#* — ❝ not until my whole life is done will i ever leave you. ( rel. the landlord )

[deathshe]

tags. 

* — ❝ but the landlord’s black-eyed daughter. ( study )

* — ❝ the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. ( wishlist )

* — ❝ he scarce could reach her hand. ( musings )

* — ❝ they had tied her up to attention with many a sniggering jest. ( dash games )

* — ❝ the plot - unlike your hair - thickens. ( ooc )

* — ❝ she writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood. ( headcanon )

* — ❝ as the black cascade of perfume came tumbling. ( aesthetic )

* — ❝ till now on the stroke of midnight. ( queue )

* — ❝ the trigger at least was hers! ( edit )

* — ❝ her eyes grew wide for a moment. ( starter call )

* — ❝ she drew one last deep breath. ( meme call )

* — ❝ and warned him— with her death. ( self promotion )

* — ❝ and who should be waiting there. ( promotion )

* — ❝ plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. ( interaction )

* — ❝ had watched for her love in the moonlight. ( meme )

* — ❝ the landlord’s red-lipped daughter ( visage )

* — ❝ not until my whole life is done will i ever leave you. ( rel. the landlord )

* — ❝ tore out her heart left it to rot. ( rel. the mother )

* — ❝ i’ll come to thee by moonlight though hell should bar the way. ( rel. the highwayman )

* — ❝ his eyes were hollows of madness. ( rel. the hostler )

* — ❝ one kiss my bonny sweetheart. ( v. main )

* — ❝ died in the darkness there. ( v. death )

* — ❝ and he kissed its waves in the moonlight. ( v. alternate )

* — ❝ drenched with her own blood! ( v. highwaywoman )

* — ❝ look for me by moonlight. ( v. royalty )

* — ❝ cold on the stroke of midnight. ( v. harry potter )

[fallingdownhell]

Genshin men dealing with separation anxiety.

You didn't really specify any characters except for the men, so I just picked out some who I think fit this description. Hope you're okay with that.

Characters Included: Xiao; Wanderer; Tighnari; Diluc

Content: gender neutral reader; separation anxiety; mentions of insecurities; reverse comfort

Word count: 1,8k words

Thanks again for your request!

Xiao

Xiao is relatively new to the whole concept of dating and relationships in general

He tries to get used to it, but it's difficult for him. For so many years, he saw himself as nothing but a weapon. So this new situation is just something he never thought would happen to him

once he fully trusts you with everything about him would be when this particular "problem" starts to show itself

would have one of the worst cases, in my opinion

he is so used to loss, yet he can't imagine having to deal with your loss. He's sure that should this day ever arrive, it would ultimately destroy him, too

he can deal with a few hours alone, he doesn't need you by his side 24/7

but, once a certain time frame has been reached and he hasn't heard or seen anything from you, he starts to grow restless and anxious

Xiao tries to play it cool, but deep down, he worries about you

are you okay? are you hurt? could you possibly need his assistence? But you haven't called for him.. so everything should be fine, right? But what if you just didn't get the chance to call for him and you were already....

he tries to keep his thoughts under control, but he can't seem to redirect the course his mind has taken

he tries to reason with himself, not wanting to immediately assume the worst possible things

but soon, he can't take it anymore, so he starts looking for you. He searches the places you frequent the most, while maintaining a safe distance so you don't immediately spot him

he soon finds you in the streets of Liyue Harbor, talking to one of the vendors, laughing happily

as he sees you like this, his heart suddenly grows lighter, the impending feeling of dread slowly going away as it's replaced by this warm, loving feeling he always gets when looking at you or spending time with you

he waits until your done with your chat, watches you as you walk away from the booth. Once you're in an area with less people around, he appears in front of you

you're slightly startled, but you start to get used to his random entrances and dissapearances

you smile at him, and the last bits of Xiao's worries are instantly blown away as he allows himself to take in your calming presence

somehow, he always feels at peace with you. No matter what life might throw at him in the future, he's sure he will be able to conquer it, as long as you're there with him..

Wanderer

definitely the worst case out of all the others

but can you really blame him? He endured so much already, has experienced so much pain and heartbreak... can you blame him for not wanting to loose you as well, after he let you in?

it takes time and effort to convince him that your feelings for him are genuine and that you would never, ever leave him behind

it's not like he doesn't want to believe you. He really does, but he just can't imagine anyone being actually interested in him and wanting to maintain a relationship with someone like him...

like I said, time and effort is the key into his heart. And even once you managed to take your place there, he won't openly show it. He's awkward about those kinds of things, it's a whole 'nother issue

once you've successfully broken down the walls around his heart and marched your way in, he really can't handle being away from you for more than a few hours

as soon as you talk about leaving (be it to go to work, or groceries) he begins to feel anxious

because... what if you don't return after all? What if you finally realized how insufferable he is and you decided to not deal with it anymore? He knows you proclaim your love to him daily, but he can't help it

the doubts just start to act up like it's second nature to him, and no matter how hard he tries to suppress it, he can't seem to win against his own mind

his imagination runs wild, painting a hundred different scenarios on how you might leave him and run away

he wants to get up and out there, looking for you, but that would make him seem desperate and he most definitely does not want to be percieved in that way

so he sits it out at your shared home, trying to deal with all those intrusive thoughts in his head, intently watching the clock hanging on the wall, counting the minutes until your return

as soon as he hears the door opening, he is up and "greeting" you at the door

"Took you long enough. Where have you been all this time?"

he tries to sound indifferent, but to you, you can clearly tell that his voice lacks the ususal bite and he seems to be frantic

instead of an answer, you pull him into an embrace, lightly stroking his scalp

the Wanderer is taken by surprise at your actions, but that quickly fades and he melts into the touch, knowing that this was your silent reassurance to him

he acknowledges it, but doesn't comment on it

maybe one day, he'll be able to openly talk to you about everything that bothers him and be completely vulnerable to you. But that day is not now...

he just hopes that you can wait for him until this day finally arrives..

Tighnari

as cool and composed as the fox hybrid likes to think that he is, he has his weak moments as well

although... this problem probably won't arise until after the two of you are mated

he's not becoming overprotective of you and he's also not controlling or anything. He just.... he can't really deal with being alone anymore

in the past, before knowing you and even while dating you, it never really bothered him. He was used to not seeing you for a few days, sometimes even weeks, thanks to your position in the academiya

but now... he can't seem to deal with it anymore. Whenever you tell him that you have to leave for a few days, he dreads for those days to arrive

He's perfectly fine for the first two or three days, but anything that comes after that... total nightmare for him and his crew

He is restless, anxious, constantly thinking about you and your well being

Tighnari knows that you're more than capable of protecting yourself, but still! He's not there to protect you, how can he be sure that you're fine?

Sure, you write letters to him almost daily to keep him up to date and reassure him that you're fine... but what if those letters are written by someone else, who just happens to be extremely good at forging handwritings?

During that time period, Tighnari is also not able to sleep very well, if at all

he tosses and turns througout the entire night, hugging your pillow close to him, imaginig that it was you laying next to him, hugging him and stroking his back like you always do

he thought that this might help him to calm down, but all it does is increase his intense longing for you

he whines, calling out your name in the dead of the night, hoping that by some miracle, you would hear his cry and return to him

when you do come back to him, he doesn't care for any work he has to take care of that day

he will leave it for the other rangers to take care of, he has more important things to attend to now

namely, cuddling you in his bed, wrapping his tail around your thighs and burrying his nose in your neck, breathing in your scent that he missed so much while you were gone

he feels your fingers stroking along his back and he can't help the shiver that runs down his spine when you do so

he won't let you out of bed for the next few hours, after all... he has to make up for the days that you and him were separated..

Diluc

oh boy.. another one with a pretty bad case

Diluc has lost so many important things in his life, he couldn't bear losing you as well

He is a busy man, he knows he can't be by your side 24/7, even if he really wants nothing more

time spent with you is always the most treasured to him. With you, he always feels safe and loved. He had no idea how much he has missed feeling like this until you walked into his life

Now that he has those feelings back again... he won't trade them for anything else in this world

being as busy as he is, he doesn't really have much time to see you. Sometimes, you both go days without seeing each other, this fact made worse thanks to Diluc's unpredictable time management

only when his anxiety keeps getting worse, when thoughts from back then start to flood his mind again, does he give into his desires

in the dead of night, he seeks you out, knocking on your door, hoping, praying to the Archons above that you're not asleep yet

and it seems like his prayers were heard, as he can hear footsteps cautiously approaching the door

"It's me, darling. Please... can you open the door?", he calls before you even have the chance to ask who is out there

without hesitance, you open the door, seeing him standing there causes your heart to ache

without questioning him, you pull him inside, closing the door and then immediately turn to hug him. You instinctively know that he needs this right now

Diluc wastes no time in reciprocating your show of affection, burrying his face in your hair, breathing in and commiting your smell to his memory

standing here like this for a few minutes, you are the first to pull away, asking him to lay down with you

he nodds his head in agreement, following you to the bedroom where he pulls you close into him as soon as you are both comfortable on the bed

night like this have become a common occurance for you, knowing where the roots of his actions lie

without him having to ask for the much needed reassurance, you give it to him, trying to further the comfort with your touches to his arms and back, lightly stoking the skin there until his eyes start to grow heavy and he falls asleep

he has never told you the full story about the things that had happened in his past, and you don't pressure him to do so. Once he's ready, he will come to you on his own, you're sure of that

Until that day arrives.. you can wait and help him in any other way that he needs..

[king--of--ducks]

TW:EATING DISORDER (MENTIONED), SELF HARM (MENTIONED), SELF DEPRECIATION, (PAST) SUICIDE ATTEMPTS, SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SEF DESTRUCTION, BLOOD.

This is gonna he kinda lore-heavy, but can be relatively summarized in the next chain of messages/reblogs.

Sorry if I @ ed anyone who’s uncomfortable with reading this, you don’t have to read anything, it was more a lore thing. He sent a text to some people.

Lucifer…had made a horrible decision. He sacrificed his daughter’s happiness in a decision that wasn’t his to make to save her life…he could have done so much better.

He had his would-be daughter in—Vaggie’s spear clutched in his hand, thinking vaguely for a moment if he should even be doing this…not like anyone would care…but he should still leave a goodbye message…so he sent a text out to several people. It was fine, he was fine, everyone else would be fine.

@the-moth-ex-angel, @featheryhoe, @mammon-money-maker, @mcalastor, Blitzø, @alyxdefoisnthere, @headlessdeaddancerz

Dear [NAME]…I’m sorry, so sorry…even more sorry to those I might not have thought to send this message to in the moment. I…I’m a pathetic king…and pathetic as a whole…I fucked up big time. I want Charlie to inherit the throne, but don’t let Jewel have any more power then she already does, kill her if you ever have the chance…I just can’t do this, I know that it doesn’t make a difference to any of you…but I’m still so sorry. And make sure my little girl never forgets just how much I love her.

He sent the text out, before dropping his phone to the ground. He looked at the spear again, asking if he was really gonna do this, feeling like he was gonna puke despite not having eaten in weeks …but the time for asking didn’t last long before he jammed the spear all the way through his chest

Nothing in Hell had been strong enough to kill him any of the times he tried before…but this weapon had been from Heaven, made with angelic steel…it was enough to actually do damage.

He felt sharp pain, more pain then he ever felt from the cuts on his arms, more so when he pulled the spear out, the golden blood coming out felt so…horrible, but fitting at the same time.

His final thoughts as the world dissolved into darkness and hit the ground, was that he finally succeeded, that he would finally stop being a burden. And that thought was just as horrifying as it was comforting, he would never hurt anyone again…

That is until he woke up in his bed, with a familiar voice asking him some questions he couldn’t understand.

[[So, Lucifer didn’t succeed in killing himself, but he thought he was going to. He’s still alive. And baby is getting some comfort he desperately needs.]]

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw for minor whump

Adoption Whump

Think a teenaged character in an orphanage or foster care. They’d always had a relatively good life; despite being orphaned their home was always filled with lots of other kids like them and they were happy. But, they’d heard horror stories of the horrible lives kids lived after adoption. Lives of abuse, of fear, of pain. They’d be put through endless torment, used, thrown around and beaten up, degraded simply because they were helpless, without a family, without a way to call for help. They shuddered at the thought, but surely, those stories were just that right? Stories. They were satisfied with their comfortable life, and if they ever got adopted, well, they were sure it couldn’t be that bad.

They were right on one front.

It wasn’t bad.

It was worse than they could have ever imagined.

The home seemed nice from the outside, a beautiful exterior, lush greenery, fountains sprawled over the grounds. Everything appeared to be perfect. To the average onlooker it would seem like a luxurious place for anyone to reside. It only made the reality of the situation ten times worse. Once inside, though still littered with decoration, the atmosphere was different. A threatening and frightening energy lingered in the air and the teen turned slowly toward their new owner. And that’s when it began.

The pain.

If asked, the teen couldn’t tell you what their daily life there was like. It was all jumbled together and fuzzy, their thoughts incoherent, clouded by suffering. There was only one thing that remained stable the whole time.

Hurt. Beatings. Pain. Anger. Hands. Kicks. Punches. Pain.

Each day was filled with impossible loads of tasks to accomplish.

Clean every inch of the house and do the laundry. Cook dinner and take care of my kids. Go out to buy groceries and entertain the guests. And I want this done before I get back.

They didn't talk to anyone except to be reprimanded for things out of their control. Every word said to them was meant to beat down, to crush. And when, not if, they didn't complete the overwhelming amount of work...well, they didn't like to talk about what happened then.

They went through life with eyes glazed over and a mind that constantly wished to be away, away from life, away from reality. The only thing they wanted was to leave.

Then, they were adopted by a rich person.

When they heard the news, they grew even more draw in and frighteningly quiet. Their old foster parent was overjoyed to get rid of them which only made them more fearful for what was to come, terrified of what their new parent owner would do to them.

They arrived at the new house and were in awe of how grand it was. Every crevice of the exterior was fully decorated to display their wealth. But, the only thing it could make the teen think of was how much worse they would be hurt here.

They heard footsteps approaching and immediately directed their head downward, trying to radiate submission and not wanting to anger their new owner.

The footsteps got closer and they hunched in further as their heart rate sped up, until finally two feet stopped in front of them. They held their breath for a moment, waiting for something to happen, a word, and order, a sigh, a kick or a slap even. A hand suddenly came into their view and they held back a flinch, but it just slowly rose until it gently met their cheek.

"Hi." A soft voice said.

Their heart jumped and they widened their eyes. That voice was smoother than anything they'd heard before.

"Can I see your face?"

The teen blinked dumbly for a moment, then registered they were being spoken to, not spoken at and had to hold back a jump at the unfamiliarity of the question. Why would they ask me-

"What's your name, love?"

The teen realized too late that they'd taken too long to respond, lost in their own worries and thoughts. They quivered slightly at the consequences of ignoring their owner and being reproached already, but..

'Love...'

"W-Whumpee..." The teen whispered quietly, lowering their eyes and wishing they could curl in on themself and become smaller. They couldn't ignore a direct question, but were terrified knowing talking was a sure way to get into trouble. But the hand that was still on their face wasn't letting them escape.

Against their expectations, they weren't scorned or spit at for saying their name. Instead they heard a light response.

"Hello, Whumpee," They could almost hear the smile (smile?) in the voice, "My name is Caretaker."

"Would you look at me, dear?"

Their breath caught and their eyes darted around as their brain hastened to find the right thing to say. They couldn't in good conscience look their owner in the eye but the certainly couldn't disobey an order. Amidst their wrestling, they must have absently nodded their head because, to their terror, the hand on their cheek started raising their face.

Their breathing picked up but there was nothing they could do except let it happen until they were finally face to face with the person who would control their fate for the foreseeable future. They expected to see a harsh, stony face to match their status, but instead were met with overwhelming calm, a warm aura, and a tender charm that made them want to melt. Caretaker oozed control and confidence, and the teen could tell they held a lot of power; they held themself high, were dressed in sophisticated clothing, and Whumpee had to crane their neck to meet their gaze. And yet, there was a soft feeling about them and their face was filled with kindness.

"Thank you." Caretaker smiled with squinty eyes that reminded them of the little kids at the orphan home.

The teen had never been more confused, afraid, and in the presence of such serenity all at once.

[heaven4lostgirls]

my life would suck without you<3

poly!marauders x fem!indian!reader

tags: super fluffy, cooking with your boys

a/n: this was purely indulging myself because i barely see any indian representation in the marauders fanfics so here you go! let me know if you want me to write about other things

you loved your boys, more than words could describe. moving in together was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

stolen kisses between the three of them and you whilst you were cooking, movie nights cuddled up under blankets watching a new movie.

life couldn’t be more perfect if you tried.

you were currently in your study, all of the boys and you had dedicated rooms for yourselves to do work or game. gaming was much more james and sirius’ thing than yours and remus’.

currently you had a paper you needed to write and you couldn’t focus.

james and remus had been popping in every couple of minutes to check if you were okay and just to hang out.

remus was mostly the one checking in on you whilst james sat on the floor with his head on your thighs pouting and poking you until you gave him your attention.

sirius was out getting groceries for dinner tonight since you weren’t able to.

when you heard the door open downstairs you made your way down to get a start on dinner.

all of the boys were relatively okay cooks but nothing topped your cooking.

you were brought up in an indian household and your mum had raised you on a multicultural diet but not a week went by where she didn’t make at least one curry or indian dish.

james and sirius, having grown up with english food weren’t that good with handling spices but remus was a lover of all kinds of food so all you really did when cooking was just make sure james and sirius had slightly milder portions of curry.

today you were making butter chicken, naan and a side of rice.

whilst you started on the butter chicken, remus made his way into the kitchen to start with the naan. he wasn’t that good at cooking but he was an excellent baker.

since you couldn’t trust sirius with much things concerning the kitchen you let him wash and boil the rice.

you all worked together in harmonic chaos, the ever so subtle curse leaving sirius’ lips as he burnt himself trying to test if the rice was ready and the huff of remus as he kneaded the dough.

james had walked into the kitchen after his shower and sat at the island making conversation with you all as you cooked.

once the meal was done you all sat at the table, you and sirius next to one another, james across from you and remus across from sirius.

as you broke your naan and grabbed some butter chicken in your hand you felt sirius tap your hand

you looked at him and he opened his mouth dramatically with an “aaah” supposedly asking you to feed him.

you laughed at him and slowly fed him some butter chicken whilst grasping his face making sure not to make a mess of your white tablecloth.

james and remus both looked at each other mischievously as they both then turned to you whining that you hadn’t hand fed them, claiming it was unfair to have favorites so now you had to feed all of them.

you shook your head at your man children before leaning over the table making sure your t shirt didn’t make it into any of the dishes before you fed james who just smiled lovingly up at you.

you turned to remus who grinned and enthusiastically hummed as you fed him, and playfully biting your hand.

you tapped his cheek slightly scolding him.

you couldn’t help but feel the warmth radiating through you, you knew your parents weren’t supportive of the whole polyamorous community but these boys had become your lifeline.

as you all finished eating you sat down in the living room, laying your head down on james lap and your feet on remus’ as sirius sat on the floor laying in between james legs you played with his hair.

you felt james play with your hair and you looked up to see his tongue poking out in a little concentrated face.

you smiled to yourself. this was home to you. your boys and you.

[palettepainter]

GENERAL + COMMISSIONS UPDATE

*Trigger warnings for mentions of depression and mental health overall, read at your own caution*

I have now been working at my new job for just over three weeks now, and while I've settled into the routine, I'm not someone who does especially well with change or other sensory variables such as unexpected noise (which at my work place there can be quite a few). This often leaves me quite exhausted after my shifts, so there is a likely chance there will be a longer wait time on commissions going forward. I don't like to leave people waiting on commissions, so I'm sorry in advance for this, but to prevent from burning myself out from overworking myself sadly this is what needs to be done in order for me to not get overwhelmed, and for my commissions to be finished to the best of my ability

Second order of business relating to commissions! My commissions for May are now closed! Commissions will be opening again in June as per usual, and then in July there will be limited slots. I'll be going away with family again in July to see other relatives, so slots will be limited. When we're closer to July I'll have a clearer idea of how much free time I'll have and how much of it I can reasonable dedicate to commissions

And lastly, on a slightly more serious note, I haven't been doing great..

I had a mental health related phone call at the start of the week, which I knew I would be having, but it was a lot more stressful and saddening then I thought it would be. It's put a lot more questions in my head then it has answers, has opened up the possibility of medication (something I have tried once for anxiety, but stopped once my parents found out), and has even put new possibilities for why I feel the way I do/have that has completely altered the way I now view myself and the way I've been carrying myself for over the past ten years

When I first learnt about depression it was shown as this big scary thing that only really really sad people with horrible lives could have, and so growing up, I didn't think I would ever fall into that group of people. It's a word that's been on my mind for a few years now, but it's never been something I've sought a diagnosis for. Ontop of not having a support circle in place, my parents also have - in a blunt way - a very narrow view of what depression is and who can have it. There views can be summed up as "This person went through something really really bad and now they have depression" so depression has also never been a word I've ever felt safe to really bring into the conversation with my parents (as well as other, more serious mental health issues)

The last time I ever spoke to my parents about mental health, I was told that I had "the easiest fucking life", and that's something I've carried for nearly 8 years. It's the biggest reason why I haven't really sought out a lot of professional help until last year, and even then I still believed I didn't really have it bad enough beyond very high anxiety

The call I had said that depression could very well be a possibility...and that really hurt to hear

I don't know if it was my parents, if it was my teachers at school, if it's the whole image we've built around depression that you need to be "broken" in order to be depressed - but being told I had the easiest life, being told indirectly I didn't have it bad enough, going all these years building up walls and rules and routines and all the emotions with it thinking I didn't have it bad enough.

To then be told I maybe COULD have been depressed all this time kind of fucks with your head

(I do want to make this especially clear that you don't need to have it "bad enough" in order to be depressed, anxious or with any other mental issue/disorder. Yes you can be in a bad situation, or go through a bad situation/s, but there is no ultimate "bad enough" scenario.)

If I've been posting random, small vent-ish related posts (I made one about gathering incorrect quotes for OC's as a form of self care recently) it's because outside of my socials it's been a very scary and confusing week. Home and my family are not places or people I feel emotionally safe to talk to about these issues, hence why I had the phone call in the first place, but obviously I can't be on the phone talking to a doctor/professional all the time, so any confusion, bitterness or any other feeling that's bringing me down I've been focusing on my art. I've been thinking it's not good enough lately, or it's not getting as many likes or comments compared to other artists, or that people don't like it at all

I have another phone call scheduled in the next few months, and with what I was told from the first one I had, I'm very anxious for the second one. This is something I'm doing entirely on my own, the reason I'm even writing as much as I am is because my tumblr is the only place in which no body from my family knows of. This is an update yes but it's also a way for me to unload everything that I've been wanting to talk about without directly putting myself in an awkward situation at home.

Hopefully, if anyone with similar experiences is reading, could you offer some advice? Or just reassurance?? I'd really like to know that this isn't a unique experience and that other people have gone through this and survived. This is all very scary and new, I might come back and censor or cutt all of this later, I don't really know how to end this off neatly after such a heavy update, but yeah.

Art may be slow, I've been posting for the sake of posting mostly because I don't want to leave you guys with nothing for who knows how long. But I think I might take a break from posting/messaging for a few days, I truthfully don't feel great, and that's not an attitude I want to have when I'm creating

If you made it to the end of the post thank you for reading this far and sorry it was a bit of a downer

[variety-fangirl]

Based off this ask:

Yours / Jimmy Keene x fem!reader:

Summary: inspo above ^ You and Jimmy had met in highschool, been friends for many years and dated not long after. Everything was perfect and he'd proposed after three years together. Was being the key here, because you hadn't expected to be engaged for a year and planning your wedding, only to find out you were 16 weeks pregnant with Jimmy's baby and him being arrested not long after before you had a chance to tell him. And if that wasn't bad enough, he pushes you away whilst in prison.

Warnings: angst which turns into fluff, happy ending. Not much (swearing, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of breast feeding, and general stresses of being a single mother semi-alone.)

Aurthor's Note: I'm back my loves! God has it been long overdue and how I have missed writing! College had been extremely busy and took up so much of my time, writing essays 3-5 times a week with little free time genuinely took all the joy out of wanting to write in my free time (when normally I always look forward to it and can't wait for the weekend to come so I can write). Months of non-stop work and a lack of free time made things so hard and I didn't want to do anything really. But! Now that college is finished, I am hoping to now return :D Yay! How I have missed it and you guys. Thank you to those who have been paitient, I know it sucks. Thank you for requesting, I do apologise that this took so long but I hope you read it and enjoy it all the same! As always, thank you guys for reading! It means the world to me, and I hope you guys enjoy! I have some exciting writing coming up! Liking, reblogging, and commenting really helps me out.

Plus note- I had started this earlier but I become quite unwell :( so it took me longer to get this done than before.

Word count: 2.7k

You had always thought your life was relatively normal. You had a lovely home, friends, a family, a fiance, etc... Nothing out of the ordinary, the same as most had. That was until your whole world got wiped out from under you, twofold. They always told you marriage was the hard part, that that would be where you had to put work in, but they failed to mention what could happen before that. The part no one had seen coming. That day in the courthouse, when Jimmy had reassured you all would be well and he wouldn't be gone long, he hadn't counted for the hard part either.

10 years.

10 fucking years he had been sentenced to. 10 years you would have to be without him and raising your baby alone. Not only would you lose him but your child would too, without ever even knowing him.

Even with him leaving for that long, you wouldn't move on or be with another. Jimmy was and is your everything, your soulmate and the one you were meant to be with. Granted, when you'd talked about and planned your future together over the years, you'd envisioned it side by side in your loving home. Not with him spending the next decade in prison, away from you and your baby.

When you'd heard those words come out of the judge's mouth and witnessed as the blood drained from Jimmy's face, the once smug and confident look wiping off his face instantly, you broke. If you hadn't already been sitting, you'd have collapsed under the shock and destruction that took over you like a boulder. Jimmy screamed your name as he'd been dragged away kicking and yelling, the tears pouring down your face as you desperately attempted to catch your breath. You couldn't, no matter how hard you'd tried, you were having a panic attack in the courthouse.

Jimmy's father had led you into the cool fresh air and held your hair back as you'd heaved and vomited all over the floor. He'd rubbed your back and said soothing, comforting, kind words to try and calm you down. Jimmy had driven you there, so you drove his car back. You all went to Jimmy's father's house to discuss what to do. You devised a plan on how everything would work and how best to support Jimmy through it. You had all cried together, huddled in a pile of supportive comfort to one another. It had helped you all to calm down enough but it didn't lessen or take away the raging knot of sorrow in your chest. The tight pressure that has refused to leave you, even to this day.

You had all agreed to take turns visiting Jimmy and provide him with anything he needed to make the difficult transition easier. But, to your absolute horror, Jimmy refused any of you to see him whilst in prison. You hadn't spoken to him, only heard the words from his father. He only spoke to his father on the phone. He allowed his father to visit him once in the beginning, in which he'd written you a letter for his father to give you.

The letter had been simple, straightforward and had left no room for argument. He had simply stated that he didn't want to keep you waiting so he was letting you go, that putting you through ten years of waiting was cruel and that he would always love you.

He'd left you. After everything, he had left you before you could tell him you were pregnant with his child.

You'd wanted to tell him so badly, but he wouldn't allow you to. You refused to have his father tell the father of your child and fiance that he was having a baby with the woman he was trying to push away. So, you'd tried to write him letters. Five in fact. Telling him about the baby and the fact that you wouldn't let him do this but he wouldn't accept them. He either kept them unopened or threw them away. You'd asked his father but he said he hadn't opened them and wouldn't.

You had told his father and stepmother the news, wanting to share it with someone and they had been so happy for you. They begged to tell him but understood that when you refused, it was something you wanted to share with him. So, you'd kept writing him letters with details about your pregnancy, provided pictures of your sonograms, and chatted about baby names. Hoping that one day he would open them and contact you on the number you provided.

But the call never came.

Your due date approached and arrived, and you gave birth to a beautiful and healthy baby boy. He was a mirror of Jimmy, a spit of his father in every way. He was beautiful. Jimmy's parents had been there to support you every step of the way, and you'd stayed with them for the first three months after you'd given birth. You had struggled desperately on your own and hadn't coped with the loneliness, so they had offered you to stay with them for as long as you needed. And honestly, they had loved it anyway.

Being a single mother over the coming months alone had been an adjustment period and a difficult one at that. You hadn't thought months and months ago when you'd found out you were pregnant, that you would have been doing it by yourself. You had always envisioned that when the time came, you would be doing it together. With Jimmy, your beloved, by your side. And yet here you were with a toddler, raising him by yourself.

You'd been angry in the beginning with Jimmy, wishing he hadn't been so stupid but it quickly had turned into anguish and sadness. Night after night as your baby slept beside you, you'd wonder how he was doing in prison. Wondering how he was managing, hoping he wasn't hurt or being hurt by others. You knew Jimmy was more than capable and could take care of himself, but that didn't mean that you didn't still worry for his safety and wellbeing.

You looked down at your son and wondered how different things would have been had Jimmy been by your side raising your son together. How sad you felt for the small things Jimmy had already missed. Your pregnancy and the bonding, the birth of his son and being by your side to support you inside of his parents, the first night home, the first feed, the first bath, etc... All the little things that bonded you to your baby and the precious memories those hold.

Throughout the months you had shown your baby boy pictures of his father and chatted to him about stories of Jimmy, even though you knew he didn't fully comprehend or understand what you were saying, you still felt it was important. You repeated 'da da' to the photos of Jimmy, trying to help your son associate his father with the photo, so he would know who he was. Eventually, he started babbling 'da da' at the photo on his own as the months went on. It made you smile bittersweetly that he seemed to recognise him in some ways at least.

A few weeks after your son had turned eleven months, you found out from Jimmy's father that he would be released from prison due to a secret deal he'd made with investigators for information about a serial killer's victims, in which the serial killer was in the prison with Jimmy. To say you were shocked was an understatement. Not only did you still not come to the acceptance that Jimmy would be gone for ten years, but you now had to accept and wrap your head around that he would be released a week from now. Just before your son turned 1 year old.

You had instantly burst into tears. Tears of confusion, relief, happiness, and worry. Jimmy had rejected you in more ways than one. He rejected you as his partner and took the option of choice away from you, as a way of trying to protect you but in doing so had hurt you more. He rejected the promise he had made to you, in which you would be together until you both died. He rejected your son, without even knowing him or the fact he was doing it because he refused to even give you the respect of speaking to you. And he rejected you and your feelings. He pushed you and your baby away.

You had asked his father to pick Jimmy up on the day of his release, for both obvious and selfish reasons, and asked that he prepare Jimmy for things to be different when he arrives home. But not to mention your son, you would do that. You had also asked his father to tell Jimmy that you were still at your home and wanted to talk when he arrived. He said he would get Jimmy to text you from his phone when they were close, so to give you enough time to prepare for his arrival.

You prepared some tea for yourself to calm down, fed your son and changed him, cleaned a little and waited anxiously for the text. You had stared furiously at your phone for that text. You'd distracted yourself by telling your adorable son that his father was coming home, hoping your baby would calm you down enough. You wondered if he would recognise him when he came through the door. And, how Jimmy would react when he sees the mini version of him.

Twenty minutes later, Jimmy and his father are outside your home, slowly making their way inside. You had chosen to stand in the hall, facing the door with your son in your arms, waiting patiently but anxiously for them to walk through the door. You had let them know to knock and then walk inside on their own accord.

The door opened slowly, so agonisingly slow and quietly, that you could hear and feel your heartbeat around you. Your breathing laboured in anxiety and stress. But the second you laid eyes on Jimmy, it felt like your world was complete. The man you love was standing in front of you in the open doorway once more with a look of utter shock on his face. He was looking at you and it felt like time stopped for a moment. You both stared wide-eyed at one another, not uttering a word.

That was until your son squealed in annoyance that no one was paying attention to him. He fussed to be put down, putting up a fight against you, so you put him down to do as he pleased. What you didn't expect though, was for your son to crawl over to Jimmy babbling 'dadada' over and over, until he was at Jimmy's feet. He squealed in happiness as he raised his arms and did grabby hands towards Jimmy, indicating he wanted to be picked up.

Jimmy looked at you as if asking for permission. You nodded and watched as Jimmy picked him up. Your son squealed whilst continuing to babble about 'dadada' as he grabbed Jimmy's face. You finally decide to speak, to break the awkward silence from everyone. "Jimmy, meet your son Tyler. Tyler sweetie, meet your daddy." You sweetly cooed the end to your son, introducing the two. Jimmy looked at your son in awe as he gently ran a finger down his cute chubby cheek.

"Baby? How? I have so many questions." Jimmy questions in both shock and awe, smiling when Tyler babbles nonsense at him and happily waves his arms about. You smiled at the scene in front of you and nodded, "I showed him pictures of you and said 'da da' at it. To help him recognise you. Granted I didn't know you would be released so soon and didn't expect him to pick it up so soon. But I'm glad he seems to recognise you. Shall we sit so I can explain?"

You invite them both in, watching with amusement and melting inside as Jimmy carefully watches his every step, looking downward as he moves into the living room with you. James stepped back, "I'll leave you pair to talk, I'll come by later sweetheart." You nodded appreciatively and hugged him before joining Jimmy.

You sit down with Jimmy on the couch, sitting Tyler on your lap as you face Jimmy. It was dinner time, so you pulled out your breast to feed Tyler. "Oh shit! I'll look away..." Jimmy coughed and turned away quickly as you situated Tyler comfortably to eat. You giggled to yourself, "C'mon Jim. It's nothing you haven't seen before. Besides, technically we didn't break up, so..." You cleared your throat uncomfortably, and Jimmy turned to look at you with a confused expression.

You decided to just get on with explaining, to make things more clearer for him. "I was already pregnant before you got arrested but I only found out a week before. I had missed my period and decided to just take a test to be sure and found out. I was going to tell you but then everything turned into chaos and you shut me out. I wrote you letters, so many letters Jim, explaining that we were expecting and for you to please call me or let me visit, but you never replied..." You took a deep breath, looking away for a moment.

"But I never stopped writing them. I put important stuff in there FIY, if you want to be caught up properly." You looked down and stroked your son's cheek as you spoke the next part, it hurt too much to say whilst looking at Jimmy. "I wanted to be there for you, you know? To support you through it and introduce you to our child but you refused to even speak to me. Like, what the fuck Jim? A letter?! I had no choice but to tell you about my pregnancy through letters because you gave me no other choice but you wouldn't even give me the decency of trying to break up with me in person?" You tried to stay calm to not disturb Tyler but you were hurt and raised your voice slightly.

You lifted your head to look at Jimmy when you heard him groan, "Shit, I'm so fucking sorry y/n. I fucked everything so badly with you and our child." Jimmy placed his head in his hands, "Wait, you said 'trying to break up'?" He lifted his head in question with tears in his eyes, pulling at your heartstrings. You nodded, "I did." He looked at you with such lost confusion that you rolled your eyes, "What? You thought I was going to let you break up with me from prison through a letter? Absolutely not."

"So... We are still technically together then?" He questions with a hopeful look, his eyes wide. You smile, "technically yes, but we aren't just going to go back to normal. If you still want this, us, then you'll have to make it up to me for your stupidity." Jimmy nods happily with a smile before looking down at your son. "I'll make it up to you, both of you. I promise."

Jimmy already looked besotted with Tyler, "he's a spit of you, isn't he?" You question with a smile. Jimmy nods, "a proper mini-me." He whispers as he places his finger between Tyler's, and grins proudly when Tyler grips them back. You smile down at the pair, feeling overwhelmed and happy.

Twenty minutes later, Tyler is fed and down for a nap in your arms happily. Jimmy is sitting beside you on the couch reading each of the letters you sent him from the beginng, saying he didn't want to waste any time and be caught up with everything he missed so he could adjust to being home and a father. You nodded and just simply watched, answering any questions he had or commenting on certain parts for further clarity. All while you had your head on his shoulder.

After much inner turmoil and encouragement from you, Jimmy placed his arm around your shoulder and hugged you and your son whilst reading. Eventually, his parents came by to see you all, to which you were all overcome with emotions and cried together whilst laughing at how ridiculous you all looked. Jimmy refused to move from either of your or Tyler's sides the whole time. And for the first time in almost a year, you finally felt content and not alone.

[jardinvrm]

Okay I REALLY wanna know now, what was Fuyumi's punishment for Harumi? Did she make her witness horrors beyond human comprehension? or was it relatively light but with a constant reminder of what Harumi had done to make her hate her life?

Oh god so, I usually put warnings on posts that like, are awful yes but, nothing compared to this one... for a good reason, SO PLEASE BE AWARE

TW FOR: drugs, torture, implied emotional abuse

Harumi was Fuyumi's breaking point, after crystalized Fuyumi tried, she tried so hard to let go of the past and just let C.O.C.K go, spending the rest of their lives in prison is more than enough but... Harumi had other plans

Fuyumi wants to let go of the past, she spent most of her time sulking and drowning in grief and misery and not to mention her executing S.O.G

I didn't like the whole redemption Harumi thing in crystalized so here's my view on her: she's not redeemed and she's still pretty much the same

So Fuyumi wants to cut Harumi out of her life, she's sending Harumi to spend her entire life in prison and that's that! she's never hearing from Harumi ever again... but, that didn't go as planned

Harumi is unfortunately, still Harumi, she would assault other inmates and due to her reputation they would just let her get away, and she obviously takes advantage of that

Due to Fuyumi being the only family Harumi has left, the police department brought Fuyumi back in...

Fuyumi is tired, she's trying so hard to let go of the hate in her heart, she WANTS to let go of the past but she can't, because the only thing that got her here in the first place, that's still connected to the past is still tormenting her and not letting go

Harumi just takes in the thrill and torments Fuyumi more

triggering Fuyumi on purpose and reminding her of what she did to S.O.G... yeah it's not doing so well

Harumi's mouth was literally spitting venom until Fuyumi just... snapped.

Harumi wants Fuyumi to stay? fine! SHE'S STAYIN.

And then Fuyumi sorta started her... party of executions on C.O.C.K see here and left Harumi for the end... but she can't just leave her like that without doing something to her until she comes back after finishing the job, right???

Harumi obviously outdo Fuyumi in everything and that includes strength, if Harumi wants to throw Fuyumi out of the window? she could!

So she started by putting Harumi in an asylum

Fuyumi orders people to create a specific drug just for this case, claiming only SHE COULD DO IT, the drug basically does this; Harumi won't be able to move a muscle, to talk, to do anything, she can only see and hear

And Fuyumi obviously gives it to her, now you can imagine how many times the needle was put in the wrong place due to Fuyumi not rlly knowing much about needles... ouch.

Fuyumi mocks Harumi for this, she would keep mentioning Harumi's 'quiet one' nickname and mock her when she can't respond, sometimes Harumi would try blinking but Fuyumi doesn't really let anyone see her let alone focus that much on her eyes

it gets worse actually, remember the one time Harumi recorded Lloyd and Garmadon's fight and made the entirety of Ninjago see it? yeah well...

Fuyumi does that, Fuyumi recorded what she did to each C.O.C.K member and force Harumi to watch, sometimes Fuyumi would watch and sometimes she wouldn't, that's if she had any sense of humanity left in her anyways

Now when Fuyumi doesn't do these... things, she would just, mostly cry in Harumi's cell, like straight up sobbing and asking what happened for all this to happen and pretty much blames Harumi for everything that happened

AND THAT'S IT! honestly this seems pretty merciful compared to what Fuyumi put Pythor and Asphera through... well I can't rlly go beyond this anyways-

[bowserssupermariopartylaugh]

rambles about my messy af bowuigi yoshi's island au thing, at the "behest" of @maxium-defense-luigi i have more bits and bobs but tried to "summarize" the vague major points and failed 😭

Basically, it's yoshi's island's premise where kamek kidnaps baby luigi, but ends up taking him in as his ward. So now bowser and luigi grow up together and become each other's best friend.

But remember, kid mario and the yoshies are still looking for luigi. When they finally manage to defeat kamek, they take luigi with them, to "rescue" him. But, for the most part, what they've done is tear luigi away from the only family he's ever known.

And taken away Bowser's only friend.

From here, the story can somewhat fall in line with the movie premise. In that, the yoshies hide the human children away, sending them to a world where they better blend in. A world no one else seems to know of.

But kamek doesn't know that. He wages a war against the yoshies, razing their island in search of luigi. To no avail. He extends his search to other kingdoms, and Bowser grows up knowing only that luigi was taken from him—

—and that he /despises/ the boy in the red cap.

Moving forward in time to when bowser ascends to the throne, you can only imagine how someone like bowser only doubles the search efforts. He tears through kingdom to kingdom in search of luigi, and leaves destruction in his wake. He gains a reputation as a war monger, the world fears him, and he intends to keep it that way.

Until the day bowser's troops capture a human fumbling through the kingdom. Because bowser's hopes and dreams of a happy reunion with his invaluable friend are instantly dashed when luigi /doesn't remember him./ All Luigi seems to do is cower from bowser as if he were a dangerous beast, who won't let luigi go back home, and luigi /doesn't want to stay./

But bowser has gone his whole life looking for luigi, to have him by his side /always,/ and he won't let go without a fight.

Luigi seems real preoccupied with running back to some "Mario" guy, and lo and behold, bowser's scouts discover that the stubborn mushroom kingdom has also received a visitor.

A man in a /red cap./

The main timeline difference here is that in yoshis island, you rescue luigi relatively quickly. But in order for the au to work, the yoshies cant find and rescue luigi until he's been missing for like a few years. Oof.

Theres so many tropes i wanna cram into this thing likeee. I love to imagine that bowser has basically gastby'd luigi, ykno? Where luigi, like daisy, has almost become more of a concept than an actual person in bowser's head. And that luigi would just conveniently not care about bowser having terrorized numerous kingdoms for "luigi's" sake, and that he'd just /agree/ to stay with bowser forever and ever etc. even tho its completely unrealistic and frankly ridiculous

Ive made a short post about this before, where i wanted to explain that i would want to do these different phases of their lives as separate parts, so that I could focus on the different stages and their different tones without it seeming too disjointed for one story. Like i rly wanna dedicate a whole story just to kid bowuigi bc guh theyre so precious 😭

And clearly i want to cram beauty and the beast in there. I love the idea of bowser instantly crushing on now-adult luigi, but he can't make any progress bc bowser has also let himself degrade into the monster the world views him as.

Its also fun to consider this like, thing of how /kamek/ was the one who started this thing of marking the yoshies as mortal enemies of the koopas, moreso than any other kingdom or race. And so bowser grows up in a kingdom at war, and just kinda absorbs that mentality and those practices. It's kinda all he knows.

(It also just doesn't help that kid bowser was HELLA traumatized by having luigi kidnapped from his own home /right in front of him,/ as kamek hid them both together in a saferoom. Likewise, luigi is def fucked up from being kidnapped but whereas bowser explodes from all of his issues, luigi is a perfect embodiment of repressed/suppressed trauma. 🥲)

And remember, mario was basically raised a la tarzan by the yoshies (hell yeah feral jungle boy mario), and luigi is mario's brother. So now there's these two heavily feuding groups, and bowser goes and falls for someone he shouldn't associate with. Yes, it's romeo and juliet, dammit.

I have yet to watch howl's moving castle but (excuse me if im butchering your special interest 😭), i feel like this plot is also vaguely similar to that movie.

Its just fun. Like. Luigi's kidnapped as a baby by the bad guys, the good guys rescue him after like five years but it's basically kidnapping at this point, so whos in the right and whos in the wrong, etc

Ugh this is why i dont write this story lmao, im trying too hard 💀💀💀 this idea has clearly been rotting in my head too long and getting out of hand 😵‍💫

[scenetocause]

right so you're obviously mando royalty. the highest tier. the bestest ever. but, like, can you go on a deep dive as to why? what captivates you about this fic? why is it so important to you?

hmm that's an interesting one. i think some of it is just how much they love each other, how much lando looks after max and max looks after lando, how completely ride-or-die they are about each other in ways they're not at all selfconscious about. there's a depth of caring between them, as well as very profound understanding, that makes their connection very secure, very safe. despite their relative positions they are each other's most important people, in max's childhood bedroom or lando's monaco apartment.

their whole deal is very uncomplicated. they simply are max and lando. max can get in his head a little and the things it's over aren't irrational; he's clearly in a very different place in his life to lando and still working that out. but the geometry of that makes sense the second they're together or lando's arrived in chat to be a goblin, refusing to let max think he's left behind. it's the look lando gives max to make sure he laughed at his joke in videos, that maxy was there for it because he's who lando's performing for. it's the easy way they find each other, their ways back there not changed by the other stuff around them.

i have a very codependent relationship to my own best friend and there's probably a little projection. but the way max and lando are to each other is very specific, even within their friends groups. they are maxandlando, landoandmax and surely it's that they were a little bit interchangeable for awhile, physically speaking and they're the ones who got furthest in motorsport.

max has a very sweet, innocent personality and he wears his emotions very obviously. lando is pixieish and a little malicious but he also shows how he feels very clearly. together they can trust each other with that. their physical interactions are just as easy, whether it's random violence or the gentle little touches max uses to ground lando when they're filming with quadrant. the way max instinctively covered lando in that rally video. the way lando always has to be the closest to max like when pets compete to be the most up in your space.

they're both interesting guys, too. a dose of angst in both of them, from things that have happened (anthoine's death, lando's long stint alone in lockdown, max's career falling apart) and just the fact neither of them exist very comfortably in their own brains a lot of the time. max might be totally incapable of saying the word depression and i'm not sure lando would manage it either but sometimes getting out of bed isn't easy for them and having a friend who will deal with you when you can't deal with yourself is such a vital lifeline then.

mostly they are just strange little men. they're so closeted away from the world by racing - never had breakups until luisa, never been to concerts, never done half the normal things but they're also very grown up from being in the racing world. they're a little pragmatic, while both romantic and ridiculous because their lives are positioned variously in or adjacent to race cars but also, sure, they'll buy a £35 paddling pool and eat maccies and leave notes about laundry.

[unrequitedloveletter]

Doomsday- N.L x fem! reader

Okay, this was requested by an anon and nonnie, I’m sorry this took me a bit! I loved writing this one out--doomsday by lizzy mcalpine is one of my favorite songs by lizzy so thank you for sending this in, it was a blast to write!

Fic type- this is angst with allusions to a happy ending (more a potential one that looms in the distance--the song radiates vibes of ominance and that came through in the ending lol)

Warnings- Nikolai and how he’s described is a little ooc and this fic was written two hours ahead of the time it was queued for, so it has been proofread, just not as best as I could’ve done so. 

You were sure of one thing and one thing only as you hastily packed a bag in your room at the Little Palace.

Loving Nikolai Lantsov had killed your spirit. You needed to get away from him, go as far and as fast as you could. It was better to do it in the light and breezy Ravkan air of September rather than to bother with it, see if you could wait it out until June when leaving Ravka would be made a bit more of an inconvenience due to how hot and humid it would get, and it would get that way very quickly. 

So, you were leaving then. You were sick of it. Years, you had spent loving him only to find that the show he’d put on for others was just that. A show. 

Confidence warped itself into arrogance--though you had to wonder, had it been such all along?--and charm warped itself into something less...well, charming. 

There was good within him somewhere--he was a Lantsov by name but not by blood. Not really. There had to be--but if it still existed within him, his goodness was something you could not find. 

So off you went, packing a bag as the sun set over the walls of the Little Palace. You allowed yourself to enjoy the sunset from your gorgeous view one last time, thanked the saints that Tamar had come up with a worthwhile excuse for when Nikolai had noticed you not in bed when the night was to fall. 

Visiting family, she had said. You’d left on a trip to see your family after one of your relatives had fallen ill. That gave you a month before Nikolai had started pondering on when you would return home, not knowing that you had left your wedding ring in the top drawer of your dresser along with a note asking that he choose not to seek you out because you wouldn’t like being found. 

You waited until midnight, and then you hoisted the bag over your shoulder and left the room you’d been staying in for the five months previous, as you and Nikolai tried to work things out but found no viable solutions, no therapy that worked the miracles you had hoped for. 

You closed the door behind you as silently as you could manage, moved breezily through the hallways with footsteps so quiet that even you couldn’t hear them as you moved, rushing but a bit cautionary so as to avoid seeming suspicious.

You ordered a carriage to take you down to the harbor, told the driver that you were rushing back home to visit an ill relative so that the lie was solidified by another of Nikolais ever so gossipy staff, and tried to focus your breathing into calmness as you sat in the carriage alone. 

When you arrived at the harbor, you thanked the driver. “I shouldn’t be gone more than a month,” you’d said, solidifing another piece of the puzzle. “Thank you for dropping me off.” 

And then you scanned the harbor, found dozens of people boarding dozens of late night boats, and chose to buy a ticket and board the one heading for Novyi Zem. 

A quiet life in Cofton awaited, a whole new horizon gleaming in the distance. Part of you felt hopeful, another part relieved to finally be away from the person you had loved once upon a time, the man who was not all that he made himself seem to be. 

[josephslittledeputy]

WIP Whenever!

Been tagged in a few WIP Wednesdays that I missed, so thank you @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @inafieldofdaisies @jillvalentinesday @marivenah @simplegenius042 @g0dspeeed for keeping me in the loop!

Tagging @clicheantagonist @henbased @nonfunctioning-queer @purplehairsecretlair @adelaidedrubman and anyone else who feels like it! (Or don’t, totally up to you)

First up is part one of Willa’s dark au, They Watch From The Pews

Another day gone by, another hostage saved, another person she’s helped that weren’t her people.

She'd been stuck in Fall’s End for nearly a week now, recovering from her concussion, helping out when needed, rescuing anyone who needed rescuing. Most everyone she’d rescued had made their way to Fall’s End, some even decided to form a group: The Resistance. Or at least that’s what they started calling themselves. It wasn’t very creative, but it didn’t need to be when it was getting the job done, which was to push back against the cult. So far, it’d been working relatively well and every day their numbers grew in strength. What she couldn’t stomach, though, was the fact that everyone looked to her like a de facto leader.

She was no leader.

What normally would elate someone else only made her infuriated. What right did they have to delegate such a role to her? Every day it was something new: Deputy, take out this group of peggies and rescue these hostages! Deputy, the cult stole all our gas, bring us some tanker trucks! Deputy, someone from the cult defected, you need to save them! Deputy, pick up a big rig you’ve never driven in your life because it was my dads! Never once did anyone ever ask about her needs. For days she'd been waiting for news, from anyone, and yet all they had to tell her was more shit that needed to be done! For all she knew, her people were dead already and here she was, playing a glorified errand runner for people who couldn't give two shits about her! Not unless she could do something for them first. The rage that had nestled in her chest before—a hot ember kept ignited by every slight she’d suffered—grew, and grew, until it was nearly consuming her.

Then, during one of the long, long days she’d been sitting in Fall’s End, she’d snapped.

“I don’t give a damn, Jerome! I’m goin' whether you 'er any a'yer little Resistance like it 'er not. And tell Mary May not to close my goddamn tab!”

They’d recently gotten word from the cult defector that Hudson was being kept in John’s bunker. Their only problem was that he kept the only key to the place tied around his neck and rarely ever left. When he did leave, it was with a whole entourage of peggies, keeping him more secure than the president themselves. It wasn’t that she couldn’t take them all down—especially with the help of the Resistance—but they had machine guns and grenade launchers, all things she very much lacked. So, her only course of action was to draw his ire, get herself kidnapped, and figure things out from there. If she played her cards right, she could get into the bunker and get Hudson out. Jerome and Mary May, however? Well, they weren't keen on the idea. What would happen if they lost their biggest asset against the cult? It led to an argument that carried over into the next morning, until finally, she threw her arms up and told them where the sun don't shine.

Fast Forward to when Willa rescues Hudson

“I know your sin. It drives you. Every thought, every action.” He lets out a breath. “Your sin is Wrath.” On the final word, he places his hand to his chest with a small laugh. “So I’ll indulge you: Become Wrath. Let it fill your body and consume your soul. Because in the end, you’ll still be empty. And I’ll be waiting right here.” John gives her a pitying look before throwing a glance behind him, at Hudson. “We both will.”

“No, John. I’m taking Hudson and we’re leaving or so help me I will cave your goddamn fuckin’ head in!” Swinging at him—something he evidently hadn’t expected—she smashes the pipe against his shoulder, ignoring his cry of pain. Dropping the pipe, she lunges for him, sending them both toppling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Her fist launches forward, sending his head snapping to the side in a daze when it connects. “That’s for drowning me, you bastard.” Standing to her feet, she quickly rushes over to Hudson, who was struggling and yelling. “I gotcha.” Gently peeling the tap off, she quickly begins working on her ropes, ignoring the groaning John on the floor, who was recovering from her assault quicker than she'd expected.

“You came… I-I thought…” Hudson sobs, taking in deep breaths that weren’t restricted by the tape over her mouth.

“Of course I did.” She moves to the front of her and crouches down, working on getting the restraints off her feet next. “I know it took me a while, I had to… Well, I was preoccupied.” She looks up at Hudson, gently wiping away the fresh tears that’d fallen. “But I never stopped looking. Now let’s get the hell outta here, huh?”

“You’ll never get out of here, Deputy.” John coughs, standing and shaking his head with a bruise beginning to form around his eye.

“Like hell we will.” She growls, grabbing Hudson’s hand and pulling her toward the door. Yanking on the handle, she slips out the small crack of the door and closes it behind her, sealing John in the room by himself.

Next is my beloved Valerie Morgan, from my Clash of Worlds AU

The wind rushes through her hair, the motorcycles engine purrs beneath her, and the neon lights turn into blurs overhead.

God, she hates to admit how much she missed Night City, but it truly feels like coming home, even if it’s not actually her city. It won’t be long until it is. Until all the little ants are trembling beneath her feet, eager to get out of her way or to throw their lot in with her in hopes of being spared. It’s a thought that tugs a wicked smile onto her face, pulling at the freshly healed scars marring the left side of her face, a courteous reminder from a name she no longer cares to remember.

She wouldn’t want to ruin such a good mood, after all.

She’s buzzing with an energy that could transcend time, if she let it. She feels unstoppable, like there’s nothing that can stand in her way. Nothing, except the asshole in front of her that causes her to roll to a stop. Her teeth grind together with a ferocity that nearly shatters the pearly whites inside her mouth, but she settles for a simple honk of the horn instead. And by simple, she naturally means laying on the horn until the person in front of her has the audacity to look behind them.

“Fuck you! Go around!”

Her eye twitches and her nostrils flare. “Fuck… me?”

“Yeah, you heard me!”

She looks around to check her surroundings before pointing at herself, repeating, “Me?”

“Yes! YOU!”

She puts the kickstand on the bike down and turns off the purring engine, giving the man one last chance “Are you sure you mean me?” She questions with a tilt of her head.

“Who the fuck else could I mean? You’re the only fuck nut honkin’ their horn for a minute straight! Can’t you see I’m talkin’ here?” He jabs a thumb to his right, where another person stands by the passenger door.

She gets off the bike and walks up to him with a skip in her step, stopping right next to his door. Flashing a slightly manic smile, she bends at the waist and leans her arms against the open window. “What I want to know is who stops in the middle of the road?”

“You some type of gonk or somethin’? I said I'm talkin'!”

She stops, stares for a few uncomfortable seconds, then starts to laugh. The driver begins to laugh as well, and pretty soon, everyone’s laughing together, like they’re all in on the same joke. What joke that is, they’re still not sure, but the whole situation was beginning to seem downright silly.

It really was just utterly absurd! How could she not have noticed this man was talking to someone? How dare she have the gall to bring attention to that fact? How dare she think that she was above him? That she didn’t know she could just go around him this whole time! It was all just so. Damn. Laughable. She reaches in the window, grabs ahold of his shirt, and yanks him out. With a strength nobody could know she possessed, she tosses him over his car and onto the sidewalk, barely missing the idiot standing by the passenger door.

“Y-you’re fuckin’ whack lady!” They shout before taking off at a full sprint, glancing back to see if she was coming after them.

Before they can look back a second time, she’s right in front of them. “I’m whack? You’re the one who’s running!” Lashing out, she aims for their knees, sending them falling to the ground like a rag doll. “But not for long!” She taunts in a singsong voice, leaving them to tend to their shattered knees. “Now where was I? Oh right!” With a cheery smile, she turns and heads back toward the driver stumbling to his feet, ignoring the pained cries and pleas for help behind her.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’d be more worried about how you’re eating tonight.” The wicked gleam in her eye and smile that matches is the last thing the man sees.

[heimdallsbraids]

Blood of Mine | Ch. 3 (Heimdall x fem!reader)

Summary: Life is pretty simple. Survive the harsh conditions of Fimbulwinter in Midgard, trade with your dwarven friends in Svartalfheim and – avoid the shit out of Odin’s most loyal lapdog? If word reaches the All-Father about your blood-bending origins, you’re doomed… (Hints of Avatar: TLA, but not a crossover)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Profanity

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

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Chapter Three: Asgard

Nerves had your stomach doing flips as you patiently awaited Odin’s ravens to take you to your next destination – Asgard. Home, for now, you supposed. It was a weird thought. To say you were mildly disappointed when you were transported into a large study lit by candlelight instead of the grand wall you knew surrounded the city was an understatement. You’ve heard many tales of the magnificent view up there, though very few were blessed to see it.

Only after a quick discussion about pay and the commencement of work tomorrow were you escorted out by a young teenage girl with thick strawberry-blond hair – Odin’s granddaughter, Thrúd. ‘Business awaits, you see,’ he had said right before his flock of ravens whisked him away. It threw you off a bit, being palmed off so quickly after what seemed like an eager pursuit, but you weren’t complaining. The less time around the man, the better.

She led up a set of stairs and into a vast hall that split off into different rooms, with a set of double doors sitting right down the end. Your room was the second one to the right. It was relatively spacious – bigger than you’ve ever had anyway – and held all the basics: a big bed pushed into the corner, two windows with a decent view, and a wardrobe to put your stuff in.

“You like it?” Thrúd asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s nice,” you answered, running your fingers along the soft furs on the bed. “Thanks.”

“It was my brother’s… He’s no longer with us.”

Your face fell and, disturbed by the news, your hand recoiled. “O-oh! I’m sorry-”

She shrugged. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She jutted her chin towards the cupboard. “You can throw your coats in there for now if you want. It’s pretty warm out today.”

Nodding, almost awkwardly, you stripped off the excess layers of clothing, leaving you in your plain tunic and pants. You couldn’t help but notice how worn your clothes looked. To you, it was simply a sign of the hard work you’d done, but you weren’t sure that’s how the people of Gladsheim would see it. You probably looked like a beggar.

“This is amazing,” you breathed as you followed your new host into what was known as The Great Hall.

It was rather quiet, with only a dozen or so people sitting around the huge dining table or lingering near doorways to eat and mingle. It was most likely due to it being the early afternoon, but you didn’t doubt that this place could easily withhold up to two hundred people – perhaps even more – on an eventful night. You didn’t have anything like this back home. The camp leader’s tent was about as grand as it got, which could all but fit four people at once.

 “Wait ‘til you see outside.”

Stepping outside of the lodge was like stepping into a whole new world. There was a huge, empty courtyard made of stone, but it was the surrounding city that had you gawping in amazement. “Holy shit…”

“Holy shit, indeed,” she agreed with a proud smile. “Sometimes I forget how lucky we are until we get new people.”

“I’m guessing that’s not a common occurrence?” You asked, spinning around to admire The Great Lodge once more. It was simple and totally not what you expected a God like Odin to reside in, but it was nice.

The city was huge, littered with an array of wooden buildings, streets and bridges, and while the fabled wall in the background was daunting, it was actually quite beautiful at the same time. It was impressive. Even more so than Niðavellir, and that was quite a feat in your eyes, considering the dwarves’ creativity was hard to beat.

“Nah, doesn’t happen too often.” She clarified, leading you up a set of stairs to what seemed like a tavern. “Midgardians are usually posted in the refugee town just outside the wall.”

You had half a mind to ask her why that was exactly, but the clamour that erupted from within the building was almost deafening. It was filled to the brim with Einherjar soldiers, drinking from tankards and getting rowdy with each other. Servants scuttled around with their heads bowed, refilling cups and cleaning as they went. Even they had pretty decent clothing, you noticed.

Thrúd tugged on your arm just in time to avoid you receiving a flying cup to the head. Shocked, you grimaced at the two soldiers delivering punches at the table nearby, their comrades surrounding them, jeering and egging them on.

“What the…”

“You’ll get used to it,” she laughed, guiding you with a hand on your shoulder. “This is nothing. You should see the feasts.”

The teenager took it upon herself to shield you from any more incoming projectiles in the shape of cups, bowls and the occasional body of a drunken soldier. It made you realise how built she was for a girl her age, watching her shove people aside as if they were merely sticks. Finally coming to the exit, you sucked in a long breath of fresh air once the door closed behind you.

“Gets pretty stuffy in there, hey.”

“Yeah… the soldiers kinda stunk,” you admitted.

She looked like she was going to add to that, but her friendly expression slipped as she saw something in the distance. “Ugh, great.”

“What? What’s wrong?” You asked, looking around to see what made her so sour. It was then that you spotted a familiar pair of bifröst eyes, and they were currently narrowed at you.

Heimdall. He looked irate as he rode along on a beast you’d never seen before. It looked like an aggressive oversized lion with horns, yet it seemed perfectly content with him sitting upon it, its long tail flicking about when others got too close.

“That’s my uncle,” she groaned. “Let’s get out of here before he kills the mood.”

You snorted, “That thing is your uncle? I am so sorry.”

“You sound like you’ve had the pleasure of meeting him before,” She grumbled as the two of you adopted a brisk walking pace in the opposite direction.

“Ruined my whole damn month.”

You peeked behind to see if he was following, but luckily, he wasn’t. He’d completely vanished from sight, which was odd considering the sheer size of the beast he was riding. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not.

Over the next few hours, the two of you walked around the city, with Thrúd pointing out and describing important landmarks like the markets (where you’d begin trading when ready), the training grounds (you might watch the Valkyries sometime), and the lift that led directly to the top of the wall, though she encouraged you to avoid it like the plague if you didn’t want to run into Heimdall again.

For the final stop, she guided you to the local tailor shop, which, thankfully, wasn’t too far from the lodge. It turns out Odin had requested several new sets of clothes for you to wear on his tab.

“Isn’t this a little too much?” You asked Thrúd as the tailor danced around your position on a stool to take your measurements. “I only wanted one set to get me by until I can afford my own.”

 “The All-Father,” you had to stop yourself from gagging at the obnoxious term, “-is being generous. Just accept it.”

After being poked and prodded a bit more, you were eventually shoved into a backroom to change. Unfortunately, the man didn’t have much in the way of your size, but he managed to scrounge a decent set for you to wear while you waited for the others. It consisted of a fresh white tunic (that was slightly too big on you), brown leather pants (that fit suspiciously well) and a belt that had no purpose other than to ‘make you less boring’ (his words, not yours). Naturally, you weren’t amused at the time, but you had to admit, the way it hugged your waist was pretty enticing.

The Great Lodge was bustling with activity upon your and Thrúd’s return, countless people, Gods and soldiers moving about to get their fill of food and drink before turning in for the night. You were amazed at the massive spread of meat, vegetables, and delicacies spread wide along the huge dining table, and you flushed when your stomach rumbled loudly enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the crowd.

The young teen shook her head in amusement, “Let’s grab some food and join my mother.”

You were handed a bowl of braised meat stew and bread to start with, and your mouth was watering by the time you finally reached the end of the table where Thrúd’s mother, Sif, was sitting, quietly enjoying her meal. She was a beautiful woman with unbelievably long blond hair twisted intricately over her shoulders and front. You were a little shy initially, but she warmed you up relatively fast with a gentle smile and kind introductions.

“So,” Sif began, chewing on a piece of cheese. “You’ve never been to any other realm except Midgard and Svartalfheim?”

“And Vanaheim,” you added, shrugging. “But that was a long time ago now.”

“So, you are… mortal, then?” Thrúd interjected, her tone curious.

After a slight pause, you conjured up a short, “Sure am.” It might bite you in the ass later, but who knows how long you’ll be here.

The two shared a look, but you took no notice as you continued to enjoy your hot meal. By the time you were finished, you were ready to turn in for the night, so you stood up, excusing yourself from the mother-daughter duo. However, you didn’t make it very far as you backed into a firm chest. Your empty bowl clattered to the floor.

“And where do you think you’re going, sunshine?”

You knew that smooth voice. Fuck…

You turned around slowly, shoulders tense as you made eye contact with the blond-haired God. “Heimdall.”

His expression was one of judgement as he took in your appearance, brows furrowing as he gave you a firm shove. Back on the bench, it was, but not without a harsh glare being sent his way.

Unaffected, he took a seat beside you. “What brings filth like you into Asgard, I wonder?”

“Not you, that’s for sure.” You moved to leave, but his hand on your shoulder prevented you from going anywhere. You smacked it away, “What is your deal?”

You almost forgot your audience until Thrúd piped up, “Leave her alone. She’s got better things to do than deal with you.”

“Is that so?” He feigned innocence, reaching over to steal some bread from his niece’s bowl before she could stop him. He ripped it in half, all the while eyeing you down as you sat there, seething. “That remains to be seen.”

It was Sif’s turn to interrupt. “Heimdall. I take it you’re done patrolling the wall for the day?”

“Obviously,” he replied, almost lazily. “The real cause for concern right now is this thing.”

Irritation washed over you. He’d somehow heard your insult from earlier and was dishing it right back to you.

“Oh!” You gasped, a sickeningly sweet smile curling at your lips. “Did I hurt your feelings, asshole?”

A barely noticeable tick in his jaw told you you’d struck a nerve; the God clearly unused to people of your standing speaking to him in such a manner. Or at all, if his reputation with Thrúd and Sif extended to everyone else in Asgard.

He was quick to cover it up with a cruel smirk and another dig. “Tch, hardly. I’m afraid you lack the intelligence to achieve such a feat.”

You rolled your eyes at that.

Popping the last morsel of bread in his mouth, he stood up with an obnoxiously loud sigh. “Well, I have to say, this was… boring.” He gestured to the bowl on the floor with a careless wave of his hand. “I’d pick that up if I were you, sunshine.”

You did so, feigning throwing it at his shoulders as he sauntered off, which gained you a snort of amusement from Thrúd.

You huffed. “What an insufferable prick. Again, I am so sorry that you’re related to him.”

“Don’t be,” Sif said. She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s you that’s got his attention at the moment. I must warn you; he’s hard to get rid of once he digs his teeth in.”

“Plenty of chances to get back at him, then.” You conceded, running a hand through your hair.

You had no idea what crawled up his ass – or possessed him to even approach you in the first place, but you knew it couldn’t be good. He was the God of Foresight – the precious watchman of the Aesir – for a reason, so you’d have to tread carefully around him and Odin.

It wasn’t long before you were finally returning to your newly designated room and stripping down to your tunic for bed. It had been an extremely long day, especially with the added stress that came in the form of a righteous blond prick. It’s safe to say you were asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

[mandalhoerian]

total eclipse of the heart | 1

❝ Once upon a time there was light in my life, but now there's only love in the dark. Nothing I can say, a total eclipse of the heart. ❞

Pairing: anakin skywalker x reader 

Note: fem!reader, jedi librarian!reader

Summary: Love is the death of duty, and duty is the death of love. This is the story of you and your fellow Jedi Anakin Skywalker orbiting around each other in this never-ending, all-consuming cycle.  

Warning(s): nothing else but pining and yearning lmao . also my amateur-ish 2016 writing + sun/moon dynamic GALORE . ur gonna be SICK of this imagery at the end of this. sue me. its not named the way it is for no reason HAHA

Word Count: 1455

1 | 2

If Anakin Skywalker is a star, colliding with swirling and thundering nebulas that shine upon his eyes; then you are a mere moon destined to never ever leave your planet's side. 

If Anakin is a star in a whole system, a sun; then you are still the humble moon in your humble life, which occasionally lines up with that sun to create an incredible sight to witness.

This is how your relationship is, actually. Your lives collide like hands of a clock when they have to, but this team-up never lasts too long in order with a Jedi's obligation to keep moving thanks to the raging war tearing the galaxy apart. 

A Jedi Knight and a Jedi Librarian don’t tend to cross roads often, and certainly mix like oil and water. 

Jumping around system to system wherever the orders of the Jedi Council took him naturally led to him barely ever around in the Temple and that had almost mythicized the person emerging as The Hero With No Fear adorning the headlines of HoloNet. General Skywalker quickly had become a walking beacon for attention with his brilliance in the battlefield and his unconventional way of practicing his profession. 

Maybe it was your peace-and-quiet seeking self (who just wanted to research in your own pace) being grumpy, but you wouldn’t say he is an outstanding example to look up to for Padawans and Younglings with the way he made them get used to the archives as the meeting point to gossip and share stories. 

From what Master Kenobi had told you in a passing conversation when you were complaining, it was his old habit to in the past as a Padawan to use the Archives as somewhere he could do anything other than reading because he found staying in one place stuck in a seat and glued to holobooks boring - boring! - so he had influenced others of his age to tag along in his shenanigans until he was banned from the hall for a limited amount of time. You’d asked Master Kenobi just what exactly he had done to piss your mentor off that badly but all you got was a half-tired, half-embarrassed smile before he’d scurried off Force knows where.

(You still couldn’t believe he found learning boring.) 

All things aside, you could do without picking up something something Skywalker being whispered about between preteens hidden behind shelves as you were buried in a new hyper-fixation, really. Years of getting used to quietness had brought annoyance lit like a forest fire as a downside when you were disturbed. It wasn’t him doing it intentionally as he was systems away, but if he were to pop out somewhere when you were in a particularly bad mood, you were sure you’d hurl your oldest trusty datapad at his head. Not a second wasted for the hesitation factor.   

It was a place to seek knowledge in serenity, and Skywalker had shoved his invisible hand in here and stirred the pot so irreversably that most of your time was spent patrolling around in the Archives like a dog to keep the young ones in line. “Madame Librarian alert!” line, referring you barreling down the corridors running on your tiptoes, had spread like a plague and even your former Master Jocasta Nu was amused by the inside joke that made your ears smoking red.   

It was annoyance at his shadow intruding on your relatively unaffected life by the war at first. Yes, it had all started with your one-sided animosity at him ——

—— only to be turned upside down on its after he had come to your rescue (our of nowhere, really) in what you knew to be a bounty hunter’s heist on the holocron vaults in the archives. You had no idea your body was capable of getting that red when he had all but manhandled you around to get you away from blaster shots raining down in intent to kill. Skywalker was all but taunting smirks and remarks in the action to turn the tide around and you were tight-lipped and shock-bound, the difference between you, the professionalism and the abilities, were the size of mountains. The gentleness and sweet concern for your wellbeing wrapping around you like a weighted blanket when the danger was over, though, was a contrast you weren’t even aware that you didn’t expect.

You honestly had no idea what had happened, you were left alone with the feelings you’d caught for him after he left like the whirlwind that he was.  

You took it as a lesson to learn from yet another piece of work you’d finished and used in training, made him to be a fleeting ideal and a funny what-if to be entertained in your mind, you reminded yourself every time you catch a glimpse of him here and there that the Chosen One had to be unreachable. 

You were sure your path as a Jedi was being tested on purpose by the universe as the time went on.

You did not like the fact that you had undeniable feelings for this guy. Not one bit. Annoying little moths bounced around in your stomach when someone muttered his name ever so softly in your library now, and the initial dislike was nowhere to be found -- on the contrary, you wanted to hear more about his newest victory. 

There was a reason why you were pursuing a life the Order, you had principles and it was simply no way in dead stars that you’d throw this all away for the unattainable Anakin Skywalker. A guy who has absolutely no interest for you, to top it all. 

You‘ve had asked yourself, Would I be willing to love him openly if he looked at me the way I looked at him?, a couple of times when your relationship were developing from strangers to colleagues. The Jedi in you knew it was not wise to think like this, to hope like this. 

Expectations that shouldn’t exist in the first place, you took as more lessons to overcome as Jedi. What were you going to do, keep being (barf) lovesick until the feelings decided to evaporate? Would they ever?

So you used them in your studies. Easy. It’s duty. 

In the meanwhile, you tried your best to hide even little things: the way you lingered on him when he wasn’t looking while randomly passing you by in the halls, the smile you faked to play the part when he waved at you from afar to say hello. The quiet daydreams that came over you while reading. You kept to yourself. 

At the end, It wasn’t the decision to stay away from him that hurt, it's the flashbacks that followed.

Anakin Skywalker is a star, you're a mere moon that chose to only shine with borrowed light, and you’d come to like watching him shine, from afar. And the point of no return for you was the moment you had discovered a stumbling flicker in the light of that star.

After the excitement would die down, you saw the way he would take in the clones' happiness and growing hope to win this war. You knew the way he would boast about it, being all prideful and valiant like the man he is; but later on, discovered him staring off tiredly into the blackness shining with an infinite amount of diamonds spread across, his sky blue eyes nearly ultramarine with not the lighting, but with the heaviness of his worries, hurting for others. 

Intimate moments like this in which Anakin looked more like a human than a supreme being got to you. In those, you resented unraveling him; what was hidden beneath the shiny exterior of The Chosen One. Yet you were drawn to his orbit just as much as you wanted to get away, and you shot off from the comforting confines of the archives and voicelessly floated beside him to be an unexpected yet welcome guest -- a conversation friend at most, maybe, voicing your opinions about... things. To lift the weight off his shoulders, anything not to see him in grief like that again. 

You let him in on your fears, your humanity behind the Jedi image, sometimes strategies you’d discovered belonging to the records of the Old Republic regarding the war — even when you knew whatever you blabbered about lecturing had nothing on his genius and was probably more boring than reading to him.

When your feelings roared behind your shy whispers that echoed in his ears, the anxiety that he had figured you out by now squeezed your heart in a durasteel fist, it was a warning that he’d try to pry and not a hair in your body would pick up on it because he overwhelmed all your senses already. 

But if you were good at something, that would be hiding away. Hiding away from yourself, from everything. In the Archives, and buried in the shifting pages of datapads and holoscreens.

But as long as you meditated, you were fine. Having feelings for Anakin was something you got used to overtime, you knew how to keep yourself steady, you’d normalized it.

You thought you knew everything about what this man could do to you by now. You were safe. 

But deep down you knew, you knew that only a fool would think they know everything rather than a wise man.

He loved a Senator.

[monpalace]

OKAY PUTTING THIS HERE SO I DONT FORGET TO SEND YOU THESE IDEAS LATER (gotta go do dishes)

TWIS MOM(should give her a nickname)

-> time was the father that cared but didn’t care about the right stuff (proetctor of Hyrule means protecting his family, not there when family needs him emotionally/mentally)

-> twi’s mom idolized Time cause hero shizz and wanted to learn how to fight. Time refused which became the beginning of a rift between the two (will expand on later)

-> time disowned twis mom after huge fight, did it as a ‘scare tactic’ and didn’t think she would actually leave

-> ran away with her soon to be husband in there early twenties. Later Had twi (late 20’s-early 30’s) but where ran out of their home by monster. While running through the woods to get to ordan village (FORGOT THE NAME SORRY) dad dies leave baby twi and his mom alone while monsters chase after them

-> when Twi is a bit older, the golden wolf hangs around him and his mom is out/sick. Wolf has protected both twi and his mom from monsters attacks before (not the same one that killed dad)

WARRIORS x SEAMSTRESS READER!!

-> reader can manipulate cloth/fiber like best jeanist from mha (you dont havr to get the reference, just a reminder for me 😌)reader can fight using magical clothe,

-> has made a net to catch warriors, herself and his soldiers from falling to their deaths. Can basically make anything from cloth? As long as she has the materials to do so

-> ADORES young time/mask. Will always help sew his tunic when it gets torn and has even taught him the basics of her magic

-> has made a plushie that resembles navi, older Time still has it in his room somewhere. Has embroidered it with magic that makes it glow in the dark like navi <3

-> has made the majority of princess zelda’s wardrobe and has made royal/ball outfits for Warriors which may lead to tender touches and lingering stares as she measures him

OKAY I THINK THATS GOOD FOR NOW!! Be back laaterrr heheheh (you can posr this if ya want!)

trippy if you're tryna get me out of my writer block with all of these it's working ,,

but time going low and twi's mom immediately thinking she has to go to hell to go lower? idk if i want her or am her

time not coming to his senses until after he dies? him realizing that "damn. i really could've done this whole dad thing a hell of a lot better" and trying to make up for it as the golden wolf? twi's mom naming him link after her father because she still mourns him/her relationship with him?

babe i'm about to throw you the nastiest left hook you've ever seen or had in your life. why would you make me have these thoughts ??

idk a lot about mha, but the seamstress having similar powers to best jeanist made me think about that one seen where he changes bakugou's hair, but with mask/wars instead?

either mask is fighting tooth and nail to make her stop coming through the knots and naps in his hair because it's just horrendous as all get out-- or the intimacy of her fixing wars' hair but having just as many issues (not behavioral) as mask because despite the only thing he really has going for him is his pretty face

older relative! best seamstress to mask ,,,,,,,, *head in hands* i'm gonna emotionally shut down ,,,,,

(i am a big fan of mm. you will be able to tell in an unspecified amount of time)

[terramous]

we've never slept six feet apart

ABCs of whump: G is for Gunshot Wound title: happy. - black picket fence word count: 8.7k shout out to my beloveds @marjansmarwani @morganaspendragonss and @trkstrnd who looked over this and gave me validation while it was rotting in my google drive <3 !!MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!! AO3

Tommy didn't call it.

If it were anyone else, she would've before they even left the scene. Yet here they were, in the back of the ambulance, sirens blaring, Tommy pumping his fiancé’s chest as he sat numbly on the bench.

He was the one to break the silence.

"You can stop."

His voice sounded completely foreign to him, hollowed out and quiet even to his own ears. He supposed it made sense, he didn’t feel a whole lot like himself right now, emotion giving way to a chasm in his chest. He had no idea where the strength to speak came from, it was like the bones had been stripped from his body.

"I'm not doing that, TK."

It took him a few moments to be able to gather himself enough to speak again, his voice cool and even. It cut through the air like a bullet. "It's been twenty-five minutes. You know as well as I do that he's dead."

"I'm not stopping," Tommy insisted. "The hospital is only a few minutes away."

"Please," TK begged. "Leave him be."

There was blood soaked into Tommy's uniform, red spread all over the floor of the ambulance. TK's arms were caked in it. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to scrub it from his pores. 

There was a sense of calm as Tommy stopped her frantic attempts. 

"Nancy, no sirens," Tommy said, her voice soft and wrought with the same emotion that was currently eating TK from the inside out.

It was peaceful, or at least as much peace as TK could gather from the cessation of the sirens. Tommy clicked off the lifepak, detaching the bag from the end of the tube down Carlos' throat. There was a stillness in the air that TK knew came with grief. He wasn’t the only one grieving Carlos, he was a friend to Tommy and Nancy too.

A gunshot wound.

To the chest, a cruel mimicry of TK's own scar, of the wound he survived. Carlos' one was further down, more central–he'd bled out in minutes. 

No amount of saline or CPR was going to rectify this.

Heroic measures up until the hospital doors. TK echoed Nancy's words in his head, what she had said the night Tim died, it felt like a lifetime ago. But nothing about this had been heroic, they weren't lifesaving measures, they were torture. A torture to have TK watch efforts he knew were futile, to hear Carlos' ribs crack as Tommy tried desperately to restart his heart.

There was nothing she could've done.

No one had said a word after loading the gurney into the ambulance. Tommy worked in silence and TK had just watched her. He had known Carlos was dead–that he wasn't coming back from this. 

The hollowed out feeling in his chest just grew as he had watched Tommy try to resuscitate the love of his life. Carlos was his entire world; his sunlight; the centre of his entire universe, and she knew that, so it was no surprise that he had to be the one to tell her to stop.

Carlos was almost unrecognisable.

He was covered in blood, a relatively small perforation in his chest at the epicentre. His uniform had been cut away from his torso, his chest exposed and hooked up to the lifepak leads, defibrillator pads secured on his right shoulder and left side. They'd never been used, he'd never entered a shockable rhythm. 

It was quick. Carlos had been dead well before they even got a backboard to him. 

A gunshot. A crackle over the radio–gunman apprehended, officer down, requesting medical assistance. 

A part of TK knew that Carlos wasn’t coming home the second he heard those words. He didn’t panic, didn’t sprint to the building. 

He was staring down at Carlos’ partner–Elise Riviera–as she desperately tried to staunch the flow of blood from between her fingers. Freshly out of her training period, she had only been working with Carlos for a few months. 

She was a damn good cop, and had a heart of gold much like Carlos’ own, but she was nervous on her best days. She had been frantic. 

TK had only been at Carlos’ side for a minute or two, watching him gasp as he tried to breathe around a collapsed lung, before he watched Carlos go lax, his eyes still open, but the panic in his dark irises had subsided, emptiness in its place. 

Despite knowing somewhere deep down that this was the end, TK had been the one to start compressions. He’d stayed there kneeling on the ground until he was sure his knees would bruise as he pumped Carlos’ chest on his behalf. 

Nancy and Tommy had worked around him, silent except for orders being given out. 

Somewhere between putting his fiancé’s dead body on a backboard and loading him into the ambulance, it had really hit TK. His steps faltered and the crushing weight of nothingness swept over him–he was numb. 

It was a nostalgic feeling, one he had felt back when he first came to Austin, a haze of grey that only those deep brown eyes had managed to cut through. 

And yet, it was worse now.

He couldn’t see Carlos, not really, his face was mostly obscured by the endotracheal tube and strap securing it in place. His eyes were closed now, someone doing TK the courtesy of closing them, so he didn’t have to see that emptiness staring back at him. 

Just this morning they had shared breakfast, and more than a few light kisses, never straying from the other for too long. Until they parted ways for their shifts. 

He had no idea that was going to be the last time he saw Carlos alive. He’d seen Carlos before his heart had stopped but as Carlos choked on his own blood, he had been dying, he wasn’t alive. 

He was alive when his hands had been on TK’s face, holding him close as they kissed. It was always magic to kiss Carlos Reyes, and now TK would never have that opportunity again. 

Carefully, he took Carlos’ hand in his own, bringing it close to his face. He breathed in the scent of Carlos, still lingering on his skin, before pressing a soft kiss to his knuckle. 

No one spoke, no one knew what to say. All three members of this team had lost someone close to them recently, they all greeted grief like an old friend. But this wasn’t sitting down for tea, this was Carlos, dead on a gurney in the back of their ambulance.

The feeling was familiar, the circumstances anything but.

Tommy best knew what he was feeling right now, after all, she had lost her husband so recently. But dimly, TK realised that she had a lot more time with him. They’d built a life together and had two beautiful daughters. TK and Carlos’ story was just beginning, and as quickly as it had started it had been cut short. 

Sure, three years wasn’t a short time, but in the grand scheme of things they were supposed to have the rest of their lives together. That’s what the ring on his finger meant–the ring that was suddenly too heavy to lift, as if it weighed more than the Earth itself.

There was nothing that anyone could say that would make this any better, so no one spoke. 

TK watched numbly as the gurney was unloaded from the ambulance, too used to springing into action, relaying information to the doctors, keeping pace with the rolling wheels. 

He stayed seated this time. 

“Be careful with him,” Tommy said softly, and finally for what felt like the first time in years, she took off her blood-covered gloves. They didn’t look blue anymore, just dark and marred with Carlos’ blood. “He’s one of our own.”

The faces of the ER staff were a blur, but they nodded solemnly. 

TK didn’t know what to do with himself, but Tommy took his wrist in her grip and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on, let's go inside.”

He watched as Carlos disappeared between the double doors of the ambulance bay. He was gone–both literally and metaphorically. 

Tommy guided him around to the entrance to the waiting room, not following Carlos. He’d walked through the hallways of that same hospital a million times, but he’d never gone to the morgue. He wouldn’t today; he didn’t have the strength. 

So he just let Tommy take him wherever she wanted. He was a balloon caught in the wind, he had nothing left to anchor him, Carlos was gone and the string tying him to the ground was severed. He felt like he was floating, but he weighed a tonne.

Tommy sat him in the corner, next to the vending machine. It was a smaller row of chairs, two, then a tall houseplant, and the entrance to a supply closet. It was the most privacy he would be afforded in such a public place. 

He was covered in blood that wasn’t his own in the waiting room with a hollow look in his eyes. Everyone knew why he was there. 

The waiting was a courtesy. He wouldn’t be given updates, or information, they would hand him a bag of Carlos’ clothes, his keys, his phone, and his ring, and ask him if he wanted to see his fiancé’s body. 

But that was a while away yet. 

For now, Nancy silently sat beside him, placing her hand, palm up, on the armrest that sat between them. It was a silent offering. 

“I’m going to radio dispatch–call in a relief team,” Tommy said. “You two sit tight, okay?” 

TK said nothing. But apparently Nancy gave their captain the confirmation she needed because she offered TK a smile that didn’t meet her eyes, and gave him a soft pat on his knee. 

It hung unsaid in the air, that she was going to have to be the one to relay the news. 

Fire hadn’t even been at the scene. Medical was on standby in case things went South, which they did, because TK couldn’t have any peace in his life. He had his love for Carlos, their relationship bringing so much light into his life–and it had been so cruelly robbed of him today. 

So no one knew, except the three of them. 

A relief team would pick up their rig, take it back to the station. His father would come, someone would call the Reyes’. TK couldn’t help thinking that it should be him. 

He and Carlos had been set to be married, he should be the one to tell his once future in-laws that their son was dead. After all, he had watched it happen. 

But someone else would do it on his behalf. 

He hadn’t even shed a single tear, but it was only a matter of time before the dam broke and everything came crashing down on him. It just didn’t feel real yet. It couldn’t be. He had seen Carlos this morning, had touched him, had felt the warmth of his skin against his own. Carlos was so alive, in every sense of the word, he couldn’t be dead.

He was in a room full of people but he was so alone. 

Grief was an isolating feeling. 

He would not be the only one grieving Carlos, but it felt like he was the only person on earth who knew him. That wasn’t the truth, of course, Carlos touched the lives of so many people, everyone he had ever met, and he would be so dearly missed. By none more than TK. 

In that sense, he was selfish. To consider his grief more than that Carlos’ parents and family would have when they found out. They had known Carlos for his entire life, TK had known him for three years. 

Those three years had been the most vital and important of TK’s life. He’d rebuilt his life and his sense of self in Austin, shaping everything around being alive and no longer just living for something to do until he kicked the bucket–whether at work or his own hands. He’d never even entertained the idea of growing old, having grey hair and wrinkles, until he met Carlos and realised that he wanted every moment with this man, as many years as his body would give him. He had only hoped it would forgive him for twenty-six years of abuse from a kid who didn’t fear death.

And now he was alone. Alive. But alone. 

He had cheated death so many times, but it seemed that every time death couldn’t have him, it took someone he loved.

Carlos was the casualty this time. Collateral damage, just like he had described them after finding out that their fathers had planned and schemed behind their backs to catch an arsonist. A million lifetimes ago. 

His radio crackled against his collarbone. 

“This is Paramedic Captain Vega of Station 126, requesting for a relief team.”

-

Tommy stared, forlorn at her phone. 

She had to make this call, there was no way around it. But there was nothing she wanted to do more than to just pocket her phone and go back to TK’s side, to console him. 

Sighing, she clicked on the contact she was looking for. They needed to know. 

TK was grieving the love of his life just inside, and someone had to tell everyone else. It couldn’t be him, she couldn’t place that burden on him now. 

There was no option other than to bite the bullet and tap on the call icon, pressing her phone to her ear. 

“Captain Vega, what can I do for you?”

She heaved a sigh, there was no easy way to do this. “Hey, Owen.”

The other captain wasn’t stupid, he caught onto her tone immediately. “What’s happened?”

“I think you need to meet us at Mercy General.”

“What? Is everything okay? Is TK okay?”

“TK is-” she had to cut herself off, TK wasn’t okay, far from it “-he’s unharmed.” 

“Then what is it?” 

She just had to get it out, as simply as possible, there was no use dangling the sword above Owen’s head for any longer than necessary. She needed to cut the rope, watch it fall. “Carlos is dead.” 

“What?” 

There was a tangible shock to his voice. It was understandable. Due to their line of work they prepared for the worst, somewhere in the back of their minds they knew that every call they went on, maybe not everyone came home, Owen Strand knew that better than anyone. It didn’t help to soften the blow. 

APD had so many rules, hell, they even had bulletproof vests. None of the guidelines had been able to protect Carlos when he needed it. 

“We were called to a scene, on standby just in case. I can’t even remember what the situation was, just that they didn’t know their perpetrator had a gun. Carlos was shot.” She took a steeling breath. “There was nothing we could do.”

“TK?” 

It was a simple one-word, a two syllable question, but so much was left unasked. It was yet another question Tommy dreaded answering. “We treated him. TK is inside right now, Nancy is with him.” 

“Alright.” Owen’s own voice sounded hollow, words echoed in a state of shock. This was not a conversation to have over the phone but no one had a choice. “I- I’ll tell the team. I’ll be there soon, just take care of my boys, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll see you when you get here. Take care, Owen.” 

“You too, Captain.”

Tommy didn’t envy the other Captain in the slightest. Her hands were already shaking, tears already threatening to spill after a single phone call. She couldn’t fathom having to look their team in the face and tell them that someone they cared about so deeply–like their own family–was dead. 

Tim’s death had hit the station like a brick wall coming toppling down on them, and sans Nancy they had barely known him. There was a sense of fear, for what this meant for everyone. What it meant for TK. TK, who had lost his mother so recently and now the man who had helped him manage his grief and strong-arm his way back into life, was gone too. 

Death was cruel. 

The best anyone could do now was to hope TK let them in, let them help him. Tommy didn’t like her chances, she bore witness to the shutdown, the shutters coming down on all the liveliness she had come to associate with her newest paramedic. He was like a ghost now, haunting his body. 

Something in Tommy had died with Charles, now the last person she ever wanted to, felt the same grief. 

So she allowed herself a few more minutes as she sank to the ground, back pressed to the pillar of the entrance to the emergency department. She could only afford a few tears and to wipe them as soon as they fell, she once again needed to be strong for her team, but she needed to let herself feel this. 

-

A relief team from the 129 was sent. They picked up the rig, offered their condolences and left. 

Tommy returned not long after radioing for the relief team. Undoubtedly she had called his father, to inform him of the day’s events, that his future son-in-law was dead, and his son was in the waiting room, covered in his blood. As soon as she hung up the call, the weight was placed on Owen’s shoulders to inform the 126, no one’s shoulders grew lighter, the weight shifting hands but never leaving, only spreading. 

No matter how many hands gripped the weight settling over him, nothing would lift it. 

The best anyone could do now, was to cope. And for Tommy that meant taking care of her team. They were her kids, as she had jokingly reminded them on many occasions. The first time they had all rode in the ambulance together, they had become family, and it had since extended from a work relationship, beyond and into their personal lives. 

She would always take care of them, especially on shift, she was their captain after all. So TK couldn’t say he was surprised when she offered to help him get cleaned up. 

They went to the bathroom together, a small single stall next to the reception desk. 

Tommy took off his gloves, quickly moving to place the blood-covered nylon in the rubbish bin. It was a stark change, to see his hands, palms and fingers, completely clean. There was a ring around each wrist, where the blood stopped, dried and unmoving, where it had sat against the edge of where glove met skin. 

He was still, staring at his bare hands, as Tommy pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and ran it under the tap, before carefully wiping at the blood on TK’s arms. 

She paid no mind to the blood on her skin as she worked, clearing the mess from TK’s own. A few wipes, she would wring out the handkerchief in the sink, the water running a muddy and faded red before disappearing down the drain. 

As she did the best she could of cleaning his arms, she moved to his neck and face. He hadn’t even known there was blood there, but she was quiet and gentle as she tended to him. 

It was as she was wiping his cheek that he looked at her, really looked at her, since Carlos’ partner had radioed for medical assistance. 

For a flash, she is Carlos and they are in the APD precinct. Deep brown eyes and a careful touch. Just as quickly, they are in a hospital bathroom covered in Carlos’ blood.

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he’s said since the ambulance. His voice is rough and watery with the tears he was forcing himself to swallow. 

Confusion crossed Tommy’s expression, her ministrations halting. “For what?” 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” she said firmly, “not at a time like this.” 

There were so many things he needed to say, but he couldn’t find the words. If he thought he was barely functioning before, nothing could have prepared him for the laborious task that was every breath without Carlos. 

He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep living. 

It was possible, he knew that much. He had watched so many of the people he loved lose people and keep living, but he didn’t understand how he was meant to. Carlos had been his rock, his biggest comfort when his mom passed, that wound was open, still bleeding, and he needed Carlos now. He needed Carlos if he was going to get through this but that was the one thing he absolutely couldn’t have. 

He knew that his friends and family would take care of him through this, they had been by his side through less world-shattering events. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that they should just leave him alone, let him destroy his life because nothing he could do would ever hold a candle to the pain inflicted on him today. 

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The scar over his collarbone ached, not for physical pain but mentally, as what it stood for. Had Carlos survived too, his scar would not be dissimilar, but TK would never get to see it. That wound would never close, Carlos would never heal. 

Death had already robbed him of so much, did it really have to take Carlos too?

-

Owen had delivered news like this more times than he had ever thought himself capable. Patients in the field, his fellow firefighters, calling his ex-wife to inform her of TK’s overdoses, him getting shot, his hypothermia, Tim’s death. He had tried to just stay calm, stay focused, and relay the information. But it never got easier. 

His hand was shaking as he set his phone down on his desk. This was the last thing he ever wanted to hear. In his life, he had heard so many doctors tell him his son might not make it, to prepare for the worst, say goodbye. There was a sense of finality now though, the man he had come to think of as a son, someone who had shown TK so much love and care, was dead. 

There was no way around those words, unshakable and permanent. 

He needed to tell the team, but he didn’t think his legs could hold him. Carlos was dead. Those three words, a branding iron to his heart and his head. 

TK was grappling with losing the most important person in his life so soon after losing the other. Owen wasn’t an idiot, he knew both Gwyn and Carlos outranked him. He had never been a perfect father but those two were the kindest people he had ever met, and they loved TK just as fiercely as he did. 

And TK had lost both of them, so permanently and so close together. 

It stayed unspoken between Tommy and himself, but he knew, deep down, that TK had watched Carlos die. 

Catching the eye of his team through his glass wall, he noticed their tense postures, quizzical expressions. They had noticed. Of course they did. It was only a matter of time before they made their hike up to his office and he had to utter those words. 

Carlos is dead. He rolled the words around in his mouth, but no matter what, they didn’t feel right, they weren’t meant to fit together like that. It left a bitter taste on his tongue, one he wasn’t sure that mouthwash could ever clear. 

He afforded himself a deep breath, hoping to harden his resolve. He didn’t need to start crying now, but something inside of him just felt so raw knowing that they had lost Carlos. Death had never been fair, Owen had witnessed too much of it to ever consider it anything but ruthless, but this was a new level of cruelty. 

Looking over to Tommy’s unoccupied office, he felt a pang in his chest. This wasn’t like Gwyn, who died at the other end of the country, TK had been there with Carlos as he died. So had his team. 

He remembered Tommy apologising to him, while TK was in his second coma, blaming herself. He had managed to reassure her then, that no matter what happened it wasn’t her fault, but this time that comfort wasn’t his to give her. She would blame herself, even if there was nothing she could’ve done. 

TK would forgive her, Owen was certain of that much, but he’d never forgive himself. There were very few things on this Earth that Owen Strand could confidently say terrified him, the effect that Carlos’ death would have on TK was currently at the top of his list. TK had tried to throw his life away over so much less. 

Someone had to call the Reyes, or maybe just APD and they’d relay the message. 

God, everyone had lost so much today. 

Owen had sat on the precipice of losing his son more times that he cared to count, but despite everything, TK had always come back to him. He’d always hated the idea of burying his own son, but that was just a thought, a worst-case scenario. It was reality for Andrea and Gabriel Reyes. They were going to have to live his worst nightmare. 

So he shouldered his own weight, and left his office, closing the door quietly behind himself as he moved to the stairs. 

He wanted to fend it off for as long as he could, to avoid repeating the words he’d heard over the phone, but his team needed to know, and he had to be the one to deliver the news. 

Never had two feet on the ground floor felt like a death sentence before. 

“126, can I have you all in the sitting area, please?” he called out in his most normal voice, his captain skin that he wore as a façade to cover turmoil beneath the surface. He needed to hold himself together, he couldn’t afford to feel any of this. 

Not when everyone needed him to be their pillar. Even as he was about to bring the roof crashing down on their heads. 

Sometimes hell is you, a group of people you trust with your life, couches and words weighing heavily on your tongue. 

“There is no easy way to say this. I fully understand if any of you would like to go home after you leave this room.”

He wasn’t imagining it when he saw everyone tense, eyes trained more intently on him now. He knew that Paul knew, much clearer than the others, what the next words out of his mouth would be. 

He didn’t even know how to say this, how to word it for a group of people. It wasn’t something typically reserved for an announcement, just soft words in private corners. 

“I have just been informed that APD Patrol Officer Carlos Reyes was killed in the line of duty.”

Gasps ricocheted throughout the space, everyone’s eyes growing wide. Marjan’s hand came up to cover her mouth, tears already gathering in her eyes. Judd’s grip on the cloth in his hand tightening tenfold, his knuckles going white. No one spoke, but a thousand words hung unsaid.

Grief was no stranger, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

-

Owen hung back like a shadow as TK unlocked the door to the loft.

TK didn’t look at him, too busy trying to figure out where he was meant to step. It felt like a tomb. 

It looked the same as it did when he had left it that morning, but instead of dawn sunlight pouring through the windows, the space was illuminated only by the moonlight outside, casting a cool tone over everything. Usually it was a space filled with warmth, courtesy of Carlos who seemed to radiate love and warmth as naturally as the sun gave out light. 

The air carried a different weight now, settling heavily in TK’s lungs with every breath. 

It was a picture perfect display of how Carlos lived. Furniture laid out tidily, well-thought out and planned, but still filled with TK’s own belongings, still scattered everywhere. If he dared open the fridge he would see Carlos’ meticulous layout, a careful plan that he swore up and down improved the cooking experience. He’d only bought groceries last night–the fridge would be fully stocked. 

TK couldn’t cook like Carlos, he wouldn’t be able to use up all those ingredients, one of Carlos’ final efforts was already going to waste. The iron grip around his heart tightened once more. 

“Just get some clothes, okay?” Owen said. TK knew he was just trying to seem comforting, reassuring TK that it was okay that he was struggling right now, but it felt condescending. He needed time, he couldn’t just pluck the strength to walk into their shared bedroom out of thin air. He already felt like he was going to pass out standing just beyond the threshold.

But he would never put that to words, not to his father. 

If, for even a second, he indicated that he could not handle this, Owen would reach out a hand and whisk him back into the corridor. They would ride back to his father’s house in silence, whether or not he gathered any clothes. 

He would not be allowed to stay at the loft, at least not alone. It was a safeguard, to keep him from doing anything stupid, and he didn’t have the energy to care about it. At some point he had gotten used to his father tiptoeing around him, pulling away everything that could possibly hurt him–even if it were his own two hands. He didn’t mind, he wouldn’t have been able to spend the night here if he wanted to. 

The air was too heavy, space too barren without Carlos. He felt like he was suffocating just trailing his eyes over every sign that Carlos had been here.

Every step he took deeper into the loft was harder than the last.

The dining table was the first anchor he found, something to lean against in hopes of holding himself upright. Palms pressed to the cool lacquered wood surface.

It is not his best moment when he strikes a hand across the table, throwing a decorative wooden fruit bowl against the wall. The impact was loud, he could almost hear the wood splinter, the clatter against the floor piercing through him, shattering through the air. 

His strength leaves him then. His knees met the rug under the table, his arms hanging limp at his sides as he allowed himself, for the first time, to cry. It was not his choice, he had tried to hold himself together for so long. 

Through the ambulance ride, the agonisingly long time in the hospital waiting room, even as he looked in the devastated expressions of his friends, family, and Andrea and Gabriel Reyes, he hadn’t let himself cry. He knew that if he did he would never stop. 

At some point, the dam was bound to crack, the water pressure becoming too much for his concrete resolve, and he shattered. 

His sobs were loud, the only noise in the entire space, so open that it reflected his misery back at him tenfold. 

He couldn’t breathe, erratic hands coming up to grasp uselessly at his throat and chest as he heaved out more wails than breaths. 

The neighbours would probably think he was being attacked, or some wild animal was stuck and hurt, screaming for release. But it was just him, on his knees in his own home, unable to reign in the pure agony that filled his being. He didn’t think it would ever stop.

His father crossed the loft, coming to his side. He took his son into his arms and held him fiercely as he choked and cried. 

There was nothing that he could say that would make this any more bearable, so he said nothing, just offering TK a physical presence, an anchor, a reminder that he wasn’t completely alone in this. 

All they could do was ride it out, let the grief come pouring out of TK until the exhaustion finally won.

He figured he would never stop crying.

At the end of the day, he left the loft, head hung, his father’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. He didn’t grab any clothes.

-

Due to no involvement of his own, TK ended up staying with his dad. 

He expected it, no one would let him be alone right now, but even then, his shoulders were heavy with guilt. He saw the way his father looked at him.

He’d taken up residence on the couch–not being able to handle the idea of sleeping in any bed without Carlos on the other side. The first night he had settled into the guest room, but when he reached out to the other side of the mattress, expecting for his hand to meet the warmth of Carlos laying next to him. 

But there was nothing except cold sheets.

So he made his tearful trek downstairs, comforter wrapped around his shoulders, and he lay on the couch in the dark until the universe took pity on him and exhaustion finally seized him. 

He hadn’t bothered trying to sleep in the guest room since, and neither Owen nor Mateo seemed to be inconvenienced by him. Which was likely because they were worried and not much else. 

It reminded him of a different life in which he had spent a lot of time on the couch, recovering from his gunshot wound with his doting father forcing a menagerie of all things green and healthy onto him. And he’d spent the entire time sending texts back and forth with Carlos, trying his best to ease his worry. 

Mateo had taken to spending his time off on the couch with TK and a bowl–or three–of popcorn. TK had sat through far too many superhero movies to count over the past week, he couldn’t recall any of the plot, or the character names, but he appreciated the company. And Mateo seemed happy to sit with him. 

Even though he barely spoke and would randomly start crying. 

At one point he had fallen asleep, his head in Mateo’s lap and a hand playing with his hair. It was comforting to not be alone, but also not being treated like he was falling apart, even if he was. 

He was never left alone–not entirely. When Mateo was on shift, usually his father would be around the house, and if that wasn’t possible, there would be a random visitor. One time, he had stirred from his midday nap to find Judd sitting at the nearby armchair, scrolling on his phone. 

Neither of them said much.

Tommy’s visit yielded more conversation. Worry poured off of her in waves, she tried to get him to go for a walk with her, but he couldn’t muster up the strength. There were lots of questions about his well being, and a wrapped sandwich pressed into his palm. 

The grief was eating him alive, but he didn’t need to tell her that. 

-

TK hated funerals. He’d been to so many in his life, but they never stopped being as difficult to attend. From the second he fastened his black tie he had a lump in his throat. 

Carlos’ funeral was the worst. 

Everyone offered TK their condolences, as he numbly shook their hands and thanked them. Carlos’ family, far more APD officers than he cared to count. It was a big event, a grand show of people, a testament to how loved Carlos was. 

Swathed in a sea of people in black, TK couldn’t seem to gather his bearings. A few people hugged him, mostly his own friends, he stayed boneless and pliable in their grasp. 

Andrea’s hug lasted the longest. He knew she was trying to see if she closed her eyes and pretended, that it would feel like she was hugging her son and not the man in front of her. But TK was two inches too short, his posture too slouched, his shoulders too narrow, his hands too cold. No amount of pretending could make him who she needed him to be, but he was content to let her try. 

As she finally released him, she extended a hand to cup his cheek. Her eyes were red-rimmed, much like his own. He figured they both had been crying non-stop this entire time. 

“How are you doing, mijo?” she asked, her voice full of care, and concern. 

He hadn’t had the energy to take even the most basic care of himself. He had sat on the bathroom floor all morning, Owen had to shave his face for him, the numbness in his chest reaching his fingers and making even holding a razor an impossible feat. 

But now he stood before Andrea, clean shaven and two seconds away from collapsing under the weight of his own grief. His limbs were so heavy, but the folded up piece of paper in his back pocket was the heaviest. 

“I’m holding on,” he said. His own voice was rough around the edges, hoarse with the sobs and wails he had let out the night before as his father had tried to soothe him. There was something mortifying about your father standing in front of you and trying to help you decide which tie to wear to your fiancé’s funeral. 

At the end of the day, black is black, and Owen chose for him. 

“That’s the best we can do,” Andrea said softly, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I’m proud of you. I know he is too.”

“Thank you.” 

Gabriel’s hug was briefer, it was silent, but he held TK like if he let up his hold even a little, then he too would disappear. TK was no idiot, he knew that the Reyes considered him family, and now he was the closest thing they had left to their son. 

The thing about funerals though, was that TK never cried at them. So while everyone else had tears streaking their faces, TK’s eyes were dry as he joined the group of pallbearers. Gabriel, Judd, Paul, Carlos’ captain, his other partner–Nathan, and himself. 

He hadn’t attended the viewing, too distraught to handle looking at his fiancé’s dead body again. Perhaps he should have, just to have anything in his memory that wasn’t how he looked in the ambulance, covered in blood and medical equipment. 

But it wasn’t Carlos in the box, he couldn’t let himself draw that connection, if he did his legs would have given out from underneath him. He needed to be strong now, one last time, for Carlos. 

He would be buried with his engagement ring on, his parents had insisted on it. 

TK and Carlos would be joined by that much at least. Their promise of forever, they would never be united in matrimony but there would never be room in TK’s heart for anyone else, they were forever, a linking of souls more potent than an exchange of vows could ever be. Even if Carlos didn’t get to see it.

There was something about this aisle that felt like TK was being raked over hot coals, pain shooting up his legs with every step. It was so akin to the aisle he and Carlos had talked about, yet it was its antithesis. 

Both journeys ended with a promise of forever, but that one was a devotion of love, this a marker of loss. 

He still had to cancel the caterer. 

That realisation hit him harder than anything else that day, his steps faltering. He hadn’t even realised that his father had slotted into place behind him until the weight above his hands, on his shoulder, lifted. 

He was ruining Carlos’ funeral. No one would ever say that, they wouldn’t blame him, but he knew. Gabriel on the other side was holding it together and he was burying his son today, TK should have been stronger. 

As soon as they set Carlos down the numbness came rushing back to meet him.

There was a simple monotony to everything, so many eulogies given. Those by friends, by family, by coworkers. All telling stories of how Carlos’ existence had touched their lives and changed it for the better. There would never be a greater display of how much people loved Carlos Reyes.

TK’s own wasn’t anything special. He was watching himself from outside his body as he told a room full of people–mostly strangers–many tales of the man he loved more than life itself. He told them how Carlos had saved him more times than either of them had thought, how those deep brown eyes and that unimaginable kindness for a stranger had allowed him to rebuild himself in Austin, had made it possible for TK to want to live again. He confessed, hand tightly clenched on his necklace, Star of David hanging between his fingers, that although he had never been easy to love, Carlos’ patience had been unwavering, he had never given up on TK even when he gave up on himself.

He regaled them with the tale of his father finding out about their situationship because Carlos visited him while he was in a coma. How despite not knowing where they stood, he still couldn’t bear to be away from TK when there was so much unknown, how much he had feared to lose him before they were anything. 

“Never in my life has anyone loved me like Carlos,” TK stated simply, it was a fact. Nothing could ever compare to the experience that it was to be loved by Carlos. “I never thought I could deserve that kind of love, but he showed me that I not only deserved it, but that it would be a given for the rest of time, that he would love me like that forever. I will never stop being grateful for him, I will never stop loving him. I am grateful to have been allowed to be loved by him, I just wish we could have had more time.” 

-

There were flashes of the Chinese place on Spring Street as Owen all but forced TK to sit at the dining room table, shoving a plate of food under his nose–some kind of pasta dish. But it wasn't Chinese and there wasn't a pair of chopsticks in his hand and Owen wasn't his mother.

"Eat something, please." He sounded desperate. TK didn't dare meet his eye. 

"I'm not hungry," TK said, setting down the fork he hadn't even noticed his father pressing into his hand. 

"I know you're not, but you have to eat."

TK stayed silent, not really looking at anything, his head angled towards the table. There was nothing he could say that would dissuade his father, but the very idea of eating anything made him feel like he was going to be sick. Nausea had been his constant companion for weeks now, there was something about his current situation that was just deeply sickening. When he thought about Carlos for too long, he often found himself curled around the toilet, usually with Mateo's comforting hand on his back.

"Please, TK,” his father started again. “You haven't eaten."

"I have."

"Not enough,” Owen said. “When was the last time you ate a meal?"

TK shrugged, his eyes still trained on the plate in front of him. He didn’t even have a concept of how much time had passed between anything, the haze of grey blurring it all together. He hadn’t so much as felt a hunger cue since he lost Carlos. Grief was the ultimate appetite suppressant. 

"TK,” his father sighed, TK hadn’t paid close attention to him lately but he seemed exhausted, “you can't keep this up. I can't watch you kill yourself."

"Why not?" TK's voice was soft, hollowed out and emotionless. 

"Because it's not what he would have wanted."

"We'll never know what he wanted, because he's dead." The word stung, like poison on his tongue. He wished he could spit it out. He realises, numbly, that this is the first time he's said it out loud. Carlos was gone, lost to TK, not here, but never had he said the words ‘Carlos is dead’.

He didn’t even have to look at his father to watch his expression fall, he’d seen it so many times in his life that it played in his head. "You don't mean that." 

"Yes, I do. He's dead, I'll never know what he wanted."

"He would want you to live, TK. He loved you, hell, I guarantee you he still does. Don't let a terrible accident kill you too, he would never want that." 

It had been weeks now. Weeks without Carlos, weeks since TK last felt like he was a person. He hadn’t gone back to work, the idea of seeing the ambulance again twisting his insides until he was eventually sick. 

He could barely stand on his feet, let alone do his job. Tommy would never allow him to try anyway, he can’t take care of patients if he can’t take care of himself. 

But he didn’t care about that. Everything in his world stopped turning the second Carlos died and he was left, alone in the back of the ambulance. 

"I know you can't see it right now, but there is still so much to live for, TK."

TK sighed, pushing the plate away from him. He couldn’t even try to eat now if he wanted to. "Like what?"

"The 126, your job, your team, your baby brother, me; you still have us TK."

He knew that his father was just trying to give him something, anything, to hold onto. He needed a lifeline if he were ever going to climb out of this hole, but he didn’t grab hold of anything he was offered. As far as he was aware, this hole was his life now, and nothing beyond it would soothe the pain inside of him.

He didn’t need a lifeline, he needed to go back in time and somehow change the outcome of the day that ruined his life. That was the only way he would be able to carry on, only if he had Carlos by his side.

"I don't want any of that. I just want him."

He was crying now, for the first time in days he actually had the energy to cry. Hot tears ran down his face as any of his attempts to speak were reduced to sobs. The air shifted, no longer bearing the strict worry of his father, as the older man rounded the table and took TK in his arms.

Neither of them spoke. Owen just rubbed TK's back as he sobbed–as if he were holding his young son, and not a fully grown man. He cried like a child though, the kind of tears only shed when this is the worst pain you've ever experienced. When he was four it was stubbing his toe on the edge of the counter at the firestation, when he was twenty-eight it was the loss of his soulmate. 

He would never cry like this again, no pain could ever compare.

-

“I went back to work today,” TK said, leaning his head back until it rested against the stone behind him. He fiddled with the bouquet of flowers in his hands. It felt weird to talk to the open air like this, he didn’t even look at the headstone. 

He knew what he would see, the inscribed words, he’d traced his gaze over them a million times. At least this way he could close his eyes and pretend he was leaning against Carlos. 

It was bittersweet. He knew he would never get to touch Carlos again, but at least he could come to the shady corner of the cemetery and pretend, even if for a short while, that they were together again. 

Wherever Carlos was, was home to TK.

“I’m surprised Tommy let me come back. Last time I stepped foot in the ambulance I had a panic attack so bad no one could get me out of the bunk room for an hour. Then Dad had to drive me home. I wouldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t stop seeing you there,” he admitted, his voice surprisingly strong. It hadn’t been embarrassing to admit his weaknesses to Carlos in a long time. It was another life in which he would have hesitated about saying any of this, to anyone. 

He pulled a few of the pink petals from the tallest flower in the bouquet. He couldn’t remember the name. It was just to swap out the old bouquet, the white rims of the stargazer lilies already going brown at the edges, their stems losing their firmness. He wonders idly who brought them. Carlos’ grave was a frequented site, he was loved by many, missed by even more. “But today went well, I did more driving than anything. Tommy wants me to ease back into it, which is fine.”

“I miss you,” he said, his voice breaking as the tears came back. They always did. He feared he would never even be able to utter Carlos’ name without crying, but it made sense. At least it proved to himself that he was still hurting so deeply over his loss, that he wasn’t moving on too quickly. 

“I know you can’t say anything, but thank you,” he muttered around his tears. “I never told you enough, you know, when you were here.” He still couldn’t say it. He doubted he ever would try to again. “But I really don’t think I would’ve made it this far without you. Even when you’re not here you give me the strength to keep living.” 

TK pulled his knees up to his chest now, setting the bouquet down on the ground next to him. “I’m eating again, much to my dad’s relief. He wanted me to tell you ‘thank you’, from him. I really scared him there for a while. Which I understand, I wasn’t even trying to stay alive, all I was doing to prevent myself from dying was breathing.

“I’m doing better now, I think. I’m still not okay, far from it, but I’m trying. I even got lunch with Marjan and Paul yesterday. They weren’t very subtle, they catered it to me: we got boba and mostly just walked around town. Then we got sushi. It was nice; I missed them. I know they were worried about me too.”

He didn’t think he’d spoken this much since Carlos died. 

Sans his eulogy, every conversation he had was stilted and short, he lacked the energy to talk to people, even his father. Most of his life lately had been lived in silence, everyone else taking it upon themselves to fill in the conversation. 

It was nice. They all understood that he would need a lot of time before he was normal again, if that ever happened, and they never even hinted at anything that meant he was going too slow. No one urged him to get over this or pushed him to do something he wasn’t ready for. Healing from this would take the rest of his life and his family understood and respected that. 

They missed Carlos too. They always would. But just because Carlos wasn’t around anymore didn’t mean that TK was alone.

He had felt like it for so long, the pain and darkness seemed never ending. He was still in it now, but he saw the light at the end of the tunnel, he would make it there eventually. With the ring on his finger, he would take Carlos there too. 

Forever didn’t start at a wedding, it had started in the middle of the night, drenched in rain when TK and Carlos had first met. 

“I just love you.” 

TK smiled softly, opening his eyes to look up at the sky, a bright blue with white clouds rolling past. Sunlight filtered through the tree foliage that draped over Carlos’ grave. 

“But you already knew that.”