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erinmariemcdowell · 2 years

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You can have all the right doctrine and say all the right words, but if the Holy Spirit (the personal representative of God/advocate for us) isn't there you don't get any higher than the ceiling of the church. You understand?

That's the problem of some people who are very correct and particular about their doctrines, but their not friendly with the Holy Spirit. They can say all the words, but the access is only through the Holy Spirit.

When the Holy Spirit isn't given access through relationship, God is not personally, a living reality to them.

The Holy Spirit is a person. We must understand this. He is a very sensitive person. The best way to attract Him (the store keeper, the Holy Spirit) is to glorify Jesus. He has the key.

Holy Spirit has 5 assignments to the church. He's our teacher, our remembrancer, our guide, our revelator and the administrator of the wealth. He empowers the body of Christ. He impacts people and situations (riots and revivals). He rules out indifference and stirs people up. When He comes He electrifies the fence, so you must choose one side or the other. No more sitting on the fence. All neutrality is stripped away. When God sends someone with a message, He bears supernatural testimony to that message.

We are totally dependent on the Holy Spirit to get the job done. We're deceiving ourselves if we talk about the New Testament Christianity without the supernatural. We need this power of God in the area of prayer, the area of ministry proclaiming the gospel, the area of victory over sin and the area of building true Christian character.

Thank God He's available! Let's make friends with Him!

- D. P.

My darling, you are so lovely! You are beauty itself to me. Your passionate eyes are like gentle doves. Song of Songs 1:15

For you are my dove, hidden in the split-open rock. It was I who took you and hid you up high in the secret stairway of the sky. Let me see your radiant face and hear your sweet voice. How beautiful your eyes of worship and lovely your voice in prayer.

Song of Songs 2:14

Listen, my dearest darling, you are so beautiful—you are beauty itself to me! Your eyes are like gentle doves behind your veil. What devotion I see each time I gaze upon you. You are like a sacrifice ready to be offered.

Song of Songs 4:1

But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

John 14:26‭-‬27

“I’ve told you these things to prepare you for rough times ahead. They are going to throw you out of the meeting places. There will even come a time when anyone who kills you will think he’s doing God a favor. They will do these things because they never really understood the Father. I’ve told you these things so that when the time comes and they start in on you, you’ll be well-warned and ready for them. “I didn’t tell you this earlier because I was with you every day. But now I am on my way to the One who sent me. Not one of you has asked, ‘Where are you going?’ Instead, the longer I’ve talked, the sadder you’ve become. So let me say it again, this truth: It’s better for you that I leave. If I don’t leave, the Friend won’t come. But if I go, I’ll send him to you. “When he comes, he’ll expose the error of the godless world’s view of sin, righteousness, and judgment: He’ll show them that their refusal to believe in me is their basic sin; that righteousness comes from above, where I am with the Father, out of their sight and control; that judgment takes place as the ruler of this godless world is brought to trial and convicted. “I still have many things to tell you, but you can’t handle them now. But when the Friend comes, the Spirit of the Truth, he will take you by the hand and guide you into all the truth there is. He won’t draw attention to himself, but will make sense out of what is about to happen and, indeed, out of all that I have done and said. He will honor me; he will take from me and deliver it to you. Everything the Father has is also mine. That is why I’ve said, ‘He takes from me and delivers to you.’

John 16:4‭-‬15

We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.

Romans 6:4

How shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation? It was declared at first by the Lord, and it was attested to us by those who heard, while God also bore witness by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his will.

Hebrews 2:3‭-‬4

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therealvalkyrie · 3 years

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What Could’ve Been Without the War

Pairing/setting: Jean Kirschtein x Female!Reader, modern!AU within the Walls, set after the War; canon divergent w/ modern tech

Summary: You and Jean embark on your weekly trip to the grocery store.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: equal parts angst and fluff, idiots to idiots, mutual pining, unsatisfying ending (i’m so sorry)

AN: Surprise Jean! I hope you are all having a wonderful Friday evening and that I don’t ruin it too much with angst. This piece started out as a super fluffy drabble involving grocery store shenanigans and kinda....uh....got away from me. Ahem. It was also originally intended as a 157 follower cool prime number thank you! I think we’re up to 180-something now, but we can still count it. Big thanks yet again to the love of my life @ghostlightprincess for her edits and encouragements:) Please come let me know what you think in my DMs/askbox/comments!! ~valkyrie

Jean opens on the third knock on his apartment door, already shrugging on a jacket. He greets you with a short “hi” and receives the kiss you plant on his cheek out of habit.

“You ready?” You’re practically bouncing on the balls of your feet, car keys jingling off of the magenta key ring looped around your finger. It’s cute, and he finds himself matching your enthusiasm with a grin of his own.

“Almost,” he replies, reaching back to his coat rack to grab a scarf. “Honestly, I still don’t understand why you’re always so excited for the grocery store.”

He looks back to catch you rolling your eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re not. A grocery store is a magical place, with all of the cheesecake and ice cream you could ever wish for!”

He chuckles and joins you in the hallway, leaning down to lock his door behind him. “Need I remind you that you’re lactose intolerant?”

“That’s what Lactaid is for, stupid. Come on!” He lets you pull him down the hall, your small gloved hand in his big one. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Croft!” you greet his elderly neighbor as you pass her open door, sticking your head in with a wide smile. “You need anything from the store? Jean and I are just on our way.”

Jean stands beside you awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with his shrewd neighbor. You haven’t let go of his hand and he can feel a blush working its way up his neck.

“No, that’s alright, honey, I just went this morning.”

“Okay! Well, let us know if you think of anything!”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Have a good afternoon, ma’am,” Jean chips in as you wave.

“You kids have fun.”

The next second, you’re pulling him away again and he misses the way Mrs. Croft chuckles knowingly and looks back to her knitting.

—

“What’s next on the list?” Your voice drifts down the aisle back to him, and Jean pauses in pushing the cart to shuffle the papers in his hands.

“Umm… AP flour, vanilla extract,” shuffle, shuffle, “brown sugar, olive oil, yeast.”

You hum in acknowledgment and he watches as you flit from shelf to shelf, gathering items in your arms. He pushes the cart up to join you.

You dump everything in haphazardly, and he sighs, leaning down to straighten it all out into categories.

“What’s next?” You’re already halfway down the rest of the aisle again, gazing up longingly at the Oreos on the top shelf.

God, she’s cute.

He joins you, reaches up to pluck a pack of Double Stuf off of the shelf, and wordlessly places it in your section of the cart, suppressing a smile of his own as you grin up at him.

“You sure know how to treat a girl right, Jean-bo.” You reach up to ruffle his mullet.

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, ducking away and flushing red like a smitten schoolboy. “Next is the frozen aisle.”

—

“Was it the lasagna that she liked last time? Or the shepherd’s pie?”

“The lasagna.” He accepts three frozen dinners as you pass them over from where you’re leaning past the glass freezer door.

“Hey,” he looks up sharply at your soft call to see you staring down the aisle like you’ve seen a ghost, hand still holding the glass door open. He follows your gaze and sees him just as you say, “It’s Erwin.”

It’s not, but Jean’s heart twists all the same at the resemblance the stranger carries. Same neatly parted blonde hair, broad shoulders. But he’s shorter, still has both arms. And he’s alive.

“It’s not, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“It is, look he—” you insist until the man turns and instead of the Commander’s piercing blue gaze you’re met with brown eyes that flick between you and Jean in confusion. “Oh.” Your face falls and you allow the door to close, turning into Jean’s side.

“You alright?” He tilts his head to catch your expression. It’s pure pain, mouth twitching into a frown and eyes unfocused. Your hand comes up to grip the bottom of his jacket, and after a second he can see you physically force your face back to neutral.

“Fine,” you nod. He knows you’re faking, that it’s a survival tactic, so he lets it go for now, only steps back to let you in between his body and the cart.

“Up you go,” he prompts you to step up, feet on the bottom shelf and hands clutching the bar. He starts to push as you ride, walking first then running down the aisle until you finally throw your head back and laugh genuinely.

He misses the exasperated look an employee gives him as the pair of you whizz past, too preoccupied with your smile.

—

“What do you need three dozen eggs for, anyway?” you ask incredulously, nevertheless opening each carton to inspect before handing them over.

“They’re a good source of protein,” he defends. “Plus, you always end up running out and coming to me to complain. Ran me dry last time.”

Another playful eye roll. “It’s only ‘cause I messed up my brownies! And I needed them to entice the landlord to finally fix my heater.”

“Your heater’s been broken?”

“Well, it’s not anymore. Espresso brownies work wonders, I’ll have you know.”

You’re trying to brush it off as you normally do when he worries, but the thought of you shivering and blue-lipped keeps him pushing. “How long did you not have heat for? It’s February!”

“Not the point, Jean-bo!” You poke at his cheek and twirl away towards the cheese.

“It definitely is the point. Come to me next time and I’ll fix it.”

“And lose my deposit?” You scoff, reaching for mozzarella. “Fat chance.”

“Freeze, then.”

You grin back at him. “Why d’you think I came over so much last weekend?”

“Is that all I am to you? A hot water bottle in your time of need?” He feigns hurt, but some pride swells in his chest that he kept you warm, after all.

“And a cute one, at that. Think fast!”

His hand flashes up to catch the mozzarella you toss deftly.

“You wound me.”

“Eh, builds character. What’s next?”

Shuffle, shuffle. “Wine and flowers.”

—

Jean watches as you bounce in the driver’s seat, hands almost dainty on the wheel, leaning forward to stare resolutely out the windshield at the darkening road. You’re singing along to some song he doesn’t know that’s playing from the stereo.

It’s so familiar, this Saturday evening ritual with you, and it wraps Jean up like the softest blanket. He knows why you’re always so excited about grocery shopping, and it’s not the cheesecake — it’s the way this routine has centered itself in both your lives. He feels it too, the semblance of normalcy, of domesticity, that you’ve cobbled together with him in between hard weeks and harder nights.

You navigate the bends and odd intersections of his old suburban neighborhood with ease, having driven to his house maybe thousands of times since you were teens. The elementary school passes, then the vet clinic, until finally, your old black sedan pulls into his mom’s driveway alongside her silver minivan.

You shift to neutral and yank on the parking brake habitually, then turn off the car and settle back into your seat.

You’re both quiet for a moment: you staring out the window lost in thought, Jean checking the time on his phone.

“Jean?”

“Hm?”

“Do you ever regret enlisting so young?” This catches his attention, turning sharply to look at your contemplative profile.

“Never. It was the right thing to do.” He’s resolute in this conviction, always. The War had seemed to be at its worst when you’d joined up, driven by the promise of Wall Maria’s reclamation and impassioned by your comrades’ fury. It had been the only choice, in his view.

“I do, sometimes,” you admit quietly, eyes downcast to where your fingers twist in your lap. “Maybe then my head wouldn’t be so messed up,” you laugh dryly and tap your temple, then shoot him a sideways glance. “And maybe—” you cut yourself off.

“Maybe what?”

“Never mind.” You’re out of the car so fast Jean almost questions if you moved at all. It reminds him of your natural grace on the ODM gear, how you’d whoop and holler as you hurtled past him among the trees during training. He wonders for a moment when your agility turned from a source of joy to an escape mechanism, then stops himself. He knows exactly when that happened.

—

The grocery store tulips thankfully survived their ordeal in the trunk of your car, bright against Ma Kirschtein’s tile kitchen backsplash as you arrange them in her favorite vase. After a minute of fussing, you take a step back, give a nod of satisfaction, and scoop up the trimmed stems off the counter. The rest of the groceries are already put away, organized so she can reach them without trouble.

It’s as you’re stepping on the trash can pedal to open its lid that the voices from the living room catch your ear. You pause, smiling as mother and son converse.

“Have you been eating enough, Jean-bo? You look so skinny….”

“Ma, I—”

“What am I saying, of course you haven’t. You’d waste away to nothing if you were left to your own devices. I’m so glad that darling girl is there to look after you.”

“Ma, she’s not my keeper—”

“When are you two getting married, again? I could’ve sworn I wrote it down in my book, but I looked the other day and couldn’t find the date anywhere.” She sounds serious. Confused, even, not a hint of teasing in her tone. Must be an off day. A symptom of her early-onset dementia.

“Ma, we’re not even together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been together since high school.” She’s so convinced, so sure, and you squeeze your eyes tight against the reality that you and Jean have only ever been friends. In the adolescent insecurity of high school, in the intensity of military training, in the fucking heat of battle, all you’ve ever shared is friendship.

“Ma, I don’t think… I don’t even think she—” He pauses and your ears strain in the silence to catch his last quiet phrase. “She doesn’t think of me that way.”

You just know, you can tell, he only says it like that to ease her confusion. It’s the opposite, really, he doesn’t think of you that way. Before you can hear more sideways rejection, you toss the flower stems and make a beeline for the bathroom.

—

“What was that movie you were telling me to watch, again?” You ask around a mouthful of spaghetti with sauce fresh from the jar, covering your mouth with one hand.

The pair of you are eating shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor of your apartment two floors above Jean’s. It’s got the decidedly better view out your picture window, complete with the perfect Eastern perspective of the river that cuts through Trost and its famous bridges. It’s this, the third leg of your traditional Saturday evenings together, that makes you feel the most warm.

Jean has the manners to chew and swallow before replying. “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood? Connie, Sasha, and I went to see it when they visited last month—”

Your snicker cuts him off and he raises his eyebrows as you roll your eyes and take a sip of wine. “The feet movie? Sasha said it was pretentious.”

“Really? I thought she was too preoccupied with the fact that the theater sold chili fries to pay attention.” He teases back, twirling more pasta onto his fork.

“I’m telling her you said that,” you warn with a jab of your own fork in his direction.

“Snitch.”

“Hey!”

He ducks to avoid your swat to the back of his head, grinning at your pout. “No, but seriously, apart from the feet it’s a good movie.”

“Hmm. I’ll consider putting it on the roster for next week.”

You take a moment to relish the comfortable silence, looking out at the city lights as you chew thoughtfully. His thigh is heavy and warm against yours under the thick knitted blanket his mom gave you last Yule. Your belly is warm and full, your shoulders relaxed in the company of your closest friend, your lungs breathing easily.

Jean says your name quietly and you turn to see him staring pensively down at the plate in his lap. “About what you asked earlier… in the car?”

You nod, eyes wide and mouth serious.

“Sometimes… I do regret it.” He grits the words out through his teeth, like it’s difficult to force the truth into the world. “Not because I regret what we did in the War. But because sometimes I wonder,” his eyes cut to yours for a split second, “I wonder what could’ve been. Without the War.”

You don’t say anything, don’t say you understand, because you know he knows. Instead, you loop your arm into his and lean your head against his shoulder. It takes a moment, a release of breath and the fall of his chest, but eventually he closes his eyes, turns his face into your hair, and allows himself to sink into the what could’ve been. Just for now.

#jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x female!reader #aot fanfic #attack on titan fanfic #snk fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfic #canon divergent #female!reader #grocery store shenanigans #valkyrie writes #what could've been without the war

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heyyyharry · 6 years

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Neighbor

(from the Flatmate Series)

…in which Y/N likes their new neighbor, but Harry does not.

Wattpad link

Harry was making his brunch in the kitchen when he heard his flatmate's voice echoing in the hallway. Apparently, Y/N had just come back from the ten o'clock class which he also had to attend, but this morning he overslept and decided not to show up at all.

He did find it weird that she was having a conversation with someone in the hallway, if not with herself (then it'd be kind of creepy). She had never socialized with any of their neighbors since the people around here weren't that friendly. Curious, Harry had to walk out to see who it was, just in time Y/N closed the front door on her way in.

"Oh, you're up early," she said while kicking off her shoes. The sarcasm made Harry roll his eyes but he had seen it coming.

"Did the professor check for attendance?" He asked.

"Nope. But if you want to pass this subject, I recommend you attend the classes."

"I never fail, okay? Failing is not for me," Harry said with a slice of bread in his mouth, and heard the girl mumble something about how impressed she was. But this time he wasn't sure if it was also sarcasm.

Leaning one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, he watched her throw herself on their sofa, subconsciously smiling for no particular reason, none that he knew of. So he assumed it had something to do with her conversation earlier, and asked her who she was talking to.

Y/N's face almost lit up, as if she'd been waiting for him to ask that question ever since she walked in, just so she could rant about what just happened.

"Oh, didn't you know?" She said. "We've got a new neighbor."

Harry took another bite of his sandwich to continue speaking with his mouth full, "someone finally moved into the flat next door? Isn't that place haunted or something?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that Mrs. Benson only moved away? She didn't die."

"That's what they wanted us to believe," Harry said with certainty, only to receive a facepalm from Y/N as a reaction.

"So what's with the new neighbor then?" He switched back to their initial topic, and Y/N didn't even hesitate when she frankly told him, "he's hot."

Those two words nearly had Harry choke on his sandwich, which he was glad didn't happen, because there was no way he could die before seeing this guy next door that she thought was hot. He couldn't come up with anything to reply to her, and apparently, he didn't even have to. The look on his face had already done the job.

"What?" Y/N snorted. "You're allowed to say that about a girl, and when I say that about a guy, I'm a horrible person?"

Harry didn't get why she could even come up with that comparison. It was normal for him to come back from the gym and tell her about the hot girl he had just met. He did it all the time. But this was actually the first time he'd ever heard her call someone hot. Someone not him. So yes, Harry was offended.

"Whatever," he said, trying to act normal and cool, anything but intimidated. "I bet he's not that hot."

Unfortunately for Harry, he was that hot.

Harry saw him for the first time in the evening when Y/N told him to take out the trash. Though the two men didn't exchange a verbal conversation or make eye-contact, Harry still remembered his face. He looked more mature than Harry, which made sense because he was around five years older. The guy was tall and tanned. He had a defined and structured face, dark hair pushed back, blue eyes. No wonder he was a part-time model. But what made him more than just a handsome face was that, he was also a lawyer, and he was living alone.

Harry heard it all from the gossip lady downstairs, a very reliable source in this building. So it must be true. Normally, Harry was confident about his appearance. He wasn't self-absorbed, but he knew he was blessed with good looks, and him being a flirt just made it easier to get girls. That was why it would be unbelievable if he told anyone he felt intimidated by his new neighbor, all just because Y/N, his flatmate, thought the guy was hot.

The next morning, Harry woke up before his alarm, before Y/N even. He wanted to go to class with her, just in case she ran into that guy and lost her ability to think, again. But the most shocking thing that happened that day wasn't Harry deciding to attend a class, it was what Y/N decided to wear to go out. And his jaw dropped as soon as she emerged from her room.

This was not the Y/N he knew. She was wearing a skirt which barely covered her ass, it was so tight that he wondered how she could even move in it. She didn't let her long hair down like she always did, but put it in a high ponytail. And she also had makeup on. She probably did every day, but it was never noticeable. That day she went all the way with the cherry red lips, and Harry couldn't help it, he was gawking at the girl.

"I know what you're going to say so just shut up." She squinted her eyes at him while fixing her skirt, which had risen up as she walked out from her room.

It would be a lie to say Harry wasn't slightly turned on by Y/N's new look, and not thinking about bending her over the table over there, and making sure she screamed out his name when he made her cum. However, he didn't feel okay with her walking outside in a skirt that short, for everyone to see what only he had the privilege to see!

"And what did you paint on your face?" He scoffed, crouching down so his face was at the same level as hers.

"It's called 'makeup'. Look it up." She put a hand on his chest and pushed him away in annoyance.

"You look ridiculous," he said. It wasn't even half the truth, but she didn't need to know. "Are you seriously wearing this for that guy?"

"Ben. His name is Ben, and yes, what if I run into him? I need to look decent."

"Define 'decent'."

"Just shut up, and get your car keys, we're gonna be late."

Harry watched Y/N walk to the front door, and he swore he could see her ass from where he was standing. It was terrible enough that he wouldn't be able to focus on the road with her in the passenger seat, looking like that. But he also needed to worry about the other men who might get to see too much of her.

Tossing his head back, Harry cursed under his breath and grabbed his big coat on the way out. In case of an emergency, he had to make sure his flatmate was safely covered up.

It was Saturday morning, and Y/N was not in the flat. She had to spend the entire day babysitting a kid in the building, and Harry, as usual, got up late and enjoyed his precious alone time. As he returned from his run, however, he bumped into Ben, who was carrying two big grocery bags. This time, the man noticed Harry and put on a friendly smile as he said, "good morning!"

Harry said it back only because he didn't want to be rude, still, he kept a neutral expression instead of being overly nice like Ben was. But as Harry took out his keys to open the door, even with his back turned to his neighbor, he still felt the older guy sizing him up.

"You're Harry, right?"

"How do you know my name?" Harry turned around, furrowing his eyebrows at his neighbor.

"Y/N told me," Ben happily said.

Harry used to wonder if his flatmate had ever talked about him with other people when he wasn't around. Now he knew that she had, he needed to know what exactly that she'd said about him. So as much as he wanted to leave this conversation, he must stay to hear the rest from Ben.

"She mentioned a flatmate named Harry, and that you two went to the same university."

"Well, did Y/N also mention that I was her boyfriend?"

Ben seemed pretty surprised, but internally, Harry was probably more shocked by his own words. But he couldn't take them back anymore, sp he decided to just ignore the little voice inside his head screaming "NO!" and went on with this lie anyway.

"I am her boyfriend. You've been talking to my girl a lot lately, and I don't like it. All the flirting has got to stop, okay?"

"Flirting?" Ben raised an eyebrow in confusion. "I would never!"

Quickly, he showed Harry the massive ring on his left hand, which left the boy speechless. "I just got engaged last night."

Harry wished he could just dig himself a hole and hide in there for the rest of his life. He didn't know what to say or how to react to this news. The 'hot' neighbor was already engaged, which meant he wasn't after Y/N. But how was Harry going to explain if Y/N ever found out she'd got a boyfriend that she didn't even know of?!

"Congratulations..." Harry cracked an awkward smile as he avoided making eye contact with Ben at all costs. "Sorry, mate. I thought..."

"No, it's fine. I get that," said Ben. "Y/N is such a lovely girl. She's a keeper."

"She is very lovely." Harry, now smiling nonchalantly, nodding his head like he was admitting to himself, and not agreeing with Ben. It didn't take a genius to figure out how head over heels he was for his flatmate. For someone who had been in love for so long like Ben here, it couldn't be any more obvious.

"I'm sure you can trust her completely," he told Harry. "Most of our conversations were about you."

Harry's green eyes grew wide at those words. He just had to ask. "What did you guys talk about?"

Ben opened his mouth to reply, however, his phone went off, and so he quickly excused himself to take this important call. He promised to speak to Harry another time. But Harry never got to find out what Y/N had told Ben about him.

Y/N seemed quite disappointed when she heard that their neighbor was already engaged. But she wasn't devastated or anything, so Harry felt very relieved.

On Monday, she went back to her normal everyday makeup and outfit. And even though Harry had found her new look the other day overwhelmingly sexy, he still preferred the usual look on her, simply because it was more...Y/N. Awkward, simple, sweet Y/N, who never had to try hard, but always looked her best in his eyes.

When they went out that morning, the flatmates ran into Ben in the hallway. This time, he was with another man.

"Hey, neighbors!"

"Hey, mate!" Harry grinned widely as Y/N looked so confused. She was probably wondering why his attitude towards their neighbor had suddenly changed. Ben was smiling from ear to ear and so was the man he was with. Without further ado, he told them, "this is my fiancé Mark."

"Your fiancé?!" Y/N released a loud gasp whereas Harry couldn't be more thrilled. He shook Mark's hand and introduced them both, saying that they were flatmates and Ben's neighbors.

With a huge grin, Mark said, "you two must be the cute couple next door. Ben kept mentioning you guys. We should definitely go on a double date some time!"

"Ooh, that's a great idea!" Ben quickly agreed.

Harry looked at Y/N, who was already staring at him. She wasn't angry, she was actually startled, probably trying to figure out why Ben had told his fiance she and Harry were together. But Harry surely wasn't going to wait for her to discover the truth. In a rush, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her with him. They could only say a brief goodbye to the baffled couple next door.

Once they were finally alone in the lift, Y/N released a chuckle which caused Harry's heart to stop for nearly a second. "I can't believe it," she said. "They thought we were a couple."

#tell me what you think #harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles x reader #flatmate!harry

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ludwig-van-gaythoven · 6 years

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Ten Facts Tag

Write ten facts about you and tag ten people!

Tagged: @grumpybisexualoftoday

Tagging: @jred4ever @gabster19042709 @createyourworldwithink @the-hallowed-lady @neutral-reading @in-the-key-of-f-major @licklemypickle @littlekawaiiusagi @screamingcrayons182 @f-stlane

1. My life goal is to be able to play every single instrument, currently I can play; Piano, Bass guitar, Drums, Guitar, Violin, Ocarina and sometimes I sing.

2. I am almost half Italian, My Nan was adopted and we think we found her birth parents who were Italian, My grandad’s decent is unknown. It is very possible, I possess a lot of Italian characteristics.

3. I have severe Emetophobia among many of my weird phobias such as; Balloons and lound noises in general, Frogs and other things that make quick jumpy movements, Spiders, Looking up at buildings and/or the sky and trypophobia.

4. My brain is both incredibly hard yet incredibly easy to trick. I am very good at complex puzzles as my mind is inquisitive and curious, there are not many puzzles I cannot eventually solve, however at the same time my brain can be easily mislead. I am not a squeamish person, for example, I watched a Fossa devour a whole dead rat, curious about the parts the Fossa chose to eat without any problems until the keeper mentioned that some may pass out at this sight at which point I fainted.

5. I have a necklace my mum gifted to me for good luck and love and I wear it everywhere, everyday without fail. If lose it or forget to have it with me it throws me into a bad panic attack.

6. I believe that a persons body is a work of art, all of my scars and random marks tell a story, I want quite a few tattoos although my parents disapprove.

7. I used to own a cat from when I was born until about age 13 called puss. I am allergic to cats. Still doesn’t stop me from petting them.

8. My first ever OTP, and the ship I hold most dearly to my heart is Jori (Jade West x Tori Vega)

9. I’m extremely interested in true crime, especially the colombine shooting.

10. Amy Winehouse’s story always shakes my emotions to the core, I don’t even know what to say, she’s a complete angel and I wish someone could have helped her.

Don’t feel obliged to do this! I tagged my lovely mutuals.

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someinvisible-string · 7 years

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Born in Pain (15/20?)

Summary: District Nurse and midwife Emma Swan has her priorities sorted out: babies first, friends second, and men… somewhere further down the list. That is until she meets Killian Jones and his son Liam who have a way of worming their way into her heart

A/N: OKAY SO I know that it has been approximately 87 years since I've updated this fic and honestly, I have no excuse beyond an uncooperative muse and things in my personal life blowing up in my face. I was uninspired and low key depressed and just not in a good place. I'm so so sorry that I haven't been updating or writing and that I left y'all hanging but I promise I never once thought about completely abandoning this fic. I just had to set it on the backburner for a bit but I'm back now! I can't promise regular weekly or bi-weekly updates but you all have my word that this fic will be completed at some point.

Also huge shout outs to @shipsxahoy for the beautiful banner!

Word Count: ~4.5K/ Rated D for Daddy Issues

Ch.14/ AO3/ FF.net

"So let me get this straight, you think that my son is the long lost baby you gave up because they have the same birthday and you to quote 'just know'? Miss Swan, I'm sorry but this sounds incredibly far-fetched," Regina said as she, Emma, and Killian sat in her study.

"Believe me I know, but I just I know it in my bones that Henry is the same baby that I gave up all those years ago," Emma said.

"Exactly you gave him up, so you do not get to waltz into our lives and expect to be his mother. I am his mother Miss Swan," Regina glared at her.

"Regina that's not what she's asking," Killian squeezed Emma's hand comfortingly.

"I just want a chance to meet him, just so he knows who I am. And if all goes well I would like to get to know him."

"Well that's all good and noble but you are forgetting one thing, Miss Swan," Regina cleared her throat, "You have no proof that my Henry is your son, now I'm very moved by your story but as his mother I cannot trust the safety of my son in a complete stranger with a sad story."

"You saw me," Emma said tears forming in her eyes, "That day that you picked him up, you saw me running after your car. You were in a black car and he was wrapped in a yellow blanket and I know that you saw me."

Regina looked stunned, her mouth hanging open slightly. "That was you?"

"Yes."

Regina looked down at her hands, tongue firmly between her teeth as she mulled over her thoughts before looking up, "You will understand that I want to verify this as fully as I can before I agree to anything?"

"I understand and I, fortunately, have access to those records," Emma explained, "When you're a midwife you get access to that information," she answered Regina's quirked eyebrow.

"I see," Regina pursed her lips together. "How soon can you get your hands on them?"

"Next week."

Regina sighed and closed her eyes, her fingertips massaging her temples, "Well then bring them to me by next week and I'll a have barrister look over them and draw up an agreement in writing. Is this amenable to you?"

"Yes, although I have one more question," Emma said searching for the right words. "How much does Henry know about this situation?"

"He knows he's adopted if that's what you're asking," Regina said sharply, "I at least managed to do that in between the midnight feedings, temper tantrums, and school projects."

"Regina, I'm not here to disrespect you or to erase everything you've done these past eleven years, I'm not disputing that you are Henry's mother. I just want a chance to get to know him now that I have the opportunity. I'll have the records sent to you by the end of this week if you need to reach me just ring Antioch House."

"I'll be in touch," Regina said through clenched teeth. Emma sensed that despite the woman's trepidations she would keep her word.

"You did brilliantly love," Killian said as they walked out of Regina's house.

"I did?" Emma let out a shaky breath.

"Of course, not many people can stand their ground against her like you do. It's actually one of the most attractive parts of you," he said, a hungry look in his eye.

"Easy tiger, I have to go on my rounds as soon as we get back to the East End," Emma quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Tonight then? It's pasta night at Chez Jones," he grinned smugly at her.

"Hmmm well I do love pasta," Emma mused, "I suppose I could stop by after I'm finished with my rounds." The bus slowed to a stop on the corner that Antioch House sat, Emma stood up from her seat only to have Killian catch her hand in his.

He placed a tender kiss to her knuckle, "Until I see you tonight my lady."

"You are such a charmer," Emma rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Only for you love," he called as she hurried off the bus. She was able to run into the convent and throw on her uniform and dash back downstairs to get her assignments.

"Cutting it close Nurse Swan," Sister Ingrid chided with a small smile.

"I know I'm sorry Sister, we hit a spot of traffic on the way back," Emma apologized.

"Here are your rounds for today, all of them pretty standard check-ins except for your last one. Marco Bonardi has been having some heart problems and I'm afraid he's not doing well and the situation needs to handled delicately."

"The old Italian who runs the furniture shop, he's always been so sweet. I can handle this," Emma nodded.

"Wait, Nurse Swan, Mr. Bonardi is in a very bad place. He refused treatment until his son insisted that he see Doctor Whale. There's quite a lot of tension there, but I know that you can handle it if things start to get ugly," Sister Ingrid warned.

"Hello Mr. Bonardi," Emma said brightly as she strode into his room, "How have you been feeling today?"

"No better than I felt yesterday," Marco grimaced as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. "And please call me Marco."

"Lie back, I'll let you know when you need to get up," Emma placed her hand on his shoulder. Even through his thick sweater and nightshirt, Emma could feel how thin he had become. "Marco is there someone who can look after you during the day? Make sure you're eating? Call us if anything is wrong?"

"Yes, my store keeper can call you," Marco nodded.

"He also has me," a voice asserted. Emma turned to see a tall man with dark hair and striking blue eyes standing in the doorway.

"And you are?"

"He is no one," Marco huffed.

"My name's August Booth, I'm his son," the man stepped into the room but still kept a few paces back from the bed.

"Feh your name is Agostino Bonardi. This August Booth is no son of mine."

Emma felt her eyebrows shoot practically up to her hairline, she busied herself with rummaging through her medical bag as she searched for a way to dissolve the tension in the room. "Why don't I take your blood pressure, Marco?"

Marco held out his arm her for but kept his stern gaze on August who stared at the floor. Tension filled the room as Emma explained to Marco and August that she would be there every evening to give Marco an injection and to check his ankles and the sore on his shoulder.

"Nurse Swan, do you have any children?" Marco interrupted her rambling.

"Um-" Emma stood gobsmacked and trying to find the right way to answer.

"You young people are so lucky, lives stretching out in front of you full of opportunity. No one to break your heart."

"Papa-" August said softly.

"You do not get to call me that, not since you've spit on everything I spent my life building for you."

Emma could tell that nothing she said at that moment would ease the tension in the room, she kept her eyes down as she repacked her bag and bid Marco and his son goodbye. She hurried down the stairs towards the back of Marco's furniture shop and only slowed when she heard August's heavy footsteps following her.

"I'm sorry about that," he said when he caught up to her.

"It's not the worst I've seen, believe me," Emma smiled sympathetically at him.

"It wasn't my idea to change my name," he said quickly, "My publisher thought it would be better if I changed it to something more neutral sounding."

"I'm sure your father will come around."

"I changed my name 3 years ago and you just saw the first time he spoke to me." Emma tried to school her face into a plain expression but couldn't help that her eyebrows knitted together. "Don't let that color your opinion of him too much, we had a huge row and I told him to never speak to me. And to be fair it's not as if I reached out before this."

"Well you're here now, that has to count for something."

"I don't know if it's enough though," August looked back towards the stairs, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"All you can do right now is try. You can't control how your father is going to react, but you can control your actions."

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, "I'll see you tomorrow?" Emma nodded before throwing her leg over her bike and settling herself onto the seat.

"Everything all right love?" Killian asked as Emma walked into his flat.

"It's nothing, just a tough patient," Emma shrugged off her coat and handed it to Killian's outstretched hand.

"Want to talk about it?"

"You know I can't, part of patient confidentiality."

"Oh right, well if there's anything I can do just let me know Swan."

"Any chance that pasta's ready? I'm starving," Emma smiled hopefully.

"Aye love, just a few more minutes until dinner is served. Liam!" he called down the hall, "dinner's almost ready. Time to wash up lad."

"But I'm almost done with this chapter!"

"And it'll still be there after dinner, now come wash up!"

Emma watched as Liam came out of his room and stomped to the kitchen sink to wash his hands; he really was the spitting image of Killian right down to the way their eyebrows nearly had a mind of their own. Once everyone had washed up they sat at the small kitchen table to eat, trading stories about their day.

"Dad the Cub Scouts are going on a field trip out to the country new weekend, can I go?"

"Sure, do I need to sign something?"

"Nurse Lucas will be giving them out at the next meeting I expect."

"Well then, I don't see why you can't go, just make sure you don't fall behind on your school work."

Emma was lost in thought, had Marco and August had conversations like this one all those years ago? Had Marco checked August's school work and signed permission slips? Had they ever been close the way Killian and Liam were now?

"Swan? Swan? Emma!" Killian pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Oh sorry, I was just thinking for a minute there. What were we talking about?"

"If you wanted to back into town with me next weekend since it appears I'll have the day to myself." Emma knew he was talking about going to see Regina and possibly Henry.

"Maybe, I'll have to see if I have that weekend off."

"You don't get all weekends off?" Liam asked.

"It comes with being a midwife, some just can't wait until Monday to come out."

"You'd think they'd be more considerate," Liam smirked.

Emma and Killian chuckled, "Well babies have different things to worry about than being considerate to midwives I suppose."

"Liam, why don't you go back to your book lad?" Killian said but Emma could feel him looking at her.

"You mean I don't have to do the dishes?"

"I know how exciting Captain Nemo's adventures can be, go on." Liam shot up from his seat and practically ran back to his room. Emma helped Killian gather up the dishes to put in the sink, mentally preparing herself for what she knew would come.

"You seem vexed love."

"I told you I'm fine Killian."

"Forgive me Swan but I'm not buying it; you've always been something of an open book to me and I can tell that something is bothering you more so than just a difficult patient. Are you nervous about meeting Henry? That he'll resent you? Because I have known that boy almost his entire life and I can tell you he'll love you."

"I wasn't worried about that, well I am but that isn't what's on my mind tonight." Emma took a deep breath, trying to carefully find her words. "Is there anything Liam could do to make you not love him anymore? Something to disown him?"

Killian looked taken aback, "Not love Liam? No never. I'd never abandon my son."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I bloody well know what it feels like when a father abandons you," Killian said harshly. Emma gasped softly and Killian looked ashamed of himself. "Emma I'm sorry, it's just that man could hardly call himself a father after what he did to my brother and my mother and me."

"What happened?"

"He loved betting on horses more than he loved us. Until one day when it caught up to him and he couldn't pay up on a bet. So he up and left us in the middle of the night; it nearly destroyed mum I remember there were days that she just couldn't get out of bed let alone care for the both of us. So my brother had to take on being the man of the house, he worked and made sure we had food on the table and that I stayed out of trouble. And despite my best efforts to be a rebellious little shite everything seemed to work, we weren't well off but we were getting by and as the years went by mum started getting better. That is right up until the war, Liam felt it was his duty to join the Navy; he didn't make it back. They got attacked in the middle of the damn Atlantic, he had to have done something especially heroic, they gave my mother and I a medal at his funeral."

"It's not enough, is it?" Emma placed a hand on his cheek and saw tears collecting in his eyes.

"Not at all, naming my son after him still doesn't feel like enough after all he did. I can only hope I'm doing half as much for little Liam than my brother did for me. He was a much better man than I could ever hope to be."

"You're a better man than you know Killian," Emma stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him properly. "There's not many who love their children as unconditionally as you love your son."

Marco's condition did not improve with Emma's daily visits; she knew that she was only prolonging the inevitable but she didn't feel that her job would be done if there wasn't any improvement between Marco and August. The problem was that neither of them knew how to approach the other. Emma could see that August was searching for something to say and that Marco was waiting for him to say something.

August had taken to sitting in a chair in the corner of the room during Emma's visits, looking everywhere but at his father, before coming up with an excuse to leave the room. Emma could see the hurt and disappointment in Marco's eyes each time his son turned to leave before he spat out a disdainful "Goodbye, Mr. Booth" to his son's retreating back.

"August why don't I teach you how to perform some lymphatic massage, just in case your father needs it when I'm not here."

"Oh no, I don't think that'll be a good idea."

"I'd much prefer it if you do it, Nurse."

"Honestly you both are just as bad as the other; now August hold out your hands," Emma pulled a bottle of oil out of her medicine kit and poured a small amount into August's trembling hand.

"Now, grasp your father's ankle firmly and push your hands up to his knee," Emma instructed once she had pulled back the bed sheets to reveal Marco's slightly swollen feet.

August gulped and did as instructed but applied barely any pressure.

"Try going a little harder, we need to improve your father's circulation."

"If he had stayed here and run the shop instead of running off to write in his fancy flat he wouldn't have such delicate hands," Marco said.

"Marco it's probably for the best if we have some quiet right now," Emma said forcefully. "You're doing great August, just a little more pressure." She watched as August massaged his father's ankles and calves, her eyes flicked to Marco's face. His gaze was fixed on his son and his face unreadable as Emma coached August through massaging the other legs.

"Right well I think I've got the hang of it now," August got up off of the foot of the bed. "I'd best wash up." He walked quickly out of the room, Emma thought she saw his hand come up to wipe his eyes but turned her attention to pulling the sheets and blankets down to cover Marco's feet.

"You must think that I am an awful man," he said.

"I don't think that at all," Emma assured him. "My wife and I we tried for so long to have a child and then things began to happen back in the old country. Friends going missing, hundreds arrested and shipped into exile, it was not safe to stay there and certainly no place to raise a family. So my wife and I, we move here and open the shop and a year later she told me she was expecting," an easy smile spread across Marco's face as he seemed to savor the memory. "But you know what happened then, the Blitz, they took her from me and left just me and Agostino alone together."

"Marco I'm so sorry, that cannot have been easy."

"It wasn't raising a teenager on my own but I tried to teach him everything I knew, just as my father had done for me and his father before him. I wanted to be supportive of his writing but one day he comes up to me all excited about getting published and he thrusts this bundle of pages into my hands and I see the name he has chosen for himself and it felt as if he turned his back on everything I have done for him. As if he didn't want to be associated with all of this that my wife and I had built for him."

"I'm sure that's not true, that can't be true."

"You don't have to protect my feelings Nurse, I am an old man and I know that I'm dying. Whatever you have to say to me can't hurt as bad as that."

"Then you'll forgive me for suggesting this Marco, but you might try meeting your son halfway. It could work wonders" Emma snapped her medical bag shut and stood up to leave.

"But what if that doesn't work Nurse?" Marco asked, Emma turned back and was struck for the first time just how ill he was, his pajamas and sweater hung off his body making him look even thinner than he was, his skin was so pale it looked nearly translucent, and his breathing was raspy and uneven.

"I can't make promises, but I will say that you can only control your actions. You can go to bed at night knowing that at least you tried."

"I see, thank you, Nurse Swan," Marco said, clutching his blankets and not quite meeting her eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow I suppose."

"Good night Marco," Emma nodded as she left, hoping that there was still enough time for him to even attempt to make amends. Over the next few days Marco's health was at a standstill, while he wasn't getting any worse he also wasn't improving no matter what Emma tried. It did seem that August and Marco's relationship was getting better, even if the improvement was minute. August now sat in on the entire visit instead of ducking out halfway through, Emma could also tell that he was continuing to massage his father's feet when she wasn't there. Marco at the very least wasn't glaring at August throughout Emma's visits and Emma could have sworn she saw a copy of August's book wedged between his mattress and the bed frame.

Until Emma got the call she had been dreading from August, "Nurse Swan please come quickly!" August had panted into the phone, "My father, he's not breathing right nurse and I don't know what to do."

"All right, I'm on my way August, just make sure he's breathing and that he stays calm. I'll be there as quick as I can." Emma grabbed her medical bag and raced down the stairs of the convent and peddled as fast as her legs could to the furniture shop. In no time Emma was up the stairs and examining Marco.

"His heart rate is very fast," Emma said removing her stethoscope. "Try massaging his ankles and feet, we need to try to improve his circulation while we can."

"Nurse Swan," Marco wheezed, his hand reaching up towards her, "Tell the truth. Am I dying?"

Emma paused, at a loss for words, truthfully he was. He was dying and the most that she could do was ensure that he was comfortable. "Yes," she nodded at him, tears starting to cloud her vision, "I'm so sorry Mr. Bonardi."

"No no, don't be sorry. I have had my time and I'm afraid that I've wasted a large part of it."

"You didn't and you still have some time to make things right," Emma whispered to him before looking towards August.

"Papa," August sank into a chair near the bed, "Papa I'm so sorry. I should never have turned my back on you."

"No no no my boy, it is I who should be sorry." Marco held out his hand, curled with age and still calloused from a lifetime of work. August clasped it in his own hand and tears fell down his face. "I was the one to turn my back on you. You are my son and I forgot that."

"Papa…"

"Let me finish, I only have so much time left. Whether you are August Booth or Agostino Bonardi, you are my son. I love you."

"I love you too," August choked out and kissed his father's knuckles.

"I only wish that I could finish your book, I was just getting to the good part," Marco chuckled before coughing.

"Well it's fitting, I was working on this," August pulled a small wooden whale from his pocket. "I know I'm a little rusty but-"

"You always had a talent for carving, but maybe you should stick to writing," Marco smiled before taking one last breath. A small smile remained etched on his face as August began to sob still clutching his father's hand. Emma reached forward and gently closed Marco's eyes and pull the bed sheet up to cover Marco's face.

Emma sat at the back of the church for Marco's wake with Killian and the other midwives. It had been a somber occasion as Marco had been known and well liked throughout the community having made most of their furniture with care and skill. She listened as the priest spoke about Marco and lead them all in prayer. It wasn't long before it was over and they were all dismissed and she and Killian walked hand in hand down the church steps.

"Emma wait!" Emma turned to see August jogging down the steps to meet them. "I just wanted to thank you, for everything you did."

"Your welcome, I was only doing my job," Emma blushed.

"No, you did much more than you were asked to and I can't even think of a way to properly thank you."

"Really you're welcome; I did everything I could for him. So what are you going to do now? I heard Marco left you the shop."

"I'm going to keep it open, I figured I'd get back to my roots," August shrugged and smiled.

"What about your writing?"

"I'll still be doing that too; woodworker by day and writer by night. I think that'll make him happy."

"I'm sure it would, good luck August."

"Same to you Nurse Swan," he smiled before turning on his heel and walking back towards the church.

"You really are a marvel you know that," Killian said as they began to walk.

"Only because you mention it so often. Thank you for coming with me by the way."

"Of course plus Marco was a great man. Loved Liam and made him some toys when he was a wee lad. And speaking of lad's," he turned to her with a serious expression.

"I called Regina, she had a barrister look over the records you sent her. She's agreed to let you and Henry spend some time together if you're ready for it?"

Emma looked back at the church thinking about everything she had seen the past couple of weeks, "Yes I'm ready. I want to meet my son."

tagging: @timeless-love-story, @leatherjacketsandrum, @captainswanismyendgame, @potentialheartofdarkness, @a-faekindagirl, @caprelloidea, @stardusted-nymph, @survivorjace, @captainstudmuffin, @ouat-upon-a-coconut, @captainswanandclintasha, @captainswanapproved, @brooke-to-broch, @xemmaloveskillianx, @xerxesrises, @xhookswenchx, @hook-come-back-to-me, @lenfaz, @sherifffjones, @fefefeferniss

#captain swan #cs ff #captainswannet #thecsersnet #cstrashnetwork #my fic #born in pain fic

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