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saeransimp · 3 years

Note

I forgot to send this before but how do you feel about some Little Spoon SE Saeran content?

You know the absolute direct way to my heart, Kait. I actually ended up writing this as his first time experiencing what it’s like, so there’s lots of feelings. And if you thought you were only getting fluff with this...think again :)

(1059 words)

Saeran is, by no means, a stranger to night terrors. Haunted by his demons and the trauma so deeply rooted inside his still mending heart, he’ll frequently wake up thrashing and screaming- still in a haze, he lashes out in a panic at anything in front of him that he can reach until he’s able to process reality and ground himself.

Because of this, when he can tell that he’s going to have a rough night, he has to send you to sleep in your own room within the bunker. He despises doing this to you, and is overwhelmed with a guilt he cannot find the words to express. Saeran wants to be able to hold onto you without such an intense fear of hurting you after a nightmare- he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. He will not become that monster. He cannot become that monster. And if that means sending you away to ensure your safety, he’ll do it, even as desperately as he wishes he didn’t need to.

Oftentimes, he needs to feel your warmth afterwards. Being forced to relive those memories through his nightmares makes him sick, and the only things that can soothe him are the sounds of your heartbeat, your breathing, affirming that you’re real and that he’s not being tormented back in that hell. He doesn’t like to wake you up, despite your reassurances, so he’ll sneak in as quietly as possible and curl into your arms, head pressed against your chest as he focuses on only you in order to stabilize himself until you awaken on your own.

Tonight...well, he didn’t know what it would be like. He was torn between wanting you to stay, as it had been days since you’d last been together with him to sleep, and asking you to go to your room just to make absolutely sure you would be protected from his destructive tendencies just in case he happened to have another night terror.

It was late, and he had been internally debating on this for awhile. Like always, though, you seemed to be able to read him like a book, without a need for him to actually say anything.

“Hey,” your soft voice gently pulled him from his thoughts. “I was wondering if we could try something?” It came out sounding like more of a question, as your requests usually did- you were always taking his feelings into consideration and giving him a choice in the smallest ways possible, one of the many things he had come to love you for.

His entire life up to this point, he was never given the freedom to choose for himself, it was always other people choosing for him...he never had a say in anything, not one that mattered...but with you, he never felt forced to do anything he was uncomfortable with. He had a choice. And he trusted you to always respect his decision. It was still something he was unfamiliar with, still learning to get used to. But he cherished it.

Saeran tilted his head questioningly, then watched as you stuffed yourself under his covers and lightly patted the space in front of you as if to make sure he knew it wasn’t a command, but an open invitation if it was something he would be okay with.

He hesitated, but ultimately couldn’t resist the hopeful look in your eyes. So, with a sigh, he got up from his seat and took his place next to you, wondering if you could tell just how tense from uncertainty that he was.

Slowly, you reached up and brushed his bangs back from his eyes, searching them, as if to track that what you were doing was okay. When he gave a slight nod, you moved to press a soft kiss to his forehead with a smile.

“Turn around?”

When he realized what you meant, Saeran’s features contorted in distaste. Him? Be the little spoon? Why? He didn’t voice any of these questions, but it was evident he was leaning heavily against the idea.

“If you don’t like it I promise you can move back. I won’t be upset, okay?”

And he knew you meant it. You were never upset with him for the boundaries he had to have.

But, still, he needed to contemplate for a few moments until he eventually relented. But he couldn’t help but click his tongue in dissatisfaction as he rolled over.

Saeran felt your arm sliding around him, your fingers tenderly intertwining with his, then your face nuzzling against the back of his neck. He was thankful you weren’t able to see the blush that unwantedly burned at his cheeks.

Before he could say anything, you were mumbling soothingly against his skin.

“I’ve been thinking...when you have bad nights but you still want me here with you, we can stay like this and it’s safe. If you start kicking or even hitting at what’s in front of you...I’m not there. If you need to pull yourself out, all you have to do is slide forward without any struggle to pull your own arms away from me. And when you need me, instead of sneaking into my room, I’m already right here for you to come back to when you’re ready. We can be together and keep both of each other safe.”

He didn’t know at what point it had happened, but Saeran had melted against you, all traces of his apprehension seemingly gone. Tears were stinging his eyes, threatening to spill over. You always put so much thought and care into him down to the littlest things, and he couldn’t understand what made him so special- but god if it didn’t feel good to be.

“Plus it’s cute ‘cause it’s like I’m your little backpack!” You giggled.

Sarean found himself smiling at that.

“So...Are you okay staying like this?”

Your answer came with him squeezing your hand.

He felt more than okay, even if he couldn’t voice it. Content...warm...protected...happy...loved...safe. It was overwhelming, but...in a good way.

Saeran closed his eyes, his fears of hurting you slowly washing away as he fell asleep.

Little did you know that it would be something he’d ask for far more often than just when he might have a bad night.

#Saeran Choi #Saeran x reader #Saeran Choi x reader #SE Saeran #Mystic Messenger #mysme #Choi Saeran

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mxchowind · 3 years

Text

Words Unspoken

Xiao x reader

Warnings: angst/fluff???

This is my second fic! I decided to go with xiao because he really appeals to me as of late and so baby too- ;; i changed up the reason to why he’s fond of almond tofu too for the content- anyways i hope i didnt write him too ooc- if i did, i apologise deeply,, enjoy!

He had known.

Mortals were nothing but lights that faded away with the time’s span. He knew, of course. The ‘Mighty’ and ‘Illuminated’ Guardian Yaksha, names given to him that don’t mean a mere mora.

To him, you meant the most. Though the man would never admit himself, or did he?

Time erased pain.

But never had it healed his scars. What a lie it has been.

Xiao hid, from all that seeked. From all of the memories of you. To think, he was such a dense, foolish idiot- an idiot who loved you. And still do, he’d like to believe.

Of course- out of all, tonight’s wind blows gently. He dislikes it, the tranquillity all resembles you too much. The gentle-living spirit you were- once. Upon his very wish Xiao finds himself asking, begging for you to come back.

But a replacement? He never asked.

Lumine’s arrival sure had people in favour, and people starts to dot and comment on how similar you and her are. Both spirits of freedom and love, supposedly that is said. He didn’t like that.

You were, and still are special, even if that no longer lingered in anyone else.

The ever so radiant smile of yours could warm any cold heart up, that, he has experienced first-hand. A dangerous adepti, they say? None of that was him in your mind. The time you two had spent together, under countless stars beneath the vast expand of skies, were always cherished by both. His eyes soften at the very thought of you- though sorrows come right after.

Lumine is a different case, however.

All the times she tried to please him to get information- it’s different. The aura she gives off is nothing subtle as yours, and warm too. Your scent is much more pleasant to him, or perhaps just the thought of you brings a slight smile to his stone-cold face. Xiao could go on and on about you to anyone, really, but he won’t.

It pains him to think back to that eventful night-

When all was lost.

You had lived long enough to withstand- let alone, battles. But this one was quite the fate-changer. The one that left you in blood and tears, not your own but his. That desperate look on his delicate face- by Archons, Xiao has such pretty features you’d wonder he should like to be working in a tavern for the girls.

All jokes aside, regret fuelled.

Of course, once again you decided to leave his field of vision, dealing with the terror of a creature on your own. Not that he disapproves, you were outright a swordswoman, gifted with the blessings of Anemo, like his own. Dealing with such small amounts wouldn’t be an issue normally, as you often received commissions. Only if you had known..

..when the reinforcements came.

‘‘Hey!! Are you even paying attention??’’

The small pixie screams in his ears, wincing in pain from the high-pitched voice she possesses. Expression stonic, the ravenette decides to ignore her fully. What was that? Flashbacks of what seemed to be thousands of years ago-

Then Xiao suddenly realises. It was when he lost you.

Pain, pain, pain. Kill them, kill everyone.

Thoughts racing through his mind- it takes a while, and enormous strength to resist, before his eyes land on her. Lumine.

‘‘What do you want? I don’t have time to spare for foreign travellers.’’

As cold as he blurts those words out, he means it. No, he cannot withstand the sight of them for any longer- the memories flooding back to his mind, no matter how much he tries to push away. It hurts, he wants someone to cling onto, and he knows, the only one to do it would be you.

‘‘We’re not looking for trouble! The boss lady said you know something about what is happening recently- we brought this!’’ Lumine chirps, handing him the freshly made Almond Tofu.

No, please. No.

It was a breezy afternoon, the wind blowing past your hair gently, directing your way to him. Recently you discovered this new recipe- and couldn’t wait for him to try it out. As you hummed a tune, ever so lively, filled with life, Xiao waited for you patiently. You two were often sighted together on the top of Wangshu Inn, and you were said to be the only one who would make the Adepti smile, even if it was a little. It was true, your smile could brighten anyone’s day up, even the dangerous man.

‘‘Xiao! Look!’’

‘‘Calm yourself first.’’

You gave an apologetic smile, before the brand new dish got shoved into his face. At first, he looked away- what new recipe might you have stirred this time? But the scent of said food filled his mind as you picked up the spoon, scooping some.

‘‘Have a try!’’

‘‘.. I have hands, too.’’

In all reality, he was embarrassed. Without a further thought he picked up from where you left off, and swallowed the tofu whole. It tasted- gentle. Almost as if you poured your heart into making such a dish. Its almond flavoured taste lingered on his tongue for a while more, before eagerly scooping another spoonful.

You smiled. His facade was worn off, and Xiao right then was just Xiao. His duties forgotten, his raging heart calmed, and he was just Xiao, someone who longed for more and more time to be with you, and to have more of this delicious plate too.

Your laugh echoed in his mind.

That was when he chose Almond Tofu over every other dish. It was because of you. Only if time allowed you two to dance in everlasting joy.

It didn’t.

‘‘Stop spacing out!!!!’’

This annoying pest, the ravenette curses without fear. As Xiao turns his gaze finally back on track, he realises that you’ve been on his mind more than ever today. Why is that? Is it because he can’t stand people comparing you with Lumine-

Never. You can never be compared with her. You’re- far more- dear.

‘‘So, Xiao, what would you do about this situation right now? The Moon Carver sent me.’’

Instead of being content to help, he turns his eyes away.

‘‘I am no longer interested in being in contact with mortals. Go.’’

Any other day Xiao would give a gratified reply, but not today. You’re simply occupying his mind too much, perhaps this is it. He still wants to remember-

Go away. Go away. Please.

Stop, stop it. Stop coming back.

‘‘Geez, what a let-down!! Let’s go for now, Lumine,’’ At least that little thing knows what not. They took their leave in silence,

Just like you did.

It rained.

It rained, as if the whole world cried.

With blurred vision, monsters easily took you down no matter how much effort was made to struggle. That, he knows.

He wasn’t strong enough to protect you. He failed.

Let alone, you were the last person he wanted to lose.

Blood, blood, blood.

Blood everywhere. Blood coated you. Recalling, when Xiao turned around to see such a sight- his eyes widened in shock-

Don’t leave, please.

At least not yet, not when he didn’t make clear of his feelings-

But time was not his to command.

His eyes, wet and stained with rain or tears, you do not know. The pain pierced through you like arrows, it hurts, but none is able to save you. The gash is too big, and deep too.

His hands. The ravenette’s hands are so gentle even under the harsh gloves. Carefully, he lifted you up from the ground, and it was him who spoke first.

‘‘Don’t go, it’s a command.’’

You chuckled lightly before the voice faded into weak whimpers. His own voice was shaking, it pulled your heartstrings.

‘‘You- you’re not even smiling, Xiao. Come on, at least give me a smile- whether it’s the last time i would see it..’’

How could he decline such a request?

Smiling was harder than supposed.

Gathering all that was left in him- a smile formed. It was genuine. Something no one but you had seen- that was enough for you. To be the luckiest person to see his smile. It hurts. You wanted to see more, maybe you two would have a future together, and smile, always, then he could learn how to make Almond Tofu and take care of himself and-

Too much to wish for.

‘‘Xiao-’’

He silenced you. With his lips.

Had he known it was the first, and the last, you indulged yourself fully, sinking deeper into the sweet, airy kiss. The taste of metallic was awful, but what was even more- you didn’t know if he was crying, or just the rain.

‘‘You know.. I love you, Xiao.’’

So that was the word.

Love.

To think, how foolish he was- in love with a mortal.

But he was, and nothing could change that. He loved you.

‘‘Don’t go, then. Don’t go.’’

His voice laced with desperation- he begged to the Archons, to someone, to save you. No one would, he knew. Before he knew, you went, quietly.

You were gone.

Rage filled him. Putting on the mask he could feel power surging through every part of him- destruction.

Kill, kill, kill.

The rest of the monsters advanced, but only ended in a bloodbath as he unleashed himself. That village was never heard of again in history.

Throwing the mask away, Xiao leaned down, back to you.

‘‘I love you too, [Y/n].’’

#genshin impact xiao x reader #xiao x reader genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact

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veterveter · 3 years

Note

I'm looking for a way to drop that funeral planning ficlet on tumblr, maybe this would be a "fun" way to do that?

“Everyone should wear black.”

“Of course they will, it’s a funeral.”

“Not because it’s a funeral. Because it’s stylish.”

“Whatever. I’ll write it on the invite. Wear black, it’s stylish.”

“Thank you. White roses, white lilies. You’ll play a white piano. You should play Bella Ciao, that could be my requiem. I think it would be fitting.” He imagines how Martín would make it sound – he would doubtlessly turn the joyful rebellion into something haunting. “Nevertheless, everything will be white, except for the guests.”

“Duly noted.”

“Have everyone bring red roses to lay on my casket. You’ll curse God as you stand there, for a while. I hope rains.” He leans back, and it doesn’t ache too much, and that feels like a blessing. “And afterwards, you’ll go clubbing.”

This makes Martín pause, finally.

Andrés makes sure to have eye contact as he continues, “You and Sergio. Dance. Drink. Start with wine, then whisky, then shots of tequila. Get drunk, forget about me and live.”

Martín sneers, an ugly little thing. His face was made for joy, not… whatever this is. “You won’t have any control over me anymore, Andrés.”

Andrés continues to look at him. An ugly little thing he has always loved. “I will always have control over you. You will do as I ask of you.”

____________________

A week ago, he said, “One last plan, Martín.”

It was the first time he had seen Martín’s eyes light up in three months.

It was the first time he truly felt cruel in his life, when he followed it up with, “The funeral. We need to plan it, you and I.”

The light behind Martín’s eyes faded, and Andrés knew he would never see it again. He wished he had cherished it when he still had the chance, when it took nothing at all to coax it out of him. When that light was his default expression, when Andrés’s presence brought him joy – instead of everlasting pain, a suffering that would surely stay with him for the rest of Martín’s life.

Martín does it, of course. Martín is dutiful, so he clears out the blackboard, without a moment’s hesitation, wipes away the plans they had. He doesn’t say, not even once, this is morbid, Andrés, even though he must be thinking it. Andrés hopes that someday, Martín might think back to these days and find them cathartic. Or that he’ll find it in himself to be proud.

Proud of himself for being brave enough to watch Andrés wither. Proud of the depth of his love. Proud of the gracefulness of their plan, Andrés’s swan song.

Together, they plan the setting. Privately, Andrés plans everything else.

He plans futures for his loved ones.

Tatiana will look pretty as she cries, a woman too young and alive to be a widower. Martín will comfort her, will wrap his arms around her as she shakes with tears. He has never held a woman like that before, but he will do it, if only to distract himself. She will bring him comfort, because she will understand a shard of his suffering, the thinnest sliver of it. Because Martín will be able to look at her and see her love for what it is: inferior.

Sergio will be fine. He has Raquel, and Paula, he has already started building a life that doesn’t include Andrés. It’s just as well. He’s finally growing up, doing what he has to. Taking care of himself in a world that has never cared about him.

Maybe Sergio and Martín will finally bond, over their shared pain.

Or maybe they will become strangers, incapable of meeting each other’s eyes, unwilling to see their own suffering reflected back in them. Andrés can’t do anything about that. He’s not God. Gods are eternal.

For Martín, Andrés has only one plan, but his is the most important one.

Martín will live.

____________________

If it weren’t for Martín, Andrés would have simply killed himself. Truly, he would have. He would have crafted an elegant death for himself, something poetic and needlessly cruel.

The only reason he deems it necessary to cling to life so desperately, even as his body withers, is to give Martín this. He wants Martín to have closure. He wants Martín to grieve beautifully.

Even though Andrés is technically still alive, he misses what life used to feel like. What life was meant to be like. He misses stealing priceless jewels and irreplaceable paintings. He misses drinking tea and going on walks. He misses feeling untethered by the confines of his mortal body.

He misses Martín.

Other people will doubtlessly go on walks and steal jewels, but Martín will eternally be but a shade of himself. Andrés is taking Martín’s heart and soul to his grave, and leaving behind this sad little puppet, his strings pulled by mourning and hatred.

Some part of Andrés is quietly pleased with that. There’s a certain beauty to be found in everlasting suffering.

And if he can’t have Martín in all his glorious brilliance and destructive grace, then no one should.

____________________

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Martín asks, in a falsely casual manner, studying his cup of coffee.

Andrés sighs. He had been thinking, foolishly, that Martín will have finally gotten the hint, but of course not. Martín never truly stops, he just reschedules. Anything he ever feels or thinks willcome back, again and again, until he finally finds something to do with it.

“No. And I won’t, so you can stop asking.”

“You won’t even know what I do. You’ll be dead.”

“But you will. And I am not giving you my blessing to put a bullet to your brain. You’ll live. It’s my last wish and you will honour it.”

“I never thought you’d be so cruel,” Martín says, his tone accusatory and wounded.

He doesn’t continue, but the implication is clear: he means not to me. He knows Andrés, knows exactly how cruel he is. He just never thought it would be aimed at himself. He’s Andrés’s foil, his mirror, his other half.

And he’s right. It was never meant to be.

“So be it. You’ll live the life I never got to have. If you must die, then it will be from something else. Not your own hands.”

“Andrés…”

“I didn’t get to make a choice, and neither will you.”

He has to ask Martín for this, despite knowing that it’s the cruelest thing to ask for. Because no one else has ever loved Andrés enough to live for him. No one else ever would have, even if he had more time. Andrés knows he’s hard to love. And anyone would be hard to love, this unconditionally.

It was only ever going to be Martín.

Andrés doesn’t allow himself to wonder if he would be willing to go through the same, were the roles reversed. He’s afraid of being bitterly disappointed in himself, on his final days.

Martín has always been his favourite part of himself: just the right kind of cruel, the correct shade of suicidal. Chaos without an outlet, manifesting in the strangest ways. A genius caged in the body of a man.

Now Martín is going to be the only part of him left. That thought doesn’t bring Andrés peace, necessarily, but it’s one of the only things he isn’t going to leave behind as regrets.

“I’m sure time will bring us back together.”

Martín glares at him, but he says nothing. Martín doesn’t believe in any kind of life after death, or absolution, or even redemption, but he’s not going to say that to a dying man. Martín is never going to be fully honest with him again.

Andrés wants to hear every single ugly and awful thought he is holding back.

____________________

“Can I stay here?”

“Martín…”

“Just to be here. I won’t do anything. I just want to—”

Andrés sighs, too weak to argue, in mind and body as well as in spirit. “Fine, come here.” He scoots over, allowing Martín space on the bed.

“You are my own personal hell,” Martín muses quietly in the dark. He stays an arm’s length away, and Andrés can’t summon the energy to question it. “All nine circles, just you, every moment of my life with you.”

Andrés feels the same way about Martín. All nine circles, every wasted opportunity. If there is life after death, he might be stuck repeating exactly that.

He would still take it. He would choose hell of himself repeating the same mistakes with Martín, over heaven without him.

“Would you do it again?”

Martín turns to look at him, doesn’t answer right away. “I would watch you die a hundred times over,” he finally admits, quiet in the way the truth always is.

How misfortunate Andrés is, to have been given a love like that. A love so desperate, so out of control. He would have much rather been loved by a woman, someone like Tatiana, softly but without the intent to burn and destroy everything around them.

If Andrés has to be loved like this, he should have at least been given the chance to truly reciprocate. He should have been given time to give Martín everything he deserves and everything he doesn’t. He should have been allowed to give Martín the entire world, with all of its beauty and all of its gore. To murder every last man but themselves, to bask in their own brilliance, surrounded by all those decaying bodies, rather than being trapped in his own.

Their love is but an incomplete masterpiece, smiting them both with its existence. It’s unimaginable cruelty, because theirs is a love most will never get to experience.

It could have been so perfect.

“You should do the bank heist with Sergio,” he says, “Take my place. Do it in my honour.”

“Sure,” Martín says, and for that one word, his tone is as amused as it is destructive. “It’s always been a suicide, that plan. It was meant to be ours.” He angles his entire body away from Andrés, like looking at him is suddenly somehow offensive. “Now it’ll just be mine.”

____________________

“Here’s what I would have done, if we had more time.”

Andrés doesn’t have the energy to do anything but angle his head towards Martín, without even opening his eyes.

“I would have married you. I like to think you would have wanted that, too. I would have taken your last name. We would have bought an island. We would have stolen all the most priceless things in the world and gifted them to each other. I would have killed all of your ex-wives. Well, maybe not Tatiana, she’s grown on me. But we would have been happy, you and I.”

He takes Andrés’s left hand in both of his, and sighs.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that.”

Andrés wonders if he would have been better off not knowing all of this.

____________________

The end comes fast.

That makes it both easier and harder, but Andrés doesn’t have the energy to feel sad or grateful. He feels like he still has things he would like to say, to both Sergio and Martín, but he just feels tired. Too tired to remember the words, too tired to decide if they need to be said after all.

Every day, he’s awake less and less, to the point where there’s no longer days to speak of. There’s only moments, all of them with Martín by his side. His presence is the only thing Andrés takes notice of, even if he can’t conjure up many thoughts about it. Or anything else.

Andrés is no longer conscious as he takes his last breath, but as he falls under, the last thing he sees are Martín’s sad, sad eyes. The last thought he ever has is

unimaginable

cruelty.

#anyway have some stuff I wrote a while ago #actually it was while I was still working on 'spike the punch'#I took a break from wholesome dinner planning to plan some funerals #I finally felt like editing it and posting it just because #honestly I just never wanted to post it as a full thing so this prompt collection seems like the perfect opportunity #I wrote this one inspired by 'Jos mä kuolen nuorena' by Heli Kajo #and even repurposed some lyrics for dialogue (near the beginning) because I thought Andrés totally would #hope you like this little thing I wrote #ficlets #lcdp #berlermo

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demisexualemmaswan · 3 years

Text

to make the season bright

Summary: Killian's been in love with his roommate, Emma, for as long as he's known her. But when she admits to him that she's lost a sentimental Christmas present, how can he prove to her that she means more to him than what would've been underneath the tree that year?

[Read on Ao3] A/N: Wow, I can't believe that this is my 6th year running for doing Captain Swan Secret Santa! And I still get someone new every year! This is a gift for @resident-of-storybrooke who has been absolutely so lovely to chat with over the last month! I hope you like your gift! Thanks to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this year’s event!

Shoutout to @kmomof4, @teamhook, @lonelyspectator12, @hollyethecurious and the entire CSMM discord who kept me motivated while I was writing!

Killian Jones was a neat man.

His days from the Navy—and Liam’s strict rules from his childhood—instilled that habit in him. And while he was well aware that not everyone would feel the same as he did, he was not so tested until he started living with Emma Swan.

He’d met Emma at a party. Her boyfriend at the time had gotten very aggressive after copious amounts of eggnog and tried to swing and Killian, who’d promptly flipped Walsh and broke Ruby’s coffee table. Ruby was easily persuaded to forgive once Killian had bought her a new coffee table.

At first, he was sure that Emma hated him for what had happened until a few weeks later, when she’d demanded, eyes aglow with fire and determination, that she teach him how to flip people over. She’d cited it was necessary for her job, and he hadn’t quite known what that meant until he saw her flip a skip onto his back when he tried to punch her.

Their self-defense lessons after his shift then turned into quick lunches, which turned into movies nights with just them in addition to their friend group’s movie nights. It was during a group movie night that it was revealed that despite breaking up with Walsh at the Christmas party, he was still living in the apartment because Emma couldn’t afford the rent by herself. While Emma was surprisingly prudent in her savings given her general cavalier to almost everything else in her life including what she ate and the state of her room, she was only paid as long as she could work. Any long-term injury would send her careening backwards in her savings, and letting Walsh live in the apartment was a way to offset the financial risk.

Killian, a life-long believer in good form, simply wouldn’t stand for it. Since the apartment was in Emma’s name only, Walsh had no claim to it. And surprisingly to all (or unsurprisingly) that as soon as Regina mentioned her sister was single, Walsh had no problem moving out of Emma’s apartment, allowing Killian to move in.

So here he was, 9 months later, trudging up to the apartment that he and Emma shared.

His cheeks flushed even though no one was around.

The first time he’d mentioned that he was moving in with Emma, his brother had squawked and protested that he should’ve known Killian was seeing someone. And every time Killian spoke to Liam, Liam always asked if he and Emma started dating yet. Which…they were not a couple, they were just friends. Though Killian would’ve absolutely dated Emma in a heartbeat, if given the opportunity. She was beautiful, strong, and incredibly intelligent in a way that surprised people who were just meeting her. He absolutely adored her and cherished every moment he spent with her. But with the strength of their bond also came with the vulnerabilities Emma allowed him to see. She had been betrayed, hurt, and let very few people know what was truly going on in her mind. He was honored that after such a short time, she had let him into the circle that only included a handful of people. So he didn’t push her for anything romantic, for fear that if his intentions were misperceived that she would draw her walls up again. Not that he blamed her. She’d been disappointed by so many people in her life, and it would kill him if he ever joined those numbers.

Besides, what sort of a man would force his intentions by someone with whom he cohabitated a space with? Well, Walsh would, he could hear Emma’s derisive remark in her head. Still, he began marching up the steps in their apartment complex, hoping that Emma could hear. Tonight was the night that they were exchanging gifts before he went off to his brother’s house and she went off to her brother’s house. It was a tradition that Emma valued most highly, having missed her fair share of Christmases in her youth. Emma had been passed around the foster system almost her whole life until she’d met Ruth Nolan at age 16. Well, correction: she’d met Ruth’s son David (her now brother), who had brought her home to his mother on her first day of school, and Ruth had done everything humanly possible to keep Emma with them.

Killian, having been taken in by his older brother when his brother had emancipated from their father, could sympathize with wanting spend time with family. Though he was sure that, knowing Emma, she’d been caught up in something and waited until the last possible moment to wrap his gift despite her imminent departure. He knew this because he’d walked in on her wrapping his gift on his birthday. She’d scowled when he laughed, and her cheeks had turned red with embarrassment. But it had been the perfect gift and she still had surprised him with a wonderful chocolate cake.

His heart warmed affectionately upon how she’d gone out of her way to get it from his favorite bakery, one that marked the halfway point between where he lived and his brother’s. He recalled the shy smile that tugged at the edge of her lips when she told him that she hoped he liked his cake. It was the memory of his birthday that had inspired him to go out of his way to get a particularly excellent birthday for her in October, and now an excellent Christmas present. For her birthday, he’d gotten her a pair of high heeled boots that the saleswoman assured him were comfortable, and now were Emma’s go-to piece of footwear for chasing skips.

For Christmas, he’d gotten her baby blanket repaired. She’d been left at a hospital with nothing but a knitted blanket with her name on it. It was all she had given toward any clue toward her parents. But a drunk Will had accidentally unraveled it at Halloween, and although she’d tried to hide it from their friends, Emma was absolutely distraught about the destruction of her blanket.

He was picturing the look on her face, hoping her eyes would light up with joy and he could watch her fingers reverently trace the knitwork when he arrived at the front door and was overcome with the notion that something was very wrong. The door was slightly ajar, which was unusual for their apartment. Immediately shifting into high alert, he opened the door gently. The apartment was beyond a disaster.

Things were thrown about everywhere, the window was thrust right open and one of the flowerpots was shattered on the ground. Killian began to catalog all of the damage, wondering whether or not there had been a robbery, when he heard the tiniest of sniffles. His blood ran cold, his shoulders became stiff and tight and his heart began to pick up in his chest. “Emma?” he called, trying to keep his worry at bay. As he moved through the apartment, there was a path of destruction no matter where he went. His mind kept picturing horrible scenario after horrible scenario, particularly as Emma’s sobs became louder and louder as he approached her bedroom.

“Emma?” he tried again, not hearing a response. Unable to stand it any longer, he thrust the door open. Her room had seemingly taken the worst hit; even though it was normally in a state of disarray, the destruction in her room could only be described as catastrophic. And there was Emma, in the middle of it, sobbing like the world was ending. He immediately scooped her up and placed her on the bed, frantically assessing her for injury. His Emma was a tough lass, and so for her to be crying like this meant the absolute worst of the worst.

When she seemed to realize it was him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against him. He wrapped himself around her protectively, stroking the back of her hair. “You’re all right, love,” he whispered softly. “You’re safe. I’m here…it’s all right, Emma.”

“’s not!” Emma choked out, curling up against him, her entire body heaving and shaking with the force of her cries. “It’s not all right!”

“What happened?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Though he was not entirely unsure that she was unharmed, there still was the state of the apartment to contend with. He was desperate to clean it, but if there needed to be a police investigation, he couldn’t touch the damn thing.

Her shaking damn near broke his heart and he held her closer, shushing her gently. “It’s okay, love, it’s okay,” he promised her again.

“It’s not!” she hiccupped. “I lost it! I can’t find it!”

His heart picked up again, wondering if she’d gone looking for her baby blanket for comfort and was unable to find it. Suddenly, he felt like the world’s biggest asshole, taking her blanket without permission. It was something she treasured and was comforted by and he had no right to take it without her permission.

He looked down at her, preparing to make a million and one apologies to her and to assure her that her baby blanket was safe and she could have it right then and there, when she added miserably, “I lost your Christmas present!”

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all but seeing how devastated Emma was kept his tongue in check. He knew that she wouldn’t have appreciated his chuckling.

She pulled away her head hung low as she continued to cry. “You must hate me!” she declared, still not looking at him. “I know it’s Christmas and I’m so sorry…I should’ve taken better care of it…”

It was only then that he realized that she’d mistaken his shock for anger, and he gently reached for her hand. “Emma, love,” he tried to soothe softly, running his thumb across her knuckles. “It’s okay. I’m not angry…”

“You will be when you find out what it is,” she muttered, her head still hung low.

“Emma, trust me, whatever my gift was supposed to be, it cannot be worse than the scenario I’d concocted in my head when I discovered the door ajar and the apartment destroyed,” he replied, reaching for her again. Maybe there was a part of him that still needed to reassure himself that she was safe. She finally looked up at him, her head cocked to the side curiously. “I…when I saw everything in disarray and heard your cries, I…I thought we’d been robbed and you’d been hurt,” he admitted shyly, taking his gaze away from hers now.

Her emerald eyes were wide with shock and her mouth hung open a little bit, still needing to reconcile every so soften that people cared about her. Emma’s jaw slid open as she stared at him, her tears stopping almost immediately at the revelation. “You were worried about me?” she squeaked.

“Aye, of course I was,” Killian breathed, holding her close to him. “Everything had gone to pieces and the apartment was not how I left it this morning.”

Emma sighed, scrubbing at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I wanted to clean it up before you got home but then I couldn’t find your present and—" Her breathing picked up again and tears began pooling in her eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Killian murmured, cupping her cheek in his hand. His thumb gently dragged across her cheek.

“And now I’m gonna leave you with all of this cuz I’m supposed to go to David’s!” she babbled. Her body seemed to tremble viciously in his hold. It was clear she’d been on edge and frantic for a while now, only just coming down. Her hand trembled visibly in his hand, and he’d never seen Emma so emotional or terrified. She’d come home battered and bruised, he’d stayed with her overnight in the hospital, but he’d never seen her like this.

His heart seemed to stop. He knew that she held great stock in her trusty bug, but he was unable and unwilling to place her life at risk on it. She was in no position to drive.

“Love, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to be driving in the condition you’re in,” Killian said softly. “You know David won’t hold it against you if you delay your trip another day. You’re in no state to be driving right now. It’s dark, and you need to be at your best when you get on the road.”

Emma’s lips came together in a thin tight line. “Trust me,” she said sadly. “You’re not gonna want to spend the rest of the night with me and I should go.”

Closing her eyes, she hung her head. “Liam called a few weeks ago, and said he found some of your mother’s hand sewn ornaments in the attic...he wanted to know if...if you wanted them for your birthday. I told him no, that they’d make a lovely Christmas present.” Her voice got smaller and smaller as she spoke, and a pit of dread formed in Killian’s stomach.

“I got the box and I don’t know where I put it and I’ve looked everywhere...so I’ll just...I’ll clean up and then I’ll go. You can return my Christmas present if you want to,” she finished quietly, not even daring to look at him. “And...and if you want to move out or if you want me to move out, I understand. I’ll need a few days to find a place, but...but I promise I can clear out.”

Killian took in a shaky breath. The loss hit him harder than he was willing to admit. His mother died when he was quite young, but he remembered her sitting in her rocking chair and sewing any ornament Killian or Liam asked of her. “Did...did Liam send me all of them?” he asked, unable to help the question. There was so much about Emma’s speech that he needed to address and respond to, but he couldn’t cling to the desperate hope that some of the ornaments survived.

“No,” Emma rasped, and she watched him with some trepidation. “I had to beg him to take some of them.”

Killian sighed with some relief, knowing that all wasn’t lost forever. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths. She’d made the decision to save some for Liam. She’d tried to do this nice thing for him. She was always trying to do nice things for him and she deserved the benefit of the doubt.

And if he was honest, she wasn’t particularly the best searcher. Most things she looked at with a half-hearted glance before declaring she couldn’t find them.

So he wasn’t going to let himself believe that his present was gone, until he’d helped her search every last inch of the apartment.

“Let’s clean everything up,” Killian said kindly. “And we won’t discuss anyone moving out until we know for sure it’s lost to the ages and not in a hidden, obscure spot because you were sure you’d remember it later.” He was going to tease her about how many times she’d misplaced her keys, but she’d all but tackled him to the ground before he could take another breath.

He squeezed her tightly as she tucked herself into him. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“Aye, love,” he promised. “I won’t send you away.” Her whole body seemed to melt at the reassurance. He knew the need for her to hear those words stemmed from her days as a foster child, and he was more than happy to give them.

Seeing how she had clearly and thoroughly mentally lashed herself made it very hard to be angry with her. And if it had turned out that they were gone, he would mourn them like he mourned his mother. He hadn’t known her ornaments had survived after his father seemingly removed every sign of his mother from the house.

And to only know that they existed only when they seemed gone was upsetting, he wouldn’t lie.

But it certainly wasn’t a friendship ending event in his eyes. He would need some space to mourn, but he wouldn’t banish her from her home.

And she needed some tender care at the moment too. It was more than clear that she had done everything in her power to try and relocate them.

He scooped her up in his arms and gently carried her to the couch, which had mercifully been spared. “What—?” she started, pushing herself back up.

His heart seemingly broke again, looking back at her. The circles under her eyes seemed so dark. Her eyes were red and red-rimmed. What kind of awful, imaginary scenarios had she conjured for herself while he’d been thinking the worst?

They were so similar, both scarred by their pasts in different ways.

“I wasn’t joking about you recuperating, Emma,” he said softly. “So I’m gonna make you some cocoa. And when your nerves have settled, you can join me in the cleaning of the apartment.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Emma complained, throwing herself dramatically against the couch. “I lost priceless family heirlooms and destroyed the entire apartment…”

“I think you’ve already beat yourself up enough for it, love,” Killian murmured, trying to imbue every ounce of sincerity into his words. He knelt beside her, hoping he was being reassuring. “And while I won’t lie to you: I’ll be devastated if it well and truly is lost, you shouldn’t feel like you have to continue to beat yourself up.”

Emma frowned as she looked at him. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but then closed it. She seemed to slump into the couch, all the fight drained out of her body.

He went into the kitchen to give her some space. In addition to her cocoa, he decided to get some Christmas cookies from his hidden cookie stash. Killian tried not to listen as she declared to her brother and she was the worst person alive and she had no idea how Killian was going to forgive her or how she could even think about enjoying Christmas if she lost his gift.

Emma treasured sentimental things. He knew this about her. But he hoped that he would not forsake her favorite holiday for his sake.

He’d survive without the ornaments. Truly.

But he hoped to god that they found them. As each moment passed, he was becoming more painfully aware that his friendship with Emma may not survive this event. But not from his side.

She would probably keep herself at a distance and put her walls up out of sheer guilt.

He couldn’t stand to be behind those walls again.

He couldn’t stand her not knowing just how important she was to him.

Knowing how sentimental she was, he figured he had one last move in trying to prove her importance in his life. Breathing deeply, he rushed to his room. His bedroom was still immaculate, and so he was able to quickly duck under his bed.

The gift was still neatly wrapped, the bow skillfully placed on top. He smiled softly at the box before heading back out into the living room.

She’d wrapped a blanket around herself and she was curled up on her side.

She’d never looked more beautiful to him.

Killian gently walked toward her, and she tilted her head up at him questioningly. She blinked owlishly at him for a moment, blurting out, “That’s not my hot cocoa.”

He couldn’t help but burst out laughing in spite of himself. “No, it’s not,” he chuckled, putting the box on the table in front of her.

“But why?” Emma protested, her shoulders coming up around her ears. A guarded and caged look entered her eyes.

“Because I need you to know just how important you are to me, Emma. More important than any ornament ever could be.”

“But they were your mother’s,” Emma protested softly. Her voice caught as she added, “I’d kill to have something of my mom’s. All I have is a torn baby blanket.”

“Open your present, love,” Killian insisted softly.

Delicately, she undid his careful wrapping and made sure to save the bow. “It’s a box,” she said, looking up at him, not making a move to open it any further.

“Your gift is inside the box,” he teased.

Her hands stayed firmly folded in her lap. “Killian, I can’t accept this. Especially after what I did. I ruined your Christmas.”

“Love, don’t you know that you’re all I need for Christmas?” The words well and truly flew out of Killian’s mouth before he could stop them. Her head jerked up abruptly and her eyes were wide with shock. He was almost positive that his jaw was hanging open too. But he continued, “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you. You here and happy is all I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted.” Killian scratched nervously behind his ear. “Perhaps some day as more than friends. But even if you never felt that way about me, it would still be all I’ve ever wanted.”

He could see the desperate flicker of hope enter her eyes, and he could practically see the thoughts chasing themselves across her face. He could say all those kind things to her, even when she had done what she considered to be an irredeemable act.

Because he truly cared for her.

And so he said the one thing he knew he could to confirm Emma’s hope.

“I love you, Emma.”

Before he could blink, his arms were full of her yet again and her mouth cautiously slid against his. He tightened his arm around her before returning her kiss, all but melting with relief that she not only believed in the strength of his feelings but seemed to return them as well.

When they broke apart, she rested his forehead against his. Very quietly, she asked against his lips, “You love me even though I didn’t get you a Christmas present?”

“I’d say you just did, love,” he hummed, chasing her lips again. She pulled away, levelling him with a look that told him that she genuinely did need the reassurance even though the corners of her mouth were twitching as if to fight back a smile. “Aye, love,” he promised. “They’re just ornaments.”

“I’ll make you new ones,” she promised, resting her hand on his chest. “They’ll be ugly and misshapen, but I’ll—” He silenced her again with a soft and gentle kiss, and Killian let out a sigh of relief when Emma seemed to melt against him. When they broke apart again, Emma’s head rest against his shoulder and he swayed with her gently in the kitchen.

“How long have you been hiding my present from me?” she asked, still staring at the box on the coffee table. “And where? I go into your room like all the time, I can’t believe I didn’t find it!”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Why, I put it in the one place I know you don’t look: under the bed.”

Emma gasped and jerked her head up so quickly that he would’ve had a broken nose if not for his quick reflexes. “I know where the box with the ornaments is!” she cried joyously, tearing herself from his arms. He followed her back to her room, where she was more than halfway under her bed, pushing things out. “I hid it behind a ton of other stuff in case you ever went looking under my bed!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled.

“Why would I go looking underneath your bed, love?” Killian asked, unable to hold back his laughter this time.

“Because hiding anything from you is a full-time job,” Emma retorted happily, wiggling out from under the bed. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes covered in dust, but her eyes gleamed with unadulterated exuberance as she held a small white box on her hand. Liam’s handwriting on the shipping label only confirmed that these were indeed the box of ornaments.

She all but sprung up and thrust the box into his hand. “Open it!” she demanded excitedly. The grin on her face was infectious, and she was every bit of the “kid on Christmas morning” picture, even though she was a fully grown adult.

Looking at Liam’s handwriting and knowing that he was only some clear tape away from being connected with a piece of his mother made his eyes water. Emma’s hand was quick to brush away any tears before they fell, and he dipped his cheek to kiss her palm. “Thank you,” he rasped, his voice too choked with emotion to be any louder. “Really, Emma. This is…”

“Don’t you know that I love you too?” she asked as if it was all the explanation he could’ve ever needed.

“Aye, I do,” he replied, and gingerly opened the box. There were some familiar ornaments that he’d seen in pictures: a kite from her grandmother that dated back to 1895, a pig, a basket, and angel, each one with a hand-embroidered date on it. But the one that caught was one he was not familiar with. The date on the back said 1990, which would’ve been his first Christmas. Gingerly flipping it over, a beautiful swan stared up back at him and he found his eyes watering again.

“Did you know?” was all he could spit out.

“No,” she replied, her voice equally choked up. She gingerly rested her head against his shoulder as she looked into the box of ornaments with him. “But it seems your mom did.”

“Aye…” he chuckled wetly. “So she did.”

“Can we put them on the tree?” Emma asked hopefully, looking up at him. Unable to help himself, he leaned down to kiss her again, pouring his love and thanks into the gentle kiss.

“We should,” he agreed against her lips. “And we will. But only after you open your present.”

Emma rolled her eyes playfully and all but dragged him back to the living room with her. He watched as she opened the box and then immediately shut it again. “Is that…?” she asked.

“Aye, love,” he promised. “It is.” With the most care and reverence he’d ever seen her take with anything, she gently took her repaired baby blanket out of the box. Her fingers gently trailed over the stitching, the letters of her name, all of it, as if to try to prove to herself it was real.

He would never forget the loving and content look on her face for as long as he lived.

It was probably what motivated to get her another box one year later.

Only that one had a ring in it.

And two years later?

She gave him a box with a onesie inside that said “I was Daddy’s Christmas present”.

#csss20 #captain swan secret santa 2020 #resident-of-storybrooke #blaire's writing #captain swain fic

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farore-or-less · 3 years

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Forgotten Instincts - Prologue: Reawakening

Author: farore-or-less | tumblr | ao3 | fanfiction.net Rating: M Pairing: Zelink Notes/Summary: Having been torn from her sealing power, Zelda travels with Link as a companion to conquer the Beasts, but she must hide her identity because his memory is gone & mentality hanging by a thread. She has to live under an alias until his memory of her returns, even if that means he's falling in love with the woman she's pretending to be. (Angst / Smut / Romance / Comical / Slow Burn) Small Content Warning: Features violence, swearing, mental health & suffering, masturbation, and eventually explicit sexual content.

His breathing is soft and steady, like the soothing rhythm of waves.

In a dark unknown room, he is alone, lost and forgotten to this world, existing merely as remnants of a fable, now. He has no thoughts or worries, no fears or dreams, only the peaceful darkness that surrounds him. He feels nothing, he thinks of nothing —is completely motionless except for his slow breath and sated heartbeat. It's not terrifying or lonely to exist out of place and out of time because it's all he's ever known.

In this melodic submersion that is his sanctuary, a distant voice creeps through the silence and calls out to him.

...Link.

......Link.

He hears it in the faintest corners of his mind. The voice is muffled and choppy, like swimming under water, and the noises from above are distorted and eerily different. He never stirs from his slumber but the smallest part of his attention is now alert, just incase the voice calls back to him again —and it does. It whispers; closer and more distinct this time.

…Wake up Link.

Everything before had existed in a vacuum —absent of time. Now, he feels like the world around him is in motion, racing towards the present, trying to catch up with that pleading, feminine sound. He feels it nudging him from his enchanted slumber and his next inhale becomes heavier and more pronounced with the subtleness of new life entering his body.

The weight of consciousness becomes its heavy burden once again, something that hadn't plagued him for over a lifetime.

Then a new voice, his own voice, speaks out to him —a welcoming reality that had been dormant for so long. What’s going on? The question enters his thoughts briefly, and the voice seems to answer in return.

…Open your eyes.

In this reawakening, the softest golden light appears. Ever so distant, yet so inviting. Should he head towards it or should he return to his deep, empty subconscious? He felt at ease there —his body and soul laid to rest where the burdens of life couldn't haunt him— but did he really want that? Should he dare let his curiosity take over just to see what lies beyond this shadowed void?

Without making his own decision on the matter, the light begins to grow until it becomes a blinding white nothingness all around him, and then the voice repeats the command.

Open your eyes…

The voice is gentler this time, the anxious undertone gone from its tone. It's no longer a plea but merely coaxing him out of his dream state.

As his mind journeys towards the blinding white light, his eyes begin to open. Were they shut this whole time? With his physical senses tingling, he becomes aware of the environment around him and it's…moving. The strange substance that surrounds his body begins to drain away, making it feel like he’s suspended in a small, personal ocean and the waves have pushed his body onto shore.

Wake up Link.

His eyes flutter open.

Slowly, a blur of hazy blue hues begin to align with their proper shapes. When his eyes finally focus, he realizes he’s gazing at a centerpiece above him. It's artistically designed and displays glowing blue dots connected with lines in a pattern that could possibly be constellations, and he finds it unidentifiable, unrecognizable, but enchanting either way.

As the last of the liquid substance drains away, his eyes begin to move slowly around the room. It's the first movements he’s made in a century, but he doesn't know that yet. He notices the wash basin he’s in, lined with textured swirls and a glowing blue essence that he doesn’t quite understand. Is this some sort of technology?

Before he gives in to the curiosity within him, Link takes one more moment in the calm silence to inhale as long as he possibly can. His breath feels strange and new, like he’s either been holding it for ages or maybe it’s the first he’s ever taken, he’s not really sure, but then suddenly he remembers the voice he heard —now the first memory his mind has tucked away. Did he imagine it? No… that’s not possible. He couldn’t have imagined it because he had never heard that voice before.

So where was it coming from?

He rises and begins walking towards the only other structure in the room and takes the Sheikah slate from the pedestal as a door opens on the wall before him, beckoning him into the wild.

» . «

This is one of his favorite perches in all of Hyrule.

To the west the traveling bard can see the rust colored mesa mountains of Gerudo Desert, where mysteries seem to begin and never end. He gazes towards his homeland of the north and spots the snow covered peak of Hebra, protruding high above the mountain range. It's odd, unique crescent wound displayed like a proud scar for all of Hyrule to witness, although its origin story is now lost to memory —just like most things in this world. He can see the dark malevolent clouds forever lingering above Death Mountain as the lava flows dangerously down to where the contrasting humble Goron folks reside. This perch where the flighty musician stands displays one of the best views of the slumbering Hyrule Castle, forever a charred scab at the center of this world. A blackened heart barely breathing.

No, Hyrule is not without its scars and wounds, cuts and burns, it seems.

And of course, over his right shoulder, he can view the crumbled ruins of the Temple. It must have been a site to behold during its glory days, though now it is just another memory almost forgotten. Almost.

Although the clerestory and western tower still remain, it displays a great wound along its side, enervated but not destroyed completely. He stares at the structure, grateful for his Rito wings which allow him to see such a legendary building hidden atop this vacant high ground. How long has this Temple held together? How many eras of time has it seen come and pass, and how many more will it bear witness to?

The Temple is like a song, he thinks. It changes and resurrects, is forgotten until it's discovered again. Its story is passed down as legend, speaking perhaps more tales than truths, adapting throughout time just to survive. Just like the way a song carries throughout a generation, it morphs and rearranges, becomes relevant to the present after an era of being lost. It will be revived, retold, will share its wisdom when it's found once again.

He carries these songs within him and perhaps he's the only one to do so now. When he had taken his apprenticeship, he knew one day the songs must be retold —either by him or his successor, whomever that will be. Perhaps one of his daughters will appreciate these songs like he does. He's always cherished the stories told from old, passed down through the line of poets and singers, dancers and performers.

Artists, he thinks. Artists pass down history more so than books in Hyrule. Books can be burned, destroyed, but songs of legend, they never seem to die. Not completely.

The bard comes here when he knows he won't be interrupted. Not by the rowdiness of stables or the crashing ocean waves, vagabonds or wanderers intrigued by his unique musical instrument and Rito voice. His race is known for being talented warriors, skilled in the combat of hunting and archery, albeit his path has always been different, but just as significant.

Nay, he seeks the Great Plateau because he knows no one will disturb him; not even the hooded stranger who is the only occupant atop this Plateau. He observes him sometimes, chopping wood by his cabin, wandering the Forest of Spirits or resting in his little alcove like he is now —always seeming to be in several places at once.

Perhaps he is a memory, just like one of my songs, he thinks.

Before he begins reciting his teacher's lessons, he likes to stand for a moment in silence; to mourn for the land and all its wounds, its misfortunes and destruction. It has seen its share of hardships come and go as it is will again and again —an endless cycle of destruction, peace, restoration, and war. He stands in silence to give admiration to where it need given, for this world, no matter how many scars it bares, is still beautiful, still strong, still breathing.

When he's ready, the bard takes a cycle of breath, ruffles his feathers, and rolls his broad shoulders. He flexes his feathered fingers against his instrument —the weight of it feeling light and airy much like the melodic notes it performs. He closes his eyes and hears the melodic music of nature around him, feels the wind through his feathers the way a song can breeze through a soul.

"What song shall I perform for you today, Hyrule?" He asks and it doesn’t answer. "How ‘bout an ancient song today, eh?"

The finches and squirrels scatter behind him.

He thinks it could have been a coincidence, but then again, Kass knows there is no such thing. He feels the vibration beneath his talons, hears the rumble of the cave behind him, creaking and moaning, whirling and swirling. The sounds of lost technology no longer dormant, and nature giving in to change.

Looking over his feathered shoulder, Kass opens his eyes and smiles towards the shrine. Ahh, a new ballad has begun.

He rises from the cliff and soars away in a flurry of colors before the Sleeping Knight ever knew he was there.

» . «

Hylia, you know we do not meddle in the affairs of man. This is asking too much.

The four stand between time and space, shrouded in the purple embers of twilight. Here, they each stand atop a pillar of cobblestone suspended in another realm where no soul but deities have ever stepped. This meeting has been taking place out of time because the four that stand here use it as a tool —chiseling and forging paths of story and legend, creating lines and webs that are infinite and benevolent.

But now, if Hylia did not seek aid of her creators, her own path may result in an ending at all timelines.

You created me. You created this world. It is your responsibility to see it endure, Hylia says.

No. We created you for that very purpose, o ne of the Three Sisters speak.

I cannot be in two places at once, trapped inside a mortal body. This is my only option. Hyrule’s only option.

Why do you not go in her stead? Surely he will be better guided in your care. Forever curious, the Goddess haloed in blue ponders.

She cannot hold the sealing power alone. Ganon would be released to my world before the Hero’s first breath.

You are one of divinity, Hylia. You cannot hold the Seal if you are not encased in mortality, states the Goddess haloed in red.

Discussion and asking questions are a good sign, Hylia notes. They are finally coming around.

You will recall, I have used that very same power at the beginning of this world against Demise himself. I was not mortal then. If you grant me your blessing, I promise all of Hyrule will be saved.

Silence falls. They're considering her request.

Hylia, are you willing to sacrifice yourself for this land that we have made? The green haloed Goddess asks.

Haven’t I already proven that?

Yes, you have —but this. You have never asked of this before, the Goddess of power speaks.

You would break the cycle, you would make it linear. You would make it end, the Goddess of courage adds.

Even I do not know if you can be sewn back together, the Goddess of wisdom concludes.

Then let us try because I have weighed the options and I have no other.

Silence blankets over the four Goddesses until finally, she can feel her creators giving in.

The Princess will not be the same without you. Her soul will be incomplete. If you are sure this is what must be done, then my Sisters and I will fill her void of where you once were whole, Nayru states.

What about the Hero?

His spirit is unbreakable indeed, but he is not worthy of our aid, Farore speaks.

We can do nothing for him now. He is too weak to adorn even a breath of our might, Din adds.

It is understood, Hylia replies.

Then you have our blessing, but remember, this will change Hyrule’s future. They speak in unison, in warning and in prayer.

Time is always rewritten for my world. Hylia bows to her creators and in an instant, they are gone.

#botw #botw fic #fan fiction #botw fanfiction #botw fan fic #zelink #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #loz #idk maybe you'll like this???#probably not #gremlin link will be present #gremlin link #but also angst #just take it

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

Note

pls scream about Leo a lil bit cause my love for that man is neverending and i live for you guys' blog,,, and ur comte love fuels me??? head empty except for those two pureblood clowns

HNGNGNG I hope that both you and everyone that reads my shenanigans knows how utterly understood I feel when I see anyone stan Comte, if not both of those idiot purebloods bc good lord...I live for two tired fossil men that just want DOMESTIC BLISS. Literally they have no brain cells beyond respect women and we love that for us, it’s spectacular!!

Under a cut bc I went off and is long:

That being said I’d be happy to yell abt Leo!! Where do I even begin, this man was the reason I got into Ikevamp in the first place, and I’ve read just about every single one of his events at this point. He just makes me so TENDER!!!!!! For whatever reason the first thing that came to mind was this one time he lies about being jealous and MC is lolol u a fool if you think I can’t tell when you lie to me. And he’s so fuckiNG SHOOK?????? It’s even funnier because she’s internally like [I’m not 100% sure but for a second there he almost looked mad...time to test this theory even if it’s just A GAME T H E O R Y] And he’s so fucking pikachu meme that shit sends me. I can’t handle the fact that he’s so used to people just assuming he’s fine, that he can handle himself. That he’s lived for so long without really anyone noticing at all. (Comte absolutely notices and will lightly roast him, but doesn’t really push him about it or wants to overstep). And so when MC just actively pays attention and is so gentle with him he’s just floored???

God I’m crying now, but I will just never forget the funeral scene in his fucking rt. This asshole, this absolute moron, straight up tries to come at us with “yOu GeT uSeD tO iT aFtEr HaLf A mIlLeNiUm, i’M nOt SaD”. Like are you serious. Come here and let me hold you before I throttle you. Absolute clown. He’s just always trying so hard to get by on his own and it breaks my heart. How long...how long has he lived just getting by, nursing his own wounds and dragging himself up all by himself. HE LEFT HOME AT LIKE 14 (whatever the fuCK SOME TOO YOUNG AGE) AND RAN STRAIGHT INTO THE HANDS OF PEOPLE THAT HATED HIM FOR HIS TALENT. HE REMEMBERS HIS MENTORS DESTROYING HIS UTENSILS WHILE TRYING TO ESCAPE PARENTS THAT WHOLEHEARTEDLY REJECTED ANY EXPRESSION OF LOVE OR COMPASSION FOR HUMANITY THAT HE CHERISHED SO DEEPLY. I DON’T NEED SLEEP I NEED TO HUG HIM IMMEDIATELY FUCKING HELL.

Like.........there’s just........I don’t know how to explain it, but I once saw it explained so well in a post. It was basically talking about Castlevania, and how in that show Dracula sees humanity’s folly and develops so much hatred he just goes straight to murder rage. And while in some ways I understand that, I understand even more deeply Trevor’s response to humanity’s fear and violence. He says that he knows they’re short-sighted, that maybe we all just don’t deserve saving...but that he’s going to do it anyway. Leonardo just so much gives me that energy of knowing there’s so much pain in the world, but all we can do is keep walking--keep trying, even if we have to claw our way forward. Because if you only see the awfulness in front of you, you forget the way that strangers make silly faces at babies to make them laugh on the train, how a friend will put everything down to race over to someone and comfort them with some ice cream--do anything they can to distract them from the hurt. How the sight of a child crying will prompt careful cooing from a stranger as to their bravery, an offering of cool water, the gentle placement of a bandaid. How a pair of teenagers will spot a lost child in milliseconds and help them seek out their parents protectively. There is so much wretchedness, but also so much beauty in it all, and the older I get the more I see myself wanting to believe in the latter. I want to be hopeful, and easily impressed, and full of love. To be bitter and jaded accomplishes nothing, and only becomes a worsening self-fulfilling prophecy. The more you seek negativity, the more you will find it; and worse, create it.

I also scream a little bit bc like. I’ve gone on and on about how Comte is very obviously in love with MC all the time, and sure that may be true. But...I really don’t think Leo is exempt from that either if I’m honest lmfao. Only because what does Leonardo do when it isn’t his route? He almost never shows up. Once in a while he might appear for a split second in a scene, but he almost never converses with MC beyond those short moments. While Comte is the one to pine openly, I’d wager Leo is the opposite. He pines in absolute silence, because he knows that if he gets any closer--he’s going to fall. He’s going to enjoy it too much, going to keep seeking out more before he can stop himself. And losing another person he loves...he just can’t do it anymore. In his first meeting story he talks about seeing MC’s eyes and feeling like he’d known them all his life, and even in his MS he speaks to just being completely fascinated by and enamored of her. She doesn’t hesitate, always does her best, meets people head-on and without much hesitation. After a lifetime of people that are probably just immediately interested in him for his talents, or always seeking out his company for the novelty, this is someone that doesn’t give a single fuck if he’s Leonardo da Vinci. Sure she’s aware, and sure she’s impressed to some extent, but her respect--her attraction and admiration--is something that has to be earned.

There’s something so refreshing about how their love was written. Sure it’s the whole fake marriage to a real relationship, but it’s also a kind of subtle enemies to lovers pulled off masterfully. MC is 100% minding her own business, just wants to do what she must in order to get home, tries to focus on her work to keep from thinking about how much she misses her old life. She doesn’t rely on anyone, doesn’t talk about how hard it is or how scary it is or how confusing. And even Leonardo forgets in his curiosity, is just chillin and also just trying to do the bare minimum to keep from getting too attached--figures he can admire her from a distance. And then he sees her staring at the hourglass. And suddenly, he can’t just watch her do that herself. Just wait for the hard times to pass, just sit with her own loneliness--that hollowing silence. There’s something so moving about it because he reaches out precisely because he knows that feeling to his fucking marrow, and literally just cannot watch somebody else do that to themselves. Sure he’s been dealing with it for three hundred years, BUT THIS GOOD BABIE CHILD DOES NOT DESERVE THIS. SHE WORKS HARD AND DESERVES NICE THINGS!!!!!!!! And so he drives her crazy as he races ahead of her, intercepting any attempt for her to preserve that silence and hide. She doesn’t see any pattern to it, and that’s just how he likes it--he doesn’t want her to worry about the how or why.

Like I fully remembering playing in Japanese and being like oh my fucking god this is hilarious, this man is just a wild fucker and I love this. I was enjoying myself, mostly laughing and shaking my head. But then it just gets so, so serious. I was having so much fun that I, like a fool, forgot the anime effect. If you’re having fun, it’s going to come crashing down without mercy soon enough. And it does. He helps a little girl without any hope play her violin again, and maybe I’m just too English major but I was fucking FLOORED when I realized I didn’t see that that was straight foreshadowing. That little girl without hope? That was MC (and by extension depending on how you play, us). Though the metaphor isn’t quite so easily mapped without a physical space, the connection is clear when you think about it. With his careful social awareness, he makes a place for MC to exist in the mansion so naturally--as though she was meant to be there from the start, crafts a positive impression of her presence with each of the residents. And he does it with zero expectation of anything in return; he’s just happy to see her not stressing herself out anymore or trying to do everything alone. MC doesn’t fall in love with him despite their differences, she falls in love with him because they are the same in a singular and all-encompassing way that matters; they both care about other people so deeply, to the point where they will forego any personal needs in order to make that person’s life easier. Whether it be muting their own hardship, or working to involve another person in a new space (or opening up to the point of self-destruction to keep a person from feeling alone), they go above and beyond what anybody asks of them--perhaps strong to the point of their own detriment, in some cases.

It’s why I always laugh when he says to Sebastian “That cara mia, she has a good heart.” Of course she does, Leonardo; it certainly takes one to know one.

And because I literally have no brain cells beyond being in fucking love with Leonardo THE LAKE SCENE IS AN AFFRONT TO MY DIGNITY AND SELF-CONTROL. HOW DARE YOU, SIGNORE. HOW DARE YOU ASK ME TO SIT THERE AND WATCH YOU OPEN YOUR HEART TO ME AND NOT BAWL MY EYES OUT AND TRY TO KISS YOU ALL AT THE SAME TIME. SIGNORE “hAhA yOu’Re So SmAlL yOu LoOk LiKe YoU’rE DrOwNiNg In My CoAt.” I WOULD DROWN AND DIE HAPPY--BITCH I TELL YOU THAT.

Like. I can’t think of another route I’ve ever done where I spent a good amount of time like “lmfao this guy is so wild im gonna punch him” to just be in a whirlpool of my own tears, regretting my entire fucking LIFE days later. Like Leonardo’s cultural impact???? Fucking immeasurable, I wish every white man disaster I ever met had a hidden heart of gold in all of his boyish dumbassery, an ICONIC himbo of our time.

Also because I remembered it before posting and I am Dying^TM. The event where MC was a pureblood and he was human. That entire fucking event. I literally can’t think about it without screaming and crying. Her just so flustered at his reaction to her like “oh look, free real estate” as he plops her in his lap, absolutely no fear, treating her like a princess because of her noble title despite NO NECESSITY BEYOND PLAYFULNESS BUT ALSO STILL MEANING IT IN AN EARNEST WAY, being charming to no END just to see her laugh or look away shyly.

WHEN HE SAID. WHEN HE SAID “...Can’t leave you alone, or you might go off someplace I can’t follow.” I. CONGRATULATIONS, YOU STRIPPED DEVOTION DOWN TO ITS BARE ESSENTIALS!!!!!! GAH HOW MC HERSELF SAYS “I would tell him the truth but...he’s much too generous for a human. I know he would offer his life without a moment’s hesitation.” How Leo describes the aftermath of her biting him: “Lucky for you, I’m a true gentleman, Unlike my principessa, who took me like a storm” HELLO??????? H E L L O ???????????????????????? ARE WE JUST GOING TO SLEEP ON THE FACT THAT HE LOST HIS ENTIRE SOUL WHEN SHE BIT HIM???? I--

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

(Also as much as I love him the cigarillos have got to go at some point, boy do you have any idea the shit secondhand smoke does good lordt)

#asks #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp comte #can you feel me going through 800 different emotions in the course of writing this #fucking hell #he absolutely kills me i love him so much #would do ANYTHING for him #if you listen v closely you can hear the soft sound of me grabbing tissues #god i was just rewatching some of his events and i just #THE SHEER WARMTH OF HIS PRESENCE HOW IT WASHES OVER YOU WHILE READING #IM SHAKING AND CRYING I LOVE HIM SO MUCH #SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#like leo is just one of those routes where its like 'my life was before and after this moment'#otome is honestly destroying my standards OTL #he just makes me feel So Much my coherence disappears #brain cells???? don't know her only Leo tiddy #in conclusion: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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myelocin · 3 years

Note

hi, i just want to sincerely thank you for what you do. i’ve been depressed lately because of life, and i used to love reading fics and stuff about my comfort character atsumu but lately a lot of writers have been headcannoning him as a trash guy who lives to fuck with girls. but obviously the series and author don’t make him to be like that at all. but anyways, i really almost gave up on the fandom, until i discovered your blog. the way you write atsumu and your works in general just really do something to my heart? idk how to explain it, but i’ve been feeling numb until i read your works, and they’re so powerful and well written that i actually cherish them like little gems and make sure to read them before going to bed to keep the negative thoughts that literally haunt me, away. so yeah, thank you, from this random anon who found you by coincidence and yet believes you are heaven/universe sent to pretty much save me from my rut. you’re a beautiful soul, and i hope you also receive the love that you’ve provided. thank you, and i love you, and i truly appreciate you for simply existing. 🌻

i put a cut so i can express my gratitude better! ;w;

+ (2) hi, this is anon who posted that long thank you note about your works and atsumu fics. i was and kind still an in a rough place but i’m doing better! especially thanks to you and the many beautiful, talented souls on this platform, so i just wanted to show my gratitude to everyone whether or not you all know what you’re doing for others. to be honest, i recently had my engagement broken off and i’m still young (under 25), but it was still hard because he actually cheated on me lolol. i’ve always been in the haikyuu fandom since the beginning, but i stopped when i got in the relationship and came back when atsumu and the inarizaki arc started in the manga, and i hold his character very dearly to my heart, especially now because the way atsumu is portrayed in the series affirms me that he would never do what my ex did to me, and that atsumu, like how he was described as love, truly embodies love itself in that when he pours everything in it (like volleyball). i think your works capture that and you have a clear grasp on his character. to be really honest, i had very negative thoughts and self-destructive habits after my engagement ended, and seeing all these fics where atsumu is a fuckboy or cheats or treats feelings as a toy really fueled that negativity, and that is why i consider you and your works as a saving grace like i mentioned before. but yeah, sorry for the long message. it’s just that it means so much to have “met” or found you and the few others who see people, and characters, for who they are rather than what today’s society and hookup/toxic culture made them to be. thank you, and i love you. 🌹

i am seriously at a loss of words. first off, thank you so much for sharing this bit of yourself T__T i know how tough it is to be face to face with the bleeding parts of you, and for you to share it is so admirable. i wish you healing, always. and second, thank you again!! T____________T i am always flustered when it comes to finding words to respond to these kinds of messages properly and i wish i could reply in the same texture as yall but ToT have my tears pls.

atsumu's character feels very gentle to me tbh so i like expanding on that! ;w; ofc everyone has their own interpretation and there is no one absolute personality but thinking of him in the softer light is just how i like to view him as ;w; i'm glad u share the same sentiment!! and im so happy you like my work T___T

thank you again!! & again (pls i kEEP SAYING AGEN ASHJAKS MY VOCAB VERI TINEE GOMEN) i sincerely hope you will always be in a space where you're constantly being nudged to heal and to blossom. i hold your hand thru the rough times and happy times miss maam or mister sir anon ;w; i give u my whole heart!!!

#nc.chat #bro im in the club crying #by club i mean my room #🌹 anon #🌻 anon #TEAR ARE U THE SAME ANON I JUST REALIZED

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theworldinclines · 4 years

Text

Title: take a chance on me

Pairing: Wave/Pang

Ao3 link

It’s a coincidence that the placement exam falls on the Monday following Pang’s 18th birthday, but Wave has an inkling that the administration purposely scheduled it this way in an attempt to foil what should be a happy day with stress.

Pang has long refused to do anything in celebration of his birthday because, for one, it’s a Sunday this year and no one does anything worth doing on Sunday nights, and two, he’s never been much of a fan of his birthday anyway. He doesn’t hate it or anything; there’s probably a spectrum of some kind where on the far end resides Ohm, cake-obsessed and always ready to pop balloons in his own face; on the opposite is someone who had a dramatic trauma occur on their birthday and now despises it terribly; and in the middle is Pang.

He just doesn’t care all that much about giving a big hoorah about it. When he was a kid, sure; being little means action figures and colouring books and all the things that make a birthday worth having. But being older, the most he’ll get is a bit of money or a kind Facebook message from his relatives.

The most worthwhile part of the day has always been waking up to his baby sister smushing her hands onto his face and insisting that she give him a birthday blessing in the form of a smooch, a loud smack of her rosebud lips on the bridge of his nose. His mother will prepare breakfast and dinner and the family will share the meals, but the time between is just dull. What’s there to celebrate about being another year older? All he’s ever found is that adults don’t listen and don’t care, age notwithstanding, and the poorly-maintained planet is just another sun-cycle closer to destruction.

Because he knows Pang, Wave knows all this too.

His birthday had always been a nice event in his household, way back when his parents were around; they made him feel necessary to their lives and reminded him that he should view every day (birth-date or not) as a gift. In the years after their passing, he would have thought that his birthday would become one of those traumatic, avoidable occasions. Instead, it became the one day out of the remaining 364 that brought him close to his parents even in death, and he cherishes the few hours in that day where he can feel like they’re keeping a special eye on him.

Wave also knows that trying to force someone to feel the same about anything is tricky at best and offensive at worst. When he commissions Ohm’s help in preparing Pang’s birthday ‘surprise,’ he’s doing it with the purest of intentions in the hopes that he can brighten Pang’s opinion of his birthday, not to shove his own down Pang’s throat.

He’s anxious, to say the least, but this last-minute plan came only a week before when they found out the set date of the placement exam. It would mean their plan would go into action and if they succeeded, the surprise could be a way to further cheer Pang’s high spirits. Should they fail, Wave would pray that the surprise might cheer Pang’s disappointment.

So it’s to his ultimate relief when Pang comes out of his meeting with the Director victorious, and Wave’s heart feels fit to burst from his chest as he can finally shriek into the walkie-talkie that they’ve done it. They actually pulled through, just like he’d believed they could all along. Looks like Pang’s usual optimism rubbing off on Wave wasn’t for nothing.

He hasn’t moved from his seat at the head of the table, still waiting for Pang’s arrival despite having allowed the others to use the ridiculous Silly-Spray and mini-confetti cannons prematurely. But, God, Pang’s a sight for sore eyes when he finally walks in, his hands bashfully shoved into his pockets, an amused glint in his eyes at his friends’ antics. He also looks exhausted, but the shouts of the Gifted bring a smile to Pang’s face that has Wave smiling as well, standing to join them in their raucous cheers of success.

He doesn’t want to shove into Pang’s moment with their friends and is content to just take in the happiness that they’ve all been waiting a year and a half to feel. He can’t believe they’ve actually made it to this point. Wave lets himself get caught up in the manic energy of the group, ducking behind the fishing hat he’d stolen ages ago from Pang and doing what he can to avoid the haphazard aims from Ohm’s double-cans of Silly-Spray. Those may not have been the best idea, in hindsight.

Regardless, Pang’s sporting a euphoric smile and in the moments that Wave catches a glimpse of him, he can feel himself grinning wider too… even with his arms covered in multi-coloured rubber string and confetti bits.

They’re so tired, but it’d been so worth it to be here now, together. The group share hugs amongst themselves before departing and Wave has to actively try not to tear up, that’s how soft he’s become. And he doesn’t even give a shit. The hugs given to Pang are extra tight, the looks thrown Pang’s way extra thankful and admiring, and he deserves every bit of it.

Once the room is cleared out and the remaining two boys are left in the hall, Wave turns to Pang, suddenly hesitant. He has no reason at all to be, except for maybe the stupid wink Ohm had tossed at him before leaving. Getting his mess of an ass involved in this had been ludicrous on Wave’s end, but you live and learn.

Pang leans against a wall to cover his face with his hands, and Wave is about to become concerned when Pang pushes his fingers up into his hair and reveals a beaming smile. He shakes his head and looks at Wave.

“I can’t believe we did it,” he says.

“I can,” Wave replies. “I told you we’d get our win.”

“It’s one thing to say it, but to actually…” Pang gives another shake of his head. “Everything’s going to change. We get to be in the Gifted again, for real; we can be seen together around school—”

“No more solo lunches at the canteen,” Wave agrees, already looking forward to being able to sit with the others. It’s almost embarrassing how much he’s missed their table. There’s a pause, and then Wave says, “I need to go up and check out the gear. Could use a hand.”

Pang nods easily, hands in his pockets, and follows after Wave for the back staircase that leads to the roof. Wave is still nervous, but he knows he doesn’t have to be. He focuses on keeping his breathing relatively normal as he pushes open the door onto the rooftop. He stands back to allow Pang to step up as well.

Pang’s relaxed grin melts into amused confusion at the sight before him, in the space where years ago were crates and assorted Ritdha items have now been settled a few containers atop a blanket. He looks at Wave with that same amused confusion on his face but wanders over to the spot with Wave trailing just slightly behind.

“I know you don’t like your birthday that much,” Wave starts, “but I…” Pang turns to look at Wave, who’s definitely red-faced and unable to hide it under the late-morning sun. “This is the first year we’re together for it, and I wanted to do something special. And now with today’s success,” he hurries to add, “it’s… fitting.”

Pang must recognise Wave’s worried frown because he smiles and takes Wave’s hand. “I don’t care about my birthday, but I wouldn’t say no to celebrating if it’s with you,” he tells him, and it’s such a relief that Wave can’t even roll his eyes at Pang’s line. He knows it isn’t a line anyway; Pang has never been anything but devastatingly sincere in every word he’s said to Wave.

His kindness is so much of the reason why Wave wants to return it tenfold, hence a picnic in their spot. It’s cheesy and romantic and all the things Wave never thought he’d want to share with anyone. Maybe more that he never thought he’d have anyone to begin with. But here he is. Here they are.

Pang pulls Wave down onto the blanket and asks, “So, you did this all yourself?”

“I had… some help.”

Able to read Wave like a book, Pang grins. “That explains the bickering that went on between you and Ohm.”

“How?”

“He knew about this and you were worried he’d let the secret out, so you argued all day because you couldn’t say what you actually wanted to. Next time, pick someone who you have more faith in to cover you.”

“He can become invisible!” Wave reminds Pang. “That comes in handy when you have to sneak on to the roof at five in the morning and set up a picnic.”

“Fair enough.”

Aware of Pang’s eyes on him, Wave purposely doesn’t look at him. If he does, he’ll just blush again and no one wants that. Except for Pang, likely, because he’s a sadist.

“So what d’we have?” Pang pops the lid off one of the containers and grins down at the cut melon. Next is the apple slices, and a couple bags of dried and flavoured seaweed. Wave had even prepared sparkling grape juice for the occasion, which he thought was a nice touch at the time but now feels sort of embarrassed about. But Pang appears thrilled by it all, so Wave tells himself that he’d done alright.

“Alright? Wave, I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

Wave realises that he’d spoken aloud, which would be horrifying if Pang weren’t looking at him like Wave had painted the galaxy’s design just for him. He could shrug off Pang’s words and let the moment pass into another conversation, or he could be honest.

“You deserve it. I… I know you were scared to face the Director earlier; I know you weren’t sure you’d make it out with anything resembling success. But you did it. You did that. You spent your 18th birthday trying to figure out how we could win and we did.” Wave pauses, reaching for Pang’s hand even as his brain tells him he’s making a fool of himself. “I wanted to have something to thank you for… for the last year.”

“You guys let me lead; I didn’t do anything.”

“Not just that. I meant—being with me.” Pang’s eyebrows furrow and he tightens his hold of Wave’s hand. “I wasn’t in a good space when we met, you know that better than a lot of them still might. But you partnered with me the first time around against the Director, and again last year when I told you how I felt.”

Pang smiles at the memory, although there’s a bit of sadness too. They’d confessed on the night of Namtaan’s accident, and their happiness at the admission was bittersweet because of its catalyst. “You said I’d be an idiot to bet on you,” Pang recalls. “And you remember what I said?”

“You…” Wave can’t help but smile too. “You told me you’d be an idiot not to.”

“And I was right, as always,” Pang says, joking and fond. He secures an arm around Wave’s shoulders so that he can tug him against his right side in a hug. He puts his chin on Wave’s head and repeats, softer, “I was right.”

Wave squeezes his eyes closed behind his glasses, trying not to cry. He’s so absurdly fortunate to be Pang’s anything that sometimes the reminder that he’s his boyfriend is staggering.

“Thank you for this, Wave,” Pang says. “Seriously.”

Wave lifts his fingers to Pang’s left cheek so that he can print a kiss onto the other, but he doesn’t reply as he settles back against Pang’s side.

“Your birthday’s in a couple months,” Pang says after a minute. “We’ll do anything you want.”

“This is fine,” Wave says. This is everything, he doesn’t say.

“We’ll see,” Pang says, mysterious. Another few moments pass before he asks, “So, are we going to be roommates now?”

Wave snorts, lips ticking up into a grin. “I guess.”

“We could do a quad with a couple of the other guys. Don’t get any funny ideas.”

“You’re the worst,” Wave says, though he conveniently doesn’t explain why.

Pang kisses the top of Wave’s hair and Wave can feel his smile even then. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Wave says, obviously, his voice threaded with emotions he doesn’t care to dissect.

He just settles onto Pang’s chest and lets himself breathe as Pang’s arm slides from his shoulders down to instead cradle Wave’s waist. The breeze is lovely, and they won today. They can afford to have this moment.

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kayteewritessteve · 4 years

Text

Beautifully Unfinished - 8/8

Description: One foolish outburst, one moment of weakness at the worst possible time, and everything goes up in smoke. Who knew finally voicing your true, deep-rooted feelings, would lead to the complete destruction of your most cherished friendship?

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 4,500 ish.

Pairing: Modern!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Curse words. Slight angst then lots of floof.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

The End?

You continue to stand in front of the living room window, you can’t be sure how long you’ve been standing here, but it’s been a while for sure. However, you only know this because it’s now pitch black out. The rain has just stopped, but the thick clouds remain, which only stand to make the city look even darker.

One of your hands raises up and rubs furiously at your lips, in any attempt to remove the feel of his from them. It doesn't work, but you’re desperate now. You just want to collapse in bed and sleep for the next few months. You don’t want Sunday to come, you don’t want to be apart of this wedding. It will break you even more. It will destroy you.

And now you have an entire week off work, so there is nothing to distract your mind. You and the guys had each booked this week off, months ago. It seemed like a fantastic plan originally. But now, it’s feeling a lot like hell. An entire week locked in your house, alone, and overthinking everything while freaking out about the wedding? Yeah, absolute fucking hell.

But the one silver lining of this horrendous night is that now you probably won’t have to be in the wedding. Shit, now you probably won’t even be on the guest list anymore. Kissing the groom sort of vetoes your chances of keeping a valid invitation. God, what a fucking mess you’ve made.

Your best friend gets married in a week, and now he has to tell his fiancee that he kissed someone else. And here you are, whining about your hurt heart and feelings, and hoping you get axed from the guest list. You may have just ruined a relationship, you may have just destroyed Steve’s future life, with the love of his life. What a dick fucking move. Like who even are you anymore? Oh, wait, a home-wrecker, that’s who.

You groan. Fuck! What have you done?! How could you be so damn selfi—

A loud knock on your door startles you, and you glance over your shoulder, but don’t move a foot. You wait, not sure if you actually heard the door, or if you’re just losing your damn mind. But then you hear another loud knock, a couple knocks actually, and you slowly make your way towards the door. You have no idea who’s here now, but you’re 100% positive it isn’t Steve. So maybe it’s Bucky?

Your steps falter then you halt completely. Because oh fuck, Steve probably told him what happened and now he is here to confront you. Oh God, you can’t handle this right now. You just need a few days to yourself. Just a couple days to be miserable and alone, without anyone interfering or inserting themselves into the mix.

“Bucky, if that’s you, I’m not in the mood! Come back later!” You holler from your spot glued to the floor, 5 feet from the door.

But all you’re met with is silence, and then a few more loud knocks, these ones more impatient and you sigh. Likes like you won’t be getting your alone time, Bucky is a persistent fuck, and it’s a wonder he’s even allowed you the option of his company. He has a key to your place after all, and with one look at the door lock, you can see it’s not actually locked. Right, you never locked it after Steve walked out. Fuck, way to go smart one.

You quickly move towards the door, as the knocking hasn’t ceased and you know your neighbours are going to complain to management if they continue on any longer.

“Okay, okay! Hold your fucking horses, I’m com—“ you yank the door open and your words die in your throat. Because that’s not fucking Bucky. Not even close.

No, the person standing before you currently, soaking wet and dripping onto the hallway carpet, is definitely not Bucky. It’s Steve.

You don’t even know what to say, so you just stand there dumbly, silently staring at the tall drenched blonde before you. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his soaked clothes clinging to every dip and line on his muscular body. And oh fuck, don’t look, don’t you fucking look! You aren’t really allowed to check him out anymore to begin with, but you especially aren’t allowed right fucking now.

You both just stare at each other, and you’re willing to bet you look ridiculous right now; all wide eyes, gaping mouth and stunned silence. But you honestly have no clue what to even say to him, you fucked everything up the last time you opened your mouth, so it’s probably best if keep your lips locked the fuck up this time. Let him talk first, let him start the conversation this time, even if just to ensure you don’t insert anymore of your foot into your mouth. Because honestly, you might choke on it, if you do.

“Can I come in?”

“Ah, yeah,” you nod, stepping back and opening the door wider to let him in, “yeah, um, of course.”

He walks past you and heads for the kitchen, leaving you alone by the front door. Your heart is pounding in your chest again, except now your hands are sweaty and your mouth is dry to go along with it. You aren’t sure what he’s going to say, you aren’t sure just how this will all play out now.

You’re the selfish one who put a grenade in between the two of you, and just stood back to watch as it detonated. Like it was some damn fourth of July fireworks show, and not the possible moment your childhood friendship comes to an emotional and heartbreaking end.

You foolish idiot, how could you do something so stupid? How could you put your own ridiculous feelings over everyone else’s? As if only your feelings mattered. Disgusting. Appalling. Completely unacceptable. How could you?

You sigh, and slowly make your way to the kitchen, ready to face the music. You deserve whatever he is about to say, you brought this on yourself and now you have to take the consequences. He’ll probably say you can’t be friends anymore, that you shouldn’t be apart of his wedding. That it wouldn’t be right to have you stand next to him, after everything you said, and everything that happened tonight.

One stupid outburst, one moment of weakness, and your most cherished friendship goes up in smoke. Your longest running friendship, and one of two people that you care for more than yourself, all destroyed because you can’t keep your damn mouth shut.

How you can even say that you care more for Steve than yourself is a damn joke. Clearly you don’t, or you wouldn’t have said anything. You would have just continued to suck it up, and lock it all away. You would have just been happy for him, for how his life was playing out, instead of miserable and selfish.

You stop quickly at the hallway closet to grab a few large towels and then you enter the war zone, peace offering in hand. As you enter the kitchen, you see Steve standing by the island and rifling through his messenger bag.

You hesitantly move towards him and hold out the towels. “Here, I figured you could use these,” you say quietly and he glances over at you, then at the towels in your extended hands.

He nods and takes them, “thanks.”

You nod once, and take a large step back, giving him some much needed space. He places the towels on the counter by his bag, only keeping one in his hand, which he unfolds and quickly scrubs through his hair before wrapping it around the back of his neck. The ends of the towel hang down his chest, as he goes back to digging in his messenger bag. And you can’t help but notice that his hair is now poking out in all directions, you’d laugh at the sight if you were so damn nervous for what he’s about to say. And if your heart wasn’t completely shattering again, just at the sight of him, you’d have made a smart ass comment about his crazy hair.

You cross your arms and avert your eyes from the tall blonde, focusing instead on the counter beside him. Like you said, you are leaving him to start the conversation this time, you’ll stand here in silence all night if you have to. Because you refuse to say a damn thing until he does. Stubborn as a mule, you are.

After a moment, the sounds of him rifling through his overpacked and soaked bag cease, but you don’t look up. You refuse to look up.

“I think when I left here, there was some confusion about why I had to leave,” he pauses and you cave, glancing up at him despite yourself. Your brows are now furrowed in confusion, because what is he going on about? You see him rub the back of his neck as he stares down, and you look down to see what he is looking at. To then only notice he is now clasping a weathered and worn sketchbook tightly in his other hand. Which only confuses you more.

He sighs and looks at you, but your confused eyes can’t seem to leave the book. Staring at it as if it’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen in your whole damn life. “I think you confused my shock with anger. Everything I said, wasn’t said from a place of irritation,” he pauses and then shakes his head. “Okay, maybe it was, but not for the reasons you probably think. So um, here,” he thrusts the sketchbook out towards you. “Just please don’t open it yet, let me um—just give me a chance to say what I need to first, before you open it, okay?”

You nod slowly, and take the book from him, clutching it to your chest. “Okay,” you say quietly.

“Okay,” he nods once, and then glances around the kitchen for a brief moment before looking back at you. “Okay, um, do you think we can move this to the living room?”

And again, you nod slowly. But then you remember that whenever Steve has to say something big, or whenever he needs to think something out, he paces. And there just is not enough room in your kitchen for a man of his size to pace comfortably, at least not the way he likes. “Sure,” you turn and head for the living room, still clutching the sketchbook to you for dear life.

When you reach the living room, you slowly sit down on the edge of the couch, unable to lounge back while Steve paces the room and decides the fate of your friendship. You’re on edge mentally, so your physical seat placement is fitting as fuck.

You just remain silent, watching as he walks back and forth, and back and forth.

He halts his steps and looks at you, “can I stay here for a bit?”

That was fucking random? “Ah, of course, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I don’t think I’ll be going to bed anytime soon anyways,” you mumble the last part.

“I didn’t mean stay for a few hours, Y/N,” he shakes his head. “I meant a few weeks, just while I look for a new place.”

What the fu— “A ‘new place’?”

“Yeah,” he nods and starts pacing again, “I ended things with Hailey, I had to—“

“Oh fuck,” you abruptly stand up, “oh shit, Steve. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I never meant—“ you shake your head, don’t lie. “I shouldn’t have said a fucking thing. I should have just tried harder to keep my damn mouth shut.” You groan, and whisper out, “Selfish, selfish, selfi—“

“Y/N,” he cuts you off, the corners of his lips lifting just slightly in a very small smirk. “Just zip it for a second and let me get this out, would ya?”

“Okay. Yeah. I’m sorry,” you mumble and plop back down on the couch, pressing your lips together.

“It’s not your fault our relationship had to end,” he starts and you shoot him a pointed look. “Okay, it’s not entirely your fault,” he amends, “however, I did choose to end it for my own personal reasons. And Hailey was upset about the kiss, but she wasn’t about to let it interfere with the wedding, and she was going to just chalk it up to being cold feet.” He shakes his head, “But it wasn’t that, and I couldn’t go along with that, because I know for a fact that it wasn’t just cold feet. Not even close.”

He starts pacing again, “I started dating Hailey as a distraction. It was never supposed to go this far, I like her, yeah, but I’m not in love with her. I have never been, and I should have never let it get to this point.” He glances at you, “and before you get mad at me, she knew I wasn’t in love with her. She knew from day one, but she had this belief that I’d learn to love her. That one day I’d wake up and bam, she’d be the love of my life, and I stupidly just went along with it because I didn’t know what else to do. And I didn’t want to hurt her anymore than I already was.” He shakes his head again and sighs, “I ignored it for years, but deep down I always knew I’d never truly love her, that she’d never be the love of my life, no matter how long we stayed together.”

He halts his steps and looks you in the eye, “because I can’t give away that place in my heart, not when someone else already occupies it. And that woman couldn’t give the space back, even if she tried.” He shrugs, “But that’s okay, because I don’t want it back, I want her to keep it occupied for the rest of my life. I don’t want anyone else to reside there. Plus it’s called the love of our ‘life’ for a reason. We only have one life, Y/N, so do the math.”

You are struggling to comprehend his words, but then as if the final piece to the puzzle just clicked in, you realize what he’s saying and you shoot to your feet. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Don’t mess with me right now, Steven, not tonight.”

He smiles at you, nodding his head towards the sketchbook you’d completely forgotten was still clasped in your hands. “You can open it now.”

So you do just that, and as you turn each page you are met with a familiar set of eyes. But not just eyes, a familiar nose, mouth and cheeks as well. An entire familiar face, one you’ve grown up staring up. One you’ve watched change over time. One you’ve loved some days, and loathed others. It’s the same one you see staring back at you from a mirror. It’s your face. Each page, a new angle, a new focus, but they are all of you. Laughing, smiling, neutral expressions, staring off into the distance, you name the expression and it’s in this book.

One of you smiling widely, as the sun shines behind you, illuminating the edges of you, catches your eye. You stare at it, and you can’t get over how beautiful you look. You’ve never seen yourself like this before, you’ve never felt more proud of your looks then you do right now, staring down at this stunning drawing of you.

“That’s one of my favourites,” Steve comments over your shoulder and you almost jump. You hadn’t even heard him approach, but he’s always been a damn ninja so that’s nothing new.

You continue to look at the picture, whispering, “is this how you truly see me?”

“What, radiant? Stunning? Glowing? Yeah, it is, because you are all of those things, and so much more, to me.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, lifting the book up to his eye level, “so what does this all mean, exactly? The big speech, the sketchbook, all of it. What are you trying to say?”

He smiles warmly at you, “it’s all to say that I love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you, and I always have been. You stole my heart back in grade 7, and I honestly have no problems with that. Keep it, as long as I can always keep yours?”

You turn to face him fully, a cheeky smirk now upon your lips, “that depends, are you gonna press charges on me for theft? I’ll have you know, I would not do well in prison.”

He laughs, shaking his head, “I won’t, if you won’t.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Sir, but deal,” you hold a hand out for him to shake and he laughs again then shakes your hand once. You are just about to make another silly remark, your way of breaking the new tension, but you don’t get the chance as he pulls you towards him, by your joined hands, and then his lips land on yours and all words leave you after that.

A few moments later, you find yourself straddling Steve on your couch. How you ended up here, you have no clue, but you aren’t complaining. However, this moment of clarity allows your brain to start functioning again, not much but just enough to allow a few more questions to pop up in your head. You pull back at look up at Steve, “so wait, I’m sorry to bring this up now. But my curious mind is getting the better of me. How come you never told me that you were having so many issues with Hailey?”

He gives you a sad smile, “Because I couldn’t. It was too painful to tell the woman I actually loved, about the one I was supposed to. And I knew that you’d see right through my bullshit, so it was best to just not talk about her, unless I absolutely had to.”

You squeeze your arms tighter around his neck in comfort, yeah, you might be benefiting from their relationships demise. But that doesn’t mean you don’t still feel for Steve. They were together for years, and regardless of if they were happy or not, your feelings ended that relationship. It would be even more selfish to not acknowledge your role in this all, “I never even knew it was that bad, I always thought you guys were so perfect for each other. I’m truly sorry, Steve. But I think Hailey deserves someone who will love only her, and you couldn’t be that for her. Not truly, not fully.”

He nods, “You’re right. I couldn’t. I should have ended things years ago, but every time I tried, she would pull me back in. So I’d just given up trying. Bucky had noticed a change in me shortly after College and tried to talk me into ending things. But I was too stubborn to keep trying, and yet, not stubborn enough to actually finish it for good.”

You nod, not really wanting to continue on with this topic too much longer. But one more question sits heavily in your head. “Okay, one more question then I’ll drop it. I promise.”

He nods, telling you to go ahead and ask. So you do, “When you were here earlier, why didn’t you just tell me all of this before you left? Why leave me hanging for hours?”

Steve’s arms around you tighten a little more, “I didn’t want to say all of that while I was still engaged to Hailey. You deserved better than that, and so did she. I’m not too happy with myself that our first kiss happened while I still was. Because I want us to start this off on the right foot. I don’t want anything to sour the beginning of us. It’s silly, I know, but you aren’t second best, and I don’t want to ever make you feel that way. You are always first for me, in everything.”

“What, am I fucking chopped liver now?”

You squeal at the new voice entering the conversation and almost fall off Steve’s lap, but luckily he still has his arms around you.

Your eyes snap over and land on a smug as fuck looking Bucky, standing in the entrance to your living room. Arms crossed and a giant smirk on his face.

“Jesus Christ, Jerk! You scared the shit out of me!” You exclaim before taking a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart.

You’d make a comment about him just walking right in like he owns the place, without so much as a damn knock, but this is Bucky we are talking about. He never knocks, and personal privacy aren’t words in his vocabulary. In his eyes, your place is basically just an extension of his. He comes and goes as he pleases. Always has, always will.

“Hopefully not literally,” he says through a mock cringe, then laughs as he walks into the room, plopping down heavily on the arm chair. Completely unfazed by the current position you and Steve are in. “That would just be disgusting,” he adds as he grabs the TV remote off the coffee table and turns it on.

Steve snorts and you laugh, shaking your head and easing, reluctantly, off Steve’s lap and to the spot directly beside him. “Wait, why are you here so late? How did you know I’d even still be awake?”

He gives you a dry look, “like you ever actually sleep.” Then he focuses his attention back on the TV, and the next words that come out of his mouth are far too relaxed, for what his words are informing you both of. “Plus I saw Hailey out at some club, making out with some random guy, and posting it on her instagram live feed.”

Your eyes widen and you glance over at Steve, expecting to see a pang of hurt cross his face, but the second you lock eyes with him, you see nothing of the sort. The opposite actually, he gives you a small smile and you aren’t sure how to take it. “You okay?” You ask in a whisper.

“I am, actually,” he whispers back with a nod. “I hope she finds whatever she’s looking for.”

“I can hear you, ya know, so you might as well just talk normally,” Bucky comments from his spot on the arm chair.

“Wow,” You say sarcastically, as your eyes flick back to Bucky. “I’m really pleased to know you haven’t started to lose your hearing yet, old man. You should be so proud.”

“I’m not even going to play into that one. My hearing is exceptional,” Bucky lifts his chin a bit in pride. “Be jealous, bitches.”

You and Steve laugh, and then you all focus on the TV. But you have this strange feeling that Bucky has more to say about this all. There is no way he has said all he’s wanted to, just no damn way. However, after 20 minutes, he still hasn’t said a thing. Not even uttered a dang peep.

You narrow your eyes at him, as you continue to stare at the side of his head. And he just continues to click through the channels in silence, but you know he can feel your eyes on him. However he refuses to acknowledge you, so after a few more moments you can’t take it anymore, you glance at Steve, who only shrugs at your confused look. Then you turn your attention back to Buck. “Okay, out with it already. We both know you have something more to say about all of this.”

Bucky continues to click through channels, lazily, but shrugs, “there isn’t really anything more to say.”

“Bullshit, I can damn near see the gears in your head turning.”

“Fine, you got me,” Bucky looks at you and grins. “It’s about damn fucking time you guys figured it the fuck out. I was dying of second hand mutual pining over here, which sucks, might I add. Years you two locked your feelings away and pretended like they didn’t exist, and it was damn exhausting. So I’m fucking overjoyed that you both finally pulled your heads out of your asses and voiced your damn feelings. Geesh, you both sucked at hiding them, I honestly can’t understand how you both didn’t see it sooner. You’ve been basically in love with each other since grade 7. That was a long ass time ago, you fucking nincompoops.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” Steve laughs as he placed his large hand on your upper thigh and squeezes it lightly.

And you snort, “Did you just seriously say ‘nincompoops’?”

Bucky just waves off your question, a grin on his face as he focuses back on the TV.

“I feel like he isn’t quite done yet,” you say to Steve, who nods.

“Yeah, me either.” He glances over at Buck, raising a brow at him, “is that all, Jerk?”

Bucky sighs dramatically, but then glares at you both and points a finger towards you, “nah, it ain’t. I also wanna say that if you two, little assholes, make me feel like a third wheel, I’ll disown ya both, got it?”

“Sir, yes, Sir,” you Navy salute him.

Steve scoffs, “You couldn’t disown us even if you tried,” Then he laughs. “And like Y/N would ever even allow that.”

Bucky smirks, “you make a very valid point, Stevie. She is rather pushy and controlling, isn’t she?”

“Ya know what? Imma let that one slide this time too, because I’m in way too good of a mood.” You chuckle, “So, what movie are we watching?” And just as the words leave your mouth you realize your mistake, you quickly go to correct it, pointing a menacing finger at Bucky. “And so help me God, if you say Space Jam or Fight Club, I will smother you with a damn pillow!”

Steve laughs and Bucky just grumbles, but you can’t make out his words, though you assume it’s something about ‘good mood, my ass’ and probably calling you an ‘uncultured swine’ again. Classic Bucky.

Steve ends up picking the movie, as it’s technically his turn, and he goes with Men in Black, which is always a hit. And as the movie plays, you glance around at both guys before focusing entirely on Steve.

He’s always been Your Stevie, but now those words hold even more meaning. He is yours now, truly and completely. You don’t have to share him with anyone else, ever again—well, besides Buck, but that’s okay with you. It’s always just been the three of you, and now it always will be.

So many years you’ve harboured these feelings for Steve, you’ve kept them locked away and hidden. To only learn that he did feel the same exact way, and that he also locked his feelings deep down and tried to ignore them. Go figure.

And clearly this wasn’t The End. Clearly you aren’t Beautifully Unfinished, but instead this was all just The Beginning. The true start of the rest of you and Steve’s lives, together and as one—well, as one and a Buck actually. But, same thing!

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

@caps-lockdown @boxofteenageideas @giggleberts @strawberry-gothchild @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @viarogers @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @ivoryhazlewood @cjhorseback @jessiedaeum @capricornprince118 @pinkleopardss @drayshadow @wiserebelpartypie @dark-night-sky-99 @patzammit @cs-please @troublermalik @anika-ann @wxstedhexrt @rynabarnesrogers @marvelschriss

#au fanfiction #fanfiction #long post #long read #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #modern!steve rogers x reader #modern!steve rogers #modern!steve #modern au #steve rogers au #Beautifully Unfinished #Part 8 #Last Part #Final Part

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cathwritestragediesnotsins · 4 years

Text

Admiring eyes

Daryl Dixon x plus size!reader (implied)

Word count: 2,716

Summary: Daryl and Y/N’s relationship is one forged by fire. And maybe they’ll finally be able to communicate how much they mean to each other.

Daryl Dixon was a force of nature.

A beautiful, broken piece of art.

I was surprised when I seemed to be the only one to notice this.

Everything about him seemed to draw me in. My admiration for him only grew more and more every day that I spent with him and with every new thing that I learned about him.

His fierce, intense, searching, blue eyes were something I could easily get lost in if I had allowed myself.

His rough exterior and troubled past tugged at my heart, calling out to me to take care of him. To show him what real love felt like. I had always been one to gravitate toward more reserved people and Daryl was the most reserved person I had encountered. He was made out of layer after layer of complex feelings, emotional armor and self-destructive tendencies. And even though I was persistent in my quest to learn the very core of this man that had been abused and taunted into building up these walls, I fell in love with each intricate piece of him.

It became clear one afternoon when Carol caught me watching him that she understood my high regard for the man, but she and I both knew my adoration ran deeper and from a different place than her’s.

From the second I met him at the quarry I was drawn to him. At first because I was angry, lookin’ for a fight and he and his brother were an easy way to get one. But then after Merle went missing, after the CDC, something changed.

I didn’t stop hanging around Daryl. He made me feel safe. I was scared to get too close to anyone else, because I had lost everyone at the beginning, but for some reason I just kept coming back to Daryl. And slowly, he became the most important person in the world to me. Even as I allowed myself to integrate wholly into the group, allowing myself to forge a family once again, I never strayed far from Daryl. His safety, taking care of him, was always the priority.

He never questioned my presence; his way of telling me he didn’t mind it, maybe even enjoyed it. So I continued to seek him out. Even when we found the prison and began to build it into a home I hardly left Daryl’s side. That was just the way things were then. We had become a team. A unit. Two halves making a whole.

Our relationship remained unlabeled, but everyone could see how deep our bond ran. They saw the way I looked at him. But it was left unspoken.

After the prison fell we got separated, though I managed to stick with Rick and Carl through the chaos. Later on we found Michonne and were traveling as a group toward the promise of a safe space called ‘Terminus’ when we encountered the claimers. When Daryl stepped out of the treeline I let out a sob at the sight of him, so relieved to finally see that he was alive and uninjured. His eyes met mine as I knelt on the ground, one of the claimers holding a gun to my head, and I saw the panic and hurt there. He tried to reason with them, begging the group he had been traveling with not to hurt us, even offering himself as a sacrifice instead. Finally once everything had gone down and the claimers had been dealt with I ran to Daryl, flinging myself into his arms. He held me tightly, spinning me around as he hugged me. “’M so sorry.” he kept saying. “I didn’t know what they were capable of.” but I hushed him, burying my face in his neck as silent tears rolled down my cheeks “I know Daryl, I know.”

He didn’t let me out of his sight after that. Well, not until Terminus.

But all of that was behind us now. We were here in the Alexandria safe zone. At first we had all been wary of another promise of sanctuary, though deep down we all desperately hoped it was real. The first couple nights there Rick had us all staying in his house, not wanting the group to be divided until we knew it was safe. But once Rick became comfortable we were all allowed to choose places to live and claim rooms to sleep in.

It went without saying that Daryl and I would be sharing a room and though it was a bit awkward at first because we had never shared a bed before neither of us was willing to separate from the other.

I came to really like Alexandria. To cherish the peace that it provided.

But of course nothing is perfect.

In this case, the problem was that not everyone had clued in on the Daryl and I’s unspoken relationship.

I skipped down the steps from the porch fronting the house where Rick, Carl, Carol, Michonne, Judith, Daryl and I lived, on my way to find Rick when Deanna’s oldest son, Aiden I think, approached me. “Hey.” he said, falling into stride next to me. I nodded stiffly, only turning partially to acknowledge him “Hi.” I returned his greeting. I was trying to give Aiden the benefit of the doubt but I got bad vibes from him the second we walked through the gates so I was hesitant, not to mention I had had enough experiences with people these days to know to be wary of men.

“Where are you headed in such a hurry?” he said, painting a charming smile across his lips. A hint of a scowl drew my features together when I realized he wasn’t going to take a hint so easily. “To find Rick. Need to ask him s’mthin’” I say, vaguely, trying not to encourage any more conversation.

Aiden nods, picking up his pace a bit to walk backwards in front of me. “Mind if I join you?”

I give him a deadpan look, silently telling him that I do, in fact, mind while I say “Guess not.”

His grin only gets wider. Clearly he is either the thickest idiot I have ever met or an arrogant bastard who believes himself to be irresistible. I’m leaning toward the latter.

“So, how are you liking Alexandria?” he asks. I shrug. “It’s nice. Though I don’t think you people have any clue how bad things really are out there.” I say candidly. He quirks an eyebrow in amusement at that. “Well Sweetheart I think you’re underestimating me. I was in the ROTC before all this shit.” he says, gesturing around us. I scoff loudly and stop walking, turning fully to face him in the middle of the street.

“Alright asshole listen up, first of all never call me sweetheart again. Second, you can walk around here acting like you know everything and boasting about your time in the ROTC,” I say in a mocking voice. “But the truth is you wouldn’t last a day out there without these walls to keep you protected. You have no fucking idea about the shit I’ve seen, been through and even done. So take a hint dumbass, and hit the road. I’m not interested.”

Aiden’s face is slack with shock but I see annoyance making it’s way onto his features. He huffs, indignantly, “Whatever. It’s not like I really was interested either. You’re not my type.” Aiden sneers, looking pointedly down at my body.

I open my mouth to set him straight when suddenly I hear Daryl’s familiar angry growl behind me. “The fuck did you just say to her?!” he snarls, stepping in front of me and marching forward until he’s chest to chest with Aiden.

I see Aiden hesitate for a moment but when his eyes dart over Daryl’s shoulder to the crowd that our confrontation is attracting and he tenses up, ready to resist to protect his pride.

“I was just putting this fat bitch in her place. She’s got no right to reject me like that.”

The sentence is barely out of Aiden’s mouth when Daryl plants his hands on Aiden’s chest and shoves him back before swinging a punch that lands squarely on the younger man’s left eye.

Aiden fell back onto his butt and Daryl stomped toward him, looming over him threateningly “How dare ya speak ta her like that! Fucking piece of trash!” Daryl spit venomously. The Monroe boy scrambled up from the ground; pissed.

“Wha’did you just say to me you redneck piece of shit??” he yelled, lunging at Daryl and knocking him to the ground. I jolted forward into motion once I shook off my shock. “Daryl, don’t!” I cry, tugging at Daryl’s shoulders. The fight had quickly turned in Daryl’s favor and now he was straddling the younger man’s torso, pinning him to the ground while he mercilessly ripped into him . Aiden is no match for Daryl and while normally I would love to let Daryl teach the sonofabitch some manners, the people of Alexandria are watching, and we don’t need to give them another reason to mistrust us. “Get off!” I command, grabbing Daryl once again when he shrugs me off. This time he allows me to pull him away. He’s panting heavily and his glaring eyes don’t leave Aiden when I try to talk to him -who is laying on the dusty ground cupping a hand to his bleeding nose.

Finally, I step in front of him, directly into his line of sight, effectively blocking his view of Aiden. “You need to calm down.” I tell him firmly. When his gaze finally flickers over to me my demeanor softens a bit. “He’s not worth it.” I say quietly, nodding my head toward the crowd of horrified bystanders. Daryl’s eyes dart to the Alexandrians and he steps from side to side like a caged in animal, like he might pounce on anyone at any moment. But he allows me to speak gently to him, not quite calming him down but getting started. “Let’s go back to the house and get you cleaned up before we have to deal with this.” I say lowly, gesturing to the group of people- including Rick, Deanna, Michonne, Glenn, Nicholas and Reg-that are marching toward us.

Daryl nods hesitantly and allows me to pull him in between two houses, slipping away in the crowd before the leaders can reach us.

We amble between the houses and the wall, keeping a low profile on our way home just in case. “Ya know, you didn’t need to do that.”

Daryl gives me a sidelong glance but I continue looking ahead. “I mean, I appreciate it and all but you know I can take care of myself and right now we’re skating on thin ice so you and I have to be very careful of what we say and do.”

Daryl grunts in acknowledgement. “I know...just...couldn’t let that asshole say those things about you. They ain’t true and he has no right to speak to you that way.” he grumbles, getting himself worked up again.

I nod, my eyes drifting to the ground.

“Hey,” he says, stopping and turning to face me, very gently tugging on my arm to get me to stop next to him. “Y’know what he said’s bullshit right?”

I nod certainly. “Of course, yeah. I just...I can’t help but feel like I’m not worth the trouble. I know what he said was wrong but we probably should’ve just left it. I mean, he’s Deanna’s son!” I say, anxiously tapping my fingers against my thigh.

“Bullshit” “Yeah, you said that already.” I joke in an attempt to lighten the mood. Daryl gives me a look and I see it’s not working. I sigh. “All I’m saying is he’s an asshole but assholes are everywhere and we have to pick and choose our battles these days.”

Daryl shakes his head. “Alright, fine. But I choose this battle. You didn’t deserve what he said to ya!”

“I know, but in the grand scheme of things someone hurting my feelings is not that important!” I argue. Daryl grits his jaw in annoyance. “I mean, Daryl, thank you for standing up for me and all but seriously, why waste your time on this? I don’t care what he says about me.” “I care!” “Why??” “Because it ain’t true!” Daryl shouts. I go silent, seeing the distress on his face and waiting for him to explain further. He fidgets in agitation, running his hands through his hair roughly and pacing back and forth the tiniest bit.

“You just...” he starts but draws his mouth closed into a tight line when he can’t seem to think of the right words. I still wait, knowing if I’m patient he’ll spit it out eventually. He huffs but finally turns to face me fully, stopping his strides, to look me in the eye.

“Look you just don’t understan’ but you’re probably the most amazing person I’ve met and he ain’t got the right to treat you like that. You’re smart an’ strong an’ brave an’ always looking out for everybody else ‘fore yourself. You’re wise an’ easy to talk to an’ you make me feel like I might be worth somethin’ so I just think someone should do the same for you.” he says, with notes of pleading and stress in his voice. He’s afraid I won’t believe him. And coming from anyone else, normally I wouldn’t have believed all those good things spoken about me, but with Daryl, he would never say it if he didn’t think it was true. Not to mention I could see it in his eyes. He meant it.

He sighs, calming down a bit, embarrassment taking over as his gaze scans my shocked features. “Yer a good person Y/N...and no one should ever treat ya as less.” he mumbles, alternating between looking at the ground and meeting my eyes for a split second through the ends of the hair that hangs over his forehead.

I am taken aback; my lips parted in surprise. My heart swells. I let out a light, airy laugh that seems to catch on the breeze that tousles my hair. “Thank you.” I whisper. My eyes shine, smiling all their own as my mouth twitches up at the corners.

Daryl clears his throat, hanging his head to avoid eye contact and toeing the ground. “Yeah, ‘course.” he mutters.

I smile again as I replay his confession over in my head. I have always felt the same way about him and it makes my heart swell to know that he sees me in such a beautiful way.

He clears his throat awkwardly once again and motions over his shoulder “We should probably keep going.” he says before turning and continuing our walk home. I hang back for a minute, watching him walk away; my admiring eyes dancing over his figure. Everything about him, from his gait to the dirty red shop rag hanging out of his back pocket, is perfect to me. I shake myself out of my thoughts and jog to catch up with him, sweeping his hand up into my own when I reach his side. He turns to look at me curiously at the contact but I keep my eyes trained ahead, pretending not to notice. He copies this action after a moment of studying my profile but then I feel his hand subtly tighten it’s grip on mine. I bite my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

“I love you.” I tell him, still not turning to see his reaction, though I feel his body stiffen. After all of the sweet things he said about me I need him to know that I feel the same, that he means as much to me, even if I had been afraid to say the words out loud before. I think he knew, but he deserved to hear it. His grip on my hand becomes even tighter. “I know.” he whispers and I smile a soft, quiet sort of smile because it makes me want to cry with happiness that he said those words to me. Daryl Dixon knew that I loved him. And that was precious to me.

“I love you too”

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warpwalker · 3 years

Text

Vox-Logs: Entry One

Conversation with a Lamenter - Doing Your “Best”

12.21.2020

“The Lamenters are an unfortunate Loyalist Chapter of Space Marines which, perhaps more than any other Chapter of the present era, seems to have been cursed by a dark shadow that has long determined its fate.

The Lamenters' accursed and haunted legacy seems to have tainted much of what they have achieved and their victories often become bitter ashes in their hands.

[They] are a Successor Chapter of the Blood Angels created during the 21st "Cursed" Founding, and seem to have eliminated the gene-seed flaws known as the Black Rage and the Red Thirst through unknown means, but this secret cure may have been lost along with the Chapter.

[They] have had a tumultuous -- often fraught -- history. They have twice been brought to the very brink of destruction, first during the Badab War and later in battle with the overwhelming horror of the Tyranids.

Each time they have endured, despite inherent instabilities in their Chapter gene-seed, and their Chapter Master claims that with every travail they have overcome, the Lamenters have only grown stronger.”

-Introduction to the Lamenters, Warhammer 40k Wiki

I first saw Michael as a single figure, back when I first encountered a small company, most likely a lone warband, of Lamenters as I first began in exploring the practice. When I had first heard their story, I fittingly, well, lamented, as I imagine is the natural response to their cause and general aura. Michael, specifically, stood out among his brothers - whether because he bore the bleeding heart of his kin on his chest (where others held their gene-father’s bloody tear), his crying helmet, or simply the air he carried about him, I couldn’t say, only that I knew within he would somehow be back.

He was indeed, just recently as of writing this. It was an urgent and fleeting affair, and the thought of him pestered me for a time until I relented to tune in to exactly what was needed of me. Though I’ll spare his details for privacy, it was certainly dire, though unfortunately none could expect much better when being contacted by the “cursed” sons of the 21st. I’m no healer, much less an apothecary of his world, but I did what I could, returning him to what remnant of his brethren remained nearby to relinquish him to their care. I had done what I could, and he was grateful enough to grant me his name. Michael Aurelius - Michael, he was fine with. So Michael it was.

“For those we cherish, we die in Glory!”

-Warcry of the Lamenters Blood Angels Successor Chapter

I revisited Michael the next night, as best I could, to provide company. He had been heavily wounded in the situation I had found him in and subsequently pulled him from, so I only thought it apt to try to see him again as soon as possible. Though bedbound, he was relatively cheerful, something I often wish I could manage myself. Michael looks much like his gene-sire. Though cropped short and scruffy, his hair is flaxen blonde and practically glows. You can see the pain of his service in his face, but not in his scars (none amount to more than knicks that got a bit too deep, or a scratch that he no doubt bothered past its due) - no, it lies in his eyes, and I doubt little that the same couldn’t be said of his brothers. You can tell they might have been a sky-shade blue, once bright and beautiful, but now, they look at you in a sallow, anxious gray. It breaks my heart.

We began to speak. He firstly apologized - I quickly denounced it as not necessary, but he insisted, and when I heard him apologize again, I was speechless a moment when he did. He was apologizing for not doing well enough. As if somehow these injuries he now bore were a failure when, without disclosing detail, his predicament saw odds stacked impossibly against him. I felt rude doing it, but I just gawked at him. ‘You did your best,’ I had assured him, staying close to provide comfort. He only shook his head. He could have done better.

I looked him over again. This man, this Astartes, a Space Marine, was lying with bloody bandages and a crick in his side telling me that, in an overwhelming force of opposition he had no hopes of beating, he should have done better. He knows he’s destined to die, as all things are, but his belief is that his death will be swift and unnecessary, a sacrifice of war that perhaps, by even a sliver, what he values may be granted more time to save itself, to grow beyond, especially so at the hands of a Chapter forever branded with the notion of redeeming itself for crimes uncommitted. I can’t blame him - it’s what they’re taught. It’s all they know. But Michael is a Lamenter though and through, and I knew there was something he needed to hear that he would have never heard in his life otherwise - provided he had lived to hear it at all. “Your best was enough. It was your best.”

He looked at me, squinting for a moment, in a quiet stupor, and I continued on.

The Lamenters strike a chord with me because of their past, and the very notion Michael has his particular view towards - one’s “best”. From their involvement in the Badab War and subsequent guilt-bound control from the Astral Claws to the horrors they faced, alone, against the forefront of the Tyranid hivefleets, the Lamenters have seen themselves placed at a higher standard of “best” than even their fellow Astartes from the moment of their conception and creation from the origins of the Blood Angels Legion. A “best” that, in Michael at least, I can see has made their genuine, natural, true best a strange standard of normal. This wouldn’t be an issue if it didn’t mean they now strive for a new impossible goal, a literal “better than their best”, which in itself sounds rather ridiculous, does it not?

As I explained this to Michael, I reflected on my own experiences. I’ve always been a perfectionist, but it’s never been my doing. I’ve been through a lot, and that lot included a lot of ridicule and comparison from almost every source in my formative years. It’s left a lot of damage on me, shackles I don’t know when I’ll ever shake off, if at all. I’ve always been seen as, and eventually came to judge myself as, the “cursed” one of the group, the unfortunate and unlucky weak link, even where it may not have been true. The simple fact that I had been conditioned to see myself that way made it an automatic air about me, and still does. I am my own cursed chapter, forced to forever see myself distorted in the mirror, to try to force myself into a “better than my best”.

But what is our best really? It’s near-impossible to try to define “best” for any given person other than yourself, and that brings me to the forefront of this entire ramble. Not a single person shares the same definition for a personal best, nor do they even hold the same definition per day - at least, they shouldn’t. Yet through social norms, self-conceived personal notions, and ingrained biases, we see the best as an unbeatable perfect, and then some. This is extremely unhealthy, and not only should we let down our arms against ourselves, but others as well. Judgment breeds this mindset, and your standards are your own alone, nothing more. They should never hold power over anyone else, would they risk creating many more “unfortunates” who see no hope in dragging themselves out of the fray of their own self-perception.

Do not lament to some false-conceived image of you, that shakes off the impossible to shake off and sacrifices yourself needlessly for unrealistic goals. Do not heed the pointing fingers and hushed whispers of failure, and even moreso, do not point your finger to anyone else. Find a time to look at yourself in the mirror and say, “I’m doing my best.”

Maybe your best is finishing a single page of a ten-page paper for that day. Maybe your best is making that one phone call. Maybe your best is remembering to brush your teeth that morning. Maybe your best is surviving and living to have a discussion with a Warp-wandering oddling who comes from a time long before you.

For those you cherish, die in Glory, not in vain, and live for yourself most of all. Let what you cherish most, be yourself. By accepting your best, no matter what it truly is, you prevail - and for that, become stronger in yourself.

Wishing Michael a wonderful recovery.

#vox logs #pop culture paganism #michael aurelius #lamenters

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shardminds · 3 years

Text

okay i know in the grand scheme of things it’s been about 5 minutes since i got into spn and about 4.5 seconds since i started following spn blogs on tumblr but i just want 2 share some stuff re: what i would have liked to happen in my ideal ending. spoilers below.

number 1, sam and eileen endgame. after losing her in 15x18 and trying so hard to hold it together, sam’s quite obviously devvo’d. man’s a mess but he can’t let himself fall apart. 15x19 happens and everyone chuck disintegrated faster than communion wafers comes back and the FIRST thing sam does? calls eileen. high tails it out of there. speed limits who? there’s a heartwarming moment. maybe an ‘i love you’ or maybe not but it’s touching and heart wrenching and everyone cries and it’s nice. there you go, sam winchester. not only did you help save the world, but you got a happy ending in the process. eileen moves into the mol bunker. don’t @ me. she’s also great with miracle. and, in the long run, kids.

number 2, deancas. my whole thing is, if they didn’t want canon deancas ending, why have cas confess? like i get the empty deal and i understand ‘happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. it’s in just saying it’ but... if u didn’t want people to swarm on the possibility of deancas... why include it at all? especially for it to never be mentioned again. for cas, a man/angel/being of celestial intent that had spent like... 12(?) years at this point in sam and dean’s lives. you’re gonna tell me they just... let him sacrifice himself and then dip? ok. seems we have been watching different shows. or the same show from different perspectives. so, hear me out. dean says it back. maybe not in as many words or he pulls a hans solo ‘i know’. okay so they beat the shit out of The Literal Abrahamic God later to supercharge jack faster than shotgunning three monster energy mango locos ever could and leave chuck belly up in the mud like the invertebrate he proved himself to be and jack is Thee God now and dean just straight up asks. give that to me. give me the “please, jack.” and dean, so close to breaking, holding himself together with nothing but pure strength of will and residual adrenaline. give me jack’s reluctance, give me his admission of not wanting to mutate into the same megalomaniac chuck proved himself to be,using the winchesters as chess pieces in his own game. give me his humanity. the parts he inherited from kelly. give me his humanity and his grief and his loss and—castiel was his father, for fucks sake! he lost a father and a mother and he’s about to lose the only family he ever had. yes, he’ll be omnipresent—a perk of the job—but he’ll never be there in the way they want. so let him do this. there’s like a whole genesis parallel, you know all ‘the lord said let there be light, and there was light’ only not as on the nose as that. jack’s one selfish act before he himself, combined with amara, ascends. he does his whole speech. i’ll be in every drop of falling rain etc etc and then he dips. only, he’s gone and when dean turns around. cas is there. boom.

there’s no kiss. no explicit ‘hello look at this confirmed gay angel and his human hunter ??sexual friend making out’ because that too much too fast. dean has spent the past 15 seasons trying to unfuck himself from the damage john winchester left behind (the nun hunt on his 17th birthday? lebanon? i will meet john winchester in the pit.) and as close as he is to finally just allowing himself to be himself, he’s not quite there yet. but the relief on his face. the—i’m gonna say it—love in his expression. cas’s confession clearly affected him, just look at 15x18. maybe dean doesn’t know what that means yet. maybe he does. but there’s a hug. an embrace. one of those that says ‘i don’t know why or how i like you, fruity little angel man, but i do and i’m not letting go’. it lasts a beat too long. maybe there’s tears. i’ll leave that up to jackles jacting joices.

number 3, michael sacrifices himself to save adam. OKAY SO THE WHOLE MICHAEL STORYLINE IN 15x19? BULLSHIT. especially with the adamichael scene in 15x08? where it is canonically confirmed that, after spending a real life decade (which is OVER ONE THOUSAND YEARS in hell time. 4 months = 40 years so 10 years or 120 months = 1200 years) trapped in the cage together, they became friends and shared control of the vessel. michael considered adam his guide on earth. michael. MICHAEL. M I C H A E L. seeing how spn painted him as one of, if not, THE most powerful and fearsome angel? man’s whipped. and then he loses adam when chuck has his thanos snap moment. imagine sharing a vessel with someone for twelve. hundred. years. and then being completely alone in a world you don’t know. how maddening for there to be only silence in your head. the fact that they then rammed this bs of him being jealous of lucifer for being ‘daddy’s favourite’ was exactly that. bullshit. no no no, my friends. michael was playing his own game; crossing the winchesters for chuck but actually, crossing chuck for his own gain. he learns of the winchesters plan to utilise the fact that jack is the power hungry equivalent of a shamwow and uses that to his own gain. i haven’t figured out the particulars but when chuck beats the shit out of michael, he kills the angel but leaves the vessel (think like jack at the end of s14). michael the winchesters think michael died a snivelling god fearing soldier. and then, when jack does his whole thing, up wakes adam. the winchesters take him in and explain what went down when he, you know. and adam lets them know that no, michaels not like that etc etc he did it for me etc he did it to save me. michael’s fall was imperative to the destruction of god. and, for that, he will always be remembered. adam’s not a hunter, but he stays at the bunker anyway. he has nowhere else to go.

number 4, episode 15x20. what do you mean dean and sam both die? not in this universe i carry inside my head they don’t! this episode is just a bunch of scenes from throughout the years. you might think it boring but i think it’s great and this is my post so u can’t tell me what 2 do. dean opens up a bar for hunters a la 14x10 and has pictures on all the walls of all the fallen hunters and friends that have helped them throughout the years. you want a picture on the wall for a friend you lost? sure! just bring a photo and tack it on up there. out of sight, kept to the wall of the office, they keep pictures of the non-humans that helped. it’s private. a reminder. sam and eileen stop by a couple times a week if they can. jody and donna make the rounds with the girls too if work allows. or they come on their own. the girls are old enough to take care of themselves now. claire pops in when she can, always bringing a present for cas (despite him reprimanding her for doing so) and dean is always happy to see her. she doesn’t text enough.

sam sets up the bunker as a base for hunters again, trying to get a system up and running like before where hunters can check in and get help and use the weapons and resources they have for cases.

they don’t deal with heaven anymore. they haven’t seen jack since he disappeared but they also haven’t had any angel troubles either. maybe it’s because there are so few. castiel helps a lot as he still has his grace—although he’s still unable to teleport and he seems to be aging, trapped in some kind of space between. not angel and not human and definitely not nephilim. he’s powerful and powerless at the same time. he doesn’t complain about this, knowing what it means. it’s a kindness.

rowena is also on side, mostly, although she has her own gain in mind always. they have the stray demon that pops up every now and again but she– uh... prefers to make an example of them using her own methods. sam has learned not to question it. she teases him incessantly, as usual.

also, stay at home dad sam. eileen jumps back into hunting. they’ve had conversations—arguments—about it before. he doesn’t want to turn into his father, driven mad chasing mary’s ghost if something were to happen. she refuses to even entertain the thought of that. yelling “you are a lot of things, sam winchester. your father is not one of them.” and at the end of the day, there’s a mutual trust there and he knows she won’t put herself in unnecessary risk, and he 100% roped dean in to jumping on as backup if and when she needs it. the kid(s) are raised love and cherished and surrounded by family. sam also learns how to sign one handed with a baby on his hip. it’s adorable.

anyway we never have to find out about heaven because no one dies thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#spn #i don't wanna talk about it but i do #was gonna put this under a cut but am not a pussy #anyway if you can't tell im a dean coded dean girl

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fifteenleads · 4 years

Text

amīcitia

Chaos amidst order, like fire burning water itself.

All in all, a dire situation, Osamu muses. He means not to wax poetic, but there is a certain beauty, too, in sheer madness.

His grip on the floating plank tightens, willing his weakened biceps to work with him, even as the rest of his submerged body shakes in earnest in the freezing river water below. The dark clouds overhead thicken as lightning strikes the distant altar; the Hydraean is not pleased with Ryuunosuke, and the result of that displeasure is the destruction of Altissia.

While First Secretary Ango had promised protection for the Oracle for the Rite of the Summoning, he did not extend the same to the fallen Prince and his deplorable retinue, who will actually face the Trial and receive the Astral's blessing for it. It was an unfair deal Ryuu accepted, regardless— nothing else mattered to him, so long as his betrothed is kept safe.

A laughable sentiment— Ryuu never considers Lady Kouyou as anything but an estranged older sister, yet he remains utterly devoted to her, nonetheless. Their shared grief over the loss of Kyouka during the Siege of Tenebrae had bonded them in a twisted but tragic understanding to do everything it takes to survive.

It was the only principle Ryuu swore to live by as they embarked on their journey to reclaim Lucis from the Empire— his last order to them, in fact, before everything began and went to hell.

An order, it seems, he won’t be able to see through to the end, as Imperial soldiers stare him down, like vicious hunters to helpless game, trapped without any form of escape.

Osamu considers his limited options at this point— the most logical one would be to swim away, let himself get swept by the unnaturally strong current down the major canals into the open bay. Ango had mentioned something about boats in the briefing; maybe he could commandeer one of them and make his way to the altar post-haste. The other, more impulsive one, is to muster the little strength left in his thin, untrained arms, and teach these glorified lapdogs a lesson in humility for daring to underestimate a half-dead Crownsguard with only raw intellect and an uncanny secretarial experience to show for it.

To be fair, though, he did take combat training with Kunikida seriously— or, at least, as much as what was expected of him at bare minimum. Those lectures on ‘ideals’ and ‘expectations’ didn’t rub off him as much as they both would have wanted, but who needed physical prowess when he had aptitude for harnessing the King's magic?

That sentiment now bites him hard in the back, with the King long-dead and the Prince, too, now feared dead. ‘Don’t blame me when you’re all alone out there, Dazai.’

A small voice in his head tells him to just let go of the plank and let himself sink— a lot easier for everyone, by far.

Osamu levels his would-be executioners with an unnaturally serene gaze. With more than half of the city destroyed by Divine Wrath and the remainder plunged in utter chaos, it wouldn’t be surprising if a member of the Lucian Prince’s entourage winds up dead or permanently incapacitated at this point. Atsushi would probably sense it— he did always have the strongest affinity with the Armiger, probably more than its actual owner, Ryuu himself. Kunikida, who’s always had his back since they were children, would just know — theirs was an unconventional partnership, enough to overturn propriety and station twice over, and then some.

And Ryuunosuke— His Royal Highness, whom he is tasked to protect and mentor— Osamu feels genuine regret at the prospect of leaving his young charge to face the rest of his life alone, all because of a fleeting moment of cowardice. He had been looking forward to teasing Ryuu at his wedding as one of the royal groomsmen, too, but that certainly isn’t happening now.

He closes his eyes and lets go, one finger at a time. Everything around him slows down— the rumble of explosives, the clap of thunder, the sound of gunfire, then—

— the shrill of a drawn blade, followed by two thuds and a loud splash, and Osamu feels himself being pulled to safety and roughly thrown onto the pavement. He barely has time to process the dead soldiers beside him before he feels a strong kick to his gut.

“I’ve always heard that the brat Prince’s shady advisor is an impossible man, but I never expected him to be this much of a mess,” intones a cocky, nasal voice from above him. Osamu looks up at his unwilling savior by instinct, and instantly resists the temptation to laugh. It seems that the rumors about the High Commander of the Imperial Army being a Napoleon are actually quite accurate, after all.

Osamu immediately rises to his full height, dispensing with any courteous gestures right off the bat; his head bows and knee bends to no one else but his own Liege. “I suppose this is the part where I express my deepest gratitude for saving this worthless life, Lord Chuuya Kashimura Nakahara, High Commander of the Imperial Army of Niflheim, First Prince of the Imperial Province of Tenebrae, younger brother to Lady Kouyou Tokutarou Ozaki, Venerable Oracle of the Six.” He cocks his head to a side, as if to ask if he had missed anything.

The recitation of his full title elicits the desired effect, and Lord Chuuya comes at him with full force, roughly grabbing Osamu by his dress collar and yanking him down to his level. “Do not speak Sister’s name with that plummy voice of yours, Lucian scum. It is your royal brat’s selfishness and naivete that brought her into this whole mess.”

A mess which, until now, he still has yet to forgive, Osamu does not say, looking directly into those clear eyes, blue as the sky, yet burns brightly like fire. For a moment, he thinks he is looking into Lady Kouyou’s eyes, deep red as the sunset, yet calms gently like water. It is the only differing trait between the two half-siblings, as they share everything else like copies of each other, from the bright salmon of their hair to the sharp angle of their jaw, down to the unwavering pride with which they carried themselves as heirs to the Royal House of Tenebrae, even as they were abruptly orphaned, deposed, and held captive as political prisoners, acting in the interests of the Empire against their will.

Lord Chuuya, it seems, still retains that fire of rebellion within him, just as Lady Kouyou still holds the quiet spark of revolution close to her heart. It makes Osamu relieved, in all honesty— ‘He still holds you in high regard, Your Majesty.’

“What are you grinning about, Advisor?” The Crusading Prince spits out at him, his voice dropping several octaves as the grip on his collar tightens in all earnest. Osamu widens the space between his lips a little further in response, before finally deigning to reply, “Nothing at all, Your Highness. I am merely amused at how the Imperial Raiment hardly suits your frame at all.” There is no lie in this, either; the stiff, white robes marking one to be from the Empire are made to appear large and imposing— neither of which befits Lord Chuuya’s lithe form at all. Still, he manages to make it work, somehow, and make the outfit his own, in more ways than one.

There is a short silence as Lord Chuuya considers his words, before Osamu feels the tight sensation around his throat loosen and he remembers to breathe once more. “Enough of this farce. We merely waste time here,” the Prince huffs indignantly before brusquely turning in the other direction. “You are coming with me, Lucian Advisor. We find my Sister and that royal brat of yours.”

Lord Chuuya does not give Osamu time to assent, instead trudging ahead along the ruined walkway, angrily kicking the stones along the path. Osamu could sense palpable anger from his hunched form, and the growing urgency and desperation from beneath it. He is reminded of Kunikida’s forcefulness for a moment, and it makes him want to hold on to his life just a little longer for now.

‘You must survive,’ Ryuunosuke had told each of them, coal eyes burning with grief and rage as they watched Insomnia be consumed from the far outside, with no way back in. ‘Promise me.’

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Osamu puts his hands in his pockets, slowly moving forward until he falls into step with Lord Chuuya. Time, too, flows normally once more— the rush of the river current, the crackle of boots on gravel, the howling of a far-away tempest, then—

— a slight pause, followed by a deal to start a partnership, as unconventional as the last. A temporary truce, too, for so long as they have loved ones they cherish and wish to keep safe. “If we’re doing this properly, Your Highness, you might want to know your companion’s name as early as now, just so we can coordinate our attacks properly later, should the need arise.” Osamu follows with a smirk, for added measure— surely, someone who serves in the military should recognize the benefit of the practical suggestion.

Lord Chuuya merely raises an eyebrow incredulously. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course I know your name, Osamu Dazai,” he says in a much more relaxed tone, the sudden use of informal language momentarily throwing Osamu for a loop. A snort leaves his lips before he could stop himself, which soon blows into low, controlled chuckles as he turns away, clutching his sides with one hand and covering his mouth with the other.

Annoyance creeps into the Prince’s voice once more as he questions the sudden fit. “What’s so funny, Dazai?” It takes Osamu a full minute to calm down as he wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. “Nothing at all, Your Highness— or, should I call you Nakahara instead?” he offers, as if to return the unexpected courtesy granted him.

There is hesitation in Lord Chuuya’s stilted movements as he raises a hand to the back of his head, absentmindedly threading the long, red mane there, still dripping wet from the rescue earlier. “... Call me ‘Chuuya’,” he asks instead, looking away, a slight flush on his cheeks. “Only the Niffs call me Nakahara. It makes me feel… quite uncomfortable.”

‘Do forgive him his rudeness,’ Lady Kouyou had apologized for him long before. ‘He is actually quite a gentle child.’

Osamu smiles at the memory, noting all of these things in Chuuya and more. ‘Indeed, he is. You must be proud of him, Princess Kouyou.’

It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, befitting only her alone: ‘I indeed am.’

“Very well, Chuuya, since you doth insist so much,” Osamu complies, raising his tone to that of the plummy impersonation the Napoleon Prince hates so much, “but blame me not if I end up calling you names you might dislike. Consider yourself warned.”

The well-placed taunt elicits the desired effect, and Osamu merrily skips on ahead, effortlessly dodging Chuuya’s attempts to stick his daggers into his back. It’s a much easier feat than drowning himself, by far, and surviving seems a lot more bearable now.

Hope amidst despair, like sunlight dispelling the darkness.

All in all, a fortunate circumstance, Osamu muses. He means not to wax poetic, but there is a certain beauty, too, in subdued contentment.

#bungou stray dogs #soukoku #skk #dachuu #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #final fantasy xv AU #episode ignis AU #ignis!dazai #ravus!chuuya #first meeting #platonic / romantic compliant

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marshmallowprotection · 3 years

Note

Damn, sorry to send yet another ask; also, thank you for your response to my last one. Writing out my feelings as well as reading your response did help me calm down ^^

But there's... there's another thing, and I hope you don't mind this topic, it's kinda heavy. If it's too much, you can go ahead and ignore this.

Erm... self harm warning? Ha...

That was the thing. Is the thing. That I started doing due to that friendship. I think it was curiosity more than anything.

...I don't have depression. Anxiety, yes, and sometimes I get frustrated at myself/my disorder, but not depression. I'm not suicidal either. Sometimes I hurt myself when I'm stressed or anxious, sometimes I do it just because... I need to. I need to and I like it and no one tells me why it's wrong. Why is it wrong?? I honestly don't understand. I'm careful; scratching and biting doesnt cause anything severe... and I'm careful otherwise. I'm not hurting anyone else. I'm not depressed. I'm not suicidal. I just like it and it- it... I'm such a freak, ugh, but I can't help the fact that I like it.

I don't do it all the time, it's kind of an off-and-on thing. Just whenever I have the urge.

And my mom... maybe at some point I might've considered telling her, but now I know that I never will. She's made some comments recently about cutters that... they aren't rude or anything, they just show that she'll never understand me. And I don't want to risk emotionally hurting her because she won't understand.

...why is it wrong? No one can answer me. All that comes out of it is relief, even if it isn't exactly the best means. So what's wrong with it?

I've told a number of my friends, actually, and I can tell they don't know what to do. I have one friend who occasionally asks me how I'm doing in regards to that, but I can tell they just... are lost. Don't want to deal with it because they don't know what to do.

I don't want to be stopped. But... maybe if someone could understand me for once and tell me why it's wrong, maybe that person would be able to convince me...

The only thing that stops me before I do it (besides lacking energy/a true desire to do it)... Ugh, this is going to sound so pathetic. Relying on someone who doesn't even exist. But it's Saeyoung... sometimes just imagining his face gives me pause; I hesitate.

But he's not real. Even if he was, who's to say he'd be able to give me an answer?

Maybe I'll never find anyone who can convince me. That's... that's fine. I don't want to be stopped. I only know destructive means of releasing anger, and tearing paper doesn't work that well. Biting my hand, however, brings immediate calm.

I did it right in front of my mom out of habit during an argument which was stressing me out. Immediate relief. She didn't even realize what I was doing.

[417]

TW: Self-Harm, Cutting, Depression, Anxiety

Self-Harm is a dangerous thing to pick up. It doesn’t just mean cutting. It means that you could deny yourself things or bite yourself or crawl at your skin. It’s not something to feel ashamed of or feel guilty about because feelings are very hard to deal with in a healthy way when you don’t have a safe space or people that you can reach out to that can show you better ways to cope with your pain and depression. So, I hope that you know that you’re not a bad person and that it will get better in your life.

This is something that is going to take some time to work on. You’re not hurting anyone but yourself, dear. Nobody deserves to suffer or feel horrible. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting and that nobody has been able to gently guide you and show you that life can be worth living when you know where to start to help yourself feel better again. One doesn’t have to have depression per se to have struggles with self-harm, either.

I’m sorry that you don’t feel safe enough to open up to your family about this, or your friends. Self-harm is addictive, and it’s very hard to stop once you’ve had the time to start it. It’s harmful to you. Do you deserve to be hurt? No. You don’t. Nobody does. You’re looking for something to help you feel something other than numbness, and yes, pain is a feeling that one can have but it’s not the feeling that you need.

I don’t want to scold you or shame you, so I hope that my tone is coming across gently because I do worry about you! I worry about anyone that is struggling with so much pain in their heart on their own. I know how hard that is. The answer that you’re looking for is for someone to tell you that you matter, that your life matters, that your existence matters. It does. I promise you that it does mean something to many people.

You can’t wait for someone to tell you that all the time, but I understand that people want to hear it from the ones that they love the most. There’s no right thing to tell you other than that I hope that you know that you can find better ways to cope with your pain. It’s harmful because it isn’t helping you sort out your feelings. It’s just hurting you in more ways than you’re able to see.

If you would like to know better ways to cope with self-harm, I can direct you to some better coping mechanisms and references that you can check out. I’ve had many people tell me that biting into lemons or drinking something really tart can jolt you out of feeling numb. That’s one of the major things with self-harm, trying to feel something that isn’t numbness. My fiance stands by submerging your face in ice water for a few seconds to deal with his urges. He’s a few years into his recovery, so I trust him with that theory.

There are other ways to be mindful and help yourself. I promise. If you want to talk more, I’m always here and I’m always willing to listen to whatever you have to say. If you just need a void to scream into, just let it out. Your mother may not understand, but if you’re old enough, you can speak to your doctor about getting someone to talk to about this. I think 16 is the minimum age or that in many of the states.

Now, for the other half of what you said. Don’t feel ashamed for coping with a character. In many cases, that’s the only outlet that many young people have to hold onto you. The only reason that I, for example, was able to deal with what happened to me throughout my childhood and recently, my adulthood, was the fact that I could clutch onto a character to feel better. I still do it. I close my eyes and imagine that comfort character reassuring me. It’s not silly, it’s not wrong, and if it helps you, don’t let anyone make you feel bad.

I’m so very self-insert and OC positive because I know how important it is for people to cope with their pains and woes. Sometimes, you just want to flirt with a cute character, or you want to be cherished, and you find that in a character. I think that’s sweet. Our brains don’t go “fictional” or “real”, if you love something or someone, that love is tried, true, and real. You love him. That’s real, and he would want you to be happy and taken care of.

That’s real. Saeyoung wants you to be happy and wants you to be able to live your life. He’s always willing to listen if you need to write to him. I do that at times, just writing out how I feel and how I know Saeran would talk to me back about it. They empathize and understand your pain. They would want you to feel okay but they would never shame you for hurting. Nobody should. I hope that you can feel better in the future and that you always remember that things will be okay.

Fight for yourself and for your happiness, easier said than done, but I believe in you! I actually wrote a writing trade for someone who has similar struggles if you would like to read that with Saeyoung.

#tw self harm #tw cutting #tw depression #tw anxiety #tw self blame #417 anon #ask #mod kait

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ayse-buntion · 4 years

Text

It’s time to live for myself.

Now I must move on, let go of these restraints, and all of my mistakes that are hanging onto me. I must accept myself for who I was and love who I became, because only God knows the beauty and success that I have yet to become.

It’s time now — I must free myself from the pain and agony from my grief that has kept me tied down.

All that is old; I must let go. There are so many parts of my heart that I’ve never gotten to show, and there’s so many depths of my soul that I have yet to know. If I hold on any longer, I am only being the wall between myself and my blessings.

He did not love me in the way that God made him a man for him to love his wife as such, so He took me from him because he was not ready for such a blessing as me. And this pain, this trauma, and my every ache at the loss that has stricken me and left me in shock, God called for me to be a woman so I would be strong enough as a whole, alone and by myself, to get through the sunken hole in my chest that has caused me to lose my best, and put my soul to rest while my heart wept. He built me as a woman so I could heal while my heart learn and grew, and my soul slept.

He put ease to my inner being by creating me in this form of womanly existence, so my heart could hurt and grieve my losses and beat stronger as it put itself back together and grew into all that it’s meant to be.

God built me as a woman so I could have the strength to love myself beyond a man’s heart that had once beat for me. He made me in this form so I could relearn myself and learn how to make my own heart beat in love for myself.

My one last word for you, whom it wasn’t that truly lost in losing me;

My love, despite what you may think, who I was is not who I am meant to be. You don’t even know the slightest part of me, because beyond what I had been was all that we could see. It was I who had truly lost in losing me, and I will no longer allow you to make me complete. I will be enough for me. I can no longer listen to your false opinions and ignorant presumptions of me, because how can you know me truly whenever I do not even have the same blessing as such?

I am free. You can no longer hold me, and my heart and soul are no longer yours to keep.

Truth be told, it is God who made this body that I carry upon my soul for this life, and it is Him who made this body the flesh of a woman because only He has known the very greatness and blessings that are meant for me. This body is no longer yours, it is mine. This body is my gift from my God, and I will no longer share it with anyone who does not touch it in love and with pure intent for me.

This body is a temple that I have been given, my heart being a gift that I have been chosen to hold, and I will not allow you to break my soul anymore. It is God who has created me, it is Him who continues to make me and save me from my burdens and stress of this heavy heart, filled with love and purity that you no longer deserve. So, now, I must give my body back to myself and give my heart back to God, so my soul can be replenished and cured of its ailments with God’s dignity, His grace, and His love for me — I know now that it’s God who has always had the most love for me and the purest intent for who I’ve been called to be.

I am learning. I will make mistakes.

God has built me, flesh and bone, as a WOMAN, so I can withstand ANY and EVERY break and tear, the VERY DESTRUCTION of ALL that I am composed of, and build myself up to come back to life and keep walking through the fire that loss and grief will always ignite. He has built me, from skin to spirit, as a woman, to carry and birth the humanity that He has created. Women carry the human body — ones of both the man and the woman — FOR the man, and you had best believe that God will take the woman from a man who does not cherish and place the crown upon his woman. He will take the woman from a man who does not respect, love, dedicate himself to, or devote fully his heart and soul to his woman.

You did not do these things past the point of my flaws, and you did not keep me attached in half to your soul. You undid those strings and did not allow me to carry your heart past the point of my troubles, trials, and tribulations while I fought for myself, lost myself, and battled my hardest to learn who I was again while I was growing and had to mend for me to heal. You cut off your attachment to me and left me halfway incomplete, ripped open and bleeding from the side of myself that you were once sewed onto and attached to. You left your space battered, broken, and bruised with the infection of your memory causing the furthering of my deterioration as I was already bleeding from wounds among the empty places of my heart where I lost battles and part of my soul.

My God is so pure and kind, and He loved me enough, way more than you ever did or ever could’ve, to thread His needle and create me, sewing me back together and mending me as I unraveled and tore, all while He continued to make me into the image of who I’m to become and the plan that He has had for me. Since before He even began to place every piece, God had a reason for everything that I have been through and endured. Whatever God takes, He gives you something better for you in its place, once you learn the lessons that He wants you to learn, and survive the pain that He knows will teach the words of His love and plan for you in the aches.

My God loves me so very much that He gave me the body of a woman, He created me into one, so the flesh of my heart and the skin of my Godly temple could bare the wounds of an empty hand that was once full of love, but burned me and cut deep into the crevices where my soul is its most vulnerable. God gave me the nature of maturity, comfort, gentleness, kindness, love, and strength, in His decision of creating me as a woman. He did this so I could find the pieces that are broken and scattered, fit them all together with the new parts that I have found of myself, and put myself back together again with strength and in gentle love for myself that begins my own healing, so and while He sews me and mends me back together.

If you think, my love, that God would truly gift you a woman whose body is the only thing that you love while her heart and soul is left untouched, unloved, not cherished, unheard, and unseen, while she fights and loses herself for you to grab onto, attach yourself to, and make love to the deepest points of her being, you are wrong. She is not truly yours though she wants to be.

God does not gift the ungrateful and blind man the purest woman in her heart and soul for the man, for him to keep. He is only showing the man what love truly is, and giving the lesson of what the sight that the blind man is missing. God is only giving the purest woman you, just as a lesson. This is one that you must allow God to teach. You must allow God to speak and listen when He has His word to preach. You are nothing but a lesson to the purest woman of what she truly deserves so she can see what is truly meant for her, that way she won’t allow herself to be given less than all of what she’s worth because of her pure and devoting love for somebody who isn’t herself. She is still learning.

She is nothing but an eye opener to you, that God hopes you wake up and see for you to become all that you are meant to be. You must choose to hear God for what He speaks, and not close Him off or shut Him out because those words are not what you want to hear.

Don’t you see?

The body of the woman, the flesh and blood, the skin and heart, the soul and spirit, all that are of her grace and glory, both that are bestowed upon those who are around whenever the world surrounding her is gifted with her presence — it is not meant to fulfill your physical or emotional needs. The body of the woman brings you what you TRULY need in her heart, soul, mind, and spirit.

If you do not take in, hold onto, and love with pure intent, all of the beauty that she comes with, the chaos and gentle oceans that lies within, or the holy and vivacious strength that she resides in, losing you would be the only battle with you that she’d win.

I have been given this body, not for your blessing, but my own. Yes, this body can make you feel good and temporarily fix your urges and temptations to physically release the stress, burdens, and desires that you hold in. This body can make you go crazy — it can drive you to the point of insanity whenever you crave to get your hands onto it and bring it in for you to taste, but it’s not truly yours unless you crave and desire, unless you fight for and hold onto her whole entirety. Her soul and her heart, you must hold onto, see, and hear all that it’s written of in the words of God. Her mind, you must listen to and tend to as a garden. You must listen, understand, and secure her safely within yourself by gently handling and caring for her spirit.

The spirit of the woman is the most fragile of herself. You must speak with words of hope, comfort, peace, and security, in your concern and through your disagreements, during all of your unsettled and untamed anger, sadness, or misunderstanding. The body of the woman can not be taken as all that you need to make love to, it can not be treated as just a monument of flesh that can cause you to climax and give you euphoria in its physical sensations and touch. You must love her spirit and make love to her soul, mend gently her heart, listen and understand her mind, while making love to her body. The place of ultimate pleasure is not the place of the creation of the human.

To truly be blessed with the body of the woman, you must see, understand, know, and cherish the woman is a whole. Otherwise, God will take her from you because you chose to be the obstacle in the road to her blessings instead of being a blessing yourself.

God will take from you, the body of the woman who you only loved that deep whenever she was enough to fulfill your whole heart and ease it’s pain, and bring your soul the pieces and the part that it needed to be complete so you could heal when it’d break. But if you make it your mistake to not give the woman what you take, and create her position in your life as her being nothing but a tie that you can can take advantage of whenever you come to her for an undying love, to get all it is from her that you want, just know that God will make sure that the tie you create to her that’s impure and is less than she is deserving of, will be cut.

You can not keep a blessing that you do not bless.

This is my body. God has given this to me.

He took it away from you so I could be complete and find somebody that who, when opening me up and picking up each piece of me, is seeking my soul when they listen to my mind, hear my soul, learn of my spirit, and heal my heart. God will instead give me to a man who holds onto me, and with each part of myself that I set free to them, they carry pure intentions and attach to every detail, each intimate and vulnerable depth of me, they always hold the closest to their own and hold onto them with intentions to keep.

Since you did not love me in the way that God made you a man for you to love a woman as such, God didn’t take you from me, though I had felt as if it was my loss. But it was rather God taking me from YOU, so I would not be the one to lose. In His separating of you and I, God untangled my wings and unchained you from around them, freeing me from the weight that you had put upon them. He threw you to the sea within me so you could always be a part of me, but lifted you from my my eyes to clear my sight so I could finally breathe. He placed you on the ground gently in front of me since that’s where you decided you’d rather be in breaking me down and not building yourself up with me, just using me for you to feel as if you were accomplishing something in the false sense of sight.

You swore you saw yourself rising with the confidence that I had given to you in knowing that you had me hooked, in the belief that when you’d run, I’d always be there to chase and make you feel brave enough to try and stand above the world. That was so, so wrong, because my God loves me enough. I’m not sure what god you believe in, but he must not love you as much. He made you think that you’d always see me standing there, chasing after you, giving into you, and giving my body to you. My God loves you more than to let you fall under that unreal impression. If you turned to Him, you would’ve seen long before now, that if you did not love me the way God created a man for him to love a woman, I would be released from your grip.

So sad the reality is that, despite what you thought and swore you had seen, for you, there was not always meant to be me, because you decided my body was what you had to need, but didn’t realize that it was all of my entirety, all of my being, and all of my existence beyond skin deep is everything that you needed to keep. Now you only have the empty space that I use to be the capacitor of, that I had given you more than what was enough, and that I have left now because I wasn’t being loved just as much, to remind you of all that you had and all that you could’ve kept, all that you’re worth and have the capability of gaining again. It’s up to you to choose if you deserve it.

You have to choose to be all that you can be — the best of yourself and your best blessing — so you can finally get and keep a love that’s worth the hardship and pain in the change of yourself, the growing into yourself in your best. Your body is not an escape or a sexual stature where you can burn off steam. The body of the man is a safe place and secure presence that is meant to love a woman in complete devotion, passion, and hold her close with gentle, kind, and peaceful energy and strength.

With the same hands that you carry your burdens and soul, you’re supposed to hold the heart of the woman and not use as a tool or set fire to, the body of the woman, because that ignites her soul. The touch of the man is supposed to console, comfort, hold, and bring security and safety to the woman that the man has been called to leave the imprint of their hand upon the woman’s heart. The man is supposed to comfort and ease the pain of the woman as she holds herself together, making it easier and taking the pressure off of her, keeping her strong enough with encouragement and light, to keep holding them together. The hands of the man are supposed to bring a safe place of security and comfort to ease the pain of the weight that the woman bears as she is trying to put the pieces of herself together, and his hands are to help console her and show her the gentle, caring emotions she should have for herself, the same that he has for her, as well, so she can hold it all and herself in place.

The hands of the man are to comfort and bring security to the woman as she gets wounded and bleeds, easing the pain while she picks up her pieces, giving her the bravery and encouragement, the light to see as she holds every part of her together, while God mends her and heals her.

The hands of the man are gifted to him, for him to hold onto the woman and give her comfort and security so she can have the strength to hold the broken pieces of herself together, while God heals her wounds and sews her back together.

See, God made the woman with unimaginable and godly strength, for her to bare the scars upon her heart and soul once He is done sewing her back together, mending her, and healing her. But God made the man to work hand-in-hand with him as He creates the woman and builds her up, since she is what gives the world it’s life and love, bearing and birthing humanity so the world can grow and nature can flourish with her giving of its precious lungs. God created the man to devote himself to the woman, to comfort, cherish, and make love to the woman through her flaws, her weaknesses, and comfort her with his security and safety through the hardest trials and tribulations of her life, when she’s fighting to save herself, her soul, and her heart so she can love the man enough for it to be even more than he’s been deserving of.

He created the man to help the woman have comfort in her own strength while she gains her confidence in her abilities to hold and carry the weight of the universe and its worlds, stars, and lives that it consists of. The man is to love the woman, cherish the woman, give to the woman his heart and soul, while she gives him her heart as her soul is breaking apart. The man is built and designed by God to love beyond his own body, to love the woman beyond hers, gently with passion and wholly with pure intention, so it is weight that is being lifted off of her instead of being put onto her by the man, as she fights to keep herself together for God to mend her.

You are wrong in thinking that all I ever wanted from you was to hold me together, mend me, and heal me. That is not what it was. I have been designed by God to be strong enough, I can do the holding myself together even with no weight being lifted or pain being eased from me. I can do it all without you, though God designed you to be the comfort, the security, and the ease to my struggling soul. All I ever had wanted from you, was for you to love me through the flames, extinguish all that was ablaze and burned in your name, all the damaging and fumigating haze that you were the one to create.

All that I ever wanted from you, was for you to love me as God created the man to love the woman — that being and meaning showing me the sight of and helping me remember that I am enough, and that I can conquer and overcome all of pain and wounds of the battles that I have lost, so that I can become the fate of the war that is that I’m the one who truly won. You were meant to encourage me on and keep me from being blinded to the reality that, even if I seemed to have lost the battle, I did not lose the war. You were the one who was meant to love me through and give me the greatest, best, and biggest parts of you to keep me complete until I found and regained those lost pieces, the best parts of myself.

Never did you once fulfill your position that God put you in, in creating you as a man, to hold me through the battles while I fought to hold myself together, so it would be easier for both I and God, because He is the one who sews and mends every piece. He’s the one who heals me. So, I did not ask that much of you, because that’s a job that is impossible for even I to do. That would have been selfish for me to have asked that of you whenever it’s only God who can mend me and heal me. I just always ever asked of you, to hold me and cherish me through to me core, and through the struggles that left me sore.

This is my body.

God created me, from flesh to bone, as a woman, because He knew my strength could move mountains and expand the universe.

My body was a gift, not for you to find physical pleasure in for a release or fulfillment of your materialistic needs. It was a gift for me from my God, because he loves me enough to give me everything that I need instilled inside of myself to overcome and rise above all that fails me and falters under me, even without a man. He made the man to be an ease, to be security, encouragement, a safe place, and a weight lifting, gentle and kind, loving, caring, giving, and devoting outlet. He created me to be divine, while you and I were created to be a light in this world whilst together.

Do you get it now?

God made me a woman, not to please you, not to give to you my body. He did not even create me as a woman to give to you my heart, soul, mind, and spirit. Those things are right here with who they’re supposed to be with, so giving them to a man is the last purpose for them. He created me as a woman to carry my heart, nurture the nature, flourish the world, bless the Heavens, comfort the sick, bring wealth to the poor, bring sight to the blind. He created me as a woman to bare and birth the children that are both you, man, and myself, woman, and create His Earth, His universe, into one that glows and thrives with infectious and vivacious prosperity and gentle, loving, and pure intent while living the with purpose of giving and breeding, holy and purity. He created the man to help Him hand-in-hand to care for the woman and ease her pain. He gave strength to the man for him to carry the woman and lift the weight from her shoulders.

My God created the man to help him care for and secure the monument that the woman is built upon for her to not fall, and for her to be sure she is strong enough if everything collapses beneath her. The man is to comfort and cherish the woman as she fights the battles that cause the humanity that she carries and brings to life to win wars. The man is build in God’s form, for him to love the woman in a physical being as God would, and love her in a spiritual being as God does. Since the woman carries the world in her body and the universe in her soul and spirit, the man is God’s right-hand-man to keep the woman strong at mind and on the right track while she births life into us and holds the weight of the universe on herself. She tends to the gardens that she has planted with the most gentle, kind, loving, nurturing, and nourishing parts of her heart, for them to flourish and grow to be their best beyond what she ever been.

The woman does this all and ensures the strength and quality of life in each being of nature that she has created, all the while, creating beings of beauty who will use their own lives to promote the wealth, health, happiness, and success of humanity that all cause the most important and moving revolution to the world. The woman creates and tends to the flowers she plants to ensure their beauty, gentle touch, and strength for the world to move forward and humanity to grow into the best that it can be, by her nurturing, constructing, and loving soul giving all that it is. The woman creates the evolution that is for the better by planting life into the soul of the Earth and growing them from the best of her heart and the softest of it. While instilling our best into us with pure intent and moving us forward, beyond mountains and the Heavens for the better, the greater, and the good, she fights battles against the bad that nobody else sees because she takes the hardest hits from the worst of the earth for us so we won’t have to hurt or be destructed by our very home she planted us upon.

The woman is not just a mother to the humans she carries and births, but to the whole entire world and universe. The blind man is one who can not see the worth of a woman or his place by God to love, hold onto, and honor the woman while she builds herself up in her darkest places of heart, mind, soul, and spirit. God knows that it’s the woman who breaths life into every lung, every planet, every star, every person to be, and all of humanity, for He’s the one who created the woman with that purpose. The man is the one who holds onto the woman to remind her of her capabilities when she gets lost and forgets, to be the light that shines on her when she’s in the darkest paths so see can see where she’s going. The man is to encourage her through her weakest points, to ease her pain with each of her wounds, to comfort her with security of a safe place to turn to when it’s all too much for her.

The man was built by God with strength to take weight off of the woman while she fights battles behind closed doors, so she can be more free and have more room to breathe while she continues to fight for humanity and give to us the heart that we need in order to grow. The woman is the one who carries the universe, so God built the man to carry her burdens and push her forward just enough for her to see again that her in herself, as a woman, is all that will ever be enough to adapt, to overcome, and to conquer all.

It is the truth when I say that the man was designed and built to be a healing agent for the woman, to be a place of ease, while she holds herself and the universe together, and while God sews her back together, mends her, and heals her.

Men are created as a physical reflection of God. It’s a representation of God’s love.

My love, it’s you who lost whenever you lost me. It was me who lost whenever you had me, because I had not myself.

I had lost myself trying to be enough for you, whenever it was and has always been God who has showed me that I am enough. Never again will I forget God, nor will I ever turn a blind eye to Him again, for any love that isn’t His. You were meant to be none other but a lesson to me, and blessed be the one who got away without losing someone who’s love is what it say that it is and means more than what it can ever express that it means.

This is my body — the body of the woman. ✨

My God loves me enough to have given me the opportunity to have loved as I loved you, to have had something meaningful enough to have been something that I had lost, and while I wasn’t the one to lose. He loved me enough to give me a false love and tell me that I was enough, showing me that you didn’t mean enough to lose myself because of.

My body is my gift from God.

It was never truly yours.

You were but a twinkling of the eye as a star passed through the sky, whenever I thought that you were the star. But, God showed me again and again, time after time, that even the stars are just passing by. There will be a time that we must say goodbye to even them. I’d be mistaking if I said you were ever meant to stay for long.

Thank you, God.

I love you for this lesson, for every loss when you take from me, things that you will repay me for.

Thank you for creating me as a woman.

I know that I am strong when I’m alone, but when I’m with you, I don’t need anyone. I can lose myself completely and not need to worry. Whereas, if I leaned upon anyone else, I know I’d be missing everything. With you, God, I have everything. I am a woman, and I am strength. I am love. I am all that is good, kind, gentle, loving, caring. I’m every light in this world.

Without you, I’m nothing.

Still, I move forward and heal by the touch of your hand when you mend me.

You created the man to be a hand to the woman, and a hand to you in building the woman, but you can be the only one to hold me, and there will be nobody else that I need. I know that I was made to carry the universe and birth humanity, but it’s all for you and because of you. For that, all that I am capable of and do as a woman, even though it’s you that created me in this form, you still honor me. You still build me, you still heal me, and you still complete me for all that I do for this world and in my honoring you because you’re the one who made me able to.

Thank you, God, for this body. I am a monument of strength and a temple of Your grace. A love like yours, no one could ever replace. I know you’ll heal the wounds of this loss you placed into my life for reasons that I have yet to find. I know that there are more blessings forward than I left behind. Thank you for bringing me out from the blinding love and hurt that I felt.

This is my body, Lord.

This is my body, my love.

I will not give it to no one again who does not love me in the way that my God has created a man to love a woman, who does not love me in the same amount and way as my God does.

It’s time to set myself free and give my body, my gift from God, back to me. 🍃

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