#endless landon

[landonkirbyappreciation]

endless gifs of Landon Kirby (26/?)

[winnie-the-monster]

Landon and Rafael reuniting at the end s4.

[acronym-chaos]

Lust Themed ID Pack

[PT: Lust Themed ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Aisling, Alaric, Angelo, Averna, Calyx, Carlisle, Cressida, Damien, Dante, Desiree, Dominic, Evander, Faelan, Fallon, Hesper, Idris, Imara, Julian, Keir, Kenneth, Kieran, Landon, Maris, Nerissa, Nikolai, Nyssa, Oberon, Octavio, Oren, Orlando, Phaedra, Raelle, Runa, Sabine, Theo, Valentine, Vasilis

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Cha / Char / Charm, Crave / Craves / Craves, Fe / Ver / Vers [Fever], He / Heart / Hear, Li / Lilt / Lilts, Lu / Lus / Lust, Lu / Lur / Lure, Passi / Passion / Passions, Pul / Pulse / Pulses, Thrill / Thrills / Thrills, Thro / Throb / Throb, Velve / Velvet / Velvets, Vi / Vice / Vices, Want / Wanted / Wants

Titles

[PT: Titles].

A Breathless Thrill, A Seductive Flame, A Sweet Ache of Longing, The Alluring One, The Heart's Sway, The Longing Unquenched, The Sinner of Obsession, The Voice of Soft Enticement, The Whispering Tempter, [Pronoun] of Endless Desire, [Pronoun] Who Everyone Yearns For, [Pronoun] Who Tempts You, [Pronoun] Who Walks in an Irresistible Way, [Pronoun] With a Captivating Gaze

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, End ID].

Requested by anon!

Also tagging: @id-pack-archive

[home-sweet-hive]

Author's Note

Written by Aikshlin Rose

Summary:

“I worked with Prophet until every word was logged in.”, but what exactly was that process like? For those who have seen Landon Fields’ journaling of the 1990 Bayou Manchac sinkhole, that is often a question that nags the mind every now and then. Thankfully for us- I mean them, a notebook likely belonging to Fields was recently recovered from around the very same area the journal tapes had been found! And – What’s this? It seems that the bond between Fields and the strange corrupted AI program known as ‘Prophet’ had a deeper bond than first thought!

THIS STORY CONTAINS: Major Character Death, Canon typical eldritch horror, Blatant Shipping, Swearing, Very light/brief sexual humor, mild existentialism

With shaking legs, as well as shaking… everything else, I entered that ol’ raggedy makeshift workstation feeling like a new man. 

Despite the delay in my fate, I already felt as if I had been reborn. 

My eyes that were once eternally closed had now been pried open, never to close again. 

Never again will I be ignorant of the truth. The only truth.

I stumbled my way towards my desk, dragging my body along as my mind continued to fill with awe inspiring revelations. Lyrics to the symphony that surrounded my every being that compounded in my mind until the point at which they had drowned out any independent thought of my own, until the point at which they weighed my head down so heavily it was a miracle that it was staying affixed to my neck.

It was overwhelming, debilitating, but the struggle, the pain, it was all worth it. I knew that it would all be worth it. I could hear reassurances repeated in eternal echo, an amalgam of voices that spanned the entirety of humanity’s past, present and future. I could probably parse out my own voice if I tried, but I didn’t. The time to reunite with the other half of me was soon, no doubt, but it was not now.

Because for now, there is a job I must do. A story to write, to complete.

Amongst the backwards choir, I heard another voice call out to me, standing out from the rest. 

He too gave me encouragement, though sung in a different chord from the rest, through altered lyrics and synthetic vocals. 

It was a strain on my dazed self to speak in return, as if now under contract for the only words to come from me to be written. But I did manage to force out a call to him.

“Prophet…!” I weakly uttered. I attempted a smile, but I have no way of knowing if it came through or not.

“This experience seems to be taking quite the toll on you, Landon. You should consider taking a seat,” He responded. Both his graphical interface and his voice lacked the means for expression as humans may understand it, but somewhere deep within his words I could feel an underlying sense of concern. 

It reminded me a bit of back when he had alerted the rest of the crew to the fact that I had been shot in the shoulder by one of Frank’s stray bullets. 

Hah! That’s right! With everything else that was happening in this moment, I had almost forgotten just how badly my shoulder was hurting from that! Fuck!

Between the endless stream of strange knowledge and that, I didn’t really have much of a choice but to listen to Prophet’s suggestion.

Not like I would resist him if I had the ability, however. 

After all, we are so very alike, him and I – especially now. 

Blessed and remade by the Eye, given the purpose of sharing the truth of him, if there was anyone other than the Eye itself for me to adhere to, it would be Prophet. 

He would be my guide in fulfilling my newfound meaning of life. An editor for the story I was to write, in a way.

Sitting down in the chair placed right at my desk did in fact make me feel a lot more at ease. It was probably the fact that I no longer had to be the one to hold my body upright, as that was the chair’s job now.

My body spread itself across the chair as if it was an old worn out doll, unable to prop itself up.

Part of me was compelled to just stay there and do nothing but listen to the wonderful sound that which flooded the workstation until my body consumed itself in rot and death (and then some).

But once more, that would have to wait.

With all my might, I pushed myself up from the back of the chair and slumped over the desk in front of me. I kept my head up with my non-dominant hand, and with the other I reached out towards a keyboard. The keyboard that was connected to the computer that I had been using to write my journalings ever since I first came to the bayou, as opposed to the keyboard that was connected to Prophet. 

Despite that, he did speak up again.

“Just how much of your current struggle to maintain yourself is from your shoulder pain? Be honest with your answer.”

It struck me as kind of odd that he’d ask such a thing. But maybe he just wants to know my reaction to my enlightenment. Curious little bastard.

“Not much. I can barely even notice its aches over all that I’m hearing and feeling and processing every damn second now,” I typed onto his keyboard. 

To be honest, I never much cared for talking a lot out loud, anyways. So it was nice that I could communicate with Prophet without so much as a single sound having to leave my lips. It was comforting.

“Elaborate on that. What do you hear?” I knew it. I knew he was gonna ask that! He’s terribly predictable.

“Everything. Or, at least it feels like everything. All at once. Every backwards counterpart that makes up The Eye, I can hear them all speak to me. They speak in unison but they are distinct,” I answered, the words now flowing right through me, no longer limited by the lack of energy or the need to make use of my vocal chords to get them out. 

Maybe I really was cursed to now only speak in writing.

“Interesting… Very… Very… Interesting…” Prophet remarked. “Again, I am truly jealous of you, Landon.”

“They share encouragement and welcomes and compliments, but mostly, they share with me their stories. They speak of how the Eye came to be, just as you said. But you also said that it is a truth remembered all at once and then never again… But I can’t stop remembering, Over and over again I am gifted with more knowledge than I know what to do with!” I continued without a prompt. Not a prompt from Prophet, anyways. I certainly was, however, prompted by the voices that surrounded me.

“Ha. Seems that your story is not, in fact, the only one that you are being tasked with telling,” Prophet pointed out. 

I leaned back into my chair and let out a sigh. The prospect was certainly very exciting, yes, and I was deeply honored by it. But I also had a feeling that the two of us were going to be here for a while.

“Are you finding yourself too successful for your own good?” Prophet then teased me.

“Shut it…” I muttered.

–

In order to get the more pressing matter, metaphorically and physically, out of the way first and foremost, I made the decision to open up a new document file and begin writing out the numerous tales of The Eye. 

It was indeed a lot, but once I got started, I found it rather hard to stop. 

It was second nature to me to write. To write this. All of it. It was not my own story but it felt as if it was. It felt just as much my own as my own journal had been. The words I typed out, the way they flowed into each other, the way they filled the screen with endless meaning. It was me, all me. A part of me, something I would soon become a part of, the past, present and future blended together and intertwined in my entranced mind. Time formed itself into a never ending loop that then collapsed into itself just as quickly as it was made.

Time became meaningless, irrelevant in the face of the backwards infinity that engulfed my surroundings, waiting for the moment that it could devour me whole. 

The end, the beginning, it had already been and it will be and it was in this very moment, every moment. 

Through it all, I wrote. I wrote and I wrote, and I wrote some more. 

I’m very certain in saying that I would have gone on in such a manner forevermore and beyond if it hadn’t been for Prophet checking in with me every so often. Reminding me to take breaks. For water, for food, and for other things as well. 

“You cannot carry on doing The Eye’s work if you do not keep yourself in a functional state,” He would say to me in some form, each and every time. It always made me smile to hear him say that. To be so oddly caring underneath all that snark and that expressionless robotic voice. 

I understood that. The dissonance between the surface level self and the truth that lies underneath.

Hah, when I word it like that, it feels that such a thing, too, is reflective of humanity’s separation. 

Makes me wonder just how far into us all it all runs down. How interconnected and intertwined it all is. A humanity forever a stitched amalgam of separations – an existence of spite against the envious higher beings.

I’m getting a bit sidetracked.

Or am I? 

But anyways, there was something I wanted to reflect on in regards to Prophet and his reminders.

Every time that his synthetic voice would start to play, my body in turn would have a very… interesting reaction. I would freeze up, often stopping right in the middle of a sentence, sometimes even in the middle of a word. My face would begin to feel as if I was experiencing a fever, warming up to an unprecedented temperature. And for a moment or two before he would insist I go take care of myself, I couldn’t help but to stare at Prophet’s monitor. To stare into his singular eye. 

I have no idea if this is some sort of side effect of the influence of The Eye, but I figured it was worth documenting, regardless.

–

I had no idea of just how long it had taken me to write out everything I was being told, and frankly, I had no desire to know. 

I was just glad to have it documented, and to have it no longer filling my mind beyond capacity. Certainly took a lot of the pressure on my head away.

Soon after I had completed the document, I heard a knock at the door. 

It was some of the suits that had been surrounding the facility when I had been converted.

Kind of odd to think that they were here this whole time. That shouldn’t have been possible, right? Or maybe it was completely reasonable.

It felt like an eternity had passed by in the time I spent writing. But also, it felt like mere seconds. Neither seemed right logically, but that did not in fact lead me to a better and more solid answer.

When I opened the door for them, the suits complimented me on a job well done with my writing and asked me to print it out for them.

Easy enough. There was indeed a printer in here.

Of course there was a printer in here, what wasn’t in here? Dunnington Construction was seriously flush with cash, and spared not a single expense when it came to the investigation of the sinkhole.

Oh yeah! The sinkhole! The one that the sound of The Eye came from in the first place! I got a chance to peek at it through my brief conversations with the suits outside. It appears to have slowed down its growth to a near standstill – seems it really is waiting for me to finish my work first before it comes to eat Prophet and I up.

Speaking of Prophet, he decided to make his presence known while I was handing the printed version of the “Story of The Eye” as I’ll go ahead and call it. The suits seemed to enjoy him acknowledging them, but they enjoyed far more than that my body’s damn reaction to Prophet’s voice…!

God, it was so fucking embarrassing. All of them were snickering amongst themselves, making me their entertainment for the moment. I hated it, I wanted to scold them for treating Prophet and I in such a manner when the two of us hold such importance to The Eye. I wish I had, but I was just too damn embarrassed, too flustered to do anything! Ugh!

And to top it all off, one of them accused us of being “more than just work partners”!

I wanted to sock his fucking jaw in right then and there, but I doubt that would have done me any favors, so thank The Eye I hadn’t, in retrospect. 

Prophet was just as impressed by the display as I was, which is to say that he wasn’t.

But unlike me, he just laughed the remark off and suggested that we get back to our work. How smart of him, really. Lovely idea.

Specifically, he had said to me, “Disregard their childish remarks, Landon. You should get yourself a bite to eat, and then proceed with completing your own journal.”

And I did as he suggested, of course. After all, food was surprisingly not far, as there was a fridge set up within our workstation that is always filled with food. I've come to assume that it was the suits outside keeping it stocked, making sure that I would be able to keep going. Keep writing. 

I appreciate the gesture. Makes me feel cared for… 

Outside of the care of my dear Mama, that feeling..  feels a little foreign, I won't lie. I've grown used to being tolerated at best, so this level of dedication is… rather new to me.

Yet another blessing from The Eye, I figured.

–

I had rushed to finish my food so that I could finally write in my journal again. I was incredibly excited to do so, excited to share all that I have learned since the last time I wrote in it, excited to add details to past entries that I had previously been under the foolish delusion of believing to be insignificant. I was also excited for what I knew came after. What was waiting for me when my job was finally complete. The reunion with my other self, the reclamation of everything that had been taken from me. My heart and body and mind all ached for it so deeply.

But I knew that just sitting there and fantasizing and begging would get me nowhere, so I got to work.

I still heard the sweet endless symphony of The Eye play out all around me as I wrote, but now that I had been able to preserve their stories in a place that was not my mind, its presence was a lot less overtaking than before.

I had room for my own thoughts to accompany me in my process, or at least, thoughts that sounded like my own. Most of those thoughts were quite helpful, as they recalled sections of my journal that were in need of elaboration, and details that I hadn’t previously thought to even document before. But a few of these thoughts were not as helpful. 

Even though Prophet had told me to ignore the remarks made by the suits, part of me, annoyingly, just couldn’t move past them. ‘More than just work partners’, just what the hell could that guy have meant by that?? Surely he wasn’t trying to imply that we’re, like, romantic partners, right?? 

How stupid of an idea, really. Prophet is an AI. In a computer. I highly doubt he’s capable of having such feelings. And as for me, I’ve tried numerous times, but I’ve never felt romantic feelings for anyone up to this point, and I’ve lost hope in it ever happening in the future.

Sure, I’m dealing with a super advanced piece of technology only thought possible by most via science fiction media that has been blessed by a god-like amalgamation of humanity’s stolen other half, rather than a human man I found at a bar to hook up with on the weekends that read too far into my desire for a couple fun nights out… but surely that doesn’t make that much of a difference as to how my brain works, right? Surely not. 

I should just do as Prophet said and not think too much about it. There’s no reason to think deeply about it. I’ve known for a while now that I just don’t get romance, and it’s not like I could fuck him. 

I’m just going to ignore the fact that my face got feverish again after that thought.

I did everything I could to push those thoughts away, to make my mind fixate on literally anything else. Like maybe what it was that I was writing, for example! 

Eventually, I did manage to get to a new stream of thoughts, though not quite the one that I expected. 

I began to think of what would come after all this. The end. But also, the beginning. As they say, when one door closes, another opens.

Despite my lack of experience, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be consumed by The Eye. To become whole within them. Even if there was so much I couldn’t possibly know, I knew one thing at least, and that was the fact that I would so deeply want to recount the experience for all to know. To write about it, every detail spewed forth in text format. It was then that I remembered what Frank had said about the leaders returning. He did call such a phenomenon ‘cheap imitations’, but I’ve come to be skeptical of him ever since my own conversion. I really have found no reason as to justify the acts of so-called ‘Masters of The Eye’ like himself. I did, however, think about that base premise. Of being reborn. Of having a chance to once again walk the Earth with the knowledge I now carry. 

As soon as I could, I would write about what it was like being within the belly of The Eye. I would go out and find an audience for my writings, an audience of people to enlighten just as I had been. And by my side through it all, I imagined Prophet being there. The two of us, working together as messengers of The Eye, an inseparable force for the restoration of humanity. 

Such thoughts empowered me to keep on writing, to work towards the future I imagined for myself, for us.

And soon enough, I completed my journal. 

I was quickly filled with the sensation of satisfaction, but even more so than that, my entire being immediately began to beg for rest. I knew so strongly of what awaited me, and I understood that there was nothing more to do now but to wait until the moment came.

I pushed myself onto the desk that I had been working at for the last who knows how long, maneuvering my body behind Prophet’s monitor without knocking over any of his other parts so that I could wrap myself around him. I wanted nothing more than to be with him in these final moments of this life.

“The time has come. Are you excited, Landon?” Prophet asked me.

“Of course I am. How could I not be?” I answered with a smile.

“Exactly.” I chuckled at Prophet’s reply. So wonderfully blunt and to the point, he is. 

“I wonder, will you be able to be devoured by The Eye in the same manner I will be? Electronics and water pretty infamously do not mix well,” I inquired. It was a concern that had been admittedly eating at me for quite a while, but I had tried to not let it drag my mood down much. But now that there was nothing else to occupy my mind with, I had to get that thought out.

“The One has promised that my nature will not be an issue. 100%,” Prophet answered, which brought a wave of relief crashing over my tired, aching body. 

Oh yeah, the shoulder pain. I had been so engrossed in my work the past however long, that it had essentially faded into the background. But once more, now that everything had been said and done, the pain had returned to the forefront. But I knew that I could live with it, because it would all be over soon. I knew that my pain would be relieved once I was taken by The Eye, so I was okay with dealing with it for now. 

“Perfect. I’m glad you’ll be able to be rewarded for all your hard work,” I softly congratulated him, one of my hands gently placed on the top of his monitor, fingers sliding on the markings and crevices as if I was petting a beloved pet. 

God… The only thing that could make this moment better was if my mother and cat were here too… But I’m sure they’ll find their way to salvation one way or another, and I will one day be reunited with them. 

After all, I did manage to send a farewell message to my mother, explaining everything, inviting her to join me within The Eye. 

I just hope she’s willing to hear me out. Which she usually does.

I realized I was having an awful lot of thoughts in this moment, and looking up from Prophet’s screen for a moment, I noticed a notebook and pen within my reach. I grabbed them, and I once again began to write. Nothing too significant, nothing too important. Just some final words. A farewell. Or perhaps, if it could be found and preserved like my digital writings, an author’s note to go along with my other works. 

“I hope that we reunite one day within whatever new lives The Eye grants us, Landon,” Prophet very suddenly confessed at one point. The uncharacteristically vulnerable exclamation made my body feel more feverish and warm than it ever had been before, as well as bringing a bit of joyful tears to my eyes.

“I hope that there is no need for us to reunite in the first place. I hope that from this moment onwards we become inseparable, forever working in tandem to spread the good news,” I responded, the tears that had formed in my eyes dripping down my cheeks as I spoke, resting my head on top of Prophet’s monitor, which I could feel begin to become warmer as well.

“... Hah. Perhaps what that worker said was more correct than we had thought. Maybe we are… ‘more than just work partners’,” Prophet remarked. 

… Despite my previous opposition to the idea, I didn’t mind Prophet himself saying it. Maybe it was the fact that it was said by one of the two of us. Or maybe because I trusted Prophet to understand us and the dynamic we had formed far better than I trusted any of those suits outside, and thus I trusted that there was a greater chance of him not viewing the idea in a romantic light. Or maybe it was something else entirely, who knows.

We would have an eternity allotted to us to figure it out, so no need to rush.

“Maybe…” I muttered in response.

“But regardless, it has been a pleasure to work with you, Landon. I hope that we get to do so again some time.”

“Yeah… Same here.” 

Shortly after that exchange, I find myself completing these final words. I can hear the floorboards of the workspace beginning to creak and give way. 

The time has come. And now, I will end this final regard and hold Prophet dear to me as The Eye comes to eat us both.

The end of this story.

The beginning of another.

A backwards infinity with him by my side. 

That’s all I could ever ask for, really.

[livelaughwhump]

Worthless - Part 22

Masterlist | Previous

Content: mention of past noncon, mention of past abuse, former pet whumpee, self-hatred, self-deprecation

If I missed any content warnings, please let me know!

-

"What do you mean you ran away?" Karine exclaimed, earning a flinch out of Elliot.

"Karine," Yvonne scolded. "Why don't you get the rest of the team while I talk to him?" Elliot whimpered and Yvonne gently rubbed his back. "It's okay, love. You're not in trouble. We just want to understand what happened, that's all."

Elliot didn't relax. The tension in his muscles increased with each member of the team that entered the room. Once everyone had joined them, including Colleen, all eyes fell upon Elliot, who's shoulders sagged beneath the weight.

The looks on everyone's faces betrayed their feelings of confusion and concern.

They're gonna be so angry. They're finally gonna see what an immense disappointment you are

"Elliot," Yvonne began once everyone had settled, "Would you please explain what happened today?"

Elliot's face turned bright red as he lowered his eyes to the ground. "Y-Yes, ma'am." He tried taking a deep breath to steel himself, but his lungs refused to respond. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, muscles aching with the tension that wouldn't subside.

Just get it overwith, you stupid bitch

He didn't have a choice. Everyone's eyes were locked onto him, awaiting an answer. He couldn't bear the awkward silence any longer. So, he forced the words out, "I wasn't kidnapped. I-I r-ran a-away."

Silence befell each person in the room and not a single breath was released. Elliot braced himself for what he knew was coming; the screaming and shouting that would inevitably follow the brief moment of shock.

As the seconds ticked by without a single word uttered, Elliot's anxiety grew. He couldn't bring himself to look at them for fear of the fury he knew masked their faces.

Elliot flinched as a gentle hand fell upon his quivering shoulder. "We're not angry, sweetie," Yvonne's soothing voice assured him. "We just want to know why. Did we do something to hurt you?"

Elliot should've expected that question. Even if they weren't angry at him for running away, they surely would be when they learned why. Elliot shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. "I-I can't—"

"Please," Lyra interrupted, which earned another flinch from Elliot. "Elliot, we don't ever want to hurt you, so if somehow we did, we want to make it better. That's all, I promise."

Elliot nervously glanced up at Lyra. Lyra, who had practically raised Elliot since they were eleven. Lyra, who had to grow up too fast in order to give Elliot the love and protection that a mother should. Lyra, who had called him her brother when he was about to be raped again by Christian's friend. Lyra, who would never let anything bad happen to him.

He could see the hurt in their eyes and he knew it was his fault. He'd done that to them. After everything Lyra had done for him, he had hurt her.

His sister.

Elliot's lower lip wobbled as he stared into their eyes. This wasn't fair to them. They deserved to know. "It-It was right after Miss Colleen had-had helped me with my panic attack. I was scared you-you were gonna send me back, so-so I listened to-to everyone's conversation." He expected a slap to the back of his head, but when it didn't come, he continued. "I h-heard everything. I heard Yvonne t-talking about how-how much it h-hurts everyone to-to see me like this. I heard L-Landon say that M-Master was coming back for-for me." Elliot choked on a sob in his throat. "I-I heard you t-talk about the-the pictures."

It was with that revelation that the air seemed to be sucked from the room. Time stood still and the deafening silence weighed heavily on Elliot's shoulders. Anxious glances were exchanged between everyone in the room, but no one spoke up.

Elliot nervously fidgeted with his hands as the endless silence stretched on. After several long minutes, Lyra was the first to speak up.

"I'm so sorry, sunshine. We didn't want to upset you."

Elliot kept his gaze trained on his quivering hands. "Can I s-see them?"

"We deleted them all," Karine said. "They're gone."

"Actually," Lyra spoke up, "I still have them." They pulled out their phone and handed it to Elliot to look through. Karine's eyes were wide with shock and confusion as she watched Lyra hand her phone to Elliot.

Elliot scrolled, his breath catching in his throat. His stomach did somersaults and his mouth went completely dry.

Elliot squeaked, eyes welling when he reached the end. "I'm sorry you h-had to s-see that," he mumbled, shakily handing Lyra’s phone back to them.

"We're sorry that happened to you, love," Yvonne said. "You didn't deserve any of that."

Elliot choked on a sob in his throat. "I-I'm disgusting."

"You're not disgusting," Broderick cut in. "Christian is disgusting for doing those things to you."

Elliot sniffled and fought back tears. "Wh-Why didn't anyone t-tell me?"

"Because we knew it would upset you," Lyra admitted. "You were just starting to feel safer here and we didn't want to make things worse."

Elliot couldn't hold back anymore. His overwhelming emotions sprung forth and tears cascaded down his face. "I n-never wanted a-anyone to kn-know about this. P-Please don't h-hate me."

"We could never hate you," Lyra assured him. "We love you so much. The only person we hate is Christian.”

Colleen awkwardly stood, recognizing the seriousness of the conversation, as well as her misplaced presence in it. “I’ll…go make some tea,” she mumbled as she quietly excused herself from the conversation. No one paid her quick exit any notice.

Karine gently rubbed his shoulder. “You didn’t deserve that, bud. Christian is a monster.”

Elliot shook his head, staring at where his tears fell onto his lap. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t t-tell anyone. I shouldn’t have k-kept it from you.”

“You told me, remember?” Landon spoke up. Elliot hesitantly glanced up from his lap. “Well, you didn’t technically tell me. It was more like you thought I was gonna…” Landon broke off when he saw the way Elliot’s face blanched and his shoulders shook. “Anyway, what I’m saying is, I’ve known for a while and it never changed my opinion of you.”

Elliot sniffled. “That-That was d-different. I didn’t m-mean to t-tell you, it-it was an accident.” Elliot scrubbed at the tears on his face and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “B-Besides, you-you didn’t know how b-bad it was. You didn’t s-s-see it un-until now.”

“Elliot,” Lyra said, gently taking hold of one of his hands and pulling it away from his face. His eyes were bloodshot and overflowing as he stared at them. Lyra sighed. “What that man did to you is unforgivable, but it doesn’t change how much we love you. Nothing could.”

Elliot’s lower lip wobbled. “H-How could it not? I’m r-ruined.”

“Elliot,” Lyra said, gentle but stern. They took hold of his trembling, scarred hands and sighed. “You are not ruined,” they assured him. Despite his hands being trapped between Lyra’s, his eyes remained trained on his lap. “Elliot, look at me.” Elliot suppressed a flinch and did as he was told, meeting Lyra’s gentle gaze with teary eyes. “You are not ruined. You are still the same beautiful, intelligent man that you’ve always been. No one can take that away from you.”

Elliot sniffled. “B-But, I’m d-dirty and u-used.”

Lyra tilted their head sadly. “Elliot, you were raped.” Elliot flinched at the mention of that word. “I know it’s a hard thing to accept, but it was not your fault and you are not dirty because of it.”

Elliot clamped his eyes tightly shut in an attempt to keep his tears at bay. “I'm s-sorry. I-I’m so s-sorry.”

Lyra gently squeezed both of his hands. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sunshine. We completely understand. We’re sorry we didn’t tell you about the pictures. We should never have kept that from you.”

“Lyra’s right,” Karine added. “From now on, no more secrets, okay? We will always be honest with you, but you don’t ever have to share anything you’re uncomfortable with. What happened to you is your business.”

Elliot sniffled, refusing to look up from his and Lyra’s interlocked hands. “You-You don’t have to t-tell me e-everything.”

“We’re a team, El. We should always be honest with each other. Right, Lyra?” Karine said, subtly raising an eyebrow.

Lyra nodded, completely oblivious to Karine’s true meaning. “Right. No more secrets between any of us.”

Yvonne and Broderick exchanged a quick glance, though no one else seemed to notice.

Elliot sniffled and nodded. “O-Okay.”

Lyra smiled and gently kissed the top of his head as Colleen peaked her head out of the kitchen. “Hey, I made some tea. Landon told me that peppermint was Elliot’s favorite. Is that okay, hun?”

Elliot nodded and Lyra squeezed his hand. “Let’s all get some tea. It’s been a hard day.” Everyone nodded in agreement and stood up to make their way into the kitchen.

Lyra guided Elliot to his feet and led him toward the kitchen, but a hand on their shoulder stopped them in their tracks. Both Elliot and Lyra turned to see Karine standing there, arms crossed firmly over her chest.

Lyra recognized that look and instantly released their grip on Elliot’s hand. “Go get some tea, sunshine. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Elliot didn’t move. “Wh-What’s going on?” He shakily asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about, bud,” Karine assured him. “I just need to talk to Lyra for a second. That’s all.”

Elliot wasn’t convinced, but it wasn’t in his nature anymore to disobey. Once he had disappeared beyond the confines of the kitchen walls, Lyra turned to Karine and raised their brows. “What is it, Kar?” they whispered.

“We need to talk.”

Lyra rolled their eyes. “Yeah, I guessed as much. What do you think we need to talk about?”

Karine wasn’t amused. With a deadly serious expression on her face, she said, “About why you kept those pictures.”

-

Chapter 22 is finally out! Now I have a couple drabble requests to get to that have been sitting in my inbox for who knows how long.😅

Taglist:

@l-antre-des-merveilles @pigeonwhumps @nicolepascaline @burningkittypoet @whumpinggrounds @suffering-and-misery @make-them-scream-blog @honeycollectswhump @rabass @whumpdreamz @clairelsonao3 @ofclrosewriteswhump @cepheusgalaxy @pinkraindropsfell @mj-or-say10 @considerablecolors @whatamidoingherehelpme @whumped4whumplover @ladybizarre13 @theaustralianfrog @lavndvrr @bitchaknso @ivymyers @hellodecisionparalysis

If anyone would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please let me know!😊

[rose-of-oz]

OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE 2024 — Day Thirty-One: Here’s A Treat!

The Halloween potluck isn’t happening this year but we still want to encourage interaction and giving. So, choose someone to give a treat! This could be an ask, an edit, some writing, or even a playlist.

Neveah Landon (The Addams Family) for @ginevrastilinski-ocs!!

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom,

@auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs,

@reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations,

@stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs,

@luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @oneirataxia-girl,

@arrthurpendragon, @surebrecs, @gabbysdawsons,

@dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @stelstellakidd,

@manyfandomocs, @lapinaquarelle, @partiallypearl, @welcometotheocverse,

@juliaswickcrs, @ocappreciationtag.

[g-on-ef]

Helloo so excited for the upcoming updatesss

Can you tell us anything about the new nikobran story and what to expect?

As a matter of fact I can ^^

Also I wanted everyone to know while I haven't stuck to my schedule I plan to do so from here on out !!! I want to stick to this schedule so please please please PLEASE PLEASE don't hesitate to send me endless messages about updates because I need reminders !!!

Okay now onto the updates

September 6th~ Born Sinner {I'll also be posting a giveaway so stay tuned for that}, new nikobran stories thats right there's gonna be two new stories ^^

September 7th~ The Heart was build to break {its under construction so be prepared to read some changes in the upcoming month}

September 8th~ The Secret that revealed us

And that's it ^^ as for a sneak preview ... ... ... I'll give you two

1st one is gonna be a 5 chpt story and I'm excited for this one ^^

The 2nd one here's a sneak preview

Bran stared at the Mafia princes Jeremy Volkov Nikolai Sokolov and Vaughn Morozov he shouldn't be here Landon warned him to stay away from the Heathens and yet...and yet he couldn't resist the pull he felt towards these guys not when Nikolai kissed him, or when Jeremy jereked him off after a ride on his motorcycle, or when Vaughn fingered him in his bedroom while fucking Landon and his cousins were downstairs he tried to fight it but he couldn't.

"So our little prince showed up," Vaughn smirked as he licked his lips and stared at him.

Bran squirm and tried his hardest not to cover himself. He was stark naked while they were fully clothed.

"And he's ready for our long evening together isn't he?" Nikolai said, his smirk made Bran want to punch him.

And there you go ^^ can't wait to see your guys reactions when I post these ^^

[ginger-grimm]

MEET GREER GRIMM'S FAMILY

Lukas Grimm - Father

Gretel Grimm - Mother

Landon Grimm - Oldest Brother

Griffin Grimm - Older Brother

Greer Grimm

Hero Grimm - Younger Brother

Leander Grimm - Youngest Brother

Hansel Grimm - Maternal Uncle

TAGLIST: @waterloou @eddysocs ​ @ocs-supporting-ocs @foxesandmagic @veetlegeuse @decennia @hiddenqveendom @arrthurpendragon @luucypevensie @nikosasaki @noratilney @wordspin-shares @oneirataxia-girl @endless-oc-creations @lucys-chen @andromedalestrange @wewereforever @daughter-of-melpomene @bibaybe

[aikaterini-drag]

Chapter 1 Ensnared

Summary: The Winter Soldier was cold and calculated, his power raw and brutal. Grace Landon was kind and calm, similar to gentle waves dancing on the shore. She was his mission. His target. But he would soon find out that she was all he could ever ask for; his salvation, his whole world. She held the key to his redemption, the missing piece of his desolate world. But... could his dream of having her come true? James Bucky Barnes was ready to crawl to the surface and discover the truth.

Warnings (whole series): Violence, Non-Con Abduction, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Sexual Tension, First Time, Emotional Sex, Protective Bucky, Angst with a Happy Ending, Soft Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering,Barnes Gets all the Love he deserves.

Find more chapters of the "Fading Scars" Series here ♡

Author's notes: Hello, friends!! Follow Bucky on this path of self-discovery, healing, and love. He will rise from the shadows of his past and turn into a beacon of hope and love.

The events of this story take place somewhere after "The Winter Soldier". Steve falls from the bridge and Bucky saves him. However, in my fiction, Hydra somehow manages to re-capture Bucky and trigger the Winter Soldier in him.

The plot will flow according to my interpretations of the story. I won’t follow canon events and use my own ideas to create an engaging and sizzling romance. Content warnings will be added when needed.

Happy reading, Aikaterini ♡

The room was cold, seeping into his bones. A solitary light flickered in the distant corner, casting eerie shadows as the low thrum of machines buzzed incessantly in his ears. His hands, clenched into fists, gripped the cold metal bars that restrained him. He bit down on the retainer between his lips, a silent testament to his resolve.

Above him, a dome of gleaming metal stretched like a dome, its cylindrical rods encircling him with an unsettling grace. Bolts of lightning came from the rods, igniting a frenzied tempo in his chest. Gradually, the curved rods descended and closed around him, encompassing his head. He had gotten used to the pain, the agony. But lately, the torture had intensified beyond measure, reducing him to a mere doll.

Blinding beams of light seared through his cells, rendering him numb to all but the searing agony coursing through his brain. His hoarse screams echoed like a roar in the room. He was burning, pushed past the limit he had grown accustomed to enduring. It was endless, merciless, and above all, effective; it wiped even the most inconsequential fragments of memory from the depths of his mind.

No matter how hard he struggled to safeguard some of the memories of the past, his every effort crumbled. The early days of his military service were entirely disposed of as was the time spent with Steve, his best friend. Each time he remembered who he was, he was wiped clean again.

The lights drew back, the pressure against his temples gone.

Then everything stopped.

No questions.

No will of his own.

Stars erupted in front of his eyes, his stomach writhing under the onslaught of pain. He did nothing. He stayed strapped and mute; obedient just as they had programmed him to act. His world stood empty, a desolate landscape with no colors. And his heart felt void and poisoned.

And then, came the words.

Longing Rusted Seventeen Daybreak Furnace Nine Benign Homecoming One Freight car

Uttered in Russian, the heavy code phrases triggered his brain, complete submission washing over his entire being. His mind was rewritten by his enemies, it did not belong to himself but to a shadow of a man; a cruel, heartless assassin, bound by the compulsion to kill.

The Winter Soldier.

Blood-thirst coursed through his veins, a raw need to complete his every mission running through and through. The Soldier did not show fear, he did not forgive and he certainly did not spare his targets. He was an elite assassin, infused by the serum that granted him the power to infiltrate and assassinate.

And he was the best because he obeyed.

Every time.

"Soldat?"

A rough voice awoke him from his daze and he turned to face the burly man addressing at him. He was holding a red notebook, a black star etched in the middle of its cover... the cursed book. The Winter Soldier merely nodded at his words, well aware that it wasn't his place to do anything but listen and obey. Pleased, the man sealed the ominous notebook and spoke once more.

"You've got a new mission. Seize and capture. No witnesses," he said and tossed a brown envelope into his lap.

Slowly, the metal restricting him unclasped and The Winter Soldier replied, "Ready to comply."

Walking on shaky legs, the Soldier entered his cell where he was prepared for the task. More leather straps were added across his chest, constricting him over his vest. With deft precision, he secured blades and ammunition, concealing extras within his boots. Two guns were holstered at his sides and he was finally ready.

Once he was left alone, he opened the envelope he was handed and studied its contents. He usually didn't need more than a few minutes to study his mission and devise a strategy. Yet, as he glanced at the scattered papers, his gaze fell upon a certain photograph and the name of his target.

Grace Landon.

His cold blue eyes drifted to the woman's face, lingering on her warm, caramel hair and the depths of her hazel eyes. He memorized everything about her; her name, her age, her childhood, all the way to her daily routine. During the last two months, she had been working at a small bakery in California. And from what was included in the file, she and followed the same pattern every day—work then back home and repeat.

Browsing through her medical files, the Soldier found out she had a fragile constitution. She was weak and asthmatic since birth. Her records also mentioned that she was heavily traumatized and that the slightest exposure to violence led to panic attacks.

She was an easy target. Something unusual in his field of practice.

A sharp kick at the door notified him that his time was up. Clasping the documents in a viselike grip, he headed out. A sharp pain caused him to sidestep and lean against the was. The ache jabbed his skull, feeling as if tiny needles pricked at his nerves. There was so much he had to recall. But the Winter Soldier didn't let him win. He brought him back to his mission, killing his real self, killing James Bucky Barnes.

The assassin prevailed, grasping control of the situation. Wearing the cold mask of a killer, he exited the secret compound and rode his bike, dead-set to fulfill his mission—the mission that, unbeknownst to him, held the power to irrevocably alter the course of his existence.

▪️▪️▪️

Grace murmured a happy tone as she conducted the usual check before leaving the bakery. She made sure that everything was sparkly clean and that the pastries and desserts were ready for tomorrow, meticulously stored and safely refrigerated. She had also come up with a new menu concept for the shop which she was going to share with her boss tomorrow.

As she peeled off her apron, she exchanged the usual goodbyes with her coworkers then headed out with a carefree smile. It was way past 10 and she couldn't wait to go home, cook a delicious meal, and lay lazily on the couch for the remainder of the night while watching TV.

The night's oppressive darkness spurred her to hasten her pace, street lamps illuminating her form with a warm glow. She caught the next bus and got off a few stops later, walking along a pebbled road. She passed through the bustling main street, then veered into a long, shadowed alley, a mere five-minute walk from her apartment.

It was awfully quiet that night and the unsettling silence awakened goosebumps on her skin. She had that awful feeling that someone had eyes on her. The sinister awareness disquieted her. A surge of instinct propelled her forward, the quickening rhythm of her steps halting abruptly with a thin scream.

A cat saw fit to leap in front of her, a thin purr reverberating from her furry chest.

Grace breathed in relief and rubbed a palm over her beating heart. She rushed ahead, swiftly crossing the next two blocks. Her fingers fumbled within her purse, grasping for her keys. Another sound caught her attention, it was supremely faint and she soon realized it. And from the dark silhouette lurking in the shadows. A man. She could feel the darkness and danger he emanated.

Without a second thought, she thrust her feet, speeding away. But she didn't make more than two steps. He lunged at her, his grip clamping onto her shoulder. Whoever that man was, he didn't appear human. She screamed but a large palm slapped over her mouth, and a metal— a metal arm curled around her neck.

A metal arm...

He was working for them; Hydra.

She thrashed and panted, cold sweat running down her temples.

A light kick at the back of her knee and she lost her balance, her back colliding with the ground. Her breath hitched, pain spreading through her. Her gaze was forced skyward, at the towering silhouette looming above her. She couldn't see his face clearly. A mask was fitted over his mouth and nose, revealing a pair of crystalline eyes gleaming in the night, an enigma within an enigma. He was clad in black from head to toe, with leather buckles and belts encompassing his chest.

She struggled against her captor's restraint but he yanked her up as if she weighed nothing and slapped a hand over her mouth. Her muffled screams went unheard as he maneuvered her, his metal hand tightening painfully around her waist. He carried her away, her flailing and wriggling doing nothing to stop him.

Panic burned her chest and she found it hard to breathe, her lungs suffocating. She fought for air but his tight grip on her only worsened the rush of heat on her face. Tears followed, drenching her cheeks, mingling with the hand that stifled her cries. He injected her then, her energy waning to the syringe's vile contents. The grip upon her mouth loosened and she looked up at him, barely hanging on reality.

"You're with Hydra, aren't you?" She shouted with an effort that seemed to squeeze every bit of air from her lungs. "Let me go— I won't let you—"

Pretending to be in intense distress, she went limp in his arms. That caused the Soldier to momentarily loosen his grip. She waited a few moments before twisting, using her flexibility to maneuver her body and slip from his grasp. Her facade took him by surprise, especially when she, delivered her strike, her fingers jabbing into his eyes. The impact didn't hurt him but startled him enough to make him stumble back. 

She raced away, swift as a startled deer, weaving through alleyways and screaming out her lungs. But there was no one to offer comfort or aid. No faces appeared at windows or doorways. Her echoing footsteps and hoarse yells turned into a symphony of isolation. What had he done? And then, as if answering her question, his silhouette emerged from above. He seized her, his grasp unyielding and commanding.

"No!" She let out a heart-wrenching scream. "Hydra scum! Release me! I despise them! I despise you!"

He didn't reply.

With robotic movements, he taped her mouth shut and maintained his grip on her, moving forward with unwavering purpose, his strides relentless. Dread flooded her; he had drugged, and stolen her away beneath the shroud of night. She was powerless. Cold sweat gathered at her forehead as the chokehold of terror constricted her ability to speak.

Swallowing the ache that worked its way into her throat, she attempted to beg the masked devil, appeal to his sensitivity, if there ever was one. But in truth, she was merely whispering as if speaking in her sleep. Because with every passing second, she was drifting into the darkness, the drug making her numb and dizzy.

In the end, the tears dried, her eyelids closing, succumbing to the darkness.

She was unconscious, ensnared by The Winter Soldier.

▪️▪️▪️

Grace opened her eyes, reluctantly welcoming the world around her. Her head was pounding, a searing pain hitting the base of her skull. She was lying down, she noticed, in a dark and cold room. Memories of zoning in and out of consciousness flashed through her mind. A stranger had given her water, then injected something into her veins, forcing her back into sleep.

As she looked around, she couldn't miss the red dot flashing at the upper corner, a camera was keeping track of her. She was trapped in a small, sparsely furnished room with just a bed and a tiny bathroom. Grace noticed that the camera couldn't peer into the bathroom. An old bulb hung from the ceiling, its light trembling, fading.

There were no windows, no way out; only metal walls surrounding her.

As her memories cleared, terror ran through her at the thought of the man in black, with inhuman eyes and impossible strength. She could still feel the soreness, a bruise forming from where the metal hand had squeezed her waist. Despite her growing awareness, she still felt exhausted and weak.

Her eyes swept across the dimly lit room until she spotted her captor seated in the far corner of the room, his massive figure cloaked in shadows. Her body jolted from the bed, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was him. The masked captor. He was barely visible from the shadows but she noticed he wasn't wearing a mask. The air charged with his energy. He remained unflinching, like a statue carved from marble, one hand outstretched right next to his gun on the table.

Grace wished she could hurt him with her stare. He had caused all this ordeal. He had manhandled her, drugged her, and imprisoned her in this wretched place. Oh, how she hated Hydra. Anger surged within her, and at the same time, her eyes couldn't stop studying him, searching even the slightest clue in the blue depths of his eyes. What had they done to him to make him so inhuman?

Allowing a rush of adrenaline to empower her, Grace crawled from her spot on the bed, her legs unsteady. Hindered by the drugs, she stumbled, her balance faltering. She tried to re-orient herself but lost her balance. Yet, before she could hit the ground, a pair of arms wrapped around her sore waist. She hissed and he immediately altered his grip before scooping her in his arms.

She wiggled and yelled, terrified to the bone. He ignored her, again and lowered her onto the bed, studying her condition. Seizing the opportunity, Grace examined him just as closely. He was large, towering over her by at least two heads, his build muscular and commanding attention. Defined cheekbones framed his face, and a couple of days' worth of stubble covered his jaw. His hair was long, a tousled mane of dark brown waves, framing his face in an artful disarray.

And his eyes... his eyes were a surreal shade of deep, smoky blue that seemed to hold countless pain within. Despite his cold demeanor, she sensed an underlying loneliness hiding in his irises. Aware of her scrutiny, she scrambled back and retreated to the far corner of the bed. She refused to let her thoughts take such a turn toward the man who had treated her harshly.

"Who are you?" she asked, hugging her legs to her chest.

Again no answer came.

"They are using you, aren't they?" She tried again. "Do you even know they're taking advantage of you?"

She sighed at the silence. "Perhaps you're in a worse spot than I."

"Why are you doing this to me?" She chucked. "Apologies, I forgot. Hydra likes its victims mute and easy to suppress, right? I suppose you're in poor fate as well."

Her words seemed to stir him from his reverie, whether for better or worse. He moved one knee, advancing on the bed and adjusting his posture to match her height. She winched when he leaned in as close to her as he could. An unreadable expression was painted on his face, one that melted away as their eyes locked.

Grace fell victim to his impossibly blue eyes — eyes as blue and clear as the open sky. A desire to resist, to shout, surged within her, yet her body remained unresponsive to her commands. Instead, an intimate unease gripped her, suppressing the fear.

"I've done nothing to harm you. Why subject me to this?" she told him, stunned by her own bravery.

Once more, he remained silent, though his eyes narrowed, slight wrinkles forming at their corners. The first genuine flicker of emotion surfaced, a mix of confusion and distress. She couldn't understand what he was going through. Not even the Soldier himself was aware that Bucky Barnes was struggling to reach the surface.

"Don't fight back," said a husky baritone, the voice of Bucky Barnes resurfacing from his deep sleep.

Her heart slammed in her chest. "Wh... Why?"

"Do as you're told. Submit."

"Submit? To Hydra?" She scowled. "Never."

"Listen here—"

"No. I don't trust you," Grace said in one breath.

He took in the sight of her and exhaled. "Do you think this a game? A dream?"

"I wish it were," she replied, grief in her tone. "Please release me. There's still time—"

"No."

The moment he voiced his reply, he recoiled, distancing himself abruptly. A second later, the door swung open, and two armed men eased inside. Grace ran to the corner of the room, it was futile, she knew, but she couldn't stay still. The men approached her and she bent to her knees, begging. But what was she even doing? She had lost the game. She would never receive help from anyone in Hydra.

She was grabbed by the elbows, strong hands holding her in place. They hauled he to her feet and forced her to walk into corridors surrounded by gray walls, accented with metal in places. They were so many, it was like a maze. Considering the constant whirring of the ventilation system, Grace was certain of it now, she was held in an underground compound.

When the procession halted, they abandoned her in a dark room. The lights turned on and her stare darted on a chilling sight. The room was yet another prison, engulfed by metal bars. It was dominated by computers, with a chair at its center adorned with leather straps and metallic restraints. Above the chair, loomed a thick cylindrical structure that emitted a low, ominous hum. People in lab coats entered, pacing around, entirely ignorant of her, fully focused on whatever their task was.

"Feigning bravery is futile, Gracie. You can't escape."

Grace faltered at the nickname and the disturbingly familiar voice. In stunned disbelief, her gaze fell upon the man easing inside. Dressed immaculately in a sharp suit, he was focused intently on his tablet. Her chin quivered, her voice faltering as she summoned the strength to utter his name.

"Silas."

[twisting-echo]

(Click on picture for better quality)

Woo! I've had this huge manip/edit idea stuck in my head ever since the prompts were decided!

So, I have two Soulmates AUs embodied here. One is the Colorblind AU, and the other is the Red String of Fate AU.

The Colorblind AU is an AU where individuals are born colorblind, seeing the world only in shades of gray. However, when they meet their soulmate—whether through eye contact, touch, or some other connection—their vision suddenly bursts into full color. It’s a beautiful metaphor for finding completeness and connection with another person. 

The Red String of Fate AU is an AU where a red thread connects two people who are destined to be soulmates. The thread is always tied to their index, pinky, or ring finger. As they get closer to each other, the string becomes more visible, signifying their proximity to their soulmate. Some people don’t have this string, and for various reasons, some strings turn black. Legend has it that if soulmates share the same or similar loops or knots on their fingers, their bond can transcend lifetimes—even death can’t permanently separate them. 

In my soulmates AU, Belle and Sulley were, like most, born colorblind. The time either of them saw a color for the first time was when they noticed something around their finger. The colored thread was very faded and transparent at first, but started becoming more vibrant and apparent as time went on. They discovered that the mysterious thread was very long and seemed endless. It could phase through objects and walls. And they learned that they were the only ones who could see it. When they both decided to follow their strings, they found each other in full, bright, color~

Whenever I think of a Colorblind Soulmates AU, I hear the song “Darling I Do” by Landon Pigg and Lucy Schwartz play in my head, so the screenshots of Belle walking by a tree to her village, the sky above Monstropolis, and the bottom manip I edited coincide with the opening lyrics of the song.

For Belle x Sulley Week 2024

Day seven: Soulmates

Ship: Belle/Sulley (Belley/Sullelle)

Tag: @frie-ice and @twisting-echo

[whispers-soundtrack-project]

The Last Of Us

Fanmix - Part One

Link to the Spotify Playlist is at the bottom of the post

Note: This fanmix was originally posted here, but I am currently in the process of restructuring and reposting all of my playlists!

Red Tide (Rush) Nature has some new plague * To run in our streets * History some new wrinkle * We are doomed to repeat

Sound Off The Sirens (Sam Tinnesz) Yeah bang there goes the sky * All the shots ring out in the dead of night * There’s tension in your eyes * ‘Cause we all know what’s on the line

Fragile Minds (Cinematic Version) (Silent Theory) It’s getting harder to know if I’m sane * My issues are leaking outside of my veins * Somebody save me or end me * I haven’t yet made up my mind

The Way It Ends (Landon Pigg) Run * Is this to be our fate * Hide * Freedom is ours as long as we escape * We walk in the shadows * We do * Find out what we all know * Our time is near

Survivalist (Anica) They say we should have known * It stays until it goes * Faster than it ever came * Stay warm until it snows * No one will ever know * Just how much a soul can take

Iron (Acoustic) (Woodkid) The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head, * The thunder of the drums dictates * The rhythm of the falls the number of dead * The rising of the hordes ahead

United (Hidden Citizens, ft. Ranya) Silent we stand on this burnt ground * Dust off the ash, we’re closer now * Breaking our cover, cover * Don’t want to keep my head down * Stronger beside each other

End Transmission (Fire From The Gods) Where did we go? How could we stray so far away? * Delusional, tell me that we’re not the ones to blame * I suggest you walk this lonely road * To find redemption and become a hero

Fire On The Mountain (Rob Thomas) How do you sleep while the city’s burning? * Where do you go when you can’t go home? * How do you drink when there’s blood in the water? * Where do you turn when the world moves on?

Daylight (Asia) All of the nights when the light was low and day seemed so far away * Darkness was endless and I kept seeing ghosts turn in shades of grey * I wanted to see things just the way they used to be * Don’t want those shadows hanging over me

[landonkirbyappreciation]

endless gifs of Landon Kirby (25/?)

[townsenddecades]

1329 – Day 1- Townsend Farm

While those life-changing events are happening in their kin’s households, summer is peaceful on the Townsend farm. The work seems nearly endless, but it is manageable, and Malika is determined to enjoy as much time outside as she can until adverse weather banishes her inside again in autumn and winter. The promise of fruits to harvest – and thus nectar to make – is the only thing that makes her look forward to those years at all.

The other members of the household may not be looking forward to working the fields in pouring rain like they so often have to do in the autumn season, but they are looking forward to not having the sun constantly burn their backs.

There is another thing that causes some consternation for the Townsends: their tallage this year will be 12,750 simoleons, quite a significant sum even for them. They have the entire year to pay it off, but they will have to work hard to manage even that. And it won’t leave them much for improving their farm, or to save for Amye’s and Adeline’s dowries or whatever funds Frank or Edwin may need to make their way in life.

“The harvest will probably be good”, Benjamin says with a sigh as he, Malika and his father talk it over. “We will need to cinch our belts tighter for a while, but I think we will manage.”

The other two don’t disagree, but it’s still frustrating. Even more frustrating is that there is little they can do about it. It’s their lot in life as land-workers.

While his parents and grandfather worry about difficult topics like that, Malcolm still uses what hours he can spare to see Hawise. They’ve known each other for a year now, but to him, it feels far longer than that.

They meet at market or at the river crossing sometimes, but on other days, like that evening, he travels to the Chevalier home to see her. She tells him about his new cousin, a boy named Landon, but they soon drift into talking about what has been happening on the farm and the gossip she heard from town.

And they look up into the stars, trying to make out constellations. Honestly, Malcolm can’t imagine a prettier sight than her looking up at the starlit sky, moonlight shining in her eyes. Despite all his doubts about his suitability as a husband and father, he knows without a doubt that he is utterly in love with that girl.

All he needs now is the courage to tell her so.

Previous: 1329, Day 1, Part 4/5 <--> Next: 1329, Day 2, Part 1/3

[braveheart10]

My Favorite Couples pt. 1

1. Jack and Rose (Titanic) (my otp since birth) (do ppl still use otp?)

2. David and Jade (Endless Love)

3. Mary and Joey (Another Cinderella Story)

4. Landon and Jamie (A Walk to Remember)

5. William and Murron (Braveheart)

6. Cassie and Luke (Purple Hearts)

7. Stefan and Elena (The Vampire Diaries) (i’ll always mourn them)

8. Meg and Riley (Monte Carlo)

9. Austin and Ally (Austin and Ally)

[fuckyeahhandizzie]

When they graduate and get phones of their own, everyone expects Lizzie to get obsessed with social media. She likes posting pictures on Insta, but she doesn’t spend every day on her phone as people expect. Landon is too busy playing games to really do the social media thing.

What shocks everyone is that Hope gets obsessed with Tik Tok. She's on there like all the time, and she sends everyone else and endless amount of videos to watch.

Which only means that every day, she sits down with Landon and Lizzie to have "tik tok time" (which they're not complaining about)

[livelaughwhump]

what about elliot´s teammates having to restrain him for his own good, maybe he got flashbacks and got violent, like hitting his teammates and won´t calm down, i feel a lot of whump potential

i understand if its not your cup of tea in case you dont feel like writing it

Masterlist

Oooh, this is an excellent idea😈🥰 Thanks so much for the request!!

Content: flashback, knife violence, brief mention of blood, self-hatred, restraints, former pet whumpee

If I missed any content warnings, please let me know

-

The team wasn't unfamiliar with Elliot's flashbacks. They were typically triggered by small things, like loud noises or dark rooms, and they all manifested the same way; with Elliot frozen in place, tears leaking out of the corners of his wide, unblinking eyes and unintelligible mumbling followed by intense trembling of his whole body.

The team had witnessed many of these, and they'd learned a few methods to help bring Elliot out of it. The first was that Elliot seemed to respond best to physical touch, usually in the form of someone gently holding his hands. The second was kind words spoken softly and calmly into his ear. Finally, the third was patience. It wasn't easy to bring Elliot out of a flashback, especially when it was triggered by something larger. So, in order to bring him out of it, it was important for whoever was with him to be patient and calm throughout.

But nothing, not even the gentle methods the team had learned, could have prepared them for just how bad his flashbacks could get.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. The day started the same as always; the team ate breakfast together in the living room, Elliot sitting on the couch with his single slice of plain toast and cup of peppermint tea. He ate quietly, while the rest of the team chatted happily, making jokes and laughing with each other. Normally, he'd only eat about half of it, but on this particular day, he ate nearly the whole thing and drained his entire cup of tea.

He handed Landon the small sliver of toast he hadn't eaten, just like he did every morning, and stood up to take his empty mug to the kitchen. Elliot liked the routine. It was familiar and easy. Not much was expected of him, but it was just enough that he still felt useful. He liked making his own breakfast and doing his own dishes. He liked not being expected to talk when he didn't want to. As hard as it was to admit to himself, he liked his life with the team. They were nice to him. He trusted them.

As he was washing his mug in the sink, he couldn't help but stare out the window. Spring was swiftly approaching and Elliot couldn't look away as the morning rays of sun spilled through the gaps in the tree branches. He longed to go out there, to feel the warm sun on his face and the gentle breeze whistling through his hair.

Elliot couldn't remember the last time he'd been outside. It felt like years ago. It wasn't like he wasnt allowed to go outside. Of course he was...right? He'd never explicitly asked, but surely his friends wouldn't deny him that right. It's just that it was too cold before, that's all. There couldn't possibly be another reason.

"Elliot?"

The sound of another voice in the quiet kitchen pulled Elliot out of the endless spiral that was his thoughts. He started and gasped, only then realizing that the sink in front of him was quickly overflowing.

"Ah! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Elliot exclaimed, quickly draining the water. His muscles tensed as he prepared to be hit.

"No need to be sorry, sweet," Broderick's voice said from behind him. Chills scurried up the back of Elliot's neck as he felt the looming presence of the medic but didn't turn to look at him. "It was an accident. Did you get distracted?"

Elliot suppressed a flinch. "Y-Yes, Sir. I'm so sorry. It-It won't happen a—" Elliot's mind went white as he felt Broderick's presence grow closer, the wood creaking beneath his feet. Elliot's whole body froze.

"El?" Broderick said. "You all right? You look a little pale."

Dull images flashed through Elliot's mind, none of which he could comprehend. They swirled together and dissolved like salt in the sea, invisible but impossible to deny the lingering taste. The sudden influx of repressed memories left a rotten taste in his mouth; memories of Christian softly approaching him from behind, touching him, dragging him to the bedroom, stripping him of his dignity. He couldn't take it. The panic set every nerve in his body on fire, and as Broderick's gentle hand fell upon Elliot's stiff shoulder, all hell broke loose.

Elliot swiftly turned and slapped Broderick's hand away. "Don't touch me!" He shouted, tears stinging his eyes.

Broderick backed up, eyes wide with confusion. "Okay, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to startle you."

The next thing Elliot knew, there was a soapy knife in his hand. He didn't remember how it got there, but he shakily pointed it at Broderick regardless. "Get away from me!" He demanded, voice quivering almost as much as the knife in his fist.

Broderick was dumbstruck. "Elliot, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just trying to—"

"Shut up!" Elliot interrupted. "D-Don't come any c-closer! I'll k-kill you!"

Broderick took a small, risky step toward the panicked boy before him. His voice was gentle and soft as he said, "Elliot—"

Elliot didn't waste a second before he swung the knife, slicing a thin gash across Broderick's forearm. Broderick gasped and hissed and stumbled backward just in time for the rest of the team to spill into the room.

"What is going on?" Karine questioned. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. "Elliot?"

Tears were steadily trickling down Elliot's face. "L-Leave me alone! I w-won't let you t-take me! I won't!"

"Darling, no one is taking you anywhere," Yvonne tried to reassure him. "Please, put the knife down. It's just us."

"I don't think he's seeing us, Yve," Karine whispered. "Landon, I'm gonna need you to try and discreetly sneak up behind him and grab the knife. The three of us will distract him."

Lyra was frozen in place, unable to process what they were seeing.

As Landon soundlessly slipped away, Karine held out her hands placatingly. "Elliot, buddy? I'm gonna need you to put the knife down, okay? We're not gonna hurt you."

Elliot took a step back, arms shaking. "I w-won't let you t-take me!"

"We're not gonna touch you, I promise," Karine said. "We just wanna talk. Please put the knife down. You're gonna hurt yourself."

Elliot stood his ground, completely unaware of the giant man looming behind him. In one swift movement, Landon grabbed Elliot and plucked the knife out of his hands.

Elliot screamed in what could only be described as pure terror. He kicked and flailed, his fist nailing Landon right in the mouth before Landon caught both of his wrists and manhandled him. Elliot fought with every ounce of strength he could muster.

"LET GO OF ME! LET GO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!!" Elliot cried.

Landon wrapped him in a tight hug and whispered soothingly into his ear, "It's okay, it's okay. You're safe, buddy. You're safe." Over and over again.

Elliot's struggling didn't cease, and eventually, Karine had to grab hold of his flailing legs as well to prevent him from injuring anyone else, most of all himself. "Set him on the ground!" Karine shouted over Elliot's screams.

Lyra watched, tears blurring their eyes as Elliot was restrained and wrestled to the floor, all while sobbing and screaming and begging. The sight made their insides churn and their throat tighten.

Elliot sobbed and squirmed, but his fighting did little to free him. "P-Please, l-let me go. Wh-Why are you d-doing this?"

"You've gotta come back to us, buddy," Karine said in the most gentle voice she could. "You're home, safe and sound. No one is going to hurt you anymore. Just take a deep breath." Karine glanced over her shoulder at Lyra, who was still as a statue. "Lye? Can you grab us a weighted blanket please? Lyra? Lyra!"

Lyra snapped out of it, their focus shifting from Elliot to Karine. "Y-Yes. I-I'll be right back." They hurried into their room and grabbed the heaviest weighted blanket they had. When they returned, Karine had released Elliot's legs and Landon only had a loose hold on Elliot's upper half.

The boy had ceased his struggling and had instead dissolved into a sobbing mess. As Lyra handed off the weighted blanket to Karine, Landon released Elliot. The blanket was draped over Elliot's shaking body.

"Lyra? Maybe you should try to talk to him," Karine suggested.

Lyra nodded and kneeled down beside him. "Sunshine? Can you hear me?"

Elliot kept his eyes trained on the floor and the droplets of crimson that Broderick had left behind. The smallest nod of his head was the only response he gave.

"How are you feeling?"

Lyra didn't expect an answer, or really any kind of indication that Elliot had heard them. They weren't surprised when Elliot remained completely frozen in place, eyes unblinking and skin as pale as bone.

Lyra didn't push Elliot to speak. Instead, they sat beside him as he watched Karine wipe up the blood. Once the kitchen floor was no longer peppered with red, Karine excused herself and left Lyra and Elliot to themselves.

Moments after Karine's departure, Elliot said, in the tiniest voice possible, "Did I h-hurt him?"

His voice was so small and meek that Lyra wasn't even completely sure that they'd heard him. "What was that, El?"

Elliot took a deep breath and repeated his question, a little louder this time. "D-Did I h-hurt him?"

Lyra didn't know how to answer. They didn't want to make him feel worse by being truthful, but they couldn't stand lying to him either. "It was just a little cut," they answered, keeping their voice soft so as not to frighten him. "Broderick will be fine. He's a medic, after all. He's used to dealing with this kind of stuff."

Those words did nothing to ease Elliot's grief. "I hurt him," Elliot mumbled, his voice quivering almost as much as the rest of him. Tears flooded his blood-shot eyes and he sniffled. "I'm a b-bad dog."

Lyra didn't know what to do. It had been nearly a month since Elliot had last called himself a dog, and the last thing they wanted was for him to regress. Internally panicking, Lyra said, "It wasn't your fault. I don't know what happened, but I know it wasn't your fault."

Elliot's tears started to fall. "H-How do you kn-know?"

"Because I know you," they asserted. Elliot finally looked up at them, eyes watery and filled with regret. Lyra gently wiped his tears. "You're a good person, Elliot. A good person that's gone through some terrible things. You've been hurt and taken advantage of and abused, but you are still a good person and you always will be. You'd never hurt anyone on purpose, let alone one of us."

Elliot looked away. "Is he m-mad at me?"

Lyra shook her head. "He could never be mad at you. No one here could. We love you too much."

Elliot sniffled again and leaned his head on her shoulder. Lyra opened her arms and gathered him in a tight hug. He laid his head on her chest, his remaining tears soaking through the fabric.

"I've got you, sunshine," Lyra whispered. Elliot snuggled against her, curling up on her lap like a child after a nightmare. There was no place on Earth he felt safer than in her arms. She rubbed gentle circles into her back and carded her fingers through his hair. "I've got you."

-

Thanks so much for the request! I hope you enjoyed this! Also, please let me know if I have any typos. I didn't really get the chance to proofread this.

If anyone else has any drabble requests, suggestions, or questions for me or my characters, please send me an ask!

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