyes to clear my sight so I could finally breathe. He placed you on the ground gently in front of me since that’s where you decided you’d rather be in breaking me down and not building yourself up with me, just using me for you to feel as if you were accomplishing something in the false sense of sight.

You swore you saw yourself rising with the confidence that I had given to you in knowing that you had me hooked, in the belief that when you’d run, I’d always be there to chase and make you feel brave enough to try and stand above the world. That was so, so wrong, because my God loves me enough. I’m not sure what god you believe in, but he must not love you as much. He made you think that you’d always see me standing there, chasing after you, giving into you, and giving my body to you. My God loves you more than to let you fall under that unreal impression. If you turned to Him, you would’ve seen long before now, that if you did not love me the way God created a man for him to love a woman, I would be released from your grip.

So sad the reality is that, despite what you thought and swore you had seen, for you, there was not always meant to be me, because you decided my body was what you had to need, but didn’t realize that it was all of my entirety, all of my being, and all of my existence beyond skin deep is everything that you needed to keep. Now you only have the empty space that I use to be the capacitor of, that I had given you more than what was enough, and that I have left now because I wasn’t being loved just as much, to remind you of all that you had and all that you could’ve kept, all that you’re worth and have the capability of gaining again. It’s up to you to choose if you deserve it.

You have to choose to be all that you can be — the best of yourself and your best blessing — so you can finally get and keep a love that’s worth the hardship and pain in the change of yourself, the growing into yourself in your best. Your body is not an escape or a sexual stature where you can burn off steam. The body of the man is a safe place and secure presence that is meant to love a woman in complete devotion, passion, and hold her close with gentle, kind, and peaceful energy and strength.

With the same hands that you carry your burdens and soul, you’re supposed to hold the heart of the woman and not use as a tool or set fire to, the body of the woman, because that ignites her soul. The touch of the man is supposed to console, comfort, hold, and bring security and safety to the woman that the man has been called to leave the imprint of their hand upon the woman’s heart. The man is supposed to comfort and ease the pain of the woman as she holds herself together, making it easier and taking the pressure off of her, keeping her strong enough with encouragement and light, to keep holding them together. The hands of the man are supposed to bring a safe place of security and comfort to ease the pain of the weight that the woman bears as she is trying to put the pieces of herself together, and his hands are to help console her and show her the gentle, caring emotions she should have for herself, the same that he has for her, as well, so she can hold it all and herself in place.

The hands of the man are to comfort and bring security to the woman as she gets wounded and bleeds, easing the pain while she picks up her pieces, giving her the bravery and encouragement, the light to see as she holds every part of her together, while God mends her and heals her.

The hands of the man are gifted to him, for him to hold onto the woman and give her comfort and security so she can have the strength to hold the broken pieces of herself together, while God heals her wounds and sews her back together.

See, God made the woman with unimaginable and godly strength, for her to bare the scars upon her heart and soul once He is done sewing her back together, mending her, and healing her. But God made the man to work hand-in-hand with him as He creates the woman and builds her up, since she is what gives the world it’s life and love, bearing and birthing humanity so the world can grow and nature can flourish with her giving of its precious lungs. God created the man to devote himself to the woman, to comfort, cherish, and make love to the woman through her flaws, her weaknesses, and comfort her with his security and safety through the hardest trials and tribulations of her life, when she’s fighting to save herself, her soul, and her heart so she can love the man enough for it to be even more than he’s been deserving of.

He created the man to help the woman have comfort in her own strength while she gains her confidence in her abilities to hold and carry the weight of the universe and its worlds, stars, and lives that it consists of. The man is to love the woman, cherish the woman, give to the woman his heart and soul, while she gives him her heart as her soul is breaking apart. The man is built and designed by God to love beyond his own body, to love the woman beyond hers, gently with passion and wholly with pure intention, so it is weight that is being lifted off of her instead of being put onto her by the man, as she fights to keep herself together for God to mend her.

You are wrong in thinking that all I ever wanted from you was to hold me together, mend me, and heal me. That is not what it was. I have been designed by God to be strong enough, I can do the holding myself together even with no weight being lifted or pain being eased from me. I can do it all without you, though God designed you to be the comfort, the security, and the ease to my struggling soul. All I ever had wanted from you, was for you to love me through the flames, extinguish all that was ablaze and burned in your name, all the damaging and fumigating haze that you were the one to create.

All that I ever wanted from you, was for you to love me as God created the man to love the woman — that being and meaning showing me the sight of and helping me remember that I am enough, and that I can conquer and overcome all of pain and wounds of the battles that I have lost, so that I can become the fate of the war that is that I’m the one who truly won. You were meant to encourage me on and keep me from being blinded to the reality that, even if I seemed to have lost the battle, I did not lose the war. You were the one who was meant to love me through and give me the greatest, best, and biggest parts of you to keep me complete until I found and regained those lost pieces, the best parts of myself.

Never did you once fulfill your position that God put you in, in creating you as a man, to hold me through the battles while I fought to hold myself together, so it would be easier for both I and God, because He is the one who sews and mends every piece. He’s the one who heals me. So, I did not ask that much of you, because that’s a job that is impossible for even I to do. That would have been selfish for me to have asked that of you whenever it’s only God who can mend me and heal me. I just always ever asked of you, to hold me and cherish me through to me core, and through the struggles that left me sore.

This is my body.

God created me, from flesh to bone, as a woman, because He knew my strength could move mountains and expand the universe.

My body was a gift, not for you to find physical pleasure in for a release or fulfillment of your materialistic needs. It was a gift for me from my God, because he loves me enough to give me everything that I need instilled inside of myself to overcome and rise above all that fails me and falters under me, even without a man. He made the man to be an ease, to be security, encouragement, a safe place, and a weight lifting, gentle and kind, loving, caring, giving, and devoting outlet. He created me to be divine, while you and I were created to be a light in this world whilst together.

Do you get it now?

God made me a woman, not to please you, not to give to you my body. He did not even create me as a woman to give to you my heart, soul, mind, and spirit. Those things are right here with who they’re supposed to be with, so giving them to a man is the last purpose for them. He created me as a woman to carry my heart, nurture the nature, flourish the world, bless the Heavens, comfort the sick, bring wealth to the poor, bring sight to the blind. He created me as a woman to bare and birth the children that are both you, man, and myself, woman, and create His Earth, His universe, into one that glows and thrives with infectious and vivacious prosperity and gentle, loving, and pure intent while living the with purpose of giving and breeding, holy and purity. He created the man to help Him hand-in-hand to care for the woman and ease her pain. He gave strength to the man for him to carry the woman and lift the weight from her shoulders.

My God created the man to help him care for and secure the monument that the woman is built upon for her to not fall, and for her to be sure she is strong enough if everything collapses beneath her. The man is to comfort and cherish the woman as she fights the battles that cause the humanity that she carries and brings to life to win wars. The man is build in God’s form, for him to love the woman in a physical being as God would, and love her in a spiritual being as God does. Since the woman carries the world in her body and the universe in her soul and spirit, the man is God’s right-hand-man to keep the woman strong at mind and on the right track while she births life into us and holds the weight of the universe on herself. She tends to the gardens that she has planted with the most gentle, kind, loving, nurturing, and nourishing parts of her heart, for them to flourish and grow to be their best beyond what she ever been.

The woman does this all and ensures the strength and quality of life in each being of nature that she has created, all the while, creating beings of beauty who will use their own lives to promote the wealth, health, happiness, and success of humanity that all cause the most important and moving revolution to the world. The woman creates and tends to the flowers she plants to ensure their beauty, gentle touch, and strength for the world to move forward and humanity to grow into the best that it can be, by her nurturing, constructing, and loving soul giving all that it is. The woman creates the evolution that is for the better by planting life into the soul of the Earth and growing them from the best of her heart and the softest of it. While instilling our best into us with pure intent and moving us forward, beyond mountains and the Heavens for the better, the greater, and the good, she fights battles against the bad that nobody else sees because she takes the hardest hits from the worst of the earth for us so we won’t have to hurt or be destructed by our very home she planted us upon.

The woman is not just a mother to the humans she carries and births, but to the whole entire world and universe. The blind man is one who can not see the worth of a woman or his place by God to love, hold onto, and honor the woman while she builds herself up in her darkest places of heart, mind, soul, and spirit. God knows that it’s the woman who breaths life into every lung, every planet, every star, every person to be, and all of humanity, for He’s the one who created the woman with that purpose. The man is the one who holds onto the woman to remind her of her capabilities when she gets lost and forgets, to be the light that shines on her when she’s in the darkest paths so see can see where she’s going. The man is to encourage her through her weakest points, to ease her pain with each of her wounds, to comfort her with security of a safe place to turn to when it’s all too much for her.

The man was built by God with strength to take weight off of the woman while she fights battles behind closed doors, so she can be more free and have more room to breathe while she continues to fight for humanity and give to us the heart that we need in order to grow. The woman is the one who carries the universe, so God built the man to carry her burdens and push her forward just enough for her to see again that her in herself, as a woman, is all that will ever be enough to adapt, to overcome, and to conquer all.

It is the truth when I say that the man was designed and built to be a healing agent for the woman, to be a place of ease, while she holds herself and the universe together, and while God sews her back together, mends her, and heals her.

Men are created as a physical reflection of God. It’s a representation of God’s love.

My love, it’s you who lost whenever you lost me. It was me who lost whenever you had me, because I had not myself.

I had lost myself trying to be enough for you, whenever it was and has always been God who has showed me that I am enough. Never again will I forget God, nor will I ever turn a blind eye to Him again, for any love that isn’t His. You were meant to be none other but a lesson to me, and blessed be the one who got away without losing someone who’s love is what it say that it is and means more than what it can ever express that it means.

This is my body — the body of the woman. ✨

My God loves me enough to have given me the opportunity to have loved as I loved you, to have had something meaningful enough to have been something that I had lost, and while I wasn’t the one to lose. He loved me enough to give me a false love and tell me that I was enough, showing me that you didn’t mean enough to lose myself because of.

My body is my gift from God.

It was never truly yours.

You were but a twinkling of the eye as a star passed through the sky, whenever I thought that you were the star. But, God showed me again and again, time after time, that even the stars are just passing by. There will be a time that we must say goodbye to even them. I’d be mistaking if I said you were ever meant to stay for long.

Thank you, God.

I love you for this lesson, for every loss when you take from me, things that you will repay me for.

Thank you for creating me as a woman.

I know that I am strong when I’m alone, but when I’m with you, I don’t need anyone. I can lose myself completely and not need to worry. Whereas, if I leaned upon anyone else, I know I’d be missing everything. With you, God, I have everything. I am a woman, and I am strength. I am love. I am all that is good, kind, gentle, loving, caring. I’m every light in this world.

Without you, I’m nothing.

Still, I move forward and heal by the touch of your hand when you mend me.

You created the man to be a hand to the woman, and a hand to you in building the woman, but you can be the only one to hold me, and there will be nobody else that I need. I know that I was made to carry the universe and birth humanity, but it’s all for you and because of you. For that, all that I am capable of and do as a woman, even though it’s you that created me in this form, you still honor me. You still build me, you still heal me, and you still complete me for all that I do for this world and in my honoring you because you’re the one who made me able to.

Thank you, God, for this body. I am a monument of strength and a temple of Your grace. A love like yours, no one could ever replace. I know you’ll heal the wounds of this loss you placed into my life for reasons that I have yet to find. I know that there are more blessings forward than I left behind. Thank you for bringing me out from the blinding love and hurt that I felt.

This is my body, Lord.

This is my body, my love.

I will not give it to no one again who does not love me in the way that my God has created a man to love a woman, who does not love me in the same amount and way as my God does.

It’s time to set myself free and give my body, my gift from God, back to me. 🍃

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cutelipsonaboy · 6 years ago

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Hi, i was wondering if you could write a Elliot x Reader imagine where Elliot goes to see Krista and he tells her how much he misses you, since you are away on a business trip, and one night he gets really lonely and gets upset but luckily its the night you come back and you find him crying so you comfort him. Thank you!!!

What a sweet idea, hope you like the read xx

Y/N = your name

title: The Silence

genre: angst

words: 2229

I’ve been seeingKrista for a long time now; sometimes out of choice, most of the time mandatory.She’s managed to get a lot of things out of me over the years that, until thatpoint, I fully intended on taking to the grave. We’ve spoken in depth about my drughabits, abhorrent thoughts surrounding world corruption, hell, even the factthat I see my dead father every now and again, and she’s never once made mefeel like I was doing something inherently wrong. That’s not to say she hasn’t triedto change me; we’ve had our fair share of fights, but I never hold any of itagainst her because I can recognize the toxicity of all those things. It’s herjob, after all, to guide me in the right mental path; I’m just stubborn. I knowthat. What I didn’t expect, however, was to ever be in the position I’m in now,talking about this. Krista puts her hands neatly in her lap and almosthesitates before she speaks.

“Elliot, I’m worriedthat you’ve become a bit emotionally dependent on (Y/N).”

“What’s thatsupposed to mean?” I ask. It comes out a lot more aggressive than I intend, butthat’s purely because I’m embarrassed. Me? Dependent? Krista purses her lips asthough she’s about to say something she knows is going to upset me. I’velearned to chart her facial expressions by this point.

“She’s been gonefor six days now, correct?” I nod but I don’t look at her. “And you called mehere for an emergency appointment. Elliot, I thought something tragic might’vehappened.”

“I’m allowed tomiss her.” I mumble through dry lips. She’s right though. I’ve never seenKrista on a day other than when I was scheduled to. But I didn’t know who elseto go to.

“I know that. Ofcourse you are.”

“Shouldn’t you behappy I’m not alone anymore?”

“Well, it’s notreally about that, is it? Of course I’m happy for you, Elliot. But you justsaid–”

“I know what Isaid.” A fraught silence. I can feel myself forming walls around my mind toavoid the anguish that inevitably follows vulnerability.

“Look, I’m yourtherapist. I have to show my concern when a patient says something like ‘I’mgoing to kill myself if she doesn’t come home soon.” I look away from her andstare at an unidentifiable stain on the wall to keep myself from biting my lipsraw. “Elliot, what are you thinking about?”

It’s obvious,isn’t it? (Y/N). Her smell. The way she holds me into her chest for hours withoutspeaking because she knows I just don’t have the words sometimes. How much Ihate that I need it. The silence,since she’s been gone.

“Nothing.” I say.Krista frowns. She knows I’ve already initiated emergency shutdown in my brain.

“Perhaps yourreactions are a result of something deeper, Elliot.”

“Never mind,Krista. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’m not going to kill myself, I wasjust…kidding.” Some joke. I snatch up my backpack and stand up from the chairbefore she can even react.

“Maybe if you talkabout how you’re feeling I can understand a little more. Take a seat, Elliot. I’mno stranger.” She’s right. I wonder if her masters in psychology has given herthe ability to smell out when her patients want to say more but are afraid to.I sit back down. “Why do you feel so anxious when (Y/N) isn’t around?” Thewords are begging to pour out of my mouth but I’ve got it on latch. “Go ahead,start small.”

“When I’m aroundpeople I still feel… alone. Like nobody can hear me.”

“Why do you feellike no one can hear you?” She crosses one leg over another and leans back intoher chair.

“Because, I don’ttalk.”

“What do you mean?”This is hard. I look at Krista’s face and I wonder if I’m just another patientto her. I wonder if she really wants to help me or if it’s all for a paycheck.The words trickle slowly. If not for her, for me.

“I mean of course Italk but… it feels like my mind isconstantly running. Like a million things are sprinting around and bouncing offthe inside of my skull and I can’t get any of them out.”

“You are a deepthinker, Elliot. That’s something I’ve learned about you. You’re alwaysthinking, and while that’s not a bad thing, it’s healthy to take a pause oncein a while to breathe.”

“It feels like Ican’t breathe sometimes. But (Y/N), she can hear me. Even when I don’t talk.”For some reason, this pulls a smile out of the corner of Krista’s lips.

“What does she do?”She asks. I run my hands through my hair a few times.

“I don’t know. Idon’t know why she cares. But she does.”

“Everyone deservesto be cared about.” What a completely delusional statement. Not me. Not afterthe things I’ve done. “And she’s not the only one, Elliot. You are not alonejust because she isn’t here. Have you guys been talking?”

“Yeah, kind of. I don’treally like talking on the phone but I’ve been calling just to hear her voice.”

“Well, maybe youshould consider calling her whenever you’re having a bout of anxiety. Thatmight help ease it a little bit, at least until she’s home.”

“She didn’t pickup any of my calls today.” The words come out dryly.

“She is away onbusiness. Have you considered the fact that she’s just been busy?”

“It went straightto voicemail every time. It’s been hours and she hasn’t said a word.”

“I understand howeasy it is for the mind to go immediately into the worst-case-scenario, but that’swhere you have to reason with yourself. If she’s that special to you then you haveto understand she’s most likely not ignoring you, Elliot.”

“She always picksup my calls.” I’m getting more insistent because Krista doesn’t seem to get it.“What if something happened to her? How the fuck would I find out if she’sacross the country in Seattle? She could be dead…or…” I have to take a momentto catch myself. A horrible, familiar feeling washes over my chest and spreadsdeeper into my body. “Or she could be fine.”

“Exactly.”

“And she’s justrealized she doesn’t need me.” This makes Krista frown again, but I couldn’tcare less. I feel like the weight of the world has settled itself on my throat.

“Jumping to conclusions like that is only going totear you apart, Elliot. You have to learn how to reason with the voice in yourhead that tells y-“ I don’t even let her finish. I grab my backpack and headout the door with my head ducked down. Krista doesn’t call after me.

My apartment is inshambles when I walk in; not that it was any different with (Y/N) here, but atleast she made the mess feel like home. I start picking up some of the clothesoff the floor and run across one of her Sonic Youth t-shirts I’ve been sleepingwith. I press it into my face and take a long inhale to scrounge what I can ofher smell.

It’s funny howfast things can change, even after long periods of stagnant routine. A year agoI was living here alone. The only people who ever visit me are Darlene and Angela,and even that is a rare occurrence. Loneliness owned a large part of me. Itnestled itself into a deep, dark crevice of my mind that I never kept an eyeon, and it grew. After I met (Y/N), it was still there; reared its ugly headwhenever she was asleep before me, or when she got home late. But all thatmattered was when she silenced it. As soon as her eyes would open, as soon asshe walked in through the door and kissed me, I forgot all about it. Lonelinesslost its power to her.

But now she’sgone. I slide my phone from the pocket of my jeans and desperately try callingher again. The picture I have for her caller ID pops up on my screen. It’s one ofher kissing me on the cheek on Valentines Day and I almost look content. Thefirst Valentines day I ever spent with someone else. How could a picture thathas so many happy memories tied to it, bring so much grief? The voicemailrecording answers and something comes over me that is even worse than the loneliness.It almost feels like anger, but darker. Loss, maybe. Mistrust. My heart feelslike its fighting to come out of my chest. Just like that, she’d decided toabandon me just like everyone else. Why did I ever think it would be anydifferent?

I flip the table overin a fit of blind rage and all of its contents go flying across the room.Flipper whines at my feet, afraid of what’s happening. I’m afraid too, so I can’toffer her any condolences. I storm into the bathroom and stare at myself,buggy-eyed. What looks back at me is repulsive, naïve, undeserving. I take thehairbrush (Y/N) left on my sink and throw it at myself, smashing the mirrorinto fragments but I can still see this gaunt, pale face through it all. Ipunch the mirror again until it splinters so much I become unrecognizable. Isit my fault? How could I have not learned by this point that good things willnever stay by the side of someone as miserable as me?

When my ears stop ringingI can hear Flipper barking frantically in the other room. I wash my hands ofthe blood and lean on the reddened sink as I chew the inside of my mouth,trying to calm down. It’s alright, I’ve been alone, I can learn to be aloneagain. Maybe loneliness is all that I have. It’s safe, at least, and consistent.I close the bathroom door behind me so Flipper doesn’t cut herself on theglass. She won’t stop crying. Her whole body jumps every time she yelps. The noisejust adds to the chaos in my mind.

“Flipper!” I snatchher up in my arms and realize the door is being knocked on rigorously. I hadn’teven heard it from the bathroom. I pet Flipper a few times and place her backon the ground where she continues to bark. Flashbacks of 5/9 and the chaos thatensued wash over me; the danger, the loss. Dark Army? FBI? Why would theybother knocking?

Suddenly theknocking stops and I realize I’ve been standing in the middle of my apartmentstaring at the door. The doorknob begins to jiggle and I fear that it could beanyone. Slowly my feet slide towards the door. I think about grabbing a knifejust in case.

“Elliot!” The doorswings open and (Y/N) drops her bags to the floor. “I almost didn’t think youwere home! Why didn’t you answer?” My jaw drops open and releases an exhalethat purges whatever feelings of grief I had just conjured. “Wow… what happenedin here? You have a big rager when I was gone?” She points towards the table I knockedover. Despite the mess, her face gleams with excitement to see me and her voiceechoes like a familiar tune over all the madness in my head. I run over to herand wrap her in an embrace so tight, she laughs.

“What are youdoing here?” I can’t ask her soon enough.

“I came home earlyto surprise you! We finished a few days early, and Seattle was a bore anyway.”(Y/N) kisses me and plops onto the bed. I feel like I’m in a dream and I’m notallowed to touch her. Her presence alone, a shining light in a desolate place. Istare at her and wonder how she always manages to catch me when my arms andlegs are hogtied and I’ve tossed myself into a hole. “Well? Come here! I need asnuggle after all that traveling!” She kicks off her sneakers and pulls her shirtover her head, patting the mattress beside her. I shuffle over without saying aword like a catatonic patient in a psych ward.

“I thought… youhad left me.” The words roll out of my mouth like lead balls.

“What in the worldare you talking about? I couldn’t wait to get out of that place. I’m sorry I missedyour calls, I was on the plane. And I wanted it to be a surprise, but I forgotyou hate those.” She laughs and it fills the room with color. I slide into thebed next to her and pull her into my chest. “I bought you some cool things fromSeattle though, wanna see ‘em?”

“No, not rightnow. Let’s just lay here.” I stroke the back of her head and soak in as much ofher as I can. She traces a finger up and down my back and I can feel the stressleaving me, all of it.

My questions areanswered through the silence. She is my angel.

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hufflly-puffs · 5 years ago

Text

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Chapter 37: The Lost prophecy

The entire conversation between Harry and Dumbledore in this chapter remains one of my favourite in the entire season. Something J.K. Rowling is extremely good at is to write about loss and grief. In a way Harry experiences it for the first time – he was too young when his parents died and Cedric’s death left him in shock, but then again they didn’t really knew it each other. This time it is different. And my reading experience changed, because I have experienced a loss similar like Harry (like Rowling, who had lost her mother shortly before she started writing the Potter series) between the first time I read the book as a teenager and now again as an adult. It might be because Rowling had lost a parent that so much about Harry’s grief resonates with me. It feels real.

“It was his fault Sirius had died; it was all his fault. If he, Harry, had not been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort’s trick, if he had not been so convinced that what he had seen in his dream was real, if he had only opened his mind to the possibility that Voldemort was, as Hermione had said, banking on Harry’s love of playing the hero … It was unbearable, he would not think about it, he could not stand it … there was a terrible hollow inside him he did not want to feel or examine, a dark hole where Sirius had been, where Sirius had vanished; he did not want to have to be alone with that great, silent space, he could not stand it –“ – Sirius’s death is not what causes Harry’s depression, but it certainly factors to it. The anxiety, the impossibility to escape your own thoughts, and how he blames himself for Sirius’s death, despite all logic and rational thought saying he can’t be blamed. And it is what makes things even worse – not just losing Sirius, but the circumstances, that Harry fall for Voldemort’s trap, that it was the love they felt for each other that brought both Harry and Sirius to the Department of Mysteries to save the other. That Harry should have known better, that Hermione (who always represent logic and rational thought) even warned him it could be a trap. Harry let his heart decide for him, he did what he felt was right. And whenever we make a mistake because we let our heart decide for us we feel foolish and weak. Dumbledore will tell Harry later that it was his heart that saved him, but to Harry it is his heart that failed him.

“The guilt filling the whole of Harry’s chest like some monstrous, weighty parasite, now writhed and squirmed. Harry could not stand this, he could not stand being himself any more … he had never felt more trapped inside his own head and body, never wished so intensely that he could be somebody, anybody, else …” – The thing about Harry is that the moment he entered the Wizarding World, the moment he learned he was famous, he has always been confronted with the image others have of him. The boy who lived, the tragic hero. In the last year he has been portrayed as a liar, mentally unstable, attention seeking. He has never let himself defined by these things, knowing they are not true. Now though he sees himself different: as the one responsible for Sirius’s death. He never claimed to be a hero, but it has never been less true than now. Ironically it is his hero-complex, as Hermione calls it, that brought all of his friends in danger, that did cost Sirius his life (at least from Harry’s perspective). It is unbearable to connect himself with the image of a hero others have painted of him, now that he has made a terrible mistake, that he did not save the day, but is the one who brought everyone in danger in the first place.

“‘I know how you’re feeling, Harry,’ said Dumbledore very quietly. ‘No, you don’t,’ said Harry, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong; white-hot anger leapt inside him; Dumbledore knew nothing about his feelings.” – Dumbledore of course has experienced loss and grief himself, but he also knows how it feels to think you are responsible for someone’s else death, as he blames himself for his sister’s death. But Harry does not know this, and he does not ask Dumbledore either, because we always feel like our pain is individual, like nobody could ever know how we really feel. Grief and loss are very personal feelings, because everybody experiences them in a different way, and at times it feels like it creates a barrier between yourself and the rest of the world.

“‘Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human –’ ‘THEN – I – DON’T – WANT – TO – BE – HUMAN!’ Harry roared […] ‘I DON’T CARE!’ Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. ‘I’VE HAD ENOUGH, I’VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON’T CARE ANY MORE –’ He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that, too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions. ‘You do care,’ said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. ‘You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.’” – This always reminds me of a poem by Mary Oliver, “The Uses of Sorrow”: “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.” Dumbledore, in his age and wisdom, knows that experiencing pain the way Harry does, is part of being human, or as he even says it is a proof of being human (and therefore would make Voldemort unhuman). We can’t understand pain like this when we right in the middle of it. Harry experiences it for the first time really and he feels like he will never get over it, like nothing will ever be whole again, that this is the final straw. In time he will learn that you can live with the pain, but you never get used to it. And once he understands what Voldemort has done to his soul, he will understand Dumbledore’s words and what a great gift it is to feel that deeply.

“Voldemort’s aim in possessing you, as he demonstrated tonight, would not have been my destruction. It would have been yours. He hoped, when he possessed you briefly a short while ago, that I would sacrifice you in the hope of killing him.” – But in the end that is exactly what happens: Dumbledore sacrifices Harry in order to kill Voldemort. And that might have been a part of Dumbledore’s plan as well: that after this night Voldemort was convinced that Dumbledore would never do such a thing, that when Harry sacrificed himself in the end Voldemort never assumed that it was part of Dumbledore’s plan.

“‘Kreacher is what he has been made by wizards, Harry,’ said Dumbledore.” – It is interesting that it was Sirius who told Harry that in order to understand someone’s true nature you should look how they treat their inferiors not their equals. Of course Sirius did not hate Kreacher because he is a house elf, but rather because he was a constant reminder of the family/home he hated so much. He could not show Kreacher even the simplest form of respect. And house-elves, bound to their families, always become a product of how their masters treat them. And Dumbledore, unlike Voldemort and many other wizards, never underestimated house-elves. They are individuals, they have feelings, and they have magic of their own. And they are always overlooked, which can make them incredible dangerous.

“ ‘Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well – not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle’s doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years.’” – I think this is the first time someone actually acknowledges in words the abuse Harry had to endure. That what happened to him was neither right or fair, despite Dumbledore explaining the reason why he had to stay with the Dursleys.

“Did I believe that Voldemort was gone for ever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure, too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you.” – Imagine though it would have taken Voldemort 70 years to return, the book series would have been quite different.

“‘While you can still call home the place where your mother’s blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, whilst you are there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years.’” – First, I still can’t believe that Dumbledore could not be bothered to explain this in person, that all he did was to write a letter. Second, the very complicated relationship Petunia has with her nephew. Harry claims that she does not love him, which might be true. Regardless she loved her sister. She took Harry in because her sister gave her life to protect him, because she knew that if she wouldn’t Harry would die. And yet Harry is a constant reminder of Lily, of Petunia’s loss, of all the complicated feelings she had towards Lily. And interesting enough both Petunia and Snape help to keep Harry alive, they both protect him in their own ways, but out of respect and love towards Lily, because he is her son, nothing more. It is not just her blood that protects Harry, but also the relationships Lily made while she was alive, the people who loved her.

“‘I cared about you too much,’ said Dumbledore simply. ‘I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.” – Dumbledore thinks that his flaw, that the mistake that he made, was that he cared too much about Harry, that his happiness became more important than the lives of others. And many criticized Dumbledore for his final plan: that in the end Harry had to give his own life in order to defeat Voldemort. But this is exactly what this is about: that Harry’s life is no more important than the lives of thousands. Some see Dumbledore as cruel and manipulating, and perhaps they are right. But he still cares. He cares so much about Harry and yet he knows what he needs to ask of him, knows what it will take to end Voldemort. And one could ask what is more cruel: to sacrifice one live so thousands can live or to accept the pain of the many in exchange for one man’s happiness?

“I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all.” – I mean honestly, it is the most useless subject ever.

So, the prophecy. It reveals something that to the readers might be obvious, but this is the first time we actually hear it: that Harry is the only one who has the power to defeat Voldemort. And Harry of course is famous because he survived the Killing Curse, but perhaps he thought that there might not be a special reason why Voldemort wanted to kill him and his parents. After all Voldemort and his followers killed so many. Perhaps Harry thought Voldemort simply wanted to finish what he had started, that this time he wants to kill Harry because of what has happened to him. Maybe deep down Harry had wondered if there might be more about it, what the real reason was that Voldemort had considered a baby as a threat. If he did he probably ignored that thought, because as Dumbledore explains, it is an incredible burden to live with this knowledge.

Then of course there is the fact that it could have been Neville as well. There are many speculations what would have happened if Voldemort had chosen Neville instead. I always assumed that Alice Longbottom, just as Lily did, would have sacrificed herself for her son, giving Neville the same kind of protection Harry had. Neville would have still grown up with his grandmother (and through her blood he would be protected as well) though with even more pressure put upon him. But I always loved the fact that it could have been someone else, that in a way there was nothing special about Harry, and that of course the irony is that in choosing Harry Voldemort marked him as an equal and gave him the power to destroy him (though Voldemort of course was not aware of this, as he had not heard the whole prophecy). And Voldemort did not choose the son of two Aurors, the pureblood wizard, but Harry instead, the halfblood, because as Dumbledore explains, he saw himself in Harry.

The thing about prophecies is of course whether or not they become true, and in fiction they usually do, especially if people try to avoid their fate. Voldemort did not hear the full prophecy, he did not know that he would be the one to mark his enemy as an equal. The question is, if he had that knowledge and never had tried to kill Harry or Neville, could he have avoided his fate?

Also, we don’t know it yet, but of course it was Snape who had overheard the first part of the prophecy, which made me wonder what he was doing there in the first place. Was it a coincidence? Was he there on Voldemort’s order, spying on Dumbledore? And how come he would not know or figure out that the prophecy could refer to Lily’s son, and therefore would put her in danger by telling Voldemort about it?

“In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.” – Harry has never been and will never be the most talented wizard, but that did not matter. It does not matter how advanced the magic is that Voldemort works. It is Harry’s ability to love, and the love of his mother, that saves him. And that is something you can’t learn or achieve. If Voldemort has ever been able to love he successfully got rid of this ability. To him love is a weakness, something he never understood and always underestimated. And in Rowling’s work it is essential our ability to love what makes us human. And losing that has made Voldemort dead long before he actually died.

“‘So,’ said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him, ‘so does that mean that … that one of us has got to kill the other one … in the end?’ ‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore.” – Just moments before Harry told Dumbledore that he doesn’t have powers like Voldemort does, that he can’t kill someone, and yet he has to or he will be killed. In the end however he defeated Voldemort without actually killing him, and I always loved that he didn’t have to become a murderer.

#Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix #the lost prophecy #chapter notes #ootp

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littlemisssquiggles · 6 years ago

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How did you feel about Ruby’s “we don’t need adults to help us” speech? A part of me loved it but a small part of me felt like it was a bit ignorant. I mean, Tyrian would’ve killed Jaune, Nora, and Ren and taken Ruby straight to Salem if Qrow hasn’t been there to save them

I’min agreement with you on that one Miggy. Onone side, I honestly don’t blame Ruby for reacting the way she did with Qrow. Tobe fair, I think we all saw this confrontation coming from as far back asBrunswick. In the beginning I sympathized with Qrow because I knew his recentbehaviour was coming from a place of grief and sheeranger after realizing that he practically disowned his own family in place offollowing a man who made him believe that he was fighting a good fight when inreality it was an unwinnable battle with an unbeatable foe. Though I stillstand firmly in my defence of Ozpin, I’m not mad at Qrow for beingangry nor do I blame him for choosing to cope with his emotions the only way heknows best which is alcohol abuse sadly. Like I said, I sympathizedwith Qrow at the start but that sympathy started to wear thin the more Irealized that Qrow went from being understanding to more or less unreasonable.

Notto sound harsh but Qrow is supposed to be the adult inthis, right? Second to Ozpin, Qrow is supposedly the next in line to takecharge in Oz’s absence or at least assist from the side-lines as he did diligentlyduring V4and V5.However, as of V6C4, Qrow hasn’t been at his best. He’s been rather…how you say…difficult thesepast few episodes. Again, I sympathized with him back on Brunswick’s Farms butafter the second time he abandoned the team to go drown his sorrows, especiallyafter Cordovan blanked the group aid to Atlas, that’s where my sympathy wellwent dry. Whether you’re a huge Bird Dad fan ornot, I think we can all agree that the Branwen man has been a brat these past few episodes; more so than the actualchildren on the team.

Thisis why I’m grateful that the group encountered Maria whenthey did. You do realize that if Maria wasn’t present, the QROWMBY probablywould’ve surely perished back when they were still separated. If not from thefreezing weather but also on Brunswicks.

Andwhat was Qrow doing during both those times. Not taking charge and drinkingaway his pain. I’m not bringing all this up to bash Qrow; I’m just mentioningit to prove a point. The reality is that Qrow has been problematic. That’s not to say he’sthe only adult at fault and didn’t have a justifiable reason for his behaviour;it’s just…it’s just both sad and angering at the same time how much Qrow allowedhis pain over Oz’s deceit keep him from staying connected with the group, y’knowwhat I mean?

Youcan see that as the episodes progressed, especially after C7, the othercharacters have moved on from the Ozpin debacle. Whether they still don’t trusthim is a question still left to be answered but the others have moved on tofocus on the biggerpicture which is getting to Atlas.Qrow, technically still is the only one still left feeling hopeless.

WhenOzpin abandoned the team in the cold (which he had reason to given the level ofhostility targeted towards him at the time), rather than stepping up, Qrow fell apart as well and continued to do so even up until lastepisode. As a matter of fact, I think last episode was his worst, according toYang. It was also the final straw with Ruby and her tolerance of her uncle’srecent behaviour.

AsI said, Qrow isn’t the only person who felt the blow of the truth. The whole team did but at least everyone else was able to sort ofbounce back from it.

EvenJNR were able to bounce back from their exposure to the truth despite theirinitial disgust. The only person who hasn’t recovered is Qrow himself.

Iunderstand that everyone takes things in differently than others and noteveryone reacts to problems the same. But…I guess the thing that gets me themost is here we have the team stuck at a dead end and they’re all trying tocome up with a solution. Despite everything that they’ve learnt, here are theheroes trying to still figure out a way to keep moving forward and rather thanhelping, Qrow continues to be problematic. Storming off because things didn’twork the first time. Not answering when your teammates are trying to get incontact with you because you’re probably too plastered. Getting yourself soplastered that you can barely function right to the point that you wind uppassed out on the front step at the house you’re staying at. For a person whohas a misfortune semblance, Qrow is lucky that he crashed in front of the righthouse.

What if thegroup had been in serious danger after Qrow had left them again to go drink? Whatif the group had been in serious danger when Qrow returned home in this currentmessed up state?

Andto add the cherry on the cake, when the group are having a moment becauseon the members disappeared (which Qrow would’ve known about if he had cared toanswer his phone when Ruby called. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried callinghim again after RWBY and Maria went looking for Oscar), Qrow once again choosesto walk away and leave them after being absent for nearly a whole evening.

Thenof course, when Jaune makes a suggestion for how to get to Atlas, rather thanhearing him out further, he shoots it down. Yes I know Jaune’s plan is pretty out there…butstill Qrow could have heard him out more. Instead Ruby had to step up which brings meto the meat of my post.

Qrow is theadult.He’s the one that’s supposed to takeleadership when Oz isn’t around or at least be a strong support. He’s supposed tomake himself present during the times when the group are rallied togethertrying to come up with a plan. But what has Qrow done since C4? Get wasted anduse that as an excuse to distance himself from the team when he really shouldbe standing with them. As Ruby rightfully said, they should all stick together and try and figure things out together because as ateam united, they’re much better off than if they’re divided. United we stand.Divided we fall.

Asfor Ruby’s statement to Qrow, I didn’t see it as her implying that the groupdidn’t need the adults. More along the lines up of when shit hit the fans, thetwo adults who normally take charge were too focused with their own problems thatthe kids had to step up and figure things out in their place. It may not be assmooth sailing as a plan from Oz might’ve been but at least it’s doable. Atleast they managed to keep moving.

And that’s what they’re trying to do againcurrently. Devise another plan to keep moving toward Atlas because right nowit’s they’re best chances of keeping the Relic out of Salem’s reach for now.

If the heroes are united, they will have a muchbetter chance of succeeding if they tried together. Ruby has been trying tokeep the group’s moral up by keeping things together. She’s been doing that onher own even though she has not the slightest clue how to do it. This is why Iliked Maria’s comment to her in C8 about Ruby not giving herself enough credit.She’s correct.

Rubyis practically the heart and soul of the hero team. It’s her unquantifiablespark that keeps the others going. However just becauseRuby is an inspirational person and a voice of hope, that doesn’t make her invincible.She’s just a fragile as everyone else. Perhaps…evenmore.This is also why I appreciate characters like Oscar and Maria. Even thoughthey’re both the newcomers to the team, they’ve both acknowledged how muchresponsibility Ruby places on herself as a leader.

This is why I love how Oscarhas sort of appointed himself as a person who wants to offer Ruby supportwhenever he sees her overwhelmed or distressed in some way.

WhileMaria is quick to pull up Ruby when she does too much for herself, Oscar is supportive and doesn’t mind stepping in if it means that he canhelp take the pressure off Ruby for a second. Honestly…Oscar and Maria, blessthem both for their roles in Ruby’s court now.

Soyeah, Ruby has been doing her gosh darn hardest to keep things together butit’s very difficult for her to do that when you have Qrow, the actual adultwho’s supposed to be doing the guiding or at least helping with the guiding isoff sulking or worst fighting her or shooting down any idea the group mighthave without offering any of his own.

Qrowhas notbeen guiding this team. Ruby has and Ruby is technicallya child. One of the youngest members on the team. When I look at itlike that, I don’t blame Ruby for lashing out at Qrow the way she did. He hadit coming.

HOWEVER…

…Ican also see Ruby’scurrent stance with Qrow becoming problematic as well. Not only doesit put a bit of a strain of her relationshipwith her uncle especially since Qrow and Ruby have been thick as thieves sincethe birdman’s introduction.

Qrowhas always had Ruby’s back and she has his which is why it’s miserable (and interesting from a story perspective) to seethis volume challengetheir close bond. Plus, the way Qrow looked at Ruby after she told him that shedoesn’t care what he thinks was the real kicker tome.

Ifeel the reason why Qrow looked so surprised is because; he’s probably heard that same sentence beforefrom someone very close to Ruby who looked exactly like her. I thinkQrow might’ve seen Summer mirrored in Ruby atthat moment.

Iwas having a chat with @che1sea-xiao-long the other day and we both pretty muchsummed up the same conclusion. This must’ve been one of the last few thingsthat Summer said to Qrow before leaving on her last mission.

Somefolks believe that Qrow probably killed Summer by accident with his semblance.For me, my theory was that Summer must’ve discovered the truth about Salem from Ravenbefore she left and made a plot togo after Salem herself. We know now, especially from Maria’s originstory that Salem has been hunting Silver Eyed Warriors since in her time. Why would Salemneed to hunt the Silver Eyes unless they didn’t pose a real threat to her personally?

Iwonder if Salem had an encounter with a Silver Eyed Warrior and got hurt by oneof them and thus put out a hit on all Silver Eyes. If not, then what if…afterRaven told her the truth of Salem’s immortality, Summer must’ve put two and twotogether and came up with the idea that since Salem was hunting down her kindthen it must’ve meant that Silver Eyes are the key to stopping her once and forall.

Iwouldn’t be surprised if that became the motivation for Summer to stubbornlygo after Salem herself in a final mission that was against Ozpin’s orders. I have a hunch that Summer must have confronted Ozwith her theory of going after Salem herself. Oz refused to put Summer in suchdanger based on an unproven theory. Even if the Silver Eyes were an enemyto the Grimm, there was still no proof at the time that it can hurt Salem so Ozwasn’t willing to put Summer’s life on the line like that. After what we knewof Oz before and what we know now, he wouldn’t do such a thing. However, Summer Rose was a stubborn and decided to go against Oz’s orders despite hisresilience.

Andsuspecting that Summer might do something rash, Oz told Qrow to keep close tabs on Summerbecause he feared she might do something dangerous and Qrow, being someone whoobviously cared a lot about Summer followed her. He probably even tried to talkher out of her so-called important secret mission that doesn’t want to tellanyone about---not even him. But he knew it must be something bad if Oz toldhim to go after Summer. I like the idea of Qrow confronting Summer during herfinal mission only for her to tell him the very same thing Ruby told him.

“…I don’tcare what you think! I’m doing this whether you like it or not! Whether youwant to help me or not!”

Whatwould even been be sadder is ifthose were the verylast words Summer said to Qrow before she…Idunno, sacrificed herself to protect him from a Grimm horde that overpoweredthem both or something.

I’dlike to think that Qrow followed Summer on her final mission but had no clueabout the truth regarding Salem. Oz didn’t tell him still and neither didSummer. They both chose to keep him in the dark for his own safety. At least bymy theory.

Ithink eventually Qrow will start to see a lot of Summer Rose in Ruby and that might start to make feel more concerned for the attitude she’s adopting. Ruby is starting tosound more like her mother and for what it’ s worth, Qrow might start fear thatshe’ll make the same brash self-sacrificial choices that her mother did yearsago before she died.

Butagain…this is just my theory. We’ll see how things play out for these two intoday’s episode. Until then, sorry this response took so long Miggy. Ihad a rather busy week last week. But I hope it’s a good answer.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

#squiggles answers: rwby #ruby rose #qrow branwen #oscar pine #maria calavera #ruby and qrow #rwby theories #rwby volume 6 spoilers #rwby volume 6 theories #miggy97

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mcrcelo · 6 years ago

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○○○ — A Mother’s Betrayal + Truancy Letter — ○○○

As Marcelo rouse from a heavy slumber, he was first aware of the coolness of the room and its distinctive smell of iodoform. His back was stiff as if he’d slept on a bed of earth and rocks. He gazed down at his mother who remained soundless as her head occupied his lap. She refused to leave the hospital since his Aunt Ava was brought in therefor Marcelo found himself drifting off next to her in the uncomfortable family lounging room chairs since returning from Lake Tahoe. He lifted the hoodie he would drape over her every night to keep Parisa warm and moved the curly black tresses that fell over her face. “Come on mami, we gotta get you cleaned up and something to eat.” He cooed as he gently tapped the side of her face. Upon hearing her son’s raspy voice, Parisa burrowed herself into the warm, soft fabric of his joggers that was coated with her tears; a signal to let her be in which he disregarded as he continued to nudge her awake. A restless yawn released from his mother’s lips as she straightened up in her chair. Giving her a moment to shed the sleep from her brain and allow the visions of the night to provide a way to the day, Marcelo stood and grabbed his mother by the hand, leading her to a private bathroom.

"Celly, this isn't your job. You should be enjoying your teenage years like a normal person your age. I don’t want you coddling me, lord knows you and your siblings have been doing that yall whole lives. Go home and get some decent sleep, I’ll be okay. " Parisa weakly spoke which Marcelo only ignored as he collected a few paper towels from the dispenser before turning on the sink. He appreciated his mother’s concern, but Marcelo had seen and done things not the average teenager could comprehend. Held dark secrets that would drive the average teenage insane, thus, he'd given up on the thought of normality. As someone with a Manichean view, he thought that you were either born in a world of good or bad. In Marcelo’s case, the cards weren't stacked in his favor, and while his mother dreamed of a better future for him, he'd accepted his anomalous lifestyle. "Shh mami, I’m where I want to be. I’m a son returning the care of his mother when he was at his lowest." He voiced as he wiped away the dried mascara staining her cheeks. Once Parisa was somewhat presentable, they emerged from the bathroom and made their way to the cafeteria. While she found them a place to sit, Marcelo searched for something to fill their stomachs. He settled on a breakfast sandwich and coffee for the both of them before paying for their food and returning to their table in the dining area. As he sat down across from Parisa, placing her meal down in front of her, Marcelo observed her features, and it made him bite his bottom lip stressfully. The depths of his mother’s grief was starting to tarnish her whether youthful looks. Restive dark bags hung under her eyes and wrinkles seemed to appear on a forehead overnight. He intertwined his fingers with her’s, catching a dazed Parisa attention. “Titi going to be okay.” He tried to reassure though he wasn’t positive himself. She might wake up, but nobody knew what her mental state would be like.

Parisa lowered her orbs to the wooden surface. “I know, it’s just why didn’t she feel like she could come to me before--.” Her lip quivered as the whimpers she fought to swallow released from her lips. “This is just a lot for me right now, I feel like I’m failing everyone I love. It’s bringing me back to when I almost lost you. How did it take my son ending up on a ventilator for me to realize he had a problem? Now you’ll never be the same because I didn’t get you help in time.” Once he had been the boy that held her hand on the way to swings, squealing with delight and demanding to be pushed higher. He had been generous with his smiles and free with his hugs. By the age of eleven, the remoteness had begun, and she chalked it up to hormones. That was her first mistake. Soon after that, his grades collapsed, and anger seemed to be the only emotion anyone could get out of him. Preteen years rolled around, and officers would drag him to a detention center with charges like thief, assault, arson, and her heart had felt like it was beating in a tight cage every time. Then the hospital called to inform her that he had overdosed, the day after his eighteenth birthday, Marcelo was vegetated with a machine breathing for him. Parisa beated herself up for not noticing all the signs of her son’s deteriorating mental health until it was almost too late and she still felt like he was withholding demons from her. "I made my own choices ma, and you can't blame yourself for that. You did the best you could under the circumstances we were living in. You had your own hell you were going through with Eliseo.” Marcelo uttered, giving his mother’s hand a soft squeeze.

Parisa composure stiffened when her ex-husband’s name was brought up. “Speaking of Eliseo, I uh, I need to tell you something. Your father and I have been talking and-” Her voice trailed slowly like her words were unwilling to take flight as she glanced up at Marcelo. A burning rage hissed through his body like deathly poison, releasing in the form of unwanted glower in her direction. “You called my father?” She could hear the hurt of betrayal in his voice generating a sigh from her lips. “I’m sorry Celly, but I got a letter from your school, and then you disappeared without telling anyone where you were going, I had to-”

“You called my father?” He repeated as his hand shrink back from her’s

"Listen to me baby boy! I was scared you relapsed or got into some type of trouble, I had to call the school and find out you were on some camping trip. You can’t do things like that and expect me not to freak out, I didn’t have much of a choice. Now, me and your father have been talking, and Eliseo thinks you should finish your senior year online with him in Santo Domingo. You can stay in his guest house and he can get you into Universidad Autónoma de Santo Domingo once you get your diploma. I also had a conversation with Mr. Mobission, and it's obvious Beverly Hills High isn't equipped to deal with your situation. They let you get on a bus to the middle of nowhere when they have your medical records stating that you suffer from Intermittent Explosive Disorder and epilepsy. What if you had a seizure? What if someone had pushed you to the point of no return? They put you and the rest of your peers in danger. You’re eighteen going on nineteen so I can’t force you to go to school, but they’re talking about holding you back if you don’t get your attendance up. I just want to have options, Celo. Plus, it gives you a chance to fix your relationship with your father. He’s been getting help like you are and-- ” Marcelo didn’t let her finish that sentence. His chair screeched across the floors, standing to his feet. “Eliseo doesn’t give options, he makes demands. If he wants me to move to Santo Domingo, I don’t have much of a choice, and you know that! Here I was thinking you had my back, but you really ‘bout to send me to live with a nigga who damn near beat you to death right in front of his kids?.” It was like a volcano erupted; fury sweeping off him like ferocious waves. His wrath started to swallow him whole and engulf his moralities. “The same nigga who has broken bones of both of your sons while they were trying to protect you! You know what, I shouldn’t be surprised because you always go crawling back to him whenever shit gets tough for you no matter how many times he beats your ass. All it takes is an apology and some half ass lie about him being a changed man. What about Marco?!” Marcelo breath got caught in his lungs, realizing the name that carelessly slithered from his lips. His blinded rage almost exposed the four-year secret he was keeping from his family, but being under father’s watchful eye would make it even harder to see his son than it already was and that had Marcelo panicking. “Look, I-I need some air.” He stumbled back, trotting towards the exit of the cafeteria as Parisa called out to him.

#. ⬩ * мarcelo . / developмenт.#. ⬩ * мarcelo . / para.#this is long

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