#verse TBT.

[aveimperatcr]

@tertiusdecimusfilius continued from here.

It must have felt like a sick game, all of it-- to witness the Emperor's ghastly appearance and how he'd grown paler and somewhat weaker in comparison like he was on the damned Throne all over again. He stared into the nothingness in a daze, though luckily it at least did seem like he was in reality compared to previous times when he would slip into episodes of panic-- his tired eyes looked at Guilliman, yet what met Guilliman's fear and horror was one of hope and warmth, a complete contrast.

Nothing else mattered to the Emperor more than to see his son finally able to live.

Apothecaries had been practically rushed along to witness the Primarch kneeling before the weakened Emperor-- yet Ayhan would be pulled from his chair and away from Guilliman, practically carried to the medbay like he had been wounded by Horus himself all over again. The Emperor only glanced around and attempted to ground himself, barely able to muster the strength to form his words.

Of course, Guilliman's state hadn't gone unnoticed-- the servants that stayed to also ensure Guilliman's well-being were quick to notice the Armor of Fate having been removed from his very being, leaving him in the bodysuit beneath. They scattered like ants, rushing to get the Primarch into his old togas and robes and sandals before guiding him to go see his father.

By the time they got there, the Emperor seemed to have focused enough. While still pale, he focused on many things around his room of the medbay while the apothecaries did their best to tend to him. One of them looked to have carefully been wrapping bandages around the mighty Emperor's neck after applying what looked to be some sort of antidote to it.

It took him a moment to respond.

" ... Roboute. "

" Are you well...? "

[enchaentd]

permanent new bloggie starter call, always accepting!  ˎˊ˗             featuring;  @kurthorton ♡

        it happened so fast.   and it was horrible.   no amount of her could appreciate it,   or realize what was happening.   a strike of violence cut into the sudden air of climbing nervousness,   shattering the crumbling tower she had begun to tip off of.   boys.   but she wanted kurt.   she had wished for him,   and then there he was.   she wanted him no matter what.   she wanted him no matter what.   but she didn’t want him to hurt anyone.   kurt had hit him, fierce enough to send the other boy to the ground, and allie almost screamed. allie tugged at him,   ceaselessly,   even through the silence of shock that scattered across the group of them in waves.   it didn’t matter what had happened,   what he had seen.   she feared his anger,   his wrath,   this wasn’t like kurt at all.   “ no! no,   kurt, please,   stop, i don't want you to. i wanna' go home, please. ”   desperation seeps from her voice as she begs him with everything in her.   his name,   even more pleas,   tugging him away as she trembled.

[calithal]

stupid dialogue starter call, accepting! ( @unpossession )  ༄

“  you  gonna’  cry?  or  do  you  just  look  like  that?  ”

[sirensought]

@nomdepen continued.

❛  not  entirely,  ❜   he  concedes,  ❛  but  i  do  have  a  suspicion  that  you  are  not  as  content  in  being  a  wallflower  as  you  attempt  to  make  it  seem.  ❜   not  that  there's  anything  wrong  with  being  a  wallflower.  he  himself  much  preferred  the  shadows  of  the  sidelines  to  being  at  the  center  of,  well,  anything.  he  casts  his  eyes  out  to  scan  the  other  guests  enjoying  the  festivities.  the  soft  hum  of  conversation  mingles  with  the  gentle  music  filling  the  air.   ❛  however,  i  have  noticed  the  wistful  way  you  watch  those  dancing,  as  if  you  wish  to  be  out  there  with  them.  ❜   his  attention  returns  to  the  young  woman  once  again,   ❛  please  forgive  me  if  i  have  misinterpreted  things. ❜

[sinshckled]

★ |  * ⋆      -   -  - –  INBOX !  *  ﹡                  ﹡     ✧ * ☇  ( @nocentis ! )

Suddenly, the walls feel like they’re [ closing ] on him – and Jellal is suddenly much, much too aware of the GRIDS OF METAL that surround him - them. He feels trapped. Not by any binding, nor by any cuffs - but by an all too familiar gaze of hazel. .

Ever since his identity had been ( accidentally ) revealed, the children’s behavior toward him changed drastically - and UNDERSTANDABLY. His disguise was one of their jailers’, but his face is the one of a friend ; ( regardless of how the years had changed it. ) And while his heart fills with fondness at the way Millianna and Sho run to hug his leg & at the awe in Erza’s eyes, it is not enough to dissipate his apprehension. Looking at his younger self has been harder ever since. Jellal knows the child has questions – can SEE IT in his body language, FEEL IT in the weight of his stare, and HEAR IT in his voice. && To these inquiries, he has no wish to answer.

But the ghosts of the past have never failed to catch up to him.               WHY WOULD THIS TIME BE ANY DIFFERENT ?

.

He gets cornered at the end of his “mission”, once the dust has settled back down. When the threat is no more, and they can all breathe a little easier. While checking up on the wounded - taking advantage of the first aid supplies he always carries and knows are scarce within these walls - 

He feels a shy tug at his cloak, and turns around to cobalt strands, a familiar marking, and a [ request to talk ].

Right there and then, he knows he cannot run from this anymore.

Alas, even though the Heavenly Body mage had started preparing, as much as he could have, for this discussion to occur  - this was him, this had been him, he should know better than anyone what he could ask . . . and yet, 

                              he still finds himself at a LOSS FOR WORDS.

                " … "

     What is he supposed to say ?

     He swallows thickly. His tongue feels HEAVY in his mouth, burdened with the knowledge of the last decades. He knows that child is DOOMED ; from the peek he had gotten in the office, it was only a matter of weeks… days even, perhaps. 

     These eyes – HEAVENS, he was so small; pale skin upon frail bones, muscles built from years of labor and stolen childhood. He looks so fragile, but his eyes, despite it all, burn alight with a ferocious SPARK ; one that has not shone in his own gaze for a very, very long time.

     His fingers crackle with starlight. He tastes an anger the likes of which is foreign to him – old, bygone. He feels an urge to defy the flow of time - to let the stars bring JUDGMENT upon this wretched island, sending this ATROCITY of a R-system crumbling to the ground, and take him - take them, all these poor innocent children, so so very far away from here. & yet he cannot ; 

       Why here ? Why now ? Why him ?             What is he doing here ?

     Memories of this time are nothing more than movie sequences in his head now, decades later ; so far away, so distant. This part of him has been laid to rest alongside the WICKEDNESS of his teenage years, and both only ever come back to haunt him as a form of torture. As a result, this child was no more than an ACQUAINTANCE, a figure erased by time, wrath, grief and BLOOD.

     But being there, quite literally face to face with his past - it all comes back to him. Flashes triggered by the long-gone architecture of these walls, by the stench of rot sitting heavily across the perimeter, by the crackles of electricity, the whirring of heavy machinery & the haunting sound of children sobbing a few cells further - quietly, by fear of being whipped into silence –      He now remembers being that boy. Forcing a smile every single day of his life, for the sake of the young who looked up to him. He would tell stories upon stories, wiping tears while holding his own grief tight on a leash. ( because those stories had been his brother’s, and his mother’s, and the village elder’s, && they had starred his cousin, his neighbor, the shop clerk and the fishermen – and all these people were DEAD, by now BONES buried underneath stone and charred wood and ash. )

       ... What was HE doing here ?

     He thinks he’s struck by all five stages of grief simultaneously.The thoughts crossing his head are a blur. He feels dizzy, knees one gust of wind away from buckling.

Blaming yourself for your own weaknesses is easier when you don’t have the 11 years old version of yourself standing before you.

Looking into your eyes with – one last sliver of hope.

––– How could he ever put the blame of his anger upon him?

HE WAS A CHILD. He was a child.

            ( It hits him all at once. )

.

He knows the intricacies of time travel. He knows he doesn’t remember going through this. He knows his younger self will not walk away with an answer, nor with a solution. This is Fiorean history – and it is set in stone.

That doesn’t mean he wants to LIE to him.

( Not when he’s been standing wordlessly for this long. Not when he has let silence stretch so far. Not when the tiny, fragile version of himself is catching on to what it means. Perhaps, if he’d been quicker, it could have been an option. ) 

.

     And so Jellal does the only thing that, amongst all the possibilities offered to him, feels undoubtedly, irrevocably right. 

     He closes the distance between them with a few steps and crouches down to meet himself at eye-level. Looks – really looks at him, commits every detail to memory. From the slope of his nose to the tangled, soiled strands of blue decorating from his head ; from to the fainter scars he still sports to the swirls of angry red framing his eyes, pools of sage & amber in his irises. And then he reaches out, wraps his arms around the scrawny frame and gathers him slowly, carefully, in a hug. 

     He hides him in the crook of his shoulder; gives him a shelter, an adult, where the hastily-built foundations of his mask of strength can crack, if he so wishes. 

He lets him be a child once again.

     ――――― Just for a moment.

.

━━━ ━━ ━ ╸╺ . * ✰

“ is all this countless suffering for my own good? ”

.

Later on, shortly after finding his way back in the present, Jellal will ponder this further. The Heavenly Body mage will stand on a beach, amongst speckles of sand, and watch the sun gradually DISAPPEAR beyond the vast sea that once held him [ hostage ] ― painting the sky in shades akin to the burning fire that took everything away from him. 

He will think of his younger self - so far away in time, yet now so close in memory. 

He will close his eyes, push open the door to his history, rush past the whispers and shadows crawling its walls, and find that child still within him. He will dig him out from the grave he was buried within, and he will give him his SIGHT - his HEARING - his TASTE - his EVERYTHING.

He will let himself feel breeze upon his skin, breathe in the smell of sea salt, taste the freedom of a boundless life.

     And when his eyes open again, he will gaze upon that landscape, && he will find it beautiful.

.

✔ ― ACCEPTING

[lightcreators]

@nackros continue from here

⸻ "i know life gets hard sometimes, but i have faith you will see the light in the world. sometimes it's cloudy, but it isn't all the time. i have faith you will." ⸻

He  appreciated  the  sympathy  and  the  compassion  she  was  offered  to  him.  Truly.  Nevertheless,  how  distanced  and  not  belonging  to  this  current  world,  towards  this  particular  sphere  resonated  within  his  gaze  who  preferred  been  careful  concerning  such  faith.  He  did  pulled  all  his  faith  over  an  single  request  once  ---  and  had  been  quite  welcomed  with  such  an  result  ---  making  him  turning  that  belief  into  something  more  harder  to  be  found  again.  ❝  How  can  I  see  the  light  of  the  world  when  I'm  linked  to  deepest  of  obscurity  ?  Knowing  people  will  judge  him  because  of  who  I  am  ?  Than  I  will  be  watched  carefully  simply  because  of  who  I  am  ?  What  if  life  always  had  been  cloudy,  with  rarely  feeling  something  else  than  endless  mist  ?  If  it's associated  curse  for  who  I  am  ?  I  appreciate  the  feeling  though, it's nice of you.  ❞

[trollamulet]

“Excuse me?” Jim frowns slightly, raising his eyebrows. “Er…yes. Yes, I am. Who’s asking?” Something about the voice throws him off because it’s not a voice he recognizes. “Are you a friend or enemy?” Jim wanted to get closer, to see if he could just get an image on what the voice looks like but he wasn’t sure if this troll would appreciate a human Trollhunter in their personal space.

he's entirely glad that he uses another name as well, especially for those who don't know that the trollhunter is human, or now partially, anyway.

" i'm a newer face around here. " he's not joking, he really is new, in this thrown back in time kinda stuff, and he's pretty sure there wasn't a wizard ripping into the fabric between eras. how he ended up here, well, he hoped he'd be able to get home. "i'm jiki galadrigal." he introduces himself. it's strange for a troll to have a last name, but after all, he could, and it felt right to honour blinky since he'd referred to jim as his son when he was in his own darkest time.

at least now he can make the best of it, and hoped that the embroidered daylight and eclipse on the edges of his hoodie pockets would go unnoticed, at least for a bit.

[bloodxhound]

his tongue moves me-ti-cu-lous-ly as he cleans the coffee spilled from an overfull cup off the other man's fingers.

     𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, while the sun has yet to swell on the horizon, and the city still slumbers, awash in the dozy purple-blue hues of night, Ray trudges into the kitchen, barefoot, inebriated with sleep. The coffee he prepares is as much a necessity as a ritual. It soon draws Diego from the comfort of their bed as well, awaiting him in a big, generously-poured cup, ready to be passed into his hands as a drowsy good-mornin’ is kissed to his cheek. Maybe the cup was filled a little too generously this time around.  ❛ Shit, ❜  Ray grumbles under his breath, fingers drenched and stinging with spilt hot coffee. He returns the mug to the kitchen counter, about to shake his hand free from the pain, when it’s caught in his partner’s grip.  ❛ Oh, I got it, ❜  he reassures hoarsely.  ❛ ‘s just a lil’ spill. ❜  But his hand isn’t released, nor is it guided underneath the cold stream of the sink’s faucet. Instead, it’s steered upwards, where his fingers are met with warm lips.

     His breath hitches inside his throat. At the sight, at the sensation. Entranced, he watches and stares as his fingers are sucked into his partner’s mouth, warm and wet and wanton. It sends a bolt along his spine, one that registers hot in his groin. Of course, he’s imagining him sucking other parts of him.  ❛ Fuckin’ tease, ❜  he grunts as his hand is released, frustration growing alongside his arousal. This won’t do.  ❛ Here, have some more. ❜  He dips his fingers into the cup, feeling the sting of hot coffee once more, before feeding them to Diego’s mouth. The beverage has dripped onto the the counter, the floor, down his partner’s chin. A smile pulls onto his lips, enjoying the mess. He’ll be scolded for it later, made to clean up — he knows. Right now, he couldn’t care less. All that matters are the lips that pull tightly, beautifully around the intrusion, as he pushes his fingers in deeper, back and forth. When they recede, spit-slick, they instead curl around Diego’s chin, tilting it up for a kiss. His voice is thick with anticipation, with want, when he proffers,  ❛ How ‘bout I skip my mornin’ run... ❜

[enchaentd]

permanent new bloggie starter call, always accepting!  ˎˊ˗             featuring;  @floripire ♡

        it’s really,   really dark.   her light eyes can hardly see anything,   at all.   but she knows flori’s here.   she just knows.   and she swears flori had called her.   had she called her?   she’d forgotten her phone.   whatever dragged her here was much more important.   now,   she couldn’t check.   her fingers ghosted out in front of her,   looking for anything.   the pads of her fingers don’t feel anything,   but the rest of her does,   a push in the small of her back,   guiding her forward.   and there she is,   floribeth.   hungry,   but there.   “ oh,   there you are! ”   she says,   gentle hands going to cup her face in her hands,   tender.

[zestials]

" a new one doth ascend. " idle murmured thoughts , the intricate web of eyes he'd weaved around the ring of pride ensured there wasn't a movement he wasn't aware of. not a notable sinner that drew breath. but his attention's quickly grabbed , shifting from the book in hand towards the reptilian overlord ( annoyingly capable of capturing his attention at all times. ) the curl of his lips give him away , sharp lethal edges dulled. no , he isn't looking for a fight.

cover's snapped closed betwixt clawed fingertips , a wisk of bright green magic dissolving the item. zestial shifts in his seat as if to create more room on the already oversized settee , gesturing in invitation. a lean of head , " hath the day been lengthy , @koccodrillo ? "

[delusiela]

. @valour-bound , don’t move a fucking muscle.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞, vacant yet still the proof of something living exists. it had been just a minor change, a minor shift in her body and she knew. another life is creeping through the corridors. she could practically smell him.

it begins with her fellow insects, how they swarm and buzz by his figure before the formation of her body slowly forms in front of him until she is ... whole. her body is leaning against one of the many decorative tables, so nonchalant and unbothered by this threatening presence. gloved hand lifts to sit upon her hip, an audible child-like gasp escaping past her lips. " you mean like that? "

[deficd]

@fasciinating from here!

Arrakeen weeps.

Her heart beats steady for the thrum thrum thrumming of Fremen blood, water between grains. In between the Spice and the stratosphere; in between everything and nothing. A wicked fate thwarted beneath Romulan heel, all fire-from-above, making the Sietches mourn.

Feyd-Rautha sings at the funerals, warms the green in his veins on every pyre. The palace has become a mausoleum of his own making, and how lonely the making of his ghost. Each footfall, a warning in stone. Echoing, echoing all of his pretty intentions.

He circles Spock like a ter'ak blood-drooling for a meal. All empty stomach and midnight mouth. The crysknife shines so pretty in the moonlight; it's singing too. Yearning to unravel a fate that neither of them mean to get swept away in. Rivers always run.

"Ye-eess," with a grin cut arc-shaped, touching the eyes, a drawl that severs just after the teeth. The coruscation of his own dathe'anofv-sen mocks the twin moons, held steady in a palm thirsting for reprisal. He's shattered mirrors before, he can do it again.

"Hayaliiit, crawling out from under your rock," parrots the holy hymn stolen from dead Fremen tongues, "I don't think your teeth are sharp enough."

Not for gnawing; not for this.

[calithal]

flicks cj on the forehead :/

come play the 'don't get stabbed/bitten/otherwise maimed' game (aka just talking to cj), always accepting!  ༄

                she’s  being  really  annoying,  in  a  mood  where  she  doesn’t  stop  talking.  running  circles  around  the  both  of  him.  swearing  and  name  calling  and  poking  fun.  it  could  be  worse,  and  it’s  about  as  lighthearted  as  cj  can  get.  an  annoyance.  she’s  so  beautiful  and  everyone  wants  to  kill  her.  boo!  cj  could  be  killing  people.  she’s  going  to  kill  someone,  at  this  point.  she’ll  show  them  nightmare  brat.  harry  does  not  appreciate  her  clear  benevolence  today,  and  flicks  her.  her  reaction  is  so  much  of  an  impulse,  she  doesn’t  realize  she’s  doing  it  until  it’s  done.  cj  makes  it  purposeful  by  clamping  her  teeth.

                she  snaps  up  and  bites  him,  hard.    “  get  that  fuckin’  thing  out  of  my  face.  ”    she  says,  spitting  them  out.  she  hopes  he  bleeds,  at  least  a  little.  asshole.  she’s  literally  darling.

[girlinfect]

" i think so too, " she replies, her voice soft but tinged with amusement. a playful giggle escapes her lips, followed by a smile that she can't quite suppress. sherry nods thoughtfully, her eyes distant for a brief moment as she considers his words.

the silence hangs between them, before she suddenly brightens, a spark of excitement lighting up her expression. " what if we had a team name? " she suggests eagerly, her enthusiasm bubbling to the surface.

@0azrae7     :     we make a pretty good team.

[msmvrel]

it  was  peaceful,  superheroing  was  done  for  the  day.  sitting  on  the  rooftop  on  one  of  the  buildings,  eyes  scanning  over  the  city.  at  least  it  was  peaceful  ...  until  something  unknown  or  someone  fell  out  from  a  mysterious  portal.  thankfully,  her  eyes  managed  to  capture  the  sight,  body  moving  out  of  the  way  of  it.  ❝  woah  !  ❞  scared  to  approach  but  she  does  anyway,  noticing  it's  a  person.  a  man.  slowly,  the  young  hero  bends  down.  ❝  um  ...  sir ?  are  you  okay  ?  that  was  uh  ..  quite  a  fall.  ❞ she'll  ask  more  about  how  he  came  from  a  portal   &&   if  he's  somehow  magic  like  later. 

@blue-eyed-banshee  liked  sc for verath. 

[lightcreators]

@skywalker-sister continue from here

The affection seemed to soothe Noa as she took her first steady breath in a minute. It was one of those days that was especially difficult for her, and she was feeling overwhelming anxiety from a source she couldn’t explain. It was simply a persistent feeling that probably didn’t even have a source.

“Anakin… I don’t feel good…” she mumbled to him quietly, allowing him to kiss her forehead.

He always had understood she needed time for herself sometimes. Or even had really emotionally harsh days --- in which, considering his mental health was pretty much fragile, and preferred be certain degree of how serious it was had to remaining hidden, he switched his priorities … towards her. As he would always picking this option regardless if he couldn't mentally handling himself together, when his anxious, close of depressive instants were sometimes horribly damaging in which le let only Padme perceiving degree of damages. Hence, as he remained wordlessly at her side, he letting her time to breathe away, lowering down the pressure. Concerning reassuring her, he could do the best he could. He wouldn't considering himself be easy to be reassured with : not when he would doing his best efforts NOT to comment he wasn't perceiving same things than people around him … and well, he would need strenght and efforts for his voice pointing out things to be accepted ! He would have hoped sweetness gesture of affection would have calmed down her mind. Immediately, of course, he saw with his two eyes it wasn't the case. ❝ Dizziness? Headache? Where does it hurt? ❞ Did it was purely mental in which he could attempting something ? Did it was purely physical in which her body decided enough efforts had been made today ? Patiently, he searched tiny signs that can giving him clues about what do do --- because as much everyone pulled all faith within him, he could say he was learning slowly … and partially fullfill part of expectations desired for him.