veins of the land

there’s dozens of stories about some kid from our world falling into a different, magical one,  being the chosen one or the close companion of the chosen one and saving the world, and then going home where they’re delighted to see their family again and have a new appreciation of their own life. but what about someone who didn’t miss it? what if you save the world and you’re given your medal and stripped of the magic you learned and put back in a world you never missed? and you’re furious.

maybe you gave up a few years of your life. you have callouses and muscles and a few scars and maybe a missing eye or something. you definitely have some blood on your hands. you might have PTSD you can’t talk to anyone about. and suddenly you’re fifteen again, in a body that’s too soft and too short and too complete. you’re always cold because there’s no magic burning in your veins anymore, and even as you grow up the feeling of not fitting doesn’t go away because when you look in the mirror at eighteen you look all wrong: this is not what youre supposed to look like at eighteen. the sky clouds and you rub at the phantom ache of injuries this body never received. you wake up screaming sometimes remembering the sorcerer who burnt your hand to ashes, or the final battle you almost didn’t make it through, or the moment you felt the magic in you go out.

but here’s the thing: they took you and made you into a weapon that was determined enough and powerful enough to save a whole world. they can put you back where they found you but they can’t undo everything. and there’s this, too: the place between worlds clings to you. you can’t tease fire out of the air but you can feel the pull of the doorways all the time, although none of them so far go to your world.

but you try to make it work for a decade, anyway. you’re dutiful. but one night you leave work late and for the thousandth time you catch yourself searching the sky for firebirds. and you break. of the three portals within five hundred miles, one is a howling, frozen wasteland and one is a deep violet void, but one opens into a misty forest that you step into and don’t look back. it’s not your world, but if you keep going long enough, you’ll get there.

(and maybe much, much later, hundreds of worlds later, you climb through a window, or a door of woven branches int he middle a field, or push aside a curtain, and as you set foot on new land you feel the fire in your veins and sparks at your fingertips and finally, finally, you’re home)

Fragility {Part 2/3}

Originally posted by fairybcby

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader, Slight Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Photographer Yoongi AU, angst, smut

Warnings: Minor character death

“You didn’t need to completely rip yourself apart just so that Yoongi could be whole. That’s not how friendship works…That’s not how love works.”

Part 1 | Part 3


Time had passed both slowly and quickly. Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed.

In reality, things were how they always had been. Your friendship with Yoongi continued like normal and he still had no clue that Hoseok had confided in you about Yoongi’s past that night.

You would meet up and go for drinks or spend days out together just walking around town and every time you would discover new parts that you hadn’t previously known existed. He had this strange ability of being able to whisk you away from your everyday life and he helped you to see the beauty in even the most mundane of things. There really wasn’t anyone like him.

He would always bring his camera and your eyes had quickly grown adjusted to the intense white flash that would often pour out from it.

On the surface, everything seemed perfect.

However, in your mid a perpetual hurricane raged on. You tried to calm it, you tried to gather your emotions and keep yourself stable but it was to no avail. You had hoped whatever it was you thought you felt towards Yoongi would quickly fade away. You’d longed for it to be nothing more than a short lived infatuation.  Yet, if anything, your feelings had only amplified. Every time you saw him smile it was as if another piece of you fell in love with him.

Everyday you would remind tell yourself that just being able to stand by his side was enough.You were well aware of how lucky you were. So on a rainy Tuesday as you walked through town after a night of helplessly watching various girls try to hit on Yoongi, you tried to convince yourself that everything was fine. He had turned them all down of course, he was as highly selective as ever. That didn’t stop the terrible feeling of jealously that consumed you every time he paid even a little bit of attention to one of them, the toxic emotion would thick and heavy through your veins, weighing your body down.

Small droplets of rain landed on your face and slowly slid down your skin. You could feel your hair and clothing becoming damp and uncomfortable, the cotton fabric was clinging to your body unpleasantly making you feel constricted. If Yoongi was here he would have scolded you for being so careless as to go outside with no umbrella despite knowing how bad the weather forecast was.

You veered off down one of the smaller side streets, the canopy of branches and leaves above now somewhat sheltering you from the weather that continued to rage of violently. Pulling your coat a little tighter around your body you broke out into a slow run. You didn’t even need to look where you were going, your legs would take you there automatically, as if it was an instinct hardwired into your DNA. By this point perhaps it was.

Yoongi’s house always looked the same, narrow, two storeys built in orange brick, with ugly black guttering running down the sides and across the top that stuck out like a sore thumb. The windows seemed to be perpetually dirty even though he insisted that he did clean them once a month.

The place was cheap and unrefined, but it was more like home to you than even your parent’s house was.

The door was unlocked so without knocking you swung it open and immediately stepped into the comforting warmth of his hallway. Some camera equipment and lighting lay in black bags on the grubby linoleum floor along with a large pile of shoes, all belonging to Yoongi of course.

“Yoongi, you here?” you called out after a few moments of silence, if he was in you couldn’t hear any signs of him lurking around somewhere.

You pulled your shoes off and dumped them in one of the corners of the room before hugging your arms to your chest, your body was still shaking from the bitter coldness of outside.

“I’m up here,” he finally replied, voice echoing down the stairs.

He sounded tired. There was a certain way he talked when he’d had a sleepless night, his words would be slower and voice rougher and it was irritatingly sexy.

You ascended up the stairs and barged your way into the bedroom.

The curtains were drawn so that any natural light was completely blocked out, but you knew better than to insist on opening them, he’d always hiss and complain when you tried. He sat hunched over his laptop furiously typing, fingers practically moving at the speed of light and he was so absorbed in what he was doing you don’t think he’d even heard you enter.

His hair hung down over his eyes and you could tell that he hadn’t brushed it in awhile, purple circles hung underneath his eyes and his lips looked chewed up and cracked. Yet you were so far gone that even in this state, you thought he looked absolutely beautiful.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch me like a creep all day?” he asked with a smirk, finally looking up from his laptop screen, “Also don’t expect me to sympathise with you because you’re cold and wet, you’re the one that was too stupid to remember to take an umbrella with you today.”

“Shut up.”

He moved over a little to make room as you sat down on the bed, you curiously peered at his laptop screen to see that he appeared to be writing some sort of essay. The word count was on 4,035.

“Did the genius Min Yoongi really leave an essay ‘til the last minute?” you asked playfully and without even looking away from the laptop he moved his hand and lightly hit you on your upper arm. You giggled before slumping down a little to get more comfortable. The pattering of his fingertips against the keys was oddly relaxing, he typed so fluidly, with no hesitation, as if he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

You remained quiet, just enjoying the feeling of him being next to you. That was something you treasured about the relationship you’d built with him, you were so comfortable around each other that you didn’t feel the need to talk all the time. 

When the sound of the typing finally ceased he snapped shut his laptop and turned to finally look at you properly. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said pointedly. You looked up from your phone and saw that the expression plastered across his face was one of seriousness, so immediately, you put it away in your pocket and sat up.

“What’s up?”

From the way he fidgeted and gripped the sheets in his large fists, you could tell he was a little anxious. This in turn roused feelings of nervousness within you, if Yoongi wanted to say something he would usually say it with no hesitation, with hardly any hints of emotion.

Keep reading

a letter to everyone who’s ever hurt me;

i am so god damn tired of hearing “you did nothing wrong, you deserve better, you deserve so much love, i don’t deserve you.” it is engraved in my fucking head. i want to rip out my teeth and slam them into your heart so you know how it feels to cough up broken pieces of a person you once loved. because you shoved all of these words down my throat and i was convinced, maybe for once, someone felt it too. it’s like putting money in a machine, fuel me and make me work and I’ll confine to your needs. give me happiness and I’ll give you all my love. with one smile i will give you my ribs, with one touch, one call, i will personally rip my heart out with my bare hands and place it right into yours and I’ll do you a favor and ignore your trembling hands and instead, I’ll shoot you with a, “hey, how ya doing? haven’t talked to you in a while!” text cause i have never been one for subtlety or expressing how i feel. “im sorry. you deserve more, you don’t deserve that, you deserve so much love!” then why does this keep happening to me? if i deserve more, why is all of my love one sided? unrequited? why is my heart layered in stitches and still im the one who always gives. if you are so sorry why in the fuck do you keep letting me crash and burn? why in the fuck did you think it was okay to tell me you loved me and then not speak a word to me for three fucking months? i have always been one to remember everything and i remember the way your lips felt on mine for the very first time and how i was so in shock i couldn’t even kiss back but i swear to fucking god i felt my veins turn into fireworks and my body into a land mine and with one more touch i thought that i just mightve exploded and jesus fuck i don’t even know how you feel and i have destroyed myself pondering over it and they tell you that their touch means forever but all i can think about is you telling me i deserve better but if i deserve so much more why will no one reach out and give it to me? i am choking on water and drowning in my own house because i gave you the key and i trusted you with all i had but when you walked away you left the faucets on and i wondered why i just couldn’t stop crying. i think you slammed the door too hard, i think my water bill is too high, i don’t even bother to wipe my eyes because all i can think about is your smile and how it made me feel like i was finally safe but all i ever am is somewhere for people to go when they need to take refuge, and i am never a permanent home, just a quick little stop, a let’s take a break, unwind and ruin the foundation kind of stop. an “oh its okay it’ll only hurt a bit” kind of stop, an “i love you.” kind of stop but i always love more, so can you stop? i can’t stop bleeding, i can’t stop scratching myself raw, i can’t stop screaming because all i am good for is always loving more and i am so beyond tired of hearing how i deserve better, maybe i don’t want better, maybe i am ready for a fight, maybe i am fragile and gentle and cry all the time over the smallest thing because one bad thing just sends my heart crumbling but i want a love that rips me apart and maybe im already in pieces but i really wouldn’t mind if you turned me black and blue because i swear to god, no matter what, im always going to love more so i might as well just see how much i can take before i collapse on the floor and i am so tired of always being the one with the brave face and im tired of forgiving without even a slight trace of an apology and i don’t even give a shit that you don’t talk to me anymore because maybe i did deserve more and maybe i finally found it but im afraid this fire is unrequited too and i am so tired of burning one second and being ice cold the next and all i need is consistency but i get summer days filled with winter nights and i am sorry for always loving more. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen but we all know that is a god damn lie because my hearts already prepped and ready for the next gaping chest i see. // i think that’s my problem, im always one to give without them even asking for anything but i cannot stop stitching up soldiers in a war i wasn’t even drafted in.

The way we see the world shapes the way we treat it. If a mountain is a deity, not a pile of ore; if a river is one of the veins of the land, not potential irrigation water; if a forest is a sacred grove, not timber; if other species are biological kin, not resources; or if the planet is our mother, not an opportunity - then we will treat each other with greater respect. Thus is the challenge, to look at the world from a different perspective.
—  David Suzuki
office parties and painful memories

pairing: yoongi x reader
word count: 2.4k

    → listen i don’t know what this is. i can’t defend it. i have no idea. this is a shitpost. this is a circus of a fic. the worst. the absolute worst. i don’t know what this is. it’s specks. yeah, specks.


The first time Yoongi sees you, you’re standing by the piano with his mother in your navy blue dress and red shoes that sparkled so brightly that it always looked like you were walking on stars. He didn’t know yet, but he’d grow to love the bouncy pigtails that rested on your shoulders and your big eyes, which were filled to the brim with wanderlust and a childlike curiosity.

“Yoongi plays the piano?” you asked his mother, shyly tracing the bars of white and black.

“He’s very good, too.” she confirms, smiling empathetically before turning her head to the doorframe, meeting the deep, shy eyes behind raven locks. “Yoongi, you’ve come downstairs. This is Y/N, her family just moved in next door.”

His eyes only meet yours briefly before panic bleeds into his dark eyes.

All girls had cooties.

But not you.

Keep reading

9

“African blood flows freely through our veins. Many of our ancestors came as slaves from Africa to this land. As slaves they struggled a great deal. They fought as members of the Liberating Army of Cuba. We’re brothers and sisters of the people of Africa and we’re ready to fight on their behalf!” Fidel Castro

Making Love

Rating: M

Summary: They say that there is a thin line between true love and stupidity… I don’t know where we fall Sakura, but who cares, right?


a/n: I wrote this right after my exams. I wrote this on a whim. I wrote this, not knowing I would be writing a fluff-smut fic.

This is a sort of sequel to Daddy-like Kid, starring Boruto and Sarada, but this fic can stand on its own. I don’t own Naruto. This is also posted in my Fan Fiction Account: AliceInRealWorld. I hope you guys will enjoy it! :3


I woke up with a sharp jolt. I didn’t have the time to remember the context of the nightmare. The dark room didn’t help. It only lured the images that had faded. The silence didn’t help. It only encouraged the voices of my distress that disrupted my sleep. It was the nightmare so disturbing that it left my heart to beat plangently, causing my ears to ring, making my head ache, tightening my chest.

Cold sweat started to secrete from my bare skin, mixing with the sticky precipitation that was produced from last night’s copulating.

I trembled. I waited for the pounding of my heart to slow down. I thought back the passionate hours to keep my mind from retracting in the darkness. I combated the blood-curling screams with the timbre of my Sakura’s pleased moans and small whimpers. I replaced the scenes of death with the picture of my wife’s pink hair, curtaining her bright green eyes as she erratically move her hips to achieve euphoria.

That’s right. It’s alright if I got roused again and had to relieve it by myself (it’s rude to wake someone up just for such insolent reason.)

I allowed myself to think of anything, everything, just to dispel affective residue of the nightmare.

Think of anything but that.

“Sasuke-kun.” I flinched.

A small, delicate hand patted my back. When I didn’t respond, the hand trailed on to my shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. She scooted closer so she can place her chin on the spot where the curse mark used to reside. “Do you want to talk about it?”

After hearing those words, the dangerous beating of my heart appeased. I bowed down and shook a no.

She made a sound behind her throat, a sign that she’s thinking of ways to distract me from my thoughts. The hand on my shoulder tickled its way down my sole arm. Her nimble fingers traced the visible veins and then it landed on my palm where she drew infinite spirals. She repeated this antic until my breathing went back to normal.

“I’m not supposed to say this.” She began as her hand clasped mine. She pressed her body closer, my bare back feeling her healthy breasts. “But I think Sarada has already forgotten about it, so I guess it is okay to share it.”

I squeezed her hand, silently encouraging her to continue.

She let out a giggle, “When Sarada was six she started a list that she called, ‘Things That I’m Gonna Tell Papa When He Comes Home.’

A small smile graced on my lips. I released Sakura’s hand then gently shrug her off. Understanding my actions, she moved away and began piling the pillows against the headboard. When that’s done, I rested my back on the make-shift lean. I opened my arm, gesturing her to come closer. She happily obliged. She took a small pillow, placed it on my nether region before sitting on my lap. I wrap my arm around her waist. She looped an arm round my neck. I pulled our comforter over our naked body.

“What does it contain?” I mumbled.

“Hmm…” She wondered as her fingers play with my hair. “On the… Let’s say, preface of her list, she said, ‘Papa comes home only once or twice a month. You have to persuade him to teach you something new.’ Then at the bottom, there’s a footnote that says, ‘You have to perfect everything that Papa teaches you Sarada! Shannaro!’

We chuckled quietly in unison. Nuzzling her cheek on the crook of my neck she continued, “If memory serves right, one of her anecdotes is when she finally perfected her shuriken throws. You should’ve seen her solo trainings Sasuke-kun. Every day, I had to tend her hands full of cuts and grazes.”

My eyebrows knotted as Sakura tells the story because of two reasons. One, old friends, regret and longing visited my chest. I wish I was there to see, watch her struggle for greatness.

“Oh! Speaking of training, next to shuriken throwing is, ‘The Day I Finally Created a Katon Goukakyuu!’” She made a circle in the air, her viridian eyes gleaming with pride. “She never faltered even if her cheeks are blistered!”

She laughed softly at the memory. She glanced up and reached for my forehead. “You know what Sasuke-kun?” She tenderly brushed away the bangs that’s covering my other eye then cupped my face, “She reminds me of you.”

And two-Sakura’s right, verbalizing my thoughts perfectly. Sarada reminds me of me, Sasuke, two decades younger. Sasuke with eyes that can shine even if they’re dark as coal. Sasuke who had his head lifted as he chase down his idol, his inspiration, his reason. Sasuke who died in my personal nightmare.

“She embodies you in so many ways. Not that I’m complaining though.” She sighed dramatically then pointedly followed, “But I wish a child would inherit some of my features.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that bad? That… she’s like me?”

‘lub-DUB…’

Do you think that she’ll also commit the same mistakes and sins that I did?

‘lub-DUB.’ Inferiority. ‘lub-DUB.’ Fear. ‘lub-DUB.’ Anxiety. ‘lub-DUB -!’

Do you think she’ll get lost on the darkness too?

‘LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB-!’ Trauma. ‘LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB-!’ Hatred. ‘LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB-!’ Loneliness-

‘LUB-DUB!’

The awful metamorphosis of my heart in the last moment of my childhood, hand in hand, the countless tomoe spiraled in to a constant repetition.

When can you say that you have atoned for the sins you have done?

“Sasuke, love.” I flinched.

Sakura ran her fingers through my hair as her other hand remained on my temple, keeping my bangs from covering my powerful eyes. She held their glare, showing no fear. “That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

I know. But…

“Is that bad?” I asked again, this time, it came out raspy and strained. “Do you think-”

She kissed the tip of my nose then pinched my cheeks, “Of course not! You got it all wrong Sasuke-kun!”

It was her blush and her futile effort to hide her breasts that supported her words, “ahhh I shouldn’t have said that! I’m sorry Sasuke-kun!”  

No. It’s my fault. Sometimes… This heart of mine falters easily when reminded of its old scars.

“Hn.” Having no idea how to return the ambiance of nostalgia, I turned my attention to her belly. In an attempt to distract myself from the rising panic, I started to map out the smooth pattern of her stretch marks.

She gasped at the touch. She replied by tugging at my hair. “It’s alright, Sasuke-kun.”

I have to turn the tables before this conversation went downhill. “What were you trying to say then?”

The crimson hue on her cheeks deepened. I pondered if it’s because the trail of my fingers was leading deep down to her thighs or it’s because of the illocutionary force behind her words.

Or maybe both.

“I remember another anecdote from her list.” She offered with voice strangled between decency and erotica. “T’was the d-day she went home late. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her glasses were broken.”

My hand paused when her words registered. “Who did it?” I asked sharply.

She massaged through my hair again to calm my nerves, “Sarada was bullied. When I asked her who and why, she won’t tell me because she knows that I’ll make a huge fuss about it.” She let out a melancholic sigh. “It was Naruto’s children who told me about it. Boruto explained, ‘we found her crying under the slide because some jerks broke her glasses and told her that she’s adopted.’

So that’s when she started to doubt her mother.

I pulled Sakura closer and planted a chase peck on her forehead.

She placed a hand on my chest as a response and connected the scars that decorate my skin. “But get this Sasuke-kun-Sarada entitled that anecdote ‘Daddy-like Kid.’ She cracked a smirk. “Himawari told me it was Boruto that calmed Sarada down.”

I kept my expression blank but no doubt she noticed my tense muscles. All of the emotions that surfaced because of the nightmare and unnecessary panic attack died down. However, to my demise, it was replaced by crazy assumptions, fueled by my fatherly instincts, suggesting of what could be the possible future of-

“Darling.” Sakura directed her lips on my ear, “Your jealous side is showing~”

I cringed back to glare at her properly, “I am not jealous.”

She narrowed her eyes mischievously, challenging my infamous glare, “oh really now.” She copied my smirk. “So it is fine that Sarada thinks of Boruto as-”

I dove down to capture her lips, preventing her from saying another word about the ridiculous matter. She giggled at my growls, still teasing through the use of lips and tongue and rising intimacy.

She tried to withdraw from the assaults of my mouth but failed ultimately. She instead let her body melt in to my dominance by audaciously asking for an entrance.

When I refused, she wrapped both arms around my neck and then swiftly shifted in to a straddling position to win back control. She now had me trapped between her legs, boldly showing what’s in between. And to further clarify the contexture of her demands, she lewdly ground her hips, flattening the pillow (and something else beneath it that’s throbbing) that prevents us from colliding.

I groaned out of frustration because that minimal amount of sensual pressure was not enough. And she took this as an opportunity to gasp for air as she annoyingly chortled. She brushed off my bangs again then placed her forehead to mine.

Our eyes met. “Are you okay now?”

I held her gaze. My heart picked up its pace. The countless, rotating tomoe dispel under her emerald eyes.  

Are you okay now?

Emerald eyes that have always been asking those words always have been looking at me even if it makes her cry. Those are the eyes that brought light to our coal black eyes, Sarada. The gleam that I never thought would come back. Those are the eyes that granted me the ability to think of a mirthful place in the midst of my chaotic mind. The place where all the forgotten beautiful memories reside that I never believed that could be revived.

           Am I okay now?

           Yes. Those are the emerald eyes that made me remember Sasuke who always die in the nightmares. Those are the beautiful eyes that beaconed as one of the proofs that there is something worth discovering, something worth protecting in this cruel world of ninjas.

“Sasuke-kun?” She caressed my cheeks.

           I captured her lips again, slowly, devotedly, reverting from the animalistic desires earlier. Her hands found their way to my hair again, tying knots, drawing me closer. My shoulders relaxed as the temperature of the room rose once again.

           Do you want to talk about it?

           It was my brother, Itachi’s love that demonstrated me the highest form of unmitigated familial love. It was the love that I have forgotten because it was buried underneath layers of deception, diffidence and corruption.

           “Sa-ku-ra…” My fingers outlined her spine with every syllable of her name, armed with the knowledge that the gesture turns her on.

           Yes. I want to talk about it but…

           It was Naruto, the idiot, which made me realize that I have someone who understands the pain and the loneliness of an orphaned kid starving for love-finding nothing but hatred. It was Naruto who swore that he would always willingly, stubbornly drag my ass back when I lost to the darkness again. It was him who taught me that it’s vacuous to sacrifice your own happiness so that you can cold-heartedly save the world.

           “S-sasuke…” She moaned as my lips ghosted to her jaw, then to her chin and then peppered hot nips on her neck. One of her hand relocated to my chest, drawing smooth lines leading leisurely down to my chiseled abs. She dared an experimental thrust, causing me to bite down at her pulse, earning herself a love mark and prizing me with the sweet sound of her whimpers.

           “Sakura…”

           -it was you who never did give up on loving me in spite of my countless, unforgivable attempts in ending your life. It was you-your lively eyes, your ever loyal heart, your boar-like determination that brought me in to conclusion that one of the justifiable means to obtain peace is to truly, faithfully, unconditionally love.

“Sasuke-kun…” She whined unabashedly as my lips latched themselves to one of her pink, perky breasts. Her hand ventured below the belt, trying to remove the pillow. It was my turn to halt her from getting what she wanted as I amorously embraced her closer, closer, until our torsos mashed. I rolled her other nipple between my teeth, making her arch her back, allowing me to behold a better view of her arousal.

I don’t know how to tell you.

I thought about it as I was on journey to redemption-it was Naruto and Itachi, my brothers who allowed me to forgive the world.

And that, it was team seven that reminded me what’s like to have a family.

“Sa-ku-ra-chan.” I mumbled against the valley of her bosoms. “You’re right…”

So, instead, let me show you…

-you who convinced me that it was time to forgive myself-

“A-about what, Sa-su-ke-kun?”

Let me prove to you…

-you, Sakura Uchiha, who strengthened our bond by graciously adopting my name even if you knew the burden it carried. Even if you knew I would be seldom home, resulting to numerous rumors about our marriage. For example, I chose you because of physical attraction or maybe because I couldn’t be bothered to search for a more suitable vassal to restore the Uchiha Clan.

I returned to her sweet lips and muttered, “I would love to make, I mean, see a child bearing your features~”

That I’m forever thankful…

As a respond to those accusations, you intrepidly showed those people, who would never understand, that the time you can truly say that it is love is when-even if every bits and pieces of flaws are laid bare and even if hope is just a small ray of light, it is enough to sacrifice, to inspire one in holding on and moving on along love and hate.

She shivered at my words. I tried to subtly slide away the pillow between our… a, object of desire but she ceased my attempt by clutching my waist with her muscled legs, pressing her drenched core to my abdomen.

That I love you too.

Darling… I want you to know that one of the things that Sarada listed…” She pulled at my hair to make me look at her irises again, staring me down, stating that her next words are quite important.

They say that there is a thin line between true love and stupidity…

“…she wants a baby brother…”

…I don’t know where we fall Sakura. But, who cares, right?

I narrowed my eyes mischievously, enjoying that flustered expression she had on her face, “oh really now.” I smirked.

We just love.

My hand moved on its own, searing every inch of skin it fondled.

“I love you Sasuke-kun…” She proclaimed once again.

These words are left unsaid yet you understand.

But before my lone hand wandered to the area where it would minister miracles (as she describes it)it folded into an all too familiar hand sign to give Sakura’s forehead a light tap.

That’s the reason why I chose you.

And it will always be you…


a/n: haha hope you guys enjoyed it. Been loving these two for a decade and thank heavens they’re canon. Don’t you think so too?

lost, but still home.

pairing: johnny x reader
genre: cheesy fluff (the best kind!)
word count: 1.195
about: in which you and johnny travel the world; always lost, but never lacking a smile. you get a little tipsy, dance in the rain, and confess your love to the subtle setting of the sun. no matter how foreign your surroundings were, you would always be at home in each other’s arms.

“if home is where the heart is, then you are my home; because my heart has always been with you.” — julie martinez

Keep reading

I
If my body is a temple, why the fuck am I letting you desecrate it? I’ll curse you between half-swigs of whiskey, this bloodlust soothes my curdled veins. There is barbed wire in these words. There are land mines between your feet.  This ribcage is my war wager, this flesh is my battle ground. I’ll burn it all down before I let you in.

II
Who do you think you fucking are to come to my altar, and demand something from me? I’ll speak in tongues, turn this scepter to a sword, this crown a noose, this robe a shield. These words are my gospel, and I’ll write them in your spilled blood. I will raise my celestial army from my blood, tears, sweat, flesh, I’ll raise my army from the dead.


III
What is your book? What do you have to back up your holy words? You cannot charm me with those lidded eyes, and those damned hands that fold in prayer. You are a murderer, a thief in a stolen abode; you lie, you disguise. You are a fire that shouldn’t burn, an ocean that won’t rage, a field that wouldn’t grow, a bird who couldn’t sing. You metamorphose and your bones crack shotgun to your ribs.


IV
Where is your gold? What do you think you have that I don’t? I have created heaven from my garden, organic from the inorganic. I have reaped miracle after miracle. I sit upon a throne and my libraries span centuries. I have been to every corner of this globe, feasted in untold galaxies. I have met with God, and whispered his true name. I have seen what is beyond, but all you have to offer me is this worthless prayer.


V
Why won’t you give the fuck up? This is a war, and I am a forest fire. Rage splinters in the cracks between these bones. I conjure sandstorms with blind eyes. I damn you in my inferno. I am white hot supernova. Yet you await on my doorstep, a patient smile and steady hands. I am the storm that will bring down your church, break your pews. I am the congregation who sings a siren song.


VI
Why will you not bow to my divine presence? I’Il kill your bloodline, tear their hearts out barehanded, neck deep in aortic blood, viscera in my teeth, yet you’d still smile. I am a monster, I am risen from the depths, I am what the greek gods feared. I am what demands, I am what invites. What makes you think you can do either?


VII
Why do you love me despite all the bloodshed I’ve caused? You lay flowers at my doorstep everyday, you bend your knees to God everyday, praying for my salvation. I should be the only one to make you fall. I should be the only one to make you bleed. I hate how you adore me, but I hate it more when you don’t.


VIII
Why do you ask of God, when I am here, I am goddess? Why do you decorate my temple, disgrace it with your holy words but then turn to another? You are the only who has worshipped me in centuries. I ignored your prayers. I threatened you. I drove you away. I really just wanted you to stay. I am a bittersweet goddess, I know no love but war.


IX
Why won’t you let me lay in my rage? Why do you love me even though I killed you inside, when I jerked that wheel? You came to my temple, for weeks, months, days after. I saw you on that rarely traveled road. I saw a mortal soul, and it was something I wanted so much that I didn’t understand. You thought I saved you. I healed you on that dirt road, after the thunderstorm brought trees down onto you. You thought you were going to fall into an early grave, did you not know I did that? I am broken and angry. I was weak, I let you live, and now you haunt me.


X
Why do you make me remember that I am immortal, but you are mortal and your devotion is gone? Why did I let myself love you? You are all ephemeral, wanting creatures that change with the wind. You are nothing in my presence, but you make me feel everything  I am a lonely goddess. My body is temple and I am chained to it. A broken headstone in a forgotten field. If my body is a temple, why the fuck did I desecrate it?

—  I didn’t try to kill you so you would love me, I tried to kill you so I could hate myself a little less.
FE:Fates Plot Hole Collection

I LOVE Fire Emblem Fates, and am totally addicted to its gameplay, but GOOD LORD, the stories are a mess! I understand it’s very hard writing 3 different perspectives to a single conflict, but you don’t get on the dance floor if you’re not prepared to tango, you know??

All of these can and should be treated as spoilers.

General

  • Dragon veins are just pockets of supernatural dragon energy sprinkled throughout the land? What causes their existence? Are they naturally occurring and replenish/disappear over time?
  • Where has Felicia/Jakob been all that time before they rejoined? Were they off trekking it in the Hoshidan outbacks alone for days/weeks??
  • How did Lilith appear to save Corrin from their free fall? Was she just following them the whole time?
  • Why did Azura have that Dragonstone on her? Does she just bring it everywhere with her? Because there’s no way she could predict Corrin would turn into a dragon today.
  • Why was the Yato buried inside the Dawn Dragon statue? Is this a “Sword-In-The-Stone” thing? You’d think they’d keep it somewhere safely away from the public until the right person comes along.
  • Who put the Yato in the Dawn Dragon statue? Was it Rainbow Sage? WHY?
  • The fact that Corrin being a dragon never plays into the story after chapter 5. There is never a problem that is solved or revelation that is made because Corrin is a dragon.
  • We never learn about the Dawn and Dusk Dragons, just that they eventually each slept with a human and spawned the royal families.
  • How could the entire town be leveled in that explosion - HUNDREDS apparently died - but Mikoto, Corrin and the siblings all survived it, completely untouched?
  • What brought Corrin’s memories back? Azura’s song? What are the limits of the power of her pendant, if any? 

Birthright

  • That’s cool that Hinoka saw through Zola’s deception, but HOW did she acquire enemy disguises while under close observation and sneak in with the other Nohr soldiers?
  • What was Leo doing in Izumo if the one spearheading the operation was Zola? Was he just checking up on Zola like a quality assurance coordinator?
  • If Lilith can teleport Corrin to the Astral Realm, why can’t she, you know, teleport them straight to Nohr Castle to assassinate Garon?
  • Why did Azura’s song harm Garon during her performance? Their plan was to capture Garon without a fight while he was distracted. If Azura was attacking him with her song, he would know something was up.
  • Why is Corrin not affected by the Forlorn Forest’s swamp? What about being Nohrian makes one immune to disgusting swamps?
  • I love Leo’s convenient one-time teleportation tome. That’s just perfect.
  • What are the Golems? They kind of just appeared and are a thing now? Are their origins the same as the Faceless? No one questions them.
  • How did Takumi communicate information to Iago? Did he sneak out at night and talk to Iago who teleported to the Hoshidan camp? Or does Iago telepathically know everything Takumi knows?
  • Is Azura just ok ignoring Anankos and giving her life fighting Garon? If she dies, any knowledge of the true enemy dies with her???
  • So… is Gunter dead?

Conquest

  • Why are Hoshidan forces occupying Fort Dragonfall? Hoshido has not shown any signs of invading Nohr yet and the fort is located deep in Nohrian territory. They have no right being there.
  • The fact that Iago obeys Garon at all after his lunatic reasons for making Corrin suffer.
  • Ryoma was apparently given entry to Palace Macarath by Iago in order to capture Corrin. Palace Macarath is Garon’s own personal villa, located close to the Castle Krakenburg. He’d have to be insane to accept such a suicidal offer. How did Iago even contact Ryoma, much less persuade him?
  • How did Elise have a vision of Gunter?
  • In Birthright, Azura had Zola’s magic hide her identity. Are we really to believe Corrin, who knows Azura’s song, appearance and voice, is fooled by a darker costume and veil?
  • Where has Azura been keeping that awesome crystal? It’s unfortunate that it breaks after a single use. Why can’t she find more?
  • When did Azura come to realize Garon is a fake? That implies she had more crystals. What made her even suspect Garon in the first place, and enough to use a precious crystal? WHY CAN’T SHE GET MORE??
  • If Corrin’s policy is to never kill the enemy, why could they not spare the Kitsune?
  • Why did the Kitsune, who instigated the fight, fight until all of them were wiped out? Kaden is a horrible chief.
  • How are the Faceless made? From humans? Or are they gross, magical beings? Who would even support the production of a weapon that can just as easily attack its creators? These are basic questions.
  • After Lilith dies, Corrin and co. can still travel to the Astral realms. ??????
  • Corrin for some reason believes dying will stop evil, possessed Takumi from killing the others.

Revelation

  • How do characters like Azura and Gunter “sense” Valla soldiers before they even teleport in? Is this just intuition, or an actual skill/innate ability?
  • How is Azura so qualified as a strategist? Is that like a personal hobby of hers? Her brilliant first strategy of attacking Nohr and Hoshido generals is the cause of every problem Corrin has for the rest of the first act, btw.
  • How is the Bottomless Canyon linked with Valla? What makes it so special?
  • Why did Izana’s foresight kill him? We never see any implication or reason that future-sight is dangerous to the user. Even Corrin is baffled.
  • Who is this “ancient god” Izana is always talking to? The Dawn/Dusk Dragons? TIKI? Seriously.
  • Why are Kaden and Keaton both in Cyrkensia? Why are both so irresponsible? THEY ARE CHIEFS OF THEIR WHOLE TRIBES, they can’t be going off on random Invisible Kingdom adventures without notice!
  • Why is Valla so weird with floating islands? Is it just because it’s a different realm or something? I hope that’s not how it’s suppose to be.
  • What even WAS Anthony? Was he a real Valla boy, or an illusion slave of Anankos? How did Anankos turn him into a Faceless if only Nohrian mages can make Faceless?
  • What is the culture of Valla? We never see any citizens (except for Anthony), or any signs of life, really. Why is it worth saving?
  • Azura doesn’t use her pendant in Revelation’s final battle. Is that ironic?
  • Now that Anankos is dead, is it ok to talk about Valla outside of Valla? Or is it still basically Fight Club?

I’m so disappointed in Fates’s story. It really had potential and an amazing premise, and they just flopped it. Everything else was superbly done, especially combat. Clearly, that’s where Intelligent System’s budget and attention was more focused on.

I hope the next FE entry will have a bit more polish put into its story. If they put half of the effort into the plot as they did gameplay mechanics, they would have had a masterpiece, the whole package. Fire Emblem is a series that survived 14 entries because it always improves on its shortcomings, so I hope Intelligent Systems will see that the only flaw left to work on is a flowing, sensible narrative.

Are there actually explanations for these plot holes? Please share them, I very much want to like Fire Emblem Fates in every way possible. Are there any plot holes I missed?

one last chance

Exhaustion is something he’s so familiar with. It’s like an old friend by now, as Talon drags his tired body down the near-tunnel of greenery. He has to admit, if anything, Ionia is a beautiful place. It was more green than Talon has seen in his whole life combined. It clung to the landscape and architecture, reclaiming everything that man tried to build eventually. He’s been here for months, trying to find his answers. He knows he can’t stay here, he’s barely surviving as is, but he can’t go home. 

It’s a sort of in-between place, and he wonders if it’s the landscape but even he feels green at this point. He half expects to start sprouting moss from his shoulders and back one of these days for all the time he’s now spent balled up at the base of impossibly large trees, or vine-choked shrines. Even the magic that seeps through every vein of this land seems to smell of wet leaves and grass. 

Not something he’d ever expect to develop a nose for, not until he met his sisters. Now he’s all-too-familiar with the slight ozone scent of magic. It’s overpowering here. Especially here as he exits into the bright sunsoaked garden. The sound of flowing water drawing him into the warmth. The tunnel of trees and vines behind him, sometimes he wonders if he’ll wander into another world here. 

The crumbling pillars in front of him house sheet moss that hangs in long curtains, and he pushes them aside to move forward into the quiet place. The sound of a small waterfall leads him in further, just until he finds the stream that it feeds. Glassy clear, he can see the bottom, tiny golden fish flitting away from his shadow as he drops to his knees, cupping his hands so he can drink. 

He’s ragged now. His cape is nothing but tattered ribbons, most of his armor abandoned in favor of light travel. His hair is tied into an unkempt ponytail. 

The water hitting his chapped lips and dry mouth is all he can focus on right now. Blissfully focused on drinking something clean after a day of traveling without. A few messy drinks from his hands find him becoming impatient. Instead, he simply dunks his head, causing the fish to scatter away. It’s undignified, but it feels incredible. 

Besides, who’s here to see him?

@yasuo-the-unforgiven

Vibrator (Michael smut)

Warnings: smutty smutty dom!Michael smut! there’s a bit of possessive talk here and there but it’s not daddy kink! 

Requested? Oui oui, by the birthday girl herself! 

Word Count: 2.6k 

A/N: I didn’t know what to call this thIS IS FOR BAILEY!! @lusciousmichael IT’S YOUR BIRRRRTHDAY! I HOPE THE DAY IS AMAZING AND YOU ENJOY THIS PIECE OF WONDERFUL DOM!MICHAEL! love youuuu <3


“What do you think you’re doing?” 

The first words to slip from Michael’s lips seem to slice through the air, a chill settling in your bones as you look up to see your boyfriend standing in the doorway. 

“Relaxing,” You respond, smiling coyly. You’ve had this planned for a few days, wanting to unleash the more dominant side of Michael’s personality and knowing exactly what you have to do to wake it from hibernation.

“Without any clothes?”

It’s now he steps further into your bedroom, tossing his jacket to the side. His emerald eyes seem to cloud, a deep lust filling his features as he carefully approaches. 

“Who needs clothes?” You shrug, risking a glance at the large purple vibrator laid out beside you. 

Keep reading

STEVEN UNIVERSE EVENTS + MEMES: FROM MARCH 2015 TO NOW
  • Let Pearl say f*ck
  • Everybody thinking that Peridot had landed in Canada
  • “Gemtlemen”
  • In a similar vein, Male Gems
  • Stevenbombs and why the fans are conflicted about them
  • When everybody was convinced that Rising Tides/Crashing Skies would be the return of Malachite
  • The Big Donce
  • Sardonyx is a Homeworld gem
  • That Keystone Motel review fiasco
  • When all the episode names for what is now season three got released early on the CN website, literally a year before some of them aired
  • The rage when episodes got moved back a month a week before the first was to release after a hiatus in August
  • People genuinely believing that Catch and Release would involve Malachite or Lapis in Steven’s toilet
  • People who theorized that When It Rains would be about Peridot before we even knew Peridot was getting a redemption arc
  • Confusion over whether or not Too Far was the last 2015 episode (it was)
  • Steven Booniverse
  • The Jen-iii meme with the URLs
  • All the leaks of Stevenbomb 4
  • That night in February when the clips from Super Watermelon Island and Barn Mates were released by CN UK
  • Also that censoring that CN UK did in the episode We Need To Talk
  • The baby Steven meme
  • WHAT WE REALLY ARE
  • Jaspertale (and related things after Jasper fell into the pit)
  • CN France’s early airings
  • ”Bob”
  • “Steven Nuke”
  • The early previews of Bismuth
  • Matt Burnett begging us not to spread leaks from week ¾
  • Us finding out why he begged us not to
  • Seven Lions
  • Steven’s Knife
  • Here Comes a Thought
  • Fifteen Minutes + Bad Pearl confirmed
  • The fans actually waiting patiently for Gem Harvest

Feel free to add on!

anonymous asked:

Can you explain what is Playing with Fire about? I always wondered...

this might be some real bullshit because obviously i didn’t write the song but my interpretation of it is that it’s about the time when brandon left his home and his parents in utah to move back to las vegas. it opens as though he’s explaining to his dad why he wants to leave and asking him to understand his reasons. it sounds like he’s asking his dad/parents to understand that he doesn’t think there’s much of anything for him in that small town and he needs to spread his wings a little, because he’s going whether he has their blessing or not. he refers to “those charcoal veins that hold this chosen land together” which i think refers to the fact that his dad made mistakes and poor decisions before too and that the narrator should be allowed to go and make his own mistakes so he can learn from them.

then the rest of the song harks at religion, basically implying that just because he isn’t devoutly committed to the ‘requirements’ of his religion doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a relationship with god. he talks about demons weighing him down and angels urging him forward and talks about how both can be present simultaneously. he talks about the fact that knowing the road is long and dangerous doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to walk it.

then in the end he seems to talk about a little house in a little town that’s holding him back or trying to take him down a path he doesn’t necessarily want to go down, or at least isn’t sure about, and that he just needs to see if the grass really is greener on the other side before he commits to the life he was brought up in.

essentially i interpret the song to be about being free to try to forge your own path in life and to explore lifestyles maybe outside of the one you were brought up in. it’s about being free to make your own decisions and your own mistakes and to learn from them. it’s about taking chances even if it means going against the grain.

Notice me (Crowley x Reader)

Pairing(s): Crowley x Reader

Summary: The reader has had a crush on Crowley since forever, but he never seems to notice her. She finally snaps and confronts him.

Reader Gender: Female
Word Count: 1593
Warnings: Smut, Unprotected Sex (I don’t care if he’s the King of Hell, wear protection y’all!)

YOU

“Hello boys,”

“…and girl” You interject, without even looking up from the laptop. You silently hope that your jokey tone of voice covers the true agitation lying under the words.

“And girl.” Crowley confirms. You fight back the urge to mirror the smirk which surely must be plastered on his face. Bastard.

“What do you want, Crowley?” Dean asks, his voice laced with annoyance. If Crowley’s here, he wants something, and Dean wasn’t in the mood to do anything but eat pie and drink beer today.

“And how the hell do you keep showing up in this bunker?” Sam asked, methodically flipping through the pages of an old and thick leather bound book.

“Well maybe if you and Squirrel still kept all your wards intact this wouldn’t be a problem, would it Moose?”

You snorted. You couldn’t remember the last time that any of you had given them a repaint. Though they couldn’t say you hadn’t warned them plenty of times. You stopped typing and frowned to yourself. You and Squirrel? Crowley didn’t even mention you. You lived in this bunker too, you have done so for months, does he really hold that little regard for you?

You resumed typing, bashing the keyboard as hard as you possibly could without the risk of breaking the whole laptop. You left Dean, Sam and Crowley to talk business. Whatever he wanted he could get from them, as you obviously didn’t exist to him anyway.

You knew that you were being irrational, that the King of Hell probably hadn’t even noticed the way you blushed when he smirked at you, or the way you were always the first to greet him. How you were the first to laugh at his jokes and the way you hung on to his every word….

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, but is there a problem?” Crowley snapped. You lifted your head to meet his gaze for the first time since he arrived. You relished in the way his eyes widened when he saw the look of pure rage in your eyes. “Apart from the fact that I have been continuously flirting with you for the last five months and you have not done a single thing about it? I don’t think so.”

Your hand flew to your mouth. Why the hell did you just say that out loud? It was straight up paper-bag grade embarrassing and you knew it.

Crowley’s face mirrored the look of shock that surely painted your own. “Bloody hell, Y/N, I mean I…”

He started towards you but had already slammed the laptop shut and were headed towards your room. It’s not often the red-eyed demon was lost for words and you felt kind of proud despite the situation. You threw one more disdainful look over your shoulder towards Crowley. Asshole.

CROWLEY

“Hormones, man.” Dean shakes his head.

“She’s not hormonal, you moron.” Crowley sneers. He watched Moose throw his brother his signature bitchface before picking up his book and leaving the room. Any idiot could see that Y/N was head over heels for a certain red eyed demon, even Sam.

From day 1, he was day he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. And so it seems was she. He’d been rejecting her advances, ignoring her even. He didn’t care much for the wellbeing of other people but he couldn’t help feeling like Y/N deserved better. Better than him, that’s for sure.

“The nest…..?” Dean began, eyeing Crowley with a knowing look.

“Gank them. Torture them. Have Castiel blast them to bloody kingdom come. Hell, I don’t care.” Crowley snapped. “I think it’s time I showed Y/N some attention, don’t you?”

YOU

When you hear a knock on your bedroom door, you sigh in frustration. “Who’s there?”

“Room service,” Damn it. You could almost hear his smirk through the door.

You regained composure and scowled. You were supposed to be pissed at him after all. “I didn’t order anything.”

He chuckled. A low sound that left you melting into your bed sheets. “Funny. Because here I am: Freshly fried Crossroads demon! That is, if looks could kill.”

“If only,” You snapped, but you could already feel your icy demeanour start to slip. “Because at least then you wouldn’t be here.”

Crowley sounded unfazed, if not slightly amused. “So are you going to leave me standing here all night, darling?”

“Ideally,” You sighed, getting up and unlocking the door. “But you’d just zap yourself in here anyway.”

“Y/N” Crowley nodded at you as he slipped past into your room. You responded with a scowl.

“So you do know my name, huh?” You challenged, slamming the door behind him.

He cast you a bored look. “Barely.”

You could have screamed. “You can’t be serious.”

You looked him straight in eyes and he raised his eyebrows. The non-verbal challenge spoken loud and clear: TRY ME.

You felt the pent up rage and sexual frustration explode through your veins as you landed a thunderous slap on the side of Crowley’s face.

He turned to face you, eyes glowing dangerously red as he regarded you before him. With a growl he pinned you against the door. His once again brown eyes staring intensely into your own.

But you weren’t the kind of girl to shrink away from his touch and into the wall. Hell no. You held his gaze, sticking your chin out.

“So, Crowley.” You hissed. “What does a girl have to do around here to get the King of Hell to notice me?”

“Darling I notice you.” Crowley says, gripping your arms tighter in retaliation to your continuous struggling. “I notice you every time you walk in the room, I notice you every time you open your mouth, I notice you more than anybody else in a five mile bloody radius, I notice you..”

Crowley groans, pressing his hard on against your abdomen, making you gasp. “..every time you appear in every single one of my deepest, darkest dreams and fantasies.”

You fought back a groan as a flood of heat rushed to your core. “Then why didn’t you just do something about it?”

Crowley faltered. “I didn’t think that I deserved you. That I deserved this. But don’t you worry your pretty little head, for I am very much ready to…how did you put it? ‘Do something about it.’”

Crowley smashed his lips against yours and you moaned appreciatively, allowing him almost instant access to your mouth. He absentmindedly lets go of your wrists and you use the opportunity to run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer to you with a sharp yank of his tie.

His hands wander under your shirt to explore your breasts and you buck into his touch. You can feel that your panties are already soaked through, and after waiting so long your main priority is simply getting him inside of you.

“Bed!” You gasp as his mouth latches onto your neck. You feel him smirk against your skin as he lifts you up and carries you over. He drops you down and snaps his fingers cockily, relieving you both of your clothing before hovering over you. Crowley settles between your legs once more and looks up at you with a questioning look in his eyes. You nod wholeheartedly and groan as he begins to enter you slowly. God. Didn’t he think that he’d tortured you enough.

You gasped as he thrusted harshly, leaving himself sheathed fully inside you. You impatiently start to wiggle beneath him and try to grab his hips, just trying to get him to move. You desperately needed the friction.

“I know it might have been a while, Crowley. But you do realise that you need to move, right?”

He responds by growling, planting his hands into the curves of your hips and thrusting into you with a pace that leaves to struggling to breathe.

You’re so tightly wound that it doesn’t take long for your pleasure to reach painful levels of bliss. By this point you’re screaming at every little touch and chanting his name like a spell.

“Crowley, I’m close!” You pant, wrapping your legs around him and drawing him nearer.

You could tell from the way that his thrusts became shorter and more powerful that he was too. His lips found yours as you both neared your ends. He pulled away and his eyes met yours, broadcasting one command loud and clear: Come.

And you did, screaming incoherent words that sounded a lot like ‘Crowley’, ‘Shit’ and ‘Wow’. You didn’t even care if the whole bunker could hear. It felt like paradise.

Crowley came not long after his face nuzzled in your neck and his arms wrapped around you tightly. The feeling of his seed spilling inside you serving to prolong the intense shocks of pleasure that were still shaking through you.

You lay panting in Crowley’s arms, both of you recovering from the intensity of your orgasms. You felt relief flood through you, washing away all previous anger and sadness.

You smirked. “And there I thought you weren’t interested”

Crowely chuckled. He left the bed, snapping his fingers hastily. You pouted at the sight of him back in his trademark suit. “Leaving so soon?”

“Hello?” He gestured to himself, eyebrows raised. “King of Hell?”

You rolled your eyes, settling under the cheap covers. As you quickly drifted to sleep, you could have sworn you heard him whisper: “You will never go unnoticed again, not by me. I can promise you that.”

***

Thanks for reading and sorry I’ve been gonw for so long! I’m back and promise more fics soon!

Keep rocking,

Rizzle!

Tagging: @lucifer-in-leather @hislilkittenn @crowley-trash

My sister and I just talked about BATB (which is the main topic of our conversation for the past two weeks so far). Long story short, our discussion ended up to us comparing the similarities Belle and Hermione had. And this led up to a little theory my sister and I came up with.

So, a lot of people theorised how Hermione could be the descendant of Adam and Belle, right? My sister and I then thought that the reason Hermione became a witch was because the leftover magic from Adam’s curse still ran through his veins, and that was passed on through generations, until it landed on little Hermione, who ended up becoming a proper witch. Also, remember how Hermione seemed rather fond of Paris, France? This just makes everything all the more perfect.

Anyway, fast forward to the future, Hermione and Ron and their children were going on a trip to French, to the magical-side of the country. They went to a castle that was to have the LARGEST collection of books on both Muggle and wizarding history in the world, and while they were there, a historian remarked that Hermione looked remarkably similar to the original owners of the castle, who confirmed that she did have French heritage from her mother’s side of the family. It was Ron though who asked to see the only painting remained of the owners of the castle, because he was intrigued and interested. And when they saw it, they saw how Hermione looked EXACTLY like Belle.

And thereupon Ulmo lifted up a mighty horn, and blew upon it a single great note, to which the roaring of the storm was but a wind-flaw upon a lake. And as he heard that note, and was encompassed by it, and filled with it, it seemed to Tuor that the coasts of Middle-earth vanished, and he surveyed all the waters of the world in a great vision: from the veins of the lands to the mouths of the rivers, and from the strands and estuaries out into the deep. The Great Sea he saw through its unquiet regions teeming with strange forms, even to its lightless depths, in which amid the everlasting darkness there echoed voices terrible to mortal ears. Its measureless plains he surveyed with the swift sight of the Valar, lying windless under the eye of Anar, or glittering under the horned Moon, or lifted in hills of wrath that broke upon the Shadowy Isles,“ until remote upon the edge of sight, and beyond the count of leagues, he glimpsed a mountain, rising beyond his mind’s reach into a shining cloud, and at its feet a long surf glimmering. And even as he strained to hear the sound of those far waves, and to see clearer that distant light, the note ended, and he stood beneath the thunder of the storm, and lightning many-branched rent asunder the heavens above him. And Ulmo was gone, and the sea was in tumult, as the wild waves of Ossë rode against the walls of Nevrast.- Unfinished Tales by J. R. R. Tolkien

Punk Witchcraft, Broke Witches, Complete Magic.

In hoodoo traditions, rootworkers gather dust from the land around them. My friend takes dirt from the bank buildings for prosperity, graveyard for the dead, crossroads to see into the spirit world. 

They take the land and work magic from beneath their hands, prayers from the bible mixed with the roots from the Devil’s boots and tiny yellow petals from Worts of Saint John growing wild in the park, placed in bags of red flannel, fed and birthed as little spirits.   

Sufi mystics writing passages from the Koran onto thin pieces of rice paper. Fill with herbs. Steep in tea. Burn to ash. Praying to their ancestors and God. 

My social worker in the group home took my palm, her fingers tracing the lines on the back of my hand, speaking about my past, my future, scars and hurts in the present. 

She makes me tea. Writes secret passages on pieces of rice paper and bay leaves when I’m not looking. Steeps them in the cups of warm water. 

Tells me what her Djinn speak to her when no one else is listening.

My great grandfather told fortunes in the main house on his land, in the courtyard by the peach tree that bloomed with pink blossoms during the summer time. 

On the stone table before him, he would cast green copper coins with tiny holes in their middles onto red cloth. Consult fortunes from the worn, thread bare Book of Changes between his palms. Light sandalwood for the ancestors. Draw intricate patterns with mao bi brushes onto yellowing pieces of parchment. 

Burn to ash, mix with dongquai roots and ginseng. Exorcised the yin plaguing his clients, healed bodies, read the dragon veins of the land and moved accordingly. 

I take the dirt from beneath my hands, mix them in the bowls with fresh rain water, hair from the crowns of my own head, red thread and iron nails. Fill in the blue glass bottles before me. Cork the top. Bury under the front porch. Keeps away the shadows and dark sided things with poison on their tongues. 

I have learned that my magic can come strongest when it comes from the land, comes organically from the places around me. 

Invest in a good knife, a sturdy metal cup, a solid earthen platter and bowl, a good branch of some hard wood, a bright candle. Invest in my prayers, in my charms, in the land beneath my feet and the dirt that falls between the cracks of my fingers. 

Remember my roots, the wisdom of the people I have learned from and the wisdom of my ancestors.