#they would usually rather throw themselves into a near death scenario than admit than and they sometimes literally do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ravenandwritingdesks · 5 years

Text

In The Cards - Chapter 4: Knight of Wands

Click here to read chapter 1

Knight of Wands

Opposition of this card indicates frustrations, delays, and the need to compensate for something that you lack control over.

Up: action, adventure, fearlessness

Reversed: Anger, Impulsivity, recklessness

____________________

“First day of class!” An enthusiastic voice calls as hands forcefully shake the snoozing body that’s happily cocooned in a pile of blankets.

Rather than dignifying the rude awakening with a response, Sakura flips over and pulls the duvet over her head. Magic school or no, early mornings are not her thing, especially after the late-night private session with her partner.

“Come on, Sakura,” an exasperated Ino whines as she settles for ripping the entire set of bedding off her very annoyed roommate. “What type of friend would I be if I let you sleep through your first class.”

Realizing that it’s time to admit defeat, Sakura begrudgingly rises from the mattress and begins shuffling around the room to get ready. “Fine…” she lets a sigh escape her, “do you have a spell that can magically cause caffeine to enter my body?”

“Tough out of luck, sweetie,” Ino responds as she begins brushing out her golden strands of hair. “That sounds like the job for your Match.”

Sakura’s stomach begins to turn in knots at the mention of her partner. Last night was an obvious disaster and just further provoked her unease of their whole situation. The thought of how quickly July approaches gnaws at her, causing her fingers to tremble and making it extremely difficult to apply any make up.

Once both girls are ready, they set out to their first class. “How was last night by the way?” Ino asks, a sense of wariness in her voice. The more experienced witch is obviously still hesitant when it comes to the Uchiha boy, though she tries to hide it.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Sakura states, thinking of all their interactions to date. Though their attitudes towards each other dance the line of hot and cold, it’s obvious there is a wall between them. She would be lying if she claimed to not have contributed to that, especially after her conversation with the Hokage, which did little to quell her fears of the situation. Dark magic or no, her Match’s last partner is still dead.

“Sasuke doesn’t like anybody,” Ino responds with a snort, “he never really has.”

Sakura lets out a humorless chuckle at her roommate’s words. Though, she’s not sure if they are meant to comfort her or if the other girl is simply stating a fact.

“Isn’t the whole Match thing supposed to mean he has to like me?” she questions, everything about their situation is still so confusing.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way,” Ino responds as she ushers Sakura into the classroom. It’s less than magnificent with ordinary black tables for the students to sit at and a dirty, freestanding chalkboard at the front of the room.

“Like any type of relationship you still have to build up trust and grow with each other,” she continues, taking a seat next to Sai who is already prepared for class with a notebook and pen sitting in front of him. “It can just be easier with the bond since you guys have a deeper understanding of each other. Being able pick up on the other’s thoughts and feelings does have that advantage.”

“Well a whole lot of good this bond is doing,” Sakura mutters to herself as she thinks back to the lack of connection last night. Apparently, Sasuke is trying to keep her out of his head. Maybe he’s just not ready for a new Match yet.

“Good morning.”

Sakura turns to see Hinata settling into the seat on her opposite side, pushing a travel mug in her direction.

“Witches brew?” Sakura questions jokingly as she accepts the offering.

Hinata gives a small smile in response. “Coffee,” she corrects, “You wouldn’t want to fall asleep on your first day, you could miss something important.” A lavender-eyed wink causes Sakura to smile, she’s discovering that she really likes the clairvoyant witch regardless of her cryptic words and apparent ability to read her mind.

She takes a big gulp from the warm tumbler, whose contents has been perfectly sweetened to her liking, as the classroom begins to fill with students. Though it’s a small area, more people than she’s seen in her entire time here occupy it. Magicians of all shapes and sizes joke and laugh, more than one of the pairs holding hands or snuggling close to one another. She almost wants to laugh at the mundanity of it all, despite the few floating objects and periodic puffs of smoke it feels like any other classroom.

The commotion begins to settle down when the professor saunters in lazily, throwing his lesson plan down on the desk with a unceremonious flop. Sakura recognizes the silver hair and masked face of Kakashi Hatake, the man that greeted her when she had been teleported from the train station.

“DILF” Ino whispers to her as the last of the whispers around them quiet.

Sakura ignores her and prepares to listen to the lecture but a shadow in the corner of her eye causes her attention to turn back to the doorway.

Silently, Sasuke slips into the room and settles into a chair in the very back. He catches Sakura’s gaze so she gives him an awkward wave. Of course, he turns away without any acknowledgement of her presence.

This is hopeless, Sakura thinks, resting her chin in her hand. She takes comfort in the fact that Ino’s not wrong about the attractiveness of Professor Hatake, well what little you can actually see of him. As he begins to write on the board, Sakura notices the slender yet well-toned muscles flexing beneath his tight sleeves.

While Ino barely pays attention to the lesson, settling for absentmindedly poofing small flowers of various size and color in and out of existence, Sakura finds herself very intrigued. Today’s lesson is about the fourth Hokage and how he and his Match had to sacrifice themselves in order to slay a great beast created from magic. Hinata lets out a slight shudder at the mention of its name, Kyuubi. It’s hard for Sakura to grasp that this is truly is the history of her kind as it sounds much more like the plot to a movie.

“But how did the Kyuubi even come to be in the first place?” Asks a female student sitting directly behind Sakura, “You said that it’s a manifestation of extremely powerful dark magic.”

The instructor pauses at the question, before answering in a very deliberate tone. “A man who was blinded by the lust for more power forced his partner to embody the darkness and in the end it consumed her completely.”

A shiver wracks itself up Sakura’s spine. She turns to ask Hinata what it means to be consumed by magic only to see wide, opalescent eyes staring at her, unfocused. “Hinata?” she questions the dazed girl, her gaze causing unease to gnaw at Sakura’s stomach. After just a moment longer, her eyelids flutter with a couple blinks and she turns back to the front of the room as if nothing had happened.

“Sorry, Sakura,” Hinata whispers without looking at her pink-haired friend. “Just a vision.”

With that, Sakura returns her attention to the lecture, trying to pay attention to the logistics of how the third Hokage made laws to reform the use of dark magic after the death of his successor, but her mind keeps wandering to the story of the Kyuubi. How could a Match turn his partner into something so animalistic? But then again, how could one cause the death of their Match, accidentally or not?

Sakura shakes her head, she shouldn’t dwell on these thoughts. Everybody said what happened was an accident, it’s not like Sasuke directly murdered Karin, right? Nobody has actually revealed the full details of the event, it could have been anything that caused the girl to die. Getting lost in her thoughts of worst-case scenarios, she doesn’t notice the pair of dark eyes fixated on the back of her head.

______________________

Sasuke stares at his pink-haired partner in the front of the room, he can tell she’s not paying attention to the lesson, probably lost in her head about the complicated history she’s never heard before. As for himself, he could practically recite the story in his sleep, having grown up learning the more detailed version of it. The Kyuubi has always been the “boogieman” of the magical world, a warning to misbehaving children and the Fourth Hokage is their version of Superman, the hero among them willing to sacrifice himself to save them all.

Soon enough, class is dismissed, and he smoothly slips out the door heading towards a meeting with Orochimaru. However, as he is about to turn the corner a gentle hand clasps over his arm. He takes great care to keep his skin covered, but the simple brush of the stranger’s bare pinky against the exposed sliver of flesh between his glove and sleeve is all it takes.

He feels a chilling sensation wash through his veins as if he’s being viewed from the inside out. Gooseflesh breaks out over his body and he quickly jerks away from the offending limb. Turning to confront whoever dare touch him, assuming it’s his nuisance of a Match, he’s shocked to find the Hyuga girl staring at him instead.

“If you don’t change your course of action, history will repeat itself,” she tells him, her usually gentle voice sharp and severe.

Anger washes his face in red, but instead of dignifying this with a response he turns to leave. He intends to ignore the clairvoyant’s prophecy, but the last of the girl’s words leave him feeling rattled.

“In more ways than one.”

Not wanting to be near the young psychic anymore he quickens his walk to Orochimaru’s office, silently cursing the whole way. How dare she read him, how dare she try and tell him what to do. It doesn’t matter if she’s gifted with the Sight, she doesn’t know anything about him.

Thankfully, the distance between his destination and the classroom is minimal, giving him less time to dwell on the haunting prophecy and his anger that’s threatening to boil over. Without bothering to knock, he opens the door to the professor’s office.

It’s dark, the natural light from the windows blocked out by thick, black curtains. Furnishings in the office are sparse, consisting only of the necessities: a black desk with various chalked runes scribbled over the surface, a small wooden cabinet containing ancient scrolls and dusty jars. A single orb emitting an eerie white light slightly bobs from its position above the desk, the slow bouncing causing the dark shadows of the room to dance with slow, purposeful movements.

“Ah, young Sasuke,” a voice purrs from behind, despite the space being empty beforehand. “Thank you for stopping by.”

“You wanted a meeting,” the boy states, wanting to quickly finish this so he can be alone after what had just occurred with the young psychic.

“Yes,” he pauses, pacing around the room until he eventually settles at the desk. “It’s concerning our last private session with Miss Haruno.” When Sasuke only continues to stare at the professor with a bored expression, he continues. “You’ve completely blocked the connection between you,” Orochimaru fiddles with a blunted piece of chalk, adding small corrections to the sketched-out designs on the surface of the furniture. “This is not acceptable.”

“She doesn’t need to know anything about me,” Sasuke snaps, impatient with everybody trying to tell him what to do with his Match.

“Now, Sasuke,” Orochimaru tuts, an exacerbating belittlement lacing his tone. “You know it doesn’t work that way. How can you expect either of your powers to flourish under those circumstances?”

“I can call upon her magic when I need it,” he responds, wishing this conversation would come to an end.

“While you may want to simply tap into her reservoir, it will just diminish if there’s no compatibility prompting it to thrive,” he flourishes his hands in the air, emphasizing each of his words. “You can’t just continuously harvest a crop and expect it to always be ripe. You must nurture it.”

Sasuke’s thoughts go to the outcasts of the magic community, people who never find Matches. Their magic wastes away, the source of balance to sustain it never discovered. In some severe cases, the loss of that piece of their life drives them to insanity, leaving them as less than the normal humans.

“How do you expect to complete the Soul Baring?” The professor continues, his yellow eyes raising to lock with Sasuke’s.

The student remains silent, not fully sure how to phrase his turbulent thoughts. He can’t imagine going through a Soul Baring with Sakura. Her naivety of the magical world and cloudy understanding of how Matches work make her so complicated. How would she react if she really saw what was in his soul, his past? There are things in it she would never witness, even in her worst nightmares. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Just keep the end goal in mind,” Orochimaru rouses him from the dark path his thoughts are swirling. “Determination alone is not enough to achieve what you need to.”

________________

Sakura runs down the hallway, an impromptu nap causing her to be late for an evening session with the Hokage. Stray hairs fly behind her, the quick messy bun she pulled back jostling free with the commotion. After making a couple wrong turns and having to backtrack, she finally bursts into the practice room.

“I made it!” she puffs out, trying to catch her breath. Surprisingly, she notices that she’s not the only one running late as there’s no sign of the instructor meant to guide their session. The lone occupant of the room seems to stop mid-step when she enters.

Expecting her partner to simply ignore her presence until necessity warrants it, Sakura quietly moves to the center of the room. She can’t stop the automatic jump of surprise her body does when a firm hand spins her around.

Green eyes widen at both the rough action and the proximity of his face.

“Sasuke what are-“

“You should stay away from the Hyuga girl,” he states, close enough that Sakura can feel the warmth of his breath as it hits her cheek.

A dark expression cloaks his face, the severity taking her off guard. It takes her a moment to process his words, but quickly, her surprise is overtaken by anger.

“Who do you think you are?” she practically yells as she shakes his grip off her. Never being one to control her temper, she knows her eyes must be burning with a viridian fire. “You don’t get to just ignore me all day then try to bark orders at me.”

He doesn’t attempt to respond, settling for staring at her blankly, either not taking her outburst seriously or too stunned to know what to do next. Reasoning that the former is far more likely than the latter, the wave of Sakura’s fury comes to a crest. Her hands shake and she briefly notices a tingling sensation around her fingertips.

Ever since they met Sasuke dismisses her attempts to be friendly, avoids her questions, refrains from any unnecessary interactions, and now he’s trying to tell her to leave one of the few people that have been sympathetic to her situation. How dare he think he has any say over who she gets to associate with. She opens her mouth to yell at him again but is cut off by the entry of the Hokage.

Timing as impeccable as ever, Tsunade takes in the aura of the room with the raise of an incredulous eyebrow. “Good to see you too getting along better,” she mutters sarcastically, half-debating summoning a bottle of sake to get her through what’s bound to be an interesting lesson.

Neither of the students try to answer nor attempt to move from their stare-down, as if the first to break eye contact is admitting defeat.

“Well,” the Hokage begins, “strong emotions can lead to some intense chakra merging, however, I do need the both of you to starting listening, now.” At the last word, a gripping force washes over the two, pushing their bodies downward so that they are made to sit across from each other. This compulsion causes the tension to break and each looks away from the other. “Now, take a deep breath and grasp each other’s hands.”

Sakura begrudgingly takes off her gloves. The voice of the Hokage seems to have a calming effect on her, however, she still feels the electric sensation dancing in her fingertips. She makes no move to actually reach for her asshole of a partner’s hands.

Sasuke seems to have a similar mindset taking his sweet time pulling the dark gloves leisurely off each finger.

”I said, now.”

At Tsunade’s voice, the stubborn will of both students evaporates, as magic prompts each to grasp the others’ palm firmly.

Upon making contact, Sasuke quickly jolts his hands away, for a brief moment a look of distraught flickering on his face.

“Come now, Sasuke,” Tsunade tuts impatiently, “do not make me compel you for the entire lesson.”

The boy doesn’t respond, but scowls at his hand for a moment before extending it once again. Hesitantly, he wraps his fingers around Sakura’s wrist.

“Very good,” Tsunade mutters, annoyance and sarcasm interwoven in her tone. “Now we can actually begin.” With a wave of her fingers, a hazy figure forms in the air before plopping into her open palm.

“A lightbulb?” Sakura questions as she stares at the object.

“Make it glow,” Tsunade instructs as she suspends the bulb in the air. “This exercise focuses on both drawing upon each other’s power and controlling it at the same time. If you try to simply overpower one another, the glass will shatter. If you are unable to summon enough power, it won’t light.”

Finding this a lot more interesting than just attempting to push thoughts into Sasuke’s head, Sakura excitedly looks to her partner. Unsurprisingly, she’s met only with bored exasperation.

Glad we’re on the same page, you arrogant asshole.

“Focus guys,” Tsunade prompts, indicating back to the bulb.

Trying to stamp down her annoyance, Sakura stares at the frosted glass above them. She imagines the coils within burning with her power, her energy, her anger…

Pop!

The glass shatters, raining down around them.

“Okay, that’s a start at least,” Tsunade says before producing another lightbulb. “Instead of each of you trying to do it on your own, try cooperate. You won’t need to summon nearly as much individual energy.”

Sakura turns to face the new lightbulb but Tsunade gently press her hand to her face, forcing her to look at Sasuke instead.

“Look at each other, not the light. Focus on each other and your common goal, the rest will follow. ”

Looking at his face, she sees only the superiority of somebody that doesn’t believe she fits in this world. His deep eyes stare down at her, his sharp nose lifted in arrogance. The crackling energy in her fingers returns but instead of Sasuke pulling away she notices the metallic tinge in the air as his own power errupts.

“Careful,” Tsunade orders calmly as she observes the opposing electric sparks of energy exploding around the teenagers. Green and black flashes of light begin to war with each other, the shiny new bulb left forgotten above as the power struggle takes place on the ground. While it would take no effort on her part to stop the teenagers, she simply stands back to observed, interested in where this will go. Perhaps some conflict is exactly what their relationship needs to grow.

Sakura feels her hair standing on end with the friction in the air, senses her power climbing as she challenges Sasuke. He can look down on her all he wants, but he needs to learn that she will not roll over so easily. Tightening her grip on his wrist, she pushes harder against the resistance between them. He needs to know that she will fight him tooth and nail before she yields to his every whim.

“When everybody thought all was lost, the hero stepped in and saved the villagers from the Kyuubi, sealing the foul beast away forever.”

Sakura shakes her head as the strange voice drifts through the room. A woman?

“Someday I’m going to be the hero that saves everybody!” an enthusiastic voice of a young boy responds.

Sakura sees onyx eyes widen slightly as Sasuke’s stubborn façade begins to crack. He hears it too and he doesn’t like it.

“I’m sure you will.” The woman’s voice returns, a happy chuckle lacing her words. “Goodnight. I love you very much, Sasuke.”

Sasuke begins to try and pull his hands from Sakura’s trying to make his memory go away, but she clings tighter as she realizes that she’s finally broken through his defenses; she’s in his thoughts, listening to a memory from long ago.

“I love you too, mommy.”

The energy in the room mounts, reaching its peak as each of the young magician’s emotions rise Sakura’s anger and determination mixing with Sasuke’s pain and stubbornness. With a jolt, the pink-haired girl finds herself being tossed across the room, her back hitting the marble wall with a painful crack before she crumbles to the ground. It takes her a minute to muster up the energy to push herself up, her head rushing in protest after it’s forceful impact.

“Your mother,” she chokes out, feeling as if she just got beat up. Her partner lays sprawled on the floor on the opposite side of the room, slowly rising to his own shaky legs. “I heard her reading to you.”

With enough malice to curdle blood, dark eyes pin her in place, daring her to move another inch. “You heard nothing.”

He stumbles past the Hokage, who has been quietly observing this interaction, before practically falling out of the room.

“What just happened?” Sakura asks the blonde woman who appears to be in deep contemplation.

“You two were fighting against each other, but since your magic knows it’s meant to be compatible it forced you to merge. You were in his head, but that’s not what caused you to break out of it so violently.”

“I forced him to let me see more,” Sakura mutters slightly, realizing that it was the catalyst to their pushback. She was so determined to learn the rest of the memory, to complete her glimpse into his childhood.

“Sasuke is… difficult,” the Hokage continues, her tone firm. “But you can’t pry into his mind. Your Match has to be willing to let you in.”

“So is what just happened bad?” She questions wondering what this means for the progress in their relationship.

“No, but I don’t necessarily think it’s positive either.” Tsunade’s gaze lifts to above where the teenagers had been sitting. “Your merged power is something very curious. Go get some rest, we still have a lot of work to do.”

Sakura exits the training room, not even noticing the bright emerald illumination now being cast from the forgotten lightbulb still suspended in the air.

#sasusaku #fanfiction #my writings #sasusaku fanfiction #magic

26 notes · View notes

drx3-imagines · 6 years

Note

Could I ask for a scenario where izaya’s s/o ends up taking a hit from Shizuo for him?

Trigger warning for graphic descriptions of blood and injury for anyone with a weak stomach!

No-one had ever prided you on your common sense for a reason. This moment was no exception either. Honestly, who would praise someone for throwing themselves in front of the fist of the strongest man in Ikebukuro to save the scum of that very same city.

The answer would be you, apparently. All because you loved that scum. Luckily, that scum loved you too because faster than Shizuo could blink, Izaya had stabbed him in the hip and dashed off in the opposite direction to chase after you, who was currently flying through the air.

The scent of blood filled your nose, your entire body aching as the impact of the pile of construction materials hit you like a truck, or rather, a Shizuo. You pathetically skidded down onto the pavement, legs weak and one most-likely broken. You tried to reach forward and take a look at your twisted arm to no avail; a broken arm and a broken leg, just what you need. The people in the area had scattered, not many being very willing to help, considering it wasn’t hard to guess who had done this. Even you wouldn’t have been too keen on staying around to wait for Shizuo if you had actually been his target and weren’t used to his behavior already.

Fortunately, you weren’t stuck waiting for very long as Izaya’s blurry form came towards you at an alarming pace. Your breathing was a bit heavy, forcing you into a violent coughing fit when you chuckled, never having seen him so distraught. Your head was feeling light, lungs tight in your chest and preventing you from speaking very well as Izaya picked you up gently, breath still a bit heavy from running the way he did. “What,” you said, voice shaking, “are you gonna carry me all the way to Shinra’s, noodle arms?” Your voice was amused; obviously, you hadn’t noticed the gravity of the situation.

You also hadn’t seemed to notice the loose pipe sticking out of your side.

Izaya was already moving, thinking of the shortest route there before he even bothered to reply, “____, you need to stop talking, you need to rest.” His voice was stern and all too serious compared to his usual mischievous charm; you had to admit it worried you. What little rationality you had left in you with the fuzzy feeling in your body taking over told you to listen.

“Okay,” your eyelids drooped, the feeling of Izaya’s movements beginning to lull you to sleep, “‘m tired anyways.”

Izaya could almost feel his heart stop in his chest once your words registered in his mind, almost screaming out when Shinra’s apartment complex came into view, “Relax, I meant relax! ____, you need to stay awake, we’re almost there.” He ran through the open entrance of the building, thankful to have been behind another pair entering the doors, before charging up the stairs. He didn’t want to bother waiting for the elevator or the inevitable stops it would make on the way up.

He did his best not to jostle you too much, your eyelids drooping dangerously. Before you knew it, Izaya was kicking Shinra’s front door and then carrying you inside once it had been opened. The vague glimpse of Celty’s suit is the last thing you saw before complete darkness consumed your vision.

You awoke to a beeping, loud and clear and far too close to your ears. Hesitantly, your eyes opened, shutting immediately upon being greeted with a bright overhead light. Your hands made an attempt to raise up and rub at your face and clear your vision, halting immediately at the pain that shot through your left arm before you let out a curse, gruff from the lack of use your voice had been given over the span of however long you were asleep. You winced, turning your head to face away from the light and look around once more.

As your senses began to clear and feeling came back to most of your body, you could make out the sound of voices mumbling in a nearby room. The familiar image of Shinra’s apartment registering in your mind and the ache in your bones coming at you with full force. The loud, pained groan seeming to silence the unidentified murmurs immediately, footsteps coming closer with every passing moment.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” Shinra’s cheery voice did nothing to help with an oncoming headache and you set a level stare on him, his glasses reflecting the light above you and making you wince.

“Blind. I am blind now, thanks,” you coughed, a sharp pain spreading out from your side to cover every inch of your body, “Oh, what the hell!” Your uninjured arm flew to your side in an instant, gingerly prodding at the skin and taking in the feeling of the gauze wrapped around your waist. “Wait… Am I-,” you lifted your head as much as you could without worsening your already piss-poor state and glancing down; you sighed in relief to see your underwear. You were not, in fact, bare-ass naked on the kitchen table.

Your head thumped back against what you realized was a throw pillow from one of the living room couches and a sigh escaped you. Your head was pounding, every inch of your body ached, the unknown injury under the gauze on your stomach was freaking you out a little, and the beeping from the EKG Shinra dragged in was driving you batshit crazy. You rolled your head to the side, looking at Shinra once more, “Well, this is fun. Why the hell am I here?”

Shinra laughed, “Because I saved your life. You jumped between Izaya and a very, very angry Shizuo, you know?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him as the moment replayed in your mind, “Oh, please! A few broken bones aren’t life-threatening, Shinra.”

He met your eyes, the smile slipping a bit and making you wonder how much, exactly, you had gone through. “____, you were impaled.”

“Yeah, Tuesday night,” your tone was amused, taking Shinra’s words as a joke. That is, until he gestured towards the living room. You turned as much as possible, eyes widening at the sight. All across the couches were towels soaked in more blood than you thought the human body even carried. Numerous bowls were filled with bloodied water, needles, gauze, tweezers, and various other medical supplies. There was a red trail across the wooden floors leading from the door and pooling near the table. It looked like a crime scene or a bloodbath out of some horror movie. Then you saw it, the bloodied pipe lying on the couch wrapped in a towel beside two empty bottles of rubbing alcohol. “That… That was in me?” Your voice was disbelieving, the thought of being that close to death was jarring. Even more so was another realization; Izaya had come to you. He had carried you all the way there, bleeding- dying in his arms.

“Where is Izaya,” it was not a question, your tone having lost all of its prior amusement. You knew him better than you knew yourself and you were almost sure that if the very real closeness of death made your stomach flip, you could only imagine how Izaya was now. He was cruel, detached, and oftentimes self-centered, but he was very, very human. More so than most others you’ve met. Not many things meant something to him apart from you and his extremely short list of friends.

You stared at Shinra intently, his own eyes softening, “He’s asleep in the other room-”

“He slept?” Izaya didn’t sleep often and when he did it wasn’t very much at all.

“I drugged him,” Shinra sighed, exasperated. He was probably replaying the argument he inevitably had upon telling Izaya he needed to rest.

You nodded, a smile gracing your features for a moment, imagining Celty tugging Izaya’s unconscious form into the guest room as Shinra worked. “Alright,” you moved to sit up, wincing and coughing, “I’m gonna go see him.”

Shinra’s brows scrunched up, confused. “____, you can’t walk.”

“That’s why you’re gonna roll my ass in there like a care package from the heavens,” you smirked. Both Shinra and yourself knew that if he didn’t take you, you would go yourself which could only end badly.

He adjusted his glasses before turning and grabbing the desk chair from the other room, wheeling it over to you and carefully helping you seat yourself. Every movement brought a wince and a grunt, eventually leading to Shinra dig painkillers out of his cabinet while Celty made a glass of water. Once the medicine was gone you were being carted down the hall and through an open door, the room dim as dawn had not fully approached yet. Once you were close enough to your boyfriend’s unconscious form, you started prodding at his side with your uninjured leg, toes curling to somewhat grip Izaya’s shirt before you began tugging petulantly. Your voice rose with impatience, “I~za~ya~! Wake up, you bastard! I got impaled and you get to nap? Up, up, up!”

With one just-beyond-gentle kick, he was flinching awake and grabbing your ankle, ready to tear you down to the floor with him when he got a good look at your face. His eyes darted to the gauze wrapped around your waist and his lips formed a tight line. “You’re in here, why?” Shinra’s eyes widened before he exited the room to leave the two of you alone.

That statement wasn’t directed towards him.

“I’m in here because I love you and enjoy seeing your face, you ass,” your brows furrowed, not understanding his hostility.

“For your information,” Izaya’s tone was cold, his movements stiff as he sat up to level his gaze with yours, “you’re injured, if you haven’t noticed. Also, you almost died for absolutely no reason. You should be resting.” His eyes softened slightly; the worry was evident under his apathy and anger.

“Then I’ll rest in here with you then,” you said matter-of-factly. Izaya opened his mouth to protest but you had already begun to move. Your cast tapped the ground roughly and you grunted, the pain raking through your muscles, the medicine’s effects still out of commission. Izaya’s arms were around you in an instant, easing you onto the futon beside him.

With a huff he pulled the blanket over you, scoffing at your proud smile. “You could have really died. Do you understand that?” The smile faded, your brows tugging together. You looked away from him guiltily, the blanket coming to cover your face. “I get hit by him all the time, you didn’t need to do that.” Those words made you turn, a determined stare meeting his eyes.

The same feeling you had when you jumped in front of him welled up in your chest once more. “You’re not the only one here who hates seeing their lover get beaten like a piñata!” Your shouting made Izaya reel back. You sounded sad almost, the images of Izaya getting hit by Shizuo or the various objects he threw at him were at the forefront of your mind, some instances ending more brutally than others. “I didn’t wanna see that again… You’re always picking fights and it sucks to watch sometimes.”

Izaya sighed, expression tired but understanding. If the way he felt watching you bleed out on Shinra’s table was the way you felt on any given day he was particularly unlucky, he definitely needed to tone it down a notch. He wasn’t too keen on it but if it would prevent you from pulling another stunt like this again, he’d do it.

“Fine,” he looked off to the side, avoiding your eyes, “I’ll leave the ignorant protozoan alone… kind of.” You laughed, leaning up as much as you could without pain, and placed a kiss on his cheek. Eyes closing as a cough racked your body before going back to soft laughter once more. Izaya gazed at you, watching your body relax against the futon. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss against your lips and messing up your hair a bit, “Night, ____-chan.” You hummed in reply, turning your head towards his chest and allowing the drowsy after effects of the painkillers to lull you to sleep.

- Pasya

#anon #pasya #durarara #scenario #izaya #izaya orihara #shinra #shinra kishitani #celty #celty sturluson

96 notes · View notes

the-awkward-writer · 7 years

Text

Stay?

Pairings: Dean x Reader, Dean x Lisa

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Cheating. Lots of it. Angst, swearing, drinking, implied smut, the whole nine yards. Even more angst.

A/N: This is my entry for @atc74‘s 1000 Follower Challenge! The prompt I chose was from the song Stay by Sugarland. I decide to break the prompt up into multiple lines of dialogue. All lines of the prompt that I used are in bold in the fic, so they’re easy to find. This is definitely not something that I am used to writing, so this may suck, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Enjoy!

Song: Stay: Sugarland

Quote: I can't waste another minute after all that I've put in it. I've given you my best, why does she get the best of you? So next time you find you wanna leave her bed for mine, why don’t you stay?

There was a routine. The routine was simple. Dean would always be on the road for a hunt. Seeing as both of you were hunters, you would be too.

Whenever your paths crossed even slightly, When Dean could get away from Sam, he would text you with an address, and you would text back with an estimated time of arrival.

From there, you hop in your old, beaten up Jeep, and speed down highways and back roads to get to your secret lover.

You’d make it there in record time, sometimes beating your ETA by up to forty-five minutes.

You would knock twice and only twice. Dean would answer the door, take your hand, and drag you in.

The room would be pitch black, and he’d pin you up against the wall, kissing you with a ferocity you had never felt with anyone else other than Dean.

He would take off your shirt, and you would take off his before he led you to the bed, falling on top of you.

From there things would escalate rather quickly.

The clock on your bedside table read 6:33 a.m..

Another twenty-seven minutes until Dean would wake up to his alarm, shuffle out of bed, get dressed, and answer the call to his girlfriend.

Another thirty-three minutes until you would feel Dean lay a soft kiss on your head, gather his things, and quietly leave the motel room.

Another forty-five minutes until you would drag yourself out of bed and take a shower, washing away the smell of sex and cheap booze from the night before.

Another sixty minutes until you would be looking at yourself in the mirror. Your hair would be dripping with water, hanging in curtain around your face. Your body would be wrapped in a towel. You would stare at your reflection, absolutely hating who you were, and what you were doing.

You were having sex with a man.

Who was in a relationship.

Who was practically a step-dad.

You were a homewrecker.

Another ninety minutes until you would be packing your things and leaving the motel room almost as quietly as Dean, as if you were in his home, trying to sneak out and you didn’t want anyone to know what you were doing.

You and Dean had been sleeping together for almost seven months. He had been with Lisa for five months before then.

In the beginning, you had been with Dean as an outlet of sorts. It was a way for the both of your to let out some steam. Forget about the stress of saving the world, and just be with each other.

It was easy to be with Dean. But, as you started to develop feelings for him, you found it becoming harder and harder to let him walk out the door in the morning.

“Dean,” you called out to him one Thursday morning.

“What is it, sweetheart?” You couldn’t see him very well in the early morning light, but you could hear how his voice was gruff from sleep.

“Stay?” You swallowed, suddenly feeling very foolish for asking.

You heard Dean sigh heavily, “I can’t sweetheart.” His voice was softer than you’ve ever heard. it seemed as if he thought his words would somehow tear you down.

You hated to admit it, but he was right. As soon as he gathered his duffel bag and left the hotel room, you rolled over to face away from the door, and cried yourself into unconsciousness.

After that day, you didn’t see Dean for a little while. He was probably creating some space between the two of you.

It was a few weeks later when you got the routine text.

An address about an hour and a half out for you. You text him back giving him an estimated time of arrival of 7:30. exactly an hour and a half.

You beat your ETA by thirty minutes.

You knocked twice and not even three seconds later, the door swung open and you were dragged inside the dark room.

Your back was forced against the door as soft lips molded themselves to yours. “You got here fast,” Dean mumbled.

“I may have gone a little over the speed limit,” you remarked, tugging your shirt over your head.

Dean huffed a laugh and followed your lead before falling into bed with you.

Early the next morning, when Dean was getting ready to leave, you called his name, “Dean?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he sighed.

“Stay?”

“I can’t sweetheart.”

A soft “Okay,” was pulled from your lips as he left. You’re not sure if he even heard it.

You didn’t have to wait long for Dean to text you again, only a week and a half.

The next morning you asked him the same childish question, and he replied with the same stern, yet quiet answer.

The question and answer the two of you did became part of the routine. Every morning you would call out to him and ask him to stay.

Every morning he would say no, and you would turn around and cry yourself back to sleep.

Since you were a hunter as well, Sam would sometimes call on you to help him and his older brother with a case, unknowing about the predicament between you and Dean.

During these times, you and Dean would not hook up. Solely for the fact that Sam was soulless, so he didn’t sleep. Meaning he would have known what the two of you were up to.

You and Dean would simmer in silence. Only a few stolen glances and lingering touches when you thought Sam wasn’t paying attention.

It wasn’t much, but it got the both of you through the week until you could get a separate hotel away from Sam.

The times that this happened were rare, to say the least, but even more passionate; the pent up lust spilled over until you both felt like you were going to explode.

One of these rare occasions stood out in your mind.

You, Sam, and Dean were on a case in Missouri. What appeared to be something sinister turned out to be a group of naive high school kids fooling around with an old witchcraft book. Needless to say, the book was burned, and the kids were scared to death, promising to never perform witchcraft again.

After the long day of dealing with stupid teens, you packed everything into your car and sped down the highway, texting Dean the address of a different hotel nearby when you were a few miles away.

You weren’t usually the person to reach out to him, but the week and a half of being stuck with Dean and no physical contact was killing you.

You drove at the speed limit, knowing that Dean would make it there before you even if you sped.

As you predicted, you could see the Impala when you turned into the parking lot.

The butterflies started their rampage yet again.

Throwing your car in park, you race to the door and knock loudly. It’s only a matter of seconds before Dean flings the door open and you both easily slip into your normal routine.

You felt Dean roll out of bed, and heard the clank of his belt as he pulled his jeans on. You heard the rustle of his many layers as he pulled his shirts over his head.

He still hadn’t put his boots on when you heard he socked feet shuffle across the dirty carpet. You cracked one eye open, and through the early morning light you could see Dean bending at the waist, his boots in his left hand, to grab his duffel bag from the floor.

“Dean,” you called out. You saw Dean’s back tense as he came to a halt.

“Yeah?” he answered, even though he knew exactly what was coming.

“Why don’t you stay?” You asked softly.

“You know why, sweetheart,” he said, his back still facing you.

You threw the thin sheet off of you, before you went to sleep you threw on a tank top and shorts.

“No, Dean,” Dean’s head turned towards you as he heard your voice right behind him. “I don’t know why.”

Dean dropped his boots and duffel bag on the floor, “If I stay, I won’t ever leave. And that’s not fair to Lisa.”

You stood there, gaping like a fish for only a moment before you composed yourself. “It’s not fair to me, Dean.”

Dean ran a hand down his face, “Sweetheart-” he started.

You cut him off quickly, “I should not have to share the man I love!”

Dean’s eyes widen, and like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he picked up his things, and fled from the hotel room.

It was two months later when you next saw Dean.

It was you who broke the routine and texted him the address of a hotel near him.

You sat in the awful motel on the thin mattress, your stomach in knots as you waited for your secret lover.

You had already chewed your nails down to the the beds in nervous anticipation.

‘You can do this‘ you thought to yourself. Your leg started bouncing, shaking the entire bed. Your eyes were locked on the door. Every time head lights passed by the window or footsteps passed your door, your heart lurched in your chest.

‘You have to do this’ you said to yourself.

You leaned your elbows on your knees briefly before getting up, pacing.

Back and forth you walked, imagining how the following conversation was going to go.

It wasn’t long before you had imagined hundreds of scenarios and wore a hole in the carpet.

There was a clank of metal hitting concrete outside and a soft “Shit,“ making you walk hesitantly towards the door.

It could either be Dean n the other side, or some idiot trying to break in.

God did you hope that it was some idiot.

Your heart was racing as Dean barged through the hotel door, grabbing your hips roughly and slamming his lips to yours.

When you didn’t kiss back within a few seconds, Dean pulled back.

“Are you okay?” His green eyes stared deep into your soul, almost making you chicken out and give into him.

You took a deep breath, stepping away from Dean. You hardened your resolve. You need to do this. “No, Dean. I’m not okay.”

The rare compassionate side of Dean, the one you only saw when you were alone with him, came out. “What happened?” His voice sounded sincere. Like he actually cared. You closed your eyes momentarily to keep the tears at bay.

“I can’t keep doing this, Dean.” Dean opened his mouth to interrupt you, but you held up your hand, effectively stopping him. “I can't waste another minute on this. I’m in love with you Dean, but I’m just your side bitch!” You were quickly getting frustrated, throwing your hands up in the air.

Dean ran a hand down his face, “Y/N, baby, you are so much more than that.” Hi voice sounded desperate now.

You shook your head, “I’ve given you my best, Dean. Why does she get the best of you?”

“After all that I’ve put in it, this is how it’s going to end?”

“You haven’t put anything ‘in it’!” You screamed at him. “You send me an address, I meet up with you. We have sex, and then you fucking leave! 98% of the time I’m awake, and no matter my state of consciousness, it always fucking hurts! I’m in love with a man that won’t even acknowledge me let alone stay with me when I ask you to!”

Dean was stunned to say the least. He has never seen you so angry. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never knew you felt that way.”

You scoffed, “I’ve said it before, Dean!”

Dean knew that he had no way around this one. You had told him before, and he walked right out.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted to that. I was just taken by surprise, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you felt like they were going to get stuck n the back of your skull. “I’m done, Dean. Don’t text me again to hook up. Better yet, just delete my fucking number. Lord knows I’ll end up changing it.” You shoved past Dean ramming your shoulder into his much harder than necessary.

You regret the decision as it gives him the opportunity to grab a hold of your arm, turning you around to face him. “Y/N,“ Dean said, staring into your eyes. “I am in love with you. I broke up with Lisa a few days ago. I just didn’t know how to tell you,” he looked at his feet in shame.

You tugged your wrist out of his grasp and forced yourself to keep your composure. “It’s too late,” Dean.”

His head snapped up and you could see the anger flare in his eyes. “But-but I-” he fumbled for the right words. “I said that I love you too. I broke up with Lisa for you!” He was getting angry now, making you take a step back.

“Dean. You’re not in love with me. You’re in love with the thrill you get when you’re sneaking around behind Lisa’s back,” your voice remained steady despite your quaking body.

“Y/N, please. What am I supposed to do?”

“Go back to Lisa, Dean. Live the apple pie life. Raise Ben. And next time you want to leave her bed for mine, why don’t you just stay?”

Dean took a step back, finally realizing that you were serious. “Please don’t do this. I need you,” pools of tears were forming in his eyes.

You took a tentative step forward, leaning in slowly to press your lips to his one last time. “Goodbye, Dean.”

You don’t say anything else as you walk out of the hotel room, leaving Dean dumbfounded.

Tears make their way down your face but you don’t reach up to wipe them away. The door clicks shut behind you and finally let yourself break down.

You just walked away from the man you loved.

From inside the hotel room, you hear Dean’s roar of anger and a loud crash. You assume he threw the bedside lamp at the wall.

You take a shaky step forward, and another and another and another until you reach your car. You peel out of the parking lot, intent on never seeing Dean Winchester ever again.

tags: want to be added or removed? shoot me a message or an ask!

@evyiione

#Angelina's 1k #dean winchester #dean #squirell #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean winchesterxreader #dean x reader #deanxreader #reader insert #dean angst #dean winchester angst #dean fic #dean winchester fic #dean one shot #dean winchester one shot #stay?#my writing

172 notes · View notes

deviantordivine · 7 years

Text

part 2

Blake

Blake sat on the steps of the agora, his back to the entrance. He was near one of the white marble columns, thicker than tree trunks and almost as tall as the old firs that blanketed the hills near his winter estate. He sat still enough that he could have been mistaken for one of the statues that lined the perimeter of the grand temple. Even if he’d positioned himself in the middle where a growing crowd of Vessels had gathered and now mingled, he knew his presence wasn’t exactly welcome. He wasn’t exactly a mingler, either.

He could just imagine the unease rolling off the other Vessels as they regarded him, trying to figure out what he would do.

I’m not like that-- like him, he argued to his imaginary scenario.

He sat, his head resting on his clasped hands portraying a look of false serenity. He almost looked like he was praying and not nursing a wicked hangover. He had mastered this stillness from years of toeing the line between outcast and loner. He figured it was easier for everyone if the young Vessel of Hades wasn’t that visible. He learned to absorb noise and release nothing, even in the last couple of months when his circle of friends started to grow.

He always felt like boulder in a room of earthquakes. A room of noise and excitement that echoed and multiplied until it was unbearable-- until he cracked.

Kat understood this a little bit--and drinking ambrosia always helped ease that destructive teetering he felt in big groups.

Today there wasn’t any ambrosia so he took what precautions he could. Isolation and a dark pair of sunglasses would get him through today’s Induction.

He was always losing his footing. Not anymore, he promised himself.

Blake could hear Danny’s fluttering feet before he sat down. Danny wasn’t exactly what he would call subtle, his long limbs and curly russet hair making him stick out. That and the fact that he utilized his ability to fly whenever he could. Where Blake wasn’t generous with his movement, Danny was teetering with energy; his gawky body almost vibrating with the need to stay in motion.

“Hey!” Danny said grinning. Danny was easy to smile, in almost all situations, unlike Blake. “Have you heard who they think is coming? I saw that Ares kid with the shaved head taking bets. I didn’t, obviously, but my money’s on another Zeus-- if the crowd is anything to go by. They don’t announce open attendance for just anybody.”

Danny had a way of steamrolling through a conversation without actually noticing he was doing it. It suited Blake fine because that meant that he didn’t really have to contribute that often. His head and jaw ached and talking was an effort.

“I have no idea.” And I don’t really care.

But he had to admit that Danny was right. Usually only the mayor and the most powerful Vessels get to witness an Induction and welcome a new arrival, which unfortunately for Blake, meant him. As the Vessel of Hades, god of death, he had a standing invitation to basically every important ritual in New Olympus-- whether he or anyone else wanted him to attend.

And since he had been to every Induction since he was Inducted himself when he was eight, he knew what Vessels were represented. Almost everyone if he remembered correctly. Blake’s stomach did a queasy flip flop. Almost. He tried not to push that thought out of his mind.

“You’re probably right,” Blake said. “Not that we need another Zeus running around. Martin and Harvey are more than enough.”

“True. I just hope the Gift is a good one.” Danny continued, “Elliot’s was the worst, remember? I smelled like fish for a week.”

Poseidon had to have a twisted sense of humor to flood the agora with seawater and seaweed. Blake could almost smell the fishy reek it left in his clothes through multiple washes. He had to throw out his favorite hoodie.

“That was pretty bad.” Blake said, lifting his head. He finally swept his gaze across the temple, taking in the crowd.

He could spot Harvey mingling with a crowd in the middle like he was already mayor, all smiles firm handshakes. The sleet colored suit he wore was fitted to his tall frame, making him seem older than seventeen, and his silver lightning bolt cufflinks flashed with his hands. There weren’t really elections-- no one really cared to go against a Vessel of Zeus for mayor-- but he had a sharp smile on his face like he was campaigning anyway.

Even though he was in the thick of crowd, talking to a some older Vessels Blake didn’t know, Harvey’s friends weren’t too far away. Blake spotted Bianca’s periwinkle curls easily. She was near the middle as she laughed at something Minnie said. Minnie tilted her head up to Bianca and if anyone didn’t know her they would think she was angry, her mouth set and her eyebrows furrowed. But her best friend Bianca had to cover her face with her hand in order to control her laughter. She even clapped a hand onto Mason’s shoulder, his golden glow rising off his skin as he too laughed at whatever Minnie said to them.

They turned their heads with smiles on their faces as Elliot called to them. He pushed his way through the crowd, dark spots forming on his sweater where his dark, wet hair curled onto it. Years of being stuck in class with this group gave Blake an odd feeling when he watched them. He wasn’t their friend, but he knew them pretty well. He guessed it was like watching a group of friends of a television show grow up. He doubted they knew anything about him-- and he didn’t plan on telling them anything.

Blake peeked at Danny from the corner of his eye and saw how he tried to look like he was scanning the room too, but his eyes kept catching on Bianca. Blake looked away to hide his smirk.

I guess childhood crushes don’t die down so easily.

Blake skipped over Alicia in the corner smoking by a pillar, a blush blooming up his cheeks. He didn’t know much about women’s clothes, but he guessed that the gauzy pink and ostrich feather gown think she was wearing wasn’t exactly day wear. He absentmindedly wondered where her Hephaestus was, or her Ares for that matter.

Farther away was the actual mayor Martin, watching over like a general surveyed a battleground. He looked at Blake for a second, then looked away. Blake could have sworn the sides of Martin’s mouth quirked up just a hair. What was that prick up to?

No wonder Kat and the rest of them never showed up to things like this.

It reminded Blake of the part he had to play, the ever present shadow they lived in. Not as much the shadow of the gods they served, but the myth of the gods themselves. Being in such a large gathering of Vessels felt like echoes of all of the past Vessels were there as well, taking up the precious air in the agora and leaving Blake to choke.

In other words, his hangover had not gone away.

“It’s nearly sunset.” Danny said without looking at the sun behind him. He was hyper aware of time, sometimes to the second, even though he didn’t wear a watch. Blake could see the burnt orange tint of the light cast through the gaps in the columns. The new Vessel should be here any moment.

Danny drummed his hands on his thighs. He coughed. “So, do you think that there’s going to be something at Bianca’s later? You know we could just check it out, for like five seconds, it's probably not our scene anyway but--”

Danny’s voice died down or rather Blake stopped being able to hear him as his entire being was focused on the crowd parting. The crowd silenced and parted for the figure walking to the middle of marble space. Blake could only see the back of her head-- could barely register the thick dark curls crowned in sugar-white flowers-- because he felt like he was sinking underwater, everything felt cold and numb and alive all at the same time.

Every hair in his body was raised and he knew a god’s presence had joined the Vessels. The Induction was beginning. The crowd felt it as well, looking around as the air became heavier. Blake didn’t bother looking around-- gods didn’t take corporeal forms at Inductions. If Blake was the praying type he would have asked that his guess was wrong, that it was another god who had come to give their god.

Any other god. Please.

Time slowed down, or maybe everything was normal and it was his heart that was jackhammering so fast time couldn’t keep up. He was surprised the foundation didn’t shake as he tried to get a grip on himself.

Everyone was kneeling, their arms outstretched to her. She had turned around, confusion written on her face. A distant part of Blake’s brain wondered how she could become a Vessel at her age. She looked like she was in her late teens, like Blake.

His mouth was dry and his breath uneven. He felt like he was unraveling.

Get a grip! He clenched his hands into fists until he was sure he broke skin. He could barely feel Danny’s hand clasping his shoulder and whispering to him, asking what was wrong. Blake couldn’t answer-- he didn’t trust his words. No one but Danny noticed Blake’s distress.

Martin was almost done with the ceremonial greeting, his voice booming out. “-and in our fortune we have found a new Vessel. One who will uphold the wills of the gods, and grant them the power they deserve. Your fate has been carved into Mount Olympus itself.”

He smiled and Blake gritted his teeth like he was preparing for impact. This was it. This could be the moment that changed everything. Blake clenched his jaw, willing himself not to lose his footing, like he promised.

“Leila, you are to receive your gift as the new Vessel of Persephone. Let fate smile upon you.” Gasps echoed through the atrium like a flock of birds taking flight and then cries of shock as a rumbling sound erupted through the agora.

The ground and the columns shook and the marble tiles cracked around them as vines broke from the floor and snaked their way up the columns. The vines were as thick as ropes and as they snaked their way up, flowers grew and bloomed. Flowers in shades of blues, purples, yellows, and pinks opened their petals. Blake didn’t know what any of them were but he wasn’t sure that they're supposed to grow the size of his head.

The rumbling continued and the crown formed a ring around the mountain of dirt that burst through the floor. A sapling broke through the dirt and quickly grew up into a full sized tree. The Vessels stared up at the tree as it grew larger and larger and Blake saw Demeter’s Vessel Camille pull the girl out of the way as the tree took up more space. It was like watching a time lapse of the life of a tree. The vines had stopped growing and the scent of flowers hung in the air.

Leaves sprouted from the reaching branches and then a sea of red flowers bloomed its way through the tree. Then just as quickly, the flowers swelled and darkened into fruit. The tree shuddered and stopped and the scent of flowers was replaced by the sweet and tart scent of pomegranates.

Pomegranates. Of fucking course.

The crowd fell silent once again and Blake swore he could hear his laughter all the way from the Underworld. The last of the sunset was fading and a orange panel of light fell on the girl. Her eyes were wide and the light made her brown eyes practically molten. She was the only person still standing in the entire space. The Gift was given, but the crowd knew what the pomegranate tree meant; the reminder that the myth was never too far away. Blake could feel the crowd holding their breath. Her arm extended up to the lowest branch, her fingers reaching for one of the ripe fruits.

Blake couldn’t take it. The smell of the fruit turned his stomach. He stood up suddenly and made his way out of the agora, down the steps that led to the winding road down the mountain. He knew he won’t be missed and he refused to let the other Vessels see his face, make their assumptions about how he reacted. He pounded down the steps and heard the applause and cheering from behind him.

He didn’t want to be there, he didn’t want to see how it ended, how the floor was crumbling underneath him despite his best efforts. He felt that itch again, the teetering feeling like he was walking on a tightrope with no safety net. Gripping the keys to Chiron tightly, he leaned into that feeling, ducking his head as the last of the sunlight winked out behind the trees.

He headed into the night. I don’t have to keep finding my footing if I’m in freefall.

#persephone #hades #greek mythology #writing #deviant or divine #pt2

2 notes · View notes

thomasreedtn · 6 years

Text

Ann Kreilkamp ~ “Red Pilling”: Is the Awakening Process Taking Hold?

I love this post by astologer, permaculture village creator, author and more, Ann Kreilkamp:

“Red Pilling”: Is the Awakening Taking Hold?

In the past 48 hours I’ve heard about two couples familiar to me, one of whom has been married for many years, the other a strong, bonded, romantic couple for only the past few months, and both these couples are now at each other’s throats. Why? Not over small, stubborn, personal issues. No. Instead, over something seemingly much more abstract, “issues” having to do with how one sees the entire world, or in short, one’s world view.

In both these cases, one person in each couple has been red- pilling his or her self and the other has not. So my question: is this phenomenon now being repeated all across the country?

If you haven’t heard the phrase “red-pilling,” it’s a convenient way to indicate that one is no longer “taking the blue pill,” no longer inside The Matrix that programs us to be-LIE-ve in culturally sanctioned illusions that get and keep us dumbed down and passive.

As I look back, I realize that my own introduction to seeing through the matrix began with the Kennedy assasination. One might call that event my initiation into adulthood. This stunning, out-of-nowhere, obviously evil deed, the gory details of which were broadcast over and over again on the television, took place not even one month prior to my 21st birthday. Even then, I sensed that something was very wrong with the explanations, but I had no idea what, and buried my distrust for many years, until one Saturn cycle later, when Oliver Stone’s 1991 movie JFK brought it up again for the culture to review.

But not just that. After all, I was coming of age in the late ’60s, when Uranus and Pluto conjuncted in Virgo, and blew the lid off the staid, stable ’50s. In my late 20s, I deliberately swallowed the red pill (in the form of LSD), and, the very next day, found myself, as a doctoral student in philosophy, entirely at odds with the way mainstream philosophy, psychiatry, psychology, and allopathic medicine viewed the mind, the human spirit, the relation between mind and body, and the relation between humans and the planet.

So yes, one might say that I was of that generation that red-pilled itself before we were even ready. We had no idea how to work with what was emerging. Most of us either went “too far out,” and “blew our minds,” or we scuttled back into the glamorous confines of boring materialism and status, better safe than sorry.

Not me. I was not even tempted to do that.

In my case, each new discovery that “things are not what they seem” shifted me further out of the social pack, and made me realize, once again, that I was alone, or I seemed to be alone in my thinking process. But was I? I knew I wasn’t. At least I knew that the authors of the books I was reading — Jung, Laing, Wittgenstein, and others — were also red-pilled, as we’d say now. And I knew also that if I just kept going, that if I did not get stuck, as my own internal guidance advised, then at some point I would actually begin to help others do the same. Furthermore, since I did have internal guidance, since that was so very very obvious to me, once I had almost died and instead chose full aliveness, I knew I was not alone, never had been. Always, I’ve been surrounded by guides, whether internal or external. When externally needed, they appear. Which is rare. Usually, just paying attention to my own psyche — and, of course, to dreams, synchronicities, visions, other right brain emanations of the larger psyche that fills and flows through us all — is plenty, for me to remember myself, my connection with the whole.

Sometimes I take myself to a forest, and commune there inside the trees’ communion with each other, their silent, spacious presence that holds and envelops and nourishes all within their reach, both below the earth through their roots and above the earth as their branches reach for the sky. I love how trees are aware of each other, how they lean away just enough so as not to disturb each other if possible; how they sometimes catch each other when they fall, and remain there, the live one upholding the dying one in its fork, for years, through its death and slow process of decomposition, providing even better habitat than when alive for the many species that feed upon it. I love how trees, when they do fall all the way down, then seem to dissolve gradually into the ground, as the species that inhabit their moss and mushroom covered nooks and cracks and crannies gradually take over, eating what remains. I love how the forest holds life and death and rebirth continually in the great cosmic wheel of energy condensing into and dissolving material forms. How could I not be happy and fulfilled walking through the forest?

How could I feel alone there, when enveloped by these great wise beings who see all, feel all, bend with the wind, and accept what comes from the sky? How could I not move into the same spaciousness that they inhabit naturally? How could I not follow my own nature to do the same?

I must admit, however, that each time I’m red-pilled in yet another area, it still comes as a shock, and sometimes I’m tempted into temporary denial. I think here especially of my reading of Kathy O’Brien’s Trance Formation of America, in the ’90s, and how at first I didn’t want to accept what happened to her, but in the end I could not forget. The events in this autobiographical account ended up not only completely shifting my view of Hillary Clinton and others, but made me recognize the evil underbelly of CIA-ruled MK Ultra mind control programs in general, and the complicity of the psychiatric profession.

And, there was, and is, always the forest. That which sustains being and does not judge. Rather, the forest accepts, allows, absorbs. You see why now I and others want so much for Donald Trump to “walk barefoot in the forest on mushrooms”? What would happen to this uber-capitalist, this superhero to some and buffoonish devil to others, this gigantic human whose vision is still so narrow, who sees nothing wrong with destroying the environment in the interests of big business? Whose undeniable skill at domination might be tempered and absorbed into the forest’s interspecies cooperation.

All in all, red-pilling oneself is, “in the end,” not as hard as it looks, nor as isolating. Oh, it may be to start, and even after all these decades, when you’d think I would be wised up, I still do have to “watch what I say,” — or not, depending on how I feel that day, or what kinds of storms are in the air, or my assessment of what my companions may be “ready for.” In any case, I don’t worry about feeling “alone” and “isolated” in my discoveries. Because I am not. Never have been, considering all the unseen help at my disposal. Furthermore, millions of people are now at least beginning to red-pill themselves, and as we do, this Great Awakening proceeds to throw revealing light on what has been a shadowy psychopathological underworld of total control, massive and continuous slavery and destruction for decades, even centuries.

Especially since the turn of the millennium, we, the people of the world, have become all too aware of the false flags that begin wars, and the bankster connection to both sides of any war. We are aware of 9/11, and how the official explanations just don’t make sense. We are quite accustomed to that phrase “false flag,” don’t just think of it as the movie, Wag the Dog, which announced it, and are quick to pronounce various mainstream media promoted scenarios, especially “lone gunman shootings” as designed to create fear and havoc, so that we may be more easily controlled, via “action, reaction, solution.”

The cabal, the illuminati, the deep state, the shadow government — lots of ways to talk about how a few people are controlling the many, or have been. How their smoothly administered blue pill is no longer going down. We simply can’t stomach it any more. And though it may seem as if there’s dissension in every household now, as at least one member within it wakes up to how we have all been hoodwinked for so long; as time goes on, and we long-term red-pillers are patient with our own impatience, and especially patient with those in our household who are still too scared to see, still too in need of the security blanket of their own long held, socially programmed be-LIE-fs, to even begin to peek out from under the blanket and behold the open sky, I have a hunch that the truth bombs now dropping will explode into jaw-dropping awareness.

Let those of us who have red-pilled ourselves for decades be ready for this explosion. Let us serve as strong central pillars of awareness, compassion and inclusion for the others who are just waking up. Let us be like old strong trees in the forest, holding all in a spacious presence that allows for even the most seemingly miraculous possibilities to emerge.

I walk in the forest surrounding Griffy Lake, on May 18, 2018, near Bloomington, Indiana.

from Thomas Reed https://laurabruno.wordpress.com/2018/06/28/ann-kreilkamp-red-pilling-is-the-awakening-process-taking-hold/

0 notes

braindamageforbeginners · 6 years

Text

Medication

Well, I can’t put it off any more, I have to write about those familiar, controversial Western medical bugaboos, pain medication and psychiatric meds. There are a helluva lot of issues here, and this is almost entirely an opinion/anecdotal piece, since it’s going to be a commentary about opinion (so, an opinion squared?), and I’ll be doing my usual crazed magpie topic-selection of madly going whatever shiny object/joke/whatever is closest to me. A few items to keep in place: modern pain killers are, in the span our species (the proper one, not the drunken Irish bishop’s estimate), brand-spankin’ new - less than 200-ish years old (for comparison, a former roommate of mine grew up in a house that had been in his family for that long)(before anyone gets any images of Kennebunkport, it’s worth noting that we’re talking about a former drinking buddy of mine, which is automatic grounds for disqualification of nobility in most places). Psychiatric drugs are much, much, much newer, especially as readily-available to the general public. Ironically, brain surgery - or trepanning, anyway - is almost as old as our species (so, who’s unnatural now?). And people tend to distrust new things - particularly medically new things (a former classmate was one of the first recipients of a live-organ donation, getting a liver at age four; she said a few fringe religious groups had called her parents with death threats over this)(this sort of thing is why I’m not particularly fond of religion, but I digress)(side-note; it kind of proves that we live in a society completely ruled by rich, old men that no one was up in arms when Viagra came out, even though it enables me to permanently shatter your sense of well-being with four words: Grandpa gettin’ it on)(I apologize for that last joke, that one made even me shudder). And technical/scientifically-oriented humans tend to love new toys, and abuse them.

Which is all a way of saying that I think - medically speaking - after getting over the novelty of all these things and overprescribing them for years, then backing off too much and inadvertently causing a drug abuse pandemic (sort of; I’ve read that the driving factor of the opioid crisis is people with chronic pain issues being under-prescribed or wrongly-prescribed meds, and then, in desperation, turning to more effective-albeit-dangerous things, like oxycontin), I think - and I’m just one severely neurologically-screwed-up individual - that most doctors are coming to think about these things the way they do about alcohol - it’s not for everyone, it’s not always appropriate, but in moderation, it’s healthy for most people. Again, throughout my experiences, I have never - at any point - been completely pain-free (if we include psychological pain) - but I have always been functional (sometimes near-super-functional). Credit where it’s due, I think that’s because I’ve had access to a highly competent, resourceful group of medical practitioners - from the receptionists on up - who weren’t afraid to use every single tool available to them.

The key word in that previous paragraph as it pertains to modern attitudes is “functional.” I could go on forever about how people have a weird hang-up about not using technology to enhance themselves” (again, unless it pertains to our genitals)(again, that’s not some vulgar statement, it’s a further reference to things like Viagra and/or plastic surgery)(not that I’m out of that one either, since I have veneers); we’re still obsessed with Greek games that are “natural.” Meanwhile, the World’s Strongest Man Competition is closer than ever to giving us the Hulk in real-life. Side-note, in case I haven’t mentioned it before; even if you’re completely disinterested in sports, I recommend checking out the World’s Strongest Man. Whilst other sports are obsessed with who can walk faster or swim longer, WSM is more concerned with lifting small cars (this is true) and hauling commercial aircraft. Not that discus throwing doesn’t have a place in modern society (it doesn’t), but if I’m taking bets on who would win in any event other than swimming, a Fiat or Lance Armstrong, I’m sure the Fiat wins. Whereas a Fiat vs Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson in any non-speed related event is a much, much harder call. My point being, we should have a regular, classic Olympics, and an Olympics we’d actually watch in which the only rules are “no killing the competitors, and no horse steroids.” Not because one is clearly more entertaining (although i will admit that’s a strong contender), but because there would be loads of assorted technology and stuff that they’d develop for it. We’d have bionic limbs (I mean, we’re getting there, but not soon enough), replacement clone organs, and better-than-new cartilage alternatives last week if Budweiser invested the sort of sports-sized sponsorship money into related biomedical research (admittedly in rather unorthodox way), and that could help sick people. Or help handicapped people. Or turn handicapped people into the Hulk. I mean, the technology that helped piece my brain back together (neuro/biofeedback) is amazingly more advanced today than it was just 15 years ago (we’ll come back to that shortly).

I mean, where was I? Oh, yes, we’ve always had a weird relationship between enhancement technology and society (better-explored in Carl Elliott’s book, “Better Than Well,”)(Kareem, you need to check this guy out, he got an MD, then got bored/annoyed and got a PhD in philosophy), and being able to enhance your neurological state kind of falls in there, in the sense that a fair number of psych drugs will take you past “normal” and into what Elliot described (based on patient interviews) as “better than well.” Again, based on a few EEGs my brain was functioning better after post-neurosurgery #2 bio/neurofeedback than it was when I went in (this is true), so I’m all for transhumanism. I bring this up because, again, in this broader viewpoint, psychiatric drugs and/or pain killers are part of the discussion,

The greater idea here is that I’m not feeling all the pain I could be from this experience. Well, no. I’m not. And there’s a significant fraction of the populace that has some sort of philosophical problem with that (I have not encountered them personally, but my step-mother does enjoy arguing for the sake of argument/entertainment, and the topics she goes for tend to serve as a sort of general opinion-poll for some of these issues). As she (sort of, maybe, it’s hard to tell) and Master Chief Urgayle would point out, pain is a good motivator. And I wholeheartedly agree. I would not be pestering physicians, social workers, pharmacists, etc. half as much or as effectively as if I were feeling okay. At the same time, there is a point - and this is not a wavy, thin line, this is something everyone will recognize if you ever see it - where pain not only becomes useless, it starts being a direct impediment to survival. After Neurosurgery #1, I blacked out several times from several assorted pain stimuli. In a completely natural scenario, that’s when the saber-toothed cats would’ve overtaken me, and, well, pain is even less helpful when you’re inside something with better teeth than you. Similarly, yeah, I’m not as upset by this whole experience as I could be, because I’m on some very powerful, exotic psych drugs (again, though, this is under direct medical supervision). And that’s essential to my survival; because, if I was doing this completely sober, my only reaction would non-stop vomiting, weeping, and staring out into space, followed by death because I’d forgotten to renew some critical prescription or procedure. So, if you do have friends or family who are chronically depressed (or even just post-partum depressed) and/or anxious and take meds for it, please just treat it as if they have diabetes and are getting and insulin shot. Modern medicine is essentially doing the same thing in both cases - supplementing/controlling a biochemical problem using chemistry.

Speaking of weeping and vomiting, I got a call back from Mad Scientist, who agrees with Senior Warlock in that the latest blip on the MRI is most-likely some sort of treatment side-effect/damage and not a recurrence or metastasis; and, at the same time, given both my history and placement in a clinical trial, very rapid follow-up MRIs were just a reasonably prudent precaution (she mentioned - Great Kraken bless that woman - that she’d be okay, if I weren’t in a trial, sticking with the original two-month schedule; but commended Senior Warlock’s hyper-vigilance on the matter). Which brings up another important reminder to both future-me and future-radiation patients, the list of potential radiation side-effects is lengthy and horrifying and can happen - including showing up on MRIs in weird places - any time post-Hiroshima. Like, I could make it to that 5%, five-year remission, and die at age 90 from necrosis related to radiation (unless I get my wish, and that side-effect guarantees me a slot in BalCo’s Gojira Clinical Trial for the next Olympics)(I’d probably sign up for that one right now even if I was completely healthy, if I’m being honest). Which doesn’t put me out of the woods for this latest little blip, but it will let me sleep slightly easier, which is probably a medical necessity at the moment, given that my current sleep debt is approaching four-digit numbers.

#brain tumor

0 notes