#And as long as he felt that hatred he didn't have to feel the grief

[cassiaratheslytherpuff]

Prongsfoot Week 2024 day 3

Favorite Canon/Potentially Canon moment - IE, something like Sirius comforting James after the DADA OWL and Lily’s reaction or (even though it’s platonic) the moment James asked Sirius to be Harry’s godfather.  

I think, because I am a sucker for angst, it might be Sirius's best man speech at the wedding. This all falls under potentially canon, heavy on the potentially. But I imagine Sirius was in love with James, and James loved Sirius. Because there's just no world where they don't love each other. It's just that James loved Lily too, and in the 70s/80s one of them was a more acceptable choice than the other. And it never really hit him that what he was doing with Sirius wasn't exactly fitting within the box of 'best friends'. He just loved Sirius, and that would always be true. And then his parents got sick and wanted to see him happy before they died, and James wanted to have them there for as much as possible, and he'd never questioned what his future would be and he didn't then either. He'd always known he'd marry a beautiful woman and have children to run around the house with their toy wands. And he did love Lily.

Sirius loved James in every way someone can love someone else. So it wasn't even a choice for him; if he didn't get to have James romantically he would take the pain of that rather than give up all the rest of it. He didn't tell James he would never love someone else. He didn't tell James he was in love in the first place. Instead, he encouraged James to go after Lily. Because Sirius loved James in every way someone can love someone else, and more than anything he wanted James to be safe and happy out in the sunshine. And he could only ever have the shadows with Sirius. Something hidden and shameful and illegal. And they could be best friends. Sirius loved him like that too, and it could be enough. Only, as one does, James's speech at the wedding was all about how lucky he was to be marrying his best friend and when Sirius stood up to speak not long after he could only hope everyone would believe the tears were just nostalgia and happiness for his friend.

I imagine he stood up and looked down at the man he loved, and the wife that Sirius had grown to care for. I imagine he wished them well, and meant it with his whole heart. I imagine he told stories about James asking Lily out and being turned down, about how James grew up and they actually got to know one another. I imagine he spoke about James's nerves before the first date, and didn't mention that Sirius sucked him off to soothe them. I imagine he didn't say how that was the last time they ever did anything like it, that he didn't say how much he wished the world was different and he could be the one in white. I imagine there wasn't a dry eye in the room, I imagine Sirius sighed with relief that they were all smiling too. I imagine he looked at Lily and asked her to take care of James for him. And I imagine if he'd looked at James he would have seen the heartbreak as he realised Sirius loved him in every way a person can love someone else, which James hadn't known until that very moment was even an option.

[radiance1]

Ice sculptor Danny.

One Jack Fenton has, for some reason, decided to stop hunting ghosts. Even if that was his wife's passion, he just couldn't do it anymore, and Maddie?

Well, she was okay with it.

Until his newfound passiveness for ghosts got in the way of her hunting that Phantom menace, but that was fine, really, it was.

Then, when one Danny Fenton revealed himself to be Phantom and Jack took his side, she suddenly realized.

Phantom did something to her husband, something changed his view mentally about how ghosts were evil, despicable and non-sentient beings.

He mind-controlled her husband.

Except, Jack wasn't mind controlled, but she couldn't believe it, which lead to him unfortunately having to quickly back his stuff and leave with Danny over to Jazz's place for a while. She was surprised to see him there, but after hearing what happened she was more than welcome to let them stay.

Despite it all, Jack couldn't find it in himself to divorce his wife, or bring up any significant feels of hatred towards her, and that? Well, it made him miserable.

He tried to put up a strong front for his kids, that everything is and will continue to be a okay, but they could tell that he wasn't okay, not at all. After all, as his children, they had a front row seat to the sheer amount of love displayed between them that honestly? Both Danny and Jazz thought would never be torn apart until the day they, well, die.

And even then, after finding out ghosts existed, they expected it to continue even beyond life.

Safe to say, Jack was taking this newfound situation hard.

Danny tried to cheer him up, obviously, stuff like father-son bonding and getting him little gifts, he made via his ice powers, which then lead to him finding out he has quite the gift for ice sculpting and, after being encouraged by his father and sister to pursue his own happiness, he started to work on larger and larger projects.

A few years later, he managed to make an exact replica of both his father and sister as a parting gift.

Shame then, that he outlived them.

The GIW and his mother came knocking on the door, and a fight broke out between them. Jazz and Danny were fighting the GIW, while Jack holding off Maddie, hell, trying to get through to her and explain that it really was their son and not a ghost imprint.

Just as they finished dealing with the GIW, their home exploded from the ground up. It was, far too fast, far too unexpected, for them to react so soon.

But after a few seconds Danny was running into the rubble while Jazz was calling for help.

And the bottom of the rubble, he found that experimental technology his father was working on, the cause of the explosion, and shifting through the rubble led him to see his father.

His father died protecting his mother with his body.

Maddie was alive, if just barely.

She never fully recovered from it, both from losing her husband right before her very eyes and her physical injuries. Whenever Danny visited she would curse him, claiming that it was his fault why everything happened this way, his fault for replacing her baby boy and the reason why her husband died.

Danny, obviously, didn't take it well.

So he put his everything into mastering ice sculpting, never taking a break for more than a few minutes before going back to work. He even, in his grief, ignored his sister far more than he meant too.

He never realized how alone he felt when his mother died from suicide, even more so, when his sister died as well from old age.

He knew he probably still had his friends, but after focusing on only ice sculpting for so long, he didn't even know if they were considered friends.

He didn't want to find out, didn't have the courage to find out.

So he sculpted.

When he finally worked up the courage, they had already passed.

There was nothing for him here, not anymore, so he left.

He ended up in a dimension of heroes and villains, where some of the population had powers known as meta abilities and where none humans could roam around.

He had nothing here, a new, fresh start.

He had nothing.

So he sculpted.

He managed to make a name for himself, thought not anything too grand since he didn't want fame, but he was known for being a meta who used his ice powers in sculpting that never melts.

A year since he came to this dimension, he recreated his family. His mother and father, embracing each other and looking at each with faces of love that they couldn't give and receive when they were alive, and his sister, who he ignored and ignored until she ultimately died without making any new memories with her brother and going through her own fair share of grief.

He rested them in an isolated area, a forest, and prayed that they would find piece in their next lives.

He wouldn't have known that these sculptures would be found by some heroes, who stared at Jack's iced face and notice the features of Superman, nor that etching a rest in piece underneath would lead to anything significant.

But it did.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Hi, would you write about a self conscious reader who is going through a crisis with accepting herself and reveals that to jason todd in an emotional state like the dramatic “i hate myself” thing. Kinda having a moment like that myself and i need to read something that i can identify with

Your door was shut when Jason got there. He could feel the emotional angst leaking through the door. It slid over him like ooze. Over his skin and down his throat.

But he forced himself to breathe. Like last night. If he focused, he could find the edges of what he was feeling and push your influence back. You weren't focused on him.

He exhaled slowly and knocked, waiting. "Y/N? It's Jason" No one was in the hall but somehow it felt like everyone was in the hall. The trouble with living in a house of nosey bitches.

A solenoid disengaged and he pushed the handle. Letting himself inside, leaving the door cracked. Mostly so you didn't feel trapped.

As soon as he stepped into the room, the atmosphere was crushing. Oppressive. A sensation of being cold and humid. Self hatred, grief, and shame. And he can feel you trying desperately to pull those feelings under the surface. Wrestle them into submission.

Sweat prickling on your forehead from the effort.

"You should probably go," you manage.

Jason winces and takes a deep breath, forcing himself into a state of calm. Remembering how he deals with scared little kids and abuse victims. "What can I do?" he asked softly, moving closer. Below you, out your window you're watching everyone else. In the sun and playing outside. Shaking off the night-terrors you'd given them and the stress of patrol with water guns and slips and slides- a home made water park around the pool. Christ. It's no wonder you hate yourself.

"I'm fine. I just. I just-" Your voice is rough with unshed tears and when you break off, resting your head against the glass, Jason smiles a little.

"Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional," he chuckled. "We've all been there. You're just a little more obvious about it."

You make a soft miserable noise and he shakes his head, "No one wants you to stay away, "he murmured, changing tack. "Bruce gives us nightmares all the time. Ask Dick about his party hard days some time. His nudes got "leaked" once as a distraction when I was a kid and all the girls had them. It was gross."

When you huff a soft laugh, he nods towards your book shelf, "Not a lot of heavy lifting going on there," he teased, referencing the romances and young adult novels- a fair number of children's classics he noticed.

"I like happy endings," you murmur. "I don't- I just get overwhelmed. I get tired of being a monster."

Jason nodded. He didn't want to tease you for your books anymore. "You're not a monster, Y/N," he whispered. He'd spent a lot of time watching you. You offered kindness in a hundred different ways. Doing little things to help Alfred. Taking odd shifts for Barbara. Refilling Tim's water. Stocking gear. Taking time to just chill with Cass... he'd probably missed a lot of details. But a monster wouldn't do that.

"I feel like one. All the time. I feel like I'd be better off dead. Like if they would have been too late-"

"If they would have been too late, it would have been for nothing," Jason said, wiping tears off your cheeks tenderly as he knelt to cradle your face in his hands. "Those bastards that hurt you are monsters. You were a baby."

You don't meet his eyes but he can feel pain. A deep fissure that never healed. Like a wound that needed packed and never got it. Rotting and festering this whole time. Inflamed and ready to send you recoiling at the lightest touch. "Got a favorite happy ending?" he asked. "I'll read it to you if you want-"

"Aren't you an Austen snob?"

"Please. As if I could get away without reading at least a couple of Alfred's trashy Romance novels. Some of them are charming... a couple are even pretty decent writing. As long as they don't spend too much time describing the dude's cock."

[meshla-cyarika]

My Love, My Life

Pairing: Tech x Jedi!reader

Word count: 1,063

Tags/warnings: angst, grief/mourning, there's alot of signs of autism shown in Tech in this fic but less obvious ones.

Summary: After finding your name in the Imperial obituary, Tech doesn't know how to move on.

A/N: How many aura points do I lose for crying while I wrote this even though it's not that good? I was originally going to have a part two of the reader's perspective where it's reveal that oh my god you're actually alive, but I dont know whether to do that now purely because of how deeply Tech is shown to be grieving and I kinda don't want to take that away from him. Yk what I mean? But if people say they want a part 2 who am I to deny them? Also, yes, the title is based off of that one ABBA song cuz I was listening to it while I wrote this.

--------------------------------------------------

The Marauder was tingling with tension. The genocide of the Jedi, the betrayal of the Empire, the loss of Crosshair and the gain of Omega all happened over the course of twenty-four hours. Everyone had their own reasons to be on edge.

Tech's mind had been on autopilot for days. As soon as he saw what Master Billaba's men did to her and how quickly Crosshair became bloodthirsty for all Jedi, time seemed to stop. He had frantically typed on his datapad to try and find an explanation for such a brutal attack. When Tech saw that it was a full fledged genocide, he swore his heart stopped beating for a second. The only thing that kept him from having a panic attack was his advanced biology.

When they got to the Marauder and fled Kamino, Tech was instantly searching the Imperial database for the list of the dead. He never thought he'd have to check an obituary to find your name, but there you were. Jedi Knight. Executed on Lothal. The reference image they used for you was haunting. To see you stood there, just so alive, with the word executed next to you was enough to make bile stir in his stomach.

It didn't feel real. Tech looked at your information in the obituary again and again and again, but his mind just couldn't process the information. He felt like the only way he could believe you were dead is if he saw your body laying before him and he could never bring himself to do that.

Everyone noticed the difference in their brother. Even Omega, who hadn't even been with them that long, noticed his irregular behaviour. His brothers were puzzled by his reaction to their new living  situation. Out of all of them, Tech should be the least likely to get emotional over this. Then again, change has alway been a problem with Tech. It always takes longer for him to process things like this.

They began working for a trandoshan called Cid to do some seedy work. It was obvious why Hunter made them work for her, obvious to Tech anyway. It was because being sent out on missions that have various conditions is all they ever knew. The concept of settling down on a planet and ignoring the war raging on outside is foreign to them.

It's been ten months, three weeks and five days, since your death. Tech's behaviour hasn't changed and his siblings have assumed it's all because of Crosshair up until this point. Tech had been understanding with Crosshair on Kamino and held only mild hatred for his decision.

No. This is something else entirely.

Hunter's heart aches at seeing his brother's despair and having no idea what's making him feeling this way. Tech being Tech, will never say.

He finally snapped when one of Cid's workers, Phee, persistently kept making moves on him. Tech couldn't help the pure emotion radiating off of him in waves, as he shouted and yelled at the woman. It should be you laughing at his sarcasm, it should be you calling him pet names, it should be you with him. He just wants you and that's the one thing he can't possibly have and it hurts, it makes it feel like his heart has been ripped straight out of chest.

Tech stormed off to the Marauder which was a mistake, because everything in there reminds him of you. Your first kiss on his bunk, your late night conversations in the cockpit, your shared experiments at his desk.

He wants to scream and yell at how unfair everything is. Out of everyone in the galaxy, why you? Why did death have to take you? His perfect cyar'ika who could do no wrong and managed to cling to the little faith you had left through the most devastating battles.

Grief is something Tech has experienced only a handful of times. The feelings still feel new and uncertain and that unnerves him. Tech's emotions are usually filed away in organised compartments that only he understands. Now, everything is overflowing and overlapping. Everything is too much.

It's like a bad dream. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He wants the comfort of a familiar routine, back when his biggest concern was what days him and his cyar'ika would be on shore leave at the same time.

Tech sinks down into the far corner of the bunk room, ripping off his goggles and letting them clatter agaisnt the durasteel floor. He draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his shins, before leaning his forehead agaisnt his kneecaps.

The last time he found himself in this position was back when he was a cadet. As much as he tried to ignore it, the regs had gotten to him. 99 had found him curled up in the corner of an embryo lab. He had said nothing at first, just sank down next to him and let him know that he was there if he needed him. Tech found himself wondering for years why he couldn't have been like everyone else, why the Kaminoans made his mind work this way. Tech would give anything to be "normal". He never asked for any of this.

A set of footsteps stomp their way up the ramp and Tech doesn't bother looking up. He's prepared for the demanding yells, the overbearing questions and the looks of outrage on his brothers' faces. What he isn't prepared for is someone sliding down the wall next to him. Tech almost flinches at the feeling of someone placing a hand on his back and tenses all the muscles in his body instantly. Eventually, his body goes back to being lax and a shaky sigh leaves Tech's lips, as he leans into his brother's side.

Tech doesn't want to talk about you to his brothers. If he talks about it, then it's real. Your body is rotting on Lothal and he'll never see you again. He can't face the reality of it. It's too real. He can't do it.

The hand on his back rubs soothing circles into his spine. I'm here, if you need me.

Someday, he will tell the tale of his beautiful cyar'ika and you'll become an honoured part of their mismatched family, even though they had never met you. You will forever live on in his heart.

[sickuma]

" Above all else, It’s still you. "

A Simon Ghost Riley AU ( x reader )

— Grief never got easier, and Simon found every thought of you consuming him.

🐻 Something short again! It’s raining hard and it got me in a really angst mood, stay safe everyone who’s experiencing the typhoon too!

— This work is deeply inspired by Lizzy's "Doomsday."

“ God loves you,

But not enough to save you. ”

What does it take to love, and what do you lose from it? Is it worth the hollow feeling it leaves you? Was it always this way?

The question never eased, and Simon found every little thing about romance repulsive. He'd already hated the notion of it before,

But now he thinks he loathes it.

What's the point in all of that if it just comes down to this?

This, whatever he would call it, that consuming feeling, like he's forgotten how to live before you.

Like you had always been a part of his life, a part of him, and now that things suddenly turn for the worst, he feels lost.

Lost is an understatement. He doesn't even feel alive. Did you take crucial parts of him with you? If so, why? Was that necessary?

He wonders if he'd just gotten so accustomed to you that he doesn't feel complete with your absence hanging in the air, or if you'd simply taken so much of him, leaving him with not much but his body.

“Might be a lil bit busy right now! Call me again in a bit, you can leave a message, though!”

He dials your number for the fifth time, or fiftieth? Whichever it was, he dialled it enough in hopes of engraving your voice at the top of his head. He did it so much he's convinced, he’s only capable of responding to your voice now,

Not that it wasn't the case already, it totally was. Has always been.

The laughter before the voicemail cuts off was the part he liked the most. His lips tug upwards a little. You've always had a contagious laugh.

Even at your death, you manage to steal a smile from him.

Pathetic.

He thinks to himself, wallowing in self hatred. Not understanding why it's taking this long to man up and get over it.

“Grief is a complicated thing, but one day, you'll look back to everything and be glad you allowed yourself to heal.”

Heal?

He doesn't want to heal.

If healing means no longer recognising the sound of your voice, the certain way you smiled, the feel of your touch, your scent, or the specific hues of your eyes.

He feared he wouldn't ever accept healing.

If healing means living without you, he would rather keep hurting himself by reliving the memories from when your absence didn't exist.

Every thought that ran around his head would somehow involve you and your doomed faith. You always taught him how to find positivity in things, but how could he dig something positivity in your absence?

The thoughts of your voice, the stories you would tell him, the house, the plans. Suddenly they're reduced to memories, and he doesn't quite know how to feel about that.

“My mom would say the stars were our loved ones that had already passed.” You laugh, “Do you think I'd be a bright star one day?”

The brightest one, certainly,

He'd have preferred it if you never needed to become a star at all. He'd have preferred it if you just remained admiring those stars with him, in his arms, not all the way up there, too far from his reach.

Is there a possibility you heard his cries? If he cried loud enough would you hear him and consider coming back?

Maybe you will.

You always said your love for him knows no bounds,

But does that still stand now? When he’s the only one breathing between the two of you?

He had already felt he was going insane when he saw your figure on his way back home, calling out your name and chasing you, only to see it was a stranger.

Of course it is, he knew it wasn't you, but there's a part of him that hoped to meet your eyes when that person turned around.

“Might be a lil bit busy right now! Call me again in a bit, you can leave a message, though!”

He calls you again, as if expecting the other line to click and for him to hear you greet him. To make fun of him for calling so much,

God, he hoped, he hoped desperately you would.

Thoughtlessly, his hand reached for his shirt that you would often wear. Bringing it close to him, taking in the remnant of your scent. It's barely there, but it's there, and it can suffice.

His finger hovering over the call button once more, to hear you speak, to hear you laugh.

Just to hear you.

[viviennevermillion]

ᴀ ʀᴏꜱᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴇʀʀʏᴍᴀɴ

✧ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: it is said that some people see the other side when they die even for just a brief moment. those near-death experiences often change them for good... blade wonders when the moment will come that he'll finally get to see you again.

✧ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ: blade x aeon!reader, gn!reader, fluff to angst, blade has a near-death experience; falls in love with you and then dan feng makes him immortal, ambiguous ending

✧ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: 1000 years — kt tunstall

✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: major character death, separated lovers, themes of death, angst

And thus, his chest was pierced by the same weapon he had forged with such care and effort. He felt an almost unbearable pain along with the notion of betrayal, hatred, anger and grief that seemed to cloud his entire senses. The sharp pain stretched from his heart all the way to his limbs and he could feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness. This is the end, he thought and part of him feared what would come next. This was the day that Yingxing died. The clouds over the Xianzhou were dark today and he knew that it was going to rain soon but he doubted he'd make it to feel the raindrops on his skin one last time.

The storm in his heart, seeming to seep out of the large wound and permeating his entire aura, raged on violently and seemed to devour him; toss him around like a lily caught in a tornado. He had never felt such pain before, both physically and emotionally.

And then the pain was gone.

Surprisingly, in that final moment, the one he had known as Dan Feng seized to exist for him. They say that everybody dies alone and he supposed in that moment he found that statement to be true. For a moment, the events that had led to the destruction of Yingxing stopped to matter. After all, he couldn't carry them along to wherever he was headed.

Perhaps that was a good thing.

He closed his eyes and yet he found himself to be able to see. He saw the stars above him, the sky suddenly clearer than he had ever seen it. It seemed to go on forever; like he could see galaxies far away from the Xianzhou just like that.

At first that void was frightening. It was too much, more than he ever had to feel in his life. There was a pressure and impending doom coming from the stars, as if he was laying on the ground and the sky was getting closer and closer until it would crush him under its weight. But the impact never came. Rather, the pain of his physical shell seemed to fade in the blink of an eye as he merged with the place from which he once came before inhabiting this mortal vessel and he noticed he couldn't even remember what it felt like to have a body.

He didn't know if "Yingxing" had stopped existing when his consciousness joined the great beyond once more or whether who he believed he was had never mattered in the first place. Like he had been caught up in a grand play and it was time for the curtain call. He had loved and hated the role that had been given to him to play but perhaps, most important of all, he had grown. As he let the universe wash over him, he felt, for a brief moment, as though everything he had went through had meaning after all.

He found himself on a distant shore, the stars sweeping over his feet like waves in an ocean. He sat himself up, finding his "body" without traces of the battle that had just occured. He let a strand of his long hair run through his fingers; now finding it to be a dark blue as it had been once in the old days.

Everything seemed so much more vivid than anything he had ever experienced. He could hear the sound of the waves with a clarity a mortal soul could only dream to experience. He could see for miles and everything seemed to burst into the most vibrant colors his eyes ever fell on. Every pebble under his right hand was one he registered individually. He didn't know where exactly he was but the place felt soothing. Like home.

The Aeon of Death had been something that was only ever speculated to exist. There were no records that confirmed their existence and no forces of their making that seemed to interfere with the material world other than the fact that every life sooner or later had to meet its end. This Aeon's existence was always regarded as more of a myth or metaphor than something people actually believed in, yet all depictions of them seemed to paint them as a harbinger of tragedy and suffering. Blade had seen drawings of them in books, dressed in flowing black fabrics and their face often obscured or distorted.

Yet when he saw you before him now, he found that the stories had it all wrong. Rather, your appearance was gentle and peaceful. He looked out to the sea and there you were, waiting patiently in a small boat for him to join you. The waves crashed into the bow and your boat swayed lightly to their motions. His hand reached for the waters and brushed through it, finding that rather than water; the sea seemed like the universe itself, his fingers casting ripples through the stars but never reaching the world he had just left.

You smiled at him from afar. In that moment he appeared to you like a child discovering something fascinating they had never seen before, playing with his surroundings to familiarize himself with it. You didn't mind waiting. You had time.

When he finally got up and carefully made his way to the boat, you got a better look at the man. He looked handsome but you could see on his face that whatever he had seen in this unreachable realm had taken a toll on him. He climbed into the wooden boat, sitting down in front of you, taking in your face for a little longer before he finally spoke.

"Why?", he simply asked, hurt evident in his voice as his words settled in the vast space around him, the silence that followed right after seeming to soothe his aches a little, "what was it all for?"

"You're the only one who will be able to answer that question eventually", you spoke quietly, making sure not to startle him, "I have never seen the world you come from. I can't reach it. I simply wait here for all who cross over. You chose to live this life, only you can find the reason."

He thought about your words for a moment, then letting out a bitter laugh. "Why would I choose something like that?"

You shook your head. "I can't tell you. And believe me I get that question a lot", you reached for a box behind you, placing it onto the small table that stood behind the two of you, "it seems our past choices can seem as unreasonable here as anywhere else." He mused that he probably shouldn't bother you with this type of stuff. However, he found himself to have a habit of ruining everything, so he supposed it was not that surprising for him to have chosen this painful life long ago.

His eyes fell onto the small ebony casket that had been placed before him.

"What's in the box?"

You gave him a mischievous smile. "In here lies the answer to any question you ever had", you spoke slowly, igniting an anticipation in him but also hesitation and fear, "however I must warn you. Opening it comes at a cost that is worth paying only for a select few." His eyes widened as he ran his fingers over the smooth material. He wondered, what could he have to give to you when he had just left everything behind upon entering this realm? Was he to sacrifice his chance at an afterlife and embrace eternal non-existence for the brief shot to make sense of it all?

"What's the price?"

You let out a laugh. "I jest", you responded and surprisingly, he felt a sense of relief wash over him, "there's no magic box that can explain the meaning of the universe to you." You lifted the lid to show him what was inside, placing a few cards and tokens on the table. Poker, he recognized the game and picked up a few of the pieces to inspect them; still trying to find something off about them. But they seemed to be just regular tokens. You smiled at the curiosity and suspicion in his eyes. Cute, you thought, surprised at your own reaction to your newest client. The craftsman raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"You'd be surprised how many people come here looking to bet and bargain."

He nodded. He could see why many humans would do this. "And you indulge them?", he questioned. You shook your head and winked at him. "Between us, I can win if I want to", you set up the game, "but you don't want to go back, so there's no need for me to intervene. We can play a friendly round if you'd like to."

He nodded once more, finding himself smiling at the absurdity of the situation. But it was a welcome change. Your presence seemed to soothe his aching soul with every minute he spent here, although he had no idea how much time had already passed. As you played, you gave him the chance to ask you more questions. Most of them were ones you had already had to answer over and over again. But there was something about this man that made them feel like a new experience; something that stimulated and amused you.

"So, is this the afterlife?", he asked dryly. "You can think of it as more of a.... hotel lobby. Your time here decides what room you'll end up in, so to speak", you tried to explain, "there's a world beyond what you've known so far that I can't possibly explain to you. You'll just have to see for yourself. But first we have to find out where your place lies." He pondered your words.

"And you're the receptionist?", he asked, feeling a little lost.

"Something like that", you chuckled as your eyes inspected his calloused hands, "I'll be your guide for as long as you stay here." Perhaps it was your own wishful thinking but you could almost see a hint of disappointment on his face. "And after that?", he asked, "will I ever see you again?"

He found himself surprised at his question but simultaneously he had gotten so used to that feeling of painlessness and peace he felt around you already, that he was afraid of losing it again in that place he was destined to go next. "It's only been a moment and you'd already miss me?", you teased, your fingers lightly brushing against his, "well I'm flattered." He didn't pull his hand away. He should pull away, he reasoned. He had been hurt so much, love and friendship had scarred him and made him wonder whether anything about it was worth the pain. But something about your touch felt so right, that he couldn't help but wish you'd just take his whole hand into yours and held it. Or just flip the table, forget all about the game and kiss him breathless.

He was shocked at his thoughts. His cheeks were heating up. What is wrong with me?, he internally cursed himself for being this weak for you. Just moments ago he had been in a brutal fight with his once closest companion; he had felt like his anger was going to be all that remained of him. And yet now the skies had shifted and the world he left behind felt so small along with the person he once was. What was so wrong about being happy?, he asked himself, clutching his fist, maybe it was time to be selfish for once and just forget all about what used to be and focus on the here and now.

Focus on you.

You who eased his sorrows even though they were still seeping into his mind every now and then. "There seems to be a lot on your mind", you sighed as you defeated him in the game, "may I ask for your name?" He didn't comment on his loss.

"I'm not sure", he shrugged, thinking back the the middle-aged man who died at the hands of the High Elder of the Vidyadhara. "Yingxing" didn't really feel right anymore. He felt as though he had taken a step into a larger world now. Reached a point of no return. You nodded, as though you could understand or had seen many like him pass through this place.

"You pick one", he shrugged, his eyes looking into the distance and you could tell he was still lost in thought. This was a lot to take in for him after all. Your eyes fell onto the sword he had brought along, undoubtedly one of his own making.

"How about 'Blade'?", you suggested, putting a finger to your chin. He thought about it for a moment, then felt himself nodding and smiling genuinely for the first time in a long time.

"Blade."

As time went on, he learnt that you had never been to the mortal realm. That you experienced it through the memories of those you guided to the other side. You promised that you would visit him at any time he wished to see you once he had crossed over. That time wasn't linear in this realm and that a second could feel like months here. He took his time to learn about you; to find out what interested you about the material world and what things you had seen in your line of work. What the universe was like, experienced by a being such as yourself. He had apologized for asking so many questions that you probably heard over and over again. You had simply shaken your head.

"All in a day's work."

You reassured him that you were enjoying your time with him. Basic questions about the realm Blade now found himself in turned into long conversations he thought he'd never have again. His soul was already laid bare before you, he didn't feel urged to hide his feelings and past from you. You were so attentive and understanding. He wished you had been there for his time on the Xianzhou. Maybe that would have made him feel a little less lost.

Fleeting touches turned into finally holding his hand in yours and him resting against your chest with a content smile on his face. He had never told you he loved you but he felt like deep inside you knew. The first time you kissed him, he felt a spark ignite inside him that he thought had long since been snuffed out. Your lips tasted sweet, like the salvation he had so desperately longed for, yet never could have imagined to be like this. He kissed back hungrily, your fingertips wiping away the tears of relief he couldn't stop from running down his cheeks. Every peck you left on his skin, whether you scattered them on his hands, his shoulders or placed them at the corner of his mouth; he felt he could never get enough of them.

He'd hold you tightly in his arms, leaving kisses on your neck before pulling you into a loving kiss again, his tongue clashing with yours as he poured all the words he couldn't say and the passion he couldn't put into words into his kiss. He eventually leaned his forehead against yours with a happy smile. You guided souls to the other side day in and day out. You never expected yourself to fall in love with one. But Blade had captured your heart by storm. He was the one you had been waiting for all this time. He was your forever. Both of you were finally happy.

You both knew he was ready to move on and spend the rest of eternity by your side. That was his place in the great beyond. And it seems it was meant to be yours too. He nodded as the two of you were ready to embark on your next great journey together, leaving the sea of doubts behind you, ready to step into the sun. Blade gave you one last kiss to your lips. He looked at you with a peaceful smile on his face, his eyes promising you forever.

And then that moment ended.

He could only hear you desperately call out to him as he was pulled away from you, his hand trying to clutch yours as he was fading from view and his fingers slipped out of yours. He was panicking. It couldn't end like this. He remembered how happy you were just a moment ago. How worried you must be now.

The peace and tranquility was quickly replaced by emptiness and grief and anger again as his soul violently slammed back into his once mortal body. If he thought the pain from exiting it was bad, the one from entering it again was even worse. He groaned in pain, clutching the large wound on his chest and feeling it close below his fingers, much to his surprise.

Suddenly the Xianzhou seemed to matter again and your soothing touch felt out of his reach. He thought he was simply healed. That this was temporary and if he wanted to, he could just go back to you. But he realized quickly that this was not the case.

His eyes widened in shock and he stared in disbelief at his shaking, scarred hands as he realized what had become of him. What someone made of him. His breath hitched in his throat as he bit back the sobs that escaped him. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he looked up to the man who did this with horror in his eyes. Dan Feng seemed unresponsive, as if caught in a trance.

Blade bit his lips. He didn't want to cry in front of this man. Not like this. Not here. But he couldn't help the despaired sobs coming from his mouth. His voice broke when he spoke.

"What have you done?"

Years had passed since that day. He often wondered what you would think if you could see him now. How bitter and hateful he had become; all the destruction he had caused on his path to reunite with you and kill the man who bestowed this cursed immortality onto him.

On some days it felt like the mara was driving him to the brink of insanity. Would he still be the same person you never got the chance to say goodbye to when death would finally come for him? Or would he have become something that you could never possibly love? The thought kept him awake at night. It scared him more than the pain he knew might plague him for many years to come.

He had never told anyone about you. You still felt like his happy ending that was ripped from his grasp and as much as the Stellaron Hunters helped him in his goal, he didn't want them or Dan Feng or anyone meddling in it.

He may have been the only one to have captured your heart, but there were many others who had almost crossed over and met you. Those who came back would sometimes seek him out and deliver messages from you to him. This was how, despite all, he at least had the reassurance that you were still out there waiting for him to return. The messages you had delivered to him were different each time but you never failed to tell him that you loved him so much.

Blade could hear the quiet beeping of the life support machine from outside the hospital room door. The nurse who had accompanied him here lightly knocked on the door and Blade could hear coughing from the other side. "Mr. Petrov? You have a visitor", she opened the door and Blade stepped into the room behind her.

Mr. Petrov had spent his whole life on a planet that Blade had never visited before. The old man opened his tired eyes to look at the stranger standing in the doorframe to his hospital room. He couldn't recall ever having met this person, but it was possible that he had simply forgotten about him. Meanwhile Blade knew for sure that the sickly man on the life support machine was a complete stranger.

Blade sat down beside his bedside, placing a small wooden box on the man's nightstand. He had left his phone on the starskiff; there was no need for Silver Wolf and Kafka to learn of this meeting.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I recognize you, son", the old man coughed once more and gave him an apologetic look. Blade shook his head. "We've never met." The old man had no idea of the atrocities that Blade had committed. He didn't need to know this, Blade thought.

"Then what brings you here today?", the patient seemed surprised. "I need to ask you a favor", Blade simply responded. The old man let out an amused laugh, sending him into another coughing fit. "I'm not sure if they told you, my friend, but I only have a few days left to live", Mr. Petrov reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, "my respiratory system is shutting down. I'm not sure what favor I could possibly do for you. I'm 94."

"I'm aware", Blade sighed and for the first time since he woke up in this cursed body again he took up the courage to talk about you. He described to the man what you looked like. "If you meet this person- ...on the other side I mean", Blade stared off into space, "could you deliver a message to them? Tell them to wait for me. Tell them I'll find them again one day."

The dying man raised an eyebrow at the seemingly young Stellaron Hunter. "Well, I don't know what's waiting for me on 'the other side', kid, but I'd imagine the afterlife is pretty vast. There's no guarantee I'd meet this person you're talking about."

"You will", Blade insisted and opened the wooden box, revealing a game of poker inside, "up for a game or two?" Mr. Petrov scratched his beard. "Why?"

"Practice."

The old man laughed. "They play poker in the afterlife?", he seemed amused but helped Blade set up the game, "well, I suppose there are going to be a lot of people ready to bet and bargain." Blade felt himself smile slightly as he remembered the first time you met. He was hardly used to smiling anymore so it caught him off-guard.

Mr. Petrov inspected Blade's face. The man seemed lost in thought again, as if he was yearning for something. As if he had been waiting for a long time. Anyone else would have found this encounter with the young stranger in his hospital room absurd but the sick man just accepted the situation as it was. Impending death was weird like that.

"So...", he started, an expression of understanding on his face, "anything else you want me to tell his person?"

Blade hesitated for a moment. Images flashed through his mind of your smile and the way you had kissed him. The ideas you exchanged and the future you had promised each other. How, despite all, despite the frustration and hatred, Blade now had no doubt where he was meant to be. With new-found courage and sincerity Blade finally allowed himself to say what he hadn't dared verbalize for all this time.

"Tell them... tell them I love them. I love them so much, I have no idea what to do with myself. And I miss them... I miss them every goddamn day."

[whillywisp]

Part 2 of Finnick being the most amazing dad/doting husband because I'm sure this is just therapy for my darlings with daddy issues and, well, issues🌱

Warnings: a little long, a little angstier today, implied mention of what happened to finnick. But still as fluffy as yesterday.

Part 1 ☁︎

If Finnick was caring and terrified during the pregnancy, multiply that by ten thousand and that's him postpartum. This man was convinced the very air his family breathed was out to get them. He refused to sleep because he was scared something would happen if he dared to get some rest but after you very gently (you yelled) explained to him that he cannot stay up for three nights straight because no Finnick the baby doesn't need to be held twenty five-eight please for the love of god get some damn sleep, he finally got some rest.

Recovering from pregnancy is a whole other nightmare but he made it bearable. Finnick's favourite thing in the entire world, as previously stated, was taking care of you. So you know he was at your beck and call round the clock. He helped you shower, helped you move around, stayed up with you during night time feedings so you wouldn't feel alone. He cooked every meal and made sure you had everything needed within an arm's reach. Sometimes you were so overcome with love for him that you would tug him close and pepper his face with kisses because where on earth would you find someone as gentle and caring and loving in this miserable world as this angel right here? Nowhere thank you.

But it was seeing him with her that had you convinced you saved a country in your last life (well, in this life and while it was group effort—) to be able to witness something so pure and gentle.

Finnick held his little girl like he she was made of the finest glass and would disappear if he so much as breathed too loud near her. His wide eyes traced every movement, every twitch of a muscle, every breath your baby took. If her little hand curling around his made his pretty eyes gloss over, you absolutely saw it and you made sure to tease him about, for which you were met with embarassed smiles but no denials. He wasn't ashamed of loving his family and least of all his baby girl.

But every spring came stained grey from winter's shadow, still lingering around the corner as if seeking spring's warmth too. And Finnick's past, to him, felt a bit like that.

What happened to Finnick was not a secret he carried in his pocket folded up with a list of names who still bragged of their contribution to his survival or hidden behind forced smiles anymore. What happened to Finnick was public and while he is as not at all at fault for it, humiliation and self-hatred didn't have a mind of its own and regardless of the circumstances and the people that were at fault for everything, he still blamed himself, he still dreaded the day his baby, his entire world, found out what happened. And he told you about it of course.

"What if...what if she hates me?"

You looked up from the book you had been reading, glancing at him where he lay on his back. Your daughter, now nine months old, fast asleep on his chest and your voice a little incredulous as you whisper back. "I'm not sure if you noticed but she worships the ground you walk on."

The smile he gives you is forlorn and pressed into the top of your daughter's head. He blinked, looking away from you and in the blink of an eye you had dropped your book, uncaring where it landed and gently craddled his face in your hands, wiping away tears that stained his emrald green eyes.

"Angel—"

"I don't want her to find out," he sniffed, tightening his arms around your daughter, taking a shuddering breath before continuing. "I do-don't want her to find out. She'll hate me. She'll think I'm so weak. I was so weak."

You sighed, gently pressing a kiss to his forehead before wiping away tears that escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Rage and grief burned in your heart with vengeance and you wished, not for the first time, the need to rip those wealthy capitolites to shreds with your bare hands, to make these vile people disappear, praying they'd take the pain they inflicted on him away with them.

But instead you used the same hands and pulled him close, letting him cry into your chest as you wrapped your arms around him and your daughter, whispering quietly but firmly to him. "Finnick Odair, those years of you life were bleak. Those years of your life were harsh. And you were a lot of things during them: broken, hurt, abused. But you weren't weak. You survived, you made sure to survive because you knew you needed to survive to be free. That was your way of winning. And if we raise this baby right, she'll love you regardless, hell even more, when she finds out. I love you and I agree with you on just about everything. But this, this I refuse to because the man i married, the boy I fell for, is a survivor."

He peered at you through wet lashes, sniffling softly as he pressed a kiss to your chest and then the top of your daughter's head: his quiet way of saying 'I love you. Thank you for being my light.' You let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding, tightening your arms around your family.

You weren't lying when you said your daughter worshipped the ground he walked on. He was her hero. She followed him around the house since the minute she started crawling, screamed for him every morning and only calmed down when he picked her up and out of crib and in the most Finnick fashion, loved you in her gentle ways. She got that from me, he would say smugly as you had to eat another fistful of mushed baby food because of course your daughter picked that her way to show her love for you after having seen Finnick feed you fruit earlier. You would glare at him over her little sprout hair, identical to the one his hair was tied into on her highness' orders, your heart threatening to explode in your chest from the sheer amount of love it was filled with.

Your daughter was not only growing up to be the most precious child in the world, but she was also terrifyingly bright and understanding, even at such an young age. On days she noticed Finnick's need to be quiet or when he was too overwhelmed by everything, you noticed her making a conscious effort to stay quiet and keep her noises to a minimum. If Finnick needed time alone, she wouldn't bother him but spent her time with you, telling you about how daddy needs his quiet time and you had to hold onto the cushion behind you on the couch to hold back from crying, completely baffled at and extremely grateful that you both were raising an angel like her. But you weren't all that surprised when you thought about it a little more deeply. She was, after all, her daddy's little girl.

The day she starts kindergarten feels like the most emotional episode of the worst soap opera possible because you woke up to them...crying. And saying their goodbyes as he tearfully packed her lunch and did her hair, as if she was off to war. And it took quite a while to coax them both out of the house because I love you both but we cannot be late on the first day you guys please. But on the walk to kindergarten it was peaceful and full of laughter, because they could both pretend this was just their morning walk.

But of course, the tears were back when the gates closed with the promise of keeping them separated for three hours.

"What if she gets hungry and can't open the lunch box?"

You frowned looking up at him, shaking your head. You both were standing outside the gates to the school along with other worried parents, some taking a break from said worrying to side eye you both, something you had learned to tune out years ago.

"Finnick, she showed us she can open the lunch box just fine before we left home."

"But what if she can't here?" He insisted, looking down at you like you were the insane one for not considering that scenario. You sighed, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from the gates, trying to ease his worries.

"I promise you if she needs help with that, she will ask her teacher," you smiled at him, pecking his lips gently to stop him when he opens his mouth to voice another bizarre worry. "She'll be fine. She's our kid, she'll be perfectly fine."

He cracked a small smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you both start walking back, giving in with a small chuckle. "Yeah, okay. Maybe we should get a puppy to keep us busy now since she wants to do all grown up things go to scho..."

You look up at him as he suddenly trails off, confused as you catch him staring at something thoughtfully in the distance and follow his gaze to freeze against him slightly. In the distance, still as grey and imposing as ever, was the abandoned building which once held District 4's career academy. Strange feelings that always came with seeing it, both good and bad and nostalgic, make you tighten your grip on his hand and his around your shoulders.

Less than a decade ago, only a few metres and a small canal away from the kindergarten that your daughter now attended, children like her were being trained to kill, you and Finnick being a part of them. The thought of that still makes your blood run cold but the relief that rushed in right after, knowing your baby would never have to do that, is enough to let go of another hour of the countless you had spent in there, training to survive a system bigger than the arena could ever be.

You took a deep breath, forcing to maintain your light tone as you forced both of you to continue moving. "Heard they're building another school there, to keep the spirits of learning still alive and all that."

He smiled, kissing the top of your head fondly. "And I assume you want to help out in that?" The cheeky smile you had given him was answer enough but for him, it was like a sigh of relief, of brighter days no longer stained with gloom of his past.

People and places had changed to accomodate this new change, this everlasting spring, and maybe he was looking forward to letting his soul do the same too.

A/N: i agree this might've gone slightly offtopic in certain places but bare with me. I can't decide if want this to be the end or write more. But I hope you enjoyed this regardless of these things. All my love 🌱

[viaviv124]

Bullfrog Character Study and why i feel so bad for him

Did you notice that Bullfrog does not cry at all until his execution? Not when Jade died, not when Pey'j died and, to our knowledge, not while he was in jail.

When Bullfrog talked with Rayman and mentioned Pey'j's death he sounded so bitter. Yeah he probably said it to hold a mirror in front of Rayman but also i feel like at first he didn't intent to say this, that this just slipped out and he then decided to roll with it. I do not know much about Assassins Creed but i do know that he had to embody the Brotherhood's ideology of freedom, peace and equality. To my knowledge to "peace and freedom" also counts "free of vengance/hatred/bitterness" and so on because these feelings do not make you free, hence why Bullfrog tried to stop both Dolph and Pey'j from acting in vengance (allthough with Pey'j it also was so the Warden doesn't detonate the bomb). And espacially because of the survivors guilt Bullfrog thinks he has to be the perfect assassin.

However, Assassins are just people too. People are flawed and cannot follow this perfectly. And Bullfrog was incredibly bitter. Probably not just bitter too, one can just imagine what he felt. He lost everything he cared about again. He failed again. Not to mention, i doubt he ever allowed himself to grief. And i feel like feeling that horde of emotions also lead to self loathing to a degree.

Bullfrog is supposed to embody the Brotherhood's ideology, hell, the entire brotherhood considering he's, to his and our knowledge, the only one left. He's not supposed to feel everything he's feeling right now, yet he does and it eats him up. The survivors guilt forces him to perfectionism. If he can't be the perfect assassin, then what is he? To him he's failing his ancestors and brothers, his fallen comrades, the ones he's fighting for, everyone.

And despite all of that he never once allowed himself to cry.

Except when he was convinced he was going to die.

Bullfrog cried during his final words as he apologized to Dolph for failing him. And i can promise you these tears weren't just because of the apology, no, in these few tears was at least a bit of everything that happend. Because he didn't have to stay strong anymore. He thought that's it. This is where he and the brotherhood will die. And he probably felt two main emotions in that moment. Hopelessness and relief. Hopelessness for very obvious reasons i doubt i need to elaborate, but relief? He didnt have that burden anymore. He thought he was going to die so that weight he's been carrying for who-knows how long would be off his shoulders. It's a very small price, but at least it's something.

Everything i've said so far is why a certain comic by @pitafish hits so hard to me. I won't show it here because i didn't ask for permission, but basically what happend is that Bullfrog and Ramon were lying in bed and Bullfrog had a breakdown so Ramon sang to him and hugged him to soothe and comfort him.

[Edit] i just got permission to link the comic so here you go

Bullfrog let himself cry. He let himself be vulnerable. He lets himself be an individual with his own thoughts and feelings instead of an extension/personification of the brotherhood. And most impressively, he did that in front of someone else. He let someone else soothe him, hold him, take the place of comfort he himself always took for others.

And that's what makes it hit so hard.

In conclusion, Bullfrog deserves a hug, a blankie, hot chocolate, to bawl his eyes out and some well-deserved rest.

[lamemaster]

Elves when you break their heart (for a lack of better title)

AN: Idk why I am writing this but here it is. This author likes the idea of doomed relationships both platonic and romantic :D (Also can we have a funny event so I can feel like writing again? Pretty plsss)

Summary: Angst

Characters: Rog, Celebrimbor, Finrod

🔨Rog🔨:

"Oh my," you wheeze folding into yourself as you catch your breath. The elf a few feet away from you looks paler than snow when you look up to smile at him.

A sheepish grin spreads across your face, trying not to show how a flight of stairs came so close to taking you out. But the poor elf turns green and you consciously wipe your lips noticing the blood on the back of your hand. That explains.

"Lord Rog in?" You point to the long corridor that your beloved promised, which definitely leads to his study and not another secret smithy.

The guard, wide-eyed and terrified, can only manage a jerky nod. You heave yourself upright, gathering your robes with trembling hands and a silent prayer to the Valar that the floor stays horizontal for at least another minute.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath – mostly to mask the metallic tang of blood – you dab at your face with the hem of your sleeve before you thrust your beloved into another fit of mothering you.

Pushing open the door (knocking? What's knocking?), you swing yourself into the study with a flourish that would make a bard proud.

"Hellooo my love," you purr, a wide smile plastered on your face despite the throbbing ache in your side. Rog, engrossed in a book held upside down with a furrowed brow, doesn't even notice you at first. It doesn't take elven sight to spot the worry lines etched deep on his face – a sight that makes your smile falter slightly. Hiding an internal sigh, you flop down next to him with a dramatic thud.

"I am not dead yet, dear," you announce, watching him stiffen at the word 'dead.' "Perhaps spare such interesting books for when you are not able to access my excellent presence." You take the tome from his hands and with a playful flick of your wrist, send it soaring across the room to land with a soft thud on a plush armchair.

A frown of complaint settles on Rog's forehead. You can already see the familiar lecture brewing – the one about slowing down and taking care of yourself. An argument you smother with a quick peck on his lips, effectively silencing him before he can utter a single word of protest.

You are, after all, a master in leaving things unfinished. And witnessing his grief and worries was a business you plan to leave unfinished for your given time.

🩶Celebrimbor🩶: (platonic)

"You are the reason for my kin's doom!" You point an accusing finger at him. "You and your larger-than-life creations." Your voice is hoarse from hours of sobbing.

Tyelpe stood frozen, his heart a drum against his ribs. His once glimmering form felt like a dying star. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the image of the furious spirit before him.

You lurched forward, grasping his shoulders. Your touch, faint as a sigh, startled him from his paralysis. "Why?!" The raw whisper seemed to crack the very foundation of the Halls.

"Why!! Why did you have to make those rings? Why give it to my kin? Even in death, I cannot see the face of my father. My father who killed his own kingdom." The Halls of Mandos shake with the tremors of your little voice.

You, who had never met him in your lifetime, bore hatred greater than any other.

Nothing mattered. Sauron's evil, your father's own greed, none enraged you more than the elf who you made you into a resentful mess.

Tyelpe didn't flinch. His gaze met yours, a well of ancient sorrow mirroring your own. He didn't resist when the Maiar of Mandos materialized, summoned by the sheer force of your grief. He let's himself be pulled away from your grasp.

Then, a tremor ran through him, a ripple of recognition. He looked at you, truly saw you for the first time. Not just a furious spirit, but a child – a child robbed of a life you never got to live. And him being the cause of it.

He sank to his knees, his head bowed so low it nearly touched the ground. "Forgive me," he rasped, the words echoing through the halls. But this time, the plea wasn't just for himself. It was for you.

Even eternities were not enough to lift the burden of some crimes.

✨Finrod✨:

"Love?" you scoffed, a harsh sound that echoed through the cavernous hall. You met Finrod's gaze, your eyes devoid of the warmth that used to reside there. "This isn't love, Your Majesty. It's vengeance."

You leaned closer, the frosty air swirling around you like a cloak. Each word was a shard of ice, piercing the illusions you'd so meticulously constructed. "I never loved you, Finrod. Not truly."

His face drained of color, the realization dawning like a cruel sunrise. A tremor ran through his hand, the one that used to reach for yours so instinctively.

"Months," you continued, a cruel smile twisting your lips. "Months of a meticulously crafted lie, a performance more elaborate than any staged in these halls."

A flicker of pain crossed his features, a flicker that ignited a cold satisfaction within you. You had achieved your goal. Finrod Felagund, the mighty Elf-lord, brought low by the love of an Edain – the very race he deemed inferior.

"Look at yourself, Finrod," you whispered, the words dripping with venom. "Consumed by a mere illusion. A phantom who offered you a love that never existed."

Finrod opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, your fingers tightening around his chin. "You are in love with a mirage," you declared, your voice a low hiss. "A person who never truly lived. This," you gestured to yourself, the playful warmth you once wore now replaced by a chilling emptiness, "is who I am."

You lean tantalizingly close to his lips. And Finrod as if forced by habit leaned in expectantly. For a moment, Finrod's eyes searched yours, desperate to find a flicker of the woman he thought he knew – the woman who shared laughter and dreams with him.

But there was nothing. Only a cold, calculating stranger.

"Consider this Andreth's debt, finally repaid," you said, pulling away with finality. You turned and walked away, leaving Finrod alone in the vastness of his halls, his heart shattered

And remained shattered accompanied by his body that lay broken in the unlit cells of Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

[accio-sriracha]

Sirius was gone for twelve years.

Twelve years he'd spent rotting away in that fucking cell.

He'd had every bit of hope drained from his body and he had nothing to carry him through it but the image of his best friend's corpse.

Nothing but the reminders of everything that had been taken from him.

For years he'd stewed in his anger. He'd been driven mad with rage and hatred and betrayal. Of the injustice of it all.

Eventually, he learned to stop feeling all together. To protect himself.

The demontors tormented him less this way, when he was already so void of anything remotely human.

He turned into a dog to control his thoughts. Animals were easier in a way, they had very primal needs and required little else.

No longer did he think of James. No longer was he haunted by everything that used to be, everything that could have been...

He refused to feel it.

He'd gone so long without a single tear he wasn't sure he was capable of them anymore. All those years without emotion made him clear minded. All that remained was one single thought.

He needed to kill Peter Pettigrew.

That was all that ever mattered to him anymore. Not his grief. Not his sadness. No. Just the desire to finish what he should have started all those years ago.

He did not mourn his old self. He did not miss feeling emotions the way he once did.

Emotions were a disease. They'd beaten him half to death and back again.

They tore through his system like a drug, wrecking everything they passed.

And they burned. They burned him the way his lungs would burn when they screamed for air.

The human mind was next to incapable of suffocating itself, did you know?

He did.

He knew that in his fits of panic and rage his heart would beat far too quickly, struggling to adjust under the crushing weight on his chest. This- this guilt that he carried so long it had woven itself into his very soul. But he couldn't seem to hold his breath long enough.

Maybe that meant a piece of him was still alive, fighting for survival.

Or maybe his brain was just a traitorous beast with a plot of its own.

Either way, he lived to see the day he escaped.

And when he was free, when he had found Pettigrew in his hiding, he still refused to feel.

He refused to feel even as he drug his godson's best friend through the once familiar tunnel to the shrieking shack.

He refused to feel even as he heard the snapping of his bones.

He managed to keep himself emotionless, even as he transformed back into himself. To Sirius. Someone he hadn't been in a long time.

And when Harry stood in front of him, accusing him of the murder of his parents, he thought maybe he should feel. But he remembered the pain.

He could see it in the boy's eyes. He could feel the phantom of it's fingers ghosting at him as they reminded him of a brilliant witch he used to know.

No. He didn't feel. He wouldn't.

Not until Remus.

When Remus walked into the room Sirius swore his lungs had collapsed. He swore his heart could not possibly be continuing to beat.

When Remus reached out a hand and their fingers touched, that's when Sirius knew what was happening to him.

He was feeling.

And he hated it. He hated the way his body shook with fear, how his mind replayed memory after memory of all he had repressed.

He missed the numbness that had enveloped him. It was gone and left him bare and exposed to the new, to this torture.

He missed the static that saved him from his thoughts. He missed the cell that bore no reminders of his past.

When Remus embraced him, for the first time in over a century... Sirius broke.

Never before had he felt so much.

He felt unwillingly. He did not want these feelings back. He did not ask for them. He did not want his soul to burn any longer. He did not want this.

But his feelings were here, and they were overpowering, and they were real.

And among them was the strongest sense of relief he'd ever known in his life.

Remus... Moony.

Sirius realised then what he had been missing. Like the last piece of a puzzle finally working its way into the picture. Remus completed him.

He gasped, clutching onto Remus as tightly as he could manage with what little strength remained.

Remus' eyes met his and they were so full of understanding.

Remus knew. Remus believed him. Remus loved him.

The words repeated in his head like a mantra.

Remus loved him, Remus loved him, Remus loved him.

And never again would Sirius take those feelings for granted. No matter how hard or overwhelming everything got; he would never again forget his love for the boy he'd held under the stars all those years ago.

Remus loved him.

And that was enough to make him stay.

[recreationalfanfics]

Can I get a GOD! Reader with Poseidon, Thor, buddha, Loki

Were reader has a lover and one day war breaks out between the gods. And reader's lover is one of the gods that lost their life and the one who killed them is (Poseidon, Thor, Loki).

(My request is based on zhongli and guizhong story)

This wasn't implied to be yandere or not but there is def gonna be some Yandere in Loki's for sure because it's Loki. I'm also not really adding Buddha in this, sorry, but I have a three character limit!

They had always been jealous of your lover, that much was certain. If it wasn't for the war, it could even be labeled as a crime of blind passion (or obsession depending on the god).

"This wasn't what I wanted."

- All Thor wanted...all he could have dreamed of was to be with you, but as he watch your lover turn to dust, as does that dream he had held on too so tightly.

- It probably didn't help that he looked so emotionless and stoic, he couldn't help it. That was how his face was. He felt remorse immediately, wishing he could undo what he had just done instead of having to hear you cry and mourn.

- He can't remember much of the moment but he knew his feelings got the best of him when your lover was the God who challenged him. He had already won your love, won your hand, and Thor simply couldn't let him win that little fight. Not after he had taken all of you and left Thor with nothing but the memories of what could've been.

- That's all they'll be now, memories. You hit him but don't do much damage, he still allows himself to stand there and take it. Take it because he deserves it for putting you through so much pain. Your lover may have been gone but so were his chances with you.

- When you suddenly sob and weakly fall against his chest, he holds you and whispers an apology. He knows it won't fix this but it was the only comfort that he could give you. Truly, he wishes things would have turned out differently.

"What's been done can not be undone."

- He was cruel enough to say that you almost deserved it for not choosing him from the start. Poseidon is a prideful person, despite the fact that he truly held you near and dear to his heart; he wouldn't bother apologizing.

- It won't fix anything, it won't bring your lover back, and he can tell from your eyes that your heart was now filled with hatred and loathing. If you had any feelings for the god of the seas, they were gone now.

- You will not see him beg for forgiveness because he knows it will never be enough. If you loved your partner as passionately and as deeply as he loves you, he also would forever be mad.

- He would still have the audacity to try and convince you to be with him, you know, after killing your lover.

- Even if you don't choose him, at least he knows you won't choose anyone else because as much as it sickened him to say it, your lover was your world. So even if his chances to have you fall in love with him end up zero, it brings him a cold comfort to know that at least you'll feel the same

"He took you from me first!"

- Loki can't even claim he felt a single amount of remorse, not when the moment he saw your lover was open, he took that moment to strike them down. He was brutal and he was quick and they didn't even have time to react.

- It was just payback in Loki's mind. He longed and yearned for you for the longest time and YOUR STUPID LOVER SAW THAT AND TOOK YOU. It was their own fault that they died, if they had just realized you were HIS then they'd be alive.

- Might even laugh at you as your grieving for them. After all, they died so easily at his hand. However he soon gets annoyed because you distance yourself from him, he expected you to at least shout and try to kill him but you just...sulked. And that wasn't any fun.

- He'll try to egg you on to at least get mad at him but you knew it was what he wanted, that it'd only add to his satisfaction, and you were too tired to be angry at him anyways. Your heart still heavy with grief. Loki becomes even more moodier because even after they're dead, they're still stealing you away from him!

- This god feels like he'll die without your attention. Look at him, scream at him, hate him, love him. As long as it's from you, he'll want it all. So when you don't even acknowledge his existence, he will act out like a child. He's too angry to care and you're too heartbroken.

[consoledacup]

Admittedly bending the double date theme to talk about another universal dating concept: the third wheel, a.k.a. Miss Eloise Bridgerton.

Eloise makes missteps this season, but so does Penelope, and so does Colin. This season does not shy away from all different types of love, and the love among the three of them is beautifully explored. Actually, one of my very favorite shots is Penelope fleeing the Osterly Ball steps with Eloise and Colin hot on her heels, depicting the actual love triangle of the season.

Eloise has been obsessing over Whistledown since the start of the series. She has been revering her power, time and again, to the actual author's face. It's honestly really sad that Eloise immediately accuses Penelope of capitalizing from her family's pain. Of course that wasn't the motivation behind Penelope starting the column, but Eloise is so incredibly hurt, she questions everything about her relationship with Penelope.

And then on top of that, Eloise is completely blindsided by the budding romance forming between her brother and estranged best friend. When Eloise first met Penelope, after Colin did of course, I'm sure she was thrilled to have a partner-in-crime to annoy her brother just like she did. Whenever she dragged Penelope away from Colin in the earlier seasons, she thought she was doing Penelope a favor.

Think about all the things Penelope didn't say. Eloise droned on and on about the injustice that women endured. And Penelope always agreed and added to the conversation without ever saying, "but actually marrying your brother would be my dream come true, and I've been in love with him for years." Eloise bulldozed their dynamic in the past, but it wasn't on her to figure out Penelope's hidden feelings.

Eloise is so intrigued and put off by Colin's new persona because he's immediately shining a light on hers. And she's perplexed to see Colin gaining all this new attention but only setting his sights on Penelope. And in the same breath, he's saying, boy, if I ever get my hands on Lady Whistledown...

She has tried her best to move on, and she's seeing her brother unravel right in front her. And she's seeing Penelope step into herself and gain attention and essentially show her that she never, ever wanted to be a spinster like Eloise professed they would be.

So my heart absolutely breaks for Eloise after she finds out they're engaged. In the hallway, Eloise is just like, what kind of long game is this, Lady Whistledown? She felt the ecstatic joy radiating from her brother and knew he had fallen in love, and good grief, what is she supposed to do now? Especially when Colin apologizes for keeping Eloise in the dark about his feelings with the air of, you just don't understand or you would've never let Penelope go.

All three of them have to confront their own mistakes and express their true feelings in order to find their way back to one another. I thought each scene with Colin and Penelope, Colin and Eloise, and Penelope and Eloise were perfectly placed and in line with their character. The angst of those relationships and friendships was not caused by hatred or a lack of respect, but rather an outpouring of love for each other. And the transformative love between Colin and Penelope inspired Eloise to examine her own life and finally take a chance, instead of just talking about taking one.

[amoranp]

Thoughts on tlou

1- Ellie wasn't selfish with Joel and she wasn't a jerk to him for nothing. The guy lied to her for a long time, even though she gave him opportunities to tell the truth. Many say that she should be grateful to him (for having "saved" her) but it's clear that the character literally didn't want to be saved, she wanted to sacrifice herself for a world that only screwed her over. And she didn't care if the vaccine wouldn't work. She wanted to at least try. I felt sad for the man, but that doesn't make her horrible.

2- Ellie was 14 years old when she had to learn to take care of not only herself, but also Joel and she also had to put an end to a child cannibal.

3- Abby and Owen's relationship ended because Abby was looking for revenge, the same thing happens with Dina and Ellie.

4- Abby and Ellie switch roles throughout the game, as Abby heals and creates new roots. Ellie moves away from who she was for "justice" just like Abby at the beginning of the game.

5- Tommy's grief is very different from Ellie's. Especially because the hatred he felt for Abby is that of a younger brother who lost his older brother. Unlike Ellie, who, in addition to having seen the guy's head get blown off in front of her, she felt guilty and angry for not having been able to forgive him before that. But people keep comparing character pain.

6- Abby was saved by her enemies during the game.

7- Abby says "don't ever show up in front of me again". And when Ellie shows up, Abby is saved by her. If Ellie hadn't gone, Abby and Lev would be dead.

8- In Dina and Ellie's final conversation, Dina says, "You don't owe Tommy anything." But then Ellie takes the "blame" away from the man, showing that her leaving had nothing to do with him. Reading the diary, this becomes clearer. "I don't eat, I don't sleep." After Seattle and Joel's death, nothing is the same.

9- Many people compare Arthur and Ellie, even though the two would clearly be artist friends. And in the end, Ellie would agree that revenge is foolish.

10- In the scene where Jesse and Dina meet again, Ellie is not jealous, but she feels lonely. Showing that, even after everything, Dina still has Jesse, while Ellie has "no one".

11- Ellie ended the cycle of "revenge".

12- The worst death for Ellie was Owen and Mel. It's where we see how brutal Ellie is, but we also see her humanity deteriorating.

[l0v3tast3]

organs and hatred alike — part 2

✎ summary: after the 141 men find out makarov is your father, they start questioning you (sorry i suck at summaries lol)

✎ tags: female reader, military reader, hurt/no comfort at all, this is all angst, major daddy issues, not proofread im too cool for that

✎ word count: 1.9k

✎ author's note: tysm everyone who left such nice comments on the last one ily ฅ(´ര ̫ ര`)ฅ !!! i will be making a part 3 for this i promise im sorry i write so slow "(._.`) ྀྀ՞

part 1 . . . masterlist

seconds passed by at the same rate as hours in the cold room, but you didn't really mind. it had given you plenty of time to think.

since kyle had left, you still hadn't moved. at least one of the 141 task force had had their eyes glued to the camera feed from the room you were in for the duration of your time in there.

they all saw the same thing: your hands folded on the table in front of you, wrists still ringed with blood and the handcuffs, and you head bowed towards the table. the slight movement of your back and chest was the only indication you were still alive.

you didn't particularly feel alive at the moment though, much less like any of this was real. it should have felt real to you, because it was and this had happened before more times than you could count on one hand. your father had always been several steps ahead of you it seemed, and this instance was no different.

the irony of the situation was what made it so surreal for you. you had finally caught up to him, gained the upper hand against him, if only for a few fleeting moments. just as quickly as you had climbed, you were knocked down to the same level as him.

and now, you were equals with him. a man who called an ocean of blood his home, a man who had sold humans as easily as farm animals, a man who had crossed every line with a content smile. he was sitting in a room adjacent and identical to your own, in handcuffs just the same as yours.

the universe was making a mockery of you.

when the door had shut behind him, kyle took a look at each of the other three men, each one laden with a sort of grief.

"i think she's telling the truth," kyle spoke. his brows were turned up with worry, a look the others rarely saw on the quiet man.

"doesn't matter," simon grunted. "she still lied to us." his skull-plated mask hid plenty, but his clenched fists and stiff stature spoke for themselves.

"did she say anything else?" john asked, his arms crossed tightly. the mohawked man could barely hold himself still. he had been actively resisting going up to makarov and beating him until he was unrecognizable for too long now.

"you heard everything i did," kyle said while he shook his head.

price, who had been silently watching you through the camera since you had been thrown in the room, finally moved from his spot towards makarov's room. without a word, he opened the door and stepped in, letting it slam shut heavily behind him.

he came out an hour later, wiping his hands with a handkerchief. simon had stayed in the room, his eyes shifting between each camera feed, while john had went to take a walk to try to cool off and kyle tried to find laswell.

price stood beside simon, tucking the red-stained handkerchief back into his belt and looked at the camera pointed to your unmoving figure.

"so, which one do you think is telling the truth?" price asked.

"i don't trust a word he says," simon grunted with a hand waved in makarov's general direction.

"you trust her?"

simon didn't say anything. instead, it was his turn to silently head into a room, yours this time.

he sat down in the chair across from you, his gigantic frame making it look almost comically small. he kept his hands on his thighs, instinctively near his weapons.

you were still sitting as you had been, your loose hair covering most of your face. he could see your hooded eyes focused on nothing. you both sat in silence while he waited for you to show any sign of consciousness.

simon decided five minutes was long enough. "why didn't you shoot him?"

you blinked; it was the most acknowledgement he'd gotten so far.

"why... didn't i shoot him?" you murmured hoarsely after a few moments.

he said your name sternly, repeating his question back to you again.

your blurry vision shifted to the empty gun holster on your thigh. they had made sure to quickly take your weapons from you while dragging you into the room.

why hadn't you shot him?

you had been covered head to toe in the blood of his men, equipped with over a dozen different weapons when price had originally hooked the handcuffs on him. your finger was resting beside the trigger of your automatic rifle, inches away from being aimed at his head. why hadn't you shot him there?

and when they had sent you in to talk to him, why hadn't you shot him then? you could have pressed the barrel of your handgun against his head before anyone could have opened the door to the room. you could still feel the cold skin of his neck on your fingertips, burning like you had dipped your hands in acid.

"i was scared," you finally admitted, barely whispering. the confession stung your throat; you wanted to grab the words out of the air and swallow them back down as soon as you closed your mouth.

"of what?"

"you. the others."

simon remembered the first time he had seen you.

the look in your eyes had been eerily familiar, and it didn't take him long to recognize it in his own mirror. you had closed yourself off, barely speaking a word, never showing your face. just like him.

it was why he had avoided you for so long, never relenting when price would tell him that he had to at least get along with you or when soap and gaz would attempt to bring you both closer. he only ever spoke brief sentences to you, never asked you anything personal. he kept it distant and professional.

at some point, he had apparently let you in closer to his heart than he had ever planned, because your admittance of your fear of him made something he could only say was dread pierce his heart.

"what did he say?" you muttered. simon stayed quiet. "i could hear price beating him."

despite everything, it hadn't brought you any joy to hear your captain's fist connecting with your father's face, or to hear him grunt and fall to the floor through the wall. you had thought your lack of joy was odd until you realized it was because it wasn't you in price's place.

"said you and him have been workin' together."

something welled up in your throat, and you thought it was more tears, but then you were laughing. tiny giggles turned into you practically cackling, tossing your head back and pressing your hands to your stomach. it was the hardest simon had ever seen you laugh.

"oh my god, ahaha, he- hehe, he told you what?" you spat out between heaving for breath. "he really- he actually said we were working together?" after a few seconds, you weren't laughing anymore. your hands rested back on the table and you hunched over again.

"he must really, really want me dead now."

"why does he want you dead?"

"because i'm proof he exists." you stared back at him as he had been since walking in, and simon almost reached up to make sure his mask was still on.

you knew that as long as you were alive, makarov wouldn't be able to disappear if he needed to, as much as he tried. he had learned that lesson already in the endless circles you chased around each other. you both knew that neither of you would die until the other caught up.

"makarov is lying to you, why wouldn't he be?" you continued.

"you lied to us."

you paused for a few moments. you had lied to them, countless times. just how similar to your father had you turned out without realizing?

"this task force was the only chance i had left." your words were quiet again, like a child who had been caught breaking the rules. if a fog of regret hadn't settled over your thoughts, you would think of yourself as pitiful.

"you knew we hated him too. why didn't you tell us that much?"

"you would have had questions. i couldn't answer them without telling you everything else."

"you're answering them now."

"i don't have a choice now, do i?" simon could see the frustration slowly replacing the sullen look in your eyes.

"you backed yourself into this corner, didn't you?" he said, keeping his voice slow and calm.

you had.

it was your choice to lie. it was your choice to put on the mask. it was your choice to cover up your accent, to change your name. how many names had you taken now? it had been so long, it took more than a few moments to remember the one given to you first. but was that really you that had been given that name?

your eyes weren't the same as the child that you saw in your memories. your nose and your lips and your skin stayed the same, but your eyes showed what was etched underneath, what replaced the marrow of your bones.

you knew there was no point in wishing to go back, but what was there left for you to do? what would you have done differently? who would you have been honest to?

looking up at simon, you realized the lies had never been necessary. his mask left his most vulnerable feature uncovered, a contradiction to the symbol his being held. such an unreadable force, baring his soul freely under a threadbare cover. his soul looked back at you and asked you once again why you had done this.

you ignored the question.

"what are you going to do with him?"

"get as much as we can out of him. charge him." he said after a few seconds.

"is that what you're doing with me?"

simon crossed his arms. "dunno yet."

silence blanketed the room again. you choked on it until more words came up.

"do you think i turned out like him?"

your utterance made your stomach turn, made rocks smother your heart and crush your lungs. it was the question you'd never given voice to, but had always held under your tongue.

he ignored the question.

"do you?"

you looked down at the handcuffs again and almost vomited. swallowing down the acid, you began to slowly shake your head back and forth.

"he- he took everything, simon, everything from me," you stuttered, your throat tightening and your voice straining. "and it's not even about me. he's a fucking terrorist."

you remembered watching him smile while he stood in front of a burning apartment building, still full of it's residing families. you had just barely managed to slip out of his lackey's grasp while he puffed out his chest with pride at his newest "advancement".

"this is about you," simon leaned forward. "this is about you not telling us what you knew about him."

"simon, i'll tell you everything, i swear, just let me out of here. just let me kill him," you pleaded. the hollowness of your chest was starting to spread, and you were becoming restless again. the urgency you had felt earlier was pouring back in, like floodgates crumbling.

he paused for a few seconds. "fine," he snarled.

then his hand was wrapped around your wrist, yanking you up and pulling you with him. he let go once you stumbled forward around the table, but you stopped dead in your tracks once he opened the door. was he serious?

"well?" he growled, looking back at you, waiting impatiently for your decision.

✎ tag list: @devilsfoodcake22 @texaschainslvt @simonsdoll @edenstarkk @zoom1374 @knowncorrine @kimiro-art @heydemonsitsme @1mawh0re @0willowwisp0 @bbibbiii @greenkiki @the-last-airblender @feyredarling92 @mandythemint @demicapeelen @the-faceless-bride @rottingkin @copiasratscheese @enfppixie @pssytrux @nickangel13 @ollie71526483 @justmare

[b3llasdears]

"Moon lady"

Leonidas x selene! Reader

For those who don't know, Selene was the goddess and representation of the moon in Greek mythology.

English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes!

● first, how did you meet? How do the "human" moon and the king of Sparta meet?

● well, It was on one occasion when he went out for a walk at night. That day he had argued with the oracle so he was quite stressed, and going for a walk at night sounded like a good idea.

● reaching a cliff, he found you, seeing the crescent moon

● He was quite confused, it wasn't common for his people to go out at night

● He took his shield and called to you, asking who you were. although unlike what he expected, you got scared

● You explained that you were only there to see the moon, he was still suspicious, but in the end he accepted your answer

● He thought of you as a strange woman, not only because of your nervous but calm personality, but also because of your interest in the moon.

● a woman who sees the moon in the city of the sun, it's strange just to say it

● you managed to get along during the time you spent there, so you agreed to meet again on that cliff

● it took you a while to reveal to him that you were a goddess, this man is not very discreet when it comes to his hatred for the gods

● when you told him he was a little upset, but he let it go because by that time you were already friends

"Fine, at this rate I have no choice but to stay."

● boy admit that you care about her

● your routine was maintained, meeting on that cliff to talk, or eat on certain occasions that he brought you food

● sometimes you get a little insecure because you're afraid that humans will get bored of you, so he comforts you

● He noticed that the moon barely rises at those moment's... but he decided not to say anything

● the confession of love was quite... spontaneous?

● It was a day that Leo had brought you food, common.

"I can't believe I fell in love with you"

"What"

● woman can no longer eat in peace.

● but seriously, You were very happy when he said that, it was just the shock of the moment.

● you immediately started dating, although it didn't change your routine that much, it only added the signs of love of a romantic couple

● You once bathed together in a lagoon but we are not here to discuss what happened that day (at least not today)

● The Battle of Thermopylae was a difficult time for you, you went through the 5 stages of grief in a matter of seconds

● fortunately you were a goddess and you were quickly able to go to Valhalla, where you met him again

● you were in peace for a long time, and you thought it would stay that way

● but the other gods are idiots, so it couldn't be

● Although you already knew about Ragnarok, you did not expect Leonidas to agree to fight, even if you knew his nature and ideals, you didn't think that he would put his eternal life in danger for humanity

● internally you really didn't care that much about humanity, what bothered you was that he was putting humanity over you, or at least that's how you felt.

● you are not the best at hiding your feelings, and it is not so easy to do it from someone who has known you for centuries.

● You ended up talking about it, and he assured you that he would win, always having his confident attitude that you loved so much.

● although you were still a little distrustful, but you knew that it was a hopeless case to try to talk him out of fighting, so you accepted his decision

● you refused to be on the steps of the gods, So you stayed in a separate room with a screen so you could watch the fights.

● although when his round arrived you ended up leaving the room, staying on the roof of the coliseum where you had a good view of the fight

● you were nervous, but you had nothing else to do other than wish that your beloved king came out of that arena alive

I'm not exactly back (I have school and I'm lacking inspiration) but I'm doing the best I can (*/▽＼*)

[cheesit-notes]

Widowed Ghost

Ghost goes through the stages of grief... but only 4.

tags: hurt/virtually no comfort, throwing up, implied ghost didnt eat, or sleep, or take care of himself, 5 stages of grief, reader died, (first time) angst teehee

a/n: writing this made me feel better teehee. anywho, i love reader deaths (love u readers ♡)

widowed Ghost who cannot bring himself to cry when he hears the news. allowed to see you, or at least the hollow husk of you, he’ll glance at the mangled burned body that was once yours with a thousand thoughts yet no words to say. he’ll turn away, unable to face the reality.

for the week leading to your funeral, Ghost cannot, and perhaps purposely does not, process your death. he goes on with life as he usually would. but there are a few moments where he'll call out your name, intending to show you something, talk to you, or just because he wanted your attention. and those moments kill him inside. the silence, the lack of a response, the lack of you, kills him. for a few seconds to minutes at a time, he faces the reality that you're gone. for better or worse, his mind quickly convinces him you're simply busy. and he'll foolheartedly believe it. 

Ghost is silent the day of your funeral. he's forced to face the reality that you are gone; not just for a few seconds or moments at a time, but indefinitely. pitiful glances from empathetic faces and softly muttered 'I'm sorry's feel suffocating. he can't- doesn't want to believe it. you, in that god awful box? it can't be true. as cruel as it would be, he wishes this was all some sick joke.

blurred memories of being driven home, walking inside his house, and mindlessly walking into your once shared bedroom. and as he sits on the edge of the bed, it hits him. the cold, harsh reality hits him like a truck. you were gone. and there was nothing he could do about it. he hated this feeling. he hated feeling like a helpless little boy at the mercy of his heartless father; unable to do anything.

tears threaten to fall, his eyes burning to hold them back as he chokes on air. he hasn't cried in so long. always feeling like his problems didn't matter enough to cry. the feeling, it's nauseating. he feels like he's going to throw up.

he stumbles over to the bathroom sink because he knows you aren’t fond of cleaning up vomit after he got too drunk once. he never got that drunk again. he throws up the bits of food he forced himself to eat earlier because you were always worried about the lack of food he used eat. he didn’t want to worry you. and he looks at himself, and thinks he looks pathetic. pale, unkept, dirty, and he believes he's so undeserving of you; this is why you left him. that you left this world behind, left him behind, because he wasn’t enough to keep you here.

he’s mad at you for leaving him, and he’s mad at himself for being so.. him. and god, he thinks if anything was different about him, maybe you’d stay. doesn’t matter to him if you had no say in your own death, all that mattered was that you weren’t here now. reason had no place in a man blinded by pure fury. all he could think about was how unfair it was that you left him, and how he wasn’t enough to have you stay. maybe, he thought, if he was better, if he was anything else than the pathetic excuse of a man, maybe then you’d care a little more and be alive.

the blinded rage continues for hours. it began with thoughts of hatred he had towards you, himself, everything, but slowly began getting physical. he was never taught to use his words to express his feelings so they came out in actions. holding back tears he didn’t know he had, he took his rage out on anything that couldn’t fight back. a table flipped over and broken, chairs laid on their sides, everything pushed and shoved over leaving him standing in the empty space he created.

there’s no dreadful feeling like what he felt standing in the middle of the mess he made. he felt like his father; taking his anger out on things that couldn’t fight back. the arguable difference was the things Ghost took his anger out on wasn’t alive, but what difference did that truly make? perhaps if he had a kid, he would be his father’s replica. and he feared such a thought. with a heavy heart, he slowly put everything back where it once was, because you wouldn’t like the place being a pigsty.

he hates himself for this but for moments at a time, he’s convinced that it’s better you’re gone. he’ll never have to hear you nagging him to eat more, clean up after himself, go take a shower, take a break; never again. he’ll never be woken up by your laughs because you stayed awake, watching videos, for him to sleep. he’ll never be interrupted in anything again.

but who was he kidding? he misses it badly.

he misses hearing you tell him to eat more, threatening to force feed him if you caught him eating less. he misses you shoving him into the bathroom and yelling at him to shower because he stunk and you couldn’t stand the fact he just didn’t take care of his hygiene. he misses you forcibly taking him away from his work; the cruddy attempts of kidnapping him away from base and the way he’d begrudgingly play along. he misses you reassuring him that he could sleep, that you’d keep watch. he misses being woken up by your barely audible laughs, and how you frantically apologized for waking him. he misses resting his head on yours while the two of you stayed awake watching anything. he misses having someone who cared enough about him to do all that and more. 

he misses you.