#they said they would be sent out through like the beginning of august but it's still stressful bc

[faefictions]

Snow in Indiana

Eddie Munson x Reader

5.7k words

Eddie has spent the past decade thinking about the pen pal he lost touch with, but fate has a funny way of bringing people back together when they need it most

Warnings: family death (unedited bc it is 3am and I have been working on this for hours)

“Dear Eddie, 

Does it Snow in Indiana?” 

He had read the beginning of the note hundreds of times by now. He had memorized how each individual letter had been written and slightly smudged. He knew the entire contents of the letter by heart, but that never stopped him from coming back to it from time to time. 

“My grandma hasn’t told me much about Hawkins, just that it’s just like home. Except it’s on the other side of the country. Grandma likes the snow, so I hope you say yes.” 

Something about the innocent nature of your writing calmed him down when things got rough. He had received the note in the middle of August at the beginning of 6th grade. Your grandmother had just moved across the country, and she just so happened to be the Librarian at Eddie’s new middle school. She had told both of you that the other could use a friend, even if you were thousands of miles apart. She also insisted that being pen pals would improve both of your lackluster reading and writing skills. She meant well. 

“Can I tell you the truth? I didn’t want to write you a letter when grandma called and told me I should. My teachers say I’m not good at writing anyway. But Grandma also said maybe you and I could be friends. And I think I would like that.” 

Some of your words had been crossed out with pen, either from misspellings or second thoughts on phrasing. Eddie had stared at the paper for so long that he even knew what was underneath those scribbles. 

When the snow started coming down each winter, it was hard for him to not want to keep the letter on him at all times. The opening line of your first letter to him always floated into his head with the first snowflakes. 

He had written you back to assure you that it does snow in Indiana, that he too had troubles with pleasing his teachers with his school work, and of course, that he too would like to be friends. 

That was over 10 years ago now. He had never met you, never heard your voice, never learned what you looked like (besides the poorly drawn picture you had included for him one time) but you had been a part of him for his middle school years. 

The letters started slowing down in the 8th grade. You had told him you were nervous for high school, that you’d heard that kids were meaner there. The last letter he had sent you was in the summer before both of your freshman years. He hated that he couldn’t remember what he had said, what his last words to you were. All he knew was that he wished you luck for your first day. 

Then the letters stopped completely. After months of checking mailboxes impatiently, he got the hint and gave up. 

At the age of 24, he wishes he sent another letter. He wishes he got some closure on why you stopped writing. He had always wondered if it had been something he had said, or maybe you had just found new friends in high school and decided you didn’t need him anymore. 

He was embarrassed to admit that it was his first heartbreak. So he refused to admit it even happened to anyone he knew now. 

He tucked the old letter in his pocket as another patron entered the diner. He had picked up a second job as the night cook in hopes of saving up enough to to move out of the trailer with Wayne. It had been months of helping Wayne with bills now, and he was just barely starting to see the hard work pay off in his savings account. 

He peeked out the pass through window to get a glimpse of the first customer they’d had in the last hour and a half. The snow had been coming down hard, and it was preventing the already few people who would be coming in to the diner at this hour from showing up. He wasn’t surprised to see the young woman, somewhere around his age, follow the waitress quickly to the booth in the corner and sit down. He was, however, surprised to see no new car in the small lot outside. He hadn’t seen headlights arrive or depart to drop her off. The snow that has accumulated on her hair, even thought it has been covered with a hood, was making him think she had walked a distance to get here. If the counter hadn’t been blocking his view, he would have seen the bottom of her pants completely soaked through from the snow piled outside to confirm his suspicion. 

“Can you start on a stack of pancakes, Ed?”

He nodded at the waitress, Judy, who wasn’t usually one to whisper like she was now. She rushed off to the phone in the back office, which did nothing but pique the interest in Eddie’s under stimulated brain. 

Curiosity got the best of him, so he made his way out of the kitchen quickly, grabbed a mug from the counter and the full coffee pot, and made his way over the girl in the corner. 

You had been staring out the window, and Eddie recognized the look as he approached. You were doing your best to hold yourself together. He was used to this kind of customer at this time of night. People who really needed the company, who had nowhere else to go, often found their way here after midnight. But there was something different about you, and it wasn’t just that he had never seen you around town. No matter how hurt he could tell you were inside, you did your best to keep up a facade when you saw him approaching. 

“Coffee?” he offered, less poised than he had intended.

“Please,” you smiled up at him as he set down the mug and poured. He allowed himself to take you in, and that’s when he saw the snow still caked on to your sneakers, and the damp cloth stretching from the hem above your ankle nearly up to your knees. There was snow yet to melt from head to toe, and you were trying your best not to shake from the cold. 

“You walk here?” He tried to make light conversation as he chuckled, but you weren’t as chipper. 

“My car broke down about a mile up the road. Walking was my only option,” You tried to keep the smile on your face, but Eddie saw the look, almost like a shunned child. As if you were embarrassed by what you had done, preparing for the lecture or consequence coming your way. 

Before he could say anything, Judy returned from the back office. 

“Tow truck won’t be running ’til morning, darlin’. But I left a message telling them you’d call first thing,” Judy gave you a halfhearted smile, before turning to Eddie, “Where’s that stack I told you to start on?” 

“Right, sorry,” he quickly excused himself back to the kitchen, but did his best to listen for the conversation you were having on the other side of the room. 

“Where are you staying tonight? I can try to get you a ride there.” 

“My grandma’s house, well it used to be I guess. I think it’s just a few more miles into town, I’m not a hundred percent sure though, I’ve never been out here.” 

“Used to be your grandma’s house?”

“Yeah, she, uhm… passed away not long ago. Hard to own something six feet under,” you tried to joke, but failed to make either of you laugh, “Funeral service is next week, I came early to pack up her things. Guess I chose the wrong day to drive in though.” 

“I’d say. Well let me see what I can do, do you have the address?” 

“Yeah, it’s right…” you trailed off as you checked your pocket, slowly coming to realize that you had left the torn piece of paper with the address written on it on your passenger seat, right on top of the map you were struggling to follow in the heavy snow. “Guess I left it in the car.” 

Just as the realization was threatening to break you, Eddie came and set a fresh stack of 3 pancakes in front of you. 

“You eat up, it’s on the house. And let me know if you remember any of that address,” Judy smiled at you and walked into the back before you could refuse the free pancakes.

Eddie watched you for the next hour through the pass through window. No other customers came in, so he didn’t exactly have anything better to do. It was nearing 4 am, the end of Eddie’s shift. He had cleaned his station in the kitchen faster than he ever had and made his way out to your table to check on your before he left. 

“Any luck with that address?”

“Don’t think I’d remember it with a gun to my head. I might as well walk back and grab it.” 

“Not a chance. My shift is over in a few minutes. Why don’t I drive you back to your car, you can grab it, and I can get you there.”

“I couldn’t possibly-“

“No need to be polite. You’ve had a rough enough night, let’s just get you home.”

You didn’t correct his phrasing. This was the furthest you had ever been from home, and you were sure as hell feeling that in this strange diner with barely a concept of where you were. The snow falling outside only exacerbated your feeling of being out of place. 

Eddie rushed to the back to grab his belongings and wish Judy a good night, letting her know he was going to get you out of there, before he made his way back out to you. You had brought the hood of your sweatshirt back up, and were staring out at the snow silently. He approached cautiously and gently spoke, “Let’s get out of here,” before guiding you through the door. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier.” 

You paused at his name, but he was too busy trying to find his van through the wall of snow to notice. 

“I’m y/n, thanks again for helping. You and Judy are both angels.” 

He smiled at your name for a moment, but kicked the idea from his mind. 

Both of you thought of the letters you had sent all those years ago, unaware that the person climbing into the same car as you was in fact the person you were reminiscing on. 

Eddie shook the snow out of his hair like a wet dog before starting the van. 

“Left out of the lot?” 

“Yeah,” you smiled. 

“You know, I’ve helped fix up a few cars in my day. I could take a look under the hood for you when we get there if you’d like.”

“You’re already helping enough, thank you though.”

“I really don’t mind. Can’t hurt just to take a look.” 

The glance and smile he shot you made your stomach do flips. In the low light of the passing, sparse streetlights, he looked incredibly handsome. Your mind wandered back to what you thought your Eddie looked like back in middle school. You had sent him a drawing of yourself, mostly as a joke since your drawing skills as a 12 year old weren’t amazing, but you were also trying to send him the message that you desperately wanted to know him better. Of course, when your grandmother had insisted you become pen pals with a strange boy, you weren’t too happy about the idea, but as time went on, the sound of a friend sounded too nice. You hadn’t had many of them in elementary school, and it concerned your family. But as your friendship with Eddie grew with each letter, you found yourself hoping for something, anything, more. Now, as an adult, you blame your adolescent brain for the silly crush. But that didn’t stop you from thinking about him from time to time, still wondering what he might be doing in that moment, or if he is happy. But most of all, you wondered if he missed you as much as you missed him. 

“You doing alright over there?” he asked you over the quiet metal playing over the speakers. He was playing it at about 1% of the volume he usually listened at, in an attempt to not scare you off just yet. 

“Yeah, just a long night,” you smiled back at him. He nearly assured you that you could be real with him, that he could tell that something more was bothering you, but he worried that would be coming on too strong. And before he could find a way to say it without sounding creepy, you pointed out your car on the side of the road with a sigh. 

It had only been a couple hours since you had left it, but it was nearly buried in the snow. 

“That’s a little more difficult to check out,” He chuckled as he pulled to the side of the road, lighting up your car with his headlights. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just go grab the address and we can get going,” you tried not to sigh as you opened the passenger door. 

“Wait a second,” Eddie reached for your hand before you could make it out of the car, “I’m fine with taking a look, and I can grab the address too. No need for you to get cold again.” 

“I already walked a mile in the snow earlier, I don't think a minute out there will kill me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay in here if you ask me.”

“Fine, but skip looking under the hood. I can call the tow truck when I wake up, it should be fine until then. Even if you could fix it with nothing, I don’t think I should be driving any more today.”

“Long trip?”

“Since 8 am. I really just want to get to sleep.”

“Deal,” he smiled again before stretching his hand out to you, “Keys?”

You reluctantly let him have the keys to go grab the paper, but not before trying to assure him you were capable of grabbing it yourself. You watched him as he rushed as fast as he could through the near foot of snow, grabbed the address, and rushed back to the van. 

“You didn’t lock it,” you stated, nervous to not to sound nagging. 

“I know, do you have a bag or something I can grab for you?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, where is it?”

“It’s in the back seat on the passenger side. It’s a small black suitcase.”

“You got it, here, take this,” he handed you the torn paper with your grandmother’s previous address written on it in a handwriting that would have been familiar to him, had he glanced down at it. 

He ran back to grab your suitcase, and made sure to double check that the doors had locked after he shut them before he rushed back to the van. He threw your suitcase in the backseat before jumping back into the drivers seat. 

“I don’t know how you lasted a mile in that, I’m already freezing,” he complained, but his smile still refused to leave his face. 

“I’m sorry,” you tried yet again to apologize. 

“Don’t be,” he paused to look you in the eye to assure you that he wasn’t upset in the slightest, “Now let’s see that address. Hopefully I actually know where it is.”

You handed him the paper, and even in the low light, you couldn’t miss the way his face fell, even for a millisecond. He hadn’t seemed to stop smiling all night, but the second he saw the paper, it faltered for just a moment. 

“Everything ok?” 

He looked up at you, and you could tell he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. 

“Yeah, uhm, this is on the other side of town though. It’s a bit of a drive, is that ok?”

“I’d rather drive a little further than stay in my car tonight. So yeah, it’s fine,” you giggled, relieved that he didn’t seem angry or annoyed with you like you thought. 

But he had seen the handwriting. He would know it anywhere, yet he still wouldn’t let himself get caught up in the coincidences. You were just a girl with similar handwriting, and the same name. You weren’t his y/n. He could never be so lucky. 

“So, what brings you to town?” he asked after a moment of driving. 

“It isn’t the happiest story, and I don’t want to be a bummer.” 

“I’m nosey, and that does nothing to curb my interest,” he joked. He just needed to prod, he needed to know if he was being crazy. 

“My grandma passed… about a week ago now. Her funeral is next week, but someone needed to clean up her house for the service, and no one else wanted to make the drive out.” 

“Do you have any other family in the area to help out?”

“No, she only had 2 sons. My dad and my uncle, and they’re both back west. She moved here, like, 12 years ago now I think. Maybe 13.” 

Just another coincidence. He’s not this lucky. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t heard that yet. Just stressed adults complaining about how traveling in the winter was too much of a hassle. Hearing those words, from a near stranger no less, was enough to make you tear up. And Eddie could hear that in your voice when you thanked him, but he chose not to comment on it. 

“So,” you began after a moment of awkward silence, “How long have you lived in Hawkins?”

“My whole life.”

“Do you like it here?”

“Uh… It has its moments,” he tried his best to hide his discontent with the town. If it weren’t for his uncle, his band, and his small group of friends, he would have ran for the hills by now. He was too attached to them to run… and also lacking the funds to do so. 

“That good huh?” you laughed. 

“Hate to sound like an ass, but there are definitely plenty of cons that outweigh the pros for me half the time. But that’s not everyone’s experience.”

“Grandma seemed to like it, but she also liked it back home, and it’s no cake walk back there.” 

You almost spat the end of your sentence, and although it wasn’t spoken explicitly, Eddie understood. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep bringing the conversation down. It’s just been a really long week.”

“I believe it,” He paused, “So how long are you going to be staying in town then?”

“I have no idea. Rumor is Grandma left me the house. And even if she did…. I’m sorry, I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours now, and driving for over 15 of them. I know you really don’t need to hear any of this.” 

You started to make your body as small as possible, hyper aware of how loudly you had been speaking, and how riled up you were getting. Your father would have hated to see it. But not Eddie. 

“No, keep going. Like I said, I’m nosey, and it sounds like you could use someone to talk to about this.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he agreed nonchalantly, unaware how much it meant to you. 

“My grandma and I were really close before she moved. She didn’t get along with either of her sons, but she was the world to me as a kid. And my dad put up no effort to even reach out to her in the past decade, but he expects all of her stuff to be left to him, and my uncle wants the same. But my mom told me that one of them had reason to believe that she left it all to me. I don’t even know where they heard it, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful, I promise. I just don’t know what to do about the two grown men that she apparently left out of the will if that’s true, and how mad they’re going to be at me.” 

“They wouldn’t be mad at you.” 

“You don’t know my dad,” you scoffed. You knew damn well that the man wasn’t afraid of throwing a tantrum, especially if it came to money. And he wouldn’t care if you were the one getting hurt in the process. 

“What would they have to be mad at you for though? For your Grandma loving you enough to leave you something to start your life on? How is that your fault?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s my fault, they just care that they get their share. If it’s left to me, I might as well just divvy it up before they say anything.”

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

“I just don’t want to have any issue with them.” 

“I’m sorry, that’s not fair to you.” 

“You really need to stop being so nice, you’re going to make me cry,” you chuckled, genuinely fighting back the tears as you spoke. 

“Sorry,” he chuckled back. He took a subject before continuing. “Have you seen the house? Like have you ever visited?”

“No, actually. Who knows, maybe it’s a real fixer upper and I’d be better off passing it on to my uncle,” you giggled, and that put the smile back on Eddie’s face. 

“If I didn’t mess up the address, it should just be in this next neighborhood.”

You kept saying that all you wanted was to get some rest after your long day, but now that you were talking to Eddie, you didn’t want the drive to end. The disappointment hit you like a rock as he pulled into the driveway of your grandmothers old house, but the feeling quickly turned to something else as you looked out the window to see the beautiful 2 story house with large trees on either side. 

“So much for the fixer upper theory,” Eddie said with a whistle, but you were speechless. This was much more than you had been anticipating, much nicer than you had spent your younger years picturing every time you missed your grandma. 

“You ok?” he asked after a moment of silence. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just taking it in,” you chuckled nervously, still staring at the house. 

“Why don’t we get you inside?” He said, reaching in the back for your suitcase. You put a hand gently on his arm to stop him, and he looked up to see your nearly empty stare, still on the building in front of you. 

“Can you give me just a minute? I’m sorry, I know it’s late.” 

“No, it’s fine… Are you ok?”

“Yeah…Yeah, It just,” you trailed off for a moment, “I hadn’t seen her in years. Had no idea what her house looked like, or what she looked like anymore. I got letters, I got calls, but… Part of all this didn’t feel as real. Going in there, that’s real.” 

“Want me to come in with you?”

“No, that’s fine. I just need a second.” 

“Have you ever lost anyone before?”

You didn’t answer, just shook your head as you moved your eyes from the house to him. 

“Let me walk you in. You shouldn’t be alone for that.” 

You looked back at the house for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded your head. 

Eddie carried your suitcase through the front door, and you both kicked off your shoes before stepping on the carpet. You took a deep breath before reaching for the light switch. Eddie sensed your hesitation as your fingers hovered. He took the opportunity to grab the fingers of your other hand. It gave you enough courage to turn on the light in the entry way. 

The furniture was mostly unfamiliar. You could see a few pieces in the living room that you had remembered from your childhood, and the sense of nostalgia calmed you. Eddie let you walk ahead of him, letting go of your hand as you ventured further into the room. Slowly but surely, you made your way to a wall on the other side of the room. It was covered in pictures, new and old, of your grandma with family and friends. You recognized yourself in plenty of them, but the newer ones were the ones that you couldn’t stop looking at. She looked so much older that you had remembered, but still had the youthful glow to her that you had attributed to her mischievousness. No matter how old she got, how wrinkled her face grew, or how gray her had and gotten, you still recognized her. Part of your heart began to ache for not knowing her as she was before she passed. It had been so long. 

You felt Eddie approach you from behind, and you expect him to say something nice, or encouraging. But he didn’t. He was surprisingly quiet. You turned to make sure he was alright, but he didn’t seem fine. He was staring at one of the photos on the wall, and he looked like he was about to be sick.

“Are you ok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, still white as a sheet as he tore his eyes from the photo to look at you. He barely shot you a half smile before looking back up at the pictures. You took a step back to stand next to him. 

“I just remembered that she worked at the middle school when she moved here. Did you know her?”

“Yeah.”

“…Did you like her?” you tried asking after waiting for him to say anything more. 

“Yeah, she introduced me to my best friend.”

“Me too,” you smiled at the memory of your old pen pal. 

“Someone back home?”

“No, actually. I probably shouldn’t refer to him as that still. We haven’t spoken in… years actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, finally peeling his eyes away from the photos on the wall. 

He should have said more, but he didn’t know what else to say. This was her. He was in shock. The girl he had spent the last decade wondering about had wandered into his diner. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute, he felt like he could physically hear them, and it was hard to focus on anything you had possibly said. But luckily, you weren’t saying much. 

He followed you like a ghost as you explored the first floor of the house. You were happy you had arrived before anyone else. You had the chance to see the house how she had left it, how she had lived in it. It gave you a sense of closure you weren’t going to get otherwise, it felt as if you were getting a sense of knowing her once again. You were caught up in it until you saw a clock on the wall, reading nearly 5 am. Realization hit you that you were keeping Eddie, and a sense of guilt washed over you. You turned to find him, with a bit of color returned to his face. 

“It’s really late, I’m sorry I’ve kept you. You can go home if you’d like. I’m sure you want to get some rest too after your shift.” 

He took a second, before asking, “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” And you hesitated before nodding. 

“Honestly, the roads are pretty bad out there. I could stay on the couch, help you figure out your car in the morning. How does that sound?”

He way have been a complete stranger just hours ago, but you really did feel like you could trust him. So you smiled and nodded. 

“I’ll go find some blankets for you,” you smiled before disappearing up the stairs. Eddie didn’t expect you to come back for a while. You were bound to find your grandmothers bedroom and need to look around for a while. He made his way back to the living room while he waited. He stared at the wall again, but not in shock this time. Now that he knew was 24 year old you looked like, he desperately want to see what 12 year old you looked like. He found a picture near the middle of the wall, of a young girl smiling at the camera. It was the only photo on the wall without your grandmother in it. She had your eyes, had your smile, but most importantly, she actually looked like the drawing he had received all those years ago. You weren’t as bad of an artist as you’d thought. Eddie tried not to grow emotional staring at the photo. He only tore his eyes away from the picture of younger you when he heard you making your way back down the stairs.

Before you could reach Eddie, you paused by the window next to the back door, blankets in hand. The snow coated the back yard, reflecting the light from the back porch into the sky. You began to tear up, just as Eddie approached to take the blankets from you. He saw one of the first tears fall down your cheek, and quickly, but gently put an arm around you. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just… Is this what it looks like every winter?” you asked, looking up at him with misty eyes. 

“For parts of it, yeah. Why?”

“Grandma loved the snow,” was all you could reply before looking back out at the yard. 

He contemplated it for a second, fought himself on whether or not this was the right moment to say it, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“I told you she’d like it here” 

A moment passed as you processed what he had said. You gasped quietly, quickly turning your head to face him. He looked nervous, as if he had just handed his heart to you on a platter, waiting to see if you would reject it. 

“Eddie?” you asked cautiously, and you both knew what the question really was. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, still nervous and unable to read what you were thinking. 

“You stopped writing,” was all you could get out before another tear dropped. 

“What?”

“Y-you stopped writing,” you repeated, beginning to choke on your breathes as you spoke. 

He nearly panicked as he tried to reply. 

“Y/n, w-what do you mean? I only stopped writing when you stopped replying.”

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” you couldn’t stop looking at him, another tear dropping down your cheek. Your exhaustion was exaggerating your emotions, but you may have felt the same regardless. You had waited 12 years for this moment. 

“Yeah. Why don’t we go sit down,” he smiled at you, before herding you towards the couch. 

“Y/n,” he spoke softly as he crouch in front of you, one hand resting on each of your knees as you sat on the couch, “What do you mean I stopped writing?”

“I sent you a letter, you never replied.”

“That’s impossible, I waiting for months to hear back from you. There’s no way I missed a letter from you.”

“No, I sent one, and I waited, but you never replied. You broke my heart Eds,” you quietly began to sob, filled with too many mixed emotions. 

Eddie quickly sat next to you on the couch and pulled you to his chest to comfort you the best he could, but he was still confused. He had checked his own mailbox, his neighbors mailboxes, other houses in town with the same street number as his trailer. This didn’t add up. He quietly shushed you as he thought. 

“What did the last letter say?” he asked as you began to calm down just slightly. He had half the collection of your letters memorized, but especially the first and last. He would know if he had read it if you described it. 

“It was before Freshman year, I told you how scared I was that all the kids were going to be mean. I was so afraid that I was going to get singled out for still having no friends, and I waited for months to hear back from you. But you never wrote back. You were my only friend, and you stopped writing.”

“No, sweetheart, I would never,” he sighed as his heart dropped. He got that letter, he replied to it. Which meant that she never got his last letter. Neither of them had stopped writing on purpose, they had both assumed the other had given up. But he had sent out one last letter that was unaccounted for.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me,” he gently guided you to look up at him, “I promise you, I wrote back. I don’t know what happened to it, but I never would have stopped writing like that. I thought you had just ignored my last letter.”

“You wrote,” you said quietly, and Eddie couldn’t tell if it was a question, or if you were trying to reassure yourself. 

“I did, I promise,” he whispered as he swept a tear off your cheek with his thumb. 

And though you still needed to know what happened to his letter, and you had had one of the longest days of your life, nothing mattered more to you in that moment than leaning in, slowly. You took a second, pausing right before reaching his lips so he could pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t. It was a quick kiss, but it was gentle and sweet. Eddie didn’t try to pull you in for another, but he didn’t want to part as you pulled away. 

It took him a second to open his eyes again, but when he did, he was smiling just as big as you. 

“You ok?” he asked for what must have been the hundredth time that night. But unlike every other time you had answered, this time you told him the truth. 

“I am now.”

(may or may not be already trying to figure out a part 2 for this, depending on if people like it <3 )

@embrace-themagic @fanficparker  @heartbeats-wildly @saturn-aka-six @calum-hoodwinked-me @peterplanet @mischiefmanaged49 @nicotine-sunshine820 @itsjusttor @emistrash @thenoddingbunny-blog @sovereignparker @raajali3 @eddielives1986 @eddieswifu @chickpeadumpsterfire @fluffybunnyu @panagiasikelia @canthavetoomuchchaos @whenshelanded @starlitlakes @witchwolflea @ali-r3n @g0thdraculaura @celestcies

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #line cook!eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine

[stark-raving-romantic]

Since we all agree the Harry Potter is NOT it...here's a fun poll! These are just my picks but if you feel that I've neglected one, tell me and I'll make another poll, the winners can face off or something.

Please reblog to break containment!

Pride and Prejudice: It is a truth universally acknowledged , that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Northanger Abbey: No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have supposed her born to be a heroine.

Anne of Green Gables: Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.

The Graveyard Book: There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.

Romeo and Juliet:

"Two households, both alike in dignity

 (In fair Verona, where we lay our scene),

 From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

 Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean."

Tuck Everlasting: The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning.

Fahrenheit 451: It was a pleasure to burn.

The Hobbit: In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

A Christmas Carol: MARLEY WAS DEAD, to begin with.

The Secret Garden: When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Far Out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.

Percy Jackson/The Lightning Thief: Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood

#pride and prejudice #northanger abbey #anne of green gables #the graveyard book #romeo and juliet #tuck everlasting #fahrenheit 451 #the hobbit #a christmas carol #the secret garden #the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy #percy jackson #the lightning thief #bookish things #polls #booklr #booklover #bookworm

[anghraine]

Back to clearing out drafts of things I'm not going to finish: this scrap is from the third of August, 2013:

-

"I think it would be for the best, my lord," Faramir said, clearly picking his words with care, "if I remain in Rohan when the rest of our people return home."

Aragorn considered him. Nothing about the other man's demeanour spoke of the besotted lover; indeed he looked very much as Aragorn imagined he had when he spoke of Gandalf to Ecthelion. His air was entirely that of a councillor about to offer disagreeable advice. 

Suppressing a sigh, Aragorn said, "I am not sure I understand you."

It was not the first time. Faramir was often clear and precise, but not always, and seemed to expect Aragorn in particular to wring meaning out of even cryptic statements.

Apart from this quirk, Aragorn understood him quite well. In fact, he'd formed a reasonable estimation of Faramir's character before he set foot in Minas Tirith, thanks to Imrahil.

As they'd made their way through the stinking battlefield, the city rising pristine before them, Aragorn had asked the Prince if he knew where the most seriously wounded might be found.

"They will be in the Houses of Healing," said Imrahil slowly. "My sister-son—"

Aragorn remembered Boromir speaking of a younger brother, his affection and concern unmistakable. And that was the brother to whom the summons to Rivendell had been sent first. He would now be Denethor's heir, playing an even greater part in Gondor's affairs than in Boromir's descriptions. There must be a reason for all this—it did not seem likely that he was another Boromir. Perhaps he favoured Denethor more than his brother had, or perhaps Finduilas and Imrahil. Aragorn could only hope for the latter. 

Belatedly, he realized that Imrahil had not simply paused mid-sentence but stopped altogether, his smooth voice breaking.

"The Lord Faramir, I believe?" Aragorn immediately saw the pain in Imrahil's stiff nod. "He is in the Houses? Has he been injured?"

"Faramir led the defence of Osgiliath and the Rammas Echor against the Witch-king of Angmar," said Imrahil.

Angmar. "What happened?"

The Prince hesitated. "He has great strength of mind, and chanced to inherit abilities from both Denethor's house and mine. Boromir was the mightier warrior, and the most admired man in Gondor, but Faramir had—has—a way with everyone he met." He shook his head, a ghost of a smile at his mouth. "To see him is to love him, and not only for his kin. Men and beasts alike will follow him anywhere." The lines of Imrahil's expression, briefly softened, drew tight and anxious once more. "Forgive me. I digress."

"With reason, I think," said Aragorn, hardly one to condemn a grieving uncle, even if he had not been the Prince of Dol Amroth, and even if he had praised his sister-son without purpose. 

Imrahil nodded, exhaling on a sigh. "His men followed him that day into the Shadow. For a time, he was able to hold his soldiers and their mounts steady, and he judged it necessary to remain with them to the end. But he was weary before he ever rode out, and it had been over a day, with little rest, when we last spoke."

"It would have been a great enough task for a man well-rested," said Aragorn, frowning. A dim picture was beginning to coalesce in his mind, but something was wrong with it. Many things were wrong with it. As they headed towards the city, he said, "It would have been great enough for an Elf-lord, against such an enemy. Why did he not rest beforehand?"

He was familiar with that kind of exertion, though that particular form was not one he favoured. He looked ahead at Minas Tirith, thinking of how many must be ill or dying. Soon he would be called upon to cast as wide a net as he could, pitting his will against the Black Breath. But it was a battle he could and would win.

"Faramir had slept a little," said Imrahil. "But five Nazgûl had pursued him and three or four others from Osgiliath; I did not see it myself, but I was told that he rode back when his companions were unhorsed, and one of the foul beasts actually stooped down on him. It was Mithrandir who saved him then."

Aragorn almost halted, more startled at this than anything else.

"This sister-son of yours confronted five Nazgûl?"

He could easily imagine Boromir doing it. Even the Denethor of Thorongil's day—but still. One was quite bad enough.

Imrahil looked at him. "Would you have done any different, lord?"

"No," said Aragorn. "Yet he was lucky to survive that alone, never mind the battle itself."

"He always has been. His men believe his life is charmed, by the Valar or—" He shrugged. "If so, his good fortune ran out in the end. He fell in the retreat across the Pelennor, when he was pierced by a Southron arrow. I carried him myself to the Houses of Healing. There he has lain in a fever ever since. I cannot think it only the wound."

"If he was contending with Ringwraiths the day before," Aragorn said, "then a stray arrow would be the least of his troubles. Yet it would leave him far more vulnerable to the Black Breath of the Nazgûl, all the more with his will spent." He looked sharply at Imrahil. "That would be enough. But there is more, I think?"

Imrahil sighed. But then he told him the whole story, as far as he knew it: told him of the always troubled relationship between Denethor and his gentle, willful younger son, turned colder with Boromir's absence and death, of Faramir's return from Osgiliath and Denethor's displeasure that Faramir had permitted strangers to pass freely through Ithilien.

Aragorn almost caught his breath. "Strangers? Of what kind?"

"Halflings, I hear," said Imrahil. "They had some foul weapon of Isildur's—forgive me—which Faramir sent away with them. Denethor agreed it should not be used, but he was furious that Faramir had allowed it to pass into the Dark Land. They quarrelled over that, and then again over the defense of the Rammas Echor. Faramir did not go of his own will but at the command of the Steward.

"I see," said Aragorn. So this man had faced the Ring as well.

#anghraine babbles #anghraine's fic #legendarium blogging #i always figured that aragorn knew about faramir's latest conflict with denethor from imrahil #so this was partly an attempt to write that #i was also going to wind back around into faramir staying in rohan for political as well as personal reasons #fic talk #imrahil #faramir #aragorn #de las bóvedas #long post

[andydrysdalerogers]

Yours Submissively ~ Communication

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N: the taglist is open!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Consideration

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Wednesday came and Belle arrived home after her late class.  All she wanted was a shower and some food.  Lila wasn’t home, having gone on a date with Bucky.  She sighed as she looked over her mail.  A letter caught her eye. “Manhattan School of the Arts” it said.  She trembled as she opened the envelope. 

Dear Miss Davis,  Thank you for sending us your resume and school records.  Pending receiving your state credentials, we are pleased to offer you a position as a teacher for our First-Grade students.  Training would begin in June and the school year would start August 1st.  We offer our congratulations on your pending graduation and look forward to working with you in June.  Sincerely,  Headmaster David Zolinski Manhattan School of the Arts

Belle couldn’t believe it.  She did it.  She was finally a teacher.  She snapped a photo and sent it to Lilia. 

B: I did it! L: Congrats! Celebrate Friday? B: Can’t this weekend L: Why? B: With Steve L: even better celebration. TTYL? B: Say hi to Bucky for me L: He says congrats. 

Belle wanted to celebrate.  She sent the same photo to Steve. 

SR: Congratulations B: Thank you SR: We’ll celebrate on Friday B: OK

She was deflated.  She hoped for more.  She quietly made dinner and sat watching a cooking show when she heard the doorbell.  She opened her door and was surprised by Steve.  “What are you doing here?”

“I realized that you just had a major life accomplishment and that Lila wouldn’t be here.  You should be able to celebrate in the moment.”  He held up a bottle of Prosecco and a paper bag. 

“Are you allowed out by yourself?”

“I have security.  They are downstairs.”

“Bucky approved?”

He chuckled.  “Bucky approved.  Can I come in?”

“Oh shit, sorry.  Yes of course.”  Steve walked in a deposited a kiss as he passed.  Belle felt her head start to swim from lack of breathing.  “Umm, let me grab some glasses.” 

Steve noticed the uneaten plate on the coffee table. “You haven’t eaten?”

“I just got home from school.” 

“It’s late.” 

“Yeah, it’s the only time for this particular lab.  And it was rough.” 

“How so?” 

“Had to find a new lab partner.” 

“Why?” Belle hesitated. “Isabella, tell me,” he ordered. 

“Because my old partner is Scott.  And we’re not talking right now.” 

“You spoke to him about Saturday.” 

“I did.  And he said some things that upset me so I told him I wouldn’t speak to him unless he apologized.  Which he hasn’t done.  So, I asked MJ to be my partner.” 

“MJ?”

“Michelle Jones.  She is Peter’s fiancé.” 

“You have a few friends.  I didn’t know that.” 

“Yeah, just the six of us. Well, you and Bucky can be added, I guess. I mean if we are friends. Wait. I mean, I don’t mean we’re not friends I just mean…” She stopped.  “How long are you going to let me ramble?”

“I don’t know.  It’s cute when you do it.” He laughed.  “We’re friends Isabella.” 

“Just friends.”  She sighed and took a bite of her now cold food. 

“Isabella?”

“Sorry, I’m just working through it.” 

Steve cleared his throat and tried to change the subject.  “So, I brought you a dessert.”  He revealed two slices of cheesecake. 

“I love cheesecake.  Thanks.”  She tried to smile but it wouldn’t reach her eyes. 

“Isabella, talk to me.”

“Why are you here?  If you don’t want this type of relationship, why are you here?” Steve went to reach for her hands and she pulled away. “No.  I want an answer.” 

“I do want a relationship, just not a romantic hearts and flowers type of relationship.  But you’re right.  We do need to be friends for the type of relationship I want to work.  You have to be able to talk to me and you don’t right now.” 

“I don’t?  I told you about this.” She held up the letter. 

“But it’s the first time you’ve ever done it.  Please Belle, I’m trying.” 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“What?”

“Be like this.  Submissive.” 

“Its not just that. We will spend time together when we are together on the weekends.  Just try.” 

“One weekend?”

“One weekend. That’s all I ask.” 

“Does it have to be this weekend?  I have to start studying for finals.” 

“When are finals?”

“Two weeks. Graduation is in three weeks.” 

“Ok, two weeks then.” Steve took a bite of his dessert to let the room calm.  “I have to ask, I need a date for a benefit on Saturday.  I would like to ask if you would be my date.”

“I thought…”

“As friends, Isabella.  Just as friends.  I don’t expect anything else.” 

“I don’t have a dress or anything.” 

“Tell you what, this weekend, stay with me and we can get to know each other more.  I’ll take care of everything else.  No more, no less.” 

“Like a sleepover.  So we can gossip in our pjs?”  Belle quirked a smile. 

Steve chuckled and shook his head.  “Whatever you want.  Movies, pizza, the works. I just want to be with you for now. I want you to trust me.” 

Belle could see the honesty in his eyes.  “Ok.  This weekend.  Sleepover. And a benefit. No big deal.” 

Belle walked into her new office area in Stark Tower on Friday with a small overnight bag.  She was stuffing it under her desk when Tony approached.  “Going somewhere?”

“What?  I mean, excuse me?”

Tony chuckled.  “The bag Belle.  I’ve never seen you with such a large bag.”

“Oh.”  She looked at the bag.  She knew Steve said he would take care of everything but she just wanted to make sure she was prepared.  “I’m going to stay with a friend for the weekend.” 

Tony furrowed his brow.  “Doesn’t seem like a lot of stuff.” 

“Yeah,” Belle scrambled.  “I’ve stayed there before and have stuff there.  No need to add to my drawer there.”  She laughed at her excuse. 

“Boyfriend?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is the friend you are staying with a boyfriend?”  Tony was on high alert. 

“No, just a friend.”  Belle fidgeted and cleared her throat, uncomfortable with where the line of questioning was going.  “Did you need anything Mr. Stark?” 

“No Belle.  Just get started with the usual.  Need to go through my schedule in a few.” 

“Ok, no problem.”  Belle turned on her computer to get to work.  A new email popped in her inbox.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected]   Subject: Personal Pick-Up Service Isabella, I look forward to our weekend together.  Bucky and I will be by to get you.  What time? Steven Rogers CEO, Grant Industries. 

Belle tried to keep calm. She knew Steve had infinite resources and it wasn’t like her email was a top government secret.  It was just unusual to see it without knowing where he got it.  She calmly typed out a reply to the super soldier CEO. 

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject RE: Personal Pick-Up Service My, to have the CEO of a major corporation in the palm of my hand.  I am done at 6PM.  I’m looking forward to our weekend as well.  See you later. xx Isabella Davis Intern to Tony Stark President, Stark Industries

Steve read her response and laughed.  She did have him in the palm of her hand, and he would gladly let her live there.  Wednesday was interesting.  He learned so much about Isabella in just a few hours.  Whether she realized it or not, she ate the same way with all of her food, needed to taste all the flavors at the same time.  

She always played with her hair, rearranging it several times until it was in a knot on the top of her head.  The way she slept very peacefully.  She had fallen asleep against him, and he very gently picked her up and placed her in her room. He covered her up and pressed his lips on her forehead before he left.  He took her keys to lock the apartment and then slipped them into the mail slot.  He sent a message to Bucky to tell Lila about them. 

As he made his way downstairs, Clint held the door open for him.  “Cap.” 

“Barton.  Thanks for doing this on such short notice.” 

“Not a problem Steve.” Clint closed the car door and climbed in the driver seat.  “Is she ok?”

“I believe so.” 

That night stayed on Steve’s mind along with their first night together. Bucky wasn’t super happy that Steve had gone out but at least he had Clint with him. 

The end of the day came quickly and Steve and Bucky headed to the Stark Tower. “So Punk, are you ready to have your life taken over by a girl?” Bucky snickered. 

“Show some respect Jerk. She already took over and you know it.” 

“Why are you making such a big effort Steve?  She really worth it?”

“Yes, she is.  Is Lila worth it?”

“Ok fair.  I’ve just never seen you this way before.  Not with the other girls, not with Sharon or…”

“Don’t say her name.” Steve clenched his jaw. He didn’t need the reminder. 

Bucky looked contrite.  “I’m sorry pal.” 

Steve counted to ten, needing to relax before he saw Isabella.  His girl. Just her name became a talisman for him.  “Its ok Bucky,” he finally said.  He looked him in the eye.  “She’s different.  She challenges me.  She has something that none of them, including …” he swallowed.  “None of them had it.” 

“This won’t be the usual contract, will it?”

“I don’t know.  The next two weekends will be the test.” 

“Understood.”  Bucky glanced at the entrance and jumped out of the car.  Steve followed his gaze and saw Belle with her bag.  He opened the door just as he heard her say thank you to Bucky when he took the bag. 

“I thought I told you I would take care of everything this weekend.” He kissed her cheek and took her hand.  He guided her to the open door and she slip in. 

“I know, but I wanted to bring some things that give me comfort. You know, for my room.”  Belle looked down at her fingers.

Steve caressed her cheek, “My Belle, don’t be embarrassed.  I didn’t mean you couldn’t bring anything.  Forgive me if that’s what you thought.”

She looked up and smiled.  Steve was dazzled. “Thank you, Steve.  Its just some of my favorites that I have extra.  I thought I could leave them there.” 

“That is a wonderful idea.  You know I would have bought you anything you wanted.” 

“I know.  But some things cannot be purchased.” 

“Really?”

“A stuffed bunny that my parents left me?”  She raised her eyebrow. 

“Fair enough. I thought we could head to dinner.  Casual, nothing formal.” 

“Sounds good.”  

Bucky drove them to Brooklyn, to a little mom and pop restaurant.  Belle smiled. She jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped and ran into the restaurant.  Steve and Bucky exchanged a look before Steve exited the vehicle. He walked in to see Belle being embraced by an older woman.  Steve cleared his throat. Belle looked over to Steve.   

She turned to look at the older woman and spoke in flawless Italian. “Mamma sono Steve. Mi ha portato qui per un appuntamento a cena.” (Mom this is Steve. He brought me here for a date.) She smiled, “Steve, this Mamma Maria Capolini.  She runs the restaurant.”

Signora,(Ma’am) Steve greets her with a handshake.  The lady takes his hand and inspects him.  She doesn’t say a word but after a moment, she reached up to Steve’s face and kisses both cheeks. She lets him go, kiss Belle on the forehead and heads to the back.

Belle takes Steve’s hand and heads to a table in the back.  “She approved of you. This is my favorite Italian restaurant in the entire city.”

“You know her.   Well.” 

Belle blushed.  “Dad and I would eat here at least once a week.  Momma, she taught me to cook and I learned Italian.” 

“That’s beautiful. I wanted to bring you to somewhere with the best Italian besides going to Italy itself.”

Momma appeared again with some anti pasta and bread.  She looked at Belle. “Vino?”

“Grazie.” She came back a moment later and filled two glasses with red wine. 

“Isabella, tell me more. What secrets do you have?” Steve took her hand from across the table. 

“Not many more, I guess.  I speak Italian, obviously, Spanish, French and English.  My dad wanted me to well versed. I stopped before I got to German and Japanese because I only wanted the romantic languages.”  Belle flushed, forgetting to filter her words. 

“That is very sweet.”  Mamma appeared again with two plates of pasta. “Buon Appetito.” 

“Grazie,” Steve replied, and they ate.  Steve enjoyed the little noises Belle would make as she ate. “Isabella, did you want to talk about this weekend?” Belle stopped and looked up at Steve.  She swallowed her bite and nodded.  “So tonight, after dinner, I thought we could go back to my place and just talk, get to know each other.  Saturday, I would love to take you shopping and lunch before the charity event in the evening.  On Sunday, brunch out on the waterfront.  Does that sound ok?”

“Sounds like fun.  But you don’t have to take me shopping.” 

“I want to.” 

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice.” Steve looked sad.  “I just want to make you feel special.” 

“I already do, Steve.  You don’t have to spend money on me to prove that.” Belle smiled. “I just like spending time with you.”  She studied Steve’s face.  “But if it makes you happy, shopping it is.” 

He gave her a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Belle.” 

They finished the meal and headed back to Manhattan.  Belle wondered what exactly had she gotten herself into. 

NEXT

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@jennmurawski13-writes

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@amiquette

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #yours submissively #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers x OFC #Bucky barnes #chris evans #mcu fanfiction #Steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #chris evans au #avengers au

[bropunzeling]

14 & 29 😊

14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick?

oh gosh. i think maybe marriage bets if only (a) i think it would translate best to a visual medium and (b) i fucking love romcoms and our society is NOT on the ball in terms of giving the people (me) what they want (more romcoms). that said almost every fic i write has one scene where i would LOVE an art of it because my visual for it is so strong: contenders are the parking lot forehead kiss in girl!leon, the party in my kj/op as good as gold fic, any of the kitchen scenes in omega matthew, brady and quinn walking back to the hotel in the quinn-sees-the-future-maybe fic.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

im probably never gonna write this matthew/leon break-up make-up as it is right now so here's a bit from the beginning:

It’s only once he’s parked in the garage and let himself into the kitchen that he looks at his phone, checking Hanny’s messages first. There’s one from early in the day, back at the start of Matthew’s golf game: hahahahaha damn. Then, from around the time Matthew was driving:

holy shit dude

are you seeing this

matthew?

do i need to call you?

dude

Matthew frowns. He switches to his texts with Brady, but Brady hadn’t sent much. Just a link, and, u gonna be ok?

Matthew blinks at the text. Clicks the link and lets it take him to the NHL app.

Leon Draisaitl to Florida for [Bobrovsky and Someone]

Matthew stops reading. He sets his phone down, then grips the edge of the granite countertop, until it bites into his fingers. Bile rises up in his throat. For three long seconds, he feels absolutely sure he’s going to puke.

He doesn’t puke. Instead he swallows, and heads straight to the fridge to grab a beer. He drinks a third of it standing in front of the open refrigerator door, feeling the cool air on his face as his throat works. When he has to stop, he sets the beer on the counter and paces back over to where his phone is lying innocently, like it hasn’t derailed Matthew's life.

It’s too easy to scroll through his phone contacts until he hits the Ds, until he finds the one that he wants: DO NOT TEXT ⛔⛔⛔. Last conversation: August 1st, 2022.

He taps out: are you fucking kidding me

He doesn’t send it.

#ask meme #sorry bob. sacrifices must be made

[dayjalois-blog]

Time travel and multiple universes

April 07 2024.

Time travel and multiple universes. Is it possible to travel through time or even to other universes? Yes. I have been doing both.

How is this possible? Tesla's device and the cowardice of Congress. When they murdered Tesla and stole both his device and papers it began a war of freedom. Freedom of choice. Freedom of life and the right to live one of one's choosing.

Until one of three events occur, I will make this a journal of a small fraction of experiences and devices' uses, without detail of construction of said devices. Congress is stripped of Tesla 's device and removed permanently. Two, we are sent to yet another universe or three, the planet is destroyed.

Not a pretty choice...the last, but when those murdered again and again, people like Challenger crew, Princess Diana, Paul Walker, for wanting freedom from control and Congress saving people like Sanjay Gupta, three of their own and Al Roker from deaths that were the results of their COVID-19 (June 2020) and a blood clot August 2019) reaching the heart, there must an end to their slavery, their desire to be a god must be done.

Tomorrow I must begin the process of creating a teleport. It is necessary in order to acquire funding for technologies to both aid in this war and, like many universes ago, open windows to hundreds of light years away...for exploring purposes.

End Entry.

April 08 2024

I really hate this body. Placing the obvious aside, with its medical problems, it tires very easily.

I didn't have as many low level resistors as I wished, so I am forced to take a "short cut"...as I label it. With the health issues of this body and lack of all necessary resistors, I have gotten the first teleport ready for soldering.

I am going to try to rest awhile. Maybe I will regain enough energy to solder and test it today.

Now, for those 'hooked' on time travel, I can give you information on what occurred, in the previous timeline, in regards to both the missing Sebastian Rogers and the two missing women whose car was found abandoned on Oklahoma 95 and Road L.

Will it be the same? I don't know. I can only say that my family and I are moving through universes and timelines more often now than ever before. Most recent move has been a short few months ago.

In the last, Sebastian Rogers was found hiding out near a farm...sometimes in a greenhouse at a school. He was fine. It was said that he was angry about not getting an expensive pair of shoes like a friend of his.

The two women? Before we were moved to this universe...this timeline, one was found dead on a farm. The other...the person has not been located at that time.

Again, this information was from one of many timelines, universes we have been in the last short few months. How many? I would say three to four.

My next device to be created, after the testing and, if need, if supplies permit, adjusting, will be the exterior planetary window.

It's rest time.

End Entry.

April 14 2024.

Wow! Getting old can be tiresome. Teleports. I did the math on several. It seems that between the poor battery, poor power cord of the phone and the many difficulties of this body, I seem to only labour half a day. Having said that, I have given a lot of thought to making teleportation available to the masses. My decision...is not yet.

I still need a means to make the environment more suitable for us. As result, I am going to use another part of the technology to solve both 'dead end' homicides and missing persons. How? Easy for me. I will begin, once paid and given the correct exact information, will open a door to the event and record it with either a cellphone or video camera.

Wait?! Proof...proof! Okay. I have calculated a well known death event... Nicole Brown Simpson. I calculated to open the door on the 20th of April.

I set this date in order to adjust the door to make it invisible from the target's view. When it recorded it I will post it by the next day. After posting, I will be finishing a website to launch to assist in gaining clients.

End Entry.

April 18 2024

I have been working hard today! Not on the door to save Nicole Brown Simpson...yet. That must wait until Monday, as long as my supplies last. I have three other devices that require attention first. - This is due to needing to teach some interfering retards a lesson for trying to interfere with our survival and my work.

I almost finished the first today. It will be complete tomorrow and the next will begin. I project, considering the idiocy I am currently having to deal with, that, should supplies last, I will be able to save her by Thursday of next week.

Tired...

End Entry

#Time Travel #Multiple Universes #Journal

[blueshistorysims]

The autumn of 1891 brought good tidings for the Walshes, for it soon became apparent that Rebecca was expecting her first child with Peter. At first, she wasn’t sure, but she had woken up that morning and looked at her stomach, Rebecca knew that it was time for a call by Dr. Ingalls. She feigned a cold for Rose and sent for the doctor, only telling him the truth when he arrived. The doctor quickly confirmed her suspicions and congratulated her. 

She felt relieved and equally excited. She’d always wanted a child, to raise a big family—nothing like her own upbringing, which had been lonely and quiet. The thought filled her with glee. She was pregnant!

Rebecca waited until Peter came home, sitting in the parlor while Rose prepared dinner. She had taken one good look at her stomach and smiled, saying, “Walsh children tend to be very big. You’re going to need lots of rest, dear.”

The moment the door opened, she stood up and called her husband’s name. Peter set down his bag and handed his coat to their maid, walking into the parlor to see what his wife wanted. 

“Good evening, my love,” he greeted.

“I have news, Peter.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good. Very good,” she answered, grinning ear to ear. 

He took her hands and smiled. “Then I am quite eager to know.”

“I’m with child, Peter. Dr. Ingalls says the baby shall be due in August.”

He blinked, intaking the information. For a moment, Rebecca worried he was not pleased, but he gently stroked her chin and sighed happily. “I’m to be a father?”

“Indeed.” He glanced at her stomach, which suddenly looked much larger than it had that morning. “I’m to be a father,” he repeated, beginning to laugh.

She giggled. “And I am to be a mother.”

Peter pulled his wife closer and kissed her. “Oh, you have made me the happiest man in England!”

Rebecca kissed him again, wrapping her hands around his neck, feeling like nothing could ever ruin her happiness. 

Rebecca and Rose immediately set to work after they publicly announced the pregnancy. The house’s nursery had not been used in many years, and the pair decided to task themselves with decorating it. After Sarah cleaned and dusted it, the mother and daughter-in-law cleaned out the older furniture and decorated it fit for a Walsh baby. Sun had faded and yellowed the wallpaper and bedding, but no matter, soon the nursery would look brand new by the time the baby arrived

“Sarah said it was so dusty when she cleaned in here. When was the last time someone went in here, Rose?” Rebecca asked, staring at the little cradle where her husband had spent the first few years of his life.

“Oh, not in over five years,” her mother-in-law answered, sounding distant. 

She turned to see Rose standing by the window, staring out at the other houses the in neighborhood.

“What are you doing?”

She turned and sighed. “Just reminiscing.”

Rebecca walked over as Rose’s fingers drifted across the old cradle. “What was Peter like as a baby?”

“He cried. Quite a lot. Just for no reason other than to seek attention, crying all hours of the night. And my husband could sleep through anything, so it was up to me and the maid to the child.” She smiled. “As a first time mother, it greatly put me off babies, and I began to loath whenever I had to feed him.”

“No, surely it was not that terrible.”

“It was,” Rose affirmed, blushing. “I feel awful now, but he wouldn’t shut up. It wasn’t until he turned two when he suddenly became this angelic child, and I realized maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.”

She laughed. “My mother says that I was such a fussy baby that she told Father that she never wanted another child.”

The older woman nodded. “I remember your mother complaining to me about you. I think we are both grateful you grew into such a beautiful and good natured woman.”

Rebecca smiled, her cheeks turning pink. “And what was David like?”

“David… was an angel. He was such a quiet baby, and even though he could see, I would hold him for hours, just staring into his little eyes, holding his tiny hand.” She swallowed. “Peter was very jealous.”

“I wish I’d gotten to know him. I left for finishing school at 14, and he was still a tiny child. I mostly avoided him when I visited.”

“Do not feel bad, he was so yo-young,” Rose whispered, breaking into tears. “My darling child was so young,” she whimpered, doubling over and burying her face into her hands. 

Rebecca was shocked, watching her turn away and beginning to cry. She placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to think of something to say.

“Oh Rose,” she muttered, rushing around her and kneeling. “It is alright.”

“I’m sorry. I miss him so much! He-he was my baby, and he died so young.”

Rebecca took Rose’s face in her hands, forcing her to look up. She nodded gently. “I know, Rose. There is nothing wrong with grieving for your child. You loved him, and he loved you, and we take comfort knowing he is in a better place.”

Rose sniffled. “Oh, what did I do to deserve such a kind daughter-in-law?”

“You raised a good son.”

#the walshes #the walsh legacy #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 story #sims 4 historical #sims 4 decades #sims 4 #sims 4 history challenge #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 legacy #victorian #1890s #ts4 1890s #simblr #ts4 #the sims 4 #peter walsh #rebecca walsh #rose walsh

[prxdk]

Reunion

Rating: K+

Date: August 31, 2016

She walked into the room before the man outside could gloat about their alleged conquest.

As she went the way down to the cell, Clarice heard her heart beating in her ear. 

It felt familiar. She could almost feel like twenty-something years old again. She swallowed down as quietly as she could, he would surely hear. Would he feel it? The familiarity, the thrill of having hunter and hunted before each other… They were natural enemies, but never acted as such.

Starling bit her lower lip and decided she didn’t want to go down this path. Not now.

For a moment she hoped the hall would never end. 

And then it did.

She turned to face the cell, she was half disappointed not to find the web before the bars.

He took a deep breath before looking up slowly, there was a hint of a smile on his lips, he opened his eyes and… Nothing. Nothing but the beating of her heart in her ear again.

“Good afternoon, Doctor,” she said without thinking, her mouth taking action before her mind contained it.

“Good afternoon to you, Agent Starling,” his reply polite as usual, she found some comfort in such familiar behavior. “You look good, Clarice”

“Thank you, Doctor”

“Good for someone who has been through such hell”

His eyes on her carried a bit more than she would be comfortable with, she knew what was coming.

“Have the guards been bragging, my dear?” he questions.

“They probably still are”

“You came fast”

“As soon as I heard”

“One would believe you to be worried, Clarice. Perhaps they’d even dare to say eager”

“I’m here to make sure you get to the US safely”

“But there is something else, isn't there? I heard there is a naughty boy running around the states of your dear country and killing people”

“This is not why--”

“This is why you were sent in so quickly. Come now, dear, you can not believe they sent you out of concern for me or because you’ve been involved before. For all they care, I could die out of a guard’s whim and they’d probably help with it”

“You are alive and I’m here, no guard is killing you, not on my watch, Doctor”

He smiled. “I appreciate the concern, my dear… How is Jack doing? Was he excited when my letter came in?”

“Mr. Crawford is well, and yes”

“Were you?”

A moment.

“Your letter was of help, thank you for that, Doctor”

“Now, my dear, who is this guy your beloved FBI is chasing”

“You were never one eager to help, Dr. Lecter. What is it?”

“I have to say I do like that you can see through it. And, to answer your question, I believe you know the rules, Clarice. Or have you forgotten the fun we had so easily?”

“Quid pro quo,” it is a whisper in the dark, but loud enough for him to smile and nod.

“That’s my girl”

“I don’t believe there is anything important in my past you don’t know, Doctor”

“I never said I wanted your past, dear. Now, shall we begin?”

It was good that a chair was placed next to the cell. Clarice made use of it before the game began, out of Lecter’s request.

So far he had asked for trivial things, he asked about her job, her routine, and had questioned her eating and sleeping habits.

Starling was careful and she had sensed something being out of place, something was off.

“How did you do it?” she asked abruptly.

He observed her for a moment. “What, my dear?”

“Fooled the guards into believing they caught you”

“Why, my dear, is your belief in me so--”

“‘Who holds the devil, let him hold him well, He hardly will be caught a second time’” she quoted. “Well, Doctor?”

“A little bit of exposure here and there will do wonders… How did you do it?”

“I just had this feeling you just wouldn’t be that interested in my laundry”

A smile from him.

“Why am I here, Dr. Lecter?”

“I do enjoy the company. And the play.”

“You can taunt me from anywhere you want, you can always just send a letter or find any other means you want. Why here? Why now?”

“How does it feel, Clarice? To do this again?”

“It is… Good, familiar”

“And?”

“It is nice to see you, Doctor. Even though I would appreciate different circumstances”

“You would be overwhelmed by your sense of duty”

“We could always work it out in the best way possible”

“I do not enjoy the idea of being incarcerated, not even to have a moment with you”

“What would you do? If it came down to it?”

“Clarice, I’d rather die than go back to the dungeon”

She swallowed. As much as she couldn’t blame him, she couldn’t help the hint of resentment. Suicide always hit a bit like betrayal. But how could she ever blame him? He owed her nothing, it was his life and his life alone.

She felt the urge to get up and leave.

“You can’t leave,” she said

“I will. Let’s not make this harder, shall we?”

“Where will you go?”

He smiled. “Tsk, tsk, not a fair player, are you?”

A moment.

“I was hoping you’d join me”

“Why would I do that?”

“This answer might require some time”

“This all the time we have, Doctor”

His smile grew. “Using my words against me, Clarice? Naughty girl”

“Doctor,” she warned.

“I have to say something before, dear. If we are to go forward with this, I’m gonna need you to scream”

#Clannibal #Clarice Starling #Hannibal Lecter #Hannibal #Silence of the Lambs #Fanfiction

[moondal514]

aftg :) 📓

hi rory!

I can’t remember if I’ve talked about this wip on here yet or not but last year I made this plot outline for an au based on the book The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August by Catherine Webb. It’s pretty long (which is why I haven’t written it lol).

Trigger warning for excessive reincarnation/time loop-style major character death (Andrew dies a lot, often very young) and for mentions of child abuse and csa, per Andrew’s canonical trauma

So Andrew, Neil, and a few other characters are what are called “Ouroborans,” someone who is reborn into their same life over and over again. Per the rules of The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August universe, Ouroborans lived as normal babies until their 4th birthday. Then they get regain what memories of their previous turns at life they remember. Andrew is a special sort of Ouroboran because he remembers everything about every turn of his life he has ever taken thanks to his eidetic memory.

My idea for the fic is that it would be mostly from Andrew’s pov with occasional interludes from Neil.

Andrew’s 1st turn at his life is actually pretty good. He’s adopted at 4 by a pleasant but unremarkable conservative couple. The couple adopted him because they were infertile but thought that having a child was the sort of thing they’re supposed to do cuz blah blah heteronormativity or whatever. They’re not really all that interested in Andrew besides just being able to say that he’s their child and Andrew isn’t really interested in them. And so, he lives a pretty normal, albeit closeted, boring life. Unfortunately he dies young in an accident in college.

In his next life, he gets his memories back at 4 and subsequently becomes way too weird of a child for said conservative couple to adopt. He’s sent right back into the system and so begins his shitty foster care experience. From there Andrew reincarnates often because he usually dies very young from abuse, neglect, and/or straight up accidents. The oldest he lives is usually ~13 years (he doesn’t make it past living a few months with the Spears if he makes it that far) and he is never able to replicate that first life because he becomes a very strange (read: traumatized) child once he gets his memories back and it’s too off-putting for most families to want to adopt him.

This changes when Andrew meets Renee, also an Ouroboran. He learns there’s a whole community of people like him (though he learns that he’s weird for being able to perfectly remember all of his lives, as most Ouroborans only remember basic details about their past lives, but that doesn't surprise him because he already knew that his memory is weird). Of course Andrew’s a cynical little fuck and at first thinks Renee is a quack, so she flat-out stabs him like a badass and gives him a time and place to meet up with her his next life, which he does. Andrew doesn’t really care for any of the others in the Ouroboran community but he likes Renee because he thinks she’s cool. Unfortunately he falls out of contact with her when she gets adopted by Stephanie Walker.

Renee’s presence in Andrew’s life keeps him alive through that time period of his first few months living with the Spears, so for the first time, he lives long enough to learn about Aaron’s existence (which happens similarly to canon). What happens next is a montage of Andrew’s next few lives where he keeps dying in the process of trying to find ways to keep Aaron away from the Spear house. Eventually Andrew decides that the best way he can keep Aaron safe is remove himself from the equation, so he puts himself into juvie. There he meets Betsy, working as a therapist for juvie kids, and learns that she too is an Ouroboran. He strikes up a friendship with her and gets some real therapy for the 1st time in his many lives.

From there, things proceed as canon (except Andrew doesn’t tell Luther about Drake cuz in this au he ain’t telling anyone shit about his abuse) until Tilda’s car accident. Andrew dies in the car with her.

In Andrew’s next life after that, he goes looking for Betsy as soon as he can and basically her influence via phone keeps him alive long enough for things to mostly proceed as canon (with a couple exceptions: Andrew does his best to manipulate events, with Betsy's help, so that Aaron is out of Tilda's care as soon as possible and with the Hemmicks. Andrew also manages to not get arrested for defending Nicky) until PSU. During Andrew’s 1st year, Riko flat-out kills Andrew to get Kevin.

So for a while Andrew’s lives proceed mostly in this same fashion. PSU is the point at which Andrew’s lives get stuck at. If he lived long enough to make it to college, he can’t stop himself from making a deal with Kevin and every time he manages to get himself killed by Riko.

And then: enter Neil.

I’m stopping there because this outline is very long lol

Send me a “📓” emoji and I’ll tell you about a fic wip

#ask tag #mostlymaudlin #moonie writes #aftg

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Sunday, April 14, 2024

april 1_april 14

VENERABLE BARSANUPHIUS OF OPTINA (1913)

Paul I. Plikhanov was born in the city of Samara on July 5,1845, the son of John and Natalia Plikhanov. His mother died in childbirth, and his father later remarried so that his son would have a mother. Although his stepmother was very strict, she was a real mother to him, and he loved her very much.

As a descendant of the Orenburg Cossacks, Paul was enrolled in the Polotsk Cadet Corps. He completed his studies at the Orenburg Military School and received an officer’s commission. He later graduated from the Petersburg Cossack Staff Officers’ School, and also served at the headquarters of the Kazan military district and eventually rose to the rank of colonel.

Once, as he was sick with pneumonia, Paul sensed that he was about to die. He asked his orderly to read the Gospel to him, and passed out. Then he had a vision in which the heavens seemed to open, and he was afraid because of the great light. His whole sinful life passed before him, and he was overcome with repentance. A voice told him he should go to Optina Monastery, but the doctors did not think he would recover. His health did improve, however, and the colonel visited Optina. In August 1889 the Elder of the Monastery was Saint Ambrose (October 10), who told Paul to set his worldly affairs in order. Two years later, Saint Ambrose blessed him to cut all ties to the world and told him to enter Optina within three months.

It was not easy for the colonel to resign his commission within the specified three month period, because obstacles were placed in his way. In fact, he was offered a promotion to the rank of general, and was asked to delay his retirement. Some people even tried to arrange a marriage for him, laughing at his intention to go to the monastery. Only his stepmother was happy that he wished to become a monk. On the very last day of the three months he concluded his affairs and arrived at Optina. However, Saint Ambrose was already laid out in his coffin in the church.

Saint Anatole I (January 25) succeeded Father Ambrose as Elder, and he assigned Paul to Hieromonk Nectarius (April 29) as his cell attendant. He was accepted as a novice in 1892, and tonsured as a rassophore in 1893. Over the next ten years he advanced through the various stages of monastic life, including ordination as deacon (1902), and as priest (1903). The monk Paul was secretly tonsured into the mantiya in December of 1900 because of a serious illness. When they asked him what name he wished to receive, he said it did not matter. They named him in honor of Saint Barsanuphius of Tver and Kazan (April 11). Although he recovered, they did not give him the mantiya until December of 1902 after the Liturgy when it was revealed that he had been tonsured on his sickbed.

On September 1, 1903 Father Barsanuphius was appointed to assist Elder Joseph, the skete Superior, in the spiritual direction of the skete brethren and the sisters of the Shamordino convent.

At the beginning of the Russo-Japanese war in 1904, Father Barsanuphius was sent to the Far East as a military chaplain, where he ministered to wounded soldiers. The war ended in August 1905, and Saint Barsanuphius returned to Optina on November 1, 1905.

Since Elder Joseph had become too old and frail to administer the skete’s affairs, Father Barsanuphius was appointed as Superior of the skete in his place. Father Barsanuphius soon reestablished order and discipline, paid off debts, repaired buildings, etc. As Superior, he combined strictness with paternal concern and tenderness for those under him.

Saint Barsanuphius, like the other Elders of Optina, possessed the gifts of clairvoyance and of healing people afflicted with physical and spiritual ailments. One of his spiritual sons, Father Innocent Pavlov, recalled his first Confession with the Elder. He became fearful because Father Barsanuphius seemed to know his innermost thoughts, reminding him of people and events which he had forgotten. The saint spoke gently and told him that it was God who had revealed to him these things about Father Innocent. “During my lifetime, do not tell anyone about what you are experiencing now,” he said, “but you may speak of it after my death.”

Saint Barsanuphius loved spiritual books, especially the Lives of the Saints. He often told people that those who read these Lives with faith benefit greatly from doing so. The answers to many of life’s questions can be found by reading the Lives of the Saints, he said. They teach us how to overcome obstacles and difficulties, how to stand firm in our faith, and how to struggle against evil and emerge victorious. Although the Lives of the Saints were widely available, it saddened the Elder that more people did not read them.

Saint Barsanuphius commemorated many saints each day during his Rule of prayer, and this was not accidental. Each saint, he once explained, had some particular importance in his life. If, for example, some significant event took place, he would look to see which saints were commemorated on that day, then he would begin to commemorate them each day. Later he noticed that on their Feast Day, they would often deliver him from some danger or trouble. On December 17, 1891, the commemoration of the Prophet Daniel and the three holy youths, he left Kazan and never returned. That was the day he decided to leave the world, and Saint Barsanuphius felt that God had delivered him from a furnace of passions. Just as the three youths were delivered from the fiery furnace because they would not bow down before idols, the Elder always believed that he left the world unharmed because he refused to bow down before the idols of lust, pride, gluttony, etc.

By 1908, Saint Barsanuphius seemed to fall ill more frequently, and began to speak of his approaching death. In April of that year, someone sent him a package containing the Great Schema. Father Barsanuphius had long desired to be tonsured into the Great Schema before his death, but he had told no one of this except for the archimandrite. Therefore, he regarded this as a sign that he would soon die.

One night in July 1910, the Elder became so ill that he had to leave church during Vigil and return to his cell. The next morning, July 11, he was so weak that he could not sit up by himself. That evening he was tonsured into the Great Schema.

Father Barsanuphius began to recover, but there were new problems in the monastery. New monks came in from spiritually lax environments. They did not understand the ascetical nature of monasticism or the whole notion of eldership, and so they began to clamor for reform and change. They wanted to assume positions of authority, and to close the skete. Because of their complaints, Father Barsanuphius was removed from Optina and assigned as igumen of the Golutvinsky Monastery. When he arrived to take up his duties, Father Barsanuphius found the monastery in a state of physical and spiritual decline. Nevertheless, he did not lose heart, and soon the monastery began to revive. More people began to visit, once they heard that an Optina Elder had come to Goluvinsky, and the monastery’s financial position also began to improve. However, the rebellious brethren caused him great sorrow, and he had to expel some of them

At the beginning of 1913, Saint Barsanuphius became ill again and asked Metropolitan Macarius of Moscow for permission to retire to Optina, but that was not to be. He fell asleep in the Lord on April 1, and his body remained in the church of Golotvino until April 6 (which was also Lazarus Saturday). After the funeral, his body was placed on a train and sent to Optina for burial. The train arrived at Kozelsk Station on April 8, and the coffin was carried to Optina by clergy.

The Moscow Patriarchate authorized local veneration of the Optina Elders on June 13, 1996. The work of uncovering the relics of Saints Leonid, Macarius, Hilarion, Ambrose, Anatole I, Barsanuphius and Anatole II began on June 24/July 7, 1998 and was concluded the next day. However, because of the church Feasts (Nativity of Saint John the Baptist, etc.) associated with the actual dates of the uncovering of the relics, Patriarch Alexey II designated June 27/July 10 as the date for commemorating this event. The relics of the holy Elders now rest in the new church of the Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God.

The Optina Elders were glorified by the Moscow Patriarchate for universal veneration on August 7, 2000.

VENERABLE GERONTIUS, YOUTH, CANONARCH OF THE KIEV CAVE (14th.c.)

Saint Gerontius lived during the fourteenth century. He was a monk of the Kiev Caves Monastery and fulfilled the obedience of canonarch (leader of church singing). He spent all his life at the monastery, in ascetic deeds of abstinence, obedience, and prayer.

Saint Gerontius was buried in the Far Caves. His memory is celebrated also together with the Synaxis of the Saints of the Far Caves, on August 28.

EPHESIANS 5:9-19

9 (for the fruit of the Spirit is in all goodness, righteousness, and truth), 10 finding out what is acceptable to the Lord. 11 And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather expose them. 12 For it is shameful even to speak of those things which are done by them in secret. 13 But all things that are exposed are made manifest by the light, for whatever makes manifest is light. 14 Therefore He says: "Awake, you who sleep, Arise from the dead, And Christ will give you light." 15 See then that you walk circumspectly, not as fools but as wise, 16 redeeming the time, because the days are evil. 17 Therefore do not be unwise, but understand what the will of the Lord is. 18 And do not be drunk with wine, in which is dissipation; but be filled with the Spirit, 19 speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord,

MARK 9:17-31

17 Then one of the crowd answered and said, "Teacher, I brought You my son, who has a mute spirit. 18 And wherever it seizes him, it throws him down; he foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth, and becomes rigid. So I spoke to Your disciples, that they should cast it out, but they could not. 19 He answered him and said, "O faithless generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I bear with you? Bring him to Me." 20 Then they brought him to Him. And when he saw Him, immediately the spirit convulsed him, and he fell on the ground and wallowed, foaming at the mouth. 21 So He asked his father, "How long has this been happening to him?" And he said, "From childhood. 22 And often he has thrown him both into the fire and into the water to destroy him. But if You can do anything, have compassion on us and help us. 23 Jesus said to him, "If you can believe, all things are possible to him who believes." 24 Immediately the father of the child cried out and said with tears, "Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!" 25 When Jesus saw that the people came running together, He rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it: "Deaf and dumb spirit, I command you, come out of him and enter him no more!" 26 Then the spirit cried out, convulsed him greatly, and came out of him. And he became as one dead, so that many said, "He is dead." 27 But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose. 28 And when He had come into the house, His disciples asked Him privately, "Why could we not cast it out?" 29 So He said to them, "This kind can come out by nothing but prayer and fasting." 30 Then they departed from there and passed through Galilee, and He did not want anyone to know it. 31 For He taught His disciples and said to them, "The Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of men, and they will kill Him. And after He is killed, He will rise the third day."

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #easternorthodoxchurch #originofchristianity #holyscriptures #gospel #wisdom #spirituality #saints

[dearestcorrespondence]

John Laurens to Francis Kinloch, Fludyer Street Westminster, [August 23, 1774]

Dear Kinloch

After a pleasant Ride through a very fine Part of France, I arrived in London on the 7th of this month, but figure to yourself my Grief and Mortification, at finding that my Father had set out that day fortnight in order to meet me. I knew how great his Anxiety and Uneasiness would be on my Account, and therefore left Town the next day, and travelling without intermission, reached the Fauxbourg St. Germain on the 11th at day break, where I had the happiness of relieving my Good Father from much Concern_ we staid a day or two at Paris where we had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Blake, who enquired very kindly after you. R. Izard jun'r, Grimke [and] ca. and I am but just returned from my new Journey_ let this apologize for my not writing to you sooner. I waited on your Friend Mr. Boone, And as he was out of town, I left your Letter with a Card_ had I not been afraid of detaining any longer, what can never fly too quick or come too often to him good news from you, I should have had the pleasure of delivering the Letter to him myself. my Letter is a little confused, dont be surpriz'd at it, for I am quite like a Creature in new World, and shall be for some time in an unsettled State. I am glad however to inform you that I shall not have Lodgings in the Temple as I at first thought, but in some genteel private Family. the Noise, the Cries the Smoak and Dust of this vast City, make me sometimes wish myself back at Paquis, I have another Reason too, for wishing myself there, I dont know when I shall get into such a valuable Set of Acquaintance as I have left but perhaps for the present, the fewer Acquaintance I have, the better it will be for me. I am confirm'd in the opinion that you and I both had at Geneve respecting our young Countrymen, by what I have seen and heard since my Arrival here_ I can write you nothing satisfactory as yet of American Affairs, the English Soldiers it is said begin to desert, the colonist are forming into Committees to consult what is to be done in their present Circumstances, the Carolinians are to send Rice and other necessaries for the Relief of their distress'd Brethren at Boston. A General Congress will be held at Philadelphia or New York, the Deputies to be sent there by the Province of SoCarolina, are Henry Middleton, T. Lynch, C. Gadsden, J. Rutledge, and Edward Rutledge the Young Man who lately went over, and who has already acquir'd a great degree of Celebrity. Tell Lord Lumley that I hope he continues a good Friend to the Americans, be so kind as to present my best Compliments to him Mr. Clayson, Moore the Duke and Harvey. I wish them all a great deal of Happiness and Pleasure at Geneve_ it grows so late that I must bid you Adieu, kiss all the pretty Genevoises for me and dont delay to write to your affectionate John Laurens

Fludyer Street Westminster

23d August 1774

Direct to me at the Carolina Coffee House.

#john laurens #francis kinloch #kinloch correspondence #laurens correspondence #1774

[deadratio]

(Ghost) Riders in the Sky Ch.6

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem!reader

Summary: GhostRider was once considered one of the best naval pilots on the West coast. She was top of her class, and had the proof for the pudding. That all changed one day, though, when she and her very best friend are sent on a mission that turned deadly. She was never the same, and ran away from her problems. What will she do when she’s forced to face the demons that taunt her on a daily basis, and the man who she once thought she resented?

Word count: 2.0k

Warnings: Soft and sad tbh

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's chapter 6! I would like to thank everybody who has read my pic since I started it, I can't express how much I appreciate you!

Please be aware that this story, along with all of my others, will likely be on a hiatus beginning August 15th, which is when I begin my final semester for college! I will definitely still be working on my pics, just not as quickly as I would like.

I also apologize to those who I’ve tagged but it isn’t actually tagging. I don’t know how to fix it :’(

Happy reading! <3

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Ghost woke up suddenly, lifting her head to observe her surroundings. She could only remember half the night, and it took her a moment to recall exactly what had happened and how she found herself tangled in Jake Seresins limbs. His breathing was soft and even, still asleep. She looked around briefly again, finding that they were thankfully both still clothed. She knew sometimes she could remove a clothing item or two in her sleep, and wouldn’t have been surprised if she had because of how hot they were laying on the blanket together. 

She slowly attempted to lift herself from between his arms and legs, knowing that she really had to pee, but also didn’t want to wake him up any earlier. She glanced over to the clock on the wall, finding the time reading 6AM. A sigh of relief left her lungs, thankful that they hadn’t overslept. 

Slowly but surely, she freed herself of the grip Jake had on her, pulling the blanket back over his chest. She tiptoed to the bathroom, thankful that she didn’t have to travel to the public restrooms. Finally able to relieve herself, Ghost washed her hands before stopping to think about how she was going to get herself back home in order to change into uniform. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the bathroom door, a very sleepy Hangman cracking the door slightly. “Hey, Ghost, I really gotta go, can I…” He said, his voice deep from sleep.

GhostRider could have melted at the sound, but she instead held herself together, nodding as she opened the door to exit. She then stood in his room, quickly finding her bag. She dug out the dress from the day before, looking to make sure Jake wasn’t leaving the bathroom before stripping her shirt and shorts off and slipping the dress on. 

She had just pulled the hem down to her knees when he entered the room again, running his hand through his hair. She couldn’t deny that he looked extremely handsome like this, not put together at all and almost disheveled-looking. They stood in a momentary silence before GhostRider opened her mouth.

“So, uh…I guess I have to get back to my house to change,” She started, licking her lips. “I know you left your truck at The Hard Deck, but is there any way we could try to get it?” She asked, biting her lower lip.

Jake studied her for a moment, noting how quickly she had gotten ready. Her hair was still in the bun from last night, a few loose strands sticking out now. He didn’t know exactly how she could look even more beautiful than she already did, but he had never seen her like this…It was a sight he wanted to get used to.

“Of course, Ghost. I don’t mind at all. Just let me get ready and we can get on our way.” He told her, turning towards the uniforms hung up. She nodded, neatly placing her garments back into her bag. She slipped her shoes on while she was at it. She heard Jake shuffling through his drawers, probably looking for a pair of underwear.

She finished getting her things all in line while he slipped back into the bathroom to change. She looked around the room, finding the makeshift cot on the floor as Jake had left it when he had gotten into bed. She decided it would be unkind of her to leave the bed the way it was, practically destroyed from the two of them sleeping in it. 

Moving quickly, she placed the pillows onto the duvet on the floor. She pulled the blanket to the top of the bed, smoothing it out. She wasn’t exactly sure how Jake liked his bed to be made, but made every effort to make it look neat. She moved the pillows back to their original location, next lifting the duvet from the ground, shaking it out. She was sure his floor was clean, considering the neatness of everything else, but knew that you could never be too sure. 

She folded the duvet into a long rectangle, setting it on the foot of the bed. She took a seat on the edge, tapping her feet on the floor. She knew he had to take his time to be presentable, she’s lived by the same rules for just as long as him. 

Jake sighed when he opened the bathroom door, looking up from the floor to see that his bed had been made, and the makeshift cot was gone. His eyes found Ghost’s, noting the nervous movement of her legs. He grabs a pair of socks from one of his drawers, pulling a pair of shoes from under his other uniforms. 

He sits next to GhostRider, his shoulder knocking hers. She looks up to him, finding him staring right back at her. She isn’t entirely sure she can kiss him just then, like she wants to. She faces away from him, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. She listens as he puts his shoes on, fumbling with her fingers in her lap. She feels his weight leave the bed and looks back up to him. She grabs her bag, standing with him.

“I already called for an Uber.” She told him, awkwardly waiting for him to initiate leaving. It wasn’t that she couldn’t, she just didn’t want to get caught leaving his room. 

Jake nods, making sure he has everything he needs before leading the way to the door. GhostRider follows behind him, stepping out after he opens the door. She glances in both directions and finds that nobody else has left their room yet, ever thankful for the grace of whatever god above granted her this peace of mind. 

Jake walks closely behind her as they make their way to the front of the base, knowing damn well that they would easily get spotted if anybody decided to take a morning run. Their trek is silent, the emotions from last night still hanging stale in the air between the two of them. 

The uber GhostRider ordered arrives shortly once they finally get to a place where they can be picked up, Jake opening the back passenger door for her. She nods to him in thanks, smoothing out her dress over her knees. Jake rounds the back end of the car, slipping in next to her.

The ride back over to The Hard Deck is just as quiet as it had been the night before, except this silence was something you could slice a knife through. 

GhostRider knew that she needed to talk to Jake about last night, to fully understand where they stood with each other. If they would go on with each other or go their separate ways after the mission. Jake looked over to her, admiring her features. He wanted nothing but to hold her in his arms forever, to be her guide and comfort in life. There was a mound of obstacles they would have to work through first, though.

They made it to The Hard Deck rather quickly, Jake leaving the driver another tip. They waved them off before turning to each other, GhostRider letting out a deep breath. She wasn’t exactly sure how to tell Jake that she wanted him for life, for eternity, as long as eternity was for the both of them.

“I’ll be right back, I’ve got to go get the keys from the lockbox.” He said to her, turning away to jog over to the box Penny would put leftover keys in from the night before. Jake had done this plenty of times, and the code clearly hadn’t changed from when he had done it last, the door opening to reveal his truck keys. 

GhostRider stood by the truck, admiring the deep blue color of it. It was a newer model Dodge, she wasn’t exactly sure which one though. She knew more about planes than she did trucks, but as long as it got her to and from this spot to her rental house she didn’t care.

Jake unlocked the doors, kindly moving to open the passenger door for her. Thanking him, she found it surprising that she didn’t struggle to get in, considering the height of the vehicle. He closed the door behind her, rounding the truck before hopping into the driver's side seat. He put her address into the GPS on the screen and pulled out of the parking lot.

Jake's mind raced as he drove to her rental, wondering exactly how things would go down now that they had both revealed their feelings for each other. He wanted her to know everything he ever thought about her, everything he loved and admired about her. But he knew she wasn’t ready, and wouldn’t be for a long time. 

GhostRider found serenity in watching the beach pass them by, the crashing ocean waves rippling in the morning sunlight. She felt comfortable in this position. Being in the passenger seat of Jake’s truck, riding past the beach…If only it could remain that way forever. 

The view quickly changed from the ocean and sandy beach to the suburban houses that surrounded her rental. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Jake clearing his throat, briefly looking over to her. She met his gaze before he returned his attention to the road. 

She didn’t want to say anything just yet. She wanted to get home and be in a place where she could safely talk to him about it all. She didn’t think talking to Jake about how she felt while he was driving would be the smartest idea, so she left it be until they pulled up to the house. 

She didn’t wait for Jake to open the door for her this time, a little too eager to get inside, into a more open space. He was hot on her trail, standing a little too close behind her as she opened the door. 

“G, please talk to me.” He said when they both entered, closing the door behind him. 

She barely stopped in her tracks, standing at the base of the staircase. She contemplated what to say to him, how to say anything to him at all…

“Jake, I just-” She started, turning to face him. “I just don’t know how to do it. How to give myself to someone, even if I want them so badly it’s almost painful. I haven’t been with anybody since before the incident, and I don’t even know where to start.” She told him,  holding back tears. She really needed to stop crying or else her eyes were going to go dry.

Jake looked at her somewhat shocked, mostly because she was revealing a part of herself that likely no other person had seen. He approached her, taking her hands in his. He rubbed circles into her soft skin, lifting them to press a gentle kiss to the backs of her hands.

“G, trust me when I say this,” He says, looking down at her. “I am here for you, and I always will be. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you wanted to kick me to the curb and say to hell with me, I would respect your wishes. If you want us to do…whatever it is we’re doing, we can take it slow. I don’t expect anything.” 

Ghostrider nodded her head, looking back up at him. “Jake, I can’t explain to you how much I appreciate that. I think I just need some time to think it over. I’m not asking you to step away, just back a little bit. I’m not quite ready.” 

Jake nods, releasing her hands. Ghostrider leans up to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, so much. I’ll see you later on base. I’ve got to get ready.” She told him, turning to go upstairs.

Jake smiled sadly at her before watching her disappear around the corner. He knew it would be better for her, but he couldn’t explain the pain it brought him to see how hurt she was after all these years. He would hold out for her, though. He would make sure that she was well aware that he was there for her, and support her in any way she would allow him.

Tag List:

 @littlewhiterose @alldaysdreamer @chaoticassidy @luckyladycreator2 @et-homephone @mediocremunge @ashes-136667​ @et-homephone @revengze​ @the-winter-marvel33​ @dempy​ @philiasoul​ @patdsinner33​ @spidey-d00d​ @certifiedsimp14 @bittergomez​

#Glen powell #glen powell x reader #glen powell fanfiction #glen powell fic #Jake seresin fic #jake seresin #Jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x oc #topgun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #tgm #topgunmaverick #tgm fic #tgm fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun fandom #jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin x reader #hangman x you #hangman x reader #hangman seresin #hangman fanfiction #hangman fic #hangman x oc #top gun imagine #jake seresin imagine

[yeahimwiththeband]

-> with the band chapter 1

warning: romance, 18+ minors DNI due to smut in later chapters; also, people pleasing, anxiety, codependency (not with harry), huge amounts of really ugly fabric from the 60s, repression. not for larries :( 

A/N: this is a slow burn love story. and my first story post on tumblr! i’ve won some writing contests but haven’t ever written anything this long. feedback so so so welcome. 

word count: 2.1k

just listen to it

Izzy reread the message on her phone, confused. Her best friend Meg was begging now: her texts had gotten desperate. Meg was never up this late and she never sent her songs. What was she up to?

Izzy opened the song Meg sent and hit play: she gave it a few seconds, and a lone beat cut across her room. It was the hottest day of the year, and Izzy lifted one foot, then the other, to help them breathe in her room’s old shag carpeting, feeling the soft air from outside across her soles. The beat was joined by a single guitar and seemed to melt into the summer air. It was dark and hypnotic, with a low hum that floated underneath the melody. Izzy tried to imagine the lead singer, lips together, making the sound that filled her bedroom.

Wednesday night in August, one of the last weeks of the summer. Her mom was out, but she would be back soon. Izzy leaned out her bedroom window, checking for signs of her parents’ car; the street was silent, the air thick and humid. Izzy took a deep breath. She had three secrets now—two hidden in her closet—that no one knew, except her best friend.

She always meant to do something exciting when her parents were out. Tonight, Izzy disappointed herself again: her big rebellion was an extra bowl of cereal. They would be home any minute. 

Izzy hated that she was 24 and still listening for her mom coming up the stairs. 

She went back to her laptop. Izzy scrolled Pinterest, colorful pins of interesting people doing colorful, beautiful things flying past: pretty towns where you could walk everywhere, big groups picnics in big city parks, girls in bands, dresses she had nowhere to wear. Izzy had spent a long time living in her laptop, but she could feel that tonight, something was different: something had been building all summer. Her phone pinged again and she read the text message from Meg, her best friend: concert tomorrow??? you said stay up, this is staying up

Meg was 25 and married and happy and had all the things. House, electric car, and pretty soon, a baby, probably. She had done everything right. She asked her husband out in university, in a lecture she and Izzy took together, just like that. Izzy had watched her do it, stunned. Meg just walked over, smiled, said something about coffee after class, and that was it. Meg said she had been rejected by guys many times before and you just had to get used to it. Izzy didn’t really believe her—someone as beautiful as Meg, rejected? Meg said it was the price of admission for dating. Izzy thought it was pretty transparently pity/advice. Surely, someone would come and find her. That’s what Izzy hoped for, but at the same time, in some part of her, Izzy knew that hope was expectation without reason. Realizing that had been the beginning of the three secrets. 

She missed him. Her ex, from... last year? God, it had been a whole year. She tried to shake it off, disgusted with herself, but she couldn't help it. 

The feeling of his hands on her hips sometimes washed over her in moments like this—his fingers in her mouth, his teeth on her neck—when she was alone in her room, another night in. 

A moment of self awareness burst through: Roger? She missed Roger? This was bad. She had to get out. She could almost see The Boulder in the middle of her room, the flaw so excruciating he broke up with her the second she told him about it. The Boulder wouldn’t go away on its own. And she wanted it gone. 

Izzy’s phone pinged again. It was one of the two dating apps she played with on her phone. Using up almost all of her energy, she opened the app and read the message:

wyd?

wanna come over

My mom’s asleep ;)

It was from someone named Noah, who Izzy had never spoken to before—Izzy didn’t even remember matching him. WTF? She closed the app. 

Meg was part of a club called the marrieds—at least, that’s what Izzy called them in her head. Girls just a little older who seemed to have figured it out years ago, populated by Lauren (tall, serious soccer player, serious anxiety), Olivia (tiny, yogi, “wellness lifestyle coach”), and Mia (former friend of her cousin Lydia, former lunatic). Sometimes, it seemed like a club she wouldn’t ever get to join.

Izzy stood and went to her mirror. It was something her mom had put in her room, just like everything else that was there. She still - still! - lived with her parents, above the clothing store where she had worked since high school. It was a small, stripmall town near a big city she went into once a year if she was lucky. 

Izzy looked at herself in the mirror, still in her work drip. Or anti-drip. 100% polyester. Beige. She tucked her hair behind her ears and contemplated her reflection. She had tried to turn the outfit into a clean girl look with some gold earrings, but it wasn’t working—it could never work! The skirt and blouse and vest (yes, a vest) were fucking crazy: ruffles, epaulets, buttons - and not like those cool, 80s buttons people are wearing - it was like something from the uncool part of the 80s. The part her parents were still stuck in. She didn’t hate her body or her face; she had done the work on body acceptance, against all odds (the odds being her parents). But did anyone look good in beige ruffles? Like, anyone alive? Why did she have to wear these things every day? Why couldn’t the store sell something from the last 10 years?

She had tried—she had gently hinted to her mother that they might consider some new suppliers. But her mom wanted to please her own mother, who had selected the suppliers herself when she opened the store. The relationships with the designers were long, decades long. And they still had customers; it’s just that they were older and older, and fewer and fewer, each year. Izzy had been named for her grandmother, Isabella, who came her with nothing and built a store and a business with her bare hands. Her mother ran the store, and someday, it would be passed on to Izzy. She had gone to university for business for that purpose, with minors in literature and music - really, those subjects were more than half her classes. Izzy had always told her mom that she wanted to take over the store and loved to work there, and her mom had no reason to believe otherwise.

Izzy went to the door of her room and cracked it open, looking down the hallway both ways. Her parents door was right next to hers. The hallway was empty. 

She couldn’t hear anything. 

She walked over to her closet.

Her phone pinged again: come on, music babe! maybe they’ll pull us up on stage and you can solo, lol

Another ping: Her BeReal alarm. Izzy looked around her room, and smiled, laughing a bit at herself. What was there to take a photo of? A photo of her cousin Lydia popped up: one tit almost out of her shirt, mid-twerk, at a party of some sort. Like a normal person her age.

Another message from Meg: so?? have you gotten to the chorus yet?????

Izzy listened cautiously, and not hearing her parent’s car in the drive or feet on the stairs, she turned up the song Meg had sent. It was good, actually. Really good. Holy shit, it was like Queen by Perfume Genius but better—it sounded like summer. Like a summer not in her room in her parent’s house. She checked the title: it was something by Harry Styles, who she hadn’t listened to a ton before. Truthfully, she had been kind of living under a rock and hadn’t crawled back out after the pandemic. 

That voice.

Raspy and strong, the voice was crying out for something. Izzy eyed her closet.

She paused to listen for her parents one more time, then creaked the closet’s old accordion doors open. She had to use her whole bodyweight to shift aside the heavy hangers of polyester, the many leaden and sunken ruffles in beige, brown, and black. Her whole wardrobe was from the family store. Anything else was a betrayal. But Izzy had betrayed her family for the first time this year, and the dress had arrived this morning.

She took the dress out. The betrayal was green and short and in a natural fabric that didn’t make her fingers itch, with an open back so her skin could breathe.

She stuffed the package it came in further back in the closet as a reflexive precaution.

She held it up in front of herself in the mirror, putting the hanger over her head. It was beautiful. It made her look her actual age. It was a dress you could go on a date in. Where some guy might ask you out for a drink or dinner or maybe one of those carnival dates - a date everyone had seemed to have been on, except for her, with cotton candy, a ferris wheel, and a cheap stuffed bear won at a huge cost at a booth.

Izzy picked up her phone and turned up the song again. She opened the message from Meg. She replied: yes. let’s goooo.

She didn’t hear the car pull in.

Meg immediately texted back: wait, what? really? HIGH KEY THRILLED. Several skulls followed. Meg explained the band: it sounded like Perfume Genius but like better and the drummer was a snack but their new lead guitarist was a WHOLE MEAL and the opening girl band was supposed to be super amazing. Meg wrote several paragraphs about the drummer, and mentioned that Lydia had invited her, and none of the other marrieds could make it (sad face). Meg seriously stanned Harry Styles. 

Light flooded across the back of the mirror; Izzy gasped, her door was open. She peered around the mirror to see her mother’s soft silhouette illuminated by the hall light behind her.

“Izzy? You’re still up?” She took a step forward.

“Just about to go to sleep. Let’s talk in the morning, I’m beat,” Izzy countered, stepping closer to the mirror to hide the dress.

Her mom stepped forward into the room. She wore an outfit in a similar fabric, but somehow, the ruffles worked on her. Izzy had no way of hiding her dress.

Her mom’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not from the store.”

“Sorry,” Izzy said, reflexively. She turned toward her mother, blocking as much of the open closet as possible.

Her mother looked the dress up and down. She smiled - a painful smile, the one she put on when her heart was breaking. Izzy fought every instinct she had to make up a story, about how the dress was delivered here by mistake, or how Meg had given it to her, and the clothes from the store were so much better. But Izzy had been trying to tell the truth lately, or more - not just blurt out any lie to mollify whoever she was trying to please at that moment.

They could hear the TV flick on downstairs. Izzy knew her dad was on the sofa, beer in hand. Her parents had never gone to bed at the same time, at least not in Izzy’s memory. The TV was always the same: some old man yelling about the woke mob and Roe v Wade. Every time Izzy tried to gently talk to her father, something came spilling out of him that was worse than she could have imagined he believed. You have a daughter, Izzy wanted to say. How could you think that?

Her mom was now looking around her daughter, toward the open closet, where the second secret was hiding. Izzy took the hanger from around her neck, put it back in the closet, and closed the doors.

“I might have to close early tomorrow. I’m going to a concert with Meg.”

“Oh, okay. Mrs. Shepherd is coming in after her shift—the dress for her daughter’s wedding. I can take that one.”

“Thank you,” said Izzy. And then, it just came out, involuntarily: “It’s an indoor concert and I needed something really light, because apparently it can get up to, like, a hundred inside. I didn’t want to ruin something nice from the store.”

“Ah,” her mom said. She seemed to relax a bit. She stepped back toward the door, and they said their goodnights. 

Izzy listened to her footsteps as they faded down the hall. She looked down at her phone, to group chat she was now in with Lydia and Meg. Izzy felt guilt swelling in her stomach like a cramp. Maybe she should cancel. She should take the appointment with Mrs. Shepherd. Her mom would be run off her feet; she looked so tired.

see you in the PIT! the pit is where it all happens, Lydia wrote.

how much do I owe you for the tickets? Izzy replied. Her mother’s “that’s not from the store” was echoing in her mind. Maybe the price would be too high and she could get out of it that way. She started preparing her excuse text, something she had turned into an art: “that’s a bit out of my budget for now, but you guys have a great time and take soooo many photos for me.” She should be given an honorary degree in excuse texts. It was such as spontaneous plan, she hadn’t had the notice to mention a headache a few days before, building to an illness that would make an easy out.

they were freeeeeee no cap. you’re friends with a mega influencer, Lydia wrote. To Izzy’s knowledge, Lydia had about 4,372 followers and followed more than 10,000 people.

see you on the floor tomorrowwww 7 PM do not BE LATE this is love on tour not a drill

Izzy grinned—she couldn’t help it. A thick breeze swept in from outside. She went over to her closet and peeked at her dress, the green standing out like a single flower in a field of sun bleached grass.

Every secret was another room she could live in. And she could decorate those rooms any way she liked, and dance in them, and invite just who she wanted into them. She had two secrets left, and she wanted more. She wanted to build an entire house with them, a house of her own.

She put her headphones in, turned the song up again, and played it from the beginning.

chapter 2

#harry styles #harry #styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fandom #romance readers #fanfiction #harries #love on tour #izzywiththeband #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #boyfriend!harry #harry styles story #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles angst #anxiety #codependency #codependent relationships #anxiety disorder

[wreckerslula99]

#2: Tribute

August writing challenge

Prompt 2: Tribute

Word count: 5077

CW: Blood, vomit, death (a random dude & references to Kalifa's death), broken neck, biting, flashbacks, dissociation (sorta)

SUMMARY: When captured during a mission, Ahsoka, Anakin, Obi-Wan, Rex, Cody and Fives are forced to participate in a brutal game, where the objective is to kill the other tributes. Ahsoka has flashbacks to Wasskah (s3ep21: Padawan Lost) and being hunted for sport by the trandoshans. Her fight or flight kicks in and she's not doing well in the aftermath with the consequences of her actions... luckily her brothers are there for her to fall back on.

NOTES: I suck at summaries and this is 3 days late lol. Also wrote most of this during my breaks at my summer job.

PLEASE TELL ME IF I MISSED ANY WARNINGS!

AO3 Link

AWC23 - Masterlist

The cuffs around Ahsoka’s wrists were digging painfully into her flesh. She constantly braced herself for another jab at her lower back with the dull end of the spear the guards carried around. Guards? Keepers? Handlers? Ahsoka wasn’t sure what to call them. She wasn’t even sure where they were taking them. With wary eyes, she looked around, trying to gather clues. But there wasn’t much to look at to begin with; they were being walked through a dimly lit tunnel, with dirty stone walls and uneven pavement. 

Next to Ahsoka was Rex, in front of her were Anakin and Obi-Wan and behind her were Cody and Fives. They had been sent on a rescue mission to free some senator’s royal best friend’s son or something. But they had gotten caught and been imprisoned in underground cells for at least a day, maybe more. All of them had been cuffed, though the three Jedi had also received Force suppression collars around their necks.

At first, Ahsoka figured they were slavers, but when she voiced this thought, Obi-Wan simply shook his head, deep in thought. 

Around them, some of the guards and others walking past were whispering excitedly and Ahsoka strained to make out what was being said. 

“...the tournament,” she caught one of them saying, and the other chuckled. 

“Imagine how fun she would be if she won,” the other guard responded and Ahsoka felt her stomach churn. 

“I believe the blonde would be quite something as well,” the first guard said. “Or that one.”

Ahsoka didn’t want to know what they were implying or who the third one out of them was. It was clear they were talking about her and Rex, as she was the only ‘she’ and he was the only blonde around. She doesn’t want to know what they’re so excited about, but she has been feeling their stares traveling over her body since they first got captured. So, to say she wasn’t very eager to find out was a grave understatement. 

After the next turn they take they are suddenly met with a large wooden gate, reinforced with steel. Anakin and Obi-Wan are made to stop so in order to not bump into them, Ahsoka and Rex stop as well. They wait for the guards’ next moves, and the two who had been walking at the front start unlocking the gate. 

Ahsoka’s eyes shut instinctively when bright light flooded the dark tunnel as soon as the gate was pushed open. Opening them carefully and squinting, she is still trying to adjust to it and the short blindness she had experienced, when she receives another jab to her back. She stumbles forward and tries to keep herself from turning around and glaring at the guard behind her. They are made to walk out into the bright area, which, after hearing the loud cheers all around, Ahsoka comes to the horrifying conclusion is a round arena of some sorts. There were others being brought out on the opposite sides and Ahsoka took in the various obstacles around the stadium. Or at least they looked like obstacles. Various hovering platforms all over, all at different heights and with different means of getting up. There were also large steel boxes to hide behind or get on top of. 

The guard behind her suddenly steps in front of her and roughly grabs her arms. If looks could kill the man would surely be dead on the floor right now. What surprises Ahsoka is that he takes out a key and unlocks the cuffs, freeing her wrists from their pressure. Once he is done, she yanks her wrists away and takes a step back, rubbing her hands over the sore skin and shooting more daggers at him with her eyes. He didn’t look impressed. 

Ahsoka noticed that the others had also been relieved of their bonds and the guards were now pointing their weapons at them while slowly backing away towards the gate, closing and presumably locking it after they all left. 

Suddenly, a loud static went through the arena, seemingly coming from several speakers all around it. The crowd in the elevated stands was too high up for even Ahsoka to jump up to, at least without the Force, roared and then quieted down as a female voice started speaking. 

“Welcome, welcome! The Kilimarii games will begin shortly, but first, let’s hear some noise for our new, specially elected contestants!” 

Ahsoka could only stand there in horror as the crowd got loud again. She was almost 100% sure that they were the special contestants. 

“For those of you who are not familiar with the game, the objective is to eliminate your opponents. The platforms you see are to make things more interesting - but if you are on one alone for one minute, an electric shock will run through the platform. You’ll get two more warnings after the initial shock, and if you’re still not off the platform or someone has engaged you on it, the electrocution will become deadly,” the voice gleefully told them. “Any attempts at escape are strongly discouraged and could possibly result in your death. You fight with your bare hands or with a spear, if you can get to one.”

Ahsoka looked around, spotting a few spears high up on the walls. She could definitely get up there, as could all three clones and the other two jedi. Problem is, she doesn’t know how capable their opponents are. 

“Aside from that, there are no rules! The last person standing will be greatly rewarded,” the voice continued. “Happy watching! And good luck.”

A chime sounded through the arena, and the people on the other side started running for the spears. The audience was cheering wildly, meanwhile Ahsoka felt the blood in her veins freeze. Anakin bumped against her shoulder and she turned to him, taking in the deep frown on his face. 

“Let’s stick together,” he says and Ahsoka can only nod wordlessly in response. 

The three jedi and three clones band together in a circle to shield themselves from any possible attackers from all directions. And sure enough, several people started charging at them, while others engaged each other further away. Luckily, none of the ones who were running towards them had gotten to a spear. It was certainly disheartening to see how many of the others were very willing to play this twisted game. Fighting them off proved to be rather easy; the hard part was that they wouldn’t stay away. It wasn’t a very fair fight if one side of people were ready to kill and the others didn’t even want to hurt them. 

“Anyone got a plan?” Anakin grit out right before dodging a punch and delivering a rather harsh one to his assailant’s nose. 

“I thought you were always the one with the brilliant plans,” Ahsoka quipped back, rather occupied with kicking another person off of herself. 

“We’ve gotten out of similar situations before. At least this time we’re not starting out tied up and completely defenseless,” Obi-Wan says and Ahsoka shoots Anakin a confused look over her shoulder. 

He only rolls his eyes in response to her. “If you’re referring to Geonosis, that was supposed to be an execution. These people want to watch us die fighting each other for no particular reason other than entertainment.”

And then one person with a spear runs forward and manages to jab it at Obi-Wan, luckily only cutting a gash into his side. The Jedi stumbles back and clutches his side and Cody is quick to act. A sickening crunch is heard and the attacker stumbles back, holding his nose, blood seeping through his fingers. Cody quickly disarms him and takes the spear for himself. 

“For some reason I feel as though this was a lot easier on Geonosis,” Obi-Wan grits out, his voice almost drowned by the screams of the crowd. 

“Maybe because those kriffing bugs had farts for brains!” Anakin yells back.

There were already several dead bodies, and it seemed as though a few of the others had decided to team up as well and head for their little group. Slowly, their formation starts to crumble and they are forced to spread out more. Ahsoka runs towards a cluster of obstacles, passing through and over them with practiced ease. She was heading for one of the highest platforms, hoping she’d maybe get some sort of vantage point to map out any possible hidden advantages or escape routes. The padawan jumps up and grabs the metal bar above her, swinging back and forth a few times to gain momentum before pushing off and letting go, landing perfectly on top of the platform. If she had been paying attention to the crowd around them, she would’ve heard and uproar at her showcasing her athleticism. Standing up, she quickly tried to survey her surroundings. Several locked gates were all around the arena walls, and from this height she unfortunately couldn’t see behind or above the crowd for any possible exits. She gets distracted when she sees Anakin, now with a spear, engaging two opponents at once, and rather aggressively too. Shaking her head, she hadn’t realized that she was running out of time and the shock that followed stunned her enough that her knees buckled underneath her. Ahsoka cried out in pain and fell to her knees, shaking with the electric current going through her body. Once it was over, she sat there, on her hands and knees with her head bowed down, breathing heavy noises of pain. Before a second warning shock can come, a person swings onto the platform behind her. Ahsoka quickly gets up and to the edge of the platform in a defensive position. The person was a jazbinan male, with a vicious grin on his face. Ahsoka instinctively lowers herself in an almost predatory position and the jazbinan  mimics her. They circle each other, watching the other’s every move. Something about this whole thing feels eerily familiar though, and Ahsoka thinks back to Wasskah, where she had been taken by the Trandoshans to be hunted for sport. It puts her in a high drive of fight or flight, and Ahsoka is certainly not someone to flee. 

Suddenly, the jazbinan lunges at her, though she manages to dodge most of the attack. He slips halfway off of the platform, but manages to grab her ankle and the edge, sweeping her off her feet. Ahsoka lands painfully hard on the platform and feels the jazbinan start clawing at her ankle, trying to get back up and throw her down. A fall from this height at an unfortunate angle would surely have a great chance at killing her. 

Panic overcomes her, it courses through her veins. This is too much like the hunt, the grip on her ankle eerily similar to that of one of the trandoshans back then. Images she can’t make out, feelings she thought were only memories drown her and she thinks back to the youngling; Kalifa. Her dying in Ahsoka’s arms. 

Before she knew it, she lunged at the jazbinan, practically bending in half to reach down to her ankle. Without being able to control herself, she sinks her fangs into the jazbinan’s wrist. Biting down, tearing away, feeling the tendons rip and blood spray out. It starts running down her chin as well and she can hardly hear the jazbinan yelling in pain. He lets go, hand instinctively shooting out to hold onto his chewed up wrist, making him fall backward and off the platform for good. Ahsoka thinks she heard a crack from below, but all she can see is Kalifa and the image of the jazbinan’s wrist hanging half off his arm. It felt like an eternity went by, but really it only took Ahsoka a few seconds to bend over the edge of the platform and watch with wide eyes as the jazbinan twitches and cries in pain. It is evident that he landed on his neck and is unable to get up, and there seems to be blood seeping out from underneath his head as well. His death doesn’t take long to come on either, though again, to Ahsoka it felt like an eternity. 

She sits there, breathing heavy and completely stunned into silence. The crowd roars in excitement, but she doesn’t register any of it. Ahsoka’s hands start to shake and she just sits there on her knees, hands in her lap, until she receives another shock. It momentarily snaps her out of her trance and she jumps off the platform, landing on her feet with her knees bent. Despite the jump being perfect, once she looks to the side, her knees start to wobble. Lying next to her, is the unmoving body of the jazbinan and suddenly, nausea climbs its way up her throat. She doesn’t throw up, but she thinks she is close to. 

Aware that danger is still all around, she gets up and turns away from the body. To her horror, she locks eyes with Obi-Wan. Having no idea what expression her face is doing, no idea what she’s feeling, she can’t bring herself to try and decipher Obi-Wan’s expression. The copper taste on her mouth is getting to be too much though and so she finally turns her head away, shamefully avoiding eye contact, and spits blood onto the ground. The padawan manages to suppress a shudder and finds that everything is spinning. The sound of the crowd is muffled to her montrals and Ahsoka is vaguely aware that she’s just standing there, where anyone could come and attack her. She feels herself floating further and further away, her body growing numb to her. 

Somewhere in the distance, someone is yelling her name, but she doesn’t react. A hand suddenly grabs her upper arm and she jumps, spinning around and baring her bloody fangs, an almost feral sound building in her throat. But luckily she realizes it’s only Rex before she lets it out and immediately closes her mouth. 

“We need to go,” Rex says, though Ahsola can see the concerned and questioning look in his eyes, mixed with something else she can’t quite make out. 

His hand is still on her upper arm and he starts pulling her with him slightly, until his words finally click in her head and she runs after him towards the suddenly open gate. It wasn’t the same one as the one they got in, but upon spotting dozens of clones standing around it, she felt her shoulders relax slightly. She distantly recognizes them as the Wolfpack, which means Master Plo must be close by. 

Ahsoka and Rex run through the dark underground tunnel, flanked by several clone troopers who fought off any guards trying to stop them. As soon as they reach the surface, they are submerged into a new chaos. People from the audience are running away, probably thinking about being arrested. There are more guards trying to stop them from escaping, but it’s no use. Ahsoka just follows Rex and ignores the way her chest is burning. 

They make it through the crowd and to the troop transports without an incident and Rex waits for Ahsoka to step on before he follows her. The young togruta is sure she would see several of the clone troopers in there staring at her if it wasn’t for their helmets. But she could certainly feel their looks, and she can’t really blame them for it. 

“Come on, sit down for a second,” Rex is next to her again and putting his gentle hands on her shoulders, pushing her down onto one of the crates. 

Ahsoka was very clearly still rather absent, as she had not noticed Rex grabbing a rag from somewhere and wetting it. He held it up to her face, silently asking for permission, and the young padawan just nodded her head. With steady hands he starts wiping the mostly dried blood off her lips, chin and neck. His touch was so gentle, so caring, but also careful. From time to time, Rex would glance up into Ahsoka’s eyes. It’s like she wasn’t even there, the way she was zoned out staring straight ahead.

“Here, drink some,” Rex says once he’s done, handing her a canteen filled with water. “Maybe rinse your mouth a little. You can spit it in the rag until we get back to the ship.”

Ahsoka nods in a detached sort of way but accepts the canteen and the rag Rex leaves in her lap. The cool water in her parched mouth is the first thing she really feels after what happened. Ahsoka keeps her eyes on the floor as she starts rinsing out her mouth and once the copper taste is mostly gone, she swallows several large gulps of water. 

As soon as the ship lands on the Resolute, Rex is at her side. He takes the rag and canteen and helps her up. With his hand ghosting over her upper back he guides her to the med-bay, knowing she wouldn’t go off her own volition. Still, feeling a bit more present now, Ahsoka has some things to say about it.

“I’m not even hurt, Rex,” she complains. 

“It’s protocol,” he simply says, glancing down at her. “And from all the adrenaline, maybe you got hurt but didn’t notice it. Either way, it’s important for Kix to give everyone a check up.”

Ahsoka doesn’t respond, just presses her lips into a tight line and keeps walking with her Captain. There was still blood on the front of her battledress and some spots of it down her leggings, but the majority of it was around her ankle. Where the jazbinan had held onto her. It did hurt slightly, but she was sure that was only because of the strong grip he had on her, so maybe her skin was a little bruised at most. 

It seems as though Rex had commed Kix at some point without Ahsoka noticing, because as soon as they make it to the med-bay he’s already there and ushering them inside. He walks over to an empty bed and pats it, causing Ahsoka to roll her eyes before sitting down on it. 

“I’ll just check you over real quick, Commander, then you can go,” Kix says, eyes lingering on Ahsoka’s bloody ankle. 

“Fine, but this is so unnecessary,” Ahsoka responds, crossing her arms. “I’m not even hurt.”

“Well, then this won’t take long,” Kix says, turning to the side to gather what he needed.

Rex is standing on the side with his arms crossed and Ahsoka spots a cut on his cheek. She frowns to herself, wondering how she hadn’t noticed it earlier. 

“Hey, Commander!” Someone calls from behind her and she turns around, spotting Jesse. “It’s so good to- what happened to you?!”

Ahsoka freezes, both at the question and at the sight of a cast around his wrist. She remembers the jazbinan’s wrist, right after she had torn into it. Images of his dead body float around in her head. His twisted neck, the way his hand and flesh hung limply from his wrist bone, the blood flooding out. The same blood she’s covered in.

“The blood isn’t mine,” she speaks up, tongue heavy as she is overcome by nausea. “The blood isn’t mine. 

Kix seems to have noticed the nauseated look on her face and quickly pushes a small, steel bowl into her hands. Mere seconds before Ahsoka’s body shakes, her mouth filling with saliva and throat spasming as she gags and throws up. Tears burn in her eyes and there’s a comforting hand on her back, but as soon as she sees the redness of her vomit, she is triggered into throwing up yet again. The fact that she swallowed the jazbinan’s blood runs in her thoughts on an endless loop, only making her throw up a third time. Not much had come out, mainly it was stomach acid mixed with blood, since she hadn’t eaten anything ever since they were captured. The tears are rolling freely down her cheeks now, mostly from the burning in her throat and the acidic taste in her mouth. Someone presses a slightly wet rag into her hand and she shakily brings it up to wipe her lips and chin clean. Somewhere from her right, a hand gently wipes away the wetness on her cheeks, but her vision is still blurred from the tears so she can’t make out who it is. The rag is removed from her hand again and a mug of water is pressed into it instead. Although Ahsoka’s hands are shaking, she lifts it up to her lips and takes a few sips, rinsing her mouth with them and spitting it into the bowl. Once the taste of vomit and blood is mostly cleared from her mouth again, she drinks until the mug is empty. Her vision is clear again and she watches as Kix takes the mug from her hand and picks up the vomit filled bowl from her lap, leaving the room. Ahsoka’s breathing is still slightly heavy and she finally realizes it is Rex who was sitting next to her with his hand rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades. He sends her a warm expression, not quite a smile and with worry shining in his eyes, but comforting nonetheless. 

The door opens again and Kix re-enters the med bay, but with Anakin following behind him. It was obvious Kix hadn’t brought him — Anakin had clearly brought himself, and Kix looked more than a little annoyed about it. 

“Is it alright if I take a look at your ankle?” The medic asks and Ahsoka nods wordlessly. “Alright, scoot back a bit for me, and lift your ankle up here.”

She does as she’s told, leaning against the wall at the head of the bed and propping her leg up onto the bed. Kix starts looking over her ankle, meanwhile Ahsoka makes the mistake of looking over at Anakin, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. Their eyes lock and she almost immediately turns her head away again, opting to look down at the white sheets underneath her. 

“I’m so sorry, Commander, I didn’t mean to… uh, well, I’m not really sure what happened or why, but I’m so sorry,” Jesse says, coming up to her from the other side of the bed. 

“It’s alright,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Her voice sounds raw and monotone and a miserable smile makes its way onto her face, not looking as reassuring as she had hoped. Jesse still had the same mix of a concerned and apologetic frown on his face. Ahsoka looks back down at the sheets. 

Kix had taken off her boot and carefully rolled up her leggings to her knee. His touch was gentle and professional, but also surprisingly soft. 

“Everyone, please leave if you’re not here for medical attention,” he tells Rex, Anakin and Jesse. “You’re crowding me.”

Ahsoka could tell there was some other reason for him sending them out, and she wondered what it was. Jesse and Rex immediately headed for the door, only shooting her a few caring looks before leaving. But Anakin stayed where he was, arms crossed. 

“You too, General,” Kix says. 

“Why? I’m her Master,” Anakin says. “I just want to know if she’s okay.”

“And you will know, once you leave and I am able to do my job without distractions,” Kix deadpans. “You know you’ll be the first to know, General.”

Anakin hesitated, looking over at Ahsoka. The look on her face made his heart clench and he sighed, running a hand down his face. 

“Fine,” he mumbles, leaving the room while grumbling to himself. 

“Commander,” Kix says, redirecting Ahsoka’s attention back to him. “Your ankle is a bit scratched up, nothing too bad though.”

He watches her face fall slightly, looking at her with a thoughtful expression. As though he were contemplating something. Ahsoka was about to ask him to just spit it out when he opened his mouth. 

“There seem to be some… similar looking scars underneath the wounds,” he says carefully. “Do they have anything to do with what happened?”

The padawan avoids his gaze and simply nods, clasping her hands together in her lap to stop herself from fidgeting with her fingers. 

“Can you tell me about it?” Kix asks, and Ahsoka hesitates. “I don’t mean to pressure you, but it’s either me or the mind healers.”

He pauses and seems to think it over for a second before adding; “Or General Skywalker. Actually, Rex would probably work as well. It’s entirely up to you.”

Ahsoka chews on the inside of her cheek, mulling it over without looking at him. It wasn’t really a big deal, what happened with the trandoshans could be found in a report somewhere anyway. It’s better if she just gets it over with and tells him, Ahsoka decides. 

“Some time ago, I was captured during the battle of Felucia,” Ahsoka starts. “I’m sure you might’ve heard about it.”

She watches Kix’s face very closely, but he doesn’t confirm or deny, so she just continues. “These trandoshans that captured me took me to Wasskah, where I was released into the wild with the other prisoners to be hunted and killed by the trandoshans for sport. I met three other Jedi there, or well, they were still only younglings when they were taken. But we stuck together and worked to get out of there. One of them was killed.”

Ahsoka lowers her head, staring down at her hands. “Kalifa was her name. I stopped one of the trandoshans from killing her, only for her to be shot either way.”

Tears were building in Ahsoka’s eyes yet again and she stubbornly pushed them down. “And then today… we were captured and brought into this large arena. There were people watching us fighting to death. They wanted us to kill each other for no reason other than entertainment.”

She speaks of it with such disgust and anger, spitting out the word ‘entertainment’ with hatred. It wasn’t very Jedi-like of her at all, but she let herself, because what does Kix really know about Jedi customs and beliefs? Talking about it to a non-Jedi had been a good idea, as she felt she didn’t have to hold back on how much what happened bothered her. 

“There was a jazbinan man who attacked me on top of this sort of high up platform. I almost threw him over the edge, but he managed to hold onto it and my leg. I’m not sure what happened, but it just… it brought me back to Wasskah,” Ahsoka explains quietly. “And I… I don’t know why, I can’t even fully remember doing it, but I just… something snapped in me and suddenly all I could think of was surviving and fighting, and I… I bit his wrist. Or, well, actually, I sort of took a chunk out of it. Just ripped it open with m-my teeth.”

This time around, Ahsoka was unable to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. Her body started shaking, but she tried her best to contain it and control her breathing. She didn’t look up at Kix once.

“I-I dug into him l-like an a-animal,” her voice cracks and wobbles and it takes everything in her to not start sobbing right then and there. “I know there’s already so much s-stigma about my people being nothing more than a-animals, that we’re violent a-and dangerous, but we’re not! We’re not, and I feel like I’m letting everyone down. I feel so… he didn’t deserve that. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Her face crumbles completely and she buries it in her hands, pressing her lips tightly together to stay quiet. The hard, thin mattress of the bed only dips down ever so slightly when Kix sits down, but Ahsoka still feels it. 

“Ahsoka,” his use of her name made her look up at him, despite tears still flowing from her eyes. “You did what you had to do to survive. You should never be ashamed of that.”

“I didn’t have to do that though,” Ahsoka sniffles. “I could’ve just fought him off, kept him away from me. But I decided to… to bite him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kix says firmly, yet gently. “You were in a high-stress, life or death situation and on top of that, you were triggered to think about another life or death situation you’ve experienced in the past. None of it is your fault, you did what you had to do.”

Ahsoka goes quiet, having stopped crying. She sits, fumbling with her hands in her lap and seems to think over his words. Eventually, she takes a deep breath and looks up at Kix, nodding slightly. 

“Alright, you’re right,” she says hesitantly.

If he was confused about her sudden switch of emotions, he hid it very well. He sends her a soft smile and gets back up to grab a tub of bacta cream and bandages. Ahsoka watches him take care of her ankle and pulls down her pant leg again once he’s done. The thick, stark white bandages create a bump under the fabric of her leggings and peeks out through the rips in it. 

“Thanks, Kix,” she says, still deep in thought as she runs her fingers over it. 

“No problem, Commander,” he answers. “Stay here, get some rest. I’ll get Jesse to fetch you something to eat from the mess hall.”

Ahsoka nods and reaches for the folded up blanket at the end of the bed, draping it over herself and lying down. Kix steps away and pulls the curtains around the bed shut. They shut out most of the bright, white light of the med-bay and give her a sense of privacy. Even though she isn’t too sure about what Kix told her, and she still feels ashamed, she decides she’ll deal with that shame and self-hatred after a nap. She wonders if she’ll taste the jazbinan’s blood in the food Jesse will bring her, or if she’ll start crying again once she washes her clothes of his blood. If Anakin will want to know what happened, if Obi-Wan will want to talk to her about what he saw. But for now, she can ignore all of that. For now, she’ll just go to sleep. 

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #tcw #sw tcw #star wars fanfiction #sw tcw fanfic #clone wars #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #captain rex #tcw rex #tcw ahsoka #tcw anakin #anakin and ahsoka #ahsoka and rex #august writing challenge #august writing prompts #writing prompt #archive of our own #fanfiction #ahsoka and kix #tcw kix #clone medic kix #tcw jesse #togruta biology #s3e21 padawan lost referenced #flashbacks #ahsoka tano centric #awc23 #hunger games vibe

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

1st August >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Matthew 13:36-43 for Tuesday, Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time: ‘The virtuous will shine like the sun’.

Tuesday, Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA) Matthew 13:36-43 As the darnel is gathered up and burnt, so it will be at the end of time.

Leaving the crowds, Jesus went to the house; and his disciples came to him and said, ‘Explain the parable about the darnel in the field to us.’ He said in reply, ‘The sower of the good seed is the Son of Man. The field is the world; the good seed is the subjects of the kingdom; the darnel, the subjects of the evil one; the enemy who sowed them, the devil; the harvest is the end of the world; the reapers are the angels. Well then, just as the darnel is gathered up and burnt in the fire, so it will be at the end of time. The Son of Man will send his angels and they will gather out of his kingdom all things that provoke offences and all who do evil, and throw them into the blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and grinding of teeth. Then the virtuous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Listen, anyone who has ears!’

Gospel (USA) Matthew 13:36-43 Just as the weeds are collected now and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age.

Jesus dismissed the crowds and went into the house. His disciples approached him and said, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds in the field.” He said in reply, “He who sows good seed is the Son of Man, the field is the world, the good seed the children of the Kingdom. The weeds are the children of the Evil One, and the enemy who sows them is the Devil. The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels. Just as weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his Kingdom all who cause others to sin and all evildoers. They will throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the Kingdom of their Father. Whoever has ears ought to hear.”

Reflections (7)

(i) Tuesday, Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time

There is a very striking statement in today’s first reading, ‘The Lord would speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks with his friend’. It anticipates the words of Jesus, God in human form, to his disciples in the gospel of John, ‘I no longer call you servants. I call you friends’. Jesus was the clearest possible revelation of God’s desire to befriend all of humanity. According to the first reading, God has the qualities we long for in a good friend, tenderness, compassion, slowness to anger, kindness, faithfulness and a readiness to forgive. Jesus revealed these qualities of God fully and clearly. God, through Jesus, has befriended us and he waits for us to befriend him in return. When we open our lives to God’s love present in Jesus, when we remain in that love and then love others as we have been loved, we become what the gospel reading calls ‘good seed’ in the world. A community of beloved and loving disciples is a beachhead of the kingdom of heaven. It is the beginning of the answer to our prayer, ‘Thy kingdom come on earth, as it is in heaven’. Yet, the gospel reading also acknowledges that, alongside the good seed, there is ‘darnel’ in the world, sown by the evil one. We don’t need to be reminded of this reality. It easily becomes news, to such an extent that we can end up being quite discouraged. Yet, if we open our eyes we can also see the presence of all the good seed, those expressions in human form of the God of tenderness and compassion who has sent his Son to befriend us. The gospel reading assures that it is this reality that will win out in the end; evil will not ultimately prevail.

And/Or

(ii) Tuesday, Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s gospel reading is an explanation of the parable of the wheat and the weeds. The focus of the explanation is the final separation of the good and the evil at the end of time. The parable itself had suggested that before that final separation at the end of time, good and evil will co-exist in the world and in the church, and within each one of us. The weeds and the wheat grow together. There will be a final separation but that will be done by God. It is not our place to make that separation in the here and now. We will invariably get it wrong, both in regard to ourselves and in regard to others. We will inevitably pull up wheat as well as weeds. We need to be slow to judge. It can be all too easy to see ourselves as wheat and identity various groups of other people as weeds. Saint Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians says to those who were judging him, ‘With me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court... It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore, do not pronounce judgement before the time, before the Lord comes’. This morning’s first reading reminds us that the Lord who will judge is a ‘God of tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in kindness and faithfulness’.

And/Or

(iii) Tuesday, Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time

One of the most striking descriptions about God in the Jewish Scriptures is to be found in today’s first reading, ‘The Lord, the Lord, a God of tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in kindness and faithfulness’. This is the God whom Jesus revealed in all he said and did. Jesus’ life was good news for all who knew their need of God’s compassion, kindness and faithfulness. In the language of today’s gospel reading, this gospel of a gracious God was the ‘good seed’ that Jesus came to sow in the hearts of all. Yet, the parable of the wheat and the darnel recognizes that there were others whose mission in life was to sow a very different kind of seed, a weed that sought to engulf all the good seed that Jesus was sowing. The explanation of the parable in today’s gospel reading declares that those responsible for sowing such weeds will encounter the reverse side of God’s compassion and kindness. The good God who sent Jesus to sow good seed is affronted by the death dealing response to Jesus’ good, life-giving work, on the part of some. There will be a day of reckoning. In the meantime, our role is to align ourselves with the Lord’s good work, opening our hearts and lives to the good seed he is always offering us.

And/Or

(iv) Tuesday, Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time

Today’s gospel reading speaks of Jesus as the ‘sower of good seed’ who sows that good seed throughout the world. Those who allow that good seed to take root in their hearts are ‘the subjects of the kingdom’; they already belong to God’s kingdom on earth. Whenever people respond to the Lord’s call, they form a ‘beach head’ of the kingdom of God on earth. This is what the Lord desires for us all. The community of his disciples, the church, is to be that beach head of the kingdom of God on earth; it is to be the earthly expression of the goodness of the kingdom of heaven. Yet, the gospel reading also acknowledges another reality that is to be found in our world, what it terms ‘darnel’ or ‘weeds’, which is sown by the devil. The Lord’s good work in the world is opposed by evil forces. The gospels suggest that Jesus took the reality of evil in the world very seriously. He was also aware that it could infect his followers, the community of those who believed in him, which is why he taught us to pray, ‘Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil’. We shouldn’t need much convincing about the reality and power of evil in our world and, indeed, in the church and in our own lives. However, the gospel reading declares that evil will not ultimately have the last word. God will eradicate evil fully, but only at the end of time, when God’s kingdom fully comes. In the meantime, the Lord wishes to work in and through each of us to confront evil in all its forms, so that something of that final triumph of good over evil can become a reality in the here and now. In the words of Paul’s letter to the Romans, ‘Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good’.

And/Or

(v) Tuesday, Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time

The explanation of the parable of the wheat and darnel in today’s gospel reading suggests that, within our world, good will always sit alongside evil until the end of time. It is only beyond this present age that, in the words of the gospel reading, ‘the virtuous will shine like the sun’, with no darkness to obscure the light of their goodness. We are only too well aware of the presence of evil in our world, and, indeed, within the church and in our own hearts. Various religious movements have attempted to create a perfect society, an oasis of goodness in an evil world. Such movements can end up doing more harm than good to the people who get involved; they can easily project the darkness that is within themselves onto the world outside the movement. However, matters are never that black and white. The church is not a cult. In the language of the Second Vatican Council, we are a pilgrim people. We are on a journey towards that glorious virtuous state spoken of in the gospel reading. In this earthly life, we never reach the end of that journey. At every step of the journey we can make our own the confession of the first reading from the prophet Jeremiah, ‘Lord, we do confess our wickedness and our father’s guilt: we have indeed sinned against you’. Such a recognition of the lack of goodness in our lives does not discourage us because we are confident that in the words of today’s responsorial psalm, the Lord’s compassion hastens to meet us. Indeed, our realization and recognition that we are still on the way creates a space in our lives for the Lord to bring to completion the good work that he has begun in us. The gospels suggest that Jesus found it much easier to engage with those who were aware of their need of God’s mercy than with those who thought of themselves as morally superior to others.

And/Or

(vi) Tuesday, Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time

The question ‘Who is God?’ has intrigued curious people down through the centuries. Many different answers have been given to that question. Perhaps one of the most attractive answers from the Jewish Scriptures is to be found in today’s first reading. It declares God to be a ‘God of tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in kindness and faithfulness’. This is the God revealed by Jesus in his teaching, his whole way of life, his death and his resurrection. The words used to speak of God there are thought provoking and reassuring, ‘tenderness, compassion, kindness, faithfulness’. When we encounter these qualities in someone we meet, we consider ourselves blest to be in their company. These are the people who are spoken of in the gospel reading as ‘the subjects of the kingdom’. They bring something of the kingdom of God to earth. The gospel reading realistically identifies a different kind of presence in our world, namely, ‘the subjects of the evil one’. We are only too well aware of the evil that is being constantly perpetuated by some people, and the painful consequences of such evil for others. We recognize clearly that the kingdom of God has not yet fully come into our world. Indeed, we know that it has not yet fully come into our own lives either. We often fall short of revealing in our lives those divine qualities of tenderness, compassion, kindness and faithfulness. Yet, because these are the qualities of the Lord and he has poured his Spirit into our hearts, we can confidently reach towards these wonderful life-giving qualities, knowing that they are attainable because of the help the Lord gives us.

And/Or

(vii) Tuesday, Seventeenth Week in Ordinary Time

Today’s first reading from the Prophet Jeremiah reflects the darker side of human existence. There is death in the countryside and hunger in the city. The religious leaders, prophets and priests, are at their wit’s end. Anguished questions rise up to God, ‘Why have you struck us down with no hope of cure?’ People’s legitimate hopes have been dashed, ‘We were hoping for peace, no good came of it! For the moment of cure, nothing but terror!’ Yet in the midst of such devastation and darkness of spirit, people have not lost hope in God, ‘O our God, you are our hope’. It can be difficult to keep hopeful faith in God when there seems no human reason for hope. Yet, so often the Scriptures inspire us to keep hoping and trusting in God even when, especially when, ‘we are in the depths of distress’, in the words of today’s responsorial psalm. In the gospel reading, Jesus acknowledges that all will not always be right with the world. What Jesus calls ‘the enemy’, those opposed to God’s good purposes, will sow darnel, seeking to kill off the good seed. Yet, Jesus assures us that in the end God’s good purposes will win out, ‘the virtuous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father’. God is working and will continue to work through the glorious Son of Man to overcome the forces of evil and ensure the coming of God’s kingdom. Saint Paul expressed this conviction very succinctly, ‘where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more’. This is the basis of our hope. Hope is rooted not in anything human but in God’s life giving power, which, in the words of Paul, ‘is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine’.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[unwelcome-ozian]

Are you familiar with Donald Marshall's story? If your comfortable, what are you thoughts on his descriptions of cloning, levels underground military base containing stadium arenas, and "cloning centers" where people are programmed and trafficked?

I have memories of being in underground stadium arenas, in the particular instance im recalling there was a stage in the center. I have no idea where I was on surface coordinates, I want to say it was Disneyland. It's strange to consider Disneyland a military base, but I've seen things similar to what Marshall is speaking about.

Is cloning humans, temporarily creating duplicates in the way Marshall describes, and using them like that within the realm of possibility? Do u know it to be happening? Philosophically that would be fascinating, but tech wise? I'm curious if that's a reality.

I’m not super familiar with Donald Marshall. I did a bit more research about him to answer your questions. 

I won’t go into deep detail about cloning but, give a brief overview.

Clones are organisms that are exact genetic copies. Every single bit of their DNA is identical.

Identical twins are just one example. Or clones can be made in the lab.

Reproductive cloning is defined as the deliberate production of genetically identical individuals. Each newly produced individual is a clone of the original.

“One good person there Bernie Mac comedian and actor tried to stand up for me speak up for me saying it's not right to do to a human being,... tried to have others join him in speaking out against the clone torture zone while there,... Elizabeth and Phillip had him tortured so badly there as an example of their "power" he had an aneurysm the next day and died.” -Donald Marshall-

After being treated in the ICU for three weeks, Mac went into cardiac arrest and subsequently died during the early morning hours on August 9, 2008 at the age of 50.

This would make Donald Marshall thirty years old in 2008. (They stupidly put my face on a Megadeth album, "The World Needs A Hero" when I was 23”)

“Half way through making this document they brought me there and introduced me to a man named TROY LANDRY, He is an alligator trapper from Louisiana on the tv program swamp people, he said if I sent this letter out he would take a power drill to my shin bone there and suck the marrow from my bones, kinda like a spinal tap, one of the worst things you can do to a clone besides burning, I said the letter will be going out, I have to escape this place, and so he did just that, it was excruciatingly painful, everyone just watched slack jawed in the crowd, Troy Landry is an insatiable child molester and an extra retarded clone, in Louisiana when he see's a young boy he likes he asks his name tells him he's an alligator hunter shakes hands, then asks his pedophile friends at the local cloning station to find the boys blood records to clone him, months later there are multiple identical boys grown for Troy Landry to victimize before the crowd of onlookers.” with Donald Marshall

This isn’t how cloning works at all. Clones are born the same way as other newborn animals: as babies. human cloning would most likely utilize "reproductive cloning" techniques — an approach in which a "mature somatic cell," most probably a skin cell, would be used, according to NHGRI. The DNA extracted from this cell would be placed into the egg cell of a donor that has "had its own DNA-containing nucleus removed."

The egg would then begin to develop in a test tube before being "implanted into the womb of an adult female," according to NHGRI.

A human clone would only have the same genetic makeup as someone else — they would not share other things such as personality, morals or sense of humour: these would be unique to both parties.

That was a quick search of what he’s posted. He also sounds like a complete arse. “Donald Marshall your a fag and a loser cody,... have fun licking your dads ass at the cloning center retard.” 

Cloning hasn’t been expanded on since 2006. In 2006 induced pluripotent stem cells (iPSCs) were discovered. These are "adult" cells that have been reprogrammed to resemble cells in early development. The development in iPSC technology essentially rendered the concept of using cloned embryos both unnecessary and scientifically inferior. 

Oz

#answers to questions #Donald Marshall #clone #cloning