#in fact. many moments have passed in his life where he deeply understood his father in a way he probably was never meant to

[zincbot]

kakashi's death still kinda fucks with me

[nmikaelsonimagines]

Right Where You Left Me: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Request from @s-r-amikaelson: hi, lovely, i saw your "Evermore" list, so could please do a Klaus x Reader with the song "right where you left me" from Taylor? Kisses, sweetie

Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

Right Where You Left Me

Friends break up, friends get married Strangers get born, strangers get buried Trends change, rumors fly through new skies

He wouldn’t be there to see it all happen.

Klaus wouldn’t be by your side, watching the world change like he had for so many centuries. He wouldn’t watch your friends get married, the idea of your own wedding disintegrating before your very eyes.

He wouldn’t be there to watch his daughter grow up, to watch her become the bright young girl that she was destined to be. He wouldn’t be there to listen to you tell her stories all about her father, to watch you cry in the shadows when she was fast asleep, missing him deeply.

He wouldn’t be there to watch humans crumble into ash, as they always did, buried in the New Orleans graveyard where their loved ones came to see them. He wouldn’t be there to watch any of it.

He wouldn’t be there to watch the seasons change, the leaves falling, holding your hand as you walked through the woods, talking about everything and nothing.

That’s what ran through your head when he looked at you for the final time, sorrow in his eyes, when he whispered that single word that only you could hear.

“Run.”

And you did, his screams as Marcel plunged that dagger into him echoing in your ears for years to come.

But I'm right where you left me Matches burn after the other Pages turn and stick to each other

One year.

One year without him. Hope was three now, walking and calling you her auntie. She had picked up a particular affinity for colouring in, not quite staying in the lines, but that didn’t matter. She had adopted her father’s artistic ability, it seemed.

You looked over at her latest picture, telling Hayley you would tidy up, letting the hybrid get an early night. Hope was already in bed, fast asleep.

You hadn’t slept in a year. Not when you knew that Klaus was in unimaginable pain. Maybe it would have been better if you had the support of his family around, but they were just as incapacitated. You picked up Hope’s picture and made your way to the attic.

It was dark, and you struck a match to light the candle on the wall, the only source of light in that dingy old place. Four coffins came into your view and you strode over to the nearest one. Elijah.

You picked up the book you had left there from the night before and sat. The pages stuck together, but that was its age. “You’re missing out on this one, Elijah. Klaus always told you it was a good read.”

And you started to read, Hope’s picture on your lap as you were reminded of her father, voice catching as you tried not to cry.

Wages earned and lessons learned But I, I'm right where you left me

Two years.

Two years without him. Hope had just turned four, her artistic ability improving as she had gotten better at staying in the lines. The question she asked you still echoed in your ears, your heart hurting as you answered it with a smile. “Do you think Daddy will like this when he comes home, Auntie Y/N?”

When he comes home. Her innocent hopefulness kept you sane most days.

You had gotten a job now, a waitress in a restaurant downtown where no-one knew your name or who your family was. It was something to get you out of the house, to keep your mind off the thought of Klaus going through hell. At first, it had been great, but then your boss had put you on night shifts, and that was when the undesirables came out to play.

You hung your coat up before making your way up to the attic, the ghost of that man’s hands still making you cringe. It wasn’t the first time someone had shown more than an interest in you, but you had always had someone to help you escape.

You walked over to her coffin and sat. You put your hand on the lid, and sighed. “Hey, Bex. Could have used you today.” Rebekah was always the one to get you out of those sorts of situations, usually with a threatening comment. “Klaus would have lost his mind.”

Klaus, always the jealous type, would have run to avenge you. You had always moaned about it, but this time, you realised you missed it.

Missed him.

Help, I'm still at the restaurant Still sitting in a corner I haunt Cross-legged in the dim light

Three years.

Three years without him. Hope was five now, and had moved from colouring in to painting. You had bought her a set of block paints for her birthday and were more than happy to watch her paint flowers with five red petals and a yellow centre, green stalks leading down to two leaves at the bottom. More often than not, she ended up with more of it on her hands than on the paper, and she liked to make you laugh by painting your cheeks with it.

To make you smile for when Daddy comes home, she would say, your heart breaking.

You had quit your job after one too many handsy customers. You were just happy to be the woman in the corner of the restaurant, staring at a whiskey, passers-by telling you to cheer up because it might never happen.

You stumbled home after such an occurrence, alcohol slurring your movements. They were right, you needed some fun, but the only person you could think of having such fun with was lying in a coffin. Up in the attic again, you made your way over to where Kol Mikaelson rested, perhaps in more danger than any of his siblings.

“Don’t you die on me, you git.” You patted the lid of the coffin, the familiar nickname rolling off your tongue. “I need someone to get into trouble with.” You chuckled, remembering. “Someone else for Klaus to shout at.”

Klaus, whose shouts had been turned into agonising screams.

They say, "What a sad sight" I, I swear you could hear a hair pin drop Right when I felt the moment stop

Four years.

Four years without him. Hope was a lively six-year-old now, and her artistic skills had improved greatly. Actual pictures were created now, an ability to rival anyone of her age, maybe even her father one day. But you still held onto that first coloured-in picture, keeping it safe to show to Klaus when he came home.

When. You tried to hold onto Hope’s optimism, but it had been four years now and you were finding it difficult. You still held onto your spot in the corner of the restaurant, watching customers look at you with pity in their eyes. The worst was the recently engaged couple, the woman’s hair pinned up to make her look like a film star.

Once, you had got ready for parties and made an effort to look like that. But, you’d always had help from a friend, a sister really. Of course, that witch was now sleeping with her siblings.

You sat by Freya’s coffin, cross-legged, and laid your head on the lid. “You would have loved her dress, Freya. She walked in and it was like everything just stopped. You remember when people used to look at us like that?” You smiled, remembering your entrances to such parties. “But all I ever cared about was Klaus.”

He would take your arm and lead you to the dance floor, laughing as you tried not to step on his toes.

You had never wanted to dance more.

Glass shattered on the white cloth Everybody moved on, I, I stayed there Dust collected on my pinned-up hair

Five years.

Five years without him. Hope was now seven, a fact that didn’t seem possible. You looked at her in the garden, her little easel set up as she painted, the sun shining down on her. You took a sip of your water, having moved away from alcohol at Hayley’s request. When Klaus came home, he wouldn’t want the love of his life to be a drunken mess, and Hope certainly didn’t want that of her auntie.

When. It seemed like such a useless word. The world was changing before your eyes, and you were still here, waiting for something that would probably never happen. Hayley told you to keep the faith, but it was getting harder and harder with each day that passed. Speaking of, the hybrid walked over and took a seat next to you.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” You continued to sip at your drink, looking at Hope.

“Look at me.” You turned to face Hayley, a smile playing on her lips. Her next words made you drop the glass you were holding, fragments scattering over the white tablecloth. But neither of you cared as the dust that had gathered on you as a result of waiting blew away.

“Y/N, it’s time.”

Time to get your family back. Time to get him back. Time for Klaus to come home.

They expected me to find somewhere Some perspective, but I sat and stared

Five years and two days.

Five years and two days without him. Hope was excited to see her father, as were you. You had volunteered to stay and look after her while Hayley went to save the day. She had looked surprised when you suggested such a thing, but understood when you told her that you weren’t quite sure if you could face Klaus in that state, his screams from five years ago still waking you up in the night.

You sat on the sofa, staring into space, waiting and wondering. A small figure curling up next to you snapped you out of your thoughts. Hope. She should have been in bed, and you told her as much. She shook her head, and you knew she couldn’t sleep. Holding her hand tight, you led her back to her room. And that was when she asked.

“Tell me something about Dad.”

You smiled, knowing the perfect place to start. The story of how you met him, of how you had fallen in love with him, about how he was kind and gentle, fierce and protective when he needed to be. It wasn’t long before Hope had fallen asleep and you moved away as so not to wake her.

Then the headlights glared through the window.

Then, as Klaus had told you five years and two days ago, you ran.

Only this time, it wasn’t away from him.

Right where you left me You left me no, you left me no You left me no choice but to stay here forever

Five years, two days and three minutes.

Five years, two days and three minutes without him. Hope was fast asleep, but you didn’t care if you woke her when you opened the front door with such force, it hit the wall. You didn’t care when you saw them. Elijah, your reading partner. Rebekah, your wing-woman. Kol, your partner in crime. Freya, your dearest friend.

And then-

Klaus. He hadn’t noticed you yet, talking to his siblings. But when he turned, the smile in his lips transforming into a look of shock, everything stopped. You felt your heart heal itself when he walked towards you, disbelief in every step. “Hello.”

“Hi, Klaus.”

“You stayed?” You smiled, knowing that Klaus had always believed he didn’t deserve you, probably thought you would take his absence as an opportunity to move on.

“You kind of didn’t give me a choice.” You shrugged nonchalantly, earning a confused look from him. “I love you, you idiot.”

And then that shock turned back into a smile, a grin that stretched for miles. “And I you, Y/N.”

Five years, two days and three minutes.

You would never go that long without Klaus Mikaelson by your side again. You would make sure of that.

Masterlist  

Evermore Masterlist

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

Every Emma Woodhouse Ranked and Rated

With all my reviews of all the period-set adaptations now finished, I'm beginning my series in which I rate and rank each interpretation of all the principle characters, starting with our girl Emma!

Now I wanna be clear--I am not rating the actresses that played Emma. I am rating how the character was handled in general in each adaptation. The actresses are a factor, but they're not the sole factor, since the writer and director have as much, if not more, to do with how the character ends up in the finished product. So without futher ado, let's rank...

“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her….

“The real evils indeed of Emma’s situation were the power of having rather too much of her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself; these were the disadvantages that threatened alloy to her many enjoyments.”

NUMBER 5: 1972

Portrayed by: Doran Godwin

Age at time of filming: 28

Clocking in as the oldest actress to play Austen’s famously TWENTY-ONE year old heroine (at the ripe age of 28), Doran Godwin also snags the coveted position as inhabiting the worst portrayal of the character (in my personal estimation) to date.

Just about everything about this interpretation of Emma Woodhouse is bad, from her seemingly automated recital of her lines to her all-too-intense, wide-eyed, hypnotic stare. The 1972 portrayal of Emma highlights all the character’s worst qualities while also failing to convincingly communicate her good qualities, such as her caring nature. The script is equally to blame for the awfulness of this interpretation, adding unnecessarily cruel and condescending lines, including one where she negs Harriet for being sad after Elton’s marriage, and then forces Harriet to come with her to meet the new Mrs. Elton, when Emma in the book did her best to shield Harriet from exactly that kind of situation.

Godwin couldn’t pass for 21 if her life had depended on it, and the worst part is that the script actually states Emma’s age, so she seems like a bit of a crazy spinster, preying on the naïve Harriet. Whether it’s her intent to bathe in Harriet’s blood to keep herself young, or to bake her into a pie is up for debate.

Rating: 1/5 Half-finished portraits

NUMBER 4: 2020

Portrayed by: Anya Taylor Joy

Age at time of filming: 23

I thought long and hard about this. This movie is a modern period drama phenomenon. It’s gotten so many people into Jane Austen and satisfied long-time Austen fans by giving them an interpretation they never dared hope to see. It’s a gorgeous film.

But I don’t like this interpretation of Emma Woodhouse. Though Anya Taylor Joy is one of the youngest actresses to play Emma (only two years older than the character) she’s played with a careful stiffness that perhaps shows us a glimpse of the Lady Catherine she might turn into without swift intervention. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and this isn’t a commentary on Anya Taylor Joy either—her appearance or her acting ability—but I just don’t like her as Emma. And she’s not the sole problem, she turns in a solid performance, she’s a good actress, but something about this characterization is just off-color to me. Anya Taylor Joy plays a great mean-girl; but I think that’s one of the reasons why they thought she’d be a good choice for this role, and it’s one of the prime reasons I don’t think she wasright for it. Emma is a deeply flawed character and, of course, the biggest turning point in her story comes as a result of a thoughtlessly mean remark to someone who has only ever shown her deference, hospitality and gratitude.

All that said, Emma is not, at her core, a cruel person. Emma has gone all her life thinking condescending things about Miss Bates but it’s only when Frank comes along and validates her less kind commentaries that she actually starts to voice them in search of validation from a peer.

The problem with this in the context of 2020’s Emma Woodhouse is that Frank hardly gets a look-in in this adaptation. Emma’s relationship with him is severely underdeveloped and the actors don’t have enough chemistry to pull it off in the limited time they’re given. The result is that Emma appears to cross a line just to cross it, and it pushes Emma’s character from thoughtless to out-and-out frigid.

Still better than Doran Godwin, since she's identifiably human.

Rating: 2 1/2 / 5 Half-finished portraits

NUMBER 3: 1996 (MIRAMAX)

Portrayed by: Gwyneth Paltrow

Age at time of filming: 24

Despite the fact that Gwyneth Paltrow was an appalling casing choice for Emma Woodhouse (I will be forever salty that they passed over Joely Richardson), and I know there are some who will think me, at best, crazy (sacrilegious, at worst) for ranking 1996’s interpretation of Emma higher than 2020, I actually feel that solidly in the middle is right where this version of the character belongs.

There’s so much wrong with this Emma: she swings from mature to bizarrely infantile at the drop of a hat, much of her script is genuinely tragic, Gwyneth can’t convincingly portray Emma's social naiveté, her accent is overwhelmingly nasal and impossible to listen to, just for starters.

And yet… I don’t hate her. I don’t like her particularly either, but even though much of the dialogue re-working butchered Austen’s prose, there are a lot of things McGrath seems to have gotten right about Emma’s character. Her relationship with Knightley feels comfortable and playful, and, while Emma of the book probably doesn’t really care for Harriet Smith in the spirit of true bosom friendship, I believe she does care about her and wishes to spare her (further) pain. She shows exasperation with Harriet while still being patient with her, which is very much in the spirit of the book. Her concern for Harriet at the ball feels real, and her contrition at Box Hill following Knightley’s rebuke, while not profound, at least feels like contrition and not self-pity.

Perhaps, given the soft-take that the Miramax version is, it shouldn’t be surprising that the biggest faults in characterization rest on awkward writing and the biggest triumphs highlight Emma’s better side. It’s not a very in-depth take on the character, but it at least, is an adequate one.

Rating: 3/5 Half-finished portraits

NUMBER 2: 1996/97 (ITV)

Portrayed by: Kate Beckinsale

Age at time of filming: 23

Those who’ve read my reviews of each adaptation of Emma might be surprised to see ITV’s portrayal of the title character sitting so high on my list. To be frank, it’s a distant second, and she may have stolen the number two spot only because she’s played by Kate Beckinsale and not Gwyneth Paltrow.

In truth, I see a lot of parallels between 1997’s Emma and 2020’s. Both actresses were 23 (or thereabouts) when they played the role, both have extremely childish moments, and both crumple down and burst into tears that don’t feel entirely genuine after Box Hill.

So why is 1997 on the good side of the number 3 spot and 2020 isn’t? I’m not precisely sure. I think it may be because Andrew Davies (and/or Diarmuid Lawrence) at least understood the scale of Emma Woodhouse’s wealth and status. This Emma feels sufficiently self-important, a bit haughty, sure—but she’s also believably naïve. You feel her isolation, you understand her caring relationship with her father, and she’s not as patently rude to Robert Martin compared to the 2020 version (she at least acknowledges his presence when he meets Emma and Harriet in the lane).

Grudging though this favorable placement may be, I can at least acknowledge that Emma herself is the least of my problems with this version, and even though Beckinsale’s acting is a bit sketchy at certain points, she also has some truly great moments, especially her interaction with Robert Martin at the end of the film. This portrayal is consistent, and Emma’s better qualities aren’t overpowered by her negative ones.

Rating: 4/5 Half-finished portraits

Number 1: 2009

Portrayed by: Romola Garai

Age at time of filming: 26

And in a shocking twist—I’m kidding this is neither shocking nor unexpected to anyone who knows me or has read my blog/reviews of the Emma adaptations. Am I totally biased? Probably. I don’t care, this is a completely subjective list. Here, finally—my first and true love as Emma Woodhouse—is Romola Garai. I suppose it’s also not surprising that the first actress I ever saw in the role would still be my favorite a decade on. I just love everything about this interpretation of the character. She rides the very difficult line of being bright, caring and intelligent, while also being completely naïve and lacking in social savvy (in her own age-group at least), coddled, and painfully sure of her own self-importance.

Even though Garai was 25 or 26 at the time (far too old for the character—almost as old as Doran Godwin) her energy and charisma are enough that she’s able to carry it off convincingly. Everything about this Emma screams youth, and when Emma’s child-like social ignorance is her most prominent characteristic, it feels authentic and natural. Equally authentic are her emotions—her love for her family, her dynamic with Knightley, he exasperation, patience, and concern with Harriet. Most of all though, this Emma seems to experience the most maturation in the last quarter of the story. Box Hill really feels like a turning point—not just a chastened young woman, but a true coming-of-age moment. Emma faces a reckoning here that begins a chain reaction culminating in her realization of her feelings for Knightley, and everything from the writing to Garai’s performance conveys the magnitude of this shift in Emma’s life.

This version of the character seems the most… complete to me. Somehow, between Romola Garai’s vibrancy, Sandy Welch’s screenplay and Jim O’Hanlon’s direction, this interpretation takes an extremely divisive character and helps the viewer understand just why everyone in Highbury loves Emma Woodhouse.

Rating: 5/5 Half-finished portraits

~~~~

If you liked this, check out my rankings of Mr. and Mrs. Weston

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH53

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 53: Purgatory Reunion (V) {cw: attempted suicide, religious guilt}

There were too many demons. There were too many demons.

The space by his feet had already been filled with corpses, and the whole lake of fire was floating with the stench of sulfur and demon blood, but it seemed that no matter how he killed them, he couldn’t kill them all.

Ning Zhou watched the steady stream of demons, from the initial tension to the final numbness. He tried every demon with Maria's sword of judgment, and finally… tried himself.

After entering Purgatory, the burning wounds on his abdomen had become more and more painful, lost consciousness, and there was no divine power in the body that had once been filled with holy power to protect him. Then, the evil power had gradually returned to him.

Ning Zhou already knew what it was. For many years, his mother Maria's worried eyes and her awkward words have planted too many questions in his heart. Now, he finally understood.

When he was young, he had once asked her who his father was.

Maria had sat by the bed and watched the sunset, remaining silent for a long time.

He persisted in asking his mother again.

Maria took his little hand and gently answered him, "He was someone who was lost."

"It's a long, long road, and no one knows where the end is. Your father and I met unexpectedly. We walked along the same road, passed many beautiful sights along the way, and left many beautiful memories. We said goodbye briefly at a fork in the road and agreed that we would continue walking. But he got lost... He walked a long way and gradually forgot everything from the past. He gained power that ordinary people could not imagine, but he even forgot his name."

"Did he forget you, too?" the small Ning Zhou asked anxiously.

A faint smile appeared on Maria's pale face: "No, he hasn't forgotten me. He didn't forget me all his life. On the day we met again, he looked at me for a long time and asked me... ‘who are you?’"

Ning Zhou looked at her in confusion and asked, "’Who are you?’ Doesn’t that mean he forgot?"

But he didn't know that a man who had forgotten himself and everything else had found his true love in the vast sea of people. At that moment, no matter what question he asked, it didn't matter.

The fact that he could find this person had already shown that he had never forgotten his love.

　　&&&

In a dark room, a long table with more than a dozen seats was surrounded by people, each of whom silently looked at the magic mirror suspended on the table which displayed this scene of carnage from the bottom of his heart.

"Is it okay to let him kill like this again?" the Witch of Nothingness asked gently, with her eyes closed and her hands folded on her lower abdomen.

The Witch of Desperation, covered in a black robe, looked at the bright red lake of fire in the magic mirror, but there was no magic in her empty eyes: "It doesn't matter. As long as he can fully awaken his original force, it doesn't matter how much of that trash he kills."

"I'm afraid he won't want to. Don't forget, he was originally from the Holy See," the Witch of Nothingness warned.

"Haha, have you forgotten? His Majesty was also very close with the Holy See. To be precise, he and the Holy See’s Holy Nun was the object of his affections. Even when his original force had awakened fully and he forgot his whole family, he was still holding a Canon all day long. But wasn't it him who finally took us into the human world?" the Devil of Evil smiled, not sharing his colleagues’ worry.

The Witch of Resentment held her forehead in one hand: "Please, don't remind me of the days when I studied hard to please His Majesty with the scriptures. I have no interest in the things of the Holy See. I would rather boil my potions."

The Witch of Nothingness smiled faintly. "Have you ever noticed that all the Devil Kings have some abnormal hobbies? When you count them carefully, none of them looks like a normal demon. However, compared with the subordinates of the Devil of Slaughter, we should feel content."

The group of higher demons laughed meaningfully.

To the demons, following a Devil King did not mean that they agreed with that person’s personality, but that they followed the force that that person represented. Just like this group, who had tied their own destiny with the force of destruction, who had known both glory and utter ruin. In the twenty years after the fall of the old Devil, their power had also declined to even less than half of its heyday.

They were too eager to have a new Lord of Destruction and renew destruction’s original force. As for who that person was, they didn't care.

"I heard one thing. Our new Majesty had a lover whom he loves deeply, but he died. It's a pity that the Devil of Fraud killed him. If he was still alive..." The Devil of Evil smiled with interest. "How interesting it would be."

"Why did the Lord of Fraud kill her?" the Witch of Nothingness asked doubtfully.

"God knows. Oh, by the way, he’s a man."

"Isn't His Majesty a follower of the Holy See?" Even the Witch of Resentment was shocked. Those who had been around since the old Lord of Destruction were familiar with the Holy See’s teachings, and they were very clear about the Holy See’s attitude towards same-sex love.

"He was drained of the power of faith and expelled from the Holy See. Otherwise, do you think that with such little stimulation alone he could awaken the Devil’s force sealed in his body? That's the seal left by Maria." The Devil of Evil laughed very exaggeratedly. "Ah, for love, I am willing to abandon the glory of God! ...It is really a romance branded in blood."

"Unfortunately, it seems that this time I can't see the touching love story," the Witch of Resentment sighed faintly.

"Attention, His Majesty is beginning to show the form of a magic dragon. Record the time. It is... 8:47 in the evening. If you’re optimistic, he could be completely demonized within 24 hours. I can't wait." The Devil of Evil looked at the Devil's black body in the lake of fire and the human who had begun to show the Devil's characteristics, and couldn't help but smile with expectation.

"I hope nothing will happen in these twenty-four hours. Contact the Dragon Ant Queen and order that Purgatory be sealed off now, especially in the area around the lake of fire," the Witch of Desperation said. "Don't say it’s in our name... The seal on the Devil of Slaughter is suspected to be loose, other people will naturally associate this with the Devil of Power."

"I’m afraid that the Dragon Ant Queen can't be contacted. Considering the time, she is now busy with 'life events'," said the Devil of Evil.

"Then contact her maid, she still has the authority to deal with this matter," the Witch of Desperation said.

　　&&&

He was already in hell.

Ning Zhou looked at everything around him and suddenly had this thought.

After the crazy battle, there were countless bodies of demons floating in the lake of fire, some of which had been swallowed up by lava, and some of which were rushing towards the lower reaches of the valley with the burning current.

The air seemed to be filled with scorching flames, burning from his mouth to his heart, and even his soul was ignited.

He stood in Purgatory’s lake of fire, inexorably transforming from a man into a devil.

How fragile human will was, that it couldn't prevent a man from dying, or a saint from degenerating into a demon.

Sharp talons grew on his hands, and his skin became cold and rough like a cold-blooded animal. Black scales spread all over his body like a plague, and a pair of bat-like wings grew behind him. He couldn't control the power of destruction. He had lost his human form and turned into a huge magic dragon.

A devil among demons, a Devil King among devils, an evil magic dragon symbolizing destruction. According to legend, the ancient world was destroyed by such a magic dragon, which had woken from chaos, flew while spraying angry flames that spread in all directions, and destroyed the whole world.

This kind of magic dragon had really appeared once in history. Twenty-two years ago, when the Devil of Destruction had led the demons to break through the seal and come to the world of humans. His demon form was just such a magic dragon. He held the law of destruction, but also the madness of destruction, wishing to destroy the world at all costs.

What had been a vague feeling had finally come true. When the force of destruction awakened, he understood everything.

It was ridiculous. Those who fought against the demons eventually became demons. Those who stared long into the abyss finally fell into the abyss. The evil force sleeping deep in his body laughed at him: Your whole life is a joke.

Fate had taken away everything from him: his only relative, his beloved, and now it wanted to destroy his last treasure.

Everything about him as a "human" had ceased to exist. What else could he do? What else could he do for this miserable world? What was the value of his existence?

Immense grief struck his soul, and the desperate black dragon roared and wailed at the sky blocked by rocks in the lake of fire. The force of destruction even tore the rock wall and let the distant light fall into Purgatory.

He looked at the light dazedly, as piously as when he had prayed so many times.

"He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”

But why had fate given him such a cruel temptation? And he had been banished from his homeland; would God still help him and protect him?

Not anymore.

He was doomed to fall to such temptation.

Because God had given up on him.

Like the man who gave him half his blood, he would gradually lose himself to the original force of destruction, forget everything about himself, forget how he had once guarded the world, and finally bring endless pain and despair to this world.

Let it all end here.

Suicide was a sin, but if he lived, he would eventually bring more disasters and misfortunes to this scarred world.

He couldn't end the cruel fate imposed by this world, so at least he could not bring more suffering to this world.

Let him end it with his own hands!

In this lake of fire in Purgatory, holding warm memories, he would put a full stop to his life with this heart that still belonged to mankind.

But at that moment, he heard a voice that was too familiar to be a memory: "Ning Zhou—!!!”

He stopped at the edge of destruction and looked up.

Looked up to see the love of his life, returned to him.

-----

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[madaras-housewife]

Nighthawk

I’ve had this idea in my head for like 2 days and I wanted to put it on paper really badly so I wrote it on a whim. It’s poorly edited too so forgive me if there are any grammatical erorrs. 3 am vibes babyyyyy 

pairing: Madara Uchiha x reader

length: 1.8k

tw: none

It wouldn’t be too contrived to compare Madara to the weather outside. He was a storm; majestic, grandiose and powerful. And yet, there he slept next to you, in the same bed you had been sharing for a while now. Had it been two years already? Your mind was too foggy to think about something even as simple as that; or maybe the pouring rain was at fault. It was almost too loud for you to hear your own thoughts, but you still heard them, nonetheless.

Somehow, you wished the rain could drown them out, the way you knew your newly planted crops would be soggy by morning. What a shame. Madara was going to be so disappointed after pestering you about planting a garden and having worked so hard on it. He had several skills, ranging from diplomacy to combat, but gardening was not one of them. Nevertheless, he insisted that it would be healthy for your growing family.

 Even though your husband was near you, the abrasive feeling of loneliness filled your bones. It was always this way when it stormed, wasn’t it? Especially that night. 

You turned your head to the side, squinting your eyes, but the room was too dark to see the clock. Carefully enough, you stood straight so as not to bother your man and rubbed your dry cheek. The thought of sleeping was way past you and, if you weren’t already certain about that, you definitely were when a billowing thunder roared so closely to you, you felt it rock your body with intensity. Before realising it, you recoiled and stubbornly balled your fists. 

That night marked five years since Izuna had died. You only met him a few times, before you and Madara had become a couple. It often felt like the Uchiha compound was empty, as if it was missing something. Would it have been odd to say that you were missing someone you barely even knew? That was not quite right. In fact, you knew a great deal about the younger brother from Madara’s stories about their childhood, their squabbles and frequent conflicts regarding war. At one point, it started consuming Izuna’s consciousness, warping it into something dangerous, something that not even his elder brother possessed at the time; desire for conflict. 

Whereas you counted years, Madara counted every day, even though he would never tell you that. It was obvious when he called that name in his sleep, almost every night, in a meek, broken voice that sounded nothing like the man you knew. If anything, he sounded like a scared child who wandered alone in the darkness. Even when you hurriedly draped your arms over him and clung onto him, his brows never fully unfurrowed. 

Not even when he slept was he at peace. 

Without realising, you turned your body to his side of the bed. Madara was sleeping on his back, soundly, as small snores parted his lips. He hated snoring and he swore he would never sleep in that position again, saying that shinobi must have control over themselves at all times. You smiled and promised yourself you wouldn’t mention it when morning came. All you wanted was to bend down to give him a small peck, but instead, you settled for brushing the hair out of his face, caressing his face so gently that you barely touched his skin. Your husband would usually wake up at the smallest touch, since you knew him as a light sleeper, but on that night, he seemed to be more tired than usual. Even in the darkness, you could make out that the creases below his eyes were a tad more prominent than usual. Peace was… exhausting sometimes, to say the least. 

A flash of lightning cracked the midnight sky into two, brightening the room enough for you to see that he had a slight frown on his face. Your hand pressed itself against his forehead until you felt the tension slowly disperse. Now he looked rather calm and stress-free, as if a burden had been lifted from him. He seemed to have many of those these days and they piled up, almost forming a wall between the two of you. Deep within your heart, you wondered if that wall would become impenetrable, if you wouldn’t be able to reach him anymore. 

You truly wished Izuna had been there instead. Though it was nothing more than an oversimplified solution to the numerous problems you and Madara faced(when, in fact, it wouldn’t even be that anymore, now that his little brother had been gone for so long), you liked to think that he could make your husband happy, happier than you made him. The comparison felt silly, unfair and unwarranted. You even felt selfish for thinking such a thing. Despite rarely ever showing it, his stares had grown a little fonder and his hugs a bit tighter since he received the news, and it was your candle of hope during the grim days, when he chose solidarity over comfort, working all night long, going on missions only to separate himself from the village and the clan which had caused him so much pain. 

There would soon be another source of joy in his life and you wondered if you were up to the task. It was something that you had been ruminating over for months, but couldn’t quite put into words until now, though not exactly sure why. Maybe the chaotic life of inhabiting a shinobi clan had made it more difficult for you to truly look at yourself, to see what was inside. So instead, you chose to lash out at your husband again and again, until your anger poisoned him and all the patience he mustered for both of your sakes. But you were blessed with a headstrong man, who, in all that vast sea of insecurities and responsibilities, rarely ever mistreated your heart. Especially lately, when Madara had been sharing the same fears as you did. 

On the other hand, Madara didn’t take out his anger on you the way you did. He lets all his fury simmer, lets all his misgivings haunt him, until everything builds up to a tempestuous wrath which befalls him out of thin air. That was how he was taught, and it was one of the few lessons from his father, Tajima, which he didn’t reject. It was what his father had left him with, besides agonizing memories of war. However, when his last sibling passed away, it seemed as if all of Izuna’s own burdens were passed down, leaving him with double, maybe even triple the cargo(or maybe, you couldn’t really quantify suffering in mere numbers, the same way you couldn’t with words). 

Madara’s shoulders were heavier. You felt it every day, when you gave him the regular massage in the evening. What was it that you promised him on your wedding day? (It was hard to remember, now that so much had happened.) You promised him you would always be his pillar, so that he wouldn’t tumble when it was too dim to see what was ahead of him, (in reality, no one could ever see what was ahead of them; one can only row the boat facing backwards), but marriage wasn’t as simple as that. If love is controlling, then wedlock is a dictator. It demands a home, sex, patience, shared meals, babies, empathy and eternity.  

Another thunder roared mercilessly, making the earth quake below you. Sucking in a sharp breath, you wrapped your arms around yourself, cradling your stomach. The disagreements had become too frequent, the scowls too obstinate and the distance between you too lengthy. How long would it be until you completely failed, until you wouldn’t be an adequate wife for Madara Uchiha anymore? Until you weren’t fit to carry his children? 

The rain now hammered the ground, like a deafening fusillade of bullets and, in a moment of insanity, you thought it was taunting you, mocking you. It was so loud that you didn’t even hear the raspy groan next to you, until you felt a hand on your forearm.

“Can’t rest?”. His dozy voice seemed to have pulled you out of your disquiet pitfall of thoughts. Without facing him, you shook your head. The lump in your throat was too thick to even open your mouth. 

Your husband then grabbed your shoulder and gently pulled you down, until your back hit the now-cold sheets. For a split second, you glanced at his face and noticed that his half-lidded eyes were locked on your belly, but as soon as he felt you looking at him, he stared back. When Madara noticed your pursed lips and glimmering eyes, he sluggishly crawled closer to you, turning you on your side until his chest was pressed against your back. Wrapping his arm around you, you heard him inhaling deeply into your messy hair. 

You eased into your man’s embrace. “Did I wake you up?”

“No. Now come sleep.”, Madara said. 

You meekly nodded, pushing yourself against his warm body, the worries gradually dissolving into nothing more than what looked like particles of dust, ready to be washed away by the rain. But when he didn’t hear you reply, he placed a deep kiss on your soft spot, the crevasse between your neck and shoulder. 

“You’re going to be a great mother, you know. I love you.” 

Could he have read your mind? You didn’t know, but you also didn’t care about the answer. You were at home, exactly where you needed to be, with the person you needed. In that moment, you realised that Madara was going to be a great father, too.

“I love you too.” 

Your husband always knew the right words to say; it was as if he could hear you even when you didn’t speak, mainly when you didn’t even want to. It might be that he just understood you that well. After all, he had a knack for reading people. Sometimes you would curse that talent of his, but it was in rare moments such as those when you were infinitely thankful for it, for it all.

It wouldn’t be too contrived to compare Madara to a storm. He was a majestic thunder in the sky, capricious, striking fear and admiration into your heart; a grandiose ocean which didn’t fall from the sky, but was driven, torrential, carving mountains and earth to his own pleasure, omniscient, poised; the powerful wind, howling loudly, as if yearning for a melody to sing his tune, bending trees and tearing houses in his way, almost seeking to outrun everyone else, until he felt forlorn. The floods were promised, the might of nature had already been unleashed, but there would be sunshine and warmth by morning.

[plus-size-reader]

One Day pt.2

Klaus Mikaelson x Plus size!reader & Elijah Mikaelson x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1563 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: The reader thinking about that conversation in 1001 AD, when he made you a million and one promises. 

If only anything could be simple. 

Part 1

——————————————————————————————————

You did your very best to ignore the past.

Each day, when you woke up in the morning, you made a choice to pretend that the lifetimes you had lived were nothing more than bad dreams. It may have been delusional, but you didn't care.

All you cared about was any amount of self-preservation, and keeping yourself sane. When you had lived as many lives as you had, there was only so much you could do to keep the memories from driving you mad.

However, every once and a while, you found yourself getting pulled into what you had been through all those years ago. You didn't like it, of course, but it was unavoidable. Whether it was thinking about people you'd known or the places you'd been, those thoughts could be intrusive.

For someone who had been alive as long as you had been, it was kind of hard to avoid the past creeping up on you like a bad dream.

You couldn't run away from it forever.

Even now, you found yourself sitting in the parlor, mindlessly thumbing through the large assortment of books on the bookshelves. In all your years of travels, you had collected quite a few novels and scrolls, tales from every corner of the planet.

When there was nothing else for you to do, sometimes you liked to sit here and just stare at the pages. There were a million and one things hidden there, and there was nothing you didn't have at least some knowledge of.

Not that you had any care for any of that right now.

In this moment, you were searching for a single book among the collection. It was hidden behind a big brown book with a broken spine, put there intentionally by your own hand to ensure that no one else could find it.

You had done that purposefully, of course.

Even though there was no real danger of anyone finding it, after all this time, you still had to keep it hidden away. Maybe you were paranoid, or maybe you were foolish but you knew one thing for sure.

Once you were finished with it, this old book would return right where you'd gotten it from and where it would remain forever after that. You sighed, sitting down in the armchair. Every time you did this, it was a bit of an emotional journey but no matter how badly you wanted to just leave it all in the past, you couldn't.

When you finally flipped it open however, you found a few words written there on the front cover. That was all they were, a few words, but they immediately reminded you of why you'd kept it in the first place.

...One day, I will take you far from here, and will never go a day without showing the world how much I love you, utterly and completely...

Gingerly, you let your fingers dance along each delicately written word. You remembered the day Niklaus had written them there, using his blood as ink for the page, determined to start a memoir of the love you two shared.

It was meant to stay a secret, another among the growing list of things that not another soul could find out about.

A novel idea

At the time, you feel deeply in love with the concept, but now, it broke your heart to even hold in your hands. How the time had changed everything, taking hold of the dreams and desires of two young people and twisting them all up.

At this point, those people were some you wouldn't even recognize.

As it would turn out, the desire of a few children was no match for the rage and hatred Michael held within his heart. It was a hatred that forced the breath from your lungs and a ring onto your finger.

A ring that Niklaus hadn't given to you.

No matter what you tried to do, or how much you protested, you worst fears came to pass. You lost Niklaus to his hatred and rejection, and were forced to call his eldest brother your partner in life.

It was true that Mikael was fond enough of you to encourage his most respectable son to marry you, but he had no care at all for what you wanted in life. Maybe he thought that a life with Elijah would be a better one, or maybe he just wanted to see Klaus miserable more than he wanted you to be happy.

You remembered how adamant he'd been, that this was the only path for you. Elijah was going to be a fine husband and though you told him that you no real desire to marry the eldest male, it didn't matter.

At that time, you had chosen to leave out the fact that you'd fallen for his wife's bastard. Something told you it wasn't exactly going to be a selling point, and you knew that deep down, nothing you said would change Mikael's mind.

He made his decision, and the wedding was going to happen.

He didn't need your permission, or anyone elses for that matter.

You and Elijah would be married, and you were. He was kind to you, and understanding of your hesitance and the position you'd been put in. However, Niklaus was far less understanding in that regard.

If he was distant before, he became entirely reclusive after you married his brother. He still loved you, he always would but being near you was far too painful for either of you to endure. This many years later, you tried not to dwell on the decisions made for you in the past.

There was no use in chasing those ghosts.

You had made peace with that a long time ago. Still, as you sat here, flipping through those old, stained pages, you couldn't help but wonder what your life would be like if you'd made a different call.

It wasn't a luxury you'd had hundreds of years ago, but if you had, was it possible that you and Klaus could still be together this many years later? Was the love you thought you felt real, or just the longings of two unhappy kids, trying to make the best of a bad situation?

You weren't sure.

You held onto the idea that you would have, out of pure necessity, but there was really no way to know for sure. You weren't even sure if Niklaus felt that way for you anymore.

Perhaps he had been driven to his feelings for you out of desperation and the desire to not feel as alone as he often did. Perhaps it had never been real, though that idea hurt more than anything else.

You would rather die than imagine that to be true.

Though, before you could entertain such a painful ideal for any longer, you were shocked out of your thoughts by the voice a different man. This man was the same one you'd been attached to for several hundred years now.

Elijah.

He was standing in the doorway with a soft smile on his face, trying to bring you out of whatever it was you were thinking about. "What are you doing, darling?" he asked, entering the room gingerly, after he'd decided it would be okay to do so.

In general, he liked to give you as much space as you required but there was just something about this time, and he knew better than to leave.

He knew, of course he did.

This wasn't the first time Elijah had caught you here, holding that same old book in your hands. He'd never opened it, or even sought it out when you weren't around, but he knew what must have been in it.

He wasn't blind.

All those years ago, when you and Niklaus had started sneaking around behind his father's back, he was the first person to offer any help when you needed it. If Mikael asked too many questions about where you went, or got too hard on Nik when he didn't need to, Elijah was the first to come up with some clever excuse or story.

Even then, he understood what the two of you shared and he had never once questioned you about it.

Your marriage had been forced on the both of you, but you had enough love and respect for one another to just never cross certain boundaries. He didn't ask about Niklaus, and you didn't tell. It had worked this long, and you weren't really itching to break that streak.

However, it was clear to Elijah that whatever you were thinking about was causing you some kind of distress and he couldn't just leave you either. After all, you were his wife, for better or worse, even now.

"He's here y'know? In Mystic Falls" he started, your breath practically leaving your lungs without warning. You had heard some rumors about Niklaus coming back here to build some kind of Hybrid army, but you didn't want to entertain them.

If they were lies, you would be distressing yourself for nothing, and if they were the truth-. If they were the truth, it was simply too much for you to comprehend. You weren't about to entertain any foolish, childish ideas about what it would be like.

Seeing Klaus again after so long, you had no idea how you would react.

...And you didn't want to find out.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The World is Better Now

Peeta Mellark x Reader

Words: 2503

Summary: Nearly a year since the fall of the Capitol, the reader and Peeta have lived happily together in peace. They have helped each other through the darkest nights and the worst nightmares. Now, the reader feels a new kind of fear. 

Notes: I rewatched the Hunger games series and I forgot how adorable Peeta is. So here goes nothing. As always, let me know what you think! (So this is an AU where the reader was in the Quarter Quell, just in case anyone was confused. Katniss is just a friend in this one.)

-

You thought you knew what life was like. You thought that you would die in the Games and be just another fallen Tribute. When you won, you thought you were safe. When President Snow announced that the Quarter Quell would select from a pool of Victors, your hope for a better life was gone. But then he happened. Even after everything he had been through, he still had this light. A light that you thought you had lost forever. Somehow, he brought it back. So yeah, you thought you knew what life was like. But this was so much more than that. 

“Y/N!” Peeta called from your little house on the hill as you seemingly searched the meadow for something. His voice was like a distant murmur. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but you could feel it. Before you could think too much on it, you felt arms wrap around your middle and a puff of breath against your neck, blowing through the few strands of hair that had fallen from the hairpins you had put in that morning. You couldn’t help but jump, flinching away from the sudden contact. You turned to see your husband, clearly trying to hide the hurt in this eyes. 

“Sorry.” You muttered, feeling the shame turn your face slightly pink. Now he felt bad. You hated it when you made him feel guilty. He deserved the sun, if you only had the power to give it to him. 

“Hey,” He just smiled, quickly putting your mind at ease as he took your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I thought you heard me calling. I’m sorry.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, reassuring you that he wasn’t in any way upset before taking your hand. “Come on, dinner’s ready.” 

With the exception of Katniss and Haymitch, the two of you were alone out here. You weren’t part of the new society after the fall of the Capitol. Instead, you sought refuge in the rolling fields outside what was once District 12. Due to your isolation, there was technically no legality to your marriage. In fact, the only ones there to witness your vows were Katniss, Haymitch, and even Effie, who insisted on bringing endless yards of fabric with her to help you make a dress. You exchanged rings and vows, promising to love each other through everything and to never forget what you’d been through together. You didn’t need anything official. You were his and he was yours and that’s all you could have ever hoped for.

He, of course, was far better at cooking than you were so he often made dinner. Tonight, he made fresh bread and some seared fish from the lake nearby. You hardly touched any of it, feeling your stomach twist and turn, suddenly feeling ill. Your face had grown pale and Peeta’s expression morphed with concern. 

“Are you okay?” He stood from his seat across the table to move closer, examining the sweat that now glistened across your forehead. You nodded, but you quickly pushed away from him, burying your head in the sink and losing what little you had eaten. You felt Peeta’s hand on your back, rubbing up and down your skin trying to comfort you. When you slid down against the cabinet, he sat with you, grabbing a towel to wipe your lips. 

“Sorry.” You muttered through heavy breaths. “I-I don’t know where that came from.” You stood on shaky legs, but after a moment, you felt fine again. Strange, but fine. There was nothing in the meal that would have made you sick and you hadn’t been feeling ill at all that day. Deep in your gut, you started to worry. 

-

You spent the morning wandering the woods with Katniss. It was a weekly ritual for the two of you. Some time away from the guys. You liked to think that she opened up a little more when it was just the two of you. As if you had been friends since you were little girls. Growing up in District 5, you had a much cushier life than both her and Peeta, but you’d grown accustomed to the quieter, simpler life outside the New Panem. 

“Peeta said that you were sick last night.” Katniss started, looking up into the trees. You grimaced. Of course he did. There were few secrets between the four of you since you all lived out here by yourselves. 

“Yeah, but I feel fine.” You debated whether or not you should share your fears. That your illness was anything but random. That it meant something far more frightening than an upset stomach. Katniss noticed your uneasy expression and put a hand on your shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” You took a deep breath. You needed to tell somebody.

“I’m worried that I might be…” You couldn’t even bring yourself to say it, but she understood. Her hand slipped off your shoulder and she crossed her arms, trying to process. 

“Oh.” She just stared at you for a moment, barely even blinking. Katniss was never really one with words. You exhaled deeply and explained to her your suspicions. This wasn’t the first time you had been sick. This wasn’t even the third. On top of that, every time you looked into the meadow, you felt like something was coming. You could search and search, but you never figured out what. When you finished talking, Katniss sighed. “Follow me.” 

She took you back to her house and found a small box she had hidden in the back of her kitchen cabinet. Handing you the box, she gave you a very uncomfortable smile. You dumped a small bottle into the palm of your hand. 

“What are these?” You shook the bottle gently, hearing pills rattle around inside. 

“Effie made me promise to give them to you when you and Peeta started thinking about... you know.” She rocked back on her heels. “It’s some kind of test from the Capitol.” You gave her a look. 

“Why’d she give them to you?” 

“She didn’t want you guys to think she was pressuring you or something.” She shrugged. “And it’s not like she could give them to Haymitch.” You both chuckled, breaking up some of the awkwardness. 

“Thanks.” You stuffed the bottle into your pocket, the small item somehow making your hand feel heavy. You started to leave, but you paused. “Don’t tell him about this, okay?” Katniss gave you a crooked smile and nodded. And just like that, everything changed. 

-

A day passed and you didn’t tell a soul. The test was positive. You were pregnant. In just a few short months you would be bringing life into a world that had taken so many lives from you. And that never seemed clearer than when you got letters from Annie. Sweet, loving Annie whose son would never meet his father. As Peeta read her encouraging words, all you could hear was Finnick. His laugh, his smug little jokes to cheer you up. Even though you’d only been a Victor for two years longer than Katniss and Peeta, Finnick was the one to help you adjust to the new lifestyle. He was really the closest thing you had to a brother. You winced, his laugh replaced by his dying screams in your head. 

“Love, Annie.” Peeta finished reading with a small smile and tucked the letter into the picnic basket beside him. “I’m glad she’s been able to somewhat adjust.” You nodded in agreement. You had barely said two words to him since you found out. Maybe you were afraid that you’d let it slip. Peeta had noticed your silence, but he chose not to press you. He knew that sometimes you would just let your thoughts wander without saying a word. But there was something different about the way you looked at him. 

“Peeta,” You said his name so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. You took his hand in yours, bringing it slowly up to your lips to place gentle kisses on his fingertips. You didn’t want anything to change. Peeta held your hand in between his own, his eyes shining with both admiration and concern. You had to tell him. 

“Y/N, are you sure that everything is- what, what is it?” He noticed your eyes grow wide, staring at his hand. His gaze followed yours and his breathing quickened with panic. A wasp crawled across the back of his hand, it’s bright yellow exterior providing little comfort. It wasn’t a tracker jacker, but it didn’t matter. 

“Peeta, it’s just a wasp.” You assured him, hoping he would look at you and not the insect. 

“I-I know.” He said, but his voice was shaky and his hands started to tremble slightly as he strained to keep still. You’d never actually had to encounter the mutt insects, but you knew that he had in his games. Tracker jacker venom was also what they used on him to try and distort his memories to turn him against the rebels and even you. His hand jerked away, but he only aggravated it more. He yelped as it stung him, flying away to safety. Though the pain was brief and minimal, it was the memories you feared more. 

Peeta tried to hold it back, but his mind swirled between the present and the past, mixing with all the horrors he had seen. You took his face in your hands, urging those beautiful hazel eyes to focus on you.

“Peeta, it’s okay. Look at me. It’s okay.” You pulled him close to you, his head resting on your chest, hoping that the sound of your heartbeat would calm him. It usually did, despite how rapidly it was beating now. You ran one hand up and down his back while you gently stroked his blonde hair with the other. “It’s okay.” Sitting there, holding him, you knew more than ever that you couldn’t do it. How could you bring a child into a world that had done such cruel things to such a kind person? A world that had broken him in ways you would never understand. It had broken you. 

-

After his episode, Peeta decided to spend the rest of the day relaxing inside. He settled in front of his easel, using a mix of blacks and greys to replicate the storm clouds gathering overhead. In contrast, he painted the yellow flowers beneath them, their brightness only slightly dulled by the gloomy atmosphere. He looked out the window, watching you walk slowly through the patches of primrose. 

“It’s beautiful.” Katniss said from behind him. He turned and gave her a small smile. 

“I want it to remind her that there’s brightness growing out of the dark.” He’d noticed that you had had a hard time adjusting to a life of peace after the horrors that you’d all been through. Sometimes, he was sure you were still trying to escape the games in your mind. 

“She should probably get inside.” Katniss noted, looking out to the flowers, but you weren’t there anymore. “It looks like it’s going to storm.” As if on cue, a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, followed by a loud roll of thunder. There was another sound; a faint cry muffled by the closed window. 

“What was that?” Peeta slid the window up and listened closer. Another boom was followed by another scream. “Y/N.” Your names left his lips in a panic as he ran down the stairs and out into the rain. 

“Y/N!” Katniss shouted, the rain starting to pour down, pounding against the pavement. She might have been more scared than Peeta. She knew the truth. It wasn’t just you in danger anymore. Peeta’s eyes swept the trees while Katniss checked around the houses. After the loudest crash of thunder yet, the screams became words. 

“No! Finnick!” You were running through the trees, looking up at the sky where you saw the faces flash in your head. Each boom of thunder was another canon, another death. Haymitch, Annie, Katniss… Peeta. “Peeta!” You shrieked, falling to your knees in the mud. “Peeta!” 

“Y/N!” He knew those cries. You often screamed like that when you had a nightmare, clawing up at the air as if he was flying away from you. 

You curled up on the forest floor, not caring that mud covered your cheek or that the rain pelted against your back. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, wishing that you could make it go away. You knew that the next canon was for your baby. 

“No!” You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t raise a child in this never ending storm. 

“Y/N! I found her!” Peeta’s voice was barely audible over your own screaming and the rain. You flinched away from his touch as another canon sounded in your head. You felt his strong arms wrap around you and lift you up, holding you close to his chest. 

“Peeta…” You whimpered, weakly tugging at his shirt. “T-the canons.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.” Katniss found him and he quickly took you back to the house, rain still pounding against your skin. You looked up at the sky one last time, seeing Finnick’s face once again flashing against the clouds. Peeta put you down on the sofa and wrapped as many blankets as he could around you while Katniss went to grab some dry clothes. 

“I can’t do this.” You cried, trembling violently from the cold. “Everything is so dark and cold and cruel. I can’t curse someone else to live through what we did.” 

“What do you mean?” Peeta pushed your wet hair out of your face. 

“The… baby.” He froze. 

“What?” 

“Peeta, I’m pregnant.” You felt more tears cascading down your cheeks, your hands clutching your stomach. “And I don’t want to bring a child into this place.” Despite your distress, Peeta could barely contain his smile. 

“We’re going to have a baby?” 

“Peeta… what about everything we’ve been through? Can we really condemn another person to that, let alone our child?” He put his hand on top of yours, looking deeply into your eyes. 

“Y/N, the world is better now.” He gave you a comforting smile. “We can raise our children in peace knowing that they will have a better life.” Your smile was still unsure so he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I will never, ever let anything happen to them.” You lifted your hand to rest on his cheek. 

“You’re going to be a great dad.” His face lit up and he scooped you up in his arms, causing both of you to laugh. 

“And you are going to be the best mother.” He pressed his forehead to yours, letting his words sink in. Cradled in his arms you felt like nothing would ever harm you. Maybe it was possible, after all this time and through all of the fears, to be truly happy.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination

[facialteeth]

To The Test | ao3.

That was one good thing about having a difficult teenage son. Magnus knew that Raphael would put any of his romantic partners right to the test, even if Magnus wished he wouldn't.

This is my ‘Single Parent’ square for @shadowhunterbingo. 

Being a single father of two, Magnus found that it was surprisingly not the toddler that turned Magnus’ potential romantic partners away. There were of course those Magnus would go on a stray date with before finding out they didn’t like kids but Magnus didn’t want those people in his life anyway. It was the other pool of romantic partners, the ones that didn’t hate kids or the fact that Magnus had them, that Magnus had trouble with but again, it was not because of his chubby faced rambunctious toddler.

It was because of his teenager. His troubled, grumpy teenager who was exceptionally jealous whenever Magnus would start spending time with someone else but would not admit it. See, apparently some people found it odd that Magnus had adopted a fourteen year old when he’d only been twenty five himself and those few who were willing to give his unconventional family a chance ended up running away the moment that they actually met Raphael and Raphael did everything that he could to chase them away.

It was intimidating to meet your partner's kids. Magnus understood the anxiety but he especially understood it when it came to meeting Raphael because as much as Magnus loved his son, he went out of his way to make the experience as dreadful as possible.

Magnus had hardly been able to date anyone since adopting his kids. Now, Magnus wasn’t really complaining. He loved his kids and he understood that Raphael was scared of him leaving. He was scared of him getting close to anyone else and deciding that he’d rather be there instead of with their family, as if that would ever happen.

It’s why Magnus had gone so long without dating anyone. When he’d first adopted Raphael, he’d wanted to focus on his son anyway. The adoption process had not been smooth sailing for them and after they’d finally settled in a place where they felt like a real family together, Magnus had agreed to foster Max, who’d only been a few days old when he showed up on Magnus’ door step. Fostering turned into adopting and after a few years, that slow process was finally over and Magnus had his two sons and nothing else to worry about.

Except dating. Magnus hadn’t had much time for dating when Max was a baby either and now… well, now Magnus was more than a little deprived and he was finally at a point where he knew Raphael, beyond his fears and anxiety, understood that Magnus loved him even if he went out one night to go on a date.

That didn’t quite mean that Raphael was thrilled when Magnus continued to go out on dates with one man, who he then intended to introduce to his children. Going out to have fun was one thing but inviting a new person into their lives, someone that Raphael was threatened by, was completely different.

Needless to say, the first time Magnus invited Alec over for dinner, he was a little nervous about how it would go. Raphael was already not thrilled about someone coming over, someone who Magnus clearly had deemed important enough to be brought over in general. Magnus hadn’t liked someone that much in a very long time and the weight of that alone he could tell already had Raphael on edge, which didn’t set the night up to go well.

It didn’t help that Alec himself was already nervous to meet Magnus’ kids. Magnus assured Alec that Max would love him but Max loved everyone. Max loved meeting new people, regardless of who they were. The same could not be said about Magnus’ teenager but if they could get through the dinner without Raphael deciding he absolutely hated Alec, Magnus would consider it a success. They’d work on Raphael liking Alec later. Tolerating was the first step and if they could get there, Magnus could sleep easy at night knowing that Alec and his child might someday get along.

Though, Raphael had already seemed to form an opinion on Alec even before he stepped foot in their house. Raphael had asked how old Alec was and frowned when Magnus had informed him that Alec was a couple of years younger than him. Raphael asked if Alec had kids and then frowned even harder when Magnus said no.

“So, why does he want to date an older man with kids?” Raphael had snapped finally, a question that Magnus didn’t really have an answer for. Most weren’t willing to go on a date with Magnus, after they learned he had kids, especially people who were younger than him. Young people were normally looking for fun, not someone already tied down with children, especially an older child who they had to work harder to get along with than they would a baby.

“Alec likes kids,” Magnus had responded finally but Raphael didn’t seem too pleased with that answer.

“So, why doesn’t he go get his own before he tries to date someone?” Raphael had quipped back. When Magnus stammered to respond, his expression shifted into an unamused smirk, “See, he obviously doesn’t like kids that much. He likes you.”

“He likes me and he likes kids, otherwise he wouldn’t like me that much, would he?” Magnus responded.

“Unless he thinks he can just ignore us until he gets you in bed.”

Magnus held back a sigh and then, he looked up at his son mildly. “He doesn’t think he can do that. He’s coming to meet you because I like him and because you and your brother are the most important part of my life. If he thought he could ignore you, he wouldn’t have agreed to come over for dinner.”

At that, Raphael pressed his lips but didn’t say anything more. Magnus could tell he hadn’t quite convinced his son of Alec’s intentions but Magnus didn’t imagine he would no matter what he said.

“You don’t have to like him,” Magnus said at last. “-but I’d appreciate it if you tried not to be rude.”

Raphael’s gaze tightened into a small glare but he said nothing.

“I think you’ll like him, if you give him a chance,” Magnus continued.

Raphael stared at him for another moment before he rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. “We’ll see,” he murmured before he was walking down the hallway to disappear into his room. Max instantly bounded out of his own room as he saw Raphael pass, chasing Raphael to see what his brother was doing.

Magnus sighed and pulled out his phone to send Alec yet another text about how good of a kid Raphael was and how he probably wouldn’t like Alec but it wasn’t Alec’s fault. After he sent it, Magnus sighed and threw his head back.

He didn’t understand how Alec was still willing to come over.

.

Magnus thought cooking would be a bit too much for their first dinner together. There was no need to put more on the table that could go horribly wrong tonight. Magnus decided to order take out instead. That way, Magnus didn’t have to cook and Alec didn’t have to come over and cook. Magnus would already have the food on the way. Alec would come over. They’d do introductions. The food would get there. They’d all eat together and depending on how horrible the evening went, Alec would say his goodbyes and leave, so Magnus could then send him a rambled text about how sorry he was and how he knew he wasn’t exactly an easy person to be dating.

He might do some damage control with Raphael as well and hopefully reassure him that he was an irreplaceable part of Magnus’ life and that even if he was dating someone, that didn’t mean he was leaving Raphael behind.

Then, maybe someday they’d try dinner again or maybe, Magnus would just continue to see Alec outside of the house, never introducing him to his kids again and hoping that Alec never wanted them to deepen their relationship in any way that would involve Alec becoming a big enough part of his life to have to meet his children for a second time.

One option seemed far easier than the other but Magnus didn’t know many people who would be okay not being involved with Magnus’ home life at all. Alec swore up and down that he’d be patient and he understood Magnus’ son was going to have issues with his presence but Magnus didn’t think Alec really understood how strong willed Raphael could be.

Most didn’t, until they met him. Magnus wondered if it was too late to cancel the dinner all together and then, he decided that it was.

.

Magnus had reservations about the entire dinner and that was before Alec showed up late. Now, it wasn’t exactly Alec’s fault. There had been a car accident on the highway and Alec had been stuck in traffic for nearly an hour. Alec felt horrible about it, if the countless text messages he sent Magnus were anything to go by but that also didn’t mean Raphael was that understanding about the whole thing.

With the food already growing cold on the table, Raphael had settled for staring at Magnus, his unamused expression saying everything his words didn’t need to. Then, when he didn’t seem happy with simply glaring and he’d finally spoken. “He seems really dedicated,” Raphael commented mildly.

Magnus held back the eye roll. “It’s not his fault. He can’t control the traffic.”

“Or he’s just busy with something else and he lied,” Raphael snapped back instantly.

“He’s not lying. He’s in traffic and he’s doing his best to get here,” Magnus insisted.

“Max is going to starve to death before he makes it.”

At that, Magnus did roll his eyes. “Max ate dinosaur chicken nuggets not even two hours ago. I don’t think he’s quite famished yet.”

Raphael fell silent for a moment before quietly speaking, suddenly sounding deeply offended, “I didn’t get dinosaur chicken nuggets.”

“You were asleep,” Magnus explained instantly, before his son could go on about how neglectful he was as a father for not asking if he wanted food when his brother ate. “Maybe, if you slept at a reasonable time and woke up in the morning with us, I could offer you dinosaur chicken nuggets with your brother.”

Raphael scoffed. “Why? If I stayed up later last night I’d still be asleep and I wouldn’t have to sit here and wait for your boyfriend to finally decide to show up.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Magnus murmured, pulling out his phone to see another text from Alec, informing him that he was finally turning off the highway.

“Oh, so you introduce us to every man you meet?”

Magnus shoved his phone back into his pocket and looked up to Raphael yet again. “He’s not my boyfriend until you like him,” he said before he could really think through that sentence. It was true. He wouldn’t date someone his son didn’t like but that didn’t quite mean Magnus had to inform him of that.

“Then you’ll never date someone again,” Raphael informed him.

Magnus left out a soft sigh. “We’ll see,” he said, echoing Raphael’s bleak words from before.

.

Alec finally arrived twenty minutes later. When Magnus opened the door, Alec appeared on the other side, out of breath and clearly having sprinted from his car all the way up the steps to Magnus’ loft.

“I’m sorry,” Alec rushed out instantly.

Magnus waved him off, ushering him inside instead. “It’s fine,” Magnus murmured, hoping Alec would leave his apologies at the door before Raphael could hear them and latch onto the weakness. “Come in.”

Magnus closed the door behind Alec, reaching to take his jacket as Alec shrugged it off. Alec turned to look at him as Magnus hung it up. For a moment, they stared at each other, a frantic air hovering between them in a way that had never happened before. Normally when they both met, things were easy between them. Magnus relaxed in Alec’s presence like they were meant to be together but here, Magnus met Alec’s wide eyes with an equally unnerved look of his own.

Magnus wanted this to go well. Alec wanted this to go well and yet, Magnus knew it would not and he was trying to be okay with that. Raphael was going to resist anyone Magnus brought into their lives. It had nothing to do with Alec himself and they’d already had that conversation before Alec had come.

But they both wanted it to go well anyway, even though it wouldn’t. Magnus wished he had managed to be more okay with that fact.

“Let’s go sit,” Magnus said finally.

Alec nodded and turned to follow Magnus as Magnus led him into the dinning room, where Max was happily babbling to Raphael as Raphael sat with his arms crossed. He’d been smiling a second before they walked in. Magnus could tell by the way his face changed. He’d been happily talking to Max but now, his face hardened. He sat stone faced as he watched them both walk in.

Magnus gestured to Alec. From the corner of his eye, Magnus saw Alec raise a hand to wave to them both. “This is Alec,” Magnus said, as if Raphael hadn’t heard Alec’s name a million times by now. Raphael knew who Alec was. That’s why he was glaring in his direction.

“Hi,” Alec rushed out. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Raphael-” Alec’s eyes darted over to Max, who was staring with wide eyed interest at the new stranger. “-and that must be Max.”

Magnus could hear that Alec was nervous. That wasn’t great and when Raphael heard it, his expression only tightened and became a touch angrier. He didn’t seem to appreciate Alec taking an interest in his brother. Raphael had always been protective. “Hi,” Raphael managed to ground out finally.

Magnus shot him a grateful smile. Saying hello was a good first step. “Sit, Alec-” Magnus said as he gestured to the table.

Magnus sat next to Max and Alec came to sit next to Magnus, thankfully leaving the seat next to Raphael empty. Magnus was pretty sure Raphael would have tried to stab Alec with his fork if he dared to sit next to him.

“The food looks good,” Alec said politely as Magnus reached for the dishes and started to plate some for Max and then himself.

“It was better a half an hour ago when it was warm,” Raphael murmured as he reached for the dish in Magnus’ hands.

Alec paled slightly. “I know, it probably was. I got stuck in traffic-”

Raphael cut Alec off before he could go on with his explanation. “I heard.”

Magnus reached for the plate again before he handed it to Alec. Alec seemed thankful to take it and have something to do with his hands.

“Alec’s here now,” Magnus said, smiling tightly across at his son. “That’s all that matters.”

Raphael said nothing to that and he stayed silent as Magnus and Alec started talking about Max and his drawings on the refrigerator. Max babbled happily as he reached for his noodles with his bare hands, chomping as he managed to get one into his hand. Every few minutes, Magnus or Raphael would stick their fork out and offer Max a bite of their own noodles, to make sure he was actually eating and not just playing with the food in his dish.

Raphael seemed more than happy to face away from Alec, focusing on his brother as if he failed to look over to Alec once during the meal, he would just vanish. That was better than being openly antagonistic, so Magnus would take the pointed silence without comment. If Raphael would let them have a few meals where Raphael ignored Alec, at least that was something. Maybe someday, Raphael would look at him and talk but Magnus didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself. The silence was enough for now and it remained for nearly the entire meal.

Magnus tried to engage Raphael a couple of times. He asked Raphael about an essay he was working on for school, prompting him to explain what it was about. When Raphael didn’t, Magnus explained instead.

Almost forty five minutes later, they were done eating and Max was covered in his food. Magnus thought it was good for Max to explore food by himself but that also meant that every single meal ended with his son looking like a disaster.

Magnus rose to his feet, reaching to pull his gooey child into his arms. “I’m going to go clean him up. I’ll be right back. Raphael, could you help clean up a little?”

Raphael nodded simply. He’d always been so polite about doing chores. Once when Max was merely a baby, Magnus had woken up to Raphael almost done cleaning the entire house. Raphael had brushed off Magnus’ thanks as if it was no big deal but Magnus knew it had been. Magnus loved his son. He was such a good kid. Magnus just wished other people could see that as easily as Magnus did.

Magnus left Raphael and Alec in the kitchen as he went to wash Max. He assumed that they’d pick up the dishes and sit in silence until Magnus returned but when Magnus did return twenty minutes later, he heard Alec and Raphael speaking. More specifically, he heard Raphael speaking.

Magnus paused in the hallway, holding Max a little closer as he listened. His toddler was uncharacteristically silent, as if he wanted to let Magnus listen too.

“He doesn’t date a lot of people,” Raphael was saying. “He just stays home with us and if he’s dating you, he must like you quite a lot but Magnus is stupid. He just trusts people and if you don’t actually care about him, then you leave and you don’t call him again. He doesn’t deserve to get strung along.”

There was a still moment in which no one spoke and Magnus did not dare to breathe. Then, Alec said, “Raphael, I really really care about your father. I like him a lot and I’m not going to hurt him. I’m here because I like him so much that I want you and your brother to like me too.”

“Just don’t hurt him,” Raphael repeated. “And we’re fine.”

“I won’t,” Alec promised.

Magnus stood in the hallway for a few more moments until Max started babbling. Magnus straightened up and then, he walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, look at how clean,” Magnus said, as if he hadn’t heard the conversation that had just happened. Magnus moved and pressed a kiss to Raphael’s head, something that made the teenager scrunch his face up and turn away, grimacing. Magnus kissed Raphael’s head sparingly because of that very reason but today, he couldn’t help but indulge himself. “Thank you,” he called as Raphael promptly fled the room, rolling his eyes in response.

Max squirmed as Raphael retreated. Magnus placed his toddler on the ground and he fled the room too, running after his brother as quickly as his little legs would carry him. Magnus met Alec’s eyes and smiled softly. “It went well,” he said.

Alec laughed and he sounded immensely relieved. He nodded. “Yeah. It went better than I expected. I don’t think... Raphael hated me?” He asked, looking anxious for reassurance that Raphael hadn’t informed Magnus that he absolutely despised Alec.

“No, he didn’t,” Magnus assured. Magnus thought about telling Alec that he’d heard what Raphael said but Alec didn’t tell him, so Magnus didn’t mention it. He wasn’t supposed to have heard it. It was a private moment between Alec and his son and Magnus would let them have it. Magnus liked that Alec didn’t tell him too. He liked that Alec didn’t tell him exactly what Raphael said the moment Raphael fled the room.

A lot of people would have but it took someone that respected Raphael to not say anything. Magnus needed someone that respected his children and he needed someone that was willing to put in the effort to get along with them, even when it was not easy.

That was one good thing about having Raphael. He would put Magnus’ partners to the test right away. There was no waiting for their true colors to come out. If they couldn’t handle Raphael from the beginning, then Magnus knew it wasn’t meant to be.

“Thank you, Alec.” Magnus murmured. “For coming and-” Magnus waved his hands vaguely. For trying with him. For caring so much. “For everything.”

Alec nodded. “Of course, Magnus.” Alec swayed towards him, asking hesitantly, “Could I-”

Magnus moved forward instantly, pressing his lips into Alec’s own. It was a blissful moment that Magnus was thankful to have, until Magnus heard Raphael’s voice from the doorway.

“Gross,” he snapped.

Max at his side burst into laughter, probably not understanding what his brother was referring to but finding it all very funny anyway. Max adored Raphael and anything he had to say was the funniest thing Max had ever heard.

Magnus pulled away from Alec, sighing softly.

They said their goodbyes shortly after and then, Alec left. Magnus wanted him to stay but they’d agreed on dinner alone and Magnus didn’t want to push whatever tentative agreement Raphael had made with Alec by asking him to stay. He’d come over again soon and maybe then, he could stay a little longer.

Magnus was surprised when that night Raphael asked when his boyfriend was coming back. Magnus informed Raphael that he wasn’t sure before he stopped and really thought about what Raphael had said. “I told you he wouldn’t be my boyfriend unless you liked him,” Magnus said after a long moment of silence.

Raphael did not respond but that let Magnus know what he needed to know anyway. Raphael had remembered what Magnus said and he’d said what he did on purpose.

Alec had gotten Raphael’s seal of approval, at least for now. One slight slip up and Magnus knew that Alec would lose it but Magnus didn’t think Alec would slip up. If he did, Magnus was sure his teenager was going to have a lot to say about it but for now, Raphael liked him.

That was so much more than Magnus had hoped for.

[i-donot-forget]

First Conversation - Leiftan

Eldarya New Era Words 1531

An awkward conversation with my beloved Daemon, oh Leiftan, when will you return to my arms?

I really want to see that "magic connection" in action.

First Conversation - Lance

Second Conversation - Lance

Giggles and whispers perfumed the air of the Guard of Eel, its inhabitants had spent the afternoon curiously observing the comings and goings of the last Aengel, assisting the giant of the Light Guard, Jamon had spent the whole day with a serious expression, letting out an occasional soft growl when someone approached with the intention of interrupting his assistant's work, even though inside he was enjoying Erika's simple company a lot.

When the armory was impeccable and every weapon and tool in place, Erika gave the giant a wide smile full of emotion that he returned, it was time to receive her reward. She almost hopped around Jamon, while he carried a heavy wooden tub over his shoulder in the direction of the young woman's room.

After spending more than three-quarters of an hour moving buckets of hot water and adding the contents of a few small jars Huang Chu gave her, Erika finally relaxed.

She stripped off her clothes in the privacy of her room and looked at herself in the mirror, inspecting every corner of her skin. Since she left the Crystal, everything had been travel and emotions, not a single moment of respite or distraction, not even to assimilate everything she had experienced, she simply had not had time but she could no longer continue to neglect herself, after her awakening she felt different. She knew that she was no longer the same, and yet she had no idea of the extent of this change in her mind and body.

Tracing the surface of her skin with the tips of her fingers as she followed them with her eyes through the mirror, she noticed something that disturbing her, all her scars had disappeared. The "L" -shaped mark on her knee from when her father taught her to ride a bike. The oval burn on her forearm from when her mother tried to teach her how to make caramel. The almost lightning on her thigh, from when she escaped from the institute jumping a wall with her best friend ... And others more than her conflicting emotions did not allow her to remember. Even the dozens of injuries she had suffered since she came to Eldarya. She searched her back, near her kidneys. Naytili's stab had also disappeared, that which almost cost her her life. She pressed the place where the wound was hard as the flashes of that fight surfaced from her memory, she felt a familiar pain, the wound was still there, only it was no longer written on her skin.

She pushed those thoughts out of her mind, not wanting to embitter her evening. She sighed deeply and slid into the hot bath, leaned back slowly allowing the water to embrace her nakedness, threw her head back and struggled to blank her mind. She rambled between emotions and familiar sensations, she felt that her body wanted to talk to her so she gave in when the need to fully immerse herself arose in her. In the fetal position, almost floating to the bottom of the tub, she let that pleasant warmth cradle her.

She felt happy, safe and protected, far from the outside world, as if she were returning to her mother's womb, she forgot everything, she abandoned herself to that familiar warmth. She couldn't remember images, but she had certainly felt that way before, she just couldn't remember when or where, but sooner rather than later she came to her, the Crystal, that's how she felt while inside the Crystal, discovering this. little mystery. She smiled and returned to her pleasant trance. Suddenly she stretched out her arm and her hand searched for something that she felt should be there but that she did not find, that absence of this caused her great emptiness and anguish, she felt desperate and her soul cried out for him.

She got out of the water, she had had enough, too many sensations went through her head so fast that she did not realize how long she had held her breath, she took a deep breath until she stabilized and put on a light robe, even being completely soaked, she sat on her bed staring at nothing.

A tingling in her hand brought her out of her coma, she looked at her fingers curiously for long minutes until another stimulus caught her attention, she walked slowly towards the door, without conscience and at the same time with a strange knowledge of the cause. In front of the door she hesitated a moment before extending her arm to the surface, she stretched out her fingers and her entire palm pressing softly and almost fearfully against the wood. It was cold, hard and immovable, she waited impatiently until a subtle burning caressed her skin causing a slight start in her. She moved her hand from the surface to the doorknob and in one slow motion opened it.

Leiftan was outside her room with his hand floating where the door was and with the same confused and certain look as Erika. They stared at each other until she took a step back and he entered the room without saying anything, closing the door behind him. The young woman was sitting on her bed, with her hands on her thighs, she hesitantly she did not know if look at him. An unpleasant sensation began to grow in her stomach, a strange and abnormal discomfort in her. She clenched her fists on the thin fabric of the robe over her legs.

- You are ok? -

His voice breaking through the tense atmosphere only increased her discomfort. She turned her head from side to side, stood up, and walked doubtfully around the room, looking at him helplessly from time to time for help.

- I ... took a bath and ... -

Rubbing her hands that were beginning to feel damp and shaking, Leiftan crossed the roo  to the window, looked at her, and nodded, encouraging her to continue.

- T-the water. It's feel like to be back in the Crystal, but I-I ...-

She could not continue speaking, a blockage in her throat prevented her from uttering a word, it almost hurt, Leiftan approached her cautiously, waiting for her approval with every step he approached.

- I-I feel strange ... And every second more ... -

Hearing her words, he took a step back and sighed, she didn't know it but they both had the same heaviness in their hearts. Leiftan also had problems with his hands, tangled the threads of his clothing between his fingers uneasily.

- I have been practicing my meditation, I remember not long ago you asked me to find a solution for ... our situation. -

Erika tried to process the information and her feelings, she understood then that discomfort, that horrible anguish ... that unbearably unpleasant feeling was not hers, it was what Leiftan was feeling right now. That fact made her cheeks flush with shame, she felt humiliated ... She had called him and he didn’t want to be there.

- Could you please not do that. -

The young woman's tone sounded even more aggressive than she had planned, like a low, subtle growl. He looked at her in surprise and bewilderment, he didn't expect that reaction from her at all.

- I thought it was what you wanted. -

- I want to get rid of this that ... unites us, but your meditation is definitely useless. -

- I do not understand. -

- I didn't think that I would go through this again, that you would make me feel that way again. -

- What are you talking about. -

- Stop lying Leiftan! -

The man was shocked, completely paralyzed by Erika's violent reaction, he stepped back, he was in her territory, cornered.

- I-I really do not understand. -

- I can feel your discomfort Leiftan, whatever you are trying to hide… I can feel it. If you don't want to be here, go away, but stop pretending and liying, it's disgusting ... -

- Sorry. -

Leiftan couldn't keep holding her gaze, he needed to get out of there as quickly as possible, he felt a stab in the chest. He flinched when he passed her, she looked hyperventilated, shaking and glassy-eyed, but she wasn't done.

- And if ... I call you again, I don't want you to come, I'll learn to control it. -

Those words had been like a gunshot, Erika felt her heart so tight that she couldn't breathe. Leiftan's expression winced and she exploded at her pent-up emotions.

- So you can leave me your cynicism now! We no longer have to see or be together! Was not that what you wanted !? Am I not just a part of your evil plan ?! -

- Erika! Things are not like that, I always made it very clear that you are all that matters to me. -

- SHUT UP! Shut up Leiftan! Don't you understand that I'm beyond your deceptions? Haven't you lied to me enough? I DON'T KNOW YOU AND YOU STILL KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ME! You can read me and feel me! I'M NAKED IN FRONT OF YOU. And you? I do not even know who you are… -

Erika hadn't noticed when Leiftan had turned his back on her, but without turning to her, he walked to the door and said goodbye to her before leaving.

- Good night Erika… -

[kingandfireheart]

High Lord's Heir

A/N: I'm not super in love with this, but I wanted to get it out so I could focus on other things. It's not technically Elucien, (don't worry I'm still an Elriel fan), I just needed these two to resolve some tension)

Summary: Lucien finds out he's Helion's heir and tells Elain about it. They offer some truths about themselves.

Words: 2705

Elain was in the River House’s garden - she had been hiding there for hours now. Well not hiding, she had been very productive in the weeding the flowerbeds, but at this point she was just passing time until the house was safe. Lucien had arrived after lunch and had been locked in a study with Feyre and Rhys for hours now. She knew it made her a coward, but she didn't care.

She felt unsettled and uncomfortable - attributing it to too many hours in the sun. The tea Nuala had brought out for her would kick in soon enough. But it wasn’t a normal feeling - she didn’t feel sick in a way she had ever felt before - this feeling was coming from something else.

When Elain was about ready to give up on her gardening and risk running into Lucien, Feyre spoke to her mind to mind: Lucien is coming out to the garden. He wants to speak to you. I have to feed Nyx, but shout in your head for Rhys if you want an escape.

Sure enough, Elain saw Rhys and Cassian walk onto the roof of the house, as if they were casually sunning their beautiful wings. She waved up at them and Cassian waved back.

We’ll be here if you need us. Rhys said.

What is going on? Elain asked

He’ll explain. He wanted to be the one to tell you.

Will you be listening in?

Only if you want me to.

I think I’ll be okay. Thank you. she said back to Rhys.

She heard the glass doors leading to the garden open and shut quietly. Elain found the source of her discomfort standing before her, wringing his wrists. Lucien was always extremely well dressed and put together, but from the look on his face alone, Lucien looked rough. Undone almost. Elain knew something was very deeply bothering him. It wasn’t just the mating bond - she was used to that feeling after two years of avoiding him - this was much much worse.

Elain stood from where she had kneeled next to a flower bed and turned to face Lucien. “Hello” she said, as she wiped her hands on the skirts of her dress.

“My lady.” Lucien said from a polite distance away. “I’m sorry to bother you - I wouldn’t have disturbed you if it wasn’t important.”

“Feyre warned me.” she said as she walked past him toward the table and chairs she had put out.

“Of course she did.” He chuckled half-heartedly.

“Shall we sit in the shade?” she said, as she moved toward her usual chair.

Lucien blinked in surprise before he followed her, settling in the furthest chair from hers - Azriel’s usual chair. She stiffened at that - Azriel used to sit in the garden and read his reports while Elain worked. She often missed that quiet companionship, even though she understood the distance the shadowsinger had put between them. Every time they were in a room together, the tension felt palpable.

“Are you alright?” Lucien asked quietly. He stretched out his long legs as he sat in the chair. The angle of the sun made his red hair and golden eye shimmer in the light. If Elain hadn't been so against the mating bond, she may have even found him attractive, beautiful even.

“I think I’ve probably spent too many hours in the sun, but I’ll be fine.” She answered with a half-truth. “Are you alright?” she added even though she knew the answer. Whatever conversation Lucien was having with Feyre and Rhys had caused Lucien to feel the turmoil and pain she now was experiencing. It wasn’t often she felt the tug of the bond between them, since she largely ignored that it existed. Every once in awhile, she would feel emotions that she had no reason to feel, or have dreams of events from eyes that weren’t her own.

He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a minute. “I’m…..I’m dealing. I received some news today, which may impact… your safety. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually.” Even though his words were filled with discomfort, Elain was relieved he wasn’t there to talk about their bond. “Have you met Helion Spell-Cleaver?”

Elain had met the High Lord during the war, when he had broken off the enchanted chains Hybern had used when the kidnapped her. She only survived because her sister and Azriel had come to rescue her. Pushing away the painful memory, she said, “High Lord of Day? He was at the Starfall party.”

“I suppose he was.” Lucien observed her. “It's a long story, but your sister has discovered that I am his Heir. Apparently, he and my mother had an affair over the centuries. I don’t know why I didn’t see it until now.”

Elain didn’t hide her surprise. She hadn’t ever met Lucien’s family, but had heard terrible things about them. What Eris had done to Mor, how they acted during the war… part of her was glad Lucien wasn’t truly one of them.

“Why are you telling me this?” She couldn’t stop the words coming out. She realized it may have come out as callous, maybe even rude, but she had to know. She barely knew anything about the male, how would this impact her safety? Feyre had told her that Lucien had fled the Autumn Court, but she had left the other details out. She never bothered to ask more about his story either, she didn't want to her sister's hopes up.

Lucien put a weary hand over his face, covering his russet eye. “When I was young, I fell in love with what my fa- Beron would call “a lesser fae." I thought we were mates, that it was a matter of time before the bond would snap in place - we were planning on leaving the Autumn Court together. When he found out… he killed Jesminda, and made me watch. When he was done with her, he sent my brothers after me. That’s how I ended up in the Spring Court.”

All of the words went out of Elain’s mind at the revelation. She had dreamt or seen something like what Lucien was describing often - a beautiful female being killed by a brown-haired man. Red-haired sentries holding her, or Lucien she supposed, down while she pleaded for her life - Jesminda's. Occasionally, she saw her face or Vassa’s, instead of the females. Or she saw Jesminda go into the Cauldron in her place. She always thought it was a vision from the future, but she realized now she had seen one of Lucien's nightmares. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Elain murmured.

“Don’t apologize. It was long before you were even born. I’m telling you this, because being connected to a High Lord’s Heir puts a target on your back. Feyre and Nyx are safe, only because people fear them, believe Rhys is the male they knew Under the Mountain. If my fa- If Beron realizes what I am, that I'm powerful, he'll go after me and he'll likely use you to do it. He'll stop at nothing to make sure another court does not have access to his - to my mother's power. Just like how Amarantha used Feyre against Tamlin and Briallyn used Cassian against Nesta. ”

“But… we aren’t...we aren't like them.” She said quietly. It wasn't fear that made her uncomfortable, it was acknowledging the thing between them, the mating bond.

Lucien looked out onto the garden. “It doesn't matter.” He said. “Ever since I met you, my instinct has been to protect you. It may even be why I warmed up to Feyre so quickly. Even if you ended up… even if you never acted on it, the bond makes it my instinct to shield you from harm. Hurting you would hurt me.”

His throat bobbed, as if he was debating what he said next. “And the death of a mate... whether it be mine or yours… it would be… unsurvivable, even if we never... act on it at all, we'll always be linked in some way.”

The pain in his voice was something she had never heard before. Elain knew he was telling the truth - she fought hard to keep memories of Feyre’s labor at bay — Rhys’s yelling, his fighting, barely restrained by Azriel and Cassian’s fourteen siphons. It was something she would never forget.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like a pawn in all of this. I know you haven't had many choices in any of this." He added. Part of Elain wondered if Lucien’s pain and devastation was because of her, of the role he would play in her death if history repeated itself, and the risk his new role created for her.

That thought made her say, “Don’t - don’t apologize for something you have no control over and don’t worry about me being a pawn.” His eyes snapped up to meet hers in surprise. “I have been a pawn from the moment the King of Hybern broke into my father’s house and put me in the Cauldron, even before that. The fact that you’re in the Night Court shows I still am one. Adding another court to a mix doesn’t change much.”

His expression was one of pure guilt. “I’m - I- “

She cut him off before he could deny anything, “Don’t apologize for that either. I know neither you nor Tamlin knew what was happening and I know you fought against Hybern’s wards to help me.”

Lucien’s shoulders sagged. He said sighed wearily, “I should have known then. I had never used that power before - Helion’s power. I thought it was the bond's reaction, but I realize now that the fire came from my mother, not Beron. He opened up his palm and let fire dance on his fingertips. "He won't pleased to know I have Autumn and Day gifts."

She's never seen Lucien use his power before. It was mesmerizing, they way he did it so casually, as if he didn't fear getting burned. Part of Elain wondered what her power would look like if she trained, like Amren had suggested.

He let out a chuckle, extinguishing the fire on his hands and snapping Elain's attention back to his face. “For someone who has switched court allegiances and had my world turned upside down as often as I have, you would think I would be used to it.”

Elain made herself laugh at that, and looked around for way to relate or lighten the mood. “I spent my whole life thinking iron would protect me from faeries. And now, I am fae sitting in a iron chair, talking to a High Lord’s heir, while living in another High Lord's house. I know it's not the same, but...the world way of turning upside down when we least expect it, you can’t plan for things like this.”

“When Feyre told us she thought faeries couldn’t lie, Tam and I laughed ourselves hoarse.”

The shadows in his eyes shifted - a different guilt taking their place.

Elain only nodded again, deciding to offer a truth the way Lucien had offered his own. “I’m sorry” she said.

“Whatever for?” Lucien asked, surprise coloring his voice.

“You wouldn’t have left Tamlin if I wasn’t, if we weren’t -“ she trailed off. “I know it pains you to see him like this.”

Lucien looked at her as if he was disappointed, not in her, but what she had said. “I thought we weren’t apologizing for things we can’t control?”

He let out a hoarse breath. “I was blind to a lot of things, Lady. After losing Jes, Tamlin was my only friend, my protector. After he refused Amarantha for what she did to me -“ he gestured to his golden eye and scar - “I couldn’t see past that loyalty. But the male I knew, I haven’t seen him since he sent Feyre back to the Human Lands.”

Elain just looked at him, realizing they had never spoken for this long, never this openly. She didn’t know what to say, if she could say anything to make him feel better about this. She was almost as shocked that she wanted to make him feel better, as she was by his honesty.

Lucien continued. “I didn’t want to see what he was doing to Feyre. I wanted to believe that he didn’t act Under the Mountain. because it would harm more than help. I wanted to believe that the Spring Court was my home, and I need to help keep things stable, show unity. But when Feyre came back to us, and she pushed back on him - I realized how wrong I was. I let her use me to get to him and Ianthe, because I was angry with him. Angry for how he got us into the war, angry for how he hurt Feyre, angry for trusting that two-faced priestess. ” He shuddered.

“It took a lot of time to realize that. When I came here, I realized what a court could be like when people are treated like equals. For all my power, I could never question Tamlin the way your friends question Rhys and Feyre. I would try, but he never listened." A long pause. "So yes, it pains me to see my friend in pain, and it pains me that the Spring Court will suffer because of my choices, but I do not regret leaving with your sister. Even when she lies to me, and fights with me, and uses me, and pushes me, she was a better friend to me than Tamlin was in years. Jurian and Vassa are too."

Elain was speechless for the third time since Lucien had walked into the garden. She let his words wash over her, and the tightness she felt, that feeling of turmoil in her gut - it was duller now, as if saying the words had given Lucien a release he desperately needed.

She reached for his hand, laying hers on top of his momentarily, before pulling away. “I’m glad you got out.” she offered.

Lucien went still at her touch, but mastered himself enough to say, “Me too, Lady” smiling softly. “Me too.” Lucien began to stand, as if forcing himself to put space between them, “Speaking of Jurian and Vassa, I should probably head out. If I’m not back by the time Vassa shifts to her human form, I’ll have hell to pay,” he said with amusement in his tone.

Elain hadn’t realized how quickly the sun had begun to set around them.“Of course.” She said. He stood, and Elain joined him, deciding to walk with him until the anti-winnowing wards ended.

The silence was overwhelming, so she asked: “Do you like the Human Lands?”

“I do.” He said, smiling as if he was thinking about some memory. “I can’t say I fit in, but I enjoy Jurian and Vassas company. They are at each other’s neck’s constantly, but I can’t say I’m ever bored.” She couldn’t imaging Lucien fitting in particularly well in her old home. She supposed that with humans as strange as Jurian and Vassa were - a centuries old human that was resurrected by the Cauldron and a firebird cursed by a Death Lord, who had been freed by her own father - they could at least bond over how they didn’t fit in.

“I suppose you aren’t used to experiencing seasons.” She found herself saying.

“After spending most of my life in eternal autumn and spring, it’s refreshing to feel the weather change. I can’t say I loved the winter, but it’s different... It makes me appreciate time more.”

“I haven’t been to the seasonal courts, but I enjoy it too - seeing how the seasons change. I would like to see more of Prythian, more of the world some day.” She said in response. It was true. Elain loved watching the leaves turn and watching flowers bloom again in spring. She longed for a time where her greatest wish was to see the Tulip fields in the continent with her sister.

“I think you would like the Spring Court in its former glory, the gardens were almost as enchanting as yours.”

“Thank you.” She forced herself to respond to the compliment. Feyre and Nesta had both mentioned how she would love spring. Elain was content to watch the seasons change in Velaris.

Lucien nodded to her, coming to a standstill where the wards ended. “I’ll be back in a few days to meet with Helion. Thank you for speaking with me... Are you truly not scared, knowing about the risk?.”

"I'm not."

“Maybe we can… talk again soon, Lady.”

“Elain. Call me Elain. I’m not technically a Lady, and you needn’t be so formal with me. I'd like us to be friends.”

He looked surprised at that, and well - Elain was too. She had no idea what possesed her to say that. To offer up friendship, when she was still hurt from another loss, still processing her new life, her role in this Court.

Lucien just smiled at her in a way she had never seen before, and said “I'd like that too, Elain.” before disappearing.

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): His Youth, Trade Life, His marriage to Hazrat Khadijah

The Prophet is with Abu Talib, his uncle

The Beloved Prophet is eight years old...

He is under the protection of Abu Talib, his uncle, who was appointed as a guardian by his grandfather.

Abu Talib was an immensely compassionate person; nevertheless, he was quite poor. He did not have any possessions other than his few camels whose beneficial milk was distributed around Mecca. Abu Talib had a crowded family and as a result, he was in great distress.

Despite all of this, he was loved and respected by the Qurayshis for his honest and proper (morally upright) way of living. Hazrat Ali spoke of his father’s condition in this way:

“My father was one of the leading figures of the Quraysh despite having been poor. However, although he was poor, no one was considered to have been exalted in the tribe before him”.

Abu Talib and his manner of living were distant from the ugliness and wickedness of the Age of Ignorance. Like his father, Abdulmuttalib, he never consumed alcohol although the polytheist Qurayshis would drink it freely as if it were water. Abu Talib had the qualities to take care of our Holy Prophet (PBUH) in every circumstance.

At the same time, Abu Talib carried out the duties that were passed onto him by his brother, Zubayr, such as encasing the Kaaba and providing water to the pilgrims. However, after three seasons of Hajj, he understood that with his tight budget, he could not carry out these duties, which required great expenses to be made. Thus, he had to transfer these duties over to his brother, Hazrat Abbas. Hazrat Abbas continued these services until the Kaaba was conquered; Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) left these duties to the same people after he conquered the Kaaba.

Abu Talib was deeply connected to our Holy Prophet (PBUH) as his father had been. He showed the utmost attention to our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) upbringing. He would never separate his nephew from his side, would take him wherever he went, would have him sit next to him, and would talk to him as a friend.

They would not sit at the dinner table without him. When the table was set and when our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was not seen, Abu Talib would say, “Where is Muhammad? Call him to the table”. Everyone would be full yet the food would still increase at whichever table our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was found. Many times, at tables where our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was not present, the food would quickly finish before anyone got full. 

Besides, ever since that time, our Beloved Prophet (PBUH) would eat very little. He was always serious and would always respect the food. Unlike other children who would pounce on the food as soon as the table was set, he would not put anything in his mouth until the adults began eating. In fact, his uncle would sometimes set up a separate table for him so that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) would not be bothered by other children. 

Like in his adulthood, our Beloved Master (PBUH) would never complain about hunger or thirst during this age (his childhood). His nanny, Umm Ayman, described this property of his as follows:

“I have never seen our Holy Prophet (PBUH) complain about being hungry or thirsty during his childhood. He would drink a sip of Zamzam in the morning. Whenever we would want to feed him, he would say, “I do not want anything. I am full”. 

Every morning, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) would open his eyes that were full with happiness and life, with a pristine countenance that shone bright. 

The Prophet attends the prayer for rain with his uncle!

Makkah and its neighborhood was undergoing a severe drought and famine. The ground was dry and cracked due to lack of water.

The Qurayshis applied to Abu Talib and said, “O Abu Talib! Our children and animals started to die due to drought and famine! Please pray for rain for us.”

Abu Talib did not reject their offer. However, he would not go alone. He was going to take Muhammad, his nephew, with him because he had seen in many events that Muhammad attracted blessings and grants.

Abu Talib went to the Kaaba with his nephew, the Sun of Bliss. He leaned against the holy Kaaba, opened his hands to the Sultan of the Universe and started to beg. Muhammad (pbuh) was holding the covering of the Kaaba and he was pointing to the sky with one finger.

...After a while, the sea of mercy of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, started move; rain started to pour down over Makkah and the people of Makkah. They could hardly enter their houses. The valleys were full of water. They became very happy.

Yes, Hazrat Muhammad (pbuh) had been appointed to bring material and spiritual mercy and blessing to the humanity and to make the world a happy and prosperous place. He had the traces of that lofty and great duty beginning from his childhood!

The love of Fatima, the wife of Abu Talib, toward the Prophet

The love and compassion of Fatima, the wife of Abu Talib, toward the Prophet was endless. She loved him as one of her own children and would show the utmost attention to his upbringing. In fact, she would not pay attention to her own children until she had fed him and had made sure that he was full. In this way, she was trying to have him not feel the pain of being an orphan.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) never neglected showing Lady Fatima love and respect. He never forgot the kindness that she had shown him throughout his entire life. When she died, he expressed his love for her by saying “Today my mother passed away”.  Afterwards, he made her a shroud by taking off his shirt and wrapping her with it, and he then descended with her to her grave and he lay there for some time.

This particular action had not escaped from the eyes of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) companions. When they asked him for the reason, he provided the response:

“After Abu Talib, there was no woman who had shown me as much kindness as this dear woman had. I made my shirt a shroud for her so that she could wear a dress from Paradise in the Hereafter and I had lain there with her so she could like and be accustomed to the grave” 

The great Prophet (pbuh), who never forgot the favors done to him no matter who did them and who returned those favors to them manyfold...

Our Holy Prophet’s noble and exceptional trait greatly influenced people to convert to Islam, as it can be seen in the various stages of his life.

THE PROPHET HERDS SHEEP

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was in the tenth year of his blissful life.

During this time, he told his uncle, Abu Talib, whose custody he was under, that he wanted to herd Abu Talib’s sheep. At first, his uncle, who loved him wholeheartedly, did not consent. However, he eventually accepted on account of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) persistence and intense desire. However, this time, his wife, Lady Fatima, ardently opposed. How could their hearts consent to leaving our Holy Prophet (PBUH), whom they loved more than their own children, under the scorching sun?

Nevertheless, the Master of the Universe (PBUH) was determined. For this reason, he was able to obtain Lady Fatima’s consent.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) began to take the sheep and goats to the valleys and hills where they would graze during the morning.

In this way, he was able to help his uncle, even if it was in a very small way, to save money since it was no longer necessary to hire a shepherd. He also acquired the chance of deeply contemplating on the existence of the ground and skies in solitary. In the fields, he would watch the sublime scenery which Allah revived at every moment; thus, his soul would experience an incomparable pleasure and attain deep enlightenment from viewing these sights. At the same time, this duty, which he had taken upon himself, allowed him the opportunity to keep him away from the lies, fraud, deceit, and hypocrisy of the corrupt society in which he lived.

After the duty of Prophethood had been given to our Master (PBUH), who spent his holy life herding sheep, he went to the fields with his companions (Sahaba). They started to pick the fruit of the siwak tree in a place called Marr az-Zahran. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said to his companions amid his smiles that soothed hearts:

“Among this wild fruit, choose the black kind since it is the most delicious.”

The companions were amazed and curious.  They asked, “Oh Messenger of Allah! Only a shepherd would know the good and bad types of this fruit. Did you herd sheep?”

Once again, the Master of the Universe (PBUH) replied amid his smiles that soothed hearts, “There is no prophet who has not herded sheep.” 

One day, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) reminisced to his companions a sweet memory in his life:

“Prophet Moses (AS) was sent as a prophet; he herded sheep. Prophet David (AS) was sent as a prophet; he herded sheep. I too was sent as a prophet and would herd my family’s sheep in Jiyad (a place that is at the bottom part of Mecca).” 

It can be seen that at ten years old, our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who is described as the one “who possesses the highest ethics” in the Quran, did not favor being without work due to his diligence and benevolence and did not deem it appropriate to be a burden on someone else.

It is possible to find the traces of one-year experience of herding sheep in these holy words, which can cover several books of commentary and interpretation.

“You all are shepherds. You are responsible for those whom you guard. A state chieftain is responsible for those who are under his rule. An individual is obliged to protect and take care of his children and is responsible for them. A woman is responsible for her husband’s home. A servant is a watchman and is responsible for his employer’s goods. An individual is the watchman of his father’s goods and is responsible for them. You are all responsible for those who are under your command.” 

He is withheld from taking part in entertainment

The Master of the Universe, Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) who was under the special protection of God Almighty, narrated an event that happened to him at the time when he was herding the sheep of his uncle. It was as follows:

“A couple of times I wanted to do some things which the people of the Era of Ignorance would do. However, God Almighty kept me from doing them. From that time on, I never intended to do something of which God Almighty would disapprove until the time I was selected as a prophet. As for the thing I meant to do, it was like this: One night, I and some youth from Quraish were herding our sheep up the hill at Mecca. I proposed my friend if he could take care of my sheep so that I like my other friends, might join the night entertainments where people told tales. My friend answered that he could do that for me. Then I came to Mecca.

When I saw the first house of Mecca, I heard the voice of people having fun screaming. I asked someone what it was about. He answered that some man was getting married to some girl and that was their wedding. I then sat somewhere near the wedding and began to watch it. Then I fell asleep and could wake up only with the first lights of the sun. When I turned back to my friend, he asked me what I did. I told him I did nothing and told him all about the night before.

One night, I asked again my friend for permission to leave, which he agreed. When I walked all the way and came to Mecca, I saw again, what I had seen before. I knelt down and started to watch it. Then I fell asleep. I could wake up only at daybreak. As soon as I woke up, I turned back to my friend and told him what I had seen.

After that I never attempted to do such things till I became a prophet.”

[dclevinson]

August 21: my kaddish month

I’ve sent this to a number of people, but I’m putting it here too in case some readers who might be interested will stumble across it:

A little more than a month has passed since Cindy died, and I get asked a lot how I’m doing. My standard answer starts with a couple ways of framing:

 --- the earthquake is over, but there are lots of unpredictable emotional aftershocks

 --- I’m past the Shock & Numbness phase, but normal life doesn’t seem normal. Lots of How Can This Be Real moments that can be disorienting and distressing

 --- many times emotions collide: how much to lean into or away from grief, how to feel it’s OK to feel OK when I do, how keep her with me and move forward too, etc

 I suppose at some point a fascination with grief can start to make others uncomfortable, but grieving has a logic of its own. One key part of “after” life was the 30 days of daily religious services I attended to honor her memory.  I found the routine and --- surprisingly, the ritual --- spiritually nourishing. Cindy’s eyebrows always shot up at the word “spiritual.” Usually mine too. I hope those of you I send these four pages to don’t find it too tedious Perhaps it’s a way of keeping Cindy in your thoughts and hearts too…

       I am a most unlikely daily mourning ritual observer. I didn’t do it for my father, and he asked us not to. But the ritual mourning prayers and the place where I’d be doing it meant a lot to Cindy, so I just committed without much deliberation. One problem in writing about a fairly traditional type of observance is that the spectrum of Jewish religious practice can be mystifying, even to many Jews. So how explain it to outsiders? I’ve tried to do it without being either too reverent or irreverent.

 One basic mourning commitment is to say “kaddish”, the mourner’s prayer, for a set amount of time. Jewish practice and custom is intellectually intricate and often arcane; there are rules and exceptions to rules and different interpretations of rules, etc. There are other customs/demands for remembrance too. Many think of saying kaddish as a year long commitment. Plus yearly anniversaries, set to a moving Hebrew calendar --- just to add to the degree of difficulty. But even the year thing has permutations: actual practice for some groups is 11 months, not 12.

 Why?. Different interpreters and communities make their own choices on duration. Our ritual director says “eleven.” Basically, some 13th century source says that “the wicked in Gehinom took 12 months for their souls to reach the highest levels of heaven.” But most Jews don’t even believe in a physical heaven!? Never mind. So, the reasoning goes, if the wicked took 12 months, we’ll mourn for 11: because our beloved Was Not Wicked. Welcome to Talmudic reasoning. But, traditionally, the year(ish) is for parents and children. For spouses the allotted time is 30 days. Though many people today may just do a year for anyone in the family. Thirty struck me as the perfect amount for the act to stay meaningful, helpful and not something I would treat as an increasingly resented chore.

 It’s not a prayer that religious custom allows you to say by yourself. You need a minyan (quorum) of 10. It used to be men, but now men or women, at least at our conservative temple (shul, synagogue, whatever --- more insider confusing terminology). But some do say it by themselves for the comfort it brings if finding a group is too arduous. And I cheated a couple days by joining the group virtually. But I found being with a gathering of supporters did matter to me. I could have gone to a shorter evening service to do this, but preferred the morning time. And came to think a 40ish minute observance time a good block to have meaningful daily impact.

 And then there’s the prayer itself. I realized right away that the weekday morning prayer service had many different kaddishs, similar prayers of thanks for and praise to a divine entity. But there’s one specific mourner’s version, said 3 times in oour short 40ish minute service. Twice, almost in succession at the end --- overkill or emphasis, depending on your point of view. Why the repeats? Haven’t pursued that yet. And, as some of you know, the prayer for the dead doesn’t mention dying or losing loved ones or honoring their memory, etc. It just profusely praises God (and lots of different words or phrases to refer to such entity since he/she/it is too holy and all powerful to mention the Real Name). Some phrases: “May god’s name be exalted and hallowed, his sovereignty soon accepted… glorified, celebrated, lauded, worshiped, exalted, honored, extolled and acclaimed… Lots of current Jewish religious practice incorporates the Middle Ages wholesale. Or earlier. Read the English on the facing page of the prayer book and much of the service sounds like the practice of a small, threatened tribe huddling in the desert thousands of years ago.

 There’s a lot about Jewish practice that seems natural and essential to practitioners but might alienate the uninitiated.  Or reluctant observers like me. The head coverings. The shoulder covering prayer shawls. The standing for this (many do: why not all??!), turning right for that, covering eyes for this line, fingering prayer shawl strings (tzitzit) for that. Whew. So many prayers and practices for so many different occasions. Designed, I’ve thought, to cement the devotion of believers. But it repel skeptics, too, I surmise.

 One such example: in these early services most men put on tefillin. Leather straps with little black boxes attached (a prayer inside) that have very specific wrapping/unwrapping  procedures for arms and head. It’s deeply moving to believers, but I’ve always thought it look repellent or ridiculous. Way too much like the garb of the ultra orthodox “crazies.” There are lots of I’ll do this/not that decisions in religious practice. I understand there’s a tenuous dynamic that exists between any minority and majority community, and clinging to tradition and being true to oneself can seem preferable to “selling out” to fit in. But sometimes it strikes us skeptics as more a clinging to “guns and religion” type intransigence.

 So, if you walked in on these services cold (I was lukewarm), there’s lots that would be pretty mystifying and potentially off-putting. How could you possibly fit in? In fact, I believe I was the only new guy or gal over my month. And there had to be a decent number of temple members who have lost family members during the time I attended. Seemingly no person younger than I was doing the morning kaddish thing. And usually I was the only or 1 of 2 who didn’t put on tefillin. Men. Women usually don’t. Though one of our female rabbis did. Good for her, though I wasn’t tempted to follow.

 I could fit in and feel comfortable at these services because a) I knew people there b) I was committed to being there and c) people took care of me. I no longer bristled at the imputation (real or just in my head?) that I’m a Bad Jew and I need instruction to be a Good One. This time I felt many there had cherished Cindy, understood why I was there, and quietly welcomed me. I was willing to look/be ignorant and accept guidance.

 It was reassuring to see many of Cindy’s compatriots from the temple sisterhood there day after day too. The whole group (20 to 40 most days) was interesting to observe: lots more joking and side conversations during the service than I’d imagined. And there was the guy older than I who usually wore cycling shorts and shirt, the much older guy who sat to my right who usually shuffled in 15 minutes late, etc etc.  Lots of accomplished people and interesting stories for another writer’s version. And --- most days --- someone called out the pages so I had some sense where we were.

 I can read Hebrew if I already know the prayer or chant. So I can’t really read Hebrew anymore. Much of the service is praising God’s amazing powers, thanking him for singling out and helping Jews (don’t let anti-Semites see this!), an intricate mix of different intricate sections that over days start to fit a pattern. There are a always some bits in any prayer book that I find edifying and worth recalling; often I’m reading in one place when the service is in another. My favorite in this one:

Rabbi Schuel ben Nahmani said: We find that the Holy One created  everything  in the world; only falsehood and exaggeration were not God’s doing. People devised those on their own.

 There’s no sermon on any days, just the chanting. And different melodies for different sections. And torah reading ritual (I could spend pages on this alone) Monday and Thursday. I still have to learn why those days. I preferred the shorter days without.

 I was most fortunate to have a long time neighbor and, like Cindy, long time temple leader who I was delighted to learn (only some 30 some years later) is a regular attendee of daily morning services. Like Cindy, he has the ability I don’t to take what’s worthwhile in religious practice and ignore the rest. He credits Cindy with his reading the new alternate section of one prayer praising the Patriarchs (Abraham, Isaac, Jacob) by adding Matriarchs too.

 It’s not supposed to be used at this particular service, but a couple women who led services on a rotating schedule snuck it in. Much to my friend Rick’s and my glee. He joked about wanting to write: Minyan, the Musical. Have to decide how reverent or irreverent to be I replied. Yes he said, and some would love it, some hate it. Like so much else in life, I thought.

 There’s way more I could describe: the various “honors” during torah reading for one. Early on I got congratulated for pulling the strings to open the torah ark/cabinet. Basically, the only task our ritual director could be sure at that point I wouldn’t flub. One more key detail: I was wearing Cindy remarkable hand knit prayer shawl. Which, of course, many of her friends recognized. Once I made the mistake when taking it off at the service end of holding it to my face: way too emotional to repeat daily. Much more detail I could include, but there’s likely already too much. Ask me if you want more.

 I was asked to say a few words on the last day, right before the concluding prayers. I told people I was a most unlikely minyan attendee, etc. Grateful for this and that person’s help and Rebbe Rick’s (joke) guidance and company. Uplifted seeing Cindy’s sisterhood comrades, etc. Hoped in coming months to find an enduring way to honor her memory, etc.

 My one specific observation: I had been hearing people recite kaddish at Saturday services off and on for over 60 years.  But I’d never given a thought to the brief parts where the congregation joins in on a quick line. Just part of the practice I’d heard without really hearing. Until I was the mourner. Then, on many days when the congregation joined in…

       Y’he sh’meh rabbvo m’orach l’olam ulolmey olmayo…

 …on many days I felt my heart lifting and a wave of emotional support wash over me. This is why you should say kaddish in a minyan if at all possible. Or I hope in your tradition or life there’s some equivalent thing to bring you comfort when/if you need it. Em and I have been lighting candles at a set time each week also. That works for us too.

 The morning group skews old. But I hope that such a group is always there for anyone who needs it. I don’t want to attend any religious services daily. Or weekly. But this is my favorite service. I’ll be back. But on a day they don’t read torah. Forty minutes is plenty.

 I decided, too, that on day 30, I would take off my wedding ring. I sensed that if I didn’t tie that act to a ritual I might have a hard time doing it.

[buckys-little-hoe]

Lost in time | Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Summary: You were always basically an angel. But three as a body count in the 40s equals a sinner. You didn’t expect to see them all three at once after decades.

Warnings: brainwashing, electricity, being frozen, mentions of sex and I think that’s it

A/N: heyaww, I was just really bored and decided to write something. I didn’t edit it so there are definitely a few mistakes. Also it completely makes zero sense I guess.

—

Sometimes you wondered what you did to get all of this. It has never been an option for you to get married and have children. Somehow you were never meant to be something. You knew that since your childhood. 

Other children your age were playing outside. You scrubbed the floor diligently. Others made friends. You were locked in chambers. Others had adventures. You experienced terrible grief. For years you longed after a real family. Not after an adoptive mother who grumbled her homework on you. Not even after an adoptive father who gave you more punches than any words. You longed for a community. Something that accepted you. Maybe you were useless. Maybe you weren't good enough for anything, but a real family would accept that and do something better for you. They would take care of you and love you. That meant family for you.

You didn't need a biological mother that gave you away for whatever reason. Not even a biological father who apparently saw it the same way. Sometimes you would sit in the dark closet wondering if there was a reason for your suffering. Would you become something special? You could only hope. At night you laid on the floor, the thin blanket on your body. Then you thought of some stories. They did not have to correspond to reality. It was enough for you to escape the real world for a few hours a day.

A few weeks before your birthday, your last family had given you up again. You just weren't made for their farm. When you turned eighteen you were kicked out of the orphanage because you were legally an adult woman. You took a job in a small café and rented a one-room apartment. It wasn't much, but enough. You didn't make many connections. It was important to you to just save money to see the world at some point. It has always been your plan to open as many paths as possible for the future. You had done as many shifts as possible and spent the rest of the time in the library. You liked to read about everything there. The main reason was to just escape the real world. Nobody paid any attention to you, you were like a ghost. But you liked it that way. You had no worries. Your everyday life was always the same. Get up, work, read, go to sleep. You were bored, very much so. But you always only thought about your future.

On a rainy evening, you took the direct route home after work. You didn't have an umbrella with you and didn't necessarily want to go to the library to catch death. You had been so focused on getting around the puddles that you didn't notice the steps behind you. The next time you opened your eyes, you were in a kind of cell. It was larger than your storage room in your childhood. Screams echoed from everywhere in the hallways. It was dirty, smelled bad, and it was cruel. They tied you to a bench, injected some liquid into you and your heart stopped pumping. The organization, or Hydra as they called themselves, stamped this as a side effect.

After a few hours or days, you lost track of time, they chained you to another bed. There they put something made of metal on your head. A scientist stuffed something in your mouth and shortly afterwards electricity ran through your body. It was painful. Very. But you knew what they wanted to influence with it. You had fought against it with all your might. Swam against the current so as not to lose the most precious thing in your life. No matter how terrible they were, the memories were all you had left. Everything after that was very foggy and sluggish. A couple of the guards pulled you back to the cell. During the way they roughly touched you in intimate places or hit you in the stomach for fun. You often threw up on the way back.

At some point you escaped the organization. The entire lab had a power outage you caused and the electronic doors were opened. Only yours was unguarded, for whatever reason.

It had only been a few weeks at Hydra, but you were fired. Your rent for the month was already paid, but you moved to the other end of town. Back to a one-room apartment. You got a job at a cozy pub and at noon you waited in a small restaurant. You still saved the money diligently. Now you were more careful. The fear that Hydra could catch you again was understandable. You avoided the police, the government and just everything with an authority figure. Everything could be corrupt, you realized that there. Some of the guards there were real cops, you knew that because you knew them before.

The world was dangerous. You now had to be careful, watched that you were accompanied by some colleagues in the evening and built several locks on your apartment door. Weeks passed and you noticed new forces. Something about you had changed. You had a different charisma, got more attention and were happy to be involved in discussions. You didn't notice much about yourself.

Then you met a young man. He was a soldier. You spent a few nights together. You couldn't spend your last evening together, he had promised his best friend to go out with him. So you went to a convention and looked at technical things you didn't understand. You would hardly be harmed in public. So your fear of Hydra was limited. A few failed floating cars later, you were between another man and a wall. You went to his home, but nothing more happened between you. You still suffered silently from your first love. Weeks passed and a man ran past you. At such a fast pace that was not even close to normal.

And that's where your story started.

Your footsteps echoed because of the heeled shoes in the little tunnel. You wiped your wet hand on your skirt. You had just helped a child out of the water when you were chasing that man again. To experience this situation was something extraordinary, he was something extraordinary. Just like me, you thought excitedly. You came closer and closer to the soft lapping of the water. For a short moment you had to stop to breathe deeply. Finally you reached the water where the criminal was already dead on the ground. The muscular young man knelt beside him, gasping for breath. His clothes were soaking wet, but that was just a minor matter at the moment. A few minutes ago, this man had run past you in an inhumane condition. He had chased the criminal with no effort, and even when he was pulling a child with him, the man kept his head cool.

A bit worried you knelt down to him. You laid your hand gently on his cheek and a brief warmth radiated from your hand, so he became calmer. His chest rose and fell slowly. His muscles showed up under the white and tight shirt. You shook your head slightly to get rid of this thought and took your hand off his red cheek. He was very attractive. "Can you hear me?" You asked softly but audibly. His head snapped up to you and his curious blue eyes pierced you. As blue as the Atlantic and you threatened to sink into them like the Titanic. This color was so perfect as if the man had no blemishes. Somehow you immediately felt drawn to him.

"How did you do that?", He wanted to know in astonishment. His deep voice gave you goosebumps. Your heart would have been pounding now, but it hadn't done for months. Your breath became shallow and you were afraid of saying something wrong, you didn't want to scare him. You smiled gently.

"It doesn't matter. Your health is more important now. ", You said in a tender voice and ran your hand through his wet hair. Even in this state they were soft as silk. Such men were never really your type. Instead of blue eyes you preferred brown ones. You preferred brown hair over blonde hair, but at that moment it seemed stupid.

"I'm fine ma'am," the blond man assured you. Slowly your hand dropped, but suddenly he gripped your wrist. Your skin tingled under his touch. Should you see a doctor? "May I get your name?" He should give you children too, mister. Oh dear, did you really think that?

"Y/N Y/L/N is my name. And yours?"

"Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

More and more footsteps sounded behind you, so you hesitantly got up and knocked the dirt off your skirt. You were reluctant to leave him now, but you didn't want to have any police officers or even scientists on your neck. Not right now. You have been avoiding larger groups for months. No matter who, if they followed someone authoritarian, you wanted to avoid them. "I guess we’ll see each other some other time, Mister Rogers.", You said goodbye and ran as fast as you could in the opposite direction. His calls disappeared in the whistling wind and you were finally at a safe distance. You wanted to turn around so much, him look again and touch. You wanted to get lost in his eyes or find hold of them.

With your back you leaned against the cold brick wall. The weather was miserable. You closed your eyes exhausted. Sport has never been one of your greatest strengths, on the contrary. You could think logically very well, but you hardly understood mathematics or science. You were better in languages for that. You liked reading a lot and did it also a lot. The music was also in the blood.

In fact, you would be a good catch, but so far you have had multiple kisses with only two different men in your entire life. The first was a few months ago. You had kissed him passionately in an alley and then went your separate ways. And you did that more often. One or the other time, you actually had more. The rule of no sex before marriage didn't apply to you anyway. When would you please get married? At some point he had to go to work, after that you never saw him again. So far you hadn't met the soldier again, which seems all too right to you. Because every time you remembered it, a dark red veil always laid on your face. Instead of a new encounter with the brown-haired man, you would rather swim in a pond in winter.

You shared the other with a well-known man. Back at the convention you met him and you talked long into the night. So one thing led to another. Of course, nothing more than a kiss went, but you saw that a bit of a shame, since he was also a very attractive man. To see him again didn't seem realistic to you, the less you worried about it. You might have just kissed for an hour until you fell asleep in his arms. In the morning you disappeared without leaving anything. His personal assistant helped you out. Until you landed with him in bed a second time. And again. The press couldn’t et enough of you. You both decided that it would be better if your relationship ended here.

To get back to the previous topic, Steve Rogers was a treat for the eye. And weeks after the incident at the water, you met him again. And again. And again. The random meetings became dates. And no matter where he went, you followed him. You weren't a couple, but you had nothing to do and you both found each other attractive. The nights ended without sleep but with a lot of fun. He told you about his best friend Bucky. Bucky was an integral part of his life. And when he went on a mission to liberate his best friend, you went too, but in secret. Peggy Carter had helped you dress like a man, which was pretty funny.

A few unconscious Nazis later, you were in some tract. And then you became aware of one thing. This was not just any prison that was built by the Nazis. This was a Hydra camp. And as soon as the first Nazi had a chance, he went to Dr. Armin Zola. The scientist now had his favorite toy back. You were locked up. And no matter how many times they tried to erase your memory, it never worked. Until they noticed that it was related to your abilities, since you could manipulate the energy. Emotional energy, energy from electricity and so on. Just a few months later, Hydra got bored of you and you were frozen. The Winter Soldier was the newest and most successful experiment. You never woke up again.

You got moved to a Russian Hydrabase, you were like an exhibit. Decades passed and you still slept peacefully. But in 2017 everything changed. The Avengers cleared Hydrabases, collecting data, and so on. When Steve saw you, his eyes almost fell out of his head. As soon as he opened the door, you were awake. You had looked into each other's eyes. "I'm sorry." Was the first thing that came out of you. He just hugged you. Tony Stark appeared behind him, which was why you winced. "Howard?" You asked. Your mind was foggy. What year was it? And even Tony recognized you from all the press pictures his father had kept. Steve let go and looked at you worriedly. The next shock you got when you saw James, with longer hair, but James.

"James?"

"Y / N?"

You two spoke at the same time and you became aware of one thing. The Bucky that Steve was talking about was James. Your James.