#and this is why I shoul not be allowed to be in ten feet of a chemistry book goodbye

[parkers-gal]

Part 2 of Harry thought she was cheating on with tom" uhm you should do it if you want or not.

Harry wants know the expalantion. Why did y/n and tom are soo soo close??

its okay if you dont want do it :))

hiii sorry it took so long ! :( that piece is called “what’s his.” here’s pt two !! <3

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With two days gone, you feel it’s probably time for you to stop ignoring Tom. After your fight with Harry, you thought it best to not interact with any of the Hollands until things settled, but right now you’re in desperate need of some comfort, and Tom doesn’t deserve to lose a friend because you’re in a rough patch with his brother.

He’d called you an extraordinary amount of times, checking on you and asking questions and offering his help whenever it was needed. You hadn’t answered until today, and he’d replied within seconds.

You were going over to their flat. Tom promised Harry would be out with Sam and Harrison, so you wouldn’t have to deal with awkward encounters or situations. You’re grateful, at least, that your fight with Harry hasn’t splintered your friendship with Tom — at least, not as much as you thought it might.

The beep of your car brings you out of your head — you realize you’re at Tom’s house a lot faster than you thought. You’re on time, though, but you’re not as mentally prepared as you’d like to be. You’re a bit distressed, and noticeably so. Fighting with Harry wasn’t fun.

“Hey, Y/N/N.” Tom greets you as he opens the door, stepping aside to allow you inside. You smile nervously, awkwardly, and you manage to remove your shoes and settle on the couch. Tom has movies and ice cream pulled up, your favorite blanket splayed out on one end of the couch.

As you settle, he sits beside you, hands in his lap while he smiles gently.

“Do you… wanna watch a movie? Or… maybe talk about what happened?” He swallows thickly. “I’m here if you need to vent or- rant or whatever they say nowadays.”

You chuckle, almost dryly, but nod nonetheless at his offer. Ten minutes go by with you talking, and somehow you’ve shifted closer to him. Another ten minutes pass and you’re crying into his shoulder about the entire ordeal, hugging his side, leaning into him as another tear falls.

He takes his time with you, calming you down before talking quietly. He’s rationalizing the issue with you, telling you the things Harry said. He knows he shouldn’t, because this really isn’t his business, but he can’t help it. He wants things to work out between you and his brother.

The front door opens, though neither of you hear it through your talking. Harry comes through the hallway, and when he catches sight of you cuddled into his brother’s side, he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Tom notices him first, and when you follow his eyeline, you quickly separate from Tom, standing as you attempt to go over to him.

“Harry- Harry it’s not what you think-!” You don’t get to say anything you want to, because as he runs up the stairs, his bedroom door slams loudly, leaving you a puzzled puddle at the bottom of the staircase.

When you turn slowly on your heel, you’re close to crying again, and when Tom makes a move to hug you, you step back.

You’re muttering words as you grab your bag and make for the door. “Tom, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea, I- I shouldn’t have come.”

You leave him in the doorway, quickly situating yourself in the driver’s seat of your old car. Tom is sighing to himself, hands rubbing his forehead while he slams the door with a “shit.”

When he turns around, Harry is on the staircase, making his way down. He’s furious, angrily making his way towards Tom. Only, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he walks right past his older brother and straight into the kitchen. Tom finds nothing holding him back as he runs after him.

“Harry- Harry please, wait.”

“No.” He harshly closes the fridge after getting a cup of yogurt out from the pack on the top shelf. “I don’t care for whatever you have to say.” “No, but I want you to know there’s nothing going on between us-”

“Does it look like I give a fuck?” He sets his spoon down on the counter, fingers gripping the edge of the marble in anger. “You’ve already stolen her from me, it doesn’t matter anymore.” As Harry leaves the kitchen, Tom’s anger bubbles into the air, and he can’t stop himself from yelling at his younger brother.

“I didn’t ‘steal’ anyone! It’s your fault that you were too insecure to talk to her instead of accusing her of cheating on you.” Harry turns around slowly, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching and eyes darkening. He drops the cup of strawberry yogurt, the spoon clinking on the hardwood. In a matter of seconds, Harry is lunging at his older brother, about to swing a fist, but luckily, Harrison is by his side in the nick of time. He’d arrived just on time, noticing Harry’s stance and recognizing the signs of when Harry is about to swing a throw.

“Stop, stop.” Harrison’s voice is a loud and stark contrast to the tense silence between the Holland boys.

“Fuck off.” Harry shoves Harrison hands off of his arms, storming out of the room, leaving a breathless Tom and a panting Harrison.

“What the fuck was that about?” Harrison gestures to the entire room, to the direction in which the boy had walked out. Tom doesn’t reply, too caught up in the events that were just portrayed in front of him. “Care to explain?” Harrison gets louder as more time passes, and Tom nods, gesturing for him to stop yelling.

“I just… Harry walked in on me and Y/N.”

“Oh god, Tom.” Harrison cuts his explanation short, and Tom is quick to clear up the image.

“Not like that. We were just- we were just talking. She started crying so I hugged her and then Harry found us like that.” “So Harry walked in on his brother hugging his girlfriend.” Harrison stated bluntly, clearly.

“Pretty much. But then he got angry so she left so I tried to clear things up but then he got angry and we yelled at each other and-” “And what did you say to him?” Harrison gives Tom a side eye, and Tom winces at himself.

“I… blamed him for everything.” “Jesus, Tom.”

“How was I supposed to know he was gonna throw a punch?!”

“You weren’t, but you should’ve known you were gonna piss him off even more!”

Tom scoffs, head tilting backwards while he looks at the ceiling in thought. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You need to stay out of their relationship.” Harrison doesn’t sugarcoat what he thinks needs to happen. There’s no happy ending for you and Harry if Tom doesn’t stay out of the waters until it clears up.

“But-”

“No, Tom.” Harrison’s shoulders sag slightly. “Look, I know she’s your friend too, but that’s Harry’s girlfriend. You’ve… I don’t know… caused tension? You’ve gotten in between them. They need to bond again.”

“No, yeah, I know. You’re right.” He sighs. “I just… I don’t know if this is all my fault? It’s not my fault Harry said those things to her.”

“Yeah,” Harrison sips a glass of water. “But you should give them space until they make up.” Tom hums, nodding as he crosses his thick arms. “You know, you could start by explaining why the hell you and Y/N are so close.” Tom eyes him while biting his bottom lip.

“She’s…. Taking online courses so she can get into screenwriting. I’m trying to get her an intern for an upcoming film I’m working on.” He confesses as if it’s the most taboo thing in the world. “She wanted to surprise Harry by saying she’s coming with us for filming. We just- we don’t know if it’s final yet, so we didn’t want to tell him anything.” Harrison rolls his eyes, almost unsurprised at the predicament. “Well, stop making work seem so unprofessional. Harry can handle time away from his girlfriend if it comes to that.”

“Right. I suppose I should talk to her.”

“And then get her to talk to him, yeah.”

“Kay,” Tom grabs his car keys and a jacket before waving goodbye to Harrison, the door clicking on his way out.

**

You’re not sure how Tom convinced you to go to Paddy’s rugby game, but you’re here nonetheless. You have a jersey on under your cardigan, jeans fitted nicely while you stand with your arms crossed. It’s cold and dark out, so the field lights are on and they’re brighter than light mode on your cell phone.

Tom said he’d meet you here, at the bottom of the bleachers. The game has already started, and while you’re mediocrely cheering with the rest of the crowd, you’re still hyper aware of the fact that you’re alone. When you feel a presence next to you, you realize Tom has taken a stance on your left side, Harry on your right.

With a thick swallow of your dignity and courage, you step closer to Harry. “Do you… wanna talk?”

He chews on his lower lip but nods almost confidently. You shiver as the two of you walk towards a popcorn stand. It’s quiet for a good few moments, beats passing with just the rustling of grass under your shoes.

“I’m… sorry about everything I said. I know you’d never cheat on me.” He’s first to break the silence, rough deep voice cutting the tension and breaking the ice. “I just- I get so insecure whenever you’re with Tom. I don’t feel like a good boyfriend when you’re always with him.”

You can tell he’s sucked in his breath, a sure sign that if he doesn’t compose himself, he’s going to start crying. You take the opportunity to reply.

“I know,” You breathe out. “I was… maybe a little too close to Tom. I just- I didn’t realize, y’know? It seemed like you were fine with it but the dynamic got weird and- I’m just… I’m sorry too. I should’ve tried to… help you with your insecurities instead of doing… what I did.”

He nods, watching his feet take each step. “I missed you.” He confesses it just as the two of you come to a stop in front of the popcorn stand. You lick your lips, breathing out a helpless chuckle.

“I really missed you, too.”

When he takes a step closer, you realize what he’s initiating, and you embrace him strongly, holding him tightly, squeezing him. He inhales your scent, sighing to himself and exhaling in relief to have you back in his arms. You smile against his shoulder, bringing him closer, if possible.

“‘M sorry.” He’s grumbling into you, voice rasping. You can tell he’s a bit emotional, so you squeeze him again, pulling apart to look at him.

“‘S okay.” You smile, bringing his face closer to yours. “We’re okay.” Your fingers are under his chin while he nods, and suddenly, your lips are embracing, kissing sensually just as they have so many times before. He can taste your coconut chapstick, and he smiles into the kiss, hands on your waist gently.

“We’re okay.”

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #harry holland fic #harry holland angst #harry holland fluff #harry holland imagine #harry holland blurb #harry holland fanfic #harry holland twoshot #harry holland oneshot #harry holland miniseries #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #tom holland fic

[awritingtree]

Until Every Star In The Universe Dies

Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Everyone talks about war and its hardships but no one talks about its aftermath. No one talks about the pain of having to learn to live without the love of your life.

@weasleydream‘s 500 followers writing challenge - Song prompts! Prompt 22. “Take me back to the night we met.” (Lord Huron - The night we met). I’m sorry this took so long 💙

Words: 4k

Warnings: a bit of fluff, sadness, mentions of war, mentions of violence, mentions of death, character death (Fred lives don’t worry), depression, mourning

A/N: well all I’d like to say is I’m sorry....... I hope this doesn't flop because I really put a lot of work into this fic 😂 but I did write it during exams so like hopefully you all like it xx

A big big big thank you to @iliveiloveiwrite​ for helping me with this fic 💙

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

I am not the only traveller Who has not repaid his debt I've been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met

Fred sat in the Great Hall surrounded by all the survivors. The battle was over, Voldemort was dead. But then why did he not feel the want to rejoice like everyone else around him? Why did he feel numb to his surroundings - the sounds, whispers, light, joy, everything? It was because the one person that mattered the most wasn’t there with him. How did any of this matter, winning the war and defeating the darkest wizard of all time, if he didn’t have her by his side? He’d lost his person; nothing mattered anymore.

If Fred wasn’t lost in his head, he would’ve noticed George making attempts to get him to talk. But he was lost in his thoughts, reliving every moment they’d both had together; their first date, their first kiss, their first I-love-you, the first time they’d met.

Y/N was walking through the corridors of Hogwarts late at night, heading back to her common room after a tedious evening detention. She was completely exhausted, the reason for which she’d gotten detention was completely unreasonable and spending her entire evening scrubbing cauldrons clean seemed to be a harsh punishment for being ten minutes late to Potions, in her opinion. But that was Professor Snape, always hating on all students and making their lives a living hell.

She sighed, massaging her aching hand as she made her way through the barely lit corridors, her fear of the dark driving her to reach the common room in record time.

Suddenly something knocked into her with a force so strong causing her to go crashing to the floor. She barely had a moment to comprehend what had happened before a warm hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her up and along with them as they ran through the corridors, turning at corners and running up the many stairs. She could see the back of a red-hair’s head, a Weasley no doubt, a twin perhaps from the late-night escapade he seemed to be upon.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to pull her hand back with no success; his grip was too firm.

“Mrs. Norris. Filch,” was the only thing that fell out of the twin’s mouth as he quickly shoved a tapestry aside before pulling her into the small space the tapestry was hiding with him.

“What the he-” Fred covered her mouth with his hand.

“Shh,” he said, pressing a finger against his lips.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him but stayed quiet knowing she’d regret it if she didn’t listen to him; he was more experienced than her in these situations. Soon enough, the purrs of Mrs. Norris and the shouts of Filch echoed across the corridor.

“I know you’re here! Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Filch’s footsteps and shouts drew closer.

She held her breath as they momentarily paused outside the tapestry before continuing onwards, releasing her breath only when she could no longer hear them. She turned to look up wide-eyed at the chocolate brown eyes staring down at her in curiosity. Both their chests heaved heavily, trying to get enough oxygen into their lungs.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Fred in question once she’d caught her breath, “And what exactly were you doing that Mrs. Norris was after you?”

“I don’t want to know,” she stopped him from answering her question.

“Now that’s a smart decision, love,” said Fred with a smirk, “What were you doing out so late?”

“That’s none of business,” she rolled her eyes and stepped away from Fred, moving the tapestry aside to get out of the cramped space.

“Well, um, thank you I guess,” she stammered out before awkwardly turning around, making her way towards her common room again.

“You never told me your name!” she heard Fred shout out after her.

She spun around, continuing to walk backwards in the direction she was heading, watching a grinning Fred stand next to the tapestry.

“Y/N Y/L/N!” she called back before racing away as the shouts and purrs of Filch and Mrs. Norris headed towards them once again.

She giggled hearing Fred curse out loud as she ran away. She thought this would be the first and last time they would interact. But unbeknownst to her, a friendship would blossom between the closest trio of friends Hogwarts had seen; “Closer than the Marauders,” McGonagall would come to say in a few years.

And then I can tell myself What the hell I'm supposed to do And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you

Fred found himself in a slump, one that he couldn’t seem to get out of. All his days now consisted of laying in bed; hiding away from the world, reliving every memory he had with her. On some rare days, he would pull himself out of bed to go and sit in the garden not uttering a single word, only looking out into the horizon. George would join him at times, sitting there in silence until the last light of the day had faded away, replaced by the glowing moon and twinkling stars.

On that particular day, Fred was roaming around the room absentmindedly. He was not sure what to do, not sure what he could do anymore. His want for living, waking up each day and facing the world was gone, buried six feet under the ground, soul floating up to the sky to become one of the stars she’d always admired.

He suddenly bumped into a table, all the things he’d been avoiding piled onto it, falling onto the floor with a loud crash. The soundbox he’d gifted her fell open, a familiar bittersweet melody echoed throughout the quiet Burrow.

It hit him all at once, the first sob fell free from his body as he sank onto the cold, wooden floor.

The door to the bedroom flew open as George hurried in. The tune had reached his ear and he knew that nothing good would come from it. George rushed to the hunched-over figure and gathered him up in his arms.

Fred’s breaths came out in gasps, he was struggling to breathe; the walls felt like they were closing in, pushing all the air out of the room. Tears streamed down his face.

In the kitchen, Molly could be seen gripping onto the countertop, her knuckles white, not being able to deal with the gut-wrenching sobs that sounded through the Burrow.

George remained quiet, holding his best friend and rocking him back and forth.

“It hurts. It hurts so much,” Fred cried out.

George’s heart broke at the raw heartbreak in his brother’s voice.

“I know. I know,” George said softly, trying to keep himself together.

“Make it stop, please. Please make it stop,” Fred pleaded, clawing at his chest.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this without her, George. Bring her back.”

George held Fred in his arms, heart aching for his two best friends; one dead and the other may as well be. He wished he could bring her back. He missed her too.

“Take me back,” Fred muttered over and over again, pleading the universe to rewind time and let him live these past seven years with her again.

“Take me back to the night we met.”

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

What was he supposed to do without her in this world? They had their whole life planned out. They were supposed to get married after the war and live out the rest of their days with each other in a small home at the edge of the ocean. They were supposed to dance early in the morning every day as they made breakfast, and come back home to welcoming arms each night after an exhausting day of work. They were supposed to have their own children, grow grey and wrinkly together; help the other when their bodies had begun to fail.

Fred twisted the ring between his fingers, staring at what-should-have-been; the simple gold ring that belonged on her finger, not dangling from the chain around his neck.

“You really love her, don't you?” asked Molly as she watched her son stare at his girl who, in Molly’s eyes, was the perfect match for him.

Fred adored her; he adored everything about her. And everyone in the presence of the both of them could see it; could feel the love radiating from them. He was devoted to her, worshiping the ground she walked on.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the sofa which Ginny was leaning against as she sat on the floor. The soft orange light from the crackling fire lit up the side of their faces. Christmas music drifted through the Burrow from the radio in the background.

She was wearing one of Fred’s jumpers, the sleeves folded up to her wrists to allow her fingers to weave through Ginny’s soft ginger hair, so much like her brother’s; dutch-braiding it into two sections. Fred watched Y/N throw her head back laughing at George’s joke, the sound of her laughter bringing a smile to her boyfriend’s face.

Fred’s eyes didn’t waver from her as he answered, “I’m going to marry her mum.”

His eyes drifted away from her to look at his mother, “I know we’re only seventeen and we’re still young but there can be no one but her.”

Molly teared up at seeing Fred speak so maturely, the same boy she thought would never settle down, always busy with pranks and whatnot.

“Oh, Freddie,” she said, pulling him into a hug.

Fred groaned at his mother’s overly affectionate and emotional tendencies but gladly accepted the hug. He watched over his mother’s shoulder as Y/N looked up towards their direction, her eyes meeting his, and sent him a small smile before returning her attention to George and Ginny’s hair.

“Come back to me,” he whispered into the abyss.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met

Fred crawled out of bed one morning. It was extremely early but sleep would not come to him. He’d been tossing and turning all night long, but he supposed he could count this as the most sleep he’d gotten in months. The nightmares from the battle; the wall crumbling, her lifeless body flashing in front of him every time he closed his eyes, keeping him awake.

The circles under Fred’s eyes were darkly visible from several feet away, his cheeks had become hollow from the lack of self-care. His unruly hair had lost its bounce and shine, his eyes had lost their light.

His feet lightly padded across the room, closing the door softly behind him. He carefully made their way down the stairs, avoiding the steps he knew would creak so that no one would wake up. 

Fred waved his wand to get the water boiling for some tea as he entered the kitchen. He sighed and sank into one of the chairs, resting his head in his hands which were propped against the wooden table by the elbows. He clenched his hair, pulling at it, as tears started to make their way down his face as his mind drifted away.

It was a quiet summer morning. The sun had just begun to rise, soft, warm golden beams infiltrating the Burrow’s windows through the white lace curtains. Y/N and Fred were the only people awake in the house.

Y/N was preparing the kettle for morning tea as Fred stood leaning against the counter admiring the love of his life. She was protected against the early morning cold by one of Fred’s sweaters that Mrs. Weasley had knit ages ago. Fred had long since outgrown it but it fit perfectly on her petite body.

She jumped slightly as she felt hands wrap themselves around her waist and a body pressing against her back. She relaxed as Fred pressed a kiss on her trapezius before resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Come dance with me,” he whispered into the quiet of the morning.

“What?” she laughed.

Fred spun his girl around to face him and pulled her against him.

“You heard me,” he said with a smirk before proceeding to dance goofily around the kitchen with her.

Quiet giggles filled the air as they danced around the small space, Fred occasionally dramatically twirling her around.

As their energies started to drain, Y/N rested her face on her boyfriend’s chest slowly swaying to the music of their hearts, both their eyes closed and smiles spread across their lips in content. Fred rested his chin on her head. He held her flush against him, softly humming a melody he’d heard fall from her lips many times before.

The sound of the kettle’s whistle blowing and feet rushing down the stairs brought Fred back to reality. He quickly got up and moved the kettle, setting it on the kitchen countertop. He leaned against the countertop for a moment, attempting to pull himself together. He took a breath, wiping the remnants of a memory he’d treasure for all time to come.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he mumbled, heading towards the cupboard that stored the mugs.

Ginny frowned looking at the person in front of her; the person that was always so full of joy and life.

But now she was gone, taking his light away with her and all that was left behind was a human shell moving around the kitchen like a ghost of his past self.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears

“I’m scared,” Y/N whispered into the dark as she lay on her side.

She felt Fred shift around next to her in the bed so they were facing each other. The moonlight from the window highlighted Fred’s features; the flames on his head, the melted chocolate in his eyes, the constellations across his nose and cheeks.

Fred watched her, the scared look in her glazed eyes shining brightly through the dark room. But she still looked beautiful, ethereal in the silvery moonlight.

“Me too.”

They laid there in silence, staring into each other's eyes, relishing in the feeling of being in the other’s arms because who knew if they would be able to do this again. The war was coming, everyone could feel it. The darkness looming over the world had reached its optimum point, the muggles noticed it too whether they knew what it was about or not.

“If anything happens,” she started.

“Hey, let’s not talk about such things,” said Fred softly, raising his hand to caress her cheek, “Nothing is going to happen to you, my love. I promise. I am going to make sure nothing happens to you.”

“If anything happens,” she persisted, “Just know I love you. I will love you until every star in the universe dies and their light can’t be seen anymore.”

“And I’ll continue to love you after that,” whispered a teary-eyed Fred with a loving smile, before leaning into a kiss.

Their lips moved slowly and gently against each other, treasuring this moment for it could be one of their last.

They laid in bed in each other’s arms that night. Sleep was the last thing on their mind as they exchanged small kisses and quiet I-love-you’s, and wiped each other’s tears away. They stayed awake as the morning light streamed into the bedroom lighting up the world in a soft orange glow, staring at each other knowing that could very well be the last night they got to do this.

When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

Fred’s fingers danced across the frame, tracing her face. Tracing her face the same way that her fingers would always trace his freckles; playing connect-the-dots. A loving smile would appear on his face as he’d feel her fingers ghosting over his cheeks and nose, eyes shutting in pleasure.

He saw his broken reflection staring back at him as a teardrop trailed down his cheek and fell onto the glass.

It was a picture from the first day after their seventh year was over, their first time together at Weasley Wizards Wheezes. They’d made their way there right after the Hogwarts Express had arrived at King’s Cross station.

It was the day they’d decided to move in together.

It had been a few months since they’d seen each other; each moment away from each other felt like years. He had not felt her body as he held her against him, fitting together like missing pieces of a puzzle. He had not seen her beautiful eyes or heard her angelic voice. He craved her vibrant presence like he had never craved anything before.

“Freddie!”

Fred turned around towards the sound only to feel someone jump on him. He stumbled back due to the force, holding the person tightly against him. Y/N clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands around his neck. Her face was buried in his neck whilst his was buried in her hair, breathing in the intoxicating scent he’d missed the past few months.

“I missed you,” Fred said quietly.

Y/N pulled away, standing again with Fred’s help.

“I missed you too,” she said, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. He still looked the same: the same sturdy body, the same ginger hair and chocolate brown eyes. The same chapped lips that were always pulled in an infectious smile, the same hands that never failed to ignite the skin they left in their wake, trailing against every inch of her body like a blazing fire. The only thing different about him was his choice of clothes.

“What is that ghastly thing?” she questioned, staring at his dragon-skin clothes.

“You don’t like it?”

“No. As I said, it looks ghastly. I very much prefer you in your normal simple clothes but if you like to wear this… Well go ahead, I won't stop you. It is your choice.”

Fred chuckled at his girlfriend and leaned down to kiss her nose.

“You’re lucky you’re cute or I’d be extremely offended.”

“Oi! Stop hogging her all to yourself,” said George before pulling Y/N out of his twin’s arms and spun her around as they hugged.

Fred watched the interaction with a smile on his face thinking they already behaved like a brother- and sister-in-law would.

He wished the shop could’ve waited till their final year was over, instead of starting it in the middle of their seventh year.

Looking back on it now, Fred hated the decisions made from his side. He could only think about all the time he had missed out on - a few months of time that could’ve been spent with each other.

“Should’ve stayed together,” he thought as he held the picture against his chest, sobbing into the silence of the night.

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

The world that was once orange and warm, was tinged blue without her. Food no longer had any taste, the sun was no longer warm, birds no longer chirped, the butterflies in his stomach had abandoned their home. Music was no longer mellifluous, the joke shop was no longer humorous, home did not feel like home anymore. His heart no longer beat.

The world was dull and bleak without her; hopeless. The fundamental part of his very being, his core felt broken; irreversible, never to be mended again.

In a single moment, his entire world had come crashing down around him. Irretrievable.

“Why? Why did you leave me? Why do I get to live whereas you died?” he asked, his throat constricting as he compelled himself not to cry.

“Why? Why did you push me out of the way?”

“NO!”

The air exploded just as soon as he felt someone push him out of the way. His body flew through the air as the sound of the wall collapsing rumbled through the corridor.

Fred groaned as he sat up, moving the stone and wood aside. His eyes burned because of the dust floating through the cold air blowing in from the side of the castle that had been blown open due to the sheer force of a casted spell.

He hurriedly got up as he remembered what he’d heard right before the blast had occurred. He stumbled through the rubble, terrified, and began to search through the wreckage, having no care of the ongoing war around him.

He moved a large stone out of the way only to find a hand adorning a familiar ring that was shining through the debris.

“No. Please no. No no no,” Fred choked out, hurrying to move the broken wall pieces aside and uncover the body, hoping it wasn’t her even though deep down he knew it was.

The world fell silent as Fred fell onto his knees, numb to the shock that went up through his legs. He let out a blood-curdling cry at the sight of her unmoving body; eyes unblinking, staring up at the ceiling but seeing nothing.

He gathered her up in his arms, moving her hair and dust out of her face.

“Wake up love,” Fred begged. “Please. Oh Merlin, please no.”

He held her face against his chest, trying to protect her from harm, clinging onto her, refusing to let go. Even as Percy and Ron tried to pull him away to get to safety, Fred did not budge.

“Wake up. Please love. Please,” he pleaded to someone who would never hear him again, who would never respond to him again.

Her unseeing eyes stared ahead hauntingly as Ron ripped Fred away from her body and dragged him away from the impending danger. Fred continued to fight against Ron, shouting at him to let him go. He couldn't leave her alone, he had to get back to her. She couldn’t wake up all alone in the middle of an ongoing war.

“No! I can’t leave her alone! Let me go! LET ME GO!”

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met

“I miss you. I miss you so damn much. Come back to me, please,” Fred sobbed with a hoarse voice.

He still had a hard time believing she was gone. She had so much left to do; her future was filled with so much promise. So many days not lived, so many words not said.

Fred would risk his life, give everything away, his soul, if only he got to see her smile, hear her laughter as she laughed at one of his jokes once again.

“I can’t do this without you. Please, I need you.”

Fred didn’t know how long he stayed there, crying to the dead.

The sun had started to set; the yellow, orange, red, purple and blue blending together in the picturesque scenery; one that artists wrote poems about or created paintings of.

He sighed realizing he had to leave soon or his mother would get worried and send out a search party after him. He wiped his blotchy face using his sleeves as he got up, looking around the cemetery melancholically.

The first smile, in months, broke out on his face, similar to the rays of sunshine peeking through the breaks in the clouds after a storm, as a gentle breeze grazed his cheeks, the feeling equivalent to fingers tracing the freckles on his cheeks and nose, playing connect-the-dots.

“I will love you until every star in the universe dies and their light can’t be seen anymore.”

“And I’ll continue to love you after that,” Fred whispered softly, tracing the name on the stone before turning around and walking away.

Y/N Y/L/N

A loving friend, daughter and fiancé

“For every dark night, there's a brighter day.”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

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[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Black Lives Matter, @omgbubblesomg donated $35, and requested Sam getting Dean back after the Michael possession, this time with some rather unusual accoutrements. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Sam manages to look normal for about ten minutes after Dean disappears into his room. Mom’s put off easily--he has her check on Jack--and the hunters from the other world are trusting and easy to reassure. He gives them the update, about the monsters they might see, and the second they’ve turned around he’s out of the map room, heading back through the maze of hallways, his heart in his throat.

He’s here. Here. Sam can hardly stand it. In that horrible little warehouse it was all he could do not to pin Dean against the wall and get his mouth on him and just--do everything, everything they’d ever done, to try to crawl inside each other, to make it so they’d never be parted again. They weren’t alone, though, and Dean was--hurt. Flinching, when he lost his strength and sagged down to the floor, and his face a ravaged tired thing. Sam touched him, couldn’t help it, but it was safe there on his forearm and on his knee, and Dean closed his eyes. Let him.

Sam knocks once, at Dean’s door, but opens it without waiting. He can’t wait, anymore. Dean’s standing at the sink, the stupid vest off and the button-down thrown on the floor, and he looks at Sam and Sam kicks the door back closed, locks it, and then takes the two steps and gets Dean in his arms and kisses him, pushing him back against the sink with the force of it, desperate and fierce. Dean grabs him back, fists into his hair and his jacket--bites at his mouth, breathing heavy--flinches again, when Sam gathers him closer, and Sam grinds his forehead against Dean’s and lets their noses brush against each other, their mouths close. “Sorry,” he says, but he’s not, and Dean knows it.

“Sorry,” Dean echoes, and tips his head. He winds his hand into Sam’s jacket. “I’m the one--”

“I don’t care.” Dean’s mouth firms, and he pulls back an inch, but Sam doesn’t let him go. He gets a hand on Dean’s jaw, tips it up. “Everything else can wait. Right?”

A beat. Dean’s ears are red, and his cheeks--he licks the corner of his mouth where it’s wet and looks to the side. “Sam, there’s--” He shakes his head. Something wrong. Sam lets his hand go light, lifts some of his weight away. Dean shifts, where he’s pressed back against the sink. “I--”

Sam’s attention’s caught by something else. “What’s that,” he says, frowning, and catches Dean’s arm. The skin’s still soft, pale gold and freckled despite the months in a suit, but there’s--a scar, a strange raised thing, marring the flesh. He pushes his thumb over it and it’s clearly healed but Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “It hurts?”

“No,” Dean says, brief, and licks his lips. Flushed still, miserable, and his head dips low for a second, two, before he reaches up and pulls the white undershirt off, over his head, and Sam’s mouth goes dry as he stares.

He should’ve noticed before, but he couldn’t feel it through his jacket and Dean’s face was all that mattered. Dean’s shoulders hunch, his hands tangled up in the undershirt he’s still holding. He’s--adorned. That’s all Sam can think to call it. His tattoo’s still there, pinned over his heart to match Sam’s, as it should be. The rest is new. Rings, pierced through his nipples, and a line of rings down his abdomen, seamless loops coming out of the skin where he’s always been strong but soft. Softer-looking now, in contrast against the metal. A fine chain, strung between the nipple rings and fed down in two lines through the loops on his stomach, and--further, past his belt where Sam can’t see. Symmetrical as a ritual.

“Does it hurt?” Sam says, careful. He thinks of Dean flinching, curled awkward in the passenger seat on the drive home. Dean shakes his head. He reaches out and gets his hands on Dean’s belt and Dean grabs his wrist, reflexive no. Sam stills immediately. “Dean?”

Dean breathes, shaky through his nose. “It’s--I haven’t seen it,” he says, low. “I can feel it.”

Sam traces his thumb up the soft skin of his belly, between the lines of the chains. “I don’t have to,” he says, offering, and Dean looks at him and like always it’s the gentleness that makes him fold. He lets Sam’s wrist go, braces his hands back against the sink, and Sam’s allowed to unbuckle, to unbutton, to unzip. He’s careful, opening up the slacks, and Michael--ah, wore snug soft boxer-briefs in creamy white, and Sam’s careful to lift the waistband away as he tugs down, and there--

“Fuck,” he says. Eloquent.

Dean looks down, and immediately covers his face. “Fuck,” he says, too, and--god, that’s all there is to say.

The rings continue, down the low curve of Dean’s belly below his navel, down to an inch above the root of his dick. There, they’re taken over by a cock cage--metal rings, again, locking Dean’s dick into a small curve, tucked cruelly tight over the swell of his balls. The chain keeps going, parallel lines around the cage. Sam goes down to one knee, trying to see--if it’s part of the locking mechanism, or attached somewhere else--and sees then that the cage--keeps going, the loop around Dean’s balls part of a larger structure, and he touches careful there, sliding his fingers back, and looks up at Dean’s face as he shudders full body when Sam figures out that the cage is connected to a plug, filling up his ass, and the chains lock in there, keeping the whole thing tight.

“Why?” Sam says. It’s the only thing he can think, beyond--the too much that’s filling him up.

Dean shakes his head, drags his hands through his hair. He looks obscene, from where Sam’s looking up at him. Beautiful. Wrecked. “He--” Dean licks his lips again. He’s staring down at his dick again, strangled in its loops. “He told me that I’d--wasted his body. That I needed to be controlled.”

His eyes are wild and he’s quivering, Sam realizes--fine shudders, quaking through the muscle. “He’s gone,” Sam says, and Dean laughs, short and unhappy, and Sam stands up and holds Dean around the shoulders and says it again, again, and Dean says finally, frustrated, “You call this gone?” and Sam says--”Okay. Okay. Let me help.”

Dean shakes his head, eyes closed, but he nods too. He’s bruise-tired under the eyes, still blushing all over. Sam walks him over to the bed, settles him carefully on the edge. Memory foam or not, Dean jolts when he sits and Sam swallows, thinking about Dean’s ass held open. “Okay?” he says, and Dean says, “No, dumbass,” but he lets Sam pull off the tangle of shoes and socks and slacks and briefs and then he’s naked, completely, in the soft light of the room, and Sam...

It’s not anything he thought he’d ever see, on his brother. Nothing he wanted. It’s strange and alien and it was done without Dean wanting it, and he doesn’t know--how they’re going to get rid of it. If Dean wants to get rid of it. He pushes at Dean’s knee, gets him to lay back, and spread out like that, trussed-up and offered like that--fuck. Yeah. It’s getting to Sam.

He spreads Dean’s knees, tries to ignore it. Gets his feet propped up and his thighs spread, so he can see. Alien, again, with his balls kept neat and tidy up against the root of his dick without Sam needing to hold them there. The chains frame his perineum and Sam slides his thumb down the space between, soft. Dean’s thighs clench. “Get the lead out, Sam,” he says, strangled, and Sam slips his fingers down. The plug. A curved metal piece connected to the metal around his nuts, thick around as one of Sam’s fingers. Disappears into his asshole. Slim, when Sam knows Dean can take more. The chain connects to a loop there, tiny, and Sam realizes that--it’s all of one piece. Like Michael welded it, somehow. He’ll have to get tools to get Dean completely free. He licks his lips, thinking.

Sam touches the plug, feels the heat of it where it’s swallowed up. “It doesn’t hurt?” he says, glancing up Dean’s body. Dean has his face buried in the crook of his elbow, but he shakes his head. Sam pulls at the plug, careful, and Dean gasps--his thighs clench--and Sam sees the thicker base of it, pressed up inside. He wonders how long it is and his mouth waters at the thought. He looks at Dean again, and sees the flush sweeping down his chest, an arrow of pink. His dick’s soft, because it has to be, but Sam chews the inside of his cheek, a molten thought taking over his head.

He tugs at the plug again, enough that the base pulls at the pink ring of flesh, and then rocks it back inside. Dean curses, grabs at the blanket. Sam breathes open-mouthed, his own dick filling up inside his jeans. The way Dean’s can’t. He does again, pulls harder and sees how the chain pulls, up until there’s a tug at the rings on Dean’s nipples, and then pushes it back in with three fingers so that he can feel the ripple of Dean’s asshole, desperate to close and unable to. “Does it hurt?” he says again, different, and Dean’s hips rock down against his hand, and he looks down his body at Sam, his face bright red, his eyes wet. Sam covers the whole thing with his palm, leaning in. “Dean.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Dean says, breathless, Sam crams his hand all the way up into the split of Dean’s ass and bends down to press a kiss just at the base of his dick, where the first ring starts, his lips brushing the lock he’ll have to pick.

Dean shudders and Sam breathes hot there, imagining. A vibrator, pressed hard against the metal loop on his taint--dragging the plug free, and making Dean ride him with his cock still locked up small and tight. Seeing how much he can make Dean leak. How much noise he’ll make, when Sam’s dug up inside him to the root and he’s got his teeth on the rings in his nipples, working them soft and relentless against his tongue.

“We’re gonna have to be quiet,” he says. His dick throbs at the look on Dean’s face. “Bunker’s full. You’re going to have to be quiet. Can you?”

Dean grips Sam’s shoulder, bruising. “Try me,” he says, breathy, and Sam surges up his body to kiss him. It’s going to be a long night.

#fffb #omgbubblesomg #wincest #my writing

[fates-end-does-vns]

Nogi Wakaba is a Hero: 1/2

that's a familiar looking face. sister or ancestor? sister or ancestor? 

that's a pretty karinish face there 

Second hero diary? What was the first?

>Nogi Sonoko joined the Sanshu Middle School Hero Club.

Starting in the present, I see.

>The Nogi Household's rose bath was like a hot spring.

ahh, wait, that illustration is for this scene isn't it yeah, now I see the black eyes instead of purple

>"That's a cute reaction~ I'm sure the readers would love a character like you~ my creative urges are rising~"

sononononono, don't break the fourth wall

unless you're making fanficion of your friends like fiw twilight, in which case I implore you to reconsider.

>"Yeah, that combination does sound like it could work. So next, how about Nogi?"

do not give sonoka a position of authority outside of combat. it will not end well.

>But yeah, right now, I think that out of all four candidates, I'd recommend Karin as club president. It'll probably be hard for her, but she is the 'perfect hero' after all, so I'm sure she can manage somehow."

ah right karin's more mellowed out now.

>"Okay, I'll read your fortune! ...Okay, I've got the results. This looks like it'll be a good romance!"

show me how you fucked up the tarot itsuki. I won't get too mad.

>"Well~ I'm not sure what I like exactly, but someone who's diligent and takes good care of others would be lovely~. It'd be even more fun if they were way too serious and got reckless from time to time, huh~"

sonogo you're just describing togou

>I wanted some material for my novels, so I asked for some history books to sent in from my family house's archive, and they sent me a huuuumongous amount of them.

HISTORY BOOKS GOTTEM

>"Books that escaped censorship... Those exist?"

fffucking taisha

burnin books too

>It was the same title as the diary Sonoko had recorded when she was worshiped, the Hero Diary.

ahhh so hero diaries are what the taisha make heroes write after they've reached their expiration dates

>It says the diary began to be recorded in July 2015.

so the treepocalypse happened in Next Sunday AD.

>"Nogi... Wakaba... Is she my ancestor~? If she wrote this diary, then does that mean my ancestor was a hero?"

caaaallllled iiiiiiit

y'alright there yuuna

(Prologue: End)

apocalypse magical girls from the far off future of 2018

what the fuck yuuna's is yuuna a time traveller a reincarnatee a cryogenically frozen supersoldier from the distant past

or is this just a coincidence

>Nogi Wakaba, a fifth grader at the time 

>a fifth grader at the time 

>fifth grader at the time 

>fifth grader 

are you fucking kidding me 

that was a joke

so nogi wakaba is basically blond sumi right 

why do these ten year olds have boobs

>One of the star-like objects fell onto the roof of the kagura-den. It was definitely not a bird at all. Its entire body was an almost unnatural white, its size far more gigantic than a human, with an ominous mouth-like organ.

and here's the vertices

>On unsteady feet, Hinata stood up. A strange light imbued her eyes and hex-like words leaked from her mouth.

ahh hinata's got the old possession style sayakafication fairies

I see they're taking the opportunity to do what they can't show on television.

>When she snapped back to her senses, Wakaba was standing up with that very sword in hand. She could've sworn the blade was rusted, but before she  had realised it, the blade was tinged with a vibrant, almost living brilliance.

we sure this is still the magical girl genre? this is giving me Eternity Sword vibes more than anything

>Some changed into a form like the edge of a section of body tissue, stiffening and rising up. (...They're... evolving...?)

that's not how evolution works.

>Three years later-- Nogi Wakaba was now a second year in middle school.

not expecting a time skip of all things. I'll be honest, I was enjoying the hellhole thing.

>Uesato Hinata is a Miko, one who hears divine voices.

miko, huh? interesting.

chapter 1 end.

the fuck is a doi

>After the invasion, a special tree by the name of "Shinju" appeared in Shikoku, and a giant wall made of plant tissue surrounded the island. It is said that the Shinju was the incarnation of the local gods, and the wall was a barrier it put up to stop the Vertex.

"appeared", "it was said". hm, hm, hm~♪

>"Uranophobia."

pff, uranus. but apparently it's "fear of heaven"

>Although it said "hearing the voice of the gods," it was not through common speech, but rather in the form of symbols and suggestive hints that instructions were transmitted to her.

symbols and suggestive hints, huh... so basically it's a horoscope.

>Only the purest of girls

"purest of girls"? what the hell does that even mean in this case

> are able to come in contact with the gods who detest impurity.

oh, the gods are fucking Lunarians.

>An area of the southeastern part of Lake Suwa in Nagano was, like Shikoku, also protected by a barrier where people could live.

...Another barrier? A second tree, or???

noodle discourse

>It let her feel safe knowing there was a friend out there fighting as well.

she's gon die isn't she

oh fuck I'm going to need to memorize at least five sets of speech patterns aren't I

>"I'm not fondling them! I'm trying to tear them off!"

i see hinata has more in common with togou than her hair color

this'll be a joy to get straight 

we even have multiple soft-spoken girls with long black hair 

interesting to note that yuuna's not pictured yet.

>Normal weapons were useless against the Vertex, only those that the Heroes wielded could inflict damage upon them.

so do the weapons have fairies in them or what

>"Taisha" was written with the characters for "Great Shrine," wait a fucking second is this a different organization

yeah yuuna's a time traveller.

chapter 2 end

guess blossoming is already a thing

for some strange reason I feel like wakaba's the only character who matters here.

>And yet Yuuna was less concerned about herself, and more concerned with Chikage who hadn't participated in the battle at all.

yuuna being yuuna

>The next moment, the cylindrical Vertex began forming a clear red plate-shaped structure.

cancer?

>Out of the infinite records available to her, the one Yuuna now chose was "Ichimokuren".

wait, so yuuna's choosing her fairy?

and stuffing it in herself, which is bad.

>Wakaba had dodged the Vertex's charge with the least necessary movement, and at the same time, she bit off part of the enemy's body with her teeth.

don't bite the alien wakaba

>"Wakaba-chan! You can't go eating weird things like that, okay!?"

pff.

chapter 3 end

so is she referring to actual blossoming here or what

>A foul smell hit her the moment she stepped inside.

welp

chikage's in a bad place

chikage's in a really bad place

>They both cursed her existence.

yikes

>Those who had hurt her once were now trying to get on her good side.

garbage people, the lot of them

>(My worth... is in being a hero...)

oh no this won't end well

>It allowed her to exist in seven different places at once. She wouldn't die unless all seven were killed at the same time.

and this is even one of the fairies mentioned in that report.

chapter 4 end

??? I don't get it

oh hey gemini

>"I see! So then maybe we can use the udon as a diversion if it reacts to it!" there is absolutely no way this will work.

>untamarable what kind of pun is that

chapter 5 end

wait a second is that part talking about udon did they censor udon and intelligent? why the hell would the taisha censor information about instant noodles 

>The one who saved her was Yuuna. She suddenly appeared in the midst of the swarm and started holding them off instead of Wakaba. are you sure yuuna's not the protagonist here

so to temporarily stop the vertexes the taisha allegedly went aztec on what were allegedly six mikos those wouldn't happen to actually be these six characters somehow, would they? and I guess Yuuna would be a zombie...?

end of chapter 6

so apparently the divine tree is blaming humans too? fuck that tree.

guess hinata's hair is purple now.

>"...Her consciousness still hasn't returned." so are comas normal for yuuna

this group is a lot less stable than the other ones.

>Now that it had been denied... just how should she fight from now on?

wakaba freaking out about her girlfriend leaving is cute

ah, anzu's trying to cheer her up by point out how many people she’s been helping.

>(But now... I have to get over it.) :V guess the therapists all got eaten

and Chapter 7 ends with another timeskip.

>And perhaps they would keep on changing. *glances at gin's funeral*

>Aki Masuzu clamoured in misery as she changed clothes. oh boy another new character

>However, all communications with Suwa had ceased after last September.

and another tree circle is confirmed just to be killed off lemme guess, they'll disappear one by one until shikoku's all that's left?

>Finally, the Shinju appeared at the end of the path. hup

even in a light novel, the tree isn't described

>Several of the small stars combined into a brilliance unlike anything I've ever seen... leo again?

>There are two kinds of honetsukidori. Chick uses spring chickens while hen uses more mature chicken meat. Chick is more plump, tender, and easier to eat, while hen has a deeper flavour that oozes out the more you chew on its tougher meat. stop it, you're making me hungry

>All Yuuna was doing was cheerfully humming as she cleaned Wakaba's ears-- but not even Hinata was a match for a technique like that. even in other characters' stories, yuuna reigns supreme

>The fierce battle foretold in the oracle in the midst of the war of humanity's last stand would later be called the Battle of Marugame Castle. Oh, so we're getting into a fight that's actually important?

[End of chapter 8]

hmm. you know what, there's only so long you can string me along with splotches of whiteout before I get desensitized to it.

>Would they just blindly increase in size, or would they guide their evolution into an intentional form? The latter.

>By that time, the black shadows wrapping around her foot had already disappeared. what the heck

>Suddenly, Tamako collapsed to her knees. really shouldn'tve tempted fate back there.

>The fairy she had extracted from the Shinju was Minamoto no Yoshitsune, a general with superhuman martial arts thought it was a divine tree, not a throne of heroes.

end of chapter 9.

So are they going on a "trip" outside the wall? Wonder if it's as much of a primordial hellscape as it is in present times...

>Many buildings had been blown out from the inside as if a chemical explosion had occurred within, and traces of heat-deformation could be seen. That's the first unpleasant thing they saw? Guess the vertexes haven't done... whatever to destroy the atmosphere yet.

>For dinner, they were boiling water in a pot to cook some udon they had brought from Shikoku. It was a dry-noodle kind of Sanuki udon that kept well. of course they're eating udon.

>After dinner, everyone went into the river to wash off their sweat. oh boy another fanservice scene bet there's a cg for this too yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

>"If I become a hero and do my best fighting the Vertexes, I can save people. If we keep saving people, then we can slowly but surely take back the world and bring it back to normal. At least that's what I think!" Yuuki Yuuna is a Hero, after all.

>After the heroes had annihilated the Vertexes, they decided to resume moving for the day. even the story is getting bored.

>"Th... there was supposed to be an Osaka-famous rare book store here! How terrible! The last copies of incredibly precious books could be lost to the world now!" all that devestation, and that's what makes you freak out?

>Instead-- they found a heap of several skeletons. That's... odd. They haven't found any bodies so far, have they? I figured the Vertex don't leave anything behind.

>Wakaba noticed a notebook on the floor. She picked it up and looked inside. It was the diary of someone who took refuge in this underground mall.

oh are we going to read a diary in a diary?

chapter 10 end

#noyublog #nogi wakaba is a hero #nogi wakaba wa yuusha de aru

[riverdamien]

Patiently Waiting

The Path of Waiting Mary Anoints Jesus at Bethany 12 Six days before the Passover, Jesus therefore came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. 2 So they gave a dinner for him there. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those reclining with him at table. 3 Mary therefore took a pound[a] of expensive ointment made from pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 4 But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (he who was about to betray him), said, 5 “Why was this ointment not sold for three hundred denarii[b] and given to the poor?” 6 He said this, not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief, and having charge of the moneybag he used to help himself to what was put into it. 7 Jesus said, “Leave her alone, so that she may keep it[c] for the day of my burial. 8 For the poor you always have with you, but you do not always have me. The Path of Waiting “Passion is a kind of waiting - waiting for what other people are going to do. Jesus went to Jerusalem to announce the good news to the people of that city. And Jesus knew that he was going to put a choice before them: Will you be my disciple, or will you be my executioner? There is no middle ground here. Jesus went to Jerusalem to put people in a situation where they had to say "Yes" or "No". That is the great drama of Jesus' passion: he had to wait for their response. What would they do? Betray him or follow him? In a way, his agony is not simply the agony of approaching death. It is also the agony of being out of control and of having to wait. It is the agony of a God who depends on us to decide how to live out the divine presence among us. It is the agony of the God who, in a very mysterious way, allows us to decide how God will be God. Here we glimpse the mystery of God's incarnation. God became human not only to act among us but also to be the recipient of our responses. And that is the mystery of Jesus' love. Jesus in his passion is the one who waits for our response. Precisely in that waiting the intensity of his love and God's is revealed to us”. Henri Nouwen Kafir wrote in fifteenth century: "Look what happens to the scale when love holds it. It stops working." Recently I sat with a minster friend and we discussed my ministry, it was one of the most insightful, and compassionate discussions in memory. She met with me to share my grief over Vicki's death, and the discussion became in the way my life is lived in ministry, I live it twenty four hours a day. It is a ministry in which the boundaries of the modern concepts of friendship are put aside, and I see everyone as my friend; friendship's are not a matter of age, race, social economic standing, religious back ground, none of this matters, it is one in which the views of people, the way they live their lives, be they different from mind, come down to loving them as a person, and does not distract me. Love holds the scale, as it did with Jesus in our story today. This is not a way of living that can be taught or that is easy, it is living it through the years, struggling each moment, to let go of our prejudices, hatreds, biases, and fears, and in so doing loving others without reservation. I was told that I have the gift of being an "emotional sponge", meaning that I am able to take in the emotional pain of others and hold it, keep it safe, so that they might have relief in the moment. Maybe it is a gift. I believe we are all called to be "emotional sponges", to hold the pain of others. I find myself keeping to myself much of my own pain because few people can hold it. They tell me find a therapist, and the reality is we all need to be able to share our pain, and in doing so free ourselves of much of that has isolated us in our society. It is not easy, today I am exhausted, as I am so many days, and I grieve, I am grieving hard Vicki's death, because she was my best friend, and I grieve every death of my kids, and I hold their pain, I need no words of sympathy, but what I hope to leave with my dying breath is that I have touched one life, made the difference in one life, and that the words of Corrie ten Boom have become more of a reality as a result of my living: "This is what the past is for! Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our lives is the perfect preparation for the future that only He can see." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Tenderloin Stations of the Cosmic Christ In Honor of the life of Vicki Yeley Good Friday/April 19, 2019 Noon-2:00 p.m. A Walk of Reflection on Homelessness We begin in front of City Hall-Polk Street Side Will Pray and Feed Anyone Who Is Hungry (two volunteers needed at 9:30 a.m. to prepare sandwiches) Sponsored by Temenos Catholic Worker Fr. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T. P.O. Box 642656 San Francisco, CA 94164 415-305-2124 www.temenos.org ------------------------------------------------------------------------- A big thank you to Carla Olaya, mother of two of my best friends for helping me serve the reception at St. Luke's this morning. You have no idea of the burden you took off of my shoul