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casspurrjoybell-22 · 2 years ago

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Master - Chapter 51 - Part 3

*Warning Adult Content*

- Lincoln -

How had I ever let Kalem think that anything was more important than his safety?

I cared for nothing more than I did Kalem but somehow, in trying to ensure his future was peaceful and full of all he could ever desire, I'd jeopardized it all by being ignorant with the present.

But it wasn't just that.

I'd come to appreciate all that went behind being a Pylen and leading a clan.

The thing I'd once turned so fiercely away from, started to bring me joy.

I was proud of all in my clan, I was happy to help, to teach and to guide.

I found myself enjoying the castle being full of life and even though sometimes it felt tedious, I liked being a leader.

I'd got wrapped up in it all, too wrapped up and I...

"You forgot all about me."

Dear God...

"If that's true..." I hear myself mumble. "Then he's choosing not to come home."

Nothing.

"He can come back… and he's not."

Because of me.

"Don't spiral," Malcolm pleads as he comes to me, kneeling before me so that he could look at me. "Don't think the worst when we can't see the full picture yet."

I was pretty sure that I saw it in full now.

The facts were that I'd misplaced my priorities during this war and abandoned Kalem in the process.

I'd made him feel uncared for, unloved and when he tried to tell me, to do something, I'd yelled at him.

I'd hurt him with cruel words fueled by fear and now, he didn't want to come home.

The wound that had been opened the moment I'd learnt that my love was gone, spreads itself wider, growing to make that painful ache in my chest burn deeper.

My heart shrivels in its place in a useless attempt to escape the misery I'd made for myself.

"We don't know if this is even the case, we're just... trying to see it from all corners," Malcolm reminds me. "He might be waiting for the best moment to go unnoticed or maybe..." Malcolm stops himself as he tries to take a deep breath... "Kalem's strong, you made sure of that. He's been trained, he's smarter than even he knows and he's more powerful than we can imagine. He's going to be Okay."

"Okay?" I croak as I look up at my best friend who was trying his hardest to be the voice of reason but it was hard to see reason with the picture painted for us.

"How can he be Okay, if he's not home?"

"I'm..." Malcolm tries but nothing follows.

No perfect reason, no wishful explanation, only his grey eyes growing a little darker.

Before any more can be said, Malcolm's collar shifts from silver to gold in short pulses, Arias' signal I was guessing.

It makes us all tense as we watch the pulses grow faster and stronger.

I had no clue what it meant, but it was the distraction I needed at this moment because the thought that Kalem could be home... that he could be safe right now... but wasn't because he thought he had to prove something was harrowing.

"Arias is back," Malcolm manages before he's out the door.

Wenquie and I share a glance before we follow after him, moving as fast as we could through the scarce castle hallways until we reach the castle doors where all in the castle had rushed to gather.

My steps falter some when my eyes land on the Elf and the disaster he'd become.

Arias' usually perfect aura of greatness and strength was now a mangled mess.

His straighter hair was matted and dishevelled, his golden eyes dragged down by heavy bags and his cheeks were sunken in slightly as if he'd been drained of all his energy just trying to make it back.

"What happened? What... Are you okay?" Malcolm asks as he rushes to his lover's side, allowing Arias to lean his full weight onto him while his eyes struggle to focus.

Arias nods despite the clear fact that he was not okay.

Managing the smallest of smiles for Malcolm who looked so much smaller than the confident thing he'd tried to be earlier.

My shame only grows the longer I look at Arias.

While he'd been out there, tirelessly searching for Kalem to the point where he looked like the light behind his eyes might flicker out any moment, I'd been in bed, resting.

Those same golden eyes lift to mine, vacant of their usual distaste, there wasn't room for any of that now.

Kalem was all that mattered, all that would ever matter.

"I believe I found them or where they're going," he manages through pants, his normally smooth voice now hoarse with fatigue.

The relief his words causes are palpable, something that is impossible to miss as Lyrra Link drums with the clan's relief.

In the back of all the white noise in my head, I could make out Alexander and Karios already shouting frantic orders to gather our forces and prepare for an incursion.

It was the trigger to the blur of movement that began all around us, as those in and outside the castle moved as fast as they could to get ready for our final battle.

Our final because after all of this, I wouldn't spend another night with Kalem, without our enemies corpses still sizzling in the ground.

I'd faster die than allow Diablos to live another day.

"Where?" I ask unable to keep the desperation from my voice.

I didn't have the strength to be the unwavering Pylen my clan probably needed, I didn't have it in me to put on a brave face when all I felt was this unrelenting, brutal fear from the moment I'd learnt that someone had taken my love from me.

"I do not know the precise location," Arias breathes out, sounding angered by his own words. "I don't know this realm, this planet so closely. But I have marked the path in my mind and in the lands. If I could see a map or perhaps..."

Before Arias can finish his thought, a member of the clan steps forth with a map, spreading it out quickly on the floor for our perusal.

Mentally, I thank them, thank them all for caring so deeply for Kalem in the way he loved them too.

If the situation was reversed, Kalem would be beside himself with worry, doing all he could to make sure we found them and they all knew that.

Staring down at the map, Arias's pale brows pull in close while he studies it desperately.

"I tracked the magic from its source for as far as I could before I ran up against this...wall."

He shakes his head.

"It was strange, like nothing I've felt before."

"Witch magic?" Wenquie asks as Arias draws himself closer to the map.

"No, not quite. I'm not entirely sure," he rasps. "It was distracting, like a barrier that made everything outside of it look the same. I tried to break through it but every endeavour felt like it was being hurled right back at me."

That explained his appearance.

I could see the raw worry in Malcolm's gaze, all the questions he wanted to ask but we needed to know what Arias knew immediately.

Arias' magic was usually so fluid, so easy it looked effortless but now it looked like the most difficult thing in the world with how he strained to get even a small glow starting on the map.

"What do you need?" I ask, ready to do anything it took to help.

"I'm weakened, so it's harder to draw my magic in," Arias replies through gritted teeth. "I'm trying but I require more..." Arias words drift off as he glances at Malcolm.

Sharing some personal thought, the pair stare unblinkingly at one another before Malcolm draws Arias' left hand to his collar.

A deep frown sullies Arias' face as he recoils slightly as if the suggestion offended him.

"Please," Malcolm begs before I can. "This is for Kalem."

Any fight left in Arias drains out of him at the mention of Kalem, his best friend, who's safety was clearly more important than whatever holdup he had against drawing from Malcolm.

Wasting no more time, Arias circles his fingers around the nape of Malcolm's neck, around the collar that instantly lights up like a beacon that matches Arias' golden eyes.

A moment later, that small glow from earlier grows on the map, cutting a line through it from the castle and down the path Arias seemed to have taken.

I can't help the small bit of awe that fills me as I watch the line move through reservoirs, woodlands, state lines, countries borders and terrain that would challenge even the supernatural on foot.

Where I'd tried to scour the continent for Kalem, it looked like Arias had marked every inch of the globe.

But before my amazement could grow any further, the glowing line moves into South America.

While my heart tries to surge to life, my hands form fists so tight, the bones in my fingers threaten to break.

"This marks how far I went," Arias says, unaware of how the rest of us had stiffened or as to why. "I know it's not certain, but I believe if we follow this path, we'll find him."

"They're going there," Wenquie says, resting his finger against the desert region in the map that was disturbingly close to where Arias' line had stopped.

"The Atacama Desert."

Aias looks between us with shock written all over his face, along with a sliver of hope that wouldn't last much longer.

He didn't know what we'd learnt from Luciel before all of this, he didn't know that the path he'd follow led directly to the desert where Diablos' remaining forces were.

But he seems to get it, some portion of it at least, with the way his features fall.

"Diablos is based there," I say so that he wouldn't have to ask. "They're taking him to Diablos."

Saying the words out loud was far more painful than having them in my mind.

It was like pouring diesel into an open flame before stepping directly into it.

The flame burned brighter for Arias as the words settle in and set him ablaze.

While Kalem had told me in parts over the months how horrible his life had been in the slave house, all the punishments he'd suffered and the treatments he'd accepted as right, I could never understand the depth of his pain the way Aias had.

Aias had been there, with him, in those cages being beaten black and blue.

I often forgot that with the way he carried himself as if nothing in this world could hurt him.

But as he straightened now, his exhausted vanquished in the face of Kalem having to suffer again, his past pains showed clearly in his eyes.

"He can't get his hands on him," Arias pants, his eyes shifting to silver as if he were struggling to keep his true form at bay. "He can not hurt him again, Kalem can't..."

"He won't," I grind out.

He wouldn't.

I'd promised Kalem that I'd protect him, that I'd never let the ones who'd hurt him ever get their hands on him again, that I'd never let him suffer again.

I'd failed him by letting someone take him but I would not fail him by letting Diablos hurt him.

By Arias' map, there was still time which meant I still had time to save him and I would, no matter the price.

I could feel the Lyrra Link sitting just under the surface, the fountain of power sitting there as always, just waiting to be tapped into.

I was always so careful with it, never wanting to do too much, never trusting myself with it but there was no room for hesitancy now.

Taking in a deep breath, I still myself for only a moment before I open myself to it all.

I don't hold back, not run from him or try to measure it, I let my power spread through every inch of me until it fills my veins with the overwhelming magic they'd used to make us.

With a single thought, I send it out to every member of my clan.

Not only those in the castle but those who were still searching, those in distant lands waiting for the command they all knew would come someday.

I'd just never imagined that it would be like this.

I always thought we'd be more prepared, all ready to face the day we'd been chasing for more than a year now.

We'd all worked tirelessly to get here, each doing their part to see our goal met.

The day had finally come and not all of us would return.

I'd thought that by Wenquie's nagging, I'd be sure to give some sort of speech.

As Pylen, it fell to me to ensure that everyone knew that what we would do today would be worth it.

That the lives lost wouldn't be in vain and that we'd come out of this greater and stronger than when we began.

I owed that to them, I knew that.

But as I looked down my hand... my empty hand that was usually filled with Kalem's small, warm fingers whenever we faced the clan together... that empty space that belonged to my rock, my support, my constant light... now gone because they'd taken him from me... I couldn't find it in me to utter any words beyond the command I make sure settles in the marrow of their bones.

"Kill them all,"

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nahidshafreen · 2 years ago

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I'm now comfortable with being misunderstood, unwanted, hated, unloved, rejected, uncared for and all these things which used to hurt or unsettle me in the past and it gives me a sense of power, control, autonomy and liberation that I never experienced before.

It makes me feel secure in a way that's more peaceful than receiving the opposite but also disconnected and dissociated from my past selves almost as if they were different people with different bodies. I can no longer recognise their experiences as my own even though I know it was still me. It's like I've lost the ability to perceive those experiences from a first person's point of view, rather it feels as if I'm a mere observer of those experiences, like it's a movie and I'm just a part of the audience even though I'm the performer on the stage.

I'm sitting on the front row watching myself perform on the stage, our gaze connect once in a while but we're strangers to each other.

It's scary, sad and reliving at the same time. It relieves me off the pain but there's also this huge pile of grief sitting on my chest constantly reminding me of what I lost and pointing at the closed doors of the rooms that I'm no longer capable of accessing, taunting me.

I'm relieved knowing that I can never have to go back in those rooms and face the horrors which are locked in there but it also makes me feel sad that I'll never be able to access what was once my own. It's still mine but nothing will ever tether me back to it.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I want to take a peek and confirm that it was all real and I'm not making it all up in my head because it's so difficult when you can't even feel it anymore, but I can't because the bridge between us has been destroyed.

This realisation drives me mad and makes me question my reality, it blurs out the line between what's real and what's not and I sometimes I can't tell which side I'm on and what exists on which plane. Sometimes I feel as if I'm a byproduct of my own imagination and everything I know is nothing but mere fabrication weaved to mirror reality, which I'm not sure what it is to begin with.

-nahid.

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primasveraas-writing · 4 years ago

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"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. ��I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

#roy kent #keeley jones #roy x keeley #roy x keeley fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #roy x keeley fanfiction #roy x keeley imagine #roy kent x keeley jones #keeley x roy #angst #oops im so sorry yal #rebecca welton

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lostaestheticism · 4 years ago

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Scared to love is one thing, but do I understand why am scared to be loved?

Being loved is scary for one day you might just be un-loved and by that times you’ll be too habitual of the security, of the Constance.

Being loved is scary because everytime you’re loved, it’s a diff impression on your soul, and a diff scar, everytime you’re hurt. What if one day there is no vacant space left on your soul for another impression or scar.

Being loved is scary because it reminds you of the time you felt a similar feeling before and it reminds of you of how you were unappreciated and uncared for. And now, every person that starts to care for you, automatically seems to have not come to live in your heart, just to stay there for a while.

Being loved is scary because you can’t take the hollowness that lies between the departure and arrival of two different people. If the person with you leaves, you’d rather never give anyone else the power to arrive or leave again.

Being loved is scary because you’ve been with too many people now, with whom you’ve shared your story, your life and your worth.

Being loved is scary because, when one day you will decide to unlove me, I won’t do the same. And that’s why it’s scarier than loving you. Cause I will give all of me to you , once you give all of you to me. When you will love me, I will kill to love you like heaven and to go through hell with you.

So maybe just, don’t love me so much, cause I promise you I’ll end up loving you more.

#love poem #poetry #poeta #illustration #illustrators on tumblr #literature #love quotes #loveislove #poetscommunity

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seasonofthegeek · 6 years ago

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Somebody You Loved

This drabble was requested by @27percentonrottentomatoes through ko-fi for some angsty Chloe/Nathaniel with the song “Somebody You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi as inspiration. You wanted the pain, sweets, so here we go, haha.

___

“So after everything, this is it then? You’re done, just like that?” Chloe crossed her arms as Nathaniel pulled another scruffy suitcase out of the depths of the closet.

He paused to looked up at her and his expression was pained. “Do you really not understand what you did to me tonight, Chloe?”

“I can’t believe you’re taking it this seriously. I told you I was just teasing you about your art.”

“You teased me in front of a gallery full of people. People who came to see my art.” His cheeks flushed with anger. “I finally got up the courage to put my stuff on display, to put myself out there,” he clutched at his heart as if his hand was the only thing keeping it in his chest, “and you mocked me in front of everyone.” His face crumpled. “You know what each piece has meant to me and you were so cruel. You told complete strangers some of my deepest, darkest thoughts like it was no big deal. You made light of it all.”

She shifted uncomfortably, wishing she’d taken off her high heels before they’d started the fight. She couldn’t very well do it now. Nathaniel was actually upset. She hadn’t expected... No. She’d known what she was doing when she did it. If there was anything Chloe Bourgeois excelled at, it was self-sabotage.

“I didn’t mean...I was...I didn’t expect it to bother me so much to see you and Marc together at the gallery so I may have acted out a little.”

Nathaniel shook his head and unzipped the suitcase. He turned to the chest of drawers behind him and opened the third one to start taking out his shirts. “I’ve told you so many times that we’re just friends.”

“He’s in love with you! Why can’t you see that?!” Chloe felt all the insecurities she kept bottled up start to spew out like a soda can that had been shaken a little too much.

He dropped a stack of shirts in the suitcase and dropped his head. “I don’t think he is but even if he was...Chlo, I love you. That’s all that should matter. You were the one I wanted.” He met her eyes with sadness filling his. “But I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep making excuses for you.”

“Making excuses for me,” she echoed. “What’s that mean?”

“I have friends who can’t understand how we’re together. They think you’re selfish and petty and spoiled, and I always thought they just didn’t know you the way I did, but maybe I’m the one who was wrong. I thought I saw something in you that was different, but...” He trailed off and returned to packing.

Fear rushed through her like a flood and she crossed the room, gripping his arm so he couldn’t life another stack of shirts. “Please don’t do this, Nath. Please don’t leave,” she begged. “I know...I know I was a bitch. I know I’m a bitch a lot, but I can be better. I’m trying to be better.”

His shoulders dropped. “I just don’t know if I can believe you. You really hurt me tonight. I don’t know if you get how I feel right now.”

“You can tell people my secrets. We’ll be even.” She knew she was crying now and she wiped at the tears in irritation. She hated crying in front of anyone, even Nathaniel.

He shook his head sadly and pulled away from her enough to grab the shirts. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s not how you treat people you love.”

The accusation in his unsaid words felt like a brick in Chloe’s stomach. She wanted to fight him. She wanted to scream and tell him to stop being stupid. She wanted to guilt him into staying, to belittle him into bending to her will. She wanted to...

She wiped at her eyes again as fresh tears welled up. “Will you come back?” she asked, straightening her spine even as her voice shook.

He paused in packing a set of pants and finally looked back at her. “I’m not sure.”

Chloe nodded and swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Okay.”

There was nowhere she could hide in the apartment that he might not find her before he left so Chloe grabbed her purse and quietly let herself out the door without another word. She walked the darkened streets numbly, uncaring that it wasn’t safe, and when Chat Noir found her hunched over and crying on a bench in the park, she didn’t fight him when he took her back to his apartment.

___

“You want coffee?” Adrien offered, holding out a cup.

Chloe took it without comment and stared at the steam rising up from the dark liquid. Her head ached and her eyes felt puffy and her neck was strained from sleeping on his couch the night before.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

“Nathaniel left me.”

“Oh.” Adrien frowned and settled into the armchair beside her. “I’m sorry.”

“I deserved it.”

“Chloe, I don’t think--”

“I deserved it,” she repeated. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

His brow furrowed but he nodded and settled back into his chair. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’m here if you change your mind.”

___

It took two more nights on Adrien’s couch and a comment from Alix about how she looked even worse than she smelled that finally convinced Chloe to go back to her apartment.

The light was on just inside the door because Nathaniel always left the light on for her when he knew she was getting in late. She didn’t bother turning it off as she walked further into the apartment.

She expected it to feel empty, but it didn’t. All the furniture was still in place because it had all been hers. Their bedroom looked mostly the same, though the bit of the closet she could see through the half-open door was less full than it had been. The bed was even still made from the morning before the art show, but the top cover was mussed at the end where the suitcase had been. Chloe ran her hand along the bumps of fabric without smoothing them out.

She moved on to the bathroom like a ghost haunting a place long abandoned and noted the missing razor and shaving cream from the shelf below the mirror. Only one toothbrush was in the cup now and her stick of deodorant stood alone. She stared into her reflection and couldn’t rally any kind of feeling. She was numb.

“You did it again,” she murmured. “Congratulations on being utterly unlovable.”

___

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Chloe said, crossing her arms. “This was probably a mistake.”

The therapist gave her a gentle smile. “It’s okay not to know why you reached out, Chloe, but the fact that you reached out is a good sign. You know you need help and it’s okay to admit that.”

She gritted her teeth and held back the instant retort that sprung to the tip of her tongue.

“I see in your questionnaire that you recently went through a break-up. Would you like to talk about that?”

Chloe clenched her jaw. “No.”

“Okay,” the therapist nodded. “May I ask if it was your first serious relationship?”

She blinked in surprise. “Uh, yeah, it was.”

“I see.”

“I never really cared about anyone before...him.”

“That can make it doubly hard,” the older woman nodded. “Especially if you’ve opened up to that person.”

“Yeah.” Chloe dropped her hands to her lap and looked at the uneven nails. She’d really been letting herself go. “I just...I think I thought he actually saw me, the me I wish I was.” She scowled. “That probably doesn’t make sense.”

“I think it makes perfect sense.”

She dared a glance at the therapist but quickly dropped her eyes. There was no way she was going to get through this if she kept reminding herself of the stranger across from her, but she somehow hoped this could be penance for what she’d done to Nathaniel. “If he saw that version of me and still left, I must be even worse than I thought.” She hadn’t meant to let the words come out. They’d floated through her mind and before she realized it, they were whispering out from between her lips.

“What version of Chloe do you want to be?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you could sit down and make of list of attributes you wish others saw in you, what would they be?”

Her face screwed up in thought. “I guess I just want to be me, but a version of me who doesn’t screw everything up.”

“How do you think you screw things up?”

“I’m mean. I know how to hurt people with my words and I do it.” Tears stung her eyes and she ignored them. They were so familiar now.

“Why do you think you do that?”

“I don’t know,” she huffed. “Aren’t you supposed to know why my brain does stupid stuff? I’m going to be paying you enough to.”

The therapist gave her a patient nod. “I can draw my own theories, but you’re the one who knows yourself best, Chloe.”

“People never really seem to like me,” she finally answered after a long stretch of silence. “Even when I’m trying, they don’t...I’ve just never been that person people want to talk to, so I found other ways to get attention, I guess.”

“By saying and doing mean things?”

“Yeah.” Chloe shrugged. “I thought I was getting past it and then...I thought I was going to lose Nathaniel to someone else and kinda freaked out and just...just word vomited all over the place. I wanted to hurt him before he could hurt me.”

“And that’s why he left?”

“Yeah, not the best plan, but definitely a norm for me.”

“What made Nathaniel different from the other people in your life?”

Chloe froze, realizing she’d been talking about her relationship when she’d said she didn’t want to before. She was tempted to shut down and refuse to answer, but she’d come here willingly and she may as well try. She had nothing else to lose.

“He felt safe, I think.”

“And do you think you loved him before or after you realized he made you feel safe?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

Her therapist nodded and made a note on her pad. “That’s okay. Sometimes we don’t know why we do the things we do, and sometimes we can figure it out after a while.”

“And you think this can help me be better?” Chloe asked, voice small.

“I think you wanting to come here and try is already a sign that you’re on your way.”

___

Chloe had been in therapy for two months when Nathaniel contacted her about meeting up for coffee. She’d read the simple text at least a hundred times before she replied that she needed more time. After a day of anxiety-ridden waiting, he replied back that he could wait.

She wasn’t sure if she’d be ready to be in a relationship again anytime soon. She still had her demons to slay and the fear that she would revert into the version of herself she was trying to bury jumped to the forefront of her mind. She needed to be better for herself before she could worry about anyone else; she wanted to be better for herself. But she couldn’t obsess over that. Change didn’t come all at once.

She would take everything one day at a time. That’s all she could do.

And with a little hope and an effort to be the version of herself she wanted to be, she could make it. She would make it.

Buy me a cherry coke?

#chlonath #chloe bourgeois #nathaniel kurtzberg #miraculous ladybug #angst

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janiedean · 6 years ago

Note

Now I want to hear the Stannis rant (when you have time)!!

hahahah have fun XD okay so for context, the tags I mentioned the aforementioned rant in:

#one day i’ll rant at lenght about how dnd never got stannis#bc they cannot conceive that a dude with THAT kinda moral compass is a complete disaster when it comes to interpersonal relationships#nor that half of the issues stannis has are bc he’s literally starving for people to see he has worth#while slaving for them anyway and being more competent than anyone else that passes before him#but this is not the day i guess

now: this is... a thing that I honestly struggle with when it comes to this fandom because the side that hates stannis thinks he’s a selfish arrogant asshole without feelings and the side that loves him is like ‘omg such a great battle commander GO RIGHTFUL KING HE’S SO BADASS’ and I feel like neither is an accurate reading because the first sees the character at mere face value (and most likely skipped the davos chapters) and the second only cares about his so-called badassness, but... thing is: stannis is an extremely competent person who’s also a disaster at relationships because he feels like no one cares for him (which isn’t exactly untrue as I’ll rant about later) who in turn everyone judges as uncaring and unfeeling when he actually isn’t and who in turn compulsively pursues what he can pursue because he has to compensate and who on the other side is absolutely starved for recognition except that he doesn’t get it.

and like... at this point I have to lay down the premises in the sense that while I really wish I didn’t, I... kind of really do relate a lot to that aspect - people assuming you’re cold/aloof because you aren’t immediately excited about things or don’t wear feelings on your sleeve - and tbh I really really love that grrm made a character who has the Good At Battles And So On reputation... a complete interpersonal rships disaster, because it actually gives him a whole new layer that I don’t see really discussed often and since that’s what I relate to... it’s sad. for me personally at least.

anyway, thing is:

the fact that stannis was the unloved baratheon brother is the exact first thing you learn from the acok prologue - I mean, ‘Stannis, my lord, my sad sullen boy, son I never had, you must not do this, don't you know how I have cared for you, lived for you, loved you despite all? Yes, loved you, better than Robert even, or Renly, for you were the one unloved, the one who needed me most.’ like, it’s the first thing the narrative throws at you in the face the moment that he does something that already puts him on the reader’s bad side ie dismissing poor cressen, but it’s basically the key to the entire damned point;

because first of all it implies stannis (who’s the middle child out of those three) felt like both his brothers didn’t love him and with their parents dying the way they did that goes too, and if we take into account the proudwing episode - he saves the damned hawk, he’s all happy he got it back to fly, robert mocks him for it and his uncle convinces him to let it die - it’s basically the metaphor for his life because whatever he does, the people who should notice don’t care;

this actually should be discussed along with the whole siege of storm’s end because like... stannis held out by almost starving himself and his men (but renly never mentions it whenever he speaks so I should suppose he doesn’t remember it as an extremely traumatic event when he was in the castle, so stannis made sure he actually had enough food to not starve most likely when no one else did) for robert and if he hadn’t done that when he was barely twenty if not nineteen they’d have lost the rebellion, which you’d think would give him nice things, right? no, because robert gives him dragonstone which stannis sees as a slight, he feels like robert loves ned more than him and he’s p. resentful about it, renly basically bypasses him when it’s time to claim the throne with the amazing explanation that ‘he’s not amusing and people wouldn’t like him’ when that’s not how succession works and he doesn’t seem to get one inch of appreciation by his relatives that he almost died for;

now he has that compulsive thing when it comes to laws and sticking to justice.... considering that he feels like all of his entire family wronged him since he was a teenager (and like, i’m obv. not blaming robert for not having been the best bc he also had trauma bc their parents died I mean we have issues but I get it) and like both his brothers feel like others (ned, loras/the tyrells) are more their family than him and/or that they don’t care for him because he’s sour/not immediately expansive/etc... are we surprised that he has that much of a problem with the concept of compulsively following justice/the rules? considering that when it comes to that it’s written black on white and fairness is objective, obviously he’s a sucker for the rules and he feels that strongly about his birthright - that’s because he feels like he can only trust in objective ruling that everyone should follow rather than people;

this is where I go personal, but... a thing that’s extremely common if you tend to be shy/not immediately an extrovert/if it takes you time to get to know people/if you aren’t a funny person automatically is that people start to assume you don’t have feelings or you don’t care about others, which in turn means that you tend to become even worse because the moment you open up you’re terrified that the other person will hate you, and that’s... peak stannis because the way he’s when the books start is out of all of that plus having married someone out of obligation for robert and getting humiliated on the same wedding night plus having just one daughter everyone sees as defective and that renly openly mocked at some point too but never mind that, and like... another thing with stannis that people don’t really notice is that while he’s crap at expressing his love for his daughter because he’s shit at feelings and relationships, he also loves her really fucking much and as someone else pointed out he didn’t educate her to marry into some other family, he educated her to be his heir and with davos’s male sons and so on, like he didn’t give her just a lady’s education, he gave her a full-on heir education, which outside dorne is unheard of, and in his last adwd chapter as much as dnd didn’t read it... he told people to put her on the throne if he died and to fight for her same as they would have for him. like, it’s obvious that he does love her, he’s just complete crap at showing it... same as he is in general because he doesn’t feel like he can be open about his feelings with people and because he pretty much has no fucking clue of how it works, which is... well... what happens when you grow up with that kind of emotional stuntedness;

that is, unless he’s talking to davos, which is what I’d really fucking like for people to realize. like, never mind the show, but when book!stannis talks to davos he immediately goes from 100% completely closed off to being all soft and as affectionate as it goes and I mean guys... just a couple quotes but:“He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm's End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king's close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face. Yet when he saw Davos, a faint smile brushed his lips. "So the sea has returned me my knight of the fish and onions.""It did, Your Grace." Does he know that he had me in his dungeon? Davos went to one knee.”-"I am lowborn," Davos reminded him. "An upjumped smuggler. Your lords will never obey me.""Then we will make new lords.""But . . . I cannot read . . . nor write . . .""Maester Pylos can read for you. As to writing, my last Hand wrote the head off his shoulders. All I ask of you are the things you've always given me. Honesty. Loyalty. Service.""Surely there is someone better . . . some great lord . . ."Stannis snorted. [...] but I trust none of them as I trust you, my lord of Rainwood. You will be my Hand. It is you I want beside me for the battle."that’s TWO, and when davos says that his lords wouldn’t want him for a hand stannis goes like you’re more important than them to me pretty much, and in general the moment they’re alone together he’s way more open and vulnerable and sincere than he is when literally anyone else... that is because davos is the literal one person that not only is his actual friend (bc he doesn’t really have any other friends not even between his relatives), but also someone who:a) actually thinks the world of him;b) hasn’t batted an eyelid at his sense of justice I mean guys let’s be real he cut off davos’s fingertips bc he was a criminal at the same time as giving him a lordship after davos saved his life and everyone else’s and davos has the bones with him always because he thinks they’re his luck I mean k that’s extra but he actually does see stannis’s point when it comes to fairness;c) hasn’t disappointed him once;d) has only ever acted in his best interest;e) is the kind of person who’ll call him out on his bs rather than kiss his ass for honors and to someone who has stannis’s issues knowing that that kinda person exists means a whole damned lot;f) doesn’t think he’s there just to run the show without getting thankfed for it nor takes him for granted nor doesn’t recognize his efforts, which is 99,9% of his remaining issues with everyone else - ie that he does his job and does it well but no one recognizes it and everyone else passes in front of himg) sees his worth, which is a thing stannis is literally starved for but doesn’t get from many others period;which means he has one healthy relationship with someone bar maybe his daughter. one. that’s... not really that great or good whatsoever;

I mean there’s a reason why stannis wants that throne so bad. not that he cares about it, but that’s his right, so anyone else getting it would be the umpteenth time in his eyes that someone cheats him off something that’s rightfully is (storm’s end, his brothers’s love/affection/support etc);

like, it’s not about how stannis is such a great badass fighter strategist, it’s that he wants the throne that badly because not getting it would be just the last straw in the list of slights he feels that he’s been at the end of for his entire life and one more humiliating than any of those others, because otherwise he wouldn’t give a damn;

and like... what I think dnd missed and a lot of people also do is that the ‘great commander who wins fights’ doesn’t mean he also can’t be a guy with extremely bad issues when it comes to interpersonal rships thanks to trauma and to the almost entirety of people around him writing him off as the not fun boring guy who only cares about laws when the only reason stannis cares that much about what’s fair and what’s not is that he feels like everyone else has been unfair to him.

and like....... recognizing that would require admitting that stannis is the farthest thing in these books from a badass conqueror guy who wins battles and wants to be king and will be an equally badass king - he’s an extremely competent guy who became competent at his job out of sheer stubborness and perfection complex who is everything but an emotionless machine (regardless of what people who should know better ie his brothers might think) and who has been disappointed so much in this sense that he can only have a healthy relationship with one single person who is not so coincidentally someone who saved his life, didn’t see anything wrong in his strike for justice, recognizes his worth and would die for him, which... is really not anyone else’s case in his immediate vicinities (not counting his soldiers and so on but that’s another problem entirely). that requires admitting that westeros crap toxic societal standards have hurt him too and that he has a second side that’s not really so cool (guys being emotionally stunted is not fun, I’ll 100% guarantee it to you, and people assuming you’re cold or emotionless because you can’t immediately open up to them is even worse) and that if you want to project greatness on him you should also embrace the fact that he’s a complete human disaster who is as starved for recognition/appreciation as jon is and there’s probably a reason why they were getting along so well in adwd.

and like, I think the fanbase who hails him as the new coming of jesus doesn’t recognize that because it interferes with the fearless conqueror dude fantasy - which is his superficial reading, not his actual reading, same as people deciding he’s emotionless just out of superficial reading, while dnd obviously didn’t know how to write him since S3 because they couldn’t decide what to do with him... but obviously, because dnd have no idea of how to write a male character who is both a strong military commander and an emotional disaster who wants recognition for his own worth and isn’t a power hungry asshole. nvm that dnd have no idea of how to write emotionally vulnerable male characters (see what they did with jaime tyrion theon and sandor and that’s not even counting jon or robb) but stannis was obv. too complicated for them to even consider actually trying for real.

/two cents

#stannis baratheon #janie writes meta #i guess #ch: stannis baratheon #hey do I have salt about stannis? A WHOLE DAMNED LOT #also: I know he's done a lot of horrid shit #AND NO ONE SAYS LISTENING TO MEL IS A GOOD THING #nor we think his acok choices were good choices #this is about WHY he is the way he is #and the side where he's a 100% human disaster is only ever touched #by some ppl in fandom once in a while #and most of them left with S5 #understandably #because I refuse to recognize the S5 finale #long post for ts #janie rants #dragonsthough101 #ask post

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whitefoxed · 5 years ago

Text

Little Wonders

Starter for @algrimthestrong | Written to this | Chapter 1

1991, August 10th. Rock Creek Park. With summer coming to an end and fall just starting to begin, the air was much cooler and dryer than it had been the whole season. Yellowing greens and the sounds of soft footsteps muffled by the fallen leaves and insect song imprinted strongly into the young boy’s eidetic mind. Lise had taken in a deep breath, scenting damp and the nature around him.

His family had came to Washington, D.C. a month before his birthday, to fulfil some father-son bonding ritual Daniel was intent on having since he was allowed to take a vacation from his work, so this was the boy’s first time experiencing this change of season in America. His mother had remained in the city to do her shopping, while his father - Daniel - brought him to the park to teach him its history and how to recognise the tracks of the different wildlife here.

Or at least, that was how it was supposed to be.

Daniel had went to secure horses for them both, leaving Lise to his own devices. Bored, the young child found a secluded corner and started playing with magic. Though his mother always told him not to do so without her supervision, he truly couldn’t resist satisfying his curiosity about whether or not there would be a difference using his ability in a different land. Besides, he made sure there was no one else around. Gathering energy, Lise threw little spells without a sign of fatigue, seemingly unlimited by how much energy he could collect from his surroundings. It was crude, blunt even, but that was only because the boy was untrained still.

But in an instant, without being aware of anything, Lise had already lost consciousness.

The next time he woke, he found himself dangling by his shirt in some dark hallway. His mind felt heavy, as he listened to two people talking next to him, one of them being the person holding him like this. Then, that person’s hand came closer, drawing his attention and causing him to look up at it as it covered his small face and also reveal that he had already regained consciousness. Lise’s big grey eyes shrunk to silver pinpricks, sensing his natural glamour shatter and his half form brought to light. Tiny white ears peeked out of white hair bleached from brown and nine tails spilled out from his pants behind him. His fingernails too, sharpened slightly into small, slightly dangerous, opal claws. But throughout all this, he felt like lead, unable to feel fright like he thought he would. The hand holding him shoved him into the other man.

“… Where am I?” Lise clutched onto the cloth, concerned about falling to the floor. His pupils had dilated back to its original size as he looked up at the one holding him this time. Again, he felt calm, but as the footsteps of the one who shoved him over went further and further away, the fear that made his heart beat harder started bubbling up, adding a light of confusion and worry to those bright silver eyes.

Dark eyes pinned the child with wary intrigue, watching as what had been hidden was forcibly brought to light. Vulpine ears, as white as snow. Nine tails, agile and sleek. The claws, while still tiny and short, seemed sharp enough to open a man’s throat. Not quite a hound but not a hunter either. A strange hybrid, a cross between man and beast, his small body heavily saturated with magic. A part of Algrim felt sorry for the boy, who had been taken from his world, snatched from his parents, thrust into a foreign world with no choice but to surrender to fate, the life he’d known forever barred to him.

Midgardian lore was rich with tales of babes stolen from their cribs, swapped for a changeling to spy upon the guileless parents. When the boy’s father would return to collect his child, he might, perhaps, notice an air of wickedness surrounding his offspring, a glint of malignity in the little one’s eyes that had not been there before, and yet he’d take the wretched thing home and treat it as his own flesh and blood.

The Accursed, Algrim knew, desired no son to follow in his footsteps, no heir who might threaten his reign. The boy was not meant to be a successor, but a slave. A tool. A puppet on strings to do the king’s bidding. A new and prestigious addition to Svartalfheim’s fabled bestiary.

The Lord of the Hunt, however, had neither the time nor the patience, let alone the emotional aptitude to rear a child, and so the mantle of raising the boy had fallen to Algrim; Algrim, whose children had perished in ice and snow, leaving the aggrieved father to live on in a world darkened by loss and sorrow. The boy was a burden and a blessing. A millstone round his neck to remind him of everything he had lost, and a precious gift to lighten his heavy heart.

He held the young whelp gently in his arms, watching his lord depart and disappear into the gloom of the castle. “You are in Svartalfheim, child.” Algrim’s tone was soft, gentle, comforting even as he turned his gaze back on the boy, watching large, innocent eye peer up at him with confusion and fear. How long had it been since he’d last held a child in his arms? An eternity, it seemed. A different life. The eyes of his children had been black, unreadable, the colour of obsidian just like his own, but the eyes of the boy were silver, shining as bright as starlight.

Algrim’s fingers splayed on the child’s back, adjusting his hold on the boy as the slightest of smiles graced the elf’s lips. “You are home.”

“Svartalfheim?” Repeated the child with perfect intonation, as large silver eyes took in the elder’s face. The smile and better support holding him helped soothe Lise’s mounting fears and the way he immediately started looking around them and back over his shoulder at the man leaving after being told he’s home, showed his quick understanding of the situation despite his age.

He had never heard of Svartalfheim, nor seen people like the one holding him, his gaze flitting at those pointed ears and hair as white as his against dark skin. Young as he, Lise couldn’t help trembling while he looked around again, as if searching for something. The quivering on his tiny tufted ears was most obvious, along with his tails which all curved downwards, tucked tight to his body. When those bright orbs returned to those dark ones, large with hope, another question fell from his lips again. “Is A- are.. my parents here?…” He asked quietly, changing how he addressed them to something more appropriate for people who weren’t family nor familiar with the language he used.

While Lise was still too young to hear of tales about changelings - his mother having started with stories originating from their homeland and gradually spreading from it - he had long been taught to be wary of being kidnapped. Recalling that he had been playing with magic just before this and how he was not supposed to - it was against the rules, his mother had once told him bad people would come take him away if he was found - the child was immediately both worried and regretting having done so earlier. He was wrong, he broke a rule and now he was taken away!

The boy was truly frightened now, even if the man holding him hadn’t done anything to harm him. He wished to see his parents, to tell them he was sorry for playing with magic and for his mother to scold him not to do it again, because that meant she’d be around to protect him. And that was why, he still clung onto the hope that they were here, enough to ask it aloud.

The flawless pronunciation with which the foreign word rolled off the boy’s tongue earned a look of approval from Algrim. “Svartalfheim,” he confirmed, “the realm of the Dark Elves. One of the Nine Worlds nestled amidst the roots and branches of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, of which Midgard – ‘Earth’ as you call it – is but one.” He lapsed into silence, granting the boy a chance to process what, without a doubt, was a lot to take in. He felt the child tremble in his arms, shaking like a leaf in the wind, distress and confusion reflecting on his young face.

The boy’s next question had Algrim’s features softening with sympathy. It was the bane of all children to think themselves invincible, to believe their parents would always be there to shield them from the evil in the world. Coming to realise their misconceptions was one of life’s hardest lessons to learn, and experience could be a cruel teacher. The little fox was still young, though. Young and pliant enough to be shaped and moulded to fit into his new life. “I am afraid not.” Algrim shook his head, carefully watching the boy for his reaction. He could easily relate to the child’s plight, the pain of separation and the despair that came with it as life as he had known it was torn asunder from one moment to the next.

There was, of course, the option of plying the distraught child with stories of uncaring parents who gave away their unloved offspring or traded the little one in for ample riches. Algrim, however, thought it best to tell the truth, to let the boy wail and grieve rather than risk building his fealty upon lies and deception.

“You are special, little one. So special that the king of the elves himself came to spirit you away.” He offered another smile, lightly rubbing the boy’s back. “Surely you heard about elves before? I heard our kind became quite popular on Midgard in the modern age.”

Gently, he set the boy down on his feet, both of his hands coming to rest on the young one’s shoulders as he stooped to speak to him at eye level. “The Accursed King sees great potential in you. You are to live with us and be taught the ways of the fae. I was appointed your guardian and mentor. You may call me Algrim.” Placing his index finger under the boy’s chin, he gently tilted the little one’s head up to look him in the eye. “What is your name, child?”

Dark Elves. Nine Worlds. None of those meant anything to the little fox, though the name Yggdrasil caught his ears in a familiar way. He remembered then, a short excerpt about western fables in the book of mythology his mother gave him. And it wasn’t wrong to say that elves were very popular back home either, what with them appearing in every fantasy game and how famous the Lord of the Rings were worldwide. But all Lise could hear was that his parents weren’t here and he clung onto that little hope just a few heartbeats longer as he fought the tears welling up in his eyes.

He was scared and clinging onto the elf who held him, trembling. For all the little boy’s pride and effort not to cry, his face soon scrunched up as crystalline tears ran down his delicately soft cheeks. He was wrong… he’s sorry… but his natural ability to sense truth that he himself did not yet understand ebbed strength out of the pup as he visibly wilted, ears and shoulders drooping and tails curling tighter. It was as if he was trying to make himself smaller and without a doubt, be hiding if he wasn’t held. The elf’s smile did little to soothe the boy’s grief, though the rubbing helped keep him calm as he started sniffing, a pup-like whine escaping from what little control he managed to have.

Lise didn’t want to be special. He already knew he was. That’s what his Eomma always said. And that was why he shouldn’t practice magic outside on his own. But he did.

Tightly curled fingers clutched the elf’s robes tightly even as he was placed down on the ground, reluctantly letting go to grab onto the front of his own shirt instead, a hand raising to wipe his sleeve over his eyes again and again. Both his blurry sight and sleeve couldn’t obscure how intent and kind those dark eyes were looking at him as his shaky sniffles gradually ceased. ��Al-Algrim.” He repeated after the elf, pronunciation only marred by his weak voice and stuttering.

It took the boy a moment or two longer before he visibly made effort to gather his wits back together after his head was tilted up to look at Algrim properly. Blinking away his wet and sore eyes, Lise tried to stand taller, straightening his back even while his tails twisted together.

“Lise… my name is Lise…”

Compassion was in Algrim’s gaze as he watched the boy’s eyes fill with tears, feeling the child’s hold on him tighten with the strength of desperation as the elf’s words wormed their way into the little one’s mind. He let him cry. At times, crying was the best of medicines; to flush out the shock and sorrow, to wail and grieve, to let it all come out in a rush of tears and relief so acceptance could follow in its wake. The small, soft sound of distress that slipped past the young fox’s lips tugged at Algrim’s heartstrings with a poignancy that triggered a flood of memories. This time, he would not fail to protect the young life entrusted to his care. This time, he would keep the precious child safe from harm.

Giving the boy a moment to get his bearings after learning of his fate, Algrim stood back a little to watch him, noting the way he endeavoured to face his future with courage and dignity as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve before straightening his back to make himself look taller in the face of the tumble his life had taken. This one was strong. Proud. A fighter. Algrim could already tell that much. He could not keep the smile on his face from growing a fraction as the child repeated the name of his mentor to-be, testing its sound on his tongue, attempting to adapt to the situation rather than succumb to despair and cry for his mother to come take him home. Admirable.

“Lise,” Algrim repeated in turn, enjoying the ease which with the name flowed past his lips. He nodded approvingly at the little fox. “A beautiful name.”

He spent a moment carefully deliberating how to best introduce his protégé to the new environment he was to live in before reaching for little Lise’s hand, his fingers curling gently around the boy’s. There was no need to rush things. A well-fed, well-rested child would be far more susceptible to his teachings than a stressed one. “Well then, I suggest we get you a new attire, yes?” He paused to consider the child’s Midgardian clothes with a sceptical glance. “And then you can rest a little. How does that sound to you?”

Prompting Lise into tagging along with a gentle tug on his wrist, Algrim began leading the way through the castle’s labyrinthine passages, passing grim-looking guards and busy servants as they advanced deeper into the Accursed King’s realm. After a while, they arrived at a heavy wooden door which Algrim pushed open to usher the boy inside. “You will be staying with me for a while until I deem you ready to occupy your own quarters.”

The room was spacious and lavishly furnished. The dwindling light of the day filtered in through the gauzy curtains that framed several large, arched windows. The room was equipped with a bed, a heavy, elaborately carved desk, a smaller, lighter but no less intricately fashioned bureau, a table with several chairs, and a divan in front of a fireplace. Well-stocked bookcases lined the walls along with several cabinets, a dresser, and a full body mirror.

Letting go of Lise’s hand, Algrim turned to face the boy and gave him another warm smile. “Are you hungry, Lise?”

Lise. A beautiful name. The fox child latched onto the elder’s soothing baritone for comfort, white ears twitching in the dark Svartalfain halls. For a boy whom normally liked open spaces, the place suddenly felt too large and foreign. Lise huddled closer to Algrim’s side, clinging the moment his hand was taken.

Wide, soaked eyes peered up at the elf from near his hip, nodding to that suggestion merely in attempt to please. Honestly, Lise didn’t know what he should do. He wanted to try and get home. But fear and confusion reigned his little heart and mind and all he knew was this man was kind to him. So he followed the tug and through the many twists and turns, cataloguing the pathway and encounters in the back of his mind.

Ever the curious child, he couldn’t help stealing glances at the guards, servants and decorations, despite how they terrified him and sent him hiding into the skirts of Algrim’s robes with his little ears trembling. By the time they had reached the wooden door, the boy’s tails were all firmly tucked between his legs.

Into the new room he went with the elder and for the first time since he had woken, Lise found some form of security in his surroundings. The windows provided sufficient light unlike the shadowed hallways and there were no grim faced guards nor terrifying decorations. Unnoticed shallow breaths and rapid heartbeats gradually slowed and Lise loosened his tight grip on Algrim’s hand, just in time for it to be released.

Swivelling eyes which were looking around the room and soaking in every detail returned to the elder when he was addressed, pink lips parting slightly as his guard dropped even more at that smile. Even a child could recognise the elder’s beauty. Then his gaze fell and flitted back shyly, about to shake his head out of instinct to not be troublesome, when he felt his stomach gurgle.

His father had promised to bring him to the forest restaurant after the horse ride before he found himself here, not even knowing how long ago that was. Lise simply assumed the same amount of time passed was from the morning he was last awake on Earth to the coming dusk he now saw beyond the window.

Finally having a purpose instead of simply feeling lost, the boy squared his stance and looked back up at Algrim with determination and hope. “Yes!… Please!” He added after a second’s thought, remembering to be polite despite not having been offered food yet.

Curiously, Algrim watched the boy for his reaction, pleased to find Lise looking about the room with budding curiosity rather than trepidation. The younger they were, the better they adjusted to their new surroundings; the sooner they forgot about their old lives. His own heart ached with sympathy for the boy’s parents, who would have no choice but to live on, trapped in a never-ending cycle of grief, despair, and foolish hope, never to know of the fate that befell their little one. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, banishing the thought from his mind. This was neither the time nor the place for regrets.

He observed the young fox carefully, glad to see that Lise had lost some of his initial fear. Even his tails, which had been tightly twisted together and tucked between his legs in distress, seemed to have relaxed fractionally, he noted. A brief chuckle trickled past the advisor’s lips as little Lise’s stomach beat its owner to an answer, and he nodded approvingly as the dear boy made an effort to be polite.

As if on cue, the door opened and two servants came striding in, bearing silver platters with food and drink. None of them spared Algrim’s little guest a glance as they marched past. They set to work without preamble, dutifully laying out plates and silverware on the table and lighting the torches mounted on the walls, turning to bow low to their superior before departing again.

Algrim turned towards Lise with a smile. “Well then, dinner is served.” Taking the boy’s hand in his own, he led him to the table and helped him climb on one of the cushioned chairs. He went on to pour them each a drink, blackberry juice for Lise and wine for himself before taking the chair on the opposite end of the table.

Algrim had deemed it best to stick to dishes the boy might already be familiar with, saving the more exotic cuisine for when Lise had properly settled in and adjusted to his new life. On the table, a selection of roasted meats, steamed vegetables, baked potatoes, and sweet desserts was waiting to be enjoyed by the pair.

Now this was the crucial part, for only after the boy had consumed the enchanted faerie food would he truly belong to the realm, unable to ever leave. “Eat,” Algrim prompted gently, nodding encouragingly at Lise.

Not expecting to have his wish granted so soon, the little fox jumped with a startle and hid back into Algrim’s skirts, bolting behind him faster than he knew what he was doing. Staring at the servants coming to and fro, their appearance still so foreign to him, Lise couldn’t even pay attention to the food they brought in until he had made sure they left the room. Only then did his tension loosen and let himself be led to the table and helped onto a chair. He could jump on it, but he was also on the smaller side and Algrim’s aid meant being less clumsy and avoiding accidents.

Once there and able to see the spread on the table, his eyes brightened as he found comfort in familiar sights and scents, recognising the food offered. He was still making sure that he somewhat knew what meats and vegetables they were when Algrim spoke to him again, making him look up from the food and remember that he was hungry. With the faintest, hesitant smile, both in hope and ingrained manners, Lise nodded and answered as he picked up the utensils. “잘 먹겠습니다.” Jalmukesumneda. I will eat well. Such were the words to say to be polite at the table.

Still, he didn’t start eating. Holding his fork and spoon, he looked and waited for the elder to start patiently, ears starting to twitch left and right slowly along with his tails’ swaying, idling movements to help pass the time and hunger. Even though the child was very hungry, he naturally observed the customs his mother taught stringently. Subconsciously, the boy buried a newborn fear deep down in his heart, afraid of disobeying a rule again.

Algrim granted Lise a moment to take in the variety of dishes on the table, noting the look of bright-eyed wonder on the boy’s face at being offered what could well pass for a small feast.

The advisor caught himself smiling. This sweet, gentle-mannered child was very special - and that had nothing to do with the fact that Lise was a magical being. The boy was a rare gem, a diamond among pebbles, that only needed to be cut into shape and polished to brilliant perfection.

The wish to please was obvious in the boy’s demeanour, the phrase he uttered when picking up the cutlery a product of his strict and meticulous upbringing. Algrim moved his head in an almost imperceptible nod of approval. In a way, young Lise reminded him of— Algrim smothered the thought before it could blossom to life. If he began to view Lise through the eyes of a father, he’d throw objectivity to the wind, and this was something he could not permit himself. The boy was his responsibility. A task he had been charged with. An asset to groom and raise into a loyal follower of the Accursed, not a foster son to fill the void inside him.

“You may eat,” Algrim told the boy, seeking to dispel Lise’s hesitation (misgivings?) by offering a reassuring smile. “You need not be afraid.” Noticing the way Lise glanced at him, he realised the little fox was waiting for his host to start eating first despite his gnawing hunger. Whether such hesitation was born of fear, uncertainty, or politeness, Algrim could not say for certain. Reaching for a bowl of potatoes, he heaped some on his plate before proceeding to add spoonfuls of braised vegetables and a slice of venison. Algrim began to eat without hesitation, keeping his eyes on Lise to see whether the boy would follow his example.

Witnessing the elder eat, Lise started too. Though Algrim verbally gave him permission to do so, it simply confused the child even more when he was keeping so strictly to the rules he was brought up with. Thus he hesitated until he saw the given cue, almost pouncing on the food and helping himself to a share of them onto his own plate. Only his ingrained manners kept him from making a mess, naturally preferring meat over vegetables and other forms of food. He did take his greens however, just not as much as the other.

Digging in, the boy chewed as quickly as his tails wagged, eager to fill his grumbling stomach. The act of eating was comforting and the familiar food reassuring. It was with keen instinct that Lise focused greatly on his meal, to keep his fear and sorrow at bay, innocent to its true intent to chain him to this realm. Perhaps if he had known, he would not have wolfed down as fast as he did.

By the time he was done, though he had eaten more than he usually did, the amount was still not much. Yet it was also enough to give him a small contented belly. Sitting back in his chair and drinking water, Lise finally had the leisure to study Algrim and his surroundings once more and his large watery silver eyes rolled this way and that doing so. Of course, he was also waiting for the elder’s next instructions, not knowing what to do after meal when he was neither dismissed nor told to help wash the dishes.

#algrimthestrong #t.algrimthestrong #t.algrim.little wonders #t

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winchestergirl-13 · 6 years ago

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Love of Humanity

Prompt: Of Humanity

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader

Word Count: 3,017

Warning: A little fluff, minor angst, Lucifer is trying to be upset but can’t, he’s good with kids, small creeper scene for like a minute. I tried.

A/N: Second installment for @thinkwritexpress-official‘s My Kind Of Love Challenge. Again, I found a quote to use to help explain what this type of love is. Which was hard to do, but I think this one works. This one kind of got away from me as I just kept writing. I hope I captured love of humanity well in this.

“I love and care for everyone because I know the pain of being unloved and uncared.” - Luffina Lourduraj

After everything that happened with Amara, her and Chuck were on better terms, but him and Lucifer weren't. They were trying, but it wasn't easy. His “punishment” was to stay with the Winchesters and learn to understand His creations, to love humanity. To say there were hostilities was an understatement. Sam and Dean were about as happy as Lucifer was to be staying with them (notice the sarcasm there?), but (Y/N) had no problem with it. With Lucifer's powers diminished just enough to where he couldn't hurt anyone, but help out if needed, there really was no reason for her to worry about him.

“How are you okay with him staying here?! You know what he's done to us. Why are you so calm about this?” Dean shouted, confused that she wasn't afraid.

“I know what he's done, Dean, and I know that him saying “sorry” won't be enough to fix what he's done to you and Sam, but I wasn't at the forefront of what he did. I was always someplace else when he was around, so I bare no animosity to him aside from what he did to all of you. But Chuck is giving him a second chance; a chance to make things better. And, yeah, that's probably going to take a long-ass time, but it's a start. Look, if you don't want to help him, that's fine. I won't force either of you to. But I will. Okay?” (Y/N) explained, standing her ground in front of the two men who she saw as brothers.

Sam looked a little uneasy at the thought of her being alone with Lucifer for too long, but he also knew that there wasn't much that he could do to any of them. Sam trusted (Y/N), even if he didn't like it. With a sigh, he replied, “Okay. But please, be careful. If...if anything happens...”

“I know, I'll call. I'll call Cas if I need to get to you or vice versa. But I'll be fine,” she promised. Dean was still uncertain, but they couldn't waste any more time. People were dying from a creature they were thinking was a vampire or...well, they didn't know just yet.

“Alright. But like he said, please be careful and if he does anything...” he left his threat unfinished. They all knew he would take care of it if Lucifer did anything.

“Yeah, yeah. Now go; go save the world again,” she chuckled, trying to push them towards the garage. Trying being the operative word. The boys both laughed at her attempts and pulled her into a hug before taking off. As they got smaller and farther away, she realized now that she was alone with Lucifer. Taking a deep breath, she slowly released it and headed back inside. Honestly, she didn't know why she was offering to help him, but here she was. Once she entered the Bunker, she set off to find Lucifer.

“Lucifer?” she called out, honestly not expecting him to respond to her.

“What?” he replied from behind her, sounding about as bored as ever. (Y/N) turned around and gave him a small smile which he returned with a scowl. He didn't get why this human wasn't cowering in front of him. De-powered or not, he should still be intimidating. But she was just standing in front of him with no amount of fear.

“Grab a coat and your shoes. You and I are going for a walk,” she stated, turning around to the war table and grabbing her bag.

“No,” he crossed his arms over his chest. He would not be going out on any walks. He'd rather sulk in his borrowed room.

(Y/N) turned back around, placed her hands on her hips, and leveled him with an unreadable expression. It made him feel a little upset about how he replied, but he wouldn't back down. He couldn't. “Well, I don't care. You're going to grab your shoes and a coat and we are going for a walk. If I'm to help you understand your father's creations, there only way to do so is to go outside. Now go.” She pointed in the direction of the rooms, watching him battle internally with himself before he heaved a sigh and literally stomped his way to his room. Honestly it was like talking to a child.

When he came back out, he had a pout on his face. Honestly, it looked a little silly. Here was a who-knows how old angel and he was pouting like a child. (Y/N) just gave him a smile and motioned for him to follow her up the stairs.

It was calm and quiet as they walked through the woods near the Bunker. She was taking him to a nearby park that she found the other day. It would be a test to see how he handled other people. (Y/N) tried to make some small talk, but Lucifer wouldn't respond aside from a grunt or a hum. It was a start. What she wasn't privy to was Lucifer's inner rant to himself about her and this whole thing.

“Why does she care about other people show much? About me? What does it matter if I understand humanity or not? Why do I even care about what she thinks?!”

He was so caught up in his inner rant, that he didn't realize she was calling his name. “...cifer. Lucifer!”

“What?” he seethed, glaring at her, but it didn't do anything.

“I was trying to get your attention so I could let you know that we arrived at the park. You might want to tone down the attitude mister. May I remind you that you currently have little power and that right now, you have to listen to me. So calm down,” she explained, looking up into his eyes, but not backing down.

Lucifer was trying to do everything to look away, to scream at her that he didn't need to listen to some human, that he was better than her. But he couldn't. So he just took a step back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he opened them, she could see the fight leave his eyes a little and he calmed down some. “Fine,” he gritted out.

(Y/N) just gave him another soft smile and took his hand, leading him over to a park bench. Lucifer took a look at their joined hands and couldn't help this feeling in his chest. He couldn't figure it out. They took a seat and just watched the children play, the parents wander around and help their children. One or two recognized (Y/N) and would wave or say 'hi' to her and she would respond in kind. Lucifer couldn't help but try and figure out what was so fun about a bunch of twisted metal and plastic.

“What is the point of playing on a bunch of twisted metal and plastic? How is that fun?” he asked. (Y/N) didn't respond for a second, too shocked at the fact that he gave her a full question instead of a short one, two worded one. But after a second, she just replied, “For the kids, it just is. They get to play in ways they sometimes can't at home. The swings, monkey bars, everything about a playground is just absolute joy to them.”

Lucifer thought about her answer and deemed that it did make sense, even if he didn't understand it himself. They sat there for a while before he initiated a conversation. It was something he thought about for a while now and couldn't help but ask her. “Why do you care about me so much? You know what I've done, to the Winchesters, to others, my family...why do you care about what happens to me? To anyone for that matter?”

(Y/N) sat there and contemplated her response. Why did she care about him, about strangers so much? Well that was simple. Without looking at him, just staring ahead, she responded, “I love and care for everyone because I know the pain of being unloved and uncared. Before I met Sam and Dean, I wasn't in a good place. I had a bad relationship that ended poorly, my family never cared for me, but I wasn't going to let it stop me from caring for others. I wanted to help people, to show them that despite any bad that happened in their life, someone was there who cared, who could help. Even if they were a total stranger. No one deserves to feel unloved, to be cast aside. No one, not even you, Lucifer,” she looked at him at that point. He stared at her in shock and stayed silent. After a moment, they both looked away from each other and returned their attention to the park ahead of them.

Lucifer kept repeating her words in his head. “No one deserves to feel unloved, to be cast aside. No one, not even you, Lucifer.” Did she mean that? So they sat in comfortable silence, just listening to the happy squeals of the children around them. At one point, one of the mothers who knew (Y/N) asked her if she could keep an eye on her daughter while she went to the bathroom. (Y/N) happily agreed, picking up the tiny four year old and held her on her lap.

“Hi Sarah! Are you having fun?”

“Uh-uh!” she giggled, clapping her hands. And then she stopped, titling her head at Lucifer, like she was trying to figure him out. He copied her expression, trying to figure her out. (Y/N) noticed and stated, “Sarah, this is my friend Luce. Luce, meet Sarah.”

Lucifer gave an attempt at a smile and tiny wave, but Sarah kept staring at him. “(Y/N), why does he have wings?” she asked, whispering in the way that children think it quiet.

“Come again?” she looked at where Sarah was looking at, but didn't see anything.

“He has wings! Is he an angel?” Sarah kept looking between (Y/N) and Lucifer, expecting an answer. What (Y/N) didn't expect was Lucifer to answer her.

“Can you keep a secret Sarah?” he asked, leaning forward a little. Little Sarah nodded her head excitedly, leaning forward as well. “I am an angel. Only children can see my wings. But you can't tell anyone, promise?”

Sarah covered her mouth to contain her squeals, bouncing in (Y/N)'s lap as she tried to hold her still. “I promise! I won't tell anyone!” she promised. Lucifer gave an honest smile and with the little bit of power he had, he managed to conjure up a little butterfly to keep her entertained until her mother came back a few minutes later.

“Thank you so much, (Y/N),” she gave a relieved sigh, gathering up her daughter from (Y/N)'s arms.

“It was no problem, Jen. Bye, Sarah!” she waved by to the little girl.

“Bye-bye (Y/N)! Bye-bye Luci!” Sarah cried, waving goodbye to her friends. Lucifer gave a tiny wave back. Even he was a little shocked by his reactions today. When he turned to look at (Y/N), she had a grin on her face that he rolled his eyes at.

“I didn't know you were good with children, Luce.”

“You do know that I have thousands of siblings right? Before I was cast out, I was a big brother to them. Human children are innocent. They don't know of the horrors of the world yet,” was his response. She didn't push the subject any further. Before they left, (Y/N) went to the bathroom, leaving Lucifer by himself. That's when he noticed that maybe, just maybe, humanity wasn't so bad. There was a father helping his little boy off the ground and gently wiping his tears away before he cleaned up the small scrape on his knee. There was a teenager who looked like a punk, but was pushing his little sister on the swing, a smile on his face. Kids in the sandbox helping a smaller boy build a sandcastle. Mothers helping their children down the slides and across the bridge. No hatred, no problems, just peace. He felt a smile spread across his face before he could help it. But something had to break that peace. The humans might not be able to hear it from across the park, but because he was an angel, he had better hearing, even with less power.

(Y/N) was by the bathrooms still and this creep was trying to talk to her, but she didn't want to talk to him. She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her from walking away.

“Come on. Don't be like that,” he smirked as she tried to break from his grasp. But then there was someone else there.

“I believe she doesn't want to go anywhere with you. Now I suggest you let her go before you get hurt.” (Y/N) looked over at Lucifer, who honestly was looking a little scary with how calm and yet dangerous his eyes and posture was. His normally ice blue eyes were glowing a little, making them look red. It was enough to scare the creep that he let go of (Y/N), but as he went to run off, Lucifer twisted his hand a little and the man fell down. Unconscious, but alive. Another parent saw what was happening and called the cops. No one saw what Lucifer did to him, but that didn't matter. He stopped a creeper.

When the cops got there, he had his arm wrapped around (Y/N)'s shoulders and calmly stating that he saw someone questionable talking to his friend and was trying to get her to go with him and she wasn't having it. He stopped him and told them that he tripped over the tree root and knocked himself out. Not quite a lie, but to the other parents, that's what they saw. After that, the cops left and the park was empty save for (Y/N) and Lucifer. She hadn't said a word after what had happened and when they started to walk home, he still had his arm wrapped protectively over her shoulders.

“Are you alright?” he finally broke the silence as they got closer to home.

“Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you for saving me,” she replied, not looking up at him. He stopped walking, causing her to stop as well and finally looked up at him.

“You don't have to thank me for saving you. If anything happened to you, Sam and Dean would kill me,” was his answer. It wasn't what he wanted to tell her though. Her face fell a little, but only for a second.

“You're not wrong about that. But still, thank you,” she took a risk and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hug. Lucifer was honestly shocked. He couldn't remember the last time someone gave him a hug, so he was a little slow to return the hug. But she didn't move from the embrace until he let go. They didn't say another word after that. Once inside, she made some lunch for them. Apparently with less power meant he needed to eat and sleep.

Later on, after a call to Sam and Dean about what happened (they wanted to leave and head back, but she told them she was fine and that Lucifer saved her. They found that a little surprising, but were glad to know she was okay), her and Lucifer were watching a movie. They sat close enough on the couch that he had his arm draped across her shoulders again.

“Aside from that man, I guess humanity isn't all that bad. There are some moments were people can be good. I've seen that much. I can't say that I love humanity as a whole, but there are some that I can tolerate. Children mainly as they have so much innocence. But I guess I can give humanity a chance like you gave me a chance,” his hand squeezed her shoulder quickly and softly before resting against it again.

(Y/N) smiled and leaned a little closer to him, feeling him tense for a second before relaxing. “Well I'm glad that you find some of humanity to be tolerable.” They continued to watch the movie in silence until he spoke again.

“You're not so bad yourself. For a human,” he shrugged like it was no big deal, but the smirk on his face got her laughing.

“Well thank you,” she chuckled, shaking her head. Honestly she didn't know what was happening between them, but it was a start. When she fell asleep against him, Lucifer couldn't bring himself to wake her up, so he slowly shifted her so he could pick her up and he stopped when she stirred a little but she settled down just as quickly. He released the breath he didn't know he was holding and gently made his way to her room. (Y/N)'s bed was unmade already, so he just laid her down as gently as possible and pulled the cover over her. Before he could leave, her hand caught his sleeve and a small, sleepy voice called out, “Don't leave.”

Lucifer looked at her and while she wasn't awake, her grip wouldn't let up, so he gently removed her fingers and walked around to the other side of her bed before climbing on top of her covers. Laying down, he didn't move as she turned over and laid her head on top of his chest. What? Was this okay? (Y/N) settled down and he relaxed, wrapping his free arm around her, holding her close. Maybe, just maybe, he could love humanity one day. So long as (Y/N) was by his side. Lucifer placed a small kiss to her head and whispered, “I don't know what you did to me, but thank you. I think I can start to love humanity because of you.”

He didn't know she was listening, but she just smiled and relaxed a little more. Lucifer watched her sleep for a moment more before falling asleep himself. Maybe his Father was right. Humanity wasn't so bad after all.

#my kind of love challenge #lucifer x reader #fluff #lucifer fluff #supernatural lucifer x reader #my writing #i tried

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raendown · 6 years ago

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A brief interlude in to the Senju compound!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Chapter: 6/18 Word count: 1707 Summary: When Tobirama is exiled from the Senju clan without warning, without even the chance to plead his case, it feels like his life is over. What does he have to live for now without his older brother to believe in him? Captured by the Uchiha in his moment of weakness, Tobirama slowly learns to live again with the last people on earth he would have ever expected to care for - or to fall in love with.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI in the blog header!

Chapter 6

She was twirling a blade between her fingers when she sauntered in to the room. Not a kunai because she was always very serious about how she treated the weapons that protected her own life and others’ during battle but instead a bare blade that had broken away from its handle, probably scooped up after it was shattered during some training session or another. She perched herself on the corner of his desk with a casual set to her mouth and a razor sharp focus in her eyes, hard as agates.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she noted. “Is it because you’ve been thinking about what a massive fucking prick you are or is it because you’ve been wondering what other terrible decisions you might have made in your life?”

Hashirama lifted his brush away from the letter he had been composing and carefully set it aside before the tremble of his fingers could ruin the elegant calligraphy.

“Did you need something, Touka?” he asked in a steady voice. When he dared to peer up at her his cousin was staring over his head just as she had been for the past several weeks, looking through him as though he wasn’t even there.

“I need you to pull your head out of your own ass.” Her answer made him sigh.

“Touka, don’t start again. I have the Nara on the cusp of an alliance. If I can sign a treaty with them then the Akimichi and the Yamanaka are sure to sign as well. That’s a lot of lives that could be saved but to do it I need to finish this letter.”

Lounging back over top of some very important papers, she sniffed dismissively. “Funny that, you worrying about saving lives when it was also you that threw the best of us away like trash.” With her eyes turned away she couldn’t have seen how his hands fisted against his knees and squeezed tightly, veins rising along his arms as his knuckles turned white.

“Don’t,” he warned her quietly.

“Oh, did I hit a sore spot? Well, terribly sorry if I don’t actually feel very sorry about that. You see, I’ve got this sore spot myself nowadays, this gaping hole in my chest where I should have two living cousins instead of one, and it’s your fault he isn’t here.” Touka’s head snapped down to bore her heavy gaze in to his own. “I hope you were prepared when you made that decision to live with it because I won’t forgive you for this, Hashirama. I won’t. Not if we both live to be a hundred; I will never forgive you for sending him away.”

Staying calm was hard but Hashirama had been getting rather good at clinging to his own sanity lately. He forced his spine to stay straight and his voice not to waver.

“Tobirama”–they both flinched at the name–“desecrated the graves of children. He was discovered at the scene, committing the deed, and there is research in his laboratory to prove it was done with intent, not by accident. There is only so much–”

“Discovered by who? Were you there, oh mighty clan leader? Did you see this evidence with your own eyes?”

“Not the research, no. I…I could not bring myself to…”

“We’ve had this conversation a dozen times and your answers never get any smarter, you know that?” With a tired shake of her head, Touka lifted herself off the desk and turned away. When she reached the door she paused to speak over her shoulder without looking back. “We follow you, my lord, because we believe in your judgment. Because we believe you care about those you lead. What is there to believe in when a man will send his own brother away to die?”

Hashirama took a moment to breathe around the emotions that flooded through him at her words before he was able to gather himself enough to ask, “Did you come here for anything else?”

“You wanted to know when the patrols came back. Nothing unusual to report…my lord.”

She left without a reply, her duty done.

Once she was out of sight Touka stormed down the hallway as quietly as she could, not wanting her cousin to hear just how badly she was still affected by the situation, but she didn’t make it far. Mito sat in the living room calmly darning a pair of socks. By the time Touka saw her it was too late; she’d been spotted herself and there was nowhere to run.

“You are too hard on him,” Mito told her. Touka snarled.

“He sent my baby cousin out to die. His own brother!”

“There is no evidence that Tobirama has died.”

“Bull shit!” Forgetting herself, she neglected to lower her volume as she released the beast that hovered always just under the surface these days. “I tracked his path for hours. I saw which direction he went, saw the footsteps and the patterns and I’m no Inuzuka but I know an Uchiha stench when I smell it. His tracks were there and then they weren’t. He’s gone, Mito. My cousin is dead.”

Her matriarch lifted one stern eyebrow. “Then where is the body? Where are the celebrating Uchiha taunting us with their kill? You know as well as anyone how fast he can disappear when he wants to. There are a hundred other places he might be.”

“I WANT HIM HERE,” Touka screamed, her composure breaking entirely. “He belongs here! And your rat of a husband sent him away! Turned him out with nothing to die unarmed, thinking he was unloved!” Her fists tightened just enough to remind her of the blade she held, sharp against the skin of her palm just like the blade Hashirama had sunk deep in her heart.

“That was not my husband’s intention,” Mito said.

“Yeah well the road to hell and all that.” Touka turned her head to spit, uncaring of the rich carpet beneath their feet. She ignored it when the other woman narrowed her eyes with distaste.

Setting aside her knitting, Mito folded her elegant hands in her lap and lifted her chin until she looked nothing less than the princess she had been back in Uzushio. A gentlelady and a warrior both, she could have leapt across the room and torn out Touka’s throat in an instant if she wanted. Instead she kept her eyes steady and her voice gentle despite the undertone of steel in every syllable.

“You presume much and you accuse more. How many patrols have gone and come back in the past five weeks?”

“Uh…a lot?” Touka faltered at the sudden question, seemingly so off topic. “A lot more than usual, anyway.”

“And where have they gone?”

“Everywhere? They’re running double time around the borders and I know we’ve got scouts out to check on almost every clan we have even a tentative alliance with. What does any of that have to do with this shit?”

“If you think for even a moment that Hashirama has truly forsaken his brother then you have not been paying attention.” One brow raised to add an extra edge to her words, Mito picked up her needles and resumed darning socks as though they were talking about nothing important.

Touka stared, her jaw hanging loose. “He’s…”

“As I said, there are a hundred other places that he might have gone.”

“He…he was the one who sent Tobes away in the first place.”

“And if you found someone with their fingers in little Kawarama’s grave?” Mito asked softly. “Would you have been rational and waited for an explanation?”

It was a damn good question, one she didn’t want to answer. She didn’t need to.

“Mistakes were made. Should not every man have a chance to remedy the things they’ve done wrong? And believe me, my husband is more aware than you could possibly know of how wrong his actions were. He does not need your reminders.”

Unable to listen, Touka spun on her heel and rushed back in the other direction, not wanting to be so much as a step closer to Mito as the moment. Her intention had been to slip out the back door of the home but to get there her path took her up the hall again and passed Hashirama’s office. Her footsteps slowed and came to a stop for her to stare inside at the image of a broken man.

Hashirama held his head in both hands, the letter he had been writing completely ruined by the tears falling through his fingers, shoulders trembling with emotion. Watching him break down in the privacy of his home made her wonder how he managed to appear to be so calm in public. It made her wonder why. Why had he done it in the first place? What was it that stopped him from mourning in public or showing regret for his decision? Her cousin had never been a prideful man, he had never been afraid to admit to his mistakes. Only two things had ever forced him to rein in his own reactions and one of them had been Tobirama himself, forever exasperated as he guided his brother towards more appropriate public behavior. The other had been the rare time when Hashirama did not want someone to see him feel. She wondered who he could possibly be afraid of seeing him mourn.

Slowly, carefully, Touka reached out to pull the door of the office closed, doing her best to stay silent and not disturb the man inside. If she had been wrong about Hashirama she was still too angry to face it. When she was calm she would come here again and ask her questions but for now she needed to be elsewhere, she needed to be somewhere comforting.

Never had she been more grateful to be the only person Tobirama even entrusted with the key to his ward seals. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in the corner of his private laboratory and pretend that everything was fine, that if she only waited long enough he would come home for dinner like a stray cat that finally wanders back to the place where he belonged.

#rae writes #tobirama #touka #hashirama #mito #fanfiction

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sapphic-sustrai · 6 years ago

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So I’ve been sitting on these for a while, but I finally decided to share a few headcanons that I have about Emerald.

{Also before we begin I just want to remind people that these are my personal headcanons for Emerald Sustrai and if you disagree with anything that I say here that’s fine! Everyone has their own interpretations & ideas. All that I ask is for you is to be respectful of my opinions and don’t try to shove your own down my throat}.

That being said, this will be under a read-more, just in case this gets a bit long.

Emerald’s past/family life has always been something that I’ve thought about since hearing that one lyric from I’m The One, “Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one.” With only this one lyric to go off of {since we don’t know much about Emerald’s family history}, I’ve determined that Emerald probably came from an unloving home. Honestly it doesn’t matter if either both of her parents or only one of them were involved in her life, she still would’ve come from a family that never really cared about her. As for how she ended up on the streets, to me it’s either A) She was kicked out of her home and disowned by her family or B) She ran away from home, thinking that she’s better off on the streets than staying in an environment that made her feel completely miserable. I’ve actually made somewhat of a, “Sustrai Family Tree”, with my own OC’s of who her parents would be, but I think I’ll save that for another time.

I headcanon that Emerald’s star sign is Gemini and that her date of birth is May 27th. Personality wise, some of the traits of a Gemini that Emerald has would be: cunning, witty, sarcastic, irritable, outgoing/charming, showing loyalty {unfortunately to the wrong people}, and to me she seems like someone who’s guarded and is a little reluctant to be open with others. Her birthday is in May because the month’s birthstone is the emerald, which symbolizes love and success. These are two things that I think Emerald truly craves to have in her life. As for her birth date, the 27th of May just seems. However, it is also known as Mother’s Day in some countries such as Sweden or the Dominican Republic {I feel really mean about including this because Emerald probably grew up with an uncaring Mother. I’m so sorry}.

I believe that Emerald is a fan of reading/literature in general. I just think that the way that she lists off those books in V2 EP1 {The Thief & The Butcher, Violet’s Garden, and Third Crusade}, either she’s maybe read at least one of the books or she’s at the very least heard about them. Genres that I think that she’d be the most interested in would be: history, true-crime, thrillers, mystery, romance, and maybe fantasy. On a sadder note, I feel as if Emerald used reading as a form of escapism starting when she was younger. Since we don’t know the full extent of how Emerald’s possibly unloving family treated her, maybe she used books as a way to escape from her harsh reality...even if it was just for a little while.

I headcanon Emerald as a lesbian, as I don’t really see her being all that interested in men.

From what I’ve noticed, Emerald appears to lack self-love & self respect. When it comes to self-love, Emerald doesn’t seem to have any sort of regard for her own well-being or her own happiness for that matter. She practically puts Cinder’s goals and desires before her own. As for self-respect, she doesn’t really have that either. If she did have self-respect, she would have no problem standing up to Cinder whenever she mistreats her. However, Cinder has no problem abusing her {whether that’s physically or mentally} and Emerald never stands up for herself, which indicates to me that she doesn’t really know her own worth as a person. Honestly, Emerald really does need to learn how love/respect herself and realize her worth as a person.

This is all that I have for now, I want to make another post like this sometime soon. If you have any questions or comments, my askbox is always open!

I feel like I’ve become an Emerald blog and honestly I’m really okay with this!

#emerald sustrai #rwby #rooster teeth #headcanons #rwby headcanons #emerald sustrai headcanons #abuse tw #anyways I hope y'all like the hc's that I came up with #I try to go into posts like this making sure that my hc's fit the characters

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venuskind · 6 years ago

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Appreciation

This is my third month of implementing more fully and consistently changes to my social interactions and engagements which I have been contemplating and been drawn to for the past two years. One of my ongoing experiments to find better alignment between my inner world and external expressions focusing on appreciation.

I stopped congratulating people on their birthdays

This is a rather funny thing to me as I wasn't allowed to celebrate birthdays into my early 20's due to being in a christian fundamentalist cult that strictly forbade it. Then upon leaving the cult, as part of my deprogramming, I started celebrating birthdays. And now here I am stepping back from it, for at least a year, to challenge myself to find more authentic, spontaneous and inspired ways of expressing my appreciation for another's being and my gratitude for our connection.

Beyond that lie a few more mystical or spiritual reasons of no longer wanting to consent to time divisions, manipulation of our natural cyclical nature by virtue of clocks and unaligned calendars and the trance of aging. But those are of a more ethereal, subtle and non-verbal nature to me and hard for me to put in accessible writing just yet. I have the feeling I will come back to this later this year.

It is fascinating to observe how strong the pull to comply with our social codes feels (peer pressure, conditioning), especially when social media platforms like Facebook enforce them without the choice of opting out of birthday reminders. It has become a daily practice of internal dialogues to detach myself from the emotional responses to not congratulating a loved one.

Often asking myself why is it so hard to not be a part of choir of celebration?

Don't I trust my friends to know, sense and feel how much I love them without this formulaic ritual?

Who taught me that it was unloving or uncaring if I expressed my appreciation on any other given day but not this one? And what is that based on?

I started writing intentional and authentic messages of appreciation & expressing feelings of appreciation and gratitude whenever I feel them

I have held myself to a code of integrity and honesty for most of my life. Therefore I do not make a compliment that is not truthful and if I have nothing kind and appreciative to say I remain quiet. That took some practice and unlocked a deeper dimension of meaning and value to the words of affirmation, validation, appreciation and praise I speak - as they are heartfelt, honest and not serving an egoic manipulative agenda. At least not to my conscious knowing.

In reflecting on my expressions of appreciation I realized a while back that though I have achieved integrity and honesty in these I still allowed societal or cultural programmings to hold me back from expressing them as often as I felt and thought them. Thereby denying the other whose existence, deeds or expressions allowed me to tap into beautiful frequencies of gratitude, awe, adoration, admiration and appreciation to partake of it and become aware of who they truly are. This felt unbalanced and quite lacking to me. So I intended to express these feelings and thoughts as often as they occurred or I could make space to express them, to make it my intent and conscious practice of giving and mirroring back to those who enrich and illuminate my life. And so I brave the dangers of being misunderstood, judged or made fun of while trusting that what I say reaches the heart of another even if their ego might be incapable of receiving it.

In a world filled with endless messaging and cultural conditioning telling us about our many inadequacies it is a radical act of rebellion to be part of the growing choir of voices that truthfully speak to our gifts, beauty and power.

To me all of these messages are small modern day love notes. Reminiscent of love letters, the forgotten art of speaking to and engaging the ineffable as well as the luminosity of our being. Love notes to God/ the Beloved/ the Divine/ Universe/ Source through their manifestation as this individual consciousness. Expressions of gratitude, delight, pleasure and the enrichment I feel through and with them.

This choice and practice bring a new dimension of inner alignment, a feeling of rightness and flow of love to my experience I no longer want to be without. And what is more, it has taken even distant acquaintances into a more heartful and nourishing realm of relating. Something our world definitely needs more of...

I would of course never tell you to stop celebrating or congratulating people on their birthdays. It is a rather touchy subject to many for reasons of insecurity and lack of self love or lack of understanding the other's motives. Yet I would like to inspire you to reflect upon your expressions of appreciation and gratitude towards people in your life.

Do you feel happy with how and how often you express your appreciation?

Do you feel you could learn or do something to make your words reach their hearts?

Are you giving yourself enough appreciation and gratitude for all the ways you show up for yourself and others?

Can you come up with fun, playful and inspiring ways of seeding, cultivating and nurturing a culture of authentic, heartful and uplifting appreciation with others around you?

Photography: Balinese girl praying by Gede Lila

Source: https://venuskind.de/2019/03/appreciation/

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