#my life is a farce and an agony

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

guess who spent the past week unwittingly getting repeatedly super exposed to ✨covid✨???

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Angst, grief, sorrow, fighting.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels, here is the next chapter hehe, bit of a sad one but what do we expect from SF&A at this point? Lmaooo. I've almost completely finished writing the whole series, so updates may become more regular as I pump it all out for you. What a journey this has been! Enjoy <3

Chapter 92: Burn Together

To say that things went back to normal would be a farce.

It was all a farce. 

The fake smiles. The small nods. The words of affirmation and condemnation. The false sense of security and even falser acts of content. It was all wrong. It was all changed. And it was all too much.

You spend much of your days in the Garden, sat where you were usually seated, staring out at the water as you tried to uphold some sense of strength. Tried to show some vision of superiority and that the loss of the child was divine intervention. As though the anger and hurt had gone, as though the sadness and regret had left, because you knew it was for the better, or perhaps the Gods had told you so. 

Words came to you rarely as you began to shrink into yourself again, but with each shrinking moment came the bursting strikes of life. Not happiness or joy, not frustration or longing, pure and uncontested rage.

Rage that it happened.

Rage that he had done nothing.

Rage at your stupidity.

Rage at your desire for more.

Aemond did not try to pry words from you, nor did he even try to touch you. He simply let you exist around him, giving you the space to come to him when needed. Late at night, in the darkness of the chambers you would roll to face him, and the most bitter of sobs would leave your lips. 

At first Aemond had been uncertain, and stayed still amongst the sheets, unsure of whether or not to hold you or offer you support. But when you had rolled and pressed yourself into his side, his arms had curled around you in a way that felt natural, as though your body was made to fit between his in such a way, and let you cry against his chest. 

Your clothes, your maids noticed, had begun to wear large on you, finding that you had no want to eat nor any appetite to do so. Even with the gentle encouragement of them both, you still did not find the heart to do it, looking at the bowl of star fruit in front of you, stomach full of lead. 

But Aemond allowed you to do it. 

He allowed you to grieve, but at some point, everyone has their limit, and it seemed that tonight was the night for his. 

“You need to eat, Y/n. You need move past this grief. Do not let it consume you.” He implored, grasping at your cheeks.

You pulled away from him, looking up at him with a shaky lip, “Nothing you do will ever make this okay! Nothing you say will take away what you have already done, or what you are to do.”

“What are you talking about?” He questioned, deep lines in his brow.

“This! Us!” You broke, “All of it. It seems as though the Gods have destined us with nothing but pain and agony, and how much more must I bear? My heart cannot take it, Aemond.” A tear slid down your cheek, “I am tired, but more than this I am so alone. So very much alone even with you standing in front of me. Even as I can reach out and touch you with mine own hands. Even as you promise me sweet nothings, I know that it will never be enough to satiate the hungers of the punishments I will soon be lashed with.”

Aemond shook his head, stepping forward towards you again, “Do you think I am going to hurt you? I’m not going to punish you for losing the child. It was not your fault.”

A sob fell from your lips, “Then why do I feel one coming? Why do I always feel as though I am one hair away from your cruelty? We take one step forward together and five steps back. I have given you everything, and yet what do you give me? Nothing. You did nothing. You stood there and watched as I was brought before Aegon. What if it had been me? I thought it was going to be me! And you stood there like a craven and just watched.”

His violet eye blinked at you, the sapphire beside it, still.

You sucked in a breath again, “You watched as your precious wife, the mother to your child, was brought to the throne by force. You watched as Aegon threatened to take my tongue. And what did you do, Aem? You stood there and did fucking nothing!” Anger rose within you, bubbling viciously beneath your skin, “You stood there like a craven as your brother accused me of treason! Your wife! Your supposed love! Your one childhood companion who did nothing but defend you, no matter the odds or punishment! It has always been me. I have been the only one to ever love you. The only one to ever care. The only one to ever defend you. How many times did I do that for you? From the training yard, to the dragon pit, to the Sept. And when the time came for you to defend my honour, you were that same, scared little boy who would hide in the tunnels after his brother would tease him.” Heat rose on your cheeks as you looked at your uncle, his face stern and his eye narrowed.

"You expected me to do what?" Aemond snapped, "What did you expect me to do in that moment? I was not even told you were being brought to the chambers. I could not have possibly done anything that would not have made it worse. If Aegon had seen me react, he would have delighted in the sight and been moved to do more."

You scoffed, “I am burdened with being wed to a coward who hides behind the illusion of duty. A man who cannot even stand up to his drunken, pathetic, whoring brother.” You forced out a humourless laugh, watching as Aemond became irritated, “My husband who rides the largest dragon in the world, my husband who is a skilled warrior; sits and waits to be told what to do like a dog. Doing everyone else’s bidding.” You stepped closer to him, eyeing him down, “If I had not seen your cock, I would have suspected you were a eunuch.”

“My duty is to my brother, to my mother. To my blood.” He sneered.

“And what of my blood, Aemond? What of our union? What of the prophesies from the Gods? Did they not command you to act as you watched me be dragged by men into the throne room? That babe may have been the Prince that was Promised, and now it is gone. Because of you.”

Aemond huffed, “I could do naught! He is my brother. He is the King.”

“And I am your wife! And the blood of the dragon between us runs thicker than the water of the womb you have shared. Like a scared little boy. Never have I seen you so pathetic. You left me for dead.”

Aemond scowled, “I would never do that to you.”

“And yet, you did. You left me at the hands of your brother. And you watched. You have only lost one eye, yet you are so blinded by your duty to them. I feel as though I have died already. I died the moment I watched you do nothing, as those men touched me, as the pain creeped into my womb. I died the moment I realised I meant nothing to you, and that you would let my fate fall into Aegon’s hands. Is this a cruel joke from the Stranger? Is my true reality too grievous for my soul to take? Am I destined for all eternity to love a man who does not love me back?”

“I do love you.” Aemond insisted, frustration in his tone.

“Then why do you let them hurt me?!” You cried, “Why do you hurt me? The Gods play tricks on my mind and my body, and punish me for your actions. She was your whore. Your bastard. And yet I was punished for it. Not you. Me.”

“I lost the child too, do you not think that it pains me so?”

“I know it does not! You did not feel it as I felt. You did not feel the life leave my body, or the pain that came after. You did not feel it pass through me.” You sniffed, another tear falling.

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked down at you, voice dangerously low, “I thought I lost you both.”

“And that is where the sickness and depravity of the Gods come to fruition. It is a never ending cycle of hurt and be hurt. I do not know what they have planned for me, but I fear it, Aemond. I fear the path they have paved for me. That child was from them, I know it. I felt it in my bones. And yet we lost it. Will they punish me now for being so careless? Will they punish us both for not ensuring its birth? I cannot continue to wreak the consequences of the men around me. I will break. I will break like poor Helaena did. But even to that, there is nothing I can do because I fell in love with a man who’s actions wound me most terribly. There is this small, foolish piece of me still holding onto hope that the Aemond I grew up with would still care for me as he did.”

“I do. I love you deeply. I would do anything for you, surely you know this.” Aemond began, stepping forward to hold your face tightly in his large palms, thumbs brushing the tears that fell from your cheeks.

“It is okay,” You heaved a breath, “Please just tell me if it is a farce.” You grabbed his wrists almost desperately, “If you only say it so for the treaty. I will understand, I will even make my peace with it.” You said desperately,  “But please, I cannot survive my heart being torn apart by you any longer. I cannot do it, Aemond. I won’t. I will throw myself from Maegor’s Holdfast, I promise you this. I will set you free from these marriage bonds if you so wish, and my spirit from this earthly plane.”

Aemond stepped towards you, grabbing your shoulder and neck, fingers framing your chin, “Avy jorrāelan.” I love you, “Eman va moriot jorrāelatan ao.  Kesan va moriot jorrāelagon ao.  Se qēlossās kostagon ropagon hen se jēdar, se nyke iēdrosa jorrāelagon ao.” I have always loved you. I will always love you. The stars could fall from the sky, and I would still love you.  

Aemond’s eye narrowed as he spoke, brow furrowed in a way that creased the scar at his brow, “Eman jorrāelatan ao pār nyke ēlī ilagontan laesi va ao.  Se kesan jorrāelagon ao ēva ñuha mōrī jelevre.” I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. And I will love you until my last breath.

A loud sob left your lips as your heart clenched in your chest at his words.

"Hen se gūrēñare yard, naejot se havor tistālion, ēza va moriot issare ao.” From the training yard, to the kitchen, it has always been you.

“Aemond.” You hands tightened around his wrists in a way that would have been painful as you clutched him for dear life.

The Prince pulled you forward towards him, clutching you against his chest as he let you cry, wrapping his large arms around you, blanketing you in a feeling of safety that only he could bring to you.

You cried into him, feeling the last of your resolve fall away, and the rawness of your grief exposed to the chambers. He held you to him tightly, afraid to let go, your hands tightly wrapped in the front of his tunic.

When Aemond finally pulled back, he brought his lips to yours. It wasn’t burning with passion or desire, it wasn’t laced with regret and grief, instead, his lips moved against yours like a gentle whisper of assurance, a smaller whisper of truth, and the almost invisible whisper of a promise, all of which was overpowered by one thing, and one thing only.

Love.

Your uncle pulled away, looking down at you with nothing but adoration as he spoke again,“Lanta rōvēgrie zaldrīzes perzyssy, hēnkirī hae mēre. Spool hen kasta, spool hen zōbrie. Iā rōvēgrie ropagon naejot letagon lanta hubon. Vējes naejot zālagon hēnkirī.” 

Two great dragon flames, together as one. Spool of green, spool of black. A great fall to tie two threads. Fated to burn together.  

Tears continued to fall, but not because of grief. Not because of the sorrow that swallowed you into its dark pit, its wispy tendrils pulling you beneath its icy surface. Not because of the regret that you had, or guilt that you felt for the Maester.

You cried because you knew it was the truth. 

You knew it to be.

It had to be. 

All of this could not be for naught.

“Avy jorrāelan.” I love you, He whispered again.

You gave him a sad smile in return, “And I love you, but I don’t think I will survive this.”

“I will not let them hurt you.” 

You looked at Aemond carefully, watching as the words left his mouth, at the way his eye held conviction, at the way his mouth held an almost Godly truth.

The way he said it to be true.

As though speaking would make it so.

“You already have.”

Aemond dipped his head towards you again and kissed you, pulling you against his body once more as you wrapped your arms around him, sighing into the kiss, feeling relief in his touch, safety in his arms, warmth in his reach.

Slowly Aemond moved you backwards towards the bed.

Your heart did not race nor skip, your breath did not hitch, and you went with him willingly, hands reaching the bottom of his tunic to begin unclasping the latches that held it together. 

When the last clasp was undone, your hands skated beneath gently, softly, slowly, and moved up his torso, feeling the hard lines of his body, and the warmth of his skin, and the subtle breaths that he took as you made your way to his shoulders, hands moving beneath to slide it off his his body. It fell to the floor, the next his under tunic, and before long, your hands reached forward to unlace his breeches. 

Aemond spun you softly, pushing your hair away from your neck and forward over your shoulder, kissing the bare skin as he unlaced and the back of your gown, the heavy material sagging on your body until it slid to the floor beneath you. 

Breeches and chemises were lost, boots and stockings tossed, until finally the two of you laid atop the green sheets of your bed, his callused hands skating over your skin in reverence, with undying patience and care. 

First he took you with his mouth, bringing you to your peak with the help of his long fingers, stretching you open for him and whispering words of praise against your slick skin. When you peaked with a cry, he kissed his way up your body, through the valley of your breasts until he hovered above you, seeking permission to move as he lined himself with your core. 

You tilted your head upwards, chasing his lips as he slid inside of you slowly, the both of you moaning into each others mouths. Pleasure coursed through you with every thrust, heat blooming in your core as he made love to you for the first time.

It was not possessive or rough, violent or haste, it was slow, and sensual, hands mapping out bodies, savouring the flickering sparks that spouted beneath your skin. The small sighs that he made, the moans as he dipped his head into your neck.

All of it devastatingly pure.

The tears came without you even noticing them there, Aemond finding them upon your cheeks with a moment of concern. He brushed the tears away from your cheeks as he stilled, the length of him throbbing inside of you, desperate to keep moving. 

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head vehemently, “I wish we hadn’t wasted so much time apart.” You whispered, hips moving up to meet his, encouraging him to move again, “I wish the war had not happened.” Aemond slid through your folds as you babbled beneath him, “I wish that we had not done the things we had done.” 

Aemond bent his neck to kiss you again, tongue chasing yours before he pulled away, the breath having been stolen from your lungs.

“We cannot go back, we can only move forward.”

You nodded, weakness and sorrow buried down beneath you as you looked at him with determination.

“Burn together.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[everlastingdream]

Murderer

BAM-BAM-BAM

"Open the door!" Annabel hears her father's yelling, while she's panting beside piano.

She turns around to see shaking door and Leo franticaly barricading it. Her fiance (even if it's not exactly like that anymore) trembles slightly from fear, adrenaline and effort, her gun rattles at her side.

"We need to move fast" Leo- Lenore tells her, marching past Annabel to check the windows. "Perhaps we'll be able to-"

"Please, pet, we both know my father alerted the whole mansion. We won't be able to run. And even if we were, then what are you planning to do?"

She sees Lenore's back stiffen, finely shaking hand grips her wounded hip. Lenore slowly turns around.

"I got the plan B in that case."

Annabel watches her taking revolver from its holster. Lenore opens cylinder to show wide-eyed Annabel two bullets.

"We may not said our vows but I promised in my heart long time ago to love you to the moment I die and beyond" Lenore puts the cylinder back in and steps forward. Her eyes taking the shine of madness. "Let's leave this world to the one where we are free to love."

Annabel follow her actions with incredulous eyes and finally smirks.

"Very funny, pet. Why should we both die?" She steps from piano, joltting the sheet music. Papers are flying on the floor. "We'll just say that I didn't know anything" pounding on the door becomes more frantic "Then I'll find the way for you not to be executed. Then we'll both live."

"What the hell, Annabel?" Lenore screams, waving the gun around. "Do you hear yourself!? What is your idea of living after that!?"

"We both knew that farce is not endless. Yes, I will need to marry some guy, you will be sent to asylum... But! I will ensure that it's a nice one and I'll be able to visit you sometimes." Annabel turns back to piano, fully immersed in the plan. Yes, the life will be hard, but it's deffinetly the most perfect outcome! "And after many years I think I would be able to get you out of there. Perhaps under pretence of teaching my kids to-"

When Annabel facing Lenore again, the blue eyes are dark and empty. Her hands are dropped without any strength. Lenore's face is filled with so much agony, that it's not even betrayal. Like she knew why Annabel was saying all of that but the mere thought pained her so much she wasn't able to move.

"So all of this is just some game to you" she murmurs and before Annabel has the chance to react, Lenore turns to the door, stiff. "Listen! I just wanted to love! And now, that Annabel Lee know I'm a woman, she hates me. Have it your way!"

Annabel takes confused step forward, mouth open to say something she will never remember.

And Lenore faces her again, gun to the head, with mad smirk that Annabel liked once.

"I love you, Annie. Please, at least cry about me a little. Even if it's a lie".

And then she shoots.

Annabel is not able to think, to move, to breathe. Lenore's body drops to the accomponiment of her father desparate screams. In Annabel's world everything deadly quite.

Please, she hadn't loved Lenore enough to go down with her, but it hasn't meant, she wanted her dead.

She hadn't loved Lenore enough. Hadn't loved. Hadn't...

Annabel looks away with force, tears her eyes from the pool of blood. And sees the sheet music that fell earlier. Lenore said she had surprise.

On the paper blood stains the title: "Annabel Lee".

And suddenly her heart is torn out of her chest. Annabel throws herself forward by the sheer will. She gathers Lenore's head to her chest, watching her blood blooming on her dress like a heart.

Annabel laughs mirthlessly. She doesn't have a heart. Lenore was her heart. And Annabel decieved even herself about her feelings.

She hadn't allowed herself to love Lenore fully, to open to her as fully as she had.

Annabel takes the gun with one remaining bullet to her chest, right upon Lenore's blood.

If there is somewhere after death, I wish we could be together again. I'll do anything for you, destroy everything in your way, sacrifice everyone and myself. And I will love you as you deserve to be loved.

When Deans tell her that she was killed by the person who loved her above all else, she almost giggles. Because of course she was.

The moment life faded from Lenore's eyes, Annabel Lee ceased to exist.

[midnightkens]

am i bad, or mad, or wise?

NSFW

TW for mentions of domestic violence

--

Life is easier with Patrick out of town.

Ken breathes a sigh of relief when Patrick slides into the Lyft. He stands on the front steps and watches as it drives down the street and turns around the corner. Going, going, gone. Finally. Patrick will be gone for a full week, some hot shot conference in Seattle.

He's pretty sure the conference is a farce. For all that Patrick accuses him of cheating, his own Grindr account sure is active. Each notification's chime is a taunt, a cruel barb that screams you're fucking worthless!

Worthlessness tucks its cruel tendrils into every fiber of his being, every scrap of confidence he'd gained ripped from him as quickly as it came. Most days when Ken looks in the mirror, he doesn't recognize the face staring back at him. His face is pale and drawn, constantly pinched in agony. It makes the dark circles under his eyes stand out. And his eyes?

They're lifeless.

But when he gets out of the shower, he notices a tiny spark in them. For seven days, he can be free. And if Patrick wants to cheat on him, then so be it. So long as the bastard comes back clean, Ken's decided that he no longer cares.

He has Colt.

Maybe it's an emotional affair. Maybe it's a deep friendship toeing a dangerous line. Whatever it is, Ken knows one thing: he feels alive. Colt is his best friend, and he's desperately in love with the other man. They have their inside jokes, stolen stares, touches that linger just a little too long. Ken wants to make him happy, yearns to come home to him every night and watch trash television.

Colt's coming over for dinner tonight. Ken's done waiting.

Tell Colt you're in love with him and start plotting your escape. Easy.

--

"It smells so good in here."

Ken turns and grins at the sound of Colt's voice, and he swears his heart skips a beat. Is this what it's like to actually have a crush? He wouldn't know. His past hookups were meaningless, and his relationship with Patrick...

It's been intense from the start, but Ken's never felt like this with anyone else. Not him, not Ryan, or any of his other guy friends. Just Colt.

Colt holds up a box. "I got dessert."

Ken smirks. "Store bought or did you actually try your hand at baking?"

"And burn down my apartment? No thanks. But hey, I went to an actual bakery this time."

"Oooooh." Ken turns down the heat on the stove and walks over to take a peek. Colt's already opening the box, and Ken licks his lips eagerly as soon as he sees the tiramisu. "Tiramisu, huh? How'd you know - "

"That it's one of your favorites?" Colt puts the box on the counter and smirks. "You've mentioned it once or a few hundred times. And I triple-checked. No cross-contamination. You dying would kind of put a damper on the night."

"How sweet." Ken deadpans. Colt's eyes flicker with amusement, and Ken can't keep the (probably dopey) smile off of his own face. For a moment, he forgets that Colt isn't his partner. That this isn't a date night, even if it feels like one. He envelopes Colt in a hug, and when he pulls away, the other man is staring hungrily at his lips.

Soon. Just wait a little while longer.

--

This is definitely a date night.

They're at the dining room table with veggie pasta, splitting a large bottle of Merlot. Colt's cheeks are flushed, his cheeks just a tad glassy. There's tiramisu waiting for them in the refrigerator. All that's missing are the candles and some music, but even for Ken, that would be pushing it.

Ken drums his fingers on the table.  This is it. If he doesn't do it now, he'll never work up the nerve again. But what if he's been reading everything wrong? What if Colt laughs at him, thinks he's ridiculous, or runs for the hills? Deep breaths, Ken. This is kind of a date and he hasn't left yet. He takes a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

Colt stiffens and lowers his glass. He's like Ken; he wears his heart on his sleeve, but the expression on his face is unreadable. His Adam's apple bobs, and bounces his leg so hard that the floor under Ken's feet shakes. "If you want me to leave - "

"I don't want you to go," Ken says quickly. "No. No, no no."  Colt raises an eyebrow as if to say go on. "I like what we have. I really, really like it. I know it's really fucking weird and messy, but...I just want to be with you." The last sentence is a tiny, broken whisper, the first time he's uttered the confession aloud. Colt's expression remains guarded, but a flicker of hope quickly flashes across his face before it disappears. "I don't know how to get the fuck out of here." Ken gestures around the apartment. Patrick technically doesn't live here, but he's weaved his way into every corner of Ken's life. "I don't know how to leave. I'll figure it out. This isn’t just some stupid fling. I want to be with you."

Colt finally turns to face him. He's hesitant, but he slowly reaches out to grab Ken's hand. Ken takes it immediately. Colt's hand is warm, his fingers calloused. It feels right. Natural. Colt drains his glass and slides it back and forth on the table. "Do you really mean that? You like what we have?"

"Yes." Ken scoots forward so that their knees touch. Colt's breath hitches. Ken's heart begins to race. Can he feel the sweat on his palms? Probably, but he's kind enough not to mention it. "I really, really like it."

"So do I." Colt closes the gap between their lips, and Ken immediately deepens the kiss. He doesn't hesitate to thread his fingers through Colt's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Colt moans, raking  his hands down Ken’s back, and Ken explores Colt's mouth. He tastes like Merlot and pasta sauce, the pasta sauce Ken made just for him. He catches the faintest whiff of vanilla cologne. Is it the one Ken got him for his birthday? Colt’s lips are warm and soft; Ken doesn't remember the last time he felt so connected to another person. He is warmth, safety, comfort, and Ken loves him. 

He isn’t quite sure when they decide to stand and go back to the kitchen. All he knows is that he’s leaned up against the island, palms gripping the edge for leverage. Colt lightly traces a finger over Ken’s cock, hard and throbbing but trapped. Ken sighs breathlessly and slides his hands under Colt’s shirt, thumbs gently grazing over his hard nipples. He receives a needy whine in response, and Colt’s hands drop to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses before finding Ken’s sweet spot. Ken balls the hem of Colt’s shirt in his fist, and he feels Colt’s smirk on his skin. 

"The second I saw you in that shirt, I wanted to tear it off of you." Colt growls and fondles his balls, and dammit, why are they still clothed? “I haven’t stopped thinking  about how badly I want to bend you over and fuck you against the counter.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ken moans. His voice his desperate and high-pitched even to his own ears, but it only encourages Colt. His fingers dip below his waistband, and Ken shivers. In this moment, he would let Colt do whatever he wanted. He shouldn't. He should push Colt away, tell him that they can't do this; he's in a relationship. But Colt's lips are so soft, hands so gentle; every word that spills from his mouth is laced with adoration. It's been so long since anyone touched him like this.

Patrick broke his promises the first time he laid a hand on him. Fucking another man isn’t the worst thing Ken could do. But…

“You wanna fuck me over the counter? Well, I have a better idea,” Ken says with a devilish grin. 

Colt's eyes darken when Ken guides him to the bedroom. They’re crossing a forbidden line, and Ken’s dick throbs at the image of Colt bending him over and fucking him on the bed he shares with Patrick. His breath hitches, and he fumbles with the waistband of Colt’s jeans. Colt’s hard, and fuck, his cock is perfect. It’s long and thick with a juicy vein up the middle, precum already leaking from the tip. Ken almost drops to his knees, eager to take Colt into his mouth, but Colt hooks a hand under his thighs and hoists him up. 

They fall onto the mattress, and Colt makes quick work of Ken’s jeans. He tosses the garments to the side, pupils wide, eyes drinking in the sight of him. Ken pushes himself up and captures Colt in a languid kiss.

“You have freckles on your nose.” Colt’s voice is nothing more than a wonder-filled whisper. “Fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

It’s been a long time since someone told him that, since anyone stared at him with such reverence. Colt always knows what to do, what to say. Where was he two years ago? “I love you.” Ken swallows. Maybe it’s not the best time for a love confession, but Ken’s always been impulsive. He half expects Colt to laugh, look at him with disgust and leave, but he doesn’t. He cups Ken’s face in his hands and rests his forehead on his.  

“I love you, too.”

Ken stares at him, eyes wide with wonder. He’s been fantasizing of this moment for months, has imagined it in his darkest moments, saw it play out in his dreams every night. It’s better than any fantasy his desperate brain has ever conjured. There’s a desperate yearning to hear the words again and again, but Colt kisses him again, slow and gentle.

For the first time in years, Ken feels special. 

“And you’re sure you want to do this?” Colt asks softly. “Because I - “

“I want to,” Ken says with a firm nod.

Colt relaxes. Ken shivers as Colt slides a finger inside of him, working him open slowly. Ken rocks against his fingers, eyes fluttering shut. It’s a far cry from Patrick putting in just enough effort to make sure he doesn’t bleed. Colt’s fingers are calloused yet soft, rubbing in all the right places and taking note of every curve in his body.

Still, Ken’s needy. He whines and claws at the bedsheets. “C’mon. Stop torturing me, will ya?”

Colt laughs. “I could go slower.You’re beautiful like this, you know. All spread open, and it’s just for me.”

“Just for you.” And it’s true. He hasn’t been like this for Patrick in a very long time. But for Colt? He’d do anything he asked, anytime, anywhere, give Colt every piece of himself.

Colt lines himself up, and eager whimpers escape Ken’s lips. Colt smirks as he pushes himself inside, slow and gentle. Is he doing this to torture Ken, or just because he’s nice? 

Both. Definitely both.

Colt finds a rhythm, and Ken rolls his hips in response. Colt groans and Ken pushes himself onto his elbows, capturing him in a messy kiss. He cups the back of Colt’s head, not breaking eye contact when he eventually pulls away. The other man smirks, and without hesitation, takes Ken’s cock in his hand. He slowly strokes from base to head, smearing the steadily leaking precum around the flushed tip. 

“If you keep that up,” Ken pants, hips bucking off the bed, “I’m gonna - “

“I know.” It occurs to him, then, that it’s exactly what Colt wants. He wants to see Ken fall apart, shatter into pieces under his hand. And how could he not? Colt is so gentle, eager to see him come undone, and he hasn’t come undone in so long.

It’s a far cry from a quick fuck that leaves Ken hard and desperate, from jerking off in the bathroom and praying that Patrick doesn’t wake up. 

Heat builds in his spine. He drinks in the sight in front of him, Colt buried deep inside of him, skin flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. His blue eyes are hazy and unfocused. Ken has never seen anyone so beautiful, not even in Barbie Land. Ken’s thighs begin to shake, and he throws his head back into the pillows.This is what he’s been missing out on. 

Colt’s body looms over him. Ken turns his head, but Colt gently grabs his chin with two fingers. 

“I want to see you,” he says, and Ken is gone. His body shudders and he scrabbles at the air, desperate for something to cling to. Eventually, his hands grab onto Colt’s shoulders, and from somewhere above him, Colt moans, thrusts becoming more erratic, and as Ken comes down from his orgasm, Colt buries his face in his neck. Ken holds him through it, murmuring praise, taking note of the tears dripping into the crook of his neck.

Colt collapses on top of him. He’s dazed, not quite ready to tether to the ground just yet. He rolls over and Ken notices the evidence of his release, ropes of white all over Colt’s chest. He takes the other man’s hand and gives him a fucked-out smile. “Hi.”

Colt snorts. “Hi? That’s all you have to say?”

“Relax. I’ll sing your praises later. Brain isn’t working yet.” Colt laughs quietly, and Ken leans forward to kiss him again, slow and chaste. When he pulls away, he threads his fingers through Colt’s hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Colt says quietly. In that moment, Ken pictures the rest of his life with Colt. He sees Colt moving into his apartment, surfboards and bonsai trees making his space feel more alive than it has in years. He imagines his cat Cheddar trying to terrorize Jean Claude, getting annoyed when she doesn’t get a reaction out of him. This could be his and Colt’s bed. He sees evenings in watching trashy television, cooking dinner together, building a life.

He can’t picture himself growing old with anyone else. And now he’s gone and made a tricky situation even worse. He swallows and squeezes Colt’s hand.

“I have no idea how yet, but I’m going to get out of here. I’ll figure something out.”

“I know. I trust you. We can come up with something together.” Colt yawns and sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Worry about it later. We should probably shower.”

The hot water streams down his body, and Colt shampoos his hair, hands digging into his scalp ever so slightly. Ken leans into the touch. He’s never felt safer with anyone else.

He has no clue when or how. 

All he knows is that he needs out. 

[amygdalamud]

"An Understanding"

Trucking along through the homestretch of Dawntrail and the end is in sight. Little MSQ snippet below from my drafts.

“When two nations cannot protect their own without doing harm to the other, there can only be one resolution. It is a hard truth…but one you understand, don’t you?”

Sphene stares through the group and locks eyes with Lerih, waiting expectantly for the reply that she was denied the last time they confronted one another. A minute of silence passes in the golden city; the lack of any genuine life brings nothing but longing to bear for those present. Lerih lowers her head in thought, her mind replaying everything that led to this exact moment. She considers not just the pivotal and critical encounters with the Ascians or her duties as the White Mage but also the banality of life. The hours that Naago and she spend lounging at their home in the Cieldalaes, how the people of Radz-at-Han learn more of their draconic leader by the day, and the way she’s witnessed love blossom across time and space. She thinks of Zero, a voidsent determined to grasp even a sliver of the humanity she lost. Eternal life, the denial of death, or whatever you want to dress it up as, does little more than deprive the target of true fulfilment.

Finally, she breaks the silence:

“I’ll protect my world and all the others…including yours. Life is precious, I agree, but we cannot flee the pain of loss or the bite of despair; we must remember that we live and that others have lived so that we can find the strength to endure. A life without pain deprives us of that.” Lerih glances around Lost Memory as she speaks, waving her hand at the grand mimicry of life, wincing as she feels a strange ache ripple through her heart. “We hold things precious because we know they will not last forever. There is finality in everything we do, which makes things beautiful…the only sure guarantee life affords us is that one day we will die. This is an immutable truth.”

“Then, you do understand,” Sphene replies but is cut off.

“Do not make assumptions of me. Despite knowing nothing of my character, you continuously speak as if you do, and I’ve grown tired of it. All I understand is that in order to save your world, I must burn this farce you call a nation.” Lerih draws her staff, smacking the end harshly into the coloured brick underfoot. “Your world exists beyond the barrier you’ve erected using stolen aether. These shades that wander your city are nothing but memories, played on repeat ad infinitum, while those unlucky enough to be born before your scheming float endlessly, abandoned and forgotten. I will grant them clemency in death and deliver onto them their kin so that they can be reborn anew!”

“Is that so…” Sphene says after a long silence, “I truly believed you were wiser than this. Very well, this simply reaffirms my resolution to erase the memories of the living Sphene and rule without conscience. In my many years, I have seen the cycle of tragedy break my people, and delivering them from that agony is my one true charge as Queen. To ensure the survival and prosperity of my people, I will become a devourer of worlds; heartlessly will I avail myself of other world’s aether to slake the needs of my own. Would that it was any other way, I do apologize…”

 The tension between the Queen and Lerih reaches a critical point and threatens to boil over on the spot. What scions are present ready themselves, hands poised to draw their weapons should the situation spiral out of control, but the two do little more than glare at one another. However, the severe expression on Sphene’s face softens into something akin to pity —perhaps sympathy— as her physical form flickers. When she next speaks, the tinniness of her voice dampens any emotion into a cold deadpan.

“I’m afraid we’re out of time.” She continues, “The process had begun. And it cannot be stopped. Not even by you, Lerih. My people will endure.”

Provoked by the implications in Sphene’s words, those present at last draw and ready their weapons, though the late Queen glitches and vanishes, leaving them in silence. G’raha and Lerih, in particular, shudder at the display, recalling their respective conflicts with the Omicron tribe. As they reflect on the interstellar-machina hivemind’s obsession with understanding humanity, the Meso Terminal blares to life with a deafening message:

“Meso Terminal memory deletion in progress. Upon completion, interdimensional fusion will commence.”

[phantomguild]

Figured I may as well do something for the Bad End AU drawpile that @ask-the-royal-absol is doing. (Sorry about the lack of activity on my blogs lately, my back is still in agony atm)

These three are the only survivors of a devastated world, and even then, they haven't come out of it unscathed, as is clearly evident.

Info about the events of this AU as well as each of them in particular under the cut, just keep in mind any applicable trigger warnings in the tags. If I need to tag this with anything else, just let me know.

And just a following heads up that this gets pretty dark, especially as far as this blog's standards go so far.

It was over faster than anyone had anticipated. Not even Gracia Village's fog barrier could stop the spreading roots of Hollow. All of the Gods had either been slain or devoured, twisted into puppets, empty shells void of all but malice. In the trio's attempt to flee, the Time Gear that was kept under the square, entrusted to Acacia by Aster, was broken, and with it, any chance the three of them might've had at averting this nightmarish fate.

Acacia desperately attempted to repair the Time Gear. With the others guarded by their former allies, empowered by their transformation, and even with the three of them against a single one, attempting to retrieve any one of the Time Gears was a lost cause. Of course, repairing this one was ultimately fruitless. She lacked the divine power she needed to restore it. And without the presence of Dialga's divine power over Time to stabilize her own unstable power, her corruption, which she'd barely averted the last time, began to take root once again. The tempting whispers had returned in full force, taunting her with a future she could no longer have, slowly breaking down her heart and mind.

Cherry, with all her scientific and mechanical skill, couldn't have stopped it even if she'd had years to prepare. There was just too many of them... As well, the Regihollow, as she'd called it, was one of the few things that awoke her primal fear. Even being amalgamated from what she could salvage, her body knew on some instinctive level... that abomination had killed her. Her will cracking under the strain of her body screaming at her to run, she'd complied. With her tail between her legs and fearing for her life, she ran, even though she was one of the few that actually had the potential to match its power... All that was in her mind, was true fear.

Without anyone to rekindle her hope, to give her even a single spark, and with no way to reach the others she'd befriended, Mint slowly began to lose her willpower. Her hopelessness, in combination with the seeds of Hollow planted within her heart, began to fuel her own corruption. She'd watched her mentor perish before her eyes, engulfing her hope in a blaze of hate. Finally, that hate had died down, burnt out from her lack of energy, leaving nothing but emptiness and despair... Part of her wished to return to the forest where she'd had such a pleasant dream. Even if it was a farce, a counterfeit formed from her most idealistic wishes, she could at least be happy in the fog.

In the end, the three of them fell as well. And with them, so did any glimmer of hope that remained.

The world was devoured, and soon enough its new Master broke free of their shackles to annihilate whatever remained on its surface...

[writingsofwesteros]

Darting briefly back into my Criston/Harwin’s wife brainrot

TW: Harwin’s dead, child loss/miscarriage

-

The mourning black felt like cloak for her sorrow at this point. The apologies became an agony to hear. Losing Harwin had been hard - painful - even with the blatant disrespect he’d put her through. Larys had been dutifully by her side though, as a good man would be, offering comfort and endless tea. That was…tolerable for her, at least. But, losing another babe before it could be brought into the world? That was the part that truly haunted her. Lady Strong they still called her, but it felt a farce. She was no longer a Strong - never had been, not really - no matter what Larys claimed when sitting by her side in a comforting silence. 

The month had wrought pain after pain, the only reprieve being the Princess’s departure to Dragonstone with her family. At least she did not have to see the Princess’s face or her bastards anymore. At this point, the boys were the only extension of Harwin in this world - and they were the only ones that would be now that she lost their child. The thought both heartened and crushed her. She was, in truth, glad to not be saddled with a child to bring into another marriage if she ever sought one, but still, it was a pain to know that she had nothing left of the life she’d built for over a decade of her life.

The Queen, bless her heart, did not allow the lady to remain alone for too long. She visited her as often as she was able, and stayed long hours. Between the Queen, Ser Criston, and Larys, she found herself rarely alone these days. And as much as she wanted to sulk, wanted to rage at the inability to find a moment of reprieve, she was glad for it. She needed the stability and outreach. She craved it. They helped make her feel wanted…feel loved - which was a far cry more than her husband had ever seen fit to.

A knock at her door around midday was, by now, expected. However, as she rose to pull it open, she was shocked to see not the Queen nor Larys, but rather just Ser Criston. Alone. The general scowl on her face - a near permanent thing these days - faded to shock and her eyes widened.

“Criston?” she asked, dropping all formalities in her surprise. 

“My lady,” he said, bowing his head to her, gentle smile on his face. “The Queen is unavailable this afternoon, and Lord Strong is as well. I wanted to see if you still desired company?”

She blinked rapidly, sucking in a sharp breath. Her brain told her that she should refuse. Her brain told her that it would be improper for him to enter her chambers alone. But, her heart longed for her company. And without the shadow of her husband looming over her mind - alive, at least - she could not resist the call of the beautiful, kind man before her.

“I…yes,” she said, voice hoarse. “Please come in.” She stepped to the side and he entered her apartments. “Can I…get you anything?”

“No, my lady,” he immediately denied, moving to her sitting room and taking a seat. “I don’t require anything. I’m only here for you.”

She inhaled sharply at his words and moved to sit. Instead of sitting on a different sofa or chair as she otherwise might have, she sat next to him. A wave of pain took her heart that she could not identify, and her lip trembled. It was just for a moment, and she tried to conceal it, pulling from the remaining dregs of strength that she had left. Still, he caught sight of it and reached out, grabbing her hand. Again, her breath caught in her throat.

“My lady, you do not need to hide yourself from me,” he said quietly. “Not your pain…not your joy. I beg you not to, in fact.” He paused just a moment, letting the words wash over her. “Let me help you, my lady.”

-

So there’s thattttttttt lol. Not even over a month in mourning and mister man is ready to make his moveeeeeeee!! And yes, with Larys giving her tea at the beginning I WAS implying that Larys was giving her moon tea. Who is to say if it was his idea or Alicent’s or Criston’s. Either way it doesn’t matter because she’s NEVER gonna find out!! And also no I don’t think he’s REALLY this soft, at least not all the time, but he KNOWS how to get his woman.

I live for your thoughts!!!!!!!!

I love this; that trio are just so manipulative and in ways you never see coming. Poor little strong wife...but Criston desires her completely and he will have her.

And by extension; her family will be on the green's side

thank you so much!!!

[likelycatherinemay]

Diary 10/?

I painted my nails recently. If you reader, existent or nonexistent, are reading this, you are likely not privy to the fact my name is not actually Catherine May. There is a previous entry concerning this entire dynamic, if you are so inclined to read it. In any case, my sex is male, and at least for the moment, that is also how I identify. There it is up front. I am a 'man' (hehe) that painted his nails. It isn't the first time I have done this, and I braced myself for the response.

I have some precedent for this kind of reaction. The first time I painted my nails, my father clearly did not know what to make of it.

"Why did you paint your nails?" he struggled out that night.

"I like how it looks," I said defensively. You would have been able to hear the things unsaid between us. The echoes of screams and apathy and the death of love. The proxies and fronts waged over the heir to his name before he finally looked over and saw nothing. A idol built for the God of masculinity stolen one day in the night. I was the late afternoon in November. The mesmerizing horizon snatched away in 15 minutes, leaving the blackened waste and darkness. Hills keeping all the little people trapped under the unforgiving sky. We stood in what he had built and despaired. I because he would never understand or care to, and he because his sculpture had been ransacked, shattered, and defiled.

"Okay," he said. My mother's side of the family responded with more understanding. After all, there was nothing to expected from me. I might as well have been an enigma. Every story I tell seems more and more implausible than the last.

"Do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend, it's okay either way," they ask me. I have never known what to say to that question. How do you tell someone, No, I am deeply worried about human connection, and I fear I will die alone. I am worried I do not fit the desirable traits for any human alive. But thank you for your concern.

When I returned from my mom's home, the nail polish was gone. Not the remover, of course, but the nail polish was gone. I knew where I had left it. It did not return. For my father, it was not enough that I felt nervous to paint my nails in college. He could not bear to see how far I had gone. The sculpture rebukes it creator, it flaunts around, proclaiming its independence even though it relies on the sculptor for more clay. It needs the artist to reinforce its sides. He could not the stand the sight. He could not bear witness. As my nails chipped and decayed, there was nothing in my heart. A bitterness echoed along the walls of the cavernous expanses. There was no resentment, only acceptance. It was foolish to expect my father to feel any other way. It was foolish to act any other way.

I wonder what he's going to think now. Not only have I painted my nails, I have shaved my legs and arms. I think I'm going to get my ears pierced. Maybe I'll get a tattoo. Fuck it, right? When everything rings hollow, start banging on the walls. Make the cave wail from your very presence. There is no more hiding, no more substitutes for a half-way existence. And if he cannot accept it, let it be torn apart. Let the farce end with flourish. I cannot take the seasons of perpetual agony. The snow falls, the leaves fall and return, and the sun scorches the Earth. I suffer under gravity's inexorable will. I will not suffer under the will of another superficial force if something can be done about it. When my world groans from cataclysm, it will know that it is justly razed.

Future writing. Hehe. The last time I did this I jumped the gun out of uhhh, circumstances? So, no book update. If you are so inclined to know why, retrace until you find the content warning post (the second one, yikes). There will be a discrepancy (definitely spelled that right the first time) forever in the record. Egad! I watched I Saw the TV Glow. It's never too late. Please, please, please, do not forget who you are. Please start your life tomorrow. Please start it right now.

I have a lot to figure out. More than likely, so do you. Start figuring it out. For me :)

"I know that I can't make good

How I wish I could

Go back and put

Me where you stood

Nothing's really something, now the whole thing's soot."

I also kinda wrote this bc I love my Nana (previous entry), but I don't want y'all to get the idea that I think your family is forever and unconditional. There is often attachments to 'love.' Attachments of rust, rot, and ruin.

[davetw13]

A better future to be found

My friend, I know that life has dealt some heavy blows.And the pain you feel inside is still evident, it shows,When the river of uncertainty increases as it flows,You are blinded by confusion, too tenacious to oppose What started so romantically all too soon became a farce,The side effects of which have knocked you to your arse!Hoping that the agony is something which will pass,Seeking out…

[babyoctopus1356]

Due Day

Viewers discretion is advised

You were my world. Or should I say, my world only had you and your world seemed to only have me.

Since becoming aware of this existence, we had been able to meet and talk to each other through a small hole in two adjacent rooms. Rooms of only ten square meters accommodate one inside, just like waiting for slaughtering. This life was a bunch of snobbery dramas and farces.

In my eyes, only you gave me simplicity.

In my heart, only your name could evoke my inner desires called male instincts.

During those times, when I comforted myself, you’re right next to the wall. I silently called your name in agony and torment.

One night you called my name, but it wasn't clear whether it was day or night. The room was always pale white in color. You called my name in such a hurry. I heard you panting, panting, panting until you almost couldn't bear it anymore. Perhaps you were satisfied. You stopped calling my name in supplication; I secretly smiled as if you had just given birth to my babies.

You fell asleep, with your body covered with sweat. I guess so; I was infatuated with someone whose only name I knew. No matter how hard I tried, I could only see two-thirds of your face.

Since I fell in love with you, I began to hate the wall between us. A small hole to see you was never enough for me. I started to curse it, started to hate this damn life that prevented my love from reaching you.

"I have to go."

That's your last words. After that day, even if I put my eyes close to the flat wall, I couldn't see you anymore. I didn't know what had happened to you. I didn't know if behind this wall someone had taken you away. I only knew that I had lost you.

My world gradually disappeared, even though it clearly had never existed. My world is named after you, it was you, but you seemed to be just a small element in another vast world. Like me.

I lost you on a day like any other day. Every night, I could no longer comfort myself, because every time my throat uttered those moans accompanied by your name, I woke up immediately.

You were once my world. It's still the same. You were still an obsession in a room with only a small hole connecting to the other side.

[countlessrealities]

Morty offered just a quiet snort in response to Meg's agreement. He didn't need her to confirm his guess, he already knew that he was right. The mere fact that she put on a facade every single time she was in public was all the proof he needed.

What he didn't say or let himself acknowledge was that he and his counterpart did the exact same thing. These days, their whole life was a farce, a carefully staged act that would eventually lead them to their ultimate goal. So, he knew how draining it could be, to constantly have to be someone else.

However, unlike Meg, he didn't feel the need to find someone he could be his real self with. Even if he didn't have his Rick by his side, he would have been fine. He didn't need anyone. Just himself.

And if that sentence now had a second meaning, it was far from him to confirm it.

"It's a little funny, isn't it?" He mused instead, not even trying to hide the malice in his grin. "How the only person you're free to express your true self with is someone you hate. I must admit, I've learnt to enjoy that sort of irony."

After all, it was what it had happened between him and his Rick. The man was the reason why he had gotten there, and yet he was the one who knew him inside out. Metaphorically and literally. And look at them now. Whatever this...bond between them was, it surely wasn't hate anymore.

None of that, though, was important right now. The president was much more interested in observing the effects of the concoction his second-in-command had created for him.

"It's me you have to thank. I'm choosing to share my present with you. I'm the one Rick made it for," he corrected her with a hum, smirk growing sharper as he released Peter from his iron grip. "He barely remembers you most of the time."

That last sentence sounded like mockery, but it was a honest fact. His second-in-command was even more single-minded these days, he quickly discarded everything that didn't involve what was currently occupying his focus.

That matter, though, was too currently of no import. Amber eyes were quickly drawn back to Peter, as the man let out a strangled sound of pure agony. His chest rose and fell too quickly to allow him to properly breath, and the gurgling that came from his throat would have made lesser people sick.

He was drowning in his own body fluids, bile and acid and blood filling his stomach and slowly but steadily rising along his throat. Soon enough there was red foam pooling out of his mouth, muffling the screams he was uselessly trying to get out. His clothes quickly got soaked too, with both blood and sweat.

An acrid smell filled the room, a mixture of burnt flesh and rot, pungent enough to make the eyes water. Not Morty's, though, since he was more than used to this sort of stinging sensation.

Peter's body seemed to deflate from the inside out, as if it was being consumed from the inside, his round belly turning inward, just as his cheeks became more and more hollow and his bones started to show. The most horrifying thing, however, was that the man remained conscious the whole time, up until his system no longer had anything to run on and all that was left was an empty beg of flesh.

The president sat in his chosen spot, expression unreadable, but his eyes shone with pure sadistic glee. Rick definitely deserved a reward for this little invention of his. The slow, agonising show he had just witnessed had been delicious.

"Ugh I really haven't." She whined in agreement. Despite how at odds they often were she decided to take this opportunity to air some of her grievances. As naive and foolish as that might be. Unlike the boys she associated herself with it wasn't often she thought her actions through. Not unless she was intently focused or obsessed with a certain goal or plan.

Meg was a person who acted on her extreme emotions and feelings. Which she had in spades. Often the girl had tunnel vision. "I know I have to appear perfect to the public and I enjoy the praise and attention of course but being nice all the time can be a real drag."

She spoke as if the alternate of her father wasn't even in the room. Like he was a mere object. "It's a pity we don't get along mortimer because this is something I would enjoy doing with another person a lot more. Might help relieve some of my stress." She doubted he cared really. About her problems but it just felt good to vent.

Her eyes lit with interest at the sight of the bottle. "That is so interesting. Remind me to thank him." Considering how much that particular rick creeped her out that was certainly out of character for her to say.

There was a sadistic gleam in her eyes as she took the bottle and gazed down at her alternate father. "Pathetic." She replied before doing as mortimer instructed. Pouring every last drop in his mouth. Curiously excited about what sort of reaction their victim would have.

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Future

A/N: Yikes. I cried several times writing this. I'm very proud of how it turned out - I think it's one of my strongest pieces on the entire blog - but be warned: bring tissues. Also, Mozzie's quote is originally from Abraham Lincoln. Requested by @ladykeqing

Summary: In the wake of Neal's death, a regret haunts you.

Word Count: 1,964

Peter sat you down and told you in his home. Well… just June’s home, now. The way Mozzie had trailed behind him, for once wordless… His face looking ashen… A part of you had known even before Peter asked you to sit down.

“He told me to say he’s sorry,” Peter said, barely more than a whisper that somehow felt deafening to your brain. “And that he loves you more than you know.”

The room was suddenly stifling. It was more than just the emotions in the air, layering over each other into a thick, caustic fog. It was the darkening of shadows that stretched in from the glass doors, and the silence of the record player that drove deep into their eardrums to muffle the little sounds of life coming from each other. The penthouse was, in an instant, so tiny and deathly empty, and you wished so dearly that you’d been at your own apartment. Staying the weekend had seemed like such a great idea before you abruptly became the only resident.

For a few seconds, you had a mind to just stay put and let the shadows come and take over. To let the agonizing ache of loss engulf your entire heart and continue expanding until it was bigger than your body and you disappeared forever. All so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the records Neal would never again play and the table he would never again sit at. So you would never have to spend a last moment in the home of your lover before turning your back on it and, by extension, him.

Without him, there was nowhere to turn. The prospect of your remaining lifetime without your partner made your chest and throat tighten with another round of sobs. It all felt so dim. You tried to hold it back, but couldn’t last long before your hands were to your mouth and a strangled whimper was breaking from your lips.

Mozzie could have fooled you into thinking he hadn’t heard, so resolute he was in boring a hole into the rug with his stare. Peter looked towards you with deep brown eyes, solicitous and pleading at the same time. He was as stunned as you were – but where you were being crushed under the weight of isolation, at least Peter got to go home to El. You didn’t have anyone to go home to anymore. Hell, without Neal, did you even have a home at all?

You envied Mozzie. Really, you did. His Buddhist leanings might be a comfort to him, able to think of Neal’s absence as temporary, or his spirit as remaining around them in some way or form. But when you tried to imagine you could feel him still there, the encroaching shadows and silent record player and empty bed all drew together at once until you were drowning in the lack. It was as if your haywire senses were punishing you for thinking even for a moment that you could feel your loss as anything less than absolute. He was gone and the world was permanently less wonderful.

A gunshot. Neal hated guns so much. Maybe this was why.

Wait. No. Time didn’t work like that. Right? He couldn’t hate something for a reason that hadn’t happened yet.

Laughter that bordered on hysterical bubbled out of your throat as you anxiously covered your face, waiting for the mania to pass. Laughter was easier than sobs. It physically hurt less. Emotionally it was so much worse. You could feel the concerned eyes on you while you waited until your desperate giggles died, just like your partner.

“I never said,” you said, wresting the words out before cries – or worse, more laughs – forced themselves out instead. You looked down with shame and guilt. His last words to you were almost cruel. Tender in their meaning, but cruel in consequence – he would never know how deeply you cared for him. You hoped he did. Didn’t you show it all the time? But that was different from hearing the words out loud, and now not only were you going on without Neal, but you were going on carrying the burden of knowing you hadn’t been able to offer him the comfort of certainty in knowing he had been loved in life and would be grieved in death. “I never got to tell him I love him.”

The mere look that Peter gave you in response would have broken your heart if it hadn’t already been lying shattered somewhere between your stomach and the floor. It was as if he were imagining for himself not getting to tell Elizabeth how he felt, or worse, imagining how alone or afraid she might feel if she didn’t know there were somebody fighting for her and remembering her every day.

Sobs would come any moment now. Your throat was tighter than a string on a violin, and any minute you’d stop being able to breathe. In, out, you reminded yourself. Keep it together just a moment more. And then another moment after that. You couldn’t break down until you were alone. You didn’t know why you couldn’t break in front of Neal’s family, but didn’t have the energy to question it, either, not when you barely had the energy not to scream and weep into your hands.

“He knew.” Mozzie’s words were quiet but startling and said with all the confidence of Neal himself. “You didn’t have to say it.”

“But he deserved to hear.” Knowing it and hearing it were different games and Neal, for all his faults, deserved to hear it, too. “He deserved to come home. I don’t…” You lost your train of thought. Why were you talking about yourself when you weren’t the one whose brilliant life had been stolen? After a small shake of your head, you sniffed and shakily breathed out. “We had an entire future. And now there’s nothing left.”

You could see it passing in your imagination, all the little milestones that you’d come to anticipate. Content days at home, interspersed with adventures to his favorite places around the world, marked by marriage and birthdays and achievements and anniversaries. You’d never articulated them out loud, never even realized fully that you’d started to await those days, but now you saw them vanishing and you realized not only were you having to grieve for the best man you’d ever known, but you’d also have to grieve for the missed experiences and joys that he had lost, and the shared life that you had to give up on, as well.

Mozzie finally looked up to you and you noticed that his eyes were puffy and red behind his glasses. You didn’t even know someone could cry that silently. “The best thing about the future,” he quoted, slow and weighty, probably to keep his own voice level. “Is that it comes one day at a time.”

The comfort was meaningless to you. One day at a time was worthwhile when it was endless days of love and companionship. When that was gone, it was just day after day of being adrift with nothing to hold onto.

You sniffed again and replied in a surprisingly even voice, “My future is laying in the morgue.”

~Future~

Leaving Y/N was one of the hardest things Mozzie had ever done, and he had a lot of challenges and dubious decisions in his past. Leaving her to wallow and suffer rubbed him in every wrong way possible, except for the one where it meant – at least for now – that she would be safe. He didn’t think, if he stayed, that he would be able to hold back from blurting out the truth. He couldn’t even look at her for fear of spilling. Not once her tears started. He couldn’t watch his friend, and his best friend’s love at that, weep with agony she didn’t need to feel.

Neal begged to differ, though Mozzie knew that it tore his heart in two to hear her voice over the long-distance connection. When Mozzie was sure the suit was out of earshot, and that Y/N and June had both stayed inside, he lifted his phone from his pocket and breathed heavily in the cold December air that seemed to burn his lungs.

“Did you hear all that?” He asked, impressively steady and managing to get his criticism and support across with his tone simultaneously.

He took off his glasses, thankful Neal couldn’t see that he, too, needed to wipe his eyes dry. Alive was good. Alive but far away and unreachable – at least for the foreseeable future – was still painful.

“I did,” Neal confirmed, voice and heart both heavy somewhere at least a thousand miles away. “I wish…” Neal trailed off, and Mozzie wholly believed that he also needed a moment to compose himself. Why either of them bothered pretending not to cry, he didn’t understand, but they had already dedicated themselves to the farce. “She’s safer this way. If she looks for me, we’re all in danger.”

“If you let this go on, she will never forgive you.” Mozzie warned, thinking about the broken look on your face. It had been like watching a dropped plate shatter in slow motion to see the cracks begin to appear before your very spirit seemed to splinter. Then he thought about how desperately you wished Neal knew you loved him, and he thought maybe there was a chance that desperate love would override the anger. He amended, “Or, if she does, it’ll never be the same.”

“I know.” Neal agreed readily but with a quiver to his voice. “I want to come home, but not if it means visiting her grave.”

“The cautious way it is.” Mozzie put his glasses back on his face, bravely shoring up his willpower. “I can’t know where you are, and she can’t know you’re out there.”

“Keep an eye on her for me.”His voice was full of sorrow and longing.

“Of course.” Neal didn’t even need to ask. If there came a time when the Panthers were dealt with and Neal could – well, if not return home, at least be reunited with Y/N somewhere without an extradition treaty, Mozzie would be the first to set it in motion. “Be well, mon frére.”

“You, too, Moz.”

The line went dead.

~Future~

Approximately four thousand miles away, on a windy beach, Neal stood barefoot in the dark, watching the light from the moon reflect off the choppy, shallow surf. The breeze drifted through his hair and bit across his face with the sting of northern weather.

He looked down at the open phone in his hand, fighting every feeling in him to turn it back on and beg Mozzie to take the phone back up to his former penthouse. Or, worse, to turn his whole body around and get on a ferry to the mainland, and fly back to New York as fast as possible to hold you in his arms. The heartbreak in your voice had been almost too much for him to bear. It would have been, if not for his terror of being reckless and selfish and letting you pay the price.

He had known you loved him, and because he loved you so unbelievably much in return, he couldn’t go home. Not yet. He would work on it from afar, where no one knew he was breathing, much less could trace him back to his darling. One day, if he were incredibly lucky, he could come home and you would still have space for him in your heart and mind. For now, he would have to settle on replaying your words in his head.

I love you, too.

Neal hurled the phone out into the ocean.

[aithorin]

Chasing You - Thranduil x Reader

Plot: Imagine overhearing Thranduil’s conversation with Tauriel and running away

A/N-This fic is also posted on AO3 under the same username. I will insert a link to it below. However, this is also a slightly different version as I’ve made a couple of edits. I’ll post the updated version eventually on AO3, but for now this is the only edited version. Also, some of the lines in this are from the movies, so as a disclaimer, I do not own any recognizable content.

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823933

Slight NSFW Warning!

The hooves of your horse thundered in your ear as you pushed it to gallop quickly throughout Mirkwood. All around, the sickened trees passed in a blur, and yet somehow they still managed to loom over you, mocking your troubles with their height. You hunched closer to your horse, looking for comfort, and threaded your fingers throughout its mane. The wind burned at your eyes, causing tears of a completely different kind to well. They mingled with the ones symbolic of your heartbreak, mixing so thoroughly that they became indistinguishable from one another. The wind pulled at both, tugging at them as they trekked down your face. The tears disappeared into the air behind you, the wind having successfully stolen them.

So distracted by your thoughts, you didn’t even notice how the wind had prematurely dried the tear tracks along your face, pinching the skin slightly underneath. All you could focus on was Thranduil. Just the thought of his name sent a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, blurring your vision even more. Moments from your relationship flashed through your mind, and confusion merged with your hurt. You just didn’t understand. All this time he had seemed so genuine. To find out it was all a farce so suddenly only made your anguish sharper. There were no suspicions at all; you had been happy, and you thought that he had been happy too. But as a sob escaped your mouth, you realized that maybe some things weren’t meant to be. Echoes of the conversation you had accidently heard rang throughout your mind, and agony grappled at your heart as you thought about Thranduil’s betrayal.

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

Having finished your chores for the day, you hurried toward the throne room hoping to catch a moment alone with Thranduil. It was difficult to spend time with him considering your relationship was a secret, so every spare moment you had to sneak with him was precious. As you passed by a corridor, muffled voices floated through the air causing your footsteps to slow to a halt. Curious, you crept towards the sound, excitement filling you as you recognized Thranduil’s voice. It was perfect! You’d just wait for him to finish and then maybe you could spend a few moments together. But as the muffled noise turned into clear voices, your excitement quickly diminished as a deep hurt took root within your heart.

“Legolas said you fought well today… he has grown very fond of you.” Thranduil’s deep baritone resonated throughout the room.

A few moments passed before Tauriel stammered, “I assure you my lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than a captain of the guard.”

“Perhaps he did once...now I’m not so sure.” Thranduil sneered.

“I do not think…  you would allow your son to pledge himself to a lowly silvan elf.” Tauriel stuttered back.

“No, you’re right. I would not.” Thranduil declared, “Still… he cares about you. Do not give him hope where there is none”

At his words, a gasp left your mouth as your heart plummeted. Both of their heads snapped in your direction, but by then you had already turned and fled down the hall. Tears welled in your eyes as you began to understand the meaning behind his words. You were no different than Tauriel. In fact, you were inferior to her being that your station in life was that of a maid. If Legolas couldn’t pledge himself to the esteemed captain of the guard, then there was no hope that Thranduil would ever truly pledge himself to you either. All this time, you were nothing more than a fling to Thranduil, maybe even less. Did he see your feelings as a game, something to be toyed with? The conviction with which Thranduil spoke his words told you more than you ever needed to know. It was obvious he didn’t share in any of the things you felt. A choke escaped your throat as you realized your relationship was nothing but a lie.

Fleeing from the corridor, you ran to the comfort of your room. The door to your chambers creaked open, and light from the hall seeped through to illuminate it. As you stepped inside, you looked slowly around the room. Nothing seemed right anymore. You felt as though you were suffocating, and with a sudden clarity you knew what you had to do. You had to leave. The thought of staying in Mirkwood made you nauseous. Having to stay and look at Thranduil everyday, knowing that he never cared about you, would only break your heart over and over again. Leaving was the only way you had any hope of moving on. You quickly gathered what meager belongings you had, and hurried towards the stables. Climbing on top of the nearest horse, you saddled your pack and took off without a backward glance.

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

The trees of Mirkwood continued to whiz by, the tears continuously spilling from your eyes creating a distorted view of your surroundings. Thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to make sense of the situation.

‘How could he do this to me? I loved him! I gave him everything. My heart, my mind, my trust, my body, everything, and yet in the end he didn’t care at all. It was nothing but a game to him.’ A choked, bitter laugh escaped through the sobs erupting from your throat. Everything just hurt; your heart felt tight, a huge lump in your throat made it difficult to breathe, and your eyes were swollen and tired from crying.

Why, why would he do this to you! You never thought he could be so cruel. Lost in the river of your despair, you failed to notice the sound of legs scurrying across the forest floor until it was too late.

A rustle of leaves sounded to your left before a giant spider leapt from behind the brush causing your horse to rear up in fright. The sudden change in gravity threw you from its back, causing your backside to hit the floor with a hard thud, knocking the breath from you. Letting out a wheeze as you attempted to regain your breath, you looked up just in time to see your horse let out a loud whine before bolting back in the direction you came. By then, the giant spider had turned its attention towards you and moved with a speed that surprised even your elven senses. You scurried back on all fours in terror, the dead leaves crunching beneath your hands. All too soon though, your path became blocked by one of the towering, ill trees that resided in the forest. Still, your arms flailed as you tried to get away, but the spider continued to advance, slowly trapping you in your place. Your breath started to quicken, and terrified gasps resounded throughout the forest. This was it. You were going to die in the forest alone, with the knowledge that no one had ever really loved you. A few stray tears escaped your eyes as you realized just how pathetic you really were. By now the spider loomed above you, its pincers poised above you, ready to strike. Ominous hisses spewed from its mouth, and you squeezed your eyes shut, unwilling to watch it deliver the killing blow. Having accepted your fate, your body relaxed, and you waited for the world you knew to be no more.

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

“I want the watch doubled at our borders. All roads. All rivers. Nothing moves but I hear of it. No one enters this kingdom and no one leaves it.” Thranduil ordered, an unspoken warning in his tone, before walking away with a swish of his cloak.

No sooner had he left the throne room was he stopped by a servant.

“Forgive the intrusion my lord, but I couldn’t help overhearing your order and…” The elleth hesitated.

“Out with it, you insolent child! I don’t have all day! You’ve already overstepped your boundaries, don’t push them anymore.” Thranduil said, his patience growing thin.

“Well,” she began, “it’s just...I’m worried about (Y/N). When I stopped by our shared room all of her belongings were gone. I think she went into the forest, but she hasn’t come back. Will she be able to get back into the kingdom with your order?”

At the mention of your name, Thranduil’s blood turned ice cold in his veins. Where could you have possibly gone, and with all of your belongings too? You wouldn’t just leave without telling him, and you knew better than to go into the forest alone. You weren’t trained in the art of combat, and there were too many dangers that lurked in the forest these days. Thranduil’s mind became laced with panic as he ran through all of the possible things that could have happened to you. Were you lost? Injured? Dead? At that last thought, Thranduil swallowed as a hard lump of fear developed in his throat. He had to find you. Now.

He turned to look at the elleth, the cool facade on his face betraying none of the inward worry that he held.

“As king it is my duty to see to the safety and wellbeing of all that dwell within my kingdom. As such, I will personally see to it that (Y/N) is brought back home safe and unharmed.”

At his words, the elleth visibly relaxed. “Thank you my lord. You are most generous and kind.” With a nod of her head, the elleth bowed her head before walking away to return to her duties.

Thranduil turned to the nearest guard. “You,” he said, “Ready my elk. We leave at once.”

“Yes my lord.”

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

Thranduil raced through the forest, looking for any sign of a trail. Suddenly, a lone horse came barreling in their direction, rearing in a panic. The small group of guards he had with him leaped in front to calm it down.

Grabbing its reins, Thranduil inspected the horse, noticing a pack saddled to its back. Peering inside, he saw your possessions and his expression turned grim. Without a word, he swung back onto his elk and charged down the path the horse came from.

Galloping along the path, Thranduil prayed that you were okay. He would never forgive himself if something were to happen to you. Meeting you had breathed new life into him. For the first time since his wife died, he actually felt happy, something his own son couldn’t even provide him. Every beat of his heart was dedicated solely to you, and if you were to be taken from him like his wife was, he didn’t think he would ever be able to recover.

Deep in the forest now, Thranduil was beginning to doubt that he’d be able to find you when he heard noises coming from off the path. The hiss of a spider, leaves crackling as someone scrambled. His eyes widened as he realized a spider was attacking someone. Jumping from his elk, Thranduil’s footsteps pounded as he ran, and the sound of metal scraping could be heard as he drew his sword. Bursting into a clearing, he saw a giant spider above someone, poised to kill whoever was trapped. As the spider went in for the killing blow so did Thranduil. Fortunately, Thranduil was faster, and blood spurted as he drove his sword into the spider’s back. The spider howled in pain, limbs flailing as the life slowly drained from it along with its blood. All too soon, the spider dropped dead, and Thranduil hurried to push it off of whoever was trapped beneath it.

Rolling the spider’s body to the side, Thranduil was met with the sight of you curled tightly, hugging your knees to your chest with your eyes clenched shut. Dried tear tracks painted your cheeks, and visible tremors shook your body. Thranduil kneeled next to you as a big weight lifted from his chest. You were alive! Scared and shaken but alive. He had made it to your side in time, albeit he was cutting it a bit close.

Right in front of you, Thranduil slowly reached out to place a gentle hand on your shoulder. At his touch, you jumped and started to shake even harder, your eyes still shut tight.

“Meleth nin,” he spoke softly, “Open your eyes. I am here, and you are safe.”

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

“Meleth nin” you heard a soft voice whisper, “Open your eyes. I am here, and you are safe.”

At the sound of his voice, you wanted to let out a sob. It sounded just like him, but you knew that it couldn’t be Thranduil. There was no way that Thranduil was in front of you. He was back at the palace, most likely atop his throne, while you were here, probably bleeding out from a spider bite. That was it you reasoned. You had been bitten by the spider, and now you were going delirious from its venom before you died. It was the only explanation. He didn’t love you. You didn’t want to open your eyes. If you did the illusion would be shattered. At least this way you could pretend that you wouldn’t die alone, and that your love was here.

But when his hand started to shake your shoulder, the possibility that maybe he actually was here started to seem more like a reality. You reluctantly opened your eyes to see his cerulean ones staring into yours, deep with concern. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold him, but with the threat of death looming over you gone, you remembered why you left in the first place. You snatched your wandering arms back and lowered your eyes as more tears suddenly welled in your eyes. ‘He isn’t mine’, you reminded yourself, ‘he never was’. Having him be so close yet at the same time so far made your heart clench painfully in your chest.

“Melamin, are you alright? I was so worried I had lost you.” Thranduil whispered.

Deciding to ignore the endearment, you chose to answer the way your relationship now demanded. That of a respectful servant addressing her king. Still looking down at your feet, you replied meekly, “Yes, your majesty. Thank you for rescuing me. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

At your words, his eyes squinted ever so slightly in confusion. Why were you talking to him like that, as though you were just another one of his subjects? Something else was wrong. You couldn’t even look at him. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the few guards surrounding the clearing leaving just the two of you.

“What is wrong meleth nin? Why can’t you look at me?”

The continued endearments caused the sob that had been stuck in your throat to escape. Why did he insist on continuing the game? Was it not enough that he had taken your heart? Must he continue to squeeze it as well? How spiteful could he be to insist on calling you that?

“Please,” you whispered “Do not continue to jest. My heart cannot take it.”

Thranduil grabbed your hands and with the sudden movement, you finally tilted your head to meet his gaze. Seeing your heartbroken face, he felt his own heart twinge within his chest. He could feel you slipping away and with every passing minute he feared that he would not be able to get you back. “I don’t understand,” he pleaded, “Whatever it is that I have done, tell me, and I will not rest until I have eased your mind.”

His words made your head droop in despair. So he was going to continue to feign ignorance until he could break your heart and see your expression for himself. His insisted cruelty caused the first seeds of anger to break through the dam of your heartbreak. Thranduil might have shattered your heart, but you’d be damned before you’d let him see the effects. You’d get through this conversation, and then part from Mirkwood and put this chapter of your life behind you.

With your newfound determination, you looked at him with your face hard and eyes steely. “Do not think me so naive that I will continue to play along with your game, my lord. You may have fooled me once, but I refuse to let you do so again. You can cease your act of mocking love and concern. Please, just go back to the palace and have a laugh about the foolish maid who believed that a king could ever possibly care for her, and I will be on my way.”

Thranduil stared at you in bewilderment. Where was all of this coming from? Just this morning, everything was fine, and in that short time you now doubted his love for you. What could have possibly happened?

“Whoever has planted this seed of doubt in your mind will wish that they had never opened their mouth,” Thranduil swore gravelly, “I do not know what has caused this skepticism, but know that my feelings for you are honest and true.” He lifted your hands enclosed in his to place a soft kiss upon them.

Looking into his eyes, you were tempted to believe him. He seemed so earnest, but the words that he spoke earlier rang through your mind, “Do not give him hope where there is none”, and your temptations were banished. You let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. YOU were the one who made your feelings toward me clear as day, no one else. If you cannot bring yourself to be honest about anything else, then at least take responsibility for revealing your true feelings about me.”

“I do not know what you speak of!” Letting go of you, he stood from the forest floor and began to circle the clearing in frustration. “Care to enlighten me?”

Crossing your arms, you stood with him. “I heard you. Earlier, in the corridor with Tauriel. With it, the veil from my eyes was lifted, and I am now able to see this relationship for what it is: a complete and utter lie.”

He spun around to face you. “That had absolutely nothing to do with you! It was about Legolas. It, in no way, concerned how I feel about you.”

“It had everything to do with me.” you spoke softly. “If the prince is not allowed to pledge himself to Tauriel, the esteemed captain of the guard, where does that leave me? I am a servant my lord, the lowest of the low, and if the prince cannot be with someone who is far above my own station, why would the king of all people do any different?”

You turned to face him, and saw a guilt stricken look cross into Thranduil’s eyes as he realized the implication of his words.

“Forgive me Meleth. I did not realize the severity of my words when I spoke.” He apologized. He crossed the clearing to stand in front of you. Gently grabbing your shoulders, he looked deep into your eyes, “My feelings for you are earnest and unchanging. You have reminded me what happiness looks like. When you came into my life, I saw glimmers of light that I had not seen since my wife died. The first time I looked into your eyes, my heart thawed and began to beat within my chest again. You are the one who has breathed life back into me.”

Shrugging his hands off, you turned away from him.  “Be that as it may, you must believe it someplace deep inside otherwise you would not have spoken as you did. If it really was a mistake, then you would not care if Tauriel and Legolas were together, but you do.”

“No!” Thranduil protested, “I did not realize how selfish I was being when I spoke with Tauriel. If Legolas wishes to be with her so be it. I do not care.” Turning you back around, he gently cupped your cheek and tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “How could I care if it would cost me you?” He whispered.

Staring into his eyes filled with nothing but love, you felt the weight on your chest slowly begin to lift for the first time in hours. Perhaps there was hope after all. Yet as your overwhelming emotions faded, your mind began to clear, leaving nothing but logic and the cold sting of reality as you reconsidered his earlier words. Casting your eyes to the ground, you said, “As much as it pains me to say it, it does not really matter whether you care or not. In many ways, the words you spoke held nothing but the truth. It’s foolish to believe that we can ever truly be together. I am a maid, and you are a king. This relationship has no future for you surely cannot pledge yourself to me. The people would never accept me as queen.”

Crossing your arms, you turned your back so that he would not be able to see the tears welling in your eyes. “We aren’t even truly together right now. We ignore each other around the presence of others, stealing hidden moments in the dead of night. Do you know how painful it is? To see you look at me so coldly, so uncaringly, in the light of day, yet share in the warmth of your embrace at night. It’s exhausting. Do you have any idea how much it makes my heart ache? All I want is the freedom to speak to you, comfort you, touch you, whenever I wish, but our relationship forbids it! I can’t even send you a simple smile when I pass you in the halls! Too often, I can see the stress of a wasted council meeting etched on your face, and I yearn to soothe you and share in your troubles but I cannot. I did not lie when I said your conversation with Tauriel lifted a veil from my eyes, but I can see that it's different from what I originally thought. I think it would be best for us to part ways right here, and that way we can both move on. Elves are immortal. If I left now, I would be but a flicker on the line that is your life. I’m sure it would not be too hard to forget me and our relationship.” you mumbled quietly.

Thranduil’s gaze turned fiery. “Do what you will. But know this, should you choose to leave this forest do not think for one second that I will ever forget you. Ten, a hundred, even thousands of years from now, I will ache for you every second of every day. Not once will you ever leave my mind.”

His gaze softened, “Please… come home, and I promise we will truly be together, no more sneaking around. I am not ashamed to be with you; we will walk the halls together and share in each other’s troubles as you wish.”

“But your advisors and the people-”

His eyes flashed, “Speak no more of it. Love has slipped from my grasp once before, and I refuse to allow it to again. I am the king of this realm, and if I wish to be with you then the people will have to accept it.”

Hearing his words, you wanted nothing more than to accept, but your doubt and insecurity still lingered near the surface. How could you accept when you knew that you would only hold him back? The people would not be happy, and it would lead to unrest in the kingdom. How could you be that selfish? You couldn’t tear apart an entire kingdom for your own happiness. To make matters worse you wouldn’t even be able to help Thranduil bring about peace. You were a servant for crying out loud; you knew nothing about diplomacy!

As an internal war waged within you, Thranduil noticed the doubt in your eyes holding you back. He could sense that you lied upon a threshold and with one little push, you would surrender your doubts and come back to him. Determined to give you that final push, he glided towards you. Lost within your mind, you didn’t even notice that he had started to move until he had pressed himself against your back. The feel of his hard chest against your back brought an immediate halt to the worries swirling within you. Time came to a complete standstill, and you held your breath in anticipation, nervous yet also excited to see what he would do.

Achingly slow, he lifted a hand to gently brush your hair back, baring your neck. With the back of his hand, he started to tenderly trace a path along the curve of your neck. The hand continued downward, skimming the curve of your breasts to reach its resting place on your belly. Your eyes fluttered closed again in appreciation, and without even realizing, you leaned slightly into him, unconsciously craving to be closer. He bent down, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Tell me Melamin, what troubles you so?”

You shivered as the heat of his breath hit your neck. As he started to pepper your jawline in featherlight kisses, your mind became clouded, but you still managed to share your doubts with him. “I still worry… of the people’s reaction… to our relationship.” you whispered.

Thranduil hummed in response and raised his hand to caress the other side of your jaw. He pressed himself even closer to you and with it a fire that only he could sate ignited within you. “Tell me, does it feel like I care for their reaction? Let go meleth, and I promise you everything will be fine.”

With that, he used his hand to tilt you toward him and leaned down to capture you in a kiss. It started sweet but soon an overwhelming need took over you. The kiss was transformed into a battle of passion, and you turned around to fully face him. Your hands trailed all over Thranduil’s body, sliding up his chest to eventually twist themselves into his hair. With a soft tug, you pulled him even closer to deepen the kiss. Your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t care. At that moment, all that mattered was him. With every second that passed, your doubts slowly melted away as thoughts of Thranduil consumed your mind. All you could focus on was the feel of his lips and his hands gliding over your hips. You wanted nothing more than to drown in the river of his love.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, you opened your eyes to gaze into his. Seeing the love and adoration he held for you in them, you allowed yourself to be drawn into the torrent, and you let go.

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

Afterwards, as you lay cuddled together on the forest floor, Thranduil reached down to entwine your hands together. Resting his head against your shoulder, he brushed a stray strand of hair out of the way and asked once again, “Come home, meleth nin?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you replied, “Yes.”

[likelycatherinemay]

Diary 7/?

Life goes on. Perhaps in a distant future, far removed from the current tumult, I will look back in disbelief. This will be an unbelievable anecdote to people who only know my joy. I don't want to deceive you, reader, things have gotten better. Blades have not found their way to my wrists in some time. By some time, I mean approximately two weeks.

Have you ever encountered someone who desires to retrace their life? The, "if I could only go back with everything I know now to first grade, I would in a heartbeat." I don't want that. My desire is to rewind the recent mistakes I have made. The tricky thing about harming yourself is all the questions people start to ask.

And despite what suicide intervention posters and training may tell you, at least in my case, no one wants to ask, "Are you planning on killing yourself?" Before you blame me for putting the onus on the people in my life, I want to make it clear that that is an impossible situation to be in. But it does lead to funny attempts at due diligence.

"Oh shoot, how are your arms doing?" Bad, thanks for asking.

"What happened?" Do you want the long or the short answer? Look, the episode is over, we're moving on. There will be another one, and another, and another. The beasts of sorrow and fear circle the narrow homestead of sanity in my countenance. Wolves waiting for the guard dog to lose vigilance. Eyes glowing circles against the swirling void of night. It's as if my suicidal tendencies have their own circadian rhythms, sleeping and waking in turn.

My roommates confound me. It seems I have an outstanding talent for surrounding myself with people who would hate me if they knew the truth of my identity. They are at best skeptical, and at worst, outright hostile to non-heterosexual people. My least favorite part is their gay friend. It is truly cruel to see someone who shields the better part of their identity to be accepted. Perhaps it is to shield from the abuse that would follow, something I am all too familiar with. It is that aspect that hurts me the most. When there is comradery and acceptance, but all parties are scared. We cower from expressing that solidarity.

I am pained by my ignorance. It hurts to think about these arrangements. Putting my faith in people I thought I knew better, I was smacked back to reality. The infernal cries of 'pause' levied against one another. I cannot stand the Olympics of straightness. Masculinity's vice grip is stronger and more fanciful than ever. Let it go! Stop with the pretense! Do you believe your girlfriends and sexuality will abandon you if you act with empathy? You are cowards. To think I lived among this ignorance and fear my whole life, to want THIS. How can anyone not feel agony with this farce of play? This performance, this lie destroys its actors in time. All of the jesters who stand will be suffocated at their altars by the weight of this systemic joke.

Let it go. Let your masculinity fade. What do you stand to gain from this continuity? I know the pain of a lack of acceptance, I live it every day. Cast down the idol. Melt its remnants. Venerate liberation.

If you'd like to catch my performance, check ticket prices for times from 9:00 a.m. to midnight.

I am quite close to finishing Babel. I am on page 501 to be exact. Instead of focusing on this book, school compelled me to read and finish Romance in Marseille. It was a perfectly okay book, and now, I am in the midst of Their Eyes Were Watching God. My apologies to Claude McKay, but Zora Neale Hurston is crushing you at the moment.

"I can hear but I cannot see

I can hear but I can't see

I can hear but I cannot see

Crybaby"

[inhumanheresy]

Tartaglia throws his head back with the loose abandon of agony-laced adrenaline and laughs, bright and sharp and genuine, the sound echoing around the mountainside clearing along with Morax’s own. “Most, then, are unfit to enjoy such an experience. The feeling of skill pit against skill and a true threat against your life is not for everyone, that much is true.”

He steps around Morax, dragging his fingers across the curved, barely-visible surface of the shield before they fall through golden dust motes as it scatters to the wind, and continues his pacing even when it does. It is no farce, his circling, no posturing of a lesser beast against one that has bested him, but both an attempt to read into any weakness of the shield that frustrated most of his attacks and his own healing habit — always moving to keep himself ready rather than luxuriating in the languid warmth of mending flesh.

To remain still too long is to invite your death. More than one scar reminds him of that.

“Hah! You imagine correctly, not that enthusiasm is a trait many of them consider valuable in the first place.” His own words aside, the thrill of a well-fought battle that shows on Tartaglia’s face intensifies at the commendation, but even moreso at the acknowledgment after.

His grin glints wide, the near-noonday sun casting no shadow to disguise either anticipation or fierce pride. “Then next time, we shall see how much of an advantage that changed perspective buys you against my improvement.”

None at all, if I can help it. How much can or will a fortress change in the face of adaptable tactics? And even if you do, I’ve seen you fight now.

“That aside, you can call this contract fulfilled.” He keeps watching the old god even as he stops to roll his shoulders, stretch aching legs, tug the small, neat vertical hole in his coat and shirt aside to see how far the cut has healed. “You’ve given me my reparations, and owe no further.”

His smile darkens - cocky, combative, and not at all attempting to hide his goading taunt. “So next time, take that to mind as you will. You may have beaten me, but you can’t hide the fact that you enjoyed this fight, Morax — a song in your heart and a thrill to the bone.” Two fingers straight as a sword poke Morax in the chest. “And I bet you’re burning to figure out how my riptide got through your impeccable shield.”

if it was not clear before, upon seeing that toothy grin, it most certainly is now— tartaglia has no intention of stopping his pursuit of perfection on the battlefield. he truly means to topple even gods regardless of whether that goal is a foolish one or no. and though that should hardly be surprising given all that he's said even before the two crossed blades, morax— in that moment— still finds himself in quiet awe. the man's drive alone remains a thing utterly remarkable and yet so very human.

so it is, then... he is decided in that instant. after all, even before his retirement, morax has had time enough to give. if not today— as long as it takes for the man to be satisfied— they will meet here like this again and again and again.

" most, i would wager. " he replies, a huff of laughter following the words, serving as a bookend. his demeanor remains rather solid, serious. but the corners of his mouth crease, the beginnings of a grin. " but you are not most; of that, i am now well aware. "

it is obvious, the man's fatigue, though still impressive by all counts to simply see him standing. his praise, though seemingly casual, is entirely genuine.

he watches then with pointed interest as tartaglia approaches, curious, only to be distinctly repelled by the still-solid elemental shield that surrounds him. he lets it fall a moment later. and this time, his laughter is less guarded, his grin wider even in his seriousness.

" you are certainly enthusiastic. " he notes, amusement lining his words. his expression softens for a moment before he continues, more serious again. " more than i— and i imagine many of your associates— had given you credit for. " signora, he means, though he does not say it. it is a compliment, too, in truth; despite his distaste with the plays conclusion, he's played his part well.

" i will not underestimate you again. "

[davetw13]

A better future to be found

My friend, I know that life has dealt some heavy blows.And the pain you feel inside is still evident, it shows,When the river of uncertainty increases as it flows,You are blinded by confusion, too tenacious to oppose What started so romantically all too soon became a farce,The side effects of which have knocked you to your arse!Hoping that the agony is something which will pass,Seeking out…