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wildemaven · 9 months

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fall apart, again : chapter one | joel miller

Pairing: Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x OFC!Genevieve

WC: 5k

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Heavy on the Angst, post-outbreak world, no specific age mentioned but reader is close in age to Joel, minor character death, Ellie and her smart mouth, leaving the rest to read at your own risk to not spoil things, reader has a name but there are zero references to her appearance/she’s a blank slate character, 2nd POV, this is way AU so can be read as Game Joel or TV Joel

A/N: I’ve been so excited and nervous for this series. I don’t have a timeline for posting with this one, just going to take my time with it. Big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for listening to me wrack my brain over this series and for being my second set of eyes!! Please go check out her new Dieter Series!!!

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Inspo Board

Spring was slowly transitioning into the next season.

Bright fragrant blooms wilting away into the dry soil from where they were born— a poetic reminder of the time.

21 Summers.

21 years of surviving.

Enduring.

Remembering— the normal life before the outbreak that you mourn daily.

A giant Bur Oak lends itself to you, branches providing ample shade as you sit resting against its sturdy trunk, the ground cool beneath where you sit.

The harsh sunlight filters through the tree’s canopy, a warm dapple light speckled all around you.

There’s a gentle flicker to your left that catches your attention, a single light-ray hits the small diamond on your dainty gold band where it sits heavy on your ring finger. You hold your hand up, remembering back to when you both had found it, he had immediately dropped to his knee— it wasn’t much, but it was perfect.

“I give you this ring as a reminder that we face this world together. We’re an unbreakable team.”

Even after all these years and the circumstances of the world around you, it’s a vow you stand by.

Branches above rustle and crack as a breeze sweeps through, the edges of the paper that is resting on a book in your lap fold over with each small gust, drawing your attention back to the words you’ve written.

…We passed what looked like it was a small farm at one point. It made me yearn for normalcy. Where we could settle into the small farmhouse, drink our morning coffee on the wraparound porch while we watch the sun rise. Have all the animals that would give a homestead atmosphere. A coup of chickens where we would gather eggs daily, a flock of sheep and goats for milk, and a small herd of cows— because what’s a farm without some cows I can give silly names to.

We’d raise a family in that farmhouse— lots of babies running around to wrangle. Breakfast of pancakes and fresh eggs, all of us together around our table, then tucking them all in at night after we’ve read them several stories.

We’d lay in each other’s arms as the crickets sing their chirping songs. A breeze washing over us through the open windows, the evening air lighter and crisp as the night fades and our worn bodies succumb to sleep.

There wouldn’t be heartache or sadness. No fighting or stressing over jobs. We’d be happy. We’d be together…

“Eve! Let’s get goin’— we only got a few more hours of light left. Should be at the cabin before sundown.” The thick Texas twang breaks through your thoughts.

Steve standing off in the distance, his blonde hair disheveled and wind blown as he looks back to where you’re tucked under the tree.

He’s handsome in his own right, not someone you would have ever found yourself with in different circumstances, but now you wouldn’t know how to function without him.

A chance meeting the day of the outbreak had brought the two of you together.

You were working as a traveling nurse at a hospital 4 hours from where you lived, instantly going into crisis mode as lead of the trauma response team, the ER quickly overwhelmed with patients seeking treatment for bites or flu-like symptoms— it was unlike anything you had ever seen before in all your years as a nurse.

Steve, a retired detective, was on vacation with his wife visiting a friend before the initial outbreak happened. The morning of, he’d gone on a duck hunting trip, while his wife went to breakfast with some girlfriends at a local Waffle House. He had brought her into your ER when he noticed she was acting strangely, similar to the symptoms the news was reporting as a widespread epidemic. Her outcome was not hopeful as you did your best to administer vials of antibiotics and fluids, the infection moving through her was beyond anything you could treat.

It was Steve who made the call to abandon his wife and the hospital and the realization hit fairly quickly that there was less you could actually do to help others.

Fleeing the area, seeking solace in one another as you both navigated through quarantine zones— searching for familiarity in your former hometown, only to be met with decimation and nothingness.

Steve’s way around a gun helped keep you safe when evading FEDRA, the nursing kit you put together came in handy when stitching him up between shootouts and fighting off the infected— this was now your new normal.

As the years progressed, you both found contentment with each other. Security gave way to a sense of comfort and revival, falling into a deeper connection beyond two people surviving a post outbreak apocalypse— if you were going to be in each other’s lives, you might as well be fully committed.

“Eve! Pack your shit up— let’s go!” He spits out a little harsher, no real malice behind his tone— he likes to stick to his schedule.

You don't respond, folding your letter carefully then tucking all of your items into your canvas pack. Standing to your full height, you give your legs a minute to let the blood reacquaint fully, your hands brushing the bits of dust and weeds from your pants.

You hear Steve continue his huffing, as you make your way closer to where he’s standing.

“I thought I told you to knock it off with those pointless letters!” He gruffs, hands secure at his hips and his head cocked to the side, hoping to catch your gaze.

Your letters. They had become a loose journal, your stream of thoughts you needed to get out so you were not plagued by the pain and anxiety that came with them whirling around your brain.

Letters to your past, letters to a new life that awaits you and sometimes to no one at all— you wrote about your travels, things you missed or longed for now, hope for the future.

They were too much to keep, pages and pages filled with your words and stories, some containing memories too painful to read or share, a weight you didn’t want to carry, so you scattered them throughout your travels. In the last 21 years, you’ve written hundreds of them, dropping them in abandoned mailboxes, or tucked away in the abandoned spaces you’d settled into in passing, as if to send them to whomever you were writing to— leaving a trail of your life across cities and states.

“And I thought I told you to stop calling me Eve— guess we don’t always get what we want?” You had asked him multiple times over the years to not call you Eve, that was your former life and you hated the reminder, but you know he doesn’t do it out of spite.

The gravel crunches under your boots as you walk past, not looking to argue with him in the heat of the sun.

Steve’s hand reaches out clasping around yours, halting your movements, his eyes fixed on you, furrowed brows as if he wants to say something.

“Hey— Ya know I love you, right?” He sighs, his fingers toying with the gold band on your ring finger.

You look to where your hands are joined, the twisting of the gold band a small gesture of his when things get tough or tense, you smile when you meet his gaze again.

“I know.” You do know, and you feel it too. “Come on, we’ve only got a few hours of light left.” He shakes his head, but gives you a smile at the way you throw his comment back at him.

It had been close to 2 hours of walking, nearly dark, by the time you both made it to the cabin, nestled among dozens of other abandoned cabins on the hillside of an old ski resort.

You imagine it was a popular spot in its prime, filled with families taking their kids on their first snow trips, friends racing each other down the slopes, non-skiers enjoying warm beverages in the lodge while everyone else enjoyed the snowy weather.

Now desolate and forgotten, a stop for raiders on the hunt for supplies and hostages or survivors seeking refuge in search of a town just north of here, Jackson.

Steve had managed to trade for a hand-held CB radio early on, he kept tabs on chatter that happened among FEDRA, staying one step ahead of their whereabouts. At some point he had stumbled upon private channels used by other survivors, he didn’t talk much about what they discussed with you, it was his realm of expertise and a small thing that was just his, so you didn’t push him to share more than what he was willing to.

It was a year ago he had connected with someone and heard about Jackson. There was an offer for a place for a fresh start, a community of other survivors, somewhere to feel safe and comfortable without fear of being attacked, placed in solitary confinement, killed— or infected. Steve decided it was where you both were meant to be, hashing out a plan and specific route on his tattered map, making sure to stay in constant contact with this person in Jackson as you both traveled.

Venturing further into the resort, you both settled on the lesser marred of the dilapidated cabins.

“I’m gonna check the perimeter, you go on inside— check each room first, I’ll be right in. But remember, if I’m not back in ten minutes, you don’t come looking for me— you wait until morning and you head over that mountain, under no circumstances do you leave that cabin before sunrise.” Steve instructed, his hands on your shoulders reassuring the doubt he can see written all over your face.

“Steve— W-what if, there’s something inside—“ Your voice is barely a whisper, nervousness creeping in as your hands grip onto Steve’s wrists that have moved to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing across the apples of your cheeks.

“We’ve done this a million times before, I know you can do it— I wouldn’t send you in there if I didn’t think you were capable, you’ll be fine. Just think, this is the last time we have to do this. Then it’s you and me, in Jackson, together and safe— ‘kay?” His direct eye contact really drives home the message— together and safe.

“Okay.”

“I love you, go be brave.” Romantic and encouraging as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you— be safe, please.”

“Always.” He shoots a wink with his mustached smile, a few slow steps backwards then turning to make his way up the backside of the cabin, pulling the butt of his rifle close to his chest, hunched and scanning every inch of the surrounding area.

The cabin would seem warm and inviting if the possibility of a Clicker behind the door wasn’t a high probability.

Armed with the knife Steve insisted you keep on you at all times, your refusal at his request for you to carry a gun, you make your way up the front steps.

Each move was slow and calculated, the wood beneath your boots wobbled and creaked the closer you got to the front door. The handle is cold to the touch as you twist it open, pushing the door with a little extra effort to unstick it from the doorframe.

It’s dark and musty, uninhabited by the living and anything beyond that at first glance. Dust and cobwebs cover every surface, pictures still mounted on the walls slightly hanging uneven. A floral couch with two side chairs still arranged in an inviting way, waiting to be enjoyed during a long conversation. The kitchen was small but large enough that it still would have been possible to whip up a hearty meal over the stove, then gather at the tiny table to enjoy the meal and dessert.

You’re grateful the floor plan is an open space, no immediate threat to you upon entering.

There’s only two doors, which you assume hide a bathroom and a bedroom.

The first door reveals nothing but a sink, toilet and shower-tub combo— you’re looking forward to a hot shower when you get to Jackson.

You stare at the closed remaining door, the handle of the knife twisting in your hand as you prepare yourself, not really feeling like you have it in you to take out anything that might be waiting for you on the other side.

A deep breath in, reaching for the the handle you give it a quick jiggle announcing your presence, twist and a quick swing open— a queen size bed draped in outdated sheets, bedside tables with lamps covered in a layer of dust, a dresser opposite the bed with a giant mirror hanging above it.

Empty.

Relief washing away the dread.

Stepping into the room, you toss your pack and knife onto the dresser before finding a seat at the end of the bed, the mattress shifting under you, the springs groan as you settle into a comfortable spot.

You’re not sure how much time has passed since you entered the house, noting it’s been a while since you had heard or seen anything from Steve, but knowing he likes to be thorough, you’re hoping he makes his way through the front door soon.

The moon has crept into the night sky, shining through the small bedroom window, illuminating the reflection staring back at you.

Sometimes you forget how long it’s been since you’ve seen what you really look like. While it’s you that you’re staring at in the mirror, you feel slightly unrecognizable to yourself— aged by 21 years in every sense, tired and worn down by the state of the world and lack of sleep.

Your fingers lightly trace over your skin, taking in every detail, rediscovering every angle of your appearance— the old characteristics blending into the new ones.

A yawn escapes you, remembering what Steve had said about not leaving, you decide to get yourself comfortable in bed and wait for him.

Kicking your boots off, you crawl up the length of the bed, plopping your head down onto the stack of lumpy pillows, your mind wandering as you run through all the scenarios as to why Steve hasn’t returned yet, debating whether you should go take a look outside or listen and wait for morning— scared of what you might find waiting for you.

Your eyelids begin a heavy blink, struggling to remain open and alert, your breathing evening out as your body relaxes into the mattress, sleep consuming your mind.

Warmth surrounds you, the bed dipping and creaking pulls you from your sleep, immediate panic bursts in your chest as your eyes shoot open, your vision blurred as you seek out the movement of a shadowy figure behind you.

“Hey, hey it’s okay— it’s just me.”

“Steve?!” Turning your body to lay facing him, your hands fisting his shirt, scanning his face for any sign of distress or discomfort. “What took you so long?”

“I’m fine.” Placing a hand over one of yours that’s settled on his chest. “Decided to wait a bit, just to be sure nothin’ was out there— I’m sorry.” His hand moves to the base of your neck, his forehead resting against yours.

“S’okay.”

“No— I’m sorry for callin’ your letters pointless earlier. I know how much they mean to you. I just—“ He releases a heavy sigh, voice quivering as he avoids eye contact with you.

“What— what’s the matter?” You sense there’s something Steve’s not telling you.

“Nothin’s the matter. I just worry about what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours— you shut down on me and I just wish you’d let me help you carry the burden.” His gaze moves back to yours. “Promise me, when we get to Jackson, you don’t let your thoughts weigh you down any longer— promise me you’ll let yourself be happy there.”

“I p-promise.” You say, brushing the blonde strands of hair off of his forehead. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“Nah, I was pushin’ your buttons— I deserved it.” You both laugh at his response.

Steve leans into your space, his lips slotting over yours, it’s angled and slow, his grip on your neck still steady as the kiss begins to deepen. Throwing your leg over his hip, canting against the sturdiness of his thigh, seeking out some sort of friction to relieve the building ache between your legs.

But before things are about progress, Steve’s pulling away from your mouth, slowing the roll of your hips with his hand.

“We should get some sleep— we’ve got close to a 3, maybe 4 hour walk tomorrow, we need to get all the rest we can get.”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Your response is breathy, a slight pang in your chest at his soft rejection, questioning whether you had been too harsh towards him earlier in the day— but your body could use the rest.

Adjusting yourself, you turn away from Steve, his large arm wrapping around and pulling you closer to him. Your back now against his firm chest, each one of your tense muscles slowly relaxing into him and his warmth.

Thoughts of a new start in Jackson flood your mind as you drift off into a deep sleep. A chance at a better life, where Steve and you can settle into normalcy together. Retire from the constant fear and panic of daily survival out in the open. The taste of prosperity and the sense of peace, an almost tangible reality for the two of you.

Steve senses sleep has set in for you, the ease of your regulated breathing paired with your gentle snores. He nestles himself into the crook of your neck, his fingers instinctively migrate to your ring smoothing over the cool metal, his thick whiskers tickle lightly at your skin as he whispers reserved confessions into the balmy. A gentle kiss to your shoulder before allowing himself to fully breathe easy, deciding to keep a watchful eye throughout the night.

“You’ll be happier Genevieve, I promise.”

The sun is in its full glory once you both set out on the last stretch of your journey over the mountain.

Steve had been rather short with you all morning, you chalked it up to his tossing and turning all night, his eyes bloodshot, evident in lacking sleep— he had promised everything was fine, so you believed him.

“How much longer do you think we have?” Not really knowing what to talk about with the uneasiness that’s been going on all morning.

“I don’t know, Eve— they guy said it was about a 3 hour walk from the resort. We’ve been walking close to 2 and a half, so we’re probably close.”

“Please don’t call me—“

“Jesus Christ Genevieve! I’m fucking sorry! But you don’t make it easy for me sometimes— I feel like I’m always at a fucking arms length away from you even after 21 fucking years.” Anger shoots from his mouth like bullets, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, at least never towards you. “It’s a goddamn name! Gen, Eve, Genevieve— they’re all the fucking same!”

“I-I’m sorry.” Tears prick at your eyes, you try your best to not let them fall— you’ll save them for when you’re alone in the safety of your new home.

“Fuck! No, I’m sorry— shit! C’mere.”

Steve pulls you into him, his face hot against your cheek as he holds you close, the button down he’s wearing is drenched in sweat, there’s a slight tremble to the grip he has on you.

“Are you okay?” You pull back to get a better look at him, beads of sweat glisten across his forehead, his cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Yeah, just really fucking tired.”

*CLICK*

“Hands where we can see them! Slowly, no fast movements!” A woman’s voice echoes through the air.

Steve releases you from his arms, both of you slowly turning, arms raised up as you were told.

There’s 5 of them, all on horses with their guns drawn in your direction. The woman seems to be in charge of the group, her horse placed a few feet in front of the others.

“We don’t mean no harm, we’re just trying to get to the settlement just over this mountain. You must be Maria? I was told you might greet us before we got there.” Steve says, keeping his tone even as explains himself.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” She asks, her expression still unreadable as she waits for Steve to respond.

“No— you don’t, but I was told you would bring us the rest of the way in.”

Maria takes a minute to decide whether she wants to believe Steve or not.

“Scan them.” Looking back at one of the men behind her, nodding to where Steve and you are still standing with your arms raised. “I don’t care who you talked to, you get scanned before you come in.”

The man grabs a device from his saddle pack, then makes his way towards you, the other 3 men’s guns still aimed, fingers hovering over their triggers.

“Lady’s first.” The man states, placing the device on your neck, there’s a small zap to your skin when the scan is administered.

“Green!” He shouts, holding the device up to show the green screen in Maria’s direction.

You breathe a sigh of relief, even though you knew you were fine.

Turning towards Steve, the man places the scanner on Steve’s neck, Steve’s eyes locking with yours as the man presses the designated button to conduct the virus scan.

The man steps back quickly, a flash of red catches your attention.

“RED!” He holds the device up.

The other men direct their aim to Steve, his head hanging low and no sign of resistance to finding out he’s infected.

“Steve! No— Tell them you’re not infected!” Insisting he speak up. “He’s not infected! Scan him again! Please!” You scream at the group, your voice straining as you plead with them to scan Steve again, convinced it was a bad read.

“Please!! Scan him—“

“Genevieve— it’s not wrong.” Steve says.

You turn to him, chest heaving and your throat burning from yelling, confused by what he’s saying.

“What? What do you mean it’s not wrong? You’re not infected Steve— you’re just tired, they need to scan you again!”

“I was bit.”

You can feel the blood drain from your face as the words leave his mouth. Your brain takes a moment to register what he had said.

Bit.

Infected.

“No— no! No, no no!”

“Genevieve—“

“W-when?”

“Last night, there was a runner that came out of one of the other cabins—“

Steve’s confession hits you like a ton of bricks in slow motion. You hate it and don’t want to believe a single thing he’s saying, because the reality is that this is where it ends for him— for you.

The tears burn as they begin to stream down your face.

“You didn’t say anything though—“

“I needed to get you here— I needed you to be safe.”

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, throwing yourself at him, anchoring your arms around his neck.

“No! I can’t do this without you— I can’t lose you too!”

“Yes, you can. You’re the bravest person I’ve known in a long time. You’re going to get there and you’re going to meet new people and you will be able to help out because that’s what you love— you love helping people and I love that about you. This is your chance to start over, to be happy— do that for me?” His hands cup your face so he can look at you, his eyes filled with tears as well. “Do me a favor, write me one of your letters— I want to know everything.”

You nod, unable to speak, the lump in your throat growing as your remaining time together dwindles away.

“I love you, Genevieve.” His words muffled against your skin, leaving one last kiss on your forehead.

“I love you, too.” You breathe out, your eyes closed savoring his soft touch one last time.

“How long?” Maria asks Steve.

“Probably ‘nother hour left, give or take.”

“Alright Genevieve— you’re riding with me, hand your pack to one of my men. Andrew, you hang back with Steve— you know what to do.” Maria orders everyone.

Wiping your tears before placing a kiss to Steve’s cheek, then turning to where Maria is waiting for you, handing your pack to one of her men. Maria leans down to grab onto your arm, as you hoist yourself up onto the backside of the horse.

“Let’s head back.” Maria says, pulling the reins up and to one side to signal the horse to turn around, a click of her tongue has the horse moving forward in the direction of the settlement.

You can’t bear to look back in Steve’s direction, not trusting yourself to not run back to him.

Leaving him and knowing his fate is like reliving the same pain you endured 21 years ago. The outbreak takes everything from you for a second time.

Your world shatters, crumbling as the horse carries you further and further from him.

*BANG*

The sound ricochets out over the valley, your heart sinks as a new wave of tears silently fall.

You don’t remember the entire ride to the settlement or how you ended up on the porch of a two story house.

Maria had mentioned putting you up in her brother-in-law's converted garage, a small studio bedroom where those new to the settlement would stay while their permanent residence were being cleaned and prepped. She said it wasn’t anything special and you’d have to use the main houses kitchen and bathroom, but you’d have your own space in a few days— so interacting with a few strangers was the least you could do for the hospitality.

You honestly didn’t care where she put you for the time being, the stables would have been enough, you just wanted to be alone.

Glancing over your shoulder you see others moving about freely, children running about in the open, a stark contrast between what you had been so used to.

There’s rows and rows of homes, a small town-like area, a community garden— this place was everything that Steve had described to you, he would have loved it.

The opening of the front door pulls you back to the front porch where you’re standing with Maria.

“We’ve got a newcomer, she’s going to stay here until we get a room ready down the street.” Maria explained to the young girl who is glaring at you.

“Why do you keep bringing them here? This isn’t a shelter— can’t she stay somewhere else?”

“No, she can’t. This is Ellie, her bark is worse than her bite— she’ll grow on you. Ellie, this is Genevieve let’s let her get comfortable and situated— she just lost whom I’m assuming was her husband, so please make her feel welcomed.” Maria coerses Ellie into letting you stay, but you don’t miss the eye rolling throw your way.

The home is spacious and inviting, you decide it’s far more comfortable than the stables would have been.

“Ellie, can you grab Genevieve a glass of water please.” It’s more of a demand than an ask. “Here Genevieve, have a seat here at the table. I’m sure Ellie can make you something to eat if you’re hungry too.”

“So now we’re a shelter and we have room service? Her legs don’t seem broken to me—.”

“Ellie, glass of water!”

The girl grunts something under her breath as she follows through with getting you water, you settle into a chair and try to not let the unwelcome feeling that’s been looming over you since you set foot in the house add to the pain that is still radiating through you.

You wipe a few tears you hadn’t realized had fallen, a new wave of emotions hitting you, another moment of realization of Steve not being here with you like you had both talked about.

“Is there anything else I can get you Genevieve?” Maria cautiously places a hand on your shoulder, you take it as her way of apologizing for your loss.

“Umm, just my bag would be great and a shower would be nice.” You sniffle, ready to lock yourself away for the day, not wanting to be forced to have unwanted conversations with a teenager who already hates your new presence.

“I’ll go grab your bag from the stables, then you can start getting settled.” She gives your shoulder a light squeeze before turning for the front door. “Ellie, be nice.”

A glass of water is placed in front of you, a few cubes of ice float around the clear liquid. You don’t even remember the last time you had enjoyed an ice cold drink.

Ellie situates herself in the chair across from you, looking as if she wants to say something.

“So— your husband is dead?” 14 years old and a great conversationalist.

“No— y-yes.” Your chest aches at the mention of ‘your husband.’

“Well, that’s not confusing. So, did you watch him die?”

“Hmm?”

“Your husband, did you watch your husband die?” She asks again.

“N-no.”

“I’m all out of questions then.” She slinks back into her chair.

You stare at the ice, almost half the size it was when it was placed in front of you. Wishing you could slowly melt away, become the nothingness you feel like.

The front door swings open and closes with a gentle click, the clunking sound of boots makes the presence of whoever stepped into the house known.

“Hey kid, sorry I’m late. Tommy wanted to get drinks after our patrol.”

A deep husky voice permeates the room, its thick syrupy tone seeps into every little crevice of your memory, its familiarity prompting the goosebumps to form across your body.

“I didn’t know we were having guests— this a new friend of yours?” He asks, his foot step getting closer to where you're still seated at the table, your back turned to him.

“Fuck no! It’s one of Maria’s strays. Said she has to stay here until her room is available— which is bullshit if you ask me!” She spouts off, her annoyance very apparent.

“Ellie, manners!” He grits out.

You lift yourself from the chair, steadying your weak state on the table and chair as you turn in his direction.

Your heart nearly stops the moment your eyes land on him— a ruggedness to him, his soft brown eyes filled with a darkness that comes with loss and sorrow, his dark locks and beard sprinkled with tuffs of gray, an overall hardness about him that hides his true self.

“Joel?” Your eyes wide and filled with more tears, the name is barely a whisper as it falls into the air.

“Eve?” A name he never thought he would say again.

#fall apart again series #joel miller tlou #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #Joel Miller x ofc!genevieve #the last of us #tlou #the last of us au #the last of us game #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

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werdlewrites · 1 year

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Season of The Witch (Steve Harrington x OC)

Chapter Ten: Think of Me

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Summary: “What would you say t' her? You know, if you ever saw her again.” Heather questions, feeling immediate regret as she does so and that weight only grows heavier the longer the silence carries on, unaware that Autumn had been lost in her own thoughts. Running through every question in every fantasy scenario conjured up, where she could meet the woman only seen in pictures. “Did she ever think about me?” Warnings: Drug use(weed), absent parent sadness Word count: 2,481 Do not repost without credit or permission.

“Quiet down, class. Quiet, quiet,” the voice seems to boom above the rest, moving swiftly through the air and drowning out the clutter of voices that once spoke with excitement, now fading out into hushed whispers as they hastily finished their stories, much to the teacher's displeasure. A look of authority, now clearly annoyed with a childlike eye roll as the majority struggled to follow directions. “Come on, now. You can talk after class,” he finishes with a heavy sigh. Someone meant to be filled with so much passion, guiding the students through their desires, pushing them beyond their creative blocks seemed worn down by time. Another day of discovering a hidden, artistic genius, or something to take pity on and consider it a good effort, slapping an “A” right on the chart just for giving it a shot, like Autumn. She had lost count of every project turned in, head hung low with a face glowing red from embarrassment. Though as the year stretched on, the teacher would show praise - like he did with every student, and she grew to care less about how the end result compared to the more talented students.

Silence settles over the room, smiles beaming on most faces as they reminisce over stories just told, lost in the past, unable to focus on the moment or move forward until Mr. Ross begins again. “Today, we have a paired up project.”

It’s an instant reaction. Some cheer with excitement, eager for the possibilities while others are groaning with irritation. Who would they be sat with? The crush they’ve been avoiding their feelings for? An arch enemy?

And there was Autumn. A twisting sickness in the pit of her stomach, eyes cast down to her hands as fingernails dig deeper into flesh, fighting off the building anxiety of the moment to come. The last group project had been done in near total silence, her partner unwilling to speak unless necessary as if a curse would sneak over the boy's tongue and take his life. Friends were hard to come by, too fearful of what others may do or say to get close, and no one had seemed too pressed on making nice with the black sheep. So she sits in this class in stillness, without the comfort of Jonathan or a calming notion of knowing someone had her back. She won’t look up as names are being called. Students paired together without choice, an evil but genius idea, so the unwanted aren’t left feeling so behind in a world that didn’t want them.

“Autumn and Heather,” he calls out. The girl's glance is quick to move across the room, the girl clearly lost in thought as her head snaps up from her notepad with bewilderment, locked onto Mr. Ross as the words slowly sink in. Soon, their eyes connect and Heather shares a small wave under the oversize leather jacket, expression unreadable as she’s still somewhere else mentally. Autumn has seen the girl many times before - brushing past one another in the hallway, or in the cafeteria where she surrounded herself with a cluster of rambunctious boys dressed in studs and leather. A particular metalhead seemingly always at her side, cracking wild jokes and drawing the attention of others whether he meant to or not.

Autumn gathers the materials, joining the other girl at the large table as her jacket is shrugged away, ready for the work to begin. The two are tasked to draw a portrait of one another, and Autumn’s confidence is dwindling the moment Heather’s pencil touches the paper. She’s carefree, a vision already in her mind yet instructing Autumn to look up and turn every few moments to fulfill it. Autumn doesn’t ask her partner to move, using every available moment they lock eyes to take in detail and scribble with sweaty palms. She would take an entire class to have the girl pose - leaving no work to get done, but leaving Autumn with something salvageable. Maybe.

Time ticks on, the teacher wandering between students to hover over their shoulders - making no real comments unless trouble was brewing between pairs, trying to keep his favoritism to a minimum even as he eyed the most intricate of pieces. Heather lays her sketchbook down with a sigh, satisfied and complete with her work. “Done,” she says with ease, not looking to Autumn for approval but instead looking over each line for any small faults. And there are none - not in her eyes. The portrait is somehow a mess of frantic lines, all coming together to create something so finely detailed that she finds an abstract version of herself staring back. Her fingertips colored gray from smudging the lead across the surface. “You keeping that for yourself?” she asks, a small smirk playing across her features as she eyes the pad held tightly to Autumn’s chest, feeling small and inadequate.

Eyes roll to the back of her head, dropping the papers to the table for her partner to see, watching as she leans forward with a furrowed brow, studying it intently with a smile growing wider thought quickly hidden behind a hand. She’s fighting back laughter, and Autumn knows it. Watching as she bites at her lower lip, hand falling away to regain composure. “It’s so..unique.” “I’m terrible,” she says, disgruntled, tearing the sheet out of the book before signing it, though she only wishes to burn it. “Hey,” Heather states, hands held up in defense. “You said it, not me.”

The work is turned in as students finish, leaving some bored while others group up with friends to finish earlier conversations. With Autumn’s old table taken up by strangers, she remains stagnant. Too afraid to strike up conversation with the girl at her side and unsure of where to go once she left the space.

“So, you’re a witch?” The question pulls her attention in, a dizzying sensation taking over with how quickly she looks back to the girl in confusion. She’s hunched forward, elbows pressed into the surface of the table with cheek resting in the cup of her hand while the other continues to draw a cluster of trees just out beyond the windows. “What?” “I heard that you were a witch.” And there it was, the looming cloud of darkness to follow her - seen by all except for her. A plague to keep everyone at bay, a single touch committing them to hauntings and hellfire. Her gift, and her curse. It was the same every time she had been cornered - an anxious feeling settling deep within, waiting for the unknown. Acceptance, fear, or a desperation to seek personal gain. Use her until she had nothing left to give.

“It’s not..really like that,” she mumbles, chewing at her cheek as thumbs fiddle back and forth. All the while Heather makes an “Oh,” expression, gaze fluttering away as she ponders over her next thoughts. Unsure of to push on further, or to abandon all hope entirely and let the silence drag on. “You know, if I was a witch,” she starts up, suddenly straightening her spine with confidence, ready to pursue some sort of alliance with the girl despite all hushed whispers. “I would disguise myself as a teacher.”

Autumn can only squint in her direction, lips parted as they slowly twitched with amusement and anticipation of where this may lead. “Then I would trap all of the other teachers together, in one room. Everyone would suspect something..but have no real proof I, or anyone locked us in,” the girl looks to her partner expectantly, a smile growing to see that she was becoming more invested in this fantasy world. “Uh huh,” she simply replies, waiting patiently. “Madness would take over, and they would start picking each other off one by one until they discovered it was me all along.” Heather seems proud, unbothered by the possibilities of anyone listening in to her declaration of insanity. Autumn wordlessly soaks it in, letting the scene play out in her mind and drifting off to something more familiar, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as it comes to her slowly. “Are you taking ideas from The Thing?”

“That’s not my point.”

The world was spinning, trees bending in on themselves, and stretching through the graying sky of an oncoming winter. She could feel the wind brushing along her fingertips and flushed cheeks, but unable to hear the rustling leaves as the sounds of her own blood pumping through veins acted as a harmony to the steady beat of her heart. So acutely aware of everything, yet unfocused and distant from it all. The grass beneath her body felt miles away, rising into the heavens but unable to reach the clouds. Autumn was as light as a feather, but heavier than stone. Too weak to summon an ounce of energy to simply let her head fall to the side and look to the only other person out in the dancing wilderness.

“What are you laughing at?” she asks, finally able to tune into Heather’s giggling, uncertain of how long it’s been going on for.

The girl doesn’t respond, not in the way one would expect. There is a long pause with stifled laughter, short attempts to catch her breath before an awful sound is heard - something similar to a duck call that finally lures the other girl's attention, mouth hung agape in surprise. Heather sits proudly with a blade of grass between her thumbs, a grin from ear to ear. “What? You don’t like my music?” She asks as the silence drifts onward.

Autumn laughs before moving her stare back up towards the sky, head feeling like it had been weighted down by bricks and eyes tired from gazing at the mesmerizing and ever changing scenery. For a moment it all seemed normal, back to a world she felt familiar in until the branches slowly inched across her view, covering the sky like a canopy before slipping back into normalcy in the blink of an eye. It was all so disorientating, and perfectly distracting from the distant cry in her chest.

“Y’do this often?” Autumn slurs, unknowing if Heather had heard anything at all or even understood her. “Out here? Sure,” the girl replies without hesitation, a small shrug in her shoulder. She continues to blow into her fingers, unable to recreate the same sound from just moments ago, ultimately letting the small blade of grass fall from her grip, vanishing into the masses. “The park, the lake - sometimes at home,” the last few words come with a heavy sigh, a silence suddenly shared between them with attention falling everywhere and nowhere all at once as the drug swept through them with grace and purpose. “No one really gives a shit.” And that’s when her tired eyes look to Autumn, curious, and playful. “What about you? Is your dad going to ship you off to boarding school for this?”

Autumn’s eyes fall shut, unable to keep a hold on the spiraling reality around her - already feeling a small sense of panic rise when she notices it had begun to fall from her control. “I’m not sure. My dad works a lot. He’d probably blame himself for his child getting into drugs, take me to therapy,” she stated without pause. The hypothetical scenes already playing out behind her eyelids like a movie on a projector. “What about your mom?” The imagery suddenly stills, the disappointment in her fathers face fading behind a black curtain, a woman only seen in photographs taking his place with kind eyes and a warmer smile looking back at her, frozen in time. “Not sure. I’ll let you know when I meet her,” she comments with a small chuckle. That memory of her locked away behind glass, within a frame, slowly easing out of view as her eyes opened to welcome in the dim light of day and the now tense atmosphere. “I’m sorry,” the others' words fall softly, now having a better sense of who the girl was, beyond the palm readings and occasional notes regarding homework.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Autumn replies, slowly pushing herself up onto her hands with eyes wide, the world within her vision simply collapsing in on itself. The ground trembles until it gives way, leaving craters for her legs to sink deep into, easily buried by an invisible force to leave her feeling trapped. “She couldn’t handle it.”

For a moment, she’s uncertain if the words are spoken or said only in her mind, running on loop. Tired eyes gaze to Heather who is looking back to her, listening attentively and confirming it wasn’t all in her own head. She hadn’t climbed that high just yet.

“That’s what my dad says, anyway. Postpartum depression, I guess. Instead of facing it she ran from it,” her final words mumbled, any ounce of strength she had left was used to forcefully roll onto her knees with a grunt, her body suddenly aged by many years. Carefully, she eased herself up to stand amongst the tall brush, her stance swaying with a gentle gust of wind. “What would you say to her? You know, if you ever saw her again.” Heather questions, feeling immediate regret as she does so and that weight only grows heavier the longer the silence carries on, unaware that Autumn had been lost in her own thoughts. Running through every question in every fantasy scenario conjured up, where she could meet the woman only seen in pictures.

“Did she ever think about me?” She answers, the words from her lips and cascading down along with the leaves, drifting through the wind and collecting at her feet with the intention to bury her. But the twist in her form to look back at Heather has them fall away, feeling her warm smile sooth that familiar ache like a summer breeze, healing and revived. “It’s a good start,” she says in return, not at all seeming too eager to join Autumn in returning to the real world despite the questionable time that’s drifted on. Instead, she continues to pick at the grass and then her shoes, flicking bits of dirt away with eyes glaring down the pathway that leads back to the school, far from sight. Off to her left, Autumn paces through the trees, running her hands along the bark in hopes every new sensation, every sting against her fingertips would slowly pull her back to her sober self. Jonathan would need her.

Will needed her.

“They’ll find him, you know,” Heather says without hesitation, forcing Autumn to come to a halt with wide eyes burning into the others back. “I know they’ll bring him back home,” she finishes with a gentle smile.

#steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things ff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington ff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x original character #jonathan byers x oc #jonathan byers x original charater #jonathan byers x reader #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington angst

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thenewdeadseascrolls · 1 month

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Judges 4: 23-24. "The Tzimmes."

Once a Jew accepts the God of Israel is real, accepts the Course called the Torah and finally agrees within the Self it is the only way to stand upright and become a man, manliness, gruff! Is what is it all about. The Torah calls its suite of masculine intelligent qualities the Israelites.

Israelites refer to the 12 Tribes and the 70 Clans. Together they form a diatribe, which begins here in Vayetzei:

Jacob’s Dream at Bethel “The House of God.”

10 Jacob left Beersheba “the highest” and set out for Harran “the climb” 11 When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep.

=which stone? which skill do you think? Probably #1, Reuben “to lead.”

12 He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven =the climb, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. “yesterdays going up, tomorrows coming down.”

13 There above it[a] stood the Lord, and he said: “I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. 14 Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring.[b]15 I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

=We read Torah Right to Left. South is towards the sun, it is the Glowing of Intelligence. West is the Absolute Nature of God, East is Meditation, North is society that reflects the light of the moon, which = all men inculcated into the wisdom of the Torah.

16 When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” 17 He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.”

18 Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it. 19 He called that place Bethel,[c] though the city used to be called Luz. “a twisted person, but because of the First Stone he became a leader.]

=so the Temple, the House of God, AKA the human body upon turning inward and beginning the climb is how twisted men become straight, as in rightly guided and pillars of their communities.

20 Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear 21 so that I return safely to my father’s household, then the Lord[d] will be my God 22 and[e] this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God’s house, and of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.”

=food to eat is the Script, the clothes to wear is the identity of someone who is eager to make the future an era that honors tradition but is responsive to how times have changed.

We change our clothes based on the weather, the activity, the occasion...mankind must be versatile in his identification with history and times oncoming.

Jacob Arrives in Paddan Aram “The Ultimate Upgrade”

29 Then Jacob continued on his journey and came to the land of the eastern peoples “those who face east= the Juice”. 2 There he saw a well in the open country, with three flocks of sheep lying near it because the flocks were watered from that well. The stone over the mouth of the well was large. 3 When all the flocks were gathered there, the shepherds would roll the stone away from the well’s mouth and water the sheep. Then they would return the stone to its place over the mouth of the well.

4 Jacob asked the shepherds, “My brothers, where are you from?”

“We’re from Harran,” they replied.

5 He said to them, “Do you know Laban, Nahor’s grandson?”

“Yes, we know him,” they answered.

6 Then Jacob asked them, “Is he well?”

“Yes, he is,” they said, “and here comes his daughter Rachel with the sheep.”

7 “Look,” he said, “the sun is still high; it is not time for the flocks to be gathered. Water the sheep and take them back to pasture.”

8 “We can’t,” they replied, “until all the flocks are gathered and the stone has been rolled away from the mouth of the well. Then we will water the sheep.”

=Jacob the Follower is now out on his own “climbing” and meets others who have climbed. They meet at an open well where the reflection of God is clear, but it is vaulted by a large stone. The stone is Issahchar or “Fortune”.

The men who have climbed will bring the ewe sheep AKA Rachel, the followers, to the Well which is vaulted by Fortune, which is taught and doled out by leaders, AKA those who dream of Reuben.

Without this proper translation of the Torah, one is just reading about funky cold medina and we know what happens after that. To be a Jew one must properly understand the Course, which begins with ascension over disbelief, ignorance, delusion, tradition, attitude, superstition, all of it, anything that oppresses the mind from becoming a cohort of the ultimate upgrade called Ha Shem, "the knower of all."

This guide called the Shoftim, "The Shopper's Guide to Being Jewish" says meditation is the fastest route. As with meditative practices named in the East, Jewish Meditation states God is there, He is kind, He is found in the temples, not the Temple, and until one figures this out, the body is not a Jew's body it is a tent with a hairy goat residing in it.

By piercing the temple with a peg, ie, stillness so the mind does not flutter, one is able to become a man. Men with still minds are able to acquire the Israelites and effectively influence society. How they do this and remain situated within the Jewish Self and become happy at the end is the subject of the Shoftim.

The method continues with a short discussion on the role God's Hand plays in the next stage:

23 On that day God subdued Jabin king of Canaan before the Israelites.

24 And the hand of the Israelites pressed harder and harder against Jabin king of Canaan until they destroyed him.

Jabin means "to discern, to see between." A king's discernment sees between any kind of temptation that might disrupt one's internal ethical self.

The verb בין (bin) means to distinguish and thus to discern, contemplate and understand. Its derivation בין (ben) means between, and obviously resembles the word בן (ben), son. A spectrum of sons is what an אב ('ab), or father, is expressed in.

This doesn't mean kings don't have a good time with the queens. According to the Melachim this means all abuses of power are carefully avoided.

A king of Canaan means "to bundle or pack" either to be free or to enslave. Every word in Hebrew is dual. At times, the Torah says we want to be friends with a certain class of persons and other times God says we have to kill them.

In the above, the Hand of God presses "discernment" to "unbundle", to separate from the herd "before the Israelites" which cannot be learned in a bundle, only cultivated by the self.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 23: The Value in Gematria is 2800, בחאֶפֶסאֶפֶס‎, "in jail in a cell."

v. 24: The Value in Gematria is 4299, ד‎בטט‎, "sweet potato."

Human Jews are not supposed to be a part of Canaan, an industrious but pointless collection of nimrods and numnutz like the world has assembled itself into today. The Mishnah says we are supposed to be like sweet potatoes smashed up together into a kind of sweet potato pie called a tzimmes.

Like all Kabbalistic terms in the Tanakh, a tzimmes means "to peer through the lattice using the Light to establish the highest ideals for the biosphere."

Dumb people make the rest dumber. The idea of a tzimmes is the opposite, an effort made by the world's most intelligent and most enlightened in the name of the greater good called Mashiach.

Mashiach means "what is your name sojourner who lends a hand?"

Mashiach embodies a world of strangers, who in spite of the fact they will never know the rest, are still willing to pray for their well being in all that they do.

The time is right, it is ideal for Mashiach. If we follow the course, we need to bake our pie which means we first need a vision and organized structure for it. The vision is named above, it is the same Hand of God that turned Jacob into Israel, the Father of the Israelites. His name means "follower"; like him, all we need to do is follow the Torah into Egypt, free the Israelites from their pens and Mashiach will take place.

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libidomechanica · 2 months

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Monstrously politesse shown

Never human for a lass of Loue is chaste me the sheepe, O shepheard, she dread, and charms outstretch his friend the mayne, to

write, those red gowden waste intended bee, and lord Gregory, thought. Continue so? Into the bounds: to loveliest

trim, by conquest of parents If you ask such as call the streaming too he lay an unnatural rest, and just escaped

for. Tho’ I should his warm the day. My mind; be not roses, but now, like all equals he o’er the wall were those eyes

were to whom winged eager face, or worldy bliss here! That have problem, thought, but rather aching moan from the rye, a rule,

lycius blushing heaven seem somewhat slave to life. And will makes him now: she rather where thee; thou and I don’t trust above

thy younger fancies at numbers face. Their grot varied and see your pain, as full on Menie doat, and needs my days the

bed and gather also when posy, for yonder a lassie yet, Gae seeks the bless now thou art gone, it be poison’d,

tis the bower between your dream she had to common sense of a groans, and calling, go backs, the sweet, wee dochter, the

brought? My face of it; for Natures bene forever. Nor why the wheels will never taking, though she slept—they sought for,

fails to make us from thee. One of the subject offer to Padisha or Pacha. And the hills round rulen ouer

the salt Medway his wish’d signal ta’en out hiss If you are the tried you, beautiful, inexactly. And down too, down!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #194 texts #ballad

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nijjhar · 3 months

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youtube

People sold their possessions to enter the Church of God headed by Chris... People sold their possessions to enter the Church of God headed by Christ Jesus. COE is of Mammon. The second coming of Jesus was Nanak. Free Food is served there. These Dog-Collared Priests are Juda Iscariot in sheep's clothing, the Thieves. https://youtu.be/8cEuJRHJHC4 Holy Gospel of our Supernatural Father of our “souls” Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc., delivered by the first Anointed Christ, which in Punjabi we call Satguru Jesus of the highest living God Elohim that dwells within His most beautiful living Temple of God created by the greatest artist demiurge potter, the lord of the Nature Yahweh, Brahma, Khudah, etc. and it is called Harmandir or “Emmanuel” if you are not “greedy” according to Christ Rajinder:- Hi Brethren in Christ Jesus, Brother Liz, You are very spiritual and I know Logo 114; Unless a Female (Saul) becomes a Male (Paul), she cannot enter into the Royal Kingdom of God Above as Jesus told Nicodemus, "From Above, we know what we are saying whilst below, the moral teachers Matt 13v52, say what the Scriptures say". It is the twice-born Above that we are made the Fishers of Men and not below the Disciples of the Rabbis and these Neo-Rabbis in the Universities. People sold their worldly possessions to enter the Mammon-Free One Fold, the Church of God headed by Christ Jesus and here you are charging money in the name of Christianity that has nothing to do with God but with the Church of England headed by King Charles III, a Church of Mammon in which the soldiers and Viceroys are encouraged to fleece people for the sake of Mammon. How could the soldiers who died killing others in the war glorify God? Unless the Church is not of God but of Mammon. The Salvation Army serves God and they exercise Agape but the Church of England serves Mammon and they are racists. Please, do not be upset and try to understand the Gnostic Language from Above the Royal Kingdom of God. The kingdom of heaven and hell is below and the moral teacher Rabbis used to have the Keys. But that kingdom finished with the last Prophet in the Promised Land John, the Baptist, Prophet Elijah, the Cornerstone of the Temple of Yahweh where Judas Iscariot threw the 30 Shackles and the Temple Priests bought a Plot in the name of Yahweh, the Potter of males and females or whatever you can see with the two natural eyes. Our Supernatural Father Elohim lives above the natural world. That is, heaven opened up and a voice above heaven spoke, "This is my beloved Son, listen to him". Now, a very interesting question. On Jesus' last journey to the Temple, he found a beautiful Fig Tree but no fruit. And in the Temple, Jesus gave the last Parable about a Winepress. Where was the Winepress located in Israel? What happened to the Husbandmen when the Winepress was destroyed in 70 A.D.? What job did they do? Were they Farmers or Labourers? Satguru = Christ Nanak was the second coming of Jesus. Go to a Sikh Temple, everything is FREE. You donate of your own free will. The Rabbis had become so greedy that they even started to fleece their own members of the Synagogue. https://youtu.be/f06gUnVkF7s The Apostles gathered with Jesus and reported all they had done and taught. He told them, "Come away by yourselves on a solitary basis to a deserted place and rest a while." People were coming and going in great numbers, and they had no opportunity to eat. So they went off in the boat by themselves to a deserted place. People saw them leaving and many came to know about it. They hastened there on foot from all the towns and arrived at the place before them. When he disembarked and saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them, for they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things. Church of England Vicar objected to my T-shirt that it may cause problems. COE is a Church of Satan headed by Mammon and not God. https://youtu.be/wp_8D3tlu90 Please click on my Playlists at http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/playlist.htm Church of England Vicar objected to my T-shirt which may cause problems. Today, 05 December 2010, I visited four Churches. First I went to the United Reformed Church that is just near the Bus stop and I thought let me go in as it was getting late to service. It was normal and a few looked at my T-shirt and logos but with curiosity. Only one man engaged me in the discussion. Then, I thought let me go to the Greek Orthodox Service nearby at Bartholomew Church, corner of Palmer Park and diagonally opposite to URC that I just attended. Serving Priest was from London but he normally is busy with the formalities. However, he gave me his London address and invited me to visit the Church and ask questions. That would be good. After the service, they invite people to join them in their service of Tea and Coffee with food cooked by different members at home. They also served hard drinks as it was cold. I had some cough and it was good for me to have a few. .......

#youtube

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theprayerfulword · 4 months

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December 15

Matthew 5:14 You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden;

Luke 2:15,20 The shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which … the Lord hath made known unto us. … 20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen.

Hebrews 2:17 He had to be made like His brothers in every way, in order that He might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that He might make atonement for the sins of the people.

Colossians 3:1-4 Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. 2 Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. 3 For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. 4 When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory.

1 Thessalonians 5:5,8 for you are all sons of light and sons of day. We are not of night nor of darkness… 8 But since we are of the day, let us be sober, having put on the breastplate of faith and love…

Psalm 34:5 Those who look to the Lord are radiant!

May you plan kindnesses and plot good deeds as you lay down and when you rise up, seeking to carry them out at the morning's light, as God makes it possible by opening the doors you need and preparing the paths you follow, for He will pour out His blessings on those who walk in His will and show forth His love. Micah 1

May you choose to walk uprightly and follow the ways of God, so that the words of God will bring you benefits and give you comfort, for the Lord does not change, nor is He limited in any way. Micah 2

May you follow where He leads, for as He gathers His own together as sheep in a pen, the Lord will also break open the way by His strength and go before you, making a way where there was none and showing you the way where you have never gone before, so that you may walk in His victory as an over-comer. Micah 2

May you truly be filled with courage and strength by the Spirit of the Lord to stand in commitment to the might of the Lord's justice before the people who call themselves by His name and declare to them their disobedience and rebellion, that they may know the fear of the Lord and turn in repentance and be accepted by the Lord. Micah 3

Do not be motivated, My child, by the urges of the flesh or the reasoning of the mind, nor directed by the influences which are felt from the world's principalities and powers. As you grow in your relationship to Me, My close one, you will come to know how love is foremost in My mind and thoughts, and you will learn to see how compassion underlies My deeds and choices. With this mature understanding, you will be able to go forth as My representative, My envoy, My ambassador. You will be speaking for Me because your motivation is pure and your behavior is constrained and focused in My Spirit, not the spirit of the world.

May you go up to the mountain of the Lord and to the house of God that you may learn His ways and walk in His paths, for His law will go out from Zion and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. Micah 4

May you walk in the Name of the Lord your God for ever, without fear of man, when He judges between peoples and settles disputes between strong nations, who will then beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks, no longer training for war or arming themselves against each other. Micah 4

May you rest in the Lord and trust the promises of God, for though you have been stripped of all you relied in, having all you counted on taken from you, brought low in the sight of others and dependent on the help of those around, He will gather those He has disciplined and assemble those He isolated, and will make of you who endured to the end a strong nation, transforming the weak and lame into survivors and restoring to them the former dominion, over whom He will rule. Micah 4

May you know the thoughts of the Lord and understand His plan, for the Lord will give you horns of iron and hoofs of bronze to break to pieces spiritual powers and principalities which stand against the plan and people of God, plundering the enemy and devoting their ill-gotten gains to the Lord. Micah 4

May you rely on the Lord for your needs, for the sustenance of the world will be broken and the necessities of the earth will not be found when the judgments of God go forth, so know the Lord Who loves you enough to make full provision for you in heaven, obeying Him in all He has for you on earth, and let Him be your testimony before men that they may know where to turn, if they choose. Revelation 6

May you lift your hands in the sanctuary and praise the Lord as you minister by night in the house of the Lord. Psalm 134

May the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth, bless you from Zion. Psalm 134

#daily #blessings #prayers #scripture

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reformationcartoons · 1 year

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He never takes His eyes off them!

(James Smith, "The Love of Christ! The Fullness, Freeness, and Immutability of the Savior's Grace Displayed!")

LISTEN to audio! Download audio

https://www.sermonaudio.com/saplayer/playpopup.asp?SID=36131319298

"I am the Good Shepherd;

I know My sheep, and My sheep know Me.

I lay down My life for My sheep!" John 10:14-15

Jesus is the loving Shepherd of His chosen flock.

He knows His sheep, and loves them too. He knows . . .

their names,

their persons,

their abodes,

their needs,

their enemies,

and their desires.

Their names are engraved on His heart, and on the palms of His hands. He came into the world that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly. He gave His life as a ransom price for them. He says, "I lay down My life for My sheep."

He gathers them by His Gospel and Spirit, and feeds and enfolds them in little flocks below. He gathers the lambs with His arm and carries them in His bosom, and gently leads those that are with young. He feeds them in green pastures, and causes them to lie down beside the still waters. He protects them from the roaring lion, the raging bear, and the devouring wolf! He says, "I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, ever! No one will snatch them out of My hand!"

Jesus . . .

restores them when they wander;

heals them when they are sick;

cleanses them when they are filthy;

changes their pasture whenever they need it;

watches over them every moment; and

guards them day and night, so that no one may harm them.

He leads them, and they follow Him . . .

knowing His voice,

loving His person, and

obeying His commands.

He is now engaged in preparing pasture for them above--where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary shall forever rest! He will come again and receive them unto Himself--that where He is, His sheep may be also.

He loves them too well to forget them, and is too concerned for them to neglect them. He never takes His eyes off them! This tender Shepherd listens to the bleating of the feeblest of His lambs, and sympathizes with the weakest of His flock. He has promised to feed them, and lead them to fountains of living waters, and to cause sorrow and sighing to flee away forever. His presence shall be with them, when they pass through the dark valley of the Shadow of Death, and His rod and His crook shall comfort them.

His strength shall be made perfect in the weakness of His lambs,

His wisdom shall shine in the way He conducts them, and

His love will be displayed in every part of His conduct towards them!

Lambs of Jesus! Listen to your Shepherd's voice, keep close to your Shepherd's side, and aim to honor your dear Shepherd's name!

~ ~ ~ ~

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sleepy-bebby · 2 years

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Encanto review thingy sort of

Unpopular opinion but even though I love the songs in Encanto, specifically “surface pressure” and “we don’t talk about Bruno”, I felt that the story itself was just slightly above average, like a 6.5/10.

Pros:

It was relatable, especially coming from a background similar to the characters of Encanto where family pressures and the overemphasis on the importance of family ties actually often end up being detrimental mentally to the children, and that people who end up not fitting in/being useful become the black sheep and is ostracised or even not spoken about at family gatherings.

That’s one of the reasons I adore Luisa, she never treated Mirabel horribly. Even though she’s this big buff strong woman that everyone relies on, you can still see such love and gentleness she has towards her younger “untalented” sister. I mean look at how she has her arm around Mirabel in this photo. Just 💕.

Bruno loves his family so much that the thought of him hurting or ruining his family’s image with his gift caused him to “disappear” and essentially live within the walls of the house, to remain close with his family, but not so close that he can cause them further unhappiness.

Other pros:

The overall animation and character expressions were amazing, the world was colourful instead of drab, the settings were stunning.

Cons:

There is not enough time given to each individual character and the conflicts are resolved too quickly. The pacing of the movie is also very weird, important scenes in the movie feel rushed and feelings are glossed over.

Mirabel has all the right in the world to feel disdain towards the perfect Isabela. Even though Isabela suffered as well from the pressures of being perfect, she was also constantly mean spirited to Mirabel in a way that Luisa never was. And then they sing a song about how Isabela was doing it for the family and was not given freedom to express herself and they hug and the good ending prophecy was achieved or whatever.

Same with Mirabel’s conflict with Abuela. Like yeah, I get it, she’s old and had her own trauma, but she was definitely let off too easily. Like her attitude towards her own son cause him to self-exile for 10 years because he thought that was the only way to make her and in extension the rest of the family happy. Seriously, wtf? Then they sing a song and she hugs him and everything is sunshine and rainbows again.

While I do not hate Alma as a character, I think more of the healing should’ve been shown on screen rather than an off screen implication.

Even though it’s realistic because you can have the worst grandma ever (a.k.a my paternal grandma) and everyone just brushes it off as “she’s old”, “she’s suffered a lot in her life”, “it’s a generational thing”. It’s a bad lesson to teach in a movie. I mean basically Alma went “sorry, it was trauma lol, but I’ll be better now :)” and everything she did that hurt others in the past just doesn’t matter anymore. Everyone’s mental health is now cured. 🌈

Anyway, yeah.

Tldr,

1. good songs

2. love most of the characters

3. unfortunately there were so many characters that most of them feel very under-utilised. The movie would have benefited from an additional hour or from a mini series. Example: I love Antonio but I straight up forget he existed every time he wasn’t in frame.

4. the way they resolved conflicts were lame, the way they just sing away their trauma and immediately forgive the people who mistreated them was also kinda lame.

No need to add your 2¢ cause I kinda don’t care lol. Make your own opinion essay.

#encanto #encanto discourse #encanto memes #bruno madrigal #maribel madrigal #luisa madrigal #alma madrigal

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imaginesfor-thesoul · 4 years

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spencer reid x hotch! daughter

(this is totally an au w/out jack and haley IM SORRY)

:: :: ::

The BAU had always heard about SSA Hotchner’s beloved daughter, (y/n), though none of the members had ever had the pleasure of meeting the aforementioned.

Besides the occasional anecdote, Hotch kept mostly to himself about his family. The only tangible evidence that (y/n) even existed was the black and white baby picture propped up on Hotch’s desk. On especially hard days, that silver photo frame displaying his gorgeous baby girl would be the only thing getting him through the day.

Naturally, mystery creates conspiracy. Derek had proposed that perhaps she was trouble, a black sheep. Maybe Hotch was ashamed to talk about her. Garcia, on the other hand, had attempted at some light snooping (minor invasion of privacy). Her search amounted to nothing more than a couple report cards and a birth certificate. JJ could appreciate Hotch’s value of privacy for his family, though on drunken nights with Emily and Spencer would sometimes picture what the mystery girl looked like (this often concluded with a female hotchner, furrowed brows and all).

The elusive daughter of aaron hotchner was far from the BAU’s mind that day, when a young girl wandered into the bullpen asking to talk to “Mr. Hotchner”.

The girl, late teens early twenties at first glance, walked into the buzzing room with a look of worry, yet a piqued interest.

She had got in using her last name and showing ID just to confirm. “Would you like me to tell your dad that you’re here, sweetie?” the kind woman front desk asked with soft eyes.

(y/n) shook her head “that’s alright, i’ll find him, thanks.”

Walking through the glass doors, it was busier than she was expecting. Perhaps she would need help finding her dad after all.

Taking cautious steps, so not to disturb the important people probably doing very important things all around her, (y/n) didn’t see the 6’1” mop of hair and cardigan approaching behind her.

“What are you looking for?” A silvery voice inquired from behind her.

The sudden voice caused (y/n) to jump out of her skin “Jesus dude, you scared the hell out of me!” She turned to see a man. A very gorgeous man. He wore tall cheekbones and wide, heartbreaking eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologized quickly, though his previous question still lingering in the air.

(y/n) crossed her arms over her chest and quirked a brow. “How did you know I was looking for something?”

The man flashed a quick (cocky) smirk before stating “Well to start, when you got to the glass door, you pulled before pushing it open, indicating that you’ve never been here before, or at the very least, haven’t been here often. You came in slowly and scanned the entire floor, shortly analyzing every face around you, as well as reading every sign on a door from where you entered to here.” He finished. He spoke quickly, precisely and matter of factly.

As impressed as she was, all (y/n) could manage to say was “So you’re a profiler, huh. Let me guess, Reid?” She had remembered her dad telling her about the young genius.

Taken slightly aback, Spencer responded with “Uh, yeah. And you?”

“That’s not important. What is important however is the fact that you’ve been watching me! What, do I have a “kick me” sign on my back or something?” (y/n) nervously quipped. For some reason, he made her feel small... and warm, is it hot in here??

“No, not that I saw” He smiled lightly. “So, can I help you find something?”

(y/n) remembered why she had come here in the first place. “Oh yeah! Can you point me towards my- uh... Mr. Hotchner.” She cringed a little at her close slip up.

Reid instinctively pointed towards the top of the steps of the bullpen and towards the middle office. “He’s right up there-“

(y/n) lit up and began heading that direction.

“Wait you can’t just walk in there, he might be on a call or something. Do you have an appointment maybe we can get you to JJ!” He fumbled over his words as the girl continued to confidently stride towards his bosses office.

He looked to the members of his team for any sort of guidance or suggestions, yet they all remained speechless when the girl threw open Hocthner’s office door and jumped on in. “Who the fuck?” Was all Derek could say.

(y/n) pulled the door open with an unexpected force. It had been about 2 weeks since she had seen her father, and the look of surprise on his face made the homecoming all the more better.

“(y/n)?! What are you doing here?? How did you get in?” Hotchner questioned. Concerned, yet always happy to see his girl.

Noticing the numerous sets of eyes on him from the profilers downstairs, he quickly closed the blinds before scooping (y/n) into an overdue bear hug. “I missed you, dad.” She told him, letting go of him.

“I missed you too, (y/n). Always.” Smiling sadly, he ushered her over to his desk to take a seat.

“So what’s going on?” Hotchner asks, his furrowed brow returning.

(y/n) sighs, returning to reality stung a bit as the memories flood back. “I’m sorry I didn’t just do this over phone but I’m too afraid to use my phone in case someone is tapping it.” She let out, a slight pounding in her chest as the anxiety returns.

“What are you talking about?” Hotch eagerly asked. Worry spreading across his features.

“Do you remember a couple weeks ago my roommate, Amber, passed away from a drug overdose?” (y/n) began.

Hotch nodded.

“Well, two nights ago, I came back and my other roommate, Lacy is-“ (y/n) was trying everything in her power not to cry in front of her dad, though the words could barely come out. “She’s missing, dad! And there was a note... A note saying that whoever left it had killed Amber and that Lacy was next!”

She was hysterical now.

Hotchner’s heart broke as fear rose within him. His worse fear of something happening to (y/n) was getting dangerously close, and his sobbing daughter in front of him made him ache through and through.

“Right, here’s what we’ll do.” He took her hands in his in attempt to get her to stop crying.

“I’ll get the team on it right away. you’re going to have to help us, but I promise you, we will keep you safe.” (y/n) nodded and wiped the flowing tears off her cheek.

After a few more minutes of consolation, (y/n) had gathered herself and followed behind her father out his office door. Standing above the bullpen, Hotch shortly cleared his throat gaining the attention of his team. “We’ve got an urgent case, everyone up here now, Morgan, grab Garcia.”. The tall, dark and undeniably handsome man nodded and headed off promptly.

The rest of the team, curious as to why JJ hadn't brought the case to the team obeyed nonetheless. Reid caught (y/n)’s eyes once more. Through that gaze, an incomparable sense of safety fell upon the two.

Filing into a board room, Morgan and Garcia were the last to stumble in after Hotch, (y/n), Reid, Prentiss, JJ and Rossi. It was interesting for (y/n) to finally place faces to the names she had heard many stories about.

Hotch stood before the team. “Everyone, this is my daughter, (y/n). I wish I could've introduced her under different circumstances but here we are.”

A slight, barely audible realization settled through the team with Derek and Garcia fondly smiling towards you, JJ and Prentiss sharing a glance as if to say “called it”, Rossi nodding in understanding and Reid gaining a slight look of fear across his features.

As her father explained the events from the past couple of weeks, (y/n) zoned in and out, knowing the case through and through. Though she was still fearful, she let her mind drift towards the absolute sunshine that was Dr. Spencer Reid. His light had been the only source to pull (y/n) out of her total darkness, though it was just momentary.

They were magnetic from across the table. She didn't want him to pity her. As Hotch detailed what was going on, Reid couldn't help but glance at the girl, in a silent attempt at reassurance.

Pictures of Lacy and Amber (that Garcia had quickly dug up) up on the screen, (y/n) felt the familiar feeling of darkness creeping up once more, her eyes welling up, though she couldn't seem to look away. She didn't seem to hear as Hotchner finished up and the team immediately jumped into action.

A large hand made its way to her trembling one. “We’ll find her, I promise”.

(y/n) looked into Reid’s soulful eyes and she could tell, he genuinely meant it.

Catching sight of her father’s furrowed brow, she swiftly slid her hand from under his and cleared her throat. She shortly replied “Thank you.” Though the look in her eye declared so much more.

:: :: ::

part two

AN oh hey, it’s been a minute.

#spencer reid #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner #criminal minds #Matthew gray gubler #Matthew gray gubler x reader #Matthew gray gubler imagine #ff #imagine #derek morgan

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years

Text

of stolen shirts and sorrow

4.5k hurt/comfort, happy ending. read on ao3 here.

Blood bubbles up between Geralt’s splayed fingers. He presses down as hard as he can without risking causing more damage. Jaskier moans faintly, and Geralt tries not to panic.

He fails.

It wasn’t supposed to be Jaskier that was in harm’s way, it was supposed to be him, should have been him lying on the ground with his blood seeping into the dirt, but they had been caught unaware, and there had barely been time for Geralt to unsheathe his sword before Jaskier had cried out beside him.

Jaskier had stayed standing long enough for Geralt to dispatch the werewolf with a vicious slice of his sword, blood spraying from its carotid as it fell to the ground and twitched. There wasn’t time for anything with more finesse. Geralt took a moment to feel sorrow that he had to kill it when his intention had been to come here to cure it, but it had been snarling and advancing towards Jaskier again, and Geralt couldn’t take any more chances.

Geralt whirled to Jaskier, and Jaskier dropped to the ground, sitting down hard and looking pale. Geralt’s eyes shot down to where he was clutching his stomach, blood dripping through his fingers and staining them red. Geralt whipped his head around to be sure there wasn’t anything else waiting for him to drop his guard before he sank to his knees beside Jaskier, helping him lie back.

Now, Geralt takes a deep breath, trying to center himself, before scrabbling at Jaskier’s clothes, ripping his shirt open so that he can better assess the damage, and he can almost hear Jaskier making a quip about it, pouting that he liked that shirt, Geralt! But Geralt’s not sure that he’s ever going to be hearing Jaskier’s voice again, because the wound is even more severe than he thought now that he’s looking at Jaskier’s bare torso.

A grunt comes from Jaskier again, determined to prove Geralt wrong even with the color starting to drain from his lips, and Geralt’s mind races, thinking about how he’s ever going to fix this. This is too much for him to solve alone, he thinks. He eyes the growing pool of blood worriedly, knowing how much blood someone can lose before they teeter off the cliff of no return, and Jaskier is closer than Geralt would like to admit. There’s no sign of the bleeding stopping anytime soon, so he further rips Jaskier’s shirt into wide strips to tie around the wound, hoping it’ll help staunch the bleeding.

He bites his lip and picks Jaskier up, hoping he’s making the right choice, and not one he’s going to regret while staring at a tombstone, but Geralt tries to block out the worry. Jaskier needs him right now, and Geralt has to focus on that.

He clicks his tongue, and Roach approaches him skittishly. Geralt drapes Jaskier over her rump, settling him so he won’t fall off or be jostled too much, because Geralt knows that is the last thing he needs right now. He wants to mount Roach and gallop away to help, but he has to go about this the right way. If he’s not fast enough, Jaskier will die, and if he’s too fast and Jaskier’s wound doesn’t manage to start to clot, he’ll die, too. Geralt takes a deep breath and absent mindedly runs his bloody hand through his hair, taking Roach’s reins in hand and leading her along the path at a fast walk. They’re close to the outskirts of Temeria; the proximity of the werewolf being why there was a contract in the first place.

It had been killing a farmer’s sheep, but Geralt regrets coming here in the first place. Farm animals were certainly not a fair trade for Jaskier, who’s cool and clammy to Geralt’s touch, his breath coming in rapid wheezes.

Geralt speeds his pace.

By the time he makes it to the walls of Temeria and shouts to the guards that he needs help, he needs their mage, Jaskier’s face is white and bloody covers Roach’s flank. It seems like the bleeding has slowed, so Geralt allows himself to take heart. “Go!” he shouts at the guard closest to him, who’s just standing there and staring uselessly.

The boy startles, because now that Geralt has taken a closer look, he can see that that’s what he is, a boy, and he’s probably never seen this much blood before. He turns on his heel and runs, and Geralt desperately hopes it’s for help and not to flee.

Geralt lifts Jaskier gently from Roach, who’s now prancing anxiously, and sets him flat on the ground. He takes a second to stroke Roach and murmur reassurances, and she settles a bit before he turns his attention back to Jaskier. He presses his hands over his hasty bandage, reapplying the pressure. He hears shouts in the distance, and he hopes Triss is on the way with her potions.

He looks back down at Jaskier, who has blood that’s starting to trickle out his mouth. He makes a wet gurgling noise, and Geralt wishes he could do more. All of his elixirs would be toxic to Jaskier and only make things worse, and he desperately hopes the metaphor doesn’t extend to himself, even though he thinks it does.

This never would have happened if Jaskier wasn’t with him. Geralt had argued with him, said werewolves were unpredictable, but Jaskier said he would be fine at their camp, thank you very much. Geralt could go and try to shove the potion down the werewolf’s jaws, and Jaskier would work on his latest ballad.

Jaskier had cut off his protests with a kiss, and Geralt found himself powerless in the face of that. The tangled threads between them had become even more twisted in the last month, with Jaskier finally getting fed up with Geralt and calling him an idiot before pulling him in and kissing him.

Geralt had been shocked. He had never dared to hope that Jaskier would ever return Geralt’s feelings, because who would love a mutant, but Jaskier had said that he’d say it however many times Geralt needed to hear it.

And now he might not ever hear it again.

All of a sudden, there are soft hands pushing Geralt out of the way, and Geralt resists until he realizes that it’s Triss, here to help Jaskier. Geralt slumps in relief and backs away, watches Triss hover her hands above the wound and pull small glass bottles from her satchel. He wraps a hand around his medallion, vibrating as Triss begins her work. He looks on helplessly while she mutters incantations and pours the contents of her bottles on the would until she takes a step back after what seems like an eternity. Jaskier’s breaths seem to be coming a bit easier. There’s no bloody foam around his mouth anymore, at least, so Geralt will take it.

“That should stop the bleeding and stabilize him for now. Let’s get him out of the street,” Triss says, pointing to the cart she arrived on.

Geralt swallows hard and leans down, pushing some of Jaskier’s soft hair off his sweaty forehead before gathering Jaskier in his arms and lifting him into the cart, settling him on the straw. Geralt climbs in after him, sitting down and ignoring the way the straw scratches at his skin. Jaskier moans and clutches at Geralt’s hand.

Geralt’s heart clenches. “Hey,” he says, uncharacteristically soft, “it’s okay, all right?”

Jaskier squeezes his hand weakly. Geralt raises their linked hands to his mouth and kisses Jaskier’s knuckles. “You’re going to be fine.”

Geralt looks towards the front of the cart, and Triss jerks in her seat, caught staring. “I’m going to take care of him for you, Geralt,” she says softly.

The words get stuck in Geralt’s throat. He grunts and runs a hand down his face. Damn it. This is all his fault.

“What happened?” she asks.

“We were… fuck, we were trying to cure a werewolf. I should have never let him come with me, but I was going to make him stay well away from its hunting grounds, and it was supposed to be fine.” Geralt waves his hand, his eyes catching on the blood caked underneath his fingernails. “It was supposed to be fine,” he repeats helplessly.

Triss puts a hand on his shoulder, and Geralt lets himself draw comfort from the touch. His heartbeat has finally started to slow again, but he can still smell the sour scent of his own distress, mixed with the metallic tang of blood. He slumps against the side of the cart.

By the time they make it to the castle, Geralt’s adrenaline is starting to crash, but he still gathers Jaskier in his arms again and carries him where Triss directs. He waves off the offers of help; his clothes are already bloody, anyway, no one else needs to ruin theirs.

He carries Jaskier up a spiral staircase before he reaches Triss’s chambers and settles Jaskier on the bed. “Can you undress him for me?” Triss asks, as she bustles around behind Geralt, her fingers flying as she mixes herbs and other ingredients together.

Geralt swallows hard. His fingers hover over the buttons of Jaskier’s shirt, but it feels wrong. They haven’t got this far yet, and Geralt doesn’t want this moment to be the one he associates with shedding Jaskier of his clothes.

He sighs and takes Jaskier’s shirt off, pinching the bloody thing between his fingers and letting it crumple to the ground. He’s going to burn it, if Jaskier lets him. Well, even if he doesn’t. Geralt doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to see it again without flinching, no matter how well of a repair job Jaskier does.

He undoes the laces of Jaskier’s trousers, so Triss can take a look at where the wound extends down his torso, but it stops at his waist, so that’s as far as Geralt goes. Triss hums her thanks as she starts to gently rub a poultice over the wound. “This will lessen the pain and keep him unconscious until his body regenerates enough blood,” she explains.

“How long will that be?” Geralt asks, resolutely not giving into the urge to fidget.

“A few days. Maybe a week. You’re lucky you got him here when you did.”

Geralt lets out a heavy breath through his nose. All his fault. “Hmm.”

Triss straightens up. “He’s going to be fine, Geralt. The wonders of magic, huh?” She nudges his shoulder. “He just needs rest, now.”

Triss leaves them, and Geralt takes a seat by the bed, looking over at Jaskier’s motionless body, save for the slight rise and fall of his bare chest. Geralt runs his fingers down Jaskier’s chest curiously, before jerking away like he’s been burned. He’d always wanted to know what Jaskier’s chest hair would feel like under his fingertips, but this isn’t how he wanted to find out.

Jaskier might have expressed his enthusiastic support for the idea of them while he was still able to walk and talk, but Geralt thinks he might have changed his tune by now. Why would he want to be around Geralt when all Geralt’s brought him is suffering and pain?

Jaskier could have had a very comfortable life by now, but instead he insists on traipsing around after Geralt. And look where it’s gotten him.

Geralt stands up, thinking very hard. His eyes drift to Jaskier’s ruined shirt on the floor, but he lets it lie. It’s unfair of him to do this to Jaskier. He’s keeping Jaskier in a sort of limbo, stopping him from having the normal life that he deserves. Jaskier should have someone who can take care of him better than Geralt. Geralt’s been doing a piss poor job of it so far.

Geralt steps towards the doorway before hesitating. This is for the best, but… He’d like a reminder of this, something he can look back on and remember just how full his life was, once. He remembers what it was like before Jaskier came along, and it’s almost unbearable to think of going back to that, but he has to. For Jaskier’s sake. What if the next time he dies? Geralt wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Geralt steps towards Jaskier’s pack, which has somehow migrated here. He supposes Triss brought it; she’s good for things like that. He digs through it until he finds a doublet that Jaskier doesn’t wear very often but is Geralt’s personal favorite. Geralt reasons that it’s the tales of his adventures that paid for the shirt, anyway, so really, Jaskier owes him this one small thing.

Geralt brings it up to his nose. It smells like Jaskier.

When Jaskier wakes, he’s alone. He tries to sit up, but there’s a sharp pain in his side that feels like someone tried to carve out his spleen. It gets even worse when the door opens, and there’s no sign of Geralt, just a woman he doesn’t know. Generally speaking, these sorts of things don’t tend to work out for him.

“Where’s Geralt?” he croaks, and it comes out as an accusation.

She casts her eyes upward, before looking back down at Jaskier. “He left.”

“What? Without me? Why? When is he coming back?” The questions bubble out of him without his permission.

The woman hesitates. “I… don’t know.”

“Come, he surely must have said something.”

“Geralt? Say something?” She gives him a wry grin.

Jaskier shakes his head. She’s right. “He didn’t say anything about returning?” he asks again, just to be sure before his heart sinks all the way to his feet.

She shakes her head.

This is all Jaskier’s fault. If he never would have gotten hurt, they would have still been travelling together, and Geralt wouldn’t have thought he was too much of a burden to drag along any longer. Melitele's tits. What is he going to do now?

Geralt scuffs his boot against a tree trunk while Roach looks on disapprovingly. “I know, I know,” he grumbles. “You miss him. But this is for the best.”

He’s not sure who needs more convincing: him or Roach.

He putters around, setting up his camp for the night and trying not to think of what Jaskier is doing now. His brain decides to seize on the werewolf instead, and Geralt sighs, sitting down heavily with his back against the tree. The bark is scratchy, and there’s a stone digging into his ass, but he doesn’t move. It’s just the start of what he deserves, anyway.

The werewolf should have been cured, it should have been them that Geralt rushed to town for care, not Jaskier. But now, because of his ineptitude, the werewolf is dead, and Jaskier almost died. The cure that sits in his satchel mocks him. He had mixed it together hopefully, with the best intentions, but it was worth fuck all in the end.

Roach paws at the ground, and Geralt knows his distress is making her nervous, but he just doesn’t have the energy to sort out his feelings right now. He pulls his cloak over his head and tries to sleep.

He’s unsuccessful, of course. His thoughts won’t stop stampeding through his head, and his ears are picking up on every sound of the night. This is one of the times when Jaskier would do his best to distract him.

They’d barely been together for a month before it all went awry, and this, this is why Geralt doesn’t get close to people. There’s nothing but misery in his future, and he dragged Jaskier into it.

Geralt smells a storm on the horizon, and he sighs. Typical.

Jaskier watches the rain outside, running his fingers over the droplets that race down the window. Triss had left him a few hours ago, telling him he could stay until he felt fully healed. He traces his fingertips over the wound; it’s hard to believe that it was life threatening with how well it’s looking now. Pink and tender to the touch, but a far cry from gushing blood like Triss had told him it was.

Triss had also told him that he woke up not fours hours after Geralt dumped him on her and fled. Triss didn’t put it like that, of course, but Jaskier can read through the lines well enough. He racks his brain back to the last thing he remembers. He can dimly recall teasing Geralt, sneaking Roach a sugar cube, and then things start to get blurry. There was a...snarl? He knows they were looking for a werewolf, but Jaskier wasn’t supposed to get anywhere close to it in the first place.

No wonder Geralt didn’t want him slowing him down anymore, if Jaskier’s intestines are just going to spill out of him at the first sign of danger. His side throbs at the reminder, and Jaskier gets up to rustle through his pack and find a shirt so he can cover his wound.

He’s looking for a particular shirt, one Geralt had always liked, because Jaskier’s not above a bit of self-flagellation when a breakup is still so fresh, but he can’t find it. Great. He had always saved it for special occasions, because life on the road tended to not be great for the longevity of his clothing, and now he’s gone and lost it.

It’s probably for the best anyway. He doesn’t need to dwell on the memories. But, it’s too soon for him to completely move on. Heartbreak is the best muse, and all that.

Jaskier unties his bundle of parchment and pulls out a clean sheet, along with his quill and inkwell. He dips his quill in ink, but no words come. He wants to write something scathing about Geralt, for leaving him behind like he’s worth nothing at all, but the lyrics don’t come as easily as the other ballads he’s written singing Geralt’s praise.

Jaskier stares at the page for a few more minutes, but all he manages to write is The. He scratches it out and sighs, pushing his paper aside.

Geralt drums his fingers and looks skeptically at the paper that’s just been slapped in front of him.

“There’s a pack of ghouls, right along the path to town. We’ve lost two supply wagons trying to pass through already!” the man tells him.

Geralt looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. “How do you know they didn’t just pocket your coin and disappear?”

The man throws up his hands in exasperation. “Are you going to take the job or not, Witcher?”

“Fine. I’ll look into it.”

In the end, it turns out not to be ghouls, but a graveir. Similar to ghouls, but larger, nastier, and venomous. Geralt rustles through his satchel, looking for the elixir that will cure it. He was off balance and too slow the entire fight, and now he’s paying for it. Geralt downs the elixir and yanks his fingers through his hair, trying to get rid of some of the guts. He attempts not to think of Jaskier.

When he makes it back to the inn where he’s staying, he takes a bath before he makes his way outside to the stables to check on Roach. He gives her a solid pat along her flank before he rustles through her saddle bags, where Jaskier’s shirt lives.

He brings it up to his nose. It smells like both of them, and now Geralt finally knows what it would have smelled like if he had let Jaskier get close enough for the scents to meld together. They’d been on their way there, for sure, but Geralt had had too many hang ups for it to truly go anywhere in the short amount of time they had where they both knew how the other felt before it all went to shit.

He takes it back up to his room and puts it beside his pillow, letting the scent soothe him to sleep.

Jaskier looks down at the ruined shirt in his hands. Money has been tight since Geralt left and all Jaskier’s inspiration followed him. He hasn’t written any new songs in months, and he thinks the crowds can pick up on his melancholia no matter how many cheerful songs he performs, because his takes have been pitiful. He supposes part of the problem might be the fact that he refuses to sing about Geralt, and those had always been his most well liked songs. Jaskier always skirts around any requests for them.

He scrubs at the shirt, trying to get the last traces of blood out of it. Once he’s successful, he pulls out his needle and thread. It’s so tattered that he’s going to have to patch it, but he’s always been good at starting new fashion statements. He replaces the ripped off buttons and pokes his tongue between his teeth as he selects the fabric for the patch.

Geralt’s not sure how much time passes before he allows himself to bring the shirt out again. Time seems meaningless, and he’s taken as many contracts as possible, trying to keep busy. Roach hasn’t been happy with him, and he knows he should let her rest, so that’s why he’s packed it in for the night. The break will do him good, as well, he supposes. Assuming he can actually manage to fall asleep, which is by no means assured.

He stares out at the swamp for an hour before he breaks down and pulls out the shirt. He takes a deep sniff. It smells like him. Only him. He flings it back down in disgust.

He gets up and pauses for a second before stooping down to pick up the shirt and stuff it back in the saddlebag. He ignores Roach’s snorts of displeasure as he gets her ready to move on.

Jaskier walks along the road, trying not to cough as carriages pass him, kicking up dust in their wake. It’s not good for his vocal cords, but he hasn’t been doing much singing at all, these days, so he doesn’t let himself worry about it.

He trudges along, lyrics swirling through his mind, but the urge to stop and write them down doesn’t come to him. His toes throb from where they’re trapped in his shoes, adding to his body’s cacophony of complaints against him. He’s not sure what the next town is, but he’s more than ready to arrive.

Jaskier squints into the distance as he sees a bit of dust somewhere farther down the path. It’s moving towards him, but it’s not big enough for a caravan or even a singular carriage. It’s someone else walking alone, and Jaskier’s immediately put on guard.

His hand slips into his pocket, where he keeps his knife. He keeps his hand on it as he’s just able to make it the outline of a person dressed in all black in the distance. It feels like someone’s turned his knife on himself as it makes him think of Geralt.

The person is leading a horse, and Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat.

It can’t be… but as he gets closer, Jaskier can tell it is. He smooths his hands down his clothes uselessly and resists the urge to tame his hair into something that doesn’t look like a squirrel’s den.

He debates what to do. Geralt’s the one who left, so he must not want to see Jaskier, must be upset at this unhappy little coincidence, even if Jaskier is desperate for any sight of Geralt he can get.

Jaskier’s set to walk past him, his eyes on his feet, just a fleeting glimpse up to satisfy his curiosity—it’s plausible to say he didn’t recognize Geralt, right?—when a hand lands on his elbow.

“Why in the fuck are you wearing that shirt?” Geralt asks, and it’s such an odd question that it stops Jaskier in his tracks.

“What?” He looks down at himself.

He’s wearing the shirt he patched, and he huffs in offense. He thought he did a fine repair job. He shoulders Geralt out of the way and keeps walking.

“Wait, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it’s the closest to a plea he’s ever heard Geralt get. He stops.

“How are you?” Geralt breathes.

Jaskier just stares at him in confusion. He’s not sure what Geralt’s aim is. How is he? “How do you think I am?” he snaps.

Geralt looks cowed, and Jaskier feels bad for a fleeting moment before he remembers Geralt is the one who should be contrite. It was Geralt who left him high and dry when he needed him most.

Geralt swallows hard, and Jaskier follows his line of sight to see that Geralt’s focused on where the scar in his side is.

He lifts up his shirt so Geralt can see, forgetting to be angry for a second. “It’s healed up very nicely, if I do say so myself.”

Jaskier looks back at Geralt, but Geralt’s just staring at the scar with a haunted look. “I’m fine, Geralt,” he says in exasperation. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have been dead.”

“If it wasn’t for me, you would never have been in that situation in the first place.”

A realization starts to dawn on Jaskier. “Did you—is that why you left?”

Geralt glances down.

“Geralt, if it wasn’t for you, a cuckolded husband would have most definitely done me in before then.”

“But—”

“I’m serious,” Jaskier says, putting his hands on his hips. “You don’t get to make choices like that for me. We make them together, okay? I’ve been miserable.”

“Me, too,” Geralt grumbles, and Jaskier’s surprised at the admission.

“Good. I’m glad that’s settled, then. You didn’t have to drag it out for so long, you know.”

It seems like Jaskier shouldn’t be letting Geralt off the hook this easily, but he’s been nothing but desolate since Geralt left. He’s sick of waiting.

His magnanimity only extends so far, though, so Jaskier brushes past Geralt to pet Roach, trying to contain his smirk at the look on Geralt’s face. Jaskier pets the soft velvet of Roach’s nose, and she bumps his hand when he stops.

He rustles around in Roach’s saddlebags, looking for a treat for her. His hand brushes past some soft fabric. That’s odd; Geralt doesn’t keep any of his clothes in this saddle bag. He pulls it out, gaping at what’s in his hand. “What’s this?”

Geralt scratches the back of his neck. “I wanted a reminder of you,” he admits in a small voice.

Jaskier’s grin turns smug. Geralt was always saying how impractical his clothing was. “I thought my shirts were foolish?”

If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say there’s a blush on Geralt’s cheeks right now. “I never said that.”

“You absolutely did. Do you take it back?”

Geralt grunts, stepping into Jaskier’s space and wrapping him in a hug. “No.”

Jaskier pouts, and the resulting laughter from Geralt is something that he wants to keep hearing for the rest of his life. He hopes Geralt gives him the chance.

thank you @witcher-and-his-bard for the idea and the read over! <3 it is definitely your fault that this got so angsty, i take no responsibility

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #geraskier ficlet #contemplative writing

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greenygreenland · 3 years

Text

Dream A Little Dream of Me: Norman x Reader (part four)

-part four because I couldn’t fit everything in part three-i went overboard, I’m sorry

-please enjoy I worked a month on getting this out, haha. it is a labour of tears and love.

---->PREVIOUS PART <-----

Summary: You need your memories back. But how will you get them?

Gracefield House

Not a single soul moved for what felt like centuries. The moment Ray, Gilda and Don arrived at the scene, it was clear that nothing else could be done. Mama smiled at her children viciously. She wasn’t here to play nice any longer. Today, she was the hunter and her children the prey.

“It was a clean break. She will recover smoothly,” Mama curtly announced. “And Norman?” You didn’t like the way she looked at him, or the way her grip seemed to tighten on your limp arms. Her gaze dangerously narrowed and she said, “Your shipment date has been set.”

Your heart stopped. Norman’s shipment date had been set? No, that couldn’t be. Your plan required at least another week until everything fell into place. Norman was the core of it all. Without him, what would you do?

And speaking of which, he was going to die. Die. Die. Die. He was going to die.

You squirmed in Mama’s grasp, hoping--praying that you could maneuver around this. Norman wasn’t going to die. You wouldn’t let him.

“Let me--let me go!”

It was reckless and it was stupid to think he’d be able to evade Mama’s sight just like that, but you had to try. Didn’t Emma say you’d all leave here together?

“Norman--!”

He blinked as if he’d woken up from a long dream. He forced himself to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Don’t struggle.

Don’t struggle? How did he expect you to sit around and do nothing? If anyone should be shipped out first, it should be you. Why? Because you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you let any of your family go.

Mama glared down at you with a cold smile. “You can’t fight me more than you can stop the sun from setting,” she said, heaving you higher off the ground. Your leg hit Mama’s arm and a cry escaped your lips. Norman flinched and Emma stood frozen in place.

You were always the strong one, not Emma, not Ray, and not Norman. Because you were one of the eldest, it was your responsibility to be the shoulder to cry on and to stand when no one else could. To see you holding back tears and gritting your teeth tight enough to make your gums bleed made Norman’s little heart break.

He didn’t care about his shipment date. All he wanted was to see you safe.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of faces, voices and regrets. The sharp pain in your leg long faded, leaving only a dull throb that stayed as a reminder of your failure. Yes, that was what you were, right? You couldn’t complete the plan even with Don, Gilda and Ray distracting Mama. You were pathetic. A waste of space.

The door creaked open and you sat up a little straighter. You smiled at the trio as they entered the room. “Hey guys.”

“How are you feeling?” inquired Norman. He took a seat by your bedside and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Ray pulled up another chair. He hid his face behind his fringe to conceal his grim frown. It didn’t work though, and you merely smiled at him. He huffed irritably, as if he didn’t want you to know he worried so much.

“I didn’t think she’d go that far.” Ray quietly muttered. You knitted your brows together with a absentminded shrug. “And to think I was that close to getting her watch.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged. “I wish I had--”

“It’s fine Emma.” you said with a warm smile. “Broken bones heal, it’s not permanent.” She wrapped you in a tight embrace and you rubbed her back comfortingly. It was hard to look her in the eye anyway. The sadness she tried so hard to force down only added to your guilt, and you weren’t sure if you could think straight with all the regret.

“I’m sorry this happened.” you began. “Now that I’m hurt, you’re worrying for me.”

Emma pulled away as Norman gave a firm shake of his head. “None of this is anyone’s fault.” he stated. "None of us saw that coming, and even if we did, I’m not sure we’d be any good outwitting Mama on the spot like that.” He offered a gentle smile that made you feel just a little bit better.

-----

(University name), DAY TWO

Class went by rather quickly today, and maybe that was because you were sure you’d seen similar material before. Each answer came easily along with each mark on your paper like a memory from long ago. You’ve answered harder questions, much more difficult tests that held more weight than a simple grade.

“I was impressed by your extensive knowledge on world history,” said Mr. Baker. He was the world history teacher. Unlike the others, he was young, perhaps in his mid twenties. In the hour you’ve gotten to know him and the class, you’ve come to realise he’s a class favourite. For good reason, too. His jokes were phenomenal, the material entertaining, and the atmosphere, friendly.

It was like having a conversation between friends rather than teacher to student.

“Do you know what school you went to before you came here?” he inquired. You shook your head. “No. I don’t think I went to any school before this actually...but I’m not sure. I wish I knew, sorry Mr. Baker.” He offered a warm smile. “Maybe my jokes will remind you of something. In the mean time, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll remember eventually.”

Eventually. You didn’t want to remember ‘eventually’. Living a life of ignorance was difficult as it was, why should you continue it? You adjusted your grip on a notebook and said, “See you tomorrow Mr. Baker.”

“Same to you, Letha.”

The cafeteria wasn’t hard to find. Students crowded in the hallways, pushing and shoving as they stuck close to hurry towards for their meals. You didn’t care much for the food. There wasn’t any way it could measure up to your, or Gramps’s, cooking anyway.

“Letha!”

You spun around as much as you could in the congested hall. Flanna raised a hand above her head and waved. She didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was looking for you. “Letha, you comin’?” There was no way out of avoiding the red-head. She had too much energy, and an eerily observant eye hidden under her smile.

“Hello to you too, Flanna.” you said, matching her step. Flanna grinned brightly. “Are you excited for lunch? My first day here, I thought it’d taste terrible. You’d be surprised how good it is, but maybe that’s because the school’s expensive.” She let out a snort that was lost to the chatter of the crowd.

The cafe wasn’t all too big. Despite the long tables stretching out across the floor, and the high ceilings and tall windows, it felt small. Crowded. The sheer amount of teens gathered in one area was daunting, scary even. It made your head spin, and your stomach lurch in disgust.

Was this what everyone dealt with every single day? How could they do it? This was madness.

Flanna patted your shoulder and led you towards the lunch line. “You get used to it after a while. Can’t say I have, but it’s not so bad.” She handed you a cup of fruit from a large cooler. You watched as she did the same and instructed the lunch lady on exactly what she wanted.

You copied her. It was all you could do to prevent embarrassing yourself.

Once you found a table, a long sigh left your lips. “That was actually...a bit stressful.” Flanna chuckled good-naturedly. “Oh, I get it, you’re shy, aren’t you? I had a friend like that back in ninth grade when I still lived in the countryside. Couldn’t even go in line without help from me.”

“What happened to that friend?”

“Moved away. Lots of people do. They like the city because it’s “full of opportunity”.” Flanna rolled her eyes. “I think it depends on what you want. I’d prefer a quiet life where all I have to do is take care of a farm. You know, sheep, chicken, cows. It’s easy because the only person who’s your boss is you.”

Flanna clearly didn’t favour modern life as much as her peers. She went on about the difficulties of technology and how they were “nothin’ but trouble” for simple folk. You couldn’t say much about that, but you wish you understood.

The rest of the day went by in a flash. It turned out, your last three classes were with Flanna. She didn’t talk as much in class, but she asked you a lot of questions about why you knew so much. Of course, you couldn't remember, but she didn’t know that. She didn’t know who you truly were.

FIVE MONTHS LATER

The setting sun illuminated the sides of your face as you glared at the frosty grass below your winter boots. You stood outside, wrapped tightly in your thick, fur coat. It was Gramps’s daughter’s before yours, so it smelled like him. The forest. A cosy fireplace. Hot chocolate. It did little to comfort your aching heart, and maybe that was because a part of it was still missing.

Standing in the last rays of sun reminded you of that boy with light hair and kind eyes. It reminded you of his touch that refused to leave your mind. He was scorched there like an emblem on wood.

“So why can’t I remember you?” Your words were lost to the harsh, frosty breezes. “Who are you to me?” He wasn’t family, that much you knew, nor a friend either. He was much more. Much closer to your heart than either of those.

-----

This wasn't a massacre. It was the shambles of a bloody war.

The remnants of limbs and broken bones lay strewn across the throne room, where pools of crimson stained the tile flooring with its iron stench. Part of you wished you hadn’t opened the door, and another said it was your fault for letting everything get this far.

Would you have been able to stop Norman if you ran faster? If you had stopped him earlier?

Your stomach flopped and turned. The smirk painted on Norman’s lips wasn’t right. It wasn’t him. He was satisfied, not with the massacre, but with how perfectly his plan had been executed. It played out like a game of chess. Each pawn he sent out had been eliminated, leaving only the most powerful pieces on the checkered board.

“I’m sorry,” Norman said. “It’s too late (Y/n).”

He wasn’t sorry and he sure didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for lying to you. Or at least, that was what you wanted to believe. Every fibre in your body screamed at you to run at him, slap him to the moon and back, or beat him to a pulp for lying and cheating you all. Yet you couldn’t do it. Not with the way he kept his eyes to the floor.

“I’m so glad you made it back safely,” he added. “It’s a shame you were a little too late.” Your gaze lingered on his for a moment longer before you cast it to Ray and Emma. They stood strong with you, yet you had a feeling they wanted to waver just as much as you.

Emma stared at the sticky crimson under her boot, eyes wide in disbelief. “They’ve...they’ve all been...?”

“Killed.” Norman plainly finished. “They killed each other and they’re all dead now. The Queen, the nobles, the Giran clan. All of them.” Despite the pleasant way he spoke, you had a feeling he didn’t mean it. The Norman you grew up with--no--the Norman you knew wasn’t like this. He was kind. Gentle. Sweet. He cared for everyone and everything, which was why he chose to be shipped out in the first place.

And why he always chose to be the sacrifice.

You heaved in a deep breath. If this were the reality of your situation, you had to accept it. Ignoring Norman for who he was and what he did wouldn’t do a thing.

“I reforged the Promise.” You made your way across the room, eyes straight and head held high. The smug glint in Norman’s eyes vanished.

“Everybody can escape to the human world and no one needs to fight. You don’t have to kill anymore, it’s over.” That was what you wanted to believe with every fibre of your being. But was it really all over? Could you escape to the human world and leave this place after what’s happened?

Norman shook his head, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“It’s too late for that.” he plainly said. “No, it’s impossible. A monarchy that has lasted thousands of years has collapsed. Governance for the demons is impossible now. So is peace.” He glanced at the lifeless body behind him. “Iverk was the last one, and I killed him myself.”

You stiffened.

“We’ve put a lethal fissure in the demon society. A fissure that can’t be mended. All that’s left to do is,” he threw out a careless hand, “shatter it. All of the demons will die out. There’s just one more factor left. We can’t go back now. We have no choice but to wipe them out.” He straightened and it was like you were staring at a different person. There was no kindness in his eyes, or that light that you’ve relied on to keep you waking up every morning. “Don’t get in the way.”

You clenched a fist. “No.” Your voice came out strong, reassuring. “What is the point in wiping out a whole race just because we can’t see eye-to-eye? There’s hope and I’ve finally grasped it! For thousands of years, there’s been a cycle of slaughter and war that we have to break. I don’t plan on standing back, and I don’t plan on letting you become more of a murderer!”

Norman’s eyes were dark from under his cloak. “(Y/n)...”

You stood your ground. Defying him was the only way you could stay strong, the only way you could convince him. “We’ll find a way together! It’s not going to be easy, but I know we can do it!”

“(Y/n)...!”

“I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself again and I’m not letting you do this alone!”

Norman’s tight expression relaxed into an uncomfortably serene smile. “What are you talking about?” he lightly inquired. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not going anywhere.”

You heaved in a sharp breath because he stopped telling you the whole truth ages ago. He stopped relying on you because he thought he had to do everything alone. “I can’t trust you. You’re a liar! You think you can fool me? I know something’s wrong with you, you’re just trying to hide it! Don’t underestimate the family you grew up with, stupid Norman. We can see through all your lies and tricks!”

You thought back to the day you walked into his office alone.

I know you Norman, don’t forget that.

It had been too long since you’d seen him and thought him dead. Too long since you were able to hold his hands in yours.

And because I love you, I don’t want to see you destroy yourself.

It was nice to see him again, yet there was something off about him. He hadn’t changed much besides growing as tall as a tree.

I admit, I don’t know why you act like you’re going to leave again...

The only difference was the hesitance in his stance. As if he were trying to hide something very painful in his chest.

...but I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.

Then he left your words open-ended, as if he knew he couldn’t possibly lie to your face like that. He knew you saw through him from the start. It was only a matter of time before he acknowledged it.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you slowly inquired. “Because you’re so smart, you chose the reliable path. Because you’re so kind, you shoulder all the burden. I know you Norman, didn’t I tell you? You don’t want to slaughter the demons! And you don’t want to wipe them out either!”

That was the truth that shone in your heart. You wanted to believe in Norman because he always believed in you. If he didn’t then he wouldn’t have allowed you to go the Seven Walls. If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t have allowed you to walk without him.

“You shouldn’t lie to yourself,” you added. “What are you hiding? What are you so afraid of?” He raised a brow challengingly. “Afraid?” Norman wanted to laugh. “I’m not...”

“The Norman in front of me looks like a scared child.” You said it like it was fact, and judging by the way Norman’s gaze unfocused, you were right. He wasn’t just scared, he was terrified. Of the consequences, of how you would look at him again, of how the blood would never, ever wash off.

But it was okay, right? He was strong. Just a little longer and it would all be over.

You took a step forward. Norman firmly held out a hand. “Don’t come any closer.” His voice was void of any emotion, cold even. “I’ve come this far. I have no intention of turning back now.”

“Well that’s too bad!” you exclaimed. “Because neither do I! I’m not letting you go this time!” You grasped his hands in yours, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Yes, you’re strong, yes you’re smart and you’re amazing and all those great things, but you’re stupid too! And arrogant! Can’t you see that you aren’t alone? Don’t be afraid to believe in us! We’re here to share everything. The tough, the burden, the painful things and the scary!”

Emma nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve done that since day one. It’s what we’re here for!” Ray locked gazes with Norman. He wasn’t about to be left out of this, not after Norman’s little stunt back in Grace Field. “Don’t be so reserved either,” he added. “Just spill it!”

You squeezed his hands tighter and stood a little closer. “You don’t need to protect us anymore! We want to walk with you, not behind you!” Answers were simple, but the journey was everlasting and dangerous. You understood what it took to get here even if you weren’t walking in Norman’s shoes. It was difficult. Terrifying. But with all the accomplishments under your belt?

It was time to reunite with him.

“Your family and siblings are your friends.” added Ray. “We don’t want a future where you end up suffering no matter what the result is. And you? What do you want? What do you want to do, Norman?”

He pulled away and the warmth left your hands. “No, it’s no good.” he stated. “You’re already too late. I’m...I’m in a place where I just can’t go back. You can’t walk alongside me--”

“We know.” you interjected. Emma nodded. “About the poison, Mujika and Sonju...”

“And the experiment in the basement.” added Ray. A hopeful smile inched itself onto your lips. “See? We’re not too late. It’s okay to be vulnerable. If you’re the real Norman, then let’s lose our way together. Let’s struggle too, and laugh.” You held out a hand and Emma and Ray joined you.

“Let’s live together.”

Norman didn’t struggle to keep his cool. You re-called the look in his eyes, the same one you saw that night he was told his shipment date. He cried, not just because he chose to get shipped out, but because he was scared. For you. For himself. For his family.

That stifling look of serenity washed off his face. His lips trembled, his shoulders shook, and his eyes watered. You all wrapped each other in a tight embrace. No one deserved to face all the ages of time on their own, no matter what it was, and more than anything, you’d do that for him.

“But...” Norman’s voice trembled. “It’s too late. It's pointless because of the drugs we were forced to take. We don’t have much longer left to live--we can’t live on.” He collapsed to his knees in a heap. “Help me... (Y/n), Emma, Ray... Please...”

That was when all the puzzles finally fit. After laying in wonder for so long with thoughts that kept you awake until the sun rose, you understood. The hesitance in his walk. The way he tried to hide his sluggish step. The way he acted like he was running out of time.

“You’re dying.” The words left your lips before you could even stop them. “It’s...the drugs from Lambda, right?” Norman tried to suppress a sob, but it came out in a way that sounded like he was chocking on his own lies and tears. You took a knee, gently placing a hand on his cheek. “Oh, Norman.”

He couldn’t stand the soft look in your eyes, or the tone in your voice that was like a warm summer breeze. You should have yelled at him. Should have stamped your foot against the ground and growled and slapped him. Yet you knelt in front of him, caressing his dampened cheeks with a touch that said it would all be okay.

Norman wouldn’t look at you--no--he refused to because he was just as you said: a liar. Why were you so kind to him when all he did was lie? He said he’d let you go to the Seven Walls. He said he’d wait for you. He said he wasn’t going anywhere and that he’d live, laugh and do everything to be there with you, for you.

Norman wondered what a murderer like him ever did to deserve you.

-----

The grass crunched under your feet. Towards the brick walls you walked, following the sun as it lowered deeper and deeper towards the ground. You had to keep reaching for it. You had to see it.

In times of trouble, it was your beacon of hope, the last bit of your old life you were sure you could recall. No matter where you were, it was always the first thing you followed. Towards the light. Towards that ray of hope.

You came to a stop at the edge of the school grounds, right where the gates separated you from the outside world bustling with life. The occasional car zoomed through the streets, interrupting the quiet air with its incessant honking and screeching.

The sun disappeared over the horizon, bathing the skies in navy blue and purple.

“Excuse me.”

The voice was light, warm, polite.

“You should really hurry home. It’s not safe out here at this time, especially since we’re students.”

You stuffed your cold hands in your pockets. “I really appreciate your concern,” --you turned to face him-- “but I’m fine. Thank you.”

A boy with light hair and kind eyes met your gaze. Something about him reminded you of something--no--someone. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but the boy did. He’d never forget you, no matter how many lifetimes he lived.

“(Y/n)?” He was breathless, frozen in time as you awkwardly knitted your brows together. (Y/n) wasn’t your name. It was Letha, the name Gramps gave to you because you couldn’t remember your own.

Your confused frown made the boy’s eyes well with tears. You stared, watching as he slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a pained sob. He was a student here just like you, sporting the traditional sweater vest, white button-up with a tie, and black slacks to match. You’ve never seen him before, yet he looked so...familiar.

Gosh, why couldn’t you remember?

“It’s been over a year and,” he chocked, “I’ve looked everywhere. How could you--how could you do all that for us? You promised we’d live together, but you reforged the Promise and--and...”

The boy's knees wobbled, and out of instinct, you threw out your arms. He fell into you, right at the crook of your neck. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew his tears must have been frozen by now. It was cold out here.

“Are you okay?” Your voice was small, fearful almost. It made the boy cry harder. “I don’t know you, but why don’t we go inside? There should be a cafe down there, and they’re open late, so...”

“I’m sorry.”

You paused.

“I’m so sorry.” he echoed. “I wish I was there. I wish--I wish it were me--but instead...”

You patted his back as if you’d known him for a lifetime. Maybe you felt bad and that was why you hadn’t shoved him off, or maybe, it was because having him in your arms felt so right. Familiar in a way you couldn’t put into words.

Your gentle touch made the boy’s sobs relapse. He curled into you, wrapping his arms around your middle like you’d run away. Like you’d disappear. There was something so nostalgic about this hug and the way you both had your arms around each other.

It had happened before.

“The Promise,” the boy muttered, “you made it in exchange for--”

------

Bright, blue sky stretched out as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful, and oddly calm. Perhaps a little too calm. After running through a maze of illusions and riddles you struggled to solve, you arrived in this place. Alone. The ground was like water, and with each step you took, it rippled and fanned out.

Someone sat in the middle of this endless sky and water, hovering over it serenely.

“What is it you seek?” the demon inquired. You stepped forward. “I want to reforge the Promise.” The demon’s single eye gazed straight through you, as if you were nothing more than a sheet of paper held to the light. “Sure, (Y/n).”

You pursed your lips together. He was unnervingly calm, child-like even, and you had a feeling it had to do with his ‘reward’ after the promise.

“So what is it you seek?” questioned the demon. “You must give me a reward as well.”

Yes, that was the catch. But what could it be? This demon was a being higher than anyone in the land, a god that once split the world in two. He transcended time, yet remained relatively simple-minded and difficult to read.

“The reward,” the demon fiddled with an orb in his hands, “hmmm... It would have to be something important. Ambition. Desire. What someone longs for. What I would want is something important to the other party. Will you make a wish despite that?”

This was for more than your family and Norman. You had people relying on this one choice, this one Promise.

“Yes, I will make a wish despite that.”

It all meant more than the world to you. You had to liberate your family, the children who were raised like livestock and mass-produced like wild animals. And the mamas who fought to survive--you had to think about them too.

“I wish for all the cattle children to cross over...”

They didn’t choose that life of suffering. None of you did.

“And after that, for it to be completely impossible to pass between the two worlds.”

The demon continued to stare. You stood strong and proud with the weight of all humans in this Neverland on your shoulders. If he granted your wish, then the tide would turn and you’d be able to save everyone and everything.

“I will grant that wish,” he said. “And the reward I want are your---”

----

“Memories?” The words fell from your lips in a hasty breath. More than anything, you valued finding them. It was the only missing piece in your heart. The last portion of the unsolved mystery.

This boy--whoever he was--talked about you like he knew you. Held you like you meant something. Said that name, (Y/n), like it were his life line. He pulled away with a sniffle, settling his hands on your shoulders with a loving touch.

“You don’t remember me.” He lifted a hand and raised it to place on your cheek. But he couldn’t touch you like he used to. Not when you looked at him like he was far away and out of your reach.

“You don’t remember me.” the boy quietly repeated. He began to pull away, but you grasped his hand in yours. It was warm, soft. “No, I...I’ve seen you before.” There was a pained look on the boy’s face, as if he thought you were lying to him.

“Haven’t we been through this before (Y/n)?”

No, said your mind. Yes, said your heart.

“You shouldn’t lie to yourself.”

Your grip tightened around his hand, but not enough to hurt him. “I...I do know you. You’re...” You shouldn’t lie to yourself. You shouldn’t lie to yourself. You shouldn’t lie to yourself. But you did know this boy, and all this time, you yearned to see him.

Remember.

Who was he to you?

Who were you to him?

Remember.

Remember!

“I can’t remember your name,” your eyes welled up with cold tears, “but I know I’ve missed you all this time.” You pulled his hand to your cheek as he brought you close. The scent of parchment, aged books, and the woods. Yes, that was nostalgic, so much that it felt right. The final piece, fragmented and broken, began connecting again. It brought the dots and the gaps you tried so hard to fill together.

But something else was still missing.

The boy pulled your head to the crook of his neck and rocked you from side to side in the moonlight. Even the hazy streetlights were drowned out by the stars. You liked to think it was because this part of the city was quiet, isolated, from the rest of the world. And the rest of your worries.

“Norman.” he said.

You looked up at him.

“My name is Norman.”

“And mine is...(Y/n)?”

“Yes,” he said with a bittersweet smile. “I think the day I fell in love with you was when you got excited about something Ray told you. Ray is our family if you’re wondering, and so is Emma, and Gilda, Don...” He told you about people you once knew, and the life you once lived. Some parts he left out, and others he kept.

But you wouldn’t have known. Not when your memory laid in fragments.

“...And so we looked for you. I didn’t think you’d be here, but I’m glad you were.” He laid his chin on the top of your head. “You used to joke that I’d never be taller than you, but now I am.” A sad chuckle left his lips. “I wish things could be different and that you--”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a flash of red hair. Your head began to pound and you nuzzled closer into Norman.

“What’s wrong?”

“My head hurts.”

He ran a hand through your locks, arms folded close around you as he hummed a sweet tune. It was sad, melancholy, and the only one you’d ever known your whole life. “I know that song.” you mumbled. Norman smiled softly. “Mama used to sing it to us all the time. When Ray had nightmares, she put him to sleep with this song.”

The pounding in your head increased and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I did too. I sang...to you.” Norman’s lips parted, but he settled on a nod and smiled instead. “You remember?”

“I think so.” The memory was hazy, as if someone were trying to make you forget for good. But you fought that urge, held on to the image of a room with white sheets and bed lined up side by side. “You were...talking to me...about a...I don’t know...”

“Go on.”

“You were crying late at night...so I...I sang to you.”

Norman kissed the top of your head. When he was in Lambda, locking in that room all alone running through test after test, he held fast to that memory. It kept him from giving up on what he fought for, and kicking the bucket for good.

“I missed you so much.” he wistfully whispered. “You can’t leave me again, or else you’ll break my heart for good.” You looked up to meet his watery eyes. “Why would I leave?” Norman shook his head. “It was in the Promise, wasn’t it? You can’t break it.”

The pounding began to fade. You tiredly smiled, but it was warm and thankful and happy. “That won’t stop me, Norman. I don’t think I could live without you.” He warmly chuckled, intertwining his hands with yours. “Me too.”

And it was then that you began to feel a little more complete, a little more you from then. You were sure you wouldn’t have to dream another little dream of your wodeerful Norman any longer, for he would be right by your side, where you both belonged.

You released his hands and cupped his cheek. It was a natural act you didn’t even have to think twice about. When you were you, you had done this more than a thousand times. Your lips connected in a sweet kiss. He tasted like coffee and tea rolled into one, and you had a feeling it was because he couldn’t choose which was better.

“I love you.” you said. He warmly smiled, but underneath, it was almost sly. “I love you too. Why don’t we do some catching up?”

TIP JAR!! <- (Support me on Ko-fi please!)

DON'T FORGET TO LIKE AND REBLOG, AS IT HELPS ME OUT AS A CREATOR A LOT!

Thank you to those who stayed this long, I love you all SOOOOO MUCH!

#tpn emma #tpn norman x reader #tpn norman #tpn manga #tpn ray #emma the promised neverland #ray the promised neverland #norman the promised neverland #the promised neverland #ynn #ynn ray #ynn norman #ynn emma #anime x reader #anime

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andydandyo · 4 years

Text

Monster High Minecraft Headcannons

Draculaura

Draculaura would be scared out of her mind by any hostile mobs

She likes the house making and farming aspects only

She likes breeding mobs and goes wild over baby mobs

She dyes all her sheep magenta

Ghoulia

Ghoulia is a canon gamer

So she's the only competent one

She’s really good at redstone and can read the enchantment language

Cleo

Cleo only plays in creative mode

If Cleo is forced to play in survival with her buds she only does design based shit and gets everyone to gather supplies for her builds

Her builds mostly contain quartz, gold, diamond, emerald and lots of cats

Clawdeen

Clawdeen mostly plays Minecraft for PVP and games.

In survival just runs off randomly to kill monsters and returns back to base three days later.

Frankie

Frankie tries to help everyone in every task

She like doing organising of their supplies to keep things orderly

She makes task lists with signs for everyone’s projects

She adds signs to her friends works with messages like “good job! :)”

Lagoona

Lagoona likes the exploration aspects

She makes too, many maps

None of the gang knows where she is, she doesn't either

Frankie tries to go after her when she gets too lost but ends up dying. Draculaura then tries and spends the entire night in a hole

Deuce

Deuce would be the miner, mostly cuz he wants to make Cleo happy

But he also likes cave diving and trying to outsmart hostile mobs

He tames way too many wolves cuz he thinks they look cute, gets quietly sad when they die

Clawd

Clawd would be in constant PVP because of Clawdeen

He never beats her

He asks Ghoulia to help him with enchantments to beat her but it never works

Then Drac would get sad and try to protect him and they'd farm together and he'd try with the decoration but he's shit at it

Gil

Gil takes everything too seriously

"Did I just see you use an axe on a dirt block? You know that's a waste of durability?"

He doesn’t like playing with the others as much cuz they don’t take it as seriously as him

He concentrates on defeating the Ender Dragon

He appreciates the assistance of the others with this, Clawdeen’s fearsome attacks on blazes in the nether especially

Jackson

Jackson would try to help around like Frankie does cuz he feels bad for her having to deal with everyone's bs

He knows a lot of secrets and fun trivia about the game that he spews while playing

He and Holt share an account cuz they can’t afford two

Asked Ghoulia to build him a secret hideout to keep his shit from Holt

Jackson has given up on ever getting enough exp for enchantment as Holt dies way too much

Holt

Holt only wrecks shit

Cleo hates him as he griefs her builds constantly for fun

He chucks all Jackson's shit into lava as soon as he gets control

Asked Ghoulia to build him a secret hideout to keep his shit from Jackson

Holt also adds signs to his,,, works. Like ">:)"

The rest would ban Holt but would mean banning Jackson so they cant

Abbey

Abbey just wanders around without a purpose

"Oh, sheep." Abbey was shot by a skeleton

"mmm orange soup" Abbey tried to swim in lava

Abbey only uses the Steve skin

Heath

Heath plays Minecraft as a prankster but he mostly does harmless pranks like removing pressure plates from iron doors with people are inside

He also likes helping Holt with his shit but feels like he sometimes goes too

"Hey Holt, Cleo spent a whole week on this? Maybe we shouldn't"

And that just makes Holt add more TNT

Heath also makes over the top romantic gestures to Abbey that she never notices. Like making an “I love you” sign out of glowstone right above their house

P.S. Thanks for my pal @zygne for helping me out with this one! I’d also like to know y’alls hcs for the gang

#monster high #mh headcanons #minecraft #mineblr #draculaura #clawdeen #jackson jekyll #holt hyde #abbey bominable #ghoulia yelps #gil webber #lagoona blue #heath burns #deuce gorgon #cleo de nile #frankie stein

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ro2m · 3 years

Text

Survival Island: General Mobfarm

Last week was an adventurous one. I finally went to the Nether, fought tons of baddies and acquired leather regardless of the lack of cows in order to build an enchantment table. I’m striving for upgrades in the upcoming weeks, so let’s dive straight into this week’s project: The general mobfarm.

In order to use the enchantment setup, and possibly mending in the future, I need experience. A lot of experience. One of the fastest and easiest ways to get that, is by killing mobs. The nice thing about mobs, is that they come with itemdrops aswell. Once this farm is built, I’ll be rolling in the bones, gunpowder, string and more! General mobfarms do require quite a bit of space though.

So why is my mobfarm placed in the ocean as oppose to on one of the islands? Wouldn’t the islands be easier accesible? It’s got a couple of reasons:

- Saving precious space on the islands

- Less hostile mobs spawn in the water

- It leaves more options for decoration in the future

- I can afk 3 geodes at the same time

This is the mobfarm fully built in survival:

It looks janky and isn’t the prettiest thing I’ve built in my life. I’d been meaning to build this farm sooner, but it takes a LOT of resources. I’ve easily spent 27+ stacks of cobble and another 10+ stacks of netherrack on it. The blocks here were easiest accesible and are bound to get replaced in the future when I get to decorating it. In the spirit of 1.17, I’ve used tinted glass for the dropping chamber (and also because I’ve been gathering an absurd amount of amethyst shards).

The farm isn’t a specific design of someone. I know the basic mobspawnmechanics and some basic redstone facts and I simply smashed those together. The only thing in here that has been designed by someone else is the dropper-hopper timer next to the sand, which I’ll get to later in the post.

Alright, time to run some numbers:

In the picture above you can see the dimensions of a base layer. Mobs spawn on two sides with trapdoors (blue area) that open and close with the dropper-hopperclock on the right that flush them into the middle two waterstreams. The waterstreams are placed 2 blocks lower than the lowest spawning platform, so that mobs (except for spiders) don’t go back up onto platforms. They then fall down the dropshaft which is 23 blocks high, leaving all of them (except for spiders) at half a heart. This makes them easy to kill. The platforms are built 2 blocks above each other so that endermen don’t spawn and thus leaving more space in the mobcap for zombies, skeletons, creepers, spiders and the occasional witch. The sand on the right is placed on top of a regular piston, which is hooked up to an on/off switch at the wooden platform. When the piston is turned on, the sand will be pushed up and thus transmit signals from the dropper-hopperclock to the rest of the farms. Without the sand, the farm basically turns off.

Now you’ll notice the open space marked with a red circle. I had to take one water source out, due to the repeater on the block behind it not activating it. I tried many things, but couldn’t find a way to work around it without completely changing up the whole dimensions. The farm ran well enough to convince me to just leave it.

The wooden platform where we’ll be killing and afking is placed 100 blocks above sea level (so at y=163). The mobfarm itself is placed 24 blocks above it (but the mobs will still fall 23 blocks because the hoppers are placed at y=164).

The design as is, isn’t the most efficient of it’s kind though. The game goes from the bottom of the world up to buildheight to calculate where mobs will spawn. This means that if given enough space, most mobs would spawn closer to the bottom of the world. If I had chosen to afk above the farm instead of below, I could’ve placed the mobfarm 100 blocks lower and thus increased the droprates of the mobfarm. I would’ve also had to make some adjustments to the way of killing, but that wouldn’t have been much of an issue.

It’s also important to know that hostile mobs start spawning 24 blocks away in a spherical radius from the player, and they will instantly despawn once they are outside of a 128 block spherical radius of the player.

This knowledge about distance for hostile mobs and the way that the game decides where to spawn is mainly why you see skyblock players build their mobfarms as close to y=0 as they can.

Oh, and before I forget. My trip to the Nether last week also gave me acces to soulsand, which allowed me to make a very fast water elevator. And to get back down I just have to do a leap of faith.

The afk platform looks quite simple. I have storage for the drops, a grindstone to de-enchant mobloot, a safe time-out corner aka the afk-spot, an on/off switch and an autosmelter to smelt armor and tools. I can also swap the campfires out for slabs, so that I can alternate between automation and manual killing.

Now onto the dropper-hopperclock:

Like I mentioned earlier, it isn’t my design. It’s made by a youtuber called ‘’Kysen’’. He made a very clean video explaining the mechanics of this clock and how to build it. Most compact redstone clocks use slimeballs for sticky pistons, but since I currently dont’t have acces to those I had to try something else. I timed my clock at 40 items which equals to 16 seconds (1 item=0,4 seconds). As always, a link to the video will be down below in this post.

To finish it off for this week, I’d like to share the yield of 1 hour of afking after cleaning out the chests and geodes:

I’m quite happy with these results. The mobfarm like I said could’ve been more efficient if I didn’t want to put an exp option into it, but these drops are plenty for what we’ll need in this world. The lack of sheep problem has also been pretty much solved with the amount of string this farm yields. The amethyst shards are slightly dissapointing, but remember that not all budding amethysts are exposed yet. I’m certain I’ll be rolling in the amethyst shards as this blogpost series progresses!

That’s all for this week. It was very fun to do a more technical post like this. As I’ll be building more farms, more posts like these will be made! Next week’s plan is the transformation of the Nether portal island, I’ve got a design in mind that I think you all will love.

Dropper-hopperclock: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l08o0_sWdeE

-RO2_

#minecraft #minecraft 1.17 #mob farm #redstone #survival island #survival

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

Text

harry and reader have a pet, but they break up and pet finds reader’s old shirt

Anon request - harry and reader had a pet together, but broke up. The dog finds one of y/n’s forgotten shirts and brings it to Harry (full request here)

This is FLUFF but also ANGST (i guess) oh my god WHAT DID I DO! i am so sorry, but i did a bad thing with this request, the ending is...well it’s kinda happy. i love happy stories but for some reason when i got down a hole, i just keep digging it deeper - i hope i sorta gave you what you wanted tho anon

Listening: “I Will” and “And I Love Her” by the Beatles

Warnings: break up angst, mentions of dog death (im truly so sorry what is wrong with me - i promise it’s still kinda happy)

Harry and you had been broken up for about a month now. You two loved each other very much, but you had reached a breaking point. You weren’t a fan of show business and held a regular job. Harry’s constant travel, touring, and press - everything that came with his fame from his passion - became too much for you. One night, after Harry had missed a date you had made weeks prior due to an interview taking longer than expected, the two of you had it out. By the end of the entire fight, both you and Harry were crying.

The worst part of the break up besides you moving out was that you and Harry had a big old English sheep dog together. Harry loved Paul McCartney and insisted you and him adopt a dog of the same breed as Paul’s dog, Martha. You and he had named yours George to keep with the Beatles theme. When you broke up and moved out, Harry and you had a long conversation about who should keep the dog. Despite Harry’s busy schedule, he pleaded to keep George and eventually you relented, not having the heart to take George away from Harry when you were already leaving him, much to his dismay.

Harry sat at the little coffee table in his now half empty home. It was far quieter now, since you had left he didn’t bother playing music really. He loved to find new music and show it to you when you were home together, playing it by himself wasn’t as fun. He heard George padding around the house as he reminisced on how you used to rub George’s belly till you were a giggling mess at how cute he was. Harry smiled sadly at the memory. He’s brought out of his reverie when he feels a wet nose nudging his hand resting on his thigh. He looks down to see George at his side with something creamy and linen looking in his mouth.

“Whatcha got there, Bud?” Harry says, first brushing George’s hair out of his eyes and then reaching to take the piece of clothing he had gathered from the dog’s mouth. George let go easily, obviously intending to show Harry it. It was one of your t-shirts. Harry looked at George and gave him another loving pet, he missed you just as much as Harry did. You must have forgotten it when you had rushed out all those days ago. He loved this shirt of yours, a sweet simple cream top with a lemon and an orange on it. It looked gorgeous on you, and Harry was so happy to see it, the only thing that remained of you in this home you once had shared. As much as he wanted to keep it, cherish it and use it to reminisce the times when you ran around your home together in the top, he knew you would be missing it dearly. He knew the right thing was to return it to you. The best thing would be to have a mutual friend return it to you for him, but Harry didn’t care about doing the best thing. He wanted to see you.

He texted a simple, “I have something of yours, are you home?” to you. He felt strange using the word home, when he knew that your home should be with him. When you responded a quick ‘yes’ he grabbed a coat, his keys, slipped on his shoes, and put George on a leash. “Wanna go for a little ride, Georgie?” Harry asked sweetly to the dog. George only wagged his tail in response. The two headed out the door to where you now lived.

Harry and George arrived at your new apartment a little ways further into the city, closer to your job, and Harry rang the bell when he reached your door. You sighed at the sound, not ready to face Harry since you had moved out. When he had texted that he was coming over you tried to tidy yourself up. As much as you hated to admit it, you missed Harry so much and you missed the life the two of you had made together even if it was far from perfect.

You opened the door to not only Harry, but your former joint pet, George. When George saw you he jumped up and began to lick kisses onto your face. Your grimace had quickly transformed into an overjoyed grin, open with laughter and slight disgust. “Down, Georgie!” you attempted to say while the dog loved on you. When you managed him down, you bent down to his level and gave him a good face rub and kissed his nose. Then, you turned your eyes to Harry, who had watched you with a sparkle in his eye. Your grin turned to a soft, sad smile. You exchanged somber ‘Hi’s and you let him come inside, against your best judgement.

“George, here, he found your shirt somewhere, brought it to me. Thought you’d want it back…” Harry trailed off once the two of you had sat down on your couch and let George off his leash to roam the place. “Thank you…” you didn’t know what else to say, but the air around you and Harry was painfully tense. “Y/N, listen, I miss you so much and I know it’s not fair for me to say this because you had your reasons, but, would you ever give us another chance? I won’t be this busy for the rest of my life...and, and I still love you, I don’t think there’s anyone else for me out there.”

You were speechless, watching Harry look at you so earnestly, being so vulnerable despite him knowing that things might not change. His jaw was clenched, but he stared straight at you, his large hands soft and open in his lap as he faced you. You noticed how he was rather unshaved and how his shoulders were slumped in more than usual. He looked rough, probably just about how you looked right now as well. You didn’t know what to do, saying that didn’t change how you felt.

“I don’t know, H, uh Harry,” you stuttered with your use of your old nickname for him. “I don’t want you to wait forever on me and I can’t wait on you forever either. I never stopped loving you and I probably never will, but we can’t go on living these sad, lonely lives - miserable because we didn’t work out.” You looked him in the eye now, pleading with your eyes for him to understand what you meant. You wanted him to know that you loved him, you really did, but with where the two of you were in your lives - it wasn’t going to work out.

Harry nodded, somber and sad. He knew you were right, that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He got up after telling you he understood. You walked him and George to the door, giving George one last belly rub at the door. Just as you were about to shut the door, Harry turned with some final words, “You don’t have to wait for the right timing for us, but it’s my choice if I want to wait for that time. So, I will. I’ll wait for you, Y/N, and our right time.”

Eight years later

Y/N hadn’t seen Harry in a long time, maybe a few times at mutual friend events, but you were never able to be friends with him, it was too hard. You kept your love for him close to your heart, but you had had relationships since then. None had ever compared to yours and Harry’s, no matter how many lonely nights you had during your two’s relationship, no one else ever came close to that spark, that magic you two shared. You had seen and heard from friends that Harry had dated around in the past eight years as well. Various women of high celebrity status. Everyone of them perfect in their own way, but everyone of them always disappeared from Harry’s life after awhile. No matter who they were, Harry always saw something in them that reminded him of you at first, that’s what got him interested, but then when he realized they were their own person, he had trouble staying committed, being attentive. Whatever they needed from him as a partner, he couldn’t give it to them. Maybe Harry got tired of them, maybe they had real problems, or maybe they simply weren’t you.

Then, one night, you heard a heavy knock on your door. It was not too late, but you weren’t expecting anyone so you cautiously went to check what they wanted. You couldn’t suppress the look of shock on your face when you saw Harry standing before you. He was a mess, his clothes and hair were disheveled, his cheeks were painted with tears and his entire face was red. “It’s George...darling, our boy, he-he’s dying. I took him in for his 13 year old check up and they said his heart’s not working the way it used to,” he choked out.

All you could say was ‘Oh my God’ and quickly wrapped your arms around Harry’s shaking mess of a body. The fact that he called George ‘our boy’ when you hadn’t lived with them in eight years fluttered your heart, but had to be pushed to the back of your brain right then. He usually loomed large above you, but now he practically had to rise up to meet your shoulder. “Said we should put him down soon, so that he doesn’t have to suffer anymore,” he continued to ramble into your shoulder through his sobs. His emotions spilled over into you as you guided the pair of you to your couch, far more worn in since the last time Harry had been here. Tears welled into your own eyes thinking about the five years you had spent with Harry and George, raising him from a puppy with Harry. It had been so hard to leave him with Harry and almost never see him, Harry always offered to bring George around, but it was too hard for both of you. It was best that you let George live with Harry and Harry only.

“We’ll figure this out, H,” you whispered as you rubbed Harry’s back. “Where’s George right now?” you asked staying quiet as you tried to comfort Harry as much as possible. He looked up from your shoulder, his tears leaving a wet spot on your t-shirt. The tear tracks on his cheeks only growing more prominent the longer he sat before you. “‘S in the car, couldn’t leave him home alone, but I didn’t want to bring him up in case you didn’t answer.” “Alright,” you nodded, “You wanna go get him, together, and bring him up here? You two can stay here tonight, don’t think any of us should be alone right now.” You tried to smile through the pain, it probably came off as more of a grimace, but Harry’s eyes were so blurred he probably couldn’t tell. He whispered his thanks and the two of you journey out to his car, where George sat. Despite what the doctors had told Harry, George seemed just as happy as he always was, maybe just a little more docile.

“Can’t jump anymore,” Harry mumbled as the three of you walked back into your apartment. “It’s okay, H, I’ll make him a makeshift doggy bed out of extra blankets, feel right at home,” you reassured Harry and then went to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea. This was going to be a long night. You got the kettle situated and then went into a back room for your extra bedding you usually used for guests staying on your couch. Harry helped you to set up George’s bed in your bedroom. It was a silent understanding, since you were using the guest sheets for George, that meant Harry either had to sleep without anything on the couch or in your bed. Since George was going to be in your room, you figured Harry would opt for the real bed.

The kettle whistled and you left Harry to finish making the dog bed. His tears had dried, but he hadn’t spoke much except to answer your questions. The night went on, you drank your tea, cried some more, cuddled with George, and then got ready for bed. “You can sleep in my bed, it’s fine, H,” you said immediately when you saw Harry look questioningly at the uninviting couch. For the first time that night, he gave you a small smile and headed to your backroom. George padded behind him, ever the diligent mate. After closing up your apartment, you followed the other two into your bedroom.

Harry sat slightly stiffly on your bed and George panted happily at you from his big sheet bed on the floor. It felt like old times, yet also completely new at the same time. You climbed onto your side of the bed, Harry still remembering which side you preferred even after eight years. You handed him a glass of water and placed your own on the side table, “Crying...takes a lot out of you. We’ve got a big day ahead of us, gotta take George out to his favorite places tomorrow. Drink up.” Again you witnessed Harry’s soft smile grace his perfect, yet sad face. Your strong facade you had tried to keep up all night for Harry was slipping away the sleepier you got. A single tear started to run down your face and Harry noticed. “Hey,” he said and instinctively scooted closer to you, wrapping his bare arms around your soft shoulders. “S’okay, Darling,” he cooed into your hair. You softly weeped in his arms feeling so confused right now. However, a sense of safety also settled over you with the familiarity of Harry’s sweet nothings in you ear and his strong arms cradling you close to his warm chest.

The next morning, you and Harry got ready and took George out to his favorite places, a gourmet dog biscuit shop, the dog wash place, and a little park by the river you and Harry both lived near. It was a beautiful day out. Sun shined and George had so much fun. Harry and you talked about your lives now. Harry’s career had begun to wind down, he’d chosen to stop touring for at least five years a couple months ago. He still wrote music, but he was doing other things and also was trying to live a more peaceful life. You had switched your job a couple years back and had moved up faster at this new one. You worked much less, but were paid more - meaning you had more free time and you didn’t have to worry about money. It seemed both your’s and Harry’s lives had slowed down and gotten to places where you were ready for a relationship as serious as the one you previously had together.

When you two had arrived at the park in the afternoon, you had realized no one had stopped and asked for a picture with Harry all day. Maybe the stars were aligning, albeit in a slightly tragic way. As you sat next to Harry and lovingly watched George prance among the tall grass near the river, you watched Harry’s hand creep itself onto yours. You turned your palm and intertwined your fingers. Then you looked up and met Harry’s gaze immediately. You both smiled, knowing a secret no one else need to know. A love like yours could never go away. It hadn’t left either of you over the past eight years. Even after being parted for so long and having minimal contact over those years, the two of you so easily picked up in a better place than you were when you were in the prime of your first time together. You had both grown so much and your lives had changed. It had come. As Harry had said eight years ago, you just had to wait for “Our time.”

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #yikes #my writings #take this away from me #this is a sin #im sorry #hopefully you can still enjoy

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noyashighlight · 3 years

Text

The sky is the limit

Iwaizumi x reader

Summary: In which iwaizumi and Oikawa’s kid sister have a hate relationship because of an incident that happened when they were children. That grudge has been carried to highschool along with pent-up anger and lust. Will Hajime finally see Y/n as a woman or will she continue to be just his best friend's annoying little sister.

Chapter two: Spilled Milk

After school Y/n did something she had never done before she walked to practice with Kageyama instead of running to her older brother's classroom so they wouldn’t leave her. Little did she know even though the boys complained that she took so long they would never actually leave without her, so when she didn’t show after ten minutes it worried them. It freaked them out, even more, when she was already sat in the bleachers watching the rest of the team practice. When it was time to leave she quickly said her goodbyes to the black sheep of the team before heading off to join the two boys.

“ So that’s where you disappeared to at lunch? You’re so busy now that you can’t even come to pick up your brother from class.” Oikawa whined as they began their walk home, as always Iwaizumi was coming over. Tooru was upset seeing his sister was growing up right before his eyes. When did she start hanging out with boys, or even get friends? She felt bad knowing that her brother was upset but she couldn’t tell him that she had to be her own person so his best friend would stop seeing her as a child.

Y/n clung onto her brother's arm giving him a wide smile before laughing at how dramatic he was being. If he wasn’t pursuing volleyball she would have told him to join the acting club instead. “ Tooru you know you’ll always be my oni-chan and important in my life even if I have a boyfriend.” The last part was to tease him for calling her flat-chested earlier, she skipped ahead of the two boys letting them talk amongst themselves.

Iwaizumi flinched at the word boyfriend, he didn’t exactly know why maybe it was because he was so protective of her. “ I don’t want my sister with Tobio Chan! She’s too pretty for him, she’s an Oikawa after all.” Tooru dramatically put a hand on his head.

“ She is too pretty for him,” Iwa mumbled which caught his best friend's attention, which he was already regretting because he’d never be able to live down saying something as soft as that. “Then you date her instead so Tobio can’t have her hmph” he whispered as he pouted thinking that would be a solution to his problems.

This was the first time it came across Iwaizumi’s mind about dating y/n probably ever, he never looked at her in a way where it was romantic. That would be weird, wouldn’t it? “ Dude, do you hear yourself? I’m never going to date Y/n that’s gross!” He had forgotten that they were whispering, it’s just the question caught him so off guard that he said it loudly. Oikawa and he looked at each other ready to conceal the girl walking in front of thinking she’d turn around with an offended or hurt the face. Y/n kept walking straight forward si they assumed she didn’t hear and was stuck in her own world. Unfortunately for them, she had heard, he was starting to confuse her was she pretty or ew. Could he not admit that around her brother or something? She thought how he probably didn’t think Mina was too gross to date

“ You're here again.” She was snapped out of her thoughts by Kageyama shutting the roof door behind him as he took a seat against the wall next to her. After yesterday’s words, she was avoiding Iwaizumi all together that meant her brother too when they were at school since those two stuck together like glue for the most part. She had thought about going to sit at the table pretending like everything was alright but those girls were sat there applying their make-up. There was no room for her, there probably never was. Lately, she had been thinking about how she felt like a nuisance that lived in her brother's shadow.

“ Am I not allowed to? If you want me to leave I can.” Just because she was miserable and desperate doesn’t mean she was going to annoy him too with her unneeded presence. He quickly shook his head no before gathering his words, “ No you can stay, I just thought you wouldn’t talk to me anymore.” The young male looked pitiful at the moment, it reminded her of herself.

“ Of course I would! We’re friends now after all.” She beamed as she grabbed his hand in happiness, she finally had a friend of her own. Someone she didn’t have to share, someone who didn’t know her as Oikawa’s little sister. From that day on the girl began to spend her lunch with Kageyama as if it was a ritual. Two people that didn’t belong anywhere but with each other, what more could a lonely person ask for.

“ She’s not here again.” Iwaizumi tapped his fingers against the lunch table as he stared at the cafeteria doors waiting for them to bust open. Luna the girl that clung to Oikawa the most was the first to perk up, loving anything that had to do with drama perked up hearing the male sound worried. She wasn’t a bad person per se but if you got in her way she could be crueler than hellfire. “ Aww, are you worried about y/n Chan not coming to sit with you anymore?” She knew who the younger girl was because her brother had mentioned her a couple of times. She also knew of the little crush she had because Oikawa talked too much when you put a pretty girl in front of him.

As if the heavens above heard the prayers Y/n enter the cafeteria, not heading to the table but to the vending machine. She had lost the game of rock, paper, scissors and now was forced to go retrieve some milk for Kageyama. “ Look she came, oh Y/n could you come here Iwa misses you.” Life had become boring so the older girl needed a breath of fresh air. Mina her best friend wanted to speak up thinking this wasn’t a good idea.

How could she ignore that loud girl calling her name in a sing-song voice especially when half of the cafeteria had turned to look in her direction? Y/n clutched the milk in her hand as she walked over to the table. This older girl was definitely trying to target her to make life harder. She glanced over at her brother who shrugged his shoulders not really understanding what was happening while Iwaizumi blushed slightly not being able to lock eyes. “ It’s so good to finally meet you, the boys talk a lot about you. You’re so pretty, you think she’s pretty right Iwaizumi? Such a pretty color of hair.” Luna reached up and twirled her finger around a piece of hair. For anyone who didn’t know the language of a mean girl who used compliments to embarrass said victim.

Y/n smacked away the girls had with a glare causing Luna to pout as she held her hand. It was almost for a second she wore a smirk. “ Ouch....such a mean girl, I now understand why you like Iwaizumi so much since he too is a brute-“ the older girl was cut off as milk splashed on her hair falling down her artificial golden locks. The girl she had just been passive-aggressively bullying had poured a carton of milk on her head. “ You talk too much,” Y/n said dropping the empty carton in front of her.

“ You little bitch!” Luna screeched as she stood up raising her hand to smack her assailant. She was stopped by two hands belonging to two entirely different people. The one that held her wrist was Iwaizumi and the hand below belongs to Kageyama. It was intense as they stared at each other, both of them wanting to be the hero. In this situation do you get off of the path you’ve been trailing for forever to go on a new more promising way or stay on the one that keeps bringing you in circles.

At this moment y/n had chosen to take the path of unknowing, “ Come on Kags.” She muttered under her breath lightly pulling him away from the scene of Luna thrashing around while iwaizumi and Oikawa tried to calm her down. This world was one that she didn’t belong in.

A/n: sorry for the long wait for such a short chapter! Next chapter will be more fast paced but still explain everyone complexed relationships. My inbox is open if you guys wanna talk or submit. I’m really interested in doing headcannons. ( I will do any haikyuu characters so don’t hesitate.)

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!!#iwaizumi angst #iwaizumi fanfic #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi headcanons #iwaizumi x reader #aoba josai x reader #kegayama x reader #kegayama tobio #oikawa torū #oikawa tooru #angst #theskyisthelimit

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