#last time i did the person retaliated claiming i triggered them after they pushed me into a full blown breakdown that lasted hours

[macrotiis]

One thing I hate is how some other traumatized ppl will like weaponise their trauma against ppl they're hurting bc they haven't grappled with the fact that just bc they've been hurt doesn't mean they can't hurt others.

Like trauma isn't a competition & everyone deals with it at a different pace. But at the same time, the amount of ppl who've used their triggers to silence me after they triggered me into a breakdown is fucking wild!

It's infuriating.

[anigerrrr]

Girl’s Talk

Natasha Romanoff x Carol Danvers

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: Kamala is introduced to Yelena, and she’s also the biggest fan of her sister’s ship- CarolNat.

Warning: Fluff, Protective Yelena, Kamala ships CarolNat, Slight Thor/Loki(mentioned)

a/n: Just random pieces written after having my covid vaccine yesterday lol I’m not sure how will Marvel deal with Kamala’s superpower in the upcoming series so I only mention a bit of it. Enjoy!

/

“Ok, can anyone tell me why we always have a new kid in the compound?”

Yelena puffed as she entered the compound a bit later than usual, and she saw her sister, Carol and an unfamiliar teenager already standing there.

She came over to join them, gazing at the new girl with distrust.

“Yelena, did you just call yourself in the third person?” Carol teased, and she shrugged suggestively to the redhead who actually couldn’t hold her laugh back for this moment.

“Ha, is it some kind of 90’s joke?” Yelena retaliated. Apparently the younger blonde didn’t get enough sleep hours last night, it always resulted in her grumpy reactions to anybody. “If so, Captain, you really need to update your comedy list on Netflix.”

“Hey,” Natasha chuckled amusedly between the two blonde women as Carol protested, “just because I aged slowly, it didn’t mean I’m out of date.”

“In case you wanna know,” Natasha raised one brow and showed her support to the blonde Captain- “She actually likes to watch The Tonight Show during our dinner time.”

-by telling their sort-of secret aloud. It’s not gonna harm the redhead spy herself, though.

“What?” Kamala finally had a chance to let out her voice, “you can’t tell me the mighty Captain Marvel, my idol, watches late-night talk shows when having some spaghetti. It’s simply out of character.”

Carol frowned, “excuse me?”

“Ugh, ok.” Yelena opened her mouth with hesitation. “No, not ok, I don’t get it. Did you just call her- ” her head was pointing to the other blonde woman, “- your idol ?”

“Am I supposed to feel offended?” Carol mumbled nearby Natasha’s ear, lowering her voice to avoid any foreseeable conflict for now.

“Um, yeah.” Kamala rolled her eyes to the much taller woman standing right in front of her, and her voice sounded genuinely fearless. “Can’t you see that? She’s Carol Danvers!”

Natasha grinned back at the blonde woman, and only teased quietly, “see, someone really has a crush on you.”

Carol blushed in the tiniest way, opening her mouth slightly but had no idea what to argue. Our Captain couldn’t even tell if the redhead was seriously jealous. Fantastic.

“So you like the name or the glowing part?” Yelena hummed, and tried to hide the little noises from her stomach out of hunger.

“All of them, I guess?”

“Oh, I got it now.” The younger widow turned to her sister, and was not surprised that Natasha had been checking on her already. “We’re having a superhero fan tour here.”

Yelena wanted to get her breakfast as soon as possible, so she tried to be nice and not to get involved in this duty. “Enjoy your day then, just don’t touch any fluffy things around here. The cat can literally swallow people, and the raccoon will shoot you in the head.”

“What? No!” The brown haired girl shouted, “I’m not here for a tour.”

“Yelena, she’s a new member in the team- ” Agent Romanoff finally introduced, and took a quick glance at Carol with a playful smile. “- another one with super power, yes.”

“…wait, what?”

“Not that kind of power to control thunder like Thor or to trick like Loki- by the way, aren’t they a lovely couple?” Kamala explained a little bit, and suddenly changed the subject triggered by her interest.

“Ugh, it’s not officially announced.” Natasha was surprised to hear the little girl’s words, a status that not many people had learned about- even in the avengers’ team.

Impressed. Yelena stared at the kid and thought, still needed her breakfast, though.

“New kids.” Carol shrugged, “we’re actually talking about tomorrow’s mission.”

The redhead immediately started glaring at the blonde Captain.

“You’re leaving for days? Tomorrow?” And Yelena tiled her head to her older sister. She’d better not be the last person to know this.

Clearly someone had forgotten their domestic plan for tomorrow.

“Well, not ‘for days’,  I’ll be back before you know it. At least that was the plan.” Natasha looked a bit…nervous, but not speechless. By her side, the Captain who’s in charge of the mission seemed to be awkward for a minute, and they shared a look of silent communication.

“Yelena, you’re welcomed to- ”

“Uh- uh, no. I’m not interested in being the third wheel in your mission date. Besides, I’ve got my own thing to deal with as well. Just remember to pick me up at 8, and feed Fanny before you leave the house, it’s your turn.” Yelena shook her head quickly like nothing’s gonna convince her, and the other young superhero goggled upon hearing some keywords.

“Wait, you two are dating? ” Kamala asked in excitement, “oh my god, CarolNat is real.”

“Well, it’s- we’re…” the blonde Captain suddenly stuttered, “we’re close, yes. That’s true.”

Natasha rolled her eyes back to show her feedback towards Carol’s explanation, and refused to make any eye contact with her sister who just accidentally sold their privacy to the newest avenger.

“Oh, I thought that was your superpower.” Yelena shrugged to the two older women, kind of feeling sorry for the coming out declaration she made for them. “Like, telling the lovebirds in a group of people.”

Kamala gave her a ‘seriously?’ look, “nobody owns a superpower like that.”

“You never can tell.”

“Ok, things got a little tense here.” Carol tried to calm them both down before they made a wrong impression on each other. “It’s time for breakfast, how about I make you guys some really nice omelette?”

“Oh God.” Natasha sighed exaggeratedly, but she didn’t deny the purpose. When Carol turned, she just pushed her sister’s shoulder and forced the younger blonde to follow. “C’mon Yelena, you love eggs.”

“I never said that.”

“Wow, Captain Marvel is making me an omelette…am I dreaming?”

“Never had a nightmare before?”

“Yelena!”

*

“So…”

A half hour later, Yelena was staring at her plate and trying to figure out why it’s not like a normal ‘omelette’ she had seen on television. “In what universe an omelette looks like this?”

“Well, it’s not that bad.” Natasha took a bite of hers, perfectly ignoring the fact that it resembled more scrambled eggs rather than an omelette.

“Stop being rude- ”As they both saw Carol and Kamala on their way to the table, Natasha squeezed her sister’s hand and ordered softly, “and tomorrow I promise to buy you the expensive tweed coat you always stare at in the display window.”

“Huh, it’s exactly why I really can’t stand to undergo a mission with you two. Deal.” Yelena sounded mockingly but she didn’t mean to embarrass her anyway. “You turned weak, Natasha. You knew it, right?”

Natasha only hummed in russian as a response (something like ‘you’d know that when we spar’ ), and grinned when Carol sat next to her as usual. The blonde Captain was finally done with cooking everyone’s breakfast and Kamala had surprisingly finished hers, only sipping a glass of apple juice.

“So, how did you meet?” Said Kamala, aka the newest avenger with extraordinary attention to the secret pairs around the base, “how long have you been dating- I wanna know the whole story.”

“Here we go.” This was the best reaction for Yelena to ‘stop being rude’.

“Well, first of all, I won’t deny or admit any statement of it…” Natasha cleaned her throat and started, her sweet butter sandwich was left on the plate.

“We’re apparently colleagues.” Carol promptly interrupted with a shrug, which made the redhead widen her green eyes in disbelief.

“I met her after the snap, and during the five years, the feelings just kinda grew on us.” The blonde smiled gently as she took Natasha’s hand, “after the end of the war, we started hanging out once a month like normal people, later on it began to be once a week as my main works in space were separated to the new-trained protectors and the Guardians. That’s it.”

Kamala was literally speechless, looking like she just got the best Christmas gift for this year.

“If you kiss her like those cliched soap operas now, I’m gonna kill you both.” Yelena did like the eggs, but obviously she wouldn’t say it. Instead, she ate it up and mumbled her statement after hearing the shorter version of their romance.

“Yelena.” Natasha raised one of her brows, reminding her who’s in charge on this table. And their deals .

“Alright, just kidding.”

“Can I take a picture when you do that?” Kamala immediately stood up and asked Carol, it seemed no one actually cared about the debriefing of tomorrow’s mission anymore. “-when you kiss Black Widow.”

Her Captain was flushed, “w-what?”

To save her partner from the short circus situation, Natasha rolled her eyes and pulled Carol’s arm all in a sudden. All Kamala could do was open her mouth widely in amazement, and tried hard not to scream like a fan who was completely out of control.

Natasha left a rough kiss on the corner of Carol’s lips, her blood red lipstick stained slightly on it.

“Satisfied?” She said with an impeccable grin, leaving the flummoxed blonde behind her.

“This place is harmful for my heart.” - the newest superhero from Jersey City claimed.

“You’re gonna get used to it, kid.” - and the former widow from the red room finally agreed with her.

“I should have stopped leaking the key information.” - the blonde Captain knew it deeply that Natasha’s not gonna take it easy on her tonight.

[hopetofantasy]

‘Tout oublier’

Title: ‘Tout oublier’ Square Filled: Crackship Ship: Jens Stoffels/Robbe Ijzermans  Trigger Warnings (if applicable): none applied. Mostly longing and softness, no kissing or smut  - only hinted at. Created for @skamevents 

Notes: As a huge VDS and Sobbe supporter, I challenged myself to write something outside my own comfort zone. A crackship that I don’t entirely support, but hey, I tried my best! :) (Btw, who can spot the cameo?)

The title comes from an ‘Angèle’ song, a Belgian singer Luca referenced (and sang along with) in S2. I thought it fit this work like a glove.

“Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour. It’s about time that you showed up!”

A seemingly casual statement, answered by a mischievous smile. Long brown locks radiating a ‘I just got laid’ look, covered by a two sizes too big sweatshirt. Clearly not his own. Dark eyes anxiously darted towards his. 

Oh yes, my dear, you are in so much trouble now.

“Robbe, what were you thinking?! You just went with the guy, like that, without saying anything to us. We couldn’t find you anywhere! You didn’t answer any texts or calls, we had no clue where you were! He could’ve been a rapist for all we know! How could you be so irresponsible?!”

Wow, back up there, turbo. You need to relax. 

He slowly lifted up his hand to pinch his nose, in a desperate attempt to relax. Breath in, breath out. Damn, it wasn’t his intention going off like that, especially since he looked like a parent now. Robbe didn’t deserve this. Not only because they were best friends, but also roommates. Broerrrs, but there was still a line. 

Don’t go there, Jens. You’re not responsible for everything he does. 

He just wished the boy would listen. It’s a harsh world out there, especially for LGBT youngsters. And they didn’t know the neighborhood that well. They’ve only just moved in, like, a month ago. The boysquad knew a thing or two about Antwerp, but Ghent? A whole other ballpark. Even though, you know, the fishing pond was bigger here than it ever was in Antwerp, he had to admit. 

Soooo not the point, Stoffels. 

Robbe pulled out a smile, watery smile. He knew exactly what he was doing, with the innocent Bambi look. A hand on his shoulder, a reassuring nod, yet with a hint of irritation. 

“Yeah, okay, Jens, I’m sorry I didn’t leave a message. But if I wanted to have sex with some random dude, then that’s my choice. Something I decided. What I wanted to to! Alright? I don’t want people parenting me. I already have a father, well, only my father, but-”

The smaller boy paused for a while. A glimpse of hurt clouded his face, for just a second. Just enough to weaken Jens’ anger. He knew how hard it all had been, coming out in the midst of his father’s mental health. Oliver had worked too hard for his family. To keep it all together. Completely burned out, the specialist had said. He kept trying to provide a good home for his son, despite every financial struggle they faced in the past. 

Jens knew Robbe blamed himself for this. Even though it was never his fault, the scars were there nevertheless. He sighed and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“I’m sorry.”

Ever since high school, he had felt responsible for the boy. Trying to compensate for everything people did that made it all harder. So when Robbe asked him to be his roommate, he said ‘yes’ on the spot. Now he only needed to learn about their boundaries, where they lie and what they were. 

Since Robbe walked into the room, he had felt something stir in his stomach. Relief? What else could it have been? That the other was safe, at home. Or what you could call their home. A four-by-four dorm room, entirely filled with boys’ sweatshirts, leftover pizza boxes and mismatched furniture. 

Yet, something still gnawed in the inside. To be honest, he never knew Robbe was the type of guy for random hook-up with a random stranger. Jens always thought that was more his forté. Robbe was the romantic, doe-eyed boy with the heart on his sleeve. So maybe Jens didn’t want to be left behind? Especially now that they’re both out and proud, with way more game than their small town high school. 

Was it that what’s bothering him?  

“Hmmm, whatever, bro. Next time, chill out. I’d rather not tell you every time I go with a guy. It’s bad enough that we share a space with barely any breathing room. I’ll be hearing too much of you anyways. And vice versa”, Robbe huffed. He pushed his roommate out of the way and started to undress for bed, before flopping down. Almost passing out immediately. 

Jens’ features started to soften a little. Gosh, it was sometimes unnerving how easily Robbe could get away with things, by pulling his infamous puppy eyes and awkward jokes. It turned everyone’s insides into mush. 

Nobody could stay mad at him, ever. His roommate was wired like that. So it also didn’t come as a shock when Robbe mumbled the following:

“I still have his number, by the way, if you would like to ‘have a go’ at it”

What did came as a shock, however, was how fast a pillow could hit a face that didn’t expect retaliation. 

The topic of hook ups came up again a few weeks after that.

“So, Jens, if you had to choose: would you rather kiss a boy or a girl? I mean, you do have a preference, right?”, Moyo coughed out with great effort. This question was instantly answered by a bitch slap to the head, followed by a collective fit of laughter. 

The boys were lying on the common room floor, in the midst of their building, passing around the joint. They had been binging on chocolate bars before. Empty wrappers still scattered around their heads, close enough to ball one up and hit Moyo. He deserved it. The boy wasn’t exactly known for his friendly behavior. On the contrary.

“What kind of question is that? I don’t care. So why would you?”, Jens  answered hazily. He’d already grown tired of these questions in the first months of his coming out, when everyone walked up to him to ask really personal stuff. ‘Did you have sex with boys before?’ ‘Are you sure that you are bisexual and not just homosexual?’ ‘You’re now attracted to everyone, right?’

“I don’t, bro. I’m just asking, because I have some options for you. As in, hot girls’ numbers in my phone and friends who know hot single gays. So, if you’re want, just say so. I can hook you up with anyone. Male or female. I mean, it’s been ages, right? When was the last time you got laid?!” 

Another laugh accompanied Moyo’s loud howl. “It’s true, you know, I’ve gotten more D than you in these last few months.” Gosh, Robbe was such a traitor. Jens sighed and pulled himself up by the elbows, looking around the group of misfits. Aaron was already dosing off next to him. No surprise there, he never could handle his weed. 

Especially Dutch marihuana. 

Out of nowhere, Moyo started humming a popular rap song, instantly forgetting what he asked minutes before. Robbe joined in by tapping his fingers on his bleached jeans. A burgundy beanie covered his eyes as well as the messy mop of hair. Jens found himself more and more fascinated by his best friend’s locks lately, ever since he started growing it past his shoulders again. He never noticed how nicely they framed his face. 

“I can fix my own hook ups, broerrrs. I don’t need any help.”, Jens huffed out eventually after being distracted by the sudden change. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Jens, you don’t even hang out with anyone but us lately!”, the brunette retaliated. He immediately snatched the joint out of Jens’ hands, blowing some smoke clouds into the air. Jens caught himself looking at it. 

The smoke... 

The eyes...

The lips...

Euhm, what? What the hell was this? Since when I stare at my roommate’s lips? Okay, maybe, maybe I do need some relief after all. That could be the only reason I want to stare at Robbe. 

Right?

Right? 

Right?

His mind was still frazzled, but he was eventually able to huff out an agreement towards Moyo. The latter one pulled out his phone immediately to check out the options. A tall leggy blonde? A beautiful chocolate colored man? A petite pixie-cut brunette? Wow, Moyo didn’t overreact when he said that he knew people. 

They finally settled on a guy Jens had spotted in the local skatepark before. A somewhat rugged, beach blonde with beautiful eyes. Leather jacket, artsy vibe? He seemed cool. Moyo’s friend Noor had been to school with this dude. It wasn’t necessarily his type, but hey, it was just for one night. Nothing more. 

So it was a date. 

Kinda. 

Then why was his brain still picturing smoke on a certain someone's lips?

The thought still occupied his mind a couple of days later. Jens never knew how this situation came to be. How he suddenly felt something towards Robbe. Attraction. Because that’s exactly what it was. There was no way of denying it. He had felt it for weeks, maybe even months, without acknowledging it. He couldn’t be feeling this. It was wrong, so completely wrong!

Robbe was Robbe, he was like a brother, he was his best friend and roommate. 

Okay, there was only one way to get over someone, Moyo always said: 

“Get under someone!”

So why didn’t he? 

The cute guy in front of him was the perfect distraction. He was a smooth talker, a sight for sore eyes and surely knew his way around guys as well as girls. He was pansexual, he explained, gender didn’t matter to him. When he liked someone, he liked someone. Didn’t think twice about it. And he seemed to like Jens. Enough to kiss him. Enough to go back to his dorm room.

Except...

Something in Jens closed down the moment they arrived at the door. His date seemed to have felt his hesitation, immediately stopping the trail of kisses from his ear to his shoulder. The air between them seemed to cool down in mere seconds, filled with insecurity and unanswered questions. A leather jacket was the only sound heard in the heavy silence. 

“You don’t want to do this, do you?”

Jens’ eyes said it all. He knew that he didn’t need to tell the stranger what he felt. People always claimed the dark haired boy was an open book, which was a blessing as well as a burden. God, why couldn’t he just do this? Just be with a guy, any guy, especially one as attractive as this one and get it all over with? Stop being such a frikking dumbo and take him inside!

But he didn’t move. He wasn’t truthful to himself, to the other boy, to Robbe. He needed to end this before it even started. It wasn’t right. So he slowly backed away from the beach blonde and said his fast goodbyes along with a string of sorrys. The other seemed to accept this sudden change of behavior, with a knowing glint in his eyes. As if he knew how much of a mess his head felt. As if he’d experienced something like this before. 

Once inside, he’d only wished he had stayed with his date. Robbe was lying on the floor, seemingly upset, clinging to an old stuffed animal. Red rimmed eyes. His hair a total mess. Sobbing like a baby. His own heart shattered on the spot.

A chernobyl explosion. 

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”, he whispered silently. 

He tried to look inside those brown eyes he liked so much. The ones who moved his world, made him feel all things at once. He needed to see what caused this distress. Because Robbe didn’t cry. Ever. He didn’t cry when his mom left at age 10, he didn’t cry when he father got diagnosed at age 15 and he didn’t even cry when his grandparents called him hurtful names when he came out to them at age 17.

Jens slowly crawled towards the smaller boy, hauling his body off the floor and cradling his head into his arms. The soft touch confused his heart. He knew Robbe was able to hear the thrumming beat, but he could care less at the moment. His boy was crying. His boy needed reassurance. So he held him tight and listened. Listened to the hiccups and the slurring speech, the wails and the cries. Half an hour later, Robbe was finally able to answer the question.

“Dad... he couldn’t deal with me leaving. Broke down completely. He’s inside the hospital, psychiatric ward, Jens. They don’t know if he’ll ever heal from this. He’s empty. He’s clinically depressed. He doesn’t even know how to feel love anymore. I’ve got nobody to love me anymore. And it’s all my fault, I left him...”

The sobbing continued at a louder volume. The beautiful brown eyes filled with such pain, it made Jens sick to his stomach. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled the boy out of his arms, his hands firmly gripping Robbe’s upper arms. It’ll bruise, but he didn’t want to let go. Robbe needed to know. 

“Robbe, listen to me! Clinically depressed doesn’t mean your dad doesn’t love you anymore, okay?! Your dad is going through a hard time in his life. He probably struggling with this for a while and it only now faced the world. It’s not your fault! He held on as long as he did, because of you, Robbe. Because you were the light in his life. You still are! You always are, for everyone I know. For your family, for your friends, for me. Especially for me... Gosh, I love you so much, you don’t even know.”

Oh my god.

What did he say?! 

Fock, fock, fock.

Oh no. Robbe suddenly looked at him with a puzzled expression. He saw the mechanics whirring inside his head, linking every accidental touch with his upped heartbeat, every soft sentence with his longing stares. Jens knew he went too far. It’ll only take a couple of seconds to realize how much the raven haired boy had concealed. From the world, from Robbe and from himself. He loved him? Really? Since when?

Robbe had pulled away quickly, like a deer caught in headlights. Making his heart ache for a do-over, another chance to explain everything. To come clean and tell him it was a mistake saying this. But before he could say a word, he felt a slight pressure on his chin. Lifting it up. It was the smaller boy again, sitting up this time. 

Brown eyes stared into his, like he wanted to communicate something without forming a sound. They didn’t need any words. They would never. The sorrow was forgotten, the love was touched. The heart was healed again. Their sweet touches, their soft sighs, their teasing glances. Between them and their feelings.

Everything was said that night.

It was always them.

Against the rest of the world.

Only the two of them.

And the next morning?

Well, the next morning,

they never spoke of it again. 

Everything was forgotten.

Tout oublier.

Pour y croire, il faudrait tout oublier.

[jtownraindancer]

Chuck Shurley x Reader: Penitence of the Light

*

Forgiveness came in the small moments, stolen away while prying eyes were guided elsewhere.

Your anger had at last abated to a faint thrum in your veins, a lingering bitterness that haunted your subconscious, appearing as annoyed annunciations whenever casual citations to His splendor chuckled past chapped lips.

Nevertheless, you could not deny the strength of your relief, the magnetizing moments of pure, unbridled joy at His presence, your compassionate nature and unconditional love an indomitable force prompting each welcoming embrace, clinging desperately to the person you had thought gone for so long.

You forced away all doubts of His attachment, comforted in the strength as He pulled you even closer, steadfastly securing you against his frame.

The brush of lips against your temple, the cautious brush of fingertips tracing moisture from your eyelid, the tremulous cacophony of emotions roiling in His eyes-

Frantic fingers dug deep into clustered curls, dragging His crown back to your shoulder, holding Him once more in your arms.

For years, you had thought Him lost, heart always aching in the unspoken goodbyes and declarations of the depth of your attachment. And now, just on the fragile, feeble cusp of having forced yourself to finally move on, He was here again, fingers fondly forming familiar figure-eights across your back. The newfound discovery of His divinity dimmed your relief, feeding distaste and the distant strands of distrust.

"You’re such an asshole."

Your proclamation only partially passed your lips, vexation puncturing the discreet outburst.

Judging by the small sounds of amusement softly escaping Him, a preamble to another firm hug, desperation solidifying as He crushed you against Him, molding Himself around you in a cocoon of everlasting devotion and protection-

"I know." A sigh escaped Him, full of feelings you couldn't possibly hope to unravel, breath teasing your neck as He turned to murmur into your hair. "I'm sorry."

The apology, sincere and certain as the steady progression of a stream, whispered past His lips, three simple syllables which certain celestials would sacrifice essentially anything to have them grace their ears. The certitude mustered more confidence, a soft-spoken guarantee that assured you of His affection.

“I missed you.”

The simplest truth, murmured into His shoulder, bewildering timidity preventing you from seeking out His gaze.

His grasp shifted once more, a soft spoken grouse grumbling against your skin.  

“You have no idea how times I wanted to spirit you away.”

There was an irritated puff of air, a possessive pressure applied through His grip, His fingers clawed in the unanticipated yen.

“Hell, I’m tempted to run away with you right now.”

Flattery triggered a series of fluttering in your pulse, the burst of bashfulness thrown aside in favor of playful pitch.

“But my Lord- Aren’t you supposed to be above temptation?”

His retorting growl rendered gooseflesh, the slight slash of clawed digits signifying His displeasure at your teasing.

“Don’t push it.”

Despite evidence to exasperation and the weight of warning worming its way into His words, familiar fondness filled your spirit, falling out in fading fragments of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” came the first, followed by a soft kiss against His temple, candor and acquiescence offered in your refrain. “I’m sorry.”

Moments passed, insignificant in all conceivable ways when compared to the continued clasp of the Creator, the familiarity of the gesture, the fondness between you, the comfort elicited by such simple means-

Not even passing footsteps padding past the open doorframe were enough to pull you away, fleeting apprehension of an unanticipated audience an anxiety quickly dismissed, eyes drifting shut as you made sure to commit the moment to memory.

There were more to follow, each brief gesture carefully hoarded as deeply into your heart as you could possibly dare.

 

You drew comfort from the lingering presence of His fingertips across your shoulders whenever He paced around the table debating tactics with Dean, the consistent contentment in glancing up from tedious tomes to look upon longing lividus irises, the brimming affection you tried to obscure from Sam's suspicious gaze.

You were falling into near forgotten habits, every encounter electrifying your veins, harmonies to familiar tunes carrying across the hectic kitchen as you would cast carefree jests and mocking expressions behind the Creator's back.

Despite the prolonged denial of your pardon, the fall back into friendship was fully consuming you.

Your condemnations still sometimes sought center stage however, damning His pride and His severance in some of the more heated moments of strategizing. Wary Winchesters were woefully unable to dissuade your accusations, worry turning to wrath when your words were espoused by an equally enraged Archangel.

Lucifer proved an unwavering ally when presented with the vengeful visage of God, borrowed eyes narrowed as he shielded you from retaliation. The combined strength of your indivisibility- Archfiend, Seraph, and Humane- often proved enough to drive the Despot away, merited meekness heralded in His return, muted atonement bequeathed to His sons before sequentially seeking the ultimate source of His consistent distress.

You were always waiting for Him, hidden away in small enclaves, sometimes perched beneath the telescope, other times stationed precariously upon tabletops.

He always returned to you, quietly affirming your accusations, apologetic litanies weaving around you in the very next breath.

It was in those stolen moments, away from the curious glances of Heavenly Host, Darling Devils, and Haggard Hunters, when He fully revealed His true vulnerabilities, a collapsing star tumbling headlong into your arms.

One such moment, more memorable than most, an epilogue to a particularly dreadful disagreement, He ensnared you while you had been exiting the library, earning your ephemeral exacerbation at His precipitous gesture of devotion.

Distress departed soon enough, drifting away as His fingers entwined your own in a nonsensical cluster, His concessions cascading in a cluttered, cynical cry, sodalite irises shining in subdued contriteness, knees pressed to the floor as He pleaded for your forgiveness.

Confusion and concern had you pulling Him upright once more, dragging Him to the nearest seats. Embarrassment prevented coherence to your words, a muss of sensibilities too extreme to truly comprehend.

Upon somehow detecting your acceptance however, He was once more surrounding you, falling into you, entire galactic clusters gravitating into your embrace.

You slowly carded your fingers through His hair, crescive contentment creating a cozy cover contrasting the crassness of the utilitarian backdrop.

In this moment, it was easy to pretend you were home again, sharing a couch and cocoa as He considered the next clauses for His gospels.

In this moment, it was easy to pretend your companion was nothing more than the verified persona of inelegance and timorousness.

In this moment, it was easy to pretend that the cradling hands that had carved the very cosmos, carefully placed on your cheeks, that the gaze that had beheld the birth of starlight, searching your eyes with endless yearning, that the words of adoration-

“Why would I be lying?”

The query shattered your resolve, reduced the armor so carefully assembled throughout the time of His absence to ash.

You longed to believe, longed so wholly for the words He wove to be true that you were willing to overlook His past sins, forget all previous transgressions, ignore the crushing Reality of who He was, what He was, and how utterly insignificant your presence must be in the grand scheme of Infinity.

 

And how dare He continue casting this charade after claiming deference.

 

“Chuck, stop. I’m not-”

 

“You are, though.”

 

His interruption, authoritative and succinct, annihilated your attempts of dismissiveness, silencing you with a long-suffering huff.

 

Calloused hands lifted yours, blue eyes sweeping you into their eternity. His expression elicited temporary surrender, candidness crafting a transitory calm to your customary fretfulness and self-doubt.

 

“When I first wrote about you, not once in a million years did I expect to care about you so much.”

 

Perfect sincerity played a part in the small stuttering of your heartbeat, irregular rhythm harassed by the small upturn of His lips, the delighted mirth hovering around Him.

 

“Then you come crashing into the story with a clusterfuck of chaos and compassion- I couldn’t help being drawn to you. Everything you had for me kept me on my toes; you drove me nuts.”

 

He offered a sweet assurance, but your discomfort was far from assuaged.

 

“There’s a big difference between writing about someone and truly knowing them, Chuck.”

 

He offered a small tilt of His head, a trait common to His celestial children, curiosity carved into His features. “I know.”

 

Clarity suddenly presented itself, His mouth opening in a small breath of understanding, closing once more in pensiveness. His silence lingered for some time before He was speaking again, softer, sweeter, more somber.

 

“It’s not your character that I love. It’s you.”

 

The phrase fell upon your ears with a finality that offered no space for contention, an edict burned into your very soul.

 

“That character I created? They’re nothing compared to you. The real you. The person who cares so deeply for everyone else that they constantly forget to worry about themselves. The person who constantly chooses kindness over violence. The person who decided that the Devil would enjoy Denny’s, whose most embarrassing moment was-”

 

“Ah!”

 

You started, quickly shushing Him by pressing your pointer to His lips, panic and annoyance and gratitude overlapping in a jumbled mess of nerves, making your thoughts near impossible to decipher.

 

Recognizing that you had no further reprimands, He lifted His hand once more, tenderly taking yours to draw you nearer, crown bowed in reverence as He pressed His lips to your palm, eyes closing in penitent praise.

 

“In this entire Universe- You’re the only person I’d be lost without. I just hope one day you can actually believe me.”

 

Outside this small circle of clandestine serenity, a war beyond all reckoning was brewing. Duty dictated dedication to the cause, a devotion to developing strategies to combat Chaos and concepts that had plagued the Cosmos since its conception.

But for this moment, for this brief, fleeting moment, you would allow yourself a single slip of selfishness, succumbing to the sublimity of simple bliss.

 

For this single moment, hidden away from prying eyes while their attention was needed elsewhere, you savored the wisdom that you, with all your limitations, with all your mistakes, with all the flaws that made you so tragically human-

You alone had brought God to His knees.

*

[bvnshcc]

&& whoa little songbird,         still your breath and bite your tongue -                 your fight is far from over,                         your life has only just begun.

〔 LULU ANTARIKSA, 21, CIS FEMALE 〕╰  DAPHNE OPHELIA WRIGHT just  came  over  half - blood  hill .  you  know ,  the  child  of  APOLLO who  was  claimed  ten years ago ?  i’ve  heard  chiron  say  that  she  is OBSERVANT & COMPASSIONATE ,  but  if  you  ask  the  aphrodite  kids ,  they’d  say  they’re  RETICENT & WILLFUL .  i’d  say  they  remind  me  of  messy buns and yoga pants with a grin that says ‘i haven’t slept in a week’ , empty pizza boxes with poems and lyrics scribbled across them , coffee cups forgotten on windowsills , whispered apologies as the sun sets , pushing yourself to your feet no matter how hard you fall , fingertips moving over the strings an old and well-loved guitar ,  especially  since  they’re  NEUTRAL/FOR THE NEW CABINS .

basics .

name :  daphne ophelia wright . nicknames :  oph , lia , wright , banshee ( only her sibling can get away with calling her this ) . birth date :  nov. 20th, 1999 . gender :  cis female . pronouns :  she / her . ethnicity :  indonesian / white .  nationality :  american . hometown :  santa monica , california . demigod abilities :                   - curse creation - can curse others to speak in                 rhyming couplets for a time .                 - archery expertise - naturally skilled with a bow .                 - vitakinesis - can heal herself and others ( to heal                 others she must sing to her father ) .                 - audiokinesis - control of sound waves and music .                 - excels in the arts - musically inclined and excels                 in all forms of art cabin number & godly parent :  cabin seven , apollo . how did their godly parent meet their mortal parent? :  ophelia’s mother knew what she was doing , had purposely surrounded herself with people she knew would attract the god . she herself was talented with a violin , the sort of talented that never grew famous but left a lasting impression on those that heard her . 

muse  appearance .

faceclaim :  lulu antariksa . height :  5′2 . hair colour :  dark brown / black . eye colour :  golden blue . dominant hand :  right hand . distinguishing features :  her eyes , which are typically blue . dress style :  casual or athleisure is the best way to describe her style . she generally wears jeans , shorts , or some sort of leggings paired with a worn-out t-shirt or hoodie . only wears shoes when she has to .

camp - related .

go - to  weapon : a bow that was a gift from her father , a xiphos that is the only thing of her mother’s she kept . ambrosia :  a fresh funnel cake drizzled with chocolate and caramel , covered with powdered sugar . favourite camp location :  the north wood , deep enough in that most other campers don’t come around too often . their opinion of their godly parent :  she loves her father and is as close to him as any demigod can hope to be with their godly parent . age they were claimed : eleven years old . how they were claimed : ophelia’s childhood was an unusual one , even for the child of a god . she knew very early on that she was a demigod, but never knew who her father was - that changed not before her eleventh birthday , when events occurred that would’ve left her orphaned in the eyes of the mortal world . her father came to her in person , leaving her in the care of an old satyr that would take her to camp half-blood . the satyr left her to walk through the woods to the camp alone , refusing to get too close and ultimately making it nearly impossible for the girl to convince anyone that she already knew her father and had no reason to stay in the hermes cabin. it would be the next morning that she was claimed, after a night of refusing to sleep in the hermes cabin and instead spent sneaking around camp. stance on the new cabins : for  the  new  cabins / neutral . reason for their stance :  she understands why people would want their own space , especially with so many of the demigods being fulltimers at camp , but hasn’t really given the whole situation much thought . their opinion on lyssa pentelute :  she does not like lyssa , at all, full stop . even if ophelia did understand why lyssa was acting out - which she doesn’t - she can’t stand her on a personal level . quests : several ! the last of which took place when she was 16/17 and didn’t go very well for her .

personality .

positive traits :  observent & compassionate . neutral traits : tenacious & ardent . negative traits :  willful & reticent . mbti :  infp . alignment :  neutral good . hogwarts house :  gryffindor . kinsey scale :  2 . archetype : "the wise old man” self & “the innocent child” persona . what candle scent are they :  black cherry merlot . goals & desires : her main goal is just to help people whenever she can . fears : turning out like her mother . hobbies :  singing , playing with whatever instrument is close at hand , drinking more coffee than any one person ever should , painting/drawing on things that probably shouldn’t be painted/drawn on , hanging out in the tops of trees . habits : humming under her breath , drumming her fingers against her thigh when nervous or stressed .

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

so this is ophelia, my newest kid. below you’ll find some Fun Facts™ about her. feel free to hit me with any questions you have <3

- TRIGGER WARNINGS: child abuse/neglect, death/murder, all just mentions but just to be safe <3

- ophelia’s mom? not a good woman by any stretch of the imagination.     - she was a demigod with a minor god for a divine parent, resented the gods and camp.     - had two demigod children - ophelia & her older sibling ( will be a wanted connection ) - with two different gods, was raising them to be weapons.      - she never told the kids who their other parents were, taught them twisted versions of stories that made the gods and heroes out to be much worse than they were.     - she named ophelia ‘daphne’ because she thought it was funny to name the girl after one of the people apollo could never have. ( info on the myth of apollo & daphne ) - ophelia and her sibling were homeschooled. - her stepdad was good to her and her sibling - as much as he could be anyways. took them out to have fun whenever their mom would go on ‘business trips’.     - this is how the kids actually ended up learning about the gods a little better, and were able to at least guess at who their parents might be - it helped that when they asked, their stepdad didn’t hide it from them. - their mom found out and was pissed. she killed the kids’ stepdad, it didn’t go according to plan tho and instead of being the well-trained soldiers she’d been raising ophelia and her sibling retaliated - they’d tried to act fast enough to save their stepdad, but they couldn’t save him. - ophelia had struck the killing blow against their mom, narrowly missing her sibling with the arrow but she’d trusted that she’d hit her mark. - she sang in their stepdad’s final moments, something in her gut telling her it was what she should do - but even a child of apollo can’t heal all things. - her dad showed up, some things happened that i’ll explain someday, and the kids were on their way to camp. - she was claimed at dawn the day after arriving at camp. - when she was 16/17 she went on a quest that didn’t go as planned      - one of the heroes that was with her turned against the other two, badly wounding the other that was with them before going down. they had no ambrosia which left ophelia, and she only had the strength to save one of the two in that moment, already worn down from the quest and having to heal herself. she made her choice, saving one and ending the other’s suffering. - she refused to go on more quests after that, and left camp when she turned 18 with no intention of going back. - she was living in manhattan when the battle happened, had two mortal roommates that had fallen asleep when the spell washed over the city. she very nearly stayed out of it, but her heart just wouldn’t let her sit by if she could do something to help. - she... technically fought on the side of the gods, but only attacked monsters, while helping demigods from both sides. - she came back to camp to help after the war, and has stayed for some reason she can’t quite figure out.  - her sibling calls her ‘banshee’ bc she’s always had a habit of singing or humming sadly when things die/are dying.

[jack-andthestalk]

Stuck on you, Confront, Chapter11.

I had text Cathal to say we needed to talk he must have sensed there was something wrong as he arrived shortly after his shift had finished, coffee and bagels in hand. The snores emanating from Rupert’s room assured me he was sound asleep and afforded us some privacy.

 “Sit down” I said gesturing to the kitchen table, he looked at me questioningly “It sounds serious?” I gave him a nervous smile and tried to cure my dry mouth with a sip of coffee.

 “I am afraid that it is a bit…” I trailed off. I contemplated where to start but I knew it had to start with last night, which would color everything else for Cathal he needed to know what I had done.

 “Something happened with Jamie and me last night” I spat out. His eyebrows almost hit the ceiling, he gritted his teeth and said “did he hurt you?”

 Guilt plummeted around my weak heart and I shook my head, biting my lip. “No no he didn’t hurt me, we…I …we kissed.” It sounded juvenile but it was as near as I could get to what happened without telling Cathal I almost burned up in Jamie’s hands.

  His mouth opened and closed again, he said nothing for a few moments and then he nodded his head, not meeting my eye “I see.” He said fatly.

 “I am so sorry, I should never have let it happen…I was…well I don’t know what I was thinking to let you down like that.”

 “Let me down? He repeated incredulously “I feel like I have been punched in the stomach Claire!”

 I fiddled with my fingers, eyes down “I’m so sorry truly…him coming to London has had a greater effect on me than I acknowledged to you and it’s brought back a lot of the past.”

 “You mean cheating is he showing you how to be good at it?” He stood up from the table “The dummies book at cheating….that kind of thing?” Cathal’s eyes narrowed and something like a sneer formed on his lips. I couldn’t blame him for being angry, I deserved it all.

  “Did you fuck him?”

 “No I told you we kissed.”

 “Did you want to?”

 “Cathal” I said pleadingly “I told you what happened.”

 “I am guessing that is because you did…”

  A silence descended on the small kitchen, Cathal paced over and back, arms folded. Eventually he said softly “I should have seen this coming, known he would try and manipulate you like this….given how he treated you in the past.”

 “Cathal…the version you have of Jamie isn’t necessary true…he isn’t a manipulator…he isn’t perfect at all but I think I am clever enough to know when I am being manipulated?” I crooked an eyebrow at him. “I am so sorry about what happened but you have to accept that it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t let it…”

 I looked at him earnestly, he gave me something resembling a nod and ran his hand over the countertop hypnotically, he was troubling his bottom lip, deep in thought.

  “Claire…look I am not saying I forgive you what you have done… but these things can happen with ex’s and you told me yourself that you and Fraser shared a big past.”

 I nodded, not sure where Cathal was going with this. “The main thing is” he continued, “that you regret it.”

 I swallowed hard. Knowing the next sentence was going to be difficult. Tears were starting to sting the back of my eyes conscious what I said next would really hurt Cathal. “I regret how it happened…I shouldn’t have behaved like that while still with you, but the thing is Cathal I would be lying if I said there weren’t feelings there that triggered ….well…us doing…what we did.” I choked out eventually.

 His hands wrapped around his coffee cup his eyes cast down again, “Does he want you back?” I nodded solemnly and croaked out “yes”

 “And what do you want?” I looked at him not really sure what he was asking. “Do you want him, is that what this is about”

 I shook my head, “I know it’s not what you want to hear but I don’t know what I want, my head is a mess and I am not going to do this to you so…”

 He cut across me “but you are unsure...do you not think that speaks volumes Claire”

 “Cathal” I said warningly “I am unsure because we split up under horrible terms and now he here and it’s hard not to see that person you loved….I don’t want to be working through those feeling and still committed to you…you deserve better, and I can’t help the way I feel.”

 He slammed his fist into the counter top, glaring at me, “You said yourself you are don’t know, it could all be nostalgic bullshit and you’ll realise why you left that prick in the first place.” I could see his chin tremble with the effort of reigning in his emotion, he stood and walked in front of me, holding me gently by my forearms and looking straight into my eyes.

 “I love you Claire and I am not going to lose you because that fucker has decided to show up here after two years and claim you.”

 I bent my head shamefully “I know that and off course you must be furious, I don’t blame you one bit…I am not here to make excuses for Jamie but he has had reasons for only showing up now.”

 Cathal’s eyes narrowed, I could see the fury building in him over my defense of Jamie.

 “Does he? Well I don’t fucking care what his reasons are!”

 He let out a long shaky sigh, struggling to reign in his temper and emotion. “We were really happy up to this weren’t we?”

 I stammered out “yes we were.”

 “Claire this is just feelings being dragged up from your past, there is a reason you left him…don’t make that mistake of thinking it was meant to be or….”

 I slid away from his hold putting distance between us, “Cathal, Jamie was hugely important to me….I loved him….” Without adequate words to describe my love for Jamie I finished lamely “a lot.” Him coming back has turned my mind and my heart upside down and I am not going to be sorting through that crap while still with you…you don’t deserve it.”

  He opened his mouth to interrupt but I stopped him, “I can’t go on seeing you Cathal…I need to sort myself out or I will end up hating myself even further for continuing to hurt you.”

 He didn’t say anything for a long time I could see his knuckles had gone white balling his hands into fists at his side. “It didn’t take much did it, from him to twist things …”

 “Cathal, Jamie isn’t using mind games, he is a decent person…yes he has been straight about how he feels but I don’t think he has sinister motive!”

 “Was he a decent person when he went home with another woman Claire” he growled at me. “Well was he?”

 I shook my head sadly and said “no he wasn’t, but he wasn’t himself then…”

 “Oh for fucks sake Claire do you even hear yourself, Jesus!”

 We stood there staring at each other, neither willing to back down.

 There would be no excusing Jamie’s behavior to Cathal and no point in me infuriating him further by trying.

  Suddenly he lifted his head and said “I will be here Claire, work this out in your head because I think you will realise that he is not worth throwing away what we have…”

 My mouth fell open agape, I was expecting a number of things from Cathal this wasn’t one of them. Seeing my expression he smiled “The minute you know you’re being an idiot for even considering him, I will be here waiting.”

  “Cathal” I choked out, before I could respond there was a loud knock on the apartment door, my body went rigid. I didn’t have too many callers this early on a Sunday morning and this was not an ideal time to be entertaining.

  I anxiously padded out to the front door, opening it to reveal my biggest fear, Jamie wearing a huge smile, holding two coffee cups, my eyes were wide in panic, I shook my head furiously from side to side at him, Jamie just returned my look with a confused face and said “what is wrong with ye Sassenach?”

 He had only a moment to steel himself; he must have anticipated what was coming as he thrusted the coffees at me just before Cathal lunged bodily at him, growling “you’ve a fucking cheek mate.”

 Cathal pushed Jamie up against a wall in the corridor, his hands at his neck. Jamie must have punched him into the stomach as following some interaction near that area, Cathal bent over winded, before Jamie managed to push him against the opposite wall, Cathal retaliated by throwing a punch, thereafter it was hard to decipher what was happening as Jamie threw a responding punch and they hit the floor. I tried pulling one off the other but both of them were big men and I didn’t stand a chance, I legged it into Rupert’s room shoved him hard in the shoulder and said “get up Cathal and Jamie are killing each other.”

 He looked at me completely dazed but rose himself none the less, muttering under his breath about me being nothing but trouble.  Rupert pulled Jamie off Cathal, with a great deal of effort, he held Jamie by the forearms and I could hear him hissing something in Gaelic trying to calm him. I stood in front of Cathal checking him for injuries, he definitely was going to have a black eye and had several cuts and grazes.

 I was afraid to turn and look at Jamie in case I aggravated things further. Cathal nodded his head over my shoulder, through gasped breaths said “If you can’t see through that prick then I can…”

 “ye ken nothing about me so I wouldna make presumptions…” Jamie hissed

 “Jamie” I said exasperatingly “please don’t…”

 “You will see Claire” Cathal said with certainty “that he will let you down just like he did before….I will be here when you work that out.”

 “I dinna think so maaate” Jamie growled snidely

 I turned to Jamie “Will you go.”

 Jamie hands clenched in fists at his side, but he couldn’t hide the despondency at what he seen as my rejection of him, off course that wasn’t the case but Cathal was the innocent party in all of this and I had to see that he was ok.

 I thought Jamie was about to protest but after a pause he nodded, gave me one inscrutable look, shrugged himself free of Rupert and said “as you say Claire”

 Cathal glared at him as he walked by, turning and said “she only did it out of pity.”

 I shoved him and said “stop that is enough”, when I looked back Jamie was gone.

   After Cathal left my apartment I sank onto my bed and sobbed, trying to understand how I had made such a mess of everything. Resenting how complicated my life had become since Jamie’s reappearance. I loathed that I had become exactly what had destroyed me two years ago and I grew angrier at Jamie for showing up this morning, fighting with Cathal, but mostly for turning my very carefully re built life up on its head.

 As the hours passed a dawning realisation eventually fell over me. My life might be upside-down but would I feel truly feel better if Jamie wasn’t in it? Since he had shown up in London, I had been miserable at his reappearance but once he had crept back into my life and shown me his heart it was like my world had been turned on its axis, I knew I wanted him, needed him, what was upsetting me was that I hated that I did. Once I could pin point the reason for my distress, a sense of calm crept in. I didn’t want to want him but I couldn’t help it.

 I crept out of bed, and padded out to the sitting room. Rupert lay sprawled across our sofa, winter sun lighting his face, his eyes transfixed on the tv. His head snapped around when I came into the room “are ye alright lass?” he asked softly. I just nodded. He was kind enough not to mention my blotchy cheeks and red eyes. “Will I make ye some food?” I shook my head “em no thanks…I was actually wondering if you would tell me Jamie’s address?”

Rupert’s eyes widened slightly, “Do ye think that is a good idea, after the stramish this morning?”

“I need to speak with him, I didn’t even check if he was ok…I had to see to Cathal…I”

Rupert cut across me “Ye dinna need to explain yourself to me Claire…you do what is best for ye”?

He wrote down something on a piece of paper and handed it to me, “although I will no deny that Jamie will be anxious to see ye….and he is my clan after all” Rupert winked dramatically at me.

I smiled gratefully at him “Thank you.”

  It was about an hour later, showered and less bedraggled I knocked nervously on Jamie’s door. When he opened it his eyes widened in astonishment. “Clearly not expecting me then?” I asked sheepishly.

“No lass I canna say I was.” He croaked out. He was wearing tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt, hair tussled on top of his head, he had a swollen bottom lip and a bruise developing across his jaw.

His lips curled into a half smile and he widened the door to allow me entry. Once inside the flat I was hit instantly with a wave of nostalgia, so many of our things from Edinburgh were strewn across the room, a patchwork quilt that I had bought in a flea market, was thrown over the back of his couch, an ugly ceramic statue of a tiger we bought while drunk on a weekend away together sat centre fold beside his gas stove, my books were still on his bookshelves and a charcoal sketch Ellen had done of me and Jamie while we were unawares was now framed and hung on a wall inside the living room.

Jamie must have seen my dazed expression because when my eyes stopped wandering around the flat, he was rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously, a pinkness climbing his cheeks from his neck. I ran my hand over the ceramic statue, “I’m surprised you didn’t dump this, you hated it!”

Jamie shook his head,” if it was yours it stayed…”even if it is the ugliest cheetah I ever saw” a shy smile lit up his face.

“Do ye want something to drink? Will ya sit?” he asked hurriedly. I shook my head instead I crossed the room and put my hand to his face, “that is a nasty cut, you should put something on it” he shrugged his shoulders “I’m fine Sassenach, it’s nothing that will no heal” when I looked up he was gazing down at me tenderly, “I am sorry I asked you to go earlier, I just didn’t know how to control what was happening…and I…thought things might get heated again…”

He shrugged his shoulders and said “Ye have every right, he is yer boyfriend after all…”

I stood back, folding my arms and stared at a spot on the floor not meeting his eye.

 “I need time Jamie.” I said in no more than a breath. “My mind is a mess….I….don’t know what I want or what I should want more accurately.”

 He nodded solemnly, “I ken Claire…I am sorry I can’t imagine it is easy what I am asking of ye, I had no right to hurt the lad.”

“no you didn’t.” I said sternly, “He didn’t do anything to you.”

 Jamie shook his head disbelievingly “not done anything to me? Are ye mad Claire? He has you, he gets you every day and every night when all I can do is dream of ye!” his voice trembled with emotion.

I swallowed hard shifted uneasily from foot to foot, “I have asked Cathal for a break.” I spluttered out. Jamie’s head shot up his lips turning slightly upwards, eyes wide. “I need to work things out in my head and I can’t hurt him like that.”

Jamie took a step forward reaching for me, “I am not promising you anything Jamie, a lot has happened…there are things that might not be fixable.”

He nodded eagerly “I will wait Claire, for however long it takes.”

As usual huge thanks to @balfeheughlywed I trust her instinct with these two completely. @claryclark the queen of encouragement and up to her own eyes writing oval office smut!

[joyfullynervouscreator]

The Power of Potions pt 6

Snow had blanketed the grounds during the night and continued to fall all morning. Staring blearily up at the heavy clouds shrouding the rafters of the Great Hall ceiling, you half expected to be able to stick out your tongue to catch snowflakes, but the magical snow vanished about a meter above your head.

Kíli was grumpy this morning, sullenly silent in a way you thought was related to the tail-end of an argument with his Uncle that you had overheard when you arrived at their door. Thorin had not offered to do up your hair today, and Kíli’s hair looked suspiciously unbrushed too, but the Professor’s baleful glare into the darkness of his morning coffee made you decide that keeping mum was your best option. Fili, however, was the life and soul of the Slytherin table, continuing his ongoing food feud with Urquhart – French crepes, this morning – to the great amusement of the assembled Firsties. Slytherins like to sleep in on Saturdays – leaving for breakfast before 9 was solely the purview of overexcited youngsters – so you had been surprised to see Urquhart waiting for you when you stumbled from bed in time to reach Thorin’s door by 8.

“Don’t you like pancakes, Kíli?” you asked, feeling slightly worried by the incongruously sullen face he was presenting. Kíli made a discontented sound, pushing away his plate and crossing his arms over his chest, making his resemblance to his Uncle even more pronounced. You stifled a smile, though you caught the corner of Professor McGonnagal’s lips twitch up at the sight.

“Not hungry,” he claimed, the loud rumble coming from his small tummy moments later giving away the lie. You frowned.

“Eat your breakfast, Kíli,” Thorin sighed, looking defeated. Kíli shook his head stubbornly.

“Want Amad.” You didn’t know what an amad was, but Kíli looked near tears, and Thorin’s shoulders tensed beneath his robes, as though the request pained him.

“I know,” he said quietly, reaching over to ruffle Kíli’s hair gently. “I miss her, too. But she wouldn’t want you to make Gwen worried by not eating, don’t you think?” he added. Kíli looked at you thoughtfully, and you did your best to look suitably worried, your heart bleeding as you realised the person he missed was his late mother.

“Please eat something, Kíli?” you asked, suddenly filled with longing for your own mother, even though you had been little older than Kíli appeared now when she died of Dragon Pox and possessed only scattered memories of her. Kíli’s brown eyes filled with tears, and suddenly you found yourself with a lapful of small boy, his face pressed into your chest.

“No be sad, my Gwen,” he murmured into your robes, but you could feel a slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and knew that you weren’t the only one struggling to hold back tears. Wrapping your arms around Kíli’s small shoulders, you pressed a kiss into his soft hair.

Thorin quietly pushed Kíli’s abandoned plate closer, and when he emerged from your chest, he tucked in quickly.

At the Slytherin table, Fíli was staring up at you, a light frown on his face. Tugging on Urquhart’s sleeve – both boys had been fascinated by the idea of being able to talk to someone across the room as long as they were in sight – gesturing towards you and Kíli. Replying to Urquhart’s swift motions, you turned your attention back to your breakfast, though the pancakes had lost some of their allure.

 After breakfast, you’d decided that playing with weapons was going to have to wait; going outside in the blizzard that had piled up snow on the windowsills of the castle until the panes were half-covered was not a sound idea. Instead, you gave in to the combined power of Kíli and Fíli's puppy eyes and took them off exploring some of the lesser-known areas of the castle, starting with a tour of the dungeons usually given to Slytherin Firsties.

The warren of tunnels and basements – some parts of the Dungeons spanned the equivalent of three floors aboveground – that made up Hogwarts’ underbelly was confusing at best, but Slytherin students had spent centuries working out which went where, finding lost rooms and treasures of older times around many unsuspecting corners. Firsties were limited to the most common areas of the Dungeons using clever ward spells that triggered if anyone under the age of 13 strayed into places they ought not. Not all the tunnels were safe, which was why Professor Snape and the House Prefects kept up the diligent web of spells meant to safeguard the students.

The boys seemed endlessly fascinated with their stint as dungeon dwellers, chattering wildly about the nest of small snakes they had found in what had once been a sitting room by the look of the furniture, though most of the fabric was ratted and torn. Thorin had only raised an eyebrow at their stories, but Professor Snape had given you an indecipherable look and left lunch early; the snakes were not dangerous, but you had recognised them as the ruby-patterned species of feathered adders whose shed skin was a highly desirable – and valuable – potions ingredient.

 A glance at the ceiling revealed that the blizzard had subsided, even though the clouds still looked pregnant with more snow; the boys enthusiastically agreed to join the Inter-House Snowball War going on out on the lawns. Fíli seemed to have forgotten his challenge, but Urquhart was in no hurry to remind him, scowling darkly at you when you signed him a reminder, teasing him about his imminent defeat. Instead, both Urquhart and Kimberly-Anne joined you outside, bundled up against the chill nip in the air, using magic to create a large pile of snowballs that the twins enjoyed pelting anyone and everyone in range with.

Laughing brightly when Kíli scored a direct hit to the back of some girl’s head, your mirth turned into a slight groan when she turned and you recognised Jenelle Thompkins – you had finally remembered her name – from the minor altercation the day before.

Straightening from giving Fíli a high-five, you tensed slightly, ready for any sort of retaliation, but Jenelle smiled sweetly, waving at Fíli before she turned to throw a snowball at one of the ‘Puffs.

“Gweeen!” Kíli suddenly cried, bouncing towards you. You caught him around the shoulders, stopping him from tripping over his undone bootlaces with a small smile.

“Want me to tie your boots, Kíli?” When he nodded, you knelt on the snow, Fíli running off towards Urquhart, whose wand had created a small snow-fort they both could hide behind, pelting unsuspecting Gryffindors. When you finished tying his boot, Kíli gave you a sunny smile, holding out the other foot expectantly. You smiled back, enjoying the happy look on his face, no remnants of the morning’s sorrow lingering in his eyes.

It was the last thing you saw before blackness descended.

 Tag list: @wondrousthingsofwonder @filisleftmustachebraid @leah-halliwell92 @sassytyphoondetective @life-is-righteous @littlemergirl4779

[rhotdornn]

[The Echo] Our Catastrophes

“Out of the greatest Storms doth spring strength for tomorrow.” – The Raven

A good deal of years back.

[Music theme]

“Sharlayan! Come, stay mine hand... Succumb, and speak to me o’ scriptures and their whereabouts. The throat o’ yours will thank you direly, once no blade lingers by, chillin’ it.”

Debris now dots this waning mercenary’s struggling gaze. Discs of silver fend and tremble in the aftermath of an eardrum-snapping cannon barrage—from one floating plank to another does his sight bounce, finding naught but dismay and rubble, hounding after the din and desolation had settled. After each plank, a waft of smoke trailed—their paths, tailed by a line o’ ashen dust littering the sloshing waves behind them as they ferried on. Flames still flickered atop some—this was a batch freshly ripped from the belly of a frigate, no doubt about it.

However did this come to pass...? We were but a simple force—not strapped for engaging in naval combat, but on drier shores. The Old World strayed not from the paths o’ the Northern Empty out of convenience—no, a firm route betwixt Eorzea and the Forum had been established, and no lucrative reason would draw one to a detour around the bloody North... A mere straight line from one mainland to another... And this carnage would’ve been wholly avoided. Brutes did not roam these wastes in mere legends, for a curse.

Our larger, mercantile vessel stormed the seas in the company of seven smaller divisions—mercenaries stocked to aid our cause of championing the seas to northern Eorzea. For a wonder, we never caught glimpse of our contractor... Word had it that he ne’er boarded deck, either.

Then, in the closing of one and the opening of another blink, hearty, clear skies saw ebony venom spill across their folds, and a massive pillar of fuming smoke drove in roves from the downed companies. All seven divisions now disposed of their contents within the bowels of the sea.

First came a blade o’ wind... Sharp and frigid as a flurry o’ snow. Through the blanket of smog it sliced, and through this window blood punctured... But not that of mine comrades, no—a colossal mast peered through the engorging flames and billowing smoke, bathed in crimson, and crowned with an orange leaf, born at its breast.

The tell-tale of this lot was not lost on me. Chance was it that either the King or Princeling sat ‘hind that steerin’ wheel. The tale of Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn... He who stormed’ in the wake o’ his sire Hyrtfyr Syhrachtynsyn—the Sunderin’ Shark, an’ supposedly late grand-sire, Etarellion. For a mercy... One had been rumoured t’ be kinder than the other when dealin’ out his hand o’ mercy.

As the ilms betwixt our ships had been bridged, I’d find such mercy... And such mercy, in turn, would find its blade fitted against my neck.

Paralysis, however, saw all my labours drink deep of futility. My cheek now married to the splinters of the deck as my head was pressed underfoot—the Captain himself deigned to entertain my misfortune.

“What’s the bloody use of tellin’, anyroads... If dey ain’t on the upper deck, y’can take a whopping guess where’ey might linger...” I sense myself growing weary of this charade—no sense for courtesy in the face of death, I think to myself. Even less so do my thoughts sympathize with his request—not after losin’ half o’ me mates to rampant cannon-fire.

“I... Must admit,” A smoky, drawn-out voice chirps against my good ear—I find my eyes to widen, recognizing it as feminine, growling with a low, rolling ‘R’.

“I can scarcely recognize the need for some scriptures, Dornn. Granted, they might sport use on southern markets, but Aerslaent... Will see little and less demand for them.”

At the very least now I sported a figment of an idea as to whose boot was certain to crush my lobe in, under the promise of cruelty.

“When was any mention o’ a price tag e’er made, sister-dearest?” From the exchange, bits and bobbles began to fall into place—siblings, if not in one form of the sentiment, then in another.

“Now, Rallyrwyda, entertain our guest. I’ve words with the Cap’n o’ this sorry-arse fishin’ boat.”

“What, then pray tell, is the point of amassing deckhands in the first place?”

The Captain spared her no quarter... And I felt the boot lift soon thereafter from its vantage point atop my head’s flank. Of course... A pack of Sea Wolves swarming the deck would tear any and all flesh from limb in their trigger-happy frenzy—a single person would chance upon more fortune interrogating a captive, rather than the eager lot storming the deck.

Suddenly, the cold kiss of the blade against my throat is severed—and replaced by cold, pale digits, half-gloved in ink-bloated black leather, gripping at my collar. His clutch was fast and unforgiving to pardon; his palm the size of my noggin, and his leather jacket perfumed by a stale cannon-powder scent.

“Who commands this ship?” His burning orbs drill into my soul—one visible scarred by the imprint of a blade, healed some time ago. His rain-soaked, sharp hair matching in texture of his iris, flitting across the mounting wind rampaging from the south.

“Through wind and brine, swept ‘cross the gyre of time... We are come, to meet at long last.” The cabin door never unsealed, nor unearthed a figure—all of a sudden, the ebony drift of a coat stood within the midst, quelling the chaos about. A black plumage fitted his longcloak, hooded with a raven’s beak looming over his forehead.

“A... Poet? I am coming to see why you suffered no difficulty claiming this ship, if it was commanded by him, Dornn.” The female chimed in anew, her hair promoting the same brand as their ship’s banner had. A deep crimson with orange highlights—and a pale, ghastly complexion.

“Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn and Rallyrwyda Hyrtfyrwyn...” From the darkened brink of his hood, the shadowy figure exposed naught—but the single flicker of twin emerald eyes, keenly addressing the siblings.

“Your time of meddling has come to a... Beginning.” The figure concluded, much to the befuddlement of the siblings.“Your time of meddling has come to a... Beginning.” The figure concluded, much to the befuddlement of the siblings.

“Right. We’ve no interest in petty prose. Hand over the scrolls. Accept your fate with the remainder of the ship.” The larger Roegadyn retaliated back, his sabre withdrawn from its scabbard—and my own frame finding a broken rib upon his hand’s release, and subsequent fall onto the deck.

“Passion... Pride... By thy hand many’ve been stripped of their life. Your first lesson shall begin anon.”

An oddity suddenly hooked atop my eye—I could feel it with my breath, spot it with my eyes, feel it filtering through my bloodied nostrils... The aether of the battlefield was stripping rightly from the downed carcasses... Yet, it returned not unto the Slipstream.

“I’ve hardly time to waste on deluded poetry. Stand yer ground.” The Sea Wolf barked back, hands fast with their grip atop his blade’s hilt.

“Speak of fate as seen fit—but these transgressions... I cannot permit. Ravenflock and Ebonshade, unto me!” The mysterious Raven drew his arms apart, beckoning to the heavens above. Through the dreadful wind a flurry of dark feathers began to stray—the aether of the dead suddenly began to clump together. To concentrate. To course into a single locus.

The siblings were at a loss for words—I could catch the hints from the corner of my eyes.

“What in the...”                                                                                      

“Rallyrwyda, with me. Dhem still suffers his afflictions, so we’ll spearhead this.

“...Right, right.” The female herself hinted at a more sophisticated weapon—a rapier, kissed by the sheen of moonlight.

The twin ravens suddenly shot through the rising tempest behind the ship, and from its bed—water began to swirl and ascend. A great pull began to draw the ship gradually in, conceived by a mounting pillar of water roaring in a dreadful sight—a hurricane.

“Even odds, then.” The Raven humoured the duo, calling to one of the approaching cloudkin. As it perched atop his extended palm, its plumage began to betray it—and from such a scatter, a blade was withdrawn. From the bird’s beak came the razor, and from its wings the hilt crowned the blade. A gorgeous specimen garmented by two emeralds serving as eyes to the face of the raven atop the blade’s hilt.

The Roegadyn seemed to heed his warnings little—into battle with hearts aflame they championed, the male taking offensive with his broad blade, and his partner following swiftly in tow. Behind the hooded figure she swept, thus pushing for an abrupt lunge—whilst her brother took the avenue of a more brutal approach—hurling his blade dead-on from above.

The mysterious duelist, however, spared no quarter, either—his waist motioned to a sharp left, pardoning the maiden’s blade by mere ilms—and his blade struck against the male Roegadyn’s sword, employing swiftness over brute force to redirect it—against his own sister’s weapon with a hasty thrust to the side.

“Wh-“ She had not expected that.

“...Hrmph.” He proved a notch more experienced in the art of dueling.

That didn’t satisfy their cravings, as it had seemed. All the while, the tumultuous hurricane sowed the seeds of destruction in the background—seeds, which it would very soon reap.

This did not evade the duelist. One large leap soon took hold of his step, settling him on a greater altitude—on top of the quarterdeck, whilst the twin Wolves still tarried upon the gangway.

[Theme transition]

“I trust that was enough of show-and-tell, fated Hyrtfyrdyn. Be that as it may, time runneth out on us. Time... Which we can ill afford to spare. Embershade, I summon thee!”

The second raven now dominated the skyline—but not for long. In a swift swoop it cascaded onto its owner’s shoulder, its own body surrendered to the cause—a longstaff began to extend from its form, curved and bent, beaten yet never broken. Of wood was its make, with neither gem nor trinket to adorn it in decor.

It was then that I finally could dwell on my thoughts—and doubtlessly, all those present, too.

The locus of all aether was hosted within his breast. All those who perished in the naval encounter... Every droplet of blood—none returned to the Lifestream yet.

“Get back down and show me your mettle...” The male Wolf seethed in a lowly growl, glaring at the cloaked figure from below.

“Sacrifice...”

“Dornn, hold—the storm! We cannot turn back, nor press onward... Its pull is too great—we need to rout back!” The female cried with her thoughts submerged in horror as she gazed upon the hurricane—a colossal tower of circling water, now capable of sundering an entire island with its brute assertion.

“Bravado...”

“Blast it... I’ve ne’er seen anythin’ alike it in all my seafarin’ years...” The male Roegadyn felt his palm betray him—his blade panged with a low clamor against the ground in awe, as his gaze climbed the monumental storm.

“Salvation...”

The chant dried out at a sudden notice. The raven-doffed figure gravely glared onto all those of attendance. For once, his voice thundered louder than the eviscerating storm towering behind him, and the content of his decibels carried powerfully ‘cross all ropes of wind.

“Hear me, Hyrtfyrdyn! This life of thine is forfeit. Weigh the feather, for it mustn’t be so—and to such end... Both of thee shall see the dawn of morrow. Rallyrwyda—ne’er forget thine love for those thy heart lost... Will lose. Guide thy brother when I cannot. Rhotdornn... Through this life ye shan’t walk alone—in the company o’ Her wilst thou abide, and with the companionship o’ the Lady of the Golden Leaf wilst thou both grow. Calamities may come, new, blank pages shall follow—but now both of thee must cling to thine gifts. Keep thy grandfather close to heart.”

His eyes bore a unique radiance, resolute and stalwart in the eye of the storm. Both weapons he suddenly set aside, bending both knees—and pressing his palms together as he knelt.

“What gifts—Dornn, what is happening?” Rallyrwyda clearly took no fancy to this type of development.

“...Would that I could tell you.” Rhotdornn took a single step backwards, every nerve in his body chilled to the marrow of his bones. “Hold... That...” Suddenly, a possible answer presented itself—and possibly, what the figure meant by the word ‘gift.”

“Sister, brace yourself—we need t’—confound it! I need to tell you somethin’—“

The Raven sliced through the storm with a harsh word of command—and all of the aetherial reserve welled up within him ignited—beginning to burn. His gaze shot skywards, and a solitary cry echoed through the heavens.

“Words o’ healing, words of woe—chants of safekeeping my command now make.”

Briefly he knelt in pause, eyes gaining focus within the vault of the swirling clouds.

“Limit Break—Final Prayer!”

Clouds began to wax around the raging torrents—the crown of the storm beset by gloom and smog as the murky sky churned. The eye of the storm took centre stage.

From the focus point of his glare, a pillar of light ripped through the heavens. Guided by his very presence, it soared—through the heavens it punctured, and through the throat of the hurricane it fended. The gut of the storm ruptured with light from within—through the dense coat of welling water reflected a layer of light—a proper pillar within the belly of the calamity. The beam then began to spread, swallowing the entirety of the scene in a brilliant setting...

The Raven’s head sank the droplet of a single tear suddenly shattering against the drywood beneath. The sliver of a whisper chanced upon the ear of none, for all of present consciousness dared not pry their eyes off of the rampage before them.

“Undying is mine regret... Unending, this lament. From thy slumber you must wake anew, to grant Light unto where darkness hath drawn forth.”

 Threads of golden brilliance began to fade away—stripped of luminous, honeyed texture, in an exchange for a radiant, silver grace. Where he may’ve been robbed of it—hope returned to the Raven’s emerald blink.

“...Thank you. Forgive me.”

A second presence began to strut across the relentless, lulling sea blanket. Aetherial in manifestation, it demonstrated unfathomable ease in plucking away the accumulated aether—and spilling it across the tempestuous, watery grave.

The prism of silver light erupted at once from within—needles of raw brilliance collapsing through the hurricane’s walls.

In heaps it roamed across the sea—swallowing any and all it chanced upon by whim of fortune.

...And whatever followed in its aftermath, is history.

History...

...And the hint of a feminine phantom within the heart of the storm, her aether beating with unquenchable scorn.

[Involved & mentioned]: @ladyrivienne | @werfollow | @rallyrwyda

[infinitum-imaginaerum]

Blind // Yoo Kihyun - 17

Blind Chapter 16 / Seventeen / Blind Chapter 18 Finale

Kihyun had been in questioning for hours. When your dad showed up, he had no choice but to call the police, and since Kihyun was the one who pulled the trigger, he had a lot of explaining to do. Fourteen whole hours, he was in interrogation. Seventeen whole hours since he was holding you in his lap.  

Fourteen whole hours since he’d been unsure if you’d died or not.

Interrogation was hell—it always was, but it wouldn’t have normally been that bad if he wasn’t so stressed out about other things. You were at the forefront of his mind. His last view of you was a bunch of tubes everywhere as you were hauled into the back of an ambulance while others tended to himself and Wonho.

After that, it was straight to the police station for his statement, confession, and everything else. Kihyun had killed Jooheon in self-defense, he claimed. He had the injuries to prove it, all of you did. But whether Kihyun’s injuries were enough to claim it as self-defense was a whole other story.

He screamed about how it was bullshit that they were going to be nit-picky like this. He screamed about how they should see Wonho, or you, what of your outcome? He screamed about how he was a wanted criminal and Kihyun’s record was in question when it came time to look at what actually happened.

They couldn’t hold him, considering.

So when he was finally let out, he rushed down to the hospital.

Relief washed over him when he heard you were checked into a room. Although you were in critical condition, that was much better than dead in his book. He rushed through the white halls, the details of the investigation the least of his worries at that point as he looked for your room. He could feel the tears burning his eyes, the pain in his heart and the ache in his bones.

Once he got to your room, he didn’t leave. The nurse explained to him over and over that you needed transfusions, and that the only person you could really take from to see improvement was your brother, Wonho, who was also pretty critical and needed to keep the most of his own blood that he could.  She explained to Kihyun that, while other similar blood helped you stay alive; they didn’t have the healing properties that you needed.

The nurse would know; she was your aunty, specifically assigned to you for that reason.

So Kihyun sat beside your bed and watched you every moment he got. He huddled up in a chair next to your bed, holding your hand, talking to you, anything he could. There were a couple of instances he was bawling outside your room on his own, having been kicked out when you started taking turns for the worse.  He bit the knuckle of his index finger on his right hand as he paced back and forth, the tears still stinging his eyes.

When he wasn’t visiting you, or couldn’t be visiting you, he was with Minhyuk who had seen a lot of improvement. He was in a regular room now, but still needed rehabilitation after many surgeries to put his body back together. Jooheon did a number on him that was for sure. But he seemed to be in good spirits, despite being worried about you for Kihyun.

Minhyuk was supportive, letting Kihyun vent to him as he waited for your room to open again. He was just down the hall from you, so it wasn’t far.

“So they just need Wonho to get healthy, before she can start getting healthy, right?” Minhyuk asked, trying to get it all straight after the whole explanation of Wonho being your brother and what in the fuck was even going on with the whole thing.

“That’s right,” Kihyun muttered, pacing around Minhyuk’s room. He was getting antsy to see you, the nurses had been in there prodding at you for an hour and a half now, and although you were unconscious he was sure you weren’t comfortable.

“Have you checked on Wonho?” Minhyuk asked.

“He’s conscious, but he doesn’t really want to see me,” Kihyun admitted.

“Why’s that?”

“She’s dying, because of me,” he explained.

“What do you mean? You saved her life!” Minhyuk exclaimed.

“He says if it wasn’t for me, neither of them would be in this situation. Which I believe… She got the most injured protecting me,” Kihyun retaliated.

He didn’t stay much longer with Minhyuk before checking on your room, which had finally been free. Your dad was there, who just looked at Kihyun sadly. It was his own daughter, but he felt as though Kihyun was much more upset about it.  Your father took Kihyun’s shoulders, turning him.

“She’s gonna make it. She’s as stubborn as a bull, and if you remind her every day that she has a reason to live—I know she’ll pull through.”

“What’s her reason?” he asked.

“You. I can feel it. I can see it in you.”

He left Kihyun with that, having just come out of the room from seeing you. He disappeared into Wonho’s room before Kihyun pushed into your room. He took his normal seat, pulling up a chair to the side of your bed. He looked over you, wires everywhere, tubes going this way and that, tape holding IVs and other things into your skin. Your wounds weren’t patched just yet, they had wound-vacs on them, despite how tiny they were.

He took your hand, holding it with one and rubbing the back of it with the other. He felt guilty; there was no doubt about that. Wonho had a point—if it wasn’t for him, neither you nor Wonho would be here. But even then, he spoke to you.

“You can do this, I believe in you. You will make it out of here alive,” he told you, and although you weren’t conscious, you were sure you could hear his voice in the back of your mind. “I know it’s my fault you’re here, and of course I feel terrible about it. But there’s nowhere I’d rather be than by your side. If you can find the strength in you to continue… please…” he said, his head falling forward to press against the back of your hand while he tried to contain his tears.

“It’s my fault you’re here,” he whispered over and over again.

Nine days you’d been in the hospital in a medically induced coma. The less energy you were using the better. In those nine days, Kihyun had been acquitted. Well, the charges had been dropped since the state found no reason to press them in the first place. They could have used your account, but since you were… well, otherwise incapacitated, that was out of the question. In those nine days, Wonho had mostly recovered and you had begun blood transfusions.

Kihyun didn’t understand why you weren’t getting better right away. It took a long and difficult explanation from your aunt as to why it wasn’t that easy of a process.

“In this specific incident, there’s a lot of difference in the family blood. As I’m sure you’re aware, Wonho got the short end of mom’s genes. His blood isn’t quite strong enough for her, so it’s going to take some time,” she sighed, also explaining that it was much more difficult since your mom was no longer among them.

Kihyun tried to understand, aside from being impatient. Wonho had somewhat come around to him a little bit. He went in fully convinced you were going to die, so nine days later seeing you alive gave him hopes back. He talked briefly with Kihyun daily, asking how your condition was since he couldn’t bring himself to go in and look at you. The way Kihyun had described all of the wires and tubes and monitors and how much you were still bleeding (shockingly) had his stomach churning. Wonho wasn’t one for blood.

Twelve days passed. Kihyun had been staying with Wonho and your dad since he hadn’t anywhere else to go. It was much more convenient, already being in the city, than trying to make the commute to your house.

He was sitting by your bed again, the same way he did every day. He listened to the rain patter against the window panes, listened to your monitors beep as he watched you. The nurse had told him that you weren’t medically induced anymore, but you did need rest so she instructed Kihyun to try and not wake you.  

Your wounds were mostly healed now. Your breathing was much steadier than previously. You were breathing on your own again, instead of being assisted by a machine.  Kihyun was patient and loyal, as you’d known him to be—he came and sat by your bed every day without fail, took your hand every day without fail, and would talk to you every day without fail even though you’d never talk back. He’d squeeze your hand, hoping for a response, but was never disappointed when he didn’t get one. He knew your condition, he knew what to expect.

He had your hand now, playing with your fingers, kissing the back of your hand over and over again, reminding you of his feelings, reminding you how much you meant to him and that he would trade the world to have you back.

Your voice was raspy from lack of use when you muttered his name weakly. His ears perked up instantly, scooting closer to you so you wouldn’t have to strain so hard for him to hear you. His eyes sparkled with hope, waiting patiently as you drew in more breath. “It hurts,” you said, and though he was happy to hear you speak, it hurt him.

“I know, baby. But you’ve come such a long way. It’s so nice to hear your voice again,” he told you. It put butterflies in your stomach, though you weren’t aware how long you’d been out.

“I’ve never had a wound like this before,” you said.

“It’s going to take some time. I’ve talked to your aunty; she’s told me everything. Because you didn’t heal so fast, the pain is residual, I guess. You didn’t have enough blood to heal on your own, so they had to stabilize Wonho so he could donate. Because your wounds were open so long, she said they’ll hurt for a while, even if they look healed,” Kihyun explained to you.

You nodded your head—it made sense to you. But even still, you couldn’t shake the feeling like those blades were still deep in your skin. Your breath caught a few times as you tried to find words, a little too much work for you right now and Kihyun quickly stopped you, telling you that you didn’t need to speak, that you just needed to relax.

“Kihyun,” you said, despite his please for you to just rest.

“Yes?” he asked, watching your eyes just in case they opened. He’d kill to see them right now.

“Will you sing for me?”

Kihyun stood from the chair to stand at your side, the railing of your bed blocking him from getting too close. “Of course,” he said, watching your eyes open as you turned to look at him. “Oh man, I’ve missed those eyes,” he told you, his soft fingers touching your chin to pinch it endearingly until that same hand pushed your hair away from your forehead.

His soft voice fell into your ears as he started, a quiet melody at first that soothed your eyes back closed. He continued into a song you’d never heard before, but it didn’t matter—it was Kihyun’s voice, and that’s all that mattered to you. His fingers stroked through your hair, combing it back as he sang to you.    

Your breathing slowed as you were falling back asleep. Kihyun could tell as your grip on his free hand started to loosen. His voice faded quieter and quieter until he was pretty sure you were asleep again. “Sleep tight, princess,” he whispered to you, leaning over to kiss your forehead. He figured he’d let you sleep so soon after that he snuck out your room door.

Outside stood Wonho and your dad.

“Did she wake?” Wonho asked.

“For a bit. Just enough for her to see me; she’s asleep again,” Kihyun explain.

Your dad sighed audibly and looked to his son, who was much bigger and broader than he was. He put a hand on Wonho’s shoulder, who, feelings overwhelming him, turned into his dad to hug him tight.  Kihyun watched them share a moment, both thankful for you, until your dad broke the hug first. He turned to Kihyun.

“You may think this whole thing is your fault—”

“I do,” Kihyun interrupted, but your dad put both his hands on the young boy’s shoulders again.

“You’re the reason she’s alive.”

“That doesn’t make any sense—”

“He’s right, Kihyun,” Wonho chimed in, which Kihyun was shocked to hear.  “As much as I don’t want to give you as much credit; she’s fighting for you,” he stated, “Sure, she may be fighting for us, more dad than myself, but you were right about her heart.”

Kihyun nodded slowly, taking it all in with a heavy sigh.

“She’ll take this physical hurt for you, Kihyun; but know now, that we’re all on the same page, even though I’m her younger brother, I’ll kill you if you break that heart.”

“That’s such a cliché thing of you to say,” your aunty chimed in. It was like a family reunion in that hospital hallway, Kihyun getting the judgement from all sides.

“I would never,” Kihyun reassured, glancing over his shoulder to your room door. “It would break my heart.”

[bountyofbeads]

Excellent in-depth analysis of how the tragic death of Seth Rich turned into a conspiracy (HINT:Russia) and spread on social media finding it's way to (YES) Fox News. ALSO LISTEN 👂 to the Podcast.

Exclusive: The true origins of the Seth Rich conspiracy theory. A Yahoo News investigation.

Michael Isikoff | Published July 9, 2019, 10:00 AM UTC | Yahoo News | Posted July 9, 2019 |

WASHINGTON — In the summer of 2016, Russian intelligence agents secretly planted a fake report claiming that Democratic National Committee staffer Seth Rich was gunned down by a squad of assassins working for Hillary Clinton, giving rise to a notorious conspiracy theory that captivated conservative activists and was later promoted from inside President Trump’s White House, a Yahoo News investigation has found.

Russia’s foreign intelligence service, known as the SVR, first circulated a phony “bulletin” — disguised to read as a real intelligence report —about the alleged murder of the former DNC staffer on July 13, 2016, according to the U.S. federal prosecutor who was in charge of the Rich case. That was just three days after Rich, 27, was killed in what police believed was a botched robbery while walking home to his group house in the Bloomingdale neighborhood of Washington, D.C., about 30 blocks north of the Capitol.

The purported details in the SVR account seemed improbable on their face: that Rich, a data director in the DNC’s voter protection division, was on his way to alert the FBI to corrupt dealings by Clinton when he was slain in the early hours of a Sunday morning by the former secretary of state’s hit squad.

Yet in a graphic example of how fake news infects the internet, those precise details popped up the same day on an obscure website, whatdoesitmean.com, that is a frequent vehicle for Russian propaganda. The website’s article, which attributed its claims to “Russian intelligence,” was the first known instance of Rich’s murder being publicly linked to a political conspiracy.

“To me, having a foreign intelligence agency set up one of my decedents with lies and planting false stories, to me that’s pretty outrageous,” said Deborah Sines, the former assistant U.S. attorney in charge of the Rich case until her retirement last year. “Maybe other people don’t think it’s that outrageous. I did ... once it became clear to me that this was coming from the SVR, then that triggers a lot of very serious [questions about] ‘What do I do with this?’”

The previously unreported role of Russian intelligence in creating and fostering one of the most insidious conspiracy theories to arise out of the 2016 election is disclosed in “Yahoo News presents: Conspiracyland,” a six-part series by the news organization’s podcast “Skullduggery” that debuts this week on the third anniversary of Rich’s murder.

The Russian effort to exploit Rich’s tragic death didn’t stop with the fake SVR bulletin. Over the course of the next two and a half years, the Russian government-owned media organizations RT and Sputnik repeatedly played up stories that baselessly alleged that Rich, a relatively junior-level staffer, was the source of Democratic Party emails that had been leaked to WikiLeaks. It was an idea first floated by WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange, who on Aug. 9, 2016, announced a $20,000 reward for information about Rich’s murder, saying — somewhat cryptically — that “our sources take risks.”

At the same time, online trolls working in St. Petersburg, Russia, for the Internet Research Agency (IRA) — the same shadowy outfit that conducted the Russian social media operation during the 2016 election — aggressively boosted the conspiracy theories. IRA-created fake accounts, masquerading as those of American citizens or political groups, tweeted and retweeted more than 2,000 times about Rich, helping to keep the bogus claims about his death in the social media bloodstream, according to an analysis of a database of Russia troll accounts by Yahoo News.

Speaking publicly about the case for the first time, Sines, the former prosecutor, said that the Russian conspiracy-mongering vastly complicated her efforts to solve the murder by forcing her and the Washington, D.C., police department to investigate a blizzard of false allegations in order to make sure there was nothing to any of them. “To waste your time investigating BS is just horrible,” said Sines.

The Russian-inspired conspiracy theories also have had a devastating effect on the Rich family, especially after the theories migrated to alt-right websites and, ultimately, primetime Fox News shows. As they did so, there were repeated suggestions by alt-right commentators that the DNC staffer’s parents and brother were concealing information about his conduct.

“You’re used, you’re lied to, you’re a pawn in your own son’s death,” said Mary Rich, Seth Rich’s mother, who, along with her husband, Joel, was interviewed for the podcast. “I wish they had the chance to experience the hell we have gone through. Because this is worse than losing my son the first time. This is like losing him all over again.”

In her efforts to better understand where the conspiracy theories were coming from, Sines used her security clearance to access copies of two SVR intelligence reports about Seth Rich that had been intercepted by U.S. intelligence officials. She later wrote a memo documenting the Russian role in fomenting the conspiracy theories that she sent to the Justice Department’s national security division, and personally briefed special counsel Robert Mueller’s prosecutors on her findings.

“It appeared to me that it was a very clear campaign to deflect an ongoing federal criminal investigation,” Sines said. “So then you have to look at why is Russia doing this? … It’s not rocket science before you add it up and you go, ‘Oh, if Seth is the leaker to WikiLeaks — it doesn’t have anything to do with the Russians. So of course Russia’s interest in doing this is incredibly transparent.” The Russian strategy, Sines said, was diabolically simple: “Let’s blame it on Seth Rich. He’s a very convenient target.”

The “Conspiracyland” podcast traces the spread of the conspiracy theories about Rich. From their origins as a Russian disinformation plant, the bogus theories about his murder emerged as a persistent theme on alt-right websites and then were fanned by right-wing conspiracy entrepreneurs such as Alex Jones of Infowars and Matt Couch, the founder of an Arkansas-based group called America First Media, which bills itself as “the leading investigative team in America in the Seth Rich murder.”

Along the way, the idea that Rich was murdered in retaliation for leaking DNC emails to WikiLeaks was championed by multiple allies of Trump, including Roger Stone. The same day Assange falsely hinted that Rich may have been his source for DNC emails, Stone tweeted a picture of Rich, calling the late DNC staffer in a tweet “another dead body in the Clinton’s wake.” He then added: “Coincidence? I think not.”

Within months, the Rich conspiracy story was also being quietly promoted inside Trump’s White House. Questions about whether the White House pushed the conspiracy theories about Rich have been raised periodically over the last two and a half years — and were consistently denied by White House officials. But the Yahoo News investigation uncovered new evidence that the false claim that Rich was the victim of a political assassination was advanced by one of the White House’s most senior officials at the time.

“Huge story … he was a Bernie guy … it was a contract kill, obviously,” then-White House chief strategist Steve Bannon texted to a CBS “60 Minutes” producer about Rich on March 17, 2017, according to some of Bannon’s text messages that were reviewed by Yahoo News. (Bannon did not respond to requests for comment.)

The conspiracy claims reached their zenith in May 2017 — the same week as Mueller’s appointment as special counsel in the Russia probe — when Fox News’ website posted a sensational story claiming that an FBI forensic report had discovered evidence on Rich’s laptop that he had been in communication with WikiLeaks prior to his death. Sean Hannity, the network’s primetime star, treated the account as major news on his nightly broadcast, calling it “explosive” and proclaiming it “might expose the single biggest fraud, lies, perpetrated on the American people by the media and the Democrats in our history.”

Among Hannity’s guests that week who echoed his version of events was conservative lawyer Jay Sekulow. Although neither he nor Hannity mentioned it, Sekulow had just been hired as one of Trump’s lead lawyers in the Russia investigation. “It sure doesn’t look like a robbery,” said Sekulow on Hannity’s show on May 18, 2017, during a segment devoted to the Rich case. “There’s one thing this thing undercuts is this whole Russia argument, [which] is such subterfuge,” he added.

In fact, the Fox story was a “complete fabrication,” said Sines, who consulted with the FBI about the Fox News claims. There was “no connection between Seth and WikiLeaks. And there was no evidence on his work computer of him downloading and disseminating things from the DNC.” (A spokeswoman for the FBI’s Washington field office said the office had never opened an investigation into Rich’s murder, considering it a local crime for which the Washington Metropolitan Police Department had jurisdiction. Andrew McCabe, the FBI’s acting director at the time, said in an interview that he reached out to his agents after he heard about the conspiracy stories about Rich and was told, “There’s no there there.”)

After eight days of controversy, Fox News was forced to retract the story after one of its two key sources, former Washington, D.C., homicide detective Rod Wheeler, backed away from comments he had given the Fox News website reporter Malia Zimmerman and a local Fox affiliate reporter confirming the account. The article, the network said in a statement at the time, “was not initially subjected to the high degree of editorial scrutiny we require for all our reporting.” Fox News later announced it was conducting an internal investigation into how the story came to be posted on its website. The results have never been disclosed, and a spokeswoman for Fox News declined to comment, citing ongoing litigation against the news network brought by the Rich family.

But “Conspiracyland” quotes a source familiar with the network’s investigation saying that Fox executives grew frustrated they were unable to determine the identity of the other, and more important, source for the story: an anonymous “federal investigator” whose agency was never revealed. The Fox editors came to have doubts that the person was in fact who he claimed to be or whether the person actually existed, said the source.

In his recent report, Mueller briefly addressed the questions about Rich, writing that Assange had “implied falsely” that the DNC staffer was the source of the party emails leaked to WikiLeaks. His comments about Rich, Mueller wrote, “were apparently designed to obscure” how WikiLeaks really got them: from Guccifer 2.0, an online persona created by Russia’s military intelligence agency, the GRU, who sent the group an encrypted file of DNC material on July 14, 2016, four days after Rich’s death.

In the meantime, the barrage of conspiracy theories — implying that Rich was a leaker who betrayed his DNC colleagues — has spawned multiple lawsuits that are still ongoing. Joel and Mary Rich have filed a lawsuit against Fox News and Ed Butowsky, a Dallas financier who played a key behind-the-scenes role in the Zimmerman story, alleging intentional infliction of emotional stress. Aaron Rich, Seth’s older brother, has sued both Butowsky and Couch, the America First Media founder.

(Fox News, Butowsky and Couch have all denied the claims; the cable news network has argued in court papers that its reporting, while retracted, is a “classic case” of journalism protected by the First Amendment. The Rich family’s claim was initially rejected by a federal judge in New York on the grounds, in part, that the parents could not sue for the harm caused by the defamation of their deceased son. The parents are now appealing that decision. Mary Rich, in an interview for the podcast, said the fact that Fox retracted the false story is irrelevant. “It’s blasted across America with Fox and Hannity,” she said. “All they’ve done is taken it down, but it’s still up there on the internet. This can’t be retracted the way they did it.”)

Through interviews with family members and friends, “Conspiracyland” tells the story of Seth Rich. A Creighton University graduate from Omaha, Neb., Rich landed a job at the DNC to work on voting rights issues. Friends described him as an outgoing, fun-loving young man — he once showed up at a friend’s hospital room wearing a polar bear costume — who was nonetheless passionate about his job of expanding voting rights.

“I’ve never encountered someone so genuine in his belief that every American should be able to participate in that political process,” said Donna Brazile, the former interim chair of the DNC.

Contrary to the conspiracy theorists, Rich was not a disgruntled Bernie Sanders supporter; he never expressed a preference for the Vermont senator in the primary battle with Clinton, according to Pablo Manriquez, a friend and colleague from the DNC, echoing comments made by other friends of his in Washington. Moreover, Rich’s job gave him no access to the emails that were on the DNC server, making it unlikely from the start that he could have been the leaker of the internal party communications to WikiLeaks.

After a night of drinking at Lou’s City Bar, Rich was walking home in the early hours of July 10, 2016, and on the phone with his girlfriend when he was accosted by two assailants about a block and a half from his home. A fight ensued — Rich was found with bruises on his face, knuckles and knees — and he was shot twice in the back before the assailants fled. His billfold, watch and other valuables weren’t taken. But police quickly concluded that the scenario was most likely that of an attempted robbery that was foiled by Rich’s resistance.

The police and Sines, the prosecutor, believe there was good reason to draw that conclusion. In the six weeks prior to Rich’s shooting, there had been seven armed robberies in the same neighborhood, causing residents to complain to local police.

“We’ve had so many holdups on the same corner, with the same method of holdup, where two guys grab the person,” said Mark Mueller, a neighbor of Rich’s (and no relation to the special counsel) who was among the first to rush to the scene the night of the shooting. “They hold a gun to the head, while one person takes the phone and makes the owner of the phone go into the apps and unarm anything that could be traced.”

Agitated local residents took their concerns to the police. “We’ve had meetings with the police days before this, screaming at the police in our civic association meetings, begging for help,” said Mueller.

But over the past three years, it is unclear how much progress, if any, the Washington police has made in solving the case. No suspects in Rich’s murder have ever been identified, and the case was recently moved to Washington police department’s “major case/cold case” squad under the direction of a new detective in an effort to bring a fresh set of eyes to a stale case file.

Sines chalks up the lack of progress to what she calls the anti-snitch culture of the streets in Washington, D.C.

“In Washington, D.C., being a witness to a murder can mean a death sentence,” the former prosecutor said. “I’ve lost witnesses that were murdered because they were witnesses. Because they told me what happened. And it’s — there’s a very strong and anti-snitch culture in Washington, D.C., much stronger than it is in some other areas in the country. Add assassination language, Russians, add all those buzzwords, who wants to be a witness in a case like that?”

Nevertheless, even though she is no longer involved, Sines says she is hopeful that the case will ultimately be cracked.

“So I know that someone is going to talk. I know that,” she said. “It’s a lot easier after a couple of years go by for people to talk about this, because they think they got away with it.”

Sines said she believes there are two culprits at large — a shooter and an “aider and abettor” — and she suspects they are connected to drug-dealing activity in nearby housing projects. “I’m convinced one or both of them will eventually be brought to justice.”

In a recent interview, Seth’s father, Joel, said he was told in a call with the new prosecutor — who replaced Sines and the new detective — that the investigation into his son’s murder remains active. The prosecutor and the detective talk about it every day, Joel said he was told.

But while they wait for signs the murderers will be arrested, the Riches live with a painful reality that they say is reaffirmed on a near daily basis by Google alerts: The lies about their son’s death continue to circulate in the dark recesses of the internet, a powerful reminder that in the new world of social media, even the most discredited of conspiracy theories have a shelf life that never ends.

Subscribe to Conspiracyland >>>