i feel like obi-wan was constantly giving cody heart attacks because as the war went on and got more and more dangerous, obi-wan kept deciding “oh, i kinda feel like wearing less aRMOR TODAY”
like honestly, look at this:
early in the clone wars he had chest armor that looks like it probably covers his heart from both the front and the back and also has plating all the way up his arms as well as on his shins. it’s not perfect, but it’s definitely something, especially considering how the majority of the time, the enemy used blasters
after the time skip, apparently obi decided all that plastoid was cramping his style so he got rid of basically all of it except for his forearms. i would love to see his clones’ reaction to finding out their reckless general had now made himself even more of a target.
by ROTS obi-wan decided to basically fuck armor entirely, opting for fabric and leather alone, content in the assumption that the power of the force and pure concentrated sass will save him. he doesn’t even have gloves anymore lol. cody has long given up hope.
Before you read these moments from my life, I’d like to apologize for the language, but I’m trying to recall it from the exact detail.
During the months of June, July, and August, I spent many hot summers of my childhood at my Grandmother’s house further west on the island of Cape Breton. The forest was plentiful, the plains were a vibrant green, and my Grandmother’s house was a rickety old two-story that was built sometime in the 50’s and looked like it didn’t belong.
Summary:You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.
Word count: 1871
Warnings:Cursing, low-self esteem, chubby!reader x bucky, idk….
A/N: So this is what I work on when I get blocked writing Nobody. It’s supposed to be angsty and funny and fluffy (maybe a tad naughty at some point idk). I hope you enjoy the first part!
sunshine,” Tony greeted you as you slogged into the kitchen with a scowl. Your (Y/H/C) was sticking up in random,
knotted directions from tossing and turning all night, and dark bags hung under
your puffy (Y/E/C) eyes.
you groaned as you poured yourself a sizeable cup of coffee. Tony was one of those ‘happy morning
people’. You hated him. And his stupid face. But his coffee was good so you let him live.
given that we didn't get a skam eurovision update because of the hiatus (boo!), please could you tell us about even and isak watching eurovision? (because i'm sure that they must have!)
for sure Isak was planning on a nice quiet night in, definitelynot watching Eurovision and definitely carefully trying to make out with Even because his nose hurts and kissing isn’t the easiest thing to do right now. it’s just that Even looks so cute tucking Isak in on the couch, making him pancakes and yelling possible solutions to painful noses that he’s read on the internet from the kitchen that Isak just can’t resist. there’s too much ow, ouch, not there and not enough tongue but Isak’s satisfied with it still.
except then the boys arrive, strolling into the living room like they were invited, catching Isak still lying underneath a blanket on the couch, looking and feeling sorry for himself and just in the middle of telling Even just how much his nose hurts in the saddest voice he can muster red handed.
Jonas raises his eyebrows in what Isak thinks is a very judgmental manner and he quickly throws back the blanket, mumbles a cool, it’s not so bad, really while trying to casually push the plate with one heart-shaped pancake left on it still underneath the couch with his feet. the boys graciously pretend to not see him do it.
Magnus has eleven pride flags painted on his face. Isak decides not to ask. there’s also a European union flag on his forehead. Isak decides not to tell him Norway isn’t even in the European union. he keeps yelling about Isak having to enjoy Eurovision now that he lives together with a dude. Isak decides to tell him to stop.
as a matter of fact, he’s close to kicking them all out when Mahdi tells him they’ve brought both Eurovision snacks and Eurovision alcohol and presses a beer in Isak’s hand. Isak scoots over to make some room then.
Mahdi actually turns out to be an avid Eurovision watcher and he’s just in the process of explaining them the complicated voting system using differently colored candy when there’s a knock on the door. Isak would open it himself but, you know, he is very hurt and very sad and getting up from the couch is asking too much of him right now and so Even sighs and gets up to answer whoever’s there. Isak swears he can hear Jonas mumble the softest whipped as fuck but he can’t be sure.
it’s Eskild who walks in then. Eskild, who Isak remembers promised him he wouldn’t spontaneously come over this particular weekend. he’s wearing a lot of feathers and barely even acknowledges Isak before he starts handing out score cards that he’s apparently typed up himself. Isak is especially appalled by the would we do them? (this includes any people wearing an animal head!!!!) category but decides he can deal with rating the song and outfit and use of violin.
they all end up in a big pile in the living room, Isak cosy between Even and Mahdi, who seem to have taken it upon themselves to make sure Isak doesn’t have to go more than five minutes without being asked if his nose hurts a lot and if he needs anything. Magnus mostly just yells at him to remember to fill in his score card.
and Isak isn’t so into it at first, finds there to be a lot of glitter and a lot of dramatic pauses but he still finds himself yelling at the screen about douze points and traitors and fake saxophones when the clock hits twelve. Even kisses him on the cheek then, tells him, you’re a sexophone, and everything’s great really, even with a painful nose.
Request: Hey doll :) Can you please do an imagine where you work for shield but are on a Undercover Mission to free Bucky. You visit him everyday before he gets the electro Shocks but he never Forgets you. So one day you’re finally able to free him and you nearly escape both, when Hydra finds out. You then shove bucky out of the building as the agents shot and hit you. Bucky sees you breaking down and screams your Name and decides to safe you before you both are rescued from Fury and he never leaves you.
You wince softly as you gingerly operate on Bucky’s arm, the metal plating having been damaged on his last mission.
You’d been ‘recruited’ for Hydra months ago, little did anyone know you were actually on a Shield mission to save the asset, the winter soldier, Bucky Barnes. You’d been entrusted with the soldier’s safety and that’s why you could operate on him alone without anyone else in the room. You didn’t pump him full of drugs like the other doctors did, you didn’t sedate him whenever he got dangerous, he didn’t smack him to bring him back to reality because other than the fact that you couldn’t physically do it you didn’t have to. Bucky was never violent with you, he usually sat still the entire time you worked on him, never really saying anything or doing much so you never had to hurt him.
“You’re soft,” The soldier rasps, his voice much more rough than it usually was. “You’re not like the others,” You hum softly as you tweak some wires, litle sparks flying out his arm.
“Yeah? What makes you think that?” You smile at him before quickly getting back to work.
“You smile at me,” He whispers, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t hit me, you don’t stick needles in me, you’re the only person here who’s ever been kind to me,”
“Well,” You whisper as you continue to work, being careful not to bump any of his other wires. “You deserve kindness,”
“I’m a machine,” Bucky states, turning his head back ahead, his gaze finally falling from you. “Machines don’t get kindness,”
“If you don’t treat a machine well it won’t work, isn’t that how it goes?” Bucky doesn’t answer, merely keeps his gaze straight ahead. “Well, if you don’t treat a human nice it’s going to stop being human and I don’t want that for you,”
“Am I human?” Bucky asks, his lips barely moving. With a sigh you put your tools down, smoothing your hand over Bucky’s improved plating.
“You’ve got a heart, don’t ya?” Bucky nods, then stops, his lips pursing in thought.
“I guess,” You smile a bit, resting your chin on your palm.
“You’ve got a brain, right?” Bucky nods again.
“Then you’re human Buck, I promise you,”
“I don’t feel human,” Bucky whispers, his gaze falling down to his arm. “I don’t know what I am but I’m not- I’m not human,”
“I think you are,” You whisper as you check the plating one more time, ensuring that it was well enough for inspection.
“I never forget you,” Bucky whispers, his gaze never travelling from his arm. “Even after they wipe me, I don’t forget. I don’t forget the way your hands feel on my skin, or the way you smile at me, I don’t forget your voice or face, I don’t forget you like I forget everyone else,”
“Bucky-” You sigh once again, your heart constricting in your throat.
“Please don’t tell them,” Bucky looks at you, his eyes full of fear. “You can’t let them know,”
“I won’t tell,” You nod your head, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “ I promise I won’t,”
Bucky stares at you for only a moment before he’s nodding, his gaze falling back down to his arm once again.
"They’re gonna be back any minute,“ He whispers, his tone bit as emotionless as it was only few moments ago.
"I know,” you sigh, absentmindedly running your thumb along his hand as you speak.
“They’re gonna wipe me again, aren’t they?"
"Don’t they always?” You smile at him sadly, your eyes no doubt swimming with emotion.
“It hurts.” Bucky states, his tone nearly robotic at this point. “More than anything I’ve ever felt,"
"I’m sorry Buck,” you whisper, wishing nothing more than to get this poor guy out of here. “I wish there was something I could do to help,” Bucky nods, pursing his lips at the telltale signs of shoes in the hall just outside his cage. “I promise you Bucky, I’m gonna make the pain stop someday,” You let go of his hand as the door to the isolated room opens, putting your facade back on, wouldn’t want hydra knowing you’re a double agent.
“Everything’s been fixed,” you state, no hint of emotion in your voice. Pierce smiles at you, gripping your shoulder gently.
“You’ve been a good agent (Y/N), very good, nearly as good as the soldier himself,” You cast a glance at Bucky, noticing the way his eyes had taken up that reserved, cold demeanor once more.
“Now get out of here, you’re done for the day,” you give him a polite smile and nod, quickly exiting before they started clearing Bucky’s mind once again.
You tried to walk down the hall as fast as you could, desperate to get away from them, to go back to your safe house and decompress but no matter how fast you walked you couldn’t seem to escape Bucky’s haunting screams of pain.
You stayed with Hydra for months after that, always fixing up Bucky, checking some of his diagnostics, even training him a bit. Eventually you became so trusted in hydras eyes that they allowed Bucky to be free around you, no other guards needed. It was a huge mistake on their part, given you were already preparing a plan on how to get the two of you out of here.
“(Y/N),” Bucky states as he calmly wipes his knife of any blood, not even sparing a glance at the quivering mass of human on the floor.
"You’re thinking about breaking out, aren’t you?” You look up from your clipboard where you’d been measuring how accurately The asset could slit a throat.
“How did you-”
“That’s what you meant when you said you were gonna end my pain, right? You were gonna get me out of here?” You bite your lip, nodding hesitantly.
“I can help- I know where all the guards are, I know which halls are empty, I can tell you where it’s safe and were it isn’t,"
"You want to get out of here?”
“If it’s with you? Yes,” Bucky slides the knife back on a table, each chunk of wood covered in a weapon of sorts.
“Well?” You lean forward, setting your clipboard aside. “When do we wanna ditch this place?"
"You’re sure this is the right hall?” You ask Bucky as the two of you creep through the hydra base, making sure to be extra quiet.
“I know the layout of every hydra base on this earth, i know we’re in the right hall,” Bucky places his metal arm in front of you, stopping you dead in your tracks.
"Shhh,” the soldier warns, placing a finger to his lips. You close your moth, listening intently to whatever it was that had set Bucky off. You strain to hear but there was no mistaking the sound of heavy footfalls in some hall, evidence that now people were hunting you two down, and fast.
“Shit,” you whisper, fear bubbling within your chest.
“We have to run,” Bucky states coolly as he grabs your hand, yanking you down the hall.
“Stop them!” Someone down the hall yells and suddenly the footfalls are getting much, much closer.
You run just as fast as Bucky, your feet hitting the concrete below you with such force that you could feel your feet ache. The two of you round a corner, two big silver doors before you signaling your way out; you were so close.
"Almost there,“ Bucky encourages, not letting go of your hand for one second. You nod your head as you book it towards the exit, freedom so tantalizingly close that you could taste it. But suddenly a shot rang through the air and a crippling pain shot through your chest. With a sudden cry you drop to the ground, causing Bucky to nearly fall as well. His hand still grips yours as you use your free one to clutch at the hole in your chest, blood seeping between your fingers.
”(Y/N)-“ Bucky murmurs, more fear in his eyes than your ever seen before.
"Go,” you rasp, your body burning in pain as you speak. “Get out of here,"
"No,” Bucky growls as he almost effortlessly picks you up, pulling you to his chest. “I’m not leaving you behind,"
"Bucky, I’m- I’m dead weight at this point-” but Bucky doesn’t even give you a moment to finish before he’s booking it down the hall, only stopping to break the control
Panel to the doors. The doors slide open, revealing a few simple grounds, nothing much in sight except for the large black helicopter sitting just a few feet away from the base.
“It’s shield,” you rasp, pointing a finger to the copter. “We made it,"
"Soldier, I demand you stop!” An agent scream, guns firing shot after shot as they attempted to wound one of you.
“Are you motherfuckers getting in here or what?” Fury pokes his head out of the small space available for a door. “We don’t have all day,” Bucky rushes towards the helicopter, only stopping to hand you over to Steve’s embrace. Bucky quickly jumps in the copter and not even a second afterwards the pilot takes off, Nat, or a familiar red headed woman who Bucky could’ve sworn he’d seen before.
“Shit (Y/N),” Steve curses, his hands ripping open the front of your suit. “You got hit pretty bad,"
"I know,” you rasp, your chest aching in pain. “I told Bucky to just leave me behind but he refused,” Bucky nods, his gaze trained in on your face.
“We made it Bucky,” you reach up, grasping his metal hand a bit. “You’re safe now,” Bucky nods, lifting your hand to rub his cheek against it, a sweet gesture that had you melting on the inside.
~2 years later~
"Bucky!” You call out to your fiancée who seemed to be having trouble getting out of bed.
It’s been two tears since your days of hydra and things couldn’t be better, you had your own home, a nice one too, you didn’t have to worry about hydra breathing down your necks at all times, Bucky had finally gotten his memory back and he never, ever forgot you. Even when he’d forgotten his own name, or how is mother had died, he’d never forgotten you, just like he told you that fateful day. With a reminiscent smile you flip a pancake, hollering to Bucky once again.
“Bucky come on! I made pancakes and coffee!"
"I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Bucky chuckles as he sleepily wipes at his eyes, his feet slowly but steadily carrying him to your side. He wraps his metal arm around your waist as he presses a kiss to
Your neck, his stubble tickling you softly.
“Thanks doll,” Bucky murmurs, causing you to giggle just a bit.
Bucky’s lips slip over to your scar, a good sized bullet hole that had scarred over, leaving behind bumpy, white flesh. “I’m going tux shopping with Steve today,” Bucky whispers, his lips still gently pressed to your skin. You hum softly as Bucky kisses his way back up your neck, stopping just below your ear. “But after that I thought we could go to that record store you wanted to look at,” you nod your head, a small smile working it’s way up to your lips.
“I’d love that,” Bucky hums this time as his free arm reaches out to play with the ring on your finger, a simple band, nothing too fancy, but simple and elegant.
“I love you,” Bucky murmurs against you, tucking his face back against your neck.
“I love you too Buck,” Bucky’s arm tightens around you as you flip a pancake, smirking proudly to yourself as you flipped it perfectly.
Bucky purses his lips in thought, a small humming noise issuing from the back of his throat.
“What’s on your mind?” You ask as you scoop more pancake batter onto the skillet, listening to the oils sizzle and pop.
“I was just thinking…can we have pancakes at the wedding?”
17/06/10 00:00am, I’m standing outside her door waiting on myself to gather up some courage to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. I’m nervous and slightly terrified of what would come next if I pressed the doorbell. Is she home? Is she out having the time of her life? Is she even going to bother opening the door for me if she sees me through the peephole? Millions of questions ran through my mind all at once, not one of those questions came with a positive answer. But I took my chances and pressed the doorbell anyway, hoping she’d acknowledge my presence. As she opened the door, I was again reminded of her beauty. A bare faced beauty who looked stunning dressed in her favourite baby blue fluffy pyjamas, I was left speechless, just staring at how beautiful she looked even without trying. I knew I was just stood staring when a small noise came from the back of her throat brought me back to reality.
“Hi” was all I could say, I didn’t prepare for this moment - all I could think about prior was her opening the door, seeing my face and slamming the door shut again without giving me a second chance. But here we are.
“Why are you here Jungkook? Especially now of all days?” she said ever so slowly, her eyes directed towards the floor.
“I know I don’t deserve this, I know what I’m about to say is selfish but could you please hear me out?” I looked at her intently, hoping for a positive answer. It took what seemed like forever before she agreed and stepped aside, signalling for me to go into her home. I took my shoes off whilst eyeing the area, nothing has changed since I was last in here. I walked through into the familiar living room, where my eyes met the photo frame that was sat on the coffee table. In that photo frame I could see a picture, a picture that held so many happy memories; a picture in which consisted of Y/N and I sat on the park bench eating our favourite ice creams. This gave me hope and confidence - if she didn’t want anything to do with me then that photo wouldn’t be there, especially not in a place where it’s so visible. If she hated me then she wouldn’t have even opened the door…right? I stood in front of the sofa, unsure of what to do next. Do I sit? Do I stand? Would it make her uncomfortable if I just sat without permission? Actually scrap that, me being present is probably already uncomfortable for her.
“Jungkook you can sit you know?” I nodded and sat down before she faced the direction of the kitchen. “Would you like a drink?” she offered.
“No it’s okay, could you possibly come sit down?” I asked wearily. But she complied and came to sit beside me, there was a gap between the two of us - an unfamiliar space that I wanted to close, but didn’t. It was silent for a while before she spoke up.
“Aren’t you here to say something?” she asked quietly, as if she had no confidence in her own words.
“Look Y/N” I paused for a few seconds before turning to look at her and continued. “I lied. I lied when I said that I hoped that you’d find someone better.” At that moment she looked at me, probably wondering what the hell I was saying and whether or not I was in the right of mind to even say such a thing after what I had done but she said nothing and so, I continued. “I know what I said, and it’s true that you do deserve better but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to be a better version of myself for you. It’s been hell without you, I can’t be without you, I really can’t and I don’t want to be. Asking you to take me back is ridiculous of me to even think about, and you don’t have to I’ll give you time the space you need if it meant that we could just, even be friends again. Even if you’re not my girl, being friends is more than enough if it meant that I still had you in my life.” I chuckled realising how ludicrous I sounded right now, asking for her friendship when I did all that to her. “Saying all that out loud made me realise how much more selfish it sounds.” I looked ahead of me shaking my own head thinking about how stupid I must have sounded saying all of that. There was a long silence, a silence that grew intense and somewhat ‘off’.
“Jungkook-ah” I turned and faced her but her eyes were low momentarily before looking up and meeting my eyes. “You know I love you right?” she said whilst her eyes started welling up, everything right now was so unpredictable and I was scared, no terrified even for the outcome. But I was also in shock because she told me she still loved me, my mind was starting to drift away until she spoke up again. “You really did hurt me, and today of all days you come to my door, today was supposed to be special and you come and ask to be friends or even more than that, but I don’t know if I can give that to you right now.” she told me as a tear slipped from her eyes and rolled down her now red cheeks. I nodded, completely understanding. “I’m sorry” she said as tears started to fall more consistently, and I realised that I was too doing the same, I was crying. “You meant everything to me, you were my everything. My world revolved solely around you and I thought it was the same for you too. But I’m not always right.” Although tears kept streaming down her face, she remained calm and not once did she break the eye contact we had.
“I’m sorry Y/N I really am so sincerely sorry and I hope you know that.” I wept, I wept like a child in front of her.
“I know we need closure, and let this be it. If our paths ever cross again then maybe we could start over, on a clean slate if our feelings were still the same. Just know that I forgive you Jungkook, and I’m thankful you came to me in person to apologise and tell me how you felt. I’ll never stop loving you.” She smiled at me, a smile that broke me. I grabbed ahold of her hand and placed something in the palm of her hands and closing her fingers around it, I stood up.
“Thank you Y/N, really.” I couldn’t stop the flow of my tears as I walked out of the door.
Y/N’s p.o.v ~
I sat there silently as I heard the front door open and close. I uncurled my fingers to see a beautiful necklace with Jungkook’s initials and the date of when we first started dating engraved into it, seeing that there was a charm in the shape of a key attached to it, I turned the heart shaped silver plate over only to see a quote engraved, “You are the key to my heart.” I couldn’t help but cry until the sound of my phone vibrating distracted me momentarily. I opened the text and saw:
This is one ending of “Jungkook Cheated.” I’m in the midst of writing an alternative ending. I hope you all enjoyed this mini series and thank you so much for reading!
Harry had been distant lately. He always seemed to be in the
studio or in meeting or prepping for some interview. He never seemed to be
around she never knew how to address it, she didn’t want to be clingy. But she
missed him, she missed eating dinner together, she missed staying up late and
laughing, she missed him. It made no sense to her, she knew he was a busy guy,
she knew what she had signed up for. But he used to make time for her, he used
to make it a priority to see her and spend time with her.
She sat at the table, the meal she had just cooked for the
two sat in front of her. Her plate untouched, his seat empty. She was going to
tell him how she was accepted into the medical school in L.A., there they could
be closer. It would be easier for them. It wasn’t her first choice but she
loved him and the school there was just as great as her current college, maybe
even better. She was ready to change her life to be closer to him.
The tears pooled at her eyes as she looked at her phone, she
had hardly ever googled his whereabouts, but she needed to know. She needed to
know why he was ignoring her, why he had shown up late in the night and left
early in the morning. Her lower lip trembled as she saw it. He was wearing the
shirt she had bought him, her favorite shirt. He was sitting in the back of the
booth, clearly hiding from everyone else, the picture must have been taken by a
worker. His lips pressed on another girls lips, his hand cupping her face. She
swiped to the next photo where he stood, grabbing her hand to help her up. The
last one broke her heart, they were walking into a hotel room.
She stood, grabbing the plates and tossing it all in the
trash. Her heart felt like it had dropped to her stomach, she couldn’t make it
up the stairs. Half way up her knees gave out and she sat on the stairways
crying. Her head laid on one of the higher steps, the salt water streaming from
her eyes. She angrily grabbed her phone tossing it on the ground. She could
have sworn someone had grabbed her heart and pulled it out of her chest,
stomping on it, and then forced it right back into her chest. Her sob increased
and her body shook, she just wanted it to end. She hated him. She did.
The door opened and Harry walked in, shaking the snow from
his hair. He slipped off his jacket and hung it on the rack. He stopped hearing
the muffled sobs, her sobs. He hadn’t heard her cry like that ever, he had seen
her cry of course. But he had it never heard her so hurt. He could hear her
trying to breathe, but the sobs just kept pouring out. He turned and saw her
sitting there, and he could of sworn that right then and there his own heart
broke. He had never felt like that before.
“Y/N,” he says gently walking up the stairs and sitting next
to her, he reaches out to touch her but she shoves at his shift.
“Don’t,” she says, in a voice he had never heard her use
before, it’s cold and sharp, but at the same time she sounded so broken and
“Kitten,” he tried again, voice soft and gentle, his hand
reaching for her face but she pushes it away.
Another sob, Harry frowned, “what’s wrong?” he asked, but
deep down inside he knew.
She sniffled, hiccups leaving her mouth. Her hands are
shaking as they come up to her face, wiping away the tears. Once the sobs have
died down she looks at her hands, “I got into the school in L.A.,” she says.
“That’s great we can be much closer,” Harry says.
“No,” she says, “I know Harry. Why would I want to be closer
to you when you’ll only leave me at night for her? Why?”
“Why!” She screamed, “why Harry? I work all day and have
classes and I come back here and cook for you and clean and love you and you
what? You leave in the middle of the night to be with her.”
“You take her out! You kissed her, you oh god, you slept
with her,” she whispered, her face dropping into her hands, “why?”
“I don’t know,” Harry says, “she was there-“
“And what? I wasn’t!” She cried, “I’ve been here, waiting
for you to come home, just waiting.”
“Baby,” Harry says, but she stands, “where are you going?”
She storms up the stairs and Harry follows, but she slams
the door and locks it before he can enter the bedroom. “Y/N, please, she means
nothing to me,” Harry begs.
She grabs a duffle bag and starts shoving clothes into it, “clearly
she meant something,” she yelled back.
“It was a mistake,” Harry tried.
“Yeah which time? The dinner, the hotel, or are there others
I haven’t heard about?” she yelled.
She zips the bag and drops it over her shoulder pulling the
door open. Harry’s eyes are watering and he looks at the bag then at her, “please,
don’t leave. I’ll never seen her again. You love me right?”
“Yes,” she says, “but I can’t. I can’t-I don’t trust you
She starts walking away and Harry grabs her arm pulling her
close to him, “please, please,” he begs, dropping to his knees, hugging her
legs, “I’ll do anything, just tell me what to do.”
She cries, shaking her head, her tears falling on to his
head, “the damage is done,” she whispered.
“Don’t you get it!” she cried, “you hurt me Harry, this isn’t
something little. T-this isn’t a small kiss that happened after ten drinks,
this is something you did again and again, this is something you left me alone
for, you hurt me.”
She grabbed his arms, pulling them off, “you hurt me,” she
Harry stands reaching for her but she shoves him back, “you
hurt me!” she screamed, “I can’t do this Harry.”
She turns running down the stairs and he follows, “no
please, no don’t go, please I’ll never see her again, I won’t ever talk to
anyone else,” Harry promises following her.
“No!” She yelled, turning, “don’t beg me to stay when you’ve
left me for nights!”
She grabs her car keys, “bye Harry.”
“Y/N,” he cries, “please.”
But she’s in her car already, doors locked, engine turned
on. She’s not sure where she’ll go but she knows it has to be far from him.
This week I visited Segovia , specifically the Jewish quarter, it was a visit full of mixed emotions. On one hand the emotion that fills my soul every time I reach the
places that were once inhabited by my ancestors, but on the other hand
the sadness of knowing that in those streets passed the hardships before
the expulsion. As
you walk through the streets of Segovia you can hear the echo of
history and when you reach the street where the Church of Corpus Christi is
located a stab can be felt near the heart when reading on the
plate “old Mayor Synagogue of Segovia"
The ancient synagogue of Segovia was transformed into a Church (later
built the monastery) in the XIV century after a “mysterious legend” full of false accusations: The Jewish population was accused of stealing a consecrated communion wafer from
a church and attempting to boil it in the synagogue to desecrate the
body of Christ. These
events reached the ears of Queen Catherine of Aragon and Castile who
decided, after hearing these accusations to remove the property of the
synagogue and offer it to the bishop of Tordecillas. Thus the Kal became a market, then a Convent until a fire in 1899, when
it was rebuilt and converted into the present Corpus Christi Church.
passing near the Jewish Cemetery , there is the Fonsario del Pinarillo, a place
where there are caves in which some Jews hid to not be converted, they
took refuge in the hope of escaping during the night, but some were
captured and their destinies were death or conversion.
I also visited
the educational center of the Jewry, Abraham Seneor’s former home, he was
one of the most outstanding figures of the Castilian Jewish community
during the Middle Ages and, undoubtedly, the most relevant in the
history of the Hebrew Aljama of Segovia. He
was one of the great offices of the Kingdom of Castile (Almojarife),
besides Rabino, he was representative of the Jewish Community and
Banker, since the family Seneor were part of an
important financial group that even was lender of the Crown of Castile.
The Jewish community of Segovia was prosperous and some of its members had an important place within the Segovian community. Until their expulsion in the year 1492 the jewish people were recognized by their work in the fields of medicine and architecture. After this year the destiny of the converts was always bound to trials
and a life full of secrets, a sentence unjustly imposed by its own
non-Jewish neighbors who acted as constant guards against a possible
return to their non-Catholic customs. The expelled went away without any property since the Clergy stayed with everything that could have financial value. The
departure was painful, the choice to remain faithful to their identity
was paid with the price of the departure towards an uncertain road full
I Had This Dream, That in Another World, I Was Someone Else, Someone Not Me.
Part of my hospital chaplaincy duties is to write a reflection on how it’s going. Identities may be altered for privacy. All the writings are here.
The patient, Jerome, had a trapezoid-shaped hole in his head, and he told me it was from his son.
Jerome’s son had waited in his father’s home until he came back from work, and then he robbed him. Jerome fought back. In the struggle, his son had picked up one of those bright and shiny geode rocks the size of a torso, lifted it to the sky, and wham, in a sick, slicing arc, brought it down into his father’s head. The son was still at large. The father, after six months in physical therapy, still could not get the blood stain out of the carpet in his house. Jerome had lost his job at the oil rig; his wife had left him; his other son took two jobs to pay off the hospital bills, but one evening after dropping off his dad for PT, had been struck by a sixteen-wheeler and died on impact.
“Chaplain, I had this dream,” Jerome said, scratching his old wound, “that in another world, I was someone else, I was someone better, that I have two sons who love me, my wife never left, I was still at the rig with the boys … I had a dream that I was someone not me. It was extraordinary. It was wo—”
He fell asleep, which he told me would happen. His brain needed to shut down when it overworked itself. A few seconds later, he woke up and apologized.
“I had this dream, chaplain. Do you ever dream that you are someone in another world, a different you?”
I visited another patient, Donnie, who weighed about 1400 pounds. His legs had been amputated and he was nearly blind. He had a neurological deficiency in which he couldn’t stop eating; he had become diabetic and was recovering from Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, or as it’s also known, broken heart syndrome.
“Chaplain, I just think,” he said, eating his third plate of pasta, “I was meant to do … something, anything. Anything. Not this. Everyone tells you that your life is meant to help people, but how the hell can I do that here? Look at me.”
In our chaplain training, we call this intrapsychic grief, the pain of losing what could’ve been and will never be. It is the loss of future, the theft of invested time. It’s not a tangible, physical loss, but an internal shipwreck, the imperceptible emotional shriek in our chest when the picture of life we had planned for so long simply dies.
Donnie, the blind, obese, bedridden man with no legs, ordered pizza for the whole floor. That was, he felt, the best he could do. I told him it was even better than that.
Another patient, Lorenzo, had been in a car accident a few days before, and he suffered anterograde amnesia. He was having trouble remembering the words he had just spoken.
“Chap—you the chap, right?” He rocked back and forth in his bed, nearly clapping his hands in frustration. “My girlfriend is real worried about me, man, she real worried. I think I’ll be fine though, but my girlfriend, she real worried about me. I’m not worried, I think I’ll be fine, chap. You the chap, right?”
He repeated himself, perhaps, to find security in the canvas of his own assurances. His brain had resorted to a safe mode, to grip onto the word-balloons which were floating away, by constantly making new ones.
I was astounded and bewildered by how much a mass of gray pulp between our ears can determine the course of a life, and inside the soul-box of our neurology is the possibility of a hundred lifetimes, and I was angry that the tiniest neuron could so effectively demolish an entire world.
What separated me from someone else not me, except by the tiniest shred of a neuron, one misfired synapse, one slender thread of chance?
Another patient, Tony, was telling me that he had gotten weaker and weaker in his legs until one day, on the way home, he had collapsed at the ATM and there were floating heads around him asking what was wrong, but they looked like demon faces, and he tried to kick them off but he couldn’t move anymore. Tony had some sort of encephalopathy that had caused brain lesions and he was seeing things that weren’t there.
“But you know, chap,” he said, breaking into tears, “I got this long-lost brother up in Boston, he’s my half-brother but he loves me like a full one, Mikey, this guy’s made of money and he offered me a room at his place, his house is on this fifty acre property, it’s a mansion. Can you believe it?”
I spoke with Tony’s sister, who told me that no such brother existed, and there was no room, no mansion, no fifty acres. It was a story that Tony had been telling himself for months now, when his legs began failing him. It’s all he wanted to talk about, this promised land.
Oliver Sacks, in his book The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, writes about disturbed patients who “confabulate,” who spin tales all day long in a constant stream of chatter. They cannot help but conjure completely made-up yarns about meeting celebrities or devising inventions or discovering something remarkable, as if the widening chasms in their brain need a desperate momentum to thrive. Or, worse, such activity drowns out the long fall of personality into the abyss, into the unrecoverable ether. One story after another tumbles over the cliff; I may be the last one to hear them.
It is my role to honor the burial of what can never be done. It is my role to remember what will never become. It’s not just my role; you and I need this more than we think. At every turn, every choice, we die a million deaths each day. How can we stand such a thing, except to tell those stories that never had a shot?
I had this dream …
Suddenly, Jerome, the man with the trapezoid hole in his head, nodded off again, but his eyes fluttered, like someone was still home.
… that in another world …
He spoke, but a voice that sounded thicker, more weight, more verve. He sat up taller, his eyes closed but working. I took a small step back.
… I was someone else …
Jerome’s eyes quivered and he said, “I am the man from the other world.” He smiled, just for a second. “I am a hundred lifetimes, I am one of many. I am not who I could be.”
… someone not me.
“I am a life never had. I am the man in the dream. The dream wishes he could be the man in the other. We all wish to be awake in someone else. There is no perfect dre—”
And he woke up. Jerome blinked, saw me, and he apologized for sleeping again. I wasn’t sure if I should tell him about the other voice.
He said to me, “Chaplain, thank you.” He held my hands, his eyes alive and fiery, wet and fierce. “Thank you for listening. I have to believe my son didn’t mean it. He did the best he could with who he was. I still love my son, in this world or the next.”
I left the room shaking. I questioned if I had really seen what I thought I saw. I repeated his words in my head, I replayed the eerie twitch of his eyes, the way his body slipped into another skin, another dimension.
I wondered if I had glimpsed, even for a second, a keyhole into other possibilities, like dipping a toe into the stream of the infinite, where a son did not ruin his father, where a man missed a car by inches, where a promised land of endless acres was waiting at the other end.
I thought about how we’re always dreaming of being someone else, and the others are dreaming of each other, wishing for a world they couldn’t have.
We survive the nightmare, I think, by dreaming. To dream is to cope. It is the brain’s essential defense against itself. We create new dreams all the time, a new canvas of assurances, to wake against the intolerable. It feels like a lie: but what is hope, really, except a story we tell ourselves in the dark to light the way? If it works, who is to say otherwise? The world continues to be cruel and unfair, but we do the best we can with who we are, to dream amidst the wreckage of what no longer is, to bend with the merciless wind. To even share pizza with the whole floor.