#i hope youd hold me for once mum | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

apocketfullofpoesis · 6 months ago

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A poem is brewing in my ribcages. A moment allows a deep revelation. Paperwork; a touchstone for testing patience. More deaths will lead to more paperwork. It's never the right time. I'm never brave enough. Mother, how do you lie? You raised a daughter in your own image. How do you not recognise her anymore? How do you find her selfish? Strategic. If I tell you the tragedies I've been through, you'd laugh at yourself for being a fool. For overestimating me. You'll give me new names. You'll call me dumb. Strategic? You flatter me and you've no idea. The more you make it clear that you don't know me even a little bit, the more you're losing me. It's a proud loss. You owe me a fair play. You owe me an unfiltered display of affection. You owe me manipulation free motherhood. You owe me, me.

But you're a beginner at recoiling. I'm glad my father taught me to be grateful; to own up to my follies; to face being wronged and yet fix things by giving in first. As for you, you cannot hide your embarrassment in making things up. You're ashamed to realise a parent can be wrong because it's your first time either. You're ashamed to feel apologetic and so you do what you've always done. You play me. You try to turn the dutiful, lap-dog daughter switch on, so that you can keep her wrapped around your finger and use her as you like and break her again and leave her be, only to start missing her camaraderie and lift her up again. My tragedy is that i happily surrender every single time. And i wouldn't want it any other way. Love has always found me in places I'm scared to go. Love has always chosen me when I would be least expecting it.

The poem is reaching the paper. It is escaping your finger, mother. In twenty years, when my daughter asks about you and me, it will reach her too. How far would you lie then? How far your youngest ought to play the biggest heart and keep shut? How far would you keep lulling neglectance to sleep as your daughter looks for you? How far do I need to keep my blurry eyes down in order to obey you? How far would you keep feeding yourself with a false image of me? How far would you not recognise me? Because I'll raise a curious daughter with a loud mouth and observing eyes. And she'll want to know.

Garima Tripathi, from How Far Mother?

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swiss-cheeze · 4 years ago

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Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner || ‘I love you’ ‘then perish’

REQUESTED: YES/NO

Gender: uh, they/them but there are mentions of the reader having their own kids; obviously there are single fathers so the reader 100% can be male or female or simply NB if that's what you prefer.

Warnings: child abductions/killings, normal CM crime talk, talk of trauma/abuse/drugs/drug abuse/the stuff Spencer has gone through, dismissal of trauma.

-------

Aaron Hotchner

10 children had been abducted, in less than 48 hours. We all know the statistics, which is why you didn't exactly understand why the hell you were still allowing children to go to school and out to the park. You brought it up to Hotch.

“Why is it exactly that we’re still allowing children to go out?” you questioned with crossed arms, the team looked at you skeptically but stayed silent.

“Because it’ll draw out our abductor that we can apprehend,” Hotch said, staring at the victim board. Every single photo was of a child or a family with children, this abductor didn't leave any trace evidence except for a handwritten note from the child saying how much they hated their home life, it had gone through forensic for prints and to make sure the writing was in fact done by a child; it was, each and every one of those letters was written by the kids.

“Why don't we lay low, say the FBI aren't doing their best, it'll drag the unsub out, or keep the kids home! He’ll get bored an-”

“And skip town for more children and probably leave the others behind to die (L/n)” Hotch cut in with a stern look, “I understand you have children of your own but-”

“Hotch this has nothing to do with that!” you exclaimed, the team is now filtering out of the door, “it has to do with the fact we’re trying to do our jobs the best and this isn't the best! The mayor and council are on our asses about everything and we’re still allowing more children to be taken!” you threw your arms around in an effort for Hotch to see what you’re saying, but he refused.

“(L/n) this conversation is now over,” the unit chief said harshly, “we are doing our best and our best is-”

“Agent Hotchner?” a voice called, an officer had walked into the room without realising, “more children have been kidnapped,” the officer handed you the evidence bag, or bags you should say, “four notes, four kids, but there’s um,” the officer took a breath and cleared his throat, “a body has just been discovered and the chief thinks its Ashley Leif,” and with that the officer left. You sighed as you looked down at the letters, feeling the weights in your hands, the tears, the markings, the- hold on. It's signed. You cocked an eyebrow as you placed the bag on the table.

“What is it (L/n)?” Hotch called, you didn't answer and instead took the evidence bags with you to the front of the building where the rest of your team stood waiting. Hotch could see you handing the letters to Reid, obviously to read through faster and determine if it was in fact written by a child, as your mouth moved at a million miles an hour, a lot of the team nodding along with you and talking. It felt cold without you in the room with Hotch. Maybe he should take your advice.

-------

Five kids dead, 8 still missing. Four days. You walked out of one of the offices as the wails of a child-less couple followed before you closed the door, the officers seemed to give you sympathetic looks as you stormed into the conference room yourself and the team were in.

“We have nothing,” you exclaimed as you slammed the door, causing J.J. and Emily to jump at your sudden outburst, “we have notes, we have a signed piece of paper that isn't a child name in the database for this town-” you flopped into one of the seats with your head in your hand as Emily came up and rubbed your shoulders.

“We’ll find him (Y/n)” the woman said softly, you didn't say anything as she left and the room went quiet again.

“How is he even getting these kids huh?” you asked, “they just suddenly up and leave in the middle of the...night…” it took you a second before you glanced at the crime scene photos of the child's bedroom; undisturbed. The team caught on as you quickly moved to the board and examined every photo, taking them all down and laying them out on the table in front of you as the team curled behind you.

“What is it (L/n)?” Rossi asked.

“It’s all undisturbed,” you muttered softly, you could feel the breath of your teammates against the back of your neck, “what...what if these kids aren't being taken?” you questioned, “what if they go out at the time, say a family dinner with a friend, they go home and that friend asks to stay the night, they take the kid and then-”

“The crime scene is undisturbed because the kids trust who it is; ‘come help me outside for a moment’ and they go” J.J. finished for you, you grinned as you phoned Garcia.

“Ready and waiting!” Garcia's voice came through the speakers, her fingers poised.

“Are there any friends from every family? People that overlap that are maybe mentioned in social media of most if not all the families?” you asked.

“Family friend, me likey” Garcia said happily as she started typing, “uhh, we have one; Emelia June, friends of all the families and- oh no” Garcia softened her voice.

“What? Garcia what is it?” you asked quickly.

“She's a director for a class the kids all went to for arts and crafts” Garcia said quickly, “her class roll is sent to your phones and tablets now!”

“Address Garcia?” you asked quickly as the team started putting on their vests, you included.

“Work and Address on your phones now, go get her my babies!”

“Rossi, Spencer, Emily go to the work address, the rest of us will go to her home and go from there, Emelia is dangerous and is most likely holding those kids in a separate location,” you said as Emily and Hotch started rounding up some officers and the rest of you ran to the cars.

------

Emelia was caught but had to be interrogated in order to find the kids, luckily they were all unharmed and had food and water, she was sentenced 25 to life.

“(Y/n), can i see you in my office please?” Hotch called as you started packing up your files to finish at home. You gave a slight side eye to your friends before wrapping your bag around yourself and walking to the office in question.

“Did i do something wrong?” you asked monotone as Hotch waited behind his desk.

“You took ahold of the investigation when apprehending Emelia,” Hotch said, “that isnt your job-”

“Neither was yours to let those fucking kids die” you said quickly as your arms crossed over your chest. Hotch sighed.

“I understand this is hard for the both of us with our relationship both work and romance but you need to trust me (Y/n)” Hotch sighed, this only made you angrier, “i know you find it hard to trust others and to be trusted but for this to work you have to understand i know what i'm doing and what i'm doing, including my job, is right” by now you where fuming, “i know this case was hard especially with you having kids of your own-”

“Fuck you,” you cut Hotch off, him looking at you surprised, “i have kids, you have a kid too Hotch. You had a wife and when you came to me seeking some sort of love and affection i was happy to give it to you when you needed it, i loved those dates, i loved everything but really? I'm getting too personal with that case because I care about young lives?” you asked with a scoff, “im sorry but if thats a problem for you then we have a pretty big fucking problem here” you motioned between yourself and Hotch on ‘here’.

“(Y/n)-”

“No, dont ‘(Y/n)’ me,” you said with a laugh, “you do this all the time! You dont allow me to do my own job-”

“Let me explain-” Hotch started once again, but you stopped him by walking out of the office.

“My resignation letters went in three weeks ago for Crimes Against Children, i go next week, i'll say goodbye to the team tomorrow” you said walking down the stairs and past your teammates who heard everything.

“You're leaving?” Derek asked, you could hear him but you didn't acknowledge him and kept walking, Hotch walked slightly faster and grabbed your arm, pulling you back to him.

“I love you (Y/n)” his voice was low and wavering, it was full of emotions but you couldn't care less.

“Then perish” you said finally, and with that.

It was all over.

You yanked your arm from Hotch, turned, and walked off without looking back.

Spencer Reid

Spencer was sick of it, he really was. He loved you, of course he did, but there was always something about you that just didn't sit right with him; you weren't too clingy, you weren't too protective, you were perfect. But you didn't believe he had all the trauma he constantly said he had. You jump scared him and of course his fist almost comes in contact with your nose, you scream his name and he comes in with his gun held just to see a photo of a dog, you always dismiss his trauma at the worst of times.

Anniversary of his abduction and drugging? ‘Lol no that doesn't happen to people like you, even back then’.

Anniversary of Maeve's death? ‘So you love a dead girl more than you do me? Oh thats rich Spence, thanks’ and youd walk out of the apartment and wait for SPENCER, to send a fucking apology.

Whenever he talks about his mum or her mental state? ‘Spencer you won't inherit whatever it is that she has, skitzy whatever’ you say with a laugh.

The team could see how much Spencer hated it, he was always on edge of everything. What he hated the most was when you decided to surprise him at work, everyone could then see how uncomfortable he was with you next to him, not how a couple was supposed to work.

So, he messaged you, asked for a chat over coffee. And here you are at the first coffee shop you both met, you giggling at a little baby blowing spit bubbles.

“(Y/n), can we focus on why i brought us here?” Spencer asked softly, he was trying, and hoping to some god that you would try as well.

“Yeah in a sec Spence,” you cooed at the little baby again.

“(Y/n) please,” Spencer was now desperate.

“Okay okay, Jesus Christ I can't do anything without you breathing down my neck can i?” you asked annoyed as you sat in your chair properly rather than directing your full body to the baby.

“Me? Breathing down your neck?” Spencer asked suddenly.

“Duh, you always do, i can't go anywhere or do anything without you there to ask every question in the book-”

“No (Y/n) that person is you,” Spencer cut you off angrily.

“Don't cut me off, Spencie” you reminded the boy, that was the last straw. Spencer slammed his hand on the table in rage causing a few people around to jump and stare, not good.

“No, you listen to me (Y/n)” Spencer started, “don't you dare call me that. Don't ever call me Spencie, you know why?”

“Because some girl from prison called you that” you mocked as you took a sip of your drink.

“Exactly, wanna know why i don't like people calling me that?” you shrugged, “it's called PTSD (Y/n), or PTSS. It’s real. That abduction I went through? That fucking happened, i was taken for two days and was drugged and tortured,” you sighed.

“Spence you know how i feel about that-”

“Yeah? And have you ever thought about what i feel? Huh? Ever think why I get so jumpy around you? Because i'm a federal fucking agent, i see worse shit than you could ever dream. And forgive me, but I try my best to keep you away from that stuff because I don't want to scare you with it but at this point I don't care anymore. Maeve? She's real, she was real. She was the most amazing girl in the world and you know what? I never saw her a single fucking time until the day she died. A murder suicide. I wept for weeks and weeks, wanna know who was there for me?” Spencer held up his hand and started counting off on his fingers, “my teammates, my supervisor, my mother, the people in my favourite coffee shop and bookstore. THEY WERE CONCERNED FOR ME WHEN I STOPPED COMING IN FOR TWO WEEKS” Spencers voice raised slightly, not enough to shout but enough to get through to you, “i have PTSD, i have trauma; and it's not right for you to dismiss it like its nothing. And that includes my mother” and with that Spencer was done. He grabbed his wallet from his pocket, shoved a $5 bill on the table and started walking off, you took a moment to catch up before walking after him.

“Spence, what- what?” your brain couldn't keep up as Spencer walked out of the shop with you in tow.

“We’re over. Go home” Spencer said without looking at you.

“But, I love you!” you exclaimed, disheartened, hoping that last bit would help you, but Spencer kept walking.

“Then perish” was all you heard as he continued walking away, confidence radiating over him as he left you to your thoughts.

And honestly? Thinking back on everything.

He was fucking right.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #david rossi #emily prentiss #jj #penelope garcia #Aaron hotchner #Spencer reid x reader #Aaron hotchner x reader #Reid x reader #Hotch x reader #head canon

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probably-writing-x · 5 years ago

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Two sides.

Polo x Reader

Request by anon: Request // from ep 1 polo’s entrance returning to school after the incident, the reader can’t choose a side between her best friend (polo) and her other friends (everyone else) i hope that makes sense

Gif is not my own

Requests are open 🤍

The tension that fell around school felt like enough to bring the walls crashing down around you. Everyone silenced. So much so that the lack of sound felt deafening. Nothing. Nobody dare utter a word at the sight of who stood before them. Slowly, but with such cautious certainty, Polo came walking down the stairs. He looked like he should be the boy from before. He still had the rucksack over his shoulders and his uniform pristine as always. But the cold, deathly look on his face sent a shiver down your spine. Like he was void of all emotion now.

“Come on (Y/n), he’s not worth our attention,” Lu encourages from beside you and you notice then that the rest of the group had started leaving. You’d been frozen to your spot.

“Right, yeah, lets go,” You shake out of your daze, trying to avoid taking another glance in Polo’s direction.

The group blend into chatting about something and you force yourself to remain involved, laughing whenever they do even if your responses are a little delayed. Before it had been revealed that Polo was the one responsible for Marina’s death, you’d always been the closest of friends. You’d known each other since you were little, been the one to get him with Carla in the first place, and slowly fallen for him whilst he dated her. When you’d found out what he’d done, it was like that whole opinion of him came crashing down painfully quickly. You were reluctant to call him a murderer. How could you possibly give such a title to one of your best friends?!

“What do you think (Y/n)?” Carla speaks up, “Don’t you agree?”

You glance at her and feel yourself fighting against the urge to scream at her for betraying him in the way she had. She’d convinced him that he was no longer good enough. Maybe that had been what had triggered his downward spiral. That he had become so caught up in proving his worth to Carla. Or maybe there would never be a valid way of excusing what they boy had done.

“Yeah, sure, excuse me,” You stand up from the table and head out into the empty corridor, wanting nothing more than to catch your breath from the mental marathon youd been trying to keep up with.

An empty corridor might have been a slight exaggeration. In fact, there was one other person that made these corridors feel far from empty. Sat on the stairs that he’d made his entrance on only moments ago, was Polo.

“(Y/n),” He says, standing up when he sees you.

“Hey,” You respond, folding your arms over yourself, “How are you?”

“As okay as I can be,” He replies, “You?”

“Likewise,” You force a smile.

“I would’ve told you I was coming back but it-“ He stops himself, “You know what my Mums are like.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess so,” You nod, pulling your arms even tighter around your torso like you somehow wanted to protect yourself.

“Listen (Y/n), I...” He strifes one step forward and it’s simply instinct when you flinch back, practically cowering away from him.

Your heart races unnaturally in your chest as you glance back up to meet his eyes.

“You’re scared of me?” He speaks it as though it’s a question but the drop of his shoulders tells you he already knows the answer.

You look over your shoulder to make sure there’s nobody else around to see you conversing with the sworn enemy, “I should go.”

“So this is how it is now? Them over me?” He questions as you turn your back to him, “I’ve lost you too?”

Your path away from him tells him an answer louder than your words could’ve done.

You take your seat back at the desk and try to relax back into the class as though your best friend accused of murder was not just one walk away. Guzmán turns in his chair and looks at you with a frown settling between his brows.

“Everything good (y/n)?” He asks quietly, quiet enough that nobody else had to hear.

You look at him and force a gentle smile, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He reaches back a hand and squeezes yours in a friendly manner, “You know where I am.”

You couldn’t imagine how he was feeling. Understanding that one of his closest friends had ended his sisters life sounded like something overwhelming to even think about, let alone be living in. What scared you was that you were now becoming real friends with him, whilst your best friend had been the one that caused all of his suffering.

- - - - - -

The next day you’re sat around for lunch with everyone, adamant that today could just be a normal day. Ander makes a joke about something and Lu makes a sassy comment in response. Somehow, it feels like you could just settle into this group and feel no guilt or remorse for what had happened with you and Polo.

That doesn’t last long in a place like this.

“(Y/n), can I speak to you?”

The words are simple but they feel like a dead weight falling flat on the centre of the table. Everyone stops eating like the food has become completely sickening. And you all simply just freeze for a second that seems to last forever.

When you turn around, Polo is looking at you with pleading, lonely eyes.

“Please, (Y/n)...” He trails off, “I need to talk to you.”

“Share with the group, Polito,” Lu encourages, gesturing around the table, “We’re all friends here.”

“Just leave Polo,” You say quietly, “Please.”

“(Y/n) I just need to-“

“She told you to go,” Guzmán speaks up beside you, his words like daggers through the thick settling of tension.

“It’s okay Guzmán,” You try to assure him but his eyes are already red with fury.

“She told you to fucking go!” He raises his voice, standing up from his chair as he gets a grasp on Polo and shoves him back.

The weakened boy stumbles against the force and has no hope of fighting back. Or maybe just sees no reason in doing so.

“Stay the fuck away from me, away from all of us. Do you understand me?” Guzmán yells through seething anger, “You’re a fucking murderer!”

Polo flinches and cowers at the words. You stand up like you have any hope of doing something but you’re not really sure what you would do if you could. Would you reach out for Guzmán and tell him it’s okay, even hug him if he got upset? Or would you pull him away from Polo and take that boy as far away as you could? It terrifies you that you even have to consider the options.

“It’s okay (Y/n),” Guzmán sighs as he sits down beside you, “He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

You sink back down into your seat but it doesn’t feel the same. You stick out like a sore thumb around this group without the boy that had always been by your side. Lunch doesn’t feel the same when he’s not there to hoover up any leftovers you have or share his drink with you. Your food is left untouched and your words kept to yourself, simply just holding the fork in your hand until you feel the first tear drop against the reflective metal. You’re thankful when nobody says a word, all wrapped up in their own silence just like you.

- - - - - -

It’s as you’re walking into school the next day that things change. Polo rushes over and grabs your arm just as you’re about to walk through the doors.

“(Y/n) please just talk to me...” He sighs, a frown falling between his brows and accenting the lonely shadow of his eyes.

You glance around you and finally back to him, “Not here.”

With that, you lead him away and round the back of school where the two of you find a dry spot amongst the grass to sit on. You pull your knees to your chest and pray that you aren’t as scared as you were last time you were alone with him.

“I’m completely alone (Y/n). I’ve lost Carla, Christian, Guzmán, Ander... I’ve lost you,” He shakes his head, “I’m supposed to be coming back to school to continue a normal life, this feels far from normal.”

“Can you blame us? You were accused of murder, Polo!” You raise your voice a little bit drop it to a hushed tone soon after, “I apologise if we’re all a little shaken up by that.”

“Do you think I did it?” He asks, brows furrowing as he looks at you so intensely you feel like there’s nobody else in the world.

You take a deep, shaky breath and look at the boy you’d managed to flip your opinion of so rapidly that it scared you, “I want you to tell me if you did. Be completely honest with me Polo. Because I’ve got people convinced that you have and people convinced you havent. And I need just once for someone to tell me the fucking truth.”

He’s silent, consumed so heavily by the words that would follow, “I didn’t mean to do it... I never wanted to...”

“It was an accident,” You state simply, already knowing the answer he’d just spoken before the words left his lips, you’d known long ago, “But that still doesn’t change the fact that you killed Marina.”

“I never wanted to hurt her... I just-“

“Polo stop,” You stand up instantly, “I can’t do this, I need to get to class.”

“So what is it then?” He speaks up, your back now facing him as he does, “Them over me?”

It pained you to think it but that was the case. Despite never being 100% certain that Polo had killed Marina, you’d chosen that group. The innocent over the possibly guilty. It was the easy choice of course. Did you have an obligation to remain loyal to Polo? Maybe. But sometimes obligations have their exceptions. And as you walked away from him, you took it as the complete biggest exception that you could.

When you walk back up to school, Guzmán is stood near the lockers. He smiles when he sees you and waves, walking to catch up with your path and walk beside you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, offering you a little frown as he must see the fear in your face.

You glance to him and blink a few times to try to focus on anything but the idea of a murder confession happening on the grass outside of school.

“I’m really sorry about Marina, Guzmán. I don’t think I’ve ever fully said that to you.”

He stops in his tracks and frowns, “What are you talking about?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “I guess I just felt guilty, like I had some part in it because of-“

“Polo,” He states for you, “What did he say to you (Y/n)?”

You look towards the doors that have just opened as Polo walks inside. So oddly calm after such a confession.

“What did he tell you?”

“I’m so sorry Guzmán,” You whisper, giving him the confession he didn’t need to hear before he’s launching in the direction of his past best friend. Those words had given him more than he needed to know. Everything he’d been reluctant to accept.

Polo glances up and swallows the lump in his throat, his eyes not faltering to leave yours. In that moment, he’s completely certain that he’s too far gone now. He’d never get his best friend back.

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 6 years ago

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Christmas At the Burrow - Fred Weasley

On the sixth day of Christmas . . .

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Word Count: 2,409 Synopsis: After the joke shop gets attacked, Fred and the reader are forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow with his extended family.

A loud clang from downstairs drew your attention, and your heart started to beat loudly as you raced down the stairs. There was always sound coming from the joke shop downstairs, but this one was different. As you reached the door, you stopped, listening carefully.

“Freddie?” you called softly. There was no longer any sound coming from the shop at all. You shoved open the door, your wand at the ready. Fred and George were both on the ground. “What the hell is going on?”

“Avada Kedavra!” You dropped to the ground as a bright green jet fired above your head.

“You okay?” George asked, looking up at you. You nodded as you tried to crawl across the destroyed floor of the joke shop.

“What’s wrong with him?” you asked, motioning to Fred who wasn’t moving much.

“Took a hit to the head, he’ll be alright.” You got over to the twins hiding behind the register, taking Fred’s hand. He smiled through the pain coming from the bleeding cut on his head.

“I know you’re still here, bitch!” You looked over at George who shook his head at you. You winked before standing and stunning the Death Eater quickly approaching you.

“Is he the only one?” you asked, taking his wand.

“I think so. Come on, Fred,” George said, helping his brother stand. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“And you said keeping the business open wouldn’t be safe,” Fred said with a laugh. You rolled your eyes as you obliviated the Death Eater’s mind.

“Let’s go.”

“I told him, I told him a thousand times! It’s a good thing this happened. The next time, it would have been murder!” Mrs. Weasley yelled as she cleaned the cut on Fred’s forehead.

“Mum, we get it, you don’t have to keep going,” George said, shooting you a look.

“Clearly I do! It’s a lucky thing Y/N was upstairs or who knows what could have happened to you.”

“Y’know, Mum, this is kind of hurting my head more than the spell did.” She smacked his arm, but shut up as she finished bandaging him.

“You’re not going back there. The lot of you,” she said finally before walking out of the room.

“At least we’ll be closer to the Order,” George said, relaxing on the couch. You sighed, standing up. You left the living room and walked up the steps of the burrow, finding Fred’s old bedroom.

“Ginny,” you said with a smile when you walked in.

“Hey,” she said, sitting up in bed. “How are you?”

“We’re fine. I thought that Mrs. Weasley would be putting us in here.”

“Mum turned my room into a hotel for any visiting Order members. There’s an extra bed in Charlie’s room for George. I think she was going to put you two up in Ron’s room.”

“With the ghoul?” Ginny laughed as she politely pushed you out of the room. As the door shut Fred touched your arm. His left arm was leaning on the shelf over your head, a smile on his face.

“Dad forced the ghoul into the attic again.” You nodded, walking past him. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?” you asked, continuing to walk.

“You alright?” He grabbed your hand, stopping you halfway to Ron’s bedroom.

“Yeah.”

“I promise we won’t be here long.” You brushed his cheek and walked to Ron’s bedroom. The bright orange walls burned your eyes, and you instantly turned off the light to make it more subtle.

“We aren’t going back to the shop, Fred,” you said, sitting down on Ron’s twin bed.

“Not tonight.”

“Not ever.” He frowned as he sat down next to you.

“What are you talking about?”

“That’s the sixth break-in in a month. There’s no way we’re going back there.” He pushed some of your hair behind your ears and frowned.

“Things will settle down. We’ll be back just in time for Christmas.”

“Six days?” You rolled your eyes and flopped down on the bed.

“I promise, everything will be fine. Besides, I left your Christmas presents there.” You groaned, sitting up and grabbing his collar. You pulled him down on top of you, looking him in the eyes.

“Fred, I don’t care about the presents. We’re not going back there because I’m not going to risk losing you again. I’m scared.” Fred frowned, pulling you into his chest. He kissed your head as you cried gently.

“I’m sorry. You’ve been so strong. I didn’t realize-”

“How hard it is for me?” you finished. He nodded as you laughed. “Freddie, I know it’s hard on all of us, but you’re being stubborn. We don’t have to put ourselves at risk.”

“So you’d rather live with my Mum?” You laughed again, snuggling into his chest.

“If it means we all stay alive? Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you weren’t the one who befriended Harry Potter seven years ago. How were you supposed to know that he would become your brother’s best friend and bring mortal danger into the lives of your family.” He snorted as he threw the horrendously orange blanket around the two of you.

“Are you sure you don’t mind pink?” Mrs. Weasley asked you, frantically knitting by the fireplace three days before Christmas.

“I like pink,” you replied, wrapping up a pair of mittens you had horribly knitted for Fred.

“I’ll just make you a blue one, too.”

“Mrs. Weasley that’s really not necessary.” She ignored you as she reached into her basket and pulled out a large ball of blue yarn. You sighed, reaching for another box that Mrs. Weasley gave you to wrap.

Fred walked in a few minutes later, followed by George and Ginny. You smiled at them, glad for the distraction from Mrs. Weasley’s crying and ranting.

“Hey, Mum, Remus is here in the kitchen,” Ginny said.

“Oh, good, help me fix him dinner,” she said, scrambling out of the room. Fred sat on the floor next to you, kissing your lips.

“How’d the search go?”

“There’s not much left. They torched most of the stuff.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. We wanted to make all new product anyway. How’s it going in here?” You frowned, making him laugh. “Nothing like our flat above the joke shop.”

“At least it’s safe here.” Fred frowned, leaning in to kiss you again. However, before he could, Mrs. Weasley called you. “I’ll see you later.”

“She hates it here,” George said once you had walked into the living room. Fred groaned, running his hands over his face.

“I know.”

“Still gonna pop the question to her on Christmas day?” George asked as Fred sat next to him on the couch.

“Well, I’d like her to say yes.” George laughed just as Mrs. Weasley barked out a few more orders. You came into the room, holding a box of ornaments to still go on the tree, and tossed them to Fred.

“Everything alright, love?” he asked, picking off a green bobble on his shirt.

“Great, Freddie,” you said bitterly, stalking back into the kitchen.

“I’d wait,” George said, beginning to help him put the rest of the decorations on the tree.

Christmas Eve was supposed to be better, Fred told himself. The two of you had a great morning, even if it was in Ron’s old bed. He was hoping to invite you for an even longer stay in bed when Bill knocked on the door. Struggling to pull his boxers on, Fred opened the door.

“Morning,” Bill said, glancing over at you, still covered in Ron’s orange sheets. You forced a smile, hiding your face in the pillow afterward.

“What do you want?”

“A break. Mum has been bossing Fleur and me around since dawn, and we’d like to do a little bit of celebrating of our own, too.”

“Gross,” Fred said, reluctantly picking his clothes off of the floor. “We’ll be down in a bit.” Bill shut the door behind him, and you revealed your face from behind the pillow. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you said, walking over to him. “Happy Christmas Eve.” He kissed you softly, holding you to his chest.

“Happy Christmas Eve.”

Mrs. Wesley was so stressed about keeping the Christmas traditions alive in these trying times that she completely forgot about keeping them fun. She had everyone decorate cookies in the kitchen, and while Fred had his arms around you to give your gingerbread a beard just like Hagrid’s, she came over and told you that you were wasting frosting.

Dinner was worse. You were in charge of making mashed potatoes, but when you served them, Mrs. Weasley said that Ron liked them lumpy, and yours were too smooth. You cut into your plate four times that night, and Fred had to charm it out each time.

You were sitting by the tree with Fred after dinner, drinking a cup of tea spiked with Fire Whiskey. George and Ginny were playing a game of exploding snap, Bill and Fleur were discussing in hushed tones with Remus and Kingsley.

“Present time!” Mrs. Weasley said, bustling into the room. She passed one around to everyone, a wide smile on her face. You each opened a pair of pajama pants. Fred and George’s were matching with an embroidered logo of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Yours were embroidered with twinkling purple stars. For what felt like the first time in a while, you beamed widely.

“Alright, you lot, time for bed. Christmas comes early!” Mrs. Weasley said, ushering you all out of the living room. You followed behind a row of redheads, and were at the top of the stairs when you realized you left your wand downstairs. If it were normal times you wouldn’t mind, but with a war going on, it was always best to be armed.

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, nearly running into her at the end of the stairs.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?”

“Yes, I just forgot my wan- Are you alright, Mrs. Weasley?” She sniffed back a few tears, nodding.

“No. It’s Christmas and my son and his friends who I love as children are missing, my children who are home hate being here, I don’t know if this is going to be our last-”

“Hey, hey,” you said, helping her to sit down. “We don’t hate it here. We’re all just as worried as you.”

“Really?”

“Really. And this isn’t going to be our last Christmas together, I promise.” She smiled, hugging you tightly.

“Thank you, Y/N. Go on, now, I’ll be fine. Fred’ll be missing you.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, running up the stairs quickly. Fred was in his new pajamas, creating a small ball of light at the end of his wand when you walked in.

“Hey, where’d you go?” he asked, sitting up in bed.

“Ran into your mum on my way to grab my wand.” He nodded and scooted over so you could climb in bed next to him. You changed out of your jumper and jeans and slipped on a Holyhead Harpies t-shirt and your new pajamas.

“I love you,” you said, crawling into bed with him.

“I love you,” he said, a look of subtle confusion on his face. “What did my mum say?”

“She just reminded me what’s really important.” He kissed your forehead, still not fully understanding what you were saying. Before he could ask though, you had closed your eyes.

Christmas morning broke, and for once you weren’t woken up by any other Weasley than the one you wanted. Fred was humming a Christmas carol as he played with your messy bedhead.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning.”

“Happy Christmas.” You smiled at him, letting him kiss you softly.

“No crazy orders this morning?” you asked.

“Nope.”

“Well this might be the best morning ever,” you said, holding his cheeks as you kissed him again.

“Oh, it will be.” You raised an eyebrow at him as he climbed over your body and stumbled out of bed. For the first time, you looked over your shoulder and saw the tiny tree that Fred had conjured up.

“What is this?” you asked, sitting up happily.

“Well, we aren’t at our flat, but I still wanted our first Christmas as an adult couple to be just ours.”

“Adult couple sounds gross,” you said, crawling out of bed and over to him on the floor.

“Well, how about I call us something else?”

“Wh-” Fred reached around the little tree, bringing out a small, square box. “Is that for me?”

“It is,” he said, handing it to you with a smile. You ripped off the paper, and opened the ring box, finding a petite gold ring. “I know it’s supposed to be five gold rings, but I thought one was better than none.” You laughed, feeling a prick of tears in your eyes.

“I thought all of the presents were destroyed.”

“In the shop, yeah, I’ve been carrying this around with me for quite some time. May I?” You nodded as he took the ring out of the box.

“Y/N,” he began, a few tears forming in his eyes, “I love you so, so much. The things you’ve done for me, and the ways you’ve supported me, you’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know. I am so grateful that you cursed me in Harry’s D.A. club and that I got to spend every moment after that trying to get you to love me.” You laughed as he picked up your hand.

“I love you, and I want to start repaying you for all the things you’ve done for me. I never want you to feel scared or alone or anything and not know that I’ll be right there. I want you to be a part of my crazy family. I want to spend every day knowing that I have the most amazing woman by my side. I want to make you happy.”

“You do,” you said, laughing softly. Fred laughed, too, squeezing your hand.

“Will you marry me, Y/N?”

“Yes.” He slipped the ring on your finger before pulling you in for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas.”

“Fred! Y/N!” You were leaning in to kiss him again when Mrs. Weasley called.

“Welcome to the family,” Fred said with a smile.

“There’s no other family I’d rather be with,” you said, kissing his lips before hopping up to go help Mrs. Weasley make everyone else’s Christmas become as spectacular as yours.

#12 days of ficmas #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #hp #hp imagine #hp fanfic #hp oneshot #hp fanfiction

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itskirahhh · 6 years ago

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"Too young"

Three years ago, i was obsessed with a boy. I was thirteen, fourteen and experiencing my first romantic love. I used to talk to him from the minute i got home from school until the minute i went to bed. We used to do things like have our first hug in the corridor and then gush about it to eachother later when we were texting. We used to just stand around at lunch talking to eachother and making jokes and laughing at eachother all the time. We were odd, we sat next to eachother in lessons and laughed about the most unthinkable load of bollocks youd ever heard of. We used to make cringey ass nicknames for eachother and write them on our schoolbooks and our hands and, anything really.

A little while after, i was introduced to my first heartbreak. A 'highschool sweetheart' relationship turned quickly into an abusive relationship. Full of confusion, self harm and disappointment, realising that it affects more than just your love life and constant crying.

After that i came across a new love. I like to say, the strongest love I've had. He was different. A new set of eyes to fall in love with, a new set of hands to hold, a new scent to get used to, a new taste on his lips and a new mindset for me caused a lot of change. And once that had also run its cause and made its way directly out of my life, i had decided that heartbreak was the worst thing i had ever felt.

To be told that "you don't know what love is" or "youre too young" by someone is both common, and cruel. My mum has said this to me many times and i have no trouble in shouting back to her that she is wrong. Older people often have kids with their partner, are married, live together and whatnot, but does that change the abstract noun idea of love? Are you ever 'too young' to feel something? Or do you just feel it in a different way?

I refuse to believe that what i have felt for certain people is any different to what old married couples feel. I think that the idea of 'love' is always the same thing, whether matured or new, wearing out or going strong. I think 'love' is a thing. Just like happiness. Are you ever too young to feel happiness? Or too old? The same with sadness. Have you ever been told "you don't know what sadness is"? I was once told that i was "too young" to be contemplating the idea of suicide and it set me off on one. I ranted and ranted my case to the person until i felt as though i had made my point clear.

I understand the whole legal thing about being too young to have sex. And the moral things about children being too young to share a bed or like, go out after 11pm, that sort of thing. But too young to have a feeling i hope you agree is ridiculous. Babies feel love. Babies love their parents, siblings, other babies. In a different manner, sure. They're not about to be experiencing heartbreak any time soon or be ready to tie the knot. But do they feel love? Let me tell you something. Ever seen a baby giggle? Are they feeling happiness? Of course not. They're too young. Ever seen a baby watch their parent walk out of the room? Are they feeling sadness? Of course not! They're too young!

See, silly isn't it?

People need to stop having this fake idea that you can't feel something because of your age. It's a childish way of telling people that their feelings don't matter or giving them the idea that they aren't allowed to feel the way they feel. People need to stop thriving off of the fact that they think they are superior than others because they have 'felt things more deeply' and instead listen to what people have to say.

#rant

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conclusionsforthought · 4 years ago

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i miss sitting in the backseat of your car with you

as your dad drives us to the leisure centre to rollerskate

i remember-

you told me that your dad said,

well, before we knew each other well,

he said hed only ever heard me say 6 or 7 words

and I said, that's not true, because i told him

about my dads boss who got struck by lightning twice

and how he always went abroad in hurricane season.

either way, i think your dad's heard me say more than a few words by now.

i know you remember when we went to that odd restaurant afterwards-

and it stressed me out at first because i didnt know anyone else

but i just ended up talking to your family, to be honest.

there was that dish- aloo tikki??

i hadn't ever tried it but it looked good so i took some

and it was good.

so i recommended it to your sister,

she tried some and didn't like it

so i took it from her plate. added to my own collection,

it was rather a lot and i got tired of eating it by the end

and it had that one ingredient that stains everything yellow, yknow?

i can't remember much else of what i ate

but you ate a lot of jelly

and you sat there, for about 15 minutes

waiting for your ice cream to melt -

i couldnt understand why youd wait but

i saw the look of deviancy in your eyes,

and the chaos in your smile.

i don't know how i expected anything less

you took a sip of your drink, lemonade

then drank the ice cream from your bowl

and said, 'carbonated milkshake'.

just before leaving i waited in the bathroom for you

and i danced a little to the song playing,

but not too much because i thought someone would walk in.

your sister and mother commented on my water -

i didnt want to ask for another drink,

so i poured water from my bottle into the glass

and they all said it was vodka.

i was very tired and it was very fun

and i think your family really started to like me.

i tried to pay your dad back when he dropped me home,

but he wouldn't take the money,

so when it was new years eve my parents bought some champagne as a gift

and i took it to your house.

your mum thanked me, and your dad said, "that's ridiculous"

but we stayed awake until 5am

and by about 4 we'd somehow drifted to talk about faith and life and everything else

mostly just me and you, but your dad butted in every now and then

just semi listening

and i said to you,

"i thought I was doomed for so long.", something along that line

yknow, being able to hold hope, have faith in the future

and your dad said,

"something must have happened though. something must have happened to make you think like that"

and i just looked at him,

i didn't say anything and i didnt intend to anyway.

but it didn't... it didn't hurt, y'know?

i knew he was listening a little, and i said it anyway,

i didn't mind him knowing.

obviously, that was somewhat of the line-

i didn't go into more detail but

the honesty of it didnt engulf me.

it didn't writhe in my stomach or swallow me whole

and there was a hell of a lot that i still couldn't say

but, if i'm honest here (ironically),

that was the most honest ive been with an adult, probably, ever

because, yknow, i was never great at getting along with adults

(especially men)

that must count for something, surely.

maybe once things clear up a little more

i'll see your family again,

listen adoringly to your sisters noise

watch your mum do her best to be welcoming

see your dad trying desperately to get a high score in wii bowling.

i really hope i get to see them again.

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omghowfun-blog · 7 years ago

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how fun... are fucking shit days

So yesterday was a shit day. Just really really really really shit. Those things that ordinarily youd be able to handle but it all just comes as a flood and you break a little? That was yesterday for me.

I want my brother and his partner to stop fighting with each other and in front of their kids. The kids don’t deserve that. They really don’t. I don’t know what to do, I just give the kids love and as much happiness as I can. They have said that mum and dad swear a lot and they look scared when they tell us.. I don’t know how to help. I feel like everything just goes in one ear and out the other with my brother and nothing sticks even if they do listen. We’re just going round and round in circles with them and it’s so hard to know how to help. They have financial difficulty but my brother doesn’t want to know about it and so his partner does literally everything for that household and that’s slowly wearing her down. She does the finances, everything for the kids and the dogs, all the cleaning and cooking and all my brother does is go to and comes home from work 6 days a week and then on Sunday lays in bed all day. It’s fucked.

Uni has been stressing me out. I almost failed and assignment which has NEVER happened to me before. I had put a lot of effort into it and I think that’s hat crushed me the most- I’d actually tried really hard to get it right and it was still wrong. But from what I can see the same thing happened to a lot of people in the course, there was a lot of confusion as to what was expected from the tutors and what was interpreted by us students. The same thing is happening with the second assignment for the same course, there is so much confusion and it’s just getting really frustrating. I also have an exam on Tuesday so I need to get some study done for that and prepare well. I seriously hope I pass, I don’t know how I’ll feel if I don’t.

Lastly, I’m still seeing the same guy that I’ve talked about in my previous posts. I saw him last night and I really shouldn’t have. I was in such a terrible mood and just wanted to have a massive cry but I was holding my tears back the whole night and it brought the whole mood of the night down. I don’t think he was in the best of moods either cause he was being a bit shitty as well. Not a great combination tbh. I also kinda think I might be having second thoughts about him... I feel awful for saying it. Idk, it was probably just last night but I will keep it in mind to see if these are reoccurring feelings, if his shitty actions of last night continue or if it was a once off.

Ughh, I think that may be it. Life just hit me for 6 yesterday, it was fucked. I’ve picked myself up and am getting on with it

#personal

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samanthasroberts · 7 years ago

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How hard-partying soldier Mathew Stewart became an al-Qaida militant

Former comrades of the army private turned jihadist fighter reveal how he was scarred by drugs, alcohol and service in East Timor. I hate what hes doing But we cant hate him, one says

He wore a mask but the accent was unmistakable. The man in the al-Qaida tape bellowing, as we are killed, you will be killed was Australian. And his appearance in the April 2005 video sparked an international police race to identify him.

Greg recognised the masked man immediately. I had a gut feeling. The way he was using his hands to point, his body movements, even right down to the way he was holding his weapon, he says. I just knew it was Mathew.

The Australian federal police moved in November to issue an arrest warrant for Mathew Stewart, a former soldier who vanished while travelling in central Asia in August 2001.

Internal police documents released under freedom-of-information laws in April revealed the 39-year-old is thought to have entered Afghanistan from Iran and taken up arms with the Taliban. In October he resurfaced again, this time in Syria, where police believe he helps train fighters for the jihadist militia Jabhat al-Nusra.

Mathew Stewart vanished when on holiday in central Asia in 2001, later surfacing in an al-Qaida propaganda video. He is now believed to be training militants in Syria.

Such a senior responsibility suggests Stewart is no longer the drug-addled drifter who left Australia 15 years ago. He has earned the trust of the central command of one of the worlds foremost terrorist organisations. The mad surfer from Mooloolaba is likely the most senior member of al-Qaida Australia has ever produced.

Few are as surprised by the Queenslanders transformation as the men he trained and toured East Timor with as a private in the Australian army.

Guardian Australia has interviewed several of Stewarts former army colleagues, who recalled the young soldiers steady unravelling from drug abuse, his experiences in East Timor, and relentless bullying by two of his section commanders. The men, all since retired from the army, are torn between revulsion at Stewarts acts and an enduring sense of comradeship with a man they insist had nothing dark in him.

I hate what hes doing But we cant hate him, one of Stewarts former army mates says. I do love Stewie, another agrees. [But] if it came down to it, and it was between me and him in Afghanistan? Id shoot him.

Five months before Stewarts Delta company, part of 2RAR battalion, landed in East Timor to spearhead a UN peacekeeping force, it took part in a training exchange in Malaysia. It was the 23-year-olds first visit to an Islamic country. Mathew absolutely hated Muslims. He despised them, recalls Ben, a former member of his company who, like the others, asked that his surname not be published.

The feeling was widespread among the young men, observing up close an unfamiliar culture. But [Stewart] was probably the most vocal, he saw it as a very domineering religion and culture, Ben says.

Stewart was popular in the unit. He was exceedingly friendly, Ben says. One guy had his car break down, and Stewie lent him his car for I dont know how many months. Thats just the sort of guy he was.

Reece, who also served alongside Stewart, agrees. There was nothing dark in him, he says. Mathew was that kid who was always willing, the first one to volunteer.

Members of the unit were aware Stewart had partied hard before joining the army. He obviously had some issues, Ben says. He had done a lot of hard drugs when he was younger, he was right into surfing and that culture. His home life was pretty rocky to say the least.

He was just a normal kid that wanted a change, Reece says. He was so committed to the job. All he wanted was to be a soldier. I think it gave him some credibility.

Each of the men contacted by Guardian Australia raised Stewarts treatment by two superiors inside the company. I and a lot of blokes feel as though he was treated wrongly by [them], Greg says.

It was torment. Mental torment.

He was constantly made a target by these stronger personalities, larger figures, Ben says. He was constantly given shit jobs. Sleep is one your critical resources out there, and you always want more time in bed. But Stewie would be left on gun pickets for extra time, get verbally abused.

It just broke his fucking heart, basically, Reece says. He was incensed about it, upset. Asking, Why are they picking on me?

They were fucking arseholes, to put it plainly, he says.

Stewart after he joined the Taliban in August 2001

They say the mistreatment in the dysfunctional unit continued throughout the training exchange and in Timor, where Stewart served six months from September 1999.

He had a bit of a stutter, but he developed more of a stutter, Ben says. He had a big scar on his chin and he constantly used to rub that with his forefinger all the time. It was a nervous twitch.

He had two corporals steal every bit of confidence he had in himself, Reece says.

Im not bashing up the army. Its individuals in the army who get away with things that they shouldnt.

East Timor was an arduous deployment. We saw bodies hanging from a noose that had been out there for weeks, Greg recalls. Human remains in a well that youd been taking water out of for showers.

Reece lost 20kg over the course of his first tour. The conditions were bad, he says. It was Australias first deployment since Vietnam. It wasnt organised. It wasnt smooth.

Once we got back we were pretty troubled souls, Greg says.

Only since 2002 has mandatory psychological screening been carried out on Australian soldiers returning from combat. We were fed beer, that was our decompression, Reece says. Then we were turned loose on leave.

Stewart began to disintegrate on his return to Australia. He wasnt good, Reece says. He was sharing a house in Townsville with other soldiers. There were cigarette burns on the coffee table. He was smoking weed, he was doing stronger drugs. It was almost like he was having a last hurrah.

His stutter worsened. He was twitchy, very unsure of himself constantly questioning, Ben says. Constantly seeking approval from his friends, peers, superiors. It never stopped.

There was only the faintest clue of the path Stewart would take just over a year later. He never talked politics, but he said something funny to me once, Reece recalls. He was talking anti-American. Theres big trouble coming, Americas this and that. It was strange for the time.

Days before Stewart left Townsville to get psychiatric help in Brisbane (he would eventually be discharged on health grounds), Greg walked into his house unannounced. I found him by himself, bed full of needles, incoherent, he says.

Reece was the last of the trio to see Stewart. It was early or mid 2001, he says. At the time he was taking language courses ahead of a second tour of East Timor. I spoke to Mathew at his mums place. I asked him how he was. He seemed more focused then, he wasnt drinking. It seemed as though he had a plan.

It is likely that by this time Stewarts interest in militant Islam had already been stoked. He told a Turkish journalist in 2010 it was sparked some months before, when he encountered a picture online of the Chechen militiaman Ibn Al-Khattab. [In] Khattabs gaze I saw the peace of mind I do not see in any human being, he said, according to a police translation.

When the first video of Stewart surfaced in 2005, we all couldnt believe it, Ben says. We were taken aback and amazed. We honesty didnt think hed ended up like that, considering all the hate he had for Muslims and Islam back then.

Ben too recognised Stewart instantly for his frame, voice and mannerisms. With one difference: he didnt stutter.

Stewarts former comrades bear surprisingly few grudges towards him, even Ben and Reece, who later served in Afghanistan. What happened to Mathew stuck with me throughout my career. He was honestly a guy who was loved by many and hated by two, says Reece.

I hate what hes doing. Ive lost friends in the past 15 years that weve all gone through, and hes probably contributed to that. And a lot of us feel that. But we cant hate him. If you knew what he was like, youd understand.

They hope by speaking out they can raise awareness of mental health issues among soldiers. I owe it Mathew, I owe it to his family to say something, Reece says.

Greg agrees. There needs to be closure, there needs to be accountability.

Did you serve with Mathew Stewart, or do you know more about this story? Contact us securely using Securedrop or at [email protected]

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/14/how-hard-partying-soldier-mathew-stewart-became-an-al-qaida-militant/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/07/14/how-hard-partying-soldier-mathew-stewart-became-an-al-qaida-militant/

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allofbeercom · 7 years ago

Text

How hard-partying soldier Mathew Stewart became an al-Qaida militant

Former comrades of the army private turned jihadist fighter reveal how he was scarred by drugs, alcohol and service in East Timor. I hate what hes doing But we cant hate him, one says