#unrequited love? really

[flints-silver]

wait i started dead boy detectives and you’re telling me the two guys don’t end up together??

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The squad of all time has arrived on scene.

[stars-obsession-pit]

The Flying Graysons generally stuck to simpler tricks in the smaller towns. Less people to impress, so they didn’t need to go as far. But for some reason, when they went to the town of Amity Park, Dick felt an urge to show off.

Well, not for just any reason. For one very specific reason; a certain cute boy in the crowd.

But then the troupe moved on, as it always did. Outside of his daydreams, he didn’t really dare to hope he’d get to see the boy again. Especially once his parents died, circumstances nearly pushed it from his mind.

But then, during his detective training, an idea struck him. Even if he couldn’t see the boy in person, he could still keep track of him remotely.

It turner out to be remarkably easy, especially once he learned Danny’s name. So he kept it up. Watching him, taking notes on everything about him, fantasizing about actually being together for real. He never told anyone else. They wouldn’t understand. Checking in on Danny was always a highlight of his days. His own little reward. He wouldn’t let anyone take his Danny away from him.

Though there were some stumbles along the way. Times he’d almost been caught. And when some sort of lab accident had hospitalized Danny, he’d nearly ran off to Amity on his own to comfort him (never mind that he’d have to explain who he even was and how he’d known about it). But he persisted. And as time passed, he only became more and more infatuated with the other boy. Oh how he wished they could be together.

And then Danny showed up in Gotham. Dick couldn’t find anything definitively explaining why, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Finally, he could put all his copious notes to use and sweep his love off his feet.

[moonyfr]

"What's your favorite marauders trope" but it's Peter looking at Evan, while Evan is looking at Barty, while Barty is looking at Regulus, while Regulus is looking at James, while James is looking at Lily, while Lily is looking at Pandora, while Pandora is looking at Dorcas, while Dorcas is looking at Marlene, while Marlene is looking at Mary, and Mary is Asexual.

[faiell]

inspired by a scene from this heaven of mud by @garagepaperback

Sitting near but far, legs spilled off the edge of the bed, Potter turned to look at him. There were two wide windows on either side of the bed, drapes drawn back. The lights in Draco’s bedroom were off but it didn’t matter, the flat being in the city. Draco learned it was called light pollution- It meant you couldn’t see the stars. It meant it was much harder not to see what was right in front of you.

Potter looked beautiful. It should have ended months ago, preferably before it started.

[drulalovescas]

When a cosmic entity tells you your boyfriend doesn't love you back

[scruncheduppaper]

GABRIEL: JUDGE OF HELL

(A practice sketch that accidentally turned into a whole thing)

[flwrkid14]

Falling for the One You Can’t Have

Jason had never been one to catch feelings easily, especially not in Gotham’s mess of a world where life moved too fast, too unpredictably. But it started small—just another rescue, another guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. A witty joke here, a grateful smile there, and soon, Jason found himself seeking out the boy who seemed to be Gotham’s favorite target for muggings and kidnappings.

Danny, the guy with a laugh that rang through the night and eyes that always sparkled with a mischievous glint, had become a small, unexpected light in Jason’s world. Sure, Jason wasn’t some lovesick idiot—he told himself that constantly. But each time he saved Danny, the witty banter and the easy way they fell into conversation made him feel something more. Slowly but surely, the small crush grew.

He started to look forward to bumping into Danny, even if it was because of yet another mugging or hostage situation. Jason would stick around for a little longer after each rescue, tossing casual remarks, feeling his heart beat a little faster every time Danny laughed at one of his jokes. The thought of asking Danny out had crossed his mind more than once, but it wasn’t like he’d ever had great luck with relationships. Maybe he’d try, though—eventually. He just needed to figure out how to do it without making things awkward.

Then Tim called for a family dinner.

Jason wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. Family dinners weren’t his scene to begin with, and the fact that Tim insisted this one was important only made him more reluctant. But, Tim was family, and it wasn’t like Jason was doing anything else that night. So he dragged himself there, expecting the usual chaos of a Wayne family gathering.

When he arrived, Jason immediately felt something was different. Tim had this weird glint in his eye, like he was excited about something. That was never good. Jason kept his usual distance, sitting near the back, arms crossed, trying not to be annoyed by whatever announcement Tim was about to make.

But then Tim stood up, calling everyone’s attention to the middle of the room. “Hey, thanks for coming, everyone. I have someone I want to introduce to you all. He’s really important to me and has been for a while now.” Jason perked up a little, curiosity getting the better of him. That’s when Tim said it: “This is Danny, my boyfriend.”

Jason felt the floor drop out from under him.

And there, standing beside Tim, was Danny—his Danny, the guy Jason had been saving, the one he’d been building up the courage to ask out. He looked just as charming and witty as ever, smiling brightly at everyone. Jason couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. All he could do was watch as Danny wrapped an arm around Tim and introduced himself to the rest of the family.

It felt like a punch to the gut.

Jason tried to steady his breathing, his hands clenched under the table. He couldn’t break down here, in front of everyone. He had to be cool, calm—just like always. But inside, his heart was shattering. How long had they been together? How had he not known?

When Danny’s gaze met Jason’s, his eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh hey! You’re Red Hood, right? You’ve saved me a bunch of times—thanks for that! I swear, I’m a total danger magnet. Usually Tim’s around to keep me out of trouble, but he’s been busy with Wayne Enterprises stuff lately, so it’s nice to have someone else watching my back.”

Jason nodded numbly, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah, no problem,” he mumbled, his throat tight.

It was worse than Jason could have imagined. Danny had been saving all his love for Tim—Tim, of all people. His younger brother, the one Jason was supposed to protect, the one who had swooped in and taken the one person Jason had allowed himself to care about. Not that Tim knew, of course. No one knew. And Jason couldn’t blame him—he couldn’t blame anyone.

As the dinner progressed, Jason tried to tune out the couple’s affectionate gestures. The way Danny laughed at Tim’s jokes, the soft touches between them, the way they looked at each other like no one else in the world mattered. Each moment felt like a knife twisting deeper into Jason’s chest.

He actively avoided joining in on any conversation with them, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact. He couldn’t bear to see the love in Danny’s eyes when he looked at Tim, knowing that it would never be directed at him. That dream—the one where Jason had imagined maybe asking Danny out, maybe finding some happiness for himself—it was gone. Shattered.

All Jason could do now was smile through the pain, pretend everything was fine, and show his support for Tim. For both of them. Because that’s what family did, right?

But deep down, it hurt like hell.

Jason excused himself as soon as he could, slipping away from the table before the dinner had even finished. He couldn’t stand to see the two of them any longer. Once outside, he let out a shaky breath, leaning against his motorcycle and staring at the sky.

Jason was always the one saving people. But this time, there was no one to save him from the aching void in his chest.

[three-realms-archive]

Just a Study

Content Warning: Spoilers for Lesson 40 of Nightbringer! Everything above the cut is spoiler-free!

The wise sorcerer watches his dear apprentice sleep peacefully, unaware of their close friend and mentor doing what he does best. Studying.

His eyes analyse the rise and fall of their chest, tracing his gaze over and across the parabolas that make up the shape of their sleeping form. The small chuckles that escape him when you snore and snort are sounds that you will never get to hear. The soft, unprecedented flushes of crimson across his cheeks when you nuzzle your forehead deeper into the crook of his neck is a sight you will never get to see. Yet your sounds, sights and touch… Solomon knows all of it. He knows the mean, median and mode of the number of hours you sleep at night; and he spends the midnight hours flipping through tomes dedicated to understanding love. To Solomon, this was all a study, really.

A study on how it would have been, if he had taken the time to know his fellow, human classmate from the get-go. How it would have been if he had taken you under his wing sooner - if he had won the race for your heart against the Seven Avatars of Sin. The data was there, in the form of the pact marks etched into your skin - placed there like perfect puzzle pieces. And no matter how much his brain wanted to process that data differently, the results and conclusion would remain unchanged.

To conduct a study, one must try to match the conditions of the experiment to the assumptions of the theory. Solomon knew this, and so he had strived to make Coctyus Hall your new House of Lamentation. He had lived with you - had eaten with you - had even slept beside you. He knew that you (more often that he liked) had shared a bed with each of the brothers before - so he had done that, too. He had taken your trip to the past as an opportunity to replicate the theory with ease, piecing together a domestic life with you that felt like bliss.

The perfect study.

It was meant to be the perfect study. For him and you.

So why?

Why did it hurt so bad, returning to the original timeline; and seeing how… easily, you fell back into your own life?

Why did it hurt, seeing you live, eat and sometimes even sleep alongside the brothers again?

Why did it hurt, sleeping beside you in your old room, when he had already shared a bed with you many times now? It hurt being with you, in this bed made for one, the pillows and blankets and your shifting form taking up room and pushing him out. Telling him that he didn’t belong next to you.

… The wise sorcerer watches his dear apprentice sleep; studying. He presses his lips gently to your temple and savours the familiar warmth that greets him, fondly. He selfishly, childishly, hooks an arm and a leg around you; entangling himself in you as you had done many times before with him. He easily finds your hand through touch alone under a blanket colder than the one you used to share; struggling to intertwine his fingers with yours properly. But he grips your hand like a lifeline when he manages to. He’s got the lines of your palm and the creases of the skin of your wrists memorised. With a small, shaky breath, Solomon uses his thumb to trace over them again, and again, and again. Studying.

It was just a study, right? A ‘what if’.

Just a study, with a simple title.

What if, for a while, he pretended you loved him?

A study compares the theoretical with the experimental. Compares the ideal with harsh, painful, hurtful reality.

You belonged with the brothers. They were your ideal.

… And his brief, domestic, blissful experiment with you was now over.

(i had started writing this before seeing that angest was ruling the poll, lol. but yayyyyyy i wanna start writing angst and romance with the characters i haven’t touched on yet, so have an angst solomon, set after lesson 40 of nightbringer)

[abyssal-ilk]

funniest thing to me is that if you're romancing sera and you ask solas what gift to give her for her romance quest, he gets disapproval. like why are you being such a little hater rn

[yashley]

imogen & fearne in c3e106

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Jaskier gets away with a lot because people think he’s cute and charming.

Geralt—who isn’t very socially adept—is sure there HAS to be a supernatural explanation for this.

(Bonus points if Jaskier isn’t entirely human, but his inhumanity has nothing to do with his charm)

People just LIKE him so much.. He's so LIKEABLE! I just can't kill him any more! Fuck.. Release them! The funny colorful man has bewitched me! Metaphorically only!!!

[pampushky]

Foot of The Gallows

trafalgar d. water law/reader - friends to enemies to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation (not by law)

ao3 link | masterlist | ask away

Trafalgar D. Water Law is a surgeon centuries ahead of his time and is set to be put to death for alleged witchcraft and dark magic, although there’s little evidence besides the fact that his patients all seem to survive, and the pale white splotches that dapple his skin, marking his face with the pattern of a skull. You’re a former childhood friend, now bittered with age and arguments, simply trying to make your living as an apothecary, wanting nothing to do with the man you had once been joined at the hip with. What happens when his closest friend manages to convince you to save his life by invoking a little-used law, saved only for cases where the justice system has failed?

You marry the man you utterly detest, that’s what happens.

Chapter Directory

sunshroom

thunder root

numbing nettle

snowdrop iris

lion's bane

willow tears

[yume-fanfare]

gentle rejection

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Everywhere I go leads me back to you”

Farah Dowling x Female Specialist Reader

wc : 3000+

cw : smoking cigarettes // soulmate identifying marks // not actually unrequited love but kind of an ambiguous ending

i’m currently in my eve best brain-rot era and this is just a little something to blow off steam before i continue brainstorming for rhaenys. there is an awful lack of rhaenys x female reader stories, so if you are in need of some just like i am, you can come yell your ideas at me. farah breadcrumbs are welcomed too 🤲🏻

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There is a terrible ache dancing along your legs, pain faintly pulsing across the plane of your back. Behind the security of your palm shielding the unruly breeze, the cigarette which hangs between your lips is ignited by a spark from the lighter, made only brighter by a breath that you subsequently inhale. It burns your throat, but in a way that you are well accustomed to unlike the vexing agony that has found home on your body as of late.

This sensation, one that breeds irritation, is nothing akin to the pleasant soreness that you are used to feeling after every training session during your time in the Solarian Army. While, in the past, you go to bed satisfied despite your aching limbs, an indication to a day purposefully spent, now you brood over the state of your body. It is, after all, one of the telltale signs that you are not in your pristine condition, which has also brought you to once again roam these grounds that you have so intimately known and walked to begin with.

Getting severely maimed during a mission has led to you getting temporarily dismissed from your duties. Rather than taking leave as is suggested to you, you have instead requested to be sent to Alfea, your former school, to both recuperate and share your combat expertise with the students as a temporary instructor, not being entirely too thrilled at the idea of wallowing in bed-rest after days of rigorous trainings to hone your skills, or perhaps if you are to be unabashedly honest, out of a profound yearning of your heart.

A chuckle bubbles in your chest, bitter, tinged with self-mockery. It is with an exhale of breath that you distract yourself, expelling the uninvited thoughts along with a cloud of smoke that escapes through your nose, through the crack of your lips, and they swirl around your head. After taking a final, languid drag of the cigarette, you toss it to the ground, effectively dousing it with the heel of your boot.

You are in desperate need of a drink, preferably alcoholic, but given that work is in progress, not to mention a class that you have to supervise alongside Headmaster Silva at hand, you opt for something less strong. About a couple of minutes later, you find yourself in the staff lounge. With professors busy at this time of day teaching their respective classes, the room is empty, and you walk to the counter to brew yourself a nice, hot cup of coffee.

The aroma of freshly ground beans is rich, but richer still is the perfumed air that pleasantly tickles your nose. It smells of books, of sunny afternoons, of jasmines in full bloom, of a love left buried.

“You reek of cigarettes.”

At the familiar voice, amused rather than displeased, that spreads over you like a warm blanket, you cannot help but let loose a little grin, recalling many a time during your school years when you have suffered an earful from the woman herself for your misbehaviours.

“If you’re going to reprimand me for it, you should have known better by now, Headmistress, that it’s no use trying.”

“Even the mountains will eventually crumble, will they not?”

Amusement tugs on one corner of Headmistress Dowling’s lips by the time you turn to face her. She gestures to you with a small tilt of her head. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

“Coffee? I just brewed some.”

“Please.”

After pouring the freshly-brewed coffee into two porcelain cups, you put sugar and a splash of milk into one cup while keeping the other black. You carry them to where the Headmistress has seated herself on a nearby couch, handing the sweetened one to her.

“Here it is, my lady.” Your playfulness earns you an eye roll. “A cube of sugar and a splash of milk if I remember correctly.”

With a delicacy that you are sure only she possesses, she cradles the cup in her hands with a whispered “Thanks.”

“You remember correctly.” A blossom of a smile grows on her lips, beautiful and dizzying, but the soft tummy-butterflies inducing moment is abruptly eclipsed by the pain that suddenly flares across you ribcage.

Try as you may, you fail to rein in your emotions it seems, for one moment, the mind fairy is sitting, and the next, she is on her feet, the cup hastily discarded on the table. Her hands are poised to steady you should you falter on your feet. You stop her with a gesture of a hand, a chuckle freed from your throat as a sorry excuse of a reassurance. Although unconvinced, she makes no further moves, says nothing, only quietly observing you with her eyes as you move to sit on the other side of the couch. She retakes her seat.

“How are you finding your new job so far?”

“It’s…different. Slower than what I’m used to in the army. But the students are eager to learn and-” You take a sip of your coffee, chance a glance at her, and see that she is taking a delicate sip from her own cup. “-it’s good to be back here.”

As much as you like to believe that the last part of your confession is the product of it, the more logical part of you argue that it is the mention of her students that has her wearing a ghost of a smile, pleased.

“They are, aren’t they? And they’re fortunate to have someone with your experience as their instructor.”

After a beat, she adds. “And…how are you faring?”

The question has you hesitating for a moment, not wanting to appear weak, but nothing will come of lying to a mind fairy, much less someone who bears your name, the mark of your soul on her body.

“Recovering. Slowly. But it’s hard to stay still after being on the front lines.”

“I understand. Sometimes the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.”

Her face is unreadable, a masterful deceit, but you suspect there are hidden depths to her words.

“Last I recall, you weren’t a fan of coffee.”

It is with her own words that you begin your response. “You recall correctly, but many a white night has left me relying on it. And I’ve grown rather fond of its company.”

She levels you with a reproachful lift of a brow.

“You consume coffee, black I might add, because you can’t sleep? Aren’t you going around in circles?”

“I need it to keep me alert. Also, in case you forgot, I’m no longer your student, Headmistress.” Your reply comes out more venomous than you have intended it to, years of bottled up emotions suddenly coming to a boil.

“That doesn’t mean I’ve cared for you any less.”

Although the confession is but a murmured breath, the force of it is colossal against you, filling your mind with what-ifs upon what-ifs. With an exhale and a squeeze of your eyes, you hurriedly stand, a string of words fleeing your lips as you leave the room in a haste.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

The brain may forget but the heart always remembers. She has eyes the colour of rich honey, brown at first sight but drenched in sunlight, swirls of greens and specks of oranges dance and mingle, a beautiful, enchanting lake that makes you want to drown in it. Although she carries herself with an authority as befits a Headmistress, her students matter to her above all else. She cherishes her job to a fault, so much so that once upon a time, she has simply dismissed the soul tie that you share without so much as batting an eyelid.

The class passes in a blur. You guide, you demonstrate, you regale them with tales of your battles all the while drowning in your own memories. Even as the last class of the day is dismissed and dusk sets in, you remain on the training grounds, practicing, fighting imaginary opponents, in hopes of giving your mind something else to focus on, which you find to be failing miserably.

From the very first moment you have met her all those years ago on your first day of school, there has been an inexplicable connection, a feather-light touch of magic that softly caresses your skin. “Sup.” has been your very first words to her, admittedly not the most ideal greeting of a new student to her Headmistress. A look is all she gives you, unimpressed, understandably so, and given that your class is mainly supervised by Headmaster Silva, you seldom cross paths with her after that. On rare occasions when you do cross paths however, despite your greetings, she refuses to acknowledge you as though you are invisible to her.

And finally, finally, when she decides you worthy enough to grace you with her words, it has been to scold you. On that fateful day, you have been standing on the sidelines as two of your classmates are locked in a fight on the platform. It just so happens to be one of those days where Headmistress Dowling is present on the training grounds to spectate the progress of the students.

When a dagger has flown astray from the middle of the fight, it aims at one person, who at present has her back to the imminent threat, trapped in a conversation with Headmaster Silva, you realise in trepidation. Without thinking, you leap, an arm darting out to catch the weapon in your hand. Inwardly, you marvel at your own reflexes, finding it hard to believe that you have stopped a weapon with your bare hand, albeit not without consequences. With your palm cut open, blood has oozed, and the thick liquid drips down your wrist.

The close proximity of the Headmistress to you is felt in that spine-tingling, knee-weakening way, and smelt in the fragrant wind, before her voice finally reaches your ear in the form of your name. The pleasant surprise that takes hold of you at her knowledge of your name is quickly overshadowed by annoyance at the tone of her voice, equally as annoyed, her displeasure apparent on the hardened plane of her face once you turn to greet her.

“A thank you would be nice. I just saved you after all.”

“Which was utterly unnecessary I might add. Don’t mistake recklessness for courage.”

Ouch! That hurts. Even more so than the dagger’s mark that has permanently found home on your body.

“Greenhouse, at once.”

It is amidst getting your wound treated that you notice something that has not been on your skin before. On the delicate flesh of your wrist appears a name in a beautiful cursive. Farah, it reads, but judging by the reaction of the earth fairy before you, unfazed and composed, you reckon that this must be for your eyes only.

No sooner have you had your wound properly dressed than you are seeking out Farah, determined to confront the reality of your bond. You find her in her office, standing by the window, looking out over the grounds.

“Headmistress,” you say, stepping inside. “We need to talk.”

She turns to face you, her expression a mask of cool detachment. “There's nothing to discuss.”

“How can you say that?” You have demanded, stepping closer. “We both know what those marks mean.”

Farah sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “The revelation changes nothing. I do not own you. Don’t let mere words bind you to me. I’m only your headmistress and you are merely my student. And that is where this ends.”

Her words cut deep, but you refuse to back down. “Farah, you can't just ignore this. It's not just about words or marks. It's about what we feel.”

“What you feel,” she has corrected you, her voice firm. “I am responsible for the safety and education of all my students. I cannot afford to let personal feelings interfere.” And in that no-nonsense way, she adds, “Also, it’s Headmistress Dowling to you.”

With a shake of your head, frustration and hurt well up inside you. “It's more than that, Headmistress and you know it. We have a connection, something real and undeniable. Why are you so afraid of it?”

For a moment, you see softness in her eyes, revealing a flicker of the pain she is trying so hard to hide, but it is gone as soon as it has come. “Because if I acknowledge it, everything changes. And I cannot allow that.”

“You're wrong,” It sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, but a desperate murmur. “Ignoring it won't make it go away. It just makes us both miserable.”

She turns away, her shoulders tense. “Go back to your training. Focus on becoming the best specialist you can be. That's what matters.”

You have stood there for a long moment, dared to entertain the fool’s dream in which she turns back, says something, anything to acknowledge the truth you both feel. But she has cut that little thread of hope by remaining silent, a statue of unyielding resolve.

Finally, you turn to leave, your heart heavy but your resolve unbroken. “This isn't over, Headmistress. Not by a long shot.”

So you have declared but deep down, you have always known that you are doomed to failure from the start. And before you know it, the graduation day dawns bright and clear upon Alfea, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Students and faculty have gathered on the grand lawn, the air filled with excitement and a tinge of sadness as friends prepare to part ways. Farah Dowling stands at the podium, her regal presence commanding attention as she addresses the graduates. You stand among your peers, listening to her speech but barely registering the words. Your heart is heavy with the decision you have made. Despite all your efforts, Farah has remained resolute in her stance, keeping the walls between you impenetrable.

As the ceremony eventually comes to an end bringing with it your inevitable departure, you have caught the Headmistress’s gaze from across the stage. Her eyes have lingered on you for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between the two of you. Then she looks away, and the moment is no more.

In your dorm room, your belongings are packed and ready, each item a reminder of the years spent at Alfea, of the bonds formed and the love left unrequited. Your friends try to convince you to stay, to join them in their adventures, but you know that you are in desperate need of a fresh start, far from the memories that still haunt these halls.

So, with your bags slung over your shoulder, you make your way to the gates of Alfea. Behind you, the school stands in all her majestic glory, a place of learning and growth, and of heartache. You pause, taking a final glance, realising with a hint of melancholy that you are not only leaving a place that has been your home for three years but also a part of yourself behind.

You have not been expecting a farewell, one last goodbye, but there she is, standing tall and composed at the gates. A spellbinding beauty, you think stupidly.

Your name spills forth her lips, dainty and delicate in appearance, but you have not been given the chance, nor will you ever be allowed to find out how they feel against your own, a forbidden fruit. When she speaks, her voice is firm, genuine. “I wanted to wish you well in your future endeavours. You have been an exemplary student, and I have no doubt you will succeed in whatever path you choose.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. Alfea has been…” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat. “everything to me.”

For a moment, she hesitates, then steps closer, lowering her voice to that excruciating, dizzying timbre. “I hope you find what you're looking for, wherever you go.”

You look into her eyes, searching for any sign of the connection you feel, but her walls are fiercely in place. With a heavy heart, you breathe. “Goodbye, Headmistress.”

By the time you turn to leave, once again, her voice halts you.

Your name leaves her lips in a soft murmur. You turn back, hope blossoming in your chest, only to have it crushed by her next words, both a gentle and a cruel finality to your fated encounter. “Take care of yourself.”

A sad smile spreads across your lips. “You too, Headmistress.”

With every step you take away from Alfea, and from her, a mixture of sorrow and determination burns in your chest. It is finally time to bury the past, to lock away the love you feel and move forward.

Months have passed as you travel, exploring new places and honing your skills. The pain of leaving Alfea and your beloved Headmistress, although duller than they use to, never truly vanish. You throw yourself into your new life, hell-bent on building something worthwhile.

One evening, in a small village nestled in a valley, you find yourself sitting by a tranquil river, the water reflecting the fading light of day. You trace the mark on your wrist, Farah’s name forever etched into your skin. Try as you may to lock away your feelings, the bond still remains, a silent testament to what could have been.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and let the cool breeze wash over you. The past is behind you, and while the future is uncertain, you know you have the strength to face it.

“Fuck, I should’ve never returned to these godforsaken grounds. So much for leaving the past behind!”

Presently, you curse aloud as you slash nothing but air with your twin blades, reenacting scenes from your battlefield. The efforts with which you have made to keep your feelings buried have been for naught, for in the end, in a moment of weakness, you have listened to your heart, and returned to where it longs to be the most.

By her side.

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[waywardwizzard]

"Don't ever show your face in front of me again."

Edgeworth barely had time to duck into the bathroom before he fell to the floor, gagging coughing, spitting out an endless stream of something onto the floor until his throat was raw and everything ached.

Finally, finally, after what had felt like hours instead of minutes, he could breathe again and he greedily sucked in air. Exhausted, his eyes drifted down to the floor. He froze.

There was a sunflower.

There was a sunflower. On the floor. Lying in a pool of blood and petals -

No.

No.

It couldn't be -

Before he could reach out to touch the flower in a morbid sense of curiosity, more and more sunflowers pushed their way up and out to join the first one, blood red marring delicate golden yellow.

Some of them were already in full bloom, some of them barely a bud, but all of them were drenched in blood (mein Gott there was so much blood -) and all of them were whole flowers, not just loose petals.

This wasn't how Hanahaki was supposed to go. There were stages. First petals, then buds and then blooming flowers. It wasn't supposed to jump straight to full blooms! How was he already coughing up whole flowers if he hadn't even coughed up petals before today? And why today of all days?

An image of a blue suit and spiked hair flashed before his eyes and his lungs spasmed, his breath stuttering as another sunflower forced it's way out, a few loose petals following half-heartedly after. They stared judgingly up at him from the gaudy blue (don't think of blue) tiles of the bathroom.

'You know why', a small part of him whispered as he tried to catch his breath. 'You know why it happened now.'

He did.

It didn't mean he had to acknowledge it. He was the Demon Prosecutor after all. He was good at ignoring the truth.

...

...

Wasn't he?

***

Author's note -

Happy unneccesary feelings day! I've been in the fandom for barely two months but the urge to wright (heh) fanfiction was too strong to ignore. So. Here. This is my first (and hopefully not last) contribution to the fandom.

(I'm also tempted to write a longer fic based on this but idk)

Hope everyone enjoyed this!

*insert 'English isn't my native languge, yada yada' here*