wanting nothing but consolation

Never Be Like You (Draco x Reader)

Originally posted by dracoharry

REQUESTED BY @westfields-maple

A song request! It contains lyrics from Never Be Like You by Flume - listen to this when reading!

Word count - 1,827

Request HERE

Admittedly, Draco never thought he’d be so smitten over a girl like her. For as long as he could remember, he’d always imagined himself falling for a pureblood, someone with the same class as himself, but never a muggleborn. It started in his second year; the Y/H girl was seen studying by the Black Lake by him. Her sleek hair twisted in the wind as her eyes traced over the small print in her book. Occasionally, she would lean over to the boulder next to where she was sat and write something down for her own notes. He was staring- he’d never seen her before and he was enamored with her. Draco continued to adore her beauteous features from a distance, anxious of her noticing him. He was nonplussed as to how he’d never seen her for the previous two years- he was aware that he never acknowledged the students in different houses to his own but perplexion filled him as he watched her study for the millionth time. How had he not seen her? 

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He knew it was wrong.
He knew it was wrong to long for her, to want her, to be with her, to talk with her.
He knew it was wrong to look long after she had left, and let his eyes wonder over her.
He knew that it was wrong to dream of her in ways he had never dreamt of anyone, for she was everything he had grown up hating.
They took her from the hour of sleep, and the bed she had slept in every night, and the house she had lived in since she was a babe and brought her on a wooden horse over many seas and many days until they landed back in a town called Kattegat. Many people stood by the shore and greeted the men that took her from her bed. She was shoved and prodded until she got into the great hall where she was laughed and cursed at.
She’d been labeled a slave along with a handful of other woman and men. They were all frightened and begging to be set free, set free so they could go home.
She was assigned to look after a monstrous man, whom she had come to know was a boy. She was older than him, much older than him, but yet, he seemed like he knew a lot and like there was a lot of things he could teach her.
His older brothers, the princes, were her age. Yet, they never really had much time for her. They had political issues and battle issues that threatened them and they needed to attend to those.
His name is Ivar. That’s what she called him, that’s what everyone called him. The cripple, the reject. Although those words seemed harsh for her to admit to herself.
She hated serving him. He would call her names, make fun of her, voice her as the worst servant he’s had, but he would look long after she had left, sneak in peaks of lust and longing, only for his gaze to be ripped away by a shaking head and annoyed grumble under his breath.
It was confusing for her. Confusing for her head and her heart. She hated him, yes, but he was the only person who talked to her. Even if it was a demand to fetch some ale, or to grab some food for him. He was the only one that would ask her about her home, and what it was like to live there.
He loved to learn.
He loved to learn about what she knew about the world she lived in. About how everything worked. About their God, their beliefs.
It all seemed so fast, so slow, so agonisingly slow, but like it went in a blur.
After days, weeks, months of longing for her, he finally had her. In the darkness of the night and the quiet of the birds, he had her.
They talked, and cuddled and thought long and hard about how they would keep this up.
And they did. They kept it up.
Until the Queen found out.
The Queen ordered for her to be dragged out of bed and thrown into the dirt before the great hall.
There, she stood. Bruised and battered and crying. The Queen raised a hand and struck her such a blow it left a red mark. She whimpered as tears streamed down her face. And avoided the gaze of the boy she had come to love.
His face was struck with shock as she was forced to her knees. She wasn’t allowed to look the Queen in the face, but she couldn’t look at him either.
“You haven’t been doing your job, slave.” The words were spat out, and trampled in the dirt along with her very being. “Anyone can take her.” The Queen looked at the crowd. “Does anyone want her?”
A man stepped forward. His young daughter behind him. “We will take her, Queen Aslaug.” He says. “Our farm is large and we need a few extra hands.”

She longed for him after she was taken. She wanted him. She wanted his company, his companionship, his attention.
She was treated well living with the farmers. She even began to call the little girl her sister. She heard the news about the Queen’s death, and how Ivar had come back from the quest to England with the news of his fathers death.
She wanted nothing more than to console him. And she waited. Waited for him to crawl up the hill and whisk her away.
But he never did.
He thinks of her still. But does not want her to be hurt again, so he leaves her be. He often finds himself singing a little song she used to sing, just to remember her evermore.

“There is nothing that can console me now.”

I just want to say that

Despite the fact that I am incredibly upset about Athelstan’s death, I am awed by the beauty of his an Ragnar’s relationship. Just think: Ragnar is a Norse pagan, a pirate no less, who originally scoffed at the idea of Christianity, but he is so respectful of Athelstan in every way. When Athelstan ran to him (he was so excited too ToT) to tell him that he had found his faith as a Christian again and was renouncing the Norse gods, Ragnar didn’t even seem to flinch. Instead, he seemed genuinely happy for him.

Even after Athelstan’s death, he carries him to the same place the two said the Lord’s Prayer together, buries him, and makes a makeshift cross out of his shovel. These practices are entirely foreign to him. But he still does them to respect his closest friend. He may not believe in Athelstan’s religion, but

there is no doubt that

he loved Athelstan with all of his heart. 


Ask: Angsty Alex X reader pls I just want Alex to be crying and begging reader not to leave him And I just rEALLY WANT EMOTIONAL ALEX

[ this was a really fun ask to do, it was real, angsty though ! ] 

Trigger Warning: Suicidal Thoughts, Fighting, Angst 

Word Count: 1068 Words

Alexander Hamilton x Reader

[ part two

She hated Alexander Hamilton. She tore the ring off of her finger like it burnt her skin. [ Name ] had enough. She had begged him to take a break. He refused. “ [ Name ],” he begged. His voice was pleading for another chance—this time, she would deny. They had children together. How could he do such a thing? [ Name ] had begged him to take a break, and he sought Maria Reynolds instead.

This sin was on him. She had been a good wife, she had. Hadn’t she? What had she done wrong? What did Maria have that she didn’t? [ Name ] didn’t understand. Why did he seek her warmth? What was wrong with him? Then publishing all the letters. [ Name ] had read every single one. The passion in every paragraph.

That was the way he wrote to her. That was the way he used to write to her. But now it was reserved for Maria Reynolds.

“You can have her,” she spat out her voice like ice. Alexander tried to touch her, console her. Alexander then wondered if he was a walking plague. Everything he loved disappeared from his fingertips. Alexander’s mother was the first one to face God’s cruel wrath. She had been taken away when he was only a mere child. The one time he let his wife go this happened.

“No, [ Name ], I want you, please,” he begged trying to reach for her hand.

“Don’t touch me, Alexander.”

“ [ Name ],” he begged his voice quiet. The pain on her face was terrible. It made him feel sick. He had caused this. Her face usually was filled with happiness—not anymore. Why did God punish the innocent when the guilt were to blame? He had done the wrongdoings, why was she suffering his consequences.

“I never meant for this to hurt you, I-I never wanted to hurt you, I love you please, I never wanted to hurt you,” he repeated the same phrase over and over again. He felt his sins crawl on his back.

“You are a cruel man Alexander. You published the affairs that you had with her. You take this woman into our bed. You have sex with her. We have children! Wasn’t I ever enough? Wasn’t my love every enough? What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this? Did I do anything?  I loved you with all my heart Alexander, and I gave you everything. The money you waste is my money. The money you gave her came from me. You married me because I was wealthy, and yet, you use it on the likes of her. Why wasn’t I ever enough for you?”

Alexander reached out to touch her, his eyes begging for a chance. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I am sorry. I will be sorry until the day I draw my last breath, please.”

“You are not the man I married,” she spat out her voice full of disdain.

Alexander went on his knees. He was groveling on the ground. “You are my everything,” he whispered his tone hushed. Tears were running down his face, everything in front of him was blurry. The warm tears fell from his cheeks to the ground. Alexander stared at her like she was his God. He was trying to memorize everything about her face. The gentle curve of her cheekbones.

“I was your everything. You dismissed me, thinking I was a drop of rain on a sunny day. But you mistook me. I am a hurricane.”

“Please, people are not perfect [ Name ], but you have to agree that some people are perfect for one another no?” He was reminiscing when they had met at the Winter’s Ball. She was wearing a brilliant crimson dress that suited her curves. Red; the sign of danger—the sign of destruction. Alexander approached her. His life changed for the better.

[ Name ] also felt pain. This was the man she loved. The man she had married. He had written her thousands of letters. Her heart was bleeding. [ Name ] wanted nothing more than to console him. She had never seen him like this. He was begging, practically sobbing for her. He should have thought of that when he was bedding that woman. This was his fault. She hated him. It was as if someone was stabbing her heart—she wanted it to end. The pain to stop. Seeing her husband in such a vulnerable state made her want to cry.

[ Name ] gave a sarcastic and dry smile. The pain was still written on her face.  "Perhaps,“ she commented, "But I was the closest thing you get to perfection,” With that she left him. She tossed the ring at his feet and walked out of the room. Once she did she felt warm tears roll down her cheeks.

“Please,” he whispered one last time as her figure left. Alexander didn’t have the strength to stop her, nor did he have the right. “Please,” He begged again as he let out a choked sob. “Please, Please, Please, Please,” he whispered to himself. “Come back, I love you, please, please,” Alexander sobbed out. “[ Name ] I love you,” he begged to no one. Pleading to a God that didn’t even exist.

[ Name ] could hear his cries as she silently sobbed against the door. What had Alexander done to the both of them? It would have been so much easier but she didn’t love him.

Alexander held the ring in his hand. As he sobbed again. “Please, I love you,” he whispered his voice breaking as he continued to cry.

The mental clock in his mind ticked even faster. His legacy—destroyed. He had nothing to show for it. Alexander knew, he could never undo the damage he had done to their family. He had caused all of this. The misery, and the pain. Alexander never felt more alone—he would be alone when he died. He wished death could take him now. He wished that death would have taken him when he was young. Alexander had done nothing of worth. Nothing. He had done everything for his legacy, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing. He had no family. He had no friends. Alexander never liked the quiet before. Now he reveled in it.

Alexander wished he could cry, but no tears escaped.

Two Smoking Guns 20

Summary: AU: New Job, New class, should be all peaches and cream, except for the fact that your new Boss and your Professor are the most attractive men you’d ever met, and they won’t stop staring at you.

Author: @i4z-0892-imagines

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,702

Warnings: None, except if you can die from an overload of fluff.

A/N:  Prepare yourselves, guys. Seriously. I mean it. This chapter even gave me feels, so… Prepare. Oh and give me feedback!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 -Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 -

Mary gave your shoulder a squeeze giving you another kind smile, you returned it, unable to say anything to the bomb she’d just dropped in your lap. You could feel the guilt of your own betrayal begin to engulf you. How could you possibly stand in his parents house, look them in the eyes and smile as if you were innocent. How could you look into those misty green eyes of his and pretend as if you were holding out your loyalty just for him. How the fuck were you going to be able to look at Sam in the face after today? After meeting Dean’s family, after finding out you were the only one he’d ever brought home… How could you look yourself in the mirror, face the monster you were keeping both of these perfect men on your hooks. And how the hell were you supposed to decide between them? You’d never felt so lost, and disgusted with yourself in your entire life.

“Are you alright, Sweetheart?” Mary asked, her voice just so sweet you could nearly taste the sugar. “You look like something’s on your mind.”

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i still taste you and it is
like aftershock but
i am not afraid and my
house has not fallen
beneath me and my
heart is not full of debris.
it is different than any
other time i insisted that
it was different.
it is raging inside of me,
this certainty of despair and
this sweetness, this
sweetness that wants
nothing more than to console
the raw, open miseries.
this sweetness that sings
only of your name.
—  “this is all still so new, on approaching a year.” by Emma Bleker
People often ask me what keeps me awake at night...

Most people are pretty lucky when it comes to death of the person they hold most dear. In most cases it’s a parent. Your mom or dad. It’s so terrible to even imagine what life would be like without them, you just quickly push it out of your head. Or you think and worry of how or when they’ll die and how you will cope but you don’t really think past that.

Most people make it well into their 40’s or even 50’s before losing a parent. That was a bonus of most of our parents having us at a young age, we get to hold onto them for a long time. These women having children at 40… well, that child will be motherless a lot sooner but I will try not to get off topic today.

For me, it was my grandma. The person I couldn’t imagine my life without. The person I talked to daily on the phone. I traveled often as an adult but as soon as I landed in Indiana, I’d go see her before even dropping my bags at my own house. She was actually the reason I stayed in Indiana and didn’t move to LA at 18 and I don’t regret it at all. I 100% would have made that same decision again. She was the first to receive news, good or bad, she was the one person every person I dated had to meet right away. During the holidays, the person I was dating either had to spend it at my grandmothers or we’d have to spend our holidays apart as a couple, there was just no compromising. I had to be at grandmas for Mother’s Day, Easter, her birthday, 4th of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas. There were just no exceptions. (For whatever reason we all gave zero shits about the new year)

My grandma died when I was 23. It’s difficult to describe the feeling but I’d like to try and convey it because for the people that haven’t lost that special person yet; I feel it’s important to know how good you have it now vs after you lose them.

At first it felt like… death. Of myself. Like I died. Like I wasn’t me anymore. That everything I knew to be true, no longer was. It was like everything stopped. Everything was questioned. It felt like up until that moment the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the world was a happy place and when she died it all went cold, grey and still. Yes, there was a stillness in me. At first, a complete shock, there wasn’t any dramatics or crying. I was just… robotic. Everything I did just felt mechanical and with no emotion for a long time after her death.

For the first month, people understand and want to console even though you want nothing to do with anyone. Everyone also tries to tell you about how their so-in-so died and you give zero fucks. You just want to be alone because… what’s going on? How could this be? It this just a nightmare? You beg for it to be a nightmare and that you’ll wake up. You’ll also wake up in the morning and before you even open your eyes you’ll think of how they are dead and your life will never be the same.

The person you worked the hardest to make proud, the person you held to the highest regard, the person you had the deepest connection with that nobody even came close to- they are gone. And now you are all alone. You’re surrounded by all of these people but then you question- who are they to you and why do they matter because nobody mattered nearly as much as the person that is now gone.

So as I said, the first month or so, people understand, but then after that you are expected to carry on. Not only that, but you are sick of this unwanted attention and conversation so you try to appear normal. What do you do with all of this pain? All of this loss? There’s no way to express it. There’s nobody to be angry with, there’s nothing you can do to fix it. So what do you do? You bury inside you and you carry it around.

You often think of the old you, it was almost laughable at how carefree and in love with the world you were. How you were so oblivious to the pain that lie ahead. You had no idea what was in store for you. And as the years pass… they say time heals all wounds… not this. Not the death of the person you love most. Time just has you bury it deeper and deeper but it will remain forever as part of you.

You do think of them less, but still a day will never go by, in fact for the first few years not even an hour. And often when you are alone, you will cry, it can be out of nowhere, in the shower, washing the dishes, on the drive to work, you will think more than you wanted to about them and even if it’s not a hard cry, that solid tear will stream down your stone cold face as you think about what was and what will never be again.

The things I regret the most are very silly. Because one thing you always think you have is time. Especially with the person you love most, you just can’t comprehend that they will someday be gone. You KNOW someday they will be gone, but you don’t comprehend it. So the things I regret, we had talked a great deal about caviar and how she had only had it once (she was an immigrant from Ukraine and survivor of the Holocaust that came to the US and worked as a nanny and housekeeper). The only time she ever had “fancy” things is when someone was kind enough to think to offer their help some of what they cherished themselves which was rare. She never wanted or asked for much but oh how her eyes lit up when she spoke of the one time Mrs. Gaffer offered her an hors d'oeuvre with caviar on it. I planned on surprising her with a can of fine caviar but the closest place to get this was 3 hours away in Chicago so I put it off because I thought I “had time”. I did so much for her, constant surprises, gifts, visits… you name it but when someone dies all you can do is think of every little thing you didn’t do.

I think what I’m most sad about is that she didn’t get to see me marry or meet my baby. I wanted for her to see that so badly. In all honesty, if she would have lived a few more years I would have tried to settle and have children in fear of just that alone. That’s how much I loved her. Those two things… NOTHING would have made her happier than to see that.

After she died, I broke up with the person I had been dating for 3 years. I broke off many friendships and I realized quickly how she was the only glue that held my already very small family together. After she died, no matter how nice of house I had, no matter the size of the feast, no matter how extravagant the gifts were; I was never able to get the whole family under the same roof ever again.

You also learn a lot of bad things about your family when someone dies, you see the worst in everyone and the greed. I won’t get into and I don’t dwell on it- I didn’t even then because her death alone was too much to bear.

I guess, my point is that, you’ll never laugh as hard as you did while they were alive, you’ll never be as happy, you’ll never see the world the same again. And most importantly- as much as you feel this makes sense to you- it will make absolutely zero sense until it happens.

Even with that said, say everything you want and need to them, do everything you’ve ever wanted to do with or for them within reason and spend as much time as you can with them.

In the most loving memory of my dear grandmother, my hero, the love of my life, loved by all, respected and admired; Genawefa Borowji.

when asked
to name what I couldn’t live without
were I marooned on a desert island,
I say viable organs. Not a book and its pages
slipping from cheap binding
and not an album
that’s not an album
but summer’s totem forever
and not one deft lover
and not the red ringlets
of her hair let down in a grotto beside the sea.
To be consigned there,
to that island, that home
to the fetish of consolation,
is nothing I ever want
to want. To be stripped of desire
as if it were a bandage.
But here in the night made of alarms,
a train shambles
through the dark
and it’s hard to hear the trees speaking
the language we made
for them. Or I did,
thinking of you
who taught me regret.
There are nights when I dream
of stolen oranges.
How we ran away with the sun in our arms.
And there are nights
when I can’t speak,
not even to the wind
in the strange tongue of the dark pine trees.
—  Paul Guest, from “At Night, in November, Trying Not To Think of Asphodel,” My Index of Slightly Horrifying Knowledge: Poems (Ecco, 2008) 
Bittersweet Faith

TITLE: Bittersweet Faith

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Part One of Four

AUTHOR: writerlivinginadarkworld

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that at some point during the Avengers Loki steals an infant to raise as his own.

RATING: M (to be safe)

NOTES/WARNINGS: Kidnapping, thoughts of suicide, heartbreak, mother/son reunion. I decided to change the imagine a little bit. Someone suggested this version and I ran with it. I will warn you, it is heartbreaking at first, I cried while writing this. It gets better though.


It was just past midnight when I finally got my son, Noah, back to sleep. He was having trouble sleeping through the night, but he was only two months old, so it was to be expected. The last two months had been hard for the two of us. His father left me when I told him I was pregnant, so I was stuck as a single mother. I loved my son, so it didn’t matter to me. I just sometimes wished I had someone to help me raise him.

I looked down at my sleeping son once more before heading back to my room to get some sleep before he woke me up again. Of course I didn’t mind being woken up by my precious son, but sleep was nice.

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Rant alert

I’m really about to show my cranky old age here, but why the FUCK do parents think it’s okay to buy $600 phones for kids? I’m not even kidding, why is this acceptable? I’ve seen toddlers have their own phone - TODDLERS. And now it’s become such a thing where they invented fuzzy stuffed animals to hold phones (and btw, the commercial is fucking terrifying to me, it’s so creepy).

Now, I’m all for technology. But at the appropriate age. When was the last time one of these kids addicted to flappy bird read a real book, or enjoyed the smell of fresh paper?

Technology isn’t destroying our youth - it’s parents who don’t actual want to parent that are. They skate on by while little Jack and Jill watch pornhub unsupervised. on their designer phones that are worth more than my life.

Like, fuck me up a hill, my parents didn’t get my a computer til I was a freshman in high school, and a cheap tracphone a year later, and I wanted for nothing. Sure, I had game consoles, but even then, I was supervised and made to go outside every once in a while. Because my parents were FUCKING PARENTS.