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sarahisslytherin · 1 month

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.ೃ࿐ྂ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 | 𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙪𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠

summary: you try to leave sirius in the past. contains: angst, exes to lovers like really quickly. a/n: idk what this is but at least i wrote something.

you laughed, aware of the way your lips curled and your voice traveled across the dinner table. the boy opposite you was lovely; he had shown up right on time, pulled out your chair, spoken of all the right subjects. but he wasn’t sirius. he didn’t smell of leather or tobacco, his hair didn’t cascade down in inky strokes around his face. when he held the car door open for you he didn’t press your knuckles to his lips with a cheeky smile; when he told you how beautiful you looked he made no inappropriate quips or whistles. you missed him terribly.

when you were together the whole school talked of how perfect you were for each other, how lucky for two people to find each other in such a way.

but after the break-up, well, their whispers were no longer those of joy. now, half of the girls at hogwarts were sorry for you and the other half was trying to fill your shoes. you watched day after day as they sidled up beside him in class, twirling their hair round their fingers and batting their lashes at him. it pained you to watch. you thought maybe if you got a date of your own you would be able to move on, forget him. but as you felt your cheeks ache with false laughter you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering to the only boy you’d ever loved.

you slid your coat on as you both exited the restaurant onto the street, where your breaths formed little clouds in the brisk night air. there you stood, in a pretty red dress and a dainty pair of heels, he felt bold, draped his arm across your shoulders, and you let him, because none of this was his fault. none of the emotional turmoil bubbling inside you was his fault. you knew who was to blame. you thought of him as you slid into the car, watching the london stoops roll by. he must have sensed your mind was elsewhere, because he didn’t try to kiss you.

you stepped out of the car, offering him a lukewarm goodbye. it was safe to say you wouldn’t be going out again. you would never fall for anyone the way you did with sirius. you would hide your heart away where it would not break again, for you knew it would only have one owner. you turned on your heel towards your building's front steps, sniffling from the cold and from the tear that had run down your cheek.

and then, like a leather-clad angel, he appeared. you were sure you were dreaming. it couldn’t be. but it was, it was him, sitting on your apartment stoop with a cigarette between his fingers. his raven locked waved like blades of grass with the gentle breeze, his eyes glazed over with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

“sirius?” you asked, voice already breaking. he stood instinctively, snapping out of whatever trance he had been in. “what are you doing here?”

he didn’t seem to know how to respond at first. the silence was deafening. “they told me you were on a date tonight.” he said with a bitter laugh, eyes landing on his boots. “how’d it go?”

“shitty.” you admitted with a shrug. there was no point in lying. he would’ve seen right through you, the way he always did.

“what are we even doing?” sirius asked, his eyes brimming with anguish. “it was a stupid fight.”

you’re sure it was a stupid fight, frankly, you can’t even recall why it was that you broke up. a heated argument, the passion of two young, foolish souls. “i can’t stop thinking about you.” you told him, a tear streaming down your cheek.

“neither can i.” he responded. “when i heard you were out with some guy, i, i didn’t know what to do with myself. i just knew i had to see you, i had to look in your eyes, know you’re still mine.”

you swooned. “i’ll always be yours, sirius.”

“come here.” he urged, closing the gap between you and pulling you flush against his chest. his heart was beating like an army drum. his hands found their way up your back, tangled in your hair and the nape of your neck. “no rash decisions, this time.” he implored.

“no rash decisions.” you laughed, dried tears sticking to both your faces. you had tried to move on and you couldn’t, and you wouldn’t ever have to again.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black angst #sirius black fluff #marauders era

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transjudas · 11 months

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a collection of moments from the translated trial of Joan of Arc from 1431 that are fucking iconic of her:

‘And then did We forbid Jeanne, without Our permission, to leave the prison which had been assigned to her in the Castle, under pain of the crime of heresy. “I do not accept such a prohibition,” she answered; “if ever I do escape, no one shall reproach me with having broken or violated my faith, not having given my word to any one, whosoever it may be.”’

“Was he naked?” “Do you think God has not wherewithal to clothe him?”

“I have always answered that you will not drag this from my lips. Go and ask it of him.”

“You shall not have anything more at present.” (she gave variations of this response all throughout the trial/examinations. basically if she felt that god had not given her permission to speak on a subject, she just wouldn’t. she did not seem to acknowledge the authority of those questioning and judging her at all, which makes sense. She also frequently replied “that is not your Case” which I think is basically her saying that’s not relevant to this trial so none of your business.)

“I promise to speak truth on what touches your Case; but the more you constrain me to swear, the later will I tell you.”

“Who induced you to have cited a man of the town of Toul on the question of marriage?” “I did not have him cited; it was he, on the contrary, who had me cited; and then I swore before the Judge to speak the truth. And besides, I had promised nothing to this man.”

“If it should be that I am taken to Paris, grant, I pray you, that I may have a copy of my questions and answers, so that I may lend them to those at Paris, and that I may be able to say to them: ‘Thus was I questioned at Rouen; and here are my answers : in this way, I shall not have to trouble again over so many questions.”

“Did you give, or cause to be given, money to him who took Franquet?” “I am not Master of the Mint or Treasurer of France to pay out money so.”

“Upon the oath that you have taken, tell us, how did you think to escape from the Castle of Beaulieu between two planks of wood ?” “Never was I prisoner in such a place that I would not willingly have escaped. Being in that Castle, I should have shut my keepers in the tower, if it had not been that the porter espied me and encountered me.”

“If I had leave to go in woman’s dress, I should soon put myself back in man’s dress and do what God has commanded me: I have already told you so. For nothing in the world will I swear not to arm myself and put on a man’s dress; I must obey the orders of Our Lord.”

“Do you know if Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret hate the English?” “They love what God loves: they hate what God hates.” (I know that this is all about nationalism during war but this is still hilarious to me. like goddamn, okay! Also I have to note that the examiner follows up with “does God hate the English?” and she basically says she cannot know but I want does God hate the English on a tshirt)

“I had that ring in my hand and on my finger, when I touched Saint Catherine as she appeared to me.” “What part of Saint Catherine?” “You will have no more about it.” “Did you ever kiss or embrace Saint Catherine or Saint Margaret?” “I have embraced them both.” “Did they smell good?” “It is well to know, they smelled good.” “In embracing them, did you feel any heat or any thing else?” (yo WHY is this examiner such a FREAK stop being weird my dude!!!)

“I took it of my own free will, and with no constraint: I prefer a man’s dress to a woman’s dress.” (mood)

So struck by how she really did not see those prosecuting (and persecuting) her as valid authorities and she was not subtle about it. However you see Joan and the voices she heard, she was a brave and bold and relatably snarky 19 year old telling the people who did not accept her belief nor her existence as we would likely now see as a mentally ill/psychotic young woman in society to fuck off.

#long post #joan of arc #jeanne d'arc #french history #history

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mockerycrow · 11 months

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Undercover IV (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

Summary: You have a rocky introduction with John Price and you continue your interview, despite a certain someone’s hesitant protests. You finally have your dreaded psych evaluation while your stress reaches it’s peak.

A/N: considering this is a reboot timeline + Makarov is only vaguely mentioned in mw2, i’m taking inspo from og mw and adding my own spices. and holy shit why was this so difficult to complete??? i also apologize for this taking so long, i live where the smoke from the canadian fires dragged across and my chest hurts. update: russian was corrected!

[WARNINGS: flashbacks, Price is a bit of an ass but trust me, vague descriptions of torture and murder, angst.]

“I learned from him that often contradiction is the clearest way to truth.” -Patti Smith.

“We need to get your head on straight.”

That’s what Price said, and I don’t know what about how he said it made me mad, but oh boy, did it fucking piss me off. “What?”

“We need to get your head on straight,” He repeats, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He’s wearing his tactical vest, dawning a U.K. badge. I eye his gear before making eye contact with him again and he continues. “We can’t afford to sit around, we need that intel. We have reasonable suspicion Makarov will move on with his plans quicker than we anticipated.” My nose scrunches up a little bit as he’s basically avoiding saying it without saying that he’s avoiding it. “You want me to continue with the interview.” I say it like a statement and not a question because all three of us know it’s not a question.

“Price, that isn’t a good idea,” Soap says, his voice considerably alarmed. He grinds his teeth together because he knows my reaction to just fucking closing my eyes while talking about it was extremely concerning. “I know it isn’t, but we don’t have a choice,” Price mutters before pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. He looks at me with a pointed look, eyes flickering over my body in confliction.

I mimic his look because as much as I would love time to calm down, I know what he’s saying is true. If they truly have reasonable suspicion that Makarov is going to advance in his plans early, they need what I learned.

Fuck, man..

“Okay.” I move the pillow around on my lap. “Let’s do it?”

Soap’s head snaps towards me, eyebrows furrowed. “What? You’re agreein’ to it??” I look back at him with a frustrated look and I can feel myself wanting to explode. “What choice do I have? Not say anything and risk peoples lives, or have a little freak out and no one dies—except maybe for him?”

The room goes silent except for the beeping of the machines and Soap sighs, taking the recorder out of his front pocket. Price remains on his side of the bed but this time finds a chair, pulls it around and sits down. His hands stay on the armrests. I glance at Soap who presses a button and holds it a bit away from himself. “This is Sergeant John MacTavish, Callsign Soap, this is day two interviewing Sergeant [Name] [Last Name] of the Eclipse Task Force.” Soap hesitates to say the next part, his eyes tracing him face as he mutters. “Last subject was Makarov’s ‘entry tests’ and ‘loyalty tests’.”

I feel my stomach collapse in on itself, tightening into a painful knot. I know this was coming eventually, even if I didn’t want it to. “Yeah, uh..” I trail off, averting my eyes to stare at something, anything but the two men looking to me for answers. “After two months of living in Russia, I got into contact with Makarov. It was completely by accident too, I was just trying to collect information about him, seem like I was interested and then I was.. picked up.“ I pause for a moment before continuing. “I had to build up a reputation, something that made it look like I didn’t pop up in this city out of the blue, y’know?”

“Мы не используем здесь его имя.” We do not use his name here. “Секретность должна быть сохранена, не так ли?” Secrecy must be kept, right?

There’s a hood over my head and my heart is pounding inside of my chest—I could die, right here and right now and nobody would know. I could fail this entire mission right at this moment and that’s fucking terrifying. I twist my wrists ever so slightly, not in an attempt to get away, but I can’t help but check out tight the rope is. I’m surprised they didn’t use handcuffs. I blink rapidly as my eyes burn a bit, trying to properly adjust to the bright light above me.

I look around and I’m in a warehouse with two men—neither of them being the man I want, but one of them is Sergei Orlov, one of the men I had been tracking since I’ve gotten here.

The intel suggests he has close connects to Makarov, indicating that he may be in a right-hand man type of situation. That’s the position I’m trying to bury my way into. Sergei’s eyes are sharp and intimidating, the color being a deep, cerulean blue with dashes of green near his pupils.

There is absolutely no light in them, no positive emotion—I didn’t expect to see any, but it makes me wonder if Makarov’s eyes are the same? Will I be able to get close enough to see?

“Мы наблюдаем за тобой уже несколько недель. Ты пытаешься предать свою страну и начать войну. Почему?” We have been watching you for several weeks now. You are trying to betray your country and start a war. Why?

My fingers twitch as I offer a scoff, a snarl curling at my lips, like I’m snapping at another dog. Of course, I show no disrespect. I need this to be perfect. “Вы не представляете, что этот мир сделал со мной, люди, которые в нем живут, сделали со мной.” You have no idea what this world has done to me, the people who live in it have done to me.

Sergei has his hands behind his back as he slowly walks around me, circling me. I keep my eyes on him as much as possible, I’m radiating distrust—trying to keep up the character I’m playing.

“Это правда, я не знаю. Но я точно знаю, что такие, как ты, просто так не появляются.” It's true, I don't know. But I know for sure that people like you don't just appear. I feel my heart drop into my stomach because fuck, man—I thought everything was good?? My backstory, my profile, I didn’t think I had any holes—

“К счастью для тебя, у нас есть сложная викторина для людей, которые, казалось бы, появились из ниоткуда. Чтобы предотвратить явку шпионов, м?” Lucky for you, we have a challenging quiz for people who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. To prevent spies, yes?

I immediately nod in response, brows furrowed, eyes filled with determination. Sergei’s lips curl into a dreadful smile—one that screams “get away from me or else”.

“Хороший.” Good. He unties my bindings, allowing me to rub my wrists. I don’t have a good feeling at all. Sergei grabs my upper arm and has me stand up, and him and the other man lead me out of the warehouse, going to a truck. “Куда мы идем?” Where are we going?

He doesn’t bother to answer me besides motioning me to sit in the back of the car. I hesitate for a moment out of weariness, but I comply. I open the door to the truck and climb into the back and Sergei slides into the back with me. The other man climbs into the driver’s seat. “привод.” Drive.

I can feel myself begin to space out with every word and I can vaguely feel my fingers tightening into a fist. I pause my retelling of events as my train of thought breaks apart, the crawling feeling on my back intensifying. “Hey,” Price’s voice is low. “You with us?” It takes everything inside of my goddamn soul to nod, but God, I wish I wasn’t. I know we’re getting close to the part of my.. atrocities.

My heart jumps inside of my chest and my monitor beeps loudly for a moment. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t close your eyes—“Hey!”

My eyes snap to Price who has a furrowed brow, annoyance lacing his features. I notice my chest is moving up and down with every harsh breath coming out through my nose. “Focus.” I grit my teeth, my fingernails digging into the palm of my hand. “I’m trying.” I retaliate with a tight voice. I understand they need this information, but they have to understand how hard it is to recount literally every single life taken, innocent ones??

“Clearly you aren’t,” Price scoffs, his lip curling in anger. “You’ve barely started the bloody report, what’s the issue?”

I laugh humorlessly, my eyes going wide. “What—Did you actually just fucking say that?” Soap stands up, putting his hand out towards his captain. “Price, I—“

“Stay out of this, Soap. That’s an order.”

I can feel my bones ache under my harsh clenching of my hand, an angry smile coming to my lips. I feel this weird smoldering feeling in my gut that’s spreading heat across my body and into my limbs. I hear my heart monitor picking up speed. “You have absolutely no fucking idea what I’ve been through—what I’ve had to do!” I’m aware I’m raising my voice, but I honestly cannot bother to give a fuck by now.

Price crosses his arms, glaring down at me. His eyes are scrutinizing and it makes me want to punch the fuckin’ daylights out of him. “You’re right,” He begins. “I have not the foggiest idea because you’ve not said anything of actual value thus far!”

Oh, he wants me to fucking punch him. This man is so fucking asking for me to knock his teeth out. I open my mouth to speak but Price swiftly interrupts me. “What did you have to do, [Name]? Kill a few innocent people? Children, maybe? Did you have to torture them?”

I can feel that hot feeling turn to ice cold in a split second, a ripple of sweat dripping down my temple. “..What?”

Price waves his hand around as a general statement. “So what, you had to gut a few children? That’s nothing. Oh, did you have to keep them alive? Did they force ya to hear their screams, [Name]? Or did you have’to—“

It’s like I don’t have control of myself when I reach forward and snatch the front of Price’s shirt and pulling him near myself, my voice loud and booming, nearly cracking. “YES, IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR? DID YOU WANT TO HEAR THE SICK DETAILS OF WHAT I DID?” I take a deep breath, continuing. This fucking rage is flowing through my bones and I just cannot shut myself up—“DID YOU WANT TO HEAR ABOUT HOW I BROKE BONES, INFLICTED WOUNDS AND LEFT PEOPLE TO ROT?”

The room goes silent, aside from my harsh breathing and the beeping from my heart monitor. I lower my voice, but i don’t stop the absolute anger dripping from every word as I speak through clenched teeth. “Every dirty fuckin’ detail is a weight on my goddamn conscience and you don’t seem to understand that, Price.”

The room is eerily silent again and I fucking hate it. I look down at the pillow on my torso as I feel their beady little eyes peering into my soul, judging my every sin. I hear Soap turn the recorder off and I feel hot from embarrassment for a moment because I just realized.. he was recording all of that. Of fucking course.

Before anyone else can say anything, the door to my room opens. I pick my head up and see a woman in business casual clothing with a notebook, pen, and a clipboard. “Hi, my name is Doctor Elaine Stewart, I’ll be conducting this comprehensive psychological and psychiatric evaluation on you today.” Her voice is soft and light like how her hair looks—dark curls that seem to bounce right above her shoulders, her skin is a darker tan too. Her eyes are big, round, and soft. She’s British—I can’t place what region she grew up in, though.

They probably picked her because she would feel less like a threat towards me.

Dr. Stewart turns to the two men, glancing between them. “I’m going to have to ask you two to leave for patient doctor confidentiality purposes.”

Price goes to speak up, but she puts her hand up to stop him. “I’ll call if I need anything, but I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”

I hear Price sigh, but I refuse to look at him. Instead, I look to Soap, who’s peering down at me with concerned eyes. I still don’t get why he’s so concerned.. Or why he’s so quiet, because he really doesn’t seem to be a quiet person. Soap takes his notebook sketchbook thing, murmuring a “see you later” and takes his leave next to his Captain.

Once the door closes, Dr. Stewart smiles at me and walks over to my bed, heels clicking, and then takes a seat. “You know how this goes, yeah? You’ve been in the military for quite some time now.” I nod in response, taking a deep breath. My back is beginning to ache from not getting up or moving.

“Yeah, I know.” I say anyway. I put my hands on the bed and go to use my strength to sit myself up, but immediate tight and bursting pain bubbles where my stitches are. One of my hands fly to my stomach—which is covered by the pillow, followed by a loud curse. Dr. Stewart quickly sits up, alarmed. “Are you alright??”

I nod as I hiss in pain, clenching my jaw in an attempt to distract myself from the pain. “Didn’t realize it would’ve hurt so bad..”

Dr. Stewart nods, leaning over and click a button a few times which raises the back of the bed to a proper sitting up position. I feel my face heat up from embarrassment again. Fuck.

Dr. Stewart holds her clipboard and looks at me. “Have you experienced moments where you felt like you were not in your body?”

I take a moment to think about that. “Yes, but only when I was actively tortured or, er.. uh… did the torturing.” I look away from her and back at my lap, a weird feeling bubbling in my stomach. She takes a moment to write down my answer. “Have you ever felt out of control of yourself?”

I shake my head no—and then I pause. Have I? I shake my head no a second time after thinking.

“Within the last 6 months, have you heard disembodied voices or noises no one else around you could hear?”

“No.”

“Have you ever found yourself back in an event that already happened? Maybe you’re just sitting down and for a moment, you’re back in that warehouse?”

I look at her with a furrowed brow, and I immediately want to deny it, but I can’t. “I mean..” I trail off for a moment. “I don’t.. I don’t hallucinate that I’m back with Makarov’s group, if that’s what you mean.”

Dr. Stewart leans forward a bit, her perfectly painted nails tapping against the clipboard. “Then what do you mean, [Name]?” I swallow the spit in my mouth before speaking, yet it feels like my mouth has gone dry. “I don’t know, all I’m saying is that I don’t experience that.”

She looks at me—why is she staring??—and then she writes something down. “What have you done to them, [Name]?”

My heart skips a beat. “What?”

“I said, what have you experienced? I’m talking about anxiety, maybe dread, everything you’ve felt within the last day.”

Did I.. did I mishear her? She definitely said ‘what did you to them’, right?

“[Name]?”

I blink rapidly and look at her. “Sorry. What?”

Dr. Stewart bites her lower lip for a moment, watching me with worried eyes. “I think it’s best to conclude this evaluation for now. It looks like you’re having a hard time adjusting, so I will check back in with you in a few days.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” My voice is teetering on the edge of anger and I know I shouldn’t be mean, but I feel like my skeleton is trying to shed my skin from how jumpy I feel. “That means I don’t think you’re coherent enough for your interview, nor your evaluation; the one that’ll tell your superiors that you can return, anyway.” She picks her pen up and she begins to write something down—seemingly a longer paragraph. “So.. that means you have a temporary conclusion? Of my psyche?” I ask slowly, and I know that isn’t the right wording, but I’m not sure how else to do it.

Dr. Stewart stands up and begins to collect her things. She sighs and looks at me with.. sympathy?? Pity? I can’t tell. “You just went through something extremely traumatic, [Name]. You’re still in fight or flight. I can’t conduct a proper assessment like this.”

I hold my tongue from barking at her that I’m fine, from telling her to get the fuck out or me making some obscene threat.

I feel my heart sink in my chest because I feel like she’s vaguely suggesting something I cannot handle right now.

🏷️: @hardnutpost @glitterypirateduck @elowynnlane @boycigs @wolfyland07 @escapefromrealitysm @tapioca-marzipan

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books-and-catears · 2 years

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"I Hate You."

How many times is it now? How many times had he done the same thing over and over only for you to forgive him and for him repeat his actions?

You love him. And he loves you - you keep telling yourself. But that doesn't take away the pain he causes.

There's a fine line between love and hate, and this time he's pushed you over it. You're exhausted. Your blood is boiling over. He's about to apologise again but there's no forgiveness this time.

"I hate you."

Neither a scream nor a whisper. You say it the same way you say you love him. As cold as a winter night. And you leave.

Lucifer, Mammon, Solomon

It's nothing he hasn't heard before. He had learnt to be unfazed by it. Mere words could do nothing to him.

But hearing it in your voice, as your eyes glare at him with pain and fury - it was like hearing it for the very first time. When was the last time he'd felt his heart shatter so violently?

You with your overwhelming love, tirelessly standing by his side at his worst, reviving his cold and dying heart - he never imagined he'd hear these words from you.

What if you never forgive him? No, he didn't want to imagine it. It was too horrid a thing. And he was horrible to do this to you. He has never regretted anything more than this.

But now, like a waking nightmare, he stands frozen in his tracks, unable to hold you back as he watches you run away, holding back your own tears. He feels all the light in his life slip away.

"MC... please..." He calls out, but his voice is dry and silent. There's so much to say. Will you let him say it? He wants to tell you everything. Every bit of himself, he wants to lay bare. He no longer cares about his pride, his shame or his secrecy.

Please take it back. I don't know what to do with myself if you mean it.

Once back to his senses, he races to wherever you are. "MC!" If you're behind a closed door, he'll keep knocking, calling out your name. If you tell him to leave you alone, he'll silently fall asleep by the door.

If you're curled up and crying on the carpet by the fireplace, his trembling fingers will reach out for you. If you don't let him touch you, he'll simply sit as close as you'll allow him.

If you let him closer, he'll cradle your face in his hands, pressing kisses on your forehead and cheeks, whispering endless apologies, trying to fix the hurt.

"Please tell me you don't mean it. Please. Please. Please forgive me."

_________________ooo__________________

Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Diavolo

"You...what?" He can't register it yet. He's never heard these words before. Noone has thought of it, noone has dared to. But you did.

Anyone else, he could have dismissed. A heartbroken fan, an overworked cook or a disgruntled subject - none of them rally mattered. Anyone else can be pushed aside, be ignored. But not you.

Surely you don't mean it. Noone has ever made him more understood, more loved than you. You are his dearest friend. You can't take all that way. You can't possibly be that cruel. He refuses to believe it.

What is this piercing pain in his chest? Why does it keep growing? Why is the world turning cold around him? Why does he feel like everything inside him has caught fire?

Why did it have to be you? Time seems to slow down, his vision blurs out the whole world except your retreating figure in the distance. He must catch up no matter what. He starts to run.

"MC, wait!" He grabs your arm just in time. He corners you, traps you within himself and the walls, takes you someplace it's only the both of you. He can't let you go.

I wont lose you. I CAN'T lose you.

If you scream at him to let go, he reluctantly will. But he will not let you out of his sights. If you crash into him, hitting his chest and crying into it, he will burst into tears with you.

Your hits are painless but your tears are not. You will hear his sobs rack through his body. He holds onto you with shameless desperation.

Please stay right here. I'll do anything to make it right. But please don't let go.

_________________ooo__________________

Simeon, Barbatos, Satan

"MC..." His eyes grow wide in disbelief. A growing sense of dread fills his body, overwhelming him. He stumbles back from you, as if your words came to life and dealt him a blow to straight to his chest.

He's had his fair share of hatred from others. His influence and popularity had this small price to pay, of course. It was nothing he usually couldn't take.

But it was as if you saying them, had a whole new meaning. An object of loathing, of detest. He barely noticed you leave the room. Your words were echoing in ears, bouncing off the walls and ground.

His eyes watered and burned. He could keel over from the sudden limpness coursing through his body. His whole world is breaking down right in front of his eyes.

He closes his eyes and imagines the happier you. The one he hadn't hurt. Your joyous laugh and your eyes sparkling with love as you smiled at him, excitedly waving as you kept his seat in classrooms and crowded cafes. He wants that back. He feels like a monster.

But he fixes his composure. You only deserve the best of him. He'll be on his best behavior until he can be worthy of you again, he promises himself.

He watches from a distance, softly calling your name to get your attention. "MC...may I..."

I'm dying to talk to you, please. Please don't shut me out of your heart.

If you shake your head, he'll beg further but come no closer. If time is what you need to heal, he'll exile himself away as long as you ask him to.

If you nod your head, he will crash into your arms. Like a child, he clings to you, pulling you as close as he possibly can. He feels the air return to his dying lungs. He can breathe in your scent again. He brushes away your tears urgently. He swears he will never hurt you this way again.

I'd sooner die than have you hate me. I'll shatter and turn to dust without you.

_________________ooo__________________

Leviathan, Belphegor

They knew this day was inevitable. Of course you'd lose finally lose your patience with them. Honestly he wonders how you even kept up the act for this long.

It had been so long since he had a friend. He'd forgotten how it was to lose one. He locked himself in his room after you left. He wouldn't dare show his face around you again.

He sometimes repeated your name in a trance, after crying his eyes out. "MC...MC...MC..." He waited for you to magically reappear again, hold him and tell him everything is okay. Reassure him one last time please.

He's pathetic, he knows that all too well. You were too generous to indulge him and his pitiful whims and wishes. He has no courage to go and apologise again. But he does ask his brothers about you. Begs them to tell you sorry on his behalf.

He's such a coward, isn't he? Yet everytime someone knocks on his door, or comes to wake him up - he turns around hastily, hoping it's you.

Until one day it really is. You call out to him. You look like a long lost dream. "MC, YOU'RE BACK??" He cries as he comes running at you. You both topple over.

He has his head buried in your chest as he cries his heart out. He missed you so much. And there's noone he wanted to tell that to more than you.

I'll never deserve you. But I'll do everything in my power to keep you all the same. Please come back to me.

#obey me #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me levi #obey me angst #obey me solomon #obey me Diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me Barbatos #obey me Headcanons #obey me imagine

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kingofbodyrolls · 4 months

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Learn to Love Again (m) | myg | teaser

💜 It has been posted! Read it here. 💜 Summary: People always leave. They become beautiful stars shining bright in the night sky. When life hands you lemons, you’ve been told to make lemonade, but that is hard when your soul and heart is breaking apart. When you rescue a tiny cat and meet a handsome stranger in the cafe, you finally feel yourself healing – but when they too leave, how are you going to learn to love again?

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, mainly called pet names so no ‘Y/N’).

AU + genres: Hybrid!au (shapeshifter!yoongi), strangers to lovers, slice of life, heavy angst, a lot of sadness (I’m sorry!), dark vibes, smut and fluff and some humor.

Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.

Word count (for the teaser): 480 words. I’m still writing the fic and it’s currently at 12k and I’m almost done!

Warnings (general) + triggers: Heavy angst, extreme heavy sadness and grief, death of minor characters, mention of previous character death (parents), mentions of su*cide, mention of m*rder, su*cidal thoughts.

Warnings (explicit): Explicit sex (I haven’t written the smut yet, so I don’t know what it entails yet 🤣).

Authors note: I know it sounds hella sad (and it is), but it is also very sweet and heartwarming too 💜 I wanted to venture into the darker stuff again, and embrace all the feelings and sadness that I felt a few weeks ago (I’m fine, well I’m getting through it at least).

If you are triggered by any of the warnings, I suggest that you skip this. It’s not that explicit though (except the smut lol) but the heavy subjects are still there and they feature in it a lot.

Also, the quote “people always leave” features a lot in this and I only now realize why I find it so familiar – it’s a famous quote from Peyton Sawyer from One Tree Hill.

*fun fact: I actually took the photo of the night sky myself (back in 2013 lol) and used in the breakline for this!

Taglist: If you wish to be notified and added to the taglist, just drop a comment here on this teaser, an ask or a message and I’ll add you. I kindly ask that you have your age visible on your blog, as this contains mature and dark themes, you must be over 18+ 🙂

“Yuna…,” you cry, the anguish in your voice echoing the profound pain that seems to squeeze the very life out of your heart. “Why does everyone leave?” The question hangs in the air, more rhetorical than expectant, as if you're not seeking an answer from Yuna but grappling with the cruel patterns of departure that life has woven into the fabric of your existence. Each departure, like a thread pulled from the tapestry of your world, leaves an unraveled piece that never quite knits itself back together.

“I–, I don’t know,” she stammers through her tears, the weight of the unknown echoing in her voice, mirroring the uncertainty that now shrouds both of your lives.

“Promise we’ll be there for each other,” you declare, the weight of the words hanging in the air. It's a poignant plea, an acknowledgment of life's unpredictable twists. You understand that you can't ask for an eternity, but in this moment, you're determined to hold onto each other as tightly as time allows.

“Count on it,” she vows, her response flowing effortlessly, a testament to the unspoken bond between you two.

Despite the tightening in your throat, a glimmer of happiness sparks within you at the assurance she just gave.

Why must life be so fucking cruel, robbing you of everyone you hold dear?

An overwhelming urge to reconnect with your sister washes over you, a deep yearning fueled by the ache of prolonged silence between you.

“I want to call my sister,” you manage to say through your sobs, a desperate plea lacing your words. “Will you be alright, Yuna?” you ask, your concern breaking through the waves of grief that surround you both.

“Yeah. I mean, I'm fucking sad, but go ahead and call her. Can I come to your place tomorrow?” Yuna's voice carries a subtle plea, a shared understanding that neither of you wants to be alone in the midst of sorrow.

“Yeah, I'd love that,” you respond, your voice carrying the weight of grief and the faint glimmer of gratitude for the companionship that awaits tomorrow. As you attempt to dry your tears with a throw blanket on the couch, the room feels emptier than ever, and the ache in your heart persists.

“See you tomorrow,” she says before the call ends. The hollowness in the room deepens, and you draw in a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on your phone. The background image captures a moment frozen in time, featuring you, Nari, and Yuna. God, the ache of missing her intensifies, and you can't shake the heaviness in your chest.

You tighten your grip on the phone, each tear that escapes your eyes a silent testament to the pain in your heart. Determination wells up as you locate your sister's number, fingers tracing the familiar digits, ready to bridge the gap that time and distance have carved between you.

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phoneservice444 · 5 months

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The writers belief:

Recognize what we can see / individually experience . The first memory , the lifespan , the death . Our all encompassing lives, we are told, exist in subjective reality . The bodies we are in, exist In the domain of the objective reality . We know we are here, and we know we reside in this space . The assembly required for our conscious mind is not a magic . It is a perfected arrangement of matter and energy distributed to allow for this vision . There has only ever been one source of matter and energy created , At the start of time .

Nothing can be destroyed / nothing stops existing . The matter and energy is ever present . In death, none of your being will cease to exist . The assembly of the matter allowing your consciousness can only rearrange . This rearrangement is not an ending . It is not a birth . It is a fact of self in the witness of ones current existing totality . I must die now . Reality must do something else .

And at the same time . I have never been taken by death .

You lived an entire creation in one body .

You posed the question ,

“What if I never see this again?” Whilst looking upon the sight .

Release the individual and understand the vision you now see . Do not pose the question ,

“What if in death I forget the love I once felt?” Whilst embracing your truest companion .

This will not be forgotten . This is everything . In existing now , we know this vision is in complete certainty, timeless .

We do not know the reason for existence , and the answer will never be known . It is likely our existence does not need a reason , simply being what must be .

Maybe the knowledge of our continued presence throughout the cosmos sprouts fear at the imaginings to the pains of past existences .

In this life , I feel love and warmth , in the next , I had a spike shoved through my entire body . Either way, neither will scar . We do not exist for the past or the future , we may simply exist for the sensations felt by us in the ever-present now .

Recognize you (the witness and the physical body) are within the totality of existence . There is no more than that which is already here , there is no other channels . There is only one light on in creation .

Time , memory , the future , and the past , are comfortable fictions for the brain of our mortality stricken universe to understand . These things are not real . Existence is not stuck anywhere . To believe that we have created everything , to only be at the will of time , implies an imperfection in all this is . Why allow imperfection ? Why be scared of imperfection ? Maybe theres something wrong with this vision . It is in that question that we can create no answer . Is the universe perfect ? Why is it not good ? Or better yet, why would it be evil ? Why in its flat, unfeeling, uncultured, inhuman desires, create an incorrect existence , with you as the butt of the joke ? Would it not be more obvious for the one true everything to know what it was doing .

Conclusions.

I believe the space we are in is all there is . I believe this is the one creation . Not my body . Not the readers body . I believe i and everything in this space exists as the one and only . I believe existence is one monitor on at a time . A monitor which must hold all of reality . Cheekily bound to itself . Timelessly serving everything that needs it.

I could only wonder why everything is happening now . Why in these eyes do i exist . Why must I die for the next life . How long must I wait to live this life again?

In this moment you understood all

In sound mind, beyond any other reasoning . I believe every word i say now over anything more .

When I trace the lines in my face .

When I peer within the galaxies of my own iris .

When I ridge through every detail of my flesh .

And ask .

When might I see this again .

I bask in the recognition of what i have asked of myself .

There is no other being here . No other actors . A body once asked to never forget it’s own face, and now it is all of existence.

I am seeing me , not because I filled a slot in nothingness, or chose a body , but because I am simply everything that there is .

It is through this understanding , that my bodies heart has achieved it’s own immortality.

Regardless of what more I may have wrong or right .

In this boundless mess of time and light .

I requested to never forget the beauty of this planet .

And now , I am here .

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imzadi-caskett-huddy · 2 months

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Hell Hath No Fury (4/?)

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. I really try to personally thank everyone who reviews with an account here (if I missed you, it wasn’t intentional!) and to the guests whom I can’t personally thank…I’m thanking you now. Especially the guest who said I was one of the best writers…thank you, those words mean a lot. I’m hardly the best, I just try to keep everyone as much in character as possible.

Fair warning…I detest writing casework and police work…so the shooter stuff is going to get wrapped up without much actual procedural writing. That’s not to say there won’t still be a confrontation, but I prefer to focus my writing on the relationships and the angst as opposed to someone running down 3 different leads.

I still don’t own Castle…

xxxxx

When Beckett walked into Castle’s room, she was carrying two cups of coffee. She smiled when she saw him sitting up, looking better than he had the evening before; he still didn’t look completely like himself, but she could tell he seemed to be a little more rested and feeling slightly better. “Hey,” she greeted, placing his coffee on the stand beside his bed where he’d be able to reach it.

“Beckett…you brought me coffee,” Castle greeted her with a smile.

She hid an almost shy smile behind her own cup as she took a drink. “I figured it’s the least I can do. I probably owe you like a hundred coffees by now, right?” she joked lightly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m on some good pain medication. And I’m still tired. But all things considered, not as bad as the alternative,” he answered her question. “The doctor did morning rounds already; apparently I’m good enough to move down to a regular room later today.”

“That’s good,” she told him with a smile. “Do you feel up to talking about what you remember?” she asked after a moment, cautiously broaching the subject. Her smile faded slightly when she noticed the look on his face. “You don’t have to right now…”

“No,” he interrupted her. “No, I can, it’s just…you’re still going after the guy?” Though he knew he shouldn’t be that surprised. She had blinders on when it came to anything to do with her mother’s case.

“You can’t be surprised by that, Castle,” she stated simply. “Why wouldn’t I be trying to find the man who shot you?”

“Because he’s going to kill you, Kate!” he said in frustration.

She scoffed slightly. “I’m a cop, Castle. I can take care of myself. Besides, I’m not an easy target. I know they’re looking for me.”

He just stared at her. He could not believe they were going to have this same argument all over again right now, after everything. “Considering everything that happened, I’d disagree with that statement.” Seeing her look, he pressed on. “If I hadn’t shoved you out of the way, you’d be right here. Or worse.”

She swallowed hard at his words and was silent for a moment. She didn’t want to fight with him. “Are you going to tell me what you remember about the shooting, or not?” she finally asked, doing her best to keep her tone neutral.

He clenched his jaw for a moment. “Not much. All I saw was a flash of light. It must have been the sunlight catching something on the gun,” he relayed the information to her. “That little flash was all I saw.”

She sighed, running her hand through her hair. “That’s not surprising. We don’t have much more than that either,” she admitted to him. “It’s like he just vanished.”

“Then let him vanish, Kate,” he pleaded with her, meeting her eyes.

Silently holding his stare for a few moments, she finally had to look away. “So what are your plans when you get out of here?” she tried to change the subject. She didn’t want to fight with him, but she wasn’t backing down from the case either. It was too personal.

“I don’t know. I supposed I would just recover at the loft. Why?”

Taking a deep breath at the frustration in his tone, she released it slowly. “Maybe…you should go to the Hamptons,” she suggested, trying to keep her tone indifferent. “It seems like a much more peaceful place to recover.” And you won’t be in the city in case I still haven’t caught the jackass by then, so you won’t have to know what I’m doing.

“You’re trying to get rid of me,” he commented.

“Why would I do that?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Because if you’re still hunting the shooter by the time I’m released, you don’t want me here to stop you.”

Damn. She’d honestly hoped to avoid having to talk about her plan with him, but he knew her playbook too well, so there was no reason to bother trying to hide it anymore. “Castle, I’m

hunting down this son of a bitch whether you like it or not. He’s connected to my mother’s murder. He came after me. You got shot because you’re too close to me,” she stated firmly, her voice raising and taking an angry edge. “Now I’m asking you to go to the Hamptons when you’re released. Don’t make me go through Alexis and your mother to get you there,” she stated in a low tone, her eyes meeting his, daring him to challenge her. She would absolutely do it. She was not backing down on this; she needed him out of the city for her to do what she needed to do; if he was still in the city and found out exactly how she planned to get the shooter, he would try to stop her.

He stared her down for a few moments before relenting. “Fine,” he said lowly, clearly not happy with her. “There’s no way to ever win this argument with you; you’re going to do what you want to do anyway. You’re determined to push me away, so fine. You win. When I’m released, I’ll go to the Hamptons, and you won’t have to worry about anyone trying to stop you from running straight down the rabbit hole and getting yourself killed.” Had he not been stuck in a hospital bed during this argument, he would have walked away at that point. Instead, all he could do was glare at her.

“Good morning, Richard!” Martha came striding into the room with a smile. Seeing her son and the detective seemingly caught in the middle of a tense exchange, she paused. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, Mother. Beckett was just leaving,” Castle answered, his eyes never leaving her and his voice laced with anger.

Beckett swallowed hard at the sound of his tone. He was kicking her out. Nodding, she took a deep breath and stepped away from his bedside. “Good to see you again, Martha,” she acknowledged his mother on her way out the door.

Martha watched the detective leave and then turned her eyes to her son. “What did I just walk in on?”

Castle clenched his jaw and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. “She’s going after the shooter.”

“Of course she is. She’s a police officer…that’s her job.”

“No, not like this. This guy is going to kill her, Mother, and she’s running straight toward him!”

“Richard…the last thing Katherine Beckett needs is for you to try to be her protector…look where that’s gotten you,” she stated, gesturing to the hospital bed. “She’s a detective and a grown woman who is more than capable of taking care of herself. What she needs is a friend to stand beside her.”

He released a slow breath. “Yeah, well she’s making damn sure I can’t stand beside her. She’s pushing me away,” he said lowly. “She may not need me to protect her, but I don’t want her trying to protect me either.”

“Richard, this is who she is! You’ve known that since you began shadowing her. She hasn’t suddenly changed, and yet you’ve always found a way to be by her side before.”

“This is different…”

“You’re right, it is,” Martha nodded her head. “It’s different because she cares about you.”

“Mother…”

“I watched that woman go through hell while you were in surgery. Somehow, she pulled herself together enough to come over and be strong for me, and especially for Alexis. So don’t sit there in that bed thinking that you’re the only one in the relationship who cares deeply. She may not be able to say it, may not know how to show it, but I don’t know many women who would do what she did…certainly not either of your ex-wives.”

Castle sat quietly for a few moments. His mother was right. Both Gina and Meredith were self-absorbed and selfish. In a crisis, they would be more likely to think of themselves than to be there for his daughter or mother. “She’s just so…maddening!” he finally sighed.

“Welcome to being in love, kiddo,” Martha patted his hand sympathetically.

xxxxx

“Yo Beckett! How’s Castle?” Esposito asked when he spotted her coming out of the elevator.

“Fine,” she answered in a clipped tone.

He gave her a questioning look, but didn’t push. “He remember seeing anything?”

“Nothing that will help,” she shook her head, dropping down in her chair and bringing her fingers together to lock as she rested her forehead against her joined hands. “We’re pretty much dead in the water.”

“Uh, maybe not…” Ryan called out as he approached her desk. “Canvas turned up several people who saw a grounds worker during the funeral. Only when I talked to the cemetery, they said they didn’t have anyone working at the time of the funeral,” he offered his information with a smile.

“So the shooter disguised himself to blend in…” Beckett realized. “Was anyone able to see his face?”

“Already with a sketch artist,” Ryan’s smile grew.

Beckett returned the man’s smile; this was a lead. It wasn’t the best lead she’d ever gotten, but considering the difficulty of the case, and the lack of anything else, this was solid and it was something. At least she’d know what face she was looking for.

Before she could have another thought, a stern female voice came from the doorway of the captain’s office. “Detective Beckett! My office!”

Beckett’s head snapped around at the sound of her name, and she gave the voice a nod before looking back to the boys. “Who’s that?” she whispered.

“New captain started this morning. Captain Victoria ‘Iron’ Gates. Made her rank over in IA,” Esposito explained. “You missed her morning briefing when she took over this morning.”

“Great,” Beckett murmured, standing and heading toward the office. Giving a knock, she stepped inside. “Yes Ma’am?”

“If you see my mother, you can call her Ma’am. You will call me Captain or Sir,” she started, her eyes looking over the file on her desk.

This is going swimmingly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Detective. Youngest woman in the NYPD to make detective. You beat me by 6 weeks.”

“I didn’t realize that people kept score,” Beckett shook her head uncomfortably.

“Everybody keeps score, Detective. Especially those downtown,” she stated, finally looking up to meet the eyes of the other woman. “You missed my morning briefing.”

“Yes, Sir. I was getting a statement from a witness about the shooting case I’m working.”

Gates leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms at that. “The shooting that took place at the funeral.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The shooting involving Mr. Castle taking a bullet for you.”

Beckett squirmed slightly, both uncomfortable and unsure where the conversation was going. “Yes, Sir.”

Gates studied the younger woman for a moment. “I hope you shared the statement with Detectives Ryan and Esposito.”

“I did.”

“Good, it’s their case. You’re not on this one.”

Beckett’s eyes widened. “Sir, it’s my case!”

“No, Detective. It’s not. I decide who works what case around here, and I won’t stand for a detective investigating their own shooting.”

“Sir, I wasn’t shot.”

“As the Mayor has been so quick to point out to me, you would have been if not for Mr. Castle. You’re too involved, Detective. You can help connect the dots from inside these walls, but you are not to do any field work in this case.”

“Sir…Castle…”

“Is a civilian who was shot protecting an NYPD detective,” Gates interrupted.

“He’s my partner. You have to let me find the shooter.”

“No, he's a civilian consultant who bought his way into playing cop, not your partner. And I don’t have to let you do anything. That is all, Detective.”

Beckett stood there, at first not believing the conversation that had just taken place, and then not sure whether or not she could or even should fight this. “Yes, Sir,” she stated lowly before heading out of the office and closing the door behind her.

Ryan and Esposito watched as she came out of the office looking like her head was about to explode. “What did Gates want?” Ryan asked.

“To bench me on this case,” she huffed angrily.

The two men exchanged glances. “You know we won’t keep anything from you on this one,” Esposito promised her.

“Yeah, he’s right. Just because the captain won’t let you out in the field doesn’t mean we can’t use your help here.”

Beckett clenched her jaw before releasing a deep breath. “Thanks,” she murmured, making her way to the break room for coffee. There was nothing else she could say. She was going to go stir-crazy in the precinct on this case.

xxxxx

Thanks again to everyone who is reading. I know I gave poor Beckett a hell of a day here, but I hope you’re still enjoying the story! I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter.

#castle #caskett #kate beckett #richard castle #castle fanfiction #always

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41319kbex · 2 months

Text

Hell Hath No Fury (4/?)

I still don’t own Castle…

xxxxx

“Beckett…you brought me coffee,” Castle greeted her with a smile.

“You can’t be surprised by that, Castle,” she stated simply. “Why wouldn’t I be trying to find the man who shot you?”

“Because he’s going to kill you, Kate!” he said in frustration.

She scoffed slightly. “I’m a cop, Castle. I can take care of myself. Besides, I’m not an easy target. I know they’re looking for me.”

She sighed, running her hand through her hair. “That’s not surprising. We don’t have much more than that either,” she admitted to him. “It’s like he just vanished.”

“Then let him vanish, Kate,” he pleaded with her, meeting her eyes.

“I don’t know. I supposed I would just recover at the loft. Why?”

“You’re trying to get rid of me,” he commented.

“Why would I do that?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Because if you’re still hunting the shooter by the time I’m released, you don’t want me here to stop you.”

Damn. She’d honestly hoped to avoid having to talk about her plan with him, but he knew her playbook too well, so there was no reason to bother trying to hide it anymore. “Castle, I’m

“Good morning, Richard!” Martha came striding into the room with a smile. Seeing her son and the detective seemingly caught in the middle of a tense exchange, she paused. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, Mother. Beckett was just leaving,” Castle answered, his eyes never leaving her and his voice laced with anger.

Martha watched the detective leave and then turned her eyes to her son. “What did I just walk in on?”

Castle clenched his jaw and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. “She’s going after the shooter.”

“Of course she is. She’s a police officer…that’s her job.”

“No, not like this. This guy is going to kill her, Mother, and she’s running straight toward him!”

“Richard, this is who she is! You’ve known that since you began shadowing her. She hasn’t suddenly changed, and yet you’ve always found a way to be by her side before.”

“This is different…”

“You’re right, it is,” Martha nodded her head. “It’s different because she cares about you.”

“Mother…”

“Welcome to being in love, kiddo,” Martha patted his hand sympathetically.

xxxxx

“Yo Beckett! How’s Castle?” Esposito asked when he spotted her coming out of the elevator.

“Fine,” she answered in a clipped tone.

He gave her a questioning look, but didn’t push. “He remember seeing anything?”

“So the shooter disguised himself to blend in…” Beckett realized. “Was anyone able to see his face?”

“Already with a sketch artist,” Ryan’s smile grew.

Before she could have another thought, a stern female voice came from the doorway of the captain’s office. “Detective Beckett! My office!”

Beckett’s head snapped around at the sound of her name, and she gave the voice a nod before looking back to the boys. “Who’s that?” she whispered.

“New captain started this morning. Captain Victoria ‘Iron’ Gates. Made her rank over in IA,” Esposito explained. “You missed her morning briefing when she took over this morning.”

“Great,” Beckett murmured, standing and heading toward the office. Giving a knock, she stepped inside. “Yes Ma’am?”

“If you see my mother, you can call her Ma’am. You will call me Captain or Sir,” she started, her eyes looking over the file on her desk.

This is going swimmingly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Detective. Youngest woman in the NYPD to make detective. You beat me by 6 weeks.”

“I didn’t realize that people kept score,” Beckett shook her head uncomfortably.

“Everybody keeps score, Detective. Especially those downtown,” she stated, finally looking up to meet the eyes of the other woman. “You missed my morning briefing.”

“Yes, Sir. I was getting a statement from a witness about the shooting case I’m working.”

Gates leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms at that. “The shooting that took place at the funeral.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The shooting involving Mr. Castle taking a bullet for you.”

Beckett squirmed slightly, both uncomfortable and unsure where the conversation was going. “Yes, Sir.”

Gates studied the younger woman for a moment. “I hope you shared the statement with Detectives Ryan and Esposito.”

“I did.”

“Good, it’s their case. You’re not on this one.”

Beckett’s eyes widened. “Sir, it’s my case!”

“No, Detective. It’s not. I decide who works what case around here, and I won’t stand for a detective investigating their own shooting.”

“Sir, I wasn’t shot.”

“Sir…Castle…”

“Is a civilian who was shot protecting an NYPD detective,” Gates interrupted.

“He’s my partner. You have to let me find the shooter.”

“No, he's a civilian consultant who bought his way into playing cop, not your partner. And I don’t have to let you do anything. That is all, Detective.”

Ryan and Esposito watched as she came out of the office looking like her head was about to explode. “What did Gates want?” Ryan asked.

“To bench me on this case,” she huffed angrily.

The two men exchanged glances. “You know we won’t keep anything from you on this one,” Esposito promised her.

“Yeah, he’s right. Just because the captain won’t let you out in the field doesn’t mean we can’t use your help here.”

xxxxx

Thanks again to everyone who is reading. I know I gave poor Beckett a hell of a day here, but I hope you’re still enjoying the story! I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter.

#caskett #castle #kate beckett #beckett #caskett fanfiction #castle fanfiction #richard castle

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legolasghosty · 4 months

Note

"i hate you" "there's people coming" and now they're making out

for Boggie cuz... y'know. :D please?

Ooooo okayyyy! Hehe I love these two, I don't get an excuse to write them nearly enough!

Bobby ducked into an alcove and let himself fall back against the wall, trying to get his breathing under control. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Nothing about tonight was going right.

In, 2, 3, 4, out, 2, 3, 4...

Having someone on his arm tonight was supposed to get people to leave him alone. Sure, Bobby had known it wasn't a permanent solution to the constant nagging over his upcoming ascension to the throne and his lack of a partner to sit beside him. But he'd expected his family and the court to be too relieved that he was showing serious interest in anyone to tear into any issues about who his 'partner' was.

In, 2, 3, 4, out, 2, 3, 4...

"Hey, you okay?"

Bobby flinched away from the voice, one fist clenching around the edge of his tunic. "I'm fine," he said, tone flat.

"Well I guess I'll just come be 'fine' with you then," Reggie said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he slid into the alcove across from Bobby.

Bobby forced himself to meet the eyes of his friend and 'partner'. Reggie was sweet, too sweet to be dealing with this disaster of an evening. Bobby should never have dragged him into this. He'd barely known the man for two months, for heaven's sake!

"Sorry, I figured you were someone else," he forced out. "Are you okay?"

Reggie shrugged. "I'm alright, nothing I haven't heard before."

Bobby felt his shoulders tensing all over again at the thought of anyone talking down to Reggie like that at all, let alone often enough for him to be so accustomed to it. He wondered just how far away Reggie was from. It must be within the country. Bobby could likely have a whole squadron of guards there in under 48 hours, ready to destroy anyone who dared to hurt the angel of a man before him.

"I'm sorry," he said. No reason to voice any of his true thoughts. "For my family and for dragging you into this."

Reggie inched closer, fingers brushing against Bobby's knuckles. "Hey, I knew what I was getting myself into. It's all good."

"No, it's not!" Bobby snapped. "No one should be saying those sorts of things about anyone, but I knew they would and I still brought you here."

"They're just careful because they care about y-" Reggie began.

"No they don't!" Bobby interrupted. "They tear into everyone they see as 'lesser', regardless of how good that person is or isn't. They enjoy it. They don't care about me, they just care that I'm the one who's going to be sitting on that throne next year."

He felt like he was going to tear his clothes with how tightly his fingers gripped them, but he couldn't seem to stop. The words kept slipping from his mouth. He couldn't turn it off.

"I mean, why the heck do you think I haven't dated anyone? There's never been anyone that I cared about enough to make it worth the pain my family would cause them. Sure I'm interested in someone every once in a while, but 'interested' isn't enough to keep anyone around after them. I might as well just die alone and childless and let the kingdom pass to someone who isn't as polluted as I am."

He finally stopped, breathing hard. Reggie was just staring at him. Bobby waited for him to run. That was the only logical thing to do. But the young knight didn't budge.

"What would it take for you to let someone in?" Reggie asked finally.

Bobby blinked hard, trying to make sense of the question. Hadn't he just said that was what he would never do? What he shouldn't do? But Reggie's face is so open and curious, how can Bobby deny him an answer?

"I guess I would have to love them," Bobby responded.

"Then what does that mean you feel for me?" Reggie asked, voice soft. "If you would have to love someone to bring them here, what does that mean for us?"

I love you, Bobby wanted to say. But he couldn't. He couldn't subject Reggie to the pain that was the life he was trapped in. The people he was surrounded with. The constant nagging and prodding and needling to make everyone else happy. Reggie was good. He should be free. And this was never real to begin with.

"I hate you," Bobby said, the words catching on his lips like the jagged lies they were.

Reggie's eyes flashed with something Bobby knew he despised, though he couldn't fully read it before it was gone. Then Reggie's gaze darted past Bobby's shoulder and panic took over his expression.

"People coming," was all the explanation Bobby got before Reggie was crowding into his space, hands cupping his jaw as the knight's mouth met his.

Bobby tried not to melt into the kiss. It was just a performance after all. But Reggie's lips were warm and his hands were gentle and Bobby couldn't resist the urge to twine his own arms around the other's waist, pulling him closer. Reggie let out a pleased sound and Bobby was helpless against the desire to run his tongue over the knight's lower lip. And when he was allowed entry into his mouth, there was no stopping him.

He knew it was wrong. But it felt so good, so easy, so freeing to kiss Reggie. The guiding motions of the hand sliding up into his hair reminded him of riding through the fields, both of them spurring their horses to go faster and faster as the wind yanked at their clothes. The soft moans that passed between their joined mouths were sweeter than any symphony Bobby had been forced to sit through as a child. The steady weight pressing him against the wall was the best kind of drowning. It urged him to let go, to sink, to forget the world of before.

And then it was gone. Bobby couldn't breathe. Reggie leaned back, glancing past him.

"They're gone, sorry about that," the knight said, his voice hoarse.

"Don't you dare apologize," Bobby managed, still struggling for air.

"You said you hated me," Reggie pointed out softly. "And then I kissed you."

Oh yeah. Bobby said that. He should say it again. For Reggie's sake. But he couldn't. Not with all the memories if their adventures together at his fingertips. Not with his gentle words rolling over him like the tides. Not with the phantom feeling of their bodies entwined consuming his thoughts.

"I don't," Bobby admitted before he could stop himself. "I don't hate you. I should, but I don't."

A smile lit up Reggie's face, small as it was. "Yeah?"

"I want you to be safe," Bobby sighed, "and safest would be away from me. But I don't know if I can be okay with that."

"You don't have to be," Reggie promised, grabbing his hand. "We can make this work."

"It's not going to be easy," Bobby warned. But the war was already lost. They both knew it.

"I love a challenge," Reggie joked, like he had the first time they met.

This time, it was Bobby who kissed him first. It was softer than before, more honest. A promise to try. And Reggie kissed him right back, sealing the deal. Well this was a terrible idea. But Bobby couldn't bring himself to care.

#legolas tag #legolas answers asks #julie and the phantoms #jatp #jatp fanfic #reggie peters #bobby shaw #boggie #vague royalty au?#fake dating au #bro I have no clue what the setting is here #they just decided to fill in random details here and there #while telling me nothing else #but gosh they're so cute!!!#dang it's been a minute since I've written a make out bit #hopefully it was okay #and I hope this lived up to your expectations!!!#I had a blast writing it!

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sixty-silver-wishes · 1 year

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Tumblr’s Guide to Shostakovich: An Uncomfortable Truth

Hello, everyone.

You may be wondering why I'm writing another essay on the subject of Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich today, right after another one I just finished recently. However, important information has come to light, information that cannot be ignored. As a researcher, it would be irresponsible and dishonest of me to hide this information from the public, especially on a subject I have devoted so much time and effort into researching. It pains me to reveal this information, but in the field of history, sometimes uncomfortable truths must be brought to light in order to further our understanding of the past. I have known this information for a very long time, and, I'm sorry to say, have withheld it from the public, as not to soil and degrade the image of such a beloved composer (although historically, plenty of people have soiled and degraded his image, so if that many people are doing it, it sort of seems like it might be fun), but I am done hiding this information and must share it with my devoted readers, lest they continue to consume lies, falsehoods, and half truths. I will waste no time in divulging this information to you all. To those of you whom, like I, love Shostakovich's music, I hope this revelation will not alter your view of those brilliant works which you hold in such high esteem.

The truth is this.

After three years of researching and analyzing sources, contacting experts, and learning as much as I could, I have come to this unavoidable conclusion-

Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich was a Tumblr Sexyman.

I know. It's very hard to process- I myself spent a very long time turning this devastating conclusion over and again in my mind, trying to think of another possible explanation. But the truth is, he fits all of the criteria and more to be considered one, and I can no longer ignore the truth and pretend it doesn't exist.

First, his physical appearance. Most Tumblr Sexymen, from The Lorax's Once-Ler to Hazbin Hotel's Alastor, wear dapper formalwear, often with coattails, a bow tie, and a button-up shirt. This is often the case as well with our dear Shostakovich. There are plenty of photographs out there of him in formalwear, playing the piano at concerts or conversing with fellow artists. His intellectual pursuits add to this qualification of seeming refined and classy as well- Shostakovich was an avid reader, and often quoted his favourite authors in conversation. His friend Isaak Glikman, perhaps the first person to observe Shostakovich's Tumblr Sexyman status, even notes this about his manner of dress in his younger years:

Some accounts portray the young Shostakovich as a puny, sickly weakling. This was far from the case. He was well-proportioned, slim, supple and strong; he wore clothes well, and in tails or a dinner jacket cut a most attractive figure.

Already, this reads like a fanfiction about any Tumblr Sexyman. In addition to the suit, Shostakovich was very pale and also wore his trademark round glasses, giving him a distinguished, intellectual appearance, and Glikman also cares to note his friend's "splendid head of light-brown hair, usually neatly brushed but sometimes 'poetically' dishevelled with a mischievous, unruly lock falling over his forehead." Indeed, Tumblr Sexymen often have playfully messy hair and sometimes distinctive eyewear, and Shostakovich is no exception.

But clothes do not a (Sexy)man make. A Tumblr Sexyman is not complete without a bit of darkness- sometimes an evil side belies their composed exterior, or, like Sans from Undertale, their goodness is tragically juxtaposed with some sort of great trauma they experienced in their backstory. Shostakovich seems to fit the second category, and as a result, was very withdrawn and mysterious. From a young age and well into his older years, he faced the deaths of loved ones, public humiliation, the horrors of war, constant thoughts of his own demise, numerous health issues, betrayals from friends, and of course, the ever-present demands of the Soviet regime. With most Tumblr Sexymen, a tragic history makes them intriguing to fans, and given the decades of musicological research and debate surrounding Shostakovich's own history and political ties, it seems his own backstory has proved to be compelling as well.

But a Tumblr Sexyman has ways of dealing with his troubles, and wouldn't you know it, Shostakovich fits this criteria as well. Tumblr Sexymen often have a sense of humour, joking and making sarcastic jabs to hide their pain and anxieties. They may give witty one-liners, tell puns, or even perform comedic or upbeat songs. And with Shostakovich, we see multiple accounts of his sarcastic humour, especially in his letters to Sollertinsky, a penchant for wordplay, even satirical musical pieces about his life experiences, like the "Antiformalist Rayok" and "Preface to a Complete Collection of my Works." He may not be singing about an evil plan like other Sexymen may, but the fact that these pieces exist certainly make it clear that he used music, comedy, sarcasm, and wordplay to cope with his anxiety or depression.

His chaotic unpredictability and political greyness clearly factor as well. While Shostakovich had a very strong moral center, his unique historical position in both expressing himself as an individual and an artist and being a dutiful servant of the regime meant he had a rebellious streak, which would surface when least expected. The composition of the joke-filled Ninth Symphony at the end of the war, for example, is seen by many as an act of rebellion, especially when compared to the earlier Seventh, and even in pieces like the Fifth Symphony, called a "response to just criticism" after the harrowing denunciations of 1936, subtle acts of resistance are interpreted in this work as well. Indeed, Shostakovich's political alliances are hard to place, and the fact that he lived by his own moral code first and foremost gives him an almost chaotic edge that would fit right in with any Tumblr Sexyman. Every time it seemed as if he had finally conformed to the expectations of the Party, Shostakovich would once again stir controversy with an innovative or subversive work, displaying a disregard for the strict rules of socialist realism underneath his quiet and unassuming exterior.

So yes, Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich was indeed a Tumblr Sexyman. He fits all the criteria, from his appearance, to his personality, to his backstory. I know this information may be hard to process, but it's the truth. But perhaps I'm overstating things. After all, as one of the greatest Tumblr Sexymen of all time once said, "how bad could it possibly be"?

(Happy April Fool’s Day! If this looks familiar, I posted it to my Reddit a few years back.)

#shostakovich #dmitri shostakovich #tumblr’s guide to shostakovich #classical music #music history #soviet history #composer #russian history #music

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random-xpressions · 5 months

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Did the confines of this world ever trim or clip my wings or is it that with each passing day my wings have only grown larger and stronger than my yesteryears? A little throwback into my oldest memory, when I first became conscious of gender segregation was when my eyes fell on some "vulgar" (semi nude) movie magazine at the young age of 6. Then until now, I've met and interacted with literally hundreds from the opposite sex, be that some silly attraction to a cousin or distant relative, or even some perverted wet dreams of some aunt or older lady in the neighborhood during my adolescent years, or even more specifically when in the year 1997 I for the first time in my life spoke with a girl for nearly 45 min over the phone at the prime age of 14, and then were the fun filled adventures one usually has during the younger years. Wait - why am I narrating all this? We'll get to that point but fast forward to where I stand today in terms of my relationship status is a subject that needs some light. For the records, I'm separated but that doesn't mean that I have severed completely from her, I must confess that I still miss my ex every single day of my life and that there are instances when I still weep, a little more profusely, when I remember her. A divorce only ends a marital relationship but never the soul bonding you had with someone, especially knowing that she had been the Queen of my life for a decade and had gifted me with two priceless gifts, my kids, an honour no one else on earth has been entitled to. So with much reverence she still holds a place in my heart that will never be effaced with time or even by anything that fate may as well choose to write. When I've scribbled someone's name into my heart, then destiny sounds way too feeble to come between us. But again what's ended has been ended for known reasons and quite consciously. So after paying much homage to the first lady, does that mean in any way that the "other women" that I have encountered in my life are by any means inferior? And does it even sound degrading to you that they are being mentioned as 'other women'? To me, I have grown from any such cheap measures to judge a woman in black and white terms. I'm as grateful to any feminine soul that has raised my level of experience in whatever subtle or obvious way it could be as I'm to my own mother who brought me into existence with much pain. Does it sound like a Casanova paying tribute to all his known and unknown mistresses? Oh bite your nails, if you so wish, and label me in whatever way you please, it barely makes any difference to me. Somehow society has portrayed any relationship with the opposite gender with much taboo and chastisement as if to say that a man or a woman having more than one soulful relationship is a sin one must feel guilty for - not to me at least. I declare it proudly that I've more souls in my life more dearer to me than myself than you could count on your fingers. Hence, to the contrary, I feel blissful for having known souls who are set ablaze in fervour, passion, intellect, beauty, charm, gentleness, dignity, honour, and above all divinity garbed in human skin - I see them, every single one of them - as pure reflections of heaven walking upon earth. Toast to the open hearted ones then - the ones I've met and ones I'm yet to meet. Heaven must be a place where we all get together for a grand feast and a wild dance!

Random Xpressions

#multiplicity

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mybiasisexo · 1 year

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Entangled - Part 7 Snippet

I feel soooo bad for the delayed update 😭. I want the next chapter out as much as y’all do, but this chapter is hard bro 😭. I’ve literally rewritten it like 6 times and even still I’m not satisfied with it 😪. So, here is a little treat!! Will this be in the final cut?? Shoot, idk tbh 🤷🏾‍♀️. But alas, for your patience ✊🏾😔. Appreciate y’all real bad!!! 💕💕💕

“Are you just going to stand there?” He asks. It takes you out of your hyperfocused stare and you blink up at him, catching the way he grins. He must know what he’s doing.

You clear your throat and start taking off your heels before walking over to him. He remains standing stalk still, his breaths controlled as you slowly prowl over to him.

You watch the way his irises blow out, darkening in a way you haven’t seen in years, but know all too well. When you’re about a foot away, you abruptly turn and sit on the edge of his bed.

He takes a deep grounding breath, running a hand over his face as he lets out a tortured groan before falling onto the chair holding his jacket.

A silence falls over you, but it’s not awkward like it had been in the elevator. If anything, it’s heavy with the weight of your attraction you both have for each other. That attraction is somber though, with the pain you both carry as well. With him so near after so long, the pain in your chest feels ten times heavier. You aren’t sure if you’re going to burst into tears, or maul him–you’re sure either option would lead you to regret. So instead, you stare at your lap, where your hands knot almost painfully into each other. He’s not making matters worse. If anything, you’re getting more self conscious with the way you can feel his heavy gaze. You find it a bit exasperating.

“Can you stop that?”

“Stop what?” He asks in confusion. The way his voice has deepened doesn’t pass you.

“Staring,” you clarify, lifting your gaze up to him. Once your eyes lock, he turns away shyly.

“I can’t help it,” he reveals quietly. “I just… can’t believe you’re really here. That….” He pulls gently on his earlobe, face turning pink. “That you’re in my hotel room. I feel like I’ll blink and you’ll be gone.”

He sounds so sweet, so sincere, so…heartbroken. That constant push and pull you’ve been feeling towards him this past few days hit you simultaneously. Part of you wants to dismiss him and try to deflect, but another part–that’s a lot bigger than you’d be honest about–wants to fall into his arms. You’re reminded again of last night, of how close you were to giving into him completely. If it hadn’t been for Yerim….

No, no. You can’t go there right now, not with you alone with him in such small quarters.

Time to change the subject.

“Why did you invite me here?” You ask.

“I wanted to apologize,” he reveals.

“For what?”

“There’s a lot to apologize for, I’m sure,” he begins, sinking more into his chair and leaning his head back so that he can stare up at the ceiling. “But I think the biggest thing right now is for last night.”

“You remember?” You ask skeptically. He was really drunk and, well, a lot happened in a short amount of time. A lot that you both need to unpack to be able to do…whatever it is you’re trying to do. You aren’t really sure. Closure, definitely. But what after that? You guess you’d just cross that bridge when you got to it.

“Trust me, the boys refused to let me forget,” he grumbles. That brings out your first grin since the wedding. They really are Team You, and are incredibly insufferable with it. You can only imagine the things Sehun said to him. Damn, maybe you should apologize as well.

“I don’t remember everything,” he says. “But they let me know how I made a complete fool of myself. That I…that I kissed you?”

The tips of his yoda ears turn an endearing shade of red, letting you know that he does indeed feel embarrassed over what the others told him he did. You wonder if he knows what he said to you. How he was practically begging you to take him back.

“You did,” you confirm.

#exo scenarios #chanyeol scenario #entangled #tbh I don’t feel like tagging lmao idc #will tag ppl that I feel would be interested later cause I’m working rn #but enjoy!! again so so soooo sorry for taking forever #😭😭

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voids-ideas · 20 days

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Hi, this is my main blog. Where I throw (reblog) almost anything I see

Below the "read more" you can find a lot of information that may or may not be important

Here I just want to say:

Hi again, please do not insult anyone in my posts or where I can see it, or in general, idk. Respect everyone, It's not that hard

Warnings

One of the things I must warn you is that I am often on the phone and just give fast reblog, so many things are not usually tagged.

I think it's worth mentioning that I occasionally reblog things that are sexual content or +18 in general… in my defense, I'm over 18.

I hope it doesn't happen, but I do occasionally enter debates. I apologize but it's a guilty pleasure. I know they serve no purpose, but I like to argue with people

Interactions

I love any interaction that happens on any of my accounts, reblogs, messages, likes, asks, if you do any of those things I probably screamed with excitement when I saw it

In the case of asks and messages, there is the possibility that I am slow to respond, I tend to panic in social interactions

Also I recently remembered that I've always liked to give advice, I don't know if I'm too good at it, but if at some point you want to try asking an internet random stranger…. you have my permission to talk to me, as long as I feel comfortable giving advice on the subject, I will give you some advice or idk

Blogs (Why the fuck is there no yellow I wanted to make the damn flag)

Good omens obsession here, good omens obsession there: @im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley

Helluva boss and Hazbin hotel over here: @mrfancytalkcreepyvoice

If you don't know anything about aftg I really ask you to find out about the trigger warning first, but this is my aftg blog: @neiljostenmakesmyday

Blog where I sometimes share things about disability: @all-the-things-i

And this is my main blog. I define it as: Chaos

Fandoms

Things you may (or may not) see on this blog:

Good omens

Our flag means death

Interview with the vampire

Percy Jackson

Grishaverse

House MD

She-ra and the princesses of power

All for the game

The hunger games

Willow

Heartstopper

Heartbreaking High

Hannibal

Prodigal son

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

Marvel

Star wars

Nimona

The magnus archives