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

[allthesethingswillendsoon]

Long, long time

CHAPTER TWO: Over the years

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.

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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.

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

[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.

[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!

[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.

[ladysternchen]

Yet Were Its Making Good, For This- Checkmate

Autumn had come this year with storms that whipped through the woods relentlessly, and piped their eery notes within Menegroth itself, mournful and keening. Mablung stood listening, waiting for the subtle music to start calming him down. The Caves had always done that for him, their ever-ongoing song -be it glad or sorrowful- able to soothe him like little else could. 

Not this night, though. He felt anxious, and tense, and trapped, without being able to pinpoint the reason. True, the overall atmosphere within Doriath grew ever grimmer as the years passed, but this was something else, something more. All conversations within Menegroth seemed hushed these days to Mablung, though they were… not, at least so he thought. His uneasy restlessness reminded him painfully of his encounter with Glaurung before the ruins of Nargothrond, or more precisely the aftermath of the same. Mablung shuddered. Then, too, deep-seated fears had mingled with longing and resentment to create a state of mind in which it was impossible to tell where reality stopped and foreboding started. Or grief.

They had lost so very many. Beren and Lúthien, though Mablung always tried to keep himself from thinking that, for they lived… and yet, and yet. 

Thônwen with her daughter- and grand-daughter-in-law, shot with all their nandorin guard on their return-journey from Tol Galen, from what should have been a joyful visit, a spark of hope amidst all the darkness. Mablung thought of the two little princes, and how now the shadow of deaths they wouldn’t even remember would lie upon them forever more. He thought of Nimloth and how horrible the news of the attack must have hit her, just after she had had her sons. And he thought of Galathil and Elmo, who in their grief terribly rued their remaining behind. It was no use to tell them that it would not have made a difference, that they would have achieved nothing by accompanying the ellith than being slain themselves. Their feelings guilt would not be assuaged by anything anyone said.

And then there were still Túrin and his family, and of course Beleg. Mablung’s vision blurred at the thought of his friend, grief gripping his heart yet again. He missed him more horribly than he could ever have imagined, his counsel, his strength, but most of all his never-ceasing optimism. 

Hardly noticing where his feet were carrying him, he was startled by a soft splash of water, and only thus noticed where he was. To his left, an archway lead to a small grotto, where one of the many underground brooks formed a little pool ere it found its way back into the rock to eventually swell the waters of Esgalduin. The pool was not very deep, and its bottom smooth, and crystals  within the grotto’s walls made for spectacular lighting if a lamp was lit within. 

Mablung frowned. In summer, that pool was gladly used by many to bathe, but now that winter was almost upon them, the water must be bitterly cold. Surly no-one in their right mind would choose to take a bath in it now? The very thought sent shivers down Mablung’s spine. Even the dwarven smiths accepted gladly the offer to use the heated baths, and they were even hardier than the Elves, and loathe in general to share such private places with their hosts.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Mablung slipped into the room, calling out, so as to give whoever was this mad time to deny him entry. When he received no answer, unease settled in the pit of his stomach, and he called out again, more urgently. “Why is it of such interest to you who’s there, Mablung?”

Mablung stood thunderstruck, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on land. Of all the people he had not expected to see here, the King himself was the most unlikely. His silver hair was dripping wet, damping the tunic Elu had obviously just pulled over his head. 

Mablung understood instantly what this was about. Whenever Elu was overwhelmed with his own emotions, he would do things like that. Not strictly speaking harming himself, but hurting himself, like this was some weird form of punishment. 

A feeling that was remarkably close to anger stirred in Mablung’s chest. 

“Explain yourself.” he said cooly, and then, correctly interpreting Elu’s hiss, added: “You once told me to speak openly around you whenever I wanted to, so I repeat- please explain what by all the Valar you have been doing, and don’t say taking a bath. I surmised as much.”

“Why ask, then?” Elu asked, not meeting Mablung’s gaze, but combing his hair over one shoulder. Had Mablung been in a more forgiving mood, he might have let that pass as just the easiest way to comb and re-braid one’s hair, but he knew this was not what this was about. 

Aye, get your whole tunic soaking wet, and then sit outside and be as cold as earthly possible. You unutterable fool! he thought. Changing tactics, he said: 

“Forgive me, lord, I overstepped out of surprise. I meant to ask, why not use warm water to wash? As any other sensible being within Menegroth does?” “That need not be of any concern to you, Captain.” Elu said evenly, still without looking at Mablung, who felt his heart clench at being addressed thus. 

But then Elu straightened up and stepped into the brighter light of the aisle, and Mablung stared at him aghast, all wrathful thoughts leaving him. He had not seen his King in a while as Elu spent so much time watching the dwarves work, and the state he was in now downright frightened Mablung. It had always been a bit of an understatement to call Elu slender, as he had ever had a habit to go off food whenever he was under pressure. Now, however… the King was emaciated, there was no other word for it, and so pale that he looked more like a corpse than anything else.

Mablung knew that he needed to do something. Elu had spent most nights outside in the woods ever since Húrin had cast the Nauglamir at his feet, and Mablung did not doubt at all that he would do so again- or try to do so again, for Mablung would not let that happen. Unable to openly hinder his lord he may be, but he would certainly not be contented with being politely dismissed, even if he chose to let Elu keep this delusion for the moment. He bade the King goodnight, therefore, and took his leave to hurry down to the storage rooms where all the spare clothes were kept. 

The room was dark, but Mablung found what he sought quickly nonetheless, borrowing one of Elmo’s cloaks as the King ever kept his own within the royal chambers. Pausing only to warm the clothes by the fire in the Hall, Mablung then swiftly made his way outside into the freezing cold night. He found the King in exactly the tree he had expected to find him in. Letting out an exasperated sigh no-one could hear over the howling of the wind, he started to climb up as well, calling his lord all sorts of names under his breath as he went.

“I’ve got you clothes. Warm ones. Don’t you dare argue!” he snapped once he reached the branch on which Elu was sitting, by way of any other greeting. He had half expected anger, but Elu only gazed at him for a moment, then pulled his wet tunic off. When Mablung handed him the dry robes, however, Elu proved unable to put them on, shivering just too violently.

“Will you allow me to robe you, lord?” Mablung asked gently, and was relieved beyond measure to see Elu nod. As he reached behind Elu’s back to tuck his wet hair out of the fresh tunic, however, that relief turned quickly to sorrow. He had not been so close to Elu in a long time, and holding him now in this would-be embrace tore at Mablung’s heart. He felt like he were holding a dying fawn that was starved and exhausted by a long and merciless winter, and would be hurt by even the gentlest touch. How long, he wondered, would it take one of the High-Elves to starve himself to death? Maybe his dismay showed on his face, for as he faced Elu to fasten the cloak beneath his chin, the King’s expression was one of mingled gratitude and remorse.  

“I just needed to feel the cold. The smithies are stiflingly hot.” he whispered in a shaking voice. Mablung did not challenge the lie, choosing to keep to the portion of truth that was hidden within. Instead he said:

“I can imagine that. Why not take a break, though? It is not like you’re helping them.” “I can’t. Everything seems so dark whenever I am parted from… whenever the… well.” 

He struggled for words for a while, then looked up and asked blankly: 

“Am I losing my mind, Mablung?”

The words stabbed Mablung’s heart like knives, but even more so the utter defeat in Elu’s expression.

“I do not know…” he whispered, biting back his own despair “…but even if you are, I stand firmly by your side. As does Melian, and Elmo… but Elu, you look horrible. When have you last eaten?”

He could not hold the question back. Ever since he had seen Elu step into the light, he had wanted to ask precisely that.

“I don’t recall it.” Elu answered tonelessly, proving Mablung’s fears right.

“Or slept?”

“I can’t sleep. And I don’t dare.” “Nightmares?” Mablung asked gently. 

Elu just nodded. He looked so lost that Mablung would have loved nothing better than to embrace him, hold him, even more so as Elu added:

“I wish all of this could end.”

Mablung forced himself into staying calm. It was not exactly news what Elu was telling him now, but hearing it spoken aloud still caused Mablung significant distress. “Does Melian know how you feel?”

Stupid question, Mablung chided himself. Of course Melian knew. What he should have asked was ‘Have you told Melian how you feel?’. He suspected, however, that he knew the answer to that question as well, something Elu confirmed a moment later.

“I don’t know. I’m too ashamed to step under her eyes.”

What for? Mablung almost asked, but caught himself in time. He knew that truly, this was about Lúthien, and probably more directly about Elu’s falling ever more for the light of the Silmaril. They had been fine for so long, or as fine as Elu could be, and Mablung really had no other explanation as to why Elu would go back to where he started after Lúthien following Beren to Mandos. Then, too, he had kept his distance from Melian out of shame, and just like then, that fact quite annoyed Mablung, as this was truly no fault of the Queen’s, and she suffered from that separation just as much as Elu did himself.

“That’s idiotic.” he said at last. “You know she never blamed you, not even after you tried to lock Lúthien up. Even then, when she was rightfully angry at you, she wanted you by her side. I assure you, she will do everything she can to make life a little easier for you, as she loves you with all her heart, whatever mistakes you might have made or shall make in the future.”

“I don’t deserve that.” Elu said flatly, not even noting the insult Mablung had bestowed upon him. At this, Mablung grabbed his King by the shoulders.

“You need not deserve it. Love, Elu, is nothing to be deserved, or I should never have deserved to be allowed to be your captain, despite my feelings towards you that were then… let us call them conflicting? But I beg you, please stop torturing the being I cherish above anyone else. Stop torturing yourself! I know I overstep, and I shall readily pay any price, but quite apart from my love towards you that never wavered, you and Melian are both dear friends, and frankly the only thing like a family I have left on these shores. Please Elu, whatever darkness you walk in where it seems to you that no light exists but one long perished, spare us all a thought occasionally whenever you feel the need to do something like dousing yourself in ice-cold water and then walk out into a storm— us all who love you. Please.”

Even as he said it, though, Mablung knew, with a keen and heart-wrenching certainty, that all this would come to naught, that in truth, the King was already lost.

[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.

[supercorp-hosie]

My thoughts for Legacies 316: (here we go again😂)

(I’m combining after thoughts with live thoughts)

1) The soundtracks for this episode are amazing, they fit very well even for Finsie that I heard that a lot of people were complaining on Reddit.

2) I finally get my team Sowanby! I just feel so much from them! They kind of make a great team, but please, do not go on another heist again. You both sucks at that! The holes are, the museum don’t have a fucking alarm for Leonardo DaVinci’s work? Are you kidding me? And Landon beating the shit out of the guard but not putting him out first is so dumb. The worst is Cleo calling Landon’s name so loud, I can’t😂😂😂😂😂😂 you don’t want people to be on your back when you have the Malivore threat going on guys! And ha! You guys are on the headline! That’s why I really feel like these supernaturals are so outdated and solidified from modern technology, even in 2030! Are you going to tell me everything technology will still be the same like now?? Come on, there’ll be cameras watching everywhere. Like they can see Cleo using magic! I need my Trimini (or bridge) coven and Hope starting to integrate the supernatural world with the modern world. About Trimini and Hope future career, click here.

3) the line about “many who shaped it are never acknowledged” I stand! After that, about the key card my random thoughts were about Landon being the one that stole the key card😂 just out of the blue and I’m proven wrong though.

4) Landon bonding with Cleo!!!! They thought the same way, and “I can promise that anyone that have to get to you, they have to get to me” is so strong! But the scene after, is the moment I started really doubting Landon, the look is too alarming. But there are still Sowanby scenes😭😭😭 and the melted heart mud... I mean I genuinely believed that the spell didn’t work because Landon is also mud himself. But in hindsight it is horrific, like the serial killer is just standing next to you but and the signs are right in front of you.

5) Malivore mud being artistically friendly! I can’t haha! Oh and when Holarke walked on Sowanby inspiring moment🤣🤣🤣I can’t, they act like both of them are cheating on one another it’s hilarious. Thank you for acknowledging each other Holarke and Sowanby🤣. By now, I should have known that’s MaliLandon. It’s humiliating because Holarke and Sowanby got me so happy that I didn’t see the clues lmao! Because there’s this line: “Following the footstep of the Renaissance greatest man? ” but this thing, Cleo only did it with Leonardo, with whom she slept with......

6) And damn, after that, I felt like a FOOL, CLOWN, WHATEVER after that! All I have for team Sowanby is fake 🙃🙃🙃🤡🤡🤡 Anyway we still have to admit that the promise still stand true right, cuz it’s literal.🤣🤣🤣 MaliLandon fulfills his promise by eating Cleo. TYPICAL.

7) Holarke! Clarke is still handsome as ever😍. We can see his presence is clearly affecting Josie and making Hope giving him information. Can we talk about how cute is he sleeping soundly here?

8) Lizzie being the only unaffected queen here. AND IT’S FINALLY LIZZIE’S TURN FOR “AD SONNUM” I can totally see her pleasantness in doing that to somebody after being on the receiving end🤣🤣🤣 Josie and Hope had done it before so now we actually see her doing it. I somehow feel completed.

9) The look Hope and Josie shared. Hosie!

10) Josie is going to be the death of me! I like her look. And how the camera moving upward gosh! And I’m totally digressing here, what is a razzleberry? And what is a slush? I have no idea what they are, I just feel like tasting what she tasting now. Lizzie’s line, crashing and splashing😂 Am I colour blind? Cuz I really can’t tell whether Hope is wearing dark blue or dark green 😅 if it’s green, then the traffic lights colour are back again lol. If blue, then Hosie matching clothes! Did Finsie ever have matching colours? I’m just wondering.

11) Hosie scene! They talked about how seeing Clarke traumatised Josie~~ damn and Josie says traumatised is her permanent resting state. I mean even on her birthday she was buried alive lmao. And Hope wants to help Josie stop the traumas by sacrificing herself to defeat Malivore, like by literally dying. Which she didn’t want because she didn’t want to live forever.

12) Holarke scene again! I love all those banters and their dynamics😂😂 how Hope is the only one that trusts Clarke now. The mimic spell! It’s their thing😍😍. Oh it totally surprised me that Clarke isn’t mud man anymore. I’m really happy for him, because he finally break himself out of the abuse! It seems like triad is totally gone?? But I still kind of think that there may be something more? And Clarke’s reaction to Hope opening the artefact! 🤣🤣🤣 and the way that Clarke sensed the familiarity with Cleo! Yea boy, she’s the inspiration to the creation of you.

13) Clarke keeps calling Hope and Landon kids🤣 how’s the feeling of getting kid!Hope kicking your ass and saving you😂😂😂 oh she’s totally your equal. Frenemies at best! YES! I love Holarke bonding. And the fact that Clarke being Hope inspiration to believe in friendship and her family now can help her to defeat Malivore, I Stan! Don’t lose sight of the corner! Josie! Lizzie! Clarke! Yes you have them! I’m glad that Clarke didn’t die, I’ll be so mad because the writer would be bringing him back for nothing. Oh the incendia is painful, affecting me more than the fake looking MaliLandon eating Cleo. The height difference again🤣 with Holarke this time.

14) I love Maleb clothes, not really shipping them just short form for their bromance😂 but I do enjoy if there suggests shipping cuz it’s fun! Love that them being supportive of each other, superheroing, and the hero name🤣🤣they’re clueless too. Poor Kaleb and Cleo. I really need his backstory 😫

15) about hero names, I’m still having playback of “blursome and essential” in my mind. MG is looking at the mask longer than Kaleb, I feel like he’s missing Ethan, like a lot. Another thing is, since we see the effect of someone else being compelled so clearly, but we never seen Ethan’s compelling effects. Or it’s a budget matter? They must be kidding right? So maybe Ethan is really faking it? So that leads us to Lethan....

16) if my suspicion is true, then damn, Ethan is using Lizzie to get into SBS? I’m worried for Lizzie’s wellbeing. Also the look on Josie when Ethan drives near tight after she said like some eligible will fall out of the sky🤣🤣🤣 the timing is impeccable lmao. For real, Lizzie wanting Ethan to be Hope’s rebound after her kiss with him in the trio imagination, is ....so the trio is now sharing guys now? Jandon is still there in the history! It’ll be like a very messing love multi-triangle😌😌😌

17) the way Lizzie talked about how Hope is perfect the whole way and judging by the day when they arrived at SBS? That’s very long! Lmao, Lizzie are you sure you’re not in love with Hope? Hizzie rights! (I don’t even know when I started to ship Hizzie, it’s a mystery🤣) I think I can only talk like that about my love. Why don’t you make you and your sister Hope’s rebound? I’ll be happy with what I get🤣

18) The decision to bring Ethan on a tour, is so bad. What if ethan ended up enrolling SBS and Alaric can’t deny the application? Did she ever think of that?? And Josie and Mg is going to face the consequences in the near future🤣 dreadful! From there I already felt the cliche sweetness that when you’re trying to be a wingwoman and ended up “selling” yourself out🤣🤣 fuck CW for cutting the scenes of Lizzie’s epic facial expression when she was slapped with her own words😂😂😂anyway, it’s no way she can refuse the ask out after 315 where Lizzie still thinks that she can’t be the chosen one when Hope is there, but someone actually chooses her even after all the Hope is perfect speech. As much as I mourn for Methan and Mizzie, I’m happy that she got someone to tell her that. But I think they’re destined to backfire😅

19) so does the Mizzie “will they won’t they?” officially end here? I’m confused. Btw it’s really a way to mention Sebastian’s death being relocated permanently 🤣 oh wait...she knew that that prison world is destroyed forever right????? Someone save me.

20) okay I have to go back before Ethan picked the twins up: while Lizzie is actually worrying about themselves being stranded, Josie is just more concerned about Hope? Hosie! Poor Josie, she never sees that she is Hope soft spot and can totally make Hope happy too. Look at your dumb joke at 103, Hope’s laugh is magnificent too. It’s because of you. And yes I’m with Josie, I just ship Hope with herself and her axe right now, don’t put her with anyone for at least 5 more episode please.

21) The one that doesn’t dissolve into goo! Now is Clarke! And the both of you my dear twins. Btw, the dna thing, where Clarke confirms that dna is still toxic... so it applies to Landon too right? And it’s now just more overwhelmingly apparent that handon sex is without protection. Yea so much for epic love. And this is about the possibility where (hopefully) it’s not MaliLandon when the sex scene happened.

22) Finsie time! I got to say, it’s really improving. Their scene is beautiful, finally. That feeling that they’re nice together is now going on continuous for me. I’m happy for them! They are now stepping up on Hosie, not derogatory, I’m just seeing some parallels from hosie here. The disclose of Ethan broken arm, where Hosie has done, before that there’s Clarke’s traumatising Josie thing with Hosie. Next, the focus on the hand holding, I’m thinking of 207 and others. The “me being here with you”, with hosie 308 “then I’ll be here with you”. The whole thing is very comforting for Josie. The hug is good too. We can see that they finally have some nice scene and the bgm is good for them.

23) I have no idea what is magical agronomy, so I look it up. Again, that shows how Josie love plants, like someone in Reddit said they observed that Josie’s side of room has several plants. And in 307, the herbs, that she remembers. I think it can help a lot if Hope is starting a magical technology company. Josie’s interest in that can come in handy. They’ll make a great team. About TRIMINI INDUSTRIES tap here.

24) we are still missing Jed here. Justice for Jed. We need Jed real first name. Did anyone notice when the super squad faces MaliLandon there’s no werewolf present? They’re really downplaying that huh? But maybe I can be satisfied that they are not making Finch being there but not Jed.

25) We need to address this thing about Handon. It’s like one and a half time that Hope couldn’t recognise that Landon is not Landon right? We still have to give credits to her memories shared with Cleo actually make Cleo kind of recognise the difference? So half a time. I agree with Josie’s words that Landon makes Hope happy. I mean, yes, most of the time they failed in working but there’s still sweet scenes between them. So that’s actually what makes Handon tolerable. They are what makes me only do facepalm rather than skipping them. So yes of course Hope has happy moments with Landon. Just that it doesn’t mean that they’re good together.

26) it’s always Landon’s bros that first find out Landon wasn’t Landon😂 this time is Clarke. It’s Clarke that tell Hope, “Landon will never leave you”. That’s the inconsistency of the writers, not counting MaliLandon’s time, it’s still two times. And there’s time that some will argue that Landon’s feet literally walk away from Hope. So...that’s not true, do not stuff that in our throat anymore. “I always thought you two are destined to be together” is this the writer way of saying they’re not doing Handon anymore or otherwise? Cuz “thought” is past tense and “are” is present tense. I’m tired. It’s normal that Hope still wants Landon to be happy and still love him. But after the breakup, when she still doesn’t know that it’s MaliLandon, the “still dying to get Landon again” is obsession. Girl, it’s derogatory to your self-esteem. “If a mud man like me can beat his fate, maybe you kids can too” yea that’s Handon going on.

27) we shouldn’t need to be told that Handon is epic love multiple times. We should be able to feel them, see them ourselves. Why did I start approving Finsie now, because instead of them being only all talking and no showing, now we see them working well (until now). I have been widely accepting to any other legacies ships and why I never ship Handon? So really these multiple telling us that how good is Landon to Hope, is not working. I’ve never been so frustrated.

28) Let’s appreciate the Handon parallel with 101. It’s interesting that how Landon is inside the cage and Hope is outside the cage again. The meaning of the cage has deep meaning here. Handon first kiss is in the cage, that kind of mean that their love is trapped there. Like how their relationship being so troublesome and bound by these fateful encounters. The lights are quite similar, handon always has this blue lighting for them, which sometimes it’s kind of weird. The first time it is Hope decorating the ceiling with stars for Landon. It’s sweet, but also implying that what Handon has is the false beauty of them and not keeping the cage symbolism in mind. In other way of interpreting it, this is the writer foreshadowing their endgame. Cuz they’re trapped there, no way in no way out.

29) I think I’m not the only one bothered by the mostly lack of real Landon appearance in s3. As we can see how MaliLandon words sits so right about, Landon not belonging to SBS if it weren’t Hope. Then he leaves with Cleo, that’s a thing for Sowanby too, they still don’t have roots with the school, and it’s a great bonding between them, friendship or not. It’s the bond between them that matter. In 314 315, we always see that the students were totally fine without Landon. Like the three trios paralleling? It’s sad that Landon is like bouncing here and there in SBS but never really belong. And now the writers kind of ripped his personal development. So now he has neither his pheonix powers nor fighting skills, great? And even Hope’s growth too. We are seeing her moving to a good direction and the writers have to drag her back in the hell hole. Hope needs to not always looking at Landon for her happiness, it’s not good for the both of them. Like MG said, be your own person.

30) THEORIES regarding Landon: a) It’s MaliLandon all the way? I hope not, it’s reminding me of Lost Girl that one of the characters slept with the father personating the person she loves, and got pregnant. Tell you what was more alarming? When the episode ended, I was recommended to move on to Lost Girl on CW seed. It’s disgusting! Why do you want to help make me hate Handon? I don’t even hate them initially! I’m like struggling to be logical and lean on the positive side here. Why I can’t move on from this possibility: first, I’ve always headcannon that Malivore has partial control over Landon. Like how Landon actually wasn’t lying in 102 103? That’s Malivore. And Handon, as genius as always, doesn’t talk about it. Second, the way that Landon dissolved, he was human back then, but he turns into goo? how does it even work? If he is human, toxic to dna will make him die, not become goo, right? Even if that wasn’t a problem, it can also be MaliLandon trying his luck. Third, Malivore purpose is to make the perfect legacy, he will totally give it a try to make tribrid-Malivore babies. Fourth, during the inspiration from Cleo, MaliLandon has Landon’s memories, enhancing the theories that Malivore has partial control over Landon, so even if it wasn’t MaliLandon, it’s still partial-MaliLandon. Fifth, after the inspiration, MaliLandon said that he doesn’t need Hope to tackle his problem or for his purposes, which means he initially wanted Hope, thinking getting to Hope can help with his purposes. It’s really not a far-fetched.

31) THEORIES regarding Landon: b) it’s real Landon during sex, but Malivore got him in the prison world. While having Landon’s personal growth ripped and Handon still dragging out are not pleasant at all, this is still a more pleasant theory for me. At least Landon did start fighting for himself after sometime, and while the sex is still partial-MaliLandon, at least it’s not MaliLandon. (I’m always using at least for Handon 🙃) maybe we can still have Landon fighting skills? Cuz I was happy for him about this though. But I just don’t think so. The evidence for this theory is, my feeling about Landon in 306 is that it kind of fits Landon personality, but he did start his violence there. Another thing is the letter. There’s care in “to whom it may concern”. However, that can be just me being simp. And there’s also possibilities that the partial control from Malivore is cultivating Landon’s behaviour starting there and slowly taking control. Because making a deal with the devil always has its consequences. It’s either that or Landon was taken after the letter.

32) regarding the picture above, i just want to point out about another interesting point about the structure of the scene, if you scroll back and see sowanby picture with the door and another bonding talk, you can se that there’s always pillar and frames that’s framing or trapping them together. Like Handon. I mean that’s totally MaliLandon, so this pointing out is not mean to be romantic. It’s just a thought about how devastating that Cleo is stuck in something her whole life, especially the picture structure that implies that she’s stuck with MaliLandon again.

33) overall I’m thinking this is a good and disgusting episode. With all the unexpected twist, it’s really good, there’s actually layers in showing us that Landon is not Landon every time. Then those bonding. The soundtrack, the scenes. Disgusting, is about the theory, and how we are all tangled back to Handon again after we finally have some fresh air. Not to mention the always surprisingly convenient that Landon always has an excuse when we see Landon did something bad to Hope. Like he can never be making big mistake while only having little questionable doings that can’t possible tarnish him being the perfect person in the show. The first time he lies, Malivore controlled him. During the pageant competition, he is justified to walk away when he totally chose the wrong timing to ask that question, leaving Hope alone breaking in front of such important event. 207, monsters are coming for him, he’s protecting people by leaving. Musical episode, he needs to cross boundaries because it’s bound to be, without further reasoning it with Hope, when Hope specifically was very respectful of him in 111 about his songs. And now, this. That’s not him, we can’t blame him. He will never be blame for something big because the writers is biased. Very biased in making that Landon is better than anyone else in the show, so he’s the perfect guy for Hope. Like no one can compare with him. He’s almost perfect. Perfect than Hope.

34) Reflect on what Hope did in 308, MG is kind of right, she shouldn’t have touched it without fully prepared. Because it totally let Malivore running out free instead of him being an originally contained problem. It’s for the good view in whole. Heroes make hard decisions. There’s still the hair thing cut from Hope and Golem!Landon.

These pictures is my work, while it’s easy to get it yourself, and not that I’m professional in doing this. But I still did screenshot them one by one and did some editing. So please like or label the sources when you save or use it. ♥️

[imagine-otome-games]

Survivors Guilt [GI Childe]

Pairing: Childe x Fem!Reader [[3RD POV]] [[Heavy use of she/her]]

Warnings: Angst, dark-ish imagery, dark thoughts etc also kinda long since theres barely any dialouge.

!!SPOILERS FOR LIYUE ARCHON QUEST!! [[Vague but if you know you know]]

A/N: working on that diluc but uh this hit me sooo.. I wondered what would have happened if that fight didn’t go so smoothly..

;; a day in which all his debts were paid off with interest;;

 “ Pᴀɪɴᴛ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅs, ɪɴᴋ ʀᴜɴs, ɪᴍᴀɢᴇ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ..”

It was truly a sight to behold- something like a breathtaking scene in a famous novel. Poets and authors alike would try to replicate it, but it would never be quite the same- not as impactful.

No words could ever truly replicate the way he had screamed upon hearing the news. No painter could even come close to recreating the look in his anguished eyes- the rigid state of his entire body- the immediate stream of tears. However, who would truly want to? Words hit hard enough so an actual image would be pure torture and yet.. some found inspiration at the way this hardened Harbinger absolutely broke down for his love..

Even the strongest of people have their weaknesses and his lied with her..

“I promise I’ll be back soon.”, he had said, with pure confidence too despite it all. 

She had been so far from the harbor- she didn’t give him any hint that she would be on the waters that day. Even she had, what had ultimately happened was a last resort. He never intended to do it but.. perhaps if she had mentioned something that day.. he would have stopped himself.

If he was stronger- if he hadn’t allowed himself to be used..

The rage mixed in all that anguish was suffocating- each and every breath he took as he moved forward felt like it was searing his lungs. His legs felt like the bones within were made of lead, threatening to cave in on themselves. He almost wished they would- he wished they’d shatter- he begged to his current wounds to just end what was only the beginnings of his endless suffering.

Instead of hoping his death would happen in glorious battle he wished for it to be swift- for it to carry him home immediately, no matter how selfish it seemed.

He had a family, he had to think of how they would feel but now... now the blood on his hands was blood he was never meant to spill..

He always knew the true costs of his line of work would catch up to him.. Childe simply thought that cost wouldn’t be so high- so immediate. Or.. something of his own doing-

Once he made it to where the crowds had gathered- to the aftermath seen by all, he was gifted with burning daggers in his back by their eyes- a hint of pity accented within the obvious poison. They would forever be embedded in his flesh. None would be unaware of his horrific deed in Liyue harbor- the absolute disregard for innocents and his own dearest heart.

He wished the people would be more violent, but he knew they wouldn’t be. That was too easy- too merciful.

Within that crowd he found what he had destroyed. There, in the calm waters, surrounded by mourning citizens that knew her well... she floated calmly. Her calm face struck him hard- it was now dull, there was no life within her features- this was not like when she slept or when she turned her face to soak in the beautiful sun.

The reality of everything hit him so hard it knocked the breath and rationality out of him.

He had begged and pleaded and sobbed in vain- she had been gone all along. When he was told you were missing- lost at sea, deep in his very core he knew the waves had stolen her. Osial must have stolen her was what he allowed himself to believe for a time, but Childe was not that much of a fool. His own idiocy and failure to think rationally stole her from him. He did this to himself and now, in front of all of those which he wronged, he breaks.

He will never be able to see her smile- how is it that one person can have so many different smiles? So many expressions to miss and touches to crave and be robbed of. Childe would never hold her in his arms. He could no longer relish in the taste of her lips or her warm embrace on late nights. 

Her voice would no longer bring him back to life on the days he lost himself- he would be left to drown out at sea, just as he deserved. There was no future to look forward to- a time when he would get to call you his wife or perhaps the mother of his children- not even a time in which he got to live freely. To be just Ajax and not Childe, the Eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui. Nothing. There was nothing and perhaps it is selfish thinking- his family still lives but will they still adore him when they learn of his horrific deed- of what his job genuinely costs.

“ I ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇ, ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ..”

The screams were so painful that no one could bare to look for long, the cries so devastating others felt its harsh pangs in their chests. He cried like he was being tortured- cradled her head and damned the very skies for taking something so precious- something that was not for it to take- someone that deserved better.

The people of Liyue granted him the mercy of time with her. His only true gift from those he hurt. They felt the sincerity in his regret and pain.

Hours felt like mere seconds to him and in the setting sun the cold finally dug its claws into him. He could feel the blood in his throat and the raw sting in his eyes. His freezing fingers had to be pried from her lifeless body and still he begged. He pleaded for everything to be a lie- a cruel prank to get him to see how horrible that was of him.

How could she be the only fatality in all this- surely there were others on the water? Her little boat was not the only one out there. Not to say he wished the same fate of other innocents but... did it have to be only her? In the very boat he gifted her when he learned how she adored to just... exist in the middle of the ocean for a short time. To take in the salty air from its source and take in the scenery the archons gifted its people to see.

In the same boat that was now in pieces along various shores and in the unrelenting depths of the ocean. Lost to him forever, just like her.

Her sweet laughter from that day still haunts him, “I’ll believe you if you promise to go out to sea with me when you get back.”, she had said, bargaining with him as if she actually ever needed to. She could tell him to jump and he would have asked her how high.

‘I love you, Ajax. Be safe.’

So, he promised- crossed his heart and hoped to die. Then when would that debt be paid? How long must he wait to be in her presence again?

“ Aɴɢᴇʟs ғᴀʟʟ, ɪᴛ’s ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴜʟᴛ..”  

The picture painted of her for that day pierced through what was left of his now dead heart. He meant no offense to the artist, but it did no true justice for her. It did not encapsulate her like his cruel mind did. Her eyes felt lacking- the expression was so.. unreal. Yet, silent tears felt all the same.

This was it. He must let her go for good. This is all real- too real. His breathing becomes labored and soon he is doing his best to silently sob. Her painting becomes blurred and, in the midst,... it looks as though she is crying with him. Somehow.

‘You know I’ll always love you, right?’

“ Gᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ. ᴡᴇ’ʟʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ...”

“Traveler...”, he begins, “Do we have to do this every time? You know what I want... stop denying me for the sake of your own morals... please..”

The outlander looks at him, pity in the swirls of gold staring into his dull blue hues, “You know I can’t, Childe..”

He laughs bitterly, ignoring the way it hurts to do so, “You can- c’mon, it’s not that hard. Your sword is sharp enough. One good blow-”

“You need to move on somehow- take a break and grieve properly stop asking me-”

“Move on? Move on? I am a murderer- I killed her- I deserve to-”, he starts, voice growing angry and so very sad.

“You didn’t do it on purpose. You didn’t want her to...go.”, the outlander says, pools of gold growing brighter in concern, staring upon his form in the ground.

Childe was a mess of sweat and blood, on his back staring up at another whom he deceived, begging to be put out of his misery. Shamelessly so.

He laughs again, this time with a ragged breath, “It should never have been her- it should have been me. It was always supposed to be me first.”, he’s crying now, he’s sure of it. It always turned out this way, usually the tears are left out, “I was never- I never... she was never supposed to even be hurt because of me. Traveler I... I loved her so much- I still love her. I can’t let go- please. I’m begging you- please. End it- end me..”

There was no answer, just silence. There was no saving him and as painful as it was, the wandering traveler left him there on the ground. He never saw this traveler again. In the back of his mind he always wonders if the sibling was found. Was the journey fulfilled- was there a happy ending?

He hopes so. No one deserves to suffer loss in any way.

“I miss you..”, he whispers into the sky, knowing she resides somewhere far past the clouds.

The calm waves of the sea gently rock him in this small boat. There is only one destination for him. He is no longer welcome anywhere else. No one has said so, but he feels it within his soul. A piece is missing, and he will find it once more, one way or another.

“I’m coming home.. I hope you didn’t wait long..”, he says as the blackened clouds start to surround him. The sea below him darkens and he can feel the static of danger in the tense air. The waves start to come alive and he hopes they finally swallow him entirely.

This time, he hopes he will not be found by a pitying soul.

“ Tɪᴍᴇ ɢᴏᴇs ᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ..”