#HE WAS DENIED THE RIGHT TO MOURN SO HE MUST MOURN FOREVER

[sheepydraws]

I'm thinking about how badly I want Thara to heal but also how at this point it has to come from within. He has stability. He has community support. His biggest obstacle between himself and a good life is the belief that he deserves it.

[allthesethingswillendsoon]

Long, long time

CHAPTER TWO: Over the years

SUMMARY: Follows the girls over three important moments in their childhood; A bittersweet first day of elementary school, a wholesome Heroes Day assembly, and a run in with a nasty bully.

NOTE: Well it turns out I lied and took like 5 weeks to post this chapter instead of one week like I had said, but hey that's life I guess? This chapter is the second last chapter of them before middle school when they'll start to come into their own more I think. This chapter is like three mini stories over the course of elementary school. I'm not sure why I didn't do another story in fourth or fifth grade, but the next chapter will be at the end of fifth grade/beginning of sixth grade so I guess I'll just do a bit about that then. i don't think this was worth the wait but I hope everyone enjoys. And also big thanks for the support :)

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Warnings: Mentions of parent leaving, homophobia, tiny bit of violence 3k words Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

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2nd OF SEPTEMBER, 2008

OAKRIDGE, VIRGINIA

As Bob fitted Paige’s backpack onto her, he couldn’t help the way his heart ached. Every parenting class and book had described the first day of school as one of the most important and integral days in a child’s life, and Paige was a parent down.

How would this affect her? Would she feel less-than going into school without a mom? Will she forever look back on this day and mourn the perfect, all-American family she was denied?

On the other, less all-consuming, hand, he couldn’t help letting out a chuckle at the sight of her comically large bag in comparison to her gangly self.

“Daaaaad, I’m scared, what do you even do in school?” Paige questioned as she held her bottom lip between her teeth.

Amy sure would be helpful right now.

Bob kneels down to face her and brings his hands up to her shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze, “Honey, it’ll be alright, it’s the first day, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Promise?” She whispered, eyes watering and bottom lip quivering with the words.

“Yeah honey, I promise.” He soothed, linking his pinky with her tiny one.

He stood up and grabbed his car keys, leading them to the front door. “Besides, you know who we have to go meet?”

Paige’s whole demeanour changed, a glittering smile covering her face, eyes lit up. “Azzi! Azzi!”

“Yeah, Azzi, Katie, and Tim.” He smiled as they made their way through the front yard and into their car. From across the street they waved to the Fudd’s, Paige and Azzi both jumping with excitement as they threw their hands into the air.

Bob buckled Paige into her booster seat and climbed into the front, turning the car on. The Fudd’s pulled out of their driveway and Bob followed. He turned the radio up, letting whatever song was popular fill the air in the car as Paige looked out the window.

—------------------------

Laughter echoed through the orange walls of 1B as the children found their seats and said their goodbyes to their parents, not without a few tears. Both Paige and Azzi were nervous to leave their parents yet knowing that they had each other soothed them both.

The classroom was set up in rows of twos, and to their absolute delight Paige and Azzi had been placed next to each other in the front-side corner.

“Okay girls,” Katie started, “I think it’s time we let you start your day.”

Azzi flung herself into the bodies of her parents, Bob leant down to pick Paige up and hug her half to death.

“Dad! Stop it! Let me down!” Paige giggled, hitting her dad across the chest with her tiny fists.

“Ugh, alright, if I must!” He sighed dramatically, setting her down on the ground. 

He wished he could have erased the look on Paige’s face as he caught her staring at Azzi with her mom and dad. She spent a second staring at them, the look on her face almost indecipherable, before turning around and hugging her dad.

Bob had reached the point where he could go a day or two without thinking of Amy, and it was great, to be able to fully focus on Paige, without getting caught up in what they had lost. Then they’d see a happy family, with a mom and a dad, and his entire world would fall down around him as he witnessed Paige yearning from afar.

From his peripheral vision he could see Azzi detaching from her parents and coming over to walk with Paige to their desks.

“I love you honey, I’ll see you this afternoon.” He said, planting a kiss on her cheek before turning to leave with Katie and Tim.

—------------------------

23rd of MAY, 2010

OAKRIDGE, VIRGINIA

If Bob Bueckers was gifted at one thing, that one thing was building (and being the best dad in the world if you asked Paige). He was as handy as they came, building anything from treehouses to hospitals with such ease you would think he was born with a toolbelt on. When he was fifteen he left school to work with his father building houses, who worked with his father building houses, who worked with his father building houses, and so on. Then, when his father got too old and, albeit begrudgingly, retired from the trade, Bob took over the family business.

So, despite the countless hardships the universe had so eagerly forced upon Bob, they did graciously throw him one bone. In July of 2010, just as Bob was finalising the sale of his family business, the same could be said for the resident family builders of Oakridge, Virginia, who had decided to sell their business and retire in the French countryside. A win for everyone, Bob was able to swoop in and fill the perfectly-Bob-shaped gap they had left in the Oakridge development industry, and lucky for him, the area was experiencing major improvements. Everything from schools, to housing developments, to shopping centres were needed, and Bob was sure to cover them.

—------------------------

The chatter of the excited children and their parents echoed through the bright coloured corridors of the elementary school. It was the most highly anticipated day of the school year for the second grade classes, it was hero day! 

On hero day the children were allowed to dress up as their hero -whoever they might be- and explain who they were and why to the whole school, and any parents there as well.

Paige and Azzi had been bouncing off the walls with excitement for weeks on end leading up to the event.

Paige’s hero was one she kept a tight lipped secret. Every time Bob attempted to ask her she would shut it down immediately, all the while having the most mischievous grin on her face as though she was planning on dressing up as a criminal or a crack addict.

It was only when he asked her if he could at least help her put together her costume that he gained an idea as to what she might be. 

She told him that she had ”already gotten everything I need, silly dad!”. Later that afternoon, when he went into his shed and found his favourite hardhat and high-vis vest missing he couldn’t help but smile.

Azzi on the other hand had been incessantly chatting about her hero, Miss Honey. Ever since watching Matilda she had become utterly enamoured with her, so much so she decided she wanted to be an elementary school teacher when she grew up.

—------------------------

The kids were brought through the assembly hall in their class lines, waving and smiling at their parents as they passed by. 

The principal gave a short introduction, knowing the kids had the attention span of a goldfish, and the parents just cared about seeing their kids be their adorable selves.

They went in alphabetical order, meaning there were only twelve or so kids before the roll got to ‘B’ for Bueckers.

Paige shuffled up to the microphone in her comically oversized hard-hat and high vis, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. With a little adjustment to the height of the mic stand she nervously started.

“‘My hero… My hero is my dad because he’s the strongest person I’ve ever met in my whole life and I love him the most because he is so awesome.” A chorus of ‘awwws’ sounding out amongst the crowd at the earnest and honest display of affection.

She went to leave before spinning around quickly, mumbling one last sentence into the microphone before scooting off stage, “Oh, and I’m gonna build houses with him one day.”

Bob stood out of his seat cheering and whooping for her with Tim and Katie clapping from their seats.

It was days like that when he could almost feel the gap Amy left closing, just in the slightest. It made his heart beam, to feel like he really could be enough for Paige, that he could give her everything she wanted and more.

After thirty-ish more students, it was Azzi’s turn. As she stood at the microphone adorned in her floral dress and pink cardigan, flowers and ‘Matilda’ book clutched in her hands, the nerves she was previously lacking came crashing down onto her.

She stood at the microphone, little body trembling as she stuttered, “M-m-miss Honey f-f-from Matilda is my h-h-hero. I… I want to be a teacher… just like her.”

Happy enough with what she said, she turned to exit the stage but dropped her book as she did so. She grabbed it, went back to the microphone, simply said “Oops”, before skipping off stage, seemingly very happy with herself.

The crowd had laughed at the young girl’s antics and Paige had given her a high five as she skipped by.

—------------------------

Paige and Azzi were chattering to themselves when they noticed their parents.

Paige immediately broke off into a sprint, flinging herself into her dad’s arms.

“That’s my girl!” He boasted, pulling off her hat while rustling her hair.

“Daaaaaaad stopppp it!” Paige giggled, the massive grin on her face saying that she wanted otherwise.

“Nuh-uh I’m your hero! You can’t stop me!” He exclaimed, holding her up in the air as she squealed.

When he finally put her down, he decided it was of the utmost importance that they got a picture together on such a monumental day. He picked her up once more and held her on his hip, their faces as near to identical as possible, Bob’s smile practically copied and pasted onto Paige’s face.

Paige and Azzi then begged for their own photoshoot where they pulled as many poses as humanly possible, reading ‘Matilda’, flexing their non-existent muscles, and hugging each other as tight as they could.

—------------------------

A few days later Bob had lost count of all the copies he had of his picture with Paige, he had put it everywhere, in his wallet, on the fridge, on the mantle, on his desk at work. 

The two young girls also printed out the picture of them hugging, both putting it in purple and pink picture frames in their rooms. Every time Paige or Azzi had guests they were always sure to point to the picture of their “BFFAAFATF” (Best friend forever and always, for all time, forever).

17th OF FEBRUARY, 2011

OAKRIDGE, VIRGINIA

It had been nearly three years since Paige and Azzi met and became best friends, in that short time they had grown closer with each other, faster than what seemed humanly possible. Their parents loved it, living on the same street made play dates and favors easy. Both the kids were growing up to be kind and generous young girls so neither family had an issue with having them around. Excluding the occasional ruckus the two would cause, they were largely well behaved. Their families adored their friendship and understood why the two liked each other, being able to see the way they were similar, and the ways their differences complement each other’s personality.

The same, however, could not be said for a certain boy named Jacob, who had been in their class every year since they started school. He was renowned amongst the teachers, kids, and parents for his vicious mean streak; the teachers and parents also knew that he had bounced from foster home to foster home for the large majority of his life, his parents both locked up for various counts of substance abuse and aggravated assault.

Since the beginning of third grade in the previous september, Jacob had begun to target Paige and Azzi, teasing and mocking them relentlessly for their close relationship for a reason unbeknownst to the girls.

Paige and Azzi had faced the comments off for months and months on end, letting the slew of nasty comments pass them by. It was the same thing every time, some variation of, ‘Why are you guys holding hands? Ew!’ And every time they’d brush it off confused as to why he’d make those comments, but unbothered enough to let it go.

That was until Azzi went home and regaled her parents with stories from her day at school, one of which being the comment of the day from Jacob. Although they didn’t show their shock and anger at the treatment Azzi and Paige were receiving on their faces, under the dinner table they nudged legs and knew to talk about it later.

Subsequently they headed to the Buecker’s house with Azzi and talked about the situation in hushed tones as the girls played in the snow outside. Upon talking they decided to tell their teacher Miss Hedge about it, who assured them the situation would be dealt with promptly and with great importance.

—------------------------

As the end of February approached, the Virginia snow had begun to defrost, turning the ground to a mix of grass and sludge, a well-known enemy to all Oakridge residents. The only positive to the situation was that the children were allowed to spend their play breaks outside, as opposed to staying inside.

Paige and Azzi were on the swings, battling out to see who could go faster and higher. Usually they would fight on who won, but sometimes, despite knowing she obviously was the winner, Paige would let Azzi declare herself as the victor, just to put a smile on her face.

After minutes of intense battling, the sound of the school bell cut through the chatter of the children, signifying the end of the break.

Paige hopped off her swing waiting patiently for Azzi to hop off hers. Just as she was about to, her hair clip fell on the ground. 

With a dramatic sigh she jumped off and ducked down to grab her hair clip, but as she came up she was met with the seat of the swing slamming directly at the centre of her face, knocking her to the ground in the process.

Pain shot through her head, tears welling in her eyes before flooding down her face.

Paige went into panic mode, never having seen her best friend this distressed through their near three years of friendship. “What can I do to make it better Az? I’ll do anything, I just want you to feel better” Paige pleaded, coming to sit down next to Azzi.

“Anything?” Azzi questioned, her big, watery, brown eyes boring into Paige’s.

“Yeah, anything Azzi, just wanna make you happy.”

The younger girl pointed to her forehead, the bruise forming underneath the skin beginning to rear its yellow-purple head. “Can you kiss it better? Please?” 

Azzi’s request lingered in the air before Paige nodded, gently brushing a strand of hair out of the way, before brushing her lips against the tender skin for a few seconds.

“Better Az?” Paige questioned softly, eyes full of concern for the younger girl.

“Much better! Thanks Paigey!” Azzi smiled, pulling Paige in for a hug.

Paige let out a sigh of relief, she couldn’t bear the thought of Azzi being in pain, and she was just so glad that she was able to take the pain away, if only for a little bit.

They stood up to head back inside, both feeling the cold seep into their skin from sitting down in the sludge.

As they walked back inside, an all too familiar voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Which of you was it?” Jacob spat, looking down on them.

“Which of us did what?” Azzi questioned, confusion covering both of the girl’s faces.

“Which one of you lied to Miss Hedge that I was bullying you both?”

“Neither of us did that, Jacob.” Paige responded, slightly anxious as to where the conversation was heading.

“You’re lying! You probably both went together and told her, cause you’re both just so lesbian-y all the time!” Jacob retorted, voice nearing a yell.

“We didn’t Jacob!“ replied, trying desperately to end the quickly escalating conversation.

Yet it only infuriates him more, his face growing redder and redder, hands curling up into fists at his side. “Yes. You. Did. One of you snitched, and now I’m in trouble with my foster parents!”

Paige moved in front of Azzi, trying to shield her as Jacob approached.

“It’s. All. Your. FAULT” His fingers jabbed at Paige’s shoulder with growing intensity each word he said.

“Just leave us alone!” Paige yelled back, grabbing Azzi’s arm, turning to leave.

Before they were able to do so Jacob was yanking on both of their ponytails with such force it sent them to the ground. At that same moment, Miss Hedge appeared in the hallway in search of her three missing students.

“Jacob! What are you doing? Get here! Right NOW!” Her shrill voice cut through the soft sounds of the girl’s sniffling, and Jacob’s huffing.

He trudged down the hall to the teacher, who called out to them, “Paige, Azzi, you girls just stay there, I’ll take him to the office and come back right away.”

They turned and looked at each other, bleary blue eyes into blurry brown ones. It hadn’t hit them yet, but the event moments prior would haunt the two as they grew into their own. It would haunt them as they struggled to deal with the way they felt about themselves and the way they felt about the feelings they had for the other.

But in that moment as they hugged on the floor and let their tears drip into the other’s shoulder, it just mattered that they had been through it together.

—------------------------

NOTE: Hope you guys enjoyed this one more than I did. Next chapter will come a lot quicker than this one (I hope)

[dearestfallsummer]

The thing is, whenever i saw stupid people try to glorify uzumaki clan or name only for competing them or put them on silver plate to mock uchiha, i just burst out the biggest laugh ever.

Do these people realize both of these clans are so similar that using them as fanwars or worse to elevate one of the clans from konoha is disgusting? Because both of them were wronged by the same village too, konoha. They are the same genocide victims, even worse for uzumaki that nothing is left for them even if there are more survivor like naruto or karin, they knew nothing about their ancestor or culture, the only things remain are the vast chakra or the long span of lifetime which must be part of 5% of the uzumaki. Like why not making naruto and karin bonded as uzumaki? Why not making them as sealmaster/mistress? Uzumaki was so strong and threatening that those villages all agreed to wiped them off, even konoha did not help much, so much for BEING AN ALLY. They only need uzushio/uzumaki to give them the perfect vessels for their biggest weapon, mito, kushina, and naruto were all trapped there. Mito and kushina were completely forgotten there tho, even naruto was known and all credits went to minato instead.

People will say and deny all they want and say that naruto is happy and getting his dream as hokage and all, BUT DOES HE LOOK HAPPY TO YOU? His adulthood is consisted of miserable marriage and nuclear family, even his dream as hokage looked as empty as hell, nothing changed, its all meaningless, people with eyes can see and if you want to deny it, i wont bother with them, just go with those stupid ignorance.

Uzumaki in the end of manga and reinforced w that stupid sequel was truly extinct to me, in naruto's 17 birthday, it was reminder that 17 years ago uzumaki truly dead along with kushina. Uzumaki is left only as ordinary name without any meaning as konoha intended, where its survivor didnt know its truly legacy, it ended there.

Thats why its funnier when dumb people bring brt or hmwr or hell even worse hinata to glorify them as uzumaki, like there is nothing special with them ESPECIALLY AS UZUMAKI, because there had nothing left interesting in them about uzumaki, its just empty name. Like why do use hinata lol, idc she used uzumaki's name because of marriage she is a freaking hyuuga to all boot, the same person who especially get the benefit as a main branch from her slave owning clan, who did not have a thought that her clan is in the wrong, who did not nothing in her position to stop the insanity. Nh especially loved to associating her to uzumaki to make dumb point about how underrated uzumaki or hyuuga compared to Kishimoto's favoritism to uchiha. Like ew, don't ever do disservice to uzumaki by putting them in the same bar as that slave owner clan.

Uzumaki is indeed underrated, cant say the same to the latter. When you want to hype uzumaki, use the right person instead, use mito, the forgotten first hokage's wife who sacrificed herself to be the sole weapon of foreign country that did not have the same appreciation for her and her name. Use kushina, who was brought and trapped as foreigner and weapon where she was bullied for her gene, where she had to sacrifice her own son for a goddamn village that gave his life hell too. Use nagato, karin, and naruto, the survivors who had miserable childhood because they had no real home in their clan's name, separated which later met as strangers and enemies, wronged by a system that stopped their full potential as UZUMAKI, where at the end the meaning of their name lost in the wind.

Imagine if they explored more about uzumaki? The clan of the beloved main character? Where it focused on him and his forgotten clan that just as important and interesting as clan like uchiha or senju? Instead they end it with conformity and heteronormativity where they assasinated the main characters (naruto and sasuke) and left a big stain in the legacy.

I will forever be salty and mourn the uzumaki and uzushio.

[dragonladies]

clipped wings bonus chapter!

below the cut you will find an additional/alternate version of chapter 35 of my fic clipped wings, told from rhaenyra's pov.

keep in mind there is little to no editing. i wrote this originally in my notes app on my phone. (you even get to see what i do when im drafting and dont want to write a particular part of a chapter LOL) this was written before i started writing the actual chapter, so details and order of events vary slightly. this was just a writing exercise that i figured i'd share with y'all! :3

WC: 2218

RHAENYRA II

it takes a moment for rhaenyra to register that the young woman standing at the head of the cluster of ladies was her little girl. her daughter.

when she thought of her, she still pictured the sad, angry little girl she had sent away from her side, a little smudge of mourning black against the green and blue of the riverlands. it had rent her heart to send valaena to the tullys, especially so early. if she had her way, she would have kept her close to her side forever. had the greens never acted, had harwin been alive…

her mind turned to the little boy laena died bringing into the world. he would have not been so much younger than valaena. they would have married, like jace and baela and luke and rhaena, all together on dragonstone as it ought to be.

but laena was dead, same as harwin, and so rhaenyra must cast her lot with the fishes.

the young woman that stood before her was much removed from the little girl she had kissed goodbye and sent away on a ship. she laughed and smiled easily with her small cohort of ladies as rhaenyra strode into riverrun’s courtyard, holding hands and leaning in to whisper into ears. she still wore her hair long, curling down to brush her buttocks, though it had been braided and held back from her face by a circlet. there was not an inch of black on her garb, mourning or otherwise. she wore a flowing gown of cloth-of-silver and blue samite, comfortably cut but richly made. she wore only a pendant round her neck, and no other jewelry.

she looked so much like marianne and alys’ girls, who rhaenyra could see lingering behind her. they could be sisters, with their dark curls and light eyes and heart-shaped faces. but she could see something of herself in her daughter, as well — the slope of her nose, the tilt of her mouth as she smiled, her poised grace.

she was beautiful. rhaenyra had always thought her beautiful, from the first moment she had held her, her second babe, her first girl. but now there was no denying it.

when valaena finally looked her way, the smile dropped from her face in a way that made rhaenyra’s heart sting. valaena drew away from her ladies and went to her, dipping into a deep, practised bow.

“mother,” she greeted. her voice was lower, and had a breathy, clear quality to it. like a little silver bell chiming, “you look well.”

“oh,” was all rhaenyra could get out before she was sweeping valaena into her arms, holding her tightly, “oh, my sweet girl.”

when she pulled away, valaena took a hasty step back, her cheeks bright pink. she looked around wildly for a buffer, then beckoned one of the many auburn-haired onlookers over.

“mother, it is my honour to introduce you to ser kermit tully,” she said when the redhead stepped forward. her daughter’s future husband lowered in a bow that was so perfect the most seasoned of septas would weep at the beauty of his form.

kermit tully was handsome, admittedly: eight-and-ten, with the sort of gallant grace that made soft-hearted maidens sigh and dream of names for the sons she would give him. but when valaena smiled up at him, it did not quite reach her eyes.

“princess rhaenyra,” kermit said as he straightened from his bow, “what a pleasure it is to meet you at last.”

there was a rehearsed air to his speech, stilted and not quite right, and rhaenyra thought a jab there as well. at least he was loyal enough to her daughter to feel the need to be snide. kermit took valaena’s arm in his, and rhaenyra was struck with the impression that he was not doing so out of a desire to hold her close or just touch her. they were certainly not like her and daemon — she, who would often just entwine their littlest fingers together throughout the day, desperate for some form of contact. daemon who laid his hand over her belly, the span of his fingers enveloping the entire front of her tummy, even if no babe grew in her womb.

though perhaps that was not a negative thing. kermit would not do the things daemon did to get valaena to finally be his wife. no murder, no blackmail.

it was sorry work, how they had resolved the… laenor issue. rhaenyra had wanted to spare him, to send him into the life of anonymity across the sea that he so craved. they were friends, if not true spouses. they had been partners for a decade, though they had little to show for it. and laenor was good, better than most. it was the least she could have done for him, to spare him from this life and the weight of being her consort. she thought daemon had agreed, albeit reluctantly, but when news had reached her about the events at that market… she still was not entirely convinced that correy’s sword was not swayed by her rogue prince’s coin.

she did not like to dwell on it.

more introductions were made — more tullys, valaena’s ladies, a few members of the riverrun household. rhaenyra mostly watched her daughter. how she smiled fondly at her good family to be, how she teased her ladies.

how her gaze always seemed to stray to one squire in particular. the squire who seemed to always linger in the background, skulking about like a shadow.

he was there when they moved into the great hall for a luncheon, in a place of honour at a table just below the dais. he was there when an impromptu archery competition was thrown together after rhaenyra learned of her daughter’s pursuit of the sport, watching and signalling at her to adjust her posture or form. how, to her astonishment, val seemed to listen, straightening and shifting her aim. he was there at dinner, smiling proudly as a bard sang a song about valaena’s favourite hero. he was always there, and valaena was always looking at him. and he was always looking back.

rhaenyra knew enough about flirtation to know what was going on. she saw the dance, the veiled jibes they made at one another when they passed within earshot, the suggestion in their words that she suspected that even they were not entirely aware of. her own girlhood had been coloured by a similar dance with daemon, and then her adolescence with harwin.

benjicot blackwood, she learned was the squire’s name. he was to participate in the squire’s melee on the morrow. rhaenyra was struck with the vision of him somehow miraculously winning both the melee and the joust, of attaining the honour of crowning his choice of lady as his queen of love and beauty. she could see in her mind’s eye, clear as day, the blackwood boy riding over to where she sat in the stands and depositing the wreath in her lap with some flowery speech declaring his ardent love for her in front of half the riverlands.

she watched as valaena danced with kermit tully, then his younger brother, then his father. she danced with her own brothers, then her ladies, then a couple other of the squires serving at Riverrun. rhaenyra was frankly impressed by her self control — it took ten dances for her to finally find her way to benjicot.

though they collided during a jaunty song, the air between them was charged, alive. rhaenyra recalled her wedding, that dance with daemon. take me to dragonstone and make me your wife. how brazen she had been then, untempered by motherhood and ruling!

there was nothing untoward in their dance — far from it, in reality. benjicot held valaena as far away from himself as he was able to, clutching her by the shoulders. valaena’s hands were loosely folded behind his neck as they moved along with the other couples, looking anywhere but each other’s faces. but rhaenyra did not fail to notice the shy looks they kept shooting one another, all pink cheeks and tiny quirks of the mouth. how the tullys had allowed this to carry on, rhaenyra hadn’t the slightest clue. if it had been any squire under her service, she would have sent him back home before he could so much as muster another smile.

mayhaps they had not noticed. people were wondrously adept at willfully ignoring what was right beneath their noses, after all. the thought was not exactly comforting — what else slipped their notice? — it was better than the alternative where they were knowingly letting her only daughter dance closer and closer to the brink of ruin to — what? have some sort of leverage over her in the marriage?

the song ended, and valaena and benjicot reluctantly parted. valaena stumbled back to the dais and dropped into her seat with a moan.

“oh, i shall have blisters for weeks. my feet will all be blister,” she told one of her companions still at the table, “why do you let me do this?”

“how are we to stop you?” the girl replied lightly, “we know better than to get between you and a dance.” valaena moaned again and took a great gulp of her drink.

—–

“benjicot blackwood,” rhaenyra does not dance around the topic when they are sequestered in valaena’s chambers.

she watched her daughter go preternaturally still where she stood over the brazier that housed her dragon eggs, her hand frozen over the purple egg she had been given as a newborn.

“what is he to you?” rhaenyra pressed. valaena finally moved, scoffing as she stepped away from the brazier.

“general nuisance and pain in my rear end,” she replied, going over to sit on a large cushion on the floor, her feet tucked beneath her.

“valaena. i… far be it for me of all people to judge, but you are betrothed. it is as holy and sacred an oath as a vow of marriage.”

“you don’t think — “ val burst into laughter, real and genuine, “ — mother, benjicot is about the last man in the world i would ever want to get involved with. he is an awful creature, and i count down the days until i can order him to return to the pit from which he crawled from with bated breath.”

well, that is a little overkill, rhaenyra thought drily as she stared her daughter down. then she realized that she meant it. or at least thought she did, which was one in the same when it boiled down to the essence of the matter.

that poor boy, she mused then, for it was clear that benjicot was head over heels for valaena and made little attempts to either tamp down the ardour of his feelings or hide them.

“i am only saying,” she said in capitulation, “you should be careful.”

—–

**tourney desc, b wins mel. unhorses k. write later.**

their fourth and final bout, kermit caught benjicot in the chest, and benjicot caught kermit in the stomach. benjicot kept his saddle, but kermit crashed to the sands in a cloud of dust as the stands erupted.

dread mounted in rhaenyra’s stomach. there were only three rounds left before the winner would emerge. she wanted to drag valaena out of the stands and very far away from the humiliation that was becoming more real with each passing moment.

when benjicot unhorsed his final opponent, he wasted no time in collecting the wreath of lilies and forget-me-nots that the master of revels held. he pulled his helm off and tucked it beneath his arm as he strode across the blood-stained sand and began to climb the stands.

rhaenyra knew the expression he wore, was intimately familiar with it. it was dogged devotion. it was laughter and passion after stumbling home, drunk and wanting. it was an earnest plea for a simple life that she could never accept, would never accept. it was a wedding, ending in bloodshed and her closest friend drowned in grief for the rest of his sorry days. it was years of torment for her sons before she had finally had enough and fled the capital.

it was criston cole, writ small and worse.

benjicot blackwood only had eyes for valaena as he went down her row.

“this is in your honour, princess,” he said when he reached her, loud enough that even the person sitting at the top row of the furthest stand could hear his words, “it seems only fitting to bestow this upon you.”

rhaenyra breathed a soft sigh. it was not as bad as she feared. he had not declared his love for her in front of all and sundry. he had not dishonoured her. it could still be salvage.

princesses were crowned queens of love and beauty all the time, especially when the tourneys were thrown for their enjoyment, and it was not always untoward.

then, he reached out and took the golden circlet she wore out of her hair himself, replacing it with the wreath of flowers.

all the while valaena watched him through her lashes, her lips parted slightly in surprise and — gods help her — want.

[polar-equinoxx]

☁️The heavens told me that clouds have been grey

yes that is from lady gaga's song hold my hand from tgm-

Here lies all of my icemav fics! So guaranteed smooches <3 (None of them link to each other unless they are in a seperate series btw)

Here is the big ol’ masterlist :)

goose and slider forever judging them in the background

☁️There's a silver lining on every cloud 13k+

Rated Teen, and with copius amounts of fluff :3 A collection of various icemav kisses prompts from a tumblr post full of them

☁️Only One Bed (1076 words)

Rated Gen, emotional hurt/comfort Iceman and Maverick are on a mission of somesorts together, and they get put in a room which has, yep, you guessed it, only one bed. And Maverick has a nightmare.

☁️Sunset on the Field (1086 words)

Rated Gen, first kiss, a sunset, that's it. Maverick invites Iceman to sit on a field near a runway to watch the sunset and maybe stargaze, a thing friends do, right? And they both deny their plainly obvious feelings for the other until neither of them can bear it any longer…

☁️Smoke in the Air (735 words)

Rated Teen, with anxiety, and hurt/comfort They don’t tell Iceman that Maverick is missing in action. Kind of important information when you're in a hospital ward twelve hours after you're shot down.

☁️Warmth (1020 words)

Rated Teen, angst and hurt/comfort Maverick hates sleeping in the same bed as Ice. He also hates himself. Tonight makes it way worse.

☁️Blame (957 words)

Rated Teen, angsty thoughts and its a sickfic, so.. Maverick was sick. Not the little cough and blocked nose sick, but the feverous, restless sick that gives thumping headaches and coughs that give you chest ache.

☁️Missed You (2119 words)

Rated Teen, secret relationship, anxiety, mental and regular hospitals (i'm sorry Mav) An accident. Two injured pilots, a broken wrist on one, a fractured ankle and twisted shoulder on the other. A string of numbers. 225 63 2829

☁️Still by your Side (2006 words)

Rated Teen, angst, post-break up, hurt/comfort, injuries It's been a couple of months since Iceman and Maverick broke up. They're still wingmen, they still fly missions together. But it takes a bad landing from an ejection for them to realise that they still need each other. Inspired by this post , that broke me.

☁️Even Ice Melts (1927 words)

Rated Teen, angsT, grief, stormy night, post-argument, hurt comfort, good god this has it all. “No one will be there to mourn you when you crash and burn,” Ice hisses slowly. Oh how he hated Iceman. “Then let us hope I crash and burn tomorrow,” he says harshly, still somehow maintaining eye-contact with him.

☁️Starved (1825 words)

Rated Teen, hand-holding, emotional hurt comfort, mutual pining sort of at the end... Maverick is touch-starved. He doesn't know it. Nobody else knows it. Nobody else except for Iceman. Of course he had to notice. And despite them being rivals, Ice plucks up the courage to offer Maverick a seat in the next lesson.

☁️Boys Don't Cry (1921 words)

Rated Teen, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, Ice needs a hug. Iceman Kazansky has been told all his life by everyone older than him that 'boys don't cry', 'boys don't have emotions' and if they do one must keep it all to themselves. He gets it, it's kind of why he'd called Iceman. But if there's one person that'll unexpectedly rewrite that lecture it's his newly rival-turned-wingman. Or, Ice tries to hold all his emotions in for the hundredth time and Maverick helps him understand he doesn't have to hide them anymore.

☁️Cingulomania (2127 words)

Rated Teen, fluff, hurt/comfort, Maverick needs a hug (noun) - a strong desire to hold someone in your arms. "When I go, I hope I go out just as beautifully,” Ice muses out loud. “Oh-” Maverick starts, seemingly involuntarily. “I’d really prefer it if you didn’t go at all..” Or, Iceman has unknowingly forged an emotional connection with his wingman

☁️I'm in Your Arms, I'm in Your Care (4187 words)

Rated Teen, two parts in one, hurt/comfort, both Ice and Mav need hugs Luck wasn't a strong enough word to describe how much love Ice felt for Maverick. There was such a thing as touch, though, and that was heaven for both of them.

☁️The Time Will Come (2633 words)

Rated Gen, SO much fluff, dadt, dadt repeal If there's one thing that had got Ice this far, it was the promise that one day, things would get better. He'd just have to wait. But he had got this far, looking at the smirking face of his partner-in-secret, Maverick Mitchell of all people.

[codename-adler]

i’ll oh so probably regret letting myself roam Good Omens Tumblr like an absolutely feral goat-pigeon but i just have to say I JUST–

it’s about home alright?

Aziraphale has never fell (yet), only assigned (or perhaps demoted?) to Earth and humans. Heaven is his home. that is where he comes from, what he has always known. he may live on Earth and in his bookshop, may spend the rest of eternity there if allowed, but he’ll always have his first home waiting for him, or perhaps his first home he is waiting for to call him back, tugging incessantly at the back of his mind. it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t fit there quite as nicely as the other angels. it doesn’t matter that Gabriel and the others threatened him and everything he loves. it doesn’t matter the danger, the toxicity, the abuse, the manipulation, the selfishness, the cold and cruelty of it all. that’s his home. Heaven is home. and angels are supposed to love and see the best in everything, unconditionally. it doesn’t mean they see right, but that’s angel eyes for you. and so the bookshop is his home-away-from-home. it isn’t meant to last forever, as he tells Crowley. it isn’t. the bookshop is Aziraphale’s own little corner of Heaven on Earth, his physical shelter among humans. but it is just a place. that doesn’t diminish his love for it, for what it contains, nor the time he has passed in it or the people he has shared it with. to Aziraphale, the place doesn’t equate the memories. it’s just a place. it’s just an impermanent and concrete house. never a forever home.

Crowley… lost his home. Heaven was home, and he rejoiced creating for it, expanding it. but Crowley fell (and that we must see in s3 i am begging) and the doors of Heaven locked him out. whether he bargained to come back, immediately denied or accepted his fate, took centuries to come to terms with his exile or with his flawed perception of Heaven–we don’t know. but two facts remain: Crowley lost his home, and Crowley can never go back. he does not welcome Hell as his new home either. unlike Aziraphale, his time on Earth is never framed in temporality. he does not have that anchor he can rely on in either Hell or Heaven. he’s going through the motions as best as he can, coming to terms with his fall from above and the Above’s fall in his esteem and personal concept of morality. so no home. forever nomad. except. except. Aziraphale and the bookshop. those he always relied on, and he told his angel so. ok, yeah, duh, obvious. to everyone, including us. but not to Aziraphale. angel doesn’t know home for him and home for Crowley are vastly different concepts. we know Crowley relinquished his flat to Shax when she took his job, but did he tell Aziraphale? anyone? no. because the flat doesn’t matter. the flat is to Crowley what the bookshop is to Aziraphale, and even less than that. the Bentley would rank a little closer to the truth. but even the Bentley he lost once in s1, and mourned it, but it’s more like losing a limb. not your heart. your heart you keep safe at home. in a bookshop. in the hands of the angel you love.

but your angel doesn’t see your home for what it is and is wholeheartedly willing to leave it behind and take it away from you.

but your demon doesn’t see your home for what it is and is hellbent on forsaking it and keeping you away from it.

their homes don’t align. and so their hearts cannot either.

Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever…

No… No, I don’t suppose it does.

the whole exchange is a double one-sided conversation tainted by their respective traumas.

Aziraphale says I’m touched you care so much about my love for the bookshop, but don’t you be sad Crowley, I’m bringing both of us home now because I love you and I’ve always wanted to give you back what you lost. Crowley hears This place you’ve let yourself call home? I don’t care for it, nor for your heart, and I’m crushing both because only Heaven is forever—and you were a sad fool to believe anything different would happen.

Crowley responds I can see now I was entirely mistaken to trust you would care for my heart and I’m letting you go back to the place you truly want, the only place that doesn’t want me, and that hurts angel. Aziraphale hears I’m judging your choices and feel such pity for your dreams of home that I would never want to be a part of it.

THIS IS MY HOME. YOU ARE IT. // I WANT BETTER FOR US. FOR YOU.

they’ve become so intrinsically intertwined and obsessed and with each other that they cannot fathom the other thinking of home differently. they are BLIND. blinded and blinding. 6,000 years of loyal companionship will do that to you. and perhaps it is time for each of them to grow a little on their own, so they can circle back to each other, back home home, back to them, their us, just like stars in a nebula align.

[captainjimothycarter]

Only Forever

Steve reflects on how much his life has changed in the seven months since he's come home to 1945.

We’ll have the band play something slow. I’d hate to step on -” March 17, 1945 A week from next Saturday. That’s what Peggy had told him, the date of what could’ve been forever burned into his mind. Each anniversary that had passed in the fourteen or so years he was in the future, Steve could feel his heart growing heavier and heavier knowing that he never gave the love of his life the dance she deserved. They both knew that he wouldn’t make that date. That there should’ve been no way in heaven or hell that he would survive that crash, but finally here he was. A much older version of himself, one who had seen and done too much. One who was simply so tired. Tired of losing. Tired of hurting. Tired of denying himself that happiness. However, time had never been in Steve’s favor. Born too early. Too late for the start of the war. Too late to save Bucky before he is captured the first time. Too late to save him before he fell. Too late for a date that should’ve never come in the first place. Today, however, time was slightly on his side if only he could get control of his nerves. The watch on his wrist read just past 8:34 pm. So he wasn’t that late. The night air was cool, a promise of spring lingering with the breeze whipping around him. Steve took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves, listening to the sound of muffled talk and laughter wafting from the side, employee entrance of the club. A milk crate propped the door open, letting the sound and music from the band waft into the dead-end alley. The side entrance was provided to make it easier to slip inside without being seen by too many people. Steve avoided those staggering drunk in the hall, listening to their celebration of the war believing it started to come to a close. If only they knew what would have to be done to end this war. His eyes scanned the crowd, spotting Howard Stark charming it with some lady dressed in black at the bar. He could see Tony in him, the thought of his late friend making his stomach clench. He was going to make this right. The Howling Commandos were in a booth in the corner, several shots sitting on the table, a show of their mourning of both him and Bucky. If only they knew. They would soon. Was he too late? Had Peggy decided to leave for the night? She had told him at one point while in the nursing home, that she’d gone to the Stork Club and felt ridiculous standing there. Denying person after person for a dance. They knew she was waiting for a man who would never come, but having that foolish amount of hope that one must cling to, to survive. “You just never learn, do you, soldier?”

Another post for Steggy Month. Full credit for the background photo goes to @dirtydoctorwho and their amazing skills :)

[your-phantomfield]

KINK EVENT = Handholding, Missionary

Men's Side Women's Side

IRON = TAGER ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

This position is not easy at his size; there’s a good chance you’ll have to modify it somewhat. As such, Tager may not request or suggest missionary- he may not request or suggest anything at all, preferring to give you the space to figure out how you want to go about this. He’s… painfully aware of the complications his form poses.

But how could he not love a moment like this? It’s a way to reconnect with the humanity he’s lost, the life he may awkwardly mourn in silence, that his faded memories refuse to let him know. It’s a chance to be treated like a man, not machine, not monster.

No matter the position you choose, he’ll be drawn to holding your delicate hand in his. It’s a silent way he can prove to you that he can be gentle, that he swears he will be, and that you can trust him during this.

HAKUMEN ☆ ☆ ☆

Can Hakumen even have sex? Well, even ignoring the debate about what that armor may be equipped with, if one were to open their third eye and accept that ‘sex’ isn’t limited to Penis-In-Hole Interaction… well, the man undeniably has hands, and plenty of body to grind on, is all I’m saying.

Being what he is, everything he’s meant for and everything he seeks to embody, he’s not very open to the idea of sex. Ever since his past life, Jin has always been the type to reject intimacy. But he’s never been immune to it. To the contrary- despite his best efforts, he’s always been desperate for it.

He’ll humor this, at your insistence. You must be mad to see anything desirable in this body… but he loves you too much to deny you forever. He���s felt the pain of leaving feelings unsaid, unshown, before.

You can tell he’s enjoying himself by how quiet he is. No snide remarks to be found. He holds your hand as gently as he can, but being what he is, that isn’t saying much. The Susano’o Unit was never meant for gentleness, it was never meant for this, and the long-dead Jin Kisaragi within feels a need to cling to you with all his strength lest he lose you somehow. He’s prone to rubbing your hand with his thumb; the talons he bears may prick your skin, but they won’t draw blood.

Rest your forehead against his mask. Grant him a fleeting dream of what could have been.

KAZUMA = KVAL ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Kazuma’s sense of self is so… blurry. He’s got one foot in humanity he has no right too, a longing for purpose, connection, a family somewhere out there who might be missing his absence… and the other foot stepping off a ledge, into an abyss that sees no worth in human connection, no joy in tenderness.

So hold him. Look at him. See him. Want him. The closeness is almost threatening, but this far in he can’t bring himself to ruminate over it- not now, not with the way you’re cooing at him. The chance to get a glimpse at his blushing face through those bangs is divine. He keeps squeezing your hand, overwhelmed by this sense of presence he’s never felt before- like for once in his life he’s a real part of the world, not some lost foreigner wandering through it.

Deeply intimate sex also feeds a hunger he doesn’t know he has; it satisfies some urge in his programming, his purpose as a Grimoire and vessel to mix, merge, become one with another.

Just be careful. Shy as he may come across, Kazuma goes kind of crazy when his emotions heat up.

HOUICHIRO = HAZUKI ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Who?” you ask? For those of you who have read Remix or Variable Heart, you may add “why” or “what the fuck”?

Listen. Look me in my eyes. I know what I’m doing.

The Hazuki family has, since its inception, been the strongest of the Duodecim. They have held onto this title as the generations passed and the other families grew weak by mercilessly snuffing out every shred of vulnerability within their heirs. To be the head of the Hazuki family, one must be a perfect soldier- a perfect weapon. There is no room for emotion. There is no room for love.

But let’s be honest. Nothing can truly kill the human heart. Suffocating our feelings only makes them more desperate. Clumsier, hungrier, needier.

Houichiro is a man so full of tender words he will never be able to say that he could choke to death on them. The one thing he wants more than anything is for his next life to be a normal one, where he can love with no filter and put those he cares about above anything else. But that is not the life he is living now. So what more powerful expression is there, for all that pent up desire for connection, than this?

The day where he will be able to tell you how much he loves you will never come. So in this moment, as he holds you as tenderly as his strength allows, in this moment alone, he prays you can somehow feel it.

[the-hidden-writer]

Death of the Author

Oneshot. Spoilers for Alan Wake 2!

Summary: Sometimes, the waves of the Dark Place moved in such a way that Alan could remember some of the loops. The memories left him tired and frustrated. That frustration could grow into a much more heated, dangerous anger.

Alan's confrontation with Casey plays out a little differently.

Words: 1,775 AO3 Link: [Here!]

Death of the Author

Sometimes, Alan remembered.

Not everything. Being stuck in a malleable hellscape that had no day-night cycle and no clear way of tracking the passage of time meant that memories were certain to blur together. Many of them were just swept away by the waves of The Dark Place. He could feel their loss, but he had no way of knowing what to mourn.

Maybe that was another cruel trick of The Dark Place, making him aware that he’d forgotten but leaving the memories themselves out of his grasp.

It must have been years. Or forever. Had he ever truly been out to begin with? Was his entire life from before just another facet of The Dark Place, waiting to reveal its true, looping nature?

The Dark Place had looked like New York for as long as Alan could remember. Even though he did remember it looking like Bright Falls at some point, he couldn’t remember when that was and where in the timeline of his experience that had been. The Dark Place couldn’t have been New York and Bright Falls simultaneously, and yet it was always New York. Memories like those were useless.

The Dark Place operated in loops. Alan knew that. Sometimes, he remembered them. Other times he didn’t. Though even if he didn’t, some events had happened over and over again so many times that they had worked their way into his subconscious, into his muscle-memory.

Which is why Alan braced himself as he began walking through the dark, greenly-lit alley.

He still jumped nevertheless when an arm suddenly pressed into shoulder and forced him up against the nearest wall.

“Casey!”

Alex Casey, despite being a smaller man, held a lot of power in his grasp as he pressed him against the hard concrete. Alan struggled against his grip, his side brushing against the cold barrel of the revolver pointed at him. The sensation was familiar. Like an echo of a memory of this moment playing out so many times before. He struggled harder with the knowledge that that gun wouldn’t be the one to go off.

“You’re the killer. The Cult leader. It’s in your eyes,” the detective snarled.

Alan’s instinct was to fight back. His mouth opened to deny, to claim innocence, to explain that it was Scratch he should be after, not him.

Then Alan had a moment of realization.

Fighting back was more than an instinct. It was something stronger, a memory of a looping moment that had played out exactly the same countless times before. Every time, he’d struggle and deny and push back. Every time, Casey would fall dead at his feet.

He stopped struggling and consequently grunted at the pain of Casey slamming him into the wall again from the inertia of his arm. Alan was suddenly very aware of his own gun still in his hand. He barked out a humorless chuckle. Surprise flashed across Casey’s face. He clearly wasn’t expecting a lack of resistance. His grip loosened ever so slightly.

“You’re almost right,” Alan said. He was tired of this. How many times had he lived through this exact scenario? How many times would he live through it again? He just wanted it to be over. He’d been in the Dark Place for so long. His tone was weary but snide as his blood began to boil, frustrated at being stuck in this exact scenario yet again and being no closer to escaping. “Maybe not the killer you’re looking for, but I’m a killer. I’ve killed a man.”

How long had it been since the last time he’d felt his temper flare up? Alice would always hate it and he’d always promise to do better. Maybe it was a good thing Alice wasn’t here right now.

Casey’s grip tightened again. Alan reveled in watching the man gulp down any response he might have had. Deep down, he must have known how this would play out too.

“Do you wanna know who I killed?” Alan continued mockingly, now unable to hold back the layer of spite masking his words. A part of him screamed out that this wasn’t him, he would never act so cruelly when sober. A bigger, stronger part of him relished in the relief of being able to vent his frustration. Besides, Casey wasn’t real. He was just a figment of his imagination made real by the Dark Place. It felt good for him to be able to taunt the Dark Place for a change.

Casey didn’t answer, but Alan caught the glimpse of uncertainty in his eyes. That was enough. He grinned. 

“I killed you.”

“Bullshit!” Casey spat up into his face, thrusting his body backward into the wall. For once, the pain felt rewarding. “I’m taking you in and you’re gonna pay for what you’ve done. I am not going to fall for your sick game.”

Alan let out a laugh that turned into a cough as Casey slammed him backward a third time. The detective looked disturbed. Good. Alan was sick of this.

“Maybe it is a game,” he said. “Games aren’t real. You’re not real. Just another obstacle for me to face.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Casey asked as he released Alan and took a few steps back. Though the revolver was still trained on him, Alan could tell that the words were getting under his skin. Still, he wanted to push deeper, see how far he could go. It felt like fucked-up therapy.

“You’re my character and I killed you,” he said matter-of-factly, causing Casey to flinch. “I wrote stories about you. You were a pretty popular protagonist.”

Alan took a step forward. Casey didn’t move.

Alan sneered. “Then I got tired of you. I wrung you dry and killed you off, all because I was tired of writing about you. You were shot in an alley just like this. The Sudden Stop at the end.” 

Almost hysterical, Alan lifted his gun and straightened his arm to point it at Casey, playing the part of the killer from the book.

Casey’s eyes widened. “Shut up,” he hissed, raising his own gun higher in return. A stand-off.

He was frightened. Alan knew his own character well-enough to tell. 

“I still can’t escape you. After you, I got writer’s block. That’s why my life fell apart. That’s why Alice took me to Bright Falls. I wouldn’t be stuck here if it weren’t for you.”

A new anger started to build-up in Alan’s system. He’d never considered it before, but it was true. Alex Casey was the root of the reason he was now trapped in a never-ending, hellish nightmare. He glared at Casey with a newfound hatred, baring his teeth. He took another step forward.

Casey held his ground. His jaw was hardened and his expression was stoic and neutral, but his shining, wavering eyes betrayed the storm of varying emotions barely contained beneath the surface.

“Maybe that’s why the Dark Place insists on putting you in front of me. It wants to torture me by shoving the man I hate most into my face everywhere I turn.”

Posters, adverts, graffiti, the man himself. Casey, Casey, Casey. The anger only grew.

The anger didn’t stop growing. It grew and grew until it was way past the threshold of what Alan was familiar with. He was now very certain that his own thought process and justification were feeding into something that wasn’t him, but he’d gone too far to wrangle back control.

Another step forward.

“I’ve killed you so many times. Always in this alley, over and over. It doesn’t matter what I do, you’ll always end up dead. And watch, I’m going to do it again.”

The sound of a gunshot ringing out must have been familiar to the surrounding graffiti-ridden walls. Alan wondered how much was written in Casey’s blood before his racing thoughts started to slow.

Dazed, he gently brushed his left hand against the shirt that was already wet with his blood. Then the pain started to blossom in his abdomen. He looked down and saw the growing dark stain, a strange combination of red and black. Oh.

Both the fight and spite seeped out of his body along with his blood as his head began to spin. He caught Casey lowering his gun out of the corner of his eye before he roughly fell backward onto the street.

The pain was excruciating. He was used to being felled in the Dark Place, he knew he’d be back in a fresh loop, but normally it was over so quickly. This was slow and painful. His breathing began to stutter as his lungs struggled to draw in air. Was this how Casey felt every time?

What had come over him? Why didn’t he listen to instinct and play things out normally?

He watched, detached from reality, as Casey crouched down next to him while he wheezed on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Alan tried to say, but wasn’t sure how well it came out as blood pooled beneath him.

Casey opened his mouth as if to say something back. Then, after a few seconds, he exhaled lightly and closed it again. He just loomed above Alan and watched his life drain away.

Alan wanted to cry out and demand to hear what Casey had to say, to hear him yell back in return to what he’d said to him, but Casey was silent save for his heavy breathing. And as his brain started to lose function, Alan couldn’t decipher what the look behind his character’s eyes meant.

He’d blamed Casey for all his troubles and Casey was only a fictional character. But this was the Dark Place, where fiction was made real. Alan knew that Casey had every right to blame him (he’d just admitted to killing him over and over, after all) and that hearing it would probably give both of them some form of closure that might have even helped him to escape.

And yet Casey did nothing but look down at him. He didn’t offer any comfort, but he didn’t shout, either. He just crouched and looked down with that same guarded expression, giving no indication of his inner thoughts like Alan had witnessed in previous confrontations.

Maybe that was the cruelest trick of all, Alan thought, choking on air as he stared up at Casey’s face while his body finally started to shut down. He’d never find out how this would change the loop, how it would go on to change Casey.

All he got was the man’s tired sigh before, along with the surroundings, Casey’s features above him faded into darkness.

Thanks for reading!

[rosaliachristian]

Saturday, April 26, 2025

Bishop Robert Barron

Cycle C

Easter

Easter Octave

Daily Reading

First Reading

Acts 4:13-21

Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John and realized that they were uneducated and ordinary men, they were amazed and recognized them as companions of Jesus. When they saw the man who had been cured standing beside them, they had nothing to say in opposition. So they ordered them to leave the council while they discussed the matter with one another. They said, “What will we do with them? For it is obvious to all who live in Jerusalem that a notable sign has been done through them; we cannot deny it. But to keep it from spreading further among the people, let us warn them to speak no more to anyone in this name.” So they called them and ordered them not to speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus. But Peter and John answered them, “Whether it is right in God’s sight to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge; for we cannot keep from speaking about what we have seen and heard.” After threatening them again, they let them go, finding no way to punish them because of the people, for all of them praised God for what had happened.

Psalm

Psalm 118:1 and 14-15ab, 16-18, 19-21

O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;     his steadfast love endures forever! The Lord is my strength and my might;     he has become my salvation. There are glad songs of victory in the tents of the righteous: “The right hand of the Lord does valiantly;     the right hand of the Lord is exalted;     the right hand of the Lord does valiantly.” I shall not die, but I shall live,     and recount the deeds of the Lord. The Lord has punished me severely,     but he did not give me over to death. Open to me the gates of righteousness,     that I may enter through them     and give thanks to the Lord. This is the gate of the Lord;     the righteous shall enter through it. I thank you that you have answered me     and have become my salvation.

Gospel Reading

Mark 16:9-15

Now after he rose early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, from whom he had cast out seven demons. She went out and told those who had been with him, while they were mourning and weeping. But when they heard that he was alive and had been seen by her, they would not believe it. After this he appeared in another form to two of them, as they were walking into the country. And they went back and told the rest, but they did not believe them. Later he appeared to the eleven themselves as they were sitting at the table; and he upbraided them for their lack of faith and stubbornness, because they had not believed those who saw him after he had risen. And he said to them, “Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation.

Reflection

Friends, in today’s Gospel, Jesus commissions his disciples to “go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature.” The Church doesn’t have a mission; the Church is a mission. A passionate Catholicism brings people to Christ, like the four people who lowered the paralytic through the roof to get him to Jesus. An evangelizing Catholicism shouts from the rooftops, grabs people by the lapels, and speaks with urgency and energy about Jesus.  Obviously, this has to be done with great respect and love; but very often, obstacles that come from our “get-along” culture, and perhaps from an exaggerated ecumenism, keep it from getting done at all. We have not been successful in our Christianity unless and until we have brought others to the Lord.

[legacyoftheogres]

25. Rain

  [takes place around 3 years after Izura and Thalanthe meet. This is the 7th anniversary of Undai's death, Thala mourns his parting in the streets of Durong, after a long night of drinking]

    Rain clung to her like a shroud, pulling the fabric of her clothes, hanging onto her like heavy hands. It whisked away the city’s heat, washed away the tears that poured down her cheeks. Thalanthe turned her head upward into the downpour and smiled.

                “You’re drunk, and soaked to the bone.” A voice called out over the pitter-patter of rain on the cobbles. Fate was funny, that he would find her on this night when she mourned another. She hadn’t wanted to see him, hadn’t expected to, but he was here now. A laugh bubbled to her lips at the impossibility of it all. She turned to face him, saw Izura’s frown beneath the umbrella he held.

                “What of it? Are you here to police my fun?” Thalanthe’s eyes sparkled with challenge.

                “You don’t often let yourself get so out of control.” He observed, his expression hard.  

                “So, you are here to rein me in, then. Don’t you ever get tired of it all Izura? Pretending to be alright? Putting on a face each day, pretending to be your very best self? That beautiful mask we wear, to smother all the rest of who we are? I do.” She took a step towards him, he looked unsure.

                “And yet you dutifully keep it up. You’re always running, but I can never tell if it’s towards something or away from it. You keep yourself locked behind an iron wall.”

                “Oh Izura, I thought you were good with locks!” Thalanthe crowed a laugh, it hurt, she must have already laughed the night away. She couldn’t even remember the last bar she’d visited.

                “Perhaps I don’t care enough to know what is behind that door.” There was a bitterness in his voice, he was angry. It was plain on his face, evident from his tightened grip on the umbrella he held.

                “Sometimes I believe that. That you don’t care, it’s easier to. It’s easier to pretend I hate you, too. That this is all just a distraction and nothing more. It’s just a distraction right now, after all, on the one night I allow myself to feel anything, allow myself to mourn” The last bit made him realize, why she was out here alone; who she was missing. Thalanthe saw the sadness and understanding flicker across his face. She closed the distance between them, and put her arms over his shoulders, drenching him. He recoiled, cursing slightly, and then tugged her into an alley, out of sight.

                “Idiot. Drunken idiot. It’s late but people still walk the streets. Truly you have abandoned all caution and sense.” Izura hissed at her, untangling himself from her embrace and holding her at her wrists.

                “How many years do you think we’ll play this game? The one where we pretend that we don’t care about what happens to each other?” She pulled back against his grip, but he didn’t relent. There was a look of surprise at her words, as if he didn’t know what to make of them.

                “Are you admitting you do care about me?” There was something dangerous in his voice. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

                “I know it isn’t. But for tonight I’ll be honest. Tomorrow we can go back to denying it. I’ll deny that I want to know you, really know you, and you can deny that you care about me.”

                “I never admitted to that, that’s an assumption.”  His voice was cold, he didn’t meet her gaze.

                “You’re here, aren’t you?” She challenged. That seemed to snap something in him, he released her and stepped away.

                “This is pointless. You won’t remember any of this tomorrow.” There was a hollowness in him, his face blank. It was as if he was far away.

                “But you will.”  She chuckled. It served him right. He had forced this; she would have been content to run from this feeling forever. He had asked it to face it that night, years ago, when he’d kissed her in Xiabolad. She hadn’t been able to turn away since.

                “Go back to your inn, before you make even more of a fool of yourself.” He turned and walked away. She let him go, noted that he didn’t let himself look back.

[tj-van-heerden]

The coming great tribulation.

Terrible times are coming on the earth. We need to stand firm in our faith and in our confession of the Lord Jesus Christ and not deny his Name, even under oppression. We also must not take the mark of the beast. Those who take the mark cannot be saved. We will have to trust in God to provide for us. Christians will be persecuted. We will have to be strong and brave in our faith. We should know about these things so that we can prepare ourselves and strengthen ourselves in our faith. These things will happen in the near future.

Matt 24:9 [WEB] Then they will deliver you up to oppression, and will kill you. You will be hated by all of the nations for my name’s sake.

Matt 24:12, 13 [WEB] Because iniquity will be multiplied, the love of many will grow cold. But he who endures to the end will be saved.

Matt 24:21 [WEB] for then there will be great tribulation [or, oppression], such as has not been from the beginning of the world until now, no, nor ever will be.

Matt 24:29-31 [WEB] But immediately after the tribulation [or, oppression] of those days, the sun will be darkened, the moon will not give its light, the stars will fall from the sky, and the powers of the heavens will be shaken; and then the sign of the Son of Man will appear in the sky. Then all the tribes of the earth will mourn, and they will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of the sky with power and great glory. He will send out his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they will gather together his chosen ones from the four winds, from one end of the sky to the other.

Rev 13:16, 17 [WEB] He causes all, the small and the great, the rich and the poor, and the free and the slave, to be given marks on their right hands, or on their foreheads; and that no one would be able to buy or to sell, unless he has that mark, which is the name of the beast or the number of his name.

Rev 14:9-12 [WEB] Another angel, a third, followed them, saying with a great voice, “If anyone worships the beast and his image, and receives a mark on his forehead, or on his hand, he also will drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is prepared unmixed in the cup of his anger. He will be tormented with fire and sulfur in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb. The smoke of their torment goes up forever and ever. They have no rest day and night, those who worship the beast and his image, and whoever receives the mark of his name. Here is the perseverance of the saints, those who keep the commandments of God, and the faith of Jesus.”

Rev 19:20 [WEB] The beast was taken, and with him the false prophet who worked the signs in his sight, with which he deceived those who had received the mark of the beast and those who worshiped his image. These two were thrown alive into the lake of fire that burns with sulfur.

Rev 20:4 [WEB] I saw thrones, and they sat on them, and judgment was given to them. I saw the souls of those who had been beheaded for the testimony of Jesus, and for the word of God, and such as didn’t worship the beast nor his image, and didn’t receive the mark on their forehead and on their hand. They lived and reigned with Christ for a thousand years.

Matt 10:32, 33 [WEB] Everyone therefore who confesses me before men, I will also confess him before my Father who is in heaven. But whoever denies me before men, I will also deny him before my Father who is in heaven.

[pyrophoricc]

FFXIVWRITE DAY 5: Barbarous

MAJOR 6.4 SPOILERS!

---

Puhla'ir's passenger is rather talkative, today.

It is angry. Hungry. The sand that coats the red moon's surface shifts under his feet as he walks, and in his distraction he nearly slips and falls.

He is here, his passenger whispers.

"Unsurprising," Bheel grunts back. And then, because the murmurings do not cease, he continues, "Why do you hate him so much, anyways? He wants to free your world, doesn't he?"

A growl ripples across his mind. And how many has he devoured to do so? He is no better than any of us. He has forsaken heroism for hunger. Pretty little lies. We will utter no beautiful falsehoods. We are simply hunger. And to devour the devourer? A delicacy.

Bheel shudders. Its hunger gnaws at him, a clawing thing he feels not in his gut but somewhere deeper. More primal. His soul gnashes phantom teeth, an animal force pushing against what little humanity he still feels he has claim to.

He remembers meeting it on the Thirteenth, after Barbariccia's fall. Many creatures brought together to become one, having eaten and eaten but still not having found the strength to hunt and kill that greatest of prizes, Lord Golbez himself. So it had made him an offer.

You are so full of light, Hunter of Hunters, it had said. A wrathful god sleeps within you, shackled for now, but not forever. But I can make that sleep eternal. Feed me a god, o hunter, and I will be your blade. Lead me to my prey, let me feast, and I will lend you the strength of multitudes.

Puhla'ir still questions his acceptance. He has no reason to believe that the Lightwarden within him ever would have awoken. But he thinks back to Ultima Thule, to that last battle with Zenos. Zenos saw him for the thing he was slowly beginning to see himself as: a monster. He had been afraid of his own monstrosity, still was, and the idea of becoming one in a very real sense had given him pause time and time again.

And besides, Zenos had been right about one thing. For all that he mourns the collateral damage on the paths that lead to his enemies, he always feels most alive during the final battle. For all the guilt that he carries, all the blood that stains his story, he still revels in victory. And in his fear, that moment of weakness, he had accepted that barbarous part of himself. Why should one monster deny another? Why forsake the strength being offered?

He still hasn't wielded his passenger, not yet. But he feels it beneath his skin. It is impatient. And when faced with the reality of the enemy he must face, with their quarry, he finally relents. Because he has made a promise. And he has nothing but promises to remind him of the kind of person he wants to be. He will allow himself to be barbarous in order to keep them, because promises mean nothing to a monster. If he can keep them, he is not one. Not today. Not quite yet.

His passenger flows out of him, through his eyes, his mouth, his flesh. It doesn't hurt. All he feels is a kind of warmth, though his companions watch the change with faces that reflect the horror of it. And then it is over, the glowing white scythe resting in his hands with a familiarity that belies his inexperience wielding it.

"What is your name?" He asks it.

We have none, it whispers. We are many. We lost our names long ago. We have no need of another.

"Nhavi," he says. "If we are to work together, you need a name, and I have no more need of that one."

The weapon pulses brighter for a moment. You would give us your past to devour as well… You are an interesting creature, indeed.

Bheel tightens his grip. "As I said, I have no more need of it. Now, come."

Despite himself, he grins. The expression is all teeth.

"Let us hunt."

[melkormajere]

Full rough English translation under the thing. Including some of the dialogue.

Hermes: So quiet, calm Everything is in it's place Disturbing news does not reach here….. Things are completely different upstairs! Talking about them is not an easy task.

Panic! Panic on the earth Mortals pray for warmth But their houses are trembling under the gusts of wind, Beneath the snow you cannot see the gardens and fields Demeter the inconsolable mother mourns for her lost daughter. Panic! Panic on the earth

Hades, you rightfully married, Rightfully you took the young queen. But in order to save the world from eternal sleep Persephone must return to the world.

Panic, Panic on earth! Mortals Pray for warmth. But everywhere they hear Only the hungry groans Gardens and fields are not visible beneath the snow So Demeter longs without Persephone, Without her lost daughter.

Panic! Panic on the earth

Heed my words, We must reach a compromise In this hour we must strike a deal While there are those who believe in us. Otherwise, darkness and snow Will be waiting for everyone For mortals and gods alike…..

Hades: I'm not giving back what I took You will find a solution somehow. Whatever is Mother Demeter's sorrow, She will not let the earthly world sleep forever. I'm on the sidelines now. Others rule the on earth. And there is enough room here for everyone, You know that, And this outcome suits me just fine.

Hermes: You. But Persephone is not…..

Hades: Everybody out. Leave us alone.* And what do you suggest to me, Hermes?

Hermes:If you do not want to let the queen go, It seems to me that you are not doing very well….. When I flew here, I saw Persephone standing at the door Standing glorified by music, too, And in his bravery Quite a living hero- Orpheus. And I observed, She likes him…..

Hades:You are surely mad! Hold your horses! He came here for his wife, Which, frankly is of little use. I'm glad to see that meeting with her* Only made him sadder, of course. And Persephone….. She's kind to everyone. To him it's nothing more!

Hermes:That is right. But let his unexpected visit Now play into your hands. Hades, think, he is not your equal! Take part in his fate. Thy greatness has long been unquestionable. No one can deny him. And here one soul won't make the weather* (difference) And on earth, who knows…..

Love is not all that easy For it is an art In another heart To feel it back.

The right notes have to be chosen, And with the right action You will get it all….. Heed my words! And you yourself will find your way to happiness You'll pave the way to happiness! For Persephone and yourself.

Think of her for once! She is kind. And you will be a little more cunning…..

Hades: You are definitely out of your mind….. And what is your plan? Well, speak quickly!

Hermes: Hades, listen let Eurydice go. Let Persephone see that you're not a beast. And in the meantime, I will talk to Orpheus…..

English Translation of the Rock Opera "Orpheus". "Panic"

(This was one of the earlier ones that I made, it's not perfect, also I had to edit the audio a bit from the original, and now I can't remember if this is the correct audio or not, ugh despite the file saying that it is, but anyways) Original Video Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwXIm-J5J-c

Full translation on my AO3, some translations vary. If anyone from the Rock Opera "Orpheus" wants this deleted I can delete it.

[zapsproblems]

If your still taking requests can I request a death note oneshot nsfw were it’s after Light’s fathers death and the reader doesn’t like Light in fact hates Him but starts to feel sorry for him and later that day decides to visit his apartment to help him deal with his grief and ask if there is anything she can do to help him and light subtly implies that she can help him by sleeping with him and the reader is tempted to but doesn’t want to because she remembers she dislikes him and he has a girlfriend but light eventually persuades her into it ?

Just this once?

pairing: light yagami x f!reader

wc: 1.4k

cw: infidelity (light cheats on misa), dubcon, coercion, reader is L’s little sister, not proofread (lmk if i missed anything!!!)

hi!! sorry this took forever, i took a lil break from writing. i tried my best to stick to the request but idk how well i did lmao but even so, i hope you like it!!!

Your dead-set focus is suddenly ripped from you as the familiar noise of the task force headquarters’ door creaking open pulls your eyes away from the bright computer screen. To your displeasure, the new presence in the room is none other than Light Yagami.

“Oh, Light! I thought we agreed you didn’t have to come in today?” An uncharacteristically soft-spoken Matsuda greets.

“Yeah, but I guess my father’s passing only fueled me to get to the bottom of this even more.” Light states.

Being L’s sister, you’ve inherited the black-haired boy’s suspicion of Light. After all, you were the only person in the world that L trusted with his entire heart and soul. Those countless times you’ve stayed up together throwing theories about the Kira case back and forth, only for you and the night itself to hear.

Though your brother was undeniably a bit smarter than you, you weren’t stupid either. With everything L had theorized about Light’s true identity, it’s hard for you to write off L’s death as a coincidence. The timelines just seemed to line up too perfectly.

Everything on top of the fact that because of your investigation work on the Kira case you were barely even given time to mourn the loss of your precious older brother, a heavy dislike of the brown-haired man festered in you.

Even so, you can’t help but feel sympathetic towards him today. After all, it’s true that you know what it feels like to lose a close family member too.

“Hey, Light,” his name feels sour on your tongue, “if you want I can take the heavy lifting today, don’t stress, alright?”

His eyes meet yours, and you take note that they look even more dead than usual.

“It’s okay, Y/N, no need to worry.”

—

No need to worry.

Well, you did worry. All day in fact.

You hate yourself for feeling so empathetic towards the man who you suspect of being behind the killing of your very own brother.

But here you are now, about to knock on Light’s apartment door with a small bouquet of tulips in your left hand. Nothing special, you told yourself, just something to show that you care at least a little.

As you raise your right knuckles to the wooden surface, the door suddenly swings inward.

“Oh hello, Y/N. Pretty flowers you’ve got there.” Light points at the objects in your grip.

That’s it. That’s another thing that you hate about him. How he always seems to be one step ahead of you in even the smallest things. How it feels like he always knows what you’re thinking. It’s almost like he’s watching you sometimes, for fuck’s sake!

“These are for you, actually.”

“Really?” he fakes a smug expression, making you cringe, “Thank you so much!”

“It’s nothing. Feel better soon.”

You turn to leave, but Light’s hand catches your shoulder.

“Wait. Before you leave, can you come in for a second?”

“Oh uh… sure? Why?”

You receive no response as Light silently motions you onto his couch. A nervous pit grows in the bottom of your stomach.

“So uh… what do you need me for?” You ask apprehensively.

“Just want to talk. It feels like forever since we’ve actually sat down together and had a conversation, you know?”

You let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were keeping in. “Yeah, it has been a while.”

Yet another awkward silence passes. The sheer quietness seems very strange to you for a moment until it hits you.

“Hey, where’s Misa? Is she out at a shoot or something?”

“So observant.” Light chuckles, and with the tone he puts on, you’re not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not, “Yes, she’s filming a commercial for Miho Skincare. Or at least that’s what she told me before she ran out the door.”

“Oh, I see.” You bite your lip, unsure of how to continue the conversation, “Do you want me to put the flowers in a vase for you?” You ask, picking up the tulips from the coffee table.

Light moves his hand to your thigh in a smooth motion, catching you very off guard so that you nearly drop the bouquet. You hate the fact that blood rushes to your cheeks.

“No need. But there is something else I want from you, if I’m going to be blunt.” His eyes pierce directly through you. You feel naked under his gaze.

Fuck, as many negative feelings you harbour for the man in front of you, you can’t deny he’s attractive in all sense of the word. You know what he’s asking for. It’s plainly clear even just from the lust blooming in his irises.

And it’s then when you realize how touch-starved you are. You’ve been using every available hour of your life on the Kira case, of course you hadn’t had time for any kind of relationship.

So you don’t stop him from inching closer. One of his hands sliding towards the inside of your thigh while the other pushes a piece of your hair from your face. His captivating eyes flutter shut and you’re about to give into his touch when you remember the girl you had been talking about just a moment earlier.

“Wait. Misa.” You whisper simply.

“She won’t be home for hours. And you want to make me feel better, do you not? I’m just asking for one more thing in addition to those flowers you gave me, hm?” He borderline growls into your ear. You would be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on a little.

Without waiting for an answer, Light crashes his lips onto yours. The kiss is hungry, like he wants to waste no time with you. Admittedly, you still feel a little uneasy about all of this, Misa’s face—sweet as candy—beaming at you in your mind as her boyfriend sucks on your tongue.

You feel around each other’s bodies, unbuttoning anything you feel to rid yourselves of your clothing. It all goes so fast, and before you know it, you’re both in your undergarments. Light’s got you lying beneath him with your knees pressed to your chest. He reaches to pull your grey cotton panties to the side.

Suddenly, the peppy blonde girl inside your head once again appears, and you realize what you’re doing.

“Hang on, Light. I’m not too sure about this anymore…” You weakly tell him, pushing his hands away from your most sensitive area.

“Hm? But you promised you’d help me feel better.” Light throws uncharacteristic puppy eyes your way. He points to the wet patch that had formed on the centre of your panties, “And look, you want it too, right? Just this once? Please?”

It’s true, you had come here to make him happier. So why should you go back on it now? You criticize yourself, wondering how you could ever be so inconsiderate—to a coworker who just lost his father, too!

So you nod your head in coerced approval towards the man on top of you, who then in turn wasted no time pulling his cock out from his boxers.

Without warning, or any prep whatsoever, Light pushes the head of his cock into your cunt. The stretch burns, and you’re left wondering if it’s just because you haven’t gotten laid in quite a while, or if his cock is just that fat.

“Light!” You whine in slight protest, “You’re too big… hurts…”

He only hums in response, pushing himself further into you, “Sorry, little one, this cunt is just so tight, I can’t help myself. Fuck-“

Light starts a rhythm, watching his cock sink in into you over and over again. He notes how each time he pulls out, a sheen of both your slick, and even some blood coats it. Must’ve just been too big for your little cunny, he guesses.

The pain of the stretch slowly turns into pleasure and you relax into Light’s touch. You throw your hands into his surprisingly soft brunette locks as he pounds into your sweet spot.

You wonder if L is watching you right now. He must be so disappointed in his little sister, moaning and creaming so sweetly for the very same man he thought he had taught you to be wary of, the man who made the world a living hell.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Quick question sorry if this has been asked before: do you know any Johnlock fanfic where they’re extremely sensual? Like not just making love but just super methodically drawn out and slow and sweet?

Hi Nonny!!

Ahh, because of this ask, I went through my bookmarks to see if I have any listed with “sensuality” so that’s what this list is!! It definitely doesn’t have all of my fics because I have to go back through them and tag them, but in the meantime, enjoy what I started tagging a few months ago when you sent me this ask, LOL <3

As always, add your own fics here, Lovelies!!

SENSUALITY

See also:

Emotional Love Making || [MOBILE POST]

Emotional Love Making Pt. 2

Loved. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 1,231 w., 1 Ch. || First Sherlock POV, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nose Kisses, Morning After, Love Confessions, Morning Cuddles, Emotional Sherlock, Sentiment, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock reflects on his relationship with John. Part 5 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.