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dearmantis · 2 years ago

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There's no love like our love

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x wife!Reader

Summary: When the Royal Family finally turns on the Grisha, you find yourself caught in the crossfire. Alone, of course. You're always alone, it seems.

Warnings: murder, death, canonical persecution of Grisha, violence, mentioned death of children, sexual harassment, slutshaming, mentions of sex and cheating, suicidal thoughts, self hatred

Word Count: 6.6k words

Authors' Note: I DID IT! HERE IS YOUR PART TWO FOR A LOST EMBRACE! IT ONLY TOOK 76 YEARS! BUT I GOT IT DONE BEFORE THE END OF APRIL (this is also very not edited, and I'm still not a native English speaker).

Also, funfact: I cut the ending of this, just like I did with part 1. There was a whole other ending, but that was basically just a lot of fluff. I wasn't sure if people would want that from this series/twoshot specifically so I cut it. I can't tell of cutting the ending is a good or a really bad habit.

The title is from Lights are on by Tom Rosenthal!

Part 1: A lost embrace | Masterlist

The universe is filled with light. Billions of beautiful stars, all different sizes and temperatures, burning brightly and sending their energy out into the universe to bring warmth and light.

But there is even more darkness in the universe than there are stars, filling the space between the celestial bodies. An all surrounding nothingness that acts as a playing field for all of the beautiful, weird and wonderful things hiding in the endless sky. A canvas for everything else in the universe that hugs and surrounds all.

And one day, at least according to the most popular theories, the last stars will die and the universe will be entirely engulfed in darkness.

It began with a loud burst of light, and it will die quietly in shadows.

That knowledge used to bring you comfort and a feeling of belonging. The darkness became your new home, a special, safe place right next to your husband, but there is no safety and love to be found in the darkness now.

It was predictable, honestly. You should've known the second Vasily allowed the Darkling to travel Ravka to search of the Sun Summoner with only a few First Army soldiers for protection, but you simply didn't pay attention to the signs, too caught up in your own frustration and bitterness.

He didn't realise it either, it seems, because he simply left without even saying goodbye, leaving you behind to run the Little Palace in his absence. One night you fall asleep next to him, back turned towards him to visibly reject his presence, and the next morning he is gone, his side of the bed made and all of his most important belongings gone. No letter, no announcement beforehand, nothing.

Maybe his head was simply too focused on Alina to even remember that he still had a wife.

It doesn't matter anymore.

You're still awake when they come, three nights after the General left the Little Palace.

You're laying in bed, humming an old lullaby – one of the really old ones that you learned because he sometimes sings them to you when you can't sleep – while working on fixing the embroidery on the kefta of one of the younger students.

The disappearance of the Sun Summoner has led to chaos in all of Ravka, and there hasn't been a calm moment in the palace in weeks. You are forced, just like everyone else, to work until you pass out while keeping up appearances in front of the royal family. Everything needs to be immaculate despite the fact that the whole country is in a state of emergency, so you push small detail work like this into every free second of your day in hopes of doing something good.

You're so focused on your project that you don't even hear them approach your windows from the outside.

They sneak around, quietly taking out the guards until they're sure that they won't meet too much resistance, and then, suddenly, everything is very loud.

You don't remember what happens. Just flashes of memories. Little pieces that simply aren't enough to form a full picture, as if your body simply wasn't able to take it all in. Or maybe it refuses to remember.

Glass shatters, loud and unfamiliar steps echo like thunder through the halls of what was supposed to be your home, men with bad intentions are in your bedroom, in your house, in your garden.

And your husband is nowhere to be found.

The air smells like fire, panic and fear crackling in the air like electricity and the screams of the Grisha you swore to protect as if they were your own children echo through the building and outside.

Shots are fired in the distance, you're on the floor, the barrel of a gun pressed tightly against the back of your head.

There are more screams slicing through the night. You think you hear someone yelling your name, but before you can answer, one of the men who broke into your room slams their heavy gun against your head, and darkness welcomes you into it's familiar embrace.

When you finally wake it's to the sound of a gun shot ringing through the air, and though the bars of your new cage you watch through bleary eyes how one of your fellow Grisha runs away, his bright purple kefta unfortunately doing very little to hide his movements between the trees. You can't tell who it is, not in the dark.

A second shot gets fired. You see how it hits the Durast in the head, his body falling to the ground and staying there, unmoving. Nobody goes to check if he's dead or to drag him off and bury or burn his corpse. It's just left right there, next to a large ash tree.

Someone whimpers and sobs, begs for their life, but you can't take your eyes off the corpse. The way it just lays there, like it's nothing.

You haven't seen an actual battle in centuries. The Darkling is too paranoid to let you go, convinced that his enemies will target you in a fight and take you away from him. The thought alone used to turn his eyes cold and hard like ice, his whole body shaking with anger at the idea of you being in a dangerous situation. You haven't seen death like this, so fast and seemingly insignificant, in forever.

There is no triumph visible in the body language of the soldier that shot the Durast, but no shame either. A job done, nothing more. He doesn't celebrate or pat himself on the back. He just sits back down next to the fire in the middle of the camp and takes a sip of water, like the life he just took was worth less than even the life of a rabbit.

The other guards move to check the handcuffs of the others after that incident, making sure that everything works and no one is able to use their powers. Your heart races so fast it makes you dizzy, the fog in your head thickening and threatening to drag you back into unconsciousness.

It's hard to stay focused enough to take the whole situation in, but you try anyway, tearing your gaze away from the corpse. There are nine cages, including yours, one of them now empty.

The Grisha in the cages are, just like you, handcuffed with their hands far apart. Three of them are wearing their keftas - two of them being Alkemis, and you ask yourself if the Materialki were all still down in the workshops when the raid began - but the others, including you, are wearing whatever you wore to sleep that night. All of you are dirty, and you pray silently that none of them are hurt. It's hard to see with the lack of light. The cages all stand a bit too far away from the fire to truly see much.

The men who guard you, on the other hand, all look like they dressed up for a military parade. Their First Army uniforms sparkle almost, their faces clean shaven or decorated with carefully trimmed beards. This was planned. This whole raid was planned, probably for weeks, and you didn't notice. The idea most likely came up as soon as the General returned from the Fold, and no one ever picked up on it.

It feels like a relic from a time you're supposed to have left behind, a time you didn't even experience and only heard about from the Darkling and on rare occasions his mother.

The First Army doesn't hunt Grisha anymore. The king doesn't put you into cages. They just hate you, insult you, and harass you, but they don't physically harm you anymore. Yet... here you are.

Ravka isn't supposed to be like Fjerda, like Shu Han, like Kerch. The Darkling had made sure of that, worked for this one singular goal for centuries, and dedicated his whole life to it.

The thought of him makes your heart sting painfully, and you suppress the urge to worry for him, to wonder where he is and if he's safe. You have bigger issues than him right now. He's fine. There's no room for argument. He has survived wars and centuries of persecution. This won't kill him. He's probably out there somewhere, completely safe, trying to track down his sun summoner while you rot in this cage alongside the others.

After the handcuffs are checked you watch as four of the five soldiers walk to the cages of the two Alkemi, Ivanna and Ole, and pull them out, the fifth still sitting at the fire and watching the whole situation with mild interest.

You hear one of the guards make a suggestion on how to deal with them, and your stomach turns.

In your mind, you are 12 years old, hiding behind your mothers skirt. Her hand rests on your head, trying to soothe you as you watch with the other people your village how a woman gets dragged out of the cage they kept her in. You remember her face. She works as a seamstress. She gives you pretty ribbons to tie around your wrist or into your hair whenever your mother buys something from her.

The man – was he the mayor? The village head? You don't remember what he called himself – who pulled her out of the cage pushes her to the ground, right in front of a large rock, and motions for someone hiding in the crowd to come closer.

Another man steps forward, the blacksmith, in his hands the biggest hammer you have ever seen.

The woman starts screaming now, her voice breaking under the force of her violent sobs. Her body shakes horribly, and your own shaking hands dig deeper into the material of your mothers skirt.

"Please, please, I swear it. This is a misunderstanding. I did nothing wrong. I swear it. Please, just listen to me," the woman begs while the mayor grabs the thick rope attacked to her handcuffs and pulls her arms and hands to rest on the rock.

The noise the hammer made when it slammed down on her hands haunts you for centuries, just like her screams do.

Just like the screams of the Materialki probably will if you survive this when the guards push them to the ground. The only difference is that the soldiers have no large hammers to break their hands.

You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything, completely frozen in fear while the soldiers hold them down, each of them pressing an arm down onto the cold ground. The two have no chance to defend themselves.

The man at the fire finally stands up slowly, grabbing one of the rocks lining the fire to prevent forest fires, and walks over to the six people on the ground.

You watch him do it. You have to. You failed to protect your Grisha, and the least you can do is witness the horrors they have to go through because of your own mistakes.

Because you should've known. You should've known. Of course the royal family would turn on Grisha. Of course they would send the Darkling away before they raided the Little Palace. He is the last line of defence for the Grisha in this country.

You should've noticed the signs. You should've talked to the General about it, maybe even with Baghra. You should've started to prepare to evacuate the whole Palace, organized a place to hide with food and beds and water.

But you didn't. You didn't because you were too blinded by your own stupid quarrel with the Darkling. This is your fault. Every drop of blood that was shed that night, every bit of pain and suffering that your Grisha experienced, clings to you.

It's all your fault.

When the soldiers are sure that they broke every bone in Alkemis' hands, they put the cuffs back on and throw them back into their cages.

And then they walk back to the fire in the middle of the camp and begin to eat, ignoring the sobbing of the Grisha only a few metres away from them and the corpse still peacefully resting between the bushes and trees.

You wake up the next morning with aching muscles and the knowledge that you probably won't get out of this camp alive. Because as much as you would like to pretend otherwise, these people know you. If Vasily gives the command to have you killed, these men know that you're their target. And he would. You can't even blame him for it. You're the wife of the General, just as much of a symbol for the Second Army as the Darkling. Killing you would be a message to all of Ravka.

They don't treat you much differently than they treat the others, to your surprise. You get starved like the others, glared at like the others, and dehydrated like the others.

You could almost believe that they somehow don't know who you are if it wasn't for the insults.

Every Grisha gets insulted, some more creatively than the others. Especially the two Alkemi get made fun of for their broken, swollen, and discoloured hands by the soldiers, like they aren't the reason why they look like that. Other insults directed at other Grisha in the camp, on the other hand, are overused and boring, like when they asked Lena, an Inferni, where her spark is, why her fire has disappeared.

"I thought Infernis are always so hot-headed? Come on, give us a show!" One of the older men in the camp says to her on your second day awake, and it makes your skin crawl. You wish you could claw those mens eyes out, make them bleed.

But the insults they direct at you, those are personal. They prove that they know exactly who you are despite never saying your name once.

The Darklings slut. That's what you are to them.

His favourite toy. A bedwarmer. A plaything. A whore to entertain him. A distraction from the war. A thing he can let his frustrations out on.

That's who you are in their eyes. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that deserves respect or should be feared. The fact that you and the other Grisha can't use the small science makes them braver.

The worst insults are the ones they come up with after the third day in the cage, right after the soldiers get a quick visit from one of Vasilys messengers, because their words are suddenly no longer insults. They are observations and a horrible, new truth that convince you that their earlier insults are true, working hand in hand with the thoughts and fears you had before any of this even started.

"Don't look at me like that, whore. Everybody, even us fools in the First Army, know how enamoured your husband was with the sun summoner. How many times do you think he fucked her before she ran? Probably did it right behind your back in your shared bed, you stupid thing. I bet she was the last thing he thought of before the guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."

The soldiers celebrate the news of the Darklings death like they just won the wars with Fjerda and Shu Han and tore down the Fold with their bare hands, drinking alcohol and eating freshly hunted deer meat while you and the other Grisha grieve and starve. You don't allow yourself to cry like the others, but you can feel your soul rip itself apart.

You begin to lose yourself after that.

Your sanity runs through your hands like sand, your mind desperate to escape the smell of the Durasts rotting corpse that the soldiers never bothered to remove, the insults, the screams of the other Grisha when they get pulled out of their cages (one a day, always only one a day, like they're trying to drag it out), the desperate hunger that burns in your stomach, the thirst that tears your throat apart, the death of your husband: reality in all it's horrible shapes and colours.

First, you spend a few minutes caught up in a nice memory, like a short conversation in the gardens of the Little Palace, drinking tea and leaning on his shoulder while he tells you about his day. Then the daydreams get longer and take more control over you until you spend days staring at nothing, buried so deep in your own mind that you're no longer aware of what happens around you.

A small part of you hopes that they'll kill you while you're in that state, caught up in the past. Everything is better than reality, and with every second that passes when you're fully aware of your surroundings, that reality becomes more unbearable.

You love remembering the time before Alina the most. You know that her only sin is shining a light onto the lies, destruction, and rot surrounding you, but without her light, you were able to pretend.

You are good at pretending.

The light just makes it harder, and sometimes you slip up and accidentally sink into a more recent memory, your mind racing through different thoughts so fast that you're unable to stop it.

Like how the girl whose kefta you repaired that night, little Bibi, probably ended up dying without it after working so hard to prove to everyone that she earned it. And now her corpse lays somewhere in Ravka with no one to take care of it, to lay it to rest.

The kids are easily the worst thing to remember. Every time you do, it feels like the guilt eats your heart or whatever is left of it right out of your chest, ripping and tearing on the muscle like a wolf on a bone.

How many of them got out of the Palace in time and are now hiding somewhere, probably scared and alone with no one to help them and no idea how to get to other Grisha or back to their families? How many of them are stuck in cages just like you, starving and terrified of the First Army men who are only waiting to get the command to kill them? How many of them didn't even make it out of the Little Palace and died at the hand of the soldiers during the raid?

How many children were buried and burned that night?

Your husband isn't much better to remember either. The words of the First Army soldiers burn themselves into your mind like hot coals. You don't want to think about it. You've never wanted to think about something less in your entire life, but no matter what you do, the pain of losing someone you've known for almost your whole life feels like a knife stuck in your chest.

"... guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."

It's odd, really, how all consuming grief can be even if a part of you hates the person you lost. Almost surreal.

There have always been chapters of your life subtitled with "before the Darkling". There aren't supposed to be chapters subtitled "after the Darkling", not even a single one. It's wrong. It's entirely wrong. He's supposed to be a constant. Something that doesn't move, doesn't change, doesn't leave. He was supposed to be here until the end of everything.

He wasn't supposed to leave you behind. You can't do this without him. You can't lose him. This isn't right.

It's the last piece. The last drop required to convince you that giving up might not be the worst option. If they succeeded in killing the Darkling... what can truly be done anymore? What can you do? You can't free the Grisha in your camp, not with your hands cuffed so far apart from each other that your arms regularly start cramping, and a stomach so empty that it feels like your entire body is trying to collapse in on itself to fill the void. You can't convince the soldiers to free you. You can't save the children and rebuild Ravka into a safe place once more, not alone. You can't do anything on your own. You are nothing.

So why shouldn't you die? Why not join your husbands soul, wherever it may be now? What is left for you to do here? What can you do?

Death haunts your sense of smell and vision. It haunts your mind, and it haunts all of Ravka. Why not let it carry you off? Away from the pain, the suffering, the fear and grief and rot.

There is only more to come. More horrors that linger in the unpredictable future, and no one left to fix it. You certainly can't do it, Baghra - if she still lives, that is - doesn't care enough about others to even attempt to fix anything, and the sun summoner evidently can't do it either. All she can do is shine light on the evil lingering in the dark, but she's not strong or persuasive enough to improve and change the nightmares she exposes.

The Darkling could've done it. He would fight tooth and nail, drench his hands in blood and ash to free the others. He has fought his whole life, after all. He could've done it again.

But you can't. You can't take his position in this war, as much as you wish you could. You can't even get your hands out of your stupid cuffs, no matter how hard you try.

Baghra was right in the end, it seems. You really are too weak to stay at her and her sons side as their equal. You are dust, nothing more.

Now that you're here, stuck in a cage and unable to defend yourself in any way, you ask yourself once more how she and her son could've possibly survived this long. How did they not give up? What do they have that you lack?

"When the entire world hates you and wants you dead, the best thing you can do is live."

That's what she said back then, but you simply don't understand how she found the strength to keep going. You can't find it in you, no matter how much you look. Your whole life is gone. Your friends are probably all in cages or dead. Your husband is dead. Your home is gone. There is nothing left, no reason for you to continue.

Your husband would want you to keep going, a voice in the back of your mind answers, and you can feel the sharp stinging in your chest return at the thought.

You miss him. You miss him so much that it feels like you're being torn apart from the inside. And if you're really honest with yourself, you have to admit that you have been in this state for a while.

All of that anger and jealousy was just your bodies way to avoid facing the fact that you were lonely. No wonder you immediately fell back into routine like a desperate little cat when he finally gifted you some attention after Alina fled. Your entire being was begging to get him back.

And now you will never have him again because you were both too stubborn to simply talk with each other. He will never understand how much it hurt to see him obsess over someone else, and you will never know why you suddenly weren't enough for him anymore.

You will never hear his voice again, or knit him a new scarf for winter, or wash his hair for him after an exhausting day. You will never be comforted by him when you have a headache or watch the first snow of the year cover the grass outside of the Little Palace. You will never fall asleep next to him again, his arms wrapped around you and your face pressed against his chest as his heartbeat and calm breathing lull you to sleep.

He will never hug you again or surprise you with breakfast. He will never help you choose jewelry for an event again, give you his cloak when you're cold, kiss you, laugh at your horrible jokes, or moan your name into your ear, his voice raspy with love and desire while he tries to bring you to another orgasm before his own crashes down on him.

You will never do anything with him ever again.

Turning your head slightly, you stare at the soldiers sitting at the fire, eating some form of stew. You can't smell it. The stench of the decomposing body is too strong, and you wonder how the soldiers can stomach food in this environment.

You can barely breathe on some days without gagging every few seconds. It's so horrible that it drives tears into your eyes.

They talk and laugh about some servant girl, and you silently ask yourself what fate the servants of the Little Palace met. How many of them died that night? How many fled? Did any of them try to help the Grisha that might've fled? And saints, what happened to the Oprichniki?

Slowly closing your eyes again, you pray that the wind changes direction and starts blowing the smell away while you try to think of something that gives you strength.

The first thing that comes to mind is your amplifier.

You haven't thought about that day in a while, not since Alina came to the Palace and your heart and soul drowned themselves in jealousy and hate.

But it's not right to forget something so special. You should remember.

Who else in all of Ravka got proposed to, not with a ring but with a barn owl and a knife?

He has been gone for months, looking for something in West Ravka, choosing to trave through Fjerda and around the Fold to avoid going through it, and the constant worry that he would be discovered keeps you awake on some nights. He sends a letter once a month and promises you over and over that he would be back in the spring, but you still end up surprised when one of your friends drags you out of your bed in the middle of the night and ushers you towards the Generals quarters.

And when you open the doors you find him leaning against his desk, a knife next to him on the table and a barn owl sitting quietly in a cage, large eyes looking at you curiously, but you don't even see those things. Not at first, at least.

You just see him.

"You're back!"

Quickly jumping over to him, you throw your arms around him and press your face against him, a deep laugh bubbling in his chest as he moves to embrace you tightly.

"Careful, my love," he murmurs, his hands finding the back of your neck and pressing you closer to him.

You stay like that for a while, holding each other tightly while he whispers soft words into your ear.

"I'm so happy to see you. I missed you so much, little love. I hope you weren't too lonely without me," he coos, pressing a long kiss onto your head.

You're about to answer him when the bird finally makes himself known. Turning your head quickly you look at it, and the owl turns it's head to the side as if it's trying to do assess you carefully as well, it's dark eyes looking you over a few times. You feel a bit self-conscious in your night dress, but instead of shying away, you decide to let it look.

"Is that what you were looking for in West Ravka?" you ask, gazing back up at him.

"I did a lot of research over the past year, and I think this amplifier would be strong enough," he explains, his voice as soft as a feather.

"Strong enough?"

"To keep you with me. I didn't believe it at first either, but this little bird could give you forever. Time would no longer be able to take you from me. I could keep you for eternity."

Tears well up in your eyes, your hands moving to hold onto the front of his kefta as he reaches over to the knife and holds it out to you.

"You don't have to do it right now. You can get to know the owl and see if it feels right. Think about it for a while. It's a big commitment, after all." His empty hand moves up to cup your face, and the tenderness in his gaze makes your heart race. "If you chose the amplifier, I will stay with you. I will be at your side until the end of everything, I promise it. I will take care of you when you're hurt, hold you when you're sad, and laugh with you when you're happy. I will fight at your side, protect you with my life, and take care of you until I die."

Biting your lip weakly, you look up into his eyes, somehow darker than the night sky. "And if I don't choose to take the amplifier?"

"Then I'll still do all of those things. I will just have less time by your side, but I will cherish that time just as much, sweet girl."

You don't know when it happens because you start to loose track of time after the first week is over, but at some point in a random night one of the soldiers goes into the forest to get fresh water from a nearby river and doesn't return.

You're not conscious enough to notice it, and the soldiers are too caught up in their preparations for tonight's entertainment.

You don't even notice how they move through the camp, their eyes looking at each and every grisha they have, and judging who would be able to provide the most fun tonight. You just wish you were lying on the floor.

If you laid down, you could pretend that the heaviness on your chest is your husbands weight and not a heavy mountain of grief that tries to drag you down into the heart of the world.

He liked to do that. Lay on top of you to make sure that every single centimetre of you touched him in some way. You used to jokingly complain about it, but he never stopped. Every time he knew you needed comfort he would lay down on top of you, his heavy, strong body pressing you deep into the mattress while he talked, either asking questions about your day and whatever might be bothering you, or telling you about his, always carefully pressing small kisses onto your face and neck.

He must've known that his weight comforted you, made you feel safe. You've never wanted to be crushed into a mattress by him so badly in your whole life.

You don't hear it when they discuss if you're weak enough now to remove you from the cuffs. You don't even hear it when they open your cage, the old metal screeching loudly.

You don't realize that anything is wrong until one of the soldiers unlocks the cuffs and your body falls to the floor like a wet sack of flour. A loud groan leaves your mouth, your voice rough from lack of use.

The soldier grabs your ankles and drags you out of the cage, your upper body dragging over the floor. After being hung up for so long, you realise very quickly that you can't move your arms at all. The muscles start twitching as soon as you even attempt to bring them together, and a horrible, sharp tingling sensation makes itself noticeable. You bite your teeth together to stop yourself from screaming out.

A wave of panic crashes over you as soon as you fully understand what's going on, trying to kick the man dragging you closer to the fire, but none of your movements seem to really bother him.

As soon as you're close enough to the fire, someone flips you onto your stomach and buries their hand in your hair to pull your head up. Your back bends horribly, and you hiss out in pain as your eyes find those of the soldier who broke the Alkemis hands with a rock.

He doesn't say anything. He just looks at you, eyes taking in every flinch and twitch in your face.

You stay like this for a few seconds staring at each other, when he suddenly spits directly into your face, a wide grin splitting his face into two a few seconds later before he slaps you. Your head drops to the ground quickly.

"Let's get started. Markus can join us later when he's done," someone says. Three seconds later, before you have time to register what he means, you have a small knife in your back.

A blood curdling scream leaves your throat and tears well up in your eyes. You want to beg, to humiliate yourself even further and kiss their shoes in hopes of escaping this, but the last shred of pride left in you won't let you.

One of the soldiers steps onto one of your hands, twisting his shoe a bit in the process to make it hurt more. Someone else grabs your other arm and twists it behind your back until you scream out once more. This time, you scream your husbands name, unable to stop yourself in time. It's a broken, pathetic sound that echoes through the trees like a gunshot.

You know he won't come, but something about saying his name again feels almost cathartic, so you continue to scream it out with your full heart and soul. With every hit, every kick, and every stab wound, you scream the real name of the black heretic out into the endless night and beg death to bring you to him.

When the first gunshots get fired into the forest, you mistakenly assume that they're shooting at you and tightly close your eyes. Your heartbeat rushes loudly in your ears, and your mind replays the events of the first day when the Durast got shot. You can't even stand up and run. Your whole body is consumed by pain.

This is it, you think. Loud screams pierce through the air, gruelling, blood curling screams that scare you half to death.

Your mind races, trying to quickly find a last memory to remember before a bullet pierces your chest or head and kills you, something sweet and soft and perfect, like your wedding night, or your first kiss, or your-.

A loud scream rips itself out of your throat when a bullet hits you right into your leg. The man who shot it is dead seconds later, torn to shreds by darkness itself, but you don't see it, your eyes still rightly closed as you wait for the next bullet to hit you.

It never comes.

Instead someone yells your name, and you think it sounds familiar.

"Ivan!" the man screams, and a second later, someone carefully turns you onto your back and falls to their knees next to you, pulling your head up into their lap, their large hands cupping your face.

You don't want to die. You're not ready.

"My love, my love, it's me. Can you hear me?," he speaks. Fabric ruffles and something wide is dropped over your shaking, weak form, and your whole body feels warm for the first time in days. A familiar scent enters your lungs, somehow overpowering the stench of rotting corpse and fresh blood.

"Sasha?" Squinting your eyes, you look up, trying to focus on the blurry face hovering above yours. He's easy to recognize. The ink black lines over his face are unique to him, almost out of place in this world, just like him. You want to reach up and touch him, but you can't. Your muscles won't cooperate.

"I'm here, my little love. I'm right here. I found you. And I'm so proud of you. So, so proud of you. And I'm sorry," Aleksander answers. His eyes sparkle like stars, tears rolling down his face and dripping onto yours like raindrops. In the back of your mind, you realize that you've never seen him cry in front of people like this before. Only ever in private. Now his voice is almost breaking, his sobs so loud it drowns out the noise of your own hammering heartbeat. It must be a dream. He would never allow himself to show weakness like this.

Ivan appears next to him like a ghost, his hands covered in blood as he carefully lifts the thick black cloak Aleksander covered you with from your legs to look at the injuries there.

"Sasha," you rasp out again. You want him to hold you so badly, but you can barely speak. All you want is to be held by your husband.

"Right here. I'm so sorry, sweet girl. So sorry. I promised I would protect you, and I failed. I'm so sorry, I will never make that mistake again, I swear. I'll never take you for granted again. I'm so sorry for being late."

You want to respond, to calm him down, but he doesn't give you a chance to talk. He just continues with his panicked, slightly hysterical rambling, his whole body shaking under the force of his sobs.

"I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you're safe, and I will never leave your side again. No one will ever hurt you again."

His thumb strokes your cheek gently, and the love in his gaze almost feels like a punch in the gut. He looks absolutely in love and absolutely devastated as well. "I thought I lost you. I kept looking for you in every camp I found, but you were never there, and none of the soldiers would tell me where you are. I was so sure they killed you. I was so scared. I thought-"

Aleksanders voice shatters like glass, his body almost curling in on itself as he presses his forehead against yours. You recognize the breathing pattern he uses, an old trick he taught you a few years ago when you were still new to your position as the Darklings wife. He's trying to stop a panic attack from taking over.

"I'm so proud of you. You're so strong and brave, my darling girl. My lovely wife. I love you so much. You're so good, so good for me. I don't know what I would do without you. What I would do if they... I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you. I'm sorry."

He sounds broken, you notice. You've never heard him like this in your entire life. Tears flood your eyes, and you take a deep breath, more of his familiar scent entering your lungs. Rosemary and ash, with a hint of something sweet.

"I'm never going away again, I promise. I will never leave you again, sweet girl. Never again. You will never be able to get rid of me. I will bind myself to you, body and soul, until the end of everything, I swear it."

You're starting to get dizzy. Everything is so overwhelming.

"Am I dead?" You hear yourself asking, your vision dimming slowly, and you're sure you will be dragged back into unconsciousness by your body soon. Aleksander laughs, and it's oddly light and relieved, considering the context.

"No. No, you're alive. You survived. We both survived."

You smile.

Part 3: So I stayed in the darkness with you

Taglist: @savagejane1 @deadunicorn159

#aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #darkling x reader

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a-shade-of-blue · 15 days ago

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New Vetted Gaza Fundraisers that reached out to me (6-7 December)

7 December

Doaa Adas (@doaaadas): Doaa and parents were targeted by the Israeli soldiers. Her father was martyred while she was injured. (https://gofund.me/6a334782) (vetted by association. Doaa is vouched for by @/mohammedalhabil2000 (#236 on @/gazavetters vetted list, shared by 90-ghost, vetted by association)) ($62 USD raised of $15K target)

Jameela Al-Dahdouh (@jamela-salem): Jameela is 70 years old and her husband Jamal is 76 years old. Jameela is suffering from cancer, high blood pressure, and diabetes. She wishes to evacuate from Gaza and receive the medical care she needs. (https://gofund.me/41efddbc) (shared by 90-ghost)

Kholood Smeer (@kholoodgaza): Kholood is a 29-year-old physiotherapist, living in northern Gaza and her husband Khaled is a paramedic. They are also living with her new born baby, her 2-year-old daughter Amira, her mother and her younger brother Mohamed who is a medical student. They wish to evacuate from Gaza. (https://gofund.me/638e074e) (shared by bilal-salah0) (£42 raised of £5K target)

Mohammed Ayoub Al-Madhoun (@savemohammedfamily199): Mohammed is 25 years old and has 2 daughters: Masa (3) and Misk (1). They are from Jabalia but now they are displaced. (https://gofund.me/5c68e2d7) (#148 on @/gazavetters vetted list) (€192 raised of €10K goal, fundraising since July)

6 December

Mysolin Bahader (@mysolin1, @maysolin): Mysolin has 4 children and they are displaced in a tent in Gaza. Her sister Myadaa, who is in Belgium, is organizing the fundraiser to help them. (https://gofund.me/c21a1874) (#165 on @/gazavetters vetted list) (€310 raised of €20K target, fundraising since September)

Neama, Mohammed (@neamamhmd9): Neama is 24 years old and she is a medical staff. She lives with her parents: Mohammed (69), and Amal (60), and her 4 siblings: Ahmed (32), Alaa (36), Mariam (27) Mahmoud (22). Her widowed sister (38) also have 4 children: Tulin (10), Obaida (9), Laith (6), Ghaith (5). Mohammed suffers from a chronic disease (chronic pulmonary obstruction and difficulty breathing) and now relies on breathing tubes. Her widowed sister also suffers from a chronic illness (ulcerative colitis). (https://gofund.me/2849f596) (shared by 90-ghost) (€110 raised of €90K goal, fundraising since June)

Click here for my Google Doc with my complete masterlist of all the Palestinian gfm asks I've received

Info on how gfm campaigns vetted: See here, here, here and here.

See post here for other verified ways to send aid to Gaza.

Daily Clicks on Arab.org. Every click made is registered in their system and generates donation from sponsors/advertisers.

See links below for my Masterlists of Vetted Fundraisers from the Palestinians who sent me asks for if you want to help more people! As well as resources for palestinian students if you are a palestinian student!

Masterlists of Vetted Fundraisers

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13 - 25 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 26 -29 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 30 July - 1 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6 - 10 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11 - 14 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15 - 18 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 19 - 21 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 22 - 24 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 25 - 28 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 29 August - 1 September

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6-10 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11-14 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15-18 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 19-22 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 23-26 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 27-30 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 1-4 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 5-9 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 10-14 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15-21 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 22-26 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 27 October - 2 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 3-12 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13-22 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 23-28 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 29 November - 5 December.

Resources for Palestinian Students!

Initiatives and resources to support Palestinian students, academics and universities:

This is a list of initiatives and resources for Gazan students seeking to complete their studies, including initiatives, resources, training and scholarships. See list here.

Scholarships for Displaced Palestinian students:

Putting this here for the palestininans who follow me: If you are a displaced Palestinian student looking to fund your education, this document lists the scholarships available around the world for displaced Palestinian students.

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gaycragula · 8 months ago

Note

Self-indulgent request: Could I get a typical domestic morning while married to Soldier 76? Thank you ❤️

Mornings with Soldier 76

Pairing: Soldier 76 x GN!Reader Warning(s): Mentions of nudity but nothing descript Word Count: 994 Account Navigation

The bed creaked next to you before you felt the mattress shift. You groan as you push yourself up to see what the disturbance was. Lips pressed against your temple, a quiet ‘shhhh’ following.

“Just me,” Soldier whispers, urging you to lay back down, which you happily did.

“That time already?” You mumble, your words slurring together ever so slightly. You hear a quiet laugh before a hand was stroking your head, urging you back to sleep.

“You’ve got time. It’s still dark outside. Go back to bed, honey.”

You grumble in response as you nestle back into bed, happy to get a couple more hours of sleep.

By the time you woke back up, the sun was peeking through your blinds, casting a pretty yellowish orange light along your walls. You rub sleep from your eyes, yawning as you push yourself up and out of bed. The faint smell of coffee hung in the air as you walked into the living room.

You smile as you enter the kitchen. He left enough for you to have a cup. You poor the rest into a #1 one husband mug Jack had gotten you when you first got married- he’d found it amusing- and add your cream and sugar.

A sigh left you as you leaned against the kitchen counter. Jack wouldn’t be back for a little longer. His morning workout normally stretches for a few hours.It still amazes you how active he is at his age. But you suppose being a super soldier probably has something to do with it.

You glance at the clock above the stove. 7:30 AM. You could probably start breakfast. He’ll probably be back around the time it’s done.

You were right. As you were plating the last bits of breakfast, the door unlocked. You heard him let out a sigh as he walked in. Lips pressed against your temple as hands settled on your hips. “Good morning, Jack,” you greet, turning in his grasp so you could look at him.

“Good morning, honey,” Jack greets, leaning into you to press a kiss against your lips. “Sorry about waking you up.”

You let out a quiet laugh, pushing your head under his chin as you hugged him. “Doesn’t bother me. And thank you for the coffee.”

Soldier huffed above you and you’re positive he rolled his eyes. You pulled back, nudging Jack towards the table. “Go sit down.”

You’d be lying if you said you were surprised Jack instead grabbed two plates and silverware before he went and sat down. You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you grabbed the food and joined him at the table.

He enjoyed telling you about his run. The things he saw, the people he talked to. His favorite thing to bring up were deals he saw for stores the two of you frequented. It always amused you.

Jack did the cleaning up, insisting you relax for a moment despite your rebuttals. You finally gave in when he promised he’d let you do it next time. You’re sure ‘next time’ will end the same way.

You watch from the couch as Jack cleans up, setting the dishes in the dishwasher and starting it. It took less than 5 minutes and then he was joining you on the couch.

“Did you shower before you left?” You ask, cozying up to him as you waited for an answer. It was a 50/50 with him.

“Not today.”

“Good. You’re all sweaty. Come on.” You drag him off the couch. Soldier let you pull him into the bathroom without much fuss. The usual ‘I was just getting comfy’ was all the trouble he caused you.

You turned the shower on to let it warm up before you started stripping, folding your clothes in a neat pile on the sink. Jack mirrored your actions.

The water was warm as you stepped in. You offered your hand to Jack who took it with a quiet thank you. It was usual for the both of you to help each other wash. Jack had issues getting his back and parts of his legs.

You were more than happy to help and he was more than willing to accept the help. Hands traced over Jack’s scars. It was one of your favorite things to do. He’d told you how he got most of them- long as he remembered them. He let out a series of quiet sighs, his muscles visibly relaxing under your hands.

Showers with Soldier always lasted maybe a little longer than they should, both of you getting out long after your fingers had pruned. Towels wrapped around your waists as you start your morning routine.

The double sink was amazing. Neither of you crowded each other as you brushed your teeth and did the other steps of your morning routines. Jack waited for you to finish, pressing a short kiss to your lips, before you both returned to the bedroom.

You rummaged through your dresser to find an adequate outfit for the day. Jack does the same. You’d both gone with jeans and a simple t-shirt. He grabs a belt from the closet, looking it over for a couple seconds before handing it to you.

You chuckle in response, taking it before doing the same. It had become an everyday thing. You’d both end up picking something out for the other to wear. Sometimes it was a shirt, sometimes something as small as a bracelet or necklace. Jack had admitted once it was his way of showing you were ‘bonded’ in his words.

He helps you pull your belt through the loops of your pants, pressing chaste kisses against your lips. It has you letting out breathy laughs that he returns with low chuckles. While you do your belt, making sure it’s not too tight, Jack loops his into his own pants.

“What’s the plan today, Soldier?” You hum, pulling him into another kiss.

#soldier 76 #soldier 76 x reader #soldier76 x gn!reader #soldier76 x male reader #x male reader #x gn!reader #x reader #overwatch #overwatch 2 #ow2 #ow #fluff #domestic life #married life ugh #established relationship #i love you jack morrison

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rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world · 5 months ago

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Repost from @mashjar_juthour:

I have nightmares every single night that they kill my husband and hurt or kill me as I try to save my children.

I was terrified today going through checkpoints that a soldier recognizes me and decides to just deal with me rogue-style. Every person living under the Israeli occupation is at risk of an 18 year old doing whatever they want with no consequences. So pls don’t applaud me. We are all living in danger.

Many times when I pick up my kid at school a mom from Jerusalem says to me that I speak for her because she cannot speak or they’ll arrest her or her husband. So many people here thank me in Ramallah and say I speak for them as mothers. They are not free to speak for themselves. There is no freedom here for anyone.

We are all terrified to speak but we have to because if we don’t, who will tell you the truth?! Even though I am terrified of the cost to myself and my family.

And now it is on you to end this genocide and 76 years of oppression, dispossession and annihilation. So now, what will you do with the truth?

#palestine #human rights #free palestine #gaza #israel #west bank #free the west bank #end the occupation #stop the genocide #israel is a terrorist state #israel is an apartheid state

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criolla-star · 3 days ago

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Overwhelmed(Vinny x Garmadon)Part 77

(I suggest you check out parts 1-76 if you haven’t already, also my ao3 and wattpad for the chapters more organised)

Deity gave Vinny a soft smile as she walked in, “Willow spoke to you?” She asked softly, receiving a nod.

“You didn’t tell me that snake did the same to her” The cameraman spoke, he seemed curious as to why, Deity sighed and sat down grabbing a bunch of scrolls.

“It wasn’t my place to tell you…I didn’t even know she knew Rushifa did that…but she must’ve realised by your reaction” Deity answered as she began reading through the scrolls.

“That…makes sense…it makes me feel a little better” Vinny sighed out as he stroked a hand through his hair, Deity nodded as she used some magic to open various scrolls around her.

“Feel free to ask me questions dear…I’m just trying to find out something” She spoke, attempting to reassure Vinny, he nodded in response as he tried to think of some questions. The room was quiet other than the soft breathing and occasional sound of the scrolls being flicked.

“Hey…uhh the mark on your cheek? Willow and Shancai are their own counterparts they finish it…did you have a sibling?” Vinny hesitantly spoke up, causing Deity to pause before letting out a shaky sigh.

“Yes…” she answered softly, “A twin brother…”

“Were you two…close?” Vinny questioned, clearly reluctant noticing her reaction.

“No…not at all, not like my children…we tolerated each other…till we didn’t…” Deity replied her voice dropping into a sadder tone.

“What…happened to him?” The cameraman shakily asked.

“He went…down a path…a bad path and we grew apart…” Deity confessed, it was clearly a touchy subject.

“Did he…do anything?” Vinny asked.

“He…did some stuff, some bad and some…rarely good…” Deity replied quietly as she looked at the ground, and stared at her hands.

“Do…Shancai and Willow know about him?” He asked.

“Not much…they’ve never been introduced…” she sighed, Vinny stayed quiet, silence filling the room. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Can you…tell me a little about the kingdom? It’s a nice place, I just don’t know much about it” The cameraman eventually spoke up, breaking the deafening silence.

“Of course dear, it’s quite a funny story actually…” Deity chuckled softly, her voice slightly pained.

“If there’s anything you don’t want to say, you don’t have to” Vinny spoke reassuringly as he smiled at her.

“Nonsense dear! Everything in this story is crucial” she chuckled before grabbing a blank piece of parchment and setting it down on the table, before the beanbag Vinny was sitting on was magically pulled towards the table, in front of Deity.

“Uhh…what’s this for?” The cameraman asked curiously as he stared at the blank parchment then Deity.

“Dear I know magic” She chuckled as she playfully rolled her eyes, “I’m not giving you a boring story” she added as she ruffled his hair.

“R-right” Vinny chuckled sheepishly as he flushed from embarrassment slightly, his eyes widened in surprise as he saw a really light pink mist form on the parchment paper, it began forming objects? And then human figures? It was really cool, watching was Deity moved her hands ever so slightly and more things would change.

“This story starts long ago…” she began as the pink mist began to change into a forest, “The kingdom wasn’t too keen on beings who wielded such powers, whether it be elementals or in my case magic” she began, as Vinny nodded watching the mist change.

“You weren’t…from the royal bloodline?” Vinny asked.

“No my dear…I was far from it” Deity chuckled.

“So your husband was?” He asked, receiving a soft nod, “If…the kingdom was against magic…how’d you two-?” Vinny cut himself as he made a gesture.

“You’ll see dear” She chuckled, “My husband’s father being king as well as a soldier made lies of those different…we were seen as beast not humans” she sighed out as the pink mist formed into a group of people out casting others.

“T-that’s-“ Vinny cut himself out, not wanting to finish his sentence.

“Me and my husband met in an interesting way” She spoke, as the mist formed into a building for what seemed like a bar, “I was trying to blend in with the crowd at a bar” She chuckled softly.

“Were you drunk?” Vinny hesitantly asked.

“A little..but he on the other hand was out of it” She laughed out, “He was an amazing singer…he was sang and after he finished he found me…he didn’t seem to recognise me as what was known as a beast…might have been the alcohol” Deity smiled to herself.

“That’s…really nice” Vinny smiled at her, as he saw the mist form into two figures, sitting at a counter talking.

“It was…we had a few drinks together…and you can guess what happened from there” She chuckled, receiving a soft nod and chuckled from Vinny. “That’s how we had our kids…” she added quietly.

“Oh s-shit wow…” The cameraman spoke out, without thinking, “Did he know?”

“No…” Deity confessed, “I left immediately…I hadn’t realised who he was the night before, but when I did…if I were seen with the prince…” Her voice trailed off as it grew sadder.

“When did he find out?” Vinny asked, he was quite curious about this.

“A few months after they were born…” She admitted, “I…his father- sent him to kill Shancai…he was seen as a threat, but no one knew the other side of their heritage…”

“What about Willow?” The cameraman asked.

“They didn’t know it was twins…my husband, he couldn’t kill Shancai…he just felt…so familiar with him” Deity sighed out.

“He just left Shancai there?” Vinny asked, as he receiving a nod.

“He…found me…asked me if the kids were min-ours…he hadn’t know who he slept with that one drunken night, but now he did” She sighed as she wiped her damp eyes, Vinnys’ eyes widened…Deitys’ tears…they glowed?

“How’d he…react?” The cameraman asked shakily.

“Amazing…” she smiled, “I’d never seen someone so happy…his father wasn’t as thrilled and well…tried killing me, but my husband got to it first” she chuckled.

“Wow…” Vinny spoke, “That’s a lot you went through…” he added, his voice tainted with sympathy,

“It was…but it was worth it” she chuckled, as the mist continued to follow the story.

“All started from a drunken night?” Vinny chuckled, as he tried to lighten the mood.

“Yea” she smiled, “You were right…getting all things off my chest is amazing” she added.

“Right?” Vinny laughed out, as he stretched.

“Any questions?” She smiled, the cameraman shook his head, and watched as Deity grabbed the scrolls again.

“What’s this thing you’re trying to find?” Vinny asked.

“If there’s a way to break a enchanted lock…the lock on the kingdom’s energy needed the hair and blood of me, my husband and our kids…but I haven’t seen my husband in years so getting those from him would be interesting” she admitted.

“That’s weird” Vinny spoke as he looked over at the scrolls, Deity nodded as she continued to go through scrolls.

(LORE DROPPPPPP also do you think I’m prioritising the ocs too much? I don’t want them to overshine Vinny, but it also need to add their own lore to give them personality, I’ll take any criticism I can get, I wanna be better for you all)

#fanfiction #survivalshipping #garmadon #vinnyxgarmadon #ninjago #gay #vinnyofngtvnews #ocs

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professionalranter31 · 7 months ago

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So, I’ve said that I want there to be more types of relationships in Overwatch, well I’m gonna share what I think what types of relationships some of the characters should have

I will try to avoid some of the characters that already have relationships with other characters in the roster outside of friendships but some of them would work with other relationships as well

So getting this out of the way already, Emily being Moira’s niece, I’ve done a few posts where I explained why I want this to happen so I’m not gonna go into detail too much with it but giving Tracer an actual connection to Moira outside of her knowing Moira’s reputation would be awesome (Moira had been disavowed from Blackwatch for a while by the time Tracer became a field agent)

Next is Sojourn, I want her to have an ex who disagreed with her testifying against Overwatch and that’s why they broke up. Because it can create doubt in Sojourn about her choices that day and can help to explain why she became a vigilante

Next, Soldier 76 with a current relationship with someone. I want Jack to fall in love with someone who has empathy like him and wants to help him uncover why Overwatch was really shut down and they fall in love and there’s angst when one of them gets injured and I want Jack to actually be with someone who understands his crusade and what he’s trying to do and that man deserves some fucking love gods dammit!

My next choice is Mei, specifically a former lover of her’s who after the several years that Mei was presumed dead moved on. It’s the angst, it’s the heartbreak, and it lends a better idea of just how much Mei lost while frozen for all those years because the gravity of what she lost isn’t always properly felt with just words. Yes she lost all her friends from the Ecopoint, but to be given a proper example of how the world moved on without her would just be a fucking gut punch, it would be so angsty for her because even though she still had friends, she lost a romantic relationship because of how long she was frozen. It gives more to the tragedy

In that same vein, a former partner of Sigma’s. Doesn’t have to be strictly romantic but it’s a character who had a close relationship with him than moved on after Sigma’s perceived death, because it gives more gravitas to just how much he lost because of that accident

I want Torbjorn’s wife Ingrid as a playable hero purely because I know her interactions with Torbjorn and Brigitte will be adorable and because she’s a chemist that could have a lot of interesting abilities. Hell to round out the three Lindholms she could be a tank

And finally, Ana’s former husband Sam. Because Ana faking her death and not telling her family for years is fucked up and I want someone to actually yell at her for that since Pharah won’t. Plus, it could finally reveal if Pharah has some Native American in her which has been theorized she has given two of her legendary skins. Also, it showcases just how bad Pharah’s relationship has gotten with Ana because of her choices by having her have a positive one with Sam. And it gives more insight into just how much Ana destroyed her relationship with her family by faking her death with what they used to be like before she faked her death.

Also a little bonus one, I want Venture to end up in a polycule with some other characters, could be from the current roster could be future added heroes but they have two hands and I want the adorable nerd to be sandwiched between their lovers in hugs and kisses and happiness and giving an example of the most positive and nontoxic relationship in the lore of the game.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch tracer #overwatch moira #sojourn #soldier 76 #mei ling zhou #sigma overwatch #torbjorn #brigitte lindholm #ana amari #pharah #overwatch venture

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fortheloveofpiggy · 1 year ago

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I can’t sleep here’s some ow2 headcanons by a gay autistic person who has to make every character they like gay and autistic

Ignore spelling errors I’m tireddd

These might be random as hell also don’t comment that it doesn’t match canon idc I know

These are my main hc btw not my only one because I have multiple for a few

Anyways here we go:

Zen and roadhog are close friends and zen is the only omnic roadhog enjoys the company of. They commonly talk about peace and they definitely have different views on it but respect each others ideas of peace

Junkrat and Lúcio like listening to music together but can’t decide if they want to listen to techno or hiphop, roadhog gets annoyed by both (he prefers rock)

Junkrat likes to make friendship bracelets to people he’s close with

To add to that. Junkrat thinks everyone is his best friend and his husband roadhog is his very best friend

Soldier 76 looks up to mercy like she’s a big sister even though he’s older

Reaper likes to be called a hero and misses being one. Mercy’s “heros never die!” Makes him so so happy

Roadhog and junkrat both love lacrosse and cricket and watch it together frequently

To add junkrats childhood dream was to play cricket professionally but he eventually changed his mind

Roadhog and junkrat are both autistic. Roadhogs special interests are pachi-mari and mechanics and junkrats special interests are bombs and mechanics. They both find common interest in mechanics and bonded even better because if it. They like working on improving their guns, vehicles, and other mechanical things together

I also like to think they have lacrosse and cricket hyperfixations

Winston and tracer drink tea and talk about plans together all the time because they are besties

Also they prefer to do everything together

Life weaver shipped junkrat and roadhog before they we’re together

Roadhog and life weaver also talk about nature together life weaver even sometimes joining zen and hogs conversations on peace

Also roadhog loves flowers

Roadhog gets junkrat flowers a lot and junkrat does the same for roadhog but when roadhog does it junkrat eats the flowers

Roadhog collects pachi merch and owns all the rare plushies and stuff

And I’m tired so that’s it for now thank you

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moonsheen · 11 months ago

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fic writer meme

1. how many works do you have on ao3? 112. And thank god that doesn't include the REAL old stuff.

2. what's your total ao3 wordcount? 552,904 ...that's...both more and less than I was expecting

3. what fandoms do you write for?

...a...lot. Most recently? MDZS/SVSSS, Trigun (er, sorry for the weird stuff), and 13 Sentinels (PLAY 13 SENTINELS). Long term oldies but goodies? Kingdom Hearts, Devil May Cry, Overwatch, Supergiant games, Evangelion

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Recovery (SVSS, Qijiu --woah, that one pulled ahead in the last few months) Husband x Husband (Hunter x Hunter -- I did this as a yuletide treat to make up for defaulting one year and it's the gift that keeps giving) Minor Delays (SVSS, Qijiu -- wait really?) The Way Back Home (SVSS, Qijiu -- ....Qijiu nation represent. This one doesn't surprise me though, Chira did an amazing comic for it) Hold the Baby (MDZS -- okay this one was just where I was dumping the old twitter threads of a VERY specific Xiyao fix-it AU but you know what, thanks everyone)

5. do you respond to comments?

I try to. If I don't succeed it's often because life kicked my ass.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably On Your Six (Reaper & Soldier 76, Overwatch)

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

This is hard mostly because all of my fic tends to be some kind of fix-it in some way to give someone an obscenely happy ending. If you had to have me narrow it down based on what my most blatant fix-it to some miserable canon character ending was? I'd go with either Happiness Exists (As Long As You Believe in the Possibility) (Qijiu again!), and the Recovery-verse as a whole, or maybe Abstraction White Rose (Revolutionary Girl Utena), because by god I needed Utena and Anthy to kiss and I MADE THEM DO THAT, A LOT.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Xiyao troll hit me once or twice and I got a few cranky dudebros who got mad at me for my Eva fic on a message board once, but nothing all that bad if I'm honest.

9. do you write smut?

...well, I've tried but the plot gets in the way.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you have written?

The first that come to mind are the MDZS/TGCF crossovers, but those are the same authors so I don't know that that counts. I DID write a very silly How The Grinch Stole Christmas/Nightmare Before Christmas short once upon an internet. It has since been lost to the great yawning of time and collapse of several social media platforms.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Someone once scraped the awful Naruto fic I wrote when I was like 15 and changed the names to make it a Samurai Champloo fic which, um. Why? But that was pretty damn funny in hindsight.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! In Russian, Chinese, and French. And I love every time it happens.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

My dayjob these days is cowriting with people. But on the fanfic side -- well, in short, yes. With the usual suspect (that would be Chira) and with my wife, who has once or twice dictated an entire story outline to me which I write in a day.

14. what's your all time favorite ship? Internet, I am old and you cannot expect me to pick one. Utena/Anthy maybe?

15. what is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I still need to do the last story for the A Troublesome Charge series which I SWEAR will happen it's just I had a literal baby.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Character voice. I love character voice and I am told I am good at it.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Smut.

18. thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

To be honest if I don't know it I don't try. But I like bilingual writing when it's done well (see also: Everything, Everywhere, All At Once) -- but when it comes to fangirl Japanese or Chinese, I tend to leave that to the experts.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

mumblesBeastWars and thank god that was on a platform that crashed and burned. The Beast Wars fic I wrote for Yuletide was way better.

20. favorite fic you have written?

On Your Six, despite how I feel about Overwatch nowadays, I feel was probably one of the punchiest stories I've ever written. I would have absolutely used this story to audition to write for Blizzard's tie-in novellas if Blizzard hadn't...well, read the news on what happened at Blizzard.

The other one I'd probably say is Ghost Roads in my Troublesome Charge series (MDZS). I just feel like I nailed all the multiple plotlines and characters involved in that one and I'm super proud of it. I'm not tagging anyone because I have anxiety about this kind of thing, but please feel free to do this meme yourself if it crosses your dash!

#writing #fanfic #my fanfic

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selfshiprequests · 1 year ago

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Hi. I have a silly request for a doodle. The scene: Soldier 76 is getting married to male s/o. He just saw his future husband all dressed up at the altar, and he's blown away, like "Christ, he looks incredible". I'd want him maskless and older - as in, 76 era rather than Strike Commander. Thank you!

I see Overwatch, I must draw uwu (so sorry it took long though I was doing some stuff OTL)

💐Mod Flora💐

#selfship #selfship requests #self ship #selfship community #request #doodle #mod flora #ask #anon #source: overwatch #character: soldier 76

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ralith · 1 year ago

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Did anyone ask for a Retired Trio angst drabble with a happy ending? No? Well, here ya go!

Rating: T for mentions of death

Optimus meets some familiar faces in the afterlife.

"Took you long enough, Optimus."

"Really, Optimus. Of the three of us, Ironhide was always the least punctual, and even he arrived before you did."

Optimus looked back and forth between Ratchet and Ironhide, mouth agape, unable to form words.

Here they were in front of him, their expressions brimming with energy, so vibrant and full of life. So unlike his last memories of them.

Ratchet's hair was that brilliant gold again, voluminous and silky, just as it was in the photos Optimus had longingly stared at, holding them to his chest as he wept.

The last time he had threaded his fingers through those stands, hair brittle and golden hue dulled, was the final night they had all slept together. Ratchet nestled between them as his husbands clung to him. They knew the illness would take Ratchet soon and wanted to cherish every last moment they had with him. They didn't know it would be their last night.

Cancer had taken Ratchet at age 63.

And Ironhide, whose eyes now burned with the same fiery intensity and adoration as he remembered. How he missed those eyes in his life. Optimus had no idea those eyes and their radiance would be so suddenly ripped from him when Ironhide collapsed in the kitchen one night. Optimus held him as the soldier's eyes slipped close one final time. Emergency services couldn't resuscitate him.

Ironhide had passed from heart failure at 76.

The house was so quiet after that. Pictures and memories were all Optimus had in the years to follow. He had never felt so alone, his husbands gone and friends quickly disappearing in their old age.

But as crushing as the depression was, Optimus refused to let it destroy him. He would live on, for them.

At the age of 96, Optimus felt his time had finally arrived. He was so tired. He went to bed that night, darkness gently pulling him under. The next moment he was blinking through blinding whiteness until the two loves of his life came into view.

"Optimus? What, no 'hello'? 'Good to see you again'? 'You're looking as sexy as ever, Ironhide'?"

Ratchet playfully rolled his eyes.

"He's in shock, confused. You were the same way when you arrived, Ironhi-!"

Optimus lunged, embracing both his husbands simultaneously. He laid a flurry of kisses against Ironhide's stubbled cheek, feeling it tickle his lips. Then he turned to Ratchet, kissing the medic's lips before burying his face into Ratchet's neck.

They were so warm, so solid. Filled with life.

They embraced Optimus in return. Ironhide kissed along Optimus's shoulder.

"We missed you too, love."

"How?" Optimus whispered. "How are you two..."

"How are we still so good looking?"

"Follow us, Optimus. We have a lot to catch up on. Including how Ironhide hasn't changed a bit."

#humanformers retired trio #ralith's fics #fanfiction

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rodolfoparras · 6 months ago

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Sorry it took so long, work is very consuming but I'm making money so it's worth it at the moment

Mylah has like mild inconvenience side effects from the blast he was caught in. Nothing really evil, for example, he goes through vibrators like crazy because he keeps accidentally zapping it and frying it💀 same with phones, sure he could charge it without a charger but he keeps accidentally frying the battery and needing a new one. Luckily he's rich from being an assassin

Also I saw Cassidy from Overwatch mentioned and let me tell you - Hanzo, Cassidy, Lifeweaver, Baptiste, Lucio, Soldier 76, Reaper, and Ramattra , I will breed them all 😏 we will be having sex non stop until we literally can not go anymore. HEAVY on Lifeweaver, Hanzo and Cassidy, those three are my husbands and I will be getting them pregnant very soon trust🙏

Though if it's this Lifeweaver skin? I'm gonna be on my hands and knees begging for it idc. https://i.ibb.co/NjZTXL1/Harbinger-LW.jpg

-cherry/sunny

Stop him going trough tons of vibrators because of his powers is one of them funniest/ most interesting issue I love when someone with superpowers I suppose you can say are inconvenienced when it comes to silly little things😭

Oh man I only know reaper and Cassidy bc that’s all my horny brain bothered to learn about overwatch but since they’re in your list I trust and believe your tastes in men must be exquisite I shall not google the other characters though because if I do and they’re hot im breeding them sorry sugar 😔

WELL HELLO THE IMAGE?? JESUS CHRISRUS??2!:): sorry sugar bee I am breeding him you shouldn’t have sent the image but now we’re here prepare to meet Alec junior in 9 months

#alec answers #cherry/sunny

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maybebovinity · 1 year ago

Text

RE:INCARNATE [Reaper/Soldier:76] CHAPTER 2

Read on Ao3

1 / 2

RE:LATIONSHIP

At first he didn’t understand what he saw, flesh torn apart revealing nothing but an open ribcage and a still heart. His organs didn’t shiver nor move from their place, although they should have – and he thought to himself that it was bad enough; the pain of having his flesh torn apart almost unbearable. His screams deafened him long ago, his vocal cords already broken to the point where he just screamed blood.

The pain should have stopped there, but he felt things inside of him. He didn’t want to look, but he did.

Maggots. Thousands of maggots squirming inside of him, slowly – so slowly - eating him until he was hollowed out and blood only bubbled down his chin and over the worms who greedily sucked the liquid up.

It should have stopped, but the maggots vomited everything back up until he once again tried to understand what he was seeing.

… … …

He didn’t wake up spluttering and heaving, as one would normally from a dream watching your own body being eaten again and again. No, instead his eyes simply opened and he took one deep breath and raised his hands in front of his face to ensure that right now he was not being tortured.

The click of a tongue next to him didn’t bother him that much either anymore, already used to the disapproving tittering of his friend. She shuffled closer to him, signalled by her clothes dragging across the floor from her side of the small room. She barely slept more than he did, and was it was usual for her to be there when he woke up like this.

She had tea in hand, ready for him to drink and fall back asleep, but he could see that this time she wanted to talk.

“Again?”

“Yes, I felt it more too.”

She simply nodded, casting a look at her sleeping child before turning back to him again.

“Are you well to work in the morning.”

“I have no other choice.”

“Yes you do-”

“It’s the only way to gain a lot of money you know this. The shopkeepers will see me as too old to learn by now, it’s alright Amira.”

She only huffed, but he could see the worry in her eyes. He knew his profession wasn’t the best one, but it has been a part of him since he was a small boy – having been sent by his father to keep his old friends company while receiving hefty coin in return. He was good at what he did… and he couldn’t have Amira work too with her new born; husband killed for a crime he never committed. She was alone and he promised to provide for her no matter what.

He could see Amira wanted to say more, but the baby cried and the woman shuffled away again to quiet her. He drank his tea slowly, and sighed as he tried to rest again. Hopefully the dream won’t come back.

… … …

It was never a glorious thing to have a man cum over you for the sake of a coin, but the deed was done and his heavy pocket made his heart feel just a little lighter. Amira and the babe would eat tonight, and maybe well. She never asked if he got something for himself, but she assumed he did before he returned home.

Of course he couldn’t tell her he only ate what he could beg for, wanting to spoil his kind friend more than himself. It wasn’t that hard of a task to do, his body was not well and he knew the bones were sickly looking – yet the men who took him did not complain, because all they simply had to do was close their eyes and indulge in a pleasure their wives would frown upon.

It was when he was in the marketplace, having paid for fresh bread, when he heard the news of newcomers into the city. It was not the people nor the guards who announced this, but the neighing of impatient horses with pale men on their backs.

He heard about them, many times, but never thought they would come here.

Crusaders.

He should have cared that men with such hollow plans to take back what they believed theirs now resided in his city, but he couldn’t because he knew he would not get involved. Don’t look in their eyes, and don’t cross their paths. Apologise and grovel, drop to your hands and knees if you have to.

Don’t let them get near you.

He spared a last glance at the beasts and their men before scurrying back to the place he called home.

… … …

It was just another normal day, everyone out and about while he lurked in the alleys where most of his clients knew where to find him. He didn’t join the women like him in their houses, scared to endanger them if the guards ever found him – but he was still welcome to visit them if his day was slow. Such as today.

Nobody came since the sun was up, and he saw that no one was about to come for a very long time, so instead he headed to the women for some company before maybe begging for some coin to feed Amira.

It was while he was walking when he felt hands yank him back behind a building, foreign words in his ears as rough hands pulled at his clothes. He understood the tone of their voices, it wasn’t lust nor possession, but mockery, and the cry torn from his lips was enough for him to understand that the men who grabbed him thought of him as a vile creature.

He couldn’t understand how they would be aware of such things, but it has been some time since the Crusaders came and it was possible they noticed him and his activities. He knew he could have fought back, but it wouldn’t benefit him in any way – he was weak, only strong enough to handle a grip on his hips without feeling the bruises the next day.

He was shoved into the ground and the fists pounded harshly into his skin, a sword was produced as well and retracing old scars on his back he wished he could forget about. It always happened for some reason, men attracted by the patches of rough skin on his shoulder blades – always wanting to see them bleed again and heal uglier than they were before.

He didn’t know how much time passed since the men grabbed him, but his muffled cries carried on even after they left him. He hurt, and he didn’t want to go home. Amira would yell at him, begging him to stop but he couldn’t… what else was there for him than to give his body for coin?

She once spoke of him starting a family, but how could he force a woman he didn’t love to bear his children? He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t pick himself up from when he fell as a boy. He was satisfied to die poor and used, only because he knew no better.

The sun was about to set, and he had to go home he knew he did – but something held him back.

It was when a hand gently touched at his aching back did he once again cry out in fear and pain. Twisting his body to face his attacker, he was met with another Crusader armed and ready for war. It was this which had the aching man cry again and pled in a tongue he knew the foreigner would not understand but did so for the sake of his life.

Pale grey eyes stared back at him in confusion, mouth opening to question the sobbing man but he was too late; in his hesitation to question him, did he force himself back onto shaking legs and run away as far as he could.

… … …

“You met one of them?”

“He was… strange…”

“They are dangerous you know, I have never seen your back this bad before.”

“I know Amira, but… it was like he forgot about his sword.”

The woman was quiet, but the sadness in her eyes was enough.

“If he finds you again?”

“Maybe I will speak to him, if he understands.”

… … …

It was on the fourth day when he returned back to the streets, a new purpose leading his feet to the alleyway he wished he died in. It was strange for him to willingly seek out a man, but he was curious. The Crusader did not look like he wanted to cause harm, and he might be a fool to think such a ‘Holy Man’ would see him as anything other than the vile creature he is… but he could hope.

Of course he didn’t tell himself he really wanted to meet the man again, panic still set deep inside of him at the thought that the Crusader could kill him without anyone noticing his death until Amira comes looking for him… no, instead he told himself that he would do business as usual but just be aware of any passing Crusaders.

And he thought that perhaps someone out there has cursed him, because just when he found a client did he also find the Crusader. His client was angry when he was shoved away in an attempt to clear a path. The Crusader at first was blind to everything, but spotted the frantic man as he tried to get as far away as possible.

The Crusader was a highly trained man, and such came the end of the chase as he did not trip over a loose stone and almost bashed their head against an opposing wall. But his figure loomed and blocked the sun, casting dreadful shadows which had the running man feel fear once again.

“Leave me please!”

Jibril felt no shame as he pleaded, he was beyond such feelings. He cast his arms over his eyes and waited for forceful hands to start touching him. A hand enclosed around his wrist and he bit his lip hoping some sort of wrath of any God will save him – but he didn’t need it.

The solder replied in his foreign tongue, and although Jibril did not understand it, the concern in the soldier’s eyes surprised him. He yanked his arm away and struggled to his feet, where he tried to run away again.

The soldier called after him, but Jibril counted his blessings and ran home.

… … …

Amira said nothing as she stroked the old scars on Jibril’s back. Her babe was sleeping soundly, as was the whole city, yet the friends could find no comfort in sleep now.

“I ran into the Crusader again…”

“And what happened?”

“Nothing.”

She said nothing and continued to the dress the wounds she was previously tasked with, her eyes willing to find any distractions.

“I think you should humour him, make another friend.”

“You’re enough.”

“I won’t always be here Jibril.”

He sighed and looked back at her, at her beautiful face wrapped up carefully in order to hide her identity. A woman shunned from the city, yet sought at refuge in the house of a man whore.

“When you die, I’ll kill myself.”

She said nothing, but a knowing glint in her eye had his body trembling.

… … …

He didn’t plan on meeting the Crusader again, or at least not again in this situation. Jibril was bleeding and bruised, and he had to lean against a wall to withstand the ache in his back. He carefully thumbed the coin in his hand and watched in the shadows for what he was to buy.

He was simply on his way to get more food for Amira, but an old client quickly took advantage of him. Jibril wanted to cry and complain, but money was money.

He saw a stand with some fruit and was about to step out of the shadows when the Crusader with the pale grey eyes saw him. Sacred, Jibril tried to back away into the shadows but he was too late. Once again the man tripped as the foreigner loomed over him.

Jibril spat and cursed at the man, trying to ignore the fresh trickle of blood running down his crack. The Crusader only knelt down and said something, but Jibril didn’t understand. He tried backing away again, but the pain was deep and he bit his lip as he tried not to cringe away from it. The Crusader grabbed his hand, and inside he placed a few golden coins.

Jibril’s heart stopped. He was asked to do many things in the past, but this… this could be the death of him. He frantically looked up to the Crusader, expecting to see the lust but he only found a caring smile.

Jibril opened his mouth to ask the foreign question of ‘why?’, but the Crusader appeared embarrassed at first before opening his mouth, pointing a finger at it and then using the same finger to point at the stall behind him. Eat the gesture implied.

Jibril closed his eyes for a second too long in surprise, long enough for the man to have vanished yet not long enough for him to realise the man had that he had forgone his uniform, and stalked the marketplace in a hood.

A strange Holy Man indeed.

… … …

It happened again, Jibril was resting by a fountain when two golden coins was pressed into his palm. He was sore and thirsty, and wanted to sleep, but men kept finding him no matter where he went. The cold press of coin against his palm had him jump as he realised he had to suck another cock, but upon opening his eyes he only found the Crusader staring at him.

Jibril was ready to get down on his knees for the man, but he only stepped away and disappeared again.

… … …

It didn’t stop happening, every day when Jibril was battered and bruised the Crusader would magically appear and give him two golden coins. It was on the fifth day when he couldn’t take it anymore, he grabbed the Crusader and spat in his face.

“Take your fucking money back you goatfucker!”

The Crusader said nothing, only stared down at him in confusion before smiling.

He pressed another gold coin in Jibril’s hand, grabbed his chin and kissed him with a passion the whore never knew.

… … …

“Another gold coin?”

“Yes…”

“Jibril?”

“Mmmm…”

Amira only smiled at her friend, unsure of what to think as he sat the whole night rubbing his lips and smiling.

… … …

The next day Jibril went to his usual place to find the bodies of five men brutally gutted and scattered around. They were naked and had crude phalluses carved into their backsides. At first Jibril had no idea what to think, but when he found two golden coins hidden expertly in a groove in the wall, did he think of those pale grey eyes glistening in delight.

… … …

Jibril wanted to confront the man, but he had no ways of doing it. He didn’t know where he was, and they didn’t speak the same tongue.

As luck would have it, he did manage to find the man again – but he wasn’t alone. With him stood a tall and mighty man, he was almost a giant compared to everyone in the city. When the giant spoke his voice vibrated in Jibril’s chest, although he wasn’t enough close enough to hear what his Crusader was saying.

His Crusader.

Jibril was about to turn around, but pale grey eyes locked him into place. The man had no idea what to do as the Crusader walked towards him. The man’s face was soft, and upon closer inspection did Jibril notice the small wrinkles around his eyes, and the soft silver in his hair. The man must be older than he appears, yet it wasn’t the oldest man Jibril had been in the company of.

Jibril was ready to turn heel and run, but the Crusader held out a hand. The movement confused him and had him still long enough for the man to take his hand in his own and softly squeeze it. The gesture was not an unfamiliar one, having seen it done before, but he never expected to do it himself.

The Crusader smiled gently and spoke again, a single word. At first Jibril had no idea what it meant, and the man realised this as he prodded his chest and repeated the word again, “John.”

John. It was his name. Understanding Jibril repeated the action and his own name. The man seemed pleased and lifted Jibril’s hand to his lips before gently placing them against his knuckles. Blood rushed to his face and his chest ached with unfamiliar feelings.

The Crusader, John, let go of his hand before returning to the man he spoke before.

… … …

“He wants something from me, I know it. He gives me money, he kisses me, but he won’t fuck me.”

“That sounds like a decent husband, if only my man had money to offer.”

Jibril was in no mood for his friend’s antics, and threw a wooden spoon at her.

“This isn’t right! I can’t take his money like this! It’s wrong!”

“Then they don’t you seduce him? Or court him?”

Jibril lost his energy, and sighed into the pillow he bought for Amira with the first gold coin he got. She deserved some luxury.

“No… I can’t do that, I can’t make people love me…”

“Jibril-”

“I was born unloved, I was always unloved. Every time I loved someone they left me or betrayed me, I can’t do that. Not again Amira.”

And Jibril almost flinched at the ancient pity in Amira’s eyes, so strong he wondered sometimes if she was human like him.

… … …

Over the next few weeks Jibril and John would have various encounters. It was always in the dark alleyways, yet it had Jibril being in less pain as the days went by and the bodies piled up. He wanted to pity the women who lost their husbands, but he could feel no such thing as he knew somehow they were better without those vile creatures in their homes.

During these encounters Jibril would find himself cornered against a wall as John would softly kiss his fingers, and sometimes when Jibril was sure he was going to die, his lips. It confused him and made him feel things he only felt when alone under the moonlight. Hands never went to grab and grope at him, instead they stayed away until the end when a golden coin was passed on.

It was during their latest encounter when Jibril felt too guilty about the coin. They were again in the shadows and John was so close, yet Jibril made sure to use all the strength he had to block the man from coming further. He took a coin from his pocket, pointed at it before grabbing John’s crotch.

The Crusader yelped and blushed, and took a step back in shock. His hand protectively covered him as he stared accusingly at the golden coin. Jibril wasn’t sure if he did something wrong, so he tried again.

This time he tucked the coin away and settled on his knees. He beckoned John closer, who did so cautiously, before pointing at his crotch and opening his mouth. John did not appear pleased at the notion, and instead joined Jibril on the floor.

The closed the man’s mouth and gave a sad smile. He said something in his tongue, shook his head, repeated the words and then frowned. Jibril was on the verge of tears, he did not want the man’s money for nothing. He knows how to please a man in all the right ways, and yet here was taking it without giving anything in return. He was disgusting.

John leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then the other, his forehead, and lastly the corner of his mouth. He reached for his pocket, pulled out a coin and placed it on the floor between them. It confused Jibril, but he kept his gaze on the man for any sign of wanting to fuck.

It never came.

John only lifted a finger to his lips, tapped twice before tapping the coin. Vaguely understanding, Jibril briefly kissed the man. After pulling away, John contemplated something before shaking his eyes. He had a twinkle in his eye as he tapped his lips again. Jibril leaned forward to give another kiss, but when he wanted to pull away a hand at the nape of his neck held him in place.

At first he wanted to panic, but the hand was gentle and moved to his shoulder all the while still kissing. Jibril wanted to end it, but he could not. Silently they held still what felt like years, before John sighed and pulled away. He smiled, kissed Jibril’s hand and gave him the coin.

At least he could give something.

… … …

These innocent and confusing touches were all Jibril had to do for coin, and it truly only was that. Somehow the Crusader had scared everyone away until it was only them in the shadows softly kissing. It was enough, yet Jibril knew he could offer so much more.

When he was brave he took a hold of the other man’s cock, who would gently push him away and kiss his hands. It confused him, but he never stopped his attempts. John never got angry because of this, but it must have been one too many times because when Jibril tried again he was pushed away a bit too harshly.

Fearing the worst he began to lift his arms, but John reached for his cock and not for him. At first Jibril was sad to finally have to bend over for coin again, yet at the same time he felt a small victory in his chest at finally having to earn the coin.

He watched as the man opened his pants and pulled out a flaccid cock. Silence followed as Jibril patiently waited for the man to get an erection, but as both stared at it nothing happened. He followed his instincts and reached for it, slowly stroking it to life – yet nothing happened.

Confusion clouded his mind. Without a thought he dropped to his knees and placed the man inside of his mouth in ways which would have the wealthiest of men throw riches at him, and indeed it had John twitch and tremble but the cock in his mouth remained soft.

Jibril separated himself and felt humiliated, insulted. Blood pumped to his face in anger and he was ready to yell at the man, but John simply tucked himself away and tapped at his lips. It was a strange thing to do, but Jibril finally understood.

He softly kissed the man and apologised, but John only pulled him close and hugged him. It was in the warm embrace of the Crusader when the whore came to a sudden and frightening realisation.

… … …

“Amira-”

“I think you should tell him, the man clearly likes you and would be pleased to hear you do too.”

“What if he rejects me?”

“Then cut off his balls.”

The woman was blunt, and it shocked Jibril until he found himself laughing at the sight of a confused John as he tried to understand why he was lacking such precious organs. But the fear still lingered, so he held onto his dirty little secret while John would kiss and hold him with more satisfaction than any man who has ever fucked him.

Sometimes when John was hidden in his hood he would accompany Jibril around the marketplace. He would buy fresh fruit and they would sit in the sun and eat together as they enjoyed each other’s silent company.

It was on one such event when John suddenly stopped eating and gave a grim look to Jibril. His eyes were dark and glistening. Jibril wanted to ask what was wrong, but he would be unable to understand. Instead he took a hold of the other man’s face and gently kissed him in reassurance.

When the kiss ended did John give him a piece of paper. It was folded in two, and when opened revealed words in his tongue – yet it was useless to Jibril. He pointed to the page and shook his head, trying to convey his lack of understanding.

The silent words reached John and he only looked grimmer. Tears began to silently trail down his cheeks, and Jibril was hopeless. He tucked away the note and pulled John into his arms. There the man gave silent and violent sobs until the sun began to set.

He pulled away and gave Jibril a kiss. It was soft yet passionate, tasting of salt and a farewell.

Why did it taste like a farewell?

… … …

“He gave me a letter.”

Amira looked surprised and took the letter in question to inspect it. Neither of them could properly read, but she knew more than he did. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she tried to decipher the words, but she gave up with a sigh and a shake of her head.

“I will take this to scholars tomorrow, perhaps a kind soul will be able to translate this for us.”

He didn’t know if he wanted that to happen.

… … …

John did not appear the next day, nor the day thereafter. Two more days passed without John or a single Crusader in sight. He began to worry, his heart still holding his precious secret he had to tell John.

It was that night when Jibril arrived home to find Amira bearing the ill news:

“He is not coming back my friend. He is off to fight in the war.”

… … …

It’s been months or years, he couldn’t tell. He resumed his old job when John’s coin ran out; Amira’s daughter the only indication of time these days. The little girl was already running around with glee and Jibril knew he needed a lot more coin if she was ever going to be growing up properly.

So he went about his day as usual, but his heart still ached after the one man he truly loved. He could still feel his lips and hear his soft sighs… but the thought of John actually dead, it hurt.

The Crusaders passed by again, but very few, and when no one came to visit him in the middle of the night he knew the truth. He was alone once again.

And the truth struck again when he returned home to find the wailing of a child and the screams of a woman. Jibril did not hesitate to find the source, near the end of the small house was a stranger with a sword.

Amira was slowly dying, her gut slit open and the sword already pointing to her throat, so the man threw himself at the stranger trying to save what little family he had left. Jibril was not trained in any way and was still a weak man, so it was only after a few seconds of struggling that the word reached up and slit his own throat in return.

The broken man died unable to protect the ones he truly loved. He thought he saw the Crusade’s mark on the stranger, and tried to understand what they did to offend the attacker. His last sight was that of the stranger’s hood falling off, revealing long blonde hair held up.

He thought he saw breasts and a blue eyes, perhaps tears.

But the thoughts didn’t last very long, as Jibril was soon released into death.

#fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #overwatch #reaper #soldier76 #soldier 76 #soldier:76 #gabriel reyes #jack morrison #reaper76 #reaper x soldier #reaper x solder76 #reaper/soldier #reaper/soldier76 #re:#re:incarnation #reincarnation au #soulmate au

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