#look at the day the man had!!! he’s paralyzed by fear when confronting his abuser and then Charles tells him to not kill him even tho Erik-

[ironhusband]

Thinking about Erik snapping at Charles with “well maybe you should have fought harder for them” and the pain in his eyes when Charles told him they didn’t want the same things.

[yandere-society]

The Watcher

Pairing: Hoseok x Female Reader

Synopsis: You were supposed to be living your dream life… One where you would be able to start a happy family with your partner but instead here you were - sleep deprived and terrified of the very own walls you once called home. All because of him - he who haunted you day and night, he who surrounded the hidden corners of your mind. He, who called himself: ‘The Watcher.’

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Yandere themes, Suicide mention, Abusive relationship, Mentions of mental illness 

Headline: Couple Flee Dream Home After Threats From “The Watcher”

Admin: @roses-ruby​

_

“Are you sure on the color? I didn’t know you liked green at all.”

“Yeah,” You reply casually, taking a mug out from the moving box. There was a paper wrapped around the mug for glass protection – one you discarded back into the package before placing the cup on the marbled counter. The kitchen window didn’t have curtains yet, which let warm sunlight pour into the room and light up the whole area. “It’s a really soft green. I think it’s optimistic.”

Your husband scoffs playfully as you walk over to the coffee maker. You had just moved in yesterday so your dream house – ready to be filled with everything you’ve cultivated throughout the years – only contained a mass of unloaded belongings. Yet still, nothing could beat the simple contentment of just existing in the exact place you’ve always wanted.

“I’m so happy to be here.”

“Well, I’m glad someone is.” Taehyung interrupts your wonder.

You stare at him with an eyebrow raised, grabbing the coffee pot, “Another letter?”

“Yup, the fourth one.” He sighs, “These neighborhood kids you know…they’re kinda creepy…”

Ever since you moved in you’ve been receiving odd, unmarked envelopes with strangely worded letters inside. They contained weird riddles and vague threats but neither of you were alarmed, deducing that the neighboring children were playing a prank on the newbies. Stranger things have happened, right? Perhaps you were both fools still in the honeymoon phase, too excited about your first month of marriage and future life to be brought down by such shenanigans.

“Oh, they’ll stop eventually. What was it this time though?”

“Something about the works of Jean-Paul Sartre or something-”

As soon as you heard the name, you froze in your tracks with the coffee pot hanging over the blue mug. Jean-Paul Sartre? No, it couldn’t be. It had to be a coincidence. Your husband seemed to be saying something in the background, but your brain was too blurred to listen. There was no way it was him. Even if there has only ever been one man you’ve encountered who was in love with the French philosopher as much as you were. It’s not him – not after 6 years. Not him.

“___?” His soft voice fills your ears, “___, I won’t let you go. You’re mine, now and forever-”

“___?” You suddenly feel someone grab your arm, snapping you out of your nightmare as you come face to face with your husband.

“…Huh?”

“Are you alright, ___? You look a little pale.” He asks, with concern lacing his features.

“I…I’m fine…I’m alright Taehyung…you know just…with the move and all…I’m tired…sorry…” You stutter out a response which he obviously didn’t believe. The more you gaze into his orbs, the more frightened you feel. Instead of easing his worry, your mind was only thinking of one thing: this can’t happen again, not again. Deciding that you didn’t want to be interrogated further, you move away from him, turning around and changing the subject.

“So…I’ll grab the paints today-”

“I’ll do it,” He interrupts, “If you’re tired you should go lie down.”

He walks past you, out of the room and a minute later you hear the front door open and shut. You just stand there – like a fool, wishing you could stop this feeling of fear and remorse from paralyzing you. Everything was going so well and then you had to go and ruin it by bringing him back into your conscience. Clenching your fist tight, you begin to cry, loathing yourself the most in that moment. This is what always happens to you when it concerns him and it’s why you don’t want him to come back into your life.

Please, not him.

_

“It does look optimistic!”

“Like a field of grass in front of a farmer!”

“Ugh, again?” You groan at your husband’s habit of cringe-inducing analogies.

“Oh, come on they’re cute!” He says, wrapping his arms around you as you laugh. The wall paint had finally dried and the soft green had settled nicely along with your furniture that you both had exhaustingly positioned in place. While you were playfully wrestling each other in the living room, you heard a small rustle of paper from the front door indicating the arrival of mail.

“I’ll get it!” You shout, removing his large limbs from you.

He chases you to the front door, tickling you as you pick up the fallen mail and begin to scour through the bills and ads for something important over a fit of laughter. The amusement and hustling came to a halt once you found another blank envelope in between your fingers. No one made a sound, already knowing who the sender would be.

“I’ll throw it out…” You hear the anger in your husband’s tone as he holds out his hand.

But rather than giving him the envelope, something inside of you encourages you to open it and take out the letter inside. There was a heavy, malevolent lull that surrounded the atmosphere as you began to read its contents.

“Dear ___, so divine.

I can’t stop running until you’re mine.

I keep this leash for the sake of peace,

and I’ll bite my tongue until blood fills my lung.

But Dear ___, so divine.

You should know that you’ll be mine.

I’ll watch you sleep and torch your wings

Until you’re wearing my wedding ring.

Sincerely, The Watcher.

“…What the fuck…” You could hear the horror in Taehyung’s voice. “How does he know your name?”

Because it’s him. Of course it is.

“It’s…nothing,” You say absentmindedly, laughing as you place the letter back in the envelope with trembling digits, “Just kids… playing a prank…”

“This is not the work of ‘some kids!’ It’s obviously a psychopath!” He yells in panic

“Don’t…” You mutter, an abrupt beating in your brain, “Don’t raise your voice, Tae.”

“But __-”

“I said it’s the fucking kids, didn’t I?” You grit in his face with your eyebrows furrowed.

He gapes at you for a second, his face a mix of confusion and shock, before he takes a step back. Taehyung didn’t understand why you were upset and he wanted to argue but then he saw the color leave your face.

You were staring straight at him, until you couldn’t anymore. The walls that were so beloved a minute ago now came closing in on you. Your breathing became hoarse and you took in large amounts of air to compensate up till the point where you couldn’t perceive clearly.

“___?” Your husband, a mere black silhouette, shook your arms as you began to bend over.

You panted as hard as you could, but you weren’t able to breathe and started to choke on your own spit. His image was lodging itself throughout your mind and the tears that crept out of your eye sockets felt like stones. This is exactly what you were afraid of, this is exactly why you didn’t want to believe it was him.

“Slowly baby! Breath slowly! Calm down!” His speech became foggy as your vision began to fade.

“H…seok-”

And then it was all black.

You woke up with a gasp, the image of a white ceiling sticking to your eyes. Did you pass out?

“Are you okay?” You hear your husband and turn your face to see him sitting on the floor next to you, who laid on the sofa. His face was downcast, hand holding onto you tightly as you slowly recalled everything that happened before you fainted.

“Yeah…I’m fine…”

Taehyung’s expression brought back that feeling again. That traitorous fear, that immense guilt. He deserved none of it and you hated yourself for making him worry. Countless times – you told yourself that you were over him and you could now wholeheartedly move on with your husband. But it seems like that was nothing but your own deceitfulness.

How did he even find you? What did he want from you now after six whole years? You try to sit up, wanting to feel as complete as you did before the wretched moment this afternoon.

“Tae…a-about the letter-”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry about that.” He smiles, helping you up by placing his hand against the small of your back, “…Just like you said, a prank, right?”

Taehyung, a man so usually stubborn – there was something off about his stance that you couldn’t pinpoint. But whatever it was, you were fine with it as long as it meant that you wouldn’t have to confront that. So, with a tense smile, you lie through your teeth.

“Y…yeah.”

And maybe this was your own undoing, but in that very second, when he gives you a beaming grin, you laugh. A bolder of pressure releasing from your shoulders. It’s alright, this was still your house and you were still safe here. Away from him.

You don’t notice Tae’s face falling as soon as you looked away.

_

When you woke up again, it had already been a month.

A month of living in your dream home with the dream life you’ve always wanted. Nothing could make you happier. You leave the bed and wander into the hall to remind yourself that this was real – that this serene place really existed, and you were going to start your new married life here. Placing your hand against the painted green wall, you marvel at the beautiful blend of colors and textures.

You found yourself searching for your husband around the large house you got to call a home. It had been your goal since long ago to own a place like this. Of course, back then you had desired the commitment with your then boyfriend, Hoseok.

In that instant you stop walking. Hoseok. It’s been a long time since you’ve recalled that man and hadn’t withdrawn in apprehension. He was a happy man, the Hoseok that everyone loved. A handsome man that was always glowing with a bright ball energy, he was everyone’s friend…a mood maker. There wasn’t anyone who didn’t love him. But the Hoseok you knew – your Hoseok was a monster.

A monster hell bent on possessing you.

Everyone adored him, but he only loved you. You were so delighted that he did, so overcome with joy that you hadn’t realized then that his fondness came with many setbacks. He made you laugh, he made you cry, but mostly, he made you feel love in a way you didn’t think was possible. Blame it on your youth – you were too wrapped up in the idea of Hoseok’s affection to understand that it wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t normal.

So, you overlooked his possessive nature and his jealousy and his anger. But your body didn’t. Your skin still held scars he cultivated through nights of sexual torture. Your ears still remember the words he used to berate you. Wounds you used to adore left you with raw shame after he discarded you. So much shame, that you couldn’t even think about him or your relationship with him without utter dread grabbing at your bones. However, it didn’t matter much anymore. You were no longer a young girl desperate for his approval… you were an adult – a woman who fell in love and got married to the only man she’ll ever need.

He won’t be able to possess you ever again; he was a monster. You’re so thankful that he hadn’t sent another letter for a while now, although his silence was a tad unnerving.

The door you stood in front of creaked suddenly, catching your attention. It was then that you realized you had ended up in front of your husband’s home office. That’s right, you were looking for your husband. A much kinder and sane person.

With a smile, you push open the door to be greeted with a large, soundless room. Your smile disappears as you spot the mess of papers on your husband’s desk. They were littered everywhere, covering the whole table while some fell onto the chair and the floor. You never knew that a messy pile of papers could look so menacing. The beating of your heart grew louder as you stepped closer to the desk.

You pick up a letter, then another – then many more as horror starts to fill your lungs. More poems and threats – all of them scattered in erratic handwriting that spelled insanity. All of them signed, ‘The Watcher.’ Had it gotten this bad? But when? How? Your husband hadn’t told you about any of this.

Your eyes land on a particular letter and you begin to read it against your own will. It wasn’t addressed to anyone, the only one that directly contained your name was the divine poem. Still, you knew if it was from him, then it was for you.

Do you remember when we used to visit that bistro across the street from your dorms? How cold it was that one night, and you hated the cold so I held your hand in mine to keep you warm. Your whole body was a chill and I took pride in heating every inch of your heart. I could watch you for hours on end, and never bore. I loved you dearly, only you. That’s why I’ll watch you for a thousand nights and love you for a thousand more.

Sincerely, The Watcher.

The bistro…you vaguely remember that place. Two college students barging in half high and so annoyingly in love. Hoseok would get so upset when you made eye contact with other male customers and sometimes, he would pick fights with them. Take them behind an alley and return all black and blue.

“I won.” He’d say with a grin while you cried your eyes out, wondering what was wrong with him but being too devoted to his smile to actually care.

“Why…why now…” You muffled in a painful voice.

Suddenly you heard the sound of words being spoken in the distance. It came from downstairs, somewhere near the front door. You gradually moved towards the voice, not wanting to be alone with your thoughts. Once you were in the living room, you stopped and hid halfway between a wall, spotting your husband talking to a man in a suit.

“I just…don’t know detective…”

Detective? He called the police?

“The letters, they’re deranged…and they’re just getting worse I’m- I’m afraid for me and my wife…I don’t know what to do…”

“Well, I can tell you to not worry too much.” The older gentleman replied in a gruff voice, “Whoever this is hasn’t done anything but send letters, so it seems like he’s just playing with you. I’ll have someone patrolling the block for a while, and we’ll be the ones receiving your mail before you do for now. I’ll be back to collect those letters and…we’ll catch this jerk in a matter of days, I’m sure.”

It seems like this case doesn’t interest him much.

“Th-thank you officer I just…worry about my wife she’s…she was so happy here and then…ever since we started getting these damned letters- that freak even knows her name-”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to question her? Perhaps she knows who this person is.”

“No. I don’t think it will be good for her at all. Last time she read a letter, she had a panic attack… they really upset her, so please…she can’t know of any more.”

“Alright…we’ll see what we can do for now and I’ll follow up in a couple of days…”

“Thank you so much officer-”

Their voices begin to blend into the background as you turned around so that your back was against the wall you hid with. You were finally, finally starting to be happy…truly happy so why? Why would he come back and threaten everything you’ve grown to hold dear? Anger and pain were swimming in your heart. Wasn’t he the one who left you behind? What did he want from you now?

“Why now…Hoseok…”

_

Two and a half months.

Two and a half months of acting awkward and silent around one another. You sigh, sitting in your car and bracing yourself before you walk through your front door. A month ago, coming home from work was comforting, but now it just felt drawn out and agonizing. Both of you were hiding secrets, and you both simmered in guilt because of it. But it wasn’t any of his fault; it was all yours.

You, who couldn’t get over that damn bastard that left you all those years ago.

Taehyung had always been so kind to you, and you who came out of such a torturous relationship appreciated that more than anything. Yet the thought of him finding out about Hoseok – about everything you let Hoseok do to you was mortifying. Would he, who treats you with so much care, think of you the same after he’s known the truth? It’s why you could never tell him.

You’re not sure if there had been any new letters, since the police was sorting through your mail before it came back to you. But deep down inside, in a secret place, you wanted to see what Hoseok had to say. If he was still reaching out to you, if he was still watching you. With one last breathe, you open the car door and step down, ready to trudge back into your room and forget these thoughts. 

Yet suddenly, when you were a few feet from your front door, you hear someone call out your name.

It was a lady, short bobbed hair - someone you knew you’ve seen before. She held a microphone in her hand and there was a man with a camera chasing her. There were many others with similar mics and cams rushing towards you with an eager look in their hungry eyes.

Your heart drops once you realize who they were. Reporters.

A whole group of them.

“Ms. ___, how long have you been receiving these letters now?”

“Is it true that this Watcher is from a previous affair you had behind your husband’s back?”

“Is he just some stalker?”

“How does he know your name? How do you feel about him knowing your name?”

“Are you and your husband sleeping in separate rooms?”

You started to speed towards your door as they all surrounded you, bombarding you with personal questions. Most of them kept saying your name over and over while shoving their devices in your face. So many thoughts ran across your mind but at the moment you were in no position to think calmly. Holding your breath, you managed to make it to the front door and took out your key. There was a slight struggle between you and the lock which they all saw, but still kept hounding on you.

Another panic attack was coming up, you could feel it. It seems like the police has been nothing but incompetent and now your private situation was to become a media debacle. You tried hard to concentrate on opening the door amidst the frenzy. Finally, you were able to make it safely inside and slam the door shut behind, with wild pants leaving your lips.

Your husband heard the noise and rushed from the kitchen to where you stood with a stupid look on his face.

“__-”

“Why are there reporters?”

“What?”

“WHY ARE THERE REPORTERS IN MY DRIVEWAY ASKING ME ABOUT THE FUCKING LETTERS?”

“I-I-I don’t-”

“Who did you tell?” You sneer

“I…I didn’t…just the police I promise!” He genuinely seemed shocked, to which you groaned. His expression became fearful, “You don’t think…that the police…”

“Well someone had to leak it!” Falling onto your knees, you place your head in your hands.

You thought you could come home, that once you came home this headache would end, but it was the loudest when you were in here. All you wanted was to fucking breathe – not hide in your house behind closed curtains, afraid and embarrassed to death with this loud pounding in your brain.

“___...” Taehyung steps close to you, and it seemed like he wanted to take you in his arms.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, making him flinch. “…don’t touch me…”

You were yelling but it was not out of anger. This was all your fault – everything was your fault and you felt nothing but disgust for yourself. Taehyung shouldn’t touch you or he’d become dirty too. For a moment you thought about telling him everything until your eyes caught something behind him.

All the noise outside only subsided once you zeroed in on an envelope slightly sticking out of the antique dresser drawer in your entrance hallway.

“How did that get there?” You slowly lift your hand to point towards it.

Taehyung follows your finger to the antique drawer, and you see the shock form on his face. All the letters were supposed to arrive in the mail which is filtered by the police so how did that get in here?

Was that man…

Was Hoseok in your house?

With a gulp, you stand up and walk closer to the drawer. You look over at Taehyung once you were standing in front of it, and he seemed defeated. Both by this cursed house and the mysterious man watching over it. Closing your eyes, you open the drawer and retrieve the envelope. Falling to the floor once you see that it’s blank again, with a single letter inside.

“I’ll watch you forever.”

Sincerely, The Watcher.

_

“Honey, the truck’s almost packed.”

“Yeah, just a minute.” You sing-song, staring at the mug you were about to place into the moving box. A strained smile stretches across your face as you think back to three months ago when you were unpacking all your little gadgets and trinkets, ready to settle into this house you once called home. That was a dream and like most dreams, it didn’t last too long. This place was now just a cause of your despair, it made you miserable.

After many sleepless night and restless days, you had decided to move out and try a start a new life somewhere else. Hopefully a place that could put you to ease - one that Hoseok could never reach. Taehyung wanted to move further north, which made you happy because you loved the cold.

Wait…you loved the cold? That’s not right, is it?

Also, it’s not like Hoseok could actually follow you. Because he…wait…how was it that he left you again? You know he left you – you keep repeating it to yourself, but you don’t remember him ever breaking up with you. He never really ‘physically’ broke up with you, did he?

There it was yet again. A loud obscurity corrupting your brain.

When suddenly, a realization comes over you.

Your head whirls towards the box you hovered over. You place the mug on the floor and begin to scrummage through the old box, searching for something specific. Glass protection. Once you feel the crinkly skin of paper, you take it out and smooth it over. The pounding in your head was back, and it was the strongest it has ever been.

Just as you thought, the paper had the familiar ink scribbles of an odd poem. It was a letter. Signed by The Watcher.

How could this be?

This paper was inside the box – you had used it for packing way before you ever stepped foot into this house. Yet for some reason, you can’t recall getting a letter from The Watcher before you moved in here. For a minute nothing made sense to you. It just felt like your conscious was off floating somewhere.

And then you looked up at the painted wall.

“I didn’t know you liked green at all.”

That’s because you don’t. No, of course you don’t, you like blue.

The one who likes green is-

A loud gasp leaves you as your behind makes contact with the floor. Every single thing comes crashing down at once, all the dots start to connect.

Hoseok likes green. Hoseok likes the cold.

Hoseok is…Hoseok is….

He’s dead.

He took his own life 6 years ago… he left you behind. It wasn’t him that’s been writing those letters-

“It was me.”

You forgot. No, you made yourself forget. Because there was no other way for you to cope. Instead of facing the truth, you repressed the memory of his death and then you began to haunt yourself using his image. Hoseok was a domineering force in your life and after possessing every inch of you till the point that there wasn’t a you without him, your mind was unable to comprehend his sudden departure. Tears began to roll down your face as you started to remember it all. Every moment you became ‘him’ and wrote those letters to yourself. You’ve done so for six whole years.

The reason why you’ve never evoked this before just now was the same reason as to why your trauma never became a problem for you until you moved into this house. It was because you just got married. Your mind had become fragile since his death, so shortly after writing and ‘mailing’ yourself these letters for comfort, you would read them and forget with ease, thanks to your isolation. But now that Taehyung was here – now that you were living with him, he became a witness to those letters and therefore gave them an ‘existence.’

He brought Hoseok back to ‘life’ in your brain.

It all made sense now. The headaches and the unbearable pain. You always knew there was something off but could never remember why. All those moments where you were scared of Hoseok, but never afraid of him showing up. Every time you pondered on the consequences of his being, rather than worry about him as a person at all. Only now, you’ve finally put the missing puzzle pieces together. Hoseok wasn’t watching you anymore…he couldn’t.

It was you, The Watcher.

You were the one keeping the monster alive. And you were the only one who could conclusively end him.

“___?” You hear the small, scared voice of your husband from the back. It seems like he heard your cries.

With a quick exhale, you turn around to face him. Looking at him straight in the eyes without any fear for the very first time. Your Tae, who deserved the truth no matter the cost.

“Taehyung…I have something I need to tell you.”

[hecohansen31]

To Kill A King

Ivar+Saxon Princess! Reader

The Scheming Genius:

“Just when I thought I was Running out of time The King stood trembling at my bedside”

“To Kill A King” by Hungry Lucy

(Masterlist) (Previous Chapter)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I know it’s been along time since I have last updated one of my series but... I have just been having a lot of problems with the newest chapters of this series, because basically... I do know the events I want to take, but not what I want to write, so I can’t help but feel like what I write is never enough.

So I just wanted to apologize if this is utter shit.

Also this is shorter than usual and I just want to say that this should have been longer but I just... I just felt like I had to post this and then add more, also because I know that all my chapters are just too long.

I do hope that even if it isn’t the best you’ll enjoy it!

As always: this series means so so much to me, so any feedback is more than welcome, everything starting from comments to reblogs, just LET ME NOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Feedback makes our fingers write faster and our heart beat faster!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: The truth is out and the heart that you gave so freely is now broken and yet your strength never falters, conjuring a dangerous plan to be finally free. But is it truly what you want.

WORDS: 10, 9 K

WARNINGS: Arranged Marriage, Mention of Domestical Abuse and Rape, Violence (Strong Themes), Sexual Harassment, Slavery, Historically inaccurate, Blood and Period.

Your breath came harder and harder till it choked and you lost your rhythm.

Your legs failed under you and you were solely able to stop yourself from completely falling head first on the ground, pushing your legs towards the earth.

You did bruise them, but you didn’t care as you brought them in your unfocused stare.

They were dirtied and bloody.

Not solely because you had fallen down.

And the blood on them wasn’t solely yours.

Still you hadn’t much time to think, as you heard male-like steps, hard and heavy on the ground, breaking twigs under their boots.

And fear flooded your system as you reached out for a knife trying to search at your belt and then lower, on your thigh, where you remembered having strapped up a knife.

But now it wasn’t there.

And you realized that it was probably still in the body of the man you had stabbed.

That certainly didn’t ease any of your fear, but your body seemed to have set itself up on either a running away or fighting stance, hence the sense of guilt for having stabbed a man etched itself in the back of your mind as you tried to move away.

Your legs were still too weak and soon you were dragged against the cold soil again.

And there you stayed, your nails pushing themselves in the dirt, as you tried to push yourself flush against the ground, hoping that confusing yourself with the ground would help.

And you prayed with all your last beliefs that you would be spared.

Your lungs constricted and before you knew it you were choking on air.

‘Not again’ you prayed desperately, closing your eyes ‘… I don’t want to die’.

It was now day after the revelation of the previous night.

You had been accompanied by both Caryn and Lia back in your tent, the women trying to coo you in a comforting way, but you didn’t even notice it in your unresponsive state.

It was as if you had closed yourself completely from the world, in a way that left you only overthinking yourself constantly.

You felt stupid.

Which was an awful thing to feel for you, having always considered your intelligence your sole talent.

And to know that it had failed you this much, it only brought you to the realization that your father’s poisonous words were true.

‘You, stupid girl with no purpose’

They echoed, right as you saw the room in front of you deforming into something awful,: your room in the castle as figures appeared in front of you, Kathleen laying on the ground having been struck down, meanwhile Abigail knelt in front of her shaking her awake, as you pushed yourself in front of your father.

One last attempt to protect Kathleen.

But as his eyes met yours, they were daringly blue.

Ivar’s.

That was what brought you back from that horrid vision.

And then there was ruffling with your tent, as you turned to its door, finding thankfully that it was Caryn, her dark curls lightly exiting the tight hairstyle she had chosen for the day.

She looked so beautiful.

And it just reminded you of how truly cunning Ivar could be.

He had outsmarted you, once, and he would do it again.

“You look like you haven’t slept, my lady” commented Caryn, unsure, although her voice was so sweet that it broke you inside and before you knew it, sobbing escaped your chest.

“… I did” because a paralyzing deep slumber had taken you, but it hadn’t brought you neither relief neither comfort, and it was difficult for you to remember the sole dream of that night.

Which meant it wasn’t something that you wanted to remember

“… but my body wishes for a sweet dream, before it faces the reality of things”.

Caryn smiled halfheartedly, something nostalgic in her plump lips and her longing eyes, as if she knew and could understand what you felt deep down, something that only awakened rage in your body.

You had always been babied like you didn’t have a brain and the way she acted with you just brought that back.

You had always believed what others had told you.

What your own father fed you through fear and harsh teachings.

What your books had fed you, fantasies and love stories that had now brought you to believe that the touch of a pure maiden might tame the beast.

But the beast was already corrupted.

And it would have just eaten the maiden, had she come too close.

For a moment yesterday, at the feast, you had thought about a possible life with him.

A life in which you didn’t have to be your father’s spy and you could enjoy the tenderness of the soft feelings you were starting to develop for Ivar.

But you would never have the chance to do such a thing, now.

He had killed his own brother in cold blood.

You had read that on his face when you had asked him if it was the truth.

If Ubbe hadn’t simply said a lie to tear you apart.

And you didn’t know what his brother had done, but it never could be as much as the treason that you’d have to do to him on your father’s beliefs.

Just because he had showed you some love it didn’t mean that this would be how your life would have for ever been.

You had always lost yourself too easily in the fantasy of perfect worlds, fantastic beyond everything and where you could live happily ever after, like the few fables you enjoyed listening when you were smaller.

You had been the biggest fool, truly believing that this would be just another one of them.

You got yourself dressed mechanically, but your mind didn’t shut down in the slightest as it elaborated strategies and thoughts till it got too much and you were suddenly locked inside of your mind in a drunken stupor for everything around you.

Till Hvitserk showed up in your tent.

You didn’t want to see him, but deep down a desperate part of you ached for some kind of confront with the brothers.

To know something that could justify Ivar’s actions.

But deep down you knew it wouldn’t have eased your aching soul.

“… you looked like you haven’t…”.

Why was everyone so concerned with your sleeping?

“… I know” you shot back, with an harsh glare on your face, no need of any pretense with the man you had thought was your brother, although he had betrayed you two times.

“(Y/N)…” he rushed in immediately, probably hearing the annoyance in your tone, the tight rumble of the last word “… this isn’t something that…”.

“… that might concern me?” now your rage, which had been shot down by your tiredness and sleepless night, flared up completely “… he is my husband, Hvitserk! And Sigurd would have been my brother-in-law!”.

“You don’t know nothing about Sigurd!” the comment burned you, but your entire body felt as if it had been set on fire, and for somebody who had never been able to express her own rage, it felt damnably magnificent and tiring “… he and Ivar hated themselves and we all knew it would have come to that end, one or the other”.

“That doesn’t justify Ivar’s actions” your voice was now lowered, but it echoed deeply in the tent, suddenly feeling so closed inside of her, meanwhile Hvitserk took a step back.

Something burning on his tongue, but his brain holding it back.

“… it’s a different culture, princess (Y/N)” your full title now sounded liked disdain “… you wouldn’t understand it…”.

 “No, I wouldn’t” the words were now a full offense for you, but again that quiet before the tempest filled your tone and her mouth and you spit everything out as a cascade at the end of a smooth river “… I was thrust in this reality not by my choice and I had to adapt, to learn and to survive. So, I might not understand it, but this doesn’t justify it in any way”.

And before Hvitserk could say anything you pushed out of the tent, the whole place becoming much more intolerable than before, the tightness of your chest being slightly eased out by the air outside.

The sun shone there, although it seemed just like the umpteenth attempt of the whole universe to make fun of you.

But you breathed better and deeper.

But did it soothe you, in any way? No.

You felt your name called out, but you simply kept on running.

It was the only way you could achieve some sense of freedom.

It was your last freedom.

And before you even realized it, your feet took you in front of the place you needed to go to finish all of this.

Heahmund’s tent.

The man looked surprised by your presence there, even more because she was quite aware of the fact that you looked like some kind of savage nymph with your hair unbound and your feet bare.

But he welcomed you inside.

‘… I wasn’t expecting you princess to be here’ he commented, meanwhile he gestured outside, as you entered the tent, noticing the minimal objects and furniture in it, but nonetheless it was Saxon to the core.

Unlike and like you.

‘… I heard that there has been quite the celebration yesterday’ it was obvious that to him all the rituals happening were nothing but heathen dances in the full moonlight and he frowned upon them.

And upon the Christian princess that had joined them.

And for a moment you wondered about what you were truly doing with him.

Was it be a good choice?

“I want a divorce” Heahmund definitely didn’t seem to think it was a good choice, although surprise shone brightly on his face after your affirmation “… something that’ll annul my wedding, although I already know it is illegal for Christians”.

“What?” Heahmund was definitely trying to make sense of the same princess who had told him to mind his own business the previous day, and then today appeared in his tent, just a few days later to pretend a divorce.

You were definitely full of surprises.

Exactly like Ivar.

“… did you know that my husband killed his brother?” you didn’t know why you asked that to Heahmund, but the mindless expression he gave you, confirming that he did know about it, made you feel even more betrayed “… and do you think that isn’t something that might make my husband dangerous to me?”.

“I am here to protect you, princess” it was almost an automatic response, the sole he could give with such short pretense.

“… like you protected me when I was accused of having tried poisoning Ivar?” you had definitely hit a sore spot as the bishop lowered his head and launched himself on the sole chair in the room.

You were happy of standing, able to tower over him, as if to ensure your power over him.

Your father would have been proud of you.

And disgust just flooded on your tongue, at that thought.

“… if he killed his brother, think what he’ll do to me, when he’ll discover what you and my father planned to do with our marriage. All the spying and lying” you knew you must have sounded pathetic, and it made you feel almost like you were chewing onto glass.

But you felt betrayed by everyone.

Because what made you speak and what you had just asked was the rage you had ignored for all your life, the one that had come out of being constantly belittled, scared and taunted, to the point that you felt like you couldn’t react.

You couldn’t show anything that you wanted to feel truly.

And you started being sick of this.

“You knew who he was when you married him, princess” Heahmund’s tone tasted of threat and you weren’t able to stop yourself from grimacing at that, although you gripped tighter your fists, Nanna’s teachings about how to attack definitely coming to your mind.

“… but did I have any choice other than marrying him?” the words echoed in the room in a way that hang on heavy around you, like a humid cloud involving you both and Heahmund wasn’t able to turn his head to the other side, as he had always done “… my father would have thrown me out, if I hadn’t accepted it…”.

“He won’t hurt you, my princess” and strangely you were aware of it.

But… yet… your soul was scared, left betrayed by your own thought of having believed that Ivar could be different from your father, when they were two men who wielded power through violence.

You shouldn’t have been surprised but yet scenes of ordinary sweetness between you and Ivar appeared in your mind and they kept on bothering you, because the revelation made you feel like there were two Ivars, something that you had seen before.

There was the one that would cradle you close to his chest, when you didn’t feel well enough, bringing you to his own private heaven so that you could share a moment, in something that nobody had ever bothered to do for you.

And then there was this disruptive creature, some kind of hungry wolf that trashed anything and anybody that came on his way, something that made you wary, not scared, but your self-respect wanted you to run on your own feet.

And only some basilar sense of honor held you there.

And the knowledge that running away would have solely given you more problems.

“… arrange the divorce” it was an order mixed with a threat, something that you learned from Heahmund’s tone itself, the man quirking an eyebrow at you, although his mouth kept itself in a straight line “… or I’ll handle it myself”.

And as you had come you exited the tent, noticing that life had started going on as usual again.

Everybody had somewhere to go and the sounds of an active army camp filled the air and for a moment you desperately wished to disappear in it, closing your eyes and hoping that, as an enchantment, your own will could bring you away from here.

In a place where you could be safe with your sisters.

Kathleen wouldn’t have felt this powerless, she would have fought, she would have stood her ground, meanwhile Abigail would have charmed everybody in giving her what she asked…

… and then there was you, who felt like everything was lost.

Your feet brought you to place where the boats were being repaired, the entire process having come to some kind of halt, since the workers who had been taking care of the boats to come back home, had been moved to make sure Bjorn’s would be ready for his and Halfdan’s departure.

Something bitter was in your mouth at the thought.

At Ivar’s first betrayal and lie.

You shouldn’t have been this surprised after all.

“I knew I’d found you here” the voice was slightly lighter than Ivar and spoke English graciously with no inflection in his tone and you didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Alexander.

You breathed out a breath of relief.

“… if you are here to tell me you were right, please don’t”.

You were already hard enough on yourself, on your own.

“I won’t” Alexander sat next to you, and although you felt the distance between you two, it brought you pack to a past time, when you were each other’s confessor, although there were things you hadn’t been able to tell even to him.

And now they damned your body to this kind of pain and loss.

“… good” it was so low that you were sure that it dispersed itself in the wind “… because I am already feeling like I lost everything and to know that I have lost also your friendship and respect it would… destroy me”.

What was this show of sincerity?

This sudden opening up to everybody.

It felt like weakness…

… and yet the way Alexander’s arm slung loosely over your shoulder felt heavenly and before you knew it the tears you hadn’t shed but needed to, escaped your control and soon you were crying on his chest desperately.

He simply caressed your back till sobs became sighs and eventually silence enveloped you both.

“… you’ll never lose something that is sacred to my heart” he commented once you had calmed down, gently bringing your hands in his, as you raised softly your head to meet his eyes, and he shook lightly his head “… I shouldn’t have said those things… I spoke of love, but the truth was that I had no right to it…”.

“… I am sorry my feelings can’t be…” but he shushed you softly.

“You can’t oblige your feelings to feel something that you don’t believe in” he spoke softly, measuring his words because they held an equal side of wisdom and pain “… that’s why you are feeling like everything is lost… because your head tells you to feel one thing and your heart… your heart is treacherous”.

“He is a murderer…” your voice was low and yet it could have shaken mountains.

It shook your soul to the core.

“… he… he isn’t the man that I was supposed to love” it felt like a justification.

A flimsy one.

“Love isn’t about deserving or earning” Alexander spoke slowly “… I know it on my own skin, but this doesn’t make it any less easy or more… simple”.

“… I can’t stay here” your legs lightly moved underneath you as if to reinforce the concept “… I shouldn’t have ever come, I should have done what Kathleen wanted me to do, run”.

“And when have you ever followed Kathleen’s advises?” now Alexander’s mouth was quirking up in a smile, a sarcastic one matched on your face, properly “… you are (Y/N), not Kathleen, don’t ever forget”.

“But I do wish I was her!” now your voice was loud enough to make a few of the workers turn around, but Alexander’s eyes shot to them to tell them to return to work, something they did without any questions “… I can’t do this… I can’t… anymore”.

Your hands gripped the earth beneath you, probably dirtying your nails but you needed to anchor yourself down as your lungs slowly started filling themselves slowly, meanwhile you pushed your hands underneath you, stretching your body.

“Then change” it felt natural the way he said it, like it was the only natural solution, but how could you even think about that, when you were stuck as nothing more than a glorified prisoner.

“… how?”.

“We’ll grab a few horses and we’ll make a fun for it” Alexander, always the knight in the shining armor, the one who played Arthur in your games because he was ‘the Just’, certainly wouldn’t have thought about anything more than that.

To him, it would have been a knightly ballad.

And to you a true nightmare.

That was why this would never work out between you two.

He was a dreamer and you had had too much reality in your own blood to believe in those fairytales.

As you had learned in the hard way, they always disappointed you.

“… this isn’t easy, Alexander” your tone was patient and yet tight, as if you couldn’t understand Alexander’s thoughts and point of view “… Heahmund won’t even grant me a divorce”.

“… then the only way is to run”.

This, indeed, sounded like Kathleen.

But (Y/N) was already asking herself where they’d go and hide, what they’d need for it.

And how it would influence the ones she left behind.

Ivar would have probably marched to your father to ask him to find you again to bring you back and your father would have absolutely tried his best to find you, using your sisters against you.

And yet, you couldn’t stay here.

Your hands let go of the earth as if it was poisonous.

But maybe you were what was truly poisonous.

“… I can’t”.

Because Alexander could look forward, like Kathleen.

But you couldn’t.

You hadn’t been able to, since your father had taken away the possibility of a future without him from you.

His actions had never let you think with your own head, with your wishes and your own taste and now you were broken completely.

And stuck in the middle.

Waiting for something.

“Then I’ll stay with you a bit longer…” Alexander’s voice was soothing and comforting and again you leaned your head against his shoulder “… my princess”.

---

When you arrived back in your tent, rigorously escorted by Alexander in a silence that was terrible and your sole solution, you found all your ‘handmaidens’ reunited around your bed, their hands threaded together and their lips muttering a prayer that was too silent to reach your ears.

But you knew that they were praying for your protection, because as soon as you bumped into something with your knee, making enough noise to make your presence known to each of them, their eyes almost madly raised to you.

“Princess!” called out Lia, meanwhile Angelika’s slight smirk became as cold as the rocks outside and Caryn’s sweet smile faltered lightly again seeing your tired and disappointed smile “… we were worried! You didn’t… come for us, this morning”.

You wondered whether they knew.

None of them had followed you outside after you had received the news.

They had been all too busy dancing their hearts out and you couldn’t blame them.

You had always thought and felt like they were your friends and because of that they were happy of being so far away from their home, in a place where they had no real family and friend.

You had always been too naïve.

You wondered how far the word of your fight with Ivar had spread.

Part of you worried for what this might bring onto the scheme that you and Ivar had created.

You knew that Ubbe had told you this secret, because he hoped to bring whatever deal you and Ivar had done down, and he had succeeded in this brilliantly, because had the fight become of public domain, it would have brought down whatever appearance of romance you and Ivar had set up for each other.

Alongside your image of beloved leaders.

But part of you, the one that you had denied for so long, wanted to just push everything out in the open, to be able to mourn your pain publicly and have your own revenge on Ivar’s omitted pieces.

It felt so vile and yet it just felt right.

“… I just had to clear my mind” worry continued on lacing your handmaidens’ eyes, but the part of you that felt the need to doubt everything, now wasn’t able to look at them back.

You weren’t able to look at them without wondering whether it was genuine.

What was true, after all, in this settlement of liars and lies?

Your father would have called you melodramatic and even naïve, because to think that the truth was what you saw was the greatest trick that the Devil had played on humanity.

And who didn’t understand this would have been completely destroyed by others

“Is… your mind… clear, now?” it was obvious that Angelika’s words were a polished version of what she truly wanted to say.

And do, with her way her fists tightened around the pretty fabric of her lovely bluish dress.

She wouldn’t have been as naïve as you, in your place.

“… a bit” words were difficult and you excused Alexander quickly with a few more, not truly wanting him to see what you felt, unable to conceal your ache for what he had proposed, alongside the knowledge that you wouldn’t have ever been able to realize his plan “… I’d like to lay down, alone”.

It was lunch time, but you felt like you would have pushed out anything that you’d have eaten, so you thought that the only way you could tolerate the passing of the day was alone.

With your books.

“… it wouldn’t be wise to leave you…” tried to start Solveig, her voice and her Nordic accent, a small memory of your husband’s one “… we should…”.

“Leave me, alone”.

You must have sounded like a spoiled brat, but you knew that your eyes held the wound of your pride and your imagination.

And soon you heard a fluttering of feet and curt bows, meanwhile dresses grated almost noiseless against the floor, wiping it clean in some kind of ritual that left you to push yourself on the ground, on your knees.

And silently cry.

You dragged your tired body as some kind of wounded beast till the trunk with all your books and searched through it for some old books about laws, most importantly wedding laws, even getting the Bible out.

It was a small one that Father Peter had gifted you when you weren’t anything more than a small crumb, in hopes it’d guide you to sanctity.

How far were you from it…

But the truth was that you could have wielded the book with all the world’s knowledge and yet you wouldn’t have found a solution to your own dilemma, because your father wouldn’t have ever granted you a divorce or annulled the marriage.

You were his little bishop, on his own personal chessboard, willing to the ultimate sacrifice and honored for the protection of the king, something that made you unable to follow a proper trajectory on her own.

Just another piece on the board.

If you asked for a divorce your father would have immediately denied it, because you were a precious spy.

And had you tried to escape, he would have turned himself against your sisters, till he brought you right back where he had always had you.

There was no way to escape his grip.

In the end, you hadn’t had many choices when the marriage had been set up.

And now that it was celebrated and you were the wife of a monster, you had even less.

There was a third way.

That was something stories had always told you.

And as your hands were in search for many more books, almost frantic in their movements, they brushed against the leather sheath of the dagger your father had given you to achieve the most utter level of betrayal towards Ivar.

But could you kill somebody?

The dagger weighted heavily on your hands, but you knew just how to grip it to be sure to stabilize it in your grip, thank to Nanna’s lessons, since you had trained with wooden knives, in your latest lessons.

‘Held it with one hand’ and you followed the instructions in your mind, grabbing the handle with strength, as your fingers pushed up their to wrap against the metal, to grip it steadily ‘… this way you’ll have much more strength from your upper arms’.

And then you’d pierce Ivar’s skin.

And not the bottom of the trunk.

Would it have made so much difference?

Would you have found resistance?

Would you have survived the attack, had you been able to catch Ivar by surprise, finishing the fatal mission her father had given you?

But right when the dagger was through piercing itself in the trunk your hand trembled and soon the trembling pushed itself up to your whole body in a way that made goosebumps appear on your skin, a slight shade of red appearing on you cheeks.

And you felt it because they burned.

Like your arms.

As if you had received some kind of premonition, the knife slipped from your grip, as you felt somebody entering the tent.

And you had gotten yourself used to those dragged out steps.

You had cherished them just a few days ago.

And you knew that Ivar had almost caught you in a dangerous experimentation.

But nothing in you wanted to be careful.

You had been focusing all your energy on hiding the double-play you had brought in your dowry and now you were so tired of everything.

So tired of Ivar’s and your father’s games.

You should have seen how similar they were from the start.

How deceitful and monstrous they both were.

Drenched in violence and unable to love others.

And yet, as Ivar’s eyes met yours, tired and disappointed, all the flashes of your happy moments appeared in front of your eyes, again, and for a moment you felt like throwing your arms around him.

And then the image of blood, tears and smoke filled your eyes.

You had been already too foolish.

And your eyes became of ice.

“… would you like to talk?” Ivar’s voice was as dry as your mouth, but yet it felt like a dam holding back something more and you trained your eyes to the ground, to avoid seeing what he hid in his eyes.

Because they’d have made you think you were talking with a human.

“I sent  away my handmaidens away for a reason” you hadn’t ever been this cold and this angry and it felt like every hit you sent his way was one to yourself and you couldn’t help but clutch your fists tight by your side, adjusting your dress just to look busy “… and Hvitserk already tried to say something”.

“He ran out of the tent with his tail between his legs” his attempt at humor was welcomed by a dry glare and this time in your eyes there wasn’t anything to be held back.

They were pure flames.

“… he told me that I don’t understand your ways” suddenly your own dam was broken and before you knew it, you were pushing out all the shit that you had swallowed all these years “… but the truth is that I was pushed in this, without anybody asking me what I wanted and what I preferred”.

“I had to learn on my own how to behave, how to act, how to fucking survive” Ivar backed off lightly, and your body raised in a swift move “… I had to learn how to fight back, how to defend myself from all the ones around me and not to trust anybody…”.

“You are a princess, you should have known these things” now Ivar’s tone was as dark as yours, and as you turned to look at him in the eyes you spotted that he hadn’t been able to conceal that you had hurt him.

And it made you feel good.

It made you take that step forward that separated you.

“… you are right” your voice was the calm before the storm, mirroring completely the static energy that followed lighting, meanwhile your voice became the booming power of a thunder “… I am a fucking believer of stories and you thought that you could control me easily because of that”.

Ivar seemed taken aback by your affirmation, and raised his arms as if to grab your attention but now you were utterly done and if he wanted to make you suffer, you’d drag him with you

“… for all my life I had somebody that controlled me, so it should have been easy for you to do the same for me, it was nice when you could make me act the role of the nice wife, the one that’d have stood by your side, no matter what…” a light of protest appeared in Ivar’s eyes and you chastised it with a look of your own “… don’t fucking deny it, my prince”.

You could have screamed and it would have done less damage than it did now, as Ivar lost suddenly his balance on his own braces and although everything in your body ached to desperately cradle him closer to you, help him up…

… your soul was frozen.

“… but I am done playing these games” and you let Ivar catch a glimpse in your tiredness “… and from now on, I wish you not to be my husband anymore in our tent, I’ll keep up the dutiful wife act outside of here, but I just can’t… I won’t be your bride in anything but my body”.

Ivar reached out for your dress, as you exited the tent, but you were faster.

Running away was your sole weapon.

And it struck deeper than a dagger.

---

Nanna noticed your uneasiness to even look towards a weapon immediately, as you came to here to train, and sent you through a run of the woods, to stretch your muscles before the real training, some kind of hand to hand combat that you had practiced till you knew the moves by heart.

For which you were grateful since your mind was completely gone.

And you couldn’t seriously do much more than crouch down and avoid hit after hit, meanwhile your attacks were lethal, enough that this time you almost hit Lia, the poor girl having to shield herself through a big push onto your chest, which sent you tumbling down.

And you welcomed the fall.

The loss of control was dizzying and maddening and for somebody who was a step close to losing it completely it was refreshing like rain on your face in a hot summer day.

And Nanna caught on all of this immediately.

She approached you as you came back to Bukefalos.

‘… whatever you have in mind, you should know that the brothers never liked each other” you rolled your eyes at her, a bold move that accompanied your own insanity since you wouldn’t have ever dared doing anything like that.

But the truth was that if you had gone through so much shit because of others, it was because you, firstly, had let yourself go through it, eventually creating a patterns of behaviors that you’d assume to avoid angering others.

You thought they’d spare you from pain.

But they had never worked truly.

And now you raged with intensity.

“… Hvitserk already tried this discourse with me” you counterattacked before Nanna could finish whatever she was saying, but unlike with Hvitserk, she held her own ground and waited for your outburst to end “… it doesn’t justify him”.

“It doesn’t, it never will” there was something deeper in Nanna’s eyes “… I am the first to say such a thing, because you see… I was Sigurd’s trainer, I taught him how to fight, although he wasn’t in the slightest talented for it, he was a great musician…”.

The confession seemed to cost Nanna years as her face became suddenly older and you couldn’t help but stop for a moment and think about what she had truly gone through.

You didn’t know Nanna, exactly as you didn’t know perfectly your handmaidens, so to be the witness of such a concealed pain it made your soul suddenly shift onto the most compassionate mood, although rage still burned and asked explanations.

“… I hate him, you know” Nanna’s voice was a soft whisper, her face holding a tight smirk, a sad one that spoke of many nights wasted to overthinking and distrusting anybody “… that’s why I wasn’t kind to you, when you first came, I thought that you were nothing but a meek little mannequin here for his schemes”.

“I am that” your voice tasted like a harsh bite, and Nanna sent you a compassionate look, but no pity in it, as if she knew deep down that that rage simply concealed much more.

“… you were” corrected her Nanna, coming closer to you, and lightly brushed away strand of hair drenched with sweat you hadn’t noticed you had shed “… but the truth is that you weren’t ever meek and stupid, someone easy to manipulate? Maybe at the start, but not anymore. That’s just a front and this strength that you are destroying through your rage… it’s the true you”.

Nobody had ever said something like that to you

You had loved Kathleen to Death and back, and yet, she had always treated her as if you were the meek little girl that your father had wanted you to be, and she couldn’t see past it, in the end becoming one of the many golden cages that wrapped you too tight.

You had always felt helpless.

Even when your strength had been reinforced.

But now somebody had finally acknowledged it…

… it felt like a freedom.

Like a beacon of hope.

That your rage shoved back inside.

“… he is a monster”.

“No” Nanna voice echoed through the empty spot of the forest she had brought you so that you could be more private “… he isn’t a monster, because those exist only in fairytales, little princess, he is a boy who has done and will for ever do monstrous things”.

“… is there any difference?”.

Your voice was slightly broken and even more importantly it seemed almost frail in the way it trembled in your own mouth, as if you wanted to eat it right back, because it was the breaking point.

Your breaking point.

Could you love somebody that would have tainted you?

Somebody who wouldn’t have hesitated to bring you down for his own plans?

No matter the fact that he had promised that he wouldn’t have ever done such a thing.

Could you turn a blind eye to all the monstrous things he did?

What would have made you?

A coward or a hypocrite?

“… there is” Nanna’s voice was instead low as if it was tasting the words, making sure they were the right ones “… being a monster isn’t a choice, doing monstrous thing is, and it only depends on us”.

“This doesn’t make everything better in any way”.

“It isn’t meant to” Nanna’s eyes settled on you unrelenting and piercing “… it is meant to bring knowledge to you. Even you would do something monstrous if you were given the proper stimulus believe me”.

The words seemed so foreign to you.

And yet hadn’t you cheated, lied and hidden?

Could you seriously blame Ivar for his lies?

Still you held your position strongly.

“… this isn’t some kind of silly courtly game, princess” Nanna’s hand shot out to your wrist and before she could grab, your reflexes acted up and you pushed it back “… and look at you, you already know the first step of it: don’t trust anybody”.

“… why don’t you cut Ivar’s throat off in his sleep?” it was treason what you had suggested, your father would have had the people saying it dead, but Nanna simply sent you a soft laugh.

“Because then I wouldn’t be different from him” it felt such an obvious choice and yet it clashed so deeply with the warrior image she had of Nanna “… the difference between me and Ivar it is that I can become a monster to defend what I believe in and he becomes a monster because he has been taught to hate whatever doesn’t agree with him”.

A logic came in front of your eyes.

“… he was born to be king, shaped by an overprotective mother who loved him and a father that hated what he truly was and taught him that love and happiness wouldn’t have been what was in his Destiny” the image of Ivar became much more complex at all these revelations “… this isn’t to justify him, but the first step to stop being afraid of people who do monstrous things is to understand them”.

Nanna’s hand now gently moved onto your shoulder, the grip strangely comforting, since it didn’t coddle you in any way.

But it stood with her.

“… I know you aren’t scared” she commented, as she slowly distanced herself from you “… and know that you are confused, so I hope that knowledge will help you in your choice”.

“As if I had one” you were simply able to mutter.

“… life is a path and you always come at crossroad, little princess”.

---

When you had come back to tent you had soon found out that you were alone, and you couldn’t exactly blame Ivar for not wanting to share the room with you.

But at the same time, you were almost grateful he had left your space.

Nanna’s talk had certainly cleared you a few things, if not about yourself, about Ivar.

But everything inside of you raged and ached for an answer that could calm your fear, ease your worries and finally find a solution to the enigma inside your heart: were you allowed to feel what you had started feeling for Ivar, or had it been all a mistake?

Your feelings were so confused that your feet just wanted to bring you away from there, if not for yourself, for the simple calm of mind that being far away from anybody would have given you.

You wanted just a bit freedom.

But you had taken your first steps in a priced cage.

So, how could you exit when the cage was smaller, and you knew nothing of it…

Your fist punched the light cupboard you had beside the entrance, where you knew that Ivar kept your nuptial gifts and you hit a bit too hard because the cupboard was slightly shaken and before you knew it, something fell right on the floor in front of you.

Floki’s gift, the small box with the moving sides, was now on the ground and as you rushed to grab it, already worried of having broken it, you noticed that out of pure luck you hadn’t broken it, completely.

But the box was now open lightly at the center and you moved yourself to collect it, finding much more than you had bargained for, because the broken box revealed a small piece of paper, which you grabbed, knowing quite well that you Vikings didn’t have written language, although you had received a book with a few runes and the proper pronunciation for words…

… and in fact, the paper didn’t contain any writing.

But it was a map.

A map, that contained all the villages around the settlement, signaling the ones that were already occupied by Vikings troupes and the ones that weren’t, making you discover that you had a convent nearby, a few days of travels.

But, again, you knew that escaping wouldn’t have been useful to anybody.

Unless… unless you managed to maintain the pact with Ivar.

And unless anything happened to you.

Had you died, accidentally, Ivar wouldn’t have been able to break the oath of protection to your father and your father wouldn’t have harmed your sister to try to get you back to him.

But you didn’t have any intention to cut your life so shortly, not only because you were coward and too attached to the life you had just started living, but you knew that suicide might destroy the oath, almost as much as a direct betrayal to either your father or Ivar.

But suddenly more and more ideas set up in your mind, as you remembered Nanna’s discourse.

A terrible and monstrous idea came to you, as you watched at the map, clutching it tighter in your hands till it appeared lightly crisped and marks of your nails etched in it.

You pushed it in your sleeve, and for the second time in that day you went to visit Alexander.

You noticed that a few guards followed you, although not closely and you were even more surprised to discover that Alexander and a few of his men had been asked to stay for a few days more.

‘To ease the princess’ nostalgy’ had mumbled Alexander, recalling the small meeting he had had that morning with Heahmund after you had left, the man looking as desperate as annoyed, and when your best friend discovered what you had asked of the bishop…

… he laughed loudly.

“… I don’t trust Heahmund, in the slightest” you mumbled, under your breath, but were still thankful for having Alexander with you a bit, even more with the plan your mind had conjured.

You showed Alexander the map you had found.

‘They probably wanted to use it to conquer more lands’ commented the blonde-haired knight, as he examined the countries that were left unconquered ‘… they couldn’t know that Ivar would have married an English princess, sealing peace with king Alfred and your father’.

‘… that gives me more credit than I have really’ you mumbled, but more because Ivar being brought in this conversation would have risked ruining all your coherent thoughts and confidence.

“This morning you said we should run away” your voice was low, although the guards outside hadn’t seemed to understand any English, but you tried your best to avoid being discovered “… but for me it isn’t just possible, I do know that if I just run away, my father would bring me back, using my sisters against me”.

“… so, you haven’t changed idea?” Alexander’s tone was slightly pensive and heavy, enough that you were very aware that he stood by your side no matter what.

And you needed that loyalty for your plan.

Something that still made you a bit icky to use, since you were aware that you were partly using Alexander’s fascination for you to get him to collaborate with you.

And it was horrible.

It felt awful.

And it was something that you could feel both Ivar and your father would have done.

Nanna had talked with you about creatures doing monstrous things, but not about the influence they’d have on the people around them,

“… my father wouldn’t search for me if I was dead”.

In Alexander’s eyes a flash of hurt and surprise appeared and immediately he reached out to you, trying to grab your wrist, but you snatched it quickly, as he instead went to gently caress one of your cheeks, as you kept your eyes down.

Unable to see the commotion and devotion in his eyes.

It reminded you of Ivar’s quiet misery of this morning.

Why had you this effect on men?

They were all moved by you and yet they wouldn’t listen on anything you had to say.

“… I won’t help you on your path to self-destruction, (Y/N)” Alexander told you, looking at you attentively “… I can’t… truly… I’ll swear my sword to your protection, but not to your destruction”.

“I wouldn’t need to die, to be thought dead” you added, trying to ease the worry in Alexander’s eyes “… I… if I was thought to be dead through some accident, leaving behind some of my things, I wouldn’t… I would be able to start again a new life, in a convent, where nobody has heard of me”.

The plan was crazy and Alexander did look at you as if you had definitely suggested something blasphemous, and honestly…

… had you had any other chance, you wouldn’t have suggested it.

But Heahmund or your father wouldn’t have ever granted you a chance of divorce.

And running out would have resulted in simply being brought back by force, either using it on you or your sisters.

And you couldn’t stay here.

Not when you had people pushing you through situation you didn’t belong in.

No matter how much you had thought of loving Ivar, your father expected you to do something against him and had Ivar discovered anything about what you had done and what you intended to do, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.

And you had enough of being controlled and used for others’ plans.

You had now your own.

Your life at a convent wouldn’t have been perfect.

But you wouldn’t have risked your life, daily basically.

“This isn’t… this is…” Alexander’s eyes searched yours, hoping to find some gleam of sanity but you simply held yourself strong in your conviction, because had you lost also that…

… you would have completely vanished.

“… crazy”.

“That’s my only chance” you insisted loudly “… I wouldn’t ask you this if it wasn’t. I know that you want the best for me, but I can’t simply hide behind you anymore”.

Something in his eyes became sad and you had to admit what stood on your tongue, ready to be swallowed, because it was the truth.

And you knew that truth never paid off.

“… I know that you are in love with me” you admitted “… and I know that you want to protect me because of that, but I … Alexander I grew out of the fairytale, I don’t think it ever was. I don’t want you to do this because you expect something in return or because it is what virtuous knights do. I want you to do this because… you think it is the right thing”.

Alexander’s hand fell from your face and for a moment you were sure that you had done the wrong thing, you had chosen the wrong road and now you could only hope that Alexander would at least respect the secret of your words.

But for the second time in this day, you found a bit of luck, in this unlucky situation.

“I am not going to help you, as a lover” it hit you deeply, but Alexander’s eyes stared right back in yours, full of support “… I am going to help you, because I should have done all of this before”.

You looked at him curious about what he’d say next, but you couldn’t have ever foreseen what he’d say next.

“… I should have helped you and your sisters with your father”.

And for somebody who had never admitted what your father had made you go through, although solely emotionally, the knowledge that somebody had been witness to it took you like a sword straight up in your chest.

A bleak kind of pain hit you and you almost felt ashamed that he had found out about this.

“… how?” the words got all confused in your mouth “… how did you know?”.

“I didn’t… I just connected the dots” you didn’t know whether you wanted to hide all of this further in your heart, because shame just took you fully, or to finally breath out the truth.

Because finally you had received some respect, and somebody saw all of you.

“… once… when we were children… I accidentally ripped Kathleen’s gown, meanwhile we were fighting, and I found a big… big bruise on it”.

“… I didn’t realize back then that it came from your father, but I saw the way you flinched whenever he was slightly displeased with you, even more when I saw Kathleen flinching of pain if we ever fought, and seeing bruises on here that she justified as old wounds…”.

Alexander’s knowledge made you sick to your stomach.

Had others known about your father’s actions?

Had they known all this time and never done anything?

Although you were the first to admit that your father’s actions would have put the fear of God in everyone, you couldn’t believe that so many had stayed silent, at seeing the constant ruination of you and your beloved sisters.

“… and as a child I believed it, but when we started growing up we became more and more tight knit and I wasn’t able to ignore the way you’d shift away from your father, or the way Abigail would have her eyes trained down on the ground, whenever he was near… or how much Kathleen limped after she had answered her father’s provocations…”.

Painful memories overcame you as you choked on your own words.

“… that’s why I told you we should have run away, when we were still at the castle, before I got recruited in the army, I wanted to keep you safe, but…” a shade of guilt dyed his eyes “… I was just a boy and there wasn’t much I could do, I didn’t have the power and neither the money to convince your father to let you marry me”.

“And then my brother died and the only that kept me going was the fact that I could have finally been enough in your father’s eyes…” and his eyes showed the idealistic beliefs you had always loved about him “… but right when I came back, I found out that your father had sold you off to somebody’s else”.

The way he pronounced the word ‘sold you off’ made you feel so heavy and ashamed.

But it was the truth.

Your father had sold you like a priced cow.

And you wouldn’t have simply ‘mooed’ your annoyance, anymore.

You would have done something with it.

“… so, I’ll help you, my princess” Alexander sealed off his oath, as his hand reached out to you, nothing romantical in the way that he gripped your small hand in his “… for all the times that I couldn’t”.

You simply nodded, not trusting your voice, as you turned to the map

“... but we’ll need a well-thought plan”

“I have one” you commented lowly “… have you ever heard of the novella of the matron of Efeso?”.

---

You and Alexander had been talking about the plans for quite some time, estimating how much time it’d take you both to get ready.

You ran on stolen time, barely a week from when you’d be leaving for Kattegat, and Alexander’s staying had been extended for a few days, a whole week, if the heathens felt generous, something that made you both anxious.

And yet adrenaline filled your brain.

You almost hadn’t wanted to stop yourself from your plotting schemes with Alexander, but you knew that staying in his tent for more than it was proper would have costed you whispers.

Even more when the crisis between you and Ivar was evident.

So, you had tried to hide your schemes, through various visits, moving again to Heahmund, with the excuse to thank him for Alexander’s prolonged staying, appearing the image of the docile sheep, as the bishop complimented your virtues of patience and perseverance.

‘The ones of a true queen’ he had said, a strange gleam in his eyes, but you had chosen to ignore it, sick in the stomach at the sole thought that he had known about your father’s abuse against you and your sister.

And had never done anything.

Alexander’s confession of knowledge had opened your eyes and what you had thought was a closed world of violence and cunningness, had been open to the whole court to see and witness.

And nobody had done something against it.

They had all been cowards.

Like you.

And yet, a new kind of rage followed these new revelations, because you understood that many nobles completely depended upon your father, but yet, so many had even taken part in your father’s plan with no intention to even try to shed a glance your way.

You and your sisters had been left alone, to be adored and wished upon, and yet beaten down till your resistance broke.

But the truth was that it had never broken.

Kathleen was the portrait of that, and Abigail had much more cunningness than her soft preface gave the appearance of.

And as of you, the time in the Viking settlement had revealed to you, skills that you had never thought you owned.

You had always sold yourself short, and now it was time that you took the power away from all the men in your life that had taken it for you, doing not what Kathleen would have done, but what (Y/N) would have done.

Your father had thought that he had raised a stupid daughter, one that would be the perfect shy wife to a prince that wanted her simply to lay in bed, but you were far more than that.

And you wondered whether Ivar had known it from the start.

But these were questions you couldn’t allow yourself to have.

There were questions you’d leave behind as you took the vows and the veil.

‘… you’d have to change your appearance’ had mentioned Alexander meanwhile you talked about what you’d need to do to be accepted in a convent: money would have bought silence, but it wouldn’t have been enough to stop people from talking once it was finished ‘… maybe dye or cut your hair’.

And all these transformations had all seemed to you one more way to leave that life behind.

Your only regret was leaving your sisters.

The thought of never having to see them again, would have been difficult for you, to say the least, but Alexander had assured you that now that he had his brother’s inheritance he’d be able to move in court and he’d be by your sisters’ side.

He had sworn an oath to it, but you already believed him blindly.

You knew that you’d for ever regret the thought of him not being the one you had married and the one your heart loved, but there wasn’t much you could do, except be grateful for the support of such a friend.

After the visit to bishop Heahmund, you had tried your best to appear in public, wandering through the market alongside a few girls, till the night overtook the light of the day and you chose to dine alone in your room.

You hoped Ivar would ignore you like he had done for the whole afternoon (or better, as you had done with him for the whole afternoon).

But apparently, lady Luck had helped you too much this evening.

And your husband met you in your tent for a private dinner.

This was what he said to your handmaidens, as he sent them away, although Angelika had be to dragged away by a rather annoyed Solveig, the older woman, halfway through pushing her by the hair, something that brought a dry giggle to your mouth.

But as you turned to face Ivar, the giggle got stuck in your throat.

You had expected him to be angry, and although you had armed yourself with a good amount of your own anger, ready to spit back and fight…

… he just looked old.

As if tiredness had cursed his handsome image.

His eyes weighted heavily in their sockets and they hanged down, staring at his bracing, still on him and for a moment your hands shot forward almost wanting to do what you had started doing for him, your nimble fingers more able than the ones of any guard.

But you bit back your lips and pushed your hands away.

Many thought that the curse of sin could be transmitted through touch.

And yet, your whole body ached to give him some kind of comfort.

“… I’ll have dinner, in here, hope you don’t mind” your voice was slightly unsure and trembling, and you thought that it hadn’t reached Ivar truly, till he simply gave you a light shoulder nod, a moan of pain exiting his mouth as he moved his body “… are you hurt?”.

“What do you care?” that voice was so cutting that it was aimed to hurt you, without any doubts “… you aren’t my wife, anymore in this tent”.

You bit your lips, because your tantrum against him in that tent hadn’t been fair both to your strategy, but also to him, because as much as you hated the thought of what he had done, the rage you had shot him with was partly towards you.

You just changed the direction of it.

“… I might not be your wife, but…”.

He raised himself so swiftly and all the food that had been laid on the tray on the bed, fell in a cacophony of sounds that brought you to immediately cover your ears with your hands.

“What are you to me princess, truly?!” he was using the same tone you had used with him this morning, cutting and made to hurt your opponent, in a vocal sparring you had just learned.

And he was a champion in it.

“… you think that it is easy for me…” your words sounded frail to you, so it didn’t surprise you that Ivar destroyed them with a bloodied look and another shout.

This time your hands remained paralyzed to your torso.

“This isn’t about what I fucking did to Sigurd!” he shouted back to you “… this what is going to fucking happen in this tent! We had a fucking deal!”.

You were paralyzed and you felt bile coming back in your mouth, and before you knew it you pushed yourself outside of the tent, and emptied all your empty stomach on the ground, although you didn’t vomit anything much more than mead and water.

You stood with your body bent in two, your stomach aching and your mind running around, in a way that made you lightly scrunch your eyebrows in a way to calm your soul.

But nothing eased the confusion in your whole body.

The way it trembled so lowly.

And then rage filled you.

And you pushed yourself back in that tent.

“… you are right!” you didn’t even look at Ivar, as your hands hastily ripped off the slight nightgown you had been wearing, lowering it over your night garments “… we have a deal, then fucking take what I offered you, be the fucking prince you think yourself to be!”.

Your voices sounded so rough and so broken that they didn’t belong to you but to some wounded animal.

And Ivar looked at you surprised, as you made the nightgown pool at your feet, revealing your body barely covered by the rough fabric of your garments, your nipples piercing through the fabric for the coldness of the room.

A fire was blaring in the fireplace, but it wasn’t in any way of some use to you both.

You were looking at each other as two wounded lions, prideful and yet asking the other to quit this pretense and to help each other.

And you pierced your palms with your nails to make that thought vanish.

“… you seriously married me thinking that I wouldn’t someday protest against everything you have taken me away from…” your words echoed in the air and you weren’t able to stop yourself from the step forward you took.

“I always thought that you were smart” his voice was finally the truth.

But they weren’t of any consolation to you.

“You fell in love with a fantasy, Ivar” you spoke, your voice appearing in all the sadness of your condition “… I am not a fantasy, I am a person, and not a pawn, one that will simply stand by your side, without fear or…”.

“I would never hurt you”.

You refused to meet his eyes, because you knew it would have been the truth.

And it would have undone you.

“… those are words, not fact” and you smiled softy and tragically “… not facts”.

“I wouldn’t….” his voice was finally showing his age, a few years older than yours, and yet infinitely younger in a way that made you wonder whether you had been talking with a child

An unloved one.

“… what do I have to do to show you that you wouldn’t ever be hurt?”.

“… nothing, Ivar” your voice was flat, because otherwise it would have begged for more.

“… there must be something!” his voice was now the tantrum of a child, and as you finally raised your eyes again, you found them laced with a rejection he had known all too well.

When you had first met him, you had thought that the sadness you had seen in his eyes was due to the fact that you were both forgotten children, alone in their thoughts and ideas.

And yet, something in his eyes reeked of the same martyrdom you had put yourself through.

Hadn’t Nanna told you that his own father hadn’t ever had any gentle words for him?

But did this seriously make any excuse for him?

You had grown with a father that had abused you emotionally and you hadn’t ever thought about killing one of your sisters.

“Sometimes the only solution we can offer is simply to leave things as they are” your voice didn’t sound convinced, but there wasn’t much comfort you could offer to Ivar, not when you knew yourself what was going on in your head “… I’ll keep up part of my deal outside of here, but I don’t… “.

“… but you’ll never be my lover” now Ivar’s words made a defeated sound in his mouth “… I wonder why I ever thought that you could be that”.

The words hanged in the air heavily, as Ivar lightly turned on the bed away from you, facing the opposite part and although you had been prepared for worse, the way he had chosen all of this… it destroyed you.

But you couldn’t do much more than adjust yourself on the opposite side of him.

You just needed to hold on till Alexander would have the money and the things you needed and then you’d be able to leave all of this behind.

And yet, like some silly child, your hands reached out to the cold middle of your bed.

---

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[katnissmellarkkk]

AN: Hiiiii, alright I’ve been working on this story since I posted my first chapter and, as it turns out, no surprise, this is gonna be longer than I originally expected. Probably like five-ish chapters? I’m not re-writing every chapter or part of Mockingjay if Peeta wasn’t hijacked, just snippets of the essential plotline and events if Peeta hadn’t been hijacked.... did that make sense? 

Alright, anyways, I wanna also take this time to say I definitely did not expect the amount of love I received on the first part of this and omg I’m so honored and touched. I really wasn't expecting you guys to be so supportive in this fandom. Thank you all so much, for liking, commenting and reblogging. It really made me so happy <3.

Also if you didn’t read part one and you want to, here’s the link. 

I hope everything’s going well for all you reading this! 

Also I need a title for this so any suggestions are more than welcome alright buh-bye.

Shattered Pearl

| Part One |

/

I know I've been shot. I felt it hit me, right underneath my chest. If I didn't vaguely remember standing in the tunnels, appealing to and pleading with the District Two men, trapped inside the Nut, the gunshot of a man standing behind us in the crowd, too cowardly to come closer and confront me to my face, if I didn't retain the image of seeing myself shot on television, I'd swear I'd been hit by one of the Capitol trains that once took me and Peeta district to district.

The thought of the train brought back memories I'd long held close to my heart. I had never spoken of nights shared between me and Peeta on the Victory Tour and prior to the Quarter Quell. Not to anyone. Not even Prim. It felt too personal and too vulnerable a memory to let anyone else claim it. For so long it was all I had to cling to, with him presumed dead and then only seen on Caesar's talkshow, tormented and a shell of the boy with the bread.

I miss him now, as I lay despondently, wherever I am. I feel a jabbing pain right where I predict I was shot, the injury feeling closer to a brutal beating than a penetration.

My mind whirls and flies and wracks itself up and down, backwards and forwards and side to side and somehow I can't remember even a split second where I felt the bullet enter into my body.

I feel my consciousness, my awareness, growing stronger now, slowly crawling in an upwards motion, like I was lying on the bottom of a lake and I'm only now floating to the top.

When my head breaks the surface, there's a bright, ugly, glaring light stinging my eyes and my first thought is one of comparison. Does Peeta experience this too, when he wakes up in his recovery room? Do they actually think that'll help anyone recover here, blasting unsettling yellow colors into their eyes as soon as they crack open? Is it their idea of a luxury, since everything and everyone else is so void of color here in Thirteen, like one of Peeta's drawings that have yet to be painted.

"Disorienting, huh?" I hear a familiar—so familar—voice laugh quietly. "I think Thirteen believes the more the lights hurt your eyes, the less we'll use them and the more energy they'll save in the end."

"Peeta?" I mean to murmur but instead my voice comes out in a whimper.

"Shh," he whispers, his voice all gentleness and sweetness now. The teasing, conversational edge is gone. He runs his fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my sweat covered forehead, hoping the ministration will soothe me.

It takes me longer than it should to place, but it strikes me after a moment that his voice now reminds me of a different foreign place and a different wound and an altogether different time.

The confusion. The comforting, appeasing voice. The soft, tender gesture. It eerily reminds me of waking up in the cave, after having bled out from my head, only to find my body weak and Peeta's shockingly strong and the tables turning and him taking care of me.

My hands act to their own accord and cannot be stilled, no matter how comforting Peeta's fingers feel, sifting through my hair.

I fumble roughly with the bandages covering my left side, where the bullet must have hit, and I force my eyes wide open now, in spite of the still disturbing light overhead.

"What am I still doing here?" I ask before I can really register what I'm saying. At his confused and—now I can see his features better, with my eyes adjusting to the brightness—exhausted face, I clarify. "The bullet didn't kill me?" I look to him for confirmation.

"No," he promises smoothly, understanding my puzzlement now. "No, I promise you, the bullet didn't kill you."

"What happened?" I ask, my voice and body both still far weaker than I'm in any way comfortable with. "I think I blacked out after I was shot."

Peeta forces himself to give me a faint ghost of a smile. "Yeah, I imagine that happens when a bullet hits you in the side." He takes my hand in his and begins to softly kiss it, repeatedly. Finally he replies, "you were shot on live TV and everyone in the country saw you go down. Coin and Plutarch decided immediately to spin this and fake your death. But Cinna made your Mockingjay outfit bulletproof. The bullet never touched you," he assures before adverting his eyes as they grew watery with his words.

"Peeta," I start, my voice raspy as it's ever been.

"I don't think I was that scared in the Capitol," he blurts out as if I didn't speak. "Snow knew, he always knew, that you getting hurt would have been worse torture than anything else he could have ever done to me."

"How do you think I felt when Snow and his guards had you prisoner?" I shoot back before I can stop myself. His torture was harrowing enough without me making it all about myself. He flinches slightly at my words but tries to mask it, for my sake, no doubt. I reach out and squeeze his hand, my body's grip embarrassingly lame and in no way soothing. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"No," he automatically refutes. "Don't apologize to me. You have enough people putting their burdens on your shoulders without adding me to that list."

I swallow hard now, my memory starting to piece everything together and I remember suddenly that this is the first time I've seen Peeta since Coin's men had essentially interrogated him into hysteria.

I hadn't told him I was even going to Two. I didn't even tell him how long I'd be gone.

And then I got shot on camera. And—as I should have predicted—the rebels used this opportunity to their advantage.

I can imagine what that felt like for him. I remember on the hovercraft to and for the first few weeks in Thirteen. Refusing to eat. Refusing to speak. Hiding in closets and sleeping only sporadically. Picturing every single time I closed my eyes Peeta being beaten to death, Peeta being abused, Peeta crying out helplessly.

I wait for him to blink back his tears again before final speaking. "Can I apologize for not telling you I was going to Two in the first place?"

Something new crosses his features and in place of the fear, the agony, the pain, comes an almost sarcastic, satirical expression. "Please do, Sweetheart."

I roll my eyes instinctively when he calls me sweetheart. He'd only ever called me that in the past to get on my nerves or irritate me. "You sound like Haymitch," I can't help but point out.

"This isn't sounding like an apology for lying."

"I'm getting there."

"I've been waiting for days."

I raise my eyebrow mockingly. "So that's why you're here by my bedside?"

"Only reason. I'm out as soon as I get my reparation."

"Well in that case," I trail off, shrugging—and inwardly cringing at the movement before bringing his hand to my lips now and planting a kiss there. "I'm not apologizing then."

He laughs and I pretend to be put out, which works until I try to cross my arms in false indignation and involuntarily eject a loud gasp of pain from the way the motion upsets whatever is broken inside of me.

Peeta drops the ruse then too and stand from his chair, sitting on the side of my bed to get closer to me. "Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, cupping my cheek and turning my distressed face towards him now. "Breathe," he commands genially, leaning his forehesd against mine. "The pain will go away, Katniss, just breathe."

I let out a large breath but it only makes the pain worse and eventually I just grip the hand cupping my face and squeeze with all my might. The lame grip I felt ashamed of minutes before is now replaced with an adrenaline rush of strength and I nearly break Peeta's hand in my much smaller one.

He doesn't complain and begins to rub my back to calm me down. When the searing, paralyzing discomfort subsides, the first thing I utter is, "so if I never got actually shot, what is going on with my body?"

He strokes my face affectionately. "You have a bruised lung. Bruised ribs. And your spleen was ruptured so they removed that."

"So I'm without a spleen?" I realize, my voice raising involuntarily. For some reason, I'm petrified that a whole organ was taken out of my body and I had no say in it whatsoever.

"You don't need it, Katniss," Peeta quickly reassures.

I deflate then, not sure if I feel any better or not. Peeta's words suddenly come back to me.

"Katniss, these people aren't too different from the ones in the Capitol."

Would I trust Snow or his guards to remove my spleen? No. So should I be okay with Thirteen operating on me?

I shake my head, knowing this is redundant and ridiculous. My spleen was ruptured. They'd saved my life. I was being paranoid for nothing and I couldn't afford falsely accusing the very people I needed to survive. Especially not when they likely are what saved my life.

Peeta sees my face contort and the disheartenment etch itself across my features. Still remaining tender and cautious, he leans his own wounded, beaten face down and places kisses against my cheek.

I try to hold off but his lips bring a smile to mine, and even with all the confusion bubbling around my head, all the disbelief and uncertainty, in regards to my feelings towards him, Gale, Coin, this war and the Revolution itself, I still can't help the feeling of hope spreading across my chest, filling my heart up in a way I never let myself consider it could again.

"Peeta?" I whisper then and he pulls back from planting kisses on my face to look at me.

"Hmm?"

"If my lung is bruised, why did you tell me to breathe deeply to stop the pain?"

He freezes for a second, contemplating and considering before a slightly bashful smile crosses his mouth. "You're the healer here, not me," he finally teases. When I smile back at him, he leans in simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the word, and kisses me full on the mouth.

The kiss catches me off-guard but only after the fact. In the moment it feels right and tingly and reassuring and I'm lightheadedly happy and I don't even know what to make of how I feel on the inside.

"I'm not a healer," I remind with very little passion for the correction in my voice.

He laughs again lightly but then bites his lip and brushed my hair back. "You did say that to me in our first games, right? Real or not real?"

I hesitate for a full ten seconds before I respond, my face scrunching up. His words almost seem like an already formed game that no one had explained the rules of. "Real," I finally answer.

He's already elaborating before I can ask. "Finnick came up with it. He said it works for Annie and I should try it. If I'm ever unsure about anything that happened or what the Capitol tried to make me believe, I should ask." He shrugs then, slightly abashed. "It's repetitive-"

"It's actually a really good idea," I encourage, grabbing his hand in mine again and giving him a reassuring squeeze. And he looks at me then and gives me a grateful smile and his eyes are lighter now than they were when I woke up and I don't know where this is even going between us or if it's even going anywhere and I don't know where Gale stands and I really can't focus on my feelings right now because I'm a symbol of an entire revolution, whether I asked to be or not, and it may be selfish or immature, but I push away all my other conflicting thoughts and pull the boy with the pretty blue eyes down towards me.

He goes willingly, wrapping his body to me, only placing pressure on my right side, and I feel his face burrow in my neck. When his lips press to the sensitive skin there, like he's done dozens of times before, I shiver instinctively and close my eyes against him.

For the first time in forever I feel, for a fleeting moment, safe.

//

Prim and my mom interrupt not too long after that, but for some reason—other than Prim's cheerful smile—they don't comment on the compromising position they found us in.

Peeta promptly moves back to his previous chair and remains there for the duration of the day.

Haymitch joins us not even five minutes after my mom and sister, and he brings boiled cabbage stew from the cafeteria in tow.

"Here you go, Sweetheart," he says with a large smile, looking at the disgusting concoction with excitement now.

I look at the bowl, wishing I had more of an appetite so I could actually feel some desire to eat it. In spite of Haymitch's jokes, the cabbage stew would have been a luxury to me once upon a time, when all I could find to fill my screaming stomach was mint leaves and, if I were lucky, the roots I was named after. "How'd you know I'd be awake?" I inquire, turning the spoon around in the bowl.

"Oh I didn't," my old mentor quickly replies, plopping down in a chair against the wall. "It was for the boy." He gestured towards Peeta, who's running his fingers softly along my spine, inconspicuous enough that not even Prim catches on. "But I figure you deserve it more, since you're the one in the hospital. Speaking of that, why did you two switch places?" He asks, brash and wry.

My mom glares at Haymitch, disapproving of his callous comment, which catches me completely off guard.

My mother usually ignores all chatter between me and Haymitch and Peeta, only chiming in if Haymitch is speaking of something from Twelve that I'd be too young to understand.

I remember then watching Haymitch's tape on the train with Peeta, realizing he and my mom shared a permanent tie labeled Maysilee Donner. I look between them for a hint of familiarity I didn't see before and quickly realize Peeta's doing the exact same thing.

My mom quickly turns back to me, and gingerly but vigoriously, coaxes the stew into my stomach, even when I try to refuse because my ribs ache and using any of my muscles leaves me feeling irritable and shaky and hot inside.

"Just a little bit more, sweet girl," my mom murmurs, forcing me to finish the entire bowl, and it's only when Prim looks at me, the corners of her mouth turning upwards, that I realize my mom had used a long forgotten term of endearment. One that I'd rejected since her bout of deep, delbilitating depression.

I didn't comment on it and I don't think my mother even realized, but I avoid Peeta's eyes because evidently, by the looks of his smirk, even he knew the exchange was rare and hard to come by.

Just as I all but lick the soup bowl clean and my mom's whispering mournfully she has to go back to work and was only allowed to come see me for lunch. I am caught off guard once again though, when she kisses my forehead and whispers, with audible tears, that she loves me so much.

I feel like a monster all of a sudden, for the absolute hell I must have put her through.

I squeeze Prim's hand as tight as I can as she takes our mom's seat and scoots it even closer to my bed. "Hey, little duck," I greet in my most comforting voice. "How're things while I was gone."

Prim, as usual, puts up a-albeit, very weak-pretense in order to make me feel better. "They were okay for the most part." She pauses and bites her lip, contemplating to herself before adding. "It was just hard because we didn't even know you were leaving and then we watched you be shot on live TV."

"I know," I murmur apologetically, because it's all I can do. "I'm so sorry, Prim."

But my sister's shaking her head before I can finish and I swear Peeta and Haymitch roll their eyes at the same moment and if Prim wasn't here, I'd be telling them both off.

"No one's mad at you, Katniss," she promises, like that's my concern. People I love being angry, not people I love going through absolute turmoil. "Just... next time could you let us know?"

I nod automatically, because I want my sister to feel better, even though I'm unsure if I can even fulfill this promise. "Yeah, of course."

Prim just stares at me for a moment. "You're such a bad liar," she finally calls out.

Haymitch noisily laughs from across the room, but Peeta remains completely stoic now, and I want three sets of eyes so I could focus on multiple people at once.

I choose to keep my focus on my little sister. "Prim," I start, my voice still unconvincing. "I just... I never know what's going to happen next, so it's hard to know ahead of time what I'll do. The last thing I want, that I've ever wanted, was to worry you and mom."

"Yeah, but, Katniss," She refutes even and diplomatically. "You not telling us only makes it worse. Finding out from strangers you and Gale disappeared off to District Two on a secret mission with the rebels? Only to watch them fake your death? It was as bad as watching you in the games."

I feel my chest constrict and the breath fly out of my aching lungs as I swallow down the lump formed in my throat. "Prim, I never meant-"

"She knows, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, his hand sifting through my hair once again.

Prim looks at Peeta—with more familiarity than I've ever seen between them before—and then back at me. "He's right. I know you never meant for that to happen but... if you could just let us into the loop a little more, it'd make things a lot more bearable."

I nod, meaning my promise to keep her and our mom more informed now. I squeeze Prim's hand again and ask quietly, "how bad was mom when I was shot?"

Prim's eyes shoot to Peeta almost intractably. But I catch it and I press it before they can pretend it didn't happen.

"What's going on with you two?"

They both look at me in utter shock. Or is that the look of getting caught keeping a secret?

"Nothing," Prim immediately covers. Peeta, on the other hand, doesn't react so quick, and instead chooses to just shut his eyes to avoid looking at me.

There's something more going on that they want to avoid telling me. And instinctively, I don't think it's about my mother. Even without him meeting my glance, I can tell Peeta's embarrassed about something.

"Prim," I say evenly. "You're a worse liar than I am."

"You actually are, kid," Haymitch adds. "Didn't think that was possible."

"What happened when I was shot?" I ask again, my voice closer to a threat than a comfort now.

"Let it go, Katniss. It's not important," Peeta urges, his own voice more worn and irritated than I'd heard it since the last games.

"When has she ever let something go?" Haymitch ponders, unfazed by our whole exchange.

"Katniss," Prim starts but I cut her off. I can tell she was going to placate me, like getting shot turned me into our mother.

"As your older sister, you're not allowed to lie to me."

"C'mon now, Sweetheart. That's not being fair."

"Then you tell me, Haymitch. What happened when I was shot that they don't want me to know?"

Our old mentor sighs deeply but I can tell he's relenting. If I couldn't see the resignation on Haymitch's face, Peeta's whole body tensing up in anticipation would be a dead giveaway.

"The boy had a meltdown when you were shot," Haymitch finally states. He gives Peeta a long, measuring look before continuing. "He basically went ballistic and lost his grip on reality." He moves his eyes to train them on the floor of my hospital room. I know he's trying now to avoid Peeta's furious eyes, full of betrayal.

"What?" I turn and look at the boy beside me, remorse overtaking my entire being. I reach out and touch his face but he won't look at me, even when I try to force him.

"He was frantic for days. Couldn't tell the difference in reality and the lies the Calitol fed him. He was only released probably an hour before you woke up. So I guess you guys have good timing," Haymitch adds, trying too hard to lighten the mood.

"Peeta," I whisper after a beat, pleading with him to just look at me, talk to me, but to no avail.

"Peeta, talk to her," Prim begs on my behalf.

"It wasn't that severe," he finally states, his voice extremely muted now as he speaks in a hushed tone, only to me. "I didn't want to tell you because you don't need anything else on your plate. Especially not about me. And it was barely worth mentioning."

"I think it was worth mentioning," Prim chimes and Haymitch points at her and nods.

"She's got better sense than both of you."

Peeta ignores Haymitch. "Prim," he groans with an air of affinity that still boggled me. "Stop. It was fine."

"You were so upset though. And she should know, since she's the one the Capitol wanted to hurt when they tortured you," she advocates, impressing even me with her reason. "And I think we should all stop lying," my pure-of-heart little sister tacts onto the end.

Haymitch nods affirmatively towards Prim again, and I see something akin to wonder now in his eyes as he looks at her, and it takes no more than common sense to realize he's imagining life with Prim as his victor and how much easier that would have been.

"I just don't think now is the time to be talking about this, Prim," Peeta tersely states.

I can't help but interject now, after having witnessed their exchange this whole time, "I'm sorry, but do you two know each other?"

A look is exchanged between all three of them and I'm so tempted to ask if they'd like me to leave so they can freely converse in private. Finally Prim informs quietly, "me and mom were there with Peeta when he got upset. He actually helped mom because she had somewhere to focus all her own emotions. You know how she is, Katniss. When things get rough, she puts all of herself into her healing."

"Glad of be of service," Peeta mumbles despondently and I can see in his troubled eyes, he's blatantly ashamed of himself.

"Peeta," I murmur softly, taking his hand against his will—he tries to fight me from even picking it up—and bringing it to my lips.

He sighs deeply and offers me a half smile. "My being a lunatic doesn't disturb you?"

"Of course not," I quickly dispute. My mind is still processing all of this though. "So you and my family... bonded after I was shot?"

Peeta outwardly groans, dropping my hand. "Let it go, Katniss."

"I just never considered it a huge connecting technique. You know, I could have gotten shot a long time ago-"

"That's not even funny," Peeta chides and there's nothing humorous in his voice now.

I shut up instantly, feeling the mood of the room drop. Even Haymitch falls silent and adverts his eyes to the floor.

"I'm sorry," I finally whisper and I don't know who I'm apologizing to, Peeta or Prim. I'm know I'm not saying sorry to Haymitch, who is still lolled in his chair across the room. Although maybe I should, since he was undoubtedly as scared as the rest of my family. Not that he'd ever admit that to me.

Peeta shakes his head and his expression softens. Leaning in closer, he gently brushes his lips to my cheek, very lightly and very chaste, considering Prim's proximity.

"Just don't lie to us again," Prim pleads, taking my other hand firmly. "No matter how much you want to protect us."

I nod obligingly, maybe more to relieve my guilt than anything else but I do actually mean my promise. "Okay," I swear.

Peeta pushes back my hair soothingly before running the back of his hand over my cheek. "Okay," he finally repeats, only loud enough for me to hear.

And I know then that he's forgiven me.

///

Within an hour, my mom, Gale, Boggs, Plutarch and my doctor all join the party inside my hospital room.

"Isn't there a limited amount of people allowed in one room?" Haymitch retorts gruffly, unhappy about being squished into the corner and unable to spread out the way he was before.

"Oh there usually is," Plutarch confirms, his tone more joyful than I find appropriate, given my situation. And the state of the rebels now. "But I asked Coin to make an exception for Katniss."

"Can Coin make an exception and give Katniss a bigger room?" Gale mumbles under his breath.

I laugh at his sarcasm and his disgruntled expression. We'd made amends on the way to District Two, not wanting to be in potentially dangerous territories and still on the outs with each other. I expected the issues that made us clash—and whatever feelings that still lied between us—would all come to a head once we returned to Thirteen, but we unexpectedly took longer than anticipated in Two and now I was wounded. And even Gale can't deny he was scared out of his mind when I went down. Even he isn't in the mindset to wrangle with me.

I squeeze Peeta's hand in my own and pretend I don't see Gale's envious eyes staring at our interconnected limbs. I don't feel the same guilt I usually do when it was apparent Gale was upset by me and Peeta, and I wonder, idly, in the back of my mind, if this isn't because of the morphling I'm pumped full of.

My doctor is one of the same people who checked Peeta out after he was rescued and I realize I don't even know his name. It doesn't seem like I'll learn it now either, as he barely speaks. I'm half inclined—though I know it's impossible—to think my own mother is the one who operated on me, from the lack of insight the man provides.

In any case, the doctor doesn't seem concerned in the slightest about me and slips out of the room as soon as Plutarch shifts the conversation in a new direction.

"So, I was wondering," he starts, his face still much too happy to completely sit right with me. "Maybe if you'd be up—once you're out of bed and recovered, of course—to film a propo?"

I just stare at him blankly, wondering how on Earth he expected me to have any desire to film anything right now, while I'm still currently getting pain relievers pumped into my veins.

He misreads my expression and quickly adds, "Of course Peeta would be in it! The Star-Cross Lovers need to be shown reunited. I feel that could help with the cause immensely—"

He keeps talking but I automatically tune out his chirping voice as he prattles on. I can see his vision now. The Mockingjay Lives splayed across the screen, me and Peeta wrapped in an embrace, my voice loud and strong, announcing that we're going to keep fighting to the end.

I'm not the only one looking at Platurch like he's grown a second head. The only person who's not looking at the man with distain or disbelief is Haymitch, who's expression is either mildly entertained or filled with such incredulity that he looks like he's grinning.

Peeta's reaction is much stronger than I expect and it's only after he looks like he's grown nauseous from disgust or is planning on throwing something at Plutarch's joyous face, that I realize Peeta has no real experience with the Gamemaker.

He was in the Capitol the entire time I've really gotten to know Plutarch and the man's antics must seem completely foreign to Peeta.

I squeeze his hand before he can say anything and shake my head in Plutarch's general direction. He isn't harmful and I don't want Peeta to waste the energy he needs to recover.

But he has trouble swallowing down his obvious repulsion and his hands begin to shake and his eyes are far angrier than I would have expected in these circumstances a few months ago.

It's my mom who is murmuring about Peeta needing to check in with his doctors and how she'll walk him down there and she waits expectantly for him to get up and part of me faintly envies him for some reason. And I realize quickly that it's the way she talks to him—it's the way she speaks to all patients of her's, really. It's a firm tone, that's still kind but is very direct. Maybe a little authoritative and unyielding. And I realize at once it's a tone I almost never heard again after my dad's death and I took over caring for the family.

And I miss it. Despite everything. Despite my lack of trust in her and my fear she'll retreat back into her shell one day and leave me and Prim behind all over again. Despite my instincts to never put my faith in my mother again, a big part of me still misses the days when she parented me.

Peeta sighs, seeing through the ruse, and kisses my nose before heading out the door behind my mother.

Plutarch follows too, blatantly unaware of what he set into motion, and saying he was needs to review the film of the other Victors for their propos. I'm still appalled he wanted to parade me out while I'm lying in a hospital bed, but I do feel a bit more at ease knowing it's not just me and Peeta he wants to exploit for the sake of the rebellion.

I wished to myself I could actually go to where the fight was. That I could actually have a shot of getting close enough to really be involved in taking down Snow and his supporters, rather than being filmed as a icon to motivate other people to fight in this war.

I kept this to myself, as my even being in this bed was proof of what happened when I was a more central part of the fighting. And even then, I somehow managed to get shot while they were essentially using me as a talking piece for the other soldiers.

But there was something else on my mind and I turned to focus onto Gale now. Only he, Prim and Haymitch remained in my room and Prim was telling my old mentor about the medical uses of alcohol. I don't know what she planned on accomplishing with that, but it worked as a diversion for me at the moment.

"Okay, so what happened?" I press Gale in a hushed voice when I know Prim isn't listening. He gives me a quizzical look and I quickly clarify. "With Peeta and my mom and Prim?"

Comprehension fills his eyes and he sighs before continuing. "I wasn't there for the beginning. Obviously. I was with you in District Two. But I know that he was watching TV when you were shot, and he completely lost it. Apparently it triggered some kind of flashback to something they used to do to him in the Capitol. He was still yelling when we arrived back. I heard it when I passed his room while you were in surgery. Whatever Snow did to him-"

He's promptly cut off by a new but familiar voice joining the room now. "Ah, yes," Johanna Mason shoves back the curtain separating my cubicle from the one next door. Her's, I guess. "Fond memories you mention, Handsome." She winks at Gale. "One of Snow's favorite methods of torture. The old 'make Peeta watch a thousand fabricated video simulations of Katniss being brutally murdered, on repeat. Don't let him sleep. Beat him. Water him down and beat him some more. Make him watch the Katniss Dying Simmulations again', until he can't even tell you what's real and what's not."

I just stare at her, my heart sinking in my chest rapidly. "What?" Is all I can manage to say, my mouth drying up fast.

"I mean, there were worse forms of torture Snow and his men liked to use on me and your fiancé, but I was told you needed to be kept in the dark about those," she state cheekily, obviously trying to goad me.

"Who told you to keep me in the dark?" I snap, my eyes shooting between Prim, who's now looking right at me, and Gale.

Johanna, much to my surprise, points to Haymitch. The older man is still laid out in a chair in the corner of the room, having made himself comfortable again, but at least now has the decency to look sheepish.

"Listen, Sweetheart," he immediately defends. "You and the boy have your own separate issues, alright? You both don't need to take on the other's all the dang time."

"Haymitch-" I start to growl but am caught off guard by a completely unexpected noise. Johanna's hysterical, dark, morbid laughter.

"I can't believe you were rescued and I was tortured, and I'm expected to protect you from the truth."

I don't blame her. No one could honestly. She was tortured because of me and the rebels. She could say and do whatever she wanted at this point, and no one had the right to tell her differently.

"Johanna," I start but let her cut me off once again, becoming accustomed to the feeling.

"And don't worry about Peeta," she says but the resentful shake of her head doesn't fill me with hope. "Your mom made him her project once they informed her your suit was bulletproof. Her and your sister basically walked him off the ledge."

And because I know she's the only person who will be completely uncensored—something I can't even say about Haymitch these days—I blurt out my next question. "What was Peeta saying? When he lost it?"

Her response is immediate and I get the impression she enjoys telling me, for some sick reason.

"Give me back to the Capitol. They'll find a way to revive her if you give me back. I want to go back. I'll trade my life for her's. Please, let me go back."

As soon as the words sunk into my brain, I wanted to puke.

So I did.

////

Johanna wasn't happy about my vomiting a literal foot away from her and she was downright livid when no one else appeared to be irritated with me but she reached a breaking point when both Peeta—who returned upon hearing my loud gagging—and Gale comforted me.

It was an odd sensation to be in not just conversation with both Peeta and Gale but to have them both be so sweet to me, at the same exact time. Without even so much as looking crossly towards the other one.

Gale held my hand and told me to calm down in a gentle voice he only ordinarily used for one of our sisters or his mom. Peeta was sitting opposite him, on the edge of my bed and telling me softly to just relax as he stroked my hair tenderly. Even Haymitch had gotten out of his seat to call an attendant to clean up my vomit and Prim and my mom were standing at the end of my bed, looking worriedly onto the scene.

Johanna's voice was biting as she took us all in. "How much hand holding does she need? Considering she was apparently strong enough to be the face of our entire cause."

"I shouldn't be," I instantly agree with her. "You should be. No one has to push you or tell you what to say."

"No one likes me, brainless," she says snidely, a leering smile spreading across her face.

"That's because everyone's afraid of you," Prim chimes in timidly, and I drop Gale's hand to reach for my little sister's, almost on instinct upon hearing her scared voice.

But Johanna has the decency to not swipe at Prim and instead gives her a sympathetic look. As if to say you don't have to be scared of me.

Her compassion evidently only extends to the thirteen-year-old, as when Finnick and Annie join the room right on the heels of Prim's words, Johanna barks out a cruel laugh. "Really? More people? Are we having a party to celebrate Katniss?" She gives everyone a mocking look around the room. "Well, I wish someone would have told me. I forgot to bring my streamers."

For some reason her tone suddenly forces back a memory of the last night in the arena. Her cutting my arm open and my red, hot, sticky blood gushing everywhere. My understanding at the time being that this was an attempt to kill me. I know now that this was the rebels' plan and she was really cutting out my tracker but the sense memory can't be so easily rationalized away.

I flinch outwardly and both Gale and Prim's faces silently ask if I'm alright. But I'm quickly distracted elsewhere.

I'm, once again, wholly surprised by Peeta's reaction.

"Don't you have anything else to do, Johanna, besides bug Katniss?" There's a strong irritability in his voice, one I'd only heard from an outsider prospective in the past. On the off occasion I'd witnessed he and his brothers in any sort of conversation. Their relationship was tense at times but they were still siblings and extremely close in age. That made for a lot of squabbling and a lot of fighting and a lot of sparring with each other. And a lot of aggravating each other, causing Peeta to behave in a way I'd never seen him otherwise.

"I don't know?" She shoots back, not even missing a beat. "Didn't I have better things to do than cuddle you after Snow's guards were done for the day? And yet, who's shoulder did you cry on? Who held your hand through our adjoining cells?" She smirks and it's obvious she's speaking for the rest of us to hear.

Annie makes an animalistic squeak and covers her ears. Finnick quickly wraps an arm around her and shoots a glare at Johanna.

"What?" She snaps. "Annie was there in the Capitol, Finnick. She know what went down."

"Doesn't mean you have to remind her of it," I state, my voice grave as I watch the mad girl Finnick loves more than life itself retreat into her own psyche.

And for some odd reason, I relate. To both Finnick, who's doing everything he can now to bring her back from the dark depths of her own mind, and Annie herself, who is buried beneath the ruins of a trauma she'll never be able to escape and is visibly struggling to dig her way back out.

I look to Peeta then, almost imperceptibly, and he just gives me a knowing, almost satirical glance. He was undoubtably thinking the same thing.

Johanna is ready to spit in my face, and she probably would, no doubt, if it were just the two of us. "You have no idea what went down after we were captured," she seethes, growing closer to me, and Peeta places an arm in front of her, blocking me from her reach, but I note the gesture isn't rough or hostile.

Gale and my mom both look like they're going to intervene. Finnick is busy with Annie now. Prim looks shell shocked and Haymitch seems to have lost interest in watching us.

For some reason, maybe it's the morphling, maybe I just feel safe surrounded by so many people who would stop her if she lunged for my throat, but I decide to reply. "Is that why you hate me so much?"

Her violent demeanor dissipates but she still has a spiteful glint in her gaze. "That's part of it. And partially because everyone is so obsessed with you. I've never seen anything about you that's so good or special."

"I agree with you about that," I say quietly, knowing it'll do nothing to mend fences with her.

Haymitch, who out of everyone I thought would agree as well, is the one who speaks up. "There's plenty good in that girl," he retorts sharply, his grey eyes hard as he stares at Johanna.

That caught me—and Peeta, by the look on his face—more off guard than anything Johanna had said thus far.

But it's Johanna's words, which aren't even directed at me, that send a chill to my spine. "Careful, Haymitch. Remember, I'm the one who's always there for the victor you constantly forget about. Or was that you who held his hand while the doctors and Mrs. Everdeen had him strapped down for two days?"

Gale is the one who responds, much to my surprise. "Okay, stop. I know you've been through—"

"Handsome," she cuts off, her voice clipped and snarky but she still bats her lashes in his direction. "You don't know anything."

"Johanna, please," Peeta murmurs now, his tone softer and a lot more understanding. "Please go back to your cubicle. I'll tell the doctors you're complaining of massive pain and need more morphling."

She stares at Peeta, her eyes softening the same way they did for Prim only minutes before. Finally she says, "it's the least you can do. Considering you wouldn't share your fiancé's with me."

And, as soon as she appeared, she had evaporated behind the curtain.

And I feel like somehow, I'm the only person who is left reeling in her absence.

/////

My mom was called back to work once again—and this time, she was made to stay there, my condition apparently too stabilized for them to be letting one of their better healers cut back on her hours—and she took Prim with her. I don't know if it was because Prim would be of use or if she just thought I needed alone time without worrying about my sister overhearing too much.

It occurs to me how much my mom is trying now to wordlessly look out for my needs. I decide to make a point in finding a way to say thank you to her. Even if our relationship will never be what it could have been, had there never been corruption or games or mine explosions. Had there been proper help to those suffering and in need.

Finnick chats with me and Peeta for a moment—and entirely ignores Gale but I suspect that's less about being intentionally rude and more about never knowing what to do with my best friend slash fake cousin—before escorting Annie away. She still looks shaken up and I wonder what happened to her in the Capitol. Or if she was already this unstable. I scarcely remember anything about her or her games, prior to what Peeta reminded me of in the Quell.

"You look tired," Peeta notes, brushing my hair back from my forehead. I smile lightly, about to kiss the palm of his hand before noticing Gale's eyes. They are quite apparently envious of Peeta's affection towards me and my acceptance of it, of how naturally Peeta can touch me, of the innate intimacy between the two of us that I never shared with him. But he tries his best to mask it and for that, I feel even worse.

I look to Haymitch without realizing it and somehow the older man understands without me even consciously thinking of asking.

"Boy," Haymitch grunts, putting on a good show as he stands up. "Let's go get some real food from the cafeteria. I hear if we say we'll participate in Plutarch's Propos, we can get better grub than the rest of Thirteen."

Peeta nods, his eyes gently running over my face, as if memorizing it in his mind. "Will you be okay-"

"Okay, Johanna was right," Haymitch barks now, grabbing Peeta by the back of the shirt, his grip much too docile to pass as normal though. "She'll be fine. Let's all stop hovering. She'll be up and tormenting us in a day."

I roll my eyes at his antics but smile meagerly at him as he guides Peeta out the door.

"Well," Gale breathes out as they leave. "That was subtle."

I laugh loud enough that I hear Johanna hiss from the cubicle next door. "I wanted to talk to you privately."

Gale chuckles. "Gathered that."

I know I have a limited time before Peeta returns and honestly I'm not too mad about that fact either, as I somehow, chessily, long for him now whenever he's gone. I inwardly cringe at myself before shaking it off to hurry this conversation along. "I wanted to apologize for me and Peeta. For how we can act. For..." I trail off, realizing too late I didn't pre-plan my words.

Peeta was right when he'd spat at Haymitch on the Victory Tour, "we all know I'm better on camera than Katniss. No one has to coach me on what to say."

I wished for his ease and talent with words now as I fumble around, trying to convey my message to the person who's been my best friend for years now.

He understands though—thankfully—and needs no more explanation. His tone has become solemn when he speaks. "You're really not faking it anymore, are you? Being in love with him?" His eyes are full of pain and he quickly downcasts them. "You fell in love with him in the Quarter Quell," he says as a fact, not a question.

"I don't know, Gale!" I exclaim, quick to defend myself here, like I'm being accused of something horrific. In truth, I feel like I am. I feel like I am, when I see how much it hurts him when me and Peeta are together. "I don't know how I feel. I just know I feel a lot for both of you."

"That's not good enough, Catnip," Gale whispers, shaking his head. But he uses my old nickname and that gives me hope. Hope that he won't hate me for not being able to give him what he wishes. Hope that I won't lose him entirely by the end of this war. "You really do need him."

I open my mouth to say something, anything, to try and rectify this. But I can't because it's true. Those are my words he's repeating back to me and they completely true. I do need Peeta. Maybe in a way I'll never need Gale. I don't know. I can't know. Not with all that rests on my shoulders already.

"What if I made you choose?" Gale presses now, leaning in closer. "What if I begged and pled and promised I'd find a way to make you happy? Would you pick me then?"

My mouth still hangs open, unsure what to say that get me out of this. I look towards the door, wishing Haymitch would reappear, that Peeta would burst through with his loud footfalls, that Johanna would pop back in and rub some salt in everyone's wounds.

All that would be preferable to this right now and I wonder why I ever wanted Haymitch to take Peeta away.

Gale shakes his head now though, having recieved his answer. "I thought so."

"Gale-" I start, not knowing where I was planning on taking the exchange but before I can even make a redundant attempt to mend whatever broke between me and him a long time ago, he's leaning in and his lips are pressing to mine and after half a second of shock, I'm giving in.

After everything I'd denied him, after all that he'd done for me and for my family, after how much he'd been there for me while Peeta was in the Capitol, I let myself give in and kiss him back.

His lips are different from Peeta's and I can't figure out how I feel about them. He's always been more grown, appearance wise, than Peeta and me, who both still could pass for years younger in the right clothing. But even his kissing is reeks of more experience, more practice, and somehow I find myself learning as his mouth shift under mine, as both his lips suck on my bottom lip expertly.

But it's lacking something and it's only then I realize, what I'm searching for inside Gale's mouth, is the spark that only Peeta's ever ignited in me. I keep waiting in vain for the warmth that started in my stomach and then rose up and exploded in my chest, for the craving that no matter what I couldn't manage to satisfy, for the thrilling, almost hysterical, tingly feeling, to overcome me and leave me lightheaded in a completely foreign way. A way that couldn't be attributed to lack of oxygen.

But it never does. I pull back and wipe my mouth carelessly on my arm and sigh, already sensing Gale's demeanor taking a nose dive at my lackluster reaction.

I'm not disappointed when I look to see his expression. His eyes are frustrated, his mouth is downturned, his eyebrows are pinched together. And I feel as bad as I knew I would. Because no matter what, I'm hurting someone I deeply care for.

But how I feel upon seeing Gale's face isn't even comparable to the amount of remorse that fills me, that overtakes my entire being, when I see Peeta standing in the doorway, having watched our entire exchange.

[angelsfwrites]

FIRECRACKERS AND TANTRUMS | KYLO REN

This prompt was requested by @thefandomnetworkingchannel-32 :

I hope you enjoy, luv xx !!!!!

                 FIRECRACKERS AND TANTRUMS

          ☆

                           KYLO REN X READER

                ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

                ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

WARNINGS: Toxic relationships, violent behavior, abusive situations, light choking, explicit kissing, manipulation, and unhealthy coping mechanisms. Please, proceed with caution ! 

PRANKS had been a staple in your relationship with Kylo Ren, even if they were seriously one-sided. Kylo never reciprocated the pranks; you seriously doubted that he ever would. Nonetheless, he endured them for you and Hux always had fun gathering the materials. Any chance to see Kylo unraveled, Hux definitely took. 

The pranks thus far had been simple, small ones- only requiring small materials like water, whoopie cushions, or shock buzzers. Normally, you never felt like pushing to see how far Kylo would let you go but Hux had convinced you this would be a good idea. Regardless, you were always the one to deal with the fallout of every prank and, as far as you know, Kylo hadn’t said a word to your more dangerous counterpart.

Firecrackers were what you were supplied with this time and, honestly, you felt a bit wary about using them. They were loud and very obvious, he was sure to notice them as soon as he walked up to the door.

You had just finished tying a bunch of them to the top of the door- each rigged in a way so that they would go off as soon as the door opened. You inspected your work with a close eye, trying to see if there were any flaws in the way you had set it up.  

You looked wearily towards Hux, “Are you sure he isn’t going to notice that?” You asked, pointing up at the door frame.

Hux eyed the spot you pointed at and shrugged his shoulders, “Who cares?”

You just rolled your eyes at him, “Obviously I do, stupid!”

“I’m your superior officer, you cannot talk to me like that!” He whisper yelled at you.

 “Sure, buddy,” You laughed, “Keep telling yourself that.”

He just huffed, “I could get you in trouble, you know.”

You blankly stared at him before you burst out in belly-clenching laughter, “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day!” It was hard to get the words out in between laughs, but you eventually succeeded. 

“Do not push my buttons,” Though Hux always wore a blank and stoic face, you could tell he was holding in laughter of his own by the way his eyes shone with amusement. 

Hux had been your first friend in the First Order; you’d met him way before Kylo. You really hated him at first, he was way too uptight about everything and no fun to be around. That’s when your pranking had really begun; you’d done it to try and break Hux out of his awful shell. It had taken him a while to figure out who was doing it and he was furious when he confronted you. But, the day he confronted you, Hux had a green face from the dye you put into his shaving cream. There was nothing you could do except laugh at his stupidly bright green face and, eventually, he joined in on it.

From that day forward, both of you had been close as ever. He was like the brother you never had and you felt comfortable confiding in him. He’d been the first to know about your crush on the Supreme Leader and the first to when about your relationship. Hux had warned you about Kylo at first- talked about how cold and dangerous the man was, which you definitely understood. Kylo had been extremely off-putting the first time you met him, but some intoxicating urge to peel back his layers had you coming back for more. 

Hux had seen a different side of Ren the day you accidentally pranked him and began to understand why you stayed around. It was late at night when you were planning to jump Hux and scare him before he went to bed, but you found Kylo instead. Apparently, he was on his way to give Hux some very important paperwork- which flew out of his hands the moment you jumped from behind the corner and yelled ‘boo!’ Hux came flying out of his room, only to see you hiding giggles under your hands and a very bewildered Kylo. 

From that day on, Hux and you had vowed to prank him at every chance you got. The outcome you got each time was much too satisfying to stop chasing. Kylo had learned to just accept and ignore each prank you threw his way; none of it was really his style. 

Suddenly, Hux grabbed your arm tightly and whispered in your ear, “Hide!”

You grinned with adrenaline and ran to hide behind a nearby corner. You peaked around the corner to see Kylo approaching the quarters both of you shared. He wore his normal menacing look as he strode closer to the door. His footsteps mimicked the pounding of your heart- ready to burst from your chest with excitement. The concern you felt earlier had disappeared and was replaced by the high strung adrenaline that came with each prank.

Kylo had reached the door by now and was getting ready to open it. You sucked a stale breath in between your teeth when he finally opened the door. Almost twenty loud, resonating pops filled the air around him and he jumped back into the wall. It was too hard to contain, so your laughter came tumbling out of your mouth and you fell to the floor holding your hands to your stomach. The look on his face was absolutely priceless; you could only hope Hux saw that.

You were too wrapped in your laughter that you didn’t hear the loud, reverberating footsteps coming your way. They stopped right in front of you as you opened your eyes to wipe the tears from them. Black, leather boots filled your vision and your laughter slowly turned dry. ‘Now’s clean up time,’ you thought, ‘Was fun while it lasted.’

Your eyes traveled from the boots, up to his torso, and his neck to end at his face. The look he wore was not his usual one of indifference after each prank. This one was much darker and filled to the brim with anger. Any lingering amusement quickly drained from your body and you gulped. This couldn’t have a good outcome for you; not with that look he’s wearing.

Kylo swiftly bent down to harshly grab your shoulders and push you to your feet. When you were finally standing, he roughly pushed you against the wall behind you. You winced when the back of your head and shoulders slammed into it. One of Kylo’s hands moved to the center of your chest, while the other one rested at the base of your neck. Under his left hand, you were sure he could feel your racing heartbeat. Under his right, you were sure he could feel the harsh movements of your throat. 

His fingers on his right hand were beginning to squeeze slightly around your throat; just enough so you knew the pressure of his grip was there. He leaned close enough to you that you could rub your nose against his, but, given the situation, you stayed paralyzed with fear. Your boyfriend was a dangerous man and it seemed like you had pushed exactly the right button that unlocked that side of him. 

His breath was cool on your mouth when he spoke, “Little girl, I’m in no mood for your games today.” His voice was low but powerful enough to send your psyche into shock. Your brain was screaming for you to run, but your limbs were much too numb to accomplish anything- certainly not pushing Kylo off of you.

He seemed to notice your need to run and harshly jutted a knee in between your legs to keep you up against the wall. If you weren’t dangerously stuck before, you definitely were now. You could only hope that the wall behind you would open up and swallow you whole away from Kylo.

You eventually just nodded your head in response to him, but that didn’t satisfy his anger. Kylo only gripped and pushed harder on you with your head nod. He leaned impossibly closer to you when he spoke again, “You speak when you’re spoken to. Am I being clear enough for you?” The menace in his voice was enough to tear you in half; the man standing in front of you was not the one you fell in love with.

You squeaked out a nervous, “Yes,” at his question. This seemed to sate his anger a little as he loosened his grip around your throat and removed his knee. 

“Good,” You thought that was the end of this conversation, but then Kylo tucked his head close to your shoulder and his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, “Try anything again and see what happens.” Your body shook with the power of those words- the promise of danger in disguise was hidden underneath the normally exciting words. 

Kylo leaned away from your ear and met your eyes with his. You could only swallow harshly and stare back into them; usually bright and inviting hazel was almost black with unfiltered anger. It was shocking to see, especially since you were the one who caused it. You didn’t know what hurt worse at the moment; Kylo turning you into nothing more than one of his subordinates or the fact you had pissed him off enough to do that. 

After a few more seconds of staring through you, Kylo finally let his grip fall but he didn’t back away just yet. His harsh words found you once again, “Get out of my sight before I do something I’ll later regret.” 

He backed away from you completely after he spoke and, as soon as his body left yours, you shot in the opposite direction of Kylo. You needed your safe place right now, you needed away from Kylo immediately. You huffed out sharp breaths as you ran and were sure the staff was staring at you like you were crazy. Eventually, you reached the dark and tucked away corner you loved to use when you needed a break. 

Kylo’s actions hadn’t registered when they were happening, but now all you could do was sit and think about them. He had never once acted that way towards you, it was mostly saved for lower-ranking officers that pissed him off. You thought if you never saw that side of him, you would never have to even acknowledge it. Being the First Order’s Supreme Leader was sure to bring an air of fear around everyone he was near, but it barely touched you. Now, it was impossible to ignore the anger that festered and grew in the soul of the man you loved.

Kylo had done awful things, he never once tried to hide them from you and, make no mistake, you weren’t the fragile kind. It was silly to think that he would hide the Hyde of his usual Jekyll nature from you. Every bad thing that floated around about him was so easy to cast away when you only saw the good. 

You felt so stupid for thinking that this could’ve been avoided altogether; you couldn’t live with him and not be exposed to the raw rage he exuded away from you. You’d been extremely lucky to have not seen it before now, honestly. 

As you sat longer, the numbness of the situation faded from your body and pure hurt replaced it. Tears quickly escaped your eyes and you frantically tried to keep the sobs at bay. Even though this was a completely secluded corner, people would still hear you if they were to walk by. The last thing you wanted was to be coddled by Hux or turned into a laughing stock by the rest of the ship. Being Ren’s girl came with a certain air of responsibility and, right now, the last thing you wanted to do was indirectly embarrass him. 

          ☆

HOURS had passed since you tucked yourself here. The tears had dried and left your face feeling sticky and taunt. The sobs you held in earlier caused your lungs to ache in the aftermath of your breakdown. The taste of salt lingered in your mouth like a bad aftertaste and left your tongue heavy with dryness. Your head was pounding with migraine and your eyes were too sensitive to open. Your psyche was left to crumble to pieces from the emotional exhaustion of overthinking everything that had happened earlier. You felt heavy and light at the same time; your body was drifting, but your mind kept you grounded with the weight of lingering hurt. 

Kylo hadn’t tried to find you and you couldn’t tell if relief or pain filled you with that thought. Your heart yearned for his aura to wrap around yours, but your mind still shook with fear at the very thought of having him close to you. Would Kylo wrap you into his body and whisper reassuring words into your ears or would he back you further into this corner and add a few more layers of fear? 

While you tried to decide what side to trust, footsteps approached you. Your thought riddled brain kept you oblivious to the sound, but something told you to turn your head to the entrance to the corner you were in. When you did exactly that, black clothes filled your vision; Kylo had found you. The heart you tried hard to ignore jumped and rejoiced with love, but your occupied mind doused your body with cold fear. You couldn’t gauge the mood he was in because he was wearing a completely blank mask. This caused your mind to kick into hyperdrive and anxiety flowed down your spine to the tips of your toes.     

He strode towards you until you were eye level to his knees. Kylo bent at the knees and squatted in front of you; indecipherable hazel met the raw fear that flooded your irises. You couldn’t stop the shaking of your body once it started; this situation made you nervous. 

He pulled the glove on his right hand off slowly with his left and his eyes never left yours. He switched hands and did the same to the left as he did to his right. You had no idea what his intention was when his right hand moved towards your face; love kept you still, but fear urged you to flinch. The cool, callused skin of his palm met the sticky tear tracks that were left on your left cheek. You saw Kylo’s mouth pull into a small frown- so small that if you would’ve blinked, you would’ve missed it- at the feeling of dried tears on the soft skin. 

He pulled his eyes away from the tracks and they met yours once again. His thumb ran under your eye to smear the beginning of the trail away and it was comforting, to say the least. But, even with that touch, you didn’t know if Kylo would flip his switch again and make it hurt. 

His voice was soft when he finally spoke, “Please, don’t be afraid of me, love.” 

An ache bloomed in the pit of your stomach and began to reach the tips of your fingers and soles of your feet. For some reason his face said nothing, yet his voice said everything. The yearning was almost completely suffocating as it wrapped to coat your lungs. His words sank into your bones and left them heavy with the fear and sadness they brought. His actions and his words spoke volumes; he was scared you were going to run away. 

You reached deeper into his soul through his eyes and sifted through the events of today; you couldn’t find any striking anger or poisonous danger. Kylo wasn’t going to hurt you, so you slowly let yourself fall into his touch. His whole body seemed to sink with release as he found his way to his knees. His unoccupied hand found your other cheek and swiped away the remnants of your fear. 

“You’re alright now, pretty girl,” His voice was heavy with comfort as it wrapped around your body, “I’ve got you now.” 

Kylo couldn’t stomach the word sorry and you never expected to hear it come out of his mouth. You didn’t even expect, nor want, him to say sorry; right now each soft touch and comforting word meant more than sorry ever could. He was a difficult man to understand- many scars hardened his reserve- yet, he was your favorite book to read. 

You tilted your head into his left hand and welcomed the touch that it brought. Your voice finally found the courage to speak, “I love you.” You felt your words linger in the air between your mouths before they finally seeped into Kylo’s skin. 

He didn’t say anything back, he couldn’t stomach those words either. It was a gamble to even say them in the first place, but you let them tumble out anyways. You knew you won when Kylo’s mouth met yours in a bruising kiss. His left hand traveled to the nape of your neck and tangled in the hair there. He manipulated your head and pulled back to open your mouth more to his. His tongue slid in between your lips and his familiar taste filled your every sense. Kylo used his right hand to grip the hair at the side of your head to keep you still in front of him; control was something he drew in like air and it was something you never found yourself denying him. 

Despite the harsh dominance, Kylo kissed you with, you found hints of sweetness and even love wrapped up into it. You would be content with him never saying ‘I love you’ if he kissed you like this each time you said it. Words were fickle things, having the meaning of them stripped away by false prophets, but actions meant so much more. Each kiss left on you during this moment engraved love into your skin. 

You finally found the strength to break away for air, but you let your face hover close to his. Each breath you exhaled was pulled into his lungs and exhaled into yours again; the intimacy was smothering you. You let your hand softly run over his cheek to find his hair; the soft, inky tendrils ran through your fingers. Kylo looked completely blissed out, a stark difference to how he was earlier. 

“I’m sorry for doing that to you,” Your words were heavily laced with an apologetic tone.

He stared for a moment before he spoke, “I should’ve handled it better.”

Those words shocked you for a moment before you quickly recovered, “You put up with so much from me. I’m still learning your buttons and boundaries.” 

“I promised myself I would never touch you like that,” He swallowed harshly with those words, “Yet when I snapped, I did exactly that.”

You let the words sink in before softly saying, “I pushed when I shouldn’t have.”

Kylo slowly shook his head, “I took the stress of a bad day out on you when you were having some fun and I shouldn’t have.”

His admission was definitely as close to an apology as you were going to get, “It hurt, but I think I needed to see that side of you,” You whispered into the air between the both of you, “You’re too careful around me, Kylo. I know what you do when you’re not next to me. I know you hurt people, I know you’ve blown an entire planet out of existence,” You took a deep breath before continuing, “Yet, it's so easy for me to forget how dangerous you can be because I’ve never seen it. I know now that, even though you love me, you can still snap and break into Hyde at any time.”

Kylo didn’t say anything, he didn’t really need to. Your words spoke for the both of you; Kylo wouldn’t apologize for the ruthless side of his psyche and you needed to learn to love every part of him. You couldn’t pick the sweet Kylo over the one that struck fear into the heart of the galaxy. Love was a close counterpart to pain; each never came without the other. You loved him and it hurt you at times- he was sure to snap more and possibly hurt you worse than he did today. Yet, you would still forgive him no matter how bad it got. 

Eventually, Kylo was able to pull you away from your corner and back to the room you shared. Everything would be okay; time would heal the wounds this man wore like armor and you could only hope it would allow him to accept the scars that came. But for now, you could only wait.

              ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

First, I’m so sorry for taking so long to fill this request !!!!! I’ve needed a little break for a sec after I finished those other two prompts, writing gets draining at times. 

This got a little dark towards the end, but I like have no idea how to write a Kylo that is soft and caring because he really isn’t to me. I did try to slip some comfort in there, though it is pretty subtle. 

I hope you like how I wrote your request, fandom ! Thank you for requesting it, I loved writing it. I thought the prompt was really unique and interesting to dive into. Also, good luck with your writing and keep being the awesome author you are !

Other readers, you can check their stuff out on their page; it’s pretty amazing ! They also take requests too and might write for a character that’s not on my list, so check it out ! 

My requests are also still open, but it might take awhile to get to yours because I have a few more to write and another chapter of TEETH to spit out. I’m happy to see them though, it’s extremely motivating. 

Have a great day today and make sure to wear a mask if you go out ! Stay safe and healthy out there; I wish you all happy reading !!!!!

- K xx :) !!!!!!

[mcgnto]

Have you ever noticed that ( ERIK LEHNSHERR ) from the ( MARVEL UNIVERSE ) looks a lot like ( MICHAEL FASSBENDER )? But ( HE ) also go/goes by ( MAGNETO ). Having the ability of ( MAGNETISM MANIPULATION & UNWAVERING LOYALTY TO HIS CAUSE ) sure makes them a force to be reckoned with. Rumour has it they are ( 44 ) and is working as a ( LEADER OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF MUTANTS )

hey  there,  hi  there,  ho  there  !!  i’m  c,  and  i’m  bringing  my  babies  erik  lehnsherr  &&  grant  ward  to  you  about  400  years  later.   life  snatched  me  but  here  i  am  finally.  i’m  terrible  at  remembering  to  respond  to  tumblr  messages  so  if  you’d  like  to  plot,  you  can  hit  me  up  @ serial killer of kisses#0440 

𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒?

timeline  wise,  erik  is  pulled  somewhere  post  days  of  future  past  and  early  into  apocalypse.  given  that  the  x-men  were  constantly  fucking  up  their  timelines  and  futures,  he’s  from  an  alternate  timeline.  which  one?  good  question.  we’ll  pretend  we  know  and  just  smile  and  nod.  either  way,  this  isn’t  his  timeline  and  it  definitely  isn’t  the  world  /  year  he  left  behind  so  he’s  going  to  be  culture-shocked  by  2020.   

the  last  thing  he  really  remembers  is  his  daughter’s  death  and  apocalypse  strengthening  his  powers  to  become  a  horseman.  so  suffice  to  say,  he’s  simmering  with  rage  and  is  very  broken.   he  still  hates  humans,  maybe  more-so  than  ever  before,  and  he  thinks  they’ll  always  be  a  plague  —  never  see  them  as  equals  —  and  their  extinction  is  the  only  way  to  ensure  their  kind  survives.   he’s  an  extremist  and  his  methods  are  questionable  as  hell  but  he’s  not  entirely  wrong.  

this  quote,  in  my  opinion,  sums  up  erik  to  a  t:

“  that  you're  wrong. you  think  you're  right.  and  that  makes  you  dangerous."

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

erik  lehnsherr,  also  known  as  magneto,  is  a  canon  character  from  the  x-men.  my  version  of  him  follows  the  x-men  first  class  timeline.   you  can  read  more  about  him  here  on  the  wiki  but  i’ll  give  you  a  brief  overview. 

he  was  born  in  dusseldorf, germany,  into  a  middle-class  jewish  family.  his  father  was  a  decorated  WWI  veteran  but  that  wasn’t  enough  to  save  them  from  the  struggles  of  discrimination  when  the  nazi’s  started  rising  to  power.  the  family  moved  to  poland  shortly  after  he  was  born  but  were  separated  at  the  auschwitz  concentration  camps  when  he  was  fourteen.  erik’s  powers  first  manifested  when  he  ran  towards  one  of  the  gates  —  trying  to  get  to  it  before  they  closed  as  he  was  forced  to  watch  his  parents  get  ripped  away  from  him.   the  metal  warped  and  twisted  as  the  soldiers  grabbed  him,  reports  of  which  were  made  to  dr.  schmidt.  instead  of  being  sent  out  with  the  other  children,  erik  was  taken  to  the  medical  wing.  his  powers  were  exploited  and  often  used  against  him,  dr.  schmidt  focusing  in  on  his  anger  and  using  it  to  control  his  powers.  (  his  mother died  because  he  couldn’t  move  a  simple  coin  with  his  abilities.  in  grief,  fury  washing  over  him,  he  destroyed  everything  in  the  room  and  murdered  all  of  the  guards.  )   he  was  experimented  on  for  years,  schmidt  weaponizing  his  anger,  and  when  he  was  finally  free  he  spent  years  trying  to  track  down  the  man  responsible  for  his  pain  and  suffering.

by  the  time  he  finds  shaw,  his  intentions  are  clear.  he’ll  kill  him  by  any  means  necessary,  even  if  it  means  his  own  death.  it’s  charles  xavier  that  saves  him  from  drowning  in  his  efforts  to  sink  shaw’s  submarine,  the  professor  dragging  him  up  out  of  the  water.   though  erik  never  really  trusted  the  CIA,  he  agreed  to  help  charles  with  some  of  the  other  mutants  they’d  found  —  to  help  them  hone  their  abilities,  and  give  them  a  place  they  belonged.   he  grew  to  care  about  charles  and  these  other  mutants,  respected  them  even,  but  his  ambitions  always  came  first.  he  also  feared  that  a  mutant  holocaust  was  an  inevitability  and  his  fear  kept  him  from  truly  trusting  others.    finally,  when  he  confronted  shaw,  who  shared  a  vision  of  a  world  led  by  mutants,  he  found  he  agreed  —  but  he  couldn’t  allow  the  man  to  live.  he  murdered  him  slowly,  much  to  charles’  horror.  with  the  soviet  union  and  the  united  states  teaming  up  against  mutants,  erik  was  prepared  to  kill  them  all.   so  much  for  preventing  the  cuban  missile  crisis.   as  charles  and  erik  were  fighting,  rolling  around  on  the  ground  as  both  tried  to  get  the  upper  hand,  a  CIA  agent  shot  at  erik  and  he  deflected  one  of  the  bullets.  a  stray  bullet  ricocheted  and  hit  charles’  spine,  paralyzing  him.   unable  to  comprehend  the  pain  he’d  caused  someone  he  loved  —  and  knowing  their  interests  no  longer  aligned  —  erik  and  several  of  the  other  mutants  left  to  start  the  first  incarnation  of  the  brotherhood  of  mutants.   a  family  was  divided  like  after  a  messy  divorce.  

from  there,  we  don’t  know  a  lot  about  what  happened  with  erik  until  days  of  future  past  picks  back  up.  we  know  he  was  arrested  and  detained  in  the  pentagon  by  1973.   he  allegedly  curved  a  bullet  that  killed  JFK.   they  break  him  out  of  prison  to  help  try  and  save  the  world  and  inadvertently  meet  his  timeline’s  version  of  pietro  ‘peter’  maximoff.   he’s  erik’s  son,  but  he  never  discovers  this  information.   to  this  day,  he  doesn’t  know  the  truth.  in  truth,  erik  had  been  trying  to  save  JFK  —  who  was  a  mutant  —  but  unfortunately  he  wasn’t  able  to.   trask,  who  created  the  mutant  detecting  machines  in  the  future,  had  been  killing  off  mutants  one  by  one.  many  of  their  former  students,  people  they  cared  about,  had  died  as  a  result  of  it.   tortured,  too.  so  suffice  to  say,  both  erik  and  charles  thought  the  other  had  abandoned  them  /  failed  them  and  it  was  messy.   he  agrees  to  try  and  help  them  stop  the  future  from  happening,  in  the  interest  of  saving  more  mutant  lives,  but  does  try  to  kill  mystique  when  their  plans  start  going  awry.  he  fails  and  earns  more  distrust  both  from  charles  and  the  nation.  yes,  he  went  all  evil  villain  and  did  a  monologue  on  live  tv.  he’s  that  bitch.  he  fully  intends  on  killing  trask  but  mystique,  who  changes  her  mind  thanks  to  charles’  influence,  shoots  him.  it  grazes  his  neck,  just  enough  to  garner  his  attention,  but  it’s  enough  to  give  her  the  opportunity  to  knock  the  helmet  from  his  head.   in  the  end,  after  his  abilities  are  used  by  charles  to  free  himself,  he  flees.   ya  yeet.  

at  some  point  after  this,  he  moves  to  poland  and  decides  to  live  among  the  humans.  he  meets  a  woman  named  magda  when  he’s  living  as  henryk  gurzsky  and  they  have  a  daughter  named  nina.  he’s  seemingly  happy  with  his  little  family,  working  at  the  factory,  until  an  act  of  kindness  turns  the  tides  against  him.   he  uses  his  abilities  to  save  a  co-worker  and  someone  reports  him.  police  show  up  without  any  metal  to  confront  him  outside  their  house.   nina,  terrified  and  young  much  like  erik  was  when  his  powers  manifested,  had  the  power  to  control  nature  and  had  birds  attack  the  police.  one  of  the  officers  was  trying  to  shoot  the  birds  and  an  arrow  struck  nina  and  her  mother  magda  instead.   erik,  in  his  grief,  used  the  metal  locket  around  his  daughter’s  neck  to  kill  every  single  police  officer  in  the  clearing  and  then  dropped  to  his  knees  to  mourn  the  loss  of  his  family.   

en  sabah  nur,  aka  apocalypse,  finds  erik  shortly  after  this.  he’s  at  the  factory,  about  to  murder  all  of  the  workers  who  allowed  this  tragedy  to  happen,  when  en  sabah  nur  takes  his  revenge  for  him.   the  god  then  takes  him  to  auschwitz  and  strengthens  his  mutant  abilities  to  give  him  the  power  needed  to  destroy  it.   he  agrees  to  be  a  horseman,  to  join  en  sabah  nur  in  bringing  about  the  apocalypse.   shortly  after  this  happens,  he  goes  to  sleep  and  wakes  up  in  this  timeline  in  2020.  he  doesn’t  know  who’s  done  it,  or  it  was  something  the  x-men  did  to  try  and  stop  the  apocalypse,  but  he’s  livid  and  probably  wants  to  go  home.   there’s  nothing  here  for  him  —  no  revenge,  no  purpose,  so  if  he  can’t  ...  catch  him  starting  up  the  brotherhood  again  and  waging  war  on  humankind  again.   

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

erik  carries  a  lot  of  anger  around  with  him.  it’s  the  trauma,  the  grief,  and  the  after-effects  of  years  of  abuse.   he  knows  best  how  to  function  when  he’s  angry,  feels  it  gives  him  direction,  and  thinks  that  happiness  leads  to  vulnerability.  he  thinks  now  that  if  he  cares  for  someone,  let’s  them  get  close,  there’s  a  possibility  he  will  hurt  them  or  they  will  get  hurt  because  of  them.   his  abilities  work  best  when  he’s  angry,  almost  like  he’s  been  conditioned  that  way,  so  he  finds  he’s  most  effective  when  he  gives  into  the  anger.  

at  the  end  of  the  day,  his  hatred  is  directly  linked  to  fear.   he  fears  that  mutants  will  be  persecuted  for  being  different,  for  not  living  up  to  what  humans  feel  is  normal,  and  that  they’ll  be  experimented  on  or  killed  if  discovered.   he’s  seen  firsthand  what  a  genocide  looks  like  and  because  of  that  fears  that  another  will  happen  if  they’re  not  carefull.   again,  he’s  not  wrong.  

𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖘

he’s  a  class  4  mutant  who  can  generate  and  manipulate  magnetic  fields.   you  can  read  more  about  his  abilities  on  the  wiki  here  but  i’ll  give  you  some   examples.

magnetogenesis:  the  ability  to  create  magnetic  fields. magnetokinesis:  the  ability  to  control  magnetic  fields. ferrokinesis:  the  ability  to  control  metal.  ( thanks  to  apocalypse,  he  can  now  control  metals  found  in  the  earth.  )

[codyfernaesthetic]

Dichotomy

 Part 14

Summary: Mallory is searching for answers. Michael is searching for his path. They both find each other.

Author’s note: Context, context, context!!! I’ve never been more nervous about a chapter. lol. This monster might confuse you, especially if you didn’t spend hours researching the Salem Witch Trials in both history and AHS canon. This is deep cut stuff. If it’s wanted, I can answer any questions on who or what an event or person is, or whatever. It’s mostly the first part, so after you get through that you should be in the clear. Hopefully it’s explained well enough to not be confusing. I know you guys are smart, I’m just anxious about where this takes things. I want it to be interesting and evident how it’s relevant to the story. But enough rambling. Let’s find out what Michael and Mallory find out about themselves and each other! never 

Warnings: Blood, language, NSFW (Nothing explicit)

A lone woman, a refugee from her broken home, found herself weeping in a dingy motel room in the city. She was pregnant, the catalyst for her ostracization from her abusive parents. She didn’t know where to go or what to do. She’d stolen cash from her father’s wallet and run away. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant had hit the road the moment she told him, and she couldn’t afford an abortion. She’d decided to make her deathbed the ugly, stained spring mattress of the motel room. Her face was wet, her fingers trembling as she poured out a bottle of pills in her hand.

A burst of white light shot through the room. The woman screamed, dropping everything and backed up against the wall, staring as this light took on a humanoid shape.

“Do not be afraid, Agatha.”

The voice was gentle, it sounded as if it came from everywhere and nowhere at all.

“Who are you?”

The light hovered closer.

“Do not be afraid to bring forth this child.”

Agatha felt a warmth caress her belly like a hand.

“I have set aside this child for a great purpose. You shall give birth to a daughter, and upon her 18th birthday she shall become pregnant, through no will of man, but by mine. And her child shall be my chosen one, who will save this world from destruction.”

She gawked at the message, doubts and fears assailing her.

“How can I possibly take care of this child? I have nowhere to go!”

Tendrils of light spread about, “Take no care as to how you will be provided for; behold, lilies of the valley neither toil nor sow, and kings are not clothed like one of them.”

Agatha crawled closer, enraptured. She reached out her hand to touch the light, electricity buzzing on her fingers.

“All right,” she answered breathlessly, “I’ll do what you say.”

The light faded, leaving Agatha in blissful assurance that all would be well.

When she took a shower that night, she noticed a new mark on her body, like raised scar tissue.

A single star over her heart.

1692

Sarah Good was among the first to fall in the Salem Witch Trials. She was a homeless, pregnant beggar despised by the community; she was tried and imprisoned, leaving behind her husband and 4 year old daughter Dorothy, who was also taken into custody upon suspicion of witchcraft. After the 4 year old was released, the trauma she suffered left her unable to function and she spent the rest of her life as an invalid. Her mother meanwhile, gave birth in prison to her sister Mercy; but the newborn died mere hours after her birth, then Sarah was led to the gallows and hung declaring to her judge and executioner, Judge Matthers, “God will give you blood to drink.”

Heartbroken and desperate, Sarah’s husband begged the newly risen Supreme of the escaping witches to raise his daughter back to life and give her a chance to live freely. She agreed, bringing the newborn back to life. Mercy Good was given into the care of Hephzibah Green and her young daughter Jescha, and was renamed Mara, meaning bitterness. The witches escaped, leaving the horrors of Salem behind. Years passed and justice for Sarah Good was left undone…

25 years later

The town of Salem, Massachusetts lay sleeping under the pale moon, its people having put away their business for the day and said their nightly prayers for protection over their souls during the night.

All except for Judge Matthers, who sat at his desk by the candlelight working into the late hours. He stifled a yawn, dipping his quill in the ink pot.

A noise disturbed him. Something against the window. He inspected the origin of the disturbance, seeing and hearing nothing else. He had just made it back to his desk when the front door swung open with a loud bang. The old man jumped and stilled his heart, shuffling over to close the door.

“Working late into the night, Your Honor?”

He turned, startled at the new voice. A young woman in her mid twenties stood in his home, dark eyes flashing with rage.

She lifted her hand, “Detendo.”

His body was thrown against the wall, his limbs gluing to the wooden surface, paralyzed. He couldn’t make a sound.

The woman strolled toward him, “Dost thou remember a woman by the name of Sarah Good?”

His mind raced back to a gallows, a fiery, deranged woman he’d condemned as a witch.

She continued, “The woman you hung 25 years past in your self-righteousness?”

She stepped closer, “I am her daughter.”

His eyes widened in terror.

She gave him a malicious chuckle, “Aye, the one pronounced dead when you showed my mother no compassion. I hath returned from the grave to exact her prophecy upon thee. Innocent blood you spilt, but in thine own sin-cursed blood shall ye drown.”

She reached into her cloak, whispering, “Patentibus.”

His mouth opened without his consent. He started shaking.

She held up a closed fist to his face, “Behold the vengeance of Almighty God, Most Honorable Judge, and the vengeance of Mercy Good.”

She opened her hand, blowing a white powder into his mouth. He coughed violently, his body trembling harder as she waved her hand to drop him to the floor. Blood poured from every orifice, his skin turning a disgusting gray as his blood splattered all around him before he collapsed dead. She spat on his corpse and left the Judge’s home, slipping away without a trace.

_____________________

Jescha confronted her upon her return. Mara hung their clothes on the line, her adopted sister asking, “Where wast thou really?”

She didn’t look up from her work, “Repaying a life for a life.”

“Hast thou no regard for your own safety?” She scolded.

“Not since my birth hath the town known me, and even then presumed dead.”

She crossed her arms, “Thou canst not put the coven in such danger.”

She looked up at her, shrugging, “I have not. No man recognized me and I did not use my given name. All is well, justice has been done.”

She huffed, stepping beside her to help her finish her chores, “Some justice shouldst be left unto the Lord.”

Mara nodded, “‘Twas if I be His messenger.”

“Beware of pride, Mara. Lest thou think thyself too important.”

“I have thee to blame. Thou hast told me I am special.”

She smiled, “And ye are. Thou art also as stubborn as the ass of Balaam.”

She bumped her, “Aye, but the stubbornness of the ass twas the Lord’s will.”

Mara had no desire to become Supreme; she was happy to spend her days tending her garden and living in peace, despite both Jescha and Hephzibah’s insistence. She did eventually attempt The Seven Wonders at their behest, only to fail the very last.

“T’would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed,” Jescha told her after the tests as they sat by the river.

She laughed, “Should I take that as compliment or criticism?”

“Both.”

“Why?” She skipped a rock, “If I am not the Supreme, then I am not the Supreme.”

Her sister pouted, “I had such faith that ye were.”

“And why hast thou not attempted the Seven Wonders? Go and show thyself to be the Supreme.”

She balked, “If thou couldst not do it, then surely I cannot. I am merely a garden witch.”

Mara feigned offense, “Careful of thy words, I am merely a garden witch.”

She leaned her head into the crook of her neck, “No, not merely. You are among the most powerful of our coven.”

Mara patted her, “Thou art just as essential as I. Providence will grant you great things, dear Jes. I’m sure of it.”

“As I am sure of you, Mara.”

The two women continued in their happy states. Jescha eventually moving away, marrying into a rich family. Meanwhile, Mara’s descendants continued the line of powerful witches. Until a girl was born with the power of special connection to the spiritual world, claiming communication with the entity most commonly called God. This woman’s name was Agatha, who did give birth to a daughter she named Leah. And according to Agatha’s predictions, Leah did become pregnant at 18 years old, though no one ever knew who the father was. And Leah gave birth to a beautiful baby girl she named Mallory.

_____________

Mallory sat on her grandmother’s knee, listening to her story. When she got to the end, Mallory clapped gleefully, “That’s me!”

Agatha ran her fingers through her granddaughter’s hair smiling wistfully, “That’s right, Mallie. Grandma knew you would be born even before she had mama.”

“Do I have magical powers?” She wondered in awe.

Agatha cupped her face, “You have more power than anyone, Mallie. You have the blood of Salem and the heritage of divinity.”

She bit her lip excitedly, “Do you still have the star?”

“No, but you do, don’t you?”

She nodded, “Mama says it’s a birthmark.”

“It is. It’s a very special birthmark. It’s a sign that you are gonna save this world one day, Mallie.”

Leah and Mallory’s stepfather found them sitting out in the garden, dragging a pouting Mallory from Agatha to go home. Leah would always try and undo her mother’s damage, telling Mallory that her grandma was senile and delusional. But to Mallory, she was the only one who understood her, the only one who confirmed the deep sense of destiny she’d felt even as a little girl. She especially became a safe haven when Mallory turned 13 and was found levitating in her bed by her stepfather. Her parents dragged her to several priests as more powers manifested; the ability to manipulate fire, psychic visions, disappearing and reappearing, etc. They believed she was worshiping the devil or possessed by a demon. Mallory was forced to endure several painful exorcisms, her powers manifesting in the middle of them due to her emotional distress. This only fueled their fear. The worst incident was when Mallory found a dead rat in their yard, torn to shreds by a local stray cat. She brought the rat to the front porch, cradling it in her hands. Her parents screamed for her to put it down, but she only placed one hand over it, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

The rat stirred to life, its wounds completely healed, even appearing younger. It scampered off in its new life while she stared in amazement at her own power.

It was the last and worst exorcism she had before running away to live with her grandmother. When her grandmother died, she felt like she’d lost her only home.

Then, a woman named Cordelia Goode announced nationwide that she ran a school for women with exceptional powers, witches.

Mallory packed her bags and left for New Orleans.

_______________

There is no love which is not pain

There is no love which does not bruise

There is no love which does not fade

There is no love which does not live from tears...

Michael felt as if he was thrown back into his body; like he was snatched away on the cusp of discovering the final truth. He gulped in air desperately, looking around him. Mallory lay there still in a peaceful trance. She should have woken up with him.

He went to her, touching her face, “Mallory…”

She remained unresponsive.

“Mallory!”

She was still breathing, but was lost in his past, being buried beneath his darkness.

He picked her up and carried her to his bedroom, lovingly laying on his black silk sheets, propping her head on a few pillows.

Hours passed...days...weeks…

“Mallory, please,” he begged everyday, “Please come back to me.”

He refused to leave the house. His food, his work, everything was ordered to be delivered to that single room. Several Cooperative members pleaded with him snap out of it; they promised to place a guard at the house, to set up a cycle of servants so he could be notified if or when she woke up. They were met with fury.

All the while she was plunged into the deep dark waters of Michael’s past. She witnessed everything, felt everything he experienced. It was enough to surely kill her.

She finally came to after nearly two months of unconsciousness. Michael was at her side immediately, caressing her sweat-soaked face. “It’s ok,” he whispered over and over again, “It’s ok, I’m here.” Her breathing calmed, her mind cleared; she looked at him, seeing beyond him. It was as if she’d journeyed through his soul, seeing every crevice, every hidden thought, surveying every molecule of his essence. It was terrifying. She saw slit throats and corpses, demonic claws sinking into his heart, endless dark. It was sorrowful; brimming with abandonment and loss, desire to change, but no one to help, a small, scared child thrust into the arms of people who only saw him as a means to an end, a tool. Bottomless loneliness and a starving for love, true, faithful love. But more than anything... It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Despite it all. She should hate him, she should want him dead. But only love flooded her heart. There was a bond between them now that their souls were bare before each other, a golden thread that weaved among their atoms, threading them together; they were darkness and light, a dichotomy, two coexisting infinities that could never be separated. She took his face in her hands, admiring every detail of his face; she touched their foreheads together, breathing him in. “You will never be alone again.” Tears sprung to his eyes, his fingers brushing over her neck. The thread tightened, pulling them closer and closer together until their lips connected. Michael groaned the moment their lips touched, ferociously pouring out every ounce of built up sorrow and desire. Emotion overflowed in both of them; tears began to fall upon their lips, and they shared them, letting go of every pretension. Michael snapped his fingers, their clothes disappearing. They became a mess of entangled limbs and passing breaths. He kissed all the way down her body, wrapping his arms around her thighs. She sighed, her skin burning with each touch of his lips. She entwined her fingers in his silken hair, threading through it assuringly. He gave a gentle bite on her stomach, earning a surprised moan. He looked up, concerned, searching to see if she was displeased. Her pulse quickened, slick heat burned between her thighs as she looked into his pleading gaze. “I’m fine,” she whispered, “That felt so good,” she pressed her lips to his forehead, “You make me feel so good, Michael.” A desperate noise left his lips as he pulled her closer, leaving more love bites on her stomach and inner thighs, relishing every utterance of praise from her. He snaked his hands under her and started to lay on his back, Golden hair spilling on the black silk. He looked up at her under heady eyes. “Take your throne,” he begged breathlessly. She bit her lip, pulling herself over him; he made quick work with his tongue, tasting her with desperate ferocity. Her legs trembled; her grip on the headboard tightening as the pleasure exploded through her body, primal moans and worship flowed from her like a hymn. Michael’s fingers gripped and dug into her flesh; the taste of her dripping on his tongue sent a jolt of need through him. Unable to bear it, he reached down and attempted to relieve some of his growing desire for release. With a heavy breath, Mallory slid herself down his body, straddling his stomach. He was taking in air like a dying man, his tongue running over his lips with little moans of pleasure. He looked up at her, eyes begging and submissive. He traced his hands over her, cupping her breasts, massaging them, treating them like sacred objects, reverently venerating her skin. He slid his fingers up to her throat, slowly curling around it gently, whispering in an uncertain tone, “Mine?” She kept her eyes on him as she took his thumb and wrapped her lips around it, biting and sucking. His other hand traced down her body to feel her wetness coating his stomach. She leaned into his touch, sighing and raking her nails across his chest. Her own need curling into thick tendrils in her core. She leaned down, giving him a passionate kiss, “Yours.” He groaned, bucking his hips, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Please, Mallory,” he could barely speak, the need building within him stealing all of his words. He sat up to grip her face and pull her into a desperate, devouring kiss. “Take me,” he whined, “Please, take all of me.” She kissed him again, but he pulled back with a needy grunt, “I need you. I need to feel you surrounding me, please. Oh, please, Mallory...” the rest of his pleas were unintelligible noises of wanton hunger. She slid down further, lowering herself; he released a shaky, prolonged moan as she took him. She vocalized her pleasure with each thrust of her hips, her rhythm and speed building with her desire. Faster. Harder. Both of them riding out their pleasure, their bodies relentlessly chasing its zenith until Their release struck them like lightning. Michael couldn’t temper his volume as he screamed out her name like an irreverent prayer. Mallory could barely breathe as pleasure like bursts of light shot through her veins. They collapsed together, slick with sweat and languid. Michael, with little strength, wrapped his arms around her, planting lazy kisses on her face and neck. She clung to him like a survivor to her last hope. “Mine.” He breathed into her ear. She kissed his neck, “Mine.” They would delight in each other several more times that night, much slower and gentler. A sensation washing over them that neither of them had felt in a long time... Peace

__________

The two new lovers were wrapped up together, sleeping as they hadn’t in years. Michael’s face was buried in Mallory’s neck like it was his refuge; her legs circled his waist, hands still entangled in his hair.

A faint hum disturbed her rest. She opened her eyes to find herself staring up at a night sky, stars dotting the velvet canvas. She eased herself up, glancing around at the field where she had first met the being posing as Cordelia. Only this time, instead of the greenhouse, a large, wispy tree curled its silver branches up to the sky, gorged, white fruit with speckles of gold hung low upon it. She approached, curious at the sight.

A rustling of footsteps caught her attention. The woman stood there, still in the guise of Cordelia, staring at the tree with forlorn eyes.

“This is not how I intended this to happen,” she sounded far away, “It was all supposed to be much simpler than this.”

Mallory glared, feeling no sympathy, “Why couldn’t I bring Cordelia back?”

She sighed deeply, meeting her gaze, “You can’t cheat death forever, Mallory. Eventually it comes to claim its due.”

She stepped toward her, “You’re lying.”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple, “I won’t let you, that’s why.”

“Who are you?” She demanded.

The woman shook her head, pouting slightly, “I have imagined this moment for years, eager to welcome you with open arms. And now here we are, and you already hate me.”

Mallory took another confrontation step, “Who are you?”

She smiled ruefully, holding up her arms as if in defeat, “Simply...I am God.”

Mallory stared.

“I am the bringer of light and creation. I am the light from which the daughters of Salem draw their power. And you” she dared to come closer and brush the back of her fingers over Mallory’s cheek, “...are my daughter.”

“I don’t understand,” was her dumbfounded response.

“You see, Michael’s father and I,” she chuckled, “Satan as he likes to be called, he and I are a balancing scale...a dichotomy which brings the universe into order. There is good and evil, light and dark. From the very beginning of time, we have fought for balance in the universe. However, there came a point where we stopped fighting for balance, and began fighting for dominance,” her face darkened, “He decided that he wanted to tip the scales, create chaos and violence over the whole earth. And now it is time to tip the scales back again. I am tired of his malevolence and wrath, I want to create a new world. One where death and disease is an ancient memory,” her smile returned, wistful, “And I will use you Mallory. I will use you to build this new creation. You were born to rule a new earth.”

The memories of the stories her grandmother told her crashed over once again.

“I’m just a witch.”

She cupped her face, eyes widening, “No, Mallory. Oh, you are so much more. Don’t you understand? No witch has ever been able to do what you can, because you are not simply extraordinary, you are divine.”

That doesn’t explain why you refuse to let me resurrect Cordelia.

She threw her hands down, turning in a huff, “Can’t you think of anything else?!”

Storm clouds began to gather on the horizon, “I have just told you that you are the daughter of God who will bring about a new world, and you’re worried about one stupid witch. Cordelia had to die. So did every other member of the coven,” she shook her head, frustrated, “Mallory you are my daughter, but it is also true that you are a witch. If every other witch was dead then the power of Supreme would transfer to you.”

Her words from before crossed her mind, “I wasn’t the next Supreme.”

She turned away from her, “No, Coco was.”

That was a punch to the gut. A sudden flash of a vision appeared before her. Her ancestor, Mara...and her adopted sister Jescha, who faded into Coco.

Her knees trembled. The woman went on, belligerent, “She was a vapid, stupid little girl but her powers were growing and given time and attention she would have ascended after Cordelia.” She faced Mallory again, a regretful expression scrunching her face, “Michael planned to kill everyone in the Outpost, I made sure that if no one else, Coco wouldn’t survive.”

“You wanted Michael to kill the coven,” the revelation shook the ground beneath her.

She held out her hands, almost in penance, “I know you cannot understand, but what I did was for a greater plan, a greater good.  The witches had to die...Mead had to die. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Michael’s father and I knew that in order for both of our children to be put on the right path...there had to be a catalyst. Mead’s death forced Michael to the Cooperative and allowed me to ensure that you would have all the power you needed to stop him.”

Fire exploded from Mallory’s fingertips, threatening to consume the woman; but she stopped the fireball, extinguishing it.

“You killed them!” Mallory screamed.

“Me?” her shoulders sagged, hurt, “Mallory it was Michael who walked into Robicheaux’s and erased your sisters.”

“You not only watched it,” she cried through gritted teeth, “you set up the pieces for it to happen.”

She tried to touch her, holding out her arms as if to embrace her, “I know my ways are difficult to understand!” Mallory knocked her back, “Don’t!”

The woman regained her stance, watching her daughter with pleading eyes.

“You think you’re different from Michael’s father? My life, Michael’s life, all of our lives are nothing but a game to you! You didn’t care about stopping the Apocalypse, you cared about winning. You and him are the same thing with different masks.”

“I am trying to make a new world!” she screamed, thunder peeling from the distance, “I want to mend everything that Michael has broken. And the only way for me to do that is if you defeat him.”

Mallory was shaking visibly, “I won’t hurt him. I won’t.”

She scoffed, “He sheds a few tears and suddenly you think you know him? He is a curse, an ugly blot on creation that should never have taken his first breath.”

She attempted to embrace her again, “You are my chosen vessel, my beautiful shining light that will destroy darkness once and for all.”

“I don’t want whatever world you create,” she spat.

The woman grew deadly serious, her voice dropping to a low, threatening tone. The storm rolled closer and closer, “Mallory, don’t make me hurt you. This will end on a battlefield, whether you choose to go willingly or not.” Mallory turned away from her, “Go to hell.”

She opened her eyes in Michael’s bed, hearing his steady breathing beside her. She clung to him and began to cry.

He awoke with a start, looking her over and trying to comfort her, “What’s wrong?”

“I know exactly who I am. And I wish I didn’t.”

He held her tightly, fully aware of their plight. He caressed her hair, “Every light casts a shadow, Mallory.”

She sobbed, “I won’t hurt you.”

“We won’t have a choice. Prophecy-“

“Fuck prophecy,” she pulled back, “fuck their stupid games,” she kissed him, “I love you.”

He breathed in deeply, laying his forehead on hers with an expression that declared his knowledge that this bliss couldn’t last; it was never going to.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

...there is no happy love.

But it is our own love.

[dipulb3]

Investigative report offers up-close look at Jacob Blake shooting in Wisconsin

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/investigative-report-offers-up-close-look-at-jacob-blake-shooting-in-wisconsin/

Investigative report offers up-close look at Jacob Blake shooting in Wisconsin

Laquisha Booker had made such calls before, according to an investigative report by Kenosha County District Attorney Michael Graveley, who on Tuesday outlined a review of more than 40 hours of video and hundreds of documents in an effort to determine what happened the day of the shooting.

Booker’s emergency call at 5:10 p.m. on August 23 concluded with Rusten Sheskey, a White Kenosha Police officer, shooting Blake, a 29-year-old Black man who was left paralyzed from the waist down.

The district attorney said he hoped the Blake shooting leads to a “complicated conversation” that permits “all points of views and allows for all the parties — even those that feel so disenfranchised — to have a voice.”

But criminal charges against Sheskey would be hard to prove, according to Graveley. It would be difficult to convince a jury the officer did not “reasonably believe that the shooting at Jacob Blake was necessary to prevent being stabbed … or necessary to prevent someone else from being in imminent danger of death or great bodily harm.”

“This case is really all about self-defense and can it be proven that it does not exist,” he said.

That Sheskey and two other officers were on a domestic disturbance call was “urgently important,” Graveley wrote in the report.

“They knew they were responding to a domestic disturbance and they knew the man who was the subject of the call, Jacob Blake, had a warrant for his arrest from a prior incident where he was charged with domestic violence offenses and a sexual assault. Every decision the officers made during this incident, in response to this call, must be interpreted in light of those facts.”

Blake’s attorneys maintain their client did not pose a threat to police and the decision to not charge the officer fueled the community’s longstanding distrust of the justice system.

Mother of Blake’s children said she feared he would crash her vehicle

Graveley’s investigative report and comments he made Tuesday provided the most detailed account of events leading up to the shooting.

On the 911 call, Booker told a dispatcher that Blake had taken the keys to an SUV she had rented. She feared he would crash it.

Blake, she told the dispatcher, was “not supposed to be here. Today is his son’s birthday, so I allowed him to spend a couple hours with him, but he’s not giving me the keys to this rental. And that’s all I’m asking for.”

“Is Jacob there right now?” the dispatcher asked.

“Yes and he is trying to kiss his kids, so he can hurry up and leave. He was here talking all types of crazy and now he’s walking off now. Now he’s getting ready to leave.”

She provided the plate number and repeated that Blake was kissing his children.

“He’s is pulling off right now,” she said.

Officer says Blake ripped off Taser wires

The primary officers who responded to the call were Sheskey and Brittany Meronek, who arrived in a marked Kenosha Police Department SUV. Another officer, Vincent Arenas, was the backup. The police department did not provide its officers with body cameras at the time of the shooting.

On a computer screen in their squad cars, the officers learned the complainant said Blake was not supposed to be at the home and had taken the keys to her rented Dodge SUV. They also learned Blake had a felony warrant for domestic violence, disorderly conduct and a felony sexual assault.

Sheskey told investigators that, as he approached a man on the street, a woman screamed: “It’s him! It’s him! He has my keys! It’s my car! It’s registered to me!”

“I’m taking the kid and I am taking the car,” the officer recalled the man saying.

“Let’s talk about this,” the officer told the man, according to the investigative report.

Sheskey said he saw the man place a child in the back seat. He told investigators he was confident the man was Blake. Sheskey said he grabbed the man’s arm to arrest him and mentioned the warrant.

Blake reached for his “waistline area” at one point, according to Sheskey, who said he believed the man was going for a weapon. Sheskey discharged his Taser but Blake broke the wires with his hand.

Sheskey said he then placed the Taser’s metal ends in the area of Blake’s neck and back — a technique known as “drive stun” intended to cause pain but not incapacitate — but the suspect again slipped away. When Sheskey tried to take Blake down, both men fell to the ground. They got back up and Blake moved to the front of the SUV.

“Stop resisting!” Sheskey said he told Blake numerous times. He said he also made numerous other verbal commands.

“He has a knife! Knife! Knife!” the officer — who had not seen the weapon at that point — said he heard someone say. Sheskey said he pulled out his gun.

‘I ain’t going to pull no knife on no damn cop’

Blake told investigators from his hospital bed that he put his children in the back of the SUV after an argument with their mother. Booker had rented the SUV for him to use while his car was in a repair shop. He said he had a knife and believed the blade was still enclosed, but dropped it to the ground when he was first grabbed by Sheskey.

“Why would I pull a knife on a cop?” said Blake, who spoke with investigators days after the shooting and then again in September. “What am I? A knife thrower? I ain’t going to pull no knife on no damn cop.”

He added, “That’s just stupid. I just didn’t want to…I just grabbed it, man, honestly.”

Blake told investigators that he later picked up the knife after dropping it during the tussle with the officer.

Blake said he wanted to “drop” the knife in the car and did not intend to use it. He was thinking: “Get in the truck or they are going to kill you,” according to his statement. He said he opened the driver’s side door to put the knife in the center console when he felt his shirt being pulled.

Blake said “he did not point the knife at anyone; he did not swing the knife at anyone; he did not make any forward motion towards anyone with the knife; and he did not raise the knife towards anyone,” according to the report. “Jacob Blake stated that he did not hold the knife in a way which could be interpreted as being pointed towards anyone, especially the officer.”

He believed he was trying to get rid of the knife when he was shot, according to Blake’s statement.

Sheskey says he ‘feared Blake was going to stab him’

Sheskey told investigators he first saw the knife as Blake moved across the front of the SUV. He ordered him to drop it. Blake then headed for the driver’s side door.

“I don’t know what he is going to do,” Sheskey recalled thinking to himself at the time, according to his account to investigators.

“Is he going to hurt the kid? Is he going to take off in the vehicle? Will we have to pursue the vehicle with a child inside of the car? Is he going to hold the child hostage? Are his actions going to put others at risk?”

As Blake tried to get in the SUV, Sheskey said he grabbed and pulled the man’s shirt. Sheskey told investigators that Blake then “turned his torso right to left” toward the officer. The knife was now in Blake’s right hand, moving toward the officer’s torso, Sheskey told investigators. The officer said he fired his weapon and did not stop until he saw Blake drop the knife in the SUV’s floorboard.

Sheskey said he “feared Jacob Blake was going to stab him with the knife, but knew that he could not retreat because the child was in the car and could be harmed, taken hostage, or abducted by Jacob Blake,” according to the investigative report.

“Step it up. Shots fired. Shots fired,” Meronek yelled into her radio. Officers laid Blake on the ground and provided medical assistance, she said.

Witness captures part of confrontation on cell phone video

In a second-floor apartment across the street, a witness, identified in the investigative report as RW, captured part of the encounter on cell phone video. The witness told investigators that officers had Blake in a headlock and were punching him at one point. He said Blake did not go down when one officer Tased him.

In the video, Blake walked around the front of the SUV with a knife in his hand. The officers had their guns drawn. A male voice is heard yelling, “Drop the knife!” as Blake approached the door.

Moments later, seven shots are heard after Sheskey grabbed Blake’s shirt.

Attorney for Blake’s family disputes that he posed a threat

Blake had four entrance wounds to the back, and three to his left side.

“They didn’t have to shoot me like that,” he said. “I was just trying to leave and he had options to shoot my tires and even punch me, Tase me again, hit me with the night stick. I work armed security and I have gotten into it with cats that are bigger than me and my first thing is, I grab my Taser first and then my baton.”

Asked by an investigator why he didn’t surrender, Blake said, “Because he instantly grabbed my hand and he was trying to put me in handcuffs and I am just like not in front of my kids, not on my kid’s birthday.”

Graveley said Blake had been named in five reports of domestic disturbances involving Booker dating to 2012. Four disputes involved vehicles. The warrant for Blake was issued last summer on criminal trespass, domestic abuse, third-degree sexual assault and other charges in a case involving the mother of his children.

On May 3, Booker told police that Blake had broken into her home, sexually assaulted her and stolen her car keys and her vehicle and her debit card. Prosecutors were unable to locate her before trial in November, according to the investigative report.

Blake pleaded guilty to two counts of disorderly conduct and domestic abuse while the third-degree sexual assault charge was dismissed, according to Kenosha County court records. A judge ordered Blake’s sentence withheld and he was placed on probation for two years.

Blake told investigators after the shooting that Booker “made up the whole thing” about the sex assault.

Investigators have not been able to speak with Booker since the day of the shooting, according to the investigative report.

The officers involved in the August call remain on administrative leave, police said.

An attorney for Blake’s family disputed that he posed a threat that day.

“There was no point in the video that is articulable for an officer to say that he was under harm at that particular point. I think that’s completely bogus and I think that is just a rationalization to try to show what is really, essentially, an intentional act,” attorney B’Ivory LaMarr told reporters shortly after Graveley’s announcement on Tuesday.

“It’s not against the law to have a knife, people have knives for a variety of different reasons. Jacob Blake is privy to having a knife,” the attorney added.

Blake family attorney Ben Crump, along with LaMarr and co-counsel Patrick A. Salvi II, expressed disappointment in Graveley’s decision.

“We feel this decision failed not only Jacob and his family, but the community that protested and demanded justice,” the attorneys said in a statement.

“Officer Sheskey’s actions sparked outrage and advocacy throughout the country, but the District Attorney’s decision not to charge the officer who shot Jacob in the back multiple times, leaving him paralyzed, further destroys trust in our justice system. This sends the wrong message to police officers throughout the country.”

Federal authorities are conducting a civil rights investigation related to the shooting.

Police union lawyer says officers ‘did an outstanding job’

Pete Deates, president of the Kenosha Professional Police Association, said in a statement: “The facts from this incident are finally known. The officers attempted to take Mr. Blake into custody by giving him verbal commands, physically struggling with him AND deploying their Tasers.

“Mr. Blake was also armed. At any time during his interaction with the officers, Mr. Blake could have and should have complied with their lawful orders. If he had, nobody, including the entire Kenosha community would have had to endure the pain and suffering that ensued.”

Police association attorney Brendan Matthews, who represented Sheskey, said the officers “did an outstanding job under challenging circumstances.”

“Officer Sheskey was presented with a difficult and dangerous situation and he acted appropriately and in accordance with his training,” his statement added.

“The video remains difficult to view but that does not change what actually occurred. False and misleading narratives to the contrary need to stop. Kenosha can and will move forward from this. That process begins now.”

Graveley said he spoke briefly with Blake before announcing his decision.

“This was a tragedy first and foremost for Jacob Blake, who still suffers from grievous injuries. These are life lasting injuries,” he said.

The prosecutor recalled telling Blake he has thought often about the lasting impact that witnessing the shooting will have on the man’s children.

“This is a tragedy for those who love Jacob Blake,” he said.

“He is a father, a son and a nephew. And I want to acknowledge and say that I really feel like the Blake family and Mr. Blake himself have tried to be real, truly positive forces in … asking the community to have peaceful but real dialogue about change that I think is necessary in this community outlined by the issues exposed in this case.”

[ljfeed-spn-j2-bigbang]

2017 Masterlist

This year, cloex_brosluvr is the hero for coding allll of this masterpost. Please tell her thank you! Below, you will find master lists of all the entries posted to this community for the 2017 spn_j2_bigbang challenge. I encourage you to scroll through the list and look for anything you might have missed. There is some AWESOME fic and some INCREDIBLE art, and it all deserves to be appreciated! If you see any errors, just let me know and I'm happy to correct them. Start getting ready for 2018, I'll see you right back here in January for sign-ups! JARED/JENSEN Fic title: Wandering Lost Link to art: Here Author name: dugindeep Artist name: thruterryseyes Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Word count: 36,000 Summary: Hired by an eccentric billionaire, Jensen is tasked with transporting a '55 Ford F-100 from California to New York. After the car breaks down, he's stuck in the middle of Nebraska and spends a week getting to know a whole mix of oddballs he'd never spend a minute with back in NYC. "Not all who wander are lost," but Jensen's a little of both as he warms up to the townspeople and the local handyman, who is equal parts peculiar and charming. And maybe he even finds himself along the way. 　 Fic title: To Protect Link to art: Here Author name: twoboys2love Artist name: 2blueshoes Genre: SPN RPS AU Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: Explicit Word count: 27,000 Warnings: Vague references to anxiety, hurt!Jensen, hurt!JDM, UST, violence, firearms, bottom!Jensen, assault Summary: Jensen is a famous author of horror novels. He gets his inspiration from his nightmares and fears. When he moves to an isolated house, he picks up a "stalker" who sends him vaguely threatening letters and flowers. His agent and long-time friend, JDM, hires a retired cop as live-in security for Jensen. As Jared makes himself at home in the house, on the grounds and the pool, they develop a friendship with tantalizing possibilities. What are Jared's motives for the friendship? Is JDM jealous or protective? Jensen ends up with two people he trusts pitted against each other. 　 Fic title: Come What May Link to art: Here Author name: hideurdemoneyes Artist name: quickreaver Genre: RPS AU Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: ~32k Warnings: major angst, fluff, smut, major character death, modern day AU, prostitute!Jensen, writer!Jared, swearing, bottom!Jared, top!Jensen, implied past Jensen/others, implied bottom!Jensen, terminal illness, virgin!Jared, anal sex, anal fingering, rimming, drinking, attempted non-con, mild violence, singing, light feminization Summary: San Francisco, mid-2000's. Jared is fresh off the bus, a wild-eyed dreamer from Texas searching for fame and romance. He finds himself in an unexpected friendship with t he eccentric Misha and his gang of aspiring theatre folk, allowing them to introduce him to the seedy underbelly of the performance world. Along the way, Jared falls madly in love with the star of the failing Castro Theatre, Jensen. But there's another man out for Jensen's affections - the rich, powerful, and sadistic Jeffrey. Based as an AU of Moulin Rouge!, Jared and Jensen's tale is the greatest love story ever told -- and the greatest tragedy of this modern era. 　 Fic title: Forgiving the Past, Finding the Future Link to art: Here Author name: morganadw Artist name: white_laurel Genre: J2 AU Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki Rating: R Word count: 44,176 Warnings: This may contain slight triggers but nothing is shown and most of the serious trauma/abuse is in the past and mentioned in dialogue or description. This is a bottom!Jared fic as well that includes some minor kink and use of handcuffs. See tags and warnings on actual AO3 story post. Summary: Jensen Ackles & Jared Padalecki were once best friends and high school sweethearts in their small hometown of Paxton, Texas. They had plans to run away to start college & their life together on their terms until the night of graduation when betrayal and lies ruined those plans. A decade later found Jared returning back to the town he hated & finding himself confronted by Jensen, the man he believes lied and used him. Jensen wants answers as to why Jared not only ran away without any explanation but also now hates him. Upon learning the truth of that fateful night, Jensen uses some unconventional methods and his job as sheriff to get Jared to listen. He realizes he also has some listening to do as some of what Jared's done comes to light. The former flames must come to grips with their pasts and the events that led to their breakup. They will have to learn to forgive in order to heal and start moving forward towards a future they both still want. 　 Fic title: My Secret Heart Link to art: Here Author name: storyspinner70 Artist name: meesasometimes Genre: RPS Pairing: Jensen/Jared Rating: NC-17 Word count: 25,154 Warnings: bottom!Jared, top!Jensen, OCD!Jensen, genderqueer!Jared, m/m, light angst, schmoop, homophobia Summary: Jared isn’t obsessed with Jensen Ackles. Except, you know, that he really kind of is. A moment of clumsiness brings him into Jensen's life and they start a tentative friendship. As they get closer, they learn exactly how true the old adage is – you can never judge a book by its cover. He learns how Jensen struggles with OCD and the nightmare the world can be for him. He also learns Jensen is a safe place for him to lay his own secrets, and that not everyone will laugh at an all american college boy who, some days, wants nothing more than to be beautiful. College age AU. Reduced age gap boys. Genderqueer!Jared, OCD!Jensen, Not a cross dressing fic. 　 Fic title: Wake Me Up When September Ends Link to art: Here Author name: lullysg Artist name: kaelysta Genre: RPF AU Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: 131k Warnings: descriptions of September 11th attack (only in the first couple of chapters), permanent injury, physical disability, PTSD, survivor’s guilt, alcoholism, depression, substance abuse, accidental overdose, a lot of angst, hurt/comfort, hurt!Jared Summary: It started out as a regular Tuesday morning in New York City. The sun was bright in the sky when at 8:46 a.m., a plane crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. 2,606 people died in there that day, but there were also survivors. Jared and Jensen meet for the first time in a night that hadn't gone so well for either of them, and they build an instant connection. An unplanned second encounter happens while a building is threatening to collapse on their heads, and an impossible choice has to be made. The attack leaves deep scars, both physically and mentally, and they are going to learn that the hardest part wasn’t surviving September 11th. Finding the strength to keep living in the aftermath of what that day caused is what proves to be the real challenge, especially when the light at the end of the tunnel seems impossible to reach. 　 Fic title: When the Devil Came to Pluto Link to art: Here Author name: tsuki_no_bara Artist name: amberdreams Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: PG Word count: 21,300 Warnings: Chad. Asexual!Jensen. A certain amount of historical hand waving. Non-CW actors. Summary: The New Mexico territory in the 1870s is a vast and wild place, all scrubland and hills and mystery, home to gunslingers and miners and working girls and scattered native tribes. Jared and Jensen live in a little mining town called Pluto, keeping the peace for a brothel and occasionally checking up on the mine. The land around them is full of secrets and stories, which Jared is eager to learn and share. And then one night Jensen vanishes and Jared sets off through the desert to find him. A herd of ghost ponies brings him to the devil's front door, and even though the devil is not what Jared was expecting, he still thinks they can make a deal so he can get Jensen back. 　 Fic title: Bound Link to art: Here Author name: junkerin Artist name: emmatheslayer Genre: RPS Pairing: Jensen/Jared, Jensen/Misha (mentioned), Jensen/Lehne (non-con) Rating: NC-17 Word count: 35,809 Warnings: Non-con, slavery Summary: Thanks to nanobots humanity got finally rid of all diseases. Or so they thought. That was when "Omega" the last disease hits. It leaves the patient paralyzed while conscious. Catlin Padalecki finds a treatment in form of bonds or tapes that enables the "omegas" to move again. But her invention gets misused and sends the omegas into slavery. 25 years later Jensen Ackles is a freed omega who works with the resistance. He wants to pressure Catlin into helping them. But he only finds her son Jared and Jared is to not willing to help even after Jensen makes him an omega too. Can the two stubborn men overcome their differences? Will they be able to overcome hate and prejudice in order to free the omegas and to set right what once went wrong? 　 Fic title: A Song in the Stars Link to art: Here Author name: strive2bhappy Artist name: immortalfire13 Genre: RPS Pairing: J2 Rating: NC-17 Word count: 40,000 Warnings: mentions of past torture, scarring from said torture, a bit of blood from overuse of powers Summary: Jared Padalecki has dreamed of taking to the skies since he was five-years-old. When he becomes an adult and builds a spaceship of his own, he gets to do just that, looking for adventure -- little did he know the adventure waiting for him. Jensen Ackles is born part human, part Terryn and his life as an outcast is difficult -- music is his only real escape. When he's captured by the Dominion, an organization hell-bent on taking over every galaxy in every way they can, he's used as a lab experiment to see how his special, combined heritage can be advantageous for them. Fleeing Dominion control, he vows to himself, they will never find him again. A chance meeting between Jared and Jensen helps both of them get what they're looking for -- and the way things end up, it may have been more than just chance. From various planets throughout different galaxies, to nights under the stars in space, Jared and Jensen find in each other something worth fighting -- and possibly dying -- for. 　 Fic title: Silly Love Songs Link to art: Here Author name: nerdypastrychef Artist name: liliaeth Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC17 Word count: 28,436 Summary: Jensen’s life revolves around love songs. He feels about music the way that most kids feel about Disney movies. They all have a special place in his heart and all of his important memories are embedded with a soundtrack of his favorites. Jared, on the other hand, doesn’t care much about music beyond background noise and love songs are low on his list. But when he moves into a new apartment in downtown Austin his neighbor’s singing through their shared walls start to change his mind. A love story told in three acts. A YouTube Playlist for the music. 　 Fic title: Open Warfare: The Secret of a Successful Marriage Link to art: Here Author name: whiskygalore Artist name: magic_penguin Genre: RPS Pairing: J2 Rating: NC-17 Word count: 40k Warnings: Omega Jensen, Alpha Jared, Age switch, Very brief attempted non-con, and potty mouthed boys. Summary: There was a time that arranged marriages for Omegas were a common occurrence: thirty or forty years ago. Now, thankfully, Omegas have the same rights as everyone else, are free to live their own lives, to marry whomever they choose. Except for Jensen. Because, in a move that will save Ackles’ Systems from bankruptcy, Jensen’s dad has just signed him up for an arranged marriage to Jared Padalecki. Unfortunately, Jared is an idiot with a poor choice in friends, and Jensen is a stubborn dick with an unconventional profession, so it’s no surprise when their marriage quickly degenerates into a state of open warfare. 　 Fic title: The Pie that Binds Link to art: Here Author name: herminekurotowa Artist name: liliaeth Genre: RPS Pairing: Jensen/Jared, Jensen/Matt, Jared/OMC’s Rating: NC-17 Word count: 29,000 Warnings: kidnapping, slavery, non-consensual drug use, most dubious consent due to drug use, attempted rape, minor character deaths, hurt!Jared, hurt!Jensen Summary: Jensen lives in the woods, He'd never thought his sweet tooth could get him into trouble so deep he might drown in it. Jared lives in a palace made of stone because he's the king, but he's not very good at it. 　 Fic title: Till Death Do Us Part Link to art: Here Author name: aggiedoll Artist name: mangacat201 Genre: RPS Pairing: J2 Rating: NC-17 (PG for art) Word count: + ~126k Warnings: major character deaths (for fic, no warnings for art) Summary: When two young men, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, bump into each other in the crowded cab zone in front of a bustling airport, in the middle of a fierce comeback of winter in spring time, they don't know yet how their fates will soon intertwine – and how this connection has started years before without them realizing. When the competition between the ruling mob families Jensen and Jared belong to turns into an open war, things start to get out of hand. Mob Family politics threaten to crash and burn the forbidden love, marriages are being plotted, death sentences spoken. A mysterious blue eyed consigliore, called “The Angel” and a ruthless Russian mob boss who likes to call himself Lucifer are woven into the deadly game. A game that might become obsolete, as Jensen is fighting a war of his own against an illness no one knows of, and Jared desperately tries to write his own rules by turning his parents´ schemes against them... 　 Fic title: Therapy Link to art: Here Author name: sanshal Artist name: evian_fork Genre: RPS Pairing: J2 Rating: R Word count: 37,345 Warnings: There are instances of male-nudity, and (because of the theme) descriptions of power-imbalance. Also mentioned are one incident (each) of spanking, diapering, figging and past/off-screen, but referenced instance of self-harm. References to past dub-con. Jared suffers from self-hate/ excessive guilt and self-image issues. Unevenly sized chapters. Some language. ... and I think that covers it? Summary: Jared embarks on a D/S relationship to combat his depression. 　 Fic title: Of Princes and Prophecies Link to art: Here Author name: zubeneschamali Artist name: fridayblues Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: 44,101 Summary: Jared has lost everything thanks to the usurper High King. He can't take any of it back, but he can strike out the only way he knows how: kidnap and ransom. The High King's fiancé is riding across the country and through Jared's forest, and wouldn't he be a fair prize? Jensen has not quite resigned himself to the fate of being the High King's second spouse when bandits strike. If he can get away from them, it might be his only chance for a life of his own. But once he finds out who the bandits' leader really is, everything will change, for himself and for his kingdom. 　 Fic title: The Lighthouse Link to art: Here Author name: timehasa_way Artist name: blondebitz Genre: RPS Pairing: J2 Rating: NC-17 Word count: 21,388 Warnings: top!Jensen, language/sex, some angst, AU Summary: When his adoptive mother loses her eyesight, a clueless Jensen takes her to the San Antonio Lighthouse for the Blind, an organization meant to empower, train, and educate those with her condition. Upon their first visit there, they meet Jared, a helpful volunteer who's been through a similar experience with his grandfather. Jared helps Jensen adjust by befriending him and accompanying him to blindness sensitivity training classes. Jensen comes to realize that he and Jared have a connection he can't ignore, and that this helpful volunteer could be the best thing that's ever happened to both him and the woman who raised him. 　 Fic title: Flickers Upon Cordillera Link to art: Here Author name: cyndrarae Artist name: yanyann Genre: RPS, werewolf lore AU, shifter lore AU, post-apocalyptic AU Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki (others: Jensen Ackles/Matt Cohen, Jared Padalecki/Adrianne Palicki, Jeffrey Dean Morgan/Andrew Lincoln, etc.) Rating: NC-17 Word count: ~70k Warnings: explicit m/m sex, bottom!Jared, BDSM elements, dubious consent, prostitution, non-graphic violence, character deaths, some heterosexual content, minor characters from cast of The Walking Dead Summary: It’s a brave new post-apocalyptic world. Humans no longer rule the planet, Lorics do. And at the bottom of the food chain are the shifters. This is a world pretending to be better, but racial tensions simmer thick under the surface. Then there’s Jared, genius-level shifter, pretending to be someone pretending to be Jared. And there’s Jensen, powerful Loric Alpha, falling in love with a human but accidentally bonding with a shifter. It’s an epical comedy of errors that snowballs into the biggest socio-political scandal of the millennium. One this brave new post-apocalyptic world sorely needed. 　 Fic title: The Load Link to art: Here Author name: zmphony Artist name: myukur Genre: RPF Pairing: J2 Rating: NC-17 Word count: 56k Warnings: Brief attempted non-con (not main characters), age gap, bottom!Jensen, daddy!kink, explicit sex, language. Summary: Jared had never picked up a hitch-hiker before. He’s spent the last five years behind the wheel of a semi-truck, looking down the endless black ribbon road like the barrel of a gun. This was his job – his life. It’s when he’s passing through Loveland, Colorado, a few weeks into the haul, that he sees him; sitting on the side of Route 287, a few scarce fingers from the yellow line dividing him from the wandering shoulder to Limbo, USA and instantaneous death. His thumb pokes out of a hole in his ratty black gloves, arms covered in flannel and denim, and his whole body is strapped under worn, beaten overalls. The line of his legs, constantly stepping backwards, becomes fractured at the calf where steel-toe boots begin. Overalls, Jared thinks. 　 Fic Title: Yours, Mine, and Ours Link to art: Here Author name: angelzfurys Artist name: bluefire986 Genre: Supernatural RPS Pairing: J2 - Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki Rating: NC-17 Word count: 54,000 Warnings: slight but not to detailed self harm and thoughts of suicide, not very detailed car accident with minor injury, male on male sex (just two small scenes) and some teenage sexual exploring in general. Summary: Jared and Jensen have been accidentally switched at birth. They grow up in vastly different circumstances owing to the fact that Jared is a werewolf in a family of humans who sometimes masquerades as the family dog while Jensen is the lone human in his pack and feels ever the third wheel. When the mix up is discovered it shakes up both families and opens a new can of worms for all involved. 　 Fic title: Fair Winds and Following Seas Link to art: Here Author name: riyku Artist name: phoenix1966 Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: 21,000 Warnings: age difference, mentions of permanent injury (not the main characters) Summary: Deadliest Catch AU. Keep your head down. Work hard. Never wear a hat in the wheelhouse or your luck will take a nosedive. This is the rookie advice that Jared gets in his first few days as a deckhand on board an Alaskan crabbing boat, in between catnaps and ice storms, twenty-foot seas and more near misses than he really wants to count. He also learns early mornings followed by late nights aren't enough to kill a person, but ten minutes in below freezing waters might be, and that the biggest favor he can do for himself is to try and stay on the captain's good side. Jensen rose quickly through the ranks to become one of the youngest captains the fleet has ever seen, but he has been around long enough to know that no one ever gets through a season without a few battle scars. It's Jared's quick wit, sarcastic mouth, and a particular sort of point-of-no-return look about him that makes Jensen hire Jared on a whim, reminds Jensen a little of himself fifteen years ago. There's nothing better than watching the morning break over the bow of the ship - Jensen just needs to keep Jared alive and well long enough for the kid to figure that out for himself. 　 Fic title: Breaking the Ice Link to art: Here Author name: ashtraythief Artist name: dancing_adrift Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: ~70k Summary: Jared has been harboring a crush on Jensen, the prince from the far north, ever since he was fourteen, so when his parents announce that they’ve chosen Jensen as his husband, Jared couldn’t be happier. But when Jensen arrives in Scayen, Jared realizes that there’s more to him than meets the eye — and even more that Jensen doesn’t want Jared to see. But it shouldn’t take much more than Jared’s sunny charm to melt Jensen’s icy facade, right? Except it isn’t so easy dealing with cultural differences and misunderstandings; sometimes it takes a lot of food, some good friends’ advice, a little kitten, and even a bit of magic to overcome a rocky start. 　 Fic title: Love is a Burning Thing and It Makes a Fiery Ring Link to art: Here Author name: deanshot Artist name: bflyw Genre: RPS AU Pairing: J2 Rating: NC-17 Word count: 32,759 Warnings: Bottom Jensen, scenes of fire damage Summary: Fire, one of nature’s purest forms consumes as it goes, caressing the earth in its fiery grip, like a serpents tongue it flickers and wraps its coils around living things before turning them black as life departs. Being part of the Glenveagh Fire search and rescue team was a dream job for Jared. But being part of a community that cared for each other and had no problem with Jared loving another man who happened to be the most gorgeous green eyed man he had ever met but also understood Jared’s passion for his job. Everything was going well until on a seemingly normal sunny day, one fights to stay alive while the other has to wait at his boyfriend’s base of operations. Each one living through their darkest day not knowing if they’ll see each other again. 　 Fic title: The Deeper Illusion Link to art: Here Author name: hybridshade Artist name: riverofwind Genre: RPS, AU Pairing: J2 Rating: Nc-17 Word count: 37k Warnings: includes some minor/previous pairings other than J2, dub-con situations, mind control, power imbalance, injured!Jensen Summary: Agent Jared Padalecki of the FBI's Magical Injustices Division is just doing his job when his team manages to capture high-level magic user and thief extraordinaire, Jensen Ackles. The takedown seems way too easy for Jared's liking, but Jensen refuses to divulge his motives until an attack on his life forces him to give up a name. That name is JD Morgan - an infamous mind-weaver and all-round bad guy that the MID has been quietly hunting for years. Using Jensen as bait, the Bureau decides to tie him and Jared together in more ways than one, and neither is particularly happy about the new arrangement. However, in the process of luring Morgan out into the open, Jensen's precariously kept secrets threaten to be exposed, and he and Jared may just be forced to put their lives on the line. 　 Fic title: Swallowing Matches Link to art: Here Author name: sleepypercy Artist name: emmatheslayer Genre: RPS AU Pairing: J2 Rating: NC-17 Word count: 32k Warnings: underage sexual content (younger Jared is the aggressor) starting at 13, implications of violence, actual violence, serial killers, rough sex, toxic relationships, bottom Jensen, Jensen/OMC Summary: Jared's a budding serial killer and Jensen's the boy next door who sometimes baby-sits. They've always been obsessed with each other, and Jared's always been able to get Jensen to do anything he wants. The problem is, Jared gets jealous. And when Jensen hits high school, Jared's not the only one who notices how pretty the boy is. 　 Fic title: Singularity Link to art: Here Author name: paleogymnast Artist name: lightthesparks Genre: RPS (sci fi au) Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: R Word count: 21,000 Warnings: descriptions and discussion of terrorism, war crimes, violence to children, and other unsettling subjects in a sci-fi setting; nonconsensual body modification; slavery; xenophobia; apartheid, other dystopian elements, and widespread mindf*ckery Summary: Thousands of years ago, humans left Earth and traveled to the stars. Hundreds of years later, humans left Earth once again, and founded a new home, New Terra. New Terra exists in peace, but danger lurks in her past, and the calm is nothing but a paper-thin illusion. War is returning—a centuries-old conflict between humans and "Pios," the pioneers who left earth hundreds of years before the settlers of New Terra. Will Jensen unlock the mystery of his past? Will Special Agent Jared Padalecki find the traitor responsible for the worst act of terrorism in New Terra's history? Or will their shared secrets push them towards a deeper hidden truth? 　 Fic title: Mayhem Afloat Link to art: Here Author name: candygramme and spoonlessone Artist name: thruterryseyes Genre: (rps) Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: 33,572 Warnings: Minor Character Death Summary: A cruise should be a relaxing vacation away from the worries of the everyday world, but with an international assassin running wild, not to mention a master jewel thief, relaxing is the last word Jared Padalecki would use to describe his voyage. Fortunately there's a really hot lounge singer onboard to help take his mind off things. 　 Fic title: ...and heartbreak ensued Link to art: Here Author name: cillab42 Artist name: jessie_cristo73 Genre: SPN RPF Pairing: Jared/Jensen, Chris Kane/Steve Carlson, Tom Welling/Mike Rosenbaum, Chad Michael Murray/Matt Cohen Rating: NC-17 Word count: 75,041 Warnings: mentions of abortion, miscarriage, mpreg, A/B/O, werewolves, omegaverse, top!Jensen, Bottom!Jared, suicide attempt Summary: Jared loves Jensen, he does; he just doesn’t like being an Omega. He’s assimilating, but he’ll never be the perfect Omega that society demands. After a year of hell, he’s still attempting to reconcile who he was with who he is now and the answers aren’t easy. Especially when Jared spends his free time dreaming of subjugating his Alpha and have Jensen bend to his will. Jared plans to continue to struggle against his mate’s authority until Jensen comes to the aid of two Omegas whose problem takes up Jensen’s time and awaken a jealousy in Jared he wasn’t aware he had the capacity to feel. 　 Fic title: Untitled Superheroes or Why you should never let the media decide your superhero name Link to art: Here Author name: shadowcat_spn Artist name: siennavie Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: 20k Warnings: Swearing, description of violence and injuries (minor, not too graphic), sexual situations, implied!bottom Jared Summary: Splashing color from your fingertips isn't the greatest superpower to have. But when a new villain emerges who only brings darkness it is left to a young reporter and his disabled chameleon to save the city. And maybe fall in love with his roommate along the way... Featuring Jared as a reluctant hero with a peculiar gift and a sense for bad timing, lots of color being splashed around and two boys being oblivious to what is right in front of them. Or: The hero and the villain unknowingly share a flat. 　 Fic title: Blues in the Night Link to art: Here Author name: oobydooby67 Artist name: beelikej Genre: J2 RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: 33,000 Warnings: Vampire AU, blood, blood kink, graphic sex, PTSD, WWII, graphic violence, depiction of war, minor character death, implied character death, torture, angst, explicit sex/language. Summary: The search for a missing elder leads Jensen to Los Angeles, California. It is his responsibility to question contacts and connections about Tyman, who has not been heard from or seen in a year. Frustrated with the search, Jensen meets a human who claims to have had a casual relationship with Tyman. Jared trades information for two pastrami sandwiches and ten thousand dollars. Unfortunately, after the trade, Jensen is no closer to finding Tyman, and a lot closer to Jared than he ever thought possible. 　 Fic title: The Wounded Don't Cry Link to art: Here Author name: pinkisgoth Artist name: sinnerforhire Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: PG-13 (technically under the MPAA: R for language) Word count: 87k Summary: When artist Jensen Ackles moved to the Pacific Northwest from the southwest with his family – adoptive father Jeff and adoptive brothers Chris and Quinn – it gave him a chance to paint a whole new world of mountains and forest at the beautiful plateau near Mount Rainier. Two years later, disaster struck when Jensen was the victim of a violent attack that left his hands permanently injured to the point that he could no longer paint. During the two years since then, he has spent days helping his father and brother at the farm, café and draft horse rescue that has become the center of their lives on the plateau while slowly recovering, physically and mentally. One day their world is shaken when their new neighbor – a local tycoon infamous for his ruthless business methods – informs them that the survey line on their property is wrong and they are about to lose almost a third of their pasture to him. That is, unless one of them can work for him for a year, in which case he will deed over the property. Jensen goes to work for their mysterious new neighbors – coffee magnate Jared Padalecki and his lawyer Matt Cohen – but is shocked to discover one of his own paintings hanging in the house. As the past is slowly revealed and revisited, their lives are increasingly intertwined until the fateful day where all their lives may be changed – or destroyed – forever. 　 Fic title: Gladiator: A love story Link to art: Here Author name: zara_zee Artist name: evian_fork Genre: J2 RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: 29,930 Warnings: violence, minor and spn-canon character deaths, torture, references to animal deaths, references to executions, m/m sex, slavery, branding, corporal punishment, non-con touching, attempted assault, non-graphic references to non-con and dub-con, fanciful Romanization of names, anachronistic language. Probably. Well it’s not ancient Latin, anyway. Summary: As a second son, Jensen Akelsen of Cimbria will never inherit the family farm, so he travels to Rome with a trader to join the Auxilia—the non-citizen corps of the Roman Imperial Army. Unfortunately, Jensen’s travel companion proves less than trustworthy and he finds himself sold into slavery. Jensen’s fighting skills see him bought by Ludus Armentarius, the training school which owns the most popular—and most terrifying—gladiator in all of Rome; the infamous Colossus, Jared of Illyria. Bitterly angry and struggling to adjust, the very last thing Jensen expects to find in his new life is friendship, romance and love. 　 Fic title: You're My Mortal Flaw; I'm Your Fatal Sin Link to art: Here Author name: backrose_17 Artist name: banbury Genre: RPS AU Pairing: Jensen/Jared Rating: Mature with a few NC-17 scenes Word count: 31,522 Warnings: Minor character death, top!Jensen, bottom!Jared, child trauma Summary: Jared has always been a fan of heroes and hopes to someday be the sidekick to his favorite hero the Dragon. What he didn't expect was one of the Dragon's worst villains to kill his parents and his life changed forever after that night. Being the adopted son of his hero's alter ego Jeffrey Dean Morgan Jared vows to do whatever it takes to prove himself to Jeff that he is a worthy hero. The day that Jensen Ackles and the new villain Chaos arrive into his life Jared's world is altered once again. Jared finds himself swept off his feet by Jensen and unable to say no to Chaos as Tempest. He has no clue what Chaos and Jensen are the same people, they, on the other hand, have known for a while who he is and plan to never let him go. If Jared knew what was waiting for him in the shadows he would have been happy dealing with the fact that his boyfriend was a dangerous villain. 　 Fic title: Muse FM Link to art: Here Author name: cleflink Artist name: dollarformyname Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: PG Word count: 31,920 Warnings: Fantasy violence Summary: Jared's job is boring, boring, boring. As a night security guard, he protects empty buildings by sitting on his ass and watching the security cameras while listening to a lot of talk radio. Not exactly the life he dreamed of for himself but hey, it's a living. When he gets chosen for a new job babysitting the front desk at Muse FM radio station, Jared's mostly expecting more of the same. He's not expecting Jensen, the mysterious, hoodie-wearing host of Muse FM's overnight show, to catch his interest quite so thoroughly, or to be quite so difficult to figure out. He's not expecting so many unanswered questions about what, exactly, he's supposed to be protecting Jensen from. He's also not expecting to care so much about either of those things. Oh, and he's definitely not expecting the monsters. 　 Fic title: Shipwreck Between Your Ribs Link to art: Here Author name: cherie_morte Artist name: cassiopeia7 Genre: RPS Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word count: 40,913 Warnings: Explicit sexual content and mental illness (supernaturally induced depression, suicidal ideation). Consent issues typical of selkie tales are not present between the main pairing but are discussed. Summary: AU: All Jensen wanted was a nice month at the beach. What he got was an over-affectionate seal that happens to turn into a hot guy when no one else is around. Jared makes Jensen’s summer better than he ever could have expected, but when his vacation is up and he has to return to the real world, Jensen finds that he's fallen in love with someone who can only truly love the ocean. 　 SAM/DEAN Fic title: Sometimes Love Don't Feel Like It Should Link to art: Here Author name: amypond45 Artist name: stormbrite Genre: Wincest Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: PG-13 for show-level violence, sexual suggestiveness, bad language, dark themes Word count: 27,784 Warnings: suggested non-con, self-harm, addiction, sibling incest (not explicit) Summary: Investigating a rodent problem in the bunker, Sam and Dean find a magic door that reveals alternate realities, worlds that came into being when Dean made different choices throughout his life, sometimes disastrous ones. When Dean finds another version of his little brother, one who is wounded and alone and needs his help, his instincts lead to potential disaster as he learns that things aren't always what they seem. 　 Fic title: Flyover States Link to art: Here Author name: tardisonameter Artist name: badbastion Genre: Wincest Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: NC-17 Word count: 32,000 Warnings: sexual content, canon-typical violence, angst Summary: Sam's world tips on its axis after his girlfriend dies in a fire and his brother is the only thing that keeps him from drowning. Despite his every intention to hunt down the demon that killed both Jessica and his mother 22 years ago and then returning to his studies, that plan grows more and more distant. The ever-presence of Dean's care morphs into something else over time, born from the need for comfort and fueled by danger and desperation, and Sam realizes something about the both of them. But transitioning from being brothers that are just beginning to find their way around each other again to something more, something that could potentially destroy them for good, is anything but easy. 　 Fic title: Seven Rows of Seven Link to art: Here Author name: smalltrolven Artist name: tx_devilorangel Genre: Wincest Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: NC-17 Word count: 28,500 Summary: Soulless Sam reconsiders the leprechaun’s offer to retrieve his soul from the Cage. As they leave Elwood, Indiana behind them, Soulless Sam reads the fairy spell book in the car and weighs the pros and cons of giving up the freedom of being without a soul. Due to a series of ill-considered decisions, the payment of boons owed to the fairies cause changes to the brothers' relationship that have been a lifetime in the making. 　 Fic title: The lost plateau - The lost daughter Link to art: Here Author name: siriala Artist name: kuwlshadow Genre: Wincest AU, partial fusion with The Lost World Pairing: Dean/Sam Rating: NC-17 Word count: 30k Warnings: hurt Dean and hurt Sam, bottom!Sam, top!Dean, human Castiel, animalistic Impala, dinosaurs, ghosts and demons Summary: Still trapped on the plateau without the first clue about a way to escape, the members of the Campbell-Singer expedition settle in their new lives through more adventures and strange discoveries : backbreaking work down in the mines, ghosts and monsters, deadly volcano and ceremonial caverns ! The Winchester brothers and their allies might stand a chance of surviving all foes and obstacles if they prove smarter than the traitor in their midst, ready to take advantage of their weaknesses to get what he wants more than anything. Notes : this fic is a sequel to my 2016 bigbang, The lost plateau – The lost brother. If you haven't read it, you'll find everything you need to know in the new story. 　 Fic title: I Wanna Live With You (Even When We‘re Ghosts) Link to art: Here Author name: runedgirl Artist name: alexxkah Genre: Wincest Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: NC-17 Word count: 23,400 Warnings: Character death (Dean is a ghost), suicidal ideation Summary: The Winchesters learned a long time ago that it takes more than death to part them. But Dean didn’t count on two things when he decided to stick around – Sam harbors feelings that aren’t just brotherly for him, and Bobby was right about what eventually happens to ghosts. 　 Fic title: Moments Lost Link to art: Here Author name: milly_gal Artist name: stormbrite Genre: Wincest Pairing: Sam/Dean. Pre-Crowley/Castiel Rating: NC-17 Word count: 29,780 Warnings: Temporary Major Character Death. Suicide. Blood, guts and gore. Dark Themes. Time Travelling Winchesters Summary: Sam's gone, Dean's barely holding on, and Castiel - well, Castiel's left nursing a man who's already given up. When Dean decides The Empty would be preferable to a life without his brother, Castiel has to find a way to scrub the red from his clothes and fix the world, a world that needs the Winchesters. It takes a deal with a deity who wants nothing more than to see the Winchesters burn, a reforming of old friendships, and an alliance with an unholy creature to bring Sam back into play and stop Dean making a cataclysmic mistake (again). Now, all that's stopping the universe being shredded is a group of individuals that make absolutely no sense: two desperate and disheveled Hunters, one half flaccid Angel, and a Demon who doesn't know which side of the fence he's sitting on any more. Can Dean let go of this Sam? Will Crowley finally pick a side? Can Castiel live with his guilt? Who knows, but one thing is set in stone: The Winchesters and their family never give up without a fight and they'll take whoever they need to, down with them. 　 Fic title: (Only) the Gods Can Dwell Forever Link to art: Here Author name: swan_song21 Artist name: blackrabbit42 Genre: wincest Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester Rating: NC-17 Word count: +34k Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence Summary: In his desperation to save his brother from The Mark of Cain, Sam makes a pact with Ishtar, the Sumerian goddess of love. The story follows Sam as he struggles to finish his quest, and comes to terms with his relationship with Dean. Only to discover that the solution has been with him all along. 　 Fic title: Stillness in Winter Link to art: Here Author name: glasslogic Artist name: blythechild Genre: Wincest - unrelated , slash Pairing: Dean/Sam Rating: R Word count: 34k Warnings: Vampires, Murder and slow, sleepy sex Summary: As the world around him gives up its autumn colors and settles down into the long cold of winter, Sam's own body is finally slowing into its own kind of hibernation. Deep in the mountains with only Dean and a broken laptop for company, isolation is their best defense against the outside world during the vulnerability of Sam's transformation. Sam didn't expect becoming a vampire to be easy, but he didn't expect almost a decade of being mind-numbingly bored either. He should have remembered that the world has cures for boredom – and the cure is always worse than the disease.　 Fic title: The Many Bitchfaces of Sam Winchester Link to art: Here Author name: majestic_duxk Artist name: stargazingchola Genre: Gen Rating: PG Word count: 22400 Warnings: canonical death, but not all canonical deaths, show level violence, spn au, John Winchester neutral, canon verse, canon divergent, brotherly relationship, angst, misunderstandings Summary: Sam's always had a way with words. Dean's always admired it, respected it. But what he can do with a single facial expression? That's pure genius. 　 Fic title: A Step Beyond Logic Link to art: Here Author name: firesign10 Artist name: red_b_rackham Genre: Gen Rating: R Word count: 20,760 Warnings: Major Character Death, Side Character Deaths Summary: When Gadreel kills Kevin, it triggers a series of personal losses and grief that devastate Dean. He continues to hunt, but travels a path of moral ambiguity, self-searching, and analysis that ultimately leads him to take drastic action. Working with Rowena, Dean confronts God (Chuck) and seeks to violently reshape the world on a scale that even the Winchesters have never attempted before. Fic title: Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death Link to art: Here Author name: ameraleigh Artist name: kuwlshadow Genre: SPN AU Pairing: Dean/Cas Rating: R Word count: 31191 Warnings: character death, sexual content, horror elements Summary: When Sam came home, they thought that their troubles would be over. That they could get back the normal life they craved so much but when the demon who had spent more than a decade torturing them threatens to take away everything and everyone they love; Sam and Dean are forced to team up with Crowley via a binding spell. Instead of normal they are forced to deal with the horrors of time travel, curses, evil spirits, the devil and a weapon that could potentially blow up their entire lives. Continues on from His Name Was Death and Hell Followed with Him. Fic title: Curse Breaker Link to art: Here Author name: all_the_damned Artist name: m14mouse Genre: Supernatural AU Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Castiel, Dean/Sam/Castiel Rating: NC-17 Word count: 50,722 Warnings: Mystery, Horror, Memory manipulation, Spells and curses, Light blasphemy, Brief references to torture--including sexual assault and mutilation, War, Demon deals, Hellhounds, Blood drinking, Slavery, Immortality, Deception and lies, Sibling Rivalry, Wings, Rimming, Biting, Anal, Hand feeding, Humiliation, Service Submission, Magically induced asexuality, Complicated book restoration Summary: In Heaven, all angels bow to Michael, immortal god and supreme ruler, the architect of peace and order. At his command, Castiel, a humble librarian, is sent to Hell to serve as ambassador, the liaison between regimented Heaven and unruly Hell. Castiel doesn't feel up to the task, especially after meeting Lord Winchester, the charismatic and cruel ruler of a large territory in Hell. At Winchester Hall Castiel finds secrets, lies and manipulations. But he may also find the answer to the disturbing dreams that have long disrupted his sleep. Fic title: Sweets For My Sweet Link to art: Here Author name: ascn Artist name: knowmefirst Genre: SPN AU Pairing: Sabriel Rating: NC-17 Word count: 24k Warnings: Gore, Murder, Blood, Blood-play, Mental Illness, Hallucinations, Injury, Bleeding, Serial Killers, Psychology, mentions of abuse, mentions of sex trafficking, death Summary: Serial killers Sam Winchester and Gabriel Novak dole out their brand of poetic justice as the Karma Killers, disposing of those who have slipped through the law's fingers. After a botched kill tears them apart, leaving Gabriel in jail and Sam floundering on his own, the two Killer lovebirds have to find a way to be together, or die trying. 　 from Supernatural and J-Squared Big Bang Challenge! http://ift.tt/2ucrgza

[bcnniedrcgov]

                                      I will ask you for mercy                                      I will come to you blind                              What you’ll see is the worst me                                      Not the last of my kind     ( trigger warnings; blood / physical & emotional abuse ).

It was a constant talk around the town, the stupid dead people coming back to life and taking over peoples vision. It was comical to the woman, when after all the times she managed to see her father sitting in the corner of the bar watching her, confronting the male was never on her list of things to do, not after the amount of things she had to go through while he was alive. There was multiple occasions she ran into him while walking home late at night, but never once did she jump in fear or start crying like those around her; a simple laugh and shake of the head was enough for her, even when he touched her for the first time a few nights ago, grabbing onto her arm to stop her from walking away from him and the flashbacks of the abuse constantly rushing through her head but soon pushed away but her newly founded carefree nature.

“You can’t hit me anymore, can’t throw me around like your little ragdoll. I killed you months ago,” it was a simple hiss of words that came out of the females mouth, words that could’ve been as venomous as a snake if she said them with more anger towards the skinwalker but she simple hissed it without a simple tinge of anger lingering after they were said as she moved her body away from such a thing and towards the apartment not far from the bar and locking the door behind her, flopping her body on the couch and crashing for her usual two hours a night and doing it all over again the next day. Waking Thalia up with loud music from the radio and her singing along, acting as though the night before never happened while seeing her father, putting it off as a constant state of being drunk from the amount of liquor she would pour into her body between drinks at the bar.

Well that was until June twentieth rolled around. The day that would be stuck in the hunters memory for possible years to come.

“Ugh,” the voice echoed around her, ringing in her ears as she lifted her arm and draped it over her eyes in a matter of annoyance, the sun shining through the slightly opened curtains behind her, her body half on the couch and half leaning off towards the floor, an empty beer bottle laying on it’s side next to her slim fingers. Her head pounded to the point she felt as though anyone could visibly see the sides of her head pulsing with her heartbeat as she finally pushed herself up onto the couch, groaning at the aches that moved through her body and her eyes squinted as she attempted to finally look at everything around her, worried she wasn’t anywhere she remembered until she saw the photograph of herself and Thalia on the side table by her feet, letting out a relieved sigh at the fact she made it home the night before. “Fuck,” she whispered once again before reaching onto the floor to grab her phone by one of her shoes that seemed to be kicked off lazily before her body flopped onto the couch the night before, checking the time that flashed up.

Six forty five in the evening. Narrowing her eyes, Bonnie slowly slid off the couch and onto the chilled floor as her eyes kept focus on the numbers being shown to her, watching as the five turned into a six within a good thirty seconds. “What --- the hell?” She questioned herself, almost as though she was waiting for someone to answer her despite the quietness in the house, surrounding her like a warm blanket. Sleep hadn’t been something that Bonnie did much of after the carnival, usually only needing a quick hour nap before being at it once again, her body on a constant high. Today -- well today was different, the air felt heavier and her head pounded as she finally got the hangover of the past few days of drinking non-stop as a sense to have fun for once in her godforsaken life. Today, well today she didn’t feel giddy or energetic. Instead she felt nothing but sick and heavy.

Making her way to the bathroom was the longest journey of her life in those four minutes, her body aching and her want for a hot shower was taking over her sense as she finally opened the curtain and turned on the water, turning around and looking at herself in the mirror before wrinkling her nose at the mascara that was now matted under her now bloodshot eyes and chapped lips making an appearance as soon as she scanned her face towards her chin. Rolling her eyes, she tore her sweater off to leave her in her tank top, allowing her arms and shoulders to breathe before she soaked them in the now steaming shower. “Bonnie.” The voice was close, causing the woman to turn around quickly, unable to understand where it was coming from in the small bathroom that hadn’t been touched. Opening the door to step out into the chilled air of the rest of the apartment, Bonnie looked left then right in hopes to find it being Jamie or Thalia -- someone just begging for the bathroom before she stood under the water for a good hour to free her body of the hangover she was undergoing, but it was silence. Rolling her eyes at her own mind playing tricks on her, she closed and locked the door behind her and wiped down the mirror that was now fogged with steam and her heart jumped and an inaudible scream came from her lips as she saw the face of her father behind her, staring at her with his usual hatred eyes.

“You’re not real,” she whispered, mostly to herself as she closed her eyes tightly, knowing like other times that he would disappear into the back of her brain once again but this time was different. When she opened her eyes, there was a hand around her throat and his face inches away form her own, fear instantly taking the place of tiredness in her eyes, hands moving up to grip onto the hand that was holding onto her throat, small body being tossed to the side and onto the ground with a loud thud -- something that would’ve startled anyone else that was in the house in that time. The steam began to move at a quicker pace around them, filling Bonnie’s lungs with it’s musky texture, the hotness of the water making it’s mark as the hunter slowly pushed herself up against the doors of the shower, almost wanting to hiss from the slight burning sensation that went against her left shoulder. “You’re not fucking real!” She finally screamed, hands almost trying to grip onto the floorboards around her.

That was when the fist came down, instant taste of blood formed in the hunters mouth, her hand slowly lifting up to see the sight of red liquid soak against her fingertips from the newly made split in her lips, a gasp coming from her mouth as she finally realized she had no other choice but to get out of the bathroom while she could. “Fuck ---- you,” she hissed towards the male across from her, using her fight or flight instinct to push her body off the floor and dodge underneath one of the next swings that were directed to her and made her way towards the door, only for her so-called father to grab hold of her arm, twisting it to the right extent and push her against the body-long mirror on the back of the door. She could almost hear a satisfied chuckle coming from him behind her body as she could feel the part of her cheek slowly heating up painfully from the glass that was almost soaked with the condensed, hot steam. Sweat began to form on her body from the amount of clothing she was still wearing in the steaming bathroom that was now causing her breathing to hitch, trying to push the skinwalker off her body but failing to do so from his strength. 

“Look at yourself. Look at yourself, for fuck sakes! You’re such a fucking disgrace for a daughter, so useless and dependent. No wonder everyone god damn hates you in this place,” he hissed as he gripped onto the hair on the back of her head, yanking her head back and throwing her onto the floor once again, another backhand to her face. “Gonna fight back or cry like the lazy little bitch you are?” The words continued to echo in Bonnie’s ears, her now-learned hunter instincts going out the window as she heard her father’s insults take hold of her, slowly turning her back into the small child that was petrified to even say a sentence incorrectly to the elder before her. She wanted to beg for forgiveness, wanted to beg him to stop but the wind was knocked out of her when she felt the kick to her stomach, her small body sliding towards the shower door once again, her back lightly touching it but the burning sensation that would’ve hurt a few minutes ago was numb to her senses. If she was in the right mind, she would curse herself for telling the skinwalker about her past -- spilling her guts so easily to someone that looked like her father with the knowledge of knowing he was dead. 

“Stop ---- stop, please!” She began to finally beg, after the second hit to the gut, this time with his hand. She could feel the bruises begin to form on her stomach and the side of her face, her lip stinging from the cut he had made not long before. Tears finally fell down the woman’s face as any sense of happiness and happiness for life began to fall through her feet and into the earth, burying itself deep into it’s core as sobs filled the bathroom. Eyes closed as she begged for the male to leave, to just leave her alone to heal, to leave her alone long enough for her to gain up some strength to actually fight a dead man. Strength to live up to the name that was given to her, but instead she laid on the bathroom floor with tears streaming down her face and her small body curling up into a ball she hadn’t put her body in since her first beating, since her brother had walked in and told her that he’d keep her safe from it. 

“Go away, go away!” The hunter screamed as she heard the door opening, all the steam moving into the other areas of the house but her sobs were the thing that caused her roommate to run to the area of the house Bonnie was paralyzed in, sobs breaking through her and only causing the pains in her stomach to become worse by the second. “Go away,” she repeated like a mantra, almost unaware of the disappearance of her father and appearance of Thalia turning the shower off and kneeling in front of her, make-up stained tears clinging on her cheeks and body shaking violently on the floor of the bathroom. “Please, please just stop,” she whispered quietly before silence was heard from the hunter, other than the sobs that were still ripping through her.

[the-record-columns]

September 5, 2018: Columns

Marjorie Roberts about to open up another block of Jenkins finest on Livermush Monday

Americana Day and Livermush Monday

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

What an amazing fun weekend we were treated to this Labor Day!

At 11 a. m. on Saturday morning, the ridge on E Street in North Wilkesboro where The Record Park is located simply broke out in music when the 13th Annual Americana Day Youth Music program began. 

This event, hosted by The Record, pays tribute to our local VFW Post and its Honor Guard with a special day of music, made all the more special by the fact that the players are all under 18 years of age.

 Clearly, bluegrass and Americana music is safely in the hands of some very talented young people. 

At noon, as is our custom during events at The Record Park, the American flag was raised by the VFW Post 1142's Honor Guard. After Post Chaplain Larry Reavis led everyone in the Pledge of Allegiance, 12-year-old Libby Harbour played the Star Spangled Banner on her fiddle.  The sun was bright, the wind was calm, the soldiers and the crowd stood at attention, and the silence was broken by only by Libby's perfectly played rendition of our National Anthem. I said it then, and I'll say it again now, it would bring a tear to the eye of a stone statue.

And so it went for the rest of the day. Youngsters like 8-year-old Lake Carver played and sang with a stage presence that completely belied their youth. Two others, Heidi Holloway and Devin Huie, have both played at 12 Americana Days, and are about to age out of this event. They thankfully both have a future in music that we will all get to enjoy for the years to come.

Americana Day 2018 was truly a beautiful day with beautiful children, and a musical treat for everyone which will be long remembered. Thank you to all who helped.

Then comes Labor Day Monday morning, and I find myself in Carl White's studio with Allen Langley, our mutual friend from Shelby, N.C., recording a podcast with Carl. These podcasts, as Carl says, will tell the story behind the stories.  From there we head up NC Hwy 268 West to beautiful downtown Ferguson to introduce Allen to an event like no other, The Grocery Basket Café, 86 year-old Marjorie Roberts, and a unique musical experience known simply as Livermush Monday. 

Some 15 years ago, musicians and others who attended the fiddlers convention in Happy Valley near Ferguson, and didn't leave on Sunday evening to go home, found themselves looking for a bit of breakfast on Monday. The Grocery Basket Café was nearby, Marjorie is an angel on this earth, and in no time a few folks began to bring along their fiddles and banjos and such, and Livermush Monday was born. Sometimes there are as many as 15-20 people in a loose circle; one person will start a song and the others will jump in, playing everything from "Froggy went a Courtin'" to "Will the Circle be Unbroken."  If you can't pat your foot at Livermush Monday, you have a broken leg. 

 A few years ago, through our connections with Allen and Carl, Marc Mauney with Jenkins Foods in Shelby was contacted and Marc cheerfully took on a de-facto sponsorship, providing Jenkins Livermush for the event.  He spent a lot of time in Wilkes and surrounding areas and we came to know him as a man who didn't mind working hard and who had a heart of gold.  Sadly, we lost Marc last year in September to a heart attack, but it was truly uplifting to speak with many of his customers in Wilkes--to them he was far more than just Jenkins Foods, he really had become their friend on many, many levels. Marc Mauney's legacy was well-remembered on Monday.

I spent several hours on Monday at the Grocery Basket Café with Carl, Allen, and a full house of folks from Icard to Ireland--all with a common bond--a love of family, friendship, music and especially love for a wonderful soul who had just celebrated her 86th birthday, Marjorie Roberts.

Her smile would open the vaults at Fort Knox.

What a great weekend, full of music and smiling faces from 8 to 86.

 Standing Up

By LAURA WELBORN

There is so much in the news these days revealing the destruction that has been wrought from keeping things secret.  

The Me Too movement came from this: the Catholic Church that kept secret the years of abuse by priests and the pharmaceutical companies’ promotion of opioids.  Both have been destroying lives with well intentioned people hiding the truth to protect institutions or companies with little regard to the lives lost.

Yesterday, a friend of mine gave me the book “Dopesick-Dealers, Doctors and the Drug Company that addicted America” by Beth Macy.

The book documents how opioid pain drugs got their start in the 90’s and where they were first heavily marketed.  That first market was Appalachia.  Wilkes County is part of that region.  

We have the highest number of opioid addicted people of any county in the state. I help people everyday who started out on painkillers from an injury or post surgery and ended up unintentionally addicted.  

How big is our problem?

Wilkes County has one of the highest rate of opioid-related deaths per capita in the state.  In 2016, Wilkes County saw 25 such deaths compared to 10 fatalities by car crashes (many car crashes are related to impairment by alcohol/drugs- which are related to people taking painkillers (opioids) while driving).

In her book, Macy talks about the marketing of the drug OxyContin. It used preliminary and ultimately flawed scientific studies heralding the “less than 1 percent” addiction rate from observations of hospital use of opioid pain relievers. The critical part left out was a 56 percent addiction rate after patients left the hospital and tried handle their pain.

The book talks about Purdue Pharma’s marketing of OxyContin for all kinds of chronic pain, not just cancer, and claimed it was safe and reliable. Pardue sales reps get bonuses for the number of Appalachia doctors they convinced to prescribe Opioids.  They fanned out, evangelizing doctors and dentists in all 50 states with the message “prescribing OxyContin for pain is the moral, responsible and compassionate thing to do for people with back injuries, wisdom-tooth surgery and bronchitis.” The wave of Opioid addiction that followed could not be called moral, responsible or compassionate.

The 1996 introduction of OxyContin coincided with pain being defined as “the fifth vital sign.” Traditionally, temperature, blood pressure, respiratory rate, and heart rate were considered the vital signs, and all could be easily measured and recorded. Pain level was different. In 1999, the Joint Commission on Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations approved new mandatory standards for the assessment and treatment of pain.  But, unlike the other four vital signs, pain could not be externally measured.  Patients were asked to assess their own pain and the goal was no pain.  Sales rates and profits for opioid producing pharmaceutical companies skyrocketed.  The movement of opioid pain relief had begun and with it the cover up of the devastation and death from addiction.  

The book describes several physicians and advocates who tried to stop this movement but were largely ignored.  It is the advocates who interest me. The people working to uncover wrong and stop harm. What separates these people willing to risk their own careers, comfort and peace to advocate for the most vulnerable? Is it the power of love and not the love of power?  People who are willing to stand up against wrong and challenge rules and institutions when they see harm are a special breed.  I think every time we challenge something we see as wrong we are doing God’s greatest work.  

Laura Welborn is a Licensed Clinical Addiction Specialist with Donlin Counseling Services.  See www.Donlincounseling.com

  Enemies of Israel Pay the Price

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

Israel has a long history of standing up to bullies and their threats. They require not only an Iron Dome but also an iron fist, occasionally wrapped in a velvet glove, to protect her land and her people. 

One of the first bullies to unleash taunts and threats against Israel was the Philistine giant Goliath. His military stance—and the future king of Israel’s response—is an example of how to stand up to bullies, whether individuals or nations. 

Before David showed up at the battlefield, things weren’t going well. Goliath’s intimidation tactics were working. Fear had paralyzed King Saul’s army.  Nine-feet tall, armored to the teeth, and toting a formidable 14-kilo spear, this guy trained hard and was combat-seasoned. But above all, he was BIG. Israel’s present-day enemies are also “big”— in the sheer numbers of anti-Zionists, radical Islamists, and hostile leftists, globalists and thugs spewing threats, lies and insults like a giant corporate Goliath.  

Due to fear, no soldier was willing to confront the giant. But fear is what feeds bullies. The best way to neutralize intimidation is to run at it with the right weapon in hand, which David did. Even school counselors in America, which is facing a rash of bullying, advises kids to look the bully in the eye without hesitation and stand their ground. Bullying only increases “when the bully realizes his victim is not going to stand up for himself,” says author Signe Whitson. 

But the truth is, Goliath didn’t have much going for himself except for his colossal size.

His presumed victory was so narrowly focused on bigness that he rashly provoked a one-on-one contest—based not just on ancient custom but also on his own arrogance—that would haunt his people for years: “If [David] can fight and kill me, then we will become [Israel’s] subjects.”

Goliath’s gigantic ego was his undoing. His imperious belief in himself blinded his judgment and limited his focus. The mighty warrior —crippled by inadequate intelligence (in more ways than one)—underestimated his opponent. Could history be repeating itself?

In the giant’s eyes, David didn’t have much going for him. He was young and seemed inexperienced for war. After all, he had no armor or helmet, spear or sword.

Nor did he anticipate David’s speed, training, or motivation: David, zealous for Israel and the G-d of Israel, was appalled that an “uncircumcised Philistine” [defied] the armies of the living G-d.” (1 Sam. 17:26)

Mustered by Saul, David “ran quickly” toward Goliath and hurled a fatal stone into his forehead. The giant fell hard and before the shocked Philistines could react, David again “ran,” grabbed Goliath’s sword, and severed his head. 

Unbeknownst to Goliath, David did train for adversity—as a shepherd under sometimes dangerous conditions. The flock’s enemies were his own enemies. He perfected his aim with a sling while guarding the sheep entrusted to his care. When a lion or bear attacked, David killed them head-on thus delivering the sheep from their jaws and laws. His training helped him develop an intense motivation foreign to Goliath’s low mentality. David’s heart was for Israel and for the G-d of Israel. This made him fearless.

Israel has had its share of lions, bears and Goliaths. They still stalk, sniffing at the borders, probing for vulnerabilities. They still brag, threaten and incite violence and fearmonger. 

But they underestimate and fail to understand Israel, whose founding documents, laws and defense forces have a different motivation and moral code than to rob, hate, kill and destroy. Israel does not sacrifice its people to lions and bears—it defends them. 

As in David’s day, present-day “Goliaths” know nothing of the G-d of Israel’s love for the land and people of Israel. David knew, so he was not afraid to face Goliath—or the “giants” that followed. It is also why he won a seemingly asymmetrical battle.

Let us run, with Israel, toward this band of giants, who share not just the attitude of the Goliath of old, but who also are making the same errors in judgment. Whether our slings are the written or spoken word, diplomacy, a timely vote, or another gift, let’s use it faithfully and fearlessly just as David did.

  An Invitation to Come Back

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

It was an umbrella day for our cameras and everyone else in Shelby NC, and a lot of people had traveled to the town square for the much-anticipated opening of the Earl Scruggs Center.  Earl Eugene Scruggs was born in the nearby farming community of Flint Hill. Growing up, he had been surrounded by brothers and sisters who played the banjo and guitar, so it’s no surprise that they had a significant influence on his life.

The surprise, however, may have come when, at the age of twenty-one, Earl was invited to join Bill Monroe’s Bluegrass Boys. This was just the beginning. Three years later he and Lester Flatt left the Bluegrass Boys and formed the Foggy Mountain Boys; before long the group was simply know as Flat and Scruggs. In 1955 the group joined the Grand Ole Opry and soon the incredibly successful Martha White brand sponsorship become synonymous with the sounds of Bluegrass music. Martha White Self-Rising Flour with Hot Rise “Goodness Gracious, It’s Good” became a common expression of the day.  

Another significant public success came in 1962 with their release of "The Ballad of Jed Clampett" on the TV show The Beverly Hillbillies. Flat and Scruggs were guests on the show several times over the years.

The Flat and Scruggs band parted ways in 1969 and Earl went on to organize the Earl Scruggs Revue. They enjoyed much success and the three finger Scruggs style of banjo playing has charmed hundreds of millions of music listeners and players around the world.

The Earl Scruggs Center is located in the middle of the historic Shelby Town  Square in the old Court House and is all about the music and stories of the American South. I met a lot of great people on the opening day of the Scruggs Center, and we produced a good segment for Life in the Carolinas on the day’s activities.

After I finished my interviews I was leaving by one of the side doors of the center. I was greeted by someone saying, "Hi, Carl, welcome to Shelby. I’m Allen Langley and I’m a fan of your show."

We had a pleasant conversation, and Allen invited me to come back to Shelby and he gave me a list of things that he thought would be good stories. He shared his contact number and said he would be happy to assist in any way that he could. I come to discover that Allen was right about Cleveland County and he was also true to his word; when I called, he was very helpful in assisting with producing stories in Cleveland County. Allen leads a very busy life running his business activities. He is an active Rotarian, serves on various boards and has a big heart for those in need, with all that going on he found the time to help anyway. Allen is a good friend to have.

I was glad to discover that The American Legion World Series now calls Shelby NC its permanent home. When I met Eddie Holbrook, co-chairmen of the Executive Committee of the American Legion World Series, I came to understand the true power of his community.

I witnessed hundreds of people working together on projects that benefit their community at large. Eddie was the first to tell me that it’s always a team effort. And those around him told me of his tireless work and comment to benefiting everyone.

It seems like that’s the way community champions should be.I’ve been invited to return many times and I have always enjoyed by visits and continued new discoveries.

You can email Carl at Carl@lifeinthecarolinas.com Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its seventh year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturdays at noon. For more on the show visit  www.lifeinthecarolinas.com You can also catch episodes of Life In The Carolinas on Amazon Prime

[benibarahirano]

Living Louder (1)

Uzumaki Kushina dies amongst carnage, bloodied and weakened but blazing bright and magnificent nonetheless.

She awakens in a similar state.

The first few years of her new life are filled with nightmares and screaming, so much screaming. Every time she closes her eyes she’s overcome with memories of excruciating pain and paralyzing fear, except she can’t freeze up now, Minato needs her, Naruto needs her —

The Kyuubi looms, red and furious and murderous, and destroys all that she loves.

Her new mother is bewildered and exhausted, nearly driven out of her mind from her nonstop screaming. She’s apologetic about the trouble, she really is, but there’s a certain catharsis in screaming your terrors from your mind, chasing them away for a precious little time before they creep back into your dreams again.

And for all that she’s bold and confident and Kushina, her death is perfect fodder for nightmares and trauma. October tenth was just one clusterfuck of a night, first with her finally giving birth to her son (which she will never, ever regret, but seriously, no one ever prepared her for just how painful it would be), being attacked and nearly having a heart attack as the masked man stole her son (the son of a bitch, she didn’t spend hours pushing and feeling like she was being torn in half for this shit), being stolen by the masked man, having the fox ripped from her body, being left for dead (death by giant fox paw isn’t exactly glorious), forcing her half-dead body to chain the Kyuubi, and finally, finally, having a claw the size of the Hokage tower gouging her body. 

It’s no wonder she’s traumatized.

But Kushina — or Akane, as she’s apparently now called — is strong, a blade forged in fire. She survived a war and the destruction of her homeland, she became the human sacrifice necessary to hold the demon fox, and she is used to loss. 

So she allows herself to grieve, to rage, to scream, but she picks herself up and builds herself up again.  

Kushina (because Akane is just too weird, it’s... not her) grows older, and she realizes that while her mother is always there, pale and tired and drawn, she doesn’t remember seeing a father anywhere.

He comes when she’s three.

Father is a large, severe man, hulking muscles and grim countenance, and from the moment he enters the room Kushina knows something’s not right. Her mother folds in on herself and can’t seem to meet his eyes, and Kushina sees those slim, delicate hands trembling before they’re tucked into apron pockets. There’s a sense of wrongness in the air, something heavy and suffocating, and she forces herself quiet, to observe better.

The man approaches, looks down at her with clinical interest. “Is this her?”

“Y-yes.” Mother’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Has she manifested a Quirk yet?”

Quirk? 

Mother, impossibly, seems to shrink in on herself even more. “N-no. Not yet.”

The man’s face twists and before she knows what’s going on, Mother is on the floor, shaking uncontrollably, her long hair gripped in one meaty hand as the man yanks her up and hurls verbal abuse at her, and —

Kushina knows battle. But she doesn’t know battles like this, has never been so intimately confronted with such horrors within the walls of her own house, where she is supposed to be safe.

And Kushina? She’s a woman who fought in a war.

The chains, when they come, are familiar. Through the blinding rage she feels a measure of relief that not everything from her past has been lost, because even lost and isolated in a new village, the foreigner who doesn’t belong, she has always had her chains.

The man is wrapped in chains and thrown against the wall with enough force to make it shudder. For a moment there is a stunned silence as everyone stops to process the scene: a helplessly sobbing woman on the floor, a bruised and startled man bleeding from his temple, and a toddler red with rage, chains tipped with deadly points sprouting from her back, waving like cobras moving to a snake charmer’s tune. 

Then, absurdly, the man laughs.

He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and Mother cowers on the floor, covering her face in despair.

Training, he says. We are training your Quirk.

Kushina has been a kunoichi, has been through grueling training. This is not training, this is abuse. For all her memories and steely determination, she is still physically all of four years old, and yet he is relentless, pummeling her with his fists and shouting at her to get up, get up, stop fucking crying.

She hates him, but she wipes her tears and stands.

She’s faced down a rampaging Kyuubi. This man, in the grand scheme of things, is nothing.

Mother escapes. 

Kushina doesn’t blame her for it, even as she closes the bathroom door behind her.

She is six, seven years old, constantly bruised and aching and burning with hatred, when her life takes a turn for the better.

Her father, the despicable man, has been captured. Apparently he’s an infamous criminal, notorious for his powerful Telekinesis Quirk, and he’s been captured. Arrested. Put behind bars.

Is this freedom?

The authorities in this strange new world, her world, sweep into the dilapidated house she’s been a prisoner of for seven years. A woman with a flawless bun and stern face gazes at her with kind eyes, offers her a place to stay, a future, and Kushina seizes the opportunity, but on one condition. 

“I want to change my name,” she says.

The woman’s brows rise, but there is something sympathetic in the curve of her lips. “Oh?”

She lifts her chin. “My name is Uzumaki Kushina.”

A day later, one Uzumaki Kushina, with blazing scarlet hair and a maelstrom behind gunpowder blue eyes, walks into the orphanage and starts a new life.

A/N: The product of a random thought I had, where Kushina is reborn into the BnHA universe and Things Happen. This was mainly setting the scene, explaining how Kushina died and was reborn, the years before her new life really starts, the events that transpired to put her in the right place. Not really sure where to go from here, but I have some ideas.

[ongames]

The Candid, Honest Reasons These Women Called Off Their Engagements

K.J., a single mom, had been in a relationship with Ben for three years before deciding that enough was enough: He didn’t seem to want to move in together, let alone get married.

“With a broken heart, I went to break it off with him, and in a panic, he asked me to marry him,” she told HuffPost. “Our engagement was more stressful than ecstatic.” 

In the end, the engagement didn’t pan out. But she’s not alone; many women and men call off relationships with people they they seriously considered marrying. 

A common reason is fear of commitment, according to Elisabeth LaMotte, a couples’ psychotherapist and founder of the DC Counseling and Psychotherapy Center in Washington, D.C.

“Fear of commitment can either be consciously or unconsciously hesitating to take a healthy relationship to the next level because you’re not ready, because you have something to work out in your own life,” LaMotte told HuffPost. “What also could be fear of commitment is a pattern of choosing either unavailable or unsuitable partners, so that as you get closer to committing, it’s clear that it’s just not going to work.”

We asked women who read HuffPost if they’ve ever ended an engagement. Read what they had to say ― and the reasons they called off the relationships ― below.

1. I was succumbing to my family’s wishes instead of what I wanted.

“When I was a senior in high school, I dated the son of a very prominent member of our church. Both of our families were emotionally invested in our relationship and pushed for an engagement. So naturally, we followed through with their wishes.

I was pretty involved in my school choir and musical theater program. During the production, I became very close to the actor that portrayed my husband. It was our chemistry, the decision that I was much too young to be engaged to anyone and my separation from the church that led me to break the engagement.” ― E. Holloway

2. He developed a substance abuse problem.

“I was engaged when I was 19 years old after dating a guy for six months. About a month after we got engaged, his surgery for a serious medical issue caused him to develop a pill addiction. I watched his attitude and behavior change and decided to call the engagement off three months later. 

About a year after our break up, we reconnected and I decided to give him another chance. We dated for another three months before I broke up with him again, and I have never looked back.

I am 25 years old now. I am so glad I called off that engagement and didn’t end up marrying him. That relationship was quite the learning experience for me. It taught me more about myself and what I’m willing to put up with and what I’m not.” ― R.S

3. He was financially irresponsible and immature. 

“I came home one night and my fiancé had bought an excavator. I didn’t have a problem with the machinery ― he was a contractor.

But the problem was that he was using it to dig out a hole in our newly purchased backyard. Inside the hole there was a refrigerator, on fire. I didn’t know that large kitchen appliances burned.

I just couldn’t stay with a man whose Friday night entertainment was roasting a perfectly good appliance while his friends hooted and hollered. Yes, the police showed up. He told them it ‘accidentally’ fell in and caught on fire. I moved back to D.C. and married another man.

In my defense, the sex was really good. Not-appliance-burning-in-your-waterfront-backyard-good, but, good. ”― Lauren M. 

4. I met another woman. 

“I proposed to my girlfriend of three years on a trip to Ireland. We had been living together for about two years at that point and went months without having sex. I guess I thought being engaged would change things. We were pretty much glorified roommates.

After a few months I started talking to a woman from Tumblr. She lived in another state but things escalated quickly. I’d talk to her on the phone and lie to my fiancée. I didn’t feel good about it.

Eventually my fiancée became suspicious and confronted me about it, and we broke up. I also quickly ended things with the other woman, knowing I was not in a good place. I stayed single for a while but now I’m with the most amazing woman. Our relationship is polyamorous, which is also something I learned I needed to pursue.” ― Annie K. 

5. The relationship was abusive.

“I spent over six years with my ex. We lived together, he bought a ring, our families were intertwined and we had a dog. One day, in counseling, I was reflecting on my life and our relationship, and the progression of abuse I suffered was just staring me in the face. I realized that it was escalating with every day that passed. I knew I wouldn’t want a friend or my sister in a relationship like this, so why was I in it? I felt paralyzed and trapped and like I couldn’t leave.

Then I got hired for a temporary job that lasted four months and allowed me to sail around the world ― literally circumventing the globe. He was planning on going with me but, honestly, the thought of sharing a tiny cabin with him, being in the middle of the ocean... I really believed in that moment that if he came with me, there was a good chance I wouldn’t come back. So I took his name off the itinerary and kicked him out of the apartment. A month later I left on the voyage that I believe literally saved my life.” ― Nicole L. 

6. I met another man.

“We met in graduate school and dated for three years. We started to save for a home and received permission to use my grandmother’s heirloom wedding and engagement rings.

I never second guessed that he was the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, until that March when I met someone by a chance encounter. I had literally grabbed my coat and had my hand on the door to leave an event when he ran up to me.

I never did date the man I met by chance, but meeting him was like one of those corny rom-com scenes where they look at each other and the rest of the room seems to fade away. It was a short amount of time before I realized that while [the new guy] wasn’t the perfect man for me or ‘The One,’ he was significantly closer to my perfect match than who I was with. Sometimes it just takes one small moment in time, as small as someone catching you at the door, to completely realign your life.” ― Maria D.

7. He couldn’t commit.

“I had just turned 30 years old; Ben was 40. Although we had been in a relationship for over three years, he wasn’t showing signs of wanting to move in together, let alone propose. With a broken heart, I went to break it off with him, and in a panic, he asked me to marry him.

Our engagement was more stressful than ecstatic. The plan was to put my parents’ diamond in a new setting, and he stalled on it. 

We were also in the process of buying a house. Time was of the essence; I had already sold the house I lived in with my kids. But much to my embarrassment, Ben didn’t show up for the appointment to sign the papers to make the home officially ours. Later, he said he was sleeping. It was the middle of the day.

Ben made another appointment to sign. The morning of the new appointment, I called him and said I would be busy that day looking for a different house, this one just for me and the kids.

To this day, ten years later, he has still never married. But I’m happily married to my best friend David ― also a single parent ― who I met just a few months after calling off the engagement.” ― K.J.

These stories have been edited and condensed.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

The Candid, Honest Reasons These Women Called Off Their Engagements published first on http://ift.tt/2lnpciY

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The Candid, Honest Reasons These Women Called Off Their Engagements

K.J., a single mom, had been in a relationship with Ben for three years before deciding that enough was enough: He didn’t seem to want to move in together, let alone get married.

“With a broken heart, I went to break it off with him, and in a panic, he asked me to marry him,” she told HuffPost. “Our engagement was more stressful than ecstatic.” 

In the end, the engagement didn’t pan out. But she’s not alone; many women and men call off relationships with people they they seriously considered marrying. 

A common reason is fear of commitment, according to Elisabeth LaMotte, a couples’ psychotherapist and founder of the DC Counseling and Psychotherapy Center in Washington, D.C.

“Fear of commitment can either be consciously or unconsciously hesitating to take a healthy relationship to the next level because you’re not ready, because you have something to work out in your own life,” LaMotte told HuffPost. “What also could be fear of commitment is a pattern of choosing either unavailable or unsuitable partners, so that as you get closer to committing, it’s clear that it’s just not going to work.”

We asked women who read HuffPost if they’ve ever ended an engagement. Read what they had to say ― and the reasons they called off the relationships ― below.

1. I was succumbing to my family’s wishes instead of what I wanted.

“When I was a senior in high school, I dated the son of a very prominent member of our church. Both of our families were emotionally invested in our relationship and pushed for an engagement. So naturally, we followed through with their wishes.

I was pretty involved in my school choir and musical theater program. During the production, I became very close to the actor that portrayed my husband. It was our chemistry, the decision that I was much too young to be engaged to anyone and my separation from the church that led me to break the engagement.” ― E. Holloway

2. He developed a substance abuse problem.

“I was engaged when I was 19 years old after dating a guy for six months. About a month after we got engaged, his surgery for a serious medical issue caused him to develop a pill addiction. I watched his attitude and behavior change and decided to call the engagement off three months later. 

About a year after our break up, we reconnected and I decided to give him another chance. We dated for another three months before I broke up with him again, and I have never looked back.

I am 25 years old now. I am so glad I called off that engagement and didn’t end up marrying him. That relationship was quite the learning experience for me. It taught me more about myself and what I’m willing to put up with and what I’m not.” ― R.S

3. He was financially irresponsible and immature. 

“I came home one night and my fiancé had bought an excavator. I didn’t have a problem with the machinery ― he was a contractor.

But the problem was that he was using it to dig out a hole in our newly purchased backyard. Inside the hole there was a refrigerator, on fire. I didn’t know that large kitchen appliances burned.

I just couldn’t stay with a man whose Friday night entertainment was roasting a perfectly good appliance while his friends hooted and hollered. Yes, the police showed up. He told them it ‘accidentally’ fell in and caught on fire. I moved back to D.C. and married another man.

In my defense, the sex was really good. Not-appliance-burning-in-your-waterfront-backyard-good, but, good. ”― Lauren M. 

4. I met another woman. 

“I proposed to my girlfriend of three years on a trip to Ireland. We had been living together for about two years at that point and went months without having sex. I guess I thought being engaged would change things. We were pretty much glorified roommates.

After a few months I started talking to a woman from Tumblr. She lived in another state but things escalated quickly. I’d talk to her on the phone and lie to my fiancée. I didn’t feel good about it.

Eventually my fiancée became suspicious and confronted me about it, and we broke up. I also quickly ended things with the other woman, knowing I was not in a good place. I stayed single for a while but now I’m with the most amazing woman. Our relationship is polyamorous, which is also something I learned I needed to pursue.” ― Annie K. 

5. The relationship was abusive.

“I spent over six years with my ex. We lived together, he bought a ring, our families were intertwined and we had a dog. One day, in counseling, I was reflecting on my life and our relationship, and the progression of abuse I suffered was just staring me in the face. I realized that it was escalating with every day that passed. I knew I wouldn’t want a friend or my sister in a relationship like this, so why was I in it? I felt paralyzed and trapped and like I couldn’t leave.

Then I got hired for a temporary job that lasted four months and allowed me to sail around the world ― literally circumventing the globe. He was planning on going with me but, honestly, the thought of sharing a tiny cabin with him, being in the middle of the ocean... I really believed in that moment that if he came with me, there was a good chance I wouldn’t come back. So I took his name off the itinerary and kicked him out of the apartment. A month later I left on the voyage that I believe literally saved my life.” ― Nicole L. 

6. I met another man.

“We met in graduate school and dated for three years. We started to save for a home and received permission to use my grandmother’s heirloom wedding and engagement rings.

I never second guessed that he was the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, until that March when I met someone by a chance encounter. I had literally grabbed my coat and had my hand on the door to leave an event when he ran up to me.

I never did date the man I met by chance, but meeting him was like one of those corny rom-com scenes where they look at each other and the rest of the room seems to fade away. It was a short amount of time before I realized that while [the new guy] wasn’t the perfect man for me or ‘The One,’ he was significantly closer to my perfect match than who I was with. Sometimes it just takes one small moment in time, as small as someone catching you at the door, to completely realign your life.” ― Maria D.

7. He couldn’t commit.

“I had just turned 30 years old; Ben was 40. Although we had been in a relationship for over three years, he wasn’t showing signs of wanting to move in together, let alone propose. With a broken heart, I went to break it off with him, and in a panic, he asked me to marry him.

Our engagement was more stressful than ecstatic. The plan was to put my parents’ diamond in a new setting, and he stalled on it. 

We were also in the process of buying a house. Time was of the essence; I had already sold the house I lived in with my kids. But much to my embarrassment, Ben didn’t show up for the appointment to sign the papers to make the home officially ours. Later, he said he was sleeping. It was the middle of the day.

Ben made another appointment to sign. The morning of the new appointment, I called him and said I would be busy that day looking for a different house, this one just for me and the kids.

To this day, ten years later, he has still never married. But I’m happily married to my best friend David ― also a single parent ― who I met just a few months after calling off the engagement.” ― K.J.

These stories have been edited and condensed.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from http://ift.tt/2qkw7MI from Blogger http://ift.tt/2rlUCgP

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The Candid, Honest Reasons These Women Called Off Their Engagements

K.J., a single mom, had been in a relationship with Ben for three years before deciding that enough was enough: He didn’t seem to want to move in together, let alone get married.

“With a broken heart, I went to break it off with him, and in a panic, he asked me to marry him,” she told HuffPost. “Our engagement was more stressful than ecstatic.” 

In the end, the engagement didn’t pan out. But she’s not alone; many women and men call off relationships with people they they seriously considered marrying. 

A common reason is fear of commitment, according to Elisabeth LaMotte, a couples’ psychotherapist and founder of the DC Counseling and Psychotherapy Center in Washington, D.C.

“Fear of commitment can either be consciously or unconsciously hesitating to take a healthy relationship to the next level because you’re not ready, because you have something to work out in your own life,” LaMotte told HuffPost. “What also could be fear of commitment is a pattern of choosing either unavailable or unsuitable partners, so that as you get closer to committing, it’s clear that it’s just not going to work.”

We asked women who read HuffPost if they’ve ever ended an engagement. Read what they had to say ― and the reasons they called off the relationships ― below.

1. I was succumbing to my family’s wishes instead of what I wanted.

“When I was a senior in high school, I dated the son of a very prominent member of our church. Both of our families were emotionally invested in our relationship and pushed for an engagement. So naturally, we followed through with their wishes.

I was pretty involved in my school choir and musical theater program. During the production, I became very close to the actor that portrayed my husband. It was our chemistry, the decision that I was much too young to be engaged to anyone and my separation from the church that led me to break the engagement.” ― E. Holloway

2. He developed a substance abuse problem.

“I was engaged when I was 19 years old after dating a guy for six months. About a month after we got engaged, his surgery for a serious medical issue caused him to develop a pill addiction. I watched his attitude and behavior change and decided to call the engagement off three months later. 

About a year after our break up, we reconnected and I decided to give him another chance. We dated for another three months before I broke up with him again, and I have never looked back.

I am 25 years old now. I am so glad I called off that engagement and didn’t end up marrying him. That relationship was quite the learning experience for me. It taught me more about myself and what I’m willing to put up with and what I’m not.” ― R.S

3. He was financially irresponsible and immature. 

“I came home one night and my fiancé had bought an excavator. I didn’t have a problem with the machinery ― he was a contractor.

But the problem was that he was using it to dig out a hole in our newly purchased backyard. Inside the hole there was a refrigerator, on fire. I didn’t know that large kitchen appliances burned.

I just couldn’t stay with a man whose Friday night entertainment was roasting a perfectly good appliance while his friends hooted and hollered. Yes, the police showed up. He told them it ‘accidentally’ fell in and caught on fire. I moved back to D.C. and married another man.

In my defense, the sex was really good. Not-appliance-burning-in-your-waterfront-backyard-good, but, good. ”― Lauren M. 

4. I met another woman. 

“I proposed to my girlfriend of three years on a trip to Ireland. We had been living together for about two years at that point and went months without having sex. I guess I thought being engaged would change things. We were pretty much glorified roommates.

After a few months I started talking to a woman from Tumblr. She lived in another state but things escalated quickly. I’d talk to her on the phone and lie to my fiancée. I didn’t feel good about it.

Eventually my fiancée became suspicious and confronted me about it, and we broke up. I also quickly ended things with the other woman, knowing I was not in a good place. I stayed single for a while but now I’m with the most amazing woman. Our relationship is polyamorous, which is also something I learned I needed to pursue.” ― Annie K. 

5. The relationship was abusive.

“I spent over six years with my ex. We lived together, he bought a ring, our families were intertwined and we had a dog. One day, in counseling, I was reflecting on my life and our relationship, and the progression of abuse I suffered was just staring me in the face. I realized that it was escalating with every day that passed. I knew I wouldn’t want a friend or my sister in a relationship like this, so why was I in it? I felt paralyzed and trapped and like I couldn’t leave.

Then I got hired for a temporary job that lasted four months and allowed me to sail around the world ― literally circumventing the globe. He was planning on going with me but, honestly, the thought of sharing a tiny cabin with him, being in the middle of the ocean... I really believed in that moment that if he came with me, there was a good chance I wouldn’t come back. So I took his name off the itinerary and kicked him out of the apartment. A month later I left on the voyage that I believe literally saved my life.” ― Nicole L. 

6. I met another man.

“We met in graduate school and dated for three years. We started to save for a home and received permission to use my grandmother’s heirloom wedding and engagement rings.

I never second guessed that he was the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, until that March when I met someone by a chance encounter. I had literally grabbed my coat and had my hand on the door to leave an event when he ran up to me.

I never did date the man I met by chance, but meeting him was like one of those corny rom-com scenes where they look at each other and the rest of the room seems to fade away. It was a short amount of time before I realized that while [the new guy] wasn’t the perfect man for me or ‘The One,’ he was significantly closer to my perfect match than who I was with. Sometimes it just takes one small moment in time, as small as someone catching you at the door, to completely realign your life.” ― Maria D.

7. He couldn’t commit.

“I had just turned 30 years old; Ben was 40. Although we had been in a relationship for over three years, he wasn’t showing signs of wanting to move in together, let alone propose. With a broken heart, I went to break it off with him, and in a panic, he asked me to marry him.

Our engagement was more stressful than ecstatic. The plan was to put my parents’ diamond in a new setting, and he stalled on it. 

We were also in the process of buying a house. Time was of the essence; I had already sold the house I lived in with my kids. But much to my embarrassment, Ben didn’t show up for the appointment to sign the papers to make the home officially ours. Later, he said he was sleeping. It was the middle of the day.

Ben made another appointment to sign. The morning of the new appointment, I called him and said I would be busy that day looking for a different house, this one just for me and the kids.

To this day, ten years later, he has still never married. But I’m happily married to my best friend David ― also a single parent ― who I met just a few months after calling off the engagement.” ― K.J.

These stories have been edited and condensed.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from Healthy Living - The Huffington Post http://bit.ly/2r0sQ6l