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north-blue-hearts · 9 months

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Heart of Gold

CisFem Reader x Trafalgar Law

CW: ptsd, trauma, depictions/implications of suicide and suicidal ideation, language, violence, blood, canonical character death, mature themes and events 18+

Chapter 12: Phrasing

The crew worked to grab you for over an hour, and once things neared the two-hour mark people started to tap out. Jean, Penguin, Bepo and Law had been the last four standing when a slip from you had toppled Jean onto Penguin and effectively took the two of them out. You’d been offering advice and instruction the entire time, but even your breath was coming out heavy at this point.

It’d been a long time since you’d been so well tested.

The attack came from both of them, a last gambit given how exhausted you all were. Bepo was a step above his captain in hand-to-hand combat. It’s what the mink specialized in. Law would’ve had you on several occasions, but his strength was tied into his devil fruit and such had not been allowed.

You could see him leaning back on lessons he must’ve learned before he got the fruit.

You moved Bepo aside using Law, hand around his wrist, palm on his shoulder, foot behind his as you shifted behind him in an easy motion. You’d reverted back to your grace in the last few minutes, there was less need for speed, and you had less energy to spare for it at this point anyway.

Bepo spun with Law, albeit a little awkwardly, and the two came back around toward you. You stepped away from Bepo and into Law, taking the majority of his forward motion into your shoulder. Leaning in to lift him up and over in a new way – if you threw him the same way too many times he started to react enough to try and counter it – but this position was a miscalculation on your part.

He was too close. Too warm. Your gaze shifted and you caught him looking at you with dangerously focused eyes.

Your mind betrayed you as you finished the movement. For a split second you weren’t looking ahead with your haki, you were imagining those eyes focused on you in a completely different setting. Desire disrupted your train of thought as a fluffy pair of hands rested on your shoulders.

Bepo let out a quiet little yay, before falling backward and letting himself splat onto the deck of the ship.

“You… alright?” Law huffs, pushing himself back up onto his feet.

You compose yourself quickly, offering a smile as you turn toward him. “Yes, of course. Momentarily distracted, but I think the lesson went well regardless.”

Several crew members groaned, and you were pretty sure someone swore.

Law smiles, looking over his crew. “Yeah, I’d say it did.” He agrees, before his expression returns to its more default state. “Alright, drag yourselves up and get cleaned up. There’s lunch to be made and provisions to buy while we still know the town’s safe.” He commands, already stepping forward and helping to pull some of the crew members to their feet.

You follow suit, having the energy to do so, and aid a few people to their feet.

“(Y/N)…” Penguin says, hands on his knees, eyes on the deck. “I mean this, as nicely as possible.” He begins.

“Please never wear that bell again.” Shachi pipes up as Law helps him to his feet. “It’s terrifying. I don’t like it.”

“It’s going to ring in my nightmares.” Penguin whimpers, looking up at you with a pout on his face.

You smile. “No one is an island, entire of itself. Each is a piece of the world wide chain – a single part of the main.” Shachi and Penguin are looking at you oddly as you continue to recite the poem. “If a clod be washed away by the sea, the crew is the less. As well as if promontory were. As well as if a manor of thine own, or of thine friend’s were.”

A somber look covers your face a moment. “Each man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know, for whom the bell tolls,” you grin widely, making the bell around your neck jingle. “It tolls for thee.”

Penguin looks to be on the verge of tears. You can’t see Law’s face, he’s moved away to help Bepo get Jean back on his feet. Shachi’s jaw is slack for a moment before he looks almost incensed.

“Did you just make that up?”

You shake your head. “It’s paraphrased a bit, the kingdom it originally refers to doesn’t exist anymore so I substituted the concept of the crew in its place. It works, thematically.”

Shachi’s shoulders drop. “Thematically.” The word falls disdainfully out of his mouth. “What’s it all mean? We work together and we can steal that bell eventually? Then it ain’t gonna toll for anyone.”

You laugh a little, but Law answers for you. “It means the bell stays.” He says flatly and you smile and nod.

The crew cleaned up, the boys first, you and Ikkaku second. When you left the showers you were pleased to smell the scent of food traveling through the decks. Food was always better when you’d worked up a proper appetite for it.

You were glad the overall mood of the crew seemed to be good. You’d worried after the session wrapped up that maybe you had been too hard on everyone, and that there would be a sour cloud hanging over everything.

Instead, the mess hall was full of happy sounds, and there seemed to be a minor celebration for Bepo for having put two whole paws on you.

Bepo looked nervous comparatively. “It was only a fluke.” He insisted, looking over at you as you came inside the mess hall. “Right?”

Most of the crew turned toward you, and you put on a good warm smile. “Fluke or not, you still did it Bepo, celebrate a little.”

“If it was a fluke, what happened?” Ikkaku questions as the two of you sit down.

“Just a momentary distraction.” You say, repeating your earlier words.

“Head, heart or gut.” She prompts.

“Huh?” You tilt your head a little.

“Your distraction.” She clarifies. “Thoughts, emotions, or stomach pain?”

“I’m… not in need of aid because of it.” You offer as vaguely as you can.

“Checking out Bepo’s butt, I bet.” Shachi says from behind you.

You smile. “It’s a very respectable butt.”

“Yeah, it stayed off the deck more than the captain’s.” Clione laughs. “How many times did he get tossed?”

“Thirty-six.” Law answers sourly, coming into the mess hall.

“I’m surprised you kept count during all that.” Uni admits.

“I didn’t.”

“I did.” You answer a little sheepishly. “The Captain is still practicing, it seems.” You say looking over at him. You’d just been getting ready to answer the question when Law beat you to it. “Please take care not to overexert your reserves, captain.”

“Captain’s stamina is monstrous.” Hakugan states nonchalantly. “His devil fruit takes a lot, so he’s the hardest one out of all of us to exhaust.”

“You all have exceptional levels of capacity.” You say evenly, taking a sip of tea. “You all improved today as well, whether you’ve noticed it yet or not. I will have to try harder next time.”

Penguin and Shachi exchange glances. “You don’t have to do that on our account.” Shachi offers nervously.

“Wait, can you?” Penguin asks in disbelief.

“Can I what?” You prompt, giving him a soft smile.

“… go harder.” He manages after a second, and you hear someone snicker a little. “Move faster, or more -.” He wiggles his arm in the air. “Wobbly.”

“Perhaps.”

Ikkaku and Uni laugh. “Bell, you’re going to scare that poor boy.” Ikkaku admonishes you.

“Anyone’s who legs aren’t going to buckle needs to head to town after you’re done eating.” Law says, sitting down with a tray of the only food you think he eats, onigiri. “(Y/N) stays,” He says, looking over at you. “Rest up for tonight.”

Shachi chokes, and you can feel heat rushing up into your face. Ikkaku and Hakugan are laughing themselves silly, and Law has his face in his hand already.

“Terrible word choice, captain.” Penguin manages to say it almost flatly.

“Yeah I-.” Law begins

“And after you told me about hand jobs,” you say, false admonishment in your voice.

“(Y/N)…” Law is nearly growling your name, not that you can easily hear it over the chaos from the rest of the crew.

You sip your tea, pointedly not looking at him as the crew does the work for you. It’s a little payback for the captain deciding to effectively force you ashore that night. Even if it was for your own good.

You did catch his gaze after things calmed down, giving him an even smile as you left to go rest in your room. You’d become a part of the crew, but Law didn’t have you move from the private room you’d been provided when you first came aboard the Tang. It felt a bit like special treatment, but you were also grateful for the continued opportunity to have some space.

You’d adjusted to the crew almost entirely, but your life had been wide open and large. You knew your station had given you a great many luxuries, and you’d appreciated those luxuries when you’d spent time on the run. The small, enclosed feeling of the submarine was comforting in a strange way, but you were still used to having more room to stretch.

Laying down in bed, you looked out the small porthole in your room. It was rare for it to be above the sealine, but the sun was on the other side of the ship, so it was only reflections from the ocean’s surface that lit up your room.

Eyes opened or closed; it didn’t matter. All you could see was the look on Law’s face during the practical part of the lesson. He looked so alive, so thrilled to be challenged. It was like he had a new puzzle in front of him, and this one wasn’t going to take hours of research, it wasn’t going to take weeks of planning. It didn’t require the stress of wondering if his crew would be alright.

You would do anything to see that light again. You’d do even more to see that light directed at you.

“Oh, bah!” You grumble, turning away from the porthole and closing your eyes, trying to actually let some form of rest overtake you before it was time for dinner. Before it was time to try and set foot on dry land.

Before you would be alone with Law.

Your eyes stayed open despite your desires, and you glowered at no point in particular in the room. How dare your heart feel, how dare your emotions swell. It wasn’t as though you had never had a crush before, or never found someone attractive.

But you weren’t a noble. There was no voice in the back of your mind reminding you of family connections, of lineage, or of the simple fact that choosing for yourself wasn’t your privilege.

There was nothing to stop your silly little crush. Nothing to stop you from saying something. Communication was important, it would be cruel to not inform the captain – your captain now, by all rights, of your foolish emotions. He was sensible. Logical. He would be able to help.

Rejection wasn’t to be feared. It would be an answer. Not the one you wanted, but one you’d understand. One you could accept. Emotions had their place, but they certainly complicated things.

Of that you were acutely aware.

For Whom the Bell Tolls by John Donne

No man is an island, Entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manor of thine own Or of thine friend's were. Each man's death diminishes me, For I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know For whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee.

This poem is in the public domain.

#Heart of Gold #trafalgar law #x reader #reader insert #law x reader #grandline metro au

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campbluelake · 1 year

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Well The Night Weighs Heavy On His Guilty Mind | Ch4 Start (1/2)

Feeling weighed down by both your waterlogged clothing and the revelations and tragedies of the past hours, you make your way back to your cabin that night--or maybe you don’t. Maybe you find yourself trying to pull an all-nighter, begging your eyes to stay open so that you don’t have to close your eyes and see Warrick’s mangled figure, Audie’s bloodstained form, Inès’s headless body.

Whatever you may be hoping for, though, whether it be restful sleep or blessed wakefulness, you don’t get it. Your eyelids feel heavier and heavier until Sleep pulls you under, and no matter how desperately you claw at the ground of consciousness, you eventually slip into a dream.

There is no Lack this time. You feel. You feel so strongly that you’re unsure if you’ve ever felt so electrified in your life. It’s like your entire body is covered in static electricity; if it were any more intense, it might start to burn. You can hear every movement of your muscles, each staggered breath, perhaps even the individual firing of your synapses is audible to you. Just as soon as it’s about to be too much, the door to Awareness is shut, and your mind is instead filled with that same cacophony of voices from before.

“Dearest counselors, thou have gone through another terrible, terrible trial, another bout of horrible tribulations. Don’t thy bones ache? Don’t thy spirits cry out for reprise? Children of man, don’t thou wish for blissful Eternity? Breathing souls, I offer thee this. In this beautiful reality, thou can feel warmth, safety, love. With me, thou shall be cherished; Harm and Hurt will not find thee within my bosom, this is my vow to thee."

Echoing softly in the background up until now, another entity lies in wait. A weaker force, a multilayered voice pushes through the Veil, speaking through what sounds like blown out speakers. If one is a cacophony, this one is a small choir, eager to reach you.

"Thoust living, fear not the bloodshed! You bathe so readily in it, as if it were home. Thou were meant for this, and will come to accept this in due time. If thy cannot find purchase in this paradise, there's always the option to fight for your freedom. Do not give yourselves to despair! Live on, and enjoy what is provided."

The small echoes subside, and leave the stronger and more vibrant cacophony of voices to continue.

"Those dearly departed, allow yourselves to feel Vacancy. She, too, will welcome you, and the void of Nothing will bring you great comfort. Listen to my guidance this time: mortals do not belong in Perpetuity. Lay down your heads and rest. You don’t deserve to have to fight this fight that is not yours any longer.”

The echoed voice laughs quietly, crackling in and out of your awareness. Its grip on you is weaker, but not any less prepared.

"Just relax and leave everything to Eternity, spirits. You're not long for this world. Thine stubbornness is the byproduct of another's hastiness and naivety! Wouldn't it be better to accept eternal rest?"

The clamor returns. A cold chill--no, not chill, gale--sweeps across your spine. It’s like your blood has frozen, and your head feels fit to explode with the sudden pain. Some sort of subarctic brain freeze grips your mind.

“Dastardly interloper, your meddling has not been forgotten. Each day, we grow closer to finding you. Your little trail of breadcrumbs has not gone unnoticed. However, the offer of mercy has thus been retracted. There exists a special place at our heels for conniving worms like you, and you shan’t escape our judgment. This disruption shall be paid back tenfold. May you scurry back to the hovel you came from before we discover you. If you do not, only Oblivion awaits you.”

Perhaps the flush of heat would be welcome if it didn’t leave you feeling ill from the sudden change in temperature. The sound of flames flickering reach just behind your ears, threatening to burn if this were not a vision. Insisting more is to be said, the small choir chirps in, its aggressions hotter than the other's chilly words.

"One will find you, and you'll be done in. Thoust end will be swift and grotesque if you do not surrender yourself! We'll be watching and waiting for you to slip up and reveal your trickery!"

The heat continues to rise, nearly hot enough to burn.

“I release you all now. Go, darling children of man, see the gifts that I have given you all, the joy that can be forever yours should you choose wisely.”

"Wakey wakey…"

And you wake up.

#ch4 #ic

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villainousshakespeare · 3 years

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Learning a Lesson Chapter 1

Young Actor Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Rated E - Eventual Smut, Angst, Complicated Relationship - Teacher/Actor Posing as Student, Feels, Flirting, Fluff

Summary: It's your first day as a teacher and things are going well. That is, until a tall, gorgeous boy with blond curls and dramatic ways saunters into your last class. When he ignores all the swooning girls to flirt outrageously with you, it is secretly thrilling. Even more so is when he tries to steal a kiss after class ends. How long will you be able to keep your defenses up?

Up and Coming actor Tom is under cover in high school for research for a movie, but the pretty drama teacher is making the long assignment so much more enjoyable!

This was inspired by a dream I had. I opted to turn the main character into a young teacher instead of a student, just due to my own neurosis. Will probably be in a bout 4 parts... we shall see...

@arch-venus25, @caffiend-queen @ciaodarknessmyheart @frostbitten-written @just-the-hiddles @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken @nonsensicalobsessions @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @shae-annelore @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @hiddlesholic @yespolkadotkitty @vodka-and-some-sass @wolfsmom1 @tom-hlover @toozmanykids

The day had been going surprisingly well, if Emily did say so herself. All of her classes had seemed engaged in the material to some extent, and no one jumped out at her as an obvious juvenile delinquent bent on disrupting things. Of course, it was the first day of the school year and things could change, but with just one class to go she was feeling pretty satisfied with herself.

That was all about to change.

It was her first official day as a teacher. She had student taught, of course, but this was different. These kids were hers to mold and teach. It helped that most of the morning classes had been freshmen and sophomores. She had always looked young for her age, and she had already been asked once for a hall pass that afternoon between classes. It was embarrassing, but hardly unexpected. Soon she hoped that everyone would realize that she was faculty and not, in fact, attending herself.

Her last class was the one she had been both dreading and excited about all day. Senior Elective - Drama. It was her one chance to teach the subject that she loved the most. American and World literature were fine, of course, but she was a theater geek at heart. Teaching students who chose to study some of the most important plays in history, what could be better? She just hoped that they didn't all tower over her and decide that she couldn't possibly be the boss of them at her age.

The first few students to enter gave her hope. Three girls, giggling together in hushed voices, entered the room. She sized them up instantly - smart, a bit nerdy, and certain to turn into stunners in a few years' time. They smiled shyly at her as one, and Emily grinned in return, instructing them to sit anywhere they liked. As the others trickled in, began to breath easy. A few of the honor society kids, a couple who bore the stamp of musical theater unmistakably, and one or two who obviously were there simply because it sounded like an easy A that they could sleep through. Well, they would learn soon enough. Theater was a participatory activity in her mind. Still, the ten girls and three boys seated before her were hardly the type to strike fear into her heart, even if some of them did have several inches on her. She could do this!

The bell was still ringing when the door opened again and a tall, lanky boy backed in, calling jovially to some person still in the hallway. His voice was surprisingly deep, and contained a laughter that sounded infectious. Emily waited impatiently for him to conclude his conversation, foot tapping and lips pursed. When he finally turned around, she felt as though she had been punched in the gut.

He was certainly tall, easily topping 6 feet as he slouched against the door frame, insouciant smile on his face. A halo of wild, noodle like blonde curls framed his face, artlessly falling across his forehead in a manner designed to make one want to reach out and brush them back. His eyes, a stunning blue that ought to be illegal, were framed by obscenely long eyelashes and, if she were not mistaken, a light touch of eyeliner to make them all the worse. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut were hidden beneath just the right amount of residual baby fat to make him appear mischievous rather than outright dangerous, but she was not certain she should trust that assumption. A black t shirt and baggy black pants draped over his long, lean lines, accessorized with black and silver jewelry at his his wrist, waist, and neck, and a silver bar through the top of one ear.

Good lord above, her high school fantasy had just sauntered into the class she was supposed to be teaching! And Emily was not entirely sure that she had surrendered that fantasy as completely as she had hoped! Certainly her confidence, riding high just seconds before, was suddenly plummeting as the young stud slowly surveyed the class, enjoying the obvious attention his late entrance and stunning looks had provoked.

"Take a seat please, you're late," Emily said stridently, hating how forced her voice sounded.

"Apologies, I got turned around. Luckily some girls were nice enough to show me the way."

No doubt, she thought as he loped to the front of the class and sat in the desk immediately in front of her. And god almighty, was that an English accent? From the way most of the girls and two of the three boys in the class were twittering behind him she was certain she had heard correctly. He looked up at her with a cocksure smile on his face and she felt an absurd wave of embarrassment, as though he could read exactly what she had been thinking about him.

"So," he asked, extending his long legs out from under the desk until the toe of one booted foot almost touched hers, "when does the teacher get here?"

"I am the teacher," Emily tried to keep the consternation from her voice as she retreated behind her desk, hoping for some sort of barrier between her and the living temptation seated before her. Blindly she pointed to where "Miss Temple" was written on the chalk board, as though that would prove something.

"Impossible. You're far too young and attractive to be the teacher," he pronounced, openly giving her a once over as the rest of the class snickered.

Emily clenched her hands to keep from tugging down her skirt to make it longer. It hit a respectable length at just above her knee, but the way he looked speculatively at her legs she wished it hit the floor. Still, she was not about to let this smug little (or, well, not so little) popinjay rattle her.

"I am old enough. And you will find that there are no rules about a teacher's appearance," she told him. "But thank you all the same Mr -"

"Martinsson," he told you. "But you can call me Tom. And you are?"

"Very well, Tom," she sighed, ignoring the question. "Now, if I may begin the class?"

He waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture that left her unsure whether to laugh or roll her eyes or smack his smug, pretty face. She settled for turning on her heal and pulling her copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare out of her tote bag, wishing she couldn't feel his eyes on her backside as she bent over. Pants. She would definitely be wearing pants from now on.

"Shakespeare?" one of the musical theater kids groaned. "I thought this class was going to be fun!"

"Kiss me Kate is Shakespeare," the aptly named Kate, one of the honors girls, shot back, "and so is West Side Story!"

"It's less boring with songs," the boy muttered, making most of the others laugh in agreement.

"Dude, Shakespeare isn't boring!" Emily's heretofore nemesis said, turning to look disgustedly at the poor boy behind him. "Not if you have a thought in your head, at any rate!"

"See," Kate preened, trying to catch Tom's eye as the other boy squirmed.

"It's just stuffy old men shouting made up words at each other," one of the suspected lazy kids argued.

"Not if you do it right!" Tom insisted.

Before Emily could think to move, he unfolded his body from beneath the little wooden desk and dropped to his knees on the floor directly in front of her and began speaking with dramatic flourish.

"Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom."

As a gasp went through the class, Tom yanked up his shirt to bare a chest more well defined than she would have imagined. Not, of course, that she had any business imagining anything at all. He thrust a pencil into her hand and held it against the naked skin, continuing his soliloquy:

"And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Take up the sword again, or take up me."

Emily stared, mouth gaping at the young man on his knees before her, pressing her hand to his flesh, and felt a wild urge to pull him up and kiss him senseless. The raw passion that he had infused his words with echoed in the room, impossible to miss. The lines had been rushed, and he stumbled once over the wording, but there was no faulting the fervor with which they were delivered.

After a moment of silent awe, the class erupted in spontaneous applause as he smirked and pulled himself to his feet, bringing Emily's hand to his mouth to kiss it in a ridiculous show of stage chivalry that made the class giggle but sent electricity coursing through her body. She snatched her hand back took a step away from him as he turned to bow to his cheering classmates.

"Was that Romeo?" one of the girls asked fatuously.

"No," he said disdainfully. "Romeo was a twat too stupid to think through a plan or trust his woman. That was Richard the Third."

"And does she take him?" the girl asked giggling.

"Oh, she does alright," he said with a wink. "Then he uses her to secure his kingdom, kills her, and moves on the next princess. But still, you can feel his seduction in the words."

Emily watched the girl struggle to come to terms with that information and felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had the sense that this was a man, a boy she reminded herself, who often had that effect on people.

"That was, er, quite the performance Mr. Martinsson," she attempted to wrench the class back. "And I agree, Shakespeare is far from boring. We will not, however, be reading Richard III right now. I thought we would start with something a bit more light. Much Ado About Nothing. Now, if you would all take out your books, I will assign parts."

"I'm afraid I don't have a book," it was Tom, of course. "We didn't move here in time for me to pick one up from the library."

"Very well, you can use mine," she sighed, glad she knew all the characters from memory.

Tom got up again, Emily wondered if he was capable of sitting still, and walked around her desk. He towered over her as he crossed behind her, and his arm casually and quite inappropriately draped around her shoulders as he passed. She twitched to dislodge him, and he shot her a guilty but hardly repentant grin in response.

"The book, Mr. Martinsson," Emily all but hissed.

"Thanks," he said, hand grazing over hers as he lifted the big tome and walked back to the desk.

"Now," she said, struggling to push down the effect he had had on her when standing so close in her space, "who wants to be Beatrice, the female lead?"

All of the female hands shot up instantly. She could hardly blame them. There was only one choice to read Benedick, and everyone knew it. Briefly she considered casting him as Claudio, or better yet, Dogberry, just to spite them all. For some reason the thought of him flirting in verse with one of these cloying little girls made her irritable. For better or worse though, her love of the play won out over her misplaced jealousy. Tom was Benedick, and Jamie, a quiet, studious girl Emily liked on sight was Beatrice. A ripple of resentment made Jamie shrink back a bit, but Emily still thought she was pleased with being cast. Who wouldn't be?

"Mr. Martinsson," Emily said as the closing bell rang, signaling the end of the class and the day, "please stay behind. I would like a word with you."

Rather than looking at all put out, Tom's face broke into that smug smile she were beginning to realize was a habitual look for him. She waited for the mob of loitering girls to finally take the hint and reluctantly leave before shutting the door behind him and turning to see him perched on the edge of her desk.

"I was hoping you'd keep me," he said confidently. "I thought you might."

"Yes well," Emily found her mouth was dry and suddenly regretted closing the door. It would look foolish to open it again though, so she tried to pull herself together. "I think we need to talk about your behavior."

"My behavior?" he asked, looking amused.

"Yes, it was highly inappropriate for class," she scolded.

"What was? My pointing out that you were attractive?"

"Among other things. Flirting with me, kissing my hand," somehow when she listed his crimes they didn't sound nearly as bad as they had seemed at the time. If any other student had acted in such a way, she realized, she would have laughed it off and set them in their place. It was only because it was him, so attractive and utterly beyond her touch, that it was a problem.

"I apologize if I embarrassed you," he said, which wasn't really the point. "But you must know that you are very attractive. Very desirable. I would have to be blind not to notice it."

"Tom - I just said -"

"That it was inappropriate for class. We're not in class now. And you can't tell me you're not attracted to me as well. I can tell."

"That's not the point. You are a student. A child."

"I'm 18 last week," he corrected, sounding offended. "And you can't be older than 25. That's hardly enough of a difference to matter."

"There are plenty of attractive girls your own age," she said, hating them all.

"Stupid, vapid girls," he muttered.

"I'm your teacher," she said again, wondering who she was trying to convince.

"Then you don't want me to kiss you?" he asked, hopping off the desk and suddenly standing very close and towering over her.

"It's not appropriate," Emily gulped out, repeating herself.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Look, I'm not saying you're not attractive," she licked her lips and struggled to keep her thoughts together as he took another step towards he.

"You think I'm attractive?"

"You know you are, that is not the point."

"And what is the point?"

"The point is, it's wrong!"

"The point is, you want me to kiss you."

"Tom. Mr. Martinsson -"

"Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me, and I'll stop."

His hand had circled around her and was somehow at the back of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. He was enveloping her. His scent, his body heat, his bright, accented eyes, all clouded her mind and made it hard to think. His head was moving towards hers, and she knew it would be a kiss to make her toes curl.

"You're wrong," Emily gasped, closing her eyes and waiting for his lips to meet hers.

"Liar," he whispered, a mere breath away from her lips.

Dropping his hand, Tom stepped away and smiled down at her with something close to scorn in his eyes.

"I expected more from you," he told her. "I hope next time you can be honest with us both."

As she struggled to return her breathing to normal, he turned and walked out of the classroom, leaving Emily reeling.

***

"How'd it go?" his director Jonesy asked him again, making his teeth clench.

"As I said," he repeated. "Just the never ending tedium of high school. God, the U.S. version is even worse than ours was!"

"Beginning to regret asking for this?" Jonesy chuckled.

Tom considered it. He had been excited when he was cast in the new film being directed by an up and coming indie director. He was young, and what few jobs he had been given had been in period pieces of the waistcoat and ascot variety. Playing a troubled teenager in a gritty coming of age story was not something he wanted to let pass him by.

Still, considering that his own education had been at the posh British public school of Eton, proverbial School of Kings, he had been feeling ill prepared for the role. To rectify the problem, he had asked to be placed in an American school for a month. The first day had certainly been an eyeopener, that was certain.

"No," he said. "Regretting the homework though."

"I thought you were supposed to be a troubled kid," Jonesy laughed. "Blow it off!"

He agreed with a laugh, but knew it wasn't quite true. There was one assignment he planned to do to the best of his ability. Shakespeare deserved no less, and neither did she. Miss Temple of the lovely legs and expressive eyes.

He had thought her a student at first, and was disgusted with himself for how attracted he was to her. The pretty skirt was just short enough to show her knee, and the blouse hinted at enticing curves that he couldn't help noticing. When he realized she was in fact the teacher, and a Shakespeare teacher at that, he couldn't resist. He was supposed to be a dramatic kid, very well. He would use it to his advantage. It had almost killed him to flub the line near the end, but he didn't want to show his hand as an actor on the first day and ruin all the work the studio had done to arrange this for him.

He hadn't really expected her to respond to him. When she did, even though she tried to fight it, he could feel the electricity. He had not been so drawn to a woman in ages. Damn the stupid disguise!

He had wanted to kiss her desperately. Added a year to the age he was meant to be playing in an attempt to convince her it was not the worst idea in the world. He knew she had wanted it too. It was only his strict code that had made him pull back at the last minute. She said no, even if they both knew she didn't mean it. Very well, he would just have to try harder next time. It would lend some excitement to what had so far been a less than thrilling assignment. He would learn about American high school life, and she would be his sweet reward. It was only a matter of time.

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston rpf #Young!Tom Hiddleston #YoungActor!Tom #teacher/student #but not really #he is in disguise for a role #eventual smut #fluff #angst #forbidden relationship #shameless flirting #Tom does not play fair #dream inspired

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gstqaobc · 3 years

Text

🇨🇦🇬🇧🇨🇦THE MONARCHIST LEAGUE OF CANADA🇬🇧🇨🇦🇬🇧

PALACE RELEASES FUNERAL PLANS

https://www.cbc.ca/news/world/prince-philip-salutes-1.5982757

CHARLES’ SIMPLE & MOVING TRIBUTE TO HIS FATHER

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMGktwe6Q9E

THE PRIME MINISTER’S TRIBUTE TO THE DUKE OF EDINBURGH - OTHER WORLD LEADERS' REMARKS

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXu1eDqdn_

CANADIAN INDIGENOUS LEADERS REMEMBER THE WORK AND UNDERSTANDING OF THE DUKE

A fair piece rather than mischief-making, this is well worth a read

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/prince-philip-remembered-indigenous-canada-1.5982711

LEAGUE'S NATIONAL ZOOM CALL WILL GO AHEAD WITH

EMPHASIS ADJUSTED ON SUNDAY, APRIL 18: A FEW SPACES REMAIN FOR MEMBERS TO PARTICIPATE

Chairman Finch has decided that the Zoom call for all members of the League will go ahead as previously scheduled. It will begin with a brief reflection on the life of The Duke of Edinburgh, and proceed to focus on our affection and support for The Queen as she approaches her 95th birthday later that week. As we celebrate the long and useful life of Prince Philip, so do we value and celebrate the same longevity, ardor of spirit and commitment to duty of our Sovereign. We will not sing Happy Birthday; but certainly we shall continue to feel deeply moved by the good works of the Royal Couple as we look both backwards and forwards.

It is not too late to request a place by return of email.

THE LEAGUE’S MEDIA TEAM

Our enormous thanks to those who speak on behalf of the League, frequently multiple times, during such occasions as the death of Prince Philip. Doing so often disrupts their work and their family routine - and occasionally they have to deal calmly with reporters bent on mischief making. So, the gratitude of all members to Chairman Finch, Aron Spidle, John Yogis, Karim Al-Dahdah, Marjorie Shephard, Darcie Axelstierna, Josh Traptow, and Keith Roy - we hope we are not omitting anyone - for their professionalism, knowledge and devotion to the Crown! They give the League significant credibility.

Listen to Keith: https://www.cbc.ca/listen/live-radio/1-91/clip/15836205

FOR PEOPLE OF FAITH AND THEIR LEADERS

The League is not a religious organization, such faith and practice being entirely a matter of personal belief. Unlike England, Wales and Scotland, Canada has no “established church.” The Queen is a devout Christian, and lives her faith rather than talking about it, a rare exception being her Christmas Messages to the Commonwealth. At the same time, the Crown protects the right of all subjects to follow their conscience - to adopt any faith they wish, or none.

We have been asked by a number of people, some League members and others religious leaders, what might be an appropriate observance in their church, temple or mosque, or indeed within the family circle, to honour the late Duke. It is for that reason only we supply prayers which include those in the tradition of the Abrahamic faiths (Philip's mother, Princess Alice, is recognized as a "Righteous Among the Nations") - and we hope they might form one element of the many different ways that each will hold in heart and voice as the obsequies of this good man unfold in the days ahead. We prescribe nothing - when it comes to Faith we stick by the old Anglican formula, usually used in another context: All may, some should, none must.

A PRAYER FOR OUR QUEEN & ALL WHO MOURN FOR PRINCE PHILIP

O Father of all mercy, and giver of all consolation, deal graciously, we pray, for those who mourn, especially Elizabeth our Queen and all the Royal Family; that casting every care on Thee, they may know the consolation of Thy love.

A PRAYER BY JOHN DONNE

Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening, into the house and gate of Heaven: to enter that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light; No noise nor silence, but one equal music; No fears nor hopes, but one equal possession; No ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity; In the habitation of thy glory and dominion,

World without end, Amen.

A PRAYER FROM THE BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER

O Father of all, we pray for those whom we love, but see no longer: Grant them Thy peace; let light perpetual shine upon them; and, in Thy loving wisdom and almighty power, work in them the good purpose of Thy perfect will.

EL MALEH RACHAMIM: Jewish Prayer of the Dead Oh God, full of compassion, who dwells on high, grant true rest upon the wings of the Divine Presence, in the exalted spheres of the holy and pure … Therefore, may the All-Merciful One shelter him with the cover of His wings forever, and bind his soul in the bond of life. The Lord is his heritage, may he rest in his resting-place in peace; and let us say: Amen.

A PRAYER IN THE ISLAMIC TRADITION

O Allah, forgive Philip and elevate his station among those who are guided. Send him along the path of those who came before, and forgive us and him, O Lord of the worlds. Enlarge for him his grave and shed light upon him in it.

💜🙏🏻😔✝️💟PG✝️💟😔🙏🏻💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

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strangenewfriends · 4 years

Note

This might be really specific, but do you have any fic recs that are historical fics but also have some kind of other element—ABO or vampires or magic or something? No WIPs preferably. Thank you!!

This is very specific but also a great genre choice! So here you go, in no particular order:

just my style by thoughtsickles: Harry is sick, and the only thing that might help him is the pheromones from his mate--problem is, he hasn't got a mate.Louis' just been disowned, and taking part in a medical study where he has to cuddle with some strange alpha seems to be his only option for earning a bit of cash.The hippies and Omega Rights campaigners are busy changing the world--but all Harry wants is a chance to live.

A Taste of Desire by casuallyhl: A Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

Settle Soft and Follow Thee by LadyLondonerry: There’s something incredibly magical about twilight, Harry’s always thought. He’s never met a deity himself, not even a member of the fae, but if he did, he thinks the inbetween time would be when it happens. Tonight he tries to remind himself of that, that he loves twilight, and that the music of the crickets and the babble of the distant brook are music to his ears.

Coax the Cold by mediawhore: English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

You Came Just Like A Flower In My Darkest Hour by graceling_in_a_suit: Harry had spent a thousand years as the king of a false kingdom, no one but his empty-minded subjects to distract him from his loneliness. Then, he saw a stranger in a mirror to another world. He was exquisite, this stranger; Harry wanted nothing more than to know him, if only he could be free from the spell that kept him trapped.

won’t you wear my watermark by bottomlinsons: A slow burn Regency AU featuring secrets, seduction and, our favourite, soulmarks

Lend Me Your Hand by Quickedween: Society has long since decided that the soulmarks everyone is born with are entirely unfashionable. They're just another way for people of a lower class to scam their way into marrying above their station.

A Love So True You Don’t Have to Be Afraid by homosociallyyours: In a world long ago but not so far away, where true love is valued above all else, Louis and Harry have already found one another. Their lives are shaken by the arrival of Simon, whose heart is more than a bit shit, and who longs to sow unhappiness.When Louis is changed into a dragon and Harry is the knight meant to vanquish him, it would appear that Simon has succeeded. But love wins, every time.

As usual I know I’m missing some great ones but these are all wonderful and worth a read!

#asks #anon #fics #i always kick myself afterwards haha #Anonymous

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fullregalia · 3 years

Text

20/20.

This year, in hindsight, was a real write-off. I had grand plans for it, and while I ushered it in in a very low-key manner since I was recovering from the flu, I’d expected things to look up. Well, you know what they say about plans (RIP, my trip to Europe). I got very, very sick in early February, and I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t COVID. Since March, the days have been a carousel of monotony: coffee, run, work, cook, yoga, existential spiral, sleep. My Own Private Year of Rest and Relaxation, if you will. Of course, life has a way of breaking through regardless; I attended protests, completed my thesis, graduated from grad school, took a couple of road trips upstate, and celebrated the accomplishments and birthdays of friends and family from a safe social distance. It was all a bit of a blur, and not ideal circumstances to re-enter the real world, or whatever this COVID-present is.

Throughout it all, in lieu of happy hours, coffee dates, and panel discussions, I’ve turned even more to culture and cuisine to fill the the negative space on my calendar where my social life once resided. However, since a global pandemic ought not to disrupt every tradition, here’s my year-end round up of what made this terrible one slightly more tolerable.

After an ascetic fall semester abstaining from TV in 2019 (save for my beloved Succession), I allowed myself to watch more as the year wore on, and especially after graduation. I caught up on some cultural blind spots by finally getting around to The Sopranos, Ramy, Search Party, and Girlfriends. I wasn’t alone in bingeing Sopranos, it absolutely lived up to the hype and then some; this Jersey Girl can’t get enough gabagool-adjacent content, pizzeria culture is my culture!

Speaking of my culture, there was also a disproportionate amount of UK and European shows in my queue. Nothing like being in social isolation and watching the horny Irish teens in Normal People brood. I’m partial to it because I share a surname with the showrunner, so I have to embrace blind loyalty even though there was, in my opinion, a Marianne problem in the casting. Speaking of charming Irish characters with limited emotional vocabularies, I belatedly discovered This Way Up a 2019 show from Aisling Bea and Sharon Horgan. And while Connell and Marianne are actually exceptional students, I found the real normal people on GBBO to bring me a bit more joy. Baking was abundantly therapeutic for me this year, and watching charming people drink loads of tea and fret over soggy bottoms was a comfort. I also discovered the Great Pottery Throw Down, and as a lifelong ceramics enthusiast, I cannot recommend it highly enough if you care about things like slips, coils, and glazing techniques. GPTD embraces wabi sabi in a way that GBBO eschews flaws in favor of perfection, and in a time of uncertainty, the former reminded me why I miss getting my hands in the mud as a coping mechanism (hence all the baking). Speaking of coping mechanisms, like everybody else with two eyes and an HBO password, I loved Michaela Cole’s I May Destroy You; though we’ve all had enough distress this year for a lifetime, watching Cole’s Arabella process her assault and search for meaning, justice, and closure was a compelling portrait of grief and purpose in the aftermath of trauma. Arabella’s creative and patient friends Kwame and Terry steal the show throughout, as they deal with their own setbacks and emotional turmoil. Where I May Destroy You provides catharsis, Ted Lasso presents British eccentricity in all its stereotypical glory. At first I was skeptical of the show’s hype on Twitter, but once I gave in it charmed me, if only for Roy Kent’s emotional trajectory and extolling the restorative powers of shortbread. For a more accurate depiction of life in London, Steve McQueen’s series Small Axe provides a visually lush and politically clear-eyed depiction of the lives of British West Indians in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Lastly, how could I get through a recap of my year in tv if I don’t mention The Crown. Normal People may have needed an intimacy coordinator, but the number of Barbours at Balmoral was the real phonographic content for me.

Turning my attention across the Channel, after the trainwreck that was Emily in Paris, I started watching a proper French show, Call My Agent! It’s truly delightful, and unlike the binge-worthy format of "ambient shows” I have been really relishing taking an hour each week to watch CMA, subtitles, cigarettes, and all.

Honorable mention: The Last Dance for its in-depth look at many notable former Chicago residents; High Fidelity for reminding me of the years in college when my brother and I would drive around listening to Beta Band; and Big Mouth.

Music

My Spotify wrapped this year was a bit odd. I don‘t think “Chromatica II into 911″ is technically a song, so it revealed other things about my listening habits this year, which turned out to remain very much stuck in the last, sonically. I listened to a lot more podcasts than new music this year, but there were some records that found their way into heavy rotation. While I listened to a lot of classics both old and new to write my thesis (Paul Simon, Leonard Cohen, Prokofiev, and Bach) the soundtrack to my coursework, runs, walks, and editing was more contemporary. Standouts include:

Saint Cloud by Waxahatchee, which makes me feel like I’m breathing fresh air even when I’m stuck inside all day

La Bella Vita by Niia, which was there for me when I walked past my ex on 7th avenue (twice!) and he pretended that I didn’t exist

Fetch the Bolt Cutters by THEE Fiona Apple, because Fiona, our social distancing queen, has always been my Talmud, her songs shimmering, evolving, and living with me every year

Shore by Fleet Foxes, for the long drive to the Catskills

Women in Music, Pt. III by HAIM, because these days, these days...

Musicians have been reckoning with tumult this year as much as the rest of us, and the industry has dealt with loss on all fronts. I’d be remiss not to talk about how the passing of John Prine brought his music into my life, and McCoy Tyner, who has been a companion through good and bad over the years.

Honorable mention to: græ by Moses Sumney; The Main Thing by Real Estate; on the tender spot of every calloused moment by Ambrose Akinmusire; Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers; folklore by you know who; and songs by Adrianne Lenker.

Reading

What would this overlong blob be without a list of the best things I read this year? While I left publishing temporarily, books, the news, and newsletters still took up a majority of my attention (duh and/or doomscrolling by any other name). I can’t be comprehensive, and frankly, there are already great roundups of the best longform this year out there, so this is mostly books and praising random writers.

Last year I wrote about peak newsletter. Apparently, my prediction was a bit premature as this year saw an even bigger Substack Boom. But two new newsletters in particular have delighted me: Aminatou Sow’s Crème de la Crème and Hunter Harris’ Hung Up (her ”this one line” series is true force of chaotic good on Blue Ivy’s internet). Relatedly, Sow and Ann Friedman’s Big Friendship was gifted to me by a dear friend and another bff and I are going to read it in tandem next week.

On the “Barack Obama published a 700+ page memoir, crippling the printing industry’s supply chains” front, grad school severely hamstrung my ability to read for pleasure, but I managed to get through almost 30 books this year, some old (Master and Margarita), most new-ish (Say Nothing, Nickel Boys). Four 2020 books in particular enthralled me:

Uncanny Valley: Anna Wiener’s memoir has been buzzed about since n+1 published her essay of the same name in 2016. Her ability to see, clear-eyed, the industry for both its foibles and allure captured that era when the excess and solipsism of the Valley seemed more of a cultural quirk than the harbinger of societal schism.

Transcendent Kingdom: Yaa Gyasi’s novel about faith, family, loss, and--naturally--grad school was deeply empathetic, relatable, and moving. I think this was my favorite book of the year. Following the life of a Ghanaian family that settles in Alabama, it captured the kind of emotional ennui that comes from having one foot in the belief of childhood and one foot in the bewilderment that comes from losing faith in the aftermath of tragedy.

Vanishing Half: Similarly to Transcendent Kingdom, Brit Bennett’s novel about siblings who are separated; it’s also about the ways that colorism can be internalized and the ways chosen family can (and cannot) replace your real kin. It was a compassionate story that captured the pain of abuse and abandonment in two pages in a way that Hanya Yanagihara couldn’t do in 720.

Dessert Person: Ok, so this is a cookbook, but it’s a good read, and the recipes are approachable and delicious. After all the BA Test Kitchen chaos this summer, it’s nice we didn’t have to cancel Claire. Make the thrice baked rye cookies!!!! You will thank me later.

Honorable mention goes to: Leave The World Behind for hitting the Severance/Station Eleven dystopian apocalypse novel sweet spot; Exciting Times for reminding me why I liked Sally Rooney; and Summer by Ali Smith, which wasn’t the strongest of the seasonal quartet, but was a series I enjoyed for two years.

Podcasts

I’m saving my most enthusiastic section for last: ever since 2018, I’ve been listening to an embarrassing amount of podcasts. Moving into a studio apartment will do that to you, as will grad school, add a pandemic to that equation and there’s a lot of time to fill with what has sort of become white noise to me (or, in one case, nice white parents noise). In addition to the shows that I’ve written about before (Still Processing, Popcast, Who? Weekly, and Why is This Happening?), these are the shows I started listening to this year that fueled my parasocial fire:

You’re Wrong About: If you like history, hate patriarchy, and are a millennial, you’ll love Sarah Marshall and Michael Hobbes’ deep dives into the most notable stories of the past few decades (think Enron and Princess Diana) and also some other cultural flashpoints that briefly but memorably shaped the national discourse (think Terri Schiavo, Elian González, and the Duke Lacrosse rape case).

Home Cooking: This mini series started (and ended) during the pandemic. As someone who stress baked her way through the past nine months, Samin Nosrat and Hrishikesh Hirway’s show is filled with warmth, banter, and useful advice. Home Cooking has been a reassuring companion in the kitchen, and even though it will be a time capsule once we’re all vaccinated and close talking again, it’s still worth a listen for tips and inspiration while we’re hunkered down for the time being.

How Long Gone: I don’t really know how to explain this other than saying that media twitter broke my brain and enjoying Chris Black and Jason Stewart’s ridiculous banter is the price I pay for it.

Blank Check: Blank Check is like the GBBO of podcasts--Griffin Newman and David Sims’ enthusiasm for and encyclopedic knowledge of film, combined with their hilarious guests and inevitable cultural tangents is always a welcome distraction. Exploring a different film from a director’s oeuvre each week over the course of months, the podcast delves into careers and creative decisions with the passion of completists who want to honor the filmmaking process even when the finished products end up falling short. The Nancy Meyers and Norah Ephron series were favorites because I’d seen most of the movies, but I also have been enjoying the Robert Zemeckis episodes they’re doing right now. The possibility of Soderbergh comes up often (The Big Picture just did a nice episode about/with him), and I’d love to hear them talk about his movies or Spike Lee (or, obviously, Martin Scorsese).

Odds & Ends

If you’re still reading this, you’re a real one, so let’s get into the fun stuff. This was a horrible way to start a new decade, but at least we ended our long national nightmare. We got an excellent dumb twitter meme. I obviously made banana bread, got into home made nut butters, and baked an obscene amount of granola as I try to manifest a future where I own a Subaru Outback. Amanda Mull answered every question I had about Why [Insert Quarantine Trend] Happens. My brother started an organization that is working to eliminate food insecurity in LA. Discovering the Down Dog app allowed me to stay moderately sane, despite busting both of my knees in separate stupid falls on the criminally messed up sidewalks and streets of Philadelphia. I can’t stop burning these candles. Jim Carrey confused us all. We have a Jewish Second Gentleman! Grub Street Diets continued to spark joy. Dolly Parton remains America’s Sweetheart (and possible vaccine savior). And, last, but certainly not least: no one still knows how to pronounce X Æ A-12 Boucher-Musk.

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poptod · 4 years

Text

Baby, My Love is Yours (Kenny x Reader)

Description: His words make your heart ache, and you put the entirety of your trust in him.

Notes: Male coded/MLM. I’m a huge fan of gender neutral fics (as shown by my AO3) but, when it comes to gay characters, I don’t like taking that away from them.

Words: 3.5k, sorry it’s so short

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086324

Based off this song (I wrote and sung it)

In all honesty you haven’t known him for very long - at most, a few months, though your grasp on how time works is rather weak. If only you could pinpoint the exact date when you met. Of course, when you first met him, there wasn’t exactly a spark, or a flame, between the two of you; not even within you alone. He spoke anxious but excited, every topic lighting an excitement in his eyes, but you didn’t notice. Not until your fifth meeting.

You’d moved back to your hometown after a long trip of moving around the world, and found yourself not fitting in at all like you had before. At the age of seven, close to every kid had the same interests - having fun, playing, simply burning away the energy till that joy couldn’t come so easily. Nearly ten years later you find yourself in a place you know so well but would never again understand. You were probably the only family in town that had left the state, and that difference cut a deep separation between you and your classmates. You saw the world, and every person in it as entirely different and wonderfully unique from yourself, while many others only knew the people they’d known all their life.

Luckily, there was one person who welcomed you back rather warmly - your old friend, one of your best friends: Larry Gold. An enthusiastic boy too deep in fiction to see that the world didn’t revolve around the stories he knew, but the best shot you had at having any sort of friendships in your old, unfamiliar town. Second day back at the school he came up to you, frowning somewhat.

“You look sorta… familiar. Did we - did - were you here a few years ago?” He asks, gesturing vaguely with his hands at the mostly empty classroom, the students having long gone with the ring of the bell. “Sorry, if not,” he adds. “I just can’t shake the feeling.”

“No, uh, yeah. I was here, like ten years ago? I dunno. I’m (Y/N), you’re…” you blank for a second, before remembering his name. “Larry, right?”

“Yeah! Wow, I… wow. It’s been a while. Where’d you go?”

You catch him up on the way to the lunchroom - Montana, then to Switzerland, then to Korea, to Scotland, before moving to Italy - then Germany, and finally back to the States.

“Holy shit,” he laughs, filling his tray up with the horrid looking lunch ‘meat’.

“It was a bit tough, to be honest. How do you fare?”

“Could be better, could be worse,” he admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “I got a best friend at least, he’s probably sitting over…” he looks over the crowd, before settling on a boy sitting alone in a corner, “there. That’s Kenny.”

You nod, not really seeing who exactly he’s looking at till he’s leading you over, and you sit across from him and Kenny.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you start out with - simple enough. “I used to live here.”

Kenny doesn’t seem much for words, sitting straight up and stock still, before Larry nudges him with his elbow and whispers something indistinguishable above the raucous crowd. Stuttering he offers his hand, which you shake with a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” you say.

“I’m - Kenny.”

Lunch runs smoothly, and when it finishes Larry pulls you to the side of the rushing students.

“He’s usually not like that. But he is a weird guy, just a heads up.”

Chuckling you nod, not taking his advice. Weird never bothered you, as long as it didn’t harm anybody. In fact, it’d probably do you good - befriending someone unlike the other teenagers around you. Even if you weren’t ‘new,’ you still stick out like a plant amongst rubble, or a snowstorm in summer. Abnormally tall, with clothes too expensive for the school you attend and a very clear ‘Pridefully Gay’ patch on your jacket. Doesn’t bother Larry, that or he can’t see past the end of his nose; you went with the latter.

Kenny ended up being a joy to have around once he actually gained the nerve to start talking. The two of you bonded, rather unsurprisingly for you. A ‘gaydar’ wasn’t something you put much stock in, but there were obvious signs when someone was gay, and Kenny emitted near every sign of a boy so deep in the closet he’d find shoes from 1987. You didn’t bring it up, though, ever one for chivalry. If he wanted to come out, he could do it on his own time, and you certainly didn’t feel the need to talk to Larry about it - he’d asked about your patch, and expressed a decent amount of discomfort about homosexuality.

“I get it if you don’t want to be friends anymore, but that’s a dick move,” you told him, to which he quickly agreed.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be friends, it’s just… you aren’t gonna get, like, a crush on me or anything… right?”

“No. I only like attractive men,” you told him, sparking a snort from Kenny, whom you hadn’t realized was listening.

It wasn’t until the fifth time the three of you had decided to hang out outside of school that you suddenly fell under a charm you’d previously believed didn’t exist. Sitting in the middle of Larry’s living room (your house was too far away, and Kenny’s house was apparently too strict), you were simply doing homework, you working on English, Kenny on math, and Larry on history. Fiddling with his pencil, Kenny sits next to you, and across from the both of you sits Larry.

“Why do we have to write a poem for English? Isn’t it enough that we have to do presentations on friggin’ Jane Eyre?” You grumble, running your hands through your hair.

“Having trouble?” Kenny asks, leaning to look over your shoulder.

“Everything I write sounds stupid,” you mumble, your head falling from the grip of your hands and landing with a dull thud on the table.

“Then just write something stupid,” Larry adds, helpfully, but still engrossed in his own homework.

“Here, I, uh,” he looks at you, blushing (as usual; you’d gotten used to it) before digging into his backpack and pulling out a journal. “You can use one of mine.”

“What? No. That’s cheating,” you insist, turning back to your empty paper. Kenny and Larry share a glance, but his attention comes quickly back to you.

“At least take one of my ideas? They’re on the back page,” he says softly, pushing the notebook into your line of sight, giggling slightly as it comes to cover up the entirety of your own blank journal. With a sigh and a chuckle, you relent.

“Fine, but I owe you,” you mutter, looking over the ideas. Kenny just shrugs, and turns back to his math. You’re horrid at math, and the equations he’s completing in his head send you for a whirl. If you ever start failing that class, you know exactly who’d be the best tutor.

Notes made mostly of scribbles and vague definitions litter the back page - “Made of glass,” one corner says, but it’s missing the last s. ‘Mold and melt ‘neath such wretched hands,’ ‘searching for endless trivialities,’ ‘raised on masochism.’ It’s all rather dark, and when you’re sure Kenny is fully absorbed in his work, you flip through the pages to his poems. Not to steal them, that goes against your moral code; just to read. The poems are in an even messier fashion than the jotted notes - they’re put into blocks, numbered and unnamed. Arrows point to which part connects to which, and some have notes to the side, brackets combining them, and pencil scratches blurring out the wrong words. On a few pages he clearly attempted to write about women. There are scribbles about their beauty, but it’s so vague it could be about anything. Some of the fragments are simply fragments - unconnected lines of poetry.

‘I was love, helpless love,’ you read in your head. ‘And though I do care for you, I cannot put my shame on you, and I’ve lost all that matters.’ Helplessly you search for a clean poem, something you don’t need to piece together like a million letter puzzle. Continuing your search for an idea, an inspiration, or perhaps a glimpse into the elusive personality of your new friend, you find a poem that’s definitely about boys, and it’s more loving than any other that you’d read so far. In the first part of it, he describes the boy he pines for, but it’s not incredibly specific - it mentions hair color, eye color, some skin imperfections, but not enough to pinpoint who it’s about. Then, it gets dark.

‘How bold of me to dream, to wonder. I beg you to let me waste your time, and let me burn away in your light -‘ there’s a scribbled out part - ‘I thought by know’ (it’s misspelled) ‘I might hold you, like endless apologies of existence - feel my heat as your own. But as the sky descends in heaps of empty meanings, I found I said nothing to you at all.’ The last bit is hard to read - it either says ‘empty meanings’ and ‘I found,’ or ‘endless apologies,’ and ‘I fear.’ Either way, you’d seen enough - enough to make your heart race when he looks back up at you with a smile softer than anything you’d ever known, even in the entirety of all you’d travelled through. Your mind stutters, continuing to blank even as Kenny turns away. Had you just wandered through his soul? It felt a very private notebook. Turning back to the last page, you chose a random idea, ending up with, ‘I pray to thee, sweet love’s a parasite.’

From that moment on, your life continues on as normal, with one massive disruption - you’ve got a hideously thumping crush on one of your best friends. That brings us to the present; he’s sitting far too close to you, emotionally ripe from getting kicked out of his house that afternoon, and he’s practically begging you for solace. Not with his words, thank God, but every movement he makes is needy and his chest weighs heavily against your own as he breathes softly. He’s barely touching you, but his heat manages to reach you, crowding your space without allowing himself the comfort of your touch. Larry’s mom had called you, rather late that evening, and explained the situation to you.

“I think he’s crying. I don’t want Larry helping him, I don’t think he’d help that much. Can I trust you?” She asked, and you agreed, taking your father’s pickup truck and driving it down from the mountains and into town. Once you made it to the basement, you saw the extent of his ruin.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, his eyes red and blotchy, matching his flushed cheeks. He’s still leaning over you on the basement couch.

“Just keep breathing,” you tell him, though you really don’t know what to do either. Your parents weren’t thrilled when you came out, but they certainly didn’t kick you out of the house. “Live day by day, hour by hour… minute by minute, if you have to.”

“They’re gonna take me back, right?” He says, practically pleading with you, as though you have any pull on what happens.

“I think they will,” you murmur, your eyes flickering down to his lips before meeting his eyes again. Truth wouldn’t help either of you in this situation, so you decide your soft lie would work best.

“Maybe I was wrong,” his head hangs low between his shoulders, “maybe I’m straight. I don’t wanna be gay. I - it’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Kenny…” did you really have to come out to him? You had made no effort to hide it. Maybe he’d forgotten? “I’m gay, remember?”

“You’re not wrong, though, like I am,” his words start to come out choked, and he strains to keep talking through the tears burning his thoughts away. “Your parents still love you. Mine - I don’t want to… I don’t…” He doesn’t blink, hoping desperately that the gathering tears will recede but they fall nonetheless, one from each eye till he’s sniffing, cheeks burning as he tries to stop crying in front of you.

“Your parents still love you. Give them time,” you settle on. It’s a precarious situation, and you can’t tell what’s the right thing to say, or if saying anything at all will help.

At last he collapses, the strength of his arms giving out as he falls into you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck he hides away from the world, from his self-hating thoughts, from everything besides you. In a moment you’re all that exists to him, your arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him up so he doesn’t slide away. His warmth burns you, electrifying every nerve you have but you ignore it. There’s more important things to tend to. His breathing is uneven, so you slow your own breathing, instructing him to follow you. Half shivering he attempts to follow your lead, slowly calming from sobbing to napping away the mental exhaustion of the evening.

As he sleeps on top of you, you kiss his temple, running your hands through his hair in a fashion you hope is comforting. When your freezing fingers touch the back of his neck he shivers, so you try to keep away from his bare skin, till you fall asleep. the weight of his body lulling you into a doze.

He wakes up around 4AM, which you only know because when he wakes he jostles you, stuttering and mumbling to himself as he crawls off of you. With a deep breath you open your eyes, looking up at him, still sitting in your lap, but clearly embarrassed.

“Oh jeez. I’m, uh, really sorry for, um.. sleeping on top of you. Oh god,” he grumbles, switching between covering the lower and upper halves of his face.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, still drowsy with sleep. Unsure of what exactly you’re doing you reach for him, grasping his wrist and pulling him close as you sit up. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright, I guess,” he says, just as soft as you, his expression falling. “I’m… glad you’re here. Less lonely.”

“’S what I’m here for. Did I tell you Valerius called me? She thought you liked me more than Larry,” you chuckled, the words escaping your mind before you gave them any thought.

“Who’s Valerius?”

“Larry’s mom.”

“You mean Victoria?”

“Mm… yeah.”

“I like both of you plenty,” he says, indignantly, a slight frown on his face that you can’t help but find adorable. It shows on your face, too, a smile too wide cracking open. He notices, and it only furthers his confusion. “What? I’m telling the truth.”

“I know. You’re just so adorable,” you admit, and when his eyes widen and he pales, you come back into yourself, and realize what you’d just said. “Oh, uh, you know what I, uh, mean. You know?” You stutter a lame excuse.

“I’m not adorable,” he whispers, staring straight into your eyes.

“No, handsome,” you correct yourself, making the situation infinitely worse.

“Handsome?” He practically wheezes out, losing his words and coherent thought.

You keep a firm hold on his wrist, making sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Instead he wraps his fingers round yours, and, staring at where you meet, he holds your hand. As enthralling as it is for you it soothes him, breath instantly slowing as the pressure of his fingers trills against the back of your hand. For the moment, you put away your anxieties, and let him relish in a comfort unknown. It wasn’t illogical to assume he’d never held hands, never kissed anyone, and certainly not a boy. You had experience with this - Europe was pretty gay, and Italy awarded you your first kiss. Yet somehow, your roles had reversed; the experienced a blushing mess, as the virgin held the others’ hand in a warm composure.

His eyes close slowly as he leans in, heading for a kiss you knew would be heart wrenchingly beautiful, but you pull away.

“You’re - no. I adore you but… I can’t complicate your life. Not now,” you murmur, pressing your hand against his chest and pushing him from you. In an instant, he thinks he’s entirely at fault, and he unwinds himself till the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch, neither of you touching the other in any way.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and you can tell he’s about to cry again.

“It’s not your fault,” you rush out, scooting closer to him, but he curls into himself, and you relent. “Kenny…”

He hides his face in his hands, and he’s definitely crying now. You wait a moment before you continue, waiting for the worst of it to be over, but seeing him in any kind of pain twists your gut.

“Kenny…” you slowly move his hands away from his face, and with a soft touch, you direct him to look at you. “I just don’t want to hurt you. You understand that… right?” He nods, and looks away. “There’s so much going on in your life. I don’t want to add to that.”

“But you make everything better,” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his knees raised to his chest, hiding his face again.

“I’m flattered you think that,” you reply quietly, at a loss for words. “I… how about.. I sit here, and you can do what you want, or make me do anything you want. For tonight.”

“What?” He sniffs, and looks back up at you.

“I’ll do anything you want. Anytime you ask. Starting tonight, my love is yours in any way you want it,” you tell him, eyes darting nervously around his face for any sign of agreement or disgust.

“Anything?”

“Yeah. Anytime.”

You’re trusting him with a lot, you both know that - but truly you do trust him, more than you trust yourself. He graces your cheek with his fingers, trailing across your imperfections as you close your eyes, melting into his touch. Shifting, he moves closer, till he’s once more sat in your lap, and you can feel his hot breath against your skin, electrifying you in the same way you keep ignoring. It’s about him, don’t ruin this with your anxiety, you tell yourself, but it gets harder to listen to that voice in your head when he begins to kiss at your bare neck. Your hands shoot up, grasping at his waist as he does this, dotting your skin, up to your jawline until he lands a peck at the side of your lips, so loving, as though you give him the only reason to breathe. At this time, he pulls away, and you open your eyes.

He’s examining you - just as you had done to him, waiting for any sign of renunciation of your promise. But you just sit there, gazing into his eyes like they hold the universe, every answer to be asked for swirling in the gold round his pupil. So he leans in, and at first it’s just a touch; you’re pressing your lips together, still and quiet. The time passes so slowly it might’ve not been passing at all, till he leans in, and you feel the pressure so intensely that a fire could be raging around you and you wouldn’t’ve noticed. You copy the feel of his adoration with just as much tenderness, and a tiny whimper escapes him. He pulls away blushing, leaving you with a dumbstruck smile on your face.

He does a lot more to you that night, and in every second of it you swear you’re in heaven. The memory of it trails you, constantly at the forefront of your thoughts at any given moment. When you meet in school again, he holds your hand like a comfort in a world of pain, and to him it is. You exist, and that’s enough to soothe the ache of rejection, but it doesn’t fully heal, not until his parents finally take him back.

On that day, he asks, “Are… is… are you.. still mine?” He worries, needlessly, if your trust was only to comfort him in a hard time.

“I’ll be yours as long as you want me,” you tell him, and it ends up being a lot longer than you ever would have anticipated. You’re not that stupid, you know the statistics for high school relationships, but your love persists so long there’s no other word for your relationship other than soulmates. Life deals softer blows by his side, and love adores each of your imperfections till the days die away.

Baby, my love is yours

longer than words we adore -

So trust the tremor in my touch

Cause baby, my love is yours.

#rami malek #kenny al bahir #kenny al bahir x reader #war at home

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voidsentprinces · 4 years

Text

My brain on Post-Stormblood

Talk to Lyse. HUNT DOWN DA SWOLBOI! Speak to Swolboi go stand in a spot. Book Son has appeared. Talk to Book Son. Teleport to Ala Mhigan Quarter. Talk to person. Talk to dude. Talk to person. Talk to HEYERNOLD! Report to He’s just a Swolboi from a Swolfamily! Fly to Book Son. Talk to Book Son. DIVE BITCH! Look around. Take in the view. Get lost. How is a lake this so fucking big!?! Find canal. Pat wall. Book Son skypes you. Unlock Downed City of Skalla. PUNCH A HORSE! PUNCH A--Fuck...I got turned into a fucking...hold on...ALRIGHT PUNCH BALT--Fucking...shit got turned into...hold on...RIGHT PUNCH BALTOY! PUNCH LEOMON! Swolboi and Book Son fall through all nine floors of this crumbling underground treasurey JUDGE THEM! Teleport to Ala Mhigan Quarter. Talk to Lyse. Start a riot--I mean...observe a riot. Listen to Raubahn tell a story. Talk to Lyse. Visit AME World Champion FORDOLA! Leave. Talk to Book Son. Return to Ul’dah.

Go to Chamber of Rule. Talk to Sultana (DONTDRINKTHEFUCKINGWINE). She doesn’t offer wine. (BULLETDODGED). Teleport to Adventure’s Guild. Talk to Notana. Teleport to Gate of Nald? Ride to Notana. Talk to her. Encourage her. Ask where she gets her pink hair dye. Teleport to Black Bush Station. Ride out. Meet Notana. Reminsice about an assassination attempt. This is fun. Return to Ul’dah. Teleport to Gladiator’s Guild. Talk to Notana. Have a flash back to the time Raubahn kill men a couple dudes and the Sultana leaped over their corpses into his strong muscul--okay moving on. Speak to Notana. Run around meet Notana at a place. Go to airship landing. Talk to Notana. Lets all go to the Gold Saucer! Let us go! Let us go! To the Gold Saucer! Talk to Notana. Wait for the guy you once rubbed oil on. Talk to Notana. Teleport to Kugane. Break into the Ruby Bazaar with an axe. Fly tackle Weasel. You remember you’re here for business...you’ll be back you Weasel looking fucker. Return to Ul’dah. Talk to Notana. Pray thee Return to the Waking Sands. Break down the door. Talk to Strip Tease. Watch Sultana get sassy with Lololololololuhhhuhuhuhuhulooo...Lolorito. Speak to Sultana. Teleport to the Ala Mhigan Quarter. Talk to Lyse. Talk to a Grandpa. Run around and use a telescope. Make a dude punch a Yabby. Make him punch a pile of sand. Report back to the Grandpa. Wait inside the gate to Ala Mhigan Quarter. Talk about how best to punish the greedy Lala and guy you stalked from the last expansion. Speak to Lyse. Fly across the continent. Land in front of people. Talk to Raubahn. Watch over a meeting. Everythings going w--

REST YOUR WEARY SOULS UPON MY BOSOM!

FUCK LAKSHMI IS HERE PUNCH AAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL THE ORBS! Fordola is here! Fuckj PUNCH PUNCH PUNCH! Okay shes dead...

Talk to Lyse. Teleport to Kugane. Kick down the door. WEASEL MAN! Has seen Mr. Miyagi with a woman. Go ask around. Find a sword deal. Haggle for sword. Hand receipt to Tataru. Watch Tataru murder Book Son. Help her get rid of the body. Bury Book Son in Aurum Vale. No one willingly goes in there anymore. Talk to Donatello. Talk to Undead Son. Not even the dead want to be in Aurum Vale. Leave to the Ruby Sea. Garleans are attacking. Talk to Undead Son. PUNCH GARLEANS PUNCH MORE GARLEANS PUNCH THE FUCKING GARLEANS IN THEIR TINCAN FACE! Okay that was fun. Talk to Sword Daughter. COME SAIL AWAY! COME SAIL WAY! COME SAIL AWAY WITH ME~! Talk to Donatello. Talk to Lizard Wife. Head to Yanxia. Talk to Lizard Wife. Teleport to House of the Fierce. Ask around. Fly away to find dude. Dude is hella wigged out cause we brought Tsuyu home. Talk to Lizard Wife. Teleport to House of the Fierce. Talk to Fratboy. Fly out to Garlean Base. Talk to Fratboy. Meet Incel. Fly to docks. Talk to Lizard Wife. Welcome to Doman fucking Enclave. Get the three aetheryte. Talk to Guard. Have meeting between Hottie, Incel, and Silent Dude. Fratboy talks. Talk to Chad Emperor after. Talk to Sword Daughter. Leave Enclave. Talk to Incel. Show Incel around. Remind him all women are Queens. PUNCH SOME TURTLES! Talk to Incel. Go to Doman Enclave. Talk to Lizard Wife. Talk to Incel. Talk to Chad Emperor. Have another meeting. Talk to Chad Emperor. See Incel, the Hot Elf, and Silent Dude off. Incel whispers something your ear. No you don’t want to see his Indie Romance Film about an artist living alone in Oregon. Misunderstood. Then he meets a woman who falls head over heels for him, even though he’s an absolute shit head. It will go on to win 10 awards at a Festival you never heard of. Oh also he’s a big fan of AYE YI YI MY LITTLE ZENOS GALVUS. Tell Chad Emperor about this.

Speak to Chad Emperor. Talk to Book Son. Meet Mr. Miyagi. See Tsuyu take care of him. Remember the time she blew up an entire castle. Good times. Woops she ran away. Mr. Miyagi must of used Roar. Talk to people. Talk to more people. Oh hey a cool hat. Oh hey you found Tsuyu. Talk to Chad Emperor. Return to Enclave. Talk to Chad Emperor. Talk to Chad Emperor. Teleport to Onokoro. Talk to Roeleader. Fly over to a boat. Talk to dude. DIVE BITCH! Pluck barnacles off the boat. Check on Chad Emperor. Fly back to dude. Watch him fanboy over Chad Emperor. Talk to Roeleader. Teleport to Enclave. Talk to Chad Emperor. Talk to Chad Emperor. Fly across Yanxia to boat. Talk to Chad Emperor. Meet with Incel, he yells something about you not understanding the kind of stress he’s under! Yotsuyu evolves into Tsukuyomi. Unlock Castrum McFlurry.

Oooooh its gonna be a long night

OH FUCK OH SHIT! OH FUCK! OH SHIT! OH GOD OH GOD! GET ON THE LAST FAN RUN AWAY! GET IN THE MOON! DONT BE ON THE MOON TOO LONG! KILL THE SMOKE CLOUDS! KILL THE SPECTRE OF YOTSUYU’S PAIN AND SUFFERING! GET BITCH SLAPPED BY ZENOS YAE GALVUS ATTORNEY IN LAW! WATCH THE IMAGE OF MR. MIYAGI FIGHT ZENOS! OH SHIT! OH GOD! SHE HAS TWO FANS NOW! EVERYTHINGS RED AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! and Leave. Watch Yotsuyu stab Zenos Stan. Book Son offers to go to Garlemald. Hot Elezen says yes. Talk to Chad Emperor. Mr. Miyagi shaves his head and goes off to Monkhood. Talk to Chad Emperor. Return to Rhalgr’s Reach. Talk to Lyse. Talk to Lyse. Pray thee return to the Rising Stones. Ponder with Sword Daughter where Book Son is. Oh he’s on a ship. OH SHIT THE SHIP IS SHOT DOWN! FIGHT GARLEANS! Hobo with a Gunblade shows up! PUNCH GARLEANS! Ah, flashbacks are fun. Edgecred offers to go take a look. Husband Material right there...now if only he had a cool coat.

Talk to Sword Daughter. Teleport to Ala Mhigan Quarter. Edgecred is back! Give the thirsty boy some water. Book Son never made it to Garlemald. Thats upsetting. Talk to Sword Daughter. Teleport to Doman Enclave. Talk to Goth Wife. Talk to Chad Emperor. Teleport to House of the Fierce. Fly through the roof. Talk to Chad Emperor. Unlock the Burn. Run the Burn. Why does this place’s music sound like the S.S. Anne? PUNCH A CRYSTALS SCORPION! PUNCH A RACING ROBOT! PUNCH THE STUPID FUCKING MIST DRAGON! There is no Book Son only ZUL! Talk to Chad Emperor. A wild Lyse appears! Talk to Lyse. Talk to Chad Emperor. Go to Reunion. Talk to Goth Wife. Talk to Chad Emperor. Fly across the Meadows. Talk to Sheep Wife! Fly to cave. Talk to Goth Wife. Fly back and talk to Sheep Wife. Fly across the meadows. Meet up with Sadu. She wants to punch you...that’s hot. Fly across the Meadows. Talk to Goth Wife. INDEATHDOURSOULSING! INDEATHDOURSOULSING! INDEATHDOURSOULSING! INDEATHDOURSOULSING! INDEATHDOURSOULSING! INDEATHDOURSOULSING! INDEATHDOURSOULSING! INDEATHDOURSOULSING! INDEATHDOURSOULSING! INDEATHDOURSOULSING! Defeat Sadu...she almost killed you...that’s hot. Little Sun has appeared! Take control of Goth Wife. KICK! LITTLE! SUNS! FUCKING! FACE! IN! Watch Little Sun hit on Goth Wife. Watch Goth Wife obliterate Little Sun so harshly, he’s now lost to the Shadow Realm. Fly to cave. Talk to Goth Wife. Talk to Chad Emperor. Go to Enclave. Talk to Sword Daughter. Teleport to Ala Mhigan Quarter. Talk to Edgecred. Have a meeting. Wink at Seedseer, high five Sultana, Admiral Wife slaps you on the ass, make out with Aymeric in front of everyone. Watch Chad Emperor drink an entire barrel of ale. Goth Wife is judging you. Edgecred starts considering disrupting Garl--

THROW WIDE THE GATES!

Aww...Edgecred is tired. So tired that his soul ascended to Nirvana. Holy shit and I thought Estinien was dramatic. Leave meeting talk to Sword Daughter. Quickly pray thee return to the Rising Stones. Goth Wife and Strip Tease go to high five.

THROW WIDE THE GATES!

OH SHIT! THEY BOTH GOT YEETED TO NIRVANA TOO! FUCK! Calm Sword Daughter down. Let her stab you a couple times to let off some steam. Talk to Guard. Talk to Sword Daughter. Talk to Sword Daughter. Go to Limsa. Go to Aftcastle. Talk to Sword Daughter. Oh hey its the Kobold from befo--oooh noo. Stand awkwardly while Sword Daughter talks about Kobold. Support her. Pray thee return to the Rising Stones.

Talk to Sword Daughter. Go to Goblinshire. Talk to Sword Daughter. Fly across the meadows. Visit Maggie Smith. Krile’s back. Grab some more Alphinaud Blackmail. No dice. Talk to Sword Daughter. Krile will stay behind. Go to Ala Mhigan Quarter. Talk to Guard. Elf Hottie is back but no book son. He tells you about the Hobo with a Gunblade though.

THROW WIDE THE GATES!

Oh...Alisaie and you are still here. Can’t be all th--OH SHIT BOOK SON! Run to Enclave. Talk to Chad Emperor. Teleport to House of the Fierce. Talk to Chad Emperor. Fly across the Burn. A ship rams the shield! It settles down. Hobo with a Gunblade comes out with Book Son! Book Son’s soul got yeeted too! Hobo with the Gunblade is actually Pirate Captain Gaius! Hobo Gaius says goodbye. Talk Book Son back to Rising Stones. Go to Porta Praetoria. Talk to guard. Walk around the camp. Talk to Lyse. Talk to Sword Daughter. Hold a meeting. Oh hey Emperor Severus Snape is here. He roasts the Seedseer, Sultana, Chad Emperor, Admiral Wife, Sword Daughter, and Husband-in-Uniform at once. Take a moment. Talk to everyone. Give them head pats. Sit down. Talk to Emperor Snape again. Make fun of his crown. It’s war! Talk to Sword Daughter. Talk to Lyse. Unlock Grimlyte Dark. Gotta say its one of my favorite dungeons. The atmosphere is fun and you get to see Seedseer, Chad Emperor, Lyse, Aymeric and Lizard Wife Flex. PUNCH SHADOW OF THE COLOSSUS! PUNCH THE DUKES OF HAZARD DRILL! PUNCH TWIN GARLEANS! Oh hey Sword Daughter is h--

THROW WIDE THE GATES!

OH FUCKING COME ON! Sword Daughter’s soul gets yeeted. You’re all alone. Wait you got Krile for blackmail and Tataru for knife juggling. Time to open a circus. Talk to Rauba--

THROW WIDE THE--

FUCK YOU! Talk to Raubahn. Pray thee return to the Rising Stones. Talk to Roebear.

Talk to Roebear. Ride out to Mor Dhona. Talk to Hot Elezen. Track down you a Cid! Alliance Soliders request your aid! Fly to the Grimlyte Dark! Talk to Raubahn. Chad Emperor, Lyse, and Lizard Wife are fighting

SOMEBODY ONES TOLD ME TO POSSESS ZENOS BODY!

They get wrecked. You show up and through your power of having more than five abilities. YOU PUNCH ELIDIZENOS! Yay he dead..wait he’s an Ascian.

THROW WIDE THE--

MA’AM THIS IS A MCDONALDS! Oh fuck you’re passing out! Oh hey a Leyline...you’ll never leave again. Oh hey dude in a robe. He’s asking you out on a date. WAKE UP! Husband-in-Uniform runs to your side. Estinien picked you up and brought you to Ishgard. Wierd flex but k. Pray thee return to the Rising Stones. Talk to Tataru. Wait around for a bit while they unlock Crystal Tower for you.

#{ long post }

6 notes · View notes

ficstogo · 5 years

Text

Bless Thee

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 2512

Summaries: (S3) During dinner, an outburst leads to some hurtful things to be said and Daryl tries to comfort you in your distress.

Warnings: None

A/N: I didn’t know if I wanted to give this extra character a name or not but if I decide if I ever wanted to progress this particular one shot, I will. Hopefully it’s not too confusing with seeing so many pronouns.

The sun began to set as everyone entered the house. You helped set the dinner table happy to see a fresh meal that you could actually enjoy instead of eating either beans or corn out of a can. The last one to come in the house had an aura of irritation surrounding her. You worried about her. Your sister seemed to always be in a bad mood and everytime you tried talking to her about it always ends with her either blowing you off or yelling things you try to recover from.

You seated yourself at the head of the table, your sister to your right next to Andrea and Lori. Everyone felt weary as the turn of events of the passed few days worn all of you out. Sophia was found and yet taken, everyone was at odds as to what to do with the boy in the barn, the entire Greene family was trying to recover from the previous event. All you wished for was a small break, a win if anything instead of having a giant boulder of problems weighing everyone down.

“Y/n, would you please start the prayer?” Hershel asked as he was seated next to you on the left.

“Of course.” Heads bowed and hands together, you began the prayer. “Dear Lord, thank you for blessing us with a fine meal that these sweet women of the farm had made for us. Thank you for having shown us that good people are still out there in this cruel world and for having all of us still together-” A low chuckle came out from the table. Everyone slowly raised their heads to see who it came from and as you feared, it came from your sister. “Is there something funny?” you said with a stern look on your face. You knew what was coming and you had to get things under control.

“All of us together? Really? I can count that there are more than five people who should be here missing.” She said with an attitude you recognized all too well. It was something normal but lately she had a chip on her shoulder. She was more angry all the time, waiting to pick a fight.

“You know well enough what I mean. Do not do this now.”

“What? Make you look bad? Make you look stupid? You would hate that wouldn’t you?” She said with eyes squinting at you. “I bet you were overjoyed when she died.” The last bit came out quieter, like a deadly predator.

“Stop. We will talk about this later.” You said in a stern voice once more.

“No I don’t want later I want now! I want everyone to see how fake you are. Pretending to be some sort of saint. That you weren’t in the wrong for leaving mom like that. For them to eat! And everytime we talk about her you always gotta make her to be the bad guy.” You looked down at your plate with guilt in your eyes. You felt your face heat up and took a deep breath.

“You don’t know her the way I did. I sheltered you from her and maybe that’s my fault for doing that. She was a drunk and remember that the only reason you ever gotten a decent life was because of me.” You took a peek back at her and then look down at your dinner.

“Oh my god! When are you going to stop hanging that over my head?!” She said exasperated. She had heard you made this speech several times whenever the both of you argued beginning when she was a teenager. She got what you were saying, so why do you constantly bring it up?

“When you start to understand that all we got is each other and that you need to start respecting me. And not because of that but because I am trying.”

“And like I don’t deserve some respect! All my life you’ve treated me like a baby.”

“I had to become a mother at the age of 12 because your real mom didn’t want nothing to do with being one! The only reason you remember her in such a positive way was because I hid the real her from you as long as I can! And I know you’re grown but I can’t help look at you more than my baby!” You tried hard to contain your composure as you felt that you were about to cry., You swallowed the lump in your throat. You needed her to understand but each time, she just refused to let what you say sink in. “Until you show me that you’re more than that then I will start treating you like the woman you can be but right now, your attitude and your actions show that you are still a child.”

“Oh, and what do you want? An award?” Your sister said sarcastically. “And me! Being a child?! You treating me like a baby is the entire reason she died! If you treated me like the adult that I am, I could’ve fought them off and gotten her back!”

“If I had lettin you go you would’ve been just as dead as her or worse and then what would I have to live for!?” The sentence came out firm, declaring the reason why you did what you did back when everything went into frenzy. When the world finally cracked and everyone went into hysteria.

“Well sometimes I wish you were the one they got instead of her! Then you wouldn’t be living for much anymore now would you?!” your sister shouted across the dinner table. Everything went silent. You whipped your head to her with wide eyes. You swallowed the lump in your throat again and kept yourself composed. As soon as she realized what came out of her mouth she instantly felt regret and went to say her apologies only for you to stand up with small bit of silence to follow. “I’m sorry everyone for disrupting dinner.” You then look towards her, trying hard to not let any tears spill, to keep yourself looking strong. “And I’m sorry that God decided for her to go and not me but understand that all that I do, I do for you.” and then you left as your sisters eyes followed you out with a horrified stunned look on her face.

“I gotta-” your sister said as she rose herself from her seat.

“Naw, let me. She’ll need some space.” Daryl said as he headed towards the door. Andrea wrapped an arm around your sister as she told her things would be alright and to give you some time. That these kind of things happened. Everything was now uneasy in the house as no one knew how to go on with the night. As they all thought to who they lost. Although they knew it was out of anger, they knew your sister was right. There were people that should still be here but they also knew that they wouldn’t have gone if God didn’t intend for them to go.

You headed into the RV and took a seat at the table. You tried to hold off the tears for a little longer but you couldn’t do it anymore. Keeping up the facade of being strong only made you breakdown each time and the worst part was breaking down by yourself. It only made you feel more alone as you made sure for your sister to see you put together and not like this. If she saw you like this, she might’ve taken joy, or worse, she would lose the hope that things would be alright. If she saw that you didn’t believe it then all hope would really be lost. You couldn’t do that. Some days you felt as if things would be alright but most of the time you felt that there was no end and if there was, it wasn’t an ending anyone would want.

As Daryl walked towards the RV, he could hear you quietly sobbing. He stood there for a minute, not really knowing what to do. Feelings were not his forte but he couldn’t help but want to stop the pain. They’ve all been through enough and he knew there was more mud and blood to get through but if he could help with this kind of pain, hell, he’ll do it. Slowly he came inside the RV, waiting by the entrance. He’ll do what he can. You had your head against the glass, looking out towards the unforsaken world with the idea that maybe there really isn’t much hope left.

“Ya alright?” His voice startled you. You sniffed and looked towards the window trying to discreetly wipe away your tears.

“Uh, yeah I’m fine. Just needed some space to think and all.” You said as you turned and gave a weak smile.

“You know she don’t mean that though, right?” you looked down at your hands on your lap and gave yourself a thought.

“Yeah…Still hurts though.” Daryl came a little closer standing by the seat across from you. “I know it’s wrong of me to tell her things about our mom to change how she views her. In my head I thought it was a good idea after she got taken. Tell her and maybe she wouldn’t cry every night about her. I shoulda known it wouldn’t since I’d catch myself crying about her too.”

“I know what ya mean. Merle, he’s a total asshole to me and everyone he knew. Treated me like shit but he’s still my brother ya know? I try to either think that he’s alright somewhere and other times I just think of how much of an asshole he is… Blood is blood. They’re always gonna be apart of ya.” You then look at Daryl. For someone so quiet, you should of known that he has a lot to say. You just didn’t know they’d be wise.

“She thinks I hated her and I did at times but like you said, blood is blood and no matter what, she’s still my mom and I love her…I only want her to understand instead of getting so angry all the time. I know I gotta treat like an adult but it’s so hard to admit it. She’s always gonna be my baby girl…” you looked down at your fidgeting fingers feeling more tears slide down your cheeks. “Maybe it was wrong of me to not show her who her real mom is but I couldn’t let her grow up the way I did…” a choked sob came out of you. “I use to make her sleep either in my bed or go over to one of her better off friends for the night whenever mama brought over a man. I wouldn’t sleep the whole night…” your shoulders shook as you lowered your head even more. Crying at the memories. Daryl felt for you. You both grew up with a shitty childhood and he could understand your reasoning for sheltering your sister from it. If he had a youngling himself, he’d do the same.

“Hey…” Daryl reached over having his hand on top of yours. “You’re a good woman and you’re sister’s lucky to have ya. Hell, I wish I had someone like you growin’ up. Tryna make my life easy while she’s doin’ the heavy liftin’…” You looked up at him, his blue eyes full of emotion and truth. It was strange of him to be meddling in someone’s family affairs since he was busy with his own but what he witnessed at the dinner table, he realized that these people are his family and he couldn’t stand by the sidelines without doing something about it. “You n yer sister, you got some things to work through. You gotta drop this lil act of yours and show her yer hurtin’ too. Show her she ain’t alone with those emotions. That’s probably why she thinks yer so okay with your mom gone.” You closed your eyes letting more tears fall and then nodded in agreement.

Your hand gripped onto Daryl’s giving it a squeeze. This side of him you’ve never saw but it was a side of him that somehow managed to pull you back together. “Thank you. For this…for a second I was starting to lose myself.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Then both of your heads whipped to the entrance of the RV.

Your sister stood with a look of uneasiness, Andrea behind her with a worried one. You stood up from your seat and moved towards her. Her eyes swelled as she couldn’t hold in the floodgates. She lunged towards, you arms wrapped around you tight, head digging into your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around her as well crying into her. “I’m so sorry…Everything I said, I’m sorry…” You two continued crying into each others arms not noticing that Daryl and Andrea had left, leaving you two to sort your differences alone.

Time had passed and the two of you entered the still quiet house arms around each others waist. Glenn was the first to see you two. “H-hey…How’re you guys?” A smirk rose to your face as you answered Glenns question. “We’re fine. Just finally figured some things out. I’m sorry everyone for that.” You said apologetically. During all the ruckus you didn’t realize that you left everyone in discomfort.

“Don’t be. We’re just glad to see you two alright again. Just reminded me of thanksgiving with the in-laws.” Rick said with care in his eyes. Both you and your sister chuckled at this only thankful that all of them understood.

“Right, well how about we all get back to dinner.” Moving to your seats, everyone pushed in their chairs and ready themselves to dig in. “Hershell, do you mind if we try that prayer again?” You asked.

“By all means, please.” Everyone grabbed ahold of each others hands once more that night. With everyone’s heads bowed and eyes closed you looked up to see a pair of blue eyes staring at you. You gave him a nod as a thank you for what he done, him doing the same with you not noticing the small smile crossing his face, and then the both of you went to bowing your heads.

“Dear Lord, thank you for the wonderful yet cold meal provided to us tonight.” Everyone lightly laughed at this now feeling the atmosphere shifting to calmness. “Thank you for blessing us with good people watching over us everyday. Bless those that we have lost and those that we sit with tonight. Thank you for bringing us all together creating a family during these troublesome times and bless us on our journey as we do not plan to stop on living. Amen.”

Everyone dug in. Jokes were cracked, laughter played like a cherished song. Stories were told and by the end of the night everyone felt content and at home.

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theorynexus · 4 years

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We now begin 51, which will likely take us to an entirely different perspective. Thanks, Monty Python!

On a random note, though...

Man, this is fricking crazy, from a dramatic irony perspective. I do appreciate that Homestuck is written such that that spreads from not only the author’s possession, but to that of the audience via rereads. As... macabre as this particular example is.

Finally, Dorothy is gone, and all that is left is the Witch (and her little dog too)?

Well, maybe not even that. Certainly, Bec’s powers are muted, and I wouldn’t be too terribly surprised if his instincts are too; on the other hand,they could be strongly contributing to this. This sequence strongly reminds me of the sequence wherein Jade’s destiny to become fused with him was first alluded to. “You eat a weird bug, and don’t even care,” and whatnot. Certainly,

Words slough from the busy mind like a useless dead membrane as a more visceral sapience takes over. Something simpler is in charge now, a force untouched by the concerns and burdens of the upright, that farcical yoke the bipedal tow. It now drives you through the midnight brush ... as you and your new friend must claim the night with piercing howls moonward.

seems reminiscent to me of all of her thoughts of her former existence fading as she is beckoned by the call-- not of a moon, but of another reflection of the light of the sun: the Void-y remains that come with its demise. Obviously her “new friend” in this case would seem to refer both to Bec (who is a part of her, now, thus explaining the uniform motion) and through allusion, to the Alt!Calliope that her other version of herself had already befriended, who would be the one beckoning in the first place. It should also be said that shoes could be taken as a symbol of civilization, in this case, beyond just the obvious symbolism that is being pointed out to the viewer. Regardless, whether this similarity was intended or not doesn’t actually matter. It’s just that this scene vaguely made me think of that.

What irony, considering this is coming from the one who just bewitched the Seer (which, I would just like to say, is honestly some nice narrative symmetry, considering this is almost exactly like what Doc Scratch did before him [not that I don’t still feel disgust toward him, even if this might turn out in Rose’s favor, in the long run]). Oh, yes, and by the way... very nice confirmation of the fact that the Green Sun Black Hole is Void-oriented. I appreciate that coming from an in-story source. (Even if you don’t connect emptiness with Void, which you should, the fact that the Ocean is connected with it is almost indisputable. That’s part of the reason why Rose’s quest was to bring life to the dead ocean by Playing the Rain. It was about using her inner Light to counteract her tendencies toward its equal opposite.)

Which is part of the reason why Alt!Calliope and Jade get along so well, and why there’s a connection between them, I’m sure. (Both of their lifestyles/life histories emphasized thematically their inner Space orientation. [This may also be why Kanaya lived in them middle of a desert, with no one but her Virgin Mother Grub to directly keep he company.])

Yes, way to downplay one of the core Aspects of reality just because it doesn’t necessarily always function in the way that perception would suggest it does. This doesn’t make it illusory, nor does it invalidate the continuum aspect of it: that it is intrinsically relevant to how life persists and interacts with the world itself demonstrates the importance of this part of Time. It’s like suggesting an iceberg is an illusion just because you can’t see the depths hidden away below the surface (Void hides it from your eyes [read: Light is blocked]). Gah, you are so bloody irksome and pride-projecting in your demeanor just because you managed to pick something up that the Trolls basically illuminated to the Beta Kids way back when they were all 13. Congratulations.

Fool. (Oh, and I would argue that time continuing to be relevant conceptually, despite its non-linearity, helps to emphasize its importance as a pillar of reality. That it is an existence persisting independent of its consequent internal signifiers [entropy, {temporal} causality, direction] allows for it to play the very important role of acting as a medium for general interaction and consequence; particularly, it allows for the persistence and simultaneous activity of all possible states of being within its domain [e.g.: reality or the meta-narrative Existence within the context of MSPA, or whatever set of other works which would necessarily include all relevantly connected miscellany] which are additionally allowed for via the logical intermingling it has with the other Aspects. In other words: Time is one of the two necessary present architectonic forces that undergird the Narrative. Your suggesting that it is given disproportionate attention and that loneliness is therefore an illusion is just the sort of insulting, crass, and perspective-locked claptrap that I’d expect from someone who’s so enthusiastically embraced a departure from humanity, and who thus has lost mooring in the solid, political existence which sapient, physically-connected beings dwell in by nature. I suspect that your distraction and loss of perspective will eventually come back to haunt you. ) Yes, I realize that the Ultimate Self is a timeless construct, but this does not mean time is irrelevant to it or the limited forms it girds itself with when connecting to physicality. (On a random note: I do appreciate his decision to call Aspects ideas.)

Along with the creepiness with regards to Dirk pushing thoughts into Jade’s head (which is honestly par for the course in Homestuck, and at least he’s mostly trying to remind her of something he believes she already knows, so it’s somwhat benevolent), we get this interesting snippet. Seems he wants to foreshadow difficulties between Dave, Jade, and Karkat in the future. I suppose the only logical question is whether Jade will break their hearts in turn. Love is hard. It’s hard and everybody (with actual experience) understands.

Ha ha, “How much of Homestuck was actually illusion seen in the perspective of the characters involved, a la the kids’ rooms before Gamzee’s Chucklevoodoo curses were disrupted,” ha ha. On a more important note: I very much appreciate Dirk’s well-arranged metaphors relating to time, to Calliope’s Muse-inspired-powered Spatial-influential music. Dirk is indeed quite bad at distracting hyper-focused people with thoughts he thinks they will reasonably find seem similar to thoughts she might have.

Hey, man, don’t give up. Your breaking from the narrative of trying to help her is making it seem like your nervousness is throwing you off, meaning we won’t know if your attempts to help her had any chance to succeed in general! Way to go, “hero!”

“Time is an illusion,” you say? Yet here’s your narration, there’s Jade. Oh! There she goes, persisting to fly off into the dead sun, just as linear time would demand of her! What’s wrong? Couldn’t make the time to properly put your thoughts together or try until you got it right? Gasp! My word! It’s almost like Time is pretty fricking important to the narrative and reality of the story!

HEEHEEHAHAHAHA!!! Serves you right, getting spooked like that, you incompetent, over-confident knave!

... Now, let’s see how the rest of this goes, now that I have a better handle on my humours.

You’re dealing with the Grim Reaper, inspirer of great woe and terror, as well as happy children drawings and stories everywhere. Obviously, you were overmatched. Perhaps you should have tried focusing on Jade initially, rather than John? That might have given you a little bit more time. I am reminded of a group of trolls who didn’t properly think through their attempts to mock and cajole those they perceived to be the artificers of their downfall. Perhaps this will turn out as well.

Demiourgos, your pride showeth. Your composure runneth down and streaketh thine face like free-flowing ichor. Hubris, doth it become thee? Thou reflecteth thine flaws, and by thy own hand. Revealeth thou not the weakness of thine breast with Rage-filled uproar? A lion in thine face we see, but at this flickering of that glamour, a snake in masquerade is spotted. Foul wretch, I pity thee: for it is truly painful to behold the disheartening of the ambitious, and the glorious in the midst of downfall. What do you fear? What compels such panic into one normally so serene?

I suppose I should have known. A mechanist always fears uncontrollable variables. (I do wonder if his fear is truly warranted, though. Certainly, things aren’t as bad as they could be, but there is much to be depressed about in these outcomes as they have emerged so far, you know?)

And thus, a new star was born? Well, we’ll see. I certainly do appreciate the physics of black hole mechanics being involved, though I am not 100% sure that this is accurate to how such an ultra-massive construct would actually work. I know super-massive black holes effect objects differently than normal ones, when they approach the event horizon, so it seems rather reasonable to guess that one the mass of multiple universes would behave a bit differently from either. I do not know, however. ... All in all, a pretty great page, I guess. It was nice to see the Narrator lose control so badly. A bit sad that the consequences of that were as they were, but I knew that this would likely be the case, regardless. I wonder when John and Terezi will be back in focus~ ... P.S.: I am pretty sure that subtle interference with the narrative is the normal role of a Muse, and that her Mastery over Jade in particular makes a great deal of sense, given who Jade is. I wonder what has compelled her to speak in such a manner that her voice is actually visible in the text, rather than subtly bending it to her will as presumably has been the case over the course of Homestuck, generally. Could it be that she did this specifically to teach the Narrator a lesson? Shall we ever find out?

#Homestuck Spoilers #Homestuck Epilogue #Unreliable Narrator #Homestuck Theory #Homestuck Liveblog #Homestuck Aspects #Aspect Theorization #Alt!Calliope #The Narrator #Jade Harley #Green Sun Black Hole #Time Aspect

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qqueenofhades · 5 years

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the shadows among the stars: chapter three

Summary: Sequel to the alchemical wedding. Garcia Flynn and Lucy Preston have timewalked to 1590 London, in search of answers about the mysterious manuscript Ashmole 782. But as they tangle with alchemists, assassins, witches, vampires, daemons, queens, and emperors – and the de Clermont family themselves – they quickly realize that their quest will be far more difficult than they ever imagined, and their relationship will be challenged as never before. In the present, their formidable enemy Michael Temple is more powerful than ever, the rival creature factions on the Congregation scheme and intrigue against each other, and in both centuries, the danger and the shadows are only deepening. Rating: M Status: WIP Previous: Lady Clairmont

Chapter 3: Much Ado About Nothing

Flynn does not get much done for the rest of the day. The looming terror of the audience with the Queen tomorrow overshadows his concentration, and he is still too rattled by the encounters of the morning. Intellectually, he should have remembered that the de Clermonts do own that hunting lodge in Essex, that Gabriel was often in and out of London (in and out of London indeed) and there was a chance of meeting him here, but somehow it never connected to the possibility of actually doing so. Seeing Gabriel as he used to be in his unapologetic peacock playboy splendor, unfathomably rich and handsome and incapable of giving a single shit, but so open and light and happy… it impresses on Flynn ever more sharply how much of a shell of his former self Gabriel is these days. Poisoned and unconscious and only a few degrees from dead, but even before that, there was so little left of his vibrant and voluminous and vivid soul, corroded by grief and guilt and rage. It almost seems like murder.

That is not even going into the shock that it was to see Christian again. Flynn might have expected to see Gabriel, if he had thought about it, but Christian has been gone for so long and so unbearably that having his absence suddenly filled again was literally unthinkable. At least Gabriel has been physically present, if emotionally and mentally absent, but Christian… God, he’s just the same. Of course he is. It’s another one hundred and seventy-two years until he’s murdered, and to the end, he was always like this. Flynn’s heart twists like a fist every time he replays it. Christian is entirely innocent of the nuance of politics and the plausibility of feeble cover stories and anything else (you could argue that was the flaw that cost him his life, but at least Christian’s black-and-white view of the world allowed for endless kindness and not moral hypocrisy). He just wanted to rush to wish his uncle and his new aunt well. And to sit there and know what’s going to happen to him, to him and his loving, laughing father… Flynn almost wants to shout a warning, to tell them somehow, but how on earth could he do that? He can’t. And yet, he would give anything at all if he could.

Flynn sifts aimlessly through the papers and books on his desk, not really expecting to find anything relevant. He needs to make contact with the School of Night, aside from just an apparently jealous and brooding Christopher Marlowe, and find out what they’ve been working on, without sounding as if he has suddenly forgotten the past several months. He is also interrupted periodically by Robert Parry and the servants, who have to ensure that the installation of Lucy’s new quarters and possessions is proceeding to his approval, and Flynn, trying to forestall further disruption to his already tenuous concentration, barks at one of the younger grooms until he scuttles out, close to tears. Once he’s gone, Flynn sinks back in his chair and curses to himself. No matter what he has said to Lucy about respecting the customs of the time, he does not need to fall into all his old bad habits. Which, it seems, he has made a damn good start at doing.

Having assured himself of being left alone for at least a few hours, Flynn makes questionable use of it at best, as he keeps zoning out instead of working. He finally gives up in disgust around three o’clock, gets up, and goes out to the main house, where the servants all look somewhat nervous that he has returned to shout at them for not magically conjuring Lucy’s room from the air. “My lord,” Parry says. “We are doing the utmost that we – ”

“Aye, I am sure it is the best that can be achieved,” Flynn says gruffly. “It was a great surprise to thee, I know. Thou hast my apologies for the distemper.”

[read the rest on AO3]

#timeless #timeless ff #garcy #garcy ff #lucy x flynn #the shadows among the stars #all souls au

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mattchase82 · 3 years

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THE CATHOLIC CHARISMATIC MOVEMENT

The following letter and response were taken from New Covenant, a monthly magazine which caters to those active in the Catholic and Protestant Pentecostal or Charismatic movements.

"Q: Someone recently attended our prayer meeting and spoke out as a prophecy a word glorifying Satan. He could not be quieted and most of the people attending the meeting were quite upset. What can we do when this type of situation arises?"

"A: It seems that some kind of evil spirit was attempting to disrupt the prayer meeting. Many prayer groups have had similar occurrences. The group's leaders should do everything possible to comfort and reassure the other members of the group. One of the leaders should publicly explain what has happened and encourage the people not to be fearful or upset. It is especially important if there are newcomers in the group to let them know that these occurrences are not the norm."

When the disciples asked Jesus how to pray, He taught them the Our Father. Simple. Not an emotional, energy-packed experience. Not a "gift" which some people receive, while others do not (i.e. praying in "tongues"), but rather a simple prayer which any man, woman or child can say.

The lives of the Saints clearly reinforce this truth. Their methods of prayer did not resemble sporadic outbreaks in unknown, indecipherable tongues. They became Saints on the traditional prayers of the Church: the Creed, the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be, etc., and of course the constant raising of their hearts in gratitude to God. How many countless Saints have exalted the Rosary? One never hears of satanic occurrences described in the letter above happening in rosary prayer groups.

The Pentecostal Church began in Topeka, Kansas, in 1900. It is a Protestant movement which has splintered into at least 16 different groups because of dissension and disagreement on how to interpret the Bible. This movement is nothing more than the work of the Evil One. Some of the more outstanding difficulties with "Catholic" Pentecostalism are as follows:

1. The Charismatic movement magnifies the Holy Spirit. The Bible magnifies Christ. John 16:13-14: "But when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will teach you all truth. For he shall not speak of himself; but what things soever he shall hear, he shall speak; and the things are to come, he shall show you. He shall glorify me, because he shall receive of mine and shall show it to you."

2. The Charismatic movement says that speaking in tongues is a sign that you have been baptized with the Holy Spirit. The Bible says that it was a sign to unbelieving Jews. I Cor. 14:22: "Wherefore tongues are for a sign, not to believers, but to unbelievers, but prophecies not to unbelievers, but to believers."

3. The Charismatic movement says that it is all right for women to speak in tongues in the church. The Bible says that women are to keep silent in the church. I Cor. 14:34: "Let women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted them to speak, but to be subject, as also the law saith."

4. The Charismatic movement places great emphasis on "bodily healing" and tells people that "God is not wanting anybody to be sick", but they have not Scripture to show us where God ever said that. Many of them scoff and sneer at such passages. II Cor. 12:7-9: "And lest the greatness of the revelations should exalt me, there was given me a sting of my flesh, an angel of Satan, to buffet me. For which thrice I besought the Lord, that it might depart from me. And He said to me: 'My grace is sufficient for thee; for power is made perfect in infirmities, that the power of Christ might dwell in me.'"

5. The entire movement is founded on a sin against Faith.

There are three ex cathedra dogmatic pronouncements (infallibly revealed truths through God that can never be changed or revoked) teaching that outside the Catholic Church there is no salvation. The most striking of those pronouncements reads:

"The most Holy Roman Church firmly believes, professes and preaches that none of those existing outside the Catholic Church, not only pagans, but also Jews and heretics and schismatics, can have a share in life eternal; but that they will go into the eternal fire which was prepared for the devil and his angels, unless before death they are joined with Her; and that so important is the unity of this ecclesiastical body that only those remaining within this unity can profit by the sacraments of the Church unto salvation, and they alone can receive an eternal recompense for their fasts, their almsgivings, their other works of Christian piety and the duties of a Christian soldier. No one, let his almsgiving be as great as it may, no one, even if he pour out his blood for the Name of Christ, can be saved, unless he remain within the bosom and the unity of the Catholic Church." (Pope Eugene IV, the Bull Cantate Domino, 1441.)

In perfect continuity with these infallible teachings, traditional Catholic Moral theology, here summarized by Bishop Louis LaRavoire Morrow, S.T.D., holds that "A Catholic sins against Faith by taking part in non-Catholic worship, because he thus professes belief in a religion he knows to be false."

Yet by the admission of Catholic Charismatic pioneer, Kevin Ranaghan, the movement began with Catholics performing the grotesque ritual of seeking a spiritual blood transfusion from the dead corpse of Protestantism, and proclaiming that God "filled them to overflowing with the spirit" for doing so. Such collaborating and "seeking the holiness of the Holy Spirit" from anathematized heretics cannot be a religious movement truly of God.

Pope Pius XI further castigated interfaith projects in his Encyclical Mortalium Animos on fostering true religious unity, stating, "...It is clear why this Apostolic See has never allowed its subjects to take part in the assemblies of non-Catholics. There is only one way in which the unity of Christians may be fostered, and that is by furthering their return to the one true Church of Christ for those who are separated from Her."

What has been the result of the Protestant revolt which began in the 16th century?

An article in the U.S. News & World Report of March 1991 stated that as of 1985, the number of denominations surpassed 22,000 with an average of five new ones being organized each week. The Baptists, founded in 1600, have 27 or more different groups; the Lutherans, founded in 1517, have 20 or more groups; the Methodists, founded in 1739, have at least 19 divisions; the Christian Church established in 1809 has split into three groups. Why are there so many different Protestant sects which claim to be founded on the Bible and the Bible alone? Let us listen to St. Alphonsus Mary Liguori: "Innovators say that the Lord gives each of the faithful a clear knowledge of Scripture. Behold, the 'private interpretation' of the heretics which has produced such a variety of creeds! Hence, after all the Congresses and Synods they have held, they have never been able to draw up a formula of uniform belief; hence, everyone knows that among the Reformers there are as many formulas of faith as there are individuals. This alone is sufficient to show that they are in error and do not have the true faith. God arranged that the true faith would be preserved in the Roman Church alone, so that, there being but one Church, there would be but one faith and one doctrine for all the faithful."

Even Martin Luther, the originator of Protestantism and instigator of the idea of private interpretation of the Bible, admitted that: "There are almost as many sects and beliefs as there are heads."

If one wants to acquire a great love and enthusiasm for the Catholic Faith and a knowledge of how to live a good Christian life, then he ought to read the lives of the saints. After Sacred Scripture and what may be described as normal teaching of the Church, probably nothing has been more conducive to the promotion of holiness throughout the ages than the recorded memorials of the saints. One of the greatest proofs that the Catholic Church is the one true Church founded by Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, is the great saints and holy persons that He has raised up in His Church in every century since Our Lord was here on earth. The gift of miracles has never ceased to show its presence in the Catholic Church. Let us consider a few of the saints that Almighty God has given this gift of working tremendous miracles.

First and foremost is His Blessed Mother. Consider the great miracle of Lourdes where Our Lady appeared to St. Bernadette in 1858. Thousands of miraculous cures have occurred there for over a century. Hollywood even made a movie of this great event called The Song of Bernadette. The great public miracle of Fatima in 1917, witnessed by over 70,000 people, is another tremendous testimony to Our Blessed Mother's great intercessory power with her Divine Son. But even more important than the healing miracles of the body, are the great conversions that have happened at these shrines of Our Lady.

In this century we have Padre Pio, a Capuchin Monk, who had the stigmata of Christ's wounds for 50 years before his death in 1968. He was known far and wide for the many tremendous miracles that God worked through him during most all of his long life of 81 years.

Blessed Andre, a humble brother from Montreal, Canada, was another great miracle worker in this century. St. John Vianney, St. Anthony Mary Claret and St. John Bosco are three of the great miracle workers of the 19th century. St. Paul of the Cross, St. Alphonsus Mary Liguori and St. Leonard of Port Maurice of the 18th century; St. Joseph of Cupertino, St. Peter Claver and St. Martin de Porres in the 17th century; St. Francis Xavier, St. Theresa of Avila and St. Louis Bertrand of the 16th century; St. Vincent Ferrer, who lived in the 14th and 15th century worked some 40,000 miracles including the raising of at least 28 persons from the dead and converting some 200,000 souls to the one true Church, including 25,000 Jews and 8,000 Moors. St. Patrick worked tremendous miracles in converting all of Ireland from a pagan nation to a Catholic country. He raised over 30 people from the dead - many of whom had been dead for years. St. Francis Xavier, as a missionary to the Indies, converted over a million people to the Catholic Faith. Almighty God confirmed his work by the many miracles He wrought through him, including many resurrection miracles.

The working of miracles is proof as we know from the very texts of the Gospel which promises that power to the saints - both of the sanctity of the worker and of the truth of the doctrines which he promotes. "If you will not believe Me", said Our Lord to the Jews, "believe the works that I do." (John 10:38)

The lives of all of these saints are readily available to all who want to read and be edified by them, but sad to say, most Catholics are not familiar with them due to negligence.

For those outside of the Catholic Church, let this paper be an eye-opener for you to investigate the doctrinal teaching of the Roman Catholic Church that "outside of the Catholic Church, there is no salvation". So many souls are lost because of ignorance. God wants all men to be saved. He tells us so in the Holy Bible, that He enlightens every man that cometh into the world. He provides us with all the means most proper for us to be saved. Ignorance of the means of salvation is sinful because it is due to slothful negligence. "And they did not understand until the flood came and swept them away." (Matt. 24:39)

This paper is distributed in Charity for the greater honor and glory of Our Dear Savior and the salvation of souls.

The following four booklets are recommended for Catholics and non-Catholics alike to better understand and believe what the Church teaches: The One True Church; The Church Or The Bible; The Catholic Church Proved By The Protestant Bible and This Is The Faith.

(www.olrl.org/doctrine/)

#catholicism #traditional catholic #heretics #catholic #pentecostalism #vatican ii #paradise lost #catholic mass

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manicfiend · 4 years

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nadzi holocaustus

Realities unbounded big and small. “Why don’t we create a smaller reality, where everything is the smaller version of the real thing?” Thought the beings with prowess. We could save some space. We could create a holocaust without anyones’ entires awareness.

Particle wave beams made deemed invisible, unknown to the mankind that their brains were being awashed, awatched, rewired it’s capacital of attentionaries. The ability to love unconditionally made foreign, as if the human species had never known of such a thing.

Our parents are actually aliens. I am an alien. Or at least, being used without us noticing. Make more connections Scip! A voice of the alter past had whispered from a near distant memory.

But truth be told about the holocaust + s. A haunted past from 1942, that arrives fresh anew today from about fifty years ago in the Arab nations. So the theory stringed upon strings of clues and historys` laid bare for men to learn and know. From old scriptures to our very own senses of reason. The legend of man eating human shapeshifters, accursed by GOD because of their stubborn wills and choices, turned from the perfect human form, unto beasts.

“I have a feeling that perhaps they are worshipping some sort of tree.” I had done afew researches, trying to reason about the irrational reality of our past history. On why that wars were always there, like as if it was the only thing we had ever known. Why couldn’t it be the other way around. A world of circulatory peace and joy. Life systems that does not revolve around greed end vile intentions.

Why had there been senseless murders and killings, why are men so cruel across time, or perhaps I should say, in ‘intervals’ of time.

My mind is being blocked by some sort of signals that disallows me to think clearly and imaginatively. Some groups of persons does not want us to know of the existence of the ethereal planes and the energy that exists which the human being was ever made to be. Energies that are able to everlive within us, the GOD energy of everlasting energy that could be grown and harvested.

I know this. Perhaps I am even there with them. I am in strong argument, indeed not crazy.

Sacred trees, gemstones, the realm of consciousness and more magical things that we have yet to discover, hidden in another world. Perhaps an argument had arised from the ethereal Beings from the other worlds. That within their nature, power is destructive. Perhaps this is a place where they need to learn to be Human. On the good side of thinking minds.

But then again, what if it really is the path to eternal peace? It is like something that you just know, you feel. Evil is a disease. I couldn’t help but hear somewhere, someone is whispering. I need to get out of this place. I hear GOD calling.

Places Of Peace & Harmony. Where are thee. My sparkles in jubilant unfeeling yearns unto adventure.

I heard as if time had whispered to me. They said and say; “You are in someones past time.” I had wondered to that thought. “A time long gone but was opened again, like a door with hinges.” Time travellers. Perhaps it is because of the existence of another time somewhere, that has flourished with many magnificence of GOD that feated to bloom with joy with the Beings & spirits that lurk and play about.

The only question is, where are they. Why is this time of place so hidden from the other worlds, that nothing of it’s likes had treaded here. The busy sound of my aircondition & fan sounded as if their creating invisible energies somewhere, someplace.

War. War and more weopons of mass destructions. Being created eversomore with irrational fashionties being bought and sold from country to country. I remembered a passage of memory in time. A tragedy that happenned across the united states. Young teenagers went on a shooting spree and killed dozens of high schoolers. Untested drugs being sold at stores in Miami, Florida like as if they were candy being sold to little kids.

My mind pondered again; Why is it the same thing is going on again, like as if they were ‘circulatory’. Aramaic language for some reasons had died out. A voice echoed within my head.

Satanic worshippers empowering themselves behind veils of vacant human life systems such as democracy. Empowering fear. Police brutality runs rampant across countries but like a cold flu, the stories just simply passes by. “My child got cancer because of the radio towers!” The worry of a mother was made heard on youtube channel. “The towers are causing it.” She had said.

The same thing had entered my mind on my stay within the ghost particles that had been with me for about a year or so. I think i’ll tell you more about this story later on. I snap my fingers on the right side of your ear. Imagine me now there, with the fingers had snapped. Now standing by your side, smiling. How would you imagine I’d look like? Definitely not someone who likes messing with people’s brain frequencies from the top point of high end tall buildings end cell towers that manipulates ‘particle waves’ that can cause disruptive effects and turn us into zombies.

Where do drug pushers learn to make drugs, list down all the necessary plant end chemical ingredients to make them? Where did all the diseases such as cancer, std’s end etc, came from? ‘Circulatory.’ Circulated in the most selfish form of greed that you could possibly imagine. `Tis indeed, the era of wealth hoarding end murders. Backwards.

“A ciggie for a laze.” A voice bellowed unheard but reached the very confines of my jumble mind. Of frequent sounds that sways you around. In directions unknown but within the same ground. Below treshold frequencies could cause a significant effects to the human mind, that could actually penetrate unto your subconscious. Things like deppression, it creates like some sort of barrier that shuns your perception. Wise had said somewhere in time that had met mine. I will pause. Lifting my hands and fingers right after I finish writing this line, to light my head with a suckle. But a ‘hold on’ inside my head urged me to tell you; that Truths are much easier to be understood, BUT was made H A R D . Like a gasp of air that you need to look for air gaps.

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faithfulnews · 4 years

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10 Wisdom Principles for Connecting in Our Post-COVID-19 Reality

A Word from Bob: Today’s blog is a guest post from my friend and fellow biblical counselor, Pastor Jonathan Holmes. Jonathan is the Founder and Executive Director of Fieldstone Counseling. He also serves as the Pastor of Counseling for Parkside Church Bainbridge and Green. Jonathan graduated

from The Master’s College with degrees in Biblical Counseling and History. He also earned his M.A. from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. He is the author of The Company We Keep and Counsel for Couples and the forthcoming Rescue Plan (P&R Publishing, 2021). Jonathan has written for a number of sites and organizations including, The Gospel Coalition, Biblical Counseling Coalition, Covenant Eyes, and the Journal for Biblical Counseling. Jonathan serves on the Council Board for the Biblical Counseling Coalition and the Board of Directors for the Christian Counseling Educational Foundation; he speaks frequently at retreats and conferences. He and his wife, Jennifer, have four daughters, Ava, Riley, Ruby, and Emma.

We Are All in This Together

One of my fondest memories as a high school student was an English class in 12th grade. We were studying British literature and were reading British sonnet writer, John Donne. Donne amassed a large collection of sonnets and poems, many of which remain popular even today. His Mediation XVII has been particularly helpful to me during this season of COVID:

PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him…

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.

Donne illustrates beautifully the reality that every human being is connected. Donne admonishes the reader to not ask for whom the bell tolls, because the bell tolls for you. Bells in Donne’s day would ring out in local villages to announce the death of someone in that community. Donne is telling the reader that when they hear the local bell announcing a death not to ask who died, rather realize that a part of you died.

Donne echoes the reality portrayed in Scripture:

“If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together” (1 Corinthians 12:26).

COVID has reminded us of this fundamental reality:

We are all in this together.

While you may not have contracted COVID, that in no way diminishes our collective responsibility to grieve the loss, the heartache, and the sadness of what this virus has wrought.

Our Re-entry Back Into Community

As we prepare to enter into a post-COVID world, the abiding truth of our connected humanity must ground our re-entry back into community. As we come back together as a country, a local community, a neighborhood, a church, how can we enter in wisely and compassionately? Here are ten helpful ways we can begin preparing.

1. Enter into people’s stories with patience, pursuit, and purpose.

I don’t know about you, but I’m eagerly looking forward to being able to look people in the eyes and have a conversation. I’m excited to hear about their day and what happened. I’m excited to see new couples who have been married and new babies that have been born; but I’m also expecting that there will be grief and mourning for many. We are all entering into a state of collective grief and trauma.

Let’s be thoughtful about these stories and realities. For some, coming out of the shelter in place will be hard and actually include more opportunity for anxiety. For others, it will feel like a release from prison.

In The Magician’s Nephew, Aslan tells a recently bereaved boy:

“My son, my son I know. Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another.”

Regardless of where we come from, let’s be committed to esteeming and considering other’s interests above our own (Philippians 2:3-4).

2. Seek understanding and be compassionate.

From perusing social media, I can tell that there are a variety of opinions on COVID. Some believe the government did too much, others believe they have not done enough. The author of Proverbs states it well:

“Fools find no pleasure in understanding but delight in airing their own opinions.”

As restrictions relax, and we enter back into community life, many will have opinions of what was done well and what was not done well. How can we grow in asking questions before we make pronouncements of judgment? How can we learn from others who hold to different opinions than ourselves? Above all how can we hold to Augustine’s statement?

“In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.”

3. Look for ways to be generous.

Many people are being affected by COVID in the area of their financial well-being. We know people who are unemployed, underemployed, furloughed, etc. Being generous can most certainly apply to our money. Yet, there are there additional ways we can be generous with our time, food, practical help, resources, and connections. For those who received stimulus checks and are able to help others, who in your community could be the beneficiaries of your generosity?

4. Identify what has been good, hard, and bad for others.

Not everyone has experienced the shelter in place restrictions like you have. How can you have conversations that acknowledge this reality? One way is to simply observe what Scripture says about all of our realities: that it’s a mix of the good, hard, and bad. God is always up to good in the lives of those who are His (Philippians 1:6), the world we live in is broken and hard (Romans 8:19-22), and we continue to struggle with a variety of sins even as believers (Galatians 5:1-21).

5. Keep up practices that you found nourishing and life-giving.

Hopefully COVID disrupted some of our unhealthier practices and routines associated with over-work. What good practices did you put in place during your shelter in place? Meals together as a family? Family worship and devotions? Long, extended walks for conversation? Playing games together as a family? Lord willing those practices don’t end when the shelter in place ends, but rather continue into the future!

6. Examine what is of essential importance in your life.

A professor of mine in college had a saying that went something like this:

“You’ll never know God is all you need, until God is all you have.”

What has COVID revealed and exposed in your heart? Where have you misplaced your allegiances and loves? If it was your health, COVID has shown how quickly that can change. If it was your financial well-being, COVID has shown how quickly that can change. As Paul Tripp is fond of saying:

“God is taking you where you do not want to go to produce in you the change you could not on your own.”

7. Continue leaning into prayer.

When all seems dark and lost in our current age, is there anything more real, or more tangible than being able to go to our Father in prayer? Many of us, I am confident, are learning what it truly means to draw near to the Lord in prayer. When we realize there is not much we have control over, we can either despair or we can run to the All-Powerful God of this universe who is eager to draw near to us and hear our prayers (cf. Psalm 116:1-2). We have much to be thankful and grateful for.

8. Evaluate our relationships with technology.

For all those who have dumped on technology as a poor substitute for friendship and relationship (personally guilty here), I believe in many ways technology has been a great help to help us remain somewhat connected. Is it the same thing as in-person communication? No, but we would be foolish to say it’s not a gift to many in this time. Let’s be sure to keep technology in its proper place in our lives as we transition ahead. Technology is a good servant, but a terrible master.

9. Confess that we have taken community and relationships for granted.

A reality that I’ve realized and heard echoed from others is that many of us undervalued the community we had as a body of believers. From attending church on a Sunday to being able to gather in homes as a community group, many of us took those realities for granted. Apathy is a subtle pattern that can invade our hearts, and one which we must be ever mindful of.

10. Offer gratitude and thanksgiving to God and others.

Gratitude seems so underrated in our culture. Often, I’ve found myself with an attitude of entitlement: “I deserve _____.” Rather than an attitude of gratitude: “I am thankful for _____.” Like others, I was brought up being told that gratitude is an attitude. It’s an attitude and perspective of one who realizes that everything they have comes from the Lord. Like the psalmist in Psalm 16:8-9, 11, our hearts cry out:

“I have set the LORD always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken. Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices; my flesh also dwells secure. You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

Grace for Today

Undoubtedly in the next few weeks and months, there will be countless hot-takes and how-to articles which will be offered post-COVID. Whenever the shelter-in-place restrictions begin to lift, there will be tide of inertia to pick up and resume life—a return to normalcy.

Perhaps one of the lessons we are all learning is that returning to normal isn’t the primary goal. Instead the goal is growth in what it means to flourish and thrive where God has planted us. Be slow though about this re-entry. Be thoughtful. May we all endeavor to take each day a step at a time in the Lord’s grace.

The post 10 Wisdom Principles for Connecting in Our Post-COVID-19 Reality appeared first on RPM Ministries.

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#community #covid-19 #jonathan-holmes

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