#you the cause of death or the helpless messenger taking what time you can | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

genshin-obsessed · 4 years ago

Note

Your blog is everything I wanted and more. Im a lurker for your writings ahaha if you can guess who i am 👀

How about the guys reacting to s/o's death. Can be a group writing but if its too much, just Diluc, Childe, Razor and Kaeya would be nice. I think they would have interesting reactions >:3

First of all, Anon. I LOVE YOU. I wanted to write this out but thought it might be a bit too much but then you went and requested it!! I guess I have no choice but to write this out! >:) (That’s also why I did all the characters) second. Guess who you are o: may I get a hint? I have 2 people in my mind tho o: Warnings: Death, mentions of blood, angst. Pure angst.

Sidenote: The woman in this is my OC named Toxin! Whenever I need a really big, bad villain, she’s my go-to! That’s all!

Includes: Aether, Kaeya, Venti, Diluc, Razor, Xiao, Xingqiu, and Childe!

Scaramouche & Zhongli Here | Part 2 Here

You Die!

You ran as fast as your feet would carry you, desperate for an escape. A scream erupted from your lips as the ground shook beneath you, causing you to stumble and fall over. You had received an emergency request to help fight… someone. The request wasn’t very detailed but someone needed help and you couldn’t turn your back on them. So, you went ahead and tried to help.

You should’ve been careful. You should’ve brought help. But you didn’t and you were paying for your stupidity. The person that you were fighting was strong. She was tall, pale, and had long black hair. Her unearthly glowing green eyes were terrifying. She was fast and all of your attacks were unable to touch her.

As you ran, only one thought crossed your mind. The smiling image of your boyfriend. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to run. How you wished you could be in his arms, feeling safe and sound.

As you ran out of the forest and down the field, the woman appeared in front of you, catching you in her arms and stabbing you with a poison dagger. You shrieked as your hands curled around her clothes. The sharp pain turned into a burning sensation and you looked up at her. Her face was inches away and she smirked, her eyes glowing bright by the second.

“Finally. But you’re not the only one I wanted to break.” What? What did she mean? Her head turned to the left and you followed her gaze and the second you saw what she was looking at, your heart shattered.

The woman pulled the dagger out and it seemed to vanish as she smirked at your boyfriend. The tears slid down your cheeks as you weakly reached out to him for help.

“(F/N)!” His heart stopped as he watched the woman disappear and you fall to the floor. He sprinted to you, picking you up in his arms as blood poured out of the wound. “H-hey! Hey, keep your eyes open! J-Just stay awake!” He held your head against his chest, trying to calm himself, but how could he? You were bleeding out in front of him.

He looked down and ran his fingers along your cheek as your skin started to turn purple. The poison had taken its effect and it was moving fast. You were leaving, you would leave him just like Lumine left him. He was gonna be alone all over again.

“A-Aether… I-I l-love you.”

“I love you too! You’ll be fine, everything’s g-gonna be ok.” Who was he kidding? You weren’t going to make it. But he couldn’t admit it. Aether still had yet to find Lumine and he’d never gotten over losing her. You, you were his light. You were his guiding start. You were his moon, his everything.

To think that he could lose you? No, no! He didn’t want it. He didn’t want a world without you. A world without you was pure torture. So why? Why was the universe so hellbent on taking things away from him? Why did it demand everything precious to him?!

Why you?

A pained cry left his lips as your hand fell to your side and that light disappeared from your eyes. “N-no. No, no, no, no! W-wake up! Please wake up! Do-don’t leave me! Don’t you leave me too! Not like this! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” He held your lifeless body against him, his head pressed against your chest. He couldn’t hear it… he couldn’t hear your heartbeat.

“No… NO!” He ran as fast as his feet could carry him and caught you before you hit the ground. The woman had disappeared but he didn’t care. You were… you were dying! How could he stop it? He wanted to stop the bleeding, he wanted to stop the way your color was changing, he wanted to stop time!

“K-Kaeya… h-how-”

“I was told to come here. A messenger came to me and said you called me and told me to come here.” He explained, taking your cold hand into his, pressing a kiss against it.

“I-I’m sorry…”

“No. Don’t apologize and don’t close your eyes. Please, just stay up a little longer.” He wanted to pick you up and run to the nearest doctor, but he knew… it wasn’t worth it. He wouldn’t make it. He’d never felt so worthless and weak. He swore to protect you and keep you safe and now that you needed him… he was useless.

“T-tired…” Slowly, your eyes closed and your hand fell limp in his. Kaeya’s eyes widened as the tears slid down his cheek.

“(f-f/n)? B-baby! No, wait! Don’t do this! Pl-please no!” He took your hand and pressed it against his cheek, but the second he loosened his grip, it fell. Kaeya shook his head, tears flooding down his cheek as a scream erupted from his mouth. “(F/N)!!!”

Slow. He was too slow. Why couldn’t he be fast enough?! That woman, he knew her. He knew her and he vowed to hunt her down and tear her to shreds. But right now…

Venti picked you up with trembling hands, letting his now bloodied hands touch your cheek. He couldn’t even talk, his voice quivered as he looked down into your eyes. No. This wasn’t happening. You weren’t going to leave him like this.

“H-hey, love. E-everything’s going to be just fine. You’re fine.” He tried to keep his smile up but it was so damn hard when he knew the truth. He couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t even lie to himself. You were slipping away and all he could do was watch. He knew he was the weakest of all archons but why? Why couldn’t he be a little bit stronger to save you.

“I-I wa-wanna sl-sleep-”

“NO!” He frowned and pressed a kiss to your lips. “No, don’t sleep. Not yet. Just stay awake a little longer and then we can both sleep together tonight.” You weakly nodded, but you couldn’t stay awake any longer. You felt like you were moving, but your body was slowly going numb, until everything disappeared. “(f/n)? (f-f/n)? H-hey! Hey this isn’t a joke! WAKE UP! WAKE UP, PLEASE, PLEASE WAKE UP!”

The second he saw the woman step away from you, a fiery phoenix flew towards her, but she’d disappeared before it could hit her. Diluc ran to you as he watched your body fall to the ground.

He fell to his knees and quickly picked you up, shaking you a little. There was something that snapped inside. He’d always kept his composure, but after seeing what had happened, his emotions burst out of him. He wasn’t in control of anything. He couldn’t control his thoughts, emotions… or your death.

“It’ll be fine! Everything’s fine!” He said, pressing his hand to the wound. You winced at the pain as your skin started to turn purple and blood spilled out of your mouth.

“I-I’m so-sorry.” He shook his head, taking your face in his hands.

“No. I’m sorry. I sh-should’ve gotten here faster.” He was still trying to convince himself you were going to be fine, but deep down, he knew the truth. He knew the ugly truth that was coming up.

“D-Diluc… y-you’re pretty.” His eyes clenched shut at your words as a tear slid down his cheek.

“Don’t leave. Th-there are so many things I-I want to do with you. Pl-please don’t leave me. Wh-what d-do I do?” You smiled weakly at him.

“Y-you b-be the Darknight H-hero…” He scoffed and looked down at you.

“Without you… I’m nothing.” You wanted to say more, you wanted to deny his words, but you were so tired. Slowly, the world faded away and you could no longer hear his cries. “No! NO! NO!! DON’T DO THIS TO ME! STOP! COME BACK! PLEASE BRING MY (F/N) BACK!”

The wolf within had appeared but he wasn’t able to catch up before the woman disappeared. He ran to you and picked you up, seeing the blood gushing out of the wound.

“N-no! (f/n)!” Tears flooded his eyes as he watched your color turn purple. That woman, she reeked of poison so she must’ve poisoned you.

“Shhh…” You muttered, holding your hand to his cheek. “D-don’t c-cry.” He didn’t know what to do. He felt so lost and helpless, but the worst part… he knew what was coming. He shook his head vehemently and tried to pick you up, but you let out a cry of pain, making him lower you back down.

“I c-can save you!”

“I-it’s ok… it’s ok, Razor. I… I’ll be ok.” He hated those words. He hated everything you were saying so much. Razor adored you, he missed you every second he couldn't be with you and normally, he’d never hate your words. But today… right now, he hated how right you were. He shook his head as the tears slid down his cheeks as he felt you slip away.

“Do-don’t do this t-to me. Not you too… they left me. Why do you want to leave me too?” You weakly tugged him down and made him kiss you, but half way through the kiss, he felt your head fall back and he knew. You were gone.

He knew that woman that had done this to you. He knew her and he was going to make sure she paid. But right now… right now you were more important. Xiao took you in his arms as tears started to fill his eyes. He’d never felt like this before and he hated feeling like this.

You made him feel so powerful, so invincible, so untouchable. But right now, he felt so vulnerable and broken. If he had been faster, if he had just gotten here faster he could’ve saved you. He could’ve been hugging you, seeing your skin bright with life, seeing your glimmering eyes, seeing that dazzling smile. But no, he was a failure.

A sob escaped his lips as he watched you starting to slip away. He pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“D-don’t do this. Pl-please don’t leave me. Y-you pro-promised you w-wouldn’t do this to me!” He looked down at you but you still had that angelic smile on your face. Why? Why would you do this?! You touched his cheek and spoke; your voice was a quiet whisper, but he heard it.

“I-I love y-you, Xiao…” He shook his head and glared at the sky before shutting his eyes. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to see this happening to you.

“I love you too. S-so much.” He felt your body go limp and another sob escaped his lips. “Y-you pr-promised you’d c-come back to me.” He raised your face closer to him and pressed a kiss against your lips. “P-please come back to me. I-I can’t live without you… I do-don’t want to.”

He sprinted down the hill towards where you lay, gathering you in his arms when he was at the bottom. He didn’t know what to do, there was so much blood, so much poison, and no hope. He fell beside you and pressed his hands onto the wound as blood gushed out.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, it’s ok, it’s ok, everything’s just fine!” You winced in pain in your torso, but it didn’t last very long. It only took a minute before you lost feeling in your legs and arms.

“Xingqiu… i-it hurts.”

“I know, I know and I’m so sorry! If I was faster, I could’ve helped you. It’ll be ok, I promise, my love. I won’t stop until you’re taken care of.” Why didn’t he believe his own words? Maybe it was the fading light in your eyes, maybe it was the color draining from your face, maybe it was the sheer amount of blood that poured from the wound… but Xingqiu didn’t have a single ounce of hope. Why? Why was the world doing this to him? Why was it punishing you like this? Did he do something? Did he commit a sin that was so unforgivable that the universe or the gods would punish someone as sweet and amazing as you?

He wanted to cry, but he bit his lip to hold the tears back. His eyes were glossy and his vision was blurry, but he refused to cry. He wasn’t going to show you the fleeting hope in him. He wasn’t going to show you that he was a liar.

“Xingqiu… w-will y-you g-give me one l-last kiss?” His head snapped to you and he shook his head.

“It won’t be our last kiss! We’ll have more chances. We’ll have so many more chances.” He did kiss you however. It was short and sweet, as he returned to applying pressure onto the wound. His eyes flickered to you for a second before his entire body tensed. You were staring at the sky… with dull, lifeless eyes. “(f-f/n)? H-hey… hey wake up.” He gently shook your shoulders. “Hey, stop. Th-this isn’t funny! I know you like playing tricks on me but this isn’t funny! St-stop!!” Finally, he broke. He laid his head on your chest as his tears started to flow.

“NO!” Oh, he knew that woman well. He’d worked with her once. She was, indeed, powerful. She was a killing machine and there was a time where he was impressed by her. But right now he felt nothing but pure hatred for her. But that had to wait, because you… you were dying.

Childe pulled you into his arms, holding you against his chest and kissing your head. He was trembling and his emotions were a mess. Tears trailed down his cheeks as he looked down at you. The wound oozed with red and purple, so he knew you’d been poisoned.

“H-hey, darling. You ok? Everything’s just gonna be ok, you hear me?” You gave him a weak nod as you looked down at the wound. However, he took your face and made you look up at him. “No, no. Just look at me. Nothing but me.”

“I-I won’t… I’m tired.”

“HEY! Don’t you dare close those beautiful eyes on me! Everything’s going to be fine! Everything… everything is fine. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare even think about leaving me. Don’t you… don’t do it. Please, god I’m begging you (f/n)! Don’t leave me all alone in this world!”

“I-I ca-can’t stay…”

“Yes, y-yes you can! You can’t leave me, please d-don’t.. I-I don’t know what to do! What am I supposed to do?! Just go on, pretending everything’s ok?! JUST PRETEND LIKE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE DIDN’T LEAVE ME?!”

“Shh… d-don’t get so angry.”

“I-” He sighed, taking in a shaky breath, “I love you so much i-it’s hard to breathe without you. Do-don’t take away m-my reason for li-living.” You didn’t answer. You only weakly smiled before your eyes closed and your head fell back. Childe’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “N-no. No- HEY! No, no, no! Please no!” He held you against his chest as he let out a scream. What else could he do besides cry.

Your boyfriend stood up, holding you tightly in his arms. There was only one thought in his mind as he glared in the direction the woman had gone.

There was nothing left for him. So he wouldn’t stop; he would relentlessly hunt that woman down and tear her apart completely. That way, she could feel an ounce of his pain.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin kaeya #genshin diluc #genshin venti #genshin aether #genshin razor #genshin xingqiu #genshin xiao #genshin xingqiu x reader #genshin childe #xingqiu x reader #diluc x reader #aether x reader #venti x reader #xiao x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact imagines

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rockscanfly · 3 years ago

Text

the stars are not wanted now

The headline was several days old by the date in the corner. The cheap paper was peeling at the corners from the wall it’d been pasted to when Charles ripped it down. His mind was carefully blank as he hitched Lenny’s canvas-wrapped corpse higher on one shoulder. He stuffed the ripped page into his pants pocket.

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

Death’s messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

or,

Charles Smith, Sadie Adler, and the two deaths of Arthur Morgan.

Read below or at AO3.

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

In the life of Charles Smith, death’s messengers had come in many forms.

The first was in the navy blue uniforms of American soldiers, their ghost pale hands wrapped tight over his mother’s arms as they dragged her from their tent, screaming and kicking.

Ten years later it was in a letter, sent by an old neighbor. It contained his father’s wedding ring, a family photo, and no explanation.

The way the whiskey had wafted off his father’s breath the night Charles left? There was no need for one.

Then it had been the sharp crack of a gunshot—one, two, three. Sean, Hosea, Lenny. There was the frightened whinny of a horse mixed in, and the sick, rotten-fruit plop of Kierran’s head as it fell from his cupped, bloody hands.

This messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

For twenty-seven years, careful restraint of his emotions had allowed Charles to survive. He’d never had the luxury of anger, of rage. An outburst from most members of the gang meant getting kicked out of the saloon, a fine, or a night in jail at worst.

For Charles, a length of rope looped over a tree branch was never far. America hated nothing more than a mutt, and to her people Charles was a rabid dog best put down at the first snarl.

So Charles learned control and calm. He learned to bury, to smother, to take everything burning in him and shove it somewhere safe. To put his feelings aside until he was alone and could take them out and look them over with no nervous trigger fingers or hateful eyes waiting for the first excuse—the first bitter word, sharp gesture, first hateful look.

Charles didn’t know what did it, what final burning hurt snuck into the tinderbox of his chest and sparked the blaze. If it was the seventh rock his shovel struck in the soft, sucking dirt, forcing him to fumble in the dark until he could haul it free and cast it out. If it was the heat, the chafe of sticky cotton on his damp skin. Could be it was the flies buzzing in his ears, or the way the sweat from his brow stung his eyes.

Maybe it was the sickly smell of rotting meat already coming from the sacks wrapped around Lenny and Hosea’s corpses, or the way there was no money for coffins to bury them in.

One moment Charles was digging side by side with Sadie, knee deep in the grave that would hold just one body of the second family that fate had torn from him.

And then he was kneeling in the sucking mud, hands fisted uselessly in the torn roots and crawling worms. Anguish tore howling from his throat, muffled against gritted teeth. Charles could taste copper coating the backs of his gums as he hunched in the dirt. His eyes clenched tight as his heart did its level best to tear itself from his chest, to strike out for a life less riddled with bullets, one that didn’t bleed loss like a butchered carcass or burn everything good up to ashes.

Charles was dimly aware, under the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, of Sadie’s soft cursing as she threw down her own shovel and climbed into Lenny’s half-dug grave beside him. The darkness behind his eyes became complete as she shuttered the lamp, plunging them into night. He flinched away as Sadie’s firm hand gripped his shoulder. “Don’t,” he growled. He didn’t want comfort. He wanted exorcism.

Sadie just gripped him tighter, blunt nails digging hard into the hunched muscle of his shoulder. “I know,” she rasped, kneeling before him, sharp knees pressed to his own. A choked cry strangled in Charles’s chest as her skinny, whipcord arms wrapped around him, pressing him to her chest.

“They’re gone,” he managed, gasping through the tightness in his lungs. He couldn’t get any air. “Lenny, Javier, Hosea—Arthur.” Charles made a fist, pounding senselessly at the dirt. “He, we—” Charles cut himself off, dug his nails deep into the flesh of his knee, and tried to claw the pain into his own skin.

A beat passed. One of Sadie’s palms gripped Charles at the back of his neck, cupped the back of his head gently. “Charles,” she said, voice rough and small, gentle. “Charles, I know.”

And it’s possible she did. She was one of the more observant folks in the camp. He and Arthur hadn’t really been very careful. Nothing too blatant, no. But anyone could have read into the casual ease with which Arthur touched his shoulder, the way their knees almost touched as they sat by the fire. The way Charles would return from guard duty with his hair mussed, leaves of grass clinging to the back of his shirt, the trailing ends of his hair. How Arthur would sit on a stump, failing utterly to conceal that he was sketching Charles as he chopped wood or hauled water.

Arthur was not a cautious man by nature. He often made Charles foolish.

More important than any of their thousand tiny, dangerous indiscretions was the fact that Arthur had trusted Sadie. It was possible the big, soft-hearted idiot told her about them. Maybe one day Charles would have it in him to be angry about that, at Arthur for putting them both at risk without asking him first. Reckless, impulsive, trusting.

Gone.

Charles leaned heavily into Sadie’s grip, buried his face in the sweat and dirt streaked cotton of her shoulder. “How did you live through this?” He hissed, breath hitching. It felt like nettles had grown in his chest, wrapping around his lungs, choking like weeds to a garden.

Sadie’s arm tightened over Charles’s shoulder. “Sun hasn’t dawned on a single day I’ve wanted to live through since they killed my Jake.” A filthy hand pet his hair back from his face, streaking dirt through the sweat on his brow. “Two reasons I go on. I gotta put every O'Driscoll on this green earth into a hole in the ground. And ‘cause I got folks as need me, now.”

Charles buried himself tighter against her, hiding from the pain that wracked him. It was ridiculous. Sadie was half his size, if he was being generous. But pressed against her, her clumsy hand in his hair, her skinny arm not even half over his back—he felt safer. Smaller. “They don’t even want me.”

Sadie laughed, a hoarse, half-hearted thing that shook her chest more than it did the air. “You think those boys are lining up to put me in charge? Or, hell, Grimshaw? It don’t matter what anyone wants, Charles. They need us.”

“I needed him,” Charles keened. He sounded like a child. He felt like a child. And he’d never felt so helpless, so lost, since he’d been torn from his mother’s arms. “All of them.” Charles bit back a breath, forced it down. He grasped a handful of Sadie’s shirt, pulling her closer. “I feel like the only part of me that’s good died with them. I don’t. I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

“John ain’t dead yet,” Sadie whispered fiercely. “And neither is Tilly, or Mary-Beth, or me. Even the rest of ‘em. They’re all the family we got, Charles. So cry it out. But then you gotta pull yourself together. I need ya.”

No one had ever needed Charles Smith.

No one who lived.

Charle’s head was going fuzzy, light, in a buzzing, burning way. Maybe he wasn’t getting enough air. Maybe he was choking on his own pathetic sorrow.

Maybe the pain of losing so much was finally going to kill him.

“I should just leave,” he mumbled into Sadie’s filthy, mud spattered shoulder. “Suffering follows me, I think. Maybe if I just go you won’t die, too.”

Sadie’s blunt nails dug hard into Charle’s shoulder. “You leave and you’re yellow or you’re a fool,” she said, shaking him. “The world doesn’t give a shit about any of us, Charles. You know this life we’re livin’ ain’t meant to be a long one.”

Something in that tickled him, in a sideways sort of way. He laughed, a weak, hacking thing that was half-cough. “How the hell is Uncle still kicking?”

Sadie’s shoulder moved under his forehead as she gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Can’t die if you never do shit.”

“You’re right,” Charles admitted. The stupid joke had shaken something loose in his throat. His chest still hurt, but he wasn’t choking on air. “I’m sorry. I just—” Charles sucked down another breath. “I wasn’t ready to live without him.”

Sadie just pulled him tighter, tucked his head up under her chin. Charles wondered, vaguely, what she saw when she looked out into the dark of the Lemoyne night. “I know, honey,” she sighed. “But you will. You have to.”

_________________________

Traditional Kotsoteka mourning is an involved process. Done right, Charles should have burned Arthur’s wagon and killed Peachblossom, Arthur’s white Roan mare, so he would be well equipped in the afterlife.

But there was no body to bury. No grave in which to throw Arthur’s guns, or the bow he’d left strapped to Peachblossom’s saddle on that final, bloody day at the bank. It would have been a shame to snap into pieces, anyway. Charles had made the bow for Arthur, so the other man had always taken excellent care of it.

Fact was, Arthur’s body lay somewhere at the bottom of the sea, and they were too strapped for resources to go burning wagons and wasting supplies for traditions Charles had never been all that good at following. So instead Sadie helped him shave the sides of his head—the left side, to mourn a fellow warrior. The right, because a fellow warrior wasn’t all Charles was mourning.

Together, Charles and Sadie burned one of Arthur’s shirts. There was no wailing, no cutting of arms and chests. As the last few patches of blue cotton caught fire, Charles resolved that, a year from then, he would never again speak the name Arthur Morgan.

______________________________

Six years and too many graves later, Charles was resting on a freshly hammered fence post when a giant, mean-looking mustang rode up the road to Beecher’s Hope. Charles was half-way to drawing his sawed-off when its rider called out to him. “Charles! Charles Smith!”

Charles would know that hoarse drawl anywhere.

Charles jumped the fence, jogging towards the black-clad woman on her suitably terrifying horse. “Sadie? Sadie Adler?”

Sadie swung down from her saddle, running forward. Charles caught her around the middle, swinging her excitedly.

“How are you?” Charles asked as he set her down, hands moving to her shoulders to get a look at her. She’d picked up a few fresh scars, some weather to her skin from sun and wind. But her eyes were just the same as they’d always been, lit with an inner fire.

Sadie smiled, that same bitter half lift of the mouth as six years ago. “Alive,” she shrugged, patting Charles roughly on the shoulder. “You?”

Charles shrugged back. “Better, now. A few months back? Not so well.”

Sadie nodded, walking back to her evil looking mustang and leading it gentle as a kitten to the hitching post. Charles leaned back against the fence, digging around in his jacket pockets for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He lit one, settling it in the side of his mouth. Demon-horse secured, Sadie settled beside him, leaning forward over the fence to survey the homestead. Charles passed her a cigarette, holding the lighter out and flickering as she lit a burning ember in the early morning light.

Sadie inhaled, brown eyes sharp and considering as she surveyed the half-built ranch. “So. You’re, uh. Livin’ with the Marston’s?”

Charles nodded, tucking the lighter back in his pocket. “Just John for now.” He caught himself, laughed. “Well, and Uncle.”

“That old fool’s still alive?” Sadie whistled. “Bless his heart.” Silence stretched out between them. Maybe it should have been uncomfortable, the way it would have been between any two other friends who had parted in bloodshed and hadn’t seen one another in six years.

Instead, it was like a well-worn blanket, warm and comforting in the early morning chill. Charles hadn’t shared a peaceful silence in a long while. John and Uncle always seemed to need to fill the air with talk. The folks in Saint Denis too, and theirs had been a lot less friendly.

Their cigarettes burned down to embers before Sadie broke the peace. “Any clue where John’s at?” she asked. “I got a job for him.”

Charles grunted. “Bounty hunting?”

“Only kinda jobs I run. For now, anyway.”

“He’s in town grabbing supplies. Won’t be back until late.”

“Well, shit.” Sadie cursed, scuffing her boot in the dirt. She frowned, kicking up little clouds of dust while she chewed on her lip. Charles turned, tucking his arms up atop the fence, settling against the sun-warmed wood. Sadie leaned in beside him, shoulder to shoulder, so the fringe of her leather duster brushed against his knuckles. They watched the horizon together for a few long moments, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky.

Sadie let out a long breath, shifting restlessly next to him. In the corner of his vision Charles caught brown eyes flicking consideringly over at him, measuring. “You busy?”

Charles let out an inaudible sigh of his own. “I don’t do that anymore, Sadie.”

Sadie laughed, a little bitter, a little sharp, like a sip of bark tea. “You too good for bounty hunting? Well, excuse me.”

Charles groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Isn’t like that. I just. I’m trying something new.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Ain't no reason you can't help around Marston’s ranch and earn yourself a little money.” She gestured to the half-built house, the piles of timbers and sacks of plaster. “Hell, how you think John’s paying this place off? I know y’all ain’t making any sort of profit yet.”

Charles massaged his temples, willing away the oncoming tension headache. Sadie wasn’t wrong. Charles loved John, knew he needed to look after him for Arthur—at least until John was settled in with his family. But there would be an after, one day. Charles had learned one thing in his thirty-three years: no one stayed.

He’d be watching his own back again, probably not too long from now. And it's a lot easier to do that when you had money.

Charles sighed, pulling his hands from his face. He hooked his thumbs through his belt. “What’s the job?”

Sadie grinned, bitter and mean. “Man murdered his family, looks like,” she said, pulling away from the fence. “He’s wanted in Strawberry. Not even that far of a ride from here.”

Charles walked over to the little campsite, pulling his rucksack from his tent. It was already packed. He hesitated. “Kids?”

“A little girl, around ten. And a boy, round three.”

Charles pulled his tomahawk from under his bedroll, tucking it into his belt. He grabbed some of the nastier arrows—the poison wouldn’t kill a full grown man, but it’d make him suffer.

Some men deserve to suffer.

Charles stalked over to Falmouth, mounting him in one swift motion. “Lead the way.”

Sadie swung up onto her monster. “Good man,” she said, kicking her boot against Charles’s own as she trotted by. “Let’s see how rusty you’ve got, Mr. Smith.”

As they rode, Sadie interrogated him.

“Talked to John a little, ‘bout you,” she yelled over the thundering of hooves. The earth was hard-packed and dusty in the Texarcana heat. “Heard things weren't going too well down in Saint Denis.”

“They weren’t,” Charles called back. “I’d only been there about a year, anyway. Job was going sour.”

“How so?”

Charles laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “Folks were only going to put up with me beating up white men for a living for so much longer.”

Sadie tossed a grin over her shoulder, knowing and vicious. She and Charles had different struggles in their lives. But there was a baseline understanding between them. Most of the gang had been dangerous for what they did. Of the ones who lived, Charles and Sadie were dangerous because of what they were. “Novelty was about to wear off, huh?”

Charles shook his head, whipping wayward hair from his face. “Yeah.”

Sadie turned back to the road, steering Hera around a sharp bend. “Before that?”

The road widened out. Charles urged Falmouth forward, riding till the two horses were running abreast. “Was up in Canada. Helped relocate the Wapiti after...” Charles paused. He had left with the Wapiti immediately after the attack on the oil refinery. Hadn’t even gone back to camp for the rest of his belongings, just taken what was on Taima’s back and. Left.

Charles had no idea if Sadie even knew why Charles had gone, what Arthur had told her.

“That kid,” Sadie asked, breaking Charles’s train of thought. “He died, didn’t he?”

Charles swallowed, the dust from the road cloyingly sweet in his mouth. “Yes.”

Sadie steered Hera over a wooden bridge, hand on her rifle as she scanned each side for signs of an ambush. “I don’t think I understand what all happened with them,” she said. “There was so much going on, towards the end. Folks leaving, Arthur sick, that damn fool plan with the train—How did Dutch even get those folks wrapped up in our mess?”.

“Same thing that happened to all of us,” Charles offered. “Dutch talked a good game, riled them up over things they were already angry about, got everyone in over their head, and was the only one who didn’t pay for it.”

The rest of their ride continued in contemplative silence, broken only by the necessary shouts and calls needed to wrangle their bounty. The murderer was holed up in an abandoned cabin just a little north of town. Hardly worth hiring bounty hunters for, really. Except that the Strawberry sheriffs had always been corrupt, not to mention lazy. Some things don’t change.

Still, working with Sadie again was worth it. It’d just been them those long months Arthur and the rest were lost in Guarma, presumed dead. Sure, the rest of the girls were still around and they pulled their weight. But none of them were as talented in violence—save Karen, maybe.

But she was too far gone over Sean to hold herself together, let alone anyone else.

It’s when they’d divvied up the bounty and stepped into the Strawberry saloon that Charles remembered why those months had been so damn stressful. Besides the Pinkertons, the hopeless fate of half their family, the deaths, John trapped in prison—

Sadie Adler’s temper had always been on a short fuze.

And Charles, fool that he was, had always had a weakness for brave, impulsive idiots.

A big, mean white man took exception to Charles drinking at the same bar as him. Sadie snapped off a sharp warning, stepping around Charles and squaring up to the man twice her size. Then the mean bastard took exception to Charles traveling with, being familiar with, a white woman.

Sadie took exception to his exception, and her exception took the form of a knife straight through the man’s hand and into the scarred oak of the counter.

They were riding hard out of town, ducking the odd shot from the posse riding too slow behind them, Sadie whooping wildly and shooting flawlessly over her back when Charles realized: he hadn’t had fun like that in six years.

They lost the posse in the hills by turning off on a razor thin trail, stashing the horses under an overhang and laying down in the tall grass.

They lay there, panting, laughing, exhilarated. The stars were bright in the sky, glaring down through the clear West Elizabeth sky.

Eventually Sadie sobered, hoarse laughter falling silent. Charles could see her from the corner of his eye. She was still staring up at the stars, hair limned silver in the moonlight. She chewed on her words before breaking the peace. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Charles took a breath, held it. “We had to leave before the Army arrived,” he said. He picked absently at the grass, crushing it dry and summer-sweet between his fingers. “The Wapiti. They were mostly women and children, the elderly. The sick.”

Sadie huffed, turning on her side, propping up on her elbow to glare down at him, hair frizzled into a messy halo behind her head, all lit up by moonglow. “Ya could of wrote,” she insisted.

Charles kept his eyes fixed on the night sky, on the stars in their cold, beautiful distance. “To who?” he scoffed. “We all knew the gang was on its last legs. By the time we crossed the border into Canada I’d already seen the papers. Interesting, how they left you out of it.”

Sadie went quiet. She collapsed back beside him, thumping softly in the bent grass. “Is that how you found out?”

A copy of The New Hanover had been pinned to the wooden wall of the trading shack where Charles was selling pelts for food and medicine. He’d left for Beaver Hollow the next day. “Yes.”

Sadie sucked air through her teeth. “I went back, few years later,” she muttered. Her boot knocked against his, a rough comfort. “You uh. You did a good job, Charles,” she said. Her fingers sought his in the tall grass, brushing against his lightly. Like she was scared to spook him, maybe. “We watched the sun come up together. He woulda liked it.”

Charles drew his hand back, pressing it over his heart. The hollow, dull ache that lived in his heart sharpened, brightened. A fresh cut on an old scar. “He’d have liked it better if he’d lived.”

Sadie made a noise, propping back up on her elbow to lean over him. “You know that ain’t his fault,” she frowned at him. “The man was sick, Charles.”

Charles’s head hurt. His whole body did, in a cold, numb way. This wasn’t the burning, searing grief at the bottom of Lenny’s shallow grave. It was older, rooted deeper down. “Don’t,” he rasped. Grit from the road coated the back of his throat. “Just, don’t.”

Sadie charged on, implacable. “You know he wasn’t gonna leave without John.”

The stars were so bright. Charles could feel the headache building, like a creature clawing out through his temples. “They could have left together,” he snapped at her. “We all could have left together, before the bank. All of that mess in Lemoyne—none of it had to happen. Arthur didn’t stay for John—he stayed for Dutch.”

Sadie scrubbed her free over her face. “The man raised him,” she tried. The excuse was hollow, empty. Even she didn’t buy it.

Charles turned on his side, faced Sadie properly through the tall grass and moonlight. “Don’t give me that, Sadie. Not you.”

“Fine, Charles! He was a fool!” She threw her hand up in the air, exasperated. “He was scared, he was foolish, and he loved Dutch because he was an idiot.” Sadie fixed him with a glare. “There, did that make you happy, big man? Speaking ill of the dead?”

It didn’t. “I shouldn’t be speaking of him at all,” Charles said instead. “That’s not how—we’re supposed to let go. It’s been years.”

“You loved him,” she insisted.

“Look at how much that mattered,” Charles said, anger furrowing his brow, burning low in his stomach. Had he ever let himself be angry, with Arthur, with the choices they made? “What did loving him buy me, besides a heart that broke twice?”

Sadie’s eyes softened, understanding dawning warm and terrible. “I know that’s not how you really feel,” she said. Sadie reached out, again, with careful fingers. When Charles didn’t stop her she tucked the hair plastered to Charles sweaty forehead back, away from his eyes.

It was the first gentleness anyone had touched him with since he left the Wapiti for Saint Denis. Charles’s breath caught in his throat, trapped, terrified. Vulnerable.

It would have hurt less if she’d socked him in the stomach.

“You don’t ride back from Canada, on your own, to bury a man who you hated,” Sadie continued. Her calloused hand settled on his jaw, thumb behind his ear. She held him steady, made him look her in the eye. “You don’t spend a year of your life helping his kid brother get his family back.”

“Arthur didn’t need me, at the end,” Charles managed. “Rain Falls needed me—and then they didn’t. No one did.”

“Why Saint Denis, Charles? You hated it there,” Sadie asked, resigned. She already knew the answer. She was being cruel, making him face it out loud.

Charles swallowed. No one had ever accused Sadie Adler of being kind.

“I was waiting to die.”

Sadie nodded. Yes, of course. “And all this with John? What next, once he doesn’t need you?”

Charles glared at her, mouth tight and stubborn.

Sadie laughed in his face. “You and Arthur,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You were made for one another, weren’t ya? No understanding how to live in this world for yourselves.”

“You’re one to talk,” Charles shot back.

“I’m happy with my life,” Sadie said firmly. “I had love, but I never wanted a family. I just wanted Jake. He’s gone. So I’m doing what makes me happy.” She paused, staring down at him, considering. “What makes you happy, Charles? You’re the most competent, most stubborn man I know. What do you really want? You know no one could stop you from getting it.”

Charles shook his head. “I have no idea,” he admitted. He climbed to his feet, offering Sadie a hand. She accepted, pulling herself to her feet. She kept hold of his hand, squeezing tight.

“Don’t stop looking,” she commanded. “What you were doin’ in Saint Denis, waiting to die? You’re better than that, Charles Smith.”

Charles shook his head, pulling Sadie into a one armed hug. Grief, Arthur, his life—they hadn’t solved any of it, laying out in a field and snapping at one another under the stars.

But the wound hurt a little less, like a lanced infection.

“I hope so, Mrs. Adler,” Charles said into the mess of Sadie’s hair. She chuckled into his chest, punched him half-heartedly in the arm. They separated, fetching and mounting their horses.

They separated at the fork in the trail. Sadie headed east, back to her base camp just outside Valentine. She had work to do, bounties to catch. The world may have been more ‘civilized’ in 1907 than it was in 1899, but work was still plentiful for a rider and marksman of Sadie Adler’s skill.

Charles rode west towards Beecher’s Hope, sun rising over his shoulder.

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

A/N: Charles and Sadie are my favorites, and they should have spent more time with one another. They're not exactly similar people, but they've been through many of the same trials.

I also think they were both done a disservice by the epilogue. Charles's feelings regarding the gang's collapse are largely unexplored, despite him canonically being the one to have buried Lenny, Hosea, Mrs. Grimshaw, and Arthur.

We also don't get a good explanation for why Charles ended up in Saint Denis as part of a fighting ring. Certain lines from Charles--"It seems like I was put on this Earth to hurt and to suffer myself"--have always led me to believe that he suffers from suicidal ideations. Him ending up in Saint Denis, surrounded by people who wish him harm, reads to me like a sort of 'death by cop' form of suicide.

On the subject of Charles's heritage: Rockstar is a trash fire, so beyond being half-Black and half-Native we have very few clues about Charles's culture and his history. I settled on a particular band (the Kotsoteka, or 'buffalo eaters') of the Comanche who would have had a decent amount of contact with Black Freemen post-Civil war. They live in Oklahoma and Texas, buffalo are a central part of their traditional lifestyle, and one of their mourning traditions involves shaving their heads in a manner similar to Charles's hairstyle change post-Guarma arc.

I'm white and if anyone has constructive comments about my inclusion of Kotsoteka funerary traditions I'm happy to hear and act on them.

The Oquenda was the name of a Cuban trading ship from the 1870's. It was primarily used to transport indentured Chinese workers to the Cuban sugar plantations.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #charles smith #sadie adler #charthur #arthur morgan #cw: suicidal ideations

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ot7always · 4 years ago

Text

Forget-me-not

Word Count: 7.4k

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Village!AU. Angst. Seriously, it hurts.

Warnings: Mentions of war. Death, grief.

Rating: PG-15

Summary: As much as this had always been a possibility, you never thought that one day your best friend would actually be stolen from you.

A/N: This fic is part of my 1k Milestone Requests that was picked randomly out of the pool of requests I got!! Thank you to the lovely @jinpanman for sending such an interesting request in!! When I started writing this I had just come off of writing so much fluff, so I thought: I guess it’s time to write ANGST and this physically hurt me fhkfldhgf

“Y/N!” a voice called out loudly from downstairs, startling you enough to drop your sewing needle into the mess of fabric on your lap. Your sister had once again managed to tear one of her dresses running around doing whatever it was she did with the neighbour’s youngest son. Not that you could have boasted any more appropriate behaviour when you were her age.

“Just a moment, mother!” you responded, eyeing the damage. Truly, it wasn’t as bad as she made it sound when she came to you in a panic, dirt on her hands and tears on her cheeks. Surely it couldn’t take you more than a few minutes to fix.

“Come now, love! There’s a messenger from the capital outside!”

That had your brows furrowing instantly. A messenger? Here? Surely your relatively small, riverside village was of nearly no importance to the capital aside from paying the annual taxes.

“Coming!” you shouted, rising quickly and tossing the garment onto the chair behind you. The sewing could certainly wait, whereas the capital did not wait for anyone. It was possible the messenger had already started his spiel, and you were much too nosy a person to sit at home while something interesting was happening.

You slipped into your shoes quickly before rushing downstairs and out the door, hoping you still appeared as put together as you had that morning. Perhaps you should have thanked your mother before running full-speed toward the village’s centre, but it was much too late for that now.

When you arrived, a well-dressed man was already standing in the centre of a crowd, luckily only seeming to have just begun speaking.

“-sends his regards from the capital, but also his deepest apologies.”

Before you could ponder his words much, a sudden towering presence beside you stole your concentration for a moment.

Dark brown hair unruly, coat hastily done up, boots unlaced – how Kim Namjoon managed to make looking like a total mess a fashionable statement, you could never understand. But according to the whispers you heard as you went about your day, his unkempt, boyish manliness had stolen many ladies’ hearts in your little village. You would almost be annoyed, if not for the fact that he was so oblivious.

He shot a quick, dimpled smile your way, returned by one of your own before you both concentrated on the man’s speech once again.

“-army had taken a massive hit after the last war. As you know, that was only one year ago, and we have yet to recover properly after the close victory. And it appears that Reina is looking to take advantage of this.”

Reina. A country nearly 2 weeks away by horse, one who recently allied with Xenia through marriage, who your Kingdom’s army had barely defeated last year.

Unease settled over the crowd immediately. You grabbed for Namjoon’s arm instinctively, his hand raising to cover your own only a second later. This couldn’t possibly be what you thought it was, right?

“War appears to be imminent, and it can only be so much longer before tensions snap. We cannot let the Kingdom fall without a fight, and we are calling on all of our allies for assistance. But it is not enough.”

You sucked in a breath.

“The capital has decreed for all able-bodied man over 20 years of age to report for training and assignment. Women may volunteer to join the forces.”

Whispers and hushed cries of disbelief rang out through the crowd, but were quickly quieted by the continued announcements.

“You are expected to be in the capital within one weeks’ time. You may report to me for additional details. That is all.”

You turned to Namjoon with a helpless expression colouring your face, but the one on his was already one of resignation. Every man knew this could always be a possibility – hell, the same thing had happened only years ago for similar reasons, though that that time, your best friend had been too young to be conscripted.

But not this time.

“Namjoon-”

“It’ll be fine,” he cut in quickly, trying to quell the steadily rising despair taking over your features.

It seemed that the other men in the crowd felt the same sort of sad acceptance, hushing their daughters, wives, and friends in the same way.

As much as you might as joked to anyone who asked that Namjoon was nothing more than a nuisance, you hardly went a day without seeing him. His family home was only down the street – a fact you’d learned only days after you grew old enough to play with the other children on your own.

His tiny body had come barreling into your smaller one in a rush, sending your 6-year-old figure straight into a nearby bush. And as any young girl would do after having torn the new dress gifted to you only weeks earlier, to no fault of her own, you recalled throwing quite the tantrum.

You only saw more and more of him after he brought you to his home in a hurry, pushing you towards his mother in a wordless plea to fix whatever problem he caused. And so she mended your dress, urged you to return for tea the next day, and thus began your odd relationship with the clumsy boy.

You were not quite fast friends, your friendship with his mother developing much more quickly than any relationship with him. The younger you was quite adept at holding a grudge, and you didn’t dare forget that this was the boy that almost ruined your birthday present.

But, as children did, you got over it before long, especially after learning that you would be attending the same classes that same year. While a year older than you, an unfortunate illness had befallen him two years prior, holding him back several months.

After weeks of taking the exact same walk to and from school, you’d warmed up to the boy quite a bit. He liked to show you his strange collection of rocks, and in exchange you showed him your collection of fabrics you’d collected from old clothing and blankets over the years. The fact that you’d acted interested in each other's odd habits must have been a testament to your strengthening bond.

Spending your days with him became second nature over time, right up until he’d grown at least a head taller than you and become more man than boy.

You’d seen each other through almost all of life’s troubles; studying together in a harried panic, hurriedly throwing together gifts for birthdays you’d forgotten, and eventually cheering each other on in finding an occupation for yourself.

It must have been a surprise to the other villagefolk that it was you who had become the teacher, and not Namjoon, because it was him dazzling your teachers with grand speeches and uncanny wisdom for his age. Though they could not be surprised long, for it was Namjoon who spent many months of the year in neighbouring villages, and sometimes even the capital, studying to be a doctor.

There were few people in your village with the capabilities to study such a profession, but Namjoon excelled. He preferred not to boast of his abilities, but you heard frequently from your mother that many travellers sung his praises. Your best friend was a rare gem whose future appeared to span far beyond the tiny walls of your village.

Which was why you could not simply accept that he would go off to war, possibly never to be seen again.

“How can you be okay with this? How are you not panicking? Namjoon, I-”

You were unaware of your rising volume until steady hands settled on your shoulders, moving to shield you from the curious eyes now pointed in your direction. How could he possibly take care for your reputation when the country was asking him to give up his life?

“We always knew this might happen some day, Y/N. You know it as well as I do.” His words were firm, but his eyes spoke different words, pained words. Words that he could not say here, for to publicly voice his displeasure would not be taken well. Especially not when so many of the men around you had already gone to war and returned.

He was right that you knew this could happen – you would be a fool not to realize such a thing. Even your father had been lost to war when you were only a child, as is the reality for many children in your village. But did that make this any easier to bear? No person could say that preparing for a possible goodbye made the event any less gut wrenching.

“I’m worried for you,” you eventually whispered, head tipping back to stare into those eyes that had become a constant in your daily life, eyes that, one week from now, you might never see again. That thought sent a new wave of dread through your very being, a hole opening in your chest at the thought of Namjoon riding off, never to be seen again.

“Y/N,” he said, squeezing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you out of your head and back into this moment with him. “I need to speak with the messenger. Will you wait for me by the pond?”

You could only nod mutely, afraid that if you were to open your mouth, the only thing that would come out would be more words of displeasure.

“I’ll come as soon as I can okay?” he asked gently, voice filled with compassion. A part of you was ashamed that he was here comforting you when it was his life on the line.

When you didn’t make to move on your own, the hands still on your shoulders nudged you to turn around, further words of assurance falling from his lips.

It was as though you had been possessed. Your mind felt suddenly blank, your chest empty, your movements not your own. You hadn’t even realized you were approaching the pond near your home until the water was glistening right in front of you.

You stood as close to the water as one would dare, what with the notoriously slippery rocks at your feet. You stared at your reflection in the crystal-clear shallows before you, as though she could tell you how to deal with this situation. And as you watched your skirts sway gently in the spring breeze, you wondered if your eyes appeared as empty as your soul felt in this moment.

Being here only spurred up more shared memories. Summers spent playing in the water, digging up insects, even chasing each other over the wet rocks, much to the disdain of your mother.

Not only that – this place felt safe. It was where you came when you were upset, where you always were when Namjoon came looking for you to make things better. It was where you found him when he was contemplating whether he was fit to be a doctor, where you assured him that he was the most intelligent person you knew of.

Without even realizing it, you had begun digging up every good memory you had with Namjoon, as though to mourn them before you’ve even lost him.

It seemed that a part of you had already accepted the possibility of losing him forever, already accepted that as many memories as you had together, you might never have the chance to make any more.

But rather than sadness, sorrow – all you felt was a gaping emptiness within you as you stared, unblinking, unseeing, into the water before you.

Was something wrong with you, not to feel? Someone akin to family was about to be ripped away from you, yet your eyes were dry. Shouldn’t you be screaming, sobbing? Didn’t he deserve at least that?

“Y/N.”

You didn’t have the slightest idea how much time had passed before Namjoon was calling your name, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned slowly before meeting his eyes, the distance between you unusually large. He appeared as though he didn’t know what to do with himself, as though you hadn’t spent over 15 years at each other’s side. He looked to be brimming with words he wanted to say to you, but his eyes remained fixed on you, his mouth shut.

“So?” you managed to force out, voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

He only gave you a pained smile in response, closing the space between you and eventually sitting next to the place you stood. When he patted the ground at your feet, you joined him.

Minutes went by with both of you silent, gazes staring blankly across the water, as though failing to address the subject at hand would render it nonexistent.

However, patience was never your strong suit, and you could not hold your tongue any longer, even if you would only receive bad news in return. Though, it appeared Namjoon had the same idea.

“What-”

“I-”

As quickly as you had both opened your mouths, you had stopped talking. A slight smile finally cracked your stony expression as you met Namjoon’s eye, his expression sheepish, as though he could have known he was going to cut you off.

“You first,” you chuckled, tension seemingly broken as you watched Namjoon collect his thoughts.

“I spoke to the messenger...” he started, taking another breath as you acknowledged him with a low hum. “He told me I would be able to work with the doctors there.”

You perked up immediately at his words, hope blooming in your chest. “So you won’t have to fight?”

But the troubled expression on his face told you it wasn’t that simple.

“Not on the front-lines, but I’ll have to be close by. Wherever they decide to send me.”

“You’ll be in the camps.”

“Right.”

That coiling feeling in your gut returned. “And the camps get raided often.”

“Right,” he murmured. “I could...”

“You could die.” You cut him off with a whisper, turning your head away to hide your furrowed brows, nails digging into your forearm as though the physical pain could ease the burden in your heart. “How are you not more upset?”

“Part of me always expected for this day to come,” he sighed, hand drawing senseless patterns into the rocks at his feet. “As a man in a country at war, it’s like I was born just to die.”

“Don’t say that. Why do you accept your death so easily?” you forced out through gritted teeth, burying the sorrow in your chest that was creeping up your throat, threatening to burst at the seams. Did he value himself so lowly that it was so easy to throw his life away for his country?

“There’s nothing I can do about this, you know that,” he said lowly.

“I know,” you replied simply. You did. But that didn’t mean you could accept it so easily. You should have been more like him, should have expected that this might eventually happen to the two of you, but too much of you didn’t want to think about a reality without your best friend in it. Perhaps it was naïve and foolish of you, but you were happier thinking that the time you had with Namjoon was not defined by an hourglass that tipped at the notion of war.

The silence that followed was heavy, the emotions that laid between you more than words could express.

To think that his hulking presence in this place you grew up together – when he visited you in the classroom with treats for the children, when he ran through the village streets with your sister on his back – to think that one week from now, those might just be memories, never to be seen before you again. Was it selfish to mourn how lonely you would be without him?

You thought you could hold yourself together until you returned home, but it was the arm circling around your shoulders and the words that came next from his lips that broke you.

“Will you remember me well?”

It was as though the single thread holding you together snapped, sorrow rearing its ugly head as tears spilled from your eyes. You kept your face from him, but no matter how quietly you cried, the heaving of your shoulders, gave you away.

Namjoon didn’t comment, only pulling you closer so that your head could rest on his shoulder.

“You’re so stupid,” you sobbed, voice strained as you angrily wiped at the tears on your face. “I hate you.”

You swore you heard Namjoon snort at that. After all, he heard that phrase from you at least 5 times per week.

“I know, I know.”

You finally turned towards him, but before he could get a good look at you, you buried your face in his chest and wrapped your arms around him. When you realized that this could be one of the last times you held him close like this, another strangled cry was wrenched from your throat.

He didn’t dare comment on how tightly you were holding him, nor how wet the front of his shirt was becoming.

Another comment on how well he was keeping himself together was on the tip of your tongue before you felt the shuddering of his body beneath you.

Namjoon was a silent crier if you’d ever seen one, and if not for the breath catching in his throat, it would have been hard for anyone to tell without seeing him.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that, half-sprawled across his body, tears falling until there was nothing more for your body to give. Namjoon’s hands trembled in their place on your back, and you wished more than anything that you could make this easier on him somehow. It was his life on the line, after all, and not yours.

“Y/N,” he whispered, the sound wrought with emotion.

You pulled from him enough to meet his eyes, the pain you found there a reflection of your own. His hand rose to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks before moving to lace his fingers with your own.

“Take care of my mother for me. Please.”

You nodded gravely, reaching for his other hand as well. “Of course,” you replied, breaking eye contact lest you fall apart all over again. “Only until you get back.”

“Only until I get back.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noted the setting sun above the tall trees surrounding you, though you still had no grasp on how long you had been here together. Everything felt to be a blur of fear and despair.

“When do you leave?” you asked.

“In five days.”

You nodded. Five days left with your best friend before you had to send him off to a war he might not return from. You were certain those days would be spent busy right from dawn until dusk, but you would steal whatever moments with him you could.

You eventually returned to your original position sitting beside him, facing the water as a slight breeze sent a shiver through you.

“We should head back soon,” he said, but he didn’t sound to want to leave very much. “It’s getting dark.”

“Stay with me a while longer,” you murmured, reaching for his hand.

So he did.

The days following passed in a whirlwind. Despite your dedication to spending as much time with Namjoon as possible before his departure, it proved difficult with the preparations he had to make. Writing letters to his colleagues, saying goodbye to old teachers, securing a horse, packing his belongings – there was unfortunately not much time left for the two of you to simply spend with each other, though you stole what moments you could.

It was almost surreal, what you felt in that time. You couldn’t help the tears that came that night after the pond when your mother held you. Since then, it had almost been an endless cycle of sorrow followed by emptiness, over and over and over.

But the morning before Namjoon would set out on his own, you were determined not to break down again. You were determined that you would send him off with a smile, no matter how difficult it would be to manifest one. He deserved to leave on a good note, not having to comfort you yet again right before he left. You should be the one making him feel better, not the other way around. You would support him as best you could, and momentarily put aside the worst-case scenarios that had been circling through your head ever since the words came from that messenger’s mouth.

“Were you waiting long?” came a voice from behind you.

Turning around, you smiled as you met Namjoon’s eyes, his body already clad in a riding outfit and sturdy boots. It looked good on him.

“Not at all.”

The two of you had decided to spend the last of his time in the village together at the pond. It felt fitting – it was a place ever-present in your childhood memories together, a place you felt a strong emotional attachment to. Not only that, it was peaceful here. Quiet. Perfect.

“Sit with me,” you said, settling yourself in the grass beside a basket you brought with you.

“Is that what I think it is?” he questioned, clearly trying to keep the childish excitement from his voice, though failing.

When you removed the cloth covering what laid within, you had to keep yourself from laughing at Namjoon’s sudden intake of breath.

“Apple pie, fresh from the oven about... an hour ago?” you hummed nonchalantly, not bothering to hide your grin at his excitement. “It’s not exactly breakfast, but I thought you would appreciate it. You can take what’s left with you.”

“You really know how to cheer up a guy, don’t you?” he breathed, sending a reverent ‘thank you’ as you handed it over to him.

As he distracted himself with the pie, you took the chance to study him.

You quickly dispelled the thought that you had to memorize his face now, burn the picture into your memory while you could.

What startled you was that he looked... happy. Well – as happy as he could be considering the situation, but truly, he looked content. As though accepting his fate was no difficult thing, as though he wasn’t leaving his family behind within hours.

Perhaps you should not have been so surprised, though, as Namjoon had always been someone who adapted well to change and thrived wherever he went. All you could do now was have faith that that would hold true now.

“Something on my face?” he teased, snapping you out of your thoughts before darting a slightly embarrassed glance his way.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much I’m going to miss you.”

A flash of pain went through his gaze before he snapped his head down to hide it. A pang of guilt shot through you at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” you hastened. “I promised myself not to be negative today, I just...”

“Can’t stop thinking about it, right?” he mumbled.

“Yes,” you whispered, reaching for his hand as you pushed the leftovers of the pie out of your way. “But it’s okay. You’re so stubborn I know you’ll come back.”

Your words had their intended effect, those dimples you’d come to grow and love making their appearance again as he exhaled a laugh. The momentary joy you saw there, though, was quickly put away and replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone sounding unsure and entirely unlike him. A furrow worked its way between your brows immediately and you were about to comment on his apparent nervousness, but he spoke up before you could. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hm?” you responded, caught off guard. “Okay, sure. What is it?”

“I... This is – Well...” he stuttered, taking you off guard even more. Anything that rendered Namjoon an ineloquent speaker must have been weighing heavily on his mind.

“Namjoon?” you prodded, tone laced with concern. You had never been one to mince words with each other, and so his inability to come out with what he was thinking was unusual.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you right now,” he blurted out in what must have been half a breath. “But I don’t want to leave here with any regrets, you know? In case... well, you know...”

“You’re scaring me,” you said, your heartbeat increasing already just from watching him fumble around with his words.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he breathed. “But before I go, I just have to tell you that I...”

He took a long pause then, several moments passing as he gathered himself. Just as you were about to cut in again, he said the words all at once, almost too fast for you to process.

“I love you.”

You spent a moment staring at him blankly as you registered what he said.

But once you did, you were left no less confused than you were before.

“I love you too, Joon, you should know that-”

“No,” he interrupted loudly, wincing slightly in apology when you jumped in surprise. “That’s... that’s not what I meant.”

That’s not what he meant? What else could he have possibly-

Wait.

Namjoon spotted the exact moment you realized exactly what he meant by his words, confusion, realization, then confusion again flashing in your eyes.

It was silent for several moments as you simply stared at him, no part of you knowing what to do with this knowledge.

“What?” was what you settled on, and you inwardly cursed yourself for not having anything better to say.

He gave a bit of a self-deprecating laugh then, and something in your gut wrenched knowing you were the cause of that sound. He broke eye contact, bravery seemingly used up, instead staring blankly into the water.

“I know it’s unfair to tell you this now, and honestly,” he paused as his lips upturned in a mirthless grin. “I don’t really know why I did. It doesn’t change anything.”

You wanted so badly to be able to comfort him, but you couldn’t tell whether your touch would just make it worse.

“I-I don’t know what to say, I never-”

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I just had to get it off my chest since...”

He let his words trail off, both of you already knowing what he was referring to. There was no use saying the same thing again and again.

“I never thought about it,” you whispered, glancing over at Namjoon in a new light. In love with you? You couldn’t say there was never a moment where you thought you and him could be together like that – you'd spent much of your life together, after all. But it was never something you’d entertained seriously, never something you allowed to linger in your brain.

“I know,” he said, and you ignored the way his voice cracked at the end of the phrase. “I just didn’t think our story would end like this, you know?”

“Namjoon...”

“I thought I’d have time to muster up the courage, time to make you fall in love with me too,” he continued. “You always told me I was naïve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have said something earlier, stopped hiding, stopped pretending...” He sighed. “There’s no use dwelling on it now. Find someone who makes you happy, okay?”

It was as though all of the words had been stolen from your body. You didn’t know what you could possibly say to him, how you could possibly ease his pain. And despite not having known, you couldn’t help the guilt that washed over you. You were the one causing him this pain, you were the one somehow too oblivious to see something in the man you claimed to know everything about. And at the same time, you wished he said something before, because now was too late – whether you could have been happy together didn’t matter now. Fate was cruel with her strings.

“Y/N.” His stern tone broke you free from your thoughts. “It doesn’t bother me now, okay? I just... couldn’t leave with secrets.”

“I understand,” you responded, though you could not stop thinking on the notion. What you might have been together had he not been called to war, had he had time to enact his grand plan to win your heart.

But none of that mattered now.

After several minutes of heavy silence, his voice startled you out of your melancholy.

“I need to say goodbye to my mother.” He stood, offering you a hand to join him.

“I’ll walk you,” you offered quietly, not letting go of his hand. He didn’t comment on it.

You felt almost dazed after his confession, the two of you arriving at Namjoon’s family home within what felt like seconds.

When you looked up at him he was staring at you quizzically, and you quickly removed your hand from his own.

“Will you meet me at the gates in a half hour?”

The gates. The place where you would say goodbye to your best friend, not knowing if or when you would hear from or see him again. You pushed down the dread once again, determined to show a brave face.

“Of course,” you replied weakly, sending him a smile that surely didn’t meet your eyes.

Before he could express his worry at your behaviour, you patted him on the back as you set out for the gates.

The entrance to your village was a beautiful place – surely the most beautiful in the entire area. One of the village teachers had a special gift for horticulture, tending to the hedges and flowers almost every day. You had tried your best to help him when you were young, though it was quickly proven that despite your love for flowers, you lacked the ability to care for them properly.

The primroses were in full bloom, the array of colours surrounding you from where you sat in the grass. The butterflies were rampant this time of year, enough that some of the grumpier citizens likened them to pests. But you had always admired their beauty, silken wings of white, yellow, and orange fluttering gently through the warm breeze.

Perhaps such painful goodbyes could be made slightly easier in scenery such as this.

The grass was soft where you sat waiting, nothing like the thick, pointed blades near the pond. You allowed your fingers to trail through the greenery on either side of you, closing your eyes and tipping your head back to greet the warmth of the sun, only having just taken its place in the morning sky.

You didn’t move even as you heard the clacking of hooves on cobblestone, as footsteps approached and arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind.

He was warm, and safe, and alive, and you would give anything and everything to keep him that way.

But sheer will and sacrifice could not win a war, no matter what the folk tales claimed.

You allowed yourself to relax into his hold, despite the awkward position of Namjoon hovering above you.

You didn’t remember doing it, but at some point, you must have pulled him down with you. Because the next thing you knew you were in his lap, face hidden away in his chest as you trembled, holding back tears.

The hands on your back and on your head almost hurt in the way they were crushing you to him, but you didn’t dare complain, not when you were doing the same to him. Not when this one moment needed to last you until you could see him again.

If you could see him again.

But now was not the time to explore that train of thought once again.

Pull yourself together and be strong. For him.

Forcing yourself to take several deep breaths, you eventually pulled away from him enough to look into his eyes for the first time since he walked up.

You didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that the deep brown of his eyes held only a resigned acceptance, lips upturned in a smile that looked more self-deprecating than anything.

Neither of you dared to break the silence, and it dawned on you then that to anyone else, you might have looked like lovers, wrapped together amongst the flowers, gazes locked.

Yes, fate was cruel with her strings.

The bell from the clocktower several blocks away was what broke you free of the moment, your heart dropping in your chest when you processed what you’d heard.

The seventh hour.

He had to leave now.

You stood up wordlessly, almost as though you were in a trance. You couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head up, staring intently at your feet.

“Y/N.” His voice came with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to keep you from hiding any longer. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

“Okay,” you whispered, covering his hand with both of your own.

A moment passed before you led him to where his horse was waiting. You managed to crack a smile at the sight of the remnants of your pie bagged and tied messily to the saddle. With a knot like that, you were dubious that it would make it to the capital in one piece without being left behind.

You clung to his bicep the entire time you walked the horse past the gates, your fingers digging into the flesh as though you had the power to keep him there.

His hands moved to cup beneath your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes one last time before he left.

You didn’t even blink as his gaze darted across every inch of your face, memorizing it as if he didn’t see you in his dreams every night already.

“I guess this is it,” he murmured, allowing his thumb to stroke mindlessly along the soft skin of your jaw.

It wasn’t often that he got to touch you like this, and he would make this one moment last a lifetime if you would let him.

He gave you a smile then that was small but as genuine as you’d ever seen it, and your face was lighting up in return before you even gave it any thought.

You only nodded, afraid in that moment of what would leave your lips if you dared to part them.

His hands left you slowly, leaving warmth in their wake. When he turned his back to you, about to climb atop his horse, you didn’t know what came over you then. The warmth, the pain, emotion you couldn’t put into words – something in you snapped.

You saw the breath leave him in a sigh, and right as his leg begun to raise from the ground-

“Wait!” you yelled, yanking his arm to turn him back around, a yelp leaving him as he almost lost his balance.

His eyes were wide with alarm, but you didn’t give him the chance to ask what you were doing before you threw yourself at him.

When your lips met, sparks didn’t fly, nor did time slow to a pause.

But something within you blossomed at the touch, a hand raising to rest against the nape of his neck even as he stood frozen with shock. His hands hovered in the air as his mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process the fact that you were kissing him.

Just as you were about to spring away from him, concerned by his utter lack of reaction, he groaned into your mouth, arms circling around your waist.

You’d clearly awoken something in him, his lips responding to your own with vengeance, pulling your body as close to his as possible. Your neck ached fiercely at the harsh angle, but that was the last thing on your mind.

You couldn’t pinpoint what this feeling was – you only knew that you didn’t want to let it go. This warmth, this safety, this moment with the sun warming your skin, his hands clutching you, his lips soft, patient against your own.

What started out hurried and desperate soon became slow and calm, but your heart was pounding in your chest regardless.

It was the horse’s whinny at your side that broke you from your daze, your lips separating as you looked at him wide-eyed.

“Y/N-”

“Come home safe,” you cut him off, finally disentangling yourself from him and stepping back.

He looked like he had so much he wanted to say to you, and you shared the sentiment.

But there was no time if he wanted to reach the capital before sundown.

He would just need to come back.

With a sombre nod and a quick touch of his fingers to his lips in disbelief, he turned to finally mount his horse.

You locked eyes once more, forcing your mouth up into a smile as you weakly waved farewell.

But your heart hurt, your eyes stinging.

All he could do was try his best to return it.

And with one last tilt of the head from both of you, he set off.

Come home safe.

Please.

It was a long and grueling six months.

You were beside yourself once Namjoon left that morning. It must have been days before you felt well enough to leave your bed, but time was a blur then. Your sister did her best to comfort you, cuddling her much smaller body into your side until you both fell asleep.

But you could not spend all of your days moping. Not when you had your own responsibilities in your home and with your students. Not when that would be the last thing Namjoon wanted, either.

Each time a letter arrived from Namjoon, your hope renewed. They came every few weeks, one for you and one for his mother.

You always ran excitedly to her house when a letter came for you, eager to share what words he was able to put down in a rush at the camp.

He was clearly a busy and well-needed man, stationed at one of the more populated camps on the edge of the battlefield, tending to the wounded at every hour of the day.

Despite his short letters and scribbled words, he always included petals or pressed flowers in his letters to you.

It made you giggle when you opened the first one to find a badly-crushed hyacinth stuffed into the sheets.

It was no secret that you went through a phase in your adolescence in which you loved to collect flowers in notebooks. You’d had many short-lived passions, but this one lasted for years. Books and books of dried, pressed flowers, enough that your poor sister sneezed whenever she entered your room.

It became routine to find flower after flower in his letters to you, and you had to admit that your heart fluttered each time, excited to see what he included for you that time.

The flowers on the other side of the country were much different from your own, and it was no small thrill to see what beauty was in store for you with each letter.

Stretching your arms far above your head, you sat up in bed, having been woken by the sunlight streaming in despite your closed curtains. Perhaps you would soon need to invest in buying some heavier, darker fabrics.

Hopping out of bed quickly and tossing on your skirts and apron, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror before heading out to wash up and make breakfast.

You were often the first one up, your mother much preferring reading or knitting until late at night, lit only by lanternlight. Your sister, on the other hand, slept early and woke up late. The girl got an obscene amount of sleep, though you supposed her growing body must have needed it.

You didn’t mind the quiet, your hushed footsteps and soft humming only ever interrupted by birdsong and crickets chirping.

You were in a particularly good mood as of late, constantly receiving news of battles gone well and your country’s forcing advancing. The village elders had told you that with the way things were going, the men should be back in about a month or two, perhaps even sooner should your opponents surrender.

The thought of seeing Namjoon again in only a month had a soft smile spreading across your face before you had realized it.

You didn’t know what you were feeling for Namjoon, didn’t know if it was love, but you knew that with every letter, he wrapped himself around your heart even more.

Reaching the kitchen, you reached for a hair bandana before turning in search of flour. Perhaps you could make pastries before your family woke up?

But as you turned, a flash of white in your peripheral caught your eye. Spotting an envelope on the near the front door, the bandana fell forgotten to the floor, feet racing across the room.

Scooping the envelope from the floor, you hurried over to the table, setting yourself down into a wooden chair in preparation for another of Namjoon’s letters.

But when you examined the letter closer, you frowned.

It was addressed to you, but the handwriting wasn’t one that you recognized. Who else ever sent you letters? Who could you possibly not recognize despite them knowing where you lived?

Doubt and dread rose in your gut, but when you turned the envelope around, you could have sworn your heart stopped.

A military seal.

Bright red, and clear as day.

With trembling hands, you reached for a nearby knife to cut the envelope open.

Pulling the paper from inside, you had to muffle a cry when you unfolded the letter, a flower falling into your waiting hand, Namjoon’s writing covering the page.

Unlike his normal, scribbled, rushed handwriting, this was meticulous. Neat.

It made you feel sick.

Already feeling like you were sinking, you begun to read.

My dearest Y/N,

I pray to anyone who may be listening that your eyes never see the words written on this page, that I return to you a stronger man, prepared to do anything to have you kiss me again.

In the event that you are reading this, I’m sorry.

I asked my commander to send you a letter in the event that I do not make it out of this war alive.

It pains me to write this, and I fear staining the paper with my tears as I do. There is nothing I want less than to leave you alone, than to leave you behind as I leave this plane.

There was something you said to me once when we were perhaps 11 or 12, I’m not sure if you remember it. It was after we got into one of our silly, petty fights, and I ignored you for a several days.

When we met again, I remember that you were crying. Your eyes were wet and red, and my heart hurt then. You told me, “Never leave me alone again.” I told you I wouldn’t, and I never did something like that again. From then on, I promised myself that I would never leave you. I would stay by your side in whatever capacity you let me.

I'm sorry. I’m sorry I broke my promise, and I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to come back to you.

I love you more than words can say, and I’m sorry.

I never want to cause you pain, and it kills me knowing that if you ever have to read this, I won’t be there to ease the hurt.

I want you so badly to be happy no matter what, and I want nothing more than for you to look back on our moments together with joy. Please don’t let my death take that beautiful smile from your face forever.

I’m sorry.

With all my love,

Your Namjoon

You didn’t know when you had started crying, but fat teardrops covered your hands, splashing against the ink on the page.

Why?

Why did your story have to end here?

You tried to quiet your sobs, but it was no use. You were lost to sorrow, overcome with pain, your vision blurry with tears.

As you balled up your fists in rage and agony, you felt something poke into your palm.

The flower.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you looked down into the palm of your hand, and another gut-wrenching cry was pulled from your throat.

Because there laid a browning, wilted, crushed, forget-me-not.

Tagging: @jinpanman @ezralia-writes @wwilloww

#houseofddaeng #btsgoldnet #btsguild #ficswithluv #heartsforbts #hyunglinenetwork #magicshopnet #mikrogalaxynet #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts angst #namjoon angst #bts fic #bts fanfic

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chunhua-s · 4 years ago

Note

congrats on your milestone event!!! id like to request for kita soulmate!au with angst to fluff genre 👉👈 yknow sumn rejection shit bcs im hopeless like that wehee once again congrats! and i love your writing style :3

anon you’re gonna make me cry 🥺 seriously i’m happy you enjoy my writing and that you think my style’s okay! most of the time i go off of what kind of feelings i get when i’m writing or the imagery that comes up in my head and i’m never sure that it translates well enough for you guys to feel or see the same thing. hopefully as i keep writing then i’ll be able to show you guys what’s on my mind better when i’m writing! thank you again for requesting — seriously, it means a lot! and like always, you guys, don’t be afraid to come and talk to me on and off anon! your interactions mean a lot, especially for content creators! we love hearing what you all think, what you like/dislike about our work, what you think of certain characters — absolutely anything! come and talk with us more whenever you can 💕

writing for kita feels calming somehow. normally the things that come up in my chest or my mind when i write gets nearly overwhelming if that makes sense? like i’ll have to pause and remind myself to breathe because it takes up so much of my attention that i kinda get lost, but with kita, it feels more flowey to me. it’s not demanding but more like a gentle coaxing kind of thing or like looking at the surface of a calm river. i was initially scared to write for him because i was worried i wouldn’t get him right, but i feel satisfied with how this turned out, i think. i hope you guys will find it as calming as i found it too! it might not be exactly what you wanted, but because i had already written the rejection of a person for atsumu’s soulmate oneshot, i wanted to play around with kita’s character and make it instead the rejection of a concept/idea? which would indirectly lead to him... you know, rejecting his soulmate initially, but— ahhhhhh it might make sense to just read it!! these rambles keep getting longer and longer :v i’m sorry for that!! please go ahead and read and tell me what you think in the end! 💕

NOTNING MORE THAN HUMAN ➽ KITA SHINSUKE x READER

genre: angst to fluff

au: soulmate

warnings: none

shinsuke kita is human.

and of course, that much is obvious. he isn’t a machine that’s incapable of feelings and emotions, whose heart is unfamiliar with melodies of an overwhelming joy, or the quiet hymns of deep rooted sadness. his skin still burns under righteous fury and anger, his tongue still weighs heavy under hesitance and silent worries. at the end of every long day, he’s still human.

it’s because he’s human that the words on his collarbone feel so heavy, as if they might cave into the bone and destroy him under their weight. it’s because he’s human that the sight of black markings in the mirror clouds his mind with a new kind of fear and worry. shinsuke kita is human, but he’s long since taught himself how to abandon anxiety and nervousness. he surrounds himself in familiar routines that calm the turbulent voices of doubt, he builds habits that ground him to the earth lest he should be swept away by the current. shinsuke has taught himself not to be afraid for the things that will happen everyday, but meeting his soulmate isn’t one of those things he can prepare for.

it’s a strange concept, he considers to himself. shinsuke doesn’t believe in words like fate or destiny, doesn’t care for the higher powers that should judge his actions. as far as he’s concerned, his own will is what dictates where his life goes — he’s in control, and that’s how it’s always been for him. let the gods watch, if they must, but he’s already decided that he’ll live by what is right, and he wouldn’t dare falter in the face of it. and yet — and it’s such a strange thing for him to do so — he pauses under the notion of a soulmate, of a destined partner who’s supposedly bound to him for as long as he should live. at first, he hadn’t given the idea much thought; it wouldn’t serve any purpose to worry about something that would happen whether or not he wants it, he decided. the truth of it is inevitable, just as the leaves must fall in autumn and the earth should be buried under clouds of white in winter. shinsuke is human — what more can he do but to accept it?

the black words that spread across his skin like droplets of ink became the bitter seeds of doubt that he hadn’t felt in a long time. it’s raining a lot today, isn’t it? the sentence by itself is so bland, like something maybe aran or anyone else might say to him in passing, and at first, it didn’t shake him too much, until he was caught one day under a sudden summer storm. seventeen year old kita somehow found himself stranded beneath a small shelter, where the wooden covering could protect him more than his umbrella until the rain passed. it was nearly unconscious, but he somehow found himself on edge, his breath faltered with the harsh pitter patter of rainfall that tumbled from green leaves and tore ripples from the surface of the lake. shinsuke kita found himself with a stomach full of butterflies and a thundering heartbeat that stole him away from solace and calm, cast the peace that he would so often carry with him away and left him stranded among chopping waves. every trembling breath he took stung on cold air and left him with a burning feeling on his lungs. it’s unfamiliar in its presence and shakes him to his core, but shinsuke kita is reminded of his own humanity when he realizes that what he feels, is anticipation and nervousness.

and it’s an odd thing. as he becomes aware of it, he finds himself twisting his fingers together during spring time; he worries his bottom lip between his teeth during unexpected showers. he feels like a child who stands in line to ride a roller coaster for the first time in his life — wide-eyed and drowning in the millions of feelings that race throughout his body. the feeling itself is nothing new, though it’s unfamiliar and intense in its ferocity and demand, seizes his heart and squeezes so tightly that whenever it rains, he’s left breathless.

it’s almost enough to drive him mad.

his very foundation seems to fall apart with the thunder that rolls across grey skies. for every drop of rain that hits the pavement, he finds himself a jittery mess as his heartbeat tears through his chest. the man who taught himself to abandon his fears reverts into the young boy who watched out for god, for the higher beings who watched his every move. and the thought that comes with every brilliant bolt of lightning burns him just as hotly, invasive and demanding when it flashes through his mind on a single, low whisper:

will you be happy?

shinsuke kita is human. he learns as he sees and lives as he’s learned, and what he saw growing up was that soulmates were bounded together till death do them part. a connection that’s set deep in stone, never to be erased by unforgiving weather and to persevere during the cruelest of storms. it’s an inevitable reality that the gods designed, so that mortals like himself should dance on stage and tell them a story. but shinsuke knows that not all these stories have a happy ending.

there are plays that end in tragedy and loss, those that only knew memories of pain and sang with death’s violin. man becomes the actor to a play that he has no choice in and dances on the puppet master’s strings, he surrenders control and gives himself up to the music, and he has no way of knowing the end of it until the curtains should fall. shinsuke has never been one to lay down his will, and yet, as winter melts once more into gray rain clouds and scattered showers, he’s reminded of his mortality, of the fate that’s been sealed away in the falling of rain. shinsuke kita is human, and so he must, like all men do, bend to fate’s will and never utter a word against her.

and for a long time, the sentiment caused him to completely reject the idea of a soulmate.

that feeling of helplessness that would wash over him with the rain turned into a bitterness that crushed his lungs between tightened fist. the acceptance of an inevitable waltz — whether it be to eternal happiness or to a cruel melody — turned into rebellious loathing that spat in the face of destiny. it’s entirely childish in its tale, like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he doesn’t want to give up his precious toy. that toy is his control, the power he had to live his life by his truth, not by that of a higher being. he’s human, after all, and humans are selfish and resentful by nature.

he finds himself with a heavy chest today, as well, as he waits for the pouring rain to subside. the small shelter in the middle of the garden park is familiar, and carries with it the memories of his epiphany, the one that created thunder storms in his once tranquil heart, and for that, he hates this place. the sound of the rain hitting the roof is like nails scratching against the chalkboard; the sound of droplets hitting the lake like an annoying whining that he can’t get out of his head. shinsuke curses this little pocket away from the world with all the childish anger in the world — let it be damned that doing so wouldn’t change anything. for once, he let himself go on a petty grudge against the universe, and against that looming stage and its heavy curtains.

it’s nearly faint, but he picks up on the patter-patter of footfalls that quickly approach him, and he turns bronze coloured eyes to find your rain-drenched figure running for shelter under the little gazebo. you’re out of breath by the time you make it underneath, letting out an exhausted and frustrated sigh as you press your hands to your knees, and shinsuke finds himself sympathizing with the way you bitterly push your hair from your face. you’re an ordinary office worker, from what he can see; you’ve hidden what looks to be a messenger back beneath your coat, leaving you to tremble in a thin button-up. this day’s downpour had been sudden, unexpected as spring would soon surrender to the approaching summer, and he imagines that he would have been in a similar position as yourself had he not packed his umbrella beforehand.

a silence settles over the both of you that’s only broken by the heavy rain, but the presence of it is so soothing that shinsuke finds himself breathing on a lighter air. suddenly the smell of petrichor turns sweeter, the melody of raindrops melting into a distant lullaby, and for the first time, shinsuke feels his heart melt under an indescribable sense of warmth despite the weather. and when your eyes turn to find his, a helpless grin on your lips, he feels that warmth explode under summer fireworks and coarse throhgh his veins like liquid lightning.

“it’s raining a lot today, isn’t it?”

for the second time in his life, shinsuke has an epiphany under the shelter in the garden.

he feels every bit of resentment vanish on a sudden gust of wind, one that sends raindrops splashing against his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. not when grey clouds suddenly reveal to him pillars of sunlight that embrace your figure and makes you glow against a background of green leaves. the rain turns into something sweet and enticing, and it suddenly gives shinsuke this unexplainable urge to grab your hand and dance with you underneath the pouring showers, where he can hear your voice ring out on chimes of laughter and innocent bliss. in mere seconds, he manages to let go of the dark clouds that he’d unintentionally harboured on his chest, he let them burst with the weight of anger and childish fury so that they would hit the earth on giant droplets of rain.

shinsuke kita is human — he’s imperfect, mortal. he feels and he thinks and he speaks what’s on his mind. he can hate, and he can love: he can make that decision on whether or not to hold useless grudges and to curse a destiny he can’t change, or to welcome that inevitability with the willingness to learn and grow.

today, as he stands beneath a wooden shelter, hiding from the heavy rains, he decides to stretch his hand out and let the water hit his skin.

davi hits 200 followers — haikyuu!! au writing event! 💕

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tanzmitmirsblog · 3 years ago

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Life is a Pandora's box and the hope within Prometheus

Is mythology merely a collection of fascinating legends, or does it have a purpose? Mythology is concerned with both the past and the present. It illuminates the path. Mythology explains how emotion may take control of a person. We can clearly perceive that the greatest enemies of humanity are passion, ambition, hatred, selfishness, and greed. A myth is an image with which we try to make sense of the world,” says Alan Watts. Beyond your imagination, these stories tell us that "the limits of life are beyond what you only know, learn from your past and guide your future." I can hear this whisper. "Myth and nature are the two great garments of the world; nature is the vibrant green garment that covers the planet, and myth is the multidimensional, multi-coloured fabric that constantly covers human culture."(Michael Meade) We can understand the meaningful expression of these words of Michael Meade more easily by expanding our knowledge pool. Nature is a gift given to the world, and man is the other gift that completes the world. He can contain every colour in his soul and turn the world into a work of art, or he can object to other colours and choose only black and go towards the depths of darkness. I would like to tell you about mythological stories that have inspired me. Mythology's brightest stars are Pandora's box and the Prometheus legend. According to a legend, Zeus created Pandora, the first woman on Earth, as a punishment for humanity. This punishment for humanity was devastating and unkind like the great flood of Noah. When humanity forgot about its creators or ignored the gods, the gods were reminding themselves of such punishments. Zeus gave Pandora a box that she should never have opened. This box symbolized the personality of women. There was so much evil in the box, such as malice, hatred, anger, murder, and greed. If the box was opened, these evils would spread to the earth, and Pandora's curiosity prevailed and she opened the box. All evil has spread and swept the world. The great disaster was now within humanity. The box, which Zeus knowingly gave to a woman's curiosity in this story, was a great scourge for humanity. Besides all these evils in the box, there was only one good thing for humanity and that was hope. Mankind has never abandoned hope, and hope has been his only consolation. Instead of blaming Pandora, who opened the box, one should consider Zeus, who sent her for this purpose. For poor Pandora to succumb to her curiosity was the most unlikely thing that could happen to a mortal, but Zeus, who knew this, also knew what would destroy the human race, if you ask me, Zeus survived these evils and his jealousy became his most dangerous weapon. In this regard, Zeus, who continued this ugly reign like Cronus, who ate his sons so that his father would not heir to the throne and his power would not decrease, always succumbed to his feelings. Pandora's curiosity was an invisible mistake compared to what Zeus had done. "Hope? Hope is the last evil!" says Nietzsche. The fact that the last thing humanity clings to is hope, which actually informs them that it is the greatest evil done to them, but without hope, there would be no real reason for people to hold on. Of course, the thing that hurts the most is the disappointment caused by the lack of hope, but no matter how tired one gets, it is also important to be able to fight with the last hope left in one's hands and rely on that hope. Therefore hope, which Zeus saw as a huge bad power, was actually a light for humanity. It would not be enough just to blame Pandora. For Zeus, his main target was Prometheus. Prometheus had been punished many years ago, by setting fire to humanity and making it higher than God. Zeus tied Prometheus to the hard rock at the foot of the Caucasus Mountains by force and violence with unshakable and unbreakable chains. Prometheus had helped Zeus in the battle with the titans, and this favour was quickly forgotten. Zeus' vengeance was enough to make him forget this great goodness. Zeus had insolence, arrogance, egocentric coarseness of human nature. He could have killed Prometheus instead of chaining him, but Zeus couldn't because he had an interest. There was a prophecy told to him. One day a boy would be born and take his throne from him. and only Prometheus knew who the boy's mother was. Zeus sent Hermes to find out this secret, but Prometheus resisted and did not tell the secret, despite all the torture, albeit in chains. showed that there can be a solution if there is willpower. At that moment, the god of gods left Zeus helpless. Prometheus was released generations later. Chiron was ready to die for Prometheus. Hercules slew the eagle and unchained Prometheus from the rock. We realize that even the enmity does not last forever when Zeus says that now this punishment may be enough and will set him free. Prometheus is the strongest character in this story, he is the symbol of justice and he represents never surrender, no matter how much pressure, no matter how to torture. While Prometheus was being held captive in chains, a beautiful and mysterious girl would visit him. This girl's name was IO. They would chat with Prometheus and talk about Zeus. Zeus falls in love with this girl and this love does not escape Hera's eyes. Suspecting Zeus, Hera assigns her servant Argus, who has 100 eyes, to keep him comfortable and control him. Knowing that his lies are useless, Zeus is watched by Argus even while he sleeps. Desperate Zeus turns her into a poor ugly starving animal to get close to her love. However, Argus still does not stop watching him. Finally, Zeus commissions his son Hermes, the messenger of the gods, to kill Argus. Hermes played sweetly upon a pipe of reeds. Argus was pleased at the sound and called to the musician to come nearer. Hermes made some of the hundred eyes sleepy, but some were always awake. Finally, Hermes killed him. If you believe that poor IO has been saved, you are mistaken about Hera's rage and envy. Hera sent a gad-fly to plague her, which stung her to madness. When IO told this to Prometheus, he tried to comfort her. She ran along the seas and lands. This part of the sea was called Bosporus. As she reached the Nile, Zeus would restore her to her earlier human form. She would bear a son called Epophus. IO’s descendant would be Hercules who was the one of the greatest heroes. Prometheus helped them. Hercules helped Prometheus at the same time, he gave Prometheus’ freedom. The good are rewarded. We realize that the evil characters aren't always the heroes, and that the good guys will return one day. Gods and goddesses are another shape of humanity of current. They used their power to destroy somethings like big cities. Even today power wars have not finished. Someone who feels powerful wants to be mightier. Human or gods is trying to force somebody to abdicate. We are aware that a desire is worth more than a drop of blood. We see that neither hostility nor friendship last forever. Zeus who was the god of gods and Prometheus who was the saviour of man were the best friends, but Prometheus’ giving fire to humanity as a gift and knowing a prophecy about Zeus turned this friendship into enmity. At the present time, good friendships can become enmity for any reason. In past, Zeus left Prometheus in despair. Jealousy, the main concept that never changes in both present and past, played a role in almost every event. Jealousy creates slyness as a snake and cunning as a wolf. Today, every person who is jealous definitely brings evil things whatever happens. We have learned from Hera how jealousy is dangerous when it is combined with power. She used her power whenever Zeus fell in love with another woman. Beautiful Psyche’s sisters have showed that jealousy is disease and it spreads as fast as fire. They came her home and jealousy wrapped them like a fire. When Pandora opened the box, so many evil things showed up, but at the same time hope approved itself. People never abandon to hope. We are still aware that everything which is bad has a solution and we can defeat anything if there is hope. Hope is really the cure for everything. Just believing is enough to overcome most things. The eyes in the hearts should always remain open. Living as if a person would never die gives rise to endless desires. Today, many people have these desires; however, you can restrain your desire and everything is in your hands. You can abuse this opportunity and you can also use to good things. If a person is defeated by her or his anger and ambition, this short life swallows her or him. Mythology enables us to see what the truth or wrong is, the truth or evil is, and deceptions or deaths are. It helps us to know people who are captured all emotions. It shows that history always repeats and cruelty does not change in both past and present. Fate always overcomes everything. This never change in past or present. History leads to understand what truth is and what wrong is. This bridge always provides to understand the relationship between powerful and powerless. We are actor in own stage. We should play the best play for life. We should stay alive. It does not matter how it will be because we are not permanent in this life.

-Tanzmitmirsblog

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bush-viper-cutie · 5 years ago

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MASTERLIST

~ ~ ~ Series ~ ~ ~

Heather Potter (ongoing)

Pairing: Snape x OC (VERY slow burn)

Summary: Follow Heather Potter (Harry’s often forgotten twin) through their Hogwarts years.

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Love Me Roughly

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Summary: Severus Snape survives the war and decides to start his new life and leave everything and everyone behind.

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Death’s Home (Gothic AU) (Ongoing for October)

Pairing: Snape x OC

Summary: 22 year old Severus Snape moves into a very old home with his parents after leaving the wizarding world.

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~ ~ ~ One Shots ~ ~ ~

A Warm Kiss

Pairing: young!snape x fem!reader

Summary: You attend Slughorn’s party alone and unsure of what to do with yourself. You decide to talk to Severus Snape, a classmate you never talk to, and end up having a night you won’t forget.

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Needed Words

(A Warm Kiss Part Two)

Pairing: young!snape x fem!reader

Summary: After what happened after Slughorn’s party last night with the dreamy and reserved Severus Snape, you’re eager to see him again. Severus is eager to see you too and quickly lets you get carried away with him in the back of the library.

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What Now?

Pairing: young!snape x reader

Summary: All of Hogwarts is forced out of the castle to participate in several activities throughout the grounds. It’s an awful time for both you and Severus Snape until you convince him to go along with your great idea.

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Finding Rocco

(What Now? Part Two)

Pairing: young!snape x reader

Summary: After a night out after hours, you enlist Severus to help you find Rocco after losing him yet again. He is determined to return him to you, even at the expense of his safety.

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Blue Heart

(What Now? Part Three)

Pairing: young!snape x reader

Summary: A week into summer break and you are finally able to hang with your boyfriend, Severus Snape, and surprise him with an invitation to your house while your parents are away.

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Happy Birthday

Pairing: young!snape x reader

Summary: It’s your birthday and you can’t wait to attend a big party where most of your fellow 7th years will be, including one Severus Snape. Ready to be more outgoing, you take a chance and participate in several fun activities that leave you wanting more.

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First Kiss

Pairing: young!snape x reader

Summary: Severus makes a new friend and receives his first ever kiss.

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The Pond

Pairing: young!snape & fem!reader

Summary: Lonely and disliked Prince Severus Snape befriends a village girl in the forest just outside his castle’s woods.

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Garlic Chips

Pairing: young!snape x reader

Summary: You drag Severus down to Hogsmeade with you to enjoy the day with him. Some warm snacks, a spot by the frozen lake, and snow falling all around you. What could be better?

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sMuggled Art

Pairing: young muggle!snape x reader

Summary: Severus is forced to take work in his father’s coworker’s wife’s store where he meets (Y/n). Severus’ view of the world seems dark, and you don’t really make things any better, but there is yet hope to change his mind!

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Midnight Stars Tree

Pairing: young!snape x reader

Summary: Three days before the start of seventh year, you attend a yearly potions demonstration at a wizard hotel across the street from a wizard museum. Every student seventeen and older participate in a tradition where you skip the last demonstration to hide away in a secret spot in the museum with someone of your choosing.

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I’ll Be Your Valentine

Pairing: young!severus x fem!reader

Summary: Severus is humiliated once more by his friends in an attempt to fit in. It was a miscalculation on his part, but he couldn’t have predicted how disastrous his mistake would be. It had taken you days, weeks, months to build up the courage to confess your feelings to your crush, but what did you expect to have happen when doing it on Valentine’s day?

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Late Birthday Wishes (NSFW)

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Summary: Severus heads down to celebrate his 24th birthday at the Three Broomsticks. You’re working a late shift at the bar and find yourself intrigued and attracted to the mysterious stranger that has just walked in.

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Slow and Steady (NSFW)

(Late Birthday Wishes part two)

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Summary: The morning after for Severus is just as amazing as the entirety as last night with you. He’d spend longer if he didn’t need to head back to his job teaching potions. You manage to sneak in a little extra time, though, making his day amazing.

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The Crystal Ball

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Summary: Dilyn Grisial, a renowned match-maker, promises a teenage Severus Snape and his classmates a chance at finding their soulmate. Severus struggles with the possibility he may not even have one especially after it’s been years since he first tried reaching them.

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Green Lace and Peonies

(The Crystal Ball Part Two)

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Summary: Severus Snape goes on a date with the girl his crystal ball paired him with. The date does not go as he thought it would, but he comes to realize how perfect she really is for him.

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Only You

(The Crystal Ball Part Three)

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Summary: After Severus has a bad interaction with a particularly annoying and irritating guy, he opens up about his feelings and accepts what he’s told about his worth.

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Messages (part 1)

(The Crystal Ball Part Four)

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Summary: Severus experiences a major bump in his relationship that he’s never experienced before. It’s easy to be confident in a working relationship when being together is a daily habit, but when the relationship turns long distance after summer is over, he just doesn’t know how to keep himself afloat.

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Mess After Mess

Snape

Summary: Severus is forced to restock almost all his potions ingredients at once all because of two clumsy students who never learn their lesson.

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Thrice Hexed

Snape

Summary: Severus has to deal with one of his more annoying students who asks for his help with the dark arts, which he is reluctant to do, but is forced to help.

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Pretending

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Summary: Severus is forced to attend Lucius’ party. The plan is simple, get rejected enough times, have Lucius think he’s a helpless cause, and go back to Hogwarts to continue reading his book.

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Messenger

Snape

Summary: Severus is tired of Minerva making him run around the castle delivering his messages and makes him get an animal that can do it for him.

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Too Hot

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Summary: It’s way too hot for Severus to think about anything other than melting on the spot.

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~~~ Headcanon Requests? Lil stories?~~~

Guinea Pig Adventures: Curse of the Friendly Tickles

New Student, New Friend

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~ ~ ~ Drabbles ~ ~ ~

Severus Loses His Glasses - 100 Words

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Severus Drinks Coffee - 100 Words

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Severus and Hagrid Drink Tea - 100 Words

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Severus Grades Essays - 100 Words

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Severus Grows an Orange - 100 Words

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Severus Catches a Cold - 100 Words

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Severus Helps Lockhart - 100 Words

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Severus Tries to Sleep - 100 Words

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Severus Cuts His Hair - 100 Words

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Severus Carves a Pumpkin - 100 Words

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Severus in Bed (NSFW) - 100 Words

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~ ~ ~ My Art ~ ~ ~

Snape Hands Young!snape and Snape collages

Care to Explain Yourself?! Snape has a cold

Amusement park part 1

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corpse--diem · 4 years ago

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Tell That Devil | Josephine & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @corpse–diem & a special guest (npc) SUMMARY: Erin’s past comes back to haunt her and tries to make a deal. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

Painted concrete brick walls jutted upward, connecting at the top to create a building as uninteresting and identical as the rest that lined this road. This one was different though. While the street outside murmured quietly, chaos and violence rattled the interior, alive and thriving. Erin hadn’t wanted to believe the rumors or even the flyer that had somehow made its way to her door--a small ‘fuck you’ from someone inside that building, no doubt. She had to know, had to see these walls for herself to believe it. Showing her face in this area was as stupid as it was dangerous, so she’d risked the trip down Amity Road on her own.

The moment she turned the corner, dread swarmed every part of her as she realized the rumors were true. The Ring had been rebuilt. An old anger filled her as she watched from across the street, watching the paying audience discreetly slip in and out. “Motherfuckers,” she murmured on a humorless laugh, shaking her head slowly. The blood, rubble and fire were long gone. Just another mess that had been wiped clean and rebuilt with ease. No real, permanent change was possible in this world, was it? Not when one Roy fell, three more popped up to take the reign. Her naivety stung harsher the longer she stood there, hood drawn to hide her features. She’d taken down her Roy and fought the good fight but this wasn’t her fight anymore. Eyes were starting to burn through her, suspicious and sharp and likely not far from making an unfortunate recognition. Time to get the hell out of there.

She was halfway down the street when her eyes turned up at the sound of another pair of feet coming towards her. She almost missed it but a second glance nearly knocked her onto the sidewalk, eyes wide and horrified. “You,” she hissed, feet planted firmly in place as she tried to ground the rest of her. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Josephine wore a smug smile. She’d felt it long before she’d seen the other woman. The anger that had festered deep inside of Erin had grown now, and it was calling to Josephine louder than the roar of the crowd inside. Hands in pockets, striding with ease, she had followed the taste of it all the way down here and wondered what it was Erin could have possibly seen in this place to evoke such anger. She’d almost wished she’d stayed in White Crest long enough to have watched it happen in real time, but another pull had dragged her away from the town. Being back didn’t feel so different, really-- the town was nearly the same, it was as if she’d never left. She held her arms out in a fake curtsy and bent to greet Erin before sticking her hands back into her pockets and pulling out a cigarette and lighter. “It’s me,” she said simply before flicking the lighter. “Oh, so sorry,” she held out the box, “did you want one?”

How long had it been since Josephine had left Erin on that curb or since she had come home to find her decomposing father tearing apart her office and office assistant? She didn’t know how but she’d nearly forgotten the events of last year in light of everything that had followed. Erin’s jaw set tightly and she shook her head, stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. This wasn’t happening. She was supposed to be done with all of the nonsense that last year had brought, including Josephine. “No,” she answered curtly, only just noticing the way her body stiffened, boiling over with a long forgotten rage. “What are you doing here?” She asked, skipping right to the point, eyes narrowed sharply in her direction. “Usually when you fuck someone’s life over and skip town, you don’t come back.”

Josephine just shrugged and patted out the box before sliding it back into her jacket pocket. “Suit yourself,” she said, winking. Lit up her own and gave it a puff as she contemplated how to answer Erin. Held it in her hand as she looked back over at her. “Is that what you think I did?” she asked, then, flicking some of the ash away before taking another swig. “Interesting.” She looked at the building behind them, leaning over to glance at it, before looking back at Erin. “Can you believe it? I heard this place blew up. Must make you pretty…” she paused, for effect. Josephine liked to add a little drama to her appearances, “angry.” She reached out with her free hand and tapped Erin’s chest. “Wanna fill me in on why? Whatever happened with your father wasn’t my fault. I was just doing what you asked for. I just wanted to show you that that anger inside of you could be used for something better.”

There was something about the way Josephine seemed so unbothered right now. Did she truly not understand the trauma she had inflicted on her way out of town? That unearthing her recently deceased father to roam the streets like a George A. Romero movie wouldn’t leave an impact on her? “Really? Because it feels like that was one-hundred percent your fault,” she spat back. Fuck. Erin was angry. And she hated that Josephine knew that. How did she know that? “It did,” Erin confirmed, her jaw set tightly after she answered, but gave her nothing more than that. She didn’t deserve it. “Something better? Something better?” She almost laughed, not because anything that Josephine was saying was at all funny, but because it was almost unbelievable. Again. “Get out of my way,” she shook her head, scoffing as she tried to brush by her, walking through the cigarette smoke.

“What’s that saying?” Josephine mused, resting her hand on her hip as she drew in another puff. “Don’t shoot the messenger?” She watched Erin with an interested eye, feeling the anger flowing through her as if it were in her own blood, her own veins. She chewed her lip, shrugged. “If I recall, correctly,” she started out slowly, turning to watch Erin brush past her and head towards the door, “you were the one who made the wish.” She flicked her cigarette and let some of the cinders fall to the ground. “You’ve gotta admit, though, don’t you? That just for a moment-- a tiny moment-- it felt good, didn’t it? Yelling at him, getting your frustrations out. It’s what you wanted, after all, isn’t it?” She let her head tilt to the side, as if contemplating her next words. “Why are you so afraid of your own anger?”

“That’s not what happened, that’s not what I wanted and you know it. You set me up and then you just--” Erin shouted back, her frustrations getting the best of her. A few heads turned their way and she felt their eyes falling onto the two of them. Her face burned and she was probably flushed and she hated the way this woman could rile her up only moments after a year of absolutely nothing. She huffed out a breath, trying to contain herself. Her voice leveled with some effort. “You just fucking left.” Skipped town and left Erin to deal with the aftermath of dear old decaying dad. She could still hear the sound of his head thumping to the ground after Alain’s sword sliced through his neck. The blood dripping from his chin onto her mother’s antique rugs. Josephine’s last question left her more unsettled than she was prepared for. Erin cast another glare in her direction. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” was all she could manage.

“Oh, yikes,” Josephine said, frowning. She took one last long puff of her cigarette before dropping it and putting it out with her heel. “Is that what you think happened? Listen, sweetheart,” she shoved her hands deep into her pockets, before pulling out a little business card with her name on it. “You’re not my responsibility. You sought me out, you made a wish, and you got to deal with whatever consequences your own actions gave you. I don’t control the wishes, Erin, the people who make them do. All my magic does is take what’s in here,” she pointed at Erin’s chest while simultaneously pressing the business card to her with her finger, “and makes it real. So you can deny all that anger all you want, honey, but you can’t hide it from me.” She let go and backed up. “So...do you wanna start again or would you rather go watch a pointless fight that ends in death? I heard they’ve got a bugbear on the docket tonight.”

“I asked you out for drinks, not a midlife crisis.” The longer Erin stood there, the hotter the blood coursing through her burned. This woman had some fucking nerve. “Not your responsibility? You tricked me into making a wish and used your fucking magic to unearth my dead dad without my consent but it’s not your responsibility?” She grabbed the card pressed against her without thinking, wide eyes staring incredulously in Josephine’s direction. Was there something she wasn’t understanding here that was apparently allowing the other woman to absolve herself of all blame? She didn’t want to go anywhere with her but she couldn’t pretend her curiosity hadn't peaked. Briefly, her eyes flitted around them. Whatever minor scene they may have caused had settled, attendees focused on the match that was starting inside the building. She tried not to think about it. Wasn’t anything she could do. She shook her head, glancing at the words on the business card. “What even are you?”

“Is that not a midlife crisis? If I remember correctly, you cried after I kissed you,” Josephine pointed out. She couldn’t help it-- egging people on was part of herself. Part of what she was. “Tricked you?” It was her turn to balk, suddenly. “Oh no. No, no, no. I did not trick you, Erin Nichols. I used your words against you. What’s that famous saying? Careful what you wish for? If you hadn’t known the word wish was dangerous, you do now. How did you learn about fae? Or magic? Or undead? Did anyone hold your hand through that? You and I both know you’re not actually angry at me,” she explained, “you’re angry at your helplessness. That, I can feel clearly.” She tapped the card in her hand. “I’m the solution to all your problems. What I am is more than magic. Spellcasters have nothing on me.”

Josephine kept pushing and pushing. Why was she doing this? Did she get a kick out of it? Was it feeding into whatever mysterious thing she kept alluding herself to be? A fury, she recalled suddenly. Whatever magic she was, it had taken three witches to remove her father from this world, she remembered. Erin could feel how close she was, and it was getting harder to force the anger that came with her familiar presence. When she was close enough to tap the card in Erin’s hand, something snapped. Something that had been there for a long time now, something that Josephine already knew, somehow, was boiling under the surface. Something that Roy’s destruction hadn’t been able to destroy within herself. Her fist flew through the air, connecting with Josephine’s jaw. Her knuckles pounded, aching with the impact but her anger struck too hot for her to notice. “You don’t know anything about me.” She shook out her hand but kept coming towards Josephine, her anger and bravado overshadowing her legitimate fear of the woman. “I am not some helpless human you can fuck around with and I sure as hell don’t need you anywhere in my life.” They were standing in front of the proof of that. “Stay away from me. Do you understand?”

The act was not really a surprise, but Josephine still couldn’t help but recoil with it. That was what happened when you got punched, after all. Kinetic energy and all that. Her head had whipped to the side and a small trickle of blood came from her now split lip. Wiping her chin, she licked the remainder of it off as she turned back to face Erin. The wound was already stitching itself up. She smiled. “Nice right hook,” she said, rolling her neck to stretch out the kink. “Obviously,” she said, wiping her hand on her jacket, “I know more about you than you’re comfortable with. But, fine.” There was a sense of relinquishing in her voice as she shrugged again, shaking her head. “I’ll be leaving town soon, anyway. But think about what I said. If you want power, real power, to stop things like this--” she gestured to the new Ring, brimming with fans swarming in and out-- “then you know how to reach me.” With that said, she deposited her hands back into her coat pockets and started heading towards the building. “Oh, and-- maybe ice that hand. Otherwise, it’ll hurt in the morning.”

Real power. Her hand throbbed and all she could see was red, but those words kept echoing in Erin’s mind. The pain in her hand wasn’t even worth it. She didn’t feel any better and it was healing right before her eyes. There was a metaphor there between that and the newly reconstructed Ring, she was sure, but she was too annoyed to find it. Real power. What did that mean? Josephine’s words were as enticing as they were infuriating--much like who she seemed to be as a person--and she knew she should have crumpled the business card. Tossed it away and forget this whole interaction ever happened. But she couldn’t. And she didn’t. “Don’t hold your breath,” she murmured darkly. She didn’t want anything to do with her. She didn’t need whatever power she was offering. She’d taken down a supernatural crime lord. Being human didn’t have to mean weak. She didn’t need whatever Josephine was offering. Her eyes fell onto the Ring again, then to the man who brushed by her on his way inside. Like it’d never happened. Fuck this. She turned on her heels, not willing to give Josephine even another moment of her time and headed back up the sidewalk. She didn’t need this right now and she sure as hell didn’t need her.

#chatzy #chatzy: josephine #wickedswriting #tell that devil

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tawakkull · 3 years ago

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ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 99

Hayah (Life)

Hayah, which can be translated as liveliness and being alive, means that a heart which is already dead because of ignorance, misguidance and disbelief, comes to life through belief, and knowledge and love of God. The verse (6:122), He who was dead (in spirit), and We raised him to life, and set for him a light by which he moves among people without any deviation, makes this point clear.

The scholars of truth regard life as being when one is freed from the imprisonment of the body and corporeality and rises to the level of the life of the heart and spirit. The aspect of this favor which is represented by the master of the creatures, upon him be peace and blessings, who, although an individual, gained universality, can be seen in the verse (42:52), Thus, We have revealed to you from Our (world of) Command (the Qur’an as) a spirit (promising life to the hearts). The aspect which concerns all others who promise life is indicated in the verse (8:24): O you who believe! Respond to God and to the Messenger when the Messenger calls you (in the name of God) to that which gives you life.

The life of the earth, with all its revival and instances of growth and flourishing, is essentially related to the soil and its content, water with its vitality, air and the gases contained in the air. Similarly, true human life is dependent on the knowledge of truth, a strong will-power and endeavor, a sound character and good morals, a deep desire for God’s company, and rejoicing at the awareness of such a great favor. All these together serve as a runway or ramp from which to rise up to the realm where souls fly and reach the eternal life.

The earth derives all its riches from the source described in (16:65): God sends down from (the direction of) the sky a kind of water and therewith revives the earth after its death; in (50:11): We have revived with that water a dead land, and so is coming forth (from the graves); and in (21:30): We have made every living thing from water. Likewise, dead souls exposed to a dearth of faith, and lack of knowledge and of love of God, are revived through belief; they begin to feel what life really means through their knowledge of God, they dive into its depths through love, and attain a full life through resolution, will-power and determination. Then, as long as initiates realize the goal of Follow God��s way of acting[1] under the guidance of the supreme exemplar of good morals, the one who is praised in the verse (68:4), Surely you are of the best morals, they attain God’s company in the infinite air in which they beat their wings, and feel constant gratitude and enthusiasm. When the time is due, they feel so expanded with the rapture of being in God’s Presence that it is as if they transcended the limits of time and space and been favored with the rank, When I love My servant, I become his hearing with which He sees and his sight with which he hears and his hand with which he holds and his feet with which he walks.[2] Their spirits continue, by the Power of the All-Powerful Sovereign, flying toward eternity in the Gardens of Paradise, the Presence of the Lord of the Worlds, and the company of the Most Compassionate of the Compassionate.

In this rank, which is the essence of true life, there is neither death nor decay. Death and decay only occur with respect to the carnal self and corporeality, and there is permanence with respect to the heart, spirit and other spiritual faculties. This permanence is also viewed as “self-annihilation in God” and “subsistence by Him.”

There are three breaths in the life of an initiate who has reached this degree: the breath of fear, the breath of expectation, and the breath of love. As the carnal self fulfils an important mission on behalf of corporeality and the body, fear, expectation, and love are each an important dynamic for the life of the spirit and heart. Always feeling fear and love of Him causes the conscience of the initiate to feel an overflowing pleasure by far greater than what a child feels upon seeking refuge in the arms of the mother who has just chided him. Thinking of Him as the All-Compassionate, All-Loving Lord, and considering the depth of His Mercy, is such a spiritual pleasure that if it were to take on a physical form, it would appear like a Garden of Paradise. Finding or reading His Names on the face of His works, breathing His Attributes on the climate produced by the manifestations of His Attributes, and feeling the pleasure embedded in wonder at the consideration of the relation between His works, Names and Attributes, gives such an indescribable pleasure that only those who have been able to realize this degree of spiritual ascension can feel it.

Those who can most swiftly reach this most precious goal, even though they are unable to feel the grace of this sacred journey at every step, are those who set off by being able to acknowledge their poverty and helplessness before God, and their gratitude and enthusiasm. They know how to become an ocean while each of them is still a drop; they know how to travel among galaxies while each is still a particle, and although they see themselves as nothing, they are able to live in the wheel of existence in accordance with its ultimate goal. They always travel saying, as Ibrahim Haqqi said:

I have attained pride through poverty, And supplicating to the Truth, I always utter, O All-Living, O Self-Subsistent!

They overflow with enthusiasm and gratitude, and are enraptured with the lights of the true life and existence, which are found a step beyond this horizon. Without considering the assertions of some, such as the Unity of Being and the Unity of the Witnessed, they feel the truth of life and existence beyond all conceptions of modality, and say: This life is not sufficient for such an expanse of pleasure.

O God! Guide us to the Straight Path, the path of those whom You have favored. And may God’s peace and blessings be upon the master of the creatures, the means of the life of the two worlds, and upon his family and all of his Companions. [1] Al-Jurjani, al-Ta’rifat, 1:216. [2] Al-Bukhari, “Riqaq,” 38.

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fifteenskies15 · 5 years ago

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生きてください、無一郎…

(Stay Alive, Muichirou...)

Summary: If the seven deities grant your wish to live, one must go as the payment, Death is absolute law of the world and none can evade them even if they try

Note: Ah, so, I'm back with Muichiro fic, this one will be angst, but... I'M NOT REALLY SURE IT IS, I don't know how to write angst that much >///< @brinthie I'm really sorry that this doesn't meet your expectations and doesn't like what you expected!! I'm so sorry! (This one's dedicated for you, Brin!)

“—Ichirou…”

…

“Muichirou…”

…?

“Muichirou!”

Muichirou’s mint green eyes snapped open, Himejima and (Name) were looking at him, the female with worried (E/C) eyes, fresh tears threaten to spill out her beautiful eyes as she engulf him in an tight embrace “Muichirou!! Thank goodness…you’re okay…!” he smiled and realized he was being bundled in Himejima’s haori , weakly Muichirou wrap his arms around her “It was naught but pure luck that I’m here with you once again, (Name)” on the corner of his eyes, he could see Himejima smiled in utter relief, tears in his eyes “It’s a relief that you survived, Tokito” he smiled gratefully at the man.

Alas, that happiness did not last long, Shinazugawa Sanemi’s anguish scream echoed through the fortress as he desperately try to make his brother stay alive, begging the Gods and Buddha to not take his brother away, you and Muichirou feel helpless, you both and Himejima watched as he disintegrated into nothingness “Everyone…Big bro…” a faint smile spread across the youth’s face “…Don’t you dare…die…everyone…” his eye slowly flutter close “Tha…nk…you…Ne…Mi”

And with that, he’s gone…

Sanemi’s scream unconsciously break your heart, Muichirou pulled you closer as tears drip down from his eyes as you could not stand the heartbroken Sanemi clutching on his brother’s kimono “Genya…” you both could feel strong hands on your shoulders and to see HImejima, even there’s tears in his eyes, he still have steely resolve look on his face, that expression alone could tell you and Muichirou that both of you didn’t have much time to grief.

“Cease your sadness, your tears only became a shame if you did not do anything in Genya’s vicinity” he said as he looked at Shinazugawa torn profile “Raise your head, Shinazugawa…” his voice laced with sheer determination “This isn’t over until Muzan is defeated…”

At that moment, you know Himejima was right, Muzan is still out there, you’re sure, the demon lady—Lady Tamayo—could not hold him any longer.

However, you couldn’t help but feel the feel of fear and worry crawled on your back, the thought of facing Muzan sent a wave of anxiety through your body…

But that did not last long as a warm hand grab yours, Muichirou looked at you with reassurance in his eyes “You don’t have to be afraid…” he gave your hand a light squeeze “We’re in this together, I assure you, We all won’t die, not until we got Muzan’s head on a pike…” the light in his eyes, the determination in his voice, and the way he looks at you made you sure that no matter what, you can do this.

Smiling, you firmly gripped his hand nod “You’re right, Mui…” he then pressed his forehead against yours as another gesture of reassurance, you both stayed like that before you turn to Himejima and Shinazugawa, “Let’s go…”

The four of you began to make haste as the messenger crow reported Muzan’s regeneration, so your hunch was right about Lady Tamayo could not hold much longer… But in the end, she did all she could and all you can do is not wasting the opportunity she gave to everyone.

“Penny for your thoughts, (Name)?” you looked at Muichirou, his brows are knitted and looking at you with worry, you just stayed silent for a bit and sighed “I’m just thinking about the demon lady…she did everything to help us kill Muzan and now she’s…” you’re all choked up, to think she’s once a lady with a happy life but in the end she become a demon and die this way…

“We’ll win, no matter what, we will emerge victorious”

Even though those words made you smile, it didn’t make the tight knot in your stomach loose, you feel like anything could happen sooner or later.

“Then, if I die, I died a hero, at least I know that my death won’t go to waste, at least I didn’t regret dying for Oyakata-sama, everyone…and you” you said smiling warmly at Muichirou “I know I’m afraid to die, I always trying so desperately to stay alive so that I could stay with you…” Unconsciously, you burst into tears “But now…I’m not afraid…From this moment, I knew that my life wouldn’t last long, but at least I died knowing that I manage to keep you alive, Muichirou” Muichirou looked at you in mixture of confusion and worry “(Name)…what are you saying…?”

Before you could get a chance to say something, the whole fortress was shaking.

“What the fu…Is it an earthquake?!” you look around and to see the fortress around you “The fortress is bending…this cannot be good, everyone! We must make a haste!” you said as you pick up the pace with the three pillars followed you behind, your ears could catch a faint biwa sounds.

Twang, twang, twang

“Ugh!” the force is crushing you and the pillars, your muscle were tense, you couldn’t move your legs, the gravity of the fortress seems to weight you down “(Last name)! Don’t give up now! We have to push forward!!” Himejima called out as you gather your strength back, “Take my hand, (Name)!” Hastily, you grabbed Muichirou’s hand as he pulled you with all his might

The fortress once again shaking violently, it’s almost hard to move or even breathe

“The castle is rising?!”

The castle’s shakes once again, making you losing your balance “Muichirou!”, reflexively he reached for your arm, but his strength doesn’t seem to help, “Shinazugawa-san! Himejima-san! Help us!!” the two pillars then rushed to help both of you “Hang in there, (Last name)!!” Shinzaugawa called out as he hold Muichirou’s body “You can do this, (Last name)! Hang in there!” you tried to summon strength for your upper body and legs, but your effort were futile.

And for a moment, you saw the flash of your life before you…

…

“Everyone, go on without me…”

“Shaddup!! Like hell we’ll leave you here, you idiot!!” Shinazugawa then force himself to pull Muichirou, but fail regardless, you looked up and to see Muichirou’s tears fell on your face “I beg you, (Name), please don’t say that! I promised to protect you and stay with you! Please! Don’t do this to me!” your heart was break into million pieces as you saw him cry, but the demons and this place doesn’t make it easy either…

“Listen to me, Muichirou! The deities of luck has grant you a chance to live, I beg you to not waste it on me, your luck can’t last forever, Muichirou”

“Not if I can help it!!”

“No, you can’t…and with my last remaining breath in me…”

“DON’T FUCKING SAY IT AND HANG IN THERE!”

“Hold still, (Last name)!”

You shook your head at the stone and wind pillar, Muichirou looked at you with tear streaked eyes as he tried his hardest to pull you up “Don’t do this to me…” you smiled apologetically at him

“Stay alive for me…Muichirou…”

And before you know it…

The fortress collapsed causing you to lose your grip from Muichirou as he, Shinazugawa and Himejima were thrown out.

“(NAME)!!!”

Blinking, Muichirou grunted in pain, the first thing he sees was the night sky, accompanied by the crescent moon, he look around to see the fortress has become a rubble, Himejima and Shinazugawa and some corpses of his comrades.

But he didn’t saw you…

He hastily gets up and went to the fortress rubble, desperately digging out to find you “(Name)…(Name)!!” his voice wavers as he calling out your name even if you won’t respond, his eyes were blurry from tears, all the memories he shares with you flooding back once more “Where are you? Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU, (NAME)?!?” he screamed in anguish as he kept digging out with his remaining arm , not caring that his nails start to bleed “DON’T DO THIS TO ME, I BEG YOU!!” he hiccupped and sobbed as he keep digging

“SEVEN DEITIES OF LUCK!! YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST GAVE YOUR BLESSINGS TO (NAME) INSTEAD OF ME!! I BEG YOU BRING HER BACK!! BRING HER BACK!!!”

He screamed until he slowly stopped “Bring her back…please…bring her back…Don’t…leave me”

At this rate, he knows he was hopeless… he knew your body were already crushed under the rubble, he collapsed and stare into the space.

Heartbroken and hurt, he cried a silent cry as he remember he can make up the promise he made for you, he promised that he will take you home together with him, hand in hand…

Looks like it’s only a hollow promise now…

With regretful tears in his eyes, he knows that he lost all his hope and will to live once again…

Losing you means he lost everything, he took his sword and look at his broken reflection, the once bright eyes has lost its light and spark…

“There will be no other than you, my love”

#kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfiction #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba scenarios #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #Tokito Muichiro #Tokito Muichiro x Reader #Muichiro x Reader #KnY Muichiro #I don't know how to write angst #help #I'm so sorry

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eccl3ctic0n3 · 3 years ago

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This Is My Personal Testimony of How God Found Me When I Was Lost.

I Am A Witness and My Testimony is of Jesus Christ the living Word of God

What you FEEL and what you THINK are valid and extremely powerful as these are the things you BELIEVE to be TRUTH thus this is your REALITY!

This is your belief system. Unless you suffer from mental illness therapy and counseling can be very helpful. Just talking about it and getting it off your chest is therapeutic in itself. No matter if it is a friend or a therapists getting things out instead of bottling them up and holding them in is great relief.

I was diagnosed bipolar type I when I was 23 years old. I am 41 now and it has only been in the last 5 years that I have been able to overcome, heal, grow, and experience breakthrough.

Traumatic experiences such as verbal, mental, emotional, physical, or sexual abuse to losing a loved one or friend has a lifelong affect. Therapy and medicine are just tools to help you and give you the skills, knowledge, and some understanding, so you can cope and learn how to manage with the pain and symptoms that remain.

I don't know who needs to hear this but I am telling you from 18 years of personal experience. Actually, 41 years as its only been 18 since I began treatment. Where doctors and medicine failed me for 13 years God did not fail me. I got lab ratted on all that time with powerful psychiatric medications. I spiraled out of control and my behavior landed me in the psychiatric ward of prison in the infirmary. 10 weeks I was locked in solitary confinement on 24 hour lock. I was deemed incompetent and unfit to stand trial. I was looking at two F1 Felonies with sentences from 5-99 years each. For 10 weeks I literally lost my mind and was experiencing full blown psychosis. It was in an instant that God found me and restored me to sanity. I did not find God. He found me.

I was lost and could not tell the difference between my dreams and reality. I slept in 15 minute intervals. In one dream I dreamt that I murdered my two children. I bashed my daughters head into the wall. My reality was this place I was in where no other person is visible was like a purgatory and I was awaiting my judgment to be thrown into hell.

I was on my knees in my boxers bleeding from my head and knuckles. I was head butting and punching the walls. As I was on my knees I was singing, ''My Girl, My Girl, Talkin Bout, My Girl." I was only thinking of my daughter and that I was never going to see her again.

The guy in a cell next to me screamed, " Shut the fuck up!" I just screamed back and told him to come on over and shut me up. What was he going to do we are in solitary confinement. 😅

I lost track of time and I was still singing and I began to cry out to God. Literally bawling and begging I screamed for God to help me. Don't you know the guy who cursed me came to my door and asked me to call his momma for him to bail him out. I laughed and said ain't you the same mother fucker who told me to shut up? Before he answered I just said whatever! Just write the number on a piece of paper and slide it under my door and I will get to it.

Mind you that for those 10 weeks I could not even read or use the telephone because I just didn't know how. The hands on the clock just spun round and round. Still on my knees sobbing I noticed the piece of paper slide under my door. I forgot all about it and I couldn't read or use a phone anyway. But I looked closer and I seen the red writing. This guy tore the last page of his bible out to write the number on. The red writing just caught my eyes and the first thing I seen was this. Revelations 22:16 I Jesus, have sent My angel to you to testify in the churches. I am the Root and Offspring of David, the Bright and Morning Star. As fast as you could snap your fingers I realized that I could read first of all. I then noticed I felt completely normal. I was just wondering wtf am I doing in my boxers bleeding on this floor? 😅 I got up took a shower and cleaned up. The guard came by and stopped giving me a strange look and asked if I was ok. I just said Im fine Im waiting on lunch its almost noon. I could read the time cause the hands stopped spinning.

Finally I got to use the phone and I called home and asked how long I was there. I said 2 weeks? My mom said you been there almost 3 months. I did 6 months and got both charges dropped down to a misdemeanor and 4 years probation. 2 years was deferred. I literally signed out of jail on a PR Bond. No fines, fees, or court costs at all.

That was 5 years ago in October. I never could forget or deny what happened. I knew immediately what the verse meant and what I was told to do. So I have done it this entire time everyday almost on social media.

I had never read a bible before and I was far away from God. I was really on the fence about the whole Jesus thing. What I know now and I knew at that moment was this. Jesus is God! He is the Father, the Son of God, and the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of God and of Christ. There is only one. Omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, and Sovereign Lord over all of creation.

I believe the words of the verse exactly for what they said. He sent an angel to me which is a ministering spirit and a messenger. I got the message loud and clear. So I do exactly as He has told me to.

It has been 5 years and I have not even had a cold. My doctor is weaning me off medications. It was by no means an easy 5 years at all. I suffered with overcoming addiction and the mental illness symptoms I was and still am learning to cope and manage.

There is one thing I learned in addition to all these things since then in talk therapy. I was raised by two narcissistic, one mentally ill, and completely abusive except sexually.

After all those years and all those medications and numerous doctors did not do for me what the Great Physician did in a moment of time.

Don't get me wrong. God has revealed to me that He has gifted these doctors, nurses, therapists, and the scientists or chemists that make these medications. Give or take these crooked sons of bitches.

Just know that God is Hope. Faith or Belief and any good thing at all about man is of God. He is Love. How is Jesus God? All things are possible with God. Just trust Him. Don't worry or be afraid. He has commanded us to be strong and courageous for He is with us wherever we go. He will never leave us or forsake us. He is faithful to keep His word. If He said it. He meant it. It is the Truth. Jesus said His words are Spirit and Truth. These words are Life and Jesus is the Way. The one and only true living God is the living Word of God. He was manifest in the flesh. The holy bible has been tampered with by man and today even more with hundreds of versions. However, man is foolish to think he could ever stop the Power of the Spirit and Truth that is the Word of God Jesus Christ.

Is the Father the Son or the Spirit? Is He 3 in one or one in 3? Don't split hairs with vain debates and argumentative subjects that no man can answer. There are simply things of God that man will never understand. Our finite minds cannot imagine, fathom, dream, or even comprehend the great things of God. He just said don't trip. I got this. Be still and know. Trust Me and Believe In Me. Have Faith! Never give up Hope. Without Hope this Life has no purpose and we have meaning at all. There is just certain death. Then we are worm food.

If it is all just a big story and we die only to find out that's it just black and nothing then fine with me. If we die and it is true and we chose not to simply believe and have the faith the size of a mustard seed. We'd be cursing ourselves not God from hell forever. We would know He was right and we have no defense or a word to say before the righteous Judge.

Life and death. Facts. Choose life or death. It is the most logical, reasonable, sane, and simple choice for anyone in their right mind. So anyone who says its blind faith and completely disregards facts, logic, or reason. You know just as God says. He has used the foolishness of this world for His wisdom. He makes those who are wise in their own eyes, puffed up with pride, and too stubborn or hard hearted to simply admit they do not know. Men fear what they do not know. Rightfully so. You should fear God. Both revere and be a very afraid of the One that can take your life and cast your soul into hell. He gives and takes away. Simple as that.

So remember no matter what the situation or circumstances shit is just temporary. All good things must come to an end. As do the bad. So suck it up, be strong and courageous. Has He not commanded us? He is with you wherever and nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus.

To anyone suffering right now I am by no means minimizing your pain. I feel you 1000% You don't have to believe a word from me. Just know there is someone who is always with you and you are not helpless or alone. You may be weak and in complete darkness that seems like hell. God is light in the darkness. He has the keys to death and hell. So weather life or death, heaven or hell. You gotta trust and believe in Jesus. If not it is your own doing. Most of our problems are self inflicted we bring em on ourselves.

This may be the hardest part for me to tell someone in depression just dwelling and can't let go. Do you know what depression is. It is YOUR THOUGHTS and YOUR FEELINGS. It is therefore YOUR BELIEF and thus YOUR REALITY!

This is self-centeredness. Depression for a while that is justified is one thing. Wallowing in SELF-PITY with the attitude WOE IS ME. MY LIFE SUCKS and nobody understands or knows what I I I am going through. No one could possibly relate to YOUR SUPERIOR PROBLEMS! GET OUT OF YOURSELF for a while. Have an attitude of gratitude. You are alive and if you can feel emotions and you woke up today then you KNOW that you are alive. LIFE is a gift from of GOD. He so loved all of us that He GAVE HIS LIFE so that anyone who BELIEVES in HIM Should Not Perish...SHOULD NOT! But HAVE RIGHT NOW AS IN THIS PRESENT MOMENT. EVERLASTING LIFE. God gave us HOPE of ETERNAL LIFE the FREE GIFT of SALVATION is the LORD OUR GOD JESUS CHRIST the ONLY BEGOTTEN of the EVERLASTING FATHER the King of Israel is the Holy One (Christ) or Anointed (Messiah) our SAVIOR and REDEEMER. Not by might nor by power but by that Holy Spirit of PROMISE which is the PLEDGE of our inheritance.

The only reason one would die when God gave us His Life so that anyone whomsoever at all Believes. The Way is the Truth and He has become our Salvation. He is the very HOPE, FAITH, and LOVE that abides forever. LOVE being the greatest. No one SHOULD die. It is a choice!!! Just like you choose to wake up and be grateful saying Thank You God. Bless you Lord Jesus for the Spirit translated "Breath or Air" of Life and the LIGHT we all see and we have heard the word of God preached and proclaimed to us all. So no one has an excuse to even say I Dont Believe! That is our free will and choice. Another gift from God. He wants you to choose Jesus and dont worry but be happy. Rejoice!! Make some noise!! God is good all the time. All the time God is good. We all have a reason for the very BREATH of LIFE that was blown into Adam's nostrils and he became a living soul. Adam just means man. Human. In His image and likeness. Male and female created He them. If you believe in Jesus and the Good News aka Gospel of the Kingdom and Eternal Life you have every reason on every Day the Lord has made to be grateful and choose to be happy. The Eternal One is the Alpha and Omega. The Ancient of Days is the First and the Last. The Almighty. Beginning and End. Genesis to Revelation. Death and Life He gives and takes away.

I pray you don't waste another moment having a pity party if you don't have an actual reason to be stuck feeling sad for an excessive period of time. It is selfish. Ungrateful.

Your THOUGHTS and FEELINGS are powerful. They are YOURS though. You and you alone have a God given free gift of grace to Think for yourself and Regulate or Control Your Feelings and Emotions. It takes time and it's a process of growing up and becoming a man or woman. He has not given us a spirit of fear, but of POWER, LOVE, AND A SOUND MIND. SELF DISCIPLINE your MIND. We have the MIND of Christ. The Spirit of God and of Christ. The Kingdom of heaven is within. God the Father, the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit is all within. What does it say? The Word is near to you, in your heart, even in your mouth.

It is Finished!

Revelation 22:16 21st Century King James Version (KJ21)

16 “I, Jesus, have sent Mine angel to testify unto you these things in the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David, and the Bright and Morning Star.”

Isaiah 44:6-8 21st Century King James Version (KJ21)

6 “Thus saith the Lord, the King of Israel, and his Redeemer, the Lord of hosts: I am the First, and I am the Last, and besides Me there is no God.

7 And who, as I, shall call and shall declare it, and set it in order for Me, since I appointed the ancient people? And the things that are coming and shall come, let them show unto them.

8 Fear ye not, neither be afraid. Have not I told thee from that time and have declared it? Ye are even My witnesses. Is there a God besides Me? Yea, there is no God. I know not any.”

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inforapound · 5 years ago

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With Our Eyes Shut Ch.1

This is my first TLK fic written in celebration of @geekandbooknerd;s 1,000 Followers Celebration. Congratulations you!!!. Prompt in bold. I have played with the series time line here. Expect historical and series inaccuracies and I had no idea who to tag so I can add or delete you easily. Just let me know.

Pairing - Sigefrid and OC Chapter - 1 of 4

The board sliding back to unlock the thick door startled the captives sitting on the floor of the dingy barn. Shushes and frightened gasps greeted the fair-haired Thurgilson as he walked in and eyed the huddled bunch. They were to be slaves to the heathen Danes and would soon learn that being cut down, like so many of their loved ones, would have been a blessing.

The siege had been fast, and the death count high with only a small number of women spared by the wicked brothers. They now had control over Beamfleot and planned to stay, establish and plot.

“Can anyone here read and write?�� the Northman asked in a stern, thickly accented voice.

When no one responded, irritation flashed across his face, his kohl-lined eyes and long goatee making him look like some ghoul from a children’s fable.

“I will ask only once more.”

Reaching down, he grabbed the closest woman yanking her to her feet. Squealing like a piglet, she held up her shaking hands as if to signify she was helpless. The truth was, they all were and he knew it. Pointing his dagger at her face, he glared back at the captives, his cool blue eyes scanning them... waiting.

“Who. Here. Can. Read?”

It was clear, his patience was gone. Most averted their eyes but some glanced at one another as if also seeking the answer, desperate for the barbarian to set his sights on anyone but them.

“Shame,” he uttered, looking back to the woman, tightening his grip on the neck of her dress, making her cry out again.

Movement in his peripheral pulled his attention to the far corner. Pushing up to stand, a girl, a woman really leaned against the wall. She did not say a word but her terrified brown eyes met his just long enough for him to know that he had his answer.

----

“Sigefrid,” Erik stressed his name as if to make his point. “We must keep our eye on the greater plan. To have this knowledge will give us the advantage of surprise.”

“So will my blade running through their skulls.” The dark-haired Thurgilson grinned, seated on the former Lord’s chair, “Surprise!” he laughed loudly, raising the incased knife affixed to his forearm up into the air.

If that was not a simple enough response to his brother’s suggestion that they learn the Christian language, he snorted and sucked snot down from the back of his nose, spitting a ball of phlegm onto the wood floor beside him.

Crossing his arms, Erik waited, knowing Sigefrid was not yet through.

“We do not need to read or write to raid and kill, Erik. We will settle here, enjoy what this bountiful land has to offer, and prepare to take out the weak king. We can speak their horse piss language, that is enough.”

“True, but would you not care to know what this says?” Erik held up the small scroll in his hand. It had been taken by two of their warriors who intercepted a messenger leaving Winchester. “Would it not be of value to know when and where their armies travel so we can better position? What if the black scratches on this parchment say that Alfred will soon be on the move, perhaps leaving his walled city to visit Mercia. On the road, he would be ripe for an ambush, brother. Just think...”

Always the less methodical out of the two, Sigefrid was passionate and impulsive, rash and at times his anger flared but now, he responded with silence knowing he would eventually agree with his younger brother. But not yet.

Roughly clearing his throat, he snorted again. “I will join the lessons,” he spoke slowly as to exaggerate his concession, “Once I have taken a shit. Unless I do it there,” his dark brows shot high and he flashed his straight white teeth, “welcome our tutor with the task of wiping that scroll across my dirty ass.”

“By the looks of her, you’d enjoy that,” Erik chuckled.

Emptying his cup in one go, Sigefrid’s dark eyes scanned the hall, “More ale!” he roared.

----

The main building was not large, ten modestly sized chambers; six on the ground level, surrounding the main room, and four upstairs, evidently used by the previous and now dead Lord and his wife. Sigefrid would never understand why these Christian nobles did not share chambers with their wives. The only thought he had was, perhaps, it was less awkward on nights when humping the help. But domestic life, in any culture, was lost on him. He had never experienced it and did not plan to live that long. Wanting to reach Valhalla in his prime, it would be a warrior’s death for him and Erik was there to marry and breed, carry on their family’s bloodline.

Dark and handsome though, he was a self-proclaimed ladies man, always having his pick of the women. Felt them powerless against his bravado and charm and rarely went to bed without wetting his dick. Like killing, variety for him was the spice of life and Erik would tease that for Sigefrid, excess was the best show of success.

As much as he grumbled at the notion of learning the Saxon’s written word, he knew Erik would not lead them astray. Preferring to approach battle in a straight line, he charged at any target, whereas his baby brother touted strategy, suggesting that the zig and zag of tactical ambush would spare them men. Despite the glory of dying with a weapon in the hand, Sigefrid did recognize the convenience in keeping their numbers stable. They had set up shop in Wessex’s back yard and Alfred’s land was theirs for the taking.

----

No crude or threatening comments came from Sigefrid when he first saw her. No jeering eyes or aggressive words. Nothing. He just looked at her standing frozen, alone, in front of them, her large brown eyes incapable of hiding her fear. He guessed in any circumstance she was likely a quiet little thing but there, before him and Erik, she had every reason to be afraid.

There was something in the way she watched them that he liked; an anticipation that reminded him of a baby doe, afraid, yet curious and seconds from fleeing to its mother. But there was no mother there to protect this girl... or woman. He could not tell how old she was, certainly younger than him, younger still than Erik.

Jerking his head, he lifted his blade, motioning for them to get on with the ridiculous charade, emphasizing his resistance with a loud grunt as he lowered himself into a chair at the table.

For privacy, Erik had chosen one of the upper rooms which had obviously been used as a meeting or council room. It consisted of a table with eight chairs, a fireplace, and daybed. It was not a large room or particularly bright but was situated next to their private chambers which meant it was sectioned off from others.

It was Erik’s suggestion that they understand the language from the basics up, outlining his wish to start with their alphabet and from there learn to read. Taking paper torn from one of the room’s many books, the girl, with a shaky hand, dipped one of the feather quills Erik had gathered into an ink pot and began writing out two copies of the Saxon’s alphabet.

It was quite a sight, sitting across as her trembling hand replicated the markings, her eyes looking like they fought themselves to stay fixed on the paper. As anyone would, she sat pensively as if expecting to be bit and it made him think of her, for the second time, as that little deer and them as two hungry wolves.

Watching, he wondered if her rosy cheeks were caused by fear or if her work, at whatever she did before their arrival, had her out under the sun. She had the slightest dusting of freckles and he guessed that if she were to smile, her cheeks would even dimple. The thought made him grin as he could not imagine what reason she would have to smile in her current predicament; a slave to the Danes, young and pretty, everyone she knew either dead or being worked like a mule.

Inhaling he let his impatience be known, sighing loudly and only mildly aware of some internal debate he was having; his mind slow to connect with his body’s response to the woman in front of him, loving how her small hands rushed to finish knowing he was staring.

Placing the quill down, she turned the papers for them to inspect. Straightening in their chairs, their expressions became serious, both looking unprepared for the complexity of the rows and rows of ruin-like symbols.

The men picked up their delicate feather quills, fumbling to find a position in their large hands that were more accustomed to wielding weapons and spilling blood. Sigefrid dropped the quill immediately, scoffing in an outright refusal and shot his brother a look.

“Dear brother,” he groaned, watching Erik’s earnest face, his eyes fixed on the paper below. “I feel like a fool.”

Not replying, Erik dragged the quill across the thin paper, holding it with his other to keep it in place. The tip cut through the delicate parchment from the heavy pressure he was unintentionally applying.

Looking back to the girl, Sigefrid’s eyes met hers for just instant before she lowered them again to the table. He suspected she had been looking at the knife strapped to his arm where his hand had once been. Not saying a word, he continued to study her, a mild thrill moving through him knowing, again, that she could feel his stare.

“You know I have never bothered with slaves,” he spoke in Danish. “I have no interest in bedding Christian farm girls.”

“Hmm,” Erik replied, his tongue sliding back and forth across his lower lip in concentration.

“If I want a hump, there are twenty Dane women downstairs insane to ride my cock,” he spoke slowly as if enjoying the sound of his own voice. “By the looks of her, she would not be able to handle such a beast.” He smiled at her downcast face deciding she really was quite beautiful; almost irritatingly so. “But you know what I think, brother?”

“I think you will tell me,” Erik answered also in Danish.

“This one,” he jerked his chin in her direction. “I think she likes me.”

“It helps that I told her she had to teach us or she dies,” he glanced up to her quickly but kept on with the quill. “She will do what it takes to survive. They all do.”

“What do you think?” Sigefrid chuckled, his white teeth visible through his thick black beard. “Should I make an exception? Teach her about glory holes?”

Startling, the girl looked up, spooked, as if she had just heard her name called for execution.

“Did you understand that?” Erik looked up with round eyes, asking in English but she did not answer.

Frowning, Sigefrid leaned forward in his chair, “Did you?”

Not waiting for her to respond, he shot up from his chair and stalked around to her side, placing his hands on the table and the back of her chair and leaned down. Instead of fleeing or crying, she squeezed her eyes closed, her body rigid as if waiting for a blow or to be dragged from her chair.

He brought his face closer to hers. “I asked you,” he spoke slowly, his accented voice oozing with threat. “Did you understand?”

“A little,” she opened her eyes, causing Sigefrid to look over at Erik.

Raising his hand, Erik signaled for him to give her a moment.

“Girl, how do you know our tongue,” Erik asked, his voice less aggressive.

“I know only a little.”

“Who taught you?” Erik probed and her eyes skitted around the room nervously.

“Maybe a blade to the throat will stir your memory, Saxon,” Sigefrid warned, dragging out the title.

Her eyes flashed back to his.

“I am from Frankia,” she uttered, sounding almost apologetic.

This made Sigefrid’s head cock to one side as he noticed that her voice did, in fact, have a different sound.

“That does not answer my question,” he leaned closer, by chance catching a glimpse down the bust of her dress.

“My father!” she rushed. “He was an interpreter.”

“For who?” Erik asked.

“A noble family in Paris.”

“Was he,” Erik said more to himself, his voice sounding as if his mind was already reeling with possibilities.

“Very interesting,” Sigefrid added leaning over her a little more, the crease between her heavy bosoms holding his eye. “Where is he now? We could ask for his help to understand their walled city. It has never been breached. Fools have tried but...”

“My parents are both dead,” she cut him off. “Nearly two years ago.”

“How?”

“My father was traveling to Northumbria on business and took my mother and I...as the trip would have had him gone for so long. We were robbed on the road; I somehow got away into the woods and hid.” She looked down into her lap, clearing her throat before continuing. “Their throats were cut.”

“Were they Danes?” Erik asked.

“I do not believe so.”

“They were no Danes,” Sigefrid scoffed. “Danes would not have let her escape.”

“Your father taught you other languages?” Erik asked, wanting to keep the girl talking.

Nodding she answered, her eyes staying fixed on her lap, “French, of course, English, the two languages of Ireland, some Arabic, I can understand some Danish but I cannot speak it well.”

The brothers exchanged glances, their eyes coming alive.

“This might be your lucky day,” Sigefrid smiled, straightening to stand.

“Or ours,” Erik looked up at his brother. “What a shit idea this was,” he smiled and picked up the paper in front of him, ripping it into pieces and making Sigefrid laugh.

“Do as you are told,” Sigefrid spoke abruptly, making her flinch, “and we will kill you last.”

----

Days went by and Sigefrid entered the same room where Waylen now waited, standing guard; the girl was on the far side of the table, evidently wanting to keep some obstacle between her and the enormous Dane. Sigefrid had sent him to fetch her from the kitchen and escort her up to the meeting room. Pausing, he watched her, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him; he could have sworn she looked mildly relieved when he entered. Not surprising, he decided, as she was all but dragged into a private room by the hulking, young warrior.

Nodding he motioned for Waylen to leave, kicking the door closed behind. Turning his attention back to the girl, she shifted awkwardly under his gaze, clutching her apron, her expression almost expectant.

“I have been thinking about you,” he tapped his sheathed knife against his forehead. “I am too suspicious of a man to allow one slave to hold so much wisdom. Too cunning for us to become reliant on your,” his eyes narrowed, “cooperation. So..” he sucked air through his teeth, “the lessons will continue.” Dropping his chin, he eyed her from under his dark brows; she did not react but he could see her thoughts moving behind her large brown eyes.

“You will teach me... alone. This will be a,” he paused, thinking of how best to phrase it, “surprise for my brother. I will have Waylen fetch you when I want, and you will tell no one. And…despite my better judgment,” he hesitated, for an instant questioning his own thinking, “for your discretion, I am going to protect you. Hey?”

Her reply came by way of a subtle nod but the message was still clear, yes.

Next Chapter

@naaladareia @geekandbooknerd @oddsnendsfanfics @hecohansen31 @waiting4inspiration @kittybites-94 @ceridwenofwales @mdredwine @gearhead66 @ceridwenofwales @whenimaunicorn @laketaj24 @xbellaxcarolinax @medievalfangirl

#The Last Kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom sigefrid #sigefrid in love #sigefrid thurgilson #sigefrid thurgilson the last kingdom #sigefrid and oc #sigefrid slow burn #sigefrid fluff and smut #The Last Kingdom smut #erik thurgilson #erik and sigefrid #tlk smut

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lifeofresulullah · 4 years ago

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The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): The Assignment of the Duty of the Prophethood and First Muslims

The State of Arabia

Arabia - which covers a significant place in terms of politics, geography and trading on the world map - was not any different from other countries. Like everywhere else, everything was in a miserable, disgraceful situation except for its language and literature.

Let us have a short look:

Religious Situation

In terms of belief, Arabia was writhing in a state of absolute anarchy, and strange beliefs were to be found everywhere within her borders.

Some of the people were unbelievers and did not accept anything other than life on the Earth. They would say, “What is there but our life in this world? We shall live and die, and nothing but time can destroy us”, and would continue to spend their lives in a state of so-called pleasure.

When the Honorable Messenger (PBUH) began to receive revelations, Allah would address those people with the following words:

“Say: "It is God Who gives you life, then gives you death; then He will gather you together for the Day of Judgment about which there is no doubt": But most men do not understand.”

Some of the Arabs believed in Allah and the Day of Judgment, however, they did not acknowledge the prophets.

The Quran describes these people in the following verse:

“What kept men back from belief when Guidance came to them, was nothing but this: they said,

"Has God sent a man (like us) to be (His) Apostle?”

They could not comprehend how a person could be a messenger and they thought that an angel should be appointed to such a role. The Quran, with its following verse, told those people how unreasonable their claim was:

“If there were settled, on earth, angels walking about in peace and quiet, We should certainly have sent them down from the heavens an angel for an apostle.”

And some of them believed in Allah; however, they would not believe in the afterworld, in resurrection after death and punishment and reckoning in the hereafter.

The Quran addresses this group of people with the following verse:

“And he makes comparisons for Us, and forgets his own (origin and) Creation: He says, "Who can give life to (dry) bones and decomposed ones (at that)?"

And the Quran answers those people with the following verse:

“Say, "He will give them life Who created them for the first time! For He is Well-versed in every kind of creation!”

The majority of them worshipped idols that were made of stones, wood and sometimes of halwa, and would say:

“We only serve them so that they may bring us nearer to God.”

Yes, the majority of Arabs used to worship idols which were made of the aforementioned materials during times of war and they were in a miserable and disgraceful state since they sought help from them. They had filled the Baytullah, the first house of Tawhid on the Earth, with 360 idols.

Hazrat Umar, who is renowned for his justice after having been honored with his conversion to Islam, reminisced about one of his memories in which he used to worship the idols during the Era of Ignorance:

“There were two things that we did during the Age of Ignorance. I cry when I remember one of these accounts and I laugh when I remember the other,

“This is the matter that makes me cry:

“We used to bury our daughters alive. I do not know how we were able to do this to innocent and helpless babies who were in need of compassion. When I think about it, my heart breaks into pieces and I cannot help crying.

“As for the matter that makes me laugh, we used to have idols in our homes during the Age of Ignorance. When we embarked on a journey, we would construct these idols from flour or halwa and would worship and pay tribute to them during our journey. And when the journey lengthened, we would eat the idols that we had just worshipped and honored once we became hungry. Is there anything funnier than this? As I remember this, I laugh at and understand the silliness of our actions.”

However, traces from the religion of Tawhid that Prophet Abraham had conveyed could be seen in Arabia as well. The people who used to follow these traces were called the “Hanif” regardless of the huge amount of time that had passed since Hazrat Abraham’s arrival and the heedlessness that was prevalent in their present time. As a matter of fact, the word “Hanif” is used to refer to Hazrat Abraham in the Quran: “Abraham was not a Jew nor yet a Christian; but he was hanif (translated as “true” in English translations) in Faith”

Those people who were called the “Hanif” despised the idols and believed in the oneness and existence of Allah. In fact, Waraqa bin Nawfal, Ubaidullah bin Jahsh, Uthman bin Huwairith and Zaid bin Amr, considered it despicable to prostrate before idols that could not speak, hear, harm or benefit anyone, and openly declared this during a fair that was organized to honor one of those idols.

There were people who were able to understand that it was pointless to worship lifeless idols through using their reasoning and crusaded against this false belief. Umayya bin Abi Salt, the famous Arabian poet and leader of the Taif tribe, was one of them. He read the holy books during the Age of Ignorance and converted from idolatry to Abraham’s religion.

He was the first poet to have found the expression “Bismika Allahumma”. Later, Arabs liked this expression and began to include it as a prelude in their books.

He would mention the need for a prophet in his poems and declared that prophets were indispensable for humanity. Since he had learned from the Holy Books that a prophet would rise among the Arabs, he also desired this role. For this reason, when our Holy Prophet was appointed to prophethood, Umayya became a victim of jealousy and envy and did not accept him. Moreover, he recited his poems in remembrance of the idolaters who were killed in the Battle of Badr.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) narrated a few hadiths about Ummaya who died without faith during the second year of the Hijra (migration).

One day, the Messenger (PBUH) was riding with Sharid bin Suwaid, who sat behind him. He asked the Companion: “Do you know anything about Umayya’s poems?”

The Companion answered: “Yes, I do” and began to recite some of his poems. Having liked the poems so much, the Messenger (PBUH) asked Sharid to recite some more.

The Companion finished reciting the whole poem. And the Messenger said:

“Umayya was very close to being a Muslim.”

In another narration, the Messenger said: “Umayya’s poems had faith yet he stayed in aberration himself.”

A famous Arab orator by the name of Quss bin Said should also be mentioned. We will discuss his khutbah that heralded our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) arrival as a messenger at a later point.

Idols

There is a story about how these idols were first introduced to Makkah:

Amr bin Luhay was the first person to bring idols into the city and encouraged people to worship them.

When Amr went to Damascus, he passed by someplace called Maab, and saw a tribe having descended from Noah that was worshipping idols. When he asked them why they were worshipping idols, they answered: “We ask for help from them and we receive help; we ask for rain and we get rain.”

Upon this, Amr wanted an idol so that he could take it to Makkah. They accepted his wish and gave him an idol named Hubal.

Amr took Hubal with him to Mecca and put it there. He encouraged people to worship it. Ignorant people became convinced and started to worship idols.

This is how the first idol was brought to Makkah and how people began to worship idols.

Every Tribe had a Different Idol of Their Own

After that, idolatry began to spread in Makkah. Every tribe had its own idol.

Quraysh worshipped and considered Uzzah to be the greatest idol.

The tribes of Aws and Khazraj used to worship an idol named Manat which was located in between Makkah and Madinah in a place called Mushallal. At a later time, these two tribes began to worship the idols Lat and Uzza alongside Manat.

Wad, which was the idol that belonged to the tribe of Kalb, was in someplace called Dumatu’l-Jandal.

The tribe of Huzail used to worship an idol called Suwa which was in Ghatafan.

The Haywan, which was one branch of the tribe of Hamdan, used to worship an idol called Yauk which was somewhere in Hamdan.

The tribes of Tayy and Nasr used to worship an idol called Yaghuth. And the people of Himyari tribe used to worship Nasr.

The Sons of Bakr and the tribe of Kinana used to worship Sa’d.

The aforementioned tribes used to worship those idols and ask for help, rain and victory from them. According to their belief, these lifeless, soulless items made of stones or wood were capable of making their wishes come true.

However, anyone who is sane enough knows and agrees that lifeless, soulless items can neither give benefit nor cause harm to people. They have neither the capability nor the power to help people.

Nevertheless, the Arabs of that time were so unreasonable that they were not able to think of this truth.

The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) would to come in order to save those people suffering from ignorance and aberration in terms of faith, with the light of knowledge and righteousness. He would undertake the duty of giving them light and peace.

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princess-of-france · 5 years ago

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i would love to hear abt your rococo lll

Oh my gosh, you lovely human, settle in. This production is my Ultimate Theater Pipe Dream and I apologize in advance for how little chill I’m going to have as I explain it.

Are you ready?

I want to start with my standard disclaimer: I am a theater artist, not a literary critic or a historian. When I’m directing a play, I extract fragments of lit crit and historical fact as I need them and leave the rest on the buffet line. This LLL in particular requires me to play fast and loose with history, so be prepared for a truckload of anachronisms. They make the vision work!

So, with that…

The sad Catch-22 of my Rococo LLL is that no theater will ever put it up: a smaller, indie, risk-taking theater wouldn’t be able to afford the astronomical production costs of casting the 20 actors I need, to say nothing of building opulent sets and period-accurate costumes that imitate the royal courts of the late 18th century; conversely, a large, well-funded, regional theater wouldn’t be able to justify funding a 2.5-hour Shakespeare retelling that turns one of his most sparkling comedies into a dark, violent allegory about the French Revolution and casts young, privileged, light-skinned European elites as the tragic heroes brought low by proletariat Jacobean reform. Even as I type these words, I realize how irresponsible an investment that would be. My Rococo LLL is not the kind of classical theater we need in America right now. It is retrograde in terms of diversity, equity, accessibility, and social justice. It probably says something terrible about me that I even dreamt it up in the first place.

And yet.

I want to direct this production so badly it feels like I’ve swallowed a piece of the sun. If I had all the proper resources (time, money, venue, artists, designers, marketing, etc.), I would do it tomorrow. It’s my baby.

Here’s a blurb that kind of nutshells it all together:

July 1789. King Charles VI of Navarre has died, leaving his son, young Ferdinand III, to take the throne. On a tide of Enlightenment idealism, King Ferdinand commissions his three best friends to join him for a period of ascetic study at the court of Navarre. The rules are simple: no luxuries, no alcohol, and no women. For three long years.

The boys’ oath is immediately put to the test when four young ladies arrive in Navarre on a diplomatic mission from Versailles. Led by the spirited Duchess d’Albret, the Frenchwomen and their mile-high coiffures prove irresistible to the King and his companions. With the help of a motley band of scholars and servants, they set out to woo the Duchess and her friends. But when sober news arrives from Paris, will young love be enough to rewrite history?

Set against the glittering backdrop of the last golden days of the ancien regime, this bold reimagining of Shakespeare’s beloved comedy invites us to look at the most famous revolution in Western history through the eyes of the young elites who learned the truth about privilege just a moment too late.

Of all the radical things I want to do with this production, the thing that would probably cause the most controversy (and earn me a reputation for being a narcissistic, pessimistic, Shakespeare-desecrating hack) is my addition of a prologue set in Paris in June 1793. I could try to sum it up here, but honestly I think it would be a lot more effective and comprehensive just to post the excerpt from my script:

…etc.

So basically, half my audience will vomit due to the unexpected onslaught of blood, gore, and violence…and the other half will vomit from the sheer anti-progressivism of the show’s politics. And I don’t blame anyone who finds fault with this production concept. On a political level, I find fault with it. Arguably the last thing our society needs right now is a Shakespeare production that paints young, pale, overprivileged trust fund babies as the poor, helpless victims of a liberal-led revolution for social equality.

But at the same time, I can’t help but think that the entire point of Love’s Labour’s Lost is to make us look hard at our own privilege and ego, and weigh those things that seem sooo valuable against the true gifts of love, empathy, friendship, generosity, and kindness.

“This is not generous, not gentle, not humble!” Holofernes cries as the Crazy Eight—high on adrenaline and their own cruel wit—jeer him off the stage during his performance as Judas Maccabeus in 5.2. More than any other, this moment epitomizes the value of setting LLL in a sex-charged, champagne-fueled, pastry-laden, cream-filled, lace-drenched, satin-covered, feather-topped, Rococo landscape. There’s no way in hell the audience is meant to sympathize with the insult-flinging prep school Kens and Barbies when they humiliate Holofernes to the point of tears. Shakespeare is way too smart for that. In the final whimsical moments before the messenger Marcadé comes onstage, laden with the news that is going to change the entire genre of the play, the Bard turns a critical spotlight on the young people we’ve been rooting for since Act One, Scene One and invites us to view them—for the first time, really—through the lens of the hardworking, lesser-privileged plebs of Navarre. The portrait is revolting. However witty, cultured, and elegant the courtiers might seem, they clearly have a lot more homework to do. Marcadé’s arrival a few short lines later is the final test of their youthful ego. Is being clever worth the price of experiencing love? Is love worth the price of responsibility? Is she brave enough to admit that she’s scared to take up the mantle? Is he brave enough to give up the one person who matters for the sake of the people he once mocked, the people he now must lead?

I don’t believe the Navarre Nerds and Les Filles have survived the centuries because they end the play as sharp-tongued, entitled, and self-absorbed as they behave at the start. We wouldn’t still be making and remaking this play if the protagonists were so static. I think the young people of LLL resonate with us—or, at least, they resonate with me—because in the course of Shakespeare’s plotless little play they grow up right before our eyes. King Ferdinand learns that he can’t bury his head in his books and ignore the responsibility of ruling when he watches the love of his life choose duty to her country over the desires of her own heart. The Princess learns that the cost of being the cleverest person is human connection when she finds herself laughing alongside Ferdinand at the antics of the Nine Worthies and somehow feels happier than she ever did when she was mocking him into the earth. Berowne learns that love wins every argument: against wit, against intellect, against bachelorhood, against willpower itself. Rosaline learns that love is strength, not weakness, and that she is stronger when she allows herself to feel. Dumaine learns that love demands vulnerability. Katherine learns that love is not a game. Longaville learns that love thrives on honesty. Maria learns that love takes courage. When the Crazy Eight say their heartbreaking goodbyes at the end of 5.2, they no longer care about sounding smart or superior; in fact, they speak against their own intelligence. The erudite Ferdinand trips over his words, the cynical Berowne invokes romantic idealism, the boastful Dumaine speaks with humility, the shy Longaville puts all his cards on the table. The women are no less altered. I don’t want to fall into the trap of ascribing an easy, one-size-fits-all moral maxim to LLL, but what else are we supposed to take away from this play if not the fact that we fucking owe it to ourselves as a species to set aside our stupid pride and say, “I love you,” when we feel it because we never know when time is going to run out? What else are we supposed to feel if not pride in these young people for choosing to step up and take responsibility when they hear news that the world outside is ending? That there may be no world left? Les Filles go with their Queen. The Nerds rally around their King. They choose fidelity to their respective kingdoms over the indulgence of love. But they also learn to value love for what it is, and to call it by name…even if that love can only last for a few fleeting seconds:

“If this or more than this I would deny,To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,The sudden hand of death close up mine eye.Hence ever, then, my heart is in thy breast.”

(King Ferdinand, V.ii)

As the Crazy Eight grapple in real time with the consequences of Marcadé’s message and what it means for their role as leaders in society, Rosaline gives Berowne a task to complete in their year apart that practically hums with poetic intelligence. Her lines are so iconic, we still quote them colloquially today:

BEROWNETo move wild laughter in the throat of death?It cannot be, it is impossible.Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

ROSALINEWhy, that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit,Whose influence is begot of that loose graceWhich shallow laughing hearers give to fools.A jest’s prosperity lies in the earOf him that hears it, never in the tongueOf him that makes it. Then, if sickly ears,Deafed with the clamors of their own dear groans,Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,And I will have you and that fault withal.But if they will not, throw away that spiritAnd I shall find you empty of that fault,Right joyful of your reformation.

(V.ii)

I think this is the moment when I would start crying if I ever watched my Rococo LLL performed live. Because of all les Filles, I think Rosaline is the only one who knows that by choosing to accompany the Duchess back to Versailles at the end of LLL, she is effectively signing her death warrant. The Jacobeans and sans-cullottes are not going to want young, eligible, Catholic Rococo princesses wafting around their new, secular state. The guillotine may not yet exist in the summer of 1789, but the there is a thirst for blood and Rosaline can smell it. And now Bastille has fallen. Paris is on fire. King Louis XVI has months to live. The world will never be the same. Rosaline’s once-ordered, once-gilded country is careening into a bloody nightmare of soured ideals and ruthless social weeding, and even though she can’t see the future, she can read men like books. Even Berowne. Even the charismatic nihilist who earned a bachelor’s degree in bachelorhood and tried to hide his heart under a bushel. She can read him and she can save him. They can’t kill her husband if she doesn’t have one.

Rococo LLL? I don’t know. It’s a pipe dream.

But can’t you picture it?

Tagging my girls @harry-leroy @suits-of-woe @lizbennett2013 @dedraconesilet @exeunt-pursued-by-a-bear @henriadical in case anyone is interested :)

Thanks a million for one of my favorite asks ever! Happy holidays, friend!!

xx Claire

#does anyone wanna hear about my Rococo LLL?#asks

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lordsister · 6 years ago

Text

Promise To Listen (Jumin Han x Reader)

A/N: This was a request from @bat-yo-us! Enjoy!^^

I do not own Mystic Messenger or any of its characters.

"Jumin, please! I can't stand seeing you like this!" Grasping your husband's arm before he could completely turn away from you, your concerned plea fell on annoyed ears.

The male in question sighed, a steady throb growing in his temple. He was already so exhausted as it was and another argument with you over how much he was working was the last thing he needed at this point. "What would you have me do, (y/n)? Drop everything at such an important point to waste time with you?" Lost as he was in his own anger, Jumin didn't even register the words coming out of his mouth, turning to you with a harsh expression, unsympathetic of the hurt his thoughtless words caused. "Is that what you want from me? To neglect everything my family has worked so hard to build?"

"Jumin, you know that's not it at all! How could you say that?" You fought to control the pressure rising in your throat, knowing tears would only make matters worse. "Can't you see that I'm only worried about you? You come home so late and leave so early, you barely get any sleep! You're overworking yourself and it's hurting me to watch it happen! You have plenty of employees who can handle this for you or at the very least take some of the load! If you keep this up any longer you're going to destroy yourself and then what?" Jumin said nothing, his face turned away from yours, and you clutched his arm tighter. In an echo of the harsh words he'd spoken to you before, you asked, "What would you have me do, Jumin? Watch as the man I love kills himself?"

Something cold flashed in his steely gaze and he tore his arm from your grip. "You don't understand a thing, (y/n). This is bigger than me and if it requires all of my time and energy then so be it."

Your heart dropped like a stone as you desperately tried to reach out to him again. "Jumin, no-"

"If you can't understand the simple facts of the world I live in then I shouldn't have married you in the first place."

And with that he turned and left, leaving your heart shattered at your feet.

As you sobbed and cursed him, burying your face into a pillow, Jumin held his head in his hands at the same time, ruffling his dark hair and sick to his stomach with regret. His distress didn't go unnoticed as Driver Kim glanced at him in the rear view mirror.

"Sir, is everything alright? Do we need to turn back?"

Taking deep breaths to compose himself, Jumin shook his head. "No. Everything's fine. Keep going." Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on something other than the image of your heartbroken face seared into his mind. Even if he did turn back there was no way you would want to see him right now. Not after what he had said to you.

No matter how much he didn't mean it.

Opening his eyes and looking forward, Jumin squared his shoulders for what awaited him at work, focusing on the now. Later though, he would kneel at your feet and beg for forgiveness. Offer his heart on a silver platter. Do whatever it took to regain your love, because he knew he couldn't live without it.

As the wealthy heir's car continued toward C&R, it passed a well-dressed figure on the street, an individual who appeared to be just like all the other street-goers, completely normal...but whose intentions were most certainly not.

Sitting up from the bed, you sniffled and rubbed your swollen eyes. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, you saw that a couple of hours had passed since your fight with Jumin, having thrown yourself onto the bed and cried your eyes out before falling asleep from the emotional exhaustion. Upon waking up however, you realized you didn't feel rested or the least bit better about what had happened. No, you felt unsettled to your core. Sleep had brought a strange dream, but you couldn't quite remember what it was about, only that you had been looking for Jumin and no matter where you looked or how loud you called for him, you couldn't find him.

Climbing off the bed, you took a moment to fix your hair and disheveled clothing before heading for the door. By all means, you were still mad at Jumin and deeply hurt over what he had said to you, but the only way the two of you could fix this mess was by talking it out and making amends.

And something deep inside was telling you that it absolutely could not wait.

If there was one thing that actually went well in Jumin's day it was this.

Recently, C&R had had the opportunity to buy out a smaller fledgling company in the same industry. Though this other company posed no real threat, it was still surprisingly prosperous for its size and early state so Jumin had given the okay after careful consideration to begin the process of buying it. When he walked in this morning, Jaehee already had the report ready for him to look at, notifying him that everything was going smoothly.

If she saw the bitterness on his face, she didn't say anything, sticking to her job while he stuck to his.

The male in question was currently sitting at his desk, separating his father's ridiculous business ideas from the work that actually mattered. He didn't look up when a soft knock sounded at his door, answering with a simple "Come in." A moment passed without the door opening and Jumin lifted a brow. Before he could get up however, the knob turned slowly and the door finally opened, admitting the last person he expected to see right now.

"Mr. Han, (y/n) is here to see you," he faintly heard Jaehee say, but he was too focused on you, on the way you appeared to want to hide behind his assistant, the way you reached up to awkwardly tuck a lock of stray hair behind your ear before meeting his gaze. Your eyes exuded hurt, piercing Jumin to the most vulnerable parts of his heart, but there was a tentative hopefulness in your pools of (e/c) as well, something bright mixed in with the bitter.

He saw your chest rise and fall as you took a deep breath before walking into his office, looking him straight in the eye as you did so. The door closed and you and he were left alone to face what had occurred that morning, a battle of wills at work as both your heart and his longed for the other to listen, to understand.

Clearing his throat, Jumin was the first to break the silence. "Why are you here?" It came out gruffer than he had intended, making your jaw clench in lingering anger.

"I...We need to talk, Jumin."

"Can it wait until I-"

"No, it can't."

He blinked, surprised at the force in your tone, and his own defiance and stubbornness reared up in response. "Well, it'll have to. As you can see, I'm very busy. I don't have time for this right now."

Your eyes flashed. "Don't have time for us? I'm your wife, for god's sake, Jumin."

Sighing, he rose from his desk but didn't approach you, instead opting to straighten his tie and walk over to the floor to ceiling windows to look out over the city. "You know that's not what I meant," he murmured, tired.

"That's certainly what it sounded like this morning," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

"(Y/n), this morning was bad and I truly regret what I said, but you have to understand-"

Your foot stomped the ground, silencing him. "No, Jumin! Don't start that with me again!" Striding to his side, you reached up to tilt his face to look at you, your hand gentle on his cheek. "Listen to me, will you?" you nearly begged. "I love you so much, Jumin. More than anything in this world. And to see you working yourself to death pains me more than you know." Tears welled and shimmered in your eyes, keeping him silent. "I feel so helpless watching you hurt yourself and not being able to do anything about it. Put yourself in my shoes. It scares you when I overwork myself planning the RFA parties, right? Well, that's exactly how I feel now, so please..." The hand that wasn't on his cheek grasped his own hand tightly. "Please, let me-"

A sudden commotion from outside his office made you stop mid-sentence, your combined attention drawn to the door as it burst open...an individual he didn't recognize pulling something metal and shining from a hidden pocket inside his blazer...you moving in front of him just as he reached to pull you behind him...and a very distinct bang before Jumin's world turned red and shattered into a million pieces.

For a few heartbeats he failed to acknowledge what had just happened, his arms automatically wrapping around you as you sunk to the ground, a red patch quickly blooming on your abdomen. Your stunned expression matched his as you looked up at him, a pained cry forming on your lips. Security guards tackled the armed intruder to the ground and someone was yelling that an ambulance was on the way, but Jumin wasn't listening, too busy holding you in a protective embrace that had come too late as reality quickly sank in.

"Jumin..." you said weakly, reaching for his him. "Help...it hurts..."

His hand grasped yours tight and he pressed a hard kiss to your forehead, breathing in your scent as he rocked you in his arms. "It's okay, (y/n). It's all going to be okay. You're going to be alright," he said, trying to convince both you and himself. "An ambulance is coming. You're going to be fine. I promise."

The next few minutes felt like hours and passed in a hazy, adrenaline-filled blur as he repeated the same words. Holding you tight, he pressed his balled up suit jacket to the wound in your stomach, trying to staunch the flow of blood until the paramedics arrived to rush you away. Even then, Jumin didn't let you out of his sight, demanding that he be allowed to ride in the ambulance with you.

When you were rushed into surgery, leaving him to wait helplessly, he broke down and cried, slumping into a chair and burying his face in his hands as sobs and desperate prayers wracked his body. The rest of the RFA was quick to arrive and were nothing less than shocked at how they found him, his hands and usually pristine white button-up stained with blood, his hair disheveled, and his face streaked with tears. They tried to assure him that you would be fine, letting him know that your shooter, the crazed CEO of the company C&R was buying out, was in police custody, but their attempts at comfort were met with silence as he ignored them, too focused on all the ways he had failed you.

As the hours passed with no word as to your condition, his fears only grew. The horrible words he'd spoken to you that morning echoed cruelly in his mind and his anguish rose at the thought that those would be the last words he ever spoke to you, the words of an unsympathetic husband who refused to listen.

"Mr. Han?" Jumin's head shot up at the unfamiliar voice, startling the nurse standing in front of him. "Your wife is out of surgery now. She lost a lot of blood, but her condition's stable. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to her room."

Without a word he rose to follow, leaving the rest of the RFA waiting. Later, he would appreciate them recognizing his need to be alone with you, but for now his attention was elsewhere, scared to hope that you were actually okay. When he reached the door of your room and the nurse left, Jumin didn't have a clue about how he should face you, but he couldn't handle not seeing you for a single second more. Grasping the door handle, he pushed it open and the breath he'd been holding escaped in a rush.

You were okay. Well, okay as you could be after being shot, but you were alive, and Jumin felt his tears rising once more.

"Jumin," you called to him softly, lifting a weak hand. He was at your side in an instant, both of his hands holding yours as he sunk to his knees on the floor next to your bed and pressed your hand to his face.

"(Y/n), I'm so sorry," he choked, shoulders quaking.

"Shhh..." It was too painful for you to move, but you did your best to convey your love for him through the tightening of your hand in his. "This wasn't your fault, my love. I was the one who jumped in front of the bullet."

"I almost lost you," he sobbed. "I was so awful to you this morning and then I almost lost you."

"Jumin, you couldn't have known this would happen." Muffling a pained groan, you reached forward with your free hand to run your fingers through his hair, bringing him closer to you. "Will you listen to me now? Will you take a break from work?" you said, trying for lightheartedness, half joking, half serious.

"Yes. Yes, I promise I'll always listen to you from now on. I'll try to understand as I always should have."

You smiled, the gesture brightening your pale face. "We still have more to talk about later, but I'll hold you to that promise." Leaning forward, you kissed his head softly. "I love you, Jumin."

His tear-reddened, loving eyes met yours as his hands moved to cup your face. "I love you, too. I promise I'll be better next time."

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