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kuriquinn · 4 years

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Wait For Me

Blanket Fic Disclaimer

Original Prompt by: @toscafan

"Olá. Você poderia escrever uma fic onde após Sasuke voltar para a vila, Sakura vai em uma missão e é gravemente ferida. Então Sasuke percebe que seus sentimentos por ela cresceram quando ele a vê ferida no hospital. Talvez com um pouco de Naruto preocupado também. Eu imagino isso entre o período que Sasuke volta para Konoha e antes de eles partirem juntos em suas viagens. Suas histórias são maravilhosas :) eu sinto muito não escrever em inglês :( “

[Roughly: Hello, Could you write a fic where after Sasuke returns to the village, Sakura goes on a mission and is seriously injured. Then Sasuke realises that his feelings for her have grown when he sees her injured in the hospital. Maybe with a bit of Naruto worried too. I imagine it between the time Sasuke returns to Konoha and before they leave together on their travels.]

Author’s Note: As promised during Evil Author Day, I am trying to finish some of my WIPs. I actually managed to finish this one (Prompt # 4), which is a total miracle given how I’ve been feeling lately. And the fact I think this one is like...two years old. So yeah, major backlog of stuff that needs writing. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: None but me and my editing software :)

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⁂ ⁂ ⁂

It shouldn’t have happened.

The words repeat themselves on a loop in Sasuke’s head, like a record player tossed asunder, skipping unerringly back over the same line in a song. In every momentary pause where the words begin to repeat, there is a breath, an extended moment of tension where his chest feels tighter and tighter.

She hasn’t been on active duty rosters since the war. Her field is medicine, not defense or combat or infiltration, and as strong and talented as Haruno Sakura is, she’s still human and prone to mistakes. Shinobi work isn’t like riding a bike. You have to continue to exercise your particular skillset daily, or mistakes can be made, leading to mishaps, leading to—

It shouldn’t have happened.

サスサク

When the call came in for a relief-force of medicnin, it wasn’t unusual. War or no, there are still major medical emergencies and disasters. In this case, reports reached Konoha of an earthquake 350 miles away. Though the village had barely experienced a tremor, the quake had apparently devastated the shepherding community living at the base of the mountain.

As a rule, Sakura should have stayed behind to coordinate everything from the village; with Tsunade on another of her gambling jaunts, she was the most senior healer.

But the devastated town was without its own medical corps, and the number of injured was overwhelming. Every able pair of hands was needed and naturally, Sakura volunteered herself for the mission.

“I can do the work of a dozen medics and they might need someone to lift debris,” she informed the Sixth Hokage when he seemed likely to protest. “I also trained the latest group of emergency medics going out there; they’re still relatively untested in the field. Better they take their orders from me than some random jounin that you assign.”

Kakashi knew better than to argue with his former student, but he was reluctant. For some reason, he was uneasy. There was little reason for it that he could discern, but after all his years as a shinobi, he had learned to heed his instincts.

“Please, Lord Sixth, there are many large families there, with children.”

Against that—with no concrete reason to give—he could not say no.

“Do you need anyone else beyond the emergency medics?”

“Any civilians with basic first aid training,” Sakura replied, pleased at the response. “Whichever doctors and staff can be spared. The general surgeons, perhaps, but no one with specialized training or technique that we would supper from losing.”

Kakashi nodded and made a gesture she recognized to mean an official granting of the request.

“Ideally, you’d send Naruto as well. He could use the Nine-Tails chakra to mass-heal the simplest injuries. It would make triage a lot faster.”

“That’s not in my power. I’m already on thin ice with the Elders for my executive order to pardon Sasuke. I doubt they’ll want him leaving the village any time soon.”

Sakura scowled.

Under normal circumstances she would argue—she had long ago made clear her dislike and distrust for the village Elders—but every minute spent arguing was wasting crucial time.

“Can you try to convince them?” she asked as she turned to leave the office. “We should be sending out best for this.”

“We already are,” Kakashi said with ease, and there was a smile in his eyes. The one Sakura returned was only a little strained, mind already on her future patients.

サスサク

Sasuke was on a short, probationary mission at the time, in the complete opposite direction from the disaster zone. He didn’t even hear about the earthquake until two days later.

While handing his mission report to Kakashi, he may have been somewhat surprised to learn Sakura would not be around to greet him the way she usually did—and Kakashi’s eyes had a far too knowing gleam in them when he mentioned it—but it never occurred to Sasuke that she would be in any kind of danger.

At least, nothing she wasn’t capable of handling for herself.

For those two days, Sasuke carried out his usual routine, slowly acclimating to being back in service to the village. It still wasn’t his preference to be around so many people, and there was a constant sense of discomfort that lingered at the back of his mind. The sensation of eyes on him from all over, ANBU and civilian alike, heavy with judgement and fear. The only time that feeling abated, even for just a little, was when he was around Sakura, Naruto or Kakashi.

Still, he wasn’t willing or able to seek any of them out. They all have busy lives, and he earned that judgement and fear from the village. It would be an easy feat to leave and never return, but he didn’t deserve easy. Remaining here was part of his punishment, and so he would learn to live with it.

At home, when the constant surveillance became too much, he went to an empty training ground and put himself through various sword forms or engage in other exercises. In two years, he’s grown used to living and fighting with only one arm, but it’s the constant practice that keeps him lethal.

On the morning of the third day he is going through one of his complex sword kata in the training ground where Kakashi made them genin. He tells himself it’s coincidence and not sentimentality that brought him here this morning, even as the three posts stand vigil over his training like towers of memory.

Today he is working only on form and movement, not using any techniques requiring chakra, just trying to sharpen his movements into their usual lethal grace.

As he uncoils from a low final arc of his sword, returning to a resting position, there is a sudden cracking noise; his gaze snaps toward it, and he watches as—apropos of nothing—the wooden post to his far right splits right down the middle.

Sasuke immediately goes still, focussing his awareness around himself and the area, scanning for danger. There is no one in this place foolish enough to try something—even if he wasn’t lethal on his own, the ANBU escorts hidden in the shadows would have been alerted.

The wind continues meander, sending leaves rustling; the sound of birds and the distant crash of the river do not change. There is not threat that he can detect, nothing but a growing sense of foreboding.

And then the ground begins to shake.

As far as earthquakes go, it’s not the worst he’s experienced. He has no problem remaining on his feat as the ground roils and trembles. Even the trees surrounding him show no sign of shuddering.

It’s small and innocuous, nothing on the same level as the one Sakura was sent to help with.

His eyes drift, lingering on the cracked post.

Memory conjures an image of a gawky twelve year old with too-long-to-be-practical hair and luminous green eyes betraying strain and discomfort as she feeds their third teammate tied to the middle post.

It’s probably nothing.

But for some reason his focus on his exercises vanishes, replaced instead with a growing disquiet in the pit of his stomach.

It only grows with every moment as he returns to the village proper and, without knowing why, makes a beeline for Hokage Tower. All around him, people talk excitedly about the tremor, laughing it off and telling one another what they were doing when they noticed it. It’s just a facet of their day, something that—while uncommon—is not dangerous enough to merit panic.

So why does he suddenly feel uneasy?

サスサク

Sasuke arrives at the Tower at the same time as Naruto, a face which causes his inexplicable agitation to ratchet immediately higher, especially given his friend’s uncharacteristic frown and the absence of his usual joking greeting.

Without exchanging words, they enter Kakashi’s office and are immediately treated to the sight of their former instructor pacing by the window, a frown drawing his brows together. The coiled cord of the telephone stretches and relaxes with his back-and-forth movements. It’s so in contrast to his usual demeanor—lazily slouched in his chair—that Sasuke’s spine stiffens in response.

Kakashi eventually hangs up the phone and faces his students.

“There was a second earthquake,” he tells them gravely. “Right next to the refugee camp we set up. According to reports, about 180 million tons of mountainside have crumble down onto the camp. They don’t know if there are any survivors.”

Sasuke’s fist clenches and Naruto’s eyes blink into slits as he activates his senjutsu.

“I can’t sense Sakura’s chakra,” he says, a panicked note in his voice. “Usually I get a definite flicker from her, even at this distance…”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sasuke tells him. “She masks her chakra when she’s on medical missions to avoid presenting a target.”

He’s not sure how he knows this, since he can’t recall if she mentioned any such practice in their conversations since he’s been back, yet he knows it to be true. Still, this knowledge brings no comfort with it, because the uncomfortable pit in his stomach remains.

“She would be healing everyone after a huge disaster like that,” Naruto protests. “I’d definitely sense that. But I can’t.”

Which, admittedly, worries Sasuke a little despite his unshakable faith in Sakura’s abilities.

Naruto turns to Kakashi, his shoulders squared as if in preparation for a fight. “I’m going to check on her. Even if she’s fine, they’ll need help digging survivors out. I can definitely help with that.”

“Fine,” Kakashi says. The fact he doesn’t argue or mention the concerns of the Elders is telling. “If you leave now, you should get there within—”

Sasuke doesn’t stay to listen.

He’s already climbing the stairs to the roof where there is more open space.

He is by no means an expert at using his Rinnegan yet—every day heralds a new ability or application—but he has more or less figured out how to travel between far distant locations instantly.

“Oi! Sasuke! Wait up!” Naruto shouts from behind as Sasuke focusses himself on creating a pathway. He glanced the coordinates he needs on the papers covering Kakashi’s desk, knows where he’s supposed to go—

The space in front of him crackles, displacing the air, and then rips open, forming a portal of swirling violet energy. On the other side, he can discern a giant wall of rubble.

He wastes no time slipping through, trusting Naruto to follow directly behind him.

サスサク

The sight before them is a grim one.

Sasuke hasn’t seen destruction on this scale since the war.

Mountains loom around them, the closest one looking misshapen due to the giant shelf that has vanished as if scraped off with a giant chisel. Its remnants spill out in front of it, creating a smaller mountain of churned earth and rock, uprooted trees and other debris.

People gather around, civilian and shinobi alike, covered in dust and digging frantically at the rubble. Likely the lucky few who were far enough away when the second quake hit to avoid the harm.

There are almost no Konohanin, medicnin or otherwise, that he can see, suggesting a grim truth to him: they are all underneath the remains of the mountain. Dead, most likely, or trapped and dying as the seconds pass.

But where is Sakura?

She could survive being buried under such weight, and should have dug her way out by now. Stone and rock are like cottage cheese to her strong fists.

“Naruto!”

The two newcomers glance up as a Konohanin scrambles toward them. As he gets closer, Sasuke recognizes him as the kid Sakura has taken on as an assistant. Ando something or other.

“We need help!” the kid gasps when he arrives in front of them, dust-covered and exhausted. “We can’t shift the earth using doton because it could hurt the people underneath.”

The jinchuriki is already forming the signs to summon up shadow clones. If this has to b cleared by hand, he’s the best man for the job. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

“We’ll get through this without a problem!”

“Believe it!”

The clones are already spreading out across the landscape, like a sea of orange washing over the scene.

Sasuke stares down at the boy. “Where is Sakura?”

Ando goes pale beneath the fine layer of dust, eyes pained. “When the earthquake stared, she was trying to get everyone in the medical tents to safety. When she realized she couldn’t, she tried to create barriers to stop the worst of the damage using doton. But it was coming on too fast, and so she tried to slow down the avalanche—"

“Of course she did,” Sasuke murmurs to himself, teeth gritted.

“—but it wasn’t enough! The last I saw, she was destroying the rocks coming at her, but then she was buried.”

“And where were you in all this?”

There’s an accusation in his words that has made stronger men tremble, but Ando merely shudders and clenches his fists. No shrinking violets working with Sakura, that’s for sure.

“I was on water duty. The rivers here were all polluted by the first quake, and so I had to travel far. I saw it all from that cliff up there and hurried down here as fast as I could to help, but…”

He gestures ineffectively, clearly not knowing where to start.

“Sasuke!” Naruto yells all of a sudden, and Sasuke’s head whips toward where he is helping a woman with shredded clothing to climb from the rubble. She is remarkably stable on her feet, considering the situation, and Sasuke understands a moment later when he sees the white creature attached to her shoulder.

“Lady Katsuyu!” Ando cries and hurries over, followed closely by SAsuke.

“Where’ Sakura?” Naruto demands as the younger boy helps the quake victim to sit down. “Is she okay?”

“She’s at the very bottom,” Katsuyu says fretfully. “There’s an airpocket and she’ll still have air for a little while, but she’s gravely injured. Her entire lower body is crushed.” Sasuke’s heart constricts painfully. “I tried to help, but she insisted I attach myself to all the refugees, to keep them alive until help arrives. I fear she won’t be able to keep it up very long. Even my healing can’t save the people buried so long without oxygen.”

“Little fool,” Sasuke growls, the viciousness of the words surprising him more than the situation. Of course she’s more worried about the survival of her patients and the others instead of herself.

“We’re getting her out,” Naruto declares, summoning more clones. “We’ll get her and everyone else out!”

And Sasuke finds himself hoping this is another miracle that his friend’s mere presence and stubbornness will help pull off.

サスサク

The task is arduous and time consuming.

Sasuke is bizarrely conscious of the speed at which the time passes—too fast. They continue dragging survivors out from beneath the rubble—all unharmed, but looking more and more shambled as the rescue efforts reach deeper into the rubble. Every so often, there is a red glow, and the unearth another person being Naruto has managed to sense and enfold in his healing chakra cloak.

Sasuke uses his snake summons for the first time in years, sending them from his sleeve to slither around and crush rocks blocking their path. He digs one-handed while Naruto and the clones make quick work of their chosen debris fields.

They have yet to find Sakura, or a person that as died of their injuries; all of them so far have had a miniature clone of Lady Katsuyu attached somewhere on their bodies.

Yet he can’t sense Sakura.

“Her chakra signature is everywhere,” he frets. “She’s channelling it through Katsuyu to keep everyone alone. I can’t get a proper read on her.”

“And you won’t,” Lady Katsuyu says in a tremulous tone. “The byakugou has disengaged—her strength has finally run out.” She shudders. “We’re too far away. There’s no way we’ll make it to her in time. And I can only linger here a few minutes longer without her sustaining me.”

“We’ll make it!” Naruto growls, tone and eyes harsh like that of a cornered fox. There’s a panic there, belying his words, because he clearly has no idea how they’re going to do that.

It’s that panic more than anything so far that makes Sasuke’s guts roil and a sickening nausea of fear well up within him. Because Naruto never gives up, he always has hope and he always has some kind of harebrained plan to fix a bad situation.

And if he doesn’t have one in this case, it means Sakura’s fate is sealed.

Which—

No.

“You have a clone with Sakura now?” he asks Katsuyu.

“O-of course,” the snail replies, almost surprised at being addressed so directly.

“You can share your chakra between one another. Can you share the chakra of someone else the same way?”

Naruto’s eyes widen as he catches on. “Yes! If I share my chakra with you and your clone, I’ll able to sense where your clone is and we can find Sakura faster.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Lady Satsuyu replies mournfully. “And besides, I can’t share your chakra, Naruto-kun. The chakra of biju is too volatile, and unless a blood contract has been made, like yours with the toads, it would become too volatile.”

“You wouldn’t need a contract with me,” Sasuke says. “My chakra is entirely my own.”

The slug’s head bobs to one side in consideration, and then she makes a noise of assent. “We can try.”

Sasuke holds out his hand, allowing Lady Katsuyu to inch closer, pressing herself up against his palm. There’s a beat of tense silence as they both concentrate, Sasuke infusing a burst of chakra in the tiny creature’s body.

She shudders from the force of it, her energy signature changing to a mixture of her own and his.

“It’s done,” she says, and he can feel a tiny twinge in his senses calling from far beneath the crumbled mountain.

Sasuke nods and begins to back away from the rubble. “Get beneath her.”

“I don’t understand,” Ando is saying. “How will that be any different from before? Lady Katsuyu was already able to direct us to Sakura.”

“He’s not just looking for Sakura’s location,” Naruto says with a grim smile. “He needs to know exactly where she is.”

“But why—?”

Sasuke tunes out the useless questions as he positions himself somewhere with a decent amount of clearance all around him. Bracing himself—he’s never tried this particular gambit before—he activates the Sharingan and reaches deep within his chakra reserves.

Instantly, violent purple energy manifests, bones and muscle and armor, as Susanoo encompasses him all around. The burning, ripping pain of it has almost become distant by now, and he focusses past it, still holding onto that shred of his chakra beckoning him from wherever Sakura is.

He turns his head, concentrating on the space in front of Susanoo’s empty right hand and activates the Rinnegan.

A portal twists into being from thin air, and Sasuke hardly waits before raising Susanoo’s hand and pressing the limb through the portal. He can distantly feel the weight of her against the flat of the hand as it materializes directly beneath her body, and then pulls her backward, shutting the portal immediately after extracting her to ensure none of the rubble baring down on her might follow.

As gentle as he can, Sasuke lays Sakura down upon the ground, Susanoo vanishing as her body touches the earth.

サスサク

Everyone is already kneeling around her when Sasuke touches back down, the chakra giant vanishing once more. Lady Katsuyu vanishes, no longer having Sakura’s strength to draw on, and Naruto is snapping something at Ando, probably to get help.

All of it washes over Sasuke in a meaningless, soundless wave as his eyes fall upon Sakura. His lungs tighten as he takes in her broken body.

Her legs are bruised and battered, crushed inward in some places and bones poking out of other places; it’s the same for her hips and several ribs. Her eyes are open and staring, a trail of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth and nose.

The sight is terrifying.

For a short yet eternal moment he is back in the streets of the Uchiha district, surrounded by the bodies of his family. Just as he was then, he is frozen now—inutile and incapable of doing anything.

“Naruto…” he begins, not knowing exactly what he’s trying to ask.

“This is bad,” Naruto says, voice strained. His eyes are slits once more, his sage mode active as a red film covers Sakura’s body. “I can heal the big stuff, but so much has been pulverized…” He swallows as if in physical pain; Sasuke knows the feeling. “She needs someone that can do surgery at the microlevel. If I heal her right now, like this, I could do a lot more harm then good.”

It’s a measure of how far Naruto’s come that he recognizes this, that he knows not to simply ram through his power and hope it helps.

Sasuke doesn’t know what will help now.

Scenarios and plans speed through a mind more suited for battle tactics than life-saving measures, as he tries to think of any way that he can help her and wishing for the first time in a long time that Karin were here.

Wishing he had ever taken the time to learn more about the healing arts than how to kill.

All the while, the sight of Sakura’s shattered limbs taunting him as her blood seeps into the sand.

Sasuke blinks.

Sand.

The memory hits him out of nowhere, the way many of his recollections from before do. Waking in a hospital, distantly hearing people talking about a fight—sand versus strength.

“Tsunade,” Sasuke says, remembering how the Fifth Hokage dealt with something similar. Right around the time she healed his mind from Itachi’s merciless assault on it, she saved Rock Lee from a life of paralysis.

Naruto is frowning, once again on the same wavelength as him. “No one knows where she is.”

“I’ll find her. Get Sakura back to Konoha—”

“No…”

Both of them jump at the pained, feeble voice and glance down.

Sakura’s eyes are closed now, clenched as tight as her jaw when she speaks through gritted teeth. “There are still…people…” She tries to raise a hand, gesture toward the rubble. “Naruto…stay and…help…”

“Sakura, no!” he snaps. “You’re in a mess right now, I need to keep you going until—”

“…Too much…damage…wasting your…chakra…”

“Sakura,” Sasuke says tersely, and her eyes shoot open toward him. Awareness flickers behind green irises, along with some surprise, as if she didn’t realize or expect him to be there.

“Sasu…ke…”

He shivers.

There has never been a time in his life when he and Sakura haven’t been aware of the presence of the other. The fact she didn’t notice him is telling in the severity of her injury…as is her not expecting him to be by her side.

After all, when has he ever been?

What has he ever done for her?

“We have to get her out of here,” Naruto says. “Do you have enough strength for another portal?”

Sasuke nods, though he isn’t sure; he’s used his abilities twice now in quick succession. But for Sakura, he’ll try.

The space beside them rips open, once more opening onto the familiar rooftops of Konoha as seen from Hokage Tower. All they need to do is step through, and so Naruto goes to pick Sakura up, only for her to scream in sudden sharp agony.

Sasuke’s heart stutters, his concentration wavering slightly, allowing the portal to shrink and contract worryingly.

“She’s too hurt,” Naruto says, panicked. “We need to keep her on her back or…I might sever something important.”

There are no stretchers here, no immobilizing aids to move her. If he had any idea where Tsunade Senju was, he’d seek her out and return her here instantly, but he doesn’t have that time and neither does Sakura.

“I’ll bring her,” Sasuke says.

“But—”

“You stay here. Help the survivors.”

There’s something on his face that keeps Naruto from arguing further, but Sasuke is no longer paying attention. Once again, he centers himself, trying to divide his power between the portal and call up Susanoo in just the right manner.

It takes searing concentration to manifest Susanoo’s hand in the space between Sakura’s body and the ground, letting the chakra fill in beneath her and keep her steady and supine.

Sakura’s eyes are wide, trained on him in something like desperation, before they roll back and she lapses into unconsciousness.

Sasuke’s lungs constrict, but he forces himself to work through it, to slide Susanoo’s hand straight through the portal until Sakura is no longer lying among the debris of the dead but in the safety of their village.

Sweat breaks out across his forehead and the back of his neck, and he tastes blood in his mouth, but he manages to retract the chakra within him. He’s about to step through when—

“Wait!”

He grits his teeth, eyes darting back to the kid—Ando—who has returned.

“Let me come too,” he says. “I can keep her stable, or—or go get someone from the hospital, or—”

“Go!” Sasuke snarls, half from effort and half from irritation the boy is taking up valuable seconds.

A terrified expression breaks over Ando’s face for a moment, before he throws himself headlong through the portal.

“Find Tsunade,” Sasuke tells Naruto as he follows. He doesn’t have to hear the response to know he will.

サスサク

He has no right to be here.

The intensive care wing of Konoha’s hospital is a flurry of movement as doctors and nurses and medic-nin rush in and out of the surgery where they are working on Sakura. He lingers outside the doors, his own self-recrimination keeping him out here more than the ‘Staff Only’ sign on the door.

He doesn’t deserve to be here, to hear news of her condition. He left—he’s always leaving—and she’s always waiting. She’s always here and he realizes with a sudden disbelief that somehow, somewhere along the line something in him has taken that for granted.

Ever since the War, ever since watching her blossom into her abilities and to demonstrate power that makes her neigh indestructible, he’s been thinking of her as if she is. As if she’s a constant that will never change, that will always exist.

Like she’s immortal.

Except she’s not, she can die like anyone else.

It’s something taken for granted in their line of work, but medic-nin die the same as anyone else in the service. And Sakura would be the first to insist she is no more important than anyone else, that her life is the same value as any of their comrades. He knows if given the choice she’d sacrifice that same life without any regret—hell, he watched her try to do just that today.

That knowledge—and the reality of what is happening behind that door in front of him, the image of the light in her eyes dying—steals his breath.

Will that be his last memory of her? A broken body pulled from a wreckage?

Very real terror grips him then, something he hasn’t felt in years. A close, clawing sensation and his lungs constricting as something jagged forms in his throat. Nightmares of blood in the streets, blood in his hands and the rush of a waterfall in the background, the chirping of lightning in his ears—

“Sasuke.”

His head jerks up, the world around him returning, senses no longer going haywire to stave off the incoming panic.

Kakashi is standing beside him—when did he get here?—eyes somber. There’s a beat before he reaches out, hesitant, and lays a hand on his shoulder.

It’s as if a current is going through him, memories from long ago, that same hand on his shoulder. It’s the first time Kakashi has reached out to him since he left Konoha as a child.

“I’ve had news from Naruto,” his former instructor continues. “He’s found Tsunade.”

And somehow with those three words, every bit of tension in Sasuke’s body evaporates. He realizes he hasn’t been breathing and tries his best not to gulp for air, forces himself to inhale slowly through his nose, to not lose his composure.

Kakashi, of course, is not fooled. “Sakura will be alright. She’s strong.”

Sasuke wants to reply that he knows, he’s always known, but his tongue is still frozen. Instead, he returns his gaze upon the door, trying to sense what is happening beyond it.

He feels Kakashi remove his hand, but the man’s intense stare remains on him.

“I should go,” he eventually manages to say. Yet his legs refuse to move.

“You should stay. You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re exactly where she needs you to be.”

Sasuke’s protest dies before it was truly born, and he goes back to trying to breath. Inhale and hold; exhale and repeat. It doesn’t matter what he needs or wants, after all.

Why?

Sakura is Sakura. Yes, they have always had a connection, a bond, but it’s the same connection he’s had with the rest of his former squad. You can’t go on missions or into battle with one another without developing a synchronicity. Even if the connections are different.

With Kakashi it’s the kindred spirit of someone who has lost everything almost the same as he has, with Naruto it’s a bond that can never be replicated for the most complicated of cosmic reasons.

And yet…with Sakura, there’s something different there.

He always thought it was nostalgia, the last lingering remnants of a weak child desperate for whatever scrap of affection was offered to him after losing his parents. Every moment he’s ever spent with her, he pretended like it didn’t affect him at all; and yet, there was always that eagerness he had to tamp down, wanting to see the smile on her face because he knew he didn’t deserve it.

A smile he missed in the years training with Orochimaru, then wandering the world in penance. He knows she’s had feelings for him since they were children, and has has spent most of his last years hoping against hope that she’ll let him go and move on.

That she’ll find someone else, someone worthy of her, someone who will keep her safe and guard her heart against pain. Because that’s all he can give her is pain; tht, and a soul that will never completely heal.

Except it wont matter, will it, if she dies?

She’ll be gone, and he’ll be empty again. No matter where he goes, he’s always known that somewhere, Sakura is out there, keeping him in her heart. He knows that even if she does find another, there will always be a part of her that thinks of him, just like he will always have a part of him that thinks of her.

But if she dies…if she doesn’t make it through this…

Suddenly he can see it.

Years stretch out in front of him, bleak and empty and gray. Visits to a gravestone of a life that could have been. Regrets and pain and an endless void of existing instead of living.

More of everything he endured as a child, only this time, without the tiny ray of sunlight that Sakura willingly gave him.

And suddenly, he realizes he doesn’t want that.

A world without Sakura in it, is not one that he wants to be a part of.

He wants her—needs her—to be happy. And if her happiness is him…if he could ensure that happiness somehow…

Well, he’ll do whatever it takes.

Sasuke takes a shuddering breath at the realization.

It feels sudden, like a switch has been flipped with realization, and yet at the same time he knows it has always been this way.

He’s in love with Sakura.

The world returns then in sharp focus, ignorant to the realizations he’s just made. Kakashi is still eyeing him with concern. Perhaps wondering if he’s going to have to talk him out of leaving the hospital, even though Sasuke knows that he’s not going anywhere until he can watch her open her eyes again.

Until she smiles at him again.

Maybe not even then.

“I’ll wait for her then,” he says, shaken but still somehow managing to control the timbre of his voice. He leans against the wall, eyes once more resting on the door in expectation.

I’ll wait for her forever.

終わり

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I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn't something you're comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 🤯mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

栗

#sasusaku #ssm18 #ssm18day14 #prompt: wait for me #fanfic prompts/requests #kuriquinn #one-shot #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #naruto uzumaki #kakashi hatake #drama #romance #realizations

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mgssummergames · 4 years

Text

speck's mgs bookmark highlight reel - fic recs

speck || team philanthropy || c1 || 15 fics, 5 pts each

Trigger Safety - Otacon/Solid Snake (18+)

An incredibly well-written three-part PWP set right after Shadow Moses; tender and warm without being overly saccharine or out-of-character. Opts for a much quicker burn (in the grand scheme of things) than a lot of interpretations, but the whole relationship still feels very genuine and natural.

Call on Line Two - Otacon/Solid Snake (18+)

Otasune phone/codec sex is a personal favourite for whatever reason, and this set up in particular gets me. Something about Snake effectively slipping and falling headfirst into a sex chatline and just going with it is so in-character and charming.

Sunflower Seed - Otacon/Solid Snake

Esoteric little fic about Sunny, her little family, and the fragility of it all; explores different timelines where things fall apart, one where things are good, and one where things are right–where the Jupiter Family gets the ending they always deserved.

Rest - Otacon/Solid Snake

Set post-MGS4; marriage in the characteristically atypical way that Snake and Otacon do everything. Sunny asks the innocent question of why Snake and Otacon don’t have wedding bands, and maybe giving Hal something physical to remember him by isn’t the worst idea. A little morbid humour and a lot of quiet, tender affection.

Love, and Its Consequential, Untimely Death - Otacon/Solid Snake

This author in particular has a knack for writing fantastic, natural-sounding dialogue between these two, managing to constantly balance funny and sweet with heavier and more serious. This little fic really exemplifies that as it explores both Snake and Otacon’s past relationships as a backdrop for their current relationship.

Knock Before Entering - Otacon/Solid Snake (18+)

There’s something unbelievably funny about accidentally training yourself to get aroused whenever Die Hard is on. Also, Raiden spends the night and gets an earful of something everyone would rather pretend he didn’t.

Dry-Fire - Otacon/Solid Snake (18+)

Nothing quite like a spindly weeaboo dominating a burly man genetically-engineered for his combat prowess as a way to work through emotions. Thotty Snake is wonderful, but it’s really how well Otacon takes to being in control that makes it for me. Just some good ol’ fashioned smut with some emotional weight and plot to it; scratches a very particular itch. Very hot, very good. Just like in Ghostbusters indeed, Hal (whatever the hell that means).

If You Go Into the Woods - Otacon/Solid Snake (18+)

Punishment for thoughtlessness comes in the form of a bear trap snapping closed on Otacon’s leg and a dead dog. Hurt/comfort two-part fic written in fantastic prose with some of the most organic pacing I’ve read in a fic this short. Snake’s characterization in particular is fantastic, equal parts severe and tender.

One Last Goodbye - Otacon/Solid Snake

A fic about Strangelove’s “legacy”, the idea of “preserving” somebody as an AI after death, and how it works as a means of coping and mourning for Otacon post-MGS4. Ouch.

Run From Their Company - Otacon/Solid Snake (18+)

AU, a split in the timeline where Snake and Otacon meet a little earlier under drastically different circumstances. The tension between them is fantastically written, and I really appreciate how Otacon develops throughout the whole thing in particular. Satisfying–the whole thing is just very satisfying.

Dear Dave - Otacon/Solid Snake

A post-MGS4 otasune fic written in the form of letters from Otacon to a man no longer alive. Focused mainly on grief and mourning and moving on. Difficult for me to put into words why it gets me like it does, but this is the fic that makes me bawl almost every line, every chapter, all the way through. Truly one of the most brutal yet beautifully written things I’ve read in a while. Ouch.

Judas Kiss - Big Boss/Kazuhira Miller (18+)

Simultaneously one of the most phenomenally written and gut-wrenching bbkaz fics I’ve read. Much of it focuses on how exactly Kaz perceives and tries to understand Big Boss, and the way Kaz’s thought process is portrayed feels very sincere and legitimate. Definitely heed the consent warnings for this one.

Shot Me Down - Big Boss/Ocelot (18+)

A surprisingly warm and fuzzy post-MGS3 bosselot fit about adjusting to civilian life, set in late 1960s New York. Big Boss is charmingly obtuse, and Ocelot… does his best with what he has to work with; Para-Medic provides dating advice with no context to go off. This thing is the reason “Stupid Cupid” is always going to be an Ocelot song in my heart. It’s good.

Thank You For Nothing at All - Emma Emmerich

For however brief her appearance was, I really did like Emma Emmerich, and it’s nice to see her get some attention. This fic expands upon what little we know of her from snippets in MGS2, spanning from her rebuking a sexual advance from Julie’s husband and running away all the way to the Big Shell incident.

Vis-a-Vis - Kazuhira Miller/Ocelot

There is quite simply nothing more lovely than two people who don’t like each other having to suck it up and deal with it in the context of a roadtrip. Light on the actual romance, but a hell of a lot of fun to watch Kaz repeatedly try to get a leg up on Ocelot and repeatedly fail.

#metal gear solid #mgs fanfic #mgs fic recs #mgs summer games #submission

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waritawrites · 3 years

Text

ABC's Soul of a Nation is a television show that, like Shaun King, seems to seek to capitalize on the Black experience. This show depicts Black life as nothing but a giant hard luck story that laments marginalization due to racism by stereotypical white achetypes. It doesn't tell a full narrative of Black life nor does it discuss the impact of the exaltation of counterproductive behavior such as:

- Gang Culture and Violence

- Drug Culture

- Abortion

- Progressivist Elitism

- Little focus STEM education and Business

Education

The Most offensive act that Soul of a Nation commits is the omission the role of organizations such as Sigma Pi Phi (The Boule), The Links, many black greek organizations and other Black secret societies and its members. A full narrative of Black life isn't depicted if racism can't be included in the narrative. It also doesn't of blacks, who work in favor of white supremacy, to sabotage progress in the Black community. Many such black-on-Black racists have deceptively been appointed as leaders and celebrated in the Black community. Eunice Rivers, unofficial leader of the Tuskegee Experiment was heralded as a black nurse who cared as the the health of Black people. Her real role was to act as liason between Black citizens and the white supremacist medical industrial complex of the day for the purpose of using Black people for dangerous medical trials and experiments without giving full disclosure.

For more information, here are excerpts from my article, Corona Virus and Black People, https://followerofthewayforever.wordpress.com/2020/04/07/corona-virus-and-black-people/:

"Prominent black nurse, Eunice Rivers, convinced impoverished Black men to participate in a medical study wherein which they would be treated for bad blood and any other health issues. Undisclosed to them was the true purpose of the study – to observe the effects of untreated syphilis on Black men’s health. Unofficially, Rivers became head the over the project because of her forty year affiliated as a result of her continual insistence and justification of the study long after it had been found that penicillin effectively treated syphilis and many doctors abandoned the project due its unethical violation of the patients’ rights. Eunice Rivers, however, prolonged the project for profit with no regard for the men’s health nor the health of their wives and offspring."

"Black social activists such as W.E.B DuBois who promote conflict and anti-procreative behavior between Black men and Black women. DuBois was a principal conspirator of Margaret Sanger against Black people. DuBois' racist rantings against poor uneducated Black people were featured in NAACP publication and Here is what some of our Black leaders really think of us in the words of Assimilation Eugenicist W.E.B. DuBois (1932) in his article Negroes and Birth Control which Margaret Sanger often quoted:

"the mass of ignorant Negroes still breed carelessly and disastrously, so that the increase among Negroes, even more than whites, is from that part of the population least intelligent and fit, and least able to rear their children properly.” (para. 4 and para.5)"

Du Bois, W.E.B.(1939, April). Negroes and Birth Control. Smith

Libraries Exhibits, Accessed January 10, 2019, https://libex.smith.edu/omeka/files/original/16e5b6a56c2c4aedb3274e7124f3006e.jpg

W.E.B. DuBois - Boule and NAACP member who hated poor Black people and supported Margaret Sanger's population control plan of weaponizing Birth Control as a method of eugenics against Blacks. He also sabotaged Marcus Garvey's movement to steal it for himself. Promoted a Bourgeoisie-based system of black elitism against regular Black people to whom referred to as the ignorant negro masses. DuBois felt that black elitists like himself, which he called the talented tenth, should be leaders of regular Black people even though he hated regular Black people. DuBois hated regular Black people, yet wanted to be their leader for his own personal gain. He only wanted to lead them to destruction. He wanted to gain a seat at the table of white supremacy - which is a form of elitism

These people AREN'T fighting for you and don't want to be want to associated with you." Want more proof?

KIDNAPPING AND ILLEGAL ADOPTION OF THE BABIES OF THE BLACK POOR

Black mothers wonder if their babies were stolen in decades-old mystery

https://theguardian.com/world/2015/may/02/black-mothers-wonder-babies-stolen-st-louis-decades-ago

-Eighteen black women who were told decades ago that their babies had died soon after birth at a St Louis hospital now wonder if the infants were taken away by hospital officials to be raised by other families.

-Zella Jackson Price, who was 26 in 1965 when she gave birth at Homer G Phillips Hospital in St Louis.

FORCED STERILIZATION

Unwanted Sterilization and Eugenics Programs in the United States

https://www.pbs.org/independentlens/blog/unwanted-sterilization-and-eugenics-programs-in-the-united-states/

The U.S. Government's Role in Sterilizing Women of Color: Black, Puerto Rican, and Native American women have been victimized

https://www.thoughtco.com/u-s-governments-role-sterilizing-women-of-color-2834600

Racial Eugenics

https://eji.org/news/history-racial-injustice-racial-eugenics/

INSIDE UCLA'S CADAVER SCANDAL

https://www.newsweek.com/inside-uclas-cadaver-scandal-95785

ABORTION IS EUGENICS AND DEPOPULATION

Abortion is one of the most heinous methods of eugenics committed against the Black community. The highest abortion rates in the country occur among American Black women. Yet, it is heavily promoted by black women such as Ayanna Pressley, Alexis McGill Johnson, Stacey Abrams, and Kamala Harris benefit off of the killing of unborn Black people via the slaughterhouse organization that is Planned Parenthood.

David Daleiden on Selling Aborted Baby Parts: They “Cut Open the Face to Harvest the Brain”

https://www.lifenews.com/2019/09/17/david-daleiden-on-selling-aborted-baby-parts-they-cut-open-the-face-to-harvest-the-brain/

7th Shocking Video Catches Planned Parenthood Harvesting Brain of Aborted Baby Who Was Still Alive

https://www.lifenews.com/2015/08/19/7th-shocking-video-catches-planned-parenthood-harvesting-brain-of-aborted-baby-who-was-still-alive/

ABC's Soul of a Nation is Blaxploitation designed to herd Black people into state of victimhood and hopelessness by using trauma. The show has deceptively "celebrated" the Black church while promoting abortion which is a form of child sacrifice. GOD IS ADAMANTLY AGAINST HARMING CHILDREN. He says that child sacrifice is Shedding Innocent Blood and it is an abomination to HIM.

GOD LOVES CHILDREN

Proverbs 6:16-17

16These six things doth the LORD hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him:

17A proud look, a lying tongue, and -> hands that shed innocent blood<-,

JESUS LOVES CHILDREN

Matthew 18:6

But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me,it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea

Matthew 18:10

10 Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.

ABORTION IS AN ABOMINATION TO GOD, DO NOT MAKE YOUR CHILDREN PASS THROUGH THE FIRE

2 Kings 16:3

But he walked in the way of the kings of Israel, yea, and made his son to pass through the fire, according to the abominations of the heathen, whom the LORD cast out from before the children of Israel.

2 Kings 17:17

And they caused their sons and their daughters to pass through the fire, and used divination and enchantments, and sold themselves to do evil in the sight of the LORD, to provoke him to anger.

Ezekiel 20:31

For when ye offer your gifts, when ye make your sons to pass through the fire, ye pollute yourselves with all your idols, even unto this day: and shall I be enquired of by you, O house of Israel? As I live, saith the Lord GOD, I will not be enquired of by you

Deuteronomy18:10

There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire,or that useth divination,or an observer of times,or an enchanter,or a witch

Jeremiah32:35

they built the high places of Baal, which R in the valley of the son of Hinnom,2 cause their sons & their daughters to pass through the fire unto Molech;which I commanded them not,neither came it into my mind,that they should do this abomination,2 cause Judah 2 sin.

BLAXPLOITATION BY LIBERAL WHITE SUPREMACY

Liberal white supremacy is at the helm of movements and organizations that make marginalized groups the mascot for causes that will largely benefit the agenda of liberalized white supremacy. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, white supremacy has disguised itself as liberal. Yet, it is still profiting off of black trauma and black bodies (dead or alive). It has even pretended to be Black and support Black people to profit from Blackness, like, Shaun King.

Shaun King

https://twitter.com/drboycewatkins1/status/1367580588744597511?s=20

https://twitter.com/Femmefeministe/status/1371886262865567749?s=20

Reference

Sanger,M.(1939).Letter from Margaret Sanger to Dr. C.J. Gamble December 10,1939. Smith Libraries Exhibit, Accessed January 10, 2019, Retrieved from https://libex.smith.edu/omeka/files/original/d6358bc3053c93183295bf2df1c0c931.pdf

Gordon,L.(2007). Birth Control and the Negro. In The Moral Property of Women, p.235. Urbana; Chicago: University of Illiniois Press.

Winbush, W. (2019). The Subtlety of Supremacy: Joe Biden and Stacey Abrams. Retrieved from https://followerofthewayforever.wordpress.com/2019/03/25/the-subtlety-of-supremacy-joe-biden-and-stacey-abrams/

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raynellalaria · 3 years

Text

IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH

(( New expac, new story! Never mind the fact that I’ve effectively abandoned past stories due to disinterest, lack of time, etc...gonna try to write more for Shadowlands...I hope >_>;; ))

And yea, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil, for you are at my side...

They rode through howling, ice-driven winds, cloaked in black furs to shield themselves from the harshness of Northrend. Hooves trampled over scarred earth, three black warhorses galloping through rot and ruin, brittle bone cracking beneath their hooves. They rode deep into the very seat of death, undeterred by the towering spires of Saronite built walls, the long abandoned necropoli looming in the distance, and the shattered machines of war strewn about, along with the bodies that once manned them, many of which still drew upon life through unlife as they shambled aimlessly, shackled by the dark powers that sat high above the scarred glacier, upon the citadel itself. What little light cast down upon Icecrown had to contend with the oppressive dark clouds that had long lingered even after the fall of Arthas, for light had long abandoned this place.

“We’re close,” said one of the figures in a firm, feminine tone. “We’ve but a mile or so to go.”

“How can you tell, Lady Raynell?” chimed another woman, gazing ahead with her bright blue eyes, head cloaked well beneath the warmth of her furs against the oppressive winds.

“It has been over a decade, I believe...but I still recognize the markings, the tattered banners.”

“You’ve a keen eye, adept, even if I question the keenness of your motive...” spoke the third, a deep, weathered masculine voice that cut through the howling gale. “Steady yourself, Ravaina. If she says we are close, then we must trust her instinct.”

“Yes, father.” The other woman tucked low on her warhorse, riding to keep pace with the other two. They fell quiet once more, only the thunder of hooves and the howl of frostbitten gales carrying around them until they rounded a clearing, circling their warhorses around a desolate patch of snow before each came to a halt. They each dismounted, heavy plated boots crunching beneath the earth as Raynell drew back her cloak. She brushed a hand through her freshly cut blonde hair, the once obscuring bangs of her original cut now shaved along the sides, leaving the top cut and styled. She gazed about, her once golden eyes now revealing the wear of wars past as the once enchanted false right eye had now faded, leaving a pale grey sphere that only had traces of the magic it once held. Kneeling before the snowy patch, she brushed aside the dirtied snow and dug her hands into the dark soil, her hand emerging with a pair of golden signet rings. She gazed upon them, her throat tightening and her brows furrowed, drawing a deep sigh.

“This is it. This is where I left them all those years ago.”

As the other two figures made their way to Raynell, the tallest among them drew back his hood, sporting golden eyes of his own that shone bright in contrast to his dark skin. He had not a hair upon his head, clean shaven across every inch of his scalp, yet sported a thin, dark beard across his chin and a moustache to match just above his lips. His ears were shorter than those of the other two, and scarred along the tops, and as he approached Raynell, his eyes fell upon the rings as well, his own expression darkening in sorrow.

“Fiyeran, Aliana...my friends. I am so sorry, Raynell.”

“They were lost to me, Ozmin, long before the final blows here in Icecrown,” she murmured, clasping her hands around the rings before placing them into a pouch on her belt, “but even the curse of the San’layn could not cloud their last look upon their daughter, nor the love they harbored before dying.”

“So this is why you chose this place, then?”

Raynell rose silently to her feet, leaving his inquiry unanswered as she looked back to the last of the three figures, a woman a few inches taller than Raynell, gathering a large sack from the back of her warhorse and setting it upon the earth below. “Is everything accounted for, Ravaina?”

“Yes, Lady Raynell,” she called out, opening the sack and beginning to rummage through the contents. The first to be removed was a rolled up carpet made of fine red and gold silks. Ravaina quietly cursed under her breath about the dirt ruining the silks, but dwelled no further on it as she continued to gather other items; from the sack, she produced a box of enchanted candles, a couple vials of bright golden liquid, a brass brazier accompanied by a tightly packed and bound pile of firewood, and a long sword, sheathed and wrapped in burlap cloth. Both Raynell and Ozmin approach the assorted items as Ravaina drew back her own cloak, long flowing black hair spilling across her shoulders, and part of it even tied high above her head in the ever popular ‘thalassian chonmage’ style. Unlike the other two, her eyes shone a light crystal blue, and as she took the sword in hand, she knelt and offered it to her father, Ozmin, raising it up and bowing her head.

“Shorel’belore-Zaram, Blade of the Sunspeaker...of your once student, Diliandra Sunspeaker.”

Ozmin looked upon the wrapped blade, hit with another pang of sorrow as he took it upon his clawed, gilded gauntlets, unfurling the burlap wrap to reveal a simple scabbard and an unremarkable hilt. As he drew the blade, however, the steel seemed to hum brightly through the howling gale, gleaming silver cutting through the darkness around it. His eyes examined the golden glowing script engraved in the blade, etched in the days of the Highborne.

“Diliandra was among the first class of knights brought up through the Order. To think she held such power in her lineage...”

His gaze paused on a break in the script, his eyebrows perked in surprise. “The blade is scarred. How did this come to be?”

Raynell looked to Ozmin, rubbing the back of her head. “It was...shattered in battle during the campaign against N’zoth. Both it and her sister blade, Shela’Luneth, clashed in Uldum, splitting both blades in twain.”

“Clashed? Shattered!?” He frowned, sheathing the blade. “How could you let an artifact of such import be shattered!?”

She cleared her throat. “I underestimated both blade and opponent, I suppose, but that is neither here nor there. Thistlebreeze was able to repair both blades after the campaign’s conclusion. Honestly, a story for another time...”

Ozmin sighed and shook his head. “You’ve much to explain after this, adept...but aye. For now, the ritual must be prepared. Ravaina, lend me a hand...”

The other woman nodded, joining her father as she took up the rolled silken carpet, laying it across the scarred earth. Ozmin set the candles around the carpet in a wide circle, then set the brass brazier in front of it, carefully untying the bound rope that kept the firewood packed together. Through the thick wood at the base, he stuck the unsheathed Shorel’Belore, then lit the wood around it with a flicker of holy flame. The wood flared alight, though remained unscarred by the magic. Warmth permeated the unforgiving cold around them, and in the relative darkness, light prevailed, the candles aglow as the resonating magics lit them in succession. Raynell watched the ritual with a sense of awe. Normally, the ritual of communing would be held back home, among the relative peace of Quel’thalas. In the dire lands of Northrend, it looked all the more impressive.

“Step forward, Adept Raynell, and kneel, for when you rise at the end of this ritual, you rise a knight once more.”

A knight once more. The words stung a little for the Sin’dorei. She was a knight, once, but the burden of Teldrassil’s fall, the swaths of death left in the Banshee Queen’s wake, and the misdirection of the Horde’s war effort, pushed her to make the difficult decision to step down, to abandon the Order, in order to find herself and her purpose. The journey, as it turned out, had a roundabout conclusion among the shattered landscape of Icecrown, now on the cusp of returning to the Blood Knights as an act of contrition.

She stepped forth, kneeling atop the silken carpet as she cast aside her fur cloak, clad in simple Thalassian half-plate. Ozmin towered over her opposite the roaring brazier, casting aside his cloak to reveal resplendent plated regalia, his armor resembling a grand robe, and his shoulderguards bearing glowing medallions that floated above the mantle, each one emblazoned with the symbol of the rising phoenix. He looked to Ravaina, clad in black armor as she cast aside her own cloak, the vials of golden liquid held in each hand, and nodded.

“Bring forth the blessed waters of the Sunwell. It is here, in the shadow of death, that we shall stand in the Light of the Eternal Sun, in defiance of death itself.”

Ravaina nodded, stepping forth to hand one vial to each person. As she did so, she turned her head to her surroundings, feeling a chill run through her spine. A small host of shambling skeletons and ghouls passed their roaring flame several feet away. Some even looked upon the display with cold, blue eyes, before their dead-eyed gazes were drawn back to the looming spire of the citadel in the far distance. She reached back for her lance, grasping it tentatively as if ready to strike before her father spoke once more.

“Pay no heed to them. They remain shackled to the crown’s will, and shall do us no harm.”

Ravaina gulped, but relented, releasing her lance and standing by. Ozmin then cast his gaze upon Raynell, opening the vial. Raynell, in turn, opened her vial and nodded.

“These blessed waters were drawn by your own hand, Raynell. Did you go about the proper measures to filter and infuse them for your Trial of Light’s Vision?”

“I have,” she answered.

“Good,” he curtly responded. “Let us drink.”

Both Ozmin and Raynell drank from their vials as Ravaina stood by, lance drawn this time, but planted in the ground astride of her as she held the shaft, her other arm positioned in parade rest behind her. She glanced sidelong at the shambling audience of undead. Not a moment before, the deep canyon running through Icecrown was quiet. Now it stirred, and its denizens shuffling with gazes cast toward Icecrown. It unsettled her, the grip on her lance tightening as the ritual continued unabated, both participants setting aside emptied vials. Ozmin’s eyes glowed brilliantly as he reached for a large tome latched to his belt, unclasping the gilded, leatherbound cover and quietly turning the enchanted pages.

“Excellent. I feel our spirits in ascent. Now is the time, Raynell. Reach through the flame and take hold of the blade, so that we may explore the past, conquer its challenges, and carve forth a path to the future.”

Raynell nodded, her own eyes glowing brilliantly. Even the faded false eye shimmered alight, completing the woman’s gaze. She rose up on one knee as she reached through the golden flames rising from the brazier. Though it burned hot, she felt no searing pain, her flesh unmarred by the billowing holy fires. Her fingers lingered for a moment on the hilt of Shorel’Belore, gazing upon the sword with a sense of awestruck sorrow. This was her mentor’s blade before her passing, and though it was passed down to her, she never felt fully worthy of its power...nor of its burden, which weighed heavily both on her and on Diliandra before her. She took a deep breath, gathering her resolve, and she grasped the blade in one hand...then the other, locking herself in a sort of prayer kneel before the fires of the brazier, her eyes drifting closed as the light faded into darkness around her vision.

Satisfied, Ozmin drew a hand forth over Raynell’s head, closing his eyes as holy power teemed from his brilliant regalia, shining forth upon his adept as the two began their trial...

“Focus, Raynell, on my voice, as your spirit is drawn through the trial ahead of you. Focus on maintaining your will throughout, never letting it waver or break from the path ahead. Focus, Raynell...focus...”

Focus.

Focus!

----------------------------

“Focus, Raynell!”

Raynell gasped with a start, her vision clearing to the Farstrider’s Square in Silvermoon City. She stood in the center of the square, a training blade and shield in hand, the high ivory towers of her home casting shadows in the mid-afternoon sun over the red cobblestone. Before her, a host of her fellow knights stood, training weapons at the ready to strike out at her. The voice that called her to focus was that of a stern woman’s, and as she looked toward the voice, she saw the imposing stature of her former mentor, clad in resplendent gold, black, and red armor, and bearing the tabard of the Blood Knights.

“Stay focused, Raynell, and do not strike out too quickly, nor too late. Maintain your timing, and keep your shield level. They will come to you...”

She nodded, setting her feet under her. I remember this, from the days leading up to my knighthood...

As do I, Raynell. Diliandra was growing into her role as a true Master of the Order, and you were her pride, even if she boasted more talented students.

Raynell heard the words of Ozmin echo in her head and smirked. She twirled her blade, shifting her stance to keep her opponents in her line of sight as they circled. With a shout, one of them charged forth, and two more followed him. Raynell felt time slow around her briefly as they struck forth, and to Ozmin’s backhanded compliment, she responded.

Then let me show you how talented I truly am.

The first strike slipped across her parrying blade, using the attacker’s momentum against him as she struck high across his throat, knocking the wind out of him and onto his knees. The next strike bore against her shield, and she charged into the assailant, shoving both him and the knight behind him to the ground. Her gaze turned to a charging woman with a training blade held high. She shoved the edge of her shield flawlessly into her gut, twirling to intercept her with a quick-footed response. Another pair of women struck out for her, and with another twirl, Raynell hurled her shield like a frisbee, the projectile bouncing off of one, then striking the other, before swinging back to her grasp. The scattered knights lie around her, grunting and groaning as they gathered themselves from Raynell’s valiant defense.

“Augh...you rotten -bitch-. Did it have to be in the throat!?”

Raynell turned to see the first rise to his feet, a man with long black hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She gazed at him for a moment, briefly awestruck by the vision playing out in her head, before laughing softly.

Nalithas Vin’sarin. I knew him.

“I’m sorry Nal. I guess I was caught up in the moment.”

“Oh don’t be sour, Nal. We all got our asses handed to,” spoke another, a blonde haired fellow with well tanned skin, as he helped up his compatriot, a man with bright orange hair and paler features.

That’s Sarenval Starsaber and Ben’erah Thistlebreeze. Belle never liked Ben much, but I know it pained her to lose her brother...

Raynell’s thoughts lingered a moment on the fate of Ben before another voice called out.

“What the hells was that? Where was my support? We had a clear vantage out of her line of sight!”

Raynell twirled around to a woman with short cut raven locks and a scowl on her features. She grinned as she watched the woman complain to her compatriots behind her, the ones that she caught with her shield throw.

Avanaya Sunherald and the Dawnfeather sisters, Tiralin and Teralin. Avanaya would later cross the Dark Portal and train under the Illidari, becoming the Killherald...

“Oh come off it, Ava! How were we supposed to know Raynell was going to toss her shield?”

“Yeah. Next time, she ought to toss it at you, you -twat-.”

“That’s enough, everyone...” Diliandra strode forth to the gathered knights, a bit of a bemused smile on her face. “You all did well, today, though your approach in our last spar left a lot to be desired. Remember your drills and techniques, and make ready for tomorrow. Dismissed.”

The others nodded and made their way past Raynell, each giving her a firm pat on the shoulder and a word of congratulations, even if defeat stung for them. As Raynell watched her compatriots depart, she turned to look to her mentor. Another woman was with her, one of regal stature with silver earrings hanging on the lobes of her ears, and an inscribed scimitar at her side. Her hair was pulled back in a neat, black ponytail, and she spared a brief glance at Raynell, furrowing her brow in a sense of disdain before looking back to Diliandra, offering a few words of departure before bowing politely. Raynell scowled a bit, her form tensing as recognition dawned upon her.

Lunisara Silverblade. Traitor.

Raynell felt a sense of regret echo in her head in the form of a heavy sigh from Ozmin.

She deceived us all, Raynell, and the Order suffered for it.

Raynell dwelled quietly on Ozmin’s words, looking a bit downcast before Diliandra approached. “Something the matter, Raynell?”

“Oh! N-nothing, Master Sunspeaker.”

Diliandra smirked. “Well, your performance today was far from nothing. A bit overdone, but impressive, none the less.”

“Thank you, Master Sunspeaker,” she replied, bowing deeply. “Will that be all for me, today?”

“Not quite. You have one more challenge awaiting you, and she made certain to be here to make good on it after her patrols.”

Raynell tilted her head a moment, then heard another voice call out from behind.

“Sorry to have kept you all waiting! You best be ready, Raynell, because I am coming at you with all I’ve got.”

Raynell smiled, feeling a soft flush rise to her cheeks and a renewed sense of vigor in her form. She gripped her training blade tightly and readied her shield, bristling with excitement.

“Oh, I’m ready for -anything-.”

She twirled around with weapons at the ready, steadying her stance.

Here I come, Fi-

SCREEEEAHHH.

Raynell nearly leapt out of her skin as her vision filled with the lunging visage of a ghoul. She raised her shield in time to repel the leaping corpse, then cut it down with her now sharpened silver blade. The Farstrider’s Square was gone, replaced by rotted fields of brown grass, gnarled trees, and a brown, darkened gloom in the sky. Her nostrils scrunched, and she briefly retched at the stench of rot and undeath around her.

What’s happening!? I don’t understa-

Relax, Raynell.

The voice of Ozmin echoed in her head once more.

The Trial of Light’s Vision is ever shifting, turning through the pages of your story and revealing them from chapter to chapter. This is but another chapter in that story...

Raynell looked around once more, seeing another swarm of ghouls approaching her. She struck the ground with her blade, consecrating the desecrated earth as holy flame ripped through the gibbering mass of risen corpses, then drew her sword from the earth and charged forward to cut down what remained, taking a moment to catch her bearings.

This is not a great chapter to end up in. This is our battalion’s fateful foray into the Eastern Plaguelands, the one where...

“Raynell!”

The voice of her mentor called out from behind, riding atop her warhorse and flanked by a pair of other knights, their faces concealed by black hoods, and Diliandra’s concealed by a hood and mask, which she quickly drew back as she spoke.

“The battalion is falling back to the Ghostlands border. The captain is ahead in pursuit of the death knight and his legions. I need you to intercept her and bring her back! We’ve suffered casualties, and I fear Vin’sarin hasn’t much time...”

“What do you mean?” Raynell asked. “What’s happened?”

Diliandra fell silent, her expression dark and downcast as she took a breath before shaking her head. “Go, Raynell. Do as I’ve asked, and return swiftly, before you are overrun!”

Raynell tried to speak once more, but the thundering hooves of the warhorses turned away, charging back to the border. Raynell stood alone, silent in the midst of the plaguelands, a surging panic rising in her throat as it tightened, hands shaking and cold sweat trickling across her brow.

Focus, Raynell. Do not let your vision waver. Remember, you must go -forward-.

As Ozmin’s voice called out to her, she paused, took a knee, and drew in slow breaths. In and out, in a state of balanced trance, quieting the swarm of thoughts in her mind’s eye as she opened her eyes once more, looking forward on the path ahead. She heard a scream in the distance, perking her ears, and nodded firmly.

There.

She brought her fingers to her lips and let forth a sharp whistle. The whinnying cry of a horse sounded in the distance, and from the gnarled wood, a proud steed rode forth.

Darktreader. Ever my ally in battle. He was cursed with death’s touch during the battle for Icecrown, but found redemption at Light’s Hope during the battle with the Legion.

Raynell took quickly to the horse, lifting herself upon the saddle, then urging him forward through the Plaguelands, across wretched earth and through abandoned villages toward the cry of anguish. As she closed the distance, she could hear more voices, many of them her companions, and that of the captain that led them, calling for them to rally back.

“Hang on, I’m almost there!”

She cracked the reins hard against Darktreader, breaking into a full sprint across the deadened landscape, their destination just over the ridge.

I’m almost there, Fi-

Suddenly, her weight shifted backwards, as if someone had lassoed her from behind, and her vision darkened. She toppled and rolled against the earth below, rolling against what felt like snow. The metallic taste of blood sat bitter upon her tongue, and shooting pain suddenly seized her. As she gathered herself and opened her eyes, she saw a human woman, clad in black armor, her skin as pale as the snow around them, and a runeblade draped over her shoulder.

Gwenlien Allendare. She was a knight of Alterac raised by the Lich King, and was terrorizing Forsaken caravans passing between Tarren Mill and the Undercity. In truth, it was a ruse meant to lure me...

Raynell gathered herself and her blade, this time a greatsword, and brought her unsteady legs into as steady a stance as she could.

I...lost this battle. Perhaps another chance...

----------------------------

The silence unsettled Ravaina as she watched both her father and her new ward locked in trial. At the very least, Ozmin had awareness of his whereabouts, quietly turning a page or two of his tome on occasion as minutes passed like hours in the frigid north. She held tight to her lance, ever vigilant as her ears picked up more movement some distance from them, the sound of cracking limbs and schlorping, rotted flesh passing by.

“Father, how much longer must this go on?”

“As long as is necessary to fulfill Raynell’s visions. I am providing her with guidance, but it is her task, and hers alone, to complete.”

Ravaina scowled, looking away as she watched another group of undead shamble across the wastes. She noticed the throngs growing ever more prominent, all with their glowing eyes raised to the spires of Icecrown Citadel in the distance. She shivered as the howling gales seemed to pick up, cutting even through the insulated plate.

“Something feels off. The other knights have told us that Icecrown has long been quiet and desolate...”

“Most of them aren’t aware of the lingering presence of the Lich King. The new one, that is.”

Ozmin glanced briefly over his shoulder at the shuffling masses. One ghoul turned his slobbering gaze to the knight. He scowled as they met gazes before the ghoul continued shuffling away.

“They say Fordragon sits upon the Frozen Throne, now, keeping the Scourge tamed and at bay from ever overwhelming Azeroth again.”

His eyes returned to the tome, then lifted slightly to regard Raynell.

“Still...something -is- off.”

“Father?” Ravaina lifted her gaze to Ozmin, eyes betraying a sense of worry.

“These visions are jumping all over. They test Raynell’s focus...and mine. I should be able to control the pace, and yet I find the trial slipping through my grasp.”

He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them once more, brilliant Light teeming from his aura as he fought the cold, oppressive dark around him, along with his fears of losing control.

“We should be fine...but stay vigilant.”

Ravaina nodded, gulping softly. She held firm to her lance and steadied her stance, remaining at parade rest...and yet around her, a scene began to unfold, and in the distance, Ravaina could swear she saw flashes of something happening atop of the citadel...

----------------------------

In the snowy drifts of the Alterac Mountains, among the long abandoned ruins of Alterac itself, a clashed played out. Raynell, clad in red and black, her blade clashing against runecarved steel. Gwenlien, the death knight, towering over her and laying down brute force as bitter frost swirled across her saronite-clad form. Swirls of fiery Light followed Raynell’s strikes, trying to fend off the sickly frost of the Death Knight’s runeblade. Fighting through searing pain, through struggled breath, Raynell gained a brief advantage and struck out with all her might, bringing her blade crashing down against the Death Knight’s armor. The human reeled back, down to a knee, open to one last strike. Raynell lifted her blade high, ready to strike down the Death Knight...only to have herself intercepted by dark magic, a clawed, black spectral hand rising from the Death Knight’s outstretched grip. She could feel the air being strangled out from her, struggling and flailing in panic as she tried to rip the hand free from her throat, even as the Death Knight trudged forward, runeblade dragging across the snow.

“You’ve given me enough trouble, elf, and now your story ends HERE.”

Concentrate, Raynell! Do not let your vision fade!

Ozmin’s voice cut through clear in her mind, and Raynell felt a surge of desperation as she found purchase in the dark magic, prepared to break free. As the runeblade thrust forward, however, a sudden flash of Light struck the Death Knight, causing her to reel away. As Raynell freed herself, she hit the snow hard, coughing in fits and coughing up blood as her dazed vision looked up to see a blurry clash unfold. Another had come to her aid, an elven woman with long, braided black hair, bearing the Blood Knight tabard and an ebonsteel zweihander.

Valaane Duskbanish. She came to save me that fateful night, having followed Gwenlien’s trail to the mountains...

She continued to watch the clash unfold, both knights, one of Blood, one of Death, locked in ferocious combat. In a decisive strike, the Blood Knight, Valaane, ran her sword through Gwenlien, drawing it out with dripping ichor splashed across the snow before planting it in the ground. The Death Knight fell to her knees, sputtering in her weakness as final death approached.

“Your wicked reign of terror ends today, cur.”

Valaane’s hands glowed with teeming holy flame, prepared to put an end to the Death Knight once and for all. The human only responded with a bitter laugh and an eerily prophetic warning.

“You...will join me...in DARKNESS!”

Suddenly, the elf found herself blindsided by a shadowy strike, the same shadowed claw that gripped at Raynell’s throat now slashing through Valaane’s. The once glowing hands suddenly lost their shine, the Light dissipating in sickly, pale violet embers, and the Death Knight charged the woman, sending both toppling over the slopes of Alterac and unto a fate previously unknown. Raynell staggered to her feet and rushed to the edge, huffing and panting as she shook her head and silently cursed herself.

Gone. Like last time.

She looked to Valaane’s blade, left to the wayside, and drew it from the snow.

Little did I know I would see her again...but immensely changed. The shadow cut more than her throat. It cut through her very being, tainting it so that she eventually became Ren’dorei...a void elf.

She slung the zweihander over her back, then gazed out over the cloud-darkened foothills and peaks below.

I thought I had lost her that night. Lost her, like I had lost...

She scarcely had time to finish her thought before the hum of a flying blade cut through the air. Raynell quickly ducked it and drew the greatsword once more, charging forth to clash with the serrated glaive of another: a Night Elf this time, clad in the armor of the Wardens...and bearing a fiery fel green gaze in the eyes of her helm.

Shiane Blackgrove.

The two backed off from their clash, heavy plate boots crunching on the snow beneath them. This time, Raynell was surrounded by the towering pines of Winterspring, the same ones which she found shelter in during her days of reclusion before the Legion invasion. Raynell stared down her new foe, quiet breaths carrying in the cold winter air in soft, misty vapors. Once more, Ozmin’s voice echoed through, though it seemed to hint at confusion.

You...will have to bring me up to speed on this one. I had departed before the Cataclysm to train my daughter afar.

Raynell smirked, raising her blade at the ready as she locked eyes with the corrupted Warden. At the Warden’s side, a pair of snarling felhounds emerged, their bone white faces starkly contrasting the long, black, wiry manes across their heads and backs, and the deep red skin that surged with fel blood. Following them, a pair of burly felguards stepped from the shadows, bearing axes in their massive grey hands, and clad in demon-forged armaments from head to hoof. At Raynell’s side, new allies came to the fore; first, a woman from an earlier vision, the very Avanaya Sunherald, returned as the Killherald, a demon huntress with long horns jutting from her forehead and skin that was scaled and deep red; and to Raynell’s other side, a tall, muscular elven woman with long red hair and a pair of axes in hand, clad in red platemail.

“Ava, Belle.”

“That name is dead to me, as is the woman who once bore it,” the demon huntress replied, “but call upon the Killherald, and she shall lead the hunt...”

“Oh wow, lookit’ you bein’ all cool and edgy...” the warrior, Belle, chimed. “Come off it and let’s just knock some damn heads.”

The demon huntress shot a glance at Belle, or at least as much a glance as one with a blindfold could offer, then grunted. “Let’s...”

Wait, that’s Avanaya? And the other woman, that’s...that Daroen’s youngest! How did that scrawny wretch get to be so...ferocious!?

Ozmin, focus. This is still a trial.

Don’t turn this around on me, adept! You are the one on trial, here!

Raynell chuckled softly to herself. Both Ava and Belle stared at her, then at each other, shrugging indifferently, as if being left out of a joke.

Fine, then. In that case, let me show you how it’s done, Ozmin.

“ASHAL THORI’ANORE!”

The trio of women charged forth, with Raynell leading the way. The Warden and her demons responded in kind, a clash imminent as they rushed forth on a collision course. As Raynell raised her blade to strike the Warden dead on, the scene suddenly faded, and Raynell found herself in a dark, empty void. She looked about in a brief panic, having to take a few steadying breaths to gain her bearings before asking for her new mentor’s guidance.

Ozmin, what’s going on? I seem to have lost the vision.

No response. The void lingered in unsettling silence around her.

Ozmin, can you hear me?

Another long pause. Nothing. Suddenly, a warm, orange glow settled in the distance. Raynell began walking toward it, trying to get a better view.

Ozmin, do you see this? Ozmin? What’s happening out th-

Raynell stopped dead in her tracks as the vision became clearer. She was no longer in snow driven landscapes, or tranquil Thalassian forests, or even among the rot of the Plaguelands. What transpired before her was far worse than anything she had experienced thus far, and just a few paces away, a hooded figure gazed across a firelit expanse of sea, and high above it, a towering tree smoldered and blazed in unquenching flame. Screams of agony echoed throughout, and in the sea, the drowned floated across the surface.

Teldrassil. No...

----------------------------

Ravaina stirred as the undead nearby began to wail. The startling cacophony even unsettled the stoic Ozmin, whose focus wavered as he looked back to his daughter.

“What’s going on!? My connection to Raynell is unstable! No, no...this can’t be happening!”

Ozmin flipped through his tome rapidly, as if searching for a solution to his predicament. All the while, Ravaina looked up toward Icecrown Citadel, noticing something stirring in the distance, signs of distant battle as it appeared pieces of the glacier were falling from it.

“Father, it’s the Citadel. Something is happening up there!”

----------------------------

Raynell quietly approached the shore, recognizing the besieged Lor’danel nearby, but still drawn to the great tree collapsing under the all consuming flame. The hooded figure stood quiet as she approached, not even turning to regard her approach. As she stepped within a foot or two of the figure, a sharp pain spiked through her skull, and the knight reeled back, holding her temple as a harsh voice whispered in her mind.

Behold, all of your sins laid bare. The culmination of your failures, your lack of loyalty. A doomed world, created by your own hand.

Raynell hissed in frustration, raising her head to glare at the figure. “Sylvanas...” she spat, before reeling again as the figure seemed to respond.

No. She is carrying out his will, as am I. What she does will save your doomed world. What I do, I do to save you from yourself...

The figure turned, revealing herself as an elven woman, raven hair tied back in a neat ponytail, silver earrings sitting at the lower lobes of her ears, and an inscribed scimitar at her side, drawn now in her hand. Raynell’s eyes widened, staggering backward.

“No...Lunisara? You...you fell at Winterspring, after you tried to ambush us with Blackgrove in tow...”

The woman raised her blade, the tip pointed at Raynell. Again, the shooting pain bombarded her head, more agonizing now.

You have been chosen. All must return to him. All must return to the Maw. You will usher them forth, as one of the champions of death, as a liberator of The Jailer.

“Ozmin! Something is wrong! Ozmin! Ozminnn!”

Raynell stumbled backward, suddenly losing her footing. She felt herself plummeting into a dark pit, flailing about as she sought to catch herself on anything around her, even though there was naught but black surrounding her.

You will be reunited with her. Don’t you want to see her again? Don’t you remember what happened? Or has she become Nameless to you once more...

THUD.

Raynell once again found herself on solid earth, groaning softly as she picked herself up from the ground. Her vision cleared, and she jolted as the familiar stench of rot assailed her senses. The dull brown sky, the gnarled trees, the tattered grasses. She was back in the Eastern Plaguelands.

I don’t understand. Why am I here, again, of all-

“There’s...nothing you can do for me, R-Raynell...”

The knight snapped around quickly at the sound of a pained whisper nearby, accompanied by familiar, mournful sobs. She stepped around a ruined tower wall. Huddled against it was a woman with short, golden locks, and in her arms, she cradled another woman, this one with silvery white hair. The woman in her arms lay wounded and pale, and a sickly looking green vein seemed to stretch up from her neck to her cheek. Tracing it back down, one could see the wound causing the most suffering, what appear to be a grisly clawing of her side, tearing through armor and flesh. The silver haired woman reached up, a shaky hand gently stroking the cheek of her sobbing compatriot.

“You’ve grown so s-strong...you’re going to...make a fine knight, Ray.”

The other woman shook her head, tears streaking across her cheeks as the sobs grew louder. Raynell watched the scene in helpless awe, her face pale and her eyes filled with the same sense of sorrow that gripped the grief-stricken blonde before her.

“I can’t...I can’t! Please, Fia, you have to hold on! Lady Sunspeaker...sh-she can...”

“No! No...she won’t make it in time...I can feel it...t-turning me!”

The silver-haired knight began to seize up, wracked in agonizing pain as she let out a hoarse, dry-throated cry, the sickly paleness of her skin beginning to turn a dull shade of green. Raynell choked back a sob, reaching out in vain to the pair as she stumbled back. The blonde cradling her only mourned all the more passionately, hugging tightly to her dying compatriot in her waning moments. She sobbed into her ruined tabard, running a hand through her silver locks as they came undone from her ponytail, unwilling to let go, even as life quickly faded from the woman’s eyes.

“F-Fia...I love you!”

“Raynell...I...”

The words remained choked in her throat, the woman suddenly pushing herself off of the mourning blonde and staggering backwards with inhuman speed. She began to rise with an unsteady gait, her voice croaking out in a wordless, thoughtless cry as she gazed back with glazed over eyes, the rot crawling up her form as the last of her conscious life slipped away, overtaken by the madness of undeath. As Raynell drew her blade once more, she steeled her gaze on the shambling corpse that was once her Captain, her friend, and her first love, fighting through tears to see her clearly.

“I’m sorry, Fia.”

Before she could strike, though, the sickly woman burst into holy flame, her body consumed by it. She collapsed in a skeletal husk, left to smolder in embers as across from her, the blonde stood wide-eyed, hand outstretched as embers of holy flame flickered from her fingers. The shrill whinny of a warhorse sounded in the distance, and charging from the north came a trio of familiar knights rushing to the young woman’s side, the forefront of which threw off her hood.

“Raynell! What happ-”

The knight reeled back at the sight of the fallen captain, her body left in smoldering bone, the tattered tabard slowly burning away in smoke and ash. The blonde looked back to her mentor, her surrogate mother, and cried out in a broken voice.

“What have I done...what have I done!?”

She fell into the other’s arms in mournful wailing. The woman knelt aside her, holding her tightly in a comforting embrace, even as the dark, rot-filled air around them offered no comfort. The other knights stood back, unsure of how to respond, if they could at all.

“Lady Sunspeaker, what-”

“Leave us.”

“Pardon?”

“LEAVE US! NOW!”

The other knights stumbled back in shock before returning to their horses, riding off into the distance as mentor and ward remained to mourn their loss together. Raynell watched on, sorrow heavy in her heart as she gazed at the smoldering corpse left by her own hand all those years ago.

“I’ve seen enough, Ozmin. Take me back.”

She watched and waited. No response.

“Ozmin, the trial is over! You’ve made your point! Take me-”

Behold, all of your sins laid bare.

Raynell reeled again, feeling the sharp pain strike her head once more. As she raised her gaze, she noticed that the two mourners, her younger self and her mentor, were staring at her.

“Is it not fitting?” said the shade of Diliandra, her expression menacing as she stared daggers through the knight. “All you have ever laid hand upon, wreathed in fire. You leave naught but destruction in your wake.”

“No,” Raynell stammered, “No! That wasn’t...my fault. She was turning...I had to!”

“You didn’t save her,” said the shade of Raynell, raising a hand to point at her future self. “You didn’t even -try-. You let her burn, like you let Teldrassil burn.”

“No! NO! Stop it...STOP IT!”

She shut her eyes, trying to force out the voices laying accusations upon her. She suddenly felt a cacophony of accusations fill her head, so many that she could not discern their origins. She gripped her head, nearly screaming as she pleaded them to cease, and as she opened her eyes, her gaze suddenly settled on a new, unsettling visage: that of the skeletal remains of her long lost Captain, her lost love, Fia’delis Brightblade, now bathed in a new flame, one of eerie blue lichfire.

“All must return...to the Maw.”

The visage suddenly became clad in dark steel. Ebon wings burst forth from her shoulders. A clawed gauntlet grasped at Raynell’s throat, choking the air from her as the Death Knight did before. As she flailed and struggled, a deafening boom sounded above, and like shards of glass, the sky began to splinter, opening toward some desolate expanse high above, and from the black, a menacing spire emerging from on high. As the figure ascended, carrying Raynell in tow, a flash suddenly blindsided the winged knight, loosing its grasp, and Raynell began to fall once more, and for a good while as the ground below gave way to an infinite, ethereal expanse, her vision quickly fading as the figure above seemed locked in battle with another...

----------------------------

BOOM.

The howling winds suddenly died out. A sound like booming thunder echoed across the stillness, followed quickly by a terrible shrieking. High above the Citadel, and across the darkened expanse of the Icecrown sky, tendrils of energy shot across the expanse like ghostly strands of lightning. Ravaina reeled back at the sudden surge, and Ozmin flinched, losing grasp of his tome as it tumbled to the ground. Raynell’s eyes shot open, but were no longer gold, but a brilliant white. A chain suddenly appeared around her throat, tendrils of shadowy purple stretching along its length, and above them, the sky splintered into glass-like shards, opening to a great chasm above as the darkened sky split to reveal a new endless chasm, surrounded by dull orange and brown coloring, with a spire much like Icecrown’s just barely cresting past the breaking point. The chain seem to stretch to the tower itself, and in the ensuing moments of panic, Ozmin called upon his greatsword to shatter the chain, reeling back as the dark energies repelled him in a powerful rebuke.

“RAVAINA! WE HAVE TO SAVE HER!”

It didn’t take long for the daughter of Ozmin to leap into action, channeling all her strength, both physical and Light-blessed, to drive the end of her lance into the chain. She, however, met the same rebuke as the edge of the lance struck the chain without so much as denting it, sending her reeling back once more.

“FATHER! SHE’S BEING TAKEN!”

As the two looked on in horror, Raynell’s body began to rise with the chain, slowly bringing her up from the silken rug she once knelt upon. Both knights hurled bolts of Light, along with a myriad of elven obscenities, in a vain attempt to break the shadowy chain. In their clamor, they failed to notice the shambling undead suddenly begin to turn against them, and as they began to swarm, both father and daughter had to now contend with the swarming undead, leaving Raynell to her fate.

In that moment, the blade of Sunspeaker began to float above the brazier, the clarion call of Shorel’Belore humming brightly as the blade drew from the flame below it. In one miraculous stroke, the blade cut through the chain, the shadowy energies engulfed in shining flame before dissipating into dust, and Raynell fell back toward earth, collapsed against the silken carpet...

----------------------------

Fear not, for in the shadow of death, I shall always be at your side...

Raynell awoke with a start, hearing the shriek of undead pierce the suddenly still air of Icecrown. Raynell scrambled to her feet, grabbing Shorel’Belore beside her and rushing forth to Ravaina and Ozmin, driving her blade deep into the desecrated earth and unleashing a surge of consecrated Light. The undead around it shuddered and burst into holy flame before collapsing, and with a heavy sigh, Raynell collected herself before quickly turning to Ozmin.

“Something’s wrong! The trial’s been compromised. What’s been-”

Ozmin raised a hand to quiet the panicked knight, then pointed to Icecrown and the shattered sky above. Raynell’s eyes went wide, seeing the familiar broken shards of sky, the gaping maw above, and the shadowy spire at the center of it. She nearly stumbled, taken aback by the sight high above the Frozen Throne.

“Icecrown...what does this mean, Ozmin?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, his faced locked in a firm scowl, “all I do know is that the fate of our world hangs once more in the balance, and the knights will once more have to march into the heart of death itself.”

Their gazes lingered upon Icecrown Citadel. Ravaina joined them, as awestruck as they were at the sight before them, and further unsettled by the wail of the undead in the distance around them, thrown into a sudden fit of chaos. Raynell heaved out a sigh, bowing her head, then looked back to Ozmin.

“This is probably neither the time or place, but...have I passed the Trial?”

Ozmin smirked, glancing sidelong at Raynell.

“As I said, Azeroth is going to need the knights once more. Considering the circumstances...I’d say you’ve more than qualified.”

She motioned quickly to Ravaina. “Ready the horses. We leave everything but the blade. The Argent Grounds are not far. They will be preparing as we speak...”

Ravaina nodded, collecting her cloak and quickly throwing it over her shoulders. Raynell and Ozmin followed suit, and as the three rode off, Raynell looked back at the abandoned ritual, then toward the trail ahead, riding through the valley in the shadow of death that lingered high above...

#World of Warcraft #Shadowlands #writing #Raynell #Wyrmrest Accord #Ravaina #Ozmin #Blood Knights #Blood Elves #Sin'dorei #crazy ish happening #wanted to write badly about it #also trying to consolidate raynell's story since its so scattered hahahaha oh god

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thelittlestcheshire · 3 years

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Self Para 005: The Reminders Pull the Floor From Your Feet

Note: For starters, this takes place on Saturday. This involves the Leo plot, and for the most part it’s... lots of Ches’s thought process leading up to her visiting Leo. Any interactions with people are lead up / not really... the majority. So please, tread carefully. I was careful to avoid going too deep into her more... brutal thought processes in hopes of ensuring it’s not too triggering but given the context I do feel a need to mention it. I do discuss her finding her brother after his attempt a little bit too, so, please pay heed to the tws and if you think it may be an issue, I strongly urge you skip this self para. I love you guys, and your safety is the biggest priority always <3

TWs: Suicide / Suicide Attempts, Decapitation / Murder (mentioned in a comment about how displeased Leo will be to see her), Hanging, Amputation, Ches’s thought process while shopping does include her making considerations about what she can buy Leo can’t hurt himself with so I don’t know how to tag that but I am aware it could be triggering.

For once, Ches didn’t know how she was expected to react, but she was sure it didn’t align with how she currently felt as she tore through her wardrobe to try to find something to wear. What even was appropriate to wear today? Colors were too cheery, white too saintly, black was a staple in her wardrobe and entirely off the table. Everything in her closet was practically getting thrown without care as she desperately tried to find anything. Even as her front door opens, she doesn’t glance to see who was coming in until she hears Balo squeak as she tries to avoid yet another thrown object.

“Sorry! I just was wondering if I could maybe borrow a pair of shorts?” The blonde squeals and the redhead pauses her frantic search for something appropriate to wear. Was Balo really trying to carry on like normal when her friend was in the hospital after trying to kill himself? Sure, people were saying it was an accident, but that didn’t mean it was.

Emmett had told everyone it was an accident after his attempt, a prank gone wrong, that she had to cut him down from the ceiling after. And at this point, she simply didn’t believe in accidents.

“Of course, they’re in the dresser. Let me know if there’s something worth wearing to the hospital in there while you’re at it.” She glances away from what she was doing to wave her friend toward where the dresser was. She would have to rearrange the room to the way she liked it eventually, but she hadn’t exactly been happy about much of anything since they arrived in New Zealand.

“Is going to see Leo a good idea?”

Balo’s question throws her off, as it was one she had been asking herself over and over again. She still didn’t know the answer herself, and she just turns away from her friend to go back through her closet, tossing yet more things in the direction of her bed as she fails to find something worth wearing. “This is my fault. I have to go.” She finally speaks as she tosses the last item of clothing in the closet onto the floor. “If I had done more....”

“It was an accident, remember? Just breathe, okay? You dress like you usually would. Maybe ask if I’m allowed to visit if you think he’s up to it?” She shakes her head, grabbing the shorts she came for from the drawer before she tosses a pair of ripped jeans and a tank top her way. Ches catches it, grateful for the answer so she could move onto the next method to tear herself apart with. “Just promise me you’ll be gentle with him. He’s going through a lot.”

“I’m not going to be mean. I figured he might like some comfy clothes and stuff. If someone else already thought of it, great, but...” She glances at her shoe rack as she talks. Maybe she should wear sneakers instead of heels for once, it’d make her look shorter and left her feeling more vulnerable, but perhaps it’d ease his fears of her just showing up. She doubted she was the first person he wanted to see; in fact, she was likely the very last, perhaps Balo was right, and this was a horrible idea.

But she needed to do this. How else was she going to live with the guilt?

“Well, if you need to talk later, come find me. I’ve gotta go, but I love you.”

“I love you too.” And with those words, Ches was alone with her thoughts again. She takes a deep breath as she walks over to her dresser to set the clothes she was going to wear down. Stepping over multiple piles of discarded clothes carefully as she realizes just how much money she’d just carelessly thrown to the floor as if it didn’t matter. Perhaps, in the long run, it didn’t. Still, she kneels down and starts to sort through the discarded clothes on the floor, slowly beginning to put everything back onto hangers. How was she supposed to make intentions clear from the moment he saw her?

Maybe the gifts would help, but she was just going to have to accept that whatever she did, Leo was likely to be hostile. Emmett was after his attempt, and he liked her. Ches was entirely unwelcome, and she knew that, but she supposed that was well deserved. If the roles were reversed, she would have made Leo’s visit a living hell for daring to breathe near her after a failed attempt. He had every right to do the same to her now. She carefully puts the last dress back where it belongs, going through the motions of getting dressed and making herself presentable, throwing her hair up in a ponytail, grabbing her bag, and just leaving the dorms.

She would have to go to the store and try to find things Leo would be allowed to have. She was already starting a shopping list of things in her head, things he’d need, things he’d like.

-------------------

Could she trust Leo with colored pencils, or was she going to have to stick with crayons? As Ches looks over the shelf of Crayola products, she ponders it for a few moments before she grabs both the washable crayons and the twistable colored pencils, glancing around before she tosses the bath crayons in too. She always got her worst thoughts in the shower. Maybe giving him a creative outlet he could take with him would be beneficial. On second thought, she tosses a box in for herself too. Her roommate was simply going to have to fucking deal with it.

The notebook had to have no wires, nothing he could pull off of it and cause harm. Any bags needed to be paper so he’d be allowed to have them. The slippers had to be sturdy yet stringless. She’d broken into his room in an attempt to figure out sizes, so she was hoping she was doing well on the clothing. She didn’t want to bring anything of his, not only because it’d require her to be honest that she had broken into his bedroom, but because she already knew how easily things got lost. The last thing she needed was to grab something that mattered and something happening to it. That was a problem she had no intention of being blamed for.

What else could be needed? Pre-paid call cards just in case what she’d read was wrong, and he wasn’t allowed to have his cell phone. If he did, she supposed it never hurt to have prepaid international calling cards either way.

He liked pen and ink, not paint, right?

For a moment, she tries to remember the art of his she had seen, none of it had been paintings, but maybe that was just simply because he couldn’t carry it around. She could ask, offer to make a second trip. She tosses comfy clothes into the cart as she goes, trying to find the most comfortable stringless things she could find, socks and underwear, because people probably weren’t thinking of it when they grabbed stuff. Toothbrush, he definitely needed a toothbrush. And inpatient units were usually cold, so a massive plush blanket probably help. He probably would be allowed to have zippers. Shit, what was his jeans size? Maybe Elizabeth would know, although was it a good idea to bother her at work with how busy she was. She glances at the racks for a minute, considering it for a moment.

Stuffed animals were usually taken in her experience, but if she could prove he wouldn’t hurt himself with it, maybe getting him something he was allowed to punch would be nice. After all, he did seem to enjoy his fights. Was Winnie the Pooh punchable? Balo was onto something when she said Leo looked like Christopher Robin. And he was a baby toy, so if Leo got him apart and found a way to hurt himself with it, it would be a feat. Still, she considers it a moment longer and puts an elephant in the cart instead.

She could always come back for it later if he’d appreciate the joke. What else would he like? Would the ward he was on allow her to drop by and grab him fast food? She probably could find a McDonalds’.

She takes a deep breath, already trying to find the number to find out. Hopefully, they’d allow outside food and drink. After all, what made someone’s day brighter than cheap junk food?

-------------------

[To Momma Everett 😍😍:] I’m dropping by to see Leo, so I’m gonna put my phone on vibrate to avoid him ripping my head off, but I love you so so so so so much, and please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’ve got everything handled here, I promise. I’m going to tell the front desk I’m your daughter, so that should get me in long enough to drop him off clothes and stuff. Hopefully, he won’t correct them? 🤞

Ches puts her phone into her purse after she’s done, tossing the bag over her shoulder before she goes around to the trunk of her rental to grab the stuff. It felt like it wasn’t enough, but it wasn’t as if she could bring him nearly as much as she wanted to, just essentials and a few small things in hopes of making him smile. She goes to the hospital’s front desk, explaining why she was here and that she had no idea where she was supposed to be going. As they led her in the direction of where he was, she tries to take deep breaths. Leo was going to kill her for this, wasn’t he? Maybe she should have dropped by to steal a kiss from Elliot before she left before he literally ripped her skull from her body.

Of course, nothing could have prepared her for what was to come after she got on the unit. She hands over the stuff to the nurse’s station for them to check over, insisting it’d be better if she waited to go in to see him until she had it back, and for a brief moment, she sees Leo, and everything comes crashing down. Where had his arm gone? Why hadn’t anyone told her?

“Your brother didn’t tell you.” The nurse guesses, and she glances over to the man and the art supplies she’d brought. Was it a dick move? Perhaps, but she wasn’t going to let anyone even dare suggest he couldn’t do art. It was only a matter of adjusting how he approached it, and suddenly she didn’t care if she had to import a physical therapist willing to try to help him. If anyone tried to tell Leo he wasn’t doing something, they would have to fight her.

“No, but that’s okay. He can still whomp me for bringing him children’s bath crayons after he gets home. He’ll be fine.”

If the nurse says anything else, she doesn’t listen. She just quietly waits for him to sticker the stuff and hand it back to her before she enters to see Leo, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she hopes that for once, maybe she wouldn’t say the wrong thing to him.

#suicide tw #suicide attempt tw #murder tw #hanging tw #amputation tw #oscar the grouch ( leo )#a hundred thrown out speeches i almost said to you ( self paras )#all of my heroes died all alone ( musings )

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jharvas · 4 years

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Day: February 6th Time: Afternoon Place: Off the coast of Arx Status: Closed (Self-Para)

To save his own life, Jharvas would have to kill. At least, that’s what his tribe used to tell him, the rest of their young, as part of their training. He was especially told that numerous times, more times than any of his peers, because of his inability to speak without Kiora, his friend and companion through only whose mouth he could. When he became a soldier, a warrior, for his tribe, he was well-prepared to heed their words. To save his own life, more importantly that of others, the triton would have to kill.

Those exact words filled his mind deep below the waters off the coast of Arx as he found himself staring down a giant shark, scarred and still voracious, having put himself between the predator and its prey, a fisher who asked for his protection while she dove for treasures unknown. To think that any treasure can be worth anyone’s life might sicken those against greed, but this one, a bounty of pearls from unsuspecting clams, the fisher’s only method to feed her child, can be excused.

In these depths, the giant shark reigned. It commanded respect, mostly fear, from those that find themselves foolish enough to trespass in its waters, yet Jharvas himself is no stranger to any sea, any ocean. The triton is protected, at the very least watched over, by an ancient power that has ruled more seas, more oceans, for more years, more decades, more centuries than all the sharks of this world can ever hope to swim in. Yet, while Kiora in the form of an octopus watches over the fisher behind Jharvas, the triton could find no more confidence to kill the shark than sympathize with its primal hunger.

“My friend, please reconsider...” Jharvas tried to persuade the beast to leave them be, appealing to its sense of logic and enmity through his patron’s grace. “We are not your enemies. We cannot be your prey. I do not wish to harm you, but if you decide to do anything rash, I will have to respond in kind.”

The shark should have understood his words, though he did not speak them with Kiora’s mouth. He directly communicated with the predator through its mind. The shark could have responded in the same method. Yet, it did not. It simply stared at Jharvas, its cold eyes filled with hunger, the most basic of urges, the most primal source of violence for all creatures.

And then it lunged at him, jaws wide open, sharp teeth bared and primed to rip at the triton’s flesh. Jharvas instinctively shielded himself with his right arm, and for a split-second, had the presence of mind to will his patron’s tentacle to grab the shark’s tail to keep it from fully tearing his arm off, the same tentacle he had created earlier through his patron’s grace while pleading with the shark. Still, the triton could do nothing else but wince as the predator’s fangs dug in what it could of his flesh.

Jharvas swam back as the shark overpowered his conjured limb, forcing it to dissipate into nothingness once more, back to his patron’s own underwater realm. He narrowed his eyes at the predator, speaking directly to its mind once more. “I am sorry, my friend, but you have left me with no choice.”

Suddenly, the waters behind the shark started to form a vortex, a whirlpool, and as its current grew stronger by the minute, it started to pull the shark back towards it. Jharvas nodded and Kiora heard his voice in her head, urging her to swim as fast as she could with the fisher as soon as their friend was done with her task. The shark attempted to fight the makeshift whirlpool off, using all its strength, as much as it can muster, to swim away from it, towards its prey, its fangs bared and gaping, fueled only by its hunger and will to survive.

Unfortunately, its efforts weren’t enough. Nature would not be beaten, not the seas, not the depths. The whirlpool triumphed over the shark and dragged it within its mercy, injuring it in the process. The shark attempted to power out of it again, but again, its efforts remained in vain. The whirlpool was much too strong, stronger than its hunger, and it injured itself further.

Jharvas winced at the sight of this struggle but soon felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to find the fisher who nodded at him, pointing up. Jharvas nodded back at her and then at Kiora in octopus form. The fisher started swimming up and Kiora followed, dispersing her ink after them to obscure their attempt to escape. The triton then turned his attention back to the shark, still trying to power against the whirlpool, still hungry for him and his friend, still injuring itself in the process.

He lamented the curse of murderous hunger, the narrow-minded and inefficient path to self-preservation. “There is no sadder tale than a creature so consumed by desperation, it can no longer free itself.” He slowly turned upwards, swimming after Kiora and the fisher. To save his own life, Jharvas would have to kill. Yet, for as long as he can think of merciful ways to survive, he would rather not.

#self-paragraph #character development #Arx #(Jharvas vs Giant Shark let's go)#(Cast: Control Water - Whirlpool)#(Control Water DC 15)#(Giant Shark Strength checks: 9 & 14)#(Giant Shark Bite rolls: 18 TH 19 DMG halved to 10 by Guardian Grasp)

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julietxhawthorne · 5 years

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{ Self Para } « What Once Was Is No More

Juliet sat in the living room of Leon’s house. She made sure to avoid direct sunlight, using the curtains to shade the window. It had only been a couple of days since her turn and she had already messed up on multiple occasions. Staying out of the sunlight was one of the hardest rules for her. As a human, she loved the sun. Even when she was inside, she’d have all of her windows open to shed as much sunlight into her house as possible. But she wasn’t allowed to do that any longer and it saddened her.

“Juliet, take caution.” Leon came out of the kitchen with yet another one of his lectures. “Thou are not the like woman they knew before. They might be wary. They might e'en be frighted that thou are alive.”

“Yes, yes.” Juliet grumbled as she glanced towards the window, using a hand to wave him off. The sun was slowly setting below the horizon. It was almost time.

“I mean it, Juliet. Heed my words.” Leon stepped in front of her, his arms folding across his chest as he addressed her. “They might not be so kind towards thou after the transformation you just endured.” His voice was stern but his eyes showed worry.

“I know them all to pieces, Leon.” Her voice cracked with emotion as her eyes found his. “I shall speak to them. They shall understand.” She stood up from her chair and placed a hand on his shoulders. “I’ll be back soon.”

Once the sun had slipped beneath the horizon, Juliet pushed the front door open and bounded towards her family’s home. Adrenaline shot through her veins as she thought about seeing her husband and children again. She hoped that they hadn’t already forgotten about her.

As she approached the house, she heard something behind her and glanced over her shoulder. Leon had followed her. Even though she wanted to do this alone, nothing could stop her from being this joyous. Juliet ran towards her front door and opened it. “Johna--” Juliet was cut off by an invisible wall. She stumbled backwards onto the porch, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“Thou cannot enter unless allowed in.” Her ears caught Leon’s voice speaking to her.

She let out a small hiss and then stood straight as she saw one of her brother’s approach the door. “Theodore!” Juliet beamed, moving in closer to the door. “Theodore allow me in.”

“Juliet?” Her young brother’s eyebrows furrowed as he took a step towards the door. “What doth thou mean, let thou in?” He tilted his head to the side as he glanced towards the threshold. “What befell thee? Thou are supposed to be dead.”

“Yet I be not!” Juliet whined as she approached the opened door again. “I am alive.” She insisted. Her senses were picking up something else, threatening to make her lose control. Her brother’s blood.

“What hast thou done, sister?” Theodore’s voice turned harsh as he glared at her. “What kind of dark magic is this?”

Juliet flinched at her brother’s words. “’Tis not magic, brother.” She insisted as her tongue, unconsciously, ran over her lips. Her eyes darted to his neck, witnessing his pulse pushing up against his skin. “Please, Theodore. I do lack to see mine husband and son’s.”

Theodore noticed his sister’s eyes become distracted and he paused, using his magic to try to uncover what was really happening. After a moment, he let out a hiss, his eyes hardening as he stared at her. “You traitor!” His loud voice bombarded her ear drums and Juliet flinched as she backed up slightly. “Charles! Grab the stakes! We hast a vampire in our midst.”

It took only moments for her youngest brother to come forward with the wooden stakes. “Please, I mean no harm.” Juliet’s voice was beginning to fail her as she watched her two brother’s approach her. Stakes in hand. “Johnathan!” Juliet shouted. “William! Nicholas!”

“Juliet, we hast to hie.” Juliet picked up Leon’s voice once again.

She didn’t want to leave. She had come to reunite with her family. Juliet shook her head back and forth, trying to concentrate on the situation at hand. All the while, the pounding of her brother’s pulses were practically screaming out to her. “Not till I see mine family.” She whispered, knowing that Leon would hear her.

Suddenly, more of her family came out of the house. “Banish thee!” A few of them were shouting. “Shove a stake right through her heart!” Others were screaming.

All of the sensations were causing her so much confusion. Juliet stumbled backwards, only to be grabbed by the arm and yanked back up again. “Thou are a monster!” Theodore hissed in her face. “If only mother could see thou now.”

Juliet gasped as she felt the stake on her chest. “No, please--” She began, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t know what to do. All of the stimulation was causing her mind to reel. Maybe she should just let them kill her? She was a monster now, after all.

In less than a second, arms wrapped around her and yanked her from her brother’s grip. “I got ou.” Leon muttered as he held her in his arms and began running away from her family home. Away from the life that she had once lived. Away from her husband and her two son’s. Fresh tears stung at her eyes as she watched the house she grew up in disappear from sight.

#{ self para }#{ self para } « what once was is no more

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olympivnshq · 5 years

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congratulations hanna ! ATROPOS and her sisters are a wish we were never really expecting to come 1/3 true and we’re thrilled you took a leap and started the ball rolling. your sample had us shook, and we appreciate the sheer energy and effort that went into this app so this one’s well deserved and we’re so excited for what the fates have in store for ... things with your first faceclaim choice: TATI GABRIELLE.

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ OOC INFO.

Woop woop, it’s me, Hanna (22/she&her/gmt+2), back on my bs.

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ DEITY — GENDER. AGE RANGE.

ATROPOS OF THE MOIRAI — FEMALE. 21 - 25.

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ MORTAL NAME. JOB/OCCUPATION. BOROUGH/NEIGHBORHOOD.

Sonya Winchester. Student at NYU Law. Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

☆ﾟ*・ HOW WOULD YOU PLAY THEM?

ATROPOS. A daughter of Nyx and Erebus; A daughter of Zeus and Themis; A daughter of Chronos and Ananke. Atropos’ origins are shrouded in mystery and it suits her, for her past is not of importance to those who know her name. What is significant about her is that she is a member of the infamous trio known as the Moirai. The Fates. The Birth, The Life, The Death. Atropos pays no mind to what the gods and mortals choose to call her and her sisters because it has no effect on what they do. It is their job to determine the course of an individual’s life from the beginning to the end; Atropos, in particular, is in charge of cutting the life thread and choosing the mechanism of death for them. Atropos is the oldest sibling of the three and, befitting the archetype of a hardworking eldest child, takes her part very seriously. No one escapes death after all, and thus her reputation as the inflexible one, the inevitable one, is a moniker Atropos wears proudly. Expecting softness from her is an act of pure foolishness, and this should be clear from the moment eyes are laid upon Atropos’ stern form. She will not bother you unnecessarily, but when she speaks, she expects to be heard and obeyed. If that does not happen, or she / her sisters are otherwise slighted, Atropos will not hesitate to deal out her own, frequently severe brand of justice. Most mortals and gods have, however, learned not to anger the goddess in charge of their death, so to her joy, Atropos is often left to her own devices with her sisters, allowing them to independently operate however and whenever they choose.

SONYA. In many ways, Atropos’ mortal cage reflects her true self. She may lack her mythical powers, but Sonya has the same aura of quiet, unwavering confidence. Once again, no one really knows where she came from. Is she an orphan? Was she abandoned? Does she have a loving family somewhere? Sonya will not divulge this information, if only because she does not know it either. Her childhood was spent with a number of carers, but none stuck around long enough to leave a permanent mark or shape the young girl into whatever they wanted her to be. That is when Sonya made the crucial decision that would, in her mind, determine the rest of her life: she would make herself into whatever she wanted to be. In that moment, a fiercely independent girl was born, with ambition as her ichor. She kept (and still keeps) to herself most of the time; she will not meddle in the affairs of others nor will she partake in activities she considers ridiculous. What she will do is nurse her ambition and work diligently toward her goal of becoming the first female Chief Justice of the United States. She is well known among her fellow students at NYU Law for being a perfectionist who actually has the talent and wisdom to back up her reputation. Hardly anyone wants to voluntarily go up against her when there is a debate in class because they know they will lose. Sonya is aware of the reputation she has, but she has not done, does not do, and will not do anything about it, for that is not why she is here. Sonya Winchester is here to determine the ultimate fate of people and to get rid of anyone who tries to stand in her way.

answer these questions: 1. are they more likely to stand with the pantheon or against it?: Atropos is more likely to stand with the pantheon. She and her sisters have fought on the side of the gods before; this is because they provide the order through which it is easier to determine and execute the matters of fate. However, this does not mean she holds the pantheon in a higher value. Should they invoke her wrath or otherwise render her obsolete, she will not hesitate to put them into their place.

2. what is their stand on mortals?: Atropos does not belittle mortals for their lack of powers. She does not envy the fleeting nature of their existence. Occasionally she finds herself amused by how they are so determined to change their fates; at least the gods, for the most part, know better than to indulge in such bouts of foolishness. But in the end, in Atropos’ eyes, they are not so different from the gods. No mortal and no god is exempt from the inevitability of destiny, so they all receive the same treatment from her.

☆ﾟ*・ GIVE US A SAMPLE OF YOUR WRITING!

CHOOSE AT LEAST ONE OF THE FOLLOWING OPTIONS

☆ﾟ*・ SAMPLE PARA

Her entrance may not be flashy; it may lack the grandiose gestures immortal beings are so well-known for. Perhaps it is then her simplicity, the bareness of her appearance that she can sense catches the attention of everyone in the room. She can see the frightened faces of his attendants, frozen like the prey in the face of a predator. Their desperate need to flee the scene taints the air, but Atropos, in her white dress, remains unaffected. The focus of her gaze remains in the back of a man, a god, who still has not turned around to face her, even though she knows that he knows she is here.

“Leave us.” Atropos’ voice rings loud and clear, breaking some kind of barrier within the minds of Apollo’s attendants, for they immediately begin to gather their things so they could exist the room. They stumble past her in haste, with only one or two daring to sneak a glance at the infamous creature who has come to speak with their commander. Atropos notices and promptly ignores all of this. She is not here for them; she is here for Apollo who has yet to face her. But soon, he will. They always do.

And mere seconds later, the sun god heeds to her wordless command finally faces her. “Atropos,” he nods. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He has barely gotten the words out of his mouth when she speaks. “Tomorrow, after the earth has been nourished with the blood of the Greeks and Trojans alike, someone will attempt to seize that which does not belong to them.” She knows it from the darkened expression on his features — she has his full attention now. “The best of the Greeks will attempt to defy the limits of his portion, but you will not let him.” Careful, calculated steps carry her forward so that she might lay her hand on the god’s cheek. Were it coming from anyone else, the gesture might have been gentle. “It will be Hector’s sword which takes away his life”—her dark lips curve upward into a ghost of a smile—“But you shall remind him what happens when one tries to change the inevitable.”

☆ﾟ*・ PREVIOUS BLOG OR A REPLY

Well, you know my disaster son, but here’s a link anyway! https://gloryblooded.tumblr.com/.

☆ﾟ*・ ANYTHING ELSE?

https://fi.pinterest.com/kolydias/ch-atropos/ <- my pinterest board for Sonya / Atropos. Also feel free to post my app. I don’t mind.

#greek myth rp #semi appless rp #supernatural rp #literate rp #lsrpg #ohq:accepted #atropos #the moirai

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planetaryinitiatives · 5 years

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Sermones de Plenitude

Yo os predico sermones a vosotros, y estos caen en vuestros oídos como elogios de esplendor ... y Yo os digo Mis predicaciones para glorificar la Vida que ha traído a todas las vidas hacia la existencia.

Amplificad la realidad de la Gloria Inmutable a medida que vosotros adquirís vuestras sabidurías por la transmutación de toda oscuridad e imperfección.

Alegraos Mis hijos, cuyo arte a veces se inclina a esconderos de vosotros mismos ... para agitar vuestras sensibilidades de apego a las cosas materiales ... y, sin embargo, anheláis fervientemente vuestra libertad eterna en Mí y Conmigo.

Celebrad ... sed alegres al daros cuenta de que la Vida del Infinito vive más cerca de vosotros de lo que nunca podríais imaginar.

No os esforcéis por no traer las circunstancias a la perfección; porque ellos nunca cumplirán con estas profanas expectativas. Liberaos vosotros mismos más allá de las fronteras de lo efímero ... para que encontréis seguridad en Mí ... en el Padre Hijo del Espíritu del Viviente Uno.

Un nuevo amanecer llega a las llanuras ... vuestro trigo se está acercando a su época de cosecha ... se extiende él mismos hacia las tierras. Yo os proclamo que la tierra se está preparando ella misma, para florecer hacia su Inmaculada Concepción, y todas las criaturas podrían elegir sus lealtades. Entonces, sed vosotros leales a vuestra Ascendencia Progresiva de la Persona.

Yo vengo haciendo sencillas y simples las avenidas de vuestra liberación hacia el Amor... El Inmutable e Inconquistable e Incondicional Amor.

No habléis en falso ... porque vuestra lengua ha sido diseñada para alabar la luminosidad de la existencia. Vuestro ojo tiene un diseño de liberación ... para ver y percibir y conocer la veracidad y la Verdad Eterna. Y vuestro oído no quedará encerado con las atrocidades de las falsedades ... está destinado a escuchar al Absoluto, a escuchar con obediencia y a sintonizarse con la Palabra de Existencia.

Lograd esta generosidad de carácter ... así como el Absoluto Universal tiene un carácter Generoso y de Bondad Infinita ... Encantador y Cuidadoso y Siempre Amoroso. No prestéis atención a los modales falsos que no tienen sus afluentes tocando el esplendor sagrado del nuevo suelo de la tierra ... las reverberaciones del Espíritu del Padre Hijo os harán a vosotros una nueva criatura.

Una vez más, Yo os digo, pretended no ya saberlo, no prestéis atención a las apariencias superficiales de la mente y del cuerpo que intentan usurpar al Viviente Uno. La sabiduría es obtenida por vuestra confianza impulsada por la fe en la Existencia del Padre ... emerged en esas personalidades que lo escuchan a Él ... a la Persona del Infinito que viene a vosotros cantando Oportunidades y Apertura y Ofrendas sin mancha ni falsos encantamientos.

Vuestra Ciudadanía Universal os invita a vosotros a pararos hacia la madurez y al conocimiento debido de vosotros mismos, y la aceptación de vuestras relaciones conmigo hará que vuestro campo de vibración se agite y luego brille de felicidad.

Yo llego para haceros mujeres y hombres de socorro ... capaces de recibir la generosidad de la Vida que espera vuestra venida hacia adelante hacia la Ciudadanía Universal.

Michael Of Nebadon

Original

I preach sermons unto you, and they fall on your ears as accolades of splendor .. and I say to you Mine preachments of glorifying the Life that hath brought all lives into existence.

Amplify the reality of Unchangeable Glory as you gaineth thine wisdoms by transmutation of all darkness and imperfection.

Rejoice My children who art inclined at times to hide from thyselves .. to churn up thine sensibilities of attachment to material things .. and yet, who yearn fervently for your eternal freedom in Me and with Me.

Celebrate .. be of joyfulness in realization that the Life of Infinity lives in closer proximity to you then you might ever imagine.

Strive not to bring circumstances to perfection; for they never shall meet these unholy expectations. Deliver thyselves beyond the borders of ephemerality .. that ye findeth security in Me .. in the Father Son Spirit of the Living One.

A new sunrise cometh upon the plains .. thine wheat is coming close to its harvest time .. it spreads itself outward upon the lands. I proclaim to you that the earth is readying herself to blossom unto her Immaculate Conception, and all creatures might choose their loyalties. So, be thou in allegiance with thine Progressive Ascendancy of Personhood.

I come making plain and simple the avenues of your deliverance into Love .. Unchangeable and Unconquerable and Unconditional Love.

Make no false speakings .. for thine tongue hath been designed to praise the luminosity of existence. Thine eye hath a design of deliverance .. to see and perceive and know truthfulness and Truth Everlasting. And thine ear shall not remain waxed over with the atrocities of untruths .. it is destined to hear the Absolute, to listen with obedience, and to attune to the Word of Existence.

Attain to this generosity of character .. just as the Universal Absoluteness hath a character that is Generous and of Infinite Goodness .. Charming and Caring and Always Loving. Heed no false manners that have not their tributaries touching the holy splendor of the earth's new soil .. the reverberations of the Father Son Spirit shall maketh of thee a new creature.

Again I sayeth, pretend not to already know, heed not to the superficial appearances of mind and body which attempt to usurp the Living One. Wisdom is garnered by your faith-driven trust in the Father's Existence .. it emerges in those personalities who harken unto Him .. to the Person of Infinity who cometh unto you singing Opportunities and Openness and Offerings without stain nor false enchantments.

Thine Universal Citizenship beckons thee to arise into maturity and the rightful knowledge of thyselves, and the acceptance of thine relations with Me shall cause thine field of vibration to shake and then shimmer with happiness.

I arrive to maketh of thee women and men of succor .. capable of receiving the generosity of the Life who stands waiting for your coming forth into Universal Citizenship.

Michael Of Nebadon

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brazil-also-loves-rwby · 5 years

Text

To move on 4 - RWBY FANFIC

Hello everyone. This is my fanfic Para Seguir Em Frente. I translated it because I received many visits from countries with English language. MY ENGLISH IS BAD AND YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Please comment. Originaly posted here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13256016/1/To-move-on

The group began to fragment gradually the next day. With the lack of hunters to protect the population, Ruby, Blake, Yang and even Nora and Ren set off to different corners of Remnant to provide help. Weiss and Jaune were the only ones who stayed in Vale together with Oscar. Weiss remained to attend Oscar's magic classes. Jaune, on the other hand, heeded his mother's request to stay in town a little longer. Even so, he was often subjugating little grimms or escorting people from nearby villages.

So, as Ruby had suggested as a joke, he asked them both to take part in the informational video. The producer, who was responsible for analyzing the material before being distributed, became static not to work with one but three war heroes. It took them a few days to record, and the next Monday it was being published in the morning as he prepared for his first day of school.

- They showed your video today on the news. - Aunt May commented, stepping out of the kitchen as he entered. - I thought you said you'd cut off the part that Jaune burned his own shirt.

- I asked them to cut it. - Oscar replied, confused.

Serving coffee, he pulled out his scroll and searched for the latest news. His face and his friends were stamped in various matters, still referring to the feast of previous days. He ignored the gossip and found what he was looking for. For something published within hours, the number of views was high and continued to rise. He opened the video and started watching.

Welcome, citizens of Remnant. My name is Oscar Pine and I am here to teach you about magic.

With the return of the gods, the united conciel of all kingdoms determined our entrance into a new era. Today, we are in year 1 of this new age of magic.

The magic initially was a gift from the Dark God to mankind. And make no mistake: he is the Lord of Destruction, but he is as capable of creation as his older brother. Therefore, we can use magic to create or destroy at our will.

Like dust, magic has basic elements that can be combined to new elements and effects. These elements are fire, earth, air, water, light and darkness.

In immemorial times, magic was used by everyone, whether for household chores or to keep the dreaded grimms away. An ordinary person could keep a fire burning all winter, fed by his aura, day after day. In the same way an experienced person could consume a grimm, burning it at command.

Together, we will make those old days into today, for now I will teach you the basics of how to feel the magic within you, how to contain it and awaken it only when necessary.

You should take a deep breath and close your eyes. For someone accustomed to feeling their own aura, it is the same process. You could feel it, pulsing with your heart and moving in the rhythm of your breathing. It can be easily invoked by strong feelings. To contain it, you must contain yourself.

The magic wakes up early. The first signs of magic appear in children 8 to 10 years old, small but present. Parents should watch out for their children, help them understand it and contain it. Thanks to the awakening of magic, your aura is also unlocked without the need for outside help. As a natural protection, this prevents children from immediately being hurt by their own magic.

Now, to demonstrate the basic use of these elements, I invited two longtime friends of mine to assist me.

At first, it was all as suggested, but it was still kind of weird seeing and listening to himself. Weiss exhibited simple uses of water, air, and darkness. Simple things, such as conjuring up a small rain, pushing objects with a breath of air, or covering herself with a blanket of shadows in the bright light.

Jaune, on the other hand, was filled with times when he had asked to be cut. However, Oscar immediately understood why the publisher chose to keep them. Jaune fumbled with the magic, trying to conjure fire, earth and light. But instead of making himself a fool, Jaune laughed at his own faults, trying again until he got the expected result.

Even to the extent that he reduced his shirt to ashes.

- Uh, Oscar, I think I did something wrong. - He said shyly, a hand on the back of his neck and a dull smile.

They edited the scene, certainly, showing only a simple moment, but the exposed chest of Jaune was subject in good part of the evaluations of the video. And Oscar could not fault them! Jaune had become a male body ideal, with broad shoulders, defined and strong muscles. Even the scars he wore seemed strategically placed to decorate him like war medals.

At that moment his scholl ringed, switching the video over for a call from Jaune himself. Oscar answered.

- OSCAR! WHAT THEY DID WITH OUR RECORDINGS ?! I LOOK RIDICULOUS! YOU HAVE TO TAKE THIS OF THE AIR!

- Um, Jaune ...

- I WOKE UP WITH MY SISTERS CALLING ME TO TALK ABOUT THAT! THEY WILL USE THAT AGAINST ME FOR YEARS!

- Ahh, Jaune ... Jaune. Jaune! - Oscar finally managed to cut off the blonde's whine. - Did you get to see the comments? No one thought you were an idiot.

- What?! How could they not find it ?! - Oscar heard rumblings, maybe Jaune fumbled with his own scroll in an attempt to see what Oscar was referring to. - Oh here! The first comment is already about me! Listen! "Gods forgive me, but as Jaune Arc is soo ho-" I'M WHAT?! "He's so strong! And he did not need magic to defeat hordes of grimms..." Well, there was a horde all at once ... "I wanted him to..." Okay, that should be censored!

- Like I said, - Oscar said, stifling a laugh with a sip of coffee. - I think our short course was a success greater than expected thanks to you.

- Well...

- I'm sorry, but I can not stay much. I must leave for the University. Classes started soon.

- Um, right, I... Well, I'll talk to the editor later. Good luck on your first day Oscar.

- Thank you Jaune. Have a nice day you, too. And try not to be kidnapped by a fan club or anything.

- Wait, what?

Oscar laughed and hung up anyway. Finishing his coffee, he simply walk to the University, a few blocks away. Unlike days before, when he had gone to visit the place to repair his classes and record the video, people would stop in the street to watch him go by. He was known, of course, but day after day the reaction of the citizens became increasingly obvious. Eyes widened and mouths fell, whispering loudly to his companions about him.

Oscar had never experienced such a situation, but the feeling was familiar. Memories of times when Ozma was king came to him. Days when he was held on a pedestal, commanding thousands of lives and yet solitary.

He lost himself so deeply in his thoughts that he just woke up to feel a small tug on his coat. Surprised, he lowered his eyes to a blond girl, eight or nine years old, looking at him with a determined expression. Oscar could see who his mother should be, meters behind, terrified of her actions.

- Excuse me sir. - She said in a high childish voice. She said the words carefully, trying to put into practice the good manners she learned. - Are you Master Oscar?"

- Yes I am. - He bent down so that his eyes were as tall as the girl. - What can I do for you, miss?

- Viper said I can not do magic and I'm crazy for thinking I can. - She said, pointing back. This time he noticed another child, clinging and half hidden behind the adult's skirts.

- We can all do magic now, little one. It was a gift from the dark god, as I said, to each one of us. Even for you, and for Viper too.

- But I could not do it in the morning. - She said, her determination failing.

- Using magic is difficult, but I know you will soon, as long as you do not give up. - He said affectionately. Oscar saw many children on their travels, and it was comforting to see joy and not fear, now that the greatest evil was gone. - So even if you fail, day after day, try again. It's ok?

- Yes sir! I'll try my best! - She smiled widely.

- Great. Now you should go, your mother seems worried.

- Oh, Mrs. Poppins is not my mother. I do not have one. - She said simply. - But you're right. See you later Master Oscar.

She said good-bye and ran back to the woman who was waiting for her. For some reason, Oscar imagined she was serious about saying 'See you later.' Maybe it was not the last time he saw the little blond girl.

The small meeting distracted his mind and left him with a faint smile on his lips until he had himself with his students. It was almost comical to call them students, all of them teachers and hunters older than himself. There were five of them for each kingdom, and Kali Belladonna herself had come from Menagerie, with two others. He stood in the center of the room, in front of the great projector, and resorted to Ozma's years of experience.

- Good morning friends and thanks again for joining me in such a short time. We have an important mission ahead of us.

With them, Oscar spent the day teaching magic and planning how this knowledge would be passed on to the people. They outlined how to add it as a new subject to the common school curriculum and hunter academies. Even during lunch, or after class, everyone continued to talk, animated by the world of possibilities open to Remnant.

Weiss was one of the most amazed at these possibilities. Oscar saw in her the desire to discover all the nuances of magic. She had dinner at his house that, just to argue a bit more, so Oscar went to bed late that night. Just as he was about to fall asleep he saw Ruby's message. Ignoring the butterflies spinning in his stomach, he heard the message.

- Hey Oscar! I saw your video today! You were awesome! The people are calling you Master Oscar on the streets! And you really took off Jaune's shirt! I do not believe that! - She speaks fast and lively. His joy warmed Oscar's chest. Stifled voices in the cast interrupted her for a moment. - Well, I need to go now. There is still much to be done here. Well ... See you, Oscar!

That was enough for Oscar to have sweet dreams all night.

#rwby #Oscar Pine #ruby rose #Ozpin #fanfic #rosegarden

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halfofwhatisayismeaningless · 5 years

Text

Inexplicable pain. // Harry Styles. Requested.

Requested by anon on my promts requests. You can send more HERE. Remember, you have the spanish version under the english one.

Request: Number 36 ( “You can’t take back what you said.”) and 40 ( “But I needed you. And guess what?-you were never there.”)

Words: 700ish.

Warnings: angsty.

It's always difficult, you know, explain what you feel. But when you feel pain, the deepest pain, it's impossible to explain.

Not just one, two persons has disappointed you in two years. The most important persons. Ben and Harry.

You started dating Ben two year before, and six months ago, when you tried to give him a surprise birthday party, the one surprised was you, when you found a girl on his bed.

And Harry, your best friend. The only person you trusted ever. You two met in school. You were his partner in crime, even after One Direction's boom, you were inseparable. At least until he started his solo album, two years ago. That was when he said:

"I've realised that in this period of my career other relationships are more important than yours"

You turned around and left. How can you answer to that? It's impossible, you can't answer that phrase. And that was the last time you saw each other. But not the last time you tried to talk to him.

The week after the discovery of Ben cheating on you you didn't talk to anyone, no one from you family, your friends, you didn't wanted to talk to anyone but Harry, One night, at three in the morning, you found the courage. You phoned him:

"Hello, you tried to phone Harry, but I'm not available. Leave your message after the beep"

"Hello Harry. It's been long since we talked, I guess it's because what you said last time. I don't know, I'm sorry I'm calling at this time, but something happened... I don't think I can't talk to anyone that isn't you. I hope you call me back and we can meet up for lunch, or dinner, whatever. So, that's it, I hope you call."

But he didn't, some months went by. You were sure he had listened your message, Harry always listened to them. But there was no answer.

And suddenly he was in front of you. Your doorbell rang, you didn't expect him there, because you moved after the break up. But there he was, black jeans and grey hoodie. If it wasn't for the new haircut and tattoos, you would thought you were in high school again.

"Hello (Y/N)" he said scratching his neck.

"Hello, what... what are you doing here?" you tried to swallow the lump in the throat.

"I came to see you" you guided him in.

"How do you know where I live?"

"He spoke with your mom, I run into her on the supermarket a few days ago." You sat in front of him, in the couch. "She told me about Ben. Why didn't you told me?" you looked at him, surprised.

"I would have told you if you had answered the message I left on your voicemail, at three in the morning six months ago."

"It was about that?"

"Of course it was about that. But even if it wasn't, you didn't called."

"(Y/N), I'm sorry I have been an idiot. I should have called you back, I didn't know you needed me as much as your mom said."

"But I needed you. And guess what? You were never there" you felt the tears on your eyes.

"I was wrong about what I said, this past two years I needed you more than ever. I wish I had heeded to your face that afternoon. Everything would have been better."

"Well, you can't take back what you said. You left me alone, suddenly. Why? Because other relationships were your priority. Well, I'm sorry Harry, you were my priority, and you weren't up to the task." you had raised your voice, and so did he.

"I don't expect you to understand why I left."

"Of course you don't, it must be because of something you only understand, the famous, the

idol. How is it going to understand it some lab rat like me?"

"See why you don't understand. I dind't left because of that, I didn't left because of priorities. I left because I've been in love with you since high school and I couldn't bare seeing you with an asshole like Ben. That's why I left, because it was an inexplicable pain. And because I love you."

Siempre es difícil, ya sabes, explicar lo que sientes. Pero cuando lo que sientes es dolor, el dolor más profundo, es imposible de explicar.

No sólo una, si no dos personas te habían decepcionado en dos años. Las dos personas más importantes. Ben, y Harry,

Habías empezado a salir con Ben dos años antes, y hace seis meses, intentando darle una sorpresa de cumpleaños en su casa, la sorpresa te la llevaste tú, cuando te encontraste con otra en su cama.

Y Harry, tu mejor amigo. La única persona en la que habías confiado siempre. Os conocisteis en el colegio. Y fuiste su compañera de crímenes, incluso después del boom de One Direction, habíais sido inseparables. Hasta que empezó a escribir el disco en solitario, hace dos años. Fue entonces cuando te lo dijo:

"Me he dado cuenta de que en este periodo de mi carrera otras relaciones son prioritarias."

Te diste la vuelta y te fuiste ¿Cómo respondes a eso? Es imposible, no se puede responder a esa frase. Y fue la última vez que os visteis. Pero no la última en la que intentaste hablar con él.

La semana posterior al descubrimiento del engaño de Ben no hablaste con nadie, nadie de tu familia, ningún amigo, no querías a nadie que no fuera a Harry. Una noche, a las tres de la mañana, te armaste de valor. Llamaste a su número de teléfono:

"Hola, has intentado llamar al número de Harry, pero no estoy disponible. Deja tú mensaje después de la señal."

"Hola Harry. Hace mucho que no hablamos, supongo que fue por lo que me dijiste la última vez. No se, siento llamarte a estas horas, pero ha pasado algo... No creo que pueda hablar con otra persona que no seas tú. Espero que me devuelvas la llamada y podamos quedar un día para comer, o cenar, lo que tú quieras. En fin, eso, espero que me llames."

Pero no lo hizo, pasaron varios meses. Estabas segura de que había escuchado el mensaje, Harry los escuchaba siempre. Pero no hubo respuesta.

Y de repente lo tenías delante. Había sonado el timbre de tu piso, no esperabas que viniera allí, ya que te habías mudado después de la ruptura. Pero ahí estaba, en vaqueros y una sudadera gris, si no fuera por el innovador corte de pelo y los tatuajes, pensarías que habías vuelto a tu época de instituto.

"Hola (Y/N)" dijo rascándose el cuello.

"Hola, ¿qué... qué haces aquí?" intentaste deshacer el nudo que se había formado en tu garganta.

"He venido a verte" tú le hiciste un gesto, invitándole a entrar.

"¿Cómo sabes dónde vivo?"

"He hablado con tú madre, me la encontré en el supermercado hace unos días" Te sentaste en el sofá enfrente suyo. "Me ha contado lo de Ben. ¿Por qué no me lo habías dicho?" tú le miraste, sorprendida.

"Te lo habría contado si hubieras respondido al mensaje que dejé en el buzón de voz a las tres de la mañana hace seis meses."

"¿Era de eso?"

"Claro que era de eso. Pero aunque hubiera sido de otra cosa. No llamaste."

"(Y/N), siento haber sido tan imbécil. Debería haber respondido, no sabía que me necesitabas tanto como dijo tu madre."

"Pero te necesitaba. ¿Y adivina qué? No estuviste allí." notaste como las lágrimas se juntaban en tus ojos.

"Me equivoqué con lo que dije, estos años te he necesitado más que nunca, ojalá hubiera hecho caso a la cara que pusiste aquella tarde. Todo hubiera ido mejor."

"Bueno, no puedes retirar lo que dijiste. Me dejaste tirada, de un día para otro. ¿Por qué? Porque otras relaciones eran tú prioridad. Pues lo siento Harry, tú eras mi prioridad, y no estuviste a la altura." habías aumentado mucho tú tono de voz, y él también.

"No espero que entiendas por qué me fui."

"Claro que no, porque será algo que solo entendéis vosotros, los famosos, los ídolos. ¿Cómo va a entenderlo una rata de laboratorio como yo?"

"¿Ves como no lo entenderías? No me fui por eso, no me fui por las prioridades. Me fui porque llevo enamorado de ti desde el instituto y no podía soportar verte con alguien tan idiota como Ben. Por eso me fui, porque era un dolor inexplicable. Y porque te quiero."

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagina #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles one shoot #harry styles prompt #harry styles angsty #angst #harry styles requested #harry styles angst #one direction #one direction imagine #one direction imagina #asked

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waritawrites · 4 years

Text

Black People: Please Do Not Vote Blue No Matter Who

Black people, Please do not vote Blue no Matter Who

Black people, please do not vote blue no matter who NOR Down Ballot Democrat! Please don't do it! You are giving your vote away to your oppressors. It has been Democrats who have been strategically creating policies that synergistically work against you on local, state, and national levels. The Democrats have supported:

*Mass Incarceration

*Racial Profiling

*Euthanasia

*Allowing transgender females to

physically abuse Naturally Born Females in sports such as MMA

*Sex education for children as young

as 5

*Distribution of birth control without

parental knowledge or consent

*Abortion

*Teen Abortion without parental

knowledge or consent

*Selling aborted baby parts for

profit, When journalists exposed the ‘abortion profiteers’: 'We are in the business of selling abortions'

If you want to know how much a political party cares about the group which represents you, observe how much they care about the future of your group. The future of your group starts with your children. If your political party keeps telling you to murder your unborn - they don't care about you, your people, nor the future of your people.

You may ask yourself:

What about Black politicians, Black political activists, Black entertainers, and Black scholars who want me to vote Blue no matter who?

Those people have an agenda to save themselves. They want to build and maintain extravagant lifestyles at your expense! These people aren't being paid millions of dollars to lead you, entertain you, nor support you. They are being paid to misrepresent and misinform you as well as sabotage any plans for collective progress that make sense.

Every disenfranchised group is not your ally. Some of the people who belong to those groups will gladly stand on your neck to elevate themselves. Much like the aforementioned Black elitists (Black politicians, Black political activists, Black entertainers, and Black scholars), They will get ahead and not reach a hand to pull you up.

One way in which black elitists and some people from other disenfranchised groups save themselves is by working to maintain the system of oppression which disenfranchises you and rewards them for doing so. Examples of this are:

*Barack Obama choosing known

segregationist and racial profiling

advocate Joe Biden to be his Vice

President and bigot Hillary Clinton

to be his Secretary of State

*The Tuskegee Experiment

*The Theft and Exploitation of

Henrietta Lacks' Cells

*Baby theft and selling at Black

Hospitals

*Forced Sterilizations aka Mississippi

Appendectomy at Black Hospital

*NAACP's promotion of eugenics against Black People:

**Better Baby contests

*Dr. Thomas Wyatt Turner

-Charter member of the NAACP, stated:

"many black academics at Tuskegee,

Howard, and Hampton universities

promoted 'Assimilationist Eugenics,'

in which they proposed that “The

Talented Tenth” of all races should

mix, as the best blacks were as good

as the best whites."(as found in Marilyn M. Singleton's The Science of

Eugenics in the Journal of American Physicians and Surgeons)

*W.E.B. DuBois was an Assimilation

Eugenicist referred to the Black majority (those whom he considered to not be a part of his Untalented Tenth) as "the ignorant negro masses" in his 1939 article, The Negro and Birth Control, in which he stated:

“Among the more intelligent class, was a postponement of marriage, which greatly decreased the number of children. Today, among this class of Negroes few men marry before thirty, and numbers of them after forty. The marriage of women of this class has similarly been postponed.

In addition to this, the low incomes which Negroes receive make bachelorhood and spinsterhood widespread, with the naturally resultant lowering, in some cases, of sex standards. On the other hand, the mass of ignorant Negroes still breed carelessly and disastrously, so that the increase among Negroes, even more than whites, is from that part of the population least intelligent and fit, and least able to rear their children properly.” (para. 4 and para.5)

*Abortion Advocacy

*Disrespectfully disputing reparations - they don't need it. They have made

deals with white supremacy

Yet, there's no point in pleading for reparations if you aren't ready to take action against those who are profiting off of the other human trafficking which is much worse than slavery - abortion (When journalists exposed the ‘abortion profiteers’: 'We are in the business of selling abortions')

The Black population is being decimated by abortion. If Black were to receive reparations, how many Black people will be around to receive it?

GOD's Word, The Bible, Says:

1 Timothy 5:8

8 But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel

Jeremiah 1:5

5 Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.

Matthew 18:5-6,10

5 And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.

6 But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea

10 Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.

Matthew 18:10

10 Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.

Black people, Please do not vote Blue no Matter Who

*Mass Incarceration

*Racial Profiling

*Euthanasia

*Allowing transgender females to

physically abuse Naturally Born Females in sports such as MMA

*Sex education for children as young

as 5

*Distribution of birth control without

parental knowledge or consent

*Abortion

*Teen Abortion without parental

knowledge or consent

*Selling aborted baby parts for

profit, When journalists exposed the ‘abortion profiteers’: 'We are in the business of selling abortions'

You may ask yourself:

What about Black politicians, Black political activists, Black entertainers, and Black scholars who want me to vote Blue no matter who?

*Barack Obama choosing known

segregationist and racial profiling

advocate Joe Biden to be his Vice

President and bigot Hillary Clinton

to be his Secretary of State

*The Tuskegee Experiment

*The Theft and Exploitation of

Henrietta Lacks' Cells

*Baby theft and selling at Black

Hospitals

*Forced Sterilizations aka Mississippi

Appendectomy at Black Hospital

*NAACP's promotion of eugenics against Black People:

**Better Baby contests

*Dr. Thomas Wyatt Turner

-Charter member of the NAACP, stated:

"many black academics at Tuskegee,

Howard, and Hampton universities

promoted 'Assimilationist Eugenics,'

in which they proposed that “The

Talented Tenth” of all races should

mix, as the best blacks were as good

as the best whites."(as found in Marilyn M. Singleton's The Science of

Eugenics in the Journal of American Physicians and Surgeons)

*W.E.B. DuBois was an Assimilation

*Abortion Advocacy

*Disrespectfully disputing reparations - they don't need it. They have made

deals with white supremacy

The Black population is being decimated by abortion. If Black were to receive reparations, how many Black people will be around to receive it?

GOD's Word, The Bible, Says:

1 Timothy 5:8

8 But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel

Jeremiah 1:5

5 Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.

Matthew 18:5-6,10

5 And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.

6 But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea

10 Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.

Matthew 18:10

10 Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.

Black people, Please do not vote Blue no Matter Who

https://followerofthewayforever.wordpress.com/2020/03/18/black-people-please-do-not-vote-blue-no-matter-who/

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